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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffdfd91 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54168 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54168) diff --git a/old/54168-0.txt b/old/54168-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff9d356..0000000 --- a/old/54168-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7986 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, English Lands Letters and Kings: From Celt to -Tudor, by Donald Grant Mitchell - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: English Lands Letters and Kings: From Celt to Tudor - - -Author: Donald Grant Mitchell - - - -Release Date: February 15, 2017 [eBook #54168] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS: -FROM CELT TO TUDOR*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team -(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/englishlandslett01mitc - - - Project Gutenberg has the other three volumes of this work. - II: From Elizabeth to Anne - see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54142 - III: Queen Anne and the Georges - see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37226 - IV: The Later Georges to Victoria - see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54143 - - - - - -ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS - -From Celt to Tudor - - - * * * * * * - -ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS - -_By Donald G. Mitchell_ - - I. From Celt to Tudor - II. From Elizabeth to Anne -III. Queen Anne and the Georges - IV. The Later Georges to Victoria - -_Each 1 vol., 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50_ - -AMERICAN LANDS AND LETTERS - -From the Mayflower to Rip Van Winkle - -_1 vol., square 12mo, Illustrated, $2.50_ - - * * * * * * - - -ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS - -From Celt to Tudor - -by - -DONALD G. MITCHELL - -[Illustration] - - - - - - -New York -Charles Scribner’s Sons -MDCCCXCVII - -Copyright, 1889, by -Charles Scribner’S Sons - -Trow’S -Printing and Bookbinding Company, -New York. - - - - -_PREFACE._ - - -This little book is made up from the opening series of a considerable -range of “talks,” with which--during the past few years--I have -undertaken to entertain, and (if it might be) instruct a bevy of friends; -and the interest of a few outsiders who have come to the hearings has -induced me to put the matter in type. I feel somewhat awkwardly in -obtruding upon the public any such panoramic view of British writers, in -these days of specialists--when students devote half a lifetime to the -analysis of the works of a single author, and to the proper study of a -single period. - -I have tried, however, to avoid bad mistakes and misleading ones, and -shall reckon my commentary only so far forth good--as it may familiarize -the average reader with the salient characteristics of the writers -brought under notice, and shall put these writers into such a swathing of -historic and geographic enwrapments as shall keep them better in mind. - -When I consider the large number of books recently issued on similar -topics, and the scholarly acuteness, and the great range belonging to -so many of them, I am not a little discomforted at thought of my bold -scurry over so wide reach of ground. Indeed, I have the figure before me -now--as I hint an apology--of an old-time country doctor who has ventured -with his saddle-bags and spicy nostrums into competition with a half -score of special practitioners--with their microscopy and their _granules -dosimetriques_; but I think, consolingly, that possibly the old-time -mediciner--if not able to cure, can at the least induce a pleasurable -slumber. - - EDGEWOOD, 1889. - - - - -_CONTENTS._ - - - PAGE - CHAPTER I. - - PRELIMINARY, 1 - - EARLY CENTURIES, 5 - - CELTIC LITERATURE, 7 - - BEGINNING OF ENGLISH LEARNING, 9 - - CÆDMON, 13 - - BEDA, 15 - - KING ALFRED, 17 - - CANUTE AND GODIVA, 22 - - WILLIAM THE NORMAN, 25 - - HAROLD THE SAXON, 29 - - CHAPTER II. - - GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, 37 - - KING ARTHUR LEGENDS, 39 - - EARLY NORMAN KINGS, 46 - - RICHARD CŒUR DE LION, 50 - - TIMES OF KING JOHN, 53 - - MIXED LANGUAGE, 56 - - SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE, 59 - - EARLY BOOK-MAKING, 62 - - RELIGIOUS HOUSES, 66 - - LIFE OF A DAMOISELLE, 72 - - CHAPTER III. - - ROGER BACON, 77 - - WILLIAM LANGLANDE, 84 - - JOHN WYCLIF, 90 - - CHAUCER, 97 - - CHAPTER IV. - - OF GOWER AND FROISSART, 127 - - TWO HENRYS AND TWO POETS, 132 - - HENRY V. AND WAR TIMES, 141 - - JOAN OF ARC AND RICHARD III., 146 - - CAXTON AND FIRST ENGLISH PRINTING, 149 - - OLD PRIVATE LETTERS, 154 - - A BURST OF BALLADRY, 158 - - CHAPTER V. - - EARLY DAYS OF HENRY VIII., 167 - - CARDINAL WOLSEY, AND SIR THOMAS MORE, 173 - - CRANMER, LATIMER, KNOX, AND OTHERS, 182 - - VERSE-WRITING AND PSALMODIES, 189 - - WYATT AND SURREY, 193 - - A BOY-KING, A QUEEN, AND SCHOOLMASTER, 197 - - CHAPTER VI. - - ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND, 204 - - PERSONALITY OF THE QUEEN, 207 - - BURLEIGH AND OTHERS, 210 - - A GROUP OF GREAT NAMES, 214 - - EDMUND SPENSER, 217 - - THE FAERY QUEEN, 221 - - PHILIP SIDNEY, 230 - - CHAPTER VII. - - JOHN LYLY, 245 - - FRANCIS BACON, 250 - - THOMAS HOBBES, 261 - - GEORGE CHAPMAN, 266 - - MARLOWE, 269 - - A TAVERN COTERIE, 274 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - GEORGE PEELE, 284 - - THOMAS DEKKER, 287 - - MICHAEL DRAYTON, 291 - - BEN JONSON, 295 - - SOME PROSE WRITERS, 303 - - THE QUEEN’S PROGRESSES, 312 - - - - -_ENGLISH LANDS, LETTERS, & KINGS._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -I have undertaken in this book a series of very familiar and informal -talks with my readers about English literary people, and the ways in -which they worked; and also about the times in which they lived and -the places where they grew up. We shall have, therefore, a good deal -of concern with English history; and with English geography too--or -rather topography: and I think that I have given a very fair and honest -descriptive title to the material which I shall set before my readers, in -calling it a book about ENGLISH LANDS AND LETTERS AND KINGS. - -It appears to me that American young people have an advantage over -British-born students of our History and Literature--in the fact that the -localities consecrated by great names or events have more illuminating -power to us, who encounter them rarely and after voyage over sea, than to -the Englishman who lives and grows up beside them. Londoners pass Bolt -Court, Fleet Street, and Dr. Johnson’s tavern a hundred times a year with -no thought but of the chops and the Barclay’s ale to be had there. But -to the cultivated American these localities start a charming procession, -in which the doughty old Dictionary-maker, with his staff and long brown -coat and three cornered hat, is easily the leader. - -For my own part, when my foot first struck the hard-worked pavement of -London Bridge, even the old nursery sing-song came over me with the force -of a poem,-- - - As I was going over London Bridge - I found a penny and bought me a kid. - -So, too--once upon a time--on a bright May-day along the Tweed, I was -attracted by an old square ruin of a tower--very homely--scarcely -picturesque: I had barely curiosity enough to ask its name. A -stone-breaker on the high-road told me it was Norham Castle; and -straightway all the dash and clash of the poem of “Marmion”[1] broke -around me. - -Now I do not think our cousins the Britishers, to whom the loveliest -ruins become humdrum, can be half as much alive as we, to this sort of -enjoyment. - -I shall have then--as I said--a great deal to say about the topography -of England as well as about its books and writers; and shall try to tie -together your knowledge of historic facts and literary ones, with the yet -more tangible and associated geographic facts--so that on some golden -day to come (as golden days do come) the sight of a mere thread of spire -over tree-tops, or of a cliff on Yorkshire shores, or of a quaint gable -that might have covered a “Tabard Tavern,” shall set all your historic -reading on the flow again--thus extending and brightening and giving -charm to a hundred wayside experiences of Travel. - -One other preliminary word:--On that great reach of ground we are to -pass over--if we make reasonable time--there must be long strides, and -skippings: we can only seize upon illustrative types--little kindling -feeders of wide-reaching flame. It may well be that I shall ignore and -pass by lines of thought or progress very lively and present to you; may -be I shall dwell on things already familiar; nay, it may well happen that -many readers--young and old--fresh from their books--shall know more of -matters touched on in our rapid survey than I know myself: never mind -that; but remember,--and let me say it once for all--that my aim is not -so much to give definite instruction as to put the reader into such ways -and starts of thought as shall make him eager to instruct himself. - - -_Early Centuries._ - -In those dreary early centuries when England was in the throes of its -beginnings, and when the Roman eagle--which had always led a half-stifled -life amongst British fogs, had gone back to its own eyrie in the -South--the old stock historians could and did find little to fasten -our regard--save the eternal welter of little wars. Indeed, those who -studied fifty years ago will remember that all early British history was -excessively meagre and stiff; some of it, I daresay, left yet in the -accredited courses of school reading; dreadfully dull--with dates piled -on dates, and battles by the page; and other pages of battle peppered -with such names as Hengist, or Ethelred and Cerdic and Cuthwulf, or -whoever could strike hardest or cut deepest. - -But now, thanks to modern inquiry and to such men as Stubbs and Freeman -and Wright, and the more entertaining Green--we get new light on those -old times. We watch the ribs of that ancient land piling in distincter -shape out of the water: we see the downs and the bluffs, and the -fordable places in the rivers; we know now just where great wastes of -wood stood in the way of our piratical forefathers--the Saxons, the -Jutes, and the Angles; these latter either by greater moral weight in -them, or by the accident of numbers (which is the more probable), coming -to give a name to the new country and language which were a-making -together. - -We find that those old Romans did leave, besides their long, straight, -high-roads, and Roman villas, and store of sepulchral vases, a germ -of Roman laws, and a little nucleus of Roman words, traceable in the -institutions and--to some slight degree--in the language of to-day. - -We see in the later pages of Green through what forests the rivers -ran, and can go round about the great Roman-British towns (Roman first -and then adopted by Britons) of London[2] and of York; and that other -magnificent one of Cirencester (or Sisister as the English say, with a -stout defiance of their alphabet). We can understand how and why the fat -meadows of Somersetshire should be coveted by marauders and fought for -by Celts; and we behold more clearly and distinctly than ever, under the -precise topography of modern investigators, the walls of wood and hills -which stayed Saxon pursuit of those Britons who sought shelter in Wales, -Cumberland, or the Cornish peninsula. - - -_Celtic Literature._ - -Naturally, this flight of a nation to its fastnesses was not without -clamor and lament; some of which--if we may trust current Cymric -traditions--was put into such piercing sound as has come down to our own -day in the shape of Welsh war-songs. Dates are uncertain; but without -doubt somewhat of this Celtic shrill singing was of earlier utterance -than anything of equal literary quality that came from our wrangling -Saxon or West-Saxon forefathers in the fertile plains of England. - -Some of these Celtic war strains have been turned into a music by -the poet Gray[3] which our English ears love; Emerson used to find -regalement in the strains of another Welsh bard; and the Mabinogion, a -pleasant budget of old Cymric fable,[4] has come to a sort of literary -resurrection in our day under the hands of the late Sidney Lanier. If -you would know more of things Celtic, I would commend to your attention -a few lectures read at Oxford in 1864-65 by Matthew Arnold in which he -has brought a curious zeal, and his wonted acumen to an investigation -of the influences upon English literature of that old Celtic current. -It was a wild, turbulent current; it had fret and roar in it; it had -passion and splendor in it; and there are those who think that whatever -ardor of imagination, or love for brilliant color or music may belong to -our English race is due to old interfusion of British blood. Certainly -the lively plaids of the Highlander and his bagpipes show love for much -color and exuberant gush of sound; and we all understand that the Celtic -Irishman has an appetite for a shindy which demonstrates a rather lively -emotional nature. - - -_Beginning of English Learning._ - -But over that ancient England covered with its alternating fens and -forests, and grimy Saxon hamlets, and Celtic companies of huts, there -streams presently a new civilizing influence. It is in the shape of -Christian monks[5] sent by Pope Gregory the Great, who land upon the -island of Thanet near the Thames mouth (whereabout are now the bustling -little watering places of Ramsgate and Margate), and march two by -two--St. Augustine among them and towering head and shoulders above -the rest--bearing silver crosses and singing litanies, up to the halls -of Ethelbert--near to the very site where now stands, in those rich -Kentish lands, the august and beautiful Cathedral of Canterbury. There, -too, sprung up in those earlier centuries that Canterbury School, where -letters were taught, and learned men congregated, and whence emerged -that famous scholar--Aldhelm,[6] of whom the great King Alfred speaks -admiringly; who not only knew his languages but could sing a song; a -sort of early Saxon Sankey who beguiled wanderers into better ways by -his homely rhythmic utterance. I think we may safely count this old -Aldhelm, who had a strain of royal blood in him, as the first of English -ballad-mongers. - -From the north of England, too, there was at almost the same date, -another gleam of crosses, coming by way of Ireland and Iona, where St. -Columba,[7] commemorated in one of Wordsworth’s Sonnets, had established -a monastery. We have the good old Irish monk’s lament at leaving his home -in Ireland for the northern wilderness; there is true Irish fervor in -it:--“From the high prow I look over the sea, and great tears are in my -gray eyes when I turn to Erin--to Erin, where the songs of the birds are -so sweet, and where the clerks sing like the birds; where the young are -so gentle, and the old so wise; where the great men are so noble to look -at, and the women so fair to wed.” - -Ruined remnants of the Iona monastery are still to be found on that -little Western island--within hearing almost of the waves that surge -into the caves of Staffa. And from this island stand-point, the monkish -missions were established athwart Scotland; finding foothold too all down -the coast of Northumberland. Early among these and very notable, was the -famous Abbey of Lindisfarne or the Holy Isle, not far southward from -the mouth of the Tweed. You will recall the name as bouncing musically, -up and down, through Scott’s poem of “Marmion.” A little farther to -the south, upon the Yorkshire coast, came to be established, shortly -afterward, the Whitby monastery; its ruins make now one of the shows of -Whitby town--one of the favorite watering places of the eastern coast -of England, and well known for giving its name to what is called Whitby -jet--which is only a finer sort of bituminous coal, of which there are -great beds in the neighborhood.[8] The Abbey ruin is upon heights, from -which are superb views out upon the German Sea that beats with grand -uproar upon the Whitby cliffs. To the westward is the charming country of -Eskdale, and by going a few miles southward one may come to Robinhood’s -bay; and in the intervening village of Hawsker may be seen the two stones -said to mark the flight of the arrows of Robinhood and Little John, when -they tried their skill for the amusement of the monks of Whitby. - - -_Cædmon._ - -Well, in the year of our Lord 637, this Whitby Abbey was founded by -the excellent St. Hilda, and it was under her auspices, and by virtue -of her saintly encouragements, that the first true English poet, -Cædmon, began to sing his Christian song of the creation. He was but -a cattle-tender--unkempt--untaught, full of savagery, but with a fine -phrenzy in him, which made his paraphrase of Scripture a spur, and -possibly--in a certain imperfect sense, a model for the muse of John -Milton. - -Of the chaos before creation, he says:-- - - Earth’s surface was - With grass not yet be-greened; while far and wide - The dusky ways, with black unending night - Did ocean cover. - -Of the great Over-Lord God-Almighty, he says-- - - In Him, beginning never, - Or origin hath been; but he is aye supreme - Over heaven’s thrones, with high majesty - Righteous and mighty. - -And again,--that you may make for yourselves comparison with the -treatment and method of Milton,--I quote this picture of Satan in hell:-- - - Within him boiled his thoughts about his heart; - Without, the wrathful fire pressed hot upon him-- - He said,--‘This narrow place is most unlike - That other we once knew in heaven high, - And which my Lord gave me; tho’ own it now - We must not, but to him must cede our realm. - Yet right he hath not done to strike us down - To hell’s abyss--of heaven’s realm bereft-- - Which with mankind to people, he hath planned. - Pain sorest this, that Adam, wrought of Earth - On my strong throne shall sit, enjoying Bliss - While we endure these pangs--hell torments dire, - Woe! woe is me! Could I but use my hands - And might I be from here a little time-- - One winter’s space--then, with this host would I-- - But these iron bands press hard--this coil of chains-- - … - -There is but one known MS. copy of this poem. It is probably of the -tenth, certainly not later than the eleventh century, and is in -the Bodleian Library at Oxford. It is illuminated, and some scenes -represented seem to have been taken from the old miracle plays.[9] It was -printed in 1655: in this form a copy is said to have reached the hands -of Milton, through a friend of the printer: and it may well be that the -stern old Puritan poet was moved by a hearing of it,--for he was blind at -this date,--to the prosecution of that grand task which has made his name -immortal. - - -_Beda._ - -We might, however, never have known anything of Cædmon and of Saint -Hilda and all the monasteries north and south, except for another worthy -who grew up in the hearing of the waves which beat on the cliffs of -north-eastern England. This was Beda,--respected in his own day for his -industry, piety, straightforward honesty--and so followed by the respect -of succeeding generations as to get and carry the name of the _Venerable_ -Beda. Though familiar with the people’s language,[10] and with Greek, -he wrote in monkish Latin--redeemed by classic touches--and passed his -life in the monastery at Jarrow, which is on the Tyne, near the coast -of Durham, a little to the westward of South Shields. An ancient church -is still standing amid the ruins of the monastic walls, and a heavy, -straight-backed chair of oak (which would satisfy the most zealous -antiquarian by its ugliness) is still guarded in the chancel, and is -called Beda’s Chair. - -Six hundred pupils gathered about him there, in the old days, to be -taught in physics, grammar, rhetoric, music, and I know not what besides. -So learned and true was he, that the Pope would have called him to -Rome; but he loved better the wooded Tyne banks, and the gray moorlands, -and the labors of his own monastery. There he lived out an honest, a -plodding, an earnest, and a hopeful life. And as I read the sympathetic -story of its end, and of how the old man--his work all done--lifted up -a broken voice--on his last day--amidst his scholars, to the _Gloria -in Excelsis_--I bethink me of his last eulogist, the young historian, -who within a few months only after sketching that tender picture of his -great forerunner in the paths of British history, laid down his brilliant -pen--his work only half done, and died, away from his home, at Mentone, -on the shores of the Mediterranean. - - -_King Alfred._ - -A half century after the death of Beda began the Danish invasions, -under which, monasteries churches schools went down in a flood of blood -and fire. As we read of that devastation--the record covering only a -half-page of the old Saxon Chronicle (begun after Beda’s time)--it seems -an incident; yet the piratic storm, with intermittent fury, stretches -over a century and more of ruin. It was stayed effectively for a time -when the great Alfred came to full power. - -I do not deal much in dates: but you should have a positive date for -this great English king: a thousand years ago (889) fairly marks the -period when he was in the prime of life--superintending, very likely, -the building of a British fleet upon the Pool, below London. He was born -at Wantage, in Berkshire, a little to the south of the Great Western -Railway; and in a glade near to the site of the old Saxon palace, is -still shown what is called Alfred’s Well. In the year 1849 his birthday -was celebrated, after the lapse of a thousand years--so keen are these -British cousins of ours to keep alive all their great memories. And -Alfred’s is a memory worth keeping. He had advantages--as we should -say--of foreign travel; as a boy he went to Rome, traversing Italy and -the Continent. If we could only get a good story of that cross-country -trip of his! - -We know little more than that he came to high honor at Rome, was anointed -king there, before yet he had come to royalty at home. He makes also a -second visit in company with his father Ethelwolf: and on their return -Ethelwolf relieves the tedium of travel by marrying the twelve-year old -daughter of Charles the Bald of France. Those were times of extraordinary -daring. - -The great king had throughout a most picturesque and adventurous life: he -is hard pushed by the Danes--by rivals--by his own family; one while a -wanderer on the moors--another time disguised as minstrel in the enemy’s -camp; but always high-hearted, always hopeful, always working. He is -oppressed by the pall of ignorance that overlays the lordly reach of his -kingdom: “Scarce a priest have I found,” says he, “south of the Thames -who can render Latin into English.” He is not an apt scholar himself, but -he toils at learning; his abbots help him; he revises old chronicles, and -makes people to know of Beda; he has boys taught to write in English; -gives himself with love to the rendering of Boëthius’ “Consolation of -Philosophy.” He adopts its reasoning, and plants his hope on the creed-- - -1st. That a wise God governs. - -2d. That all suffering may be made helpful. - -3d. That God is chiefest good. - -4th. That only the good are happy. - -5th. That the foreknowledge of God does not conflict with Free-will. - -These would seem to carry even now the pith and germ of the broadest -theologic teachings. - -It is a noble and a picturesque figure--that of King Alfred--which we -see, looking back over the vista of a thousand years; better it would -seem than that of King Arthur to weave tales around, and illumine with -the heat and the flame of poesy. Yet poets of those times and of all -succeeding times have strangely neglected this august and royal type of -manhood. - -After him came again weary Danish wars and wild blood-letting and -ignorance surging over the land, save where a little light played -fitfully around such great religious houses as those of York and -Canterbury. It was the dreary Tenth Century, on the threshold of which -he had died--the very core and kernel of the Dark Ages, when the wisest -thought the end of things was drawing nigh, and strong men quaked with -dread at sight of an eclipse, or comet, or at sound of the rumble of an -earthquake. It was a time and a condition of gloom which made people -pardon, and even relish such a dismal poem as that of “The Grave,” -which--though bearing thirteenth century form--may well in its germ have -been a fungal outgrowth of the wide-spread hopelessness of this epoch:-- - - For thee was a house built - Ere thou wert born; - For thee was a mold meant - Ere thou of mother cam’st. - But it is not made ready - Nor its depth measured, - Nor is it seen - How long it shall be. - Now I bring thee - Where thou shalt be - And I shall measure thee - And the mold afterward. - Doorless is that house - And dark is it within; - There thou art fast detained - And death hath the key - Loathsome is that earth-house - And grim within to dwell, - And worms shall divide thee. - -From the death of Alfred (901) to the Norman Conquest (1066) there was -monkish work done in shape of Homilies, Chronicles, grammars of Latin -and English--the language settling more and more into something like a -determined form of what is now called Anglo-Saxon. But in that lapse -of years I note only three historic incidents, which by reason of the -traditions thrown about them, carry a piquant literary flavor. - - -_Canute and Godiva._ - -The _first_ is when the famous Canute, king of both England and Denmark, -and having strong taste for song and music and letters, rows by the -towers of a great East-England religious house, and as he drifts with the -tide, composes (if we may trust tradition) a snatch of verse which has -come down to us in a thirteenth century form, about the pleasant singing -of the Monks of Ely. Wordsworth has embalmed the matter in one of his -Ecclesiastic Sonnets (xxx.): - - A pleasant music floats along the mere, - From monks in Ely chanting service high, - While as Canute the king is rowing by; - My oarsman, quoth the mighty king, draw near - That we the sweet songs of the monks may hear. - He listens (all past conquests and all schemes - Of future vanishing like empty dreams) - Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear, - The royal minstrel, ere the Choir is still, - While his free barge skims the smooth flood along - Gives to the rapture an accordant Rhyme - O suffering Earth! be thankful; sternest Clime - And rudest Age are subject to the thrill - Of heaven-descended piety and song. - -I think you will never go under the wondrous arches of Ely Cathedral--and -you should go there if you ever travel into the eastern counties of -England--without thinking of King Canute and of that wondrous singing of -the monks, eight hundred years ago. - -The _second_ historic incident of which I spoke, is the murder of King -Duncan by Macbeth in the year 1039, some twenty-five years before the -Norman Conquest. I don’t think you want any refreshing about Macbeth. - -The _third_ incident is of humbler tone, yet it went to show great -womanly devotion, and lifted a tax from the heads of a whole -towns-people. I refer to the tradition of Earl Leofric of Mercia and the -Lady Godiva of Coventry, based in the main, without doubt, upon actual -occurrence, and the subject for centuries of annual commemoration.[11] -Tennyson tells, in his always witching way, how - - She rode forth clothéd on with chastity: - The deep air listened round her as she rode, - ----the barking cur - Made her cheek flame; her palfry’s foot-fall shot - Light horror thro’ her pulses: - One low churl compact of thankless earth - Peep’d--but his eyes, before they had their will - Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, - And she, that knew not, pass’d; and all at once - With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon - Was clash’d and hammered from a hundred towers, - One after one: But even then she gained - Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned, - To meet her lord, she took the tax away - And built herself an everlasting name. - -Observe--that I call up these modern writers and their language, out of -their turn as may seem to you, only that I may plant more distinctly in -your thought the old incidents to which their words relate. It is as -if I were speaking to you of some long-gone line of ancestors, and on a -sudden should call up some delicate blond child and say--This one is in -the line of direct descent; she bears the same old name, she murmurs the -same old tunes; and this shimmer of gold in her hair is what shone on the -heads of the good Saxon foreparents. - - -_William the Norman._ - -We now come to a date to be remembered, and in the neighborhood of which -our first morning’s talk will come to an end. It is the date of the -Norman Conquest--1066--that being the year of the Battle of Hastings, -when the brave Harold, last of the Saxon kings went down, shot through -the eye; and the lithe, clean-faced, smirking William of Normandy “gat -him” the throne of England. These new-comers were not far-away cousins of -our Saxon and Danish forefathers; only so recently as the reign of Alfred -had they taken permanent foothold in that pleasant Norman country. - -But they have not brought the Norse speech of the old home land with -them: they have taken to a Frankish language--we will call it Norman -French--which is thenceforth to blend with the Saxonism of Alfred, -until two centuries or more later, our own mother English--the English -of Chaucer and of Shakespeare--is evolved out of the union. Not only -a new tongue, do these conquerors bring with them, but madrigals and -ballads and rhyming histories; they have great contempt for the stolid, -lazy-going Latin records of the Saxon Chroniclers; they love a song -better. In the very face of the armies at Hastings, their great minstrel -_Taillefer_ had lifted up his voice to chant the glories of Roland, about -which all the histories of the time will tell you. - -It was a new civilization (not altogether Christian) out-topping the -old. These Normans knew more of war--knew more of courts--knew more of -affairs. They loved money and they loved conquest. To love one in those -days, was to love the other. King William swept the monasteries clean of -those ignorant priests who had dozed there, from the time of Alfred, and -put in Norman Monks with nicely clipped hair, who could construe Latin -after latest Norman rules. He new parcelled the lands, and gave estates -to those who could hold and manage them. It was as if a new, sharp eager -man of business had on a sudden come to the handling of some old sleepily -conducted counting-room; he cuts off the useless heads; he squares the -books; he stops waste; pity or tenderness have no hearing in his shop. - -I mentioned not far back an old Saxon Chronicle, which all down the -years, from shortly after Beda’s day, had been kept alive--sometimes -under the hands of one monastery, sometimes of another; here is what its -Saxon Scribe of the eleventh century says of this new-come and conquering -Norman King: It is good Saxon history, and in good Saxon style:-- - - “King William was a very wise man, and very rich, more - worshipful and strong than any of his foregangers. He was mild - to good men who loved God; and stark beyond all bounds to those - who withsaid his will. He had Earls in his bonds who had done - against his will; Bishops he set off their bishoprics; Abbots - off their abbotries, and thanes in prison. By his cunning he - was so thoroughly acquainted with England, that there is not - a hide of land of which he did not know, both who had it, and - what was its worth. He planted a great preserve for deer, and - he laid down laws therewith, that whoever should slay hart or - hind should be blinded. He forbade the harts and also the - boars to be killed. As greatly did he love the tall deer as if - he were their father.… He took from his subjects many marks - of gold, and many hundred pounds of silver; and _that_ he - took--some by right, and some by mickle might for very little - need. He had fallen into avarice; and greediness he loved - withal. Among other things is not to be forgotten the good - peace that he made in this land; so that a man who had any - confidence in himself might go over his realm, with his bosom - full of gold, unhurt. Nor durst any man slay another man had he - done ever so great evil to the other.… Brytland (Wales) was in - his power, and he therein wrought castles, and completely ruled - over that race of men.… Certainly in his time men had great - hardship, and very many injuries.… His rich men moaned, and - the poor men murmured; but he was so hard that he recked not - the hatred of them all. For it was need they should follow the - King’s will, if they wished to live, or to have lands or goods. - Alas, that any man should be so moody, and should so puff up - himself, and think himself above all other men! May Almighty - God show mercy to his soul, and grant him forgiveness of his - sins.” - -There are other contemporary Anglo-Saxon annalists, and there are the -rhyming chroniclers of Norman blood, who put a better color upon the -qualities of King William; but I think there is no one of them, who even -in moments of rhetorical exaltation, thinks of putting William’s sense of -justice, or his kindness of heart, before his greed or his self-love. - - -_Harold the Saxon._ - -The late Lord Lytton (Bulwer) gave to this period and to the closing -years of Harold one of the most elaborate of his Historic Studies. He -availed himself shrewdly of all the most picturesque aspects (and they -were very many) in the career of Harold, and found startling historic -facts enough to supply to the full his passion for exaggerated melodrama. -There are brilliant passages in his book,[12] and a great wealth of -archæologic material; he shows us the remnants of old Roman villas--the -crude homeliness of Saxon house surroundings--the assemblage of old -Palace Councils. Danish battle-axes, and long-bearded Saxon thanes, and -fiery-headed Welshmen contrast with the polished and insidious Normans. -Nor is there lacking a heavy and much over-weighted quota of love-making -and misfortune, and joy and death. Tennyson has taken the same subject, -using the same skeleton of story for his play of Harold. It would seem -that he has depended on the romance of Bulwer for his archæology; and -indeed the book is dedicated to the younger Lord Lytton (better known in -the literary world as “Owen Meredith”). As a working play, it is counted, -like all of Tennyson’s--a failure; but there are passages of exceeding -beauty. - -He pictures the King Harold--the hero that he is--but with a veil of -true Saxon gloom lowering over him: he tells the story of his brother -Tostig’s jealous wrath,--always in arms against Harold: he tells of -the hasty oath, which the king in young days had sworn to William in -Normandy, never to claim England’s throne: and this oath hangs like a -cloud over the current of Harold’s story. The grief, and noble devotion -of poor Edith, the betrothed bride of the king, whom he is compelled by -a devilish diplomacy to discard--is woven like a golden thread into the -woof of the tale: and Aldwyth, the queen, whom Harold did not and can -never love, is set off against Edith--in Tennyson’s own unmatchable way -in the last scenes of the tragedy. - -We are in the camp at Hastings: the battle waits; a vision of Norman -saints, on whose bones Harold had sworn that dreadful oath, comes to him -in his trance:--They say--(these wraiths of saints)-- - - O hapless Harold! king but for an hour! - Thou swarest falsely by our blessed bones, - We give our voice against thee out of Heaven! - And warn him against the fatal _arrow_. - -And Harold--waking--says-- - - Away! - My battle-axe against your voices! - -And then--remembering that old Edward the Confessor had told him on his -deathbed that he should die by an arrow--his hope faints. - - The king’s last word--“the arrow,” I shall die: - I die for England then, who lived for England. - What nobler? Man must die. - I cannot fall into a falser world-- - I have done no man wrong.… - -Edith (his betrothed) comes in-- - - Edith!--Edith! - Get thou into thy cloister, as the king - Will’d it: … There, the great God of Truth - Fill all thine hours with peace! A lying Devil - Hath haunted me--mine oath--my wife--I fain - Had made my marriage not a lie; I could not: - Thou art my bride! and thou, in after years, - Praying perchance for this poor soul of mine - In cold, white cells, beneath an icy moon. - This memory to thee!--and this to England, - My legacy of war against the Pope, - From child to child, from Pope to Pope, from Age to Age, - Till the sea wash her level with her shores, - Or till the Pope be Christ’s. - -Aldwyth, the queen, glides in, and seeing Edith, says-- - - Away from him! Away! - -Edith says (we can imagine her sweet plaintiveness)-- - - I will.… I have not spoken to the king - One word: and one I must. Farewell! - -And she offers to go. - -But Harold, beckoning with a grand gesture of authority-- - - Not yet! - Stay! The king commands thee, woman! - -And he turns to Aldwyth, from whose kinsmen he had expected aid-- - - Have thy two brethren sent their forces in? - - _Aldwyth_--Nay, I fear not. - -And Harold blazes upon her-- - - Then there’s no force in thee! - Thou didst possess thyself of Edward’s ear - To part me from the woman that I loved. - … - Thou hast been false to England and to me! - As--in some sort--I have been false to thee. - Leave me. No more.--Pardon on both sides.--Go! - - _Aldwyth_--Alas, my lord, I loved thee! - O Harold! husband! Shall we meet again? - - _Harold_--After the battle--after the battle. Go. - - _Aldwyth_--I go. (_Aside._) That I could stab her standing there! - (_Exit Aldwyth._) - - _Edith_--Alas, my lord, she loved thee. - - _Harold_-- Never! never! - - _Edith_--I saw it in her eyes! - - _Harold_-- I see it in thine! - And not on thee--nor England--fall God’s doom! - - _Edith_--On _thee_? on me. And thou art England! Alfred - Was England. Ethelred was nothing. England - Is but her king, as thou art Harold! - - _Harold_-- Edith, - The sign in Heaven--the sudden blast at sea-- - My fatal oath--the dead saints--the dark dreams-- - The Pope’s Anathema--the Holy Rood - That bow’d to me at Waltham--Edith, if - I, the last English King of England---- - - _Edith_-- No, - First of a line that coming from the people, - And chosen by the people---- - - _Harold_-- And fighting for - And dying for the people---- - Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battle - And front the doom of God. - -And he did affront it bravely; and the arrow did slay him, near to the -spot where the Saxon standard flew to the breeze on that fateful day. - -The play from which I have quoted may have excess of elaboration and an -over-finesse in respect of details: but there are great bold reaches of -descriptive power, a nobility of sentiment, and everywhere tender and -winning touches, which will be very sure to give to the drama of Tennyson -permanence and historic dignity, and keep it always a literary way-mark -in the fields we have gone over. The scene of that decisive contest -is less than a two hours’ ride away from London (by the Southeastern -Railway) at a village called Battle--seven miles from the coast line at -Hastings--in the midst of a beautiful rolling country, with scattered -copses of ancient wood and a great wealth of wild flowers--(for which the -district is remarkable) sparkling over the fields. - -The Conqueror built a great abbey there--Battle Abbey--whose ruins are -visited by hundreds every year. A large portion of the old religious -house, kept in excellent repair, and very charming with its growth of ivy -and its embowering shade, is held in private hands--being the occasional -residence of the Duke of Cleveland. Amid the ruins the usher will guide -one to a crypt of the ancient chapel--whose solid Norman arches date back -to the time of the Conqueror, and which is said to mark the very spot -on which Harold fell, wounded to the death, on that memorable day of -Hastings. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -I recur a moment to what was said in our opening talk--as a boy will -wisely go back a little way for a better jump forward. I spoke--the -reader will remember--of ringing, Celtic war-songs, which seemed to be -all of literature that was drifting in the atmosphere, when we began: -then there came a gleam of Christian light and of monkish learning thro’ -St. Augustine in Southern England; and another gleam through Iona, and -Lindisfarne, from Irish sources; then came Cædmon’s Bible singing,--which -had echo far down in Milton’s day; next the good old Beda, telling the -story of these things; then--a thousand years ago,--the Great Alfred, -at once a book-maker and a King. Before him and after him came a dreary -welter of Danish wars; the great Canute--tradition says--chirping a song -in the middle of them; and last, the slaughter of Hastings, where the -Saxon Harold went down, and the conquering Norman came up. - - -_Geoffrey of Monmouth._ - -We start to-day with an England that has its office-holding and governing -people speaking one language--its moody land-holders and cultivators -speaking another--and its irascible Britons in Wales and Cumbria and -Cornwall speaking yet another. Conquered people are never in much mood -for song-singing or for history-making. So there is little or nothing -from English sources for a century or more. Even the old Saxon Chronicle -kept by monks (at Peterboro in this time), does not grow into a stately -record, and in the twelfth century on the year of the death of King -Stephen, dies out altogether. - -But there is a Welsh monk--Geoffrey of Monmouth[13]--living just on -the borders of Wales, and probably not therefore brought into close -connection with this new Norman element--who writes (about one hundred -years after the Conquest) a half-earnest and mostly-fabulous British -Chronicle. He professes to have received its main points from a -Walter--somebody, who had rare old bookish secrets of history, derived -from Brittany, in his keeping. You will remember, perhaps, how another -and very much later writer--sometimes known as Geoffrey Crayon--once -wrote a History of New York, claiming that it was made up from the MSS. -of a certain Diedrich Knickerbocker: I think that perhaps the same sense -of quiet humor belonged to both these Geoffreys. Certainly Geoffrey of -Monmouth’s Chronicle bears about the same relation to British matters -of fact which the Knickerbocker story of New York bears to the colonial -annals of our great city. - -The fables which were told in this old Monmouth Chronicle are more -present in men’s minds to-day than the things which were real in it: -there was, for instance, the fable about King Lear (who does not know -King Lear?): then, there were the greater fables about good King Arthur -and his avenging Caliburn (who does not know King Arthur?). These two -stories are embalmed now in Literature, and will never perish. - - -_King Arthur Legends._ - -Those Arthur legends had been floating about in ballad or song, but -they never had much mention in anything pretending to be history[14] -until Geoffrey of Monmouth’s day. There is nothing of them in the Saxon -Chronicle: nothing of them in Beda: King Alfred never mentions King -Arthur. - -But was there ever a King Arthur? Probably: but at what precise date is -uncertain: probable, too, that he had his court--as many legends run--one -time at Caerleon, “upon Usk,” and again at Camelot.[15] Caerleon is -still to be found by the curious traveller, in pleasant Monmouthshire, -just upon the borders of Wales, with Tintern Abbey and the grand ruin -of Chepstow not far off; and a great amphitheatre among the hills (very -likely of Roman origin) with green turf upon it, and green hillsides -hemming it in--is still called King Arthur’s Round Table. - -Camelot is not so easy to trace: the name will not be found in the -guide-books: but in Somersetshire, in a little parish, called “Queen’s -Camel,” are the remains of vast entrenchments, said to have belonged to -the tourney ground of Camelot. A little branch of the Yeo River (you will -remember this name, if you have ever read Charles Kingsley’s “Westward, -Ho”--a book you should read)--a little branch, I say, of the Yeo runs -through the parish, and for irrigating purposes is held back by dykes, -and then shot, shining, over the green meadows: hence, Tennyson may say -truly, as he does in his Idyls of the King-- - - “They vanished panic-stricken, like a shoal - Of darting fish, that on a summer’s morn - Adown the crystal dykes at _Camelot_, - Come slipping o’er their shadow, on the sand.” - -There are some features of this ancient fable of King Arthur, which are -of much older literary date than the times we are now speaking of. Thus -“the dusky barge,” that appears on a sudden--coming to carry off the -dying King,-- - - “----whose decks are dense with stately forms, - Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream--by these - Three queens with crowns of gold, and from them rose - A cry that shivered to the tingling stars----” - -has a very old germ;--Something not unlike this watery bier, to carry -a dead hero into the Silences, belongs to the opening of that ancient -poem of Beowulf--which all students of early English know and prize--but -which did not grow on English soil, and therefore does not belong to -our present quest.[16] The brand Excalibur, too, which is thrown into -the sea by King Arthur’s friend, and which is caught by an arm clothed -in white samite, rising from the mere, and three times brandished, has -its prototype in the “old mighty sword” which is put into the hands of -Beowulf before he can slay the great sea-dragon of the Scandinavian fable. - -Now, these Arthurian stories, put into book by Geoffrey--a Latin book, -for all the monks wrote in Latin, though they may have sung songs -in English, as good father Aldhelm did--were presently caught up by -a romance-writer, named Wace, who was living at Caen, in Normandy, -and whose knightly cousins (some say father and titled baron) had -come over with William the Conqueror,--the name being long known -in Nottinghamshire. This Wace put these Arthur stories into Norman -verse--adding somewhat and giving a French air, which made his book -sought after and read in royal courts; and fragments of it were chanted -by minstrels in castle halls. - -Then, this Arthur mine of legends was explored again by another priest -and Welshman, who came to have some place at Oxford, where the beginnings -of the great university were then a-brew. This writer, Walter Map[17] by -name--or Mapes, as he is sometimes called--lived just about the meeting -of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when the crusades were in full -blast, and when dreams about the Holy Sepulchre hovered round half the -house roofs of England. People saw in visions the poor famished pilgrims, -fainting with long marches toward the far-away Jerusalem, and shot down -by cruel Saracen arrows, within sight of the Holy of Holies. So Walter -Map, the priest (they say he was one while chaplain to Henry II.), -writing under light of that fierce enthusiasm, puts a religious element -into the Arthur stories; and it is from him--in all probability--comes -that Legend of the Holy Graal--the cup which caught the sacred blood, and -which saintly knights were to seek after, the pure Sir Galahad being the -winning seeker. - -Nor did the Arthur legends stop here: but another priestly man, -Layamon[18]--he, too, living on the borders of Wales, in the foraging -ground of Arthur’s knights, not far from the present town of -Kidderminster (which we know carpet-wise)--set himself to turning the -Legends, with many additions, into short, clanging, alliterative Saxon -verses, with occasional rhyme--the first English (or Teutonic) wording -of the story; Map’s version being in Latin and French. He copies very -much from Wace (_Le Brut d’Angleterre_), but his book is longer by a -half. It has its importance, too--this Layamon version--in the history -of the language. Of the why and the how, and of its linguistic relations -to the Anglo-Saxon, or the modern tongue, I shall leave discussion in -the hands of those more instructed in the history of Early English. We -know this Layamon in our present writing, only as a simple-minded, good, -plodding, West-of-England priest, who asked God’s blessing on his work, -and who put that quaint alliterative jingle in it, which in years after -was spent in larger measure over the poem of Piers Plowman, and which, -still later, comes to even daintier usage when the great master--Spenser - - “----fills with flowers fair Flora’s painted lap.” - -Even now we are not through with this story of the Arthurian legends: -it does not end with the priest Layamon. After printing was invented, -and an easier way of making books was in vogue than the old one of -tediously copying them upon parchment--I say in this new day of printing -a certain Sir Thomas Mallory, who lived at the same time with Caxton, -the first English printer, did, at the instance, I think, of that -printer--put all these legends we speak of into rather stiff, homely -English prose--copying, Caxton tells us, from a French original: but no -such full French original has been found; and the presumption is that -Mallory borrowed (as so many book-makers did and do) up and down, from -a world of manuscripts. And he wrought so well that his work had great -vogue, and has come to frequent issue in modern times, under the hands -of such editors as Southey, Wright, Strachey and Lanier. In the years -following Mallory, succeeding writers poached frequently upon the old -Arthur preserve--bit by bit[19]--till at last, in our day, Tennyson told -his “Idyl of the King”-- - - “----and all the people cried, - Arthur is come again: he cannot die. - And those that stood upon the hills behind - Repeated--Come again, and thrice as fair.” - - -_Early Norman Kings._ - -We come back now from this chase of Arthur, to the time of the Early -Norman Kings: Orderic Vitalis,[20] of Normandy, William of Malmsbury,[21] -Matthew Paris,[22] William of Newburgh,[23] (whose record has just now -been re-edited and printed in England,) and Roger of Hoveden,[24] were -chroniclers of this period; but I am afraid these names will hardly be -kept in mind. Indeed, it is not worth much struggle to do so, unless one -is going into the writing of History on his own account. Exception ought -perhaps to be made in favor of Matthew Paris, who was a monk of St. -Albans, who won his name from studying at Paris (as many live students -of that day did), who put a brave and vehement Saxonism of thought into -his Latin speech--who had art enough to illustrate his own Chronicle -with his pencil, and honesty enough to steer by God’s rule only and -not by the King’s. One should remember, too, that this was about the -period of the best Provençal balladry (in which Richard Cœur de Lion -was proficient);--that strain of mediæval music and love regaling the -Crusader knights on their marches toward Judea, and that strain of music -and love waking delightful echoes against Norman castle-walls on their -return. Again, one should keep note of the year when _Magna Charta_ was -granted by King John (1215), and remember, furthermore, that within ten -years of the same date (1205) Layamon probably put the finishing touches -to his _Brut_, and the Arthurian stories I was but now speaking of. - -Throughout these times--we will say the twelfth century and early in the -thirteenth,--England was waxing every day stronger, though it grew strong -in a rough and bloody way; the great Norman castles were a-building -up and down the land--such as Conway and Rochester and Cardiff and -Kenilworth: the older cathedrals, too, such as Durham and Winchester and -Canterbury and Ely were then piling column by column and vault by vault -toward the grand proportions which amaze us to-day. It was the time -of growing trade too: ships from Genoa and Venice lay off the Thames -banks, and had brought thither cargoes of silks and glass, jewels, -Milanese armor, and spices. Cloth-makers came over from Flanders and made -settlements in England. - -Perhaps you have read Scott’s story of the “Betrothed.” If so, you will -remember his description of just such a Flemish settlement in its earlier -chapters, with its Wilkin Flammock and its charming Rose. The scene is -laid in the time of Henry II., that sturdy King, who had such woful -trouble with his wild sons, Richard and John, and still larger trouble -with Thomas à Becket, (known now, as Harold is known, by Tennyson’s -tender music) who came to his death at last by the King’s connivance, -under the arches of Canterbury Cathedral; and so made that shrine sacred -for pilgrims, whether they came from the “Tabard Inn,” or otherwheres. - -That story of the “Betrothed” puts in presence winningly, the threefold -elements of English population in that day--the Britons, the Saxons, and -the Normans. The Britons are pictured by a scene of revel in the great -rambling palace of a Welsh King, where the bard Cadwallon sings, and that -other bard, Caradoc--both historic characters; and it is upon a legend -in the chronicle of the latter, Southey has based his poem of “Madoc.” -The Normans are represented, in the same romance, by the men-at-arms, or -knights of the Castle of _La Garde Doloureuse_, and the Saxons by the -fierce old lady in the religious house of Baldringham, where Eveline the -heroine, had such fearful experiences with hobgoblins over night. There -may be lapses in the archæology--as where Scott puts a hewn fireplace -upon the wall of the dining-room of the Lady Ermengarde--antiquarians -being pretty well agreed that chimneys of such class were unknown up to -the fourteenth century; but still the atmosphere of twelfth-century life -in England is better given than in most of our histories.[25] - - -_Richard Cœur de Lion._ - -In the same connection and with same commendation, may be named those -other romances, “The Talisman” and “Ivanhoe,” both relating to epochs -in the life of King Richard I. I suppose that of all English people, -who have any figure in their minds of Richard Cœur de Lion, his bearing -and character, four-fifths will have derived the larger part of their -impressions from these two books of Scott. It is a painting by a friendly -hand: Scott loved kings; and he loved the trace of Saxonism that was in -Richard’s blood; he loved his bravery, as every Englishman always had -and should. Is it quite needful that the friendly painter should put in -all the bad birth-marks, or the bristling red beard? M. Taine scores him -savagely, and would have him a beast: and Thackeray, in his little story -of Rebecca and Rowena, uses a good deal of blood in the coloring. - -No doubt he was cruel: but those were days of cruelty and of cruel kings. -At least he was openly cruel: he carried his big battle-axe in plain -sight, and if he met a foe thwacked him on the head with it, and there -was an end. But he did not kill men on the sly like his brother King -John, nor did he poison men by inches in low dungeons, as did so many of -the polite and courteous Louis’ of France. - -As people say now--in a good Saxon way--you knew where to find him. -He was above-board, and showed those traits of boldness and frankness -which almost make one forgive his cruelties. He was a rough burr; and I -daresay wiped his beard upon the sleeve of his doublet, besides killing -a great many people he should not have killed, at Ascalon. At any rate, -we shall not set to work here to gainsay or discredit those charming -historic pictures of Scott. We shall keep on going to the pleasant -tournament-ground at Ashby-de-la-Zouche every time the fanfare of those -trumpets breaks the silence of a leisure day; and so will our children; -and so, I think, will our children’s children. We shall keep on listening -to Wamba’s jokes, and keep on loving Rebecca, and keep on--not thinking -much of the airy Rowena, and keep on throwing our caps in the air -whenever the big knight in black armor, who is Richard of England, rides -in upon the course--whatever all the Frenchmen in the world may say about -him. - -This Cœur de Lion appears too in the “Talisman”--one of Scott’s tales -of the crusaders: and here we see him set off against other monarchs of -Europe; as we find England, also, set off against the other kingdoms. The -King came home, you will remember, by the way of Austria, and was caught -and caged there many months--for a time none of his people knowing where -he was: this is good romance and history too. A tradition, which probably -has a little of both, says his prison was discovered by a brother -minstrel, who wandered under castle-walls in search of him, and sang -staves of old Provençal songs that were favorites of the King’s. Finally -Richard responded from the depths of his dungeon. Howsoever this be, he -was found, ransomed, and came home--to the great grief of his brother -John; all which appears in the story of Ivanhoe, and in the chronicles of -the time--based upon the reports of the King’s chaplain, Anselm. - - -_Times of King John._ - -King John--a base fellow every way--has a date made for him by the grant -of _Magna Charta_, A.D. 1215, of which I have already spoken, and of its -near coincidence with the writing of the _Brut_ of Layamon. His name and -memory also cling to mind in connection with two other events which have -their literary associations. - -First, this scoundrelly King could only keep power by making away with -his little nephew Arthur, and out of this tragedy Shakespeare has woven -his play of John--not very much read perhaps, and rarely acted; but -in the old, school reader-books of my time there used to be excerpted -a passage--a whole scene, in fact--representing the interview between -Arthur and his gaoler Hubert, who is to put out the poor boy’s eyes. I -quote a fragment:-- - - _Arthur_--Must you with irons burn out both mine eyes? - - _Hubert_--Young boy, I must. - - _Arthur_--And will you? - - _Hubert_--And I will. - - _Arthur_--Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, - I knit my handkerchief about your brows. - -And again, when the ruffians come in with the irons, Hubert says-- - - “Give me the irons, I say, and bind him here.” - - _Arthur_--Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough? - I will not struggle; I will stand stone still; - For Heaven’s sake, Hubert, let me not be bound. - -I don’t know how young people are made up nowadays; but in the old times -this used to touch us and almost set us upon the “weep” and make us rank -King John with Beelzebub and--the Schoolmaster. - -Second: In King John’s day Normandy was lost to England--the loss growing -largely, in fact, out of the cruelty just named, and its ensuing wars. -Losing Normandy had a vast influence upon the growing speech of England. -Hitherto the cherished mother-land had been across the channel. Sons of -the well-born had been sent over to learn French on French ground: young -ladies of fashion ordered, without doubt, their best cloaks and hats from -Rouen: the English ways of talk might do for the churls and low-born: but -it was discredited by the more cultivated--above all by those who made -pursuit of the gayeties and elegancies of life. The priest fraternity and -the universities of course kept largely by Latin; and the old British -speech only lived in the mountains and in the rattling war-songs of the -Welsh bards. But when Norman nobles and knights found themselves cut off -from their old home associations with Normandy, and brought into more -intimate relations with the best of the English population, there grew up -a new pride in the land and language of their adoption. Hence there comes -about a gradual weaning from France. London begins to count for more than -Rouen. The Norman knights and barons very likely season their talk with -what they may have called English slang; and the better taught of the -islanders--the sons of country franklins affected more knowledge of the -Norman tongue, and came to know the French romances, which minstrels sang -at their doors. So it was that slowly, and with results only observable -after long lapse of years, the nation and language became compacted into -one; and the new English began to be taught in the schools. - - -_Mixed Language._ - -Of the transition stage, as it was called, there are narrative poems of -record, which were written with a couplet in Norman French, and then a -couplet in English. There were medleys, too, of these times, in which -the friars mingled the three tongues of Latin, French, and English.[26] -Blood mingled as languages mingled; and by the middle of the fourteenth -century a man was no longer foreign because he was of Norman descent, and -no longer vulgar because he was of Saxon. - -To this transition time--in Henry III.’s day (who had a long reign of -fifty-six years--chiefly memorable for its length), there appeared the -rhyming Chronicle of Robert of Gloucester;[27]--what we should call a -doggerel story of England from fabulous times down, and worthy of mention -as the first serious attempt at an English-written history--others -noticed already being either merely bald chronicles, or in scholastic -Latin, or in French metric form. I give you a little taste of his wooden -verse-- - - ----Lyncolne [has] fairest men, - Grantebrugge, and Hontyndon most plente ò deep fen, - Ely of fairest place, of fairest site Rochester, - Even agen Fraunce stonde ye countre ò Chichester, - Norwiche agen Denemark, Chestre agen Irelond, - Duram agen Norwei, as ich understonde. - -Yet he tells us some things worth knowing--about every-day matters--about -the fish and the fruits and the pastures, and the things he saw with his -own eyes. And we learn from these old chroniclers how much better a -story a man can make, and how much more worth it is--in telling of the -things he has really seen, than of the things he has not seen. Most of -these old writing people must needs begin at the beginning--drawling over -the ancient fables about the Creation and Siege of Troy, keeping by the -conventional untruths, and so--very barren and good for nothing, until -they get upon their own days, when they grow rich and meaty and juicy, in -spite of themselves, and by reason of their voluble minuteness, and their -mention of homely, every-day unimportant things. They cannot tell lies, -without fear of detection, on their own ground: and so they get that -darlingest quality of all history--the simple truth. - -But if a man wanders otherwheres and makes report, he may tell lies, -and the lies may amuse and get him fame. Thus it happened with another -well-known but somewhat apocryphal writer of this Transition English -epoch; I mean Sir John Mandeville, whose book of travels into distant -countries had a very great run. - - -_Sir John Mandeville._ - -We know little of Mandeville except what he tells us;--that he was born -at St. Albans--twenty miles from London, a place famous for its great -abbey and its Roman remains--in the year 1300:--that he studied to be -a mediciner--then set off (1322) on his travels into Egypt, Tartary, -China, and Persia--countries visited by that more famous Venetian -traveller, Marco Polo,[28] a half century earlier;--also, at other dates -by certain wandering Italian Friars[29] of less fame. From some of these -earlier travellers it is now made certain that Sir John pilfered very -largely;--so largely, in fact, and so rashly, that there is reason to -doubt, not only his stories about having been in the service of a Sultan -of Egypt or of the Khan of Kathay--as he avers--but also to doubt if he -visited at all the far-away countries which he pretends to describe. - -Nay, so deflowered is he of his honors in these latter days, that recent -critics[30] are inclined to question his right to the title of Sir John, -and to deny wholly his authorship of that English version of the tales of -travel, which have been so long and pleasantly associated with his name. - -This seems rather hard measure to mete out to the garrulous old voyager; -nor does the evidence against his having Englished his own _Romance_ -stories, appear fully conclusive. What we may count for certain about -the matter is this:--There does exist a very considerable budget of -delightfully extravagant travellers’ tales, bearing the Mandeville name, -and written in an English which--with some mending of bygone words--is -charming now: and which may be called the first fair and square book of -the new English prose;--meaning by that--the first book of length and of -popular currency which introduced a full measure--perhaps over-running -measure--of those words of Romance or Latin origin, which afterward came -to be incorporated in the English of the fifteenth century. The book has -no English qualities--beyond its language; and might have been written -by a Tartar, who could tell of Munchausen escapes and thank God in good -current dialect of Britain. - -I give a specimen from the description of his descent into the Valley -Perilous--which he found beside the Isle of Mistorak, nigh to the river -Phison: - - This Vale is all full of devils, and hath been always. And - men say there that it is one of the entries of hell. In that - Vale is plenty of gold and silver; wherefore many misbelieving - men, and many Christians also, oftentimes go in, to have of - the treasure.… And in midplace of that Vale is an head of the - visage of a devil bodily--full horrible and dreadful to see. - But there is no man in the world so hardy, Christian man, - ne other, but that he would be drad [afraid] for to behold - it. For he beholdeth every man so sharply with dreadful eyen - that ben evermore moving and sparkling as fire, and changeth - and steereth so often in divers manner, with so horrible - countenance, that no man dare not nighen toward him. - -The author says fourteen of his party went in, and when they came -out--only nine: “And we wisten never, whether that our fellows were lost -or elles turned again for dread. But we never saw them never after.” -He says there were plenty of jewels and precious stones thereabout, but -“I touched none, because that the Devils be so subtle to make a thing -to seem otherwise than it is, for to deceive mankind.” He tells us also -of the giants Gog and Magog, and of a wonderful bird--like the roc of -Arabian Nights’ fable--that would carry off an elephant in its talons, -and he closes all his stupendous narratives with thanks to God Almighty -for his marvellous escapes. - -I have spoken of its popularity. Halliwell--who edits the London edition -of 1839--says that of no book, with the exception of Scriptures, are -there so many MSS. of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries existing; -showing that for two centuries its fables were either not exploded, or at -least lost not their relish. - - -_Early Book-making._ - -And now what do we mean by books and by popularity at the end of the -thirteenth century? The reader must keep in mind that our notion of -popularity measured by thousands of copies would then have been regarded -as strange as the most monstrous of Sir John Mandeville’s stories. There -was no printing; there was no paper, either--as we understand. The art, -indeed, of making paper out of pulp did exist at this date with the -Oriental nations--perhaps with the Moors in Spain, but not in England. -Parchment made from skins was the main material, and books were engrossed -laboredly with a pen or stylus. It was most likely a very popular book -which came to an edition of fifty or sixty copies within five years -of its first appearance: and a good manuscript was so expensive an -affair that its purchase was often made a matter to be testified to by -subscribing witnesses, as we witness the transfer of a house. A little -budget of these manuscripts made a valuable library. When St. Augustine -planted his Church in Kent--he brought nine volumes with him as his -literary treasure. - -Lanfranc, who was one of the Norman abbots brought over by the Conqueror -to build up the priesthood in learning, made order in 1072 that at Lent -the librarian should deliver to the worthiest of the brotherhood each a -book; and these were to have a year to read them. At the commencement of -the fourteenth century there were only four classics in the royal library -of Paris; and at the same date the library of Oxford University consisted -of a few tracts kept in chests under St. Mary’s Church.--Green, in his -“Making of England,”[31] cites from Alcuin a bit of that old Churchman’s -Latin poem--“_De Pontificibus_”--which he says is worthy of special note, -as the first catalogue which we have of any English Library. - - “Quidquid Gregorius summus docet, et Leo Papa; - Basilius quidquid, Fulgentius atque, coruscant, - Cassiodorus item, Chrysostomus atque Johannes - Quidquid et Athelmus docuit, quid Beda magister.” - -Beda and Aldhelm are the only English writers represented; and the -catalogue--if we call it such--could be written on a half-page of note -paper--Metaphors and Geography and Theology and decorative epithets -included. - -Thus in these times a book was a book: some of them cost large sums; the -mere transcription into plain black-letter or Old English was toilsome -and involved weeks and months of labor; and when it came to illuminated -borders, or initials and title-pages with decorative paintings, the labor -involved was enormous. There were collectors in those days as now--who -took royal freaks for gorgeous missals; and monkish lives were spent -in gratifying the whims of such collectors. In the year 1237 (Henry -III.) there is entry in the Revenue Roll of the costs of silver clasps -and studs for the King’s _great book of Romances_. Upon the continent, -in Italy, where an art atmosphere prevailed that was more enkindling -than under the fogs of this savage England, such work became thoroughly -artistic; and even now beautiful _motifs_ for decoration on the walls of -New York houses are sought from old French or Latin manuscripts of the -thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. - -And where was this work of making books done? There were no book-shops -or publishers’ houses, but in place of them abbeys or monasteries--each -having its _scriptorium_ or writing-room, where, under the vaulted Norman -arches and by the dim light of their loop-holes of windows, the work of -transcription went on month after mouth and year after year. Thus it is -recorded that in that old monastery of St. Albans (of which we just now -spoke) eighty distinct works were transcribed during the reign of Henry -VI.; it is mentioned as swift work; and as Henry reigned thirty-nine -years, it counts up about two complete MSS. a year. And the atmosphere -of St. Albans was a learned one; this locality not being overmuch given -to the roisterings that belonged to Bolton Priory--of which you will -remember the hint in a pleasant picture of Landseer’s. - - -_Religious Houses._ - -If you or I had journeyed thither in that day--coming from what land -we might--I think we should have been earnest among the first things, -to see those great monasteries that lay scattered over the surface -of England and of Southern Scotland;--not perched on hills or other -defensible positions like the Norman castles of the robber Barons--not -buried in cities like London Tower, or the great halls which belonged -to guilds of merchants--but planted in the greenest and loveliest of -valleys, where rivers full of fish rippled within hearing, and woods -full of game clothed every headland that looked upon the valley; where -the fields were the richest--where the water was purest--where the sun -smote warmest; there these religious houses grew up, stone by stone, -cloister by cloister, chapel by chapel, manor by manor, until there was -almost a township, with outlying cottages--and some great dominating -abbey church--rich in all the choicest architecture of the later Norman -days--lifting its spire from among the clustered buildings scarce less -lovely than itself. - -Not only had learning and book-making been kept alive in these great -religious houses, but the art of Agriculture. Within their walled courts -were grown all manner of fruits and vegetables known to their climate; -these monks knew and followed the best rulings of Cato, and Crescenzius -(who just now has written on this subject in Northern Italy, and is heard -of by way of Padua). They make sour wine out of grapes grown against -sunny walls: they have abundant flocks too--driven out each morning from -their sheltering courts, and returned each night; and they have great -breadth of ground under carefullest tillage. - -Of such character was Tintern Abbey--in the valley of the Wye--now -perhaps the most charming of all English ruins. Such another was Netley -Abbey, on Southampton water, and Bolton Priory, close by that famous -stream, the Wharfe, which you will remember in Wordsworth’s story of -the “White Doe of Rylstone.” Fountain’s Abbey, in Yorkshire, was yet -another, from whose ruin we can study better perhaps than from any other -in England, the extent and disposition of these old religious houses. -Melrose was another; and so was Dryburgh, where Scott’s body lies, and -Abingdon, close upon Oxford--where was attached that Manor of Cumnor, -which Scott assigns for a prison to the sad-fated Amy Robsart, in the -tale of “Kenilworth.” Glastonbury was another: this too (once encircled -by the arms of the river Brue), was the “Isle of Avalon” in Arthurian -romance; - - “Where falls not hail, or rain or any snow, - Nor ever wind blows loudly.” - -Here (at Glastonbury) is still in existence the abbot’s barn of -the fourteenth century, and here, too, a magnificent abbot’s -kitchen--thirty-three feet square and seventy-two feet high: Think what -the cooking and the meats must have been in a kitchen of that style! - -Now, these shrewd people who lived in these great monasteries, and built -them, and enjoyed the good things kept in store there--made friends of -the vassals about them; they were generous with their pot-herbs and -fruits; they were the medicine-men of the neighborhood; they doled out -flasks of wine to the sick; they gave sanctuary and aid to the Robin -Hoods and Little Johns; and Robin Hood’s men kept them in supply of -venison; they enlivened their courts with minstrelsy. Warton says that -at the feast of the installation of Ralph, Abbot of St. Augustine’s, -Canterbury, in 1309, seventy shillings was expended for minstrels in the -gallery, and six thousand guests were present in and about the halls. -Many abbeys maintained minstrels or harpers of their own; and we may be -sure that the monks had jolly as well as religious ditties. - -They made friends of all strong and influential people near them; their -revenues were enormous. They established themselves by all the arts of -conciliation. Finding among their young vassals one keener and sharper -witted than his fellows, they beguiled him into the abbey--instructed -him--perhaps made a clerk of him, for the transcription of the MSS. we -have spoken of (it was thus Cædmon was brought into notice); if very -promising, he might come to place of dignity among the monks--possibly -grow, as Thomas à Becket did, from such humble beginnings to an -archbishopric and to the mastership of the religious heart of England. - -These houses were the fat corporations of that day, with their lobby-men -and spokesmen in all state assemblages. Their representatives could -wear hair shirts, or purple robes and golden mitres, as best suited the -needs of the occasion. They could boast that their institutions were -established--like our railways--for the good of the people, and in the -interests of humanity; but while rendering service, waxing into such -lustiness of strength and such habits of corruption and rapacity, that -at last, when fully bloated, they were broken open and their riches -drifted away under the whirlwind of the wrath of King Henry VIII. Great -schemes of greed are very apt to carry an avenging Henry VIII. somewhere -in their trail. But let us not forget that there was a time in the early -centuries of Christian England when these great religious houses--whose -ruins appeal to us from their lovely solitudes--were the guardians of -learning, the nurses of all new explorations into the ways of knowledge, -the expounders of all healing arts, and the promoters of all charities -and all neighborly kindliness.[32] Whatever young fellow of that day -did not plant himself under shadow of one of these religious houses for -growth, or did not study in the schools of Oxford or Cambridge, must -needs have made his way into favor and fame and society with a lance and -good horse--just as young fellows do it now with an oar or a racket. - - -_Life of a Damoiselle._ - -But what shall be said of a young person of the other sex of like age and -tastes--to whose ambitions war and knight-errantry and the university -cloisters are not open? Whither should the daughters of the great -houses go, or how fill up the current of their young lives in that old -thirteenth-century England? - -It is true, there are religious houses--nunneries--priories--for these, -too, with noble and saintly prioresses, such as St. Hilda’s, St. -Agatha’s, St. Margaret’s; all these bountiful in their charities, strict -for most part in their discipline. To these cloistered schools may go -the cousins, sisters, nieces of these saintly lady superiors; here they -may learn of music, of embroidery, of letter-writing, and Christian -carols--in Latin or English or French, as the case may be. If not an -inmate of one of these quiet cloisters, our young thirteenth-century -damsel will find large advantage in its neighborhood; in the interchange -of kindly offices--in the loan of illuminated missals, of fruits, of -flowers, of haunches of venison, and in the assurance that tenderest of -nurses and consolers will be at hand in case of illness or disaster; and -always there--an unfailing sanctuary. At home, within the dingy towers -of a castle or squat Saxon homestead, with walls hung in tapestry, or -made only half bright with the fire upon the hearthstone--with slits of -windows filled with horn or translucent bits of skin--there must have -been wearisome _ennui_. Yet even here there were the deft handmaids, -cheery and companionable; the games--draughts of a surety (in rich houses -the checkers being of jasper or rock crystal); the harp, too, and the -falcons for a hunting bout in fair weather; the little garden within the -court--with its eglantine, its pinks, its lilies fair. Possibly there may -be also transcripts of old _chansons_ between ivory lids--images carven -out of olive wood--relics brought to the castle by friendly knights from -far-away Palestine. And travelling merchants find their way to such -homes--bringing glass beads from Venice, and little dainty mirrors, just -now the vogue in that great City by the Sea; and velvet and filigree -head-dresses, and jewels and bits of tapestry from Flemish cities. -Perhaps a minstrel--if the revenues of the family cannot retain one--will -stroll up to the castle-gates of an evening, giving foretaste of his -power by a merry snatch of song about Robin Hood, or Sir Guy, or the Nut -Brown Maid. - -Some company of priests with a lordly abbot at their head, journeying up -from St. Albans, may stop for a day, and kindle up with cheer the great -hall, which will be fresh strown with aromatic herbs for the occasion; -and so some solitary palmer, with scollop shell, may make the evening -short with his story of travel across the desert; or--best of all--some -returning knight, long looked for--half doubted--shall talk bravely of -the splendors he has seen in the luxurious court of Charles of Anjou, -where the chariot of his Queen was covered with velvet sprinkled with -lilies of gold, and men-at-arms wore plumed helmets and jewelled collars; -he may sing, too, snatches of those tender madrigals of Provence, and -she--if Sister Nathalie has taught her thereto--may join in a roundelay, -and the minstrel and harpist come clashing in to the _refrain_. - -Then there is the home embroidery--the hemming of the robes, the trimming -of the mantles, the building up of the head pieces. Pray--in what age and -under what civilization--has a young woman ever failed of showing zeal in -those branches of knowledge? - - * * * * * - -So, we will leave England--to-day--upon the stroke of thirteen hundred -years. When we talk of life there again, we shall come very swiftly -upon traces of one of her great philosophers, and of one of her great -reformers, and of one of her greatest poets. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -In our last chapter I spoke of that Geoffrey of Monmouth who about the -middle of the twelfth century wrote a history--mostly apocryphal--in -which was imbedded a germ of the King Arthur fables. We traced these -fables, growing under the successive touches of Wace and Map and Layamon -into full-fledged legends, repeated over and over; and finally, with -splendid affluence of color appearing on the literary horizon of our own -day. I spoke of King Richard I. and of his song loving, and of his blood -loving, and of his royal frankness: then of John, that renegade brother -of his--of how he granted _Magna Charta_, killed poor Prince Arthur, and -stirred such a current of war as caused the loss of Normandy to England. -I spoke of the connection of this loss with the consolidation of the -language; of how Robert of Gloucester made a rhyming history that was -in a new English; of how the name of Sir John Mandeville was associated -with great lies, in the same tongue; how the religious houses made books, -and fattened on the best of the land, and grew corrupt; and last--of how -we, if we had lived in those days, would have found disport for our idle -hours and consolation for our serious ones. - - -_Roger Bacon._ - -Starting now from about the same point in time where we left off, our -opening scene will take us to the old University town of Oxford. It is -a rare city for a young American to visit; its beautiful High Street, -its quaint Colleges, its Christ Church Hall, its libraries, its Magdalen -walks and tower, its charming gardens of St. John’s and Trinity, its near -Park of Blenheim, its fragrant memories--all, make it a place where one -would wish to go and long to linger. But in the far-away time we speak of -it was a walled city, with narrow streets, and filthy lodging houses; yet -great parliaments had been held there; the royal domain of Woodstock was -near by with its Palace; the nunnery was standing, where was educated -the Fair Rosamund; a little farther away was the great religious house -of Abingdon and the village of Cumnor; but of all its present august and -venerable array of colleges only one or two then existed--Merton, and -perhaps Balliol, or the University.[33] - -But the schools here had won a very great reputation in the current of -the thirteenth century, largely through the scholarship and popularity -of Grosseteste, one while Bishop of Lincoln, who held ministrations -at Oxford by reason of his connection with a Franciscan brotherhood -established here; and among those crop-haired Franciscans was a -monk--whom we have made this visit to Oxford to find--named Roger Bacon. -He had been not only student but teacher there; and a few miles south -from the King’s Arms Hotel in Broad Street, Oxford, is still standing -a church tower, in the little parish of Sunningwell, from which--as -tradition affirms--Roger Bacon studied the heavens: for he believed in -Astrology, and believed too in the transmutation of metals; and he got -the name of magician, and was cashiered and imprisoned twice or thrice -for this and other strange beliefs. But he believed most of all in the -full utterance of his beliefs, and in experimenting, and in interrogating -nature, and distrusting conventionalisms, and in search for himself into -all the mysteries, whether of nature or theology. - -He had sprung from worthy and well-to-do parents in the Western County -of Somersetshire. He had spent very much money for those days on his -education; had obtained a Doctorate at Paris; his acuteness and his -capacity for study were everywhere recognized; he knew more of Greek than -most of his teachers, and more of Hebrew than most of the Rabbis, and -more of Chemistry and Physics generally than probably any other man in -England. He took a Friar’s vows, as we have said; but these did not save -him from interdiction by the Chief of his Order, by whom he was placed -under ten years of surveillance at Paris--his teachings silenced, and he -suffering almost to starvation. A liberal Pope (for those days), Clement -IV., by his intervention set free the philosopher’s pen again; and -there came of this freedom the _Opus Majus_ by which he is most worthily -known. Subsequently he was permitted to return to his old sphere of study -in Oxford, where he pursued afresh his scientific investigations, but -coupled with them such outspoken denunciations of the vices and ignorance -of his brother Friars, as to provoke new condemnation and an imprisonment -that lasted for fourteen years--paying thus, in this accredited mediæval -way, for his freedom of speech. - -It is not improbable that we owe to him and to his optical studies--in -some humble degree--the eye-glasses that make reading possible to old -eyes: and his books, first of any books from English sources, described -how sulphur and charcoal and saltpetre properly combined will make -thunder and lightning (_sic facies tonitrum et coruscationem_). We call -the mixture gunpowder. In his _Opus Majus_ (he wrote only in Latin, and -vastly more than has appeared in printed form) scholars find some of -the seeds of the riper knowledges which came into the _Novum Organum_ -of another and later Bacon--with whom we must not confound this sharp, -eager, determined, inquiring Franciscan friar. He is worthy to be kept -in mind as the Englishman who above all others living in that turbid -thirteenth century, saw through the husks of things to their very core. - -He died at the close of the century--probably in the year 1294; and -I have gone back to that far-away time--somewhat out of our forward -track--and have given you a glimpse of this Franciscan innovator and -wrestler with authorities, in order that I might mate him with two other -radical thinkers whose period of activity belonged to the latter half of -the succeeding century: I mean Langlande and Wyclif. And before we go on -to speak of these two, we will set up a few way-marks, so that we may not -lose our historic bearings in the drift of the intervening years. - -Bacon died, as we have said, in 1294. William Wallace fought his great -battle of Cambuskenneth in 1297. Those who have read that old favorite -of school-boys, Miss Porter’s “Scottish Chiefs,” will not need to have -their memories refreshed about William Wallace. Indeed, that hero will be -apt to loom too giant-like in their thought, and with a halo about him -which I suspect sober history would hardly justify. Wallace was executed -at Smithfield (Miss Porter says he died of grief before the axe fell) -in 1305; and that stout, flax-haired King Edward I., who had humbled -Scotland at Falkirk--who was personally a match for the doughtiest of -his knights--who was pious (as the times went), and had set up beautiful -memorial crosses to his good Queen Eleanor--who had revived King Arthur’s -Round Table at Kenilworth, died only two years after he had cruelly -planted the head of Wallace on London Bridge. Then came the weak Edward -II., and the victories of Bruce of Bannockburn, and that weary Piers -Gaveston story, and the shocking death of the King in Berkeley Castle. -The visitor to Berkeley (it is in Gloucestershire, and only two miles -away from station on the Midland Railway) can still see the room where -the murder was done: and this Castle of Berkeley--strangely enough--has -been kept in repair, and inhabited continuously from the twelfth century -until now; its moat, its keep, and its warders walks are all intact. - -After this Edward II. came the great Edward III.--known to us through -Froissart and the Black Prince[34] and Crécy and Poitiers, and by -Windsor Castle--which he built--and by Chaucer and Wyclif and Langlande -and Gower, who grew up while he was king; known to us also in a worse -way, for outliving all his good qualities, and becoming in his last days -a peevish and tempestuous voluptuary. - -Some few foreign way-marks I also give, that the reader may have more -distinctly in mind this great historic epoch. Dante died in exile at -Ravenna, six years before Edward III. came to power. Boccaccio was then a -boy of fourteen, and Petrarch nine years his elder. And on the year that -Crécy was fought and won--through the prowess of the Black Prince, and -when the Last of the Tribunes, as you see him in Bulwer Lytton’s novel, -was feeling his way to lordship in Rome,--there was living somewhere in -Shropshire, a country-born, boy poet--not yet ripened into utterance, -but looking out with keen eyes and soreness of heart upon the sufferings -of poor country folk, and upon the wantonness of the monks, and the -extravagance of the rich, and the hatefulness of the proud--all which was -set forth at a later day in the Vision of Piers Plowman. - - -_William Langlande._ - -This was William Langlande[35] (or Langley, as others call him), reputed -author of the poem I have named. It makes a little book--earliest, I -think, of all books written in English--which you will be apt to find -in a well-appointed private library of our day. I won’t say that it is -bought to read, so much as to stand upon the shelves (so many books are) -as a good and sufficient type of old respectabilities. Yet, for all -this, it is reasonably readable; with crabbed alliterative rhythm;--some -Latin intermixed, as if the writer had been a priest (as some allege); -and such knowledge of life and of current shortcomings among all sorts -of people as showed him to be a wide-awake and fearless observer. It is -in the form of an Allegory, Christian in its motive; so that you might -almost say that the author was an immature and crude and yet sharper -kind of John Bunyan who would turn _Great-Heart_ into a _Plowman_. The -nomenclature also brings to mind the tinker of the Pilgrim’s Progress; -there is a Sir _Do-Well_ and his daughter _Do-Better_: then there is _Sir -In-wit_ with his sons _See-well_ and _Say-well_ and _Hear-well_, and the -doughtiest of them all--_Sir Work-well_. We may, I think, as reasonably -believe that Bunyan hovered over this book, as that Milton took hints -from the picture of Pandemonium attributed to Cædmon. - -Langlande is a little mixed and raw oftentimes; but he is full of -shrewdness and of touches of a rough and unwashed humor. There is little -tenderness of poetic feeling in his verse; and scarcely ever does it rise -to anything approaching stateliness; but it keeps a good dog-trot jog, -as of one who knew what he was doing, and meant to do it. What he meant -was--to whip the vices of the priests and to scourge the covetousness of -the rich and of the men in power. It is English all over; English[36] in -the homeliness of its language; he makes even Norman words sound homely; -English in spirit too; full of good, hearty, grumbling humor--a sort of -predated and poetic kind of Protestantism. Plums might be picked out of -it for the decoration of a good radical or agrarian speech of to-day. - -Of his larger religious and political drift no extracts will give one a -proper idea; only a reading from beginning to end will do this. One or -two snatches of his verse I give, to show his manner: - - And thanne cam coveitise, - Kan I hym naght discryve, - So hungrily and holwe - Sire Hervy hym loked. - He was bitel-browed, - And baber-lipped also - With two blered eighen - As a blynd hagge; - And as a letheren purs - Lolled his chekes, - Well sidder [wider] than his chyn - Thei chyveled [shrivelled] for elde; - And as a bonde-man of his bacon - His berd was bi-draveled, - With an hood on his heed. - A lousy hat above - And in a tawny tabard - Of twelf wynter age. - - --2847 _Pass. V._ - -And again, from the same _Passus_ (he dividing thus his poem into _steps_ -or _paces_) I cite this self-drawn picture of Envy: - - Betwene manye and manye - I make debate ofte, - That bothe lif and lyme - Is lost thorugh my speche. - And when I mete hym in market - That I moost hate, - I hailse hym hendely [politely] - As I his frend were; - For he is doughtier than I, - I dar do noon oother: - Ac, hadde I maistrie and myght. - God woot my wille! - And whanne I come to the kirk - And sholde kneel to the roode, - And preye for the peple … - Awey fro the auter thanne - Turne I myne eighen - And bi-holde Eleyne - Hath a newe cote; - I wisshe thanne it were myn, - And al the web after. - For who so hath moore than I - That angreth me soore, - And thus I lyve love-lees, - Like a luther [mad] dogge; - That al my body bolneth [swelleth] - For bitter of my galle. - - --_vers._ 2667. - -It is a savage picture; and as savagely true as was ever drawn of Envy. -Those who cultivated the elegancies of letters, and delighted in the -pretty rhyming-balance of Romance verse, would hardly have relished -him; but the average thinker and worker would and did. It is specially -noteworthy that the existing MSS. of this poem, of which there are very -many, are without expensive ornamentation by illuminated initial letters, -or otherwise, indicating that its circulation was among those who did -not buy a book for its luxuries of “make-up,” but for its pith. A new -popularity came to the book after printing was begun, and made it known -to those who sympathized with its protesting spirit;--most of all when -the monasteries went down and readers saw how this old grumbler had -prophesied truly--in saying “the Abbot of Abingdon and all his people -should get a knock from a king”--as they did; and a hard one it was. - -Langlande was born in the West, and had wandered over the beautiful -Malvern hills of Worcestershire in his day but he went afterward to live -in London, which he knew from top to bottom; had a wife there, “Kytte,” -and a daughter, “Calote;”[37] shaved his head like a priest; was tall--so -tall he came to be called “Long Will.” He showed little respect for fine -dresses, though he saw them all; he was in London when Chaucer was there -and when the greater poet was writing, and had higher-placed friends -than himself; but he never met him,--from anything that appears; never -met Wyclif either, with whom he must have had very much thinking in -common, and who also must have been in London many a time when tall Will -Langlande sidled along Fenchurch Street, or Cornhill. Yet he is worthy to -be named with him as representing a popular seam in that great drift of -independent and critical thought, which was to ripen into the Reformation. - - -_John Wyclif._ - -In the year when gunpowder was first burned in battle, and when Rienzi -was trying to poise himself with a good balance on the rocking shoulders -of the Roman people, John Wyclif, the great English reformer and the -first translator of the Bible, was just turned of twenty and poring over -his books, not improbably in that Balliol College, Oxford--of which in -the ripeness of his age he was to become Master. - -We know little of his early personal history, save that he came from -a beautiful Yorkshire valley in the North of England, where the Tees, -forming the border line of the County of Durham, sweeps past the little -parish of Wyclif, and where a manor-house of the same name--traditionally -the birthplace of the Reformer--stands upon a lift of the river hank. -Its grounds stretch away to those “Rokeby” woods, whose murmurs and -shadows relieve the dullest of the poems of Scott. - -But there is no record of him thereabout: if indeed he were born upon -that lift of the Tees bank, the proprietors thereof--who through many -generations were stanch Romanists--would have shown no honor to the -arch-heretic; and it is noteworthy that within a chapel attached to the -Wyclif manor-house, mass was said and the Pope reverenced, down to a very -recent time. John Wyclif, in the great crowd of his writings, whether -English or Latin, told no story of himself or of his young days. We have -only clear sight of him when he has reached full manhood--when he has -come to the mastership of Balliol Hall, and to eloquent advocacy of the -rights and dignities of England, as against the Papal demand for tribute. -On this service he goes up to London, and is heard there--maybe in -Parliament; certainly is heard with such approval that he is, only a few -years thereafter--sent with a commission, to treat with ambassadors from -the Pope, at the old city of Bruges. - -This was a rich city--called the Venice of the North--and princes and -nobles from all Europe were to be met there; its great town-house even -then lifted high into the air that Belfry of Bruges which has become in -our day the nestling-place of song. But Wyclif was not overawed by any -splendors of scene or association. He insisted doggedly upon the rights -of Englishmen as against Papal pretensions. John of Gaunt, a son of the -king, stood by Wyclif; not only befriending him there, but afterward when -Papish bulls were thundered against him, and when he was summoned up to -London--as befell in due time--to answer for his misdeeds; and when the -populace, who had caught a liking for the stalwart independence of the -man, crowded through the streets (tall Will Langlande very probably among -them), to stand between the Reformer and the judges of the Church. He did -not believe in Ecclesiastic hierarchies; and it is quite certain that he -was as little liked by the abbots and the bishops and the fat vicars, as -by the Pope. - -I have said he was befriended by John of Gaunt: and this is a name which -it is worth while for students of English history to remember; not only -because he was a brother of the famous Black Prince (and a better man -than he, though he did not fight so many battles), but because he was -also a good friend of the poet Chaucer--as we shall find. It will perhaps -help one to keep him in mind, if I refer to that glimpse we get of him in -the early scenes of Shakespeare’s tragedy of Richard II., where he makes -a play upon his name: - - O, how that name befits my composition! - Old Gaunt, indeed! and gaunt in being old. - Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast - And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? - -A good effigy of this John, in his robes, is on the glass of a window in -All-Souls’ College, Oxford. - -But such great friends, and Wyclif numbered the widow of the Black Prince -among them, could not shield him entirely from Romish wrath, when he -began to call the Pope a “cut-purse;” and his arguments were as scathing -as his epithets, and had more reason in them. He was compelled to forego -his teachings at Oxford, and came to new trials,[38] at which--as -traditions run--he wore an air of great dignity; and old portraits show -us a thin, tall figure--a little bent with over-study; his features -sharp-cut, with lips full of firmness, a flowing white beard and piercing -eyes--glowing with the faith that was in him. This was he who blocked out -the path along which England stumbled through Lollardry quagmires, and -where Huss, the Bohemian, walked in after days with a clumsy, forward -tread, and which Luther in his later time put all alight with his torch -of flame. - -The King--and it was one of the last good deeds of Edward III.--gave -to the old man who was railed at by Popes and bishops, a church living -at Lutterworth, a pleasant village in Leicestershire, upon a branch of -that Avon, which flows by Stratford Church; and here the white-haired old -man--some five hundred years ago (1384) finished his life; and here the -sexton of the church will show one to-day the gown in which he preached, -and the pulpit in which he stood. - -Even now I have not spoken of those facts about this early Reformer, -which are best kept in memory, and which make his name memorable in -connection with the literature of England. In the quiet of Lutterworth -he translated the Latin Bible (probably not knowing well either Greek or -Hebrew, as very few did in that day); not doing all this work himself, -but specially looking after the Gospels, and perhaps all of the New -Testament. - -The reader will, I think, be interested in a little fragment of this work -of his (from Matthew viii.). - - “Sothely [verily] Jhesus seeynge many cumpanyes about hym, - bad _his disciplis_ go ouer the watir. And oo [one] scribe or - _a man of lawe_, commynge to, saide to hym--Maistre, I shall - sue [follow] thee whidir euer thou shalt go. And Jhesus said - to hym, Foxis han dichis _or borrowis_ [holes] and briddes of - the eir han nestis; but mannes sone hath nat wher he reste his - heued. Sotheli an other of his disciplis saide to hym--Lord, - suffre me go first and birye my fadir. Forsothe Jhesus saide to - hym, Sue thou me, and late dede men birye her dead men.” - -It is surely not very hard reading;--still less so in the form as revised -by Purvey,[39] an old assistant of his in the Parish of Lutterworth; -and it made the groundwork of an English sacred dialect, which with its -_Thees_ and _Thous_ and _Speaketh_ and _Heareth_ and _Prayeth_ has given -its flavor to all succeeding translations, and to all utterances of -praise and thanksgiving in every English pulpit. - -Not only this, but Wyclif by his translation opened an easy English -pathway into the arcana of sacred mysteries, which in all previous -time--save for exceptional parts, such as the paraphrase of Cædmon, or -the Ormulum, or the Psalter of Aldhelm and other fragmentary Anglo-Saxon -versions of Scripture--had been veiled from the common people in -the dimness of an unknown tongue. But from the date of Wyclif’s -translation--forward, forever--whatever man, rich or poor, could read an -English ordinance of the King, or a bye-law of a British parish, could -also--though he might be driven to stealthy reading--spell his way back, -through the old aisles of Sacred History, where Moses and the prophets -held their place, and into the valleys of Palestine, where Bethlehem lay, -and where Christ was hung upon the tree. - - -_Chaucer._ - -Now we come to a Poet of these times; not a poet by courtesy, not a -small poet, but a real and a great one. His name is Chaucer. You may -not read him; you may find his speech too old-fashioned to please you; -you may not easily get through its meaning; but if you do, and come to -study him with any warmth, the more you study him the more you will -like him. And this--not because there are curious and wonderful tales -in his verse to interest you; not because your passion will be kindled -by any extraordinary show of dramatic power; but because his humor, and -gentleness, and grace of touch, and exquisite harmonies of language will -win upon you page by page, and story by story. - -He was born--probably in London--some time during the second quarter of -the fourteenth century;[40] and there is reason to believe that an early -home of his was in or near Thames Street, which runs parallel with the -river,--a region now built up and overshadowed with close lines of tall -and grimy warehouses. But the boy Chaucer, living there five hundred and -more years ago, might have caught between the timber houses glimpses -of cultivated fields lying on the Southwark shores; and if he had -wandered along Wallbrook to Cheapside, and thence westerly by Newgate to -Smithfield Common--where he may have watched tournaments that Froissart -watched, and Philippa, queen of Edward III., had watched--he would -have found open country; and on quiet days would have heard the birds -singing there, and have seen green meadows lying on either side the river -Fleet--which river is now lost in sewers, and is planted over with houses. - -On Ludgate Hill, in that far-off time, rose the tall and graceful spire -of old St. Paul’s, and underneath its roof was a vista of Gothic arches -seven hundred feet in length. The great monastery of the Templars--and -of the Knights of St. John--where we go now to see that remnant of it, -called the Temple Church,--had, only shortly before, passed into the -keeping of the Lawyers; the Strand was like a country road, with great -country-houses and gardens looking upon the water; Charing Cross was a -hamlet midway between the Temple and a parish called Westminster, where a -huge Abbey Church stood by the river bank. - -Some biographers have labored to show that Chaucer was of high -family--with titles in it. But I think we care very little about -this; one story, now fully accredited, makes his father a vintner, -or wine-dealer, with a coat-of-arms, showing upon one half a red bar -upon white, and upon the other white on red; as if--hints old Thomas -Fuller--’twas dashed with red wine and white. This escutcheon with its -parti-colored bars may be seen in the upper left corner of the portrait -of Chaucer, which hangs now in the picture-gallery at Oxford. And--for -that matter--it was not a bad thing to be a vintner in that day; for we -have record of one of them who, in the year after the battle of Poitiers, -entertained at his house in the Vintry, Edward King of England, John King -of France, David King of Scotland, and the King of Cyprus. And he not -only dined them, but won their money at play; and afterward, in a very -unking-like fashion--paid back the money he had won. - -Chaucer was a student in his young days; but never--as old stories -ran--at either Cambridge or Oxford; indeed, there is no need that we -place him at one or the other. There were schools in London in those -times--at St. Paul’s and at Westminster--in either of which he could -have come by all the scholarly epithets or allusions that appear in his -earlier poems; and for the culture that declares itself in his riper -days, we know that he was more or less a student all his life--loving -books, and proud of his fondness for them, and showing all up and down -his poems traces of his careful reading and of an observation as close -and as quick. - -It is the poet’s very self, who, borne away in the eagle’s clutch amongst -the stars, gets this comment from approving Jove[41]: - - Thou hearest neither that nor this, - For when thy labor all done is, - And hast made all thy reckiningës - In stead of rest and of new thingës, - Thou goest homë to thine house anon - And all so dombe as any stone, - Thou sittest at another bokë - Till fully dazed is thy lokë. - -But though we speak of Chaucer as bookish and scholarly, it must not be -supposed that he aimed at, or possessed the nice critical discernment, -with respect to the literary work of others, which we now associate -with highest scholarly attainments; it may well happen that his bookish -allusions are not always “by the letter,” or that he may misquote, or -strain a point in interpretation. He lived before the days of exegetical -niceties. He is attracted by large effects; he searches for what may -kindle his enthusiasms, and put him upon his own trail of song. Books -were nothing to him if they did not bring illumination; where he could -snatch that, he burrowed--but always rather toward the light than toward -the depths. He makes honey out of coarse flowers; not so sure always--nor -much caring to be sure--of the name and habitudes of the plants he -rifles. He stole not for the theft’s sake, but for the honey’s sake; and -he read not for cumulation of special knowledges, but to fertilize and -quicken his own spontaneities. - -Nor was this poet ever so shapen to close study, but the woods or the -birds or the flowers of a summery day would take the bend from his back, -and straighten him for a march into the fields: - - ----There is gamë none, - That from my bookës maketh me to gone, - Save certainly whan that the month of Maie - Is comen, and that I heare the foulës sing, - And that the flowris ginnen for to spring-- - Farewell my booke, and my devocion! - -And swift upon this in that musical “Legende of Good Women,” comes his -rhythmical crowning of the Daisy--never again, in virtue of his verse, to -be discrowned-- - - ----above all the flowris in the mede - Thanne love I moste these flowris white and rede; - Soche that men callin Daisies in our toun - To ’hem I have so grete affectionn - As I said erst, whan comin is the Maie, - That in my bedde there dawith me no daie - That I n’ am up, and walking in the mede - To sene this floure ayenst the sunnë sprede, - As she that is of all flowris the floure, - Fulfilled of all vertue and honoure - And evir alikë faire and freshe, of hewe, - And evir I love it and ever alikë newe. - -These lines of his have given an everlasting perfume to that odorless -flower. - -How it befell that this son of a vintner came first to have close -association with members of the royal household--household of the great -Edward III.--we cannot tell; but it is certain that he did come at an -early day to have position in the establishment of the King’s son, Prince -Lionel, Duke of Clarence; he was sometime valet, too, of Edward III., and -in other years a familiar _protégé_ of John of Gaunt--putting his poet’s -gloss upon courtly griefs and love-makings. - -It is certain, moreover, that in the immediate service of either Prince -or King, he went to the wars--as every young man of high spirit in -England yearned to do, when war was so great a part of the business of -life, and when the Black Prince was galloping in armor and in victory -over the fields of Guienne. But it was a bad excursion the poet hit -upon; he went when disaster attended the English forces; he was taken -prisoner, and though ransomed shortly thereafter--as the record shows--it -is uncertain when he returned; uncertain if he did not linger for years -among the vineyards of France; maybe writing there his translation of the -famous _Roman de la Rose_[42]--certainly loving this and other such, and -growing by study of these Southern melodies into graces of his own, to -overlap and adorn his Saxon sturdiness of speech. - -There are recent continental critics[43] indeed, who claim him as French, -and as finding not only his felicities of verse, but his impulse and -his motives among the lilies of France. He does love these lilies of a -surety; but I think he loves the English daisies better, and that it -is with a thoroughly English spirit that he “powders” the meadows with -their red and white, and sets among them the green blades of those island -grasses, which flash upon his “morwenyngs of Maie.” To these times may -possibly belong--if indeed Chaucer wrote it--“The Court of Love.” Into -the discussion of its authenticity we do not enter; we run to cover under -an ignorance which is more blissful than the wisdom that wearies itself -with comparison of dates, with laws of prosody, with journeyman-like -estimate of the tinklings of this or that spurt of rhyming habit. If -Chaucer did not write it, we lift our hat to the unknown melodist--who -can put the birds in choir--and pass on. - -When our poet does reappear in London, it is not to tell any story of the -war--of its hazards, or of its triumphs. Indeed, it is remarkable that -this lissome poet, whose words like bangles shook out all tunes to his -step, and who lived in the very heart of the days of Poitiers--when the -doughty young Black Prince kindled a martial furor that was like the old -crusade craze to follow _Cœur de Lion_ to battle--remarkable, I say, that -Chaucer, living on the high tide of war--living, too, in a court where -he must have met Froissart, that pet of the Queen, who gloried in giving -tongue to his enthusiasm about the deeds of knighthood--wonderful, I say, -that Chaucer should not have brought into any of his tales or rhymes the -din and the alarums and the seething passions of war. There are indeed -glimpses of fluttering pennons and of spear thrusts; maybe, also, purple -gouts of blood welling out from his page; but these all have the unreal -look of the tourney, to which they mostly attach; he never scores martial -scenes with a dagger. For all that Crécy or its smoking artillery had -to do with his song, he might have sung a century earlier, or he might -have sung a century later. Indeed, he does not seem to us a man of -action, notwithstanding his court connection and his somewhile official -place;--not even a man of loudly declared public policy, but always the -absorbed, introspective, painstaking, quiet observer, to whom Nature in -the gross, with its humanities now kindled by wanton appetites, and now -lifted by reverence and love (with the everlasting broidery of flowers -and trees and sunshine), was always alluring him from things accidental -and of the time--though it were time of royal Philip’s ruin, or of a -conquest of Aquitaine. - -Yet withal, this Chaucer is in some sense a man of the world and -courtier. The “Boke of the Duchesse” tells us this. And he can weave -chaplets for those who have gone through the smoke of battles--though his -own inclination may not lead him thither. To a date not very remote from -that which belongs to the “Duchesse” must in all probability be assigned -that other well-known minor poem of Chaucer’s, called the “Parlament of -Foules.”[44] There are stories of his love-lornness in his young days, -and of marriage delayed and of marriage made good--coming mostly from -those who paint large pictures with few pigments--and which are exceeding -hazy and indeterminate of outline: his “Troilus and Cresseide” make -us know that he could go through the whole gamut of love, and fawning -and teasing and conquest and forgetting, in lively earnest as well as -fancy--if need were. - -We have better data and surer ground to go upon when we come to score his -official relations. We know that when not very far advanced in age (about -1370) he went to the continent on the King’s service; accomplishing it -so well--presumably--that he is sent again, very shortly after, with a -commission--his journey calling him to Genoa and Florence; Italy and the -Mediterranean, then, probably for the first time, with all their glamour -of old story, coming to his view. Some biographers make out, from chance -lines in his after-poems, that he went over to Padua and saw Petrarch -there, and learned of him some stories, which he afterward wrought into -his garland of the Canterbury Tales. Possibly;[45] but it was not an -easy journey over the mountains to Padua in those days, even if Petrarch -had been domiciled there,--which is very doubtful; for the Italian poet, -old and feeble, passed most of the latter years of his life at Arqua -among the Euganean hills; and if Chaucer had met him, Petrarch would have -been more apt to ask the man from far-away, murky England, about his -country and King and the Prince Lionel (dead in those days), who only a -few years before had married, at Milan, a daughter of the Visconti--than -to bore him with a story at second hand (from Boccaccio) about the -patient Griselda. - -However this may be, it is agreed by nearly all commentators, that by -reason of his southward journeyings and his after-familiarity with -Italian literature (if indeed this familiarity were not of earlier date), -that his own poetic outlook became greatly widened, and he fell away, in -large degree, from his old imitative allegiance to the jingling measures -of France, and that pretty - - “Maze of to and fro, - Where light-heeled numbers laugh and go.” - -Through all this time he is in receipt of favors from the -Government--sometimes in the shape of direct pension--sometimes of an -annual gift of wine--sometimes in moneys for payment of his costs of -travel;--sometime, too, he has a money-getting place in the Customs. - -John of Gaunt continues his stalwart friend. Indeed this Prince, late in -life, and when he had come to the title of Duke of Lancaster, married, -in third espousals, a certain Kate Swynford (_née_ Roet), who, if much -current tradition may be trusted, was a sister of Chaucer’s wife; it was, -to be sure, looked upon by court people (for various reasons) as a match -beneath the Duke; and Froissart tells us with a chirrupy air[46] of easy -confidence (but there is no mention of the poet) that the peeresses of -the court vowed they would have nothing to do with the new Duchess of -Lancaster--by which it may be seen that fine ladies had then the same -methods of punishing social audacities which they have now. The tradition -has been given a new lease of life by the memorial window which under -rule of Dean Stanley was set in Westminster Abbey;[47] and, however -the truth may be, Chaucer’s life-long familiarity in the household of -Lancaster is undoubted; and it is every way likely that about the knee of -the poet may have frisked and played the little Hal. (b. 1367), who came -afterward to be King Henry IV. It is to this monarch, newly come to the -throne, that Chaucer addresses--in his latter days, and with excellent -effect--that little piquant snatch of verse[48] about the lowness of his -purse: - - I am so sorrie now that ye be light, - For certes, but ye make me heavy cheere, - Me were as lief be laid upon my bere - For which unto your mercie thus I crie - Be heavie againe, or ellës mote I die. - -Yet he seems never to lose his good humor or his sweet complacency; -there is no carping; there is no swearing that is in earnest. His -whole character we seem to see in that picture of him which his friend -Occleve painted; a miniature, to be sure, and upon the cover of a MS. of -Occleve’s poems; but it is the best portrait of him we have. Looking at -it--though ’tis only half length--you would say he was what we call a -dapper man; well-fed, for he loved always the good things of life--“not -drinkless altogether, as I guess;” nor yet is it a bluff English face; no -beefiness; regular features--almost feminine in fineness of contour--with -light beard upon upper lip and chin; smooth cheeks; lips full (rosy red, -they say, in the painting); eye that is keen,[49] and with a sparkle -of humor in it; hands decorously kept; one holding a rosary, the other -pointing--and pointing as men point who see what they point at, and make -others see it too; his hood, which seems a part of his woollen dress, -is picturesquely drawn about his head, revealing only a streak of hair -over his temple; you see it is one who studies picturesqueness even in -costume, and to the trimming of his beard into a forked shape;--no lint -on his robe--you may be sure of that;--no carelessness anywhere: dainty, -delicate, studious of effects, but with mirth and good nature shimmering -over his face. Yet no vagueness or shakiness of purpose show their weak -lines; and in his jaw there is a certain staying power that kept him firm -and active and made him pile book upon book in the new, sweet English -tongue, which out of the dialects of Essex and of the East of England he -had compounded, ordered, and perfected, and made the pride of every man -born to the inheritance of that Island speech. - -And it is with such looks and such forces and such a constitutional -cheeriness, that this blithe poet comes to the task of enchaining -together his Canterbury Tales, with their shrewd trappings of -Prologue--his best work, getting its last best touches after he is fairly -turned of middle age, if indeed he were not already among the sixties. Is -it not wonderful--the distinctness with which we see, after five hundred -years have passed, those nine and twenty pilgrims setting out on the -sweet April day, to travel down through the country highways and meadows -of Kent! - -The fields are all green, “y-powdered with daisies;” the birds are -singing; the white blossoms are beginning to show upon the hedge-rows. -And the Pilgrims, one and all, are so touched and colored by his -shrewdness and aptness of epithet that we see them as plainly as if they -had been cut out, figure by figure, from the very middle of that far-away -century. - -There goes the Knight-- - - And that a worthy man, - That from the timë that he first began - To ryden out, he lovéd chyvalrie - Trouth and honoúr, freedom and courtesie. - -And after him his son, the Squire, the bright bachelor, who - - Was as fresh as is the month of May; - Schort was his goune, with sleevës long and wide, - Well coude he sit on hors, and fairë ride. - He coudë songës make and wel endite, - Joust and eke dance, and wel portray and write. - -Then there comes the charming Prioress-- - - Ycleped Madame Eglantine. - Ful well she sang the servicë divine, - Entunëd in hir nose ful semëly: - And Frensch she spak ful fair and fetisly, - After the scole of Stratford attë Bowe, - For Frensch of Paris was to hir unknowe. - … - Full fetys was her cloke, as I was waar - Of smal coral aboute hir arme she baar - A paire of bedës gauded all with grene, - And thereon heng a broch of gold ful schene - On which was first y-writ a crownéd A, - And after--_Amor Vincit Omnia_! - -Then comes the Monk, who has a shiny pate, who is stout, well fed, -pretentious; his very trappings make a portrait-- - - And when he rood, men might his bridel heere - Gingling in a whistlyng wynd as cleere - And eek as loude as doth the chapel belle. - -Again, there was a Friar--a wanton and a merry one--rollicksome, and -loving rich houses only, - - ----who lispéd for his wantonnesse, - To make his Englissch swete upon his tunge; - His eyen twinkled in his hed aright - As do the starrës in the frosty night. - -And among them all goes, with mincing step, the middle-aged, vulgar, -well-preserved, coquettish, shrewish Wife of Bath: - - Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed, - Ful streyte y-tied, and schoos ful moiste and newe, - Bold was her face, and faire and reed of hewe. - -And so--on, and yet on--for the twenty or more; all touched with those -little, life-like strokes which only genius can command, and which keep -the breath in those old Pilgrims to Canterbury, as if they travelled -there, between the blooming hedge rows, on every sunshiny day of every -succeeding spring. - -I know that praise of these and of the way Chaucer marshals them at the -Tabard, and starts them on their way, and makes them tell their stories, -is like praise of June or of sunshine. All poets and all readers have -spoken it ever since the morning they set out upon their journeyings; and -many an American voyager of our day has found best illumination for that -pleasant jaunt through County Kent toward the old towers of Canterbury -in his recollections of Chaucer’s Pilgrims. It is true that the poet’s -wayside marks are not close or strong; no more does a meteor leave other -track than the memory of its brightness. We cannot fix of a surety upon -the “ale-stake” where the Pardoner did “byten on a cake,” and there may -be some doubt about the “litel” town - - which that y-cleped is, Bob-up-and-Down. - -But there is no doubt at all about the old Watling Road and Deptford, and -the sight of Greenwich Heights, which must have shown a lifted forest -away to their left; nor about Boughton Hill (by Boughton-under-Blean), -with its far-off view of sea-water and of sails, and its nearer view of -the great cathedral dominating Canterbury town. Up to the year 1874 the -traveller might have found a Tabard[50] tavern in Southwark, which at -about 1600 had replaced the old inn that Chaucer knew; but it repeated -the old quaintness, and with its lumbering balconies and littered court -and droll signs, and its saggings and slants and smells, carried one -back delightfully to fourteenth-century times. And in Canterbury, at the -end of the two or three days’[51] pilgrim journey, one can set foot in -very earnest upon the pavement these people from the Tabard trod, under -the cathedral arches--looking after the tomb of the great Black Prince, -and the scene of the slaughter of Thomas à Becket. In that quaint old -town, too, are gables under which some of these story-tellers of the -Pilgrimage may have lodged; and (mingling old tales with new) there are -latticed casements out of which Agnes Wickfield may have looked, and -sidewalks where David Copperfield may have accommodated his boy-step -to the lounging pace of the always imminent Micawber. Yet it is in -the country outside and in scenes the poet loved best, that the aroma -of the Canterbury Tales will be caught most surely; and it is among -those picturesque undulations of land which lie a little westward of -Harbledown--upon the Rochester road, which winds among patches of wood, -and green stretches of grass and billowy hop-gardens, that the lover of -Chaucer will have most distinctly in his ear the jingle of the “bridel” -of the Monk, and in his eye the scarlet hosen and the wimple of the Wife -of Bath. - -Yet these Canterbury Tales convey something in them and about them -beside delicacies; the host, who is master of ceremonies, throws mud -at a grievous rate, and with a vigorous and a dirty hand. Boccaccio’s -indecencies lose nothing of their quality in the smirched rhyme of the -Reeve’s tale;[52] the Miller is not presentable in any decent company, -and the Wife of Bath is vulgar and unseemly. There are others, to be -sure, and enough, who have only gracious and grateful speech put into -their mouths; and it is these we cherish. The stories, indeed, which -these pilgrims tell, are not much in themselves; stolen, too, the most -of them; stolen, just as Homer stole the current stories about Ajax and -Ulysses; just as Boccaccio stole from the _Gesta Romanorum_; just as -Shakespeare stole from the Cymric fables about King Lear and Cymbeline. -He stole; but so did everyone who could get hold of a good manuscript. -Imagine--if all books were in such form now, and MSS. as few and sparse -as then, what a range for enterprising authors! But Chaucer stole nothing -that he did not improve and make his own by the beauties he added. - -Take that old slight legend (everywhere current in the north of England) -of the little Christian boy, who was murdered by Jews, because he sang -songs in honor of the Virgin; and who--after death--still sang, and so -discovered his murderers. It is a bare rag of story, with only streaks of -blood-red in it; yet how tenderly touched, and how pathetically told, in -Chaucer’s tale of the Prioress! - -It is a widow’s son--“sevene yeres of age”--and wheresoe’er he saw the -image - - Of Christe’s moder, had he in usage, - As him was taught, to knele adown and say - His _Ave Marie!_ as he goth by the way. - Thus hath this widowe hire litel son y-taught - To worship aye, and he forgat it naughte. - -And the “litel” fellow, with his quick ear, hears at school some day the -_Alma Redemptoris_ sung; and he asks what the beautiful song may mean? He -says he will learn it before Christmas, that he may say it to his “moder -dere.” His fellows help him word by word--line by line--till he gets it -on his tongue: - - From word to word, acording with the note, - Twiës a day, it passed thro’ his throte. - -At last he has it trippingly; so--schoolward and homeward, - - as he cam to and fro - Full merrily than would he sing and crie, - O _Alma Redemptoris_ ever mó, - The sweetnesse hath his hertë perced so. - -Through the Jews’ quarter he goes one day, singing this sweet song that -bubbles from him as he walks; and they--set on by Satan, who “hath in -Jewe’s herte his waspës nest”--conspire and plot, and lay hold on him, -and cut his throat, and cast him into a pit. - -But--a wonder--a miracle!--still from the bleeding throat, even when life -is gone, comes the tender song, “_O Alma Redemptoris!_” And the wretched -mother, wandering and wailing, is led by the sweet, plaintive echoes, -whose tones she knows, to where her poor boy lies dead; and even as she -comes, he, with throte y-carven, his - - _Alma Redemptoris_ gan to sing - So loude that al the placë gan to ring. - -Then the Christian people take him up, and bear him away to the Abbey. -His mother lies swooning by the bier. They hang those wicked Jews--and -prepare the little body for burial and sprinkle it with holy water; but -still from the poor bleeding throat comes “evermo’” the song: - - _O Alma Redemptoris mater!_ - -And the good Abbot entreats him to say, why his soul lingers, with his -throat thus all agape? - - “My throte is cut unto my nekkë bone,” - Saidë this child, “and as by way of kynde, - I should have dyed, ye longë time agone, - But Jesu Christ, as ye in bookës finde, - Wol that his glory laste, and be in minde, - And for the worship of his moder dere, - Yet may I sing, ‘_O Alma!_’ loud and clere.” - -But he says that as he received his death-blow, the Virgin came, and - - “Methoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tongue, - Wherefore I singe and singe; I mote certeyn - Til from my tonge off-taken is the greyn; - And after that, thus saidë she to me, - ‘My litel child, then wol I fecchen thee!’” - [Where at] This holy monk--this Abbot--him mene I, - His tonge out-caughte, and tok away the greyn, - And he gaf up the goost full softëly. - … - And when the Abbot had this wonder sein - His saltë teres trillëd adown as raine, - And graf he fell, all platt upon the grounde, - And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde. - -After this they take away the boy-martyr from off his bier-- - - And in a tombe of marble stonës clere - Enclosen they his litel body swete; - Ther he is now: God leve us for to mete! - -How tenderly the words all match to the delicate meaning! This delightful -poet knows every finest resource of language: he subdues and trails after -him all its harmonies. No grimalkin stretching out silken paws touches so -lightly what he wants only to touch; no cat with sharpest claws clings -so tenaciously to what he would grip with his earnester words. He is a -painter whose technique is never at fault--whose art is an instinct. - -Yet--it must be said--there is no grand horizon at the back of his -pictures: pleasant May-mornings and green meadows a plenty; pathetic -episodes, most beguiling tracery of incidents and of character, but never -strong, passionate outbursts showing profound capacity for measurement -of deepest emotion. We cannot think of him as telling with any adequate -force the story of King Lear, in his delirium of wrath: Macbeth’s stride -and hushed madness and bated breath could not come into the charming, -mellifluous rhythm of Chaucer’s most tragic story without making a -dissonance that would be screaming. - -But his descriptions of all country things are garden-sweet. He touches -the daisies and the roses with tints that keep them always in freshest, -virgin, dewy bloom; and he fetches the forest to our eye with words that -are brim-full of the odors of the woods and of the waving of green boughs. - - * * * * * - -In our next talk we shall speak of some who sang beside him, and of some -who followed; but of these not one had so rare a language, and not one -had so true an eye. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -In our last chapter we went back to the latter edge of the thirteenth -century and to the City of Oxford, that we might find in that time and -place a Franciscan Friar--known as Roger Bacon, who had an independence -of spirit which brought him into difficulties, and a searchingness of -mind which made people count him a magician. I spoke of Langlande and -Wyclif: and of how the reforming spirit of the first expressed itself in -the alliterative rhythm of the Piers Plowman allegory; and how the latter -declared against Papal tyranny and the accepted dogmas of the Church: -he too, set on foot those companies of “pore priests,” who in long -russet gowns reaching to their heels, and with staff in hand, traversed -the highways and byways of England, preaching humility and charity; he -gave to us moreover that Scriptural quaintness of language, which from -Wyclif’s time, down to ours, has left its trail in every English pulpit, -and colored every English prayer. - -Then we came to that great poet Chaucer, who wrote so much and so well, -as--first and most of all contemporary or preceding writers--to make -one proud of the new English tongue. He died in 1400, and was buried at -Westminster--not a stone’s throw away from the site of his last London -home. His tomb, under its Gothic screen, may be found in the Poet’s -Corner of the Abbey, a little to the right, on entering from the Old -Palace Yard; and over it, in a window that looks toward the Houses of -Parliament, has been set--in these latter years, in unfading array--the -gay company of Chaucer’s Canterbury Pilgrims. - -In the same year in which the poet died, died also that handsome and -unfortunate Richard the Second[53] (son of the Black Prince) who promised -bravely; who seemed almost an heroic figure when in his young days, -he confronted Wat Tyler so coolly; but he made promises he could not -or would not keep--slipped into the enthralment of royalties against -which Lollard and democratic malcontents bayed in vain: there were court -cabals that overset him; Shakespeare has told his story, and in that -tragedy--lighted with brilliant passages--John of Gaunt, brother to the -Black Prince, appears, old, and gray and near his grave; and his son--the -crafty but resolute Henry Bolingbroke--comes on the stage as Henry IV. to -take the “brittle glory” of the crown. - - -_Of Gower and Froissart._ - -But I must not leave Chaucer’s immediate times, without speaking of -other men who belonged there: the first is John Gower--a poet whom I -name from a sense of duty rather than from any special liking for what -he wrote. He was a man of learning for those days--having a good estate -too, and living in an orderly Kentish home, to which he went back and -forth in an eight-oared barge upon the Thames. He wrote a long Latin poem -_Vox Clamantis_, in which like Langlande he declaimed against the vices -and pretensions of the clergy; and he also treated in the high-toned -conservative way of a well-to-do country gentleman, the social troubles -of the time, which had broken out into Wat Tyler and Jack Straw -rebellions;--people should be wise and discreet and religious; then, such -troubles would not come. - -A better known poem of Gower--because written in English--was the -_Confessio Amantis_: Old Classic, and Romance tales come into it, and -are fearfully stretched out; and there are pedagogic Latin rubrics at -the margin, and wearisome repetitions, with now and then faint scent of -prettinesses stolen from French _fabliaux_: but unless your patience -is heroic, you will grow tired of him; and the monotonous, measured, -metallic jingle of his best verse is provokingly like the “Caw-caw” of -the prim, black raven. He had art, he had learning, he had good-will; -but he could not weave words into the thrush-like melodies of Chaucer. -Even the clear and beautiful type of the Bell & Daldy edition[54] does -not make him entertaining. You will tire before you are half through the -Prologue, which is as long, and stiff as many a sermon. And if you skip -to the stories, they will not win you to liveliness: Pauline’s grace, and -mishaps are dull; and the sharp, tragic twang about Gurmunde’s skull, and -the vengeance of Rosemunde (from the old legend which Paul the Deacon -tells) does not wake one’s blood. - -In his later years he was religiously inclined; was a patron and, for a -time, resident of the Priory which was attached to the church, now known -as St. Saviour’s, and standing opposite to the London Bridge Station in -Southwark. In that church may now be found the tomb of Gower and his -effigy in stone, with his head resting on “the likeness of three books -which he compiled.” - -Perhaps I have no right to speak of Froissart, because he was a Fleming, -and did not write in English; but Lord Berners’ spirited translation -of his Chronicle (1523) has made it an English classic:[55] moreover, -Froissart was very much in London; he was a great pet of the Queen of -Edward III.; he had free range of the palace; he described great fêtes -that were given at Windsor, and tournaments on what is now Cheapside; -a reporter of our day could not have described these things better: he -went into Scotland too--the Queen Philippa giving him his outfit--and -stayed with the brave Douglas “much time,” and tells us of Stirling and -of Melrose Abbey. Indeed, he was a great traveller. He was at Milan when -Prince Clarence of England married one of the great Visconti (Chaucer -possibly there also, and Petrarch of a certainty); he was at Rome, at -Florence, at Bordeaux with the Black Prince, when his son Richard II. -was born; was long in the household of Gaston de Foix: we are inclined -to forget, as we read him, that he was a priest, and had his parochial -charge somewhere along the low banks of the Scheldt: in fact, we suspect -that he forgot it himself. - -He not only wrote Chronicles, but poems; and he tells us, that on his -last visit to England, he presented a copy of these latter--beautifully -illuminated, engrossed by his own hand, bound in crimson velvet, and -embellished with silver clasps, bosses, and golden roses--to King -Richard II.; and the King asked him what it was all about; and he -said--“About Love;” whereat, he says, the King seemed much pleased, and -dipped into it, here and there--for “he could read French as well as -speak it.” - -Altogether, this rambling, and popular Froissart was, in many points, -what we should call an exquisite fellow; knowing, and liking to know, -only knights and nobles, and flattering them to the full; receiving -kindly invitations wherever he went; overcome with the pressure of his -engagements; going about in the latest fashion of doublet; somewhiles -leading a fine greyhound in leash, and presenting five or six of the same -to his friend the Comte de Foix (who had a great love for dogs); never -going near enough to the front in battle to get any very hard raps; ready -with a song or a story always; pulling a long bow with infinite grace. -Well--the pretty poems he thought so much of, nobody knows--nobody cares -for: they have never, I think, been published in their entirety:[56] But, -his Journal--his notes of what he saw and heard, clapped down night by -night, in hostelries or in tent--perhaps on horseback--are cherished -of all men, and must be reckoned the liveliest, if not the best of all -chronicles of his time. He died in the first decade of that fifteenth -century on which we open our British march to-day; and, at the outset, -I call attention to a little nest of dates, which from their lying so -close together, can be easily kept in mind. Richard II. son of the Black -Prince, died--a disgraced prisoner--in 1400. John of Gaunt, his uncle, -friend of Chaucer, died the previous year: while Chaucer, Froissart and -John Gower all died in less than ten years thereafter; thus, the century -opens with a group of great deaths. - - -_Two Henrys and Two Poets._ - -That Henry IV. who appears now upon the throne, and who was not a very -noticeable man, save for his kingship, you will remember as the little -son of John of Gaunt, who played about Chaucer’s knee; you will remember -him further as giving title to a pair of Shakespeare’s plays, in which -appears for the first time that semi-historic character--that enormous -wallet of flesh, that egregious villain, that man of a prodigious humor, -all in one--Jack Falstaff. And this famous, fat Knight of Literature -shall introduce us to Prince Hal who, according to traditions (much -doubted nowadays), was a wild boy in his youth, and boon companion of -such as Falstaff; but, afterward, became the brave and cruel, but steady -and magnificent Henry V. Yet we shall never forget those early days of -his, when at Gad’s Hill, he plots with Falstaff and his fellows, to -waylay travellers bound to London, with plump purses. Before the plot -is carried out, the Prince agrees privately with Poins (one of the -rogues) to put a trick upon Falstaff: Poins and the Prince will slip -away in the dusk--let Falstaff and his companions do the robbing; then, -suddenly--disguised in buckram suits--pounce on them and seize the booty. -This, the Prince and Poins do: and at the first onset of these latter, -the fat Knight runs off, as fast as his great hulk will let him, and goes -spluttering and puffing to a near tavern, where--after consuming “an -intolerable deal of sack”--he is confronted by the Prince, who demands -his share of the spoils. But the big Knight blurts out--“A plague on -all cowards!” He has been beset, while the Prince had sneaked away; the -spoils are gone: - - “I am a rogue, if I was not at half a sword with a dozen of - them two hours together; I have scaped by a miracle; I am eight - times thrust thro’ the doublet--four thro’ the hose. My sword - is hacked like a hand-saw. If I fought not with fifty of them, - then am I a bunch of radish. If there were not two or three and - fifty on poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.” - - “Pray God, [says the Prince, keeping down his laughter] you - have not murdered some of them!” - - _Falstaff._ Nay, that’s past praying for; for I peppered two - of them--two rogues in buckram. Here I lay, and thus I bore my - sword. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me. - - _Prince._ What, four?; thou said’st two. - - _Falstaff._ Four, Hal; I told thee four. - -And Poins comes to his aid, with--“Ay, he said four.” Whereat the fat -Knight takes courage; the men in buckram growing, in whimsical stretch -to seven, and nine; he, paltering and swearing, and never losing his -delicious insolent swagger, till at last the Prince declares the truth, -and makes show of the booty. You think this coward Falstaff may lose -heart at this; not a whit of it; his eye, rolling in fat, does not blink -even, while the Prince unravels the story; but at the end the stout -Knight hitches up his waistband, smacks his lips:-- - - “D’ye think I did not know ye, my masters? Should I turn upon - the true Prince? Why thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; - but beware instinct: I was a coward on instinct.” - -So runs the Shakespearean scene, of which I give this glimpse only as a -remembrancer of Henry IV., and his possibly wayward son. - -If we keep by the strict letter of history, there is little of literary -interest in that short reign of his--only fourteen years. Occleve, a poet -of whom I spoke as having painted a portrait of Chaucer (which I tried to -describe to you) is worth mentioning--were it only for this. Lydgate,[57] -of about the same date, was a more fertile poet; wrote so easily indeed, -that he was tempted to write too much. But he had the art of choosing -taking subjects, and so, was vastly popular. He had excellent training, -both English and Continental; he was a priest, though sometimes a naughty -one; and he opened a school at his monastery of St. Edmunds. A few -fragments of that monastery are still to be seen in the ancient town of -Bury St. Edmunds:--a town you may remember in a profane way, as the scene -of certain nocturnal adventures that befel, in our time, Mr. Pickwick and -Sam Weller. - -Notable amongst the minor poems of this old Bury monk, is a jingling -ballad called _London Lickpenny_, in which a poor suitor pushing his way -into London courts, is hustled about, has his hood stolen, wanders hither -and yon, with stout cries of “ripe strawberries” and “hot sheepes feete” -shrilling in his ears; is beset by taverners and thievish thread-sellers, -and is glad to get himself away again into Kent, and there digest the -broad, and ever good moral that a man’s pennies get “licked” out of him -fast in London. Remembering that this was at the very epoch when Nym and -Bardolph frequented the Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, and cracked jokes and -oaths with Dame Quickly and Doll Tearsheet, and we are more grateful for -the old rhyming priest’s realistic bit of London sights, than for all his -classics,[58] or all his stories of the saints. - -But at the very time this Lydgate was writing, a tenderer and sweeter -voice was warbling music out of a prison window at Windsor; and the music -has come down to us:[59] - - “Beauty enough to make a world to doat, - And when she walkèd had a little thraw - Under the sweet grene bowis bent, - Her fair freshe face, as white as any snaw - She turnèd has, and forth her way is went; - But then begun my achès and torment - To see her part, and follow I na might; - Methought the day was turnèd into night.” - -There is a royal touch in that, and it comes from a royal hand--that of -Prince James of Scotland, who, taken prisoner by Henry IV., was held fast -for sixteen years in the keep of Windsor Castle. Mr. Irving has made -him the subject of a very pleasant paper in the Sketch-book. Though a -prince, he was a poet by nature, and from the window of his prison did -see the fair lady whose graces were garnered in the verse I have cited; -and oddly enough, he did come to marry the subject of this very poem (who -was related to the royal house of England, being grand-daughter of John -of Gaunt) and thereafter did come to be King of Scotland and--what was a -commoner fate--to be assassinated. That queen of his, of whom the wooing -had been so romantic and left its record in the _King’s Quair_--made -a tender and devoted wife--threw herself at last between him and the -assassins--receiving grievous wounds thereby, but all vainly--and the -poor poet-king was murdered in her presence at Perth, in the year 1437. - -These three poets I have named all plumed their wings to make that great -flight by which Chaucer had swept into the Empyrean of Song: but not one -of them was equal to it: nor, thenceforward all down through the century, -did any man sing as Chaucer had sung. There were poetasters; there were -rhyming chroniclers; and toward the end of the century there appeared a -poet of more pretension, but with few of the graces we find in the author -of the Canterbury Tales. - -John Skelton[60] was his name: he too a priest living in Norfolk. His -rhymes, as he tells us himself, were “ragged and jagged:” but worse -than this, they were often ribald and rabid--attacking with fierceness -Cardinal Wolsey--attacking his fellow-priests too--so that he was -compelled to leave his living: but he somehow won a place afterward -in the royal household as tutor; and even the great Erasmus (who had -come over from the Low Countries, and was one while teaching Greek at -Cambridge) congratulates some prince of the royal family upon the great -advantage they have in the services of such a “special light and ornament -of British literature.” He is capricious, homely, never weak, often -coarse, always quaint. From out his curious trick-track of verse, I pluck -this little musical canzonet:-- - - “Merry Margaret - As midsummer flower; - Gentle as falcon - Or hawk of the tower: - With solace and gladness - Much mirth and no madness, - All good and no badness, - So joyously, - So maidenly, - So womanly - Her demeaning - In everything - Far, far passing - That I can indite - Or suffice to write - Of merry Margaret - As midsummer flower - Gentle as falcon - Or hawk of the tower: - Stedfast of thought - Well-made well-wrought; - Far may be sought - Ere you can find - So courteous--so kind - As merry Margaret - This midsummer flower.” - -There is a pretty poetic perfume in this--a merry musical jingle; but it -gives no echo even of the tendernesses which wrapped all round and round -the story of the Sad Griselda. - - -_Henry V. and War Times._ - -This fifteenth century--in no chink of which, as would seem, could any -brave or sweet English poem find root-hold, was not a bald one in British -annals. There were great men of war in it: Henry V. and Bedford[61] and -Warwick and Talbot and Richard III. all wrote bloody legends with their -swords across French plains, or across English meadows. - -Normandy, which had slipped out of British hands--as you remember--under -King John, was won again by the masterly blows Henry V. struck at -Agincourt and otherwheres. Shakespeare has given an historic picture of -this campaign, which will be apt to outlive any contemporary chronicle. -Falstaff disappears from sight, and his old crony the dissolute Prince -Hal comes upon the scene as the conquering and steady-going King. - -Through all the drama--from the “proud hoofs” of the war-horses, -prancing in the prologue, to the last chorus, the lurid blaze of battle -is threatening or shining. Never were the pomp and circumstance of war -so contained within the pages of a play. For ever so little space--in -gaps of the reading--between the vulgar wit of Nym, and the Welsh jargon -of Fluellen, you hear the crack of artillery, and see shivered spears -and tossing plumes. In the mid scenes, vast ranks of men sweep under -your vision, and crash against opposing ranks, and break, and dissolve -away in the hot swirl of battle. And by way of artistic contrast to -all this, comes at last, in the closing pages, that piquant, homely, -strange coquettish love-scene, which--historically true in its main -details--joined the fortunes of England and of France in the persons -of King Henry and Katharine of Valois. You will not be sorry to have a -glimpse of this Shakespearean and historic love-making: The decisive -battle has been fought: the French King is prisoner: Henry has the -game in his own hands. It is a condition of peace that he and the fair -Katharine--daughter of France--shall join hands in marriage; and Henry in -his blunt war way sets about his wooing:-- - - “O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French - heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your - English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?” - - _Kate._ _Pardonnez moi_; I cannot tell vat is--_like me_. - - _King._ [Explosively and deliciously.] An angel is like you, - Kate; and you are like an angel: faith, I’m glad thou can’st - speak no better English: for if thou could’st thou would’st - find me such a plain King, that thou would’st think I had - sold my farm to buy my crown. If you would put me to verses, - or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me. I speak - plain soldier. If thou can’st love me for this--take me: if - not--to say to thee that I shall die, is true: but--for thy - love--by the Lord, no. Yet I love thee too. And whil’st thou - livest, Kate, take a fellow of a plain uncoined constancy: a - straight-back will stoop; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun - and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon, for it shines - bright and never changes. If thou would’st have such a one, - take me! - - _Kate._ Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France? - - _King._ No, it’s not possible, Kate: but in loving me you would - love the friend of France, for I love France so well, that I - will not part with a village of it: I will have it all mine: - and, Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours, then yours is - France and you are mine. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus - much English--Can’st thou love me? - - _Kate._ I cannot tell. - - _King._ Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate? - - _Kate._ I do not know dat. - - _King._ By mine honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate: by - which honor, I dare not swear thou lovest me: yet my blood - begins to flatter me, that thou dost. Wilt thou have me Kate? - - _Kate._ That is as it shall please _le roy mon Père_. - - _King._ Nay it will please him well, Kate. It _shall_ please - him, Kate, and upon that, I kiss your hand and call you “my - Queen.” - - _Kate._ Dat is not de fashion _pour les ladies_ of France--to - kiss before marriage. - - _King._ O Kate, [loftily] _nice customs courtesy to great - Kings_:--here comes your father. - -And these two _did_ marry; the Queen being--as Shakespeare represents--in -a large sense, the spoil of war. Out of this union sprung the next King, -Henry VI., crowned when an infant. But this does not close the story -of Katharine: three years after the King’s death, she married a Welsh -knight--named Sir Owen Tudor. (He, poor man, lost his head, some years -after, for his temerity in marrying a King’s widow.) But from the second -marriage of Katharine, was born a son who became the father of that -Henry VII., who sixty years later conquered Richard III. on Bosworth -field--brought to an end the wars of York and Lancaster, and gave his own -surname of Tudor to his son Henry VIII., to the great Elizabeth and to -bloody Mary. - -Seeing thus how the name of Tudor came into the royal family, through -that Katharine of Valois, whose courtship is written in the play of Henry -V., I will try on the same page to fasten in mind the cause of the great -civil wars of York and Lancaster, or of the white and red roses, which -desolated England in the heart of the fifteenth century.[62] - -You will recall my having spoken of Chaucer as a favorite in the -household of John of Gaunt, and as an inmate also in the household of -John’s older brother, Lionel. You will remember, too, that Henry IV., -son of John of Gaunt, succeeded the hapless and handsome Richard II. -on the throne; but his right was disputed, and with a great deal of -reason, by the heirs of the older brother, Lionel (who had title of -Duke of Clarence). There was not however power and courage enough to -contest the claim, until the kingship of young Henry VI.--crowned when -an infant--offered opportunity. Thereafter and thereby came the broils, -the apprehensions, the doubts, the conspiracies, the battles, which made -England one of the worst of places to live in: all this bitterness -between York and Lancaster growing out of the rival claims of the heirs -of our old acquaintances Lionel and John of Gaunt, whom we met in the -days of Chaucer. - - -_Joan of Arc and Richard III._ - -If we look for any literary illumination of this period, we shall scarce -find it, except we go again to the historic plays of Shakespeare: The -career of Henry VI. supplies to him the groundwork for three dramas: the -first, dealing with the English armies in France, which, after Henry V.’s -death are beaten back and forth by French forces, waked to new bravery -under the strange enthusiasm and heroic leadership of Joan of Arc. Of -course she comes in for her picture in Shakespeare’s story: but he gives -us an ignoble one (though not so bad as Voltaire’s in the ribald poem of -_La Pucelle_). - -No Englishman of that day, or of Shakespeare’s day, could do justice to -the fiery, Gallic courage, the self-devotion, the religious ennoblement -of that earnest, gallant soul who was called the Maid of Orleans. A far -better notion of her presence and power than Shakespeare gave is brought -to mind by that recent French painting of Bastien-Lepage--so well known -by engraving--which aims to set forth the vision and the voices that -came to her amid the forest silence and shadows. Amid those shadows she -stands--startled: a strong, sweet figure of a peasant maiden; stoutly -clad and simply; capable of harvest-work with the strongest of her -sisterhood; yet not coarse; redeemed through every fibre of body and -soul by a light that shines in her eye, looking dreamily upward; seeing -things others see not; hoping things others hope not, and with clenched -hand putting emphasis to the purpose--which the hope and the vision -kindle; pitying her poor France, and nerved to help her--as she did--all -the weary and the troublesome days through, till the shameful sacrifice -at English hands, on the market-place of Rouen, closed her life and her -story. - -The two closing portions of the Henry VI. dramas relate to home concerns. -There is much blood in them and tedium too (if one dare say this), and -flashes of wit--a crazy tangle of white and red roses in that English -garden--cleared up at last in Shakespeare’s own way, when Richard -III.[63] comes, in drama of his own, and crookedness, and Satanry of his -own, and laughs his mocking laugh over the corpses he makes of kings -and queens and princes; and at last in Bosworth field, upon the borders -of Warwickshire and near to the old Roman Watling Street, the wicked -hunchback, fighting like a demon, goes down under the sword-thrust of -that Henry (VII.) of Richmond, who, as I have said, was grandson to -Katharine of Valois, of the coquettish courtship. - -No chronicler of them all, commonplace or painstaking as he might be, -has so planted the image of the crooked Richard III. in men’s minds as -Shakespeare: though it is to be feared that he used somewhat too much -blood in the coloring; and doubtful if the hump-backed king was quite the -monster which Garrick, Booth, and Macready have made of him. - - -_Caxton and First English Printing._ - -In the midst of those draggling, dreary, dismal war-times, when no poet -lifted his voice in song, when no chronicler who has a worthy name wrote -any story of the years, there came into vogue in Europe and in England, -a trade--which in its issues had more to do with the life and spread of -good literature, than any poet, or any ten poets could accomplish. You -will guess at once what the trade was; it was the trade of Printing. - -Bosworth field dates in 1485: in the middle of the century (or 1444) -John Gutenberg began the printing of a Bible; and a little after, Faust -began to dispose of wonderful copies of books, which the royal buyers -thought to be manuscripts: and Faust did not perhaps undeceive them: yet -copies were so wonderfully alike--one to the other--that book lovers were -puzzled, and pushed inquiry, and so the truth of the method came out. - -In 1477 William Caxton set up the first English printing press--in an old -building, close upon Westminster Abbey--a building, which, if tradition -is to be trusted, was standing down to near the middle of the present -century; and on its demolition in 1846 its timbers were converted into -snuff-boxes and the like, as mementos of the first printer. It was in -1477 that William Caxton issued the first book, printed with a date, in -England.[64] - -This Caxton was a man worth knowing about on many counts: he was a -typical Englishman, born in Kent; was apprenticed to a well-to-do -mercer in the Old Jewry, London, at a time when, he says, many poor -were a-hungered for bread made of fern roots;--he went over (while yet -apprentice) to the low countries of Flanders, perhaps to represent his -master’s interests; abode there; throve there; came to be Governor of the -Company of English merchant adventurers, in the ancient town of Bruges: -knew the great, rich Flemings[65] who were patrons of letters;--became -friend and protégé of that English Princess Margaret who married Charles -Duke of Burgundy; did work in translating old books for that great lady; -studied the new printing art, which had crept into Bruges, and finally, -after thirty odd years of life in the busy Flemish city sailed away -for London, and set up a press which he had brought with him, under -the shadow of Westminster towers. Fifteen years and more he wrought on -there, at his printer’s craft--counting up a hundred issues of books; -making much of his own copy, both translation and original, and dying -over seventy in 1492. A good tag to tie to this date is--the Discovery of -America; Columbus being over seas on that early voyage of his, while the -first English printer lay dying. - -And what were the books, pray, which Master Caxton--who, for a wonder, was -a shrewd business man, as well as inclined to literary ways--thought it -worth his while to set before the world? Among them we find _A Sequell -of the Historie of Troie_--_The Dictes and Sayings of Philosophers_--a -history of Jason, the _Game and Plays of Chesse_, Mallory’s King -Arthur (to which I have previously alluded), a _Book of Courtesie_, -translations from Ovid, Virgil and Cicero--also the Canterbury Tales of -Chaucer (of whom he was great admirer)--coupling with these latter, poems -by Lydgate and Gower; many people in those days seeming to rank these -men on a level with Chaucer--just as we yoke writers together now in -newspaper mention, who will most certainly be unyoked in the days that -are to come. - -The editions of the first English books ranged at about two hundred -copies: the type was what we call black letter, of which four varieties -were used on the Caxton press, and the punctuation--if any--was of the -crudest. An occasional sample of his work appears from time to time on -the market even now; but not at prices which are inviting to the most -of us. Thus in 1862, there was sold in England, a little Latin tractate -printed by Caxton--of only ten leaves quarto, with twenty-four lines to -the page, for £200; and I observe upon the catalogue of a recent date of -Mr. Quaritch (the London bibliopole) a copy of _Godefroi de Bouloyne_, of -the Caxton imprint, offered at the modest price of £1,000. - -Very shortly after the planting of this first press at Westminster, -others were established at Oxford and also at the great monastery of -St. Albans. Among the early books printed at this latter place--say -within ten years after Caxton’s first--was a booklet written by a certain -Dame Juliana Barnes;[66] it is the first work we have encountered -written by a woman; and what do you think may have been its subject? -Religion--poesy--love--embroidery? Not one of these; but some twenty -odd pages of crude verse “upon the maner of huntyng for all maner of -bestys” (men--not being included); and she writes with the gusto and -particularity of a man proud of his falcons and his dogs. Warton says -blandly: “The barbarism of the times strongly appears in the indelicate -expressions which she often uses; and which are equally incompatible with -her sex and profession.” The allusion to her “profession” has reference -to her supposed position as prioress of a convent; this, however, is -matter of grave doubt. - - -_Old Private Letters._ - -But this is not the only utterance of a female voice which we hear -from out those years of barrenness and moil. In 1787 there appeared in -England a book made up of what were called Paston Letters[67]--published -and vouched for by an antiquarian of Norfolk, who had the originals in -his possession--and which were in fact familiar letters that had passed -between the members and friends of a well-to-do Norfolk family in the -very years of the War of the Roses, of Caxton, of King Richard, and of -Wynkyn de Worde. - -Among the parties to these old letters, there is a John Paston senior -and a Sir John Paston, and a John Paston the younger and a good Margery -Paston; there is a Sir John Fastolf too--as luck would have it. Was this -the prototype[68] of Shakespeare’s man of humors? Probably not: nor can -we say of a certainty that he was the runaway warrior who was of so bad -repute for a time in the army of the Duke of Bedford: but we do know from -these musty papers that he had a “Jacket of red velvet, bound round the -bottom with red leather,” and “Another jacket of russet velvet lyned with -blanket clothe;” also “Two jackets of deer’s leather, with a collar of -black velvet,” and so on. - -We do not however care so much about this Fastolf inventory, as for what -good Margaret Paston may have to say: and as we read her letters we seem -to go back on her quaint language and her good wifely fondness to the -very days when they were written--in the great country-house of Norfolk, -near upon the city of Norwich, with the gentle east wind from the German -Ocean, blowing over the Norfolk fens, and over the forests, and over the -orchards, and over the barns, and into the hall-windows, and lifting the -very sheets of paper on which the good dame Margery is writing. And what -does she say? - -“Ryte worshipful husband, I recommend me unto you”--she begins; and -thereafter goes on to speak of a son who has been doing unwise things, -and been punished therefor as would seem:-- - - “As for his demeaning, syn you departed, in good faith, it - hath been ryt good, I hope he will be well demeaned to please - you hereafterward; and I beseche you hartily that you would - vouchsafe to be hys good fader, for I hope he is chastyzèd, and - will be worthier. As for all oder tyngges at home, I hope that - I, and oder shall do our part therein, as wel as we may; but as - for mony it cometh in slowly, and God hav you in his keeping, - and sen you good speed in all yr matters.” - -Again, in another note, she addresses her husband,-- - - “Myn oune sweethert [a good many years after marriage too!] in - my most humble wyse I recommend me to you; desiring hertly to - her of your welfare, the which I beseche Almighty God preserve - and kepe.” - -And a son writes to this same worthy Margaret:-- - - “Ryght worshipful and my moste kynde and tender moder, I - recommend me to you, thanking you of the great coste, and of - the grete chere that ye dyd me, and myn, at my last being with - you. _Item_: As for the books that weer Sir James [would] it - like you that I may have them? I am not able to buy them; but - somewhat wolde I give, and the remnant with a good devout - hert, by my truthe, I will pray for his soule. - - “Also, moder, I herd while in London ther was a goodly young - woman to marry whyche was daughter to one Seff, a mercer, and - she will have 200 pounds in money to her marriage, and 20 £ by - year after the dysesse of a stepmoder of hers, whiche is upon - 50 yeeres of age: and fore I departed out o’ Lunnon, I spak - with some of the mayd’s friends, and hav gotten their good - wille to hav her married to my broder Edmond. Master Pykenham - too is another that must be consulted--so he says: Wherefore, - Moder, we must beseeche you to helpe us forward with a lettyr - to Master Pykenham, for to remember him for to handyl this - matter, now, this Lent.” - -A younger son writes:-- - - “I beseeche you humbly of your blessing: also, modyr, I - beseeche you that ther may be purveyed some meane that I myth - have sent me home by the same messenger that shall bring my - Aunt Poynings answer--two paire hose--1 payr blak and another - russet, whyche be redy for me at the hosers with the crooked - back next to the Blk Friars gate, within Ludgate. John Pampyng - knoweth him well eno’. And if the blk hose be paid for, he - will send me the russet ones unpaid for. I beseeche you that - this geer be not forgot, for I have not an whole hose to do - on. I pray you visit the Rood of St. Pauls, and St. Savior at - Barmonsey whyls ye abide in London, and let my sister Margery - go with you to pray to them that she may have a good husband - ere she come home again. Written at Norwich on holyrood day, by - yr - - “Son and lowly Servant - - “JNO: PASTON THE YOUNGEST.” - -This sounds as home-like as if it were written yesterday, and about one -of us--even to the sending of two pair of hose if one was paid for. And -yet this familiar, boy-like letter was written in the year 1465: six -years before Caxton had set up his press in Westminster--twenty-seven -before Columbus had landed on San Salvador, and at a time when Louis XI. -and barber Oliver (whose characters are set forth in Scott’s story of -Quentin Durward) were hanging men who angered them on the branches of the -trees which grew around the dismal palace of Plessis-les-Tours, in France. - - -_A Burst of Balladry._ - -I have brought my readers through a waste literary country to-day; but we -cannot reach the oases of bloom without going across the desert spaces. -In looking back upon this moil and turmoil--this fret and wear and -barrenness of the fifteenth century, in which we have welcomed talk about -Caxton’s sorry translations, and the wheezing of his press; and have -given an ear to the hunting discourse of Dame Juliana, for want of better -things; and have dwelt with a certain gleesomeness on the homely Paston -Letters, let us not forget that there has been all the while, and running -through all the years of stagnation, a bright thread of balladry, with -glitter and with gayety of color. This ballad music--whose first burst we -can no more pin to a date than we can the first singing of the birds--had -lightened, in that early century, the walk of the wayfarer on all the -paths of England; it had spun its tales by bivouac fires in France; it -had caught--as in silken meshes--all the young foragers on the ways of -Romance. To this epoch, of which we have talked, belongs most likely that -brave ballad of Chevy Chase, which keeps alive the memory of Otterbourne, -and of that woful hunting which - - “Once there did, in Chevy Chase befal. - - “To drive the deare with hounde and horne - Erle Percy took his way; - The child may rue, that is unborn - The hunting of that day.” - -Hereabout, too, belongs in all probability the early English shaping of -the jingling history of the brave deeds of Sir Guy of Warwick; and some -of the tales of Robin Hood and his “pretty men all,” which had been sung -in wild and crude carols for a century or more, now seem to have taken -on a more regular ballad garniture, and certainly became fixtures in -type. This is specially averred of “Robin Hood and the Monk,” beginning:-- - - “In summer when the shawes be sheyne - And levès be large and long, - Hit is full merry, in feyre forést, - To here the foulé’s song; - To see the dere draw to the dale, - And leve the hillés hee, - And shadow them in the levés green, - Under the grenwode tree.” - -But was Robin Hood a myth? Was he a real yeoman--was he the Earl of -Huntington? We cannot tell; we know no one who can. We know only that -this hero of the folk-songs made the common people’s ideal of a good -fellow--brave, lusty--a capital bowman, a wondrous wrestler, a lover of -good cheer, a hater of pompous churchmen, a spoiler of the rich, a helper -of the poor, with such advices as these for Little John:-- - - “Loke ye do no housbande harme - That tylleth with his plough; - No more ye shall no good yeman - That walketh by grenewode shawe, - Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr, - That wolde be a good felawe.” - -That very charming ballad of the Nut-Brown Maid must also have been -well known to contemporaries of Caxton: She is daughter of a Baron, and -her love has been won by a wayfarer, who says he is “an outlaw,” and a -banished man, a squire of low degree. He tries her faith and constancy, -as poor Griselda’s was tried in Chaucer’s story--in Boccaccio’s tale, and -as men have tried and teased women from the beginning of time. He sets -before her all the dangers and the taunts that will come to her; she must -forswear her friends; she must go to the forest with him; she must not be -jealous of any other maiden lying _perdue_ there; she must dare all, and -brave all,-- - - “Or else--I to the greenwood go - Alone, a banished man.” - -At last, having tormented her sufficiently, he confesses--that he is not -an outlaw--not a banished man, but one who will give her wealth, and -rank, and name and fame. And I will close out our present talk with a -verselet or two from this rich old ballad. - -The wooer says-- - - “I counsel you, remember howe - It is no maydens law - Nothing to doubt, but to ren out - To wed with an outlaw: - For ye must there, in your hand bere - A bowe ready to draw, - And as a thefe, thus must you live - Ever in drede and awe - Whereby to you grete harme might growe; - Yet had I lever than - That I had to the grenewode go - Alone, a banished man.” - - _She_: “I think not nay, but as ye say - It is no maiden’s lore - But love may make me, for your sake - As I have say’d before, - To come on fote, to hunt and shote - To get us mete in store; - For so that I, your company - May have, I ask no more, - From which to part, it maketh my hart - As cold as any stone; - For in my minde, of all mankinde - I love but you alone.” - - _He_: “A baron’s child, to be beguiled - It were a cursèd dede! - To be felawe with an outlawe - Almighty God forbid! - Yt better were, the poor Squyère - Alone to forest yede, - Than ye shold say, another day - That by my cursed dede - Ye were betrayed; wherefore good maid - The best rede that I can - Is that I to the grenewode go - Alone, a banished man.” - - _She_: “Whatever befal, I never shall - Of this thing you upraid; - But if ye go, and leve me so - Then have ye me betrayed; - Remember you wele, how that ye dele - For if ye, as ye said - Be so unkynde to leave behinde - Your love the Nut Brown Mayd - Trust me truly, that I shall die - Soon after ye be gone; - For in my minde, of all mankinde - I love but you alone.” - - _He_: “My own deare love, I see thee prove - That ye be kynde and true: - Of mayd and wife, in all my life - The best that ever I knewe - Be merry and glad; be no more sad - The case is chaunged newe - For it were ruthe, that for your truthe - Ye should have cause to rue; - Be not dismayed, whatever I said - To you when I began; - I will not to the grenewode go - I am no banished man.” - - _And she, with delight and fear_-- - “These tidings be more glad to me - Than to be made a quene; - If I were sure they shold endure - But it is often seene - When men wyl break promise, they speak - The wordes on the splene: - Ye shape some wyle, me to beguile - And stele from me I wene; - Then were the case, worse than it was - And I more woebegone, - For in my minde, of all mankynde - I love but you alone.” - - _Then he--at last_,-- - “Ye shall not nede, further to drede - I will not disparàge - You (God defend!) syth ye descend - Of so grate a linèage; - Now understand--to Westmoreland - Which is mine heritàge - I wyl you bring, and with a ryng - By way of marriàge - I wyl you take, and lady make - As shortely as I can: - Thus have you won an Erly’s son - And not a banished man.” - - * * * * * - -In our next chapter we shall enter upon a different century, and -encounter a different people. We shall find a statelier king, whose name -is more familiar to you: In place of the fat knight and Prince Hal, we -shall meet brilliant churchmen and hard-headed reformers; and in place of -Otterbourne and its balladry, we shall see the smoke of Smithfield fires, -and listen to the psalmody of Sternhold. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -When we turned the leaf upon the Balladry of England, we were upon -fifteenth century ground, which, you will remember, we found very barren -of great writers. Gower and Froissart, whom we touched upon, slipped off -the stage just as the century began--their names making two of those -joined in that group of deaths to which I called attention, and which -marked the meeting of two centuries. Next we had glimpse of Lydgate and -of King James (of Scotland), who, at their best, only gave faint token of -the poetic spirit which illuminated the far better verses of Chaucer. - -We then passed over the period of the Henrys, and of the War of the -Roses, with mention of Shakespeare’s Falstaff--of his Prince Hal--his -Agincourt--his courtship of Katharine of Valois--his inadequate -presentment of the Maid of Orleans--his crabbed and crooked Richard -III.--all rounded out with the battle of Bosworth field, and the coming -to power of Henry of Richmond. - -We found the book-trade taking on a new phase with Caxton’s press: -we gave a tinkling bit of Skelton’s “Merry Margaret;” we put a -woman-writer--Dame Juliana Barnes--for the first time on our list; we -lingered over the quaint time-stained Paston Letters, which smelled so -strongly of old English home-life; and we summed up our talk with a -little bugle-note of that Balladry which made fitful snatches of music -all through the weariness of those hundred years. - - -_Early Days of Henry VIII._ - -To-day we front the sixteenth century. Great names and great deeds crop -out over it as thickly as leaves grow in summer. At the very outset, -three powerful monarchs came almost abreast upon the scene--Henry VIII. -of England, Francis I. of France, and Charles V. of Spain, Germany, and -the Low Countries. - -Before the first quarter of the century had passed, the monk Luther had -pasted his ticket upon the doors of the church at Wittenberg; and that -other soldier-monk, Loyola, was astir with the beginnings of Jesuitism. -America had been planted; the Cape of Good Hope was no longer the outpost -of stormy wastes of water with no shores beyond. St. Peter’s church was -a-building across the Tiber, and that brilliant, courteous, vicious, -learned Leo X. was lording it in Rome. The Moors and their Saracen faith -had been driven out of the pleasant countries that are watered by the -Guadalquivir. Titian was alive and working; and so was Michael Angelo -and Raphael, in the great art-centres of Italy: and Venice was in this -time so rich, so grand, so beautiful, so abounding in princely houses, -in pictures, in books, in learning, and in all social splendors, that -to pass two winters in the City of the Lagoon, was equal to the half -of a polite education; and I suppose that a Florentine or Venetian -or Roman of that day, thought of a pilgrimage to the far-away, murky -London, as Parisians think now of going to Chicago, or Omaha, or San -Francisco--excellent places, with delightful people in them; but not the -centres about which the literary and art world goes spinning, as a wheel -goes spinning on its hub. - -We have in the contemporary notes of a well-known Venetian chronicler, -Marini Sanuto--who was secretary to the famous Council of Ten--evidence -of the impression which was made on that far-off centre of business -and of learning, by such an event as the accession of Henry VIII. to -the throne of England. This Sanuto was a man of great dignity; and by -virtue of his position in the Council, heard all the “relations” of the -ambassadors of Venice; and hence his Diary is a great mine of material -for contemporary history. - - “News have come,” he says, “through Rome of the death of the - King of England on April 20th [1509]. ’Twas known in Lucca on - the 6th May, by letters from the bankers Bonvisi. The new King - is nineteen years old, a worthy King, and hostile to France. He - is the son-in-law of the King of Spain. His father was called - Henry, and fifty odd years of age; he was a very great _miser_, - but a man of vast ability, and had accumulated so much gold - that he is supposed to have [had] more than wellnigh all the - other Kings of Christendom. The King, his son, is liberal and - handsome--the friend of Venice, and the enemy of France. This - intelligence is _most_ satisfactory.” - -Certainly the new king was most liberal in his spending, and as certainly -was abundantly provided for. And money counted in those days--as it does -most whiles: no man in England could come to the dignity of Justice of -the Peace--such office as our evergreen friend Justice Shallow holds -in Shakespeare--except he had a rental of £20 per annum, equivalent to -a thousand dollars of present money--measured by its purchasing power -of wheat.[69] By the same standard the average Earl had a revenue of -£20,000, and the richest of the peers is put down at a probable income of -three times this amount. - -What a special favorite of the crown could do in the way of expenditure -is still made clear to us by those famous walks, gardens, and gorgeous -saloons of Hampton Court, where the great Cardinal Wolsey set his -armorial bearings upon the wall--still to be seen over the entrance of -the Clock Court. If you go there--and every American visitor in London -should be sure to find a way thither--you will see, may be, in the lower -range of windows, that look upon the garden court--the pots of geranium -and the tabby cats belonging to gentlewomen of rank, but of decayed -fortune--humble pensioners of Victoria--who occupy the sunny rooms from -which, in the times we are talking of, the pampered servants of the great -Cardinal looked out. And when the great man drove to court, or into the -city, his retinue of outriders and lackeys, and his golden trappings, -made a spectacle for all the street mongers. - -Into that panorama, too, of the early days of Henry VIII., enters with -slow step, and with sad speech, poor Katharine of Aragon--the first in -order of this stalwart king’s wives. Mrs. Fanny Kemble Butler used to -read that queen’s speech with a pathos that brought all the sadnesses -of that sad court to life again: Miss Cushman, too, you may possibly -have heard giving utterance to the same moving story; but, I think, with -a masculinity about her manner she could never wholly shake off, and -which gave the impression that she could--if need were--give the stout -king such a buffet on the ears as would put an end to all chaffer about -divorce. - -Shakespeare, writing that play of Henry VIII., probably during the -lifetime of Elizabeth (though its precise date and full authenticity are -matters of doubt), could not speak with very much freedom of the great -queen’s father: She had too much of that father’s spirit in her to -permit that; otherwise, I think the great dramatist would have given a -blazing score to the cruelty and _Bluebeardism_ of Henry VIII. - -I know that there be those acute historic inquirers who would persuade us -to believe that the king’s much-marrying propensities were all in order, -and legitimate, and agreeable to English constitutional sanction: but I -know, too, that there is a strong British current of common-sense setting -down all through the centuries which finds harbor in the old-fashioned -belief--that the king who, with six successive wives of his own choice, -divorced two, and cut off the heads of other two, must have had--vicious -weaknesses. For my own part, I take a high moral delight--Froude to -the contrary--in thinking of him as a clever, dishonest, good-natured, -obstinate, selfish, ambitious, tempestuous, arrogant scoundrel. Yet, -withal, he was a great favorite in his young days;--so tall, so trim, -so stout, so rich, so free with his money. No wonder the stately and -disconsolate Queen (of Aragon) said:-- - - “Would I had never trod this English earth, - Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it; - Ye’ve angels faces, but Heaven knows your hearts!” - -And this wilful King befriended learning and letters in his own wilful -way. Nay, he came to have ambitions of his own in that direction, when he -grew too heavy for practice with the long-bow, or for feats of riding--in -which matters he had gained eminence even amongst those trained to sports -and exercises of the field. - - -_Cardinal Wolsey and Sir Thomas More._ - -It was with the King’s capricious furtherance that Cardinal Wolsey -became so august a friend of learning. The annalists delight in telling -us how the great Cardinal went down to St. Paul’s School to attend -upon an exhibition of the boys there, who set afoot a tragedy founded -upon the story of Dido. And at the boys’ school was then established -as head-master that famous William Lilly[70] who had learned Greek in -his voyaging into Eastern seas, and was among the first to teach it in -England: he was the author too of that _Lilly’s Latin Grammar_ which -was in use for centuries, and of which later editions are hanging about -now in old New England garrets, from whose mouldy pages our grandfathers -learned to decline their _pennæ--pennarum_. Wolsey wrote a preface for -one of the earlier issues of this Lilly’s Grammar; and the King gave -it a capital advertisement by proclaiming it illegal to use any other. -The Cardinal, moreover, in later years established a famous school at -his native place of Ipswich (a rival in its day to that of Eton), and -he issued an address to all the schoolmasters of England in favor of -accomplishing the boys submitted to their charge in the most elegant -literatures. - -The great Hall of Christ’s Church College, Oxford, still further serves -to keep in mind the memory and the munificence of Cardinal Wolsey: it -must be remembered, however, in estimating his munificence that he had -only to confiscate the revenues of a small monastery to make himself -full-pocketed for the endowment of a college. ’Tis certain that he loved -learning, and that he did much for its development in the season of his -greatest power and influence; certain, too, that his ambitions were too -large for the wary King, his master, and brought him to that dismal fall -from his high estate, which is pathetically set forth in Shakespeare’s -Henry VIII.: - - “----Farewell to all my greatness! - This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth - The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms - And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; - The third day comes a frost--a killing frost; - And--when he thinks, good easy man, full surely - His greatness is a ripening--nips his root - And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, - This many summers in a sea of glory; - But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride - At length broke under me; and now has left me, - Weary, and old with service, to the mercy - Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.” - -Another favorite of Henry in the early days of his kingship, and one -bearing a far more important name in the literary annals of England -than that of Wolsey, was Sir Thomas More. He was a Greek of the very -Greeks, in both character and attainment. Born in the heart of London--in -Milk Street, now just outside of the din and roar of Cheapside, he -was a scholar of Oxford, and was the son of a knight, who, like Sir -Thomas himself, had a reputation for shrewd sayings--of which the old -chronicler, William Camden,[71] has reported this sample:-- - - “Marriage,” said the elder More, “with its chances, is like - dipping one’s hand into a bag, with a great many snakes - therein, and but one eel; the which most serviceable and - comfortable eel might possibly be seized upon; but the chances - are largely in favor of catching a stinging snake:” - -But, says the chronicler--this good knight did himself thrust _his_ hand -three several times into such a bag, and with such ensuing results as -preserved him hale and sound to the age of ninety or thereabout. The son -inherited this tendency to whimsical speech, joining with it rare merits -as a scholar: and it used to be said of him as a boy, that he could -thrust himself into the acting of a Latin comedy and extemporize his -part, with such wit and aptness, as not to break upon the drift of the -play. He studied, as I said, at Oxford; and afterward Law at Lincoln’s -Inn; was onewhile strongly inclined to the Church, and under influence -of a patron who was a Church dignitary became zealous Religionist, and -took to wearing in penance a bristling hair-shirt--which (or one like -it) he kept wearing till prison-days and the scaffold overtook him, as -they overtook so many of the quondam friends of Henry VIII. For he had -been early presented to that monarch--even before Henry had come to the -throne--and had charmed him by his humor and his scholarly talk: so -that when More came to live upon his little farm at Chelsea (very near -to Cheyne Row where Carlyle died but a few years since) the King found -his way thither on more than one occasion; and there are stories of his -pacing up and down the garden walks in familiar talk with the master. - -There, too, came for longer stay, and for longer and friendlier -communings, the great and scholarly Erasmus (afterward teacher of Greek -at Cambridge)--and out of one of these visitations to Chelsea grew the -conception and the working out of his famous Praise of Folly, with its -punning title--_Encomium Moriæ_.[72] - -The King promised preferment to More--which came in its time. I think he -was in Flanders on the King’s business, when upon a certain day, as he -was coming out from the Antwerp Cathedral, he encountered a stranger, -with long beard and sunburnt face--a man of the “Ancient Mariner” stamp, -who had made long voyages with that Amerigo Vespucci who stole the honor -of naming America: and this long-bearded mariner told Sir Thomas More of -the strange things he had seen in a country farther off than America, -called _Utopia_. Of course, it is something doubtful if More ever really -encountered such a mariner, or if he did not contrive him only as a good -frontispiece for his political fiction. This is the work by which More is -best known (through its English translations); and it has given the word -Utopian to our every-day speech. The present popular significance of this -term will give you a proper hint of the character of the book: it is an -elaborate and whimsical and yet statesmanlike forecast of a government -too good and honest and wise to be sound and true and real. - -Sir Thomas smacked the humor of the thing, in giving the name _Utopia_, -which is Greek for _Nowhere_. If, indeed, men were all honest, and women -all virtuous and children all rosy and helpful, we might all live in a -Utopia of our own. All the Fourierites--the Socialists--the Knights of -Labor might find the germs of their best arguments in this reservoir of -the ideal maxims of statecraft. In this model country, gold was held -in large disrespect; and to keep the scorn of it wholesome, it was -put to the vilest uses: a great criminal was compelled to wear gold -rings in his ears: chains were made of it for those in bondage; and a -particularly obnoxious character put to the wearing of a gold head-band; -so too diamonds and pearls were given over to the decoration of infants; -and these, with other baby accoutrements, they flung aside in disgust, -so soon as they came to sturdy childhood. When therefore upon a time, -Ambassadors came to Utopia, from a strange country, with their tricksy -show of gold and jewels--the old Voyager says:-- - - “You shᵈ have sene [Utopian] children that had caste away their - peerles and pretious stones, when they sawe the like sticking - upon the Ambassadours cappes;--digge and pushe theire mothers - under the sides, sainge thus to them,--‘Loke mother how great a - lubbor doth yet were peerles, as though he were a litel child - stil!’ ‘Peace sone,’ saith she; ‘I thinke he be some of the - Ambassadours fooles.’” - -Also in this model state industrial education was in vogue; children -all, of whatsoever parentage, were to be taught some craft--as “masonrie -or smith’s craft, or the carpenter’s science.” Unlawful games were -decried--such as “dyce, cardes, tennis, coytes [quoits]--do not all -these,” says the author, “sende the haunters of them streyghte a -stealynge, when theyr money is gone?” - -The Russian Count Tolstoi’s opinion that money is an invention of Satan -and should be abolished, is set forth with more humor and at least equal -logic, in this Latin tractate of More’s. - -In the matters of Religion King Utopus decreed that - - “it should be lawful for everie man to favoure and folow what - religion he would, and that he mighte do the best he could - to bring other to his opinion, so that he did it peaceablie, - gentelie, quietlie and sobelie, without hastie and contentious - rebuking.” - -Yet this same self-contained Sir Thomas More did in his after -controversies with Tyndale use such talk of him--about his “whyning -and biting and licking and tumbling in the myre,” and “rubbing himself -in puddles of dirt,”--as were like anything but the courtesies of -Utopia. Indeed it is to be feared that theologic discussion does -not greatly provoke gentleness of speech, in any time; it is a very -grindstone to put men’s wits to sharpened edges. But More was a most -honest man withal;--fearless in advocacy of his own opinions; eloquent, -self-sacrificing--a tender father and husband--master of a rich English -speech (his _Utopia_ was written in Latin, but translated many times -into English, and most languages of Continental Europe), learned in -the classics--a man to be remembered as one of the greatest of Henry -VIII.’s time; a Romanist, at a date when honestest men doubted if it were -worthiest to be a King’s man or a Pope’s man;--not yielding to his royal -master in points of religious scruple, and with a lofty obstinacy in what -he counted well doing, going to the scaffold, with as serene a step as he -had ever put to his walks in the pleasant gardens of Chelsea. - - -_Cranmer, Latimer, Knox, and Others._ - -A much nobler figure is this, to my mind, than that of Cranmer,[73] who -appears in such picturesque lights in the drama of Henry VIII.--who -gave adhesion to royal wishes for divorce upon divorce; who always -colored his religious allegiances with the colors of the King; who was -a scholar indeed--learned, eloquent; who wrought well, as it proved, -for the reformed faith; but who wilted under the fierce heats of trial; -would have sought the good will of the blood-thirsty Mary; but who -gave even to his subserviencies a half-tone that brought distrust, and -so--finally--the fate of that quasi-martyrdom which has redeemed his -memory. - -He stands very grandly in his robes upon the memorial cross at -Oxford: and he has an even more august presence in the final scene of -Shakespeare’s play, where amidst all churchly and courtly pomp, he -christened the infant--who was to become the Royal Elizabeth, and says -to the assembled dignitaries: - - “This royal infant - Tho’ in her cradle, yet now promises - Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, - Which time will bring to ripeness: She shall be - A pattern to all princes living with her, - And all that shall succeed her. Truth shall nurse her, - Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: - She shall be loved and feared. - A most unspotted lily shall she pass - To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.”[74] - -Tennyson, in his drama of Queen Mary (a most unfortunate choice of -heroine) gives a statuesque pose to this same Archbishop Cranmer; but -Shakespeare’s figures are hard to duplicate. He was with Henry VIII. as -counsellor at his death; was intimate adviser of the succeeding Edward -VI.: and took upon himself obligations from that King (contrary to his -promises to Henry) which brought him to grief under Queen Mary. That -brave thrust of his offending hand into the blaze that consumed him, -cannot make us forget his weaknesses and his recantations; nor will we -any more forget that he it was, who gave (1543) to the old Latin Liturgy -of the Church that noble, English rhythmic flow which so largely belongs -to it to-day. - -It is quite impossible to consider the literary aspects of the period of -English history covered by the reign of Henry VIII., and the short reigns -of the two succeeding monarchs, Edward VI. and Mary, without giving large -frontage to the Reformers and religious controversialists. Every scholar -was alive to the great battle in the Church. The Greek and Classicism of -the Universities came to have their largest practical significance in -connection with the settlement of religious questions or in furnishing -weapons for the ecclesiastic controversies of the day. The voices of the -poets--the Skeltons, the Sackvilles, the Wyatts, were chirping sparrows’ -voices beside that din with which Luther thundered in Germany, and Henry -VIII. thundered back, more weakly, from his stand-point of Anglicanism. - -We have seen Wolsey in his garniture of gold, going from court to school; -and Sir Thomas More, stern, strong, and unyielding; and Archbishop -Cranmer, disposed to think rightly, but without the courage to back up -his thought; and associated with these, it were well to keep in mind the -other figures of the great religious processional. There was William -Tyndale, native of Gloucestershire, a slight, thin figure of a man; -honest to the core; well-taught; getting dignities he never sought; -wearied in his heart of hearts by the flattering coquetries of the King; -perfecting the work of Wyclif in making the old home Bible readable by -all the world. His translation was first printed in Wittenberg about -1530:[75] I give the Lord’s Prayer as it appeared in the original -edition:-- - - “Oure Father which arte in heven, halowed be thy name. Let thy - kingdom come. Thy wyll be fulfilled, as well in erth, as hit - ys in heven. Geve vs this daye oure dayly breade. And forgeve - vs oure trespases, even as we forgeve them which treespas vs. - Leade vs not into temptacion but delyvre vs from yvell. Amen.” - -But Tyndale was not safe in England; nor yet in the Low Countries whither -he went, and where the long reach of religious hate and jealousy put its -hand upon him and brought him to a death whose fiery ignominies are put -out of sight by the lustrous quality of his deservings. - -I see too amongst those great, dim figures, that speak in Scriptural -tones, the form of Hugh Latimer, as he stands to-day on the Memorial -Cross in Oxford. I think of him too--in humbler dress than that which the -sculptor has put on him--even the yeoman’s clothes, which he wore upon -his father’s farm, in the Valley of the Soar, when he wrought there in -the meadows, and drank in humility of thought, and manly independence -under the skies of Leicestershire[76]--where (as he says), “My father had -walk for an hundred sheep, and my mother milked thirty kine.” He kept -his head upon his shoulders through Henry’s time--his amazing wit and -humor helping him to security;--was in fair favor with Edward; but under -Mary, walked coolly with Ridley to the stake, where the fires were set, -to burn them both in Oxford. - -Foxe[77] too is to be remembered for his Stories of the Martyrs of these, -and other times, which have formed the nightmare reading for so many -school-boys. - -I see, too, another figure that will not down in this coterie of -Reformers, and that makes itself heard from beyond the Tweed. This is -John Knox,[78] a near contemporary though something younger than most -I have named, and not ripening to his greatest power till Henry VIII. -had gone. Born of humble parentage in Scotland in the early quarter of -the century, he was a rigid Papist in his young days, but a more rigid -Reformer afterward; much time a prisoner; passing years at Geneva; not -altogether a “gloomy, shrinking, fanatic,” but keeping, says Carlyle, -“a pipe of Bordeaux in that old Edinboro house of his;” getting to know -Cranmer, and the rest in England; discussing with these, changes of -Church Service; counselling austerities, where Cranmer admitted laxities; -afraid of no man, neither woman;--publishing in exile in Mary’s day--_The -first Blaste of the Trumpet against the monstrous Regiment of Women_, -and repenting this--quietly no doubt--when Elizabeth came to power. A -thin, frail man; strong no ways, but in courage, and in brain; with -broad brows--black cap--locks floating gray from under it, in careless -whirls that shook as he talked; an eye like a falcon’s that flashed -the light of twenty years, when sixty were on his shoulders; in after -years, writhing with rheumatic pains--crawling upon his stick and a -servant’s arm into his Church of St. Andrews; lifted into his pulpit by -the clerk and his attendant--leaning there on the desk, a wilted heap -of humanity--panting, shaking, quivering--till his breath came, and -the psalm and the lifted prayer gave courage; then--fierce torrents of -speech (and a pounding of the pulpit till it seemed that it would fly in -shivers), with a sharp, swift, piercing utterance that pricked ears as it -pricked consciences, and made the roof-timbers clang with echoes. - -Of all these men there are no books that take high rank in Literature -proper--unless we except the _Utopia_ of More, and the New Testament of -Tyndale: but their lives and thought were welded by stout blows into the -intellectual texture of the century and are not to be forgotten. - - -_Verse-Writing and Psalmodies._ - -And now, was there really no dalliance with the Muses in times that -brought to the front such fighting Gospellers as we have talked of? - -Yes, even Thomas More did write poems--having humor in them and grammatic -proprieties, and his Latin prosody is admired of Classicists: then -there were the versifiers of the Psalms, Sternhold and Hopkins, and the -Whittingham who succeeded John Knox at Geneva--sharing that Scotchman’s -distaste for beautiful rubrics, and we suspect beautiful verses also--if -we may judge by his version of the Creed. This is a sample:-- - - “The Father, God is; God, the Son; - God--Holy Ghost also; - Yet are not three gods in all - But one God and no mo.” - -From the Apostles’ Creed again, we excerpt this:-- - - “From thence, shall he come for to judge - All men both dead and quick. - I, in the Holy Ghost believe - And Church thats Catholick.” - -Hopkins,[79] who was a schoolmaster of Suffolk, and the more immediate -associate of Sternhold, thus expostulates with the Deity:-- - - “Why doost withdraw thy hand aback - And hide it in thy lappe? - Oh, plucke it out, and be not slacke - To give thy foes a rap!” - -As something worthier from these old psalmists’ versing, I give this of -Sternhold’s:-- - - “The earth did shake, for feare did quake, - The hills their bases shook - Removed they were, in place most fayre - At God’s right fearful looks. - He rode on hye and did so flye - Upon the Cherubins, - He came in sight, and made his flight - Upon the wings of winds,” etc. - -It may well be that bluff King Harry relished more the homely Saxonism -of such psalms than the _Stabat Maters_ and _Te Deums_ and _Jubilates_, -which assuredly would have better pleased the Princess Katharine of -Aragon. Yet even at a time when the writers of such psalmodies received -small crumbs of favor from the Court, the English Bible was by no means a -free-goer into all companies. - - “A nobleman or gentleman may read it”--(I quote from a - Statute of Henry VIII.’s time)--“in his house, or in his - garden, or orchard, yet quietly and without disturbance of - order. A merchant may read it to himself privately: But the - common people, women, artificers, apprentices, journeymen and - servingmen, are to be punished with one month’s imprisonment, - as often as they are detected in reading the Bible, either - privately or openly.”[80] - -Truly this English realm was a strange one in those times, and this a -strange King--who has listened approvingly to Hugh Latimer’s sermons--who -harries Tyndale as he had harried Tyndale’s enemy--More; who fights the -Pope, fights Luther, holds the new Bible (even Cranmer’s) in leash, who -gives pension to Sternhold, works easy riddance of all the wives he -wishes, pulls down Religious Houses for spoils, calls himself Defender -of the Faith, and maybe goes to see (if then on show) _Gammer Gurton’s -Needle_,[81] and is hilariously responsive to such songs as this:-- - - “I cannot eat but little meat - My Stomach is not good - But sure I think, that I can drink - With him that wears a hood; - Tho’ I go bare, take ye no care - I nothing am a colde, - I stuffe my skin so full within - Of jolly good ale and olde.” - - -_Wyatt and Surrey._ - -The model poets, however, of this reign[82]--those who kept alive the -best old classic traditions, and echoed with most grace and spirit -the daintiness of Italian verse, were the Earl of Surrey and Sir -Thomas Wyatt. The latter was son of an old courtier of Henry VII., and -inheritor of an estate and castle in Kent, which he made noteworthy by -his decorative treatment, and which is even now counted worthy a visit -by those journeying through the little town of Maidstone. He was, for -those times, brilliantly educated; was in high favor with the King (save -one enforced visit to the Tower); he translated Petrarch, and in his own -way imitated the Italian poet’s manner, and was, by common consent, the -first to graft the “Sonnet” upon English forms of verse. I find nothing -however in his verse one-half so graceful or gracious as this tribute to -his worth in Tennyson’s “Queen Mary:”-- - - “Courtier of many courts, he loves the more - His own gray towers, plain life, and lettered peace, - To read and rhyme in solitary fields; - The lark above, the nightingale below, - And answer them in song.” - -Surrey was well born: was son to the Duke of Norfolk who figures in the -Shakespearean play of Henry VIII., and grandson to the Surrey who worsted -the Scotch on Flodden Field: he was companion of the King’s son, was -taught at the Universities, at home and abroad. There was no gallant -more admired in the gayer circles of the court; he too loved Petrarch, -and made canzonets like his; had a Geraldine (for a Laura), half real -and half mythical. The further story once obtained that he went with a -gay retinue to Florence, where the lists were opened--in the spirit of -an older chivalry--to this Stranger Knight, who challenged the world to -combat his claims in behalf of the mythical Geraldine. And--the story -ran--there were hot-heads who contended with him; and he unhorsed his -antagonists, and came back brimming with honors, to the court--before -which Hugh Latimer had preached, and where Sternhold’s psalms had been -heard--to be imprisoned for eating flesh in Lent, in that Windsor Castle -where he had often played with the King’s son. The tale[83] is a romantic -one; but--in all that relates to the Florentine tourney--probably untrue. - -I give you a little taste of the graceful way in which this poet sings of -his Geraldine:-- - - “I assure thee even by oath - And thereon take my hand and troth - That she is one of the worthiest - The truest and the faithfullest - The gentlest, and the meekest o’ mind - That here on earth a man may find; - And if that love and truth were gone - In her it might be found alone: - For in her mind no thought there is - But how she may be true, iwis, - And is thine own; and so she says - And cares for thee ten thousand ways; - Of thee she speaks, on thee she thinks - With thee she eats, with thee she drinks - With thee she talks, with thee she moans - With thee she sighs, with thee she groans - With thee she says--‘Farewell mine own!’ - When thou, God knows, full far art gone.” - -Surrey is to be held in honor as the first poet who wrote English blank -verse; he having translated two books of the Æneid in that form. But -this delicate singer, this gallant soldier cannot altogether please the -capricious monarch; perhaps he is too fine a soldier; perhaps too free a -liver; perhaps he is dangerously befriended by some ladies of the court: -Quite certain it is that the King frowns on him; and the frowns bring -what they have brought to so many others--first, imprisonment in the -Tower, and then the headsman’s axe. In this way the poet died at thirty, -in 1547: his execution being one of the last ordered by Henry VIII., and -the King so weak that he could only stamp, instead of signing the death -warrant. - -Honest men breathed freer, everywhere, when the King died, in the same -year with Surrey: and so, that great, tempestuous reign was ended. - - -_A Boy-King, a Queen, and Schoolmaster._ - -Edward VI. succeeded his father at the age of ten years--a precocious, -consumptive boy, who gave over his struggle with life when only sixteen; -and yet has left his “Works,” printed by the Roxburgh Club. There’s a -maturity about some of the political suggestions in his “Journal”--not -unusual in a lively mind prematurely ripening under stress of disease; -yet we can hardly count him a literary king. - -The red reign of Mary, immediately following, lasted only five years, for -which, I think, all Christian England thanked God: In those five years -very many of the strong men of whom we have talked in this chapter came -to a fiery end. - -Only one name of literary significance do we pluck from the annals of her -time; it is that of Roger Ascham,[84] the writer of her Latin letters, -and for a considerable time her secretary. How, being a Protestant as -he was, and an undissembling one, he kept his head upon his shoulders so -near her throne, it is hard to conjecture. He must have studied the art -of keeping silence as well as the arts of speech. - -He was born in that rich, lovely region of Yorkshire--watered by -the River Swale--where we found the young Wyclif: his father was a -house-steward; but he early made show of such qualities as invited the -assistance of rich friends, through whose offices he was entered at St. -John’s College, Cambridge, at fifteen, and took his degree at eighteen. -He was full of American pluck, aptness, and industry; was known specially -for his large gifts in language; a superb penman too, which was no little -accomplishment in that day; withal, he excelled in athletics, and showed -a skill with the long-bow which made credible the traditions about Robin -Hood. They said he wasted time at this exercise; whereupon he wrote a -defence of Archery, which under the name of _Toxophilus_ has come down -to our day--a model even now of good, homely, vigorous English. “He that -will write well in any tongue,” said he, “must follow this counsel--to -speak as the common people do--to think as wise men do.” Our teachers of -rhetoric could hardly say a better thing to-day. - -The subject of Archery was an important one at that period; the long-bow -was still the principal war weapon of offence: there were match-locks, -indeed, but these very cumbrous and counting for less than those -“cloth-yard” shafts which had won the battle of Agincourt. The boy-King, -Edward, to whom Ascham taught penmanship, was an adept at archery, -and makes frequent allusion to that exercise in his Journal. In every -hamlet practice at the long-bow was obligatory; and it was ordered by -statute that no person above the age of twenty-four, should shoot the -light-flight arrow at a distance under two hundred and twenty yards. -What would our Archery Clubs say to this? And what, to the further -order--dating in Henry VIII.’s time--that “all bow-staves should be three -fingers thick and seven feet long?” - -This book of Ascham’s was published two years before Henry’s death, -and brought him a small pension; under the succeeding king he went to -Augsburg, where Charles V. held his brilliant court; but neither there, -nor in Italy, did he lose his homely and hearty English ways, and his -love of English things. - -In his tractate of the _Schoolmaster_, which appeared after his death, he -bemoans the much and idle travel of Englishmen into Italy. They have a -proverb there, he says, “_Un Inglese italianato é un diabolo incarnato_” -(an Italianized Englishman is a devil incarnate). Going to Italy, when -Tintoretto and Raphael were yet living, and when the great Medici family -and the Borgias were spinning their golden wheels--was, for a young -Englishman of that day, like a European trip to a young American of ours: -Ascham says--“Many being mules and horses before they went, return swine -and asses.” - -There is much other piquant matter in this old book of the -_Schoolmaster_; as where he says:-- - - “When the child doeth well, either in the choosing or true - placing of his words, let the master praise him, and say, ‘Here - ye do well!’ For I assure you there is no such whetstone to - sharpen a good wit, and encourage a will to learning as is - praise. But if the child miss, either in forgetting a word, or - in changing a good with a worse, or mis-ordering the sentence, - I would not have the master frown, or chide with him, if the - child have done his diligence and used no truantship: For I - know by good experience, that a child shall take more profit of - two faults gently warned of, than of four things rightly hit.” - -And this brings us to say that this good, canny, and thrifty Roger -Ascham was the early teacher, in Greek and Latin, of the great Princess -Elizabeth, and afterward for years her secretary. You would like to hear -how he speaks of her:-- - - “It is your shame (I speak to you all young gentlemen of - England) that one mind should go beyond you all in excellency - of learning, and knowledge of divers tongues. Point forth - six of the best given gentlemen of this court, and all they - together show not so much good will, spend not so much time, - bestow not so many hours daily, orderly, and constantly, for - the increase of learning and knowledge as doth this Princess. - Yea, I believe that beside her perfect readiness in Latin, - Italian, French and Spanish, she readeth here now, at Windsor - more Greek every day, than some prebendarys of this Church doth - read Latin in a whole week.” - -He never speaks of her but with a hearty tenderness; nor did she speak -of him, but most kindly. At his death, she said, “She would rather that -£10,000 had been flung into the sea.” And--seeing her money-loving, this -was very much for her to say. - - * * * * * - -In our next chapter we shall meet this prudent and accomplished Princess -face to face--in her farthingale and ruff--with the jewels on her -fingers, and the crown upon her head--bearing herself right royally. And -around her we shall find such staid worthies as Burleigh and Richard -Hooker; and such bright spirits as Sidney and Raleigh, and that sweet -poet Spenser, who was in that day counting the flowing measures of that -long song, whose mellow cadences have floated musically down from the far -days of Elizabeth to these fairer days of ours. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -In our last talk we entered upon that brilliant sixteenth century, within -whose first quarter three great kings held three great thrones:--Charles -V. of Spain, Francis I. of France, and Henry VIII. of England. New -questions were astir; Art--in the seats of Art--was blazing at its best: -the recent fall of Constantinople under the Turk had sent a tide of Greek -scholars, Greek art, and Greek letters flowing over Western Europe, and -drifting into the antiquated courts of Oxford and Cambridge. I spoke of -the magnificent Wolsey, and of his great university endowments; also, -of that ripe scholar, Sir Thomas More, who could not mate his religion, -or his statesmanship with the caprices of the King, and so, died by the -axe. We saw Cranmer--meaning to be good, if goodness did not call for -strength; we heard Latimer’s swift, homely speech, and saw Tyndale with -his English Testament--both these coming to grief; and we had glimpses of -John Knox shaking the pulpit with his frail hand, and shaking all Scotch -Christendom with his fearless, strident speech. - -We heard the quaint psalmody of Sternhold, and the sweeter and more -heathen verse of Wyatt and of Surrey; lastly, I gave a sketch of that old -schoolmaster, Roger Ascham, who by his life, tied the reigns of Henry and -of Elizabeth together, and who taught Greek and Latin and penmanship and -Archery to that proud princess--whom we encounter now--in her high ruff, -and her piled-up head-dress, with a fair jewelled hand that puts a man’s -grip upon the sceptre. - - -_Elizabethan England._ - -Elizabeth was in her twenty-sixth year when she came to the throne, -and it was about the middle of the sixteenth century; the precise year -being 1558. The England she was to dominate so splendidly was not a -quiet England: the fierce religious controversies which had signalized -the reign of Henry VIII.--who thwacked with his kingly bludgeon both -ways and all ways--and which continued under Edward VI.--who was feebly -Protestant; and which had caught new vigor under Mary--who was arrant -and slavish Papist--had left gouts of blood and a dreadful exasperation. -Those great Religious Houses, which only a quarter of a century -before, were pleasantly embayed in so many charming valleys of Great -Britain--with their writing-rooms, their busy transcribing clerks--their -great gardens, were, most of them, despoiled--and to be seen no more. -An old Venetian Ambassador,[85] writing to the Seigneury in those days, -says--“London itself is disfigured by the ruins of a multitude of -Churches and Monasteries which once belonged to Friars and Nuns.” Piers -Plowman, long before, had attacked the sins growing up in the pleasant -Abbey Courts; Chaucer had echoed the ridicule in his Abbot riding to -Canterbury, with jingling trappings: Gower had repeated the assault in -his _Vox Clamantis_, and Skelton had turned his ragged rhymes into the -same current of satire. But all would have availed nothing except the -arrogant Henry VIII. had set his foot upon them, and crushed them out. - -There was a wild justice in it--if not an orderly one. The spoils went to -fill the Royal coffers; many of those beautiful properties were bestowed -upon favorites; many princely estates are still held in England, by title -tracing back to those days of spoliation--a fact which will be called to -mind, I suspect--with unction, in case of any great social revolution -in that country. Under Mary, some of these estates had been restored -to Church dignitaries; but the restoration had not been general: and -Elizabeth could not if she would, and would not if she could, sanction -any further restitution. - -She was Protestant--but rather from policy than any heartiness of belief. -It did not grieve her one whit, that her teacher, Roger Ascham, had been -private secretary to bloody Mary: the lukewarmness of her great minister, -Lord Burleigh, did not disturb her; she always kept wax tapers burning -by a crucifix in her private chamber; a pretty rosary gave her no shock; -but she _was_ shocked at the marriage of any member of the priesthood, -always. In fact, if Spanish bigotry had not forced her into a resolute -antagonism of Rome, I think history would have been in doubt whether to -count her most a Lutheran, or most a Roman. - -Yet she made the Papists smoke for it--as grimly as ever her sister Mary -did the Protestants--if they stood one whit in the way of England’s grasp -on power. - - -_Personality of the Queen._ - -I think our friend Mr. Froude, whose history we all read, is a -little unfair toward Queen Bess, as he was a little over-fair, and -white-wash-i-ly disposed in the case of Henry VIII.: both tendencies -being attributable to a mania this shrewd historian has--for unripping -and oversetting established forms of belief. I think that he not only -bears with a greedy zeal upon her too commonly manifest selfishness and -heartlessness, but that he enjoys putting little vicious dabs of bad -color upon her picture--as when he says, “she spat, and swore like a -trooper.” Indeed it would seem that this clever biographer had carried -a good deal of his fondness for “vicious dabs” in portraiture into his -more recent _post-mortem_ exhibits; as if it were his duty and pleasure -to hang out all sorts of soiled linen, in his office of Clean-Scrubber: -Yet, I wish to speak with all respect of the distinguished -historian--whose vigor is conspicuous--whose industry is remarkable, -whose crisp sentences are delightful, but whose accuracy is not of the -surest; and whose conscience does, I think, sometimes go lame--under -strain of his high, rhetorical canter. - -The authority for all most damnatory statements with respect to the -private life of the Queen, rests upon those Spanish Relations--so minute -as to be suspicious--if they were not also so savagely bitter as to -twist everything to the discredit of the Protestant Sovereign. Signor -Soranzo--the Venetian ambassador (whom Froude does not cite--but who had -equal opportunities of observation with the Spanish informer), says of -Elizabeth (in a report--not written for publication, but lying for years -in the archives of Venice): “Such an air of dignified majesty pervades -all her actions that no one can fail to judge her a queen. She is a good -Greek and Latin scholar; and beside her native tongue she speaks Latin, -French, Spanish, and Italian _benissimo_--and her manners are very -modest and affable.”[86] - -I talk thus much--and may talk more--about the personality of Queen -Elizabeth, because she must be counted--in a certain not very remote -sense--one of the forces that went to endow what is called the English -Literature of her day--so instructed was she; so full of talent; so -keen-sighted; so exact--a most extraordinary woman. We must not think her -greatness was factitious, and attributable to her only because she was -a queen. There could be no greater mistake. She would have been great -if she had been a shoemaker’s daughter; I do not mean that she would -have rode a white horse at Tilbury, and made the nations shake: but she -would have bound more shoes, and bound them better, and looked sharper -after the affairs of her household than any cobbler’s wife in the land. -Elizabeth would have made a wonderful post-mistress--a splendid head of -a school--with perhaps a little too large use of the ferule: and she -would have had her favorites, and shown it; but she would have lifted -her pupils’ thoughts into a high range of endeavor; she would have -made an atmosphere of intellectual ambition about her; she would have -struck fire from flinty souls; and so she did in her court: She inspired -work--inspired imagination; may we not say that she inspired genius. -That auburn hair of hers (I suppose we should have called it red, if her -name had been Abigail) made an aureole, around which wit coruscated by a -kind of electric affinity. It was counted worth toil to have the honor -of laying a poem at her gracious feet, who was so royally a Queen--whose -life, and power, and will and culture, made up a quadrature of poems. - - -_Burleigh and Others._ - -And who was there of literary significance about Elizabeth in those early -days of her reign? Roger Ascham was still doling out his sagacious talk, -and his good precepts; but he was not a force--only what we might call -a good creature. There was Sackville[87] (afterward the elegant Earl -of Dorset); he was in his prime then, and had very likely written his -portion of the _Mirror for Magistrates_--a fairish poetic history of -great unfortunate people--completed afterward by other poets, but hardly -read nowadays. - -Old Tusser,[88] too--the farmer-poet--lived in these times; an Essex man, -of about the same age as Ascham, but who probably never came nearer to -the court than to sing in the choir of old St. Paul’s. He had University -experience, which, if it did not help his farming, on the banks of the -Stour, did, doubtless, enable him to equip his somewhat prosy poems with -such classic authentication and such directness and simplicities as -gave to his _Pointes of Husbandrie_ very great vogue. Many rhyming saws -about farming, still current among old-fashioned country-folk, trace -back to Master Tusser, who lived and farmed successively (tradition -says not very successfully) at Ipswich, Dereham, and Norwich. His will, -however, published in these later times, shows him to have been a man of -considerable means. - -Then there was Holinshed,[89] who, though the date of his birth is -uncertain, must have been of fair working age now--a homely, honest, -simple-hearted chronicler (somewhat thievish, as all the old chroniclers -were) but whose name is specially worth keeping in mind, because he--in -all probability--supplied Shakespeare’s principal historic reading, and -furnished the crude material, afterward beaten out into those plaques -of gold, which we call Shakespeare’s Historic Plays. Therefore, we -must always, I think, treat Holinshed with respect. Next, there was -the great Lord Burleigh,[90] the chief minister and adviser of the -Queen--whom she set great store by: the only man she allowed to sit in -her presence; and indeed he was something heavy, both in mind and in -person; but far-sighted, honest, keen, cautious, timid--making his nod -count more than most men’s words, and in great exigencies standing up -for the right, even against the caprices of the sovereign. Whoever goes -to Stamford in England should not fail to run out--a mile away only--to -the princely place called Burleigh House (now the property of the Marquis -of Exeter) which was the home of this minister of Elizabeth’s--built -out of his savings, and equipped now with such paintings, such gardens, -such magnificent avenues of oak, such great sweeps of velvet lawn, such -herds of loitering deer as make it one of the show-places of England. -Well--this sober-sided, cautious Burleigh (you will get a short, but good -glimpse of him in Scott’s tragic tale of Kenilworth) wrote a book--a sort -of earlier Chesterfield’s Letters, made up of advices for his son Robert -Cecil, who was cousin, and in early life, rival of the great Francis -Bacon. I will take out a tid-bit from this book, that you may see how -this famous Lord Burleigh talked to his son: - - “When it shall please God to bring thee to man’s estate”--he - says--“use great Providence, and circumspection in choosing - thy wife: For from thence will spring all thy future good and - evil. And it is an action of life--like unto a stratagem of - War, wherein a man can err but once. If thy estate be good, - match near home and at leisure: if weak--far off, and quickly. - Inquire diligently of her disposition, and how her parents have - been inclined in their youth. Choose not a base, and uncomely - creature, altogether for Wealth; for it will cause contempt in - others, and loathing in thee: Neither make choice of a fool, - for she will be thy continual disgrace, and it will irk thee to - hear her talk.” - - -_A Group of Great Names._ - -But the greater names which went to illustrate with their splendor the -times of Elizabeth, only began to come to people’s knowledge after she -had been upon the throne some twenty years. - -Spenser was a boy of five, when she came to power: John Lilly, the author -of _Euphues_ which has given us the word _euphuistic_, and which provoked -abundant caricatures, of more or less fairness--was born the same year -with Spenser; Sir Philip Sidney a year later; Sir Walter Raleigh a -year earlier (1553); Richard Hooker, the author of the _Ecclesiastical -Polity_, in 1554; Lord Bacon in 1561; Shakespeare in 1564. These are -great names to stand so thickly strewed over ten or twelve years of -time. I do not name them, because I lay great stress on special dates: -For my own part, I find them hard things to keep in mind--except I group -them thus--and I think a man or woman can work and worry at worthier -particularities than these. But when Elizabeth had been twenty years a -Queen, and was in the prime of her womanly powers--six years after the -slaughter of St. Bartholomew--when the first English colony had just -been planted in Virginia, and Sir Francis Drake was coasting up and down -the shores of California; when Shakespeare was but a lad of fourteen, and -poaching (if he ever did poach there--which is doubtful) in Charlecote -Park; when Francis Bacon was seventeen, and was studying in Paris--Philip -Sidney was twenty-four; in the ripeness of his young manhood, and just -returned from Holland, he was making love--vainly as it proved--to the -famous and the ill-fated Penelope Devereaux. - -Richard Hooker--of the same age, was teaching Hebrew in the University of -Oxford, and had not yet made that unfortunate London marriage (tho’ very -near it) by which he was yoked with one whom old Izaak Walton--charitable -as the old angler was--describes as a silly, clownish woman, and withal a -perfect Xantippe. - -The circumstances which led to this awkward marriage show so well the -child-like simplicity of this excellent man, that they are worth noting. -He had come up to London, and was housed where preachers were wont to -go; and it being foul weather, and he thoroughly wetted, was behoven to -the hostess for dry clothes, and such other attentions as made him look -upon her as a special Providence, who could advise and care for him in -all things: So, he accepted her proffer to him of her own daughter, who -proved to him quite another sort of Providence, and a grievous thorn -in the side; and when his friends, on visits to his homestead in after -years, found the author of the _Ecclesiastical Polity_--rocking the -cradle, or minding the sheep, or looking after the kettles, and expressed -sympathy--“My dear fellows,” said he--“if Saints have usually a double -share in the miseries of this Life, I, that am none, ought not to repine -at what my Wise Creator hath appointed for me, but labor (as indeed I do -daily) to submit mine to his will and possess my soul in patience and -peace.” - -I don’t know if any of our parish will care to read the _Ecclesiastical -Polity_; but if you have courage thereto, you will find in this old -master of sound and cumbrous English prose, passages of rare eloquence, -and many turns of expression, which for their winning grace, their -aptitude, their quality of fastening themselves upon the mind, are not -overmatched by those of any Elizabethan writer. His theology is old and -rankly conservative; but he shows throughout a beautiful reverence for -that all-embracing Law, “whose seat (as he says) is the Bosom of God, and -whose voice is the Harmony of the World.”[91] - - -_Edmund Spenser._ - -As for Edmund Spenser, he was a year older at this date--twenty-five: -he had taken his master’s degree at Cambridge and had just returned to -London from a visit to the North of England, where he had encountered -some fair damsel to whom he had been paying weary and vain suit, and whom -he had embalmed in his _Shepherd’s Calendar_ (just then being made ready -for the press) under the name of Rosalind. - - “Ah, faithless Rosalind, and voyd of grace, - That art the root of all this ruthful woe - [My] teares would make the hardest flint to flow;” - -and his tears keep a-drip through a great many of those charming -eclogues--called the _Shepherd’s Calendar_. Some of the commentators on -Spenser have queried--gravely--whether he ever forgot this Rosalind; and -whether the occurrence of the name and certain woe-worn words in some -madrigal of later years did not show a wound unhealed and bleeding. We -are all at liberty to guess, and I am inclined to doubt here. I think he -was equal to forgetting this Rosalind before the ink of the _Shepherd’s -Calendar_ was fairly dry. He loved dreams and fed on dreams; and I -suspect enjoyed the dream of his woe more than he ever suffered from a -sting of rebuff. - -Indeed, much as we must all admire his poetic fervor and fancies, I -do not find in him traces of heroic mould;--easily friendly rather -than firmly so;--full of an effusive piety, but not coming in way of -martyrdom for faith’s sake;--a tenderly contemplative man, loving and -sensing beauty in the same sure and abounding way in which Turner has -sense of color--exhaustless in his stock of brilliant and ingenious -imagery--running to similes as mountain rills run to rivers; a courtier -withal--honeyed and sometimes fulsome; a richly presentable man -(if portraits may be trusted), with a well-trimmed face, a cautious -face--dare I say--almost a smirking face;--the face of a self-contained -man who thinks allowably well of his parts, and is determined to make -the most of them. And in the brows over the fine eyes there is a bulging -out--where phrenologists place the bump of language--that shows where -his forte lies: No such word-master had been heard to sing since the -days when Chaucer sung. He is deeply read in Chaucer too; and read in -all--worth reading--who came between. His lingual aptitudes are amazing. -He can tear words in tatters, and he can string them rhythmically in -all shapes; he makes his own law in language, as he grows heated in -his work; twists old phrases out of shape; makes new ones; binds them -together; tosses them as he will to the changing level of his thought: -so that whereas one may go to Chaucer, in points of language, as to an -authority--one goes to Spenser as to a mine of graceful and euphonious -phrases: but the authority is wanting--or, at least, is not so safe. He -makes uses for words which no analogy and no good order can recognize. -And his new words are not so much the product of keen, shrewd search -after what will fullest and strongest express a feeling or a thought, -or give color to epithet, as they are the luxuriant outcropping of a -tropical genius for language, which delights in abundant forms, and makes -them with an easy show of its own fecundity, or for the chance purpose of -filling a line, or meting out the bounds of an orderly prosody. - -He came up to London, as I said, about the year 1578, at the invitation -of a prig of a classmate, who makes him known to Philip Sidney: Sidney -is the very man to recognize and appreciate the tender beauty of those -woful plaints in the _Shepherd’s Calendar_, and invites the poet down -to Penshurst, that charming home of the Sidneys, in Kent. There, such -interest is made for him that he is appointed to a secretaryship in -Ireland, where the Queen’s lieutenants are stamping out revolt. Spenser -sees much of this fiery work; and its blaze reddens some of the pages of -the _Faery Queen_. In the distribution of spoils, after the Irish revolt -was put down, the poet has bestowed upon him, amongst other plums, some -three thousand acres of wild land, with Kilcolman Castle, which stands -upon a valley spur of this domain. This castle is represented as an -uninteresting fortress--like Johnnie Armstrong’s tower in Scotland--upon -the borders of a small lake or mere, and the landscape--stretching in -unlovely waste around it--savage and low and tame. Yet he finds rich -rural pictures there--this idealist and dreamer: let him see only so much -of sky as comes between the roofs of a city alley, and he will pluck out -of it a multitude of twinkling stars; let him look upon a rood square of -brown grass-land, and he will set it alight with scores of daisies and of -primroses. - - -_The Faery Queen._ - -And it is in this easy way he plants the men and women, the hags and -demons, the wizards and dragons that figure in the phantasmagoria of the -_Faery Queen_; they come and go like twilight shadows; they have no root -of realism. - -There is reason to believe that the first cantos of this poem were -blocked out in his mind before leaving England; perhaps the scheme had -been talked over with his friend Sidney; in any event, it is quite -certain that they underwent elaboration at Kilcolman Castle, and some -portions doubtless took color from the dreary days of rapine and of war -he saw there. I will not ask if you have read the _Faery Queen_: I fear -that a great many dishonest speeches are made on that score; I am afraid -that I equivocated myself in youngish days; but now I will be honest -in saying--I never read it through continuously and of set purpose; I -have tried it--on winter nights, and gone to sleep in my chair: I have -tried it, under trees in summer, and have gone to sleep on the turf: I -have tried it, in the first blush of a spring morning, and have gone--to -breakfast. - -Yet there are many who enjoy it intensely and continuously: Mr. -Saintsbury says, courageously, that it is the only long poem he honestly -wishes were longer. It is certainly full of idealism; it is full of sweet -fancies; it is rich in dragonly horrors; it is crammed with exquisite -harmonies. But--its tenderer heroines are so shadowy, you cannot bind -them to your heart; nay, you can scarce follow them with your eyes: Now, -you catch a strain which seems to carry a sweet womanly image of flesh -and blood--of heartiness and warmth. But--at the turning of a page--his -wealth of words so enwraps her in glowing epithets, that she fades on -your vision to a mere iridescence and a creature of Cloud-land. - - “Her face so faire, as flesh it seemèd not, - But Heavenly Portrait of bright angels hew, - Clear as the skye, withouten blame or blot - Thro’ goodly mixture of Complexion’s dew! - And in her cheeks, the Vermeil red did shew, - Like Roses in a bed of Lillies shed, - The which ambrosial odors from them threw, - And gazers sense, with double pleasure fed, - Hable to heal the sick, and to revive the dead! - - “In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame - Kindled above at the Heavenly Makers Light, - And darted fiery beams out of the same - So passing persant and so wondrous bright, - That quite bereaved the rash beholders sight. - In them the blinded God--his lustful fire - To kindle--oft assay’d, but had no might, - For with dred Majesty, and awful ire - She broke his wanton darts, and quenchèd base desire! - - “Upon her eyelids many Graces sate - Under the shadow of her even brows, - Working Belgardes and amorous Retrate, - And everie one her with a grace endows, - And everie one, with meekness to her bowes; - So glorious mirror of Celestial Grace - And soveraigne moniment of mortal vowes, - How shall frail pen describe her Heavenly face - For feare--thro’ want of skill, her beauty to disgrace? - - “So faire, and thousand times more faire - She seem’d--when she, presented was, to sight. - And was y-clad, for heat of scorching aire - All in a silken _Camus_, lilly white, - Purfled upon, with many a folded plight - Which all above besprinkled was throughout - With golden Aygulets, that glistered bright - Like twinckling starres, and all the skirt about - Was hemmed with golden fringe, …” - -and so on, by dozens, by scores, by hundreds--delicate, mellifluous -stanzas--fair ladies and brazen-scaled dragons, lions and fleecy lambs, -sweet purling brooks and horrors of Pandemonium, story grafted upon -story, and dreams grafted upon these, and still flowing on--canto after -canto--until the worldlings are tempted to exclaim, “When will he stop?” -It is an exclamation that a good many lesser men than Spenser have -tempted--in class-rooms, in lecture-rooms, and in pulpits. And I am -wicked enough to think that if a third had been shorn away by the poet -from that over-full and over-epitheted poem of the _Faery Queen_, it -would have reached farther, and come nearer to more minds and hearts. But -who--save the master--shall ever put the shears into that dainty broidery -where gorgeous flowers lie enmeshed in page-long tangles, and where -wanton tendrils of words enlace and tie together whole platoons of verse? - -In brief, the Poem is a great, cumbrous, beautiful, bewildering, -meandering Allegory, in which he assigns to every Virtue a Knight to be -ensampler and defender of the same, and puts these Knights to battle with -all the vices represented by elfin hags, or scaled dragons, or beautiful -women; and so the battles rage and the storms beat. But we lose sight of -his moral in the smoke of the conflict. The skeleton of his ethics is -overlaid with the wallets of fair flesh, and with splendid trappings; his -abounding figures gallop away with the logic; his roses cumber all his -corn-ground. There are no passages of condensed meaning, or of wondrous -intuition that give one pause, and that stick by us like a burr. There is -a symphonious clatter of hammers upon golden-headed tacks, but no such -pounding blow as drives a big nail home. - -All this is the criticism of a matter-of-fact man, who perhaps has no -right of utterance--as if one without knowledge of music should criticise -its cumulated triumphs. Many a man can enjoy a burst of balladry--of -little vagrant songs--who is crushed and bored by the pretty tangles -and symphonies of an opera. Spenser was poets’ poet--not people’s poet; -hardly can be till people are steeped in that refinement, that poetic -sensibility, which only poets are supposed to possess. And I am rather -unpleasantly conscious that I may offend intense lovers of this great -singer by such mention of him: painfully conscious, too, that it may -have its source (as Saintsbury assures us must be the case) in a poetic -inaptitude to give largest and adequate relish to the tender harmonies -and the mythical reaches of his sweetly burdened song. But shall I not be -honest? - -Yet Spenser is never ribald, never vulgar, rarely indelicate, even -measured by modern standards: He always has a welcoming word for honesty, -and for bravery, and, I think, the welcomest word of all for Love, which -he counts, as so many young people do, the chiefest duty of man. - -Once upon a time, there comes to see Spenser in his Kilcolman home--that -daring adventurer, that roving knight, Sir Walter Raleigh--who is so -well taught, so elegant, so brave that he can make the bright eyes even -of Queen Bess twinkle again, with the courtliness of his adulation; he -comes, I say, to see Spenser;--for he too has a grant of some forty -thousand acres carved out of that ever-wretched and misgoverned Ireland: -and Spenser, to entertain his friend, reads somewhat of the _Faery -Queene_ (not more than one canto I suspect), and Sir Walter locks arms -with the poet, and carries him off to London, and presents him to the -Queen; and Spenser weaves subtle, honeyed flattery for this great -_Gloriana_; and his book is printed; and the Queen smiles on him, and -gives him her jewelled hand to kiss, and a pension of £50 a year, which -the stout old Burleigh thinks too much; and which Spenser, and poets all, -think too beggarly small. There are little poems that come after this, -commemorating this trip to Court, and Raleigh’s hobnobbing with him-- - - “Amongst the coolly shade - Of the green alders, by the Mulla’s shore - [Where]--he piped--I sung-- - And when he sung, I piped, - By chaunge of tunes, each making other merry.” - -Spenser has found, too, a new _Rosalind_ over amid the wilds of Ireland, -to whom he addresses a cluster of gushing _Amoretti_; and she becomes -eventually his bride, and calls out what seems to me that charmingest of -all his poems--the _Epithalamium_. You will excuse my reciting a tender -little lovely picture from it:-- - - “Behold, whiles she before the Altar stands - Hearing the Holy Priest that to her speaks, - And blesseth her with his two happy hands. - How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, - And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain - Like crimson dyed in grain: - That even the Angels, which continually - About the sacred altar do remain, - Forget the service, and about her fly, - Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, - The more they on it stare-- - But her sad eyes still fastened on the ground, - Are governèd with goodly modesty, - That suffers not one look to glance awry, - Which may let in a little thought unsound. - Why blush ye, Love, to give to me your hand? - The pledge of all our band? - Sing, ye Sweet Angels, Allelujah sing! - That all the woods may answer, and your echos ring!” - -To my mind the gracious humanity--the exquisite naturalness of this is -worth an ocean of cloying prettinesses about _Gloriana_ and _Britomart_. -Not very many years after this--just how many we cannot say--comes -the great tragedy of his life: A new Irish rebellion (that of Tyrone) -sends up its tide of fire and blood around his home of Kilcolman; his -crops, his barns, his cattle, his poor babe[92]--the last born--all are -smothered, and consumed away in that fiery wrack and ruin. He makes -his way broken-hearted to London again; his old welcome as an adulator -of the Queen is at an end; Raleigh is not actively helpful; Sidney is -dead; he has some cheap lodging almost under the shadow of Westminster: -He is sick, maimed in body and in soul; other accounts--not yet wholly -discredited--represent him as miserably poor; bread, even, hard to come -by; my Lord of Essex--a new patron--sends him a few guineas; and the poor -poet murmurs--too late--too late!--and so he dies (1599). How glad we -should have been to help him, had we been living in that time, and all -this tale of suffering had been true;--so we think: and yet, ten to one -we should have said--“Poor fellow, what a pity!”--and buttoned up our -pockets, as we do now. - - -_Philip Sidney._ - -Meantime what has become of that Philip Sidney[93] who flashed upon us -under the eyes of Elizabeth at the age of twenty-four? You know him as -the chivalric soldier and the model gentleman. Students and young people -all, who are under the glamour of youthful enthusiasms, are apt to have a -great fondness for Philip Sidney: But if any of my young readers chance -to be projecting an essay about that courteous gentleman--and I know -they will, if they have not already--I would counsel them to forego any -mention of the story about the dying soldier and the cup of water. It -has been cruelly overworked already. Indeed it might have been matched -in scores of cases upon the battle-fields of our own war: When the last -shattering blow comes to our poor humanity, the better nature in us does -somehow lean kindly out, in glance and in purpose. Yet Philip Sidney was -certainly a man of great kindness and full of amiabilities and courtesies. - -Why, pray, should he not have been? Consider that in all his young life -he was wrapped in purple. It is no bad thing in any day to be born -eldest son of an old and wealthy and titled family of England; but it is -something more to be born eldest son of a Sidney--nephew to Leicester, -prime favorite of the Queen, cousin to the Northumberlands, the -Sutherlands, the Warwicks--heir to that old baronial pile of Penshurst, -toward which summer loiterers go now, every year, from far-away -countries--to admire its red roofs--its gray walls curtained with -ivy--its tall chimneys, that have smoked with the goodly hospitalities -of centuries--its charming wood-walks, that Ben Jonson and Spenser and -Massinger have known--its courts and parterres and terraces, where -“Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother,” gathered posies--its far-reaching -lovely landscape, with Penshurst church cropping out near by--blue, hazy -heights off by Tunbridge--lanes bowered with hedge-rows--wide-lying wavy, -grain-fields, and sheep feeding in the hollows of the hills. He was born -heir to all this, I say, and had the best masters, the tenderest and the -worthiest of mothers--who writes to him in this style, - - “Your noble Father hath taken pains, with his own hand, to give - you in this--His Letter--so wise precepts for you to follow - with a diligent mind, as I will not withdraw your eyes from - beholding, and reverent honoring the same--no, not so long a - time as to read any letter from me: Wherefor--I only bless - you--with my desire to God to plant in you his grace, and have - always before your mind the excellent councils of my Lord, your - dear Father: Farewell, my little Philip; and, once again, the - Lord bless you! - - “Your loving mother, - - “MARIE SIDNEY.” - -Ought not a boy, with such a mother, and Penshurst in prospect, and -cousinly relations with the Talbots and Howards and Stanleys to be -gentlemanly and amiable? Then--his great-uncle--Leicester (who is -Chancellor of the University) writes up to Oxford, where young Sidney -is reading for his degree--“Pray have my boy, Philip Sidney, who is -delicate, excused from fasting during Lent.” And there is a plot afoot -to marry this young Oxford man to Anne, daughter of that Lord Burleigh I -told you of, and there are letters about the negotiation still extant. -Would you like to hear how Lord Burleigh discusses his daughter’s affairs? - - “I have been pressed,” he says, “with kind offers of my lord - of Leicester, and have accorded with him, upon articles (by - a manner of A. B. C.) without naming persons--that--if P. S. - and A. C. hereafter shall like to marry, then shall H. S. - (father of P. S.) make assurances, etc., and W. C. [that’s Lord - Burleigh] father of A. C. shall pay, etc.: What may follow, - I know not: but meanwhile P. S. and A. C. shall have full - liberty.” - -What did follow was, that old Burleigh thought better of it, and married -his daughter to a bigger title--that is Lord Oxford, a learned and -elegant, but brutal man, who broke poor Anne Cecil’s heart. - -Sidney, after his Oxford course, and another at Cambridge (as some -authorities say) went--as was the further mode--upon his travels: -and goes, with the same golden luck upon him, to the great house of -Walsingham, ambassador of England, in Paris. Why not be gentle? What is -to provoke? It is quite a different thing--as many another Cambridge -man knew (Spenser among them), to be gentle and bland and forbearing, -when illness seizes, when poverty pinches, when friends backslide, -when Heaven’s gates seem shut;--then, amiability and gentleness and -forbearance are indeed crowning graces, and will unlock, I think, a good -many of the doors upon the courts, where the weary shall be at rest. - -Sidney is at Paris when that virago Catharine de’ Medici was lording -it over her sons, and over France;--there, too, as it chanced, through -the slaughter of St. Bartholomew’s day, from which bloody holocaust he -presently recoils, and continues his travel over the Continent, writing -very charming, practical letters to his younger brother Robert: - - “You think my experience,” he says, “has grown from the good - things I have learned: but I know the only experience which I - have gotten is, to find how much I _might_ have learned and how - much indeed I have missed--for want of directing my course to - the right end and by the right means.” And again he tells him, - “not to go travel--as many people do--merely out of a tickling - humor to do as other men have done, or to talk of having been.” - -He goes leisurely into Italy--is for some time at the famous University -of Padua; he is in Venice too during the great revels which were had -there in 1574, in honor of Henry III. (of France). The Piazza of San -Marco was for days and nights together a blaze of light and of splendor: -what a city to visit for this young Briton, who came accredited by -Elizabeth and by Leicester! The palaces of the Foscari and of the -Contarini would be open to him; the younger Aldus Manutius was making -imprints of the classics that would delight his eye; the temple fronts -of Palladio were in their first freshness: Did he love finer forms of -art--the great houses were rich in its trophies: the elder Palma and -Tintoretto were still at work: even the veteran Titian was carrying -his ninety-eight years with a stately stride along the Rivi of the -canal: if he loved adventure, the Venetian ladies were very beautiful, -and the masks of the Ridotto gave him the freedom of their smiles; the -escapade of Bianca Capello was a story of only yesterday; and for other -romance--the air was full of it; snatches from Tasso’s _Rinaldo_[94] -were on the lips of the gondoliers, and poetic legends lurked in every -ripple of the sea that broke upon the palace steps. It is said that -Sidney was painted in Venice by Paul Veronese; and if one is cunning -in those matters he may be able to trace the likeness of the heir of -Penshurst in some one of those who belong to the great groups of noble -men and women which the Veronese has left upon the walls of the Ducal -Palace. - -In 1575 he came home, with all the polish that European courts and -European culture could give him. We may be sure that he paid dainty -compliments to the Queen--then in the full bloom of womanhood: we may -be sure that she devoured them all with a relish that her queenliness -could not wholly conceal. He won his sobriquet of “The Gentleman” in -these times; elegantly courteous; saying the right thing just when he -should say it:--perhaps too elegantly courteous--too insistent that even -a “Good-morning” should be spoken at precisely the right time, and in -the right key--too observant of the starched laws of a deportment that -chills by its own consciousness of unvarying propriety, as if--well, I -had almost said--as if he had been born in Boston. His favorite sister -meantime has married one of the Pembrokes, and has a princely place -down at Wilton, near Salisbury (now another haunt of pleasure-seekers). -Sidney was often there; and he wrote for this cherished sister his book, -or poem--(call it how we will) of _Arcadia_; writing it, as he says, -off-hand--and without re-reading--sheet by sheet, for her pleasure: I am -sorry he ever said this; it provokes hot-heads to a carelessness that -never wins results worth winning. Indeed I think Sidney put more care to -his _Arcadia_ than he confessed; though it is true, he expressed the wish -on his deathbed, that it should never be printed. - -Shall I tell you anything of it--that it is an Allegory--shaped in fact -after a famous Italian poem of the same name--that few people now read -it continuously; that it requires great pluck to do so; and yet that -no one can dip into it--high or low--without finding rich euphuisms, -poetic symphonies, noble characters, dexterous experimentation in -verse--iambics, sapphics, hexameters, all interlaced with a sonorous -grandiloquence of prose--a curious medley, very fine, and _very_ dull? -When published after his death it ran through edition after edition, and -young wives were gravely cautioned not to spend too much time over that -cherished volume. His little book of the _Defence of Poesie_, which he -also wrote down at Wilton, appeals more nearly to our sympathies, and -may be counted still a good and noble argument for the Art of Poetry. -And Sidney gave proof of his skill in that art, far beyond anything in -the _Arcadia_--in some of those amatory poems under title of _Astrophel -and Stella_, which were supposed to have grown out of his fruitless love -for Penelope Devereux, to which I made early reference. I cite a single -sonnet that you may see his manner:-- - - “_Stella_, think not, that I by verse seek fame, - Who seek, who hope, who love, who live--but thee; - Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history. - If thou praise not, all other praise is shame, - Nor so ambitious am I as to frame - A nest for my young praise in laurel tree; - In truth I vow I wish not there should be - Graved in my epitaph, a Poet’s name. - Nor, if I would, could I just title make - That any laud thereof, to me should grow - Without--my plumes from other wings I take-- - For nothing from _my_ wit or will doth flow - Since all my words _thy_ beauty doth indite, - And Love doth hold my hand, and _make_ me write.” - -But it is, after all, more his personality than his books that draws -our attention toward him, amid that galaxy of bright spirits which is -gathering around the court of Elizabeth. In all the revels, and the -pageants of the day the eyes of thousands fasten upon his fine figure -and his noble presence. Though Scott--singularly enough--passes him by -without mention, he is down at Kenilworth, when the ambitious Leicester -turns his castle-gardens into a Paradise to welcome his sovereign. When -he goes as ambassador to Rudolph of Germany, he hangs golden blazonry -upon the walls of his house: Englishmen, everywhere, are proud of this -fine gentleman, Sidney, who can talk in so many languages, who can turn a -sonnet to a lady’s eyebrow, who can fence with the best swordsmen of any -court, who can play upon six instruments of music, who can outdance even -his Grace of Anjou. His death was in keeping with his life; it happened -in the war of the Low Countries, and was due to a brilliant piece of -bravado; he and his companions fighting (as at Balaclava in the Charge -of the Light Brigade) where there was little hope of conquest. All round -them--in front--in rear--in flank--the arquebuses and the cannon twanged -and roared. They beat down the gunners; they sabred the men-at-arms; -thrice and four times they cut red ways through the beleaguering enemy; -but at last, a cruel musket-ball came crashing through the thigh of this -brave, polished gentleman--Philip Sidney--and gave him his death-wound. -Twenty-five days he lingered, saying brave and memorable things--sending -courteous messages, as if the sheen of royalty were still upon him--doing -tender acts for those nearest him, and dying, with a great and a most -worthy calm. - -We may well believe that the Queen found somewhat to wipe from her cheek -when the tale came of the death of “my Philip,” the pride of her court. -Leicester, too, must have minded it sorely: and of a surety Spenser in -his far home of Kilcolman; writing there, maybe--by the Mulla shore--his -apostrophe to Sidney’s soul, so full of his sweetness and of his -wonderful word-craft:-- - - “Ah me, can so Divine a thing be dead? - Ah no: it is not dead, nor can it die - But lives for aye in Blissful Paradise: - Where, like a new-born Babe, it soft doth lie - In bed of Lilies, wrapped in tender wise - And compassed all about with Roses sweet - And dainty violets, from head to feet. - There--thousand birds, all of celestial brood - To him do sweetly carol, day and night - And with strange notes--of him well understood - Lull him asleep in angelic Delight - Whilst in sweet dreams, to him presented be - Immortal beauties, which no eye may see.” - -Two black palls fling their shadows on the court of Elizabeth in 1587: -Sidney died in October of 1586; and in the following February Mary -Queen of Scots was beheaded. The next year the Spanish Armada is swept -from the seas, and all England is given up to rejoicings. And as we -look back upon this period and catch its alternating light and shade -on the pages of the historians and in the lives of English poets and -statesmen, the great Queen, in her ruff and laces, and with her coronet -of jewels, seems somehow, throughout all, the central figure. We see -Raleigh the Captain of her Guard--the valiant knight, the scholar, the -ready poet--but readiest of all to bring his fine figure and his stately -gallantries to her court: We see Sir Francis Drake, with his full beard -and bullet-head--all browned with his long voyages, from which he has -come laden with ingots of Spanish gold--swinging with his sailor-gait -into her august presence: We catch sight of Lord Burleigh, feeble now -with the weight of years, leading up that young nephew of his--Francis -Bacon, that he may kiss the Queen’s hand and do service for favors which -shall make him in time Lord Chancellor of England. Perhaps the rash, -headstrong Oxford may be in presence, whose poor wife was once the -affianced of Sidney: And the elegant Lord Buckhurst, decorous with the -white hair of age, who, in his younger days, when plain Thomas Sackville, -had contributed the best parts to the _Mirror for Magistrates_: Richard -Hooker, too, may be there--come up from the “peace and privacy” of his -country parsonage--in his sombre clerical dress, bent with study, but -in the prime of his age and power, with the calm face and the severe -philosophy with which he has confronted a termagant of a wife and the -beginnings of Dissent. And, if not in this presence, yet somewhere in -London might have been found, in that day, a young man, not much past -twenty--just up from Stratford-upon-Avon--to take his part in playing at -the Globe Theatre; yet not wholly like other players. Even now, while -all these worthies are gathering about the august Queen in her brilliant -halls at Greenwich or at Hampton Court, this young Stratford man may -be seated upon the steps of Old St. Paul’s--with his chin upon his -hand--looking out on the multitudinous human tide, which even then swept -down Ludgate Hill, and meditating the speeches of those shadowy courtiers -of his--only creatures of his day-dreams; yet they are to carry his -messages of wisdom into all lands and languages. - -But I must shut the books where I see these figures come and go. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -As we open our budget to-day, we are still under kingship of the great -Queen Bess, in whose presence we saw the portentous Lord Burleigh, whose -nod has passed into history; we saw, too, in our swift way, the wise, the -judicious, the simple-minded, the mismarried Richard Hooker. We called -Spenser before us, and had a taste of those ever-sweet poems of his--ever -sweet, though ever so long. Then his friend Philip Sidney flashed across -our view, the over-fine gentleman, yet full of nobility and courage, who -wrote a long book, _Arcadia_, so bright with yellow splendor as to tire -one; and still so full of high thinking as to warrant his fame and to -lend a halo to his brave and tragic death. You may remember, too, that -I made short mention of a certain John Lyly, who was about the same age -with Spenser, and who, with his pretty euphuisms came to cut a larger -figure in the days of Elizabeth than many stronger men did. - - -_John Lyly._ - -I recur to him now and tell you more of him, because he did in his time -set a sort of fashion in letters. He was an Oxford man,[95] born down in -Kent, and at twenty-five, or thereabout, made his fame by a book, which -grew out of suggestions (not only of name but largely of intent and -purpose) in the _Schoolmaster_ of Roger Ascham; and thus it happens over -and over in the fields of literature, that a plodding man will drop from -his store a nugget, over which some fellow of lively parts will stumble -into renown. - -The book I refer to was called _Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit_, which -came into such extraordinary favor that he wrote shortly after another, -called _Euphues and his England_. And the fashion that he set, was a -fashion of affectations--of prettinesses of speech--of piling words on -words, daintier and daintier--antithesis upon antithesis, with flavors of -wide reading thrown in, and spangled with classic terms and far-fetched -similes--so that ladies ambitious of literary fame larded their talk with -these fine euphuisms of Mr. Lyly. Something of a coxcomb I think we must -reckon him; we might almost say an Oscar Wilde of letters--posing as -finely and as capable of drawing female shoals in his wake. His strain -for verbal felicities, always noticeable, comparing with good, simple, -downright English, as a dancing-master’s mincing step, compares with the -assured, steady tread of a go-ahead pedestrian, who thinks nothing of -attitudes. Scott, you will remember, sought to caricature the Euphuist, -in a somewhat exaggerated way, in Sir Piercie Shafton, who figures in his -story of the _Monastery_; he himself, however, in the later annotations -of his novel, confesses his failure, and admitted the justice of the -criticism which declared Sir Piercie a bore. Shakespeare, also, at a -time not far removed from Lyly’s conquest, perhaps intended a slap at -the euphuistic craze,[96] in the pedant Schoolmaster’s talk of “Love’s -Labor’s Lost.” - -Yet there was a certain good in this massing of epithets, and in this -tesselated cumulation of nice bits of language, from which the more wary -and skilful of writers could choose--as from a great vocabulary--what -words were cleanest and clearest. Nor do I wish to give the impression -that there were no evidences of thoughtfulness or of good purpose, -under Lyly’s tintinnabulation of words. Hazlitt thought excellently -well of him; and Charles Kingsley, in these later times, has pronounced -extravagant eulogy of him. Indeed he had high moral likings, though his -inspirations are many of them from Plato or Boëthius; it is questionable -also if he did not pilfer from Plutarch; certainly he sugar-coats with -his language a great many heathen pills. - -In observation he is very acute. That _Euphues_ who gives name to his -book, is an Athenian youth of rare parts--“well-constituted” as the Greek -implies--who has lived long in Italy, and who talks in this strain of the -ladies he saw on a visit to England:-- - - “The English Damoiselles have their bookes tied to their - girdles--not feathers--who are as cunning in the Scriptures as - you are in Ariosto or Petrark. It is the most gorgeous court - [of England] that ever I have seene or heard of; but yet do - they not use their apparel so nicely as you in Italy, who - thinke scorne to kneele at service, for fear of wrinckles in - your silk, who dare not lift up your head to heaven, for fear - of rumpling the ruffs in your neck; yet your handes, I confess, - are holden up, rather I thinke, to show your ringes, than to - manifest your righteousness.” - -Elizabeth would have very probably relished this sort of talk, and -have commended the writer in person; nor can there be any doubt that, -in such event, Lyly would have mumbled his thanks in kissing the royal -hands: there are complaining letters of his on the score of insufficient -court patronage, which are not high-toned, and which make us a little -doubtful of a goodly manhood in him. Certainly his deservings were -great, by reason of the plays which he wrote for her Majesty’s Company -of Child-players, and which were acted at the Chapel Royal and in the -palaces. In some of these there are turns of expression and of dramatic -incident which Shakespeare did not hesitate to convert to his larger -purposes; indeed there is, up and down in them, abundance of dainty -word-craft--of ingenuity--of more than Elizabethan delicacy too, and -from time to time, some sweet little lyrical outburst that holds place -still in the anthologies. - -One of these, with which I daresay you may be over-familiar, is worth -quoting again. It is called Apelles’ Song, and it is from the play of -“Alexander and Campaspe:” - - “Cupid and my Campaspe played - At cards for kisses--Cupid paid. - He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows, - His mother’s doves, and team of sparrows: - Loses them too: then down he throws - The coral of his lip--the Rose - Growing on’s cheek (but none knows how); - With these the crystal of his brow, - And then the dimple of his chin-- - All these did my Campaspe win. - At last, he set her both his eyes-- - She won; and Cupid blind did rise. - O Love, has she done this to thee? - What shall, alas! become of me?” - -He puts, too, into imitative jingle of words the song of the -Nightingale--(as Bryant has done for the Bobolink); and of the strain of -the skylark nothing prettier was ever said than Mr. Lyly says: - - “How, at Heaven’s gate she claps her wings, - The morn not waking--till _she_ sings.” - - -_Francis Bacon._ - -We go away from singing skylarks to find the next character that I -shall cull out from these Elizabethan times to set before you: this is -Lord Bacon--or, to give him his true title, Lord Verulam--there being, -in fact, the same impropriety in saying Lord Bacon (if custom had not -“brazed it so”) that there would be in saying Lord D’Israeli for Lord -Beaconsfield. - -Here was a great mind--a wonderful intellect which everyone admired, -and in which everyone of English birth, from Royalty down, took--and -ever will take--a national pride; but, withal, few of those amiabilities -ever crop out in this great character which make men loved. He can see -a poor priest culprit come to the rack without qualms; and could look -stolidly on, as Essex, his special benefactor in his youth, walked to -the scaffold; yet the misstatement of a truth, with respect to physics, -or any matter about which truth or untruth was clearly demonstrable, -affected him like a galvanic shock. His biographers, Montagu and -Spedding, have padded his angularities into roundness; while Pope and -Macaulay have lashed him in the grave. I think we must find the real man -somewhere between them; if we credit him with a great straight-thinking, -truth-seeking brain, and little or no capacity for affection, the riddle -of his strange life will be more easily solved. Spedding,[97] who wrote -a voluminous life of Bacon--having devoted a quarter of a century to -necessary studies--does certainly make disastrous ripping-up of the seams -in Macaulay’s rhetoric; but there remain certain ugly facts relating to -the trial of Essex, and the bribe-takings, which will probably always -keep alive in the popular mind an under-current of distrust in respect to -the great Chancellor. - -He was born in London, in 1561, three years before Shakespeare, and at -a time when, from his father’s house in the Strand he could look sheer -across the Thames to Southwark, where, before he was thirty, the Globe -Theatre was built, in which Shakespeare acted. He was in Paris when his -father died; there is no grief-stricken letter upon the event, but a -curious mention that he had dreamed two nights before how his father’s -house was covered with black mortar--so intent is he on mental processes. - -He had a mother who was pious, swift-thoughted, jealous, imperious, -unreasonable, with streaks of tenderness. - - “Be not speedy of speech,” she says in one of her letters--“nor - talk suddenly, but when discretion requireth, and that soberly - then. Remember you have no father; and you have little - enough--if not too little, regarded your kind, _no-simple_ - mother’s wholesome advice.” - - And again: “Look well to your health; sup not, nor sit not up - late; surely I think your drinking near to bedtime hindereth - your and your brother’s digestion very much: I never knew any - but sickly that used it; besides ill for head and eyes.” And - again, in postscript: “I trust you, with yr servants, use - prayers twice in a day, having been where reformation is. Omit - it not for any.” - -And he responds with ceremony, waiving much of her excellent advice, and -sometimes suggesting some favor she can do him,-- - - “It may be I shall have occasion to visit the Court this - Vacation [he being then at Gray’s Inn], which I have not done - this months space. In which respect, because carriage of stuff - to and fro spoileth it, I would be glad of that light bed - of striped stuff which your Ladyship hath, if you have not - otherwise disposed it.” - -Sharpish words, too, sometimes pass between them; but he is always -decorously and untouchingly polite. - -Indeed his protestations of undying friendship to all of high station, -whom he addresses unctuously, are French in their amplitude, and French, -too, in their vanities. He presses sharply always toward the great end -of self-advancement--whether by flatteries, or cajolement, or direct -entreaty. He believed in the survival of the fittest; and that the -fittest should struggle to make the survival good--no matter what weak -ones, or timid ones, or confiding ones, or emotional ones should go -to the wall, or the bottom, in the struggle. His flatteries, I think, -never touched the Queen, though he tried them often and gave a lurid -color to his flatteries. She admired his parts as a young man; she had -honored his father; she accepted his services with thanks--even the -dreadful services which he rendered in demonstrating the treason of -the gallant and generous, but headstrong Earl of Essex. He never came -into full possession of royal confidences, however, until James I. came -to the throne: by him he was knighted, by him made Lord Chancellor, by -him elevated to the peerage; and it was under him that he was brought -to trial for receiving bribes--was convicted, despoiled of his judicial -robes, went to prison--though it might be only for a day--and thereafter -into that retirement, at once shameful and honorable, where he put the -last touches to those broad teachings of “Philosophy,” which the world -will always cherish and revere: not the first nor the last instance in -which great and fatal weaknesses have been united to great power and -great accomplishment. - -But lest you may think too hardly of this eminent man, a qualifying word -must be said of that stain upon him--of receiving bribes: it was no -uncommon thing for high judicial personages to take gifts; no uncommon -thing for all high officers of the Government--nay, for the Government -itself, as typified in its supreme head. And, strange as it may seem, -Bacon’s sense of justice does not appear to have been swayed by the -gifts he took. Spedding has demonstrated, I think, that no judgment he -rendered was ever reversed by subsequent and farther hearing.[98] He was -not in the ordinary sense a money-lover; but he did love the importance -and consideration which money gave, yet was always in straits; and -those unwise receivings of his went to supply the shortcomings in a -very extravagant and disorderly home-life. His servants plundered him; -his tradespeople fleeced him; nor do I think that the mistress of the -Chancellor’s household was either very wary or very winning. Almost the -only time there is mention of her in his letters occurs previous to his -marriage (which did not take place till he was well in middle age), and -then only as “the daughter of an alderman who will bring a good dot” with -her. His mother-in-law, too, appears to have been of the stage sort of -mother-in-law, whom he addresses (by letter) in this fashion:-- - - “Madam,” he says, “you shall with right good-will be made - acquainted with anything that concerneth your daughters, if you - bear a mind of love and concord: Otherwise you must be content - to be a stranger to us. For I may not be so unwise as to suffer - you to be an author or occasion of dissension between your - daughters and their husbands; having seen so much misery of - that kind in yourself.” - -This looks a little as if the mother-in-law found the “grapes sour” in -the Bacon gardens. I do not think there was much domesticity about him, -even if home influences had encouraged it: he was without children, -and not one to read poetry to his wife in a boudoir; yet his essays -concerning marriage and concerning children and concerning friendship and -concerning extravagance, are full of piquant truths. - -Indeed two distinct lines of life ran through the career of this -extraordinary man. In one he loved parade, ceremony, glitter; he stooped -ungraciously to those who ranked him in factitious distinctions; was -profuse and heartless in his adulation; taking great gifts with servile -acknowledgment; shunning friends who were falling; courting enemies who -were rising: and yet through all this, and looking out from the same -keen inscrutable eyes was the soul of a philosopher cognizant of all -humanities, searching sharply after the largest and broadest truths; too -indifferent to small ones; weighing his own shortcomings with bitter -remorse; alive to everything in science that should help the advancement -of the world, and absorbed in high ranges of thinking which the -animosities and cares and criminalities and accidents of every-day life -did not seem to reach or to disturb. - -In such mood he wrote those essays, of some of which I have -spoken--wonderfully compact of thought, and as wonderfully compact of -language--which one should read and read again. No private library of a -hundred English books is complete without a copy of Bacon’s Essays. The -keen sagacity and perdurable sense of his observations always engage one. -Thus of Travel, he says,-- - - “Let him [the Traveller] sequester himself from the company of - his countrymen, and diet in such places where there is good - company of the nation where he travelleth. He that travelleth - into a country before he hath some entrance into the language, - goeth to school and not to travel.” - - Of Friendship:--“This communicating of a man’s self to his - friend, works two contrary efforts; for it redoubleth joys - and cutteth griefs in halves.” Again, of the advantages of - talk with a friend:--“Certain it is, that whosoever hath his - mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do - clarify and break up, in the communicating and discoursing with - another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he marshalleth - them more orderly; he seeth how they look when they are turned - into words; finally, he waxeth wiser than himself: and that - more by an hours discourse than by a days meditation.” - -Thus I could go on for page after page of citations which you would -approve, and which are so put in words that no mending or shortening -or deepening of their force seems anyway possible. And yet this book -of Essays--with all its sagacities, its ringing terseness, its stanch -worldly wisdom--is one we do not warm toward. Even when he talks of -friendship or marriage, death or love, a cold line of self-seeking -pervades it. Of sacrifice for love’s sake, for friendship’s sake, or -for charity’s sake, there is nothing; and in that Essay on “Parents and -Children”--what iciness of reflection--of suggestion! A man might talk as -Bacon talks there, of the entries in a “Herd-book.” - -As for the _Novum Organum_ and the _Augmentis Scientiarum_--you would -not read them if I were to suggest it: indeed, there is no need for -reading them, except as a literary _excursus_, seeing that they have -wrought their work in breaking up old, slow modes of massing knowledge, -and in pouring light upon new ways;--in serving, indeed, so far as their -reach went, as a great logical lever, by which subsequent inquirers have -prised up a thousand hidden knowledges and ways of knowledge to the -comprehension and cognizance of the world. - -And the two lines of life in Francis Bacon were joined by a strange -hyphen at last: He got out of his coach (which was not paid for), and in -his silk stockings walked through the snow, to prosecute some scientific -post-mortem experiment upon the body of a chicken he had secured by -the roadside, near to London. He caught cold--as lesser men would -have done; and he died of it. This date of his death (1626) brings us -beyond Elizabeth’s time--beyond James’ time, too, and far down to the -early years of Charles I. He was born, as I said, three years before -Shakespeare, three years after Elizabeth came to the throne; and the -_Novum Organum_ was published in the same year in which the Pilgrims -landed at Plymouth Rock--a convenient peg on which to hang the date of -two great events. - -He was buried in the old town of St. Alban’s, of whose antiquities I have -already spoken, and near to which Gorhambury, the country home of Bacon, -was situated. The town and region are well worth a visit: and it is one -of the few spots whither one can still go by a well-appointed English -stage-coach with sleek horses--four-in-hand, which starts every morning -in summer from the White Horse Cellar, in Piccadilly, and spins over the -twenty miles of intervening beautiful road (much of it identical with the -old Roman Watling Street) in less than two hours and a half. The drive -is through Middlesex, and into “pleasant Hertfordshire,” where the huge -Norman tower of the old abbey buildings, rising from the left bank of the -Ver, marks the town of St. Alban’s. The tomb and monument of Bacon are in -the Church of St. Michael’s: there is still an Earl of Verulam presiding -over a new Gorhambury House; and thereabout, one may find remnants of the -old home of the great Chancellor and some portion of the noble gardens -in which he took so much delight, and in which he wandered up and -down, in peaked hat and in ruff, and with staff--pondering affairs of -State--possibly meditating the while upon that most curious and stately -Essay of his upon “Gardens,” which opens thus:-- - - “God Almighty first planted a garden. And, indeed, it is the - purest of human pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment to - the spirits of man, without which building and palaces are but - gross handyworks: and a man shall ever see, that when ages - grow to civility and elegancy, men come to build stately, - sooner than to garden finely; as if gardening were the greater - perfection.” - -Surely, we who grow our own salads and “graff” our own pear-trees may -take exaltation from this: and yet I do not believe that the great -Chancellor ever put his hand, laboringly, to a rake-stave: but none -the less, he snuffed complacently the odor of his musk-roses and his -eglantine, and looked admiringly at his clipped walls of hedges. - - -_Thomas Hobbes._ - -There used to come sometimes to these gardens of Gorhambury, in Bacon’s -day, a young man--twenty years his junior--of a strangely subtle -mind, who caught so readily at the great Chancellor’s meaning, and was -otherwise so well instructed that he was employed by him in some clerical -duties. His name was Thomas Hobbes; and it is a name that should be -known and remembered, because it is identified with writings which had -as much influence upon the current of thought in the middle of the next -century (the seventeenth) as those of Herbert Spencer have now, and for -somewhat similar reasons. He was a very free thinker, as well as a deep -one; keeping, from motives of policy, nominally within Church lines, yet -abhorred and disavowed by Church-teachers; believing in the absolute -right of kings, and in self-interest as the nucleus of all good and -successful schemes for the conduct of life; weighing relations to the -future and a Supreme Good (if existing) with a trader’s prudence, and -counting Friendship “a sense of social utility.” His theory of government -was--a crystallization of forces, coming about regularly by the prudent -self-seeking of individuals. Of divine or spiritual influences he does -not take any sympathetic cognizance; hard, cold, calculating; not -inspiring, not hopeful; feeding higher appetites on metaphysic husks. - -Of his Deism I give this exhibit:-- - - “Forasmuch as God Almighty is incomprehensible, it followeth - that we can have no conception or image of the Deity; and - consequently, all his attributes signify our inability and - defect of power to conceive anything concerning his nature, - and not any conception of the same, except only this--that - there is a God. For the effects, we acknowledge naturally, do - include a power of their producing, before they were produced; - and that power presupposeth something existent that hath such - power: and the thing so existing with power to produce, if it - were not eternal, must needs have been produced by somewhat - before it; and that, again, by something else before that, - till we come to an eternal (that is to say, the first) Power - of all Powers, and first Cause of all Causes; and this is it - which all men conceive by the name GOD, implying eternity, - incomprehensibility, and omnipotency. And thus all that will - consider may know that God is, though not _what_ he is.” - -Cribbing his emotional nature (if he ever had any), he yet writes with -wonderful directness, perspicacity, and _verve_--making “Hobbism” talked -of, as Spencerism is talked of. Indeed, one does not see clearly how -any man, flinging only his bare hook of logic and his sinker of reason -into the infinite depths around us, can fish up anything of a helpfully -spiritual sort much better than Hobbism now. - -He was specially befriended by the Cavendishes, having once been tutor to -a younger scion of that distinguished family; and so he came to pass his -latest years in their princely home of Chatsworth, humored by the Duke, -and treated by the Duchess as a pet bear--to be regularly fed and not -provoked; climbing the Derbyshire hills of a morning, dining at mid-day, -and at candle-lighting retiring to his private room to smoke his twelve -pipes of tobacco (his usual allowance) and to follow through the smoke -his winding trails of thought.[99] - -He lived to the extreme age of ninety-two, thus coming well down into the -times of Charles II., who used to say of him that “he was a bear against -whom the Church played her young dogs to exercise them.” He lived and -died a bachelor, not relishing society in general, and liking only such -shrewd acute friends as could track him in his subtleties, who had the -grace to applaud him, and the wise policy of concealing their antagonisms. - -He is not much cited now in books, nor has his name association with any -of those felicities of literature which exude perennial perfumes. He was -careless of graces; he stirred multitudes into new trains of thought; he -fed none of them with any of the minor and gracious delights of learning. -Perhaps he is best known in literary ways proper by a close and lucid -translation of the _History_ of Thucydides, which I believe is still -reckoned by scholars a good rendering of the Greek.[100] - -He ventured, too, upon verse in praise of Derbyshire and of the valley -of the Derwent, but it is not rich or beautiful. A man who keeps -his emotional nature in a strait-jacket--for security or for other -purpose--may make catalogues of trees, or of summer days; but he cannot -paint the lilies or a sunrise. A translation of Homer which he undertook -and accomplished, when over eighty, was just as far from a success, and -for kindred reasons. - - -_George Chapman._ - -There was, however, another translation of Homer about those times, or a -little earlier, which was of much rarer quality, and which has not lost -its rare flavors even now. I speak of George Chapman’s. It is not so -true to the Greek as Hobbes’ Thucydides; indeed not true at all to the -words, but true to the spirit; and in passages where the translator’s -zeal was aflame catching more of the dash, and abounding flow, and brazen -resonance of the old Greek poet than Pope, or Cowper, Derby, or Bryant. - -The literalists will never like him, of course; he drops words that worry -him--whole lines indeed with which he does not choose to grapple; he adds -words, too--whole lines, scenes almost; there is vulgarity sometimes, and -coarseness; he calls things by their old homely names; there is no fine -talk about the chest or the abdomen, but the Greek lances drive straight -through the ribs or to the navel, and if a cut be clean and large--we -are not told of crimson tides--but the blood gurgles out in great gouts -as in a slaughter-house; there may be over-plainness, and over-heat, -and over-stress; but nowhere weakness; and his unwieldly, staggering -lines--fourteen syllables long--forge on through the ruts which the -Homeric chariots have worn, bouncing and heaving and plunging and -jolting, but always lunging forward with their great burden of battle, of -brazen shields, and ponderous war-gods. I hardly know where to cut into -the welter of his long lines for sample, but in all parts his brawny pen -declares itself. Take a bit from that skrimmage of the Sixteenth Book -where-- - - “The swift Meriones - Pursuing flying Acamas, just as he got access - To horse and chariot--overtook, and dealt him such a blow - On his right shoulder that he left his chariot, and did strow - The dusty earth: life left limbs, and night his eyes possessed. - Idomeneus his stern dart at Erymas addressed, - As--like to Acamas--he fled; it cut the sundry bones - Beneath his brain, betwixt his neck and foreparts, and so runs, - Shaking his teeth out, through his mouth, his eyes all drowned in blood; - So through his nostrils and his mouth, that now dart-open stood, - He breathed his spirit.” - -And again that wonderful duel between Patroclus and the divine Sarpedon: - - “Down jumped he from his chariot, down leaped his foe as light, - And as, on some far-looking rock, a cast of vultures fight, - --Fly on each other, strike and truss--part, meet, and then stick by, - Tug, both with crooked beaks and seres, cry, fight, and fight and cry; - So fiercely fought these angry kings, and showed as bitter galls.” - -What a description this old Chapman would have made of a tug at foot-ball! - -Another fragment I take from the Twenty-first Book, where the River God -roars and rages in the waters of Scamander against Achilles: - - ----“Then swell’d his waves, then rag’d, then boil’d again - Against Achilles, up flew all, and all the bodies slain - In all his deeps, of which the heaps made bridges to his waves - He belch’d out, roaring like a bull. The unslain yet he saves - In his black whirl-pits, vast and deep. A horrid billow stood - About Achilles. On his shield the violence of the Flood - Beat so, it drove him back, and took his feet up, his fair palm - Enforc’d to catch into his stay a broad and lofty elm, - Whose roots he tossed up with his hold, and tore up all the shore.” - -When any of us can make as spirited a translation as that, I think we can -stand a scolding from the teachers for not being literal. George Chapman -lived a very long life, and did other things worthily; wrote a mass of -dramas[101]--but not of the very best; they belong to the class of plays -those people talk of who want to talk of things nobody has read. I think -better and richer things are before us. - - -_Marlowe._ - -Did it ever happen to you to read upon a summer’s day that delightful -old book--of a half century later--called _The Complete Angler_; and -do you remember how, on a certain evening when the quiet Angler had -beguiled himself with loitering under beech-trees and watching the -lambs and listening to the birds, he did encounter, in an adjoining -field, a handsome milkmaid, who lifted up her voice--which was like a -nightingale’s--to an old-fashioned song, beginning?-- - - “Come live with me and be my love, - And we will all the pleasures prove - That valleys, groves, or hills, or field - Or woods, or steepy mountains yield-- - - And I will make thee beds of roses - And then a thousand fragrant posies - A cap of flowers and a kirtle - Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.” - -Well, that song of the milkmaid, with its setting of verdant meads and -silver streams and honeysuckle hedges keeps singing itself in a great -many ears to-day: And it was written by Christopher Marlowe,[102] one -of the most harum-scarum young dare-devils of Elizabethan times. He was -born in the same year with Shakespeare--down in Canterbury, or near by -(whither we saw St. Augustine carrying Christian crosses)--was son of -a shoemaker who lived thereabout, yet came somehow to be a Cambridge -man, drifted thereafter to London--full of wit and words of wantonness; -developing early; known for a tragedy that caught the ear of the town -six years before Shakespeare had published the “Venus and Adonis.” He was -an actor, too, as so many of the dramatic wits of that day were--maybe -upon the same boards where Shakespeare was then certainly a mender, if -not a maker of parts. Did they hobnob together? Did they compare plots? -If we only knew: but we do not. - -The critics of the days closely succeeding said he would have rivalled -Shakespeare if he had lived: Doubtless he would have brought more -learning to the rivalry; perhaps an equal wit--maybe an even greater -rhythmic faculty and as dauntless and daring imaginative power; but -dignity and poise of character were not in him. He died--stabbed--in a -drunken brawl before he was thirty.[103] In his tragedies--if you read -them--you will find the beat and flow and rhythm--to which a great -many of the best succeeding English tragedies were attuned. He scored -first upon British theatre-walls, with fingers made tremulous by tavern -orgies, a great sampler of dramatic story, by which scores of succeeding -play-writers set their copy; but into these copies many and many a one -of lesser power put a grace, a tenderness, and a dignity which never -belonged to the half-crazed and short-lived Marlowe. You will remember -him best perhaps as the author of the pleasant little madrigal of which -I cited a verselet; and if you value the delicatest of description, you -will relish still more his unfinished version of the Greek story of “Hero -and Leander”--a pregnant line of which-- - - “who ever loved that loved not at first sight” - ---has the abiding honor of having been quoted by Shakespeare in his play -of “As You Like It.” - -I leave Marlowe--citing first a beautiful bit of descriptive verse from -his “Hero and Leander:”-- - - “At Sestos Hero dwelt: Hero the fair, - Whom young Apollo courted for her hair, - And offered as a dower his burning throne, - Where she should sit for men to gaze upon. - The outside of her garments were of lawn, - --The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn. - - Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath - From thence her veil reached to the ground beneath; - Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, - Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives; - Many would praise the sweet smell, as she past, - When ’twas the odor that her breath forth cast; - And there_for_ honey-bees have sought in vain - And beat from thence, have lighted there again. - About her neck hung chains of pebble stone, - Which, lighted by her neck, like diamonds shone. - She wore no gloves; for neither sun nor wind - Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind; - Or warm, or cool them; for they took delight - To play upon those hands, they were so white. - - Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d - And, looking in her face, was strooken blind. - But this is true; so like was one the other, - As he imagined Hero was his mother: - And often-times into her bosom flew, - About her naked neck his bare arms threw, - And laid his childish head upon her breast - And, with still panting rock’t, there took his rest.” - -I think all will agree that this is very delicately done. - - -_A Tavern Coterie._ - -But let us not forget where we are, and where we are finding such men and -such poems: we are in London and are close upon the end of the sixteenth -century; there are no morning newspapers; these came long afterward; but -the story of such a death as that of Marlowe, stabbed in the eye--maybe -by his own dagger--would spread from tongue to tongue; (possibly one -of his horrific dramas had been played that very day): certainly the -knowledge of it would come quick to all his boon friends--actors, -writers, wits--who were used to meet, maybe at the Falcon on Bankside, or -possibly at the Mermaid Tavern. - -This Mermaid Tavern was a famous place in those and in succeeding days. -It stood on Cheapside (between Friday and Bread Streets) gorgeous with -three ranges of Elizabethan windows, that gave look-out upon an array -of goldsmiths’ shops which shone across the way. It was almost in the -shadow of the Church of St. Mary le Bow, burned in the great fire, but -having its representative tower and spire--a good work of Christopher -Wren--standing thereabout in our time, and still holding out its clock -over the sidewalk. - -And the literary friends who would have gathered in such a place to talk -over the sad happening to Kit Marlowe are those whom it behoves us to -know, at least by name. There, surely would be Thomas Lodge,[104] who -was concerned in the writing of plays; wrote, too, much to his honor, -a certain novel (if we may call it so) entitled _Rosalynde_, from -which Shakespeare took the hint and much of the pleasant machinery for -his delightful drama of “As You Like It.” This Lodge was in his youth -hail fellow with actors who gathered at taverns; and--if not actor -himself--was certainly a lover of their wild ways and their feastings. -He admired _Euphues_ overmuch, was disposed to literary affectations -and alliteration--writing, amongst other things, _A Nettle for Nice -Noses_. He was, too, a man of the world and wide traveller; voyaged -with Cavendish, and was said to be engaged in a British raid upon the -Canaries. In later years he became a physician of soberly habits and much -credit, dying of the plague in 1625. - -Nashe[105] also would have been good mate-fellow with Marlowe; a -Cambridge man this--though possibly “weaned before his time;” certainly -most outspoken, hard to govern, quick-witted, fearless, flinging his -fiery word-darts where he would. Gabriel Harvey, that priggish patron -of Spenser, to whom I have alluded, found this to his cost. Indeed this -satirist came to have the name of the English Aretino--as sharp as he, -and as wild-living, and wild-loving as he. - -Nashe was a native of Lowestoft, on the easternmost point of English -shore, in Suffolk, not far from those potteries (of Gurton) whose old -quaint products collectors still seek for and value. Dr. Grosart, in the -Huth Library, has built a wordy monument to his memory; we do not say it -is undeserved; certainly he had a full brain, great readiness, graphic -power, and deep love for his friends. Like Lodge, he travelled: like him -took to his wits to pay tavern bills; a sharp fellow every way. He lent -a hand, and a strong one, to that tedious, noisy, brawling ecclesiastic -controversy of his day--called the _Mar-Prelate_ one; a controversy full -of a great swash of those prickly, sharp-tasted, biting words--too often -belonging to church quarrels--and which men hardly approach for comment, -even in our time, without getting themselves pricked by contact into -wrathful splutter of ungracious language. - -One may get a true taste (and I think a surfeit) of his exuberance -in epithet, and of his coarse but rasping raillery in his _Pierce -Penilesse_. Here is one of his pleasant lunges at some “Latinless” -critic:--“Let a scholar write and he says--‘Tush, I like not these common -fellows’; let him write well, and he says--‘Tush, it’s stolen out of some -book.’” - -Then there was Robert Greene[106]--a Reverend, but used to tavern -gatherings, and whose story is a melancholy one, and worth a little more -than mere mention. He was a man of excellent family, well nurtured, as -times went; native of the old city of Norwich, in Norfolk; probably -something older than either Marlowe or Shakespeare; studied at St. -John’s, Cambridge--“amongst wags”--he says in his _Repentance_--“as lewd -as myself;” was a clergyman (after a sort); pretty certainly had a church -at one time; married a charming wife in the country, but going up to -that maelstrom of London fell into all evil ways: wrote little poems a -saint might have written, and cracked jokes with his tongue that would -make a saint shudder; deserted his wife and child; became a red-bearded -bully, raging in the taverns, with unkempt hair: Yet even thus and -there (as if all England in those Elizabethan times bloomed with lilies -and lush roses, which lent their perfume to all verse the vilest might -write) inditing poems having a tender pathos, which will live. Take -these verselets for instance; and as you read them, remember that he -had deserted his pure, fond, loving wife and his prattling boy, and was -more deeply sunk in ways of debauchery than any of his fellows; ’tis a -mother’s song to her child:-- - - “Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, - When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee. - Streaming tears that never stint, - Like pearl-drops from a flint, - Fell by course from his eyes, - That one another’s place supplies. - Thus he grieved in every part, - Tears of blood fell from his heart - When he left his pretty boy, - Father’s sorrow--father’s joy. - The wanton smiled, father wept, - Mother cried, baby leapt; - More he crowed more we cried, - Nature could not sorrow hide; - He must go, he must kiss - Child and mother--baby bless-- - For he left his pretty boy, - Father’s sorrow, father’s joy. - Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, - When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee.” - -And the poet who wrote this--putting tenderness into poems of the -affections, and a glowing color into pastoral verse, and point and -delicacy into his prose--wrote also _A Groates worth of Wit, bought with -a Million of Repentance_, and he died of a surfeit of pickled herring and -Rhenish wine. - -In that ‘Groat’s worth of Wit’ (published after his death) there is a -memorable line or two--being probably the first contemporary notice of -Shakespeare that still has currency; and it is in the form of a gibe:-- - - “There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that - with his Tygres heart wrapt in a players hide, supposes hee - is as well able to bombast out a blanke-verse as the best of - you; and, being an absolute Johannes-fac-totum, is in his owne - conceyt the onely Shake-Scene in a countrey.” - -How drolly it sounds--to hear this fine fellow, broken up with drink and -all bedevilments, making his envious lunge at the great master who has -perhaps worried him by theft of some of his dramatic methods or schemes, -and who gives to poor Greene one of his largest titles to fame in having -been the subject of his lampoon! - -It gives added importance, too, to this gibe, to know that it was -penned when the writer, impoverished, diseased, deserted by patrons, -saw death fronting him; and it gives one’s heart a wrench to read how -this debauched poet--whose work has given some of the best color to the -“Winter’s Tale” of Shakespeare--writes with faltering hand, begging his -“gentle” wife’s forgiveness, and that she would see that the charitable -host, who has taken him in, for his last illness, shall suffer no -loss--then, toying with the sheets, and “babbling o’ green fields,” he -dies. - -Keen critics of somewhat later days said Shakespeare had Greene’s death -in mind when he told the story of Falstaff’s. - -It is quite possible that all these men I have named will have -encountered, off and on, at their tavern gatherings, the lithe, youngish -fellow, large browed and with flashing eyes, who loves Rhenish too in a -way, but who loves the altitudes of poetic thought better; who is just -beginning to be known poet-wise by his “Venus and Adonis”--whose name is -William Shakespeare--and who has great aptitude at fixing a play, whether -his own or another man’s; and with Burbage for the leading parts, can -make them take wonderfully well. - -Possibly, too, in these tavern gatherings would be the young, boyish -Earl of Southampton, who is associated with some of the many enigmas -respecting Shakespeare’s Sonnets, and whom we Americans ought to know -of, because he became interested thereafter in schemes for colonizing -Virginia, and has left his name of Southampton to one of the Virginia -counties; and, still better, is associated with that beautiful reach of -the Chesapeake waters which we now call “Hampton Roads.” - -In that company too--familiar with London taverns in later Elizabethan -years--the beefy Ben Jonson was sure to appear, with his great shag of -hair, and his fine eye, and his coarse lip, bubbling over with wit and -with Latin: he, quite young as yet; perhaps just now up from Cambridge; -ten years the junior of Shakespeare; and yet by his bulky figure and -doughty air dominating his elders, and sure to call the attention of -all idlers who hung about the doors of the Mermaid. He may be even now -plotting his first play of “Every Man in his Humour,” or that new club of -his and Raleigh’s devising, which is to have its meeting of jolly fellows -in the same old Cheapside tavern, and to make its rafters shake with -their uproarious mirth. For the present we leave them all there--with -a May sun struggling through London fogs, and gleaming by fits and -starts upon the long range of jewellers’ shops, for which Cheapside -was famous--upon the White Cross and Conduit, whereat the shop-girls -are filling their pails--upon the great country wains coming in by -Whitechapel Road--upon the tall spire of St. Mary le Bow, and upon the -diamond panes of the Mermaid tavern, to whose recesses we have just seen -the burly figure of Ben Jonson swagger in. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -In opening the preceding chapter I spoke of that dainty John Lyly, who -first set a fashion in letters, and whose daintiness hid much of the -strength and cleverness that were in him: I spoke of the wonderful -twin development of the Lord Chancellor Bacon--selfish and ignoble as -a man, serene and exalted as a philosopher; and I tried to fasten in -the reader’s mind the locality of his tomb and home at the old town of -St. Alban’s--a short coach-ride away from London, down in “pleasant -Hertfordshire:” I spoke of Hobbes (somewhat before his turn) whose -free-thinking--of great influence in its day, and the sharply succeeding -days--is supplemented by more acute and subtle, if not more far-reaching, -free-thinking now. I quoted the Homer of Chapman, under whose long and -staggering lines there burned always true Homeric fire. I cited Marlowe, -because his youth and power promised so much, and the promise so soon -ended in an early and inglorious death. Then came Lodge, Nashe, and -Greene, mates of Marlowe, all well-bred, all having an itch for penwork, -and some of them for the stage; all making rendezvous--what time they -were in London--at some tavern of Bankside, or at the Mermaid, where we -caught a quick glimpse of Ben Jonson, and another of the Stratford player. - - -_George Peele._ - -I might, however, have added to the lesser names that decorated the -closing years of the sixteenth century that of George Peele,[107] of -Devonshire birth, but, like so many of his fellows, a university man: he -came to be a favorite in London; loved taverns and wine as unwisely as -Greene; was said to have great tact for the ordering of showy pageants; -did win upon Queen Elizabeth by his “Arraignment of Paris” (half masque -and half play) represented by the children of the Chapel Royal--and -carrying luscious flattery to the ready ears of Eliza, Queen of-- - - “An ancient seat of Kings, a second Troy, - Y’compassed round with a commanding sea; - Her people are y-clepéd _Angeli_. - This paragon, this only, this is she - In whom do meet so many gifts in one - In honor of whose name the muses sing.” - -Yet even such praises did not keep poor Peele from hard fare and a -stinging lack of money. - -“An Old Wives Tale,” which he wrote, has conjurers and dragons in -it, with odd twists of language which remind one of the kindred and -nonsensical jingle of “Patience” or “Pinafore:”-- - - “Phillida, Philleridos--pamphilida, florida, flortos; - Dub--dub a-dub, bounce! quoth the guns - With a sulpherous huff-snuff!” - -This play is further notable for having supplied much of the motive for -the machinery and movement of Milton’s noble poem of _Comus_. It is worth -one’s while to compare the two. Of course Peele will suffer--as those who -make beginnings always do. - -This writer is said to have been sometime a shareholder with Shakespeare -in the Blackfriars Theatre; he was an actor, too, like his great -contemporary; and besides the plays which carried a wordy bounce in -them, wrote a very tender scriptural drama about King David and the fair -Bethsabe, with charming quotable things in it. Thus-- - - “Bright Bethsabe gives earth to my desires, - Verdure to earth, and to that verdure--flowers; - To flowers--sweet odors, and to odors--wings - That carries pleasure to the hearts of Kings!” - -And again:-- - - “Now comes my lover tripping like the roe, - And brings my longings tangled in her hair - To joy her love, I’ll build a Kingly bower - Seated in hearing of a hundred streams.” - -Tom Campbell said--“there is no such sweetness to be found in our blank -verse anterior to Shakespeare.” And for his lyrical grace I cannot resist -this little show, from his “Arraignment of Paris:”-- - - _Ænone [singeth and pipeth]._ - - “Fair and fair, and twice so fair, - As fair as any may be; - The fairest shepherd on our green, - A love for any lady.” - - _And Paris._ - - “Fair and fair and twice so fair, - As fair as any may be: - Thy love is fair for thee alone - And for no other lady.” - - _Then Ænone._ - - “My love is fair, my love is gay, - As fresh as bin the flowers in May, - And of my love my roundelay, - My merry, merry, merry roundelay, - Concludes with Cupid’s curse, - They that do change old love for new, - Pray Gods, they change for worse!” - - -_Thomas Dekker._ - -Dekker was fellow of Peele and of the rest;[108] he quarrelled bitterly -with Ben Jonson--they beating each other vilely with bad words, that can -be read now (by whoso likes such reading) in the _Poetaster_ of Jonson, -or in the _Satiromastix_ of Dekker. ’Twould be unfair, however, to judge -him altogether by his play of the cudgels in this famous controversy. -There is good meat in what Dekker wrote: he had humor; he had pluck; he -had gift for using words--to sting or to praise--or to beguile one. There -are traces not only of a Dickens flavor in him, but of a Lamb flavor -as well; and there is reason to believe that, like both these later -humorists, he made his conquests without the support of a university -training. Swinburne characterizes him as a “modest, shiftless, careless -nature:” but he was keen to thrust a pin into one who had offended his -sensibilities; in his plays he warmed into pretty lyrical outbreaks, but -never seriously measured out a work of large proportions, or entered upon -execution of such with a calm, persevering temper. He was many-sided, not -only literary-wise, but also conscience-wise. It seems incredible that -one who should write the coarse things which appear in his _Bachelor’s -Banquet_ should also have elaborated, with a pious unction (that reminds -of Jeremy Taylor) the saintly invocations of the _Foure Birds of Noah’s -Ark_: and as for his _Dreame_ it shows in parts a luridness of color -which reminds of our own Wigglesworth--as if this New England poet of -fifty years later may have dipped his brush into the same paint-pot. I -cite a warm fragment from his _Dreame of the Last Judgement_;-- - - “Their cries, nor yelling did the Judge regard, - For all the doores of Mercy up were bar’d: - Justice and Wrath in wrinkles knit his forhead, - And thus he spake: You cursed and abhorred, - You brood of Sathan, sonnes of death and hell, - In fires that still shall burne, you still shall dwell; - In hoopes of Iron: then were they bound up strong, - (Shrikes [shrieks] being the Burden of their dolefull song) - Scarce was Sentence breath’d-out, but mine eies - Even saw (me thought) a Caldron, whence did rise - A pitchy Steeme of Sulphure and thick Smoake, - Able whole coapes of Firmament to choake: - About this, Divels stood round, still blowing the fire, - Some, tossing Soules, some whipping them with wire, - Across the face, as up to th’ chins they stood - In boyling brimstone, lead and oyle, and bloud.” - -It is, however, as a social photographer that I wish to call special -attention to Dekker; indeed, his little touches upon dress, dinners, -bear-baitings, watermen, walks at _Powles_, Spanish boots, tavern -orgies--though largely ironical and much exaggerated doubtless, have -the same elements of nature in them which people catch now with their -pocket detective cameras. His _Sinnes of London_, his answer to _Pierce -Pennilesse_, his _Gull’s Horne Boke_ are full of these sketches. This -which follows, tells how a young gallant should behave himself in an -ordinary:-- - - “Being arrived in the room, salute not any but those of your - acquaintance; walke up and downe by the rest as scornfully and - as carelessly as a Gentleman-Usher: Select some friend (having - first throwne off your cloake) to walke up and downe the roome - with you, … and this will be a meanes to publish your clothes - better than Powles, a Tennis-court, or a Playhouse; discourse - as lowd as you can, no matter to what purpose if you but make - a noise, and laugh in fashion, and have a good sower face to - promise quarrelling, you shall be much observed. - - “If you be a souldier, talke how often you have beene in - action: as the _Portingale_ voiage, Cales voiage, besides some - eight or nine imploiments in Ireland.… And if you perceive that - the untravellᵈ Company about you take this doune well, ply them - with more such stuffe, as how you have interpreted betweene - the French king and a great Lord of Barbary, when they have - been drinking healthes together, and that will be an excellent - occasion to publish your languages, if you have them: if not, - get some fragments of French, or smal parcels of Italian, to - fling about the table: but beware how you speake any Latine - there.” - -And he goes on to speak of the three-penny tables and the twelve-penny -tables, and of the order in which meats should be eaten--all which as -giving glimpses of something like the every-day, actual life of the -ambitious and the talked-of young fellows about London streets and -taverns is better worth to us than Dekker’s dramas. - - -_Michael Drayton._ - -We encounter next a personage of a different stamp, and one who, very -likely, would have shaken his head in sage disapproval of the flippant -advices of Dekker; I refer to Michael Drayton,[109] who wrote enormously -in verse upon all imaginable subjects; there are elegiacs, canzonets, -and fables; there are eclogues, and heroic epistles and legends and -_Nimphidia_ and sonnets. He tells of the Barons’ Wars, of the miseries -of Queen Margaret, of how David killed Goliath, of Moses in the burning -bush--in lines counting by thousands; _Paradise Lost_ stretched six -times over would not equal his pile of print; and all the verse that -Goldsmith ever wrote, compared with Drayton’s portentous mass would -seem like an iridescent bit of cockle-shell upon a sea of ink. This -protracting writer was a Warwickshire man--not a far-off countryman of -Shakespeare, and a year only his senior; a respectable personage, not -joining in tavern bouts, caring for himself and living a long life. His -great poem of _Poly-olbion_ many know by name, and very few, I think, of -this generation ever read through. It is about the mountains, rivers, -wonders, pleasures, flowers, trees, stories, and antiquities of England; -and it is twenty thousand lines long, and every line a long Alexandrine. -Yet there are pictures and prettinesses in it, which properly segregated -and detached from the wordy trails which go before and after them, would -make the fortune of a small poet. There are descriptions in it, valuable -for their utter fidelity and a fulness of nomenclature which keeps -alive pleasantly ancient names. Here, for instance, is a summing up of -old English wild-flowers, where, in his quaint way, he celebrates the -nuptials of the river Thames (who is groom) with the bridal Isis, that -flows by Oxford towers. It begins at the one hundred and fiftieth line of -the fifteenth song of the fiftieth part:-- - - “The Primrose placing first, because that in the Spring - It is the first appears, then only flourishing; - The azuréd Hare-bell next, with them they gently mix’d - T’ allay whose luscious smell, they Woodbine plac’d betwixt; - Amongst those things of scent, there prick they in the Lily, - And near to that again, her sister--Daffodilly - To sort these flowers of show, with th’ other that were so sweet, - The Cowslip then they couch, and the Oxlip, for her meet; - The Columbine amongst, they sparingly do set, - The yellow King-cup wrought in many a curious fret; - And now and then among, of Eglantine a spray, - By which again a course of Lady-smocks they lay; - The Crow-flower, and thereby the Clover-flower they stick, - The Daisy over all those sundry sweets so thick.” - -The garden-flowers follow in equal fulness of array; and get an even -better setting in one of his Nymphals, where they are garlanded about the -head of Tita; and in these pretty Nymphals, and still more in the airy, -fairy _Nymphidia_--with their elfins and crickets and butterflies, one -will get an earlier smack of our own “Culprit Fay.” Those who love the -scents of ancient garden-grounds--as we do--will relish the traces of -garden love in this old Warwickshire man. In his Heroic Epistles, too, -one will find a mastership of ringing couplets: and there are spirit and -dash in that clanging battle ode of his which sets forth the honors -and the daring of Agincourt. Its martial echoes--kept alive by Campbell -(“Battle of the Baltic”) and revived again in Tennyson’s “Balaclava,” -warrant me in citing two stanzas of the original:-- - - “Warwick in blood did wade, - Oxford the foe invade, - And cruel slaughter made - Still as they ran up; - Suffolk his axe did ply, - Beaumont and Willoughby - Bear them right doughtily, - Ferrers and Fanhope. - - “They now to fight are gone; - Armour on armour shone, - Drum now to drum did groan, - To hear, was wonder; - That, with the cries they make, - The very earth did shake, - Trumpet to trumpet spake, - Thunder to thunder.”[110] - - -_Ben Jonson._ - -I now go back to that friend of Drayton’s--Ben Jonson,[111] whom we saw -at the closing of the last chapter going into the tavern of the Mermaid. -He goes there, or to other like places, very often. He is a friend no -doubt of the landlady; he is a friend, too, of all the housemaids, -and talks university chaff to them; a friend, too, of all such male -frequenters of the house as will listen to him, and will never dispute -him; otherwise he is a slang-whanger and a bear. - -He was born, as I have said, some years after Shakespeare, but had roared -himself into the front ranks before the people of London were thoroughly -satisfied that the actor-author of “Richard III.” was a better man than -Ben. Very much of gossip with respect to possible jealousies between -Shakespeare and Ben Jonson may be found in the clumsy, bundled-up life of -the latter by William Gifford.[112] - -Jonson was born probably in the west of London--and born poor; but -through the favor of some friends went to Westminster School, near to -which his step-father, who was a bricklayer, lived: afterward, through -similar favor, he went to Cambridge[113]--not staying very long, -because called home to help that step-father at his bricklaying. But -he did stay long enough to get a thorough taste for learning, and a -thorough grounding in it. So he fretted at the bricks, and ran off and -enlisted--serving a while in the Low Countries, where poor Philip Sidney -met his death, and coming back, a swaggerer, apt with his sword and his -speech, into which he had grafted continentalisms; apt at a quarrel, too, -and comes to fight a duel, and to kill his man.[114] For this he went -to prison, getting material this way--by hard rubs with the world--for -the new work which was ripening in the mind of this actor-author. So, -full of all experiences, full of Latin, full of logic, full of history, -full of quarrel, full of wine (most whiles) this great, beefy man turned -poet. I do not know if you will read--do not think the average reader of -to-day will care to study--his dramas. The stories of them are involved, -but nicely adjusted as the parts of an intricate machine: you will grow -tired, I dare say, of matching part to part; tired of their involutions -and evolutions; tired of the puppets in them that keep the machinery -going; tired of the passion torn to tatters; tired of the unrest and lack -of all repose. Yet there are abounding evidences of wit--of more learning -than in Shakespeare, and a great deal drearier; aptnesses of expression, -too, which show a keen knowledge of word-meanings and of etymologies; -real and deep acquirement manifest, but worn like stiff brocade, or -jingling at his pace, like bells upon the heels of a savage. You wonder -to find such occasional sense of music with such heavy step--such -delicate poise of such gross corporosity. - -He helped some hack-writer to put Bacon’s essays into Latin--not that -Bacon did not know his Latin; but the great chancellor had not time for -the graces of scholastics. Ben wrote an English Grammar, too, which--for -its syntax, so far as one may judge from that compend of it which alone -remains--is as good as almost any man could invent now. Such learning -weighed him down when he put on the buskins, and made the stage tremble -with his heaviness. But when he was at play with letters--when he had -no plot to contrive and fabricate and foster, and no character to -file and finish, and file again, and to fit in with precise order and -methodic juxtaposition--when a mad holiday masque--wild as the “Pirates -of Penzance”--tempted him to break out into song, his verse is rampant, -joyous, exuberant--blithe and dewy as the breath of May-day mornings: See -how a little damsel in the dance of his verse sways and pirouettes-- - - “As if the wind, not she did walk; - Nor pressed a flower, nor bowed a stalk!” - -Then, again, in an Epithalamion of his _Underwoods_, as they were called, -there is a fragment of verse, which, in many of its delicious couplets, -shows the grace and art of Spenser’s wonderful “Epithalamion,” which we -read a little time ago:--He is picturing the bridesmaids strewing the -bride’s path with flowers:-- - - “With what full hands, and in how plenteous showers - Have they bedewed the earth where she doth tread, - As if her airy steps did spring the flowers, - And all the ground were garden, where she led.” - -Such verses do not come often into our newspaper corners, from first -hands: such verses make one understand the significance of that -inscription which came by merest accident to be written on his tomb in -Westminster Abbey--“O rare Ben Jonson!” - -I do not believe I shall fatigue you--and I know I shall keep you in the -way of good things if I give another fragment from one of his festal -operettas;--the “Angel” is describing and symbolizing Truth, in the -_Masque of Hymen_:-- - - “Upon her head she wears a crown of stars, - Thro’ which her orient hair waves to her waist, - By which believing mortals hold her fast, - And in those golden cords are carried even - Till with her breath she blows them up to Heaven. - She wears a robe enchased with eagles’ eyes, - To signify her sight in mysteries; - Upon each shoulder sits a milk-white dove, - And at her feet do witty serpents move; - Her spacious arms do reach from East to west, - And you may see her heart shine thro’ her breast. - Her right hand holds a sun with burning rays - Her left, a curious bunch of golden keys - With which Heaven’s gates she locketh and displays. - A crystal mirror hangeth at her breast, - By which men’s consciences are searched and drest; - On her coach-wheels, Hypocrisy lies racked; - And squint-eyed Slander with Vain glory backed, - Her bright eyes burn to dust, in which shines Fate; - An Angel ushers her triumphant gait, - Whilst with her fingers fans of stars she twists, - And with them beats back Error, clad in mists, - Eternal Unity behind her shines, - That Fire and Water, Earth and Air combines; - Her voice is like a trumpet, loud and shrill, - Which bids all sounds in earth and heaven be still.” - -In that line of work Shakespeare never did a better thing than this. -Indeed, in those days many, perhaps most, people of learning and culture -thought Ben Jonson the better man of the two;--more instructed (as he -doubtless was); with a nicer knowledge of the unities; a nicer knowledge -of mere conventionalities of all sorts: Shakespeare was a humble, plain -Warwickshire man, with no fine tinsel to his wardrobe--had no university -training; not so much schooling or science of any sort as Ben Jonson; had -come up to London--as would seem--to make his fortune, to get money--to -blaze his way: and how he did it! - -I suppose a Duchess of Buckingham or any lady of court consequence -would have been rather proud of the obeisance of Ben Jonson, after -that play of “Every Man in his Humour,” and would have given him a -commendatory wave of her fan, much sooner, and more unhesitatingly, -than to the Stratford actor, who took the part of Old Knowell in it. -Ben believed in conventional laws of speech or of dramatic utterance -far more than Shakespeare; he regretted (or perhaps affected to regret -when his jealousies were sleeping), that Will Shakespeare did not shape -his language and his methods with a severer art;[115] he would--very -likely--have lashed him, if he had been under him at school, for his -irregularities of form and of speech--irregularities that grew out of -Shakespeare’s domination of the language, and his will and his power to -make it, in all subtlest phases, the servant, and not the master of his -thought. - -Do I seem, then, to be favoring the breakage of customs, and of the rules -of particular grammarians? Yes, unhesitatingly--if you have the mastery -to do it as Shakespeare did it; that is, if you have that finer sense of -the forces and delicacies of language which will enable you to wrest its -periods out of the ruts of every-day traffic, and set them to sonorous -roll over the open ground, which is broad as humanity and limitless as -thought. Parrots must be taught to prate, particle by particle; but the -Bob-o-Lincoln swings himself into his great flood of song as no master -can teach him to sing. - -Even now we do not bid final adieu to Ben Jonson; but hope to encounter -him again in the next reign (that of James I.) through the whole of which -he carried his noisy literary mastership. - - -_Some Prose Writers._ - -You must not believe, because I have kept mainly by poetic writers in -these later days of Queen Elizabeth, that there were no men who wrote -prose--none who wrote travels, histories, letters of advice; none who -wrote stupid, dull, goodish books; alas, there were plenty of them; there -always are. - -But there were some to be remembered too: there was William Camden--to -whom I have briefly alluded already--and of whom, when you read good -histories of this and preceding reigns, you will find frequent mention. -He was a learned man, and a kind man, excellent antiquarian, and taught -Ben Jonson at Westminster School. There was Stow,[116] who wrote a -_Survey of London_, which he knew from top to bottom. He was born in -the centre of it, and as a boy used to fetch milk from a farm at the -Minories, to his home in Cornhill, where his father was a tailor. His -fulness, his truthfulness, his simplicities, and his quaintness have made -his chief book--on London--a much-prized one. - -Again there was Hakluyt,[117] who was a church official over in Bristol, -and who compiled _Voyages_ of English seamen which are in every -well-appointed library. Dr. Robertson says in his _History_, “England -is more indebted [to Hakluyt] for its American possessions than to any -man of that age.” Of so much worth is it to be a good geographer! The -“Hakluyt Society” of England will be his enduring monument. - -There was also living in those last days of the sixteenth century a -strange, conceited, curious travelling man, Thomas Coryat[118] by name, -who went on foot through Europe, and published (in 1611) what he -called--with rare and unwitting pertinence--_Coryat’s Crudities_. He -affixed to them complimentary mention of himself--whimseys by the poets, -even by so great a man as Ben Jonson--a budget of queer, half-flattering, -half-ironical rigmarole, which (having plenty of money) he had procured -to be written in his favor; and so ushered his book into the world as -something worth large notice. He would have made a capital showman. He -had some training at Oxford, and won his way by an inflexible persistence -into familiarity with men of rank, who made a butt of him. With a certain -gift for language he learned Arabic in some one of his long journeyings, -was said to have knowledge of Persian, and made an oration in that speech -to the Great Mogul--with nothing but language in it. His _Crudities_ are -rarely read; but some letters and fragments relating to later travels of -his, appear in Purchas’ _Pilgrims_. He lays hold upon peculiarities and -littlenesses of life in his work which more sensible men would overlook, -and which give a certain quaint piquancy to what he told; and we listen, -as one might listen to barbers or dressmakers who had just come back from -Paris, and would tell us things about cravats and hair-oil and street -sights that we could learn no otherwheres. Coryat says:-- - - “I observe a custom in all those Italian Cities, and tounes - thro’ the which I passed, that is not used in any other - countrie that I saw--nor do I think that any other nation of - Christendom doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian and most - other strangers that are _cormorant_ in Italy doe always at - their meales use a little forke, when they cut their meate. For - while, with their knife which they hold in one hand they cut - the meate out of the dish, they fasten the forke which they - hold in their other hand upon the same dish, so that whatsoever - he be that sitting in the companie of any others at meale, - should unadvisidly touch the dish of meate with his fingers - from which alle at the table doe cut, he will give occasion of - offence unto the company, as having transgressed the laws of - good manners. - - “This forme of feeding is, I understand, common in all places - of Italy--their forkes being for the most part made of iron - or steele, and some of silver--but _these_ are used only by - gentlemen. - - “I myself have thought good to imitate the Italy fashion by - this forked cutting of meate not only while I was in Italy, but - also in Germany, and oftentimes in England, since I came home.” - -Thus we may connect the history of silver forks with Tom Coryat’s -_Crudities_, and with the first reported foot-journeys of an Englishman -over the length and breadth of Europe. The wits may have bantered him in -Elizabeth’s day; but his journeyings were opened and closed under James. - -Again, there were books which had a little of humor, and a little of -sentiment, with a great deal of fable, and much advice in them; as a -sample of which I may name Mr. Leonard Wright’s _Displaie of Duties, -deck’t with sage Sayings, pythie Sentences, and proper Similes: Pleasant -to read, delightful to hear, and profitable to practice_:[119] By which -singularly inviting title we perceive that he had caught the euphuistic -ways of Mr. John Lyly. In enumerating the infelicities of a man who -marries a shrew, he says:-- - - “Hee shall find compact in a little flesh a great number - of bones too hard to digest. And therefore some doe thinke - wedlocke to be that same purgatorie which some learned divines - have so long contended about, or a sharpe penance to bring - sinful men to Heaven. A merry fellow hearing a preacher saye - in his sermon that whosoever would be saved must take up and - beare his cross, ran straight to his wife, and cast _her_ upon - his back.… Finally, he that will live quietly in wedlock must - be courteous in speech, cheerful in countenance, provident for - his house, careful to traine up his children in virtue, and - patient in bearing the infirmities of his wife. Let all the - keys hang at her girdle, only the purse at his own. He must - also be voide of jealousy, which is a vanity to think, and more - folly to suspect. For eyther it needeth not, or booteth not, - and to be jealous without a cause is the next way to have a - cause. - - “This is the only way to make a woman dum: - To sit and smyle and laugh her out, and not a word but _mum_!” - -Quite another style of man was Philip Stubbes,[120] a Puritan -reformer--not to be confounded with John Stubbes who had his right hand -cut off, by order of the Queen, for writing against the impropriety and -villainy of her prospective marriage with a foreign prince--but a kinsman -of his, who wrote wrathily against masques and theatre-going; whipping -with his pen all those roystering poets who made dramas or madrigals, all -the fine-dressed gallants, and all the fans and ruffs of the women as so -many weapons of Satan. - - “One arch or piller,” says he, “wherewith the Devil’s kingdome - of great ruffes is under propped, is a certain kind of liquid - matter which they call _starch_, wherein the Devil hath learned - them to wash and die their ruffes, which, being drie, will - stand stiff and inflexible about their neckes.” - -And he tells a horrific story--as if it were true--about an unfortunate -wicked lady, who being invited to a wedding could not get her ruff -stiffened and plaited as she wanted; so fell to swearing and tearing, -and vowed “that the Devil might have her whenever she wore _neckerchers_ -again.” And the Evil One took her at her word, appearing in the guise of -a presentable young man who arranged her ruffs - - “--to her so great contentation and liking, that she became - enamored with him. The young man kissed her, in the doing - whereof he writhed her neck in sunder, so she died miserably; - her body being straightwaies changed into blue and black - colors, most ugglesome to behold, and her face most deformed - and fearful to look upon. This being known in the city great - preparation was made for her burial, and a rich coffin was - provided, and her fearful body was laid therein. Four men - assay’d to lift up the corps, but could not move it. Whereat - the standers-by--marvelling causing the coffin to be opened to - see the cause thereof, found the body to be taken away, and a - blacke catte, very leane and deformed, sitting in the coffin, - setting of great ruffes, and frizzling of haire, to the great - feare and wonder of all the beholders.” - -We do not preach in just that way against fashionable dressing in our -time. - -A book on the _Arte of English Poesie_ belongs to those days--supposed -to be the work of George Puttenham[121]--written for the “recreation and -service” of the Queen; it has much good counsel in it--specially in its -latter part; and the author says he wrote it to “help the gentlewomen of -the Court to write good Poetry.” As an exampler, under his discussion of -“Ornament,” he cites what he graciously calls a “sweet and sententious -ditty” from the Queen’s own hand. The reader will be curious perhaps to -see some portion of this:-- - - “The doubt of future foes, exiles my present joy, - And wit me warnes to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy, - For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebbe, - Which would not be, if reason rul’d, or wisdome wev’d the webbe.” - -This much will serve for our republican delectation; but it is not the -only instance in which we find mention of her Majesty’s dalliance with -verse: In an old book called the _Garden of the Muses_, of the date of -1600, the author says the flowers are gathered out of many excellent -speeches spoken to her Majesty at triumphs, masques, and shows, as also -out of divers choice ditties sung to her; and “some especially proceeding -from her own most sacred selfe.” No one of them, however, would have -ranked her with any of the poets of whom we have made particular mention; -but for fine, clear, nervous, masculine English, to put into a letter, or -into a despatch, or into a closet scolding, I suspect she would have held -rank with any of them. - -If not a poet, she led poets into gracious ways of speech. Her culture, -her clear perceptions, her love of pageants even, her intolerance of -all forms of dulness or slowness, her very vanities--were all of them -stimulants to those who could put glowing thought into musical language. -Her high ruff, her jewelled corsage, her flashing eye, her swift -impulses, her perils, her triumphs, her audacities, her maidenhood--all -drew flatteries that heaped themselves in songs and sonnets. So live a -woman and so live a Queen magnetized dulness into speech. - - -_The Queen’s Progresses._ - -I spoke but now of her love of pageants; every visiting prince from -every great neighbor kingdom was honored with a pageant; every foreign -suitor to her maidenly graces--whether looked on with favor or disfavor -(as to which her eye and lip told no tales)--brought gala-days to London -streets--brought revels, and bear-baitings, and high passages of arms, -and swaying of pennons and welcoming odes. Many and many a time the -roystering poets I named to you--the Greenes, the Marlowes, the Jonsons, -the Peeles, may have looked out from the Mermaid Tavern windows upon -the royal processions that swept with gold-cloth, and crimson housings -through Cheapside, where every house blazed with welcoming banners, and -every casement was crowded with the faces of the onlookers. - -Thereby, too, she would very likely have passed in her famous -“Progresses” to her good friends in the eastern counties; or to her loved -Lord Burleigh, or to Cecil, at their fine place of Theobalds’ Park,[122] -near Waltham Cross. True, old Burleigh was wont to complain that her -Majesty made him frequent visits, and that every one cost him a matter of -two or three thousand pounds. Indeed it was no small affair to take in -the Queen with her attendants. Hospitable people of our day are sometimes -taken aback by an easy-going friend who comes suddenly on a visit with a -wife, and four or five children, and Saratoga trunks, and two or three -nursery-maids, and a few poodles and a fox-terrier; but think of the -Queen, with her tiring-women, and her ladies of the chamber, and her -ushers, and her grand falconer, and her master of the hounds, and her -flesher--who knows the cuts she likes--and her cook, and her secretary, -and her fifty yeomen of the guard, and her sumpter mules, and her -chaplain, and her laundry-women, and her fine-starchers! No wonder Lord -Burleigh groaned when he received a little notelet from his dear Queen -saying she was coming down upon him--for a week or ten days. - -And Elizabeth loved these little surprises overmuch, and the progress -along the high roads thither and back, which so fed her vanities: She was -a woman of thrift withal, and loved her savings; and the kitchen fires at -Nonsuch palace, or at Greenwich or at Richmond, might go out for a time -while she was away upon these junketings. - -I know that my young readers will be snuggling in their minds a memory -of that greatest Progress of hers, and that grandest of all private -entertainments--at Kenilworth Castle; wondering, maybe, if that charming, -yet over-sad story of Walter Scott’s is true to the very life? And -inasmuch as they will be devouring that book, I suspect, a great deal -oftener than they will read Laneham’s account of the great entertainment, -or Gascoigne’s,[123] I will tell them how much, and where it varies -from the true record. There _was_ a Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester--a -brilliant man, elegant in speech, in person, in manner--at a court where -his nephew Philip Sidney had shone--altogether such a courtier as Scott -has painted him: And the Queen had regarded him tenderly--so tenderly -that it became the talk of her household and of the world. It is certain, -too, that Leicester gave to the Queen a magnificent entertainment at -his princely castle of Kenilworth, in the month of July, 1575. There -were giants, there were Tritons, there were floating islands. Lawns -were turned into lakes, and lakes were bridged with huge structures, -roofed with crimson canopies, where fairies greeted the great guest with -cornucopias of flowers and fruits. There was fairy music too; there were -dances and plays and fireworks, that lighted all the region round about -with a blaze of burning darts, and streams and hail of fire-sparks. - -In all this there is no exaggeration in Scott’s picturing; none either -in his portraiture of the coquetries and princely graces of the Queen. It -is probable that no juster and truer picture of her aspect and bearing, -and of the more salient points of her character ever will or can be drawn. - -Thither, too, had come--from all the country round--yeomen, strolling -players, adventurous youths, quick to look admiringly after that -brilliant type of knighthood Sir Philip Sidney, then in his twenty-first -year, and showing his gay trappings in the royal retinue: amongst such -youths were, very likely, Michael Drayton and William Shakespeare, boys -both in that day, just turned of eleven, and making light of the ten or -twelve miles of open and beautiful country which lay between Kenilworth -and their homes of Atherstone and of Stratford-upon-Avon. - -It is true too, that Leicester, so admired of the Queen, and who was her -host, had once married an Amy Robsart: true, too, that this Amy Robsart -had died in a strangely sudden way at an old manor-house of Cumnor; and -true that a certain Foster and Varney, who were dependants of Leicester, -did in some sense have her in their keeping. But--and here the -divergence from history begins--this poor Amy Robsart had been married to -Sir Robert Dudley before he came to the title of Leicester, and she died -in the mysterious way alluded to, some fifteen years before these revels -of Kenilworth: but not before Elizabeth had been attracted by the proud -and noble bearing of Robert Dudley. Her fondness for him began about the -year 1559. And it was this early fondness of hers which gave color to -the story that he had secretly caused the death of Amy Robsart. The real -truth will probably never be known: there was a public inquiry (not so -full, he said, as he could have wished) which acquitted Leicester; but -his character was such that he never outlived suspicion. I observe that -Mr. Motley, in his _History of the United Netherlands_, on the faith of a -paper in the Record Office, avers Leicester’s innocence; but the tenor of -a life counts for more than one justifying document in measuring a man’s -moral make-up. - -In the year 1575, when the revels of Kenilworth occurred, the Earl of -Leicester was a widower and Amy Robsart had been ten years mouldering in -her grave: but in the year 1576 the young Countess of Essex suddenly -became a widow, and was married privately, very shortly afterward, to the -Earl of Leicester. In the next year, 1577, the story was blazed abroad, -and the Queen showed her appreciation of the sudden match by sending -Leicester straight to the Tower. But she forgave him presently. And out -of these scattered actualities, as regards the Earl, Sir Walter Scott has -embroidered his delightful romance. - -But we have already brought our literary mention up to a point far beyond -this in the Queen’s life; up to a point where Shakespeare, instead of -tearing over hedge-rows and meadows to see the Tritons and the harlequins -of Kenilworth, has put his own Tritons to swimming in limpid verse, and -has put his bloated, dying Falstaff to “babbling o’ green fields.” The -Queen, too, who has listened--besides these revels--to the tender music -of Spenser and outlived him; who has heard the gracious courtliness -of Sidney, and outlived him; who has lent a willing ear to the young -flatteries of Raleigh and seen him ripen into a gray-haired adventurer -of the seas; who has watched the future Lord Keeper, Francis Bacon, as -he has shot up from boyhood into the stateliness of middle age; who has -seen the worshipful Master John Lyly grow up, and chant his euphuism and -sing his songs and die: she too, now, is feeling the years--brilliant as -they may be in achievement--count and weigh upon her. - -Long as she could, she cherished all the illusions of youth. That poor -old face of hers was, I suspect, whited and reddened with other pigments -than what the blood made, as the years went by. Such out-of-door sports -as bear-baiting became rarer and rarer with her; and she loved better -such fun as the fat Falstaff made, in her theatre of Whitehall. But only -nicest observers saw the change; and she never admitted it--perhaps not -to herself. - -The gossiping Paul Hentzner, who had an ambassador’s chances of -observation, says of her, on her way to chapel at Greenwich:-- - - “Next came the Queen, in her sixty-fifth year, as we are - told--very majestic: her face, oblong, fair but wrinkled; her - eyes small, yet black and pleasant; her nose a little hooked. - She had in her ears two pearls with very rich drops; and she - had on a necklace of exceeding fine jewels. She was dressed in - white silk bordered with pearls of the size of beans, and over - it a mantle of black silk shot with silver threads.” - -This, observe, was over twenty years after the revels of Kenilworth: and -two years beyond this date, when the Queen was sixty-seven, a courtier -writes: “Her Majesty is well, and every second day is on horseback.” No -suitor could say a pleasanter thing to her than--“Your majesty is looking -very young!” She danced, when it made her old bones ache to dance. - -No suitor could say a more inapt thing than to express a fear that a -revel, or a play, or a hunt, or a dance might possibly fatigue her -Majesty. It would bring a warning shake of the head that made the jewels -rattle. - -But at last the days come--as like days are coming to us all--when she -can counterfeit youth no longer. The plays entice her no more. The three -thousand court dresses that she left, hang unused in her wardrobe: -weaknesses hem her in, turn which way she may. Cecil, the son of her old -favorite Burleigh, urges that she must quit her chair--which she clung -to, propped with pillows--that she _must_ take to her bed. “_Must_,” -she cries, with a kindling of her old passionate life, “little man, -little man, thy father never dared to use such a word to his Queen.” -The gust passes; and she clings to life, as all do, who have such fast, -hard grip upon it. In short periods of languor and repose, taking kindly -to the issue--going out, as it were, like a lamp. Then, by some windy -burst of passion--of hate, flaming up red and white and hot--her voice a -scream, her boding of the end a craze, her tenacity of purpose dragging -all friends, all hopes, all the world to the terrible edge where she -stands--the edge where Essex stood (she bethinks herself with a wild -tempest of tears)--the edge where Marie Stuart stood at Fotheringay, -in her comely widow’s dress; thinks of this with a shrug that means -acquiescence, that means stubborn recognition of a fatal duty: _that_ -ghost does no way disturb her. - -But there are others which well may. Shall we tell them over? - -No; let us leave her with her confessor, saying prayers maybe; her rings -on her fingers; the lace upon her pillow; not forgetting certain fine -coquetries to the last: strong-souled, keen-thoughted, ambitious, proud, -vindictive, passionate woman, with her streaks of tenderness out of which -bitter tears flowed--out of which kindlinesses crept to sun themselves, -but were quick overshadowed by her pride. - -Farewell to her! - - * * * * * - -In our next talk we shall meet a King--but a King who is less a man than -this Queen who is dead. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] - - The breeze which swept away the smoke - Round Norham Castle rolled, - When all the loud artillery spoke, - With lightning flash and thunder stroke, - As Marmion left the hold. - -[2] London was possibly a British settlement before the Romans built -there; though latest investigators, I think, favor the contrary opinion. - -[3] - - “To Cattraeth’s vale, in glittering row, - Twice two hundred warriors go; - Every warrior’s manly neck - Chains of regal honor deck, - Wreathed in many a golden link: - From the golden cup they drink - Nectar that the bees produce, - Or the grape’s ecstatic juice, - Flush’d with mirth and hope they burn, - But none from Cattraeth’s vale return - Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong - (Bursting through the bloody throng), - And I, the meanest of them all - That live to weep and sing their fall.” - -[4] Lady CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH SCHREIBER (_née_ GUEST) made the first -translations which brought these Welsh romances into vogue. Among them -is _Geraint, the son of Erbin_, which in our day has developed into the -delightful _Geraint and Enid_. Mr. W. F. Skene has published the texts of -various poems (from original MSS.) attributed to Taliesin, Aneurin, and -others, with translations by D. Sylvan Evans and Robert Williams. - -[5] There was a sort of Christianizing of Britain in later Romish times, -but not much warmth or spending force in it; and Wright assures us that -amid all the Roman remains thus far brought to light of mosaics and -vases, only one Christian symbol has been found. This is on a tessellated -pavement of a Roman villa at Frampton, in Dorsetshire. Lysons published -an engraving of this pavement. - -See also GREEN (introduction to _Making of England_) in reference to -Christian inscriptions and ornaments of Roman date. He makes no allusion -to the Frampton symbol. - -[6] GREEN: _Making of England_, p. 337. A church he erected at -Bradford-on-Avon stands in almost perfect preservation to-day. MURRAY’S -_Alph. Eng. Handbook_. The Editor of Guide Book makes an error in date of -the erection. - -[7] _Sonnet composed or suggested during a tour in Scotland, in summer of -1833._ - - “Isle of Columba’s Cell, - Where Christian piety’s soul-cheering spark, - (Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark - Of time) shone like the morning-star,--farewell!” - -[8] Of late years, owing to the difficulty of working, the mining and -manufacture of the jet has nearly gone by--other carbon seams in Spain -offering better and more economic results; these latter, however, still -bear the name of Whitby Jet. - -[9] I ought to mention that recent critics have questioned if all the -verse usually attributed to Cædmon was really written by him: nay, there -have been queries--if the picture of Satan itself was not the work of -another hand. An analysis of the evidence, by Thomas Arnold, may be found -in _Ency. Br._ See, also, _Making of England_, Chap. VII., note, p. 370. - -[10] “During his last days verses of his own English tongue broke from -time to time from the master’s lip--rude runes that told how before the -‘need-fare,’ Death’s stern ‘must go,’ none can enough bethink him what is -to be his doom for good or ill. The tears of Beda’s scholars mingled with -his song. So the days rolled on to Ascension tide,” etc. - -[11] It is of record in MATTHEW OF WESTMINSTER, a Benedictine monk of the -fourteenth century--_Flores Historiarum_--first printed in 1567. “_Nuda -equum ascendens, crines capitis et tricas dissolvens, corpus suum totum, -prater crura candidissima inde velavit._” The tradition is subject of -crude mention in the _Poly-olbion_ of DRAYTON; I also refer the reader to -the charming _Leofric and Godiva_ of LANDOR. - -[12] _Harold: the Last of the Saxon Kings_; first published in 1848 -and dedicated to the Hon. C. T. D’Eyncourt, M.P., whose valuable -library--says BULWER--supplied much of the material needed for the -prosecution of the work. - -[13] GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH (Bishop of St. Asaph), d. 1154. His _Cronicon, -sive Historia Britonum_ first printed in 1508: translated into Eng., -1718. Vid. _Wright’s Essays Arch. Sub._, 1861. - -[14] Such exception as the name warrants, must be made in favor of -NENNIUS, § 50, A.D. 452. - -[15] Other important Arthurian localities belong to the north and west of -England; and whoso is curious in such matters, will read with interest -Mr. STUART GLENNIE’S ingenious argument to prove that Scotland was the -great cradle of Arthurian Romance. _Early English Text Society, Part -iii._, 1869. - -[16] The fable is Scandinavian. The Anglo-Saxon version, dating probably -from the seventh century, makes it a very important way-mark in the -linguistic history of England. Eng. editions are numerous: among -them--those of KEMBLE, 1833-7: THORPE, 1855 and 1875: ARNOLD, 1876: also -(Am. ed.) HARRISON, 1883: Translations accompany the three first named: a -more recent one has appeared (1883) by DR. GARNETT of Md. - -[17] WALTER MAP, or MAPES, was born on the borders of Wales about 1143, -and was living as Archdeacon at Oxford as late as 1196: possibly this -was the Walter who supplied material to GEOFFREY of Monmouth; there was -however another WALTER (CALIENUS) who was also Archdeacon at Oxford. - -[18] Layamon’s work supposed to date (there being only internal evidence -of its epoch) in the first decade of the thirteenth century. Vid. MARSH: -_English Language and Early Literature_. Lecture IV. An edition, with -translation, was published by Sir Frederic Madden in 1857. - -[19] Among other direct Arthurian growths may be noted MORRIS’S _Defence -of Guinevere_; ARNOLD’S _Tristram and Issult_; QUINET’S _Merlin_, -WAGNER’S Operatic Poems, and SMITH’S _Edwin of Deira_. - -[20] ORDERIC VITALIS, b. 1075; d. 1150. Of Abbey of St. Evroult, in -Normandy. An edition of his _Ecclesiastical History of England and -Normandy_ was published in 1826, with notice of writer, by GUIZOT. - -[21] WILLIAM OF MALMSBURY: dates uncertain; his record terminates with -year 1143. - -[22] MATTHEW PARIS, 1200-1259, a monk of St. Albans. His _Historia Major_ -extends from 1235 to 1259. - -[23] WILLIAM OF NEWBURGH, b. 1136; d. 1208. New edition of his record -(_Hist. Rerum Anglicarum_), edited by RICHARD HOWLET, published in 1884. - -[24] ROGER DE HOVEDEN of twelfth century, (date uncertain.) His annals -first published in 1595. - -[25] I do not mean to say that Scott’s portraitures may be taken as -archæologic data, or that one in search of the last and minutest truths -respecting our Welsh or Saxon progenitors should not go to more recondite -sources; meantime you will get very much from the reading of Scott to -aid you in forming an image of those times; and, what is better still, -you will very likely carry from the Romancer’s glowing pages a sharpened -appetite for the more careful but duller work of the historians proper. - -[26] I give fragment of one, of the reign of Edward II., cited by MR. -MARSH: p. 247, _English Language and Early Literature_. - - “Quant honme deit parleir, videat qua verba loquatur; - Sen covent aver, ne stultior inveniatur, - Quando quis loquitur, bote resoun reste therynne - Derisum patitur, ant lutel so shal he wynne,” _etc._ - -[27] Robert of Gloucester lived in the latter part of the thirteenth -century, perhaps surviving into the fourteenth. In addition to his -_Chronicle of England_, he is thought to have written _Lives and Legends -of the English Saints_. - -[28] _Il milione di Messer Marco Polo, Veneziano._ Florence, 1827. MARCO -POLO d. 1323. - -[29] ODORIC, a priest of Pordenone in Friuli, who went on Church mission -about 1318. His narrative is to be found in the _Ramusio Col._, 2d Vol. -1574. CARPINI (JOANNES _de Plano_), was a Franciscan from near Perugia, -who travelled East about 1245. HAKLUYT has portions of his narrative: but -full text is only in _Recueil de Voyages_, Vol. IV., by M. D’AVEZAC. - -[30] Messrs. NICHOLSON and YULE, who are sponsors for the elaborate -article in the _Br. Ency._ - -[31] Page 407, chap. viii. - -[32] An abbot presided over monasteries--sometimes independent of the -bishop--sometimes (in a degree) subject. Priors also had presidence over -some religious houses--but theirs was usually a delegated authority. An -æsthetic abbot or prior was always building--or always getting new colors -for the _missal_ work in the _scriptorium_: hunting abbots were thinking -more of the refectory. At least six religious services were held a day, -and always midnight mass. It was easy, but not wholly a life of idleness. -A bell summoned to breakfast, and bells to mass. Of a sunny day--monks -were teaching boys one side of the cloister--artistic monks working at -their missals the other; perhaps under such prior as he of _Jorvaulx_ -(Scott’s Ivanhoe) some young monk would be training his hawks or dogs. An -interesting abstract of the Rule of the Benedictines may be found under -Monachism, _Br. Ency._, Vol. xvi. - -[33] College Statutes of Merton date from 1274; those of University from -1280; and of Balliol from 1282. Paper of GEORGE C. BRODERICK, _Nineteenth -Century_, September, 1882. - -[34] The story of the Black Prince meets with revival in our day, by -the recent publication of “_Le Prince Noir, Poeme du Herault d’Armes -Chandos_,” edited, translated, etc., by FRANCISQUE MICHEL, F.A.S. -Fotheringham: London, 1884. The original MS. is understood to be -preserved in the Library of Worcester College, Oxford. - -[35] Precise dates are wanting with respect to Langlande. Facts -respecting his personal history are derived from what leaks out in his -poem, and from interpolated notes (in a foreign hand) upon certain MS. -copies. Of three different texts (published by the _E. E. Text Soc._) -Mr. SKEAT dates one about 1362--a second in or about 1377, and the third -still later. The first imprint has date of 1550. - -[36] Not that he is specially free from foreign vocables: MARSH (_Lec. -VI., Eng. Language_) gives his percentage of Anglo-Saxon words in _Passus -XIV._ at only 84. See also SKEAT’S _Genl. Preface_, p. xxxiii. - -[37] In saying this I follow literal statement of the poem (_Pass._ -xviii., 12,948), as do TYRWHIT, PRICE, and Rev. Mr. SKEAT, whose opinions -overweigh the objections of Mr. WRIGHT, (_Introduction_, p. ix., note 3, -to WRIGHT’S _Piers Plowman_.) The Christian name William seems determined -by a find of SIR FREDERIC MADDEN on the fly-leaf of a MS. in the library -of Trinity College, Dublin. - -_Piers Plowman’s Creed_, often printed with the _Vision_, is now by best -critics counted the work of another hand. - -[38] Church chroniclers who were contemporaries of WYCLIF, girded at him -as a blasphemer. CAPGRAVE: _Cron. of Eng. (Rolls Series)_, speaks of him -as “the orgon of the devel, the enmy of the Cherch, the confusion of men, -the ydol of heresie,” etc. NETTER collected his (alleged) false doctrines -under title of _Bundles of Tares (Fasciculi Zizaniorum)_, Ed. by SHIRLEY, -1858. Dr. ROBT. VAUGHAN is author of a very pleasant monograph on WYCLIF, -with much topographic lore. Dr. LECHLER is a more scholarly contributor -to WYCLIF literature; and the Early Eng. Text Soc. has published (1880) -MATHEWS’ Ed. of “_hitherto unprinted Eng. works_ of WYCLIF, with notice -of his life.” RUDOLPH BUDDENSEIG, (of Dresden) has Ed. his polemical -works in Latin (old) besides contributing an interesting notice for the -anniversary just passed. Nor can I forbear naming in this connection -the very eloquent quin-centenary address of Dr. RICHARD S. STORRS, of -Brooklyn, N. Y. - -[39] Those who love books which are royal in their dignities of print and -paper, will be interested in FORSHALL & MADDEN’S elegant 4to. edition of -the Wyclifite versions of the Bible. - -[40] The biographers used to say 1328: this is now thought inadmissible -by most commentators. FURNIVAL makes the birth-year 1340--in which he -is followed by the two WARDS, and by Professor MINTO (_Br. Ency._). -Evidence, however, is not as yet conclusive; and there is an even chance -that further investigations may set back the birth-year to a date which -will better justify and make more seemly those croakings of age which -crept into some of the latter verse of the poet. For some facts looking -in that direction, and for certain interesting genealogic Chaucer -puzzles, see paper in _London Athenæum_ for January 29, 1881, by WALTER -RYE. - -[41] _House of Fame_, Book II. - -[42] There is question of the authenticity of the translation usually -attributed to Chaucer--of which there is only one fifteenth century MS. -extant. Some version, however, Chaucer did make, if his own averment is -to be credited. Prof. MINTO (_Br. Ency._) accepts the well-known version; -so does WARD (_Men of Letters_); Messrs. BRADSHAW (of Cambridge) and -Prof. TEN BRINK doubt--a doubt in which Mr. HUMPHREY WARD (_Eng. Poets_) -seems to share. - -[43] SANDRAS: _Étude sur Chaucer_. - -[44] A notable edition is that of Prof. Lounsbury (Ginn & Heath, 1877); -and it is much to be hoped that the same editor will bring his scholarly -method of estimating dates, sources, and varying texts, to some more -important Chaucerian labors. - -[45] Another possible epoch of meeting with Petrarch may have been in the -year 1368, when at the junketings attending the wedding of Prince Lionel -(in Milan), Petrarch was present; also--perhaps--Chaucer in the suite of -the Prince. FROISSART makes note of the _Feste_, but without mention of -either poet, or of his own presence. _Chap. ccxlvii., Liv. I._ - -WALTER BESANT (_Br. Ency., Art. Froissart_), I observe, avers the -presence of all three--though without giving authorities. MURATORI -(_Annali_) mentions Petrarch as seated among the princely guests--_tanta -era la di lui riputazione_--but there is, naturally enough, no naming of -Chaucer or Froissart. - -[46] “_Nous lui lairrons toute seule faire les honneurs; nous ne irons ni -viendrons en nulle place ou elle soit_,” etc.--Chroniques de SIRE JEAN -FROISSART (_J. A. Buchon_), tome iii., p. 236. Paris, 1835. - -[47] “In the spandrils are the arms of Chaucer on the dexter side, and -on the sinister, Chaucer impaling those of (Roet) his wife.”--_Appendix -III._ to FURNIVAL, _Temporary Preface_, etc. - -[48] Some MSS. have this poem with title of _Supplication to King -Richard_. - -[49] This--in the engraving; the autotype published by the Chaucer -Society gives, unfortunately, a very blurred effect to the upper part of -the face: but who can doubt the real quality of Chaucer’s eye? - -[50] The name, indeed, by some strange metonymy not easily explicable, -had become “Talbot.” There is a later “Tabard,” dreadfully new, on the -corner of “Talbot Inn Yard,” 85 High Street, Borough. - -[51] Dean Stanley, without doubt in error, in measuring the pilgrimage by -twenty-four hours. See _Temp. Pref. to Six Text Edit._ FURNIVAL. - -[52] _Nov. VI. Giorn. IX._ It may be open to question if Chaucer took -scent from this trail, or from some as malodorous _Fr. Fabliau_--as -TYRWHITT and WRIGHT suggest. The quest is not a savory one. - -[53] His dethronement preceded his death, by a twelvemonth or more. - -[54] Edited by Dr. Reinhold Pauli, London, 1857. Henry Morley (_Eng. -Writers_, IV., p. 238) enumerates a score or more of existing MSS. of the -poem. The first printed edition was that of Caxton, 1483. - -[55] A more modern and accepted translation--by a wealthy Welsh -gentleman, Thos. Johnes--was luxuriously printed on his private press at -Hafod, Cardiganshire, in 1803. - -[56] There is a manuscript copy in the (so-called) _Bibliothèque du Roi_ -at Paris. A certain number--among them, the _Espinette Amoureuse_--appear -in the _Buchon_ edition of the _Chroniques_; Paris, 1835. - -[57] John Lydgate: dates of birth and death unsettled. - -[58] _The Storie of Thebe_ and _the Troy booke_ were among his -ambitious works. Skeat gives his epoch “about 1420,” and cites _London -Lickpenny_--copying from the Harleian MS. (367) in the British Museum. - -[59] James I. (of Scotland), b. 1394 and was murdered 1437. - -_The King’s Quair_, from which quotation is made, was written in 1423. -It is a poem of nearly 1400 lines, of which only one MS. exists--in the -Bodleian Library. - -An edition by Chalmers (1824) embodies many errors: the only trustworthy -reading is that edited by the Rev. Walter Skeat for the Scottish Text -Soc. (1883-4). A certain _modernizing_ belongs of course to the citation -I make--as well as to many others I have made and shall make. - -[60] Priest at Diss in Norfolk, b. (about) 1460; d. 1529. Best edition of -works edited by Rev. A. Dyce, 1843. - -[61] Bedford (when Regent of France) is supposed to have transported to -England the famous Louvre Library of Charles V. (of France). There were -910 vols., according to the catalogue drawn up by Gilles Mallet--“the -greater number written on fine vellum and magnificently bound.” - -[62] 1455 to 1485. - -[63] Miss Halsted in her _Richard III._, chap. viii. (following the -_Historic Doubts_ of Horace Walpole), makes a kindly attempt to overset -the Shakespearean view of Richard’s character--in which, however, it must -be said that she is only very moderately successful. See also a more -recent effort in the same direction by Alfred O. Legge (_The Unpopular -King, etc._ London, 1885). - -[64] Caxton had been concerned, in company with Colard Mansion, in -printing other books, on the Continent, at an earlier date than -this. The first book “set up” in England, was probably Caxton’s -translation--entitled “_The Recuyle of the Histories of Troye_.” Vid. -Blade’s _William Caxton_: London, 1882. - -[65] Noticeable among these Louis de Bruges, Seigneur de la -Gruthuyse--afterward made (by Edward IV. of England) Earl of Winchester. - -[66] More frequently called _Juliana Berners_--supposed relative of the -Lords Berners and Abbess of Sopwell. Rev. Mr. Skeat, however--a very -competent witness--confirms the reading given. For discussion of the -question see the _Angler’s Note Book_, No. iv. (1884) and opinions of -Messrs. Quaritch & Westwood. - -[67] The authenticity of these letters, published by John Fenn, Esq., -F.A.S., has been questioned by Herman Merivale and others; James -Gairdner, however (of the Record office), has argued in their favor, and -would seem to have put the question at rest. - -[68] Fuller, in his _Worthies of England_, says “The comedian is not -excusable by some alteration of his name, seeing the vicinity of -sounds intrench on the memory of a worthy Knight; and few do heed the -inconsiderable difference in spelling their names.” - -[69] The equipment of a parsonage house in Kent in those days, is -set forth in full inventory (from MS. in the Rolls House) by Mr. -Froude.--_History of England_, chap. i, p. 47. - -[70] Not to be confounded with William Lilly the astrologer of the -succeeding century. William Lilly of St. Paul’s was b. 1468; d. (of the -plague) in 1532. His Latin Grammar was first published in 1513. - -[71] William Camden, antiquary and chronicler; b. 1551; d. 1623. _Annales -Rerum Anglicarum et Hibernicarum regnante Elizabetha_, pub. 1615. In 1597 -he published a Greek Grammar--for the Westminster boys; he being at the -time head-master of the school. - -[72] _Erasmus_: by Robert Blackley Drummond (chap. vii.) London, 1873. - -[73] Cranmer, b. 1489; d. 1556. - -Complete edition of his works published 1834 (Rev. H. Jenkyns). Cranmer’s -_Bible_ so called, because accompanied by a prologue, written by Thomas -Cranmer, Archbishop, etc. - -[74] There are many reasons for doubting if these lines were from -Shakespeare’s own hand. Emerson (_Representative Men_)--rarely given to -Literary criticism, remarks upon “the bad rhythm of the compliment to -Queen Elizabeth” as unworthy the great Dramatist: so too, he doubts, -though with less reason--the Shakespearean origin of the Wolsey -Soliloquy. See also Trans. New Shakespere Society for 1874. Part I. -(Spedding _et al._) - -[75] William Tyndale, b. about 1480; d. (burned at the stake) 1536. G. -P. Marsh (_Eng. Language and Early Lit._) says “Tyndale’s translation -of the New Testament has exerted a more marked influence upon English -philology than any other native work between the ages of Chaucer and of -Shakespeare.” - -[76] Latimer (Hugh) b. 1491; d. (at the stake) 1555. He was educated -at Cambridge--came to be Bishop of Worcester--wrote much, wittily and -strongly. A collection of his Sermons was published in 1570-71; and there -have been many later issues. - -[77] John Foxe, b. 1517; d. 1587. He was a native of Boston, -Lincolnshire; was educated at Oxford; his _History of the Acts and -Monuments of the Church_ was first published in England in 1563. There -was an earlier edition published at Strasbourg in 1554. - -[78] Born near Haddington, Scotland, in 1505 (d. 1572); bred a friar; -was prisoner in France in 1547; resided long time at Geneva; returned to -Scotland in 1559. Life by Laing (1847) and by Brandes (1863); Swinburne’s -_Bothwell_, Act iv., gives dramatic rendering of a sermon by John Knox. -See also Carlyle’s _Heroes and Hero-worship_, Lecture IV. - -[79] In the issue of _Sternhold and Hopkins’ Psalmody_ of 1549 one year -after Sternhold’s death, there were 37 psalms by Sternhold, and 7 by -Hopkins. In subsequent editions more of Hopkins’ work was added. - -[80] 34 and 35 Henry VIII.: A.D. 1542-43. The full text (_Statutes of -the Realm_, Vol. III., pp. 895-7) gives some alleviating provisions in -respect to “Noble women and gentle women, who reade to themselves;” and -the same Statute makes particular and warning mention of the “Craftye, -false and untrue translation of Tyndale.” - -[81] A coarse comedy written (probably) by John Still, one time Bishop -of Bath. Its title on the imprint of 1575 runs thus:--“_A ryght pithy, -pleasant and merie Comedy, intytuled Gammer Gurton’s Nedle; played on the -Stage not longe ago in Christes Colledge, in Cambridge, made by Mr. S., -Master of Art._” - -[82] Sir Thomas Wyatt (or Wyat), b. 1503; d. 1542. The Earl of Surrey -(Henry Howard, and cousin to Catharine Howard, one of the wives of Henry -VIII.), b. about 1517, and beheaded 1547. - -[83] Understood to be based on the relations of a certain _Unfortunate -Traveller_ (Jack Wilton) by Nash, 1595. The story was credited by -Drayton, Winstanley, the _Athenæ Oxonienses_ of Wood (edition of 1721), -by Walpole (_Noble Authors_), and by Warton: The relations spoken of, -however, show anachronisms which forbid their acceptance. - -[84] B. 1515; d. 1568. His works (in English) were collected and edited -by Bennett in 1761. Fuller (_of the Worthies_) writes of Ascham: “He was -an honest man and a good shooter. His _Toxophilus_ is a good book for -young men; his _Scholemaster_ for old; his _Epistles_ for all men.” - -[85] Report of Giacomo Soranzo (Venetian Ambassador) under date of 1554: -Rawdon Brown’s Calendar State Papers, 1534-54. - -[86] Rawdon Brown’s Calendar State Papers, 1554. From Venetian Archives. - -[87] A Thomas Sackville, b. 1527; d. 1608, was author of a portion of -_Mirror for Magistrates_; also associated with Thomas Norton, in -production of the Tragedy of _Gorboduc_. - -[88] Thomas Tusser, b. about 1527; d. 1580. - -[89] Raphael Holinshed, d. about 1580. First edition of his Chronicle was -published in 1577. - -[90] William Cecil, b. 1520; d. 1598. Biography by Nares, 1828-31. - -[91] Richard Hooker (1553-1600). Edition of his works (by Keble) first -appeared 1836. First book of _Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity_ has been -edited for Clarendon Press Series by R. W. Church, 1868. - -[92] Grosart, in his _Life of Spenser_ (pp. 236-37), gives good reasons -for doubting this story which is based mainly on the Jonson-Drummond -interviews. Grosart also questions--as Prof. John Wilson had done before -him--all the allegations of Spenser’s extreme indigence. - -[93] Philip Sidney, b. 1554; d. 1586. - -[94] The first edition of Rinaldo was printed at Venice in 1562: this -great epic was completed at Padua in 1575. - -[95] John Lyly, b. 1554; d. 1606. - -[96] The style of Lyly has been traced by Dr. Landmann, an ingenious -German critic, to the influence of Don Antonio de Guevara, a Spanish -author, who wrote _El Libro Aureo de Marco Aurelio_, 1529. It was -translated into English by Lord Berners in 1531 (published in 1534). - -[97] James Spedding, b. 1803; d. 1881. His chief work was the Bacon life; -and there is something pathetic in the thought of a man of Spedding’s -attainments, honesty of purpose, and unflagging industry, devoting thirty -of the best years of his life to a vindication of Bacon’s character. His -aggressive attitude in respect to Macaulay is particularly shown in his -_Evenings with a Reviewer_ (2 vols., 8vo), in which he certainly makes -chaff of a good deal of Macaulay’s arraignment. - -[98] We are disinclined, however, to accept the same biographer’s over-mild -treatment of the bribe-taking, as a “moral negligence”--coupling it with -Dr. Johnson’s moral delinquency of lying a-bed in the morning! See closing -pages of _Evenings with a Reviewer_. - -[99] The extraordinary habits of Hobbes are made subject of pleasant -illustrative comment in Sydney Smith’s (so-called) _Sketches of Moral -Philosophy_, Lecture XXVI. - -[100] Hobbes’ _Thucydides_ was first published in the year 1628. An -earlier English version (1550) was, in effect, only a translation of a -translation, being based upon the French of Claude de Seyssel, Bishop of -Marseilles. Hobbes sneers at this, and certainly made a better one--very -literal, sometimes tame--sometimes vulgar, but remaining the best until -the issue of Dean Smith’s (1753). - -[101] Among the best known with which Chapman’s name is connected -(jointly with Ben Jonson’s and Marston’s) is “_Eastward Hoe!_” containing -a good many satirical things upon the Scotch--which proved a dangerous -game--under James; and came near to putting the authors in limbo. - -[102] B. 1564; d. 1593. - -[103] Henceforth one who would know of Marlowe, and read what he wrote, -in text which comes nearest the dramatist’s own (for we can hardly hope -for absolute certainty) should consult the recent scholarly edition, -edited by A. H. Bullen (Nimmo, 1884), in three volumes. We doubt, -however, if such popular re-establishment of the poet’s fame can be -anticipated as would seem to be foreshadowed in the wishes and glowing -encomiums of his editor. - -[104] B. about 1556; d. 1625. - -[105] Thomas Nashe, b. about 1564; d. 1601. - -[106] B. 1560(?); d. 1592. See Grosart’s edition of his writings (in Huth -Library) where Dr. G. gives the best color possible to his life and works. - -[107] B. 1558 or thereabout; and d. 1598. - -[108] Thomas Dekker, b. about 1568; d. about 1640. Best edition of his -miscellaneous works that of Grosart (Huth Library), which is charming -in its print and its pictures--even to the poet in his bed, busy at his -_Dreame_. - -[109] Drayton, b. 1563; d. 1631. An edition of his works (still -incomplete) by Rev. R. Hooper is the most recent. - -[110] There is an exquisite sonnet usually attributed to him -beginning--“Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part;” but -this is so very much better than all his other sonnets, that I cannot -help sharing the doubts of those who question its Drayton origin. If -Drayton’s own, the sonnet certainly shows a delicacy of expression, and a -romanticism of hue quite exceptional with him. - -[111] Ben Jonson, b. 1573; d. 1637. - -[112] Prefacing the edition of Jonson’s works of 1816; also in the -elegant re-issue of the same--under editorship of Colonel Cunningham in -1875. Gifford seems to have spent his force (of a biographic sort) in -picking up from various contemporary authors whatever contained a sneer -at Jonson, and exploding it, after blowing it up to its fullest possible -dimensions;--reminding one of those noise-loving boys who blow up -discarded and badly soiled paper-bags, only to burst them on their knees. - -[113] Ward (_Ency. Br._) is inclined to doubt his going at all to -Cambridge: I prefer, however, to follow the current belief--as not yet -sufficiently “upset.” - -[114] The facts regarding this “felony” of Jonson’s have been subject of -much and varied averment: recent investigation has brought to light the -“Indictment” on which he was arraigned, and some notes of the “Clerk of -the Peace.” See _Athenæum_, March 6, 1886. - -[115] In his _Discoveries (De Shakespeare)_ Jonson says, “The players -have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing -(whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, -would he had blotted a thousand. Which they thought a malevolent speech.… -I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry as much -as any.” - -[116] John Stow, b. 1525; d. 1605. His _Survey_ published in 1598: -reprinted over and over. Edition of 1876 has illustrations. - -[117] Richard Hakluyt, b. about 1558; d. 1616. - -[118] Thomas Coryat, b. 1577; d. 1617. Full title of his book -is--_Coryat’s Crudities hastily gobbled up in Five moneths Travells -in France, Savoy, Italy, Rhetia, commonly called the Orisons Country, -Helvetia, alias Switzerland, and some parts of Germany and the -Netherlands_. - -[119] First published in 1589. - -[120] Dates of birth and death uncertain. His _Anatomie of Abuses_ first -published in 1583. - -[121] George Puttenham, b. about 1532: the book printed 1589. - -[122] Nichols, in his _Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_, vol. i. (Preface), -says: “She was twelve times at Theobalds, which was a very convenient -distance from London, … the Queen lying there at his Lordship’s charge, -sometimes three weeks, or a month, or six weeks together.” - -[123] George Gascoigne (b. 1530; d. 1577) published a tract, in those -days, entitled _The Princely Pleasures of Kenelworth Castle_, which -appears in Nichol’s _Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_; as does also -Laneham’s Account of the _Queen’s Entertainment at Killingworth _[sic]_ -Castle_. - - - - -INDEX. - - - Abbeys and Priories of England, 66 _et seq._ - - Aldhelm, the Saxon scholar and poet, 10, 64. - - Alfred, King, 17 _et seq._ - - Aneurin, a Welsh bard, the reputed author of Gododin, 7. - - “Arcadia” of Philip Sidney, 237. - - Archery in England, 199. - - Arnold, Matthew, on Celtic literature, 8. - - Arthur, King, the legends of, 39 _et seq._; - Geoffrey’s version of, 42; - Map’s version, 42; - Layamon’s version, 43. - - Ascham, Roger, 197; - his “Toxophilus,” 199; - his “Schoolmaster,” 199; - teacher of Queen Elizabeth, 201. - - - Bacon, Francis, 242; - his character, 250 _et seq._; - his essays, 257; - his _Novum Organum_ and _De Augmentis_, 258; - his death, 259. - - Bacon, Roger, 77 _et seq._ - - Balladry, English, 158. - - Barnes, Dame Juliana, 153. - - Battle Abbey, 35. - - Beda, 15, 64. - - Beowulf, 41. - - “Betrothed,” Scott’s novel, 48. - - Berners, Lord, his translation of Froissart, 129. - - Bible, Wyclif’s translation of, 90; - Tyndale’s translation, 185; - reading of, by the common people forbidden in reign of Henry - VIII., 191. - - Black Prince, 93, 104, 106. - - Boccaccio, 83. - - Bœthius’ “Consolation of Philosophy,” translated by King Alfred, 19. - - “Boke of the Duchesse,” Chaucer’s poem, 107. - - Books at the end of the thirteenth century, 62; - decoration of, 65. - - “Brut” of Layamon, 43. - - Burleigh, Lord, 212, 242. - - - Cædmon, 13 _et seq._; - possible influence of his paraphrase on Milton, 15. - - Camden, William, 176, 303. - - Camelot, 39, 40. - - Canute’s verse about the singing of the monks of Ely, 22. - - Canterbury School, 10. - - “Canterbury Tales,” Chaucer’s, 114. - - Caxton, 45, 149; - books from his press, 151. - - Celtic literature, early, 7 _et seq._ - - Chapman, George, and his Homer, 266. - - Chaucer, 89, 97 _et seq._; - his early life in London, 98; - a scholar, 100; - his connection with the royal household, 103; - his translation of the _Roman de la Rose_, 104; - his “Boke of the Duchesse,” 107; - his “Parliament of Foules,” 107; - his “Troilus and Cresseide,” 108; - his journeys on the Continent, 108; - his portrait, 112; - his “Canterbury Tales,” 114; - characters of the Canterbury pilgrims, 114 _et seq._; - localities of the pilgrimage, 117; - his literary thefts, 119; - example of his art, 120 _et seq._ - - Chevy Chase, ballad of, 159. - - “Comus,” Milton’s, its relation to Peele’s “An Old Wives Tale,” 285. - - _Confessio Amantis_ of Gower, 128. - - Coryat, Thomas, 304. - - Cranmer, 182, 185. - - “Crayon, Geoffrey,” 38. - - - Damoiselle, life of a, in the thirteenth century, 72. - - Danish invasions of England, 17. - - Dante, 83. - - Dekker, Thomas, 287. - - Drake, Sir Francis, 242. - - Drayton, Michael, 291; - his “Poly-olbion,” 292; - his “Nymphidia,” 293. - - - Edward I., II., and III., 82 _et seq._ - - Edward VI., 182, 197. - - Elizabeth, Queen, Roger Ascham’s encomium of her studiousness, 201; - comes to the throne, 204; - her religion, 206; - Froude’s unfavorable portrait of, 207; - Soranzo’s description of, 208; - her greatness, 209; - her literary attempts, 311; - her love of pageants, 312; - her progresses, 313; - at Kenilworth, 314; - her death, 321. - - Elizabethan authors, 214. - - Emerson, his enjoyment of Taliesin, 8. - - Erasmus, 177. - - “Euphues,” by Lyly, 245. - - - Falstaff, Jack, 133. - - Foxe, John, 187. - - Froissart, Lord Berners’ translation of, 129. - - Froude, Mr., his history characterized, 207. - - - Geoffrey of Monmouth, 37 _et seq._ - - Green’s “History of the English People,” 5, 6; - “Making of England,” 10, 17; - cited, 64. - - Greene, Robert, 277; - his relations with Shakespeare, 280. - - Godiva, Lady, tradition of, 23. - - Gower, John, 127. - - “Grave, the,” an Anglo-Saxon poem, 21. - - - Hakluyt, Richard, 304. - - Hampton Court, 171. - - Harold the Saxon, 29 _et seq._ - - “Harold,” Tennyson’s play, 29. - - Henry II., 48. - - Henry III., 56, 65. - - Henry IV., 127, 132, 145. - - Henry V., 141. - - Henry VI. and VII., 144. - - Henry VIII., 167; - character of, 172. - - Hobbes, Thomas, 261; - his translation of Thucydides, 265. - - Holinshed, Raphael, 211. - - Hooker, Richard, and the “Ecclesiastical Polity,” 215, 242. - - - “Ivanhoe,” 50. - - - James I. of Scotland, 137. - - Joan of Arc, 146. - - John, King, 53. - - John of Gaunt, 92; - a friend of Wyclif, 92; - of Chaucer, 110, 145. - - Jonson, Ben, 282, 295. - - - Katharine of Aragon, 171. - - “Kenilworth,” 68; - its picture of Queen Elizabeth’s visit, 314. - - “King’s Quair, the,” 137. - - Knox, John, 187. - - - Langlande, William, 84. - - Lanier, Sidney, his “Mabinogion,” 8; - his “King Arthur,” 45. - - Latimer, Hugh, 186. - - Layamon, 43. - - Leicester, Earl of, and Queen Elizabeth, 315. - - Libraries at the end of the thirteenth century, 63. - - Lilly, William, the head-master of St. Paul’s, 173. - - Lindisfarne Abbey, 12. - - Lodge, Thomas, 275. - - London, 6; - in Chaucer’s time, 98. - - “London Lickpenny” of Lydgate, 136. - - Longfellow’s translation of “The Grave,” 21. - - Lord’s Prayer, the, in Tyndale’s version, 185. - - Lydgate, John, 135. - - Lyly, John, 245. - - Lytton, Lord, his “Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings,” 29. - - - “Mabinogion,” the, 8. - - Macbeth, the murder of, 23. - - “Madoc,” Southey’s poem, 49. - - Mallory, Sir Thomas, 45. - - Mandeville, Sir John, 59; - doubts respecting his travels, and personality, 60. - - Map, Walter, 42. - - Marco Polo, 59. - - Marini Sanuto on the accession of Henry VIII., 169. - - Marlowe, Christopher, 269. - - “Marmion,” 3, 12. - - Mary, Queen, 182, 184, 197. - - Mary Queen of Scots, 241. - - Matthew Paris, 46. - - Mermaid Tavern, the, 274. - - Milton, 15. - - “Monastery, the,” 246. - - More, Sir Thomas, 175, 185. - - - Nashe, Thomas, 276. - - Norham Castle and “Marmion,” 3. - - _Novum Organum_, the, of Bacon, 258. - - Nut-Brown Maid, ballad of, 161. - - - Occleve, 135. - - Orderic Vitalis, 46. - - Oxford in the thirteenth century, 77. - - - “Parliament of Foules,” Chaucer’s poem, 107. - - Paston Letters, the, 154. - - Peele, George, 284; - his “Old Wives Tale,” 285. - - Petrarch, 83. - - “Piers Plowman, the Vision of,” 84. - - Printing, the rise of, in England, 149. - - Progresses of Queen Elizabeth, 312. - - Purvey, his work on Bible of Wyclif, 96. - - Puttenham’s “Arte of English Poesie,” 310. - - - Raleigh, 242. - - Religious houses, spoliation of, 205. - - Richard Cœur de Lion, 50. - - Richard II., 126, 130. - - Richard III., 148. - - Rienzi, 83, 90. - - Robert of Gloucester, 57. - - Robin Hood’s bay, 13. - - Robin Hood, 69. - - Robin Hood ballads, 159. - - Roger de Hoveden, 46. - - “Roman de la Rose,” 104. - - Roman remains in England, 6. - - “Rosalynde,” Lodge’s novel, 275. - - - Sackville, Thomas, 210, 242. - - “Saxon Chronicle, the,” 17, 27, 37. - - St. Albans, 66. - - St. Augustine in England, 10, 63. - - St. Columba, monastery of, 11. - - “Schoolmaster, the,” by Ascham, 200. - - “Scottish Chiefs, the,” 81. - - Shakespeare, his “Henry IV.,” 133; - “Henry V.,” 141; - “Henry VI.,” 146; - “Richard III.,” 148, 243; - with the wits at the Mermaid Tavern, 281. - - Sidney, Philip, 230; - his “Arcadia,” 237; - his “Defence of Poesie,” 238. - - Skelton, John, 139. - - Sonnet, the, first used in English by Wyatt, 193. - - Soranzo, Signor, his report of Queen Elizabeth, 208. - - Spedding, James, his “Life of Bacon,” 251. - - Spenser, Edmund, 217; - his “Shepherd’s Calendar,” 217; - “Faery Queen,” 221 _et seq._; - “Epithalamium,” 228. - - Sternhold and Hopkins’ versions of the Psalms, 189. - - Stow, John, 304. - - Stubbes, Philip, 308. - - Surrey, Earl of, 194; - his poetry, and story of his Florentine tourney, 195. - - - Taillefer, the Norman minstrel, 26. - - Taine’s treatment of Richard Cœur de Lion, 50. - - Taliesin, 8. - - “Talisman, the,” 51. - - Tennyson’s “Harold,” 30; - “Idyls of the King,” 40; - “Queen Mary,” 183. - - Thackeray’s treatment of Richard Cœur de Lion in “Rebecca and - Rowena,” 51. - - Thomas à Becket, 48. - - Tolstoi, Count, 180. - - Tudor, Sir Owen, and the Tudor succession, 144. - - Tusser, Thomas, 211. - - Tyndale, William, 185. - - - “Utopia,” by Sir Thomas More, 178. - - - _Vox Clamantis_ of Gower, 127. - - - Wace, 42. - - Wallace, William, 81. - - “Westward, Ho,” Kingsley’s novel, 40. - - Whitby Monastery, 12. - - Whittingham, 189. - - William the Norman, 25 _et seq._ - - William of Malmsbury, 46. - - William of Newburgh, 46. - - Wolsey, Cardinal, 170, 173. - - Wyclif, 89, 90 _et seq._; - his translation of the Bible, 95. - - Wyatt, Sir Thomas, 193. - - Wright, Leonard, 307. - - - York, 6. - - York and Lancaster, the wars of, 145. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS: -FROM CELT TO TUDOR*** - - -******* This file should be named 54168-0.txt or 54168-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/4/1/6/54168 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -@media handheld { - -img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; -} - -p.dropcap:first-letter { - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; -} -} - - h3.pg { font-style: normal; } - hr.full { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, English Lands Letters and Kings: From Celt to -Tudor, by Donald Grant Mitchell</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world 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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: English Lands Letters and Kings: From Celt to Tudor</p> -<p>Author: Donald Grant Mitchell</p> -<p>Release Date: February 15, 2017 [eBook #54168]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS: FROM CELT TO TUDOR***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by MWS<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto; max-width: 100%;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/englishlandslett01mitc"> - https://archive.org/details/englishlandslett01mitc</a><br /> - <br /> - Project Gutenberg has the other three volumes of this work.<br /> - <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54142/54142-h/54142-h.htm">II: From Elizabeth to Anne</a>: see http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54142/54142-h/54142-h.htm<br /> - <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37226/37226-h/37226-h.htm">III: Queen Anne and the Georges</a>: see http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37226/37226-h/37226-h.htm<br /> - <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54143/54143-h/54143-h.htm">IV: The Later Georges to Victoria</a>: see http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54143/54143-h/54143-h.htm - - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS<br /> -AND KINGS</p> - -<p class="titlepage gothic larger">From Celt to Tudor</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS</p> - -<p class="center"><i>By Donald G. Mitchell</i></p> - -<table summary="Books in this series"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td class="gothic">From Celt to Tudor</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td class="gothic">From Elizabeth to Anne</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td class="gothic">Queen Anne and the Georges</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td class="gothic">The Later Georges to Victoria</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><i>Each 1 vol., 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50</i></p> - -<p class="titlepage">AMERICAN LANDS AND LETTERS</p> - -<p class="center gothic">From the Mayflower to Rip Van Winkle</p> - -<p class="center"><i>1 vol., square 12mo, Illustrated, $2.50</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS<br /> -AND KINGS</p> - -<p class="titlepage gothic larger">From Celt to Tudor</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Donald G. Mitchell</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100" height="120" alt="Three heads in profile" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="gothic">Charles Scribner’s Sons</span><br /> -MDCCCXCVII</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1889, by</span><br /> -CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">TROW’S<br /> -PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,<br /> -NEW YORK</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PREFACE.</i></h2> - -<p class="dropcap">This little book is made up from the opening -series of a considerable range of “talks,” -with which—during the past few years—I have -undertaken to entertain, and (if it might be) instruct -a bevy of friends; and the interest of a few -outsiders who have come to the hearings has induced -me to put the matter in type. I feel somewhat -awkwardly in obtruding upon the public any -such panoramic view of British writers, in these -days of specialists—when students devote half a -lifetime to the analysis of the works of a single -author, and to the proper study of a single period.</p> - -<p>I have tried, however, to avoid bad mistakes and -misleading ones, and shall reckon my commentary -only so far forth good—as it may familiarize the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -average reader with the salient characteristics of -the writers brought under notice, and shall put -these writers into such a swathing of historic and -geographic enwrapments as shall keep them better -in mind.</p> - -<p>When I consider the large number of books -recently issued on similar topics, and the scholarly -acuteness, and the great range belonging to so -many of them, I am not a little discomforted -at thought of my bold scurry over so wide reach -of ground. Indeed, I have the figure before me -now—as I hint an apology—of an old-time country -doctor who has ventured with his saddle-bags -and spicy nostrums into competition with a half -score of special practitioners—with their microscopy -and their <i lang="fr">granules dosimetriques</i>; but I think, -consolingly, that possibly the old-time mediciner—if -not able to cure, can at the least induce a -pleasurable slumber.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Edgewood</span>, 1889.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>CONTENTS.</i></h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdr smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Preliminary</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Early Centuries</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Celtic Literature</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Beginning of English Learning</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Cædmon</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Beda</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">King Alfred</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Canute and Godiva</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">William the Norman</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Harold the Saxon</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Geoffrey of Monmouth</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">King Arthur Legends</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Early Norman Kings</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Richard Cœur de Lion</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Times of King John</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span><span class="smcap">Mixed Language</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Sir John Mandeville</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Early Book-making</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Religious Houses</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Life of a Damoiselle</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Roger Bacon</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">William Langlande</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">John Wyclif</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Chaucer</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Of Gower and Froissart</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Two Henrys and Two Poets</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Henry V. and War Times</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Joan of Arc and Richard III.</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Caxton and First English Printing</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Old Private Letters</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Burst of Balladry</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Early Days of Henry VIII.</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Cardinal Wolsey, and Sir Thomas More</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Cranmer, Latimer, Knox, and Others</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Verse-writing and Psalmodies</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Wyatt and Surrey</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span><span class="smcap">A Boy-king, a Queen, and Schoolmaster</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Elizabethan England</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Personality of the Queen</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Burleigh and Others</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Group of Great Names</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Edmund Spenser</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Faery Queen</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Philip Sidney</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_230">230</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">John Lyly</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Francis Bacon</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Thomas Hobbes</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">George Chapman</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Marlowe</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_269">269</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Tavern Coterie</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">George Peele</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Thomas Dekker</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Michael Drayton</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Ben Jonson</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_295">295</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Some Prose Writers</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Queen’s Progresses</span>,</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1><i>ENGLISH LANDS, LETTERS, & KINGS.</i></h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">I have undertaken in this book a series of very -familiar and informal talks with my readers -about English literary people, and the ways in which -they worked; and also about the times in which -they lived and the places where they grew up. -We shall have, therefore, a good deal of concern -with English history; and with English geography -too—or rather topography: and I think that I have -given a very fair and honest descriptive title to the -material which I shall set before my readers, in -calling it a book about <span class="smcap">English Lands and Letters -and Kings</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - -<p>It appears to me that American young people -have an advantage over British-born students of our -History and Literature—in the fact that the localities -consecrated by great names or events have more -illuminating power to us, who encounter them -rarely and after voyage over sea, than to the Englishman -who lives and grows up beside them. -Londoners pass Bolt Court, Fleet Street, and Dr. -Johnson’s tavern a hundred times a year with no -thought but of the chops and the Barclay’s ale to -be had there. But to the cultivated American these -localities start a charming procession, in which the -doughty old Dictionary-maker, with his staff and -long brown coat and three cornered hat, is easily -the leader.</p> - -<p>For my own part, when my foot first struck the -hard-worked pavement of London Bridge, even the -old nursery sing-song came over me with the force -of a poem,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">As I was going over London Bridge</div> -<div class="verse">I found a penny and bought me a kid.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>So, too—once upon a time—on a bright May-day -along the Tweed, I was attracted by an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -square ruin of a tower—very homely—scarcely -picturesque: I had barely curiosity enough to ask -its name. A stone-breaker on the high-road told -me it was Norham Castle; and straightway all -the dash and clash of the poem of “Marmion”<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -broke around me.</p> - -<p>Now I do not think our cousins the Britishers, to -whom the loveliest ruins become humdrum, can be -half as much alive as we, to this sort of enjoyment.</p> - -<p>I shall have then—as I said—a great deal to -say about the topography of England as well as -about its books and writers; and shall try to tie -together your knowledge of historic facts and literary -ones, with the yet more tangible and associated -geographic facts—so that on some golden day to -come (as golden days do come) the sight of a mere -thread of spire over tree-tops, or of a cliff on Yorkshire -shores, or of a quaint gable that might -have covered a “Tabard Tavern,” shall set all your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -historic reading on the flow again—thus extending -and brightening and giving charm to a hundred -wayside experiences of Travel.</p> - -<p>One other preliminary word:—On that great -reach of ground we are to pass over—if we make -reasonable time—there must be long strides, and -skippings: we can only seize upon illustrative -types—little kindling feeders of wide-reaching -flame. It may well be that I shall ignore and pass -by lines of thought or progress very lively and -present to you; may be I shall dwell on things -already familiar; nay, it may well happen that many -readers—young and old—fresh from their books—shall -know more of matters touched on in our -rapid survey than I know myself: never mind that; -but remember,—and let me say it once for all—that -my aim is not so much to give definite instruction -as to put the reader into such ways and -starts of thought as shall make him eager to instruct -himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Early Centuries.</h3> - -<p>In those dreary early centuries when England -was in the throes of its beginnings, and when the -Roman eagle—which had always led a half-stifled -life amongst British fogs, had gone back to its own -eyrie in the South—the old stock historians could -and did find little to fasten our regard—save the -eternal welter of little wars. Indeed, those who -studied fifty years ago will remember that all early -British history was excessively meagre and stiff; -some of it, I daresay, left yet in the accredited -courses of school reading; dreadfully dull—with -dates piled on dates, and battles by the page; and -other pages of battle peppered with such names -as Hengist, or Ethelred and Cerdic and Cuthwulf, -or whoever could strike hardest or cut deepest.</p> - -<p>But now, thanks to modern inquiry and to such -men as Stubbs and Freeman and Wright, and the -more entertaining Green—we get new light on -those old times. We watch the ribs of that ancient -land piling in distincter shape out of the water: -we see the downs and the bluffs, and the fordable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -places in the rivers; we know now just where great -wastes of wood stood in the way of our piratical -forefathers—the Saxons, the Jutes, and the Angles; -these latter either by greater moral weight in them, -or by the accident of numbers (which is the more -probable), coming to give a name to the new country -and language which were a-making together.</p> - -<p>We find that those old Romans did leave, besides -their long, straight, high-roads, and Roman villas, -and store of sepulchral vases, a germ of Roman -laws, and a little nucleus of Roman words, traceable -in the institutions and—to some slight degree—in -the language of to-day.</p> - -<p>We see in the later pages of Green through -what forests the rivers ran, and can go round about -the great Roman-British towns (Roman first and -then adopted by Britons) of London<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and of York; -and that other magnificent one of Cirencester (or -Sisister as the English say <!-- no, we do not -->, with a stout defiance of -their alphabet). We can understand how and why -the fat meadows of Somersetshire should be coveted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -by marauders and fought for by Celts; and -we behold more clearly and distinctly than ever, -under the precise topography of modern investigators, -the walls of wood and hills which stayed -Saxon pursuit of those Britons who sought shelter -in Wales, Cumberland, or the Cornish peninsula.</p> - -<h3>Celtic Literature.</h3> - -<p>Naturally, this flight of a nation to its fastnesses -was not without clamor and lament; some of which—if -we may trust current Cymric traditions—was -put into such piercing sound as has come down -to our own day in the shape of Welsh war-songs. -Dates are uncertain; but without doubt somewhat -of this Celtic shrill singing was of earlier utterance -than anything of equal literary quality that came -from our wrangling Saxon or West-Saxon forefathers -in the fertile plains of England.</p> - -<p>Some of these Celtic war strains have been turned -into a music by the poet Gray<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> which our English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -ears love; Emerson used to find regalement in the -strains of another Welsh bard; and the Mabinogion, -a pleasant budget of old Cymric fable,<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> has -come to a sort of literary resurrection in our day -under the hands of the late Sidney Lanier. If you -would know more of things Celtic, I would commend -to your attention a few lectures read at Oxford -in 1864-65 by Matthew Arnold in which he -has brought a curious zeal, and his wonted acumen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -to an investigation of the influences upon English -literature of that old Celtic current. It was a wild, -turbulent current; it had fret and roar in it; it -had passion and splendor in it; and there are those -who think that whatever ardor of imagination, or -love for brilliant color or music may belong to our -English race is due to old interfusion of British -blood. Certainly the lively plaids of the Highlander -and his bagpipes show love for much color -and exuberant gush of sound; and we all understand -that the Celtic Irishman has an appetite -for a shindy which demonstrates a rather lively -emotional nature.</p> - -<h3>Beginning of English Learning.</h3> - -<p>But over that ancient England covered with its alternating -fens and forests, and grimy Saxon hamlets, -and Celtic companies of huts, there streams -presently a new civilizing influence. It is in the -shape of Christian monks<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> sent by Pope Gregory the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -Great, who land upon the island of Thanet near the -Thames mouth (whereabout are now the bustling little -watering places of Ramsgate and Margate), and -march two by two—St. Augustine among them and -towering head and shoulders above the rest—bearing -silver crosses and singing litanies, up to the halls -of Ethelbert—near to the very site where now stands, -in those rich Kentish lands, the august and beautiful -Cathedral of Canterbury. There, too, sprung up -in those earlier centuries that Canterbury School, -where letters were taught, and learned men congregated, -and whence emerged that famous scholar—Aldhelm,<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> -of whom the great King Alfred speaks admiringly; -who not only knew his languages but could -sing a song; a sort of early Saxon Sankey who -beguiled wanderers into better ways by his homely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -rhythmic utterance. I think we may safely count -this old Aldhelm, who had a strain of royal blood in -him, as the first of English ballad-mongers.</p> - -<p>From the north of England, too, there was at almost -the same date, another gleam of crosses, coming -by way of Ireland and Iona, where St. Columba,<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> -commemorated in one of Wordsworth’s Sonnets, -had established a monastery. We have the good old -Irish monk’s lament at leaving his home in Ireland for -the northern wilderness; there is true Irish fervor in -it:—“From the high prow I look over the sea, and -great tears are in my gray eyes when I turn to Erin—to -Erin, where the songs of the birds are so -sweet, and where the clerks sing like the birds; -where the young are so gentle, and the old so wise; -where the great men are so noble to look at, and -the women so fair to wed.”</p> - -<p>Ruined remnants of the Iona monastery are still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -to be found on that little Western island—within -hearing almost of the waves that surge into the -caves of Staffa. And from this island stand-point, -the monkish missions were established athwart -Scotland; finding foothold too all down the coast of -Northumberland. Early among these and very notable, -was the famous Abbey of Lindisfarne or the -Holy Isle, not far southward from the mouth of the -Tweed. You will recall the name as bouncing -musically, up and down, through Scott’s poem of -“Marmion.” A little farther to the south, upon the -Yorkshire coast, came to be established, shortly -afterward, the Whitby monastery; its ruins make -now one of the shows of Whitby town—one of the -favorite watering places of the eastern coast of England, -and well known for giving its name to what is -called Whitby jet—which is only a finer sort of -bituminous coal, of which there are great beds -in the neighborhood.<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> The Abbey ruin is upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -heights, from which are superb views out upon -the German Sea that beats with grand uproar upon -the Whitby cliffs. To the westward is the charming -country of Eskdale, and by going a few miles -southward one may come to Robinhood’s bay; -and in the intervening village of Hawsker may -be seen the two stones said to mark the flight -of the arrows of Robinhood and Little John, -when they tried their skill for the amusement of -the monks of Whitby.</p> - -<h3>Cædmon.</h3> - -<p>Well, in the year of our Lord 637, this Whitby -Abbey was founded by the excellent St. Hilda, and -it was under her auspices, and by virtue of her -saintly encouragements, that the first true English -poet, Cædmon, began to sing his Christian -song of the creation. He was but a cattle-tender—unkempt—untaught, -full of savagery, but with -a fine phrenzy in him, which made his paraphrase -of Scripture a spur, and possibly—in a certain -imperfect sense, a model for the muse of John -Milton.</p> - -<p>Of the chaos before creation, he says:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">Earth’s surface was</div> -<div class="verse">With grass not yet be-greened; while far and wide</div> -<div class="verse">The dusky ways, with black unending night</div> -<div class="verse">Did ocean cover.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Of the great Over-Lord God-Almighty, he says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">In Him, beginning never,</div> -<div class="verse">Or origin hath been; but he is aye supreme</div> -<div class="verse">Over heaven’s thrones, with high majesty</div> -<div class="verse">Righteous and mighty.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And again,—that you may make for yourselves -comparison with the treatment and method of Milton,—I -quote this picture of Satan in hell:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Within him boiled his thoughts about his heart;</div> -<div class="verse">Without, the wrathful fire pressed hot upon him—</div> -<div class="verse">He said,—‘This narrow place is most unlike</div> -<div class="verse">That other we once knew in heaven high,</div> -<div class="verse">And which my Lord gave me; tho’ own it now</div> -<div class="verse">We must not, but to him must cede our realm.</div> -<div class="verse">Yet right he hath not done to strike us down</div> -<div class="verse">To hell’s abyss—of heaven’s realm bereft—</div> -<div class="verse">Which with mankind to people, he hath planned.</div> -<div class="verse">Pain sorest this, that Adam, wrought of Earth</div> -<div class="verse">On my strong throne shall sit, enjoying Bliss</div> -<div class="verse">While we endure these pangs—hell torments dire,</div> -<div class="verse">Woe! woe is me! Could I but use my hands</div> -<div class="verse">And might I be from here a little time—</div> -<div class="verse">One winter’s space—then, with this host would I—</div> -<div class="verse">But these iron bands press hard—this coil of chains—</div> -<div class="verse center">…</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<p>There is but one known MS. copy of this poem. -It is probably of the tenth, certainly not later than -the eleventh century, and is in the Bodleian Library -at Oxford. It is illuminated, and some scenes -represented seem to have been taken from the old -miracle plays.<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> It was printed in 1655: in this -form a copy is said to have reached the hands of Milton, -through a friend of the printer: and it may -well be that the stern old Puritan poet was moved -by a hearing of it,—for he was blind at this date,—to -the prosecution of that grand task which has -made his name immortal.</p> - -<h3>Beda.</h3> - -<p>We might, however, never have known anything of -Cædmon and of Saint Hilda and all the monasteries -north and south, except for another worthy who grew -up in the hearing of the waves which beat on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -cliffs of north-eastern England. This was Beda,—respected -in his own day for his industry, piety, -straightforward honesty—and so followed by the -respect of succeeding generations as to get and carry -the name of the <em>Venerable</em> Beda. Though familiar -with the people’s language,<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and with Greek, -he wrote in monkish Latin—redeemed by classic -touches—and passed his life in the monastery at -Jarrow, which is on the Tyne, near the coast of -Durham, a little to the westward of South Shields. -An ancient church is still standing amid the ruins -of the monastic walls, and a heavy, straight-backed -chair of oak (which would satisfy the most zealous -antiquarian by its ugliness) is still guarded in the -chancel, and is called Beda’s Chair.</p> - -<p>Six hundred pupils gathered about him there, in -the old days, to be taught in physics, grammar, -rhetoric, music, and I know not what besides. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -learned and true was he, that the Pope would have -called him to Rome; but he loved better the wooded -Tyne banks, and the gray moorlands, and the labors -of his own monastery. There he lived out an honest, -a plodding, an earnest, and a hopeful life. And as -I read the sympathetic story of its end, and of how -the old man—his work all done—lifted up a broken -voice—on his last day—amidst his scholars, to the -<cite>Gloria in Excelsis</cite>—I bethink me of his last eulogist, -the young historian, who within a few months only -after sketching that tender picture of his great forerunner -in the paths of British history, laid down his -brilliant pen—his work only half done, and died, -away from his home, at Mentone, on the shores of -the Mediterranean.</p> - -<h3>King Alfred.</h3> - -<p>A half century after the death of Beda began the -Danish invasions, under which, monasteries churches -schools went down in a flood of blood and fire. As -we read of that devastation—the record covering -only a half-page of the old Saxon Chronicle (begun -after Beda’s time)—it seems an incident; yet the piratic -storm, with intermittent fury, stretches over a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -century and more of ruin. It was stayed effectively -for a time when the great Alfred came to full power.</p> - -<p>I do not deal much in dates: but you should -have a positive date for this great English king: -a thousand years ago (889) fairly marks the period -when he was in the prime of life—superintending, -very likely, the building of a British fleet -upon the Pool, below London. He was born at -Wantage, in Berkshire, a little to the south of the -Great Western Railway; and in a glade near to the -site of the old Saxon palace, is still shown what is -called Alfred’s Well. In the year 1849 his birthday -was celebrated, after the lapse of a thousand years—so -keen are these British cousins of ours to keep -alive all their great memories. And Alfred’s is a -memory worth keeping. He had advantages—as -we should say—of foreign travel; as a boy he went -to Rome, traversing Italy and the Continent. If -we could only get a good story of that cross-country -trip of his!</p> - -<p>We know little more than that he came to high -honor at Rome, was anointed king there, before yet -he had come to royalty at home. He makes also a -second visit in company with his father Ethelwolf:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -and on their return Ethelwolf relieves the -tedium of travel by marrying the twelve-year old -daughter of Charles the Bald of France. Those -were times of extraordinary daring.</p> - -<p>The great king had throughout a most picturesque -and adventurous life: he is hard pushed by -the Danes—by rivals—by his own family; one while -a wanderer on the moors—another time disguised -as minstrel in the enemy’s camp; but always high-hearted, -always hopeful, always working. He is oppressed -by the pall of ignorance that overlays the -lordly reach of his kingdom: “Scarce a priest have -I found,” says he, “south of the Thames who can -render Latin into English.” He is not an apt -scholar himself, but he toils at learning; his abbots -help him; he revises old chronicles, and -makes people to know of Beda; he has boys taught -to write in English; gives himself with love to the -rendering of Boëthius’ “Consolation of Philosophy.” -He adopts its reasoning, and plants his hope -on the creed—</p> - -<p>1st. That a wise God governs.</p> - -<p>2d. That all suffering may be made helpful.</p> - -<p>3d. That God is chiefest good.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - -<p>4th. That only the good are happy.</p> - -<p>5th. That the foreknowledge of God does not conflict -with Free-will.</p> - -<p>These would seem to carry even now the pith and -germ of the broadest theologic teachings.</p> - -<p>It is a noble and a picturesque figure—that of -King Alfred—which we see, looking back over the -vista of a thousand years; better it would seem than -that of King Arthur to weave tales around, and -illumine with the heat and the flame of poesy. Yet -poets of those times and of all succeeding times -have strangely neglected this august and royal -type of manhood.</p> - -<p>After him came again weary Danish wars and -wild blood-letting and ignorance surging over the -land, save where a little light played fitfully around -such great religious houses as those of York and -Canterbury. It was the dreary Tenth Century, on -the threshold of which he had died—the very core -and kernel of the Dark Ages, when the wisest -thought the end of things was drawing nigh, and -strong men quaked with dread at sight of an -eclipse, or comet, or at sound of the rumble of an -earthquake. It was a time and a condition of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -gloom which made people pardon, and even relish -such a dismal poem as that of “The Grave,” which—though -bearing thirteenth century form—may -well in its germ have been a fungal outgrowth of -the wide-spread hopelessness of this epoch:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">For thee was a house built</div> -<div class="verse">Ere thou wert born;</div> -<div class="verse">For thee was a mold meant</div> -<div class="verse">Ere thou of mother cam’st.</div> -<div class="verse">But it is not made ready</div> -<div class="verse">Nor its depth measured,</div> -<div class="verse">Nor is it seen</div> -<div class="verse">How long it shall be.</div> -<div class="verse">Now I bring thee</div> -<div class="verse">Where thou shalt be</div> -<div class="verse">And I shall measure thee</div> -<div class="verse">And the mold afterward.</div> -<div class="verse">Doorless is that house</div> -<div class="verse">And dark is it within;</div> -<div class="verse">There thou art fast detained</div> -<div class="verse">And death hath the key</div> -<div class="verse">Loathsome is that earth-house</div> -<div class="verse">And grim within to dwell,</div> -<div class="verse">And worms shall divide thee.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>From the death of Alfred (901) to the Norman -Conquest (1066) there was monkish work done in -shape of Homilies, Chronicles, grammars of Latin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -and English—the language settling more and more -into something like a determined form of what is -now called Anglo-Saxon. But in that lapse of -years I note only three historic incidents, which -by reason of the traditions thrown about them, -carry a piquant literary flavor.</p> - -<h3>Canute and Godiva.</h3> - -<p>The <em>first</em> is when the famous Canute, king of both -England and Denmark, and having strong taste for -song and music and letters, rows by the towers of -a great East-England religious house, and as he -drifts with the tide, composes (if we may trust -tradition) a snatch of verse which has come down -to us in a thirteenth century form, about the -pleasant singing of the Monks of Ely. Wordsworth -has embalmed the matter in one of his Ecclesiastic -Sonnets (xxx.):</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A pleasant music floats along the mere,</div> -<div class="verse">From monks in Ely chanting service high,</div> -<div class="verse">While as Canute the king is rowing by;</div> -<div class="verse">My oarsman, quoth the mighty king, draw near</div> -<div class="verse">That we the sweet songs of the monks may hear.</div> -<div class="verse">He listens (all past conquests and all schemes</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Of future vanishing like empty dreams)</div> -<div class="verse">Heart-touched, and haply not without a tear,</div> -<div class="verse">The royal minstrel, ere the Choir is still,</div> -<div class="verse">While his free barge skims the smooth flood along</div> -<div class="verse">Gives to the rapture an accordant Rhyme</div> -<div class="verse">O suffering Earth! be thankful; sternest Clime</div> -<div class="verse">And rudest Age are subject to the thrill</div> -<div class="verse">Of heaven-descended piety and song.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I think you will never go under the wondrous -arches of Ely Cathedral—and you should go there -if you ever travel into the eastern counties of England—without -thinking of King Canute and of -that wondrous singing of the monks, eight hundred -years ago.</p> - -<p>The <em>second</em> historic incident of which I spoke, is -the murder of King Duncan by Macbeth in the year -1039, some twenty-five years before the Norman -Conquest. I don’t think you want any refreshing -about Macbeth.</p> - -<p>The <em>third</em> incident is of humbler tone, yet it went -to show great womanly devotion, and lifted a tax -from the heads of a whole towns-people. I refer to -the tradition of Earl Leofric of Mercia and the Lady -Godiva of Coventry, based in the main, without -doubt, upon actual occurrence, and the subject for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -centuries of annual commemoration.<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> Tennyson -tells, in his always witching way, how</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">She rode forth clothéd on with chastity:</div> -<div class="verse">The deep air listened round her as she rode,</div> -<div class="verse indent13">——the barking cur</div> -<div class="verse">Made her cheek flame; her palfry’s foot-fall shot</div> -<div class="verse">Light horror thro’ her pulses:</div> -<div class="verse">One low churl compact of thankless earth</div> -<div class="verse">Peep’d—but his eyes, before they had their will</div> -<div class="verse">Were shrivelled into darkness in his head,</div> -<div class="verse">And she, that knew not, pass’d; and all at once</div> -<div class="verse">With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon</div> -<div class="verse">Was clash’d and hammered from a hundred towers,</div> -<div class="verse">One after one: But even then she gained</div> -<div class="verse">Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned,</div> -<div class="verse">To meet her lord, she took the tax away</div> -<div class="verse">And built herself an everlasting name.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Observe—that I call up these modern writers and -their language, out of their turn as may seem to -you, only that I may plant more distinctly in your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -thought the old incidents to which their words relate. -It is as if I were speaking to you of some long-gone -line of ancestors, and on a sudden should call -up some delicate blond child and say—This one is -in the line of direct descent; she bears the same old -name, she murmurs the same old tunes; and this -shimmer of gold in her hair is what shone on the -heads of the good Saxon foreparents.</p> - -<h3>William the Norman.</h3> - -<p>We now come to a date to be remembered, and -in the neighborhood of which our first morning’s -talk will come to an end. It is the date of the Norman -Conquest—1066—that being the year of the -Battle of Hastings, when the brave Harold, last of -the Saxon kings went down, shot through the eye; -and the lithe, clean-faced, smirking William of Normandy -“gat him” the throne of England. These -new-comers were not far-away cousins of our Saxon -and Danish forefathers; only so recently as the -reign of Alfred had they taken permanent foothold -in that pleasant Norman country.</p> - -<p>But they have not brought the Norse speech of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -the old home land with them: they have taken to a -Frankish language—we will call it Norman French—which -is thenceforth to blend with the Saxonism -of Alfred, until two centuries or more later, our -own mother English—the English of Chaucer and -of Shakespeare—is evolved out of the union. Not -only a new tongue, do these conquerors bring with -them, but madrigals and ballads and rhyming histories; -they have great contempt for the stolid, -lazy-going Latin records of the Saxon Chroniclers; -they love a song better. In the very face of the -armies at Hastings, their great minstrel <em>Taillefer</em> -had lifted up his voice to chant the glories of Roland, -about which all the histories of the time will -tell you.</p> - -<p>It was a new civilization (not altogether Christian) -out-topping the old. These Normans knew more of -war—knew more of courts—knew more of affairs. -They loved money and they loved conquest. To -love one in those days, was to love the other. King -William swept the monasteries clean of those ignorant -priests who had dozed there, from the time of -Alfred, and put in Norman Monks with nicely -clipped hair, who could construe Latin after latest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -Norman rules. He new parcelled the lands, and -gave estates to those who could hold and manage -them. It was as if a new, sharp eager man of business -had on a sudden come to the handling of some -old sleepily conducted counting-room; he cuts off -the useless heads; he squares the books; he stops -waste; pity or tenderness have no hearing in his -shop.</p> - -<p>I mentioned not far back an old Saxon Chronicle, -which all down the years, from shortly after Beda’s -day, had been kept alive—sometimes under the -hands of one monastery, sometimes of another; here -is what its Saxon Scribe of the eleventh century says -of this new-come and conquering Norman King: It -is good Saxon history, and in good Saxon style:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“King William was a very wise man, and very rich, more -worshipful and strong than any of his foregangers. He was -mild to good men who loved God; and stark beyond all -bounds to those who withsaid his will. He had Earls in his -bonds who had done against his will; Bishops he set off -their bishoprics; Abbots off their abbotries, and thanes in -prison. By his cunning he was so thoroughly acquainted -with England, that there is not a hide of land of which he -did not know, both who had it, and what was its worth. He -planted a great preserve for deer, and he laid down laws -therewith, that whoever should slay hart or hind should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -blinded. He forbade the harts and also the boars to be -killed. As greatly did he love the tall deer as if he were -their father.… He took from his subjects many -marks of gold, and many hundred pounds of silver; and -<em>that</em> he took—some by right, and some by mickle might -for very little need. He had fallen into avarice; and -greediness he loved withal. Among other things is not to -be forgotten the good peace that he made in this land; so -that a man who had any confidence in himself might go over -his realm, with his bosom full of gold, unhurt. Nor durst -any man slay another man had he done ever so great evil to -the other.… Brytland (Wales) was in his power, and -he therein wrought castles, and completely ruled over that -race of men.… Certainly in his time men had great -hardship, and very many injuries.… His rich men -moaned, and the poor men murmured; but he was so hard -that he recked not the hatred of them all. For it was need -they should follow the King’s will, if they wished to live, -or to have lands or goods. Alas, that any man should be -so moody, and should so puff up himself, and think himself -above all other men! May Almighty God show mercy -to his soul, and grant him forgiveness of his sins.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>There are other contemporary Anglo-Saxon annalists, -and there are the rhyming chroniclers of Norman -blood, who put a better color upon the qualities -of King William; but I think there is no one of -them, who even in moments of rhetorical exaltation, -thinks of putting William’s sense of justice, or his -kindness of heart, before his greed or his self-love.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Harold the Saxon.</h3> - -<p>The late Lord Lytton (Bulwer) gave to this period -and to the closing years of Harold one of the -most elaborate of his Historic Studies. He availed -himself shrewdly of all the most picturesque aspects -(and they were very many) in the career of Harold, -and found startling historic facts enough to supply -to the full his passion for exaggerated melodrama. -There are brilliant passages in his book,<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> and a great -wealth of archæologic material; he shows us the -remnants of old Roman villas—the crude homeliness -of Saxon house surroundings—the assemblage -of old Palace Councils. Danish battle-axes, -and long-bearded Saxon thanes, and fiery-headed -Welshmen contrast with the polished and insidious -Normans. Nor is there lacking a heavy and much -over-weighted quota of love-making and misfortune, -and joy and death. Tennyson has taken the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -subject, using the same skeleton of story for his -play of Harold. It would seem that he has depended -on the romance of Bulwer for his archæology; and -indeed the book is dedicated to the younger Lord -Lytton (better known in the literary world as -“Owen Meredith”). As a working play, it is -counted, like all of Tennyson’s—a failure; but -there are passages of exceeding beauty.</p> - -<p>He pictures the King Harold—the hero that he is—but -with a veil of true Saxon gloom lowering over -him: he tells the story of his brother Tostig’s jealous -wrath,—always in arms against Harold: he tells -of the hasty oath, which the king in young days -had sworn to William in Normandy, never to claim -England’s throne: and this oath hangs like a cloud -over the current of Harold’s story. The grief, and -noble devotion of poor Edith, the betrothed bride -of the king, whom he is compelled by a devilish diplomacy -to discard—is woven like a golden thread -into the woof of the tale: and Aldwyth, the queen, -whom Harold did not and can never love, is set off -against Edith—in Tennyson’s own unmatchable way -in the last scenes of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>We are in the camp at Hastings: the battle waits;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -a vision of Norman saints, on whose bones Harold -had sworn that dreadful oath, comes to him in his -trance:—They say—(these wraiths of saints)—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">O hapless Harold! king but for an hour!</div> -<div class="verse">Thou swarest falsely by our blessed bones,</div> -<div class="verse">We give our voice against thee out of Heaven!</div> -<div class="verse">And warn him against the fatal <em>arrow</em>.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And Harold—waking—says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent13">Away!</div> -<div class="verse">My battle-axe against your voices!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And then—remembering that old Edward the -Confessor had told him on his deathbed that he -should die by an arrow—his hope faints.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The king’s last word—“the arrow,” I shall die:</div> -<div class="verse">I die for England then, who lived for England.</div> -<div class="verse">What nobler? Man must die.</div> -<div class="verse">I cannot fall into a falser world—</div> -<div class="verse">I have done no man wrong.…</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Edith (his betrothed) comes in—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent8">Edith!—Edith!</div> -<div class="verse">Get thou into thy cloister, as the king</div> -<div class="verse">Will’d it: … There, the great God of Truth</div> -<div class="verse">Fill all thine hours with peace! A lying Devil</div> -<div class="verse">Hath haunted me—mine oath—my wife—I fain</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Had made my marriage not a lie; I could not:</div> -<div class="verse">Thou art my bride! and thou, in after years,</div> -<div class="verse">Praying perchance for this poor soul of mine</div> -<div class="verse">In cold, white cells, beneath an icy moon.</div> -<div class="verse">This memory to thee!—and this to England,</div> -<div class="verse">My legacy of war against the Pope,</div> -<div class="verse">From child to child, from Pope to Pope, from Age to Age,</div> -<div class="verse">Till the sea wash her level with her shores,</div> -<div class="verse">Or till the Pope be Christ’s.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Aldwyth, the queen, glides in, and seeing Edith, -says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Away from him! Away!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Edith says (we can imagine her sweet plaintiveness)—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I will.… I have not spoken to the king</div> -<div class="verse">One word: and one I must. Farewell!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And she offers to go.</p> - -<p>But Harold, beckoning with a grand gesture of -authority—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent13">Not yet!</div> -<div class="verse">Stay! The king commands thee, woman!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And he turns to Aldwyth, from whose kinsmen he -had expected aid—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Have thy two brethren sent their forces in?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Aldwyth</i>—Nay, I fear not.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<p>And Harold blazes upon her—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent3">Then there’s no force in thee!</div> -<div class="verse">Thou didst possess thyself of Edward’s ear</div> -<div class="verse">To part me from the woman that I loved.</div> -<div class="verse center">…</div> -<div class="verse">Thou hast been false to England and to me!</div> -<div class="verse">As—in some sort—I have been false to thee.</div> -<div class="verse">Leave me. No more.—Pardon on both sides.—Go!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Aldwyth</i>—Alas, my lord, I loved thee!</div> -<div class="verse">O Harold! husband! Shall we meet again?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Harold</i>—After the battle—after the battle. Go.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Aldwyth</i>—I go. (<i>Aside.</i>) That I could stab her standing there!</div> -<div class="verse right">(<i>Exit Aldwyth.</i>)</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Edith</i>—Alas, my lord, she loved thee.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Harold</i>—<span class="gap14">Never! never!</span></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Edith</i>—I saw it in her eyes!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Harold</i>—<span class="gap11">I see it in thine!</span></div> -<div class="verse">And not on thee—nor England—fall God’s doom!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Edith</i>—On <em>thee</em>? on me. And thou art England!</div> -<div class="verse">Alfred</div> -<div class="verse">Was England. Ethelred was nothing. England</div> -<div class="verse">Is but her king, as thou art Harold!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Harold</i>—<span class="gap14">Edith,</span></div> -<div class="verse">The sign in Heaven—the sudden blast at sea—</div> -<div class="verse">My fatal oath—the dead saints—the dark dreams—</div> -<div class="verse">The Pope’s Anathema—the Holy Rood</div> -<div class="verse">That bow’d to me at Waltham—Edith, if</div> -<div class="verse">I, the last English King of England——</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Edith</i>—<span class="gap14">No,</span></div> -<div class="verse">First of a line that coming from the people,</div> -<div class="verse">And chosen by the people——</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Harold</i>—<span class="gap11">And fighting for</span></div> -<div class="verse">And dying for the people——</div> -<div class="verse">Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battle</div> -<div class="verse">And front the doom of God.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And he did affront it bravely; and the arrow did -slay him, near to the spot where the Saxon standard -flew to the breeze on that fateful day.</p> - -<p>The play from which I have quoted may have -excess of elaboration and an over-finesse in respect -of details: but there are great bold reaches of -descriptive power, a nobility of sentiment, and -everywhere tender and winning touches, which will -be very sure to give to the drama of Tennyson permanence -and historic dignity, and keep it always a -literary way-mark in the fields we have gone over. -The scene of that decisive contest is less than a two -hours’ ride away from London (by the Southeastern -Railway) at a village called Battle—seven miles -from the coast line at Hastings—in the midst of a -beautiful rolling country, with scattered copses of -ancient wood and a great wealth of wild flowers—(for -which the district is remarkable) sparkling -over the fields.</p> - -<p>The Conqueror built a great abbey there—Battle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -Abbey—whose ruins are visited by hundreds -every year. A large portion of the old religious -house, kept in excellent repair, and very charming -with its growth of ivy and its embowering shade, -is held in private hands—being the occasional -residence of the Duke of Cleveland. Amid the -ruins the usher will guide one to a crypt of the -ancient chapel—whose solid Norman arches date -back to the time of the Conqueror, and which is -said to mark the very spot on which Harold fell, -wounded to the death, on that memorable day of -Hastings.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">I recur a moment to what was said in our -opening talk—as a boy will wisely go back a -little way for a better jump forward. I spoke—the -reader will remember—of ringing, Celtic war-songs, -which seemed to be all of literature that was drifting -in the atmosphere, when we began: then there -came a gleam of Christian light and of monkish -learning thro’ St. Augustine in Southern England; -and another gleam through Iona, and Lindisfarne, -from Irish sources; then came Cædmon’s Bible -singing,—which had echo far down in Milton’s day; -next the good old Beda, telling the story of these -things; then—a thousand years ago,—the Great -Alfred, at once a book-maker and a King. Before -him and after him came a dreary welter of Danish -wars; the great Canute—tradition says—chirping -a song in the middle of them; and last, the slaughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -of Hastings, where the Saxon Harold went down, -and the conquering Norman came up.</p> - -<h3>Geoffrey of Monmouth.</h3> - -<p>We start to-day with an England that has its -office-holding and governing people speaking one -language—its moody land-holders and cultivators -speaking another—and its irascible Britons in -Wales and Cumbria and Cornwall speaking yet another. -Conquered people are never in much mood -for song-singing or for history-making. So there is -little or nothing from English sources for a century or -more. Even the old Saxon Chronicle kept by monks -(at Peterboro in this time), does not grow into a -stately record, and in the twelfth century on the year -of the death of King Stephen, dies out altogether.</p> - -<p>But there is a Welsh monk—Geoffrey of Monmouth<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>—living -just on the borders of Wales, and -probably not therefore brought into close connection -with this new Norman element—who writes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -(about one hundred years after the Conquest) a half-earnest -and mostly-fabulous British Chronicle. He -professes to have received its main points from a -Walter—somebody, who had rare old bookish secrets -of history, derived from Brittany, in his keeping. -You will remember, perhaps, how another -and very much later writer—sometimes known as -Geoffrey Crayon—once wrote a History of New York, -claiming that it was made up from the MSS. of a -certain Diedrich Knickerbocker: I think that perhaps -the same sense of quiet humor belonged to both -these Geoffreys. Certainly Geoffrey of Monmouth’s -Chronicle bears about the same relation to British -matters of fact which the Knickerbocker story of New -York bears to the colonial annals of our great city.</p> - -<p>The fables which were told in this old Monmouth -Chronicle are more present in men’s minds to-day -than the things which were real in it: there was, -for instance, the fable about King Lear (who does -not know King Lear?): then, there were the greater -fables about good King Arthur and his avenging -Caliburn (who does not know King Arthur?). -These two stories are embalmed now in Literature, -and will never perish.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> - -<h3>King Arthur Legends.</h3> - -<p>Those Arthur legends had been floating about in -ballad or song, but they never had much mention in -anything pretending to be history<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> until Geoffrey of -Monmouth’s day. There is nothing of them in the -Saxon Chronicle: nothing of them in Beda: King -Alfred never mentions King Arthur.</p> - -<p>But was there ever a King Arthur? Probably: -but at what precise date is uncertain: probable, too, -that he had his court—as many legends run—one -time at Caerleon, “upon Usk,” and again at -Camelot.<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> Caerleon is still to be found by the curious -traveller, in pleasant Monmouthshire, just upon -the borders of Wales, with Tintern Abbey and the -grand ruin of Chepstow not far off; and a great -amphitheatre among the hills (very likely of Roman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -origin) with green turf upon it, and green hillsides -hemming it in—is still called King Arthur’s -Round Table.</p> - -<p>Camelot is not so easy to trace: the name will not -be found in the guide-books: but in Somersetshire, -in a little parish, called “Queen’s Camel,” are the remains -of vast entrenchments, said to have belonged -to the tourney ground of Camelot. A little branch of -the Yeo River (you will remember this name, if you -have ever read Charles Kingsley’s “Westward, Ho”—a -book you should read)—a little branch, I say, of -the Yeo runs through the parish, and for irrigating -purposes is held back by dykes, and then shot, shining, -over the green meadows: hence, Tennyson may -say truly, as he does in his Idyls of the King—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“They vanished panic-stricken, like a shoal</div> -<div class="verse">Of darting fish, that on a summer’s morn</div> -<div class="verse">Adown the crystal dykes at <em>Camelot</em>,</div> -<div class="verse">Come slipping o’er their shadow, on the sand.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There are some features of this ancient fable of -King Arthur, which are of much older literary date -than the times we are now speaking of. Thus “the -dusky barge,” that appears on a sudden—coming -to carry off the dying King,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“——whose decks are dense with stately forms,</div> -<div class="verse">Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream—by these</div> -<div class="verse">Three queens with crowns of gold, and from them rose</div> -<div class="verse">A cry that shivered to the tingling stars——”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">has a very old germ;—Something not unlike this -watery bier, to carry a dead hero into the Silences, -belongs to the opening of that ancient poem of -Beowulf—which all students of early English -know and prize—but which did not grow on -English soil, and therefore does not belong to our -present quest.<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> The brand Excalibur, too, which -is thrown into the sea by King Arthur’s friend, -and which is caught by an arm clothed in white -samite, rising from the mere, and three times brandished, -has its prototype in the “old mighty sword” -which is put into the hands of Beowulf before he can -slay the great sea-dragon of the Scandinavian fable.</p> - -<p>Now, these Arthurian stories, put into book by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -Geoffrey—a Latin book, for all the monks wrote in -Latin, though they may have sung songs in English, -as good father Aldhelm did—were presently caught -up by a romance-writer, named Wace, who was living -at Caen, in Normandy, and whose knightly -cousins (some say father and titled baron) had come -over with William the Conqueror,—the name being -long known in Nottinghamshire. This Wace put -these Arthur stories into Norman verse—adding -somewhat and giving a French air, which made his -book sought after and read in royal courts; and fragments -of it were chanted by minstrels in castle halls.</p> - -<p>Then, this Arthur mine of legends was explored -again by another priest and Welshman, who came -to have some place at Oxford, where the beginnings -of the great university were then a-brew. This -writer, Walter Map<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> by name—or Mapes, as he is -sometimes called—lived just about the meeting of -the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when the crusades -were in full blast, and when dreams about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -Holy Sepulchre hovered round half the house roofs -of England. People saw in visions the poor famished -pilgrims, fainting with long marches toward -the far-away Jerusalem, and shot down by cruel -Saracen arrows, within sight of the Holy of Holies. -So Walter Map, the priest (they say he was one -while chaplain to Henry II.), writing under light of -that fierce enthusiasm, puts a religious element into -the Arthur stories; and it is from him—in all probability—comes -that Legend of the Holy Graal—the -cup which caught the sacred blood, and which -saintly knights were to seek after, the pure Sir -Galahad being the winning seeker.</p> - -<p>Nor did the Arthur legends stop here: but another -priestly man, Layamon<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>—he, too, living -on the borders of Wales, in the foraging ground of -Arthur’s knights, not far from the present town of -Kidderminster (which we know carpet-wise)—set -himself to turning the Legends, with many additions, -into short, clanging, alliterative Saxon verses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -with occasional rhyme—the first English (or Teutonic) -wording of the story; Map’s version being in -Latin and French. He copies very much from Wace -(<cite>Le Brut d’Angleterre</cite>), but his book is longer by a -half. It has its importance, too—this Layamon version—in -the history of the language. Of the why -and the how, and of its linguistic relations to the -Anglo-Saxon, or the modern tongue, I shall leave -discussion in the hands of those more instructed in -the history of Early English. We know this Layamon -in our present writing, only as a simple-minded, -good, plodding, West-of-England priest, who asked -God’s blessing on his work, and who put that quaint -alliterative jingle in it, which in years after was spent -in larger measure over the poem of Piers Plowman, -and which, still later, comes to even daintier usage -when the great master—Spenser</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“——fills with flowers fair Flora’s painted lap.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Even now we are not through with this story of -the Arthurian legends: it does not end with the -priest Layamon. After printing was invented, and -an easier way of making books was in vogue than -the old one of tediously copying them upon parchment—I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -say in this new day of printing a certain -Sir Thomas Mallory, who lived at the same time -with Caxton, the first English printer, did, at the -instance, I think, of that printer—put all these legends -we speak of into rather stiff, homely English -prose—copying, Caxton tells us, from a French -original: but no such full French original has been -found; and the presumption is that Mallory borrowed -(as so many book-makers did and do) up -and down, from a world of manuscripts. And he -wrought so well that his work had great vogue, and -has come to frequent issue in modern times, under -the hands of such editors as Southey, Wright, -Strachey and Lanier. In the years following Mallory, -succeeding writers poached frequently upon -the old Arthur preserve—bit by bit<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a>—till at last, -in our day, Tennyson told his “Idyl of the King”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent4">“——and all the people cried,</div> -<div class="verse">Arthur is come again: he cannot die.</div> -<div class="verse">And those that stood upon the hills behind</div> -<div class="verse">Repeated—Come again, and thrice as fair.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Early Norman Kings.</h3> - -<p>We come back now from this chase of Arthur, to -the time of the Early Norman Kings: Orderic Vitalis,<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> -of Normandy, William of Malmsbury,<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Matthew -Paris,<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> William of Newburgh,<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> (whose record -has just now been re-edited and printed in England,) -and Roger of Hoveden,<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> were chroniclers of this period; -but I am afraid these names will hardly be kept -in mind. Indeed, it is not worth much struggle to -do so, unless one is going into the writing of History -on his own account. Exception ought perhaps to be -made in favor of Matthew Paris, who was a monk of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -St. Albans, who won his name from studying at Paris -(as many live students of that day did), who put a -brave and vehement Saxonism of thought into his -Latin speech—who had art enough to illustrate his -own Chronicle with his pencil, and honesty enough -to steer by God’s rule only and not by the King’s. -One should remember, too, that this was about the -period of the best Provençal balladry (in which -Richard Cœur de Lion was proficient);—that strain -of mediæval music and love regaling the Crusader -knights on their marches toward Judea, and that -strain of music and love waking delightful echoes -against Norman castle-walls on their return. Again, -one should keep note of the year when <cite>Magna -Charta</cite> was granted by King John (1215), and remember, -furthermore, that within ten years of the -same date (1205) Layamon probably put the finishing -touches to his <cite>Brut</cite>, and the Arthurian stories I -was but now speaking of.</p> - -<p>Throughout these times—we will say the twelfth -century and early in the thirteenth,—England was -waxing every day stronger, though it grew strong -in a rough and bloody way; the great Norman -castles were a-building up and down the land—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>such -as Conway and Rochester and Cardiff and -Kenilworth: the older cathedrals, too, such as Durham -and Winchester and Canterbury and Ely were -then piling column by column and vault by vault -toward the grand proportions which amaze us to-day. -It was the time of growing trade too: ships -from Genoa and Venice lay off the Thames banks, -and had brought thither cargoes of silks and glass, -jewels, Milanese armor, and spices. Cloth-makers -came over from Flanders and made settlements in -England.</p> - -<p>Perhaps you have read Scott’s story of the “Betrothed.” -If so, you will remember his description -of just such a Flemish settlement in its earlier chapters, -with its Wilkin Flammock and its charming -Rose. The scene is laid in the time of Henry II., -that sturdy King, who had such woful trouble with -his wild sons, Richard and John, and still larger -trouble with Thomas à Becket, (known now, as Harold -is known, by Tennyson’s tender music) who came to -his death at last by the King’s connivance, under the -arches of Canterbury Cathedral; and so made that -shrine sacred for pilgrims, whether they came from -the “Tabard Inn,” or otherwheres.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p>That story of the “Betrothed” puts in presence -winningly, the threefold elements of English population -in that day—the Britons, the Saxons, and -the Normans. The Britons are pictured by a scene -of revel in the great rambling palace of a Welsh -King, where the bard Cadwallon sings, and that -other bard, Caradoc—both historic characters; and -it is upon a legend in the chronicle of the latter, -Southey has based his poem of “Madoc.” The Normans -are represented, in the same romance, by the -men-at-arms, or knights of the Castle of <cite>La Garde -Doloureuse</cite>, and the Saxons by the fierce old lady in -the religious house of Baldringham, where Eveline -the heroine, had such fearful experiences with hobgoblins -over night. There may be lapses in the -archæology—as where Scott puts a hewn fireplace -upon the wall of the dining-room of the Lady Ermengarde—antiquarians -being pretty well agreed -that chimneys of such class were unknown up to the -fourteenth century; but still the atmosphere of -twelfth-century life in England is better given than -in most of our histories.<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Richard Cœur de Lion.</h3> - -<p>In the same connection and with same commendation, -may be named those other romances, “The -Talisman” and “Ivanhoe,” both relating to epochs -in the life of King Richard I. I suppose that of all -English people, who have any figure in their minds -of Richard Cœur de Lion, his bearing and character, -four-fifths will have derived the larger part of -their impressions from these two books of Scott. It -is a painting by a friendly hand: Scott loved kings; -and he loved the trace of Saxonism that was in -Richard’s blood; he loved his bravery, as every Englishman -always had and should. Is it quite needful -that the friendly painter should put in all the -bad birth-marks, or the bristling red beard? M. -Taine scores him savagely, and would have him a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -beast: and Thackeray, in his little story of Rebecca -and Rowena, uses a good deal of blood in the -coloring.</p> - -<p>No doubt he was cruel: but those were days of -cruelty and of cruel kings. At least he was openly -cruel: he carried his big battle-axe in plain sight, -and if he met a foe thwacked him on the head -with it, and there was an end. But he did not kill -men on the sly like his brother King John, nor did -he poison men by inches in low dungeons, as did -so many of the polite and courteous Louis’ of -France.</p> - -<p>As people say now—in a good Saxon way—you -knew where to find him. He was above-board, and -showed those traits of boldness and frankness which -almost make one forgive his cruelties. He was a -rough burr; and I daresay wiped his beard upon -the sleeve of his doublet, besides killing a great -many people he should not have killed, at Ascalon. -At any rate, we shall not set to work here to gainsay -or discredit those charming historic pictures of Scott. -We shall keep on going to the pleasant tournament-ground -at Ashby-de-la-Zouche every time the fanfare -of those trumpets breaks the silence of a leisure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -day; and so will our children; and so, I think, will -our children’s children. We shall keep on listening -to Wamba’s jokes, and keep on loving Rebecca, and -keep on—not thinking much of the airy Rowena, -and keep on throwing our caps in the air whenever -the big knight in black armor, who is Richard -of England, rides in upon the course—whatever -all the Frenchmen in the world may say about -him.</p> - -<p>This Cœur de Lion appears too in the “Talisman”—one -of Scott’s tales of the crusaders: and -here we see him set off against other monarchs of -Europe; as we find England, also, set off against the -other kingdoms. The King came home, you will remember, -by the way of Austria, and was caught and -caged there many months—for a time none of his -people knowing where he was: this is good romance -and history too. A tradition, which probably has a -little of both, says his prison was discovered by -a brother minstrel, who wandered under castle-walls -in search of him, and sang staves of old Provençal -songs that were favorites of the King’s. Finally -Richard responded from the depths of his -dungeon. Howsoever this be, he was found, ransomed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -and came home—to the great grief of his -brother John; all which appears in the story of -Ivanhoe, and in the chronicles of the time—based -upon the reports of the King’s chaplain, Anselm.</p> - -<h3>Times of King John.</h3> - -<p>King John—a base fellow every way—has a date -made for him by the grant of <cite>Magna Charta</cite>, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> -1215, of which I have already spoken, and of its -near coincidence with the writing of the <cite>Brut</cite> of -Layamon. His name and memory also cling to -mind in connection with two other events which -have their literary associations.</p> - -<p>First, this scoundrelly King could only keep -power by making away with his little nephew -Arthur, and out of this tragedy Shakespeare has -woven his play of John—not very much read perhaps, -and rarely acted; but in the old, school -reader-books of my time there used to be excerpted -a passage—a whole scene, in fact—representing -the interview between Arthur and his gaoler -Hubert, who is to put out the poor boy’s eyes. I -quote a fragment:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Arthur</i>—Must you with irons burn out both mine eyes?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Hubert</i>—Young boy, I must.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Arthur</i>—And will you?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Hubert</i>—And I will.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Arthur</i>—Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,</div> -<div class="verse">I knit my handkerchief about your brows.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And again, when the ruffians come in with the irons, -Hubert says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Give me the irons, I say, and bind him here.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Arthur</i>—Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough?</div> -<div class="verse">I will not struggle; I will stand stone still;</div> -<div class="verse">For Heaven’s sake, Hubert, let me not be bound.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I don’t know how young people are made up -nowadays; but in the old times this used to touch -us and almost set us upon the “weep” and make -us rank King John with Beelzebub and—the -Schoolmaster.</p> - -<p>Second: In King John’s day Normandy was lost -to England—the loss growing largely, in fact, out -of the cruelty just named, and its ensuing wars. -Losing Normandy had a vast influence upon the -growing speech of England. Hitherto the cherished -mother-land had been across the channel. Sons of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -the well-born had been sent over to learn French -on French ground: young ladies of fashion ordered, -without doubt, their best cloaks and hats -from Rouen: the English ways of talk might do -for the churls and low-born: but it was discredited -by the more cultivated—above all by those who -made pursuit of the gayeties and elegancies of life. -The priest fraternity and the universities of course -kept largely by Latin; and the old British speech -only lived in the mountains and in the rattling war-songs -of the Welsh bards. But when Norman nobles -and knights found themselves cut off from their old -home associations with Normandy, and brought into -more intimate relations with the best of the English -population, there grew up a new pride in the -land and language of their adoption. Hence there -comes about a gradual weaning from France. London -begins to count for more than Rouen. The -Norman knights and barons very likely season -their talk with what they may have called English -slang; and the better taught of the islanders—the -sons of country franklins affected more knowledge -of the Norman tongue, and came to know the -French romances, which minstrels sang at their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -doors. So it was that slowly, and with results only -observable after long lapse of years, the nation and -language became compacted into one; and the new -English began to be taught in the schools.</p> - -<h3>Mixed Language.</h3> - -<p>Of the transition stage, as it was called, there -are narrative poems of record, which were written -with a couplet in Norman French, and then a couplet -in English. There were medleys, too, of these -times, in which the friars mingled the three tongues -of Latin, French, and English.<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> Blood mingled as -languages mingled; and by the middle of the fourteenth -century a man was no longer foreign because -he was of Norman descent, and no longer vulgar -because he was of Saxon.</p> - -<p>To this transition time—in Henry III.’s day (who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -had a long reign of fifty-six years—chiefly memorable -for its length), there appeared the rhyming -Chronicle of Robert of Gloucester;<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>—what we -should call a doggerel story of England from fabulous -times down, and worthy of mention as the first -serious attempt at an English-written history—others -noticed already being either merely bald -chronicles, or in scholastic Latin, or in French metric -form. I give you a little taste of his wooden -verse—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent8">——Lyncolne [has] fairest men,</div> -<div class="verse">Grantebrugge, and Hontyndon most plente ò deep fen,</div> -<div class="verse">Ely of fairest place, of fairest site Rochester,</div> -<div class="verse">Even agen Fraunce stonde ye countre ò Chichester,</div> -<div class="verse">Norwiche agen Denemark, Chestre agen Irelond,</div> -<div class="verse">Duram agen Norwei, as ich understonde.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Yet he tells us some things worth knowing—about -every-day matters—about the fish and the -fruits and the pastures, and the things he saw with -his own eyes. And we learn from these old chroniclers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -how much better a story a man can make, and -how much more worth it is—in telling of the things -he has really seen, than of the things he has not -seen. Most of these old writing people must needs -begin at the beginning—drawling over the ancient -fables about the Creation and Siege of Troy, keeping -by the conventional untruths, and so—very -barren and good for nothing, until they get upon -their own days, when they grow rich and meaty and -juicy, in spite of themselves, and by reason of their -voluble minuteness, and their mention of homely, -every-day unimportant things. They cannot tell -lies, without fear of detection, on their own ground: -and so they get that darlingest quality of all history—the -simple truth.</p> - -<p>But if a man wanders otherwheres and makes report, -he may tell lies, and the lies may amuse and -get him fame. Thus it happened with another -well-known but somewhat apocryphal writer of this -Transition English epoch; I mean Sir John Mandeville, -whose book of travels into distant countries -had a very great run.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Sir John Mandeville.</h3> - -<p>We know little of Mandeville except what he tells -us;—that he was born at St. Albans—twenty -miles from London, a place famous for its great -abbey and its Roman remains—in the year 1300:—that -he studied to be a mediciner—then set -off (1322) on his travels into Egypt, Tartary, China, -and Persia—countries visited by that more famous -Venetian traveller, Marco Polo,<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> a half century earlier;—also, -at other dates by certain wandering -Italian Friars<a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> of less fame. From some of these -earlier travellers it is now made certain that Sir -John pilfered very largely;—so largely, in fact, and -so rashly, that there is reason to doubt, not only his -stories about having been in the service of a Sultan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -of Egypt or of the Khan of Kathay—as he avers—but -also to doubt if he visited at all the far-away -countries which he pretends to describe.</p> - -<p>Nay, so deflowered is he of his honors in these -latter days, that recent critics<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> are inclined to question -his right to the title of Sir John, and to deny -wholly his authorship of that English version of the -tales of travel, which have been so long and pleasantly -associated with his name.</p> - -<p>This seems rather hard measure to mete out to -the garrulous old voyager; nor does the evidence -against his having Englished his own <cite>Romance</cite> stories, -appear fully conclusive. What we may count for -certain about the matter is this:—There does exist -a very considerable budget of delightfully extravagant -travellers’ tales, bearing the Mandeville name, -and written in an English which—with some mending -of bygone words—is charming now: and which -may be called the first fair and square book of the -new English prose;—meaning by that—the first -book of length and of popular currency which introduced -a full measure—perhaps over-running<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -measure—of those words of Romance or Latin origin, -which afterward came to be incorporated in the -English of the fifteenth century. The book has no -English qualities—beyond its language; and might -have been written by a Tartar, who could tell of -Munchausen escapes and thank God in good current -dialect of Britain.</p> - -<p>I give a specimen from the description of his descent -into the Valley Perilous—which he found beside -the Isle of Mistorak, nigh to the river Phison:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>This Vale is all full of devils, and hath been always. And -men say there that it is one of the entries of hell. In that -Vale is plenty of gold and silver; wherefore many misbelieving -men, and many Christians also, oftentimes go in, to have -of the treasure.… And in midplace of that Vale is an -head of the visage of a devil bodily—full horrible and dreadful -to see. But there is no man in the world so hardy, Christian -man, ne other, but that he would be drad [afraid] for -to behold it. For he beholdeth every man so sharply with -dreadful eyen that ben evermore moving and sparkling as -fire, and changeth and steereth so often in divers manner, -with so horrible countenance, that no man dare not nighen -toward him.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The author says fourteen of his party went in, and -when they came out—only nine: “And we wisten -never, whether that our fellows were lost or elles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -turned again for dread. But we never saw them -never after.” He says there were plenty of jewels -and precious stones thereabout, but “I touched -none, because that the Devils be so subtle to make -a thing to seem otherwise than it is, for to deceive -mankind.” He tells us also of the giants Gog and -Magog, and of a wonderful bird—like the roc of -Arabian Nights’ fable—that would carry off an elephant -in its talons, and he closes all his stupendous -narratives with thanks to God Almighty for his marvellous -escapes.</p> - -<p>I have spoken of its popularity. Halliwell—who -edits the London edition of 1839—says that of no -book, with the exception of Scriptures, are there so -many MSS. of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries -existing; showing that for two centuries its fables -were either not exploded, or at least lost not their -relish.</p> - -<h3>Early Book-making.</h3> - -<p>And now what do we mean by books and by -popularity at the end of the thirteenth century? -The reader must keep in mind that our notion of -popularity measured by thousands of copies would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -then have been regarded as strange as the most -monstrous of Sir John Mandeville’s stories. There -was no printing; there was no paper, either—as -we understand. The art, indeed, of making paper -out of pulp did exist at this date with the Oriental -nations—perhaps with the Moors in Spain, but not -in England. Parchment made from skins was the -main material, and books were engrossed laboredly -with a pen or stylus. It was most likely a very popular -book which came to an edition of fifty or sixty -copies within five years of its first appearance: and -a good manuscript was so expensive an affair that -its purchase was often made a matter to be testified -to by subscribing witnesses, as we witness the -transfer of a house. A little budget of these manuscripts -made a valuable library. When St. Augustine -planted his Church in Kent—he brought nine -volumes with him as his literary treasure.</p> - -<p>Lanfranc, who was one of the Norman abbots -brought over by the Conqueror to build up the -priesthood in learning, made order in 1072 that at -Lent the librarian should deliver to the worthiest of -the brotherhood each a book; and these were to -have a year to read them. At the commencement of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -the fourteenth century there were only four classics -in the royal library of Paris; and at the same date -the library of Oxford University consisted of a few -tracts kept in chests under St. Mary’s Church.—Green, -in his “Making of England,”<a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> cites from -Alcuin a bit of that old Churchman’s Latin poem—“<cite>De -Pontificibus</cite>”—which he says is worthy of special -note, as the first catalogue which we have of -any English Library.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Quidquid Gregorius summus docet, et Leo Papa;</div> -<div class="verse">Basilius quidquid, Fulgentius atque, coruscant,</div> -<div class="verse">Cassiodorus item, Chrysostomus atque Johannes</div> -<div class="verse">Quidquid et Athelmus docuit, quid Beda magister.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Beda and Aldhelm are the only English writers -represented; and the catalogue—if we call it such—could -be written on a half-page of note paper—Metaphors -and Geography and Theology and decorative -epithets included.</p> - -<p>Thus in these times a book was a book: some of -them cost large sums; the mere transcription into -plain black-letter or Old English was toilsome and -involved weeks and months of labor; and when it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -came to illuminated borders, or initials and title-pages -with decorative paintings, the labor involved -was enormous. There were collectors in those days -as now—who took royal freaks for gorgeous missals; -and monkish lives were spent in gratifying the -whims of such collectors. In the year 1237 (Henry -III.) there is entry in the Revenue Roll of the costs -of silver clasps and studs for the King’s <em>great book -of Romances</em>. Upon the continent, in Italy, where -an art atmosphere prevailed that was more enkindling -than under the fogs of this savage England, -such work became thoroughly artistic; and even -now beautiful <i lang="fr">motifs</i> for decoration on the walls of -New York houses are sought from old French or -Latin manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth -centuries.</p> - -<p>And where was this work of making books done? -There were no book-shops or publishers’ houses, -but in place of them abbeys or monasteries—each -having its <i lang="la">scriptorium</i> or writing-room, where, -under the vaulted Norman arches and by the dim -light of their loop-holes of windows, the work of -transcription went on month after mouth and year -after year. Thus it is recorded that in that old monastery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -of St. Albans (of which we just now spoke) -eighty distinct works were transcribed during the -reign of Henry VI.; it is mentioned as swift work; -and as Henry reigned thirty-nine years, it counts up -about two complete MSS. a year. And the atmosphere -of St. Albans was a learned one; this locality -not being overmuch given to the roisterings that -belonged to Bolton Priory—of which you will remember -the hint in a pleasant picture of Landseer’s.</p> - -<h3>Religious Houses.</h3> - -<p>If you or I had journeyed thither in that day—coming -from what land we might—I think we -should have been earnest among the first things, -to see those great monasteries that lay scattered -over the surface of England and of Southern Scotland;—not -perched on hills or other defensible -positions like the Norman castles of the robber -Barons—not buried in cities like London Tower, -or the great halls which belonged to guilds of merchants—but -planted in the greenest and loveliest -of valleys, where rivers full of fish rippled within -hearing, and woods full of game clothed every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -headland that looked upon the valley; where the -fields were the richest—where the water was purest—where -the sun smote warmest; there these religious -houses grew up, stone by stone, cloister by -cloister, chapel by chapel, manor by manor, until -there was almost a township, with outlying cottages—and -some great dominating abbey church—rich -in all the choicest architecture of the later Norman -days—lifting its spire from among the clustered -buildings scarce less lovely than itself.</p> - -<p>Not only had learning and book-making been -kept alive in these great religious houses, but the -art of Agriculture. Within their walled courts were -grown all manner of fruits and vegetables known to -their climate; these monks knew and followed the -best rulings of Cato, and Crescenzius (who just -now has written on this subject in Northern Italy, -and is heard of by way of Padua). They make sour -wine out of grapes grown against sunny walls: they -have abundant flocks too—driven out each morning -from their sheltering courts, and returned each -night; and they have great breadth of ground under -carefullest tillage.</p> - -<p>Of such character was Tintern Abbey—in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -valley of the Wye—now perhaps the most charming -of all English ruins. Such another was Netley -Abbey, on Southampton water, and Bolton Priory, -close by that famous stream, the Wharfe, which you -will remember in Wordsworth’s story of the “White -Doe of Rylstone.” Fountain’s Abbey, in Yorkshire, -was yet another, from whose ruin we can study -better perhaps than from any other in England, -the extent and disposition of these old religious -houses. Melrose was another; and so was Dryburgh, -where Scott’s body lies, and Abingdon, close -upon Oxford—where was attached that Manor of -Cumnor, which Scott assigns for a prison to the -sad-fated Amy Robsart, in the tale of “Kenilworth.” -Glastonbury was another: this too (once encircled -by the arms of the river Brue), was the “Isle of Avalon” -in Arthurian romance;</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Where falls not hail, or rain or any snow,</div> -<div class="verse">Nor ever wind blows loudly.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Here (at Glastonbury) is still in existence the abbot’s -barn of the fourteenth century, and here, too, a magnificent -abbot’s kitchen—thirty-three feet square -and seventy-two feet high: Think what the cooking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -and the meats must have been in a kitchen of that -style!</p> - -<p>Now, these shrewd people who lived in these -great monasteries, and built them, and enjoyed the -good things kept in store there—made friends of -the vassals about them; they were generous with -their pot-herbs and fruits; they were the medicine-men -of the neighborhood; they doled out flasks of -wine to the sick; they gave sanctuary and aid to -the Robin Hoods and Little Johns; and Robin -Hood’s men kept them in supply of venison; they -enlivened their courts with minstrelsy. Warton says -that at the feast of the installation of Ralph, Abbot -of St. Augustine’s, Canterbury, in 1309, seventy shillings -was expended for minstrels in the gallery, and -six thousand guests were present in and about the -halls. Many abbeys maintained minstrels or harpers -of their own; and we may be sure that the -monks had jolly as well as religious ditties.</p> - -<p>They made friends of all strong and influential -people near them; their revenues were enormous. -They established themselves by all the arts of conciliation. -Finding among their young vassals one -keener and sharper witted than his fellows, they beguiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -him into the abbey—instructed him—perhaps -made a clerk of him, for the transcription of -the MSS. we have spoken of (it was thus Cædmon -was brought into notice); if very promising, he -might come to place of dignity among the monks—possibly -grow, as Thomas à Becket did, from such -humble beginnings to an archbishopric and to the -mastership of the religious heart of England.</p> - -<p>These houses were the fat corporations of that -day, with their lobby-men and spokesmen in all -state assemblages. Their representatives could wear -hair shirts, or purple robes and golden mitres, as -best suited the needs of the occasion. They could -boast that their institutions were established—like -our railways—for the good of the people, and in -the interests of humanity; but while rendering service, -waxing into such lustiness of strength and such -habits of corruption and rapacity, that at last, when -fully bloated, they were broken open and their -riches drifted away under the whirlwind of the -wrath of King Henry VIII. Great schemes of greed -are very apt to carry an avenging Henry VIII. somewhere -in their trail. But let us not forget that there -was a time in the early centuries of Christian England<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -when these great religious houses—whose -ruins appeal to us from their lovely solitudes—were -the guardians of learning, the nurses of all -new explorations into the ways of knowledge, the -expounders of all healing arts, and the promoters of -all charities and all neighborly kindliness.<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> Whatever -young fellow of that day did not plant himself -under shadow of one of these religious houses -for growth, or did not study in the schools of -Oxford or Cambridge, must needs have made his -way into favor and fame and society with a lance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -and good horse—just as young fellows do it now -with an oar or a racket.</p> - -<h3>Life of a Damoiselle.</h3> - -<p>But what shall be said of a young person of the -other sex of like age and tastes—to whose ambitions -war and knight-errantry and the university -cloisters are not open? Whither should the daughters -of the great houses go, or how fill up the current -of their young lives in that old thirteenth-century -England?</p> - -<p>It is true, there are religious houses—nunneries—priories—for -these, too, with noble and saintly -prioresses, such as St. Hilda’s, St. Agatha’s, St. Margaret’s; -all these bountiful in their charities, strict -for most part in their discipline. To these cloistered -schools may go the cousins, sisters, nieces of -these saintly lady superiors; here they may learn -of music, of embroidery, of letter-writing, and -Christian carols—in Latin or English or French, -as the case may be. If not an inmate of one -of these quiet cloisters, our young thirteenth-century -damsel will find large advantage in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -neighborhood; in the interchange of kindly offices—in -the loan of illuminated missals, of fruits, of -flowers, of haunches of venison, and in the assurance -that tenderest of nurses and consolers will be -at hand in case of illness or disaster; and always -there—an unfailing sanctuary. At home, within -the dingy towers of a castle or squat Saxon homestead, -with walls hung in tapestry, or made only -half bright with the fire upon the hearthstone—with -slits of windows filled with horn or translucent -bits of skin—there must have been wearisome <i lang="fr">ennui</i>. -Yet even here there were the deft handmaids, -cheery and companionable; the games—draughts -of a surety (in rich houses the checkers being of -jasper or rock crystal); the harp, too, and the falcons -for a hunting bout in fair weather; the little -garden within the court—with its eglantine, its -pinks, its lilies fair. Possibly there may be also -transcripts of old <i lang="fr">chansons</i> between ivory lids—images -carven out of olive wood—relics brought to -the castle by friendly knights from far-away Palestine. -And travelling merchants find their way to -such homes—bringing glass beads from Venice, -and little dainty mirrors, just now the vogue in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -great City by the Sea; and velvet and filigree head-dresses, -and jewels and bits of tapestry from Flemish -cities. Perhaps a minstrel—if the revenues of -the family cannot retain one—will stroll up to the -castle-gates of an evening, giving foretaste of his -power by a merry snatch of song about Robin Hood, -or Sir Guy, or the Nut Brown Maid.</p> - -<p>Some company of priests with a lordly abbot at -their head, journeying up from St. Albans, may stop -for a day, and kindle up with cheer the great hall, -which will be fresh strown with aromatic herbs for -the occasion; and so some solitary palmer, with -scollop shell, may make the evening short with his -story of travel across the desert; or—best of all—some -returning knight, long looked for—half -doubted—shall talk bravely of the splendors he -has seen in the luxurious court of Charles of Anjou, -where the chariot of his Queen was covered with -velvet sprinkled with lilies of gold, and men-at-arms -wore plumed helmets and jewelled collars; he may -sing, too, snatches of those tender madrigals of -Provence, and she—if Sister Nathalie has taught -her thereto—may join in a roundelay, and the minstrel -and harpist come clashing in to the <i lang="fr">refrain</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then there is the home embroidery—the hemming -of the robes, the trimming of the mantles, -the building up of the head pieces. Pray—in what -age and under what civilization—has a young woman -ever failed of showing zeal in those branches -of knowledge?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>So, we will leave England—to-day—upon the -stroke of thirteen hundred years. When we talk of -life there again, we shall come very swiftly upon -traces of one of her great philosophers, and of one -of her great reformers, and of one of her greatest -poets.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">In our last chapter I spoke of that Geoffrey of -Monmouth who about the middle of the -twelfth century wrote a history—mostly apocryphal—in -which was imbedded a germ of the King Arthur -fables. We traced these fables, growing under -the successive touches of Wace and Map and Layamon -into full-fledged legends, repeated over and -over; and finally, with splendid affluence of color -appearing on the literary horizon of our own day. -I spoke of King Richard I. and of his song loving, -and of his blood loving, and of his royal frankness: -then of John, that renegade brother of his—of how -he granted <cite>Magna Charta</cite>, killed poor Prince Arthur, -and stirred such a current of war as caused the loss -of Normandy to England. I spoke of the connection -of this loss with the consolidation of the language; -of how Robert of Gloucester made a rhyming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -history that was in a new English; of how the -name of Sir John Mandeville was associated with -great lies, in the same tongue; how the religious -houses made books, and fattened on the best of the -land, and grew corrupt; and last—of how we, if we -had lived in those days, would have found disport -for our idle hours and consolation for our serious -ones.</p> - -<h3>Roger Bacon.</h3> - -<p>Starting now from about the same point in time -where we left off, our opening scene will take us to -the old University town of Oxford. It is a rare city -for a young American to visit; its beautiful High -Street, its quaint Colleges, its Christ Church Hall, its -libraries, its Magdalen walks and tower, its charming -gardens of St. John’s and Trinity, its near Park -of Blenheim, its fragrant memories—all, make it a -place where one would wish to go and long to linger. -But in the far-away time we speak of it was a -walled city, with narrow streets, and filthy lodging -houses; yet great parliaments had been held there; -the royal domain of Woodstock was near by with its -Palace; the nunnery was standing, where was educated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -the Fair Rosamund; a little farther away was -the great religious house of Abingdon and the village -of Cumnor; but of all its present august and -venerable array of colleges only one or two then existed—Merton, -and perhaps Balliol, or the University.<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p> - -<p>But the schools here had won a very great reputation -in the current of the thirteenth century, -largely through the scholarship and popularity of -Grosseteste, one while Bishop of Lincoln, who held -ministrations at Oxford by reason of his connection -with a Franciscan brotherhood established here; -and among those crop-haired Franciscans was a -monk—whom we have made this visit to Oxford to -find—named Roger Bacon. He had been not only -student but teacher there; and a few miles south -from the King’s Arms Hotel in Broad Street, Oxford, -is still standing a church tower, in the little -parish of Sunningwell, from which—as tradition -affirms—Roger Bacon studied the heavens: for he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -believed in Astrology, and believed too in the transmutation -of metals; and he got the name of magician, -and was cashiered and imprisoned twice or -thrice for this and other strange beliefs. But he -believed most of all in the full utterance of his beliefs, -and in experimenting, and in interrogating -nature, and distrusting conventionalisms, and in -search for himself into all the mysteries, whether of -nature or theology.</p> - -<p>He had sprung from worthy and well-to-do parents -in the Western County of Somersetshire. He -had spent very much money for those days on his -education; had obtained a Doctorate at Paris; his -acuteness and his capacity for study were everywhere -recognized; he knew more of Greek than -most of his teachers, and more of Hebrew than most -of the Rabbis, and more of Chemistry and Physics -generally than probably any other man in England. -He took a Friar’s vows, as we have said; but these -did not save him from interdiction by the Chief of -his Order, by whom he was placed under ten years -of surveillance at Paris—his teachings silenced, and -he suffering almost to starvation. A liberal Pope -(for those days), Clement IV., by his intervention set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -free the philosopher’s pen again; and there came of -this freedom the <cite>Opus Majus</cite> by which he is most -worthily known. Subsequently he was permitted to -return to his old sphere of study in Oxford, where -he pursued afresh his scientific investigations, but -coupled with them such outspoken denunciations of -the vices and ignorance of his brother Friars, as to -provoke new condemnation and an imprisonment -that lasted for fourteen years—paying thus, in -this accredited mediæval way, for his freedom of -speech.</p> - -<p>It is not improbable that we owe to him and to -his optical studies—in some humble degree—the -eye-glasses that make reading possible to old eyes: -and his books, first of any books from English -sources, described how sulphur and charcoal and -saltpetre properly combined will make thunder and -lightning (<i lang="la">sic facies tonitrum et coruscationem</i>). We -call the mixture gunpowder. In his <cite>Opus Majus</cite> -(he wrote only in Latin, and vastly more than has -appeared in printed form) scholars find some of the -seeds of the riper knowledges which came into -the <cite>Novum Organum</cite> of another and later Bacon—with -whom we must not confound this sharp,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -eager, determined, inquiring Franciscan friar. He -is worthy to be kept in mind as the Englishman -who above all others living in that turbid thirteenth -century, saw through the husks of things to their -very core.</p> - -<p>He died at the close of the century—probably in -the year 1294; and I have gone back to that far-away -time—somewhat out of our forward track—and -have given you a glimpse of this Franciscan innovator -and wrestler with authorities, in order that I -might mate him with two other radical thinkers -whose period of activity belonged to the latter half -of the succeeding century: I mean Langlande and -Wyclif. And before we go on to speak of these -two, we will set up a few way-marks, so that we may -not lose our historic bearings in the drift of the intervening -years.</p> - -<p>Bacon died, as we have said, in 1294. William -Wallace fought his great battle of Cambuskenneth -in 1297. Those who have read that old favorite of -school-boys, Miss Porter’s “Scottish Chiefs,” will -not need to have their memories refreshed about -William Wallace. Indeed, that hero will be apt to -loom too giant-like in their thought, and with a halo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -about him which I suspect sober history would -hardly justify. Wallace was executed at Smithfield -(Miss Porter says he died of grief before the axe -fell) in 1305; and that stout, flax-haired King Edward -I., who had humbled Scotland at Falkirk—who -was personally a match for the doughtiest of -his knights—who was pious (as the times went), -and had set up beautiful memorial crosses to his -good Queen Eleanor—who had revived King Arthur’s -Round Table at Kenilworth, died only two -years after he had cruelly planted the head of Wallace -on London Bridge. Then came the weak Edward -II., and the victories of Bruce of Bannockburn, and -that weary Piers Gaveston story, and the shocking -death of the King in Berkeley Castle. The visitor -to Berkeley (it is in Gloucestershire, and only two -miles away from station on the Midland Railway) -can still see the room where the murder was done: -and this Castle of Berkeley—strangely enough—has -been kept in repair, and inhabited continuously -from the twelfth century until now; its moat, its -keep, and its warders walks are all intact.</p> - -<p>After this Edward II. came the great Edward III.—known -to us through Froissart and the Black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -Prince<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> and Crécy and Poitiers, and by Windsor -Castle—which he built—and by Chaucer and Wyclif -and Langlande and Gower, who grew up while -he was king; known to us also in a worse way, for -outliving all his good qualities, and becoming in his -last days a peevish and tempestuous voluptuary.</p> - -<p>Some few foreign way-marks I also give, that the -reader may have more distinctly in mind this great -historic epoch. Dante died in exile at Ravenna, six -years before Edward III. came to power. Boccaccio -was then a boy of fourteen, and Petrarch nine years -his elder. And on the year that Crécy was fought -and won—through the prowess of the Black Prince, -and when the Last of the Tribunes, as you see him in -Bulwer Lytton’s novel, was feeling his way to lordship -in Rome,—there was living somewhere in -Shropshire, a country-born, boy poet—not yet -ripened into utterance, but looking out with keen -eyes and soreness of heart upon the sufferings of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -poor country folk, and upon the wantonness of the -monks, and the extravagance of the rich, and the -hatefulness of the proud—all which was set forth -at a later day in the Vision of Piers Plowman.</p> - -<h3>William Langlande.</h3> - -<p>This was William Langlande<a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> (or Langley, as others -call him), reputed author of the poem I have -named. It makes a little book—earliest, I think, of -all books written in English—which you will be -apt to find in a well-appointed private library of our -day. I won’t say that it is bought to read, so much -as to stand upon the shelves (so many books are) as -a good and sufficient type of old respectabilities. -Yet, for all this, it is reasonably readable; with -crabbed alliterative rhythm;—some Latin intermixed, -as if the writer had been a priest (as some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -allege); and such knowledge of life and of current -shortcomings among all sorts of people as showed -him to be a wide-awake and fearless observer. It is -in the form of an Allegory, Christian in its motive; -so that you might almost say that the author was an -immature and crude and yet sharper kind of John -Bunyan who would turn <em>Great-Heart</em> into a <em>Plowman</em>. -The nomenclature also brings to mind the -tinker of the Pilgrim’s Progress; there is a Sir <em>Do-Well</em> -and his daughter <em>Do-Better</em>: then there is <em>Sir -In-wit</em> with his sons <em>See-well</em> and <em>Say-well</em> and <em>Hear-well</em>, -and the doughtiest of them all—<em>Sir Work-well</em>. -We may, I think, as reasonably believe that Bunyan -hovered over this book, as that Milton took hints -from the picture of Pandemonium attributed to -Cædmon.</p> - -<p>Langlande is a little mixed and raw oftentimes; -but he is full of shrewdness and of touches of a -rough and unwashed humor. There is little tenderness -of poetic feeling in his verse; and scarcely ever -does it rise to anything approaching stateliness; but -it keeps a good dog-trot jog, as of one who knew -what he was doing, and meant to do it. What he -meant was—to whip the vices of the priests and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -scourge the covetousness of the rich and of the men -in power. It is English all over; English<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> in the -homeliness of its language; he makes even Norman -words sound homely; English in spirit too; full of -good, hearty, grumbling humor—a sort of predated -and poetic kind of Protestantism. Plums -might be picked out of it for the decoration of a -good radical or agrarian speech of to-day.</p> - -<p>Of his larger religious and political drift no extracts -will give one a proper idea; only a reading -from beginning to end will do this. One or two -snatches of his verse I give, to show his manner:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And thanne cam coveitise,</div> -<div class="verse">Kan I hym naght discryve,</div> -<div class="verse">So hungrily and holwe</div> -<div class="verse">Sire Hervy hym loked.</div> -<div class="verse">He was bitel-browed,</div> -<div class="verse">And baber-lipped also</div> -<div class="verse">With two blered eighen</div> -<div class="verse">As a blynd hagge;</div> -<div class="verse">And as a letheren purs</div> -<div class="verse">Lolled his chekes,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Well sidder [wider] than his chyn</div> -<div class="verse">Thei chyveled [shrivelled] for elde;</div> -<div class="verse">And as a bonde-man of his bacon</div> -<div class="verse">His berd was bi-draveled,</div> -<div class="verse">With an hood on his heed.</div> -<div class="verse">A lousy hat above</div> -<div class="verse">And in a tawny tabard</div> -<div class="verse">Of twelf wynter age.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse right">—2847 <cite>Pass. V.</cite></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And again, from the same <cite>Passus</cite> (he dividing -thus his poem into <em>steps</em> or <em>paces</em>) I cite this self-drawn -picture of Envy:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Betwene manye and manye</div> -<div class="verse">I make debate ofte,</div> -<div class="verse">That bothe lif and lyme</div> -<div class="verse">Is lost thorugh my speche.</div> -<div class="verse">And when I mete hym in market</div> -<div class="verse">That I moost hate,</div> -<div class="verse">I hailse hym hendely [politely]</div> -<div class="verse">As I his frend were;</div> -<div class="verse">For he is doughtier than I,</div> -<div class="verse">I dar do noon oother:</div> -<div class="verse">Ac, hadde I maistrie and myght.</div> -<div class="verse">God woot my wille!</div> -<div class="verse">And whanne I come to the kirk</div> -<div class="verse">And sholde kneel to the roode,</div> -<div class="verse">And preye for the peple …</div> -<div class="verse">Awey fro the auter thanne</div> -<div class="verse">Turne I myne eighen</div> -<div class="verse">And bi-holde Eleyne</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Hath a newe cote;</div> -<div class="verse">I wisshe thanne it were myn,</div> -<div class="verse">And al the web after.</div> -<div class="verse">For who so hath moore than I</div> -<div class="verse">That angreth me soore,</div> -<div class="verse">And thus I lyve love-lees,</div> -<div class="verse">Like a luther [mad] dogge;</div> -<div class="verse">That al my body bolneth [swelleth]</div> -<div class="verse">For bitter of my galle.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse right">—<cite>vers.</cite> 2667.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It is a savage picture; and as savagely true as was -ever drawn of Envy. Those who cultivated the elegancies -of letters, and delighted in the pretty rhyming-balance -of Romance verse, would hardly have -relished him; but the average thinker and worker -would and did. It is specially noteworthy that the -existing MSS. of this poem, of which there are very -many, are without expensive ornamentation by illuminated -initial letters, or otherwise, indicating -that its circulation was among those who did not -buy a book for its luxuries of “make-up,” but for -its pith. A new popularity came to the book after -printing was begun, and made it known to those -who sympathized with its protesting spirit;—most -of all when the monasteries went down and readers -saw how this old grumbler had prophesied truly—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -saying “the Abbot of Abingdon and all his people -should get a knock from a king”—as they did; -and a hard one it was.</p> - -<p>Langlande was born in the West, and had wandered -over the beautiful Malvern hills of Worcestershire -in his day but he went afterward to live in -London, which he knew from top to bottom; had a -wife there, “Kytte,” and a daughter, “Calote;”<a name="FNanchor_37" id="FNanchor_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> -shaved his head like a priest; was tall—so tall he -came to be called “Long Will.” He showed little -respect for fine dresses, though he saw them all; he -was in London when Chaucer was there and when -the greater poet was writing, and had higher-placed -friends than himself; but he never met him,—from -anything that appears; never met Wyclif either, -with whom he must have had very much thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -in common, and who also must have been in London -many a time when tall Will Langlande sidled -along Fenchurch Street, or Cornhill. Yet he is -worthy to be named with him as representing a -popular seam in that great drift of independent and -critical thought, which was to ripen into the Reformation.</p> - -<h3>John Wyclif.</h3> - -<p>In the year when gunpowder was first burned in -battle, and when Rienzi was trying to poise himself -with a good balance on the rocking shoulders of the -Roman people, John Wyclif, the great English reformer -and the first translator of the Bible, was just -turned of twenty and poring over his books, not improbably -in that Balliol College, Oxford—of which -in the ripeness of his age he was to become Master.</p> - -<p>We know little of his early personal history, save -that he came from a beautiful Yorkshire valley in -the North of England, where the Tees, forming the -border line of the County of Durham, sweeps past -the little parish of Wyclif, and where a manor-house -of the same name—traditionally the birthplace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -of the Reformer—stands upon a lift of the -river hank. Its grounds stretch away to those -“Rokeby” woods, whose murmurs and shadows relieve -the dullest of the poems of Scott.</p> - -<p>But there is no record of him thereabout: if indeed -he were born upon that lift of the Tees bank, -the proprietors thereof—who through many generations -were stanch Romanists—would have shown -no honor to the arch-heretic; and it is noteworthy -that within a chapel attached to the Wyclif manor-house, -mass was said and the Pope reverenced, down -to a very recent time. John Wyclif, in the great -crowd of his writings, whether English or Latin, -told no story of himself or of his young days. We -have only clear sight of him when he has reached -full manhood—when he has come to the mastership -of Balliol Hall, and to eloquent advocacy of the -rights and dignities of England, as against the Papal -demand for tribute. On this service he goes up to -London, and is heard there—maybe in Parliament; -certainly is heard with such approval that he is, only -a few years thereafter—sent with a commission, to -treat with ambassadors from the Pope, at the old -city of Bruges.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>This was a rich city—called the Venice of the -North—and princes and nobles from all Europe -were to be met there; its great town-house even -then lifted high into the air that Belfry of Bruges -which has become in our day the nestling-place of -song. But Wyclif was not overawed by any splendors -of scene or association. He insisted doggedly -upon the rights of Englishmen as against Papal pretensions. -John of Gaunt, a son of the king, stood -by Wyclif; not only befriending him there, but -afterward when Papish bulls were thundered against -him, and when he was summoned up to London—as -befell in due time—to answer for his misdeeds; -and when the populace, who had caught a liking for -the stalwart independence of the man, crowded -through the streets (tall Will Langlande very probably -among them), to stand between the Reformer -and the judges of the Church. He did not believe -in Ecclesiastic hierarchies; and it is quite certain -that he was as little liked by the abbots and the -bishops and the fat vicars, as by the Pope.</p> - -<p>I have said he was befriended by John of Gaunt: -and this is a name which it is worth while for students -of English history to remember; not only because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -he was a brother of the famous Black Prince -(and a better man than he, though he did not fight -so many battles), but because he was also a good -friend of the poet Chaucer—as we shall find. It -will perhaps help one to keep him in mind, if I refer -to that glimpse we get of him in the early scenes -of Shakespeare’s tragedy of Richard II., where he -makes a play upon his name:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">O, how that name befits my composition!</div> -<div class="verse">Old Gaunt, indeed! and gaunt in being old.</div> -<div class="verse">Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast</div> -<div class="verse">And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt?</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A good effigy of this John, in his robes, is on the -glass of a window in All-Souls’ College, Oxford.</p> - -<p>But such great friends, and Wyclif numbered the -widow of the Black Prince among them, could not -shield him entirely from Romish wrath, when he -began to call the Pope a “cut-purse;” and his arguments -were as scathing as his epithets, and had -more reason in them. He was compelled to forego -his teachings at Oxford, and came to new trials,<a name="FNanchor_38" id="FNanchor_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -which—as traditions run—he wore an air of great -dignity; and old portraits show us a thin, tall figure—a -little bent with over-study; his features -sharp-cut, with lips full of firmness, a flowing -white beard and piercing eyes—glowing with the -faith that was in him. This was he who blocked -out the path along which England stumbled through -Lollardry quagmires, and where Huss, the Bohemian, -walked in after days with a clumsy, forward -tread, and which Luther in his later time put -all alight with his torch of flame.</p> - -<p>The King—and it was one of the last good deeds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -of Edward III.—gave to the old man who was railed -at by Popes and bishops, a church living at Lutterworth, -a pleasant village in Leicestershire, upon a -branch of that Avon, which flows by Stratford -Church; and here the white-haired old man—some -five hundred years ago (1384) finished his life; and -here the sexton of the church will show one to-day -the gown in which he preached, and the pulpit in -which he stood.</p> - -<p>Even now I have not spoken of those facts about -this early Reformer, which are best kept in memory, -and which make his name memorable in connection -with the literature of England. In the quiet of -Lutterworth he translated the Latin Bible (probably -not knowing well either Greek or Hebrew, as -very few did in that day); not doing all this work -himself, but specially looking after the Gospels, and -perhaps all of the New Testament.</p> - -<p>The reader will, I think, be interested in a little -fragment of this work of his (from Matthew viii.).</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Sothely [verily] Jhesus seeynge many cumpanyes about -hym, bad <em>his disciplis</em> go ouer the watir. And oo [one] scribe -or <em>a man of lawe</em>, commynge to, saide to hym—Maistre, I -shall sue [follow] thee whidir euer thou shalt go. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -Jhesus said to hym, Foxis han dichis <em>or borrowis</em> [holes] and -briddes of the eir han nestis; but mannes sone hath nat -wher he reste his heued. Sotheli an other of his disciplis -saide to hym—Lord, suffre me go first and birye my fadir. -Forsothe Jhesus saide to hym, Sue thou me, and late dede -men birye her dead men.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>It is surely not very hard reading;—still less so -in the form as revised by Purvey,<a name="FNanchor_39" id="FNanchor_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> an old assistant -of his in the Parish of Lutterworth; and it made -the groundwork of an English sacred dialect, which -with its <em>Thees</em> and <em>Thous</em> and <em>Speaketh</em> and <em>Heareth</em> -and <em>Prayeth</em> has given its flavor to all succeeding -translations, and to all utterances of praise and -thanksgiving in every English pulpit.</p> - -<p>Not only this, but Wyclif by his translation -opened an easy English pathway into the arcana of -sacred mysteries, which in all previous time—save -for exceptional parts, such as the paraphrase of -Cædmon, or the Ormulum, or the Psalter of Aldhelm -and other fragmentary Anglo-Saxon versions of -Scripture—had been veiled from the common -people in the dimness of an unknown tongue. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -from the date of Wyclif’s translation—forward, forever—whatever -man, rich or poor, could read an -English ordinance of the King, or a bye-law of a -British parish, could also—though he might be -driven to stealthy reading—spell his way back, -through the old aisles of Sacred History, where -Moses and the prophets held their place, and into -the valleys of Palestine, where Bethlehem lay, and -where Christ was hung upon the tree.</p> - -<h3>Chaucer.</h3> - -<p>Now we come to a Poet of these times; not a -poet by courtesy, not a small poet, but a real -and a great one. His name is Chaucer. You may -not read him; you may find his speech too old-fashioned -to please you; you may not easily get -through its meaning; but if you do, and come to -study him with any warmth, the more you study -him the more you will like him. And this—not -because there are curious and wonderful tales in his -verse to interest you; not because your passion will -be kindled by any extraordinary show of dramatic -power; but because his humor, and gentleness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -and grace of touch, and exquisite harmonies of language -will win upon you page by page, and story -by story.</p> - -<p>He was born—probably in London—some time -during the second quarter of the fourteenth century;<a name="FNanchor_40" id="FNanchor_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> -and there is reason to believe that an early -home of his was in or near Thames Street, which -runs parallel with the river,—a region now built up -and overshadowed with close lines of tall and grimy -warehouses. But the boy Chaucer, living there five -hundred and more years ago, might have caught -between the timber houses glimpses of cultivated -fields lying on the Southwark shores; and if he had -wandered along Wallbrook to Cheapside, and thence -westerly by Newgate to Smithfield Common—where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -he may have watched tournaments that Froissart -watched, and Philippa, queen of Edward III., had -watched—he would have found open country; and -on quiet days would have heard the birds singing -there, and have seen green meadows lying on either -side the river Fleet—which river is now lost in -sewers, and is planted over with houses.</p> - -<p>On Ludgate Hill, in that far-off time, rose the tall -and graceful spire of old St. Paul’s, and underneath -its roof was a vista of Gothic arches seven hundred -feet in length. The great monastery of the Templars—and -of the Knights of St. John—where we -go now to see that remnant of it, called the Temple -Church,—had, only shortly before, passed into the -keeping of the Lawyers; the Strand was like a -country road, with great country-houses and gardens -looking upon the water; Charing Cross was a -hamlet midway between the Temple and a parish -called Westminster, where a huge Abbey Church -stood by the river bank.</p> - -<p>Some biographers have labored to show that -Chaucer was of high family—with titles in it. But -I think we care very little about this; one story, -now fully accredited, makes his father a vintner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -or wine-dealer, with a coat-of-arms, showing upon -one half a red bar upon white, and upon the other -white on red; as if—hints old Thomas Fuller—’twas -dashed with red wine and white. This escutcheon -with its parti-colored bars may be seen in -the upper left corner of the portrait of Chaucer, -which hangs now in the picture-gallery at Oxford. -And—for that matter—it was not a bad thing to -be a vintner in that day; for we have record of one -of them who, in the year after the battle of Poitiers, -entertained at his house in the Vintry, Edward -King of England, John King of France, David King -of Scotland, and the King of Cyprus. And he not -only dined them, but won their money at play; and -afterward, in a very unking-like fashion—paid -back the money he had won.</p> - -<p>Chaucer was a student in his young days; but -never—as old stories ran—at either Cambridge or -Oxford; indeed, there is no need that we place him -at one or the other. There were schools in London -in those times—at St. Paul’s and at Westminster—in -either of which he could have come by all the -scholarly epithets or allusions that appear in his earlier -poems; and for the culture that declares itself in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -his riper days, we know that he was more or less a -student all his life—loving books, and proud of his -fondness for them, and showing all up and down his -poems traces of his careful reading and of an observation -as close and as quick.</p> - -<p>It is the poet’s very self, who, borne away in the -eagle’s clutch amongst the stars, gets this comment -from approving Jove<a name="FNanchor_41" id="FNanchor_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a>:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thou hearest neither that nor this,</div> -<div class="verse">For when thy labor all done is,</div> -<div class="verse">And hast made all thy reckiningës</div> -<div class="verse">In stead of rest and of new thingës,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou goest homë to thine house anon</div> -<div class="verse">And all so dombe as any stone,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou sittest at another bokë</div> -<div class="verse">Till fully dazed is thy lokë.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But though we speak of Chaucer as bookish and -scholarly, it must not be supposed that he aimed at, -or possessed the nice critical discernment, with respect -to the literary work of others, which we now -associate with highest scholarly attainments; it may -well happen that his bookish allusions are not always -“by the letter,” or that he may misquote, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -strain a point in interpretation. He lived before -the days of exegetical niceties. He is attracted by -large effects; he searches for what may kindle his -enthusiasms, and put him upon his own trail of -song. Books were nothing to him if they did not -bring illumination; where he could snatch that, he -burrowed—but always rather toward the light -than toward the depths. He makes honey out of -coarse flowers; not so sure always—nor much caring -to be sure—of the name and habitudes of the -plants he rifles. He stole not for the theft’s sake, -but for the honey’s sake; and he read not for -cumulation of special knowledges, but to fertilize -and quicken his own spontaneities.</p> - -<p>Nor was this poet ever so shapen to close study, -but the woods or the birds or the flowers of a summery -day would take the bend from his back, and -straighten him for a march into the fields:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">——There is gamë none,</div> -<div class="verse">That from my bookës maketh me to gone,</div> -<div class="verse">Save certainly whan that the month of Maie</div> -<div class="verse">Is comen, and that I heare the foulës sing,</div> -<div class="verse">And that the flowris ginnen for to spring—</div> -<div class="verse">Farewell my booke, and my devocion!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<p>And swift upon this in that musical “Legende of -Good Women,” comes his rhythmical crowning of -the Daisy—never again, in virtue of his verse, to -be discrowned—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent4">——above all the flowris in the mede</div> -<div class="verse">Thanne love I moste these flowris white and rede;</div> -<div class="verse">Soche that men callin Daisies in our toun</div> -<div class="verse">To ’hem I have so grete affectionn</div> -<div class="verse">As I said erst, whan comin is the Maie,</div> -<div class="verse">That in my bedde there dawith me no daie</div> -<div class="verse">That I n’ am up, and walking in the mede</div> -<div class="verse">To sene this floure ayenst the sunnë sprede,</div> -<div class="verse">As she that is of all flowris the floure,</div> -<div class="verse">Fulfilled of all vertue and honoure</div> -<div class="verse">And evir alikë faire and freshe, of hewe,</div> -<div class="verse">And evir I love it and ever alikë newe.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">These lines of his have given an everlasting perfume -to that odorless flower.</p> - -<p>How it befell that this son of a vintner came first -to have close association with members of the royal -household—household of the great Edward III.—we -cannot tell; but it is certain that he did come -at an early day to have position in the establishment -of the King’s son, Prince Lionel, Duke of Clarence; -he was sometime valet, too, of Edward III., and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -other years a familiar <i lang="fr">protégé</i> of John of Gaunt—putting -his poet’s gloss upon courtly griefs and -love-makings.</p> - -<p>It is certain, moreover, that in the immediate service -of either Prince or King, he went to the wars—as -every young man of high spirit in England -yearned to do, when war was so great a part of the -business of life, and when the Black Prince was galloping -in armor and in victory over the fields of -Guienne. But it was a bad excursion the poet hit -upon; he went when disaster attended the English -forces; he was taken prisoner, and though ransomed -shortly thereafter—as the record shows—it is uncertain -when he returned; uncertain if he did not -linger for years among the vineyards of France; -maybe writing there his translation of the famous -<cite>Roman de la Rose</cite><a name="FNanchor_42" id="FNanchor_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a>—certainly loving this and other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -such, and growing by study of these Southern melodies -into graces of his own, to overlap and adorn -his Saxon sturdiness of speech.</p> - -<p>There are recent continental critics<a name="FNanchor_43" id="FNanchor_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> indeed, who -claim him as French, and as finding not only his -felicities of verse, but his impulse and his motives -among the lilies of France. He does love these -lilies of a surety; but I think he loves the English -daisies better, and that it is with a thoroughly English -spirit that he “powders” the meadows with -their red and white, and sets among them the green -blades of those island grasses, which flash upon his -“morwenyngs of Maie.” To these times may possibly -belong—if indeed Chaucer wrote it—“The -Court of Love.” Into the discussion of its authenticity -we do not enter; we run to cover under -an ignorance which is more blissful than the -wisdom that wearies itself with comparison of dates, -with laws of prosody, with journeyman-like estimate -of the tinklings of this or that spurt of rhyming -habit. If Chaucer did not write it, we lift our hat -to the unknown melodist—who can put the birds -in choir—and pass on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - -<p>When our poet does reappear in London, it is -not to tell any story of the war—of its hazards, or -of its triumphs. Indeed, it is remarkable that this -lissome poet, whose words like bangles shook out -all tunes to his step, and who lived in the very heart -of the days of Poitiers—when the doughty young -Black Prince kindled a martial furor that was like -the old crusade craze to follow <cite>Cœur de Lion</cite> to -battle—remarkable, I say, that Chaucer, living on -the high tide of war—living, too, in a court where -he must have met Froissart, that pet of the Queen, -who gloried in giving tongue to his enthusiasm -about the deeds of knighthood—wonderful, I say, -that Chaucer should not have brought into any of -his tales or rhymes the din and the alarums and the -seething passions of war. There are indeed glimpses -of fluttering pennons and of spear thrusts; maybe, -also, purple gouts of blood welling out from his -page; but these all have the unreal look of the tourney, -to which they mostly attach; he never scores -martial scenes with a dagger. For all that Crécy -or its smoking artillery had to do with his song, he -might have sung a century earlier, or he might have -sung a century later. Indeed, he does not seem to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -us a man of action, notwithstanding his court connection -and his somewhile official place;—not even -a man of loudly declared public policy, but always -the absorbed, introspective, painstaking, quiet observer, -to whom Nature in the gross, with its humanities -now kindled by wanton appetites, and now -lifted by reverence and love (with the everlasting -broidery of flowers and trees and sunshine), was always -alluring him from things accidental and of the -time—though it were time of royal Philip’s ruin, -or of a conquest of Aquitaine.</p> - -<p>Yet withal, this Chaucer is in some sense a man -of the world and courtier. The “Boke of the -Duchesse” tells us this. And he can weave chaplets -for those who have gone through the smoke of battles—though -his own inclination may not lead him -thither. To a date not very remote from that which -belongs to the “Duchesse” must in all probability -be assigned that other well-known minor poem of -Chaucer’s, called the “Parlament of Foules.”<a name="FNanchor_44" id="FNanchor_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -There are stories of his love-lornness in his young -days, and of marriage delayed and of marriage -made good—coming mostly from those who paint -large pictures with few pigments—and which are -exceeding hazy and indeterminate of outline: his -“Troilus and Cresseide” make us know that he -could go through the whole gamut of love, and -fawning and teasing and conquest and forgetting, -in lively earnest as well as fancy—if need -were.</p> - -<p>We have better data and surer ground to go -upon when we come to score his official relations. -We know that when not very far advanced in age -(about 1370) he went to the continent on the King’s -service; accomplishing it so well—presumably—that -he is sent again, very shortly after, with a commission—his -journey calling him to Genoa and -Florence; Italy and the Mediterranean, then, probably -for the first time, with all their glamour of -old story, coming to his view. Some biographers -make out, from chance lines in his after-poems, -that he went over to Padua and saw Petrarch there, -and learned of him some stories, which he afterward -wrought into his garland of the Canterbury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -Tales. Possibly;<a name="FNanchor_45" id="FNanchor_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> but it was not an easy -journey over the mountains to Padua in those -days, even if Petrarch had been domiciled there,—which -is very doubtful; for the Italian poet, old -and feeble, passed most of the latter years of his life -at Arqua among the Euganean hills; and if Chaucer -had met him, Petrarch would have been more apt to -ask the man from far-away, murky England, about -his country and King and the Prince Lionel (dead -in those days), who only a few years before had -married, at Milan, a daughter of the Visconti—than -to bore him with a story at second hand (from Boccaccio) -about the patient Griselda.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> - -<p>However this may be, it is agreed by nearly all -commentators, that by reason of his southward journeyings -and his after-familiarity with Italian literature -(if indeed this familiarity were not of earlier -date), that his own poetic outlook became greatly -widened, and he fell away, in large degree, from -his old imitative allegiance to the jingling measures -of France, and that pretty</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent8">“Maze of to and fro,</div> -<div class="verse">Where light-heeled numbers laugh and go.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Through all this time he is in receipt of favors -from the Government—sometimes in the shape of -direct pension—sometimes of an annual gift of -wine—sometimes in moneys for payment of his -costs of travel;—sometime, too, he has a money-getting -place in the Customs.</p> - -<p>John of Gaunt continues his stalwart friend. Indeed -this Prince, late in life, and when he had -come to the title of Duke of Lancaster, married, in -third espousals, a certain Kate Swynford (<i lang="fr">née</i> Roet), -who, if much current tradition may be trusted, was -a sister of Chaucer’s wife; it was, to be sure, looked -upon by court people (for various reasons) as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -match beneath the Duke; and Froissart tells us -with a chirrupy air<a name="FNanchor_46" id="FNanchor_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> of easy confidence (but there -is no mention of the poet) that the peeresses of the -court vowed they would have nothing to do with -the new Duchess of Lancaster—by which it may -be seen that fine ladies had then the same methods -of punishing social audacities which they have now. -The tradition has been given a new lease of life by -the memorial window which under rule of Dean Stanley -was set in Westminster Abbey;<a name="FNanchor_47" id="FNanchor_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> and, however the -truth may be, Chaucer’s life-long familiarity in the -household of Lancaster is undoubted; and it is -every way likely that about the knee of the poet -may have frisked and played the little Hal. (b. 1367), -who came afterward to be King Henry IV. It is to -this monarch, newly come to the throne, that Chaucer -addresses—in his latter days, and with excellent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -effect—that little piquant snatch of verse<a name="FNanchor_48" id="FNanchor_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> about -the lowness of his purse:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I am so sorrie now that ye be light,</div> -<div class="verse">For certes, but ye make me heavy cheere,</div> -<div class="verse">Me were as lief be laid upon my bere</div> -<div class="verse">For which unto your mercie thus I crie</div> -<div class="verse">Be heavie againe, or ellës mote I die.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Yet he seems never to lose his good humor or his -sweet complacency; there is no carping; there is -no swearing that is in earnest. His whole character -we seem to see in that picture of him which his -friend Occleve painted; a miniature, to be sure, and -upon the cover of a MS. of Occleve’s poems; but it -is the best portrait of him we have. Looking at it—though -’tis only half length—you would say he -was what we call a dapper man; well-fed, for he -loved always the good things of life—“not drinkless -altogether, as I guess;” nor yet is it a bluff -English face; no beefiness; regular features—almost -feminine in fineness of contour—with light -beard upon upper lip and chin; smooth cheeks; -lips full (rosy red, they say, in the painting); eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -that is keen,<a name="FNanchor_49" id="FNanchor_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> and with a sparkle of humor in it; -hands decorously kept; one holding a rosary, the -other pointing—and pointing as men point who -see what they point at, and make others see it too; -his hood, which seems a part of his woollen dress, -is picturesquely drawn about his head, revealing -only a streak of hair over his temple; you see it is -one who studies picturesqueness even in costume, -and to the trimming of his beard into a forked -shape;—no lint on his robe—you may be sure of -that;—no carelessness anywhere: dainty, delicate, -studious of effects, but with mirth and good nature -shimmering over his face. Yet no vagueness or -shakiness of purpose show their weak lines; and in -his jaw there is a certain staying power that kept -him firm and active and made him pile book upon -book in the new, sweet English tongue, which out -of the dialects of Essex and of the East of England -he had compounded, ordered, and perfected, -and made the pride of every man born to the inheritance -of that Island speech.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>And it is with such looks and such forces and -such a constitutional cheeriness, that this blithe poet -comes to the task of enchaining together his Canterbury -Tales, with their shrewd trappings of Prologue—his -best work, getting its last best touches -after he is fairly turned of middle age, if indeed -he were not already among the sixties. Is it not -wonderful—the distinctness with which we see, -after five hundred years have passed, those nine and -twenty pilgrims setting out on the sweet April day, -to travel down through the country highways and -meadows of Kent!</p> - -<p>The fields are all green, “y-powdered with daisies;” -the birds are singing; the white blossoms are -beginning to show upon the hedge-rows. And the -Pilgrims, one and all, are so touched and colored by -his shrewdness and aptness of epithet that we see -them as plainly as if they had been cut out, figure -by figure, from the very middle of that far-away -century.</p> - -<p>There goes the Knight—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">And that a worthy man,</div> -<div class="verse">That from the timë that he first began</div> -<div class="verse">To ryden out, he lovéd chyvalrie</div> -<div class="verse">Trouth and honoúr, freedom and courtesie.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p class="noindent">And after him his son, the Squire, the bright bachelor, -who</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent4">Was as fresh as is the month of May;</div> -<div class="verse">Schort was his goune, with sleevës long and wide,</div> -<div class="verse">Well coude he sit on hors, and fairë ride.</div> -<div class="verse">He coudë songës make and wel endite,</div> -<div class="verse">Joust and eke dance, and wel portray and write.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Then there comes the charming Prioress—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">Ycleped Madame Eglantine.</div> -<div class="verse">Ful well she sang the servicë divine,</div> -<div class="verse">Entunëd in hir nose ful semëly:</div> -<div class="verse">And Frensch she spak ful fair and fetisly,</div> -<div class="verse">After the scole of Stratford attë Bowe,</div> -<div class="verse">For Frensch of Paris was to hir unknowe.</div> -<div class="verse center">…</div> -<div class="verse">Full fetys was her cloke, as I was waar</div> -<div class="verse">Of smal coral aboute hir arme she baar</div> -<div class="verse">A paire of bedës gauded all with grene,</div> -<div class="verse">And thereon heng a broch of gold ful schene</div> -<div class="verse">On which was first y-writ a crownéd A,</div> -<div class="verse">And after—<i lang="la">Amor Vincit Omnia</i>!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Then comes the Monk, who has a shiny pate, who -is stout, well fed, pretentious; his very trappings -make a portrait—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And when he rood, men might his bridel heere</div> -<div class="verse">Gingling in a whistlyng wynd as cleere</div> -<div class="verse">And eek as loude as doth the chapel belle.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p class="noindent">Again, there was a Friar—a wanton and a merry -one—rollicksome, and loving rich houses only,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent2">——who lispéd for his wantonnesse,</div> -<div class="verse">To make his Englissch swete upon his tunge;</div> -<div class="verse">His eyen twinkled in his hed aright</div> -<div class="verse">As do the starrës in the frosty night.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And among them all goes, with mincing step, the -middle-aged, vulgar, well-preserved, coquettish, -shrewish Wife of Bath:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,</div> -<div class="verse">Ful streyte y-tied, and schoos ful moiste and newe,</div> -<div class="verse">Bold was her face, and faire and reed of hewe.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And so—on, and yet on—for the twenty or more; -all touched with those little, life-like strokes which -only genius can command, and which keep the -breath in those old Pilgrims to Canterbury, as if they -travelled there, between the blooming hedge rows, -on every sunshiny day of every succeeding spring.</p> - -<p>I know that praise of these and of the way Chaucer -marshals them at the Tabard, and starts them -on their way, and makes them tell their stories, -is like praise of June or of sunshine. All poets and all -readers have spoken it ever since the morning they -set out upon their journeyings; and many an American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -voyager of our day has found best illumination -for that pleasant jaunt through County Kent toward -the old towers of Canterbury in his recollections of -Chaucer’s Pilgrims. It is true that the poet’s wayside -marks are not close or strong; no more does a -meteor leave other track than the memory of its -brightness. We cannot fix of a surety upon the -“ale-stake” where the Pardoner did “byten on a -cake,” and there may be some doubt about the -“litel” town</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">which that y-cleped is, Bob-up-and-Down.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But there is no doubt at all about the old Watling -Road and Deptford, and the sight of Greenwich -Heights, which must have shown a lifted forest -away to their left; nor about Boughton Hill -(by Boughton-under-Blean), with its far-off view -of sea-water and of sails, and its nearer view -of the great cathedral dominating Canterbury -town. Up to the year 1874 the traveller might -have found a Tabard<a name="FNanchor_50" id="FNanchor_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> tavern in Southwark, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -at about 1600 had replaced the old inn that Chaucer -knew; but it repeated the old quaintness, and -with its lumbering balconies and littered court and -droll signs, and its saggings and slants and smells, -carried one back delightfully to fourteenth-century -times. And in Canterbury, at the end of the two -or three days’<a name="FNanchor_51" id="FNanchor_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> pilgrim journey, one can set foot in -very earnest upon the pavement these people from -the Tabard trod, under the cathedral arches—looking -after the tomb of the great Black Prince, and the -scene of the slaughter of Thomas à Becket. In that -quaint old town, too, are gables under which some -of these story-tellers of the Pilgrimage may have -lodged; and (mingling old tales with new) there are -latticed casements out of which Agnes Wickfield -may have looked, and sidewalks where David Copperfield -may have accommodated his boy-step to -the lounging pace of the always imminent Micawber. -Yet it is in the country outside and in scenes -the poet loved best, that the aroma of the Canterbury -Tales will be caught most surely; and it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -among those picturesque undulations of land which -lie a little westward of Harbledown—upon the -Rochester road, which winds among patches of -wood, and green stretches of grass and billowy hop-gardens, -that the lover of Chaucer will have most -distinctly in his ear the jingle of the “bridel” of the -Monk, and in his eye the scarlet hosen and the -wimple of the Wife of Bath.</p> - -<p>Yet these Canterbury Tales convey something in -them and about them beside delicacies; the host, -who is master of ceremonies, throws mud at a grievous -rate, and with a vigorous and a dirty hand. -Boccaccio’s indecencies lose nothing of their quality -in the smirched rhyme of the Reeve’s tale;<a name="FNanchor_52" id="FNanchor_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> the -Miller is not presentable in any decent company, -and the Wife of Bath is vulgar and unseemly. There -are others, to be sure, and enough, who have only -gracious and grateful speech put into their mouths; -and it is these we cherish. The stories, indeed, -which these pilgrims tell, are not much in themselves; -stolen, too, the most of them; stolen, just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -as Homer stole the current stories about Ajax and -Ulysses; just as Boccaccio stole from the <cite>Gesta -Romanorum</cite>; just as Shakespeare stole from the -Cymric fables about King Lear and Cymbeline. He -stole; but so did everyone who could get hold of a -good manuscript. Imagine—if all books were in -such form now, and MSS. as few and sparse as then, -what a range for enterprising authors! But Chaucer -stole nothing that he did not improve and make -his own by the beauties he added.</p> - -<p>Take that old slight legend (everywhere current -in the north of England) of the little Christian boy, -who was murdered by Jews, because he sang songs -in honor of the Virgin; and who—after death—still -sang, and so discovered his murderers. It is a -bare rag of story, with only streaks of blood-red in -it; yet how tenderly touched, and how pathetically -told, in Chaucer’s tale of the Prioress!</p> - -<p>It is a widow’s son—“sevene yeres of age”—and -wheresoe’er he saw the image</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Of Christe’s moder, had he in usage,</div> -<div class="verse">As him was taught, to knele adown and say</div> -<div class="verse">His <i lang="la">Ave Marie!</i> as he goth by the way.</div> -<div class="verse">Thus hath this widowe hire litel son y-taught</div> -<div class="verse">To worship aye, and he forgat it naughte.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p>And the “litel” fellow, with his quick ear, hears at -school some day the <i lang="la">Alma Redemptoris</i> sung; and -he asks what the beautiful song may mean? He -says he will learn it before Christmas, that he may -say it to his “moder dere.” His fellows help him -word by word—line by line—till he gets it on his -tongue:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">From word to word, acording with the note,</div> -<div class="verse">Twiës a day, it passed thro’ his throte.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">At last he has it trippingly; so—schoolward and -homeward,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">as he cam to and fro</div> -<div class="verse">Full merrily than would he sing and crie,</div> -<div class="verse">O <i lang="la">Alma Redemptoris</i> ever mó,</div> -<div class="verse">The sweetnesse hath his hertë perced so.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Through the Jews’ quarter he goes one day, singing -this sweet song that bubbles from him as he -walks; and they—set on by Satan, who “hath in -Jewe’s herte his waspës nest”—conspire and plot, -and lay hold on him, and cut his throat, and cast -him into a pit.</p> - -<p>But—a wonder—a miracle!—still from the -bleeding throat, even when life is gone, comes the -tender song, “<i lang="la">O Alma Redemptoris!</i>” And the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -wretched mother, wandering and wailing, is led by -the sweet, plaintive echoes, whose tones she knows, -to where her poor boy lies dead; and even as she -comes, he, with throte y-carven, his</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i lang="la">Alma Redemptoris</i> gan to sing</div> -<div class="verse">So loude that al the placë gan to ring.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Then the Christian people take him up, and bear -him away to the Abbey. His mother lies swooning -by the bier. They hang those wicked Jews—and -prepare the little body for burial and sprinkle it -with holy water; but still from the poor bleeding -throat comes “evermo’” the song:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i lang="la">O Alma Redemptoris mater!</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And the good Abbot entreats him to say, why his -soul lingers, with his throat thus all agape?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“My throte is cut unto my nekkë bone,”</div> -<div class="verse">Saidë this child, “and as by way of kynde,</div> -<div class="verse">I should have dyed, ye longë time agone,</div> -<div class="verse">But Jesu Christ, as ye in bookës finde,</div> -<div class="verse">Wol that his glory laste, and be in minde,</div> -<div class="verse">And for the worship of his moder dere,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet may I sing, ‘<cite>O Alma!</cite>’ loud and clere.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But he says that as he received his death-blow, the -Virgin came, and</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Methoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tongue,</div> -<div class="verse">Wherefore I singe and singe; I mote certeyn</div> -<div class="verse">Til from my tonge off-taken is the greyn;</div> -<div class="verse">And after that, thus saidë she to me,</div> -<div class="verse">‘My litel child, then wol I fecchen thee!’”</div> -<div class="verse">[Where at] This holy monk—this Abbot—him mene I,</div> -<div class="verse">His tonge out-caughte, and tok away the greyn,</div> -<div class="verse">And he gaf up the goost full softëly.</div> -<div class="verse center">…</div> -<div class="verse">And when the Abbot had this wonder sein</div> -<div class="verse">His saltë teres trillëd adown as raine,</div> -<div class="verse">And graf he fell, all platt upon the grounde,</div> -<div class="verse">And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">After this they take away the boy-martyr from off -his bier—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And in a tombe of marble stonës clere</div> -<div class="verse">Enclosen they his litel body swete;</div> -<div class="verse">Ther he is now: God leve us for to mete!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>How tenderly the words all match to the delicate -meaning! This delightful poet knows every finest -resource of language: he subdues and trails after -him all its harmonies. No grimalkin stretching out -silken paws touches so lightly what he wants only -to touch; no cat with sharpest claws clings so tenaciously -to what he would grip with his earnester -words. He is a painter whose technique is never at -fault—whose art is an instinct.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet—it must be said—there is no grand horizon -at the back of his pictures: pleasant May-mornings -and green meadows a plenty; pathetic episodes, -most beguiling tracery of incidents and of character, -but never strong, passionate outbursts showing profound -capacity for measurement of deepest emotion. -We cannot think of him as telling with any adequate -force the story of King Lear, in his delirium -of wrath: Macbeth’s stride and hushed madness -and bated breath could not come into the charming, -mellifluous rhythm of Chaucer’s most tragic -story without making a dissonance that would be -screaming.</p> - -<p>But his descriptions of all country things are garden-sweet. -He touches the daisies and the roses -with tints that keep them always in freshest, virgin, -dewy bloom; and he fetches the forest to our eye -with words that are brim-full of the odors of the -woods and of the waving of green boughs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In our next talk we shall speak of some who sang -beside him, and of some who followed; but of these -not one had so rare a language, and not one had -so true an eye.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">In our last chapter we went back to the latter -edge of the thirteenth century and to the City -of Oxford, that we might find in that time and place -a Franciscan Friar—known as Roger Bacon, who -had an independence of spirit which brought him -into difficulties, and a searchingness of mind which -made people count him a magician. I spoke of -Langlande and Wyclif: and of how the reforming -spirit of the first expressed itself in the alliterative -rhythm of the Piers Plowman allegory; and how -the latter declared against Papal tyranny and the -accepted dogmas of the Church: he too, set on foot -those companies of “pore priests,” who in long russet -gowns reaching to their heels, and with staff in -hand, traversed the highways and byways of England, -preaching humility and charity; he gave to -us moreover that Scriptural quaintness of language,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -which from Wyclif’s time, down to ours, has left -its trail in every English pulpit, and colored every -English prayer.</p> - -<p>Then we came to that great poet Chaucer, who -wrote so much and so well, as—first and most of -all contemporary or preceding writers—to make -one proud of the new English tongue. He died in -1400, and was buried at Westminster—not a stone’s -throw away from the site of his last London home. -His tomb, under its Gothic screen, may be found in -the Poet’s Corner of the Abbey, a little to the right, -on entering from the Old Palace Yard; and over it, -in a window that looks toward the Houses of Parliament, -has been set—in these latter years, in unfading -array—the gay company of Chaucer’s Canterbury -Pilgrims.</p> - -<p>In the same year in which the poet died, died -also that handsome and unfortunate Richard the -Second<a name="FNanchor_53" id="FNanchor_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> (son of the Black Prince) who promised -bravely; who seemed almost an heroic figure when -in his young days, he confronted Wat Tyler so -coolly; but he made promises he could not or would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -not keep—slipped into the enthralment of royalties -against which Lollard and democratic malcontents -bayed in vain: there were court cabals that overset -him; Shakespeare has told his story, and in that -tragedy—lighted with brilliant passages—John of -Gaunt, brother to the Black Prince, appears, old, -and gray and near his grave; and his son—the -crafty but resolute Henry Bolingbroke—comes on -the stage as Henry IV. to take the “brittle glory” -of the crown.</p> - -<h3>Of Gower and Froissart.</h3> - -<p>But I must not leave Chaucer’s immediate times, -without speaking of other men who belonged there: -the first is John Gower—a poet whom I name from -a sense of duty rather than from any special liking -for what he wrote. He was a man of learning for -those days—having a good estate too, and living in -an orderly Kentish home, to which he went back -and forth in an eight-oared barge upon the Thames. -He wrote a long Latin poem <cite>Vox Clamantis</cite>, in -which like Langlande he declaimed against the -vices and pretensions of the clergy; and he also -treated in the high-toned conservative way of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -well-to-do country gentleman, the social troubles of -the time, which had broken out into Wat Tyler and -Jack Straw rebellions;—people should be wise and -discreet and religious; then, such troubles would -not come.</p> - -<p>A better known poem of Gower—because written -in English—was the <cite>Confessio Amantis</cite>: Old Classic, -and Romance tales come into it, and are fearfully -stretched out; and there are pedagogic Latin rubrics -at the margin, and wearisome repetitions, with now -and then faint scent of prettinesses stolen from -French <i lang="fr">fabliaux</i>: but unless your patience is heroic, -you will grow tired of him; and the monotonous, -measured, metallic jingle of his best verse is provokingly -like the “Caw-caw” of the prim, black -raven. He had art, he had learning, he had good-will; -but he could not weave words into the thrush-like -melodies of Chaucer. Even the clear and -beautiful type of the Bell & Daldy edition<a name="FNanchor_54" id="FNanchor_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> does -not make him entertaining. You will tire before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -you are half through the Prologue, which is as long, -and stiff as many a sermon. And if you skip to -the stories, they will not win you to liveliness: Pauline’s -grace, and mishaps are dull; and the sharp, -tragic twang about Gurmunde’s skull, and the vengeance -of Rosemunde (from the old legend which -Paul the Deacon tells) does not wake one’s blood.</p> - -<p>In his later years he was religiously inclined; -was a patron and, for a time, resident of the Priory -which was attached to the church, now known as -St. Saviour’s, and standing opposite to the London -Bridge Station in Southwark. In that church -may now be found the tomb of Gower and his -effigy in stone, with his head resting on “the likeness -of three books which he compiled.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps I have no right to speak of Froissart, -because he was a Fleming, and did not write in -English; but Lord Berners’ spirited translation of -his Chronicle (1523) has made it an English -classic:<a name="FNanchor_55" id="FNanchor_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> moreover, Froissart was very much in -London; he was a great pet of the Queen of Edward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -III.; he had free range of the palace; he -described great fêtes that were given at Windsor, -and tournaments on what is now Cheapside; a -reporter of our day could not have described these -things better: he went into Scotland too—the -Queen Philippa giving him his outfit—and stayed -with the brave Douglas “much time,” and tells us -of Stirling and of Melrose Abbey. Indeed, he was -a great traveller. He was at Milan when Prince -Clarence of England married one of the great -Visconti (Chaucer possibly there also, and Petrarch -of a certainty); he was at Rome, at Florence, -at Bordeaux with the Black Prince, when his son -Richard II. was born; was long in the household of -Gaston de Foix: we are inclined to forget, as we -read him, that he was a priest, and had his parochial -charge somewhere along the low banks of the -Scheldt: in fact, we suspect that he forgot it himself.</p> - -<p>He not only wrote Chronicles, but poems; and -he tells us, that on his last visit to England, he presented -a copy of these latter—beautifully illuminated, -engrossed by his own hand, bound in crimson -velvet, and embellished with silver clasps, bosses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -and golden roses—to King Richard II.; and the -King asked him what it was all about; and he said—“About -Love;” whereat, he says, the King seemed -much pleased, and dipped into it, here and there—for -“he could read French as well as speak it.”</p> - -<p>Altogether, this rambling, and popular Froissart -was, in many points, what we should call an exquisite -fellow; knowing, and liking to know, only -knights and nobles, and flattering them to the full; -receiving kindly invitations wherever he went; -overcome with the pressure of his engagements; -going about in the latest fashion of doublet; somewhiles -leading a fine greyhound in leash, and presenting -five or six of the same to his friend the -Comte de Foix (who had a great love for dogs); -never going near enough to the front in battle to -get any very hard raps; ready with a song or a -story always; pulling a long bow with infinite -grace. Well—the pretty poems he thought so much -of, nobody knows—nobody cares for: they have -never, I think, been published in their entirety:<a name="FNanchor_56" id="FNanchor_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> -But, his Journal—his notes of what he saw and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -heard, clapped down night by night, in hostelries -or in tent—perhaps on horseback—are cherished -of all men, and must be reckoned the liveliest, if -not the best of all chronicles of his time. He died -in the first decade of that fifteenth century on -which we open our British march to-day; and, at -the outset, I call attention to a little nest of dates, -which from their lying so close together, can be -easily kept in mind. Richard II. son of the Black -Prince, died—a disgraced prisoner—in 1400. John -of Gaunt, his uncle, friend of Chaucer, died the -previous year: while Chaucer, Froissart and John -Gower all died in less than ten years thereafter; -thus, the century opens with a group of great -deaths.</p> - -<h3>Two Henrys and Two Poets.</h3> - -<p>That Henry IV. who appears now upon the -throne, and who was not a very noticeable man, -save for his kingship, you will remember as the -little son of John of Gaunt, who played about -Chaucer’s knee; you will remember him further<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -as giving title to a pair of Shakespeare’s plays, in -which appears for the first time that semi-historic -character—that enormous wallet of flesh, that egregious -villain, that man of a prodigious humor, all in -one—Jack Falstaff. And this famous, fat Knight -of Literature shall introduce us to Prince Hal who, -according to traditions (much doubted nowadays), -was a wild boy in his youth, and boon companion of -such as Falstaff; but, afterward, became the brave -and cruel, but steady and magnificent Henry V. -Yet we shall never forget those early days of his, -when at Gad’s Hill, he plots with Falstaff and his -fellows, to waylay travellers bound to London, with -plump purses. Before the plot is carried out, the -Prince agrees privately with Poins (one of the -rogues) to put a trick upon Falstaff: Poins and the -Prince will slip away in the dusk—let Falstaff and -his companions do the robbing; then, suddenly—disguised -in buckram suits—pounce on them and -seize the booty. This, the Prince and Poins do: -and at the first onset of these latter, the fat Knight -runs off, as fast as his great hulk will let him, and -goes spluttering and puffing to a near tavern, where—after -consuming “an intolerable deal of sack”—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -is confronted by the Prince, who demands his -share of the spoils. But the big Knight blurts out—“A -plague on all cowards!” He has been beset, while -the Prince had sneaked away; the spoils are gone:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I am a rogue, if I was not at half a sword with a dozen -of them two hours together; I have scaped by a miracle; I -am eight times thrust thro’ the doublet—four thro’ the hose. -My sword is hacked like a hand-saw. If I fought not with -fifty of them, then am I a bunch of radish. If there were -not two or three and fifty on poor old Jack, then am I no -two-legged creature.”</p> - -<p>“Pray God, [says the Prince, keeping down his laughter] -you have not murdered some of them!”</p> - -<p><i>Falstaff.</i> Nay, that’s past praying for; for I peppered -two of them—two rogues in buckram. Here I lay, and thus -I bore my sword. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.</p> - -<p><i>Prince.</i> What, four?; thou said’st two.</p> - -<p><i>Falstaff.</i> Four, Hal; I told thee four.</p> - -</div> - -<p>And Poins comes to his aid, with—“Ay, he said -four.” Whereat the fat Knight takes courage; the -men in buckram growing, in whimsical stretch to -seven, and nine; he, paltering and swearing, and -never losing his delicious insolent swagger, till at -last the Prince declares the truth, and makes show -of the booty. You think this coward Falstaff may -lose heart at this; not a whit of it; his eye, rolling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -in fat, does not blink even, while the Prince -unravels the story; but at the end the stout Knight -hitches up his waistband, smacks his lips:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“D’ye think I did not know ye, my masters? Should I -turn upon the true Prince? Why thou knowest I am as -valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct: I was a coward on -instinct.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>So runs the Shakespearean scene, of which I give -this glimpse only as a remembrancer of Henry IV., -and his possibly wayward son.</p> - -<p>If we keep by the strict letter of history, there is -little of literary interest in that short reign of his—only -fourteen years. Occleve, a poet of whom -I spoke as having painted a portrait of Chaucer -(which I tried to describe to you) is worth mentioning—were -it only for this. Lydgate,<a name="FNanchor_57" id="FNanchor_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> of about -the same date, was a more fertile poet; wrote so -easily indeed, that he was tempted to write too -much. But he had the art of choosing taking subjects, -and so, was vastly popular. He had excellent -training, both English and Continental; he was a -priest, though sometimes a naughty one; and he -opened a school at his monastery of St. Edmunds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -A few fragments of that monastery are still to be -seen in the ancient town of Bury St. Edmunds:—a -town you may remember in a profane way, as the -scene of certain nocturnal adventures that befel, in -our time, Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller.</p> - -<p>Notable amongst the minor poems of this old -Bury monk, is a jingling ballad called <cite>London -Lickpenny</cite>, in which a poor suitor pushing his way -into London courts, is hustled about, has his hood -stolen, wanders hither and yon, with stout cries of -“ripe strawberries” and “hot sheepes feete” shrilling -in his ears; is beset by taverners and thievish -thread-sellers, and is glad to get himself away again -into Kent, and there digest the broad, and ever -good moral that a man’s pennies get “licked” out -of him fast in London. Remembering that this -was at the very epoch when Nym and Bardolph frequented -the Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, and cracked -jokes and oaths with Dame Quickly and Doll Tearsheet, -and we are more grateful for the old rhyming -priest’s realistic bit of London sights, than for all -his classics,<a name="FNanchor_58" id="FNanchor_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> or all his stories of the saints.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>But at the very time this Lydgate was writing, a -tenderer and sweeter voice was warbling music out -of a prison window at Windsor; and the music has -come down to us:<a name="FNanchor_59" id="FNanchor_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Beauty enough to make a world to doat,</div> -<div class="verse">And when she walkèd had a little thraw</div> -<div class="verse">Under the sweet grene bowis bent,</div> -<div class="verse">Her fair freshe face, as white as any snaw</div> -<div class="verse">She turnèd has, and forth her way is went;</div> -<div class="verse">But then begun my achès and torment</div> -<div class="verse">To see her part, and follow I na might;</div> -<div class="verse">Methought the day was turnèd into night.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There is a royal touch in that, and it comes from -a royal hand—that of Prince James of Scotland, -who, taken prisoner by Henry IV., was held fast for -sixteen years in the keep of Windsor Castle. Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -Irving has made him the subject of a very pleasant -paper in the Sketch-book. Though a prince, he -was a poet by nature, and from the window of his -prison did see the fair lady whose graces were garnered -in the verse I have cited; and oddly enough, -he did come to marry the subject of this very poem -(who was related to the royal house of England, -being grand-daughter of John of Gaunt) and thereafter -did come to be King of Scotland and—what -was a commoner fate—to be assassinated. That -queen of his, of whom the wooing had been so romantic -and left its record in the <cite>King’s Quair</cite>—made -a tender and devoted wife—threw herself at -last between him and the assassins—receiving grievous -wounds thereby, but all vainly—and the poor -poet-king was murdered in her presence at Perth, -in the year 1437.</p> - -<p>These three poets I have named all plumed their -wings to make that great flight by which Chaucer -had swept into the Empyrean of Song: but not one -of them was equal to it: nor, thenceforward all -down through the century, did any man sing as -Chaucer had sung. There were poetasters; there -were rhyming chroniclers; and toward the end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -the century there appeared a poet of more pretension, -but with few of the graces we find in the author -of the Canterbury Tales.</p> - -<p>John Skelton<a name="FNanchor_60" id="FNanchor_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> was his name: he too a priest living -in Norfolk. His rhymes, as he tells us himself, -were “ragged and jagged:” but worse than this, -they were often ribald and rabid—attacking with -fierceness Cardinal Wolsey—attacking his fellow-priests -too—so that he was compelled to leave his -living: but he somehow won a place afterward in the -royal household as tutor; and even the great Erasmus -(who had come over from the Low Countries, -and was one while teaching Greek at Cambridge) -congratulates some prince of the royal family upon -the great advantage they have in the services of such -a “special light and ornament of British literature.” -He is capricious, homely, never weak, often coarse, -always quaint. From out his curious trick-track of -verse, I pluck this little musical canzonet:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Merry Margaret</div> -<div class="verse">As midsummer flower;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Gentle as falcon</div> -<div class="verse">Or hawk of the tower:</div> -<div class="verse">With solace and gladness</div> -<div class="verse">Much mirth and no madness,</div> -<div class="verse">All good and no badness,</div> -<div class="verse">So joyously,</div> -<div class="verse">So maidenly,</div> -<div class="verse">So womanly</div> -<div class="verse">Her demeaning</div> -<div class="verse">In everything</div> -<div class="verse">Far, far passing</div> -<div class="verse">That I can indite</div> -<div class="verse">Or suffice to write</div> -<div class="verse">Of merry Margaret</div> -<div class="verse">As midsummer flower</div> -<div class="verse">Gentle as falcon</div> -<div class="verse">Or hawk of the tower:</div> -<div class="verse">Stedfast of thought</div> -<div class="verse">Well-made well-wrought;</div> -<div class="verse">Far may be sought</div> -<div class="verse">Ere you can find</div> -<div class="verse">So courteous—so kind</div> -<div class="verse">As merry Margaret</div> -<div class="verse">This midsummer flower.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There is a pretty poetic perfume in this—a merry -musical jingle; but it gives no echo even of the -tendernesses which wrapped all round and round -the story of the Sad Griselda.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Henry V. and War Times.</h3> - -<p>This fifteenth century—in no chink of which, as -would seem, could any brave or sweet English poem -find root-hold, was not a bald one in British annals. -There were great men of war in it: Henry V. and -Bedford<a name="FNanchor_61" id="FNanchor_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> and Warwick and Talbot and Richard -III. all wrote bloody legends with their swords -across French plains, or across English meadows.</p> - -<p>Normandy, which had slipped out of British -hands—as you remember—under King John, was -won again by the masterly blows Henry V. struck -at Agincourt and otherwheres. Shakespeare has -given an historic picture of this campaign, which -will be apt to outlive any contemporary chronicle. -Falstaff disappears from sight, and his old crony -the dissolute Prince Hal comes upon the scene as -the conquering and steady-going King.</p> - -<p>Through all the drama—from the “proud hoofs”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -of the war-horses, prancing in the prologue, to the -last chorus, the lurid blaze of battle is threatening -or shining. Never were the pomp and circumstance -of war so contained within the pages of a -play. For ever so little space—in gaps of the reading—between -the vulgar wit of Nym, and the -Welsh jargon of Fluellen, you hear the crack of artillery, -and see shivered spears and tossing plumes. -In the mid scenes, vast ranks of men sweep under -your vision, and crash against opposing ranks, and -break, and dissolve away in the hot swirl of battle. -And by way of artistic contrast to all this, comes at -last, in the closing pages, that piquant, homely, -strange coquettish love-scene, which—historically -true in its main details—joined the fortunes of England -and of France in the persons of King Henry -and Katharine of Valois. You will not be sorry to -have a glimpse of this Shakespearean and historic -love-making: The decisive battle has been fought: -the French King is prisoner: Henry has the game -in his own hands. It is a condition of peace that -he and the fair Katharine—daughter of France—shall -join hands in marriage; and Henry in his -blunt war way sets about his wooing:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your -French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly -with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?”</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> <i lang="fr">Pardonnez moi</i>; I cannot tell vat is—<em>like me</em>.</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> [Explosively and deliciously.] An angel is like -you, Kate; and you are like an angel: faith, I’m glad thou -can’st speak no better English: for if thou could’st thou -would’st find me such a plain King, that thou would’st think -I had sold my farm to buy my crown. If you would put -me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid -me. I speak plain soldier. If thou can’st love me for -this—take me: if not—to say to thee that I shall die, is -true: but—for thy love—by the Lord, no. Yet I love thee -too. And whil’st thou livest, Kate, take a fellow of a plain -uncoined constancy: a straight-back will stoop; but a good -heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and -not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes. If -thou would’st have such a one, take me!</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of -France?</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> No, it’s not possible, Kate: but in loving me you -would love the friend of France, for I love France so well, -that I will not part with a village of it: I will have it all -mine: and, Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours, then -yours is France and you are mine. But, Kate, dost thou -understand thus much English—Can’st thou love me?</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> I cannot tell.</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate?</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> I do not know dat.</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> By mine honor, in true English, I love thee, -Kate: by which honor, I dare not swear thou lovest me:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -yet my blood begins to flatter me, that thou dost. Wilt thou -have me Kate?</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> That is as it shall please <i lang="fr">le roy mon Père</i>.</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> Nay it will please him well, Kate. It <em>shall</em> please -him, Kate, and upon that, I kiss your hand and call you -“my Queen.”</p> - -<p><i>Kate.</i> Dat is not de fashion <i lang="fr">pour les ladies</i> of France—to -kiss before marriage.</p> - -<p><i>King.</i> O Kate, [loftily] <em>nice customs courtesy to great -Kings</em>:—here comes your father.</p> - -</div> - -<p>And these two <em>did</em> marry; the Queen being—as -Shakespeare represents—in a large sense, the spoil -of war. Out of this union sprung the next King, -Henry VI., crowned when an infant. But this does -not close the story of Katharine: three years after -the King’s death, she married a Welsh knight—named -Sir Owen Tudor. (He, poor man, lost his -head, some years after, for his temerity in marrying -a King’s widow.) But from the second marriage -of Katharine, was born a son who became -the father of that Henry VII., who sixty years later -conquered Richard III. on Bosworth field—brought -to an end the wars of York and Lancaster, and gave -his own surname of Tudor to his son Henry VIII., -to the great Elizabeth and to bloody Mary.</p> - -<p>Seeing thus how the name of Tudor came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -into the royal family, through that Katharine of -Valois, whose courtship is written in the play of -Henry V., I will try on the same page to fasten in -mind the cause of the great civil wars of York and -Lancaster, or of the white and red roses, which -desolated England in the heart of the fifteenth -century.<a name="FNanchor_62" id="FNanchor_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> - -<p>You will recall my having spoken of Chaucer as -a favorite in the household of John of Gaunt, and -as an inmate also in the household of John’s older -brother, Lionel. You will remember, too, that -Henry IV., son of John of Gaunt, succeeded the hapless -and handsome Richard II. on the throne; but -his right was disputed, and with a great deal of -reason, by the heirs of the older brother, Lionel -(who had title of Duke of Clarence). There was -not however power and courage enough to contest -the claim, until the kingship of young Henry VI.—crowned -when an infant—offered opportunity. -Thereafter and thereby came the broils, the apprehensions, -the doubts, the conspiracies, the battles, -which made England one of the worst of places to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -live in: all this bitterness between York and Lancaster -growing out of the rival claims of the heirs -of our old acquaintances Lionel and John of Gaunt, -whom we met in the days of Chaucer.</p> - -<h3>Joan of Arc and Richard III.</h3> - -<p>If we look for any literary illumination of this -period, we shall scarce find it, except we go again -to the historic plays of Shakespeare: The career of -Henry VI. supplies to him the groundwork for -three dramas: the first, dealing with the English -armies in France, which, after Henry V.’s death are -beaten back and forth by French forces, waked -to new bravery under the strange enthusiasm and -heroic leadership of Joan of Arc. Of course she -comes in for her picture in Shakespeare’s story: but -he gives us an ignoble one (though not so bad as -Voltaire’s in the ribald poem of <cite>La Pucelle</cite>).</p> - -<p>No Englishman of that day, or of Shakespeare’s -day, could do justice to the fiery, Gallic courage, -the self-devotion, the religious ennoblement of that -earnest, gallant soul who was called the Maid of -Orleans. A far better notion of her presence and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -power than Shakespeare gave is brought to mind -by that recent French painting of Bastien-Lepage—so -well known by engraving—which aims to set -forth the vision and the voices that came to her -amid the forest silence and shadows. Amid those -shadows she stands—startled: a strong, sweet figure -of a peasant maiden; stoutly clad and simply; -capable of harvest-work with the strongest of her -sisterhood; yet not coarse; redeemed through -every fibre of body and soul by a light that shines -in her eye, looking dreamily upward; seeing things -others see not; hoping things others hope not, and -with clenched hand putting emphasis to the purpose—which -the hope and the vision kindle; pitying -her poor France, and nerved to help her—as -she did—all the weary and the troublesome days -through, till the shameful sacrifice at English -hands, on the market-place of Rouen, closed her -life and her story.</p> - -<p>The two closing portions of the Henry VI. dramas -relate to home concerns. There is much blood -in them and tedium too (if one dare say this), and -flashes of wit—a crazy tangle of white and red roses -in that English garden—cleared up at last in Shakespeare’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -own way, when Richard III.<a name="FNanchor_63" id="FNanchor_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> comes, in -drama of his own, and crookedness, and Satanry of -his own, and laughs his mocking laugh over the -corpses he makes of kings and queens and princes; -and at last in Bosworth field, upon the borders of -Warwickshire and near to the old Roman Watling -Street, the wicked hunchback, fighting like a -demon, goes down under the sword-thrust of that -Henry (VII.) of Richmond, who, as I have said, was -grandson to Katharine of Valois, of the coquettish -courtship.</p> - -<p>No chronicler of them all, commonplace or painstaking -as he might be, has so planted the image of -the crooked Richard III. in men’s minds as Shakespeare: -though it is to be feared that he used somewhat -too much blood in the coloring; and doubtful if -the hump-backed king was quite the monster which -Garrick, Booth, and Macready have made of him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Caxton and First English Printing.</h3> - -<p>In the midst of those draggling, dreary, dismal -war-times, when no poet lifted his voice in song, -when no chronicler who has a worthy name wrote -any story of the years, there came into vogue in -Europe and in England, a trade—which in its issues -had more to do with the life and spread of -good literature, than any poet, or any ten poets -could accomplish. You will guess at once what -the trade was; it was the trade of Printing.</p> - -<p>Bosworth field dates in 1485: in the middle of -the century (or 1444) John Gutenberg began the -printing of a Bible; and a little after, Faust began -to dispose of wonderful copies of books, which the -royal buyers thought to be manuscripts: and Faust -did not perhaps undeceive them: yet copies were -so wonderfully alike—one to the other—that book -lovers were puzzled, and pushed inquiry, and so -the truth of the method came out.</p> - -<p>In 1477 William Caxton set up the first English -printing press—in an old building, close upon Westminster -Abbey—a building, which, if tradition is -to be trusted, was standing down to near the middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -of the present century; and on its demolition in -1846 its timbers were converted into snuff-boxes -and the like, as mementos of the first printer. It -was in 1477 that William Caxton issued the first -book, printed with a date, in England.<a name="FNanchor_64" id="FNanchor_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a></p> - -<p>This Caxton was a man worth knowing about on -many counts: he was a typical Englishman, born -in Kent; was apprenticed to a well-to-do mercer in -the Old Jewry, London, at a time when, he says, -many poor were a-hungered for bread made of -fern roots;—he went over (while yet apprentice) to -the low countries of Flanders, perhaps to represent -his master’s interests; abode there; throve there; -came to be Governor of the Company of English -merchant adventurers, in the ancient town of -Bruges: knew the great, rich Flemings<a name="FNanchor_65" id="FNanchor_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> who were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -patrons of letters;—became friend and protégé of -that English Princess Margaret who married Charles -Duke of Burgundy; did work in translating old -books for that great lady; studied the new printing -art, which had crept into Bruges, and finally, after -thirty odd years of life in the busy Flemish city -sailed away for London, and set up a press which -he had brought with him, under the shadow of -Westminster towers. Fifteen years and more he -wrought on there, at his printer’s craft—counting -up a hundred issues of books; making much of his -own copy, both translation and original, and dying -over seventy in 1492. A good tag to tie to this date -is—the Discovery of America; Columbus being -over seas on that early voyage of his, while the -first English printer lay dying.</p> - -<p>And what were the books, pray, which Master -Caxton—who, for a wonder, was a shrewd business -man, as well as inclined to literary ways—thought -it worth his while to set before the world? Among -them we find <cite>A Sequell of the Historie of Troie</cite>—<cite>The -Dictes and Sayings of Philosophers</cite>—a history -of Jason, the <cite>Game and Plays of Chesse</cite>, Mallory’s -King Arthur (to which I have previously alluded),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -a <cite>Book of Courtesie</cite>, translations from Ovid, Virgil -and Cicero—also the Canterbury Tales of Chaucer -(of whom he was great admirer)—coupling with -these latter, poems by Lydgate and Gower; many -people in those days seeming to rank these men on -a level with Chaucer—just as we yoke writers together -now in newspaper mention, who will most -certainly be unyoked in the days that are to come.</p> - -<p>The editions of the first English books ranged at -about two hundred copies: the type was what we -call black letter, of which four varieties were used -on the Caxton press, and the punctuation—if any—was -of the crudest. An occasional sample of his -work appears from time to time on the market even -now; but not at prices which are inviting to the -most of us. Thus in 1862, there was sold in England, -a little Latin tractate printed by Caxton—of -only ten leaves quarto, with twenty-four lines to the -page, for £200; and I observe upon the catalogue of -a recent date of Mr. Quaritch (the London bibliopole) -a copy of <cite>Godefroi de Bouloyne</cite>, of the Caxton -imprint, offered at the modest price of £1,000.</p> - -<p>Very shortly after the planting of this first press -at Westminster, others were established at Oxford<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -and also at the great monastery of St. Albans. -Among the early books printed at this latter place—say -within ten years after Caxton’s first—was a -booklet written by a certain Dame Juliana Barnes;<a name="FNanchor_66" id="FNanchor_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> -it is the first work we have encountered written -by a woman; and what do you think may have been -its subject? Religion—poesy—love—embroidery? -Not one of these; but some twenty odd pages -of crude verse “upon the maner of huntyng for all -maner of bestys” (men—not being included); and -she writes with the gusto and particularity of a man -proud of his falcons and his dogs. Warton says -blandly: “The barbarism of the times strongly appears -in the indelicate expressions which she often -uses; and which are equally incompatible with her -sex and profession.” The allusion to her “profession” -has reference to her supposed position as -prioress of a convent; this, however, is matter of -grave doubt.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Old Private Letters.</h3> - -<p>But this is not the only utterance of a female -voice which we hear from out those years of barrenness -and moil. In 1787 there appeared in England -a book made up of what were called Paston Letters<a name="FNanchor_67" id="FNanchor_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a>—published -and vouched for by an antiquarian -of Norfolk, who had the originals in his possession—and -which were in fact familiar letters that -had passed between the members and friends of a -well-to-do Norfolk family in the very years of the -War of the Roses, of Caxton, of King Richard, and -of Wynkyn de Worde.</p> - -<p>Among the parties to these old letters, there is a -John Paston senior and a Sir John Paston, and a -John Paston the younger and a good Margery Paston; -there is a Sir John Fastolf too—as luck would -have it. Was this the prototype<a name="FNanchor_68" id="FNanchor_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> of Shakespeare’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -man of humors? Probably not: nor can we say of -a certainty that he was the runaway warrior who -was of so bad repute for a time in the army of the -Duke of Bedford: but we do know from these musty -papers that he had a “Jacket of red velvet, bound -round the bottom with red leather,” and “Another -jacket of russet velvet lyned with blanket clothe;” -also “Two jackets of deer’s leather, with a collar of -black velvet,” and so on.</p> - -<p>We do not however care so much about this Fastolf -inventory, as for what good Margaret Paston -may have to say: and as we read her letters we seem -to go back on her quaint language and her good -wifely fondness to the very days when they were -written—in the great country-house of Norfolk, near -upon the city of Norwich, with the gentle east wind -from the German Ocean, blowing over the Norfolk -fens, and over the forests, and over the orchards, -and over the barns, and into the hall-windows, and -lifting the very sheets of paper on which the good -dame Margery is writing. And what does she say?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ryte worshipful husband, I recommend me -unto you”—she begins; and thereafter goes on to -speak of a son who has been doing unwise things, -and been punished therefor as would seem:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“As for his demeaning, syn you departed, in good faith, -it hath been ryt good, I hope he will be well demeaned to -please you hereafterward; and I beseche you hartily that you -would vouchsafe to be hys good fader, for I hope he is chastyzèd, -and will be worthier. As for all oder tyngges at -home, I hope that I, and oder shall do our part therein, as -wel as we may; but as for mony it cometh in slowly, and -God hav you in his keeping, and sen you good speed in all -yr matters.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Again, in another note, she addresses her husband,—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Myn oune sweethert [a good many years after marriage -too!] in my most humble wyse I recommend me to you; -desiring hertly to her of your welfare, the which I beseche -Almighty God preserve and kepe.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And a son writes to this same worthy Margaret:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Ryght worshipful and my moste kynde and tender -moder, I recommend me to you, thanking you of the great -coste, and of the grete chere that ye dyd me, and myn, at -my last being with you. <em>Item</em>: As for the books that weer -Sir James [would] it like you that I may have them? I am -not able to buy them; but somewhat wolde I give, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -remnant with a good devout hert, by my truthe, I will pray -for his soule.</p> - -<p>“Also, moder, I herd while in London ther was a goodly -young woman to marry whyche was daughter to one Seff, -a mercer, and she will have 200 pounds in money to her -marriage, and 20 £ by year after the dysesse of a stepmoder -of hers, whiche is upon 50 yeeres of age: and fore I -departed out o’ Lunnon, I spak with some of the mayd’s -friends, and hav gotten their good wille to hav her married -to my broder Edmond. Master Pykenham too is another -that must be consulted—so he says: Wherefore, Moder, we -must beseeche you to helpe us forward with a lettyr to Master -Pykenham, for to remember him for to handyl this -matter, now, this Lent.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A younger son writes:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I beseeche you humbly of your blessing: also, modyr, -I beseeche you that ther may be purveyed some meane that -I myth have sent me home by the same messenger that -shall bring my Aunt Poynings answer—two paire hose—1 -payr blak and another russet, whyche be redy for me at -the hosers with the crooked back next to the Blk Friars gate, -within Ludgate. John Pampyng knoweth him well eno’. -And if the blk hose be paid for, he will send me the russet -ones unpaid for. I beseeche you that this geer be not forgot, -for I have not an whole hose to do on. I pray you visit -the Rood of St. Pauls, and St. Savior at Barmonsey whyls -ye abide in London, and let my sister Margery go with you to -pray to them that she may have a good husband ere she come -home again. Written at Norwich on holyrood day, by yr</p> - -<p class="center">“Son and lowly Servant</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Jno: Paston the Youngest</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<p>This sounds as home-like as if it were written -yesterday, and about one of us—even to the sending -of two pair of hose if one was paid for. And -yet this familiar, boy-like letter was written in the -year 1465: six years before Caxton had set up -his press in Westminster—twenty-seven before -Columbus had landed on San Salvador, and at a -time when Louis XI. and barber Oliver (whose -characters are set forth in Scott’s story of Quentin -Durward) were hanging men who angered them -on the branches of the trees which grew around -the dismal palace of Plessis-les-Tours, in France.</p> - -<h3>A Burst of Balladry.</h3> - -<p>I have brought my readers through a waste literary -country to-day; but we cannot reach the oases -of bloom without going across the desert spaces. -In looking back upon this moil and turmoil—this -fret and wear and barrenness of the fifteenth century, -in which we have welcomed talk about Caxton’s -sorry translations, and the wheezing of his -press; and have given an ear to the hunting discourse -of Dame Juliana, for want of better things; -and have dwelt with a certain gleesomeness on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -homely Paston Letters, let us not forget that there -has been all the while, and running through all the -years of stagnation, a bright thread of balladry, -with glitter and with gayety of color. This ballad -music—whose first burst we can no more pin to a -date than we can the first singing of the birds—had -lightened, in that early century, the walk of the -wayfarer on all the paths of England; it had spun -its tales by bivouac fires in France; it had caught—as -in silken meshes—all the young foragers on -the ways of Romance. To this epoch, of which -we have talked, belongs most likely that brave ballad -of Chevy Chase, which keeps alive the memory -of Otterbourne, and of that woful hunting which</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Once there did, in Chevy Chase befal.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“To drive the deare with hounde and horne</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Erle Percy took his way;</div> -<div class="verse">The child may rue, that is unborn</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The hunting of that day.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Hereabout, too, belongs in all probability the -early English shaping of the jingling history of the -brave deeds of Sir Guy of Warwick; and some of -the tales of Robin Hood and his “pretty men all,” -which had been sung in wild and crude carols for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -a century or more, now seem to have taken on a -more regular ballad garniture, and certainly became -fixtures in type. This is specially averred -of “Robin Hood and the Monk,” beginning:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“In summer when the shawes be sheyne</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And levès be large and long,</div> -<div class="verse">Hit is full merry, in feyre forést,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To here the foulé’s song;</div> -<div class="verse">To see the dere draw to the dale,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And leve the hillés hee,</div> -<div class="verse">And shadow them in the levés green,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Under the grenwode tree.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But was Robin Hood a myth? Was he a real -yeoman—was he the Earl of Huntington? We -cannot tell; we know no one who can. We know -only that this hero of the folk-songs made the common -people’s ideal of a good fellow—brave, lusty—a -capital bowman, a wondrous wrestler, a lover -of good cheer, a hater of pompous churchmen, a -spoiler of the rich, a helper of the poor, with such -advices as these for Little John:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Loke ye do no housbande harme</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That tylleth with his plough;</div> -<div class="verse">No more ye shall no good yeman</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That walketh by grenewode shawe,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Ne no knyght, ne no squyèr,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That wolde be a good felawe.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>That very charming ballad of the Nut-Brown -Maid must also have been well known to contemporaries -of Caxton: She is daughter of a Baron, -and her love has been won by a wayfarer, who says -he is “an outlaw,” and a banished man, a squire -of low degree. He tries her faith and constancy, -as poor Griselda’s was tried in Chaucer’s story—in -Boccaccio’s tale, and as men have tried and -teased women from the beginning of time. He -sets before her all the dangers and the taunts -that will come to her; she must forswear her -friends; she must go to the forest with him; she -must not be jealous of any other maiden lying -<i lang="fr">perdue</i> there; she must dare all, and brave all,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Or else—I to the greenwood go</div> -<div class="verse">Alone, a banished man.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>At last, having tormented her sufficiently, he confesses—that -he is not an outlaw—not a banished -man, but one who will give her wealth, and rank, and -name and fame. And I will close out our present -talk with a verselet or two from this rich old ballad.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<p>The wooer says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent4">“I counsel you, remember howe</div> -<div class="verse indent5">It is no maydens law</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Nothing to doubt, but to ren out</div> -<div class="verse indent5">To wed with an outlaw:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For ye must there, in your hand bere</div> -<div class="verse indent5">A bowe ready to draw,</div> -<div class="verse indent4">And as a thefe, thus must you live</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Ever in drede and awe</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Whereby to you grete harme might growe;</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Yet had I lever than</div> -<div class="verse indent4">That I had to the grenewode go</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Alone, a banished man.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>She</i>:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">“I think not nay, but as ye say</div> -<div class="verse indent5">It is no maiden’s lore</div> -<div class="verse indent4">But love may make me, for your sake</div> -<div class="verse indent5">As I have say’d before,</div> -<div class="verse indent4">To come on fote, to hunt and shote</div> -<div class="verse indent5">To get us mete in store;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For so that I, your company</div> -<div class="verse indent5">May have, I ask no more,</div> -<div class="verse indent4">From which to part, it maketh my hart</div> -<div class="verse indent5">As cold as any stone;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For in my minde, of all mankinde</div> -<div class="verse indent5">I love but you alone.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>He</i>:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">“A baron’s child, to be beguiled</div> -<div class="verse indent5">It were a cursèd dede!</div> -<div class="verse indent4">To be felawe with an outlawe</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Almighty God forbid!</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -<div class="verse indent4">Yt better were, the poor Squyère</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Alone to forest yede,</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Than ye shold say, another day</div> -<div class="verse indent5">That by my cursed dede</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Ye were betrayed; wherefore good maid</div> -<div class="verse indent5">The best rede that I can</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Is that I to the grenewode go</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Alone, a banished man.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>She</i>:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">“Whatever befal, I never shall</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Of this thing you upraid;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">But if ye go, and leve me so</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Then have ye me betrayed;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Remember you wele, how that ye dele</div> -<div class="verse indent5">For if ye, as ye said</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Be so unkynde to leave behinde</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Your love the Nut Brown Mayd</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Trust me truly, that I shall die</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Soon after ye be gone;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For in my minde, of all mankinde</div> -<div class="verse indent5">I love but you alone.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>He</i>:</div> -<div class="verse indent4"> “My own deare love, I see thee prove</div> -<div class="verse indent5">That ye be kynde and true:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Of mayd and wife, in all my life</div> -<div class="verse indent5">The best that ever I knewe</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Be merry and glad; be no more sad</div> -<div class="verse indent5">The case is chaunged newe</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For it were ruthe, that for your truthe</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Ye should have cause to rue;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Be not dismayed, whatever I said</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -<div class="verse indent5">To you when I began;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">I will not to the grenewode go</div> -<div class="verse indent5">I am no banished man.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>And she, with delight and fear</i>—</div> -<div class="verse indent4">“These tidings be more glad to me</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Than to be made a quene;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">If I were sure they shold endure</div> -<div class="verse indent5">But it is often seene</div> -<div class="verse indent4">When men wyl break promise, they speak</div> -<div class="verse indent5">The wordes on the splene:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Ye shape some wyle, me to beguile</div> -<div class="verse indent5">And stele from me I wene;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Then were the case, worse than it was</div> -<div class="verse indent5">And I more woebegone,</div> -<div class="verse indent4">For in my minde, of all mankynde</div> -<div class="verse indent5">I love but you alone.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Then he—at last</i>,—</div> -<div class="verse indent4">“Ye shall not nede, further to drede</div> -<div class="verse indent5">I will not disparàge</div> -<div class="verse indent4">You (God defend!) syth ye descend</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Of so grate a linèage;</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Now understand—to Westmoreland</div> -<div class="verse indent5">Which is mine heritàge</div> -<div class="verse indent4">I wyl you bring, and with a ryng</div> -<div class="verse indent5">By way of marriàge</div> -<div class="verse indent4">I wyl you take, and lady make</div> -<div class="verse indent5">As shortely as I can:</div> -<div class="verse indent4">Thus have you won an Erly’s son</div> -<div class="verse indent5">And not a banished man.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In our next chapter we shall enter upon a different -century, and encounter a different people. -We shall find a statelier king, whose name is more -familiar to you: In place of the fat knight and -Prince Hal, we shall meet brilliant churchmen and -hard-headed reformers; and in place of Otterbourne -and its balladry, we shall see the smoke -of Smithfield fires, and listen to the psalmody of -Sternhold.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">When we turned the leaf upon the Balladry -of England, we were upon fifteenth century -ground, which, you will remember, we found -very barren of great writers. Gower and Froissart, -whom we touched upon, slipped off the stage just -as the century began—their names making two of -those joined in that group of deaths to which I called -attention, and which marked the meeting of two -centuries. Next we had glimpse of Lydgate and of -King James (of Scotland), who, at their best, only -gave faint token of the poetic spirit which illuminated -the far better verses of Chaucer.</p> - -<p>We then passed over the period of the Henrys, -and of the War of the Roses, with mention of -Shakespeare’s Falstaff—of his Prince Hal—his -Agincourt—his courtship of Katharine of Valois—his -inadequate presentment of the Maid of Orleans—his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -crabbed and crooked Richard III.—all -rounded out with the battle of Bosworth field, and -the coming to power of Henry of Richmond.</p> - -<p>We found the book-trade taking on a new phase -with Caxton’s press: we gave a tinkling bit of Skelton’s -“Merry Margaret;” we put a woman-writer—Dame -Juliana Barnes—for the first time on our -list; we lingered over the quaint time-stained Paston -Letters, which smelled so strongly of old English -home-life; and we summed up our talk with a -little bugle-note of that Balladry which made fitful -snatches of music all through the weariness of those -hundred years.</p> - -<h3>Early Days of Henry VIII.</h3> - -<p>To-day we front the sixteenth century. Great -names and great deeds crop out over it as thickly -as leaves grow in summer. At the very outset, -three powerful monarchs came almost abreast upon -the scene—Henry VIII. of England, Francis I. of -France, and Charles V. of Spain, Germany, and the -Low Countries.</p> - -<p>Before the first quarter of the century had passed, -the monk Luther had pasted his ticket upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -doors of the church at Wittenberg; and that other -soldier-monk, Loyola, was astir with the beginnings -of Jesuitism. America had been planted; the Cape -of Good Hope was no longer the outpost of stormy -wastes of water with no shores beyond. St. Peter’s -church was a-building across the Tiber, and that -brilliant, courteous, vicious, learned Leo X. was -lording it in Rome. The Moors and their Saracen -faith had been driven out of the pleasant countries -that are watered by the Guadalquivir. Titian was -alive and working; and so was Michael Angelo and -Raphael, in the great art-centres of Italy: and Venice -was in this time so rich, so grand, so beautiful, -so abounding in princely houses, in pictures, in -books, in learning, and in all social splendors, that -to pass two winters in the City of the Lagoon, was -equal to the half of a polite education; and I suppose -that a Florentine or Venetian or Roman of that -day, thought of a pilgrimage to the far-away, murky -London, as Parisians think now of going to Chicago, -or Omaha, or San Francisco—excellent places, -with delightful people in them; but not the centres -about which the literary and art world goes spinning, -as a wheel goes spinning on its hub.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have in the contemporary notes of a well-known -Venetian chronicler, Marini Sanuto—who -was secretary to the famous Council of Ten—evidence -of the impression which was made on that -far-off centre of business and of learning, by such -an event as the accession of Henry VIII. to the -throne of England. This Sanuto was a man of -great dignity; and by virtue of his position in the -Council, heard all the “relations” of the ambassadors -of Venice; and hence his Diary is a great mine -of material for contemporary history.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“News have come,” he says, “through Rome of the death -of the King of England on April 20th [1509]. ’Twas known -in Lucca on the 6th May, by letters from the bankers Bonvisi. -The new King is nineteen years old, a worthy King, -and hostile to France. He is the son-in-law of the King of -Spain. His father was called Henry, and fifty odd years of -age; he was a very great <em>miser</em>, but a man of vast ability, -and had accumulated so much gold that he is supposed to -have [had] more than wellnigh all the other Kings of -Christendom. The King, his son, is liberal and handsome—the -friend of Venice, and the enemy of France. This -intelligence is <em>most</em> satisfactory.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Certainly the new king was most liberal in his -spending, and as certainly was abundantly provided -for. And money counted in those days—as it does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -most whiles: no man in England could come to the -dignity of Justice of the Peace—such office as our -evergreen friend Justice Shallow holds in Shakespeare—except -he had a rental of £20 per annum, -equivalent to a thousand dollars of present money—measured -by its purchasing power of wheat.<a name="FNanchor_69" id="FNanchor_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> By -the same standard the average Earl had a revenue -of £20,000, and the richest of the peers is put down -at a probable income of three times this amount.</p> - -<p>What a special favorite of the crown could do in -the way of expenditure is still made clear to us by -those famous walks, gardens, and gorgeous saloons -of Hampton Court, where the great Cardinal Wolsey -set his armorial bearings upon the wall—still to -be seen over the entrance of the Clock Court. If -you go there—and every American visitor in London -should be sure to find a way thither—you will see, -may be, in the lower range of windows, that look -upon the garden court—the pots of geranium and -the tabby cats belonging to gentlewomen of rank, -but of decayed fortune—humble pensioners of Victoria—who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -occupy the sunny rooms from which, in -the times we are talking of, the pampered servants -of the great Cardinal looked out. And when the -great man drove to court, or into the city, his retinue -of outriders and lackeys, and his golden trappings, -made a spectacle for all the street mongers.</p> - -<p>Into that panorama, too, of the early days of -Henry VIII., enters with slow step, and with sad -speech, poor Katharine of Aragon—the first in order -of this stalwart king’s wives. Mrs. Fanny Kemble -Butler used to read that queen’s speech with a -pathos that brought all the sadnesses of that sad -court to life again: Miss Cushman, too, you may -possibly have heard giving utterance to the same -moving story; but, I think, with a masculinity about -her manner she could never wholly shake off, and -which gave the impression that she could—if need -were—give the stout king such a buffet on the ears -as would put an end to all chaffer about divorce.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare, writing that play of Henry VIII., -probably during the lifetime of Elizabeth (though -its precise date and full authenticity are matters of -doubt), could not speak with very much freedom of -the great queen’s father: She had too much of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -father’s spirit in her to permit that; otherwise, I -think the great dramatist would have given a blazing -score to the cruelty and <em>Bluebeardism</em> of Henry VIII.</p> - -<p>I know that there be those acute historic inquirers -who would persuade us to believe that the king’s -much-marrying propensities were all in order, and -legitimate, and agreeable to English constitutional -sanction: but I know, too, that there is a strong -British current of common-sense setting down all -through the centuries which finds harbor in the -old-fashioned belief—that the king who, with six -successive wives of his own choice, divorced two, -and cut off the heads of other two, must have had—vicious -weaknesses. For my own part, I take a -high moral delight—Froude to the contrary—in -thinking of him as a clever, dishonest, good-natured, -obstinate, selfish, ambitious, tempestuous, arrogant -scoundrel. Yet, withal, he was a great favorite in -his young days;—so tall, so trim, so stout, so rich, -so free with his money. No wonder the stately and -disconsolate Queen (of Aragon) said:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Would I had never trod this English earth,</div> -<div class="verse">Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it;</div> -<div class="verse">Ye’ve angels faces, but Heaven knows your hearts!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> - -<p>And this wilful King befriended learning and letters -in his own wilful way. Nay, he came to have -ambitions of his own in that direction, when he -grew too heavy for practice with the long-bow, or -for feats of riding—in which matters he had gained -eminence even amongst those trained to sports and -exercises of the field.</p> - -<h3>Cardinal Wolsey and Sir Thomas More.</h3> - -<p>It was with the King’s capricious furtherance -that Cardinal Wolsey became so august a friend of -learning. The annalists delight in telling us how -the great Cardinal went down to St. Paul’s School -to attend upon an exhibition of the boys there, who -set afoot a tragedy founded upon the story of Dido. -And at the boys’ school was then established as -head-master that famous William Lilly<a name="FNanchor_70" id="FNanchor_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> who had -learned Greek in his voyaging into Eastern seas, -and was among the first to teach it in England: he -was the author too of that <cite>Lilly’s Latin Grammar</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -which was in use for centuries, and of which later -editions are hanging about now in old New England -garrets, from whose mouldy pages our grandfathers -learned to decline their <i lang="la">pennæ—pennarum</i>. -Wolsey wrote a preface for one of the earlier issues -of this Lilly’s Grammar; and the King gave it a -capital advertisement by proclaiming it illegal to -use any other. The Cardinal, moreover, in later -years established a famous school at his native place -of Ipswich (a rival in its day to that of Eton), and -he issued an address to all the schoolmasters of -England in favor of accomplishing the boys submitted -to their charge in the most elegant literatures.</p> - -<p>The great Hall of Christ’s Church College, Oxford, -still further serves to keep in mind the memory -and the munificence of Cardinal Wolsey: it -must be remembered, however, in estimating his -munificence that he had only to confiscate the revenues -of a small monastery to make himself full-pocketed -for the endowment of a college. ’Tis -certain that he loved learning, and that he did -much for its development in the season of his -greatest power and influence; certain, too, that his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -ambitions were too large for the wary King, his -master, and brought him to that dismal fall from -his high estate, which is pathetically set forth in -Shakespeare’s Henry VIII.:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">“——Farewell to all my greatness!</div> -<div class="verse">This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth</div> -<div class="verse">The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms</div> -<div class="verse">And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;</div> -<div class="verse">The third day comes a frost—a killing frost;</div> -<div class="verse">And—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely</div> -<div class="verse">His greatness is a ripening—nips his root</div> -<div class="verse">And then he falls as I do. I have ventured,</div> -<div class="verse">Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,</div> -<div class="verse">This many summers in a sea of glory;</div> -<div class="verse">But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride</div> -<div class="verse">At length broke under me; and now has left me,</div> -<div class="verse">Weary, and old with service, to the mercy</div> -<div class="verse">Of a rude stream that must forever hide me.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Another favorite of Henry in the early days -of his kingship, and one bearing a far more important -name in the literary annals of England than -that of Wolsey, was Sir Thomas More. He was a -Greek of the very Greeks, in both character and -attainment. Born in the heart of London—in -Milk Street, now just outside of the din and roar -of Cheapside, he was a scholar of Oxford, and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -the son of a knight, who, like Sir Thomas himself, -had a reputation for shrewd sayings—of which the -old chronicler, William Camden,<a name="FNanchor_71" id="FNanchor_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> has reported this -sample:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Marriage,” said the elder More, “with its chances, is -like dipping one’s hand into a bag, with a great many -snakes therein, and but one eel; the which most serviceable -and comfortable eel might possibly be seized upon; but -the chances are largely in favor of catching a stinging -snake:”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But, says the chronicler—this good knight did himself -thrust <em>his</em> hand three several times into such -a bag, and with such ensuing results as preserved -him hale and sound to the age of ninety or thereabout. -The son inherited this tendency to whimsical -speech, joining with it rare merits as a scholar: -and it used to be said of him as a boy, that he could -thrust himself into the acting of a Latin comedy -and extemporize his part, with such wit and aptness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -as not to break upon the drift of the play. -He studied, as I said, at Oxford; and afterward -Law at Lincoln’s Inn; was onewhile strongly inclined -to the Church, and under influence of a -patron who was a Church dignitary became zealous -Religionist, and took to wearing in penance a bristling -hair-shirt—which (or one like it) he kept wearing -till prison-days and the scaffold overtook him, -as they overtook so many of the quondam friends -of Henry VIII. For he had been early presented -to that monarch—even before Henry had come to -the throne—and had charmed him by his humor -and his scholarly talk: so that when More came to -live upon his little farm at Chelsea (very near to -Cheyne Row where Carlyle died but a few years -since) the King found his way thither on more than -one occasion; and there are stories of his pacing up -and down the garden walks in familiar talk with the -master.</p> - -<p>There, too, came for longer stay, and for longer -and friendlier communings, the great and scholarly -Erasmus (afterward teacher of Greek at Cambridge)—and -out of one of these visitations to -Chelsea grew the conception and the working out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -of his famous Praise of Folly, with its punning -title—<cite>Encomium Moriæ</cite>.<a name="FNanchor_72" id="FNanchor_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a></p> - -<p>The King promised preferment to More—which -came in its time. I think he was in Flanders on -the King’s business, when upon a certain day, as he -was coming out from the Antwerp Cathedral, he encountered -a stranger, with long beard and sunburnt -face—a man of the “Ancient Mariner” stamp, -who had made long voyages with that Amerigo Vespucci -who stole the honor of naming America: and -this long-bearded mariner told Sir Thomas More of -the strange things he had seen in a country farther -off than America, called <cite>Utopia</cite>. Of course, it is something -doubtful if More ever really encountered such -a mariner, or if he did not contrive him only as a -good frontispiece for his political fiction. This is -the work by which More is best known (through its -English translations); and it has given the word -Utopian to our every-day speech. The present -popular significance of this term will give you a -proper hint of the character of the book: it is an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -elaborate and whimsical and yet statesmanlike forecast -of a government too good and honest and wise -to be sound and true and real.</p> - -<p>Sir Thomas smacked the humor of the thing, -in giving the name <cite>Utopia</cite>, which is Greek for <em>Nowhere</em>. -If, indeed, men were all honest, and women -all virtuous and children all rosy and helpful, -we might all live in a Utopia of our own. All the -Fourierites—the Socialists—the Knights of Labor -might find the germs of their best arguments in -this reservoir of the ideal maxims of statecraft. -In this model country, gold was held in large disrespect; -and to keep the scorn of it wholesome, it -was put to the vilest uses: a great criminal was -compelled to wear gold rings in his ears: chains -were made of it for those in bondage; and a particularly -obnoxious character put to the wearing of a -gold head-band; so too diamonds and pearls were -given over to the decoration of infants; and these, -with other baby accoutrements, they flung aside in -disgust, so soon as they came to sturdy childhood. -When therefore upon a time, Ambassadors came to -Utopia, from a strange country, with their tricksy -show of gold and jewels—the old Voyager says:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“You shᵈ have sene [Utopian] children that had caste -away their peerles and pretious stones, when they sawe the -like sticking upon the Ambassadours cappes;—digge and -pushe theire mothers under the sides, sainge thus to them,—‘Loke -mother how great a lubbor doth yet were peerles, -as though he were a litel child stil!’ ‘Peace sone,’ saith -she; ‘I thinke he be some of the Ambassadours fooles.’”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Also in this model state industrial education was -in vogue; children all, of whatsoever parentage, -were to be taught some craft—as “masonrie or -smith’s craft, or the carpenter’s science.” Unlawful -games were decried—such as “dyce, cardes, tennis, -coytes [quoits]—do not all these,” says the author, -“sende the haunters of them streyghte a stealynge, -when theyr money is gone?”</p> - -<p>The Russian Count Tolstoi’s opinion that money -is an invention of Satan and should be abolished, is -set forth with more humor and at least equal logic, -in this Latin tractate of More’s.</p> - -<p>In the matters of Religion King Utopus decreed -that</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“it should be lawful for everie man to favoure and folow -what religion he would, and that he mighte do the best he -could to bring other to his opinion, so that he did it peaceablie, -gentelie, quietlie and sobelie, without hastie and contentious -rebuking.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet this same self-contained Sir Thomas More did -in his after controversies with Tyndale use such -talk of him—about his “whyning and biting and -licking and tumbling in the myre,” and “rubbing -himself in puddles of dirt,”—as were like anything -but the courtesies of Utopia. Indeed it is -to be feared that theologic discussion does not -greatly provoke gentleness of speech, in any time; -it is a very grindstone to put men’s wits to sharpened -edges. But More was a most honest man -withal;—fearless in advocacy of his own opinions; -eloquent, self-sacrificing—a tender father and -husband—master of a rich English speech (his -<cite>Utopia</cite> was written in Latin, but translated many -times into English, and most languages of Continental -Europe), learned in the classics—a man -to be remembered as one of the greatest of Henry -VIII.’s time; a Romanist, at a date when honestest -men doubted if it were worthiest to be a King’s man -or a Pope’s man;—not yielding to his royal master -in points of religious scruple, and with a lofty obstinacy -in what he counted well doing, going to the -scaffold, with as serene a step as he had ever put to -his walks in the pleasant gardens of Chelsea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Cranmer, Latimer, Knox, and Others.</h3> - -<p>A much nobler figure is this, to my mind, than -that of Cranmer,<a name="FNanchor_73" id="FNanchor_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> who appears in such picturesque -lights in the drama of Henry VIII.—who gave adhesion -to royal wishes for divorce upon divorce; -who always colored his religious allegiances with -the colors of the King; who was a scholar indeed—learned, -eloquent; who wrought well, as it -proved, for the reformed faith; but who wilted -under the fierce heats of trial; would have sought -the good will of the blood-thirsty Mary; but who -gave even to his subserviencies a half-tone that -brought distrust, and so—finally—the fate of that -quasi-martyrdom which has redeemed his memory.</p> - -<p>He stands very grandly in his robes upon the -memorial cross at Oxford: and he has an even more -august presence in the final scene of Shakespeare’s -play, where amidst all churchly and courtly pomp, -he christened the infant—who was to become the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -Royal Elizabeth, and says to the assembled dignitaries:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent13">“This royal infant</div> -<div class="verse">Tho’ in her cradle, yet now promises</div> -<div class="verse">Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,</div> -<div class="verse">Which time will bring to ripeness: She shall be</div> -<div class="verse">A pattern to all princes living with her,</div> -<div class="verse">And all that shall succeed her. Truth shall nurse her,</div> -<div class="verse">Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:</div> -<div class="verse">She shall be loved and feared.</div> -<div class="verse">A most unspotted lily shall she pass</div> -<div class="verse">To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.”<a name="FNanchor_74" id="FNanchor_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Tennyson, in his drama of Queen Mary (a most -unfortunate choice of heroine) gives a statuesque -pose to this same Archbishop Cranmer; but Shakespeare’s -figures are hard to duplicate. He was -with Henry VIII. as counsellor at his death; was -intimate adviser of the succeeding Edward VI.: -and took upon himself obligations from that King<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -(contrary to his promises to Henry) which brought -him to grief under Queen Mary. That brave thrust -of his offending hand into the blaze that consumed -him, cannot make us forget his weaknesses and -his recantations; nor will we any more forget that -he it was, who gave (1543) to the old Latin Liturgy -of the Church that noble, English rhythmic -flow which so largely belongs to it to-day.</p> - -<p>It is quite impossible to consider the literary aspects -of the period of English history covered by -the reign of Henry VIII., and the short reigns of -the two succeeding monarchs, Edward VI. and -Mary, without giving large frontage to the Reformers -and religious controversialists. Every scholar -was alive to the great battle in the Church. The -Greek and Classicism of the Universities came to -have their largest practical significance in connection -with the settlement of religious questions or in -furnishing weapons for the ecclesiastic controversies -of the day. The voices of the poets—the Skeltons, -the Sackvilles, the Wyatts, were chirping sparrows’ -voices beside that din with which Luther thundered -in Germany, and Henry VIII. thundered back, more -weakly, from his stand-point of Anglicanism.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have seen Wolsey in his garniture of gold, -going from court to school; and Sir Thomas More, -stern, strong, and unyielding; and Archbishop -Cranmer, disposed to think rightly, but without the -courage to back up his thought; and associated -with these, it were well to keep in mind the other -figures of the great religious processional. There -was William Tyndale, native of Gloucestershire, a -slight, thin figure of a man; honest to the core; -well-taught; getting dignities he never sought; -wearied in his heart of hearts by the flattering -coquetries of the King; perfecting the work of -Wyclif in making the old home Bible readable by -all the world. His translation was first printed -in Wittenberg about 1530:<a name="FNanchor_75" id="FNanchor_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> I give the Lord’s -Prayer as it appeared in the original edition:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Oure Father which arte in heven, halowed be thy name. -Let thy kingdom come. Thy wyll be fulfilled, as well in -erth, as hit ys in heven. Geve vs this daye oure dayly -breade. And forgeve vs oure trespases, even as we forgeve -them which treespas vs. Leade vs not into temptacion but -delyvre vs from yvell. Amen.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>But Tyndale was not safe in England; nor yet in -the Low Countries whither he went, and where the -long reach of religious hate and jealousy put its -hand upon him and brought him to a death whose -fiery ignominies are put out of sight by the lustrous -quality of his deservings.</p> - -<p>I see too amongst those great, dim figures, that -speak in Scriptural tones, the form of Hugh Latimer, -as he stands to-day on the Memorial Cross in -Oxford. I think of him too—in humbler dress than -that which the sculptor has put on him—even the -yeoman’s clothes, which he wore upon his father’s -farm, in the Valley of the Soar, when he wrought -there in the meadows, and drank in humility of -thought, and manly independence under the skies -of Leicestershire<a name="FNanchor_76" id="FNanchor_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a>—where (as he says), “My father -had walk for an hundred sheep, and my mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -milked thirty kine.” He kept his head upon his -shoulders through Henry’s time—his amazing wit -and humor helping him to security;—was in fair -favor with Edward; but under Mary, walked coolly -with Ridley to the stake, where the fires were set, -to burn them both in Oxford.</p> - -<p>Foxe<a name="FNanchor_77" id="FNanchor_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> too is to be remembered for his Stories -of the Martyrs of these, and other times, which -have formed the nightmare reading for so many -school-boys.</p> - -<p>I see, too, another figure that will not down in -this coterie of Reformers, and that makes itself -heard from beyond the Tweed. This is John Knox,<a name="FNanchor_78" id="FNanchor_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> -a near contemporary though something younger -than most I have named, and not ripening to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -greatest power till Henry VIII. had gone. Born of -humble parentage in Scotland in the early quarter -of the century, he was a rigid Papist in his young -days, but a more rigid Reformer afterward; much -time a prisoner; passing years at Geneva; not altogether -a “gloomy, shrinking, fanatic,” but keeping, -says Carlyle, “a pipe of Bordeaux in that old -Edinboro house of his;” getting to know Cranmer, -and the rest in England; discussing with these, -changes of Church Service; counselling austerities, -where Cranmer admitted laxities; afraid of no man, -neither woman;—publishing in exile in Mary’s day—<cite>The -first Blaste of the Trumpet against the monstrous -Regiment of Women</cite>, and repenting this—quietly no -doubt—when Elizabeth came to power. A thin, frail -man; strong no ways, but in courage, and in brain; -with broad brows—black cap—locks floating gray -from under it, in careless whirls that shook as he -talked; an eye like a falcon’s that flashed the light of -twenty years, when sixty were on his shoulders; in -after years, writhing with rheumatic pains—crawling -upon his stick and a servant’s arm into his -Church of St. Andrews; lifted into his pulpit by -the clerk and his attendant—leaning there on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -desk, a wilted heap of humanity—panting, shaking, -quivering—till his breath came, and the psalm and -the lifted prayer gave courage; then—fierce torrents -of speech (and a pounding of the pulpit till -it seemed that it would fly in shivers), with a sharp, -swift, piercing utterance that pricked ears as it -pricked consciences, and made the roof-timbers -clang with echoes.</p> - -<p>Of all these men there are no books that take -high rank in Literature proper—unless we except -the <cite>Utopia</cite> of More, and the New Testament of -Tyndale: but their lives and thought were welded -by stout blows into the intellectual texture of the -century and are not to be forgotten.</p> - -<h3>Verse-Writing and Psalmodies.</h3> - -<p>And now, was there really no dalliance with the -Muses in times that brought to the front such -fighting Gospellers as we have talked of?</p> - -<p>Yes, even Thomas More did write poems—having -humor in them and grammatic proprieties, and -his Latin prosody is admired of Classicists: then -there were the versifiers of the Psalms, Sternhold -and Hopkins, and the Whittingham who succeeded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -John Knox at Geneva—sharing that Scotchman’s -distaste for beautiful rubrics, and we suspect beautiful -verses also—if we may judge by his version of -the Creed. This is a sample:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The Father, God is; God, the Son;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">God—Holy Ghost also;</div> -<div class="verse">Yet are not three gods in all</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But one God and no mo.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>From the Apostles’ Creed again, we excerpt -this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“From thence, shall he come for to judge</div> -<div class="verse indent1">All men both dead and quick.</div> -<div class="verse">I, in the Holy Ghost believe</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And Church thats Catholick.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Hopkins,<a name="FNanchor_79" id="FNanchor_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> who was a schoolmaster of Suffolk, and -the more immediate associate of Sternhold, thus expostulates -with the Deity:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Why doost withdraw thy hand aback</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And hide it in thy lappe?</div> -<div class="verse">Oh, plucke it out, and be not slacke</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To give thy foes a rap!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As something worthier from these old psalmists’ -versing, I give this of Sternhold’s:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The earth did shake, for feare did quake,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The hills their bases shook</div> -<div class="verse">Removed they were, in place most fayre</div> -<div class="verse indent1">At God’s right fearful looks.</div> -<div class="verse">He rode on hye and did so flye</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Upon the Cherubins,</div> -<div class="verse">He came in sight, and made his flight</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Upon the wings of winds,” etc.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It may well be that bluff King Harry relished -more the homely Saxonism of such psalms than the -<cite>Stabat Maters</cite> and <cite>Te Deums</cite> and <cite>Jubilates</cite>, which -assuredly would have better pleased the Princess -Katharine of Aragon. Yet even at a time when the -writers of such psalmodies received small crumbs -of favor from the Court, the English Bible was by -no means a free-goer into all companies.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“A nobleman or gentleman may read it”—(I quote from a -Statute of Henry VIII.’s time)—“in his house, or in his garden, -or orchard, yet quietly and without disturbance of order. -A merchant may read it to himself privately: But the common -people, women, artificers, apprentices, journeymen and -servingmen, are to be punished with one month’s imprisonment, -as often as they are detected in reading the Bible, -either privately or openly.”<a name="FNanchor_80" id="FNanchor_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> - -<p>Truly this English realm was a strange one in -those times, and this a strange King—who has -listened approvingly to Hugh Latimer’s sermons—who -harries Tyndale as he had harried Tyndale’s enemy—More; -who fights the Pope, fights Luther, -holds the new Bible (even Cranmer’s) in leash, who -gives pension to Sternhold, works easy riddance of -all the wives he wishes, pulls down Religious -Houses for spoils, calls himself Defender of the -Faith, and maybe goes to see (if then on show) -<cite>Gammer Gurton’s Needle</cite>,<a name="FNanchor_81" id="FNanchor_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> and is hilariously responsive -to such songs as this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I cannot eat but little meat</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My Stomach is not good</div> -<div class="verse">But sure I think, that I can drink</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With him that wears a hood;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Tho’ I go bare, take ye no care</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I nothing am a colde,</div> -<div class="verse">I stuffe my skin so full within</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Of jolly good ale and olde.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<h3>Wyatt and Surrey.</h3> - -<p>The model poets, however, of this reign<a name="FNanchor_82" id="FNanchor_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a>—those -who kept alive the best old classic traditions, and -echoed with most grace and spirit the daintiness -of Italian verse, were the Earl of Surrey and Sir -Thomas Wyatt. The latter was son of an old courtier -of Henry VII., and inheritor of an estate and -castle in Kent, which he made noteworthy by his -decorative treatment, and which is even now counted -worthy a visit by those journeying through the little -town of Maidstone. He was, for those times, brilliantly -educated; was in high favor with the King -(save one enforced visit to the Tower); he translated -Petrarch, and in his own way imitated the Italian -poet’s manner, and was, by common consent, the -first to graft the “Sonnet” upon English forms of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -verse. I find nothing however in his verse one-half -so graceful or gracious as this tribute to his worth -in Tennyson’s “Queen Mary:”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Courtier of many courts, he loves the more</div> -<div class="verse">His own gray towers, plain life, and lettered peace,</div> -<div class="verse">To read and rhyme in solitary fields;</div> -<div class="verse">The lark above, the nightingale below,</div> -<div class="verse">And answer them in song.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Surrey was well born: was son to the Duke of -Norfolk who figures in the Shakespearean play of -Henry VIII., and grandson to the Surrey who -worsted the Scotch on Flodden Field: he was companion -of the King’s son, was taught at the Universities, -at home and abroad. There was no gallant -more admired in the gayer circles of the court; he -too loved Petrarch, and made canzonets like his; -had a Geraldine (for a Laura), half real and half -mythical. The further story once obtained that he -went with a gay retinue to Florence, where the lists -were opened—in the spirit of an older chivalry—to -this Stranger Knight, who challenged the world -to combat his claims in behalf of the mythical -Geraldine. And—the story ran—there were hot-heads -who contended with him; and he unhorsed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -his antagonists, and came back brimming with honors, -to the court—before which Hugh Latimer had -preached, and where Sternhold’s psalms had been -heard—to be imprisoned for eating flesh in Lent, -in that Windsor Castle where he had often played -with the King’s son. The tale<a name="FNanchor_83" id="FNanchor_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> is a romantic one; -but—in all that relates to the Florentine tourney—probably -untrue.</p> - -<p>I give you a little taste of the graceful way in -which this poet sings of his Geraldine:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“I assure thee even by oath</div> -<div class="verse">And thereon take my hand and troth</div> -<div class="verse">That she is one of the worthiest</div> -<div class="verse">The truest and the faithfullest</div> -<div class="verse">The gentlest, and the meekest o’ mind</div> -<div class="verse">That here on earth a man may find;</div> -<div class="verse">And if that love and truth were gone</div> -<div class="verse">In her it might be found alone:</div> -<div class="verse">For in her mind no thought there is</div> -<div class="verse">But how she may be true, iwis,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -<div class="verse">And is thine own; and so she says</div> -<div class="verse">And cares for thee ten thousand ways;</div> -<div class="verse">Of thee she speaks, on thee she thinks</div> -<div class="verse">With thee she eats, with thee she drinks</div> -<div class="verse">With thee she talks, with thee she moans</div> -<div class="verse">With thee she sighs, with thee she groans</div> -<div class="verse">With thee she says—‘Farewell mine own!’</div> -<div class="verse">When thou, God knows, full far art gone.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Surrey is to be held in honor as the first poet -who wrote English blank verse; he having translated -two books of the Æneid in that form. But -this delicate singer, this gallant soldier cannot altogether -please the capricious monarch; perhaps -he is too fine a soldier; perhaps too free a liver; -perhaps he is dangerously befriended by some -ladies of the court: Quite certain it is that the -King frowns on him; and the frowns bring what -they have brought to so many others—first, imprisonment -in the Tower, and then the headsman’s -axe. In this way the poet died at thirty, -in 1547: his execution being one of the last ordered -by Henry VIII., and the King so weak that -he could only stamp, instead of signing the death -warrant.</p> - -<p>Honest men breathed freer, everywhere, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -the King died, in the same year with Surrey: and -so, that great, tempestuous reign was ended.</p> - -<h3>A Boy-King, a Queen, and Schoolmaster.</h3> - -<p>Edward VI. succeeded his father at the age of -ten years—a precocious, consumptive boy, who -gave over his struggle with life when only sixteen; -and yet has left his “Works,” printed by the Roxburgh -Club. There’s a maturity about some of -the political suggestions in his “Journal”—not -unusual in a lively mind prematurely ripening under -stress of disease; yet we can hardly count him -a literary king.</p> - -<p>The red reign of Mary, immediately following, -lasted only five years, for which, I think, all Christian -England thanked God: In those five years very -many of the strong men of whom we have talked in -this chapter came to a fiery end.</p> - -<p>Only one name of literary significance do we -pluck from the annals of her time; it is that of -Roger Ascham,<a name="FNanchor_84" id="FNanchor_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> the writer of her Latin letters, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -for a considerable time her secretary. How, being -a Protestant as he was, and an undissembling one, -he kept his head upon his shoulders so near her -throne, it is hard to conjecture. He must have -studied the art of keeping silence as well as the -arts of speech.</p> - -<p>He was born in that rich, lovely region of Yorkshire—watered -by the River Swale—where we -found the young Wyclif: his father was a house-steward; -but he early made show of such qualities -as invited the assistance of rich friends, through -whose offices he was entered at St. John’s College, -Cambridge, at fifteen, and took his degree at eighteen. -He was full of American pluck, aptness, and -industry; was known specially for his large gifts -in language; a superb penman too, which was no -little accomplishment in that day; withal, he excelled -in athletics, and showed a skill with the -long-bow which made credible the traditions about -Robin Hood. They said he wasted time at this -exercise; whereupon he wrote a defence of Archery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -which under the name of <cite>Toxophilus</cite> has come -down to our day—a model even now of good, -homely, vigorous English. “He that will write -well in any tongue,” said he, “must follow this -counsel—to speak as the common people do—to -think as wise men do.” Our teachers of rhetoric -could hardly say a better thing to-day.</p> - -<p>The subject of Archery was an important one at -that period; the long-bow was still the principal -war weapon of offence: there were match-locks, indeed, -but these very cumbrous and counting for -less than those “cloth-yard” shafts which had won -the battle of Agincourt. The boy-King, Edward, to -whom Ascham taught penmanship, was an adept at -archery, and makes frequent allusion to that exercise -in his Journal. In every hamlet practice at the -long-bow was obligatory; and it was ordered by -statute that no person above the age of twenty-four, -should shoot the light-flight arrow at a distance -under two hundred and twenty yards. What would -our Archery Clubs say to this? And what, to the -further order—dating in Henry VIII.’s time—that -“all bow-staves should be three fingers thick and -seven feet long?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> - -<p>This book of Ascham’s was published two years -before Henry’s death, and brought him a small pension; -under the succeeding king he went to Augsburg, -where Charles V. held his brilliant court; but -neither there, nor in Italy, did he lose his homely -and hearty English ways, and his love of English -things.</p> - -<p>In his tractate of the <cite>Schoolmaster</cite>, which appeared -after his death, he bemoans the much and -idle travel of Englishmen into Italy. They have -a proverb there, he says, “<i lang="it">Un Inglese italianato é -un diabolo incarnato</i>” (an Italianized Englishman is -a devil incarnate). Going to Italy, when Tintoretto -and Raphael were yet living, and when the great -Medici family and the Borgias were spinning their -golden wheels—was, for a young Englishman of -that day, like a European trip to a young American -of ours: Ascham says—“Many being mules and -horses before they went, return swine and asses.”</p> - -<p>There is much other piquant matter in this old -book of the <cite>Schoolmaster</cite>; as where he says:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“When the child doeth well, either in the choosing or -true placing of his words, let the master praise him, and -say, ‘Here ye do well!’ For I assure you there is no such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -whetstone to sharpen a good wit, and encourage a will to -learning as is praise. But if the child miss, either in forgetting -a word, or in changing a good with a worse, or mis-ordering -the sentence, I would not have the master frown, -or chide with him, if the child have done his diligence and -used no truantship: For I know by good experience, that a -child shall take more profit of two faults gently warned of, -than of four things rightly hit.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And this brings us to say that this good, canny, -and thrifty Roger Ascham was the early teacher, in -Greek and Latin, of the great Princess Elizabeth, -and afterward for years her secretary. You would -like to hear how he speaks of her:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“It is your shame (I speak to you all young gentlemen of -England) that one mind should go beyond you all in excellency -of learning, and knowledge of divers tongues. -Point forth six of the best given gentlemen of this court, -and all they together show not so much good will, spend -not so much time, bestow not so many hours daily, orderly, -and constantly, for the increase of learning and knowledge -as doth this Princess. Yea, I believe that beside her -perfect readiness in Latin, Italian, French and Spanish, she -readeth here now, at Windsor more Greek every day, than -some prebendarys of this Church doth read Latin in a whole -week.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>He never speaks of her but with a hearty tenderness; -nor did she speak of him, but most kindly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -At his death, she said, “She would rather that -£10,000 had been flung into the sea.” And—seeing -her money-loving, this was very much for her -to say.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In our next chapter we shall meet this prudent -and accomplished Princess face to face—in her farthingale -and ruff—with the jewels on her fingers, -and the crown upon her head—bearing herself -right royally. And around her we shall find such -staid worthies as Burleigh and Richard Hooker; -and such bright spirits as Sidney and Raleigh, and -that sweet poet Spenser, who was in that day counting -the flowing measures of that long song, whose -mellow cadences have floated musically down from -the far days of Elizabeth to these fairer days of -ours.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">In our last talk we entered upon that brilliant -sixteenth century, within whose first quarter -three great kings held three great thrones:—Charles -V. of Spain, Francis I. of France, and Henry VIII. -of England. New questions were astir; Art—in -the seats of Art—was blazing at its best: the recent -fall of Constantinople under the Turk had sent a -tide of Greek scholars, Greek art, and Greek letters -flowing over Western Europe, and drifting into the -antiquated courts of Oxford and Cambridge. I -spoke of the magnificent Wolsey, and of his great -university endowments; also, of that ripe scholar, -Sir Thomas More, who could not mate his religion, or -his statesmanship with the caprices of the King, and -so, died by the axe. We saw Cranmer—meaning -to be good, if goodness did not call for strength; -we heard Latimer’s swift, homely speech, and saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -Tyndale with his English Testament—both these -coming to grief; and we had glimpses of John Knox -shaking the pulpit with his frail hand, and shaking -all Scotch Christendom with his fearless, strident -speech.</p> - -<p>We heard the quaint psalmody of Sternhold, and -the sweeter and more heathen verse of Wyatt and -of Surrey; lastly, I gave a sketch of that old schoolmaster, -Roger Ascham, who by his life, tied the -reigns of Henry and of Elizabeth together, and who -taught Greek and Latin and penmanship and -Archery to that proud princess—whom we encounter -now—in her high ruff, and her piled-up -head-dress, with a fair jewelled hand that puts a -man’s grip upon the sceptre.</p> - -<h3>Elizabethan England.</h3> - -<p>Elizabeth was in her twenty-sixth year when she -came to the throne, and it was about the middle of -the sixteenth century; the precise year being 1558. -The England she was to dominate so splendidly was -not a quiet England: the fierce religious controversies -which had signalized the reign of Henry VIII.—who -thwacked with his kingly bludgeon both ways<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -and all ways—and which continued under Edward -VI.—who was feebly Protestant; and which had -caught new vigor under Mary—who was arrant -and slavish Papist—had left gouts of blood and a -dreadful exasperation. Those great Religious -Houses, which only a quarter of a century before, -were pleasantly embayed in so many charming valleys -of Great Britain—with their writing-rooms, -their busy transcribing clerks—their great gardens, -were, most of them, despoiled—and to be seen no -more. An old Venetian Ambassador,<a name="FNanchor_85" id="FNanchor_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> writing to -the Seigneury in those days, says—“London itself is -disfigured by the ruins of a multitude of Churches -and Monasteries which once belonged to Friars and -Nuns.” Piers Plowman, long before, had attacked -the sins growing up in the pleasant Abbey Courts; -Chaucer had echoed the ridicule in his Abbot riding -to Canterbury, with jingling trappings: Gower had -repeated the assault in his <cite>Vox Clamantis</cite>, and Skelton -had turned his ragged rhymes into the same -current of satire. But all would have availed nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -except the arrogant Henry VIII. had set his foot -upon them, and crushed them out.</p> - -<p>There was a wild justice in it—if not an orderly -one. The spoils went to fill the Royal coffers; -many of those beautiful properties were bestowed -upon favorites; many princely estates are still held -in England, by title tracing back to those days of -spoliation—a fact which will be called to mind, -I suspect—with unction, in case of any great social -revolution in that country. Under Mary, some -of these estates had been restored to Church dignitaries; -but the restoration had not been general: -and Elizabeth could not if she would, and -would not if she could, sanction any further restitution.</p> - -<p>She was Protestant—but rather from policy than -any heartiness of belief. It did not grieve her one -whit, that her teacher, Roger Ascham, had been -private secretary to bloody Mary: the lukewarmness -of her great minister, Lord Burleigh, did not disturb -her; she always kept wax tapers burning by a -crucifix in her private chamber; a pretty rosary -gave her no shock; but she <em>was</em> shocked at the -marriage of any member of the priesthood, always.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -In fact, if Spanish bigotry had not forced her into -a resolute antagonism of Rome, I think history -would have been in doubt whether to count her -most a Lutheran, or most a Roman.</p> - -<p>Yet she made the Papists smoke for it—as grimly -as ever her sister Mary did the Protestants—if -they stood one whit in the way of England’s grasp -on power.</p> - -<h3>Personality of the Queen.</h3> - -<p>I think our friend Mr. Froude, whose history -we all read, is a little unfair toward Queen Bess, -as he was a little over-fair, and white-wash-i-ly disposed -in the case of Henry VIII.: both tendencies -being attributable to a mania this shrewd historian -has—for unripping and oversetting established -forms of belief. I think that he not only bears -with a greedy zeal upon her too commonly manifest -selfishness and heartlessness, but that he enjoys -putting little vicious dabs of bad color upon her -picture—as when he says, “she spat, and swore -like a trooper.” Indeed it would seem that this -clever biographer had carried a good deal of his -fondness for “vicious dabs” in portraiture into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -his more recent <i lang="la">post-mortem</i> exhibits; as if it were -his duty and pleasure to hang out all sorts of -soiled linen, in his office of Clean-Scrubber: Yet, I -wish to speak with all respect of the distinguished -historian—whose vigor is conspicuous—whose industry -is remarkable, whose crisp sentences are -delightful, but whose accuracy is not of the surest; -and whose conscience does, I think, sometimes go -lame—under strain of his high, rhetorical canter.</p> - -<p>The authority for all most damnatory statements -with respect to the private life of the Queen, rests -upon those Spanish Relations—so minute as to be -suspicious—if they were not also so savagely bitter -as to twist everything to the discredit of the Protestant -Sovereign. Signor Soranzo—the Venetian -ambassador (whom Froude does not cite—but -who had equal opportunities of observation with -the Spanish informer), says of Elizabeth (in a -report—not written for publication, but lying -for years in the archives of Venice): “Such an -air of dignified majesty pervades all her actions -that no one can fail to judge her a queen. She -is a good Greek and Latin scholar; and beside -her native tongue she speaks Latin, French,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -Spanish, and Italian <i lang="it">benissimo</i>—and her manners -are very modest and affable.”<a name="FNanchor_86" id="FNanchor_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a></p> - -<p>I talk thus much—and may talk more—about the -personality of Queen Elizabeth, because she must be -counted—in a certain not very remote sense—one -of the forces that went to endow what is called -the English Literature of her day—so instructed -was she; so full of talent; so keen-sighted; so exact—a -most extraordinary woman. We must not -think her greatness was factitious, and attributable -to her only because she was a queen. There could -be no greater mistake. She would have been great -if she had been a shoemaker’s daughter; I do not -mean that she would have rode a white horse at -Tilbury, and made the nations shake: but she -would have bound more shoes, and bound them -better, and looked sharper after the affairs of her -household than any cobbler’s wife in the land. -Elizabeth would have made a wonderful post-mistress—a -splendid head of a school—with perhaps -a little too large use of the ferule: and she would -have had her favorites, and shown it; but she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -would have lifted her pupils’ thoughts into a high -range of endeavor; she would have made an atmosphere -of intellectual ambition about her; she -would have struck fire from flinty souls; and so -she did in her court: She inspired work—inspired -imagination; may we not say that she inspired -genius. That auburn hair of hers (I suppose we -should have called it red, if her name had been -Abigail) made an aureole, around which wit coruscated -by a kind of electric affinity. It was counted -worth toil to have the honor of laying a poem at her -gracious feet, who was so royally a Queen—whose -life, and power, and will and culture, made up a -quadrature of poems.</p> - -<h3>Burleigh and Others.</h3> - -<p>And who was there of literary significance about -Elizabeth in those early days of her reign? Roger -Ascham was still doling out his sagacious talk, and -his good precepts; but he was not a force—only -what we might call a good creature. There was -Sackville<a name="FNanchor_87" id="FNanchor_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> (afterward the elegant Earl of Dorset);<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -he was in his prime then, and had very likely -written his portion of the <cite>Mirror for Magistrates</cite>—a -fairish poetic history of great unfortunate -people—completed afterward by other poets, but -hardly read nowadays.</p> - -<p>Old Tusser,<a name="FNanchor_88" id="FNanchor_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> too—the farmer-poet—lived in -these times; an Essex man, of about the same age -as Ascham, but who probably never came nearer to -the court than to sing in the choir of old St. Paul’s. -He had University experience, which, if it did not -help his farming, on the banks of the Stour, did, -doubtless, enable him to equip his somewhat prosy -poems with such classic authentication and such -directness and simplicities as gave to his <cite>Pointes of -Husbandrie</cite> very great vogue. Many rhyming saws -about farming, still current among old-fashioned -country-folk, trace back to Master Tusser, who lived -and farmed successively (tradition says not very successfully) -at Ipswich, Dereham, and Norwich. His -will, however, published in these later times, shows -him to have been a man of considerable means.</p> - -<p>Then there was Holinshed,<a name="FNanchor_89" id="FNanchor_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> who, though the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -date of his birth is uncertain, must have been of -fair working age now—a homely, honest, simple-hearted -chronicler (somewhat thievish, as all the -old chroniclers were) but whose name is specially -worth keeping in mind, because he—in all probability—supplied -Shakespeare’s principal historic -reading, and furnished the crude material, afterward -beaten out into those plaques of gold, which -we call Shakespeare’s Historic Plays. Therefore, we -must always, I think, treat Holinshed with respect. -Next, there was the great Lord Burleigh,<a name="FNanchor_90" id="FNanchor_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> the chief -minister and adviser of the Queen—whom she set -great store by: the only man she allowed to sit in -her presence; and indeed he was something heavy, -both in mind and in person; but far-sighted, honest, -keen, cautious, timid—making his nod count -more than most men’s words, and in great exigencies -standing up for the right, even against the -caprices of the sovereign. Whoever goes to Stamford -in England should not fail to run out—a mile -away only—to the princely place called Burleigh -House (now the property of the Marquis of Exeter)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -which was the home of this minister of Elizabeth’s—built -out of his savings, and equipped now with -such paintings, such gardens, such magnificent -avenues of oak, such great sweeps of velvet lawn, -such herds of loitering deer as make it one of the -show-places of England. Well—this sober-sided, -cautious Burleigh (you will get a short, but good -glimpse of him in Scott’s tragic tale of Kenilworth) -wrote a book—a sort of earlier Chesterfield’s -Letters, made up of advices for his son Robert -Cecil, who was cousin, and in early life, rival of the -great Francis Bacon. I will take out a tid-bit from -this book, that you may see how this famous Lord -Burleigh talked to his son:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“When it shall please God to bring thee to man’s estate”—he -says—“use great Providence, and circumspection in -choosing thy wife: For from thence will spring all thy -future good and evil. And it is an action of life—like unto -a stratagem of War, wherein a man can err but once. If -thy estate be good, match near home and at leisure: if -weak—far off, and quickly. Inquire diligently of her disposition, -and how her parents have been inclined in their -youth. Choose not a base, and uncomely creature, altogether -for Wealth; for it will cause contempt in others, and -loathing in thee: Neither make choice of a fool, for she -will be thy continual disgrace, and it will irk thee to hear -her talk.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<h3>A Group of Great Names.</h3> - -<p>But the greater names which went to illustrate -with their splendor the times of Elizabeth, only began -to come to people’s knowledge after she had -been upon the throne some twenty years.</p> - -<p>Spenser was a boy of five, when she came -to power: John Lilly, the author of <cite>Euphues</cite> -which has given us the word <em>euphuistic</em>, and which -provoked abundant caricatures, of more or less fairness—was -born the same year with Spenser; Sir -Philip Sidney a year later; Sir Walter Raleigh -a year earlier (1553); Richard Hooker, the author -of the <cite>Ecclesiastical Polity</cite>, in 1554; Lord Bacon -in 1561; Shakespeare in 1564. These are great -names to stand so thickly strewed over ten or -twelve years of time. I do not name them, because -I lay great stress on special dates: For my -own part, I find them hard things to keep in mind—except -I group them thus—and I think a man or -woman can work and worry at worthier particularities -than these. But when Elizabeth had been -twenty years a Queen, and was in the prime of her -womanly powers—six years after the slaughter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -St. Bartholomew—when the first English colony -had just been planted in Virginia, and Sir Francis -Drake was coasting up and down the shores of California; -when Shakespeare was but a lad of fourteen, -and poaching (if he ever did poach there—which -is doubtful) in Charlecote Park; when Francis -Bacon was seventeen, and was studying in Paris—Philip -Sidney was twenty-four; in the ripeness -of his young manhood, and just returned from -Holland, he was making love—vainly as it proved—to -the famous and the ill-fated Penelope Devereaux.</p> - -<p>Richard Hooker—of the same age, was teaching -Hebrew in the University of Oxford, and had not yet -made that unfortunate London marriage (tho’ very -near it) by which he was yoked with one whom old -Izaak Walton—charitable as the old angler was—describes -as a silly, clownish woman, and withal a -perfect Xantippe.</p> - -<p>The circumstances which led to this awkward -marriage show so well the child-like simplicity of -this excellent man, that they are worth noting. -He had come up to London, and was housed -where preachers were wont to go; and it being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -foul weather, and he thoroughly wetted, was behoven -to the hostess for dry clothes, and such -other attentions as made him look upon her as a -special Providence, who could advise and care for -him in all things: So, he accepted her proffer to -him of her own daughter, who proved to him quite -another sort of Providence, and a grievous thorn in -the side; and when his friends, on visits to his -homestead in after years, found the author of the -<cite>Ecclesiastical Polity</cite>—rocking the cradle, or minding -the sheep, or looking after the kettles, and expressed -sympathy—“My dear fellows,” said he—“if -Saints have usually a double share in the miseries -of this Life, I, that am none, ought not to repine -at what my Wise Creator hath appointed for -me, but labor (as indeed I do daily) to submit mine -to his will and possess my soul in patience and -peace.”</p> - -<p>I don’t know if any of our parish will care to read -the <cite>Ecclesiastical Polity</cite>; but if you have courage -thereto, you will find in this old master of sound -and cumbrous English prose, passages of rare eloquence, -and many turns of expression, which for -their winning grace, their aptitude, their quality of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -fastening themselves upon the mind, are not overmatched -by those of any Elizabethan writer. His -theology is old and rankly conservative; but he -shows throughout a beautiful reverence for that -all-embracing Law, “whose seat (as he says) is the -Bosom of God, and whose voice is the Harmony -of the World.”<a name="FNanchor_91" id="FNanchor_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a></p> - -<h3>Edmund Spenser.</h3> - -<p>As for Edmund Spenser, he was a year older at -this date—twenty-five: he had taken his master’s -degree at Cambridge and had just returned to -London from a visit to the North of England, -where he had encountered some fair damsel to -whom he had been paying weary and vain suit, -and whom he had embalmed in his <cite>Shepherd’s -Calendar</cite> (just then being made ready for the press) -under the name of Rosalind.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Ah, faithless Rosalind, and voyd of grace,</div> -<div class="verse">That art the root of all this ruthful woe</div> -<div class="verse">[My] teares would make the hardest flint to flow;”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<p class="noindent">and his tears keep a-drip through a great many of -those charming eclogues—called the <cite>Shepherd’s -Calendar</cite>. Some of the commentators on Spenser -have queried—gravely—whether he ever forgot -this Rosalind; and whether the occurrence of the -name and certain woe-worn words in some madrigal -of later years did not show a wound unhealed -and bleeding. We are all at liberty to guess, and -I am inclined to doubt here. I think he was equal -to forgetting this Rosalind before the ink of the -<cite>Shepherd’s Calendar</cite> was fairly dry. He loved -dreams and fed on dreams; and I suspect enjoyed -the dream of his woe more than he ever suffered -from a sting of rebuff.</p> - -<p>Indeed, much as we must all admire his poetic -fervor and fancies, I do not find in him traces of heroic -mould;—easily friendly rather than firmly -so;—full of an effusive piety, but not coming in -way of martyrdom for faith’s sake;—a tenderly -contemplative man, loving and sensing beauty in -the same sure and abounding way in which Turner -has sense of color—exhaustless in his stock of brilliant -and ingenious imagery—running to similes as -mountain rills run to rivers; a courtier withal—honeyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -and sometimes fulsome; a richly presentable -man (if portraits may be trusted), with a well-trimmed -face, a cautious face—dare I say—almost -a smirking face;—the face of a self-contained man -who thinks allowably well of his parts, and is determined -to make the most of them. And in the -brows over the fine eyes there is a bulging out—where -phrenologists place the bump of language—that -shows where his forte lies: No such word-master -had been heard to sing since the days when -Chaucer sung. He is deeply read in Chaucer too; -and read in all—worth reading—who came between. -His lingual aptitudes are amazing. He can -tear words in tatters, and he can string them rhythmically -in all shapes; he makes his own law in language, -as he grows heated in his work; twists old -phrases out of shape; makes new ones; binds them -together; tosses them as he will to the changing -level of his thought: so that whereas one may go to -Chaucer, in points of language, as to an authority—one -goes to Spenser as to a mine of graceful and -euphonious phrases: but the authority is wanting—or, -at least, is not so safe. He makes uses for -words which no analogy and no good order can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -recognize. And his new words are not so much the -product of keen, shrewd search after what will -fullest and strongest express a feeling or a thought, -or give color to epithet, as they are the luxuriant -outcropping of a tropical genius for language, -which delights in abundant forms, and makes them -with an easy show of its own fecundity, or for the -chance purpose of filling a line, or meting out the -bounds of an orderly prosody.</p> - -<p>He came up to London, as I said, about the year -1578, at the invitation of a prig of a classmate, who -makes him known to Philip Sidney: Sidney is the -very man to recognize and appreciate the tender -beauty of those woful plaints in the <cite>Shepherd’s Calendar</cite>, -and invites the poet down to Penshurst, that -charming home of the Sidneys, in Kent. There, -such interest is made for him that he is appointed -to a secretaryship in Ireland, where the Queen’s -lieutenants are stamping out revolt. Spenser sees -much of this fiery work; and its blaze reddens some -of the pages of the <cite>Faery Queen</cite>. In the distribution -of spoils, after the Irish revolt was put down, -the poet has bestowed upon him, amongst other -plums, some three thousand acres of wild land,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -with Kilcolman Castle, which stands upon a valley -spur of this domain. This castle is represented -as an uninteresting fortress—like Johnnie Armstrong’s -tower in Scotland—upon the borders of -a small lake or mere, and the landscape—stretching -in unlovely waste around it—savage and low -and tame. Yet he finds rich rural pictures there—this -idealist and dreamer: let him see only so -much of sky as comes between the roofs of a city -alley, and he will pluck out of it a multitude of -twinkling stars; let him look upon a rood square -of brown grass-land, and he will set it alight with -scores of daisies and of primroses.</p> - -<h3>The Faery Queen.</h3> - -<p>And it is in this easy way he plants the men and -women, the hags and demons, the wizards and dragons -that figure in the phantasmagoria of the <cite>Faery -Queen</cite>; they come and go like twilight shadows; -they have no root of realism.</p> - -<p>There is reason to believe that the first cantos of -this poem were blocked out in his mind before -leaving England; perhaps the scheme had been -talked over with his friend Sidney; in any event, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -is quite certain that they underwent elaboration at -Kilcolman Castle, and some portions doubtless took -color from the dreary days of rapine and of war he -saw there. I will not ask if you have read the -<cite>Faery Queen</cite>: I fear that a great many dishonest -speeches are made on that score; I am afraid that I -equivocated myself in youngish days; but now I -will be honest in saying—I never read it through -continuously and of set purpose; I have tried it—on -winter nights, and gone to sleep in my chair: I -have tried it, under trees in summer, and have gone -to sleep on the turf: I have tried it, in the first -blush of a spring morning, and have gone—to -breakfast.</p> - -<p>Yet there are many who enjoy it intensely and -continuously: Mr. Saintsbury says, courageously, -that it is the only long poem he honestly wishes -were longer. It is certainly full of idealism; it is -full of sweet fancies; it is rich in dragonly horrors; -it is crammed with exquisite harmonies. But—its -tenderer heroines are so shadowy, you cannot bind -them to your heart; nay, you can scarce follow them -with your eyes: Now, you catch a strain which -seems to carry a sweet womanly image of flesh and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -blood—of heartiness and warmth. But—at the -turning of a page—his wealth of words so enwraps -her in glowing epithets, that she fades on -your vision to a mere iridescence and a creature -of Cloud-land.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“Her face so faire, as flesh it seemèd not,</div> -<div class="verse">But Heavenly Portrait of bright angels hew,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Clear as the skye, withouten blame or blot</div> -<div class="verse">Thro’ goodly mixture of Complexion’s dew!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And in her cheeks, the Vermeil red did shew,</div> -<div class="verse">Like Roses in a bed of Lillies shed,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The which ambrosial odors from them threw,</div> -<div class="verse">And gazers sense, with double pleasure fed,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Hable to heal the sick, and to revive the dead!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“In her faire eyes two living lamps did flame</div> -<div class="verse">Kindled above at the Heavenly Makers Light,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And darted fiery beams out of the same</div> -<div class="verse">So passing persant and so wondrous bright,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">That quite bereaved the rash beholders sight.</div> -<div class="verse">In them the blinded God—his lustful fire</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To kindle—oft assay’d, but had no might,</div> -<div class="verse">For with dred Majesty, and awful ire</div> -<div class="verse indent1">She broke his wanton darts, and quenchèd base desire!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“Upon her eyelids many Graces sate</div> -<div class="verse">Under the shadow of her even brows,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Working Belgardes and amorous Retrate,</div> -<div class="verse">And everie one her with a grace endows,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -<div class="verse indent1">And everie one, with meekness to her bowes;</div> -<div class="verse">So glorious mirror of Celestial Grace</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And soveraigne moniment of mortal vowes,</div> -<div class="verse">How shall frail pen describe her Heavenly face</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For feare—thro’ want of skill, her beauty to disgrace?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“So faire, and thousand times more faire</div> -<div class="verse">She seem’d—when she, presented was, to sight.</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And was y-clad, for heat of scorching aire</div> -<div class="verse">All in a silken <em>Camus</em>, lilly white,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Purfled upon, with many a folded plight</div> -<div class="verse">Which all above besprinkled was throughout</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With golden Aygulets, that glistered bright</div> -<div class="verse">Like twinckling starres, and all the skirt about</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Was hemmed with golden fringe, …”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and so on, by dozens, by scores, by hundreds—delicate, -mellifluous stanzas—fair ladies and brazen-scaled -dragons, lions and fleecy lambs, sweet purling -brooks and horrors of Pandemonium, story -grafted upon story, and dreams grafted upon these, -and still flowing on—canto after canto—until the -worldlings are tempted to exclaim, “When will he -stop?” It is an exclamation that a good many -lesser men than Spenser have tempted—in class-rooms, -in lecture-rooms, and in pulpits. And I -am wicked enough to think that if a third had -been shorn away by the poet from that over-full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -and over-epitheted poem of the <cite>Faery Queen</cite>, it -would have reached farther, and come nearer to -more minds and hearts. But who—save the -master—shall ever put the shears into that dainty -broidery where gorgeous flowers lie enmeshed in -page-long tangles, and where wanton tendrils of -words enlace and tie together whole platoons of -verse?</p> - -<p>In brief, the Poem is a great, cumbrous, beautiful, -bewildering, meandering Allegory, in which -he assigns to every Virtue a Knight to be ensampler -and defender of the same, and puts these -Knights to battle with all the vices represented by -elfin hags, or scaled dragons, or beautiful women; -and so the battles rage and the storms beat. But -we lose sight of his moral in the smoke of the conflict. -The skeleton of his ethics is overlaid with -the wallets of fair flesh, and with splendid trappings; -his abounding figures gallop away with -the logic; his roses cumber all his corn-ground. -There are no passages of condensed meaning, or -of wondrous intuition that give one pause, and that -stick by us like a burr. There is a symphonious -clatter of hammers upon golden-headed tacks, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -no such pounding blow as drives a big nail -home.</p> - -<p>All this is the criticism of a matter-of-fact man, -who perhaps has no right of utterance—as if one -without knowledge of music should criticise its -cumulated triumphs. Many a man can enjoy a -burst of balladry—of little vagrant songs—who -is crushed and bored by the pretty tangles and -symphonies of an opera. Spenser was poets’ poet—not -people’s poet; hardly can be till people are -steeped in that refinement, that poetic sensibility, -which only poets are supposed to possess. And -I am rather unpleasantly conscious that I may -offend intense lovers of this great singer by such -mention of him: painfully conscious, too, that it -may have its source (as Saintsbury assures us must -be the case) in a poetic inaptitude to give largest -and adequate relish to the tender harmonies and -the mythical reaches of his sweetly burdened song. -But shall I not be honest?</p> - -<p>Yet Spenser is never ribald, never vulgar, rarely -indelicate, even measured by modern standards: -He always has a welcoming word for honesty, and -for bravery, and, I think, the welcomest word of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -all for Love, which he counts, as so many young -people do, the chiefest duty of man.</p> - -<p>Once upon a time, there comes to see Spenser in -his Kilcolman home—that daring adventurer, that -roving knight, Sir Walter Raleigh—who is so well -taught, so elegant, so brave that he can make the -bright eyes even of Queen Bess twinkle again, with -the courtliness of his adulation; he comes, I say, -to see Spenser;—for he too has a grant of some -forty thousand acres carved out of that ever-wretched -and misgoverned Ireland: and Spenser, -to entertain his friend, reads somewhat of the <cite>Faery -Queene</cite> (not more than one canto I suspect), and Sir -Walter locks arms with the poet, and carries him -off to London, and presents him to the Queen; and -Spenser weaves subtle, honeyed flattery for this -great <cite>Gloriana</cite>; and his book is printed; and the -Queen smiles on him, and gives him her jewelled -hand to kiss, and a pension of £50 a year, which the -stout old Burleigh thinks too much; and which -Spenser, and poets all, think too beggarly small. -There are little poems that come after this, commemorating -this trip to Court, and Raleigh’s hobnobbing -with him—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Amongst the coolly shade</div> -<div class="verse">Of the green alders, by the Mulla’s shore</div> -<div class="verse">[Where]—he piped—I sung—</div> -<div class="verse">And when he sung, I piped,</div> -<div class="verse">By chaunge of tunes, each making other merry.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Spenser has found, too, a new <cite>Rosalind</cite> over amid -the wilds of Ireland, to whom he addresses a cluster -of gushing <cite>Amoretti</cite>; and she becomes eventually -his bride, and calls out what seems to me that -charmingest of all his poems—the <cite>Epithalamium</cite>. -You will excuse my reciting a tender little lovely -picture from it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Behold, whiles she before the Altar stands</div> -<div class="verse">Hearing the Holy Priest that to her speaks,</div> -<div class="verse">And blesseth her with his two happy hands.</div> -<div class="verse">How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,</div> -<div class="verse">And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain</div> -<div class="verse">Like crimson dyed in grain:</div> -<div class="verse">That even the Angels, which continually</div> -<div class="verse">About the sacred altar do remain,</div> -<div class="verse">Forget the service, and about her fly,</div> -<div class="verse">Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair,</div> -<div class="verse">The more they on it stare—</div> -<div class="verse">But her sad eyes still fastened on the ground,</div> -<div class="verse">Are governèd with goodly modesty,</div> -<div class="verse">That suffers not one look to glance awry,</div> -<div class="verse">Which may let in a little thought unsound.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Why blush ye, Love, to give to me your hand?</div> -<div class="verse">The pledge of all our band?</div> -<div class="verse">Sing, ye Sweet Angels, Allelujah sing!</div> -<div class="verse">That all the woods may answer, and your echos ring!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>To my mind the gracious humanity—the exquisite -naturalness of this is worth an ocean of -cloying prettinesses about <cite>Gloriana</cite> and <cite>Britomart</cite>. -Not very many years after this—just how many we -cannot say—comes the great tragedy of his life: A -new Irish rebellion (that of Tyrone) sends up its -tide of fire and blood around his home of Kilcolman; -his crops, his barns, his cattle, his poor babe<a name="FNanchor_92" id="FNanchor_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a>—the -last born—all are smothered, and consumed -away in that fiery wrack and ruin. He makes his -way broken-hearted to London again; his old welcome -as an adulator of the Queen is at an end; -Raleigh is not actively helpful; Sidney is dead; he -has some cheap lodging almost under the shadow of -Westminster: He is sick, maimed in body and in -soul; other accounts—not yet wholly discredited—represent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -him as miserably poor; bread, even, -hard to come by; my Lord of Essex—a new patron—sends -him a few guineas; and the poor poet -murmurs—too late—too late!—and so he dies -(1599). How glad we should have been to help -him, had we been living in that time, and all this -tale of suffering had been true;—so we think: and -yet, ten to one we should have said—“Poor fellow, -what a pity!”—and buttoned up our pockets, as -we do now.</p> - -<h3>Philip Sidney.</h3> - -<p>Meantime what has become of that Philip Sidney<a name="FNanchor_93" id="FNanchor_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> -who flashed upon us under the eyes of Elizabeth at -the age of twenty-four? You know him as the chivalric -soldier and the model gentleman. Students -and young people all, who are under the glamour of -youthful enthusiasms, are apt to have a great fondness -for Philip Sidney: But if any of my young -readers chance to be projecting an essay about that -courteous gentleman—and I know they will, if they -have not already—I would counsel them to forego -any mention of the story about the dying soldier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -and the cup of water. It has been cruelly overworked -already. Indeed it might have been -matched in scores of cases upon the battle-fields of -our own war: When the last shattering blow comes -to our poor humanity, the better nature in us does -somehow lean kindly out, in glance and in purpose. -Yet Philip Sidney was certainly a man of great -kindness and full of amiabilities and courtesies.</p> - -<p>Why, pray, should he not have been? Consider -that in all his young life he was wrapped in purple. -It is no bad thing in any day to be born eldest son -of an old and wealthy and titled family of England; -but it is something more to be born eldest son of -a Sidney—nephew to Leicester, prime favorite of -the Queen, cousin to the Northumberlands, the -Sutherlands, the Warwicks—heir to that old baronial -pile of Penshurst, toward which summer -loiterers go now, every year, from far-away countries—to -admire its red roofs—its gray walls -curtained with ivy—its tall chimneys, that have -smoked with the goodly hospitalities of centuries—its -charming wood-walks, that Ben Jonson and -Spenser and Massinger have known—its courts -and parterres and terraces, where “Sidney’s sister,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -Pembroke’s mother,” gathered posies—its far-reaching -lovely landscape, with Penshurst church -cropping out near by—blue, hazy heights off by -Tunbridge—lanes bowered with hedge-rows—wide-lying -wavy, grain-fields, and sheep feeding in -the hollows of the hills. He was born heir to all -this, I say, and had the best masters, the tenderest -and the worthiest of mothers—who writes to -him in this style,</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Your noble Father hath taken pains, with his own hand, -to give you in this—His Letter—so wise precepts for you to -follow with a diligent mind, as I will not withdraw your eyes -from beholding, and reverent honoring the same—no, not so -long a time as to read any letter from me: Wherefor—I only -bless you—with my desire to God to plant in you his grace, -and have always before your mind the excellent councils of -my Lord, your dear Father: Farewell, my little Philip; and, -once again, the Lord bless you!</p> - -<p class="center">“Your loving mother,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Marie Sidney</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Ought not a boy, with such a mother, and Penshurst -in prospect, and cousinly relations with the -Talbots and Howards and Stanleys to be gentlemanly -and amiable? Then—his great-uncle—Leicester -(who is Chancellor of the University)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -writes up to Oxford, where young Sidney is reading -for his degree—“Pray have my boy, Philip -Sidney, who is delicate, excused from fasting during -Lent.” And there is a plot afoot to marry this -young Oxford man to Anne, daughter of that -Lord Burleigh I told you of, and there are letters -about the negotiation still extant. Would you like -to hear how Lord Burleigh discusses his daughter’s -affairs?</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I have been pressed,” he says, “with kind offers of my -lord of Leicester, and have accorded with him, upon articles -(by a manner of A. B. C.) without naming persons—that—if -P. S. and A. C. hereafter shall like to marry, then shall -H. S. (father of P. S.) make assurances, etc., and W. C. -[that’s Lord Burleigh] father of A. C. shall pay, etc.: What -may follow, I know not: but meanwhile P. S. and A. C. -shall have full liberty.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>What did follow was, that old Burleigh thought -better of it, and married his daughter to a bigger -title—that is Lord Oxford, a learned and elegant, -but brutal man, who broke poor Anne Cecil’s heart.</p> - -<p>Sidney, after his Oxford course, and another at -Cambridge (as some authorities say) went—as was -the further mode—upon his travels: and goes, -with the same golden luck upon him, to the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -house of Walsingham, ambassador of England, in -Paris. Why not be gentle? What is to provoke? -It is quite a different thing—as many another -Cambridge man knew (Spenser among them), to -be gentle and bland and forbearing, when illness -seizes, when poverty pinches, when friends backslide, -when Heaven’s gates seem shut;—then, -amiability and gentleness and forbearance are indeed -crowning graces, and will unlock, I think, a -good many of the doors upon the courts, where the -weary shall be at rest.</p> - -<p>Sidney is at Paris when that virago Catharine -de’ Medici was lording it over her sons, and over -France;—there, too, as it chanced, through the -slaughter of St. Bartholomew’s day, from which -bloody holocaust he presently recoils, and continues -his travel over the Continent, writing very -charming, practical letters to his younger brother -Robert:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“You think my experience,” he says, “has grown from -the good things I have learned: but I know the only experience -which I have gotten is, to find how much I <em>might</em> have -learned and how much indeed I have missed—for want -of directing my course to the right end and by the right -means.” And again he tells him, “not to go travel—as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -many people do—merely out of a tickling humor to do as -other men have done, or to talk of having been.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>He goes leisurely into Italy—is for some time at -the famous University of Padua; he is in Venice -too during the great revels which were had there in -1574, in honor of Henry III. (of France). The Piazza -of San Marco was for days and nights together -a blaze of light and of splendor: what a city to -visit for this young Briton, who came accredited by -Elizabeth and by Leicester! The palaces of the -Foscari and of the Contarini would be open to him; -the younger Aldus Manutius was making imprints -of the classics that would delight his eye; the -temple fronts of Palladio were in their first freshness: -Did he love finer forms of art—the great -houses were rich in its trophies: the elder Palma -and Tintoretto were still at work: even the veteran -Titian was carrying his ninety-eight years with a -stately stride along the Rivi of the canal: if he -loved adventure, the Venetian ladies were very -beautiful, and the masks of the Ridotto gave him -the freedom of their smiles; the escapade of Bianca -Capello was a story of only yesterday; and -for other romance—the air was full of it; snatches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -from Tasso’s <cite>Rinaldo</cite><a name="FNanchor_94" id="FNanchor_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> were on the lips of the gondoliers, -and poetic legends lurked in every ripple of -the sea that broke upon the palace steps. It is said -that Sidney was painted in Venice by Paul Veronese; -and if one is cunning in those matters he -may be able to trace the likeness of the heir of -Penshurst in some one of those who belong to the -great groups of noble men and women which the -Veronese has left upon the walls of the Ducal Palace.</p> - -<p>In 1575 he came home, with all the polish that -European courts and European culture could give -him. We may be sure that he paid dainty compliments -to the Queen—then in the full bloom of -womanhood: we may be sure that she devoured -them all with a relish that her queenliness could -not wholly conceal. He won his sobriquet of “The -Gentleman” in these times; elegantly courteous; -saying the right thing just when he should say it:—perhaps -too elegantly courteous—too insistent -that even a “Good-morning” should be spoken at -precisely the right time, and in the right key—too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -observant of the starched laws of a deportment -that chills by its own consciousness of unvarying -propriety, as if—well, I had almost said—as if -he had been born in Boston. His favorite sister -meantime has married one of the Pembrokes, and -has a princely place down at Wilton, near Salisbury -(now another haunt of pleasure-seekers). Sidney -was often there; and he wrote for this cherished -sister his book, or poem—(call it how we will) -of <cite>Arcadia</cite>; writing it, as he says, off-hand—and -without re-reading—sheet by sheet, for her -pleasure: I am sorry he ever said this; it provokes -hot-heads to a carelessness that never wins results -worth winning. Indeed I think Sidney put more -care to his <cite>Arcadia</cite> than he confessed; though it is -true, he expressed the wish on his deathbed, that -it should never be printed.</p> - -<p>Shall I tell you anything of it—that it is an -Allegory—shaped in fact after a famous Italian -poem of the same name—that few people now -read it continuously; that it requires great pluck to -do so; and yet that no one can dip into it—high -or low—without finding rich euphuisms, poetic -symphonies, noble characters, dexterous experimentation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -in verse—iambics, sapphics, hexameters, -all interlaced with a sonorous grandiloquence of -prose—a curious medley, very fine, and <em>very</em> dull? -When published after his death it ran through -edition after edition, and young wives were gravely -cautioned not to spend too much time over that -cherished volume. His little book of the <cite>Defence of -Poesie</cite>, which he also wrote down at Wilton, appeals -more nearly to our sympathies, and may be counted -still a good and noble argument for the Art of -Poetry. And Sidney gave proof of his skill in that -art, far beyond anything in the <cite>Arcadia</cite>—in some -of those amatory poems under title of <cite>Astrophel and -Stella</cite>, which were supposed to have grown out of -his fruitless love for Penelope Devereux, to which I -made early reference. I cite a single sonnet that -you may see his manner:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“<em>Stella</em>, think not, that I by verse seek fame,</div> -<div class="verse">Who seek, who hope, who love, who live—but thee;</div> -<div class="verse">Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history.</div> -<div class="verse">If thou praise not, all other praise is shame,</div> -<div class="verse">Nor so ambitious am I as to frame</div> -<div class="verse">A nest for my young praise in laurel tree;</div> -<div class="verse">In truth I vow I wish not there should be</div> -<div class="verse">Graved in my epitaph, a Poet’s name.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Nor, if I would, could I just title make</div> -<div class="verse">That any laud thereof, to me should grow</div> -<div class="verse">Without—my plumes from other wings I take—</div> -<div class="verse">For nothing from <em>my</em> wit or will doth flow</div> -<div class="verse">Since all my words <em>thy</em> beauty doth indite,</div> -<div class="verse">And Love doth hold my hand, and <em>make</em> me write.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But it is, after all, more his personality than his -books that draws our attention toward him, amid -that galaxy of bright spirits which is gathering -around the court of Elizabeth. In all the revels, -and the pageants of the day the eyes of thousands -fasten upon his fine figure and his noble presence. -Though Scott—singularly enough—passes him by -without mention, he is down at Kenilworth, when -the ambitious Leicester turns his castle-gardens -into a Paradise to welcome his sovereign. When -he goes as ambassador to Rudolph of Germany, he -hangs golden blazonry upon the walls of his house: -Englishmen, everywhere, are proud of this fine -gentleman, Sidney, who can talk in so many languages, -who can turn a sonnet to a lady’s eyebrow, -who can fence with the best swordsmen of -any court, who can play upon six instruments of -music, who can outdance even his Grace of Anjou. -His death was in keeping with his life; it happened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -in the war of the Low Countries, and was -due to a brilliant piece of bravado; he and his -companions fighting (as at Balaclava in the Charge -of the Light Brigade) where there was little hope -of conquest. All round them—in front—in rear—in -flank—the arquebuses and the cannon -twanged and roared. They beat down the gunners; -they sabred the men-at-arms; thrice and four -times they cut red ways through the beleaguering -enemy; but at last, a cruel musket-ball came crashing -through the thigh of this brave, polished gentleman—Philip -Sidney—and gave him his death-wound. -Twenty-five days he lingered, saying -brave and memorable things—sending courteous -messages, as if the sheen of royalty were still -upon him—doing tender acts for those nearest -him, and dying, with a great and a most worthy -calm.</p> - -<p>We may well believe that the Queen found somewhat -to wipe from her cheek when the tale came of -the death of “my Philip,” the pride of her court. -Leicester, too, must have minded it sorely: and of -a surety Spenser in his far home of Kilcolman; -writing there, maybe—by the Mulla shore—his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -apostrophe to Sidney’s soul, so full of his sweetness -and of his wonderful word-craft:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“Ah me, can so Divine a thing be dead?</div> -<div class="verse">Ah no: it is not dead, nor can it die</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But lives for aye in Blissful Paradise:</div> -<div class="verse">Where, like a new-born Babe, it soft doth lie</div> -<div class="verse indent1">In bed of Lilies, wrapped in tender wise</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And compassed all about with Roses sweet</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And dainty violets, from head to feet.</div> -<div class="verse">There—thousand birds, all of celestial brood</div> -<div class="verse">To him do sweetly carol, day and night</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And with strange notes—of him well understood</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Lull him asleep in angelic Delight</div> -<div class="verse">Whilst in sweet dreams, to him presented be</div> -<div class="verse">Immortal beauties, which no eye may see.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Two black palls fling their shadows on the court -of Elizabeth in 1587: Sidney died in October of -1586; and in the following February Mary Queen -of Scots was beheaded. The next year the Spanish -Armada is swept from the seas, and all England is -given up to rejoicings. And as we look back upon -this period and catch its alternating light and shade -on the pages of the historians and in the lives of -English poets and statesmen, the great Queen, in -her ruff and laces, and with her coronet of jewels, -seems somehow, throughout all, the central figure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -We see Raleigh the Captain of her Guard—the -valiant knight, the scholar, the ready poet—but -readiest of all to bring his fine figure and his -stately gallantries to her court: We see Sir Francis -Drake, with his full beard and bullet-head—all -browned with his long voyages, from which -he has come laden with ingots of Spanish gold—swinging -with his sailor-gait into her august -presence: We catch sight of Lord Burleigh, feeble -now with the weight of years, leading up that -young nephew of his—Francis Bacon, that he may -kiss the Queen’s hand and do service for favors -which shall make him in time Lord Chancellor of -England. Perhaps the rash, headstrong Oxford -may be in presence, whose poor wife was once -the affianced of Sidney: And the elegant Lord -Buckhurst, decorous with the white hair of age, -who, in his younger days, when plain Thomas -Sackville, had contributed the best parts to the -<cite>Mirror for Magistrates</cite>: Richard Hooker, too, may -be there—come up from the “peace and privacy” -of his country parsonage—in his sombre clerical -dress, bent with study, but in the prime of his -age and power, with the calm face and the severe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -philosophy with which he has confronted a termagant -of a wife and the beginnings of Dissent. -And, if not in this presence, yet somewhere in London -might have been found, in that day, a young -man, not much past twenty—just up from Stratford-upon-Avon—to -take his part in playing at the -Globe Theatre; yet not wholly like other players. -Even now, while all these worthies are gathering -about the august Queen in her brilliant halls at -Greenwich or at Hampton Court, this young Stratford -man may be seated upon the steps of Old St. -Paul’s—with his chin upon his hand—looking -out on the multitudinous human tide, which even -then swept down Ludgate Hill, and meditating -the speeches of those shadowy courtiers of his—only -creatures of his day-dreams; yet they are to -carry his messages of wisdom into all lands and -languages.</p> - -<p>But I must shut the books where I see these figures -come and go.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">As we open our budget to-day, we are still -under kingship of the great Queen Bess, in -whose presence we saw the portentous Lord Burleigh, -whose nod has passed into history; we saw, -too, in our swift way, the wise, the judicious, the -simple-minded, the mismarried Richard Hooker. -We called Spenser before us, and had a taste of -those ever-sweet poems of his—ever sweet, though -ever so long. Then his friend Philip Sidney -flashed across our view, the over-fine gentleman, -yet full of nobility and courage, who wrote a long -book, <cite>Arcadia</cite>, so bright with yellow splendor as to -tire one; and still so full of high thinking as to warrant -his fame and to lend a halo to his brave and -tragic death. You may remember, too, that I made -short mention of a certain John Lyly, who was -about the same age with Spenser, and who, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -his pretty euphuisms came to cut a larger figure in -the days of Elizabeth than many stronger men did.</p> - -<h3>John Lyly.</h3> - -<p>I recur to him now and tell you more of him, -because he did in his time set a sort of fashion in -letters. He was an Oxford man,<a name="FNanchor_95" id="FNanchor_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> born down in -Kent, and at twenty-five, or thereabout, made his -fame by a book, which grew out of suggestions (not -only of name but largely of intent and purpose) in -the <cite>Schoolmaster</cite> of Roger Ascham; and thus it happens -over and over in the fields of literature, that a -plodding man will drop from his store a nugget, -over which some fellow of lively parts will stumble -into renown.</p> - -<p>The book I refer to was called <cite>Euphues, or the -Anatomy of Wit</cite>, which came into such extraordinary -favor that he wrote shortly after another, -called <cite>Euphues and his England</cite>. And the fashion -that he set, was a fashion of affectations—of prettinesses -of speech—of piling words on words, daintier -and daintier—antithesis upon antithesis, with -flavors of wide reading thrown in, and spangled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -with classic terms and far-fetched similes—so that -ladies ambitious of literary fame larded their talk -with these fine euphuisms of Mr. Lyly. Something -of a coxcomb I think we must reckon him; -we might almost say an Oscar Wilde of letters—posing -as finely and as capable of drawing female -shoals in his wake. His strain for verbal felicities, -always noticeable, comparing with good, simple, -downright English, as a dancing-master’s mincing -step, compares with the assured, steady tread of a -go-ahead pedestrian, who thinks nothing of attitudes. -Scott, you will remember, sought to caricature -the Euphuist, in a somewhat exaggerated -way, in Sir Piercie Shafton, who figures in his story -of the <cite>Monastery</cite>; he himself, however, in the later -annotations of his novel, confesses his failure, and -admitted the justice of the criticism which declared -Sir Piercie a bore. Shakespeare, also, at a time not -far removed from Lyly’s conquest, perhaps intended -a slap at the euphuistic craze,<a name="FNanchor_96" id="FNanchor_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> in the pedant -Schoolmaster’s talk of “Love’s Labor’s Lost.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet there was a certain good in this massing of -epithets, and in this tesselated cumulation of nice -bits of language, from which the more wary and -skilful of writers could choose—as from a great vocabulary—what -words were cleanest and clearest. -Nor do I wish to give the impression that there -were no evidences of thoughtfulness or of good purpose, -under Lyly’s tintinnabulation of words. Hazlitt -thought excellently well of him; and Charles -Kingsley, in these later times, has pronounced extravagant -eulogy of him. Indeed he had high -moral likings, though his inspirations are many of -them from Plato or Boëthius; it is questionable -also if he did not pilfer from Plutarch; certainly he -sugar-coats with his language a great many heathen -pills.</p> - -<p>In observation he is very acute. That <cite>Euphues</cite> -who gives name to his book, is an Athenian youth -of rare parts—“well-constituted” as the Greek implies—who -has lived long in Italy, and who talks -in this strain of the ladies he saw on a visit to England:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The English Damoiselles have their bookes tied to their -girdles—not feathers—who are as cunning in the Scriptures -as you are in Ariosto or Petrark. It is the most gorgeous -court [of England] that ever I have seene or heard of; but -yet do they not use their apparel so nicely as you in Italy, -who thinke scorne to kneele at service, for fear of wrinckles -in your silk, who dare not lift up your head to heaven, for -fear of rumpling the ruffs in your neck; yet your handes, -I confess, are holden up, rather I thinke, to show your -ringes, than to manifest your righteousness.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Elizabeth would have very probably relished this -sort of talk, and have commended the writer in person; -nor can there be any doubt that, in such event, -Lyly would have mumbled his thanks in kissing -the royal hands: there are complaining letters of -his on the score of insufficient court patronage, -which are not high-toned, and which make us a little -doubtful of a goodly manhood in him. Certainly -his deservings were great, by reason of the -plays which he wrote for her Majesty’s Company of -Child-players, and which were acted at the Chapel -Royal and in the palaces. In some of these there -are turns of expression and of dramatic incident -which Shakespeare did not hesitate to convert to -his larger purposes; indeed there is, up and down -in them, abundance of dainty word-craft—of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -ingenuity—of more than Elizabethan delicacy too, -and from time to time, some sweet little lyrical outburst -that holds place still in the anthologies.</p> - -<p>One of these, with which I daresay you may be -over-familiar, is worth quoting again. It is called -Apelles’ Song, and it is from the play of “Alexander -and Campaspe:”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Cupid and my Campaspe played</div> -<div class="verse">At cards for kisses—Cupid paid.</div> -<div class="verse">He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,</div> -<div class="verse">His mother’s doves, and team of sparrows:</div> -<div class="verse">Loses them too: then down he throws</div> -<div class="verse">The coral of his lip—the Rose</div> -<div class="verse">Growing on’s cheek (but none knows how);</div> -<div class="verse">With these the crystal of his brow,</div> -<div class="verse">And then the dimple of his chin—</div> -<div class="verse">All these did my Campaspe win.</div> -<div class="verse">At last, he set her both his eyes—</div> -<div class="verse">She won; and Cupid blind did rise.</div> -<div class="verse">O Love, has she done this to thee?</div> -<div class="verse">What shall, alas! become of me?”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>He puts, too, into imitative jingle of words the -song of the Nightingale—(as Bryant has done for -the Bobolink); and of the strain of the skylark -nothing prettier was ever said than Mr. Lyly says:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“How, at Heaven’s gate she claps her wings,</div> -<div class="verse">The morn not waking—till <em>she</em> sings.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Francis Bacon.</h3> - -<p>We go away from singing skylarks to find the -next character that I shall cull out from these Elizabethan -times to set before you: this is Lord Bacon—or, -to give him his true title, Lord Verulam—there -being, in fact, the same impropriety in -saying Lord Bacon (if custom had not “brazed it -so”) that there would be in saying Lord D’Israeli -for Lord Beaconsfield.</p> - -<p>Here was a great mind—a wonderful intellect -which everyone admired, and in which everyone of -English birth, from Royalty down, took—and ever -will take—a national pride; but, withal, few of -those amiabilities ever crop out in this great character -which make men loved. He can see a poor -priest culprit come to the rack without qualms; -and could look stolidly on, as Essex, his special -benefactor in his youth, walked to the scaffold; yet -the misstatement of a truth, with respect to physics, -or any matter about which truth or untruth was -clearly demonstrable, affected him like a galvanic -shock. His biographers, Montagu and Spedding, -have padded his angularities into roundness; while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -Pope and Macaulay have lashed him in the grave. -I think we must find the real man somewhere between -them; if we credit him with a great straight-thinking, -truth-seeking brain, and little or no capacity -for affection, the riddle of his strange life will -be more easily solved. Spedding,<a name="FNanchor_97" id="FNanchor_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a> who wrote a voluminous -life of Bacon—having devoted a quarter -of a century to necessary studies—does certainly -make disastrous ripping-up of the seams in Macaulay’s -rhetoric; but there remain certain ugly facts -relating to the trial of Essex, and the bribe-takings, -which will probably always keep alive in the popular -mind an under-current of distrust in respect to -the great Chancellor.</p> - -<p>He was born in London, in 1561, three years before -Shakespeare, and at a time when, from his father’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -house in the Strand he could look sheer across -the Thames to Southwark, where, before he was -thirty, the Globe Theatre was built, in which Shakespeare -acted. He was in Paris when his father died; -there is no grief-stricken letter upon the event, but -a curious mention that he had dreamed two nights -before how his father’s house was covered with black -mortar—so intent is he on mental processes.</p> - -<p>He had a mother who was pious, swift-thoughted, -jealous, imperious, unreasonable, with streaks of -tenderness.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Be not speedy of speech,” she says in one of her letters—“nor -talk suddenly, but when discretion requireth, and -that soberly then. Remember you have no father; and you -have little enough—if not too little, regarded your kind, -<em>no-simple</em> mother’s wholesome advice.”</p> - -<p>And again: “Look well to your health; sup not, nor sit -not up late; surely I think your drinking near to bedtime -hindereth your and your brother’s digestion very much: I -never knew any but sickly that used it; besides ill for head -and eyes.” And again, in postscript: “I trust you, with yr -servants, use prayers twice in a day, having been where reformation -is. Omit it not for any.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And he responds with ceremony, waiving much -of her excellent advice, and sometimes suggesting -some favor she can do him,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“It may be I shall have occasion to visit the Court this -Vacation [he being then at Gray’s Inn], which I have not -done this months space. In which respect, because carriage -of stuff to and fro spoileth it, I would be glad of that -light bed of striped stuff which your Ladyship hath, if you -have not otherwise disposed it.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Sharpish words, too, sometimes pass between -them; but he is always decorously and untouchingly -polite.</p> - -<p>Indeed his protestations of undying friendship to -all of high station, whom he addresses unctuously, -are French in their amplitude, and French, too, in -their vanities. He presses sharply always toward -the great end of self-advancement—whether by -flatteries, or cajolement, or direct entreaty. He -believed in the survival of the fittest; and that the -fittest should struggle to make the survival good—no -matter what weak ones, or timid ones, or confiding -ones, or emotional ones should go to the wall, -or the bottom, in the struggle. His flatteries, I -think, never touched the Queen, though he tried -them often and gave a lurid color to his flatteries. -She admired his parts as a young man; she had -honored his father; she accepted his services with -thanks—even the dreadful services which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -rendered in demonstrating the treason of the gallant -and generous, but headstrong Earl of Essex. -He never came into full possession of royal confidences, -however, until James I. came to the throne: -by him he was knighted, by him made Lord Chancellor, -by him elevated to the peerage; and it was -under him that he was brought to trial for receiving -bribes—was convicted, despoiled of his judicial -robes, went to prison—though it might be only for -a day—and thereafter into that retirement, at once -shameful and honorable, where he put the last -touches to those broad teachings of “Philosophy,” -which the world will always cherish and revere: -not the first nor the last instance in which great -and fatal weaknesses have been united to great -power and great accomplishment.</p> - -<p>But lest you may think too hardly of this eminent -man, a qualifying word must be said of that -stain upon him—of receiving bribes: it was no -uncommon thing for high judicial personages to -take gifts; no uncommon thing for all high officers -of the Government—nay, for the Government -itself, as typified in its supreme head. And, -strange as it may seem, Bacon’s sense of justice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -does not appear to have been swayed by the gifts -he took. Spedding has demonstrated, I think, -that no judgment he rendered was ever reversed by -subsequent and farther hearing.<a name="FNanchor_98" id="FNanchor_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> He was not in -the ordinary sense a money-lover; but he did love -the importance and consideration which money -gave, yet was always in straits; and those unwise -receivings of his went to supply the shortcomings -in a very extravagant and disorderly -home-life. His servants plundered him; his -tradespeople fleeced him; nor do I think that the -mistress of the Chancellor’s household was either -very wary or very winning. Almost the only -time there is mention of her in his letters occurs -previous to his marriage (which did not take -place till he was well in middle age), and then -only as “the daughter of an alderman who will -bring a good dot” with her. His mother-in-law, -too, appears to have been of the stage sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -mother-in-law, whom he addresses (by letter) in -this fashion:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Madam,” he says, “you shall with right good-will be -made acquainted with anything that concerneth your daughters, -if you bear a mind of love and concord: Otherwise -you must be content to be a stranger to us. For I may not -be so unwise as to suffer you to be an author or occasion of -dissension between your daughters and their husbands; -having seen so much misery of that kind in yourself.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>This looks a little as if the mother-in-law found -the “grapes sour” in the Bacon gardens. I do not -think there was much domesticity about him, even -if home influences had encouraged it: he was without -children, and not one to read poetry to his wife -in a boudoir; yet his essays concerning marriage -and concerning children and concerning friendship -and concerning extravagance, are full of piquant -truths.</p> - -<p>Indeed two distinct lines of life ran through the -career of this extraordinary man. In one he loved -parade, ceremony, glitter; he stooped ungraciously -to those who ranked him in factitious distinctions; -was profuse and heartless in his adulation; -taking great gifts with servile acknowledgment; -shunning friends who were falling; courting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -enemies who were rising: and yet through all -this, and looking out from the same keen inscrutable -eyes was the soul of a philosopher cognizant -of all humanities, searching sharply after the largest -and broadest truths; too indifferent to small ones; -weighing his own shortcomings with bitter remorse; -alive to everything in science that should -help the advancement of the world, and absorbed in -high ranges of thinking which the animosities and -cares and criminalities and accidents of every-day -life did not seem to reach or to disturb.</p> - -<p>In such mood he wrote those essays, of some -of which I have spoken—wonderfully compact of -thought, and as wonderfully compact of language—which -one should read and read again. No private -library of a hundred English books is complete -without a copy of Bacon’s Essays. The keen sagacity -and perdurable sense of his observations always -engage one. Thus of Travel, he says,—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Let him [the Traveller] sequester himself from the -company of his countrymen, and diet in such places where -there is good company of the nation where he travelleth. -He that travelleth into a country before he hath some entrance -into the language, goeth to school and not to travel.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Of Friendship:—“This communicating of a man’s self to -his friend, works two contrary efforts; for it redoubleth -joys and cutteth griefs in halves.” Again, of the advantages -of talk with a friend:—“Certain it is, that whosoever hath -his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and understanding -do clarify and break up, in the communicating -and discoursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more -easily; he marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how -they look when they are turned into words; finally, he -waxeth wiser than himself: and that more by an hours discourse -than by a days meditation.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Thus I could go on for page after page of citations -which you would approve, and which are -so put in words that no mending or shortening or -deepening of their force seems anyway possible. -And yet this book of Essays—with all its sagacities, -its ringing terseness, its stanch worldly wisdom—is -one we do not warm toward. Even when he -talks of friendship or marriage, death or love, a -cold line of self-seeking pervades it. Of sacrifice -for love’s sake, for friendship’s sake, or for charity’s -sake, there is nothing; and in that Essay on -“Parents and Children”—what iciness of reflection—of -suggestion! A man might talk as Bacon talks -there, of the entries in a “Herd-book.”</p> - -<p>As for the <cite>Novum Organum</cite> and the <cite>Augmentis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -Scientiarum</cite>—you would not read them if I were -to suggest it: indeed, there is no need for reading -them, except as a literary <i lang="la">excursus</i>, seeing that -they have wrought their work in breaking up old, -slow modes of massing knowledge, and in pouring -light upon new ways;—in serving, indeed, so far -as their reach went, as a great logical lever, by -which subsequent inquirers have prised up a thousand -hidden knowledges and ways of knowledge to -the comprehension and cognizance of the world.</p> - -<p>And the two lines of life in Francis Bacon were -joined by a strange hyphen at last: He got out of -his coach (which was not paid for), and in his silk -stockings walked through the snow, to prosecute -some scientific post-mortem experiment upon the -body of a chicken he had secured by the roadside, -near to London. He caught cold—as lesser men -would have done; and he died of it. This date of -his death (1626) brings us beyond Elizabeth’s time—beyond -James’ time, too, and far down to the -early years of Charles I. He was born, as I said, -three years before Shakespeare, three years after -Elizabeth came to the throne; and the <cite>Novum -Organum</cite> was published in the same year in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock—a convenient -peg on which to hang the date of two great -events.</p> - -<p>He was buried in the old town of St. Alban’s, of -whose antiquities I have already spoken, and near -to which Gorhambury, the country home of Bacon, -was situated. The town and region are well worth -a visit: and it is one of the few spots whither one -can still go by a well-appointed English stage-coach -with sleek horses—four-in-hand, which starts every -morning in summer from the White Horse Cellar, -in Piccadilly, and spins over the twenty miles of intervening -beautiful road (much of it identical with -the old Roman Watling Street) in less than two -hours and a half. The drive is through Middlesex, -and into “pleasant Hertfordshire,” where the huge -Norman tower of the old abbey buildings, rising -from the left bank of the Ver, marks the town of St. -Alban’s. The tomb and monument of Bacon are in -the Church of St. Michael’s: there is still an Earl of -Verulam presiding over a new Gorhambury House; -and thereabout, one may find remnants of the old -home of the great Chancellor and some portion of -the noble gardens in which he took so much delight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -and in which he wandered up and down, in -peaked hat and in ruff, and with staff—pondering -affairs of State—possibly meditating the while -upon that most curious and stately Essay of his -upon “Gardens,” which opens thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“God Almighty first planted a garden. And, indeed, it is -the purest of human pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment -to the spirits of man, without which building and -palaces are but gross handyworks: and a man shall ever -see, that when ages grow to civility and elegancy, men come -to build stately, sooner than to garden finely; as if gardening -were the greater perfection.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Surely, we who grow our own salads and “graff” -our own pear-trees may take exaltation from this: -and yet I do not believe that the great Chancellor -ever put his hand, laboringly, to a rake-stave: but -none the less, he snuffed complacently the odor of -his musk-roses and his eglantine, and looked admiringly -at his clipped walls of hedges.</p> - -<h3>Thomas Hobbes.</h3> - -<p>There used to come sometimes to these gardens -of Gorhambury, in Bacon’s day, a young man—twenty -years his junior—of a strangely subtle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -mind, who caught so readily at the great Chancellor’s -meaning, and was otherwise so well instructed -that he was employed by him in some clerical duties. -His name was Thomas Hobbes; and it is a name -that should be known and remembered, because it -is identified with writings which had as much influence -upon the current of thought in the middle of -the next century (the seventeenth) as those of Herbert -Spencer have now, and for somewhat similar -reasons. He was a very free thinker, as well as a -deep one; keeping, from motives of policy, nominally -within Church lines, yet abhorred and disavowed -by Church-teachers; believing in the absolute right -of kings, and in self-interest as the nucleus of all -good and successful schemes for the conduct of life; -weighing relations to the future and a Supreme -Good (if existing) with a trader’s prudence, and -counting Friendship “a sense of social utility.” -His theory of government was—a crystallization of -forces, coming about regularly by the prudent self-seeking -of individuals. Of divine or spiritual influences -he does not take any sympathetic cognizance; -hard, cold, calculating; not inspiring, not hopeful; -feeding higher appetites on metaphysic husks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<p>Of his Deism I give this exhibit:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Forasmuch as God Almighty is incomprehensible, it followeth -that we can have no conception or image of the -Deity; and consequently, all his attributes signify our inability -and defect of power to conceive anything concerning his -nature, and not any conception of the same, except only this—that -there is a God. For the effects, we acknowledge -naturally, do include a power of their producing, before -they were produced; and that power presupposeth something -existent that hath such power: and the thing so existing -with power to produce, if it were not eternal, must -needs have been produced by somewhat before it; and that, -again, by something else before that, till we come to an -eternal (that is to say, the first) Power of all Powers, and -first Cause of all Causes; and this is it which all men conceive -by the name <span class="smcap">God</span>, implying eternity, incomprehensibility, -and omnipotency. And thus all that will consider may -know that God is, though not <em>what</em> he is.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Cribbing his emotional nature (if he ever had -any), he yet writes with wonderful directness, perspicacity, -and <em>verve</em>—making “Hobbism” talked -of, as Spencerism is talked of. Indeed, one does -not see clearly how any man, flinging only his bare -hook of logic and his sinker of reason into the infinite -depths around us, can fish up anything of a -helpfully spiritual sort much better than Hobbism -now.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was specially befriended by the Cavendishes, -having once been tutor to a younger scion -of that distinguished family; and so he came to -pass his latest years in their princely home of -Chatsworth, humored by the Duke, and treated by -the Duchess as a pet bear—to be regularly fed -and not provoked; climbing the Derbyshire hills of -a morning, dining at mid-day, and at candle-lighting -retiring to his private room to smoke his twelve -pipes of tobacco (his usual allowance) and to follow -through the smoke his winding trails of thought.<a name="FNanchor_99" id="FNanchor_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a></p> - -<p>He lived to the extreme age of ninety-two, thus -coming well down into the times of Charles II., -who used to say of him that “he was a bear against -whom the Church played her young dogs to exercise -them.” He lived and died a bachelor, not relishing -society in general, and liking only such -shrewd acute friends as could track him in his -subtleties, who had the grace to applaud him, and -the wise policy of concealing their antagonisms.</p> - -<p>He is not much cited now in books, nor has his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -name association with any of those felicities of literature -which exude perennial perfumes. He was -careless of graces; he stirred multitudes into new -trains of thought; he fed none of them with any of -the minor and gracious delights of learning. Perhaps -he is best known in literary ways proper by a -close and lucid translation of the <cite>History</cite> of Thucydides, -which I believe is still reckoned by scholars -a good rendering of the Greek.<a name="FNanchor_100" id="FNanchor_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a></p> - -<p>He ventured, too, upon verse in praise of Derbyshire -and of the valley of the Derwent, but it is -not rich or beautiful. A man who keeps his emotional -nature in a strait-jacket—for security or for -other purpose—may make catalogues of trees, or -of summer days; but he cannot paint the lilies or -a sunrise. A translation of Homer which he undertook -and accomplished, when over eighty, was just -as far from a success, and for kindred reasons.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<h3>George Chapman.</h3> - -<p>There was, however, another translation of Homer -about those times, or a little earlier, which was of -much rarer quality, and which has not lost its rare -flavors even now. I speak of George Chapman’s. -It is not so true to the Greek as Hobbes’ Thucydides; -indeed not true at all to the words, but true -to the spirit; and in passages where the translator’s -zeal was aflame catching more of the dash, and -abounding flow, and brazen resonance of the old -Greek poet than Pope, or Cowper, Derby, or Bryant.</p> - -<p>The literalists will never like him, of course; he -drops words that worry him—whole lines indeed -with which he does not choose to grapple; he adds -words, too—whole lines, scenes almost; there is -vulgarity sometimes, and coarseness; he calls things -by their old homely names; there is no fine talk -about the chest or the abdomen, but the Greek -lances drive straight through the ribs or to the -navel, and if a cut be clean and large—we are not -told of crimson tides—but the blood gurgles out -in great gouts as in a slaughter-house; there may -be over-plainness, and over-heat, and over-stress;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -but nowhere weakness; and his unwieldly, staggering -lines—fourteen syllables long—forge on -through the ruts which the Homeric chariots have -worn, bouncing and heaving and plunging and jolting, -but always lunging forward with their great -burden of battle, of brazen shields, and ponderous -war-gods. I hardly know where to cut into the -welter of his long lines for sample, but in all parts -his brawny pen declares itself. Take a bit from -that skrimmage of the Sixteenth Book where—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent8">“The swift Meriones</div> -<div class="verse">Pursuing flying Acamas, just as he got access</div> -<div class="verse">To horse and chariot—overtook, and dealt him such a blow</div> -<div class="verse">On his right shoulder that he left his chariot, and did strow</div> -<div class="verse">The dusty earth: life left limbs, and night his eyes possessed.</div> -<div class="verse">Idomeneus his stern dart at Erymas addressed,</div> -<div class="verse">As—like to Acamas—he fled; it cut the sundry bones</div> -<div class="verse">Beneath his brain, betwixt his neck and foreparts, and so runs,</div> -<div class="verse">Shaking his teeth out, through his mouth, his eyes all drowned in blood;</div> -<div class="verse">So through his nostrils and his mouth, that now dart-open stood,</div> -<div class="verse">He breathed his spirit.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And again that wonderful duel between Patroclus -and the divine Sarpedon:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Down jumped he from his chariot, down leaped his foe as light,</div> -<div class="verse">And as, on some far-looking rock, a cast of vultures fight,</div> -<div class="verse">—Fly on each other, strike and truss—part, meet, and then stick by,</div> -<div class="verse">Tug, both with crooked beaks and seres, cry, fight, and fight and cry;</div> -<div class="verse">So fiercely fought these angry kings, and showed as bitter galls.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>What a description this old Chapman would have -made of a tug at foot-ball!</p> - -<p>Another fragment I take from the Twenty-first -Book, where the River God roars and rages in the -waters of Scamander against Achilles:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">——“Then swell’d his waves, then rag’d, then boil’d again</div> -<div class="verse">Against Achilles, up flew all, and all the bodies slain</div> -<div class="verse">In all his deeps, of which the heaps made bridges to his waves</div> -<div class="verse">He belch’d out, roaring like a bull. The unslain yet he saves</div> -<div class="verse">In his black whirl-pits, vast and deep. A horrid billow stood</div> -<div class="verse">About Achilles. On his shield the violence of the Flood</div> -<div class="verse">Beat so, it drove him back, and took his feet up, his fair palm</div> -<div class="verse">Enforc’d to catch into his stay a broad and lofty elm,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose roots he tossed up with his hold, and tore up all the shore.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>When any of us can make as spirited a translation -as that, I think we can stand a scolding from -the teachers for not being literal. George Chapman -lived a very long life, and did other things -worthily; wrote a mass of dramas<a name="FNanchor_101" id="FNanchor_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a>—but not of -the very best; they belong to the class of plays -those people talk of who want to talk of things -nobody has read. I think better and richer things -are before us.</p> - -<h3>Marlowe.</h3> - -<p>Did it ever happen to you to read upon a summer’s -day that delightful old book—of a half century -later—called <cite>The Complete Angler</cite>; and do -you remember how, on a certain evening when -the quiet Angler had beguiled himself with loitering -under beech-trees and watching the lambs and -listening to the birds, he did encounter, in an adjoining -field, a handsome milkmaid, who lifted up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -her voice—which was like a nightingale’s—to an -old-fashioned song, beginning?—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Come live with me and be my love,</div> -<div class="verse">And we will all the pleasures prove</div> -<div class="verse">That valleys, groves, or hills, or field</div> -<div class="verse">Or woods, or steepy mountains yield—</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And I will make thee beds of roses</div> -<div class="verse">And then a thousand fragrant posies</div> -<div class="verse">A cap of flowers and a kirtle</div> -<div class="verse">Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Well, that song of the milkmaid, with its setting -of verdant meads and silver streams and honeysuckle -hedges keeps singing itself in a great many -ears to-day: And it was written by Christopher -Marlowe,<a name="FNanchor_102" id="FNanchor_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a> one of the most harum-scarum young -dare-devils of Elizabethan times. He was born in -the same year with Shakespeare—down in Canterbury, -or near by (whither we saw St. Augustine -carrying Christian crosses)—was son of a shoemaker -who lived thereabout, yet came somehow to -be a Cambridge man, drifted thereafter to London—full -of wit and words of wantonness; developing -early; known for a tragedy that caught the ear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -of the town six years before Shakespeare had published -the “Venus and Adonis.” He was an actor, -too, as so many of the dramatic wits of that day -were—maybe upon the same boards where Shakespeare -was then certainly a mender, if not a maker -of parts. Did they hobnob together? Did they -compare plots? If we only knew: but we do not.</p> - -<p>The critics of the days closely succeeding said -he would have rivalled Shakespeare if he had lived: -Doubtless he would have brought more learning -to the rivalry; perhaps an equal wit—maybe an -even greater rhythmic faculty and as dauntless -and daring imaginative power; but dignity and -poise of character were not in him. He died—stabbed—in -a drunken brawl before he was thirty.<a name="FNanchor_103" id="FNanchor_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> -In his tragedies—if you read them—you will find -the beat and flow and rhythm—to which a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -many of the best succeeding English tragedies were -attuned. He scored first upon British theatre-walls, -with fingers made tremulous by tavern orgies, -a great sampler of dramatic story, by which scores -of succeeding play-writers set their copy; but into -these copies many and many a one of lesser power -put a grace, a tenderness, and a dignity which never -belonged to the half-crazed and short-lived Marlowe. -You will remember him best perhaps as the -author of the pleasant little madrigal of which I -cited a verselet; and if you value the delicatest of -description, you will relish still more his unfinished -version of the Greek story of “Hero and Leander”—a -pregnant line of which—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“who ever loved that loved not at first sight”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">—has the abiding honor of having been quoted by -Shakespeare in his play of “As You Like It.”</p> - -<p>I leave Marlowe—citing first a beautiful bit of -descriptive verse from his “Hero and Leander:”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“At Sestos Hero dwelt: Hero the fair,</div> -<div class="verse">Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,</div> -<div class="verse">And offered as a dower his burning throne,</div> -<div class="verse">Where she should sit for men to gaze upon.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -<div class="verse">The outside of her garments were of lawn,</div> -<div class="verse">—The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath</div> -<div class="verse">From thence her veil reached to the ground beneath;</div> -<div class="verse">Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,</div> -<div class="verse">Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives;</div> -<div class="verse">Many would praise the sweet smell, as she past,</div> -<div class="verse">When ’twas the odor that her breath forth cast;</div> -<div class="verse">And there<em>for</em> honey-bees have sought in vain</div> -<div class="verse">And beat from thence, have lighted there again.</div> -<div class="verse">About her neck hung chains of pebble stone,</div> -<div class="verse">Which, lighted by her neck, like diamonds shone.</div> -<div class="verse">She wore no gloves; for neither sun nor wind</div> -<div class="verse">Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind;</div> -<div class="verse">Or warm, or cool them; for they took delight</div> -<div class="verse">To play upon those hands, they were so white.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d</div> -<div class="verse">And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.</div> -<div class="verse">But this is true; so like was one the other,</div> -<div class="verse">As he imagined Hero was his mother:</div> -<div class="verse">And often-times into her bosom flew,</div> -<div class="verse">About her naked neck his bare arms threw,</div> -<div class="verse">And laid his childish head upon her breast</div> -<div class="verse">And, with still panting rock’t, there took his rest.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I think all will agree that this is very delicately -done.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> - -<h3>A Tavern Coterie.</h3> - -<p>But let us not forget where we are, and where we -are finding such men and such poems: we are in -London and are close upon the end of the sixteenth -century; there are no morning newspapers; these -came long afterward; but the story of such a death -as that of Marlowe, stabbed in the eye—maybe -by his own dagger—would spread from tongue to -tongue; (possibly one of his horrific dramas had -been played that very day): certainly the knowledge -of it would come quick to all his boon friends—actors, -writers, wits—who were used to meet, maybe -at the Falcon on Bankside, or possibly at the Mermaid -Tavern.</p> - -<p>This Mermaid Tavern was a famous place in -those and in succeeding days. It stood on Cheapside -(between Friday and Bread Streets) gorgeous -with three ranges of Elizabethan windows, that -gave look-out upon an array of goldsmiths’ shops -which shone across the way. It was almost in the -shadow of the Church of St. Mary le Bow, burned -in the great fire, but having its representative -tower and spire—a good work of Christopher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -Wren—standing thereabout in our time, and still -holding out its clock over the sidewalk.</p> - -<p>And the literary friends who would have gathered -in such a place to talk over the sad happening to -Kit Marlowe are those whom it behoves us to -know, at least by name. There, surely would be -Thomas Lodge,<a name="FNanchor_104" id="FNanchor_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> who was concerned in the writing -of plays; wrote, too, much to his honor, a certain -novel (if we may call it so) entitled <cite>Rosalynde</cite>, -from which Shakespeare took the hint and much -of the pleasant machinery for his delightful drama -of “As You Like It.” This Lodge was in his youth -hail fellow with actors who gathered at taverns; -and—if not actor himself—was certainly a lover -of their wild ways and their feastings. He admired -<cite>Euphues</cite> overmuch, was disposed to literary affectations -and alliteration—writing, amongst other -things, <cite>A Nettle for Nice Noses</cite>. He was, too, a -man of the world and wide traveller; voyaged -with Cavendish, and was said to be engaged in a -British raid upon the Canaries. In later years he -became a physician of soberly habits and much -credit, dying of the plague in 1625.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nashe<a name="FNanchor_105" id="FNanchor_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> also would have been good mate-fellow -with Marlowe; a Cambridge man this—though -possibly “weaned before his time;” certainly most -outspoken, hard to govern, quick-witted, fearless, -flinging his fiery word-darts where he would. -Gabriel Harvey, that priggish patron of Spenser, -to whom I have alluded, found this to his cost. -Indeed this satirist came to have the name of the -English Aretino—as sharp as he, and as wild-living, -and wild-loving as he.</p> - -<p>Nashe was a native of Lowestoft, on the easternmost -point of English shore, in Suffolk, not far -from those potteries (of Gurton) whose old quaint -products collectors still seek for and value. Dr. -Grosart, in the Huth Library, has built a wordy -monument to his memory; we do not say it is undeserved; -certainly he had a full brain, great readiness, -graphic power, and deep love for his friends. -Like Lodge, he travelled: like him took to his -wits to pay tavern bills; a sharp fellow every way. -He lent a hand, and a strong one, to that tedious, -noisy, brawling ecclesiastic controversy of his day—called -the <em>Mar-Prelate</em> one; a controversy full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -a great swash of those prickly, sharp-tasted, biting -words—too often belonging to church quarrels—and -which men hardly approach for comment, even -in our time, without getting themselves pricked by -contact into wrathful splutter of ungracious language.</p> - -<p>One may get a true taste (and I think a surfeit) -of his exuberance in epithet, and of his coarse but -rasping raillery in his <cite>Pierce Penilesse</cite>. Here is -one of his pleasant lunges at some “Latinless” -critic:—“Let a scholar write and he says—‘Tush, -I like not these common fellows’; let him write -well, and he says—‘Tush, it’s stolen out of some -book.’”</p> - -<p>Then there was Robert Greene<a name="FNanchor_106" id="FNanchor_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a>—a Reverend, -but used to tavern gatherings, and whose story is a -melancholy one, and worth a little more than mere -mention. He was a man of excellent family, well -nurtured, as times went; native of the old city of -Norwich, in Norfolk; probably something older -than either Marlowe or Shakespeare; studied at St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -John’s, Cambridge—“amongst wags”—he says -in his <cite>Repentance</cite>—“as lewd as myself;” was a -clergyman (after a sort); pretty certainly had a -church at one time; married a charming wife in -the country, but going up to that maelstrom of -London fell into all evil ways: wrote little poems -a saint might have written, and cracked jokes with -his tongue that would make a saint shudder; deserted -his wife and child; became a red-bearded -bully, raging in the taverns, with unkempt hair: -Yet even thus and there (as if all England in -those Elizabethan times bloomed with lilies and -lush roses, which lent their perfume to all verse -the vilest might write) inditing poems having -a tender pathos, which will live. Take these -verselets for instance; and as you read them, remember -that he had deserted his pure, fond, loving -wife and his prattling boy, and was more deeply -sunk in ways of debauchery than any of his fellows; -’tis a mother’s song to her child:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,</div> -<div class="verse">When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee.</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Streaming tears that never stint,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Like pearl-drops from a flint,</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -<div class="verse indent2">Fell by course from his eyes,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">That one another’s place supplies.</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Thus he grieved in every part,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Tears of blood fell from his heart</div> -<div class="verse indent2">When he left his pretty boy,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Father’s sorrow—father’s joy.</div> -<div class="verse indent2">The wanton smiled, father wept,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Mother cried, baby leapt;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">More he crowed more we cried,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Nature could not sorrow hide;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">He must go, he must kiss</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Child and mother—baby bless—</div> -<div class="verse indent2">For he left his pretty boy,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Father’s sorrow, father’s joy.</div> -<div class="verse">Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,</div> -<div class="verse">When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And the poet who wrote this—putting tenderness -into poems of the affections, and a glowing -color into pastoral verse, and point and delicacy -into his prose—wrote also <cite>A Groates worth of Wit, -bought with a Million of Repentance</cite>, and he died of a -surfeit of pickled herring and Rhenish wine.</p> - -<p>In that ‘Groat’s worth of Wit’ (published after -his death) there is a memorable line or two—being -probably the first contemporary notice of -Shakespeare that still has currency; and it is in -the form of a gibe:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, -that with his Tygres heart wrapt in a players hide, supposes -hee is as well able to bombast out a blanke-verse as the best -of you; and, being an absolute Johannes-fac-totum, is in -his owne conceyt the onely Shake-Scene in a countrey.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>How drolly it sounds—to hear this fine fellow, -broken up with drink and all bedevilments, making -his envious lunge at the great master who has perhaps -worried him by theft of some of his dramatic -methods or schemes, and who gives to poor Greene -one of his largest titles to fame in having been the -subject of his lampoon!</p> - -<p>It gives added importance, too, to this gibe, to -know that it was penned when the writer, impoverished, -diseased, deserted by patrons, saw death -fronting him; and it gives one’s heart a wrench to -read how this debauched poet—whose work has -given some of the best color to the “Winter’s Tale” -of Shakespeare—writes with faltering hand, begging -his “gentle” wife’s forgiveness, and that she -would see that the charitable host, who has taken -him in, for his last illness, shall suffer no loss—then, -toying with the sheets, and “babbling o’ -green fields,” he dies.</p> - -<p>Keen critics of somewhat later days said Shakespeare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -had Greene’s death in mind when he told -the story of Falstaff’s.</p> - -<p>It is quite possible that all these men I have -named will have encountered, off and on, at their -tavern gatherings, the lithe, youngish fellow, large -browed and with flashing eyes, who loves Rhenish -too in a way, but who loves the altitudes of poetic -thought better; who is just beginning to be known -poet-wise by his “Venus and Adonis”—whose -name is William Shakespeare—and who has great -aptitude at fixing a play, whether his own or another -man’s; and with Burbage for the leading -parts, can make them take wonderfully well.</p> - -<p>Possibly, too, in these tavern gatherings would -be the young, boyish Earl of Southampton, who is -associated with some of the many enigmas respecting -Shakespeare’s Sonnets, and whom we Americans -ought to know of, because he became interested -thereafter in schemes for colonizing Virginia, -and has left his name of Southampton to one of -the Virginia counties; and, still better, is associated -with that beautiful reach of the Chesapeake -waters which we now call “Hampton Roads.”</p> - -<p>In that company too—familiar with London<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -taverns in later Elizabethan years—the beefy Ben -Jonson was sure to appear, with his great shag -of hair, and his fine eye, and his coarse lip, bubbling -over with wit and with Latin: he, quite -young as yet; perhaps just now up from Cambridge; -ten years the junior of Shakespeare; and -yet by his bulky figure and doughty air dominating -his elders, and sure to call the attention of all idlers -who hung about the doors of the Mermaid. He -may be even now plotting his first play of “Every -Man in his Humour,” or that new club of his and -Raleigh’s devising, which is to have its meeting of -jolly fellows in the same old Cheapside tavern, and -to make its rafters shake with their uproarious -mirth. For the present we leave them all there—with -a May sun struggling through London fogs, and -gleaming by fits and starts upon the long range of -jewellers’ shops, for which Cheapside was famous—upon -the White Cross and Conduit, whereat the shop-girls -are filling their pails—upon the great country -wains coming in by Whitechapel Road—upon the tall -spire of St. Mary le Bow, and upon the diamond panes -of the Mermaid tavern, to whose recesses we have -just seen the burly figure of Ben Jonson swagger in.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p class="dropcap">In opening the preceding chapter I spoke of -that dainty John Lyly, who first set a fashion -in letters, and whose daintiness hid much of the -strength and cleverness that were in him: I spoke -of the wonderful twin development of the Lord -Chancellor Bacon—selfish and ignoble as a man, -serene and exalted as a philosopher; and I tried to -fasten in the reader’s mind the locality of his tomb -and home at the old town of St. Alban’s—a short -coach-ride away from London, down in “pleasant -Hertfordshire:” I spoke of Hobbes (somewhat before -his turn) whose free-thinking—of great influence -in its day, and the sharply succeeding days—is -supplemented by more acute and subtle, if not -more far-reaching, free-thinking now. I quoted the -Homer of Chapman, under whose long and staggering -lines there burned always true Homeric fire. -I cited Marlowe, because his youth and power<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -promised so much, and the promise so soon ended -in an early and inglorious death. Then came -Lodge, Nashe, and Greene, mates of Marlowe, all -well-bred, all having an itch for penwork, and some -of them for the stage; all making rendezvous—what -time they were in London—at some tavern -of Bankside, or at the Mermaid, where we caught a -quick glimpse of Ben Jonson, and another of the -Stratford player.</p> - -<h3>George Peele.</h3> - -<p>I might, however, have added to the lesser names -that decorated the closing years of the sixteenth -century that of George Peele,<a name="FNanchor_107" id="FNanchor_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> of Devonshire -birth, but, like so many of his fellows, a university -man: he came to be a favorite in London; loved -taverns and wine as unwisely as Greene; was said -to have great tact for the ordering of showy pageants; -did win upon Queen Elizabeth by his “Arraignment -of Paris” (half masque and half play) -represented by the children of the Chapel Royal—and -carrying luscious flattery to the ready ears of -Eliza, Queen of—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“An ancient seat of Kings, a second Troy,</div> -<div class="verse">Y’compassed round with a commanding sea;</div> -<div class="verse">Her people are y-clepéd <em>Angeli</em>.</div> -<div class="verse">This paragon, this only, this is she</div> -<div class="verse">In whom do meet so many gifts in one</div> -<div class="verse">In honor of whose name the muses sing.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Yet even such praises did not keep poor Peele -from hard fare and a stinging lack of money.</p> - -<p>“An Old Wives Tale,” which he wrote, has conjurers -and dragons in it, with odd twists of language -which remind one of the kindred and nonsensical -jingle of “Patience” or “Pinafore:”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Phillida, Philleridos—pamphilida, florida, flortos;</div> -<div class="verse">Dub—dub a-dub, bounce! quoth the guns</div> -<div class="verse indent3">With a sulpherous huff-snuff!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This play is further notable for having supplied -much of the motive for the machinery and movement -of Milton’s noble poem of <cite>Comus</cite>. It is -worth one’s while to compare the two. Of course -Peele will suffer—as those who make beginnings -always do.</p> - -<p>This writer is said to have been sometime a -shareholder with Shakespeare in the Blackfriars -Theatre; he was an actor, too, like his great contemporary; -and besides the plays which carried a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -wordy bounce in them, wrote a very tender scriptural -drama about King David and the fair Bethsabe, -with charming quotable things in it. Thus—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Bright Bethsabe gives earth to my desires,</div> -<div class="verse">Verdure to earth, and to that verdure—flowers;</div> -<div class="verse">To flowers—sweet odors, and to odors—wings</div> -<div class="verse">That carries pleasure to the hearts of Kings!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And again:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Now comes my lover tripping like the roe,</div> -<div class="verse">And brings my longings tangled in her hair</div> -<div class="verse">To joy her love, I’ll build a Kingly bower</div> -<div class="verse">Seated in hearing of a hundred streams.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Tom Campbell said—“there is no such sweetness -to be found in our blank verse anterior to -Shakespeare.” And for his lyrical grace I cannot -resist this little show, from his “Arraignment -of Paris:”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse center"><i>Ænone [singeth and pipeth].</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Fair and fair, and twice so fair,</div> -<div class="verse">As fair as any may be;</div> -<div class="verse">The fairest shepherd on our green,</div> -<div class="verse">A love for any lady.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse center"><i>And Paris.</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Fair and fair and twice so fair,</div> -<div class="verse">As fair as any may be:</div> -<div class="verse">Thy love is fair for thee alone</div> -<div class="verse">And for no other lady.”</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse center"><i>Then Ænone.</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“My love is fair, my love is gay,</div> -<div class="verse">As fresh as bin the flowers in May,</div> -<div class="verse">And of my love my roundelay,</div> -<div class="verse">My merry, merry, merry roundelay,</div> -<div class="verse">Concludes with Cupid’s curse,</div> -<div class="verse">They that do change old love for new,</div> -<div class="verse">Pray Gods, they change for worse!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<h3>Thomas Dekker.</h3> - -<p>Dekker was fellow of Peele and of the rest;<a name="FNanchor_108" id="FNanchor_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> he -quarrelled bitterly with Ben Jonson—they beating -each other vilely with bad words, that can be read -now (by whoso likes such reading) in the <cite>Poetaster</cite> -of Jonson, or in the <cite>Satiromastix</cite> of Dekker. -’Twould be unfair, however, to judge him altogether -by his play of the cudgels in this famous controversy. -There is good meat in what Dekker wrote: -he had humor; he had pluck; he had gift for using -words—to sting or to praise—or to beguile -one. There are traces not only of a Dickens flavor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -in him, but of a Lamb flavor as well; and there is -reason to believe that, like both these later humorists, -he made his conquests without the support -of a university training. Swinburne characterizes -him as a “modest, shiftless, careless nature:” but -he was keen to thrust a pin into one who had offended -his sensibilities; in his plays he warmed -into pretty lyrical outbreaks, but never seriously -measured out a work of large proportions, or entered -upon execution of such with a calm, persevering -temper. He was many-sided, not only literary-wise, -but also conscience-wise. It seems incredible -that one who should write the coarse things which -appear in his <cite>Bachelor’s Banquet</cite> should also have -elaborated, with a pious unction (that reminds -of Jeremy Taylor) the saintly invocations of the -<cite>Foure Birds of Noah’s Ark</cite>: and as for his <cite>Dreame</cite> -it shows in parts a luridness of color which reminds -of our own Wigglesworth—as if this -New England poet of fifty years later may have -dipped his brush into the same paint-pot. I cite -a warm fragment from his <cite>Dreame of the Last Judgement</cite>;—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Their cries, nor yelling did the Judge regard,</div> -<div class="verse">For all the doores of Mercy up were bar’d:</div> -<div class="verse">Justice and Wrath in wrinkles knit his forhead,</div> -<div class="verse">And thus he spake: You cursed and abhorred,</div> -<div class="verse">You brood of Sathan, sonnes of death and hell,</div> -<div class="verse">In fires that still shall burne, you still shall dwell;</div> -<div class="verse">In hoopes of Iron: then were they bound up strong,</div> -<div class="verse">(Shrikes [shrieks] being the Burden of their dolefull song)</div> -<div class="verse">Scarce was Sentence breath’d-out, but mine eies</div> -<div class="verse">Even saw (me thought) a Caldron, whence did rise</div> -<div class="verse">A pitchy Steeme of Sulphure and thick Smoake,</div> -<div class="verse">Able whole coapes of Firmament to choake:</div> -<div class="verse">About this, Divels stood round, still blowing the fire,</div> -<div class="verse">Some, tossing Soules, some whipping them with wire,</div> -<div class="verse">Across the face, as up to th’ chins they stood</div> -<div class="verse">In boyling brimstone, lead and oyle, and bloud.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It is, however, as a social photographer that I -wish to call special attention to Dekker; indeed, his -little touches upon dress, dinners, bear-baitings, -watermen, walks at <em>Powles</em>, Spanish boots, tavern -orgies—though largely ironical and much exaggerated -doubtless, have the same elements of nature -in them which people catch now with their -pocket detective cameras. His <cite>Sinnes of London</cite>, -his answer to <cite>Pierce Pennilesse</cite>, his <cite>Gull’s Horne -Boke</cite> are full of these sketches. This which follows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -tells how a young gallant should behave himself -in an ordinary:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Being arrived in the room, salute not any but those of -your acquaintance; walke up and downe by the rest as -scornfully and as carelessly as a Gentleman-Usher: Select -some friend (having first throwne off your cloake) to walke -up and downe the roome with you, … and this will -be a meanes to publish your clothes better than Powles, a -Tennis-court, or a Playhouse; discourse as lowd as you can, -no matter to what purpose if you but make a noise, and -laugh in fashion, and have a good sower face to promise -quarrelling, you shall be much observed.</p> - -<p>“If you be a souldier, talke how often you have beene in -action: as the <em>Portingale</em> voiage, Cales voiage, besides some -eight or nine imploiments in Ireland.… And if you -perceive that the untravellᵈ Company about you take this -doune well, ply them with more such stuffe, as how you -have interpreted betweene the French king and a great Lord -of Barbary, when they have been drinking healthes together, -and that will be an excellent occasion to publish your languages, -if you have them: if not, get some fragments of -French, or smal parcels of Italian, to fling about the table: -but beware how you speake any Latine there.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And he goes on to speak of the three-penny tables -and the twelve-penny tables, and of the order -in which meats should be eaten—all which as giving -glimpses of something like the every-day, actual -life of the ambitious and the talked-of young fellows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -about London streets and taverns is better -worth to us than Dekker’s dramas.</p> - -<h3>Michael Drayton.</h3> - -<p>We encounter next a personage of a different -stamp, and one who, very likely, would have shaken -his head in sage disapproval of the flippant advices -of Dekker; I refer to Michael Drayton,<a name="FNanchor_109" id="FNanchor_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> who wrote -enormously in verse upon all imaginable subjects; -there are elegiacs, canzonets, and fables; there are -eclogues, and heroic epistles and legends and -<cite>Nimphidia</cite> and sonnets. He tells of the Barons’ -Wars, of the miseries of Queen Margaret, of how -David killed Goliath, of Moses in the burning bush—in -lines counting by thousands; <cite>Paradise Lost</cite> -stretched six times over would not equal his pile -of print; and all the verse that Goldsmith ever -wrote, compared with Drayton’s portentous mass -would seem like an iridescent bit of cockle-shell -upon a sea of ink. This protracting writer was a -Warwickshire man—not a far-off countryman of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -Shakespeare, and a year only his senior; a respectable -personage, not joining in tavern bouts, caring -for himself and living a long life. His great poem -of <cite>Poly-olbion</cite> many know by name, and very few, I -think, of this generation ever read through. It is -about the mountains, rivers, wonders, pleasures, -flowers, trees, stories, and antiquities of England; -and it is twenty thousand lines long, and every line -a long Alexandrine. Yet there are pictures and -prettinesses in it, which properly segregated and -detached from the wordy trails which go before and -after them, would make the fortune of a small poet. -There are descriptions in it, valuable for their utter -fidelity and a fulness of nomenclature which keeps -alive pleasantly ancient names. Here, for instance, -is a summing up of old English wild-flowers, where, -in his quaint way, he celebrates the nuptials of the -river Thames (who is groom) with the bridal Isis, -that flows by Oxford towers. It begins at the one -hundred and fiftieth line of the fifteenth song of the -fiftieth part:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The Primrose placing first, because that in the Spring</div> -<div class="verse">It is the first appears, then only flourishing;</div> -<div class="verse">The azuréd Hare-bell next, with them they gently mix’d</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -<div class="verse">T’ allay whose luscious smell, they Woodbine plac’d betwixt;</div> -<div class="verse">Amongst those things of scent, there prick they in the Lily,</div> -<div class="verse">And near to that again, her sister—Daffodilly</div> -<div class="verse">To sort these flowers of show, with th’ other that were so sweet,</div> -<div class="verse">The Cowslip then they couch, and the Oxlip, for her meet;</div> -<div class="verse">The Columbine amongst, they sparingly do set,</div> -<div class="verse">The yellow King-cup wrought in many a curious fret;</div> -<div class="verse">And now and then among, of Eglantine a spray,</div> -<div class="verse">By which again a course of Lady-smocks they lay;</div> -<div class="verse">The Crow-flower, and thereby the Clover-flower they stick,</div> -<div class="verse">The Daisy over all those sundry sweets so thick.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The garden-flowers follow in equal fulness of -array; and get an even better setting in one of his -Nymphals, where they are garlanded about the -head of Tita; and in these pretty Nymphals, and -still more in the airy, fairy <cite>Nymphidia</cite>—with their -elfins and crickets and butterflies, one will get an -earlier smack of our own “Culprit Fay.” Those who -love the scents of ancient garden-grounds—as we -do—will relish the traces of garden love in this old -Warwickshire man. In his Heroic Epistles, too, -one will find a mastership of ringing couplets: and -there are spirit and dash in that clanging battle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -ode of his which sets forth the honors and the -daring of Agincourt. Its martial echoes—kept -alive by Campbell (“Battle of the Baltic”) and revived -again in Tennyson’s “Balaclava,” warrant me -in citing two stanzas of the original:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Warwick in blood did wade,</div> -<div class="verse">Oxford the foe invade,</div> -<div class="verse">And cruel slaughter made</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Still as they ran up;</div> -<div class="verse">Suffolk his axe did ply,</div> -<div class="verse">Beaumont and Willoughby</div> -<div class="verse">Bear them right doughtily,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Ferrers and Fanhope.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“They now to fight are gone;</div> -<div class="verse">Armour on armour shone,</div> -<div class="verse">Drum now to drum did groan,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To hear, was wonder;</div> -<div class="verse">That, with the cries they make,</div> -<div class="verse">The very earth did shake,</div> -<div class="verse">Trumpet to trumpet spake,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Thunder to thunder.”<a name="FNanchor_110" id="FNanchor_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> - -<h3>Ben Jonson.</h3> - -<p>I now go back to that friend of Drayton’s—Ben -Jonson,<a name="FNanchor_111" id="FNanchor_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a> whom we saw at the closing of the -last chapter going into the tavern of the Mermaid. -He goes there, or to other like places, very often. -He is a friend no doubt of the landlady; he is a -friend, too, of all the housemaids, and talks university -chaff to them; a friend, too, of all such -male frequenters of the house as will listen to -him, and will never dispute him; otherwise he is -a slang-whanger and a bear.</p> - -<p>He was born, as I have said, some years after -Shakespeare, but had roared himself into the front -ranks before the people of London were thoroughly -satisfied that the actor-author of “Richard III.” was -a better man than Ben. Very much of gossip with -respect to possible jealousies between Shakespeare -and Ben Jonson may be found in the clumsy, -bundled-up life of the latter by William Gifford.<a name="FNanchor_112" id="FNanchor_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> - -<p>Jonson was born probably in the west of London—and -born poor; but through the favor of -some friends went to Westminster School, near -to which his step-father, who was a bricklayer, -lived: afterward, through similar favor, he went -to Cambridge<a name="FNanchor_113" id="FNanchor_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a>—not staying very long, because -called home to help that step-father at his bricklaying. -But he did stay long enough to get a thorough -taste for learning, and a thorough grounding -in it. So he fretted at the bricks, and ran off -and enlisted—serving a while in the Low Countries, -where poor Philip Sidney met his death, -and coming back, a swaggerer, apt with his sword -and his speech, into which he had grafted continentalisms; -apt at a quarrel, too, and comes to -fight a duel, and to kill his man.<a name="FNanchor_114" id="FNanchor_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> For this he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -went to prison, getting material this way—by -hard rubs with the world—for the new work which -was ripening in the mind of this actor-author. -So, full of all experiences, full of Latin, full of -logic, full of history, full of quarrel, full of wine -(most whiles) this great, beefy man turned poet. -I do not know if you will read—do not think the -average reader of to-day will care to study—his -dramas. The stories of them are involved, but -nicely adjusted as the parts of an intricate machine: -you will grow tired, I dare say, of matching -part to part; tired of their involutions and evolutions; -tired of the puppets in them that keep -the machinery going; tired of the passion torn to -tatters; tired of the unrest and lack of all repose. -Yet there are abounding evidences of wit—of more -learning than in Shakespeare, and a great deal -drearier; aptnesses of expression, too, which show -a keen knowledge of word-meanings and of etymologies; -real and deep acquirement manifest, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -worn like stiff brocade, or jingling at his pace, like -bells upon the heels of a savage. You wonder to -find such occasional sense of music with such heavy -step—such delicate poise of such gross corporosity.</p> - -<p>He helped some hack-writer to put Bacon’s essays -into Latin—not that Bacon did not know -his Latin; but the great chancellor had not -time for the graces of scholastics. Ben wrote -an English Grammar, too, which—for its syntax, -so far as one may judge from that compend -of it which alone remains—is as good as almost -any man could invent now. Such learning -weighed him down when he put on the buskins, -and made the stage tremble with his heaviness. -But when he was at play with letters—when -he had no plot to contrive and fabricate and -foster, and no character to file and finish, and -file again, and to fit in with precise order and -methodic juxtaposition—when a mad holiday -masque—wild as the “Pirates of Penzance”—tempted -him to break out into song, his verse is -rampant, joyous, exuberant—blithe and dewy as -the breath of May-day mornings: See how a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -damsel in the dance of his verse sways and pirouettes—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“As if the wind, not she did walk;</div> -<div class="verse">Nor pressed a flower, nor bowed a stalk!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Then, again, in an Epithalamion of his <cite>Underwoods</cite>, -as they were called, there is a fragment of -verse, which, in many of its delicious couplets, shows -the grace and art of Spenser’s wonderful “Epithalamion,” -which we read a little time ago:—He is -picturing the bridesmaids strewing the bride’s path -with flowers:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“With what full hands, and in how plenteous showers</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Have they bedewed the earth where she doth tread,</div> -<div class="verse">As if her airy steps did spring the flowers,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And all the ground were garden, where she led.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Such verses do not come often into our newspaper -corners, from first hands: such verses make -one understand the significance of that inscription -which came by merest accident to be written on his -tomb in Westminster Abbey—“O rare Ben Jonson!”</p> - -<p>I do not believe I shall fatigue you—and I know -I shall keep you in the way of good things if I give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -another fragment from one of his festal operettas;—the -“Angel” is describing and symbolizing -Truth, in the <cite>Masque of Hymen</cite>:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Upon her head she wears a crown of stars,</div> -<div class="verse">Thro’ which her orient hair waves to her waist,</div> -<div class="verse">By which believing mortals hold her fast,</div> -<div class="verse">And in those golden cords are carried even</div> -<div class="verse">Till with her breath she blows them up to Heaven.</div> -<div class="verse">She wears a robe enchased with eagles’ eyes,</div> -<div class="verse">To signify her sight in mysteries;</div> -<div class="verse">Upon each shoulder sits a milk-white dove,</div> -<div class="verse">And at her feet do witty serpents move;</div> -<div class="verse">Her spacious arms do reach from East to west,</div> -<div class="verse">And you may see her heart shine thro’ her breast.</div> -<div class="verse">Her right hand holds a sun with burning rays</div> -<div class="verse">Her left, a curious bunch of golden keys</div> -<div class="verse">With which Heaven’s gates she locketh and displays.</div> -<div class="verse">A crystal mirror hangeth at her breast,</div> -<div class="verse">By which men’s consciences are searched and drest;</div> -<div class="verse">On her coach-wheels, Hypocrisy lies racked;</div> -<div class="verse">And squint-eyed Slander with Vain glory backed,</div> -<div class="verse">Her bright eyes burn to dust, in which shines Fate;</div> -<div class="verse">An Angel ushers her triumphant gait,</div> -<div class="verse">Whilst with her fingers fans of stars she twists,</div> -<div class="verse">And with them beats back Error, clad in mists,</div> -<div class="verse">Eternal Unity behind her shines,</div> -<div class="verse">That Fire and Water, Earth and Air combines;</div> -<div class="verse">Her voice is like a trumpet, loud and shrill,</div> -<div class="verse">Which bids all sounds in earth and heaven be still.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> - -<p>In that line of work Shakespeare never did a -better thing than this. Indeed, in those days -many, perhaps most, people of learning and culture -thought Ben Jonson the better man of the two;—more -instructed (as he doubtless was); with a nicer -knowledge of the unities; a nicer knowledge of -mere conventionalities of all sorts: Shakespeare -was a humble, plain Warwickshire man, with no -fine tinsel to his wardrobe—had no university -training; not so much schooling or science of -any sort as Ben Jonson; had come up to London—as -would seem—to make his fortune, to -get money—to blaze his way: and how he did -it!</p> - -<p>I suppose a Duchess of Buckingham or any -lady of court consequence would have been rather -proud of the obeisance of Ben Jonson, after that -play of “Every Man in his Humour,” and would -have given him a commendatory wave of her fan, -much sooner, and more unhesitatingly, than to the -Stratford actor, who took the part of Old Knowell -in it. Ben believed in conventional laws of speech -or of dramatic utterance far more than Shakespeare; -he regretted (or perhaps affected to regret when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -his jealousies were sleeping), that Will Shakespeare -did not shape his language and his methods with a -severer art;<a name="FNanchor_115" id="FNanchor_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> he would—very likely—have lashed -him, if he had been under him at school, for his -irregularities of form and of speech—irregularities -that grew out of Shakespeare’s domination of the -language, and his will and his power to make it, in -all subtlest phases, the servant, and not the master -of his thought.</p> - -<p>Do I seem, then, to be favoring the breakage of -customs, and of the rules of particular grammarians? -Yes, unhesitatingly—if you have the mastery -to do it as Shakespeare did it; that is, if you -have that finer sense of the forces and delicacies of -language which will enable you to wrest its periods -out of the ruts of every-day traffic, and set them to -sonorous roll over the open ground, which is broad -as humanity and limitless as thought. Parrots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -must be taught to prate, particle by particle; but -the Bob-o-Lincoln swings himself into his great -flood of song as no master can teach him to sing.</p> - -<p>Even now we do not bid final adieu to Ben Jonson; -but hope to encounter him again in the next -reign (that of James I.) through the whole of which -he carried his noisy literary mastership.</p> - -<h3>Some Prose Writers.</h3> - -<p>You must not believe, because I have kept mainly -by poetic writers in these later days of Queen -Elizabeth, that there were no men who wrote -prose—none who wrote travels, histories, letters -of advice; none who wrote stupid, dull, goodish -books; alas, there were plenty of them; there always -are.</p> - -<p>But there were some to be remembered too: -there was William Camden—to whom I have -briefly alluded already—and of whom, when you -read good histories of this and preceding reigns, -you will find frequent mention. He was a learned -man, and a kind man, excellent antiquarian, and -taught Ben Jonson at Westminster School. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -was Stow,<a name="FNanchor_116" id="FNanchor_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> who wrote a <cite>Survey of London</cite>, which he -knew from top to bottom. He was born in the -centre of it, and as a boy used to fetch milk from a -farm at the Minories, to his home in Cornhill, where -his father was a tailor. His fulness, his truthfulness, -his simplicities, and his quaintness have made -his chief book—on London—a much-prized one.</p> - -<p>Again there was Hakluyt,<a name="FNanchor_117" id="FNanchor_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> who was a church -official over in Bristol, and who compiled <cite>Voyages</cite> -of English seamen which are in every well-appointed -library. Dr. Robertson says in his <cite>History</cite>, -“England is more indebted [to Hakluyt] for -its American possessions than to any man of that -age.” Of so much worth is it to be a good geographer! -The “Hakluyt Society” of England will -be his enduring monument.</p> - -<p>There was also living in those last days of the -sixteenth century a strange, conceited, curious travelling -man, Thomas Coryat<a name="FNanchor_118" id="FNanchor_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> by name, who went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -on foot through Europe, and published (in 1611) -what he called—with rare and unwitting pertinence—<cite>Coryat’s -Crudities</cite>. He affixed to them -complimentary mention of himself—whimseys by -the poets, even by so great a man as Ben Jonson—a -budget of queer, half-flattering, half-ironical rigmarole, -which (having plenty of money) he had procured -to be written in his favor; and so ushered his -book into the world as something worth large notice. -He would have made a capital showman. -He had some training at Oxford, and won his way -by an inflexible persistence into familiarity with -men of rank, who made a butt of him. With a -certain gift for language he learned Arabic in some -one of his long journeyings, was said to have -knowledge of Persian, and made an oration in that -speech to the Great Mogul—with nothing but language -in it. His <cite>Crudities</cite> are rarely read; but -some letters and fragments relating to later travels -of his, appear in Purchas’ <cite>Pilgrims</cite>. He lays hold -upon peculiarities and littlenesses of life in his work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -which more sensible men would overlook, and -which give a certain quaint piquancy to what he -told; and we listen, as one might listen to barbers -or dressmakers who had just come back from Paris, -and would tell us things about cravats and hair-oil -and street sights that we could learn no otherwheres. -Coryat says:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I observe a custom in all those Italian Cities, and tounes -thro’ the which I passed, that is not used in any other countrie -that I saw—nor do I think that any other nation of -Christendom doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian and -most other strangers that are <em>cormorant</em> in Italy doe always -at their meales use a little forke, when they cut their meate. -For while, with their knife which they hold in one hand -they cut the meate out of the dish, they fasten the forke -which they hold in their other hand upon the same dish, so -that whatsoever he be that sitting in the companie of any -others at meale, should unadvisidly touch the dish of meate -with his fingers from which alle at the table doe cut, he will -give occasion of offence unto the company, as having transgressed -the laws of good manners.</p> - -<p>“This forme of feeding is, I understand, common in all -places of Italy—their forkes being for the most part made -of iron or steele, and some of silver—but <em>these</em> are used only -by gentlemen.</p> - -<p>“I myself have thought good to imitate the Italy fashion -by this forked cutting of meate not only while I was in Italy, -but also in Germany, and oftentimes in England, since I -came home.”</p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus we may connect the history of silver forks -with Tom Coryat’s <cite>Crudities</cite>, and with the first reported -foot-journeys of an Englishman over the -length and breadth of Europe. The wits may have -bantered him in Elizabeth’s day; but his journeyings -were opened and closed under James.</p> - -<p>Again, there were books which had a little of -humor, and a little of sentiment, with a great deal -of fable, and much advice in them; as a sample of -which I may name Mr. Leonard Wright’s <cite>Displaie -of Duties, deck’t with sage Sayings, pythie Sentences, -and proper Similes: Pleasant to read, delightful to -hear, and profitable to practice</cite>:<a name="FNanchor_119" id="FNanchor_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> By which singularly -inviting title we perceive that he had caught -the euphuistic ways of Mr. John Lyly. In enumerating -the infelicities of a man who marries a -shrew, he says:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Hee shall find compact in a little flesh a great number of -bones too hard to digest. And therefore some doe thinke -wedlocke to be that same purgatorie which some learned -divines have so long contended about, or a sharpe penance -to bring sinful men to Heaven. A merry fellow hearing a -preacher saye in his sermon that whosoever would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -saved must take up and beare his cross, ran straight to his -wife, and cast <em>her</em> upon his back.… Finally, he that -will live quietly in wedlock must be courteous in speech, -cheerful in countenance, provident for his house, careful to -traine up his children in virtue, and patient in bearing the -infirmities of his wife. Let all the keys hang at her girdle, -only the purse at his own. He must also be voide of jealousy, -which is a vanity to think, and more folly to suspect. -For eyther it needeth not, or booteth not, and to be jealous -without a cause is the next way to have a cause.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“This is the only way to make a woman dum:</div> -<div class="verse">To sit and smyle and laugh her out, and not a word but <em>mum</em>!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Quite another style of man was Philip Stubbes,<a name="FNanchor_120" id="FNanchor_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> -a Puritan reformer—not to be confounded with -John Stubbes who had his right hand cut off, by -order of the Queen, for writing against the impropriety -and villainy of her prospective marriage with -a foreign prince—but a kinsman of his, who wrote -wrathily against masques and theatre-going; whipping -with his pen all those roystering poets who -made dramas or madrigals, all the fine-dressed -gallants, and all the fans and ruffs of the women as -so many weapons of Satan.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“One arch or piller,” says he, “wherewith the Devil’s -kingdome of great ruffes is under propped, is a certain kind -of liquid matter which they call <em>starch</em>, wherein the Devil -hath learned them to wash and die their ruffes, which, being -drie, will stand stiff and inflexible about their neckes.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>And he tells a horrific story—as if it were true—about -an unfortunate wicked lady, who being invited -to a wedding could not get her ruff stiffened -and plaited as she wanted; so fell to swearing and -tearing, and vowed “that the Devil might have her -whenever she wore <em>neckerchers</em> again.” And the -Evil One took her at her word, appearing in the -guise of a presentable young man who arranged -her ruffs</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“—to her so great contentation and liking, that she became -enamored with him. The young man kissed her, in the -doing whereof he writhed her neck in sunder, so she died -miserably; her body being straightwaies changed into blue -and black colors, most ugglesome to behold, and her face -most deformed and fearful to look upon. This being -known in the city great preparation was made for her -burial, and a rich coffin was provided, and her fearful body -was laid therein. Four men assay’d to lift up the corps, -but could not move it. Whereat the standers-by—marvelling -causing the coffin to be opened to see the cause -thereof, found the body to be taken away, and a blacke -catte, very leane and deformed, sitting in the coffin, setting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -of great ruffes, and frizzling of haire, to the great feare -and wonder of all the beholders.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>We do not preach in just that way against fashionable -dressing in our time.</p> - -<p>A book on the <cite>Arte of English Poesie</cite> belongs to -those days—supposed to be the work of George -Puttenham<a name="FNanchor_121" id="FNanchor_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a>—written for the “recreation and -service” of the Queen; it has much good counsel -in it—specially in its latter part; and the author -says he wrote it to “help the gentlewomen of the -Court to write good Poetry.” As an exampler, -under his discussion of “Ornament,” he cites -what he graciously calls a “sweet and sententious -ditty” from the Queen’s own hand. The reader -will be curious perhaps to see some portion of -this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The doubt of future foes, exiles my present joy,</div> -<div class="verse">And wit me warnes to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy,</div> -<div class="verse">For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebbe,</div> -<div class="verse">Which would not be, if reason rul’d, or wisdome wev’d the webbe.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - -<p>This much will serve for our republican delectation; -but it is not the only instance in which -we find mention of her Majesty’s dalliance with -verse: In an old book called the <cite>Garden of the -Muses</cite>, of the date of 1600, the author says the -flowers are gathered out of many excellent speeches -spoken to her Majesty at triumphs, masques, and -shows, as also out of divers choice ditties sung to -her; and “some especially proceeding from her -own most sacred selfe.” No one of them, however, -would have ranked her with any of the poets of -whom we have made particular mention; but for -fine, clear, nervous, masculine English, to put into -a letter, or into a despatch, or into a closet scolding, -I suspect she would have held rank with any -of them.</p> - -<p>If not a poet, she led poets into gracious ways -of speech. Her culture, her clear perceptions, -her love of pageants even, her intolerance of all -forms of dulness or slowness, her very vanities—were -all of them stimulants to those who could -put glowing thought into musical language. Her -high ruff, her jewelled corsage, her flashing eye, -her swift impulses, her perils, her triumphs, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -audacities, her maidenhood—all drew flatteries -that heaped themselves in songs and sonnets. So -live a woman and so live a Queen magnetized dulness -into speech.</p> - -<h3>The Queen’s Progresses.</h3> - -<p>I spoke but now of her love of pageants; every -visiting prince from every great neighbor kingdom -was honored with a pageant; every foreign -suitor to her maidenly graces—whether looked -on with favor or disfavor (as to which her eye and -lip told no tales)—brought gala-days to London -streets—brought revels, and bear-baitings, and -high passages of arms, and swaying of pennons -and welcoming odes. Many and many a time the -roystering poets I named to you—the Greenes, -the Marlowes, the Jonsons, the Peeles, may have -looked out from the Mermaid Tavern windows -upon the royal processions that swept with gold-cloth, -and crimson housings through Cheapside, -where every house blazed with welcoming banners, -and every casement was crowded with the faces of -the onlookers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thereby, too, she would very likely have passed -in her famous “Progresses” to her good friends in -the eastern counties; or to her loved Lord Burleigh, -or to Cecil, at their fine place of Theobalds’ -Park,<a name="FNanchor_122" id="FNanchor_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> near Waltham Cross. True, old Burleigh -was wont to complain that her Majesty made him -frequent visits, and that every one cost him a matter -of two or three thousand pounds. Indeed it was -no small affair to take in the Queen with her attendants. -Hospitable people of our day are sometimes -taken aback by an easy-going friend who comes -suddenly on a visit with a wife, and four or five -children, and Saratoga trunks, and two or three -nursery-maids, and a few poodles and a fox-terrier; -but think of the Queen, with her tiring-women, and -her ladies of the chamber, and her ushers, and her -grand falconer, and her master of the hounds, and -her flesher—who knows the cuts she likes—and -her cook, and her secretary, and her fifty yeomen -of the guard, and her sumpter mules, and -her chaplain, and her laundry-women, and her fine-starchers!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -No wonder Lord Burleigh groaned -when he received a little notelet from his dear -Queen saying she was coming down upon him—for -a week or ten days.</p> - -<p>And Elizabeth loved these little surprises overmuch, -and the progress along the high roads -thither and back, which so fed her vanities: She -was a woman of thrift withal, and loved her savings; -and the kitchen fires at Nonsuch palace, or -at Greenwich or at Richmond, might go out for a -time while she was away upon these junketings.</p> - -<p>I know that my young readers will be snuggling -in their minds a memory of that greatest Progress -of hers, and that grandest of all private entertainments—at -Kenilworth Castle; wondering, maybe, -if that charming, yet over-sad story of Walter -Scott’s is true to the very life? And inasmuch as -they will be devouring that book, I suspect, a great -deal oftener than they will read Laneham’s account -of the great entertainment, or Gascoigne’s,<a name="FNanchor_123" id="FNanchor_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -tell them how much, and where it varies from the -true record. There <em>was</em> a Robert Dudley, Earl of -Leicester—a brilliant man, elegant in speech, in -person, in manner—at a court where his nephew -Philip Sidney had shone—altogether such a courtier -as Scott has painted him: And the Queen had -regarded him tenderly—so tenderly that it became -the talk of her household and of the world. It is -certain, too, that Leicester gave to the Queen a -magnificent entertainment at his princely castle of -Kenilworth, in the month of July, 1575. There -were giants, there were Tritons, there were floating -islands. Lawns were turned into lakes, and lakes -were bridged with huge structures, roofed with -crimson canopies, where fairies greeted the great -guest with cornucopias of flowers and fruits. -There was fairy music too; there were dances and -plays and fireworks, that lighted all the region -round about with a blaze of burning darts, and -streams and hail of fire-sparks.</p> - -<p>In all this there is no exaggeration in Scott’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -picturing; none either in his portraiture of the -coquetries and princely graces of the Queen. It is -probable that no juster and truer picture of her -aspect and bearing, and of the more salient points -of her character ever will or can be drawn.</p> - -<p>Thither, too, had come—from all the country -round—yeomen, strolling players, adventurous -youths, quick to look admiringly after that brilliant -type of knighthood Sir Philip Sidney, then in his -twenty-first year, and showing his gay trappings -in the royal retinue: amongst such youths were, -very likely, Michael Drayton and William Shakespeare, -boys both in that day, just turned of eleven, -and making light of the ten or twelve miles of open -and beautiful country which lay between Kenilworth -and their homes of Atherstone and of Stratford-upon-Avon.</p> - -<p>It is true too, that Leicester, so admired of the -Queen, and who was her host, had once married an -Amy Robsart: true, too, that this Amy Robsart had -died in a strangely sudden way at an old manor-house -of Cumnor; and true that a certain Foster -and Varney, who were dependants of Leicester, did -in some sense have her in their keeping. But—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -here the divergence from history begins—this -poor Amy Robsart had been married to Sir -Robert Dudley before he came to the title of Leicester, -and she died in the mysterious way alluded -to, some fifteen years before these revels of Kenilworth: -but not before Elizabeth had been attracted -by the proud and noble bearing of Robert Dudley. -Her fondness for him began about the year 1559. -And it was this early fondness of hers which gave -color to the story that he had secretly caused the -death of Amy Robsart. The real truth will probably -never be known: there was a public inquiry (not so -full, he said, as he could have wished) which acquitted -Leicester; but his character was such that -he never outlived suspicion. I observe that Mr. -Motley, in his <cite>History of the United Netherlands</cite>, -on the faith of a paper in the Record Office, avers -Leicester’s innocence; but the tenor of a life counts -for more than one justifying document in measuring -a man’s moral make-up.</p> - -<p>In the year 1575, when the revels of Kenilworth -occurred, the Earl of Leicester was a widower and -Amy Robsart had been ten years mouldering in her -grave: but in the year 1576 the young Countess of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -Essex suddenly became a widow, and was married -privately, very shortly afterward, to the Earl of -Leicester. In the next year, 1577, the story was -blazed abroad, and the Queen showed her appreciation -of the sudden match by sending Leicester -straight to the Tower. But she forgave him presently. -And out of these scattered actualities, as -regards the Earl, Sir Walter Scott has embroidered -his delightful romance.</p> - -<p>But we have already brought our literary mention -up to a point far beyond this in the Queen’s -life; up to a point where Shakespeare, instead of -tearing over hedge-rows and meadows to see the -Tritons and the harlequins of Kenilworth, has put -his own Tritons to swimming in limpid verse, and -has put his bloated, dying Falstaff to “babbling -o’ green fields.” The Queen, too, who has -listened—besides these revels—to the tender -music of Spenser and outlived him; who has heard -the gracious courtliness of Sidney, and outlived -him; who has lent a willing ear to the young flatteries -of Raleigh and seen him ripen into a gray-haired -adventurer of the seas; who has watched the -future Lord Keeper, Francis Bacon, as he has shot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -up from boyhood into the stateliness of middle -age; who has seen the worshipful Master John -Lyly grow up, and chant his euphuism and sing -his songs and die: she too, now, is feeling the -years—brilliant as they may be in achievement—count -and weigh upon her.</p> - -<p>Long as she could, she cherished all the illusions -of youth. That poor old face of hers was, I suspect, -whited and reddened with other pigments -than what the blood made, as the years went by. -Such out-of-door sports as bear-baiting became -rarer and rarer with her; and she loved better -such fun as the fat Falstaff made, in her theatre -of Whitehall. But only nicest observers saw the -change; and she never admitted it—perhaps not -to herself.</p> - -<p>The gossiping Paul Hentzner, who had an ambassador’s -chances of observation, says of her, on -her way to chapel at Greenwich:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Next came the Queen, in her sixty-fifth year, as we are -told—very majestic: her face, oblong, fair but wrinkled; -her eyes small, yet black and pleasant; her nose a little -hooked. She had in her ears two pearls with very rich -drops; and she had on a necklace of exceeding fine jewels. -She was dressed in white silk bordered with pearls of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -the size of beans, and over it a mantle of black silk shot -with silver threads.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>This, observe, was over twenty years after the -revels of Kenilworth: and two years beyond this -date, when the Queen was sixty-seven, a courtier -writes: “Her Majesty is well, and every second -day is on horseback.” No suitor could say a pleasanter -thing to her than—“Your majesty is looking -very young!” She danced, when it made her old -bones ache to dance.</p> - -<p>No suitor could say a more inapt thing than to -express a fear that a revel, or a play, or a hunt, -or a dance might possibly fatigue her Majesty. It -would bring a warning shake of the head that -made the jewels rattle.</p> - -<p>But at last the days come—as like days are coming -to us all—when she can counterfeit youth no -longer. The plays entice her no more. The three -thousand court dresses that she left, hang unused -in her wardrobe: weaknesses hem her in, turn -which way she may. Cecil, the son of her old favorite -Burleigh, urges that she must quit her chair—which -she clung to, propped with pillows—that -she <em>must</em> take to her bed. “<em>Must</em>,” she cries, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -a kindling of her old passionate life, “little man, -little man, thy father never dared to use such a -word to his Queen.” The gust passes; and she -clings to life, as all do, who have such fast, hard -grip upon it. In short periods of languor and repose, -taking kindly to the issue—going out, as it -were, like a lamp. Then, by some windy burst of -passion—of hate, flaming up red and white and -hot—her voice a scream, her boding of the end a -craze, her tenacity of purpose dragging all friends, -all hopes, all the world to the terrible edge where -she stands—the edge where Essex stood (she bethinks -herself with a wild tempest of tears)—the -edge where Marie Stuart stood at Fotheringay, in -her comely widow’s dress; thinks of this with a -shrug that means acquiescence, that means stubborn -recognition of a fatal duty: <em>that</em> ghost does -no way disturb her.</p> - -<p>But there are others which well may. Shall we -tell them over?</p> - -<p>No; let us leave her with her confessor, saying -prayers maybe; her rings on her fingers; the lace -upon her pillow; not forgetting certain fine coquetries -to the last: strong-souled, keen-thoughted, ambitious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -proud, vindictive, passionate woman, with -her streaks of tenderness out of which bitter tears -flowed—out of which kindlinesses crept to sun -themselves, but were quick overshadowed by her -pride.</p> - -<p>Farewell to her!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In our next talk we shall meet a King—but a -King who is less a man than this Queen who is -dead.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The breeze which swept away the smoke</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Round Norham Castle rolled,</div> -<div class="verse">When all the loud artillery spoke,</div> -<div class="verse">With lightning flash and thunder stroke,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As Marmion left the hold.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> London was possibly a British settlement before the Romans -built there; though latest investigators, I think, favor -the contrary opinion.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“To Cattraeth’s vale, in glittering row,</div> -<div class="verse">Twice two hundred warriors go;</div> -<div class="verse">Every warrior’s manly neck</div> -<div class="verse">Chains of regal honor deck,</div> -<div class="verse">Wreathed in many a golden link:</div> -<div class="verse">From the golden cup they drink</div> -<div class="verse">Nectar that the bees produce,</div> -<div class="verse">Or the grape’s ecstatic juice,</div> -<div class="verse">Flush’d with mirth and hope they burn,</div> -<div class="verse">But none from Cattraeth’s vale return</div> -<div class="verse">Save Aëron brave, and Conan strong</div> -<div class="verse">(Bursting through the bloody throng),</div> -<div class="verse">And I, the meanest of them all</div> -<div class="verse">That live to weep and sing their fall.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Lady <span class="smcap">Charlotte Elizabeth Schreiber</span> (<i lang="fr">née</i> <span class="smcap">Guest</span>) -made the first translations which brought these Welsh romances -into vogue. Among them is <cite>Geraint, the son of -Erbin</cite>, which in our day has developed into the delightful -<cite>Geraint and Enid</cite>. Mr. W. F. Skene has published the -texts of various poems (from original MSS.) attributed to -Taliesin, Aneurin, and others, with translations by D. Sylvan -Evans and Robert Williams.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> There was a sort of Christianizing of Britain in later Romish -times, but not much warmth or spending force in it; -and Wright assures us that amid all the Roman remains thus -far brought to light of mosaics and vases, only one Christian -symbol has been found. This is on a tessellated pavement of -a Roman villa at Frampton, in Dorsetshire. Lysons published -an engraving of this pavement.</p> - -<p>See also <span class="smcap">Green</span> (introduction to <cite>Making of England</cite>) in -reference to Christian inscriptions and ornaments of Roman -date. He makes no allusion to the Frampton symbol.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Green</span>: <cite>Making of England</cite>, p. 337. A church he -erected at Bradford-on-Avon stands in almost perfect preservation -to-day. <span class="smcap">Murray’s</span> <cite>Alph. Eng. Handbook</cite>. The Editor -of Guide Book makes an error in date of the erection.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> <cite>Sonnet composed or suggested during a tour in Scotland, -in summer of 1833.</cite></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent5">“Isle of Columba’s Cell,</div> -<div class="verse">Where Christian piety’s soul-cheering spark,</div> -<div class="verse">(Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark</div> -<div class="verse">Of time) shone like the morning-star,—farewell!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Of late years, owing to the difficulty of working, the mining -and manufacture of the jet has nearly gone by—other -carbon seams in Spain offering better and more economic results; -these latter, however, still bear the name of Whitby -Jet.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> I ought to mention that recent critics have questioned -if all the verse usually attributed to Cædmon was really -written by him: nay, there have been queries—if the picture -of Satan itself was not the work of another hand. An -analysis of the evidence, by Thomas Arnold, may be found -in <cite>Ency. Br.</cite> See, also, <cite>Making of England</cite>, Chap. VII., -note, p. 370.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> “During his last days verses of his own English -tongue broke from time to time from the master’s lip—rude -runes that told how before the ‘need-fare,’ Death’s -stern ‘must go,’ none can enough bethink him what is to -be his doom for good or ill. The tears of Beda’s scholars -mingled with his song. So the days rolled on to Ascension -tide,” etc.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> It is of record in <span class="smcap">Matthew of Westminster</span>, a Benedictine -monk of the fourteenth century—<cite>Flores Historiarum</cite>—first -printed in 1567. “<i lang="la">Nuda equum ascendens, crines capitis -et tricas dissolvens, corpus suum totum, prater crura -candidissima inde velavit.</i>” The tradition is subject of crude -mention in the <cite>Poly-olbion</cite> of <span class="smcap">Drayton</span>; I also refer the -reader to the charming <cite>Leofric and Godiva</cite> of <span class="smcap">Landor</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> <cite>Harold: the Last of the Saxon Kings</cite>; first published in -1848 and dedicated to the Hon. C. T. D’Eyncourt, M.P., -whose valuable library—says <span class="smcap">Bulwer</span>—supplied much of -the material needed for the prosecution of the work.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Geoffrey of Monmouth</span> (Bishop of St. Asaph), d. -1154. His <cite>Cronicon, sive Historia Britonum</cite> first printed in -1508: translated into Eng., 1718. Vid. <cite>Wright’s Essays Arch. -Sub.</cite>, 1861.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Such exception as the name warrants, must be made in -favor of <span class="smcap">Nennius</span>, § 50, <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 452.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Other important Arthurian localities belong to the north -and west of England; and whoso is curious in such matters, -will read with interest Mr. <span class="smcap">Stuart Glennie’s</span> ingenious argument -to prove that Scotland was the great cradle of Arthurian -Romance. <cite>Early English Text Society, Part iii.</cite>, -1869.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The fable is Scandinavian. The Anglo-Saxon version, -dating probably from the seventh century, makes it a very -important way-mark in the linguistic history of England. -Eng. editions are numerous: among them—those of <span class="smcap">Kemble</span>, -1833-7: <span class="smcap">Thorpe</span>, 1855 and 1875: <span class="smcap">Arnold</span>, 1876: also (Am. -ed.) <span class="smcap">Harrison</span>, 1883: Translations accompany the three -first named: a more recent one has appeared (1883) by <span class="smcap">Dr. -Garnett</span> of Md.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Walter Map</span>, or <span class="smcap">Mapes</span>, was born on the borders of Wales -about 1143, and was living as Archdeacon at Oxford as late -as 1196: possibly this was the Walter who supplied material -to <span class="smcap">Geoffrey</span> of Monmouth; there was however another -<span class="smcap">Walter</span> (<span class="smcap">Calienus</span>) who was also Archdeacon at Oxford.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Layamon’s work supposed to date (there being only internal -evidence of its epoch) in the first decade of the thirteenth -century. Vid. <span class="smcap">Marsh</span>: <cite>English Language and Early -Literature</cite>. Lecture IV. An edition, with translation, was -published by Sir Frederic Madden in 1857.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Among other direct Arthurian growths may be noted -<span class="smcap">Morris’s</span> <cite>Defence of Guinevere</cite>; <span class="smcap">Arnold’s</span> <cite>Tristram and -Issult</cite>; <span class="smcap">Quinet’s</span> <cite>Merlin</cite>, <span class="smcap">Wagner’s</span> Operatic Poems, and -<span class="smcap">Smith’s</span> <cite>Edwin of Deira</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Orderic Vitalis</span>, b. 1075; d. 1150. Of Abbey of St. -Evroult, in Normandy. An edition of his <cite>Ecclesiastical History -of England and Normandy</cite> was published in 1826, with -notice of writer, by <span class="smcap">Guizot</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> <span class="smcap">William of Malmsbury</span>: dates uncertain; his record -terminates with year 1143.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Matthew Paris</span>, 1200-1259, a monk of St. Albans. His -<cite>Historia Major</cite> extends from 1235 to 1259.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> <span class="smcap">William of Newburgh</span>, b. 1136; d. 1208. New edition -of his record (<cite>Hist. Rerum Anglicarum</cite>), edited by <span class="smcap">Richard -Howlet</span>, published in 1884.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Roger de Hoveden</span> of twelfth century, (date uncertain.) -His annals first published in 1595.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> I do not mean to say that Scott’s portraitures may be -taken as archæologic data, or that one in search of the last -and minutest truths respecting our Welsh or Saxon progenitors -should not go to more recondite sources; meantime you -will get very much from the reading of Scott to aid you in -forming an image of those times; and, what is better still, -you will very likely carry from the Romancer’s glowing -pages a sharpened appetite for the more careful but duller -work of the historians proper.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> I give fragment of one, of the reign of Edward II., cited -by <span class="smcap">Mr. Marsh</span>: p. 247, <cite>English Language and Early Literature</cite>.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Quant honme deit parleir, videat qua verba loquatur;</div> -<div class="verse">Sen covent aver, ne stultior inveniatur,</div> -<div class="verse">Quando quis loquitur, bote resoun reste therynne</div> -<div class="verse">Derisum patitur, ant lutel so shal he wynne,” <i lang="la">etc.</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Robert of Gloucester lived in the latter part of the thirteenth -century, perhaps surviving into the fourteenth. In -addition to his <cite>Chronicle of England</cite>, he is thought to have -written <cite>Lives and Legends of the English Saints</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> <cite>Il milione di Messer Marco Polo, Veneziano.</cite> Florence, -1827. <span class="smcap">Marco Polo</span> d. 1323.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Odoric</span>, a priest of Pordenone in Friuli, who went on -Church mission about 1318. His narrative is to be found in -the <cite>Ramusio Col.</cite>, 2d Vol. 1574. <span class="smcap">Carpini</span> (<span class="smcap">Joannes</span> <i>de -Plano</i>), was a Franciscan from near Perugia, who travelled -East about 1245. <span class="smcap">Hakluyt</span> has portions of his narrative: -but full text is only in <cite>Recueil de Voyages</cite>, Vol. IV., by -<span class="smcap">M. D’Avezac</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Messrs. <span class="smcap">Nicholson</span> and <span class="smcap">Yule</span>, who are sponsors for the -elaborate article in the <cite>Br. Ency.</cite></p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Page 407, chap. viii.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> An abbot presided over monasteries—sometimes independent -of the bishop—sometimes (in a degree) subject. -Priors also had presidence over some religious houses—but -theirs was usually a delegated authority. An æsthetic abbot -or prior was always building—or always getting new colors -for the <em>missal</em> work in the <em>scriptorium</em>: hunting abbots were -thinking more of the refectory. At least six religious services -were held a day, and always midnight mass. It was -easy, but not wholly a life of idleness. A bell summoned to -breakfast, and bells to mass. Of a sunny day—monks were -teaching boys one side of the cloister—artistic monks working -at their missals the other; perhaps under such prior as -he of <em>Jorvaulx</em> (Scott’s Ivanhoe) some young monk would -be training his hawks or dogs. An interesting abstract of the -Rule of the Benedictines may be found under Monachism, -<cite>Br. Ency.</cite>, Vol. xvi.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> College Statutes of Merton date from 1274; those of -University from 1280; and of Balliol from 1282. Paper of -<span class="smcap">George C. Broderick</span>, <cite>Nineteenth Century</cite>, September, -1882.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> The story of the Black Prince meets with revival in our -day, by the recent publication of “<cite>Le Prince Noir, Poeme -du Herault d’Armes Chandos</cite>,” edited, translated, etc., by -<span class="smcap">Francisque Michel</span>, F.A.S. Fotheringham: London, 1884. -The original MS. is understood to be preserved in the Library -of Worcester College, Oxford.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Precise dates are wanting with respect to Langlande. -Facts respecting his personal history are derived from what -leaks out in his poem, and from interpolated notes (in a foreign -hand) upon certain MS. copies. Of three different -texts (published by the <cite>E. E. Text Soc.</cite>) Mr. <span class="smcap">Skeat</span> dates one -about 1362—a second in or about 1377, and the third still -later. The first imprint has date of 1550.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Not that he is specially free from foreign vocables: -<span class="smcap">Marsh</span> (<cite>Lec. VI., Eng. Language</cite>) gives his percentage of -Anglo-Saxon words in <cite>Passus XIV.</cite> at only 84. See also -<span class="smcap">Skeat’s</span> <cite>Genl. Preface</cite>, p. xxxiii.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_37" id="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> In saying this I follow literal statement of the poem -(<cite>Pass.</cite> xviii., 12,948), as do <span class="smcap">Tyrwhit</span>, <span class="smcap">Price</span>, and Rev. Mr. -<span class="smcap">Skeat</span>, whose opinions overweigh the objections of Mr. -<span class="smcap">Wright</span>, (<cite>Introduction</cite>, p. ix., note 3, to <span class="smcap">Wright’s</span> <cite>Piers -Plowman</cite>.) The Christian name William seems determined -by a find of <span class="smcap">Sir Frederic Madden</span> on the fly-leaf of a -MS. in the library of Trinity College, Dublin.</p> - -<p><cite>Piers Plowman’s Creed</cite>, often printed with the <cite>Vision</cite>, is -now by best critics counted the work of another hand.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_38" id="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Church chroniclers who were contemporaries of <span class="smcap">Wyclif</span>, -girded at him as a blasphemer. <span class="smcap">Capgrave</span>: <cite>Cron. of Eng. -(Rolls Series)</cite>, speaks of him as “the orgon of the devel, the -enmy of the Cherch, the confusion of men, the ydol of -heresie,” etc. <span class="smcap">Netter</span> collected his (alleged) false doctrines -under title of <cite>Bundles of Tares (Fasciculi Zizaniorum)</cite>, Ed. -by <span class="smcap">Shirley</span>, 1858. Dr. <span class="smcap">Robt. Vaughan</span> is author of a very -pleasant monograph on <span class="smcap">Wyclif</span>, with much topographic lore. -Dr. <span class="smcap">Lechler</span> is a more scholarly contributor to <span class="smcap">Wyclif</span> -literature; and the Early Eng. Text Soc. has published -(1880) <span class="smcap">Mathews’</span> Ed. of “<cite>hitherto unprinted Eng. works</cite> of -<span class="smcap">Wyclif</span>, with notice of his life.” <span class="smcap">Rudolph Buddenseig</span>, -(of Dresden) has Ed. his polemical works in Latin (old) besides -contributing an interesting notice for the anniversary just -passed. Nor can I forbear naming in this connection the -very eloquent quin-centenary address of Dr. <span class="smcap">Richard S. -Storrs</span>, of Brooklyn, N. Y.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_39" id="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Those who love books which are royal in their dignities of -print and paper, will be interested in <span class="smcap">Forshall & Madden’s</span> -elegant 4to. edition of the Wyclifite versions of the Bible.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_40" id="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> The biographers used to say 1328: this is now thought -inadmissible by most commentators. <span class="smcap">Furnival</span> makes the -birth-year 1340—in which he is followed by the two <span class="smcap">Wards</span>, -and by Professor <span class="smcap">Minto</span> (<cite>Br. Ency.</cite>). Evidence, however, -is not as yet conclusive; and there is an even chance that -further investigations may set back the birth-year to a date -which will better justify and make more seemly those croakings -of age which crept into some of the latter verse of the -poet. For some facts looking in that direction, and for certain -interesting genealogic Chaucer puzzles, see paper in -<cite>London Athenæum</cite> for January 29, 1881, by <span class="smcap">Walter Rye</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_41" id="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> <cite>House of Fame</cite>, Book II.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_42" id="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> There is question of the authenticity of the translation -usually attributed to Chaucer—of which there is only one -fifteenth century MS. extant. Some version, however, -Chaucer did make, if his own averment is to be credited. -Prof. <span class="smcap">Minto</span> (<cite>Br. Ency.</cite>) accepts the well-known version; -so does <span class="smcap">Ward</span> (<cite>Men of Letters</cite>); Messrs. <span class="smcap">Bradshaw</span> (of -Cambridge) and Prof. <span class="smcap">Ten Brink</span> doubt—a doubt in which -Mr. <span class="smcap">Humphrey Ward</span> (<cite>Eng. Poets</cite>) seems to share.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_43" id="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> <span class="smcap">Sandras</span>: <cite>Étude sur Chaucer</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_44" id="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> A notable edition is that of Prof. Lounsbury (Ginn & -Heath, 1877); and it is much to be hoped that the same -editor will bring his scholarly method of estimating dates, -sources, and varying texts, to some more important Chaucerian -labors.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_45" id="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Another possible epoch of meeting with Petrarch may -have been in the year 1368, when at the junketings attending -the wedding of Prince Lionel (in Milan), Petrarch -was present; also—perhaps—Chaucer in the suite of the -Prince. <span class="smcap">Froissart</span> makes note of the <cite>Feste</cite>, but without -mention of either poet, or of his own presence. <cite>Chap. -ccxlvii., Liv. I.</cite></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Walter Besant</span> (<cite>Br. Ency., Art. Froissart</cite>), I observe, -avers the presence of all three—though without giving authorities. -<span class="smcap">Muratori</span> (<cite>Annali</cite>) mentions Petrarch as seated -among the princely guests—<i lang="it">tanta era la di lui riputazione</i>—but -there is, naturally enough, no naming of Chaucer or -Froissart.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_46" id="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> “<i lang="fr">Nous lui lairrons toute seule faire les honneurs; nous -ne irons ni viendrons en nulle place ou elle soit</i>,” etc.—Chroniques -de <span class="smcap">Sire Jean Froissart</span> (<cite>J. A. Buchon</cite>), tome iii., -p. 236. Paris, 1835.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_47" id="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> “In the spandrils are the arms of Chaucer on the dexter -side, and on the sinister, Chaucer impaling those of -(Roet) his wife.”—<cite>Appendix III.</cite> to <span class="smcap">Furnival</span>, <cite>Temporary -Preface</cite>, etc.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_48" id="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> Some MSS. have this poem with title of <cite>Supplication to -King Richard</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_49" id="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> This—in the engraving; the autotype published by the -Chaucer Society gives, unfortunately, a very blurred effect -to the upper part of the face: but who can doubt the real -quality of Chaucer’s eye?</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_50" id="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> The name, indeed, by some strange metonymy not easily -explicable, had become “Talbot.” There is a later “Tabard,” -dreadfully new, on the corner of “Talbot Inn Yard,” -85 High Street, Borough.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_51" id="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> Dean Stanley, without doubt in error, in measuring the -pilgrimage by twenty-four hours. See <cite>Temp. Pref. to Six -Text Edit.</cite> <span class="smcap">Furnival</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_52" id="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> <cite>Nov. VI. Giorn. IX.</cite> It may be open to question if -Chaucer took scent from this trail, or from some as malodorous -<em>Fr. Fabliau</em>—as <span class="smcap">Tyrwhitt</span> and <span class="smcap">Wright</span> suggest. -The quest is not a savory one.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_53" id="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> His dethronement preceded his death, by a twelvemonth -or more.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_54" id="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Edited by Dr. Reinhold Pauli, London, 1857. Henry -Morley (<cite>Eng. Writers</cite>, IV., p. 238) enumerates a score or -more of existing MSS. of the poem. The first printed edition -was that of Caxton, 1483.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_55" id="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> A more modern and accepted translation—by a wealthy -Welsh gentleman, Thos. Johnes—was luxuriously printed -on his private press at Hafod, Cardiganshire, in 1803.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_56" id="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> There is a manuscript copy in the (so-called) <cite>Bibliothèque -du Roi</cite> at Paris. A certain number—among them, the <cite>Espinette -Amoureuse</cite>—appear in the <cite>Buchon</cite> edition of the -<cite>Chroniques</cite>; Paris, 1835.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_57" id="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> John Lydgate: dates of birth and death unsettled.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_58" id="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> <cite>The Storie of Thebe</cite> and <cite>the Troy booke</cite> were among his -ambitious works. Skeat gives his epoch “about 1420,” and -cites <cite>London Lickpenny</cite>—copying from the Harleian MS. -(367) in the British Museum.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_59" id="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> James I. (of Scotland), b. 1394 and was murdered 1437.</p> - -<p><cite>The King’s Quair</cite>, from which quotation is made, was -written in 1423. It is a poem of nearly 1400 lines, of which -only one MS. exists—in the Bodleian Library.</p> - -<p>An edition by Chalmers (1824) embodies many errors: -the only trustworthy reading is that edited by the Rev. -Walter Skeat for the Scottish Text Soc. (1883-4). A certain -<em>modernizing</em> belongs of course to the citation I make—as -well as to many others I have made and shall make.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_60" id="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> Priest at Diss in Norfolk, b. (about) 1460; d. 1529. Best -edition of works edited by Rev. A. Dyce, 1843.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_61" id="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> Bedford (when Regent of France) is supposed to have -transported to England the famous Louvre Library of Charles -V. (of France). There were 910 vols., according to the catalogue -drawn up by Gilles Mallet—“the greater number -written on fine vellum and magnificently bound.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_62" id="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> 1455 to 1485.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_63" id="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> Miss Halsted in her <cite>Richard III.</cite>, chap. viii. (following -the <cite>Historic Doubts</cite> of Horace Walpole), makes a kindly attempt -to overset the Shakespearean view of Richard’s character—in -which, however, it must be said that she is only -very moderately successful. See also a more recent effort in -the same direction by Alfred O. Legge (<cite>The Unpopular King, -etc.</cite> London, 1885).</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_64" id="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> Caxton had been concerned, in company with Colard -Mansion, in printing other books, on the Continent, at an -earlier date than this. The first book “set up” in England, -was probably Caxton’s translation—entitled “<cite>The Recuyle -of the Histories of Troye</cite>.” Vid. Blade’s <cite>William Caxton</cite>: -London, 1882.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_65" id="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Noticeable among these Louis de Bruges, Seigneur de la -Gruthuyse—afterward made (by Edward IV. of England) -Earl of Winchester.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_66" id="Footnote_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> More frequently called <i>Juliana Berners</i>—supposed relative -of the Lords Berners and Abbess of Sopwell. Rev. -Mr. Skeat, however—a very competent witness—confirms -the reading given. For discussion of the question see the -<cite>Angler’s Note Book</cite>, No. iv. (1884) and opinions of Messrs. -Quaritch & Westwood.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_67" id="Footnote_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> The authenticity of these letters, published by John -Fenn, Esq., F.A.S., has been questioned by Herman Merivale -and others; James Gairdner, however (of the Record -office), has argued in their favor, and would seem to have -put the question at rest.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_68" id="Footnote_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> Fuller, in his <cite>Worthies of England</cite>, says “The comedian -is not excusable by some alteration of his name, seeing the -vicinity of sounds intrench on the memory of a worthy -Knight; and few do heed the inconsiderable difference in -spelling their names.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_69" id="Footnote_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> The equipment of a parsonage house in Kent in those -days, is set forth in full inventory (from MS. in the Rolls -House) by Mr. Froude.—<cite>History of England</cite>, chap. i, p. 47.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_70" id="Footnote_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Not to be confounded with William Lilly the astrologer -of the succeeding century. William Lilly of St. Paul’s was -b. 1468; d. (of the plague) in 1532. His Latin Grammar -was first published in 1513.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_71" id="Footnote_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> William Camden, antiquary and chronicler; b. 1551; d. -1623. <cite>Annales Rerum Anglicarum et Hibernicarum regnante -Elizabetha</cite>, pub. 1615. In 1597 he published a Greek -Grammar—for the Westminster boys; he being at the time -head-master of the school.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_72" id="Footnote_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> <cite>Erasmus</cite>: by Robert Blackley Drummond (chap. vii.) -London, 1873.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_73" id="Footnote_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Cranmer, b. 1489; d. 1556.</p> - -<p>Complete edition of his works published 1834 (Rev. H. -Jenkyns). Cranmer’s <cite>Bible</cite> so called, because accompanied -by a prologue, written by Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop, etc.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_74" id="Footnote_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> There are many reasons for doubting if these lines were -from Shakespeare’s own hand. Emerson (<cite>Representative -Men</cite>)—rarely given to Literary criticism, remarks upon -“the bad rhythm of the compliment to Queen Elizabeth” -as unworthy the great Dramatist: so too, he doubts, though -with less reason—the Shakespearean origin of the Wolsey -Soliloquy. See also Trans. New Shakespere Society for -1874. Part I. (Spedding <i lang="la">et al.</i>)</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_75" id="Footnote_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> William Tyndale, b. about 1480; d. (burned at the stake) -1536. G. P. Marsh (<cite>Eng. Language and Early Lit.</cite>) says -“Tyndale’s translation of the New Testament has exerted a -more marked influence upon English philology than any -other native work between the ages of Chaucer and of -Shakespeare.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_76" id="Footnote_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> Latimer (Hugh) b. 1491; d. (at the stake) 1555. He -was educated at Cambridge—came to be Bishop of Worcester—wrote -much, wittily and strongly. A collection of his -Sermons was published in 1570-71; and there have been -many later issues.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_77" id="Footnote_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> John Foxe, b. 1517; d. 1587. He was a native of Boston, -Lincolnshire; was educated at Oxford; his <cite>History of -the Acts and Monuments of the Church</cite> was first published -in England in 1563. There was an earlier edition published -at Strasbourg in 1554.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_78" id="Footnote_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> Born near Haddington, Scotland, in 1505 (d. 1572); bred -a friar; was prisoner in France in 1547; resided long time -at Geneva; returned to Scotland in 1559. Life by Laing -(1847) and by Brandes (1863); Swinburne’s <cite>Bothwell</cite>, Act -iv., gives dramatic rendering of a sermon by John Knox. -See also Carlyle’s <cite>Heroes and Hero-worship</cite>, Lecture IV.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_79" id="Footnote_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> In the issue of <cite>Sternhold and Hopkins’ Psalmody</cite> of 1549 -one year after Sternhold’s death, there were 37 psalms by -Sternhold, and 7 by Hopkins. In subsequent editions more -of Hopkins’ work was added.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_80" id="Footnote_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> 34 and 35 Henry VIII.: <span class="smcapuc">A.D.</span> 1542-43. The full text -(<cite>Statutes of the Realm</cite>, Vol. III., pp. 895-7) gives some alleviating -provisions in respect to “Noble women and gentle -women, who reade to themselves;” and the same Statute -makes particular and warning mention of the “Craftye, -false and untrue translation of Tyndale.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_81" id="Footnote_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> A coarse comedy written (probably) by John Still, one -time Bishop of Bath. Its title on the imprint of 1575 runs -thus:—“<cite>A ryght pithy, pleasant and merie Comedy, intytuled -Gammer Gurton’s Nedle; played on the Stage not longe -ago in Christes Colledge, in Cambridge, made by Mr. S., -Master of Art.</cite>”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_82" id="Footnote_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> Sir Thomas Wyatt (or Wyat), b. 1503; d. 1542. The Earl -of Surrey (Henry Howard, and cousin to Catharine Howard, -one of the wives of Henry VIII.), b. about 1517, and beheaded -1547.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_83" id="Footnote_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> Understood to be based on the relations of a certain -<cite>Unfortunate Traveller</cite> (Jack Wilton) by Nash, 1595. The -story was credited by Drayton, Winstanley, the <cite>Athenæ -Oxonienses</cite> of Wood (edition of 1721), by Walpole (<cite>Noble -Authors</cite>), and by Warton: The relations spoken of, however, -show anachronisms which forbid their acceptance.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_84" id="Footnote_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> B. 1515; d. 1568. His works (in English) were collected -and edited by Bennett in 1761. Fuller (<cite>of the Worthies</cite>) -writes of Ascham: “He was an honest man and a -good shooter. His <cite>Toxophilus</cite> is a good book for young -men; his <cite>Scholemaster</cite> for old; his <cite>Epistles</cite> for all men.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_85" id="Footnote_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> Report of Giacomo Soranzo (Venetian Ambassador) under -date of 1554: Rawdon Brown’s Calendar State Papers, -1534-54.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_86" id="Footnote_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> Rawdon Brown’s Calendar State Papers, 1554. From -Venetian Archives.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_87" id="Footnote_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> A Thomas Sackville, b. 1527; d. 1608, was author of a portion -of <cite>Mirror for Magistrates</cite>; also associated with Thomas -Norton, in production of the Tragedy of <cite>Gorboduc</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_88" id="Footnote_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> Thomas Tusser, b. about 1527; d. 1580.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_89" id="Footnote_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> Raphael Holinshed, d. about 1580. First edition of his -Chronicle was published in 1577.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_90" id="Footnote_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> William Cecil, b. 1520; d. 1598. Biography by Nares, -1828-31.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_91" id="Footnote_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> Richard Hooker (1553-1600). Edition of his works (by -Keble) first appeared 1836. First book of <cite>Laws of Ecclesiastical -Polity</cite> has been edited for Clarendon Press Series -by R. W. Church, 1868.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_92" id="Footnote_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> Grosart, in his <cite>Life of Spenser</cite> (pp. 236-37), gives good -reasons for doubting this story which is based mainly on the -Jonson-Drummond interviews. Grosart also questions—as -Prof. John Wilson had done before him—all the allegations -of Spenser’s extreme indigence.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_93" id="Footnote_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> Philip Sidney, b. 1554; d. 1586.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_94" id="Footnote_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> The first edition of Rinaldo was printed at Venice in -1562: this great epic was completed at Padua in 1575.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_95" id="Footnote_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> John Lyly, b. 1554; d. 1606.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_96" id="Footnote_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> The style of Lyly has been traced by Dr. Landmann, an -ingenious German critic, to the influence of Don Antonio -de Guevara, a Spanish author, who wrote <cite>El Libro Aureo de -Marco Aurelio</cite>, 1529. It was translated into English by -Lord Berners in 1531 (published in 1534).</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_97" id="Footnote_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> James Spedding, b. 1803; d. 1881. His chief work was -the Bacon life; and there is something pathetic in the -thought of a man of Spedding’s attainments, honesty of purpose, -and unflagging industry, devoting thirty of the best -years of his life to a vindication of Bacon’s character. His -aggressive attitude in respect to Macaulay is particularly -shown in his <cite>Evenings with a Reviewer</cite> (2 vols., 8vo), in -which he certainly makes chaff of a good deal of Macaulay’s -arraignment.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_98" id="Footnote_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> We are disinclined, however, to accept the same biographer’s -over-mild treatment of the bribe-taking, as a “moral -negligence”—coupling it with Dr. Johnson’s moral delinquency -of lying a-bed in the morning! See closing pages of -<cite>Evenings with a Reviewer</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_99" id="Footnote_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> The extraordinary habits of Hobbes are made subject of -pleasant illustrative comment in Sydney Smith’s (so-called) -<cite>Sketches of Moral Philosophy</cite>, Lecture XXVI.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_100" id="Footnote_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> Hobbes’ <cite>Thucydides</cite> was first published in the year 1628. -An earlier English version (1550) was, in effect, only a translation -of a translation, being based upon the French of -Claude de Seyssel, Bishop of Marseilles. Hobbes sneers at -this, and certainly made a better one—very literal, sometimes -tame—sometimes vulgar, but remaining the best until -the issue of Dean Smith’s (1753).</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_101" id="Footnote_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> Among the best known with which Chapman’s name is -connected (jointly with Ben Jonson’s and Marston’s) is -“<cite>Eastward Hoe!</cite>” containing a good many satirical things -upon the Scotch—which proved a dangerous game—under -James; and came near to putting the authors in limbo.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_102" id="Footnote_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> B. 1564; d. 1593.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_103" id="Footnote_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> Henceforth one who would know of Marlowe, and -read what he wrote, in text which comes nearest the dramatist’s -own (for we can hardly hope for absolute certainty) -should consult the recent scholarly edition, edited by A. H. -Bullen (Nimmo, 1884), in three volumes. We doubt, however, -if such popular re-establishment of the poet’s fame -can be anticipated as would seem to be foreshadowed in the -wishes and glowing encomiums of his editor.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_104" id="Footnote_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> B. about 1556; d. 1625.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_105" id="Footnote_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> Thomas Nashe, b. about 1564; d. 1601.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_106" id="Footnote_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> B. 1560(?); d. 1592. See Grosart’s edition of his writings -(in Huth Library) where Dr. G. gives the best color possible -to his life and works.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_107" id="Footnote_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> B. 1558 or thereabout; and d. 1598.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_108" id="Footnote_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> Thomas Dekker, b. about 1568; d. about 1640. Best -edition of his miscellaneous works that of Grosart (Huth -Library), which is charming in its print and its pictures—even -to the poet in his bed, busy at his <cite>Dreame</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_109" id="Footnote_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> Drayton, b. 1563; d. 1631. An edition of his works -(still incomplete) by Rev. R. Hooper is the most recent.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_110" id="Footnote_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> There is an exquisite sonnet usually attributed to him -beginning—“Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and -part;” but this is so very much better than all his other -sonnets, that I cannot help sharing the doubts of those who -question its Drayton origin. If Drayton’s own, the sonnet -certainly shows a delicacy of expression, and a romanticism -of hue quite exceptional with him.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_111" id="Footnote_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> Ben Jonson, b. 1573; d. 1637.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_112" id="Footnote_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> Prefacing the edition of Jonson’s works of 1816; also -in the elegant re-issue of the same—under editorship of -Colonel Cunningham in 1875. Gifford seems to have spent -his force (of a biographic sort) in picking up from various -contemporary authors whatever contained a sneer at Jonson, -and exploding it, after blowing it up to its fullest possible -dimensions;—reminding one of those noise-loving boys -who blow up discarded and badly soiled paper-bags, only -to burst them on their knees.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_113" id="Footnote_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> Ward (<cite>Ency. Br.</cite>) is inclined to doubt his going at all to -Cambridge: I prefer, however, to follow the current belief—as -not yet sufficiently “upset.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_114" id="Footnote_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> The facts regarding this “felony” of Jonson’s have -been subject of much and varied averment: recent investigation -has brought to light the “Indictment” on which -he was arraigned, and some notes of the “Clerk of the -Peace.” See <cite>Athenæum</cite>, March 6, 1886.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_115" id="Footnote_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> In his <cite>Discoveries (De Shakespeare)</cite> Jonson says, “The -players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, -that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never -blotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had -blotted a thousand. Which they thought a malevolent -speech.… I loved the man, and do honour his -memory, on this side idolatry as much as any.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_116" id="Footnote_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> John Stow, b. 1525; d. 1605. His <cite>Survey</cite> published in -1598: reprinted over and over. Edition of 1876 has illustrations.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_117" id="Footnote_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> Richard Hakluyt, b. about 1558; d. 1616.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_118" id="Footnote_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> Thomas Coryat, b. 1577; d. 1617. Full title of his book -is—<cite>Coryat’s Crudities hastily gobbled up in Five moneths -Travells in France, Savoy, Italy, Rhetia, commonly called the -Orisons Country, Helvetia, alias Switzerland, and some parts -of Germany and the Netherlands</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_119" id="Footnote_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> First published in 1589.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_120" id="Footnote_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a> Dates of birth and death uncertain. His <cite>Anatomie of -Abuses</cite> first published in 1583.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_121" id="Footnote_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a> George Puttenham, b. about 1532: the book printed -1589.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_122" id="Footnote_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a> Nichols, in his <cite>Progresses of Queen Elizabeth</cite>, vol. i. -(Preface), says: “She was twelve times at Theobalds, -which was a very convenient distance from London, … -the Queen lying there at his Lordship’s charge, sometimes -three weeks, or a month, or six weeks together.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_123" id="Footnote_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a> George Gascoigne (b. 1530; d. 1577) published a tract, in -those days, entitled <cite>The Princely Pleasures of Kenelworth -Castle</cite>, which appears in Nichol’s <cite>Progresses of Queen Elizabeth</cite>; -as does also Laneham’s Account of the <cite>Queen’s Entertainment -at Killingworth <span class="antiqua">[sic]</span> Castle</cite>.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> - -<h2>INDEX.</h2> - -<ul> - -<li class="ifrst">Abbeys and Priories of England, <a href="#Page_66">66 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Aldhelm, the Saxon scholar and poet, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Alfred, King, <a href="#Page_17">17 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Aneurin, a Welsh bard, the reputed author of Gododin, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Arcadia” of Philip Sidney, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Archery in England, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arnold, Matthew, on Celtic literature, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Arthur, King, the legends of, <a href="#Page_39">39 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Geoffrey’s version of, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Map’s version, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Layamon’s version, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Ascham, Roger, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Toxophilus,” <a href="#Page_199">199</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Schoolmaster,” <a href="#Page_199">199</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">teacher of Queen Elizabeth, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Bacon, Francis, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his character, <a href="#Page_250">250 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his essays, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his <cite>Novum Organum</cite> and <cite>De Augmentis</cite>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his death, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bacon, Roger, <a href="#Page_77">77 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Balladry, English, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Barnes, Dame Juliana, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Battle Abbey, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Beda, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Beowulf, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Betrothed,” Scott’s novel, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Berners, Lord, his translation of Froissart, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bible, Wyclif’s translation of, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Tyndale’s translation, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">reading of, by the common people forbidden in reign of Henry VIII., <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Black Prince, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Boccaccio, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Bœthius’ “Consolation of Philosophy,” translated by King Alfred, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Boke of the Duchesse,” Chaucer’s poem, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Books at the end of the thirteenth century, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">decoration of, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Brut” of Layamon, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Burleigh, Lord, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Cædmon, <a href="#Page_13">13 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">possible influence of his paraphrase on Milton, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Camden, William, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>Camelot, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Canute’s verse about the singing of the monks of Ely, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Canterbury School, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Canterbury Tales,” Chaucer’s, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Caxton, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">books from his press, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Celtic literature, early, <a href="#Page_7">7 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chapman, George, and his Homer, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Chaucer, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his early life in London, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a scholar, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his connection with the royal household, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his translation of the <cite>Roman de la Rose</cite>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Boke of the Duchesse,” <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Parliament of Foules,” <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Troilus and Cresseide,” <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his journeys on the Continent, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his portrait, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Canterbury Tales,” <a href="#Page_114">114</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">characters of the Canterbury pilgrims, <a href="#Page_114">114 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">localities of the pilgrimage, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his literary thefts, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">example of his art, <a href="#Page_120">120 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chevy Chase, ballad of, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Comus,” Milton’s, its relation to Peele’s “An Old Wives Tale,” <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Confessio Amantis</cite> of Gower, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Coryat, Thomas, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Cranmer, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Crayon, Geoffrey,” <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Damoiselle, life of a, in the thirteenth century, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Danish invasions of England, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dante, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Dekker, Thomas, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Drake, Sir Francis, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Drayton, Michael, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Poly-olbion,” <a href="#Page_292">292</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Nymphidia,” <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Edward I., II., and III., <a href="#Page_82">82 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Edward VI., <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Elizabeth, Queen, Roger Ascham’s encomium of her studiousness, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">comes to the throne, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her religion, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Froude’s unfavorable portrait of, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">Soranzo’s description of, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her greatness, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her literary attempts, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her love of pageants, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her progresses, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">at Kenilworth, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">her death, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Elizabethan authors, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Emerson, his enjoyment of Taliesin, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Erasmus, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Euphues,” by Lyly, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Falstaff, Jack, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Foxe, John, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Froissart, Lord Berners’ translation of, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Froude, Mr., his history characterized, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Geoffrey of Monmouth, <a href="#Page_37">37 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Green’s “History of the English People,” <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Making of England,” <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">cited, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Greene, Robert, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his relations with Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Godiva, Lady, tradition of, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>Gower, John, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Grave, the,” an Anglo-Saxon poem, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Hakluyt, Richard, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hampton Court, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Harold the Saxon, <a href="#Page_29">29 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Harold,” Tennyson’s play, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry II., <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry III., <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry IV., <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry V., <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry VI. and VII., <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Henry VIII., <a href="#Page_167">167</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">character of, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hobbes, Thomas, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his translation of Thucydides, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Holinshed, Raphael, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Hooker, Richard, and the “Ecclesiastical Polity,” <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">“Ivanhoe,” <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">James I. of Scotland, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Joan of Arc, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">John, King, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">John of Gaunt, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">a friend of Wyclif, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">of Chaucer, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Jonson, Ben, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Katharine of Aragon, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Kenilworth,” <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">its picture of Queen Elizabeth’s visit, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“King’s Quair, the,” <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Knox, John, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Langlande, William, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lanier, Sidney, his “Mabinogion,” <a href="#Page_8">8</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “King Arthur,” <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Latimer, Hugh, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Layamon, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Leicester, Earl of, and Queen Elizabeth, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Libraries at the end of the thirteenth century, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lilly, William, the head-master of St. Paul’s, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lindisfarne Abbey, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lodge, Thomas, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">London, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">in Chaucer’s time, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“London Lickpenny” of Lydgate, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Longfellow’s translation of “The Grave,” <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lord’s Prayer, the, in Tyndale’s version, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lydgate, John, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lyly, John, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Lytton, Lord, his “Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings,” <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">“Mabinogion,” the, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Macbeth, the murder of, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Madoc,” Southey’s poem, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mallory, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mandeville, Sir John, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">doubts respecting his travels, and personality, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Map, Walter, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Marco Polo, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Marini Sanuto on the accession of Henry VIII., <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Marlowe, Christopher, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Marmion,” <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mary, Queen, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mary Queen of Scots, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Matthew Paris, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Mermaid Tavern, the, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Milton, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Monastery, the,” <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>More, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Nashe, Thomas, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Norham Castle and “Marmion,” <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Novum Organum</cite>, the, of Bacon, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Nut-Brown Maid, ballad of, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Occleve, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Orderic Vitalis, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Oxford in the thirteenth century, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">“Parliament of Foules,” Chaucer’s poem, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Paston Letters, the, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Peele, George, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Old Wives Tale,” <a href="#Page_285">285</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Petrarch, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Piers Plowman, the Vision of,” <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Printing, the rise of, in England, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Progresses of Queen Elizabeth, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Purvey, his work on Bible of Wyclif, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Puttenham’s “Arte of English Poesie,” <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Raleigh, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Religious houses, spoliation of, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Richard Cœur de Lion, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Richard II., <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Richard III., <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Rienzi, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Robert of Gloucester, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Robin Hood’s bay, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Robin Hood, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Robin Hood ballads, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Roger de Hoveden, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Roman de la Rose,” <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Roman remains in England, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Rosalynde,” Lodge’s novel, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Sackville, Thomas, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Saxon Chronicle, the,” <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">St. Albans, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">St. Augustine in England, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">St. Columba, monastery of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Schoolmaster, the,” by Ascham, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Scottish Chiefs, the,” <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Shakespeare, his “Henry IV.,” <a href="#Page_133">133</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Henry V.,” <a href="#Page_141">141</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Henry VI.,” <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Richard III.,” <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">with the wits at the Mermaid Tavern, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sidney, Philip, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Arcadia,” <a href="#Page_237">237</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Defence of Poesie,” <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Skelton, John, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sonnet, the, first used in English by Wyatt, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Soranzo, Signor, his report of Queen Elizabeth, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Spedding, James, his “Life of Bacon,” <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Spenser, Edmund, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his “Shepherd’s Calendar,” <a href="#Page_217">217</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Faery Queen,” <a href="#Page_221">221 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Epithalamium,” <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Sternhold and Hopkins’ versions of the Psalms, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Stow, John, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Stubbes, Philip, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Surrey, Earl of, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>his poetry, and story of his Florentine tourney, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Taillefer, the Norman minstrel, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Taine’s treatment of Richard Cœur de Lion, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Taliesin, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Talisman, the,” <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tennyson’s “Harold,” <a href="#Page_30">30</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Idyls of the King,” <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">“Queen Mary,” <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thackeray’s treatment of Richard Cœur de Lion in “Rebecca and Rowena,” <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Thomas à Becket, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tolstoi, Count, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tudor, Sir Owen, and the Tudor succession, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tusser, Thomas, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Tyndale, William, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">“Utopia,” by Sir Thomas More, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst"><cite>Vox Clamantis</cite> of Gower, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Wace, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wallace, William, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Westward, Ho,” Kingsley’s novel, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Whitby Monastery, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Whittingham, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">William the Norman, <a href="#Page_25">25 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a></li> - -<li class="indx">William of Malmsbury, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">William of Newburgh, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wolsey, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wyclif, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90 <i lang="la">et seq.</i></a>;</li> -<li class="isub1">his translation of the Bible, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wyatt, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">Wright, Leonard, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">York, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">York and Lancaster, the wars of, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> - -</ul> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS: FROM CELT TO TUDOR***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 54168-h.htm or 54168-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/4/1/6/54168">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/6/54168</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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