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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5725-8.txt b/5725-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dfb06ff --- /dev/null +++ b/5725-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24541 @@ +Project Gutenberg's English Literature For Boys And Girls, by H.E. Marshall +#2 in our series by H.E. Marshall + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: English Literature For Boys And Girls + +Author: H.E. Marshall + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5725] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 17, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH LITERATURE *** + + + + + + + + + +H.E. Marshall + +English Literature + + +Chapter I IN THE LISTENING TIME +Chapter II THE STORY OF THE CATTLE RAID OF COOLEY +Chapter III ONE OF THE SORROWS OF STORY-TELLING +Chapter IV THE STORY OF A LITERARY LIE +Chapter V THE STORY OF FINGAL +Chapter VI ABOUT SOME OLD WELSH STORIES AND STORY-TELLERS +Chapter VII HOW THE STORY OF ARTHUR WAS WRITTEN IN ENGLISH +Chapter VIII THE BEGINNING OF THE READING TIME +Chapter IX "THE PASSING OF ARTHUR" +Chapter X THE ADVENTURES OF AN OLD ENGLISH BOOK +Chapter XI THE STORY OF BEOWULF +Chapter XII THE FATHER OF ENGLISH SONG +Chapter XIII HOW CAEDMON SANG, AND HOW HE FELL ONCE MORE ON SILENCE +Chapter XIV THE FATHER OF ENGLISH HISTORY +Chapter XV HOW ALFRED THE GREAT FOUGHT WITH HIS PEN +Chapter XVI WHEN ENGLISH SLEPT +Chapter XVII THE STORY OF HAVELOK THE DANE +Chapter XVIII ABOUT SOME SONG STORIES +Chapter XIX "PIERS THE PLOUGHMAN" +Chapter XX "PIERS THE PLOUGHMAN" -- continued +Chapter XXI HOW THE BIBLE CAME TO THE PEOPLE +Chapter XXII CHAUCER--BREAD AND MILK FOR CHILDREN +Chapter XXIII CHAUCER--"THE CANTERBURY TALES" +Chapter XXIV CHAUCER--AT THE TABARD INN +Chapter XXV THE FIRST ENGLISH GUIDE-BOOK +Chapter XXVI BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE BEGINNINGS OF A STRUGGLE +Chapter XXVII BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE END OF THE STRUGGLE +Chapter XXVIII A POET KING +Chapter XXIX THE DEATH OF THE POET KING +Chapter XXX DUNBAR--THE WEDDING OF THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE +Chapter XXXI AT THE SIGN OF THE RED PALE +Chapter XXXII ABOUT THE BEGINNING OF THE THEATER +Chapter XXXIII HOW THE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS +Chapter XXXIV THE STORY OF EVERYMAN +Chapter XXXV HOW A POET COMFORTED A GIRL +Chapter XXXVI THE RENAISSANCE +Chapter XXXVII THE LAND OF NOWHERE +Chapter XXXVIII THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS MORE +Chapter XXXIX HOW THE SONNET CAME TO ENGLAND +Chapter XL THE BEGINNING OF BLANK VERSE +Chapter XLI SPENSER--THE "SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR" +Chapter XLII SPENSER--THE "FAERY QUEEN" +Chapter XLIII SPENSER--HIS LAST DAYS +Chapter XLIV ABOUT THE FIRST THEATERS +Chapter XLV SHAKESPEARE--THE BOY +Chapter XLVI SHAKESPEARE--THE MAN +Chapter LXVII SHAKESPEARE--"THE MERCHANT OF VENICE" +Chapter XLVIII JONSON--"EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR" +Chapter XLIX JONSON--"THE SAD SHEPHERD" +Chapter L RALEIGH--"THE REVENGE" +Chapter LI RALEIGH--"THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD" +Chapter LII BACON--NEW WAYS OF WISDOM +Chapter LIII BACON--THE HAPPY ISLAND +Chapter LIV ABOUT SOME LYRIC POETS +Chapter LV HERBERT--THE PARSON POET +Chapter LVI HERRICK AND MARVELL--OF BLOSSOMS AND BOWERS +Chapter LVII MILTON--SIGHT AND GROWTH +Chapter LVIII MILTON--DARKNESS AND DEATH +Chapter LIX BUNYAN--"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS" +Chapter LX DRYDEN--THE NEW POETRY +Chapter LXI DEFOE--THE FIRST NEWSPAPERS +Chapter LXII DEFOE--"ROBINSON CRUSOE" +Chapter LXIII SWIFT--THE "JOURNAL TO STELLA" +Chapter LXIV SWIFT--"GULLIVER'S TRAVELS" +Chapter LXV ADDISON--THE "SPECTATOR" +Chapter LXVI STEELE--THE SOLDIER AUTHOR +Chapter LXVII POPE--THE "RAPE OF THE LOCK" +Chapter LXVIII JOHNSON--DAYS OF STRUGGLE +Chapter LXIX JOHNSON--THE END OF THE JOURNEY +Chapter LXX GOLDSMITH--THE VAGABOND +Chapter LXXI GOLDSMITH--"THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD" +Chapter LXXII BURNS--THE PLOWMAN POET +Chapter LXXIII COWPER--"THE TASK" +Chapter LXXIV WORDSWORTH--THE POET OF NATURE +Chapter LXXV WORDSWORTH AND COLERIDGE--THE LAKE POETS +Chapter LXXVI COLERIDGE AND SOUTHEY--SUNSHINE AND SHADOW +Chapter LXXVII SCOTT--THE AWAKENING OF ROMANCE +Chapter LXXVIII SCOTT--"THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH" +Chapter LXXIX BYRON--"CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE" +Chapter LXXX SHELLEY--THE POET OF LOVE +Chapter LXXXI KEATS--THE POET OF BEAUTY +Chapter LXXXII CARLYLE--THE SAGE OF CHELSEA +Chapter LXXXIII THACKERAY--THE CYNIC? +Chapter LXXXIV DICKENS--SMILES AND TEARS +Chapter LXXXV TENNYSON--THE POET OF FRIENDSHIP + + + + + + +YEAR 7 + + + +Chapter I IN THE LISTENING TIME + +HAS there ever been a time when no stories were told? Has there +ever been a people who did not care to listen? I think not. + +When we were little, before we could read for ourselves, did we +not gather eagerly round father or mother, friend or nurse, at +the promise of a story? When we grew older, what happy hours did +we not spend with our books. How the printed words made us +forget the world in which we live, and carried us away to a +wonderland, + + "Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew + And flowers put forth a fairer hue, + And everything was strange and new; + The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, + And their dogs outran our fallow deer, + And honey bees had lost their stings, + And horses were born with eagles' wings."* + + *Robert Browning. + +And as it is with us, so it is with a nation, with a people. + +In the dim, far-off times when our forefathers were wild, naked +savages, they had no books. Like ourselves, when we were tiny, +they could neither read nor write. But do you think that they +had no stories? Oh, yes! We may be sure that when the day's +work was done, when the fight or the chase was over, they +gathered round the wood fire and listened to the tales of the +story-teller. + +These stories were all of war. They told of terrible combats +with men or with fierce strange beasts, they told of passion, of +revenge. In them there was no beauty, no tenderness, no love. +For the life of man in those far-off days was wild and rough; it +was one long struggle against foes, a struggle which left little +room for what was beautiful or tender. + +But as time went on, as life became more easy, in one way or +another the savage learned to become less savage. Then as he +changed, the tales he listened to changed too. They were no +longer all of war, of revenge; they told of love also. And +later, when the story of Christ had come to soften men's hearts +and brighten men's lives, the stories told of faith and purity +and gentleness. + +At last a time came when minstrels wandered from town to town, +from castle to castle, singing their lays. And the minstrel who +had a good tale to tell was ever sure of a welcome, and for his +pains he was rewarded with money, jewels, and even land. That +was the true listening time of the world. + +It was no easy thing to be a minstrel, and a man often spent ten +or twelve years in learning to be one. There were certain tales +which all minstrels had to know, and the best among them could +tell three hundred and fifty. Of these stories the minstrels +used to learn only the outline, and each told the story in his +own way, filling it in according to his own fancy. So as time +went on these well-known tales came to be told in many different +ways, changing as the times changed. + +At length, after many years had passed, men began to write down +these tales, so that they might not be forgotten. These first +books we call Manuscripts, from the Latin words manus, a hand, +and scribere, to write, for they were all written by hand. Even +after they were written down there were many changes made in the +tales, for those who wrote or copied them would sometimes miss +lines or alter others. Yet they were less changed than they had +been when told only by word of mouth. + +These stories then form the beginnings of what is called our +Literature. Literature really means letters, for it comes from a +Latin word littera, meaning a letter of the alphabet. Words are +made by letters of the alphabet being set together, and our +literature again by words being set together; hence the name. + +As on and on time went, every year more stories were told and +sung and written down. The first stories which our forefathers +told in the days long, long ago, and which were never written +down, are lost forever. Even many of those stories which were +written are lost too, but a few still remain, and from them we +can learn much of the life and the history of the people who +lived in our land ten and twelve hundred years ago, or more. + +For a long time books were all written by hand. They were very +scarce and dear, and only the wealthy could afford to have them, +and few could read them. Even great knights and nobles could not +read, for they spent all their time in fighting and hunting, and +had little time in which to learn. So it came about that the +monks who lived a quiet and peaceful life became the learned men. +In the monasteries it was that books were written and copied. +There too they were kept, and the monasteries became not only the +schools, but the libraries of the country. + +As a nation grows and changes, its literature grows and changes +with it. At first it asks only for stories, then it asks for +history for its own sake, and for poetry for its own sake; +history, I mean, for the knowledge it gives us of the past; +poetry for joy in the beautiful words, and not merely for the +stories they tell. Then, as a nation's needs and knowledge grow, +it demands ever more and more books on all kinds of subjects. + +And we ourselves grow and change just as a nation does. When we +are very young, there are many books which seem to us dull and +stupid. But as we grow older and learn more, we begin to like +more and more kinds of books. We may still love the stories that +we loved as children, but we love others too. And at last, +perhaps, there comes a time when those books which seemed to us +most dull and stupid delight us the most. + +At first, too, we care only for the story itself. We do not mind +very much in what words it is told so long as it is a story. But +later we begin to care very much indeed what words the story- +teller uses, and how he uses them. It is only, perhaps, when we +have learned to hear with our eyes that we know the true joy of +books. Yes, hear with our eyes, for it is joy in the sound of +the words that makes our breath come fast, which brings smiles to +our lips or tears to our eyes. Yet we do not need to read the +words aloud, the sight of the black letters on the white page is +enough. + +In this book I am going to tell you about a few of our greatest +story-tellers and their books. Many of these books you will not +care to read for yourselves for a long time to come. You must be +content to be told about them. You must be content to know that +there are rooms in the fairy palace of our Literature into which +you cannot enter yet. But every year, as your knowledge grows, +you will find that new keys have been put into your hands with +which you may unlock the doors which are now closed. And with +every door that you unlock, you will become aware of others and +still others that are yet shut fast, until at last you learn with +something of pain, that the great palace of our Literature is so +vast that you can never hope to open all the doors even to peep +inside. + + + + + + + +Chapter II THE STORY OF THE CATTLE RAID OF COOLEY + +OUR earliest literature was history and poetry. Indeed, we might +say poetry only, for in those far-off times history was always +poetry, it being only through the songs of the bards and +minstrels that history was known. And when I say history I do +not mean history as we know it. It was then merely the gallant +tale of some hero's deeds listened to because it was a gallant +tale. + +Now the people who lived in the British Isles long ago were not +English. It will be simplest for us to call them all Celts and +to divide them into two families, the Gaels and the Cymry. The +Gaels lived in Ireland and in Scotland, and the Cymry in England +and Wales. + +It is to Ireland that we must go for the very beginnings of our +Literature, for the Roman conquest did not touch Ireland, and the +English, who later conquered and took possession of Britain, +hardly troubled the Green Isle. So for centuries the Gaels of +Ireland told their tales and handed them on from father to son +undisturbed, and in Ireland a great many old writings have been +kept which tell of far-off times. These old Irish manuscripts +are perhaps none of them older than the eleventh century, but the +stories are far, far older. They were, we may believe, passed on +by word of mouth for many generations before they were written +down, and they have kept the feeling of those far-off times. + +It was from Ireland that the Scots came to Scotland, and when +they came they brought with them many tales. So it comes about +that in old Scottish and in old Irish manuscripts we find the +same stories. + +Many of the manuscripts which are kept in Ireland have never been +translated out of the old Irish in which they were written, so +they are closed books to all but a few scholars, and we need not +talk about them. But of one of the great treasures of old Irish +literature we will talk. This is the Leabhar Na h-Uidhre, or +Book of the Dun Cow. It is called so because the stories in it +were first written down by St. Ciaran in a book made from the +skin of a favorite cow of a dun color. That book has long been +lost, and this copy of it was made in the eleventh century. + +The name of this old book helps us to remember that long ago +there was no paper, and that books were written on vellum made +from calf-skin and upon parchment made from sheep-skin. It was +not until the twelfth century that paper began to be made in some +parts of Europe, and it was not until the fifteenth century that +paper books became common in England. + +In the Book of the Dun Cow, and in another old book called the +Book of Leinster, there is written the great Irish legend called +the Tain Bo Chuailgne or the Cattle Raid of Cooley. + +This is a very old tale of the time soon after the birth of +Christ. In the book we are told how this story had been written +down long, long ago in a book called the Great Book Written on +Skins. But a learned man carried away that book to the East. +Then, when many years had passed, people began to forget the +story of the Cattle Raid. So the Chief minstrel called all the +other minstrels together to ask if any of them knew the tale. +But none of them could remember more than a few verses of it. +Therefore the chief minstrel asked all his pupils to travel into +far countries to search for the rest which was lost. + +What followed is told differently in different books, but all +agree in this, that a great chief called Fergus came back from +the dead in order to tell the tale, which was again written down. + +The story is one of the beautiful Queen Meav of Connaught. For +many years she had lived happily with her husband and her +children. But one day the Queen and her husband began to argue +as to which of them was the richer. As they could not agree, +they ordered all their treasures to be brought before them that +they might be compared. + +So first all their wooden and metal vessels were brought. But +they were both alike. + +Then all their jewels, their rings and bracelets, necklets and +crowns were brought, but they, too, were equal. + +Then all their robes were brought, crimson and blue, green, +yellow, checked and striped, black and white. They, too, were +equal. + +Next from the fields and pastures great herds of sheep were +brought. They, too, were equal. + +Then from the green plains fleet horses, champing steeds came. +Great herds of swine from forest and glen were brought. They, +too, were equal. + +Lastly, droves and droves of cattle were brought. In the King's +herd there was a young bull named White-horned. When a calf, he +had belonged to Meav's herd, but being very proud, and thinking +it little honor to be under the rule of a woman, he had left +Meav's herd and joined himself to the King's. This bull was very +beautiful. His head and horns and hoofs were white, and all the +rest of him was red. He was so great and splendid that in all +the Queen's herd there was none to match him. + +Then Meav's sorrow was bitter, and calling a messenger, she asked +if he knew where might be found a young bull to match with White- +horned. + +The messenger replied that he knew of a much finer bull called +Donn Chuailgne, or Brown Bull of Cooley, which belonged to Dawra, +the chief of Ulster. + +"Go then,' said Meav, "and ask Dawra to lend me the Bull for a +year. Tell him that he shall be well repaid, that he shall +receive fifty heifers and Brown Bull back again at the end of +that time. And if Dawra should seem unwilling to lend Brown +Bull, tell him that he may come with it himself, and that he +shall receive here land equal to his own, a chariot worth thirty- +six cows, and he shall have my friendship ever after." + +So taking with him nine others, the messenger set out and soon +arrived at Cooley. And when Dawra heard why the messengers had +come, he received them kindly, and said at once that they should +have Brown Bull. + +Then the messengers began to speak and boast among themselves. +"It was well," said one, "that Dawra granted us the Bull +willingly, otherwise we had taken it by force." + +As he spoke, a servant of Dawra came with food and drink for the +strangers, and hearing how they spoke among themselves, he +hastily and in wrath dashed the food upon the table, and +returning to his master repeated to him the words of the +messenger. + +Then was Dawra very wrathful. And when, in the morning, the +messengers came before him asking that he should fulfill his +promise, he refused them. + +So, empty-handed, the messengers returned to Queen Meav. And +she, full of anger, decided to make good the boastful words of +her messenger and take Brown Bull by force. + +Then began a mighty war between the men of Ulster and the men of +Connaught. And after many fights there was a great battle in +which Meav was defeated. Yet was she triumphant, for she had +gained possession of the Brown Bull. + +But the Queen had little cause for triumph, for when Brown Bull +and White-horned met there was a fearful combat between them. +The whole land echoed with their bellowing. The earth shook +beneath their feet and the sky grew dark with flying sods of +earth and with flecks of foam. After long fighting Brown Bull +conquered, and goring White-horned to death, ran off with him +impaled upon his horns, shaking his shattered body to pieces as +he ran. + +But Brown Bull, too, was wounded to death. Mad with pain and +wounds, he turned to his own land, and there + + "He lay down + Against the hill, and his great heart broke there, + And sent a stream of blood down all the slope; + And thus, when all the war and Tain had ended, + In his own land, 'midst his own hills, he died."* + + *The Tain, by Mary A. Hutton. + +The Cattle Raid of Cooley is a strange wild tale, yet from it we +can learn a great deal about the life of these old, far-away +times. We can learn from it something of what the people did and +thought, and how they lived, and even of what they wore. Here is +a description of a driver and his war chariot, translated, of +course, into English prose. "It is then that the charioteer +arose, and he put on his hero's dress of charioteering. This was +the hero's dress of charioteering that he put on: his soft tunic +of deer skin, so that it did not restrain the movement of his +hands outside. He put on his black upper cloak over it outside. +. . . The charioteer took first then his helm, ridged like a +board, four-cornered. . . . This was well measured to him, and it +was not an over weight. His hand brought the circlet of red- +yellow, as though it were a plate of red gold, of refined gold +smelted over the edge of the anvil, to his brow as a sign of his +charioteering, as a distinction to his master. + +"He took the goads to his horses, and his whip inlaid in his +right hand. He took the reins to hold back his horses in his +left hand. Then he put the iron inlaid breast-plate on his +horses, so that they were covered from forehead to fore-foot with +spears, and points, and lances, and hard points, so that every +motion in this chariot was war-near, so that every corner, and +every point, and every end, and every front of this chariot was a +way of tearing."* + +*The Cattle Raid of Cualnge, by L. W. Faraday. + +We can almost see that wild charioteer and his horses, sheathed +in bristling armor with "every front a way of tearing," as they +dash amid the foe. And all through we come on lines like these +full of color and detail, which tell us of the life of those folk +of long ago. + + + + + + + +Chapter III ONE OF THE SORROWS OF STORY-TELLING + +The Tain gives us vivid pictures of people and things, but it is +not full of beauty and of tender imagination like many of the +Gaelic stories. Among the most beautiful and best known of these +are perhaps the Three Sorrows of Story-Telling. These three +stories are called: The Tragedy of the Children of Lir; The +Tragedy of the Children of Tuireann; and Deirdre and the Sons of +Usnach. Of the three the last is perhaps the most interesting, +because the story happened partly in Scotland and partly in +Ireland, and it is found both in old Irish and in old Scottish +manuscripts. + +The story is told in many old books, and in many ways both in +prose and in verse. The oldest and shortest version is in the +Book of Leinster, the same book in which is found The Tain. + +The tale goes that one day King Conor and his nobles feasted at +the house of Felim, his chief story-teller. And while they +feasted a daughter was born to Felim the story-teller. Then +Cathbad the Druid, who was also at the feast, became exceeding +sad. He foretold that great sorrow and evil should come upon the +land because of this child, and so he called her Deirdre, which +means trouble or alarm. + +When the nobles heard that, they wished to slay the new-born +babe. But Conor spoke. + +"Let it not be so done," he said. "It were an ill thing to shed +the blood of an innocent child. I myself shall care for her. +She shall be housed in a safe place so that none may come nigh to +her, and when she is grown she shall be my one true wife." + +So it was done as King Conor said. Deirdre was placed in a safe +and lonely castle, where she was seen of none save her tutor and +her nurse, Lavarcam. There, as the years passed, she grew tall +and fair as a slender lily, and more beautiful than the sunshine. + +Now when fourteen years had passed, it happened one snowy day +that Deirdre's tutor killed a calf to provide food for their +little company. And as the calf's blood was spilled upon the +snow, a raven came to drink of it. When Deirdre saw that, she +sighed and said, "Would that I had a husband whose hair was as +the color of the raven, his cheeks as blood, and his skin as +snow." + +"There is such a one," said Lavarcam, "he is Naisi the son of +Usnach." + +After that here was no rest for Deirdre until she had seen Naisi. +And when they met they loved each other so that Naisi took her +and fled with her to Scotland far from Conor the King. For they +knew that when the King learned that fair Deirdre had been stolen +from him, he would be exceeding wrathful. + +There, in Scotland, Deirdre and Naisi lived for many years +happily. With them were Ainle and Ardan, Naisi's two brothers, +who also loved their sister Deirdre well. + +But Conor never forgot his anger at the escape of Deirdre. He +longed still to have her as his Queen, and at last he sent a +messenger to lure the fair lady and the three brave brothers back +to Ireland. + +"Naisi and Deirdre were seated together one day, and between them +Conor's chess board, they playing upon it. + +"Naisi heard a cry and said, 'I hear the call of a man of Erin.' + +"'That was not the call of a man of Erin,' says Deirdre, 'but the +call of a man of Alba.' + +"Deirdre knew the first cry of Fergus, but she concealed it. +Fergus uttered the second cry. + +"'That is the cry of a man of Erin,' says Naisi. + +"'It is not indeed,' says Deirdre, 'and let us play on.' + +"Fergus sent forth the third cry, and the sons of Usnach knew it +was Fergus that sent for the cry. And Naisi ordered Ardan to go +to meet Fergus. Then Deirdre declared she knew the first call +sent forth by Fergus. + +"'Why didst thou conceal it, then, my Queen?' says Naisi. + +"'A vision I saw last night,' says Deirdre, 'namely that three +birds came unto us having three sups of honey in their beaks, and +that they left them with us, and that they took three sups of our +blood with them.' + +"'What determination hast thou of that, O Princess?' says Naisi. + +"'It is,' says Deirdre, 'that Fergus comes unto us with a message +of peace from Conor, for more sweet is not honey than the message +of peace of the false man.' + +"'Let that be,' says Naisi. 'Fergus is long in the port; and go, +Ardan, to meet him and bring him with thee.'"* + +*Theophilus O'Flanagan + +And when Fergus came there were kindly greetings between the +friends who had been long parted. Then Fergus told the three +brothers that Conor had forgiven them, and that he longed to see +them back again in the land of Erin. + +So although the heart of Deirdre was sad and heavy with +foreboding of evil, they set sail for the land of Erin. But +Deirdre looked behind her as the shore faded from sight and sang +a mournful song: - + + "O eastern land I leave, I loved you well, + Home of my heart, I love and loved you well, + I ne'er had left you had not Naisi left."* + +*Douglas Hyde + +And so they fared on their journey and came at last to Conor's +palace. And the story tells how the boding sorrow that Deirdre +felt fulfilled itself, and how they were betrayed, and how the +brothers fought and died, and how Deirdre mourned until + + "Her heart-strings snapt, + And death had overmastered her. She fell + Into the grave where Naisi lay and slept. + There at his side the child of Felim fell, + The fair-haired daughter of a hundred smiles. + Men piled their grave and reared their stone on high, + And wrote their names in Ogham.* So they lay + All four united in the dream of death."** + + * Ancient Gaelic writing. + ** Douglas Hyde + +Such in a few words is the story of Deirdre. But you must read +the tale itself to find out how beautiful it is. That you can +easily do, for it has been translated many times out of the old +Gaelic in which it was first written and it has been told so +simply that even those of you who are quite young can read it for +yourselves. + +In both The Tain and in Deirdre we find the love of fighting, the +brave joy of the strong man when he finds a gallant foe. The +Tain is such history as those far-off times afforded, but it is +history touched with fancy, wrought with poetry. In the Three +Sorrows we have Romance. They are what we might call the novels +of the time. It is in stories like these that we find the keen +sense of what is beautiful in nature, the sense of "man's +brotherhood with bird and beast, star and flower," which has +become the mark of "Celtic" literature. We cannot put it into +words, perhaps, for it is something mystic and strange, something +that takes us nearer fairyland and makes us see that land of +dreams with clearer eyes. + +BOOKS TO READ + +The Celtic Wonder World, by C. L. Thomson. The Enchanted Land +(for version of Deirdre), by L Chisholm. Three Sorrows (verse), +by Douglas Hyde. + + + + + + + + +Chapter IV THE STORY OF A LITERARY LIE + +WHO wrote the stories which are found in the old Gaelic +manuscripts we do not know, yet the names of some of the old +Gaelic poets have come down to us. The best known of all is +perhaps that of Ossian. But as Ossian, if he ever lived, lived +in the third century, as it is not probable that his poems were +written down at the time, and as the oldest books that we have +containing any of his poetry were written in the twelfth century, +it is very difficult to be sure that he really made the poems +called by his name. + +Ossian was a warrior and chief as well as a poet, and as a poet +he is claimed both by Scotland and by Ireland. But perhaps his +name has become more nearly linked to Scotland because of the +story that I am going to tell you now. It belongs really to a +time much later than that of which we have been speaking, but +because it has to do with this old Gaelic poet Ossian, I think +you will like to hear it now. + +In a lonely Highland village more than a hundred and fifty years +ago there lived a little boy called James Macpherson. His father +and mother were poor farmer people, and James ran about +barefooted and wild among the hills and glens. When he was about +seven years old the quiet of his Highland home was broken by the +sounds of war, for the Highland folk had risen in rebellion +against King George II., and were fighting for Prince Charlie, +hoping to have a Stewart king once more. This was the rebellion +called the '45, for it was fought in 1745. + +Now little James watched the red coats of the southern soldiers +as, with bayonets gleaming in the sun, they wound through the +glens. He heard the Highland battle-cry and the clash of steel +on steel, for fighting came near his home, and his own people +joined the standard of the Pretender. Little James never forgot +these things, and long afterwards, when he grew to be a man and +wrote poetry, it was full of the sounds of battle, full, too, of +love for mountain and glen and their rolling mists. + +The Macphersons were poor, but they saw that their son was +clever, and they determined that he should be well taught. So +when he left school they sent him to college, first to Aberdeen +and then to Edinburgh. + +Before he was twenty James had left college and become master of +the school in his own native village. He did not, however, like +that very much, and soon gave it up to become tutor in a family. + +By this time James Macpherson had begun to write poetry. He had +also gathered together some pieces of old Gaelic poetry which he +had found among the Highland folk. These he showed to some other +poets and writers whom he met, and they thought them so beautiful +that he published them in a book. + +The book was a great success. All who read it were delighted +with the poems, and said that if there was any more such poetry +in the Highlands, it should be gathered together and printed +before it was lost and forgotten for ever. For since the '45 the +English had done everything to make the Highlanders forget their +old language and customs. They were forbidden to wear the kilt +or the tartan, and everything was done to make them speak English +and forget Gaelic. + +So now people begged Macpherson to travel through the Highlands +and gather together as much of the old poetry of the people as he +could. Macpherson was at first unwilling to go. For one thing, +he quite frankly owned that he was not a good Gaelic scholar. +But at length he consented and set out. + +For four months Macpherson wandered about the Highlands and +Islands of Scotland, listening to the tales of the people and +writing them down. Sometimes, too, he came across old +manuscripts with ancient tales in them. When he had gathered all +he could, he returned to Edinburgh and set to work to translate +the stories into English. + +When this new book of Gaelic poetry came out, it again was a +great success. It was greeted with delight by the greatest poets +of France, Germany, and Italy, and was soon translated into many +languages. Macpherson was no longer a poor Highland laddie, but +a man of world-wide fame. Yet it was not because of his own +poetry that he was famous, but because he had found (so he said) +some poems of a man who lived fifteen hundred years before, and +translated them into English. And although Macpherson's book is +called The Poems of Ossian, it is written in prose. But it is a +prose which is often far more beautiful and poetical than much +that is called poetry. + +Although at first Macpherson's book was received with great +delight, soon people began to doubt about it. The Irish first of +all were jealous, for they said that Ossian was an Irish poet, +that the heroes of the poems were Irish, and that Macpherson was +stealing their national heroes from them. + +Then in England people began to say that there never had been an +Ossian at all, and that Macpherson had invented both the poems +and all the people that they were about. For the English knew +little of the Highlanders and their customs. Even after the '15 +and the '45 people in the south knew little about the north and +those who lived there. They thought of it as a land of wild +mountains and glens, a land of mists and cloud, a land where wild +chieftains ruled over still wilder clans, who, in their lonely +valleys and sea-girt islands, were for ever warring against each +other. How could such a people, they asked, a people of savages, +make beautiful poetry? + +Dr. Samuel Johnson, a great writer of whom we shall hear more +later, was the man of his day whose opinion about books was most +thought of. He hated Scotland and the Scottish folk, and did not +believe that any good thing could come from them. He read the +poems and said that they were rubbish, such as any child could +write, and that Macpherson had made them all up. + +So a quarrel, which has become famous, began between the two men. +And as Dr. Johnson was far better known than Macpherson, most +people agreed with him and believed that Macpherson had told a +"literary lie," and that he had made up all the stories. + +There is no harm in making up stories. Nearly every one who +writes does that. But it is wrong to make up stories and then +pretend that they were written by some one else more famous than +yourself. + +Dr. Johnson and Macpherson were very angry with and rude to each +other. Still that did not settle the question as to who had +written the stories; indeed it has never been settled. And what +most men believe now is that Macpherson did really gather from +among the people of the Highlands many scraps of ancient poetry +and tales, but that he added to them and put them together in +such a way as to make them beautiful and touching. To do even +that, however, a true poet was needed, so people have, for the +most part, given up arguing about whether Macpherson wrote Ossian +or not, and are glad that such a beautiful book has been written +by some one. + +I do not think that you will want to read Ossian for yourself for +a long time to come, for the stories are not always easy to +follow. They are, too, often clumsy, wandering, and badly put +together. But in spite of that there is much beauty in them, and +some day I hope you will read them. + +In the next chapter you will find one of the stories of Ossian +called Fingal. Fingal was a great warrior and the father of +Ossian, and the story takes place in Ireland. It is told partly +in Macpherson's words. + + + + + + + +Chapter V THE STORY OF FINGAL + +"CATHULLIN sat by TURA's wall, by the tree of the rustling sound. +His spear leaned against a rock. His shield lay on grass, by his +side. And as he thus sat deep in thought a scout came running in +all haste and cried, 'Arise! Cathullin, arise! I see the ships +of the north. Many, chief of men, are the foe! Many the heroes +of the sea-born Swaran!' + +"Then to the scout the blue-eyed chief replied, 'Thou ever +tremblest. Thy fears have increased the foe. It is Fingal King +of deserts who comes with aid to green Erin of streams.' + +"'Nay, I beheld their chief,' replied the scout, 'tall as a +glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the +rising moon. He bade me say to thee, "Let dark Cathullin +yield."' + +"'No,' replied the blue-eyed chief, 'I never yield to mortal man. +Dark Cathullin shall be great or dead.'" + +Then Cathullin bade the scout summon his warriors to council. +And when they were gathered there was much talk, for some would +give battle at once and some delay until Fingal, the King of +Morven, should come to aid them. But Cathullin himself was eager +to fight, so forward they marched to meet the foe. And the sound +of their going was "as the rushing of a stream of foam when the +thunder is traveling above, and dark-brown night sits on half the +hill." To the camp of Swaran was the sound carried, so that he +sent a messenger to view the foe. + +"He went. He trembling, swift returned. His eyes rolled wildly +round. His heart beat high against his side. His words were +faltering, broken, slow. 'Arise, son of ocean! arise, chief of +the dark brown shields! I see the dark, the mountain stream of +battle. Fly, King of ocean! Fly!' + +"'When did I fly?' replied the King. 'When fled Swaran from the +battle of spears? When did I shrink from danger, chief of the +little soul? Shall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himself +before me my soul should not darken in fear. Arise, to battle my +thousands! pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the +bright steel of your King; strong as the rocks of my land, that +meet the storm with joy, and stretch their dark pines to the +wind.' + +"Like autumn's dark storms, pouring from two echoing hills, +towards each other approached the heroes. Like two deep streams +from high rocks meeting, mixing, roaring on the plain; loud, +rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail. chief +mixes his strokes with chief, and man with man; steel clanging +sounds on steel. Helmets are cleft on high. Blood bursts and +smokes around. Strings murmur on the polished yews. Darts rush +along the sky, spears fall like the circles of light which gild +the face of night. As the noise of the troubled ocean when roll +the waves on high, as the last peal of thunder in heaven, such is +the din of war. Though Cormac's hundred bards were there to give +the fight to song, feeble was the voice of a hundred bards to +send the deaths to future times. For many were the deaths of +heroes; wide poured the blood of the brave." + +Then above the clang and clamor of dreadful battle we hear the +mournful dirge of minstrels wailing o'er the dead. + +"Mourn, ye sons of song, mourn! Weep on the rocks of roaring +winds, O mad of Inistore! Bend thy fair head over the waves, +thou lovelier than the ghost of the hills, when it moves, in a +sunbeam at noon, over the silence of Morven. He is fallen! thy +youth is low! pale beneath the sword of Cathullin. No more shall +valor raise thy love to match the blood of kings. His gray dogs +are howling at home, they see his passing ghost. His bow is in +the hall unstrung. No sound is on the hill of his hinds." + +Then once again, the louder for the mourning pause, we hear the +din of battle. + +"As roll a thousand waves to the rocks, so Swaran's host came on. +As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Erin met Swaran of spears. +Death raises all his voices around, and mixes with the sounds of +shields. Each hero is a pillar of darkness; the sword a beam of +fire in his hand. The field echoes from wing to wing, as a +hundred hammers that rise by turn, on the red son of the +furnace." + +But now the day is waning. To the noise and horror of battle the +mystery of darkness is added. Friend and foe are wrapped in the +dimness of twilight. + +But the fight was not ended, for neither Cathullin nor Swaran had +gained the victory, and ere gray morning broke the battle was +renewed. + +And in this second day's fight Swaran was the victor, but while +the battle still raged white-sailed ships appeared upon the sea. +It was Fingal who came, and Swaran had to fight a second foe. + +"Now from the gray mists of the ocean, the white-sailed ships of +Fingal appeared. High is the grove of their masts, as they nod +by turns on the rolling wave." + +Swaran saw them from the hill on which he fought, and turning +from the pursuit of the men of Erin, he marched to meet Fingal. +But Cathullin, beaten and ashamed, fled to hide himself: +"bending, weeping, sad and slow, and dragging his long spear +behind, Cathullin sank in Cromla's wood, and mourned his fallen +friends. He feared the face of Fingal, who was wont to greet him +from the fields of renown." + +But although Cathullin fled, between Fingal and Swaran battle was +renewed till darkness fell. A second day dawned, and again and +again the hosts closed in deadly combat until at length Fingal +and Swaran met face to face. + +"There was a clang of arms! their every blow like the hundred +hammers of the furnace. Terrible is the battle of the kings; +dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark brown shields are +cleft in twain. Their steel flies, broken from their helms. + +"They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp. +Their sinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from side to +side, and strain and stretch their large and spreading limbs +below. But when the pride of their strength arose they shook the +hills with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high; +the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength +of Swaran fell; the king of the groves is bound." + +The warriors of Swaran fled then, pursued by the sons of Fingal, +till the hero bade the fighting cease, and darkness once more +fell over the dreadful field. + +"The clouds of night come rolling down. Darkness rests on the +steeps of Cromla. The stars of the north arise over the rolling +of Erin's waves: they shew their heads of fire, through the +flying mist of heaven. A distant wind roars in the wood. Silent +and dark is the plain of death." + +Then through the darkness is heard the sad song of minstrels +mourning for the dead. But soon the scene changes and mourning +is forgotten. + +"The heroes gathered to the feast. A thousand aged oaks are +burning to the wind. The souls of warriors brighten with joy. +But the king of Lochlin (Swaran) is silent. Sorrow reddens in +his eyes of pride. He remembered that he fell. + +"Fingal leaned on the shield of his fathers. His gray locks +slowly waved on the wind, and glittered to the beam of night. He +saw the grief of Swaran, and spoke to the first of the bards. + +"'Raise, Ullin, raise the song of peace. O soothe my soul from +war. Let mine ear forget in the sound the dismal noise of arms. +Let a hundred harps be near to gladden the king of Lochlin. He +must depart from us with joy. None ever went sad from Fingal. +The lightening of my sword is against the strong in fight. +Peaceful it lies by my side when warriors yield in war.'" + +So at the bidding of Fingal the minstrel sang, and soothed the +grief of Swaran. And when the music ceased Fingal spoke once +more:-- + +"'King of Lochlin, let thy face brighten with gladness, and thine +ear delight in the harp. Dreadful as the storm of thine ocean +thou hast poured thy valor forth; thy voice has been like the +voice of thousands when they engage in war. + +"'Raise, to-morrow, raise thy white sails to the wind. Or dost +thou choose the fight? that thou mayest depart renowned like the +sun setting in the west.'" + +Then Swaran chose to depart in peace. He had no more will to +fight against Fingal, so the two heroes swore friendship +together. Then once again Fingal called for the song of +minstrels. + +"A hundred voices at once arose, a hundred harps were strung. +They sang of other times; the mighty chiefs of other years." And +so the night passed till "morning trembles with the beam of the +east; it glimmers on Cromla's side. Over Lena is heard the horn +of Swaran. The sons of the ocean gather around. Silent and sad +they rise on the wave. The blast of Erin is behind their sails. +White as the mist of Morven they float along the sea." + +Thus Swaran and his warriors departed, and Fingal, calling his +men together, set forth to hunt. And as he hunted far in the +woods he met Cathullin, still hiding, sad and ashamed. But +Fingal comforted the beaten hero, reminding him of past +victories. Together they returned to Fingal's camp, and there +the heroes sang and feasted until "the soul of Cathullin rose. +The strength of his arm returned. Gladness brightened along his +face. Thus the night passed away in song. We brought back the +morning with joy. + +"Fingal arose on the heath and shook his glittering spear. He +moved first towards the plain of Lena. We followed in all our +arms. + +"'Spread the sail,' said the King, 'seize the winds as they pour +from Lena.' + +"We rose on the wave with songs. We rushed with joy through the +foam of the deep." + +Thus the hero returned to his own land. + +NOTE.--There is no book of Ossian specially edited for children. +Later they may like to read the Century Edition of Macpherson's +Ossian, edited by William Sharpe. Stories about Ossian will be +found among the many books of Celtic tales now published. + + + + + + + + +Chapter VI ABOUT SOME OLD WELSH STORIES AND STORY-TELLERS + +YOU remember that the Celtic family was divided into two +branches, the Gaelic and the Cymric. So far we have only spoken +about the Gaels, but the Cymry had their poets and historians +too. The Cymry, however, do not claim such great age for their +first known poets as do the Gaels. Ossian, you remember, was +supposed to live in the third century, but the oldest Cymric +poets whose names we know were supposed to live in the sixth +century. As, however, the oldest Welsh manuscripts are of the +twelfth century, it is again very difficult to prove that any of +the poems were really written by those old poets. + +But this is very certain, that the Cymry, like the Gaels, had +their bards and minstrels who sang of the famous deeds of heroes +in the halls of the chieftains, or in the market-places for the +people. + +From the time that the Romans left Britain to the time when the +Saxons or English were at length firmly settled in the land, many +fierce struggles, many stirring events must have taken place. +That time must have been full of brave deeds such as the +minstrels loved to sing. But that part of our history is very +dark. Much that is written of it is little more than a fairy +tale, for it was not until long afterwards that anything about +this time was written down. + +The great hero of the struggle between the Britons and the Saxons +was King Arthur, but it was not until many many years after the +time in which he lived that all the splendid stories of his +knights, of his Round Table, and of his great conquests began to +take the form in which we know them. Indeed, in the earliest +Welsh tales the name of Arthur is hardly known at all. When he +is mentioned it is merely as a warrior among other warriors +equally great, and not as the mighty emperor that we know. The +Arthur that we love is the Arthur of literature, not the Arthur +of history. And I think you may like to follow the story of the +Arthur of literature, and see how, from very little, it has grown +so great that now it is known all the world over. I should like +you to remember, too, that the Arthur story is not the only one +which repeats itself again and again throughout our Literature. +There are others which have caught the fancy of great masters and +have been told by them in varying ways throughout the ages. But +of them all, the Arthur story is perhaps the best example. + +Of the old Welsh poets it may, perhaps, be interesting to +remember two. These are Taliesin, or "Shining Forehead," and +Merlin. + +Merlin is interesting because he is Arthur's great bard and +magician. Taliesin is interesting because in a book called The +Mabinogion, which is a translation of some of the oldest Welsh +stories, we have the tale of his wonderful birth and life. + +Mabinogion really means tales for the young. Except the History +of Taliesin, all the stories in this book are translated from a +very old manuscript called the Red Book of Hergest.. This Red +Book belongs to the fourteenth century, but many of the stories +are far far older, having, it is thought, been told in some form +or other for hundreds of years before they were written down at +all. Unlike many old tales, too, they are written in prose, not +in poetry. + +One of the stories in The Mabinogion, the story of King Ludd, +takes us back a long way. King Ludd was a king in Britain, and +in another book we learn that he was a brother of Cassevelaunis, +who fought against Julius Caesar, so from that we can judge of +the time in which he reigned. + +"King Ludd," we are told in The Mabinogion, "ruled prosperously +and rebuilt the walls of London, and encompassed it about with +numberless towers. And after that he bade the citizens build +houses therein, such as no houses in the kingdom could equal. +And, moreover, he was a mighty warrior, and generous and liberal +in giving meat and drink to all that sought them. And though he +had many castles and cities, this one loved he more than any. +And he dwelt therein most part of the year, and therefore was it +called Caer Ludd, and at last Caer London. And after the strange +race came there, it was called London." It is interesting to +remember that there is still a street in London called Ludgate. +Caer is the Celtic word for Castle, and is still to be found in +many Welsh names, such as Carnarvon, Caerleon, and so on. + +Now, although Ludd was such a wise king, three plagues fell upon +the island of Britain. "The first was a certain race that came +and was called Coranians, and so great was their knowledge that +there was no discourse upon the face of the island, however low +it might be spoken, but what, if the wind met it, it was known to +them. + +"The second plague was a shriek which came on every May-eve over +every hearth in the island of Britain. And this went through +peoples' hearts and frightened them out of their senses. + +"The third plague was, however much of provision and food might +be prepared in the king's courts, were there even so much as a +year's provision of meat and drink, none of it could ever be +found, except what was consumed upon the first night." + +The story goes on to tell how good King Ludd freed the island of +Britain from all three plagues and lived in peace all the days of +his life. + +In five of the stories of The Mabinogion, King Arthur appears. +And, although these were all written in Welsh, it has been +thought that some may have been brought to Wales from France. + +This seems strange, but it comes about in this way. Part of +France is called Brittany, as you know. Now, long long ago, +before the Romans came to Britain, some of the people who lived +in that part of France sailed across the sea and settled in +Britain. These may have been the ancient Britons whom Caesar +fought when he first came to our shore. + +Later, when the Romans left our island and the Picts and Scots +oppressed the Britons, many of them fled back over the sea to +Brittany or Armorica, as it used to be called. Later still, when +the Saxons came, the Britons were driven by degrees into the +mountains of Wales and the wilds of Cornwall, while others fled +again across the sea to Brittany. These took with them the +stories which their minstrels told, and told them in their new +home. So it came about that the stories which were told in Wales +and in Cornwall were told in Brittany also. + +And how were these stories brought back again to England? + +Another part of France is called Normandy. The Normans and the +Bretons were very different peoples, as different as the Britons +and the English. But the Normans conquered part of Brittany, and +a close relationship grew up between the two peoples. Conan, +Duke of Brittany, and William, Duke of Normandy, were related to +each other, and in a manner the Bretons owned the Duke of +Normandy as overlord. + +Now you know that in 1066 the great Duke William came sailing +over the sea to conquer England, and with him came more soldiers +from Brittany than from any other land. Perhaps the songs of the +minstrels had kept alive in the hearts of the Bretons a memory of +their island home. Perhaps that made them glad to come to help +to drive out the hated Saxons. At any rate come they did, and +brought with them their minstrel tales. + +And soon through all the land the Norman power spread. And +whether they first heard them in Armorica or in wild Wales, the +Norman minstrels took the old Welsh stories and made them their +own. And the best of all the tales were told of Arthur and his +knights. + +Doubtless the Normans added much to these stories. For although +they were not good at inventing anything, they were very good at +taking what others had invented and making it better. And the +English, too, as Norman power grew, clung more and more to the +memory of the past. They forgot the difference between British +and English, and in their thoughts Arthur grew to be a national +hero, a hero who had loved his country, and who was not Norman. + +The Normans, then, brought tales of Arthur with them when they +came to England. They heard there still other tales and improved +them, and Arthur thus began to grow into a great hero. I will +now go on to show how he became still greater. + +In the reign of Henry I. (the third Norman king who ruled our +land) there lived a monk called Geoffrey of Monmouth. He was +filled with the love of his land, and he made up his mind to +write a history of the kings of Britain. + +Geoffrey wrote his book in Latin, because at this time it was the +language which most people could understand. For a long time +after the Normans came to England, they spoke Norman French. The +English still spoke English, and the British Welsh or Cymric. +But every one almost who could read at all could read Latin. So +Geoffrey chose to write in Latin. He said he translated all that +he wrote from an old British book which had been brought from +Brittany and given to him. But that old British book has never +been seen by any one, and it is generally thought that Geoffrey +took old Welsh tales and fables for a foundation, invented a good +deal more, and so made his history, and that the "old British +Book" never existed at all. His book may not be very good +history - indeed, other historians were very angry and said that +Geoffrey "lied saucily and shamelessly" - but it is very +delightful to read. + +Geoffrey's chief hero is Arthur, and we may say that it is from +this time that Arthur became a great hero of Romance. For +Geoffrey told his stories so well that they soon became famous, +and they were read not only in England, but all over the +Continent. Soon story-tellers and poets in other lands began to +write stories about Arthur too, and from then till now there has +never been a time when they have not been read. So to the Welsh +must be given the honor of having sown a seed from which has +grown the wide-spreading tree we call the Arthurian Legend. + +Geoffrey begins his story long before the time of Arthur. He +begins with the coming of Brutus, the ancient hero who conquered +Albion and changed its name to Britain, and he continues to about +two hundred years after the death of Arthur. But Arthur is his +real hero, so he tells the story in very few words after his +death. + +Geoffrey tells of many battles and of how the British fought, not +only with the Saxons, but among themselves. And at last he says: +"As barbarism crept in they were no longer called Britons, but +Welsh, a word derived either from Gualo, one of their dukes, or +from Guales, their Queen, or else from their being barbarians. +But the Saxons did wiselier, kept peace and concord amongst +themselves, tilling their fields and building anew their cities +and castles. . . . But the Welsh degenerating from the nobility +of the Britons, never after recovered the sovereignty of the +island, but on the contrary quarreling at one time amongst +themselves, and at another with the Saxons, never ceased to have +bloodshed on hand either in public or private feud." + +Geoffrey then says that he hands over the matter of writing about +the later Welsh and Saxon kings to others, "Whom I bid be silent +as to the kings of the Britons, seeing that they have not that +book in the British speech which Walter, Archdeacon of Oxford, +did convey hither out of Brittany, the which I have in this wise +been at the pains of translating into the Latin speech." + +BOOKS TO READ + + The Mabinogion, translated by Lady Charlotte Guest. +Everyman's Library. Geoffrey of Monmouth's Histories, translated +by Sebastian Evans. + + + + + + + + +Chapter VII HOW THE STORY OF ARTHUR WAS WRITTEN IN ENGLISH + +GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH had written his stories so well, that +although he warned people not to write about the British kings, +they paid no heed to his warning. Soon many more people began to +write about them, and especially about Arthur. + +In 1155 Geoffrey died, and that year a Frenchman, or Jerseyman +rather, named Robert Wace, finished a long poem which he called +Li Romans de Brut or the Romances of Brutus. This poem was +founded upon Geoffrey's history and tells much the same story, to +which Wace has added something of his own. Besides Wace, many +writers told the tale in French. For French, you must remember, +was still the language of the rulers of our land. It is to these +French writers, and chiefly to Walter Map, perhaps, that we owe +something new which was now added to the Arthur story. + +Walter Map, like so many of the writers of this early time, was a +priest. He was chaplain to Henry II., and was still alive when +John, the bad king, sat upon the throne. + +The first writers of the Arthur story had made a great deal of +manly strength: it was often little more than a tale of hard +knocks given and taken. Later it became softened by the thought +of courtesy, with the idea that knights might give and take these +hard knocks for the sake of a lady they loved, and in the cause +of all women. + +Now something full of mystery was added to the tale. This was +the Quest of the Holy Grail. + +The Holy Grail was said to be a dish used by Christ at the Last +Supper. It was also said to have been used to hold the sacred +blood which, when Christ hung upon the cross, flowed from his +wounds. The Holy Grail came into the possession of Joseph of +Arimathea, and by him was brought to Britain. But after a time +the vessel was lost, and the story of it even forgotten, or only +remembered in some dim way. + +And this is the story which the poet-priest, Walter Map, used to +give new life and new glory to the tales of Arthur. He makes the +knights of the round table set forth to search for the Grail. +They ride far away over hill and dale, through dim forests and +dark waters. They fight with men and fiends, alone and in +tournaments. They help fair ladies in distress, they are tempted +to sin, they struggle and repent, for only the pure in heart may +find the holy vessel. + +It is a wonderful and beautiful story, and these old story- +tellers meant it to be something more than a fairy tale. They +saw around them many wicked things. They saw men fighting for +the mere love of fighting. They saw men following pleasure for +the mere love of pleasure. They saw men who were strong oppress +the weak and grind down the poor, and so they told the story of +the Quest of the Holy Grail to try to make them a little better. + +With every new writer the story of Arthur grew. It seemed to +draw all the beauty and wonder of the time to itself, and many +stories which at first had been told apart from it came to be +joined to it. We have seen how it has been told in Welsh, in +Latin, and in French, and, last of all, we have it in English. + +The first great English writer of the stories of Arthur was named +Layamon. He, too, was a priest, and, like Wace, he wrote in +verse. + +Like Wace, Layamon called his book the Brut, because it is the +story of the Britons, who took their name from Brutus, and of +Arthur the great British hero. This book is known, therefore, as +Layamon's Brut. Layamon took Wace's book for a foundation, but +he added a great deal to it, and there are many stories in +Layamon not to be found in Wace. It is probable that Layamon did +not make up these stories, but that many of them are old tales he +heard from the people among whom he lived. + +Layamon finished his book towards the end of the twelfth century +or the beginning of the thirteenth. Perhaps he sat quietly +writing it in his cell when the angry barons were forcing King +John to sign the Magna Charta. At least he wrote it when all +England was stirring to new life again. The fact that he wrote +in English shows that, for Layamon's Brut is the first book +written in English after the Conquest. This book proves how +little hold the French language had upon the English people, for +although our land had been ruled by Frenchmen for a hundred and +fifty years, there are very few words in Layamon that are French +or that are even made from French. + +But although Layamon wrote his book in English, it was not the +English that we speak to-day. It was what is called Early +English or even sometimes Semi-Saxon. If you opened a book of +Layamon's Brut you would, I fear, not be able to read it. + +We know very little of Layamon; all that we do know he tells us +himself in the beginning of his poem. "A priest was in the +land," he says: + + "Layamon was he called. + He was Leouenathe's son, the Lord to him be gracious. + He lived at Ernleye at a noble church + Upon Severn's bank. Good there to him it seemed + Fast by Radestone, where he books read. + It came to him in mind, and in his first thoughts, + That he would of England the noble deeds tell, + What they were named and whence they came, + The English land who first possessed + After the flood which from the Lord came. + + Layamon began to journey, far he went over the land + And won the noble books, which he for pattern took. + He told the English book that Saint Beda made. + Another he took in Latin which Saint Albin made, + And the fair Austin who baptism brought hither. + Book the third he took laid it in the midst + That the French clerk made. Wace he was called, + He well could write. + . . . . . . . . + Layamon laid these books down and the leaves turned. + He them lovingly beheld, the Lord to him be merciful! + Pen he took in fingers and wrote upon a book skin, + And the true words set together, + And the three books pressed to one." + +That, in words such as we use now, is how Layamon begins his +poem. But this is how the words looked as Layamon wrote them: - + + "An preost wes on leoden: lazamon wes ihoten. + he wes Leouenaóes sone: lióe him beo drihte." + +You can see that it would not be very easy to read that kind of +English. Nor does it seem very like poetry in either the old +words or the modern. But you must remember that old English +poetry was not like ours. It did not have rhyming words at the +end of the lines. + +Anglo-Saxon poetry depended for its pleasantness to the ear, not +on rhyme as does ours, but on accent and alliteration. +Alliteration means the repeating of a letter. Accent means that +you rest longer on some syllables, and say them louder than +others. For instance, if you take the line "the way was long, +the wind was cold," way, long, wind, and cold are accented. So +there are four accents in that line. + +Now, in Anglo-Saxon poetry the lines were divided into two half- +lines. And in each half there had to be two or more accented +syllables. But there might also be as many unaccented syllables +as the poet liked. So in this way the lines were often very +unequal, some being quite short and others long. Three of the +accented syllables, generally two in the first half and one in +the second half of the line, were alliterative. That is, they +began with the same letter. In translating, of course, the +alliteration is very often lost. But sometimes the Semi-Saxon +words and the English words are very like each other, and the +alliteration can be kept. So that even in translation we can get +a little idea of what the poetry sounded like. For instance, the +line "wat heo ihoten weoren: and wonene heo comen," the +alliteration is on w, and may be translated "what they called +were, and whence they came," still keeping the alliteration. + +Upon these rules of accent and alliteration the strict form of +Anglo-Saxon verse was based. But when the Normans came they +brought a new form of poetry, and gradually rhymes began to take +the place of alliteration. Layamon wrote his Brut more than a +hundred years after the coming of the Normans, and although his +poem is in the main alliterative, sometimes he has rhyming lines +such as "mochel dal heo iwesten: mid harmen pen mesten," that +is:-- + + "Great part they laid waste: + With harm the most." + +Sometimes even in translation the rhyme may be kept, as:-- + + "And faer forh nu to niht: + In to Norewaieze forh riht." + +which can be translated:-- + + "And fare forth now to-night + Into Norway forth right." + +At times, too, Layamon has neither rhyme nor alliteration in his +lines, sometimes he has both, so that his poem is a link between +the old poetry and the new. + +I hope that you are not tired with this long explanation, for I +think if you take the trouble to understand it, it may make the +rest of this chapter more interesting. Now I will tell you a +little more of the poem itself. + +Layamon tells many wonderful stories of Arthur, from the time he +was born to his last great battle in which he was killed, +fighting against the rebel Modred. + +This is how Layamon tells the story of Arthur's death, or rather +of his "passing": + + "Arthur went to Cornwall with a great army. + Modred heard that and he against him came + With unnumbered folk. There were many of them fated. + Upon the Tambre they came together, + The place was called Camelford, evermore has that name lasted. + And at Camelford were gathered sixty thousand + And more thousands thereto. Modred was their chief. + Then hitherward gan ride Arthur the mighty + With numberless folk fated though they were. + Upon the Tambre they came together, + Drew their long swords, smote on the helmets, + So that fire sprang forth. Spears were splintered, + Shields gan shatter, shafts to break. + They fought all together folk unnumbered. + Tambre was in flood with unmeasured blood. + No man in the fight might any warrior know, + Nor who did worse nor who did better so was the conflict mingled, + For each slew downright were he swain were he knight. + There was Modred slain and robbed of his life day. + In the fight + There were slain all the brave + Arthur's warriors noble. + And the Britons all of Arthur's board, + And all his lieges of many a kingdom. + And Arthur sore wounded with war spear broad. + Fifteen he had fearful wounds. + One might in the least two gloves thrust. + Then was there no more in the fight on life + Of two hundred thousand men that there lay hewed in +pieces + But Arthur the king alone, and of his knights twain. + But Arthur was sore wounded wonderously much. + Then to him came a knave who was of his kindred. + He was Cador's son the earl of Cornwall. + Constantine hight the knave. He was to the king dear. + Arthur him looked on where he lay on the field, + And these words said with sorrowful heart. + Constantine thou art welcome thou wert Cador's son, + I give thee here my kingdom. + Guard thou my Britons so long as thou livest, + And hold them all the laws that have in my days stood + And all the good laws that in Uther's days stood. + And I will fare to Avelon to the fairest of all maidens + To Argente their Queen, an elf very fair, + And she shall my wounds make all sound + All whole me make with healing draughts, + And afterwards I will come again to my kingdom + And dwell with the Britons with mickle joy. + Even with the words that came upon the sea + A short boat sailing, moving amid the waves + And two women were therein wounderously clad. + And they took Arthur anon and bare him quickly + And softly him adown laid and to glide forth gan they. + Then was it come what Merlin said whilom + That unmeasured sorrow should be at Arthur's forth faring. + Britons believe yet that he is still in life + And dwelleth in Avelon with the fairest of all elves, + And every Briton looketh still when Arthur shall return. + Was never the man born nor never the lady chosen + Who knoweth of the sooth of Arthur to say more. + But erstwhile there was a wizard Merlin called. + He boded with words the which were sooth + That an Arthur should yet come the English to help." + + You see by this last line that Layamon has forgotten the +difference between Briton and English. He has forgotten that in +his lifetime Arthur fought against the English. To him Arthur +has become an English hero. And perhaps he wrote these last +words with the hope in his heart that some day some one would +arise who would deliver his dear land from the rule of the +stranger Normans. This, we know, happened. Not, indeed, by the +might of one man, but by the might of the English spirit, the +strong spirit which had never died, and which Layamon himself +showed was still alive when he wrote his book in English. + + + + + + + +Chapter VIII THE BEGINNING OF THE READING TIME + +WE are now going on two hundred years to speak of another book +about Arthur. This is Morte d'Arthur, by Sir Thomas Malory. + +Up to this time all books had to be written by hand. But in the +fifteenth century printing was discovered. This was one of the +greatest things which ever happened for literature, for books +then became much more plentiful and were not nearly so dear as +they had been, and so many more people could afford to buy them. +And thus learning spread. + +It is not quite known who first discovered the art of printing, +but William Caxton was the first man who set up a printing-press +in England. He was an English wool merchant who had gone to live +in Bruges, but he was very fond of books, and after a time he +gave up his wool business, came back to England, and began to +write and print books. One of the first books he printed was +Malory's Morte d'Arthur. + +In the preface Caxton tells us how, after he had printed some +other books, many gentlemen came to him to ask him why he did not +print a history of King Arthur, "which ought most to be +remembered among us Englishmen afore all the Christian kings; to +whom I answered that diverse men hold opinion that there was no +such Arthur, and all such books as be made of him be but fained +matters and fables." + +But the gentlemen persuaded Caxton until at last he undertook to +"imprint a book of the noble histories of the said King Arthur +and of certaine of his knights, after a copy unto me delivered, +which copy Sir Thomas Malory tooke out of certaine bookes in the +Frenche, and reduced it into English." + +It is a book, Caxton says, "wherein ye shall find many joyous and +pleasant histories, and noble and renowned acts. . . . Doe after +the good and leave the ill, and it shall bring you unto good fame +and renowne. And for to pass the time this booke shall be +pleasant to read in." + +In 1485, when Morte d'Arthur was first printed, people indeed +found it a book "pleasant to read in," and we find it so still. +It is written in English not unlike the English of to-day, and +although it has a quaint, old-world sound, we can readily +understand it. + +Morte d'Arthur really means the death of Arthur, but the book +tells not only of his death, but of his birth and life, and of +the wonderful deeds of many of his knights. This is how Malory +tells of the manner in which Arthur came to be king. + +But first let me tell you that Uther Pendragon, the King, had +died, and although Arthur was his son and should succeed to him, +men knew it not. For after Arthur was born he was given to the +wizard Merlin, who took the little baby to Sir Ector, a gallant +knight, and charged him to care for him. And Sir Ector, knowing +nothing of the child, brought him up as his own son. + +Thus, after the death of the King, "the realm stood in great +jeopardy a long while, for every lord that was mighty of men made +him strong, and many weened to have been King. + +"Then Merlin went to the Archbishop of Canterbury and counselled +him for to send for all the lords of the realm, and all the +gentlemen of arms, that they should come to London afore +Christmas upon pain of cursing, and for this cause, that as Jesus +was born on that night, that he would of his great mercy show +some miracle, as he was come to be king of all mankind, for to +show some miracle who should be right wise king of this realm. +So the Archbishop by the advice of Merlin, sent for all the lords +and gentlemen of arms that they should come by Christmas even +unto London. . . . So in the greatest church of London, whether +it were Paul's or not the French book maketh no mention, all the +estates were long or* day in the church for to pray. And when +matins and the first mass were done, there was seen in the +churchyard, against the high altar, a great stone foursquare, +like unto a marble stone, and in the midst thereof was like an +anvil of steel a foot on high, and therein stuck a fair sword +naked by the point, and letters there were written in gold about +the sword that said thus:-- 'Whoso pulleth out this sword of the +stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England.' + +*Before + +"Then the people marvelled and told it to the Archbishop. . . . +So when all masses were done, all the lords went to behold the +stone and the sword. And when they saw the scripture, some +essayed; such as would have been king. But none might stir the +sword nor move it. + +"'He is not here,' said the Archbishop, 'that shall achieve the +sword, but doubt not God will make him known. But this is my +counsel,' said the Archbishop, 'that we let purvey ten knights, +men of good fame, and they to keep the sword.' + +"So it was ordained, and then there was made a cry, that every +man should essay that would, for to win the sword. . . . + +"Now upon New Year's Day, when the service was done, the barons +rode unto the field, some to joust, and some to tourney, and so +it happened that Sir Ector rode unto the jousts, and with him +rode Sir Kay his son, and young Arthur that was his nourished +brother. So as they rode to the jousts-ward, Sir Kay had lost +his sword for he had left it at his father's lodging, and so he +prayed young Arthur for to ride for his sword. + +"'I will well,' said Arthur, and rode fast after the sword, and +when he came home, the lady and all were out to see the jousting. +Then was Arthur wroth and said to himself, 'I will ride to the +churchyard, and take the sword with me that sticketh in the +stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this +day.' So when he came to the churchyard Sir Arthur alit and tied +his horse to the stile, and so he went to the tent and found no +knights there, for they were at the jousting, and so he handled +the sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out +of the stone, and took his horse and rode his way until he came +to his brother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword. + +"And as soon as Sir Kay saw the sword he wist well it was the +sword of the stone, and he rode to his father Sir Ector and said: +'Sir, lo here is the sword of the stone, wherefore I must be king +of this land.' + +"When Sir Ector beheld the sword he returned again and came to +the church, and there they alit all three, and went into the +church. And anon he made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he +came to that sword. + +"'Sir,' said Sir Kay, 'by my brother Arthur, for he brought it to +me.' + +"'How got ye this sword?' said Sir Ector to Arthur. + +"'Sir, I will tell you. When I came home for my brother's sword, +I found no body at home to deliver me his sword, and so I thought +my brother Sir Kay should not go swordless, and so I came hither +eagerly and pulled it out of the stone without any pain.' + +"'Found ye any knights about the sword?' said Sir Ector. + +"'Nay,' said Arthur. + +"'Now,' said Sir Ector to Arthur, 'I understand ye must be king +of this land.' + +"'Wherefore I,' said Arthur, 'and for what cause?' + +"'Sir,' said Ector, 'for God will have it so, for there should +never man have drawn out this sword, but he that should be +rightwise king of this land. Now let me see if ye can put the +sword there as it was and pull it out again.' + +"'That is no mastery,' said Arthur. And so he put it in the +stone. Therewithall Sir Ector essayed to pull out the sword and +failed. + +"'Now essay,' said Sir Ector unto Sir Kay. And anon he pulled at +the sword with all his might, but it would not be. + +"'Now shall ye essay," said Sir Ector unto Arthur. + +"'I will well,' said Arthur, and pulled it out easily. + +"And therewithall Sir Ector knelt down to the earth, and Sir +Kay." + +And so Arthur was acknowledged king. "And so anon was the +coronation made," Malory goes on to tell us, "and there was +Arthur sworn unto his lords and to the commons for to be a true +king, to stand with true justice from henceforth the days of his +life." + +For the rest of all the wonderful stories of King Arthur and his +knights you must go to Morte d'Arthur itself. For the language +is so simple and clear that it is a book that you can easily +read, though there are some parts that you will not understand or +like and which you need not read yet. + +But of all the books of which we have spoken this is the first +which you could read in the very words in which it was written +down. I do not mean that you could read it as it was first +printed, for the oldest kind of printing was not unlike the +writing used in manuscripts and so seems hard to read now. +Besides which, although nearly all the words Malory uses are +words we still use, the spelling is a little different, and that +makes it more difficult to read. + +The old lettering looked like this: - + + "With that Sir Arthur turned with his knights, + and smote behind and before, and + ever Sir Arthur was in the foremost press + till his horse was slain under him." + +That looks difficult. but here it is again in our own +lettering:- + + "With that Sir Arthur turned with his knights, and smote +behind and before, and ever Sir Arthur was in the foremost +press till his horse was slain under him." + +That is quite easy to read, and there is not a word in it that +you cannot understand. For since printing came our language has +changed very much less than it did before. And when printing +came, the listening time of the world was done and the reading +time had begun. As books increased, less and less did people +gather to hear others read aloud or tell tales, and more and more +people learned to read for themselves, until now there is hardly +a boy or girl in all the land who cannot read a little. + +It is perhaps because Morte d'Arthur is easily read that it has +become a storehouse, a treasure-book, to which other writers have +gone and from which they have taken stories and woven them afresh +and given them new life. Since Caxton's time Morte d'Arthur has +been printed many times, and it is through it perhaps, more than +through the earlier books, that the stories of Arthur still live +for us. Yet it is not perfect - it has indeed been called "a +most pleasant jumble."* Malory made up none of the stories; as +he himself tells us, he took them from French books, and in some +of these French books the stories are told much better. But what +we have to remember and thank Malory for is that he kept alive +the stories of Arthur. He did this more than any other writer in +that he wrote in English such as all English-speaking people must +love to read. + +*J. Furnivell + +BOOKS TO READ + + Stories of King Arthur's Knights, by Mary Macgregor. +Stories from Morte d'Arthur, by C. L. Thomson. Morte d'Arthur, +Globe Edition. + + + + + + + +Chapter IX "THE PASSING OF ARTHUR" + +FOUR hundred years after Malory wrote his book, another English +writer told the tales of Arthur anew. This was the poet Alfred, +Lord Tennyson. He told them in poetry. + +Tennyson calls his poems the Idylls of the King. Idyll means a +short poem about some simple and beautiful subject. The king +that Tennyson sings of is the great King Arthur. + +Tennyson takes his stories, some from The Mabinogion, some from +Malory, some from other books. He has told them in very +beautiful English, and it is the English such as we speak to-day. +He has smoothed away much that strikes us as rough and coarse in +the old stories, and his poems are as different from the old +stories as a polished diamond is different from the stone newly +brought out of the mine. Yet we miss something of strength and +vigor. The Arthur of the Idylls is not the Arthur of The +Mabinogion nor of Malory. Indeed, Tennyson makes him "almost too +good to be true": he is "Ideal manhood closed in real man, +rather than that gray king" of old. + +And now I will give you part of the last of the Arthur poems, The +Passing of Arthur, so that you may read it along with Layamon's +account of the hero's death, and see for yourselves the +difference between the two. The Passing of Arthur is written in +blank verse, that is verse which does not rhyme, and which +depends like the old English verse on the accent. Yet they are +not alike. + + "So all day long the noise of battle roll'd + Among the mountains by the winter sea; + Until King Arthur's Table, man by man, + Had fall'n in Lyonnesse about their lord, + King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep, + The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, + And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, + A broken chancel by a broken cross, + That stood in a dark strait of barren land: + On one side lay the Ocean, and on one + Lay a great water, and the moon was full." + +Then the King bids Sir Bedivere take his sword Excalibur, + + "And fling him far into the middle mere: + Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." + +Sir Bedivere takes the sword, and, + + "From the ruin'd shrine he stept + And in the moon athwart the place of tombs, + Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men, + Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang + Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down + By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, + Came on the shining levels of the lake." + +But when Sir Bedivere drew Excalibur and saw the jewels of the +hilt shine in the wintry moonlight, he could not find it in his +heart to cast anything so beautiful and precious from him. So, +hiding it among the reeds by the water's edge, he returned to his +master. + + "Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere: + 'Hast thou perform'd my mission which I gave? + What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' + And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: + 'I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, + And the wild water lapping on the crag.'" + +But King Arthur well knew that Sir Bedivere had not obeyed him. +"This is a shameful thing for men to lie," he said, and once more +sent the knight to do his bidding. + +Again Sir Bedivere went, but again he could not make up his mind +to cast away the sword. "The King is sick, and knows not what he +does," he said to himself. So a second time he hid the sword and +returned. + + "Then spake King Arthur, breathing heavily: + 'What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' + + And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: + 'I heard the water lapping on the crag, + And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' + + To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath: + 'Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, + Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! + Authority forgets a dying king.'" + +Then, sorrowful and abashed before the anger of the dying King, +Sir Bedivere turned, and running quickly lest his courage should +fail him, he reached the water's edge and flung the sword far +into the lake. + + "But ere he dip the surface, rose an arm + Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, + And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him + Three times, and drew him under in the mere." + +Then Sir Bedivere, in wonder, returned to the King, who, when he +saw him come, cried:- + + "'Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. + Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?'" + +So Sir Bedivere told the King how truly this time he had cast +away the sword, and how an arm "clothed in white samite, mystic, +wonderful," had caught it and drawn it under the mere. Then at +the King's bidding Sir Bedivere raised Arthur and bore him to the +water's edge. + + "Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, + Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, + Beneath them; and descending they were ware + That all the decks were 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 shiver'd to the tingling start, + And, as it were one voice, an agony + Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills + All night in a waste land, where no one comes, + Or hath come, since the making of the world. + + Then, murmur'd Arthur, 'Place me in the barge.' + So to the barge they came. There those three Queens + Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept." + +Then slowly from the shore the barge moved. And Sir Bedivere, as +he saw his master go, was filled with grief and loneliness, for +he only of all the brave King's knights was left. And so he +cried in mourning:- + + "'Ah! my Lord Arthur, wither shall I go? + Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? + For now I see the true old times are dead. + . . . . . . + And I, the last, go forth companionless, + And the days darken round me, and the years, + Among new men, strange faces, other minds." + +Mournfully from the barge Arthur answered and bade him pray, for +"More things are wrought by prayer than the world dreams of," and +so he said farewell, + + "and the barge with oar and sail + Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan." + +Long stood Sir Bedivere thinking of all that had come and gone, +watching the barge as it glided silently away, and listening to +the wailing voices, + + "till the hull + Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, + And on the mere the wailing died away." + +Sir Bedivere turned then and climbed, + + "Ev'n to the highest he could climb, and saw, + Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, + Or thought he saw, the speck that bore the King, + Down that long water opening on the deep + Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go + From less to less and vanish into light. + And the new sun rose bringing the new year." + +The poem moves along with mournful stately measures, yet it +closes, like Layamon's farewell to Arthur, on a note of hope. +Layamon recalls Merlin's words, "the which were sooth, that an +Arthur should yet come the English to help." The hope of +Tennyson is different, not that the old will return, but that the +new will take its place, for "the old order changeth yielding +place to new, and God fulfils himself in many ways." The old +sorrows vanish "into light," and the new sun ever rises bringing +in the new year. + +BOOKS TO READ + + Idylls of the King, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, (Macmillan). + + + + + + + + +Chapter X THE ADVENTURES OF AN OLD ENGLISH BOOK + +THE story of Arthur has led us a long way. We have almost +forgotten that it began with the old Cymric stories, the stories +of the people who lived in Britain before the coming of the +Romans. We have followed it before the coming of the Romans. We +have followed it down through many forms: Welsh, in the stories +of The Mabinogion; Latin, in the stories of Geoffrey of Monmouth; +French, in the stories of Wace and Map; Semi-Saxon, in the +stories of Layamon; Middle English, in the stories of Malory; and +at last English as we now speak it, in the stories of Tennyson. +Now we must go back and see why it is that our Literature is +English, and why it is that we speak English, and not Gaelic, or +Cymric, or Latin, or French. And then from its beginnings we +will follow our English Literature through the ages. + +Since historical times the land we now call England has been +conquered three times, for we need hardly count the Danish +Invasion. It was conquered by the Romans, it was conquered by +the English, and it was conquered by the Normans. It was only +England that felt the full weight of these conquests. Scotland, +Ireland, and, in part, Wales were left almost untouched. And of +the three it was only the English conquest that had lasting +effects. + +In 55 B.C. the Romans landed in Britain, and for nearly four +hundred years after that they kept coming and going. All South +Britain became a Roman province, and the people paid tribute or +taxes to the Roman Emperor. But they did not become Romans. +They still kept their own language, their own customs and +religions. + +It will help you to understand the state of Britain in those old +days if you think of India to-day. India forms part of the +British Empire, but the people who live there are not British. +They are still Indians who speak their own languages, and have +their own customs and religions. The rulers only are British. + +It was in much the same way that Britain was a Roman province. +And so our literature was never Latin. There was, indeed, a time +when nearly all our books were written in Latin. But that was +later, and not because Latin was the language of the people, but +because it was the language of the learned and of the monks, who +were the chief people who wrote books. + +When, then, after nearly four hundred years the Romans went away, +the people of Britain were still British. But soon another +people came. These were the Anglo-Saxons, the English, who came +from over the sea. And little by little they took possession of +Britain. They drove the old dwellers out until it was only in +the north, in Wales and in Cornwall, that they were to be found. +Then Britain became Angleland or England, and the language was no +longer Celtic, but English. And although there are a few words +in our language which can be traced to the old Celtic, these are +very few. It is thus from Anglo-Saxon, and not from Gaelic or +Cymric, that the language we speak to-day comes. + +Yet our Celtic forefathers have given something to our literature +which perhaps we could never have had from English alone. The +Celtic literature is full of wonder, it is full of a tender magic +and makes us feel the fairy charm of nature, although it has not +the strength, the downrightness, we might say, of the English. +It has been said that every poet has somewhere in him a Celtic +strain. That is, perhaps, too much to believe. But it is, +perhaps, the Celtic love of beauty, together with the Saxon love +of strength and right, to which we owe much of our great +literature. The Celtic languages are dying out, but they have +left us something which will last so long as our literature +lasts. + +And now, having talked in the beginning of this book of the +stories which we owe to our Celtic forefathers, let us see what +the Saxons brought us from over the sea. + +Almost the oldest Anglo-Saxon book that we have is called +Beowulf. Wise men tell us that, like the tales of Arthur, like +the tales of Ossian, this book was not at first the work of one +man, but that it has been gradually put together out of many +minstrel songs. That may be so, but what is sure is that these +tales are very old, and that they were sung and told for many +years in the old homes of the English across the sea before they +came to Britain and named it Angleland. + +Yet, as with the old Gaelic and Cymric tales, we have no very old +copy of this tale. But unlike these old tales, we do not find +Beowulf told in different ways in different manuscripts. There +is only one copy of Beowulf, and that was probably written in the +tenth or eleventh century, long years after the English were +firmly settled in the land. + +As Beowulf is one of our great book treasures, you may like to +hear something of its story. + +Long ago, in the time when Queen Elizabeth, James I., and Charles +I. sat upon the throne, there lived a learned gentleman called +Sir Robert Bruce Cotton. He was an antiquary. That is, he loved +old things, and he gathered together old books, coins, +manuscripts and other articles, which are of interest because +they help to make us understand the history of bygone days. + +Sir Robert Cotton loved books especially, and like many other +book lovers, he was greedy of them. It was said, indeed, that he +often found it hard to return books which had been lent to him, +and that, among others, he had books which really ought to have +belonged to the King. + +Sir Robert's library soon became famous, and many scholars came +to read there, for Sir Robert was very kind in allowing other +people to use his books. But twice his library was taken from +him, because it was said that it contained things which were +dangerous for people to know, and that he allowed the enemies of +the King to use it. That was in the days of Charles I., and +those were troublous times. + +The second time that his library was taken from him, Sir Robert +died, but it was given back to his son, and many years later his +great-great-grandson gave it to the nation. + +In 1731 the house in which the library was took fire, and more +than a hundred books were burned, some being partly and some +quite destroyed. Among those that were partly destroyed was +Beowulf. But no one cared very much, for no one had read the +book or knew anything about it. + +Where Sir Robert found Beowulf, or what he thought about it, we +shall never know. Very likely it had remained in some quiet +monastery library for hundreds of years until Henry VIII. +scattered the monks and their books. Many books were then lost, +but some were saved, and after many adventures found safe +resting-places. Among those was Beowulf. + +Some years after the fire the Cotton Library, as it is now +called, was removed to the British Museum, where it now remains. +And there a Danish gentleman who was looking for books about his +own land found Beowulf, and made a copy of it. Its adventures, +however, were not over. Just when the printed copies were ready +to be published, the British bombarded Copenhagen. The house in +which the copies were was set on fire and they were all burned. +The Danish gentleman, however, was not daunted. He set to work +again, and at last Beowulf was published. + +Even after it was published in Denmark, no Englishman thought of +making a translation of the book, and it was not until fifty +years more had come and gone that an English translation +appeared. + +When the Danish gentleman made his copy of Beowulf, he found the +edges of the book so charred by fire that they broke away with +the slightest touch. No one thought of mending the leaves, and +as years went on they fell to pieces more and more. But at last +some one woke up to the fact that this half-burned book was a +great treasure. Then it was carefully mended, and thus kept from +wasting more. + +So now, after all its adventures, having been found, we shall +never know where, by a gentleman in the days of Queen Elizabeth, +having lain on his bookshelves unknown and unread for a hundred +years and more, having been nearly destroyed by fire, having been +still further destroyed by neglect, Beowulf at last came to its +own, and is now carefully treasured in a glass case in the +British Museum, where any one who cared about it may go to look +at it. + +And although it is perhaps not much to look at, it is a very +great treasure. For it is not only the oldest epic poem in the +Anglo-Saxon language, it is history too. By that I do not mean +that the story is all true, but that by reading it carefully we +can find out much about the daily lives of our forefathers in +their homes across the seas. And besides this, some of the +people mentioned in the poem are mentioned in history too, and it +is thought that Beowulf, the hero himself, really lived. + +And now, having spoken about the book and its adventures, let us +in the next chapter speak about the story. As usual, I will give +part of it in the words of the original, translated, of course, +into modern English. You can always tell what is from the +original by the quotation marks, if by nothing else. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XI THE STORY OF BEOWULF + +HROTHGAR, King of the Spear Danes, was a mighty man in war, and +when he had fought and conquered much, he bethought him that he +would build a great and splendid hall, wherein he might feast and +be glad with his people. + +And so it was done. And when the hall was built, there night by +night the thanes gathered and rejoiced with their King; and +there, when the feast was over, they lay them down to sleep. + +Within the hall all was gladness, but without on the lone +moorland there stalked a grim monster, named Grendel, whose dark +heart was filled with anger and hate. To him the sound of song +and laughter was deep pain, and he was fain to end it. + +"He, the Grendel, set off then after night was come to seek the +lofty house, to see how the Ring Danes had ordered it after the +service of beer. He found them therein, a troup of nobles +sleeping after the feast. They knew not sorrow, the wretchedness +of men, they knew not aught of misfortune. + +"The grim and greedy one was soon prepared, savage and fierce, +and in sleep he seized upon thirty of the thanes, and thence he +again departed exulting in his prey, to go home with the carcases +of the slain, to reach his own dwelling. + +"Then was in the morning twilight, at the breaking of day, +Grendel's war-craft revealed to men. Then was lamentation +upraised after the feast, a great noise in the morning. + +"The mighty prince, a noble of old goodness, sat unblithe; the +strong in armies suffered, the thanes endured sorrow, after they +beheld the track of the hated one, the accursed spirit." + +But in spite of all their grief and horror, when night came the +thanes again lay down to rest in the great hall. And there again +the monster returned and slew yet more thanes, so that in horror +all forsook the hall, and for twelve long years none abode in it +after the setting of the sun. + +And now far across the sea a brave man of the Goths, Beowulf by +name, heard of the doings of Grendel, and he made up his mind to +come to the aid of King Hrothgar. + +"He commanded to make ready for him a good ship; quoth he, he +would seek the war-king over the swan's path; the renowned prince +since he had need of men. + +"The good chieftain had chosen warriors of the Geátish people, +the bravest of those who he could find. With fifteen men he +sought the sea-wood. A warrior, a man crafty in lakes, pointed +out the boundaries of the land. + +"The time passed on, the ship was on the waves, the boat beneath +a mountain, the ready warriors stept upon the prow. The men bore +into the bosom of the bark bright ornaments, their ready warlike +appointments. + +"The men shoved forth the bounden wood, the men upon the journey +they desired. + +"The likest to a bird the foam-necked ship, propelled by the +wind, started over the deep waves of the sea, till that about one +hour of the second day, the wreathed prowed ship had sailed over, +so that the traveller saw the land. + +"Then quickly the people of the Westerns stepped upon the plain. +They tied the sea-wood, they let down their shirts of mail, their +war-weeds. They thanked God because that the waves had been easy +to them." + +And now these new-come warriors were led to King Hrothgar. He +greeted them with joy, and after feasting and song the Danes and +their King departed and left the Goths to guard the hall. +Quietly they lay down to rest, knowing that ere morning stern +battle would be theirs. + +"Then under veils of mist came Grendel from the moor; he bare +God's anger. The criminal meant to entrap some one of the race +of men in the high hall. He went under the welkin, until he saw +most clearly the wine hall, the treasure house of men, variegated +with vessels. That was not the first time that he had sought +Hrothgar's home. Never he, in all his life before or since found +bolder men keepers of the hall. + +"Angry of mood he went, from his eyes, likest to fire, stood out +a hideous light. He saw within the house many a warrior +sleeping, a peaceful band together. Then his mood laughed. The +foul wretch meant to divide, ere day came, the life of each from +his body." + +Quickly then he seized a warrior and as quickly devoured him. +But as he stretched forth his hand to seize another, Beowulf +gripped him in his awful grasp. + +Then began a terrible combat. The hall echoed with cries and +sounds of clashing steel. The Goths awoke, joining in the fight, +but all their swords were of no avail against the ogre. With his +bare hands alone Beowulf fought, and thought to kill the monster. +But Grendel escaped, though wounded to death indeed, and leaving +his hand, arm, and shoulder behind in Beowulf's grip. + +When morning came there was much rejoicing. Hrothgar made a +great feast, at which he gave rich gifts to Beowulf and his +friends. The evening passed in song and laughter, and when +darkness fell the Danes lay down to rest in the hall as of old. + +But the evil was not over. Grendel indeed was slain, but his +mother, an ogre almost as fierce as he, was ready to avenge him. +So when night fell she hastened to the hall, and carried off +Hrothgar's best loved thane. + +"Then was there a cry in Heorot. Then was the prudent king, the +hoary warrior, sad of mood, when he learned that his princely +thane, the dearest to him, no longer lived. Quickly was Beowulf +fetched to the bower, the man happy in victory, at break of day." + +And when Beowulf heard the mournful tale he comforted the King +with brave and kindly words, and quickly he set forth to the +dreadful mere, the dwelling of the water-witch, Grendel's mother. +And here he plunged in ready to fight. + +"Soon did she, who thirsting for gore, grim and greedy, for a +hundred years had held the circuit of the waves, discover that +some one of men, some strange being, was trying from above the +land. She grappled then towards him, she seized the warrior in +her foul claws." + +Then beneath the waves was there a fierce struggle, but Beowulf +in the end conquered. The water-witch was slain, and rejoicing, +the hero returned to Hrothgar. + +Now indeed had peace come to the Danes, and loaded with thanks +and rewards, Beowulf returned homeward. + +Many years passed. Beowulf himself became king in his own land, +and for fifty years he ruled well, and kept his folk in peace. +Then it fell that a fearful Fire-Dragon wasted all the land, and +Beowulf, mindful of his deeds of old, set forth to slay him. + +Yet ere he fought, he bade farewell to all his thanes, for he +knew well that this should be his last fight. + +"Then greeted he every one of the men, the bold helm bearer +greeted his dear comrades for the last time. I would not bear +sword or weapon against the worm if I knew how else I might +proudly grapple with the wretch, as I of old with Grendel did. +But I ween this war fire is hot, fierce and poisonous; therefore +have I on me shield and byrnie. . . . Then did the famous warrior +arise beside his shield, hard under helmet he bare the sword- +shirt, under the cliffs of stone, he trusted in the strength of +one man; nor is such an expedition for a coward." + +Fiercely then did the battle rage between hero and dragon. But +Beowulf's sword failed him in his need, and it was like to go ill +with him. Then, when his thanes who watched saw that, fear fell +upon them, and they fled. One only, Wiglaf was his name, would +not forsake his liege lord. Seizing his shield and drawing his +sword, he cried, "Come, let us go to him, let us help our +chieftain, although the grim terror of fire be hot." + +But none would follow him, so alone he went: "through the fatal +smoke he bare his war helmet to the assistance of his lord." + +Fierce was the fight and long. But at length the dragon lay +dead. Beowulf had conquered, but in conquering he had received +his death wound. And there, by the wild seashore, he died. And +there a sorrowing people buried him. + +"For him, then did the people of the Geáts prepare upon the earth +a funeral pile, strong, hung round with helmets, with war boards +and bright byrnies as he had requested. Weeping, the heroes laid +down in the midst their dear lord. + +"Then began the warriors to awake upon the hill the mightiest of +bale-fires. The wood smoke rose aloft, dark from the foe of +wood. Noisily it went mingled with weeping. . . . + +"The people of the Westerns wrought then a mound over the sea: +it was high and broad, easy to behold by the sailors over the +waves, and during ten days they built up the beacon of the war- +renowned, the mightiest of fires. . . . Then round the mound rode +a troupe of beasts of war, of nobles, twelve in all. They would +speak about their King, they would call him to mind. They +praised his valor, and his deeds of bravery they judged with +praise, even as it is fitting that a man should extol his +friendly lord, should love him in his soul, when he must depart +from the body to become of naught. + +"Thus the people of the Geáts, his hearth comrades, mourned their +dear lord. They said that he was of the kings of the world, the +mildest and gentlest of men, the most gracious to his people, and +the most jealous of glory." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Stories of Beowulf, by H. E. Marshall. Beowulf, translated by W. +Huyshe. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XII THE FATHER OF ENGLISH SONG + +ALTHOUGH there are lines of Beowulf which seem to show that the +writer of the poem was a Christian, they must have been added by +some one who copied or retold the story long after the Saxons had +come to Britain, for the poet who first told the tale must have +been a heathen, as all the Saxons were. + +The Britons were Christian, for they had learned the story of +Christ from the Romans. But when the Saxons conquered the land +they robbed and ruined the churches, the Christian priests were +slain or driven forth, and once more the land became heathen. + +Then, after many years had passed, the story of Christ was again +brought to England. This time it came from Ireland. It was +brought from there by St. Columba, who built a church and founded +a monastery on the island of Iona. And from there his eager, +wandering priests carried the story far and wide, northward to +the fortress of the Pictish kings, and southward to the wild +Saxons who dwelt amid the hills and uplands of Northumbria. + +To this story of love and gentleness the wild heathen listened in +wonder. To help the weak, to love and forgive their enemies, was +something unthought of by these fierce sea-rovers. Yet they +listened and believed. Once again churches were built, priests +came to live among the people, and the sound of Christian prayer +and praise rose night and morning from castle and from hut. + +For thirty years and more St. Columba, the passionate and tender, +taught and labored. Many monasteries were founded which became, +as it were, the lighthouses of learning and religion. There the +monks and priests lived, and from them as centers they traveled +out in all directions teaching the heathen. And when at last St. +Columba closed his tired eyes and folded his weary hands, there +were many more to carry on his work. + +Then, also, from Rome, as once before, the story of Christ was +brought. In 597, the year in which St. Columba died, St. +Augustine landed with his forty followers. They, too, in time +reached Northumbria; so, side by side, Roman and Celt spoke the +message of peace on earth, goodwill toward men. + +The wild Saxon listened to this message, it is true. He took +Christianity for his religion, but it was rather as if he had put +on an outer dress. His new religion made little difference to +his life. He still loved fighting and war, and his songs were +still all of war. He worshiped Christ as he had worshiped Woden, +and looked upon Him as a hero, only a little more powerful than +the heroes of whom the minstrels sang. It was difficult to teach +the Saxons the Bible lessons which we know so well, for in those +far-off days there were no Bibles. There were indeed few books +of any kind, and these few belonged to the monks and priests. +They were in Latin, and in some of them parts of the Bible had +been translated into Latin. But hardly any of the men and women +of England could read or understand these books. Indeed, few +people could read at all, for it was still the listening time. +They learned the history of their country from the songs of the +minstrels, and it was in this way, too, that they came to learn +the Bible stories, for these stories were made into poetry. And +it was among the rugged hills of Northumbria, by the rocky shore +where the sounding waves beat and beat all day long, that the +first Christian songs in English were sung. For here it was that +Caedmon, the "Father of English Song," lived and died. + +At Whitby there was a monastery ruled over by the Abbess Hilda. +This was a post of great importance, for, as you know, the +monasteries were the schools and libraries of the country, and +they were the inns too, so all the true life of the land ebbed +and flowed through the monasteries. Here priest and soldier, +student and minstrel, prince and beggar came and went. Here in +the great hall, when work was done and the evening meal over, +were gathered all the monks and their guests. Here, too, would +gather the simple folk of the countryside, the fishermen and +farmers, the lay brothers and helpers who shared the work of the +monastery. When the meal was done the minstrels sang, while +proud and humble alike listened eagerly. Or perhaps "it was +agreed for the sake of mirth that all present should sing in +their turn." + +But when, at the monastery of Whitby, it was agreed that all +should sing in turn, there was one among the circle around the +fire who silently left his place and crept away, hanging his head +in shame. + +This man was called Caedmon. He could not sing, and although he +loved to listen to the songs of others, "whenever he saw the harp +come near him," we are told, "he arose out of shame from the +feast and went home to his house." Away from the bright +firelight out into the lonely dark he crept with bent head and +lagging steps. Perhaps he would stand a moment outside the door +beneath the starlight and listen to the thunder of the waves and +the shriek of the winds. And as he felt in his heart all the +beauty and wonder of the world, the glory and the might of the +sea and sky, he would ask in dumb pain why, when he could feel it +touch his heart, he could not also sing of the beauty and wonder, +glory and might. [68] + +One night Caedmon crept away as usual, and went "out of the house +where the entertainment was, to the stable, where he had to take +care of the horses that night. He there composed himself to +rest. A person appeared to him then in a dream and, calling him +by name, said, 'Caedmon, sing some song to me.' + +"He answered, 'I cannot sing; for that was the reason why I left +the entertainment and retired to this place, because I cannot +sing.' + +"The other who talked to him replied, 'However, you shall sing.' + +"'What shall I sing?' rejoined he. + +"'Sing the beginning of created things,' said the other. + +"Whereupon he presently began to sing verses to the praise of +God, which he had never heard, the purport whereof was thus:-- + + 'Now must we praise the guardian of heaven's kingdom, + The creator's might and his mind's thought; + Glorious father of men! as of every wonder he, + Lord eternal, formed the beginning. + He first framed for the children of earth + The heaven as a roof; holy Creator! + Then mid-earth, the Guardian of mankind, + The eternal Lord, afterwards produced; + The earth for men, Lord almighty.' + +"This," says the old historian, who tells the story in Latin, "is +the sense, but not the words in order as he sang them in his +sleep. For verses, though never so well composed, cannot be +literally (that is word for word) translated out of one language +into another without losing much of their beauty and loftiness."* + +*Bede, Ecclesiastical History. + +Awakening from his sleep, Caedmon remembered all that he had sung +in his dream. And the dream did not fade away as most dreams do. +For he found that not only could he sing these verses, but he who +had before been dumb and ashamed when the harp was put into his +hand, could now make and sing more beautifully than could others. +And all that he sang was to God's glory. + +In the morning, full of his wonderful new gift, Caedmon went to +the steward who was set over him, and told him of the vision that +he had had during the night. And the steward, greatly marveling, +led Caedmon to the Abbess. + +The Abbess listened to the strange tale. Then she commanded +Caedmon, "in the presence of many learned men, to tell his dream +and repeat the verses that they might all give their judgment +what it was and whence his verse came." + +So the simple farm laborer, who had no learning of any kind, sang +while the learned and grave men listened. And he who was wont to +creep away in dumb shame, fearing the laughter of his fellows, +sang now with such beauty and sweetness that they were all of one +mind, saying that the Lord Himself had, of His heavenly grace, +given to Caedmon this new power. + +Then these learned men repeated to Caedmon some part of the +Bible, explained the meaning of it, and asked him to tell it +again in poetry. This Caedmon undertook to do, and when he fully +understood the words, he went away. Next morning he returned and +repeated all that he had been told, but now it was in beautiful +poetry. + +Then the Abbess saw that, indeed, the grace of God had come upon +the man. She made him at once give up the life of a servant +which he had been leading, and bade him become a monk. Caedmon +gladly did her bidding, and when he had been received among them, +his brother monks taught to him all the Bible stories. + +But Caedmon could neither read nor write, nor is it at all likely +that he ever learned to do either even after he became a monk, +for we are told that "he was well advanced in years" before his +great gift of song came to him. It is quite certain that he +could not read Latin, so that all that he put into verse had to +be taught to him by some more learned brother. And some one, +too, must have written down the verses which Caedmon sang. + +We can imagine the pious, humble monk listening while another +read and translated to him out of some Latin missal. He would +sit with clasped hands and earnest eyes, intent on understanding. +Then, when he had filled his mind with the sacred story, he would +go away by himself and weave it into song. Perhaps he would walk +about beneath the glowing stars or by the sounding sea, and thank +God that he was no longer dumb, and that at last he could say +forth all that before had been shut within his heart in an agony +of silence. "And," we are told, "his songs and his verse were so +winsome to hear, that his teachers themselves wrote and learned +from his mouth." + +"Thus Caedmon, keeping in mind all he heard, and, as it were, +chewing the cud, converted the same into most harmonious verse; +and sweetly repeating the same, made his masters in their turn +his hearers. + +"He sang the creation of the world, the origin of man, and all +the history of Genesis; and made many verses on the departure of +the children of Israel out of Egypt, and their entering into the +land of promise, with many other histories from holy writ." + +As has been said, there are lines in Beowulf which seem to have +been written by a Christian. But all that is Christian in it is +merely of the outside; it could easily be taken away, and the +poem would remain perfect. The whole feeling of the poem is not +Christian, but pagan. So it would seem that what is Christian in +it has been added long after the poem was first made, yet added +before the people had forgotten their pagan ways. + +For very long after they became Christian the Saxons kept their +old pagan ways of thought, and Caedmon, when he came to sing of +holy things, sang as a minstrel might. To him Abraham and Moses, +and all the holy men of old, were like the warrior chieftains +whom he knew and of whom the minstrels sang. And God to him was +but the greatest of these warriors. He is "Heaven's Chief," "the +Great Prince." The clash and clang of sword and trumpet calls +are heard "amid the grim clash of helms." War filled the +greatest half of life. All history, all poetry were bound up in +it. Caedmon sang of what he saw, of what he knew. He was +Christian, he had learned the lesson of peace on earth, but he +lived amid the clash of arms and sang them. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XIII HOW CAEDMON SANG, AND HOW HE FELL ONCE MORE ON SILENCE + +ONE of Caedmon's poems is call The Genesis. In this the poet +begins by telling of how Satan, in his pride, rebelled against +God, and of how he was cast forth from heaven with all those who +had joined with him in rebelling. + +This story of the war in heaven and of the angels' fall is not in +the Bible. It is not to be found either in any of the Latin +books which the monks of Whitby may have had. The story did not +come from Rome, but from the East. How, then, did Caedmon hear +it? + +Whitby, we must remember, was founded by Celtic, and not by Roman +monks. It was founded by monks who came from Ireland to Iona, +and from thence to Northumbria. To them the teaching of Christ +had come from Jerusalem and the East rather than from Rome. So +here again, perhaps, we can see the effect of the Celts on our +literature. It was from Celtic monks that Caedmon heard the +story of the war in heaven. + +After telling of this war, Caedmon goes on to relate how the +wicked angels "into darkness urged them their darksome way." + + "They might not loudly laugh, + But they in hell-torments, + Dwelt accursed. + And woe they knew + Pain and sorrow, + Torment endured + With darkness decked, + Hard retribution, + For that they had devised + Against God to war." + +Then after all the fierce clash of battle come a few lines which +seem like peace after war, quiet after storm. + + "Then was after as before + Peace in heaven, + Fair-loving thanes, + The Lord dear to all." + +Then God grieved at the empty spaces in heaven from whence the +wicked angels had been driven forth. And that they might at last +be filled again, he made the world and placed a man and woman +there. This to the chief of the fallen angels was grief and +pain, and his heart boiled within him in anger. + +"Heaven is lost to us," he cried; "but now that we may not have +it, let us so act that it shall be lost to them also. Let us +make them disobey God, + "Then with them will he be wroth of mind, + Will cast them from his favor, + Then shall they seek this hell + And these grim depths, + Then may we have them to ourselves as vassals, + The children of men in this fast durance." + +Then Satan asks who will help him to tempt mankind to do wrong. +"If to any followers I princely treasure gave of old while we in +that good realm happy sate," let him my gift repay, let him now +aid me. + +So one of Satan's followers made himself ready. "On his head the +chief his helmet set," and he, "wheeled up from thence, departed +through the doors of hell lionlike in air, in hostile mood, +dashed the fire aside, with a fiend's power." + +Caedmon next tells how the fiend tempted first the man and then +the woman with guileful lies to eat of the fruit which had been +forbidden to them, and how Eve yielded to him. And having eaten +of the forbidden fruit, Eve urged Adam too to eat, for it seemed +to her that a fair new life was open to her. "I see God's +angels," she said, + + "Encompass him + With feathery wings + Of all folk greatest, + Of bands most joyous. + I can hear from far + And so widely see, + Through the whole world, + Over the broad creation. + I can the joy of the firmament + Hear in heaven. + It became light to me in mind + From without and within + After the fruit I tasted." + +And thus, urged by Eve, Adam too ate of the forbidden fruit, and +the man and woman were driven out of the Happy Garden, and the +curse fell upon them because of their disobedience. + +So they went forth "into a narrower life." Yet there was left to +them "the roof adorned with holy stars, and earth to them her +ample riches gave." + +In many places this poem is only a paraphrase of the Bible. A +paraphrase means the same thing said in other words. But in +other places the poet seems to forget his model and sings out of +his own heart. Then his song is best. Perhaps some of the most +beautiful lines are those which tell of the dove that Noah sent +forth from the ark. + + "Then after seven nights + He from the ark let forth + A palid dove + To fly after the swart raven, + Over the deep water, + To quest whether the foaming sea + Had of the green earth + Yet any part laid bare. + Wide she flew seeking her own will, + Far she flew yet found no rest. + Because of the flood + With her feet she might not perch on land, + Nor on the tree leaves light. + For the steep mountain tops + Were whelmed in waters. + Then the wild bird went + At eventide the ark to seek. + Over the darling wave she flew + Weary, to sink hungry + To the hands of the holy man." + +A second time the dove is sent forth, and this is how the poet +tells of it:-- + + "Far and wide she flew + Glad in flying free, till she found a place + On a gentle tree. Gay of mood she was and glad + Since she sorely tired, now could settle down, + On the branches of the tree, on its beamy mast. + Then she fluttered feathers, went a flying off again, + With her booty flew, brought it to the sailor, + From an olive tree a twig, right into his hands + Brought the blade of green. + +"Then the chief of seamen knew that gladness was at hand, and he +sent forth after three weeks the wild dove who came not back +again; for she saw the land of the greening trees. The happy +creature, all rejoicing, would no longer of the ark, for she +needed it no more."* + +*Stopford Brooke + +Besides Genesis many other poems were thought at one time to have +been made by Caedmon. The chief of these are Exodus and Daniel. +They are all in an old book, called the Junian MS., from the name +of the man, Francis Dujon, who first published them. The MS. was +found among some other old books in Trinity College, Dublin, and +given to Francis Dujon. He published the poems in 1655, and it +is from that time that we date our knowledge of Caedmon. + +Wise men tell us that Caedmon could not have made any of these +poems, not even the Genesis of which you have been reading. But +if Caedmon did not make these very poems, he made others like +them which have been lost. It was he who first showed the way, +and other poets followed. + +We need not wonder, perhaps, that our poetry is a splendor of the +world when we remember that it is rooted in these grand old +tales, and that it awoke to life through the singing of a strong +son of the soil, a herdsman and a poet. We know very little of +this first of English poets, but what we do know makes us love +him. He must have been a gentle, humble, kindly man, tender of +heart and pure of mind. Of his birth we know nothing; of his +life little except the story which has been told. And when death +came to him, he met it cheerfully as he had lived. + +For some days he had been ill, but able still to walk and talk. +But one night, feeling that the end of life for him was near, he +asked the brothers to give to him for the last time the +Eucharist, or sacrament of the Lord's Supper. + +"They answered, 'What need of the Eucharist? for you are not +likely to die, since you talk so merrily with us, as if you were +in perfect health.' + +"'However,' said he, 'bring me the Eucharist.' + +"Having received the same into his hand, he asked whether they +were all in charity with him, and without any enmity or rancour. + +"They answered that they were all in perfect charity and free +from anger; and in their turn asked him whether he was in the +same mind towards them. + +"He answered, 'I am in charity, my children, with all the +servants of God.' + +"Then, strengthening himself with the heavenly viaticum,* he +prepared for the entrance into another life, and asked how near +the time was when the brothers were to be awakened to sing the +nocturnal praises of our Lord. + +*The Eucharist given to the dying. + +"They answered, 'It is not far off.' + +"Then he said, 'Well, let us wait that hour.' And signing +himself with the sign of the cross, he laid his head on the +pillow, and falling into a slumber ended his life so in silence." + +Thus his life, which had been begun in silence, ended also in +silence, with just a few singing years between. + +"Thus it came to pass, that as he had served God with a simple +and pure mind, and undisturbed devotion, so he now departed to +His presence, leaving the world by a quiet death. And that +tongue which had composed so many holy words in praise of the +Creator, uttered its last words while he was in the act of +signing himself with a cross, and recommending himself into His +hands."* + +*Bede, Ecclesiastical History + +At Whitby still the ruins of a monastery stand. It is not the +monastery over which the Abbess Hilda ruled or in which Caedmon +sang, for in the ninth century that was plundered and destroyed +by the fierce hordes of Danes who swept our shores. But in the +twelfth century the house was rebuilt, and parts of that building +are still to be seen. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XIV THE FATHER OF ENGLISH HISTORY + +WHILE Caedmon was still singing at Whitby, in another +Northumbrian village named Jarrow a boy was born. This boy we +know as Bede, and when he was seven years old his friends gave +him into the keeping of the Abbot of Wearmouth. Under this Abbot +there were two monasteries, the one at Jarrow and the other at +Wearmouth, a few miles distant. And in these two monasteries +Bede spent all the rest of his life. + +When Bede was eight years old Caedmon died. And although the +little boy had never met the great, but humble poet, he must have +heard of him, and it is from Bede's history that we learn all +that we know of Caedmon. + +There is almost as little to tell of Bede's life as of Caedmon's. +He passed it peacefully, reading, writing, and teaching within +the walls of his beloved monastery. But without the walls wars +often raged, for England was at this time still divided into +several kingdoms, whose kings often fought against each other. + +Bede loved to learn even when he was a boy. We know this, for +long afterward another learned man told his pupils to take Bede +for an example, and not spend their time "digging out foxes and +coursing hares."* And when he became a man he was one of the +most learned of his time, and wrote books on nearly every subject +that was then thought worth writing about. + +*C. Plummer. + +Once, when Bede was still a boy, a fearful plague swept the land, +"killing and destroying a great multitude of men." In the +monastery of Jarrow all who could read, or preach, or sing were +killed by it. Only the Abbot himself and a little lad were left. +The Abbot loved services and the praises of the church. His +heart was heavy with grief and mourning for the loss of his +friends; it was heavy, too, with the thought that the services of +his church could no longer be made beautiful with song. + +For a few days the Abbot read the services all alone, but at the +end of a week he could no longer bear the lack of singing, so +calling the little lad he bade him to help him and to chant the +responses. + +The story calls up to us a strange picture. There stands the +great monastery, all its rooms empty. Along its stone-flagged +passages the footsteps of the man and boy echo strangely. They +reach the chapel vast and dim, and there, before the great altar +with its gleaming lights, the Abbot in his robes chants the +services, but where the voices of choir and people were wont to +join, there sounds only the clear high voice of one little boy. + +That little boy was Bede. + +And thus night and morning the sound of prayer and praise rose +from the deserted chapel until the force of the plague had spent +itself, and it was once more possible to find men to take the +places of those singers who had died. + +So the years passed on until, when Bede was thirty years of age, +he became a priest. He might have been made an abbot had he +wished. But he refused to be taken away from his beloved books. +"The office," he said, "demands household care, and household +care brings with it distraction of mind, hindering the pursuit of +learning."* + +*H. Morley, English Writers. + +Bede wrote many books, but it is by his Ecclesiastical History +(that is Church history) that we remember him best. As Caedmon +is called the Father of English Poetry, Bede is called the Father +of English History. But it is well to remember that Caedmon +wrote in Anglo-Saxon and Bede in Latin. + +There were others who wrote history before Bede, but he was +perhaps the first who wrote history in the right spirit. He did +not write in order to make a good minstrel's tale. He tried to +tell the truth. He was careful as to where he got his facts, and +careful how he used them. So those who came after him could +trust him. Bede's History, you remember, was one of the books +which Layamon used when he wrote his Brut, and in it we find many +of the stories of early British history which have grown familiar +to us. + +It is in this book that we find the story of how Gregory saw the +pretty children in the Roman slave market, and of how, for love +of their fair faces, he sent Augustine to teach the heathen +Saxons about Christ. There are, too, many stories in it of how +the Saxons became Christian. One of the most interesting, +perhaps, is about Edwin, King of Northumbria. Edwin had married +a Christian princess, Ethelberga, sister of Eadbald, King of +Kent. Eadbald was, at first, unwilling that his sister should +marry a pagan king. But Edwin promised that he would not try to +turn her from her religion, and that she and all who came with +her should be allowed to worship what god they chose. + +So the Princess Ethelberga came to be Queen of Northumbria, and +with her she brought Paulinus, "a man beloved of God," as priest. +He came to help her to keep faithful among a heathen people, and +in the hope, too, that he might be able to turn the pagan king +and his folk to the true faith. + +And in this hope he was not disappointed. By degrees King Edwin +began to think much about the Christian faith. He gave up +worshipping idols, and although he did not at once become +Christian, "he often sat alone with silent lips, while in his +inmost heart he argued much with himself, considering what was +best to do and what religion he should hold to." At last the +King decided to call a council of his wise men, and to ask each +one what he thought of this new teaching. And when they were all +gathered Coifi, the chief priest, spoke. + +"'O King,' he said, 'consider what this is which is now preached +to us; for I verily declare to you, that the religion which we +have hitherto professed has, as far as I can learn, no virtue in +it. For none of your people has applied himself more diligently +to the worship of our gods than I. And yet there are many who +receive greater favors from you, and are more preferred than I, +and are more prosperous in their undertakings. Now if the gods +were good for anything, they would rather forward me, who have +been more careful to serve them. It remains, therefore, that if +upon examination you find those new doctrines, which are now +preached to us, better and more efficacious, we immediately +receive them without delay.' + +"Another of the King's chief men, approving of his words and +exhortations, presently added: 'The present life of man, O King, +seems to me, in comparison of that time which is unknown to us, +like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the room wherein +you sit at supper in winter, with your commanders and ministers, +and a good fire in the midst, while the storms of rain and snow +prevail abroad. The sparrow, I say, flying in at one door and +immediately out at another, whilst he is within is safe from the +wintry storm; but after a short space of fair weather, he +immediately vanishes out of your sight into the dark winter from +whence he had emerged. So this life of man appears for a short +space, but of what went before, or what is to follow, we are +utterly ignorant. If, therefore, this new doctrine contains +something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to be +followed.'" + +Others of the King's wise men and counselors spoke, and they all +spoke to the same end. Coifi then said that he would hear yet +more of what Paulinus had to tell. So Paulinus rose from his +place and told the people more of the story of Christ. And after +listening attentively for some time Coifi again cried out, "'I +advise, O King, that we instantly abjure and set fire to those +temples and altars which we have consecrated without reaping any +benefit from them.' + +"In short, the King publicly gave his license to Paulinus to +preach the Gospel, and renouncing idolatry, declared that he +received the faith of Christ. And when he inquired of the high +priest who should first profane the altars and temples of their +idols with the enclosures that were about them, Coifi answered, +'I; for who can more properly than myself destroy those things +which I worshiped through ignorance, for an example to all others +through the wisdom which has been given me by the true God?' + +"Then immediately, in contempt of his former superstitions, he +desired the King to furnish him with arms and a stallion. And +mounting the same he set out to destroy the idols. For it was +not lawful before for the high priest either to carry arms or to +ride upon any but a mare. + +"Having, therefore, girt a sword about him, with a spear in his +hand, he mounted the King's stallion and proceeded to the idols. +The multitude, beholding it, concluded he was distracted. But he +lost no time, for as soon as he drew near the temple he profaned +the same, casting into it the spear which he held. And rejoicing +in the knowledge of the worship of the true God, he commanded his +companions to destroy the temple, with all its enclosures, by +fire."* + +*Dr. Giles's translation of Ecclesiastical History. + +One of the reasons why I have chosen this story out of Bede's +History is because it contains the picture of the sparrow +flitting through the firelit room. Out of the dark and cold it +comes into the light and warmth for a moment, and then vanishes +into the dark and cold once more. + +The Saxon who more than thirteen hundred years ago made that +word-picture was a poet. He did not know it, perhaps, he was +only speaking of what he had often seen, telling in simple words +of something that happened almost every day, and yet he has given +us a picture which we cannot forget, and has made our literature +by so much the richer. He has told us of something, too, which +helps us to realize the rough life our forefathers lived. Even +in the king's palace the windows were without glass, the doors +stood open to let out the smoke from "the good fire in the +midst," for there were no chimneys, or at best but a hole in the +roof to serve as one. The doors stood open, even though "the +storms of snow and rain prevailed abroad," and in spite of the +good fire, it must have been comfortless enough. Yet many a +stray bird might well be drawn thither by the light and warmth. + +Bede lived a peaceful, busy life, and when he came to die his end +was peaceful too, and his work ceased only with his death. One +of his pupils, writing to a friend, tells of these last hours.* + +*Extracts are from a letter of Cuthbert, afterwards Abbot of +Wearmouth and Jarrow, to his friend Cuthwin. + +For some weeks in the bright springtime of 735 Bede had been ill, +yet "cheerful and rejoicing, giving thanks to almighty God every +day and night, yea every hour." Daily, too, he continued to give +lessons to his pupils, and the rest of the time he spent in +singing psalms. "I can with truth declare that I never saw with +my eyes, or heard with my ears, any one return thanks so +unceasingly to the living God," says the letter. "During these +days he labored to compose two works well worthy to be remembered +besides the lessons we had from him, and singing of psalms: that +is, he translated the Gospel of St. John as far as the words, +'But what are these among so many,' into our own tongue for the +benefit of the church, and some collections out of the Book of +Notes of Bishop Isidor. + +"When the Tuesday before the Ascension of our Lord came, he began +to suffer still more in his health. But he passed all that day +and dictated cheerfully, and now and then among other things +said, 'Go on quickly, I know not how long I shall hold out, and +whether my maker will not soon take me away.' + +"But to us he seemed very well to know the time of his departure. +And so he spent the night awake in thanksgiving. And when the +morning appeared, that is Wednesday, he ordered us to write with +all speed what he had begun. . . . + +"There was one of us with him who said to him, 'Most dear Master, +there is still one chapter wanting. Do you think it troublesome +to be asked any more questions?' + +"He answered, 'It is no trouble. Take your pen and make ready +and write fast. . . .' + +"Then the same boy said once more, 'Dear Master, there is yet one +sentence not written.' + +"And he said, 'Well, then write it.' + +"And after a little space the boy said, 'Now it is finished.' + +"And he answered, 'Well, thou hast spoken truth, it is finished. +Receive my head into your hands, for it is a great satisfaction +to me to sit facing my holy place, where I was wont to pray, that +I may also, sitting, call upon my Father.'" + +And sitting upon the pavement of his little cell, he sang, "Glory +be to the Father and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost." "When +he had named the Holy Ghost he breathed his last, and departed to +the heavenly kingdom." + +So died Bede, surnamed the Venerable. + +We have come to think of Venerable as meaning very old. But Bede +was only sixty-two when he died, and Venerable here means rather +"Greatly to be honored." + +There are two or three stories about how Bede came to be given +his surname. One tells how a young monk was set to write some +lines of poetry to be put upon the tomb where his master was +buried. He tried hard, but the verse would not come right. He +could not get the proper number of syllables in his lines. + + "In this grave lie the bones of + Bede," + +he wrote. But he could not find an adjective that would make the +line the right length, try how he might. At last, wearied out, +he fell asleep over his task. + +Then, as he slept, an angel bent down, and taking the pen from +the monk's tired fingers, wrote the words, "the Venerable," so +that the line ran, "In this grave lie the bones of the Venerable +Bede." And thus, for all time, our first great historian is +known as The Venerable Bede. + +BOOK TO READ + + The Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, by Bede, +translated by Dr. Giles. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XV HOW ALFRED THE GREAT FOUGHT WITH HIS PEN + +WHILE Caedmon sang his English lays and Bede wrote his Latin +books, Northumbria had grown into a center, not only of English +learning, but of learning for western Europe. The abbots of +Jarrow and Wearmouth made journeys to Rome and brought back with +them precious MSS. for the monastery libraries. Scholars from +all parts of Europe came to visit the Northumbrian monasteries, +or sent thither for teachers. + +But before many years had passed all that was changed. Times of +war and trouble were not yet over for England. Once again +heathen hordes fell upon our shores. The Danes, fierce and +lawless, carrying sword and firebrand wherever they passed, +leaving death and ruin in their track, surged over the land. The +monasteries were ruined, the scholars were scattered. A life of +peaceful study was no longer possible, the learning of two +hundred years was swept away, the lamp of knowledge lit by the +monks grew dim and flickered out. + +But when sixty years or more had passed, a king arose who crushed +the Danish power, and who once more lit that lamp. This king was +Alfred the Great. + +History tells us how he fought the Danes, how he despaired, and +how he took heart again, and how he at last conquered his enemies +and brought peace to his people. + +Alfred was great in war. He was no less great in peace. As he +fought the Danes with the sword, so he fought ignorance with his +pen. He loved books, and he longed to bring back to England +something of the learning which had been lost. Nor did he want +to keep learning for a few only. He wanted all his people to get +the good of it. And so, as most good books were written in +Latin, which only a few could read, he began to translate some of +them into English. + +In the beginning of one of them Alfred says, "There are only a +few on this side of the Humber who can understand the Divine +Service, or even explain a Latin epistle in English, and I +believe not many on the other side of the Humber either. But +they are so few that indeed I cannot remember one south of the +Thames when I began to reign." + +By "this side of the Humber" Alfred means the south side, for now +the center of learning was no longer Northumbria, but Wessex. + +Alfred translated many books. He translated books of geography, +history and religion, and it is from Alfred that our English +prose dates, just as English poetry dates from Caedmon. For you +must remember that although we call Bede the Father of English +History, he wrote in Latin for the most part, and what he wrote +in English has been lost. + +Besides writing himself, Alfred encouraged his people to write. +He also caused a national Chronicle to be written. + +A chronicle is the simplest form of history. The old chronicles +did not weave their history into stories, they simply put down a +date and something that happened on that date. They gave no +reasons for things, they expressed no feelings, no thoughts. So +the chronicles can hardly be called literature. They were not +meant to be looked upon as literature. The writers of them used +them rather as keys to memory. They kept all the stories in +their memories, and the sight of the name of a king or of a +battle was enough to unlock their store of words. And as they +told their tales, if they forgot a part they made something up, +just as the minstrels did. + +Alfred caused the Chronicle to be written up from such books and +records as he had from the coming of the Romans until the time in +which he himself reigned. And from then onwards to the time of +the death of King Stephen the Saxon Chronicle was kept. It is +now one of the most useful books from which we can learn the +history of those times. + +Sometimes, especially at the beginning, the record is very scant. +As a rule, there is not more than one short sentence for a year, +sometimes not even that, but merely a date. It is like this:-- + +"Year 189. In this year Severus succeeded to the empire and +reigned seventeen winters. He begirt Britain with a dike from +sea to sea. + +"Year 190. + +"Year 199. + +"Year 200. In this year was found the Holy Rood." + +And so on it goes, and every now and again, among entries which +seem to us of little or no importance, we learn something that +throws great light on our past history. And when we come to the +time of Alfred's reign the entries are much more full. From the +Chronicle we learn a great deal about his wars with the Danes, +and of how he fought them both by land and by sea. + +The Saxon Chronicle, as it extended over many hundred years, was +of course written by many different people, and so parts of it +are written much better than other parts. Sometimes we find a +writer who does more than merely set down facts, who seems to +have a feeling for how he tells his story, and who tries to make +the thing he writes about living. Sometimes a writer even breaks +into song. + +Besides causing the Chronicle to be written, Alfred translated +Bede's History into English. And so that all might learn the +history of their land, he rebuilt the ruined monasteries and +opened schools in them once more. There he ordered that "Every +free-born youth in the Kingdom, who has the means, shall attend +to his book, so long as he have no other business, till he can +read English perfectly."* + +*Preface to Boethius' Pastoral Care, translated into English by +Alfred. + +Alfred died after having reigned for nearly thirty years. Much +that he had done seemed to die with him, for once again the Danes +descended upon our coasts. Once again they conquered, and Canute +the Dane became King of England. But the English spirit was +strong, and the Danish invasion has left scarcely a trace upon +our language. Nor did the Danish power last long, for in 1042 we +had in Edward the Confessor an English king once more. But he +was English only in name. In truth he was more than half French, +and under him French forces began already to work on our +literature. A few years later that French force became +overwhelming, for in 1066 William of Normandy came to our shores, +and with his coming it seemed for a time as if the life of +English literature was to be crushed out forever. Only by the +Chronicle were both prose and poetry kept alive in the English +tongue. And it is to Alfred the Great that we owe this slender +thread which binds our English literature of to-day with the +literature of a thousand years ago. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XVI WHEN ENGLISH SLEPT + + "William came o'er the sea, + With bloody sword came he. + Cold heart and bloody sword hand + Now rule the English land." + The Heimskringla + +WILLIAM THE NORMAN ruled England. Norman knights and nobles +filled all the posts of honor at court, all the great places in +the land. Norman bishops and abbots ruled in church and +monastery. The Norman tongue was alone the speech in court and +hall, Latin alone was the speech of the learned. Only among the +lowly, the unlearned, and the poor was English heard. + +It seemed as if the English tongue was doomed to vanish before +the conquering Norman, even as the ancient British tongue had +vanished before the conquering English. And, in truth, for two +hundred years it might have been thought that English prose was +dead, "put to sleep by the sword." But it was not so. It slept, +indeed, but to awake again. For England conquered the conqueror. +And when English Literature awoke once more, it was the richer +through the gifts which the Norman had brought. + +One thing the Normans had brought was a liking for history, and +soon there sprang up a whole race of chroniclers. They, like +Bede, were monks and priests. They lived in monasteries, and +wrote in Latin. One after another they wrote, and when one laid +down his pen, another took it up. Some of these chroniclers were +mere painstaking men who noted facts and dates with care. But +others were true writers of literature, who told their tales in +vivid, stirring words, so that they make these times live again +for us. The names of some of the best of these chroniclers are +Eadmer, Orderic Vitalis, and William of Malmesbury. + +By degrees these Norman and Anglo-Norman monks became filled with +the spirit of England. They wrote of England as of their home, +they were proud to call themselves English, and they began to +desire that England should stand high among the nations. It is, +you remember, from one of these chroniclers, Geoffrey of Monmout +(see chapter vi.), that we date the reawakening of story-telling +in England. + +As a writer of history Geoffrey is bad. Another chronicler* says +of him, "Therefore as in all things we trust Bede, whose wisdom +and truth are not to be doubted: so that fabler with his fables +shall be forthwith spat out by us all." + +*William of Newbury. + +But if Geoffrey was a bad writer of history, he was good as "a +fabler," and, as we have seen in chapter vii., it was to his book +that we owe the first long poem written in English after the +Conquest. + +The Norman came with sword in hand, bringing in his train the +Latin-writing chroniclers. But he did not bring these alone. He +brought minstrels also. Besides the quiet monks who sat in their +little cells, or in the pleasant cloisters, writing the history +of the times, there were the light-hearted minstrels who roamed +the land with harp and song. + +The man who struck the first blow at Hastings was a minstrel who, +as he rode against the English, sang. And the song he sang was +of Roland, the great champion of Charlemagne. The Roland story +is to France what the Arthur story is to us. And it shows, +perhaps, the strength of English patriotic spirit that that story +never took hold of English minds. Some few tales there are told +of Roland in English, but they are few indeed, in comparison with +the many that are told of Arthur. + +The Norman, however, who did not readily invent new tales, was +very good at taking and making his own the tales of others. So, +even as he conquered England by the sword, he conquered our +literature too. For the stories of Arthur were told in French +before they came back to us in English. It was the same with +other tales, and many of our old stories have come down to us, +not through their English originals, but through the French. For +the years after the Conquest are the poorest in English +Literature. + +From the Conquest until Layamon wrote his Brut, there was no +English literature worthy of the name. Had we not already spoken +of Layamon out of true order in following the story of Arthur, it +is here that we should speak of him and of his book, The Brut. +So, perhaps, it would be well to go back and read chapter vii., +and then we must go on to the Metrical Romances. + +The three hundred years from 1200 to 1500 were the years of the +Metrical Romances. Metrical means written in verse. Romance +meant at first the languages made from the Latin tongue, such as +French or Spanish. After a time the word Romance was used to +mean a story told in any Romance language. But now we use it to +mean any story of strange and wonderful adventures, especially +when the most thrilling adventures happen to the hero and +heroine. + +The Norman minstrels, then, took English tales and made them into +romances. But when the English began once more to write, they +turned these romances back again into English. We still call +them romances, although they are now written in English. + +Some of these tales came to us, no doubt, from the Danes. They +were brought from over the sea by the fierce Northmen, who were, +after all, akin to the Normans. The Normans made them into +French stories, and the English turned them back into English. + +Perhaps one of the most interesting of these Metrical Romances is +that of Havelok the Dane. + +The poem begins with a few lines which seem meant to call the +people together to listen:-- + + + "Hearken to me, good men, + Wives, maidens, and all men, + To a tale that I will tell to + Who so will hear and list thereto." + +We can imagine the minstrel as he stands in some market-place, or +in some firelit hall, touching his harp lightly as he sings the +words. With a quick movement he throws back his long green +cloak, and shows his gay dress beneath. Upon his head he wears a +jaunty cap, and his hair is long and curled. He sings the +opening lines perhaps more than once, in order to gather the +people round him. Then, when the eager crowd sit or stand about +him, he begins his lay. It is most probably in a market-place +that the minstrel stands and sings. For Havelok the Dane was +written for the people and not for the great folk, who still +spoke only French. + + "There was a king in byegone days + That in his time wrought good laws, + He did them make and full well hold, + Him loved young, him loved old, + Earl and baron, strong man and thane, + Knight, bondman and swain, + Widows, maidens, priests and clerks + And all for his good works." + +If you will compare this poetry with that of Layamon, you will +see that there is something in it quite different from his. This +no longer rests, as that does, upon accent and alliteration, but +upon rhyme. The English, too, in which it is written, is much +more like the English of to-day. For Havelok was written perhaps +a hundred years after Layamon's Brut. These are the first lines +as they are in the MS.:-- + + "Herknet to me gode men + Wiues maydnes and alle men + Of a tale pat ich you wile telle + Wo so it wile here and yerto dwelle." + +That, you see, except for curious spelling, is not very unlike +our English of to-day, although it is fair to tell you that all +the lines are not so easy to understand as these are. + + + + + + + + +Chapter XVII THE STORY OF HAVELOK THE DANE + +THE good king of whom we read in the last chapter was called +Athelwold, and the poet tells us that there were happy days in +England while he reigned. But at length he became sick unto +death. Then was he sore grieved, because he had no child to sit +upon the throne after him save a maiden very fair. But so young +was she that she could neither "go on foot nor speak with mouth." +So, in this grief and trouble, the King wrote to all his nobles, +"from Roxburgh all unto Dover," bidding them come to him. + +And all who had the writings came to the King, where he lay at +Winchester. Then, when they were all come, Athelwold prayed them +to be faithful to the young Princess, and to choose one of +themselves to guard her until she was of age to rule. + +So Godrich, Earl of Cornwall, was chosen to guard the Princess. +For he was a true man, wise in council, wise in deed, and he +swore to protect his lady until she was of such age as no longer +to have need of him. Then he would wed her, he swore, to the +best man in all the land. + +So, happy in thought that his daughter should reign after him in +peace, the King died, and there was great sorrow and mourning +throughout the land. But the people remained at peace, for the +Earl ruled well and wisely. + + "From Dover to Roxburgh + All England of him stood in awe, + All England was of him adread." + +Meanwhile the Princess Goldboru grew daily more and more fair. +And when Earl Godrich saw how fair and noble she became, he +sighed and asked himself:-- + + "Whether she should be + Queen and lady over me. + Whether she should all England, + And me, and mine, have in her hand. + Nay, he said, + 'I have a son, a full fair knave, + He shall England all have, + He shall be king, he shall be sire.'" + +Then, full of his evil purpose, Godrich thought no more of his +oath to the dead king, but cast Goldboru into a darksome prison, +where she was poorly clad and ill-fed. + +Now it befell that at this time there was a right good king in +Denmark. He had a son named Havelok and two fair daughters. And +feeling death come upon him, he left his children in the care of +his dear friend Godard, and so died. + +But no sooner was the King in his grave than the false Godard +took Havelok and his two sisters and thrust them into a dungeon. + + "And in the castle did he them do + Where no man might come them to, + Of their kin. There they prison'd were, + There they wept oft sort, + Both for hunger and for cold, + Ere they were three winters old. + Scantily he gave them clothes, + And cared not a nut for his oaths, + He them nor clothed right, nor fed, + Nor them richly gave to bed. + Thane Godard was most sickerly + Under God the most traitorly + That ever in earth shapen was + Except the wicked Judas." + +After a time the traitor went to the tower where the children +were, and there he slew the two little girls. But the boy +Havelok he spared. + + "For the lad that little was, + He kneeled before that Judas + And said, 'Lord, mercy now! + Homage, Lord, to you I vow! + All Denmark I to you will give + If that now you let me live.'" + +So the wicked Earl spared the lad for the time. But he did not +mean that he should live. Anon he called a fisherman to him and +said:-- + + "Grim, thou wist thou art my thral, + Wilt thou do my will all + That I will bid thee? + To-morrow I shall make thee free, + And give thee goods, and rich thee make, + If that thou wilt this child take + And lead him with thee, to-night, + When thou seest it is moonlight, + Unto the sea, and do him in! + And I will take on me the sin." + +Grim, the fisherman, rejoiced at the thought of being free and +rich. So he took the boy, and wound him in an old cloth, and +stuffed an old coat into his mouth, so that he might not cry +aloud. Then he thrust him into a sack, and thus carried him home +to his cottage. + +But when the moon rose, and Grim made ready to drown the child, +his wife saw a great light come from the sack. And opening it, +they found therein the prince. Then they resolved, instead of +drowning him, to save and nourish him as their own child. But +they resolved also to hide the truth from the Earl. + +At break of day, therefore, Grim set forth to tell Godard that +his will was done. But instead of the thanks and reward promised +to him, he got only evil words. So, speeding homeward from that +traitor, he made ready his boat, and with his wife and three sons +and two daughters and Havelok, they set sail upon the high sea, +fleeing for their lives. + +Presently a great wind arose which blew them to the coast of +England. And when they were safely come to land, Grim drew up +his boat upon the shore, and there he build him a hut, and there +he lived, and to this day men call the place Grimsby. + +Years passed. Havelok lived with the fisherman, and grew great +and fair and strong. And as Grim was poor, the Prince thought it +no dishonor to work for his living, and he became in time a +cook's scullion. + +Havelok had to work hard. But although he worked hard he was +always cheerful and merry. He was so strong that at running, +jumping, or throwing a stone no one could beat him. Yet he was +so gentle that all the children of the place loved him and played +with him. + + "Him loved all, quiet or bold, + Knight, children, young and old, + All him loved that him saw, + Both high men and low, + Of him full wide the word sprang + How he was meek, how he was strong." + +At last even the wicked Godrich in his palace heard of Havelok in +the kitchen. "Now truly this is the best man in England," he +said, with a sneer. And thinking to bring shame on Goldboru, and +wed her with a kitchen knave, he sent for Havelok. + +"Master, wilt wed?" he asked, when the scullion was brought +before him. + +"Nay," quoth Havelok, "by my life what should I do with a wife? +I could not feed her, nor clothe her, nor shoe her. Whither +should I bring a woman? I have no cot, I have no stick nor twig. +I have neither bread nor sauce, and no clothes but one old coat. +These clothes even that I wear are the cook's, and I am his +knave." + +At that Godrich shook with wrath. Up he sprang and began to beat +Havelok without mercy. + + "And said, 'Unless thou her take, + That I well ween thee to make, + I shall hangen thee full high + Or I shall thrusten out thine eye.'" + +Then seeing that there was no help for it, and that he must +either be wedded or hanged, Havelok consented to marry Goldboru. +So the Princess was brought, "the fairest woman under the moon." +And she, sore afraid at the anger and threats of Godrich, durst +not do aught to oppose the wedding. So were they "espoused fair +and well" by the Archbishop of York, and Havelok took his bride +home to Grimsby. + +You may be sure that Havelok, who was so strong and yet so +gentle, was kind to his beautiful young wife. But Goldboru was +unhappy, for she could not forget the disgrace that had come upon +her. She could not forget that she was a princess, and that she +had been forced to wed a low-born kitchen knave. But one night, +as she lay in bed weeping, an angel appeared to her and bade her +sorrow no more, for it was no scullion that she had wed, but a +king's son. So Goldboru was comforted. + +And of all that afterward befell Havelok and Goldboru, of how +they went to Denmark and overcame the traitor there, and received +the kingdom; and of how they returned again to England, and of +how Godrich was punished, you must read for yourselves in the +book of Havelok the Dane. But this one thing more I will tell +you, that Havelok and Goldboru lived happily together until they +died. They loved each other so tenderly that they were never +angry with each other. They had fifteen children, and all the +sons became kings and all the daughters became queens. + +I should like to tell you many more of these early English +metrical romances. I should like to tell you of Guy of Warwick, +of King Horn, of William and the Werewolf, and of many others. +But, indeed, if I told all the stories I should like to tell this +book would have no end. So we must leave them and pass on. + +BOOKS TO READ + + The Story of Havelok the Dane, rendered into later English +by Emily Hickey. The Lay of Havelok the Dane, edited by W. W. +Skeat in the original English. + + + + + + + +Chapter XVIII ABOUT SOME SONG STORIES + +BESIDES the metrical romances, we may date another kind of story +from this time. I mean the ballads. + +Ballad was an old French word spelt balade. It really means a +dance-song. For ballads were at first written to be sung to +dances--slow, shuffling, balancing dances such as one may still +see in out-of-the-way places in Brittany. + +These ballads often had a chorus or refrain in which every one +joined. But by degrees the refrain was dropped and the dancing +too. Now we think of a ballad as a simple story told in verse. +Sometimes it is merry, but more often it is sad. + +The ballads were not made for grand folk. They were not made to +be sung in courts and halls. They were made for the common +people, and sometimes at least they were made by them. They were +meant to be sung, and sung out of doors. For in those days the +houses of all but the great were very comfortless. They were +small and dark and full of smoke. It was little wonder, then, +that people lived out of doors as much as they could, and that +all their amusements were out of doors. And so it comes about +that many of the ballads have an out-of-door feeling about them. + +A ballad is much shorter than a romance, and therefore much more +easily learned and remembered. So many people learned and +repeated the ballads, and for three hundred years they were the +chief literature of the people. In those days men sang far more +and read and thought far less than nowadays. Now, if we read +poetry, some of us like to be quietly by ourselves. Then all +poetry was made to be read or sung aloud, and that in company. + +I do not mean you to think that we have any ballads remaining to +us as old as the thirteenth or the beginning of the fourteenth +century, which was the time in which Havelok was written. But +what I want you to understand is that the ballad-making days went +on for hundreds of years. The people for whom the ballads were +made could not read and could not write; so it was of little use +to write them down, and for a long time they were not written +down. "They were made for singing, an' no for reading," said an +old lady to Sir Walter Scott, who in his day made a collection of +ballads. "They were made for singing an' no for reading; but ye +hae broken the charm now, an' they'll never be sung mair." + +And so true is this, that ballads which have never been written +down, but which are heard only in out-of-the-way places, sung or +said by people who have never learned to read, have really more +of the old-time feeling about them than many of those which we +find in books. + +We cannot say who made the ballads. Nowadays a poet makes a +poem, and it is printed with his name upon the title-page. The +poem belongs to him, and is known by his name. We say, for +instance, Gray's Elegy, or Shakespeare's Sonnets. But many +people helped to make the ballads. I do not mean that twenty or +thirty people sat down together and said, "Let us make a ballad." +That would not have been possible. But, perhaps, one man heard a +story and put it into verse. Another then heard it and added +something to it. Still another and another heard, repeated, +added to, or altered it in one way or another. Sometimes the +story was made better by the process, sometimes it was spoiled. +But who those men were who made and altered the ballads, we do +not know. They were simply "the people." + +One whole group of ballads tells of the wonderful deeds of Robin +Hood. Who Robin Hood was we do not certainly know, nor does it +matter much. Legend has made him a man of gentle birth who had +lost his lands and money, and who had fled to the woods as an +outlaw. Stories gradually gathered round his name as they had +gathered round the name of Arthur, and he came to be looked upon +as the champion of the people against the Norman tyrants. + +Robin was a robber, but a robber as courtly as any knight. His +enemies were the rich and great, his friends were the poor and +oppressed. + + "For I never yet hurt any man + That honest is and true; + But those that give their minds to live + Upon other men's due. + + I never hurt the husbandmen + That used to till the ground; + Nor spill their blood that range the wood + To follow hawk or hound. + + My chiefest spite to clergy is + Who in those days bear a great sway; + With friars and monks with their fine sprunks + I make my chiefest prey." + +The last time we heard of monks and priests they were the friends +of the people, doing their best to teach them and make them +happy. Now we find that they are looked upon as enemies. And +the monasteries, which at the beginning had been like lamps of +light set in a dark country, had themselves become centers of +darkness and idleness. + +But although Robin fought against the clergy, the friars and +monks who did wrong, he did not fight against religion. + + "A good manner then had Robin; + In land where that he were, + Every day ere he would dine, + Three masses would he hear. + + The one in worship of the Father, + And another of the Holy Ghost, + The third of Our Dear Lady, + That he loved all the most. + + + + Robin loved Our Dear Lady, + For doubt of deadly sin, + Would he never do company harm + That any woman was in." + + And Robin himself tells his followers:-- + + "But look ye do not husbandman harm + That tilleth with his plough. + + No more ye shall no good yeoman + That walketh by green wood shaw, + Nor no knight nor no squire + That will be good fellow. + + These bishops and these archbishops, + Ye shall them beat and bind, + The high sheriff of Nottingham, + Him hold ye in your mind." + +The great idea of the Robin Hood ballads is the victory of the +poor and oppressed over the rich and powerful, the triumph of the +lawless over the law-givers. Because of this, and because we +like Robin much better than the Sheriff of Nottingham, his chief +enemy, we are not to think that the poor were always right and +the rulers always wrong. There were many good men among the +despised monks and friars, bishops and archbishops. But there +were, too, many evils in the land, and some of the laws pressed +sorely on the people. Yet they were never without a voice. + +The Robin Hood ballads are full of humor; they are full, too, of +English outdoor life, of hunting and fighting. + +Of quite another style is the ballad of Sir Patrick Spens. That +takes us away from the green, leafy woods and dells of England to +the wild, rocky coast of Scotland. It takes us from the singing +of birds to the roar of the waves. The story goes that the King +wanted a good sailor to sail across the sea. Then an old knight +says to him that the best sailor that ever sailed the sea is Sir +Patrick Spens. + +So the King writes a letter bidding Sir Patrick make ready. At +first he is pleased to get a letter from the King, but when he +has read what is in it his face grows sad and angry too. + +"Who has done me this evil deed?" he cries, "to send me out to +sea in such weather?" + +Sir Patrick is very unwilling to go. But the King has commanded, +so he and his men set forth. A great storm comes upon them and +the ship is wrecked. All the men are drowned, and the ladies who +sit at home waiting their husbands' return wait in vain. + +There are many versions of this ballad, but I give you here one +of the shortest and perhaps the most beautiful. + "The king sits in Dumferling toune + Drinking the blude reid wine: + 'O whar will I get a guid sailor, + To sail this schip of mine?' + + Up and spak an eldern knicht, + Sat at the king's richt kne: + 'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor + That sails upon the se.' + + The king has written a braid letter, + And signed it wi his hand, + And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, + Was walking on the sand. + + The first line that Sir Patrick red, + A loud lauch lauched he; + The next line that Sir Patrick red, + The teir blinded his ee. + + 'O wha is this has done this deed, + This ill deed don to me, + To send me out this time o' the yeir, + To sail upon the se? + + 'Mak hast, mak hast, my merry men all, + Our guid schip sails the morne.' + 'Oh, say na sae, my master deir, + For I feir a deadlie storme. + + 'Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone, + Wi the auld moone in her arme, + And I feir, I feir, my deir master, + That we will cum to harme.' + + O, our Scots nobles wer richt laith + To weet their cork-heild schoone; + Bot lang owre a' the play wer played + Thair hats they swam aboone. + + O lang, lang, may their ladies sit, + Wi their fans into their hand, + Or eir they see Sir Patrick Spence + Cum sailing to the land. + + O lang, lang, may the ladies stand, + Wi their gold kaims in their hair, + Waiting for their ain deir lords, + For they'll see them na mair. + + Haf ower, haf ower to Aberdour, + It's fiftie fadom deip, + And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence. + Wi the Scots lords at his feit." +And now, just to end this chapter, let me give you one more poem. +It is the earliest English song that is known. It is a spring +song, and it is so full of the sunny green of fresh young leaves, +and of all the sights and sounds of early summer, that I think +you will like it. + + "Summer is a-coming in, + Loud sing cuckoo; + Groweth seed and bloweth mead, + And springeth the wood new, + Sing cuckoo! + + Ewe bleateth after lamb, + Loweth after calf the cow; + Bullock starteth, buck verteth,* + Merry sing cuckoo. + + Cuckoo, cuckoo, well singeth thou cuckoo, + Thou art never silent now. + Sing cuckoo, now, sing cuckoo, + Sing cuckoo, sing cuckoo, now!" + + *Turns to the green fern or "vert." Vert is French for +"green." + +Is that not pretty? Can you not hear the cuckoo call, even +though the lamps may be lit and the winter wind be shrill +without? + +But I think it is prettier still in its thirteenth-century +English. Perhaps you may be able to read it in that, so here it +is:-- + + "Sumer is ycumen in, + Lhude sing cuccu; + Groweth sed, and bloweth med, + And springth the wde nu, + Sing cuccu! + + Awe bleteth after lomb, + Lhouth after calve cu; + Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, + Murie sing cuccu. + + Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu cuccu, + Ne swike thu naver nu. + Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu, + Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!"* + + *Ritson's Ancient Songs. + +BOOKS TO READ + + Stories of Robin Hood, by H. E. Marshall. Stories of the +Ballads, by Mary Macgregor. A Book of Ballads, by C. L. Thomson. +Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry (Everyman's Library). + + + + + + + +Chapter XIX "PIERS THE PLOUGHMAN" + +DURING the long years after the Norman Conquest when English was +a despised language, it became broken up into many dialects. But +as time went on and English became once more the language of the +educated as well as of the uneducated, there arose a cultured +English, which became the language which we speak to-day. + +In the time of Edward III England was England again, and the +rulers were English both in heart and in name. But England was +no longer a country apart, she was no longer a lonely sea-girt +island, but had taken her place among the great countries of +Europe. For the reign of Edward III was a brilliant one. The +knightly, chivalrous King set his country high among the +countries of Europe. Men made songs and sang of his victories, +of Creçy and of Calais, and France bowed the knee to England. +But the wars and triumphs of the King pressed hardly on the +people of England, and ere his reign was over misery, pestilence, +and famine filled the land. + +So many men had been killed in Edward's French and Scottish wars +that there were too few left to till the land. Then came a +terrible disease called the Black Death, slaying young and old, +rich and poor, until nearly half the people in the land were +dead. + +Then fewer still were left to do the work of the farms. Cattle +and sheep strayed where they would, for there were none to tend +them. Corn ripened and rotted in the fields, for there were none +to gather it. Food grew dear as workers grew scarce. Then the +field laborers who were left began to demand larger wages. Many +of these laborers were little more than slaves, and their masters +refused to pay them better. Then some left their homes and went +away to seek new masters who would be willing to pay more, while +others took to a life of wandering beggary. + +The owners of the land had thought that they should be ruined did +they pay the great wages demanded of them. Now they saw that +they should be ruined quite as much if they could find no one at +all to do the work. So laws were made forcing men to work for +the same wages they had received before the plague, and +forbidding them to leave the towns and villages in which they had +been used to live. If they disobeyed they were imprisoned and +punished. + +Yet these new laws were broken again and again, because bread had +now become so dear that it was impossible for men to live on as +little as they had done before. Still many masters tried to +enforce the law, and the land was soon filled not only with +hunger and misery, but with a fierce class hatred between master +and man. It was the beginning of a long and bitter struggle, and +as the cry of the poor grew louder and louder, the hatred and +spirit of revolt grew fiercer. + +But the great of the land seemed little touched by the sorrows of +the people. While they starved and died, the King, surrounded by +a glittering court, gave splendid feasts and tournaments. He +built fair palaces and chapels, founded a new round table, and +thought to make the glorious days of Arthur live again. + +And the great among the clergy cared as little for the poor as +did the great among the nobles. Many of them had become selfish +and worldly, some of them wicked, though of course there were +many good men left among them too. + +The Church was wealthy but the powerful priests kept that wealth +in their own hands, and many of the country clergy were almost as +miserably poor as the people whom they taught. And it was +through one of these poor priests, named William Langland, that +the sorrows of the people found a voice. + +We know very little about Langland. So little do we know that we +are not sure if his name was really William or not. But in his +poem called The Vision of Piers the Ploughman he says, "I have +lived in the land, quoth I, my name is long Will." It is chiefly +from his poem that we learn to know the man. When we have read +it, we seem to see him, tall and thin, with lean earnest face, +out of which shine great eyes, the eyes that see visions. His +head is shaven like a monk's; he wears a shabby long gown which +flaps in the breeze as he strides along. + +Langland was born in the country, perhaps in Oxfordshire, perhaps +in Shropshire, and he went to school at Great Malvern. He loved +school, for he says:-- + + "For if heaven be on earth, and ease to any soul, + It is in cloister or in school. Be many reasons I find + For in the cloister cometh no man, to chide nor to fight, + But all is obedience here and books, to read and to learn." + +Perhaps Langland's friends saw that he was clever, and hoped that +he might become one of the great ones in the Church. In those +days (the Middle Ages they were called) there was no sharp line +dividing the priests from the people. The one shaded off into +the other, as it were. There were many who wore long gowns and +shaved their heads, who yet were not priests. They were called +clerks, and for a sum of money, often very small, they helped to +sing masses for the souls of the dead, and performed other +offices in connection with the services of the Church. They were +bound by no vows and were allowed to marry, but of course could +never hope to be powerful. Such was Langland; he married and +always remained a poor "clerk." + +But if Langland did not rise high in the Church, he made himself +famous in another way, for he wrote Piers the Ploughman. This is +a great book. There is no other written during the fourteenth +century, in which we see so clearly the life of the people of the +time. + +There are several versions of Piers, and it is thought by some +that Langland himself wrote and re-wrote his poem, trying always +to make it better. But others think that some one else wrote the +later versions. + +The poem is divided into parts. The first part is The Vision of +Piers the Ploughman, the second is The Vision Concerning Do Well, +Do Bet, Do Best. + +In the beginning of Piers the Ploughman Langland tells us how + + "In a summer season when soft was the sun, + I wrapped myself in a cloak as if I were a shepherd + In the habit of a hermit unholy of works, + Abroad I wandered in this world wonders to hear. + But on a May morning on Malvern Hills + Me befell a wonder, a strange thing. Methought, + I was weary of wandering, and went me to rest + Under a broad bank by a burn side. + And as I lay, and leaned, and looked on the waters + I slumbered in a sleeping it sounded so merry." + +If you will look back you will see that this poetry is very much +more like Layamon's than like the poetry of Havelok the Dane. +Although people had, for many years, been writing rhyming verse, +Langland has, you see, gone back to the old alliterative poetry. +Perhaps it was that, living far away in the country, Langland had +written his poem before he had heard of the new kind of rhyming +verses, for news traveled slowly in those days. + +Two hundred years later, when The Vision of Piers the Ploughman +was first printed, the printer in his preface explained +alliterative verse very well. "Langland wrote altogether in +metre," he says, "but not after the manner of our rimers that +write nowadays (for his verses end not alike), but the nature of +his metre is to have three words, at the least, in every verse +which begin with some one letter. As for example the first two +verses of the book run upon 's,' as thus: + + 'In a somer season whan sette was the sunne + I shope me into shrobbes as I a shepe were.' + +The next runneth upon 'h,' as thus: + + 'In habite as an Hermite unholy of workes.' + +This thing being noted, the metre shall be very pleasant to read. +The English is according to the time it was written in, and the +sense somewhat dark, but not so hard but that it may be +understood of such as will not stick to break the shell of the +nut for the kernel's sake." + +This printer also says in his preface that the book was first +written in the time of King Edward III, "In whose time it pleased +God to open the eyes of many to see his truth, giving them +boldness of heart to open their mouths and cry out against the +works of darkness. . . . There is no manner of vice that reigneth +in any estate of man which this writer hath not godly, learnedly, +and wittily rebuked."* + +*R. Crowley is his preface to Piers Ploughman, printed in 1550. + +I hope that you will be among those who will not "stick to break +the shell of the nut for the kernel's sake," and that although +the "sense be somewhat dark" you will some day read the book for +yourselves. Meantime in the next chapter I will tell you a +little more about it. + + + + + + + +Chapter XX "PIERS THE PLOUGHMAN" -- continued + +WHEN Langland fell asleep upon the Malvern Hills he dreamed a +wondrous dream. He thought that he saw a "fair field full of +folk," where was gathered "all the wealth of the world and the +woe both." + + "Working and wondering as the world asketh, + Some put them to the plough and played them full seldom, + In eareing and sowing laboured full hard." + +But some are gluttons and others think only of fine clothes. +Some pray and others jest. There are rogues and knaves here, +friars and priests, barons and burgesses, bakers and butchers, +tailors and tanners, masons and miners, and folk of many other +crafts. Indeed, the field is the world. It lies between a tower +and a dungeon. The tower is God, the dungeon is the dwelling of +the Evil One. + +Then, as Langland looked on all this, he saw + + "A lady lovely in face, in linnen i-clothed, + Come adown from the cliff and spake me fair, + And said, 'Son, sleepest thou? Seest thou this people + All how busy they be about the maze?'" + +Langland was "afeard of her face though she was fair." But the +lovely lady, who is Holy Church, speaks gently to the dreamer. +She tells him that the tower is the dwelling of Truth, who is the +lord of all and who gives to each as he hath need. The dungeon +is the castle of Care. + + "Therein liveth a wight that Wrong is called, + The Father of Falseness." + +Love alone, said the lady, leads to Heaven, + + "Therefore I warn ye, the rich, have ruth on the poor. + Though ye be mighty in councils, be meek in your works, + For the same measure ye meet, amiss or otherwise, + Ye shall be weighed therewith when ye wend hence." + +"Truth is best in all things," she said at length. "I have told +thee now what Truth is, and may no longer linger." And so she +made ready to go. But the dreamer kneeled on his knees and +prayed her stay yet a while to teach him to know Falsehood also, +as well as Truth. + +And the lady answered:-- + + "'Look on thy left hand and see where he standeth, + Both False and Flattery and all his train.' + I looked on the left hand as the Lady me taught. + Then was I ware of a woman wondrously clothéd, + Purfled with fur, the richest on earth. + Crowned with a crown. The King hath no better. + All her five fingers were fretted with rings + Of the most precious stones that a prince ever wore; + In red scarlet she rode, beribboned with gold, + There is no queen alive that is more adorned." + +This was Lady Meed or Bribery. "To-morrow," said Holy Church, +"she shall wed with False." And so the lovely Lady departed. + +Left alone the dreamer watched the preparations for the wedding. +The Earldom of Envy, the Kingdom of Covetousness, the Isle of +Usury were granted as marriage gifts to the pair. But Theology +was angry. He would not permit the wedding to take place. "Ere +this wedding be wrought, woe betide thee," he cried. "Meed is +wealthy; I know it. God grant us to give her unto whom Truth +wills. But thou hast bound her fast to Falseness. Meed is +gently born. Lead her therefore to London, and there see if the +law allows this wedding." + +So, listening to the advice of Theology, all the company rode off +to London, Guile leading the way. + +But Soothness pricked on his palfrey and passed them all and came +to the King's court, where he told Conscience all about the +matter, and Conscience told the King. + +Then quoth the King, "If I might catch False and Flattery or any +of their masters, I would avenge me on the wretches that work so +ill, and would hang them by the neck and all that them abet." + +So he told the Constable to seize False and to cut off Guile's +head, "and let not Liar escape." But Dread was at the door and +heard the doom. He warned the others, so that they all fled away +save Meed the maiden. + + "Save Meed the maiden no man durst abide, + And truly to tell she trembled for fear, + And she wept and wrung her hands when she was taken." + +But the King called a Clerk and told him to comfort Meed. So +Justice soon hurried to her bower to comfort her kindly, and many +others followed him. Meed thanked them all and "gave them cups +of clean gold and pieces of silver, rings with rubies and riches +enough." And pretending to be sorry for all that she had done +amiss, Meed confessed her sins and was forgiven. + +The King then, believing that she was really sorry, wished to +marry her to Conscience. But Conscience would not have her, for +he knew that she was wicked. He tells of all the evil things she +does, by which Langland means to show what wicked things men will +do if tempted by bribery and the hope of gain. + +"Then mourned Meed and plained her to the King." If men did +great and noble deeds, she said, they deserved praise and thanks +and rewards. + "'Nay,' quoth Conscience to the King, and kneeled to the +ground, + 'There be two manner of Meeds, my Lord, by thy life, + That one the good God giveth by His grace, giveth in His +bliss + To them that will work while that they are here.'" + +What a laborer received, he said, was not Meed but just Wages. +Bribery, on the other hand, was ever wicked, and he would have +none of her. + +In spite of all the talk, however, no one could settle the +question. So at length Conscience set forth to bring Reason to +decide. + +When Reason heard that he was wanted, he saddled his horse +Suffer-till-I-see-my-time and came to court with Wit and Wisdom +in his train. + +The King received him kindly, and they talked together. But +while they talked Peace came complaining that Wrong had stolen +his goods and ill-treated him in many ways. + +Wrong well knew that the complaint was just, but with the help of +Meed he won Wit and Wisdom to his side. But Reason stood out +against him. + + "'Counsel me not,' quoth Reason, 'ruth to have + Till lords and ladies all love truth + And their sumptuous garments be put into chests, + Till spoiled children be chastened with rods, + Till clerks and knights be courteous with their tongues, + Till priests themselves practise their preaching + And their deeds be such as may draw us to goodness.'" + +The King acknowledged that Reason was right, and begged him to +stay with him always and help him to rule. "I am ready," quoth +Reason, "to rest with thee ever so that Conscience be our +counsellor." + +To that the King agreed, and he and his courtiers all went to +church. Here suddenly the dream ends. Langland cries:-- + + "Then waked I of my sleep. I was woe withal + That I had not slept more soundly and seen much more." + +The dreamer arose and continued his wandering. But he had only +gone a few steps when once again he sank upon the grass and fell +asleep and dreamed. Again he saw the field full of folk , and to +them now Conscience was preaching, and at his words many began to +repent them of their evil deeds. Pride, Envy, Sloth and others +confessed their sins and received forgiveness. + +Then all these penitent folk set forth in search of Saint Truth, +some riding, some walking. "But there were few there so wise as +to know the way thither, and they went all amiss." No man could +tell them where Saint Truth lived. And now appears at last Piers +Ploughman, who gives his name to the whole poem. + + "Quoth a ploughman and put forth his head, + 'I know him as well as a clerk know his books. + Clear Conscience and Wit showed me his place + And did engage me since to serve him ever. + Both in sowing and setting, which I labour, + I have been his man this fifteen winters.'" + +Piers described to the pilgrims all the long way that they must +go in order to find Truth. He told them that they must go +through Meekness; that they must cross the ford Honor-your-father +and turn aside from the brook Bear-no-false-witness, and so on +and on until they come at last to Saint Truth. + +"It were a hard road unless we had a guide that might go with us +afoot until we got there," said the pilgrims. So Piers offered, +if they would wait until he had plowed his field, to go with them +and show them the way. + +"That would be a long time to wait," said a lady. "What could we +women do meantime?" + +And Piers answered:-- + + "Some should sew sacks to hold wheat. + And you who have wool weave it fast, + Spin it speedily, spare not your fingers + Unless it be a holy day or holy eve. + Look out your linen and work on it quickly, + The needy and the naked take care how they live, + And cast on them clothes for the cold, for so Truth desires." + +Then many of the pilgrims began to help Piers with his work. +Each man did what he could, "and some to please Piers picked up +the weeds." + + "But some of them sat and sang at ale + And helped him to plough with 'Hy-trolly-lolly.'" + +To these idle ones Piers went in anger. "If ye do not run +quickly to your work," he cried, "you will receive no wage; and +if ye die of hunger, who will care." + +Then these idle ones began to pretend that they were blind or +lame and could not work. They made great moan, but Piers took no +heed and called for Hunger. Then Hunger seized the idle ones and +beat and buffeted them until they were glad to work. + +At last Truth heard of Piers and of all the good that he was +doing among the pilgrims, and sent him a pardon for all his sins. +In those days people who had done wrong used to pay money to a +priest and think that they were forgiven by God. Against that +belief Langland preaches, and his pardon is something different. +It is only + + "Do well and have well, and God shall have thy soul. + And do evil and have evil, hope none other + That after thy death day thou shalt turn to the Evil One." + +And over this pardon a priest and Piers began so loudly to +dispute that the dreamer awoke, + + "And saw the sun that time towards the south, + And I meatless and moneyless upon the Malvern Hills." + +That is a little of the story of the first part of Piers +Ploughman. It is an allegory, and in writing it Langland wished +to hold up to scorn all the wickedness that he saw around him, +and sharply to point out many causes of misery. There is +laughter in his poem, but it is the terrible and harsh laughter +of contempt. His most bitter words, perhaps, are for the idle +rich, but the idle poor do not escape. Those who beg without +shame, who cheat and steal, who are greedy and drunken have a +share of his wrath. Yet Langland is not all harshness. His +great word is Duty, but he speaks of Love too. "Learn to love, +quoth King, and leave off all other." The poem is rambling and +disconnected. Characters come on the scene and vanish again +without cause. Stories begin and do not end. It is all wild and +improbable like a dream, yet it is full of interest. + +But perhaps the chief interest and value of Piers Ploughman is +that it is history. It tells us much of what the people thought +and of how they lived in those days. It shows us the first +mutterings of the storm that was to rend the world. This was the +storm of the Reformation which was to divide the world into +Protestant and Catholic. But Langland himself was not a +Protestant. Although he speaks bitter words against the evil +deeds of priest and monk, he does not attack the Church. To him +she is still Holy Church, a radiant and lovely lady. + +BOOKS TO READ + + The Vision of Piers Ploughman, by W. Langland + + + + + + + + +Chapter XXI HOW THE BIBLE CAME TO THE PEOPLE + +IN all the land there is perhaps no book so common as the Bible. +In homes where there are no other books we find at least a Bible, +and the Bible stories are almost the first that we learn to know. + +But in the fourteenth century there were no English Bibles. The +priests and clergy and a few great people perhaps had Latin +Bibles. And although Caedmon's songs had long been forgotten, at +different times some parts of the Bible had been translated into +English, so that the common people sometimes heard a Bible story. +But an English Bible as a whole did not exist; and if to-day it +is the commonest and cheapest book in all the land, it is to John +Wyclif in the first place that we owe it. + +John Wyclif was born, it is thought, about 1324 in a little +Yorkshire village. Not much is known of his early days except +that he went to school and to Oxford University. In time he +became one of the most learned men of his day, and was made Head, +or Master, of Balliol College. + +This is the first time in this book that we have heard of a +university. The monasteries had, until now, been the centers of +learning. But now the two great universities of Oxford and +Cambridge were taking their place. Men no longer went to the +monasteries to learn, but to the universities; and this was one +reason, perhaps, why the land had become filled with so many idle +monks. Their profession of teaching had been taken from them, +and they had found nothing else with which to fill their time. + +But at first the universities were very like monasteries. The +clerks, as the students were called, often took some kind of +vow,--they wore a gown and shaved their heads in some fashion or +other. The colleges, too, were built very much after the style +of monasteries, as may be seen in some of the old college +buildings of Oxford or Cambridge to this day. The life in every +way was like the life in a monastery. It was only by slow +degrees that the life and the teaching grew away from the old +model. + +While Wyclif grew to be a man, England had fallen on troublous +times. Edward III, worn out by his French wars, had become old +and feeble, and the power was in the hands of his son, John of +Gaunt. The French wars and the Black Death had slain many of the +people, and those who remained were miserably poor. Yet poor +though they were, much money was gathered from them every year +and sent to the Pope, who at that time still ruled the Church in +England as elsewhere. + +But now the people of England became very unwilling to pay so +much money to the Pope, especially as at this time he was a +Frenchman ruling, not from Rome, but from Avignon. It was folly, +Englishmen said, to pay money into the hands of a Frenchman, the +enemy of their country, who would use it against their country. +And while many people were feeling like this, the Pope claimed +still more. He now claimed a tribute which King John had +promised long before, but which had not for more than thirty +years been paid. + +John of Gaunt made up his mind to resist this claim, and John +Wyclif, who had already begun to preach against the power of the +Pope, helped him. They were strange companions, and while John +of Gaunt fought only for more power, Wyclif fought for freedom +both in religion and in life. God alone was lord of all the +world, he said, and to God alone each man must answer for his +soul, and to no man beside. The money belonging to the Church of +England belonged to God and to the people of England, and ought +to be used for the good of the people, and not be sent abroad to +the Pope. In those days it needed a bold man to use such words, +and Wyclif was soon called upon to answer for his boldness before +the Archbishop of Canterbury and all his bishops. + +The council was held in St. Paul's Cathedral in London. Wyclif +was fearless, and he obeyed the Archbishop's command. But as he +walked up the long aisle to the chapel where the bishops were +gathered, John of Gaunt marched by his side, and Lord Percy, Earl +Marshal of England, cleared a way for him through the throng of +people that filled the church. The press was great, and Earl +Percy drove a way through the crowd with so much haughtiness and +violence that the Bishop of London cried out at him in wrath. + +"Had I known what masteries you would use in my church," he said, +"I had kept you from coming there." + +"At which words the Duke, disdaining not a little, answered the +Bishop and said that he would keep such mastery there though he +said 'Nay.'"* Thus, after much struggling, Wyclif and his +companions arrived at the chapel. There Wyclif stood humbly +enough before his Bishop. But Earl Percy bade him be seated, for +as he had much to answer he had need of a soft seat. + +*Foxe, Acts and Monuments. + +Thereat the Bishop of London was angry again, and cried out +saying that it was not the custom for those who had come to +answer for their misdeeds to sit. + +"Upon these words a fire began to heat and kindle between them; +insomuch that they began to rate and revile one the other, that +the whole multitude therewith disquieted began to be set on a +hurry."* + +*Foxe, Acts and Monuments. + +The Duke, too, joined in, threatening at last to drag the Bishop +out of the church by the hair of his head. But the Londoners, +when they heard that, were very wrathful, for they hated the +Duke. They cried out they would not suffer their Bishop to be +ill-used, and the uproar became so great that the council broke +up without there being any trial at all. + +But soon after this no fewer than five Bulls, or letters from the +Pope, were sent against Wyclif. In one the University of Oxford +was ordered to imprison him; in others Wyclif was ordered to +appear before the Pope; in still another the English bishops were +ordered to arrest him and try him themselves. But little was +done, for the English would not imprison an English subject at +the bidding of a French Pope, lest they should seem to give him +royal power in England. + +At length, however, Wyclif was once more brought before a court +of bishops in London. By this time Edward III had died, and +Richard, the young son of the Black Prince, had come to the +throne. His mother, the Princess of Wales, was Wyclif's friend, +and she now sent a message to the bishops bidding them let him +alone. This time, too, the people of London were on his side; +they had learned to understand that he was their friend. So they +burst into the council-room eager to defend the man whose only +crime was that of trying to protect England from being robbed. +And thus the second trial came to an end as the first had done. + +Wyclif now began to preach more boldly than before. He preached +many things that were very different from the teaching of the +Church of Rome, and as he was one of the most learned men of his +time, people crowded to Oxford to hear him. John of Gaunt, now +no longer his friend, ordered him to be silent. But Wyclif still +spoke. The University was ordered to crush the heretic. But the +University stood by him until the King added his orders to those +of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Then Wyclif was expelled from +the University, but still not silenced, for he went into the +country and there wrote and taught. + +Soon his followers grew in numbers. They were called Poor +Priests, and clad in long brown robes they wandered on foot +through the towns and villages teaching and preaching. Wyclif +trusted that they would do all the good that the old friars had +done, and that they would be kept from falling into the evil ways +of the later friars. But Churchmen were angry, and called his +followers Lollards or idle babblers. + +Wyclif, however, cared no longer for the great, he trusted no +more in them. It was to the people now that he appealed. He +wrote many books, and at first he wrote in Latin. But by degrees +he saw that if he wanted to reach the hearts of the people, he +must preach and teach in English. And so he began to write +English books. But above all the things that he wrote we +remember him chiefly for his translation of the Bible. He +himself translated the New Testament, and others helped him with +the Old Testament, and so for the first time the people of +England had the whole Bible in their own tongue. They had it, +too, in fine scholarly language, and this was a great service to +our literature. For naturally the Bible was a book which every +one wished to know, and the people of England, through it, became +accustomed to use fine stately language. + +To his life's end Wyclif went on teaching and writing, although +many attempts were made to silence him. At last in 1384 the Pope +summoned him to Rome. Wyclif did not obey, for he answered +another call. One day, as he heard mass in his own church, he +fell forward speechless. He never spoke again, but died three +days later. + +After Wyclif's death his followers were gradually crushed out, +and the Lollards disappear from our history. But his teaching +never quite died, for by giving the English people the Bible +Wyclif left a lasting mark on England; and although the +Reformation did not come until two hundred years later, he may be +looked upon as its forerunner. + +It is hard to explain all that William Langland and John Wyclif +stand for in English literature and in English history. It was +the evil that they saw around them that made them write and speak +as they did, and it was their speaking and writing, perhaps, that +gave the people courage to rise against oppression. Thus their +teaching and writing mark the beginning of new life to the great +mass of the people of England. For in June, 1381, while John +Wyclif still lived and wrote, Wat Tyler led his men to Blackheath +in a rebellion which proved to be the beginning of freedom for +the workers of England. And although at first sight there seems +to be no connection between the two, it was the same spirit +working in John Wyclif and Wat Tyler that made the one speak and +the other fight as he did. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXII CHAUCER--BREAD AND MILK FOR CHILDREN + +TO-DAY, as we walk about the streets and watch the people hurry +to and fro, we cannot tell from the dress they wear to what class +they belong. We cannot tell among the men who pass us, all clad +alike in dull, sad-colored clothes, who is a knight and who is a +merchant, who is a shoemaker and who is a baker. If we see them +in their shops we can still tell, perhaps, for we know that a +butcher always wears a blue apron, and a baker a white hat. +These are but the remains of a time long ago when every one +dressed according to his calling, whether at work or not. It was +easy then to tell by the cut and texture of his clothes to what +rank in life a man belonged, for each dressed accordingly, and +only the great might wear silk and velvet and golden ornaments. + +And in the time of which we have been reading, in the England +where Edward III and Richard II ruled, where Langland sadly +dreamed and Wyclif boldly wrote and preached, there lived a man +who has left for us a clear and truthful picture of those times. +He has left a picture so vivid that as we read his words the +people of England of the fourteenth century still seem to us to +live. This man was Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer was a poet, and is +generally looked upon as the first great English poet. Like +Caedmon he is called the "Father of English Poetry," and each has +a right to the name. For if Caedmon was the first great poet of +the English people in their new home of England, the language he +used was Anglo-Saxon. The language which Chaucer used was +English, though still not quite the English which we use to-day. + +But although Chaucer was a great poet, we know very little about +his life. What we do know has nothing to do with his poems or of +how he wrote them. For in those days, and for long after, a +writer was not expected to live by his writing; but in return for +giving to the world beautiful thoughts, beautiful songs, the King +or some great noble would reward him by giving him a post at +court. About this public life of Chaucer we have a few facts. +But it is difficult at times to fit the man of camp, and court, +and counting-house to the poet and story-teller who possessed a +wealth of words and a knowledge of how to use them greater than +any Englishman who had lived before him. And it is rather +through his works than through the scanty facts of his life that +we learn to know the real man, full of shrewd knowledge of the +world, of humor, kindliness, and cheerful courage. + +Chaucer was a man of the middle class. His father, John Chaucer, +was a London wine merchant. The family very likely came at first +from France, and the name may mean shoemaker, from an old Norman +word chaucier or chaussier, a shoemaker. And although the French +word for shoemaker is different now, there is still a slang word +chausseur, meaning a cobbler. + +We know nothing at all of Chaucer as a boy, nothing of where he +went to school, nor do we know if he ever went to college. The +first thing we hear of him is that he was a page in the house of +the Princess Elizabeth, the wife of Prince Lionel, who was the +third son of Edward III. So, although Chaucer belonged to the +middle class, he must have had some powerful friend able to get +him a place in a great household. + +In those days a boy became a page in a great household very much +as he might now become an office-boy in a large merchant's +office. A page had many duties. He had to wait at table, hold +candles, go messages, and do many other little household +services. Such a post seems strange to us now, yet it was +perhaps quite as interesting as sitting all day long on an office +stool. In time of war it was certainly more exciting, for a page +had often to follow his master to the battlefield. And as a war +with France was begun in 1359, Geoffrey went across the Channel +with his prince. + +Of what befell Chaucer in France we know nothing, except that he +was taken prisoner, and that the King, Edward III, himself gave +16 pounds towards his ransom. That sounds a small sum, but it meant +as much as 240 pounds would now. So it would seem that, boy though +he was, Geoffrey Chaucer had already become important. Perhaps he +was already known as a poet and a good story-teller whom the King +was loath to lose. But again for seven years after this we hear +nothing more about him. And when next we do hear of him, he is +valet de chambre in the household of Edward III. Then a few +years later he married one of Queen Philippa's maids-in-waiting. + +Of Chaucer's life with his wife and family again we know nothing +except that he had at least one son, named Lewis. We know this +because he wrote a book, called A Treatise on the Astrolabe, for +this little son. An astrolabe was an instrument used in +astronomy to find out the distance of stars from the earth, the +position of the sun and moon, the length of days, and many other +things about the heavens and their bodies. + +Chaucer calls his book A Treatise on the Astrolabe, Bread and +Milk for Children. "Little Lewis, my son," he says in the +beginning, "I have perceived well by certain evidences thine +ability to learn science touching numbers and proportions; and as +well consider I thy busy prayer in special to learn the treatise +of the astrolabe." But although there were many books written on +the subject, some were unknown in England, and some were not to +be trusted. "And some of them be too hard to thy tender age of +ten years. This treatise then will I show thee under few light +rules and naked words in English; for Latin canst thou yet but +small, my little son. . . . + +"Now will I pray meekly every discreet person that readeth or +heareth this little treatise, to have my rude inditing for +excused, and my superfluity of words, for two causes. The first +cause is for that curious inditing and hard sentence is full +heavy at one and the same time for a child to learn. And the +second cause is this, that soothly me seemeth better to write +unto a child twice a good sentence than he forget it once. And +Lewis, if so be I shew you in my easy English as true conclusions +as be shewn in Latin, grant me the more thank, and pray God save +the King, who is lord of this English." + +So we see from this that more than five hundred years ago a +kindly father saw the need of making simple books on difficult +subjects for children. You may never want to read this book +itself, indeed few people read it now, but I think that we should +all be sorry to lose the preface, although it has in it some long +words which perhaps a boy of ten in our day would still find +"full heavy." + +It is interesting, too, to notice in this preface that here +Chaucer calls his King "Lord of this English." We now often +speak of the "King's English," so once again we see how an +everyday phrase links us with the past. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXIII CHAUCER--"THE CANTERBURY TALES" + +CHAUCER rose in the King's service. He became an esquire, and +was sent on business for the King to France and to Italy. To +Italy he went at least twice, and it is well to remember this, as +it had an effect on his most famous poems. He must have done his +business well, for we find him receiving now a pension for life +worth about 200 pounds in our money, now a grant of a daily pitcher +of wine besides a salary of "71/2d. a day and two robes yearly." + +Chaucer's wife, too, had a pension, so the poet was well off. He +had powerful friends also, among them John of Gaunt. And when +the Duke's wife died Chaucer wrote a lament which is called the +Dethe of Blaunche the Duchess, or sometimes the Book of the +Duchess. This is one of the earliest known poems of Chaucer, and +although it is not so good as some which are later, there are +many beautiful lines in it. + +The poet led a busy life. He was a good business man, and soon +we find him in the civil service, as we would call it now. He +was made Comptroller of Customs, and in this post he had to work +hard, for one of the conditions was that he must write out the +accounts with his own hand, and always be in the office himself. +If we may take some lines he wrote to be about himself, he was so +busy all day long that he had not time to hear what was happening +abroad, or even what was happening among his friends and +neighbors. + + "Not only from far countree, + That there no tidings cometh to thee; + Not of thy very neighbours, + That dwellen almost at thy doors, + Thou hearest neither that nor this." + +Yet after his hard office work was done he loved nothing better +than to go back to his books, for he goes on to say: + + "For when thy labour done all is + And hast y-made thy reckonings, + Instead of rest and newë things + Thou goest home to thy house anon, + And all so dumb as any stone, + Thou sittest at another book, + Till fully dazéd is thy look, + And livest thus as a hermite + Although thine abstinence is light." + +But if Chaucer loved books he loved people too, and we may +believe that he readily made friends, for there was a kingly +humor about him that must have drawn people to him. And that he +knew men and their ways we learn from his poetry, for it is full +of knowledge of men and women. + +For many years Chaucer was well off and comfortable. But he did +not always remain so. There came a time when his friend and +patron, John of Gaunt, fell from power, and Chaucer lost his +appointments. Soon after that his wife died, and with her life +her pension ceased. So for a year or two the poet knew something +of poverty--poverty at least compared to what he had been used +to. But if he lost his money he did not lose his sunny temper, +and in all his writings we find little that is bitter. + +After a time John of Gaunt returned to power, and again Chaucer +had a post given to him, and so until he died he suffered ups and +downs. Born when Edward III was in his highest glory, Chaucer +lived to see him hated by his people. He lived through the reign +of Edward's grandson, Richard II, and knew him from the time when +as a gallant yellow-haired boy he had faced Wat Tyler and his +rioters, till as a worn and broken prisoner he yielded the crown +to Henry of Lancaster, the son of John of Gaunt. But before the +broken King died in his darksome prison Chaucer lay taking his +last rest in St. Benet's Chapel in Westminster. He was the first +great poet to be laid there, but since then there have gathered +round him so many bearing the greatest names in English +literature that we call it now the "Poet's Corner." + +But although Chaucer lived in stirring times, although he was a +soldier and a courtier, he does not, in the book by which we know +him best, write of battles and of pomp, of kings and of princes. +In this book we find plain, everyday people, people of the great +middle class of merchants and tradesmen and others of like +calling, to which Chaucer himself belonged. It was a class which +year by year had been growing more and more strong in England, +and which year by year had been making its strength more and more +felt. But it was a class which no one had thought of writing +about in plain fashion. And it is in the Canterbury Tales that +we have, for the first time in the English language, pictures of +real men, and what is more wonderful, of real women. They are +not giants or dwarfs, they are not fairy princes or knights in +shining armor. They do no wondrous deeds of strength or skill. +They are not queens of marvelous beauty or enchanted princesses. +They are simply plain, middle-class English people, and yet they +are very interesting. + +In Chaucer's time, books, although still copied by hand, had +become more plentiful than ever before. And as more and more +people learned to read, the singing time began to draw to a +close. Stories were now not all written in rhyme, and poetry was +not all written to be sung. Yet the listening time was not quite +over, for these were still the days of talk and story-telling. +Life went at leisure pace. There was no hurry, there was no +machinery. All sewing was done by hand, so when the ladies of a +great household gathered to their handiwork, it was no unusual +thing for one among them to lighten the long hours with tales +read or told. Houses were badly lighted, and there was little to +do indoors in the long winter evenings, so the men gathered +together and listened while one among them told of love and +battle. Indeed, through all the life of the Middle Ages there +was room for story-telling. + +So now, although Chaucer meant his tales to be read, he made +believe that they were told by a company of people on a journey +from London to Canterbury. He thus made a framework for them of +the life he knew, and gave a reason for them all being told in +one book. + +But a reason had to be given for the journey, for in those days +people did not travel about from place to place for the mere +pleasure of seeing another town, as we do now. Few people +thought of going for a change of air, nobody perhaps ever thought +about going to the seaside for the summer. In short, people +always had a special object in taking a journey. + +One reason for this was that traveling was slow and often +dangerous. The roads were bad, and people nearly all traveled on +horseback and in company, for robbers lurked by the way ready to +attack and kill, for the sake of their money, any who rode alone +and unprotected. So when a man had to travel he tried to arrange +to go in company with others. + +In olden days the most usual reason for a journey, next to +business, was a pilgrimage. Sometimes this was simply an act of +religion or devotion. Clad in a simple gown, and perhaps with +bare feet, the pilgrim set out. Carrying a staff in his hand, +and begging for food and shelter by the road, he took his way to +the shrine of some saint. There he knelt and prayed and felt +himself blessed in the deed. Sometimes it was an act of penance +for some great sin done; sometimes of thanksgiving for some great +good received, some great danger passed. + +But as time went on these pilgrimages lost their old meaning. +People no longer trudged along barefoot, wearing a pilgrim's +garb. They began to look upon a pilgrimage more as a summer +outing, and dressed in their best they rode comfortably on +horseback. And it is a company of pilgrims such as this that +Chaucer paints for us. He describes himself as being of the +company, and it is quite likely that Chaucer really did at one +time go upon this pilgrimage from London to Canterbury, for it +was a very favorite one. Not only was the shrine of St. Thomas +at Canterbury very beautiful in those days, but it was also +within easy distance of London. Neither costing much nor lasting +long, it was a journey which well-to-do merchantmen and others +like them could well afford. + +Chaucer tells us that it was when the first sunshiny days of +April came that people began to think of such pilgrimages:-- + + "When that April with his showers sweet, + The drought of March hath pierced to the root," + +when the soft wind "with his sweet breath inspired hath in every +holt and heath the tender crops"; when the little birds make new +songs, then "longen folk to go on pilgrimages, and palmers for to +seeken strange lands, and especially from every shire's end of +England, to Canterbury they wend." + +So one day in April a company of pilgrims gathered at the Tabard +Inn on the south side of the Thames, not far from London Bridge. +A tabard, or coat without sleeves, was the sign of the inn; hence +its name. In those days such a coat would often be worn by +workmen for ease in working, but it has come down to us only as +the gayly colored coat worn by heralds. + +At the Tabard Inn twenty-nine "of sundry folk," besides Chaucer +himself, were gathered. They were all strangers to each other, +but they were all bound on the same errand. Every one was +willing to be friendly with his neighbor, and Chaucer in his +cheery way had soon made friends with them all. + + "And shortly when the sun was to rest, + So had I spoke with them every one." + +And having made their acquaintance, Chaucer begins to describe +them all so that we may know them too. He describes them so well +that he makes them all living to us. Some we grow to love; some +we smile upon and have a kindly feeling for, for although they +are not fine folk, they are so very human we cannot help but like +them; and some we do not like at all, for they are rude and +rough, as the poet meant them to be. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXIV CHAUCER--AT THE TABARD INN + +CHAUCER begins his description of the people who were gathered at +the Tabard Inn with the knight, who was the highest in rank among +them. + + "A knight there was, and that a worthy man, + . . . . . . + And though he was worthy he was wise, + And of his port as meek as any maid. + He never yet no villainy ne'er said + In all his life unto no manner wight; + He was a very perfect, gentle knight." + +Yet he was no knight of romance or fairy tale, but a good honest +English gentleman who had fought for his King. His coat was of +fustian and was stained with rust from his armor, for he had just +come back from fighting, and was still clad in his war-worn +clothes. "His horse was good, but he ne was gay." + +With the knight was his son, a young squire of twenty years. He +was gay and handsome, with curling hair and comely face. His +clothes were in the latest fashion, gayly embroidered. He sat +his horse well and guided it with ease. He was merry and +careless and clever too, for he could joust and dance, sing and +play, read and write, and indeed do everything as a young squire +should. Yet with it all "courteous he was, lowly and +serviceable." + +With these two came their servant, a yeoman, clad in hood of +green, and carrying besides many other weapons a "mighty bow." + +As was natural in a gathering such as this, monks and friars and +their like figured largely. There was a monk, a worldly man, +fond of dress, fond of hunting, fond of a good dinner; and a +friar even more worldly and pleasure-loving. There was a +pardoner, a man who sold pardons to those who had done wrong, and +a sumpnour or summoner, who was so ugly and vile that children +were afraid of him. A summoner was a person who went to summon +or call people to appear before the Church courts when they had +done wrong. He was a much-hated person, and both he and the +pardoner were great rogues and cheats and had no love for each +other. There was also a poor parson. + +All these, except the poor parson, Chaucer holds up to scorn +because he had met many such in real life who, under the pretense +of religion, lived bad lives. But that it was not the Church +that he scorned or any who were truly good he shows by his +picture of the poor parson. He was poor in worldly goods:-- + + "But rich he was in holy thought and work, + He was also a learned man, a clerk + That Christ's gospel truly would preach, + His parishioners devoutly would he teach; + Benign he was and wonder diligent, + And in adversity full patient. + . . . . . + Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder, + But he left naught for rain nor thunder + In sickness nor in mischief to visit + The farthest of his parish, great or lite* + Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff. + The noble ensample to his sheep he gave, + That first he wrought, and afterward he taught." + + *Little. + + There was no better parson anywhere. He taught his people +to walk in Christ's way. But first he followed it himself. + +Chaucer gives this good man a brother who is a plowman. + + "A true worker and a good was he, + Living in peace and perfect charity." + +He could dig, and he could thresh, and everything to which he put +his hand he did with a will. + +Besides all the other religious folk there were a prioress and a +nun. In those days the convents were the only schools for fine +ladies, and the prioress perhaps spent her days teaching them. +Chaucer makes her very prim and precise. + + "At meat well taught was she withal, + She let no morsel from her lips fall, + Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep. + Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep + That no drop might fall upon her breast.* + + In courtesy was set full mickle her lest.** + Her over lip wiped she so clean, + That in her cup there was no morsel seen + Of grease, when she drunken had her draught." + + *It should be remembered that in those days forks were +unknown, and people used their fingers. + **Pleasure. + +And she was so tender hearted! She would cry if she saw a mouse +caught in a trap, and she fed her little dog on the best of +everything. In her dress she was very dainty and particular. +And yet with all her fine ways we feel that she was no true lady, +and that ever so gently Chaucer is making fun of her. + +Besides the prioress and the nun there was only one other woman +in the company. This was the vulgar, bouncing Wife of Bath. She +dressed in rich and gaudy clothes, she liked to go about to see +and be seen and have a good time. She had been married five +times, and though she was getting old and rather deaf, she was +quite ready to marry again, if the husband she had should die +before her. + +Chaucer describes nearly every one in the company, and last of +all he pictures for us the host of the Tabard Inn. + + "A seemly man our host was withal + For to have been a marshal in a hall. + A large man he was with eyen stepe,* + A fairer burgesse was there none in Chepe,** + Bold was his speech, and wise and well y-taught, + And of manhood him lacked right naught, + Eke thereto he was right a merry man." + + *Bright. + **Cheapside, a street in London. + +The host's name was Harry Baily, a big man and jolly fellow who +dearly loved a joke. After supper was over he spoke to all the +company gathered there. He told them how glad he was to see +them, and that he had not had so merry a company that year. Then +he told them that he had thought of something to amuse them on +the long way to Canterbury. It was this:-- + + "That each of you to shorten of your way + In this voyage shall tell tales tway*-- + To Canterbury-ward I mean it so, + And homeward ye shall tellen other two;-- + Of adventures which whilom have befallen. + And which of you the beareth you best of all, + That is to say, that telleth in this case + Tales of best sentence, and most solace, + Shall have a supper at all our cost, + Here in this place, sitting at this post, + When that we come again fro Canterbury. + And for to make you the more merry + I will myself gladly with you ride, + Right at mine own cost, and be your guide." + + *Twain. + +To this every one willingly agreed, and next morning they waked +very early and set off. And having ridden a little way they cast +lots as to who should tell the first tale. The lot fell upon the +knight, who accordingly began. + +All that I have told you so far forms the first part of the book +and is called the prologue, which means really "before word" or +explanation. It is perhaps the most interesting part of the +book, for it is entirely Chaucer's own and it is truly English. + +It is said that Chaucer borrowed the form of his famous tales +from a book called The Decameron, written by an Italian poet +named Boccaccio. Decameron comes from two Greek words deka, ten, +and hemera, a day, the book being so called because the stories +in it were supposed to be told in ten days. During a time of +plague in Florence seven ladies and three gentlemen fled and took +refuge in a house surrounded by a garden far from the town. +There they remained for ten days, and to amuse themselves each +told a tale every day, so that there are a hundred tales in all +in The Decameron. + +It is very likely that in one of his journeys to Italy Chaucer +saw this book. Perhaps he even met Boccaccio, and it is more +than likely that he met Petrarch, another great Italian poet who +also retold one of the tales of The Decameron. Several of the +tales which Chaucer makes his people tell are founded on these +tales. Indeed, nearly all his poems are founded on old French, +Italian, or Latin tales. But although Chaucer takes his material +from others, he tells the stories in his own way, and so makes +them his own; and he never wrote anything more truly English in +spirit than the prologue to the Canterbury Tales. + +Some of these stories you will like to read, but others are too +coarse and rude to give you any pleasure. Even the roughness of +these tales, however, helps us to picture the England of those +far-off days. We see from them how hard and rough the life must +have been when people found humor and fun in jokes in which we +can feel only disgust. + +But even in Chaucer's day there were those who found such stories +coarse. "Precious fold," Chaucer calls them. He himself perhaps +did not care for them, indeed he explains in the tales why he +tells them. Here is a company of common, everyday people, he +said, and if I am to make you see these people, if they are to be +living and real to you, I must make them act and speak as such +common people would act and speak. They are churls, and they +must speak like churls and not like fine folk, and if you don't +like the tale, turn over the leaf and choose another. + + "What should I more say but this miller + He would his words for no man forbear, + But told his churls tale in his manner. + Me thinketh that I shall rehearse it here; + And therefore every gently wight I pray, + For Goddes love deem not that I say + Of evil intent, but for I might rehearse + Their tales all, be they better or worse, + Or else falsen some of my matter: + And therefore, who so listeth it not to hear, + Turn over the leaf and choose another tale; + For he shall find enow, both great and small, + In storial thing that toucheth gentlesse, + And eke morality and holiness,-- + Blame not me if that ye choose amiss. + This miller is a churl ye know well, + So was the Reeve, and many more, + And wickedness they tolden both two. + Advise you, put me out of blame; + And eke men shall not make earnest of game." + +If Chaucer had written all the tales that he meant to write, +there would have been one hundred and twenty-four in all. But +the poet died long before his work was done, and as it is there +are only twenty-four. Two of these are not finished; one, +indeed, is only begun. Thus, you see, many of the pilgrims tell +no story at all, and we do not know who got the prize, nor do we +hear anything of the grand supper at the end of the journey. + +Chaucer is the first of our poets who had a perfect sense of +sound. He delights us not only with his stories, but with the +beauty of the words he uses. We lose a great deal of that beauty +when his poetry is put into modern English, as are all the +quotations which I have given you. It is only when we can read +the poems in the quaint English of Chaucer's time that we can see +truly how fine it is. So, although you may begin to love Chaucer +now, you must look forward to a time when you will be able to +read his stories as he wrote them. Then you will love them much +more. + +Chaucer wrote many other books beside the Canterbury Tales, +although not so many as was at one time thought. But the +Canterbury Tales are the most famous, and I will not trouble you +with the names even of the others. But when the grown-up time +comes, I hope that you will want to read some of his other books +as well as the Canterbury Tales. + +And now, just to end this long chapter, I will give you a little +poem by Chaucer, written as he wrote it, with modern English +words underneath so that you may see the difference. + + +This poem was written when Chaucer was very poor. It was sent to +King Henry IV, who had just taken the throne from Richard II. +Henry's answer was a pension of twenty marks, so that once more +Chaucer lived in comfort. He died, however, a year later. + +THE COMPLAYNT OF CHAUCER TO HYS PURSE + + To yow my purse, and to noon other wight + To you my purse, and to no other wight + Complayne I, for ye by my lady dere; + Complain I, for ye be my lady dear; + I am so sorry now that ye been lyght, + I am so sorry now that ye be light, + For certes, but yf ye make me hevy chere + For certainly, but if ye make me heavy cheer + Me were as leef be layde upon my bere; + I would as soon be laid upon my bier; + For which unto your mercy thus I crye, + For which unto your mercy thus I cry, + Beeth hevy ageyne, or elles mote I dye. + Be heavy again, or else must I die. + + Now voucheth-sauf this day or hyt by nyght + Now vouchsafe this day before it be night + That I of you the blisful sovne may here, + That I of you the blissful sound may hear, + Or see your colour lyke the sonne bryght, + Or see your colour like the sun bright, + That of yelownesse hadde neuer pere. + That of yellowness had never peer. + Ye be my lyfe, ye be myn hertys stere, + Ye be my life, ye be my heart's guide, + Quene of comfort, and of good companye, + Queen of comfort, and of good company, + Beth heuy ageyne, or elles moote I dye. + Be heavy again, or else must I die. + + Now purse that ben to me my lyves lyght + Now purse that art to me my life's light + And saveour as down in this worlde here, + And saviour as down in this world here, + Oute of this tovne helpe me thrugh your myght, + Out of this town help me through your might, + Syn that ye wole nat bene my tresorere, + Since that ye will not be my treasurer, + For I am shave as nye as is a ffrere; + For I am shaven as close as is a friar; + But yet I pray vnto your curtesye, + But yet I pray unto your courtesy, + Bethe hevy agen or elles moote I dye. + Be heavy again or else must I die. + + L'ENVOY* DE CHAUCER + + O conquerour of Brutes albyon, + O conqueror of Brutus' Albion + Whiche that by lygne and free leccion + Who that by line and free election + Been verray kynge, this song to yow I sende; + Art very king, this song to you I send; + And ye that mowen alle myn harme amende, + And ye that art able all my harm amend, + Haue mynde vpon my supplicacion. + Have mind upon my supplication. + + *This is from a French word, meaning "to send," and is +still often used for the last verse of a poem. It is, as it +were, a "sending off." + +In reading this you must sound the final "e" in each word except +when the next word begins with an "h" or with another vowel. You +will then find it read easily and smoothly. + +BOOKS TO READ + + Stories from Chaucer (prose), by J. H. Kelman. Tales from +Chaucer (prose), by C. L. Thomson. Prologue to the Canterbury +Tales and Minor Poems (poetry), done into Modern English by W. W. +Skeat. Canterbury Tales (poetry), edited by A. W. Pollard (in +Chaucer's English, suitable only for grown-up readers). + + NOTE.-- As there are so many books now published containing +stories from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, I feel it unnecessary to +give any here in outline. + + + + + + + + + +Chapter XXV THE FIRST ENGLISH GUIDE-BOOK + +AND now, lest you should say, "What, still more poetry!" I shall +give you next a chapter about a great story-teller who wrote in +prose. We use story-teller in two senses, and when we speak of +Sir John Mandeville we use it in both. He was a great story- +teller. + +But before saying anything about his stories, I must first tell +you that after having been believed in as a real person for five +hundred years and more, Sir John has at last been found out. He +never lived at all, and the travels about which he tells us so +finely never took place. + +"Sir John," too, used to be called the "Father of English Prose," +but even that honor cannot be left to him, for his travels were +not written first in English, but in French, and were afterwards +translated into English. + +But although we know Sir John Mandeville was not English, that he +never saw the places he describes, that indeed he never lived at +all, we will still call him by that name. For we must call him +something, and as no one really knows who wrote the book which is +known as The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, we may +as well call the author by the name he chose as by another. + +Sir John, then, tells us that he was born in St. Albans, that he +was a knight, and that in 1322 he set out on his travels. He +traveled about for more than twenty years, but at last, although +in the course of them he had drunk of the well of everlasting +youth, he became so crippled with gout that he could travel no +longer. He settled down, therefore, at Liege in Belgium. There +he wrote his book, and there he died and was buried. At any +rate, many years afterwards his tomb was shown there. It was +also shown at St. Albans, where the people were very proud of it. + +Sir John's great book was a guide-book. In those days, as we +know, it was a very common thing for people to go on pilgrimages. +And among the long pilgrimages the one to the Holy Land was the +most common. So Sir John wrote his book to help people on their +way, just as Mr. Baedeker and Mr. Murray do now. + +It is perhaps the earliest, and certainly one of the most +delightful, guide-books ever written, although really it was +chiefly made up of bits out of books by other people. + +Sir John tells of many different ways of getting to Palestine, +and relates wonderful stories about the places to be passed +through. He wrote in French. "I know that I ought to write in +Latin," he says, "but because more people understand French I +have written in French, so that every one may understand it." +Afterwards it was translated into Latin, later into English, and +still later into almost every European language, so much did +people like the stories. + +When these stories appeared it was something quite new in +Literature, for until this time stories were always written in +poetry. It was only great and learned books, or books that were +meant to teach something, that were written in prose. + +Here is one of Sir John Mandeville's tales. + +After telling about the tomb of St. John at Ephesus, Sir John +goes on: "And then men pass through the isles of Cophos and +Lango, of the which isles Ipocras was lord. And some say that in +the isle of Lango is Ipocras's daughter in form of a Dragon. It +is a hundred foot long, so men say. But I have not seen it. And +they say the people of the isles call her the lady of the +country, and she lieth in an old castle and sheweth herself +thrice a year. And she doeth no man harm. And she is thus +changed from a lady to a Dragon through a goddess whom men call +Diana. + +"And men say that she shall dwell so until the time that a knight +come that is so hardy as to go to her and kiss her mouth. And +then shall she turn again to her own kind and be a woman. And +after that she shall not live long. + +"And it is not long since a knight of the island of Rhodes that +was hardy and valiant said that he would kiss her. But when the +Dragon began to lift up her head, and he saw it was so hideous, +he fled away. Then the Dragon in her anger bare the knight to a +rock and cast him into the sea, and so he was lost. + +"Also a young man that wist not of the Dragon went out of a ship +and went through the isle till he came to a castle. Then came he +into the cave and went on till he found a chamber. And there he +saw a lady combing her hair, and looking in a mirror. And she +had much treasure about her. He bowed to the lady, and the lady +saw the shadow of him in the mirror. Then she turned towards him +and asked him what he would. And he answered he would be her +lover. + +"Then she asked him if he were a knight, and he said 'Nay.' She +said then he might not be her lover. But she bade him go again +to his fellows and make him knight, and come again on the morrow. +Then she would come out of the cave and he should kiss her on the +mouth. And she bade him have no dread, for she would do him no +harm. Although she seemed hideous to him she said it was done by +enchantment, for, she said, she was really such as he saw her +then. She said, too, that if he kissed her he should have all +the treasure, and be her lord, and lord of all these isles. + +"Then he departed from her and went to his fellows in the ship, +and made him knight, and came again on the morrow for to kiss the +damsel. But when he saw her come out of the cave in the form of +a Dragon, he had so great dread that he fled to the ship. She +followed him, and when she saw that he turned not again she began +to cry as a thing that had much sorrow, and turned back again. + +"Soon after the knight died, and since, hitherto, might no knight +see her but he died anon. But when a knight cometh that is so +hardy to kiss her, he shall not die, but he shall turn that +damsel into her right shape and shall be lord of the country +aforesaid." + +When Sir John reaches Palestine he has very much to say of the +wonders to be seen there. At Bethlehem he tells a story of how +roses first came into the world. Here it is: + +"Bethlehem is but a little city, long and narrow, and well walled +and enclosed with a great ditch, and it was wont to be called +Ephrata, as Holy Writ sayeth, 'Lo, we heard it at Ephrata.' And +toward the end of the city toward the East, is a right fair +church and a gracious. And it hath many towers, pinnacles and +turrets full strongly made. And within that church are forty- +four great pillars of marble, and between the church the Field +Flowered as ye shall hear. + +"The cause is, for as much as a fair maiden was blamed with +wrong, for the which cause she was deemed to die, and to be burnt +in that place, to the which she was led. + +"And as the wood began to burn about her, she made her prayer to +our Lord as she was not guilty of that thing, that He would help +her that her innocence might be known to all men. + +"And when she had this said she entered the fire. And anon the +fire went out, and those branches that were burning became red +roses, and those branches that were not kindled became white +roses. And those were the first roses and rose-trees that any +man saw. And so was the maiden saved through the grace of God, +and therefore is that field called the Field of God Flowered, for +it was full of roses." + +Although Sir John begins his book as a guide to Palestine, he +tells of many other lands also, and of the wonder there. Of +Ethiopia, he tells us: "On the other side of Chaldea toward the +South is Ethiopia, a great land. In this land in the South are +the people right black. In that side is a well that in the day +the water is so cold that no man may drink thereof, and in the +night it is so hot that no man may suffer to put his hand in it. +In this land the rivers and all the waters are troublous, and +some deal salt, for the great heat. And men of that land are +easily made drunken and have little appetite for meat. They have +commonly great illness of body and live not long. In Ethiopia +are such men as have one foot, and they walk so fast that it is a +great marvel. And that is a large foot that the shadow thereof +covereth the body from sun and rain when they lie upon their +backs." + +Sir John tells us, too, of a wonderful group of islands, "and in +one of these isles are men that have one eye, and that in the +midst of their forehead. And they eat not flesh or fish all raw. + +"And in another isle dwell men that have no heads, and their eyes +are in their shoulders and their mouth is in their breast. . . . + +"And in another isle are men that have flat faces without nose +and without eyes, but they have two small round holes instead of +eyes and they have a flat mouth without lips. . . . + +"And in another isle are men that have the lips about their mouth +so great that when they sleep in the sun they cover all their +face with the lip." + +But I must not tell all the "lying wonders of our English +knight."* for you must read the book for yourselves. And when +you do you will find that it is written with such an easy air of +truth that you will half believe in Sir John's marvels. Every +now and again, too, he puts in a bit of real information which +helps to make his marvels seem true, so that sometimes we cannot +be sure what is truth and what is fable. + +*Colonel Sir Henry Yule, The Book of Sir Marco Polo. + +Sir John wandered far and long, but at last his journeyings +ended. "I have passed through many lands and isles and +countries," he says, "and now am come to rest against my will." +And so to find comfort in his "wretched rest" he wrote his book. +"But," he says, "there are many other divers countries, and many +other marvels beyond that I have not seen. Also in countries +where I have been there are many marvels that I speak not of, for +it were too long a tale." And also, he thought, it was as well +to leave something untold "so that other men that go thither may +find enough for to say that I have not told," which was very kind +of him. + +Sir John tells us then how he took his book to the holy father +the Pope, and how he caused it to be read, and "the Pope hath +ratified and affirmed my book in all points. And I pray to all +those that read this book, that they will pray for me, and I +shall pray for them." + +BOOKS TO READ + + The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, edited + + + + + + + + +Chapter XXVI BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE BEGINNINGS OF A +STRUGGLE + +WHILE Chaucer was making for us pictures of English life, in the +sister kingdom across the rugged Cheviots another poet was +singing to a ruder people. This poet was John Barbour, +Archdeacon of Aberdeen. An older man than Chaucer, born perhaps +twenty years before the English poet, he died only five years +earlier. So that for many years these two lived and wrote at the +same time. + +But the book by which Barbour is remembered best is very +different from that by which we remember Chaucer. Barbour's +best-known book is called The Bruce, and in it, instead of the +quiet tales of middle-class people, we hear throughout the clash +and clang of battle. Here once again we have the hero of +romance. Here once again history and story are mingled, and +Robert the Bruce swings his battle-ax and wings his faultless +arrow, saving his people from the English yoke. + +The music of The Bruce cannot compare with the music of the +Tales, but the spirit throughout is one of manliness, of delight +in noble deeds and noble thoughts. Barbour's way of telling his +stories is simple and straightforward. It is full of stern +battle, yet there are lines of tender beauty, but nowhere do we +find anything like the quiet laughter and humor of Chaucer. And +that is not wonderful, for those were stern times in Scotland, +and The Bruce is as much an outcome of those times as were the +Tales or Piers Ploughman an outcome of the times in England. + +But if to Chaucer belongs the title of "Father of English +Poetry," to Barbour belongs that of "Father of Scottish Poetry +and Scottish History." He, indeed, calls the language he wrote +in "Inglis," but it is a different English from that of Chaucer. +They were both founded on Anglo-Saxon, but instead of growing +into modern English, Barbour's tongue grew into what was known +later as "braid Scots." All the quotations that I am going to +give you from the poem I have turned into modern English, for, +although they lose a great deal in beauty, it makes them easier +for every one to understand. For even to the Scots boys and +girls who read this book there are many words in the original +that would need translating, although they are words still used +by every one who speaks Scots to this day. In one page of +twenty-seven lines taken at random we find sixteen such words. +They are, micht, nicht, lickt, weel, gane, ane, nane, stane, +rowit, mirk, nocht, brocht, mair, sperit at, sair, hert. For +those who are Scots it is interesting to know how little the +language of the people has changed in five hundred years. + +As of many another of our early poets, we know little of +Barbour's life. He was Archdeacon of Aberdeen, as already said, +and in 1357 he received a safe-conduct from Edward III to allow +him to travel to Oxford with three companions. In those days +there was not as yet any university in Scotland. The monasteries +still held their place as centers of learning. But already the +fame of Oxford had reached the northern kingdom, and Barbour was +anxious to share in the treasures of learning to be found there. +At the moment there was peace between the two countries, but hate +was not dead, it only slumbered. So a safe-conduct or passport +was necessary for any Scotsman who would travel through England +in safety. "Edward the King unto his lieges greeting," it ran. +"Know ye that we have taken under our protection (at the request +of David de Bruce) John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen, with the +scholars in his company, in coming into our kingdom of England, +in order to study in the university of Oxford, and perform his +scholastic exercises, and in remaining there and in returning to +his own country of Scotland. And we hereby grant him our safe- +conduct, which is to continue in force for one year." + +Barbour was given two other safe-conducts, one to allow him again +to visit Oxford, and another to allow him to pass through England +on his way to France. Besides this, we know that Barbour +received a pension from the King of Scotland, and that he held +his archdeaconry until his death; and that is almost all that we +know certainly of his life. + +The Bruce is the great national poem, Robert the Bruce the great +national hero of Scotland. But although The Bruce concerns +Scotland in the first place, it is of interest to every one, for +it is full of thrilling stories of knightly deeds, many of which +are true. "The fine poem deserves to be better known," says one +of its editors.* "It is a proud thing for a country to have +given a subject for such an Odyssey, and to have had so early in +its literature a poet worthy to celebrate it." And it is little +wonder that Barbour wrote so stirringly of his hero, for he lived +not many years after the events took place, and when he was a +schoolboy Robert the Bruce was still reigning over Scotland. + +*Cosmo Innes. + +In the beginning of his book Barbour says:-- + + "Stories to read are delightful, + Supposing even they be naught but fable; + Then should stories that true were, + And that were said in good manner, + Have double pleasantness in hearing. + The first pleasantness is the telling + And the other is the truthfulness + That shows the thing right as it was. + And such things that are likand + To man's hearing are pleasant; + Therefore I would fain set my will, + If my wit may suffice thereto, + To put in writ a truthful story, + That it last aye forth in memory, + So that no time of length it let, + Nor gar it wholly be forgot." + +So he will, he says, tell the tale of "stalwart folk that lived +erst while," of "King Robert of Scotland that hardy was of heart +and hand," and of "Sir James of Douglas that in his time so +worthy was," that his fame reached into far lands. Then he ends +this preface with a prayer that God will give him grace, "so that +I say naught but soothfast thing." + +The story begins with describing the state of Scotland after the +death of Alexander III, when Edward I ruled in England. +Alexander had been a good king, but at his death the heir to the +throne was a little girl, the Maid of Norway. She was not even +in Scotland, but was far across the sea. And as this child-queen +came sailing to her kingdom she died on board ship, and so never +saw the land over which she ruled. + +Then came a sad time for Scotland. "The land six year and more +i-faith lay desolate," for there was no other near heir to the +throne, and thirteen nobles claimed it. At last, as they could +not agree which had the best right, they asked King Edward of +England to decide for them. + +As you know, it had been the dream of every King of England to be +King of Scotland too. And now Edward I saw his chance to make +that dream come true. He chose as King the man who had, perhaps, +the greatest right to the throne, John Balliol. But he made him +promise to hold the crown as a vassal to the King of England. + + +This, however, the Scots would not suffer. Freedom they had ever +loved, and freedom they would have. No man, they said, whether +he were chosen King or no, had power to make them thralls of +England. + + "Oh! Freedom is a noble thing! + Freedom makes a man to have liking, + Freedom all solace to man gives, + He lives at ease that freely lives. + A noble heart may have no ease, + Nor nothing else that may him please, + If freedom faileth; for free delight + Is desired before all other thing. + Nor he that aye has livéd free + May not know well the quality, + The anger, nor the wretched doom + That joinéd is to foul thraldom." + +So sang Barbour, and so the passionate hearts of the Scots cried +through all the wretched years that followed the crowning of John +Balliol. And when at last they had greatest need, a leader arose +to show them the way to freedom. Robert the Bruce, throwing off +his sloth and forgetfulness of his country, became their King and +hero. He was crowned and received the homage of his barons, but +well he knew that was but the beginning. + + "To maintain what he had begun + He wist, ere all the land was won, + He should find full hard bargaining + With him that was of England King, + For there was none in life so fell, + So stubborn, nor so cruel." + +Then began a long struggle between two gallant men, Robert of +Scotland and Edward of England. At first things went ill with +the Bruce. He lost many men in battle, others forsook him, and +for a time he lived a hunted outlaw among the hills. + + "He durst not to the plains y-go + For all the commons went him fro, + That for their lives were full fain + To pass to the English peace again." + +But in all his struggles Bruce kept a good heart and comforted +his men. + + "'For discomfort,' as then said he, + 'Is the worst thing that may be; + For through mickle discomforting + Men fall oft into despairing. + And if a man despairing be, + Then truly vanquished is he.'" + +Yet even while Bruce comforted his men he bade them be brave, and +said:-- + + "And if that them were set a choice, + To die, or to live cowardly, + They should ever die chivalrously." + +He told them stories, too, of the heroes of olden times who, +after much suffering, had in the end won the victory over their +enemies. Thus the days passed, and winter settled down on the +bleak mountains. Then the case of Robert and his men grew worse +and worse, and they almost lost hope. But at length, with many +adventures, the winter came to an end. Spring returned again, +and with spring hope. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXVII BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE END OF THE STRUGGLE + + "'Twas in spring, when winter tide + With his blasts, terrible to bide + Was overcome; and birdies small, + As throstle and the nightingale, + Began right merrily to sing, + And to make in their singing + Sundrie notes, and varied sounds, + And melody pleasant to hear, + And the trees began to blow + With buds, and bright blossom also, + To win the covering of their heads + Which wicked winter had them riven, + And every grove began to spring." + +It was in spring that Bruce and his men gathered to the island of +Arran, off the west coast of Scotland, and there Bruce made up +his mind to make another fight for the crown. A messenger was +therefore sent over to the mainland, and it was arranged that if +he found friends there, if he thought it was safe for the King to +come, he should, at a certain place, light a great fire as a +signal. Anxiously Bruce watched for the light, and at last he +saw it. Then joyfully the men launched their boat, and the King +and his few faithful followers set out. + + "They rowéd fast with all their might, + Till that upon them fell the night, + That it wox mirk* in great manner + So that they wist not where they were, + For they no needle had, nor stone, + But rowéd always in one way, + Steering always upon the fire + That they saw burning bright and clear. + It was but adventure that them led, + And they in short time so them sped + That at the fire arrived they, + And went to land but** mair delay." + + *Dark. + **Without. + +On shore the messenger was eagerly and anxiously awaiting them, +and with a "sare hert" he told the King that the fire was none of +his. Far from there being friends around, the English, he said, +swarmed in all the land. + + "Were in the castle there beside, + Full filléd of despite and pride." + +There was no hope of success. + + "Then said the King in full great ire, + 'Traitor, why made thou on the fire?' + 'Ah sire,' he said, 'so God me see + That fire was never made on for me. + No ere this night I wist it not + But when I wist it weel* I thoecht + That you and all your company + In haste would put you to the sea. + For this I come to meet you here, + To tell the perils that may appear.'" + + *Well. + +The King, vexed and disappointed, turned to his followers for +advice. What was best to do, he asked. Edward Bruce, the King's +brave brother, was the first to answer. + + "And said, 'I say you sickerly, + There shall no perils that may be + Drive me eftsoons into the sea; + Mine adventure here take will I + Whether it be easeful or angry.' + 'Brother,' he said, 'since you will so + It is good that we together take + Disease and ease, or pain or play + After as God will us purvey.'" + +And so, taking courage, they set out in the darkness, and +attacked the town, and took it with great slaughter. + + "In such afray they bode that night + Till in the morn, that day was bright, + And then ceaséd partly + The noise, the slaughter, and the cry." + +Thus once again the fierce struggle was begun. But this time the +Bruce was successful. From town after town, from castle after +castle the enemy was driven out, till only Stirling was left to +the English. It was near this town, on the field of Bannockburn, +that the last great struggle took place. Brave King Edward I was +dead by this time, but his son, Edward II, led the army. It was +the greatest army that had ever entered Scotland, but the Scots +won the day and won freedom at the same time. I cannot tell you +of this great battle, nor of all the adventures which led up to +it. These you must read in other books, one day, I hope, in +Barbour's Bruce itself. + +From the day of Bannockburn, Barbour tells us, Robert the Bruce +grew great. + + "His men were rich, and his country + Abounded well with corn and cattle, + And of all kind other richness; + Mirth, solace, and eke blithness + Was in the land all commonly, + For ilk man blith was and jolly." + +And here Barbour ends the first part of his poem. In the second +part he goes on to tell us of how the Bruces carried war into +Ireland, of how they overran Northumberland, and of how at length +true peace was made. Then King Robert's little son David, who +was but five, was married to Joan, the seven-year-old sister of +King Edward III. Thus, after war, came rest and ease to both +countries. + +But King Robert did not live long to enjoy his well-earned rest. +He died, and all the land was filled with mourning and sorrow. + + "'All our defense,' they said, 'alas! + And he that all our comfort was, + Our wit and all our governing, + Is brought, alas, here to ending; + . . . . . + Alas! what shall we do or say? + For in life while he lasted, aye + By all our foes dred were we, + And in many a far country + Of our worship ran the renown, + And that was all for his person.'" + +Barbour ends his book by telling of how the Douglas set out to +carry the heart of the Bruce to Palestine, and of how he fell +fighting in Spain, and of how his dead body and the King's heart +were brought back to Scotland. + +Barbour was born about six years after the battle of Bannockburn. +As a boy he must have heard many stories of these stirring times +from those who had taken part in them. He must have known many a +woman who had lost husband or father in the great struggle. He +may even have met King Robert himself. And as a boy he must have +shared in the sorrow that fell upon the land when its hero died. +He must have remembered, when he grew up, how the people mourned +when the dead body of the Douglas and the heart of the gallant +Bruce were brought home from Spain. But in spite of Barbour's +prayer to be kept from saying "ought but soothfast thing," we +must not take The Bruce too seriously. If King Robert was a true +King he was also a true hero of romance. We must not take all +The Bruce as serious history, but while allowing for the truth of +much, we must also allow something for the poet's worship of his +hero, a hero, too, who lived so near the time in which he wrote. +We must allow something for the feelings of a poet who so +passionately loved the freedom for which that hero fought. + +BOOKS TO READ + +There is, so far as I know, no modernized version of The Bruce, +but there are many books illustrative of the text. In this +connection may be read Robert the Bruce (Children's heroes +Series), by Jeannie Lang; Chapters XXIV to XLIV. Scotland's +Story, by H. E. Marshall; The Lord of the Isles, by Sir Walter +Scott; Castle Dangerous, by Sir Walter Scott; "The Heart of the +Bruce" in Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, by Aytoun. The most +available version of The Bruce in old "Inglis," edited by W. M. +Mackenzie. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXVIII A POET KING + +The Bruce is a book which is the outcome of the history of the +times. It is the outcome of the quarrels between England and +Scotland, and of Scotland's struggle for freedom. Now we come to +another poet, and another poem which was the outcome of the +quarrels between England and Scotland. For although Scotland's +freedom was never again in danger, the quarrels between the two +countries were, unhappily, not over. + +In 1399, as we know, Henry IV wrested the crown of England from +Richard II. The new King proved no friend to Scotland, for he +desired, as those before him had desired, to rule both countries. +Henry lost no chance, therefore, by which he might gain his end. +So when in 1405 the King of Scotland sent his little son James to +be educated in France, the English attacked the ship in which he +sailed and took him prisoner. Instead, then, of going as a guest +to the court of France, the Prince was carried as a prisoner to +the court of England. When the old King heard the sad news he +died, and James, captive though he was, became King of Scotland. + +Those were again troublous times in Scotland. The captive King's +uncle was chosen as Regent to rule in his absence. But he, +wishing to rule himself, had no desire that his nephew should be +set free. So through the reigns of Henry IV and of Henry V James +remained a prisoner. But although a prisoner he was not harshly +treated, and the Kings of England took care that he should +receive an education worthy of a prince. James was taught to +read and write English, French, and Latin. He was taught to +fence and wrestle, and indeed to do everything as a knight +should. Prince James was a willing pupil; he loved his books, +and looked forward to the coming of his teachers, who lightened +the loneliness of his prison. + +"But," says a Frenchman who has written a beautiful little book +about this captive King, "'stone walls do not a prison make, nor +iron bars a cage': the soul of the child, who grew to be a youth, +was never a prisoner. Behind the thick walls of the Tower, built +long ago by the Conqueror, he studied. Guards watched over him, +but his spirit was far away voyaging in the realms of poetry. +And in these thought journeys, sitting at his little window, with +a big book upon his knee, he visited the famous places which the +Gesta Romanorum unrolled before him. . . . The 'noble senator' +Boece taught him resignation. William de Lorris took him by the +hand and led him to the garden of the Rose. The illustrious +Chaucer invited him to follow the gay troop of pilgrims along the +highroad to Canterbury. The grave Gower, announcing in advance a +sermon of several hours, begged him to be seated, and to the +murmur of his wise talk, his head leaning on the window frame, +the child slept peacefully. + +"Thus passed the years, and the chief change that they brought +was a change of prison. After the Tower it was the Castle of +Nottingham, another citadel of the Norman time, then Evesham, +then again the Tower when Henry V came to the throne; and at +last, and this was by contrast almost liberty, the Castle of +Windsor."* + +*J. J. Jusserand, Le Roman d'un Roi d'Ecosse +And thus for eighteen years the Prince lived a life half-real, +half-dream. The gray days followed each other without change, +without adventure. But the brilliant throng of kings and queens, +of knights and ladies, of pilgrims and lovers, and all the make- +believe people of storyland stood out all the brighter for the +grayness of the background. And perhaps to the Prince in his +quiet tower the storied people were more real than the living, +who only now and again came to visit him. For the storied people +were with him always, while the living came and went again and +were lost to him in the great world without, of which he knew +scarce anything. But at last across this twilight life, which +was more than half a dream, there struck one day a flash of +sunshine. Then to the patient, studious prisoner all was +changed. Life was no longer a twilight dream, but real. He knew +how deep joy might be, how sharp sorrow. Life was worth living, +he learned, freedom worth having, and at length freedom came, and +the Prince returned to his country a free King and a happy lover. + +How all this happened King James has told us himself in a book +called The King's Quair, which means the King's little book, +which he wrote while he was still a prisoner in England. + +King James tells us how one night he could not sleep, try as he +might. He lay tossing and tumbling, "but sleep for craft on +earth might I no more." So at last, "knowing no better wile," he +took a book hoping "to borrow a sleep" by reading. But instead +of bringing sleep, the book only made him more and more wide +awake. At length he says:-- + + "Mine eyen gan to smart for studying, + My book I shut, and at my head it laid, + And down I lay but* any tarrying." + + *Without. + +Again he lay thinking and tossing upon his bed until he was +weary. + + "Then I listened suddenly, + And soon I heard the bell to matins ring, + And up I rose, no longer would I lie. + But now, how trow ye? such a fantasy + Fell me to mind, that aye methought the bell + Said to me, 'Tell on man what thee befell.' + + Thought I tho' to myself, 'What may this be? + This is mine own imagining, + It is no life* that speaketh unto me; + It is a bell, or that impression + Of my thought causeth this illusion, + That maketh me think so nicely in this wise'; + And so befell as I shall you devise." + + *Living person. + +Prince James says he had already wasted much ink and paper on +writing, yet at the bidding of the bell he decided to write some +new thing. So up he rose, + + "And forth-with-all my pen in hand I took, + And made a + and thus began my book." + +Prince James then tells of his past life, of how, when he was a +lad, his father sent him across the sea in a ship, and of how he +was taken prisoner and found himself in "Straight ward and strong +prison" "without comfort in sorrow." And there full often he +bemoaned his fate, asking what crime was his that he should be +shut up within four walls when other men were free. + + "Bewailing in my chamber thus alone, + Despairing of all joy and remedy, + Out wearied with my thought and woe begone, + Unto the window gan I walk in haste, + To see the world and folk that went forbye, + As for the time though I of mirths food + Might have no more, to look it did me good." + +Beneath the tower in which the Prince was imprisoned lay a +beautiful garden. It was set about with hawthorn hedges and +juniper bushes, and on the small, green branches sat a little +nightingale, which sang so loud and clear "that all the garden +and the walls rang right with the song." Prince James leaned +from his window listening to the song of the birds, and watching +them as they hopped from branch to branch, preening themselves in +the early sunshine and twittering to their mates. And as he +watched he envied the birds, and wondered why he should be a +thrall while they were free. + + "And therewith cast I down mine eyes again, + Whereas I saw, walking under the tower + Full secretly, new coming her to play, + The fairest and the freshest young flower + That ever I saw methought, before that hour, + For which sudden abate, anon astart, + The blood of all my body to my heart." + +A lovely lady was walking in the garden, a lady more lovely than +he had dreamed any one might be. Her hair was golden, and +wreathed with flowers. Her dress was rich, and jewels sparkled +on her white throat. Spellbound, he stood a while watching the +lovely lady. He could do nothing but gaze. + + "No wonder was; for why my wits all + Were so overcome with pleasance and delight, + Only through letting of mine eyes down fall, + That suddenly my heart became her thrall, + For ever of free will." + +Thus, from the first moment in which he saw her, James loved the +beautiful lady. After a few minutes he drew in his head lest she +might see him and be angry with him for watching her. But soon +he leaned out again, for while she was in the garden he felt he +must watch and see her walk "so womanly." + +So he stood still at the window, and although the lady was far +off in the garden, and could not hear him, he whispered to her, +telling of his love. "O sweet," he said, "are you an earthly +creature, or are you a goddess? How shall I do reverence to you +enough, for I love you? And you, if you will not love me too, +why, then have you come? Have you but come to add to the misery +of a poor prisoner?" + +Prince James looked, and longed, and sighed, and envied the +little dog with which the lovely lady played. Then he scolded +the little birds because they sang no more. "Where are the songs +you chanted this morning?" he asked. "Why do you not sing now? +Do you not see that the most beautiful lady in all the world is +come into your garden?" Then to the nightingale he cried, "Lift +up thine heart and sing with good intent. If thou would sing +well ever in thy life, here is i-faith the time--here is the time +or else never." + +Then it seemed to the Prince as if, in answer to his words, all +the birds sang more sweetly than ever before. And what they sang +was a love-song to his lady. And she, walking under the tender +green of the May trees, looked upward, and listened to their +sweet songs, while James watched her and loved her more and more. + + "And when she walkéd had a little while + Under the sweet green boughs bent, + Her fair fresh face as white as any snow, + She turnéd has, and forth her ways went; + But then began my sickness and torment + To see her go, and follow I not might, + Methought the day was turnéd into night." + +Then, indeed, the day was dark for the Prince. The beautiful +lady in going had left him more lonely than before. Now he truly +knew what it was to be a prisoner. All day long he knelt at the +window, watching, and longing, and not knowing by what means he +might see his lady again. At last night came, and worn out in +heart and mind he leaned his head #against the cold rough stone +and slept. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXIX THE DEATH OF THE POET KING + +AS Prince James slept he dreamed that a sudden great light shone +into his prison, making bright all the room. A voice cried, "I +bring thee comfort and healing, be not afraid." Then the light +passed as suddenly as it had come and the Prince went forth from +his prison, no man saying him nay. + + "And hastily by both the arms twain + I was araiséd up into the air, + Caught in a cloud of crystal clear and fair." + +And so through "air and water and hot fire" he was carried, +seeing and hearing many wonders, till he awoke to find himself +still kneeling by his window. + +Was it all a dream, Prince James asked himself, even the vision +of the lovely lady in the garden? At that thought his heart grew +heavy. Then, as if to comfort him, a dove flew in at his window +carrying in her mouth a sprig of gilliflowers. Upon the stalk in +golden letters were written the words, "Awake! Awake! lover, I +bring thee glad news." + +And so the story had a happy ending, for Prince James knew that +the lovely lady of the garden loved him. "And if you think," he +says, "that I have written a great deal about a very little +thing, I say this to you:-- + + "Who that from hell hath creepéd once to heaven + Would after one thank for joy not make six or seven, + And every wight his own sweet or sore + Has most in mind: I can say you no more." + +Then, in an outburst of joy, he thanks and blesses everything +that has led up to this happy day, which has brought him under +"Love's yoke which easy is and sure." Even his exile and his +prison he thanks. + + "And thankéd be the fair castle wall + Whereas I whilcome looked forth and leant." + +The King's Quair reminds us very much of Chaucer's work. All +through it there are lines which might have been written by +Chaucer, and in the last verse James speaks of Gower and Chaucer +as his "masters dear." Of Gower I have said nothing in this +book, because there is not room to tell of every one, and he is +not so important as some or so interesting as others. So I leave +you to learn about him later. It is to Chaucer, too, much more +than to Gower that James owes his music. And if he is grave like +Gower rather than merry like Chaucer, we must remember that for +nineteen years he had lived a captive, so that it was natural his +verse should be somber as his life had been. And though there is +no laughter in this poem, it shows a power of feeling joy as well +as sorrow, which makes us sad when we remember how long the poet +was shut away from common human life. +The King's Quair is written in verses of seven lines. Chaucer +used this kind of verse, but because King James used it too, and +used it so well, it came to be called the Rhyme Royal. + +King James's story had a happy ending. A story with a happy +ending must end of course with a wedding, and so did this one. +The King of England, now Henry VI, was only a child. But those +who ruled for him were quite pleased when they heard that Prince +James had fallen in love with the beautiful lady of the garden, +for she was the King's cousin, Lady Jane Beaufort. They set +James free and willingly consented that he should marry his lady, +for in this way they hoped to bind England and Scotland together, +and put an end to wars between the two countries. So there was a +very grand wedding in London when the lovely lady of the garden +became Queen of Scotland. And then these two, a King and Queen, +yet happy as any simple lovers journeyed northward to their +kingdom. + +They were received with great rejoicing and crowned at Scone. +But the new King soon found, that during the long years he had +been kept a prisoner in England his kingdom had fallen into wild +disorder. Sternly he set himself to bring order out of disorder, +and the wilfull, lawless nobles soon found to their surprise that +the gentle poet had a will of iron and a hand of steel, and that +he could wield a sword and scepter as skillfully as his pen. + +James I righted much that was wrong. In doing it he made for +himself many enemies. But of all that he did or tried to do in +the twelve years that he ruled you will read in history books. +Here I will only tell you of his sad death. + +In 1436 James decided to spend Christmas at Perth, a town he +loved. As he neared the river Forth, which he had to cross on +his way, an aged woman came to him crying in a loud voice, "My +Lord King, if ye cross this water ye shall never return again in +life." + +Now the King had read a prophecy in which it was said that a King +of Scotland should be slain that same year. So wondering what +this woman might mean, he sent a knight to speak with the woman. +But the knight could make nothing of her, and returning to the +King he said, "Sir, take no heed of yon woman's words, for she is +old and foolish, and wots not what she sayeth." So the King rode +on. + +Christmas went by quietly and peacefully, and the New Year came, +and still the King lingered in Perth. The winter days passed +pleasantly in reading, walking, and tennis-playing; the evenings +in chess-playing, music, and story-telling. + +But one night, as James was chatting and laughing with the Queen +and her ladies before going to bed, a great noise was heard. The +sound of many feet, the clatter of armor mingled with wild cries +was borne to the quiet room, and through the high windows flashed +the light of many torches. + +At once the King guessed that he was betrayed. The Queen and her +ladies ran hastily to the door to shut it. But the locks had +been broken and the bolts carried away, so that it could not be +fastened. + +In vain James looked round. Way of escape there was none. +Alone, unarmed, he could neither guard the ladies nor save +himself. Crying to them to keep fast the door as best they +might, he sprang to the window, hoping by his great strength to +wrench the iron bars from their places and escape that way. But, +alas, they were so strongly set in the stone that he could not +move them, "for which cause the King was ugly astonied."* + +*The Dethe of the Kynge of Scottis. + +Then turning to the fire James seized the tongs, "and under his +feet he mightily brast up a blank of the chamber,"* and leaping +down into the vault beneath he let the plank fall again into its +place. By this vault the King might have escaped, for until +three days before there had been a hole leading from it to the +open air. But as he played tennis his balls often rolled into +this hole and were lost. So he had ordered it to be built up. + +*The same. + +There was nothing, then, for the King to do but wait. Meanwhile +the noise grew louder and louder, the traitors came nearer and +nearer. One brave lady named Catherine Douglas, hoping to keep +them out, and so save the King, thrust her arm through the iron +loops on the door where the great bolt should have been. But +against the savage force without, her frail, white arm was +useless. The door was burst open. Wounded and bleeding, +Catherine Douglas was thrown aside and the wild horde stormed +into the room. + +It was not long ere the King's hiding-place was found, and one of +the traitors leaped down beside him with a great knife in his +hand. "And the King, doubting him for his life, caught him +mightily by the shoulders, and with full great violence cast him +under his feet. For the King was of his person and stature a man +right manly strong."* + +*The same. + +Seeing this, another traitor leaped down to help his fellow. +"And the King caught him manly by the neck, both under him that +all a long month after men might see how strongly the King had +holden them by the throats."* + +*The same. + +Fiercely the King struggled with his enemies, trying to wrench +their knives from them so that he might defend himself. But it +was in vain. Seeing him grow weary a third traitor, the King's +greatest enemy, Robert Grahame, leaped down too into the vault, +"with a horrible and mortal weapon in his hand, and therewithal +he smote him through the body, and therewithal the good King fell +down."* + +*The same. + +And thus the poet King died with sixteen wounds in his brave +heart and many more in his body. So at the long last our story +has a sad ending. But we have to remember that for twelve years +King James had a happy life, and that as he had loved his lady at +the first so he loved her to the end, and was true to her. + +Besides The King's Quair, there are a few other short poems which +some people think King James wrote. They are very different from +the Quair, being more like the ballads of the people, and most +people think now that James did not write them. But because they +are different is no real reason for thinking that they are not +his. For James was quite clever enough, we may believe, to write +in more than one way. + +Besides these doubtful poems, there is one other poem of three +verses about which no one has any doubt. I will give you one +verse here, for it seems in tune with the King's own life and +sudden death. + + "Be not our proud in thy prosperite, + Be not o'er proud in thy prosperity, + For as it cumis, sa will it pass away; + For as it comes, so will it pass away; + Thy tym to compt is short, thou may weille se + Thy time to count is short, thou mayst well see + For of green gres soyn cumis walowit hay, + For of green grass soon cometh withered hay, + Labour is trewth, quhill licht is of the day. + Labour in truth, while light is of the day. + Trust maist in God, for he best gyd thee can, + Trust most in God, for he best guide thee can, + And for ilk inch he wil thee quyt a span." + And for each inch he will thee requite a span. + +BOOKS TO READ + +An illustration of this chapter may be read in The Fair Maid of +Perth, by Sir Walter Scott; The King's Tragedy (poetry), by D. G. +Rossetti in his Poetical Works. The best version of The King's +Quair in the ancient text is by W. W. Skeat. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXX DUNBAR--THE WEDDING OF THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE + +THE fifteenth century, the century in which King James I reigned +and died, has been called the "Golden Age of Scottish Poetry," +because of the number of poets who lived and wrote then. And so, +although I am only going to speak of one other Scottish poet at +present, you must remember that there were at this time many +more. But of them all William Dunbar is counted the greatest. +And although I do not think you will care to read his poems for a +very long time to come, I write about him here both because he +was a great poet and because with one of his poems, The Thistle +and the Rose, he takes us back, as it were, over the Border into +England once more. + +William Dunbar was perhaps born in 1460 and began his life when +James III began his reign. He was of noble family, but there is +little to know about his life, and as with Chaucer, what we learn +about the man himself we learn chiefly from his writing. We +know, however, that he went to the University of St. Andrews, and +that it was intended that he should go into the Church. In those +days in Scotland there were only two things a gentleman might be +- either he must be a soldier or a priest. Dunbar's friends, +perhaps seeing that he was fond of books, thought it best to make +him a priest. But indeed he had made a better soldier. For a +time, however, although he was quite unsuited for such a life, he +became a friar. As a preaching friar he wandered far. + + "For in every town and place + Of all England from Berwick to Calais, + I have in my habit made good cheer. + In friar's weed full fairly have I fleichet,* + In it have I in pulpit gone and preached, + In Dernton kirk and eke in Canterbury, + In it I passed at Dover o'er the ferry + Through Picardy, and there the people teached." + + *Flattered. + +Dunbar himself knew that he had no calling to be a friar or +preacher. He confesses that + + "As long as I did bear the friar's style + In me, God wot, was many wrink and wile, + In me was falseness every wight to flatter, + Which might be banished by no holy water; + I was aye ready all men to beguile." + +So after a time we find him no longer a friar, but a courtier. +Soon we find him, like Chaucer, being sent on business to the +Continent for his King, James IV. Like Chaucer he receives +pensions; like Chaucer, too, he knows sometimes what it is to be +poor, and he has left more than one poem in which he prays the +King to remember his old and faithful servant and not leave him +in want. We find him also begging the King for a Church living, +for although he had no mind to be a friar, he wanted a living, +perhaps merely that he might be sure of a home in his old age. +But for some reason the King never gave him what he asked. +We have nearly ninety poems of Dunbar, none of them very long. +But although he is a far better poet than Barbour, or even +perhaps than James I, he is not for you so interesting in the +meantime. First, his language is very hard to understand. One +reason for this is that he knows so many words and uses them all. +"He language had at large," says one of his fellow poets and +countrymen.* And so, although his thought is always clear, it is +not always easy to follow it through his strange words. Second, +his charm as a poet lies not so much in what he tells, not so +much in his story, as in the way that he tells it. And so, even +if you are already beginning to care for words and the way in +which they are used, you may not yet care so much that you can +enjoy poetry written in a tongue which, to us is almost a foreign +tongue. But if some day you care enough about it to master this +old-world poet, you will find that there is a wonderful variety +in his poems. He can be glad and sad, tender and fierce. +Sometimes he seems to smile gently upon the sins and sorrows of +his day, at other times he pours forth upon them words of savage +scorn, grim and terrible. But when we take all his work +together, we find that we have such a picture of the times in +which he lived as perhaps only Chaucer besides has given us. + +*Sir David Lyndsay. + +For us the most interesting poem is The Thistle and the Rose. +This was written when Margaret, the daughter of King Henry VII of +England, came to be the wife of King James IV of Scotland. +Dunbar was the "Rhymer of Scotland," that is the poet-laureate of +his day, and so, as was natural, he made a poem upon this great +event. For a poet-laureate is the King's poet, and it is his +duty to make poems on all the great things that may happen to the +King. For this he receives a certain amount of money and a cask +of wine every year. But it is the honor and not the reward which +is now prized. + +Dunbar begins by telling us that he lay dreaming one May morning. +You will find when you come to read much of the poetry of those +days, that poets were very fond of making use of a dream by which +to tell a story. It was then a May morning when Dunbar lay +asleep. + + "When March was with varying winds past, + And April had, with her silver showers, + Tane leave of nature with an orient blast; + And pleasant May, that mother is of flowers, + Had made the birds to begin their hours* + Among the tender arbours red white, + Whose harmony to hear it was delight." + + *Orisons - morning prayers. + +Then it seemed that May, in the form of a beautiful lady, stood +beside his bed. She called to him, "Sluggard, awake anon for +shame, and in mine honor go write something." + + "'What,' quoth I, ' shall I wuprise at morrow?' + For in this May few birdies heard I sing. + 'They have more cause to weep and plain their sorrow, + Thy air it is not wholesome or benign!'" + +"Nevertheless rise," said May. And so the lazy poet rose and +followed the lady into a lovely garden. Here he saw many +wonderful and beautiful sights. He saw all the birds, and +beasts, and flowers in the world pass before Dame Nature. + + "Then calléd she all flowers that grew in field, + Discerning all their fashions and properties; + Upon the awful Thistle she beheld, + And saw him keepéd* by a bush of spears; + Considering him so able for the wars, + A radiant crown of rubies she him gave, + And said, 'In field go forth, and fend the lave.** + + And, since thou art a king, be thou discreet, + Herb without virtue hold thou not of such price + As herb of virtue and of odour sweet; + And let no nettle vile, and full of vice, + Mate him to the goodly fleur-de-lis, + Nor let no wild weed full of churlishness + Compare her to the lily's nobleness. + + Nor hold thou no other flower in such dainty + As the fresh Rose, of colour red and white; + For if thou dost, hurt is thine honesty + Considering that no flower is so perfect, + So full of virtue, pleasance and delight, + So full of blissful angelic beauty, + Imperial birth, honour and dignity.'" + + *Guarded. + **Rest = others. + +By the Thistle, of course, Dunbar means James IV, and by the Rose +the Princess Margaret. + +Then to the Rose Dame Nature spoke, and crowned her with "a +costly crown with shining rubies bright." When that was done all +the flowers rejoiced, crying out, "Hail be thou, richest Rose." +Then all the birds - the thrush, the lark, the nightingale--cried +"Hail," and "the common voice uprose of birdies small" till all +the garden rang with joy. + + "Then all the birdies sang with such a shout, + That I anon awoke where that I lay, + And with a start I turnéd me about + To see this court: but all were went away: + Then up I leanéd, half yet in fear, + And thus I wrote, as ye have heard to forrow,* + Of lusty May upon the nineth morrow." + + *Before = already. + +Thus did Dunbar sing of the wedding of the Thistle and the Rose. +It was a marriage by which the two peoples hoped once more to +bring a lasting peace between the two countries. And although +the hope was not at once fulfilled, it was a hundred years later. +For upon the death of Elizabeth, James VI of Scotland, the great- +grandson of Margaret Tudor and James Stuart, received the crown +of England also, thus joining the two rival countries. Then came +the true marriage of the Thistle and the Rose. + +Meanwhile, as long as Henry VII remained upon the throne, there +was peace between the two peoples. But when Henry VIII began to +rule, his brother-in-law of Scotland soon found cause to quarrel +with him. Then once again the Thistle and the Rose met, not in +peace, but in war. On the red field of Flodden once again the +blood of a Scottish King stained the grass. Once again Scotland +was plunged in tears. + +After "that most dolent day"* we hear no more of Dunbar. It is +thought by some that he, as many another knight, courtier and +priest, laid down his life fighting for his King, and that he +fell on Flodden field. By others it is thought that he lived to +return to Scotland, and that the Queen gave to him one of the now +many vacant Church livings, and that there he spent his last days +in quietness and peace. + +*Sir David Lyndsay. + +This may have been so. For although Dunbar makes no mention of +Flodden in his poems, it is possible that he may have done so in +some that are lost. But where this great poet lies taking his +last rest we do not know. It may be he was laid in some quiet +country churchyard. It may be he met death suddenly amid the din +and horror of battle. + +BOOKS TO READ + +In illustration of this chapter may be read "Edinburgh after +Flodden" in Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, by W. E. Aytoun. The +best edition of the Poems of Dunbar in the original is edited by +J. Small. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXI AT THE SIGN OF THE RED PALE + +IF the fifteenth century has been called the Golden Age of +Scottish poetry, it was also the dullest age in English +literature. During the fifteenth century few books were written +in England. One reason for this was that in England it was a +time of foreign and of civil war. The century opened in war with +Wales, it continued in war with France. Then for thirty years +the wars of the Roses laid desolate the land. They ended at +length in 1485 with Bosworth field, by which Henry VII became +King. + +But in spite of all the wars and strife, the making of books did +not quite cease. And if only a few books were written, it was +because it was a time of rebirth and new life as well as a time +of war and death. For it was in the fifteenth century that +printing was discovered. Then it was that the listening time was +really done. Men began to use their eyes rather than their ears. +They saw as they had never before seen. + +Books began to grow many and cheap. More and more people learned +to read, and this helped to settle our language into a form that +was to last. French still, although it was no longer the +language of the court or of the people, had an influence on our +speech. People traveled little, and in different parts of the +country different dialects, which were almost like different +languages, were spoken. We have seen that the "Inglis" of +Scotland differed from Chaucer's English, and the language of the +north of England differed from it just as much. But when printed +books increased in number quickly, when every man could see for +himself what the printed words looked like, these differences +began to die out. Then our English, as a literary language, was +born. + +It was Caxton, you remember, who was the first English printer. +We have already heard of him when following the Arthur story as +the printer of Malory's Morte d'Arthur. But Caxton was not only +a printer, he was author, editor, printer, publisher and +bookseller all in one. + +William Caxton, as he himself tells us, was born in Kent in the +Weald. But exactly where or when we do not know, although it may +have been about the year 1420. Neither do we know who or what +his father was. Some people think that he may have been a mercer +or cloth merchant, because later Caxton was apprenticed to one of +the richest cloth merchants of London. In those days no man was +allowed to begin business for himself until he had served for a +number of years as an apprentice. When he had served his time, +and then only, was he admitted into the company and allowed to +trade for himself. As the Mercers' Company was one of the +wealthiest and most powerful of the merchant companies, they were +very careful of whom they admitted as apprentices. Therefore it +would seem that really Caxton's family was "of great repute of +old, and genteel-like," as an old manuscript says.* + +*Harleian MS., 5910. + +Caxton's master died before he had finished his apprenticeship, +so he had to find a new master, and very soon he left England and +went to Bruges. There he remained for thirty-five years. +In those days there was much trade between England and Flanders +(Belgium we now call the country) in wool and cloth, and there +was a little colony of English merchants in Bruges. There Caxton +steadily rose in importance until he became "Governor of the +English Nation beyond the seas." As Governor he had great power, +and ruled over his merchant adventurers as if he had been a king. + +But even with all his other work, with his trading and ruling to +attend to, Caxton found time to read and write, and he began to +translate from the French a book of stories called the Recuyell* +of the Histories of Troy. This is a book full of the stories of +Greek heroes and of the ancient town of Troy. + +*Collection, from the French word recueillir, to gather. + +Caxton was not very well pleased with his work, however--he "fell +into despair of it," he says--and for two years he put it aside +and wrote no more. + +In 1468 Princess Margaret, the sister of King Edward IV, married +the Duke of Burgundy and came to live in Flanders, for in those +days Flanders was under the rule of the Dukes of Burgundy. +Princess Margaret soon heard of the Englishman William Caxton who +had made his home in Bruges. She liked him and encouraged him to +go on with his writing, and after a time he gave up his post of +Governor of the English and entered the service of the Princess. +We do not know what post Caxton held in the household of the +Princess, but it was one of honor we may feel sure. + +It was at the bidding of the Princess, whose "dreadful command I +durst in no wise disobey," that Caxton finished the translation +of his book of stories. And as at this time there were no +stories written in English prose (poetry only being still used +for stories), the book was a great success. The Duchess was +delighted and rewarded Caxton well, and besides that so many +other people wished to read it that he soon grew tired of making +copies. It was then that he decided to learn the new and +wonderful art of printing, which was already known in Flanders. +So it came about that the first book ever printed in English was +not printed in England, but somewhere on the continent. It was +printed some time before 1477, perhaps in 1474. + +If in manuscript the book had been a success, it was now much +more of one. And we may believe that it was this success that +made Caxton leave Bruges and go home to England in order to begin +life anew as a printer there. + +Many a time, as Governor of the English Nation over the seas, he +had sent forth richly laden vessels. But had he known it, none +was so richly laden as that which now sailed homeward bearing a +printing-press. + +At Westminster, within the precincts of the Abbey, Caxton found a +house and set up his printing-press. And there, not far from the +great west door of the Abbey he, already an elderly man, began +his new busy life. His house came to be known as the house of +the Red Pale from the sign that he set up. It was probably a +shield with a red line down the middle of it, called in heraldry +a pale. And from here Caxton sent out the first printed +advertisement known in England. "If it please any man spiritual +or temporal," he says, to buy a certain book, "let him come to +Westminster in to the Almonry at the Red Pale and he shall have +them good cheap." The advertisement ended with some Latin words +which we might translate, "Please do not pull down the +advertisement." + +The first book that Caxton is known to have printed in England +was called The Dictes* and Sayings of the Philosophers. This was +also a translation from French, not, however, of Caxton's own +writing. It was translated by Earl Rivers, who asked Caxton to +revise it, which he did, adding a chapter and writing a prologue. + +*Another word for sayings, from the French dire, to say. + +To the people of Caxton's day printing seemed a marvelous thing. +So marvelous did it seem that some of them thought it could only +be done by the help of evil spirits. It is strange to think that +in those days, when anything new and wonderful was discovered, +people at once thought that it must be the work of evil spirits. +That it might be the work of good spirits never seemed to occur +to them. + +Printing, indeed, was a wonderful thing. For now, instead of +taking weeks and months to make one copy of a book, a man could +make dozens or even hundreds at once. And this made books so +cheap that many more people could buy them, and so people were +encouraged both to read and write. Instead of gathering together +to hear one man read out of a book, each man could buy a copy for +himself. At the end of one of his books Caxton begs folk to +notice "that it is not written with pen and ink as other books +be, to the end that every man may have them at once. For all the +books of this story, called the Recuyell of the Histories of Troy +thus imprinted as ye see here were begun on one day and also +finished in one day." We who live in a world of books can hardly +grasp what that meant to the people of Caxton's time. + +For fourteen years Caxton lived a busy life, translating, +editing, and printing. Besides that he must have led a busy +social life, for he was a favorite with Edward IV, and with his +successors Richard III and Henry VII too. Great nobles visited +his workshop, sent him gifts, and eagerly bought and read his +books. The wealthy merchants, his old companions in trade, were +glad still to claim him as a friend. Great ladies courted, +flattered, and encouraged him. He married, too, and had +children, though we known nothing of his home life. Altogether +his days were full and busy, and we may believe that he was +happy. + +But at length Caxton's useful, busy life came to an end. On the +last day of it he was still translating a book from French. He +finished it only a few hours before he died. We know this, +although we do not know the exact date of his death. For his +pupil and follower, who carried on his work afterwards, says on +the title-page of this book that it was "finished at the last day +of his life." + +Caxton was buried in the church near which he had worked--St. +Margaret's, Westminster. He was laid to rest with some ceremony +as a man of importance, for in the account-books of the parish we +find these entries:-- + + "At burying of William Caxton for four torches 6s. 8d. + For the bell at same burying 6d." + +This was much more than was usually spent at the burial of +ordinary people in those days. + +Among the many books which Caxton printed we must not forget Sir +Thomas Malory's Morte d'Arthur, which we spoke of out of its +place in following the story of Arthur in Chapter VIII. Perhaps +you would like to turn back and read it over again now. + +As we have said, Caxton was not merely a printer. He was an +author too. But although he translated books both from French +and Dutch, it is perhaps to his delightful prefaces more than to +anything else that he owes his title of author. Yet it must be +owned that sometimes they are not all quite his own, but parts +are taken wholesale from other men's works or are translated from +the French. We are apt to look upon a preface as something dull +which may be left unread. But when you come to read Caxton's +books, you may perhaps like his prefaces as much as anything else +about them. In one he tells of his difficulties about the +language, because different people spoke it so differently. He +tells how once he began to translate a book, but "when I saw the +fair and strange terms therein, I doubted that it should not +please some gentlemen which late blamed me, saying that in my +translation I had over curious terms, which could not be +understood by common people, and desired me to use old and homely +terms in my translations. And fain would I satisfy every man. +And so to do I took an old book and read therein, and certainly +the English was so rude and broad that I could not well +understand it. . . . And certainly our language now used varieth +far from that which was used and spoken when I was born. . . . +And that common English that is spoken in one shire varyeth from +another. In-so-much that in my days it happened that certain +merchants were in a ship in Thames, for to have sailed over the +sea into Zealand. For lack of wind they tarried at Foreland, and +went to land for to refresh them. + +"And one of them, named Sheffield, a mercer, came into a house +and asked for meat. And especially he asked for eggs. And the +good wife answered that she could speak no French. And the +merchant was angry, for he also could speak no French, but would +have had eggs, and she understood him not. + +"And then at last another said that he would have eyren. Then +the good wife said that she understood him well. So what should +a man in these days now write, eggs or eyren? Certainly it is +hard to please every man by cause of diversity and change of +language. . . . + +"And some honest and great clerks have been with me, and desired +me to write the most curious terms that I could find. And thus +between plain, rude, and curious I stand abashed. But in my +judgement the common terms that be daily used, be lighter to be +understood than the old and ancient English." + +In another book Caxton tells us that he knows his own "simpleness +and unperfectness" in both French and English. "For in France +was I never, and was born and learned my English in Kent, in the +Weald, where I doubt not is spoken as broad and rude English as +in any place in England." + +So you see our English was by no means yet settled. But +printing, perhaps, did more than anything else to settle it. + +We know that Caxton printed at least one hundred and two editions +of books. And you will be surprised to hear that of all these +only two or three were books of poetry. Here we have a sure sign +that the singing time was nearly over. I do not mean that we are +to have no more singers, for most of our greatest are still to +come. But from this time prose had shaken off its fetters. It +was no longer to be used only for sermons, for prayers, for +teaching. It was to take its place beside poetry as a means of +enjoyment - as literature. Literature, then, was no longer the +affair of the market-place and the banqueting-hall, but of a +man's own fireside and quiet study. It was no longer the affair +of the crowd, but of each man to himself alone. + +The chief poems which Caxton printed were Chaucer's. In one +place he calls Chaucer "The worshipful father and first founder +and embellisher of ornate eloquence in our English." Here, I +think, he shows that he was trying to follow the advice of "those +honest and great clerks" who told him he should write "the most +curious terms" that he could find. But certainly he admired +Chaucer very greatly. In the preface to his second edition of +the Canterbury Tales he says, "Great thank, laud and honour ought +to be given unto the clerks, poets" and others who have written +"noble books." "Among whom especially before all others, we +ought to give a singular laud unto that noble and great +philosopher, Geoffrey Chaucer." Then Caxton goes on to tell us +how hard he had found it to get a correct copy of Chaucer's +poems, "For I find many of the said books which writers have +abridged it, and many things left out: and in some places have +set verses that he never made nor set in his book." + +This shows us how quickly stories became changed in the days when +everything was copied by hand. When Caxton wrote these words +Chaucer had not been dead more than about eighty years, yet +already it was not easy to find a good copy of his works. + +And if stories changed, the language changed just as quickly. +Caxton tells us that the language was changing so fast that he +found it hard to read books written at the time he was born. His +own language is very Frenchy, perhaps because he translated so +many of his books from French. He not only uses words which are +almost French, but arranges his sentences in a French manner. He +often, too drops the e in the, just as in French the e or a in le +and la is dropped before a vowel. This you will often find in +old English books. "The abbey" becomes thabbay, "The English" +thenglish. Caxton writes, too, thensygnementys for "the +teaching." Here we have the dropped e and also the French word +enseignement used instead of "teaching." But these were only +last struggles of a foreign tongue. The triumphant English we +now possess was already taking form. + +But it was not by printing alone that in the fifteenth century +men's eyes were opened to new wonder. They were also opened to +the wonder of a new world far over the sea. For the fifteenth +century was the age of discovery, and of all the world's first +great sailors. It was the time when America and the western +isles were discovered, when the Cape of Good Hope was first +rounded, and the new way to India found. So with the whole world +urged to action by the knowledge of these new lands, with +imagination wakened by the tales of marvels to be seen there, +with a new desire to see and do stirring in men's minds, it was +not wonderful that there should be little new writing. The +fifteenth century was the age of new action and new worlds. The +new thought was to follow. + + + + + +YEAR 8 + + +Chapter XXXII ABOUT THE BEGINNING OF THE THEATER + +MANY of you have, no doubt, been to the theater. You have seen +pantomimes and Peter Pan, perhaps; perhaps, too, a play of +Shakespeare, - a comedy, it may be, which made you laugh, or even +a tragedy which made you want to cry, or at least left you sad. +Some of you, too, have been to "Pageants," and some may even have +been to an oratorio, which last may have been sung in a church. + +But did you ever wonder how plays and theaters came to be? Did +you ever think that there was a time when in all the length and +breadth of the land there was no theater, when there were no +plays either merry or sad? Yet it was so. But at a very early +time the people of England began to act. And, strange as it may +seem to us now, the earliest plays were acted by monks and took +place in church. And it is from these very early monkish plays +that the theater with its different kinds of plays, that pageants +and even oratorios have sprung. + +In this chapter I am going to talk about these beginnings of the +English theater and of its literature. All plays taken together +are called the drama, and the writers of them are called +dramatists, from a Greek word dran, to act or do. For dramas are +written not to be read merely, but also to be acted. + +To trace the English drama from its beginnings we must go a long +way back from the reigns of Henry VII and of Henry VIII, down to +which the life of Dunbar has brought us. We must go back to the +days when the priests were the only learned people in the land, +when the monasteries were the only schools. + +If we would picture to ourselves what these first English plays +were like, we must not think of a brilliantly lighted theater +pranked out and fine with red and gold and white such as we know. +We must think rather of some dim old church. Stately pillars +rise around us, and the outline of the arches is lost in the high +twilight of the roof. Behind the quaintly dressed players gleams +the great crucifix with its strange, sad figure and outstretched +arms which, under the flickering light of the high altar candles, +seems to stir to life. And beyond the circle of light, in the +soft darkness of the nave, the silent people kneel or stand to +watch. + +It was in such solemn surroundings that our first plays were +played. And the stories that were acted were Bible stories. +There was no thought of irreverence in such acting. On the +contrary, these plays were performed "to exort the mindes of +common people to good devotion and holesome doctrine." + +You remember when Caedmon sang, he made his songs of the stories +of Genesis and Exodus. And in this way, in those bookless days, +the people were taught the Bible stories. But you know that what +we learn by our ears is much harder to remember than what we +learn by our eyes. If we are only told a thing we may easily +forget it. But if we have seen it, or seen a picture of it, we +remember it much more easily. In those far-off days, however, +there were as few pictures as there were books in England. And +so the priests and monks fell upon the plan of acting the Bible +stories and the stories of the saints, so that the people might +see and better understand. + +These plays which the monks made were called Mystery or Miracle +plays. I cannot tell you the exact date of our first Miracle +plays, but the earliest that we know of certainly was acted at +the end of the eleventh or beginning of the twelfth century. It +is not unreasonable to suppose, however, that there had been +still earlier plays of which we know nothing. For the Miracle +plays did not spring all at once to life, they began gradually, +and the beginnings can be traced as far back as the ninth +century. In an old book of rules for Winchester Cathedral, +written about 959, there are directions given for showing the +death and resurrection of Christ in dumb show chiefly, with just +a few Latin sentences to explain it. By degrees these plays grew +longer and fuller, until in them the whole story of man from the +Creation to the Day of Judgment was acted in what was called a +cycle or circle of short acts or plays. + +But although these plays were looked upon as an act of religion, +they were not all solemn. At times, above the grave tones of the +monks or the solemn chanting of the choir, laughter rang out. +For some of the characters were meant to be funny, and the +watching crowd knew and greeted them as such even before they +spoke, just as we know and greet the jester or the clown. + +The demons were generally funny, and Noah's wife, who argued +about going into the ark. The shepherds, also, watching their +flocks by night, were almost sure to make the people laugh. + +But there were solemn moments, too, when the people reverently +listened to the grave words of God the Father, or to those, +tender and loving, of Mary, the Virgin Mother. And when the +shepherds neared the manger where lay the wondrous Babe, all +jesting ceased. Here there was nothing but tender, if simple and +unlearned, adoration. + +In those early days Latin was the tongue of the Church, and the +Miracle plays were at first said in Latin. But as the common +folk could not understand what was said, the plays were chiefly +shown in dumb show. Soon, however, Latin was given up, and the +plays were acted in English. Then by degrees the churches grew +too small to hold the great crowds of people who wished to see +the plays, and so they were acted outside the church door in the +churchyard, on a stage built level with the steps. The church, +then, could be made to represent heaven, where God and the angels +dwelt. The stage itself was the world, and below it was hell, +from out of which came smoke and sometimes flames, and whence +might be heard groans and cries and the clanking of chains. + +But the playing of Mysteries and Miracles at the church doors had +soon to be given up. For the people, in their excitement, forgot +the respect due to the dead. They trampled upon the graves and +destroyed the tombs in their eagerness to see. And when the play +was over the graveyard was a sorry sight with trodden grass and +broken headstones. So by degrees it came about that these plays +lost their connection with the churches, and were no more played +in or near them. They were, instead, played in some open space +about the town, such as the market-place. Then, too, the players +ceased to be monks and priests, and the acting was taken up by +the people themselves. It was then that the playing came into +the hands of the trade guilds. + +Nowadays we hear a great deal about "trades unions." But in +those far-off days such things were unknown. Each trade, +however, had its own guild by which the members of it were bound +together. Each guild had its patron saint, and after a time the +members of a guild began to act a play on their saint's day in +his honor. Later still the guilds all worked together, and all +acted their plays on one day. This was Corpus Christi Day, a +feast founded by Pope Urban IV in 1264. As this feast was in +summer, it was a very good time to act the plays, for the weather +was warm and the days were long. The plays often began very +early in the morning as soon as it was light, and lasted all day. + +The Miracles were now acted on a movable stage. This stage was +called a pageant, and the play which was acted on it was also in +time called a pageant. The stage was made in two stories. The +upper part was open all round, and upon this the acting took +place. The under part was curtained all round, and here the +actors dressed. From here, too, they came out, and when they had +finished their parts they went back again within the curtains. + +The movable stages were, of course, not very large, so sometimes +more than one was needed for a play. At other times the players +overflowed, as it were, into the audience. "Here Herod rages on +the pageant and in the street also" is one stage direction. The +devils, too, often ran among the people, partly to amuse them and +partly to frighten and show them what might happen if they +remained wicked. At the Creation, animals of all kinds which had +been kept chained up were let loose suddenly, and ran among the +people, while pigeons set free from cages flew over their heads. +Indeed, everything seems to have been done to make the people +feel the plays as real as possible. + +The pageants were on wheels, and as soon as a play was over at +the first appointed place, the stage was dragged by men to the +next place and the play again began. In an old MS. we are told, +"The places where they played them was in every streete. They +begane first at the abay gates, and when the first pagiante was +played, it was wheeled to the highe crosse befor the mayor, and +soe to every streete. And soe every streete had a pagiant +playinge before them at one time, till all the pagiantes for the +daye appoynted weare played. And when one pagiante was neare +ended worde was broughte from streete to streete, that soe they +mighte come in place thereof, exceedinge orderly. And all the +streetes have theire pagiantes afore them all at one time +playinge togeather."* + +*Harleian MS., 1948. + +Thus, if a man kept his place all a long summer's day, he might +see pass before him pageant after pageant until he had seen the +whole story of the world, from the Creation to the Day of +Judgment. + +In time nearly every town of any size in England had its own +cycle of plays, but only four of these have come down to us. +These are the York, the Chester, the Wakefield, and the Coventry +cycles. Perhaps the most interesting of them all are the +Wakefield plays. They are also called the Townley plays, from +the name of the family who possessed the manuscript for a long +time. + +Year after year the same guild acted the same play. And it +really seemed as if the pageant was in many cases chosen to suit +the trade of the players. The water-drawers of Chester, for +instance, acted the Flood. In York the shipwrights acted the +building of the ark, the fishmongers the Flood, and the gold- +beaters and money-workers the three Kings out of the East. + +The members of each guild tried to make their pageant as fine as +they could. Indeed, they were expected to do so, for in 1394 we +find the Mayor of York ordering the craftsmen "to bring forth +their pageants in order and course by good players, well arrayed +and openly speaking, upon pain of losing of 100 shillings, to be +paid to the chamber without any pardon."* + +*Thomas Sharp, Dissertation on the Pageants. + +So, in order to supply everything that was needful, each member +of a guild paid what was called "pageant silver." Accounts of +how this money was spent were carefully kept. A few of these +have come down to us, and some of the items and prices paid sound +very funny now. + + "Paid for setting the world of fire 5d. + For making and mending of the black souls hose 6d. + For a pair of new hose and mending of the old for the white souls 18d. + Paid for mending Pilate's hat 4d." + +The actors, too, were paid. Here are some of the prices:-- + + "To Fawson for hanging Judas 4d. + Paid to Fawson for cock crowing 4d. + +Some got much more than others. Pilate, for instance, who was an +important character, got 4s., while two angels only got 8d. +between them. But while the rehearsing and acting were going on +the players received their food, and when it was all over they +wound up with a great supper. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXIII HOW THE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS + +IN this chapter I am going to give you a part of one of the +Townley plays to show you what the beginnings of our drama were +like, + +Although our forefathers tried to make the pageants as real as +possible, they had, of course, no scenery, but acted on a little +bare platform. They never thought either that the stories they +acted had taken place long ago and in lands far away, where dress +and manners and even climate were all very different from what +they were in England. + +For instance, in the Shepherd's play, of which I am going to +tell, the first shepherd comes in shivering with cold. For +though he is acting in summer he must make believe that it is +Christmas-time, for on Christmas Day Christ was born. And +Christmas-time in England, he knows, is cold. What it may be in +far-off Palestine he neither knows nor cares. + + "Lord, what these weathers are cold! and I am ill happed; + I am near hand dulled so long have I napped; + My legs they fold, my fingers are chapped, + It is not as I would, for I am all lapped + In sorrow. + In storm and tempest, + Now in the east, now in the west, + Woe is him has never rest + Mid-day or morrow." + +In this strain the shepherd grumbles until the second comes. He, +too, complains of the cold. + + "The frost so hideous, they water mine een, + No lie! + Now is dry, now is wet, + Now is snow, now is sleet, + When my shoon freeze to my feet, + It is not all easy." + +So they talk until the third shepherd comes. He, too, grumbles. + + "Was never syne Noah's floods such floods seen; + Winds and rains so rude, and storms so keen." + +The first two ask the third shepherd where the sheep are. "Sir," +he replies, + + "This same day at morn + I left them i the corn + When they rang lauds. + They had pasture good they cannot go wrong." + + +That is all right, say the others, and so they settle to sing a +song, when a neighbor named Mak comes along. They greet the +newcomer with jests. But the second shepherd is suspicious of +him. + + "Thus late as thou goes, + What will men suppose? + And thou hast no ill nose + For stealing of sheep." + +"I am true as steel," says Mak. "All men wot it. But a sickness +I feel that holds me full hot," and so, he says, he is obliged to +walk about at night for coolness. + +The shepherds are all very weary and want to sleep. But just to +make things quite safe, they bid Mak lie down between them so +that he cannot move without awaking them. Mak lies down as he is +bid, but he does not sleep, and as soon as the others are all +snoring he softly rises and "borrows" a sheep. + +Quickly he goes home with it and knocks at his cottage door. +"How, Gill, art thou in? Get us a light." + +"Who makes such din this time of night?" answers his wife from +within. + +When she hears that it is Mak she unbars the door, but when she +sees what her husband brings she is afraid. + +"By the naked neck thou art like to hang," she says. + +"I have often escaped before," replies Mak. + +"But so long goes the pot to the water, men say, at last comes it +home broken," cries Gill. + +But the question is, now that they have the sheep, how is it to +be his from the shepherds. For Mak feels sure that they will +suspect him when they find out that a sheep is missing. + +Gill has a plan. She will swaddle the sheep like a new-born baby +and lay it in the cradle. This being done, Mak returns to the +shepherds, whom he finds still sleeping, and lies down again +beside them. Presently they all awake and rouse Mak, who still +pretends to sleep. He, after some talk, goes home, and the +shepherds go off to seek and count their sheep, agreeing to meet +again at the "crooked thorn." + +Soon the shepherds find that one sheep is missing, and suspecting +Mak of having stolen it they follow him home. They find him +sitting by the cradle singing a lullaby to the new-born baby, +while Gill lies in bed groaning and pretending to be very ill. +Mak greets the shepherds in a friendly way, but bids them speak +softly and not walk about, as his wife is ill and the baby +asleep. + +But the shepherds will not be put off with words. They search +the house, but can find nothing. + + "All work we in vain as well may we go. + Bother it! + I can find no flesh + Hard or nesh,* + Salt or fresh, + But two toom** platters." + + *Soft. + **Empty. + +Meanwhile, Gill from her bed cries out at them, calling them +thieves. "Ye come to rob us. I swear if ever I you beguiled, +that I eat this child that lies in this cradle." + +The shepherds at length begin to be sorry that they have been so +unjust as to suspect Mak. They wish to make friends again. But +Mak will not be friends. "Farewell, all three, and glad I am to +see you go," he cries. + +So the shepherds go a little sadly. "Fair winds may there be, +but love there is none this year," says one. + +"Gave ye the child anything?" says another. + +"I trow not a farthing." + +"Then back will I go," says the third shepherd, "abide ye there." + +And back he goes full of his kindly thought. "Mak," he says, +"with your leave let me give your bairn but sixpence." + +But Mak still pretends to be sulky, and will not let him come +near the child. By this time all the shepherds have come back. +One wants to kiss the baby, and bends over the cradle. Suddenly +he starts back. What a nose! The deceit is found out and the +shepherds are very angry. Yet even in their anger they can +hardly help laughing. Mak and Gill, however, are ready of wit. +They will not own to the theft. It is a changeling child, they +say. + + "He was taken with an elf, + I saw it myself, + When the clock struck twelve was he foreshapen," + +says Gill. + +But the shepherds will not be deceived a second time. They +resolve to punish Mak, but let him off after having tossed him in +a blanket until they are tired and he is sore and sorry for +himself. + +This sheepstealing scene shows how those who wrote the play tried +to catch the interest of the people. For every one who saw this +scene could understand it. Sheepstealing was a very common crime +in England in those days, and was often punished by death. +Probably every one who saw the play knew of such cases, and the +writers used this scene as a link between the everyday life, +which was near at hand and easy to understand, and the story of +the birth of Christ, which was so far off and hard to understand. + +And it is now, when the shepherds are resting from their hard +work of beating Mak, that they hear the angels sing "Glory to God +in the highest." From this point on all the jesting ceases, and +in its rough way the play is reverent and loving. + +The angel speaks. + + "Rise, herdmen, quickly, for now is he born + That shall take from the fiend what Adam was lorn; + That demon to spoil this night is he born, + God is made your friend now at this morn. + He behests + At Bethlehem go see, + There lies that fre* + In a crib full poorly + Betwixt two beasties." + + *Noble. + +The shepherds hear the words of the angel, and looking upward see +the guiding star. Wondering at the music, talking of the +prophecies of David and Isaiah, they hasten to Bethlehem and find +the lowly stable. Here, with a mixture of awe and tenderness, +the shepherds greet the Holy Child. It is half as if they spoke +to the God they feared, half as if they played with some little +helpless baby who was their very own. They mingle simple things +of everyday life with their awe. They give him gifts, but their +simple minds can imagine no other than those they might give to +their own children. + +The first shepherd greets the child with words:-- + + "Hail, comely and clean! Hail, young child! + Hail, maker as methinks of a maiden so mild. + Thou hast warred, I ween, the demon so wild." + +Then he gives as his gift a bob of cherries. + +The second shepherd speaks:-- + + "Hail! sovereign saviour! for thee have we sought. + Hail, noble child and flower that all thing hast wrought. + Hail, full of favour, that made all of nought. + Hail! I kneel and I cower! A bird have I brought + To my bairn. + Hail, little tiny mop, + Of our creed thou art crop,* + I would drink to thy health, + Little Day Star!" + + *Head. +The third shepherd speaks:-- + + Hail! darling dear full of Godhead! + I pray thee be near when that I have need! + Hail! sweet is thy cheer! My heart would bleed + To see thee sit here in so poor weed + With no pennies. + Hail! put forth thy dall.* + I bring thee but a ball: + Have and play thee with all + And go to the tennis." + + *Hand. + +And so the pageant of the shepherds comes to an end, and they +return home rejoicing. + +This play gives us a good idea of how the Miracles wound +themselves about the lives of the people. It gives us a good +idea of the rudeness of the times when such jesting with what we +hold as sacred seemed not amiss. It gives, too, the first gleam +of what we might call true comedy in English. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXIV THE STORY OF EVERYMAN + +A LITTLE later than the Miracle and Mystery plays came another +sort of play called the Moralities. In these, instead or +representing real people, the actors represented thoughts, +feelings and deeds, good and bad. Truth, for instance, would be +shown as a beautiful lady; Lying as an ugly old man, and so on. +These plays were meant to teach just as the Miracles were meant +to teach. But instead of teaching the Bible stories, they were +made to show men the ugliness of sin and the beauty of goodness. +When we go to the theater now we only think of being amused, and +it is strange to remember that all acting was at first meant to +teach. + +The very first of our Moralities seems to have been a play of the +Lord's Prayer. It was acted in the reign of Edward III or some +time after 1327. But that has long been lost, and we know +nothing of it but its name. There are several other Moralities, +however, which have come down to us of a later date, the earliest +being of the fifteenth century, and of them perhaps the most +interesting is Everyman. + +But we cannot claim Everyman altogether as English literature, +for it is translated from, or at least founded upon, a Dutch +play. Yet it is the best of all the Moralities which have come +down to us, and may have been translated into English about 1480. +In its own time it must have been thought well of, or no one +would have troubled to translate it. But, however popular it was +long ago, for hundreds of years it had lain almost forgotten, +unread except by a very few, and never acted at all, until some +one drew it from its dark hiding-place and once more put it upon +the stage. Since then, during the last few years, it has been +acted often. And as, happily, the actors have tried to perform +it in the simple fashion in which it must have been done long +ago, we can get from it a very good idea of the plays which +pleased our forefathers. On the title-page of Everyman we read: +"Here beginneth a treatise how the high Father of heaven sendeth +Death to summon every creature to come to give a count of their +lives in this world, and is in the manner of a moral play." So +in the play we learn how Death comes to Everyman and bids him +follow him. + +But Everyman is gay and young. He loves life, he has many +friends, the world to him is beautiful, he cannot leave it. So +he prays Death to let him stay, offers him gold and riches if he +will but put off the matter until another day. + +But Death is stern. "Thee availeth not to cry, weep and pray," +he says, "but haste thee lightly that thou wert gone the +journey." + +Then seeing that go he must, Everyman thinks that at least he +will have company on the journey. So he turns to his friends. +But, alas, none will go with him. One by one they leave him. +Then Everyman cries in despair:-- + + "O to whom shall I make my moan + For to go with me in that heavy journey? + First Fellowship said he would with me gone; + His words were very pleasant and gay, + But afterward he left me alone. + Then spake I to my kinsmen all in despair, + And also they gave me words fair; + They lacked no fair speaking, + But all forsake me in the ending." + +So at last Everyman turns him to his Good Deeds--his Good Deeds, +whom he had almost forgotten and who lies bound and in prison by +reason of his sins. And Good Deeds consents to go with him on +the dread journey. With him come others, too, among them +Knowledge and Strength. But at the last these, too, turn back. +Only Good Deeds is true, only Good Deeds stands by him to the end +with comforting words. And so the play ends; the body of +Everyman is laid in the grave, but we know that his soul goes +home to God. + +This play is meant to picture the life of every man or woman, and +to show how unhappy we may be in the end if we have not tried to +be good in this world. + + "This moral men may have in mind, + The hearers take it of worth old and young, + And forsake Pride, for he deceiveth you in the end, + And remember Beauty, Five Wits, Strength, and Discretion, + They all at the last do Everyman forsake, + Save his Good Deeds; these doth he take. + And beware, - an they be small, + Before God he hath no help at all. + None excuse may be there for Everyman." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Everyman: A Morality (Everyman's Library). + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXV HOW A POET COMFORTED A GIRL + +PERHAPS the best Morality of which we know the author's name is +Magnificence, by John Skelton. But, especially after Everyman, +it is dull reading for little people, and it is not in order to +speak of this play that I write about Skelton. + +John Skelton lived in the stormy times of Henry VIII, and he is +called sometimes our first poet-laureate. But he was not poet- +laureate as we now understand it, he was not the King's poet. +The title only meant that he had taken a degree in grammar and +Latin verse, and had been given a laurel wreath by the university +which gave the degree. It was in this way that Skelton was made +laureate, first by Oxford, then by Louvain in Belgium, and +thirdly by Cambridge, so that in his day he was considered a +learned man and a great poet. He was a friend of Caxton and +helped him with one of his books. "I pray, maister Skelton, late +created poet-laureate in the university of Oxenford," says +Caxton, "to oversee and correct this said book." + +John Skelton, like so many other literary men of those days, was +a priest. He studied, perhaps, both at Oxford and at Cambridge, +and became tutor to Prince, afterwards King, Henry VIII. We do +not know if he had an easy time with his royal pupil or not, but +in one of his poems he tells us that "The honour of England I +learned to spell" and "acquainted him with the Muses nine." + +The days of Henry VIII were troublous times for thinking people. +The King was a tyrant, and the people of England were finding it +harder than ever to bow to a tyrant while the world was awakening +to new thought, and new desires for freedom, both in religion and +in life. + +The Reformation had begun. The teaching of Piers Ploughman, the +preaching of Wyclif, had long since almost been forgotten, but it +had never altogether died out. The evils in the Church and in +high places were as bad as ever, and Skelton, himself a priest, +preached against them. He attacked other, even though he himself +sinned against the laws of priesthood. For he was married, and +in those days marriage was forbidden to clergymen, and his life +was not so fair as it might have been. + +At first Wolsey, the great Cardinal and friend of Henry VIII, was +Skelton's friend too. But Skelton's tongue was mocking and +bitter. "He was a sharp satirist, but with more railing and +scoffery than became a poet-laureate,"* said one. The Cardinal +became an enemy, and the railing tongue was turned against him. +In a poem called Colin Cloute Skelton pointed out the evils of +his day and at the same time pointed the finger of scorn at +Wolsey. Colin Cloute, like Piers Ploughman, was meant to mean +the simple good Englishman. + +*George Puttenham. + + "Thus I Colin Cloute, + As I go about, + + And wandering as I walk, + There the people talk. + Men say, for silver and gold + Mitres are bought and sold." + +And again:-- + + "Laymen say indeed, + How they (the priests) take no heed + Their silly sheep to feed, + But pluck away and pull + The fleeces of their wool." + +But he adds:-- + + "Of no good bishop speak I, + Nor good priest I decry, + Good friar, nor good chanon,* + Good nun, nor good canon, + Good monk, nor good clerk, + Nor yet no good work: + But my recounting is + Of them that do amiss." + + *Same as canon. + +Yet, although Skelton said he would not decry any good man or any +good work, his spirit was a mocking one. He was fond of harsh +jests and rude laughter, and no person or thing was too high or +too holy to escape his sharp wit. "He was doubtless a pleasant +conceited fellow, and of a very sharp wit," says a writer about +sixty years later, "exceeding bold, and would nip to the very +quick when he once set hold."* + +*William Webbe. + +And being bold as bitter, and having set hold with hatred upon +Wolsey, he in another poem called Why come ye not to Court? and +in still another called Speake, Parrot, wrote directly against +the Cardinal. Yet although Skelton railed against the Cardinal +and against the evils in the Church, he was no Protestant. He +believed in the Church of Rome, and would have been sorry to +think that he had helped the "heretics." + +Wolsey was still powerful, and he made up his mind to silence his +enemy, so Skelton found himself more than once in prison, and at +last to escape the Cardinal's anger he was forced to take +sanctuary in Westminster. There he remained until he died a few +months before his great enemy fell from power. + +As many of Skelton's poems were thus about quarrels over religion +and politics, much of the interest in them has died. Yet, as he +himself says, + + + "For although my rhyme is ragged, + Tattered and jagged, + Rudely rain-beaten, + Rust and moth eaten, + If ye take well therewith, + It hath in it some pith." + +And it is well to remember the name of Colin Cloute at least, +because a later and much greater poet borrowed that name for one +of his own poems, as you shall hear. + +But the poem which keeps most interest for us is one which +perhaps at the time it was written was thought least important. +It is called The Book of Philip Sparrow. And this poem shows us +that Skelton was not always bitter and biting. For it is neither +bitter nor coarse, but is a dainty and tender lament written for +a schoolgirl whose sparrow had been killed by a cat. It is +written in the same short lines as Colin Cloute and others of +Skelton's poems--"Breathless rhymes"* they have been called. +These short lines remind us somewhat of the old Anglo-Saxon short +half-lines, except that they rime. They are called after their +author "Skeltonical." + +*Bishop Hall. + +What chiefly makes The Book of Philip Sparrow interesting is that +it is the original of our nursery rime Who Killed Cock Robin? It +is written in the form of a dirge, and many people were shocked +at that, for they said that it was but another form of mockery +that this jesting priest had chosen with which to divert himself. +But I think that little Jane Scoupe at school in the nunnery at +Carowe would dry her eyes and smile when she read it. She must +have been pleased that the famous poet, who had been the King's +tutor and friend and who had been both the friend and enemy of +the great Cardinal, should trouble to write such a long poem all +about her sparrow. + +Here are a few quotations from it:-- + + "Pla ce bo,* + Who is there who? + Di le sci, + Dame Margery; + Fa re my my, + Wherefore and why why? + For the soul of Philip Sparrow + That was late slain at Carowe + Among the nuns black, + For that sweet soul's sake, + And for all sparrows' souls, + Set in our bead rolls, + Pater Noster qui, + With an Ave Mari, + And with the corner of a creed, + The more shall be your need. + + *Placebo is the first word of the first chant in the +service for the dead. Skelton has here made it into three + words. The chant is called the Placebo from the first +word. + . . . . + I wept and I wailed, + The tears down hailed, + But nothing it availed + To call Philip again, + That Gib our cat hath slain. + Gib, I say, our cat + Worried her on that + Which I loved best. + It cannot be expressed + My sorrowful heaviness + And all without redress. + . . . . + It had a velvet cap, + And would sit upon my lap, + And seek after small worms, + And sometimes white bread-crumbs. + . . . . + Sometimes he would gasp + When he saw a wasp, + A fly or a gnat + He would fly at that; + And prettily he would pant + When he saw an ant; + Lord, how he would fly + After the butterfly. + And when I said Phip, Phip + Then he would leap and skip, + And take me by the lip. + Alas it will me slo,* + That Philip is gone me fro. + + *Slay. + . . . . + For it would come and go, + And fly so to and fro; + And on me it would leap + When I was asleep, + And his feathers shake, + Wherewith he would make + Me often for to wake. + . . . . + That vengeance I ask and cry, + By way of exclamation, + On all the whole nation + Of cats wild and tame. + God send them sorrow and shame! + That cat especially + That slew so cruelly + My little pretty sparrow + That I brought up at Carowe. + O cat of churlish kind, + The fiend was in thy mind, + When thou my bird untwined.* + I would thou hadst been blind. + The leopards savage, + The lions in their rage, + Might catch thee in their paws + And gnaw thee in their jaws. + + *Tore to pieces. + . . . . + These villainous false cats, + Were made for mice and rats, + And not for birdies small. + . . . . + Alas, mine heart is slayeth + My Philip's doleful death, + When I remember it, + How prettily it would sit, + Many times and oft, + Upon my finger aloft. + . . . . + To weep with me, look that ye come, + All manner of birds of your kind; + So none be left behind, + To mourning look that ye fall + With dolorous songs funeral, + Some to sing, and some to say, + Some to weep, and some to pray, + Every bird in his lay. + The goldfinch and the wagtail; + The gangling jay to rail, + The flecked pie to chatter + Of the dolorous matter; + The robin redbreast, + He shall be the priest, + The requiem mass to sing, + Softly warbling, + With help of the red sparrow, + And the chattering swallow, + This hearse for to hallow; + The lark with his lung too, + The chaffinch and the martinet also; + . . . . + The lusty chanting nightingale, + The popinjay to tell her tale, + That peepeth oft in the glass, + Shall read the Gospel at mass; + The mavis with her whistle + Shall read there the Epistle, + But with a large and a long + To keep just plain song. + . . . . + The peacock so proud, + Because his voice is loud, + And hath a glorious tail + He shall sing the grayle;* + + The owl that is so foul + Must help us to howl. + + *Gradual = the part of the mass between Epistle and Gospel. + . . . . + At the Placebo + We may not forgo + The chanting of the daw + The stork also, + That maketh her nest + In chimnies to rest. + . . . . + The ostrich that will eat + A horseshoe so great, + In the stead of meat, + Such fervent heat + His stomach doth gnaw. + He cannot well fly + Nor sing tunably. + . . . . + The best that we can + To make him our bellman, + And let him ring the bells, + He can do nothing else. + Chanticlere our cock + Must tell what is of the clock + By the astrology + That he hath naturally + Conceived and caught, + And was never taught. + . . . . + To Jupiter I call + Of heaven imperial + That Philip may fly + Above the starry sky + To greet the pretty wren + That is our Lady's hen, + Amen, amen, amen. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXVI THE RENAISSANCE + +RENAISSANCE means rebirth, and to make you understand something +of what the word means in our literature I must take you a long +way. You have been told that the fifteenth century was a dull +time in English literature, but that it was also a time of new +action and new life, for the discovery of new worlds and the +discovery of printing had opened men's eyes and minds to new +wonders. There was a third event which added to this new life by +bringing new thought and new learning to England. That was the +taking of Constantinople by the Turks. + +It seems difficult to understand how the taking of Constantinople +could have any effect on our literature. I will try to explain, +but in order to do so clearly I must go back to the time of the +Romans. + +All of you have read English history, and there you read of the +Romans. You know what a clever and conquering people they were, +and how they subdued all the wild tribes who lived in the +countries around them. Besides conquering all the barbarians +around them, the Romans conquered another people who were not +barbarians, but who were in some ways more civilized than +themselves. These were the Greeks. They had a great literature, +they were more learned and quite as skilled in the arts of peace +as the Romans. Yet in 146 B.C., long before the Romans came to +our little island, Greece became a Roman province. + +Nearly five hundred years later there sat upon the throne an +Emperor named Constantine. And he, although Rome was still +pagan, became a Christian. He was, besides, a great and powerful +ruler. His court was brilliant, glittering with all the golden +splendor of those far-off times. But although Rome was still +pagan, Greece, a Roman province, had become Christian. And in +this Christian province Constantine made up his mind to build a +New Rome. + +In those days the boundaries of Greece stretched far further than +they do now, and it was upon the shores of the Bosphorus that +Constantine built his new capital. There was already an ancient +town there named Byzantium, but he transformed it into a new and +splendid city. The Emperor willed it to be called New Rome, but +instead the people called it the city of Constantine, and we know +it now as Constantinople. + +When Constantinople was founded it was a Roman city. All the +rulers were Roman, all the high posts were filled by Romans, and +Latin was the speech of the people. But in Constantinople it +happened as it had happened in England after the Conquest. In +England, for a time after the Conquest, the rulers were French +and the language was French, but gradually all that passed away, +and the language and the rulers became English once more. So it +was in Constantinople. By degrees it became a Greek city, the +rulers became Greek, and Greek was the language spoken. + +In building a second capital Constantine had weakened his Empire. +Soon it was split in two, and there arose a western and an +eastern Empire. As time went on the Western Empire with Rome at +its head declined and fell, while the Eastern Empire with +Constantinople as its capital grew great. But it grew into a +Greek Empire. Even very clever people cannot tell the exact date +at which the Roman Empire came to an end and the Greek or +Byzantine Empire, as it is called, began. So we need not trouble +about that. All that is needful for us to understand now it that +Constantinople was a Christian city, a Greek city, and a +treasure-house of Greek learning and literature. + +Thus Constantinople was the Christian outpost of Europe. For +hundred of year the Byzantine Empire stood as a barrier against +the Saracen hosts of Asia. It might have stood still longer, but +sad to say, this barrier was first broken down by the Christians +themselves. For in 1204 the armies of the fourth Crusade, which +had gathered to fight the heathen, turned their swords, to their +shame be it said, against the Christian people of the Greek +Empire. Constantinople was taken, plundered, and destroyed by +these "pious brigands,"* and the last of the Byzantine Emperors +was first blinded and then flung from a high tower, so that his +body fell shattered to pieces on the paving-stones of his own +capital. + +*George Finlay, History of Greece. + +Baldwin, Count of Flanders, one of the great leaders of the +Crusade, was then crowned by his followers and acknowledged +Emperor of the East. But the once great Empire was now broken +up, and out of it three lesser Empires, as well as many smaller +states, were formed. + +Baldwin did not long rule as Emperor of the East, and the Greeks +after a time succeeded in regaining Constantinople from the +western Christians. But although for nearly two hundred years +longer they kept it, the Empire was dying and lifeless. And by +degrees, as the power of Greece grew less, the power of Turkey +grew greater. At length in 1453 the Sultan Mohammed II attacked +Constantinople. Then the Cross, which for a thousand years and +more had stood upon the ramparts of Christendom, went down before +the Crescent. + +Constantine XI, the last of the Greek Emperors, knelt in the +great church of St. Sophia to receive for the last time the Holy +Sacrament. Then mounting his horse he rode forth to battle. +Fighting for his kingdom and his faith he fell, and over his dead +body the young Sultan and his soldiers rode into the ruined city. +Then in the church, where but a few hours before the fallen +Emperor had knelt and prayed to Christ, the Sultan bowed himself +in thanks and praise to Allah and Mohammed. + +And now we come to the point where the taking of Constantinople +and the fall of the Greek Empire touches our literature. + +In Constantinople the ancient learning and literature of the +Greeks had lived on year after year. The city was full of +scholars who knew, and loved, and studied the Greek authors. But +now, before the terror of the Turk, driven forth by the fear of +slavery and disgrace, these Greek scholars fled. They fled to +Italy. And although in their flight they had to leave goods and +wealth behind, the came laden with precious manuscripts from the +libraries of Constantinople. + +These fugitive Greeks brought to the Italians a learning which +was to them new and strange. Soon all over Europe the news of +the New Learning spread. Then across the Alps scholars thronged +from every country in Europe to listen and to learn. + +I do not think I can quite make you understand what this New +Learning was. It was indeed but the old learning of Greece. Yet +there was in it something that can never grow old, for it was +human. It made men turn away from idle dreaming and begin to +learn that the world we live in is real. They began to realize +that there was something more than a past and a future. There +was the present. So, instead of giving all their time to vague +wonderings of what might be, of what never had been, and what +never could be, they began to take an interest in life as it was +and in man as he was. They began to see that human life with all +its joys and sorrows was, after all, the most interesting thing +to man. + +It was a New Birth, and men called it so. For that is the +meaning of Renaissance. Many things besides the fall of +Constantinople helped towards this New Birth. The discovery of +new worlds by daring sailors like Columbus and Cabot, and the +discovery of printing were among them. But the touchstone of the +New Learning was the knowledge of Greek, which had been to the +greater part of Europe a lost tongue. On this side of the Alps +there was not a school or college in which it could be learned. +So to Italy, where the Greek scholars had found a refuge, those +who wished to learn flocked. + +Among them were some Oxford scholars. Chief of these were three, +whose names you will learn to know well when you come to read +more about this time. They were William Grocyn, "the most +upright and best of all Britons,"* Thomas Linacre, and John +Colet. These men, returning from Italy full of the New Learning, +began to teach Greek at Oxford. And it is strange now to think +that there were many then who were bitterly against such +teaching. The students even formed themselves into two parties, +for and against. They were called Greeks and Trojans, and +between these two parties man a fierce fight took place, for the +quarrel did not end in words, but often in blows. + +*Erasmus. + +The New Learning, however, conquered. And so keenly did men feel +the human interests of such things as were now taught, that we +have come to call grammar, rhetoric, poetry, Greek and Latin the +Humanities, and the professor who teaches these thing the +professor of Humanity. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXVII THE LAND OF NOWHERE + +WHILE the New Learning was stirring England, and Greek was being +for the first time taught in Oxford, a young student of fourteen +came to the University there. This student was named Thomas +More. He was the son of a lawyer who became a judge, and as a +little boy he had been a page in the household of Morton, the +Archbishop of Canterbury. + +The Archbishop was quick to see that the boy was clever. "This +child here waiting at the table, whoever will live to see it, +will prove a marvellous man,"* he would say. And so he persuaded +More's father to send the boy to Oxford to study law. + +*William Roper, The Mirrour of Virtue. + +Thomas remained only two years at Oxford, for old Sir John, +fearing he was learning too much Greek and literature and not +enough law, called his son home and sent him to study law in +London. It must have been a disappointment to the boy to be +taken from the clever friends he had made in Oxford, and from the +books and studies that he loved, to be set instead to read dry +law-books. But Thomas More was most sunny-tempered. Nothing +made him sulky or cross. So now he settled down quietly to his +new life, and in a very short time became a famous and learned +lawyer. + +In was after More left Oxford that he met the man who became his +dearest friend. This was Desiderius Erasmus, a learned Dutchman. +He was eleven years older than More and he could speak no +English, but that did not prevent them becoming friends, as they +both could speak Latin easily and well. They had much in common. +Erasmus was of the same lively, merry wit as More, they both +loved literature and the Greek learning, and so the two became +fast friends. And it helps us to understand the power which +Latin still held over our literature, and indeed over all the +literature of Europe, when we remember that these two friends +spoke to each other and wrote and jested in Latin as easily as +they might have done in English. Erasmus was one of the most +famous men of his time. He was one who did much in his day to +free men's minds, one who helped men to think for themselves. So +although he had directly perhaps little to do with English +literature, it is well to remember him as the friend of More. +"My affection for the man is so great," wrote Erasmus once, "that +if he bade me dance a hornpipe, I should do at once what he bid +me." + +Although More was so merry and witty, religion got a strong hold +upon him, and at one time he thought of becoming a monk. But his +friends persuaded him to give up that idea, and after a time he +decided to marry. He chose his wife in a somewhat quaint manner. +Among his friends there was a gentleman who had three daughters. +More liked the second one best, "for that he thought her the +fairest and best favoured."* But he married the eldest because +it seemed to him "that it would be both great grief and some +shame also to the oldest to see her younger sister preferred +before her in marriage. He then, of a certain pity, framed his +fancy toward her, and soon after married her."* + +*W. Roper. + +Although he chose his wife so quaintly More's home was a very +happy one. He loved nothing better than to live a simple family +life with his wife and children round him. After six years his +wife died, but he quickly married again. And although his second +wife was "a simple ignorant woman and somewhat worldly too," with +a sharp tongue and short temper, she was kind to her step- +children and the home was still a happy one. + +More was a great public man, but he was first a father and head +of his own house. He says: "While I spend almost all the day +abroad amongst others, and the residue at home among mine own, I +leave to myself, I mean to my book, no time. For when I come +home, I must commen with my wife, chatter with my children, and +talk with my servants. All the which things I reckon and account +among business, forasmuch as they must of necessity be done, and +done must they needs be unless a man will be stranger in his own +home. And in any wise a man must so fashion and order his +conditions and so appoint and dispose himself, that he be merry, +jocund and pleasant among them, whom either Nature hath provided +or chance hath made, or he himself hath chosen to be the fellows +and companions of his life, so that with too much gentle +behaviour and familiarity he do not mar them, and by too much +sufferance of his servants make them his masters." + +At a time, too, when education was thought little necessary for +girls, More taught his daughters as carefully as his sons. His +eldest daughter Margaret (Mog, as he loved to call her) was so +clever that learned men praised and rewarded her. When his +children married they did not leave home, but came with their +husbands and wives to live at Chelsea in the beautiful home More +had built there. So the family was never divided, and More +gathered a "school" of children and grandchildren round him. + +More soon became a great man. Henry VII, indeed, did not love +him, so More did not rise to power while he lived. But Henry VII +died and his son Henry VIII ruled. The great Chancellor, +Cardinal Wolsey, became More's friend, and presently he was sent +on business for the King to Bruges. + +It was while More was about the King's business in Belgium that +he wrote the greater part of the book by which he is best +remembered. This book is called Utopia. The name means +"nowhere," from two Greek words, "ou," no, and "topos," a place. + +The Utopia, like so many other books of which we have read, was +the outcome of the times in which the writer lived. When More +looked round upon the England that he knew he saw many things +that were wrong. He was a man loyal to his King, yet he could +not pretend to think that the King ruled only for the good of his +people and not for his own pleasure. There was evil, misery, and +suffering in all the land. More longed to make people see that +things were wrong; he longed to set the wrong right. So to teach +men how to do this he invented a land of Nowhere in which there +was no evil or injustice, in which every one was happy and good. +He wrote so well about that make-believe land that from then till +now every one who read Utopia sees the beauty of More's idea. +But every one, too, thinks that this land where everything is +right is an impossible land. Thus More gave a new word to our +language, and when we think some idea beautiful but impossible we +call it "Utopian." + +As it was the times that made More write his book, so it was the +times that gave him the form of it. + +In those days, as you know, men's minds were stirred by the +discovery of new lands and chiefly by the discovery of America. +And although it was Columbus who first discovered America, he did +not give his name to the new country. It was, instead, named +after the Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci. Amerigo wrote a +book about his voyages, and it was from this book that More got +some of his ideas for the Utopia. + +More makes believe that one day in Antwerp he saw a man "well +stricken in age, with a black sun-burned face, a long beard, and +a cloak cast homely about his shoulders, whom by his favour and +apparel forthwith I judged to be a mariner." + +This man was called Raphael Hythlodaye and had been with Amerigo +Vespucci in the three last of his voyages, "saving that in the +last voyage he came not home again with him." For on that voyage +Hythlodaye asked to be left behind. And after Amerigo had gone +home he, with five friends, set forth upon a further voyage of +discovery. In their travels they saw many marvelous and fearful +things, and at length came to the wonderful land of Nowhere. +"But what he told us that he saw, in every country where he came, +it were very long to declare." + +More asked many questions of this great traveler. "But as for +monsters, because they be no news, of them we were nothing +inquisitive. . . .. But to find citizens ruled by good and +wholesome laws, that is an exceeding rare and hard thing!" + +The whole story of the Utopia is told in the form of talks +between Hythlodaye, More, and his friend Peter Giles. And More +mixes what is real and what is imaginary so quaintly that it is +not wonderful that many of the people of his own day thought that +Utopia was a real place. Peter Giles, for instance, was a real +man and a friend of More, while Hythlodaye was imaginary, his +name being made of Greek words meaning Cunning Babbler. nearly +all the names of the towns, river, and people of whom Hythlodaye +tells were also made from Greek words and have some meaning. For +instance, Achoriens means people-who-have-no-place-on-earth, +Amaurote a-phantom-city, and so on. + +More takes a great deal of trouble to keep up the mystery of this +strange land. It was not wonderful that he should, for under the +pretense of a story he said hard things about the laws and ill- +government of England, things which it was treason to whisper. +In those days treason was a terrible word covering a great deal, +and death and torture were like to be the fate of any one who +spoke his mind too freely. + +But More knew that it would be a hard matter to make things +better in England. As he makes Hythlodaye say, it is no use +trying to improve things in a blundering fashion. It is of no +use trying by fear to drive into people's heads things they have +no mind to learn. Neither must you "forsake the ship in a +tempest, because you cannot rule and keep down the winds." But +"you must with a crafty wile and subtile train, study and +endeavour yourself, as much as in you lieth, to handle the matter +wittily and handsomely for the purpose. And that which you +cannot turn to good, so to order it that it be not very bad. For +it is not possible for all things to be well, unless all men were +good: which I think will not be yet in these good many years." + +The Utopia is divided into two books. The first and shorter +gives us what we might call the machinery of the tale. It tells +of the meeting with Hythlodaye and More's first talk with him. +It is not until the beginning of the second book that we really +hear about Utopia. And I think if you read the book soon, I +would advise you to begin with the second part, which More wrote +first. In the second book we have most of the story, but the +first book helps us to understand More's own times and explains +what he was trying to do in writing his tale. + +At the beginning of this book I told you that we should have to +talk of many books which for the present, at least, you could not +hope to like, but which you must be content to be told are good +and worth reading. I may be wrong, but I think Utopia is one of +these. Yet as Cresacre More, More's great-grandson, speaking of +his great-grandfather's writing, says, he "seasoned always the +troublesomeness of the matter with some merry jests or pleasant +tales, as it were sugar, whereby we drink up the more willingly +these wholesome drugs . . . which kind of writing he hath used in +all his works, so that none can ever by weary to read them, +though they be never so long." + +And even if you like the book now, you will both like and +understand it much better when you know a little about politics. +You will then see, too, how difficult it is to know when More is +in earnest and when he is merely poking fun, for More loved to +jest. Yet as his grandson, who wrote a life of him, tells us, +"Whatsoever jest he brought forth, he never laughed at any +himself, but spoke always so sadly, that few could see by his +look whether he spoke in earnest or in jest." + +It would take too long to tell all about the wonderful island of +Utopia and its people, but I must tell you a little of it and how +they regarded money. All men in this land were equal. No man +was idle, neither was any man over-burdened with labor, for every +one had to work six hours a day. No man was rich, no man was +poor, for "though no man have anything, yet every man is rich," +for the State gave him everything that he needed. So money was +hardly of any use, and gold and silver and precious jewels were +despised. + +"In the meantime gold and silver, whereof money is made, they do +so use, as none of them doth more esteem it, than the very nature +of the thing deserveth. And then who doth not plainly see how +far it is under iron? As without the which men can no better +live than without fire and water; whereas to gold and silver +nature hath given no use that we may not well lack, if that the +folly of men had not set it in higher estimation for the rareness +sake. But, of the contrary part, Nature, as a most tender and +loving mother, hath placed the best and most necessary things +open abroad; as the air, the water, and the earth itself; and +hath removed and hid farthest from us vain and unprofitable +things." + +Yet as other countries still prized money, gold and silver was +sometimes needed by the Utopians. But, thought the wise King and +his counselors, if we lock it up in towers and take great care of +it, the people may begin to think that gold is of value for +itself, they will begin to think that we are keeping something +precious from them. So to set this right they fell upon a plan. +It was this. "For whereas they eat and drink in earthen and +glass vessels, which indeed be curiously and properly made, and +yet be of very small value; of gold and silver they make other +vessels that serve for most vile uses, not only in their common +halls, but in every man's private house. Furthermore of the same +metals they make great chains and fetters and gyves, wherein they +tie their bondmen. Finally, whosoever for any offense be +infamed, by their ears hang rings of gold, upon their fingers +they wear rings of gold, and about their necks chains of gold; +and in conclusion their heads be tied about with gold. + +"Thus, by all means that may be, they procure to have gold and +silver among them in reproach and infamy. And therefore these +metals, which other nations do as grievously and sorrowfully +forego, as in a manner from their own lives, if they should +altogether at once be taken from the Utopians, no man there would +think that he had lost the worth of a farthing. + +"They gather also pearls by the seaside, and diamonds and +carbuncles upon certain rocks. Yet they seek not for them, but +by chance finding them they cut and polish them. And therewith +they deck their young infants. Which, like as in the first years +of their childhood they make much and be fond and proud of such +ornaments, so when they be a little more grown in years and +discretion, perceiving that none but children do wear such toys +and trifles, they lay them away even of their own shamefastness, +without any bidding of their parents, even as our children when +they wax big, do caste away nuts, brooches and dolls. Therefore +these laws and customs, which be so far different from all other +nations, how divers fancies also and minds they do cause, did I +never so plainly perceive, as in the Ambassadors of the +Anemolians. + +"These Ambassadors came to Amaurote whiles I was there. And +because they came to entreat of great and weighty matters, three +citizens a piece out of every city (of Utopia) were come thither +before them. But all the Ambassadors of the next countries, +which had been there before, and knew the fashions and manners of +the Utopians, among whom they perceived no honour given to +sumptuous and costly apparel, silks to be contemned, gold also to +be infamed and reproachful, were wont to come thither in very +homely and simple apparel. But the Anemolians, because they +dwell far thence, and had very little acquaintance with them, +hearing that they were all apparelled alike, and that very rudely +and homely, thinking them not to have the things which they did +not wear, being therefore more proud than wise, determined in the +gorgeousness of their apparel to represent very gods, and with +the bright shining and glistening of their gay clothing to dazzle +the eyes of the silly poor Utopians. + +"So there came in three Ambassadors with a hundred servants all +apparelled in changeable colours; the most of them in silks; the +Ambassadors themselves (for at home in their own country they +were noble men) in cloth of gold, with great chains of gold, with +gold hanging at their ears, with gold rings upon their fingers, +with brooches and aglettes* of gold upon their caps, which +glistered full of pearls and precious stones; to be short, +trimmed and adorned with all those things, which among the +Utopians were either the punishment of bondmen, or the reproach +of infamed persons, or else trifles for young children to play +withall. + +*Hanging ornaments. + +"Therefore it would have done a man good at his heart to have +seen how proudly they displayed their peacocks' feathers; how +much they made of their painted sheathes; and how loftily they +set forth and advanced themselves, when they compared their +gallant apparel with the poor raiment of the Utopians. For all +the people were swarmed forth into the streets. + +"And on the other side it was no less pleasure to consider how +much they were deceived, and how far they missed their purpose; +being contrary ways taken than they thought they should have +been. For to the eyes of all the Utopians, except very few, +which had been in other countries for some reasonable cause, all +that gorgeousness of apparel seemed shameful and reproachful; in +so much that they most reverently saluted the vilest and most +abject of them for lords; passing over the Ambassadors themselves +without any honour; judging them by their wearing of golden +chains to be bondmen. + +"Yea, you should have seen children also that had cast away their +pearls and precious stones, when they saw the like sticking upon +the Ambassadors' caps, dig and push their mothers under the +sides, saying thus to them: 'Look, mother, how great a lubber +doth yet wear pearls and precious stones, as though he were a +little child still.' + +"But the mother, yea, and that also in good earnest: 'Peace, +son,' saith she, 'I think he be some of the Ambassadors' fools.' + +"Some found fault with their golden chains, as to no use nor +purpose; being so small and weak, that a bondman might easily +break them; and again so wide and large that, when it pleased +him, he might cast them off, and run away at liberty whither he +would. + +"But when the Ambassadors had been there a day or two, and saw so +great abundance of gold so lightly esteemed, yea, in no less +reproach than it was with them in honour; and, besides that, more +gold in the chains and gyves of one fugitive bondman, than all +the costly ornaments of their three was worth; then began a-bate +their courage, and for very shame laid away all that gorgeous +array whereof they were so proud; and especially when they had +talked familiarly with the Utopians, and had learned all their +fashions and opinions. For they marvel that any man be so +foolish as to have delight and pleasure in the glistering of a +little trifling stone, which may behold any of the stars, or else +the sun itself; or that any man is so mad as to count himself the +nobler for the smaller or finer thread of wool, which self-same +wool (be it now in never so fine a spun thread) did once a sheep +wear, and yet was she all that time no other thing than a sheep." + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXVIII THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS MORE + +THERE is much that is quaint, much that is deeply wise, in More's +Utopia, still no one is likely to agree with all he says, or to +think that we could all be happy in a world such as he describes. +For one thing, to those of us who love color it would seem a dull +world indeed were we all forced to dress in coarse-spun, undyed +sheep's wool, and if jewels and gold with all their lovely lights +and gleamings were but the signs of degradation. Each one who +reads it may find something in the Utopia that he would rather +have otherwise. But each one, too, will find something to make +him think. + +More was not the first to write about a happy land where every +one lived in peace and where only justice reigned. And if he got +some of his ideas of the island from the discoveries of the New +World, he got many more from the New Learning. For long before, +Plato, a Greek writer, had told of a land very like Utopia in his +book called the Republic. And the New Learning had made that +book known to the people of England. + +We think of the Utopia as English Literature, yet we must +remember that More wrote it in Latin, and it was not translated +into English until several years after his death. The first +English translation was made by Ralph Robinson, and although +since then there have been other translation which in some ways +are more correct, there has never been one with more charm. For +Robinson's quaint English keeps for us something of the spirit of +More's time and of More's self in a way no modern and more +perfect translation can. + +The Utopia was not written for one time or for one people. Even +before it was translated into English it had been translated into +Dutch, Italian, German, and French and was largely read all over +the Continent. It is still read to-day by all who are interested +in the life of the people, by all who think that in "this best of +all possible worlds" things might still be made better. + +More wrote many other books both in English and in Latin and +besides being a busy author he led a busy life. For blustering, +burly, selfish King Henry loved the gentle witty lawyer, and +again and again made use of his wits. "And so from time to time +was he by the King advanced, continuing in his singular favour +and trusty service twenty years and above."* + +*W. Roper. + +It was not only for his business cleverness that King Henry loved +Sir Thomas. It was for his merry, witty talk. When business was +done and supper-time came, the King and Queen would call for him +"to be merry with them." Thus it came about that Sir Thomas +could hardly ever get home to his wife and children, where he +most longed to be. Then he began to pretend to be less clever +than he was, so that the King might not want so much of his +company. But Henry would sometimes follow More to his home at +Chelsea, where he had built a beautiful house. Sometimes he came +quite unexpectedly to dinner. Once he came, "and after dinner, +in a fair garden of his, walked with him by the space of an hour, +holding his arm about his neck." As soon as the King was gone, +More's son-in-law said to him that he should be happy seeing the +King was so friendly with him, for with no other man was he so +familiar, not even with Wolsey. + +"I thank our Lord," answered More, "I find in his Grace a very +good lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singularly favour me +as any subject within the realm. Howbeit, son Roper, I may tell +thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof, for if my head would +win him a castle in France it should not fail to go." + +And Sir Thomas was not wrong. Meanwhile, however, the King +heaped favor upon him. He became Treasurer of the Exchequer, +Speaker of the House of Commons, Chancellor of the Duchy of +Lancaster, and last of all Lord Chancellor of England. This was +a very great honor. And as More was a layman the honor was for +him greater than usual. For he was the first layman to be made +Chancellor. Until then the Chancellor had always been some +powerful Churchman. + +More was not eager for these honors. He would much rather have +lived a simple family life, but bluff King Hal was no easy master +to serve. If he chose to honor a man and set him high, that man +could but submit. So, as Erasmus says, More was dragged into +public life and honor, and being thus dragged in troubles were +not slow to follow. + +Henry grew tired of his wife, Queen Catherine, but the Pope would +not allow him to divorce her so that he might marry another. +Then Henry quarreled with the Pope. The Pope, he said, should no +longer have power in England. He should no longer be head of the +Church, but the people must henceforth look to the King as such. +This More could not do. He tried to keep out of the quarrel. He +was true to his King as king, but he felt that he must be true to +his religion too. To him the Pope was the representative of +Christ on earth, and he could look to no other as head of the +Church. When first More had come into the King's service, Henry +bade him "first look unto God, and after God unto him." Of this +his Chancellor now reminded him, and laying down his seal of +office he went home, hoping to live the rest of his days in +peace. + +But that was not to be. "It is perilous striving with princes," +said a friend. " I would wish you somewhat to incline to the +King's pleasure. The anger of princes is death." + +"Is that all?" replied More calmly; "then in good faith the +difference between you and me is but this, that I shall die to- +day and you to-morrow." + +So it fell out. There came a day when messengers came to More's +happy home, and the beloved father was led away to imprisonment +and death. + +For fifteen months he was kept in the Tower. During all that +time his cheerful steadfastness did not waver. He wrote long +letters to his children, and chiefly to Meg, his best-loved +daughter. When pen and ink were taken away from him, he still +wrote with coal. In these months he became an old man, bent and +crippled with disease. But though his body was feeble his mind +was clear, his spirit bright as ever. No threats or promises +could shake his purpose. He could not and would not own Henry as +head of the Church. + +At last the end came. In Westminster Hall More was tried for +treason and found guilty. From Westminster through the thronging +streets he was led back again to the Tower. In front of the +prisoner an ax was carried, the edge being turned towards him. +That was the sign to all who saw that he was to die. + +As the sad procession reached the Tower Wharf there was a pause. +A young and beautiful woman darted from the crowd, and caring not +for the soldiers who surrounded him, unafraid of their swords and +halberds, she reached the old man's side, and threw herself +sobbing on his breast. In was Margaret, More's beloved daughter, +who, fearing that never again she might see her father, thus came +in the open street to say farewell. She clung to him and kissed +him in sight of all again and again, but no word could she say +save, "Oh, my father! oh, my father!" + +Then Sir Thomas, holding her tenderly, comforted and blessed her, +and at last she took her arms from about his neck and he passed +on. But Margaret could not yet leave him. Scarcely had she gone +ten steps than suddenly she turned back. Once more breaking +through the guard she threw her arms about him. Not a word did +Sir Thomas say, but as he held her there the tears fell fast from +his eyes, while from the crowd around broke the sound of weeping. +Even the guards wept for pity. But at last, with full and heavy +hearts, father and daughter parted. + +"Dear Meg," Sir Thomas wrote for the last time, "I never liked +your manner better towards me than when you kissed me last. For +I like when daughterly love and dear charity hath no leisure to +look to worldly courtesy." + +Next day he died cheerfully as he had lived. To the last he +jested in his quaint fashion. The scaffold was so badly built +that it was ready to fall, so Sir Thomas, jesting, turned to the +lieutenant. "I pray you, Master Lieutenant," he said, "see me +safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself." He +desired the people to pray for him, and having kissed the +executioner in token of forgiveness, he laid his head upon the +block. "So passed Sir Thomas More out of the world to God." His +death was mourned by many far and near. "Had we been master of +such a servant," said the Emperor Charles when he heard of it, +"we would rather have lost the best city of our dominions than +have lost such a worthy counselor." + +More died for his faith, that of the Catholic Church. He, as +others, saw with grief that there was much within the Church that +needed to be made better, but he trusted it would be made better. +To break away from the Church, to doubt the headship of the Pope, +seemed to him such wickedness that he hated the Reformers and +wrote against them. And although in Utopia he allowed his happy +people to have full freedom in matters of religion, in real life +he treated sternly and even cruelly those Protestants with whom +he had to deal. + +Yet the Reformation was stirring all the world, and while Sir +Thomas More cheerfully and steadfastly died for the Catholic +faith, there were others in England who as cheerfully lived, +worked, and died for the Protestant faith. We have little to do +with these Reformers in this book, except in so far as they touch +our literature, and it is to them that we owe our present Bible. + +First William Tyndale, amid difficulties and trials, translated +afresh the New and part of the Old Testament, and died the death +of a martyr in 1536. + +Miles Coverdale followed him with a complete translation in +happier times. For Henry VIII, for his own purposes, wished to +spread a knowledge of the Bible, and commanded that a copy of +Coverdale's Bible should be placed in every parish church. And +although Coverdale was not so great a scholar as Tyndale, his +language was fine and stately, with a musical ring about the +words, and to this day we still keep his version of the Psalms in +the Prayer Book. + +Other versions of the Bible followed these, until in 1611, in the +reign of James I and VI, the translation which we use to-day was +at length published. That has stood and still stands the test of +time. And, had we no other reason to treasure it, we would still +for its simple musical language look upon it as one of the fine +things in our literature. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Life of Sir Thomas More (King's Classics, modern English), by W. +Roper (his son-in-law). Utopia (King's Classics, modern +English), translated by R. Robinson. Utopia (old English), +edited by Churton Collins. + + + + + + + +Chapter XXXIX HOW THE SONNET CAME TO ENGLAND + +UPON a January day in 1527 two gaily decked barges met upon the +Thames. In the one sat a man of forty. His fair hair and beard +were already touched with gray. His face was grave and +thoughtful, and his eyes gave to it a curious expression, for the +right was dull and sightless, while with the left he looked about +him sharply. This was Sir John Russell, gentleman of the Privy +Chamber, soldier, ambassador, and favorite of King Henry VIII. +Fighting in the King's French wars he had lost the sight of his +right eye. Since then he had led a busy life in court and camp, +passing through many perilous adventures in the service of his +master, and now once again by the King's commands he was about to +set forth for Italy. + +As the other barge drew near Russell saw that in it there sat +Thomas Wyatt, a young poet and courtier of twenty-three. He was +tall and handsome, and his thick dark hair framed a pale, clever +face which now looked listless. But as his dreamy poet's eyes +met those of Sir John they lighted up. The two men greeted each +other familiarly. "Whither away," cried Wyatt, for he saw that +Russell was prepared for a journey. + +"To Italy, sent by the King." + +To Italy, the land of Poetry! The idea fired the poet's soul. + +"And I," at once he answered, "will, if you please, ask leave, +get money, and go with you." + +"No man more welcome," answered the ambassador, and so it was +settled between them. The money and the leave were both +forthcoming, and Thomas Wyatt passed to Italy. This chance +meeting and this visit to Italy are of importance to our +literature, because they led to a new kind of poem being written +in English. This was the Sonnet. + +The Sonnet is a poem of fourteen lines, and is perhaps the most +difficult kind of poem to write. It is divided into two parts. +The first part has eight lines and ought only to have two rimes. +That is, supposing we take words riming with love and king for +our rimes, four lines must rime with love and four with king. +The rimes, too, must come in a certain order. The first, fourth, +fifth and eighth lines must rime, and the second, third, sixth, +and seventh. This first part is called the octave, from the +Latin word octo, eight. The second part contains six lines, and +is therefore called the sextet, from the Latin word sex, meaning +six. The sextet may have either two or three rimes, and these +may be arranged in almost any order. But a correct sonnet ought +not to end with a couplet, that is two riming lines. However, +very many good writers in English do so end their sonnets. + +As the sonnet is so bound about with rules, it often makes the +thought which it expresses sound a little unreal. And for that +very reason it suited the times in which Wyatt lived. In those +far-off days every knight had a lady whom he vowed to serve and +love. He took her side in every quarrel, and if he were a poet, +or even if he were not, he wrote verses in her honor, and sighed +and died for her. The lady was not supposed to do anything in +return; she might at most smile upon her knight or drop her +glove, that he might be made happy by picking it up. In fact, +the more disdainful the lady might be the better it was, for then +the poet could write the more passionate verses. For all this +love and service was make-believe. It was merely a fashion and +not meant to be taken seriously. A man might have a wife whom he +loved dearly, and yet write poems in honor of another lady +without thought of wrong. The sonnet, having something very +artificial in it, just suited this make-believe love. + +Petrarch, the great Italian poet, from whom you remember Chaucer +had learned much, and whom perhaps he had once met, made use of +this kind of poem. In his sonnets he told his love of a fair +lady, Laura, and made her famous for all time. + +Of course, when Wyatt came to Italy Petrarch had long been dead. +But his poems were as living as in the days of Chaucer, and it +was from Petrarch's works that Wyatt learned this new kind of +poem, and it was he who first made use of it in English. He, +too, like Petrarch, addressed his sonnets to a lady, and the lady +he took for his love was Queen Anne Boleyn. As he is the first, +he is perhaps one of the roughest of our sonnet writers, but into +his sonnets he wrought something of manly strength. He does not +sigh so much as other poets of the age. He says, in fact, "If I +serve my lady faithfully I deserve reward." Here is one of his +sonnets, which he calls "The lover compareth his state to a ship +in perilous storm tossed by the sea." + + "My galléy charged with forgetfulness, + Through sharpe seas in winter's night doth pass, + 'Tween rock and rock; and eke my foe (alas) + That is my lord, steereth with cruelness: + And every oar a thought in readiness, + As though that death were light in such a case. + An endless wind doth tear the sail apace, + Of forcéd sighs and trusty fearfulness; + A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain, + Have done the wearied cords great hinderance: + Wreathéd with error and with ignorance; + The stars be his, that lead me to this pain; + Drownéd is reason that should me comfort, + And I remain, despairing of the port." + +It is not perfect, it is not even Wyatt's best sonnet, but it is +one of the most simple. To make it run smoothly we must sound +the ed in those words ending in ed as a separate syllable, and we +must put a final e to sharp in the second line and sound that. +Then you see the rimes are not very good. To begin with, the +first eight all have sounds of s. Then "alas" and "pass" do not +rime with "case" and "apace," nor do "comfort" and "port." I +point these things out, so that later on you may see for +yourselves how much more polished and elegant a thing the sonnet +becomes. + +Although Wyatt was our first sonnet writer, some of his poems +which are not sonnets are much more musical, especially some he +wrote for music. Perhaps best of all you will like his satire Of +the mean and sure estate. A satire is a poem which holds up to +scorn and ridicule wickedness, folly, or stupidity. It is the +sword of literature, and often its edge was keen, its point +sharp. + + "My mother's maids when they do sew and spin, + They sing a song made of the fieldish mouse; + That for because her livelod* was but thin + Would needs go see her townish sister's house. + + *Livelihood. + . . . . . . . + 'My sister,' quoth she, 'hath a living good, + And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile, + In cold and storm she lieth warm and dry + In bed of down. The dirt doth not defile + Her tender foot; she labours not as I. + Richly she feeds, and at the rich man's cost; + And for her meat she need not crave nor cry. + By sea, by land, of delicates* the most, + Her caterer seeks, and spareth for no peril. + She feeds on boil meat, bake meat and roast, + And hath, therefore, no whit of charge or travail.' + + *Delicacies. + . . . . . . . + So forth she goes, trusting of all this wealth + With her sister her part so for to shape, + That if she might there keep herself in health, + To live a Lady, while her life do last. + And to the door now is she come by stealth, + And with her foot anon she scrapes full fast. + Th' other for fear durst not well scarce appear, + Of every noise so was the wretch aghast. + At last she askéd softly who was there; + And in her language as well as she could, + 'Peep,' quoth the other, 'sister, I am here.' + 'Peace,' quoth the town mouse, 'why speaketh thou so loud?' + But by the hand she took her fair and well. + 'Welcome,' quoth she, 'my sister by the Rood.' + She feasted her that joy it was to tell + The fare they had, they drank the wine so clear; + And as to purpose now and then it fell, + So cheered her with, 'How, sister, what cheer.' + Amid this joy befell a sorry chance, + That welladay, the stranger bought full dear + The fare she had. For as she looked ascance, + Under a stool she spied two flaming eyes, + In a round head, with sharp ears. In France + Was never mouse so feared, for the unwise + Had not ere seen such beast before. + Yet had nature taught her after her guise + To know her foe, and dread him evermore. + The town mouse fled, she knew whither to go; + The other had no shift, but wonders sore, + Fear'd of her life! At home she wished her tho'; + And to the door, alas! as she did skip + (The heaven it would, lo, and eke her chance was so) + At the threshold her sill foot did trip; + And ere she might recover it again, + The traitor Cat had caught her by the hip + And made her there against her will remain, + That had forgot her poor surety and rest, + For seeming wealth, wherein she thought to reign." + +That is not the end of the poem. Wyatt points the moral. +"Alas," he says, "how men do seek the best and find the worst." +"Although thy head were hooped with gold," thou canst not rid +thyself of care. Content thyself, then, with what is allotted +thee and use it well. + +This satire Wyatt wrote while living quietly in the country, +having barely escaped with his life from the King's wrath. But +although he escaped the scaffold, he died soon after in his +King's service. Riding on the King's business in the autumn of +1542 he became overheated, fell into a fever, and died. He was +buried at Sherborne. No stone marks his resting-place, but his +friend and fellow-poet, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, wrote a +noble elegy:-- + + "A hea, where Wisdom mysteries did frame; + Whose hammers beat still, in that lively brain, + As on a stithy* where that some work of fame + Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain. + + *Anvil. + . . . . . . . + A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme, + That Chaucer reft the glory of his wit. + A mark, the which (unperfected for time) + Some may approach; but never none shall hit!" + +BOOKS TO READ + +Early Sixteenth-Century Lyrics (Belle Lettres Series), edited by +F. M. Padelford (original spelling). + + + + + + + +Chapter XL THE BEGINNING OF BLANK VERSE + +THE poet with whose verses the last chapter ended was named Henry +Howard, Earl of Surrey. The son of a noble and ancient house, +Surrey lived a gay life in court and camp. Proud, hot-headed, +quick-tempered, he was often in trouble, more than once in +prison. In youth he was called "the most foolish proud boy in +England," and at the age of thirty, still young and gay and full +of life, he died upon the scaffold. Accused of treason, yet +innocent, he fell a victim to "the wrath of princes," the wrath +of that hot-headed King Henry VIII. Surrey lived at the same +time as Wyatt and, although he was fourteen years younger, was +his friend. Together they are the forerunners of our modern +poetry. They are nearly always spoken of together--Wyatt and +Surrey--Surrey and Wyatt. Like Wyatt, Surrey followed the +Italian poets. Like Wyatt he wrote sonnets; but whereas Wyatt's +are rough, Surrey's are smooth and musical, although he does not +keep the rules about rime endings. One who wrote not long after +the time of Wyatt and Surrey says of them, "Sir Thomas Wyatt, the +elder, and Henry, Earl of Surrey, were the two chieftains, who, +having travelled in Italy, and there tasted the sweet and stately +measures and style of the Italian poesie . . . greatly polished +our rude and homely manner of vulgar poesie from that it had been +before, and for that cause may justly be said the first reformers +of our English metre and syle. . . . I repute them for the two +chief lanterns of light to all others that have since employed +their pens on English poesie."* + +*G. Puttenham, Art of English Poesie. + +A later writer* has called Surrey the "first refiner" of our +language. And just as there comes a time in our own lives when we +begin to care not only for the story, but for the words in which +a story is told and for the way in which those words are used, +so, too, there comes such a time in the life of a nation, and +this time for England we may perhaps date from Wyatt and Surrey. +Before then there were men who tried to use the best words in the +best way, but they did it unknowingly, as birds might sing. The +language, too, in which they wrote was still a growing thing. +When Surrey wrote it had nearly reached its finished state, and +he helped to finish and polish it. + +*W. J. Courthope. + +As the fashion was, Surrey chose a lady to whom to address his +verses. She was the little Lady Elizabeth Fitz-Gerald, whose +father had died a broken-hearted prisoner in the Tower. She was +only ten when Surrey made her famous in song, under the name of +Geraldine. Here is a sonnet in which he, seeing the joy of all +nature at the coming of Spring, mourns that his lady is still +unkind: + + "The sweet season, that bud and bloom forth brings, + With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale, + The nightingale with feathers new she sings: + The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. + Summer is come, for every spray now springs, + The hart hath hung his old head on the pale, + The buck in haste his winter coat he flings; + The fishes float with new repaired scale, + The adder all her slough away she lings; + The swift swallow pursueth the flies small; + The busy-bee her honey now she mings;* + Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. + And thus I see among these pleasant things + Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs." + + *Mingles. + +Besides following Wyatt in making the sonnet known to English +readers, Surrey was the first to write in blank verse, that is in +long ten-syllabled lines which do not rime. This is a kind of +poetry in which some of the grandest poems in our language are +written, and we should remember Surrey as the first maker of it. +For with very little change the rules which Surrey laid down have +been followed by our best poets ever since, so from the sixteenth +century till now there has been far less change in our poetry +than in the five centuries before. You can see this for yourself +if you compare Surrey's poetry with Layamon's or Langland's, and +then with some of the blank verse near the end of this book. + +It was in translating part of Virgil's Aeneid that Surrey used +blank verse. Virgil was an ancient Roman poet, born 70 B. C., +who in his book called the Aeneid told of the wanderings and +adventures of Aeneas, and part of this poem Surrey translated into +English. + +This is how he tells of the way in which Aeneas saved his old +father by carrying him on his shoulders out of the burning town +of Troy when "The crackling flame was heard throughout the walls, +and more and more the burning heat drew near." + + "My shoulders broad, + And layéd neck with garments 'gan I spread, + And thereon cast a yellow lion's skin; + And thereupon my burden I receive. + Young Iulus clasped in my right hand, + Followeth me fast, with unequal pace, + And at my back my wife. Thus did we pass + By places shadowed most with the night, + And me, whom late the dart which enemies threw, + Nor press of Argive routs could make amaz'd, + Each whisp'ring wind hath power now to fray, + And every sound to move my doubtful mind. + So much I dread my burden and my fere.* + And now we 'gan draw near unto the gate, + Right well escap'd the danger, as me thought, + When that at hand a sound of feet we heard. + My father then, gazing throughout the dark, + Cried on me, 'Flee, son! they are at hand.' + With that, bright shields, and shene** armours I saw + But then, I know not what unfriendly god + My troubled with from me bereft for fear. + For while I ran by the most secret streets, + Eschewing still the common haunted track, + From me, catif, alas! bereavéd was + Creusa then, my spouse; I wot not how, + Whether by fate, or missing of the way, + Or that she was by weariness retain'd; + But never sith these eyes might her behold. + Nor did I yet perceive that she was lost, + Nor never backward turnéd I my mind; + Till we came to the hill whereon there stood + The old temple dedicated to Ceres. + And when that we were there assembled all, + She was only away deceiving us, + Her spouse, her son, and all her company. + What god or man did I not then accuse, + Near wode *** for ire? or what more cruel chance + Did hap to me in all Troy's overthrow?" + + *Companion. + **Bright. + ***Mad. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLI SPENSER--THE "SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR" + +WHEN Henry signed Surrey's death-warrant he himself was near +death, and not many weeks later the proud and violent king met +his end. Then followed for England changeful times. After +Protestant Edward came for a tragic few days Lady Jane. Then +followed the short, sad reign of Catholic Mary, who, dying, left +the throne free for her brilliant sister Elizabeth. Those years, +from the death of King Henry VIII to the end of the first twenty +years of Elizabeth's reign, were years of action rather than of +production. They were years of struggle, during which England +was swayed to and fro in the fight of religions. They were years +during which the fury of the storm of the Reformation worked +itself out. But although they were such unquiet years they were +also years of growth, and at the end of that time there blossomed +forth one of the fairest seasons of our literature. + +We call the whole group of authors who sprang up at this time the +Elizabethans, after the name of the Queen in whose reign they +lived and wrote. And to those of us who know even a very little +of the time, the word calls up a brilliant vision. Great names +come crowding to our minds, names of poets, dramatists, +historians, philosophers, divines. It would be impossible to +tell of all in this book, so we must choose the greatest from the +noble array. And foremost among them comes Edmund Spenser, for +"the glory of the new literature broke in England with Edmund +Spenser."* + +*J. R. Green, History of English People. + +If we could stand aside, as it were, and take a wide view of all +our early literature, it would seem as if the names of Chaucer +and Spenser stood out above all others like great mountains. The +others are valleys between. They are pleasant fields in which to +wander, in which to gather flowers, not landmarks for all the +world like Chaucer and Spenser. And although it is easier and +safer for children to wander in the meadows and gather meadow +flowers, they still may look up to the mountains and hope to +climb them some day. + +Edmund Spenser was born in London in 1552, and was the son of a +poor clothworker or tailor. He went to school at the Merchant +Taylors' School, which had then been newly founded. That his +father was very poor we know, for Edmund Spenser's name appears +among "certain poor scholars of the schools about London" who +received money and clothes from a fund left by a rich man to help +poor children at school. + +When he was about seventeen Edmund went to Cambridge, receiving +for his journey a sum of ten shillings from the fund from which +he had already received help at school. He entered college as a +sizar, that is, in return for doing the work of a servant he +received free board and lodging in his college. A sizar's life +was not always a happy one, for many of the other scholars or +gentlemen commoners looked down upon them because of their +poverty. And this poverty they could not hide, for the sizars +were obliged to wear a different cap and gown from that of the +gentlemen commoners. + +But of how Spenser fared at college we know nothing, except that +he was often ill and that he made two lifelong friends. That he +loved his university, however, we learn from his poems, when he +tenderly speaks of "my mother Cambridge."* When he left college +Spenser was twenty-three. He was poor and, it would seem, ill, +so he did not return to London, but went to live with relatives +in the country in Lancashire. And there about "the wasteful +woods and forest wide"** he wandered, gathering new life and +strength, taking all a poet's joy in the beauty and the freedom +of a country life, "for ylike to me was liberty and life,"** he +says. And here among the pleasant woods he met a fair lady named +Rosalind, "the widow's daughter of the glen."*** + +*Faery Queen, book IV canto xi. +**Shepherd's Calendar, December +***The same, April. + +Who Rosalind really was no one knows. She would never have been +heard of had not Spenser taken her for his lady and made songs to +her. Spenser's love for Rosalind was, however, more real than +the fashionable poet's passion. He truly loved Rosalind, but she +did not love him, and she soon married some one else. Then all +his joy in the summer and the sunshine was made dark. + + "Thus is my summer worn away and wasted, + Thus is my harvest hastened all too rathe;* + The ear that budded fair is burnt and blasted, + And all my hopéd gain it turned to scathe: + Of all the seed, that in my youth was sown, + Was naught but brakes and brambles to be mown."** + + *Early. + **Shepherd's Calendar, December. + +At twenty-four life seemed ended, for "Love is a cureless +sorrow."* + +*Shepherd's Calendar, August. + + "Winter is come, that blows the baleful breath, + And after Winter cometh timely death."* + + *Shepherd's Calendar, December. + +And now, when he was feeling miserable, lonely, desolate an old +college friend wrote to him begging him to come to London. +Spenser went, and through his friend he came to know Sir Philip +Sidney, a true gentleman and a poet like himself, who in turn +made him known to the great Earl of Leicester, Elizabeth's +favorite. + +Spenser thought his heart had been broken and that his life was +done. But hearts do not break easily. Life is not done at +twenty-four. After a time Spenser found that there was still +much to live for. The great Earl became the poet's friend and +patron, and gave him a post as secretary in his house. For in +those days no man could live by writing alone. Poetry was still +a graceful toy for the rich. If a poor man wished to toy with +it, he must either starve or find a rich friend to be his patron, +to give him work to do that would leave him time to write also. +Such a friend Spenser found in Leicester. In the Earl's house +the poor tailor's son met many of the greatest men of the court +of Queen Elizabeth. On the Earl's business he went to Ireland +and to the Continent, seeing new sights, meeting the men and +women of the great world, so that a new and brilliant life seemed +opening for him. + +Yet when, a few years later, Spenser published his first great +poem, it did not tell of courts or courtiers, but of simple +country sights and sounds. This book is called the Shepherd's +Calendar, as it contains twelve poems, one for every month of the +year. + +In it Spenser sings of his fair lost lady Rosalind, and he +himself appears under the name of Colin Clout. The name is +taken, as you will remember, from John Skelton's poem. + +Spenser called his poems Aeclogues, from a Greek word meaning +Goatherds' Tales, "Though indeed few goatherds have to do +herein." He dedicated them to Sir Philip Sidney as "the +president of noblesse and of chivalrie." + + "Go, little book: Thy self present, + As child whose parent is unkent, + To him that is the president + Of Noblesse and of Chivalrie; + And if that Envy bark at thee, + As sure it will, for succour flee + Under the shadow of his wing; + And, asked who thee forth did bring; + A shepherd's swain, say, did thee sing, + All as his straying flock he fed; + And when his honour hath thee read + Crave pardon for my hardyhood. + But, if that any ask thy name, + Say, 'thou wert basebegot with blame.' + For thy thereof thou takest shame, + And, when thou art past jeopardy, + Come tell me what was said of mee, + And I will send more after thee." + +The Shepherd's Calendar made the new poet famous. Spenser was +advanced at court, and soon after went to Ireland in the train of +the Lord-Deputy as Secretary of State. At that time Ireland was +filled with storm and anger, with revolt against English rule, +with strife among the Irish nobles themselves. Spain also was +eagerly looking to Ireland as a point from which to strike at +England. War, misery, poverty were abroad in all the land. Yet +amid the horrid sights and sounds of battle Spenser found time to +write. + +After eight years spent in the north of Ireland, Spenser was +given a post which took him south. His new home was the old +castle of Kilcolman in Cork. It was surrounded by fair wooded +country, but to Spenser it seemed a desert. He had gone to +Ireland as to exile, hoping that it was merely a stepping-stone +to some great appointment in England, whither he longed to +return. Now after eight years he found himself still in exile. +He had no love for Ireland, and felt himself lonely and forsaken +there. But soon there came another great Elizabethan to share +his loneliness. This was Sir Walter Raleigh, who, being out of +favor with his Queen, took refuge in his Irish estates until her +anger should pass. + +The two great men, thus alone among the wild Irish, made friends, +and they had many a talk together. There within the gray stone +walls of the old ivy-covered castle Spenser read the first part +of his book, the Faery Queen, to Raleigh. Spenser had long been +at work upon this great poem. It was divided into parts, and +each part was called a book. Three books were now finished, and +Raleigh, loud in his praises of them, persuaded the poet to bring +them over to England to have them published. + +In a poem called Colin Clout's come home again, which Spenser +wrote a few years later, he tells in his own poetic way of these +meetings and talks, and of how Raleigh persuaded him to go to +England, there to publish his poem. In Colin Clout Spenser calls +both himself and Raleigh shepherds. For just as at one time it +was the fashion to write poems in the form of a dream, so in +Spenser's day it was the fashion to write poems called pastorals, +in which the authors made believe that all their characters were +shepherds and shepherdesses. + + "One day, quoth he, I sat (as was my trade) + Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoare, + Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade, + Of the green alders by the Mulla's* shore: + There a strange shepherd chanst to find me out, + Whether alluréd by my pipe's delight, + Whose pleasing sound y-shrilléd far about, + Or thither led by chance, I know not right: + Whom when I askéd from what place he came, + And how he hight, himself he did y-clep, + The Shepherd of the Ocean by name, + And said he came far from the main sea deep. + He sitting me beside in that same shade, + Provokéd me to play some pleasant fit;** + And, when he heard the music that I made, + He found himself full greatly pleased at it." + + *River Awbeg. + **Strain. + +Spenser tells then how the "other shepherd" sang:-- + + "His song was all a lamentable lay, + Of great unkindness, and of usage hard, + Of Cynthia, the Lady of the Sea, + That from her presence faultless him debarred. + . . . . . . . + When thus our pipes we both had wearied well, + And each an end of singing made, + He gan to cast great liking to my lore, + And great disliking to my luckless lot, + That banished had myself, like wight forlore, + Into that waste, where I was quite forgot: + The which to leave henceforth he counselled me, + Unmeet for man in whom was ought regardful, + And wend with him his Cynthia to see, + Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardful. + . . . . . . . + So what with hope of good, and hate of ill + He me persuaded forth with him to fare." + +Queen Elizabeth received Spenser kindly, and was so delighted +with the Faery Queen that she ordered Lord Burleigh to pay the +poet 100 pounds a year. + +"What!" grumbled the Lord Treasurer, "it is not in reason. So +much for a mere song!" + +"Then give him," said the Queen, "what is reason," to which he +consented. + +But, says an old writer, "he was so busied, belike about matters +of higher concernment, that Spenser received no reward."* In the +long-run, however, he did receive 50 pounds a year, as much as +400 pounds would be now. But it did not seem to Spenser to be +enough to allow him to give up his post in Ireland and live in +England. So back to Ireland he went once more, with a grudge +in his heart against Lord Burleigh. + +*Thomas Fuller. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLII SPENSER--THE "FAERY QUEEN" + +SPENSER'S plan for the Faery Queen was a very great one. He +meant to write a poem in twelve books, each book containing the +adventures of a knight who was to show forth one virtue. And if +these were well received he purposed to write twelve more. Only +the first three books were as yet published, but they made him +far more famous than the Shepherd's Calendar had done. For never +since Chaucer had such poetry been written. In the Faery Queen +Spenser has, as he says, changed his "oaten reed" for "trumpets +stern," and sings no longer now of shepherds and their loves, but +of "knights and ladies gentle deeds" of "fierce wars and faithful +loves." + +The first three books tell the adventures of the Red Cross Knight +St. George, or Holiness; of Sir Guyon, or Temperance; and of the +Lady Britomartis, or Chastity. The whole poem is an allegory. +Everywhere we are meant to see a hidden meaning. But sometimes +the allegory is very confused and hard to follow. So at first, +in any case, it is best to enjoy the story and the beautiful +poetry, and not trouble about the second meaning. Spenser +plunges us at once into the very middle of the story. He begins: + + "A gentle Knight was pricking on the plain, + Yelad in mighty arms and silver shield, + Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, + The cruel marks of many a bloody field; + Yet arms till that time did he never wield. + His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, + As much disdaining to the curb to yield: + Full jolly knight he seem'd, and fair did sit, + As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit. + + But on his breast a bloody cross he bore, + The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, + For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, + And dead as living ever him ador'd; + Upon his shield the like was also scor'd." + +And by the side of this Knight rode a lovely Lady upon a snow- +white ass. Her dress, too, was snow-white, but over it she wore +a black cloak, "as one that inly mourned," and it "seemed in her +heart some hidden care she had." + +So the story begins; but why these two, the grave and gallant +Knight and the sad and lovely Lady, are riding forth together we +should not know until the middle of the seventh canto, were it +not for a letter which Spenser wrote to Raleigh and printed in +the beginning of his book. In it he tells us not only who these +two are, but also his whole great design. He writes this letter, +he says, "knowing how doubtfully all allegories may be +construed," and this book of his "being a continued allegory, or +dark conceit," he thought it good to explain. Having told how he +means to write of twenty-four knights who shall represent twenty- +four virtues, he goes on to tell us that the Faery Queen kept her +yearly feast twelve days, upon which twelve days the occasions of +the first twelve adventures happened, which, being undertaken by +twelve knights, are told of in these twelve books. + +The first was this. At the beginning of the feast a tall, +clownish young man knelt before the Queen of the Fairies asking +as a boon that to him might be given the first adventure that +might befall. "That being granted he rested him on the floor, +unfit through his rusticity for a better place. + +"Soon after entered a fair Lady in mourning weeds, riding on a +white ass with a Dwarf behind her leading a warlike steed, that +bore the arms of a knight, and his spear in the Dwarf's hand. + +"She, falling before the Queen of Fairies, complained that her +Father and Mother, an ancient King and Queen had been by a huge +Dragon many years shut up in a brasen Castle, who thence suffered +them not to issue." And therefore she prayed the Fairy Queen to +give her a knight who would slay the Dragon. + +Then the "clownish person" started up and demanded the adventure. +The Queen was astonished, the maid unwilling, yet he begged so +hard that the Queen consented. The Lady, however, told him that +unless the armor she had brought would serve him he could not +succeed. But when he put the armor on "he seemed the goodliest +man in all that company, and was well liked of that Lady. And +eftsoons taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that strange +courser, he went forth with her on that adventure, where +beginneth the first book, viz.: + + "'A gentle Knight was pricking on the plain,' etc." + +The story goes on to tell how the Knight, who is the Red Cross +Knight St. George, and the Lady, who is called Una, rode on +followed by the Dwarf. At length in the wide forest they lost +their way and came upon the lair of a terrible She-Dragon. "Fly, +fly," quoth then the fearful Dwarf, "this is no place for living +men." + + "But full of fire and greedy hardiment, + The youthful Knight could not for ought be stayed; + But forth unto the darksome hole he went, + And lookéd in: his glistering armour made + A little glooming light, much like a shade, + By which he saw the ugly monster plain, + Half like a serpent horribly displayed, + But th'other half did woman's shape retain, + Most loathsome, filthy, foul, and full of vile disdain." + +There was a fearful fight between the Knight and the Dragon, +whose name is Error, but at length the Knight conquered. The +terrible beast lay dead "reft of her baleful head," and the +Knight, mounting upon his charger, once more rode onwards with +his Lady. + + "At length they chanced to meet upon the way + An aged sire, in long black weeds yelad, + His feet all bare, his beard all hoary grey, + And by his belt his book he hanging had, + Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad, + And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, + Simple in show, and void of malice bad, + And all the way he prayéd, as he went, + And often knocked his breast, as one that did repent." + +The Knight and this aged man greeted each other fair and +courteously, and as evening was now fallen the godly father bade +the travelers come to his Hermitage for the night. This the +Knight and Lady gladly did, and soon were peacefully sleeping +beneath the humble roof. + +But the seeming godly father was a wicked magician. While his +guests slept he wove evil spells about them, and calling a wicked +dream he bade it sit at the Knight's head and whisper lies to +him. This the wicked dream did till that it made the Knight +believe his Lady to be bad and false. Then early in the morning +the Red Cross Knight rose and, believing his Lady to be unworthy, +he rode sadly away, leaving her alone. + +Soon, as he rode along, he met a Saracen whose name was Sansfoy, +or without faith, "full large of limb and every joint he was, and +cared not for God or man a point." + + "He had a fair companion of his way, + A goodly Lady clad in scarlet red, + Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay, + And like a Persian mitre on her head + She wore, with crowns and riches garnishéd, + The which her lavish lovers to her gave; + Her wanton palfrey all was overspread + With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave, + Whose bridle rang with golden bells and bosses brave." + +The Red Cross Knight fought and conquered Sansfoy. Then he rode +onward with the dead giant's companion, the lady Duessa, whom he +believed to be good because he was "too simple and too true" to +know her wicked. + +Meanwhile Una, forsaken and woeful, wandered far and wide seeking +her lost Knight. But nowhere could she hear tidings of him. At +length one day, weary of her quest, she got off her ass and lay +down to rest in the thick wood, where "her angel's face made a +sunshine in the shady place." + +Then out of the thickest of the wood a ramping lion rushed +suddenly. + + "It fortuned out of the thickest wood + A ramping Lion rushed suddenly, + Hunting full greedy after savage blood. + Soon as the royal virgin he did spy, + With gaping mouth at her ran greedily + To have at once devoured her tender corse." + +But as he came near the sleeping Lady the Lion's rage suddenly +melted. Instead of killing Una, he licked her weary feet and +white hands with fawning tongue. From being her enemy he became +her guardian. And so for many a day the Lion stayed with Una, +guarding her from all harm. But in her wanderings she at length +met with Sansloy, the brother of Sansfoy, who killed the Lion and +carried Una off into the darksome wood. + +But here in her direst need Una found new friends in a troupe of +fauns and satyrs who were playing in the forest. + + "Whom when the raging Saracen espied, + A rude, misshapen, monstrous rabblement, + Whose like he never saw, he durst not bide, + But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ride." + +Then the fauns and satyrs gathered round the Lady, wondering at +her beauty, pitying her "fair blubbered face." + +But Una shook with fear. These terrible shapes, half goat, half +human, struck her dumb with horror: "Ne word to peak, ne joint +to move she had." + + "The savage nation feel her secret smart + And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad; + Their frowning foreheads with rough horns yelad, + And rustic horror all aside do lay, + And gently grinning shew a semblance glad + To comfort her, and feat to put away." + +They kneel upon the ground, they kiss her feet, and at last, sure +that they mean her no harm, Una rises and goes with them. + +Rejoicing, singing songs, honoring her as their Queen, waving +branches, scattering flowers beneath her feet, they lead her to +their chief Sylvanus. He, too, receives her kindly, and in the +wood she lives with these wild creatures until there she finds a +new knight named Satyrane, with whom she once more sets forth to +seek the Red Cross Knight. + +Meanwhile Duessa had led the Red Cross Knight to the house of +Pride. + + "A stately Palace built of squaréd brick, + Which cunningly was without mortar laid, + Whose walls were high, but nothing strong, nor thick, + And golden foil all over them displayed, + That purest sky with brightness they dismayed. + High lifted up were many lofty towers + And goodly galleries far overlaid, + Full of fair windows, and delightful bowers, + And on the top a dial told the timely hours. + + It was a goodly heap for to behold, + And spake the praises of the workman's wit, + But full great pity, that so fair a mould + Did on so weak foundation ever sit; + For on a sandy hill, that still did flit, + And fall away, it mounted was full high, + And every breath of heaven shakéd it; + And all the hinder parts, that few could spy, + Were ruinous and old, but painted cunningly." + +Here the Knight met Sansjoy, the third of the Saracen brothers, +and another fearful fight took place. + + "The Saracen was stout, and wondrous strong, + And heapéd blows like iron hammers great: + For after blood and vengeance he did long. + The Knight was fierce, and full of youthly heat, + And doubled strokes like dreaded thunder's threat, + For all for praise and honour he did fight. + Both striken strike, and beaten both do beat + That from their shields forth flyeth fiery light, + And helmets hewen deep, show marks of either's might." + +At last a charmed cloud hid the Saracen from the Knight's sight. +So the fight ended, and the Knight, sorely wounded, was "laid in +sumptuous bed, where many skilful leeches him abide." + +But as he lay there weak and ill the Dwarf came to warn him, for +he had spied + + "Where, in a dungeon deep, huge numbers lay + Of caitiff wretched thralls, that wailéd night and day, + . . . . . . . + Whose case when as the careful Dwarf had told, + And made ensample of their mournful sight + Unto his master, he no longer would + There dwell in peril of like painful plight, + But early rose, and ere that dawning light + Discovered had the world to heaven wide, + He by a privy postern took his flight, + That of no envious eyes he might be spied, + For doubtless death ensued, if any him descried." + +When the false Duessa discovered that the Red Cross Knight had +fled, she followed him and found him resting beside a fountain. +Not knowing that the water was enchanted, he drank of it, and at +once all his manly strength ebbed away, and he became faint and +feeble. Then, when he was too weak to hold a sword or spear, he +saw a fearful sight:-- + + "With sturdy steps came stalking in his sight, + An hideous Giant horrible and high, + That with his tallness seemed to threat the sky, + The ground eke groanéd under him for dread; + His living like saw never living eye, + Nor durst behold; his stature did exceed + The height of three the tallest sons of mortal seed." + +Towards the Knight, so weak that he could scarcely hold his +sword, this Giant came stalking. Weak as he was, the Knight made +ready to fight. But + "The Giant strake so mainly merciless, + That could have overthrown a stony tower; + And were not heavenly grace that did him bless, + He had been powdered all as thin as flour." + +As the Giant struck at him, the Knight leapt aside and the blow +fell harmless. But so mighty was it that the wind of it threw +him to the ground, where he lay senseless. And ere he woke out +of his swoon the Giant took him up, and + + "Him to his castle brought with hasty force + And in a dungeon deep him threw without remorse." + +Duessa then became the Giant's lady. "He gave her gold and +purple pall to wear," and set a triple crown upon her head. For +steed he gave her a fearsome dragon with fiery eyes and seven +heads, so that all who saw her went in dread and awe. + +The Dwarf, seeing his master thus overthrown and made prisoner, +gathered his armor and set forth to tell his evil tidings and +find help. He had not gone far before he met the Lady Una. To +her he told his sad news, and she with grief in her heart turned +with him to find the dark dungeon in which her Knight lay. On +her way she met another knight. This was Prince Arthur. And he, +learning of her sorrow, went with her promising aid. Guided by +the Dwarf they reached the castle of the Giant, and here a +fearful fight took place in which Prince Arthur conquered +Duessa's Dragon and killed the Giant. Then he entered the +castle. + + "Where living creature none he did espy. + Then gan he loudly through the house to call; + But no man cared to answer to his cry; + There reigned a solemn silence over all, + Nor voice was heard, nor wight was seen in bower or hall. + + At last, with creeping crooked pace forth came + An old, old man with beard as white as snow; + That on a staff his feeble steps did frame, + And guide his weary gate both to and fro, + For his eyesight him failéd long ago; + And on his arm a bunch of keys he bore, + The which unuséd rust did overgrow; + Those were the keys of every inner door, + But he could not them use, but kept them still in store." + +And what was strange and terrible about this old man was that his +head was twisted upon his shoulders, so that although he walked +towards the knight his face looked backward. + +Seeing his gray hairs and venerable look Prince Arthur asked him +gently where all the folk of the castle were. + +"I cannot tell," answered the old man. And to every question he +replied, "I cannot tell," until the knight, impatient of delay, +seized the keys from his arm. Door after door the Prince Arthur +opened, seeing many strange, sad sights. But nowhere could he +find the captive Knight. + + "At last he came unto an iron door, + That fast was locked, but key found not at all, + Amongst that bunch to open it withal." + +But there was a little grating in the door through which Prince +Arthur called. A hollow, dreary, murmuring voice replied. It +was the voice of the Red Cross Knight, which, when the champion +heard, "with furious force and indignation fell" he rent that +iron door and entered in. + +Once more the Red Cross Knight was free and reunited to his Lady, +while the false Duessa was unmasked and shown to be a bad old +witch, who fled away "to the wasteful wilderness apace." + +But the Red Cross Knight was still so weak and feeble that +Despair almost persuaded him to kill himself. Seeing this, Una +led him to the house of Holiness, where he stayed until once more +he was strong and well. Here he learned that he was St. George. +"Thou," he is told, + + "Shalt be a saint, and thine own nation's friend + And patron. Thou St. George shalt calléd be, + St. George of merry England, the sign of victory." + +Once more strong of arm, full of new courage, the Knight set +forth with Una, and soon they reached her home, where the +dreadful Dragon raged. + +Here the most fierce fight of all takes place. Three days it is +renewed, and on the third day the Dragon is conquered. + + "So down he fell, and forth his life did breathe + That vanished into smoke and clouds swift; + So down he fell, that th' earth him underneath + Did groan, as feeble so great load to lift; + So down he fell, as an huge rocky clift + Whose false foundation waves have washed away, + With dreadful poise is from the mainland rift + And rolling down, great Neptune doth dismay, + So down he fell, and like an heapéd mountain lay." + +Thus all ends happily. The aged King and Queen are rescued from +the brazen tower in which the Dragon had imprisoned them, and Una +and the Knight are married. + +That is the story of the first book of the Faery Queen. In it +Spenser has made great use of the legend of St. George and the +Dragon. The Red Cross of his Knight, "the dear remembrance of +his dying Lord," was in those days the flag of England, and is +still the Red Cross of our Union Jack. And besides the allegory +the poem has something of history in it. The great people of +Spenser's day play their parts there. Thus Duessa, sad to say, +is meant to be the fair, unhappy Queen of Scots, the wicked +magician is the Pope, and so on. But we need scarcely trouble +about all that. I repeat that meantime it is enough for you to +enjoy the story and the poetry. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLIII SPENSER--HIS LAST DAYS + +THERE are so many books now published which tell the stories of +the Faery Queen, and tell them well, that you may think I hardly +need have told one here. But few of these books give the poet's +own words, and I have told the story here giving quotations from +the poem in the hope that you will read them and learn from them +to love Spenser's own words. I hope that long after you have +forgotten my words you will remember Spenser's, that they will +remain in your mind as glowing word-pictures, and make you +anxious to read more of the poem from which they are taken. + +Spenser has been called the poet's poet,* he might also be called +the painter's poet, for on every page almost we find a word- +picture, rich in color, rich in detail. Each person as he comes +upon the scene is described for us so that we may see him with +our mind's eye. The whole poem blazes with color, it glows and +gleams with the glamor of fairyland. Spenser more than any other +poet has the old Celtic love of beauty, yet so far as we know +there was in him no drop of Celtic blood. He loved neither the +Irishman nor Ireland. To him his life there was an exile, yet +perhaps even in spite of himself he breathed in the land of +fairies and of "little people" something of their magic: his +fingers, unwittingly perhaps, touched the golden and ivory gate +so that he entered in and saw. + +*Charles Lamb. + +That it is a fairyland and no real world which Spenser opens to +us is the great difference between Chaucer and him. Chaucer +gives us real men and women who love and hate, who sin and +sorrow. He is humorous, he is coarse, and he is real. Spenser +has humor too, but we seldom see him smile. There are, we may be +glad, few coarse lines in Spenser, but he is artificial. He took +the tone of his time--the tone of pretense. It was the fashion +to make-believe, yet, underneath all the make-believe, men were +still men, not wholly good nor wholly bad. But underneath the +brilliant trappings of Spenser's knights and ladies, shepherds +and shepherdesses, there seldom beats a human heart. He takes us +to dreamland, and when we lay down the book we wake up to real +life. Beauty first and last is what holds us in Spenser's poems- +-beauty of description, beauty of thought, beauty of sound. As +it has been said, "'A thing of beauty is a joy forever,' and that +is the secret of the enduring life of the Faery Queen."* + +*Courthorpe, History of English Poetry. + +Spenser invented for himself a new stanza of nine lines and made +it famous, so that we call it after him, the Spenserian Stanza. +It was like Chaucer's stanza of seven lines, called the Rhyme +Royal, with two lines more added. + +Spenser admired Chaucer above all poets. He called him "The Well +of English undefiled,"* and after many hundred years we still +feel the truth of the description. He uses many of Chaucer's +words, which even then had grown old-fashioned and were little +used. So much is this so that a glossary written by a friend of +Spenser, in which old words were explained, was published with +the Shepherd's Calendar. But whether old or new, Spenser's power +of using words and of weaving them together was wonderful. + +*Faery Queen, book VI, canto ii. + +He weaves his wonderful words in such wonderful fashion that they +sound like what he describes. Is there anything more drowsy than +his description of the abode of sleep: + + "And more, to lull him in his slumber soft, + A trickling stream from high rock tumbling down, + And ever drizzling rain upon the loft + Mix'd with a murmuring wind, much like the sound + Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swound,* + No other noise nor peoples' troublous cries, + As still are wont t' annoy the walled town, + Might there be heard; but careless quiet lies + Wrapt in eternal silence, far from enemies." + + *Swoon. + +So all through the poem we are enchanted or lulled by the glamor +of words. + +The Faery Queen made Spenser as a poet famous, but, as we know, +it did not bring him enough to live on in England. It did not +bring him the fame he sought nor make him great among the +statesmen of the land. Among the courtiers of Queen Elizabeth he +counted for little. So he returned to Ireland a disappointed +man. It was now he wrote Colin Clout's come home again, from +which I have already given you some quotations. He published +also another book of poems and then he fell in love. He forgot +his beautiful Rosalind, who had been so hard-hearted, and gave +his love to another lady who in her turn loved him, and to whom +he was happily married. This lady, too, he made famous in his +verse. As the fashion was, he wrote to her a series of sonnets, +in one of which we learn that her name was Elizabeth. He writes +to the three Elizabeths, his mother, his Queen, and + + "The third, my love, my life's last ornament, + By whom my spirit out of dust was raised." + +But more famous still than the sonnets is the Epithalamion or +wedding hymn which he wrote in his lady's honor, and which ever +since has been looked on as the most glorious love-song in the +English language, so full is it of exultant, worshipful +happiness. + +It was now, too, that Spenser wrote Astrophel, a sadly beautiful +dirge for the death of his friend and fellow-poet, Sir Philip +Sidney. He gave his verses as "fittest flowers to deck his +mournful hearse." + +Just before his marriage Spenser finished three more books of the +Faery Queen, and the following year he took them to London to +publish them. The three books were on Friendship, on Justice, +and on Courtesy. They were received as joyfully as the first +three. The poet remained for nearly a year in London still +writing busily. Then he returned to Ireland. There he passed a +few more years, and then came the end. + +Ireland, which had always been unquiet, always restless, under +the oppressive hand of England, now broke out into wild +rebellion. The maddened Irish had no love or respect for the +English poet. Kilcolman Castle was sacked and burned, and +Spenser fled with his wife and children to Cork, homeless and +wellnigh ruined. A little later Spenser himself went on to +London, hoping perhaps to better his fortunes, and there in a +Westminster inn, disappointed, ill, shattered in hopes and +health, he lay down to die. + +As men count years, he was still young, for he was only forty- +seven. He had dreamed that he had still time before him to make +life a success. For as men counted success in those days, +Spenser was a failure. He had failed to make a name among the +statesmen of the age. He failed to make a fortune, he lived poor +and he died poor. As a poet he was a sublime success. He +dedicated the Faery Queen to Elizabeth "to live with the eternity +of her fame," and it is not too much to believe that even should +the deeds of Elizabeth be forgotten the fame of Spenser will +endure. And the poets of Spenser's own day knew that in him they +had lost a master, and they mourned for him as such. They buried +him in Westminster not far from Chaucer. His bier was carried by +poets, who, as they stood beside his grave, threw into it poems +in which they told of his glory and their own grief. And so they +left "The Prince of Poets in his tyme, whose divine spirit needs +no other witnesse than the workes which he left behind him."* + +*The first epitaph engraved on Spenser's tomb. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Tales from Spenser (Told to Children Series). Una and the Red +Cross Knight, by N. G. Royde Smith (has many quotations). Tales +from the Faerie Queene, by C. L. Thomson (prose). The Faerie +Queene (verse, sixteenth century spelling). Faerie Queene, book +I, by Professor W. H. Hudson. Complete Works (Globe Edition), +edited by R. Morris. Britomart, edited by May E. Litchfield, is +the story of Britomart taken from scattered portions in books +III, IV, and V in original poetry, spelling modernized. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLIV ABOUT THE FIRST THEATERS + +IN the beginnings of our literature there were two men who, we +might say, were the fountain-heads. These were the gay minstrel +abroad in the world singing in hall and market-place, and the +patient monk at work in cell or cloister. And as year by year +our literature grew, strengthened and broadened, we might say it +flowed on in two streams. It flowed in two streams which were +ever joining, mingling, separating again, for the monk and the +minstrel spoke to man each in his own way. The monk made his +appeal to the eye as with patient care he copied, painted and +made his manuscript beautiful with gold and colors. The minstrel +made his appeal to the ear with music and with song. Then after +a time the streams seemed to join, and the monk when he played +the miracle-plays seemed to be taking the minstrel's part. Here +was an appeal to both the eye and ear. Instead of illuminating +the silent parchment he made living pictures illustrate spoken +words. Then followed a time when the streams once more divided +and church and stage parted. The strolling players and the trade +guilds took the place both of the minstrel and of the monkish +actors, the monk went back once more to his quiet cell, and the +minstrel gradually disappeared. + +So year after year went on. By slow degrees times changed, and +our literature changed with the times. But looking backward we +can see that the poet is the development of the minstrel, the +prose writer the development of the monkish chronicler and +copyist. Prose at first was only used for grave matters, for +history, for religious works, for dry treatises which were hardly +literature, which were not meant for enjoyment but only for use +and for teaching. But by degrees people began to use prose for +story-telling, for enjoyment. More and more prose began to be +written for amusement until at last it has quite taken the place +of poetry. Nowadays many people are not at all fond of poetry. +They are rather apt to think that a poetry book is but dull +reading, and they much prefer plain prose. It may amuse those +who feel like that to remember that hundreds of years ago it was +just the other way round. Then it was prose that was considered +dull--hence we have the word prosy. + +All poetry was at first written to be sung, sung too perhaps with +some gesture, so that the hearers might the better understand the +story. Then by degrees poets got further and further away from +that, until poets like Spenser wrote with no such idea. But +while poets like Spenser wrote their stories to be read, another +class of poets was growing up who intended their poems to be +spoken and acted. These were the dramatists. + +So you see that the minstrel stream divided into two. There was +now the poet who wrote his poems to be read in quiet and the poet +who wrote his, if not to be sung, at least to be spoken aloud. +But there had been, as we have seen, a time when the minstrel and +the monkish stream had touched, a time when the monk, using the +minstrel's art, had taught the people through ear and eye +together. For the idea of the Miracle and Morality plays was, +you remember, to teach. So, long after the monks had ceased to +act, those who wrote poems to be acted felt that they must teach +something. Thus after the Miracle plays came the Moralities, +which sometimes were very long and dull. They were followed by +Interludes which were much the same as Moralities but were +shorter, and as their name shows were meant to come in the middle +of something else, for the word comes from two Latin words, +"inter" between and "ludus" a play. An Interlude may have been +first used, perhaps, as a kind of break in a long feast. + +The Miracle plays had only been acted once a year, first by the +monks and later by the trade guilds. But the taste for plays +grew, and soon bands of players strolled about the country acting +in towns and villages. These strolling players often made a good +deal of money. But though the people crowded willingly to see +and hear, the magistrates did not love these players, and they +were looked upon as little better than rogues and vagabonds. +Then it became the fashion for great lords to have their own +company of players, and they, when their masters did not need +them, also traveled about to the surrounding villages acting +wherever they went. This taste for acting grew strong in the +people of England. And if in the life of the Middle Ages there +was always room for story-telling, in the life of Tudor England +there was always room for acting and shows. + +These shows were called by various names, Pageants, Masques, +Interludes, Mummings or Disguisings, and on every great or little +occasion there was sure to be something of the sort. If the King +or Queen went on a journey he or she was entertained by pageants +on the way. If a royal visitor came to the court of England +there were pageants in his honor. A birthday, a christening, a +wedding or a victory would all be celebrated by pageants, and in +these plays people of all classes took part. School-children +acted, University students acted, the learned lawyers or Inns of +Court acted, great lords and ladies acted, and even at times the +King and Queen themselves took part. And although many of these +shows, especially the pageants, were merely shows, without any +words, many, on the other hand, had words. Thus with so much +acting and love of acting it was not wonderful that a crowd of +dramatists sprang up. + +Then, too, plays began to be divided into tragedies and comedies. +A tragedy is a play which shows the sad side of life and which +has a mournful ending. The word really means a goat-song, and +comes from two Greek words, "tragos" a goat and "ode" a song. It +was so called either because the oldest tragedies were acted +while a goat was sacrificed, or because the actors themselves +wore clothes made of goat-skins. A comedy is a play which shows +the merry side of life and has a happy ending. This word too +comes from two Greek words, "komos," a revel, and "ode," a song. +The Greek word for village is also "komo," so a comedy may at +first have meant a village revel or a merry-making. "Tragedy," +it has been said, "is poetry in its deepest earnest; comedy is +poetry in unlimited jest."* But the old Moralities were neither +the one nor the other, neither tragedy nor comedy. They did not +touch life keenly enough to awaken horror or pain. They were +often sad, but not with that sadness which we have come to call +tragic, they were often indeed merely dull, and although there +was always a funny character to make laughter, it was by no means +unlimited jest. The Interludes came next, after the Moralities, +with a little more human interest and a little more fun, and from +them it was easy to pass to real comedies. + +*Coleridge. + +A play named Ralph Roister Doister is generally looked upon as +the first real English comedy. It was written by Nicholas Udall, +headmaster first of Eton and then of Westminster, for the boys of +one or other school. It was probably for those of Westminster +that it was written, and may have been acted about 1552. +The hero, if one may call him so, who gives his name to the play, +is a vain, silly swaggerer. He thinks every woman who sees him +is in love with him. So he makes up his mind to marry a rich and +beautiful widow named Christian Custance. + +Not being a very good scholar, Ralph gets some one else to write +a love-letter for him, but when he copies it he puts all the +stops in the wrong places, which makes the sense quite different +from what he had intended, and instead of being full of pretty +things the letter is full of insults. + +Dame Custance will have nothing to say to such a stupid lover, "I +will not be served with a fool in no wise. When I choose a +husband I hope to take a man," she says. In revenge for her +scorn Ralph Roister Doister threatens to burn the dame's house +down, and sets off to attack it with his servants. The widow, +however, meets him with her handmaidens. There is a free fight +(which, no doubt, the schoolboy actors enjoyed), but the widow +gets the best of it, and Ralph is driven off. + +Our first real tragedy was not written until ten years after our +first comedy. This first tragedy was written by Thomas Norton +and Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset. It was acted by the +gentlemen of the Inner Temple "before the Queen's most excellent +Majestie in her highness' Court of Whitehall the 18th day of +January, 1561." + +Chaucer tells us that a tragedy is a story + + "Of him that stood in great prosperitie, + And is yfallen out of high degree + Into miserie, and endeth wretchedly."* + + *Prologue to the "Monk's Tale," Canterbury Tales. + +So our early tragedies were all taken from sad stories in the old +Chronicle histories. And this first tragedy, written by Norton +and Sackville, is called Gorboduc, and is founded upon the legend +of Gorboduc, King of Britain. The story is told, though not +quite in the same way, by Geoffrey of Monmouth, our old friend, +by Matthew of Westminster, and by others of the old chroniclers. +For in writing a poem or play it is not necessary to keep +strictly to history. As Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser's friend, +says: "Do they not know that a tragedy is tied to the laws of +Poesie and not of History, not bound to follow the story, but, +having liberty, either to fain a quite new matter, or to frame +the history to the most tragical convenience?"* + +*Sidney, Apologie for Poetrie. + +The story goes that Gorboduc, King of Britain, divided his realm +during his lifetime between his sons Ferrex and Porrex. But the +brothers quarreled, and the younger killed the elder. The +mother, who loved her eldest son most, then killed the younger in +revenge. Next the people, angry at such cruelty, rose in +rebellion and killed both father and mother. The nobles then +gathered and defeated the rebels. And lastly, for want of an +heir to the throne, "they fell to civil war," and the land for a +long time was desolate and miserable. + +In the play none of these fearful murders happen on the stage. +They are only reported by messengers. There is also a chorus of +old sage men of Britain who, at the end of each act, chant of +what has happened. When you come to read Greek plays you will +see that this is more like Greek than English tragedy, and it +thus shows the influence of the New Learning upon our literature. +But, on the other hand, in a Greek drama there was never more +than one scene, and all the action was supposed to take place on +one day. This was called preserving the unities of time and +place, and no Greek drama which did not observe them would have +been thought good. In Gorboduc there are several scenes, and the +action, although we are not told how long, must last over several +months at least. So that although Gorboduc owed something to the +New Learning, which had made men study Greek, it owed as much to +the old English Miracle plays. Later on when you come to read +more about the history of our drama you will learn a great deal +about what we owe to the Greeks, but here I will not trouble you +with it. + +You remember that in the Morality plays there was no scenery. +And still, although in the new plays which were now being written +the scene was supposed to change from place to place, there was +no attempt to make the stage look like these places. The stage +was merely a plain platform, and when the scene changed a board +was hung up with "This is a Palace" or "This is a Street" and the +imagination of the audience had to do the rest. + +That some people felt the absurdity of this we learn from a book +by Sir Philip Sidney. In it he says, "You shall have Asia of the +one side, and Affrick of the other, and so many other under +kingdoms, that the Player, when he cometh in, must ever begin +with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived. +Now you shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then +we must believe the stage to be a garden. By and by, we hear +news of shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame if +we accept it not for a Rock. Upon the back of that, comes out a +hideous Monster, with fire and smoke, and then the miserable +beholders are bound to take it for a cave. While in the meantime +two Armies fly in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and +then what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field!"* + +*An Apologie for Poetrie, published 1595. + +If the actors of the Elizabethan time had no scenery they made up +for the lack of it by splendid and gorgeous dressing. But it was +the dressing of the day. The play might be supposed to take +place in Greece or Rome or Ancient Britain, it mattered not. The +actors dressed after the fashion of their own day. And neither +actors nor audience saw anything funny in it. To them it was not +funny that an ancient British king should wear doublet and hose, +nor that his soldiers should discharge firearms in a scene +supposed to take place hundreds of years before gunpowder had +been invented. But we must remember that in those days dress +meant much more than it does now. Dress helped to tell the +story. Men then might not dress according to their likes and +dislikes, they were obliged to dress according to their rank. +Therefore it helped the Elizabethan onlooker to understand the +play when he saw a king, a courtier, or a butcher come on to the +stage dressed as he knew a king, a courtier, or a butcher +dressed. Had he seen a man of the sixth century dressed as a man +of the sixth century he would not have known to what class he +belonged and would not have understood the play nearly so well. + +But besides having no scenery, the people of England had at first +no theaters. Plays were acted in halls, in the dining-halls of +the great or in the guild halls belonging to the various trades. +It was not until 1575 that the first theater was built in London. +This first theater was so successful that soon another was built +and still another, until in or near London there were no fewer +than twelve. But these theaters were very unlike the theaters we +know now. They were really more like the places where people +went to see cock-fights and bear-baiting. They were round, and +except over the stage there was no roof. The rich onlookers who +could afford to pay well sat in "boxes" on the stage itself, and +the other onlookers sat or stood in the uncovered parts. Part of +a theater is still called the pit, which helps to remind us that +the first theaters may have served as "cock-pits" or "bear-pits" +too as well as theaters. For a long time, too, the theater was a +man's amusement just as bear-baiting or cock-fighting had been. +There were no actresses, the women's parts were taken by boys, +and at first ladies when they came to look on wore masks so that +they might not be known, as they were rather ashamed of being +seen at a theater. + +And now that the love of plays and shows had grown so great that +it had been found worth while to build special places in which to +act, you may be sure that there was no lack of play-writers. +There were indeed many of whom I should like to tell you, but in +this book there is no room to tell of all. To show you how many +dramatists arose in this great acting age I will give you a list +of the greatest, all of whom were born between 1552 and 1585. +After Nicholas Udall and Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville, the +writers of our first comedy and first tragedy, there came:-- + + George Peel. Francis Beaumont. + John Lyly. John Fletcher. + Thomas Kyd. John Webster. + Robert Greene. Philip Massinger. + Christopher Marlowe. John Ford. + William Shakespeare. Thomas Heywood. + Ben Jonson. + +It would be impossible to tell you of all these, so I shall +choose only two, and first I shall tell you of the greatest of +them--Shakespeare. He shines out from among the others like a +bright star in a clear sky. He is, however, not a lonely star, +for all around him cluster others. They are bright, too, and if +he were not there we might think some of them even very bright, +yet he outshines them all. He forces our eyes to turn to him, +and not only our eyes but the eyes of the whole world. For all +over the world, wherever poetry is read and plays are played, the +name of William Shakespeare is known and reverenced. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLV SHAKESPEARE--THE BOY + +ONE April morning nearly three hundred and fifty years ago there +was a stir and bustle in a goodly house in the little country +town of Stratford-on-Avon. The neighbors went in and out with +nods and smiles and mysterious whisperings. Then there was a +sound of clinking of glasses and of laughter, for it became known +that to John and Mary Shakespeare a son had been born, and +presently there was brought to be shown to the company "The +infant mewling and puking in the nurse's arms." It was a great +event for the father and mother, something of an event for +Stratford-on-Avon, for John Shakespeare was a man of importance. +He was a well-to-do merchant, an alderman of the little town. He +seems to have done business in several ways, for we are told that +he was a glover, a butcher, and a corn and wool dealer. No doubt +he grew his own corn, and reared and killed his own sheep, making +gloves from the skins, and selling the wool and flesh. His wife, +too, came of a good yeoman family who farmed their own land, and +no doubt John Shakespeare did business with his kinsfolk in both +corn and sheep. And although he could perhaps not read, and +could not write even his own name, he was a lucky business man +and prosperous. So he was well considered by his neighbors and +had a comfortable house in Henley Street, built of rough +plastered stone and dark strong wood work. + +And now this April morning John Shakespeare's heart was glad. +Already he had had two children, two little girls, but they had +both died. Now he had a son who would surely live to grow strong +and great, to be a comfort in his old age and carry on his +business when he could no longer work. It was a great day for +John Shakespeare. How little he knew that it was a great day for +all the world and for all time. + +Three days after he was born the tiny baby was christened. And +the name his father and mother gave him was William. After this +three months passed happily. Then one of the fearful plagues +which used to sweep over the land, when people lived in dark and +dirty houses in dark and dirty streets, attacked Stratford-on- +Avon. Jolly John Shakespeare and Mary, his wife, must have been +anxious of heart, fearful lest the plague should visit their +home. John did what he could to stay it. He helped the stricken +people with money and goods, and presently the plague passed +away, and the life of the dearly loved little son was safe. + +Years passed on, and the house in Henley Street grew ever more +noisy with chattering tongues and pattering feet, until little +Will had two sisters and two brothers to keep him company. + +Then, although his father and mother could neither of them write +themselves, they decided that their children should be taught, so +William was sent to the Grammar School. He was, I think, fonder +of the blue sky and the slow-flowing river and the deep dark +woods that grew about his home that of the low-roofed schoolroom. +He went perhaps + + "A whining schoolboy, with his satchel + And shining morning face, creeping like snail + Unwillingly to school." + +But we do not know. And whether he liked school or not, at least +we know that later, when he came to write plays, he made fun of +schoolmasters. He knew "little Latin and less Greek,"* said a +friend in after life, but then that friend was very learned and +might think "little" that which we might take for "a good deal." +Indeed, another old writer says "he understood Latin pretty +well."** + +*Ben Jonson. +**John Aubrey. + +We know little either of Shakespeare's school hours or play +hours, but once or twice at least he may have seen a play or +pageant. His father went on prospering and was made chief +bailiff of the town, and while in that office he entertained +twice at least troups of strolling players, the Queen's Company +and the Earl of Worcester's Company. It is very likely that +little Will was taken to see the plays they acted. Then when he +was eleven years old there was great excitement in the country +town, for Queen Elizabeth came to visit the great Earl of +Leicester at his castle of Kenilworth, not sixteen miles away. +There were great doings then, and the Queen was received with all +the magnificence and pomp that money could procure and +imagination invent. Some of these grand shows Shakespeare must +have seen. + +Long afterwards he remembered perhaps how one evening he had +stood among the crowd tiptoeing and eager to catch a glimpse of +the great Queen as she sat enthroned on a golden chair. Her red- +gold hair gleamed and glittered with jewels under the flickering +torchlight. Around her stood a crowd of nobles and ladies only +less brilliant that she. Then, as William gazed and gazed, his +eyes aching with the dazzling lights, there was a movement in the +surging crowd, a murmur of "ohs" and "ahs." And, turning, the +boy saw another lady, another Queen, appear from out the dark +shadow of the trees. Stately and slowly she moved across the +grass. Then following her came a winged boy with golden bow and +arrows. This was the god of Love, who roamed the world shooting +his love arrows at the hearts of men and women, making them love +each other. He aimed, he shot, the arrow flew, but the god +missed his aim and the lady passed on, beautiful, cold, free, as +before. Love could not touch her, he followed her but in vain. + +It was with such pageants, such allegories, that her people +flattered Queen Elizabeth, for many men laid their hearts at her +feet, but she in return never gave her own. She was the woman +above all others to be loved, to be worshiped, but herself +remained in "maiden meditation fancy-free." The memory of those +brilliant days stayed with the poet-child. They were sun-gilt, +as childish memories are, and in after years he wrote: + + "That very time I saw (but thou couldst not) + Flying between the cold moon and the earth, + Cupid all arm'd. A certain aim he took + At a fair vestal, throned by the West, + And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, + As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts; + But I might see young cupid's fiery shaft + Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, + And the imperial votaress passed on, + In maiden meditation, fancy-free. + Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: + It fell upon a little western flower; + Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's wound, + And maidens call it love-in-idleness."* + + *Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II Scene i. + +Some time after John Shakespeare became chief bailiff his +fortunes turned. From being rich he became poor. Bit by bit he +was obliged to sell his own and his wife's property. So little +Will was taken away from school at the age of thirteen, and set +to earn his own living as a butcher--his father's trade, we are +told. But if he ever was a butcher he was, nevertheless, an +actor and a poet, "and when he killed a calf he would do it in a +high style and make a speech."* How Shakespeare fared in this +new work we do not know, but we may fancy him when work was done +wandering along the pretty country lanes or losing himself in the +forest of Arden, which lay not far from his home, "the poet's eye +in a fine frenzy rolling," and singing to himself: + + "Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + And merrily hent the stile-a; + A merry heart goes all the day, + Your sad tires in a mile-a."* + + *Winter's Tale, Act IV Scene ii. + +*John Aubrey. + +He knew the lore of fields and woods, of trees and flowers, and +birds and beasts. He sang of + + "The ousel-cock so black of hue, + With orange-tawny bill, + The throstle with his note so true, + The wren with little quill. + The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, + The plain-song cuckoo gray, + Whose note full many a man doth mark, + And dares not answer nay."* + + *Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III Scene i. + +He remembered, perhaps, in after years his rambles by the slow- +flowing Avon, when he wrote: + + "He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, + Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge + He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; + And so by many winding nooks he strays, + With willing sport, to the wide ocean."* + + *Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II Scene vii. + +He knew the times of the flowers. In spring he marked + + + "the daffodils, + That come before the swallow dares, and take + The winds of March with beauty."* + + *Winter's Tale. + +Of summer flowers he tells us + + "Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; + The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, + And with him rises weeping; these are flowers + Of middle summer."* + + *Winter's Tale. + +He knew that "a lapwing runs close by the ground," that choughs +are "russet-pated." He knew all the beauty that is to be found +throughout the country year. + +Sometimes in his country wanderings Shakespeare got into mischief +too. He had a daring spirit, and on quiet dark nights he could +creep silently about the woods snaring rabbits or hunting deer. +But we are told "he was given to all unluckiness in stealing +venison and rabbits."* He was often caught, sometimes got a good +beating, and sometimes was sent to prison. + +*Archdeacon Davies. + +So the years passed on, and we know little of what happened in +them. Some people like to think that Shakespeare was a +schoolmaster for a time, others that he was a clerk in a lawyer's +office. He may have been one or other, but we do not know. What +we do know is that when he was eighteen he took a great step. He +married. We can imagine him making love-songs then. Perhaps he +sang: + + "O mistress mine, where are you roaming? + O, stay and hear; your true-love's coming, + That can sing both high and low: + Trip no further, pretty sweeting; + Journeys end in lovers' meeting; + Every wise man's son doth know. + + What is love? 'tis not hereafter; + Present mirth hath present laughter; + What's to come is still unsure: + In delay there lies no plenty; + Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, + Youth's a stuff will not endure."* + + *Twelfth Night. + +The lady whom Shakespeare married was named Anne Hathaway. She +came of farmer folk like Shakespeare's own mother. She was eight +years older than her boyish lover, but beyond that we know little +of Anne Hathaway, for Shakespeare never anywhere mentions his +wife. +A little while after their marriage a daughter was born to Anne +and William Shakespeare. Nearly two years later a little boy and +girl came to them. The boy died when he was about eleven, and +only the two little girls, Judith and Susanna, lived to grow up. + +In spite of the fact that Shakespeare had now a wife and children +to look after, he had not settled down. He was still wild, and +being caught once more in stealing game he left Stratford and +went to London. + + + + + + + + + + +Chapter XLVI SHAKESPEARE--THE MAN + +WHEN Shakespeare first went to London he had a hard life. He +found no better work to do than that of holding horses outside +the theater doors. In those days the plays took place in the +afternoon, and as many of the fine folk who came to watch them +rode on horseback, some one was needed to look after the horses +until the play was over. But poor though this work was, +Shakespeare seems to have done it well, and he became such a +favorite that he had several boys under him who were long known +as "Shakespeare's boys." Their master, however, soon left work +outside the theater for work inside. And now began the busiest +years of his life, for he both acted and wrote. At first it may +be he only altered and improved the plays of others. But soon he +began to write plays that were all his own. Yet Shakespeare, +like Chaucer, never invented any of his own stories. There is +only one play of his, called Love's Labor's Lost, the story of +which is not to be found in some earlier book. That, too, may +have been founded on another story which is now lost. + +When you come to know Shakespeare's plays well you will find it +very interesting to follow his stories to their sources. That of +King Lear, which is one of Shakespeare's great romantic +historical plays, is, for instance, to be found in Geoffrey of +Monmouth, in Wace's Brut, and in Layamon's Brut. But it was from +none of these that Shakespeare took the story, but from the +chronicle of a man named Holinshed who lived and wrote in the +time of Queen Elizabeth, he in his turn having taken it from some +one of the earlier sources. + +For, after all, in spite of the thousands of books that have been +written since the world began, there are only a certain number of +stories which great writers have told again and again in varying +ways. One instance of this we saw when in the beginning of this +book we followed the story of Arthur. + +But although Shakespeare borrowed his plots from others, when he +had borrowed them he made them all his own. He made his people +so vivid and so true that he makes us forget that they are not +real people. We can hardly realize that they never lived, that +they never walked and talked, and cried and laughed, loved and +hated, in this world just as we do. And this is so because the +stage to him is life and life a stage. "All the world's a +stage," he says, + + "And all the men and women merely players: + They have their exits and their entrances: + And one man in his time plays many parts, + His acts being seven ages."* + + *As You Like It. + +And again he tells us: + + "Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, + That struts and frets his hour upon the stage + And then is heard no more."* + + *Macbeth. + +It is from Shakespeare's works that we get the clearest picture +of Elizabethan times. And yet, although we learn from him so +much of what people did in those days, of how they talked and +even of how they thought, the chief thing that we feel about +Shakespeare's characters is, not that they are Elizabethan, but +that they are human, that they are like ourselves, that they +think, and say, and do, things which we ourselves might think, +and say, and do. + +There are many books we read which we think of as very pretty, +very quaint, very interesting--but old-fashioned. But +Shakespeare can never be old-fashioned, because, although he is +the outcome of his own times, and gives us all the flavor of his +own times, he gives us much more. He understood human nature, he +saw beneath the outward dress, and painted for us real men and +women. And although fashion in dress and modes of living may +change, human nature does not change. "He was not of an age but +for all time," it was said of him about seven years after his +death, and now that nearly three hundred years have come and gone +we still acknowledge the truth of those words. + +Shakespeare's men and women speak and act and feel in the main as +we might now. Many of his people we feel are our brothers and +sisters. And to this human interest he adds something more, for +he leads us too through "unpathed waters" to "the undreamed +shores" of fairyland. + +Shakespeare's writing time was short. Before he left Stratford +he wrote nothing unless it may have been a few scoffing verses +against the Justice of the Peace who punished him for poaching. +But these, if they were ever written, are lost. In the last few +years of his life he wrote little or nothing. Thus the number of +his writing years was not more than twenty to twenty-five, but in +that time he wrote thirty-seven plays, two long poems, and a +hundred and fifty-six sonnets. At one time he must have written +two plays every year. And when you come to know these plays well +you will wonder at the greatness of the task. + +Shakespeare writes his plays sometimes in rime, sometimes in +blank verse, sometimes in prose, at times using all these in one +play. In this he showed how free he was from rules. For, until +he wrote, plays had been written in rime or blank verse only. + +For the sake of convenience Shakespeare's plays have been divided +into histories, tragedies and comedies. But it is not always +easy to draw the line and decide to which class a play belongs. +They are like life. Life is not all laughter, nor is it all +tears. Neither are Shakespeare's comedies all laughter, and some +of his tragedies would seem at times to be too deep for tears, +full only of fierce, dark sorrow--and yet there is laughter in +them too. + +Besides being divided into histories, tragedies and comedies they +have been divided in another way, into three periods of time. +The first was when Shakespeare was trying his hand, when he was +brimming over with the joy of the new full life of London. The +second was when some dark sorrow lay over his life, we know not +what, when the pain and mystery and the irony of living seems to +strike him hard. Then he wrote his great tragedies. The third +was when he had gained peace again, when life seemed to flow +calmly and smoothly, and this period lasted until the end. + +We know very little of Shakespeare's life in London. As an actor +he never made a great name, never acted the chief character in a +play. But he acted sometimes in his own plays and took the part, +we are told, of a ghost in one, and of a servant in another, +neither of them great parts. He acted, too, in plays written by +other people. But it was as a writer that he made a name, and +that so quickly that others grew jealous of him. One called him +"an upstart Crow, beautified in our feathers . . . in his own +conceit the only Shake-scene in the country."* But for the most +part Shakespeare made friends even of rival authors, and many of +them loved him well. He was good-tempered, merry, witty, and +kindly, a most lovable man. "He was a handsome, well-shaped man, +very good company, and a very ready and pleasant smooth wit,"** +said one. "I loved the man and do honor to his memory, on this +side of idolatry as much as any. He was indeed honest and of an +open and free nature,"*** said another. Others still called him +a good fellow, gentle Shakespeare, sweet Master Shakespeare. I +should like to think, too, that Spenser called him "our pleasant +Willy." But wise folk tell us that these words were not spoken of +Shakespeare but of some one else whose name was not William at +all. + +*Robert Greene, A groatsworth of Wit bought with a million of +repentance. +**John Aubrey. +***Ben Jonson. + +And so although outside his work we get only glimpses of the man, +these glimpses taken together with his writings show us Will +Shakespeare as a big-hearted man, a man who understood all and +forgave all. He understood the little joys and sorrows that make +up life. He understood the struggle to be good, and would not +scorn people too greatly when they were bad. "Children, we feel +sure," says one of the latest writers about him, "did not stop +their talk when he came near them, but continued in the happy +assurance that it was only Master Shakespeare."* And so if +children find his plays hard to read yet a while they may at +least learn to know his stories and learn to love his name--it is +only Master Shakespeare. But they must remember that learning to +know Shakespeare's stories through the words of other people is +only half a joy. The full joy of Shakespeare can only come when +we are able to read his plays in his very own words. But that +will come all the more easily and quickly to us if we first know +his stories well. + +*Prof. Raleigh. + +There are parts in some of Shakespeare's plays that many people +find coarse. But Shakespeare is not really coarse. We remember +the vision sent to St. Peter which taught him that there was +nothing common or unclean. Shakespeare had seen that vision. In +life there is nothing common or unclean, if we only look at it in +the right way. And Shakespeare speaks of everything that touches +life most nearly. He uses words that we do not use now; he +speaks of things we do not speak of now; but it was the fashion +of his day to be more open and plain spoken than we are. And if +we remember that, there is very little in Shakespeare that need +hurt us even if there is a great deal which we cannot understand. +And when you come to read some of the writers of Shakespeare's +age and see that in them the laughter is often brutal, the horror +of tragedy often coarse and crude, you will wonder more than ever +how Shakespeare made his laughter so sweet and sunny, and how, +instead of revolting us, he touches our hearts with his horror +and pain. + +About eleven years passed after Shakespeare left Stratford before +he returned there again. But once having returned, he often paid +visits to his old home. And he came now no more as a poor wild +lad given to poaching. He came as a man of wealth and fame. He +bought the best house in Stratford, called New Place, as well as +a good deal of land. So before John Shakespeare died he saw his +family once more important in the town. + +Then as the years went on Shakespeare gave up all connection with +London and the theater and settled down to a quiet country life. +He planted trees, managed his estate, and showed that though he +was the world's master-poet he was a good business man too. +Everything prospered with him, his two daughters married well, +and comfortably, and when not more than forty-three he held his +first grandchild in his arms. It may be he looked forward to +many happy peaceful years when death took him. He died of fever, +brought on, no doubt, by the evil smells and bad air by which +people lived surrounded in those days before they had learned to +be clean in house and street. + +Shakespeare was only fifty-two when he died. It was in the +springtime of 1616 that he died, breathing his last upon + + "The uncertain glory of an April day + Which now shows all the beauty of the sun + And by and by a cloud takes all away."* + + *Two Gentlemen of Verona. + +He was buried in Stratford Parish Church, and on his grave was +placed a bust of the poet. That bust and an engraving in the +beginning of the first great edition of his works are the only +two real portraits of Shakespeare. Both were done after his +death, and yet perhaps there is no face more well known to us +than that of the greatest of all poets. + +Beneath the bust are written these lines: + + "Stay, passenger, why goest thou by so fast? + Read, if thou-canst, whom envious Death hath plast + Within this monument; Shakespeare with whome + Quick nature dide: whose name doth deck ys tombe, + Far more than cost, sith all yt he hath writt, + Leaves living art but page to serve his witt." + +Upon a slab over the grave is carved: + + "Good frend, for Jesus' sake forbeare + To digg the dust encloased heare; + Bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones, + And curst be he yt moves my bones." + +And so our greatest poet lies not beneath the great arch of +Westminster but in the quiet church of the little country town in +which he was born. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXVII SHAKESPEARE--"THE MERCHANT OF VENICE" + +IN this chapter I am going to tell you in a few words the story +of one of Shakespeare's plays called The Merchant of Venice. It +is founded on an Italian story, one of a collection made by Ser +Giovanni Fiorentino. + +The merchant of Venice was a rich young man called Antonio. When +the story opens he had ventured all his money in trading +expeditions to the East and other lands. In two months' time he +expects the return of his ships and hopes then to make a great +deal of money. But meantime he has none to spare, and when his +great friend Bassanio comes to borrow of him he cannot give him +any. + +Bassanio's need is urgent, for he loves the beautiful lady Portia +and desires to marry her. This lady was so lovely and so rich +that her fame had spread over all the world till "the four winds +blow in from every coast renowned suitors." Bassanio would be +among these suitors, but alas he has no money, not even enough to +pay for the journey to Belmont where the lovely lady lived. Yet +if he wait two months until Antonio's ships return it may be too +late, and Portia may be married to another. So to supply his +friend's need Antonio decides to borrow the money, and soon a Jew +named Shylock is found who is willing to lend it. For Shylock +was a money-lender. He lent money to people who had need of it +and charged them interest. That is, besides having to pay back +the full sum they had borrowed they had also to pay some extra +money in return for the loan. + +In those days Jews were ill-treated and despised, and there was +great hatred between them and Christians. And Shylock especially +hated Antonio, because not only did he rail against Jews and +insult them, but he also lent money without demanding interest, +thereby spoiling Shylock's trade. So now the Jew lays a trap for +Antonio, hoping to catch him and be revenged upon his enemy. He +will lend the money, he says, and he will charge no interest, but +if the loan be not repaid in three months Antonio must pay as +forfeit a pound of his own flesh, which Shylock may cut from any +part of his body that he chooses. + +To this strange bargain Antonio consents. It is but a jest, he +thinks. + + "Content in faith, I'll seal to such a bond, + And say, there is much kindness in the Jew." + +But Bassanio is uneasy. "I like not fair terms," he says, "and a +villain mind. You shall not seal to such a bond for me." But +Antonio insists and the bond is sealed. + +All being settled, Bassanio receives the money, and before he +sets off to woo his lady he gives a supper to all his friends, to +which he also invites Shylock. Shylock goes to this supper +although to his daughter Jessica he says, + + + "But wherefore should I go? + I am not bid for love; they flatter me: + But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon + The prodigal Christian." + +But Jessica does not join her father in his hatred of all +Christians. She indeed has given her heart to one of the hated +race, and well knowing that her father will never allow her to +marry him, she, that night while he is at supper with Bassanio, +dresses herself in boy's clothes and steals away, taking with her +a great quantity of jewels and money. + +When Shylock discovers his loss he is mad with grief and rage. +He runs about the streets crying for justice. + + "Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! + A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, + Of double ducats stol'n from me by my daughter!" + +And all the wild boys in Venice follow after him mocking him and +crying, "His stones, his daughter and his ducats!" + +So finding nowhere love or sympathy but everywhere only mockery +and cruel laughter, Shylock vows vengeance. The world has +treated him ill, and he will repay the world with ill, and +chiefly against Antonio does his anger grow bitter. + +Then Antonio's friends shake their heads and say, "Let him beware +the hatred of the Jew." They look gravely at each other, for it +is whispered abroad that "Antonio hath a ship of rich lading +wreck'd on the narrow seas." + +Then let Antonio beware. + +"Thou wilt not take his flesh," says one of the young merchant's +friends to Shylock. "What's that good for?" + +"To bait fish withal," snarls the Jew. "If it will feed nothing +else it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered +me half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, +scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, +heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath +not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, +senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with +the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the +same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a +Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle +us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? If you +wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, +we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what +is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what +should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. +The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard +but I will better the instruction." + +Then let Antonio beware. + +Meantime in Belmont many lovers come to woo fair Portia. With +high hope they come, with anger and disappointment they go away. +None can win the lady's hand. For there is a riddle here of +which none know the meaning. + +When a suitor presents himself and asks for the lady's hand in +marriage, he is shown three caskets, one of gold, one of silver, +and one of lead. Upon the golden one is written the words, "Who +chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire"; upon the silver +casket are the words, "Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he +deserves"; and upon the leaden one, "Who chooseth me, must give +and hazard all he hath." And only whoso chooseth aright, each +suitor is told, can win the lady. + +This trial of all suitors had been ordered by Portia's father ere +he died, so that only a worthy and true man might win his +daughter. Some suitors choose the gold, some the silver casket, +but all, princes, barons, counts, and dukes, alike choose wrong. + +At length Bassanio comes. Already he loves Portia and she loves +him. There is no need of any trail of the caskets. Yet it must +be. Her father's will must be obeyed. But what if he choose +wrong. That is Portia's fear. + + "I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two + Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong, + I lose your company," + +she says. + +But Bassanio cannot wait:-- + + "Let me choose; + For, as I am, I live upon the rack." + +And so he stands before the caskets, longing to make a choice, +yet fearful. The gold he rejects, the silver too, and lays his +hand upon the leaden casket. He opens it. Oh, joy! within is a +portrait of his lady. He has chosen aright. yet he can scarce +believe his happiness. + +"I am," he says, + + "Like one of two contending in a prize, + That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, + Hearing applause, and universal shout, + Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt + Whether those pearls of praise be his or no; + So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; + As doubtful whether what I see be true, + Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratifi'd by you." + +And Portia, happy, triumphant, humble, no longer the great lady +with untold wealth, with lands and palaces and radiant beauty, +but merely a woman who has given her love, answers:-- + + "You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, + Such as I am: though, for myself alone, + I would not be ambitious in my wish, + To wish myself much better; yet, for you, + I would be trebled twenty times myself; + A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times + More rich; + That only to stand high on your account, + I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, + Exceed account: but the full sum of me + Is sum of something: which, to term in gross, + Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd, + Happy in this, she is not yet so old + But she may learn; happier than this, + She is not bred so dull but she can learn; + Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit + Commite itself to yours to be directed, + As from her lord, her governor, her king. + Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours + Is now converted; but now I was the lord + Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, + Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, + This house, these servants, and this same myself, + Are yours, my lord." + +Then as a pledge of all her love Portia gives to Bassanio a ring, +and bids him never part from it so long as he shall live. And +Bassanio taking it, gladly swears to keep it forever. + + "But when this ring + Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; + O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead." + +And then as if to make the joy complete, it is discovered that +Portia's lady in waiting, Nerissa, and Bassanio's friend, +Gratiano, also love each other, and they all agree to be married +on the same day. + +In the midst of this happiness the runaway couple, Lorenzo and +Jessica, arrive from Venice with another of Antonio's friends who +brings a letter to Bassanio. As Bassanio reads the letter all +the gladness fades from his face. He grows pale and trembles. +Anxiously Portia asks what troubles him. + + "I am half yourself, + And I must freely have the half of anything + That this same paper brings you." + +And Bassanio answers:-- + + "O sweet Portia, + Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words + That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, + When I did first impart my love to you, + I freely told you, all the wealth I had + Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman; + And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, + Rating myself at nothing, you shall see + How much I was a braggart: when I told you + My state was nothing, I should then have told you + That I was worse than nothing." + +He is worse than nothing, for he is in debt to his friend, and +that friend for him is now in danger of his life. For the three +months allowed by Shylock for the payment of the debt are over, +and as not one of Antonio's ships has returned, he cannot pay the +money. Many friends have offered to pay for him, but Shylock +will have none of their gold. He does not want it. What he +wants is revenge. He wants Antonio's life, and well he knows if +a pound of flesh be cut from this poor merchant's breast he must +die. + +And all for three thousand ducats! "Oh," cries Portia when she +hears, "what a paltry sum! Pay the Jew ten times the money and +tear up the bond, rather than that Antonio shall lose a single +hair through Bassanio's fault." + +"It is no use," she is told, "Shylock will have his bond, and +nothing but his bond." + +If that be so, then must Bassanio hasten to his friend to comfort +him at least. So the wedding is hurried on, and immediately +after it Bassanio and Gratiano hasten away, leaving their new +wives behind them. + +But Portia has no mind to sit at home and do nothing while her +husband's friend is in danger of his life. As soon as Bassanio +has gone, she gives her house into the keeping of Lorenzo and +sets out for Venice. From her cousin, the great lawyer Bellario, +she borrows lawyer's robes for herself, and those of a lawyer's +clerk for Nerissa. And thus disguised, they reach Venice safely. + +This part of the story has brought us to the fourth act of the +play, and when the curtain rises on this act we see the Court of +Justice in Venice. The Duke and all his courtiers are present, +the prisoner Antonio, with Bassanio, and many others of his +friends. Shylock is called in. The Duke tries to soften the +Jew's heart and make him turn to mercy, in vain. Bassanio also +tries in vain, and still Bellario, to whom the Duke has sent for +aid, comes not. + +At this moment Nerissa, dressed as a lawyer's clerk, enters, +bearing a letter. The letter is from Bellario recommending a +young lawyer named Balthazar to plead Antonio's cause. This is, +of course, none other than Portia. She is admitted, and at once +begins the case. "You stand within his danger, do you not?" she +says to Antonio. + +"ANTONIO. I do. + +PORTIA. Then must the Jew be merciful. + +SHYLOCK. On what compulsion must I? Tell me that. + +PORTIA. The quality of mercy is not strained; + It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven + Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed; + It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: + 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes + The thronéd monarch better than his crown; + His scepter shows the force of temporal power, + The attribute to awe and majesty, + Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; + But mercy is above this sceptr'd sway, + It is enthronéd in the hearts of kings, + It is an attribute to God himself; + And earthly power doth then show likest God's + When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, + Though justice be thy plea, consider this-- + That in the course of justice, none of us + Shall see salvation: we do pray for mercy; + And that same prayer doth teach us all to render + The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, + To mitigate the justice of thy plea; + Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice + Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. + +SHYLOCK. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, + The penalty and forfeit of my bond. + +PORTIA. Is he not able to discharge the money? + +BASSANIO. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; + Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, + I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, + On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: + If this will not suffice, it must appear + That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you + Wrest once the law to your authority: + To do a great right, do a little wrong; + And curb this cruel devil of his will. + +PORTIA. It must not be; there is no power in Venice + Can alter a decree established: + 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; + And many an error, by the same example, + Will rush into the state; it cannot be. + +SHYLOCK. A Daniel come to judgement! yea, a Daniel! + O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! + +PORTIA. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. + +SHYLOCK. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. + +PORTIA. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. + +SHYLOCK. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: + Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? + No, not for Venice. + +PORTIA. Why, this bond is forfeit: + And lawfully by this the Jew may claim + A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off + Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful; + Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. + +SHYLOCK. When it is paid according to the tenour. + It doth appear you are a worthy judge; + You know the law, your exposition + Hath been most sound; I charge you by the law, + Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, + Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, + There is no power in the tongue of man + To alter me: I stay here on my bond. + +ANTONIO. Most heartily I do beseech the court + To give the judgement. + +PORTIA. Why then, thus it is. + You must prepare your bosom for his knife. + +SHYLOCK. O noble judge! O excellent young man! + +PORTIA. For the intent and purpose of the law + Hath full relation to the penalty, + Which here appeareth due upon the bond. + +SHYLOCK. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! + How much more elder art thou than thy looks! + +PORTIA. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. + +SHYLOCK. Ay, his breast: + So says the bond;--Doth it not, noble judge? + Nearest his heart, those are the very words. + +PORTIA. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh + The flesh? + +SHYLOCK. I have them ready. + +PORTIA. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, + To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. + +SHYLOCK. Is it so nominated in the bond? + +PORTIA. It is not so express'd. But what of that? + 'Twere good you do so much for charity. + +SHYLOCK. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. + +PORTIA. Come, merchant, have you anything to say?" + +Antonio answers, "But little." He is prepared for death, and +takes leave of Bassanio. But Shylock is impatient. "We trifle +time," he cries; "I pray thee, pursue sentence." + +"PORTIA. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine; + The court awards it, and the law doth give it. + +SHYLOCK. Most rightful judge! + +PORTIA. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; + The law allows it; and the court awards it. + +SHYLOCK. Most learned judge!--A sentence; come, prepare. + +PORTIA. Tarry a little;--there is something else. + This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; + The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: + But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed + One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods + Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate + Unto the state of Venice. + +GRATIANO. O upright judge!--Mark, Jew;--O learned judge! + +SHYLOCK. Is that the law? + +PORTIA. Thyself shall see the act; + For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, + Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. + +GRATIANO. O learned judge,--Mark, Jew;--a learned judge! + +SHYLOCK. I take this offer then,--pay the bond thrice, + And let the Christian go. + +BASSANIO. Here is the money. + +PORTIA. Soft; + The Jew shall have all justice;--soft;--no haste;-- + He shall have nothing but the penalty. + +GRATIANO. O Jew! An upright judge, a learned judge! + +PORTIA. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. + Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more, + But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, + Or less, than a just pound,--be it but so much + As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, + Or the division of the twentieth part + Of one poor scruple,--nay, if the scale do turn + But in the estimation of a hair,-- + Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. + +GRATIANO. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! + Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. + +PORTIA. Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture. + +SHYLOCK. Give me my principal, and let me go. + +BASSANIO. I have it ready for thee; here it is. + +PORTIA. He hath refus'd it in the open court; + He shall have merely justice, and his bond. + +GRATIANO. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel! + I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. + +SHYLOCK. Shall I not have barely my principal? + +PORTIA. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, + To be so taken at thy peril, Jew." + +So, seeing himself beaten on all points, the Jew would leave the +court. But not yet is he allowed to go. Not until he has been +fined for attempting to take the life of a Venetian citizen, not +until he is humiliated, and so heaped with disgrace and insult +that we are sorry for him, is he allowed to creep away. + +The learned lawyer is loaded with thanks, and Bassanio wishes to +pay him nobly for his pains. But he will take nothing; nothing, +that is, but the ring which glitters on Bassanio's finger. That +Bassanio cannot give--it is his wife's present and he has +promised never to part with it. At that the lawyer pretends +anger. "I see, sir," he says:-- + + "You are liberal in offers: + You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks, + You teach me how a beggar should be answered." + +Hardly have they parted than Bassanio repents his seemingly +churlish action. Has not this young man saved his friend from +death, and himself from disgrace? Portia will surely understand +that his request could not be refused, and so he sends Gratiano +after him with the ring. Gratiano gives the ring to the lawyer, +and the seeming clerk begs Gratiano for his ring, which he, +following his friend's example, gives. + +In the last act of the play all the friends are gathered again at +Belmont. After some merry teasing upon the subject of the rings +the truth is told, and Bassanio and Gratiano learn that the +skillful lawyer and his clerk were none other than their young +and clever wives. + + + +BOOKS TO READ + +Among the best books of Shakespeare's stories are: Stories from +Shakespeare, by Jeanie Lang. The Shakespeare Story-Book, by Mary +M'Leod. Tales from Shakespeare (Everyman's Library), by C. and +M. Lamb. + +LIST OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS + +Histories. - Henry VI (three parts); Richard III; Richard II; +King John; Henry IV (two parts); Henry V; Henry VIII (doubtful if +Shakespeare's). + +Tragedies. - Titus Andronicus; Romeo and Juliet; Julius Caesar; +Hamlet; King Lear; Macbeth; Timon of Athens; Antony and +Cleopatra; Coriolanus. + +Comedies. - Love's Labour's Lost; Two Gentlemen of Verona; Comedy +of Errors; Merchant of Venice; Taming of the Shrew; A Midsummer +Night's Dream; All's Well that Ends Well; Merry Wives of Windsor; +Much Ado About Nothing; As You Like It; Twelfth Night; Troilus +and Cressida; Measure for Measure; Pericles; Cymbeline; The +Tempest; A Winter's Tale. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLVIII JONSON--"EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR" + +OF all the dramatists who were Shakespeare's friends, of those +who wrote before him, with him, and just after him, we have +little room to tell. But there is one who stands almost as far +above them all as Shakespeare stands above him. This is Ben +Jonson, and of him we must speak. + +Ben Jonson's life began in poverty, his father dying before he +was born, and leaving his widow poorly provided for. When Ben +was about two years old his mother married again, and this second +husband was a bricklayer. Ben, however, tells us that his own +father was a gentleman, belonging to a good old Scottish Border +family, and that he had lost all his estates in the reign of +Queen Mary. But about the truth of this we do not know, for Ben +was a bragger and a swaggerer. He may not have belonged to this +Scottish family, and he may have had no estates to lose. Ben +first went to a little school at St. Martin's-in-the-fields in +London. There, somehow, the second master of Westminster School +came to know of him, became his friend, and took him to +Westminster, where he paid for his schooling. But when Ben left +school he had to earn a living in some way, so he became a +bricklayer like his step-father, when "having a trowell in his +hand he had a book in his pocket."* + +*Fuller. + +He did not long remain a bricklayer, however, for he could not +endure the life, and next we find him a soldier in the +Netherlands. We know very little of what he did as a soldier, +and soon he was home again in England. Here he married. His +wife was a good woman, but with a sharp tongue, and the marriage +does not seem to have been very happy. And although they had +several children, all of them died young. + +And now, like Shakespeare, Jonson became an actor. Like +Shakespeare too, he wrote plays. His first play is that by which +he is best known, called Every Man in His Humour. By a man's +humor, Jonson means his chief characteristic, one man, for +instance, showing himself jealous, another boastful, and so on. + +It will be a long time before you will care to read Every Man in +His Humour, for there is a great deal in it that you would +neither understand nor like. It is a play of the manners and +customs of Elizabethan times which are so unlike ours that we +have little sympathy with them. And that is the difference +between Ben Jonson and Shakespeare. Shakespeare, although he +wrote of his own time, wrote for all time; Jonson wrote of his +own time for his own time. Yet, in Every Man in His Humour there +is at least one character worthy to live beside Shakespeare's, +and that is the blustering, boastful Captain Bobadill. He talks +very grandly, but when it comes to fighting, he thinks it best to +run away and live to fight another day. If only to know Captain +Bobadill it will repay you to read Every Man in His Humour when +you grow up. + +Here is a scene in which he shows his "humor" delightfully:-- + +"BOBADILL. I am a gentleman, and live here obscure, and to +myself. But were I known to Her Majesty and the Lords-- observe +me--I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for the +public benefit of the State, not only to spare the entire lives of +her subjects in general, but to save the one half, nay, three +parts, of her yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy +soever. And how would I do it, think you? + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive. + +BOBADILL. Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more, to +myself, throughout the land. Gentlemen, they should be of good +spirit, strong and able constitution. I would choose them by an +instinct, a character that I have. And I would teach these +nineteen the special rules, as your punto,* your reverso, your +stoccata, your imbroccata, your passada, your montanto; till they +could all play very near, or altogether, as well as myself. This +done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty would +come into the field the tenth of March, or thereabouts, and we +would challenge twenty of the enemy. They could not in their +honour refuse us. Well, we would kill them. Challenge twenty more, +kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too. And +thus would we kill every man his twenty a day. That's twenty +score. Twenty score, that's two hundred. Two hundred a day, five +days a thousand. Forty thousand; forty times five, five times +forty; two hundred days kills them all up by computation. And this +will I venture by poor gentleman-like carcase to perform, provided +there be no treason practised upon us, by fair and discreet +manhood; that is, civilly by the sword. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Why! are you so sure of your hand, Captain, at +all times? + +BOBADILL. Tut! never miss thrust, upon my reputation with you. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. I would not stand in Downright's state then, an +you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London." + + *This and the following are names of various passes and +thrusts used in fencing. Punto is a direct hit, reverso a +backward blow, and so on. + +(Knowell says this because Bobadill and Downright have had a +quarrel, and Downright wishes to fight the Captain.) + +"BOBADILL. Why, sir, you mistake me. If he were here now, by +this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him. Let this gentleman +do his mind; but I will bastinado him, by the bright sun, wherever +I meet him. + +MATTHEW. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my distance. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Ods so, look where he is! yonder he goes. + [DOWNRIGHT crosses the stage. + +DOWNRIGHT. What peevish luck have I, I cannot meet with these +bragging rascals? + +BOBADILL. It is not he, is it? + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Yes, faith, it is he. + +MATTHEW. I'll be hanged then if that were he. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Sir, keep your hanging good for some greater +matter, for I assure you that was he. + +STEPHEN. Upon my reputation, it was he. + +BOBADILL. Had I thought it had been he, he must not have gone +so. But I can hardly be induced to believe it was he yet. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. That I think, sir-- [Re-enter DOWNRIGHT. + But see, he is come again. + +DOWNRIGHT. O, Pharaoh's foot, have I found you? Come, draw, to +your tools. Draw, gipsy, or I'll thrash you. + +BOBADILL. Gentlemen of valour, I do believe in thee. Hear me-- + +DOWNRIGHT. Draw your weapon then. + +BOBADILL. Tall man, I never thought on it till now-- Body of +me, I had a warrant of the peace served on me, even now as I +came along, by a water-bearer. This gentleman saw it, Master +Matthew. + +DOWNRIGHT. 'Sdeath! you will not draw! + [DOWNRIGHT disarms BOBADILL and beats him. + + MATTHEW runs away. +BOBADILL. Hold! hold! under thy favour forbear. + +DOWNRIGHT. Prate again, as you like this, you foist* you. Your +consort is gone. Had he staid he had shared with you, sir. + [Exit DOWNRIGHT. + +BOBADILL. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the +peace, by this good day. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. No, fait, it's an ill day, Captain, never reckon +it other. But, say you were bound to the peace, the law allows you +to defend yourself. That will prove but a poor excuse. + +BOBADILL. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction in fair +sort. I never sustained the like disgrace, by heaven! Sure I was +struck with a planet thence, for I had no power to touch my +weapon. + +EDWARD KNOWELL. Ay, like enough, I have heard of many that have +been beaten under a planet. Go, get you to a surgeon! 'Slid! and +these be your tricks, your passadoes, and your montantos, I'll +none of them." + + *Fraud. + +When Every Man in His Humour was acted, Shakespeare took a part +in it. He and Jonson must have met each other often, must have +known each other well. At the Mermaid Tavern all the wits used +to gather. For there was a kind of club founded by Sir Walter +Raleigh, and here the clever men of the day met to smoke and +talk, and drink not a little. And among all the clever men +Jonson soon came to be acknowledged as the king and leader. We +have a pleasant picture of these friendly meetings by a man who +lived then. "Many were the wit-combats," he says, "betwixt +Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish +great gallion and an English Man of War: Master Jonson (like the +former) was built far higher in learning; solid, but slow in his +performances. Shakespeare, with the English Man of War, lesser +in bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack +about, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his +wit and invention."* + +*Thomas Fuller, Worthies. + +Another writer says in a letter to Ben, + + "What things have we seen, + Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been + So nimble, and so full of subtile flame + As if that every one from whence they came + Had meant to pit his whole wit in a jest."* + + *F. Beaumont, Letter to Ben Jonson. + +And so we get a picture of Ben lording it in taverns. A great +good fellow, a stout fellow, he rolls his huge bulk about laying +down the law. + +So the years went on. Big Ben wrote and fought, quarreled and +made friends, drank and talked, living always on the verge of +poverty. At length, in 1603, the great Queen Elizabeth died, and +James of Scotland came to the English throne. All the way as he +journeyed he was greeted with rejoicing. There were everywhere +plays and feasts given in his honor, and soon after he arrived in +London a Masque written by Jonson was played before him. The new +king was fond of such entertainments. He smiled upon Master Ben +Jonson, and life became for him easier and brighter. + +But shortly after this, Jonson, with two others, wrote a play in +which some things were said against the Scots. With a Scottish +king surrounded by Scottish lords, that was dangerous. All three +soon found themselves in prison and came near losing their noses +and ears. This was not the first time that Ben had been in +prison, for soon after Every Man in His Humour was acted, he +quarreled for some unknown reason with another actor. In the +foolish fashion of the day they fought a duel over it, and Ben +killed the other man. For this he was seized and put in prison, +and just escaped being hanged. He was left off only with the +loss of all his goods and a brand on the left thumb. + +Now once more Jonson escaped. When he was set free, his friends +gave a great feast to show their joy. But Ben had not learned +his lesson, and at least once again he found himself in prison +because of something he had written. + +But in spite of these things the King continued to smile upon Ben +Jonson. He gave him a pension and made him poet laureate, and it +was now that he began to write the Masques for which he became +famous. These Masques were dainty poetic little plays written +for the court and often acted by the Queen and her ladies. There +was much singing and dancing in them, and the dresses of the +actors were gorgeous beyond description. And besides this, while +the ordinary stage was still without any scenery, Inigo Jones, +the greatest architect in the land, joined Ben Jonson in making +his plays splendid by inventing scenery for them. This scenery +was beautiful and elaborate, and was sometimes changed two or +three times during the play. One of these plays called The +Masque of Blackness was acted by the Queen and her ladies in +1605, and when we read the description of the scenery it makes us +wonder and smile too at the remembrance of Wall and the Man in +the Moon of which Shakespeare made such fun a few years earlier, +and of which you will read in A Midsummer Night's Dream. + +Besides his Masques, Jonson wrote two tragedies, and a number of +comedies, as well as other poems. But for a great part of his +life, the part that must have been the easiest and brightest, he +wrote Masques for the King and court and not for the ordinary +stage. He knew his own power in this kind of writing well, and +he was not modest. "Next himself," he said, "only Fletcher and +Chapman could make a mask."* He found, too, good friends among +the nobles. With one he lived for five years, another gave him +money to buy books, and his library became his great joy and +pride. + +*Conversation of Ben Jonson with Drummond of Hawthornden. + +Ben Jonson traveled too. For a time he traveled in France with +Sir Walter Raleigh's son, while Sir Walter himself was shut up in +the Tower. But Jonson's most famous journey is his walk to +Scotland. He liked to believe that he belonged to a famous +Border family, and wished to visit the land of his forefathers. +So in the mid-summer of 1618 he set out. We do not know how long +he took to make his lengthy walk, but in September he was +comfortably settled in Leith, being "worthily entertained" by all +the greatest and most learned men of the day. He had money +enough for all his wants, for he was able to give a gold piece +and two and twenty shillings to another poet less well off than +himself. He was given the freedom of the city of Edinburgh and +more than 200 pounds was spent on a great feast in his honor. +About Christmas he went to pay a visit to a well-known Scottish +poet, William Drummond, who lived in a beautiful house called +Hawthornden, a few miles from Edinburgh. There he stayed two or +three weeks, during which time he and his host had many a long +talk together, discussing men and books. Drummond wrote down all +that he could remember of these talks, and it is from them that +we learn a good deal of what we know about our poet, a good deal, +perhaps, not to his credit. We learn from them that he was vain +and boastful, a loud talker and a deep drinker. Yet there is +something about this big blustering Ben that we cannot help but +like. + +In January sometime, Jonson set his face homeward, and reached +London in April or May, having taken nearly a year to pay his +visit. He must have been pleased with his journey, for on his +return he wrote a poem about Scotland. Nothing of it has come +down to us, however, except one line in which he calls Edinburgh +"The heart of Scotland, Britain's other eye." + +The years passed for Jonson, if not in wealth, at least in such +comfort as his way of life allowed. For we cannot ever think of +him as happy in his own home by his own fireside. He is rather a +king in Clubland spending his all freely and taking no thought +for the morrow. But in 1625 King James died, and although the +new King Charles still continued the poet's pension, his tastes +were different from those of his father, and Jonson found himself +and his Masques neglected. His health began to fail too, and his +library, which he dearly loved, was burned, together with many of +his unpublished manuscripts, and so he fell on evil days. + +Forgotten at court, Jonson began once more to write for the +stage. But now that he had to write for bread, it almost seemed +as if his pen had lost its charm. The plays he wrote added +nothing to his fame. They were badly received. And so at last, +in trouble for to-morrow's bread, without wife or child to +comfort him, he died on 8th August, 1637. + +He was buried in Westminster, and it was intended to raise a fine +tomb over his grave. But times were growing troublous, and the +monument was still lacking, when a lover of the poet, Sir John +Young of Great Milton, in Oxfordshire, came to do honor to his +tomb. Finding it unmarked, he paid a workman 1s. 6d. to carve +above the poet's resting-place the words, "O rare Ben Jonson." +And perhaps these simple words have done more to keep alive the +memory of the poet than any splendid monument could have done. + + + + + + + +Chapter XLIX JONSON--"THE SAD SHEPHERD" + +ALTHOUGH Ben Jonson's days ended sadly, although his later plays +showed failing powers, he left behind him unfinished a Masque +called The Sad Shepherd which is perhaps more beautiful and more +full of music than anything he ever wrote. For Ben's charm did +not lie in the music of his words but in the strength of his +drawing of character. As another poet has said of him, "Ben as a +rule--a rule which is proved by the exception--was one of the +singers who could not sing; though, like Dryden, he could intone +most admirably."* + +*Swinburne. + +The Sad Shepherd is a tale of Robin Hood. Here once more we find +an old story being used again, for we have already heard of Robin +Hood in the ballads. Robin Hood makes a great fest to all the +shepherds and shepherdesses round about. All are glad to come, +save one Aeglamon, the Sad Shepherd, whose love, Earine, has, he +believes, been drowned. But later in the play we learn that +Earine is not dead, but that a wicked witch, Mother Maudlin, has +enchanted her, and shut her up in a tree. She had done this in +order to force Earine to give up Aeglamon, her true lover, and +marry her own wretched son Lorel. + +When the play begins, Aeglamon passes over the stage mourning for +his lost love. + + "Here she was wont to go! and here! and here! + Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow, + The world may find the spring by following her, + For other print her airy steps ne'er left. + Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, + Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk! + But like the soft west wind she shot along, + And where she went the flowers took thickest root-- + As she had sowed them with her odorous foot." + +Robin Hood has left Maid Marian, Friar Tuck, Little John, and all +his merry men to hunt the deer and make ready the feast. And +Tuck says: + + "And I, the chaplain, here am left to be + Steward to-day, and charge you all in fee, + To don your liveries, see the bower dressed, + And fit the fine devices for the feast." + +So some make ready the bower, the tables and the seats, while +Maid Marian, Little John and others set out to hunt. Presently +they return successful, having killed a fine stag. Robin, too, +comes home, and after loving greetings, listens to the tale of +the hunt. Then Marian tells how, when the huntsmen cut up the +stag, they threw the bone called the raven's bone to one that sat +and croaked for it. + + "Now o'er head sat a raven, + On a sere bough, a grown great bird, and hoarse! + Who, all the while the deer was breaking up + So croaked and cried for it, as all the huntsmen, + Especially old Scathlock, thought it ominous; + Swore it was Mother Maudlin, whom he met + At the day-dawn, just as he roused the deer + Out of his lair." + +Mother Maudlin was a retched old witch, and Scathlock says he is +yet more sure that the raven was she, because in her own form he +has just seen her broiling the raven's bone by the fire, sitting +"In the chimley-nuik within." While the talk went on Maid Marian +had gone away. Now she returns and begins to quarrel with Robin +Hood. Venison is much too good for such folk as he and his men, +she says; "A starved mutton carcase would better fit their +palates," and she orders Scathlock to take the venison to Mother +Maudlin. Those around can scarce believe their ears, for + + "Robin and his Marian are the sum and talk + Of all that breathe here in the green-wood walk." + +Such is their love for each other. They are "The turtles of the +wood," "The billing pair." No one is more astonished than Robin +Hood, as he cries: + + "I dare not trust the faith of mine own senses, + I fear mine eyes and ears: this is not Marian! + Nor am I Robin Hood! I pray you ask her, + Ask her, good shepherds, ask her all for me: + Or rather ask yourselves, if she be she, + Or I be I." + +But Maid Marian only scolds the more, and at last goes away +leaving the others in sad bewilderment. Of course this was not +Maid Marian at all, but Mother Maudlin, the old witch, who had +taken her form in order to make mischief. + +Meanwhile the real Maid Marian discovers that the venison has +been sent away to Mother Maudlin's. With tears in her eyes she +declares that she gave no such orders, and Scathlock is sent to +bring it back. + +When Mother Maudlin comes to thank Maid Marian for her present, +she is told that no such present was ever intended, and so she in +anger curses the cook, casting spells upon him: + + "The spit stand still, no broches turn + Before the fire, but let it burn. + Both sides and haunches, till the whole + Converted be into one coal. + The pain we call St. Anton's fire, + The gout, or what we can desire, + To cramp a cook in every limb, + Before they dine yet, seize on him." + +Soon Friar Tuck comes in. "Hear you how," he says, + "Poor Tom the cook is taken! all his joints + Do crack, as if his limbs were tied with points. + His whole frame slackens; and a kind of rack, + Runs down along the spindils of his back; + A gout, or cramp, now seizeth on his head, + Then falls into his feet; his knees are lead; + And he can stir his either hand no more + Than a dead stump, to his office, as before." + +He is bewitched, that is certain. And certain too it is that +Mother Maudlin has done it. So Robin and his men set out to hunt +for her, while Friar Tuck and Much the Miller's son stay to look +after the dinner in the poor cook's stead. Robin soon meets +Mother Maudlin who has again taken the form of Maid Marian. But +this time Robin suspects her. He seizes the witch by her +enchanted belt. It breaks, and she comes back to her own shape, +and Robin goes off, leaving her cursing. + +Mother Maudlin then calls for Puck-hairy, her goblin. He +appears, crying: + + "At your beck, madam." + "O Puck my goblin! I have lost my belt, + The strong thief, Robin Outlaw, forced it from me," + +wails Mother Maudlin. But Puck-hairy pays little attention to +her complaints. + + "They are other clouds and blacker threat you, dame; + You must be wary, and pull in your sails, + And yield unto the weather of the tempest. + You think your power's infinite as your malice, + And would do all your anger prompts you to; + But you must wait occasions, and obey them: + Sail in an egg-shell, make a straw your mast, + A cobweb all your cloth, and pass unseen, + Till you have 'scaped the rocks that are about you. + +MAUDLIN. What rocks about me? + +PUCK. I do love, madam, + To show you all your dangers--when you're past them! + Come, follow me, I'll once more be your pilot, + And you shall thank me. + +MAUDLIN. Lucky, my loved Goblin!" + +And here the play breaks off suddenly, for Jonson died and left +it so. It was finished by another writer* later on, but with +none of Jonson's skill, and reading the continuation we feel that +all the interest is gone. However, you will be glad to know that +everything comes right. The good people get happily married and +all the bad people become good, even the wicked old witch, Mother +Maudlin. + +*F. G. Waldron. + + + + + + + +Chapter L RALEIGH--"THE REVENGE" + +SOME of you may have seen a picture of a brown-faced sailor +sitting by the seashore, telling stories of travel and adventure +to two boy. The one boy lies upon the sand with his chin in his +hands listening but carelessly, the other with his hands clasped +about his knees listens eagerly. His face is rapt, his eyes the +eyes of a poet and a dreamer. This picture is called The Boyhood +of Raleigh, and was painted by one of our great painters, Sir +John Millais. In it he pictures a scene that we should like to +believe was common in Sir Walter Raleigh's boyhood, but we cannot +tell if it were really so or not. Beyond the fact that he was +born in a white-walled thatched-roofed farmhouse, near Budleigh +Salterton in Devonshire, about the year 1552, we know nothing of +Raleigh's childhood. But from the rising ground near Hayes +Barton, the house in which he was born, we catch sight of the +sea. It seems not too much to believe that many a time Walter +and his brother Carew, wandered through the woods and over the +common the two and a half miles to the bay. So that from his +earliest days Walter Raleigh breathed in a love and knowledge of +the sea. We like to think these things, but we can only make +believe to ourselves as Millais did when he went to Budleigh +Salterton and painted that picture. + +When still quite a boy, Walter Raleigh went to Oriel College, +Oxford, but we know nothing of what he did there, and the next we +hear of him is that he is fighting for the Huguenots in France. +How long he remained in France, and what he did there beyond this +fighting, we do not know. But this we know, that when he went to +France he was a mere boy, with no knowledge of fighting, no +knowledge of the world. When he left he was a man and a tried +soldier, a captain and leader of men. + +When next we hear of Raleigh he is in Ireland fighting the +rebels. There he did some brave deeds, some cruel deeds, there +he lived to the full the life of a soldier as it was in those +rough times, making all Ireland ring with his name. But although +Raleigh had won for himself a name among soldiers, he was as yet +unknown to the Queen; his fortune was still unmade. + +You have all heard the story of how Raleigh first met the Queen. +The first notice we have of this story is in a book from which I +have already quoted more than once--The Worthies of England. + +"This Captain Raleigh," says Fuller, "coming out of Ireland to +the English Court in good habit (his clothes being then a +considerable part of his estate), found the Queen walking, till, +meeting with a splashy place, she seemed to scruple going +thereon. Presently Raleigh cast and spread his new plush cloak +on the ground, whereon the Queen trod gently, rewarding him +afterwards with many suits for his so free and seasonable tender +of so fair a foot cloth." + +Thomas Fuller, who wrote the book in which this story is found, +was only a boy of ten when Raleigh died, so he could not have +known the great man himself, but he must have heard many stories +about him from those who had, and we need not disbelieve this +one. It is one of those things which might very well have +happened even if it did not. + +And whether Raleigh first came into Queen Elizabeth's notice in +this manner or not, after he did become known to her, he soon +rose in her favor. He rose so quickly that he almost feared the +giddy height to which he rose. According to another story of +Fuller's, "This made him write in a glasse window, obvious to the +Queen's eye, + + 'Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.' + +"Her Majesty, either espying or being shown it, did underwrite: + + 'If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.' + +"However he at last climbed up by the stairs of his own desert." + +Honors and favors were heaped upon Raleigh, and from being a poor +soldier and country gentleman he became rich and powerful, the +lord of lands in five counties, and Captain of the Queen's Own +Body-Guard. Haughty of manner, splendid in dress, loving jewels +more than even a woman does, Raleigh became as fine a courtier as +he was a brave soldier. But soldier though Raleigh was, courtier +though he was, loving ease and wealth and fine clothes, he was at +heart a sailor and adventurer, and the sea he had loved as a boy +called to him. + +Like many another of his age Raleigh, hearing the call of the +waves ever in his ears, felt the desire to explore tug at his +heart-strings. For in those days America had been discovered, +and the quest for the famous North-West passage had begun. And +Raleigh longed to set forth with other men to conquer new worlds, +to find new paths across the waves. But above all he longed to +fight the Spaniards, who were the great sea kings of those days. +Raleigh however could not be a courtier and a sailor at one and +the same time. He was meanwhile high in the Queen's favor, and +she would not let him go from her. So all that Raleigh could do, +was to venture his money, and fit out a ship to which he gave his +own name. This he sent to sail along with others under the +command of his step-brother Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who was setting +out upon a voyage of discovery. It was on this voyage that Sir +Humphrey found and claimed Newfoundland as an English possession, +setting up there "the Arms of England ingraven in lead and +infixed upon a pillar of wood."* But the expedition was +unfortunate, most of the men and ships were lost, Sir Humphrey +himself being drowned on his way home. He was brave and fearless +to the last. "We are as near to Heaven by sea as by land," he +said, a short time before his ship went down. One vessel only +"in great torment of weather and peril of drowning"* reached home +safely, "all the men tired with the tediousness of so +unprofitable a voyage to their seeming." Yet though they knew it +not they had helped to lay the foundation of Greater Britain. + +*Hakluyt's Voyages. + +Nothing daunted by this loss, six months later Raleigh sent out +another expedition. This time it was to the land south of +Newfoundland that the ships took their way. There they set up +the arms of England, and named the new possession Virginia in +honor of the virgin Queen. This expedition was little more +successful than Sir Humphrey Gilbert's, but nothing seemed to +discourage Raleigh. He was bent on founding a colony, and again +and yet again he sent out ships and men, spending all the wealth +which the Queen heaped upon him in trying to extend her dominions +beyond the seas. Hope was strong within him. "I shall yet live +to see it an English nation," he said. + +And while Raleigh's captains tried to found a new England in the +New World, Raleigh himself worked at home to bring order into the +vast estates the Queen had given to him in Ireland. This land +had belonged to the rebel Earl of Desmond. At one time no doubt +it had been fertile, but rebellion and war had laid it waste. +"The land was so barren both of man and beast that whosoever did +travel from one end of all Munster . . . . he should not meet +man, woman, or child, saving in cities or towns, nor yet see any +beast, save foxes, wolves, or the ravening beasts." And barren +and desolate as it was when Raleigh received it, it soon became +known as the best tilled land in all the country-side. For he +brought workers and tenants from his old Devon home to take the +place of the beggared or slain Irish. He introduced new and +better ways of tilling, and also he brought to Ireland a strange +new root. For it is interesting to remember that it was in +Raleigh's Irish estates that potatoes were first grown in our +Islands. + +Raleigh took a great interest in these estates, so perhaps it was +not altogether a hardship to him, finding himself out of favor +with his Queen, to go to Ireland for a time. And although they +had known each other before, it was then that his friendship with +Spenser began. Spenser read his Faery Queen to Raleigh, and +perhaps Raleigh read to Spenser his poem Cynthia written in honor +of Queen Elizabeth. But of that poem nearly all has been lost. +Elizabeth was not as yet very angry with Raleigh, still he felt +the loss of her favor, for Spenser tells us:-- + + "His song was all a lamentable lay, + Of great unkindness and of usage hard, + Of Cynthia, the Lady of the Sea, + Which from her presence faultless him debarred. + And ever and anon with singults* rife, + He criéd out, to make his undersong, + 'Ah! my love's Queen, and goddess of my life, + Who shall me pity when thou doest me wrong?'"** + + *Sobs. + **"Colin Clout's come home again." + +But Raleigh soon decided to return to court, and persuaded +Spenser + + "To wend with him his Cynthia to see, + Whose grace was great and bounty most rewardful"* + + *Colin Clout. + +You know how Spenser was received and how he fared. But Raleigh +himself after he had introduced his friend did not stay long at +court. Quarrels with his rivals soon drove him forth again. + +It was soon after this that he published the first writing which +gives him a claim to the name of author. This was an account of +the fight between a little ship called the Revenge and a Spanish +fleet. +Although with the destruction of the Invincible Armada the sea +power of Spain had been crippled, it had not been utterly broken, +and still whenever Spanish and English ships met on the seas, +there was sure to be battle. It being known that a fleet of +Spanish treasure-ships would pass the Azores, islands in the mid- +Atlantic, a fleet of English ships under Lord Thomas Howard was +sent to attack them. But the English ships had to wait so long +at the Azores for the coming of the Spanish fleet that the news +of the intended attack reached Spain, and the Spaniards sent a +strong fleet to help and protect their treasure-ships. The +English in turn hearing of this sent a swift little boat to warn +Lord Thomas. The warning arrived almost too late. Many of the +Englishmen were sick and ashore, and before all could be gathered +the fleet of fifty-three great Spanish ships was upon them. +Still Lord Thomas managed to slip away. Only the last ship, the +Revenge, commanded by the Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Grenville, +lost the wind and was caught between two great squadrons of the +Spanish. Whereupon Sir Richard "was persuaded," Sir Walter says, +"by the Master and others to cut his main-sail, and cast about, +and to trust to the sailing of the ship. . . . But Sir Richard +utterly refused to turn from the enemy, alleging that he would +rather choose to die, than to dishonour himself, his country, and +her Majesty's ship, persuading his company that he would pass +through the two squadrons, in despite of them." + +For a little time it seemed as if Sir Richard's daring might +succeed. But a great ship, the San Philip, came between him and +the wind "and coming towards him, becalmed his sails in such +sort, as the ship could neither make way, nor feel the helm: so +huge and high-carged* was the Spanish ship. . . . The fight thus +beginning at three of the clock of the afternoon continued very +terrible all that evening. But the great San Philip having +received the lower tier of the Revenge, discharged with cross-bar +shot, shifted herself with all diligence from her sides, utterly +misliking her first entertainment. . . . The Spanish ships were +filled with companies of soldiers, in some two hundred, besides +the mariners; in some five, in other eight hundred. In ours +there were none at all beside the mariners, but the servants of +the commanders and some few voluntary gentlemen only." And yet +the Spaniards "were still repulsed, again and again, and at all +times beaten back into their own ships, or into the seas." + +*The meaning of the word is uncertain. It may be high-charged. + +In the beginning of the fight one little store ship of the +English fleet hovered near. It was small and of no use in +fighting. Now it came close to the Revenge and the Captain asked +Sir Richard what he should do, and "Sir Richard bid him save +himself, and leave him to his fortune." So the gallant Revenge +was left to fight alone. For fifteen hours the battle lasted, +Sir Richard himself was sorely wounded, and when far into the +night the fighting ceased, two of the Spanish vessels were sunk +"and in many other of the Spanish ships great slaughter was +made." "But the Spanish ships which attempted to board the +Revenge, as they were wounded and beaten off, so always others +came in their places, she having never less than two might +galleons by her sides and aboard her. So that ere the morning, +from three of the clock the day before, there had fifteen several +Armadas* assailed her. And all so ill approved their +entertainment, as they were, by the break of day, far more +willing to hearken to a composition** than hastily to make any +more assaults or entries. + +*Armada here means merely a Spanish ship of war. + +**An arrangement to cease fighting on both sides. + +"But as the day increased so our men decreased. And as the light +grew more and more, by so much more grew our discomforts. For +none appeared in sight but enemies, saving one small ship called +the Pilgrim, commanded by Jacob Whiddon, who hovered all night to +see the success. But in the morning bearing with the Revenge, +she was hunted like a hare amongst many ravenous hounds, but +escaped. + +"All the powder of the Revenge to the last barrel was now spent, +all her pikes broken, forty of her best men slain, and the most +part of the rest hurt. In the beginning of the fight she had but +one hundred free from sickness and four score and ten sick, laid +in hold upon the ballast. A small troop to man such a ship, and +a weak garrison to resist so mighty an army. By those hundred +all was sustained, the volleys, boarding and enterings of fifteen +ships of war, besides those which beat her at large. + +"On the contrary, the Spanish were always supplied with soldiers +brought from every squadron; all manner of arms and power at +will. Unto ours there remained no comfort at all, no hope, no +supply either of ships, men, or weapons; the masts all beaten +overboard, all her tackle cut asunder, her upper work altogether +razed, and in effect evened she was with the water, but the very +foundation of a ship, nothing being left overhead for flight or +defence. + +"Sir Richard finding himself in this distress and unable any +longer to make resistance, having endured in this fifteen hours' +fight the assault of fifteen several Armadas, all by turns aboard +him, and by estimation eight hundred shot of great artillery +besides many assaults and entries; and (seeing) that himself and +the ship must needs be possessed of the enemy who were now all +cast in a ring round about him, the Revenge not able to move one +way or another, but as she was moved by the waves and billow of +the sea, commanded the Master Gunner, whom he knew to be a most +resolute man, to split and sink the ship, that thereby nothing +might remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards: seeing in so +many hours' fight, and with so great a navy, they were not able +to take her, having had fifteen hours' time, above ten thousand +men, and fifty and three sail of men of war to perform it withal. +And (he) persuaded the company, or as many as he could induce, to +yield themselves unto God, and to the mercy of none else, but as +they had, like valiant resolute men, repulsed so many enemies, +they should not now shorten the honour of their nation, by +prolonging their own lives by a few hours, or a few days. The +Master Gunner readily condescended and divers others. But the +Captain and the Master were of another opinion, and besought Sir +Richard to have care of them, alleging that the Spaniard would be +as ready to entertain a composition as they were willing to offer +the same. And (they said) that there being divers sufficient and +valiant men yet living, and whose wounds were not mortal, they +might do their country and their Prince acceptable service +hereafter. And whereas Sir Richard alleged that the Spaniards +should never glory to have taken one ship of her Majesty, seeing +they had so long and so notably defended themselves; they +answered that the ship had six foot water in hold, three shot +under water, which were so weakly stopped as with the first +working of the sea, she must needs sink, and was besides so +crushed and bruised, as she could never be removed out of the +place. + +"And as the matter was thus in dispute, and Sir Richard refusing +to hearken to any of those reasons, the Master of the Revenge +(while the Captain won unto him the greater party) was convoyed +aboard the General Don Alfonso Bacan. Who (finding none +overhasty to enter the Revenge again, doubting lest Sir Richard +would have blown them up and himself, and perceiving by the +report of the Master of the Revenge his dangerous disposition) +yielded that all their lives should be saved, the company sent +for England, and the better sort to pay such reasonable ransom as +their estate would bear, and in the mean season to be free from +galley or imprisonment. To this he so much the better +condescended as well, as I have said, for fear of further loss +and mischief to themselves, as also for the desire he had to +recover Sir Richard Grenville, whom for his notable valour he +seemed greatly to honour and admire. + +"When this answer was returned, and that safety of life was +promised, the common sort being now at the end of their peril the +most drew back from Sir Richard and the Master Gunner, (it) being +no hard matter to dissuade men from death to life. The Master +Gunner finding himself and Sir Richard thus prevented and +mastered by the greater number, would have slain himself with a +sword, had he not been by force with-held and locked into his +cabin. Then the General sent many boats aboard the Revenge, and +divers of our men fearing Sir Richard's disposition, stole away +aboard the General and other ships. Sir Richard thus over- +matched was sent unto by Alfonso Bacan to remove out of the +Revenge, the ship being marvellous unsavoury, filled with blood +and bodies of dead, and wounded men, like a slaughterhouse. + +"Sir Richard answered he might do with his body what he list, for +he esteemed it not. And as he was carried out of the ship he +swooned, and reviving again desired the company to pray for him. + +"The General used Sir Richard with all humanity, and left nothing +unattempted that tended to his recovery, highly commending his +valour and worthiness, and greatly bewailing the danger in which +he was, being unto them a rare spectacle, and a resolution seldom +approved, to see one ship turn toward so many enemies, to endure +the charge and boarding of so many huge Armadas, and to resist +and repel the assaults and entries of so many soldiers. + +"There were slain and drowned in this fight well near one +thousand of the enemies, and two special commanders. . . . +besides divers others of special account. + +"Sir Richard died as it is said, the second or third day aboard +the General and was by them greatly bewailed. What became of his +body, whether it were buried in the sea or on the land, we known +not. The comfort that remaineth to his friends is, that he hath +ended his life honourably in respect of the reputation won to his +nation and country and of the same to his posterity, and that +being dead, he hath not outlived his own honour." + +This gallant fight of the little Revenge against the huge navy of +Spain is one of the great things in the story of the sea; that is +why I have chosen it out of all that Sir Walter wrote to give you +as a specimen of English prose in Queen Elizabeth's time. As +long as brave deeds are remembered, it will be told how Sir +Richard Grenville "walled round with wooden castles on the wave" +bid defiance to the might and pride of Spain, "hoping the +splendour of some lucky star."* The fight was a hopeless one +from the very beginning, but it was as gallant a one as ever took +place. Even his foes were forced to admire Sir Richard's +dauntless courage, for when he was carried aboard Don Alfonso's +ship "the captain and gentlemen went to visit him, and to comfort +him in his hard fortune, wondering at his courageous stout heart +for that he showed not any sign of faintness nor changing of +colour. But feeling the hour of death to approach, he spake +these words in Spanish and said, 'Here die I, Richard Grenville, +with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as a +true soldier ought to do, and hath fought for his country, Queen, +religion, and honour, whereby my soul most joyfully departeth out +of this body, and shall always leave behind it an everlasting +fame of a valiant and true soldier that hath done his duty as he +was bound to do.' When he had finished these or other like words +he gave up the Ghost, with great and stout courage, and no man +could perceive any true signs of heaviness in him."** + +*Gervase Markham. +**Linschoten's Large Testimony in Hakluyt's Voyages. + +Poets of the time made ballads of this fight. Raleigh wrote of +it as you have just read, and in our own day the great laureate +Lord Tennyson made the story live again in his poem The Revenge. +Tennyson tells how after the fight a great storm arose: + + "And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew + And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, + Till it smote on their hulls and their sails + and their masts and their flags, + And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain. + And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags + To be lost evermore in the main." + +So neither the gallant captain nor his little ship were led home +to the triumph of Spain. + +It is interesting to remember that had it not been for the +caprice of the Queen, Raleigh himself would have been in Sir +Richard Grenville's place. For he had orders to go on this +voyage, but at the last moment he was recalled, and Sir Richard +was sent instead. + + + + + + + +Chapter LI RALEIGH--"THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD" + +SOON after the fight with the Revenge, the King of Spain made +ready more ships to attack England. Raleigh then persuaded Queen +Elizabeth that it would be well to be before hand with the +Spaniards and attack their ships at Panama. So to this end a +fleet was gathered together. But the Queen sent only two ships, +various gentlemen provided others, and Raleigh spent every penny +of his own that he could gather in fitting out the remainder. He +was himself chosen Admiral of the Fleet. So at length he started +on an expedition after his own heart. + +But he had not gone far, when a swift messenger was sent to him +ordering him to return. Unwillingly he obeyed, and when he +reached home he was at once sent to the Tower a prisoner. This +time the Queen was really angry with him; in her eyes Raleigh's +crime was a deep one, for he had fallen in love with one of her +own maids of honor, Mistress Elizabeth Throgmorton, and the Queen +had discovered it. Elizabeth allowed none of her favorites to +love any one but herself, so she punished Raleigh by sending him +to the Tower. + +Mistress Throgmorton was also made a prisoner. After a time, +however, both prisoners were set free, though they were banished +from court. They married and went to live at Sherborne where +Raleigh busied himself improving his beautiful house and laying +out the garden. For though set free Raleigh was still in +disgrace. But we may believe that he found some recompense for +his Queen's anger in his wife's love. + +In his wife Raleigh found a life-long comrade. Through all good +and evil fortune she stood by him, she shared his hopes and +desires, she sold her lands to give him money for his voyages, +she shared imprisonment with him when it came again, and after +his death she never ceased to mourn his loss. How Raleigh loved +her in return we learn from the few letters written to her which +have come down to us. She is "Sweetheart" "Dearest Bess," and he +tells to her his troubles and his hopes as to a staunch and true +friend. + +We cannot follow Raleigh through all his restless life, it was so +full and varied that the story of it would fill a long book. He +loved fighting and adventure, he loved books too, and soon we +find him back in London meeting Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, and +all the great writers of the age at the Mermaid Club. For +Raleigh knew all the great men of his day, among them Sir Robert +Bruce Cotton of whom you heard in connection with the adventures +of the Beowulf Manuscript. + +But soon, in spite of his love for his wife, in spite of his +interest in his beautiful home, in spite of his many friends, +Raleigh's restless spirit again drove him to the sea, and he set +out on a voyage of discovery and adventure. This time he sailed +to Guiana in South America, in search of Eldorado, the fabled +city of gold. And this time he was not called back by the Queen, +but although he reached South America and sailed up the Orinoco +and the Caroni he "returned a beggar and withered"* without +having found the fabled city. Yet his belief in it was as strong +as ever. He had not found the fabled city but he believed it was +to be found, and when he came home he wrote an account of his +journey because some of his enemies said that he had never been +to Guiana at all but had been hiding in Cornwall all the time. +In this book he said that he was ready again to "lie hard, to +fare worse, to be subjected to perils, to diseases, to ill +savours, to be parched and withered"* if in the end he might +succeed. + +*Raleigh's Discovery of Guiana. + +Raleigh was ready to set off again at once to discover more of +Guiana. But instead he joined the Fleet and went to fight the +Spanish, who were once more threatening England, and of all +enemies Raleigh considered the Spaniards the greatest. + +Once again the English won a splendid victory over Spain. Before +the town of Cadiz eight English ships captured or destroyed +thirty Spanish great and little. They took the town of Cadiz and +razed its fortifications to the ground. Raleigh bore himself +well in this fight, so well, indeed, that even his rival, Essex, +was bound to confess "that which he did in the sea-service could +not be bettered." + +And now after five years' banishment from the Queen's favor, +Raleigh was once more received at court. But we cannot follow +all the ups and downs of his court life, for we are told "Sir +Walter Raleigh was in and out at court, so often that he was +commonly called the tennis ball of fortune." And so the years +went on. Raleigh became a Member of Parliament, and was made +Governor of Jersey. He fought and traveled, attended to his +estates in Ireland, to his business in Cornwall, to his +governorship in Jersey. He led a stirring, busy life, fulfilling +his many duties, fighting his enemies, until in 1603 the great +Queen, whose smile or frown had meant so much to him, died. + +Then soon after the new king came to the throne, it was seen that +Raleigh's day at court was indeed at an end. For James had been +told that Sir Walter was among those who were unwilling to +receive him as king. Therefore he was little disposed to look +graciously on the handsome daring soldier-sailor. + +One by one Raleigh's posts of honor were taken from him. He was +accused of treason and once more found himself a prisoner in the +Tower. He was tried, and in spite of the fact that nothing was +proved against him, he was condemned to die. The sentence was +changed, however, to imprisonment for life. + +Raleigh was not left quite lonely in the Tower. His wife and +children, whom he dearly loved, were allowed to come to live +beside him. The governor was kind to him and allowed his +renowned prisoner to use his garden. And there in a little hen- +house Raleigh amused himself by making experiments in chemistry, +and discovering among other things how to distill fresh water +from salt water. He found new friends too in the Queen and in +her young son Henry, Prince of Wales. It was a strange +friendship and a warm one that grew between the gallant boy- +prince of ten and the tried man of fifty. Prince Henry loved to +visit Raleigh in the Tower and listen to the tales of his brave +doings by sea and land in the days when he was free. Raleigh +helped Prince Henry to build a model ship, and the Prince asked +Raleigh's advice and talked over with him all his troubles. His +generous young heart grieved at the though of his friend's +misfortunes. "Who but my father would keep such a bird in such a +cage," he said with boyish indignation. +And it was for this boy friend that Raleigh began the book by +which we know him best, his History of the World. Never has such +a great work been attempted by a captive. To write the history +of even one country must mean much labor, much reading, much +thought. To write a history of the world still more. And I have +told you about Raleigh because with him begins an interest in +history beyond the bounds of our own island. Before him our +historians had only written of England. + +It gives us some idea of the large courage of Raleigh's mind when +we remember that he was over fifty when he began this tremendous +piece of work for the sake of a boy he loved. Raleigh labored at +this book for seven years or more. He was allowed to have his +own books in prison. Sir Robert Cotton lent him others, and +learned friends came to talk over his book with him and help him. +And so the pile of written sheets grew. But the book was never +finished, for long before the first volume was ready the brave +young prince for whom it was written died. + +To Raleigh, this was the cruelest blow fate ever dealt him, for +with the death of Prince Henry died his hope of freedom. In +spite of his long imprisonment, Raleigh had never lost hope of +one day regaining his freedom. Prince Henry just before his +death had wrung an unwilling promise from the King his father +that Raleigh should be set free. But when the Prince died the +King forgot his promise. + +"O eloquent, just and mighty death!" Raleigh says in the last +lines of his book, "Whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded, +what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath +flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised; +thou hast drawn together all the far stretching greatness, all +the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over +with these two narrow words Hic Jacet. + +"Lastly, whereas this book by the title it hath, calls itself, +the first part of The General History of the World, implying a +second and third volume, which I also intended and have hewn out, +besides many other discouragements, persuading my silence, it +hath pleased God to take that glorious prince out of the world, +to whom they were directed; whose unspeakable and never enough +lamented loss hath taught me to say with Job, my heart is turned +to mourning and my organ into the voice of them that weep." + +Raleigh begins his great book with the Creation and brings it +down to the third Macedonian war, which ended in 168 B.C. So you +see he did not get far. But although when he began he had +intended to write much more, he never meant to bring his history +down to his own time. "I know that it will be said by many," he +writes in his preface, "that I might have been more pleasing to +the reader if I had written the story of mine own times, having +been permitted to draw water as near the well-head as another. +To this I answer that whosoever in writing a modern history, +shall follow truth too near the heels, it may haply strike out +his teeth." + +Raleigh feels it much safer to write "of the elder times." But +even so, he says there may be people who will think "that in +speaking of the past I point at the present," and that under the +names of those long dead he is showing the vices of people who +are alive. "But this I cannot help though innocent," he says. +Raleigh's fears were not without ground and at one time his +history was forbidden by King James "for being too saucy in +censuring princes. He took it much to heart, for he thought he +had won his spurs and pleased the King extraordinarily," He had +hoped to please the King and win freedom again, but his hopes +were shattered. + +At last, however, the door of his prison was opened. It was a +golden key that opened it. For Raleigh promised, if he were set +free, to seek once more the fabled Golden City, and this time he +swore to find it and bring home treasure untold to his master the +King. + +So once more the imprisoned sea-bird was free, and gathering men +and ships he set forth on his last voyage. He set forth bearing +with him all his hopes, all his fortune. For both Raleigh and +his wife almost beggared themselves to get money to fit out the +fleet, and with him as captain sailed his young son Walter. + +A year later Raleigh returned. But he returned without his son, +with hopes broken, fortune lost. Many fights and storms had he +endured, many hardships suffered, but he had not found the Golden +City. His money was spent, his ships shattered, his men in +mutiny, and hardest of all to bear, his young son Walter lay dead +in far Guiana, slain in a fight with Spaniards. How Raleigh +grieved we learn from his letter to his wife, "I was loath to +write," he says, "because I knew not how to comfort you; and, God +knows, I never knew what sorrow meant till now. . . . Comfort +your heart, dearest Bess, I shall sorrow for us both, I shall +sorrow less because I have not long to sorrow, because not long +to live. . . . I have written but that letter, for my brains are +broken, and it is a torment for me to write, and especially of +misery. . . . The Lord bless and comfort you that you may bear +patiently the death of your most valiant son." + +Raleigh came home a sad and ruined man, and had the pity of the +King been as easily aroused as his fear of the Spaniards he had +surely been allowed to live out the rest of his life in peaceful +quiet. But James, who shuddered at the sight of a drawn sword, +feared the Spaniards and had patched up an imaginary peace with +them. And now when the Spanish Ambassador rushed into the King's +Chamber crying "Pirates! Pirates!" Raleigh's fate was sealed. + +Raleigh had broken the peace in land belonging to "our dear +brother the King of Spain" said James, therefore he must die. + +Thus once again, Raleigh found himself lodged in the Tower. But +so clearly did he show that he had broken no peace where no peace +was, that it was found impossible to put him to death because of +what he had done in Guiana. He was condemned to death, +therefore, on the old charge of treason passed upon him nearly +fifteen years before. He met death bravely and smiling. Clad in +splendid clothes such as he loved, he mounted the scaffold and +made his farewell speech to those around. + +"'Tis a sharp medicine, but it is a sound cure for all diseases," +he said smiling to the Sheriff as he felt the edge of the ax. +Then he laid his head upon the block. + +"Thus," says the first writer of Raleigh's life, "have we seen +how Sir Walter Raleigh who had been one of the greatest scourges +of Spain, was made a sacrifice to it." + +"So may we say to the memory of this worthy knight," says Fuller, +"'Repose yourself in this our Catalogue under what topic you +please, statesman, seaman, soldier, learned writer or what not.' +His worth unlocks our cabinets and proves both room and welcome +to entertain him . . . so dexterous was he in all his +undertakings in Court, in camp, by sea, by land, with sword, with +pen."* + +*Fuller's Worthies. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Westward Ho! by Charles Kingsley may be read in illustration of +this chapter. + + + + + + + +Chapter LII BACON--NEW WAYS OF WISDOM + +WHEN we are little, there are many things we cannot understand; +we puzzle about them a good deal perhaps, and then we ask +questions. And sometimes the grown-ups answer our question and +make the puzzling things clear to us, sometimes they answer yet +do not make the puzzling things any clearer to us, and sometimes +they tell us not to trouble, that we will understand when we grow +older. Then we wish we could grow older quick, for it seems such +a long time to wait for an answer. But worst of all, sometimes +the grown-ups tell us not to talk so much and not to ask so many +question. + +The fact is, though perhaps I ought not to tell you, grown-ups +don't know everything. That is not any disgrace either, for of +course no one can know everything, not even father or mother. +And just as there are things which puzzle little folks, there are +things which puzzle big folks. And just as among little folks +there are some who ask more questions and who "want to know" more +than others, so among grown-ups there are some who more than +others seek for the answer to those puzzling question. These +people we call philosophers. The word comes from two Greek +words, philos loving, sophos wise, and means loving wisdom. In +this chapter I am going to tell you about Francis Bacon, the +great philosopher who lived in the times of Elizabeth and James. +I do not think that I can quite make you understand what +philosophy really means, or what his learned books were about, +nor do I think you will care to read them for a long time to +come. But you will find the life of Francis Bacon very +interesting. It is well, too, to know about Bacon, for with him +began a new kind of search for wisdom. The old searchers after +truth had tried to settle the questions which puzzled them by +turning to imaginary things, and by mere thinking. Bacon said +that we must answer these questions by studying not what was +imaginary, but what was real--by studying nature. So Bacon was +not only a lover of truth but was also the first of our +scientists of to-day. Scientist comes from the Latin word scio +to know, and Science means that which we know by watching things +and trying things,--by making experiments. And although Bacon +did not himself find out anything new and useful to man, he +pointed out the road upon which others were to travel. + +It was upon a cold day in January in 1560 that Francis Bacon +"came crying into the world."* He was born in a fine house and +was the child of great people, his father being Sir Nicholas +Bacon, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. But although his father +was one of the most important men in the kingdom, we know little +about Francis as a boy. We know that he met the Queen and that +he must have been a clever little boy, for she would playfully +call him her "young Lord Keeper." Once too when she asked him +how old he was, he answered, "Two years younger than your +Majesty's happy reign." So if you know when Elizabeth began to +reign you will easily remember when Bacon was born. + +*James Spedding. + +Francis was the youngest of a big family, and when he was little +more than twelve years old he went to Trinity College, Cambridge. +Even in those days, when people went to college early, this was +young. + +For three years Bacon remained at college and then he went to +France with the English ambassador. While he was in France his +father died and Bacon returned home. At eighteen he thus found +himself a poor lad with his future to make and only his father's +great name and his own wits to help him. He made up his mind to +take Law as his profession. So he set himself quietly to study. + +He worked hard, for from the very beginning he meant to get on, +he meant to be rich and powerful. So he bowed low before the +great, he wrote letters to them full of flattery, he begged and +promised. + +Bacon is like a man with two faces. We look at one and we see a +kindly face full of pity and sorrow for all wrong and pain that +men must suffer, we see there a longing to help man, to be his +friend. We look at the other face and there we see the greed of +gain, the desire for power and place. Yet it may be that Bacon +only strove to be great so that he might have more power and +freedom to be pitiful. In spite of Bacon's hard work, in spite +of his flattery and begging, he did not rise fast. After five +years we find him indeed a barrister and a Member of Parliament, +but among the many great men of his age he was still of little +account. He had not made his mark, in spite of the fact that the +great Lord Burleigh was his uncle, in spite of the fact that +Elizabeth had liked him as a boy. Post after post for which he +begged was given to other men. He was, he said himself, "like a +child following a bird, which when he is nearest flieth away and +lighteth a little before, and then the child after it again, and +so in infinitum. I am weary of it." + +But one friend at court he found in the Earl of Essex, the +favorite of Elizabeth, the rival of Raleigh. Essex, however, who +could win so much favor for himself, could win none for Francis +Bacon. Being able to win nothing from the Queen, on his own +account Essex gave his friend an estate worth about 1800 pounds. +But although that may have been some comfort to Bacon, it did not +win for him greatness in the eyes of the world, the only greatness +for which he longed. As to the Queen, she made use of him when +it pleased her, but she had no love for him. "Though she cheered +him much with the bounty of her countenance," says an early +writer of Bacon's life, his friend and chaplain,* "yet she never +cheered him with the bounty of her hand." It was, alas, that +bounty of the hand that Bacon begged for and stooped for all +through his life. Yet he cared nothing for money for its own +sake, for what he had, he spent carelessly. He loved to keep +high state, he loved grandeur, and was always in debt. + +* William Rawley. + +Essex through all his brilliant years when the Queen smiled upon +him stuck by his friend, for him he spent his "power, might, +authority and amity" in vain. When the dark hours came and Essex +fell into disgrace, it was Bacon who forgot his friendship. + +You will read in history-books of how Essex, against the Queen's +orders, left Ireland, and coming to London, burst into her +presence one morning before she was dressed. You will read of +how he was disgraced and imprisoned. At first Bacon did what he +could for his friend, and it was through his help that Essex was +set free. But even then, Bacon wrote to the Earl, "I confess I +love some things much better than I love your lordship, as the +Queen's service, her quiet and contentment, her honour, her +favour, the good of my country, and the like. Yet I love few +persons better than yourself, both for gratitude's sake, and for +your own virtues." + +Set free, Essex rushed into passionate, futile rebellion. Again +he was made prisoner and tried for high treason. It was then +that Bacon had to choose between friend and Queen. He chose his +Queen and appeared in court against his friend. To do anything +else, Bacon told himself, had been utterly useless. Essex was +now of no more use to him, he was too surely fallen. To cling to +him could do not good, but would only bring the Queen's anger +upon himself also. And yet he had written: "It is friendship +when a man can say to himself, I love this man without respect of +utility. . . . I make him a portion of my own wishes." + +He wrote that as a young man, later he saw nothing in friendship +beyond use. + +The trial of Essex must have been a brilliant scene. The Earl +himself, young, fair of face, splendidly clad, stood at the bar. +He showed no fear, his bearing was as proud and bold as ever, +"but whether his courage were borrowed and put on for the time or +natural, it were hard to judge."* The Lord Treasurer, the Lord +High Steward, too were there and twenty-five peers, nine earls, +and sixteen barons to try the case. Among the learned counsel +sat Bacon, a disappointed man of forty. There was nothing to +single him out from his fellows save that he was the Earl's +friend, and as such might be looked upon to do his best to save +him. + +*John Chamberlain. + +As the trial went on, however, Bacon spoke, not to save, but to +condemn. Did no memory of past kindliness cross his mind as he +likened his friend to "Cain, that first murderer," as he +complained to the court that too much favor was shown to the +prisoner, that he had never before heard "so ill a defense of +such great and notorious treasons." The Earl answered in his own +defense again and yet again. But at length he was silent. His +case was hopeless, and he was condemned to death. He was +executed on 25th February, 1601. + +Perhaps Bacon could not have saved his friend from death, but had +he used his wit to try at least to save instead of helping to +condemn, he would have kept his own name from a dark blot. But a +greater betrayal of friendship was yet to follow. Though Essex +had been wild and foolish the people loved him, and now they +murmured against the Queen for causing his death. Then it was +thought well, that they should know all the blackness of his +misdeeds, and it was Bacon who was called upon to write the story +of them. + +Even from this he did not shrink, for he hoped for great rewards. +But, as before, the Queen used him, and withheld "the bounty of +her hand"; from her he received no State appointment. He did +indeed receive 1200 pounds in money. It was scarcely as much as +Essex had once given him out of friendship. To Bacon it seemed +too small a reward for his betrayal of his friend, even although +it had seemed to mean loyalty to his Queen. "The Queen hath done +somewhat for me," he wrote, "though not in the proportion I +hoped." And so in debt and with a blotted name, Bacon lived on +until Queen Elizabeth died. But with the new King his fortunes +began to rise. First he was made Sir Francis Bacon, then from +one honor to another he rose until he became at last Lord High +Chancellor of England, the highest judge in the land. A few +months later, he was made a peer with the title of Baron Verulam. +A few years later at the age of sixty he went still one step +higher and became Viscount St. Albans. + +Bacon chose the name of Baron Verulam from the name of the old +Roman city Verulamium which was afterwards called St. Albans. It +was near St. Albans that Bacon had built himself a splendid +house, laid out a beautiful garden, and planted fine trees, and +there he kept as great state as the King himself. + +He had now reached his highest power. He had published his great +work called the Novum Organum or New Instrument in which he +taught men a new way of wisdom. He was the greatest judge in the +land and a peer of the realm. He had married too, but he never +had any children, and we know little of his home life. + +It seemed as if at last he had all he could wish for, as if his +life would end in a blaze of glory. But instead of that in a few +short weeks after he became Viscount St. Albans, he was a +disgraced and fallen man. + +He had always loved splendor and pomp, he had always spent more +than he could afford. Now he was accused of taking bribes, that +is, he was accused of taking money from people and, instead of +judging fairly, of judging in favor of those who had given him +most money. He was accused, in fact, of selling justice. That +he should sell justice is the blackest charge that can be brought +against a judge. At first Bacon could not believe that any one +would dare to attack him. But when he heard that it was true, he +sank beneath the disgrace, he made no resistance. His health +gave way. On his sick-bed he owned that he had taken presents, +yet to the end he protested that he had judged justly. He had +taken the bribes indeed, but they had made no difference to his +judgments. He had not sold justice. + +He made his confession and stood to it. "My lords," he said, "it +is my act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your lordships be +merciful to a broken reed." + +Bacon was condemned to pay a fine of 40,000 pounds, to be +imprisoned during the King's pleasure, never more to have +office of any kind, never to sit in Parliament, "nor come +within the verge of the Court." + +"I was the justest judge that was in England these fifty years," +said Bacon afterwards. "But it was the justest censure in +Parliament that was these two hundred years." + +Bacon's punishment was not as heavy as at first sight it seems, +for the fine was forgiven him, and "the king's pleasure," made +his imprisonment in the Tower only a matter of a few days. + +And now that his life was shipwrecked, though he never ceased to +long to return to his old greatness, he gave all his time to +writing and to science. He spent many peaceful hours in the +garden that he loved. "His lordship," we are told, "was a very +contemplative person, and was wont to contemplate in his +delicious walks." He was generally accompanied by one of the +gentlemen of his household "that attended him with ink and paper +ready to set down presently his thoughts."* + +*J. Aubrey. + +He was not soured or bitter. "Though his fortunes may have +changed," says one of his household,* "yet I never saw any change +in his mien, his words, or his deeds, towards any man. But he +was always the same both in sorrow and joy, as a philosopher +ought to be." + +*Peter Boerner, his apothecary and secretary. + +Bacon was now shut out from honorable work in the world, but he +had no desire to be idle. "I have read in books," he wrote, +"that it is accounted a great bliss to have Leisure with Honour. +That was never my fortune. For time was I had Honour without +Leisure; and now I have Leisure without Honour. But my desire is +now to have Leisure without Loitering." So now he lived as he +himself said "a long cleansing week of five years." Then the end +came. + +It was Bacon's thirst for knowledge that caused his death. One +winter day when the snow lay on the ground he drove out in his +coach. Suddenly as he drove along looking at the white-covered +fields and roads around, the thought came to him that food might +be kept good by means of snow as easily as by salt. He resolved +to try, so, stopping his coach, he went into a poor woman's +cottage and bought a hen. The woman killed and made ready the +hen, but Bacon was so eager about his experiment that he stuffed +it himself with snow. In doing this he was so chilled by the +cold that he became suddenly ill, too ill to return home. He was +taken to a house near "where they put him into a good bed warmed +with a pan"* and there after a few days he died. + +*J. Aubrey. + +This little story of how Bacon came by his death gives a good +idea of how he tried to make use of his philosophy. He was not +content with thinking and speculating, that is, looking at ideas. +Speculate comes from the Latin speculari, to spy out. He wanted +to experiment too. And although in those days no one had thought +about it, we now know that Bacon was quite right and that meat +can be kept by freezing it. And it is pleasant to know that +before Bacon died he was able to write that the experiment had +succeeded "excellently well." + +In his will Bacon left his name and memory "to men's charitable +speeches, to foreign nations and to the next ages," and he was +right to do so, for in spite of all the dark shadows that hang +about his name men still call him great. We remember him as a +great man among great men; we remember him as the fore-runner of +modern science; we remember him for the splendid English in which +he wrote. + +And yet, although Bacon's English is clear, strong, and fine, +although Elizabethan English perhaps reached in him its highest +point, he himself despised English. He did not believe that it +was a language that would live. And as he wanted his books to be +read by people all over the world and in all time to come, he +wrote his greatest books in Latin. He grieved that he had wasted +time in writing English, and he had much that he wrote in English +translated into Latin during his lifetime. + +It seems strange to us now that in an age when Spenser and +Shakespeare had show the world what the English tongue had power +to do that any man should have been able to disbelieve in its +greatness. But so it was, and Bacon translated his books into +Latin so that they might live when English books "were not." + +I will not weary you with a list of all the books Bacon wrote. +Although it is not considered his greatest work, that by which +most people know him is his Book of Essays. By an essay, Bacon +meant a testing or proving. In the short chapters of his essays +he tries and proves many things such as Friendship, Study, Honor; +and when you come to read these essays you will be surprised to +find how many of the sentences are known to you already. They +have become "household words," and without knowing it we repeat +Bacon's wisdom. But we miss in them something of human +kindliness. Bacon's wisdom is cool, calm, and calculating, and +we long sometimes for a little warmth, a little passion, and not +so much "use." + +The essays are best known, but the New Atlantis is the book that +you will best like to read, for it is something of a story, and +of it I will tell you a little in the next chapter. + + + + + + + +Chapter LIII BACON--THE HAPPY ISLAND + +ATLANTIS was a fabled island of the Greeks which lay somewhere in +the Western Sea. That island, it was pretended, sank beneath the +waves and was lost, and Bacon makes believe that he finds another +island something like it in the Pacific Ocean and calls it the +New Atlantis. Here, as in More's Utopia, the people living under +just and wise laws, are happy and good. Perhaps some day you +will be interested enough to read these two books together and +compare them. Then one great difference will strike you at once. +In the Utopia all is dull and gray, only children are pleased +with jewels, only prisoners are loaded with golden chains. In +the New Atlantis jewels and gold gleam and flash, the love of +splendor and color shows itself almost in every page. + +Bacon wastes no time in explanation but launches right into the +middle of his story. "We sailed from Peru," he says, "(where we +had continued by the space of one whole year) for China and +Japan, by the South Sea, taking with us victuals for twelve +months." And through all the story we are not told who the "we" +were or what their names or business. There were, we learn, +fifty-one persons in all on board the ship. After some month's +good sailing they met with storms of wind. They were driven +about now here, now there. Their food began to fail, and finding +themselves in the midst of the greatest wilderness of waters in +the world, they gave themselves us as lost. But presently one +evening they saw upon one hand what seemed like darker clouds, +but which in the end proved to be land. + +"And after an hour and a half's sailing, we entered into a good +haven, being the port of a fair city, not great indeed, but well +built, and that gave a pleasant view from the sea. + +"And we, thinking every minute long till we were on land, came +close to the shore, and offered to land. But straightways we saw +divers of the people, with bastons in their hands, as it were +forbidding us to land; yet without any cries or fierceness, but +only as warning us off by signs that they made. Whereupon being +not a little discomforted, we were advising with ourselves what +we should do. During which time there made forth to us a small +boat, with about eight persons in it; whereof one of them had in +his hand a tipstaff* of a yellow cane, tipped at both ends with +blue, who came aboard our ship, without any show of distrust at +all. And when he saw one of our number present himself somewhat +before the rest, he drew forth a little scroll of parchment +(somewhat yellower than our parchment, and shining like the +leaves of writing-tables, but otherwise soft and flexible), and +delivered it to our foremost man. In which scroll were written +in ancient Hebrew, and in ancient Greek, and in good Latin of the +School, and in Spanish, these words: 'Land ye not, none of you. +And provide to be gone from this coast within sixteen days, +except ye have further time given you. Meanwhile, if ye want +fresh water, or victual, or help for your sick, or that your ship +needeth repair, write down your wants, and ye shall have that +which belongeth to mercy.' + +*Staff of office. + +"This scroll was signed with a stamp of Cherubim's wings, not +spread but hanging downwards, and by them a cross. + +"This being delivered, the officer returned, and left only a +servant with us to receive our answer. Consulting thereupon +among ourselves, we were much perplexed. The denial of landing +and hasty warning us away troubled us much. On the other side, +to find that the people had languages and were so full of +humanity, did comfort us not a little. And above all, the sign +of the cross to that instrument was to us a great rejoicing, and +as it were a certain presage of good. + +"Our answer was in the Spanish tongue: 'That for our ship, it +was well; for we had rather met with calms and contrary winds +than any tempests. For our sick, they were many, and in very ill +case, so that if they were not permitted to land, they ran danger +of their lives.' + +"Our other wants we set down in particular; adding, 'that we had +some little store of merchandise, which if it pleased them to +deal for, it might supply our wants without being chargeable unto +them.' + +"We offered some reward in pistolets unto the servant, and a +piece of crimson velvet to be presented to the officer. But the +servant took them not, nor would scarce look upon them; and so +left us, and went back in another little boat which was sent for +him." + +About three hours after the answer had been sent, the ship was +visited by another great man from the island. "He had on him a +gown with wide sleeves, of a kind of water chamelot of an +excellent azure colour, far more glossy than ours. His under +apparel was green, and so was his hat, being in the form of a +turban, daintily made, and not so huge as the Turkish turbans. +And the locks of his hair came down below the brims of it. A +reverend man was he to behold. + +"He came in a boat, gilt in some part of it, with four persons +more only in that boat, and was followed by another boat, wherein +were some twenty. When he was come within a flight shot of our +ship, signs were made to us that we should send forth some to +meet him upon the water; which we presently did in our shipboat, +sending the principal man amongst us save one, and four of our +number with him. + +"When we were come within six yards of their boat they called to +us to stay, and not to approach further, which we did. And +thereupon the man whom I before described stood up, and with a +loud voice in Spanish, asked 'Are ye Christians?' + +"We answered, 'We were'; fearing the less, because of the cross +we had seen in the subscription. + +"At which answer the said person lifted up his right hand towards +heaven, and drew it softly to his mouth (which is the gesture +they use when they thank God) and then said: 'If ye will swear +(all of you) by the merits of the Saviour that ye are not +pirates, nor have shed blood lawfully or unlawfully within forty +days past, you may have licence to come on land.' + +"We said, 'We were all ready to take that oath.' + +"Whereupon one of those that were with him, being (as it seemed) +a notary, made an entry of this act. Which done, another of the +attendants of the great person, which was with him in the same +boat, after his lord had spoken a little to him, said aloud: 'My +lord would have you know, that it is not of pride or greatness +that he cometh out aboard your ship; but for that in your answer +you declare that you have many sick amongst you, he was warned by +the Conservator of Health of the city that he should keep a +distance.' + +"We bowed ourselves towards him, and answered, 'We were his +humble servants; and accounted for great honour and singular +humanity towards us that which was already done; but hoped well +that the nature of the sickness of our men was not infectious.' + +"So he returned; and a while after came the notary to us aboard +our ship, holding in his hand a fruit of that country, like an +orange, but of colour between orange-tawny and scarlet, which +cast a most excellent odour. He used it (as it seemeth) for a +preservative against infection. + +"He gave us our oath; 'By the name of Jesus and of his merits,' +and after told us that the next day by six of the clock in the +morning we should be sent to, and brought to the Strangers' House +(so he called it), where we should be accommodated of things both +for our whole and for our sick. + +"So he left us. And when we offered him some pistolets he +smiling said, 'He must not be twice paid for one labour,' +meaning, as I take it, that he had salary sufficient of the State +for his service. For (as I after leaned) they call an officer +that taketh rewards, twice paid." + +So next morning the people landed from the ship, and Bacon goes +on to tell us of the wonderful things they saw and learned in the +island. The most wonderful thing was a place called Solomon's +House. In describing it Bacon was describing such a house as he +hoped one day to see in England. It was a great establishment in +which everything that might be of use to mankind was studied and +taught. And Bacon speaks of many things which were only guessed +at in his time. He speaks of high towers wherein people watched +"winds, rain, snow, hail and some of the fiery meteors also." +To-day we have observatories. He speaks of "help for the sight +far above spectacles and glasses," also "glasses and means to see +small and minute bodies perfectly and distinctly, as the shapes +and colours of small flies and worms, grains and flaws in gems, +which cannot otherwise be seen." To-day we have the microscope. +He says "we have also means to convey sounds in trunks and pipes, +in strange lines and distances," yet in those days no one had +dreamed of a telephone. "We imitate also flights of birds; we +have some degrees of flying in the air. We have ships and boats +for going under water," yet in those days stories of flying-ships +or torpedoes would have been treated as fairy tales. + +Bacon did not finish The New Atlantis. "The rest was not +perfected" are the last words in the book and it was not +published until after his death. These words might almost have +been written of Bacon himself. A great writer, a great man,--but +"The rest was not perfected." He put his trust in princes and he +fell. Yet into the land of knowledge-- + + "Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last; + The barren wilderness he passed, + Did on the very border stand + Of the blest promised land, + And from the mountain's top of his exalted wit + Saw it himself and shew'd us it. + But life did never to one man allow + Time to discover worlds and conquer too; + Nor can so short a line sufficient be, + To fathom the vast depths of nature's sea. + The work he did we ought t'admire, + And were unjust if we should more require + From his few years, divided twixt th' excess + Of low affliction and high happiness. + For who on things remote can fix his sight + That's always in a triumph or a fight."* + + *Abraham Cowley, To the Royal Society. + +You will like to know, that less than forty years after Bacon's +death a society called The Royal Society was founded. This is a +Society which interests itself in scientific study and research, +and is the oldest of its kind in Great Britain. It was Bacon's +fancy of Solomon's House which led men to found this Society. +Bacon was the great man whose "true imagination"* set it on foot, +and although many years have passed since then, the Royal Society +still keeps its place in the forefront of Science. + +*Thomas Sprat, History of Royal Society, 1667. + +BOOKS TO READ + +The New Atlantis, edited by G. D. W. Bevan, modern spelling (for +schools). The New Atlantis, edited by G. C. Moore Smith, in old +spelling (for schools). + + + + + + + +Chapter LIV ABOUT SOME LYRIC POETS + +BEFORE either Ben Jonson or Bacon died, a second Stuart king sat +on the throne of England. This was Charles I the son of James VI +and I. The spacious days of Queen Elizabeth were over and gone, +and the temper of the people was changing. Elizabeth had been a +tyrant but the people of England had yielded to her tyranny. +James, too, was a tyrant, but the people struggled with him, and +in the struggle they grew stronger. In the days of Elizabeth the +religion of England was still unsettled. James decided that the +religion of England must be Episcopal, but as the reign of James +went on, England became more and more Puritan and the breach +between King and people grew wide, for James was no Puritan nor +was Charles after him. + +As the temper of the people changed, the literature changed too. +As England grew Puritan, the people began to look askance at the +theater, for the Puritans had always been its enemies. Puritan +ideas drew the great mass of thinking people. + +For one reason or another the plays that were written became by +degrees poorer and poorer. They were coarse too, many of them so +much so that we do not care to read them now. But people wrote +such stories as the play-goers of those days liked, and from them +we can judge how low the taste of England had fallen. However, +there were people in England in those days who revolted against +this taste, and in 1642, when the great struggle between King +Parliament had begun, all theaters were closed by order of +Parliament. So for a time the life of English drama paused. + +But while dramatic poetry declined, lyric poetry flourished. +Lyric comes from the Greek word lura, a lyre, and all lyric +poetry was at one time meant to be sung. Now we use the word for +any short poem whether meant to be sung or not. In the times of +James and Charles there were many lyric poets. Especially in the +time of Charles it was natural that poets should write lyrics +rather than longer poems. For a time of strong action, of fierce +struggle was beginning, and amid the clash of arms men had no +leisure to sit in the study and ponder long and quietly. But +life brought with it many sharp and quick moments, and these +could be best expressed in lyric poetry. And as was natural when +religion was more and more being mixed with politics, when life +was forcing people to think about religion whether they would or +not, many of these lyric poets were religious poets. Indeed this +is the great time of English religious poetry. So these lyric +poets were divided into two classes, the religious poets and the +court poets, gay cavaliers these last who sang love-songs, love- +songs, too, in which we often seem to hear the clash of swords. +For if these brave and careless cavaliers loved gayly, they +fought and died as gayly as they loved. + +Later on when you come to read more in English literature, you +will learn to know many of these poets. In this book we have not +room to tell about them or even to mention their names. Their +stories are bound up with the stories of the times, and many of +them fought and suffered for their king. But I will give you one +or two poems which may make you want to know more about the +writers of them. + +Here are two written by Richard Lovelace, the very model of a gay +cavalier. While he was at Oxford, King Charles saw him and made +him M.A. or Master of Arts, not for his learning, but because of +his beautiful face. He went to court and made love and sang +songs gayly. He went to battle and fought and sang as gayly, he +went to prison and still sang. To the cause of his King he clung +through all, and when Charles was dead and Cromwell ruled with +his stern hand, and song was hushed in England, he died miserably +in a poor London alley. + +The first of these songs was written by Lovelace while he was in +prison for having presented a petition to the House of Commons +asking that King Charles might be restored to the throne. + + TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON + + "When love with unconfinéd wings + Hovers within my gates, + And my divine Althea brings + To whisper at the grates; + When I lye tangled in her haire, + And fettered to her eye, + The gods, that wanton in the aire, + Know no such liberty. + . . . . . + "When (like committed linnets) I + With shriller throat shall sing + The sweetness, mercy, majesty, + And glories of my King. + When I shall voyce aloud, how good + He is, how great should be, + Enlargéd winds, that curle the flood, + Know no such liberty. + + "Stone walls do not a prison make, + Nor iron bars a cage; + Mindes innocent and quiet take + That for an hermitage; + If I have freedome in my love, + And in my soule am free, + Angels alone that soar above + Enjoy such liberty." + + TO LUCASTA GOING TO THE WARRES + + "Tell me not (sweet) I am unkinde, + That from the nunnerie + Of thy chaste heart and quiet minde + To warre and armes I flie. + + "True: a new Mistresse now I chase, + The first foe in the field, + And with a stronger faith embrace + A sword, a horse, a shield. + + + "Yet this inconstancy is such + As you, too, shall adore; + I could not love thee, dear, so much, + Lov'd I not Honour more." + +James Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was another cavalier poet +whose fine, sad story you will read in history. He loved his +King and fought and suffered for him, and when he heard that he +was dead he drew his sword and wrote a poem with its point: + + "Great, Good, and Just, could I but rate + My grief, and thy too rigid fate, + I'd weep the world in such a strain + As it should deluge once again: + But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies + More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes, + I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds + And write thine epitaph in blood and wounds." + +He wrote, too, a famous song known as Montrose's Love-song. Here +it is:-- + + "My dear and only love, I pray + This noble world of thee, + Be governed by no other sway + But purest monarchie. + + "For if confusion have a part + Which vertuous souls abhore, + And hold a synod in thy heart, + I'll never love thee more. + + "Like Alexander I will reign, + And I will reign alone, + My thoughts shall evermore disdain + A rival on my throne. + + "He either fears his fate too much + Or his deserts are small, + That puts it not unto the touch, + To win or lose it all. + + "But I must rule and govern still, + And always give the law, + And have each subject at my will, + And all to stand in awe. + + "But 'gainst my battery if I find + Thou shun'st the prize so sore, + As that thou set'st me up a blind + I'll never love thee more. + + + + + "If in the Empire of thy heart, + Where I should solely be, + Another do pretend a part, + And dares to vie with me: + + "Or if committees thou erect, + And goes on such a score, + I'll sing and laugh at thy neglect, + and never love thee more. + + "But if thou wilt be constant then, + And faithful to thy word, + I'll make thee glorious with my pen + And famous by my sword. + + "I'll serve thee in such noble ways + Was never heard before, + I'll crown and deck thee all with bays + And love thee more and more." + +In these few cavalier songs we can see the spirit of the times. +There is gay carelessness of death, strong courage in misfortune, +passionate loyalty. There is, too, the proud spirit of the +tyrant, which is gentle and loving when obeyed, harsh and cruel +if disobeyed. + +There is another song by a cavalier poet which I should like to +give you. It is a love-song, too, but it does not tell of these +stormy times, or ring with the noise of battle. Rather it takes +us away to a peaceful summer morning before the sun is up, when +everything is still, when the dew trembles on every blade of +grass, and the air is fresh and cool, and sweet with summer +scents. And in this cool freshness we hear the song of the lark: + + "The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, + And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; + He takes this window for the east; + And to implore your light, he sings; + 'Awake, awake! the Morn will never rise, + Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.' + + "The merchant bow unto the seaman's star, + The ploughman from the Sun his season takes; + But still the lover wonders what they are, + Who look for day before his mistress wakes. + 'Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn! + Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.'" + +That was written by William Davenant, poet-laureate. It is one +our most beautiful songs, and he is remembered by it far more +than by his long epic poem called Gondibert which few people now +read. But I think you will agree with me that his name is worthy +of being remembered for that one song alone. + + + + + + + +Chapter LV HERBERT--THE PARSON POET + +HAVING told you a little about the songs of the cavaliers I must +now tell you something about the religious poets who were a +feature of the age. Of all our religious poets, of this time at +least, George Herbert is the greatest. He was born in 1593 near +the town of Montgomery, and was the son of a noble family, but +his father died when he was little more than three, leaving his +mother to bring up George with his nine brothers and sisters. + +George Herbert's mother was a good and beautiful woman, and she +loved her children so well that the poet said afterwards she had +been twice a mother to him. + +At twelve he was sent to Westminster school where we are told +"the beauties of his pretty behaviour shined" so that he seemed +"to become the care of Heaven and of a particular good angel to +guard and guide him."* + +*Izaak Walton. + +At fifteen he went to Trinity College, Cambridge. And now, +although separated from his "dear and careful Mother"* he did not +forget her or all that she had taught him. Already he was a +poet. We find him sending verses as a New Year gift to his +mother and writing to her that "my poor abilities in poetry shall +be all and ever consecrated to God's glory." + +*The same. + +As the years went on Herbert worked hard and became a gently +good, as well as a learned man, and in time he was given the post +of Public Orator at the University. This post brought him into +touch with the court and with the King. Of this George Herbert +was glad, for although he was a good and saintly man, he longed +to be a courtier. Often now he went to court hoping for some +great post. But James I died in 1625 and with him died George +Herbert's hope of rising to be great in the world. + +For a time, then, he left court and went into the country, and +there he passed through a great struggle with himself. The +question he had to settle was "whether he should return to the +painted pleasure of a court life" or become a priest. + +In the end he decided to become a priest, and when a friend tried +to dissuade him from the calling as one too much below his birth, +he answered: "It hath been judged formerly, that the domestic +servants of the King of Heaven should be one of the noblest +families on earth. And though the iniquity of late times have +made clergymen meanly valued, and the sacred name of priest +contemptible, yet I will labor to make it honorable. . . . And I +will labor to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in +the eyes of all men, and by following the merciful and meek +example of my dear Jesus." + +But before Herbert was fully ordained a great change came into +his life. The Church of England was now Protestant and priests +were allowed to marry, and George Herbert married. The story of +how he met his wife is pretty. + +Herbert was such a cheerful and good man that he had many +friends. It was said, indeed, that he had no enemy. Among his +many friends was one named Danvers, who loved him so much that he +said nothing would make him so happy as that George should marry +one of his nine daughters. But specially he wished him to marry +his daughter Jane, for he loved her best, and would think of no +more happy fate for her than to be the wife of such a man as +George Herbert. He talked of George so much to Jane that she +loved him without having seen him. George too heard of Jane and +wished to meet her. And at last after a long time they met. +Each had heard so much about the other that they seemed to know +one another already, and like the prince and princess in a fairy +tale, they loved at once, and three days later they were married. + +Soon after this, George Herbert was offered the living of +Bemerton near Salisbury. But although he had already made up his +mind to become a priest he was as yet only a deacon. This sudden +offer made him fearful. He began again to question himself and +wonder if he was good enough for such a high calling. For a +month he fasted and prayed over it. But in the end Laud, Bishop +of London, assured him "that the refusal of it was a sin." So +Herbert put off his sword and gay silken clothes, and putting on +the long dark robe of a priest turned his back for ever to +thoughts of a court life. "I now look back upon my aspiring +thoughts," he said, "and think myself more happy than if I had +attained what I so ambitiously thirsted for. I can now behold +the court with an impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made +up of fraud and titles and flattery, and many other such empty, +imaginary, painted pleasures." And having turned his back on all +gayety, he began the life which earned for him the name of +"saintly George Herbert." He taught his people, preached to +them, and prayed with them so lovingly that they loved him in +return. "Some of the meaner sort of his parish did so love and +reverence Mr. Herbert that they would let their plough rest when +Mr. Herbert's saint's bell rang to prayers, that they might also +offer their devotions to God with him; and would then return back +to their plough. And his most holy life was such, that it begot +such reverence to God and to him, that they thought themselves +the happier when they carried Mr. Herbert's blessing back with +them to their labour."* + +*Walton. + +But he did not only preach, he practised too. I must tell you +just one story to show you how he practiced. Herbert was very +fond of music; he sang, and played too, upon the lute and viol. +One day as he was walking into Salisbury to play with some +friends "he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, which was fallen +under his load. They were both in distress and needed present +help. This Mr. Herbert perceiving put off his canonical coat, +and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. +The poor man blest him for it, and he blest the poor man, and was +so like the Good Samaritan that he gave him money to refresh both +himself and his horse, and told him, that if he loved himself, he +should be merciful to his beast. Thus he left the poor man. + +"And at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they +began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim +and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed. But +he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him, +he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment, his answer +was: that the thought of what he had done would prove music to +him at midnight, and the omission of it would have upbraided and +made discord in his conscience whensoever he should pass by that +place. 'For if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I +am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practice +what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion +every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one +day of my life without comforting a sad soul or shewing mercy. +And I praise God for this occasion. + +"'And now let's tune our instruments.'"* + +*Walton. + +This story reminds us that besides being a parson Herbert was a +courtier and a fine gentleman. His courtly friends were +surprised that he should lower himself by helping a poor man with +his own hands. But that is just one thing that we have to +remember about Herbert, he had nothing of the puritan in him, he +was a cavalier, a courtier, yet he showed the world that it was +possible to be these and still be a good man. He did not believe +that any honest work was a "dirty employment." In one of his +poems he says: + + "Teach me my God and King, + In all things Thee to see, + And what I do in anything + To do it as for Thee. + . . . . . + "All may of Thee Partake: + Nothing can be so mean + Which with his tincture (for Thy sake) + Will not grow bright and clean. + + "A Servant with this clause + Makes drudgery divine; + Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws + Makes that and th' action fine. + + "This is the famous stone + That turneth all to gold; + For that which God doth touch and own + Cannot for less be told."* + + *Counted. + +I have told you the story about Herbert and the poor man in the +words of Izaak Walton, the first writer of a life of George +Herbert. I hope some day you will read that life and also the +other books Walton wrote, for although we have not room for him +in this book, his books are one of the delights of our literature +which await you. + +In all Herbert's work among his people, his wife was his +companion and help, and the people loved her as much as they +loved their parson. "Love followed her," says Walton, "in all +places as inseparably as shadows follow substances in sunshine." + +Besides living thus for his people Herbert almost rebuilt the +church and rectory both of which he found very ruined. And when +he had made an end of rebuilding he carved these words upon the +chimney in the hall of the Rectory: + + "If thou chance for to find + A new house to thy mind, + And built without thy cost; + Be good to the poor, + As God gives thee Store + And then my labor's not lost." + +His life, one would think, was busy enough, and full enough, yet +amid it all he found time to write. Besides many poems he wrote +for his own guidance a book called The Country Parson. It is a +book, says Walton, "so full of plain, prudent, and useful rules +that that country parson that can spare 12d. and yet wants it is +scarce excusable." + +But Herbert's happy, useful days at Bemerton were all too short. +In 1632, before he had held his living three years, he died, and +was buried by his sorrowing people beneath the altar of his own +little church. + +It was not until after his death that his poems were published. +On his death-bed he left the book in which he had written them to +a friend. "Desire him to read it," he said, "and if he can think +it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be +made public. If not let him burn it." + +The book was published under the name of The Temple. All the +poems are short except the first, called The Church Porch. From +that I will quote a few lines. It begins: + + "Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enchance + Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, + Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance + Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure. + A verse may find him who a sermon flies, + And turn delight into a sacrifice. + . . . . . . . + "Lie not, but let thy heart be true to God, + Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both: + Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; + The stormy-working soul spits lies and froth + Dare to be true: nothing can need a lie; + A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby. + . . . . . . . + "Art thou a magistrate? then be severe: + If studious, copy fair what Time hath blurr'd, + Redeem truth from his jaws: if soldier, + Chase brave employment with a naked sword + Throughout the world. Fool not; for all may have, + If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. + . . . . . . . + "Do all things like a man, not sneakingly; + Think the King sees thee still; for his King does. + Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisy; + Give it a corner and the clue undoes. + Who fears to do ill set himself to task, + Who fears to do well sure should wear a mask." + +There is all the strong courage in these lines of the courtier- +parson. They make us remember that before he put on his priest's +robe he wore a sword. They are full of the fearless goodness +that was the mark of his gentle soul. And now, to end the +chapter, I will give you another little poem full of beauty and +tenderness. It is called The Pulley. Herbert often gave quaint +names to his poems, names which at first sight seem to have +little meaning. Perhaps you may be able to find out why this is +called The Pulley. + + "When God at first made man, + Having a glass of blessings standing by, + 'Let us,' said He, 'pour on him all we can; + Let the world's riches which disperséd lie, + Contract into a span.' + + "So strength first made way, + Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure; + When almost all was out, God made a stay, + Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, + Rest in the bottom lay. + + "'For if I should,' said He, + 'Bestow this jewel on My creature, + He would adore My gifts instead of Me, + And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: + So both should losers be. + + "'Yet let him keep the rest, + But keep them with repining restlessness; + Let him be rich and weary, that at least, + If goodness lead him not, yet weariness + May toss him to my breast.'" + + + + + + + +Chapter LVI HERRICK AND MARVELL--OF BLOSSOMS AND BOWERS + +ANOTHER poet of this age, Robert Herrick, in himself joined the +two styles of poetry of which we have been speaking, for he was +both a love poet and a religious poet. + +He was born in 1591 and was the son of an old, well-to-do family, +his father being a London goldsmith. But, like Herbert, he lost +his father when he was but a tiny child. Like Herbert again he +went to Westminster School and later Cambridge. But before he +went to Cambridge he was apprenticed to his uncle, who was a +goldsmith, as his brother, Herrick's father, had been. Robert, +however, never finished his apprenticeship. He found out, we may +suppose, that he had no liking for the jeweler's craft, that his +hand was meant to create jewels of another kind. So he left his +uncle's workshop and went to Cambridge, although he was already +much beyond the usual age at which boys then went to college. +Like Herbert he went to college meaning to study for the Church. +But according to our present-day ideas he seems little fitted to +have been a priest. For although we know little more than a few +bare facts about Herrick's life, when we have read his poems and +looked at his portrait we can draw for ourselves a clear picture +of the man, and the picture will not fit in with our ideas of +priesthood. + +In some ways therefore, as we have seen, though there was an +outward likeness between the lives of Herbert and of Herrick, it +was only an outwards likeness. Herbert was tender and kindly, +the very model of a Christian gentleman. Herrick was a jolly old +Pagan, full of a rollicking joy in life. Even in appearance +these two poets were different. Herbert was tall and thin with a +quiet face and eyes which were truly "homes of silent prayer." +In Herrick's face is something gross, his great Roman nose and +thick curly hair seem to suit his pleasure-loving nature. There +is nothing spiritual about him. + +After Herrick left college we know little of his life for eight +or nine years. He lived in London, met Ben Jonson and all the +other poets and writers who flocked about great Ben. He went to +court no doubt, and all the time he wrote poems. It was a gay +and cheerful life which, when at length he was given the living +of Dean Prior in Devonshire, he found it hard to leave. + +It was then that he wrote his farewell to poetry. He says:-- + + "I, my desires screw from thee, and direct + Them and my thought to that sublim'd respect + And conscience unto priesthood." + +It was hard to go. But yet he pretends at least to be resigned, +and he ends by saying:-- + + "The crown of duty is our duty: Well-- + Doing's the fruit of doing well. Farewell." + +For eighteen years Herrick lived in his Devonshire home, and we +know little of these years. But he thought sadly at times of the +gay days that were gone. "Ah, Ben!" he writes to Jonson, + "Say how, or when + Shall we thy guests + Meet at those lyric feasts + Made at the Sun, + The Dog, the Triple Tun? + Where we such clusters had, + As made us nobly wild, not mad; + And yet each verse of thine + Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine." + +Yet he was not without comforts and companions in his country +parsonage. His good and faithful servant Prue kept house for +him, and he surrounded himself with pets. He had a pet lamb, a +dog, a cat, and even a pet pig which he taught to drink out of a +mug. + + "Though Clock, + To tell how night draws hence, I've none, + A Cock + I have, to sing how day draws on. + I have + A maid (my Prue) by good luck sent, + To save + That little, Fates me gave or lent. + A Hen + I keep, which, creeking* day by day, + Tells when + She goes her long white egg to lay. + A Goose + I have, which, with a jealous ear, + Lets loose + Her tongue, to tell what danger's near. + A Lamb + I keep, tame, with my morsels fed, + Whose Dam + An orphan left him, lately dead. + A Cat + I keep, that plays about my house, + Grown fat + With eating many a miching** mouse. + To these + A Tracy*** I do keep, whereby + I please + The more my rural privacy, + Which are + But toys to give my heart some ease; + Where care + None is, slight things do lightly please." + + *Clucking. + **Thieving. + ***His spaniel. + +But Herrick did not love his country home and parish or his +people. We are told that the gentry round about loved him "for +his florid and witty discourses." But his people do not seem to +have loved these same discourses, for we are also told that one +day in anger he threw his sermon from the pulpit at them because +they did not listen attentively. He says:-- + + "More discontents I never had, + Since I was born, than here, + Where I have been, and still am sad, + In this dull Devonshire." + +Yet though Herrick hated Devonshire, or at least said so, it was +this same wild country that called forth some of his finest +poems. He himself knew that, for in the next lines he goes on to +say:-- + + "Yet justly, too, I must confess + I ne'er invented such + Ennobled numbers for the press, + Than where I loathed so much." + +Yet it is not the ruggedness of the Devon land we feel in +Herrick's poems. We feel rather the beauty of flowers, the +warmth of sun, the softness of spring winds, and see the greening +trees, the morning dews, the soft rains. It is as if he had not +let his eyes wander over the wild Devonshire moorlands, but had +confined them to his own lovely garden and orchard meadow, for he +speaks of the "dew-bespangled herb and tree," the "damasked +meadows," the "silver shedding brooks." Hardly any English poet +has written so tenderly of flowers as Herrick. One of the best +known of these flower poems is To Daffodils. + + "Fair Daffodils, we weep to see + You haste away so soon; + As yet the early-rising sun + Has not attain'd his noon. + Stay, stay, + Until the hasting day + Has run + But to the Even-song; + And, having pray'd together, we + Will go with you along. + + We have short time to stay, as you, + We have as short a spring; + As quick a growth to meet decay, + As you, or anything. + We die + As your hours do, and dry + Away, + Like to the summer's rain; + Or as the pearls of morning's dew, + Ne'er to be found again." + +And here is part of a song for May morning:-- + + "Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn + Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. + + See how Aurora throws her fair + Fresh-quilted colours through the air: + Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see + The dew bespangling herb and tree, + Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east + Above an hour since; yet you not dress'd; + Nay! not so much as out of bed? + When all the birds have matins said + And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, + Nay, profanation to keep in, + Whenas a thousand virgins on this day + Spring, sooner than the lark to fetch in May. + + Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen + To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green + And sweet as Flora. Take no care + For jewels for your gown or hair; + Fear not; the leaves will strew + Gems in abundance upon you: + Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, + Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; + Come and receive them while the light + Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: + And Titan on the eastern hill + Retires himself, or else stands still + Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; + Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying." + +Another well-known poem of Herrick's is:-- + + "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, + Old Time is still a-flying: + And this same flower that smiles to-day, + To-morrow will be dying. + + The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun, + The higher he's a-getting, + The sooner will his race be run, + And nearer he's to setting. + + That age is best, which is the first, + When Youth and Blood are warmer: + But being spent, the worse, and worst + Times still succeed the former. + + Then be not coy, but use your time, + And while ye may, go marry; + For having lost but once your prime, + You may for ever tarry." + +Herrick only published one book. He called it The Hesperides, or +the works both Human and Divine. The "divine" part although +published in the same book, has a separate name, being called his +Noble Numbers. The Hesperides, from whom he took the name of his +book, were lovely maidens who dwelt in a beautiful garden far +away on the verge of the ocean. The maidens sang beautifully, so +Herrick took their name for his book, for it might well be that +the songs they sang were such as his. This garden of the +Hesperides was sometimes thought to be the same as the fabled +island of Atlantis of which we have already heard. And it was +here that, guarded by a dreadful dragon, grew the golden apples +which Earth gave to Hera on her marriage with Zeus. + +The Hesperides is a collection of more than a thousand short +poems, a few of which you have already read in this chapter. +They are not connected with each other, but tell of all manner of +things. + +Herrick was a religious poet too, and here is something that he +wrote for children in his Noble Numbers. It is called To his +Saviour, a Child: A Present by a Child. + + "Go, pretty child, and bear this flower + Unto thy little Saviour; + And tell him, by that bud now blown, + He is the Rose of Sharon known. + When thou hast said so, stick it there + Upon his bib or stomacher; + And tell Him, for good hansel too, + That thou hast brought a whistle new, + Made of a clear, straight oaten reed, + To charm his cries at time of need. + Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none, + But if thou hadst, He should have one; + But poor thou art, and known to be + Even as moneyless as He. + Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss + From those mellifluous lips of His; + Then never take a second one, + To spoil the first impression." + +Herrick wrote also several graces for children. Here is one:-- + + "What God gives, and what we take + 'Tis a gift for Christ His sake: + Be the meal of beans and peas, + God be thanked for those and these: + Have we flesh, or have we fish, + All are fragments from His dish. + He His Church save, and the king; + And our peace here, like a Spring, + Make it ever flourishing." + +While Herrick lived his quiet, dull life and wrote poetry in the +depths of Devonshire, the country was being torn asunder and +tossed from horror to horror by the great Civil War. Men took +sides and fought for Parliament or for King. Year by year the +quarrel grew. What was begun at Edgehill ended at Naseby where +the King's cause was utterly lost. Then, although Herrick took +no part in the fighting, he suffered with the vanquished, for he +was a Royalist at heart. He was turned out of his living to make +room for a Parliament man. He left this parish without regret. + "Deanbourne, farewell; I never look to see + Deane, or thy warty incivility. + Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams, + And makes them frantic, ev'n to all extremes; + To my content, I never should behold, + Were thy streams silver, or thy rocks all gold. + Rocky thou art, and rocky we discover + Thy men: and rocky are thy ways all over. + O men, O manners, now and ever known + To be a rocky generation: + A people currish; churlish as the seas; + And rude, almost, as rudest savages: + With whom I did, and may re-sojourn when + Rocks turn to rivers, rivers turn to men." + +Hastening to London, he threw off his sober priest's robe, and +once more putting on the gay dress worn by the gentlemen of his +day he forgot the troubles and the duties of a country parson. + +Rejoicing in his freedom he cried:-- + + "London my home is: though by hard fate sent + Into a long and irksome banishment; + Yet since called back; henceforward let me be, + O native country, repossess'd by thee." + +He had no money, but he had many wealthy friends, so he lived, we +may believe, merrily enough for the next fifteen years. It was +during these years that the Hesperides was first published, +although for a long time before many people had known his poems, +for they had been handed about among his friends in manuscript. + +So the years passed for Herrick we hardly know how. In the great +world Cromwell died and Charles II returned to England to claim +the throne of his fathers. Then it would seem that Herrick had +not found all the joy he had hoped for in London, for two years +later, although rocks had not turned to rivers, nor rivers to +men, he went back to his "loathed Devonshire." + +After that, all that we know of him is that at Dean Prior "Robert +Herrick vicker was buried ye 15th day of October 1674." Thus in +twilight ends the life of the greatest lyric poet of the +seventeenth century. + +All the lyric poets of whom I have told you were Royalists, but +the Puritans too had their poets, and before ending this chapter +I would like to tell you a little of Andrew Marvell, a +Parliamentary poet. + +If Herrick was a lover of flowers, Marvell was a lover of +gardens, woods and meadows. The garden poet he has been called. +He felt himself in touch with Nature:-- + + "Thus I, easy philosopher, + Among the birds and trees confer, + + And little now to make me wants, + Or of the fowls or of the plants: + Give me but wings as they, and I + Straight floating in the air shall fly; + Or turn me but, and you shall see + I was but an inverted tree."* + + *Appleton House, to the Lord Fairfax. + +Yet although Marvell loved Nature, he did not live, like Herrick, +far from the stir of war, but took his part in the strife of the +times. He was an important man in his day. He was known to +Cromwell and was a friend of Milton, a poet much greater than +himself. He was a member of Parliament, and wrote much prose, +but the quarrels in the cause of which it was written are matters +of bygone days, and although some of it is still interesting, it +is for his poetry rather that we remember and love him. Although +Marvell was a Parliamentarian, he did not love Cromwell blindly, +and he could admire what was fine in King Charles. He could say +of Cromwell:-- + + "Though his Government did a tyrant resemble, + He made England great, and his enemies tremble."* + + *A dialogue between two Horses. + +And no one perhaps wrote with more grave sorrow of the death of +Charles than did Marvell, and that too in a poem which, strangely +enough, was written in honor of Cromwell. + + "He nothing common did, or mean, + Upon that memorable scene, + But with his keener eye + The axe's edge did try: + Nor called the gods with vulgar spite + To vindicate his helpless right, + But bowed his comely head, + Down, as upon a bed."* + + *An Horatian ode upon Cromwell's return from Ireland. + +At Cromwell's death he wrote:-- + + "Thee, many ages hence, in martial verse + Shall the English soldier, ere he charge, rehearse; + Singing of thee, inflame himself to fight + And, with the name of Cromwell, armies fright."* + + *Upon the Death of the Lord Protector. + +But all Marvell's writings were not political, and one of his +prettiest poems was written about a girl mourning for a lost pet. + + "The wanton troopers riding by + Have shot my fawn, and it will die. + + Ungentle men! they cannot thrive + who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst alive + Them any harm: alas! nor could + Thy death yet do them any good. + . . . . . + With sweetest milk and sugar, first + I it at my own fingers nurs'd; + And as it grew, so every day + It wax'd more sweet and white than they. + It had so sweet a breath! And oft + I blushed to see its foot so soft, + And white (shall I say than my hand?) + Nay, any lady's of the land. + It is a wondrous thing how fleet + 'Twas on those little silver feet; + With what a pretty skipping grace + It oft would challenge me to race; + And when 't had left me far away, + 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay; + For it was nimbler much than hinds, + And trod as if on the four winds. + I have a garden of my own, + But so with roses overgrown + And lilies, that you would it guess + To be a little wilderness; + And all the spring-time of the year + It only loved to be there. + Among the lilies, I + Have sought it oft, where it should lie + Yet could not, till itself would rise, + Find it, although before mine eyes; + For in the flaxen lilies' shade, + It like a bank of lilies laid. + Upon the roses it would feed, + Until its lips even seemed to bleed; + And then to me 'twould boldly trip + And plant those roses on my lip. + . . . . . + Now my sweet fawn in vanish'd to + Whither the swans and turtles go; + In fair Elysium to endure, + With milk-white lambs and ermines pure, + O do not run too fast: for I + Will but bespeak thy grave, and die." + +After the Restoration Marvell wrote satires, a kind of poem of +which you had an early and mild example in the fable of the two +mice by Surrey, a kind of poem of which we will soon hear much +more. In these satires Marvell poured out all the wrath of a +Puritan upon the evils of his day. Marvell's satires were so +witty and so outspoken that once or twice he was in danger of +punishment because of them. But once at least the King himself +saved a book of his from being destroyed, for by every one "from +the King down to the tradesman his books were read with great +pleasure."* Yet he had many enemies, and when he died suddenly +in August, 1678, many people though that he had been poisoned. +He was the last, we may say, of the seventeenth-century lyric +poets. + +*Burnet. + +Besides the lyric writers there were many prose writers in the +seventeenth century who are among the men to be remembered. But +their books, although some day you will love them, would not +interest you yet. They tell no story, they are long, they have +not, like poetry, a lilt or rhythm to carry one on. It would be +an effort to read them. If I tried to explain to you wherein the +charm of them lies I fear the charm would fly, for it is +impossible to imprison the sunbeam or find the foundations of the +rainbow. It is better therefore to leave these books until the +years to come in which it will be no effort to read them, but a +joy. + + + + + + + +Chapter LVII MILTON--SIGHT AND GROWTH + +"THERE is but one Milton,"* there is, too, but one Shakespeare, +yet John Milton, far more than William Shakespeare, stands a +lonely figure in our literature. Shakespeare was a dramatist +among dramatists. We can see how there were those who led up to +him, and others again who led away from him. From each he +differs in being greater, he outshines them all. Shakespeare was +a man among men. He loved and sinned with men, he was homely and +kindly, and we can take him to our hearts. Milton both in his +life and work was cold and lonely. He was a master without +scholars, a leader without followers. Him we can admire, but +cannot love with an understanding love. Yet although we love +Shakespeare we can find throughout all his works hardly a line +upon which we can place a finger and say here Shakespeare speaks +of himself, here he shows what he himself thought and felt. +Shakespeare understood human nature so well that he could see +through another's eyes and so forget himself. But over and over +again in Milton's work we see himself. Over and over again we +can say here Milton speaks of himself, here he shows us his own +heart, his own pain. He is one of the most self-ful of all +poets. He has none of the dramatic power of Shakespeare, he +cannot look through another's eyes, so he sees things only from +one standpoint and that his own. He stands far apart from us, +and is almost inhumanly cold. That is the reason why so many of +us find him hard to love. + +*Professor Raleigh. + +When, on a bleak December day in 1606, more than three hundred +years ago, Milton was born, Elizabeth was dead, and James of +Scotland sat upon the throne, but many of the great Elizabethans +still lived. Shakespeare was still writing, still acting, +although he had become a man of wealth and importance and the +owner of New Place. Ben Jonson was at the very height of his +fame, the favorite alike of Court and Commons. Bacon was just +rising to power and greatness, his Novum Organum still to come. +Raleigh, in prison, was eating his heart out in the desire for +freedom, trying to while away the dreary hours with chemical +experiments, his great history not yet begun. Of the crowd of +lyric writers some were boys at college, some but children in the +nursery, and some still unborn. Yet in spite of the many writers +who lived at or about the same time, Milton stands alone in our +literature. + +John Milton was the son of a London scrivener, that is, a kind of +lawyer. He was well-to-do and a Puritan. Milton's home, +however, must have been brighter than many a Puritan home, for +his father loved music, and not only played well, but also +composed. He taught his son to play too, and all through his +life Milton loved music. + +John was a pretty little boy with long golden brown hair, a fair +face and dark gray eyes. But to many a strict Puritan, beauty +was an abomination, and we are told that one of Milton's +schoolmasters "was a Puritan in Essex who cut his hair short." +No doubt to him a boy with long hair was unseemly. John was the +eldest and much beloved son of his father, who perhaps petted and +spoiled him. He was clever as well as pretty, and already at the +age of ten he was looked upon by his family as a poet. He was +very studious, for besides going to St. Paul's School he had a +private tutor. Even with that he was not satisfied, but studied +alone far into the night. "When he went to schoole, when he was +very young," we are told, "he studied hard and sate up very late: +commonly till twelve or one at night. And his father ordered the +mayde to sitt up for him. And in those years he composed many +copies of verses, which might well become a riper age."* We can +imagine to ourselves the silence of the house, when all the +Puritan household had been long abed. We can picture the warm +quiet room where sits the little fair-haired boy poring over his +books by the light of flickering candles, while in the shadow a +stern-faced white-capped Puritan woman waits. She sits very +straight in her chair, her worn hands are folded, her eyes heavy +with sleep. Sometimes she nods. Then with a start she shakes +herself wide awake again, murmuring softly that it is no hour for +any Christian body to be out o' bed, wondering that her master +should allow so young a child to keep so long over his books. +Still she has her orders, so with a patient sigh she folds her +hands again and waits. Thus early did Milton begin to shape his +own course and to live a life apart from others. + +*Aubrey. + +At sixteen Milton went to Christ's College, Cambridge. And here +he earned for himself the name of the Lady of Christ's, both +because of his beautiful face and slender figure, and because he +stood haughtily aloof from amusements which seemed to him coarse +or bad. In going to Cambridge, Milton had meant to study for the +Church. But all through life he stood for liberty. "He thought +that man was made only for rebellion," said a later writer.* As +a child he had gone his own way, and as he grew older he found it +harder and harder to agree with all that the Church taught--"till +coming to some maturity of years, and perceiving what tyranny had +invaded in the Church, that he who would take orders must +subscribe slaves, and take an oath withal. . . . I thought it +better to prefer a blameless silence before the sacred office of +speaking, bought and begun with servitude and forswearing." Thus +was he, he says, "church-outed by the Prelates."* Milton could +not, with a free conscience, become a clergyman, so having taken +his degree he went home to his father, who now lived in the +country at Horton. He left Cambridge without regrets. No thrill +of pleasure seemed to have warmed his heart in after days when he +looked back upon the young years spent beside the Cam. + +*The Reason of Church Government, book II. + +Milton went home to his father's house without any settled plan +of life. He had not made up his mind what he was to be, he was +only sure that he could not be a clergyman. His father was well +off, but not wealthy. He had no great estates to manage, and he +must have wished his eldest son to do and be something in the +world, yet he did not urge it upon him. Milton himself, however, +was not quite at rest, as his sonnet On his being arrived to the +age of twenty-three shows:-- + + "How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, + Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year: + My hasting days fly on with full career, + But my late Spring no bud or blossom show'th. + Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, + That I to manhood am arriv'd so near, + And inward ripeness doth much less appear, + That some more timely happy spirits endu'th. + Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, + It shall be still in strictest measure even + To that same lot, however mean, or high, + Toward which Time leads me; and the Will of Heaven; + All is, if I have grace to use it so, + As ever in my great Task-Master's eye." + +Yet dissatisfied as he sometimes was, he was very sure of +himself, and for five years he let his wings grow, as he himself +said. But these years were not altogether lost, for if both day +and night Milton roamed the meadows about his home in seeming +idleness, he was drinking in all the beauty of earth and sky, +flower and field, storing his memory with sights and sounds that +were to be a treasure to him in after days. He studied hard, +too, ranging at will through Greek and Latin literature. "No +delay, no rest, no care or thought almost of anything holds me +aside until I reach the end I am making for, and round off, as it +were, some great period of my studies," he says to a friend. And +as the outcome of these five fallow years Milton has left us some +of his most beautiful poems. They have not the stately grandeur +of his later works, but they are natural and easy, and at times +full of a joyousness which we never find in him again. And +before we can admire his great poem which he wrote later, we may +love the beauty of L'Allegro, Il Penseroso, and Lycidas, which he +wrote now. + +L'Allegro and Il Penseroso are two poems which picture two moods +in which the poet looks at life. They are two moods which come +to every one, the mirthful and the sad. L'Allegro pictures the +happy mood. Here the man "who has, in his heart, cause for +contentment" sings. And the poem fairly dances with delight of +being as it follows the day from dawn till evening shadows fall. +It begins by bidding "loathed Melancholy" begone "'Mongst horrid +shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy," and by bidding come +"heart-easing Mirth." + + "Haste, thee, nymph, and bring with thee + Jest and youthful Jollity, + Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, + Nods and becks, and wretchéd smiles. + Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, + And love to live in dimple sleek; + Sport that wrinkled Care derides, + And Laughter holding both his sides. + Come, and trip it as ye go + On the light fantastic toe. + . . . . . + To hear the lark begin his flight, + And singing startle the dull night, + From his watch-tower in the skies, + Till the dappled dawn doth rise." + +These are a few lines from the opening of the poem which you must +read for yourselves, for if I quoted all that is beautiful in it +I should quote the whole. + +Il Penseroso pictures the thoughtful mood, or mood of gentle +Melancholy. Here Mirth is banished, "Hence fair deluding joys, +the brood of Folly, and hail divinest Melancholy." The poem +moves with more stately measure, "with even step, and musing +gait," from evening through the moonlit night till morn. It ends +with the poet's desire to live a peaceful studious life. + + "But let my due feet never fail + To walk the studious cloisters pale; + And love the high embowéd roof, + With antique pillars massy proof, + And storied windows richly dight, + Casting a dim religious light. + There let the pealing organ blow + To the full-voic'd choir below, + In service high, and anthem clear, + As may with sweetness through mine ear, + Dissolve me into ecstacies, + And bring all Heaven before mine eyes." + +In Lycidas Milton mourns the death of a friend who was drowned +while crossing the Irish Channel. He took the name from an +Italian poem, which told of the sad death of another Lycidas. +The verse moves with even more stately measure than Il Penseroso. + + "Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, + Compels me to disturb your season due: + For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, + Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer: + Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew + Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. + . . . . . . + Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, + (That last infirmity of noble minds) + To scorn delights, and live laborious days; + But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, + And think to burst out into sudden blaze, + Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorréd shears, + And slits the thin-spun life." + +It was during these early years spent at Horton, too, that Milton +wrote his masque of Comus. It is strange to find a Puritan poet +writing a masque, for Puritans looked darkly on all acting. It +is strange to find that, in spite of the Puritan dislike to +acting, the last and, perhaps, the best masque in our language +should be written by a Puritan, and that not ten years before all +the theaters in the land were closed by Puritan orders. But +although, in many ways, Milton was sternly Puritan, these were +only the better ways. He had no hatred of beauty, "God has +instilled into me a vehement love of the beautiful," he says. + +The masque of Comus was written for a great entertainment given +by the Earl of Bridgewater, at Ludlow Castle, and three of his +children took part in it. In a darksome wood, so the story runs, +the enchanter, Comus, lived with his rabble rout, half brute, +half man. For to all who passed through the wood Comus offered a +glass from which, if any drank, -- + + "Their human countenance, + Th' express resemblance of the gods, is changed + Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, + Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, + All other parts remaining as they were." + +And they, forgetting their home and friends, henceforth live +riotously with Comus. + +Through this wood a Lady and her two brothers pass, and on the +way the Lady is separated from her brothers and loses her way. +As she wanders about she is discovered by Comus who, disguising +himself as a shepherd, offers her shelter in his "low but loyal +cottage." The Lady, innocent and trusting, follows him. But +instead of leading her to a cottage he leads her to his palace. +There the Lady is placed in an enchanted chair from which she +cannot rise, and Comus tempts her to drink from his magic glass. +The Lady refuses, and with his magic wand Comus turns her to +seeming stone. + +Meanwhile the brothers have met a Guardian Spirit, also disguised +as a shepherd, and he warns them of their sister's danger. +Guided by him they set out to find her. Reaching the palace, +they rush in, sword in hand. They dash the magic glass to the +ground and break it in pieces and put Comus and his rabble to +flight. But though the Lady is thus saved she remains motionless +and stony in her chair. + +"What, have ye let the false enchanter scape?" the Guardian +Spirit cries. "Oh, ye mistook, ye should have snatched his wand +and bound him fast." Without his rod reversed and backward- +muttered incantation they cannot free the Lady. Yet there is +another means. Sabrina, the nymph of the Severn, may save her. +So the Spirit calls upon her for aid. + + "Sabrina fair, + Listen where thou art sitting + Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, + In twisted braids of lilies knitting + The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair, + Listen for dear honour's sake, + Goddess of the silver lake, + Listen and save." + +Sabrina comes, and sprinkling water on the Lady, breaks the +charm. + + "Brightest Lady, look on me; + Thus I sprinkle on thy breast + Drops that from my fountain pure + I have kept of precious cure, + Thrice upon thy fingers' tip, + Thrice upon thy rubied lip; + Next this marble venomed seat, + Smeared with gums of glutinous heat, + I touch with chaste palms moist and cold: + Now the spell hath lost its hold." + +The Lady is free and, greatly rejoicing, the Guardian Spirit +leads her, with her brothers, safe to their father's home. + +All these poems of which I have told you, Milton wrote during the +quiet years spent at Horton. But at length these days came to an +end. He began to feel his life in the country cramped and +narrow. He longed to go out into the great wide world and see +something of all the beauties and wonder of it. Italy, which had +called so many of our poets, called him. Once more his kindly +father let him do as he would. He gave him money, provided him +with a servant, and sent him forth on his travels. For more than +a year Milton wandered, chiefly among the sunny cities of Italy. +He meant to stray still further to Sicily and Greece, but news +from home called him back, "The sad news of Civil War." "I +thought it base," he said, "that while my fellow-countrymen were +fighting at home for liberty, I should be traveling abroad at +ease." + +When Milton returned home he did not go back to Horton, but set +up house in London. Here he began to teach his two nephews, his +sister's children, who were boys of nine and ten. Their father +had died, their mother married again, and Milton not only taught +the boys, but took them to live with him. He found pleasure, it +would seem, in teaching, for soon his little class grew, and he +began to teach other boys, the sons of friends. + +Milton was a good master, but a severe one. The boys were kept +long hours at their lessons, and we are told that in a year's +time they could read a Latin author at sight, and within three +years they went through the best Latin and Greek poets. But "as +he was severe on one hand, so he was most familiar and free in +his conversation to those to whom most sour in his way of +education." He himself showed the example of "hard study and +spare diet,"** for besides teaching the boys he worked and wrote +steadily, study being ever the "grand affair of his life."** +Only now and again he went to see "young sparks" of his +acquaintance, "and now and then to keep a gawdy-day."** It is +scarce to be imagined that a gawdy-day in which John Milton took +part could have been very riotous. + +*Aubrey. +**Philips. + +Then after Milton had been leading this severe quiet life for +about four years, a strange thing happened. One day he set off +on a journey. He told no one why he went. Every one thought it +was but a pleasure jaunt. He was away about a month, then "home +he returns a married man that went out a bachelor."* We can +imagine how surprised the little boys would be to find that their +grave teacher of thirty-four had brought home a wife, a wife, +too, who was little more than a girl a few years older than +themselves. And as it was a surprise to them it is still a +surprise to all who read and write about Milton's life to this +day. With the new wife came several of her friends, and so the +quiet house was made gay with feasting and merriment for a few +days; for strange to say, Milton, the stern Puritan, had married +a Royalist lady, the daughter of a cavalier. After these few +merry days the gay friends left, and the young bride remained +behind with her grave and learned husband, in her new quiet home. +But to poor little Mary Milton, used to a great house and much +merry coming and going, the life she now led seemed dull beyond +bearing. She was not clever; indeed, she was rather stupid, so +after having led a "philosophical life" for about a month, she +begged to be allowed to go back to her mother. + +*Philips. + +Milton let he go on the understanding that she should return to +him in a month or two. But the time appointed came and went +without any sign of a returning wife. Milton wrote to her and +got no answer. Several times he wrote, and still no answer. +Then he sent a messenger. But the messenger returned without an +answer, or at least without a pleasing one. He had indeed been +"dismissed with some sort of contempt." + +It would seem the cavalier family regretted having given a +daughter in marriage to the Puritan poet. The poet, on his side, +now resolved to cast out forever from his heart and home his +truant wife. He set himself harder than before to the task of +writing and teaching. He hid his aching heart and hurt pride as +best he might beneath a calm and stern bearing. But life had +changed for him. Up to this time all had gone as he wished. +Ever since, when a boy of twelve, he had sat till midnight over +his books with a patient waiting-maid beside him, those around +had smoothed his path in life for him. His will had been law +until a girl of seventeen defied him. + +Time went on, the King's cause was all but hopeless. Many a +cavalier had lost all in his defense, among them those of Mary +Milton's family. Driven from their home, knowing hardly where to +turn for shelter, they bethought them of Mary's slighted husband. +He was on the winning side, and a man of growing importance. +Beneath his roof Mary at least would be safe. + +The poor little runaway wife, we may believe, was afraid to face +her angry husband. But helped both by his friends and her own a +meeting was arranged. Milton had a friend to whose house he +often went, and in this house his wife was hid one day when the +poet came to pay a visit. While Milton waited for his friend he +was surprised, for when the door opened there came from the +adjoining room, not his friend, but "one whom he thought to have +never seen more." Mary his wife came to him, and sinking upon +her knees before him begged to be forgiven. Long after, in his +great poem, Milton seems to describe the scene when he makes Adam +cry out to Eve after the Fall, "Out of my sight, thou serpent! +That name best befits thee." + + "But Eve, + Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, + And tresses all disordered, at his feet + Fell humble, and, embracing them, besought + His peace; and thus proceeded in her plaint: + 'Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness, Heaven, + What love sincere, and reverence in my heart + I bear thee, and unweeting have offended, + Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliant + I beg, and clasp thy knees. Bereave me not, + Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, + Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, + My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee, + Whither shall I betake me? where subsist? + While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, + Between us two let there be peace.' + . . . . . . . + She ended weeping; and her lowly plight, + Immovable till peace obtained from fault + Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought + Commiseration. Soon his heart relented + Towards her, his life so late and sole delight, + Now at his feet submissive in distress, + Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking, + His counsel, whom she had displeased, his aid; + As one disarmed, his anger all he lost, + And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon." + +Milton thus took back to his home his wandering wife and not her +only, but also her father, mother, and homeless brothers and +sisters. So although he had moved to a larger house, it was now +full to overflowing, for besides all this Royalist family he had +living with him his pupils and his own old father. + + + + + + + +Chapter LVIII MILTON--DARKNESS AND DEATH + +AND now for twenty years the pen of Milton was used, not for +poetry, but for prose. The poet became a politician. Victory +was still uncertain, and Milton poured out book after book in +support of the Puritan cause. These books are full of wrath and +scorn and all the bitter passion of the time. They have hardly a +place in true literature, so we may pass them over glad that +Milton found it possible to spend his bitterness in prose and +leave his poetry what it is. + +One only of his prose works is still remembered and still read +for its splendid English. That is Areopagitica, a passionate +appeal for a free press. Milton desired that a man should have +not only freedom of thought, but freedom to write down and print +and publish these thoughts. But the rulers of England, ever +since printing had been introduced, had thought otherwise, and by +law no book could be printed until it had been licensed, and no +man might set up a printing press without permission from +Government. To Milton this was tyranny. "As good almost kill a +man as kill a good book," he said, and again "Give me the liberty +to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to my conscience +above all liberties." He held the licensing law in contempt, and +to show his contempt he published Areopagitica without a license +and without giving the printer's or bookseller's name. It was +not the first time Milton had done this, and his enemies tried to +use it against him to bring him into trouble. But he had become +by this time too important a man, and nothing came of it. + +Time went on, the bitter struggle between King and people came to +an end. The people triumphed, and the King laid his head upon +the block. Britain was without ruler other than Parliament. It +was then, one March day in 1649, that a few grave-faced, somber- +clad men knocked at the door of Milton's house. We can imagine +them tramping into the poet's low-roofed study, their heavy shoes +resounding on the bare floor, their sad faces shaded with their +tall black hats. And there, in sing-song voices, they tell the +astonished man that they come from Parliament to ask him to be +Secretary for Foreign Tongues. + +Milton was astonished, but he accepted the post. And now his +life became a very busy one. It had been decided that all +letters to foreign powers should be written in Latin, but many +Governments wrote to England in their own languages. Milton had +to translate these letters, answer them in Latin, and also write +little books or pamphlets in answer to those which were written +against the Government. + +It was while he was busy with this, while he was pouring out +bitter abuse upon his enemies or upon the enemies of his party, +that his great misfortune fell upon him. He became blind. He +had had many warnings. He had been told to be careful of his +eyes, for the sight of one had long been gone. But in spite of +all warnings he still worked on, and at length became quite +blind. + +His enemies jeered at him, and said it was a judgment upon him +for his wicked writing. But never for a moment did Milton's +spirit quail. He had always been sure of himself, sure of his +mission in life, sufficient for himself. And now that the horror +of darkness shut him off from others, shut him still more into +himself, his heart did not fail him. Blind at forty-three, he +wrote:-- + + "When I consider how my light is spent, + Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, + And that one talent which is death to hide, + Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent + To serve therewith my Maker, and present + My true account, lest He, returning, chide; + 'Doth God exact day labour, light denied?' + I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent + That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need + Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best + Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state + Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, + And post o'er land and ocean without rest; + They also serve who only stand and wait.'" + +Milton meant to take up this new burden patiently, but at forty- +three, with all the vigor of life still stirring in him, he could +not meekly fold his hands to stand and wait. Indeed, his +greatest work was still to come. Blind though he was, he did not +give up his post of Latin Secretary. He still remained Chief +Secretary, and others worked under him, among them Andrew +Marvell, the poet. He still gave all his brain and learning to +the service of his country, while others supplied his lacking +eyesight. But now in the same year Fate dealt him another blow. +His wife died. Perhaps there had never been any great love or +understanding between these two, for Milton's understanding of +all women was unhappy. But now, when he had most need of a +woman's kindly help and sympathy, she went from him leaving to +his blind care three motherless girls, the eldest of whom was +only six years old. + +We know little of Milton's home life during the next years. But +it cannot have been a happy one. His children ran wild. He +tried to teach them in some sort. He was dependent now on others +to read to him, and he made his daughters take their share of +this. He succeeded in teaching them to read in several +languages, but they understood not a word of what they read, so +it was no wonder that they looked upon it as a wearisome task. +They grew up with neither love for nor understanding of their +stern blind father. To them he was not the great poet whose name +should be one of the triumphs of English Literature. He was +merely a severe father and hard taskmaster. + +Four years after his first wife died Milton married again. This +lady he never saw, but she was gentle and kind, and he loved her. +For fifteen months she wrought peace and order in his home, then +she too died, leaving her husband more lonely than before. He +mourned her loss in poetic words. He dreamed she came to him one +night:-- + + "Came vested all in white, pure as her mind; + Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight + Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd + So clear, as in no face with more delight. + But O, as to embrace me she inclin'd, + I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night." + +With this sonnet (for those lines are part of the last sonnet +Milton ever wrote) it would seem as if a new period began with +Milton, his second period of poetry writing. Who knows but that +it was the sharp sorrow of his loss which sent him back to +poetry. For throughout Milton's life we can see that it was +always something outside himself which made him write poetry. He +did not sing like the birds because he must, but because he was +asked to sing by some person, or made to sing by some +circumstance. + +However that may be, it was now that Milton began his greatest +work, Paradise Lost. Twenty years before the thought had come to +him that he would write a grand epic. We have scarcely spoken of +an epic since that first of all our epics, the Story of Beowulf. +And although others had written epics, Milton is to be remembered +as the writer of the great English epic. At first he thought of +taking Arthur for his hero, but as more and more he saw what a +mass of fable had gathered round Arthur, as more and more he saw +how plain a hero Arthur seemed, stripped of that fable, his mind +turned from the subject. And when, at last, after twenty years +of almost unbroken silence as a poet, he once more let his organ +voice be heard, it was not a man he spoke of, but Man. He told +the story which Caedmon a thousand years before had told of the +war in heaven, of the temptation and fall of man, and of how Adam +and Eve were driven out of the happy garden. + + "Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit + Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste + Brought death into the world, and all our woe, + With loss of Eden, till one greater Man + Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, + Sing, Heavenly Muse." + +You will remember, or if you look back to Chapter XIII you can +read again about the old poet Caedmon and what he wrote. It was +in 1655 that Junius published the so-called Caedmon Manuscript, +and Milton, who was so great a student, no doubt heard of it and +found some one to read it to him. And perhaps these poems helped +to decide him in his choice, although many years before he had +thought of writing on the subject. + +Perhaps when you are older it may interest you to read the poems +of Milton and the poems of Caedmon together. Then you will see +how far ahead of the old poet Milton is in smooth beauty of +verse, how far behind him sometimes in tender knowledge of man +and woman. But I do not think you can hope to read Paradise Lost +with true pleasure yet a while. It is a long poem in blank +verse, much of it will seem dull to you, and you will find it +hard to be interested in Adam and Eve. For Milton set himself a +task of enormous difficulty when he tried to interest common men +and women in people who were without sin, who knew not good nor +evil. Yet if conceit, if self-assurance, if the want of the +larger charity which helps us to understand another's faults, are +sins, then Adam sinned long before he left Milton's Paradise. In +fact, Adam is often a bore, and at times he proves himself no +gentleman in the highest and best meaning of the word. + +But in spite of Adam, in spite of everything that can be said +against it, Paradise Lost remains a splendid poem. Never, +perhaps, has the English language been used more nobly, never has +blank verse taken on such stately measure. Milton does not make +pictures for us, like some poets, like Spenser, for instance; he +sings to us. He sings to us, not like the gay minstrel with his +lute, but in stately measured tones, which remind us most of +solemn organ chords. His voice comes to us, too, out of a poet's +country through which, if we would find our way, we must put our +hand in his and let him guide us while he sings. And only when +we come to love "the best words in the best order" can we truly +enjoy Milton's Paradise Lost. + +Milton fails at times to interest us in Adam, but he does +interest us in the Bad Angel Satan, and it has been said over and +over again that Satan is his true hero. And with such a man as +Milton this was hardly to be wondered at. All his life had been +a cry for liberty--liberty even when it bordered on rebellion. +And so he could not fail to make his arch rebel grand, and even +in his last degradation we somehow pity him, while feeling that +he is almost too high for pity. Listen to Satan's cry of sorrow +and defiance when he finds himself cast out from Heaven:-- + + "'Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,' + Said then the lost Archangel, 'this the seat + That we must change for heaven?--this mournful gloom + For that celestial light? Be it so, since he + Who now is sovran can dispose and bid + What shall be right; farthest from his is best, + Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme + Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, + Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, + Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell + Receive thy new possessor--one who brings + A mind not to be changed by place or time, + The mind is its own place, and in itself + Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. + What matter where, if I be still the same, + And what I should be, all but less than he + Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least + We shall be free the Almighty hath not built + Here for his envy, will not drive us hence; + Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice, + To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: + Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.'" + +Then in contrast to this outburst of regal defiance, read the +last beautiful lines of the poem and see in what softened mood of +submission Milton pictures our first parents as they leave the +Happy Garden:-- + + "In either hand the hastening Angel caught + Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate + Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast + To the subjected plain--then disappeared. + They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld + Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, + Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate + With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. + Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; + The world was all before them, where to choose + Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. + They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, + Through Eden took their solitary way." + +Milton worked slowly at this grand poem. Being blind he had now +to depend on others to write out what poetry he made in his own +mind, so it was written "in a parcel of ten, twenty, or thirty +verses at a time by whatever hand came next." We are told that +when he was dictating sometimes he sat leaning back sideways in +an easy-chair, with his leg flung over the arm. Sometimes he +dictated from his bed, and if in the middle of the night lines +came to him, whatever time it was he would ring for one of his +daughters to write them down for him, lest the thought should be +lost ere morning. + +We are told, too, that he wrote very little in summer. For he +said himself that it was in winter and spring that his poetic +fancy seemed to come best to him, and that what he wrote at other +times did not please him. "So that in all the years he was about +this poem, he may be said to have spent but half his time +therein."* + +*Philips. + +But now, while Milton's mind was full of splendid images, while +in spite of the discomfort and lonliness of his misruled home, he +was adding line to line of splendid sounding English, great +changes came over the land. + +Oliver Cromwell died. To him succeeded his son Richard. But his +weak hands could not hold the scepter. He could not bind +together a rebel people as great Oliver had done. In a few +months he gave up the task, and little more than a year later the +people who had wept at the death of the great Protector, were +madly rejoicing at the return of a despot. + +With a Stuart king upon the throne, there was no safety for the +rebel poet who had used all the power of his wit and learning +against the Royal cause. Pity for his blindness might not save +him. So listening to the warnings of his friends, he fled into +hiding somewhere in the city of London, "a place of retirement +and abscondence." + +But after a time the danger passed, and Milton crept forth from +his hiding-place. It was perhaps pity for his blind +helplessness, perhaps contempt for his powerlessness, that saved +him, who can tell? His books were burned by the common hangman, +and he found himself in prison for a short time, but he was soon +released. While others were dying for their cause, the blind +poet whose trumpet call had been Liberty! Liberty! was +contemptuously allowed to live. + +Now indeed had Milton fallen on dark and evil days. He had +escaped with his life and was free. But all that he had worked +for during the past twenty years he saw shattered as at one blow. +He saw his friends suffering imprisonment and death, himself +forsaken and beggared. He found no sympathy at home. His +daughters, who had not loved their father in his days of wealth +and ease, loved him still less in poverty. They sold his books, +cheated him with the housekeeping money, and in every way added +to his unhappiness. At length, as a way out of the misery and +confusion of his home, Milton married for the third time. + +The new wife was a placid, kindly woman. She managed the house, +managed too the wild, unruly girls as no one had managed them +before. She saw the folly of keeping them, wholly untamed and +half-educated as they were, at home, and persuaded her husband to +let them learn something by which they might earn a living. So +they went out into the world "to learn some curious and ingenious +sorts of manufacture, that are proper for women to learn, +particularly embroideries in gold and silver." + +Thus for the last few years of his life Milton was surrounded by +peace and content such as he had never before known. All through +life he had never had any one to love him deeply except his +father and his mother, whose love for him was perhaps not all +wise. Those who had loved him in part had feared him too, and +the fear outdid the love. But now in the evening of his days, if +no perfect love came to him, he found at least kindly +understanding. His wife admired him and cared for him. She had +a fair face and pretty voice, and it is pleasant to picture the +gray-haired poet sitting at his organ playing while his wife +sings. He cannot see the sun gleam and play in her golden hair, +or the quick color come and go in her fair face, but at least he +can take joy in the sound of her sweet fresh voice. + +It was soon after this third marriage that Paradise Lost was +finished and published. And even in those wild Restoration days, +when laughter and pleasure alone were sought, men acknowledged +the beauty and grandeur of this grave poem. "This man cuts us +all out, and the ancients too," said Dryden, another and younger +poet. + +People now came to visit the author of Paradise Lost, as before +they had come to visit great Cromwell's secretary. We have a +pleasant picture of him sitting in his garden at the door of his +house on sunny days to enjoy the fresh air, for of the many +houses in which Milton lived not one was without a garden. +There, even when the sun did not shine, wrapt in a great coat of +coarse gray cloth, he received his visitors. Or when the weather +was colder he sat in an upstairs room hung with rusty green. He +wore no sword, as it was the fashion in those days to do, and his +clothes were black. His long, light gray hair fell in waves +round his pale but not colorless face, and the sad gray eyes with +which he seemed to look upon his visitors were still clear and +beautiful. + +Life had now come for Milton to a peaceful evening time, but his +work was not yet finished. He had two great poems still to +write. + +One was Paradise Regained. In this he shows how man's lost +happiness was found again in Christ. Here is a second +temptation, the temptation in the wilderness, but this time Satan +is defeated, Christ is victorious. + +The second poem was Samson Agonistes, which tells the tragic +story of Samson in his blindness. And no one reading it can fail +to see that it is the story too of Milton in his blindness. It +is Milton himself who speaks when he makes Samson exclaim:-- + + "O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! + Blind among enemies: O worse than chains, + Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! + Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, + And all her various objects of delight + Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. + Inferior to the vilest now become + Of man or worm: the vilest here excel me, + They creep, yet see; I, dark in light, exposed + To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, + Within doors, or without, still as a fool, + In power of others, never in my own;-- + O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, + Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse + Without all hope of day!" + +This was Milton's last poem. He lived still four years longer +and still wrote. But his singing days were over, and what he now +wrote was in prose. His life's work was done, and one dark +November evening in 1674 he peacefully died. + + "Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: + Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: + Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, + So didst thou travel on life's common way."* + + *Wordsworth. + + + + + + + +Chapter LIX BUNYAN--"THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS" + +THE second great Puritan writer of England was John Bunyan. He +was born in 1628, more than twenty years after Milton. His +father was a tinker. A tinker! The word makes us think of +ragged, weather-worn men and women who wander about the +countryside. They carry bundles of old umbrellas, and sometimes +a battered kettle or two. They live, who knows how? they sleep, +who knows where? Sometimes in our walks we come across a charred +round patch upon the grass in some quiet nook by the roadside, +and we know the tinkers have been there, and can imagine all +sorts of stories about them. Or sometimes, better still, we find +them really there by the roadside boiling a mysterious three- +legged black kettle over a fire of sticks. + +But John Bunyan's father was not this kind of tinker. He did not +wander about the countryside, but lived at the little village of +Elstow, about a mile from the town of Bedford, as his father had +before him. He was a poor and honest workman who mended his +neighbors' kettles and pans, and did his best to keep his family +in decent comfort. + +One thing which shows this is that little John was sent to +school. In those days learning, even learning to read and write, +was not the just due of every one. It was only for the well-to- +do. "But yet," says Bunyan himself, "notwithstanding the +meanness and inconsiderableness of my parents, it pleased God to +put it into their hearts to put me to school, to learn me both to +read and write." + +Bunyan was born when the struggle between King and people was +beginning to be felt, and was a great boy of fourteen when at +last the armies of King and Parliament met on the battlefield of +Edgehill. To many this struggle was a struggle for freedom in +religion. From end to end of our island the question of religion +was the burning question of the day. Religion had wrought itself +into the lives of people. In those days of few books the Bible +was the one book which might be found in almost every house. The +people carried it in their hands, and its words were ever on +their lips. But the religion which came to be the religion of +more than half the people of England was a stern one. They +forgot the Testament of Love, they remembered only the Testament +of Wrath. They made the narrow way narrower, and they believed +that any who strayed from it would be punished terribly and +eternally. It was into this stern world that little John Bunyan +was born, and just as a stern religious struggle was going on in +England so a stern religious struggle went on within his little +heart. He heard people round him talk of sins and death, of a +dreadful day of judgment, of wrath to come. These things laid +hold of his childish mind and he began to believe that in the +sight of God he must be a desperate sinner. Dreadful dreams came +to him at night. He dreamed that the Evil One was trying to +carry him off to a darksome place there to be "bound down with +the chains and bonds of darkness, unto the judgment of the great +day." Such dreams made night terrible to him. + +Bunyan tells us that he swore and told lies and that he was the +ringleader in all the wickedness of the village. But perhaps he +was not so bad as he would have us believe, for he was always +very severe in his judgments of himself. Perhaps he was not +worse than many other boys who did not feel that they had sinned +beyond all forgiveness. And in spite of his awful thoughts and +terrifying dreams Bunyan still went on being a naughty boy; he +still told lies and swore. + +At length he left school and became a tinker like his father. +But all England was being drawn into war, and so Bunyan, when +about seventeen, became a soldier. + +Strange to say we do not know upon which side he fought. Some +people think that because his father belonged to the Church of +England that he must have fought on the King's side. But that is +nothing to go by, for many people belonged to that Church for old +custom's sake who had no opinions one way or another, and who +took no side until forced by the war to do so. It seems much +more likely that Bunyan, so Puritan in all his ways of thought, +should fight for the Puritan side. But we do not know. He was +not long a soldier, we do not know quite how long, it was perhaps +only a few months. But during these few months his life was +saved by, what seemed to him afterwards to have been a miracle. + +"When I was a soldier," he says, "I, with others, were drawn out +to go to such a place to besiege it. But when I was just ready +to go one of the company desired to go in my room. To which, +when I had consented, he took my place. And coming to the siege, +as he stood sentinel, he was shot in the head with a musket +bullet, and died. + +"Here, as I said, were judgments and mercy, but neither of them +did awaken my soul to righteousness. Wherefore I sinned still, +and grew more and more rebellious against God." + +So whether Bunyan served in the Royal army, where he might have +heard oaths, or in the Parliamentarian, where he might have heard +godly songs and prayers, he still went on his way as before. + +Some time after Bunyan left the army, and while he was still very +young, he married. Both he and his wife were, he says, "as poor +as poor might be, not having so much household stuff as a dish or +a spoon betwixt us both. Yet this she had for her part, The +Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven and The Practice of Piety, which +her father had left her when he died." + +These two books Bunyan read with his wife, picking up again the +art of reading, which he had been taught at school, and which he +had since almost forgotten. He began now to go a great deal to +church, and one of his chief pleasures was helping to ring the +bells. To him the services were a joy. He loved the singing, +the altar with its candles, the rich robes, the white surplices, +and everything that made the service beautiful. Yet the terrible +struggle between good and evil in his soul went on. He seemed to +hear voices in the air, good voices and bad voices, voices that +accused him, voices that tempted. He was a most miserable man, +and seemed to himself to be one of the most wicked, and yet +perhaps the worst thing he could accuse himself of doing was +playing games on Sunday, and pleasing himself by bell-ringing. +He gave up his bell-ringing because it was a temptation to +vanity. "Yet my mind hankered, therefore I would go to the +steeple house and look on, though I durst not ring." One by one +he gave up all the things he loved, things that even if we think +them wrong do not seem to us to merit everlasting punishment. +But at last the long struggle ended and his tortured mind found +rest in the love of Christ. + +Bunyan himself tells us the story of this long fight in a book +called Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. As we read we +cannot help but see that Bunyan was never a very wicked man, but +merely a man with a very tender conscience. Things which seemed +to other men trifles were to him deadly sins; and although he was +so stern to himself, to others he shows a fatherly tenderness +which makes us feel that this rough tinker was no narrow Puritan, +but a broad-minded, large-hearted Christian. And now that Bunyan +had found peace he became a Baptist, and joined the church of a +man whom he calls "the holy Mr. Gifford." Gifford had been an +officer in the Royal army. He had been wild and drunken, but +repenting of his evil ways had become a preacher. Now, until he +died some years later, he was Bunyan's fast friend. + +In the same year as Bunyan lost his friend his wife too died, and +he was left alone with four children, two of them little girls, +one of whom was blind. She was, because of that, all the more +dear to him. "She lay nearer to my heart than all beside," he +says. + +And now Bunyan's friends found out his great gift of speech. +They begged him to preach, but he was so humble and modest that +at first he refused. At length, however, he was over-persuaded. +He began his career as a minister and soon became famous. People +came from long distances to hear him, and he preached not only in +Elstow and Bedford but in all the country round. He preached, +not only in churches, but in barns and in fields, by the roadside +or in the market-place, anywhere, in fact, where he could gather +an audience. + +It was while Cromwell ruled that Bunyan began this ministry. But +in spite of all the battles that had been fought for religious +freedom, there was as yet no real religious freedom in England. +Each part, as it became powerful, tried to tyrannize over every +other party, and no one was allowed to preach without a license. +The Presbyterians were now in power; Bunyan was a Baptist, and +some of the Presbyterians would gladly have silenced him. Yet +during Cromwell's lifetime he went his way in peace. Then the +Restoration came. A few months later Bunyan was arrested for +preaching without a license. Those who now ruled "were angry +with the tinker because he strove to mend souls as well as +kettles and pans."* Before he was taken prisoner Bunyan was +warned of his danger, and if he had "been minded to have played +the coward" he might have escaped. But he would not try to save +himself. "If I should now run to make an escape," he said, "it +will be a very ill savour in the country. For what will my weak +and newly-converted brethren think of it but that I was not so +strong in deed as I was in word." + +*Henry Deane. + +So Bunyan was taken prisoner. Even then he might have been at +once set free would he have promised not to preach. But to all +persuasions he replied, "I durst not leave off that work which +God has called me to." + +Thus Bunyan's long imprisonment of twelve years began. He had +married again by this time, and the parting with his wife and +children was hard for him, and harder still for the young wife +left behind "all smayed at the news." But although she was +dismayed she was brave of heart, and she at once set about +eagerly doing all she could to free her husband. She went to +London, she ventured into the House of Lords, and there pleaded +for him. Touched by her earnestness and her helplessness the +Lords treated her kindly. But they told her they could do +nothing for her and that she must plead her case before the +ordinary judges. + +So back to Bedford she went, and with beating heart and trembling +limbs sought out the judges. Again she was kindly received, but +again her petition was of no avail. The law was the law. Bunyan +had broken the law and must suffer. He would not promise to +cease from preaching, she would as little promise for him. "My +lord," she said, "he dares not leave off preaching as long as he +can speak." + +So it was all useless labor, neither side could or would give way +one inch. Bursting into tears the poor young wife turned away. +But she wept "not so much because they were so hard-hearted +against me and my husband, but to think what a sad account such +poor creatures will have to give at the coming of the Lord, when +they shall then answer for all things whatsoever they have done +in the body, whether it be good, or whether it be bad." + +Seeing there was no help for it, Bunyan set himself bravely to +endure his imprisonment. And, in truth, this was not very +severe. Strangely enough he was allowed to preach to his fellow- +prisoners, he was even at one time allowed to go to church. But +the great thing for us is that he wrote books. Already, before +his imprisonment, he had written several books, and now he wrote +that for which he is most famous, the Pilgrim's Progress. + +It is a book so well known and so well loved that I think I need +say little about it. In the form of a dream Bunyan tells, as you +know, the story of Christian who set out on his long and +difficult pilgrimage from the City of Destruction to the City of +the Blest. He tells of all Christian's trials and adventures on +the way, of how he encounters giants and lion, of how he fights +with a great demon, and of how at length he arrives at his +journey's end in safety. A great writer has said, "There is no +book in our literature on which we would so readily stake the +fame of the old unpolluted English language, no book which shows +so well how rich that language is in its own proper wealth, and +how little it has been improved by all that it has borrowed."* + +*Macaulay. + +For the power of imagination this writer places Bunyan by the +side of Milton. Although there were many clever men in England +towards the end of the seventeenth century, there were only two +minds which had great powers of imagination. "One of those minds +produced the Paradise Lost, the other the Pilgrim's Progress." +That is very great praise, and yet although Milton and Bunyan are +thus placed side by side no two writers are more widely apart. +Milton's writing is full of the proofs of his leaning, his +English is fine and stately, but it is full of words made from +Latin words. As an early writer on him said "Milton's language +is English, but it is Milton's English."* + +*Richardson. + +On the other hand, Bunyan's writing is most simple. He uses +strong, plain, purely English words. There is hardly one word in +all his writing which a man who knows his Bible cannot easily +understand. And it was from the Bible that Bunyan gathered +nearly all his learning. He knew it from end to end, and the +poetry and grandeur of its language filled his soul. But he read +other books, too, among them, we feel sure, the Faery Queen. +Some day you may like to compare the adventures of the Red Cross +Knight with the adventures of Christian. And perhaps in all the +Faery Queen you will find nothing so real and exciting as +Christian's fight with Apollyon. Apollyon comes from a Greek +word meaning the destroyer. This is how Bunyan tells of the +fight:-- + +"But now in this Valley of Humiliation poor Christian was hard +put to it. For he had gone but a little way before he espied a +Foul Fiend coming over the field to meet him. His name is +Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid and to cast in +his mind whether to go back or to stand his ground. But he +considered again, that he had no armour for his back, and +therefore thought that to turn the back to him might give him +greater advantage, with ease, to pierce him with his darts. +Therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground. For, he +thought, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, +'twould be the best way to stand. + +"So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the Monster was +hideous to behold. He was clothed with scales like a fish, and +they are his pride. He had wings like a dragon, feet like a +bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke. And his mouth +was as the mouth of a lion. When he came up to Christian he +beheld him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to +question him. + +"APOLLYON. When came you? and whither are you bound? + +"CHRISTIAN. I am come from the City of Destruction, which is the +place of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion." + +After this Apollyon argued with Christian, trying to persuade him +to give up his pilgrimage and return to his evil ways. But +Christian would listen to nothing that Apollyon could say. + +"Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of the Way +and said, 'I am void of fear in this matter. Prepare thyself to +die, for I swear by my Infernal Den that thou shalt go no +further. Here will I spill thy soul!' + +"And with that he threw a flaming dart at his heart. But +Christian had a shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and +so prevented the danger of that. + +"Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to bestir him, +and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as +hail, by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do +to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and +foot. This made Christian give a little back. Apollyon +therefore followed his work amain, and Christian again took +courage and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat +lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite +spent. For you must know that Christian, by reason of his +wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker. + +"Then Apollyon espying his opportunity began to gather up close +to Christian, and wrestling with him gave him a dreadful fall. +And with that Christian's sword flew out of his hand. Then said +Apollyon, 'I am sure of thee now.' And with that he had almost +pressed him to death so that Christian began to despair of life. +But, as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching his last +blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian +nimbly reached out his hand for his sword and caught it, saying, +'Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall I shall +arise!' and with that gave him a deadly thrust which made him +give back, as one that had received his mortal wound. + +"Christian perceiving that made at him again, saying 'Nay in all +these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved +us.' And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon's wings and +sped him away, and Christian saw him no more." + +Bunyan wrote a second part or sequel to the Pilgrim's Progress, +in which he tells of the adventures of Christian's wife and +children on their way to Zion. But the story does not interest +us as the story of Christian does. Because we love Christian we +are glad to know that his wife and children escaped destruction, +but except that they belong to him we do not really care about +them. + +Bunyan wrote several other books. The best known are The Holy +War and Grace Abounding. The Holy War might be called a Paradise +Lost and Regained in homely prose. It tells much the same story, +the story of the struggle between Good and Evil for the +possession of man's soul. + +In Grace Abounding Bunyan tells of his own struggle with evil, +and it is from that book that we learn much of what we know of +his life. + +He also wrote the Life and Death of Mr. Badman. Instead of +telling how a good man struggles with evil and at last wins rest, +it tells of how a bad man yields always to evil and comes at last +to a sad end. It is not a pretty story, and is one, I think, +which you will not care to read. + +Bunyan, too, wrote a good deal of rime, but for the most part it +can hardly be called poetry. It is for his prose that we +remember him. Yet who would willingly part with the song of the +shepherd-boy in the second part of the Pilgrim's Progress:-- + + "He that is down needs fear no fall; + He that is low, no pride: + He that is humble, ever shall + Have God to be his guide. + + I am content with what I have, + Little be it or much: + And, Lord, contentment still I crave, + Because thou savest such. + + Fullness to such a burden is + That go on pilgrimage: + Here little, and hereafter bliss, + Is best from age to age." + +When Bunyan had been in prison for six years he was set free, but +as he at once began to preach he was immediately seized and +reimprisoned. He remained shut up for six years longer. Then +King Charles II passed an Act called the Declaration of +Indulgence. By this Act all the severe laws against those who +did not conform to the Church of England were done away with, +and, in consequence, Bunyan was set free. Charles passed this +Act, not because he was sorry for the Nonconformists--as all who +would not conform to the Church of England were called--but +because he wished to free the Roman Catholics, and he could not +do that without freeing the Nonconformists too. Two years later +Bunyan was again imprisoned because "in contempt of his Majesty's +good laws he preached or teached in other manner than according +to the Liturgy or practice of the Church of England." But this +time his imprisonment lasted only six months. And I must tell +you that many people now think that it was during this later +short imprisonment that Bunyan wrote the Pilgrim's Progress, and +not during the earlier and longer. + +The rest of Bunyan's life passed peacefully and happily. But we +know few details of it, for "he seems to have been too busy to +keep any records of his busy life."* We know at least that it +was busy. He was now a licensed preacher, and if the people had +flocked to hear him before his imprisonment they flocked in far +greater numbers now. Even learned men came to hear him. "I +marvel," said King Charles to one, "that a learned man such as +you can sit and listen to an unlearned tinker." + +*Brown. + +"May it please your Majesty," replied he, "I would gladly give up +all my learning if I could preach like that tinker." + +Bunyan became the head of the Baptist Church. Near and far he +traveled, preaching and teaching, honored and beloved wherever he +went. And his word had such power, his commands had such weight, +that people playfully called him Bishop Bunyan. Yet he was "not +puffed up in prosperity, nor shaken in adversity, always holding +the golden mean."* + +*Charles Doe. + +Death found Bunyan still busy, still kindly. A young man who +lived at Reading had offended his father so greatly that the +father cast him off. In his trouble the young man came to +Bunyan. He at once mounted his horse and rode off to Reading. +There he saw the angry father, and persuaded him to make peace +with his repentant son. + +Glad at his success, Bunyan rode on to London, where he meant to +preach. But the weather was bad, the roads were heavy with mud, +he was overtaken by a storm of rain, and ere he could find +shelter he was soaked to the skin. He arrived at length at a +friend's house wet and weary and shaking with fever. He went to +bed never to rise again. The time had come when, like Christian, +he must cross the river which all must cross "where there is no +bridge to go over and the river very deep." But Bunyan, like +Christian, was held up by Hope. He well knew the words, "When +thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and through +the rivers they shall not overflow thee." And so he crossed +over. + +And may we not believe that Bunyan, when he reached the other +side, heard again, as he had once before heard in his immortal +dream, "all the bells in the city ring again with joy," and that +it was said unto him, "Enter ye into the joy of our Lord"? + + + + + +YEAR 9 + + +Chapter LX DRYDEN--THE NEW POETRY + +"THE life of Dryden may be said to comprehend a history of the +literature of England, and its changes, during nearly half a +century." With these words Sir Walter Scott, himself a great +writer, began his life of John Dryden. Yet although Dryden +stands for so much in the story of our literature, as a man we +know little of him. As a writer his influence on the age in +which he lived was tremendous. As a man he is more shadowy than +almost any other greater writer. We seem to know Chaucer, and +Spenser, and Milton, and even Shakespeare a little, but to know +Dryden in himself seems impossible. We can only know him through +his works, and through his age. And in him we find the +expression of his age. + +With Milton ended the great romantic school of poetry. He was +indeed as one born out of time, a lonely giant. He died and left +no follower. With Dryden began a new school of poetry, which was +to be the type of English poetry for a hundred and fifty years to +come. This is called the classical school, and the rime which +the classical poets used is called the heroic couplet. It is a +long ten-syllabled line, and rimes in couplets, as, for +instance:-- + + "He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, + Would stem too nigh the sands, to boast his wit, + Great wits are sure to madness near allied, + And thin partitions do their bounds divide."* + + *Absalom and Achitophel. + +Dryden did not invent the heroic couplet, but it was he who first +made it famous. "It was he," says Scott, "who first showed that +the English language was capable of uniting smoothness and +strength." But when you come to read Dryden's poems you may +perhaps feel that in gaining the smoothness of Art they have lost +something of the beauty of Nature. The perfect lines with their +regular sounding rimes almost weary us at length, and we are glad +to turn to the rougher beauty of some earlier poet. + +But before speaking more of what Dryden did let me tell you a +little of what we know of his life. + +John Dryden was the son of a Northamptonshire gentleman who had a +small estate and a large family, for John was the eldest of +fourteen children. The family was a Puritan one, although in +1631, when John was born, the Civil War had not yet begun. + +When John Dryden left school he went, like nearly all the poets, +to Cambridge. Of what he did at college we know very little. He +may have been wild, for more than once he got into trouble, and +once he was "rebuked on the head" for speaking scornfully of some +nobleman. He was seven years at Cambridge, but he looked back on +these years with no joy. He had no love for his University, and +even wrote:-- + + + "Oxford to him a dearer name shall be, + Than his own Mother University." + +Already at college Dryden had begun to write poetry, but his poem +on the death of Cromwell is perhaps the first that is worth +remembering:-- + + "Swift and relentless through the land he past, + Like that bold Greek, who did the East subdue; + And made to battles of such heroic haste + As if on wings of victory he flew. + + He fought secure of fortune as of fame, + Till by new maps the island might be shown + Of conquests, which he strewed where'er he came, + This as the galaxy with stars is sown. + + Nor was he like those stars which only shine, + When to pale mariners they storms portend, + He had a calmer influence, and his mien + Did love and majesty together blend. + + Nor died he when his ebbing fame went less, + But when fresh laurels courted him to live: + He seemed but to prevent some new success, + As if above what triumphs earth could give. + + His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest; + His name a great example stands, to show, + How strangely high endeavours may be blessed, + Where piety and valour jointly go." + +So wrote Dryden. But after the death of Cromwell came the +Restoration. Dryden had been able to admire Cromwell, but +although he came of a Puritan family he could never have been a +Puritan at heart. What we learn of him in his writings show us +that. He was not of the stern stuff which makes martyrs and +heroes. There was no reason why he should suffer for a cause in +which he did not whole-heartedly believe. So Dryden turned +Royalist, and the very next poem he wrote was On the Happy +Restoration and Return of His Majesty Charles the Second. + + "How easy 'tis when destiny proves kind, + With full spread sails to run before the wind!"* + + *Astroe Redux. + +So Dryden ran before the wind. + +About three years after the Restoration Dryden married an earl's +daughter, Lady Elizabeth Howard. We know very little about their +life together, but they had three children of whom they were very +fond. + +With the Restoration came the re-opening of the theaters, and for +fourteen years Dryden was known as a dramatic poet. There is +little need to tell you anything about his plays, for you would +not like to read them. During the reign of Puritanism in England +the people had been forbidden even innocent pleasures. The +Maypole dances had been banished, games and laughter were frowned +upon. Now that these too stern laws had been taken away, people +plunged madly into pleasure: laughter became coarse, merriment +became riotous. Puritan England had lost the sense of where +innocent pleasure ends and wickedness begins. In another way +Restoration England did the same. The people of the Restoration +saw fun and laughter in plays which seem to us now simply vulgar +and coarse as well as dull. The coarseness, too, is not the +coarseness of an ignorant people who know no better, but rather +of a people who do know better and who yet prefer to be coarse. +I do not mean to say that there are no well-drawn characters, no +beautiful lines, in Dryden's plays for that would not be true. +Many of them are clever, the songs in them are often beautiful, +but nearly all are unpleasant to read. The taste of the +Restoration times condemned Dryden to write in a way unworthy of +himself for money. "Neither money nor honour--that in two words +was the position of writers after the Restoration."* + +*Beljame, Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres in Angleterre. + + "And Dryden, in immortal strain, + Had raised the table-round again + But that a ribald King and Court + Bade him toil on to make them sport, + Demanding for their niggard pay, + Fit for their souls, a loser lay."* + + *Walter Scott, Marmion. + +Had Dryden written nothing but plays we should not remember him +as one of our great poets. Yet it was during this time of play- +writing that Dryden was made Poet Laureate and Historiographer +Royal with the salary of 200 pounds a year and a butt of sack. +It was after he became Poet Laureate that Dryden began to write +his satires, the poems for which he is most famous. Although a +satire is a poem which holds wickedness up to scorn, sometimes it +was used, not against the wicked and the foolish, but against +those who merely differed from the writer in politics or religion +or any other way of life or thought. Such was Dryden's best +satire--thought by some people the best in the English language. +It is called Absalom and Achitophel. To understand it we must +know and understand the history of the times. Here in the guise +of the old Bible story Dryden seeks to hold Lord Shaftesbury up +to scorn because he tried to have a law passed which would +prevent the King's brother James from succeeding to the throne, +and which would instead place the Duke of Monmouth there. When +the poem was published Shaftesbury was in the Tower awaiting his +trial for high treason. The poem had a great effect, but +Shaftesbury was nevertheless set free. + +In spite of the fine sounding lines you will perhaps never care +to read Absalom and Achitophel save as a footnote to history. +But Dryden's was the age of satire. Those he wrote called forth +others. He was surrounded and followed by many imitators, and it +is well to remember Dryden as the greatest of them all. His +satires were so powerful, too, that the people against whom they +were directed felt them keenly, and no wonder. "There are +passages in Dryden's satires in which every couplet has not only +the force but the sound of a slap in the face," says a recent +writer.* + +*Saintsbury. + +Among the younger writers Dryden took the place Ben Jonson used +hold. He kinged it in the coffee-house, then the fashionable +place at which the wits gathered, as Jonson had in the tavern. +He was given the most honored seat, in summer by the window, in +winter by the fire. And although he was not a great talker like +Jonson, the young wits crowded around him, eager for the honor of +a word or a pinch from the great man's snuff-box. + +Besides his plays and satires Dryden wrote a poem in support of +the English Church called Religio Laici. Then a few years later, +when Charles II died and James II came to the throne, Dryden +turned Roman Catholic and wrote a poem called The Hind and the +Panther in praise of the Church of Rome. + +But the reign of James II was short. The "Glorious Revolution" +came, and with a Protestant King and Queen upon the throne, the +Catholic Poet Laureate lost his post and pension and all his +other appointments. Dryden was now nearly sixty; and although he +had made what was then a good deal of money by his plays and +other poems he had spent it freely, and always seemed in need. +Now he had to face want and poverty. But he faced them bravely. +Dryden all his life had been a flatterer; he had always sailed +with the wind. Now, whether he could not or would not, he +changed no more, he flattered no more. A kind friend, it is +said, still continued to pay him the two hundred pounds he had +received as Poet Laureate, and he now wrote more plays which +brought him money. Then, thus late in life, he began the work +which for you at present will have the greatest interest. Dryden +was a great poet, but he could create nothing, he had to have +given him ideas upon which to work. Now he began translations +from Latin poets, and for those who cannot read them in the +original they are still a great pleasure and delight. + +True, Dryden did not translate literally, that is word for word. +He paraphrased rather, and in doing so he Drydenized the +originals, often adding whole lines of his own. Among his +translations was Virgil's Aeneid, which long before, you remember, +Surrey had begun in blank verse. But blank verse was not what +the age in which Dryden lived desired, and he knew it. So he +wrote in rimed couplets. Long before this he had turned Milton's +Paradise Lost into rimed couplets, making it into an opera, which +he called The State of Innocence. An opera is a play set to +music, but this opera was never set to music, and never sung or +acted. Dryden, we know, admired Milton's poetry greatly. "This +man cuts us all out," he had said. Yet he thought he could make +the poem still better, and asked Milton's leave to turn it into +rime. "Ay, you may tag my verses if you will," replied the great +blind man. + +It is interesting to compare the two poems, and when you come to +read The State of Innocence you will find that not all the verses +are "tagged." So that in places you can compare Milton's blank +verse with Dryden's. And although Dryden must have thought he +was improving Milton's poem, he says himself: "Truly I should be +sorry, for my own sake, that any one should take the pains to +compare them (the poems) together, the original being, +undoubtedly, one of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime +poems which either this age or nation has produced." + +Dryden begins his poem with the speech of Satan, Lucifer he calls +him, on finding himself cast out from heaven:-- + + "Is this the seat our conqueror has given? + And this the climate we must change for heaven? + These regions and this realm my wars have got; + This mournful empire is the loser's lot; + In liquid burnings, or on dry, to dwell, + Is all the sad variety of hell." + +If you turn back to page 401 you can compare this with Milton's +own version. + +Besides translating some Latin and a few Greek poems Dryden +translated stories from Boccaccio, Chaucer's old friend, and last +of all he translated Chaucer himself into Drydenese. For in +Dryden's day Chaucer's language had already become so old- +fashioned that few people troubled to read him. "It is so +obsolete," says Dryden, "that his sense is scarce to be +understood." "I find some people are offended that I have turned +these tales into modern English, because they think them unworthy +of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry, old-fashioned wit not +worthy reviving." + +Again he says: "But there are other judges, who think I ought +not to have translated Chaucer into English, out of a quite +contrary notion. They suppose there is a certain veneration due +to his old language, and that it is little less than profanation +and sacrilege to alter it. They are further of opinion that +somewhat of his good sense will suffer in this transfusion, and +much of the beauty of his thoughts will infallibly be lost, which +appear with more grace in their old habit." I think all of us +who can read Chaucer in his own language must agree with these +judges. But Dryden goes on to say he does not write for such, +but for those who cannot read Chaucer's English. Are they who +can understand Chaucer to deprive the greater part of their +countrymen of the same advantage, and hoard him up, as misers do +their gold, only to look on it themselves and hinder others from +making use of it? he asks. + +This is very good reasoning, and all that can be said against it +is that when Dryden has done with Chaucer, although he tells the +same tales, they are no longer Chaucer's but Dryden's. The +spirit is changed. But that you will be able to feel only when +you grow older and are able to read the two and balance them one +against the other. Dryden translated only a few of the +Canterbury Tales, and the one he liked best was the knight's tale +of Palamon and Arcite. He published it in a book which he called +Fables, and it is, I think, as a narrative or story-telling poet +in these fables, and in his translations, that he keeps most +interest for the young people of to-day. + +You have by this time, I hope, read the story of Palamon and +Arcite at least in Tales from Chaucer, and here I will give you a +few lines first from Dryden and then from Chaucer, so that you +can judge for yourselves of the difference. In them the poets +describe Emelia as she appeared on that May morning when Palamon +first looked forth from his prison and saw her walk in the +garden:-- + + "Thus year by year they pass, and day by day, + Till once,--'twas on the morn of cheerful May,-- + The young Emila, fairer to be seen + Than the fair lily on the flowery green, + More flesh than May herself in blossoms new, + For with the rosy colour strove her hue, + Waked, as her custom was, before the day, + To do the observance due to sprightly May; + For sprightly May commands our youth to keep + The vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard sleep; + Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves; + Inspires new flames, revives extinguished loves. + In this remembrance, Emily, ere day, + Arose, and dressed herself in rich array; + Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair, + Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair; + A ribbon did the braided tresses bind, + The rest was loose, and wantoned in the wind: + Aurora had but newly chased the night, + And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light, + When to the garden walk she took her way, + To sport and trip along in cool of day, + And offer maiden vows in honour of the May. + At every turn she made a little stand, + And thrust among the thorns her lily hand + To draw the rose, and every rose she drew, + She shook the stalk, and brushed away the dew; + Then party-coloured flowers of white and red + She wove, to make a garland for her head. + This done, she sang and carolled out so clear, + That men and angels might rejoice to hear; + Even wondering Philomel forgot to sing, + And learned from her to welcome in the Spring." + +That is Dryden's, and this is how Chaucer tells of the same May +morning:-- + + "This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day, + Till it fel oones in a morwe of May + That Emelie, that farier was to seene + Than is the lilie on his stalke grene, + And fressher than the May with floures newe-- + For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, + I not which was the fairer of hem two-- + Er it were day, as was hir wone to do, + She was arisen and al redy dight. + For May wol have no sloggardy anight. + The seson priketh every gentil herte, + And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte, + And seith, 'Arise and do thin observance'. + This makéd Emelye have remembraunce + To don honour to May, and for to rise. + I-clothed was she fressh for to devise, + Hir yelowe heer was broyded in a tresse, + Behinde hir bak, a yerde long I gesse; + And in the gardyn at the sunne upriste + She walketh up and doun, and as hir liste + + She gadereth floures, party white and rede, + To make a subtil garland for hir hede, + And as an angel hevenly she song." + +In this quotation from Chaucer I have not changed the old +spelling into modern as I did in the chapter on Chaucer, so that +you may see the difference between the two styles more clearly. + +If you can see the difference between these two quotations you +can see the difference between the poetry of Dryden's age and all +that went before him. It is the difference between art and +nature. Chaucer sings like a bird, Dryden like a trained concert +singer who knows that people are listening to him. There is room +for both in life. We want and need both. + +If you can feel the difference between Chaucer and Dryden you +will understand in part what I meant by saying that Dryden was +the expression of his time. For in Restoration times the taste +was for art rather than for natural beauty. The taste was for +what was clever, witty, and polished rather than for the simple, +stately grandeur of what was real and true. Poetry was utterly +changed. It no longer went to the heart but to the brain. +Dryden's poetry does not make the tears start to our eye or the +blood come to our cheek, but it flatters our ear with its +smoothness and elegance; it tickles our fancy with its wit. + +You will understand still better what the feeling of the times +was when I tell you that Dryden, with the help of another poet, +re-wrote Shakespeare's Tempest and made it to suit the fashion of +the day. In doing so they utterly spoiled it. As literature it +is worthless; as helping us to understand the history of those +times it is useful. But although The Tempest, as re-written by +Dryden, is bad, one of the best of his plays is founded upon +another of Shakespeare's. This play is called All for Love or +the World Well Lost, and is founded upon Shakespeare's Antony and +Cleopatra. It is not written in Dryden's favorite heroic couplet +but in blank verse. "In my style," he says, "I have professed to +imitate the divine Shakespeare, which, that I might perform more +freely, I have disencumbered myself from rhyme. Not that I +condemn my former way, but that this is more proper to my present +purpose." And when you come to read this play you will find +that, master as Dryden was of the heroic couplet, he could write, +too, when he chose, fine blank verse. + +Perhaps the best-known of all Dryden's shorter poems is the ode +called Alexander's Feast. It was written for a London musical +society, which gave a concert each year on St. Cecilia's day, +when an original ode was sung in her honor. Dryden in this ode, +which was sung in 1697, pictures Timotheus, the famous Greek +musician and poet, singing before Alexander, at a great feast +which was held after the conquest of Persia. Alexander listens +while + + "The lovely Thais, by his side, + Sate like a blooming Eastern Bride, + In flower of youth and beauty's pride. + Happy, happy, happy pair! + None but the brave, + None but the brave, + None but the brave deserves the fair!" + +As Timotheus sings he stirs at will his hearers' hearts to love, +to pity, or to revenge. + + "Timotheus, to his breathing flute + And sounding lyre, + Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire." + +But those were heathen times. In Christian times came St. +Cecilia and she + + "Enlarged the former narrow bounds, + And added length to solemn sounds, + With nature's Mother-wit, and arts unknown before. + Let old Timotheus yield the prize. + Or both divide the crown: + He raised a mortal to the skies + She drew an angel down." + +Dryden was a great poet, and he dominated his own age and the age +to come. But besides being a poet he was a great prose-writer. +His prose is clear and fine and almost modern. We do not have to +follow him through sentences so long that we lose the sense +before we come to the end. "He found English of brick and left +it marble," says a late writer, and when we read his prose we +almost believe that saying to be true. He was the first of +modern critics, that is he was able to judge the works of others +surely and well. And many of his criticisms of men were so true +that we accept them now even as they were accepted then. Here is +what he says of Chaucer in his preface to The Fables:-- + +"He [Chaucer] must have been a man of a most wonderful +comprehensive nature, because as it has been truly observed of +him, he has taken into the compass of his Canterbury Tales the +various manners and humours (as we now call them) of the whole +English nation, in his age. Not a single character has escaped +him. All his pilgrims are severally distinguished from each +other; and not only in their inclinations, but in their very +physiognomies persons. . . . The matter and manner of their +tales, and of their telling are so suited to their different +educations, humours, and callings, that each of them would be +improper in any other mouth. Even the grave and serious +characters are distinguished by their several sorts of gravity. +Their discourses are such as belong to their age, their calling, +and their breeding; such as are becoming to them and to them +only. Some of his persons are vicious, and some virtuous; some +are unlearned, or (as Chaucer calls them) lewd, and some are +learned. Even the ribaldry of the low characters is different: +the Reeve, the Miller, and the Cook are several men, and +distinguished from each other as much as the mincing Lady- +Prioress and the broad-speaking, gap-toothed Wife of Bath. . . . +It is sufficient to say, according to the proverb, that here is +God's plenty. We have our forefathers and great-grand-dames all +before us, as they were in Chaucer's days. Their general +characters are still remaining in mankind, and even in England, +though they are called by other names than those of monks, and +friars, and canons, and lady abbesses, and nuns; for mankind is +ever the same, and nothing lost out of nature though everything +is altered." + +The Fables was the last book Dryden wrote. He was growing to be +an old man, and a few months after it was published he became +very ill. "John Dryden, Esq., the famous poet, lies a-dying," +said the newspapers on the 30th April, 1700. One May morning he +closed his eyes for ever, just as + + "Aurora had but newly chased the night, + And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light." + + + + + + + +Chapter LXI DEFOE--THE FIRST NEWSPAPERS + +TO almost every house in the land, as regular as the milk man, +more regular than the postman, there comes each morning the +newspaper boy. To most of us breakfast means, as well as things +to eat, mother pouring out the tea and father reading the +newspaper. As mother passes father's tea she says, "Anything in +the paper, John?" And how often he answers, "Nothing, nothing +whatever." + +Although father says there is nothing in the paper there is a +great deal of reading in it, that we can see. And now comes the +question, Who writes it all? Who writes this thin, flat book of +six or eight great pages which every morning we buy for a penny +or a halfpenny? But perhaps you think it does not matter who +writes the newspapers, for the newspaper is not literature. +Literature means real books with covers--dear possessions to be +loved and taken care of, to be read and read again. But a +newspaper is hardly read at all when it is crumpled up and used +to light the fire. And no one minds, for who could love a +newspaper, who cares to treasure it, and read it again and yet +again? + +We do not want even to read yesterday's newspapers, for +newspapers seem to hold for us only the interest of the day. The +very name by which they used to be called, journal, seems to tell +us that, for it comes from the French word "jour," meaning "a +day." Newspapers give us the news of the day for the day. Yet +in them we find the history of our own times, and we are +constantly kept in mind of how important they are in our everyday +life by such phrases as "the freedom of the Press," "the opinion +of the Press," the Press meaning all the newspapers, journals and +magazines and the people who write for them. + +So we come back again to our question, Who writes for the +newspapers? The answer is, the journalists. A newspaper is not +all the work of one man, but of many whose names we seldom know, +but who work together so that each morning we may have our paper. +And in this chapter I want to tell you about one of our first +real journalists, Daniel Defoe. Of course you know of him +already, for he wrote Robinson Crusoe, and he is perhaps your +favorite author. But before he was an author he was a +journalist, and as I say one of our first. + +For there was a time when there were no newspapers, nothing for +father to read at breakfast-time, and no old newspapers to +crumple up and light fires with. The first real printed English +newspaper was called the Weekly News. It was published in 1622, +while King Charles I was still upon the throne. + +But this first paper and others that came after it were very +small. The whole paper was not so large as a page of one of our +present halfpenny papers. The news was told baldly without any +remarks upon it, and when there was not enough news it was the +fashion to fill up the space with chapters from the Bible. +Sometimes, too, a space was left blank on purpose, so that those +who bought the paper in town might write in their own little bit +of news before sending it off to country friends. + +Defoe was one of the first to change this, to write articles and +comments upon the news. Gradually newspapers became plentiful. +And when Government by party became the settled form of our +Government, each party had its own newspaper and used it to help +on its own side and abuse the other. + +Milton and Dryden were really journalists; Milton when he wrote +his political pamphlets, and Dryden when he wrote Absalom and +Achitophel and other poems of that kind. But they were poets +first, journalists by accident. Defoe was a journalist first, +though by nature ever a story-teller. + +Daniel Defoe, born in 1661, was the son of a London butcher names +James Foe. Why Daniel, who prided himself on being a true-born +Englishman, Frenchified his name by adding a "De" to it we do not +know, and he was over forty before he changed plain Foe into +Defoe. + +Daniel's father and mother were Puritans, and he was sent to +school with the idea that he should become a Nonconformist +minister. But Defoe did not become a minister; perhaps he felt +he was unsuited for such solemn duty. "The pulpit," he says +later, "is none of my office. It was my disaster first to be set +apart for, and then to be set apart from the honor of that sacred +employ." + +Defoe never went to college, and because of this many a time in +later days his enemies taunted him with being ignorant and +unlearned. He felt these taunts bitterly, and again and again +answered them in his writings. "I have been in my time pretty +well master of five languages," he says in one place. "I have +also, illiterate though I am, made a little progress in science. +I have read Euclid's Elements. . . . I have read logic. . . . I +went some length in physics. . . . I thought myself master of +geography and to possess sufficient skill in astronomy." Yet he +says I am "no scholar." + +When Defoe left school he went into the office of a merchant +hosier. It was while he was in this office that King Charles II +died and King James II came to the throne. Almost at once there +followed the Duke of Monmouth's rebellion. The Duke was a +Protestant and James was a Catholic. There were many in the land +who feared a Catholic King, and who believed too that the Duke +had more right to the throne than James, so they joined the +rebellion. Among them was Daniel. But the Rebellion came to +nothing. In a few weeks the Duke's army was scattered in flight, +and he himself a wretched prisoner in the Tower. + +Happier than many of his comrades, Defoe succeeded in escaping +death or even punishment. Secretly and safely he returned to +London and there quietly again took up his trade of merchant +hosier. But he did not lose his interest in the affairs of his +country. And when the glorious Revolution came he was one of +those who rode out to meet and welcome William the Deliverer. + +But perhaps he allowed politics to take up too much of his time +and thought, for although he was a good business man he failed +and had to hide from those to whom he owed money. But soon we +find him setting to work again to mend his fortunes. He became +first secretary to and then part owner of a tile and brick +factory, and in a few years made enough money to pay off all his +old debts. + +By this time Defoe had begun to write, and was already known as a +clever author. Now some one wrote a book accusing William among +many other "crimes" of being a foreigner. Defoe says, "this +filled me with a kind of rage"; and he replied with a poem called +The True-born Englishman. It became popular at once, thousands +of copies being sold in the first few months. Every one read it +from the King in his palace to the workman in his hut, and long +afterwards Defoe was content to sign his books "By the author of +'The True-born Englishman.'" It made Defoe known to the King. +"This poem," he said, "was the occasion of my being known to his +Majesty." He was received and employed by him and "above the +capacity of my deserving, rewarded." He was given a small +appointment in the Civil Service. All his life after Defoe loved +King William and was his staunch friend, using all the power of +his clever pen to make the unloved Dutch King better understood +of his people. But when King William died and Queen Anne ruled +in his stead Defoe fell on evil times. + +In those days the quarrels about religion were not yet over. +There was a party in the Church which would very willingly have +seen the Nonconformists or Dissenters persecuted. Dissenters +were like to have an evil time. To show how wrong persecution +was, Defoe wrote a little pamphlet which he called The Shortest +Way with the Dissenters. He wrote as if he were very angry +indeed with the Dissenters. He said they had been far too kindly +treated and that if he had his way he would make a law that +"whoever was found at a conventicle should be banished the nation +and the preacher be hanged. We should soon see an end of the +tale--they would all come to Church, and one age would make us +all one again." + +Defoe meant this for satire. A satire is, you remember, a work +which holds up folly or wickedness to ridicule. He meant to show +the High Churchmen how absurd and wicked was their desire to +punish the Dissenters for worshiping God in their own way. He +meant to make the world laugh at them. But at first the High +Churchmen did not see that it was meant to ridicule them. They +greeted the author of this pamphlet as a friend and ally. The +Dissenters did not see the satire either, and found in the writer +a new and most bitter enemy. + +But when at last Defoe's meaning became plain the High Church +party was very angry, and resolved to punish him. Defoe fled +into hiding. But a reward of fifty pounds was offered for his +discovery, and, "rather than others should be ruined by his +mistake," Defoe gave himself up. + +For having written "a scandalous and seditious pamphlet" Defoe +was condemned to pay a large fine, to stand three times in the +pillory, and to be imprisoned during the Queen's pleasure. Thus +quickly did Fortune's wheel turn round. "I have seen the rough +side of the world as well as the smooth," he said long after. "I +have, in less than half a year, tasted the difference between the +closet of a King, and the dungeon of Newgate." + +The pillory was a terrible punishment. In a public place, raised +on a platform, in full view of the passing crowd, the victim +stood. Round his neck was a heavy collar of wood, and in this +collar his hands were also confined. Thus he stood helpless, +unable to protect himself either from the sun or rain or from the +insults of the crowd. For a man in the pillory was a fitting +object for laughter and rude jests. To be jeered at, to have mud +thrown at him, was part of his punishment. + +But for Defoe it was a triumph rather than a punishment. To the +common people he was already a hero. So they formed a guard +round him to protect him from the mud and rotten eggs his enemies +would now thrown. They themselves threw flowers, they wreathed +the pillory with roses and with laurel till it seemed a place of +honor rather than of disgrace. They sang songs in his praise and +drank to his health and wished those who had sent him there stood +in his place. Thus through all the long, hot July hours Defoe +was upheld and comforted in his disgrace. And to show that his +spirit was untouched by his sentence he wrote A Hymn to the +Pillory. This was bought and read and shouted in the ears of his +enemies by thousands of the people. It was a more daring satire +than even The Shortest Way. In the end of it Defoe calls upon +the Pillory, "Thou Bugbear of the Law," to speak and say why he +stands there:-- + + "Tell them, it was, because he was too bold, + And told those truths which should not have been told! + Extol the justice of the land, + Who punish what they will not understand! + + Tell them, he stands exalted there + For speaking what we would not hear: + And yet he might have been secure, + Had he said less, or would he have said more! + + Tell them the men that placed him here + Are scandals to the Times! + Are at a loss to find his guilt, + And can't commit his crimes!" + +But although Defoe's friends could take the sting out of the +terrible hours during which he stood as an object for mockery +they could do little else for him. So he went back to prison to +remain there during the Queen's pleasure. + +This, of course, meant ruin to him. For himself he could bear +it, but he had a wife and children, and to know that they were in +poverty and bitter want was his hardest punishment. + +From prison Defoe could not manage his factory. He had to let +that go, losing with it thousands of pounds. For the second time +he saw himself ruined. But he had still left to him his pen and +his undaunted courage. So, besides writing many pamphlets in +prison, Defoe started a paper called the Review. It appeared at +first once, then twice, and at last three times a week. Unlike +our papers of to-day, which are written by many hands, Defoe +wrote the whole of the Review himself, and continued to do so for +years. It contained very little news and many articles, and when +we turn these worn and yellowing pages we find much that, +interesting in those days, has lost interest for us. But we also +find articles which, worded in clear, strong, truly English +English, seem to us as fresh and full of life as when they were +written more than two hundred years ago. We find as well much +that is of keen historical interest, and we gain some idea of the +undaunted courage of the author when we remember that the first +numbers of the Review at least were penned in a loathsome prison +where highwaymen, pirates, cut-throats, and common thieves were +his chief companions. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXII DEFOE--"ROBINSON CRUSOE" + +FOR more than a year and a half Defoe remained in prison; then he +was set free. + +A new Government had come into power. It was pointed out to the +Queen that it was a mistake to make an enemy of so clever an +author as Defoe. Then he was set at liberty, but on condition +that he should use his pen to support the Government. So +although Defoe was now free to all seeming, this was really the +beginning of bondage. He was no longer free in mind, and by +degrees he became a mere hanger-on of Government, selling the +support of his pen to whichever party was in power. + +We cannot follow him through all the twists and turns of his +politics, nor through all his ups and downs in life, nor mention +all the two hundred and fifty books and pamphlets that he wrote. +It was an adventurous life he led, full of dark and shadowy +passages which we cannot understand and so perhaps cannot pardon. +But whether he sold his pen or no we are bound to confess that +Defoe's desire was towards the good, towards peace, union, and +justice. + +One thing he fought for with all his buoyant strength was the +Union between England and Scotland. It had been the desire of +William III ere he died, it had now become the still stronger +desire of Queen Anne and her ministers. So Defoe took "a long +winter, a chargeable, and, as it proved, hazardous journey" to +Scotland. There he threw himself into the struggle, doing all he +could for the Union. He has left for us a history of that +struggle,* which perhaps better than any other makes us realize +the unrest of the Scottish people, the anger, the fear, the +indecision, with which they were filled. "People went up and +down wondering and amazed, expecting every day strange events, +afraid of peace, afraid of war. Many knew not which way to fix +their resolution. They could not be clear for the Union, yet +they saw death at the door in its breaking off--death to their +liberty, to their religion, and to their country." Better than +any other he gives a picture of the "infinite struggles, clamor, +railing, and tumult of party." Let me give, in his own words, a +description of a riot in the streets of Edinburgh:-- + +*History of the Union of Great Britain. + +"The rabble by shouting and noise having increased their numbers +to several thousands, they began with Sir Patrick Johnston, who +was one of the treaters, and the year before had been Lord +Provost. First they assaulted his lodging with stones and +sticks, and curses not a few. But his windows being too high +they came up the stairs to his door, and fell to work at it with +sledges or great hammers. And had they broke it open in their +first fury, he had, without doubt, been torn to pieces without +mercy; and this only because he was a treater in the Commission +to England, for, before that, no man was so well beloved as he, +over the whole city. + +"His lady, in the utmost despair with this fright, came to the +window, with two candles in her hand, that she might be known; +and cried out, for God's sake to call the guards. An honest +Apothecary in the town, who knew her voice, and saw the distress +she was in, and to whom the family, under God, is obliged for +their deliverance, ran immediately down to the town guard. But +they would not stir without the Lord Provost's order. But that +being soon obtained, one Captain Richardson, who commanded, +taking about thirty men with him, marched bravely up to them; and +making his way with great resolution through the crowd, they +flying, but throwing stones and hallooing at him, and his men. +He seized the foot of the stair case; and then boldly went up, +cleared the stair, and took six of the rabble in the very act, +and so delivered the gentleman and his family. + +"But this did not put a stop to the general tumult, though it +delivered this particular family. For the rabble, by this time, +were prodigiously increased, and went roving up and down the +town, breaking the windows of the Members of Parliament and +insulting them in their coaches in the streets. They put out all +the lights that they might not be discovered. And the author of +this had one great stone thrown at him for but looking out of a +window. For they suffered nobody to look out, especially with +any lights, lest they should know faces, and inform against them +afterwards. + +"By this time it was about eight or nine o'clock at night, and +now they were absolute masters of the city. And it was reported +they were going to shut up all the ports.* The Lord Commissioner +being informed of that, sent a party of the foot guards, and took +possession of the Netherbow, which is a gate in the middle of the +High Street, as Temple Bar between the City of London and the +Court. + +*Gates in the City Wall. + +"The city was now in a terrible fright, and everybody was under +concern for their friends. The rabble went raving about the +streets till midnight, frequently beating drums, raising more +people. When my Lord Commissioner being informed, there were a +thousand of the seamen and rabble come up from Leith; and +apprehending if it were suffered to go on, it might come to a +dangerous head, and be out of his power to suppress, he sent for +the Lord Provost, and demanded that the guards should march into +the city. + +"The Lord Provost, after some difficulty, yielded; though it was +alleged, that it was what never was known in Edinburgh before. +About one o'clock in the morning a battalion of the guards +entered the town, marched up to the Parliament Close, and took +post in all the avenues of the city, which prevented the +resolutions taken to insult the houses of the rest of the +treaters. The rabble were entirely reduced by this, and +gradually dispersed, and so the tumult ended." + +Although Defoe did all he could to bring the Union about he felt +for and with the poor distracted people. He saw that amid the +strife of parties, proud, ignorant, mistaken, it may be, the +people were still swayed by love of country, love of freedom. + +Even after the Union was accomplished Defoe remained in Scotland. +He still wrote his Review every week, and filled it so full of +Union matters that his readers began to think he could speak of +nothing else and that he was grown dull. In his Review he +wrote:-- + +"Nothing but Union, Union, says one now that wants diversion; I +am quite tired of it, and we hope, 'tis as good as over now. +Prithee, good Mr. Review, let's have now and then a touch of +something else to make us merry." But Defoe assures his readers +he means to go on writing about the Union until he can see some +prospect of calm among the men who are trying to make dispeace. +"Then I shall be the first that shall cease calling upon them to +Peace." + +The years went on, Defoe always living a stormy life amid the +clash of party politics, always writing, writing. More than once +his noisy, journalistic pen brought him to prison. But he was +never a prisoner long, never long silenced. Yet although Defoe +wrote so much and lived at a time when England was full of witty +writers he was outside the charmed circle of wits who pretended +not to know of his existence. "One of these authors," says +another writer, "(the fellow that was pilloried, I have forgotten +his name), is indeed so grave, sententious, dogmatical a rogue +that there is no enduring him."* + +*Johnathan Swift. + +At length when Defoe was nearly sixty years old he wrote the book +which has brought him world-wide and enduring fame. Need I tell +you of that book? Surely not. For who does not know Robinson +Crusoe, or, as the first title ran, "The Life and Strange +Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner, who +lived eight-and-twenty years all alone in an uninhabited Island +on the Coast of America near the Mouth of the great River +Oroonoque, having been cast on shore by shipwreck, wherein all +the men perished but himself. With an account how he was at last +strangely delivered by Pirates. Written by himself." In those +days, you see, they were not afraid of long titles. The book, +too, is long. "Yet," as another great writer says,* "was there +ever anything written by mere man that was wished longer by its +readers, except Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, and the Pilgrim's +Progress?" + +*Samuel Johnson. + +The book was a tremendous success. It pleased the men and women +and children of two hundred years ago as much as it pleases them +to-day. Within a few months four editions had been sold. Since +then, till now, there has never been a time when Robinson Crusoe +has not been read. The editions of it have been countless. It +has been edited and re-edited, it has been translated and +abridged, turned into shorthand and into poetry, and published in +every form imaginable, and at every price, from one penny to many +pounds. + +Defoe got the idea of his story from the adventures of a Scots +sailor named Alexander Selkirk. This sailor quarreled with his +captain, and was set ashore upon an uninhabited island where he +remained alone for more than four years. At the end of that time +he was rescued by a passing ship and brought home to England. +Out of this slender tale Defoe made his fascinating story so full +of adventure. + +What holds us in the story is its seeming truth. As we read it +we forget altogether that it is only a story, we feel sure that +Crusoe really lived, that all his adventures really happened. +And if you ever read any more of Defoe's books you will find that +this feeling runs through them all. Defoe was, in fact, a born +story-teller--like Sir John Mandeville. With an amazing show of +truth he was continually deceiving people. "He was a great, a +truly great liar, perhaps the greatest liar that ever lived."* + +*William Minto. + +Finding that Robinson Crusoe was such a success, Defoe began to +write other stories. He wrote of thieves, pirates and rogues. +These stories have the same show of truth as Robinson Crusoe. +Defoe, no doubt, got the ideas for them from the stories of the +rogues with whom he mixed in prison. But they have nearly all +been forgotten, for although they are clever the heroes and +heroines are coarse and the story of their adventures is +unpleasant reading. Yet as history, showing us the state of the +people in the days of Queen Anne and of George I, they are +useful. + +Defoe was now well off. He had built himself a handsome house +surrounded by a pleasant garden. He had carriages and horses and +lived in good style with his wife and beautiful daughters. There +seemed to be no reason why he should not live happily and at ease +for the rest of his life. But suddenly one day, for some unknown +reason, he fled from his comfortable home into hiding. Why he +did this no one can tell. For two years he lived a homeless, +skulking fugitive. Then in 1731 he died, if not in poverty at +least in loneliness and distress of mind. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Robinson Crusoe, abridged by John Lang. Robinson Crusoe, retold +by Edith Robarts, illustrated by J. Hassall, R. I. Robinson +Crusoe (Everyman's Library). + + + + + + + +Chapter LXIII SWIFT--THE "JOURNAL TO STELLA" + +WE all know what it is to feel hurt and angry, to feel that we +are misunderstood, that no one loves us. At such times it may be +we want to hurt ourselves so that in some mysterious way we may +hurt those who do not love us. We long to die so that they may +be sorry. But these feelings do not come often and they soon +pass. We cry ourselves to sleep perhaps and wake up to find the +evil thoughts are gone. We forget all about them, or if we +remember them we remember to smile at our own foolishness, for we +know that after all we are understood, we are loved. And when we +grow old enough to look back upon those times, although we may +remember the pain of them, we can see that sometimes they came +from our own fault, it was not that we were misunderstood so much +as that we were misunderstanding. Yet whether it be our own +fault or not, when such times do come, the world seems very dark +and life seems full of pain. Then think of what a whole life +filled with these evil thoughts must be. Think of a whole life +made terrible with bitter feelings. That would be misery indeed. + +Yet when we read the sad story of the life of Jonathan Swift who +has in Gulliver's Travels given to countless children, and grown- +up people too, countless hours of pleasure, we are forced to +believe that so he passed a great part of his life. Swift was +misunderstood and misunderstanding. It was not that he had no +love given to him, for all his life through he found women to +love him. But it was his unhappiness that he took that love only +to turn it to bitterness in his heart, that he took that love so +as to leave a stain on him and it ever after. He had friendship +too. But in the hands stretched out to help him in his need he +saw only insult. In the kindness that was given to him he saw +only a grudging charity, and yet he was angry with the world and +with man that he did not receive more. + +In the life of Jonathan Swift there are things which puzzle even +the wisest. Children would find those things still harder to +understand, so I will not try to explain them, but will tell you +a little that you will readily follow about the life of this +lonely man with the biting pen and aching heart. + +Jonathan Swift's father and mother were very poor, so poor indeed +that their friends said it was folly for them to marry. And when +after about two years of married life the husband died, he left +his young wife burdened with debts and with a little baby girl to +keep. It was not until a few months after his father's death +that Jonathan was born. + +His mother was a brave-hearted, cheerful woman, and although her +little son came to her in the midst of such sorrow she no doubt +loved him, and his nurse loved him too. Little Jonathan's father +and mother were English, but because he was born in Dublin, and +because he spent a great deal of his life there, he has sometimes +been looked upon as an Irishman. + +Jonathan's nurse was also an Englishwoman, and when he was about +a year old she was called home to England to a dying friend. She +saw that she must go to her friend, but she loved her baby-charge +so much that she could not bear to part from him. He had been a +sickly child, often ill, but that seemed only to make him dearer +to her. She held him in her arms thinking how empty they would +fell without their dear burden. She kissed him, jealous at the +thought that he might learn to know and love another nurse, and +she felt that she could not part with him. Making up her mind +that she would not, she wrapped him up warmly and slipped quietly +from the house carrying the baby in her arms. She then ran +quickly to the boat, crept on board, and was well out on the +Irish Sea before it was discovered that she had stolen little +Jonathan from his mother. Mrs. Swift was poor, Jonathan was not +strong so the fond and daring nurse was allowed by the mother to +keep her little charge until he was nearly four. Thus for three +years little Jonathan lived with his nurse at Whitehaven, growing +strong and brown in the sea air. She looked after him lovingly, +and besides feeding and clothing him, taught him so well that +Swift tells us himself, though it seems a little hard to believe, +that he could spell and could read any chapter in the Bible +before he was three. + +After Jonathan's return to Ireland his uncle, Godwin Swift, seems +to have taken charge of him, and when he was six to have sent him +to a good school. His mother, meanwhile, went home to her own +people in England, and although mother and son loved each other +they were little together all through life. At fourteen Godwin +Swift sent his nephew from school to Trinity College, Dublin. +But Swift was by this time old enough to know that he was living +on the charity of his uncle and the knowledge was bitter to his +proud spirit. Instead of spurring him on the knowledge weighed +him down. He became gloomy, idle, and wild. He afterwards said +he was a dunce at college and "was stopped of his degree for +dulness and insufficiency." But although at first the examiners +refused to pass him, he was later, for some reason, given a +special degree, granted by favor rather than gained by desert "in +a manner little to his credit," says bitter Swift. Jonathan gave +his uncle neither love nor thanks for his schooling. "He gave me +the education of a dog," was how he spoke of it years after. Yet +he had been sent to the best school in Ireland and to college +later. But perhaps it was not so much the gift as the manner of +giving which Swift scorned. We cannot tell. + +Soon after Jonathan left college he went to live in the house of +Sir William Temple. Temple was a great man in his day. He had +been an Ambassador, the friend of kings and princes, and he +considered himself something of a scholar. To him Swift acted as +a kind of secretary. To a proud man the post of secretary or +chaplain in a great house was, in those days, no happy one. It +was a position something between that of a servant and a friend, +and in it Swift's haughty soul suffered torments. Sir William, +no doubt, meant to be kind, but he was cold and condescending, +and not a little pompous and conceited. Swift's fierce pride was +ready to fancy insults where none were meant, he resented being +"treated like a schoolboy," and during the years he passed in Sir +William's house he gathered a store of bitterness against the +world in his heart. + +But in spite of all his miseries real or imaginary, Swift had at +least one pleasure. Among the many people making up the great +household there was a little girl of seven named Esther Johnson. +She was a delicate little girl with large eyes and black hair. +She and Swift soon grew to be friends, and he spent his happiest +hours teaching her to read and write. It is pleasant to think of +the gloomy, untrained genius throwing off his gloom and bending +all his talents to the task of teaching and amusing this little +delicate child of seven. + +With intervals between, Swift remained in Sir William's household +for about five years. Here he began to write poetry, but when he +showed his poems to Dryden, who was a distant kinsman, he got +little encouragement. "Cousin Swift," said the great man, "you +will never be a poet." Here was another blow from a hostile +world which Swift could never either forget or forgive. + +As the years went on Swift found his position grow more and more +irksome. At last he began to think of entering the Church as a +means of earning an independent livelihood and becoming his own +master. And one day, having a quarrel with Sir William, he left +his house in a passion and went back to Ireland. Here after some +trouble he was made a priest and received a little seaside parish +worth about a hundred pounds a year. + +Swift was now his own master, but he found it dull. He had so +few parishioners that it is said he used to go down to the +seashore and skiff stones in order to gather a congregation. For +he thought if the people would not come to hear sermons they +would come at least to stare at the mad clergyman, and for years +he was remembered as the "mad clergyman." And now because he +found his freedom dull, and for various other reasons, when Sir +William asked him to come back he gladly came. This time he was +much happier as a member of Sir William's household than he had +been before. + +It was now that Swift wrote the two little books which first made +him famous. These were The Battle of the Books and A Tale of a +Tub. The Battle of the Books rose out of a silly quarrel in +which Sir William Temple had taken part as to whether the ancient +or the modern writers were the best. Swift took Temple's side +and wrote to prove that the ancient writers were best. But, as +it has been said, he wrote so cleverly that he proved the +opposite against his will, for nowhere in the writings of the +ancients is there anything so full or humor and satire as The +Battle of the Books. + +Swift imagines a real battle to have taken place among the books +in the King's library at St. James's Palace. The books leave the +shelves, some on horseback, some on foot, and armed with sword +and spear throw themselves into the fray, but we are left quite +uncertain as to who gained the victory. This little book is a +satire, and, like all Swift's famous satires, is in prose not in +poetry. In the preface he says, "Satire is a sort of glass, +wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but +their own; which is the chief reason for that kind reception it +meets with in the world, and that so very few are offended with +it." It is not a book that you will care to read for a long +time, for to find it interesting you must know both a good deal +about Swift's own times and about the books that fight the +battle. + +You will not care either for A Tale of a Tub. And yet it is the +book above all others which one must read, and read with +understanding, if one would get even a little knowledge of +Swift's special genius. It was the book, nevertheless, which +more than any other stood in his way in after life. + +A Tale of a Tub like The Battle of the Books is a satire, and +Swift wrote it to show up the abuses of the Church. He tells the +story of three brothers, Peter, Martin and Jack. Peter +represents the Roman Catholic, Martin the Anglican, and Jack the +Presbyterian Church. He meant, he says, to turn the laugh only +against Peter and Jack. That may be so, but his treatment of +Martin cannot be called reverent. Indeed, reverence was +impossible to Swift. There is much good to be said of him. +There was a fierce righteousness about his spirit which made him +a better parish priest than many a more pious man. He hated +shams, he hated cant, he hated bondage. "Dr. Swift," it was +said, "hated all fanatics: all fanatics hated Dr. Swift."* But +with all his uprightness and breadth he was neither devout nor +reverent. + +*Lord Orrery. + +When Sir William Temple died Swift went back to Ireland, and +after a little time he once more received a Church living there. +But here, as before, his parish was very small, so that sometimes +he had only his clerk as congregation. Then he would begin the +service with "Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture moveth you and +me," instead of "Dearly beloved brethren," as the Prayer Book has +it. + +Sir William had left Swift some money; he had also left some to +Esther Johnson, the little girl Swift used to teach. She had +grown into a beautiful and witty woman and now she too, with a +friend, went to Ireland, and for the rest of her life lived there +near Swift. + +The strange friendship between these two, between Esther Johnson +and Swift, is one of the puzzles in Swift's life. That they +loved each other, that they were life-long friends, every one +knows. But were they ever married? Were they man and wife? +That question remains unanswered. + +Esther is the Persian word for star; Stella the Latin. Swift +called his girl-friend Stella, and as Stella she has become +famous in our literature. For when Swift was away from home he +wrote letters to her which we now have under the name of the +Journal to Stella. Here we see the great man in another light. +Here he is no longer armed with lightning, his pen is no longer +dipped in poison, but in friendly, simple fashion he tells all +that happens to him day by day. He tells what he thinks and what +he feels, where and when he dines, when he gets up, and when he +goes to bed, all the gossiping details interesting to one who +loves us and whom we love. And with it all we get a picture of +the times in which he lived, of the politics of the day, of the +great men he moved among. Swift always addresses both Stella and +her companion Mistress Dingley, and the letters are everywhere +full of tender, childish nonsense. He invented what he called a +"little language," using all sorts of quaint and babyish words +and strange strings of capital letters, M. D., for instance, +meaning my dears, M. E., Madam Elderly, or D. D., Dear Dingley, +and so on. Throughout, too, we come on little bits of doggerel +rimes, bad puns, simple jokes, mixed up with scraps of politics, +with threatenings of war, with party quarrels, with all kinds of +stray fragments of news which bring the life of the times vividly +before us. The letters were never meant for any one but Stella +and Mistress Dingley to see, and sometimes when we are reading +the affectionate nonsense we feel as if no one ought to have seen +it but these two. And yet it gives us one whole side of Swift +that we should never have known but for it. It is not easy to +give an idea of this book, it must be read to be understood, but +I will give you a few extracts from it:-- + +"Pshaw, I must be writing to those dear saucy brats every night, +whether I will or no, let me have what business I will, or come +home ever so late, or be ever so sleepy; but an old saying and a +true one, + + 'Be you lords, or be you earls, + You must write to saucy girls.' + +"I was to-day at Court and saw Raymond among the beefeaters, +staying to see the Queen; so I put him in a better station, made +two or three dozen of bows, and went to Church, and then to Court +again to pick up a dinner, as I did with Sir John Stanley, and +then we went to visit Lord Mountjoy, and just now left him, and +'tis near eleven at night, young women." + +Or again:-- + +"The Queen was abroad to-day in order to hunt, but finding it +disposed to rain she kept in her coach; she hunts in a chaise +with one horse, which she drives herself, and drives furiously, +like Jehu, and is a mighty hunter, like Nimrod. Dingley has +heard of Nimrod, but not Stella, for it is in the Bible. . . . +The Queen and I were going to take the air this afternoon, but +not together: and were both hindered by a sudden rain. Her +coaches and chaises all went back, and the guards too; and I +scoured into the marketplace for shelter." + +Another day he writes:-- + +"Pish, sirrahs, put a date always at the bottom of your letter, +as well as the top, that I may know when you send it; your last +is of November 3, yet I had others at the same time, written a +fortnight after. . . . Pray let us have no more bussiness, +busyness. Take me if I know how to spell it! Your wrong +spelling, Madam Stella, has put me out: it does not look right; +let me see, bussiness, busyness, business, bisyness, bisness, +bysness; faith, I known not which is right, I think the second; I +believe I never writ the word in my life before; yes, sure I +must, though; business, busyness, bisyness.-- I have perplexed +myself, and can't do it. Prithee ask Walls. Business, I fancy +that's right. Yes it is; I looked in my own pamphlet, and found +it twice in ten lines, to convince you that I never writ it +before. O, now I see it as plain as can be; so yours is only an +s too much." + + + + + + + +Chapter LXIV SWIFT--"GULLIVER'S TRAVELS" + +DURING the years in which Swift found time to write these playful +letters to Stella he was growing into a man of power. Like Defoe +he was a journalist, but one of far more authority. The power of +his pen was such that he was courted by his friends, feared by +his enemies. He threw himself into the struggle of party, first +as a Whig, then as a Tory; but as a friend said of him later, "He +was neither Whig nor Tory, neither Jacobite nor Republican. He +was Dr. Swift."* He was now, he says:-- + +*Lord Orrery. + + "Grown old in politicks and wit, + Caress'd by ministers of State, + Of half mankind the dread and hate."* + + *Cadenus and Vanessa. + +And he felt that he deserved reward for what he had done for his +party. He thought that he should have been made a bishop. But +even in those days, when little thought was given to the fitness +of a man for such a position, the Queen steadily refused to make +the author of A Tale of a Tub a bishop. + +Again Swift felt that he was unjustly treated, and even when he +was at length made Dean of St. Patrick's that consoled him +little. He longed for power, and owned that he was never so +happy as when treated like a lord. He longed for wealth, for +"wealth," he said, "is liberty, and liberty is a blessing fittest +for a philosopher." And if Swift was displeased at being made +only a Dean, the Irish people were equally displeased with him as +their Dean. As he rode through the streets of Dublin to take +possession of his Deanery, the people threw stones and mud at him +and hooted him as he passed. The clergy, too, made his work as +Dean as hard as possible. But Swift set himself to conquer them, +and soon he had his own way even in trifles. + +We cannot follow Swift through all his political adventures and +writings. In those days the misgovernment of Ireland was +terrible, and Swift, although he loved neither Ireland nor the +Irish, fought for their rights until, from being hated by them, +he became the idol of the people, and those who had thrown mud +and stones now cheered him as he passed. Wherever he went he was +received with honor, his birthday was kept as a day of rejoicing +by Irishmen with gratitude. But even in his hour of triumph +Swift was a lonely and discontented man as we may learn from his +letters. + +It was now that he published the book upon which his fame most +surely rests--Gulliver's Travels. It is a book which has given +pleasure to numberless people ever since. Yet Swift said +himself: "The chief end I propose to myself in all my labours is +to vex the world rather than divert it, and if I could compass +that design without hurting my own person or fortune, I would be +the most indefatigable writer you have ever seen. . . . I hate +and detest that animal called man, although I heartily love John, +Peter, Thomas, and so forth. . . . Upon this great foundation of +misanthropy, the whole building of my Travels is erected." + +But whether Swift at the time vexed the world with Gulliver or +not, ever since he has succeeded in diverting it. Gulliver's +Travels is an allegory and a satire, but there is no need now to +do more than enjoy it as a story. + +The story is divided into four parts. In the first Captain +Lemuel Gulliver being wrecked finds himself upon an island where +all the people are so small that he can pick them up in his thumb +and finger, and it requires six hundred of their beds to make one +for him. + +In the second part Gulliver comes to a country where the people +are giants. They are so large that they in their turn can lift +Gulliver up between thumb and finger. + +In the third voyage Gulliver is taken by pirates and at last +lands upon a flying island, and from there he passes on to other +wonderful places. + +In the fourth his men mutiny and put him ashore on an unknown +land. There he finds that horses are the rulers, and a terrible +kind of degraded human being their slaves and servants. + +In the last part the satire is too bitter, the degradation of man +too terribly insisted upon to make it pleasant reading, and +altogether the first two stories are the most interesting. + +Here is how Swift tells us of Gulliver's arrival in Lilliput, the +country of the tiny folk. After the shipwreck and a long battle +with the waves he has at length reached land:-- + +"I lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, where I +slept sounder than ever I remember to have done in my life, and, +as I reckoned, about nine hours; for when I awaked, it was just +daylight. I attempted to rise, but was not able to stir: for as +I happened to lie on my back, I found my arms and legs were +strongly fastened on each side to the ground; and my hair, which +was long and thick, tied down in the same manner. + +"I could only look upwards, the sun began to grow hot, and the +light offended my eyes. I heard a confused noise about me, but +in the posture I lay, could see nothing except the sky. In a +little time I felt something alive moving on my left leg, which +advancing gently forward over my breast, came almost up to my +chin; when bending my eyes downwards as much as I could, I +perceived it to be a human creature not six inches high, with a +bow and arrow in his hands, and a quiver at his back. + +"In the meantime, I felt at least fifty more of the same kind (as +I conjectured) following the first. I was in the utmost +astonishment, and roared so loud, that they all ran back in a +fright; and some of them, as I was afterwards told, were hurt +with the falls they got by leaping from my sides upon the ground. +However, they soon returned, and one of them, who ventured so far +as to get a full sight of my face, lifting up his hands and eyes +by way of admiration, cried out in a shrill, but distinct voice, +Hekinah degul: the others repeated the same words several times, +but then I knew not what they meant. + +"I lay all this while, as the reader may believe, in great +uneasiness: at length, struggling to get loose, I had the +fortune to break the strings, and wrench out the pegs that +fastened my left arm to the ground; for, by lifting it up to my +face, I discovered the methods they had taken to bind me, and at +the same time with a violent pull, which game me excessive pain, +I a little loosened the strings that tied down my hair on the +left side, so that I was just able to turn my head about two +inches. + +"But the creatures ran off a second time, before I could seize +them; whereupon there was a great shout in a very shrill accent, +and after it ceased, I heard one of them cry aloud Tolgo phonac; +when in an instant I felt above an hundred arrows discharged on +my left hand, which pricked me like so many needles; and besides, +they shot another flight into the air, as we do bombs in Europe, +whereof many, I suppose, fell on my body (though I felt them not) +and some on my face, which I immediately covered with my left +hand. + +"When this shower of arrows was over, I fell a-groaning with +grief and pain, and then striving again to get loose, they +discharged another volley larger than the first, and some of them +attempted with spears to stick me in the sides, but, by good +luck, I had on a buff jerkin, which they could not pierce." + +Gulliver decided that the best thing he could do was to lie still +until night came and then, having his left hand already loose, he +would soon be able to free himself. However, he did not need to +wait so long, for very soon, by orders of a mannikin, who seemed +to have great authority over the others, his head was set free. +The little man then made a long speech, not a word of which +Gulliver understood, but he replied meekly, showing by signs that +he had no wicked intentions against the tiny folk and that he was +also very hungry. + +"The Hurgo (for so they call a great lord, as I afterwards +learnt) understood me very well. He commanded that several +ladders should be applied to my sides, on which above an hundred +of the inhabitants mounted and walked towards my mouth, laden +with baskets full of meat, which had been provided and sent +thither by the King's orders, upon the first intelligence he +received of me. I observed there was the flesh of several +animals, but could not distinguish them by the taste. There were +shoulders, legs, and loins, shaped like those of mutton, and very +well dressed, but smaller than the wings of a lark. I ate them +by two or three at a mouthful, and took three loaves at a time, +about the bigness of musket bullets. They supplied me as fast as +they could, showing a thousand marks of wonder and astonishment +at my bulk and appetite. I then made another sign that I wanted +to drink. They found by my eating, that a small quantity would +not suffice me; and being a most ingenious people, they slung up +with great dexterity one of their largest hogsheads, then rolled +it towards my hand, and beat out the top; I drank it off at a +draught, which I might well do, for it did not hold half a pint, +and tasted like a small wine of Burgundy, but much more +delicious. They brought me a second hogshead, which I drank in +the same manner, and made signs for more, but they had none to +give me. When I had performed these wonders, they shouted for +joy, and danced upon my breast, repeating several times as they +did at first Hekinah degul." + +And now having introduced you and Gulliver to the Lilliputians, I +must leave you to hear about his further adventures among them +from the book itself. There you will learn how Gulliver received +his freedom, and how he lived happily among the little people +until at length Swift falls upon the quaint idea of having him +impeached for treason. Gulliver then, hearing of this danger, +escapes, and after a few more adventures arrives at home. + +As a contrast to what you have just read you may like to hear of +Gulliver's first adventures in Brobdingnag, the land of giants. +Gulliver had been found by a farmer and carried home. When the +farmer's wife first saw him "she screamed and ran back, as women +in England do at the sight of a toad or a spider." However, when +she saw that he was only a tiny man, she soon grew fond of him. + +"It was about twelve at noon, and a servant brought in dinner. +It was only one substantial dish of meat (fit for the plain +condition of a husbandman) in a dish of about four-and-twenty +foot diameter. The company were the farmer and his wife, three +children, and an old grand-mother. When they were sat down, the +farmer placed me at some distance from him on the table, which +was thirty foot high from the floor. I was in a terrible fright, +and kept as far as I could from the edge for fear of falling. +The wife minced a bit of meat, then crumbled some bread on a +trencher, and placed it before me. I made her a low bow, took +out my knife and fork, and fell to eat, which gave them exceeding +delight. The mistress sent her maid for a small dram cup, which +held about two gallons, and filled it with drink. I took up the +vessel with much difficulty in both hands, and in a most +respectful manner drank to her ladyship's health, expressing the +words as loud as I could in English, which made the company laugh +so heartily, that I was almost deafened with the noise. . . . + +"In the midst of dinner, my mistress's favourite cat leapt into +her lap. I heard a noise behind me like that of a dozen +stocking-weavers at work; and turning my head, I found it +proceeded from the purring of this animal, who seemed to be three +times larger than an ox, as I computed by the view of her head, +and one of her paws, while her mistress was feeding and stroking +her. The fierceness of this creature's countenance altogether +discomposed me; though I stood at the further end of the table, +above fifty foot off; and although my mistress held her fast for +fear she might give a spring, and seize me in her talons. But it +happened there was no danger; for the cat took not the least +notice of me when my master placed me within three yards of her. +And as I have been always told, and found true by experience in +my travels, that flying, or discovering fear before a fierce +animal, is a certain way to make it pursue or attack you, so I +resolved in this dangerous juncture to show no manner of concern. +I walked with intrepidity five or six times before the very head +of the cat, and came within half a yard of her; whereupon she +drew herself back, as if she were more afraid of me." + +When it was published Gulliver's Travels was at once a great +success. Ten days after it appeared, two poets wrote to Swift +that "the whole town, men, women, and children are quite full of +it." + +For nearly twenty years longer Swift lived, then sad to say the +life of the man who wrote for us these fascinating tales closed +in gloom without relief. Stella, his life-long friend, died. +That left him forlorn and desolate. Then, as the years passed, +darker and darker gloom settled upon his spirit. Disease crept +over both mind and body, he was tortured by pain, and when at +length the pain left him he sank into torpor. It was not madness +that had come upon him, but a dumb stupor. For more than two +years he lived, but it was a living death. Without memory, +without hope, the great genius had become the voiceless ruin of a +man. But at length a merciful end came. On an October day in +1745 Swift died. He who had torn his own heard with restless +bitterness, who had suffered and caused others to suffer, had at +last found rest. + +He was buried at dead of night in his own cathedral and laid by +Stella's side, and over his grave were carved words chosen by +himself which told the wayfarer that Jonathan Swift had gone +"Where savage indignation can no longer tear at his heart. Go, +wayfarer, and imitate, if thou canst, a man who did all a man may +do as a valiant champion of liberty." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Stories of Gulliver, by J. Lang. Gulliver's Travels. Gulliver's +Travels (Everyman's Library). + +NOTE:--These two last are both the same text and are illustrated +by A. Rackham. It is the edition in Temple Classics for Young +People that is recommended, not that in the Temple Classics. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXV ADDISON--THE "SPECTATOR" + +SWIFT'S wit makes us laugh, but it leaves us on the whole, +perhaps, a little sad. Now we come to a satirist of quite +another spirit whose wit, it has been said, "makes us laugh and +leaves us good and happy."* + +*Thackeray. + +Joseph Addison was the son of a Dean. He was born in 1672 in the +quaint little thatched parsonage of Milston, a Wiltshire village, +not far from that strange monument of ancient days, Stonehenge. +When he was old enough Joseph was sent first to schools near his +home, and then a little later to the famous Charterhouse in +London. Of his schooldays we know little, but we can guess, for +one story that has come down to us, that he was a shy, nervous +boy. It is said that once, having done something a little wrong, +he was so afraid of what punishment might follow that he ran +away. He hid in a wood, sleeping in a hollow tree and feeding on +wild berries until he was found and taken home to his parents. + +At Charterhouse Joseph met another boy named Dick Steele, and +these two became fast friends although they were very different +from each other. For Dick was merry, noisy, and fun-loving, and +although Joseph loved fun too it was in a quiet, shy way. Dick, +who was a few weeks older than Joseph, was the son of a well-to- +do lawyer. He was born in Ireland, but did not remain there +long. For, as both his father and mother died when he was still +a little boy, he was brought to England to be taken care of by an +uncle. + +From Charterhouse Joseph and Dick both went to Oxford, but to +different Colleges. Dick left the University without taking his +degree and became a soldier, while Joseph stayed many years and +became a man of learning. + +Joseph Addison had gone to College with the idea of becoming a +clergyman like his father, but after a time he gave up that idea, +and turned his thoughts to politics. The politicians of the day +were always on the lookout for clever men, who, by their +writings, would help to sway the people to their way of thinking. +Already at college Addison had become known by his Latin poetry, +and three Whig statesmen thought so highly of it that they +offered him a pension of 300 pounds a year to allow him to travel +on the Continent and learn French and so add to his learning as to +be able to help their side by his writing. Addison accepted the +pension and set out on his travels. For four years he wandered +about the Continent, adding to his store of knowledge of men and +books, meeting many of the foremost men of letters of his day. +But long before he returned home his friends had fallen from +power and his pension was stopped. So back in London we find him +cheerfully betaking himself to a poor lodging up three flights of +stairs, hoping for something to turn up. + +These were the days of the War of the Spanish Succession and of +the brilliant victories of Marlborough of which you have read in +the history of the time of Anne. Blenheim had been fought. All +England was ringing with the praises of the great General in +prose and verse. But the verse was poor, and it seemed to those +in power that this great victory ought to be celebrated more +worthily, so the Lord Treasurer looked about him for some one who +could sing of it in fitting fashion. The right person, however, +seemed hard to find, and the laureate of the day, an honest +gentleman named Nahum Tate, who could hardly be called a poet, +was quite unable for the task. To help the Lord Treasurer out of +his difficulty one of the great men who had already befriended +Addison suggested him as a suitable writer. And so one morning +Addison was surprised in his little garret by a visit from no +less a person than the Chancellor of the Exchequer. + +A shy boy at school, Addison had grown into a shy, retiring man, +and no doubt he was not a little taken aback at a visit from so +great a personage. The Chancellor, however, soon put him at his +ease, told him what he had come about, and begged him to +undertake the work. "In short, the Chancellor said so many +obliging things, and in so graceful a manner, as gave Mr. Addison +the utmost spirit and encouragement to begin that poem, which he +afterwards published and entitled The Campaign."* + +*Budgell, Memories of the Boyles. + +The poem was a great success, and besides being paid for the +work, Addison received a Government post, so once more life ran +smoothly for him. He had now both money and leisure. His +Government duties left him time to write, and in the next few +years he published a delightful book of his travels, and an +opera. + +Shy, humorous, courteous, Addison steadily grew popular. +Everything went well with him. "If he had a mind to be chosen +king he would hardly be refused," said Swift. He, however, only +became a member of Parliament. But he was too shy ever to make a +speech, and presently he went to Ireland as Secretary of State. +Swift and Addison already knew each other, and Addison had sent a +copy of his travels to Swift as "to the most agreeable companion, +the truest friend, and the greatest genius of his age." Now in +Ireland they saw much of each other, and although they were, as +Swift himself says, as different as black and white, they became +fast friends. And even later, in those days of bitter party +feeling, when Swift left his own side and became a Tory, though +their friendship cooled, they never became enemies. Swift's +bitter pen was never turned against his old friend. Addison with +all his humor and his satire never attacked any man personally, +so their relations continued friendly and courteous to the end. + +In the Journal to Stella we find many entries about this +difficulty between the friends, "Mr. Addison and I are as +different as black and white, and I believe our friendship will +go off by this business of party. But I love him still as much +as ever, though we seldom meet." "All our friendship and +dearness are off. We are civil acquaintance, talk words of +course, of when we shall meet, and that's all. Is it not odd?" +Then later the first bitterness of difference seems to pass, and +Swift tells how he went to Addison's for supper. "We were very +good company, and I yet know no man half so agreeable to me as he +is." + +It was while Addison was in Ireland that Richard Steele started a +paper called the Tatler. When Addison found out that it was his +old friend Dick who had started the Tatler he offered to help. +And he helped to such good purpose that Steele says, "I fared +like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful neighbour to his +aid. I was undone by my own auxiliary; when I had once called +him in, I could not subsist without dependence on him." + +This was the beginning of a long literary partnership that has +become famous. Never perhaps were two friends more different in +character. Yet, says Steele, long after, speaking of himself and +Addison, "There never was a more strict friendship than between +those gentlemen, nor had they ever any difference but what +proceeded from their different way of pursuing the same thing. +The one with patience, foresight, and temperate address, always +waited and stemmed the torrent; while the other often plunged +himself into it, and was as often taken out by the temper of him +who stood weeping on the brink for his safety, whom he could not +dissuade from leaping into it. . . . When they met they were as +unreserved as boys, and talked of the greatest affairs, upon +which they saw where they differed, without pressing (what they +knew impossible) to convert each other."* + +*Steele in the Theatre, 12. + +The Tatler, like Defoe's Review, was a leaflet of two or three +pages, published three times a week. The Review and other papers +of the same kind no doubt prepared the way for the Tatler. But +the latter was written with far greater genius, and while the +Review is almost forgotten the Tatler is still remembered and +still read. + +In the first number Steele announced that:--"All accounts of +gallantry, pleasure and entertainment, shall be under the article +of White's Chocolate-House; Poetry under that of Wills' Coffee- +House; learning under the title of Grecian; foreign and domestic +news you will have from Saint James's Coffee-House; and what else +I have to offer on any other subject shall be dated from my own +apartment." + +The coffee-houses and chocolate-houses were the clubs of the day. +It was there the wits gathered together to talk, just as in the +days of Ben Jonson they gathered at the Mermaid Tavern. And in +these still nearly newspaperless days it was in the coffee-houses +that the latest news, whether of politics or literature or sheer +gossip, was heard and discussed. At one coffee-house chiefly +statesmen and politicians would gather, at another poets and +wits, and so on. So Steele dated each article from the coffee- +house at which the subject of it would most naturally be +discussed. + +Steele meant the Tatler to be a newspaper in which one might find +all the news of the day, but he also meant it to be something +more. + +You have heard that, after the Restoration, many of the books +that were written, and plays that were acted, were coarse and +wicked, and the people who read these books and watched these +plays led coarse and wicked lives. And now a rollicking soldier, +noisy, good-hearted Dick Steele, "a rake among scholars, and a +scholar among rakes"* made up his mind to try to make things +better and give people something sweet and clean to read daily. +The Tatler, especially after Addison joined with Steele in +producing it, was a great success. But, as time went on, +although it continued to be a newspaper, gradually more room was +given to fiction than to fact, and to essays on all manner of +subjects than to the news of the day. For Addison is among the +greatest of our essayists. But although these essays were often +meant to teach something, neither Steele nor Addison are always +trying to be moral or enforce a lesson. At times the papers +fairly bubble with fun. One of the best humorous articles in the +Tatler is one in which Addison gives a pretended newly found +story by our friend Sir John Mandeville. It is perhaps as +delightful a lying tale as any that "learned and worthy knight" +ever invented. Here is a part of it:-- + +*Macaulay. + +"We were separated by a storm in the latitude of 73, insomuch +that only the ship which I was in, with a Dutch and French +vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova Zembla. We landed, in +order to refit our vessels, and store ourselves with provisions. +The crew of each vessel made themselves a cabin of turf and wood, +at some distance from each other, to fence themselves against the +inclemencies of the weather, which was severe beyond imagination. + +"We soon observed, that in talking to one another we lost several +of our words, and could not hear one another at above two yards' +distance, and that too when we sat very near the fire. After +much perplexity, I found that our words froze in the air before +they could reach the ears of the persons to whom they were +spoken. I was soon confirmed in this conjecture, when, upon the +increase of the cold, the whole company grew dumb, or rather +deaf. For every man was sensible, as we afterwards found, that +he spoke as well as ever, but the sounds no sooner took air than +they were condensed and lost. + +"It was now a miserable spectacle to see us nodding and gaping at +one another, every man talking, and no man heard. One might +observe a seaman that could hail a ship at a league distance, +beckoning with his hands, straining his lungs, and tearing his +throat, but all in vain. + +"We continued here three weeks in this dismal plight. At length, +upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to thaw. Our cabin +was immediately filled with a dry clattering sound, which I +afterwards found to be the crackling of consonants that broke +above our heads, and were often mixed with a gentle hissing, +which I imputed to the letter S, that occurs so frequently in the +English tongue. + +"I soon after felt a breeze of whispers rushing by my ear; for +those, being of a soft and gentle substance, immediately +liquified in the warm wind that blew across our cabin. These +were soon followed by syllables and short words, and at length by +entire sentences, that melted sooner or later, as they were more +or less congealed; so that we now heard everything that had been +spoken during the whole three weeks that we had been silent; if I +may use that expression. + +"It was now very early in the morning, and yet, to my surprise, I +heard somebody say, 'Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the +ship's crew to go to bed.' This I knew to be the pilot's voice, +and upon recollecting myself I concluded that he had spoken these +words to me some days before, though I could not hear them before +the present thaw. My reader will easily imagine how the whole +crew was amazed to hear every man talking, and seeing no man +opening his mouth." + +When the confusion of voices was pretty well over Sir John +proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, and so they set out. "At +about half a mile's distance from our cabin, we heard the +groanings of a bear, which at first startled us. But upon +inquiry we were informed by some of our company, that he was +dead, and now lay in salt, having been killed upon that very spot +about a fortnight before, in the time of the frost." + +Having reached the Dutch cabin the company was almost stunned by +the confusion of sounds, and could not make out a word for about +half an hour. This, Sir John thinks, was because the Dutch +language being so much harsher than ours it "wanted more time +than ours to melt and become audible." + +Next they visited the French cabin and here Sir John says, "I was +convinced of an error into which I had before fallen. For I had +fancied, that for the freezing of the sound, it was necessary for +it to be wrapped up, and, as it were, preserved in breath. But I +found my mistake, when I heard the sound of a kit playing a +minuet over our heads." + +The kit was a small violin to the sound of which the Frenchmen +had danced to amuse themselves while they were deaf or dumb. How +it was that the kit could be heard during the frost and yet still +be heard in the thaw we are not told. Sir John gave very good +reasons, says Addison, but as they are somewhat long "I pass over +them in silence."* + +*Tatler, 254. + +Addison and Steele carried on the Tatler for two years, then it +was stopped to make way for a far more famous paper called the +Spectator. But meanwhile the Whigs fell from power and Addison +lost his Government post. In twelve months, he said to a friend, +he lost a place worth two thousand pounds a year, an estate in +the Indies, and, worst of all, his lady-love. Who the lady-love +was is not known, but doubtless she was some great lady ready +enough to marry a Secretary of State, but not a poor scribbler. + +As Addison had now no Government post, it left him all the more +time for writing, and his essays in the Spectator are what we +chiefly remember him by. + +The Spectator was still further from the ordinary newspaper than +the Tatler. It was more perhaps what our modern magazines are +meant to be, but, instead of being published once a week or once +a month, it was published every morning. + +In order to give interest to the paper, instead of dating the +articles from various coffee-houses, as had been done in the +Tatler, Addison and Steele between them imagined a club. And it +is the doings of these members, their characters, and their +lives, which supply subjects for many of the articles. In the +first numbers of the Spectator these members are described to us. + +First of all there is the Spectator himself. He is the editor of +the paper. It is he who with kindly humorous smile and grave +twinkle in his eye is to be seen everywhere. He is seen, and he +sees and listens, but seldom opens his lips. "In short," he +says, "I have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker-on." +And that is the meaning of Spectator--the looker-on. This on- +looker, there can be little doubt, was meant to be a picture of +Addison himself. In a later paper he tells us that "he was a man +of a very short face, extremely addicted to silence. . . . and +was a great humorist in all parts of his life."* And when you +come to know Mr. Spectator well, I think you will love this grave +humorist. + +*Spectator, 101. + +After Mr. Spectator, the chief member of the Club was Sir Roger +de Coverley. "His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous +country dance which is called after him. All who know that shire +(in which he lives), are very well acquainted with the parts and +merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in +his behaviour, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, +and are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he +thinks the world is in the wrong." He was careless of fashion in +dress, and wore a coat and doublet which, he used laughingly to +say, had been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. +"He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; +keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of +mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour, that +he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his +servants look satisfied. All the young women profess love to him +and the young men are glad of his company. When he comes into a +house he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way +upstairs to a visit." + +Next came a lawyer of the Inner Temple, who had become a lawyer +not because he wanted to be one, but because he wanted to please +his old father. He had been sent to London to study the laws of +the land, but he liked much better to study those of the stage. +"He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour +of business. Exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses +through Russel Court, and takes a turn at Wills' till the play +begins. He has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the +barber's as you go into the Rose." + +Next comes Sir Andrew Freeport, "a merchant of great eminence in +the City of London." "He abounds in several frugal maxims, +amongst which the greatest favorite is, 'A penny saved is a penny +got.'" + +"Next to Sir Andrew in the Club room sits Captain Sentry, a +gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but invincible +modesty. He was some years a captain, and behaved himself with +great gallantry in several engagements and at several sieges. +But having a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir +Roger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise +suitably to his merit, who is not something of a courtier as well +as a soldier. The military part of his life has furnished him +with many adventures, in the relation of which he is very +agreeable to the company, for he is never overbearing, though +accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him, nor +ever too obsequious, from an habit of obeying men highly above +him. + +"But that our society may not appear a set of humorists, +unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we +have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, +according to his years, should be in the decline of his life. +But having ever been very careful of his person, and always had a +very easy fortune, time has made but very little impression, +either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in his brain. His +person is well turned, of a good height. He is very ready at +that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. +He has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits as +other do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laugh +easily." He is in fact an old beau, a regular man about town, "a +well-bred, fine gentleman," yet no great scholar, "he spelt like +a gentleman and not like a scholar,"* he says. + +*Spectator, 105. + +Last of all there is a clergyman, a man of "general learning, +great sanctity of life, and the most exact breeding." He seldom +comes to the Club, "but when he does it adds to every man else a +new enjoyment of himself." + +This setting forth of the characters in the story will remind you +a little perhaps of Chaucer in his Prologue to the Canterbury +Tales. As he there gives us a clear picture of England in the +time of Edward III, so Addison gives us a clear picture of +England in the time of Anne. And although the essays are in the +main unconnected, the slight story of these characters runs +through them, weaving them into a whole. You may pick up a +volume of the Spectator and read an essay here or there at will +with enjoyment, or you may read the whole six hundred one after +the other and find in them a slight but interesting story. + +You know that the books many of your grown-up friends read most +are called novels. But in the days when Joseph Addison and +Richard Steele wrote the Spectator, there were no novels. Even +Defoe's stories had not yet appeared, and it was therefore a new +delight for our forefathers to have the adventures of the +Spectator Club each day with their morning cup of tea or +chocolate. "Mr. Spectator," writes one lady, "your paper is part +of my tea equipage, and my servant knows my humour so well, that +calling for my breakfast this morning (it being past my usual +hour) she answered, the Spectator was not yet come in, but that +the tea-kettle boiled, and she expected it every moment." + +Thus the Spectator had then become part of everyday life just as +our morning newspapers have now, and there must have been many +regrets among the readers when one member of the supposed Club +died, another married and settled down, and so on until at length +the Club was entirely dispersed and the Spectator ceased to +appear. It may interest you to know that the paper we now call +the Spectator was not begun until more than a hundred years after +its great namesake ceased to appear, the first number being +published in 1828. + +It was after the Spectator ceased that Addison published his +tragedy called Cato. Cato was a great Roman who rebelled against +the authority of Caesar and in the end killed himself. His is a +story out of which a good tragedy might be made. But Addison's +genius is not dramatic, and the play does not touch our hearts as +Shakespeare's tragedies do. Yet, although we cannot look upon +Addison's Cato as a really great tragedy, there are lines in it +which every one remembers and quotes, although they may not know +where they come from. Such are, for instance, "Who deliberates +is lost," and + + "'Tis not in mortals to command success, + But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it." + +But although Cato is not really great, the writer was perhaps the +most popular man of his day, and so his tragedy was a tremendous +success. With Cato Addison reached the highest point of his fame +as an author in his own day, but now we remember him much more as +a writer of delightful essays, and as the creator or at least the +perfecter of Sir Roger, for to Steele is due the first invention +of the worthy knight. + +Fortune still smiled on Addison. When George I came to the +throne, the Whigs once more returned to power, and Addison again +became Secretary for Ireland. He still wrote, both on behalf of +his Government and to please himself. + +And now, in 1716, when he was already a man of forty-four, +Addison married. His wife was the Dowager Countess of Warwick, +and perhaps she was that great lady whom he had lost a few years +before when he lost his post of Secretary of State. Of all +Addison's pleasant prosperous life these last years ought to have +been most pleasant and most prosperous. But it has been said +that his marriage was not happy, and that plain Mr. Addison was +glad at times to escape from the stately grandeur of his own home +and from the great lady, his wife, to drink and smoke with his +friends and "subjects" at his favorite coffee-house. For Addison +held sway and was surrounded by his little court of literary +admirers, as Dryden and Ben Jonson before him. + +But whether Addison was happy in his married life or not, one +sorrow he did have. Between his old friend, Dick Steele, and +himself a coldness grew up. They disagreed over politics. +Steele thought himself ill-used by his party. His impatient, +impetuous temper was hurt at the cool balance of his friend's, +and so they quarreled. "I ask no favour of Mr. Secretary +Addison," writes Steele angrily. During life the quarrel was +never made up, but after Addison died Steele spoke of his friend +in his old generous manner. Under his new honors and labours +Addison's health soon gave way. He suffered much from asthma, +and in 1718 gave up his Government post. A little more than a +year later he died. + +He met his end cheerfully and peacefully. "See how a Christian +can die," he said to his wild stepson, the Earl of Warwick, who +came to say farewell to his stepfather. + +The funeral took place at dead of night in Westminster Abbey. +Whig and Tory alike joined in mourning, and as the torchlight +procession wound slowly through the dim isles, the organ played +and the choir sang a funeral hymn. + + "How silent did his old companions tread, + By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, + Thro' breathing statues, then unheeded things, + Thro' rows of warriors, and thro' walks of Kings! + What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire, + The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; + The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid, + And the last words, that dust to dust conveyed! + + While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, + Accept these tears, thou dear departed Friend!"* + + *T. Tickell. + +So our great essayist was laid to rest, but it was not until many +years had come and gone that a statue in his honor was placed in +the Poets' Corner. This, says Lord Macaulay, himself a great +writer, was "a mark of national respect due to the unsullied +statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to the master of pure +English eloquence, to the consummate painter of life and manners. +It was due, above all, to the great satirist, who alone knew how +to use ridicule without abusing it, who, without inflicting a +wound, effected a great social reform, and who reconciled wit +with virtue, after a long and disastrous separation, during which +wit had been lead astray by profligacy, and virtue by +fanaticism." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Sir Roger de Coverley. The Coverley Papers, edited by O. M. +Myers. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXVI STEELE--THE SOLDIER AUTHOR + +YOU have heard a little about Dick Steele in connection with +Joseph Addison. Steele is always overshadowed by his great +friend, for whom he had such a generous admiration that he was +glad to be so overshadowed. But in this chapter I mean to tell +you a little more about him. + +He was born, you know, in Dublin in 1671, and early lost his +father. About this he tells us himself in one of the Tatlers: + +"The first sense of sorrow I ever knew was upon the death of my +father, at which time I was not quite five years of age. But was +rather amazed at what all the house meant, than possessed with a +real understanding, why nobody was willing to play with me. I +remember I went into the room where his body lay, and my mother +sat weeping alone by it. I had my battledore in my hand, and +fell abeating the coffin, and calling 'Papa,' for, I know not +how, I had some light idea that he was locked up there. My +mother catched me in her arms, and, transported beyond all +patience of the silent grief she was before in, she almost +smothered me in her embrace, and told me, in a flood of tears, +Pap could not hear me, and would play with me no more, for they +were going to put him under ground, whence he could never come to +us again."* + +*Tatler, 181. + +Steele's sad, beautiful mother died soon after her husband, and +little Dick was left more lonely than ever. His uncle took +charge of him, and sent him to Charterhouse, where he met +Addison. From there he went to Oxford, but left without taking a +degree. "A drum passing by," he says, "being a lover of music, I +listed myself for a soldier."* "He mounted a war horse, with a +great sword in his hand, and planted himself behind King William +the Third against Lewis the Fourteenth." But he says when he +cocked his hat, and put on a broad sword, jack boots, and +shoulder belt, he did not know his own powers as a writer, he did +not know then that he should ever be able to "demolish a +fortified town with a goosequill."** So Steele became a +"wretched common trooper," or, to put it more politely, a +gentleman volunteer. But he was not long in becoming an ensign, +and about five years later he got his commission as captain. + +*Tatler, 89. +**Theatre, 11. + +In those days the life of a soldier was wild and rough. Drinking +and swearing were perhaps the least among the follies and +wickedness they were given to, and Dick Steele was as ready as +any other to join in all the wildness going. But in spite of his +faults and failings his heart was kind and tender. He had no +love of wickedness though he could not resist temptation. So the +dashing soldier astonished his companions by publishing a little +book called the Christian Hero. It was a little book written to +show that no man could be truly great who was not religious. He +wrote it at odd minutes when his day's work was over, when his +mind had time "in the silent watch of the night to run over the +busy dream of the day." He wrote it at first for his own use, +"to make him ashamed of understanding and seeming to feel what +was virtuous and yet living so quite contrary a life." +Afterwards he resolved to publish it for the good of others. + +But among Steele's gay companions the book had little effect +except to make them laugh at him and draw comparisons between the +lightness of his words and actions, and the seriousness of the +ideas set forth in his Christian Hero. He found himself slighted +instead of encouraged, and "from being thought no undelightful +companion, was soon reckoned a disagreeable fellow."* So he took +to writing plays, for "nothing can make the town so fond of a man +as a successful play." + +*Apology for himself and his Writings. + +The plays of the Restoration had been very coarse. Those of +Steele show the beginning of a taste for better things, "Tho' +full of incidents that move laughter, virtue and vice appear just +as they ought to do," he says of his first comedy. But although +we may still find Steele's plays rather amusing, it is not as a +dramatist that we remember him, but as an essayist. + +Steele led a happy-go-lucky life, nearly always cheerful and in +debt. His plays brought him in some money, he received a +Government appointment which brought him more, and when he was +about thirty-three he married a rich widow. Still he was always +in debt, always in want of money. + +In about a year Steele's wife died, and he was shortly married to +another well-off lady. About this time he left the army, it is +thought, although we do not know quite surely, and for long +afterwards he was called Captain Steele. + +Steele wrote a great many letters to his second wife, both before +and after his marriage. She kept them all, and from them we can +learn a good deal of this warm-hearted, week-willed, harum-scarum +husband. She is "Dearest Creature," "Dear Wife," "Dear Prue" +(her name, by the way, was Mary), and sometimes "Ruler," +"Absolute Governess," and he "Your devoted obedient Husband," +"Your faithful, tender Husband." Many of the letters are about +money troubles. We gather from them that Dick Steele loved his +wife, but as he was a gay and careless spendthrift and she was a +proud beauty, a "scornful lady," for neither of them was life +always easy. + +It was about two years after this second marriage that Steele +suddenly began the Tatler. He did not write under his own name, +but under that of Isaac Bickerstaff, a name which Swift had made +use of in writing one of his satires. As has been said, the +genius of Steele has been overshadowed by that of Addison, for +Steele had such a whole-hearted admiration for his friend that he +was ready to give him all the praise. And yet it is nearly +always to Steele that we owe the ideas which were later worked +out and perfected by Addison. + +It is Steele, too, that we owe the first pictures of English +family life. It has been said that he "was the first of our +writers who really seemed to admire and respect women,"* and if +we add "after the Restoration" we come very near the truth. +Steele had a tender heart towards children too, and in more than +one paper his love of them shows itself. Indeed, as we read we +cannot help believing that in real life Captain Dick had many +child-friends. Here is how he tells of a visit to a friend's +house:-- +*Thackeray. + +"I am, as it were, at home at that house, and every member of it +knows me for their well-wisher. I cannot indeed express the +pleasure it is, to be met by the children with so much joy as I +am when I go thither. The boys and girls strive who shall come +first, when they think it is I that am knocking at the door. And +that child which loses the race to me, runs back again to tell +the father it is Mr. Bickerstaff. + +"This day I was led in by a pretty girl, that we all thought must +have forgot me, for the family has been out of town these two +years. Her knowing me again was a mighty subject with us, and +took up our discourse at the first entrance. After which they +began to rally me upon a thousand little stories they heard in +the country about my marriage to one of my neighbor's daughters. +Upon which the gentleman, my friend, said 'Nay, if Mr. +Bickerstaff marries a child of any of his old companions, I hope +mine shall have the preference. There's Mistress Mary is now +sixteen, and would make him as fine a widow as the best of +them.'" + +After dinner the mother and children leave the two friends +together. The father speaks of his love for his wife, and his +fears for her health. + +"'Ah, you little understand, you that have lived a bachelor, how +great a pleasure there is in being really beloved. Her face is +to me more beautiful than when I first saw it. In her +examination of her household affairs she show a certain +fearfulness to find a fault, which makes her servants obey her +like children, and the meanest we have has an ingenuous shame for +an offence, not always to be seen in children in other families. +I speak freely to you, my old friend. Ever since her sickness, +things that gave me the quickest joy before, turn now to a +certain anxiety. As the children play in the next room, I know +the poor things by their steps, and am considering what they must +do, should they lose their mother in their tender years. The +pleasure I used to take in telling my boy stories of the battles, +and asking my girl questions about the disposal of her baby, and +the gossiping of it, is turned into inward reflection and +melancholy.' The poor gentleman would have gone on much longer +with his sad forebodings, but his wife returning, and seeing by +his grave face what he had been talking about, said, with a +smile, 'Mr. Bickerstaff, don't believe a word of what he tells +you. I shall still live to have you for my second, as I have +often promised you, unless he takes more care of himself than he +has done since his coming to town. You must know, he tells me, +that he finds London is a much more healthy place than the +country, for he sees several of his old acquaintance and school- +fellows are here, young fellows with fair, full-bottomed +periwigs. I could scarce keep him this morning from going out +open-breasted.'" And so they sat and chatted pleasantly until, +"on a sudden, we were alarmed with the noise of a drum, and +immediately entered my little godson to give me a point of war.* +His mother, between laughing and chiding, would have put him out +of the room, but I would not part with him so. I found, upon +conversation with him, though he was a little noisy in his mirth, +that the child had excellent parts, and was a great master of all +the learning on the other side of eight years old. I perceived +him to be a very great historian in Aesop's Fables; but he frankly +declared to me his mind, that he did not delight in that +learning, because he did not believe they were true. For which +reason I found he had very much turned his studies, for about a +twelve-month past, into the lives and adventures of Don Bellianis +of Greece, Guy of Warwick, the Seven Champions, and other +historians of that age. + +*A strain of war-like music. + +"I could not but observe the satisfaction the father took in the +forwardness of his son, and that these diversions might turn to +some profit, I found the boy had made remarks which might be of +service to him during the course of his whole life. He would +tell you the mismanagements of John Hickathrift, find fault with +the passionate temper of Bevis of Southampton, and loved St. +George for being the champion of England; and by this means had +his thoughts insensibly moulded into the notions of discretion, +virtue, and honour. + +"I was extolling his accomplishments, when the mother told me +that the little girl who led me in this morning was, in her way, +a better scholar than he. 'Betty,' says she, 'deals chiefly in +fairies and sprites, and sometimes, in a winter night, will +terrify the maids with her accounts, till they are afraid to go +up to bed.' + +"I sat with them till it was very late, sometimes in merry, +sometimes in serious discourse, with this particular pleasure +which gives the only true relish to all conversation, a sense +that every one of us liked each other. I went home considering +the different conditions of a married life and that of a +bachelor. And I must confess it struck me with a secret concern +to reflect that, whenever I go off, I shall leave no traces +behind me. In this pensive mood I returned to my family, that is +to say, to my maid, my dog, and my cat, who only can be the +better or worse for what happens to me."* + +*Tatler, 96. + +You will be sorry to know that, a few Tatlers further on, the +kind mother of this happy family dies. But Steele was himself so +much touched by the thought of all the misery he was bringing +upon the others by giving such a sad ending to his story, that he +could not go on with the paper, and Addison had to finish it for +him. + +The Spectator, you know, succeeded the Tatler, and it was while +writing for the Spectator that Steele took seriously to politics. +He became a member of Parliament and wrote hot political +articles. He and Swift crossed swords more than once, and from +being friends became enemies. But Steele's temper was too hot, +his pen too hasty. The Tories were in power, and he was a Whig, +and he presently found himself expelled from the House of Commons +for "uttering seditious libels." Shut out from politics, Steele +turned once more to essay-writing, and published, one after the +other, several papers of the same style as the Spectator, but +none of them lived long. + +Better days, however, were coming. Queen Anne died, and King +George became a king in 1714, the Whigs returned to power, Steele +again received a Government post, again he sat in Parliament, and +a few months later he was knighted, and became Sir Richard +Steele. We cannot follow him through all his projects, +adventures, and writings. He was made one of the commissioners +for the forfeited estates of the Scottish lords who had taken +part in the '15, and upon this business he went several times to +Scotland. The first time he went was in the autumn of 1717. But +before that Lady Steele had gone to Wales to look after her +estates there. While she was there Dick wrote many letters to +her, some of which are full of tenderness for his children. They +show us something too of the happy-go-lucky household in the +absence of the careful mistress. In one he says:-- + +"Your son at the present writing is mighty well employed in +tumbling on the floor of the room, and sweeping the sand with a +feather. He grows a most delightful child, and very full of play +and spirit. He is also a very great scholar. He can read his +primer, and I have brought down my Virgil. He makes most shrewd +remarks about the pictures. We are very intimate friends and +play-fellows. He begins to be very ragged, and I hope I shall be +pardoned if I equip him with new clothes and frocks." Or again:- +- "The brats, my girls, stand on each side of the table, and +Molly says what I am writing now is about her new coat. Bess is +with me till she has new clothes. Miss Moll has taken upon her +to hold the sand-box,* and is so impertinent in her office that I +cannot write more. But you are to take this letter as from your +three best friends, Bess, Moll, and their Father. + +*In those days there was no blotting-paper, and sand was used to +dry the ink. + +"Moll bids me let you know that she fell down just now and did +not hurt herself." + +Soon after this Steele set out for Scotland, and although the +business which brought him could not have been welcome to many a +Scottish gentleman, he himself was well received. They forgot +the Whig official in the famous writer. In Edinburgh he was +feasted and feted. "You cannot imagine," wrote Steele, "the +civilities and honours I had done me there. I never lay better, +ate or drank better, or conversed with men of better sense than +there." Poets and authors greeted him in verse, he was "Kind +Richy Spec, the friend to a' distressed," "Dear Spec," and many +stories are told of his doings among these new-found friends. He +paid several later visits to Scotland, but about a year after his +return from this first short visit Steele had a great sorrow. +His wife died. "This is to let you know," he writes to a cousin, +"that my dear and honoured wife departed this life last night." + +And now that his children were motherless, Steele, when he was +away from them, wrote to them, always tender, often funny, +letters. It is Betty, the eldest, he addresses, she is "Dear +Child," "My dear Daughter," "My good Girlie." He bids them be +good and grow like their mother. "I have observed that your +sister," he says in one letter, "has for the first time written +the initial or first letters of her name. Tell her I am highly +delighted to see her subscription in such fair letters. And how +many fine things those two letters stand for when she writes +them. M. S. is Milk and Sugar, Mirth and Safety, Music and +Songs, Meat and Sauce, as well as Molly and Spot, and Mary and +Steele." I think the children must have loved their kind father +who wrote such pretty nonsense to them. + +So with ups and downs the years passed. However much money +Steele got he never seemed to have any, and in spite of all his +carelessness and jovialness, there is something sad in those last +years of his life. He quarreled with, and then for ever lost his +life-long friend, Joseph Addison. His two sons died, and at +length, broken in health, troubled about money, he went to spend +his last days in Carmarthen in Wales. Here we have a last +pleasant picture of him being carried out on a summer's evening +to watch the country lads and lasses dance. And with his own +hand, paralyzed though it was, he would write an order for a new +gown to be given to the best dancer. And here in Carmarthen, in +1729, he died and was buried in the Church of St. Peter. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Essays of Richard Steele, selected and edited by L. E. Steele. +Steele Selections from the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, +edited by Austin Dobson. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXVII POPE--THE "RAPE OF THE LOCK" + +AS you have already guessed by the number of prose writers you +have been reading about, this age, the age of the last Stuarts +and the first Georges, was not a poetic one. It was an age of +art and posturing. It was an age of fierce and passionate party +strife--strife between Whig and Tory which almost amounted to +civil war, but instead of using swords and guns the men who took +part in the strife used pen and ink. They played the game +without any rules of fair play. No weapon was too vile or mean +to be used if by it the enemy might be injured. + +You have often been told that it is rude to make personal +remarks, but the age of Anne was the age of personal remarks, and +they were not considered rude. The more cruel and pointed they +were, the more clever they were thought to be. To be stupid or +ugly are not sins. They ought not to be causes of scorn and +laughter, but in the age of Anne they were accepted as such. And +if the enemy was worsted in the fight he took his revenge by +holding up to ridicule the person of his victor. To raise the +unkind laughter of the world against an enemy was the great thing +to be aimed at. Added to this, too, the age was one of common +sense. All this does not make for poetry, yet in this age there +was one poet, who, although he does not rank among our greatest +poets, was still great, and perhaps had he lived in a less +artificial age he might have been greater still. + +This poet was Alexander Pope, the son of a well-to-do Catholic +linen-draper. He was born in London in 1688, but soon afterwards +his father retired from business, and went to live in a little +village not far from Windsor. + +Alexander was an only son. He had one step-sister, but she was a +good many years older than he, and he seems never to have had any +child companions or real childhood. He must always have been +delicate, yet as a child his face was "round, plump, pretty, and +of a fresh complexion."* He is said, too, to have been very +sweet tempered, but his father and mother spoilt him not a +little, and when he grew up he lost that sweetness of temper. +Yet, unlike many spoilt children, Pope never forgot the reverence +due to father and mother. He repaid their love with love as +warm, and in their old age he tended and cared for them fondly. + +*Spence, Anecdotes. + +As Pope was a delicate boy he got little regular schooling. He +learned to write by copying the printed letters in books, and was +first taught to read by an aunt, and later by a priest, but still +at home. After a time he was at school for a few years, but he +went from one school to another, never staying long at any, and +so never learning much. He says indeed that he unlearned at two +of his schools all that he had learned at another. By the time +he was twelve he was once more at home reading what he liked and +learning what he liked, and he read and studied so greedily that +he made himself ill. + +Pope loved the stories of the Greek and Roman heroes, but he did +not care for the hard work needed to learn to read them in the +original with ease, and contented himself with translations. He +was so fond of these stories that while still a little boy he +made a play from the Iliad which was acted by the boys of one of +his schools. + +Very early Pope began to write poetry. He read a great deal, and +two of his favorite poets were Spenser and Dryden. His great +idea was to become a poet also, and in this his father encouraged +him. Although no poet himself he would set his little son to +make verses upon different subjects. "He was pretty difficult in +being pleased," says Pope's mother, "and used often to send him +back to new turn them; 'These are not good rhymes,' he would +say." + +There is a story told that Pope admired Dryden's poetry so much +that he persuaded a friend to take him one day to London, to the +coffee-house where Dryden used to hold his little court. There +he saw the great man, who spoke to him and gave him a shilling +for some verses he wrote. But the story is a very doubtful one, +as Dryden died when Pope was twelve years old, and for some time +before that he had been too ill to go to coffee-houses. But that +Pope's admiration for Dryden was very sincere and very great we +know, for he chose him as his model. Like Dryden, Pope wrote in +the heroic couplet, and in his hands it became much more neat and +polished than ever it did in the hands of the older poet. + +Pope saw Dryden only once, even if the story is true; but with +another old poet, a dramatist, he struck up a great friendship. +This poet was named Wycherley, but by the time that Pope came to +know him Wycherley had grown old and feeble, all his best work +was done, and people were perhaps beginning to forget him. So he +was pleased with the admiration of the boy poet fifty years +younger than himself, and glad to accept his help. At first this +flattered Pope's vanity, but after a little he quarreled with his +old friend and left him. This was the first of Pope's literary +quarrels, of which he had many. + +Already, as a boy, Pope was becoming known. He had published a +few short poems, and others were handed about in manuscript among +his friends. "That young fellow will either be a madman or make +a very great poet,"* said one man after meeting him when he was +about fourteen. All the praise and attention which Pope received +pleased him much. But he took it only as his due, and his great +ambition was to make people believe that he had been a +wonderfully clever child, and that he had begun to write when he +was very young. He says of himself with something of +pompousness, "I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came." + +*Edmund Smith. + +Pope's keenest desire was to be a poet, and few poets have rushed +so quickly into fame. He received few of the buffets which young +authors have as a rule to bear. Instead, many a kindly helping +hand was stretched out to him by the great men of the day, for +there was much in this young genius to draw out the pity of +others. He was fragile and sickly. As a full grown man he stood +only four feet six inches high. His body was bent and deformed, +and so frail that he had to be strapped in canvas to give him +some support. His fine face was lined by pain, for he suffered +from racking headaches, and indeed his life was one long disease. +Yet in spite of constant pain this little crooked boy, with his +"little, tender, crazy carcass," as Wycherley called it, wrote +the most astonishing poetry in a style which in his own day was +considered the finest that could be written. + +It is not surprising then that his poems were greeted with kindly +wonder, mixed it may be with a little envy. Unhappily Pope saw +only the envy and overlooked the kindliness. Perhaps it was that +his crooked little body had warped the great mind it held, but +certain it is, as Pope grew to manhood his thirst for praise and +glory increased, and with it his distrust and envy of others. +And many of the ways he took to add to his own fame, and take +away from that of others, were mean and tortuous to the last +degree. Deceit and crooked ways seemed necessary to him. It has +been said that he hardly drank tea without a stratagem, and that +he played the politician about cabbages and turnips.* + +*Lady Bolingbroke. + +He begged his own letters back from the friends to whom they were +written. He altered them, changed the dates, and published them. +Then he raised a great outcry pretending that they had been +stolen from him and published without his knowledge. Such ways +led to quarrels and strife while he was alive, and since his +death they have puzzled every one who has tried to write about +him. All his life through he was hardly ever without a literary +quarrel of some sort, some of his poems indeed being called forth +merely by these quarrels. + +But though many of Pope's poems led to quarrels, and some were +written with the desire to provoke them, one of his most famous +poems was, on the other hand, written to bring peace between two +angry families. This poem is called the Rape of the Lock--rape +meaning theft, and the lock not the lock of a door, but a lock of +hair. + +A gay young lord had stolen a lock of a beautiful young lady's +hair, and she was so angry about it that there was a coolness +between the two families. A friend then came to Pope to ask him +if he could not do something to appease the angry lady. So Pope +took up his pen and wrote a mock-heroic poem making friendly fun +of the whole matter. But although Pope's intention was kindly +his success was not complete. The families did not entirely see +the joke, and Pope writes to a friend, "The celebrated lady +herself is offended, and, what is stranger, not at herself, but +me." + +But the poem remains one of the most delightful of airy trifles +in our language. And that it should be so airy is a triumph of +Pope's genius, for it is written in the heroic couplet, one of +the most mechanical forms of English verse. + +Addison called it "a delicious little thing" and the very salt of +wit. + +Another and later writer says of it--"It is the most exquisite +specimen of filigree work ever invented. It is made of gauze and +silver spangles. . . . Airs, languid airs, breathe around, the +atmosphere is perfumed with affectation. A toilet is described +with the solemnity of an altar raised to the goddess of vanity, +and the history of a silver bodkin is given with all the pomp of +heraldry. No pains are spared, no profusion of ornament, no +splendour of poetic diction to set off the meanest things. . . . +It is the perfection of the mock-heroic."* + +*Hazlitt. + +Pope begins the poem by describing Belinda, the heroine, awaking +from sleep. He tells how her guardian sylph brings a morning +dream to warn her of coming danger. In the dream she is told +that all around her unnumbered fairy spirits fly guarding her +from evil-- + + "Of these am I, who thy protection claim, + A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. + Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air, + In the clear mirror of thy ruling star + I saw, alas! some dread event impend, + Ere to the main this morning sun descend. + But heaven reveals not what, or how, or where: + Warned by the sylph, oh pious maid, beware! + This to disclose is all thy guardian can: + Beware of all, but most beware of Man!" + +Then Shock, Belinda's dog, + + "Who thought she slept too long, + Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his tongue." + +So Belinda rises and is dressed. While her maid seems to do the +work, + + "The busy sylphs surround their darling care, + These set the head, and those divide the hair, + Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown' + And Betty's praised for labours not her own." + +Next Belinda set out upon the Thames to go by boat to Hampton +Court, and as she sat in her gayly decorated boat she looked so +beautiful that every eye was turned to gaze upon her-- + + "On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, + Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore." + +She was so beautiful and graceful that it seemed as if she could +have no faults, or-- + + "If to her share some female errors fall, + Look in her face, and you'll forget them all. + This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, + Nourished two locks, which graceful hung behind + In equal curls, and well conspired to deck, + With shining ringlets, the smoothe iv'ry neck. + Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, + And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. + With hairy springes we the birds betray, + Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, + Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare, + And beauty draws us with a single hair." + +The "Adventurous Baron" next appears upon the scene. He, greatly +admiring Belinda's shining locks, longs to possess one, and makes +up his mind that he will. And, as the painted vessel glided down +the Thames, Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay, only Ariel +alone was sad and disturbed, for he felt some evil, he knew not +what, was hanging over his mistress. So he gathered all his +company and bade them watch more warily than before over their +charge. Some must guard the watch, some the fan, "And thou +Crispissa, tend her fav'rite lock," he says. And woe betide that +sprite who shall be careless or neglectful! + + "Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, + His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, + Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins, + Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins, + Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, + Or wedged, whole ages in a bodkin's eye." + +So the watchful sprites flew off to their places-- + + "Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; + Some thrid* the mazy ringlets of her hair, + Some hang upon the pendants of her ear." + + *Slipped through. + +The day went on, Belinda sat down to play cards. After the game +coffee was brought, and "while frequent cups prolong the rich +repast," Belinda unthinkingly gave the Baron a pair of scissors. +Then indeed the hour of fate struck. The Baron standing behind +Belinda found the temptation too great. He opened the scissors +and drew near-- + + "Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, + A thousand wings by turns blow back the hair; + And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear; + Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe drew near." + +But at last "the fatal engine" closed upon the lock. Even to the +last, one wretched sylph struggling to save the lock clung to it. +It was in vain, "Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in +twain." Then, while Belinda cried aloud in anger, the Baron +shouted in triumph and rejoiced over his spoil. + +The poem goes on to tell how Umbriel, a dusky melancholy sprite, +in order to make the quarrel worse, flew off to the witch Spleen, +and returned with a bag full of "sighs, sobs, and passions, and +the war of tongues," "soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing +tears," and emptied it over Belinda's head. She-- + + "Then raging to Sir Plume repairs, + And bids her beau demand the precious hairs. + Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, + And the nice conduct of a clouded case, + With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, + He first the snuff-box opened, then the case." + +Sir Plume, not famous for brains, put on a very bold, determined +air, and fiercely attacked the Baron--"My Lord," he cried, "why, +what! you must return the lock! You must be civil. Plague on +'t! 'tis past a jest--nay prithee, give her the hair." And as he +spoke he tapped his snuff-box daintily. + +But in spite of this valiant champion of fair ladies in distress, +the Baron would not return the lock. So a deadly battle followed +in which the ladies fought against the gentlemen, and in which +the sprites also took part. The weapons were only frowns and +angry glances-- + + "A beau and witling perished in the throng, + One died in metaphor, and one in song. + . . . . . + A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, + 'Those eyes were made so killing,' was his last." + +Belinda, however, at length disarmed the Baron with a pinch of +snuff, and threatened his life with a hair pin. And so the +battle ends. But alas!-- + + "The lock, obtained with guilt and kept with pain, + In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain." + +During the fight it has been caught up to the skies-- + + "A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, + And drew behind a radiant trail of hair." + +Thus, says the poet, Belinda has no longer need to mourn her lost +lock, for it will be famous to the end of time as a bright star +among the stars-- + + "Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravished hair, + Which adds new glory to the starry sphere! + Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, + Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost. + For after all the murders of your eye, + When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; + When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, + And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, + This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, + And midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name." + +When Pope first published this poem there was nothing about +fairies in it. Afterwards he thought of the fairies, but Addison +advised him not to alter the poem, as it was so delightful as it +was. Pope, however, did not take the advice, but added the fairy +part, thereby greatly improving the poem. This caused a quarrel +with Addison, for Pope thought he had given him bad advice +through jealousy. A little later this quarrel was made much +worse. Pope translated and published a version of the Iliad, and +at the same time a friend of Addison did so too. This made Pope +bitterly angry, for he believed that the translation was +Addison's own and that he had published it to injure the sale of +his. From this you see how easily Pope's anger and jealousy were +aroused, and will not wonder that his life was a long record of +quarrels. + +Pope need not have been jealous of Addison's friend, for his own +translation of Homer was a great success, and people soon forgot +the other. He translated not only the Iliad, but with the help +of two lesser poets the Odyssey also. Both poems were done in +the fashionable heroic couplet, and Pope made so much money by +them that he was able to live in comfort ever after. And it is +interesting to remember that Pope was the first poet who was able +to live in comfort entirely on what he made by his writing. + +Pope now took a house at Twickenham, and there he spent many +happy hours planning and laying out his garden, and building a +grotto with shells and stones and bits of looking-glass. The +house has long ago been pulled down and the garden altered, but +the grotto still remains, a sight for the curious. + +It has been said that to write in the heroic couplet "is an art +as mechanical as that of mending a kettle or shoeing a horse, and +may be learned by any human being who has sense enough to learn +anything."* And although this is not all true, it is so far true +that it is almost impossible to tell which books of the Odyssey +were written by Pope, and which by the men who helped him. But, +taken as a whole, the Odyssey is not so good as the Iliad. +Scholars tell us that in neither the one nor the other is the +feeling of the original poetry kept. Pope did not know enough +Greek to enter into the spirit of it, and he worked mostly from +translation. Even had he been able to enter into the true spirit +he would have found it hard to keep that spirit in his +translation, using as he did the artificial heroic couplet. For +Homer's poetry is not artificial, but simple and natural like our +own early poetry. "A pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but you must not +call it Homer," said a friend** when he read it, and his judgment +is still for the most part the judgment of to-day. + +*Macaulay. +**Bentley. + +It was after he had finished the Odyssey that Pope wrote his most +famous satire, called the Dunciad. In this he insulted and held +up to ridicule all stupid or dull authors, all dunces, and all +those whom he considered his enemies. It is very clever, but a +poem full of malice and hatred does not make very pleasant +reading. For most of us, too, the interest it had has vanished, +as many of the people at whom Pope levied his malice are +forgotten, or only remembered because he made them famous by +adding their names to his roll of dunces. But in Pope's own day +the Dunciad called forth cries of anger and revenge from the +victims, and involved the author in still more quarrels. + +Pope wrote many more poems, the chief being the Essay on +Criticism and the Essay on Man. But his translations of Homer +and the Rape of the Lock are those you will like best in the +meantime. As a whole Pope is perhaps not much read now, yet many +of his lines have become household words, and when you come to +read him you will be surprised to find how many familiar +quotations are taken from his poems. Perhaps no one of our poets +except Shakespeare is more quoted. And yet he seldom says +anything which touches the heart. When we enjoy his poetry we +enjoy it with the brain. It gives us pleasure rather as the +glitter of a diamond than as the perfume of a rose. + +In spite of his crooked, sickly little body Pope lived to be +fifty-six, and one evening in May 1744 he died peacefully in his +home at Twickenham, and was buried in the church there, near the +monument which he had put up to the memory of his father and +mother. + +There is so much disagreeable and mean in Pope that we are apt to +lose sight of what was good in him altogether. We have to remind +ourselves that he was a good and affectionate son, and that he +was loving to the friends with whom he did not quarrel. Yet +these can hardly be counted as great merits. Perhaps his +greatest merit is that he kept his independence in an age when +writers fawned upon patrons or accepted bribes from Whig or Tory. +Pope held on his own way, looking for favors neither from one +side nor from the other. And when we think of his frail little +body, this sturdy independence of mind is all the more wonderful. +From Pope we date the beginning of the time when a writer could +live honorable by his pen, and had not need to flatter a patron, +or sell his genius to politics or party. But Pope stood alone in +this independence, and he never had to fight for it. A happy +chance, we might say, made him free. For while his brother +writers all around him were still held in the chains of +patronage, Pope having more money than some did not need to bow +to it, and having less greed than others did not choose to bow to +it, in order to add to his wealth. And in the following chapter +we come to another man who in the next generation fought for +freedom, won it, and thereby helped to free others. This man was +the famous Dr. Samuel Johnson. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Pope's Iliad, edited by A. J. Church. Pope's Odyssey, edited by +A. J. Church. + +NOTE.--As an introduction to Pope's Homer the following books may +be read:-- + +Stories from the Iliad, by Jeanie Lang. Stories from the +Odyssey, by Jeannie Lang. The Children's Iliad, by A. J. Church. +The Children's Odyssey, by A. J. Church. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXVIII JOHNSON--DAYS OF STRUGGLE + +SAMUEL JOHNSON was the son of a country bookseller, and he was +born at Lichfield in 1709. He was a big, strong boy, but he +suffered from a dreadful disease, known then as the King's Evil. +It left scars upon his good-looking face, and nearly robbed him +of his eyesight. In those days people still believed that this +dreadful disease would be cured if the person suffering from it +was touched by a royal hand. So when he was two, little Samuel +was taken to London by his father and mother, and there he was +"touched" by Queen Anne. Samuel had a wonderful memory, and +although he had been so young at the time, all his life after he +kept a kind of awed remembrance of a stately lady who wore a long +black hood and sparkling diamonds. The touch of the Queen's soft +white hand did the poor little sick child no good, and it is +quaint to remember that the great learned doctor thought it might +be because he had been touched by the wrong royal hand. He might +have been cured perhaps had he been taken to Rome and touched by +the hand of a Stuart. For Johnson was a Tory, and all his life +he remained at heart a Jacobite. + +At school Samuel learned easily and read greedily all kinds of +books. He loved poetry most, and read Shakespeare when he was so +young that he was frightened at finding himself alone while +reading about the ghost in Hamlet. Yet he was idle at his tasks +and had not altogether an easy time, for when asked long years +after how he became such a splendid Latin scholar, he replied, +"My master whipt me very well, without that, sir, I should have +done nothing." + +Samuel learned so easily that, though he was idle, he knew more +than any of the other boys. He ruled them too. Three of them +used to come every morning to carry their stout comrade to +school. Johnson mounted on the back of one, and the other two +supported him, one on each side. In winter when he was too lazy +to skate or slide himself they pulled him about on the ice by a +garter tied round his waist. Thus early did Johnson show his +power over his fellows. + +At sixteen Samuel left school, and for two years idled about his +father's shop, reading everything that came in his way. He +devoured books. He did not read them carefully, but quickly, +tearing the heart out of them. He cared for nothing else but +reading, and once when his father was ill and unable to attend to +his bookstall, he asked his son to do it for him. Samuel +refused. But the memory of his disobedience and unkindliness +stayed with him, and more than fifty years after, as an old and +worn man, he stood bare-headed in the wind and rain for an hour +in the market-place, upon the spot where his father's stall had +stood. This he did as a penance for that one act of +disobedience. + +Johnson's father was a bookworm, like his son, rather than a +tradesman. He knew and loved his books, but he made little money +by them. A student himself, he was proud of his studious boy, +and wanted to send him to college. But he was miserably poor and +could not afford it. A well-off friend, however, offered to +help, and so at eighteen Samuel went to Oxford. + +Here he remained three years. Those years were not altogether +happy ones, for Johnson's huge ungainly figure, and shabby, +patched clothes were matters for laughter among his fellow- +students. He became a sloven in his dress. His gown was +tattered and his linen dirty, and his toes showed through his +boots. Yet when some one, meaning no doubt to be kind, placed a +new pair at his door, he kicked them away in anger. He would not +stoop to accept charity. But in spite of his poverty and shabby +clothes, he was a leader at college as he had been at school, and +might often be seen at his college gates with a crowd of young +men round him, "entertaining them with wit and keeping them from +their studies."* + +*Boswell. + +After remaining about three years at college, Johnson left +without taking a degree. Perhaps poverty had something to do +with that. At any rate, with a great deal of strange, unordered +learning and no degree, and with his fortune still to make, +Samuel returned to his poverty-stricken home. There in a few +months the father died, leaving to his son an inheritance of +forty pounds. + +With forty pounds not much is to be done, and Samuel became an +usher, or under-master in a school. He was little fitted to +teach, and the months which followed were to him a torture, and +all his life after he looked back on them with something of +horror. + +After a few months, he left the school where he had been so +unhappy, and went to Birmingham to be near an old schoolfellow. +Here he managed to live somehow, doing odd bits of writing, and +here he met the lady who became his wife. + +Johnson was now twenty-five and a strange-looking figure. He was +tall and lank, and his huge bones seemed to start out of his lean +body. His face was deeply marked with scars, and although he was +very near-sighted, his gray eyes were bright and wild, so wild at +times that they frightened those upon whom they were turned. He +wore his own hair, which was coarse and straight, and in an age +when every man wore a wig this made him look absurd. He had a +trick of making queer gestures with hands and feet. He would +shake his head and roll himself about, and would mutter to +himself until strangers though that he was an idiot. + +And this queer genius fell in love with a widow lady more than +twenty years older than himself. She, we are told, was coarse, +fat, and unlovely, but she was not without brains, for she saw +beneath the strange outside of her young lover. "This is the +most sensible man that I ever saw in my life," she said, after +talking with him. So this strange couple married. "Sir," said +Johnson afterwards, "It was a love-marriage on both sides." And +there can be no doubt that Samuel loved his wife devotedly while +she lived, and treasured her memory tenderly after her death. + +Mrs. Johnson had a little money, and so Samuel returned to his +native town and there opened a school. An advertisement appeared +in the papers, "At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, young +gentlemen are boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages, +by Samuel Johnson." But Johnson was quite unfitted to be a +teacher, and the school did not prosper. "His schoolroom," says +another writer, "must have resembled an ogre's den," and only two +or three boys came to it. Among them was David Garrick, who +afterwards became a famous actor and amused the world by +imitating his friend and old schoolmaster, the great Sam, as well +as his elderly wife. + + +After struggling with his school for more than a year, Johnson +resolved to give it up and go to London, there to seek his +fortune. Leaving his wife at Lichfield, he set off with his +friend and pupil David Garrick, as he afterwards said, "With +twopence halfpenny in my pocket, and thou, Davy, with three +halfpence in thine." + +The days of the later Stuarts and the first of the Georges were +the great days of patronage. When a writer of genius appeared, +noblemen and others, who were powerful and wealthy, were eager to +become his patron, and have his books dedicated to them. So +although the dunces among writers remained terribly poor, almost +every man of genius was sure of a comfortable life. But although +he gained this by his writing, it was not because the people +liked his books, but because one man liked them or was eager to +have his name upon them, and therefore became his patron. The +patron, then, either himself helped his pet writer, or got for +him some government employment. After a time this fashion +ceased, and instead of taking his book to a patron, a writer took +it to a bookseller, and sold it to him for as much money as he +could. And so began the modern way of publishing books. + +But when Johnson came to London to try his fortune as a writer, +it was just the time between. The patron had not quite vanished, +the bookseller had not yet taken his place. Never had writing +been more badly paid, never had it been more difficult to make a +living by it. "The trade of author was at about one of its +lowest ebbs when Johnson embarked on it."* + +*Carlyle. + +Johnson had brought with him to London a tragedy more than half +written, but when he took it to the booksellers they showed no +eagerness to publish it, or indeed anything else that he might +write. Looking at him they saw no genius, but only a huge and +uncouth country youth. One bookseller, seeing his great body, +advised him rather to try his luck as a porter than as a writer. +But, in spite of rebuffs and disappointments, Johnson would not +give in. When he had money enough he lived in mean lodgings, +when he had none, hungry, ragged, and cold, he roamed about the +streets, making friends with other strange, forlorn men of +genius, and sharing their miseries. + +But if Johnson starved he never cringed, and once when a +bookseller spoke rudely to him he knocked him down with one of +his own books. A beggar or not, Johnson demanded the respect due +to a man. At school and college he had dominated his fellows, he +dominated now. But the need of fighting for respect made him +rough. And ever after his manner with friend and foe alike was +rude and brusque. + +The misery of this time was such that long years after Johnson +burst into tears at the memory of it. But it did not conquer +him, he conquered it. He got work to do at last, and became one +of the first newspaper reporters. + +Nowadays, during the debates in Parliament there are numbers of +newspaper reporters who take down all that is said in shorthand, +and who afterwards write out the debates for their various +newspapers. In Johnson's day no such thing had been thought of. +He did not hear the debates, but wrote his accounts of them from +a few notes given to him by some one who had heard them. The +speeches which appeared in the paper were thus really Johnson's, +and had very little resemblance to what had been said in the +House. And being a Tory, Johnson took good care, as he +afterwards confessed, "that the Whig dogs should not have the +best of it." After a time, however, Johnson began to think this +so-called reporting was not quite honest, and gave it up. He +found other literary work to do, and soon, although he was still +poor, he had enough money to make it possible for his wife to +join him in London. + +Among other things he wrote one or two poems and the life of +Richard Savage, a strange, wild genius with whom he had wandered +the streets in the days of his worst poverty. The tragedy called +Irene which Johnson had brought with him to London was at length +after twelve years produced by Garrick, who had by that time +become a famous actor. Johnson had, however, no dramatic genius. +"When Johnson writes tragedy," said Garrick, "'declamation roars +and passion sleeps':* when Shakespeare wrote, he dipped the pen +in his own heart." Garrick did what he could with the play, but +it was a failure, and although Johnson continued to believe that +it was good, he wrote no more tragedies. + +*Garrick is here quoting from one of Johnson's own poems in which +he describes the decline of the drama at the Restoration. + +The story of Irene is one of the fall of Constantinople in 1453. +After Mahomet had taken Constantinople he fell in love with a +fair Greek maiden whose name was Irene. The Sultan begged her to +become a Mohammedan so that he might marry her. To this Irene +consented, but when his soldiers heard of it they were so angry +that they formed a conspiracy to dethrone their ruler. + +Hearing of this Mahomet resolved to make an end of the conspiracy +and rescue his throne from danger. Calling all his nobles +together he bade Irene appear before him. Then catching her by +the hair with one hand and drawing his sword with the other he at +one blow struck off her head. This deed filled all who saw it +with terror and wonder. But turning to his nobles Mahomet cried, +"Now by this, judge if your Emperor is able to bridle his +affections or not." + +It seems as if there were here a story which might be made to +stir our hearts, but Johnson makes it merely dull. In his long +words and fine-sounding sentences we catch no thrill of real +life. The play is artificial and cold, and moves us neither to +wonder nor sorrow. + +Johnson's play was a failure, but by that time he had begun the +great work which was to name him and single him out from the rest +of the world as Dictionary Johnson. To make a complete +dictionary of a language is a tremendous work. Johnson thought +that it would take three years. It took, instead, seven. + +But during these seven years he also wrote other things and +steadily added to his fame. He started a paper after the model +of the Spectator, called the Rambler. This paper was continued +for about two years, Johnson writing all but five of the essays. +After that he wrote many essays in a paper called the Adventurer, +and, later still, for two years he wrote for another paper a +series of articles called the Idler. + +But none of these can we compare with the Spectator. Johnson +never for a moment loses sight of "a grand moral end." There is +in his essays much sound common sense, but they are lumbering and +heavy. We get from them no such picture of the times as we get +from the Spectator, and, although they are not altogether without +humor, it is a humor that not seldom reminds us of the dancing of +an elephant. This is partly because, as Johnson said himself, he +is inclined to "use too big words and too many of them." + +In the days when Johnson wrote, this style was greatly admired, +but now we have come back to thinking that the simplest words are +best, or, at least, that we must suit our words to our subject. +And if we tell a fairy tale (as Johnson once did) we must not use +words of five syllables when words of two will better give the +feeling of the tale. Yet there are many pleasant half-hours to +be spent in dipping here and there into the volumes of the +Rambler or the Idler. I will give you in the next chapter, as a +specimen of Johnson's prose, part of one of the essays from the +Idler. It is the story of a man who sets forth upon a very +ordinary journey and who makes as great a tale of it as he had +been upon a voyage of discovery in some untraveled land. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXIX JOHNSON--THE END OF THE JOURNEY + +"I SUPPED three nights ago with my friend Will Marvel. His +affairs obliged him lately to take a journey into Devonshire, +from which he has just returned. He knows me to be a very +patient hearer, and was glad of my company, as it gave him an +opportunity of disburdening himself, by a minute relation of the +casualties of his expedition. + +"Will is not one of those who go out and return with nothing to +tell. He has a story of his travels, which will strike a home- +bred citizen with horror, and has in ten days suffered so often +the extremes of terror and joy, that he is in doubt whether he +shall ever again expose either his body or his mind to such +danger and fatigue. + +"When he left London the morning was bright, and a fair day was +promised. But Will is born to struggle with difficulties. That +happened to him, which has sometimes, perhaps, happened to +others. Before he had gone more than ten miles, it began to +rain. What course was to be taken? His soul disdained to turn +back. He did what the King of Prussia might have done; he +flapped his hat, buttoned up his cape, and went forwards, +fortifying his mind by the stoical consolation, that whatever is +violent will be short." + +So, with such adventures, the first day passes, and reaching his +inn, after a good supper, Will Marvel goes to bed and sleeps +soundly. But during the night he is wakened "by a shower beating +against his windows with such violence as to threaten the +dissolution of nature." Thus he knows that the next day will +have its troubles. "He joined himself, however, to a company +that was travelling the same way, and came safely to the place of +dinner, though every step of his horse dashed the mud in the +air." + +In the afternoon he went on alone, passing "collections of +water," puddles doubtless, the depth of which it was impossible +to guess, and looking back upon the ride he marvels at his rash +daring. "But what a man undertakes he must perform, and Marvel +hates a coward at his heart. + +"Few that lie warm in their beds think what others undergo, who +have, perhaps, been as tenderly educated, and have as acute +sensations as themselves. My friend was now to lodge the second +night almost fifty miles from home, in a house which he never had +seen before, among people to whom he was totally a stranger, not +knowing whether the next man he should meet would prove good or +bad; but seeing an inn of a good appearance, he rode resolutely +into the yard; and knowing that respect is often paid in +proportion as it is claimed, delivered his injunctions to the +ostler with spirit, and, entering the house, called vigorously +about him. + +"On the third day up rose the sun and Mr. Marvel. His troubles +and dangers were now such as he wishes no other man ever to +encounter." The way was lonely, often for two miles together he +met not a single soul with whom he could speak, and, looking at +the bleak fields and naked trees, he wished himself safe home +again. His only consolation was that he suffered these terrors +of the way alone. Had, for instance, his friend the "Idler" been +there he could have done nothing but lie down and die. + +"At last the sun set and all the horrors of darkness came upon +him. . . . Yet he went forward along a path which he could no +longer see, sometimes rushing suddenly into water, and sometimes +encumbered with stiff clay, ignorant whither he was going, and +uncertain whether his next step might not be the last. + +"In this dismal gloom of nocturnal peregrination his horse +unexpectedly stood still. Marvel had heard many relations of the +instinct of horses, and was in doubt what danger might be at +hand. Sometimes he fancied that he was on the bank of a river +still and deep, and sometimes that a dead body lay across the +track. He sat still awhile to recollect his thoughts; and as he +was about to alight and explore the darkness, out stepped a man +with a lantern, and opened the turnpike. He hired a guide to the +town, arrived in safety, and slept in quiet. + +"The rest of his journey was nothing but danger. He climbed and +descended precipices on which vulgar mortals tremble to look; he +passed marshes like the Serbonian bog,* where armies whole have +sunk; he forded rivers where the current roared like the Egre or +the Severn; or ventured himself on bridges that trembled under +him, from which he looked down on foaming whirlpools, or dreadful +abysses; he wandered over houseless heaths, amidst all the rage +of the elements, with the snow driving in his face, and the +tempest howling in his ears. + +*Lake Serbonis in Egypt. Sand being blown over it by the winds +gave it the appearance of solid ground, whereas it was a bog. + + "A gulf profound as the Serbonian bog. . . . + Where armies whole have sunk." -- MILTON. + +"Such are the colours in which Marvel paints his adventures. He +has accustomed himself to sounding words and hyperbolical images, +till he has lost the power of true description. In a road, +through which the heaviest carriages pass without difficulty, and +the post-boy every day and night goes and returns, he meets with +hardships like those which are endured in Siberian deserts, and +missed nothing of romantic danger but a giant and a dragon. When +his dreadful story is told in proper terms, it is only that the +way was dirty in winter, and that he experienced the common +vicissitudes of rain and sunshine." + +I am afraid you will find a good many "too big" words in that. +But if I changed them to others more simple you would get no idea +of the way in which Johnson wrote, and I hope those you do not +understand you will look up in the dictionary. It will not be +Johnson's own dictionary, however, for that has grown old- +fashioned, and its place has been taken by later ones. For some +of Johnson's meanings were not correct, and when these mistakes +were pointed out to him he was not in the least ashamed. Once a +lady asked him how he came to say that the pastern was the knee +of a horse, and he calmly replied, "Ignorance, madam, pure +ignorance." "Dictionaries are like watches," he said, "the worst +is better than none, and the best cannot be expected to go quite +true." + +With some words, instead of giving the original meaning, he gave +a personal meaning, that is he allowed his own sense of humor, +feelings or politics, to color the meaning. For instance, he +disliked the Scots, so for the meaning of Oats he gave, "A grain +which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland +supports the people." He disliked the Excise duty, so he called +it "A hateful tax levied by wretches hired by those to whom +excise is paid." For this last meaning he came very near being +punished for libel. + +When Johnson thought of beginning the dictionary he wrote about +it to Lord Chesterfield, a great man and fine gentleman of the +day. As the fashion was, Johnson had chosen this great man for +his patron. But Lord Chesterfield, although his vanity was +flattered at the idea of having a book dedicated to him, was too +delicate a fine gentleman to wish to have anything to do with a +man he considered poor. "He throws anywhere but down his +throat," he said, "whatever he means to drink, and mangles what +he means to carve. . . . The utmost I can do for him is to +consider him a respectable Hottentot." So, when Johnson had +called several times and been told that his lordship was not at +home, or had been kept waiting for hours before he was received, +he grew angry, and marched away never to return, vowing that he +had done with patrons for ever. + +The years went on, and Johnson saw nothing of his patron. When, +however, the dictionary was nearly done, Lord Chesterfield let it +be known that he would be pleased to have it dedicated to him. +But Johnson would have none of it. He wrote a letter which was +the "Blast of Doom, proclaiming into the ear of Lord +Chesterfield, and, through him, of the listening world, that +patronage would be no more!"* + +*Carlyle. + +"Seven years, my Lord, have now passed," wrote Johnson, "since I +waited in your outward rooms and was repulsed from your door; +during which time I have been pushing on my work through +difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought +it at last to the verge of publication without one act of +assistance, one word of encouragement, and one smile of favour. +Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. +. . . + +"Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man +struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached the +ground cumbers him with help? The notice which you have been +pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; +but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy +it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, +and do not want it." + +There was an end of patronage so far as Johnson was concerned, +and it was the beginning of the end of it with others. Great Sam +had roared, he had asserted himself, and with the publication of +his dictionary he became "The Great Cham* of literature."** + +*A Tartar word for prince or chief. +**Smollett. + +He had by this time founded a club of literary men which met at +"a famous beef-steak house," and here he lorded it over his +fellows as his bulky namesake had done more than a hundred years +before. In many ways there was a great likeness between these +two. They were both big and stout (for Sam was now stout). They +were loud-voiced and dictatorial. They both drank a great deal, +but Ben, alas, drank wine overmuch, as was common in his day, +while Sam drank endless cups of tea, seventeen or eighteen it +might be at a sitting, indeed he called himself a hardened and +shameless tea-drinker. But, above all, their likeness lies in +the fact that they both dominated the literary men of their +period; they were kings and rulers. They laid down the law and +settled who was great and who little among the writers of the +day. And it was not merely the friends around Johnson who heard +him talk, who listened to his judgments about books and writers. +The world outside listened, too, to what he had to say, and you +will remember that it was he who utterly condemned Macpherson's +pretended poems of Ossian, "that pious three-quarters fraud"* of +which you have already read in chapter IV. + +*A. Lang. + +Johnson had always spent much of his time in taverns, and was now +more than ever free to do so. For while he was still working at +his dictionary he suffered a great grief in the death of his +wife. He had loved her truly and never ceased to mourn her loss. +But though he had lost his wife, he did not remain solitary in +his home, for he opened his doors to a queer collection of waifs +and strays--three women and a man, upon whom he took pity because +no one else would. They were ungrateful and undeserving, and +quarreled constantly among themselves, so that his home could +have been no peaceful spot. "Williams hates everybody," he +writes; "Levett hates Desmoulins and does not love Williams; +Desmoulins hates them both; Poll loves none of them." It does +not sound peaceful or happy. + +Some years after the death of Johnson's wife his mother died at +the age of ninety, and although he had not been with her for many +years, that too was a grief. The poor lady had had very little +to live on, and she left some debts. Johnson himself was still +struggling with poverty. He had no money, so to pay his mother's +few debts, and also the expenses of her funeral, he sat down to +write a story. In a week he had finished Rasselas, Prince of +Abyssinia. + +The story of Rasselas is that of a prince who is shut up in the +Happy Valley until the time shall come for him to ascent the +throne of his father. Everything was done to make life in the +Happy Valley peaceful and joyful, but Rasselas grew weary of it; +to him it became but a prison of pleasure, and at last, with his +favorite sister, he escaped out into the world. The story tells +then of their search for happiness. But perfect happiness they +cannot find, and discovering this, they decide to return to the +Happy Valley. + +There is a vein of sadness throughout the book. It ends as it +were with a big question mark, with a "conclusion in which +nothing is concluded." For the position of the prince and his +sister was unchanged, and they had not found what they sought. +Is it to be found at all? The story is a revelation of Johnson +himself. He never saw life joyously, and at times he had fits of +deep melancholy which he fought against as against a madness. "I +inherited," he said, "a vile melancholy from my father, which has +made me mad all my life, at least not sober," and his long +struggle with poverty helped to deepen this melancholy. + +But a year or two after Rasselas was written, a great change came +in Johnson's life, which gave him comfort and security for the +rest of his days. George III had come to the throne. He thought +that he would like to do something for literature, and offered +Johnson a pension of three hundred pounds a year. + +Johnson was now a man of fifty-four. He was acknowledged as the +greatest man of letters of his day, yet he was still poor. Three +hundred pounds seemed to him wealth, but he hesitated to accept +it. He was an ardent Tory and hated the House of Hanover. In +his dictionary he had called a pension "an allowance made to any +one without an equivalent. In England it is generally understood +to mean pay given to a state hireling for treason to his +country." A pensioner he had said was "A slave of state hired by +a stipend to obey his master." Was he then to become a traitor +to his country and a slave of state? + +But after a little persuasion Johnson yielded, as the pension +would be given to him, he was told, not for anything that he +would do, but for what he had done. "It is true," he said +afterwards, with a smile, "that I cannot now curse the House of +Hanover; nor would it be decent for me to drink King James's +health in the wine that King George gives me money to pay for. +But, sir, I think that the pleasure of cursing the House of +Hanover, and drinking King James's health, are amply overbalanced +by three hundred pounds a year." + +Johnson had always been indolent. It was perhaps only poverty +that had forced him to write, and now that he was comfortably +provided for he became more indolent still. He reproached +himself, made good resolutions, and prayed over this fault, but +still he remained slothful and idle. He would lie abed till two +o'clock, and sit up half the night talking, and an edition of +Shakespeare which he had promised years before got no further on. +An edition of another man's works often means a great deal of +labor in making notes and comments. This is especially so if +hundreds of years have passed since the book was first written +and the language has had time to change, and Johnson felt little +inclined for this labor. But at length he was goaded into +working upon his Shakespeare by some spiteful verses on his +idleness, written by a political enemy, and after long delay it +appeared. + +Just a little before this a young Scotsman named James Boswell +got to know the great man. He worshiped Johnson and spent as +much time with him as he could. It was a strange friendship +which grew up between these two. The great man bullied and +insulted yet loved the little man, and the little man accepted +all the insults gladly, happy to be allowed to be near his hero +on any conditions whatever. He treasured every word that Johnson +spoke and noted his every action. Nothing was too small or +trivial for his loving observation. He asked Johnson questions +and made remarks, foolish or otherwise, in order to draw him out +and make him talk, and afterwards he set down everything in a +notebook. + +And when Johnson was dead Boswell wrote his life. It is one of +the most wonderful lives ever written--perhaps the most +wonderful. And when we have read it we seem to know Johnson as +well as if we had lived with him. We see and know him in all his +greatness and all his littleness, in all his weakness and all his +might. + +It was with Boswell that Johnson made his most famous journey, +his tour to Scotland. For, like his namesake, Ben, he too +visited Scotland. But he traveled in a more comfortable manner, +and his journey was a much longer one, for he went as far as the +Hebrides. It was a wonderful expedition for a man of sixty-four, +especially in those days when there were no trains and little +ease in the way of traveling, and when much of it had to be done +on rough ponies or in open boats. + +On his return Johnson wrote an account of this journey which did +not altogether please some of the Scots. But indeed, although +Johnson did not love the Scots, there is little in his book at +which to take offense. + +Johnson's last work was a series of short lives of some of the +English poets from the seventeenth century onwards. It is +generally looked upon as his best. And although some of the +poets of whom he wrote are almost forgotten, and although we may +think that he was wrong in his criticisms of many of the others, +this is the book of Johnson's which is still most read. For it +must be owned that the great Sam is not much read now, although +he is such an important figure in the history of our literature. +It is as a person that we remember him, not as a writer. He +stamped his personality, as it is called, upon his age. Boswell +caught that personality and preserved it for us, so that, for +generation after generation, Johnson lives as no other character +in English literature lives. Boswell gave a new meaning to the +word biographer, that is the writer of a life, and now when a +great man has had no one to write his life well, we say "He lacks +a Boswell." + +Boswell after a time joined the famous club at which Johnson and +his friends met together and talked. Johnson loved to argue, and +he made a point of always getting the best of an argument. If he +could not do so by reason, he simply roared his opponent down and +silenced him by sheer rudeness. "There is no arguing with +Johnson," said one of his friends, Oliver Goldsmith, "for when +his pistol misses fire he knocks you down with the butt end of +it." And perhaps Goldy, as Johnson called him, had to suffer +more rudeness from him than any of his friends to save Bozzy. +Yet the three were often to be found together, and it was +Goldsmith who said of Johnson, "No man alive has a more tender +heart. He has nothing of the bear but his skin." + +And indeed in Johnson's outward appearance there was much of the +bear. He was a sloven in dress. His clothes were shabby and +thrown on anyhow. "I have no passion for clean linen," he said +himself. At table he made strange noises and ate greedily, yet +in spite of all that, added to his noted temper and rude manners, +men loved him and sought his company more than that of any other +writer of his day, for "within that shaggy exterior of his there +beat a heart warm as a mother's, soft as a little child's."* + +*Carlyle. + +After Johnson received his pension we may look upon him as a +lumbering vessel which has weathered many a strong sea and has +now safely come to port. His life was henceforth easy. He +received honorary degrees, first from Dublin and then from +Oxford, so that he became Dr. Johnson. For two-and-twenty years +he enjoyed his pension, his freedom and his honors; then, in +1784, surrounded by his friends, he died in London, and was +buried in Westminster Abbey. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia. A Journey to the Western Islands +of Scotland. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXX GOLDSMITH--THE VAGABOND + +THE kind of book which is most written and read nowadays is +called a novel. But we have not yet spoken much about this kind +of book for until now there were no novels in our meaning of the +word. There were romances such as Havelok the Dane and Morte +d'Arthur, later still tales such as those of Defoe, and the +modern novel is the outcome of such tales and romances. But it +is usually supposed to be more like real life than a romance. In +a romance we may have giants and fairies, things beyond nature +and above nature. A novel is supposed to tell only of what could +happen, without the help of anything outside everyday life. This +is a kind of writing in which the English have become very +clever, and now, as I said, more novels than any other kinds of +book are written. But only a few of these are good enough to +take a place in our literature, and very many are not worth +reading or remembering at all. + +The first real novel in the modern sense was written by Samuel +Richardson, and published in 1740. Quickly after that there +arose several other novel writers whose books became famous. +These still stand high in the literature of our land, but as +nothing in them would be interesting to you for many years to +come we need not trouble about them now. There is, however, one +novel of this early time which I feel sure you would like, and of +it and its author I shall tell you something. The book I mean is +called The Vicar of Wakefield, and it was written by Oliver +Goldsmith. + +Oliver Goldsmith was born in 1728 in Pallas, a little out-of-the- +way Irish village. His father was a clergyman and farmer, with a +large family and very little money. He was a dear, simple, +kindly man. + + "A man he was to all the country dear, + And passing rich with forty pounds a year." + +Two years after Oliver was born his father moved to Lissoy, +another and better parish. Little Oliver began to learn very +early, but his first teacher thought him stupid: "Never was +there such a dull boy," she said. She managed, however, to teach +him the alphabet, and at six he went to the village school of +Lissoy. Paddy Byrne, the master there, was an old soldier. He +had fought under Marlborough, he had wandered the world seeking +and finding adventures. His head was full of tales of wild +exploits, of battles, of ghosts and fairies too, for he was an +Irishman and knew and loved the Celtic lore. Besides all this he +wrote poetry. + +To his schoolmaster's stories little Oliver listened eagerly. He +listened, too, to the ballads sung by Peggy, the dairymaid, and +to the wild music of the blind harper, Turlogh O'Carolan, the +last Irish minstrel. All these things sank into the heart of the +shy, little, ugly boy who seemed so stupid to his schoolfellows. +He learned to read, and devoured all the romances and tales of +adventure upon which he could lay hands, and in imitation of his +schoolmaster he began to write poetry. + +For three years Oliver remained under the care of his vagabond +teacher. He looked up to him with a kind of awed wonder, and +many years afterwards he drew a picture of him in his poem The +Deserted Village. + + "There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, + The village master taught his little school. + A man severe he was, and stern to view; + I knew him well, and every truant knew: + Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace + The day's disasters in his morning face; + Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee + At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; + Full well the busy whisper circlin round + Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. + Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, + The love he bore to learning was in fault; + The village all declared how much he knew: + 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; + Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, + And ev'n the story ran--that he could gauge: + In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill; + For ev'n though vanquish'd, he could argue still; + While words of learned length and thund'ring sound, + Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; + And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, + That one small head should carry all he knew." + +But after three years of school under wonderful Paddy Byrne, +Goldsmith became very ill with smallpox. He nearly died of it, +and when he grew better he was plainer than ever, for his face +was scarred and pitted by the disease. Goldsmith had been shy +before his illness, and now when people laughed at his pock- +marked face he grew more shy and sensitive still. For the next +seven years he was moved about from school to school, always +looked upon by his fellows as dull of wit, but good at games, and +always in the forefront in mischief. + +At length, when Goldsmith was nearly seventeen, he went to +Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar. As you know, in those days +sizars had to wear a different dress from the commoners. +Oliver's elder brother had gone as a commoner and Oliver had +hoped to do the same. But as his father could not afford the +money he was obliged, much against his will, to go as a sizar. +Indeed had it not been for the kindness of an uncle he could not +have gone to college at all. + +Awkward and shy, keen to feel insults whether intended or not, +Goldsmith hated his position as sizar. He did not like his tutor +either, who was a coarse, rough man, so his life at college was +not altogether happy. He was constantly in want of money, for +when he had any his purse was always open to others. At times +when he was much in need he wrote street ballads for five +shillings each, and would steal out at night to have the joy of +hearing them sung in the street. + +Goldsmith was idle and wild, and at the end of two years he +quarreled with his tutor, sold his books, and ran away to Cork. +He meant to go on board a ship, and sail away for ever from a +land where he had been so unhappy. But he had little money, and +what he had was soon spent, and at last, almost starving, having +lived for three days on a shilling, he turned homewards again. +Peace was made with his tutor, and Goldsmith went back to +college, and stayed there until two years later when he took his +degree. + +His father was now dead and it was necessary for Oliver to earn +his own living. All his family wished him to be a clergyman, but +he "did not deem himself good enough for it." However, he +yielded to their persuasions, and presented himself to his +bishop. But the bishop would not ordain him--why is not known, +but it was said that he was offended with Goldsmith for coming to +be ordained dressed in scarlet breeches. + +After this failure Oliver tried teaching and became a tutor, but +in a very short time he gave that up. Next his uncle, thinking +that he would make a lawyer of him, gave him 50 pounds and sent +him off to London to study law there. Goldsmith lost the money +in Dublin, and came home penniless. Some time after this a +gentleman remarked that he would make an excellent medical man, +and again his uncle gave him money and sent him off to Edinburgh, +this time as a medical student. So he said his last good-by to +home and Ireland and set out. + +In Scotland Goldsmith lived for a year and a half traveling +about, enjoying life, and, it may be, studying. Then, in his +happy-go-lucky way, he decided it would be well to go to Holland +to finish his medical studies there. Off he started with little +money in his pocket, and many debts behind him. After not a few +adventures he arrived at length in Leyden. Here passing a +florist's shop he saw some bulbs which he knew his uncle wanted. +So in he ran to the shop, bought them, and sent them off to +Ireland. The money with which he bought the bulbs was borrowed, +and now he left Leyden to make the tour of Europe burdened +already with debt, with one guinea in his pocket, and one clean +shirt and a flute as his luggage. + +Thus on foot he wandered through Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, +Italy, and France. In the villages he played upon his flute to +pay for his food and his night's lodging. + + "Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, + And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour. + Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days + Have led their children through the mirthful maze, + And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, + Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore."* + + *The Traveller. + +In the towns where no one listened to his flute, and in Italy +where almost every peasant played better than he, he entered the +colleges and disputed. For in those days many of the colleges +and monasteries on the Continent kept certain days for arguments +upon subjects of philosophy "for which, if the champion opposes +with any dexterity, he can gain a gratuity in money, a dinner, +and a bed for one night." + +Thus, from town to town, from village to village, Goldsmith +wandered, until at the end of a year he found himself back among +his countrymen, penniless and alone in London streets. + +Here we have glimpses of him, a sorry figure in rusty black and +tarnished gold, his pockets stuffed with papers, now assisting in +a chemist's shop, now practicing as a doctor among those as poor +as himself, now struggling to get a footing in the realm of +literature, now passing his days miserably as an usher in a +school. At length he gained more or less constant work in +writing magazine articles, reviews, and children's books. By +slow degrees his name became known. He met Johnson and became a +member of his famous club. It is said that the first time those +two great men met Johnson took special care in dressing himself. +He put on a new suit of clothes and a newly powdered wig. When +asked by a friend why he was so particular he replied, "Why, sir, +I hear that Goldsmith is a very great sloven, and justifies his +disregard for cleanliness and decency by quoting my example. I +wish this night to show him a better example." But although +Goldsmith was now beginning to be well known, he still lived in +poor lodgings. He had only one chair, and when a visitor came he +was given the chair while Oliver sat on the window ledge. When +he had money he led an idle, easy life until it was spent. He +was always generous. His hand was always open to help others, +but he often forgot to pay his just debts. At length one day his +landlady, finding he could not pay his rent, arrested him for +debt. + +In great distress Goldsmith wrote to Johnson begging him to come +to his aid. Johnson sent him a guinea, promising to come to him +as soon as possible. When Johnson arrived at Goldsmith's +lodging, "I perceived," he says, "that he had already changed my +guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. +I put the cork into the bottle, desired him to be calm, and began +to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He +then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he +produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merits, told the +landlady I should soon return, and having gone to a bookseller +sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he +discharged his rent, not without rating his landlady in high tone +for having used him so ill." + +The novel which thus set Goldsmith free for the moment was the +famous Vicar of Wakefield. "There are an hundred faults in this +thing," says Goldsmith himself, and if we agree with him there we +also agree with him when he goes on to say, "and an hundred +things might be said to prove them beauties. But it is needless. +A book may be amusing with numerous errors, or it may be very +dull without a single absurdity. The hero of this piece unites +in himself the three greatest characters upon earth: he is a +priest, an husbandman, and the father of a family. He is drawn +as ready to teach, and ready to obey: as simple in affluence, +and majestic in adversity." When we have made the acquaintance +of the Vicar we find ourselves the richer for a lifelong friend. +His gentle dignity, his simple faith, his sly and tender humor, +all make us love him. + +In the Vicar of Wakefield Goldsmith drew for us a picture of +quiet, fireside family life such as no one before, or perhaps +since, has drawn. Yet he himself was a homeless man. Since a +boy of sixteen he had been a wanderer, a lonely vagabond, +dwelling beneath strange roofs. But it was the memory of his +childish days that made it possible for him to write such a book, +and in learning to know and love gentle Dr. Primrose we learn to +know Oliver's father, Charles Goldsmith. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXI GOLDSMITH--"THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD" + +"I CHOSE my wife," says Dr. Primrose in the beginning of the +book, "as she did her wedding gown, not for a fine, glossy +surface, but such qualities as would wear well. To do her +justice, she was a good-natured, notable woman; and as for +breeding, there were few county ladies who could show more. She +could read any English book without much spelling; but for +pickling, preserving, and cooking, none could excel her. She +prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver in +housekeeping; though I could never find that we grew richer with +her contrivances." + +Of his children he says, "Our eldest son was named George, after +his uncle, who left us ten thousand pounds. Our second child, a +girl, I intended to call, after her aunt, Grissel; but my wife, +who had been reading romances, insisted upon her being called +Olivia. In less than another year we had another daughter, and +now I was determined that Grissel should be her name; but a rich +relation taking a fancy to stand god-mother, the girl was by her +direction called Sophia; so that we had two romantic names in the +family; but I solemnly protest I had no hand in it. Moses was +our next; and, after an interval of twelve years, we had two sons +more." These two youngest boys were called Dick and Bill. + +This is the family we learn to know in the "Vicar." When the +story opens Olivia is just eighteen, Sophia seventeen, and they +are both very beautiful girls. At first Dr. Primrose is well off +and lives comfortably in a fine house, but before the story goes +far he loses all his money, and is obliged to go with his family +to a poor living in another part of the country. Here, instead +of their handsome house, they have a tiny four-roomed cottage, +with whitewashed walls and thatched roof, for a home. It is a +very quiet country life which they have now to live, and yet when +you come to read the book you will find that quite a number of +exciting things happen to them. + +The dear doctor soon settles down to his changed life, but his +wife and her beautiful daughters try hard to be as fine as they +were before, and as grand, if not grander, than their neighbors. +This desire leads to not a few of their adventures. Among other +things they decide to have their portraits painted. This is how +Dr. Primrose tells of it: "My wife and daughters happening to +return a visit to neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had +lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the +country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a-head. As +this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of +taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us; +and, notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was +resolved that we should have our pictures done too. + +"Having therefore engaged the limner (for what could I do?) our +next deliberation was, to show the superiority of our taste in +the attitudes. As for our neighbour's family, there were seven +of them; and they were drawn with seven oranges, a thing quite +out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in the world. +We desired to have something in a higher style, and after many +debates, at length came to a unanimous resolution, of being drawn +together, in one large historical familypiece. This would be +cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be +infinitely more genteel; for all families of any taste were now +drawn in the same manner. + +"As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit +us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent +historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, +and the painter was instructed not to be too frugal of his +diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little ones were to +be as cupids by her side; while I in my gown and band, was to +present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia +would be drawn as an amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, +dressed in a green Joseph,* richly laced with gold, and a whip in +her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as +the painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed +out with a hat and white feather. + +*A coat with capes worn by ladies in the eighteenth century for +riding. + +"Our taste so much pleased the Squire that he insisted on being +put in as one of the family, in the character of Alexander the +Great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an +indication of his desire to be introduced into the family; nor +could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to +work; and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less +than four days the whole was completed. The piece was large; and +it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which my wife +gave him great encomiums. + +"We were all perfectly satisfied with his performance; but an +unfortunate circumstance had not occurred until the picture was +finished, which now struck us with dismay. It was so very large, +that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to +disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it +is, we had been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, +instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most +mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was +stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of +the doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it +to Robinson Crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed; another +thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle; some wondered how +it could be got out, but still more were amazed how it ever got +in." + +For the rest of the troubles and adventures of the good Vicar and +his family you must go to the book itself. In the end all comes +right, and we leave the Vicar surrounded by his family with Dick +and Bill sitting on his knee. "I had nothing now this side the +grave to wait for," he says; "all my cares were over; my pleasure +was unspeakable." Even if you do not at first understand all of +this book I think it will repay you to read it, for on almost +every page you will find touches of gentle humor. We feel that +no one but a man of simple childlike heart could have written +such a book, and when we have closed it we feel better and +happier for having read it. + +But delightful though we find the Vicar of Wakefield, the +bookseller who bought it did not think highly enough of it to +publish it at once. Meanwhile Goldsmith published a poem called +The Traveller. His own wanderings on the Continent gave him the +subject for this poem, for Goldsmith, like Milton, put something +of himself into all his best works. The Traveller was such a +success that the bookseller though it worth while to publish the +Vicar of Wakefield. + +Goldsmith was now famous, but he was still poor. He lived in a +miserable garret doing all manner of literary work for bread. +Among the things he wrote was a play called The Good Natured Man. +It was a success, and brought him in 500 pounds. + +Goldsmith now left his garret, took a fine set of rooms, +furnished them grandly, and gave dinner-parties and card-parties +to his friends. These were the days of Goldy's splendor. He no +longer footed it in the great world in rust black and tarnished +gold, but in blue silk breeches, and coat with silken linings and +golden buttons. He dined with great people; he strutted in +innocent vanity, delighted to shine in the world, to see and be +seen, although in Johnson's company he could never really shine. +Sam was a great talker, and it was said Goldsmith "wrote like an +angel and spoke like poor Poll." His friends called him Doctor, +although where he took his medical degree no one knows, and he +certainly had no other degree given to him as an honor as Johnson +had. So Johnson was Dr. major, Goldsmith only Dr. minor. + +But soon these days of wealth were over; soon Goldsmith's money +was all spent, and once again he had to sit down to grinding +work. He wrote many things, but the next great work he published +was another poem, The Deserted Village. + +The Deserted Village, like The Traveller, is written in the +heroic couplet which, since the days of Dryden, had held its +ground as the best form of English poetry. In these poems the +couplet has reached its very highest level, for although his +rimes are smooth and polished Goldsmith has wrought into them +something of tender grace and pathos which sets them above the +diamond-like glitter of Pope's lines. His couplets are +transformed by the Celtic touch. + +The poem tells the story of a village which had once been happy +and flourishing, but which is now quite deserted and fallen to +ruins. The village is thought by some people to have been +Lissoy, where Oliver had lived as a boy, but others think this +cannot be, for they say no Irish village was ever so peaceful and +industrious as Goldsmith pictures his village to have been. But +we must remember that the poet had not seen his home since +childhood, and that he looked back upon it through the golden +haze of memory. It is in this poem that we have the picture of +Oliver's old schoolmaster which I have already given you. Here, +too, we have a picture of the kindly village parson who may be +taken both from Oliver's father and from his brother Henry. +Probably he had his brother most in mind, for Henry Goldsmith had +but lately died, "and I loved him better than most other men," +said the poet sadly in the dedication of this poem-- + + "Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, + And still where many a garden flower grows wild; + There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, + The village preacher's modest mansion rose. + A man he was to all the country dear, + And passing rich with forty pounds a year; + Remote from towns he ran his godly race, + Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place: + Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, + By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; + Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, + More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. + His house was known to all the vagrant train; + He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain: + The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, + Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; + The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, + Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; + The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, + Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away, + Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, + Shoulder'd his crutch, and shoed how fields were won. + Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, + And quite forgot their vices in their woe; + Careless their merits or their faults to scan, + His pity gave ere charity began. + Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, + And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side; + But in his duty prompt, at every call, + He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; + At church, with meek and unaffected grace, + His looks adorn'd the venerable place; + Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, + And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. + The service past, around the pious man, + With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; + Ev'n children followed with endearing wile, + And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. + His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest; + Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest: + To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, + But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. + As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, + Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, + Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, + Eternal sunshine settles on its head." + +Goldsmith's last great work was a comedy named She Stoops to +Conquer. It is said that the idea for this play was given to him +by something which happened to himself when a boy. + +The last time that Goldsmith returned home from school he made +his journey on horseback. The horse was borrowed or hired, but +he had a guinea in his pocket, and he felt very grown up and +grand. He had to spend one night on the way, and as evening came +on he asked a passing stranger to direct him to the best house, +meaning the best in the neighborhood. The stranger happened to +be the village wag, and seeing the schoolboy swagger, and the +manly airs of sixteen, he, in fun, directed him to the squire's +house. There the boy arrived, handed over his horse with a +lordly air to a groom, marched into the house and ordered supper +and a bottle of wine. In the manner of the times in drinking his +wine he invited his landlord to join him as a real grown-up man +might have done. The squire saw the joke and fell in with it, +and not until next morning did the boy discover his mistake. The +comedy founded on this adventure was a great success, and no +wonder, for it bubbles over with fun and laughter. Some day you +will read the play, perhaps too, you may see it acted, for it is +still sometimes acted. In any case it makes very good reading. + +But Goldsmith did not long enjoy the new fame this comedy brought +him. In the spring of 1774, less than a year after it appeared, +the kindly spendthrift author lay dead. He was only forty-five. + +The beginning of Goldsmith's life had been a struggle with +poverty; the end was a struggle with debt. By his writing he +made what was in those days a good deal of money, but he could +not keep it. To give him money was like pouring water into a +sieve. "Is your mind at ease," asked his doctor as he lay dying. +"No, it is not," answered Goldsmith. Those were his last words. + +"Of poor dear Dr. Goldsmith," wrote Johnson, "there is little to +be told more than the papers have made public. He died of a +fever, made, I am afraid, more violent by uneasiness of mind. +His debts began to be heavy, and all his resources were +exhausted. Sir Joshua* is of opinion that he owed not less than +two thousand pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before?" + +*Sir Joshua Reynolds, the famous painter. + +Goldsmith was buried in the graveyard of the Temple church, but +his tomb is unmarked, and where he lies no one knows. His +sorrowing friends, however, placed a tablet to his memory in +Westminster, so that his name at least is recorded upon the roll +of the great dead who lie gathered there. + +BOOK TO READ + +The Vicar of Wakefield (Everyman's Library). + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXII BURNS--THE PLOWMAN POET + + SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, + And never brought to min'? + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And days o' lang syne? + + For auld lang syne, my dear, + For auld lang syne, + We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + We twa hae run about the braes, + And pu'd the gowans fine; + But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, + Sin auld lang syne. + + For auld lang syne, etc. + + We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, + Frae mornin' sun til dine:* + But seas between us braid hae roar'd, + Sin auld lang syne. + + For auld lang syne, etc. + + And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,** + And gie's a hand o' thine; + And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,*** + For auld lang syne. + + For auld lang syne, etc. + + And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,**** + And surely I'll be mine; + And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + For auld lang syne, my dear, + For auld lang syne, + We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + *Dinner. + **Companion. + ***Drink. + ****Measure. + +NO song, perhaps, is so familiar to English-speaking people as +that with which this chapter begins. In the back woods of +Canada, in far Australia, on the wide South African veldt, +wherever English-speaking people meet and gather, they join hands +to sing that song. To the merriest gathering it comes as a +fitting close. It is the hymn of home, of treasured friendships, +and of old memories, just as "God save the King" is the hymn of +loyalty, and yet it is written in Scots, which English tongues +can hardly pronounce, and many words of which to English ears +hardly carry a meaning. But the plaintive melody and the +pathetic force of the rhythm grip the heart. There is no need to +understand every word of this "glad kind greeting"* any more than +there is need to understand what some great musician means by +every note which his violin sings forth. + +*Carlyle. + +The writer of that song was, like Caedmon long ago, a son of the +soil, he, too, was a "heaven-taught ploughman."* + +*Henry Mackenzie. + +While Goldsmith lay a-dying in London, in the breezy Scottish +Lowlands a big rough lad of fifteen called Robert Burns was +following his father's plow by day, poring over Shakespeare, the +Spectator, and Pope's Homer, of nights, not knowing that in years +to come he was to be remembered as our greatest song writer. +Robert was the son of a small farmer. The Burns had been farmer +folk for generations, but William Burns had fallen on evil days. +From his northern home he drifted to Ayrshire, and settled down +in the village of Alloway as a gardener. Here with his own hands +he built himself a mud cottage. It consisted only of a "room" +and a kitchen, whitewashed within and without. In the kitchen +there was a fireplace, a bed, and a small cupboard, and little +else beyond the table and chairs. + +And in this poor cottage, in the wild January weather of 1759, +wee Robert was born. Scarcely a week later, one windy night, a +gable of his frail home was blown in. So fierce was the gale +that it seemed as if the whole wall might fall, so, through the +darkness, and the storm, the baby and his mother were carried to +a neighbor's house. There they remained for a week until their +own cottage was again made fit to live in. It was a rough entry +into the world for the wee lad. + +For some time William Burns went on working as a gardener, then +when Robert was about seven he took a small farm called Mount +Oliphant, and removed there with his wife and family. + +He had a hard struggle to make his farm pay, to feed and clothe +little Robert and his brothers and sisters, who were growing up +fast about him. But, poor though he was, William Burns made up +his mind that his children should be well taught. At six Robert +went daily to school, and when the master was sent away somewhere +else, and the village of Alloway was left without any teacher, +William Burns and four neighbors joined together to pay for one. +But as they could not pay enough to give him a house in which to +live, he used to stay with each family in turn for a few weeks at +a time. + +Robert in those days was a grave-faced, serious, small boy, and +he and his brother Gilbert were the cleverest scholars in the +little school. Chief among their school books was the Bible and +a collection of English prose and verse. It was from the last +that Burns first came to know Addison's works for in this book he +found the "Vision of Mirza" and other Spectator tales, and loved +them. + +Robert had a splendid memory. In school hours he stored his mind +with the grand grave tales of the Bible, and with the stately +English of Addison; out of school hours he listened to the tales +and songs of an old woman who sang to him, or told him stories of +fairies and brownies, of witches and warlocks, of giants, +enchanted towns, dragons, and what not. The first books he read +out of school were a Life of Hannibal, the great Carthagenian +general, and a Life of Wallace, the great Scottish hero; this +last being lent him by the blacksmith. These books excited +little Robert so much that if ever a recruiting sergeant came to +his village, he would strut up and down in raptures after the +drum and bagpipe, and long to be tall enough to be a soldier. +The story of Wallace, too, awoke in his heart a love of Scotland +and all things Scottish, which remained with him his whole life +through. At times he would steal away by himself to read the +brave, sad story, and weep over the hard fate of his hero. And +as he was in the Wallace country he wandered near and far +exploring every spot where his hero might have been. + +After a year of two the second schoolmaster went away as the +other had done. Then all the schooling the Burns children had +was from their father in the long winter evenings after the farm +work for the day was over. + +And so the years went on, the family at Mount Oliphant living a +hard and sparing life. For years they never knew what it was to +have meat for dinner, yet when Robert was thirteen his father +managed to send him and Gilbert week about to a school two or +three miles away. He could not send them both together, for he +could neither afford to pay two fees, nor could he spare both +boys at once, as already the children helped with the farm work. + +At fifteen Robert was his father's chief laborer. He was a very +good plowman, and no one in all the countryside could wield the +scythe or the threshing-flail with so much skill and vigor. He +worked hard, yet he found time to read, borrowing books from +whoever would lend them. Thus, before he was fifteen, he had +read Shakespeare, and Pope, and the Spectator, besides a good +many other books which would seem to most boys of to-day very +dull indeed. But the book he liked best was a collection of +songs. He carried it about with him. "I pored over them," he +says, "driving in my cart, or walking to labour, song by song, +verse by verse." + +Thus the years passed, as Burns himself says, in the "cheerless +gloom of a hermit, with the unceasing toil of a galley-slave." +Then when Robert was about nineteen his father made another move +to the farm of Lochlea, about ten miles off. It was a larger and +better farm, and for three or four years the family lived in +comfort. In one of Burns's own poems, The Cotter's Saturday +Night, we get some idea of the simple home life these kindly God- +fearing peasants led-- + + "November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;* + The short'ning winter-day is near a close; + The miry bests retreating frae the pleugh; + The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose; + The toil-worn Cotter Frae his labour goes, + + This night his weekly moil is at an end, + Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, + Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, + And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. + + *Whistling sound. + + "At length his lonely cot appears in view, + Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; + Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher* through + To meet their dad, wi' flichterin** noise and glee. + His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, + His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, + The lisping infant prattling on his knee, + Does a' his weary carking care beguile, + An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. + + *Stagger. + **To run with outspread arms. + + Belyve,* the elder bairns come drapping in, + At service out, amang the farmers roun'; + Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie** rin + A cannie*** errand to a neebor town: + Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, + In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e + Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, + Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,**** + To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. + + *In a little. + **Carefully. + ***Not difficult. + ****Wages paid in money. + + "With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, + An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers:* + The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd, fleet; + Each tells the uncos** that he sees or hears; + The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; + Anticipation forward points the view. + The mother, wi' her needle and her sheers, + Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new:*** + The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. + + *Asks after. + **Strange things. + ***Makes old clothes look almost as good as new. + . . . . . . . + "The cheerfu' supper done,, wi' serious face, + They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride: + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His layart haffets* wearing thin an' bare; + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, + He wales** a portion with judicious care; + And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. + + *The gray hair on his temples. + **Chooses. + . . . . . . . + "Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; + The youngling cottagers retire to rest: + The parent-pair their secret homage pay, + And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, + That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, + And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, + Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, + For them and for their little ones provide; + But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside." + +As Robert grew to be a man the changes in his somber life were +few. But once he spent a summer on the coast learning how to +measure and survey land. In this he made good progress. "But," +he says, "I made a greater progress in the knowledge of mankind." +For it was a smuggling district. Robert came to know the men who +carried on the unlawful trade, and so was present at many a wild +and riotous scene, and saw men in new lights. He had already +begun to write poetry, now he began to write letters too. He did +not write with the idea alone of giving his friends news of him. +He wrote to improve his power of language. He came across a book +of letters of the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and these he pored +over, eager to make his own style good. + +When Robert was twenty-two he again left home. This time he went +to the little seaport town of Irvine to learn flax dressing. For +on the farm the father and brothers had begun to grow flax, and +it was thought well that one of them should know how to prepare +it for spinning. + +Here Robert got into evil company and trouble. He sinned and +repented and sinned again. We find him writing to his father, +"As for this world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I +am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the +gay. I shall never again be capable of entering into such +scenes." Burns knew himself to be a man of faults. The +knowledge of his own weakness, perhaps, made him kindly to other. +In one of his poems he wrote-- + + "Then gently scan your brother man, + Still gentler sister woman; + Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,* + To step aside is human: + One point must still be greatly dark, + The moving why they do it; + And just as lamely can ye mark + How far perhaps they rue it. + + *A very little wrong. + + "Who made the heart, 'tis He alone + Decidedly can try us: + He knows each chord, its various tone, + Each spring its various bias: + Then at the balance let's be mute, + We never can adjust it; + What's done we partly may compute, + But know not what's resisted." + +Bad fortune, too, followed Burns. The shop in which he was +engaged was set on fire, and he was left "like a true poet, not +worth a sixpence." + +So leaving the troubles and temptations of Irvine behind, he +carried home a smirched name to his father's house. + +Here, too, troubles were gathering. Bad harvests were followed +by money difficulties, and, weighed down with all his cares, +William Burns died. The brothers had already taken another farm +named Mossgiel. Soon after the father's death the whole family +went to live there. + +Robert meant to settle down and be a regular farmer. "Come, go +to, I will be wise," he said. He read farming books and bought a +little diary in which he meant to write down farming notes. But +the farming notes often turned out to be scraps of poetry. + +The next four years of Burns's life were eventful years, for +though he worked hard as he guided the plow or swung the scythe, +he wove songs in his head. And as he followed his trade year in +year out, from summer to winter, from winter to summer, he +learned all the secrets of the earth and sky, of the hedgerow and +the field. + +How everything that was beautiful and tender and helpless in +nature appealed to him we know from his poems. There is the +field mouse--the "wee sleekit,* cow'rin', tim'rous beastie," +whose nest he turned up and destroyed in his November plowing. +"Poor little mouse, I would not hurt you," he says-- + +*Smooth. + + "Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin; + Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!" + +And thou poor mousie art turned out into the cold, bleak, winter +weather!-- + + "But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, + In providing foresight may be vain; + Gang aft agley,* + An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain + For promised joy." + + *Go often wrong. + +It goes to his heart to destroy the early daisies with the plow-- + + + "Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, + Thou's met me in an evil hour; + For I maun crush amang the stoure + Thy slender stem. + To spare thee now is past my pow'r, + Thou bonnie gem. + + "Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, + The bonnie lark, companion meet, + Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, + Wi' spreckl'd breast, + When upward springing, blythe, to greet + The purpling east. + + "Cauld blew the bitter-biting North + Upon thy early, humble birth; + Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth + Amid the storm, + Scarce rear'd above the parent earth + Thy tender form. + + "The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, + High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; + But thou, beneath the random bield* + O' clod or stane, + Adorns the histie stibble-field,** + Unseen, alane. + + "There, in thy scanty mantle cauld, + Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies!" + + *Shelter. + **Bare stubble field. + +Burns wrote love songs too, for he was constantly in love--often +to his discredit, and at length he married Jean Armour, Scots +fashion, by writing a paper saying that they were man and wife +and giving it to her. This was enough in those days to make a +marriage. But Burns had no money; the brothers' farm had not +prospered, and Jean's father, a stern old Scotsman, would have +nothing to say to Robert, who was in his opinion a bad man, and a +wild, unstable, penniless rimester. He made his daughter burn +her "lines," thus in his idea putting an end to the marriage. + +Robert at this was both hurt and angry, and made up his mind to +leave Scotland for ever and never see his wife and children more. +He got a post as overseer on an estate in Jamaica, but money to +pay for his passage he had none. In order to get money some +friends proposed that he should publish his poems. This he did, +and the book was such a success that instead of going to Jamaica +as an unknown exile Burns went to Edinburgh to be entertained, +fêted, and flattered by the greatest men of the day. + +All the fine ladies and gentlemen were eager to see the plowman +poet. The fuss they made over him was enough to turn the head of +a lesser man. But in spite of all the flattery, Burns, though +pleased and glad, remained as simple as before. He moved among +the grand people in their silks and velvets clad in homespun +clothes "like a farmer dressed in his best to dine with the +laird"* as easily as he had moved among his humble friends. He +held himself with that proud independence which later made him +write-- + +*Scott. + + "Is there for honest poverty + That hangs his head, and a' that? + The coward slave, we pass him by, + We dare to be poor for a' that! + For a' that, and a' that, + Our toils obscure, and a' that, + The rank is but the guinea stamp, + The man's the gowd for a' that. + + "What though on hamely fare we dine, + Wear hodden grey, and a' that; + Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, + A man's a man for a' that: + For a' that and a' that, + Their tinsel show, and a' that; + The honest man, though e'er sae poor, + Is king o' men for a' that." + +After spending a brilliant winter in Edinburgh, Burns set off on +several tours through his native land, visiting many of the +places famous in Scottish history. But, as the months went on, +he began to be restless in his seeming idleness. The smiles of +the great world would not keep hunger from the door; he feared +that his fame might be only a nine days' wonder, so he decided to +return to his farming. He took a farm a few miles from Dumfries, +and although since he had been parted from his Jean he had +forgotten her time and again and made love to many another, he +and she were now married, this time in good truth. From now +onward it was that Burns wrote some of his most beautiful songs, +and it is for his songs that we remember him. Some of them are +his own entirely, and some are founded upon old songs that had +been handed on for generations by the people from father to son, +but had never been written down until Burns heard them and saved +them from being forgotten. But in every case he left the song a +far more beautiful thing than he found it. None of them perhaps +is more beautiful than that he now wrote to his Jean-- + + "Of a' the airts* the wind can blaw, + I dearly like the wet, + For there the bonnie lassie lives, + The lassie I lo'e best: + The wild-woods grow and rivers row,** + And mony a hill between; + But day and night my fancy's flight + Is ever wi' my Jean. + + "I see her in the dewy flowers, + I see her sweet and fair: + I hear her in the tunefu' birds, + I hear her charm the air; + There's not a bonnie flower that springs + By fountain, shaw,*** or green, + There's not a bonnie bird that sings + But minds me o' my Jean." + + *Directions. + **Roll. + ***Wood. + +But farming and song-making did not seem to go together, and on +his new farm Burns succeeded little better than on any that he +had tried before. He thought to add to his livelihood by turning +an excise man, that is, an officer whose work is to put down +smuggling, to collect the duty on whisky, and to see that none +upon which duty has not been paid is sold. One of his fine +Edinburgh friends got an appointment for him, and he began his +duties, and it would seem fulfilled them well. But this mode of +life was for Burns a failure. In discharge of his duties he had +to ride hundreds of miles in all kinds of weathers. He became +worn out by the fatigue of it, and it brought him into the +temptation of drinking too much. Things went with him from bad +to worse, and at length he died at the age of thirty-six, worn +out by toil and sin and suffering. + +In many ways his was a misspent life "at once unfinished and a +ruin."* His was the poet's soul bound in the body of clay. He +was an unhappy man, and we cannot but pity him, and yet remember +him with gratitude for the beautiful songs he gave us. In his +own words we may say-- + +*Carlyle. + + "Is there a man, whose judgment clear, + Can others teach the course to steer, + Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, + Wild as the wave? + Here pause--and, through the starting tear, + Survey this grave." + +Burns was a true son of the soil. There is no art in his songs +but only nature. Apart form his melody what strikes us most is +his truth; he sang of what he saw, of what he felt and knew. He +knew the Scottish peasant through and through. Grave and +humorous, simple and cunning, honest and hypocritical, proud and +independent--every phase of him is to be found in Burns's poems. +He knew love too; and in every phase--happy and unhappy, worthy +and unworthy--he sings of it. But it is of love in truth that he +sings. Here we have no more the make-believe of the Elizabethan +age, no longer the stilted measure of the Georgian. The day of +the heroic couplet is done; with Burns we come back to nature. + +BOOK TO READ + +Selected Works of Robert Burns, edited by R. Sutherland. (This +is probably the best selection for juvenile readers.) + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXIII COWPER--"THE TASK" + +WHILE Burns was weaving his wonderful songs among the Lowland +hills of Scotland, another lover of nature was telling of placid +English life, of simple everyday doings, in a quiet little +country town in England. This man was William Cowper. + +Cowper was the son of a clergyman. He was born in 1731 and +became a barrister, but it seemed a profession for which he was +little fitted. He was shy and morbidly religious, and he also +liked literature much better than law. Still he continued his +way of life until, when he was thirty-two, he was offered a post +as Clerk of the Journals of the House of Lords. He wished to +accept the post, but was told he must stand an examination at the +bar of the House of Lords. + +This was more than his nervous sensitive nature could bear. +Rather than face the trial he decided to die. Three times he +tried to kill himself. Three times he failed. Then the darkness +of madness closed in upon him. Religious terrors seized him, and +for many months he suffered agonies of mind. But at length his +tortured brain found rest, and he became once more a sane man. + +Then he made up his mind to leave London, and all the excitements +of a life for which he was not fit, and after a few changes here +and there he settled down to a peaceful life with a clergyman and +his wife, named Unwin. And when after two years Mr. Unwin died, +Cowper still lived with his widow. With her he moved to Olney in +Buckinghamshire. It was here that, together with the curate, +John Newton, Cowper wrote the Olney hymns, many of which are +still well loved to-day. Perhaps one of the best is that +beginning-- + + "God moves in a mysterious way, + His wonders to perform; + He plants His footsteps in the sea, + And rides upon the storm." + +It was written when Cowper felt again the darkness of insanity +closing in upon him. Once again he tried to end his life, but +again the storm passed. + +Cowper was already a man of nearly fifty when these hymns first +appeared. Shortly afterwards he published another volume of +poems in the style of Pope. + +It was after this that Cowper found another friend who brought +some brightness into his life. Lady Austen, a widow, took a +house near Cowper and Mrs. Unwin, and became a third in their +friendship. It was she who told Cowper the story of John Gilpin. +The story tickled his fancy so that he woke in the night with +laughter over it. He decided to make a ballad of the story, and +the next day the ballad was finished. I think I need hardly give +you any quotation here. You all know that-- + + "John Gilpin was a citizen + Of credit and reknown, + A train-band captain eke was he + Of famous London town." + +And you have heard his adventures on the anniversary of his +wedding day. + +John Gilpin was first published in a magazine, and there it was +seen by an actor famous in his day, who took it for a recitation. +It at once became a success, and thousands of copies were sold. + +It was Lady Austen, too, who urged Cowper to his greatest work, +The Task. She wanted him to try blank verse, but he objected +that he had nothing to write about. "You can write upon any +subject," replied Lady Austen, "write upon the sofa." + +So Cowper accepted the task thus set for him, and began to write. +The first book of The Task is called The Sofa, and through all +the six books we follow the course of his simple country life. +It is the epic of simplicity, at once pathetic and playful. Its +tuneful, easy blank verse never rises to the grandeur of +Milton's, yet there are fine passages in it. Though Cowper lived +a retired and uneventful life, the great questions of his day +found an echo in his heart. Canada had been won and the American +States lost when he wrote-- + + "England, with all thy faults, I love thee still-- + My Country! and, while yet a nook is left + Where English minds and manners may be found, + Shall be constrained to love thee. + . . . . . . + Time was when it was praise and boast enough + In every clime, and travel where we might, + That we were born her children; praise enough + To fill the ambition of a private man, + That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, + And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. + Farewell those honours, and farewell with them + The hope of such hereafter! they have fallen + Each in his field of glory: one in arms, + And one in council--Wolfe upon the lap + Of smiling Victory that moment won, + And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame + They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still + Consulting England's happiness at home, + Secured it by an unforgiving frown, + If any wronged her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, + Put so much of his heart into his act, + That his example had a magnet's force, + And all were swift to follow where all loved." + +These lines are from the second book of The Task called The +Timepiece. The third is called The Garden, the fourth The Winter +Evening. There we have the well-known picture of a quiet evening +by the cozy fireside. The post boy has come "with spattered +boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks." He has brought letters +and the newspaper-- + + + "Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, + Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, + And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn + Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, + That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, + So let us welcome peaceful evening in." + +The poem ends with two books called The Winter Morning Walk and +The Winter Walk at Noon. Though not grand, The Task is worth +reading. It is, too, an easily read, and easily understood poem, +and through it all we feel the love of nature, the return to +romance and simplicity. In the last book we see Cowper's love of +animals. There he sings, "If not the virtues, yet the worth, of +brutes." + +Cowper loved animals tenderly and understood them in a wonderful +manner. He tamed some hares and made them famous in his verse. +And when he felt madness coming upon him he often found relief in +his interest in these pets. One of his poems tells how Cowper +scolded his spaniel Beau for killing a little baby bird "not +because you were hungry," says the poet, "but out of +naughtiness." Here is Beau's reply-- + + "Sir, when I flew to seize the bird + In spite of your command, + A louder voice than yours I heard, + And harder to withstand. + + "You cried 'Forbear!;--but in my breast + A mightier cried 'Proceed!'-- + 'Twas nature, sir, whose strong behest + Impelled me to the deed. + + "Yet much as nature I respect, + I ventured once to break + (As you perhaps may recollect) + Her precept for your sake; + + "And when your linnet on a day, + Passing his prison door, + Had fluttered all his strength away + And panting pressed the floor, + + "Well knowing him a sacred thing + Not destined to my tooth, + I only kissed his ruffled wing + And licked the feathers smooth. + + "Let my obedience then excuse + My disobedience now, + Nor some reproof yourself refuse + From your aggrieved Bow-wow; + + "If killing birds be such a crime + (Which I can hardly see), + + What think you, sir, of killing Time + With verse addressed to me?" + +As Cowper's life went on, the terrible lapses into insanity +became more frequent, but his sweet and kindly temper won him +many friends, and he still wrote a great deal. And among the +many things he wrote, his letters to his friends were not the +least interesting. They are among the best letters in our +language. + +Perhaps Cowper's greatest accomplishment, though not his greatest +work, was a translation of Homer. He had never considered Pope's +Homer good, and he wished to leave to the world a better. +Cowper's version was published in 1791, and he fondly believed +that it would take the place of Pope's. But although Cowper's +may be more correct, it is plain and dry, and while Pope's is +still read and remembered, Cowper's is forgotten. + +Indeed, that Cowper is remembered at all is due more to his +shorter poems such as Boadicea and The Wreck of the Royal George, +and chiefly, perhaps, to John Gilpin, which in its own way is a +treasure that we would not be without. Other of his shorter +poems are full of a simple pathos and gentle humor. The last he +wrote was called The Castaway, and the verse with which it ends +describes not unfittingly the close of his own life. For his +mind sank ever deeper into the shadow of madness until he died in +April 1800-- + + "No voice divine the storm allayed, + No light propitious shone; + When, snatched from all effectual aid, + We perished, each alone: + But I beneath a rougher sea, + And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he." + +Cowper was never a power in our literature, but he was a +forerunner, "the forerunner of the great Restoration of our +literature."* And unlike most forerunners he was popular in his +own day. And although it is faint, like the scent of forgotten +rose leaves, his poetry still keeps a charm and sweetness for +those who will look for it. + +*Macaulay. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXIV WORDSWORTH--THE POET OF NATURE + +COWPER was as a straw blown along the path; he had no force in +himself, he showed the direction of the wind. Now we come to one +who was not only a far greater poet, but who was a force in our +literature. This man was William Wordsworth. He was the apostle +of simplicity, the prophet of nature. He sang of the simplest +things, of the common happenings of everyday life, and that too a +simple life. + +His desire was to choose words only which were really used by men +in everyday talk, "and, at the same time, to throw over them a +certain colouring of the imagination." + +He chose to sing of humble life because there men's thoughts and +feelings were more free from art and restraint, there they spoke +a plainer, more forceful language, there they were in touch with +all that was lasting and true in Nature. Here then, you will +say, is the poet for us, the poet who tells of simple things in +simple words, such as we can understand. And yet, perhaps, +strange as it may seem, there is no poet who makes less appeal to +young minds than does Wordsworth. + +In reading poetry, though we may not always understand every word +of it, we want to feel the thrill and glamour of it. And when +Wordsworth remembers his own rules and keeps to them there is no +glamour, and his simplicity is apt to seem to us mere silliness. + +When we are very young we cannot walk alone, and are glad of a +kindly helping hand to guide our footsteps. In learning to read, +as in learning to walk, it is at first well to trust to a guiding +hand. And in learning to read poetry it is at first well to use +selections chosen for us by those wiser than ourselves. Later, +when we can go alone, we take a man's whole work, and choose for +ourselves what we will most love in it. And it is only by making +use of this power of choice that we can really enjoy what is +best. But of all our great writers Wordsworth is perhaps the +last in the reading of whose works we willingly go alone. He is +perhaps the writer who gains most by being read in selections. +Indeed, for some of us there never comes a time when we care to +read his whole works. + +For if we take his whole works, at times we plow through pages of +dry-as-dust argument where there is never a glimmer of that +beauty which makes poetry a joy, till we grow weary of it. Then +suddenly there springs to our eye a line of truest beauty which +sets our senses atingle with delight, and all our labor is more +than paid. And if our great poets were to be judged by single +lines or single stanzas we may safely say that Wordsworth would +be placed high among them. He is so placed, but it is rather by +the love of the few than by the voice of the many. + +I am not trying to make you afraid of reading Wordsworth, I am +only warning you that you must not go to him expecting to gather +flowers. You must go expecting to and willing to dig for gold. +Yet although Wordsworth gives us broad deserts of prose in his +poetry, he himself knew the joy of words in lovely sequence. + +He tells us that when he was ten years old, or less, already his +mind-- + + "With conscious pleasure opened to the charm + Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet + For their own sakes, a passion, and a power; + And phrases pleased me chosen for delight, + For pomp, or love."* + + *Prelude, book v. + +When Wordsworth first published his poems they were received with +scorn, and he was treated with neglect greater even than most +great poets have had to endure. But in time the tide turned and +people came at last to acknowledge that Wordsworth was not only a +poet, but a great one. He showed men a new way of poetry; he +proved to them that nightingale was as poetical a word as +Philomel, that it was possible to speak of the sun and the moon +as the sun and the moon, and not as Phoebus and Diana. Phoebus, +Diana, and Philomel are, with the thoughts they convey, beautiful +in their right places, but so are the sun, moon, and nightingale. + +Wordsworth tried to make men see with new eyes the little +everyday things that they had looked upon week by week and year +by year until they had grown common. He tried to make them see +these things again with "the glory and the freshness of a +dream."* + +*Ode, Intimations of Immortality. + +Wordsworth fought the battle of the simple word, and phrase, and +thought, and won it. And the poets who came after him, and not +the poets only, but the prose writer too, whether they +acknowledged it or not, whether they knew it or now, entered as +by right into the possession of the kingdom which he had won for +them. + +And now let me tell you a little of the life of this nature poet. + +William Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth in Cumberland in 1770. +He was the second son of John Wordsworth, a lawyer, and law agent +for the Earl of Lonsdale. William's mother died when he was +still a very small boy, and he remembered little about her. He +remembered dimly that one day as he was going to church, she +pinned some flowers into his coat. He remembered seeing her once +lying in an easy chair when she was ill, and that was nearly all. + +Before Wordsworth lost his mother he had a happy out-door +childhood. He spent long days playing about in garden and +orchard, or on the banks of the Derwent, with his friends and +brothers and his sister Dorothy. In one of his long poems called +The Prelude, which is a history of his own young life, he tells +of these happy childish hours. In other of his poems he tells of +the love and comradeship that there was between himself and his +sister, though she was two years younger-- + + "Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, + The time, when, in our childish plays, + My sister Emmeline and I + Together chased the butterfly! + + A very hunter did I rush + Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs + I followed on from brake to bush; + But she, God love her! feared to brush + The dust from off its wings."* + + *To a Butterfly. + +Together they spied out the sparrows' nests and watched the tiny +nestlings as they grew, the big rough boy learning much from his +tender-hearted, gentle sister. In after years he said-- + + "She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; + And humble cares, and delicate fears; + A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; + And love, and thought, and joy."* + + *The Sparrow's Nest. + +When the mother died these happy days for brother and sister +together were done, for Willie went to school at Hawkshead with +his brothers, and Dorothy was sent to live with her grandfather +at Penrith. + +But Wordsworth's school-time was happy too. Hawkshead was among +the beautiful lake and mountain scenery that he loved. He had a +great deal of freedom, and out of school hours could take long +rambles, day and night too. When moon and stars were shining he +would wander among the hills until the spirit of the place laid +hold of him, and he says-- + + "I heard among the solitary hills + Low breathings coming after me, and sounds + Of undistinguishable motion, steps + Almost as silent as the turf they trod."* + + *Prelude, book i. + +Wordsworth fished and bird-nested, climbing perilous crags and +slippery rocks to find rare eggs. In summer he and his +companions rowed upon the lake, in winter they skated. + + "And in the frosty season, when the sun + Was set, and visible for many a mile + The cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom, + I heeded not their summons: happy time + It was indeed for all of us--for me + A time of rapture! Clear and loud + The village clock tolled six,--I wheeled about, + Proud and exulting like an untired horse + That cares not for his home. All shod with steel, + We hissed along the polished ice in games. + . . . . . . + We were a noisy crew; the sun in heaven + Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours; + Nor saw a band in happiness and joy + Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod."* + + *Prelude, book i. + +Yet among all this noisy boyish fun and laughter, Wordsworth's +strange, keen love of nature took root and grew. At times he +says-- + + "Even then I felt + Gleams like the flashing of a shield:--the earth + And common face of nature spake to me + Rememberable things."* + + *Prelude, book i. + +He read, too, what he liked, spending many happy hours over +Gulliver's Travels, and the Tale of a Tub, Don Quixote, and the +Arabian Nights. + +While Wordsworth was still at school his father died. His uncles +then took charge of him, and after he left school sent him to +Cambridge. Wordsworth did nothing great at college. He took his +degree without honors, and left Cambridge still undecided what +his career in life was to be. He did not feel himself good +enough for the Church. He did not care for law, but rather liked +the idea of being a soldier. That idea, however, he also gave +up, and for a time he drifted. + +In those days one of the world's great dramas was being enacted. +The French Revolution had begun. With the great struggle the +poet's heart was stirred, his imagination fired. It seemed to +him that a new dawn of freedom and joy and peace was breaking on +the world, and "France lured him forth." He crossed the Channel, +and for two years he lived through all the storm and stress of +the Revolution. He might have ended his life in the fearful +Reign of Terror which was coming on, had not his friends in +England called him home. He left France full of pity, and +sorrow, and disappointment, for no reign of peace had come, and +the desire for Liberty had been swallowed up in the desire for +Empire. + +In spite of his years of travel, in spite of the fact that it was +necessary for him to earn his living, Wordsworth was still +unsettled as to what his work in life was to be, when a friend +dying left him nine hundred pounds. With Wordworth's simple +tastes this sum was enough to live upon for several years, so he +asked his dearly loved sister Dorothy to make her home with him, +and together they settled down to a simple cottage life in +Dorsetshire. It was a happy thing for Wordsworth that he found +such a comrade in his sister. From first to last she was his +friend and helper, cheering and soothing him when need be-- + + "Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang, + The thought of her was like a flash of light, + Or an unseen companionship, a breath + Of fragrance independent of the wind." + +Another poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whom William and Dorothy +Wordsworth now met, calls her "Wordsworth's exquisite sister." +"She is a woman indeed, in mind I mean, and in heart. . . . In +every motion her innocent soul out-beams so brightly that who saw +her would say 'Guilt was a thing impossible with her.'" + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXV WORDSWORTH AND COLERIDGE--THE LAKE POETS + +AFTER Coleridge and Wordsworth once met they soon became fast +friends, and in order to be near Coleridge the Wordsworths moved +to another house near Nether Stowey in Somersetshire. + +Coleridge was two years or more younger than Wordsworth, having +been born in 1772. He was the thirteenth child of his father, +who was a clergyman. As a boy he was sensitive and lonely, +liking better to day-dream by himself than to play with his +fellows. While still a mere child he loved books. Before he was +five he had read the Arabian Nights, and he peopled his day +dreams with giants and genii, slaves and fair princesses. When +he was ten he went to school at Christ's Hospital, the Bluecoat +School. Here he met Charles Lamb, who also became a writer, and +whose Essays and Tales from Shakespeare I hope you will soon +read. + +At school even his fellows saw how clever Coleridge was. He read +greedily and talked with any one who would listen and answer. In +his lonely wanderings about London on "leave days" he was +delighted if he could induce any stray passer-by to talk, +especially, he says, if he was dressed in black. No subject came +amiss to him, religion, philosophy, science, or poetry. From +school Coleridge went to Cambridge, but after a time, getting +into trouble and debt, he ran away and enlisted in a cavalry +regiment under the name of Silas Tomkyn Comberback. + +In a few months, however, he was discovered, and his brothers +bought him out. He then went back to Cambridge, but left again +at the end of the same year without taking a degree. + +Meantime, while on a visit to Oxford, he had met Southey, another +poet who was at this time a student there. + +Robert Southey was born in 1774, and was the son of a Bristol +Linen draper, but he was brought up chiefly by an aunt in Bath. +At fourteen he went to school at Westminster, and later to +Balliol College, Oxford. When Coleridge met him he was just +twenty, and Coleridge twenty-two. Like Wordsworth, they were +both fired with enthusiasm for the French Revolution, and they +soon became friends. + +With some others of like mind they formed a little society, which +they called the Pantisocracy, from Greek words meaning all-equal- +rule. They decided that they should all marry and then emigrate +to the banks of the Susquehanna (chosen, it has been said, +because of its beautiful name), and there form a little Utopia. +Property was to be in common, each man laboring on the land two +hours a day in order to provide food for the company. But the +fine scheme came to nothing, for meanwhile none of the company +had enough money to pay for his passage to the banks of the +beautiful-sounding river. Coleridge and Southey, however, +carried out part of the program. They both married, their wives +being sisters. + +Coleridge, about the same time as he married, published a volume +of poems. But as this did not bring him wealth he then tried +various other ways of making a living. He began a weekly paper +which ceased after a few numbers, he lectured on history, and +preached in various Unitarian chapels. Then after a time he +settled at Nether Stowey, where he was living when he met +Wordsworth. + +The two poets, as has been said, at once became friends, +Coleridge having a deep and whole-hearted admiration for +Wordworth's genius. "I speak with heartfelt sincerity," he says, +"and I think unblinded judgment, when I tell you that I feel a +little man by his side." + +The two friends had many walks and talks together, shaping their +ideas of what poetry should be. They at length decided to +publish a book together to be called Lyrical Ballads. + +In this book there was published the poem which of all that +Coleridge write is the best known, The Ancient Mariner. It tells +how this old old sailor stops a guest who is going to a wedding, +and bids him hear a tale. The wedding guest does not wish to +stay, but the old man holds him with his skinny hand-- + + "He holds him with his glittering eye-- + The Wedding Guest stood still, + And listens like three years' child: + The Mariner hath his will." + +He hath his will, and tells how the ship sailed forth gayly, and +how it met after a time with storms, and cold, and fog, until at +last it was all beset with ice. Then when to the sailors all +hope seemed lost, an albatross came sailing through the fog. +With joy they hailed it, the only living thing in that wilderness +of ice. They fed it with delight-- + + "It ate the food it ne'er had eat, + And round and round it flew: + The ice did split with a thunder-fit; + The helmsman steered us through!" + +Then on they gladly sailed, the albatross following, until one +day the Ancient Mariner, in a mad moment, shot the beautiful +bird. In punishment for this deed terrible disasters fell upon +that ship and its crew. Under a blazing sun, in a hot and slimy +sea filled with creeping, crawling things, they were becalmed-- + + "Day after day, day after day, + We stuck, nor breath nor motion; + As idle as a painted ship + Upon a painted ocean." + +Then plague and death came, and every man died except the guilty +Mariner-- + + "Alone, alone, all, all alone, + Alone on a wide, wide sea; + And never a saint took pity on + My soul in agony. + . . . . . + + "I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; + But or ever a prayer had gush'd, + A wicked whisper came, and made + My heart as dry as dust." + +But one day as the Mariner watched the water snakes, the only +living things in all that dreadful waste, he blessed them +unaware, merely because they were alive. That self-same moment, +he found that he could pray, and the albatross, which his fellows +in their anger had hung about his neck, dropped from it, and fell +like lead into the sea. Then, relieved from his terrible agony +of soul, the Mariner slept, and when he woke he found that the +dreadful drought was over, and that it was raining. Oh, blessed +relief! But more terrors still he had to endure until at last +the ship drifted homeward-- + + "Oh, dream of joy! is this indeed + The lighthouse top I see? + Is this the hill? is this the kirk? + Is this mine own countree? + + "We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, + And I with sobs did pray-- + 'O let me be awake, my God! + Or let me sleep alway.'" + +The shop had indeed reached home, but in the harbor it suddenly +sank like lead. Only the Mariner was saved. + +When once more he came to land, he told his tale to a holy hermit +and was shriven, but ever and anon afterward an agony comes upon +him and forces him to tell the tale again, even as he has just +done to the wedding guest. And thus he ends his story-- + + "He prayeth best, who loveth best + All things both great and small; + For the dear God, who loveth us, + He made and loveth all." + +Then he goes, leaving the wondering wedding guest alone. + + "The Mariner, whose eye is bright, + Whose beard with age is hoar, + Is gone; and now the Wedding Guest + Turned from the Bridegroom's door. + + "He went, like one that hath been stunned, + And is of sense forlorn: + A sadder and a wiser man + He rose the morrow morn." + +Among the poems which Wordsworth wrote for the book of Lyrical +Ballads, was one which every one knows, We are Seven. In +another, called Lines written in Early Spring, he gives as it +were the text of all his nature poems, and his creed, for here he +tells us that he believes that all things in Nature, bird and +flower alike, feel. + + "I heard a thousand blended notes, + While in a grove I sate reclined, + In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts + Bring sad thoughts to the mind. + + "In her fair works did Nature link + The human soul that through me ran; + And much it griev'd my heart to think + What man has made of man. + + "Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, + The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; + And 'tis my faith that every flower + Enjoys the air it breathes. + + "The birds around me hopp'd and play'd, + Their thoughts I cannot measure:-- + But the least motion that they made, + It seemed a thrill of pleasure. + + "The budding twigs spread out their fan, + To catch the breezy air; + And I must think, do all I can, + That there was pleasure there. + + "If this belief from heaven be sent, + If such be Nature's holy plan, + Have I not reason to lament + What man has made of man?" + +The book was not a success. People did not understand The +Ancient Mariner, and they laughed at Wordsworth's simple lyrics, +although the last poem in the book, Tintern Abbey, has since +become famous, and is acknowledged as one of the treasures of our +literature. + +And now, as this new book was not a success, and as he did not +seem able to make enough money as a poet, Coleridge seriously +began to think of becoming a Unitarian preacher altogether. But, +the Wedgwoods, the famous potters, wealthy men with cultured +minds and kindly hearts, offered him one hundred and fifty pounds +a year if he would give himself up to poetry and philosophy. +After some hesitation, Coleridge consented, and that winter he +set off for a visit to Germany with the Wordsworths. + +It was on their return from this visit that Wordsworth again +changed his home and went to live at Dove Cottage, near Grasmere, +in the Lake District, which as a boy he had known and loved. And +here, among the hills, he made his home for the rest of his life. + +The days at Grasmere flowed along peacefully and almost without +an event. Wordsworth published a second volume of lyrical +ballads, and then went on writing and working steadily at his +long poem The Prelude, in which he told the story of his early +life. + +Coleridge soon followed his friend, and settled at Greta Hall, +Keswick, and there was much coming and going between Dove Cottage +and Greta Hall. At Greta Hall there were two houses under one +roof, and soon Southey took the second house and came to live +beside his brother-in-law, Coleridge. And so these three poets, +having thus drifted together, came to be called the Lake Poets, +although Southey's poetry had little in common with that of +either Wordsworth or Coleridge. + +It seemed hardly to break the peaceful flow of life at Dove +Cottage, when, in 1802, Wordsworth married his old playmate and +schoolfellow, Mary Hutchinson. They had known each other all +their lives, and marriage was a natural and lovely ending to +their friendship. Of her Wordsworth wrote-- + + "She was a Phantom of delight + When first she gleamed upon my sight; + A lovely Apparition, sent + To be a moment's ornament; + Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; + Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; + But all things else about her drawn + From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; + A dancing Shape, an Image gay, + to haunt, to startle, and waylay. + + "I saw her upon nearer view, + A Spirit, yet a woman too! + Her household motions light and free, + And steps of virgin-liberty; + A countenance in which did meet + Sweet records, promises as sweet; + A Creature not too bright and good + For human nature's daily food; + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. + + "And now I see with eye serene + The very pulse of the machine; + A Being breathing thoughtful breath, + A Traveller between life and death; + The reason firm, the temperate will, + Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; + A perfect Woman, nobly planned, + To warn, to comfort, and command; + And yet a Spirit still, and bright + With something of angelic light." + +The years passed in quiet fashion, with friendly coming and +goings, with journeys here and there, now to Scotland, now to the +Continent. + +Children were born, friends died, and once or twice the +Wordsworths changed their house until they finally settled at +Rydal Mount, and there the poet remained for the rest of his long +life. And all the time, for more than fifty years, Wordsworth +steadily wrote, but it is not too much to say that all his best +work was done in the twenty years between 1798 and 1818. + +Besides The Prelude, of which we have already spoken, +Wordsworth's other long poems are The Excursion and The White Doe +of Rylstone. The White Doe is a story of the days of Queen +Elizabeth, of the days when England was still in the midst of +religious struggle. There was a rebellion in Yorkshire, in which +the old lord of Rylstone fought vainly if gallantly for the Old +Religion, and he and his sons died the death of rebels. Of all +the family only the gentle Emily remained "doomed to be the last +leaf on a blasted tree." About the country-side she wandered +alone accompanied only by a white doe. In time she, too, died, +then for many years the doe was seen alone. It was often to be +seen in the churchyard during service, and after service it would +go away with the rest of the congregation. + +The Excursion, though a long poem, is only part of what +Wordsworth meant to write. He meant in three books to give his +opinions on Man, Nature, and Society, and the whole was to be +called The Recluse. To this great work The Prelude was to be the +introduction, hence its name. But Wordsworth never finished his +great design and The Excursion remains a fragment. Much of The +Excursion cannot be called poetry at all. Yet, as one of +Wordsworth's great admirers has said: "In deserts of preaching +we find delightful oases of poetry."* There is little action in +The Excursion, and much of it is merely dull descriptions and +conversations. So I would not advise you to read it for a long +time to come. But to try rather to understand some of +Wordworth's shorter poems, although at times their names may seem +less inviting. + +*Morley. + +One of the most beautiful of all his poems Wordsworth calls by +the cumbrous name of Intimations of Immorality from recollections +of Early Childhood. This is his way of saying that when we are +small we are nearer the wonder-world than when we grow up, and +that when we first open our eyes on this world they have not +quite forgotten the wonderful sights they saw in that eternity +whence we came, for the soul has no beginning, therefore no +ending. I will give you here one verse of this poem:-- + + "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: + The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, + Hath had elsewhere its setting, + And cometh from afar; + Not in entire forgetfulness, + And not in utter nakedness, + But trailing clouds of glory do we come + From God, who is our home: + Heaven lies about us in our infancy! + Shades of the prison-house begin to close + Upon the growing Boy, + But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, + He sees it in his joy; + The Youth, who daily further from the east + Must travel , still is Nature's Priest, + And by the vision splendid + Is on his way attended; + At length the Man perceives it die away, + And fade into the light of common day." + +Wordsworth, for the times in which he lived, traveled a good +deal, and in his comings and goings he made many new friends and +met all the great literary men of his day. And by slow degrees +his poetry won its way, and the younger men looked up to him as +to a master. The great, too, came to see in him a power. Since +1813 Southey had been Laureate, and when in 1843 he died, the +honor was given to Wordsworth. He was now an old man of seventy- +three, and although he still wrote a few poems, he wrote nothing +as Laureate, except an ode in honor of the Prince Consort when he +became Chancellor of Cambridge University. Now, as he grew old, +one by one death bade his friends to leave him-- + + "Like clouds that rake the mountain summits, + Or waves that own no curbing hand, + How fast has brother followed brother, + From sunshine to the sunless land! + + "Yet I whose lids from infant slumber + Were earlier raised, remain to hear + A timid voice, that asks in whispers + 'Who next will drop and disappear?'"* + + *Upon the Death of James Hogg. + +At length in 1850, at the age of eighty, he too closed his eyes, +and went "From sunshine to the sunless land." + + "But where will Europe's latter hour + Again find Wordsworth's healing power? + Others will teach us how to dare, + And against fear our breast to steel; + Others will strengthen us to bear-- + But who, ah! who, will make us feel?"* + + *Arnold. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Poems of Wordsworth, selected by C. L. Thomson. Selections, by +Matthew Arnold. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXVI COLERIDGE AND SOUTHEY--SUNSHINE AND SHADOW + +LONG before Wordsworth closed his eyes on this world, Coleridge, +in some ways a greater poet than his friend, had gone to his last +rest. Wordsworth had a happy, loving understanding of the little +things of real life. He had an "exquisite regard for common +things," but his words have seldom the glamour, the something +which we cannot put into words which makes us see beyond things +seen. This Coleridge had. It is not only his magic of words, it +is this trembling touch upon the unknown, the unearthly beauty +and sadness of which he makes us conscious in his poems that +marks him as great. + +And yet all that Coleridge has left us which reaches the very +highest is very little. But as has been said, "No English poet +can be put above Coleridge when only quality and not quantity is +demanded."* Of The Ancient Mariner I have already told you, +although perhaps it is too full of fearsomeness for you to read +yet. Next to it stands Christabel, which is unfinished. It is +too full of mysterious glamour to translate into mere prose, so I +will not try to tell the story, but here are a few lines which +are very often quoted-- + +*Stainsbury. + + "Alas! they had been friends in youth; + But whispering tongues can poison truth; + And Constancy lives in realms above; + And Life is thorny; and Youth is vain; + And to be wroth with one we love, + Doth work like madness in the brain. + And thus it chanced, as I divine, + With Roland and Sir Leoline. + Each spake words of high disdain + And insult to his heart's best brother: + They parted--ne'er to meet again! + But never either found another + To free the hollow heart from paining; + They stood aloof, the scars remaining, + Like cliff's which had been rent asunder; + A dreary sea now flows between;-- + But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, + Shall wholly do away, I ween, + The marks of that which once had been." + +Coleridge's singing time was short. All his best poetry had been +written before he went to live at Keswick. There his health, +which had never been good, gave way. Unhappy in his home, and +racked with bodily pain, he at length began to use opium in order +to find relief. The habit to which he soon became a slave made +shipwreck of his life. He had always been unstable of purpose +and weak of will, never keeping to one course long. He had tried +journalism, he tried lecturing, he planned books which were never +written. His life was a record of beginnings. As each new plan +failed he yielded easily to the temptation of living on his +friends. He had always been restless in mind. He left his home, +and after wanderings now here now there, he at length found a +home in London with kind, understanding friends. Of him here we +have a pathetic picture drawn by another great man.* "The good +man--he was now getting old, towards sixty perhaps, and gave you +the idea of a life that had been full of sufferings; a life +heavy-laden, half-vanquished, still swimming painfully in seas of +manifold physical and other bewilderment. Brow and head were +round and of massive weight, but the face was flabby and +irresolute. The deep eyes, of a light hazel, were as full of +sorrow as of inspiration, confused pain looked mildly from them, +as in a kind of mild astonishment. The whole figure and air, +good and amiable otherwise, might be called flabby and +irresolute, expressive of weakness under possibility of +strength . . . a heavy-laden, high-aspiring, and surely much +suffering man." + +*Carlyle. + +And yet to this broken-down giant men crowded eagerly to hear him +talk. Never, perhaps, since the great Sam had held his court had +such a talker been heard. And although there was no Boswell near +to make these conversations live again, the poet's nephew, Henry +Nelson Coleridge, gathered some of his sayings together into a +book which he called Table Talk. With his good friends Coleridge +spent all his remaining life from 1816 till 1834, when he died. + +Meanwhile his children and his home were left to the care of +others. And when Coleridge threw off his home ties and duties it +was upon Southey that the burden chiefly fell. And Southey, +kindly and generous, loving his own children fondly, loved and +cared for his nephews and nieces too. We cannot regard Southey +as one of our great poets, but when we read his letters, we must +love him as a man. He wrote several long poems, the two best +known perhaps are The Curse of Kehama and Thalaba, the one a +Hindoo, the other a Mahometan story, but he is better remembered +by his short poems, such as The Battle of Blenheim and The +Inchcape Rock. + +For forty years Southey lived at Greta Hall, and from his letters +we get the pleasantest picture of the home-loving, nonsense- +loving "comical papa" who had kept the heart of a boy, even when +his hair grew gray-- + + "A man he is by nature merry, + Somewhat Tom-foolish, and comical very; + Who has gone through the world, not mindful of self, + Upon easy terms, thank Heaven, with himself." + +He loved his books and he loved the little curly-headed children +that gathered about him with pattering feet and chattering +tongues, and never wished to be absent from them. "Oh dear, oh +dear," he says, "there is such a comfort in one's old coat and +old shoes, one's armchair and own fireside, one's own writing- +desk and own library--with a little girl climbing up my neck, and +saying, 'Don't go to London, papa--you must stay with Edith'; and +a little boy, whom I have taught to speak the language of cats, +dogs, cuckoos, and jackasses, etc., before he can articulate a +word of his own; there is such a comfort in all these things, the +transportation to London for four or five weeks seems a heavier +punishment than any sins of mine deserve." + +And so we see him spending long hours, long years, among his +books, hoping for lasting fame from his poems, and meantime +earning with his prose food for hungry little mouths, shoes for +nimble little feet, with just a trifle over for books, and still +more books. For Southey loved books, and his big library was +lined with them. There were thousands there, many in beautiful +bindings, glowing in soft coloring, gleaming with pale gold, for +he loved to clothe his treasures in fitting garments. When a new +box of books comes he rejoices. "I shall be happier," he says, +"than if his Majesty King George IV were to give orders that I +should be clothed in purple, and sleep upon gold, and have a +chain about my neck, and sit next him because of my wisdom and be +called his cousin." + +We think of Southey first as a poet, but it is perhaps as a prose +writer that his fame will last longest, and above all as a +biographer, that is a writer of people's lives. During the busy +years at Greta Hall he wrote about a hundred books, several of +them biographies--among them a life of Nelson, which is one of +the best short lives ever written. Some day I hope you will read +it, both for the sake of Southey's clear, simple style, and for +the sake of the brave man of whom he writes. You might also, I +think, like his lives of Bunyan and Cowper, both of whom you have +heard of in this book. + +Another book which Southey wrote is called The Doctor. This is a +whimsical, rambling jumble, which can hardly be called a story; a +mixture of quotations and original work, of nonsense and earnest. +And in the middle of it what do you think you come upon? Why our +old nursery friend, The Three Bears. Southey trusts that this +book will suit every one, "that the lamb may wade in it, though +the elephant may swim, and also that it will be found 'very +entertaining to the ladies.'" Indeed he flatters himself that it +will be found profitable for "old and young, for men and for +women, the married and the single, the idle and the studious, the +merry and the sad; and that it may sometimes inspire the +thoughtless with thought, and sometimes beguile the careful of +their cares." But if it is to be quite perfect it must have a +chapter for children-- + + "Prick up your ears then, + My good little women and men; + +And ye who are neither so little nor no good, favete linguis,* +for here follows the story of the Three Bears." So there it is. +"One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear; and one was a Middle- +sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear"--and from the +way it is told, I think we may be sure that Uncle Robert or +comical papa often told stories with a circle of eager, bright +faces round him. For he says-- + +*Be silent. + + "And 'twas in my vocation + For their recreation + That so I should sing; + Because I was Laureate + To them and the King." + +As the years went on Southey received other honors besides the +Laureateship. He was offered a baronetcy which he refused. He +wall "ell-ell-deed" by Oxford, as he quaintly puts it in his +letters to his children. And when he tells them about it he +says, "Little girls, you know it might be proper for me now to +wear a large wig, and to be called Doctor Southey and to become +very severe, and leave off being a comical papa . . . . However, +I shall not come home in my wig, neither shall I wear my robes at +home." + +It is sad to think that this kindly heard had to bear the +buffetings of ill fortune. Two of his dearly loved children +died, then he was parted from his wife by worse than death, for +she became insane and remained so until she died. Eight years +later Robert Southey was laid beside her in the churchyard under +the shadow of Skiddaw. "I hope his life will not be forgotten," +says Macaulay, "for it is sublime in its simplicity, its energy, +its honour, its affection. . . . His letter are worth piles of +epics, and are sure to last among us, as long as kind hearts like +to sympathise with goodness and purity and love and upright +life." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Southey: Poems, chosen by E. Dowden. Life of Nelson (Everyman's +Library). +Coleridge: Lyrical Poems, Chosen by A. T. Quiller-Couch. + + + + + +YEAR 10 + + +Chapter LXXVII SCOTT--THE AWAKENING OF ROMANCE + +THE 15th of August 1771 was a lucky day for all the boys and +girls and grown-up people too of the English-speaking race, for +on that day Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh. Literature had +already begun to shake off its fetters of art. Romance had begun +to stir in her long sleep, for six years before sturdy baby +Walter was born, Bishop Percy had published a book called +Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. In this book he had gathered +together many old ballads and songs, such as those of Robin Hood +and Patrick Spens. They had almost been forgotten, and yet they +are poems which stir the heart with their plaintive notes, +telling as they do-- + + "Of old, unhappy, far-off things, + And battles long ago; + Or is it some more humble lay, + Familiar matter of to-day? + Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, + That has been, and may be again!"* + + *Wordsworth. + +Bishop Percy, like a knight of old, laid his lance in rest and +tilted against the prickly briar hedge that had grown up around +the Sleeping Beauty, Romance. But he could not win through and +wake the princess. And although Burns and Wordsworth, Coleridge +and Southey, all knowing it or not, fought on his side, it was +left for another knight to break through the hedge and make us +free of the Enchanted Land. And that knight's name was Walter-- +Sir Walter, too--for, like a true knight, he won his title in the +service of his lady. + +Little Walter's father was a kindly Scots lawyer, but he came of +a good old Border family, "A hardy race who never shrunk from +war."* Among his forbears had been wild moss-troopers and +cattle-reivers, lairds of their own lands, as powerful as kings +in their own countryside. There were stories enough of their +bold and daring deeds to fill many books, so that we feel that +Walter had been born into a heritage of Romance. + +*Leyden. + +Walter was a strong, healthy child, but when he was about +eighteen months old he had an illness which left him lame in his +right leg. Everything was done that could be done to restore the +lost power, and although it was partly regained, Scott walked +with a limp to the end of his days. Meanwhile he had a by no +means unhappy childhood. He spent a great deal of time at the +farm belonging to his grandfather. Little Wat was a winsome +laddie, and the whole household loved him. On fine days he was +carried out and laid down among the crags and rocks, beside an +old shepherd who tended his sheep and little Walter too, telling +him strange tales the while-- + + "Of forayers, who, with headlong force, + Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse, + + Their southern rapine to renew, + Far in the distant Cheviots blue, + And, home returning, fill'd the hall + With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl."* + + *Marmion. + +At other times Walter listened to the stories of his grandmother, +hearing all about the wild doings of his forbears, or the brave +deeds of Bruce and Wallace. He was taken to the seaside, to +Bath, and to London, and at length, grown into a sturdy little +boy, though still lame, he went back to his father's house in +Edinburgh. Here he says he soon felt the change from being a +single indulged brat, to becoming the member of a large family. + +He now went to school, but did not show himself to be very +clever. He was not a dunce, but an "incorrigibly idle imp," and +in spite of his lameness he was better at games than at lessons. +In some ways, owing to his idleness, he was behind his fellows, +on the other hand he had read far more than they. And now he +read everything he could, in season and out of season. Pope's +Homer, Shakespeare, Ossian, and especially Spenser were among his +favorites. Then one happy day he came upon a volume of Percy's +Reliques. All one summer day he read and read, forgetting the +world, forgetting even to be hungry. After that he was for ever +entertaining his schoolfellows with scraps of tragic ballads, and +as soon as he could scrape enough money together, he bought a +copy of the book for himself. + +So the years passed, Walter left school, went to Edinburgh +University, and began to study law. It was at this time, as a +boy of sixteen, that for the first and only time he met Robert +Burns, who had just come to Edinburgh, and was delighted at +receiving a kind word and look from the poet. He still found +time to read a great deal, to ride, and to take long, rambling +walks, for, in spite of his limp, he was a great walker and could +go twenty or thirty miles. Indeed he used to tramp the +countryside so far and so long that his father would say he +feared his son was born to be nothing better than a wandering +peddler. + +After a time it was decided that Walter should be a barrister, +or, as it is called in Scotland, an advocate, and in 1792 he was +called to the Bar. His work as an advocate was at first not very +constant, and it left him plenty of time for long, rambling +excursions or raids, as he used to call them, in different parts +of Scotland and in the north of England. He traveled about, +listening to the ballads of the country folk, gathering tales, +storing his mind with memories of people and places. "He was +making himself a' the time," said a friend who went with him, +"but he didna ken maybe what he was about till years had passed. +At first he thought o' little, I daresay, but the queerness and +the fun." + +It was in an expedition to the English Lakes with his brother and +a friend that Scott met his wife. One day while out riding he +saw a lady also riding. She had raven black hair and deep brown +eyes, which found a way at once to the poet's heart. In true +poet fashion he loved her. That night there was a ball, and +though Walter Scott could not dance, he went to the ball and met +his lady love. She was Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, the +daughter of a Frenchman who had taken refuge in England from the +fury of the Revolution. Walter was able to win his lady's heart, +and before the end of the year had married her and carried her +off to Scotland. + +Two or three years after his marriage, Scott published a book of +Border Ballads. It was the outcome of his wanderings in the +Border country. In it Scott had gathered together many ballads +which he heard from the country folk, but he altered and bettered +them as he thought fit, and among them were new ballads by +himself and some of his friends. + +The book was only a moderate success, but in it we may find the +germ of all Scott's later triumphs. For it was the spirit of +these ballads with which his mind was so full which made it +possible for him to write the Metrical Romances that made him +famous. + +It is now many chapters since we spoke of Metrical Romances. +They were, you remember, the chief literature from the twelfth to +the fifteenth century, which time was also the time of the early +ballads. And now that people had begun again to see the beauty +of ballads, they were ready also to turn again to the simplicity +of Metrical Romances. These rime stories which Scott now began +to write, burst on our Island with the splendor of something new, +and yet it was simply the old-time spirit in which Scott had +steeped himself, which found a new birth--a Renascence. Scott +was a stalwart Border chieftain born out of time. But as another +writer says, instead of harrying cattle and cracking crowns, this +Border chief was appointed to be the song-singer and pleasant +tale-teller to Britain and to Europe. "It was the time for such +a new literature; and this Walter Scott was the man for it."* + +*Carlyle. + + "The mightiest chiefs of British song + Scorn'd not such legends to prolong: + They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, + And mix in Milton's heavenly theme."* + + *Marmion. + +The first of Scott's song stories was called The Lay of the Last +Minstrel. In it he pictures an old minstrel, the last of all his +race, wandering neglected and despised about the countryside. +But at Newark Castle, the seat of the Duchess of Buccleuch, he +receives kindly entertainment. + + "When kindness had his wants supplied, + And the old man was gratified, + Began to rise his minstrel pride: + And he began to talk anon, + Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone, + And of Earl Walter, rest him, God! + A braver ne'er to battle rode; + And how full many a tale he knew, + Of the old warriors of Buccleuch; + And, would the noble Duchess deign + To listen to an old man's strain, + Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, + He though even yet, the sooth to speak, + + That, if she loved the harp to hear, + He could make music to her ear." + +This humble boon was granted. The minstrel was led to the room +of state where sat the noble-hearted Duchess with her ladies, and +there began his lay. You must read The Lay itself to learn about +William of Deloraine, the Goblin Page, the Lady Margaret, and +Lord Canstoun, and all the rest. The meter in which Scott wrote +was taken from Coleridge's Christabel. For, though it was not +yet published, it had long been in manuscript, and Scott had +heard part of it repeated by a friend. + +The Lay of the Last Minstrel was a success. From henceforth +Scott was an author. But he had no need to write for money, as +money came to him in other ways. So none of the struggles of a +rising author fell to his lot. His career was simply a +triumphant march. And good-natured, courteous, happy-hearted +Scott took his triumphs joyously. + +Other poems followed The Lay, the best being Marmion and The Lady +of the Lake. Scott's son-in-law says, "The Lay is, I should say, +generally considered as the most natural and original, Marmion as +the most powerful and splendid, The Lady of the Lake as the most +interesting, romantic, picturesque, and graceful of his great +poems." Fame and money poured in upon Scott, and not upon him +only, but upon Scotland. For the new poet had sung the beauties +of the rugged country so well that hundreds of English flocked to +see it for themselves. Scotland became the fashion, and has +remained so ever since. + +In 1799 Scott had been appointed Sheriff-deputy of Selkirkshire, +and as this obliged him to live part of the year at least in the +district, he rented a house not far from Selkirk. But now that +he saw himself becoming wealthy, he bought an estate in his +beloved Border country and began to build the house of +Abbotsford. To this house he and his family removed in May 1812. +Here, amid the noise of carpenters and masons, with only one room +fit to sit in, and that shared by chattering children, he went on +with his work. To a friend he writes, "As for the house and the +poem, there are twelve masons hammering at the one, and one poor +noddle at the other--so they are both in progress." + +It was at Abbotsford that Scott made his home for the rest of his +life. Here he put off the gown and wig of a barrister, and +played the part of a country gentleman. He rode about +accompanied by his children and his friends, and followed by his +dogs. He fished, and walked, and learned to know every one +around, high and low. He was beloved by all the countryside, for +he was kindly and courteous to all, and was "aye the gentleman." +He would sit and talk with a poor man in his cottage, listening +to his tales of long ago, with the same ease and friendliness as +he would entertain the great in his own beautiful house. And +that house was always thronged with visitors, invited and +uninvited, with friends who came out of love of the genial host, +with strangers who came out of curiosity to see the great +novelist. For great as Scott's fame as a poet, it was nothing to +the fame he earned as a story-teller. + +The first story he published was called Waverley, or 'Tis Sixty +Years Since. He had begun to write this tale years before, but +had put it aside as some of his friends did not think well of it. +One day he came upon the manuscript by accident, thought himself +that the story was worth something, and resolved to publish it. +Finishing the writing in three weeks he published the novel +without putting his name upon the title-page. He did this, he +said, because he thought it was not quite dignified for a grave +advocate and Sheriff of the county to write novels. The book was +a wild success, everybody read it, everybody was eager to know +who the author was. Many people guessed that it was Scott, but, +for more than ten years, he would not own it. At public dinners +when the health of the author of Waverley was drunk, people would +look meaningly at Scott, but he would appear quite unconcerned, +and drink the health and cheer with the rest. To keep the +mystery up he even reviewed his own books. And so curiosity +grew. Who was this Great Unknown, this Wizard of the North? + +Waverley is a story of the Jacobite times, of the rebellion of +'45. The hero, Edward Waverley, who is no such great hero +either, his author calling him indeed "a sneaking piece of +imbecility," gives his name to the book. He meets Bonnie Prince +Charlie, is present at the famous ball at Holyrood, fights at the +battle of Prestonpans, and marches with the rebel army into +England. + +Thus we have the beginning of the historical novel. Scott takes +real people, and real incidents, and with them he interweaves the +story of the fortunes of make-believe people and make-believe +incidents. Scott does not always keep quite strictly to fact. +He is of the same mind as the old poet Davenant who thought it +folly to take away the liberty of a poet and fetter his feet in +the shackles of an historian. Why, he asked, should a poet not +make and mend a story and frame it more delightfully, merely +because austere historians have entered into a bond to truth. So +Scott takes liberties with history, but he always gives us the +spirit of the times of which he writes. Thus in one sense he is +true to history. And perhaps from Waverley we get the better +idea of the state of Scotland, at the time of the last Jacobite +rebellion, than from any number of histories. In the next +chapter Scott himself shall give you an account of the battle of +Prestonpans. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXVIII SCOTT--"THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH" + +"THE army, moving by its right from off the ground on which they +had rested, soon entered the path through the morass, conducting +their march with astonishing silence and great rapidity. The +mist had not risen to the higher grounds, so that for some time +they had the advantage of starlight. But this was lost as the +stars faded before approaching day, and the head of the marching +column, continuing its descent, plunged as it were into the heavy +ocean of fog, which rolled its white waves over the whole plain, +and over the sea by which it was bounded. Some difficulties were +now to be encountered, inseparable from darkness, a narrow, +broken, and marshy path, and the necessity of preserving union in +the march. These, however, were less inconvenient to +Highlanders, from their habits of life, than they would have been +to any other troops, and they continued a steady and swift +movement. + . . . . . . . . . . + . . +"The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, which had +lately borne a large crop of corn. But the harvest was gathered +in, and the expanse was unbroken by trees, bush, or interruption +of any kind. The rest of the army were following fast, when they +heard the drums of the enemy beat the general. Surprise, +however, had made no part of their plan, so they were not +disconcerted by this intimation that the foe was upon his guard +and prepared to receive them. It only hastened their +dispositions for the combat, which were very simple. + . . . . . . . . . . + . . +"'Down with your plaid, Waverley,' cried Fergus, throwing off his +own; 'we'll win silks for our tartans before the sun is above the +sea.' + +"The clansmen on every side stripped their plaids, prepared their +arms, and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during +which the men, pulling off their bonnets, raised their faces to +heaven, and uttered a short prayer; then pulled their bonnets +over their brows and began to move forward at first slowly. +Waverley felt his heart at that moment throb as it would have +burst his bosom. It was not fear, it was not ardour--it was a +compound of both, a new and deeply energetic impulse, that with +its first emotion chilled and astounded, then fevered and +maddened his mind. The sounds around him combined to exalt his +enthusiasm; the pipes played, and the clans rushed forward, each +in its own dark column. As they advanced they mended their pace, +and the muttering sounds of the men to each other began to swell +into a wild cry. At this moment, the sun, which was not risen +above the horizon, dispelled the mist. The vapours rose like a +curtain, and showed the two armies in the act of closing. The +line of the regulars was formed directly fronting the attack of +the Highlanders; it glittered with the appointments of a complete +army, and was flanked by cavalry and artillery. But the sight +impressed no terror on the assailants. + +"'Forward, sons of Ivor,' cried their chief, 'or the Camerons +will draw the first blood!' They rushed on with a tremendous +yell. + +"The rest is well known. The horses, who were commanded to +charge the advancing Highlanders in the flank, received an +irregular fire from their fusees as they ran on, and, seized +with a disgraceful panic, wavered, halted, disbanded, and +galloped from the field. The artillerymen, deserted by the +cavalry, fled after discharging their pieces, and the +Highlanders, who dropped their guns when fired, and drew their +broadswords, rushed with headlong fury against the infantry. + . . . . . . . . . . + . . +"The English infantry, trained in the wars in Flanders, stood +their ground with great courage. But their extended files were +pierced and broken in many places by the close masses of the +clans; and in the personal struggle which ensued, the nature of +the Highlanders' weapons, and their extraordinary fierceness and +activity, gave them a decided superiority over those who had been +accustomed to trust much to their array and discipline, and felt +that the one was broken and the other useless. + . . . . . . . . . . + . . +"Loud shouts now echoed over the whole field. The battle was +fought and won, and the whole baggage, artillery, and military +stores of the regular army remained a possession of the victors. +Never was a victory more complete." + +Such is Scott's picture of the battle of Prestonpans. And +throughout the whole book we have wonderful pictures of Scottish +life as it then was--pictures of robbers' caves, and chieftains' +halls, of the chiefs themselves, and their followers, of +mountain, loch, and glen, all drawn with such a true and living +touch that we cannot forget them. + +After Waverley other novels followed fast, each one adding to the +reputation of the unknown author, and now, from the name of the +first, we call them all the Waverley Novels. + +Scott's was one of the most wonderful successes--perhaps the most +wonderful--that has ever been known in our literature. "As long +as Sir Walter Scott wrote poetry," said a friend, "there was +neither man nor woman ever thought of either reading or writing +anything but poetry. But the instant that he gave over writing +poetry, there was neither man nor woman ever read it more! All +turned to tales and novels."* + +*James Hogg. + +Everybody read The Novels, from the King to the shepherd. +Friends, money, and fame came tumbling in upon the author. He +had refused to be made Poet Laureate, and passed the honor on to +Southey, but he accepted a baronetcy. He added wing after wing +to his beautiful house, and acre after acre to his land, and +rejoiced in being laird of Abbotsford. + +The speed with which Scott wrote was marvelous. His house was +always full of visitors, yet he always had time to entertain +them. He was never known to refuse to see a friend, gentle or +simple, and was courteous even to the bores who daily invaded his +home. He had unbounded energy. He rose early in the morning, +and before the rest of the family was astir had finished more +than half of his daily task of writing. Thus by twelve o'clock +he was free to entertain his guests. + +If ever man was happy and successful, Scott seemed to be that +man. But suddenly all his fair prospects were darkened over. +Sir Walter was in some degree a partner in the business both of +his publisher and his printer. Now both publisher and printer +failed, and Scott found himself ruined with them. At fifty-five +he was not only a ruined man, but loaded with a terrible debt of +117,000 pounds. + +It was a staggering blow, and most men would have been utterly +crushed by it. Not so Scott. He was proud, proud of his old +name and of his new-founded baronial hall. He was stout of heart +too. At fifty-five he began life again, determined with his pen +to wipe out the debt. Many were the hands stretched out to help +him; rich men offered their thousands, poor men their scanty +savings, but Scott refused help from both rich and poor. His own +hand must wipe out the debt, he said. Time was all he asked. So +with splendid courage and determination, the like of which has +perhaps never been known, he set to work. + +But evil days had begun for Sir Walter. Scarcely four months +after the crash, his wife died, and so he lost a companion of +nearly thirty years. "I think my heart will break," he cries in +the first bitterness of sorrow. "Lonely, aged, deprived of my +family, an impoverished, an embarrassed man." But dogged courage +comes to him again. "Well, that is over, and if it cannot be +forgotten must be remembered with patience." So day after day he +bent to his work. Every morning saw his appointed task done. +Besides novels and articles he wrote a History of Napoleon, a +marvelous book, considering it was written in eighteen months. + +Then Scott began the book which will be the first of all his +books to interest you, The Tales of a Grandfather. This is a +history of Scotland, and it was written for his grandson John +Hugh Lockhard, or Hugh Littlejohn as he is called in The Tales. +"I will make," said Scott, "if possible, a book that a child +shall understand, yet a man shall feel some temptation to peruse +should he chance to take it up." + +Hugh Littlejohn was a delicate boy, indeed he had not long to +live, but many a happy day he spent, this summer (1827), riding +about the woods of Abbotsford with his kind grandfather, +listening to the tales he told. For Scott, too, the rides were a +joy, and helped to make him forget his troubles. When he had +told his tale in such a simple way that Littlejohn understood, he +returned home and wrote it down. + +In the December of the same year the first part of The Tales was +published, and at once was a tremendous success, a success as +great almost as any of the novels. Hugh Littlejohn liked The +Tales too. "Dear Grandpapa," he writes, "I thank you for the +books. I like my own picture and the Scottish chief: I am going +to read them as fast as I can." + +Two more volumes of Tales followed. Then there was no need to +write more for the dearly loved grandson, as a year or two later, +when he was only eleven, poor Littlejohn died. But already the +kind grandfather was near his end also, the tremendous effort +which he made to force himself to work beyond his strength could +not be kept up. His health broke down under it. Still he +struggled on, but at last, yielding to his friends' entreaties, +he went to Italy in search of health and strength. It gives us +some idea of the high place Sir Walter had won for himself in the +hearts of the people, when we learn that his health seemed a +national concern, and that a warship was sent to take him on his +journey. But the journey was of no avail. Among the great hills +and blue lakes of Italy Scott longed for the lesser hills and +grayer lochs of Scotland. So he turned homewards. And at home, +in his beloved Abbotsford, in the still splendor of an autumn +day, with the meadow-scented air he loved fanning his face, and +the sound of rippling Tweed in his ears, he closed his eyes for +ever. In the grass-grown ruin of Dryburgh Abbey, not far from +his home, he was laid to rest, while the whole countryside +mourned Sir Walter. + +Before he died Scott had paid 70,000 pounds of his debt, an +enormous sum for one man to make by his pen in six years. He +died in the happy belief that all was paid, as indeed it all was. +For after the author's death, his books still brought in a great +deal of money, so that in fifteen years the debt was wiped out. + +I have not told you any of Scott's stories here, because, unlike +many of the books we have spoken of, they are easily to be had. +And the time will soon come, if it has not come already, when you +can read Sir Walter's books, just as he wrote them. It is best, +I think, that you should read them so, for Sir Walter Scott is +perhaps the first of all our great writers nearly the whole of +whose books a child can read without help. You will find many +long descriptions in them, but do not let them frighten you. You +need not read them all the first time, and very likely you will +want to read them the second time. + +But perhaps before you read his novels you will like to read his +Metrical Romances. For when we are children--big children +perhaps, but still children--is the time to read them. Long ago +in the twelfth century, when the people of England were simple +and unlearned, they loved Metrical Romances, and we when we are +simple and unlearned may love them too. Many of these old +romances, however, are hard to get, and they are written in a +language hard for many of us to understand. But Sir Walter +Scott, in the nineteenth century, has recreated for us all the +charm of those old tales. For this then, let us thank and +remember him. + + "His legendary song could tell + Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; + Of feuds, whose memory was not; + Of forests, now laid waste and bare; + Of towers, which harbour now the hare; + Of manners, long since chang'd and gone; + Of chiefs, who under their grey stone + So long had slept, that fickle Fame + Had blotted from her rolls their name, + And twin'd round some new minion's head + The fading wreath for which they bled."* + + *Lay of the Last Minstrel. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXIX BYRON--"CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE" + +WHEN Sir Walter Scott ceased to write Metrical Romances, he said +it was because Byron had beaten him. But the metrical romances +of these two poets are widely different. With Sir Walter we are +up among the hills, out on the wide moorland. With him we tramp +the heather, and ford the rushing streams; his poems are full of +healthy, generous life. With Byron we seem rather to be in the +close air of a theater. His poems do not tell of a rough and +vigorous life, but of luxury and softness; of tyrants and slaves, +of beautiful houris and dreadful villains. And in the villains +we always seem to see Byron himself, who tries to impress us with +the fact that he is indeed a very "bold, bad man." In his poetry +there is something artificial, which takes us backward to the +time of Pope, rather than forward with the nature poets. + +The boyhood of George Gordon Byron was a sad one. He came of an +ancient and noble family, but one which in its later generations +had become feeble almost to madness. His father, who was called +Mad Jack, was wild and worthless, his mother was a wealthy woman, +but weak and passionate, and in a short time after her marriage +her husband spent nearly all her money. Mrs. Byron then took her +little baby and went to live quietly in Aberdeen on what was left +of her fortune. + +She was a weak and passionate woman, and sometimes she petted and +spoiled her little boy, sometimes she treated him cruelly, +calling him "a lame brat," than which nothing could hurt him +more, for poor little George was born lame, and all his life long +he felt sore and angry about it. To him too had been given the +passionate temper of both father and mother, and when he was +angry he would fall into "silent rages," bite pieces out of +saucers, or tear his pinafores to bits. + +Meanwhile, while in Aberdeen Mrs. Byron struggled to live on 130 +pounds a year, in Newstead Abbey, near Nottingham, there lived a +queer, half-mad, old grand-uncle, who had earned for himself the +name of "the wicked lord." He knew well enough that when he died +the little boy in Aberdeen, with the pretty face and lame foot, +would become Lord Byron. He might have taken some interest in his +nephew, and seen at least that he was sent to school, and given +an education to fit him for his future place in the world. But +that was not "the wicked lord's" way. He paid no attention to +the little boy in Aberdeen. Indeed, it is said that he hated +him, and that he cut down his trees and despoiled Newstead as +much as he could, in order to leave his heir as poor a heritage +as possible. + +But when George was ten this old uncle died. Then mother and son +said good-by to Aberdeen, and at length traveled southwards to +take possession of their great house and broad lands. But the +heritage was not so great as at first sight would appear, for the +house was so ruinous that it was scarcely fit to live in, and the +wicked lord had sold some of the land. However, as the sale was +unlawful, after much trouble the land was recovered. + +Byron had now to take his place among boys of his own class, and +when he was thirteen he was sent to school at Harrow. But he +hated school. He was shy as "a wild mountain colt" and somewhat +snobbish, and at first was most unpopular. + +As he says himself, however, he "fought his way very fairly" and +he formed some friendships, passionately, as he did everything. +In spite of his lameness, he was good at sports, especially at +swimming. He was brave, and even if his snobbishness earned for +him the nickname of the "Old English Baron," his comrades admired +his spirit, and in the end, instead of being unpopular, he led-- +often to mischief. "I was," he says, "always cricketing-- +rebelling--fighting, rowing (from row, not boat-rowing, a +different practice), and in all manner of mischiefs." Yet, wild +though he was, of his headmaster he ever kept a kindly +remembrance. "Dr. Drury," he says, "whom I plagued sufficiently +too, was the best, the kindest friend I ever had." + +Byron hated Harrow until his last year and a half there; then he +liked it. And when he knew he must leave and go to Cambridge, he +was so unhappy that he counted the days that remained, not with +joy at the thought of leaving, but with sorrow. + +At Cambridge he felt himself lonely and miserable at first, as he +had at school. But there too he soon made friends. He found +plenty of time for games, he rode and shot, rejoiced in feats of +swimming and diving. He wrote poetry also, which he afterwards +published under the name of Hours of Idleness. It was a good +name for the book, for indeed he was so idle in his proper +studies, that the wonder is that he was able to take his degree. + +It was in 1807, at the age of nineteen, that Lord Byron published +his Hours of Idleness, with a rather pompous preface. The poems +were not great, some of them indeed were nothing less than +mawkish, but perhaps they did not deserve the slashing review +which appeared in the Edinburgh Review. The Edinburgh Review was +a magazine given at this time to criticising authors very +severely, and Byron had to suffer no more than other and greater +poets. But he trembled with indignation, and his anger called +forth his first really good poem, called English Bards and Scotch +Reviewers. It is a satire after the style of Pope, and in it +Byron lashes not only his reviewers, but also other writers of +his day. His criticisms are, many of them, quite wrong, and in +after years when he came to know the men he now decried, he +regretted this poem, and declared it should never be printed +again. But it is still included in his works. Perhaps having +just read about Sir Walter Scott, it may amuse you to read what +Byron has to say of him. + + "Thus Lays of Minstrels--may they be the last!-- + On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. + While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, + That dames may listen to the sound at nights; + . . . . . . + Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, + The golden-crested haughty Marmion, + Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, + Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, + The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; + A mighty mixture of the great and base. + And think'st thou, Scott! by vain conceit perchance, + On public taste to foist thy stale romance." + +Then after a sneer at Scott for making money by his poems, Byron +concludes with this passage:-- + "These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; + These are the bards to whom the muse must bow; + While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, + Resign their hallowed bays to Walter Scott." + +When people read this satire, they realized that a new poet had +appeared. But it was not until Byron published his first long +poem, called Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, that he became famous. +Then his success was sudden and amazing. "I woke up one morning +and found myself famous," he says. "His fame," says another poet +and friend who wrote his life,* "seemed to spring up like the +palace of a fairy tale, in a night." He was praised and lauded +by high and low. Every one was eager to known him, and for a +time he became the spoiled darling of society. + +*Moore. + +Childe Harold is a long poem of four cantos, but now only two +cantos were published. The third was added in 1816, the fourth +in 1818. It is written in the Spenserian stanza, with here and +there songs and ballads in other meters, and in the first few +verses there is even an affectation of Spenserian wording. But +the poet soon grew tired of that, and returned to his own +English. Childe is used in the ancient sense of knight, and the +poem tells of the wanderings of a gloomy, vicious, world-worn +man. + +There is very little story in Childe Harold. The poem is more a +series of descriptions and a record of the thoughts that are +called forth by the places through which the traveler passes. It +is indeed a poetic diary. The pilgrim visits many famous spots, +among them the field of Waterloo, where but a few months before +the fate of Europe had been decided. To us the battle of +Waterloo is a long way off. To Byron it was still a deed of +yesterday. As he approaches the field he feels that he is on +sacred ground. + + "Stop!--for thy tread is on an Empire's dust! + An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! + Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? + Nor column trophied for triumphal show? + None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, + As the ground was before, thus let is be;-- + How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! + And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, + Thou first and last of field! kingmaking victory?" + +Then in thought Byron goes over all that took place that fateful +day. + + "There was a sound of revelry by night, + And Belgium's capital had gather'd then + Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright + The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; + A thousand hearts beat happily; and when + Music arose with its voluptuous swell, + Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, + And all went merry as a marriage bell; + But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes a rising knell! + + Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, + Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; + On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; + No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet + To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. + But hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more, + As if the clouds its echo would repeat; + And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! + Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar! + . . . . . . + "Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, + And gathering tears and tremblings of distress, + And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago + Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; + And there were sudden parting, such as press + The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs + Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess + If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, + Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! + + "And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, + The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, + Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, + And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; + And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; + And near, the beat of the alarming drum + Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; + While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, + Or whispering, with white lips--'The foe! they come! they +come!'" + +And then thinking of the battle lost by the great conqueror of +Europe, the poet mourns for him-- + + "Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! + She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name + Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now + That thou are nothing, save the jest of Fame, + Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became + The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert + A god unto thyself; nor less the same + To thee astounded kingdoms all inert, + Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. + + "Oh, more or less than man--in high or low, + Battling with nations, flying from the field; + Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now + More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; + An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, + But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, + However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, + Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, + Nor learn that tempted Fate will eave the loftiest Star." + +These are a few verses from one of the best known parts of Childe +Harold. There are many other verses equally well known. They +have become the possession of almost every schoolboy. Some of +them you will read in school books, and when you are grown up and +able to distinguish between what is vulgar and what is good and +beautiful in it, I hope you will read the whole poem. + +For two years Byron was as popular as man might be. Then came a +change. From the time that he was a child he had always been in +love, first with one and then with another. His heart was +tinder, ever ready to take fire. Now he married. At first all +went well. One little baby girl was born. Then troubles came, +troubles which have never been explained, and for which we need +not seek an explanation now, and one day Lady Byron left her +husband never to return. + +The world which had petted and spoiled the poet now turned from +the man. He was abused and decried; instead of being courted he +was shunned. So in anger and disgust, Byron left the country +where he found no sympathy. He never returned to it, the rest of +his life being spent as a wanderer upon the Continent. + +It was to a great extent a misspent life, and yet, while Byron +wasted himself in unworthy ways, he wrote constantly and rapidly, +pouring out volumes of poetry at a speed equaled only by Scott. +He wrote tragedies, metrical romances, lyrics, and everything +that he wrote was read--not only at home, but on the Continent. +And one thing that we must remember Byron for is that he made +English literature Continental. "Before he came," says an +Italian patriot and writer,* "all that was known of English +literature was the French translation of Shakespeare. It is +since Byron that we Continentalists have learned to study +Shakespeare and other English writers. From him dates the +sympathy of all the true-hearted amongst us for this land of +liberty. He led the genius of Britain on a pilgrimage throughout +all Europe." + +*Mazzini. + +Much that Byron wrote was almost worthless. He has none of the +haunting sense of the beauty of words in perfect order that marks +the greatest poets. He has no passion for the correct use of +words, and often his song seems tuneless and sometimes vulgar. +For in Byron's undisciplined, turgid soul there is a strain of +coarseness and vulgarity which not seldom shows itself in his +poetry, spoiling some of his most beautiful lines. His poetry is +egotistical too, that is, it is full of himself. And again and +again it has been said that Byron was always his own hero. "He +never had more than a singe subject--himself. No man has ever +pushed egotism further than he."* In all his dark and gloomy +heroes we see Lord Byron, and it is not only himself which he +gives to the world's gaze, but his wrongs and his sorrows. Yet +in spite of all its faults, there is enough that is purely +beautiful in his work to give Byron rank as a poet. He has been +placed on a level with Wordsworth. One cultured writer whose +judgment on literature we listen to with respect has said: +"Wordsworth and Byron stand out by themselves. When the year +1900 is turned, and our nation comes to recount her poetic +glories of the century which has then just ended, the first names +with her will be these."** But there are many who will deny him +this high rank. "He can only claim to be acknowledged as a poet +of the third class," says another great poet,*** "who now and +then rises into the second, but speedily relapses into the lower +element where he was born." And yet another has said that his +poetry fills the great space through which our literature has +moved from the time of Johnson to the time of Wordsworth. "It +touches the Essay of Man**** at the one extremity, and The +Excursion at the other."***** So you see Byron's place in our +literature is hardly settled yet. + +*Scherer. +**Arnold. +***Swinburne. +****By Pope. +*****Macaulay. + +When Byron left England he fled from the contempt of his fellows. +His life on the Continent did little to lessen that contempt. +But before he died he redeemed his name from the scorner. + +Long ago, you remember, at the time of the Renaissance, Greece +had been conquered by the Turks. Hundreds of years passed, and +Greece remained in a state of slavery. But by degrees new life +began to stir among the people, and in 1821 a war of independence +broke out. At first the other countries of Europe stood aloof, +but gradually their sympathies were drawn to the little nation +making so gallant a fight for freedom. + +And this struggle woke all that was generous in the heart of +Byron, the worn man of the world. Like his own Childe Harold, +"With pleasure drugg'd he almost long'd for woe." So to Greece +he went, and the last nine months of his life were spent to such +good purpose that when he died the whole Greek nation mourned. +He had hoped to die sword in hand, but that was not to be. His +body was worn with reckless living, and could ill bear any +strain. One day, when out for a long ride, he became heated, and +then soaked by a shower of rain. Rheumatic fever followed, and +ten days later he lay dead. He was only thirty-six. + +All Greece mourned for the loss of such a generous friend. +Cities vied with each other for the honor of his tomb. And when +his friends decided that his body should be carried home to +England, homage as to a prince was paid to it as it passed +through the streets on its last journey. + + "The sword, the banner, and the field, + Glory and Greece, around me see! + The Spartan, borne upon his shield, + Was not more free. + + "Awake! (not Greece--she is awake!) + Awake! my spirit! Think through whom + Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, + And then strike home! + + "Tread those reviving passions down, + Unworthy manhood! unto thee + Indifferent should the smile or frown + Of Beauty be. + + + + "If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live? + The land of honourable death + Is here:--up to the field, and give + Away thy breath! + + "Seek out--less often sought than found-- + A soldier's grave, for thee the best; + Then look around, and choose thy ground + And take thy rest." + +These lines are from Byron's last poem, written on his thirty- +sixth birthday. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXX SHELLEY--THE POET OF LOVE + +WHEN Byron wandered upon the Continent he met and made friends +with another poet, a greater than himself. This poet was called +Percy Bysshe Shelley, and of him I am going to tell you something +in this chapter. + +On the 4th of August, 1792, Percy Bysshe Shelley was born at +Field Place, near the village of Warnham, in Sussex. His father, +"a well-meaning, ill-doing, wrong-headed man," was of a good +family, and heir to a baronetcy. His mother was a beautiful +woman. + +Of the early childhood of Bysshe we know nothing, except that at +the age of six he was daily taught Latin by a clergyman. + +When we next hear of him he is a big boy, the hero of the nursery +with four little sisters, and a wee, toddling, baby brother, to +all of whom he loved to play big brother. His sisters would +often sit on his knee and listen to the wonderful tales he told. +There were stories of the Great Tortoise which lived in a pond +near. True, the Great Tortoise was never seen, but that made it +all the more mysterious and wonderful, and any unusual noise was +put down to the Great Tortoise. There were other stories about +the Great Old Snake which lived in the garden. This really was +seen, and perhaps it was the same serpent which two hundred years +before had been known to lurk about the countryside. "He could +jut out his neck an ell," it was said, "and cast his venom about +four rods; a serpent of countenance very proud, at the sight or +hearing of men or cattle, raising his head seeming to listen and +look about with great arrogancy." But if it was this same +serpent it had lost its venom, and in the days when Bysshe and +his sisters played about the garden, they looked upon it as a +friend. One day, however, a gardener killed it by mistake, when +he was cutting the grass with a scythe. So there was an end of +the Great Old Snake. But the Tortoise and the Snake were not the +only wonderful things about Field Place. There was a big garret +which was never used, with beneath it a secret room, the only +entrance to which was through a plank in the garret floor. This, +according to the big brother, was the dwelling-place of an +alchemist "old and grey with a long beard." Here with his lamp +and magic books he wrought his wonders, and "Some day" the eager +children were promised a visit to him. Meanwhile Bysshe himself +played the alchemist, and with his sisters dressed up in strange +costumes to represent fiends or spirits he ran about with liquid +fire until this dangerous play was stopped. Then he made an +electric battery and amused himself by giving his sisters +"shocks" to the secret terror of at least one of them whose heart +would sink with fear when she saw her brother appear with a roll +of brown paper, a bit of wire, and a bottle. But one day she +could not hide her terror any longer, and after that the kind big +brother never worried her any more to have shocks. + +Sometimes, too, their games took them further afield, and led by +Bysshe the children went on long rambles through woods and +meadows, climbing walls and scrambling through hedges, and coming +home tired and muddy. Bysshe was so happy with his sisters and +little brother that he decided to buy a little girl and bring her +up as his own. One day a little gypsy girl came to the back +door, and he though she would do very well. His father and +mother, however, thought otherwise, so the little girl was not +bought. + +But the boy who was so lively with his sisters, at times was +quiet and thoughtful. Sometimes he would slip out of the house +on moonlight nights. His anxious parents would then send an old +servant after him, who would return to say that "Master Bysshe +only took a walk, and came back again." A very strange form of +amusement it must have seemed to his plain matter-of-fact father. + +But now these careless happy days came to an end, or only +returned during holiday times, for when Bysshe was ten years old +he was sent to school. + +Shelley went first to a private school, and after a year or two +to Eton, but at neither was he happy. And although he had been +so merry at home, at school he was looked upon as a strange +unsociable creature. He refused to fag for the bigger boys. He +never joined in the ordinary school games, and would wander about +by himself reading, or watching the clouds and the birds. He +read all kinds of books, liking best those which told of haunted +castles, robbers, giants, murderers, and other eerie subjects. +He liked chemistry too, and was more than once brought into +trouble by the daring experiments he made. Shelley was very +brave and never afraid of anything except what was base and low. +To the few who loved him he was gentle, but most of his +schoolfellows took delight in tormenting him. And when goaded +into wrath he showed that he could be fierce. + +Shelley soon began to write, and while still at school, at the +age of sixteen, he published a novel for which he received 40 +pounds. A little later he and one of his sisters published a +book of poems together. + +From Eton Shelley went to Oxford. Here he remained for a few +months reading hard. "He was to be found, book in hand, at all +hours; reading in season and out of season; at table, in bed, and +especially during a walk." But he read more what pleased himself +than what pleased the college authorities. He wrote too, and +among the things he wrote was a little leaflet of a few pages +which seemed to the fellows of his college a dangerous attack +upon religion. They summoned Shelley to appear before them, and +as he refused to answer their questions he was expelled. Shelley +had given himself the name of Atheist. It is a very ugly name, +meaning one who denies the existence of God. Looking back now we +can see that it was too harsh and ugly a name for Shelley. The +paper for which he was expelled, even if it was wicked, was the +work of a rash, impetuous boy, not the reasoned wickedness of a +grown man. But the deed was done, and Shelley was thrown out +into the world, for his father, sorely vexed and troubled, not +knowing how to control his wild colt of a son, refused to allow +him to return home. So Shelley remained in London. Here he went +often to visit his sisters at school, and came to known one of +their school friends, Harriet Westbrook. She was a pretty, good- +tempered girl of sixteen with "hair like a poet's dream."* +Shelley thought that she too was oppressed and ill-used as he had +been. She loved him, he liked her, so they decided to get +married, and ran away to Scotland and were married in Edinburgh. +Shelley was nineteen and his little bride sixteen. + +*Hogg. + +This boy and girl marriage was a terrible mistake, and three +years later husband and wife separated. + +I can tell you very little more of Shelley's life, some of it was +wrong, much of it was sad, as it could hardly fail to be +following on this wrong beginning. When you grow older you will +be able to read it with charity and understanding. Meantime keep +the picture of the kindly big brother, and imagine him growing +into a lovable and brave man, into a poet who wins our hearts +almost unawares by the beauty of his poetry, his poetry which has +been called "a beautiful dream of the future." Of some of it I +shall now tell you a little. + +Very early Shelley began to publish poetry, but most of it was +not worthy of a truly great poet. His first really fine poem is +Alastor. It is written in blank verse, and represents a poet +seeking in vain for his ideal of what is truly lovely and +beautiful. Being unable to find that which he seeks, he dies. +The poem is full of beautiful description, but it is sad, and in +the picture of the poet we seem to see Shelley himself. Other +long poems followed, poems which are both terrible and beautiful, +but many years must pass before you try to read them. For +Shelley's poetry is more vague, his meaning more elusive, than +that of almost any other poet of whom we have spoken. It is +rather for Shelley's shorter poems, his lyrics, that I would try +to gain your love at present, for although he wrote The Cenci, +the best tragedy of his time, a tragedy which by its terror and +pain links him with Shakespeare, it is as a lyric poet that we +love Shelley. "Here," says another poet,* "Shelley forgets that +he is anything but a poet, forgets sometimes that he is anything +but a child. . . . He plays truant from earth, slips through the +wicket of fancy into heaven's meadow, and goes gathering stars." +And of all our poets, Shelley is the least earthly, the most +spiritual. But he loved the beautiful world, the sea and sky, +and when we have heard him sing of the clouds and the skylark, of +the wind and the waves of-- + +*Francis Thompson. + + "The fresh Earth in new leaves drest, + And the starry night; + Autumn evening, and the morn + When the golden mists are born,"* + + *Song. + +when we have heard him sing of these, and have understood with +our heart, they have an added meaning for us. We love and +understand the song of the skylark better for having heard +Shelley sing of it. + + "Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert, + That from heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart + In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. + + "Higher still and higher, + From the earth thou springest + Like a cloud of fire; + The deep blue thou wingest, + And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. + + "In the golden lightening + Of the sunken sun, + O'er which clouds are brightening, + Thou dost float and run; + Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. + + "The pale purple even + Melts around thy flight; + Like a star of heaven, + In the broad daylight, + Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. + . . . . . . . + "All the earth and air + With thy voice is loud, + As, when night is bare, + From one lonely cloud + The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. + + "What thou art we know not; + What is most like thee? + From rainbow clouds there flow not + Drops so bright to see, + As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. + + "Like a poet hidden + In the light of thought, + Singing hymns unbidden, + Till the world is wrought + In sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: + + "Like a high-born maiden + In a palace tower, + Soothing her love-laden + Soul a secret hour + With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower. + . . . . . . . + "Teach us, sprite or bird, + What sweet thoughts are thine; + I have never heard + Praise of love or wine + That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. + . . . . . . . + "We look before and after, + And pine for what is not: + Our sincerest laughter + With some pain is fraught; + The sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. + + "Yet if we could scorn + Hate, and pride, and fear; + If we were things born + Not to shed a tear, + I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. + + "Better than all measures + Of delightful sound, + Better than all treasures + That in books are found, + Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! + + "Teach me half the gladness + That thy brain must know; + Such harmonious madness + From my lips would flow, + The world would listen then, as I am listening now!" + +As we listen to the lark singing we look upward and see the light +summer clouds driving over the blue sky. They, too, have a song +which once the listening poet heard. + + "I bring fresh showers for the thirsty flowers, + From the seas and the streams; + I bear light shades for the leaves when laid + In their noonday dreams. + From my wings are shaken the dews that waken + The sweet buds every one, + When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, + As she dances about the sun. + I wield the flail of the lashing hail, + And whiten the green plains under, + And then again I dissolve it in rain, + And laugh as I pass in thunder. + + I sift the snow on the mountains below, + And their great pines groan aghast, + And all the night 'tis my pillow white, + While asleep in the arms of the blast. + Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, + Lightning my pilot sits, + In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, + It struggles and howls at fits; + Over earth and ocean with gentle motion + This pilot is guiding me, + Lured by the love of the genii that move + In the depths of the purple sea; + Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, + Over the lakes and the plains, + Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, + The spirit he love remains; + And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, + Whilst he is dissolving in rains. + . . . . . . . + "I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone, + And the moon's with a girdle of pearl: + The volcanoes are dim, and the starts reel and swim + When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl + From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, + Over a torrent sea, + Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, + The mountains its columns be. + The triumphal arch through which I march, + With hurricane, fire, and snow, + When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, + In the million-coloured bow; + The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, + While the moist earth was laughing below. + + "I am the daughter of earth and water, + And the nursling of the sky: + I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; + I change, but I cannot die. + For after the rain, when with never a stain, + The pavilion of heaven is bare, + And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, + Build up the blue dome of air, + I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, + And out of the caverns of rain, + Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, + I arise and unbuild it again." + +That is one of Shelley's happiest poems. For most of his poems +have at least a tone of sadness, even the joyous song of the +skylark leaves us with a sigh on our lips, "our sincerest +laughter with some pain is fraught." But The Cloud is full only +of joy and movement, and of the laughter of innocent mischief. +It is as if we saw the boy Shelley again. + +We find his sadness, too, in his Ode to the West Wind, but it +ends on a note of hope. Here are the last verses-- + + "Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: + What if my leaves are falling like its own! + The tumult of thy mighty harmonies + + "Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, + Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, + My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! + + "Drive my dead thoughts over the universe + Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth; + And by the incantation of this verse, + + "Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth + Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! + Be through my lips to unawakened earth + + "The trumpet of a prophecy! O wind, + If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" + +Shelley sang of Love as well as of the beauty of all things. +Here is a little poem, some lines of which are often quoted-- + + "One word is too often profaned + For me to profane it, + One feeling too falsely disdained + For thee to disdain it, + One hope is too like despair + For prudence to smother, + And Pity from thee more dear + Than that from another. + + "I can give not what men call love, + But wilt thou accept not + The worship the heart lifts above + And the Heavens reject not. + The desire of the moth for the star, + Of the night for the morrow, + The devotion of something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow?" + +And when his heart was crushed with the knowledge of the wrong +and cruelty in the world, it was through love alone that he saw +the way to better and lovelier things. "To purify life of its +misery and evil was the ruling passion of his soul,"* said one +who loved him and knew him perhaps better than any living being. +And it was through love and the beauty of love that he hoped for +the triumph of human weal. + +*Mary Shelley. + +The ideas of the Revolution touched him as they had touched Byron +and Wordsworth, and although Wordsworth turned away from them +disappointed, Shelley held on hopefully. + + "To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; + To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; + To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; + To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates + From its own wreck the thing it contemplates: + Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; + This, like thy glory, Titan! is to be + Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; + This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Victory!"* + + *Prometheus Unbound. + +One of Shelley's last poems was an elegy called Adonais. Under +the name of Adonais, he mourns for the death of another poet, +John Keats, who died at twenty-six. Shelley believed when he +wrote the poem that Keats had been done to death by the cruel +criticisms of his poems, that he had died of a broken heart, +because the world neither understood nor sympathized with his +poetry. Shelley himself knew what it was to suffer from unkind +criticisms, and so he understood the feelings of another poet. +But although Keats did suffer something from neglect and cruelty, +he died of consumption, not of a broken heart. + +Adonais ranks with Lycidas as one of the most beautiful elegies +in our language. In it, Shelley calls upon everything, upon +every thought and feeling, upon all poets, to weep for the loss +of Adonais. + + "All he had loved, and moulded into thought + From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound, + Lamented Adonais. Morning sought + Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, + Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, + Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day; + Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, + Pale ocean in unquiet slumber lay, + And the wild winds flew around, sobbing in their dismay. + . . . . . . . + "The mountain shepherds came, + Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent; + The Pilgrims of Eternity,* whose fame + Over his living head like Heaven is bent, + An early but enduring monument, + Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song + In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne** sent + The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, + And love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue." + + *Lord Byron. + **Ierne=Ireland sends Thomas Moore to mourn. + +He pictures himself, too, among the mourners-- + + "'Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, + A phantom among men, companionless + As the last cloud of an expiring storm, + Whose thunder is its knell." + +Shelley mourned for Keats, little knowing that soon others would +mourn for himself. Little more than a year after writing this +poem he too lay dead. + +Shelley had passed much of his time on the Continent, and in 1822 +he was living in a lonely spot on the shores of the Bay of +Spezia. He always loved the sea, and he here spent many happy +hours sailing about the bay in his boat the Don Juan. Hearing +that a friend had arrived from England he sailed to Leghorn to +welcome him. + +Shelley met his friend, and after a week spent with him and with +Lord Byron, he set out for home. The little boat never reached +its port, for on the journey it was wrecked, we shall never know +how. A few days later Shelley's body was thrown by the waves +upon the sandy shore. In his pocket was found a copy of Keats's +poems doubled back, as if he had been reading to the last moment +and hastily thrust the book into his pocket. The body was +cremated upon the shore, and the ashes were buried in the +Protestant cemetery at Rome, not far from the grave of Keats. +"It is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with +violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to +think that one should be buried in so sweet a place." So Shelley +himself had written in the preface to Adonais. + +Over his grave was placed a simple stone with the date of his +birth and death and the words "Cor Cordium"--heart of hearts. +Beneath these words are some lines from the Tempest which Shelley +had loved-- + + "Nothing of him doth fade + But doth suffer a sea-change + Into something rich and strange." + +BOOKS TO READ + +Poems of Shelley, selected and arranged for use in schools, by E. +E. Speight. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXXI KEATS--THE POET OF BEAUTY + +JOHN KEATS, the poet whose death Shelley mourned in Adonais, was +by a few years the younger, having been born in 1795. He was +born, too, in very different circumstances, for whereas Shelley +was the eldest son of a country gentleman, John Keats, was the +eldest son of a stableman. + +As a boy Thomas Keats had come to London and found a situation as +ostler in some livery stable. He was clever and steady, and +before he was twenty had risen to be head ostler and married his +master's daughter. Keats then became manager of the stables, and +his father-in-law, who was comfortably off, went away to live in +the country. John's parents were not poor, nor were they common +people. In all they had four children, two boys besides John, +and a little girl, and they determined to give their children a +good education. They would have liked to send their boys to +Harrow, but finding that would cost too much they sent them to a +smaller school at Enfield. It was a good school, with a large +playground, and John seems to have had a happy time there. He +was a little chap for his years, but a manly little fellow, broad +shouldered and strong. He was full of spirits and fond of fun, +and in spite of his passionate temper, every one liked him. He +was not particularly fond of lessons, but he did them easily and +then turned to other things. What he liked best was fighting. +"He would fight any one," says one of his old schoolfellows,* +"Morning, noon, and night, his brothers among the rest. It was +meat and drink to him." "Yet," says another, "no one ever had an +angry word to say of him, and they loved him not only for his +terrier-like courage, but for his generosity, his high- +mindedness, and his utter ignorance of what was mean or base." +But although John was so much loved, and although he was +generally so bright and merry, he had miserable times too. He +had fits of melancholy, but when these came he would go to his +brothers and pour out all his grief to them. This made him feel +better, and he troubled no one else with his moods. + +*E. Holmes. + +Very soon after John went to school his father was killed by a +fall from his horse, his grandfather died too, and his mother +married again. But the marriage was not happy and she soon left +her new husband and went to live with her own mother at Edmonton. +So for five years John's life was spent between school and his +grandmother's house. They were a happy family. The brothers +loved each other though they jangled and fought, and they loved +their mother and little sister too. + +So the years went on, and John showed not the lightest sign of +being a poet. Some doggerel rimes he wrote to his sister show +the boy he was, not very unlike other boys. + + "There was a naughty boy, + And a naughty boy was he: + He kept little fishes + In washing-tubs three, + In spite + Of the might + Of the maid, + Nor afraid + Of his granny good. + He often would + Hurly-burly + Get up early + And go + By hook or crook + To the brook, + And bring home + Miller's Thumb, + Tittlebat + Not over fat, + Minnows small + As the stall + Of a glove, + Not above + The size + Of a nice + Little baby's + Little fingers." + +After John had been at school some time he suddenly began to care +for books. He began to read and read greedily, he won all the +literature prizes, and even on half-holidays he could hardly be +driven out to join in the games of his comrades, preferring +rather to sit in the quiet schoolroom translating from Latin or +French, and even when he was driven forth he went book in hand. + +It was while John was still at school that his mother died and +all her children were placed under the care of a guardian. As +John was now fifteen, their guardian took him from school, and it +was decided to make him a doctor. He was apprenticed, in the +fashion of the day, to a surgeon at Edmonton, for five years. +Keats seems to have been quite pleased with this arrangement. +His new studies still left him time to read. He was within +walking distance of his old school, and many a summer afternoon +he spent reading in the garden with Cowden Clarke, the son of his +old schoolmaster, in whom Keats had found a friend. From this +friend he borrowed Spenser's Faery Queen, and having read it a +new wonder-world seemed opened to him. "He ramped through the +scenes of the romance like a young horse turned into a spring +meadow,"* and all through Keats's poetry we find the love of +beautiful coloring and of gorgeous detail that we also find in +Spenser. It was Spenser that awakened in Keats his sleeping gift +of song, and the first verses which he wrote were in imitation of +the Elizabethan poet. + +*Cowden Clarke. + +From Spenser Keats learned how poetry might be gemmed, how it +might glow with color. But there was another source from which +he was to learn what pure and severe beauty might mean. This +source was the poetry of Homer. Keats knew nothing of Greek, yet +all his poetry shows the influence of Greece. At school he had +loved the Greek myths and had read them in English. Now among +the books he read with his friend Cowden Clarke was a translation +of Homer. It was not Pope's translation but an earlier one by +Chapman. The two friends began to read it one evening, and so +keen was Keats's delight that at times he shouted aloud in joy; +the morning light put out their candles. In the dawning of the +day the young poet went home quivering with delight. It was for +him truly the dawning of a new day. For him still another new +world had opened, and his spirit exulted. The voice of this +great master poet awoke in him an answering voice, and before +many hours had passed Cowden Clarke had in his hands Keats's +sonnet On first looking into Chapman's Homer. The lines that +Spenser had called forth were a mere imitation; Homer called +forth Keats's first really great poem. + + "Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, + And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; + Round many Western islands have I been + Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. + Oft of one wide expanse had I been told, + That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: + Yet did I never breathe its pure serene + Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken; + Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes + He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien." + +For some unexplained reason Keats broke his apprenticeship to the +surgeon at Edmonton after four years. He did not however give up +the idea of becoming a doctor, and he went on with his studies at +the London hospitals. Keats was by this time about nineteen. He +was small--only about five feet--so that his fellow-students +called him "little Keats." But his face was fine, and out of it +looked eyes "like those of a wild gipsy-maid set in the face of a +young god." He was a steady student, although he did "scribble +doggerel rhymes" among his notes, and he passed his examinations +well. Yet the work was all against the grain. More and more he +began to feel that real nothing but poetry mattered, that for him +it was the real business of life. It was hard to study when even +a sunbeam had power to set his thoughts astray. "There came a +sunbeam into the room," once he said to a friend, "and with it a +whole troop of creatures floating in the ray, and I was off with +them to Oberon and Fairyland." + +Keats gradually made several friends among the young writers of +the day. One of these printed a few of the young poet's sonnets +in his paper the Examiner, and in 1817 Keats published a volume +of poems. This was his good-by to medicine, for although very +little notice was taken of the book and very few copies were +sold, Keats henceforth took poetry for his life work. + +The life of Keats was short, and it had no great adventures in +it. He lived much now with his two brothers until the elder, +George, married and emigrated to America, and the younger, Tom, +who had always been an invalid, died. He went on excursions too, +with his friends or by himself to country or seaside places, or +sometimes he would spend days and nights in the hospitable homes +of his friends. And all the time he wrote letters which reveal +to us his steadfast, true self, and poems which show how he +climbed the steps of fame. + +Undismayed at the ill success of his first book, the next year he +published his long poem Endymion. + +Endymion was a fabled Grecian youth whose beauty was so great +that Selene, the cold moon, loved him. He fell asleep upon the +hill of Latmus, and while he slept Selene came to him and kissed +him. Out of this simple story Keats made a long poem of four +books or parts. Into it he wove many other stories, his +imagination leading him through strange and wondrous scenery. +The poem is not perfect--it is rambling and disconnected--the +story of Endymion being but the finest thread to hold a string of +beads and priceless pearls together. + +The first book is merely a long introduction, but it opens with +unforgettable lines-- + + "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; + Its loveliness increases; it will never + Pass into nothingness; but still will keep + A bower quiet for us, and a sleep + Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing." + +Then the poet tells us what are the things of beauty of which he +thinks. + + "Such the sun, the moon, + Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon + For simple sheep; and such are daffodils + With the green world they live in; and clear rills + That for themselves a cooling covert make + 'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake, + Rich with a sprinkling of fair must-rose blooms; + And such too is the grandeur of the dooms + We have imagined for the mighty dead; + All lovely tales that we have heard or read; + An endless fountain of immortal drink + Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink." + +But although throughout the long poem there are lovely passages, +and one or two most beautiful lyrics, the critics of the day saw +only the faults of which Endymion is full, and the poem was +received with a storm of abuse. + +Soon after Keats published this poem, he, with a friend, set out +on a walking tour to the Lake Country and to Scotland. This was +Keats's first sight of real mountains, and he gloried in the +grand scenery, but said "human nature is finer." When Keats set +out there was not a sign of the invalid about him. He walked +twenty or thirty miles a day and cheerfully bore the discomforts +of travel. But the tour proved too much for his strength. He +caught a bad cold and sore throat, and was ordered home by the +doctor. He went by boat, arriving brown, shabby, and almost +shoeless, among his London friends. + +Keats never quite recovered his good health, and other griefs and +troubles crowded in upon him. It was after his return from this +tour that his dearly loved brother, Tom, died. Cruel criticisms +of his poetry hurt him at the same time, and he was in trouble +about money, for the family guardian had not proved a good +manager. And now to this already overcharged heart something +else was added. Keats fell in love. The lady he loved was young +and beautiful, but commonplace. Keats himself describes her when +he first met her as "beautiful and elegant, graceful, silly, +fashionable, and strange." Her beauty and strangeness won for +her a way to the poet's heart. Love, however, brought to him no +joyful rest, but rather passionate, jealous restlessness. Yet in +spite of all his troubles, Keats continued to write poems which +will ever be remembered as among the most beautiful in our +language. + +Like Scott and Byron, Keats wrote metrical romances. One of +these, Isabella, or the Pot of Basil, is founded upon a tale of +Boccaccio, that old master to whom so many poets have gone for +inspiration. In Keats's romances there is no war-cry, no clash +of swords as in Scott's, and the luxury is altogether different +from Byron's. There is in them that trembling sense of beauty +which opens to us wide windows into fairyland. They are simple +stories veiled in the glamour of lovely words, and full of the +rich color and the magic of the middle ages. But here as +elsewhere in Keats's poetry what we lack is the touch of human +sorrow. Keats wrote of nature with all Wordsworth's insight and +truth, and with greater magic of words. He understood the +mystery of nature, but of the mystery of the heart of man it was +not his to sing. He lived in a world apart. The terror and +beauty of real life hardly touched him. Alone of all the poets +of his day he was unmoved by the French Revolution, and all that +it stood for. + +Some day you will read Keats's metrical romances, and now I will +give you a few verses from some of his odes, for in his odes we +have Keats's poetry at its very best. Here are some verses from +his ode On a Grecian Urn. You have seen such a vase, perhaps, +with beautiful sculptured figures on it, dancing maidens and +piping shepherds. + + "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard + Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; + Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, + Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: + Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave + thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; + Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, + Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve; + She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, + For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! + + "Ah, happy, happy bought! that cannot shed + Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; + And, happy melodist, unwearied, + For ever piping songs for ever new; + More happy love! more happy, happy love! + For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, + For ever panting, and for ever young; + All breathing human passion far above, + That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, + A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. + . . . . . . + "O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede* + Of marble men and maidens over-wrought, + With forest branches and the trodden weed; + Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought + + As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! + When old age shall this generation waste, + Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe + Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, + 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,'--that is all + Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." + + *Embroidery. + +In these last lines we have the dominant note in Keats's song, +beauty and the love of beauty. What is true must be beautiful, +and just in so far as we move away from truth we lose what is +beautiful. Nothing is so ugly as a lie. + +And now remembering how Shelley sang of the skylark you will like +to read how his brother poet sang of the nightingale. + + "My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains + My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, + Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains + One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: + 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, + But being too happy in thine happiness,-- + That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, + In some melodious plot + Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, + Singest of summer in full-throated ease. + . . . . . . + "Darkling I listen; and for many a time + I have been half in love with easeful Death, + Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, + To take into the air my quiet breath; + Now more than ever seems it rich to die, + To cease upon the midnight with no pain, + While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad + In such an ecstasy! + Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- + To thy high requiem become a sod. + + "Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! + No hungry generations tread thee down; + The voice I hear this passing night was heard + In ancient days by emperor and clown: + Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path + Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, + She stood in tears amid the alien corn; + The same that oft times hath + Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam + Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. + + "Forlorn! the very word is like a bell + To toll me back from thee to my sole self! + Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well + As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. + Adieu! Adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades + Past the near meadows, over the still stream, + Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep + In the next valley glades; + Was it a vision, or a waking dream? + Fled is the music:--Do I wake or sleep?" + +As another poet* has said, speaking of Keats's odes, "Greater +lyrical poetry the world may have seen than any that is in these; +lovelier it surely has never seen, nor ever can it possibly see." + +*Swinburne. + +Hyperion, which also ranks among Keats's great poems, is an +unfinished epic. In a far-off way the subject of the poem +reminds us of Paradise Lost. For here Keats sings of the +overthrow of the Titans, or earlier Greek gods, by the Olympians, +or later Greek gods, and in the majestic flow of the blank verse +we sometimes seem to hear an echo of Milton. + +Hyperion, who gives his name to the poem, was the Sun-god who was +dethroned by Apollo. When the poem opens we see the old god +Saturn already fallen-- + + "Old Saturn lifted up + His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, + And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, + And that fair kneeling goddess; and then spake, + As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard + Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: + 'O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, + Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; + Look up, and let me see our doom in it; + Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape + Is Saturn's; if thou hear'st the voice + Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkled brow, + Naked and bare of its great diadem, + Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power + To make me desolate? whence came the strength? + How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, + While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp? + But it is so.'" + +Saturn is king no more. Fate willed it so. But suddenly he +rises and in helpless passion cries out against Fate-- + + "Saturn must be King. + Yes, there must be a golden victory; + There must be gods thrown down and trumpets blown + + Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival + Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, + Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir + Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be + Beautiful things made new, for the surprise + Of the sky-children; I will give command: + Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?" + +The volume containing these and other poems was published in +1820, little more than three years after Keats's first volume, +and never, perhaps, has poet made such strides in so short a +time. And this last book was kindly received. Success had come +to Keats, but young though he still was, the success was too +late. For soon it was seen that his health had gone and that his +life's work was done. As a last hope his friends advised him to +spend the winter in Italy. So with a friend he set out. He +never returned, but died in Rome in the arms of his friend on the +23rd February 1821. He was only twenty-six. Before he died he +asked that on his grave should be placed the words, "Here lies +one whose name was writ in water." He had his wish: but we, to +whom he left his poetry, know that his name is written in the +stars. + +How Shelley mourned for him you have read. How the friends who +knew and loved him mourned we learn from what they say of him. +"I cannot afford to lose him," wrote one. "If I know what it is +to love, I truly love John Keats." Another says,* "He was the +most unselfish of human creatures," and still another,** "a +sweeter tempered man I never knew." + +*Haydon. +**Bailey. + +In a letter which reached Rome too late was this message for +Keats, "Tell that great poet and noble-hearted man that we shall +all bear his memory in the most precious parts of our hearts, and +that the world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves do." + +We bow our heads to his memory and say farewell to him in these +words of his own fairy song-- + + "Shed no tea! oh shed no tear! + The flower will bloom another year. + Weep no more! oh weep no more! + Young buds sleep in the roots' white core. + Dry your eyes! oh dry your eyes! + For I was taught in Paradise + To ease my heart of melodies-- + Shed no tear. + + "Overhear! look overhead! + 'Mong the blossoms white and red-- + Look up, look up. I flutter now + On this flush pomegranate bough. + See me! 'tis this silvery bill + Ever cures the good man's ill. + Shed not tear! oh shed not tear! + The flower will bloom another year. + Adieu! Adieu!--I fly, adieu! + I vanish in the heaven's blue-- + Adieu! Adieu!" + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXXII CARLYLE--THE SAGE OF CHELSEA + +JOHN KEATS was little more than a month old, when far away across +the Border another little baby boy was born. His parent, too +were simple folk, and he, too, was born to be great. + +This boy's name was Thomas Carlyle. His father was a stone-mason +and had built with his own hands the house in which his son +Thomas was born. The little village of Ecclefechan was about six +miles from the Solway Firth, among the pasture lands of the bale +of Annan. Here Thomas grew to be a boy running about barefooted +and sturdy with his many brothers and sisters, and one step- +brother older than himself. + +But he did not run about quite wild, for by the time he was five +his mother had taught him to read and his father had taught him +to do sums, and then he was sent to the village school. + +James Carlyle was a good and steady workman. Long afterwards his +famous son said of him, "Nothing that he undertook to do but he +did it faithfully and like a true man. I shall look on the +houses he built with a certain proud interest. They stand firm +and sound to the heart all over his little district. No one that +comes after him will ever say, 'Here was the finger of a hollow +eye-servant.' They are little texts to me of the gospel of man's +free will." But there were meanwhile many little folks to +clothe, many hungry little mouths to fill, so their clothes were +of the plainest, and porridge and milk, and potatoes forming +their only fare. "It was not a joyful life," says Thomas--"what +life is?--yet a safe, quiet one; above most others, or any others +I have witnessed, a wholesome one." + +Between the earnest and frugal father and mother and their +children there was a great and reverent though quiet love, and +poor though they were, the parents determined that their children +should be well taught, so when Thomas was ten he was sent to a +school at Annan some five miles away, where he could learn more +than in the little village school. + +On a bright May morning Thomas set out trotting gayly by his +father's side. This was his first venture into the world, and +his heart was full of hopes just dashed with sadness at leaving +his mother. But the wonderful new world of school proved a +bitter disappointment to the little fellow. He had a violent +temper, and his mother, fearing into what he might be led when +far from her, made him promise never to return a blow. Thomas +kept his promise, with the result that his fellows, finding they +might torment him with safety, tormented him without mercy. + +In a book called Sartor Resartus which Carlyle wrote later, and +which here and there was called forth by a memory of his own +life, he says: + +"My schoolfellows were boys, most rude boys, and obeyed the +impulse of rude nature which bids the deer herd fall upon any +stricken hart, the duck flock put to death any broken-winged +brother or sister, and on all hands the strong tyrannise over the +weak." + +So Thomas at school was unhappy and lonely and tormented. But +one day, unable to bear the torment longer, he flew at one of the +biggest bullies in the school. + +The result was a fight in which Thomas got the worst, but, he had +shown his fellows what he could do, he was tormented no longer. +Yet ever afterwards he bore an unhappy remembrance of those days +at school. + +After three years his school-days came to an end. He was not yet +fourteen, but he had proved himself so eager a scholar that his +father decided to send him to college and let him become a +minister. + +So early one November morning he set out in the cold and dark +upon his long tramp of more than eighty miles to Edinburgh. It +was dark when he left the house, and his father and mother went +with him a little way, and then they turned back and left Tom to +trudge along in the growing light, with another boy a year or two +older who was returning to college. + +Little is known of Carlyle's college days. After five years' +study, at nineteen he became a schoolmaster, still with the +intention of later becoming a minister as his father wished. But +for teaching Carlyle had no love, and after some years of it, +first in schools and then as a private tutor, he gave it up. He +gave up, too, the idea of becoming a minister, for he found he +had lost the simple faith of his fathers and could not with good +conscience teach to others what he did not thoroughly believe +himself. He gave up, too, the thought of becoming a barrister, +for after a little study he found he had no bent for law. + +Already he had begun to write. Besides other things he had +translated and published Wilhelm Meister, a story by the great +German poet, Goethe. It was well received. The great Goethe +himself wrote a kind letter to his translator. It came to him, +said Carlyle, "like a message from fairyland." And thus +encouraged, after drifting here and there, trying first one thing +and then another, Carlyle gave himself up to literature. + +Meanwhile he had met and loved a beautiful and clever lady named +Jane Walsh. She was above him in station, witty, and sought +after. Admiring the genius of Carlyle she yet had no mind she +said to marry a poor genius. But she did, and so began a long +mistake of forty years. + +The newly married couple took a cottage on the outskirts of +Edinburgh, and there Carlyle settled down to his writing. But +money coming in slowly, Carlyle found he could no longer afford +to live in Edinburgh. So after a year and a half of cheerful, +social life, surrounded by many cultured friends, he and his wife +moved to Craigenputtock, a lonely house fourteen miles from +Dumfries, which belonged to Mrs. Carlyle. Here was solitude +indeed. The air was so quiet that the very sheep could be heard +nibbling. For miles around there was no house, the post came +only once a week, and months at a time would go past without a +visitor crossing the doorstep. + +To Carlyle, who hated noises, who all his life long waged war +against howling dogs and "demon" fowls, the silence and +loneliness were delightful. His work took all his thoughts, +filled all his life. He did not remember that what to him was +simply peaceful quiet was for his witty, social wife a dreary +desert of loneliness. Carlyle was not only, as his mother said, +"gey ill to deal wi'," but also "gey ill to live wi'." For he +was a genius and a sick genius. He was nervous and bilious and +suffered tortures from indigestion which made him often gloomy +and miserable. + +It was not a happy fortune which cast Jane and Thomas Carlyle +together into this loneliness. Still the days passed not all in +gloom, Thomas writing a wonderful book, Sartor Resartus, and Jane +using all her cleverness to make the home beautiful and +comfortable. For they were very poor, and Jane, who before her +marriage had no knowledge of housekeeping, found herself obliged +to cook and do much of the housework herself. + +Nearly all Carlyle's first books had to do with German +literature. He translated stories from great German writers and +wrote about the authors. And just as Byron had taught people on +the Continent to read English literature, so Carlyle taught +English people to read German literature. He steeped himself so +thoroughly in German that he himself came to write English, if I +may so express it, with a German accent. Carlyle's style is +harsh and rugged. It has a vividness and picturesqueness all his +own, but when Carlyle began to write people cared neither for his +style nor for his subjects. He found publishers hard to +persuade, and life was by no means easy. + +When Sartor was finished Carlyle took it to London, but could +find no one willing to publish it. So it was cut up into +articles and published in a magazine "and was then mostly laughed +at," says Carlyle, and many declared they would stop taking the +magazine unless these ridiculous papers ceased. Not until years +had passed was it published in book form. + +I do not think I can make you understand the charm of Sartor. It +is a prose poem and a book you must leave for the years to come. +Sartor Resartus means "The tailor patched again." And under the +guise of a philosophy of clothes Carlyle teaches that man and +everything belonging to him is only the expression of the one +great real thing--God. "Thus in this one pregnant subject of +Clothes, rightly understood, is included all that men have +thought, dreamed, done, and been." + +The book is full of humor and wisdom, of stray lightenings, and +deep growlings. There are glimpses of "a story" to be caught to. +It is perhaps the most Carlylean book Carlyle ever wrote. But +let it lie yet awhile on your bookshelf unread. + +At the end of six years or so Carlyle decided that Craigenputtock +was of no use to him. He wanted to get the ear of the world, to +make the world listen to him. It would not listen to him when he +spoke from a far-off wilderness. So he made the great plunge, +and saying good-by to the quiet of barren rock and moorland he +came to live in London. He took a house in Cheyne Row in +Chelsea, and this for the rest of his life was his home. But at +first London was hardly less lonely than Craigenputtock. It +seemed impossible to make people want either Carlyle or his +books. "He had created no 'public' of his own," says a friend +who wrote his life,* "the public which existed could not +understand his writings and would not buy them, nor could he be +induced so much as to attempt to please it; and thus it was that +in Cheyne Row he was more neglected than he had been in +Scotland." + +*Froude. + +Still in spite of neglect Carlyle worked on, now writing his +great French Revolution. He labored for months at this book, and +at length having finished the first volume of it he lent it to a +friend to read. This friend left it lying about, and a servant +thinking it waste paper destroyed it. In great distress he came +to tell Carlyle what had happened. It was a terrible blow, for +Carlyle had earned nothing for months, and money was growing +scarce. But he bravely hid his consternation and comforted his +friend. "We must try to hide from him how very serious this +business is to us," were the first words he said to his wife when +they were alone together. Long afterwards when asked how he felt +when he heard the news, "Well, I just felt like a man swimming +without water," he replied.* + +*Life of Tennyson. + +So once more he set to work rewriting all that had been lost. In +1837 the book was published, and from that time Carlyle took his +place in the world as a man of genius. But money was still +scarce, so as a means of making some, he gave several courses of +lectures. But he hated it. "O heaven!" he cries, "I cannot +speak. I can only gasp and write and stutter, a spectacle to +gods and fashionables,--being forced to it by want of money." +One course of these lectures--the last--was on Heroes and Her +Worship. This may be one of the first of Carlyle's book that you +will care to read, and you may now like to hear what he has to +say of Samuel Johnson in The Hero as a Man of Letters. + +"As for Johnson, I have always considered him to be, by nature, +one of our great English souls. A strong and noble man; so much +left undeveloped in him to the last; in a kindlier element what +might he not have been,--Poet, Priest, Sovereign Ruler! On the +whole, a man must not complain of his 'element," or his 'time' or +the like; it is thriftless work doing so. His time is bad; well +then, he is there to make it better!-- + +"Johnson's youth was poor, isolated, hopeless, very miserable. +Indeed, it does not seem possible that, in any of the +favourablest outward circumstances, Johnson's life could have +been other than a painful one. The world might have had more +profitable work out of him, or less; but his effort against the +world's work could never have been a light one. Nature, in +return for his nobleness, had said to him, 'Live in an element of +diseased sorrow.' Nay, perhaps the sorrow and the nobleness were +intimately and even inseparably connected with each other. . . . + +"The largest soul that was in all England; and provision made for +it of 'fourpence halfpenny a day.' Yet a giant, invincible soul; +a true man's. One remembers always that story of the shoes at +Oxford; the rough, seamy-faced, raw-boned College Servitor +stalking about, in winter season, with his shoes worn out; how +the charitable Gentleman Commoner secretly places a new pair at +his door, and the raw-boned Servitor, lifting them, looking at +them near, with his dim eyes, with what thought,--pitches them +out of window! Wet feet, mud, frost, hunger, or what you will; +but not beggary: we cannot stand beggary! Rude stubborn self- +help here; a whole world of squalor, rudeness, confused misery +and want, yet of nobleness and manfulness withal. + +"It is a type of the man's life, this pitching away of the shoes, +an original man;--not a second hand, borrowing or begging man. +Let us stand on our own basis, at any rate! On such shoes as we +ourselves can get. On frost and mud, if you will, but honestly +on that;--On the reality and substance which nature gives us, not +on the semblance, on the thing she has give another than us!- + +"And yet with all this rugged pride of manhood and self-help, was +there ever soul more tenderly affectionate, loyally submissive to +what was really higher than he? Great souls are always loyally +submissive, reverent to what is over them; only small souls are +otherwise. . . . + +"It was in virtue of his sincerity, of his speaking still in some +sort from the heart of Nature, though in the current artificial +dialect, that Johnson was a Prophet. . . . Mark, too, how little +Johnson boasts of his 'sincerity.' He has no suspicion of his +being particularly sincere,--of his being particularly anything! +A hard-struggling, weary-hearted man, or 'scholar' as he calls +himself, trying hard to get some honest livelihood in the world, +not to starve, but to live,--without stealing! A noble +unconsciousness is in him. He does not 'engrave Truth on his +watch-seal'; no, but he stands by truth, speaks by it, works and +lives by it. Thus it ever is. . . . + +"Johnson was a Prophet to his people: preached a Gospel to +them,--as all like him always do. The highest Gospel he preached +we may describe as a kind of moral Prudence: 'in a world where +much is to be done, and little is to be known,' see how you will +do it! A thing well worth preaching. 'A world where much is to +be done, and little is to be known,' do not sink yourselves in +boundless, bottomless abysses of Doubt. . . . + +"Such Gospel Johnson preached and taught;--coupled with this +other great Gospel. 'Clear your mind of Cant!' Have no trade +with Cant: stand on the cold mud in the frosty weather, but let +it be in your own real torn shoes: 'that will be better for +you,' as Mahomet says! I call this, I call these two things +joined together, a great Gospel, the greatest perhaps that was +possible at that time." + +I give this quotation from Heroes because there is, in some ways +a great likeness between Johnson and Carlyle. Both were sincere, +and both after a time of poverty and struggle ruled the thought +of their day. For Carlyle became known by degrees, and became, +like Johnson before him, a great literary man. He was sought +after by the other writers of his day, who came to listen to the +growlings of the "Sage of Chelsea." + +Carlyle, like Johnson, was a Prophet with a message. "Carlyle," +says a French writer, "has taken up a mission; he is a prophet, +the prophet of sincerity. This sincerity or earnestness he would +have applied everywhere: he makes it the law, the healthy and +holy law, of art, of morals, of politics."* And through all +Carlyle's exaggeration and waywardness of diction we find that +note ring clear again and again. Be sincere, find the highest, +and worship it with all thy mind and heart and will. + +*Scherer. + +And although for us of to-day the light of Carlyle as a prophet +may be somewhat dimmed, we may still find, as a great man of his +own day found, that the good his writings do us, is "not as +philosophy to instruct, but as poetry to animate."* + +*J. S. Mill. + +Carlyle went steadily on with his writing. In the summer he +would have his table and tray of books brought out into the +garden so that he could write in the open air, but much of his +work, too, was done in a "sound proof" room which he built at the +top of the house in order to escape from the horror of noise. +The sound-proof room was not, however, a great success, for +though it kept out some noises it let in others even worse. + +When visitors came they were received either indoors or in the +little garden which Carlyle found "of admirable comfort in the +smoking way." In the garden they smoked and talked sitting on +kitchen chairs, or on the quaint china barrels which Mrs. Carlyle +named "noblemen's seats." + +Among the many friends Carlyle made was the young poet Alfred +Tennyson. Returning from a walk one day he found a splendidly +handsome young man sitting in the garden talking to his wife. It +was the poet. + +Here is how Carlyle describes his new friend: "A fine, large- +featured, dime-eyed, bronze-coloured, shaggy-headed man is +Alfred; dusty, smoky, free and easy; who swims outwardly and +inwardly with great composure in an articulate element as of +tranquil chaos and tobacco smoke; great, now and then when he +does emerge; a most restful, brotherly, whole-hearted man." Or +again: "Smokes infinite tobacco. His voice is musical, +metallic, fit for loud laughter and piercing wail, and all that +may lie between. I do not meet in these late decades such +company over a pipe. We shall see what he will grow to."* + +*Hallam, Lord Tennyson, Life of Tennyson. + +Although Carlyle was older than Tennyson by fourteen years, this +was the beginning of a friendship which strengthened with years +and lasted when they were both gray-haired men. They talked and +smoked and walked about together often at night through the lamp- +lit streets, sometimes in the wind, and rain, Carlyle crying out +as they walked along against the dirt and squalor and noise of +London, "that healthless, profitless, mad and heavy-laden place," +"that Devil's Oven." + +The years passed and Carlyle added book to book. Perhaps of them +all that which we should be most grateful for is his Life and +Letters of Cromwell. For in this book he set Cromwell in a new +light, a better light than he had ever been set before. Carlyle +is a hero worshiper, and in Cromwell as a hero he can find no +fault. He had of course his faults like other men, and he had no +need of such blind championship. For in his letters and +speeches, gathered together and given to the world by Carlyle, he +speaks for himself. In them we find one to whom we may look up +as a true hero, a man of strength to trust. We find, too, a man +of such broad kindliness, a man of such a tender human heart that +we may love him. + +Another great book was Carlyle's History of Frederick the Great. +It is a marvelous piece of historical work, and as volume after +volume appeared Carlyle's fame steadily rose. + +"No critic," says his first biographer, Froude, "no critic after +the completion of Frederick, challenged Carlyle's right to a +place beside the greatest of English authors, past and present." +He was a great historian, but in the history he gives us not dead +facts, but living, breathing men and women. His pages are as +full of color and of life as the pages of Shakespeare. + +The old days of struggle and want were long over, but the +Carlyles still lived the simple life in the little Chelsea house. +As another writer* has quaintly put it, "Tom Carlyle lives in +perfect dignity in a little 40 pound house in Chelsea, with a +snuffy Scotch maid to open the door; and the best company in +England ringing at it." + +*Thackeray. + +Then in 1865 Carlyle was chosen Lord Rector of Edinburgh +University, and although this could add little to his fame, he +was glad that his own country had recognized his greatness. + +Fifty years before, he had left the University a poor and unknown +lad. Now at seventy-one, a famous man, he returned to make his +speech upon entering his office as Rector. + +This speech was a splendid success, his reception magnificent, "a +perfect triumph," as a friend telegraphed to Mrs. Carlyle waiting +anxiously for news in London. For a few days Carlyle lingered in +Scotland. Then he was suddenly recalled home by the terrible +news that his wife had died suddenly while out driving. It was a +crushing blow. Only when it was too late did Carlyle realize all +that his wife had been to him. She was, as he wrote on her +tombstone, "Suddenly snatched away from him, and the light of his +life as if gone out." + +The light indeed had gone out. The rest of his life was a sad +twilight, filled with cruel remorse. He still wrote a little, +and friends were kind, but his real work in life was done, and he +felt bitterly alone. + +Honors were offered him, a title if he would, a pension. But he +declined them all. For fifteen years life dragged along. Then +at the age of eighty-five he died. + +He might have lain in Westminster among the illustrious dead. +But such had not been his wish, so he was buried beside his +father and mother in the old churchyard at Ecclefechan. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Stories from Carlyle, by D. M. Ford. Readings from Carlyle, by +W. Keith Leask. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXXIII THACKERAY--THE CYNIC? + +A LITTLE time after Carlyle's French Revolution was published he +wrote to his brother, "I understand there have been many reviews +of a very mixed character. I got one in the Times last week. +The writer is one, Thackeray, a half-monstrous Cornish giant, +kind of painter, Cambridge man, and Paris newspaper +correspondent, who is now writing for his life in London. . . . +His article is rather like him, and I suppose calculated to do +the book good." + +In these few sentences we have a sketch of William Makepeace +Thackeray's life, from the time he finished his education up to +the age of twenty-six, when Carlyle met him. He was the son of +Richmond Thackeray, a collector in the service of the East India +Company, and was born in Calcutta in 1811. + +Little Billy-man, as his mother called him, in after years could +remember very little of India. He remembered seeing crocodiles +and a very tall, lean father. When Billy was quite a tiny chap, +his father died. Soon after, the little boy was sent home, as +Indian children always are, but his mother remained out in India, +and a year or two later married Major Henry Carmichael Smyth. +Major Smyth was a simple, kindly gentleman, and proved a good +stepfather to his wife's little boy, who, when he grew up and +became famous drew his stepfather's portrait in the character of +Colonel Newcome. + +Meanwhile Billy-man was separated from both father and mother, +and sailed home under the care of a black servant. His ship +called at St. Helena, and there the black servant took the little +boy on a long walk over rocks and hills until they came to a +garden. In the garden a man was walking. "That is he," said the +black man, "that is Bonaparte. He eats three sheep every day, +and all the little children he can lay hands on." Ugh! We think +that the little boy did not want to stay there long. + +William reached home safely and was very happy with kind aunts +and grandmother until he went to school. And school he did not +like at all. Long afterwards in one of his books he wrote, "It +was governed by a horrible little tyrant, who made our young +lives so miserable, that I remember kneeling by my little bed of +a night and saying, 'Pray God, I may dream of my mother.'"* + +*Roundabout Papers. + +But he left this school and when he was about eleven went to +Charterhouse. Here Thackeray was not much happier. He was a +pretty, gentle boy, and not particularly clever, either at games +or at lessons. The boys were rough and even brutal to each +other, and Thackeray had to take his share of the blows, and got +a broken nose which disfigured his good-looking face ever after. +And when he left school he took away with him a painful +remembrance of all he had had to suffer. But by degrees the +suffering faded out of his memory and he looked upon his old +school with kindly eyes, and called it no longer Slaughterhouse, +but Grey Friars, in his books. + +Before Thackeray went to Charterhouse his mother and stepfather +had come home to England and made a home for the little boy where +he spent happy holidays. Thackeray was not very diligent, but in +his last term at school he writes to his mother, "I really think +I am becoming terribly industrious, though I can't get Dr. +Russell (the headmaster) to think so. . . . There are but three +hundred and seventy in the school. I wish there were only three +hundred and sixty-nine." + +Soon he had his wish, and leaving Charterhouse he went to Trinity +College, Cambridge. He liked Cambridge better than Charterhouse, +but did not learn much more. In little more than a year he left +because he felt that he was wasting his time, and went abroad to +finish his education. After spending a happy year in Germany he +came home to study at the bar, but soon finding he had no taste +for law, he gave that up. + +Thackeray was now of age and had come into a little fortuned of +about 500 pounds a year, left to him by his father. So he decided +to try his hand at literature, and bought a paper called the +National Standard, and became editor of it. He could not, +however, make his paper pay, and in that and other ways he had +soon lost all his money. + +It was now necessary that he should do something to earn a +living, and he determined to be an artist, and went to Paris to +study. But although he was fond of drawing, and was able +afterwards to illustrate some of his own books, he never became a +real artist. + +Meanwhile in Paris he met a young Irish lady with whom he fell in +love, and being offered the post of Paris correspondent on +another paper, he married. But very soon after he married the +paper failed and Thackeray and his young wife returned to London, +very poor indeed, and there he remained, as Carlyle said, +"writing for his life." + +It was a struggle, doubtless, but not a bitter one, and Thackeray +was happy in his home with his wife and two little daughters. +Long afterwards one of these daughters wrote, "Almost the first +time I can remember my parents was at home in Great Coram Street +on one occasion, when my mother took me upon her back, as she had +a way of doing, and after hesitating for a moment at the door, +carried me into a little ground floor room where some one sat +bending over a desk. This some one lifted up his head and looked +round at the people leaning over his chair. He seemed pleased, +smiled at us, but remonstrated. Nowadays I know by experience +that authors don't get on best, as a rule, when they are +interrupted in their work--not even by their own particular +families--but at that time it was all wondering, as I looked over +my mother's shoulder." + +But these happy days did not last long. The young mother became +ill; gradually she became worse, until at last the light of +reason died out of her brain, and although she lived on for many +years, it was a living death, for she knew no one and took no +notice of anything that went on around her. + +The happy home was broken up. The children went to live with +their great-grandmother, who found them "inconveniently young," +while Thackeray remained alone in London. But though he was +heart-broken and lonely, he kept a loving memory of the happy +days gone by. Long after he wrote to a friend who was going to +be married, "Although my own marriage was a wreck, as you know, I +would do it over again, for behold, Love is the crown and +completion of all earthly good. The man who is afraid of his +future never deserved one." + +Thackeray was already making a way with his pen, and now he found +a new opening. Most of you know Punch. He and his dog Toby are +old friends. And Mr. Punch with his humped back and big nose +"comes out" every week to make us laugh. He makes us laugh, too, +with kindly laughter, for, as Thackeray himself said, "there +never were before published in this world so many volumes that +contained so much cause for laughing, so little for blushing. It +is easy to be witty and wicked, so hard to be witty and wise!" +But once upon a time there was no Punch, strange though it may +seem. It was just at this time, indeed, that Punch was published +and Thackeray became one of the earliest contributors, and +continued for ten years both to draw pictures and write papers +for it. It was in Punch that his famous "Snob Papers" appeared. +What is a Snob? Thackeray says, "He who meanly admires mean +things." + +It has been said that by reason of writing so much about snobs +that Thackeray came to see snobbishness where there was none. +But certain it is he laid a smart but kindly finger on many a +small-minded prejudice. Several times in this book you have +heard of sizars and commoners, stupid distinctions which are +happily now done away with. Perhaps you would like to know what +Thackeray thought of them. For although it is not a very good +illustration of real snobbishness, it is interesting to read in +connection with the lives of many great writer. + +"If you consider, dear reader, what profound snobbishness the +University System produced, you will allow that it is time to +attack some of those feudal Middle-age superstitions. If you go +down for five shillings to look at the 'College Youths,' you may +see one sneaking down the court without a tassel to his cap; +another with a gold or silver fringe to his velvet trencher; a +third lad with a master's gown and hat, walking at ease over the +sacred College grass-plats, which common men must not tread on. + +"He may do it because he is a nobleman. Because a lad is a lord, +the University gives him a degree at the end of two years which +another is seven in acquiring. Because he is a lord, he has no +call to go through an examination. . . . + +"The lads with gold and silver lace are sons of rich gentlemen, +and called Fellow Commoners; they are privileged to feed better +than the pensioners, and to have wine with their victuals, which +the latter can only get in their rooms. + +"The unlucky boys who have no tassels to their caps, are called +sizars--servitors at Oxford--(a very pretty and gentlemanlike +title). A distinction is made in their clothes because they are +poor; for which reason they wear a badge of poverty, and are not +allowed to take their meals with their fellow students." + +But the same pen that wrote sharply and satirically about snobs, +wrote loving letters in big round hand to his dear daughters, who +were living far away in Paris. For either child he used a +different hand, so that each might know at once to whom the +letter was addressed. Here is part of one to his "dearest +Nanny." "How glad I am that it is a black puss and not a black +nuss you have got! I thought you did not know how to spell +nurse, and had spelt it en-you-double-ess; but I see the spelling +gets better as the letters grow longer: they cannot be too long +for me. Laura must be a very good-natured girl. I hope my dear +Nanny is so too, not merely to her school mistress and friends, +but to everybody--to her servants and her nurses. I would sooner +have you gentle and humble-minded than ever so clever. Who was +born on Christmas Day? Somebody Who was so great, that all the +world worships Him; and so good that all the world loves Him; and +so gentle and humble that He never spoke an unkind word. And +there is a little sermon and a great deal of love and affection +from papa."* + +*Mrs. Ritchie's introduction to Contributions to Punch. + +The Book of Snobs brought Thackeray into notice, and now that he +was becoming well known and making more money, he once more made +a home for his daughters, and they came to London to live with +their father. Everything was new and strange to the little +girls. There was a feeling of London they thought, in the new +house, and "London smelt of tobacco." Thus once more, says his +daughter, "after his first happy married years, my father had a +home and a family--if a house, two young children, three +servants, and a little black cat can be called a family." + +Thackeray was a very big man, being six feet three or four. He +must have seemed a very big papa to the little girls of six and +eight, who were, no doubt, very glad to be again beside their +great big kind father, and he, on his side, was very glad to have +his little girls to love, and he took them about a great deal to +the theater and concerts. They helped him in many little ways +and thought it joy to leave lessons in the schoolroom upstairs +and come downstairs to help father, and be posed as models for +his drawings. + +It was now that Thackeray wrote his first great novel, his +greatest some people think, Vanity Fair. I cannot tell you about +it now, but when you are a very little older you will like to +read of clever and disagreeable Becky Sharp, of dear Dobbin, and +foolish Amelia, and all the rest of the interesting people +Thackeray creates for us. Thackeray has been called a cynic, +that is one who does not believe in the goodness of human nature, +and who sneers at and finds fault with everything. And reading +Vanity Fair when we are very young we are apt to think that is +so, but later we come to see the heart of goodness there is in +him, and when we have read his books we say to ourselves, "What a +truly good man Thackeray must have been." "He could not have +painted Vanity Fair as he has," says another writer,* "unless +Eden had been shining brightly in his inner eyes." + +*George Brimley. + +Though Thackeray is no cynic he is a satirist as much as Pope or +Dryden, but the most kindly satirist who ever wrote. His thrusts +are keen and yet there is always a humorous laugh behind, and +never a spark of malice or uncharitableness. Thackeray bore no +hatred in his heart towards any man. He could not bear to give +pain, and as he grew older his satire became more gentle even +than at first, and he regretted some of his earlier and too sharp +sayings. + +After Vanity Fair other novels followed, the best of all being +Esmond. Esmond is perhaps the finest historical novel in our +language. It is a story of the time of Queen Anne, and when we +read it we feel as if the days of Addison and Steele lived again. +But with Thackeray the historical novel is very different from +the historical novel of Scott. With Thackeray his imaginary +people hold the chief place, the real people only form a +background, while in many of Scott's novels the real people claim +our attention most. + +Before Esmond was written Thackeray had added the profession of +lecturer to that of author. He was a very loving father and was +always anxious not only that his daughters should be happy when +they were young, but that when he died he should leave them well +off. Again and again in his letters we find him turning to this +thought: "If I can't leave them a fortune, why, we must try to +leave them the memory of having had a good time," he says. But +he wanted to leave them a fortune, and so he took to lecturing. +His lectures were a great success, and he delivered them in many +places in England, Scotland, Ireland and America. + +It was while he was lecturing in Scotland that he heard a little +boy read one of his ballads. It was a satirical ballad, and +somehow Thackeray did not like to hear it from the little boy's +lips. Turning away he said to himself, "Pray God I may be able +some day to write something good for children. That will be +better than glory or Parliament." + +But already he had written something good for children in the +fairy tale of The Rose and the Ring. One year he spent the +winter with his children in Rome, and wrote the fairy tale for +them and their friends, and drew the pictures too. + +I have no room in this book to tell you the story, but there is a +great deal of fun in it, and I hope you will read it for +yourselves. Here, for instance, is what happened to a porter for +being rude to the fairy Blackstick. After saying many other rude +things, he asked if she thought he was going to stay at the door +all day. + +"'You are going to stay at that door all day and all night, and +for many a long year,' the fairy said, very majestically; and +Gruffenuff, coming out of the door, straddling before it with his +great calves, burst out laughing, and cried 'Ha, ha, ha! this is +a good un! Ha--ah what's this? Let me down--O-o-H'm!' and then +he was dumb. + +"For as the fairy waved her wand over him, he felt himself rising +off the ground, and fluttering up against the door, and then, as +if a screw ran into his stomach, he felt a dreadful pain there, +and was pinned to the door; and then his arms flew up over his +head; and his legs, after writhing about wildly, twisted under +his body; and he felt cold, cold, growing over him, as if he was +turning into metal; and he said, 'O-o-H'm!' and could say no +more, because he was dumb. + +"He was turned into metal! He was from being brazen, brass! He +was neither more nor less than a knocker! An there he was, +nailed to the door in the blazing summer day, till he burned +almost red-hot; and there he was, nailed to the door all the +bitter winter nights, till his brass nose was dropping with +icicles. And the postman came and rapped at him, and the +vulgarist boy with a letter came and hit him up against the door. +And the King and Queen coming home from a walk that evening, the +King said, 'Hallo, my dear! you have had a new knocker put on the +door. Why, it's rather like our porter in the face. What has +become of that old vagabond?' And the housemaid came and +scrubbed his nose with sand-paper; and once when the Princess +Angelica's little sister was born, he was tied up in an old kid +glove; and another night, some larking young men tried to wrench +him off, and put him to the most excruciating agony with a +turnscrew. And then the queen had a fancy to have the colour of +the door altered, and the painters dabbed him over the mouth and +eyes, and nearly choked him, as they painted him pea-green. I +warrant he had leisure to repent of having been rude to the Fairy +Blackstick." + +As the years went on, Thackeray became ever more and more famous, +his company more and more sought after. "The kind, tall, +amusing, grey-haired man"* was welcome in many a drawing-room. +Yet with all his success he never forgot his little girls. They +were his fast friends and companions, and very often they wrote +while he dictated his story to them. He worked with a lazy kind +of diligence. He could not, like Scott, sit down and write a +certain number of pages every morning. He was by nature +indolent, yet he got through a great deal of work. + +*Lord Houghton. + +Death found him still working steadily. He had not been feeling +well, and one evening he went to bed early. Next morning, +Christmas Eve of 1863, he was found dead in bed. + +Deep and widespread was the grief of Thackeray's death. The news +"saddened England's Christmas." His friends mourned not only the +loss of a great writer but "the cheerful companionship, the large +heart, and open hand, the simple courteousness, and the endearing +frankness of a brave, true, honest gentleman."* + +*In Punch. + +Although he was buried in a private cemetery, a bust was almost +at once placed in Westminster by his sorrowing friends. + +The following verses were written by the editor of Punch* in his +memory:-- + +*Shirley Brooks. + + "He was a cynic! By his life all wrought + Of generous acts, mild words, and gentle ways; + His heart wide open to all kindly thought, + His hand so great to give, his tongue to praise. + + "He was a cynic! You might read it writ + In that broad brow, crowned with its silver hair, + In those blue eyes, with childlike candour lit, + In the sweet smile his lips were wont to wear. + + "He was a cynic! By the love that clung + About him from his children, friends, and kin; + By the sharp pain, light pen and gossip tongue + Wrought in him chafing the soft heart within. + . . . . . . + "He was a cynic? Yes--if 'tis the cynic's part + To track the serpent's trail with saddened eye, + To mark how good and ill divide the heart, + How lives in chequered shade and sunshine lie: + + "How e'en the best unto the worst is knit + By brotherhood of weakness, sin and care; + How even in the worst, sparks may be lit + To show all is not utter darkness there." + +BOOK TO READ + +The Rose and the Ring. +NOTE.--The Rose and the Ring can be found in any complete edition +of Thackeray's works. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXXIV DICKENS--SMILES AND TEARS + +CHARLES DICKENS was a novelist who lived and wrote at the same +time as Thackeray. He was indeed only six months younger, but he +began to make a name much earlier and was known to fame while +Thackeray was still a struggling artist. When they both became +famous these two great writers were to some extent rivals, and +those who read their books were divided into two camps. For +though both are men of genius, they are men of widely differing +genius. + +John Dickens, the father, was a clerk with a small salary in the +Navy Pay Office, and his son Charles was born in 1812 at Portsea. +When Charles was about four his father was moved to Chatham, and +here the little boy Charles lived until he was nine. He was a +very puny little boy, and not able to join in the games of the +other boys of his own age. So he spent most of his time in a +small room where there was some books and where no one else +besides himself cared to go. He not only read the books, but +lived them, and for weeks together he would make believe to +himself that he was his favorite character in whatever book he +might be reading. All his life he loved acting a part and being +somebody else, and at one time thought of becoming an actor. + +Then when Charles was seven he went to a school taught by a young +Baptist minister. It was not an unhappy life for the "Very queer +small boy" as he calls himself. There were fields in which he +could play his pretending games, and there was a beautiful house +called Gad's Hill near, at which he could go to look and dream +that if he were very good and very clever he might some day be a +fine gentleman and own that house. + +When the very queer small boy was nine he and all his family +moved to London. Here they lived in a mean little house in a +mean little street. There were now six children, and the father +had grown very poor, so instead of being sent to school Charles +used to black the boots and make himself useful about the house. +But he still had his books to read, and could still make believe +to himself. Things grew worse and worse however, and John +Dickens, who was kind and careless, got into debt deeper and +deeper. Everything in the house that could be done without was +sold, and one by one the precious books went. At length one day +men came and took the father away to prison because he could not +pay his debts. + +Then began for Charles the most miserable time of his life. The +poor, sickly little chap was set to work in a blacking factory. +His work was to cover the pots of paste-blacking, tie them down +neatly and paste on the labels. Along with two or three others +boys he worked all day long for six or seven shillings a week. +Oh, how the little boy hated it! He felt degraded and ashamed. +He felt that he was forgotten and neglected by every one, and +that never never more would he be able to read books and play +pretending games, or do anything that he loved. All week he +worked hard, ill clad and only half fed, and Sunday he spent with +this father at the prison. It was a miserable, sordid, and +pitiful beginning to life. + +How long this unhappy time lasted we do not know. Dickens +himself could not remember. He seldom spoke of this time, but he +never forgot the misery of it. Long afterwards in one of his +books called David Copperfield, when he tells of the unhappy +childhood of his hero, it is of his own he speaks. + +But presently John Dickens got out of prison, Charles left the +blacking factory, and once more went to school. And although in +after years he could never bear to think of these miserable days, +at the time his spirits were not crushed, and at school he was +known as a bright and jolly boy. He was always ready for any +mischief, and took delight in getting up theatricals. + +At fifteen Dickens left school and went into a lawyer's office, +but he knew that he had learned very little at school, and now +set himself to learn more. He went to the British Museum +Reading-room, and studied there, and he also with a great deal of +labor taught himself shorthand. + +He worked hard, determined to get on, and at nineteen he found +himself in the Gallery of the House of Commons as reporter for a +daily paper. Since the days when Samuel Johnson reported +speeches without having heard them things had changed. People +were no longer content with such make-believe reporting, and +Dickens proved himself one of the smartest reporters there had +ever been. He not only reported the speeches, but told of +everything that took place in the House. He had such a keen eye +for seeing, and such a vivid way of describing what he saw, that +he was able to make people realize the scenes inside the House as +none had done before. + +Besides reporting in the Houses of Parliament Dickens dashed +about the country in post-chaises gathering news for his paper, +writing by flickering candle-light while his carriage rushed +along, at what seemed then the tremendous speed of fifteen miles +an hour. For those were not the days of railways and motors, and +traveling was much slower than it is now. + +But even while Dickens was leading this hurried, busy life he +found time to write other things besides newspaper reports, and +little tales and sketches began to appear signed by Boz. Boz was +a pet name for Dickens's youngest brother. His real name was +Augustus, but he had been nicknamed Moses after Moses in the +Vicar of Wakefield. Pronounced through the nose it became Boses +and then Boz. That is the history of the name under which +Dickens at first wrote and won his earliest fame. + +The sketches by Boz were well received, but real fame came to +Dickens with the Pickwick Papers which he now began to write. +This story came out in monthly parts. The first few numbers were +not very successful, only about four hundred copies being sold, +but by the fifteenth number London was ringing with the fame of +it, and forty thousand copies were quickly sold. "Judges on the +bench and boys in the street, gravity and folly, the young and +the old"* all alike read it and laughed over it. Dickens above +everything is a humorist, and one of the chief features in his +humor is caricature, that is exaggerating and distorting one +feature or habit or characteristic of a man out of all likeness +to nature. This often makes very good fun, but it takes away +from the truth and realness of his characters. And yet no story- +teller perhaps is remembered so little for his stories and so +much for his characters. In Pickwick there is hardly any story, +the papers ramble on in unconnected incidents. No one could tell +the story of Pickwick for there is really none to tell; it is a +series of scenes which hang together anyhow. "Pickwick cannot be +classed as a novel," it has been said; "it is merely a great +book."** + +*Forster. +**Gissing. + +So in spite of the fact that they are all caricatures it is the +persons of the Pickwick club that we remember and not their +doings. Like Jonson long before him, Dickens sees every man in +his humor. By his genius he enables us to see these humors too, +though at times one quality in a man is shown so strongly that we +fail to see any other in him, and so a caricature is produced. + +Dickens himself was full of fun and jollity. His was a florid +personality. He loved light and color, and sunshine. He almost +covered his walls with looking-glasses and crowded his garden +with blazing geraniums. He loved movement and life, overflowed +with it himself and poured it into his creations, making them +live in spite of rather than because of their absurdities. + +Winkle, one of the Pickwickians, is a mild and foolish boaster, +who pretends that he can do things he cannot. He pretends to be +able to shoot and succeeds only in hitting one of his friends. +He pretends to skate, and this is how he succeeds:-- + +"'Now,' said Wardle, after a substantial lunch had been done +ample just to, 'what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall +have plenty of time.' + +"'Capital!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen. + +"'Prime!' ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer. + +"'You skate of course, Winkle?' said Wardle. + +"'Ye-yes; oh, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'I--I am rather out of +practice.' + +"'Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle,' said Arabella. 'I like to see it so +much.' + +"'Oh, it is so graceful,' said another young lady. A third young +lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that +it was 'swanlike.' + +"'I should be very happy, I'm sure,' said Mr. Winkle, reddening, +'but I have no skates.' + +"This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of +pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half-a-dozen +more, downstairs: whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite +delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. + +"Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice, and the +fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow +which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted +his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly +marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut +figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once +stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing +devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. +Tupman, and the ladies: which reached a pitch of positive +enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the +aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which +they called a reel. + +"All this time Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the +cold, had been forcing gimlet into the soles of his boots, and +putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the +straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the +assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates +than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr. +Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled +on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet. + +"'Now, then, Sir,' said Sam, in an encouraging tone; 'off with +you, and shoe 'em how to do it.' + +"'Stop, Sam, stop!' said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently and +clutching hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. +'How slippery it is, Sam!' + +"'Not a uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Hold +up, Sir!' + +"This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a +demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire +to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on +the ice. + +"'These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?' +inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering. + +"'I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, Sir,' replied +Sam. + +"'Now, Winkle,' cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that here +was anything the matter. 'Come, the ladies are all anxiety.' + +"'Yes, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. 'I'm +coming.' + +"'Just a-goin' to begin,' said Sam, endeavouring to disengage +himself. 'Now, Sir, start off!' + +"'Stop an instant, Sam,' gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most +affectionately to Mr. Weller. 'I find I've got a couple of coats +at home, that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.' + +"'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. + +"'Never mind touching your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle, hastily. +'You needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have +given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. +I'll give it you this afternoon, Sam.' + +"'You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. + +"'Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?' said Mr. Winkle. +'There--that's right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. +Not too fast, Sam; not too fast.' + +"Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was +being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and +un-swanlike manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted +from the opposite bank,-- + +"'Sam!' + +"'Sir?' said Mr. Weller. + +"'Here, I want you.' + +"'Let go, Sir,' said Sam. 'Don't you hear the governor a- +callin'? Let go, Sir.' + +"With a violent effort Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the +grasp of the agonised Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered +a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an +accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have +insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the +centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was +performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck +wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily +down. + +"Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, +but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in +skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to +smile, but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his +countenance. + +"'Are you hurt?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety. + +"'Not much,' said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. + +"'I wish you'd let me bleed you,' said Mr. Benjamin, with great +eagerness. + +"'No, thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly. + +"'What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?' enquired Bob Sawyer. + +"Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. +Weller, and said in a stern voice, 'Take his skates off.' + +"'No; but really I had scarcely begun,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle. + +"'Take his skates off,' repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly. + +"The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to +obey it, in silence. + +"'Lift him up,' said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise. + +"Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and +beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon +him, and uttering in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone, these +remarkable words,-- + +"'You're a humbug, Sir.' + +"'A what!' said Mr. Winkle starting. + +"'A humbug, Sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An +impostor, Sir.' + +"With these words Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and +rejoined his friends." + +There is much life and fun and jollity and some vulgarity in +Pickwick. There is a good deal of eating and far too much +drinking. But when the fun is rather rough, we must remember +that Dickens wrote of the England of seventy years ago and more, +when life was rougher than it is now, and when people did not see +that drinking was the sordid sin we know it to be now. + +To many people Pickwick remains Dickens's best book. "The glory +of Charles Dickens," it has been said, "will always be in his +Pickwick, his first, his best, his inimitable triumph."* + +*Fred Harrison. + +Just when Dickens began to write Pickwick he married, and soon we +find him comfortably settled in a London house, while the other +great writers of his day gathered round him as his friends. + +Although not born in London, Dickens was a true Londoner, and +when his work was done he loved nothing better than to roam the +streets. He was a great walker, and thought nothing of going +twenty or thirty miles a day, for though he was small and slight +he had quite recovered from his childish sickliness and was full +of wiry energy. The crowded streets of London were his books. +As he wandered through them his clear blue eyes took note of +everything, and when he was far away, among the lovely sights of +Italy or Switzerland, he was homesick for the grimy streets and +hurrying crowds of London. + +After Pickwick many other stories followed; in them Dickens +showed his power not only of making people laugh, but of making +them cry. For the source of laughter and the source of tears are +not very far apart. There is scarcely another writer whose +pathetic scenes are so famous as those of Dickens. + +In life there is a great deal that is sad, and one of the things +which touched Dickens most deeply was the misery of children. +The children of to-day are happy in knowing nothing of the +miseries of childhood as it was in the days when Dickens wrote. +In those days tiny children had to work ten or twelve hours a day +in factories, many schools were places of terror and misery, and +few people cared. But Dickens saw and cared and wrote about +these things. And now they are of a bygone day. So children may +remember Dickens with thankful hearts. He is one of their great +champions. + +Dickens loved children and they loved him, for he had a most +winning way with them and he understood their little joys and +sorrows. "There are so many people," says his daughter writing +about her father, "There are so many people good, kind, and +affectionate, but who can not remember that they once were +children themselves, and looked out upon the world with a child's +eyes only." This Dickens did always remember, and it made him a +tender and delightful father to whom his children looked up with +something of adoration. "Ever since I can remember anything," +says his daughter, "I remember him as the good genius of the +house, or as its happy, bright and funny genius." As Thackeray +had a special handwriting for each daughter, Dickens had a +special voice for each child, so that without being named each +knew when he or she was spoken to. He sang funny songs to them +and told funny stories, did conjuring tricks and got up +theatricals, shared their fun and comforted their sorrows. And +this same power of understanding which made him enter into the +joys and sorrows of his children, made him enter into the joys +and sorrows of the big world around him. So that the people of +that big world loved him as a friend, and adored him as a hero. + +As the years went on Dickens wrote more and more books. He +started a magazine too, first called Household Words and later +All the Year Round. In this, some of his own works came out as +well as the works of other writers. It added greatly to his +popularity and not a little to his wealth. And as he became rich +and famous, his boyish dream came true. He bought the house of +Gad's Hill which had seemed so splendid and so far off in his +childish eyes, and went to live there with his big family of +growing boys and girls. + +It was about this time, too, that Dickens found a new way of +entertaining the world. He not only wrote books but he himself +read them to great audiences. All his life Dickens had loved +acting. Indeed he very nearly became an actor before he found +out his great powers of writing. He many times took part in +private theatricals, one of his favorite parts, you will like to +know, being Captain Bobadil, in Jonson's Every Man in his Humor. +And now all the actor in him delighted in the reading of his own +works, so although many of his friends were very much against +these readings, he went on with them. And wherever he read in +England, Scotland, Ireland, and America, crowds flocked to hear +him. Dickens swayed his audiences at will. He made them laugh, +and cry, and whether they cried they cheered and applauded him. +It was a triumph and an evidence of his power in which Dickens +delighted and which he could not forego, although his friends +thought it was beneath his dignity as an author. + +But the strain and excitement were too much. These readings +broke down Dickens's health and wore him out. He was at last +forced to give them up, but it was already too late. A few +months later he died suddenly one evening in June 1870 in his +house at Gad's Hill. He was buried in Westminster, and although +the funeral was very quiet and simple as he himself had wished, +for two days after a constant stream of mourners came to place +flowers upon his grave. + +I have not given you a list of Dicken's books because they are to +be found in nearly every household. You will soon be able to +read them and learn to know the characters whose names have +become household words. + +Dickens was the novelist of the poor, the shabby genteel, and the +lower middle class. It has been said many times that in all his +novels he never drew for us a single gentleman, and that is very +nearly true. But we need little regret that, for he has left us +a rich array of characters we might never otherwise have known, +such as perhaps no other man could have pictured for us. + +BOOKS TO READ + +Stories from Dickens, by J. W. M'Spadden. The Children's +Dickens. + + + + + + + +Chapter LXXXV TENNYSON--THE POET OF FRIENDSHIP + +KEATS had lain beneath the Roman violets six years, and Shelley +somewhat less than five, when a little volume of poems was +published in England. It was called Poems by two Brothers. No +one took any notice of it, and yet in it was the first little +twitter of one of our sweetest singing birds. For the two +brothers were Alfred and Charles Tennyson, boys then of sixteen +and seventeen. It is of Alfred that I mean to tell you in this +last chapter. You have heard of him already in one of the +chapters on the Arthur story, and also you have heard of him as a +friend of Carlyle. And now I will tell you a little more about +him. + +Alfred Tennyson was born in 1809 in the Lincolnshire village of +Somersby. His father was the rector there, and had, besides +Alfred, eleven other children. And here about the Rectory +garden, orchard and fields, the Tennyson children played at +knights and warriors. Beyond the field flowed a brook-- + + "That loves + To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, + Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, + Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, + In every elbow and turn, + The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland."* + + *Ode to Memory. + +Of the garden and the fields and of the brook especially, Alfred +kept a memory all through his long life. But at seven he was +sent to live with his grandmother and go to school at Louth, +about ten miles away. "How I did hate that school!" he said, +long afterwards, so we may suppose the years he spent there were +not altogether happy. But when he was eleven he went home again +to be taught by his father, until he went to Cambridge. + +At home, Alfred read a great deal, especially poetry. He wrote, +too, romances like Sir Walter Scott's, full of battles, epics in +the manner of Pope, plays, and blank verse. He wrote so much +that his father said, "If Alfred die, one of our greatest poets +will have gone." And besides writing poems, Alfred, who was one +of the big children, used to tell stories to the little ones,-- +stories these of knights and ladies, giants and dragons and all +manner of wonderful things. So the years passed, and one day the +two boys, Charles and Alfred, resolved to print their poems, and +took them to a bookseller in Louth. He gave them 20 pounds for +the manuscript, but more than half was paid in books out of the +shop. So the grand beginning was made. But the little book caused +no stir in the great world. No one knew that a poet had broken +silence. + +The next year Charles and Alfred went to Cambridge. Alfred soon +made many friends among the clever young men of his day, chief +among them being Arthur Hallam, whose father was a famous +historian. + +At college Tennyson won the chancellor's prize for a poem on +Timbuctoo, and the following year he published a second little +volume of poems. This, though kindly received by some great +writers, made hardly more stir than the little volume by "Two +Brothers." + +Tennyson did not take a degree at Cambridge, for, owing to his +father's failing health, he was called home. He left college, +perhaps with no very keen regret, for his heart was not in +sympathy with the teaching. In his undergraduate days he wrote +some scathing lines about it. You "teach us nothing," he said, +"feeding not the heart." But he did remember with tenderness +that Cambridge had been the spot where his first and warmest +friendship had been formed. + +Soon after Alfred left college, his father died very suddenly. +Although the father was now gone the Tennysons did not need to +leave their home, for the new rector did not want the house. So +life in the Rectory went quietly on; friends came and went, the +dearest friend of all, Arthur Hallam, came often, for he loved +the poet's young sister, and one day they were to be married. It +was a peaceful happy time-- + + "And all we met was fair and good, + And all was good that Time could bring, + And all the secret of the Spring, + Moved in the chambers of the blood." + +Long days were spent reading poetry and talking of many things-- + + "Or in the all-golden afternoon + A guest, or happy sister, sung, + Or here she brought the harp and flung + A ballad to the brightening moon. + + "Nor less it pleased the livelier moods, + Beyond the bounding hill to stray, + And break the live long summer day + With banquet in the distant woods." + +And amid this pleasant country life the poet worked on, and +presently another little book of poems appeared. Still fame did +not come, and one severe and blundering review kept Tennyson, it +is said, from publishing anything more for ten years. + +But now there fell upon him what was perhaps the darkest sorrow +of his life. Arthur Hallam, who was traveling on the Continent, +died suddenly at Vienna. When the news came to Tennyson that his +friend was gone-- + + "That in Vienna's fatal walls + God's finger touch'd him, and he slept," + +for a time joy seemed blotted out of life, and only that he might +help to comfort his sister did he wish to live, for-- + + + + "That remorseless iron hour + Made cypress of her orange flower, + Despair of Hope." + +As an outcome of this grief we have one of Tennyson's finest +poems, In Memoriam. It is an elegy which we place beside Lycidas +and Adonais. But In Memoriam strikes yet a sadder note. For in +Lycidas and Adonais Milton and Shelley mourned kindred souls +rather than dear loved friends. To Tennyson, Arthur Hallam was +"The brother of my love"-- + + "Dear as the mother to the son + More than my brothers are to me." + +In Memoriam is a group of poems rather than one long poem-- + + "Short swallow-flights of song, that dip + Their wings in tears, and skim away." + +It is written in a meter which Tennyson believed he had invented, +but which Ben Jonson and others had used before him. Two hundred +years before Jonson had written a little elegy beginning-- + + "Though Beautie be the Marke of praise, + And yours of whom I sing be such + As not the world can praise too much, + Yet is't your vertue now I raise." + +Here again we see that our literature of to-day is no new born +thing, but rooted in the past. Jonson's poem, however, is a mere +trifle, Tennyson's one of the great things of our literature. +The first notes of In Memoriam were written when sorrow was +fresh, but it was not till seventeen years later that it was +given to the world. It is perhaps the most perfect monument ever +raised to friendship. For in mourning his own loss Tennyson +mourned the loss of all the world. "'I' is not always the author +speaking of himself, but the voice of the human race speaking +thro' him," he says. + +After the prologue, the poem tells of the first bitter hopeless +grief, of how friends try to comfort the mourners. + + "One writes, that 'Other friends remain,' + That 'Loss is common to the race'-- + And common is the common-place, + And vacant chaff well meant for grain. + + "That loss if common would not make + My own less bitter, rather more: + Too common! Never morning wore + To evening, but some heart did break." + +And yet even now he can say-- + + + "I hold it true, whate'er befall; + I feel it, when I sorrow most; + 'Tis better to have loved and lost + Than never to have loved at all." + +And so the months glide by, and the first Christmas comes, "The +time draws near the birth of Christ," the bells ring-- + + "Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, + Peace and goodwill, to all mankind. + + "This year I slept and woke with pain, + I almost wish'd no more to wake, + And that my hold on life would break + Before I heard those bells again." + +But when Christmas comes again the year has brought calm if not +forgetfulness-- + + "Again at Christmas did we weave + The holly round the Christmas hearth; + The silent snow possess'd the earth, + And calmly fell our Christmas-eve: + + "The yule-log sparkled keen with frost, + No wing of wind the region swept, + But over all things brooding slept + The quiet sense of something lost. + + "As in the winters left behind, + Again our ancient games had place, + The mimic picture's breathing grace, + And dance and song and hoodman-blind." + +The years pass on, the brothers and sisters grow up and scatter, +and at last the old home has to be left. Sadly the poet takes +leave of all the loved spots in house and garden. Strangers will +soon come there, people who will neither care for nor love the +dear familiar scene-- + + "We leave the well-beloved place + Where first we gazed upon the sky; + The roofs, that heard our earliest cry, + Will shelter one of stranger race. + + "We go, but ere we go from home, + As down the garden-walks I move, + Two spirits of a diverse love + Contend for loving masterdom. + + "One whispers, 'Here thy boyhood sung + Long since its matin song, and heard + The low love-language of the bird + In native hazels tassel-hung.' + + "The other answers, 'Yea, but here + Thy feet have stray'd in after hours + With thy lost friend among the bowers, + And this hath made them trebly dear.'" + +The poem moves on, and once again in the new home Christmas comes +round. Here everything is strange, the very bells seem like +strangers' voices. But with this new life new strength has come, +and sorrow has henceforth lost its sting. And with the ringing +of the New Year bells a new tone comes into the poem, a tone no +more of despair, but of hope. + + "Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, + The flying cloud, the frosty light: + The year is dying in the night; + Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. + + "Ring out the old, ring in the new, + Ring, happy bells, across the snow: + The year is going, let him go; + Ring out the false, ring in the true. + + "Ring out the grief that saps the mind, + For those that here we see no more; + Ring out the feud of rich and poor, + Ring in redress to all mankind. + . . . . . . + "Ring in the valiant man and free, + The larger heart, the kindlier hand; + Ring out the darkness of the land, + Ring in the Christ that is to be." + +After this the tone of the poem changes and the poet says-- + + "I will not shut me from my kind, + And, lest I stiffen into stone, + I will not eat my heart alone, + Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: + . . . . . + "Regret is dead, but love is more + Than in the summers that are flown, + For I myself with these have grown + To something greater than before." + +One more event is recorded, the wedding of the poet's younger +sister, nine years after the death of his friend. And with this +note of gladness and hope in the future the poem ends. + +Time heals all things, and time healed Tennyson's grief. But +there was another reason, of which we hardly catch a glimpse in +the poem, for his return to peace and hope. Another love had +come into his life, the love of the lady who one day was to be +his wife. At first, however, it seemed a hopeless love, for in +spite of his growing reputation as a poet, Tennyson was still +poor, too poor to marry. And so for fourteen years he worked and +waited, at times wellnigh losing hope. But at length the waiting +was over and the wedding took place. Tennyson amused the guests +by saying that it was the nicest wedding he had ever been at. +And long afterwards with solemn thankfulness he said, speaking of +his wife, "The peace of God came into my life before the altar +when I wedded her." + +A few months before the wedding Wordsworth had died. One night a +few months after it Tennyson dreamt that the Prince Consort came +and kissed him on the cheek. "Very kind but very German," he +said in his dream. Next morning a letter arrived offering him +the Laureateship. + +One of the first poems Tennyson wrote as laureate was his Ode on +the Death of Wellington. Few people liked it at the time, but +now it has taken its place among our fine poems, and many of its +lines are familiar household words. + +Of Tennyson's many beautiful short poems there is no room here to +tell. He wrote several plays too, but they are among the least +read and the least remembered of his works. For Tennyson was a +lyrical rather than a dramatic poet. His long poems besides In +Memoriam are The Princess, Maud, and the Idylls of the King. The +Princess is perhaps the first of Tennyson's long poems that you +will like to read. It is full of gayety, young life, and color. +It is a mock heroic tale of a princess who does not wish to marry +and who founds a college for women, within the walls of which no +man may enter. But the Prince to whom the Princess has been +betrothed since childhood and who loves her from having seen her +portrait only, enters with his friends disguised as women +students. The result is confusion, war, and finally peace. The +story must not be taken too seriously; it is a poem, not a +treatise, but it is interesting, especially at this time. For +even you who read this book must know that the question has not +yet been settled as to how far a woman ought to be educated and +take her share in the world's work. But forget that and read it +only for its light-hearted poetry. The Princess is in blank +verse, but throughout there are scattered beautiful songs which +add to the charm. Here is one of the most musical-- + + "Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea, + Low, low, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea! + Over the rolling waters go, + Come from the dying moon, and blow, + Blow him again to me; + While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. + + "Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon; + Rest, rest, on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon; + Father will come to his babe in the nest, + Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon: + Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep." + +In the Idylls of the King, Tennyson, as you have already heard in +Chapter IX, used the old story of Arthur. He used the old story, +but he wove into it something new, for we are meant to see in his +twelve tales of the round table an allegory. We are meant to see +the struggle between what is base and what is noble in human +nature. But this inner meaning is not always easy to follow, and +we may cast the allegory aside, and still have left to us +beautiful dream-like tales which carry us away into a strange +wonderland. Like The Faery Queen, the Idylls of the King is full +of pictures. Here we find a fairy city, towered and turreted, +dark woods, wild wastes and swamps, slow gliding rivers all in a +misty dreamland. And this dreamland is peopled by knights and +ladies who move through it clad in radiant robes and glittering +armor. Jewels and rich coloring gleam and glow to the eye, songs +fall upon the ear. And over all rules the blameless King. + + "And Arthur and his knighthood for a space + Were all one will, and thro' that strength the King + Drew in the petty princedoms under him, + Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame + The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reign'd." + +One story of the Idylls I have already told you. Some day you +will read the others, and learn for yourselves-- + + "This old imperfect tale, + New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul + Rather than that gray King, whose name, a ghost, + Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak, + And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still; or him + Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's." + +Tennyson led a peaceful, simple life. He made his home for the +most part in the Isle of Wight. Here he lived quietly, +surrounded by his family, but sought after by all the great +people of his day. He refused a baronetcy, but at length in 1883 +accepted a peerage and became Lord Tennyson, the first baron of +his name. He was the first peer to receive the title purely +because of his literary work. And so with gathering honors and +gathering years the poet lived and worked, a splendid old man. +Then at the goodly age of eighty-four he died in the autumn of +1892. + +He was buried in Westminster, not far from Chaucer, and as he was +laid among the mighty dead the choir sang Crossing the Bar, one +of his latest and most beautiful poems. + + "Sunset and evening star, + And one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar, + When I put out to sea, + + "But such a tide as moving seems asleep, + Too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep + Turns again home. + + "Twilight and evening bell, + And after that the dark! + And may there be no sadness of farewell, + When I embark; + + "For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place + The flood may bear me far, + I hope to see my Pilot face to face + When I have crost the bar." + +With Tennyson I end my book, because my design was not to give +you a history of our literature as it is now, so much as to show +you how it grew to be what it is. In the beginning of this book +I took the Arthur story as a pattern or type of how a story grew, +showing how it passed through many stages, in each stage gaining +something of beauty and of breadth. In the same way I have tried +to show how from a rough foundation of minstrel tales and monkish +legends the great palace of our literature has slowly risen to be +a glorious house of song. It is only an outline that I have +given you. There are some great names that demand our reverence, +many that call for our love, for whom no room has been found in +this book. For our literature is so great a thing that no one +book can compass it, no young brain comprehend it. But if I have +awakened in you a desire to know more of our literature, a desire +to fill in and color for yourselves this outline picture, I shall +be well repaid, and have succeeded in what I aimed at doing. If +I have helped you to see that Literature need be no dreary lesson +I shall be more than repaid. + +"They use me as a lesson-book at schools," said Tennyson, "and +they will call me 'that horrible Tennyson.'" I should like to +think that the time is coming when schoolgirls and schoolboys +will say, "We have Tennyson for a school-book. How nice." I +should like to think that they will say this not only of +Tennyson, but of many other of our great writers whose very names +come as rest and refreshment to those of us who have learned to +love them. + +BOOK TO READ + +Tennyson for the Young, Alfred Ainger. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of English Literature For Boys And Girls +by H.E. 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