i I II I ii (.liimiii! !"» Hiii'.liiili bijiMi i! ! ! ill ! Ij.ir, II i i ilj 1 1 liiiliiiiliijiiiiiiiniliiiliiiy J p ! ! !ii Hi ii Mm lillij |lil !lll!ill!|ill ! ! I It III 'i Class Book Z^ /-A Copyright }l°^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. SELECT PROSE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY •The THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO SELECT PROSE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY JACOB ZEITLIN, Ph.D. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1916 All rights reserved n> ir /k A-^ Copyright, 1916, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1916. r© J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. m 24 1916 ©CI,A427370 PREFACE Some one has estimated that Southey's total pro- duction in poetry and prose would fill not far from two hundred octavo volumes. All of his writings, Southey himself had no doubt, would be reverently assembled by a grateful posterity as a fitting monu- ment to his genius and industry. More moderate persons believed that at least a dozen volumes of good prose matter could be gathered from his abun- dant stock. But the passage of time has shown one possibility to be as remote as the other. It is doubt- ful whether anybody since Southey's death has taken the trouble even to read through all his prose. Of reprints in the last fifty years there have been, aside from the " Life of Nelson," a volume of sketches of English Sea Heroes from the " Naval History of England" and one of selections from "The Doctor." No attempt like the present has ever been made to give a representation of Southey's prose based on a survey of his entire output — reviews and all. In restricting this selection to a single volume the first consideration had to be its readableness. The aim has been to sustain the remark of Professor Oliver Elton that "there is room for a pleasing and varied anthology from his prose works." Only such pas- sages have been chosen as justify themselves intrin- sically. Their representative character has been a secondary consideration, but it has fortunately been possible to give specimens of Southey's prose in a considerable variety of aspects, to suggest nearly all VI PREFACE the forms in which he worked, and to give an im- pression of his mode of Hfe, his opinions, and his character. In the first selection the reader will have a glimpse of Southey in his favorite environment, letting his mind stray fondly among his cherished books. Then comes a series of descriptions of the lake country which, says Professor Elton, are Southey's best title to be called a "lake poet." Southey's personal feel- ings and tastes have ample play in these passages, and hardly less in "The Doctor," though this book aims to tell a story and to present character. In the selections from " The Doctor," which con- stitute about half the bulk of the volume, considerable liberty has been taken with the arrangement of the chapters for the purpose of bringing into a somewhat closer proximity the episodes of the narrative frame- work. The establishment of something like continu- ity in the treatment of the events is in the opinion of the editor a decided gain, and it is really the only practicable scheme in a volume of selections. Those chapters whose connection with the general plan is of the slightest, which are introduced merely as the casual opinions and reflections of Dr. Dove or as digressions by the author, are placed at the end. There is enough even in the new arrangement to give an impression of the rambling, desultory vein in which the work was conceived and executed. The rest of the material is expository. In the choice of historical and biographical pas- sages preference was given, for the sake of freshness, to less familiar themes, even when their composition and style was not up to Southey's highest standard. The " Life of Bayard " has been reproduced from the Quarterly Reviezv with the omission of some characteristic digressions, generally antiquarian in PREFACE VU interest, with which Southey is often prone to break up the course of his narrative. It represents his interest in themes of moral and heroic appeal and is a pleasant specimen of the quaint, archaic coloring of his prose. The account of the siege of Zaragoza and of the uprising at Marvam are among the most spirited examples of Southey's narrative style and they have an additional substantive value in reflect- ing his attitude toward the France of Napoleon. The description of the Jesuit system in Paraguay will offer as good an illustration as can be given in a brief compass of Southey's skill in treating impar- tially and attractively a subject which is beset with controversial difficulties and in which he might have been expected to succumb to his strong anti-Catholic prejudices. The passage on the Manufacturing Sys- tem is to be viewed as an expression of Southey's feelings about crying abuses rather than as a fair statement of existing conditions. Finally there are added a series of excerpts from the Common-Place Books, detached sentences and paragraphs of miscellaneous observations and reflec- tions on Hfe, literature, and society, sometimes of a sharpness and depth not paralleled in his other writings. The introduction aims to give — what has not hitherto been available — a systematic account of the external history of Southey's prose writings. It sets forth his position as a writer on political and economic questions and his connection with period- ical literature. It sketches the genesis of his under- takings in Spanish literature, history, biography, and informal prose, and describes the fate that overtook his separate ventures. It is hoped for this volume that it will gain a new hearing for Southey's prose among all lovers of liter- VUl PREFACE ature and that it will provide an incentive for the study of Southey in college courses from which he has hitherto been excluded by the want of adequate facilities for presentation. The following editions have been utilized in making up the text : " Letters of Espriella," second edition, 1808; "Colloquies of Sir Thomas More," second edition, 1831 ; "The Doctor," first edition in seven volumes, 1834-47, ^.nd the one-volume edition by J. W. Warter, 1849; "History of the Peninsular War," quarto edition ; for the " History of Brazil," the " Life of Bayard," and the " Common-Place Book," only a single text exists. The editor has permitted himself an occasional alteration in spelling and punctu- ation, and has added in footnotes translations of the numerous quotations from foreign languages. The materials which have been utilized in the intro- duction are specifically referred to in the footnotes. Chief among them are, of course, the two well-known collections of letters : " The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey," edited by his son, Charles Cuth- bert Southey, London, 1849- 18 50, ^^ six volumes (referred to in the footnotes as Life), and the "Select Letters," edited by his son-in-law, J. W. Warter, 1856, in four volumes (referred to as Warter). The editor owes a general debt of encouragement and stimula- tion in the performance of his task to the pages of discerning appreciation of Southey's prose in Professor Oliver Elton's " Survey of English Literature." To Professor Stuart P. Sherman he wishes to express his thanks for some useful suggestions in regard to the introduction and text. University of Illinois, January 22, 1916. CONTENTS FAGB Preface v Introduction 1 Life 4 Political and Economic Ideas 11 Reviewing and Criticism . . . . . .25 Spanish Literature . 39 History 44 Biography ......... 57 Miscellaneous Prose 62 Conclusion — Style — Reputation .... 68 SELECTIONS The Library 77 Scenes from the Lake Country 87 Keswick Lake 87 Wasdale 89 Walla Crag 92 Derwentwater 98 Blencathra — Threlkeld Tarn — The Cliffords . . 102 Phenomena of the Lake Country ..... 119 The Doctor, etc 123 Elucidation from Henry More and Dr. Watts. An incidental opinion upon Horace Walpole. The stream of thought " floweth at its own sweet will." Pictures and books. A saying of Mr. Pitt's concerning Wilberforce. The author explains in what sense it might be said that he sometimes shoots with a long bow .... 123 Birth and parentage of Doctor Dove ; with the descrip- tion of a yeoman's house in the West Riding of Yorkshire a hundred years ago 131 X CONTENTS The Doctor, etc. page A collection of books none of which are included amongst the publications of any society for the promo- tion of knowledge religious or profane. Happiness in humble life 136 Rustic philosophy. An experiment upon moonshine . 143 A kind master and a happy schoolboy .... 149 One who was not so wise as his friends could have wished, and yet quite as happy as if he had been] wiser. Nepotism not confined to popes ..... 151 Showing how the young student fell in love, — and how he made the best of his misfortune .... 156 Of the various ways of getting in love. A chapter containing some useful observations, and some beautiful poetry 160 The author's last visit to Doncaster .... 164 A truce with melancholy. Gentlemen such as they were in the year of our Lord 1747. A hint to young ladies concerning their great-grandmothers . . 167 Society of a country town. Such a town a more favour- able habitat for such a person as Dr. Dove than London would have been ........ 170 Transition in our narrative preparatory to a change in the Doctor's life. A sad story suppressed. The author protests against playing with the feelings of his readers. All are not merry that seem mirthful. The scaffold a stage. Don Rodrigo Calderon. Thistlewood. The world a masquerade, but the Doctor always in his own character 176 Rash marriages. An early widowhood. Affliction ren- dered a blessing to the sufferers ; and two orphans left, though not destitute, yet friendless 186 A lady described whose single life was no blessedness either to herself or others. A veracious epitaph and an appropriate monument 190 A scene described which will put some of those readers who have been most impatient with the author in the best of humour with him 194 More concerning love and the dream of life . . . 197 An early bereavement. True love its own comforter. A lonely father and an only child 200 Mr. Bacon's parsonage. Christian resignation. Time and change. Wilkie and the monk in the Escurial . . 204 CONTENTS XI The Doctor, etc. pack A remarkable example, showing that a wise man, when he rises in the morning, little knows what he may do before night 209 A word of Nobs, and an allusion to Caesar. Some cir- cumstances relating to the Doctor's second love, whereby those of his third and last are accounted for . . . 216 A transitional chapter, wherein the author compares his book to an omnibus and a ship, quotes Shakespeare, Marco Antonio de Camos, Quarles, Spenser, and some- body else, and introduces his readers to some of the heathen gods, with whom perhaps they were not ac- quainted before 223 Difference of opinion between the Doctor and Nicholas concerning the hippogony or origin of the foal dropped in the preceding chapter . 227 Obsolete anticipations ; being a leaf out of an old almanac which, like other old almanacs, though out of date is not out of use 230 Rowland Dixon and his company of puppets . . 237 Quack and no quack, being an account of Doctor Green and his man Kemp ........ 246 The Doctor's contemporaries at Leyden. Early friend- ship. Cowper's melancholy observation that good dis- positions are more likely to be corrupted than evil ones to be corrected. Youthful connections loosened in the common course of things. A fine fragment by Walter Landor 250 Matrimony and razors. Light sayings leading to grave thoughts. Uses of shaving 258 A poet's calculation concerning the time employed in shaving, and the use that might be made of it. The Lake poets Lake shavers also. A protest against Lake shaving 264 The poet's calculation tested and proved . . . 267 An anecdote of Wesley, and an argument arising out of it, to show that the time employed in shaving is not so much lost time ; and yet that the poet's calculation remains of practical use ....... 271 The Doctor's ideas of luck, chance, accident, fortune, and misfortune. The Duchess of Newcastle's distinction between chance and fortune, wherein no-meaning is mis- taken for meaning. Argument in opinion between the xii CONTENTS The Doctor, etc. page philosopher of Doncaster and the philosopher of Norwich. Distinction between unfortunately ugly and wickedly ugly. Danger of personal charms ...... 276 Opinions of the Rabbis. Anecdote of Lady Jekyll and a tart reply of William Whiston's. Jean D'Espagne. Queen Elizabeth of the quorum quarum quorum gender. The society of gentlemen agree with Mahomet in suppos- ing that women have no souls, but are of opinion that the devil is an hermaphrodite ....... 280 Value of women among the Afghans. Ligon's History of Barbadoes, and a favourite story of the Doctor's there- from. Claude Seissel, and the Salic Law. Jewish thanks- giving. Etymology of mulier, woman, and lass ; — from which it may be guessed how much is contained in the limbo of etymology 285 Variety of stiles 292 A wishing interchapter which is shortly terminated, on suddenly recollecting the words of Cleopatra, — " Wishers were ever fools " ........ 296 St. Pantaleon of Nicodemia in Bithynia — his history, and some further particulars not to be found elsewhere . 298 The Story of the Three Bears 305 Memoir of the cats of Greta Hall 310 The Life of Bayard 319 The Peninsular War 365 The siege of Zaragoza ....... 365 The uprising at Marvam 386 The System of the Jesuits in Paraguay. . . . 391 The Manufacturing System 416 Opinions and Reflections from the Common-Place Books 424 Personal Reflections 424 Literature 426 Politics 434 Economics 434 Religion and the State 435 SELECT PROSE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY INTRODUCTION Few persons have ever found it possible to speak of Southey with any great degree of detachment. The character of "saint" half sneeringly fixed on him by one of his contemporaries almost stands realized in the loving pages of Dowden's biography — the man of exemplary home Hfe, fulfilling perfectly the duties of husband, father, friend, tender and kind and devoted to his own, humane and generous to strangers who called on his resources (already suffi- ciently strained to meet the needs of a frugal house- hold economy) , a man of impeccable honor unstained by the common worldly corruptions, living a life of bookish industry and self-denial in the pursuit of the highest literary and moral ideals. These admirable and endearing traits fade considerably before the dry light of Leslie Stephen's scrutiny. Though his judgment is not blind to Southey's merits and though he treats his failings with a kindly indulgence, yet the impression left by his sketch is that of a small intellect and a large self-conceit, a narrow vision and an enormous self-complacency, a great activity and an insignificant achievement.^ The difference between Dowden's estimate and that of Sir Leslie is perhaps only a difference of emphasis conditioned by individual points of view, but it is nevertheless suggestive of the mixed feelings which Southey arouses ^ Studies of a Biographer, vol. IV. 2 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE in the least biassed readers. Even when it is only a question of the merits of his achievement, the judg- ments are likely to be as far apart as Thackeray's eulogy when he says of Sou they that "no man has done more for literature by his genius, his labors, and his Ufe," ^ and the extravagant contempt of Bagehot, who pronounces him "an industrious and calligraphic man, who might have earned money as a clerk and yet worked all his days for half a clerk's wages, at occupation much duller and more laborious." ^ That it is the latter verdict toward which posterity leans is proved by the neglect in which practically all of Southey's prose has been allowed to remain. And the result is in a great degree due to the exag- gerated claims which Southey himself made for his work. His inability to estimate the nature of its value has provoked his critics to deny him his just measure of recognition. The enormous volume of his output, too, — most of it in service of the occa- sion — has discouraged students from attempting a detailed appraisal of its entirety and from glean- ing those pages that are unspoiled by time as the memorial of a prose style universally admired for its classic purity and grace. The object of the follow- ing pages is to survey Southey's activities in prose, to pass in review his numerous contributions, through periodicals and separate publications, on literature, on travels, on history and biography, on poUtics and economics, on church and state. Such a sur- vey will reveal the importance of Southey's work in his own day, will explain the nature of the prestige which he enjoyed, and, while it will fully account for his not being read now (save in his letters and the ^ Works, ed. Trent and Henneman, XXV, 113. 2 Literary Studies, ed. Hutton, I, 50. INTRODUCTION 3 Life of Nelson), it should at the same time justify the attempt made in the body of this volume to re- store to life the pages of entertaining self-portrayal, of spirited narrative, and delightful description which are concealed among his works. LIFE Robert Southey was born August 12, 1774, the son of a Bristol linendraper. His early education was conducted at Bath under the eyes of a maiden aunt, Miss Elizabeth Tyler, a lady whose benevo- lence was qualified by an imperious temper. At her house the boy was allowed to indulge a propensity for omnivorous reading. He first attended certain minor schools and in 1788 was entered at Westminster School. Here he developed very earnest opinions on the subject of flogging and expressed them ironi- cally in the school magazine, The Flagellant. The authorities felt that their dignity had been injured and Southey was privately expelled. He went up to Oxford and on account of his offence was refused admittance at Christ Church College, but accepted by Balliol, November 3, 1792. At Oxford Southey pursued such avocations as he found congenial. He devotedly read Epictetus and began the composition of his first epic, "Joan of Arc." In June, 1794, he met Coleridge and was fired by that poet's scheme for an ideal community which was to be established on the banks of the Susquehanna. Both Coleridge and Southey having been already disappointed in their hopes of the French Revolution, they thought to find the realization of their youthful dreams in a country unspoiled by human institutions. A few hours of labor would suffice to assure them their sustenance and the rest of the time might be spent in intellectual discourse or godlike meditation. Be- 4 LIFE 5 fore the material details of this plan could be arranged Southey had become engaged to Edith Fricker, and in November, 1795, he definitely abandoned Panti- socracy, to the great displeasure of Coleridge, and married Miss Fricker. It is hard to decide whether he displayed more judgment in abandoning Panti- socracy than rashness in the marriage. He assumed his responsibihty with no apparent means of support and without even the resource of a profession. He had refused to accede to the wishes of his uncle, the Rev. Herbert Hill, at whose expense he had gone to Oxford, that he prepare himself for the ministry. He had Unitarian leanings at this time which prevented him from subscribing conscientiously to the articles of the Church of England. Immediately after the wedding he left his wife in the care of the sisters of Joseph Cottle, the Bristol publisher and patron of men of letters, and sailed with Mr. Hill, who was Chaplain to the British Factory at Lisbon, for a tour of Portugal and Spain. On his return he settled at Bristol and wrote his " Letters from Spain and Portugal." His immediate wants were now relieved by an annuity of £160 from his friend Charles Wynn, but a profession had to be chosen nevertheless, and so Southey with an unwilling spirit removed to London and applied himself to the study of law. At the same time he established a connection with various newspapers and periodicals, wrote verses for the Morning Post at a guinea a week, contributed miscel- laneous articles to the Monthly Magazine and criti- cism to the Critical Review, and worked rapidly at his long epics "Madoc" and "Thalaba." He had already settled down to his routine of unceasing labor in which he allowed himself no other reUef than to 6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE change from one kind of work to another. His health was breaking under the strain and to save himself Southey left England with his wife for a year's stay in Portugal, where the climate restored his spirits. During this stay he began the earnest collection of books and materials for his scholarly labors on the history and literature of the Peninsula. Before he returned to England (May, 1801), "Thalaba" had been published and "The Curse of Kehama" begun, and his mind had become filled with ambitious lit- erary projects, creative and scholarly, which would require a lifetime for their execution. He abandoned all thoughts of law, resumed reviewing, and even accepted an appointment as private secretary to Mr. Corry, Chancellor of the Exchequer for Ire- land. This post, however, he held for less than a year. In 1803 Southey went to visit Coleridge at Greta Hall in Keswick and decided to settle there. In the following year Coleridge virtually abandoned his family to Southey's care and the latter bore the bur- den uncomplainingly for twenty-five years. At Kes- wick Southey remained during the rest of his life. It was not long before he became attached to the locality. Here he experienced the domestic joys and sorrows which for him were the heart and center of life. His affections wound themselves about the place with a tenacity of which he was himself hardly aware till there was some occasion for a trip to London or elsewhere, and then he would suffer the most poignant attacks of homesickness and longing for his beloved wife and children. Here he collected the impres- sive library in which he took a lover's pride and in which he was able to work with but few of those annoying interruptions to which a man of letters is LIFE 7 subject in the city. From Keswick the flow of his publications in prose and verse, through books and periodicals, went on uninterruptedly : epic poems and occasional verses, translations of some mediaeval romances, new editions of others, historical and bio- graphical works, works on politics and society and religion, critical reviews and anthologies — some composed for glory, some for profit, and not a few from disinterested friendship. His profit was de- rived almost entirely from the periodicals. He wrote for the Critical Review till 1804 and for the Annual Review from its foundation in 1802 till 1807 or 1808. From 1808 till 18 10 he contributed the historical section to the Edinburgh Annual Register at £400 a year. In 1809 he began his work for the Quarterly Review, which he was instrumental in estab- Hshing as a rival to the Edinburgh Review and for which he wrote without interruption to the end of his life. In 1807 Sou they received a government pension which netted him about £150, but this he imme- diately offset by resigning the annuity which he had been enjoying from Wynn. In 18 13, however, his fixed income was augmented by something like £100 when he was created Poet Laureate at the suggestion of Walter Scott, who had declined the honor for himself. This was the entire extent to which Southey profited by his services to the gov- ernment. Repeatedly during his life he rejected offers of positions having secure and comfortable salaries attached to them — a severe temptation to a man with a large family for whose wants he was never able to provide a year in advance. On two occasions he was asked to found a government journal, in 181 7 he was invited to join in editing The Times 8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE at a salary of £2,000 and part of the profits, and in 18 18 he was offered the post of Librarian to the Advocates Library of Edinburgh. Each time Southey deliberately considered the matter in every aspect, weighing his fitness for the work required of him as well as the sacrifice of favorite labors and of inde- pendence which he would have to make. His deci- sion was in each case dictated by high principles. He preferred to continue his hand-to-mouth exist- ence, and it was not till 1835 that he was relieved from anxiety on account of his daily bread by a pen- sion of £300 from Sir Robert Peel. The offer of a baronetcy which accompanied this pension was declined by Southey with modest dignity. Serene as was the course of Southey's life for the most part, it was not altogether untroubled. His unbending opinions and vehement expressions on questions of politics and morality often exposed him to the attacks of his opponents, and on two occasions his experiences were particularly vexatious. The first was in 181 7 and was connected with the surrepti- tious publication of "Wat Tyler," a youthful poem filled with violent repubhcan sentiments differing glaringly from Southey's maturer views. A certain Member of Parliament, WilHam Smith by name, took advantage of the ludicrous contrast and stood up in the House of Commons with the poem in one hand and in the other a recent number of the Quar- terly Review, and proceeded to read parallel passages illustrating the change in Southey's position. Southey made vain efforts to have the poem suppressed and raged eloquently against Wilham Smith but did not succeed in improving his case materially. He was unfortunate a second time in giving provocation to Byron. On the occasion of the death of George LIFE 9 III Southey fulfilled his Laureate duties by writing a commemorative poem, "The Vision of Judgment," but went to a rather injudicious extreme in repre- senting the apotheosis of that decayed monarch. In a preface to the poem he made a bitter attack on the "Satanic School" of poetry, which led to an exchange of personaHties between Byron and Southey and culminated in Byron's "Vision of Judgment," a parody of such irresistible and merciless wit that it has fixed upon Southey an unfortunate re- proach against which the mere Hteral truth is helpless. But Southey's great sorrows did not spring from such sources. The death of children was his deepest grief. Before 1816 he had lost two infant daughters and in that year he suffered the tragic affliction of his life when his favorite son, Herbert, died in his tenth year. On this boy of extraordinary beauty and promise Southey had lavished his strongest affection and about him he had built a father's fond- est dreams. His death shook Southey to the inmost roots of his nature and extinguished the spark of vital ambition. His wonted lightness of spirits from this time forth seemed to give way to a settled apathy. He resolved never again to attach himself too warmly to any object for fear of the pain which he might suffer from its loss. The son, Cuthbert, who was born to him three years later, never held the place in his father's heart which had been filled by Herbert. Domestic distress became Southey's daily companion when, in 1834, his wife became insane and lingered on hopelessly for three years. Under the strain of this ordeal and his incessant mental labor his own brain began to show signs of decay. In 1839 he married CaroHne Bowles, with 10 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE whom he had carried on a literary correspondence for twenty years. To her lot fell the duty of taking care of the invalid when, soon after their marriage, Southey's mind completely failed him. He lived for nearly four years in a helpless but peaceful and gentle condition. He died March 21, 1843. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS There is more than the usual proportion of truth in the popular conception of Southey as a reaction- ary. He was by temperament a conservative of the conservatives. All his affections and prejudices were firmly rooted in a bygone age. Progress, he thought, was confined to the material and mechanical spheres and held out no prospect of an increase in human happiness. He had begun life in a country blessed with the best form of government the world had ever known, a government which secured to its subjects the greatest degree of liberty compatible with human weakness and which was sanctioned by association with the purest of all Christian churches. Its institutions had fostered the noblest intellects, the greatest poets. Under them the peo- ple had dwelt in virtue, happy in the performance of their duty to home and country, secure of the rightful reward which their blessed religion held in store for them. "Happy are they," he exclaims in a lovely passage which deserves to be rescued from a dusty obhvion, "who grow up in the institu- tions of their country, and share like brethren in the feelings of the great body of their countrymen ! The village spire is that point amid the landscape to which their eye reverts oftenest and upon which it reposes longest and with most delight. They love the music of the Sabbath bells, and walk in cheer- fulness along the church path which their fathers trod before them. They are not soured by the sight 12 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of flourishing institutions which they think evil, and therefore wish to overthrow; neither are they tempted to seek in the sullen consolations of spiritual pride a recompense for the advantages from which their own error excludes them. Their ways are in light and in sunshine, their paths are pleasant- ness and peace ! " ^ If men were only wise their single effort would be directed toward making permanent such a state of affairs. But now a disquieting spirit was abroad in the land. The talk was not merely of change, but of revolution. Ruin was threatened to all the noble institutions that made enviable the Kfe of an EngHsh- man. It was as if the legions of Satan had proclaimed a new war against the Children of Light. Nothing was safe from the assault of the "anarchists." And so he girded his loins to combat in defence of the good old order, and for many years he was honored by his associates as one of their bravest champions. As the new generation grew up and Southey saw the men of his own party carried ahead by the irresistible momentum of the Opposition, he dug his own feet more firmly into the ground, resolved to die stand- ing though the whole world should fly from its base. The figure which he makes in the years after Catho- Uc Emancipation grows more and more pathetic, — all his gods falHng about him, left far behind by his former associates, receiving from friends and enemies alike the kind of respect which is offered to one who has perhaps done much useful work in his day but whose opinions on subjects of importance no longer matter. In his youth Southey flirted with some current revolutionary principles which later returned to plague him. They procured him the reputation ^ Quarterly Review, x, 139. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 1 3 of renegade and apostate. The reputation, however, was not altogether deserved. He touched pitch, but the defilement was not serious. His "Wat Tyler" and Pantisocracy were momentary aberra- tions induced by the infectious ardor of Coleridge's society. He did not permit the poem to see the light and he was the first to abandon the allurements of Utopia on the Susquehanna. The repubhcanism to which he now and then alludes as late as 1807 is of a very intangible quaHty and runs along easily with some High Tory doctrines. Southey vindi- cated his poHtical change of front by the same argu- ment as Wordsworth and other deeply rooted con- servatives. His hopes had soared with the progress of the French Revolution, but the excesses which had followed in its wake disillusioned him of his aspirations. He saw demonstrated the incapacity of the people for self-rule, and even before Napoleon had begun to cast his ominous shadow over France and the rest of Europe, he withdrew to the shelter of estabHshed British institutions. Experience, he says (by this time he must have been twenty- two), has taught him that the improvement of man is a delusion. The best service he could render society was Kke Noah to ascend the ark and cherish his own virtuous life apart, "to preserve a renmant which may become the whole." ^ This is a plain prose version of the ideal of liberty for the individual spirit which Wordsworth and Coleridge chanted in lofty verse in the "Prelude" and "France," and which they tried to imagine was a substitute for the thwarted desire of the masses to enjoy a portion of this world's happiness. In Southey the process of reaction was accompanied by hardly any of the philo- iJLz/e, I, 317. 14 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE sophic enlargement or the spiritual purgation which the views of Coleridge and Wordsworth underwent. Wordsworth withdrew altogether from the turmoil of active poHtics and Coleridge kept discharging hazy speculations over the heads of his dazed ad- mirers. But Southey remained nearer the common level. At first he found comfort for the misfor- tunes of humanity in the conviction that England was not as bad as other countries. What he saw on his visit to Spain and Portugal made him thank God that he was an Enghshman. But the course of events in Europe provided him with a stronger support for his principles. The growing power of Napoleon, his subjugation of one European state after another, and the apparent extinction of the popular will in France, stimulated in patriotic Eng- lishmen the idea that the conditions of true freedom were to be reahzed only in accordance with the prin- ciples of the British constitution and that their country was the natural champion of the Hberties of Europe. "I did not fall into the error of those," says Southey in defending himself against the charge of political apostacy, "who, having been the friends of France when they imagined that the cause of liberty was impKcated in her success, transferred their attachment from the repubhc to the miHtary tyranny in which it ended, and regarded with com- placency the progress of oppression because France was the oppressor. They had turned their faces toward the east in the morning to worship the ris- ing sun, and in the evening they were looking east- ward still, obstinately affirming that still the sun was there. I, on the contrary, altered my position as the world went round." ^ HazHtt made the sharp ^ Essays, Moral and Political, II, 21. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 15 and ready retort that the Poet Laureate continued to gaze westward long after the sun had risen again in the east. For whatever the arguments which he might discover to account for his opinions, it is clear that they were founded in a set of mental habits with which revolutionary ideas of any kind did not assort. There is nothing more striking than the precocious fixity of Southey's mental attitude. His earliest letters reveal the moral young prig. At Oxford in his nineteenth year he is shocked by the prevailing looseness of conduct and regards himself too much to run into any of the common vices. "I have not yet been drunk nor mean to be so." It is not re- corded of him that he ever was. He sets forth im- pressively the arguments against atheism and preaches lessons of stoical virtue to his friends. The influence of Epictetus, who is frequently in his mouth, is no- ticeable in his pure and sober ideals of conduct, though of the exalted austerity of the great stoic there are but vague traces either in the active or the contemplative life of Southey. His ideal of philos- ophy he found in the British divines of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. His worldly ambition aspired to nothing further than "£200 a year and the comforts of domestic Hfe." While hardly savoring of the inwardness of stoicism, this is sufficiently modest and restrained. In reality his characteristic virtues are those of a good Christian — a warm faithfulness in the performance of his duty to God and man as he understood that duty, a touching patience under the sufferings imposed by God's inscrutable dispensation, and implacable hostility to the Devil and all his earthly agencies. This Christianity clearly colors his political sympathies at a very early l6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE period. It is in the year 1793 that he composes an ode to commemorate the death of "Charles the Martyr" and suggests for its motto, "His virtues plead Hke angels, trumpet-tongued, against the deep damnation of his taking off." ^ It would have been strange if with his sensibiKty and his general benevolence he should have escaped altogether the contagion which seized the generous-minded youth of England when Godwin showed them how all evil could be banished from the earth. But he cast the spell off Ughtly and without much trace of mental struggle. There is no rational consistency in Southey's views on the organization of society. One gets the notion that there is no reason why all should not be well in the world, yet that somehow or other things were far from well, and the explanation (apart from ori- ginal sin) was only to be found in the refusal of men to conform to the code of life which produced such contentment in the poet's own little circle at Kes- wick. The ingredients of happiness were all present if mankind only knew how to utilize them. This was a principle of faith with Southey and not a matter of reasoned conviction. Questions that many per- sons treated as debatable were for him unassailable postulates, as, for example, "that revealed religion is true, that the connection between Church and State is necessary, that the Church of England is the best ecclesiastical estabhshment which exists at present, or has yet existed, . . . that a revolution would destroy the happiness of one generation and leave things at last worse than it found them." ^ In this manner he dogmatized on problems which engaged the efforts of serious thinkers, and from these and 1 Life, I, 174. 2 /j^^_^ V, 308. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 1 7 similar postulates proceeded all his ideas on politics and government. We may be pardoned for giving a fuller statement of these ideas, puerile as they sometimes are, because Southey placed a high value on them and because he was for many years looked upon as a spokesman of the Conservative cause. In the first place he beHeved that "under no possible or conceivable form of government" could more perfect individual Hberty exist, and for poHtical freedom, he asks, "in what other age or country, since the beginning of the world, has it ever been so secured?" ^ In fact, he was at one time very much of the opinion that it was too well secured for the Radicals in England, and in 181 6 he was clamoring vaHantly for a muzzHng of the Liberal press and the suppression of Habeas Corpus. Not only the laws but their actual operation left nothing to be desired. Never has there been "a body of representatives better constituted than the British House of Commons — among whom more individual worth and integrity can be found, and more collective wisdom ; or who have more truly represented the complicated and various interests of the community, and more thoroughly understood them." 2 What then is the sense of agitating for ParKamentary Reform? The popular representa- tives are now against the ministry. If all repre- sentatives were to be elected by the people, it is obvious that they would all be against the ministry. Therefore, he avers with syllogistic conclusiveness, "the direct road to anarchy is by ParKamentary Reform."^ Moreover, "there are but few poUtical evils left for government to amend in this fortunate ^ Essays, Moral and Political, I, 26. Ubid., l,3&i. Ubid., I, 10. c l8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE country," hardly anything save perhaps some im- provement in the game-laws and the restriction of alehouses.^ The betterment in the condition of the masses is to be brought about by rehgious and moral agencies, by the individual efforts of the benevolent rather than by public action. Though he seems to speak here of religious and moral agencies as independent of the political or- ganization, yet he is forever insisting on the necessary connection between Church and State. The welfare of the State depended on the support of the Church : therefore Southey had at heart the cause of popular education and refused his sympathy to those who feared that the people might be overeducated. "It is as impossible that a man, whatever may be his condition in life, can be too learned and too wise, as it is for him to be too healthy, too active, and too strong." ^ But always provided that his education be based on rehgion, and that the ofl&cial reUgion of the state. "That national education ought to be conducted upon the principles of national religion, however the enemies of that rehgion may rail against the axiom, is so self-evident, that none but those who are besotted with sectarian bigotry, or who hav- ing clearer heads have yet more mischievous inten- tions, can possibly dispute it. . . . Thus should we perpetuate as far as is possible by human means that constitution of church and state which is the pride and strength of England. Esto perpetua is the prayer which every true and enlightened patriot must breathe for that constitution : the way to render it perpetual is by training up the children of the people from generation to generation in the way they * Essays, Moral and Political, I, 218. * Quarterly Review, xxxix, 126. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 1 9 should go." ^ This is the reason for his unmeasured bitterness toward Catholic Emancipation : because the Catholic Church also was historically identified with a political system and this system was irrecon- cilable with the safety and independence of the Eng- lish government. Such were the political doctrines which Southey preached in season and out, before and after his association with the Tories. For it was never with him a question of thoroughgoing adherence to a partisan programme. He did not understand loyalty to party as a virtue, and of the time-serving spirit he had not the slightest taint. When the Quarterly Review was estabhshed as an organ of government opinion, he was enhsted among its contributors because, aside from the fluency of his pen on mis- cellaneous topics, he was known to be ardently in favor of the war against Napoleon — at that time the most important pohtical issue. He then wrote with all the strictness of his convictions and not with an eye to what might be thought at headquarters. He criticised the conduct of the war with a layman's abandon. Often his views did not square with party principles and were suppressed or modified by the editor. Very commonly his suggestions were more drastic than even a reactionary government dared to approve. In the troubled years which immedi- ately followed Waterloo, Southey attained the sum- mit of his influence as a political writer. The pop- ular disturbances of this period stirred him to a despairing eloquence, and when a new journal was thought of to help the Quarterly to stem the onrush- ing tide, Southey was invited by representatives of government to undertake it. Though he refused ^ Ibid., vi, 302-4. 20 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE to take charge, he was ready to support such a journal in spite of the inconveniences and perils to which he would be subjected.^ His poetic imagination slightly- magnified the perils. It actually conjured up for him a picture of bloodthirsty Hazlitt and truculent Leigh Hunt demanding Robert Southey's head from an EngUsh Committee of Pubhc Safety. The dread of the guillotine was vividly before him for many years, for was there any man whom the "Whigs and Anarchists" feared more and on whom they would sooner avenge themselves in the event of a revolution ? But whereas the practical men of the party soon recovered from their panic and began to accommodate themselves to the inevitable course of events, Southey in his impregnable seclusion continued to pour forth lamentations on the degeneracy of the age. His credit with the pubUc may have been shaken by the laughter to which the pirated publication of his youthful sin, "Wat Tyler," had exposed him and by the controversy with William Smith, M.P., to which that publication gave rise. On top of that came his absurd "Vision of Judgment" and the unlucky quarrel with Byron, against whose unscrupu- lous wit Southey's honest indignation offered little protection. Signs of weariness begin to appear among his friends. The Tory Blackwood's Magazine, which is generally friendly, indulges in a burst of brutal frankness and declares that "a man would as soon take his opinions from his grandmother as from the Doctor." - In 1825 Southey himself mod- estly expresses a suspicion that his importance to the Review is very Uttle, but that is because readers are now looking for amusement rather than soHd instruction.^ ^ Lije, IV, 20s, 209. 2 XV, 209. 2 Lije, V, 239. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 21 Murray, the publisher, would perhaps like to shake him- self free but is prevented by personal regard for the man and the usefulness of his services in other branches of publication. The letters tell of disagreements patched up, of incivilities atoned for, of articles post- poned, of attempts to reduce pay successfully resisted. Though the significance of these episodes is hardly to be misunderstood, to Southey it seems that he is emerging triumphant. At any rate he does not think of giving up the struggle. He challenges the attention of the country with a new literary produc- tion, "The Colloquies of Sir Thomas More," in order to impress on it the danger to its precious institu- tions, and Murray coldly informs him that "the sale would have been tenfold greater if religion and poli- tics had been excluded from them ! " ^ (The exclama- tion point is Southey's.) He persuades Murray to reprint the essays from the Quarterly containing his political doctrines, because "they are in the main as applicable now as when they were written," ^ but the public is more deaf to the repetition than it was to the original warning. The two modest little i2mos did not repay the cost of publication. And now that Catholic Emancipation has been enacted into law and Parliamentary Reform is not as remote as it once seemed, Southey heaves a sigh for the passing of the Georgian age, "in part the happiest, in part the most splendid, and altogether the most momentous age of our history. We are entering," he adds, "upon a new era, and with no happy auspices." ^ But it was after Reform was realized that Southey received the offer of a baron- etcy and had bestowed on him a pension which for 1 Ibid., VI, 73. 2 /j^^ VI, 142. ^Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 201. 22 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE the first time set him free from the worry of earning his daily bread. It nowhere appears that he per- ceived the irony of his fortune. Southey's views on economic questions were as purely emotional as on politics, but his feelings here served him to better purpose. He must be given an honorable place as a forerunner of Carlyle and Rus- kin in the attack on the gross one-sidedness of the new science. His attitude toward Adam Smith and Jeremy Bentham was neither reasoned nor judicious, any more than Carlyle's. He knew nothing about economics, as the Edinburgh Reviewers repeatedly pointed out, but it required no special knowledge to reahze that the unqualified acceptance of the cur- rent doctrines was subversive of fundamental human claims. It needs no research to prove that the treat- ment of men as manufacturing animals pure and simple is not consonant with any well-ordered social scheme. He was moved by pity for the misfortunes of the poor and he gave expression to his feelings in some of his earliest prose in the Critical and Annual Reviews, as well as in the ''Letters of Espriella." In its account of this book the Edinburgh Review commented on the sentimental quaHty of its econom- ics and added the observation, " that there must be in all countries, where the population and the arts of civilized life have reached a certain point, a class of men who pass their days in labor for a pittance barely adequate to their subsistence, and who, of course, must be continually liable to want and mis- ery, from accidents, and the follies and vices incident to human nature." ^ This represents the philosophic resignation of a class which balanced its own good against the sufferings of others. The cold-blooded- /xi, 379. POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC IDEAS 23 ness of such a point of view amply excuses any excess of feeling in those who assailed it. Though we may, therefore, not admit Southey as a competent witness when he charges the economists with confused logic, we must give him credit for pressing home a much needed truth when he rebukes Mai thus for ''writ- ing advice to the poor for the rich to read," ^ or when he calls the "Wealth of Nations" a hard-hearted book which measures the importance of man "not by the sum of goodness and of knowledge which he pos- sesses, not by the virtues and charities which should flow towards him and emanate from him, not by the happiness of which he may be the source and centre, not by the duties to which he may be called, not by the immortal destinies for which he is created ; but by the gain which can be extracted from him, by the quantum of lucration of which he can be made the instrument." ^ While Macaulay and others like him were "pointing with pride" to the industrial progress of the country, Southey's sympathy was aroused by the human sacrifices through which it was achieved and his eye was sharpened for the terrible consequences which would result if the system were unchecked. The reforms which he demanded had reasonable aims — to make possible the carrying on of the system "consistently with the well-being of the persons employed in it, with health and good morals — with wholesome intervals for rest and recre- ation, as well as for schooling — with the rights of human nature, the most indubitable and sacred of all rights." ^ He lent an ear to the socialistic schemes of Owen of Lanark and the Saint Simonites, in so far as they were concerned with improving the condi- ^ Annual Review, ii, 301. ^ Essays, Moral and Poliiical, I, iii. ^Quarterly Review, li, 279. 24 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE tion of the lower orders, though he was strongly opposed to their levelling tendencies. He always asserted that the poor were too poor, but the rich, he maintained, could not be too rich, and the sanctity of property was for him as much a cardinal axiom as it was for the professional economists. Yet his utterances contain a clear forecast of the industrial conflicts of the later nineteenth century and a warn- ing of catastrophe unless the physical and moral condition of the laboring classes is bettered. His words sometimes sound like the commonplace of present-day social and industrial propaganda, and they are the antithesis of the smug satisfaction with which the Liberal school of laissez-faire treated the great problem. He hved to see the first-fruits of his labors. Lord Shaftesbury, it is pointed out by Leslie Stephen, applied to Southey as a disciple to one of his chief teachers when he took up the subject of factory legislation.^ There was, perhaps, some- thing of class prejudice in Southey's attacks on the manufacturers. Though the poor suffered greatly from the Corn Laws, Southey vigorously opposed their repeal on the ground that they would injure the landed gentry, in whose prosperity, he believed, that of the whole nation was involved.^ ^ Studies of a Biographer, IV, 78. ^Quarterly Review, li, 228-79. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM The medium through which Southey chiefly gave out his pohtical and other opinions was the reviews. Reviewing constitutes a large proportion of his writing and it was the steadiest and most important source of his income. When he first entered the lists as a contributor to the Critical Review in 1798, the trade was not very remunerative. The rate was four or five guineas a sheet at the most, and the articles were not long. But the Edinburgh and the Quar- terly Reviews created a market for much longer articles at rates beginning with ten guineas a sheet and soon rising much higher. Southey himself in time came to receive from the Quarterly the flat sum of £100 for an article of average length, that is, of three or four sheets, and on special occasions even more. For his paper on the Catholic question in 1829 he received £150.^ This will explain why he swallowed many scruples, why he overlooked many of Murray's displeasing policies and put up with the meddlesome editing of Gifford, why he sacrificed the time which should have been devoted to gathering the laurels of immortality, and continued writing reviews to the end. Very seldom was one of those quartos on which he spent years of labor as profitable as a month's work for the Quarterly Review. And the income was indispensable for the support of his large household. Southey had very lofty ideas of what reviewing should be. The reviewer, he thought, should have ^ Warter, IV, 121. 25 26 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE at least as much knowledge of the subject as the author whom he presumed to judge, otherwise he was immoral.^ He should treat every author with the same humane consideration, with the same re- gard for his sensibilities, as he would show to a guest in his home. The tone of bitterness which Jeffrey adopted toward Montgomery he looked upon as brutal and inexcusable. Southey's letters are thickly sown with condemnations of the prevailing practice of Reviews in general and of every Review in partic- ular, nor is he sparing in self-reproach for his own share in the unprincipled business. He professes contempt and loathing for the craft and is threatening on the slightest provocation to wash his hands of it completely, but on the other hand he consoles him- self with the thought that there are unpleasanter ways of earning a living. "It is after all better than pleading in a stinking court of law, or being called up at midnight to a patient ; . . . better than cal- culating profits and loss on a counter." ^ Of course all such protestations contain an element of pose, and it is clear that he became attached to reviewing by something more than the need of earning his living. William Taylor of Norwich, who spent nearly all his time in reviewing, was in the habit of making similar complaints, yet when for any reason the occupation was interrupted, he floundered about like a fish on land. Reviewing was not uncongenial to Southey's literary habits in general, and he sometimes confesses it. At least he says, *'it is well for me that I like reviewing well enough to feel nothing irksome in the employment," and that is probably an under- statement of his case.^ When Southey began reviewing the profession 1 Life, II, 352. 2 Ibid., II, 301. ^ Ibid., VI, 56. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 27 enjoyed very small prestige. The Monthly Review and the Critical were then the leading periodicals, and whatever might be the value of the scientific, philological, or theological matter that comprised their chief bulk, their Hterary department was with- out distinction. Of the regular contributors of that time WilUam Taylor, who wrote for the Monthly Review, was the most respectable. For him indeed the claim is made of having founded the mode of reviewing in which the substance of the volume under consideration is enlarged or corrected from the re- viewer's own store of information, or made the occa- sion of an independent set of observations. Southey, too, saw the opportunity afforded by this medium for discharging at small cost of labor the accumula- tions of learning which he had begun to gather. As he had no great respect for the organ to which he first contributed, he did not spend excessive pains on his articles. "The Critical is so miserably bad," he says in one of his moments of severity, "that indolently as I write myself, I am almost ashamed to be in such company." ^ Even extreme editorial liberties did not ruflfle his indifference. What he prided himself on was absolute honesty, a humane temper, and generous appreciation of new talent in however humble a degree. Humane censure and generous appreciation are two qualities which often help to distinguish his reviews from a colorless mass, in the Critical Review and elsewhere. This periodical contains from Southey's pen not only the review, celebrated for its uniqueness, of Landor's "Gebir," but also overflowing appreciations of Robert Bloom- field and Joanna BailHe, besides many kind notices of poets who never emerged into fame. ^ Robberds, Memoir of William Taylor, I, 300. 28 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Though he apparently took so little pride in his work for the Critical, Southey did not abandon it till he found another outlet in the Annual Review, estabhshed by Arthur Aikin in 1802. In this jour- nal WilHam Taylor was his chief coadjutor, all the other writers, according to Southey, being below contempt.^ But while the usual disparaging refer- ences are not wanting, there is also evidence that he was beginning to find more satisfaction in his task. He occasionally singled out an article of particular excellence for the attention of his correspondents, and he urged Grosvenor Bedford to get the Annual Reviews "because without them my operas are very incomplete," and because they contain ''more of the tone and temper of my mind than you can otherwise get at." ^ Both the scope of the reviews and their characteristic virtues are comprised in the statement which he made when about to join the ranks of the Quarterly: "I beheve myself to be a good reviewer in my own way, which is that of giving a succinct account of the contents of the book before me, ex- tracting its essence, bringing my own knowledge to bear upon the subject, and, where occasion serves, seasoning it with those opinions which in some degree leaven all my thoughts, words and actions. . . . Voyages and travels I review better than anything else, being well read in that branch of literature ; better, indeed, than most men. Biography and history are within my reach." ^ There is curiously no mention in this passage of literary criticism, though the Annual Review contains the most judicious Uterary reviews that Southey ever wrote, notably on the 1802 volume of Landor's poems, on Godwin's Chaucer, Hayley's Cowper, and Ritson's Romances. 1 Life, III, 127. 2 Ibid., Ill, 42. » Ibid., Ill, 183. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 29 The discursive length of his articles was sometimes complained of, but to this Southey paid no heed. Southey's reputation for learning and ability had gained him an invitation to write for the Edinburgh Review, and in spite of his detestation of the prin- ciples and the spirit with which that organ was con- ducted he was on the point of accepting when it seemed that it was going to pass into the hands of his own pubKsher, Longman. But the change of ownership did not come about, so Southey preserved his self-respect and waited for the launching of the rival journal by the government. At the close of his Hfe he flattered himself that it was his refusal to join the Edinburgh that indirectly laid the founda- tion for the Quarterly Review} But the surroundings even of the Quarterly Review were not altogether congenial. Southey at first felt a httle uncomfortable at finding himself in the company of Gifford and Ellis, whose butt he had been in the early Anti- Ja- cobin days. He did not approve all the policies of the government which was supporting the periodical and he entertained fears and suspicions as to the freedom of the Review from ministerial control. Yet he hoped that this disadvantage would be offset by his own reputation for free and fearless thinking : the editor would doubtless understand his own interest and allow him unrestricted utterance of his views and principles.^ What Southey particularly rejoiced in, however, was the prospect of crossing foils on equal terms with the writers of the Edinburgh. He de- lighted to show his superiority over Sidney Smith on the subject of Hindoo Missions ^ and to see the effect which his own articles produced on the Bristol ^ Warter, IV, 510- ^ Life, III, 198. ' Warter, II, 145 ; Life, III, 234. 30 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Church of England Tract Society.^ As his sense of power grew he resolved to attack the enemy by tak- ing up " those very subjects which he has handled the most unfairly, and so to treat them as to force a com- parison which must end in our favor." ^ So he would not only shake the credit of their organ but pay off some of his numerous personal obhgations to the Edinburgh Review. (It was the mistaken policy of the Quarterly Review in general to flatter its rival by indiscriminately taking the opposite side of any opinion advanced in the Edinburgh) The credit and repute which Southey gained in the early years of this connection were, in fact, so considerable that he was commonly suspected of a much greater share in the counsels of the Review than he really enjoyed. Articles and opinions were frequently attributed to him with which he was wholly out of sympathy. To him was credited a very large, if not the largest share of the early success and permanent reputation of the periodical. To be sure, he also came in for a large measure of censure. He undertook to write on such a large range of subjects that his knowledge of them could not be thorough. His erudition in most matters was notable for its width rather than its exactness. His ignorance of practical poHtics and economics has already been noticed, but it may be illustrated once more by his views on America, which, kindly meant though they were, provoked laughter by their naive innocence. The road to the salvation of the United States, he thought, lay in a national debt, a hereditary nobihty, and an established church : he forgot to include a Poet Laureate, was the caustic observation of an American critic. Ineptitude Hke 1 Warter, II, 248-9. 2 nj^^ m^ 316. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 31 this on important subjects was sure to attract un- flattering notice. In matters of less import his competence was also frequently questioned. In knowledge of natural history, which he had to make use of in reviews of travels, he stood condemned. His literary criticism achieved the incongruous combina- tion of perversity with tameness resulting from an excessive benevolence exercising itself upon insipid subjects. Censorious persons also complained that he emptied his note-books into his articles with httle provocation. This is the unfavorable side of the picture. The inner history of his connection with the Quar- terly Review is also a checkered one. The troubles of Southey with Gifford and Murray form an inter- esting episode in his own life and throw a valuable side-Hght on the relation between managers and authors. In the beginning Southey is quite compla- cent. Of course absolute authority with respect to any alteration must always be vested in the edi- tor.^ He even expresses an amused appreciation of the skill mth which Gifford emasculates an article.^ Before many years, however, the amusement gives way to irritation and anger as the writer sees his logical arrangements dislocated, his happy phrases garbled, editorial opinions inserted in awkward contradiction of his own in other parts of the same paper.^ On one occasion he finds in the proofs an interpolation, erroneous as to facts, made at the sug- gestion of no less a personage than the Duke of Well- ington. With becoming dignity he insists on the substitution of the original statement, but when the Review arrives, behold ! there is another interpolation, 1 Ibid., Ill, 221. 2 Ibid., Ill, 226. Ubid., IV, 58; Warier, II, 393-5. 32 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE contrary to his own expressed opinion, in a part of the article which he had not seen in proof.^ He pro- tests stoutly and is paid with soothing words and promises of amendment. These promises, of course, are repeated just as frequently as they are broken, and it is not till 182 1 that a paper of his, the Life of Cromwell, appears practically without mutila- tion — the only instance of the kind which Southey has recorded. Sometimes there is even an attempt to suggest to him what opinion on a given subject would be pleasing to the powers, but such approaches are sure to meet with an indignant rebuff.^ His strongest expressions of opinion, his best practical suggestions are weakened, he thinks, out of "pity to the Terrors of Ministers." ^ Indeed Southey finds himself between two fires. Gifford complains that he is too hberal while Murray thinks him too bigoted.^ But he will not accommodate himself to the fancies of either. Murray in general becomes an occasion of greater bitterness than his editor. To be sure he pays liberally, but he is correspondingly exacting. When he sends a particularly generous sum he inti- mates that such prices can be paid only for articles that produce a "decided impression" and even pre- sumes to offer hints on the tone of future reviews. Southey only deigns to reply that he might be spend- ing his time far more worthily and, from an elevated point of view, more profitably than by writing for the Quarterly at the highest prices.^ Whatever might happen to his essays after they left his hands, it never occurred to him to submit to the dictation of conditions from any source, and he proves his independence by deliberately refusing a request from 1 Warter, III, 4-6. ^ Ibid., Ill, 34. » /j^_^ m^ 62. « Ibid., Ill, 417. ^ Ibid., Ill, 103. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 33 Murray for an article on the times. ^ If Murray attempts to express his dissatisfaction or resentment by a reduction of pay, he is courteously but promptly recalled to a sense of his meanness and of his obli- gations to literature.^ Southey found an additional grievance in the publisher's relations with Byron. Not satisfied with standing sponsor for the unspeak- able ''Don Juan," Murray had declined to open the pages of his Review for a wholesome chastisement of the pernicious vices of that fiend incarnate, and further aggravated his offence by printing a laudatory account of the blasphemous "Cain"!^ Such con- duct must disgust and alienate his best disposed supporters. Southey is quite willing to consider a proposal to establish a new review which shall shake the foundations of the Quarterly as the latter had once shaken that of the Edinburgh. In spite of the sacrifice of great undertakings that it would involve and in spite of his consciousness of not being qualified for managing anything, he is almost ready to assmne the editorship. At any rate he is deterred by no scru- ples of consideration for Murray. Compared with his feelings for the publisher at this time, his tone toward Gifford assumes great kindhness. Amidst his annoyance and irritation he had always expressed a warm personal regard for that greatly abused editor, but now Gifford was ail- ing and there was a prospect of his early retirement. With no uncharitable thought in his mind, Southey looked forward to a change in the management, with the hope that the new editor would consult his opin- ions and treat his articles with greater deference. He was a Kttle surprised and immensely gratified when his own candidate, John Coleridge, was ap- 1 lUd., Ill, 159. 2 Ibid., Ill, 168. 3 jm^ iii^ 335-48. D 34 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE pointed to succeed Gifford. But his gratification was short-lived, for in the course of a year Coleridge was himself superseded by John Gibson Lockhart, and Southey's complaints began anew. He had been prejudiced against Lockhart by what he had heard of his exuberant activities in Blackwood's Magazine, but even when he found that personally the new editor was worthy of his regard, he could not accommodate himself to his poHcies. Lock- hart, according to Southey's standards, did not have enough "root" in his principles and was too suscep- tible to revolutionary ideas — a dangerous weakness for the head of a government organ. The sad truth was that the new generation had arrived at power and Southey's influence had waned. His pen was still useful to the Quarterly on such subjects as the Catholic question and the Corn Laws, as well as on miscellaneous topics, and Southey still needed the revenue ; therefore the frequent disturbances ter- minated in some sort of understanding. The last reference that occurs in Southey's letters to his rela- tions with the Quarterly is of an affront. "The story is not worth telling," he says pathetically; "it was a piece of disrespectful ill-usage which I resent not upon either Lockhart or Murray, but upon the Review personified." ^ Southey's literary reviews call for some special comment in spite of what has already been observed about their weakness. On a close examination this weakness is seen to be chiefly the effect of a systematic policy which raises an interesting question of ethics. Does the reviewer owe a greater duty to the author or to the reading pubhc ? Southey decided the ques- tion in favor of the author; he thought the public 1 Warter, IV, 408. REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 35 would take no harm even if it were deceived into buying an innocuous and worthless volume. He used to account for his own taciturnity as induced by the dread of Coleridge's loquacity ; by the same token his critical insipidity was probably a reaction against the pungency of Jeffrey, from which he had personally suffered. Its contrast with the prevail- ing tone is its most interesting feature. In this particular Scott alone resembled him. It can be demonstrated as easily as the sum of two and two that his benevolence prevented Southey from exer- cising whatever share of the critical faculty he en- joyed. His first critical, perhaps it is better to say anti- critical, principle was that "goodness is a better thing than genius." ^ It followed that every display of fiHal or fraternal piety, of religious sentiment or devotion to duty, was more deserving of encourage- ment than any amount of originality or power or brilhancy in which the former qualities were incon- spicuous. As he could not endure the idea of giving pain and was aware of what reviewing phrases went for, he made it his aim to deal out such milk-and- water praise as would do no harm, "to speak of smooth versification, and moral tendency, etc., etc." ^ In the Critical Review he bestowed free praise on Robert Bloomfield's "Rural Tales," ^ but privately to Coleridge he wrote, "I have reviewed his Poems with the express object of serving him ; because if his fame keeps up to another volume, he will have made money enough to support him comfortably in the country ; but in a work of criticism how could you bring him to the touchstone?"'* To Montgomery's 1 Life, III, 67. 2 Ibid., II, 198. * Second Series, xxxv, 67. * Life, II, 190. 36 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE poems he applied the most extravagant epithets of appreciation and, because they overflowed with pure and pious feelings and had already been severely handled in the Edinburgh Review, he managed to conceal his real disappointment over them.^ He knew that Hayley's "Memoirs" was "a poor, in- sipid book" ^ and that his poetry was forever dead, but was not Hayley "a gentleman and a scholar, and a most kind-hearted and generous man?" Moreover he remembered with gratitude that it was to Hayley he owed his first introduction to Spanish literature and he therefore felt it a duty to review his work with respect and kindness.^ And so he constantly wreaked himself on subjects unworthy of a serious critic, on the "dihgent talents, early acquirements, and domestic happiness" of Barre Charles Roberts,'* on the piety of Lucretia Davidson, an American girl who wrote some verses and died before she was seventeen,^ or on the happier fate of the English servant-girl, Mary ColKng, who leads him into an excursus on uneducated poets in general.^ If Southey could have had his way, he would have reduced all the criticism in the Quarterly to his own innocuous standard. He lamented its tendency to imitate the tone and temper of the Edinburgh criti- cism; he was so disgusted with a certain review of Lady Morgan that he exclaimed, "I would rather have cut off my right hand than have written any- thing so unmanly and so disgraceful ! " ^ Even when there were faults to be reprehended he would have adopted a conciliatory manner and by giving free praise have led the straying gently into the right 1 Quarterly Review, vi, 405 ; Life, IV, 33. ^ Warter, III, 427. 3 Life, V, 179. * Quarterly Review, xii, 509. ^ Ibid., xli, 289. 6 Ibid., xlvii, 80. ^ Warter, III, 79- REVIEWING AND CRITICISM 37 path. "Keats," he says, "might have been won in that manner, and perhaps have been saved. So I have been assured." ^ It was no wonder that he early gained the reputation of being a sort of disin- terested press-agent. To his lot, he complained, generally fell the worthless poems of some good- natured person whom he knew,^ and in time applica- tions for his services from strangers became so fre- quent that, in order to avoid giving offence to any one, he resolved not to review the work of any living poet.^ In all his labors of love he only once succeeded in leaving a permanent impression on the public, and that was in editing, with a prefatory Life, the Re- mains of Kirke White. His verdict on this poet, however generous, has in some measure been approved by posterity. Whether there were really latent in Southey critical powers which were stifled by his goodness of heart, it is not possible to decide. He sometimes delivered himself with force and insight, as in some casual remarks on Landor's earlier poetry: "He is strong, but it is an unwieldy strength. Verse painting is his talent ; he makes me see, but he never makes me feel ; and he is always trying to make me think, and often makes shallow water look deep by muddying it." * But such utterances are rare and occur chiefly among the scattered sentences of his Commonplace Books. Against them can be cited frequent critical errors, such as the extravagance (which he shared with Scott) of associating Joanna Baillie with Shake- speare,^ to say nothing of his delusion concerning his own poetry. He appeared at his best in purely anti- ^ Life, V, 203. 2 II, 197. 3 Life, VI, 193. ^ Atlantic Monthly, Ixxxix, 40. ^ Critical Review, 2d Series, xxxvii, 200-2 1 2. 38 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE quarian criticism — in his scholarly review of Rit- son's Romances ^ or in the contribution of hints and facts in the manner of the rising school of historical criticism. In his reviews of Hayley and of Dr. Say- ers he wove in much of his abundant information on the obscurer phases of literature. He was looked upon as the proper person to take up the history of EngHsh poetry where Warton had left off, but the continuation for which he accepted terms from the publishers remained among his unexecuted projects. There is reason to suppose that if he had carried it out it would have contained much curious matter but undistinguished. He professed a disincHnation to ambitious subjects: "Shakespeare and Milton I leave to be written about by young men who wish to display themselves."^ In his treatment the great objects would have been blotted out by a multitude of specks. That his history would have been sea- soned with independence and with more than a grain of perversity may be gathered from the defence of Flecknoe against the satire of Dryden which appears in his "Omniana." ^ But it would have suffered from the same lack of a philosophic principle which weak- ened all of his greater works and would hardly have attained the authority of his forerunner. The sum of Southey's criticism would have to be called neg- Ugible, if it were not for his contribution to the knowl- edge of Spanish hterature. ^ Annual Review, ii, 515. ^ Warier, IV, 93. ' No. 62. SPANISH LITERATURE With his first tour of Portugal and Spain in 1795 began Southey's interest in the affairs of the Penin- sula which was to give rise to his most ambitious undertakings in prose. Its immediate literary result was the volume of "Letters Written during a Resi- dence in Spain and Portugal" concerning which Southey's excuse that "they were only pubHshed from necessity"^ may be accepted as sufficient. One striking piece of wisdom Southey did bring back. He was so sickened at the intolerance to which he was everywhere a witness, at the refusal of sectaries to see that "opposite opinions may exist without affecting moral character" that he resolved never to judge of Man by his principles. ^ Had this resolve but taken firm root in his mind, what a deal of re- crimination he would have been spared ! It was on his second visit (i 800-1 801) that he began storing up materials for a monumental history of the country which was already projected in his mind. But though the historian in Southey was at this period already becoming prominent, his creative energies were still chiefly absorbed in poetry. It was natural, therefore, that his first serious scholarly work should reflect this interest and that the poetic material of the Peninsula should be the first to receive his attention. He made Enghsh versions of some of the most famous Spanish romances and so transformed them as to give them almost the rank of independent ^ Warier, I, 42. ^ Letters Written in Portugal. 39 40 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE creations. "Amadis of Gaul" is reduced in his treat- ment to half its bulk by the elimination of repeti- tions, prolixities, and digressions. The abridgment is done with taste and Hterary feehng, but it is the taste and Hterary feeling of a pure-minded English- man of the nineteenth century. Southey's object was to give a faithful representation of the manners and morality of chivalry, but his version is absolutely faithful only in externals. The description of a knight's apparel, the details of a tournament, and matters pertaining to war in general are more faith- fully reproduced than the passions and feehngs of the actors. Southey's scrupulous morahty balks at the mediaeval conventions of love and tames many a scene of passionate ardor to the sober level of his own restraint. Along with a good deal of its coarse- ness the old romance thereby loses its sensuous warmth and its unsophisticated honesty of tone. But in spite of this loss it is well entitled to the praise that Ticknor gave it when he called it the only form of the story that can be read in Enghsh. The "Chronicle of the Cid" deserves more un- qualified applause. Southey here set himself the more difficult task of combining a variety of materials from ancient chronicle and later history, from epic and ballad, and of weaving them into a uniform tex- ture for the illustration of mediaeval manners and customs, as in the "Amadis." To this work he apphed himself with a superior zest. The "Amadis" had interested him comparatively little. The favor- able reception which it had everywhere been ac- corded, compared with the critical coldness toward "Thalaba," had even nettled him. The readiness of people to praise it he attributed to the modest pre- tension of the work, which was too humble to excite SPANISH LITERATURE 41 any person's envy, whereas the grandeur of "Thai- aba" aroused the jealousy of the literary tribe. "Praise and fame," he remarked in this connection, "are two very distinct things. Nobody thinks the higher of me for that translation, or feels a wish to see me for it, as they do for 'Joan of Arc' and 'Thai- aba. '"^ But of "The Cid" he speaks as a very favorite work.^ He is impressed with the poetic quality of the material — romance has nothing finer than the proceedings of the Cortes at Zamora, poetry nothing superior to its hving pictures.^ He feels that his translation improves so much on the original as to be unique in its kind.* The language, too, in itself poetical, becomes more poetical by necessary compression. The Spaniards will be pleased at the fame that their Campeador is beginning to enjoy in England, and Coleridge is perfectly delighted with the work.^ This enthusiasm needs to be discounted a little. Some of the earlier portions of Southey's narrative have too little to do with the exploits of the Cid, and the miraculous events following the Cid's death, derived from late legends, are not in harmony with the fresh realism of the main narrative. Instead of reproducing the Kfe of a given age, Southey has mixed up modes of thinking and feeHng appropri- ate to diverse periods. The style, too, occasionally displays its joints. One is often able to recognize where the more exalted tone of the poetic source interrupts the sober historical flow. But these im- perfections, though they detract somewhat from its value as a finished work of art, weigh slightly in the balance against the intrinsic interest of the materials, the general skill of the composition, and the graceful * Life, II, 359. 2 Warter, I, 382. 3 Life, III, 127. * Ibid., Ill, 166. s Ibid,, III, 171. 42 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE simplicity of the style. For the translation of all these old romances Southey had adopted the manner of Malory and the sixteenth century chroniclers. He imitated their artless syntax which, while it lacks a sense of the period, is capable, in its sensitiveness to the harmony of the phrase or comma, of the most characteristic cadences of English prose. Euphony is the quality of this kind of prose at its best, and euphony is the one quality, after simplicity, which Southey always aimed at in his prose. This syntax, purified of its disorder, combined with the old vo- cabulary of chivalry to produce that tone of archaic quaintness which charms all readers of Southey's translations. This was pioneering work, yet the century that has elapsed has not superseded it. On the more purely scholarly side also Southey's achievements were, for a pioneer, considerable and to a certain extent even of permanent value. Critics writing at large have often condemned his scholarship as loose and un- methodical when judged by modern standards. An appraisal of this phase of his work must depend on the judgment of experts, and it is gratifying to find a methodical German investigator pronouncing a favorable verdict on Southey's knowledge of Span- ish.^ His understanding of the problems connected with "The Cid" is not quite on a level with that of his contemporaries on the continent, but in his dis- cussion of "Amadis of Gaul" and "Palmerin of England" — (Southey had revised and half retrans- lated the existing EngHsh version of the latter ro- mance by Anthony Monday) — he stands distinctly * Ludwig Pfandl, "Robert Southey und Spanien": Revue His- panique, xxviii, 1-315. The statements that follow lean on the authority of this detailed monograph. SPANISH LITERATURE 43 superior. In tracing the authorship of "Palmerin of England" he made a contribution which, though assailed by succeeding critics, has now been firmly- reestablished. In addition Southey contributed an article on Portuguese literature to one of the early numbers of the Quarterly Review which was immedi- ately translated into Portuguese and served Ticknor as a compendious outline for his more detailed study.^ Ticknor again expressed his obKgation to a Quarterly article of Southey's when he wrote his chapter on Lope de Vega. He was therefore paying no lip- homage when he declared that "Mr. Southey's name is one that must always be mentioned with pecuHar respect by scholars interested in Spanish hterature." ^ ^ Ticknor, History of Spanish Literature, II, 163 n. ^ Ibid., I, 13 n. HISTORY The important work to which Southey repeatedly makes allusion when complaining of the time wasted on reviews is the writing of history. Of the genuine- ness of his calling for this work he felt even more secure, if that is possible, than of his poetic inspiration. When the poetic fire began to wane, he clung to his- tory as his sure hold on immortahty. Poets there had been before him, but no one had yet combined the exacting requisites of the historian in anything like the measure possessed by himself. "Industry, judgment, genius ; the patience to investigate, the discrimination to select, the power to infer and to enliven" ^ — by the aid of these qualities he would give an example of how history should be written such as "the world had never yet seen." Southey also set a just value on " a power of intellectual trans- migration with which few persons are gifted." His ideas on this point are quite modern and permanently valuable. "The author," he says, "if he would deal justly toward those whose actions he professes to record, should go back to their times, and, standing where they stood, endeavor, as far as is possible, to see things as they appeared within their scope of vision, in the same light, and from the same point of view, and through the same medium." ^ This virtue on which he prided himself was not, however, an ideal of objective detachment. It was modified — Southey would say strengthened — by his strict religious principles. In this respect he felt a towering ^ Life, II, 242. ^ Quarterly Review, x, 91, 44 HISTORY 45 superiority over infidel historians like Hume and Gibbon. He cordially despised "that miserable state of Pyrrhonism which in these days assumes the name of HberaHty" and which would regard de- votion to a special set of rehgious dogmas as a nar- rowing factor. On the contrary, "the more re- ligious a historian is, the more impartial will be his statements, the more charitable his disposition, the more comprehensive his views, the more enhghtened his philosophy. In rehgion alone is true philosophy to be found ; the philosophy which contemplates man in all his relations, and in his whole nature; which is founded upon a knowledge of that nature, and which is derived from Him who is the Beginning and the End." ^ Among other pathetic ironies of Southey's life it is not the least that the great opus in which all the characteristic excellences of the historian were to be supremely exempHfied was never accomplished, and its fragments have never seen the Hght. Circum- stances had fixed his attention on Portugal, where he thought he saw a vast undeveloped theme. An ambitious plan had entered his head in 1799 and thenceforth to the very day of his sad collapse the subject was uppermost in his mind. The scale of the project is most imposing : it was to be in ten or twelve quarto volumes and to include not only the history of European Portugal, but the story of the Portuguese in Asia and South America, of the Jesuits in Japan, the literary history of Spain and Portugal, and a history of the Monastic Orders.^ The subject, he feels, is worthy o.f all the pains that can be bestowed on it. The annals of Portugal are "fertile beyond all others in circumstances of splendid and tragic story." ^ ^ Ibid., xxxvii, 197. ^ Life, II, 305. ^ Peninsular War, I, 107. 46 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The more he dwells on it, the more its grandeur ex- pands : ''No history has ever yet been composed that presents such a continuous interest of one kind or another, as this would do, if I should live to complete it. The chivalrous portion is of the very highest beauty; much of what succeeds has a deep tragic interest ; and then comes the gradual destruction of a noble national character brought on by the cancer of Romish superstition." ^ The mass of folios that needs to be digested might terrify an ordinary stu- dent, but Southey attacks them with eagerness and zest, in order to give an added lustre to his fame by producing something unsurpassed for thorough re- search and range of materials.^ The interest of the narrative is to be heightened by the novelty of in- troducing the manners of the age and people.^ The style is to be plain, compressed, unornamented, uniting strength with perspicuity.'^ In short, it is to be "one of the most curious books of its kind that has ever yet appeared" ^ and will of itself justify him in having chosen literature for his life's pursuit.® It may, if it have but half the success of Gibbon, yield important profit, but it cannot fail to bring him enduring fame.^ He can hardly restrain his impatience to see it in print. "The day when I receive the first proof-sheet will be one of the happiest of my life." ^ About no other work does Southey speak with such warmth of feeling. Long interruptions do not avail to abate his enthusiasm. Amid all the distractions of more pressing demands the thought of it steals in to stimulate and encourage. "Just now I am taking a treat at my great history," he writes 1 Life, VI, 192. 2 Ibid., IV, iii. ^ Warter, I, 99. * Ibid., I, 145. 5 Life, IV, 9. ^ Warter, I, 337. ^ Ibid., I, 145. 8 Life, II, 341. HISTORY 47 in 1815.^ Age comes on and brings with it a mel- ancholy concern lest the completion of the work be too long delayed,^ but still there is no flagging of purpose. It is always the work which he has most at heart, always the next to go to press, — for the material is two-thirds or three-fourths digested and it is only a matter of recomposing in the process of transcribing what has long since been written.^ And just as the shades are about to envelop him he is in good heart and hope, "never in better mood for setting about what has been for so many years among the main objects which I have had in view." * This dream of forty years must be recorded as a dream.^ What Southey's History of Portugal would have been like, it is unfair to judge by his History of Brazil, the only section of the great plan that was ever carried out. He was led to take this up first not on account of any superior attraction in the subject, but because of the great poHtical interest in South American affairs. Napoleon had just seized Spain, and the fear of the British was that he would get control of the American colonies. Apparently Gren- ville, who was then in the Cabinet and who knew Southey as the school-friend of his nephew, Charles Wynn, urged him to take advantage of the popular curiosity and get immediately to work on Brazil. But it is clear that Southey was not deceived as to the intrinsic interest of the materials. ''Bare and ^ Warter, II, 399. 2 /jfj_^ iv, 220. 3 Life, VI, 74, 158, i9i,_ 270. * Warter, IV, 573, 575. ^ An episode of the History appeared in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1810 (Vol. 3, Part 2, pp. i-li) with the title "History of Lope de Aguirre," and was e.xpanded into a small book, The Expedi- tion of Orsita and the Crimes of Aguirre (1821). It is an admirable piece of narrative. 48 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE insipid" is how he characterizes them, and he adds with a sigh that there is no making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.^ He is sure that the pubHc will be disappointed, fancying that a fine country must have a fine history, and he is quite resigned to its unpopu- larity.- Not that the book will be without distinc- tive merits. It will bring together a great mass of information, a great deal which will be interesting as a book of travels, a greater body of facts respecting savage life than can be found in any other single work, "and what has never yet been given, a per- fectly fair account of the Jesuits in Paraguay."^ The result, he knows, is such "that there does not exist, in this or in any other language, so full an account of any country from the earliest times, of its rise, progress, geography, the manners of its abo- rigines, and its actual state at the point of time when the writer concludes, as I shall have prepared of Brazil." ^ These claims, considerable as they are, are not exorbitant. In moments of exaltation fol- lowing the completion of his ten years' labor, Southey unfortunately made some other claims, which have been more generally remembered, in the somewhat grandiloquent peroration appended to his History and in a letter to Chauncey Townshend proclaiming that "ages hence it will be found among those works which are not destined to perish, and secure for me a remembrance in other countries as well as in my own ; that it will be read in the heart of South Amer- ica, and communicate to the Brazilians, when they shall have become a powerful nation, much of their own history which would otherwise have perished, ^ Warter, II, 98. 2 Ibid., II, 193 ; History of Brazil, last paragraph ; Life, IV, 353. ' Warter, II, 193. * Ibid., Ill, 130. HISTORY 49 and be to them what the work of Herodotus is to Europe." ^ Southey's account has all the virtues of an agree- ably written source book, not the least of these vir- tues being its comparative freedom from partisan prejudices. He does often obtrude his theological convictions on the innocent savages, but in the form of tags and scarcely in a way to vitiate the narrative. Speaking, for example, of the extinction of certain South American tribes, he is provoked to generalize as follows: "Thus it is with savages; through sin they have originally lapsed into the savage state ; and they who reject civilization when it is placed within their reach, if they escape from other agents of destruction, perish by the devices of their own heart, to which they are abandoned." ^ The fulness of the history may damage it as a book of entertain- ment but must be of service to the special student, and its accuracy has not been impeached. The minuteness with which Southey treats all the skir- mishes between settlers and natives or the brawls be- tween Portuguese and Hollanders, as if they involved momentous decisions, is indeed tedious, but there are sometimes passages of animated narrative such as the summary of Hans Stade's adventures among the Tupinambas ^ or the reduction of the Nheengaibas by Vieyra,^ and descriptive accounts, even more interesting, of the customs of the Tupinambas ^ or Tapuyas ^ and of the communities established by the Jesuits in Paraguay.^ The style has the usual unobtrusive merits of Southey's prose, never arresting by flashes of brilhancy but rising adequate to the * Life, IV, 354. ^ III, 394. ^ /jj-j_^ j^ 191-220. */iz(i., II, 519-526. * /6/c?., I, 248-261. ^ /6i£f., I, 399-404. ' Ibid., II, 333-376. 50 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE subject wherever a heightened interest demands it. It is worth observing that though the late Professor Lounsbury singled out the "History of Brazil" as a book which no one, presumably of his generation, had read,^ it was at one time unexpectedly over- praised in the Edinburgh Review, which spoke of its "glowing descriptions of the marvels of tropical nature,, the picturesque features of savage hfe, and chivalrous adventures of European settlers." ^ This, it should be remarked in all justice, was after South- ey's death. Southey's other large historical work was also an outcome of his interest in the affairs of Spain and Portugal, in this case strengthened by his staunch British patriotism. He was an eager witness to the awakening of the Iberian countries from their long lethargy and of their remarkable and unlooked for resistance to the usurpation of Napoleon. He has the credit of predicting that the Spanish adventure would prove the ruin of Napoleon. He glorified the struggle of Spain for its independence as one "of the same eternal and unfading interest as the wars of Greece agamst Xerxes,"^ a subject worthy of the pen of any historian. He really began to write the story of the Peninsular War while the conflict was in progress, that being the principal theme of the bulky historical sections which he contributed to the Edinburgh Annual Register. Here he not only presented the facts with the fulness of a work of reference, but freely criticised what he conceived to be the misconduct and incapacity of the ministry, and spoke his opinion impartially of all. He quoted with satisfaction a remark of Jeffrey's, made in ^ Yale Review, Jan. 191 5. ^ xciii, 400. 3 Peninsular War, III, 485 (ch. 23). HISTORY 51 ignorance of Southey's authorship, that the first volume of the Register contained the best piece of contemporary history he had seen in twenty years.^ With the triumphant close of Wellesley's campaign, he began to think of putting his materials into a permanent form. When he apphed to the conquer- ing general for the use of his documents, that officer refused, apparently distrusting a layman's abiHty to treat miHtary matters intelligently. Southey sus- pected that what the duke really feared was that he would give too much credit to the Spaniards and fail to make the history a full-length portrait of himself.^ He deplored the duke's poor judgment but deter- mined to go on with the history nevertheless. "Let who will write his military history, it is in my book that posterity will read of his campaigns." ^ The world unfortunately judged otherwise. When Southey's work was two-thirds pubHshed, the au- thorized history of the war by Colonel Napier, himself a participant in the campaigns, began to appear, and the doom of the earlier book was sealed. Though it did not deserve to be sneered at as "a mere bookselling speculation, " ^ the shortcomings of Southey's book were exactly those which Wellington had anticipated, and they were brought into clear rehef by Napier's version of the same events. That the latter was a scientific and fair-minded account may be inferred from the censure which it met from Coleridge. "It is a specimen," he says, "of the true French military school : not a thought for the justice of the war — not a consideration of the damnable and damning iniquity of the French invasion. All ^ Life, III, 319. 2 Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 73. ^ Ibid., 74. * Edinburgh Review, xlix, 392. 52 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE is looked at as a mere game of exquisite skill, and the praise is regularly awarded to the most successful player. ... I declare I know no book more likely to undermine the national sense of right and wrong in matters of foreign interference than this work of Napier's." ^ The Quarterly Review devoted four un- usually long articles to the chastisement of Napier, largely for his partiality toward the French and his prejudice against the Spaniards.^ On none of these grounds could exception be taken to Southey. He guided his narrative by the very strictest principles of British morality, he could not be exceeded in his detestation and abhorrence of everything connected with the French, and he idealized the conduct of the Spaniards though it involved the disparagement of his own countrymen. But even when these preju- dices were viewed as virtues, they could not atone for an inadequate command of the facts and for a com- plete failure, of which miUtary men must be the judges, to understand the significance of an action or the purpose of a campaign.^ Much good writing this book, like all of Southey's books, was sure to contain. The story of the siege of Zaragoza is the most vivid piece of narrative that Southey ever com- posed, the writing of which made his pulse beat faster. It may be placed alongside the brilliant passages of the more picturesque historians of the nineteenth century, the masterpieces of Macaulay, of Motley, and of Parkman. More successful than his large undertakings were his two comparatively modest works on English history, the "Book of the Church" and the "Naval History of England." They were both conceived as * Table Talk, June 26, 1831. ^ \^^ j^i^ 437; Ivii, 492 ; Ixi, 51. ^Quarterly Review, Ixxxviii, 241. HISTORY 53 popular manuals and not as works of research. The former was intended for use in the schools of the Church Establishment and the latter as one of the numbers of Longman's Cabinet Cyclopedia. To be sure they both far exceeded the limits of the original plan. As usual, Southey could not altogether re- strain the "peri of his steed from expatiating on the plain of prolixity,"^ but on the whole there is no great amount of encumbrance. They are thoroughly read- able books, bearing in their narrative vigor and fluency the closest resemblance to the "Life of Nel- son." In the "Book of the Church" the section recounting the quarrel between Becket and Henry II and the story of the martyrdoms from William Sautre to Archbishop Laud are carried along with an unflagging interest. The considerable number of editions which this book enjoyed is evidence of the attractiveness of its style, but it made no addi- tions to the existing knowledge of the subject and its interpretations of facts and persons were warped by Southey's High Church convictions. The "Naval History" ran into five i2mo volumes without at- taining completion and was perhaps on that account less popular, but its contents have a decidedly su- perior value. It is chiefly concerned with the seamen of Elizabeth's reign, and Southey's unequalled knowledge of the Spanish historians of that period was here of the greatest service. Not only did it afford him information generally inaccessible, but it provided him with a perspective by which the ideaHzed heroes of the Armada could be much more judiciously estimated. The actions of Drake and of Hawkins, of Essex and of Raleigh are recorded with a fidelity, impartiality, and sanity which fixes the 1 Warter, III, 387. 54 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE character of these worthies and divests them of the false glamour of romance which has gathered about them. The biographical sketches of which this History is composed have been frequently admired and some of them in recent years reprinted as speci- mens of "the finest portrait gallery of Elizabethan sea heroes in the English language." ^ Mr. David Hannay credits Southey with bringing to his studies of Elizabethan seamen a general knowledge that has never been equalled by any other English writer, with unerring tact in selecting his authorities and extraordinary dexterity in interweaving them. His account of the Armada, he says, is as full as it could be made on the evidence accessible to him, and but little remains to be added.^ Furthermore, it should be remembered to the credit of Southey's impartiahty that the story of the great British triumph is told without any bluster; there is not wanting even a word of respect and honor for the dignity of Philip's behavior when he received the news of the defeat of his armament and commanded thanks to be given, throughout Spain, to God and his saints that the defeat was no greater.^ Southey also planned a compendious history of England to correspond to the "Book of the Church" and a larger work on the reign of George III."* Had he written them they would undoubtedly have had the same virtues and the same defects as the "Book of the Church." His views on the course of EngUsh history stand out all too clearly in sundry articles in the Quarterly Review. In reviewing Hallam's "Con- stitutional History" he presents an interesting but ^ English SeajJien, edited by David Hannay, London, 1895. 2 Cf. Quarterly Review, clxxxi, 3. ' Naval History, II, 368. * Warier, III, 417. HISTORY 55 now unfamiliar interpretation of the Great Rebellion. The financial difficulties of Charles the First's reign he explains as the fault of Parliament and not of the king. "The intolerance and persecution were not on the side of the laws and the establishment, but of the puritans ; there was no design of subverting the liberties of the nation, but there was a settled pur- pose of overthrowing the church and the monarchy; the king appealed to the laws, and his opponents to the prejudices, the passions, and the physical force of the people." ^ Strafford was a patriot. Laud a saint, Charles a martyr. Hampden and Pym were dis- appointed place-seekers and unprincipled demagogues, Cromwell a man of many virtues who sacrificed to earthly greatness his peace of mind and hope of heavenly reward.^ In another article Southey has left the equally remarkable clue which would have guided him in writing of the "Age of George III": "The age of the Antonines was the happiest of which any remembrance has been preserved in ancient history; that of the Georges has been the happiest in later times ; altogether so in our own country, and, during the greater part of its continuance, throughout the whole of the European states. We have seen the termination of that age — not of the dynasty with which it began, nor (let us trust in God's mercy !) of those blessings which, through the accession of that dynasty, were preserved for our forefathers, and for us — and for our children, unless, by any laches on our part, we suffer their inheritance to be cut off." ^ All that the world has lost in these unwritten books is possibly another review by Macaulay. Southey was most successful when he ^ Quarterly Review, xxxvii, 238. ^ Ibid., xxv, 279-347. ' Ibid., xliv, 262. 56 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE had no great principles to illustrate, no philosophic clue to guide him. That is why the "History of Brazil" and the "Naval History" are useful con- tributions to the subjects of which they treat and are the only residuum of many years of devoted toil. BIOGRAPHY In the kindred province of biography Southey's success was greater than in history. The largest part of the "Naval History," indeed, is cast in bio- graphical form and might more fittingly be Hsted among his achievements under the present head. His manner of treating his materials was both sym- pathetic and judicious. No fairer mode of approach can be imagined for a biographer than Southey's plan "to account for the actions of men by their own principles and represent them as the persons repre- sent them to themselves." ^ In this way justice is assured to the subject of the biography while there is nothing to prevent the author from expressing his individual judgment of the motives and actions which he has passed in review. There is always the danger that actions may be misunderstood and motives wrongly imputed, but with Southey's scrupu- lousness in the treatment of documents this danger was reduced to a minimum. Naturalness and spon- taneity are distinctive quahties of his biographies. The story seems to be telling itself, simply and un- pretentiously. The character is not deliberately and formally analyzed, but revealed step by step in his words and deeds. Whatever personal bias may exist is either inherent in the choice of the subject or lightly superposed, as in the moral reflections on the South American savages, but it is not allowed to permeate the narrative. ^ Robberds, Memoir of William Taylor, II, 347. S7 58 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The ''Life of Nelson" is the single work of Southey which has won universal acclaim. Greeted with unanimous approval on its first appearance, it early gained the reputation of a Uterary classic and has to this day retained its unassailable eminence. Not that it is in the specialist's sense an authoritative life. Southey understood as little of naval strategy as he did of land manoeuvres — he walked among sea terms, he said, as carefully as a cat among crockery — and the technical history of Nelson's sea-battles was left for Admiral Mahan to describe. But the value of Southey's work was not thereby impaired. It is still the book to which the general reader will go for the story of the exploits of England's greatest hero told directly and simply, yet with a warmth of patriotic interest and a sincerity of admiration which are exactly suited to the occasion. This tri- umph of artistic prose Southey accomplished almost unintentionally. The task, he said, was an imposed one, quite out of his way, and his own share in it merely to arrange in clear and continuous form ma- terials " in themselves full of character, picturesque, and sublime." ^ Had he been allowed his own way, he would probably have approached the task in the same spirit as the Peninsular War and have produced an equally abortive result. He would have crammed his outline with a mass of uninteresting documents and intruded abundant digressions on naval and military matters in general. His materials, he is quoted as saying, would have extended to ten times the bulk.2 Fortunately both the size of the work and the time of completion were firmly fixed by Murray, and so he was saved from spoiling a master- piece. ^ Life, IV, 9, 17. ^ Quarterly Review, Ixxxviii, 239. BIOGRAPHY 59 The "Life of Wesley," which next to the "Nelson" — though at a long distance — was his most suc- cessful biography, is an example of Southey's tendency to inclusiveness. This book is more properly a history of the Methodist movement than a biography of its founder. The stories of George Whitefield and of the Moravians are introduced in great detail. Southey's design was to display the conditions which fostered the religious revival of the eighteenth cen- tury and he therefore drew on everything which was likely to illustrate it. He speaks of the pains which were required to collect the pieces for this "tesselated tablet," but the epithet does not give an impression of the skill with which the materials were blended. There is no patchwork ; the related subjects are not introduced in the form of digressions but fused into a continuous narrative with the main theme. Fully as much as on the score of composition the book is entitled to praise for its fair-mindedness. Of course it did not satisfy the Methodists, but it was also censured on the other side for devoting superfluous labor and attaching too much importance to a subject so trifling and contemptible. The criti- cism shows that Southey was rendering a useful service in making the ruling classes aware of the serious significance of the reHgious movement among the humble masses of England. In writing the "Life of Cowper" Southey was hampered by copyright restriction on many letters which were being utilized in a rival biography. He characteristically tried to make up the deficiency by introducing long chapters of literary history about Churchill and Colman and Bonnell Thornton. Southey also composed many brief biographical sketches in the shape of introductory essays or 6o SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Quarterly articles. To the former class belong the lives of Kirke White, John Bunyan, Dr. Watts, and the collection of "Lives of the Uneducated Poets." Of the Review biographies, the "Life of Cromwell" was later separately reprinted, but some of the others have a more curious interest. There is, to begin with, a very entertaining account of Wilham Huntington, S.S. (Sinner Saved), a fanatical preacher who, "when the unnamed part of his apparel was worn out, used to pray for a supply and receive a new pair, as he represented it, by the special interposition of Provi- dence." ^ There is also a charmingly written nar- rative of the life of Bayard, the Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, in which Southey's early fondness for chivalry is reanimated and he indulges in that pleasant vein of archaic English which he had de- veloped in the "Amadis of Gaul" and "The Cid." ^ The sketch of Marlborough strikes one by its glori- fication of the duke's character, which approaches, according to Southey, "in all his relations, public and private, almost as nearly as human frailty will allow, to the model of a great patriot, a true states- man, and a consummate general." ^ Finally, in his account of John Evelyn, Southey embodied an ideal of old-fashioned beauty which he cherished in his heart of hearts and summed it up in the most beauti- ful and stately sentence he ever wrote: "For an English gentleman he is the perfect model. Neither to solicit public offices, nor to shun them, but when they are conferred to execute their duties diligently, conscientiously, and fearlessly; to have no amuse- ments but such as being laudable as well as innocent, are healthful alike for the mind and for the body, * Quarterly Review, xxiv, 462-510. ^ Ibid., xxxii, 355-397' ' Ibid., xxiii, 1-73. BIOGRAPHY 6 1 and in which, while the passing hour is beguiled, a store of delightful recollection is laid up ; to be the Hberal encourager of Hterature and the arts; to seek for true and permanent enjoyment by the practice of the household virtues — the only course by which it can be found ; to enlarge the sphere of existence backward by means of learning through all time, and forward by means of faith through all eternity, — behold the fair ideal of human happiness ! And this was reahzed in the hfe of Evelyn." ^ ^ Ibid., xix, 54. MISCELLANEOUS PROSE SouTHEY produced three works of miscellaneous prose — the "Letters of Espriella," "Sir Thomas More : Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society," and "The Doctor." In the j&rst of these he adopted the device, familiar in the eighteenth century, of criticising the manners and institutions of his own country from the point of view of a ficti- tious foreign visitor. The disguise was very unskil- fully preserved. In spite of his sympathy with Spain, it was impossible for Southey to free himself from his tight British skin. The discussions of poHti- cal and social conditions, of the manufacturing sys- tem, of the Quakers and Methodists, of the Sweden- borgians and the reigning religious quacks are con- ducted in his characteristically dogmatic vein. His admirable descriptions of the Lake Country, too, express the love of a native, and the style has the same quaKties and defects as in his other works. A very similar range of topics, with the same set of opinions, is to be found in the Colloquies, written about a score of years later. The dramatic device is not much happier than in "Espriella." One recognizes Southey's great interlocutor in his domes- tic virtues, his humanism, and perhaps even his humor, but one fails to get a ghmpse of the clear intellect, the bold vision, the far-seeing idealism of the author of "Utopia." There are, however, in this book many more pages of beautiful writing, the 62 MISCELLANEOUS PROSE 63 fruit of a larger experience of life's hopes and sorrows. The favorite spots of his Lake country are once more described, but now a spirit of melancholy reminis- cence hovers over them. All the pleasures of his domestic and book-filled existence are subdued to a tone of poetic sadness with no touch of bitterness to detract from their ingratiating charm. His private confidences in his walks and in his hbrary still make dehghtful reading after his opinions on serious ques- tions have all passed away into obHvion. "The Doctor" is a work of altogether different pretensions and the greatest favorite with Southey. "Espriella" and the Colloquies were intended for the instruction of his contemporaries ; "The Doctor" was undertaken primarily to afford recreation from severer labors as well as to provide a receptacle for many odds and ends of learning and information which could not conveniently be disposed of else- where. Incidentally it was to serve for the enter- tainment, and probably also for the profit, of future generations. The notion of such a book occurs in Southey 's correspondence as early as 1805 when he urges his friend Bedford to the composition of a book of sublime nonsense, requiring "more wit, more sense, more reading, more knowledge, more learning, than go to the composition of half the wise ones in the world." ^ In another letter ^ he sends him a chapter for insertion in the proposed work. As his friend did not respond to repeated goading, Southey determined to carry out the idea himself. For a groundwork he adopted the story of Dr. Daniel Dove and his horse Nobs. This story, which he had first heard from Coleridge, was a favorite in his household, and its humor lay in making it as long-winded as possible. ^ Life, II, 337. 2 Warter, II, 362. 64 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE What the initial idea grew to is best told in Southey's own words: ''The author began it in his blithest years, with the intention of saying, under certain restrictions, quidlibet de guolibet, and making it a receptacle for his shreds and patches ; beginning in jest, he grew more and more in earnest as he pro- ceeded ; he dreamed over it and brooded over it — laid it aside for months and years, resumed it after long intervals, and more often latterly in thoughtful- ness than in mirth ; fancied, perhaps, at last, that he could put into it more of his mind than could con- veniently be produced in any other form." ^ He had no doubt that the result was a great and unusual book: "Such a variety of ingredients I think never before entered into any book which had a thread of continuity running through it. I promise you there is as much sense as nonsense there. It is very much like a trifle, where you have whipped cream at the top, sweetmeats below, and a good sohd founda- tion of cake well steeped in ratafia. You will find a Hberal expenditure of long-hoarded stores, such as the reading of few men could supply; satire and speculation ; truths, some of which might beseem the bench or the pulpit, and others that require the sanction of the cap and bells for their introduction. And, withal, a narrative interspersed with interludes of every kind, yet still continuous upon a plan of its own, varying from grave to gay, and taking as wild and yet as natural a course as one of our mountain streams." ^ To round out his estimate of the work, it should be observed that he saw in it "a little of Rabelais, but not much ; more of Tristram Shandy, somewhat of Burton, and perhaps more of Montaigne," with a quintum quid predominating. ^ 1 Life, VI, 268. 2 Ibid., V, 190. ^ Ibid., VI, 269. MISCELLANEOUS PROSE 65 From this self-appreciation, needless to say, very large deductions have to be made. No one has succeeded in detecting any essential resemblance in "The Doctor" to Rabelais or Sterne, to Burton or Montaigne. Miscellaneous as are the materials of these writers and whimsically vagrant their methods, their writings are all pervaded by a shaping person- ahty and held together by a consistent bond of thought and feeling. Southey's materials seem to have passed through no process of fusion. Too large a proportion of the contents is colorless and intract- able to any kind of Hterary handhng, is nothing more, in short, than a bald transcription from his common- place books. The places are not many where three or four successive chapters can be read with a sus- tained interest. As numerous as the pedantic diver- sions, and much more annoying, are the attempts at humor which are apparently dictated by some traditional demand for comic contrast or relief, but have no visible justification other than they might gain by being successful. A passage of quiet reflec- tion or of straightforward and artless narrative is sure to be followed by a loud outbreak of animal spirits, crude horseplay, or sheer vulgar nonsense. The severe chastisement which has been visited on Southey for his numerous offences of this kind is on the whole deserved. He goes about his task of creating wit with an elaborateness that looks like maHce. He spins a tasteless joke out in a dozen pages or loads down a slightly whimsical notion with a mass of heavy pedantry ; he puns as tediously as an Elizabethan and finds delight in the most childlike accumulation of words and sounds. There can be no doubt that he is enjoying himself as hugely as any child all the while, but the effect on the reader is 66 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE either yawn-provoking or merely painful. Still, one ought not to be blinded, by a just resentment, to a recognition of the genuine sense of fun with which Southey was gifted and which on occasion he indulged without any violation of good taste. He is at his best when giving vent to a mood of quiet playfulness. His pedantry serves him well in a mediaeval dis- quisition on the inferiority of woman, and he applies his elaborateness successfully to the calculation, in- teresting in the age of efficiency, of the time con- sumed in shaving. There was a vein of drollery in him which combined with his innocence of heart and goodness of nature to produce such pleasant and winsome passages as the Memoir of the Cats of Greta Hall. These elements, too, are a large in- gredient in the Story of the Three Bears, for which Southey 's anticipation that he would be blest by all who love to tell stories to their children has been fully realized. From speaking of the defects of "The Doctor" we have insensibly been led to mention some of its en- tertaining episodes. Though the Story of the Three Bears might alone suffice to redeem the book from oblivion, there are many other things in it, shining like so many bits of gold in a heap of dross, that are worthy of the labor required to extricate them. When the first two volumes were pubhshed in 1834, some of the reviewers treated them as a novel because of the overshadowing attractiveness of the chapters concerned with the narrative of Daniel Dove. The number of volumes in time grew to seven, but the story of Daniel Dove and Mrs. Dove made no ma- terial progress, and those earlier chapters remained the most attractive in the book. They reflect from a new angle Southey's amiable character, his tastes, MISCELLANEOUS PROSE 67 his ideals of English life and conduct, much as his other writings do, but in a more concentrated manner and with touches of dramatic vividness. They introduce the reader to an old-fashioned English homestead with its curious and old-fashioned assort- ment of books. The persons who live in it from one generation to another are old-fashioned in their simple, kindly, uninquiring humanity. They think in an old-fashioned way and they make love in an old-fashioned way, — which is a way unknown in the novels of any generation — without sentimental- ity and without passion. For their sweet naturalness and idyllic charm, the love story of Leonard and Margaret and the winning of Deborah Bacon by the Doctor are entitled to a place of distinction in English prose. In addition to these episodes there are pages of observation and reflection which, if they are never profound, are often sensible and agreeable, their vein being that of the eighteenth century essayists seasoned with a quaint, antique sauce borrowed from the graver writers of the seventeenth. These pas- sages, combined with some scattered through his other works, make up a body of mixed prose on the strength of which Southey may claim a position of respect among the writers of the familiar essay. CONCLUSION The foregoing summary, if it has led to no general reversal of judgment on the bulk of Southey's prose, has at least tried to bring into relief the many ad- mirable things in it which are commonly buried in a sweeping censure of the whole. By his activity in behalf of the Hterature of the Peninsula, Southey has contributed two notable romances for the enjoyment of EngHsh readers and has played the part of a pioneer in the modern study of Spanish and Portuguese lit- erature. He produced histories all of which are distinguished by passages of excellent and entertain- ing writing, while some are permanently valuable for the quantity of unprecedented research which they embody. He wrote biographies of distinctive merit and one of them has become a classic. In his mis- cellaneous works he gave play to moods of fancy and reflection with occasional happy results and left an image of a serene existence which smells sweetly to after ages, of a Kfe constant in its devotion to a high sense of duty, lovable in the piety of its domes- tic relations and in its wider humanity. His per- sonal virtues speak more appealingly in the inti- mate passages of the Colloquies and "The Doctor" than they do in his private letters. Paradoxical as it may sound, the letters very seldom reveal the intimate charm of Southey's confidences to the pubhc. They are nearly all letters of news; his ideas and opinions appear in them abundantly, but 68 CONCLUSION 69 in the form of flat, categorical statements. The reader misses in them the atmosphere of leisurely reflection, the tone of quiet rumination. The sum that has thus been placed to Southey's credit is not a mean one. It estabhshes a claim to remembrance for what his contemporaries united in calling the most "elegant and classical" prose of his time. The praises of Southey's style are often enough repeated, in empty echoes, perhaps, of its once sound- ing fame. The epithets "elegant and classical" had a significance in the mouths of his contemporaries which they would not have now. A generation which had just begun to taste the glitter and novelty and elaborateness of Hazlitt and Lamb and De Quincey, which had not yet been led away by the brilHant rhetoric of Carlyle and Ruskin, but still looked back to the eighteenth century for its ideal patterns, naturally regarded purity and propriety as the great excellences. In the fundamental virtues of style Southey could hardly be surpassed. His own oft-repeated precept to those who sought advice on the art of writing is contained in the famiUar lesson of all text-books, to think of the subject and let the expression take care of itself This, at any rate, is the initial process in his practice and results in simpHcity and perspicuity. It is generally fol- lowed by a process of refinement in which "every sentence is then weighed upon the ear, euphony becomes a second object, and ambiguities are re- moved." ^ On that quality of euphony which in Latin rhetoric is called "numerousness," Southey set a utihtarian value. "Numerous prose," he says, in distinguishing it from poetic prose, "not only carries with it a charm to the ear but affords such ^ Life, VI, 99. 70 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE facility to the utterance, that the difference between reading aloud from a book so composed, or from one which has been written without any feeling of nu- merousness on the writer's part, is as great and percep- tible as the difference between traveling upon an old road, or a macadamised one." "Numerous prose and poetical prose," he observes, "are things as different as gracefulness and affectation."^ "Clear- ness" and "euphony" — it requires only "force" to complete the familiar formula, and this term occurs in Southey's theory only less insistently than the other two. The three combined are excellent preservatives of good matter, but they do not suffice to exalt into memorable rehef the individual sub- stance of a writer's personality. Of this, also, Southey had more than an inkling, for he cited the superiority of Tacitus and Sallust over Livy to illustrate the advantage of "a little peculiarity of style" in helping to nail down the matter to the memory.- In his own Commonplace Books there are many detached sentences, figurative, sparkling, pointed, epigram- matic which testify to his possession of a power held in restraint in his formal writing. But he feared any tendency to an extreme and dreaded the growth of a mannerism. He condoned an original style in persons in whom it was associated with original mental powers, in Sir Thomas Browne, in Dr. John- son, or in Gibbon,^ but shunned to fall into the errors of an imitator. Through the rejection of all the more conspicuous ornaments, his style becomes what Professor Elton calls it — achromatic. It has harmony, and it often has animation, but it is des- titute of color and of richness, of nearly everything that distinguished his romantic contemporaries. * The Doctor, Interch. 17. ^ i^ij^^ jj^ jg^ 3 /j^(/_^ v, 240. CONCLUSION 71 Southey succeeded in keeping his poetic muse at a safe distance while composing in the lower harmony. Southey maintained that his style moulded itself to whatever subject it was applied, that it varied for each work that he undertook.^ But the force of this claim is diminished by the comparative narrowness of his range. Narrow it must be called in relation to stylistic demands, for most of his writings fall under simple exposition and historical narrative. Within this field the variety of topics did call for some dif- ferences of treatment. It has already been pointed out how he created a quaintly archaic style for his Spanish romances from the old EngHsh chroniclers. In other instances it is interesting to observe how dexterously he accommodates his manner to that of the sources which he is handling. In the "Naval History," when he recounts the exploits of Sir Walter Manny, it is as if Froissart himself were writing.^ He falls naturally into the same vocabulary and structure of sentence ; he assumes the same sim- plicity of tone and chivalrous spirit. He tells an old legend of a merman ^ or the popular story of the blacksmith and Hubert de Burgh with all the naive credulity of a mediaeval narrator.^ This was not the result of dehberate imitation but of a sympathetic adaptabihty. Macaulay thought that the "Life of Nelson" was practically ready-written in the ma- terials which Southey had the good sense or luck not to spoil. He does not give him sufficient credit for the power of raising himself to the height of a heroic argument such as he loftily displays not alone in the "Life of Nelson" but in the description of the sieges of Zaragoza in the "Peninsular War." The style, on the whole, was as flexible as the subjects de- ^ Warkr, I, 404. 2 d^, y. ^ j^ „5_ 4 j^ jgj. 72 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE manded, but Southey did not call upon it to display a wide gamut of feelings and ideas. He had no spiritual complexities to unriddle, no conflicts of strong emotions to resolve into a harmony, no shades and refinements of intellectual subtlety to illuminate. For his vision everything was simple ; he knew unhesitatingly the right from the wrong, he loved wholeheartedly and he hated wholeheartedly. His pleasures were honest and wholesome, his ideals sincere and straightforward, and this is the char- acter reflected by his personal prose — a serene and simple harmony subdued to an even tone of grace- fully measured discourse. The strain is single but it is worthy of recollection. Southey's fame is not what it was in his own time, and yet there is a fallacy in citing his fate to illustrate the liabiHty of great contemporary reputations to decay. There would be Httle exaggeration in saying that the balanced judgment of his accomplishment does not at present differ from the balanced judgment that could have been obtained in his own day. His name necessarily loomed large because of his limitless activity in many fields, — in poetry, because of the novelty of his theories and the strangeness of his themes, — in prose, because he was a prolific writer in an acceptable and agreeable style on topics of immediate popularity and practical interest. But the mark of mortality was on most of his subjects, ephemeral contributions to periodicals, and histories such as time inevitably supersedes. The recognition of Southey's soHd talents was joined with no illusion as to the elements of endurance in his work. It is not necessary to go to the Edinburgh Review to find his powers discounted. His imperfect information on some of the subjects on which he presumed to CONCLUSION 73 write with authority, his dogmatism, his prejudices, his painful efforts at humor, and above all, the deficiency of his reasoning faculty — everything, in fact, that vitiates his work for posterity — are often enough touched on in Blackwood's Magazine. "Never truly was such a mistake," that Tory cham- pion once remarked, "as for him to make his appear- ance in an age of restlessly vigorous thought, dis- dainful originaHty of opinion, intolerance for long- windedness, and scorn of mountains in labor." ^ Only the circumstance of his personal connection prevented Southey from becoming equally the butt for the Quarterly Review. When in his anxiety to preserve the anonymity of "The Doctor," he pos- itively denied his authorship to Lockhart, the latter in innocent good faith wrote a review which, while recognizing generously the better features of the work, dehvered some home truths which must have occasioned exquisite torture to Southey. He might overlook or even be flattered by abuse from a political rival, but to have his own organ tell him that "two- thirds of his performance look as if they might have been penned in the vestibule of Bedlam," and to be rebuked there for his bitter sneers at Lord Byron, for his "clumsy and grossly affected contempt for Mr. Jeffrey," and for "the heavy magniloquence of his self-esteem" — all this could hardly have been pleasant to a man with a much thicker skin.^ It was in the Quarterly Review, too, that Southey's pretensions were examined with the most critical coldness after his death and that his talents were assigned a secondary place.^ The balance is restored, curiously enough, by the posthumous appreciation of the Edinburgh Review, which spoke of Southey as * XV, 209. ^ li, 68-96. * Ixxxviii, 246. 74 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE "a writer and a man of whom England has reason to be proud," ^ and again as "one whose failings are written in water and whose virtues are recorded on tablets more enduring than monumental brass." ^ This is praise for the man provoked by a perusal of his letters, of those letters by which he has chiefly held his place in the succeeding years. But the combined utterances clearly proclaim the unpreju- diced verdict of his own generation, and the verdict has stood essentially unaltered. Southey's character rose buoyant while the mass of his prose labor was allowed to sink by its natural weight. The general submersion has, however, involved some matter of pleasant pith which it may be deemed an act of piety to restore to the eyes of men. In this act no reversal of existing estimates is implied. Taken in connec- tion with the whole of the foregoing account, it should, however, show that the prestige which Southey enjoyed was natural and well merited and that something of him still remains for lovers of good prose to enjoy. ^ Ixxxvii, 369. ' xciii, 372. SELECTIONS THE LIBRARY I WAS in my library, making room upon the shelves for some books which had just arrived from New England, removing to a less conspicuous station others which were of less value and in worse dress, when Sir Thomas entered. You are employed, said he, to your heart's content. Why, Montesinos, with these books, and the delight you take in their con- stant society, what have you to covet or desire? Montesinos Nothing, — except more books. Sir Thomas More Crescit, indulgens sibi, dirus hydrops} Montesinos Nay, nay, my ghostly monitor, this at least is no diseased desire ! If I covet more, it is for the want I feel and the use which I should make of them. ''Libraries," says my good old friend George Dyer, a man as learned as he is benevolent, — "libraries are the wardrobes of literature, whence men, properly informed, might bring forth something for ornament, much for curiosity, and more for use." ^ These books of mine, as you well know, are not drawn 1 The malignant dropsy grows by pampering itself. ^ History of Cambridge, vol. i, p. 6. 77 7$ SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE up here for display, however much the pride of the eye may be gratified in beholding them; they are on actual service. Whenever they may be dis- persed, there is not one among them that will ever be more comfortably lodged, or more highly prized by its possessor ; and generations may pass away before some of them will again find a reader. — It is well that we do not moraHze too much upon such subjects, — For foresight is a melancholy gift, Which bares the bald, and speeds the all-too-swift. H. T. But the dispersion of a library, whether in retrospect or in anticipation, is always to me a melancholy thing. Sir Thomas More How many such dispersions must have taken place to have made it possible that these books should thus be brought together here among the Cumberland mountains ! MONTESINOS Many, indeed ; and in many instances most disas- trous ones. Not a few of these volumes have been cast up from the wreck of the family or convent libraries during the late Revolution. Yonder Acta Sanctorum belonged to the Capuchines, at Ghent. This book of St. Bridget's Revelations, in which not only all the initial letters are illuminated, but every capital throughout the volume was coloured, came from the Carmelite Nunnery at Bruges. That copy of Alain Chartier, from the Jesuits' College at Lou- vain ; that Imago Primi ScbcuU Societatis, from their college at Ruremond. Here are books from Colbert's library ; here others from the Lamoignon one. And THE LIBRARY 79 here are two volumes of a work/ not more rare than valuable for its contents, divorced, unhappily, and it is to be feared, for ever, from the one which should stand between them ; they were printed in a con- vent at Manila, and brought from thence when that city was taken by Sir William Draper ; they have given me, perhaps, as many pleasurable hours, (past in acquiring information which I could not otherwise have obtained) , as Sir William spent years of anxiety and vexation in vainly soliciting the reward of his conquest. About a score of the more out-of-the-way works in my possession belonged to some unknown person, who seems carefully to have gleaned the book- stalls a little before and after the year 1790. He marked them with certain ciphers, always at the end of the volume. They are in various languages, and I never found his mark in any book that was not worth buying, or that I should not have bought without that indication to induce me. All were in ragged condition, and having been dispersed, upon the owner's death, probably as of no value, to the stalls they had returned ; and there I found this portion of them, just before my old haunts as a book- hunter in the metropolis were disforested, to make room for the improvements between Westminster and Oxford Road. I have endeavoured, without success, to discover the name of their former posses- sor. He must have been a remarkable man ; and the whole of his collection, judging of it by that part which has come into my hands, must have been sin- gularly curious. A book is the more valuable to me ^ Chronicles of the bare-footed Franciscans in the Philipines, China, Japan, &c. I am indebted for this very curious book to the kindness of my friend Sir Robert Harry Inglis. 8o SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE when I know to whom it has belonged, and through what "scenes and changes" it has past. Sir Thomas More You would have its history recorded in the fly leaf, as carefully as the pedigree of a race-horse is pre- served. MONTESINOS I confess that I have much of that feeling in which the superstition concerning relics has originated ; and I am sorry when I see the name of a former owner obliterated in a book, or the plate of his arms defaced. Poor memorials though they be, yet they are something saved for awhile from oblivion; and I should be almost as unwilKng to destroy them, as to efface the Hie jacet of a tombstone. There may be sometimes a pleasure in recognizing them, sometimes a salutary sadness. Yonder Chronicle of King D. Manoel, by Damiam de Goes, and yonder General History of Spain, by Esteban de Garibay, are signed by their respective authors. The minds of these laborious and useful scholars are in their works ; but you are brought into a more personal relation with them when you see the page upon which you know that their eyes have rested and the very characters which their hands have traced. This copy of Casaubon's Epistles was sent to me from Florence, by Walter Landor. He had perused it care- fully, and to that perusal we are indebted for one of the most pleasing of his Conversations : these let- ters had carried him in spirit to the age of their writer, and shown James I. to him in the light wherein James was regarded by contemporary scholars ; and under the impression thus produced, Landor has written THE LIBRARY 8l of him in his happiest mood, calmly, philosophically, feelingly, and with no more of favourable leaning than justice will always manifest when justice is in good humour and in charity with all men. The book came from the palace Kbrary at Milan, — how, or when abstracted, I know not; but this beautiful dialogue would never have been written had it remained there in its place upon the shelf, for the worms to finish the work which they had begun. Isaac Casaubon must be in your society. Sir Thomas, — for where Erasmus is, you will be, and there also Casaubon will have his place among the wise and the good. Tell him, I pray you, that due honour has in these days been rendered to his name by one who, as a scholar, is qualified to appreciate his merits, and whose writings will be more durable than monu- ments of brass or marble. Sir Thomas More Is there no message to him from Walter Landor's friend ? MONTESINOS Say to him, since you encourage me to such bold- ness, that his letters could scarcely have been perused with deeper interest by the persons to whom they were addressed, than they have been by one, at the foot of Skiddaw, who is never more contentedly em- ployed than when learning from the Hving minds of other ages ; one who would gladly have this expres- sion of respect and gratitude conveyed to him ; and who trusts that, when his course is finished here, he shall see him face to face. Here is a book with which Lauderdale amused himself, when Cromwell kept him prisoner in Windsor 82 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Castle : he has recorded his state of mind during that imprisonment by inscribing in it, with his name, and the dates ^ of time and place, the Latin word Durate, and the Greek Olareov koI eXina-reov ."^ — Here is a memorial of a different kind inscribed in this "Rule^ of Penance of St. Francis, as it is ordered for religious women." — "I beseech my deare mother humbly to accept of this exposition of our holy rule, the better to conceive what your poor child ought to be, who daly beges your blessing. Constantia Francisco." — And here in the Apophthegmata, collected by Con- rad Lycosthenes, and published after drastic expur- gation, by the Jesuits, as a common-place book, some Portugueze has entered a hearty vow ^ that he would never part with the book, nor lend it to any one. — Very different was the disposition of my poor old Lis- bon acquaintance, the Abbe, who, after the old humaner form, wrote in all his books (and he had a rare collection) Ex libris Francisci Gamier, et ami- corum} Sir Thomas More How peaceably they stand together, — Papists and Protestants side by side ! MONTESINOS Their very dust reposes not more quietly in the cemetery. Ancient and Modern, Jew and Gentile, Mohammedan and Crusader, French and English, Spaniards and Portugueze, Dutch and BraziHans, ^ The date is 22 Oct. 1657. The book is Pia Hilaria Angelini Gazai, of which an edition in two volumes, 1 2mo, was that year pub- lished in London by R. Pepper, of Christ's College, Cambridge. 2 One must bear and hope. ' Douay, 1644. * Faqo voto a Jesu Chrislo da nao largar este livro da mad e empreS' talhe a alguem. Anno Dni. 1664. ' From the library of Francis Gamier and his friends. THE LIBRARY 83 fighting their old battles, silently now, upon the same shelf : Fernam Lopez and Pedro de Ayala ; John de Laet and Barlasus, with the historians of Joam Fernandes Vieira ; Fox's Martyrs and the Three Conversions of Father Persons ; Cranmer and Ste- phen Gardiner ; Dominican and Franciscan ; Jesuit and Philosophe (equally misnamed) ; Churchmen and Sectarians ; Roundheads and Cavaliers ! Here are God's conduits, grave divines ; and here Is nature's secretary, the philosopher : And wily statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinews of a city's mystic body ; Here gathering chroniclers ; and by them stand Giddy fantastic poets of each land. Donne Here I possess these gathered treasures of time, the harvest of so many generations, laid up in my gar- ners : and when I go to the window there is the lake, and the circle of the mountains, and the ilhmitable sky. Sir Thoaias More Felicemque voco pariter studiique locique I ^ MONTESINOS — meritoque probas artesque locumque.^ The simile of the bees, Sic vos non vohis mellificatis apes^ has often been applied to men who made literature their profession ; and they among them to whom worldly wealth and wordly honour are objects of ambition, may have reason enough to acknowledge its appli- cability. But it will bear a happier application, and ^ I call you blessed alike in your studies and your situation. 2 And justly do you approve both my pursuits and situation. ^ So (like the) bees you make honey but not for yourselves. 84 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE with equal fitness ; for, for whom is the purest honey hoarded that the bees of this world elaborate, if it be not for the man of letters? The exploits of the kings and heroes of old, serve now to fill story books for his amusement and instruction. It was to de- light his leisure and call forth his admiration that Homer sung, and Alexander conquered. It is to gratify his curiosity that adventurers have traversed deserts and savage countries, and navigators have explored the sea from pole to pole. The revolutions of the planet which he inhabits are but matters for his speculation; and the deluges and conflagrations which it has undergone, problems to exercise his philosophy, — or fancy. He is the inheritor of what- ever has been discovered by persevering labour, or created by inventive genius. The wise of all ages have heaped up a treasure for him, which rust doth not corrupt, and which thieves cannot break through and steal. — I must leave out the moth, — for even in this climate care is required against its ravages. Sir Thomas More Yet, Montesinos, how often does the worm-eaten volume outlast the reputation of the worm-eaten author ! Montesinos Of the living one also ; for many there are of whom it may be said, in the words of Vida, that — — ipsi Saepe suis super ant monumenlis; illaudatique Extremum ante diem foetus flevere caducos, Viventesque sues viderunt funera famce} ^Themselves often survive their own monuments; unpraised, before they died they have wept their perished fruits, and while they lived they saw the obsequies of their own fame. THE LIBRARY 85 Some literary reputations die in the birth ; a few are nibbled to death by critics, — but they are weakly ones that perish thus, such only as must otherwise soon have come to a natural death. Somewhat more numerous are those which are overfed with praise, and die of the surfeit. Brisk reputations, indeed, are Hke bottled twopenny, or pop, — " they sparkle, are exhaled, and fly," — not to heaven, but to the Limbo. To live among books, is in this respect like hving among the tombs ; — you have in them speaking remembrances of mortality. "Be- hold this also is vanity!"^ Sir Thomas More Has it proved to you "vexation of spirit" also? MONTESINOS Oh no ! for never can any man's life have been past more in accord with his own incHnations, nor more answerably to his own desires. Excepting that peace which, through God's infinite mercy, is derived from a higher source, it is to literature, humanly speaking, that I am beholden, not only for the means of sub- sistence, but for every blessing which I enjoy ; — health of mind and activity of mind, contentment, cheerfulness, continual employment, and therewith continual pleasure. Suavissima vita indies sentire se fieri meliorem; ^ and this as Bacon has said, and 1 "If," says Bishop Bull, " we would have our hearts brought off to God, and the serious pursuit of eternal things, let us daily study the vanity of this world. Study it, did I say? — There seems little need of study, or deep search into this matter. This is a thing that thrusts itself upon our thoughts, so that we must think of it, unless we thrust it from us." — Vol. i, p. 211. 2 It is a most sweet Ufe to perceive ourselves growing in virtue from day to day. 86 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Clarendon repeated, is the benefit that a studious man enjoys in retirement. To the studies which I have faithfully pursued, I am indebted for friends with whom, hereafter, it will be deemed an honour to have Uved in friendship ; and as for the enemies which they have procured to me in sufficient numbers, — happily I am not of the thin-skinned race : they might as well fire small shot at a rhinoceros, as direct their attacks upon me.^ In omnibus requiem quaesivi, said Thomas a Kempis, sed non inveni nisi in angulis et lihellis} I too have found repose where he did, in books and retirement, but it was there alone I sought it : to these my nature, under the direction of a merciful Providence, led me betimes, and the world can offer nothing which should tempt me from them. "Sir Thomas More," Colloquy XIV. ^ "De odio improhorum adversus pietatem, non est quod te tantopere moveat: hoc debeat, si hoc novum esset, bonos primum nunc ab improbis lacessi. A Deo incipiimt; in nos mitiores esse non possunt. Ego in hoc mililid veteranus sum" Scaliger, Isacio Casaubono. Epist. p. 165. (In the hatred of the wicked against piety there is nothing which should so greatly disturb you : it might if it were something new, if good men were now for the first time assailed by the wicked. They begin with God and cannot be gentler toward us. I am a veteran in this kind of campaigning.) 2 1 have sought repose everywhere, but I have not found it save in retirement and books. SCENES FROM THE LAKE COUNTRY KESWICK LAKE The Lake of Keswick has this decided advantage over the others which we have seen, that it imme- diately appears to be what it is. Winandermere and Ulswater might be mistaken for great rivers, nor indeed can the whole extent of either be seen at once ; here you are on a land-locked bason of water, a league in length, and about half as broad, — you do not wish it to be larger, the mirror is in perfect proportion to its frame. Skiddaw, the highest and most famous of the English mountains, forms its northern boun- dary, and seems to rise almost immedately from its shore, though it is at the nearest point half a league distant, and the town intervenes. One long moun- tain, along which the road forms a fine terrace, reaches nearly along the whole of its western side ; and through the space between this and the next moun- tain, which in many points of view appears Uke the lower segment of a prodigious circle, a lovely vale is seen which runs up among the hills. But the pride of the Lake of Keswick is the head, where the moun- tains of Borrodale bound the prospect, in a wilder and grander manner than words can adequately describe. The cataract of Lodore thunders down its eastern side through a chasm in the rocks, which are wooded with birch and ash trees. It is a little river, flowing from a small lake upon the mountains about a league distant. The water, though there had been heavy rains, was not adequate to the chan- 87 88 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE nel ; — indeed it would require a river of considerable magnitude to fill it, — yet it is at once the finest work and instrument of rock and water that I have ever seen or heard. At a little public-house near, where the key of the entrance is kept, they have a cannon to display the echo ; it was discharged for us, and we heard the sound rolHng round from hill to hill, — but for this we paid four shillings, — which are very nearly a peso duro. So that English echoes appear to be the most expensive luxuries in which a traveller can indulge. It is true there was an inferior one which would have cost only two shillings and six- pence ; but when one buys an echo, who would be content for the sake of saving eighteenpence, to put up with the second best, instead of ordering at once the super-extra-double-superfine ? We walked once more at evening to the Lake side. Immediately opposite the quay is a Kttle island with a dwelling-house upon it. A few years ago it was hideously disfigured with forts and batteries, a sham church, and a new druidical temple, and except a few fir-trees the whole was bare. The present owner has done all which a man of taste could do in removing these deformities : the church is converted into a tool-house, the forts demolished, the batteries dismantled, the stones of the druidical temple em- ployed in forming a bank, and the whole island planted. There is something in this place more like the scenes of enchantment in the books of chiv- alry than Kke anything in our ordinary world, — a building the exterior of which promised all the con- veniences and elegancies of life, surrounded with all ornamental trees, in a Httle island the whole of which is one garden, and that in this lovely lake, girt round on every side with these awful mountains. Imme- KESWICK LAKE 89 diately behind it is the long dark western moun- tain called Brandelow : the contrast between this and the island which seemed to be the palace and garden of the Lady of the Lake, produced the same sort of pleasure that a tale of enchantment excites, and we beheld it under circumstances which height- ened its wonders, and gave the scene something like the unreality of a dream. It was a bright eve- ning, the sun shining, and a few white clouds hanging motionless in the sky. There was not a breath of air stirring, — not a wave, a ripple or wrinkle on the lake, so that it became Hke a great mirror, and repre- sented the shores, mountains, sky and clouds so vividly that there was not the shghtest appearance of water. The great mountain-opening being reversed in the shadow became a huge arch, and through that magnif- icent portal the long vale was seen between mountains and bounded by mountain beyond mountain, all this in the water, the distance perfect as in the actual scene, — the single houses standing far up in the vale, the smoke from their chimneys, — every thing the same, the shadow and the substance joining at their bases, so that it was impossible to distinguish where the reaHty ended and the image began. As we stood on the shore, heaven and the clouds and the sun seemed lying under us ; we were looking down into a sky, as heavenly and as beautiful as that over- head, and the range of mountains, having one line of summit under our feet and another above us, were suspended between two firmaments. Letters of Espriella, XLII. WASDALE Having reached the highest point, which is be- tween Scafell and Great Gabel, two of the highest go SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE mountains in England, we saw Wasdale below bend- ing to the south-west, between mountains whose exceeding height we were now able to estimate by our own experience, — and to the west the sea ap- peared through an opening. The descent may with- out exaggeration be called tremendous ; not that there is danger, but where any road is possible, it is not possible to conceive a worse. It is, like the whole surface round it, composed of loose stones, and the path serpentizes in turns as short and as frequent as a snake makes in flight. It is withal as steep as it can be to be practicable for a horse. At first we saw no vegetation whatever ; after a while only a beau- tiful plant called here the stone-fern or mountain parsley, a lovely plant in any situation, but appearing greener and lovelier here because it was alone. The summits every where were wrapt in clouds ; on our right, however, we could see rocks rising in pinnacles and grotesque forms, — like the lines which I have seen a child draw for rocks and mountains, who had heard of but never seen them, or the edge of a thunder cloud rent by a storm. Still more remarkable than the form is the colouring ; the stone is red ; loose heaps or rather sheets of stones lay upon the sides, — in the dialect of the country they call such patches screes, and it is convenient to express them by a single word : those which the last winter had brought down were in all their fresh redness, others were white with lichens; here patches and lines of green were interposed. At this height the white lichen pre- dominated, but in other parts that species is the commonest which is called the geographical from its resemblance to the lines of a map ; it is of a bright green veined and spotted with black, — so bright as if nature, in these the first rudiments of vegetation, WASDALE 91 had rivalled the beauty of her choicest works. Was- dale itself, having few trees and many lines of enclo- sure, lay below us like a map. The Lake was not visible till we were in the valley. It runs from north-east to south-west, and one moun- tain extends along the whole of its southern side, ris- ing not perpendicularly indeed, but so nearly perpen- dicular as to afford no path, and so covered with these loose stones as to allow of no vegetation, and to be called from them The Screes. The stream which accompanied our descent was now swoln into a river by similar mountain torrents descending from every side. The dale is better cultivated at the head than Borrodale, being better drained ; and the houses seemed to indicate more comfort and more opulence than those on the other side the mountain; but stone houses and slate roofs have an imposing ap- pearance of cleanHness which is not always verified upon near inspection. Ash-trees grow round the houses, greener than the pine, more graceful, and perhaps more beautiful, — yet we Hked them less : — was this because even in the midst of summer the knowledge that the pine will not fade influences us, though it is not directly remembered? The rain now ceased, and the clouds grew thinner. They still concealed the summits, but now began to adorn the mountain, so light and silvery did they become. At length they cleared away from the top, and we perceived that the mountain whose jagged and grotesque rocks we had so much admired was of pyramidal shape. That on the southern side of the dale head, which was of greater magnitude, and there- fore probably, though not apparently, of equal height, had three summits. The clouds floated on its side, and seemed to chng to it. We thought our shore 92 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE tamer than the opposite one, till we recollected that the road would not be visible from the water ; and presently the mountain which had appeared of little magnitude or beauty while we passed under it, be- came on looking back the most pyramidal of the whole, and in one point had a cleft summit like Parnassus ; thus forming the third conical mountain of the group, which rose as if immediately from the head of the Lake, the dale being lost. But of all the objects the screes was the most extraordinary. Im- agine the whole side of a mountain, a league in length, covered with loose stones, white, red, blue and green, in long straight lines as the torrents had left them, in sheets and in patches, sometimes broken by large fragments of rocks which had unaccountably stopt in their descent, and by parts which, being too pre- cipitous for the stones to rest on, were darkened with mosses, — and every variety of form and colour was reflected by the dark water at its foot : no trees or bushes upon the whole mountain, — all was bare, but more variegated by this wonderful mixture of coloring than any vegetation could have made it. Letters of Esprtella, XLIII. WALLA CRAG It is no wonder that foreigners, who form their notions of England from what they see in its metrop- olis, should give such dismal descriptions of an English November ; a month when, according to the received opinion of continental writers, suicide comes as regularly in season with us as geese at Michaelmas, and green pease in June. Nothing indeed can be more cheerless and comfortless than a comnion No- vember day in that huge overgrown city ; the streets WALLA CRAG 93 covered with that sort of thick greasy dirt, on which you are in danger of slipping at every step, and the sky concealed from sight by a dense, damp, oppres- sive, dusky atmosphere, composed of Essex fog and London smoke. But in the country November pre- sents a very different aspect: there its soft, calm weather has a charm of its own ; a stillness and serenity unlike any other season, and scarcely less dehghtful than the most genial days of Spring. The pleasure which it imparts is rather different in kind than inferior in degree : it accords as finely with the feelings of declining life as the bursting foliage and opening flowers of May with the elastic spirits of youth and hope. But a fine day affects children alike at all seasons as it does the barometer. They live in the present, seldom saddened with any retrospective thoughts, and troubled with no foresight. Three or four days of dull sunless weather had been succeeded by a deli- cious morning. My young ones were clamorous for a morning's excursion. The glass had risen to a little above change, but their spirits had mounted to the point of settled fair. All things, indeed, animate and inanimate, seemed to partake of the exhilarating influence. The blackbirds, who lose so little of their shyness even where they are most secure, made their appearance on the green, where the worms had thrown up little circles of mould during the night. The smaller birds were twittering, hopping from spray to spray and pluming themselves ; and as the tempera- ture had given them a vernal sense of joy, there was something of a vernal cheerfulness in their song. The very flies had come out from their winter quarters, where, to their own danger and my annoyance, they establish themselves behind the books, in the folds of 94 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE the curtains, and the crevices of these loose window- frames. They were crawHng up the sunny panes, bearing in their altered appearance the marks of un- comfortable age ; their bodies enlarged, and of a greyer brown ; their wings no longer open, clean, and transparent, but closed upon the back, and as it were encrusted with neglect. Some few were begin- ning to brush themselves, but their motions were slow and feeble : the greater number had fallen upon their backs, and lay unable to recover themselves. Not a breath of air was stirring ; the smoke ascended straight into the sky, till it diffused itself equally on all sides and was lost. The lake lay like a mirror, smooth and dark. The tops of the mountains, which had not been visible for many days, were clear and free from snow : a few Hght clouds, which hovered upon their sides, were slowly rising and melting in the sunshine. On such a day, a holyday having been voted by acclamation, an ordinary walk would not satisfy the children : — it must be a scramble among the moun- tains, and I must accompany them ; — it would do me good, they knew it would ; — they knew I did not take sufficient exercise, for they had heard me some- times say so. One was for Skiddaw Dod, another for Causey Pike, a third proposed Watenlath ; and I, who perhaps would more willingly have sate at home, was yet in a mood to suffer violence, and mak- ing a sort of compromise between their exuberant activity and my own inclination for the chair and the fireside, fixed upon Walla Crag. Never was any determination of sovereign authority more willingly received : it united all suffrages : Oh yes ! yes ! Walla Crag ! was the unanimous reply. Away they went to put on coats and clogs, and presently were WALLA CRAG 95 ready each with her little basket to carry out the luncheon, and bring home such treasures of mosses and lichens as they were sure to find. Off we set ; and when I beheld their happiness, and thought how many enjoyments they would have been deprived of, if their lot had fallen in a great city, I blest God who had enabled me to fulfil my heart's desire and live in a country such as Cumberland. The walk on which we had agreed had just that degree of difficulty and enterprize wherein children delight and may safely be indulged. I lived many years at Keswick before I explored it ; but it has since been a favourite excursion with all my guests and resident friends who have been active and robust enough to accomplish the ascent. You leave the Borrodale road about a mile and a half from the town a little before it opens upon the terrace, and, cross- ing a wall by some stepping stones, go up the wood, having a brook, or what in the language of the coun- try is called a beck, on the right hand. An artist might not long since have found some beautiful studies upon this beck, in its short course through the wood, where its craggy sides were embowered with old trees, the trunks of which, as well as their mossy branches, bent over the water : I scarcely know any place more dehghtful than this was in a sultry day, for the fine composition of the scene, its refreshing shade and sound, and the sense of deep retirement ; — but the woodman has been there ! A little higher up you cross a wall and the elbow of a large tree that covers it ; you are then upon the side of the open fell, shelving down to the stream, which has worked for itself a narrow ravine below. After a steep ascent you reach one of those loose walls which are common in this country ; it runs across the 96 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE side of the hill, and is broken down in some places; the easier way, or rather the less difficult, is on the inner side, over loose and rugged stones, the wreck of the crags above. They are finely coloured with a yellow or ochrey lichen, which predominates there, to the exclusion of the lichen geographicus : its colour may best be compared to that of beaten or unbur- nished gold ; it is richly blended with the white or silvery kind, and interspersed with stone-fern or moun- tain-parsley, the most beautiful of all our wild plants, resembHng the richest point lace in its fine filaments and exquisite indentations. The wall ends at the ravine ; just at its termination part of it has been thrown down by the sheep or by the boys, and the view is thus opened from a point which, to borrow a word from the Tourist's Vocabu- lary, is a remarkable station. The stream, which in every other part of its course has worn for itself a deep and narrow channel, flows here for a few yards over a level bed of rock, where in fine weather it might be crossed with ease, then falls immediately into the ravine. A small ash tree bends over the pavement, in such a manner that, if you wish to get into the bed of the stream, you must either stoop under the branches, or stride over them. Looking upward there, the sight is confined between the sides of the mountain, which on the left is steep and stony, and on the right precipitous, except that directly opposite there are some shelves, or rather steps of herbage, and a few birch, more resembling bushes than trees in their size and growth ; these, and the mountain rill, broken, flashing, and whitening in its fall where it comes rapidly down, but taking in the level part of its course a colour of delightful green from the rock over which it runs, are the only objects. But on looking back, you be- WALLA CRAG 97 hold a scene of the most striking and peculiar char- acter. The water, the rocky pavement, the craggy sides, and the ash tree, form the foreground and the frame of this singular picture. You have then the steep descent, open on one side to the lake, and on the other with the wood, half way down and reaching to the shore ; the lower part of Derwentwater below, with its islands ; the vale of Keswick, with Skiddaw for its huge boundary and bulwark, to the North; and where Bassenthwaite stretches into the open country, a distance of water, hills, and remote hori- zon, in which Claude would have found all he desired, and more than even he could have represented, had he beheld it in the glory of a midsummer sunset. This was to be our resting-place, for though the steepest ascent was immediately before us, the greater part of the toil was over. My young companions seated themselves on the fell side, upon some of the larger stones, and there in full enjoyment of air and sunshine opened their baskets and took their noon- day meal, a Httle before its due time, with appetites which, quickened by exercise, had outstript the hours. My place was on a bough of the ash tree at a little distance, the water flowing at my feet, and the fall just below me. Among all the sights and sounds of Nature there are none which affect me more pleas- urably than these. I could sit for hours to watch the motion of a brook : and when I call to mind the happy summer and autumn which I passed at Cintra, in the morning of life and hope, the perpetual gurghng of its tanks and fountains occurs among the vivid recollections of that earthly Paradise as one of its charms. When I had satisfied myself with the prospect, I took from my waistcoat pocket an Amsterdam 98 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE edition of the Utopia, given me for its convenient portability by one of my oldest and most valued friends. It is of the year 1629, and is the smallest book in my possession, being not four inches long, and less than two in breadth : — Mr. Dibdin would shudder to see how some nefarious binder has cut it to the quick. Brief as this Httle work is, it has introduced into our language a word the meaning of which is understood by thousands and tens of thousands who have never read the fiction from whence it is derived ; while volumes upon volumes of metaphysical pohtics have sunk into the dead pool of oblivion, without raising even a momentary bubble upon its surface. I read till it was time to proceed ; and then putting up the book, as I raised my eyes, — behold, the author was before me. " Sir Thomas More," Colloquy VI. DERWENTWATER The best general view of Derwentwater is from the terrace, between Applethwaite and Milbeck, a little beyond the former hamlet. The old roofs and chim- nies of that hamlet come finely in the foreground, and the trees upon the Ormathwaite estate give there a richness to the middle ground, which is want- ing in other parts of the vale. From that spot, I once saw three artists sketching at the same time ; William Westall (who has engraved it among his admirable views of Keswick), Glover, and Edward Nash, my dear, kind-hearted friend and fellow-trav- eller, whose death has darkened some of the bHthest recollections of my latter Hfe. I know not from which of the surrounding heights it is seen to most advantage; any one will amply repay the labor of DERWENTWATER 99 the ascent ; and often as I have ascended them all, it has never been without a fresh delight. The best near view is from the field adjoining Friar's Crag. There it is, that if I had Aladdin's lamp or Fortu- natus's purse, — (with leave of Greenwich Hospital be it spoken,) I would build myself a house. Thither I had strolled on one of those first genial days of spring which seem to affect the animal, not less than the vegetable creation. At such times, even I, sedentary as I am, feel a craving for the open air and sunshine, and creep out as instinctively as snails after a shower. Such seasons, which have an exhilarating effect upon youth, produce a soothing one when we are advanced in life. The root of an ash tree, on the bank which bends round the Httle bay, had been half bared by the waters during one of the winter floods, and afforded a commodious resting place, whereon I took my seat, at once bask- ing in the sun, and bathing as it were in the vernal breeze. But delightful as all about me was to eye, and ear, and feeling, it brought with it a natural re- flection, — that the scene which I now beheld was the same which it had been and would continue to be, while so many of those, with whom I had formerly enjoyed it, were past away. Our day dreams become retrospective as we advance in years, and the heart feeds as naturally upon remembrance in age, as upon hope in youth. "Where are they gone, the old familiar faces?" (Lamb) I thought of her whom I had so often seen plying her little skiff upon the glassy water, — the Lady of the Lake. It was like a poet's dream, or a vision of romance, to behold her, — and like a vision or a dream she had departed ! 100 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE O gentle Emma, o'er a lovelier form Than thine, earth never closed ; nor e'er did Heaven Receive a purer spirit from the world ! I thought of D.^ the most familiar of my friends dur- ing those years when we lived near enough to each other for ^familiar intercourse ; — my friend, and the friend of all who were dearest to me ; — a man of whom all who knew him will concur with me in say- ing, that they never knew nor could conceive of one more strictly dutiful, more actively benevolent, more truly kind, more thoroughly good ; — the pleasantest companion, the sincerest counsellor, the most con- siderate friend, the kindest host, the welcomest guest. After our separation, he had visited me here three summers : with him it was that I had first explored this Land of Lakes in all directions ; and again and again should we have retraced our steps in the wildest recesses of these vales and mountains, and lived over the past again, if he had) not, too early for all who loved him — Began the travel of eternity. I called to mind my hopeful H ,^ too, so often the sweet companion of my morning walks to this very spot ; — in whom I had fondly thought my better part should have survived me, and "With whom, it seemed, my very hfe Went half away. But we shall meet, — but we shall meet Where parting tears shall never flow ; And when I think thereon, almost I long to go ! "^ ^ Charles Danvers. ^ His son Herbert. See Introduction, p. g. ^ These lines are quoted from a little volume, entitled Solitary Hours, which, with the "Widow's Tale," etc., of the same authoress, I recommend to all admirers of that poetry that proceeds from the heart. DERWENTWATER lOI "Thy dead shall live," O Lord ! "together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust ! for Thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead!" Surely to the sincere behever death would be an object of desire instead of dread, were it not for those ties, — those heart-strings — by which we are at- tached to hfe. Nor indeed do I believe it is natural to fear death, however generally it may be thought so. From my own feehngs I have little right to judge ; for, although habitually mindful that the hour Cometh, and even now may be, it has never appeared actually near enough to make me duly apprehend its effect upon myself. But from what I have observed, and what I have heard those persons say whose pro- fessions lead them to the dying, I am induced to infer that the fear of death is not common, and that where it exists, it proceeds rather from a diseased or en- feebled mind, than from any principle in our nature. Certain it is that, among the poor, the approach of dissolution is usually regarded with a quiet and natural composure which it is consolatory to con- template, and which is as far removed from the dead palsy of unbelief, as it is from the delirious raptures of fanaticism. Theirs is a true unhesitating faith ; and they are willing to lay down the burthen of a weary Hfe in the sure and certain hope of a blessed immortahty. Who indeed is there that would not gladly make the exchange, if he Uved only for him- self, and were to leave none who stood in need of him, no eyes to weep at his departure, no hearts to ache for his loss ? The day of death, says the Preacher, is better than the day of one's birth, — a sentence to which whoever has Uved long, and may humbly ^ Isaiah, xxvi, 19. I02 SOUTHS Y'S SELECT PROSE hope that he has not Hved ill, must heartily assent. The excellent Henry Scougal used to say that "ab- stracted from the will of God, mere curiosity would make him long for another world," How many of the ancients committed suicide from the mere weari- ness of hfe, a conviction of the vanity of human en- joyments, or to avoid the infirmities of old age ! This, too, in utter uncertainty concerning a future state ; not with the hope of change, for in their prospect there was no hope ; but for the desire of death. "Sir Thomas More," Colloquy IX. BLENCATHRA ~ THRELKELD TARN — THE CLIFFORDS Of the very many tourists who are annually brought to this Land of Lakes by what have now become the migratory habits of the opulent classes, there is a great proportion of persons who are desirous of mak- ing the shortest possible tarriance in any place ; whose object is to get through their undertaking with as little trouble as they can, and whose inquiries are mainly directed to find out what it is not neces- sary for them to see ; happy when they are comforted with the assurance, that it is by no means required of them to deviate from the regular track, and that that which can not be seen easily, need not be seen at all. In this way our oi iroXXol take their degree as Lakers. Nevertheless, the number of those who truly enjoy the opportunities which are thus afforded them, and have a genuine generous delight in beholding the grander and lovelier scenes of a mountainous SCENES FROM THE LAKE COUNTRY 103 region, is sufficient to render this a good and whole- some fashion. The pleasure which they partake conduces as much to moral and intellectual improve- ment, as to health, and present hilarity. It produces no distaste for other scenes, no satiety, nor other exhaustion than what brings with it its own remedy in sound sleep. Instead of these, increase of appetite grows here by what it feeds on, and they learn to seek and find pleasure of the same kind in tamer landscapes. They who have acquired in these coun- tries a love of natural scenery, carry with them in that lovu a perpetual source of enjoyment ; resem- bling in this respect the artist, who, in whatever scenes he may be placed, is never at a loss for something from which his pencil may draw forth a beauty, which uncultivated eyes would fail to discover in the object itself. In every country, however poor, there is something of "free Nature's grace"; wherever there is wood and water, wherever there are green fields, — wherever there is an open sky, the feeling which has been called forth, or fostered among the mountains, may be sustained. It is one of our most abiding as well as of our purest enjoyments, — a sentiment which seems at once to humble and exalt us, which from natural emotions leads us to devotional thoughts and religious aspirations, grows therefore with our growth, and strengthens when our strength is faiUng us. I wonder not at those heathens who worshipped in high places. There is an elasticity in the mountain air, which causes an excitement of spirits, in its im- mediate effect like that of wine when, taken in due measure, it gladdens the heart of man. The height and the extent of the surrounding objects seem to produce a correspondent expansion and elevation I04 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of mind ; ^ and the silence and solitude contribute to this emotion. You feel as if in another region, almost in another world. If a tourist in this country inquires which of our mountains it may be worth his while to ascend, he may be told any, or all. Helvellyn and Skiddaw and Blencathra, Scawfell and Great Gable, Hindsgarth and Causey Pike, each is unHke all the others in the prospect that it presents, each has features of its own, and all may well repay the labour of ascending them. There is Httle or nothing of historical or romantic interest belonging to this region. In this respect it is very unHke the Scotch Border, where Sir Walter can entertain his guests during a morning ride with tales of murders, executions, house-besieging and house- burning, as parts of family history belonging to every homestead of which he comes in sight. The Border history is of no better character on the English side ; but this part of the country was protected by the Sol- way, and by its natural strength, nor does it appear, at any time after it became English, to have been troubled with feuds. The English Barons, indeed, were by no means so often engaged in private wars as their Scottish neighbours, or the nobles on the ^ This feeling has never been more feelingly expressed than by Burnet in his fine chapter, de Montibus. " Prcster Coslorum faciem, et immensa spacia atherea, stellarumque gratissimum aspedum, oculos meos atque animum nihil magis delectare solet quam Oceanum intueri, et magnos monies terra. Nescio quid grande hahent et augtistum uterque horuin, quo mens excitalur ad ingentes affectus et cogitationes : summum rerum A uthorem et Opificem indc facile contuemiir et admiramur, men- temque no s tram, qua cum voluptate res magnas contemplatur, non esse rem parvam cum gaudio recognoscimus. Et qucecumque umbram in- finiti habent, ut habent omnia qua non facile comprehendimiis, ob mag- nitudinem rei, et sensus nostri plenitudinem, gratum quendam stuporem animo afundunt." — Telluris Theoria Sacra, 1. i. c. 9. Aside from the face of the Heavens and the vast regions of the air and the most pleasing sight of the stars, nothing is wont to delight my eyes and spirit more than to gaze at the ocean and the great SCENES FROM THE LAKE COUNTRY 105 continent ; their contests were with the Crown, seldom with each other, and never with their vassals. Those contests were carried on at a distance from our Lake-land, where the inhabitants, being left in peace, seem to have enjoyed it, and never to have forfeited its blessings by engaging in the ways, and contracting the disposition of marauders. They had, therefore, neither ballad heroes, nor ballad poets, happy in having afforded no field for the one, and no materials of this kind for the other. A heap of stones is the doubtful ^ monument of a battle which, in the middle of the tenth century, put an end to the kingdom of the Cumbrian Britons ; after a war in which the victorious allies must have been actuated by any motive rather than poHcy; the King of South Wales having united with Edmund the Elder against a people of his own race, and Ed- mund giving the little kingdom, when they had conquered it, to the King of Scotland. That heap at Dunmailraise is our only historical monument, if such it may be called. There is something more for the imagination in knowing that three centuries earlier, the old bard, Llywarc Hen, was a prince of Cumbria, or of a part ^ thereof. He is said to have mountains of the earth. Both have a kind of grandeur and august- ness by which the mind is aroused to great feelings and contempla- tions : through them we readily behold and marvel at the great Creator and Artificer of all things, and we perceive with joy that our mind, as it contemplates great things with pleasure, is itself of no slight consequence. Whatever has the shadow of the infinite, such as all things have which we do not easily comprehend, because of its vastness and the fullness of our sensation imparts a certain pleasing amazement to the mind. ^ Doubtful, because it is at the division of the two counties, upon the high road, and on the only pass, and may very probably have been intended to mark the division. ^ Argoed, which, according to Mr. Owen, was part of the present Cumberland : it lay west of the Forest of Celyddon, and was bordered by that wood to the east, as the name implies. lo6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE attained the extraordinary age of an hundred and fifty; and, having been driven from his own coun- try, to have died near Bala, at a place which is still called after him, the Cot ^ of Llywarc the Aged. From his own lamentations we know that he had four-and-twenty sons, "wearing the golden chain, leaders of battles, men that were valiant opposers of the foe," and that he Hved to see them all slain ! St. Herbert, our only Saint, is less remarkable among saints than Llywarc among poets ; the single circum- stance of his life that has been remembered, or in- vented of him, is that of his dying at the same hour with his absent friend St. Cuthbert, according to their mutual wish and prayer. From St. Herbert down to the tragedy of Lord Derwentwater, (who was connected with this country only by his possessions and his title,) our local history has nothing that leads a traveller to connect the scenes through which he is passing with past events, — one of the great pleasures of travelling, and not the least of its util- ities. The story of the Shepherd Lord Clifford affords a single exception ; that story, which was known only to a few antiquaries, till it was told so beautifully in verse by Wordsworth, gives a romantic interest to Blencathra. They who would ascend this mountain, should go from Keswick about six miles along the Penrith road, then take the road which branches from it on the left, (proceeding along the mountain side toward Heskett Newmarket) , and begin to ascend a little way farther on by a green shepherd's path, distinctly marked, on the left side of a gill. That path may be fol- lowed on the mountain toward a Httle stream which » Pabell Llywarc Hen, in the parish of Llanvor, in which church, according to tradition, he was buried. BLENCATHRA 107 issues from Threlkeld Tarn ; ^ you leave it, keeping the stream on the right, and mount a short and rugged ascent, up which a horse may be led without difiS.- culty ; and thus, with Httle fatigue, the Tarn is reached. A wild spot it is as ever was chosen by a cheerful party where to rest, and to take their merry repast upon a summer's day. The green mountain, the dark pool, the crag under which it Lies, and the little stream which steals from it, are the only ob- jects ; the gentle voice of that stream the only sound, unless a kite be wheeling above, or a sheep bleats on the fell side. A silent, solitary place ; and such soli- tude heightens social enjoyment, as much as it con- duces to lonely meditation. Ascending from hence toward the brow of the moun- tain, you look back through the opening, where the stream finds its way, to a distant view of the open country about Penrith, with the long Hne of Cross- fell bounding it. When the brow is reached, you are on the edge of that bold and rugged front which Blencathra presents when seen from the road to Matterdale, or from the Vale of St. John's. A por- tion of the hill, (Hall-fell it is called,) somewhat pyramidal in shape, stands out here like an enormous buttress, separated from the body of the mountain on all sides by deep ravines. These have apparently been formed by some water-spout, bursting upon what was once the green breast of the mountain, and thus opening water-courses, which the rain and storms have continually been deepening. In looking down these ravines from the brow you have a sense ^ Absurd accounts have been published both of the place itself, and the difficulty of reaching it. The Tarn has been said to be so deep that the reflection of the stars may be seen in it at noon day, — and that the sun never shines on it. One of these assertions is as fabulous as the other, — and the Tarn, like all other Tarns, is shallow. Io8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of perfect security ; there is not even an appearance of danger ; and yet, if the whole depth below were one precipice, the effect could not be grander. At the foot is the cultivated valley, where the Glender- amaken, collecting the waters of Blencathra from the north and east, winds along to join St. John's Beck, and form with it the Greta. In front are the Ullswater mountains. The Vale of St. John's and Nathdale open into the subjacent valley; you look over Nathdale fell, which divides them, and beyond it Leatheswater is seen, in its length, extending between Helvellyn and its own fells. Derwentwater is to the right of this, under the western side of those fells, and the semicircle is everywhere closed by moun- tains, range behind range. My friend, William West- all, who has seen the grandest and loveliest features of nature in the East Indies and in the West, with the eye of a painter, and the feeHng of a poet, burst into an exclamation of delight and wonder when I led him to this spot. From Linthwaite Pike, which is the highest point of Blencathra, keeping along the brow, you pass in succession the points called Lilefell, Priestman and Knott Crag. They who perform the whole excur- sion on foot, may descend from hence, in a south- westerly direction, to the Glenderaterra, cross that rivulet by a wooden bridge, and return to Keswick through Brundholm wood, by a very beautiful road, commanding views of the Greta in its manifold wind- ings below, and, farther on, of the town, the lake, and the whole hne of mountains from the Borrodale fells to Withop. But for women, and those from whom time has taken the superfluous strength of youth, it is better to be provided with carriages to the point where the ascent is commenced, and to BLENCATHRA I09 rejoin them at the village of Threlkeld, descending, after they have passed Knott Crag, upon that vil- lage by a green shepherds' path. The path is not immediately perceptible from the heights, but, by making toward the village, you come upon it, and on so steep a decHvity it is a great reHef. Threlkeld, when it is approached by the high road on either side, or from the Vale of St. John's, appears one of the least agreeable of our villages ; it presents no character of amenity or beauty, and seems rather to be threatened by the mountain,^ than sheltered by it. Very different is its appearance when you descend upon it from Highbrow-fell by this green and pleas- ant path. Then, indeed, the village is beautiful; not merely as a habitable human spot, the first which we reach upon issuing from some wild and uncul- tivated soHtude, but in itself, and its position. The mountain, as thus seen, appears to protect and em- bosom it; in front there is the cheerfulness and the fertility of the open valley; old sycamores extend their deep shade over some of the long low-roofed outhouses ; there is the little chapel to complete the ^ Blencathra is indeed at times an ill neighbour to this poor village. Waterspouts are either more frequent there, or from their effects have been more frequently observed, than on any other of our moun- tains, except it be Helvellyn, on the side of the Vale of St. John's. When they break, the houses are deluged, the fields covered with stones and gravel, the bridges sometimes blown up, and the road rendered impassable. Some years ago I went to the village on the day after one of these Bursts, as they are significantly called. The people were clearing their houses of the wreck which had been de- posited there by the water in its passage, and all the furniture from the lower rooms was set out in the street, as if there had been a general distress. Three parallel channels had been formed on the slope of the great buttress (Hall-fell) where the cloud discharged its whole weight of waters ; and these were from five to six feet deep, and eighteen wide. We knew at Keswick that a waterspout had fallen in this direction, because the Greta had risen suddenly, and was unusually discoloured. no SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE picture, and sanctify, as it were, the scene ; and there is the music of the mountain stream, accompanying the latter part of the descent, in unison with all the objects, and with the turn of mind which those objects induce. Here was the family seat of that good Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, who, after John Lord Clifford (the Chfford of Shakespere's dramas) was slain at Ferrybridge, and his lands seized, and his posterity attainted by the triumphant House of York, married his widow, Margaret Bromfiett, Baroness Vesey, and was, as the records of the family say, "a very kind and lov- ing husband to her," helping to conceal her two sons. The youngest was sent beyond sea, and died, while yet a child, in the Low Countries. Henry, the elder, who was about six or seven years old when his father was killed, "she committed to the care of certain shepherds whose wives ^ had served her, which shepherds and their wives kept him concealed sometimes at Lonsborrow in Yorkshire, (which was part of her inheritance,) and sometimes in Cumber- land, (here among these mountains,) and elsewhere, for the space of almost four-and-twenty years." There he was bred up as a shepherd's boy "in a very mean condition," and thus "miraculously preserved," for, " had he been known to be his father's son and heir, he would either have been put in prison, or put to death, so odious was the memory of his father for killing the young Earl of Rutland, and for being such a desperate commander in the battle against the House of York." ^ " Which shepherds' wives had formerly been servants in that family, attending the nurse that gave him suck, which made him, being a child, more willing to submit to that mean condition ; where they infused into him the belief that he must either be content to live in that manner, or be utterly undone." THE CLIFFORDS III The Shepherd Lord was the happiest of his race; and, falling upon peaceful times after his restoration, was enabled to indulge the peaceful and thoughtful disposition which his early fortunes had produced. "Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills. In him the savage virtue of the race. Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead ; Nor did he change ; but kept in lofty place The wisdom which adversity had bred. Glad were the vales and every cottage hearth ; The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more : And ages after he was laid in earth, 'The Good Lord Clifford' was the name he bore." (Wordsworth) His history is not more remarkable in itself, than in the contrast which it affords to that of his ances- tors, so many of whom had rendered themselves emi- nent by their activity and their abihty in turbulent times. The property which they possessed in this part of England was originally granted by William the Conqueror to one of the Norman chiefs, Ranulph de Meschiens, who married William's niece, the sister of Hugh Lupus. From his sister it descended to Hugh de Morville, one of the murderers of Thomas- a-Becket, and having been forfeited in consequence of that crime, was granted by King John to Robert de Veteripont, who was the son of Morville's sister : " the favour of that king, and the marriage of Idonea ^ ^ It is upon a later personage of the same family that Fuller in his quaint way remarks, "the first and last I meet with of that Christian name, though proper enough for women, who are to be 'meet helps ' to their husbands." 112 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE his wife, (who was a great heiress,) and his own industry, (for he was of an active knowing spirit,) were the three steps which raised his fortunes to the height they attained." He was, indeed, one of the most distinguished men of his age, and to him Appleby and Brough, with all their appendages, and the Sheriffwick of Westmoreland, were granted in per- petuity. He died in peace, at a good old age, a rare fortune for men of his station in those days ; his son also came to a natural death, dying young ; the grand- son fell in battle on the side of Simon de Montfort, either at Lewes or at Evesham, and thus the estates escheated a second time to the Crown. They were restored to his two daughters, one of whom dying without issue, they past in marriage with the other to the CHffords, who in consequence removed from the Wye to the Eden.^ The CHffords took their Enghsh appellation from their castle upon the Wye ; they were descended from the Dukes of Normandy, and already the story of Rosamond had given a romantic celebrity to the name. The first of the family, who settled in Westmoreland, built the greater part of Brougham Castle ; he was surprized in Hawarden Castle by the Welsh Prince David, and taken prisoner, being mortally wounded. His son and successor fell at Bannockburn. Roger Lord CHfford, who came next in succession, had the worse fortune, according to the Chroniclers, of being drawn and hanged at York, but in good company, and in no discreditable cause, the other persons who suffered at that time being John Lord Mowbray, and Sir Gosein d'Eeuill. There are few ^ "Some back friends to this country," says Fuller, "will say that, though Westmoreland hath much of Eden (running clear through it,) yet hath it little of delight therein." THE CLIFFORDS II3 old family trees, especially of the coronet-bearing kind, which have not a pendant from some of their branches : but though this Roger had done as much to deserve the honours of poKtical martyr- dom as any other bold baron of that rebelHous age, the Chroniclers are certainly mistaken in saying that he attained a consummation so devoutly to be depre- cated. A feeHng of humanity such as is seldom read of in civil wars, and especially in those times, saved him from execution, when he was taken prisoner with Lancaster and the rest of his confederates at Borough- bridge. He had received so many wounds in the battle, that he could not be brought before the judge for the summary trial, which would have sent him to the hurdle and the gallows. Being looked upon, therefore, as a dying man, he was respited from the course of law ; time enough elapsed, while he con- tinued in this state, for the heat of resentment to abate, and Edward of Caernarvon, who, though a weak and most misguided prince, was not a cruel one, spared his life ; — an act of mercy which was the more graceful, because Clifford had insulted the royal authority in a manner less likely to be forgiven than his braving it in arms. A pursuivant had served a writ upon him in the Barons' Chamber, and he made the man eat the wax wherewith the writ was signed, "in contempt, as it were, of the said king." He was the first Lord Clifford that was attainted of treason. His lands and honours were restored in the first year of Edward III., but he survived the restoration only a few weeks, dying in the flower of his age, unmarried; but leaving "some base children behind him, whom he had by a mean woman who was called Julian of the Bower, for whom he built a little house hard by Whinf ell, and called it JuHan's Bower, the 114 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE lower foundation of which standeth, and is yet to be seen," said the compiler of the family records, an hundred and fifty years ago, "though all the walls be down long since. And it is thought that the love which this Roger bore to this Julian kept him from marrying any other woman." Poets, this story is for you ; the marriage of the brother who succeeded to his titles and estates contains something for the antiquaries. His wife, Isabella de Berkeley, was sister to Thomas Lord Berkeley, of Berkeley Castle, in which castle, two years after it had rung with "shrieks of death," when the tragedy of Edward II was brought to its dreadful catastrophe there, the marriage was performed. She had for her portion a thousand pounds and fifty marks, to be paid by three equal instalments in three years, and secured to her by recognizance, " toward the raising of which portion her brother levied aid of his freeholders." Her wedding apparel was "a gown of cloth of bruny Scarlett, or brown scarlett, with a cape furred with the best miniver. Lord Berkeley and his lady being, for the honour of the said bride, apparelled in the like habit. And the bride's saddle, which she had then for her horse, cost five pounds in London." This Robert Kved a country life, and "nothing is mentioned of him in the wars," except that he once accompanied an army into Scotland. It is however related of him, that when Edward Balliol was driven from Scotland, the exiled king was "right honourably received by him in Westmoreland, and entertained in his castles of Brougham, Appelby and Pendragon ;" in acknowledgement for which hospitahty Balliol, if he might at any time recover the kingdom of Scot- land out of his adversaries' hands, made him a grant of Douglas Dale, which had been granted to his THE CLIFFORDS I15 grandfather who fell in Wales. The Hart's-horn tree in Whinfell park, well known in tradition, and in hunters' tales, owes its celebrity to this visit, though the tale ^ which belongs to it is, beyond all doubt, apocryphal. The horns were nailed up in the tree in honour of the royal guest who had seen the animal killed there ; and there they remained more than three centuries, "growing, as it were, naturally in the tree," till, in the year 1648, one of the branches was broken off by some of the army, and, ten years afterwards, the remainder was taken down by some mischievous people secretly in the night; "so now," says the Countess of Pembroke, noticing this act of mischief in her Diary, "there is no part thereof remaining, the tree itself being so decayed, and the bark of it so peeled off, that it cannot last long ; whereby we may see Time brings to forge tfulness many memorable things in this world, be they ever so carefully pre- served, for this tree with the Hart's horn in it was a thing of much note in these parts." And then, ac- cording to her custom of applying scripture on all occasions that any way touched her, she refers to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. ^ That "they ran the stag by a single greyhound out of Whinfel Park to Red Kirk in Scotland, and back again to this place, when, being both spent, the stag leaped over the pales, but died on the other side — and the greyhound, attempting to leap, fell, and died on the contrary side." In memory of this fact the stag's horns were nailed upon a tree just by, and, the dog being named Hercules, this rhyme was made upon them : Hercules killed Hart a-greese. And Hart a-greese killed Hercules. Nicolsson and Burn remark, when they tell the story, that a course to Nine Kirks, instead of into Scotland, might be far enough, from some parts of the park, for a greyhound to run. But the tale is of later invention than the Countess's time ; she simply says that the King hunted the stag to death, — and certainly he would not have hunted him into Scotland. Il6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Roger had remained unmarried, because his ilHcit connection with a woman of low birth had produced a true and faithful love. Robert Kved seventeen years with his wife, whose bridal magnificence was thought worthy of being described in the records ^ of the Berkeley family; and his high-born widow married again so soon after his decease, that the sec- ond husband, Sir Thomas de Musgrave, paid into the Exchequer a fine of £200, for the trespass which he had committed in marrying her; it being forbidden by the canon law, then much in use in England, to remarry intra annum luctus,'^ without a special dis- pensation from the Sovereign. His eldest son, at the age of sixteen, fought with the Black Prince, when he won his spurs at Cressy ; he died, as is sup- posed, in France, without issue, leaving a brother to succeed him. This brother, Roger Lord Clifford, "was accounted one of the wisest and gallantest men of all the Cliffords of his race, by the consent of those antiquaries who knew most of the story of England, and have seen most of the records and leger books thereof." He was often in the wars, both in France and in Scotland; he repaired the ancient castles which had been the seats of his forefathers; he left a greater estate in lands than most of them ; and he was the longest possessor of those lands of any before him, or after him, till the Shepherd Lord. It was his fortune, also, to be the first Lord Clifford of West- moreland and Skipton, that ever lived to be a grand- father. He obtained from Edward IH. two weekly markets and two fairs in the year for the town of 1 "All which particulars are cited by Mr. Smith's book of the records of the Lord Berkeley, in written hand, which he faith- fully collected out of the records of that Castle, and out of the Tower of London." ^ Within the year of mourning. THE CLIFFORDS II 7 Kirkby Stephen. His wisdom was shown in keeping himself free from troubles during those troublesome times at the latter end of King Edward III.'s reign, and in the beginning of King Richard II. 's. His eldest son, Thomas, was less prudent ; he was one of Richard II. 's loose favourites, and in conse- quence fell into such displeasure with the Parliament, that he was in the number of those persons who were banished from the Court, and proscribed from the King's service ; — a great grief to his father, who died presently after his disgrace. The son survived him little more than two years ; impatient of inaction, and probably with the hope, also, of redeeming his character in a holy war, he went to fight against the Pagans in what was then called Spruce, and was there slain,^ leaving an infant son. That son deserved and enjoyed the good opinion of Henry V., and held the office of Butler at the coronation of his Queen. He was bound by articles to carry over to the French wars two hundred men-at-arms, consisting of three knights, forty-seven esquires, and an hundred-and-fifty arch- ers ; one-third of them on foot, the rest horsemen ; the knights were to be allowed two shilhngs a day, the esquires one, the archers sixpence, CHfford him- self four shillings. In the flower of his age he was slain there, at the siege of Meaux, by a quarrel from a crossbow. Then ensued civil wars, in which the old Lord Clifford, so called ^ when only forty years of age, because he had a son who was in the field, fell at St. Alban's; and that son, to whom Shaks- ^ His father-in-law, Lord Ross, crusading in a different direction, died the same year, on his return from the Holy Land, "in the city of Paphos, in the isle of Cyprus." ^ To the mistake, into which this has misled Shakspeare, we are indebted for a beautiful passage : Il8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE peare has given a worse renown than he ^deserves, at Ferrybridge. How often must that sweet strain of melancholy reflection, which Shakspeare has so beautifully expressed for Henry VI., have passed through the mind of the Shepherd Lord, in his humble state, when thinking of his ancestors, and comparing his own consciousness of perpetual danger ^ with the security of his low-born associates ! "O God ! methinks it were a happy life To be no better than a homely swain ; " Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve The silver livery of advised age ; And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruffian battle? " The old play, which Shakspeare follows, calls him "aged pillar of all Cumberland's true house," but has not the farther inaccuracy of representing him as having grown old in peace. This Lord Clifford was far from having past a peaceful youth. He had done "brave service in the wars in France, at the assault and taking of the strong town of Ponthoise, when and where he and his men were all clothed in white by reason of the snow, and in that manner surprised the town. He also valiantly defended the same town against the assaults then and there given by the French King Charles VII." ^ Rutland was in his eighteenth year, and barbarous as it was to refuse him quarter, there is a wide difference between killing a youth of that age in the field, and butchering a boy of twelve years old. Hall has misled Shakspeare and the author of the old play here. '^ Cromwell had this feeling. "I can say in the presence of God," said he in one of his speeches, "in comparison of whom we are but poor creeping ants upon the earth, I would have been glad to have lived under my wood side, to have kept a flock of sheep, rather than have undertook such a government as this is ! " Mr. To well Rutt (to whom history is indebted for the publication of Burton's Journal) calls this "one of the Protector's favourite common-places." I do not doubt that Oliver Cromwell often felt as he then expressed him- self, and that the tears, which accompanied the expression, came from a deeper source than hypocrisy can reach. THE CLIFFORDS I19 To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run ; How many make the hour full complete. How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times ; So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate ; So many days my ewes have been with young ; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; So many months ere I shaU shear the fleece ; So minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created. Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave." "Sir Thomas More," CoUoquy XII. PHENOMENA OF THE LAKE COUNTRY 1808. Oct. 30. What a morning ! hard frost, bright sunshine, and a wind not perceptible other- wise than by its keen coldness, bending the smoke of the newly kindled fires, which has risen high through the stillness, — and blending it with the mist which runs under the mountains, beginning at Thorn- thwate, till it comes round under Wallow and meets the smoke of the town : the fell summit shining above it in sunshine. 1809. June 2. Snow upon all the hills and the vale of St. John's covered with it : a thing never before remembered. Within a fortnight grass which had then been buried beneath the snow was mown. Common-Place Book, IV, 538-539. ist Feb. 1814. I heard the ice thunders this morning. Edith and Herbert compared it to the I20 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE howling of wild beasts. It was neither like thunder nor the sound of the wind, but a long, moaning, mel- ancholy sound, rising and dying away, beyond meas- ure mornful : and to any one crossing the ice, inex- pressibly awful and appalhng. Every now and then came a crash, and a splash of waters. We staid half an hour hstening to it. The children were very much impressed. It was the more extraordinary, as there had been no thaw, and the night had been severe. It was between eight and nine o'clock. Common-Place Book, IV, 534. July, 1822. I was on the lake with Lightfoot, between the General's Island and St. Herbert's, and nearly midway between the east and west sides. The water was perfectly still, and not a breath of air to be felt. We were in fine weather, but on the eastern side a heavy shower was falling, within a quarter of a mile of us, and the sound which it made was louder than the loudest roaring of Lodore, so as to astonish us both. I thought that a burst had happened upon Walla Crag, and that the sound proceeded from the ravines bringing down their sudden torrents. But it was merely the rain falling on the lake when every- thing was still. J,. J TAT ° Ibid., IV, 7. Sept. 28, 1824. At seven, the glass was at the freezing point, and the potatoes had been frost nipt during the night. The lake, covered with a thick cloud reaching about half way up Brandelow — the town half seen through a Hghter fog — the sky bright and blue. By the time I reached the road to the lake, the fog was half dissolved, throwing a hazy and yellowish light over Skiddaw and the vale of Keswick. From SCENES FROM THE LAKE COUNTRY 121 Friar's Crag the appearance was singularly beauti- ful, for between that point and Stable Hill and Lord's Island, the water was covered with a thin, low, float- ing, and close fitting cloud, like a fleece. Walla Crag was in darkness, and the smoke from Stable Hill passed in a long current over a field where shocks of corn were standing, the field and the smoke in bright sunshine. Beyond Lord's Island, the lake was of a silvery appearance along the shore, and that appearance was extended across, but with di- minished splendour, the Hne passing above Ramp's Holm, and below St. Herbert's — when it met the haze. The rooks on St. Herbert's were in full chorus. What little air was stirring was a cold breath from the north. That air rippled the lake between Finkle Street and our shore, and where the sun shone upon the ripple through the trees of the walk, and through the haze, the broken reflection was so like the fleecy appearance of the fog from the crag, as for a moment to deceive me. r,., t^, Ibid., IV, S17. At the edge of the frozen lake, opposite to Lord's Island, the frost had formed little crystalline blos- soms on the ice wherever there was the point of a rush to form a nucleus. These frost flowers were about the size of the little blue flower with the orange eye, and exceedingly beautiful, bright as silver. Ibid., IV, 8. 3 March, 1829. The lake perfectly still in a mild clear day ; but at once a motion began upon it between the Crag and Stable Hill, as if an infinite number of the smallest conceivable fish were lashing it with their tails. What could possibly occasion this, 122 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE neither I, nor Bertha and Kate, who were with me, could discover or imagine. It abated gradually. Common-Place Book, IV, 8. I noticed a very pretty image by the side of a little and clear runlet, the large buttercups on its margin moved when there was no wind, rocked by the rapid motion of its stream. ,, ., ^,r o Ibid., IV, 8. THE DOCTOR ELUCIDATION FROM HENRY MORE AND DOCTOR WATTS. AN INCIDENTAL OPINION UPON HORACE WALPOLE. THE STREAM OF THOUGHT "FLOWETH AT ITS OWN SWEET WILL." PICTURES AND BOOKS. A SAYING OF MR. PITT'S CONCERNING WILBER- FORCE. THE AUTHOR EXPLAINS IN WHAT SENSE IT MIGHT BE SAID THAT HE SOMETIMES SHOOTS WITH A LONG BOW. Vorrei, disse il Signor Gas par o Pallavicino, che vol ragionassi un poco pm minutamente di questo, che non fate; che en vero vi tenete molto al generate, el quasi ci mostrate le cose per transito} Il Cortegiano. Henry More, in the Preface General to the col- lection of his philosophical writings, says to the reader, "if thy curiosity be forward to inquire what I have done in these new editions of my books, I am ready to inform thee that I have taken the same Hberty in this Intellectual Garden of my own planting, that men usually take in their natural ones ; which is, to set or pluck up, to transplant and inoculate, where and what they please. And therefore if I have rased out some things, (which yet are but very few) and transposed others, and interserted others, I hope I shall seem injurious to no man in ordering and cultivating this Philosophical Plantation of mine according to mine own humour and liking," Except as to the rasing out, what our great Pla- tonist has thus said for himself, may here be said for ^ I wish, said the Lord Gasparo Pallavicino, that you would dis- course somewhat more minutely of this matter, for you are holding too much to the generahty, and are indicating the points as if casually. 123 124 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE me. " Many things," as the happy old lutanist, Thomas Mace, says, "are good, yea, very good; but yet upon after-consideration we have met with the comparative, which is better; yea, and after that, with the superlative (best of all), by adding to, or altering a httle, the same good things." During the years that this Opus has been in hand (and in head and heart also) nothing was ex- punged as if it had become obsolete because the per- sons therein alluded to had departed like shadows, or the subjects there touched on had grown out of date; but much was introduced from time to time where it fitted best. Allusions occur in relation to facts which are many years younger than the body of the chapter in which they have been grafted, thus rendering it impossible for any critic, however acute, to determine the date of any one chapter by its contents. What Watts has said of his own Treatise upon the Improvement of the Mind may therefore, with strict fidelity, be appHed to this book, which I trust, O gentle Reader, thou wilt regard as specially con- ducive to the improvement of thine. "The work was composed at different times, and by slow degrees. Now and then indeed it spread itself into branches and leaves, like a plant in April and advanced seven or eight pages in a week ; and sometimes it lay by without growth, like a vegetable in the winter, and did not increase half so much in the revolution of a year. As thoughts occurred to me in reading or medi- tation, or in my notices of the various appearances of things among mankind, they were thrown under appropriate heads, and were, by degrees, reduced to such a method as the subject would admit. The language and dress of these sentiments is such as the THE DOCTOR 1 25 present temper of mind dictated, whether it were grave or pleasant, severe or smiling. And a book which has been twenty years in writing may be in- dulged in some variety of style and manner, though I hope there will not be found any great difference of sentiment." With little transposition Watts's words have been made to suit my purpose ; and when he afterwards speaks of *'so many lines altered, so many things interlined, and so many paragraphs and pages here and there inserted," the circumstances which he mentions as having deceived him in computing the extent of his work, set forth the embarrassment which the commentators will find in settHng the chronology of mine. The difficulty would not be obviated were I, like Horace Walpole, — (though Heaven knows for no such motives as influenced that posthumous Hbeller,) — to leave a box containing the holograph manu- script of this Opus in safe custody, with an injunction that the seals should not be broken till the year of our Lord, 2000. Nothing more than what has been here stated would appear in that inestimable manu- script. Whether I shall leave is as an heir-loom in my family, or have it deposited either in the public Hbrary of my Alma Mater, or that of my own Col- lege, or bequeath it as a last mark of affection to the town of Doncaster, concerns not the present reader. Nor does it concern him to know whether the till- then-undiscoverable name of the author will be dis- closed at the opening of the seals. An adequate motive for placing the manuscript in safe custody is, that a standard would thus be secured for posterity whereby the always accumulating errors of the press might be corrected. For modern printers make more and greater blunders than the copyists of old. 126 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE In any of those works which posterity will not be "willing to let perish," how greatly would the interest be enhanced, if the whole history of its rise and prog- ress were known, and amid what circumstances, and with what views, and in what state of mind, certain parts were composed. Sir Walter, than whom no man ever took more accurate measure of the public taste, knew this well ; and posterity will always be grateful to him for having employed his declining years in communicating so much of the history of those works which obtained a wider and more rapid celebrity than any that ever preceded them, and perhaps than any that ever may follow them. An author of the last generation, (I cannot call to mind who), treated such an opinion with contempt, saying in his preface that "there his work was, and that as the PubHc were concerned with it only as it appeared before them, he should say nothing that would recal the blandishments of its childhood : " whether the book was one of which the maturity might just as well be forgotten as the nonage, I do not remember. But he must be little versed in bib- liology who has not learnt that such reminiscences are not more agreeable to an author himself, than they are to his readers, (if he obtain any,) in after times ; for every trifle that relates to the history of a favourite author, and of his works, then becomes precious. Far be it from me to despise the relic-mongers of literature, or to condemn them, except when they bring to light things which ought to have been buried with the dead ; like the Dumfries craniologists, who, when the grave of Burns was opened to receive the corpse of his wife, took that opportunity of abstract- ing the poet's skull that they might make a cast from it ! Had these men forgotten the malediction which THE DOCTOR 1 27 Shakespeare utters from his monument? And had they never read what Wordsworth says to such men in his Poet's epitaph — Art thou one all eyes, Philosopher ! a fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave ? Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, turn aside, — and take, I pray, That he below may rest in peace, Thy pin-point of a soul away ! O for an hour of Burns for these men's sake ! Were there a Witch of Endor in Scotland it would be an act of comparative piety in her to bring up his spirit ; to stigmatize them in verses that would burn for ever would be a gratification for which he might think it worth while to be thus brought again upon earth. But to the harmless relic-mongers we owe much; much to the Thomas Hearnes and John Nichols, the Isaac Reids, and the Malones, the Haslewoods and Sir Egertons. Individually, I owe them much, and willingly take this opportunity of acknowledging the obligation. And let no one suppose that Sir Egerton is disparaged by being thus classed among the pioneers of literature. It is no disparagement for any man of letters, however great his endowments, and however extensive his erudition, to take part in those patient and humble labours by which honour is rendered to his predecessors, and information preserved for those who come after him. But in every original work which lives and de- serves to live, there must have been some charms which no editorial diligence can preserve, no critical sagacity recover. The pictures of the old masters 128 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE suffer much when removed from the places for which, (and in which, many of them,) they were painted. It may happen that one which has been conveyed from a Spanish palace or monastery to the collection of Marshal Soult, or any other Plunder-Master-General in Napoleon's armies, and have past from thence, — honestly as regards the purchaser, — to the hands of an English owner, may be hung at the same eleva- tion as in its proper place, and in the same light. Still it loses much. The accompaniments are all of a different character; the air and odour of the place are different. There is not here the locality that consecrated it, — no longer the religio loci. Wealth cannot purchase these ; power may violate and de- stroy, but it cannot transplant them. The picture in its new situation is seen with a different feeling, by those who have any true feeling for such things. Literary works of imagination, fancy, or feeling, are Uable to no injury of this kind ; but in common with pictures they suffer a partial deterioration in even a short lapse of time. In such works as in pic- tures, there are often passages which once possessed a peculiar interest, personal and local, subordinate to the general interest. The painter introduced into an historical piece the portrait of his mistress, his wife, his child, his dog, his friend, or his faithful servant. The picture is not, as a work of art, the worse where these persons were not known, or when they are forgotten : but there was once a time when it excited on this account in very many beholders a peculiar delight which it can never more impart. So it is with certain books; and though there is perhaps little to regret in any thing that becomes ob- solete, an author may be allowed to sigh over what he feels and knows to be evanescent. THE DOCTOR 129 Mr. Pitt used to say of Wilberforce that he was not so single minded in his speeches as might have been expected from the sincerity of his character, and as he would have been if he had been less dependent upon popular support. Those who knew him, and how he was connected, he said, could perceive that some things in his best speeches were intended to tell in such and such quarters, — upon Benjamin Sleek in one place, Isaac Drab in another, and Nehemiah Wilyman in a third. — Well would it be if no man ever looked askant with worse motives ! Observe, Reader, that I call him simply Wilber- force, because any common prefix would seem to disparage that name, especially if used by one who regarded him with admiration ; and with respect, which is better than admiration, because it can be felt for those only whose virtues entitle them to it ; and with kindliness, which is better than both, be- cause it is called forth by those kindly qualities that are worth more than any talents, and without which a man, though he may be both great and good, never can be amiable. No one was ever blest with a larger portion of those gifts and graces which make up the measure of an amiable and happy man. It will not be thought then that I have repeated with any disrespectful intention what was said of Wilberforce by Mr. Pitt. The observation was brought to mind while I was thinking how many passages in these volumes were composed with a double intention, one for the public and for posterity, the other private and personal, written with special pleasure on my part, speciali gratia, for the sake of certain individuals. Some of these, which are cal- culated for the meridian of Doncaster, the commen- tators may possibly, if they make due research, dis- I30 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE cover ; but there are others which no ingenuity can detect. Their quintessence exhales when the pri- vate, which was in these cases the primary intention has been fulfilled. Yet the consciousness of the emo- tions which those passages will excite, the recollec- tions they will awaken, the surprize and the smile with which they will be received, — yea and the melancholy gratification, — even to tears, — which they will impart, has been one and not the least of the many pleasures which I have experienced while employed upon this work. IIoAAa fioi vir ayK&- -vos oj/ce'a /SeXr] *Ev8ov ivTL «^apeTpas ^wvavra avveToXdiv.^ But while thus declaring that these volumes con- tain much covert intention of this kind, I utterly dis- claim all covert malevolence. My roving shafts are more harmless even than bird bolts, and can hurt none on whom they fall. The arrows with which I take aim carry tokens of remembrance and love, and may be likened to those by which intelligence has been conveyed into besieged places. Of such it is that I have been speaking. Others, indeed, I have in the quiver which are pointed and barbed. ifiol fxkv o)v M-olaa Kapreput- -TttTOv /Se'Aos dAxa Tpi€L.^ When one of these is let fly, (with sure aim and never without just cause), it has its address written on the shaft at full length, like that which Aster directed from the walls of Methone to Philip's right eye. ^ Under my arm I bear many swift arrows in my quiver carrying meaning to the wise. Pindar, O. 2, 152. * But the Muse keeps for me a shaft stronger in might. Pindar, O. i, 179-80. THE DOCTOR 13 1 Or c^est assez 5' estre esgare de son grand chemin: fy retourne et le bats, et le trace comme devant} Interchapter X. BIRTH AND PARENTAGE OF DOCTOR DOVE, WITH THE DESCRIPTION OF A yeoman's HOUSE IN THE WEST RIDING OF YORKSHIRE A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Non possidentem multa vocaveris Rede beatum; rectius occupat Nomen beati, qui Deorum Muneribus sapienter uti Duramque callet pauperiem pati, Pejusque letho flagitium timet?' Horace L. 4, Od. 9. Daniel, the son of Daniel Dove and of Dinah his wife, was born near Ingleton in the West Riding of Yorkshire, on Monday the twenty-second of April, old style, 1723, nine minutes and three seconds after three in the afternoon ; on which day Mar- riage came in and Mercury was with the Moon; and the aspects were n i? ? : a week earlier, it would have been a glorious Trine of the Sun and Jupiter; — circumstances which were all duly noted in the blank leaf of the family Bible. Daniel, the father, was one of a race of men who unhappily are now almost extinct. He lived upon an estate of six and twenty acres which his fathers had possessed before him, all Doves and Daniels, in uninterrupted succession from time immemorial, farther than registers or title deeds could ascend. ^ Enough now of wandering from the high road ; I return to it and tread it, and follow it as before. Brantome. ^ Not him may you truly call happy who possesses much wealth ; more truly does he claim the title to happiness who knows how to enjoy wisely the rewards of the Gods and to endure harsh poverty, and who fears shame worse than death. 132 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The little church, called Chapel le Dale, stands about a bow-shot from the family house. There they had all been carried to the font ; there they had each led his bride to the altar ; and thither they had, each in his turn, been borne upon the shoulders of their friends and neighbours. Earth to earth they had been consigned there for so many generations, that half of the soil of the churchyard consisted of their remains. A hermit who might wish his grave to be as quiet as his cell, could imagine no fitter resting place. On three sides there was an irregular low stone wall, rather to mark the limits of the sacred ground, than to inclose it; on the fourth it was bounded by the brook whose waters proceed by a subterraneous channel from Wethercote cave. Two or three alders and rowan trees hung over the brook, and shed their leaves and seeds into the stream. Some bushy hazels grew at intervals along the lines of the wall ; and a few ash trees, as the winds had sown them. To the east and west some fields adjoined it, in that state of half cultivation which gives a human char- acter to soHtude : to the south, on the other side the brook, the common with its limestone rocks peer- ing every where above ground, extended to the foot of Ingleborough. A craggy hill, feathered with birch, sheltered it from the north. The turf was as soft and fine as that of the adjoin- ing hills ; it was seldom broken, so scanty was the population to which it was appropriated ; scarcely a thistle or a nettle deformed it, and the few tomb- stones which had been placed there were now them- selves half buried. The sheep came over the wall when they listed, and sometimes took shelter in the porch from the storm. Their voices, and the cry of the kite, wheeling above, were the only sounds which THE DOCTOR 133 were heard there, except when the single bell which hung in its niche over the entrance tinkled for service on the Sabbath day, or with a slower tongue gave notice that one of the children of the soil was return- ing to the earth from which he sprung. The house of the Doves was to the east of the church, under the same hill, and with the same brook in front; and the intervening fields belonged to the family. It was a low house, having before it a little garden of that size and character which showed that the inhabitants could afford to bestow a thought upon something more than mere bodily wants. You entered between two yew trees dipt to the fashion of two pawns. There were hollyhocks and sun- flowers displaying themselves above the wall ; roses and sweet peas under the windows, and the ever- lasting pea climbing the porch. Over the door was a stone with these letters. D D -hM A.D. 1608. The A. was in the Saxon character. The rest of the garden lay behind the house, partly on the slope of the hill. It had a hedge of gooseberry-bushes, a few apple-trees, pot-herbs in abundance, onions, cab- bages, turnips and carrots ; potatoes had hardly yet found their way into these remote parts : and in a sheltered spot under the crag, open to the south, were six bee-hives which made the family perfectly independent of West India produce. Tea was in those days as little known as potatoes, and for all other things honey supplied the place of sugar. The house consisted of seven rooms, the dairy and cellar included, which were both upon the 134 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ground floor. As you entered the kitchen there was on the right one of those open chimneys which afford more comfort in a winter's evening than the finest register stove ; in front of the chimney stood a wooden bee-hive chair, and on each side was a. long oak seat with a back to it, the seats serving as chests in which the oaten bread was kept. They were of the darkest brown, and well polished by constant use. On the back of each were the same initials as those over the door, with the date 1610. The great oak table, and the chest in the best kitchen which held the house-linen, bore the same date. The chimney was well hung with bacon, the rack which covered half the ceiling bore equal marks of plenty ; mutton hams were suspended from other parts of the ceiling ; and there was an odour of cheese from the adjoining dairy, which the turf fire, though perpetual as that of the Magi, or of the Vestal Virgins, did not overpower. A few pewter dishes were ranged above the trenchers, opposite the door, on a conspicuous shelf. The other treasures of the family were in an open triangular cupboard, fixed in one of the corners of the best kitchen, half way from the floor, and touching the ceiling. They consisted of a silver saucepan, a silver goblet, and four apostle spoons. Here also King Charles's Golden Rules were pasted against the wall, and a large print of Daniel in the Lion's Den. The Lions were bedaubed with yellow, aijd the Prophet was bedaubed with blue, with a red patch upon each of his cheeks : if he had been hke his picture he might have frightened the Lions ; but happily there were no "judges" in the family, and it had been bought for its name's sake. The other print which ornamented the room had been purchased from a like feeling, though the cause was not so immediately THE DOCTOR 135 apparent. It represented a Ship in full sail, with Joseph, and the Virgin Mary, and the Infant on board, and a Dove flying behind as if to fill the sails with the motion of its wings. Six black chairs were ranged along the wall, where they were seldom disturbed from their array. They had been purchased by Daniel the grandfather upon his marriage, and were the most costly purchase that had ever been made in the family ; for the goblet was a legacy. The backs were higher than the head of the tallest man when seated ; the seats flat and shallow, set in a round frame, un- accommodating in their material, more unaccommo- dating in shape ; the backs also were of wood rising straight up, and ornamented with balls and lozenges and embossments ; and the legs and cross bars were adorned in the same taste. Over the chimney were two Peacocks' feathers, some of the dry silky pods of the honesty flower, and one of those large "sinuous shells" so finely thus described by Landor: — Of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbib'd In the sun's palace porch ; where, when unyok'd, His chariot wheel stands midway in the wave. Shake one, and it awakens ; then apply Its polish'd lips to your attentive ear, And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there. There was also a head of Indian corn there, and a back scratcher, of which the hand was ivory and the handle black. This had been a present of Daniel the grandfather to his wife. The three apartments above served equally for store-rooms and bed-chambers. William Dove the brother slept in one, and Agatha the maid, or Haggy as she was called, in another. Chapter IV. 136 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE A COLLECTION OF BOOKS NONE OF WHICH ARE INCLUDED AMONGST THE PUBLICATIONS OF ANY SOCIETY FOR THE PROMOTION OF KNOWLEDGE RELIGIOUS OR PROFANE. — HAPPINESS IN HUMBLE LIFE. Felix ille animi, divisque simillimus ipsis. Quern non mordaci resplendens gloria fuco Solicitat, non fastosi mala gaudia luxus, Sed iacitos sinit ire dies, et paupere cultu Exigit innocuae tranquilla silentia vitae} POLITIAN. Happily for Daniel, he lived before the age of Magazines, Reviews, Cyclopeedias, Elegant Extracts and Literary Newspapers, so that he gathered the fruit of knowledge for himself, instead of receiving it from the dirty fingers of a retail vender. His books were few in number, but they were all weighty either in matter or in size. They consisted of the Morte d' Arthur in the fine black-letter edition of Copeland ; Plutarch's Morals and Pliny's Natural History, two goodly fohos, full as an egg of meat, and both translated by that old worthy Philemon, who for the service which he rendered to his contemporaries and to his countrymen deserves to be called the best of the Hollands, without disparaging either the Lord or the Doctor of that appellation. The whole works of Joshua Sylvester (whose name, let me tell thee reader in passing, was accented upon the first syllable by his contemporaries, not as now upon the second) ; — Jean Petit's History of the Netherlands, translated and continued by Edward Grimeston, another worthy ^ Blessed is he in spirit and most like unto the gods themselves whom glory glittering with sharp deceit does not allure nor the false joys of wanton luxury, but who allows the days to proceed noiselessly and, unhampered by refinement, lives out the tranquil peace of an innocent life. THE DOCTOR 137 of the Philemon order; Sir Kenelm Digby's Dis- courses ; Stowe's Chronicle ; Joshua Barnes's Life of Edward III.; "Ripley Revived by Eirenaeus Philalethes, an Enghshman styling himself Citizen of the World," with its mysterious frontispiece rep- resenting the Domus Natures, to which Nil deest, nisi clavis: the Pilgrim's Progress: two volumes of Ozell's translation of Rabelais ; Latimer's Sermons ; and the last volume of Fox's Martyrs, which latter book had been brought him by his wife. The Pil- grim's Progress was a godmother's present to his son : the odd volumes of Rabelais he had picked up at Kendal, at a sale, in a lot with Ripley Revived and Plutarch's Morals : the others he had inherited. Daniel had looked into all these books, read most of them, and beheved all that he read, except Rabe- lais, which he could not tell what to make of. He was not, however, one of those persons who com- placently suppose every thing to be nonsense, which they do not perfectly comprehend, or flatter themselves that they do. His simple heart judged of books by what they ought to be, little knowing what they are. It never occurred to him that any thing would be printed which was not worth printing, any thing which did not convey either reasonable dehght or useful instruction : and he was no more disposed to doubt the truth of what he read, than to question the veracity of his neighbour, or any one who had no interest in deceiving him. A book carried with it to him authority in its very aspect. The Morte d'Arthur therefore he received for authentic history, just as he did the painful chronicle of honest John Stowe, and the Barnesian labours of Joshua the self- satisfied : there was nothing in it indeed which stirred his English blood like the battles of Cressy 138 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and Poictiers and Najara ; yet on the whole he pre- ferred it to Barnes's story, believed in Sir Tor, Sir Tristram, Sir Lancelot and Sir Lamorack as entirely as in Sir John Chandos, the Captal de Buche and the Black Prince, and liked them better. Latimer and Du Bartas he used sometimes to read aloud on Sundays; and if the departed take cog- nizance of what passes on earth, and poets derive any satisfaction from that posthumous applause which is generally the only reward of those who deserve it, Sylvester might have found some compensation for the undeserved neglect into which his works had sunk, by the full and devout delight which his rat- tling rhymes and quaint collocations afforded to this reader. The silver-tongued Sylvester, however, was reserved for a Sabbath book ; as a week-day author Daniel preferred Pliny, for the same reason that bread and cheese, or a rasher of hung mutton, con- tented his palate better than a syllabub. He fre- quently regretted that so knowing a writer had never seen or heard of Wethercote and Yordas caves ; the ebbing and flowing spring at Giggleswick, Malham Cove, and Gordale Scar, that he might have de- scribed them among the wonders of the world. Omne ignotum pro magnifico is a maxim which will not in all cases hold good. There are things which we do not undervalue because we are famihar with them, but which are admired the more the more thoroughly they are known and understood ; it is thus with the grand objects of nature and the finest works of art, — with whatsoever is truly great and excellent. Daniel was not deficient in imagination ; but no description of places which he had never seen, however exaggerated (as such things always are) impressed him so strongly as these objects in his THE DOCTOR 139 own neighbourhood, which he had known from child- hood. Three or four times in his Hfe it had happened that strangers with a curiosity as uncommon in that age as it is general in this, came from afar to visit these wonders of the West Riding, and Daniel accom- panied them with a delight such as he never experi- enced on any other occasion. But the Author in whom he delighted most was Plutarch, of whose works he was lucky enough to possess the worthier half : if the other had perished Plutarch would not have been a popular writer, but he would have held a higher place in the estimation of the judicious. Daniel could have posed a candi- date for university honours, and perhaps the examiner too, with some of the odd learning which he had stored up in his memory from these great repositories of ancient knowledge. Refusing all reward for such services, the strangers to whom he officiated as a guide, though they perceived that he was an ex- traordinary person, were little aware how much infor- mation he had acquired, and of how strange a kind. His talk with them did not go beyond the subjects which the scenes they came to visit naturally sug- gested, and they wondered more at the questions he asked, than at any thing which he advanced himself. For his disposition was naturally shy, and that which had been bashfulness in youth assumed the appear- ance of reserve as he advanced in Ufe; for having none to communicate with upon his favourite studies, he lived in an intellectual world of his own, a mental sohtude as complete as that of Alexander Selkirk or Robinson Crusoe. Even to the Curate his conver- sation, if he had touched upon his books, would have been heathen Greek ; and to speak the truth plainly, without knowing a letter of that language, he knew I40 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE more about the Greeks, than nine-tenths of the clergy at that time, including all the dissenters, and than nine-tenths of the schoolmasters also. Our good Daniel had none of that confidence which so usually and so unpleasantly characterizes self- taught men. In fact he was by no means aware of the extent of his acquirements, all that he knew in this kind having been acquired for amusement not for use. He had never attempted to teach him- self any thing. These books had lain in his way in boyhood, or fallen in it afterwards, and the perusal of them, intently as it was followed, was always ac- counted by him to be nothing more than recreation. None of his daily business had ever been neglected for it ; he cultivated his fields and his garden, re- paired his walls, looked to the stable, tended his cows and salved his sheep, as diligently and as con- tentedly as if he had possessed neither capacity nor inclination for any higher employments. Yet Daniel was one of those men, who, if disposition and aptitude were not overruled by circumstances, would have grown pale with study, instead of being bronzed and hardened by sun and wind and rain. There were in him undeveloped talents which might have raised him to distinction as an antiquary, a virtuoso of the Royal Society, a poet, or a theologian, to whichever course the bias in his ball of fortune had inclined. But he had not a particle of envy in his composition. He thought indeed that if he had had grammar learning in his youth like the curate, he would have made more use of it ; but there was nothing either of the sourness or bitterness (call it which you please) of repining in this natural reflection. Never indeed was any man more contented with doing his duty in that state of life to which it had THE DOCTOR 14 1 pleased God to call him. And well he might be so, for no man ever passed through the world with less to disquiet or to sour him. Bred up in habits which secured the continuance of that humble but sure independence to which he was born, he had never known what it was to be anxious for the future. At the age of twenty-five he had brought home a wife, the daughter of a Httle landholder like himself, with fifteen pounds for her portion : and the true- love of his youth proved to him a faithful helpmate in those years when the dream of life is over, and we live in its realities. If at any time there had been some alloy in his happiness, it was when there ap- peared reason to suppose that in him his family would be extinct ; for though no man knows what parental feelings are till he has experienced them, and Daniel therefore knew not the whole value of that which he had never enjoyed, the desire of progeny is natural to the heart of man ; and though Daniel had neither large estates, nor an illustrious name to transmit, it was an unwelcome thought that the httle portion of the earth which had belonged to his fathers time out of mind, should pass into the possession of some stranger, who would tread on their graves and his own without any regard to the dust that lay beneath. That uneasy apprehension was removed after he had been married fifteen years, when to the great joy of both parents, because they had long ceased to enter- tain any hope of such an event, their wishes were fulfilled in the birth of a son. This their only child was healthy, apt and docile, to all appearance as happily disposed in mind and body as a father's heart could wish. If they had fine weather for winning their hay or shearing their corn, they thanked God for it; if the season proved unfavourable, the 142 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE labour was only a little the more and the crop a little the worse. Their stations secured them from want, and they had no wish beyond it. What more had Daniel to desire? The following passage in the divine Du Bartas he used to read with peculiar satisfaction, applying it to himself : — thrice, thrice happy he, who shuns the cares Of city troubles, and of state-aflfairs ; And, serving Ceres, tills with his own team, His own free land, left by his friends to him ! Never pale Envy's poisony heads do hiss To gnaw his heart : nor Vulture Avarice : His fields' bounds, bound his thoughts : he never sups For nectar, poison mixed in silver cups ; Neither in golden platters doth he lick For sweet ambrosia deadly arsenic : His hand's his bowl (better than plate or glass) The silver brook his sweetest hippocrass : Mnk cheese and fruit, (fruits of his own endeavour) Drest without dressing, hath he ready ever. False counsellors (concealers of the law) Turncoat attorneys that with both hands draw ; Sly pettifoggers, wranglers at the bar. Proud purse-leeches, harpies of Westminster With feigned-chiding, and foul jarring noise, Break not his brain, nor interrupt his joys ; But cheerful birds chirping him sweet good-morrows With nature's music do beguile his sorrows ; Teaching the fragrant forests day by day The diapason of their heavenly lay. His wandering vessel, reeling to and fro On th' ireful ocean (as the winds do blow) With sudden tempest is not overwhurled, To seek his sad death in another world : But leading aU his life at home in peace, Always in sight of his own smoke, no seas THE DOCTOR 143 No other seas he knows, no other torrent, Than that which waters with its silver current His native meadows : and that very earth Shall give him burial which first gave him birth. To summon timely sleep, he doth not need iEthiop's cold rush, nor drowsy poppy-seed ; Nor keep in consort (as Mecaenas did) Luxurious Villains — (Viols I should have said) ; But on green carpets thrum'd with mossy bever, Fringing the round skirts of his winding river. The stream's mild murmur, as it gently gushes, His healthy limbs in quiet slumber hushes. Drum fife and trumpet, with their loud alarms, Make him not start out of his sleep, to arms ; Nor dear respect of some great General, Him from his bed unto the block doth call. The crested cock sings " Himt-is-up" to him. Limits his rest, and makes him stir betime. To walk the mountains and the flow'ry meads Impearl'd with tears which great Aurora sheds. Never gross air poisoned in stinking streets, To choke his spirit, his tender nostril meets ; But th' open sky where at full breath he lives, Still keeps him sound, and still new stomach gives. And Death, dread Serjeant of the Eternal Judge, Comes very late to his sole-seated lodge. Chapter VI. RUSTIC PHILOSOPHY. AN EXPERIMENT UPON MOONSHINE Quien comienza en jiiventad A bien obrar, Serial es de no errar En senetud} Proverbios del Marques de Santillana. ^ When one begins by working well in his youth, it is a sign that he will not go wrong in old age. 144 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE It is not, however, for man to rest in absolute contentment. He is born to hopes and aspirations as the sparks fly upward, unless he has brutified his nature and quenched the spirit of immortahty which is his portion. Having nothing to desire for himself, Daniel's ambition had taken a natural direction and fixed upon his son. He was resolved that the boy should be made a scholar; not with the prospect of advancing him in the world, but in the hope that he might become a philosopher, and take as much delight in the books which he would inherit as his father had done before him. Riches and rank and power ap- peared in his judgment to be nothing when compared to philosophy; and herein he was as true a philoso- pher as if he had studied in the Porch, or walked the groves of Academus. It was not however for this, — for he was as little given to talk of his opinions as to display his reading, — but for his retired habits, and general character, and some odd practices into which his books had led him, that he was commonly called Flossofer Daniel by his neighbours. The appellation was not affixed in derision, but respectfully and as his due ; for he bore his faculties too meekly ever to excite an envious or an ill-natured feeling in any one. Rural Flossofers were not uncommon in those days, though in the prog- ress of society they have disappeared like Crokers, Bowyers, Lorimers, Armourers, Running Footmen, and other descriptions of men whose occupations are gone by. But they were of a different order from our Daniel. They were usually Philomaths, Students in Astrology, or the Coelestial Science, and not unfre- quently Empirics or downright Quacks. Between twenty and thirty almanacs used to be published every year by men of this description, some of them THE DOCTOR 145 versed enough in mathematics to have done honour to Cambridge, had the fates allowed ; and others such proficients in roguery, that they would have done equal honour to the whipping-post. A man of a different stamp from either came in declining life to settle at Ingleton in the humble capacity of schoolmaster, a Httle before young Daniel was capable of more instruction than could be given him at home. Richard Guy was his name ; he is the person to whom the lovers of old rhyme are indebted for the preservation of the old poem of Flodden Field, which he transcribed from an ancient manuscript, and which was printed from his transcript by Thomas Gent of York. In his way through the world, which had not been along the King's high Dunstable road, Guy had picked up a competent share of Latin, a Httle Greek, some practical knowledge of physic, and more of its theory ; astrology enough to cast a nativity, and more acquaintance with alchemy than has often been possessed by one who never burnt his fingers in its processes. These acquirements were grafted on a disposition as obliging as it was easy ; and he was beholden to nature for an understanding so clear and quick that it might have raised him to some distinc- tion in the world if he had not been under the influ- ence of an imagination at once lively and credulous. Five and fifty years had taught him none of the world's wisdom ; they had sobered his mind without maturing it ; but he had a wise heart, and the wisdom of the heart is worth all other wisdom. Daniel was too far advanced in life to fall in friend- ship ; he felt a certain degree of attractiveness in this person's company ; there was, however, so much of what may better be called reticence than reserve in his own quiet habitual manners, that it would 146 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE have been long before their acquaintance ripened into any thing like intimacy, if an accidental circumstance had not brought out the latent sympathy which on both sides had till then rather been apprehended than understood. They were walking together one day when young Daniel, who was then in his sixth year, looking up in his father's face, proposed this ques- tion : "Will it be any harm, Father, if I steal five beans when next I go into Jonathan Dowthwaites, if I can do it without any one's seeing me?" "And what wouldst thou steal beans for?" was the reply, "when any body would give them to thee, and when thou knowest there are plenty at home?" "But it won't do to have them given, Father," the boy replied. "They are to charm away my warts. Uncle William says I must steal five beans, a bean for every wart, and tie them carefully up in paper, and carry them to a place where two roads cross, and then drop them, and walk away without ever once looking behind me. And then the warts will go away from me, and come upon the hands of the person that picks up the beans." "Nay, boy," the Father made answer; "that charm was never taught by a white witch ! If thy warts are a trouble to thee, they would be a trouble to any one else ; and to get rid of an evil from ourselves, Daniel, by bringing it upon another, is against our duty to our neighbour. Have nothing to do with a charm like that!" "May I steal a piece of raw beef, then," rejoined the boy, " and rub the warts with it and bury it? For Uncle says that will do, and as the beef rots, so the warts will waste away." "Daniel," said the Father, "those can be no law- ful charms that begin with steaHng ; I could tell thee THE DOCTOR 147 how to cure thy warts in a better manner. There is an infalHble way, which is by washing the hands in moonshine, but then the moonshine must be caught in a bright silver basin. You wash and wash in the basin, and a cold moisture will be felt upon the hands, proceeding from the cold and moist rays of the moon." "But what shall we do for a silver basin?" said little Daniel. The Father answered, "a pewter dish might be tried if it were made very bright ; but it is not deep enough. The brass kettle perhaps might do better." "Nay," said Guy, who had now begun to attend with some interest, "the shape of a kettle is not suit- able. It should be a concave vessel, so as to concen- trate the rays. Joshua Wilson I dare say would lend his brass basin, which he can very well spare at the hour you want it, because nobody comes to be shaved by moonlight. The moon rises early enough to serve at this time. If you come in this evening at six o'clock I will speak to Joshua in the mean time, and have the basin as bright and shining as a good scouring can make it. The experiment is curious and I should like to see it tried. Where, Daniel, didst thou learn it?" "I read it," replied Daniel, "in Sir Kenelm Digby's Discourses, and he says it never fails." Accordingly the parties met at the appointed hour. Mambrino's helmet, when new from the armourer's, or when furbished for a tournament, was not brighter than Guy had rendered the inside of the barber's basin. Schoolmaster, Father and Son retired to a place out of observation, by the side of the river, a wild stream tumbling among the huge stones which it had brought down from the hills. 148 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE On one of these stones sate Daniel the elder, holding the basin in such an inclination toward the moon that there should be no shadow in it; Guy directed the boy where to place himself so as not to intercept the light, and stood looking complacently on, while young Daniel revolved his hands one in another within the empty basin, as if washing them. *'I feel them cold and clammy, Father!" said the boy. (It was the beginning of November). ''Aye," replied the father, "that's the cold moisture of the moon!" "Aye!" echoed the schoolmaster, and nodded his head in con- firmation. The operation was repeated on the two following nights ; and Daniel would have kept up his son two hours later than his regular time of rest to continue it on the third if the evening had not set in with clouds and rain. In spite of the patient's belief that the warts would waste away and were wasting, (for Prince Hohenlohe could not require more entire faith than was given on this occasion,) no alteration could be perceived in them at a fortnight's end. Daniel thought the experiment had failed because it had not been repeated sufficiently often, nor perhaps continued long enough. But the Schoolmaster was of opinion that the cause of failure was in the basin : for that silver being the lunar metal would by affinity assist the influential virtues of the moonlight, which finding no such affinity in a mixed metal of baser com- pounds, might contrariwise have its potential quahties weakened, or even destroyed when received in a brasen vessel, and reflected from it. Flossofer Daniel assented to this theory. Nevertheless as the child got rid of his troublesome excrescences in the course of three or four months, all parties disregarding the lapse of time at first, and afterwards fairly forgetting THE DOCTOR 149 it, agreed that the remedy had been effectual, and Sir Kenehn, if he had been living, might have pro- cured the solemn attestation of men more veracious than himself that moonshine was an infallible cure for warts. Chapter Vn. A KIND SCHOOLMASTER AND A HAPPY SCHOOLBOY Though happily thou wilt say that wands be to be wrought when they are green, lest they rather break than bend when they be dry, yet know also that he that bendeth a twig because he wovdd see if it would bow by strength may chance to have a crooked tree when he would have a straight. ^ EUPHUES. From this time the two Flossofers were friends. Daniel seldom went to Ingleton without looking in upon Guy, if it were between school hours. Guy on his part would walk as far with him on the way back, as the tether of his own time allowed, and frequently on Saturdays and Sundays he strolled out and took a seat by Daniel's fireside. Even the wearying occu- pation of hearing one generation of urchins after another repeat a-b-ab, hammering the first rules of arithmetic into leaden heads, and pacing like a horse in a mill the same dull dragging round day after day, had neither diminished Guy's good-nature, nor lessened his love for children. He had from the first conceived a liking for young Daniel, both because of the right principle which was evinced by the manner in which he proposed the question concerning steahng the beans, and of the profound gravity (worthy of a Flossofer's son) with which he behaved in the affair of the moonshine. All that he saw and heard of him tended to confirm this favourable prepossession ; and the boy, who had been taught to read in the Bible 150 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and in Stowe's Chronicle, was committed to his tuition at seven years of age. Five days in the week (for in the North of Eng- land Saturday as well as Sunday is a Sabbath to the Schoolmaster) did young Daniel, after supping his porringer of oatmeal pottage, set off to school, with a little basket containing his dinner in his hand. This provision usually consisted of oat-cake and cheese, the latter in goodly proportion, but of the most frugal quaUty, whatever cream the milk afforded having been consigned to the butter tub. Sometimes it was a piece of cold bacon or of cold pork ; and in winter there was the luxury of a shred pie, which is a coarse north country edition of the pie abhorred by puritans. The distance was in those days called two miles; but miles of such long measure that they were for him a good hour's walk at a cheerful pace. He never loitered on the way, being at all times brisk in his movements, and going to school with a spirit as light as when he returned from it, like one whose blessed lot it was never to have experienced, and therefore never to stand in fear of severity or unkind- ness. For he was not more a favourite with Guy for his dociHty and regularity and diligence, than he was with his schoolfellows for his thorough good- nature and a certain original oddity of humour. There are some boys who take as much pleasure in exercising their intellectual faculties, as others do when putting forth the power of arms and legs in boisterous exertion. Young Daniel was from his childhood fond of books. William Dove used to say he was a chip of the old block ; and this heredi- tary disposition was regarded with much satisfaction by both parents, Dinah having no higher ambition nor better wish for her son, than that he might prove THE DOCTOR 151 like his father in all things. This being the bent of his nature, the boy having a kind master as well as a happy home, never tasted of what old Lily calls (and well might call) the wearisome bitterness of the scholar's learning. He was never subject to the brutal discipline of the Udals, and Busbys, and Bowyers, and Parrs, and other less notorious tyrants who have trodden in their steps ; nor was any of that inhuman injustice ever exercised upon him to break his spirit, for which it is to be hoped Dean Colet has paid in Purgatory ; — to be hoped, I say, because if there be no Purgatory, the Dean may have gone farther and fared worse. Being the only Latiner in the school, his lessons were heard with more interest and less for- maHty. Guy observed his progress with almost as much delight and as much hope as Daniel himself. A schoolmaster who likes his vocation feels toward the boys who deserve his favour, something like a thrifty and thriving father toward the children for whom he is scraping together wealth ; he is contented that his humble and patient industry should produce fruit not for himself, but for them, and looks with pride to a result in which it is impossible for him to partake, and which in all likelihood he may never live to see. Even some of the old Phlebotomists have had this feeling to redeem them. Chapter VIII. ONE WHO WAS NOT SO WISE AS HIS FRIENDS COULD HAVE WISHED, AND YET QUITE AS HAPPY AS IF HE HAD BEEN WISER. NEP- OTISM NOT CONFINED TO POPES. There are of madmen as there are of tame, All humoured not alike. — Some Apish and fantastic ; And though 'twould grieve a soul to see God's image 152 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE So blemished and defaced, yet do they act Such antic and such pretty lunacies, That spite of sorrow, they will make you smile. Dekkf.r. William Dove was Daniel's only surviving brother, seven years his junior. He was born with one of those heads in which the thin partition that divides great wits from folly is wanting. Had he come into the world a century sooner, he would have been taken nolens volens into some Baron's household, to wear motley, make sport for the guests and domestics, and live in fear of the rod. But it was his better fortune to Hve in an age when this calamity rendered him Hable to no such oppression, and to be precisely in that station which secured for him all the enjoyments of which he was capable, and all the care he needed. In higher Hfe, he would probably have been consigned to the keeping of strangers who would have taken charge of him for pay ; in a humbler degree he must have depended upon the parish for support ; or have been made an inmate of one of those moral lazar- houses in which age and infancy, the harlot and the idiot, the profligate and the unfortunate are herded together. William Dove escaped these aggravations of ca- lamity. He escaped also that persecution to which he would have been exposed in populous places where boys run loose in packs, and harden one another in impudence, mischief and cruelty. Natural feeling, when natural feeling is not corrupted, leads men to regard persons in his condition with a compassion not unmixed with awe. It is common with the coun- try people when they speak of such persons to point significantly at the head and say 'tis not all there; — THE DOCTOR 153 words denoting a sense of the mysteriousness of our nature which perhaps they feel more deeply on this than on any other occasion. No outward and visible deformity can make them so truly apprehend how fearfully and wonderfully we are made. William Dove's was not a case of fatuity. Though all was not there, there was a great deal. He was what is called half-saved. Some of his faculties were more than ordinarily acute, but the power of self conduct was entirely wanting in him. Fortunately it was supplied by a sense of entire dependence which produced entire docility. A dog does not obey his master more dutifully than WilHam obeyed his brother ; and in this obedience there was nothing of fear ; with all the strength and simpKcity of a child's love, it had also the character and merit of a moral attachment. The professed and privileged fool was generally characterised by a spice of knavery, and not unfre- quently of maliciousness : the unnatural situation in which he was placed, tended to excite such propen- sities and even to produce them. WilHam had shrewdness enough for the character, but nothing of this appeared in his disposition ; ill-usage might perhaps have awakened it, and to a fearful degree, if he had proved as sensible to injury as he was to kind- ness. But he had never felt an injury. He could not have been treated with more tenderness in Tur- key (where a degree of holiness is imputed to persons in his condition) than was uniformly shown him within the little sphere of his perambulations. It was surprizing how much he had picked up within that little sphere. Whatever event occurred, whatever tale was current, whatever traditions were preserved, whatever superstitions were believed, William knew 154 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE them all ; and all that his insatiable ear took in, his memory hoarded. Half the proverbial sayings in Ray's volume were in his head, and as many more with which Ray was unacquainted. He knew many of the stories which our children are now receiving as novelties in the selections from Grimm's Kinder und Haus-Mdrchen, and as many of those which are collected in the Danish Folk-Sagn. And if some zealous lover of legendary lore, (like poor John Leyden, or Sir Walter Scott,) had fallen in with him, the Shakesperian commentators might perhaps have had the whole story of St. Withold ; the Wolf of the World's End might have been identified with Fenris and found to be a relic of the Scalds : and Rauf Col- lyer and John the Reeve might still have been as well known as Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudeslie. William had a great fondness for his nephew. Let not Protestants suppose that Nepotism is an affection confined to the dignitaries of the Roman Catholic Church. In its excess indeed it is pecu- liarly a Papal vice, — which is a degree higher than a Cardinal one; but like many other sins it grows out of the corruption of a good feeHng. It may be questioned whether fond uncles are not as numerous as unkind ones, notwithstanding our recollections of King Richard and the Children in the Wood. We may use the epithet nepotious for those who carry this fondness to the extent of doting, and as expressing that degree of fondness it may be appHed to William Dove : he was a nepotious uncle. The father re- garded young Daniel with a deeper and more thought- ful, but not with a fonder affection, not with such a doting attachment. Dinah herself, though a fond as well as careful mother, did not more thoroughly THE DOCTOR 155 delight to hear Her early child mis-speak half-uttered words ; ^ and perhaps the boy, so long as he was incapable of distinguishing between their moral quahties, and their relative claims to his respect and love and duty, loved his uncle most of the three. The father had no idle hours ; in the intervals when he was not other- wise employed, one of his dear books usually lay open before him, and if he was not feeding upon the page, he was ruminating the food it had afforded him. But William Dove, from the time that his nephew became capable of noticing and returning caresses seemed to have concentrated upon him all his affec- tions. With children affection seldom fails of find- ing its due return ; and if he had not thus won the boy's heart in infancy, he would have secured it in childhood by winning his ear with these marvellous stories. But he possessed another talent which would alone have made him a favourite with children, — the power of imitating animal sounds with singular perfection. A London manager would have paid him well for performing the cock in Hamlet. He could bray in octaves to a nicety, set the geese gab- bling by addressing them in their own tongue, and make the turkey-cock spread his fan, brush his wing against the ground, and angrily gob-gobble in answer to a gobble of defiance. But he prided himself more upon his success with the owls, as an accomplishment of more difficult attainment. In this Mr. Words- worth's boy of Winander was not more perfect. Both hands were used as an instrument in producing the notes ; and if Pope could have heard the responses which came from barn and doddered oak and ivied 1 Donne. 156 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE crag, he would rather, (satirist as he was,) have left Ralph unsatirized, than have vilified one of the wildest and sweetest of nocturnal sounds. He was not less expert to a human ear in hitting off the wood-pigeon's note, though he could not in this instance provoke a reply. This sound he used to say- ought to be natural to him, and it was wrong in the bird not to acknowledge his relation. Once when he had made too free with a lass's lips, he disarmed his brother of a reprehensive look, by pleading that as his name was William Dove it behoved him both to bill and to coo. Chapter X. SHOWING HOW THE YOUNG STUDENT FELL IN LOVE — AND HOW HE MADE THE BEST USE OF HIS MISFORTUNE. // creder, donne vaghe, e cortesia, Quando colui che scrive che favella, Fossa essere sospetto di bugia, Per dir qualcosa troppo rara e bella. Dunque chi ascolta questa istoria mea E non la crede Jrottola novella Ma cosa vera — come ella e di fatio, Fa che di lui mi chiami soddisfaiio. E pure che mi diate piena fede, De la dubbiezza altrui poco mi cole} RiCCIARDETTO. Dear Ladies, I can neither tell you the name of the Burgemeester's Daughter, nor of the Burgemeester himself. If I ever heard them they have escaped ^ It is courtesy, lovely ladies, to believe when he who writes or speaks might be suspected of a lie in saying something too strange and fine. Therefore whoever listens to this story of mine and thinks it neither a fable nor a novel but a thing of very truth, as it is indeed, will make me well content with him. And if only you give me your full trust I care little for the doubts of the rest. THE DOCTOR 1 57 my recollection. The Doctor used to say his love for her was in two respects like the small-pox ; for he took it by inoculation, and having taken it, he was secured from ever having the disease in a more dangerous form. The case was a very singular one. Had it not been so it is probable I should never have been made acquainted with it. Most men seem to consider their unsuccessful love, when it is over, as a folly which they neither like to speak of, nor to remember. Daniel Dove never was introduced to the Burge- meester's Daughter, never was in company with her, and, as already has been intimated, never spoke to her. As for any hope of ever by any possibility ob- taining a return of his affection, a devout Roman Catholic might upon much better grounds hope that Saint Ursula, or any of her Eleven Thousand Virgins would come from her place in Heaven to reward his devotion with a kiss. The gulph between Dives and Lazarus was not more insuperable than the distance between such an English Greeny at Leyden and a Burgemeester's Daughter. Here, therefore, dear Ladies, you cannot look to read of Le speranze, gli qffetti, La data fe\ le tenerezze, i primi Scamhiewli sospiri, i primi sguardi} Nor will it be possible for me to give you — /' idea di quel volto Dove apprese il suo core La prima volla a sospirar d' amore? ^ The hopes, the passions, the plighted vow, the endearments, the first exchange of sighs, the first communion of the eyes. Metasia. 2 The idea of that countenance from which his heart learned for the first time to sigh of love. Metasia. 158 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE This I cannot do ; for I never saw her picture, nor heard her features described. And most Hkely if I had seen her herself, in her youth and beauty, the most accurate description that words could con- vey might be just as like Fair Rosamond, Helen, Rachael, or Eve. Sufhce it to say that she was confessedly the beauty of that city, and of those parts. But it was not for the fame of her beauty that Daniel fell in love with her : so little was there of this kind of romance in his nature, that report never raised in him the sHghtest desire of seeing her. Her beauty was no more than Hecuba's to him, till he saw it. But it so happened that having once seen it, he saw it frequently, at leisure, and always to the best advantage: "and so," said he, *'I received the disease by inoculation." Thus it was. There was at Leyden an EngHsh Presbyterian Kirk for the use of the EngHsh students, and any other persons who might choose to frequent it. Daniel felt the want there of that Liturgy in the use of which he had been trained up : and finding nothing which could attract him to that place of worship except the use of his own language, — which, moreover, was not used by the preacher in any way to his edification, — he hstened willingly to the advice of the good man with whom he boarded, and this was that, as soon as he had acquired a sHght knowledge of the Dutch tongue, he should, as a means of improving himself in it, accompany the family to their parish church. Now this happened to be the very church which the Burgemeester and his family attended : and if the allotment of pews in that church had been laid out by Cupid himself, with the fore- purpose of catching Daniel as in a pitfall, his position THE DOCTOR 1 59 there in relation to the Burgemeester's Daughter could not have been more exactly fixed. "God forgive me!" said he; "for every Sunday while she was worshipping her Maker, I used to worship her." But the folly went no farther than this; it led him into no act of absurdity, for he kept it to him- self; and he even turned it to some advantage, or rather it shaped for itself a useful direction, in this way : having frequent and unobserved opportunity of observing her lovely face, the countenance became fijfed so perfectly in his mind, that even after the lapse of forty years, he was sure, he said, that if he had possessed a painter's art, he could have produced her likeness. And having her beauty thus impressed upon his imagination, any other appeared to him only as a foil to it, during that part of his life when he was so circumstanced that it would have been an act of imprudence for him to run in love. I smile to think how many of my readers, when they are reading this chapter aloud in a domestic circle, will bring up at the expression of running in love; — ^ Hke a stage-coachman, who, driving at the smooth and steady pace of nine miles an hour on a macadamized road, comes upon some accidental obstruction only just in time to check the horses. Amorosa who flies into love ; and Amatura who flutters as if she were about to do the same ; and Amoretta who dances into it, (poor creatures, God help them all three !) and Amanda, — Heaven bless her ! — who will be led to it gently and leisurely along the path of discretion, they all make a sudden stop at the words. Chapter LII. l6o SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE OF THE VARIOUS WAYS OF GETTING IN LOVE. A CHAPTER CON- TAINING SOME USEFUL OBSERVATIONS, AND SOME BEAUTIFUL POETRY. Let cavillers know, that as the Lord John answered the Queen in that Italian Guazzo, an old, a grave discreet man is fittest to discourse of love-matters ; because he hath likely more experience, observed more, hath a more staid judgement, can better discern, resolve, discuss, advise, give better cautions and more solid precepts, better inform his auditors in such a subject, and, by reason of his riper years, sooner divert. Burton. Slips of the tongue are sometimes found very in- convenient by those persons who, owing to some unlucky want of correspondence between their wits and their utterance, say one thing when they mean to say another, or bolt out something which the slightest degree of forethought would have kept un- said. But more serious mischief arises from that misuse of words which occurs in all inaccurate writers. Many are the men, who merely for want of under- standing what they say, have blimdered into here- sies and erroneous assertions of every kind, which they have afterwards passionately and pertinaciously defended, till they have estabUshed themselves in the profession, if not in the behef, of some pernicious doctrine or opinion, to their own great injury and that of their deluded followers, and of the commonwealth. There may be an opposite fault; for indeed upon the agathokakological globe there are opposite qual- ities always to be found in parallel degrees, north and south of the equator. A man may dwell upon words till he becomes at length a mere precisian in speech. He may think of their meaning till he loses sight of all meaning, and THE DOCTOR l6l they appear as dark and mysterious to him as chaos and outer night. "Death! Grave!" exclaims Goethe's suicide, "I understand not the words!" and so he who looks for its quintessence might ex- claim of every word in the dictionary. They who cannot swim should be contented with wading in the shallows : they who can may take to the deep water, no matter how deep, so it be clear. But let no one dive in the mud. I said that Daniel fell in love with the Burge- meester's Daughter, and I made use of the usual expression because there it was the most appropriate : for the thing was accidental. He himself could not have been more surprized if, missing his way in a fog, and supposing himself to be in the Breedestraat of Leyden, where there is no canal, he had fallen into the water ; — nor would he have been more com- pletely over head and ears at once. A man falls in love, just as he falls down stairs. It is an accident, — perhaps, and very probably a misfortune; something which he neither intended, nor foresaw, nor apprehended. But when he runs in love it is as when he runs in debt ; it is done know- ingly and intentionally; and very often rashly, and fooHshly, even if not ridiculously, miserably, and ruinously. Marriages that are made up at watering-places are mostly of this running sort ; and there may be reason to think that they are even less likely to lead to — I will not say happiness, but to a very humble degree of contentment, — than those which are a plain business of bargain and sale ; for into these latter a certain degree of prudence enters on both sides. But there is a distinction to be made here : the man who is married for mere worldly motives, 1 62 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE without a spark of affection on the woman's part, may nevertheless get, in every worldly sense of the word, a good wife ; and while EngUsh women con- tinue to be what, thank Heaven, they are, he is likely to do so : but when a woman is married for the sake of her fortune, the case is altered, and the chances are five hundred to one that she marries a villain, or at best a scoundrel. Falling in love and running in love are both, as every body knows, common enough ; and yet less so than what I shall call catching love. Where the love itself is imprudent, that is to say, where there is some just prudential cause or impediment why the two parties should not be joined together in holy matrimony, there is generally some degree of culpable imprudence in catching it, because the danger is always to be apprehended, and may in most cases be avoided. But sometimes the circumstances may be such as leave no room for censure, even when there may be most cause for compassion ; and under such circumstances our friend, though the remembrance of the Burgemeester's daughter was too vivid in his imagination for him ever to run in love, or at that time deliberately to walk into it, as he afterwards did, — under such circumstances, I say, he took a severe affection of this kind. The story is a melancholy one, and I shall not relate it in this place. The rarest, and surely the happiest marriages, are between those who have grown in love. Take the description of such a love in its rise and progress, ye thousands and tens of thousands who have what is called a taste for poetry, — take it in the sweet words of one of the sweetest and tenderest of English Poets ; and if ye doubt upon the strength of my opinion THE DOCTOR 163 whether Daniel deserves such praise, ask Leigh Hunt, or the Laureate, or Wordsworth, or Charles Lamb. Ah ! I remember well (and how can I But evermore remember well) when first Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was The flame we felt ; when as we sat and sighed And looked upon each other, and conceived Not what we ailed, — yet something we did ail ; And yet were well, and yet we were not well. And what was our disease we could not tell. Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus In that first garden of our simpleness We spent our childhood. But when years began To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah how then Would she with graver looks, with sweet stern brow, Check my presumption and my forwardness ; Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show What she would have me, yet not have me know. Take also the passage that presently follows this ; it alludes to a game which has long been obsolete, — but some fair reader I doubt not will remember the lines when she dances next. And when in sport with other company Of nymphs and shepherds we have met abroad. How would she steal a look, and watch mine eye Which way it went ? And when at Barley-break It came unto my turn to rescue her, With what an earnest, swift and nimble pace Would her affection make her feet to run. And further run than to my hand ! her race Had no stop but my bosom, where no end. And when we were to break again, how late And loth her trembling hand would part with mine ; And with how slow a pace would she set forth To meet the encountering party who contends To attain her, scarce affording him her fingers' ends ! ^ Chapter LIII. ^ Hymen's Triumph. 1 64 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE THE author's last VISIT TO DONCASTER Fuere quondam hac sedfuere ! Nunc ubi sint, rogitas ? Id annos Scire hos oportet scilicet. boncE Musce, Lepores — O Charites merce! O gaudia offuscata nullis Litibus! O sine nube soles! ^ ^ ^ JANUS DOUZA. I have more to say, dear Ladies, upon that which to you is, and ought to be, the most interesting of all worldly subjects, matrimony, and the various ways by which it is brought about ; but this is not the place for saying it. The Doctor is not at this time think- ing of a wife : his heart can no more be taken so long as it retains the lovely image of the Burgemeester's Daughter, than Troy-town while the Palladium was safe. Imagine him, therefore, in the year of our Lord 1747, and in the twenty-sixth year of his age, returned to Doncaster, with the Burgemeester's Daughter, seated Hke the Lady in the Lobster, in his inmost breast ; with physic in his head and at his fingers' ends ; and with an appetite for knowledge which had long been feeding voraciously, digesting well, and increasing in its growth by what it fed on. Imagine him returned to Doncaster, and welcomed once more as a son by the worthy old Peter Hopkins and his good wife, in that comfortable habitation which I have heretofore described, and of which (as was at the same time stated) you may see a faithful repre- sentation in Miller's History of that good town ; a faithful representation, I say, of what it was in 1804; ^ Once these things were — ah, they were ! Where are they now, you ask? These years ought to know that. O favoring Muses, O Pleasant ones — Oh ye pure Graces ! O joys undarkened with strife ! O suns unobscured by clouds ! THE DOCTOR 165 the drawing was by Frederic Nash ; and Edward Shirt made a shift to engrave it ; the house had then undergone some alterations since the days when I frequented it ; and now ! — Of all things in this our mortal pilgrimage one of the most joyful is the returning home after an absence which has been long enough to make the heart yearn with hope, and not sicken with it, and then to find when you arrive there that all is well. But the most purely painful of all painful things is to visit after a long, long interval of time the place which was once our home ; — the most purely painful, because it is unmixed with fear, anxiety, disappointment, or any other emotion but what belongs to the sense of time and change, then pressing upon us with its whole unalleviated weight. It was my fortune to leave Doncaster early in life, and, having passed per varios casus, and through as large a proportion of good and evil in my humble sphere, as the pious ^neas, though not exactly per tot discrimina rerum, not to see it again till after an absence of more than forty years, when my way happened to lie through that town. I should never have had heart purposely to visit it, for that would have been seeking sorrow ; but to have made a cir- cuit for the sake of avoiding the place would have been an act of weakness ; and no man who has a proper degree of self-respect will do any thing of which he might justly feel ashamed. It was evening, and late in autumn, when I entered Doncaster, and alighted at the Old Angel Inn. "The Old Angel!" said I to my fellow-traveller; "you see that even Angels on earth grow old!" My companion knew how deeply I had been in- debted to Dr. Dove, and with what affection I cher- 1 66 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ished his memory. We presently sallied forth to look at his former habitation. Totally unknown as I now am in Doncaster, (where there is probably not one living soul who remembers either me, or my very name), I had determined to knock at the door, at a suitable hour on the morrow, and ask permission to enter the house in which I had passed so many happy and memorable hours, long ago. My age and appearance, I thought, might justify this Uberty ; and I intended also to go into the garden and see if any of the fruit trees were remaining, which my venerable friend had planted, and from which I had so often plucked and ate. When we came there, there was nothing by which I could have recognized the spot, had it not been for the Mansion House that immediately adjoined it. Half of its site had been levelled to make room for a street or road which had been recently opened. Not a vestige remained of the garden behind. The re- maining part of the house had been re-built; and when I read the name of R. Dennison on the door, it was something consolatory to see that the door itself was not the same which had so often opened to admit me. Upon returning to the spot on the following morn- ing I perceived that the part which had been re-built is employed as some sort of official appendage to the Mansion House ; and on the naked side-wall now open to the new street, or road, I observed most dis- tinctly where the old tall chimney had stood, and the outhne of the old pointed roof. These were the only vestiges that remained ; they could have no possible interest in any eyes but mine, which were likely never to behold them again ; and indeed it was evident that they would soon be effaced as a deformity, and the THE DOCTOR 167 naked side-wall smoothed over with plaster. But they will not be effaced from my memory, for they were the last traces of that dweUing which is the Kebla of my retrospective day-dreams, the Sanctum Sanctorum of my dearest recollections ; and, like an apparition from the dead, once seen, they were never to be forgotten. Chapter LV. A TRUCE WITH MELANCHOLY. GENTLEMEN SUCH AS THEY WERE IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1 747- A HINT TO YOUNG LADIES CONCERNING THEIR GREAT-GRANDMOTHERS. Fashions that are now called new, Have been worn by more than you ; Elder times have used the same, Though these new ones get the name. MiDDLETON. Well might Ben Jonson call bell-ringing ''the poetry of steeples!" It is a poetry which in some heart or other is always sure to move an accordant key ; and there is not much of the poetry, so called by courtesy because it bears the appearance of verse, of which this can be said with equal truth. Doncaster since I was one of its inhabitants had been so greatly changed, — (improved I ought to say, for its outward changes had really been improvements,) — that there was nothing but my own recollections to carry me back into the past, till the clock of St. George's struck nine, on the evening of our arrival, and its chimes began to measure out the same time in the same tones which I used to hear as regularly as the hours came round, forty long years ago. Enough of this ! My visit to Doncaster was incidentally introduced by the comparison which I could not choose but make between such a return, 1 68 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and that of the Student from Leyden. We must now revert to the point from whence I strayed, and go farther back than the forty years over which the chimes, as if with magic, had transported me. We must go back to the year 1747, when gentlemen wore sky-blue coats, with silver button holes and huge cuffs extending more than half way from the middle of the hand to the elbow, short breeches just reaching to the silver garters at the knee, and embroidered waistcoats with long flaps which came almost as low. Were I to describe Daniel Dove in the wig which he then wore, and which observed a modest mean be- tween the bush of the Apothecary and the conse- quential foretop of the Physician with its depending knots, fore and aft ; were I to describe him in a sober suit of brown or snuff-coloured dittos, such as be- seemed his profession, but with cuffs of the dimen- sions, waistcoat-flaps of the length, and breeches of the brevity before mentioned ; Amorosa and Amatura and Amoretta would exclaim that love ought never to be named in connection with such a figure, — Amabilis, sweet girl, in the very bloom of innocence and opening youth, would declare she never could love such a creature, and Amanda herself would smile, not contemptuously, nor at her idea of the man, but at the mutability of fashion. Smile if you will, young Ladies ! your great-grandmothers wore large hoops, peaked stomachers, and modesty-bits ^ ; their riding-habits and waistcoats were trimmed with silver, and they had very gentleman-like perukes for riding in, as well as gentleman-like cocked hats. ^ Probably the same as the Modesty-piece. Johnson quotes the following from the Guardian. "A narrow lace which runs along the upper part of the stays before, being a part of the tucker, is called the Modesty- piece." — in v. Warter. THE DOCTOR 169 Yet, young Ladies, they were as gay and giddy in their time as you are now ; they were as attractive and as lovely ; they were not less ready than you are to laugh at the fashions of those who had gone before them ; they were wooed and won by gentlemen in short breeches, long flapped waistcoats, large cuffs, and tie-wigs ; and the wooing and winning proceeded much in the same manner as it had done in the gen- erations before them, as the same agreeable part of this world's business proceeds among yourselves, and as it will proceed when you will be as httle thought of by your great-grand-daughters as your great- grand-mothers are at this time by you. What care you for your great-grand-mothers ! The law of entails sufficiently proves that our care for our posterity is carried far, sometimes indeed beyond what is reasonable and just. On the other hand, it is certain that the sense of relationship in the ascending line produces in general little other feel- ing than that of pride in the haughty and high-born. That it should be so to a certain degree, is in the order of nature and for the general good : but that in our selfish state of society this indifference for our ances- tors is greater than the order of nature would of itself produce, may be concluded from the very different feeling which prevailed among some of the ancients, and still prevails in other parts of the world. He who said that he did not see why he should be expected to do any thing for Posterity, when Posterity had done nothing for him, might be deemed to have shown as much worthlessness as wit in this saying, if it were any thing more than the sportive sally of a light-hearted man. Yet one who "keeps his heart with all diligence," knowing that "out of it are the issues of life," will take heed never lightly to enter- lyo SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE tain a thought that seems to make light of a duty, — still less will he give it utterance. We owe much to Posterity, nothing less than all that we have received from our Forefathers. And for myself I should be un- willing to believe that nothing is due from us to our ancestors. If I did not acquire this feeling from the person who is the subject of these volumes, it was at least confirmed by him. He used to say that one of the gratifications which he promised himself after death, was that of becoming acquainted with all his progenitors, in order, degree above degree, up to Noah, and from him up to our first parents. "But," said he, "though I mean to proceed regularly step by step, curiosity will make me in one instance trespass upon this proper arrangement, and I shall take the earliest opportunity of paying my respects to Adam and Eve." Chapter LVI. SOCIETY OE A COUNTRY TOWN. SUCH A TOWN A MORE FAVOUR- ABLE HABITAT FOR SUCH A PERSON AS DR. DOVE THAN LONDON WOULD HAVE BEEN. Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell ; Inn any where ; And seeing the snail, which every where doth roam, Carrying his own home still, still is at home, Follow (for he is easy paced) this snail ; Be thine own Palace, or the World's thy jail. Donne. Such then as Daniel Dove was in the twenty-sixth year of his age we are now to consider him, settled at Doncaster, and with his way of life chosen, for better for worse, in all respects ; except, as my female readers will remember, that he was neither married, nor engaged, nor likely to be so. THE DOCTOR 171 One of the things for which he used to thank God was that the world had not been all before him where to choose, either as to calling or place, but that both had been well chosen for him. To choose upon such just motives as can leave no rational cause for after repentance requires riper judgment than ought to be expected at the age when the choice is to be made ; it is best for us therefore at a time of Hfe when, though perhaps we might choose well, it is impossible that we could choose wisely, to acquiesce in the determi- nation of others, who have knowledge and experience to direct them. Far happier are they who always know what they are to do, than they who have to determine what they will do. Bisogna far quel che si deve fare, E non gia tutto quello che si vuole} Thus he was accustomed to think upon this subject. But was he well placed at Doncaster? It matters not where those men are placed, who, as South says, "have souls so dull and stupid as to serve for little else but to keep their bodies from putrefaction." Ordinary people, whether their lot be cast in town or country, in the metropolis or in a village, will go on in the ordinary way, conform- ing their habits to those of the place. It matters nothing more to those who Hve less in the Httle world about them, than in a world of their own, with the whole powers of the head and of the heart too (if they have one) intently fixed upon some favourite pursuit : — if they have a heart I say, for it sometimes happens that where there is an excellent head, the heart is nothing more than a piece of hard flesh. ^ One must do what he ought and not everything which he wishes. Pananti. 172 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE In this respect, the highest and the meanest intel- lects are, in a certain sense, alike self-sufficient ; that is, they are so far independent of adventitious aid, that they derive little advantage from society and suffer nothing from the want of it. But there are others for whose mental improvement, or at least mental enjoyment, collision, and sympathy, and external excitement seem almost indispensable. Just as large towns are the only places in which first-rate workmen in any handicraft business can find employ- ment, so men of letters and of science generally appear to think that nowhere but in a metropolis can they find the opportunities which they desire of improve- ment or of display. These persons are wise in their generation, but they are not children of light. Among such persons it may perhaps be thought that our friend should be classed ; and it cannot be doubted that, in a more conspicuous field of action, he might have distinguished himself, and obtained a splendid fortune. But for distinction he never enter- tained the slightest desire, and with the goods of fortune which had fallen to his share he was perfectly contented. But was he favourably situated for his intellectual advancement ? — which, if such an in- quiry had come before him concerning any other person, is what he would have considered to be the question-issimus. I answer without the shghtest hesitation, that he was. In London he might have mounted a Physician's wig, have ridden in his carriage, have attained the honours of the College, and added F.R.S. to his pro- fessional initials. He might, if Fortune opening her eyes had chosen to favour desert, have become Sir Daniel Dove, Bart., Physician to his Majesty. But he would then have been a very different person from THE DOCTOR 1 73 the Dr. Dove of Doncaster, whose memory will be transmitted to posterity in these volumes, and he would have been much less worthy of being remem- bered. The course of such a life would have left him no leisure for himself ; and metropolitan society, in rubbing off the singularities of his character, would just in the same degree have taken from its strength. It is a pretty general opinion that no society can be so bad as that of a small country town ; and certain it is that such towns offer little or no choice. You must take what they have and make the best of it. But there are not many persons to whom circum- stances allow much latitude of choice anywhere, except in those public places, as they are called, where the idle and the dissipated, like birds of a feather, flock together. In any settled place of resi- dence men are circumscribed by station and oppor- tunities, and just as much in the capital as in a pro- vincial town. No one will be disposed to regret this, if he observes, where men have most power of choos- ing their society, how Httle benefit is derived from it, or in other words, with how little wisdom it is used. After all, the common varieties of human character will be found distributed in much the same proportion everywhere, and in most places there will be a sprin- kling of the uncommon ones. Everywhere you may find the selfish and the sensual, the carking and the careful, the cunning and the credulous, the worldhng and the reckless. But kind hearts are also every- where to be found, right intentions, sober minds, and private virtues, — for the sake of which let us hope that God may continue to spare this hitherto highly- favoured nation, notwithstanding the fearful amount of our public and manifold offences. 174 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The society then of Doncaster, in the middle of the last century, was like that of any other country town which was neither the seat of manufactures, nor of a Bishop's see ; in either of which more information of a peculiar kind would have been found, — more active minds, or more cultivated ones. There was enough of those eccentricities for which the English above all other people are remarkable, those aber- rations of intellect which just fail to constitute legal insanity, and which, according to their degree, excite amusement or compassion. Nor was the town with- out its full share of talents ; these there was little to foster and encourage, but happily there was nothing to pervert and stimulate them to a premature and mischievous activity. In one respect it more resembled an episcopal than a trading city. The four kings and their respective suits of red and black were not upon more frequent service in the precincts of a cathedral, than in the good town of Doncaster. A stranger who had been invited to spend the evening with a family there, to which he had been introduced, was asked by the master of the house to take a card as a matter of course ; upon his replying that he did not play at cards, the company looked at him with astonishment, and his host exclaimed — ''What, Sir! not play at cards? the Lord help you!" I will not say the Lord helped Daniel Dove, because there would be an air of irreverence in the expression, the case being one in which he, or any one, might help himself. He knew enough of all the games which were then in vogue to have played at them, if he had so thought good ; and he would have been as willing, sometimes, in certain moods of mind, to have taken his seat at a card-table, in houses where card-playing THE DOCTOR 175 did not form part of the regular business of life, as to have listened to a tune on the old-fashioned spinnet, or the then new-fashioned harpsichord. But that which as an occasional pastime he might have thought harmless and even wholesome, seemed to him some- thing worse than folly when it was made a kill-time, — the serious occupation for which people were brought together, — the only one at which some of them ever appeared to give themselves the trouble of thinking. And seeing its effects upon the temper, and how nearly this habit was connected with a spirit of gambling, he thought that cards had not without reason been called the Devil's Books. I shall not, therefore, introduce the reader to a Doncaster card-party, by way of showing him the society of the place. The Mrs. Shuffles, Mrs. Cuts, and Miss Dealems, the Mr. Tittles and Mrs. Tattles, the Humdrums and the Prateapaces, the Fribbles and the Peebles, the Perts and the Prims, the Little- wits and the Longtongues, the Heavyheads and the Broadbelows, are to be found everywhere. "It is quite right," says one of the Guessers at Truth, "that there should be a heavy duty on cards : not only on moral grounds ; not only because they act on a social party like a torpedo, silencing the merry voice and numbing the play of the features ; not only to still the hunger of the public purse, which, reversing the qualities of Fortunatus's, is always empty, however much you may put into it ; but also because every pack of cards is a malicious libel on courts, and on the world, seeing that the trumpery with number one at the head, is the best part of them ; and that it gives kings and queens no other com- panions than knaves." „ ,„„ 176 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE TRANSITION IN OUR NARRATIVE PREPARATORY TO A CHANGE IN THE doctor's LIFE. A SAD STORY SUPPRESSED. THE AUTHOR PROTESTS AGAINST PLAYING WITH THE FEELINGS OF HIS READERS. ALL ARE NOT MERRY THAT SEEM MIRTHFUL. THE SCAFFOLD A STAGE. DON RODRIGO CALDERON. THISTLE- WOOD. THE WORLD A MASQUERADE, BUT THE DOCTOR ALWAYS IN HIS OWN CHARACTER. This breaks no rule of order. If order were infringed then should I flee From my chief purpose and my mark should miss. Order is Nature's beauty, and the way To Order is by rules that Art hath found. GWILLIM. The question "Who was the Doctor?" has now, methinks, been answered, though not fully, yet suffi- ciently for the present stage of our memorials, while he is still a bachelor, a single man, an imperfect indi- vidual, half only of the whole being which by the laws of nature, and of Christian polity, it was designed that man should become. The next question therefore that presents itself for consideration relates to that other, and as he sometimes called it better half, which upon the union of the two moieties made him a whole man. — Who was Mrs. Dove? The reader has been informed how my friend in his early manhood, when about- to-be-a-Doctor, fell in love. Upon that part of his history, I have related all that he communicated, which was all that could by me be known, and probably all there was to know. From that time he never fell in love again ; nor did he ever run into it; but as was formerly intimated, he once caught the affection. The history of this attachment I heard from others ; he had suf- fered too deeply ever to speak of it himself ; and hav- THE DOCTOR 177 ing maturely considered the matter I have determined not to relate the circumstances. Suffice it to say that he might at the same time have caught from the same person an insidious and mortal disease, if his constitution had been as susceptible of the one con- tagion, as his heart was of the other. The tale is too painful to be told. There are authors enough in the world who delight in drawing tears ; there will always be young readers enough who are not unwill- ing to shed them ; and perhaps it may be wholesome for the young and happy upon whose tears there is no other call. Not that the author is to be admired, or even excused, who draws too largely upon our lachrymal glands. The pathetic is a string which may be touched by an unskilful hand, and which has often been played upon by an unfeeling one. For my own part, I wish neither to make my readers laugh nor weep. It is enough for me, if I may sometimes bring a gleam of sunshine upon thy brow, Pensoso; and a watery one over thy sight, Buonallegro ; a smile upon Penserosa's lips, a dimple in Amanda's cheek, and some quiet tears, Sophronia, into those mild eyes, which have shed so many scald- ing ones ! When my subject leads me to distressful scenes, it will, as Southey says, not be — my purpose e'er to entertain The heart with useless grief ; but, as I may, Blend in my calm and meditative strain Consolatory thoughts, the balm for real pain.^ The maxim that an author who desires to make us weep must be affected himself by what he writes, is too trite to be repeated in its original language. Both authors and actors, however, can produce this 1 Tale of Paraguay. 178 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE effect without eliciting a spark of feeling from their own hearts ; and what perhaps may be deemed more remarkable, they can with the same success excite merriment in others, without partaking of it in the slightest degree themselves. No man ever made his contemporaries laugh more heartily than Scarron, whose bodily sufferings were such that he wished for himself — a toute heme Ou la mart, ou santS meilleure: ^ And who describes himself in his epistle to Sarazin, ^^ Un Pauvret Tres-maigret; Au col tors, Dont le corps Tout tortu, Tout hossu, Suranne, DecharnS, Est reduit Jour et nuit A souffrir Sans guerir Des tourmens Vehemens.^ It may be said perhaps that Scarron's disposition was eminently cheerful, and that by indulging in buffoonery he produced in himself a pleasurable excitement, not unlike that which others seek from strong liquors, or from opium ; and therefore that his example tends to invahdate the assertion in support of which it was adduced. This is a plausible objec- tion ; and I am far from undervaluing the philosophy ^ At every hour either death or better health. 2 A poor lean fellow, with twisted neck, whose crooked body, humped, aged, dried, is reduced to suffer by day and night violent, incurable torments. THE DOCTOR 179 of Pantagruelism, and from denying that its effects may, and are likely to be as salutary, as any that were ever produced by the proud doctrines of the Porch, But I question Scarron's right to the appellation of a Pantagruelist ; his humour had neither the height nor the depth of that philosophy. There is a well-known anecdote of a physician, who being called in to an unknown patient, found him suffering under the deepest depression of mind, with- out any discoverable disease, or other assignable cause. The physician advised him to seek for cheer- ful objects, and recommended him especially to go to the theatre and see a famous actor then in the meridian of his powers, whose comic talents were unrivalled. Alas ! the comedian who kept crowded theatres in a roar was this poor hypochondriac himself ! The state of mind in which such men play their part, whether as authors or actors, was confessed in a letter written from Yarmouth Gaol to the Doc- tor's friend Miller, by a then well-known performer in this line, George Alexander Stevens. He wrote to describe his distress in prison, and to request that Miller would endeavour to make a small collection for him, some night at a concert : and he told his sad tale sportively. But breaking off that strain, he said ; "You may think I can have no sense, that while I am thus wretched I should offer at ridicule ! But, Sir, people constituted Uke me, with a disproportion- ate levity of spirits, are always most merry when they are most miserable ; and quicken like the eyes of the consumptive, which are always brightest the nearer a patient approaches to dissolution." It is one thing to jest, it is another to be mirthful. Sir Thomas More jested as he ascended the scaffold. l8o SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE In case of violent death, and especially upon an un- just sentence, this is not surprizing; because the sufferer has not been weakened by a wasting malady, and is in a state of high mental excitement and exer- tion. But even when dissolution comes in the course of nature, there are instances of men who have died with a jest upon their Ups. Garci Sanchez de Bada- joz when he was at the point of death desired that he might be dressed in the habit of St. Francis ; this was accordingly done, and over the Franciscan frock they put on his habit of Santiago, for he was a knight of that order. It was a point of devotion with him to wear the one dress, a point of honour to wear the other; but looking at himself in this double attire, he said to those who surrounded his death- bed, ''The Lord will say to me presently, my friend Garci Sanchez, you come very well wrapt up ! {muy arropado) and I shall reply, Lord, it is no wonder, for it was winter when I set off." The author who relates this anecdote remarks that morrer com graqa he muyto horn, e com graqas he muyto mdo: the observation is good but untrans- lateable, because it plays upon the word which means grace as well as wit. The anecdote itself is an example of the ruling humour "strong in death"; perhaps also of that pride or vanity, call it which we will, which so often, when mind and body have not yielded to natural decay, or been broken down by suffering, cHngs to the last in those whom it has strongly possessed. Don Rodrigo Calderon, whose fall and exemplary contrition served as a favourite topic for the poets of his day, wore a Franciscan habit at his execution, as an outward and visible sign of peni- tence and humihation ; as he ascended the scaffold, he lifted the skirts of the habit with such an air THE DOCTOR l8l that his attendant confessor thought it necessary to reprove him for such an instance of ill-timed regard to his appearance. Don Rodrigo excused himself by saying that he had all his hfe carried himself gracefully ! The author by whom this is related calls it an in- stance of illustrious hypocrisy. In my judgment the Father Confessor who gave occasion for it de- serves a censure far more than the penitent sufferer. The movement beyond all doubt was purely habitual, as much so as the act of Ufting his feet to ascend the steps of the scaffold ; but the undeserved reproof made him feel how curiously whatever he did was remarked ; and that consciousness reminded him that he had a part to support, when his whole thoughts would otherwise have been far differently directed. A personage in one of Webster's Plays says, I knew a man that was to lose his head Feed with an excellent good appetite To strengthen his heart, scarce half an hour before, And if he did, it only was to speak. Probably the dramatist alluded to some well known fact which was at that time of recent occurrence. When the desperate and atrocious traitor Thistlewood was on the scaffold, his demeanour was that of a man who was resolved boldly to meet the fate he had de- served ; in the few words which were exchanged be- tween him and his fellow criminals he observed, that the grand question whether or not the soul was immortal would soon be solved for them. No expres- sion of hope escaped him, no breathing of repen- tance ; no spark of grace appeared. Yet (it is a fact, which whether it be more consolatory or awful, ought to be known), on the night after the sentence, l82 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and preceding his execution, while he supposed that the person who was appointed to watch him in his cell, was asleep, this miserable man was seen by that person repeatedly to rise upon his knees, and heard repeatedly calling upon Christ his Saviour, to have mercy upon him, and to forgive him his sins ! All men and women are verily, as Shakspeare has said of them, merely players, — when we see them upon the stage of the world ; that is, when they are seen any where except in the freedom and undressed intimacy of private life. There is a wide difference indeed in the performers, as there is at a masquerade between those who assume a character, and those who wear dominoes ; some play off the agreeable, or the disagreeable for the sake of attracting notice ; others retire as it were into themselves ; but you can judge as little of the one as of the other. It is even possible to be acquainted with a man long and fa- miliarly, and as we may suppose intimately, and yet not to know him thoroughly or well. There may be parts of his character with which we have never come in contact, — recesses which have never been opened to us, — springs upon which we have never touched. Many there are who can keep their vices secret ; would that all bad men had sense and shame enough to do so, or were compelled to it by the fear of public opinion ! Shame of a very different nature, — a moral shamefacedness, — which, if not itself an in- stinctive virtue, is near akin to one, makes those who are endowed with the best and highest feelings, con- ceal them from all common eyes ; and for our per- formance of reUgious duties, — our manifestations of piety, — we have been warned that what of this kind is done to be seen of men, will not be rewarded openly before men and angels at the last. THE DOCTOR 183 If I knew my venerable friend better than I ever knew any other man, it was because he was in many respects unHke other men, and in few points more unHke them than in this, that he always appeared what he was, — neither better nor worse. With a discursive intellect and a fantastic imagination, he retained his simpHcity of heart. He had kept that heart unspotted from the world ; his father's blessing was upon him, and he prized it beyond all that the world could have bestowed. Crowe says of us, Our better mind Is as a Sunday's garment, then put on When we have nought to do ; but at our work We wear a worse for thrift ! It was not so with him ; his better mind was not as a garment to be put on and off at pleasure ; it was like its plumage to a bird, its beauty and its fragrance to a flower, except that it was not liable to be rufHed, nor to fade, nor to exhale and pass away. His mind was hke a peacock always in full attire; it was only at times indeed, (to pursue the simiHtude,) that he expanded and displayed it ; but its richness and variety never could be concealed from those who had eyes to see them. — His sweetest mind 'Twixt mildness tempered and low courtesy, Could leave as soon to be, as not be kind. Churlish despite ne'er looked from his calm eye, Much less commanded in his gentle heart ; To baser men fair looks he would impart ; Nor could he cloak ill thoughts in complimental art.^ What he was in boyhood has been seen, and some- thing also of his manlier years ; but as yet Httle of the ^ Phineas Fletcher. 184 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ripe fruits of his intellectual autunm have been set before the readers. No such banquet was promised them as that with which they are to be regaled. "The booksellers," say Somner the antiquary, in an unpublished letter to Dugdale, "affect a great deal of title as advantageous for the sale ; but judicious men disHke it, as savouring of too much ostentation, and suspecting the wine is not good where so much bush is hung out." Somebody, I forget who, wrote a book upon the titles of books, regarding the title as a most important part of the composition. The bookseller's fashion of which Somner speaks has long been obsolete ; mine is a brief title promising little, but intending much. It specifies only the Doctor ; but his gravities and his levities, his opinions of men and things, his speculations moral and poUtical, physical and spiritual, his philosophy and his reH- gion, each blending with each, and all with all, these are comprised in the &c. of my title-page, — these and his Pantagruelism to boot. When I meditate upon these I may exclaim with the poet : — Mnemosyne hath kiss'd the kingly Jove, And entertained a feast within my brain.^ These I shall produce for the entertainment of the idle reader, and for the recreation of the busy one ; for the amusement of the young, and the contentment of the old ; for the pleasure of the wise, and the ap- probation of the good; and these when produced will be the monument of Daniel Dove. Of such a man it may indeed be said that he Is his own marble ; and his merit can Cut him to any figure, and express More art than Death's Cathedral palaces, Where royal ashes keep their court ! ^ ^ Robert Green. ^ Middleton. THE DOCTOR 185 Some of my contemporaries may remember a story once current at Cambridge, of a luckless undergrad- uate, who being examined for his degree, and faihng in every subject upon which he was tried, complained that he had not been questioned upon the things which he knew. Upon which the examining master, moved less to compassion by the impenetrable dul- ness of the man than to anger by his unreasonable complaint, tore off about an inch of paper, and push- ing it towards him, desired him to write upon that all he knew ! And yet bulky books are composed, or compiled by men who know as little as this poor empty indi- vidual. Tracts and treatises and tomes, may be, and are written by persons, to whom the smallest square sheet of dehcate note paper, rose-coloured, or green, or blue, with its embossed border, manufac- tured expressly for ladies' fingers and crow-quills, would afford ample room, and verge enough, for ex- pounding the sum total of their knowledge upon the subject whereon they undertake to enlighten the pubhc. Were it possible for me to pour out all that I have taken in from him, of whose accumulated stores I, alas ! am now the sole Kving depository, I know not to what extent the precious reminiscences might run. Per SIM gratia singulare Par ch' io hahbi nel capo una seguenza, Una fontana, unfiume, un lago, un mare, Id est un pantanaccio d' eloquenza} Sidronius Hosschius has supphed me with a simile for this stream of recollections. ^^ By his singular grace, I seem to have in my head a run, a foun- tain, a stream, a lake, a sea, that is to say, a huge flux of eloquence. Matteo Franzesi. 1 86 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Mstuat et cursu nunquam cessante lahorat Eridanus, fessis irrequietus aquis ! Spumeus it, fervensque, undamque supervenii unda; Hcec illam, sed et hanc non minus ista premit. Vohitur, et volvit pariter, motuque perenni Truditur a jiuctu posteriore prior. As I shall proceed Excipiet curam nova cura, laborque laborem, Nee minus exhausto quod superabit erit} But for stores which in this way have been re- ceived, the best compacted memory is Hke a sieve ; more of necessity sHps through than stops upon the way ; and well is it, if that which is of most value be what remains behind. I have pledged myself, therefore, to no more than I can perform ; and this the reader shall have within reasonable hmits, and in due time, provided the performance be not prevented by any of the evils incident to human Hfe. At present, my business is to answer the question ''Who was Mrs. Dove?" Chapter LXXI. RASH MARRIAGES. AN EARLY WIDOWHOOD. AFFLICTION REN- DERED A BLESSING TO THE SUFFERERS ; AND TWO ORPHANS LEFT, THOUGH NOT DESTITUTE, YET FRIENDLESS. Love built a stately house ; where Fortune came, And spinning fancies, she was heard to say That her fine cobwebs did support the frame ; Whereas they were supported by the same. But Wisdom quickly swept them all away. Herbert. ^ The Eridanus billows and rages in its never ceasing course with the restless commotion of its troubled waters. Foaming it goes and surging, and wave topples over wave. Each drives the other with equal force, beats and is beaten back, and in the continual motion the first wave is crowded by that behind. ... A new care and a new trouble will take the place of the old, and that which will re- main will be no less than what is overpast. THE DOCTOR 187 Mrs. Dove was the only child of a clergyman who held a small vicarage in the West Riding. Leonard Bacon, her father, had been left an orphan in early youth. He had some wealthy relations by whose con- tributions he was placed at an endowed grammar- school in the country, and having through their influ- ence gained a scholarship to which his own deserts might have entitled him, they continued to assist him — sparingly enough indeed — at the University, till he succeeded to a fellowship. Leonard was made of Nature's finest clay, and Nature had tempered it with the choicest dews of Heaven. He had a female cousin about three years younger than himself, and in Hke manner an orphan, equally destitute, but far more forlorn. Man hath a fleece about him which enables him to bear the buffetings of the storm ; — but woman when young, and lovely, and poor, is as a shorn lamb for which the wind has not been tempered. Leonard's father and Margaret's had been bosom friends. They were subalterns in the same regiment, and being for a long time stationed at SaHsbury, had become intimate at the house of Mr. Trewbody, a gentleman of one of the oldest families in Wiltshire. Mr. Trewbody had three daughters. MeHcent, the eldest, was a celebrated beauty, and the knowledge of this had not tended to improve a detestable temper. The two youngest, Deborah and Margaret, were lively, good-natured, thoughtless, and attractive. They danced with the two Lieutenants, played to them on the spinnet, sung with them and laughed with them, — till this mirthful intercourse became serious, and knowing that it would be impossible to obtain their father's consent, they married the men of their hearts without it. Palmer and Bacon were 1 88 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE both without fortune, and without any other means of subsistence than their commissions. For four years they were as happy as love could make them ; at the end of that time Palmer was seized with an infectious fever. Deborah was then far advanced in pregnancy, and no soUcitations could induce Bacon to keep from his friend's bed-side. The disease proved fatal ; it communicated to Bacon and his wife ; the former only survived his friend ten days, and he and Deborah were then laid in the same grave. They left an only boy of three years old, and in less than a month the widow Palmer was dehvered of a daughter. In the first impulse of anger at the flight of his daughters and the degradation of his family, (for Bacon was the son of a tradesman, and Palmer was nobody knew who,) Mr. Trewbody had made his will, and left the whole sum which he had designed for his three daughters, to the eldest. Whether the situation of Margaret and the two orphans might have touched him is perhaps doubtful, — for the family were either light-hearted or hard-hearted, and his heart was of the hard sort ; but he died sud- denly a few months before his sons-in-law. The only son, Trewman Trewbody, Esq., a Wiltshire fox- hunter, like his father, succeeded to the estate; and as he and his eldest sister hated each other cor- dially, Miss Melicent left the manor-house, and estab- lished herself in the Close at Salisbury, where she lived in that style which a portion of 6000/. enabled her in those days to support. The circumstance which might appear so greatly to have aggravated Mrs. Palmer's distress, if such distress be capable of aggravation, prevented her perhaps from eventually sinking under it. If the THE DOCTOR 1 89 birth of her child was no alleviation of her sorrow, it brought with it new feelings, new duties, new cause for exertion, and new strength for it. She wrote to Melicent and to her brother, simply stating her own destitute situation, and that of the orphan Leonard ; she believed that their pride would not suffer them either to let her starve or go to the parish for sup- port, and in this she was not disappointed. An answer was returned by Miss Trewbody informing her that she had nobody to thank but herself for her misfortunes; but that notwithstanding the disgrace which she had brought upon the family, she might expect an annual allowance of ten pounds from the writer, and a like sum from her brother; upon this she must retire into some obscure part of the country, and pray God to forgive her for the offence she had committed in marrying beneath her birth and against her father's consent. Mrs. Palmer had also written to the friends of Lieutenant Bacon, — her own husband had none who could assist her. She expressed her willingness and her anxiety to have the care of her sister's orphan, but represented her forlorn state. They behaved more liberally than her own kin had done, and prom- ised five pounds a-year as long as the boy should require it. With this and her pension she took a cottage in a retired village. Grief had acted upon her heart like the rod of Moses upon the rock in the desert; it had opened it, and the well-spring of piety had gushed forth. Affliction made her religious, and religion brought with it consolation and comfort and joy. Leonard became as dear to her as Mar- garet. The sense of duty educed a pleasure from every privation to which she subjected herself for the sake of economy ; and in endeavouring to fulfil 190 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE her duties in that state of Hfe to which it had pleased God to call her, she was happier than she had ever been in her father's house, and not less so than in her marriage state. Her happiness indeed was different in kind, but it was higher in degree. For the sake of these dear children she was contented to live, and even prayed for hfe ; while if it had respected her- self only. Death had become to her rather an object of desire than of dread. In this manner she lived seven years after the loss of her husband, and was then carried off by an acute disease, to the irreparable loss of the orphans, who were thus orphaned indeed. Chapter LXXIII. A LADY DESCRIBED WHOSE SINGLE LIFE WAS NO BLESSEDNESS EITHER TO HERSELF OR OTHERS. A VERACIOUS EPITAPH AND AN APPROPRIATE MONUMENT. Beauty ! my Lord, — 'tis the worst part of woman ! A weak poor thing, assaulted every hour By creeping minutes of defacing time ; A superficies which each breath of care Blasts off ; and every humorous stream of grief Which flows from forth these fountains of our eyes, Washeth away, as rain doth winter's snow. ^ GOEF. Miss Trewbody behaved with perfect propriety upon the news of her sister's death. She closed her front windows for two days ; received no visitors for a week; was much indisposed, but resigned to the will of Providence, in reply to messages of condolence ; put her servants in mourning, and sent for Margaret that she might do her duty to her sister's child by breeding her up under her own eye. Poor Margaret was transferred from the stone floor of her mother's cottage to the Turkey carpet of her aunt's parlour. THE DOCTOR 191 She was too young to comprehend at once the whole evil of the exchange ; but she learned to feel and under- stand it during years of bitter dependence, unalle- viated by any hope, except that of one day seeing Leonard, the only creature on earth whom she re- membered with affection. Seven years elapsed, and during all those years Leonard was left to pass his hoHdays, summer and winter, at the grammar-school where he had been placed at Mrs. Palmer's death: for although the master regularly transmitted with his half-yearly bill the most favourable accounts of his disposition and general conduct, as well as of his progress in learning, no wish to see the boy had ever arisen in the hearts of his nearest relations ; and no feeling of kindness, or sense of decent humanity, had ever induced either the fox-hunter Trewman or Melicent his sister, to invite him for Midsummer or Christmas. At length in the seventh year a letter announced that his school- education had been completed, and that he was elected to a scholarship at College, Oxford, which scholarship would entitle him to a fellowship in due course of time : in the intervening years some little assistance from his Uheral benefactors would be required ; and the liberality of those kind friends would be well bestowed upon a youth who bade so fair to do honour to himself, and to reflect no disgrace upon his honourable connections. The head of the family promised his part, with an ungracious expres- sion of satisfaction at thinking that "thank God, there would soon be an end of these demands upon him." Miss Trewbody signified her assent in the same amiable and religious spirit. However much her sister had disgraced her family, she replied, "please God itshould never be said that she refused to do her duty." 192 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The whole sum which these wealthy relations contributed was not very heavy, — an annual ten pounds each : but they contrived to make their nephew feel the weight of every separate portion. The Squire's half came always with a brief note desiring that the receipt of the enclosed sum might be acknowledged without delay, — not a word of kindness or courtesy accompanied it : and Miss Trewbody never failed to administer with her remit- tance a few edifying remarks upon the folly of his mother in marrying beneath herself ; and the improper conduct of his father in connecting himself with a woman of family, against the consent of her relations, the consequence of which was that he had left a child dependent upon those relations for support. Leon- ard received these pleasant preparations of charity only at distant intervals, when he regularly expected them, with his half-yearly allowance. But Mar- garet meantime was dieted upon the food of bitter- ness, without one circumstance to relieve the misery of her situation. At the time, of which I am now speaking, Miss Trewbody was a maiden lady of forty-seven, in the highest state of preservation. The whole business of her Hfe had been to take care of a fine person, and in this she had succeeded admirably. Her library consisted of two books ; Nelson's Festivals and Fasts was one, the other was "the Queen's Cabinet un- locked;" and there was not a cosmetic in the latter which she had not faithfully prepared. Thus by means, as she believed, of distilled waters of various kinds, May-dew and butter-milk, her skin retained its beautiful texture still, and much of its smoothness ; and she knew at times how to give it the appearance of that brilliancy which it had lost. But that was a THE DOCTOR 193 profound secret. Miss Trewbody, remembering the example of Jezebel, always felt conscious that she was committing a sin when she took the rouge-box in her hand, and generally ejaculated in a low voice, the Lord forgive me ! when she laid it down : but looking in the glass at the same time, she indulged a hope that the nature of the temptation might be considered as an excuse for the transgression. Her other great business was to observe with the utmost precision all the punctilios of her situation in life; and the time which was not devoted to one or other of these worthy occupations, was employed in scold- ing her servants, and tormenting her niece. This employment, for it was so habitual that it deserved the name, agreed excellently with her constitution. She was troubled with no acrid humours, no fits of bile, no diseases of the spleen, no vapours or hysterics. The morbid matter was all collected in her temper, and found a regular vent at her tongue. This kept the lungs in vigorous health ; nay, it even seemed to supply the place of wholesome exercise, and to stim- ulate the system Hke a perpetual bhster, with this peculiar advantage, that instead of an inconvenience it was a pleasure to herself, and all the annoyance was to her dependents. Miss Trewbody lies buried in the Cathedral at Salisbury, where a monument was erected to her memory worthy of remembrance itself for its appro- priate inscription and accompaniments. The epi- taph recorded her as a woman eminently pious, vir- tuous, and charitable, who lived universally respected, and died sincerely lamented by all who had the happiness of knowing her. This inscription was upon a marble shield supported by two Cupids, who bent their heads over the edge, with marble tears larger 194 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE than grey pease, and something of the same colour, upon their cheeks. These were the only tears which her death occasioned, and the only Cupids with whom she had ever any concern. Chapter LXXIV. A SCENE WHICH WILL PUT SOME OF THOSE READERS WHO HAVE BEEN MOST IMPATIENT WITH THE AUTHOR IN THE BEST OF HUMOUR WITH HIM. There is no argument of more antiquity and elegancy than is the matter of Love ; for it seems to be as old as the world, and to bear date from the first time that man and woman was : therefore in this, as in the finest metal, the freshest wits have in all ages shown their best workmanship. Robert Wilmot. When Leonard had resided three years at Oxford, one of his college-friends invited him to pass the long vacation at his father's house, which happened to be within an easy ride of Salisbury. One morning, therefore, he rode to that city, rung at Miss Trew- body's door, and having sent in his name, was admitted into the parlour, where there was no one to receive him, while Miss Trewbody adjusted her head-dress at the toilette, before she made her appearance. Her feelings while she was thus employed were not of the pleasantest kind toward this unexpected guest; and she was prepared to accost him with a reproof for his extravagance in undertaking so long a journey, and with some mortifying questions concerning the business which brought him there. But this ami- able intention was put to flight, when Leonard, as soon as she entered the room, informed her that having accepted an invitation into that neighbour- hood from his friend and fellow-collegian, the son THE DOCTOR 195 of Sir Lambert Bowles, he had taken the earliest opportunity of coming to pay his respects to her, and acknowledging his obligations, as bound aHke by duty and inclination. The name of Sir Lambert Bowles acted upon Miss Trewbody like a charm; and its molHfying effect was not a little aided by the tone of her nephew's address, and the sight of a fine youth in the first bloom of manhood, whose appear- ance and manners were such that she could not be surprized at the introduction he had obtained into one of the first families in the county. The scowl, therefore, which she brought into the room upon her brow, passed instantly away, and was succeeded by so gracious an aspect, that Leonard, if he had not di- vined the cause, might have mistaken this gleam of sunshine for fair weather. A cause which Miss Trewbody could not possibly suspect had rendered her nephew's address thus con- ciliatory. Had he expected to see no other person in that house, the visit would have been performed as an irksome obligation, and his manner would have appeared as cold and formal as the reception which he anticipated. But Leonard had not forgotten the playmate and companion with whom the happy years of his childhood had been passed. Young as he was at their separation, his character had taken its stamp during those peaceful years, and the impression which it then received was indeHble. Hitherto hope had never been to him so delightful as memory. His thoughts wandered back into the past more fre- quently than they took flight into the future; and the favourite form which his imagination called up was that of the sweet child, who in winter partook his bench in the chimney corner, and in summer sate with him in the porch, and strung the fallen blossoms 196 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of jessamine upon stalks of grass. The snowdrop and the crocus reminded him of their little garden, the primrose of their sunny orchard-bank, and the blue bells and the cowslip of the fields wherein they were allowed to run wild and gather them in the merry month of May. Such as she then was he saw her frequently in sleep, with her blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and flaxen curls : and in his day-dreams he sometimes pictured her to himself such as he sup- posed she now might be, and dressed up the image with all the magic of ideal beauty. His heart, there- fore, was at his lips when he inquired for his cousin. It was not without something like fear, and an appre- hension of disappointment, that he awaited her appearance; and he was secretly condemning him- self for the romantic folly which he had encouraged, when the door opened, and a creature came in, — less radiant, indeed, but more winning than his fancy had created, for the loveliness of earth and reality was about her. "Margaret," said Miss Trewbody, "do you re- member your cousin Leonard?" Before she could answer, Leonard had taken her hand. "'Tis a long while, Margaret, since we parted ! — ten years ! — But I have not forgotten the parting, — nor the blessed days of our childhood." She stood trembling like an aspen leaf, and looked wistfully in his face for a moment, then hung down her head, without power to utter a word in reply. But he felt her tears fall fast upon his hand, and felt also that she returned its pressure. Leonard had some difficulty to command himself, so as to bear a part in conversation with his aunt, and keep his eyes and his thoughts from wandering. He accepted, however, her invitation to stay and THE DOCTOR 1 97 dine with her with undissembled satisfaction, and the pleasure was not a little heightened when she left the room to give some necessary orders in conse- quence. Margaret still sate trembling and in silence. He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and said in a low, earnest voice, ''dear dear Margaret!" She raised her eyes, and fixing them upon him with one of those looks the perfect remembrance of which can never be effaced from the heart to which they have been addressed, repHed in a lower but not less earnest tone, "dear Leonard!" and from that moment their lot was sealed for time and for eternity. Chapter LXXV. MORE CONCERNING LOVE AND THE DREAM OF LIFE. Happy the bonds that hold ye ; Sure they be sweeter far than liberty. There is no blessedness but in such bondage ; Happy that happy chain ; such links are heavenly. Beaumont and Fletcher. I will not describe the subsequent interviews between Leonard and his cousin, short and broken but precious as they were ; nor that parting one in which hands were pKghted, with the sure and certain knowledge that hearts had been interchanged. Remembrance will enable some of my readers to por- tray the scene, and then perhaps a sigh may be heaved for the days that are gone : Hope will picture it to others, — and with them the sigh will be for the days that are to come. There was not that indefinite deferment of hope in this case at which the heart sickens. Leonard had been bred up in poverty from his childhood : a parsimonious allowance, grudgingly bestowed, had 198 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE contributed to keep him frugal at College, by calling forth a pardonable if not a commendable sense of pride in aid of a worthier principle. He knew that he could rely upon himself for frugality, industry, and a cheerful as well as a contented mind. He had seen the miserable state of bondage in which Margaret existed with her Aunt, and his resolution was made to deliver her from that bondage as soon as he could obtain the smallest benefice on which it was possible for them to subsist. They agreed to live rigorously within their means, however poor, and put their trust in Providence. They could not be deceived in each other, for they had grown up together; and they knew that they were not deceived in themselves. Their love had the freshness of youth, but prudence and forethought were not wanting; the resolution which they had taken brought with it peace of mind, and no misgiving was felt in either heart when they prayed for a blessing upon their purpose. In reality it had already brought a blessing with it ; and this they felt; for love, when it deserves that name, produces in us what may be called a regeneration of its own, — a second birth, — dimly, but yet in some degree, resembling that which is effected by Divine Love when its redeeming work is accomplished in the soul. Leonard returned to Oxford happier than all this world's wealth or this world's honours could have made him. He had now a definite and attainable hope, — an object in life which gave to life itself a value. For Margaret, the world no longer seemed to her like the same earth which she had till then in- habited. Hitherto she had felt herself a forlorn and solitary creature, without a friend ; and the sweet sounds and pleasant objects of nature had im- THE DOCTOR 199 parted as little cheerfulness to her as to the debtor who sees green fields in sunshine from his prison, and hears the lark singing at Hberty. Her heart was open now to all the exhilarating and all the softening influences of birds, fields, flowers, vernal suns, and melodious streams. She was subject to the same daily and hourly exercise of meekness, patience, and humility ; but the trial was no longer painful ; with love in her heart, and hope and sunshine in her prospect, she found even a pleasure in contrasting her present condition with that which was in store for her. In these our days every young lady holds the pen of a ready writer, and words flow from it as fast as it can indent its zigzag Hnes, according to the reformed system, of writing, — which said system improves handwritings by making them all aHke and all illegible. At that time women wrote better and spelt worse : but letter writing was not one of their accomplishments. It had not yet become one of the general pleasures and luxuries of life, — perhaps the greatest gratification which the progress of civiliza- tion has given us. There was then no mail coach to waft a sigh across the country at the rate of eight miles an hour. Letters came slowly and with long inter- vals between ; but when they came, the happiness which they imparted to Leonard and Margaret lasted during the interval, however long. To Leonard it was as an exhilarant and a cordial which rejoiced and strengthened him. He trod the earth with a lighter and more elated movement on the day when he received a letter from Margaret, as if he felt himself invested with an importance which he had never possessed till the happiness of another human being was inseparably associated with his own; 200 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE So proud a thing it was for him to wear Love's golden chain, With which it is best freedom to be bound.^ Happy, indeed, if there be happiness on earth, as that same sweet poet says, is he, Who love enjoys, and placed hath his mind Where fairest virtues fairest beauties grace. Then in himself such store of worth doth find That he deserves to find so good a place.^ This was Leonard's case ; and when he kissed the paper, which her hand had pressed, it was with a con- sciousness of the strength and sincerity of his affec- tion, which at once rejoiced and fortified his heart. To Margaret his letters were like summer dew upon the herb that thirsts for such refreshment. When- ever they arrived, a head-ache became the cause or pretext for retiring earher than usual to her chamber, that she might weep and dream over the precious lines : — True gentle love is like the summer dew, Which faUs around when all is still and hush ; And falls unseen until its bright drops strew With odours, herb and flower and bank and bush. O love ! — when womanhood is in the flush, And man's a young and an unspotted thing, His first-breathed word and her half-conscious blush. Are fair as light in heaven, or flowers in spring.^ Chapter LXXVII. AN EARLY BEREAVEMENT. TRUE LOVE ITS OWN COMFORTER. A LONELY FATHER AND AN ONLY CHILD. Read ye that run the aweful truth, With which I charge mj?^ page ; A worm is in the bud of youth. And at the root of age. Cowper. ^ Drummond. '^ Allan Cunningham. THE DOCTOR 20I Leonard was not more than eight and twenty when he obtained a living, a few miles from Doncaster. He took his bride with him to the vicarage. The house was as humble as the benefice, which was worth less than £50 a year ; but it was soon made the neatest cottage in the country round, and upon a happier dwelHng the sun never shone. A few acres of good glebe were attached to it ; and the garden was large enough to afford healthful and pleasurable employ- ment to its owners. The course of true love never ran more smoothly ; but its course was short. how this spring of love resembleth 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 ! ^ Little more than five years from the time of their marriage had elapsed, before a headstone in the adja- cent churchyard told where the remains of Margaret Bacon had been deposited in the 30th year of her age. When the stupor and the agony of that bereave- ment had passed away, the very intensity of Leonard's affection became a source of consolation. Margaret had been to him a purely ideal object during the years of his youth ; death had again rendered her such. Imagination had beautified and idoHzed her then ; faith sanctified and glorified her now. She had been to him on earth all that he had fancied, all that he had hoped, all that he had desired. She would again be so in heaven. And this second union nothing could impede, nothing could interrupt, noth- ing could dissolve. He had only to keep himself worthy of it by cherishing her memory, hallowing his heart to it while he performed a parent's duty to 1 Shakespeare. 202 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE their child ; and so doing to await his own sum- mons, which must one day come, which every day was brought nearer, and which any day might bring. — 'Tis the only discipline we are born for ; All studies else are but as circular lines, And death the centre where they must all meet.^ The same feeHng which from his childhood had refined Leonard's heart, keeping it pure and unde- filed, had also corroborated the natural strength of his character, and made him firm of purpose. It was a saying of Bishop Andrews that "good husbandry is good divinity;" "the truth whereof," says Fuller, "no wise man will deny." FrugaHty he had always practised as a needful virtue, and found that in an especial manner it brings with it its own reward. He now resolved upon scrupulously setting apart a fourth of his small income to make a provision for his child, in case of her surviving him, as in the natural course of things might be expected. If she should be removed before him, — for this was an event the possibiHty of which he always bore in mind, — he had resolved that whatever should have been accumulated with this intent, should be disposed of to some other pious purpose, — for such, within the limits to which his poor means extended, he properly considered this. And having entered on this prudential course with a calm reliance upon Providence in case his hour should come before that purpose could be accompHshed, he was without any earthly hope or fear, — those alone excepted, from which no parent can be free. The child had been christened Deborah after her maternal grandmother, for whom Leonard ever 1 Massinger. THE DOCTOR 203 gratefully retained a most affectionate and reveren- tial remembrance. She was a healthy, happy crea- ture in body and in mind ; at first — one of those little prating girls Of whom fond parents tell such tedious stories ; * afterwards, as she grew up, a favourite with the village school-mistress, and with the whole parish ; docile, good-natured, lively and yet considerate, always gay as a lark and busy as a bee. One of the pensive pleasures in which Leonard indulged was to gaze on her unperceived, and trace the hkeness to her mother. Oh Christ ! How that which was the life's life of our being, Can pass away, and we recall it thus ! ^ That resemblance which was strong in childhood lessened as the child grew up ; for Margaret's counte- nance had acquired a cast of meek melancholy dur- ing those years in which the bread of bitterness had been her portion; and when hope came to her, it was that ''hope deferred" which takes from the cheek its bloom, even when the heart, instead of being made sick, is sustained by it. But no unhappy cir- cumstances depressed the constitutional buoyancy of her daughter's spirits. Deborah brought into the world the happiest of all nature's endowments, an easy temper and a light heart. Resemblant therefore as the features were, the dissimilitude of expression was more apparent ; and when Leonard contrasted in thought the sunshine of hilarity that lit up his daughter's face, with the sort of moonlight loveliness which had given a serene and saint-Hke character to her mother's, he wished to persuade himself that ^ Dryden. 2 Isaac Comnenus. 204 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE as the early translation of the one seemed to have been thus prefigured, the other might be destined to live for the happiness of others till a good old age, while length of years in their course should ripen her for heaven. Chapter LXXIX. MR. BACONS PARSONAGE. CHRISTIAN RESIGNATION. TIME AND CHANGE. WILKIE AND THE MONK IN THE ESCURIAL. The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination ; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, More moving delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she hved indeed. Shakespeare. In a Scotch village the Manse is sometimes the only good house, and generally it is the best ; almost, indeed, what in old times the Mansion used to be in an EngKsh one. In Mr. Bacon's parish, the vicarage, though humble as the benefice itself, was the neatest. The cottage in which he and Margaret passed their childhood had been remarkable for that comfort which is the result and the reward of order and neat- ness : and when the reunion which blessed them both rendered the remembrance of those years deHghtful, they returned in this respect to the way in which they had been trained up, practised the economy which they had learned there, and loved to think how entirely their course of Kfe, in all its circumstances, would be after the heart of that person, if she could behold it, whose memory they both with equal affec- tion cherished. After his bereavement it was one of the widower's pensive pleasures to keep everything in the same state as when Margaret was hving. Noth- THE DOCTOR 205 ing was neglected that she used to do, or that she would have done. The flowers were tended as care- fully as if she were still to enjoy their fragrance and their beauty ; and the birds who came in winter for their crumbs were fed as duly for her sake, as they had formerly been by her hands. There was no superstition in this, nor weakness. Immoderate grief, if it does not exhaust itself by indul- gence, easily assumes the one character, or the other, or takes a type of insanity. But he had looked for consolation, where, when sincerely sought, it is always to be found ; and he had experienced that religion effects in a true behever all that philosophy professes, and more than all that mere philosophy can per- form. The wounds which stoicism would cauterize, rehgion heals. There is a resignation with which, it may be feared, most of ua deceive ourselves. To bear what must be borne, and submit to what cannot be resisted, is no more than what the unregenerate heart is taught by the instinct of animal nature. But to acquiesce in the aflSictive dispensations of Providence, — to make one's own will conform in all things to that of our Heavenly Father, — to say to him in the sincerity of faith, when we drink of the bitter cup, "Thy will be done I" — to bless the name of the Lord as much from the heart when He takes away, as when He gives, and with a depth of feehng of which, perhaps, none but the afflicted heart is capable, — this is the resignation which reHgion teaches, this the sacrifice which it requires.^ This sacrifice Leonard had made, and he felt that it was accepted. Severe, therefore, as his loss had been, and lasting as its effects were, it produced in him nothing hke a ^ This passage was written when Southey was bowing his head 2o6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE settled sorrow, nor even that melancholy which sor- row leaves behind. Gibbon has said of himself, that as a mere philosopher he could not agree with the Greeks, in thinking that those who die in their youth are favoured by the Gods : Ov ol 6eol (juXovcriv dTro6vT^crK€L veos.^ It was because he was "a mere philosopher," that he failed to perceive a truth which the rehgious heathen acknowledged, and which is so trivial, and of such practical value, that it may now be seen inscribed upon village tombstones. The Christian knows that "blessed are the dead which die in the Lord ; even so saith the Spirit." And the heart of the Christian mourner, in its deepest distress, hath the witness of the Spirit to that consolatory assurance. In this faith Leonard regarded his bereavement. His loss, he knew, had been Margaret's gain. What, if she had been summoned in the flower of her years, and from a state of connubial happiness which there had been nothing to disturb or to alloy? How soon might that flower have been bhghted, — how surely must it have faded ! how easily might that happiness have been interrupted by some of those evils which flesh is heir to ! And as the separation was to take place, how mercifully had it been appointed that he, who was the stronger vessel, should be the survivor ! Even for their child this was best, greatly as she under the sorest and saddest of his many troubles. He thus alludes to it in a letter to me, dated October 5, 1834. "On the next leaf is the passage of which I spoke in my letter from York. It belongs to an early chapter in the third volume; and very remarkable it is that it should have been written just at that time." Warter. ^ He whom the gods love dies young. THE DOCTOR 207 needed, and would need, a mother's care. His paternal solicitude would supply that care, as far as it was possible to supply it ; but had he been removed, mother and child must have been left to the mercy of Providence, without any earthly protector, or any means of support. For her to die was gain ; in him, therefore, it were sinful as well as selfish to repine, and of such selfish- ness and sin his heart acquitted him. If a wish could have recalled her to Hfe, no such wish would ever have by him been uttered, nor ever have by him been felt ; certain he was that he loved her too well to bring her again into this world of instability and trial. Upon earth there can be no safe happiness. Ah ! male Fortune devota est ara manenti ! Fallit, et hcec nullas accipit ara preces} All things here are subject to Time and Mutability : Quod tibi largd dedit Hora dextrd, Horn fiiraci rapiet sinistra} We must be in eternity before we can be secure against change. "The world," says Cowper, "upon which we close our eyes at night, is never the same with that on which we open them in the morning." It was to the perfect Order he should find in that state upon which he was about to enter, that the judicious Hooker looked forward at his death with placid and profound contentment. Because he had been employed in contending against a spirit of in- subordination and schism which soon proved fatal to his country ; and because his life had been passed ^ Vainly is an altar dedicated to Fortune while she stays with us ! When she fails, this altar will receive no prayers. Wallius. ^ What the Hour gave thee with its generous right hand the Hour will snatch from thee with its thievish left. Casimie, 2o8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE under the perpetual discomfort of domestic discord, the happiness of Heaven seemed, in his estimation, to consist primarily in Order, as indeed in all human societies this is the first thing needful. The disci- pUne which Mr. Bacon had undergone was very- different in kind : what he delighted to think, was, that the souls of those whom death and redemption have made perfect, are in a world where there is no change, nor parting, where nothing fades, nothing passes away and is no more seen, but the good and the beautiful are permanent. Miser, chi speme in cosa mortal pone; Ma, chi non ve la pone ? ^ When Wilkie was in the Escurial, looking at Titian's famous picture of the Last Supper, in the Refectory there, an old Jeronomite said to him, "I have sat daily in sight of that picture for now nearly three- score years ; during that time my companions have dropped off, one after another, — all who were my seniors, all who were my contemporaries, and many, or most of those who were younger than myself ; more than one generation has passed away, and there the figures in the picture have remained unchanged ! I look at them till I sometimes think that they are the realities, and we but shadows ! " ^ I wish I could record the name of the Monk by whom that natural feeling was so feelingly and strik- ingly expressed. "The shows of things are better than themselves," ^ Wretched is he who places his hope in mortal things ; but who does not place it there? Petrarch. ' See the very beautiful lines of Wordsworth in the " Yarrow Re- visited." The affecting incident is introduced in " Lines on a Por- trait." Warter. THE DOCTOR 209 says the author of the Tragedy of Nero, whose name also I could wish had been forthcoming ; and the classical reader will remember the lines of Sophocles : ' Opcii yap T7/u,as ovBkv ovras aAAo, irXrjv. El'ScoA', ocroiTTcp ^u)fjiev, rj KOvpovo'vvTwv, kol tov fjikv Xoyov avr^v fxrj KaTaXafif3av6vT(i}v, Slol Se rrjv acrOivuav Trjs Kara\i]\f/(.w<;, dAoycJS olofi€V(iiv SuxTiTaxOat Tavra, S)v tov \6yov cIttclv ovk ^xovctlv.^ Constant. Orat. ad Sanct. C^et. c. vn. "Deformity is either natural, voluntary, or adventitious, being either caused by God's unseen Providence, {by men nick- named, chance,) or by men's cruelty." Fuller's Holy State, B.iii.c. 15. It may readily be inferred from what has already been said of our Philosopher's way of thinking, that he was not Hkely to use the words luck, chance, acci- dent, fortune or misfortune, with as little reflection as is ordinarily shown in applying them. The dis- tinction which that fantastic — and yet most like- able person — Margaret Duchess of Newcastle, makes between Chance and Fortune was far from satisfy- ing him. "Fortune," says her Grace (she might have been called her Beauty too), "is only various corporeal motions of several creatures — designed to one crea- ture, or more creatures ; either to that creature, or those creatures' advantage, or disadvantage ; if advantage, man names it Good Fortune ; if disadvan- ^ For the word chance really implies a kind of censure, because men think at random and irrationally ; and not comprehending their reason on account of a weakness of understanding, — they think that those things have fallen out by chance whose reason they are unable to state. THE DOCTOR 277 tage, man names it 111 Fortune. As for Chance, it is the visible eflfects of some hidden cause, and For- tune, a sufficient cause to produce such effects ; for the conjunction of sufficient causes, doth produce such or such effects, which effects could not be pro- duced — if any of those causes were wanting : so that Chances are but the effects of Fortune." The Duchess had just thought enough about this to fancy that she had a meaning, and if she had thought a Httle more she might have discovered that she had none. The Doctor looked more accurately both to his meaning and his words; but keeping as he did, in my poor judgment, the golden mean between super- stition and impiety, there was nothing in this that savoured of preciseness or weakness, nor of that scru- pulosity which is a compound of both. He did not suppose that trifles and floccinaucities of which neither the causes nor consequences are of the slightest im- port, were predestined ; as, for example — whether he had beef or mutton for dinner, wore a blue coat or a brown — or took off his wig with his right hand or with his left. He knew that all things are under the direction of almighty and omniscient Goodness ; but as he never was unmindful of that Providence in its dispensations of mercy and of justice, so he never disparaged it. Herein the Philosopher of Doncaster agreed with the Philosopher of Norwich who saith, "let not for- tune — which hath no name in Scripture, have any in thy divinity. Let providence, not chance, have the honour of thy acknowledgements, and be thy CEdipus on contingences. Mark well the paths and winding ways thereof ; but be not too wise in the construction, or sudden in the application. The 278 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE hand of Providence writes often by abbreviatures, hieroglyphics or short characters, which, hke the laconism on the wall, are not to be made out but by a hint or key from that spirit which indicted them." Some ill, he thought, was produced in human affairs by applying the term unfortunate to circum- stances which were brought about by imprudence. A man was unfortunate, if being thrown from his horse on a journey, he broke arm or leg, but not if he broke his neck in steeple-hunting, or when in full cry after a fox ; if he were impoverished by the mis- conduct of others, not if he were ruined by his own folly and extravagance ; if he suffered in any way by the villainy of another, not if he were transported, or hanged for his own. Neither would he allow that either man or woman could with propriety be called, as we not unfrequently hear in common speech, unfortunately ugly. Wickedly ugly, he said, they might be, and too often were ; and in such cases the greater their pretensions to beauty, the uglier they were. But goodness has a beauty of its own, which is not dependent upon form and features, and which makes itself felt and acknowl- edged, however otherwise ill-favoured the face may be in which it is set. He might have said with Seneca, errare mihi visus est qui dixit Gratior est pulchro veniens e cor pore virtus; nulla enim honestamento eget; ipsa et magnum sui decus est, et corpus suum consecrat} None, he would say with great earnestness, appeared so ugly to his 1 1 think he was wrong who said "Virtue is more pleasant when it emanates from a beautiful body," for it needs no adornment; it is itself its own great ornament and consecrates its body. THE DOCTOR 279 instinctive perception as some of those persons whom the world accounted handsome, but upon whom pride, or haughtiness, or conceit had set its stamp, or who bore in their countenances what no counte- nance can conceal, the habitual expression of any reigning vice, whether it were sensuality and selfish- ness, or envy, hatred, mahce, and uncharitableness. Nor could he regard with any satisfaction a fine face which had no ill expression, if it wanted a good one : he had no pleasure in beholding mere formal and superficial beauty, that which lies no deeper than the skin, and depends wholly upon "a set of features and complexion." He had more dehght, he said, in looking at one of the statues in Mr. Weddel's collection, than at a beautiful woman if he read in her face that she was as little susceptible of any vir- tuous emotion as the marble. While, therefore, he would not allow that any person could be unfortu- nately ugly, he thought that many were unfortunately handsome, and that no wise parent would wish his daughter to be eminently beautiful, lest what in her childhood was naturally and allowably the pride of his eye — should, when she grew up, become the grief of his heart. It requires no wide range of observa- tion to discover that the woman who is married for her beauty has little better chance of happiness than she who is married for her fortune. "I have known very few women in my fife," said Mrs. Montagu, "whom extraordinary charms and accompHshments did not make unhappy." Chapter CLXXX. 28o SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE OPINIONS OF THE RABBIS. ANECDOTE OF LADY JEKYLL AND A TART REPLY OF WILLIAM WHISTON'S. JEAN d'eSPAGNE. QUEEN ELIZABETH OF THE QUORUM QUARUM QUORUM GENDER. THE SOCIETY OF GENTLEMEN AGREE WITH MAHOMET IN SUPPOSING THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS, BUT ARE OF OPINION THAT THE DEVIL IS AN HERMAPHRODITE. Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall be surely full of variety, old crotchets, and most sweet closes : It shall be humourous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all and aU in one. Marston. The Doctor had other theological arguments in aid of the opinion w^hich he was pleased to sup- port. The remark has been made which is curious, or in the language of Jeremy Taylor's age, considerable, that we read in Genesis how when God saw every- thing else which he had made he pronounced that it was very good, but he did not say this of the woman. There are indeed certain Rabbis who affirm that Eve was not taken out of Adam's side : but that Adam had originally been created with a tail, (herein agreeing with the well-known theory of Lord Mon- boddo,) and that among the various experiments and improvements which were made in his form and organization before he was finished, the tail was removed as an inconvenient appendage, and of the excrescence or superfluous part which was then lopped off, the Woman was formed. "We are not bound to believe the Rabbis in every- thing," the Doctor would say; ''and yet it cannot be denied that they have preserved some valuable traditions which ought to be regarded with much respect." And then by a gentle inclination of the head, and a peculiar glance of the eye, he let it be THE DOCTOR 281 understood that this was one of those traditions which were entitled to consideration. "It was not impossible," he said, "but that a different reading in the original text might support such an interpretation : the same word in Hebrew frequently signified different things, and rib and tail might in that language be as near each other in sound or as easily miswritten by a hasty hand, or misread by an inaccurate eye, as costa and cauda in Latin." He did not pretend that this was the case — but that it might be so. And by a Hke corruption (for to such corruptions all written and even all printed books are liable) the text may have represented that Eve was taken from the side of her husband instead of from that part of the back where the tail grew. The dropping of a syllable might occasion it. "And this view of the question," he said, "derived strong support from that well-known and indubitable text wherein the Husband is called the Head; for although that expression is in itself most clear and significative in its own substantive meaning, it be- comes still more beautifully and emphatically appro- priate when considered as referring to this interpre- tation and tradition, and implying as a direct and necessary converse that the Wife is the Tail." There is another legend relating to a like but even less worthy formation of the first helpmate, and this also is ascribed to the Rabbis. According to this mythos the rib which had been taken from Adam was for a moment laid down, and in that moment a mon- key stole it and ran off with it full speed. An Angel pursued, and though not in league with the Monkey he could have been no good Angel ; for overtaking him, he caught him by the Tail, brought it mali- ciously back instead of the Rib, and of that Tail 282 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE was Woman made. What became of the Rib, with which the Monkey got clear off, "was never to mortal known." However the Doctor admitted that on the whole the received opinion was the more probable. And after making this admission he related an anecdote of Lady Jekyll, who was fond of puzzhng herself and others with such questions as had been common enough a generation before her, in the days of the Athenian Oracle. She asked William Whiston of berhymed name and eccentric memory, one day at her husband's table, to resolve a difficulty which occurred to her in the Mosaic account of the creation. "Since it pleased God, Sir," said she, "to create the Woman out of the Man, why did he form her out of the rib rather than any other part?" Whiston scratched his head and answered: "Indeed, Madam, I do not know, unless it be that the rib is the most crooked part of the body." "There !" said her hus- band, "you have it now : I hope you are satisfied !" He had found in the writings of the Huguenot divine, Jean D'Espagne, that Women have never had either the gift of tongues, or of miracle ; the latter gift, according to this theologian, being with- held from them because it properly accompanies preaching, and women are forbidden to be preachers. A reason for the former exception the Doctor sup- phed ; he said it was because one tongue was quite enough for them : and he entirely agreed with the Frenchman that it must be so, because there could have been no peace on earth had it been otherwise. But whether the sex worked miracles or not was a point which he left the Catholics to contend. Fe- male Saints there certainly had been, — "the Lord," as Daniel Rogers said, "had gifted and graced many THE DOCTOR 283 women above some men especially with holy affec- tions ; I know not," says that divine, "why he should do it else (for he is wise and not superfluous in need- less things) save that as a Pearl shining through a chrystal glass, so her excellency shining through her weakness of sex, might show the glory of the work- man." He quoted also what the biographer of one of the St. Catharines says, "that such a woman ought not to be called a woman, but rather an earthly Angel, or a heavenly homo : hcBc fcemina, sed potius Angelus terrestris, vel si malueris, homo ccdestis di- cenda erat, guam fcemina.'^ In like manner the Hun- garians thinking it infamous for a nation to be gov- erned by a woman — and yet perceiving the great advantage of preserving the succession, when the crown fell to a female, they called her King Mary, instead of Queen. And Queen Ehzabeth, rather than be accounted of the feminine gender, claimed it as her prerogative to be of all three. "A prime officer with a White Staff coming into her presence" she willed him to bestow a place then vacant upon a person whom she named. "May it please your Highness Madam," said the Lord, "the disposal of that place pertaineth to me by virtue of this White Staff." "True," replied the Queen, "yet I never gave you your office so absolutely, but that I still reserved myself of the Quorum." "Of the Quarum, Madam," returned the Lord, presuming, somewhat too far, upon her favour. — Whereat she snatched the staff in some anger out of his hand, and told him "he should acknowledge her of the Quorum, Quarum, Quorum before he had it again." It was well known indeed to Philosophers, he said, that the female is an imperfection or default in na- 284 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ture, whose constant design is to form a male ; but where strength and temperament are wanting — a defective production is the result. Aristotle there- fore calls Woman a Monster, and Plato makes it a question whether she ought not to be ranked among irrational creatures. There were Greek Philosophers, who (rightly in his judgment) derived the name of ^KOrjvr} from 0r}Xv? and alpha privativa, as implying that the Goddess of wisdom, though Goddess, was nevertheless no female, having nothing of female imperfection. And a book unjustly ascribed to the learned Acidalius was published in Latin, and after- wards in French, to prove that women were not rea- sonable creatures, but distinguished from men by this specific difference, as well as in sex. Mahomet too was not the only person who has supposed that women have no souls. In this Chris- tian and reformed country, the question was pro- pounded to the British Apollo whether there is now, or will be at the resurrection any females in Heaven — since, says the questioner, there seems to be no need of them there ! The Society of Gentlemen who, (in imitation of John Dunton, his brother-in- law the elder Wesley, and their coadjutors,) had undertaken in this Journal to answer all questions, returned a grave reply, that sexes being corporeal distinctions there could be no such distinction among the souls which are now in bliss ; neither could it exist after the resurrection, for they who partook of eternal life neither marry nor are given in marriage. That same Society supposed the Devil to be an Hermaphrodite, for though by his roughness they said he might be thought of the masculine gender, they were led to that opinion because he appeared so often in petticoats. Chapter CCVI. THE DOCTOR 285 VALUE OF WOMEN AMONG THE AFGHAUNS. LIGOn's HISTORY OF BARBADOES, AND A FAVOURITE STORY OF THE DOCTOR'S THEREFROM. CLAUDE SEISSEL, AND THE SALIC LAW. JEWISH THANKSGIVING. ETYMOLOGY OF MULIER, WOMAN, AND LASS ; — FROM WHICH IT MAY BE GUESSED HOW MUCH IS CONTAINED IN THE LIMBO OF ETYMOLOGY. If thy name were known that writest in this sort, By womankind, unnaturally, giving evil report, Whom aU men ought, both young and old, defend with all their might. Considering what they do deserve of every living wight, I wish thou should exiled be from women more and less, And not without just cause thou must thyself confess. Edward More. It w^ould have pleased the Doctor when he was upon this topic if he had known how exactly the value of women was fixed among the Afghauns, by whose laws twelve young women are given as a compensation for the slaughter of one man, six for cutting off a hand, an ear, or a nose ; three for break- ing a tooth, and one for a wound of the scalp. By the laws of the Venetians as well as of certain Oriental people, the testimony of two women was made equivalent to that of one man. And in those of the Welsh King Hywel Dda, or Howel Dha, "the satisfaction for the murder of a woman, whether she be married or not, is half that of her brother," which is upon the same standard of relative value. By the same laws a woman was not to be admitted as bail for a man, nor as witness against him. He knew that a French Antiquarian (Claude Seissel) had derived the name of the Salic law from the Latin word Sal, comme une loy pleine de sel, c'est a dire pleine de sapience ^ and this the Doctor thought * Sal, as if it were a law full of salt, that is to say, full of wisdom. Brantome. 286 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE a far more rational etymology than what some one proposed either seriously or in sport, that the law was called Salique because the words Si aliquis and Si aliqua were of such frequent occurrence in it. "To be born a man-child," says that learned author who first composed an Art of Rhetoric in the English tongue, "declares a courage, gravity and constancy. To be born a woman, declares weakness of spirit, neshenes of body, and fickleness of mind." ^ Justin Martyr, after saying that the Demons by whom according to him the system of heathen mythology was composed, spake of Minerva as the first Intel- ligence and the daughter of Jupiter, makes this ob- servation; "now this we consider most absurd, to carry about the image of Intelhgence in a female form!" The Father said this as thinking with the great French comic poet that a woman never could be anything more than a woman. Car, voyez-vous, la femme est, comme on dit, mon mattre, Un certain animal difficile a connoiire, Et de qui la nature est fort encline au mal; Et comme un animal est toujours animal, Et ne sera jamais qu' animal, quand sa vie Dureroit cent mille ans; aussi, sans repartie. La femme est toujours femme, et jamais ne sera Que femme, tant qu'entier le monde durera? A favourite anecdote with our Philosopher was of the Barbadoes Planters, one of whom agreed to exchange an English maid servant with the other ^ Wilson. ^ For see, my master, woman is, as one might say, a kind of animal difficult to know, and whose nature is much disposed to evil ; and as an animal is always an animal and will never be anything but an animal if its life should last a hundred thousand years ; so, without gainsaying, woman is always woman, and will never be anything but woman, as long as the world will last. THE DOCTOR 287 for a bacon pig, weight for weight, four-pence per pound to be paid for the overplus, if the balance should be in favour of the pig, sixpence if it were on the Maid's side. But when they were weighed in the scales, Honour, who was ''extreme fat, lazy and good for nothing," so far outweighed the pig, that the pig's owner repented of his improvident bargain, and refused to stand to it. Such a case Ligon ob- serves, when he records this notable story, seldom happened ; but the Doctor cited it as showing what had been the relative value of women and pork in the West Indies. And observe, he would say, of white women, EngHsh, Christian women, — not of poor heathen blacks, who are considered as brutes, bought and sold Hke brutes, worked like brutes — and treated worse than any Government ought to permit even brutes to be treated. However, that women were in some respects better than men, he did not deny. He doubted not but that Cannibals thought them so ; for we know by the testimony of such Cannibals as happen to have tried both, that white men are considered better meat than negroes, and EngHshmen than French- men, and there could be Httle doubt that, for the same reason, women would be preferred to men. Yet this was not the case with animals, as was proved by buck venison, ox beef, and wether mutton. The tallow of the female goat would not make as good candles as that of the male. Nature takes more pains in elaborating her nobler work; and that the male, as being the nobler, was that which Nature finished with greatest care must be evident, he thought, to any one who called to mind the difference between cock and hen birds, a difference discover- able even in the egg, the larger and finer eggs, with a 288 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE denser white and a richer yolk, containing male chicks. Other and more curious observations had been made tending to the same conclusion, but he omitted them, as not perhaps suited for general conversation, and not exactly capable of the same degree of proof. It was enough to hint at them. The great Ambrose Parey, (the John Hunter and the Baron Larrey of the sixteenth century,) has brought forward many instances wherein women have been changed into men, instances which are not fabulous: but he observes, "you shall find in no history, men that have degenerated into women; for nature always intends and goes from the imper- fect to the more perfect, but never basely from the more perfect to the imperfect." It was a rule in the Roman law, that when husband and wife overtaken by some common calamity perished at the same time, and it could not be ascertained which had Hved the longest, the woman should be presumed to have expired the first, as being by nature the feeblest. And for the same reason if it had not been noted whether brother or sister being twins came first in the world, the legal conclusion was that the boy being the stronger was the first born. And from all these facts he thought the writer must be a judicious person who published a poem entitled the Great Birth of Man, or Excellence of his Creation over Woman. Therefore according to the Bramins, the widow who burns herself with the body of her husband, will in her next state be born a male ; but the widow, who refuses to make this self-sacrifice, will never be anything better than a woman, let her be born again as often as she may. Therefore it is that the Jew at this day begins THE DOCTOR 289 his public prayer with a thanksgiving to his Maker, for not having made him a woman ; — an escape for which the Greek philosopher was thankful. One of the things which shocked a Moor who visited England was to see dogs, women, and dirty shoes, permitted to enter a place of worship, the Mahometans, as is well known, excluding all three from their Mosques. Not that all Mahometans believe that women have no souls. There are some who think it more prob- able they have, and these more Hberal Mussulmen hold that there is a separate Paradise for them, because they say, if the women were admitted into the Men's Paradise, it would cease to be Paradise, — there would be an end of all peace there. It was probably the same reason which induced Origen to advance an opinion that after the day of Judgment women will be turned into men. The opinion has been condemned among his heresies ; but the Doctor maintained that it was a reasonable one, and almost demonstrable upon the supposition that we are all to be progressive in a future state. "There was, however," he said, "according to the Jews a peculiar privilege and happiness reserved for them, that is for all those of their chosen nation, during the temporal reign of the Messiah, for every Jewish woman is then to He in every day!" "I never," says Bishop Reynolds, "read of more dangerous falls in the Saints than were Adam's, Samson's, David's, Solomon's, and Peter's ; and behold in all these, either the first enticers, or the first occasioners, are women, A weak creature may be a strong tempter : nothing too impotent or useless for the Devil's service." Fuller among his Good Thoughts has this paragraph : — "I find the natural Philosopher making a character of the Lion's disposi- 290 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE tion, amongst other his quahties, reporteth, first, that the Lion feedeth on men, and afterwards (if forced with extremity of hunger,) on women. Satan is a roaring Lion seeking whom he may devour. Only he inverts the method, and in his bill of fare takes the second first. Ever since he over-tempted our grandmother Eve, encouraged with success he hath preyed first on the weaker sex." "Sit not in the midst of women," saith the son of Sirach in his Wisdom, "for from garments cometh a moth, and from women wickedness." "Behold, this have I found, saith the Preacher, counting one by one to find out the account; which yet my soul seeketh, but I find not : one man among a thousand have I found ; but a woman among all those have I not found." "It is a bad thing," said St. Augustine, "to look upon a woman, a worse to speak to her, and to touch her is worst of all." John Bunyan admired the wisdom of God for making him shy of the sex, and boasted that it was a rare thing to see him "carry it pleasant towards a woman." "The common salu- tation of women," said he, "I abhor, their company alone I cannot away with ! " John, the great Tinker, thought with the son of Sirach, that "better is the churKshness of a man, than a courteous woman, a woman which bringeth shame and reproach." And Menu the lawgiver of the Hindoos hath written that "it is the nature of women in this world to cause the seduction of men." And John Moody in the play, says, "I ha' seen a Httle of them, and I find that the best, when she's minded, won't ha' much goodness to spare." A wife has been called a daily calamity, and they who thought least unfavourably of the sex have pronounced it a necessary evil. THE DOCTOR 291 ^'Mulier, quasi mollior,'' saith Varro; a derivation upon which Dr. Featley thus commenteth : "Women take their name in Latin from tenderness or softness, because they are usually of a softer temper than men, and much more subject to passions, especially of fear, grief, love, and longing ; their fear is almost perpetual, their grief immoderate, their love ardent, and their longing most vehement. They are the weaker vessels, not only weaker in body than men, and less able to resist violence, but also weaker in mind and less able to hold out in temptations ; and therefore the Devil first set upon the woman as conceiving it a matter of more facility to supplant her than the man." And they are such dissemblers, says the Poet, As if their mother had been made Only of all the falsehood of the man, Disposed into that rib. "Look indeed at the very name," said the Doctor, putting on his gravest look of provocation to the ladies. — "Look at the very name — Woman, evi- dently meaning either man's woe — or abbreviated from woe to man, because by woman was woe brought into the world." And when a girl is called a lass, who does not per- ceive how that common word must have arisen? Who does not see that it may be directly traced to a mournful interjection, alas ! breathed sorrowfully forth at the thought the girl, the lovely and innocent creature upon whom the beholder has fixed his medi- tative eye, would in time become a woman, — a woe to man ! There are other tongues in which the name is not less significant. The two most notoriously obstinate 292 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE things in the world are a mule and a pig. Now there is one language in which pige means a young woman : and another in which woman is denoted by the word mulier: which word, whatever grammarians may pretend, is plainly a comparative, appHed exclusively and with peculiar force to denote the only creature in nature which is more muHsh than a mule. Com- ment, says a Frenchman, pourroit-on aymer les Dames, puis gu'elles se nomment ainsi du dam et dommage qu'elles apportent aux hommesl ^ ^ ^^ttttt ^ ^'^ Chapter CCVIII. VAMETY OF STILES. Qualis vir, talis oratio? Erasmi Adagia. Authors are often classed, like painters, according to the school in which they have been trained, or to which they have attached themselves. But it is not so easy to ascertain this in literature as it is in painting; and if some of the critics who have thus endeavoured to class them were sent to school them- selves, and there whipt into a little more learning, so many silly classifications of this kind would not mislead those readers who suppose, in the simpHcity of their own good faith, that no man presumes to write upon a subject which he does not understand. Stiles may with more accuracy be classed, and for this purpose metals might be used in Kterature as they are in heraldry. We might speak of the golden stile, the silver, the iron, the leaden, the pinchbeck and the bronze. 1 How can one love the Ladies (Dames), since they are so called from the dam (damnation) and dommage (mischief) which they bring to men. Bouchet. ^ ^g xkt man, such is the speech. THE DOCTOR 293 Others there are which cannot be brought under any of these appellations. There is the Cyclopean stile, of which Johnson is the great example ; the sparkhng, or micacious, possessed by Hazlitt, and much affected in Reviews and Magazines ; the oleaginous, in which Mr. Charles Butler bears the palm, or more appropriately the olive branch : the fulminating — which is Walter Landor's, whose con- versation has been compared to thunder and Ught- ning ; the impenetrable — which is sometimes used by Mr. Coleridge ; and the Jeremy-Benthamite, which cannot with propriety be distinguished by any other name than one derived from its unparalleled and unparallelable author. Ex stilo, says Erasmus, perpendimus ingenium cujusqiie, omnemgue mentis hahitum ex ipsa dictionis ratione conjectamus. Est enim tumidi, stilus turgidus; abjecti, humilis, exanguis; as peri, scaber; amaru- lenti, tristis ac maledicus; deliciis affluentis, picturatus ac dissolutus; Breviter, omne vitcB simulacrum, omnis animi vis, in oratione perinde ut in speculo reprcesen- tatur, ac vel intima pectoris, arcanis quihusdam vestigiis, deprehenduntur . ^ There is the lean stile, of which Nathaniel Lardner and William Coxe may be held up as examples ; and there is the larded one, exemplified in Bishop An- drewes, and in Burton, the Anatomist of Melancholy ; 1 From the style we infer the character, and conjecture every habit of the mind from the manner of the diction. For in a pomp- ous person the style is inflated ; in a mean one, groveling and spirit- less; in a harsh person it is rough, in an embittered one sad and abusive, in one given to pleasure it is embroidered and disconnected. In short every image of life, every faculty of the mind, is represented in a speech exactly as in a mirror and the inmost characters of the heart are discovered by certain mysterious traces. 294 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Jeremy Taylor's is both a flowery and a fruitful stile : Harvey the Meditationist's a weedy one. There are the hard and dry ; the weak and watery ; the manly and the womanly ; the juvenile and the anile ; the round and the pointed ; the flashy and the fiery ; the lucid and the opaque ; the luminous and the tenebrous ; the continuous and the disjointed. The washy and the slapdash are both much in vogue, especially in magazines and reviews ; so are the barbed and the venomed. The High-Slang stile is exhibited in the Court Journal and in Mr. Colburn's novels ; the Low-Slang in Tom and Jerry, Bell's Life in London, and most Magazines, those especially which are of most pretensions. The flatulent stile, the feverish, the aguish, and the atrabilious, are all as common as the diseases of body from which they take their name, and of mind in which they originate ; and not less common than either is the dyspeptic stile, proceeding from a weak- ness in the digestive faculty. Learned, or if not learned. Dear Reader, I had much to say of stile, but the under written passage from that beautiful book, Xenophon's Memorabilia Socratis, has induced me, as the Latins say, stilum vertere, and to erase a paragraph written with ink in which the gall predominated. 'Eyo) 8' ovv Koi avTos, u) AvTic^wv, wa-irep aXXos rts r) tTTTro) dya^co rj kvvI rj 6pvi6i ■^Serai, ovto) Koi (.tl fxaXXov ypofxai TOi? t'Aois dya^ois • kcli, idv tl (TX^x) dyaOov oiodcTKU), koi dXXois (tvvl- CTTrffXL, Trap' wv av lyyw/xat wcfteXyjaeaOaL tl avrous ets dpeTrjv ' Kai Tovs Oyjaavpov'i Tu>v TrdXaL aocf)u)v dvopoJv, ous CKeivoi KaTeKiTrov iv /8i/3Aiois y/3a<^evTes, dveA-trrwv Koivr} (tvv rots <^tAots OLep)(OfJuii. • Kal dv Tl opoyp^v dyaOov, eKXeyopeOa, kol p.iya vop.L^op.€V Kcpoos, i^v dX^XoL, i>lXtp.0L ytyv«/x€^a.i Interchapter XXIL ^ Just as some persons, O Antiphon, take pleasure in a good horse or a dog or a bird, so do I take even greater pleasure in good friends. THE DOCTOR 295 There is nothing more desirable in composition than perspicuity ; and in perspicuity precision is implied. Of the Author who has attained it in his style, it may indeed be said, omne tulit punctum, so far as relates to style ; for all other graces, those only excepted which only genius can impart, will necessarily follow. Nothing is so desirable, and yet it should seem that nothing is so difficult. He who thinks least about it when he is engaged in composition will be most likely to attain it, for no man ever attained it by labouring for it. Read all the treatises upon composition that ever were composed, and you will find nothing which conveys so much useful instruction as the account given by John Wesley of his own way of writing. "I never think of my style," says he; "but just set down the words that come first. Only when I transcribe any thing for the press, then I think it my duty to see that every phrase be clear, pure and proper : conciseness, which is now as it were natural to me, brings quantum sufficit of strength. If after all I observe any stiff expression, I throw it out neck and shoulders." Let your words take their course freely; they will then dispose themselves in their natural order, and make your meaning plain : — that is, Mr. Author, supposing you have a mean- ing; and that it is not an insidious, and for that reason, a covert one. With all the head-work that there is in these volumes, and all the heart-work too, I have not bitten my nails over a single sentence which they contain. I do not say that my hand has If I have anything good I communicate it, and I introduce them to others by whom I think they may profit in the attainment of virtue. And together with my friends I read and discuss those treasures of the wise men of old which they have left written in books, and if we observe anything good we cull it and think it a great gain if we can thus be of help to one another. 296 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE not sometimes been passed across my brow; nor that the fingers of my left hand have not played with the hair upon my forehead, — like Thalaba's with the grass that grew beside Oneiza's tomb. Chapter LVIII. A WISHING INTERCHAPTER WHICH IS SHORTLY TERMINATED, ON SUDDENLY RECOLLECTING THE WORDS OF CLEOPATRA, — "wishers were ever POOLS." Begin betimes, occasion's bald behind, Stop not thine opportunity, for fear too late Thou seek'st for much, but canst not compass it. Marlowe. Plust a Dieu que feusse presentement cent soixante et dixhuit millions d'or! says a personage in Rabe- lais : ho, comment je triumpherois 1 ^ It was a good, honest, large, capacious wish ; and in wishing, it is as well to wish for enough. By enough, in the way of riches, a man is said to mean always something more than he has. Without exposing myself to any such censorious remark, I will, like the person above quoted, limit my desires to a positive sum, and wish for just one million a year. "And what would you do with it?" says Mr. Sobersides. "Attendez encores un pen, avec demie once de patience J^^ I now esteem my venerable self As brave a fellow, as if all that pelf Were sure mine own ; and I have thought a way Already how to spend. ^ Would to God that I had at this instant one hundred and seventy- eight millions in gold ! Oh, how I should triumph ! * Wait yet a Uttle, with half an ounce of patience. THE DOCTOR 297 And first, for my private expenditure, I would either buy a house to my mind, or build one ; and it should be such as a house ought to be, which I once heard a glorious agriculturist define "a house that should have in it everything that is voluptuous, and necessary and right." In my acceptation of that fehcitous definition, I request the reader to under- stand that everything which is right is intended, and nothing but what is perfectly so : that is to say I mean every possible accommodation conducive to health and comfort. It should be large enough for my friends, and not so large as to serve as an hotel for my acquaintance, and I would five in it at the rate of five thousand a year, beyond which no real and reasonable enjoyment is to be obtained by money. I would neither keep hounds, nor hunters, nor running horses. . I would neither soHcit nor accept a peerage. I would not go into Parliament. I would take no part whatever in what is called public Hfe, farther than to give my vote at an election against a Whig, or against any one who would give his in favour of the Catholic Question. I would not wear my coat quite so threadbare as I do at present : but I would still keep to my old shoes, as long as they would keep to me. But stop — Cleopatra adopted some wizard's words when she said ''Wishers were ever fools!" Interchapter XXV. 298 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ST. PANTALEON OF NICOMEDIA IN BITHYNIA — HIS HISTORY, AND SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS NOT TO BE FOUND ELSE- WHERE. Non dicea le cose senza il quia ; Che il dritto distingueva dal mancino, E dicea pane al pane, e vino al vino} Bertoldo. This Interchapter is dedicated to St. Pantaleon, of Nicomedia in Bithynia, student in medicine and practitioner in miracles, whose martyrdom is com- memorated by the Church of Rome on the 27th of July. SANCTE PANTALEON, ORA PRO NOBIS ! This I say to be on the safe side ; though between ourselves, reader, Nicephorus, and Usuardus, and Vincentius, and St. Antoninus (notwithstanding his sanctity) have written so many lies concerning him, that it is very doubtful whether there ever was such a person, and still more doubtful whether there be such a Saint. However the body which is venerated under his name is just as venerable as if it had really belonged to him, and works miracles as well. It is a tradition in Corsica that when St. Pantaleon was beheaded the executioner's sword was converted into a wax taper, and the weapons of all his attend- ants into snuffers, and that the head rose from the block and sung. In honour of this miracle the Corsi- cans, as late as the year 1775, used to have their swords consecrated, or charmed, — by laying them on the altar while a mass was performed to St. Pan- taleon. ^ He did not call things without a reason ; he distinguished the right from the left, bread he called bread, and wine he called wine. THE DOCTOR 299 But what have I, who am writing in January instead of July, and who am no papist, and who have the happiness of living in a protestant country, and was baptized moreover by a right old English name, — what have I to do with St. Pantaleon ? Simply this, — my new pantaloons are just come home, and that they derive their name from the aforesaid Saint is as certain, — as that it was high time I should have a new pair. St. Pantaleon, though the tutelary Saint of Oporto, (which city boasteth of his relics,) was in more es- pecial fashion at Venice : and so many of the grave Venetians were in consequence named after him, that the other ItaHans called them generally Panta- loni in derision, — - as an Irishman is called Pat, and as Sawney is with us synonymous with Scotchman, or Taffy for a son of Cadwallader and votary of St. David and his leek. Now the Venetians wore long small clothes ; these as being the national dress were called Pantaloni also ; and when the trunk-hose of EUzabeth's days went out of fashion, we received them from France, with the name of pantaloons. Pantaloons then, as of Venetian and Magnifico parentage, and under the patronage of an eminent Saint, are doubtless an honourable garb. They are also of honourable extraction, being clearly of the Braccas family. For it is this part of our dress by which we are more particularly distinguished from the Oriental and inferior nations, and also from the abominable Romans, whom our ancestors. Heaven be praised ! subdued. Under the miserable reign of Honorius and Arcadius, these Lords of the World thought proper to expel the Braccarii, or breeches- makers, from their capitals, and to prohibit the use 300 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of this garment, thinking it a thing unworthy that the Romans should wear the habit of Barbarians : — and truly it was not fit that so effeminate a race should wear the breeches. The Pantaloons are of this good Gothic family. The fashion having been disused for more than a century was re-introduced some five and twenty years ago, and still prevails so much — that I who like to go with the stream, and am therefore content to have fashions thrust upon me, have just received a new pair from London. The coming of a box from the Great City is an event which is always looked to by the juveniles of this family with some degree of impatience. In the present case there was especial cause for such joyful expectation ; for the package was to contain no less a treasure than the story of the Lioness and the Exeter Mail, with appropriate engravings represent- iag the whole of that remarkable history, and those engravings emblazoned in appropriate colours. This adventure had excited an extraordinary degree of interest among us, when it was related in the news- papers : and no sooner had a book upon the subject been advertised, than the young ones, one and all, were in an uproar, and tumultuously petitioned that I would send for it, — to which, thinking the prayer of the petitioners reasonable, I graciously assented. And moreover there was expected, among other things ejusdem generis, one of those very few per- quisites which the all-annihilating hand of Modern Reform has not retrenched in our public ofiices, — an Almanac or Pocket-Book for the year, curiously bound and gilt, three only being made up in this magnificent manner for three magnificent personages, from one of whom this was a present to my lawful THE DOCTOR 301 Governess. Poor Mr. Bankes ! the very hairs of his wig will stand erect, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine, when he reads of this flagrant misapplication of public money ; and Mr. Whitbread would have founded a motion upon it, had he survived the battle of Waterloo. There are few things in which so many vexatious delays are continually occurring, and so many ras- cally frauds are systematically practised, as in the carriage of parcels. It is indeed much to be wished that Government could take into its hands the con- veyance of goods as well as letters ; for in this country whatever is done by Government is done punctually and honourably ; — what corruption there is lies among the people themselves, among whom honesty is certainly less general than it was half a century ago. Three or four days elapsed on each of which the box ought to have arrived. "Will it come to- day, Papa?" was the morning question: "why does not it come?" was the complaint at noon; and "when will it come?" was the query at night. But in childhood the delay of hope is only the prolonga- tion of enjoyment ; and through life indeed, hope, if it be of the right kind, is the best food of happiness. "The House of Hope," says Hafiz, "is built upon a weak foundation." If it be so, I say, the fault is in the builder : Build it upon a Rock, and it will stand. Expectata dies, — long looked for, at length it came. The box was brought into the parlour, the ripping-chisel was produced, the nails were easily forced, the cover was lifted, and the paper which lay beneath it was removed. "There's the panta- loons !" was the first exclamation. The clothes being $02 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE taken out, there appeared below a paper parcel, secured with a string. As I never encourage any- undue impatience, the string was deliberately and carefully untied. Behold, the splendid Pocket-Book, and the history of the Lioness and the Exeter Mail, — had been forgotten ! St. Peter ! St. Peter ! "Pray, Sir," says the Reader, "as I perceive you are a person who have a reason for everything you say, may I ask wherefore you call upon St. Peter on this occasion?" You may, Sir. A reason there is, and a valid one. But what that reason is, I shall leave the commentators to dis- cover ; observing only, for the sake of lessening their difficulty, that the Peter upon whom I have called is not St. Peter of Verona, he having been an In- quisitor, one of the Devil's Saints, and therefore in no condition at this time to help anybody who in- vokes him. "Well, Papa, you must write about them, and they must come in the next parcel," said the children. Job never behaved better, who was a scriptural Epictetus : nor Epictetus, who was a heathen Job. 1 kissed the Uttle philosophers ; and gave them the Bellman's verses, which happened to come in the box, with horrific cuts of the Marriage at Cana, the Ascension, and other portions of gospel history, and the Bellman himself ; — so it was not altogether a blank. We agreed that the disappointment should be an adjourned pleasure, and then I turned to inspect the pantaloons. I cannot approve the colour. It hath too much of the purple ; not that imperial die by which ranks were discriminated at Constantinople, nor the more THE DOCTOR 303 sober tint which Episcopacy affecteth. Nor is it the bloom of the plum ; — still less can it be said to resemble the purple hght of love. No ! it is rather a hue brushed from the raven's wing, a black purple ; not Night and Aurora meeting, which would make the darkness blush ; but Erebus and Ultramarine. Doubtless it hath been selected for me because of its alamodality, — a good and pregnant word, on the fitness of which some German, whose name appears to be erroneously as well as uncouthly written Gea- moenus, is said to have composed a dissertation. Be pleased, Mr. Todd, to insert it in the interleaved copy of your dictionary ! Thankful I am that they are not Hke Jean de Bart's full-dress breeches ; for when that famous sailor went to court he is said to have worn breeches of cloth of gold, most uncomfortably as well as splen- didly Kned with cloth of silver. He would never have worn them, had he read Lampridius, and seen the opinion of the Emperor Alexander Severus, as by that historian recorded : in lined autem aurum mitti etiam dementiam judicabat, cum asperitati adderetur rigor. The word breeches has, I am well aware, been deemed ineffable, and therefore not to be written — because not to be read. But I am encouraged to use it by the high and mighty authority of the Anti- Jacobin Review. Mr. Stephens having in his Mem- oirs of Home Tooke used the word small-clothes is thus reprehended for it by the indignant Censor. "His breeches he calls small-clothes; — the first time we have seen this bastard term, the offspring of gross ideas and disgusting affectation in print, in any- thing Hke a book. It is scandalous to see men of education thus employing the most vulgar Ian- 304 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE guage, and corrupting their native tongue by the introduction of illegitimate words. But this is the age of affectation. Even our fishwomen and milk- maids affect to blush at the only word which can express this part of a man's dress, and Hsp small- clothes with as many airs as a would-be woman of fashion is accustomed to display. That this folly is indebted for its birth to grossness of imagination in those who evince it, will not admit of a doubt. From the same source arises the ridiculous and too frequent use of a French word for a part of female dress ; as if the mere change of language could operate a change either in the thing expressed, or in the idea annexed to the expression ! Surely, surely, EngHsh women, who are justly celebrated for good sense and decorous manners, should rise superior to such pitiful, such paltry, such low-minded affectation." Here I must observe that one of these redoubtable critics is thought to have a partiaUty for breeches of the Dutch make. It is said also that he likes to cut them out for himself, and to have pockets of capacious size, wide and deep ; and a large fob, and a large al- lowance of hning. The Critic who so very much disHkes the word small-clothes, and argues so vehemently in behalf of breeches, uses no doubt that edition of the scriptures that is known by the name of the Breeches Bible. I ought to be grateful to the Anti- Jacobin Review. It assists in teaching me my duty to my neighbour, and enabling me to live in charity with all men. For I might perhaps think that nothing could be so wrong-headed as Leigh Hunt, so wrong-hearted as Cobbett, so foohsh as one, so blackguard as the other, so impudently conceited as both, — if it were not for the Anti- Jacobin. I might beHeve that noth- THE DOCTOR 305 ing could be so bad as the coarse, bloody and brutal spirit of the vulgar Jacobin, — if it were not for the An ti- Jacobin. Blessings on the man for his love of pure English ! It is to be expected that he will make great progress in it, through his familiarity with fishwomen and milkmaids ; for it implies no common degree of fa- miHarity with those interesting classes to talk to them about breeches, and discover that they prefer to call them small-clothes. ^ „,, INTERCHAPTER XX. THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS. A tale which may content the minds Of learned men and grave philosophers. Gascoigne. Once upon a time there were Three Bears, who lived together in a house of their own, in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear ; and one was a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear. They had each a pot for their porridge, a Httle pot for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear, and a great pot for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in ; a Httle chair for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle Bear; and a great chair for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in ; a Httle bed for the Little, SmaU, Wee Bear ; and a middle-sized bed for the Middle Bear ; and a great bed for the Great, Huge Bear. One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast, and poured it into their porridge-pots, 3o6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE they walked out into the wood while the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths, by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were walking, a little old Woman came to the house. She could not have been a good, honest old Woman ; for first she looked in at the window, and then she peeped in at the keyhole ; and seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the latch. The door was not fastened, because the Bears were good Bears, who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that any body would harm them. So the Kttle old Woman opened the door, and went in; and weU pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table. If she had been a good Kttle old Woman, she would have waited till the Bears came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast ; for they were good Bears, — a Httle rough or so, as the manner of Bears is, but for all that very good-natured and hospitable. But she was an impudent, bad old Woman, and set about helping herself. So first she tasted the porridge of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hot for her ; and she said a bad word about that. And then she tasted the por- ridge of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her; and she said a bad word about that, too. And then she went to the porridge of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and tasted that; and that was neither too hot, nor too cold, but just right; and she Hked it so well, that she ate it all up : but the naughty old Woman said a bad word about the little porridge- pot, because it did not hold enough for her. Then the Kttle old Woman sate down in the chair of the Great, Huge Bear, and that was too hard for her. And then she sate down in the chair of the Middle Bear, and that was too soft for her. And THE DOCTOR 307 then she sate down in the chair of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard, nor too soft, but just right. So she seated herself in it, and there she sate till the bottom of the chair came out, and down came hers, plump upon the ground. And the naughty old Woman said a wicked word about that too. Then the little old Woman went up stairs into the bed-chamber in which the three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon the bed of the Great, ITuge Bear; but that was too high at the head for her. And next she lay down upon the bed of the Middle Bear; and that was too high at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and that was neither too high at the head, nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably, and lay there till she fell fast asleep. By this time the Three Bears thought their por- ridge would be cool enough ; so they came home to breakfast. Now the Kttle old Woman had left the spoon of the Great, Huge Bear, standing in his por- ridge. ♦♦ ^omeboD^ Ijasf been at m^ jJorriDge ! '* said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, grufif voice. And when the Middle Bear looked at his, he saw that the spoon was standing in it too. They were wooden spoons ; if they had been silver ones, the naughty old Woman would have put them in her pocket. " Somebody has been at my porridge! " said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice. 3o8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the porridge-pot, but the porridge was all gone. "Somebody has been at my porridge, and has eaten it all up l^' said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice. Upon this the Three Bears, seeing that some one had entered their house, and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear's breakfast, began to look about them. Now the little old Woman had not put the hard cushion straight when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear. ♦♦ ^omthon^ l)as( been slitting in m^ c^air ! ** said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And the Kttle old Woman had squatted down the soft cushion of the Middle Bear. " Somebody has been sitting in my chair! " said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice. And you know what the little old Woman had done to the third chair. "Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and has sate the bottom of it out I" said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice. Then the Three Bears thought it necessary that they should make farther search ; so they went up stairs into their bed-chamber. Now the little old Woman had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear, out of its place. THE DOCTOR 309 ♦* ^onteboti^ liast been l^ing in m^ beo ! ** said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice. And the little old Woman had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear out of its place. " Somebody has been lying in my bed! " said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice. And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there was the bolster in its place ; and the pillow in its place upon the bolster ; and upon the pillow was the little old Woman's ugly, dirty head, — which was not in its place, for she had no business there. "Somebody has been lying in my bed, — and here she is I" said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice. The little old Woman had heard in her sleep the great, rough, gruff voice of the Great, Huge Bear ; but she was so fast asleep that it was no more to her than the roaring of wind , or the rumbling of thunder. And she had heard the middle voice of the Middle Bear, but it was only as if she had heard some one speak- ing in a dream. But when she heard the Httle, small, wee voice of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was so sharp, and so shrill, that it awakened her at once. Up she started ; and when she saw the Three Bears on one side of the bed, she tumbled herself out at the other, and ran to the window. Now the window was open, because the Bears, like good, tidy Bears, as they were, always opened their bed-chamber window when they got up in the morning. Out the little old Woman jumped; and whether she 3IO SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE broke her neck in the fall ; or ran into the wood and was lost there; or found her way out of the wood, and was taken up by the constable and sent to the House of Correction for a vagrant as she was, I can- not tell. But the Three Bears never saw anything more of her. Chapter CXXIX. MEMOIR OF THE CATS OF GRETA HALL. For as much, most excellent Edith May, as you must always feel a natural and becoming concern in whatever relates to the house wherein you were born, and in which the first part of your Hfe has thus far so happily been spent, I have, for your instruction and deUght, composed these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall : to the end that the memory of such worthy animals may not perish, but be held in de- served honour by my children, and those who shall come after them. And let me not be supposed un- mindful of Beelzebub of Bath, and Senhor Thomaz de Lisboa, that I have not gone back to an earlier period, and included them in my design. Far be it from me to intend any injury or disrespect to their shades ! Opportunity of doing justice to their vir- tues will not be wanting at some future time, but for the present I must confine myself within the limits of these precincts. In the autumn of the year 1803, when I entered upon this place of abode, I found the hearth in pos- session of two cats, whom my nephew Hartley Col- eridge, (then in the 7th year of his age,) had named Lord Nelson and Bona Marietta. The former, as the name imphes, was of the worthier gender : it is as decidedly so in Cats, as in grammar and in law. He was an ugly specimen of the streaked-carrotty, THE DOCTOR 31 1 or Judas-coloured kind ; which is one of the ugHest varieties. But nimium ne crede colori. In spite of his complection, there was nothing treacherous about him. He was altogether a good Cat, affectionate, vigilant, and brave ; and for services performed against the Rats was deservedly raised in succession to the rank of Baron, Viscount, and Earl. He lived to a good old age ; and then being quite helpless and miserable, was in mercy thrown into the river. I had more than once interfered to save him from this fate ; but it became at length plainly an act of compassion to consent to it. And here let me ob- serve that in a world wherein death is necessary, the law of nature by which one creature preys upon another is a law of mercy, not only because death is thus made instrumental to Ufe, and more life exists in consequence, but also because it is better for the creatures themselves to be cut off suddenly, than to perish by disease or hunger, — for these are the only alternatives. There are still some of Lord Nelson's descendants in the town of Keswick. Two of the family were handsomer than I should have supposed any Cats of this complection could have been ; but their fur was fine, the colour a rich carrot, and the striping like that of the finest tyger or tabby kind. I named one of them William Rufus ; the other Danayn le Roux, after a personage in the Romance of Gyron le Courtoys. Bona Marietta was the mother of Bona Fidelia, so named by my nephew aforesaid. Bona Fidelia was a tortoise-shell cat. She was fihated upon Lord Nelson, others of the same litter having borne the unequivocal stamp of his likeness. It was in her good qualities that she resembled him, for in truth her name rightly bespoke her nature. She approached 312 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE as nearly as possible in disposition to the ideal of a perfect cat : — he who supposes that animals have not their difference of disposition as well as men, knows very little of animal nature. Having survived her daughter Madame Catalani, she died of extreme old age, universally esteemed and regretted by all who had the pleasure of her acquaintance. Bona Fidelia left a daughter and a granddaughter ; the former I called Madame Bianchi — the latter Pulcheria. It was impossible ever to familiarize Madame Bianchi, though she had been bred up in all respects like her gentle mother, in the same place, and with the same persons. The nonsense of that arch-philosophist Helvetius would be sufficiently confuted by this single example, if such rank folly, contradicted as it is by the experience of every family, needed confutation. She was a beautiful and sin- gular creature, white, with a fijie tabby tail, and two or three spots of tabby, always delicately clean ; and her wild eyes were bright and green as the Duchess de Cadaval's emerald necklace. Pulcheria did not correspond, as she grew up, to the promise of her kittenhood and her name; but she was as fond as her mother was shy and intractable. Their fate was extraordinary as well as mournful. When good old Mrs. Wilson died, who used to feed and indulge them, they immediately forsook the house, nor could they be allured to enter it again, though they continued to wander and moan around it, and came for food. After some weeks Madame Bianchi disappeared, and Pulcheria soon afterwards died of a disease endemic at that time among cats. For a considerable time afterwards, an evil fortune attended all our attempts at reestabhshing a Cattery. Ovid disappeared and Virgil died of some miserable THE DOCTOR 313 distemper. You and your cousin are answerable for these names : the reasons which I could find for them were, in the former case, the satisfactory one that the said Ovid might be presumed to be a master in the Art of Love ; and in the latter, the probable one that something Hke Ma-ro might be detected in the said Virgil's notes of courtship. There was poor Othello : most properly named, for black he was, and jealous undoubtedly he would have been, but he in his kittenship followed Miss Wilbraham into the street, and there in all likelihood came to an untimely end. There was the Zombi — (I leave the Commentators to explain that title, and refer them to my History of Brazil to do it,) — his mar- vellous story was recorded in a letter to Bedford, — and after that adventure he vanished. There was Prester John, who turned out not to be of John's gender, and therefore had the name altered to Pope Joan. The Pope I am afraid came to a death of which other Popes have died. I suspect that some poison which the rats had turned out of their holes proved fatal to their enemy. For some time I feared we were at the end of our Cat-a-logue : but at last Fortune, as if to make amends for her late severity, sent us two at once, — the-never-to-be-enough- praised Rumpelstilzchen, and the equally-to-be- admired Hurlyburlybuss. And "first for the first of these" as my huge fa- vourite, and almost namesake, Robert South, says in his Sermons. When the Midgeleys went away from the next house, they left this creature to our hospitality, cats being the least moveable of all animals because of their strong local predilections ; — they are indeed in a domesticated state the serfs of the animal creation, 314 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and properly attached to the soil. The change was gradually and therefore easily brought about, for he was already acquainted with the children and with me ; and having the same precincts to prowl in was hardly sensible of any other difference in his con- dition than that of obtaining a name ; for when he was consigned to us he was an anonymous cat ; and I having just related at breakfast, with universal applause, the story of Rumpelstilzchen from a Ger- man tale in Grimm's Collection, gave him that strange and magnisonant appellation ; to which, upon its being ascertained that he came when a kitten from a baihff's house, I added the patronymic of Macbum. Such is his history; his character may with most propriety be introduced after the manner of Plutarch's parallels, when I shall have given some previous account of his great compeer and rival Hurlyburlybuss — that name also is of Germanic and Grimmish extraction. Whence Hurlyburlybuss came was a mystery when you departed from the Land of Lakes, and a mystery it long remained. He appeared here, as Mango Capac did in Peru, and Quetzalcohuatl among the Aztecas, no one knew from whence. He made himself acquainted with all the philofelists of the family — attaching himself more particularly to Mrs. Lovell, but he never attempted to enter the house, frequently disappeared for days, and once, since my return, for so long a time that he was actually believed to be dead, and veritably lamented as such. The wonder was whither did he return at such times — and to whom did he belong ; for neither I in my daily walks, nor the children, nor any of the servants, ever by any chance saw him anywhere except in our own domain. There was something so mysterious THE DOCTOR 315 in this, that in old times it might have excited strong suspicion, and he would have been in danger of pass- ing for a Witch in disguise, or a familiar. The mystery, however, was solved about four weeks ago, when, as we were returning from a walk up the Greta, Isabel saw him on his transit across the road and the wall from Shulicrow, in a direction toward the Hill. But to this day we are ignorant who has the honour to be his owner in the eye of the law; and the owner is equally ignorant of the high favour in which Hurlyburlybuss is held, of the heroic name which he has obtained, and that his fame has ex- tended far and wide — even unto Norwich in the East, and Escott and Crediton and Kellerton in the West, yea — that with Rumpelstilzchen he has been celebrated in song, by some hitherto undiscovered poet, and that his glory will go down to future gen- erations. The strong enmity which unhappily subsists be- tween these otherwise gentle and most amiable cats is not unknown to you. Let it be imputed, as in justice it ought, not to their individual characters, (for Cats have characters, — and for the benefit of philosophy, as well as felisophy, this truth ought generally to be known,) but to the constitution of Cat nature, — an original sin, or an original neces- sity, which may be only another mode of expressing the same thing : Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, Nor can one purlieu brook a double reign Of Hurlyburlybuss and Rumpelstilzchen. When you left us, the result of many a fierce conflict was, that Hurly remained master of the green and garden, and the whole of the out of door premises; 3l6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Rumpel always upon the appearance of his victorious enemy retiring into the house as a citadel or sanc- tuary. The conqueror was perhaps in part indebted for this superiority to his hardier habits of Ufe, Hving always in the open air, and providing for himself; while Rumpel, (who though born under a bum- baiUff's roof was nevertheless kittened with a silver spoon in his mouth,) passed his hours in luxurious repose beside the fire, and looked for his meals as punctually as any two-legged member of the family. Yet I believe that the advantage on Hurly's side is in a great degree constitutional also, and that his superior courage arises from a confidence in his supe- rior strength, which, as you well know, is visible in his make. What Bento and Maria Rosa used to say of my poor Thomaz, that he was muito fidalgo, is true of Rumpelstilzchen, his countenance, deportment, and behaviour being such that he is truly a gentleman- like Tom-cat. Far be it from me to praise him beyond his deserts, — he is not beautiful, the mixture, tabby and white, is not good, (except under very favourable combinations,) and the tabby is not good of its kind. Nevertheless he is a fine cat, handsome enough for his sex, large, well-made, with good features, and an intelligent countenance, and carrying a splendid tail, which in Cats and Dogs is undoubtedly the seat of honour. His eyes, which are soft and expressive, are of a hue between chryso- lite and emerald. Hurlyburlybuss's are between chrysolite and topaz. Which may be the more esteemed shade for the olho de gato I am not lapidary enough to decide. You should ask my Uncle. But both are of the finest water. In all his other features Hurly must yield the palm, and in form also ; he has no pretensions to elegance, his size is ordinary and THE DOCTOR 317 his figure bad : but the character of his face and neck is so masculine, that the Chinese, who use the word bull as synonymous with male, and call a boy a bull- child, might with great propriety denominate him a bull-cat. His make evinces such decided marks of strength and courage, that if cat-fighting were as fashionable as cock-fighting, no Cat would stand a fairer chance for winning a Welsh main. He would become as famous as the Dog Billy himself, whom I look upon as the most distinguished character that has appeared since Buonaparte. Some weeks ago Hurlyburlybuss was manifestly emaciated and enfeebled by ill health, and Rumpel- stilzchen with great magnanimity m-ade overtures of peace. The whole progress of the treaty was seen from the parlour window. The caution with which Rumpel made his advances, the sullen dignity with which they were received, their mutual uneasiness when Rumpel, after a slow and wary approach, seated himself whisker-to-whisker with his rival, the mutual fear which restrained not only teeth and claws, but even all tones of defiance, the mutual agitation of their tails which, though they did not expand with anger, could not be kept still for sus- pense, and lastly the manner in which Hurly re- treated, like Ajax still keeping his face toward his old antagonist, were worthy to have been represented by that painter who was called the Rafaelle of Cats. The overture I fear was not accepted as generously as it was made ; for no sooner had Hurlyburlybuss recovered strength than hostilities were recommenced with greater violence than ever; Rumpel, who had not abused his superiority while he possessed it, had acquired mean time a confidence which made him keep the field. Dreadful were the combats which 3l8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ensued, as their ears, faces and legs bore witness. Rumpel had a wound which went through one of his feet. The result has been so far in his favour that he no longer seeks to avoid his enemy, and we are often compelled to interfere and separate them. Oh it is aweful to hear the " dreadful note of preparation " with which they prelude their encounters ! — the long low growl slowly rises and swells till it becomes a high sharp yowl, — and then it is snapped short by a sound which seems as if they were spitting fire and venom at each other. I could half persuade my- self that the word felonious is derived from the feline temper as displayed at such times. All means of reconciling them and making them understand how goodly a thing it is for cats to dwell together in peace, and what fools they are to quarrel and tear each other, are in vain. The proceedings of the Society for the Abohtion of War are not more utterly ineffec- tual and hopeless. All we can do is to act more impartially than the Gods did between Achilles and Hector, and continue to treat both with equal regard. And thus having brought down these Memoirs of the Cats of Greta Hall to the present day, I commit the precious memorial to your keeping, and remain Most dissipated and light-heeled daughter, Your most diligent and light-hearted father, Robert Southey. Keswick, i8 June, 1824. LIFE OF BAYARD The Right Joyous and Pleasant History of the Feats, Gests and Prowesses of the Chevalier Bayard, the Good Knight without Fear and without Reproach. By the Loyal Servant. London. 1825. The Bon Chevalier sans paour is one of the prin- cipal characters in the romance of MeHadus, a book written in a higher tone of chivalrous feeling than any other v^^ork of its class, Gyron le Courtoys alone ex- cepted, which is evidently from the same hand. He was the father of Sir Dynadan and La Cote male tayle, names well known to those who are versed in the history of the Round Table. Sans paour this Good Knight was, being indeed a perfect example of chivalry; but rather through misfortune than any fault, there was one occasion on which he did not come off sans reproche. It was in allusion to this personage, as well known three centuries ago as the most popu- lar characters in Sir Walter's novels are at this time, that the appellation of Le Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche was bestowed upon Bayard. That appellation was well deserved. Rich as the old history of the French is in good names, (and how rich it is, it becomes an Englishman cheerfully to acknowledge,) that of Bayard is preeminently the best among them. His is a character that requires little allowance to be made for the age in which he lived, or the circumstances wherein he was placed ; and, on the other hand, it is not to any adventitious 319 320 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE circumstances that he is indebted for his high and durable reputation, but to his genuine worth — not to the splendour of his actions, nor the brilliancy of his fortune, but to his generosity and his virtue. Perhaps no other person who acted so unimportant a part in the world ever attained so wide and just a renown. It might be a question for academical disputation whether this be more consolatory or mournful ; consolatory to think that worth alone, unaided by success, is held in such high esteem; or mournful to reflect that it should owe this estimation to its rarity. But because the part which he bore in public affairs was so entirely that of an individual possessing Uttle influence and no authority, though every one has heard his name and is acquainted with his character, there are few who know anything more of him than the fine circumstances of his death. The translator of this "right joyous and pleasant history" has there- fore performed a useful task in thus bringing forward a work which has never before appeared in our lan- guage, a work curious in itself, and in its whole tend- ency unexceptionably good. Any thing is useful at this time which may assist in producing well- founded feelings of respect and good will towards a nation against which we have had but too much cause to cherish the most hostile disposition. And while we let pass no opportunity of noting, for the infamy which they deserve, the modern soldiers of Cesar Borgia's stamp, who are the opprobrium of the nation ; it is with pleasure that we see a French cap- tain in all respects their opposite, once more brought forward as an example of true miHtary virtue, — one who took his stand upon the "Broad Stone of Hon- our," — a pedestal which never can be overthrown. LIFE OF BAYARD 321 Pierre du Terrail (for such was the ChevaKer's name) was born in the Chateau du Bayard in Dau- phiny, in the year 1476. His family was connected with the best and noblest in that province, where the nobles called themselves the Scarlet of Nobility. His ancestors for three generations had fallen in war ; one at the battle of Poictiers, another at Agincourt ; his grandfather, who, for his distinguished courage, was called VEpee Terrail, with six mortal wounds, besides others; and his father, Aymon Terrail, received such hurt in the battle of Spurs (that of Guinegaste ^) that he was never able to leave his house. He attained, however, the great age of four- score, and, according to the Loyal Servant's account, resolving, a few days only before his death, to set his house in order, called in his four sons, to learn from them, in the presence of their mother, what manner of Hfe each of them chose to pursue. The eldest, in reply to the question, said, that his wish was never to leave the house, but to stay and attend upon his father till the end of his days. Very well, George, replied the old man, since thou lovest the house, thou shalt stay here to fight the bears. In justice to George it ought to be remarked, that the occupa- tion thus assigned to him was neither an unnecessary nor an inglorious one ; a mighty hunter was a very useful personage in Dauphiny, where the inhabitants were sometimes at peace with the Duke of Savoy, but always at war with Sir Bruin and Sir Isgram. Pierre's turn came next, a lad about thirteen or Httle more, with eyes like a hawk and a cheerful counte- ^ This specification is important, because at the battle before Terouanne, in 15 13, which is more commonly known to English readers as the Battle of Spurs, Bayard himself was present, and made prisoner. Y 322 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE nance ; and he said that the good discourse concern- ing the noble men of past times, and those especially of his own family which he had heard from his father, had taken root in his heart, and therefore he desired to follow the profession of arms, as his ancestors had done. My child, rephed the old man, weeping for joy as he spake, God give thee grace so to do ! Thou art Hke thy grandfather both in features and in make, and he in his time was one of the best knights in Chris- tendom. I will put thee in a way of obtaining thy desire. The third chose to be of the same estate as his uncle Monseigneur d'Esnay, so called from the abbey over which he presided ; and the youngest to be Hke his uncle the Bishop of Grenoble. These had their desires, the one becoming Abbot of Josaphat at Chartres, the other Bishop of Glandeves, in Pro- vence. What success George met with in his cam- paigns against the bears no historian hath recorded. Aymon Terrail dispatched a servant the next morning to Grenoble, requesting that his brother-in- law the bishop would visit him at Bayard, to confer with him upon some family affairs. This prelate (Laurent des AUemans was his name) obeyed the summons without delay, and arrived the same night at the castle. Other friends and kinsmen were as- sembled there. Pierre waited upon them at table with so good a grace as to obtain the commendation of all ; and when dinner was done and grace said, the father informed his guests of the choice which this his second son had made, and asked their advice in the house of what prince or lord he should be placed till he were old enough to enter upon the pro- fession of arms. One proposed that he should be sent to the King of France ; another was for placing him in the house of Bourbon : but the bishop said LIFE OF BAYARD 323 there was a close friendship between their family and the Duke of Savoy, who reckoned them in the number of his good servants, and no doubt would gladly receive him as one of his pages. Conformably to this advice it was determined that on the morrow the bishop should take his nephew to Chamberry and present him to the duke. The business of equip- ping him was to be performed, and this could not have been done more expeditiously in these days with all the faciHties that a modern metropohs affords. The bishop sent in all speed for his tailor from Gre- noble, with orders to bring with him velvet, satin, and other necessary materials, including, it may be presumed, other sons of the thimble to assist him. They worked all night, and after breakfast, which was in those times at an early hour, young Bayard presented himself in the court, in his new presenta- tion suit, mounted on a fine little horse with which his uncle had provided him. Horsemanship was an accomplishment of great importance in the days of chivalry, for the order of knighthood was strictly an equestrian order, and the word for a knight in most of the European languages signifies a horseman. It was therefore a hopeful sign when the boy, who had not left school a fort- night, kept his seat well in spite of the efforts of his horse to throw him, and giving him the rein and the spur, brought the spirited animal fairly under com- mand. The father asked him if he had not been afraid, for the beholders with some reason had feared for him. Sir, he replied, I hope with God's help, before six years are over, to make either him or some other bestir himself in a more dangerous place. Here I am among friends ; but then I shall be among the enemies of the master whom I shall serve. His 324 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE mother, who till now had been sitting in one of the towers, weeping, called him apart, and enjoined him, "as much as a mother can command her child," to love and serve God, and never omit the duty of pray- ing night and morning ; to be mild, courteous, hum- ble, and obHging to all persons, temperate, loyal in word and deed, and kind to the widow and the orphan, and bountiful to the poor. She then took out of her sleeve, (which in those days served the purpose of the modern reticule,) a little purse containing six crowns in gold, and one in smaller money, which she gave him ; and she delivered a httle portmanteau with his Knen to one of the bishop's attendants, charging him to pray that the servant of the Squire under whose care he might be placed would look after him a Httle till he grew older, and entrusting him with two crowns which were to enforce the request. Chamberry was so near the castle of Bayard, that the bishop, setting out after breakfast on his way, arrived there in the evening, early enough for the clergy to come out and meet him. On the morrow after mass, he dined with the duke, and the boy serving him to drink at table, was noticed as he had hoped, and afterwards presented, on his horse, and courteously accepted, as a good and fair present, with the hope that God would make him a brave man. Charles, the fifth duke of Savoy, in whose service young Bayard was thus placed, was one of the best princes of a good race. A few generations later and the Dukes of Savoy were conspicuous for the disre- gard of honour which was manifested in their political intrigues, and for the ever execrable persecution of their Protestant subjects ; but in the earher periods of their history, there is, perhaps, no house of equal eminence whose annals are stained with fewer crimes. LIFE OF BAYARD 325 Cestui Due Charles Jut un prince autant vaillant, preux at magnanime, qui de son temps ayt vescu; et qui s'est comporte autant Men en paix et en guerre que nut autre de ses voisins. Tellement que encores quHlfust belliqueux et de hault courage, si n'ha il point desaugmente le tiltre de paix; heur pro pre de ceste maison de Savoye: il s^est dit de luy, que Savoye n'en ha iamais eu un plus grand, ny plus admirable en guerres, ny plus juste et religieux en temps de paix. So Paradin describes him in his Cronique de Savoye} Some of these virtues he had inherited from his father, Duke Ame, who relying upon the efl&ciency of alms as good works, used to wait upon the poor whom he entertained, and call them his soldiers and gens d^armes, on whom he relied as the bulwarks of his dominions. An ambassador inquiring one day if he kept hounds, the duke repKed, he would let him see a fine pack on the morrow ; and showing him then the long tables at which the poor who frequented his court were seated, he said, voila mes chiens de chasse, avec lesquelz j'espere chasser et prendre la gloire de Paradis? The duchess, Blanche de Montferrat, then in the flower of her youth, was worthy of such a husband, being une des plus excellentes dames en prestance, en beaute de corps, et des illustres en vertus et bonnes condi- tions qui ayt vescu des son temps.^ The bishop, ^ The Duke Charles was a prince as valiant, stout, and magnani- mous as any who lived in his time, and who bore himself as well in peace and in war as any of his neighbors. So that though he was warlike and of high carriage, yet he did not slight the claim of peace, the special felicity of this house of Savoy : — it was said of him that Savoy had never had a greater prince, either more admirable in war or more just and pious in time of peace. 2 Here are my dogs of the chase, with whom I hope to hunt and capture the glory of Paradise. ^ One of the most excellent ladies in bearing and beauty, and one of the most distinguished in virtues and good qualities who lived in that time. 326 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE therefore, could not have placed his nephew in a bet- ter school; and while young Bayard exercised him- self in a maimer suited to his age and profession, in leaping, wresthng, riding, and throwing the bar, his moral nature, as well as his bodily powers, pro- cured all the advantage that is to be derived from good example. In this respect the change was not desirable for him when, some six months afterwards, the duke having an interview with Charles the Eighth of France, at Lyons, presented him and his horse to the king. On this occasion the boy obtained the name of Picquet, by which he was for some time called, because when he was displaying his horse- manship before the king and his company, the pages, echoing the king's desire to see him make the horse curvet again, called out to him, picguez, picquez! Charles put him under the care of the Lord of Ligny, who was of the house of Luxemburg : with him he continued as page till he was seventeen, and then was enrolled in that lord's company, though he was so much a favourite that he still kept his appointment in the household, with the allowance of three horses and three hundred francs a year. In this company he came again to Lyons, at the time when a Burgundian knight, Claude de Vauldre, hung up liis shields, defying, with the king's permis- sion, all adventurers, either at spear on horseback, or battle-axe on foot. Picquet, by which name he was now generally known, stept before the shields and looked at them thoughtfully, saying within him- self, Ah, good lord ! if I knew how to put myself in fitting array, I would right gladly touch them ! Upon communicating that wish to his companion Bellabre, and expressing his regret that he knew not any one who would furnish him with armour and horses, LIFE OF BAYARD 327 Bellabre, who was a fort hardy gentilhomme, said to him, have you not an uncle who is the fat abbot of Esnay? I vow to God we will go to him, and if he will not supply the money, we will lay hands on crosier and mitre ; but, I beHeve, that when he knows your good intentions, he will produce it willingly. Picquet upon this, touched the shields. Monjoye, king at arms, who was there in due form, to write down the names of all appellants, said to him, how, my friend, your beard is not of three years growth, and do you undertake to combat with Messire Claude de Vauldre, who is one of the fiercest knights known ? The youth answered, that he was not influenced by pride or arrogance, but by the desire of learning the use of arms from those who could teach him, and the hope also, that with God's grace, he might do some- thing to please the ladies. It was soon the talk of the court, that Picquet had touched the shields; and as the combat was not to be like one of the des- perate adventures in the days of King Arthur or King Lisuarte, but such a spectacle as ladies might very well behold without any fearful emotion, Charles and the Lord of Ligny were well pleased with the spirit which their young soldier had manifested. They were not aware that Picquet looked with more apprehension to his adventure with his uncle the abbot, than with his adversary the knight. The next morning early he took boat with his friend Bellabre for Esnay ; — the news had arrived there before them, and the abbot gave his nephew an ungracious reception, suspecting at once the purport of this visit. He reminded him that he was a page the other day, and yet but a boy, and that the rod would be the fit punishment for his presumption. Picquet pleaded in his justification the desire of emu- 328 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE lating his ancestors, and preferred his request with becoming modesty and spirit. Ma foy, replied the abbot, you may go elsewhere for money ! the property bestowed on this abbey by the founder was to be expended here for the service of God, and not in jousts and tourneys. Perhaps Picquet thought, when he glanced at the abbot's well fed form, that the revenues were not all applied to religious uses. Bellabre, however, put in a well-timed speech, say- ing, that had it not been for the prowess of his ances- tors, the abbot would not have possessed the abbey of Esnay, for it was by their means and no other that he had obtained it. His nephew was of good descent, and enjoyed at this time both the Lord of Ligny's and the king's favour. It would not cost two hundred crowns to equip him, and the honour which he would do his uncle would be worth ten thousand. The abbot stood out awhile, but yielding at length, gave Bellabre an hundred crowns to buy two horses for the youth, whose beard, he said, was not yet old enough for him to be trusted with money, and he gave him a written order to Laurencin, a merchant in Lyons, to furnish him with such apparel as he might want. If the abbot's bounty was not graciously bestowed, neither was it gratefully re- ceived. They had no sooner left him, than Bellabre said, where God sends good fortune men ought to make the best use of it; Ce qu'on desrobe a moynes est pain heneist : ' and in pursuance of that proverb he proposed, that as the order upon Laurencin speci- fied no limits, they should make haste, before the uncle should perceive his omission, and send to limit him. Picquet agreed to this something too easily; and letting Bellabre tell the merchant that the abbot ^ What you steal from the monks is blessed bread. LIFE OF BAYARD 329 had given him three hundred crowns for horses instead of one, and that his instructions were to have him fitted out so that no man in the company should be better attired than he, obtained from him gold and silver stuffs, embroidered satins, velvets, and other silks, to the amount of eight hundred crowns, before the abbot's messenger, restricting the order to an hundred or an hundred and twenty, arrived. Dis- pleased at this, as he well might be, the abbot sent to inform him that if he did not send back the goods which he had thus improperly obtained, he should never receive any farther assistance from him ; but Picquet, expecting such a message, kept out of the way, and would never suffer any of his uncle's people to be admitted. The chivalrous ages gave large license in such matters, as well as in certain other things. The Loyal Serviteur relates this story as if it left his youthful hero sans reproche; just as the way in which the Cid defrauded the Jews at Burgos is recorded by his Chronicler and his poets as if they did not per- ceive the slightest dishonour in an action for which a man would now be punished by the laws of every country in Europe, or be rendered infamous even if he escaped them. In Bayard's case what there was worse than mere youthful facility may be imputed to his companion. Happily his nature was originally so good, and per- haps his early education also, that he escaped with little corruption from the evil communication to which he was exposed. The military part of the adventure past off well. He bought two good horses for an hundred and ten crowns, and in the lists, it appears from the honest account of the Loyal Ser- vant, that Claude de Vauldre behaved as a knight of established character might have been expected 330 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE to do, towards a youth in his eighteenth year : "how it happened I cannot tell, ou si Dieu luy en vouloit donner louange, ou si M. Claude de Vauldre preint plaisir avec luy^ but so it was, that no one in the whole combat, on horseback or on foot, played his part better or as well." The ladies gave him the honour of the day, when in his turn he paraded the lists before them : the Lord of Ligny and the king praised him for the good beginning he had made, and the trick which had been played upon the abbot of Esnay served as a jest for the court. After this adventure Picquet was sent by the Lord of Ligny to join his company at Aire, in Picardy ; upon taking leave of the king, Charles told him he was going into a land where there were fair ladies, bade him exert himself to win their favour, and presented him with three hundred crowns and one of the best horses in his stables. The Lord of Ligny also gave him a good horse and two complete suits, and Bayard, who gave as liberally to those in inferior stations as he received from his patrons, set off for Picardy by short journeys, because he had his horses led. Some six-and-twenty of his comrades, know- ing his approach, rode out to meet him ; a supper had been provided for his arrival, and before they separated, his companions, concluding that he had not come to keep garrison without money, made him promise to give a tourney, that he might himself talk to and win the good will of the ladies. The next morning, accordingly, it was announced, that "Pierre de Bayard, jeune gentilhomme et apprentif des armes, des ordonnances du Roy de France, caused a tourney to be cried and pubhshed for all comers, ^Whether God wished to give him the glory or M. Claude de Vauldre took a liking to him. LIFE OF BAYARD 331 without the town of Lyons and adjoining the walls, of three strokes of the lance without lists, and twelve of the sword with edged weapons, and in harness of war, the whole on horseback ; and to them who did best, a golden bracelet should be given, weighing thirty crowns, and enamelled with his device." The next day there was to be a combat at point of lance on foot, and at a barrier half stature high, and after the lance was broken, with battle-axes, at the dis- cretion of the judges, the prize being a diamond of forty crowns value. Par Dieu, compaignon, said his adviser, when the ordonnance for the tourney was shown him, jamais Lancelot, Tristan, ne Gauvain ne feirent mieulx} A trumpet was sent from garrison to garrison to pro- claim it; six-and-forty adventurers appeared to contend for the prizes, and Bayard, having been pronounced himself to have done best on both days, without disparagement of others, who had all done well, gave the bracelet to his friend Bellabre, and the diamond to Captain David, the Scot. Thenceforth the ladies could not be satisfied with praising the good knight. This tourney gave occasion to many others during the two years that he remained in Picardy; and tourneys were popular entertainments, for a reason which one of the best writers of romance ex- presses with considerable naivete when he is de- scribing one. "A celluy temps la coustume estoit merveilleusement mise sus, que la on les tournoyemens devoient estre, les dames et les damoiselles dillec entour, et de deux journees de loing y venoient; je dy des dames qui estoient de noble lignage; les chevaliers qui estoient leurs parens charnelz les amenoient illec, et moult de dames et damoiselles estoient ja illec venues. La ^ Never did Lancelot, Tristan, nor Gawain perform better. 332 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE estoient maries moult honnorablement et moult haulte- mente qui ja neussent este maries de long temps, se ne fust ce guelles estoient illec venues. — Les dames et damoiselles quon y amenoit, y Jaisoit on plus venir pour les marier que pour nulle autre chose." ^ The "moral" Gower tells us in his Confessio Amantis, that he who sought "Love's grace" from such "worthy wo- men" as the Romancer speaks of, must travel for worship by land and by sea — "And make many hastie rodes, Sometime in Pruis, sometyme in Rodes, And sometime into Tartaric ; So that these herauldes on him crie, Vaylant, vaylant ! lo where he goth ! And then he yeveth hem gold and doth, So that his fame might sprynge And to his Ladies ear brynge Some tidynge of his worthinesse. So that she might of his prowesse Of that she herde men recorde The better unto his love accorde." But it was not necessary to go crusading to Prussia or Rhodes, for the purpose of winning a fair lady's love, in the days of chivalry. In those days the civilians were, with few exceptions, clergy, and bound to celibacy therefore. — Of that obligation, connected as it then was with the durance and restrictions of the cloisters, the women of gentle birth lived in fear. ^ At this time the custom was remarkably in vogue, that wherever tornaments were to take place the ladies and damsels from the sur- rounding country would assemble there, even from as far as two days' journey ; I mean ladies who were of noble lineage ; the knights who were their blood-kin escorted them thither, and many ladies and damsels were already gathered there. Many were there married very honorably and very worthily who might not have been married for a long time if they had not come to this place. — The ladies and damsels were brought there more to be married than for any other reason. Meliadus, c. 52. ff. 82. LIFE OF BAYARD 333 ''Ah poor wretches, what will become of us ! we must enter into religion and be made nuns by will or by force!" is the exclamation which a writer of those times puts into the mouths of the Spanish ladies, at the prospect of a civil war : — Ay mezquinas y que sera de nosotras, que or a por fuerga, or a por grado, avremos de entrar en religion y ser de orden ! A tourna- ment was the only public amusement, except what a Saint's day afforded, in an age when there were neither theatres, music-meetings, nor races ; when the assizes were connected with no festivities, and the capital was not frequented by persons from the provinces, and there were no watering-places for fashionable resort. The mimicry of war, with all its pomp and circum- stance and splendid pageantry, could not be more gratifying to the most light-hearted of the one sex, than the reality of it was to the adventurous or the desperate part of the other. These gallants had their full occupation when they were withdrawn from their pleasant quarters in Picardy, to bear a part in what Paradin calls the immortal quarrel between the Angevins and the Arragonese, in the kingdoms of Sicily and Naples, a quarrel in which, says the good canon of Beaujeu, so much human blood had been shed, that if it could be seen together, it would seem like a sea. . . } The first act of Louis XII. was to enforce his heredi- tary claims upon the duchy of Milan, which he con- quered with little difficulty. Bayard was among the persons who were left in Lombardy to garrison it. Sforza had fled into Germany to solicit aid ; and the French, having no enemy to employ them, took their pleasure in jousts, tourneys and other pastimes. ^ Southey here introduces a long digression on Italian politics. 334 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Bayard profited by this leisure to visit the widow of his first good master, the Lady Blanch, who resided then in Carignan, a town belonging to her own dowry. There was no house, at that time, of Prince or Princess in France, Italy, or elsewhere, where gentle- men were better entertained, than in her establish- ment. Bayard was welcomed there as if he had been a kinsman. Perhaps respect and gratitude were not the only feelings which induced him to make this visit. A young lady of the household had won his heart, when he was page to the duke, young as he then was; the attachment had been mutual; and had he been the eldest son, it is probable that he would have forsaken the path of glory for that of happiness, and have settled at the Chateau de Bay- ard, contented that his name should appear only in the family tree. Their early separation proved so effectual, that though during three or four years they kept up such intercourse by letters as was practicable in those times, the lady accepted an advantageous offer, and married the Seigneur de Fluxas, a person of great wealth, who took her pour sa bonne grace, for she had few of the goods of fortune. ''Desiring, as a virtuous woman might, to let the good knight see that the honourable love which she had borne him in her youth, still lasted," she advised him to hold a tourney at Carignan, in honour of the Lady Blanch and of the house in which he had been first brought up. "Verily," said the Good Knight, "since you wish it, it shall be done. You are the woman in the world who first won my heart to her service, by means of your bonne grace. I am sure I shall never have any thing of you but your lips and hands, for by asking more I should lose my labour, and on my soul I had rather die than press you with a LIFE OF BAYARD 335 dishonourable suit." He then asked for one of her sleeves, and presently sent a trumpet round to the neighbouring garrisons proclaiming a prize, consist- ing of the sleeve with a ruby worth an hundred ducats, to him who should perform best at three strokes of the spear and twelve of the sword. As at Lyons so here also he was pronounced the winner, but he declared that if he had done any thing well, the Dame of Fluxas was the occasion of it, who had lent him her sleeve, and to her he referred the dis- posal of the prize. Her husband understood both her character and that of Bayard too well to enter- tain any jealous feeling ; and she therefore promised to preserve the sleeve for his sake, as long as she lived, and adjudged the jewel to the knight who was thought to have done best after him. The Loyal Servant adds, that no year past in which there was not some interchange of presents between his master and the lady, and that this mutual affection lasted between them till death. Bayard was soon engaged in a more perilous adven- ture. Ludovico Sforza entered Italy with a German force, and soon recovered the greater part of his duchy, the capital included. The town where the Good Knight was in garrison, was but twenty miles from Milan, and he led out his companions upon an adventure against three hundred of the enemy's horse in Binasco. A sharp encounter took place, in which the Good Knight is described as cutting off heads and hewing arms and legs : the ItaHans at length fled full speed to Milan, and Bayard, unsup- ported by any of his comrades, madly followed them into the very heart of the city, where he was sur- rounded and taken before Sforza's palace. The cap- tain of the Italians, to whom he surrendered, took him 336 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE to his own house, treated him like a generous enemy, and when Sforza, having heard the uproar, sent to have the prisoner brought before him, gave him fitting apparel, and went to present him, not without a fear that some evil was intended. But even the worst men have their better moods ; and Sforza behaved on this occasion as nobly as Bayard himself could have done, had the situation in which they stood to each other been reversed. "Come hither, my gentle- man," said Sforza, accosting him, "who brought you into this town?" Bayard, in reply, confessed his rashness as an inexperienced soldier, and commended his fortune in that he had fallen into the hands of a brave and gentle knight. Sforza then asked him to say upon his faith, what was the number of the French king's army. Bayard replied, that there were 14,000 or 15,000 men at arms, and 16,000 or 18,000 foot, all chosen men ; and methinks, my lord, he added, you would be as safe in Germany as here, for your people are not equal to engage us. However dis- couraging this intelligence might have been to the duke, he received it with a cheerful countenance, and said he wished to see the two armies encounter, that it might be decided by the event of battle, to whom that territory belonged, as there seemed no other means of determining the question. By my oath, my lord, exclaimed Bayard, I wish it to-morrow, pro- vided I was out of prison ! It shall not stick there, was the generous answer, for I set you free ; and more- over, ask what you will and it shall be granted. Upon this, Bayard made the only becoming request, that his horse and arms might be restored, and he might be sent back to his garrison, professing, in return, that as far as was compatible with the service of the king his master, and his own honour, he should LIFE OF BAYARD 337 gladly make acknowledgment in any thing that Sforza might be pleased to command. There are legends among the humaner fables of the Romish church, which represent souls in Purgatory, and even beyond it, in the hyper-torrid zone of the spiritual world, as enjoying occasional intermissions or partial mitigation of their torments, for some prac- tice of devotion which amid all their sins they had observed, or some good work, even though soHtary of its kind, and casually performed, in the course of a flagitious life. So may this anecdote, which is in the best spirit of chivalry, be remembered in the story of Ludovico Sforza. How far does it appear from history that that spirit, when it was most preva- lent, affected the general usages of war? Probably about as much as the spirit of pure and undefiled religion affects the morals of any Christian nation; that is, upon the mass of mankind it had little effect ; over many, a partial influence which was easily overpowered by interest or passion ; but some few happier natures were entirely conformed to it, and thereby enabled to support that constitutional ele- vation of mind which predisposed them for chusing the better part. In the best age of chivalry, that of Edward III., its influence was very Hmited ; we read of actions which make the heart glow with gen- erous emotions, but they are accompanied with de- tails of the most inhuman ferocity, and even the prime spirits of that age resented often and deeply of its barbarity. The change which had been operated in Bayard's time was not for the better. There was no room for chivalry in the general business of war, after the introduction of fire-arms, the employment of mercenaries, and that consequent alteration which made the strength of armies consist mainly in their 338 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE foot. Still, however, it had its place in the episodes. In the succeeding generation it was confined to tourna- ments ; lastly, it appeared only in pageants, and these fell into disuse when its very costume became obsolete ; court-gallants laid aside the helmet and the cap and plumes for the flowing periwig ; the trade of the armourer disappeared, and the army-tailor supplied his place. With the right or wrong of the cause wherein they were engaged, the good knights gave themselves no concern. That belonged to their rulers : for themselves, war was their profession and pursuit ; they staked their lives at the game, and if they played it honourably, the best of them set their consciences at ease upon all other scores. Opportunities, however, were not wanting for the display of those virtues which characterized Bayard, and which indeed were called into action and seen to most advantage in such times. The Loyal Servant calls him Lady Courtesy's adopted son, and such he seems to have proved him- self on every occasion whether to friend or foe. Dur- ing the Neapolitan war he took prisoner Don Alonzo de Sotomayor, who is said in these Memoirs to have been closely related to Gonzalo de Cordova ; the Spaniard was captured in a skirmish after a brave resistance, and agreed to pay a thousand crowns for his ransom. He thought proper, however, to break his parole : being pursued and brought back, he protested that he had been actuated only by impatience at not hear- ing from his own people, intending to have sent the sum agreed upon for his ransom within two days, if he had succeeded in escaping. Bayard did not believe this, and ordered him into close confinement ; in that con^nement he was well treated, and in little more than a fortnight the money arrived, and he was LIFE OF BAYARD 339 set at liberty. The Good Knight, as usual, distrib- uted the whole ransom among his soldiers, retaining no part for himself. This was done in Sotomayor's presence, and that knight on his return spoke in the highest terms of Bayard's liberality, activity, and other knightly qualities, but complained of his own usage, saying, that whether it were by his order or not, he knew not, but his people had not treated him like a gentleman, and it would stick with him as long as he lived. A Frenchman, who was at that time a prisoner, heard this, and reported it, on his deliver- ance, to Bayard, in such a manner, that a challenge ensued, which Sotomayor accepted. The circum- stances might probably appear very different were there a Spanish account of the story; as it is now related it represents a series of dishonourable dealings on the Spaniard's side, who chose to fight on foot, not merely because Bayard was the better horseman, but because, knowing that he had at that time an ague, he thought his strength must be so far reduced that he could not venture to combat in that way. Sotomayor, however, was killed on the spot, by a thrust in the throat. This adventure wounded the Spaniards, and led, during a truce which at this time ensued, to the pro- posal on their part, of a combat, thirteen to thirteen. The conditions were, that the place should be marked out, and whosoever past beyond the limits, was to fight no more, but remain a prisoner ; whoever should be unhorsed also, was to combat no longer. And in case one party were not able to conquer the other by nightfall, though only one of their adver- saries remained on horseback, the combat was then to be at an end, and that one allowed to carry off his companions "free and clear, who were to leave 340 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE the field in equal honour with the rest." But if the field were won, the conquered party were to be the prisoners of the other. The Loyal Servant repre- sents the Spaniards as behaving with little fairness and less honour on this occasion, and killing eleven horses in the first encounter. But, in encounters of this kind the danger must obviously have been greater to horse than man. Pietro Martire speaks of a tour- nament at Valladolid in which seven horses were killed on the spot, not by any sinister dealing, but in the fair chance of the lists. Bayard and the Lord of Orosi were the only Frenchmen who remained on horseback, and maintained their ground the whole day, assaulting the enemy when they saw their advan- tage, and retiring when they were threatened them- selves, behind the dead horses of their comrades as a rampart ; so that when the day closed, though neither party could claim the victory, the honour remained to the French, two of whom had battled during four hours against thirteen without being overcome. . . . The practice of ransoming prisoners, which seems to have gradually superseded that of selling them into slavery, was, in itself, an arrangement of mercy, but often abused in the most inhuman manner, the cap- tives being treated with the utmost rigour, and some- times tortured, till they raised for their deliverance larger sums than by the proper usages of war ought to have been required. It seems to have been dis- used as gradually as it was introduced ; the latest instance which occurs to us is as late as the year 1725, and a disgraceful one of its kind it is. When the French that year plundered the village of Zwam- merdam, in Holland, they carried off a girl of six years old, and as she was evidently of good extraction, LIFE OF BAYARD 34 1 she was sold from one to another as a marketable commodity, and purchased at last at Utrecht for six hundred guelder s, by a person who became so fond of her as very unwillingly to resign her to her father when she was discovered, upon repayment of that sum. Were such things tolerated, war would be more frightful than it is. In Bayard's age the adven- turer looked to making prisoners as the best chance in the lottery of a mihtary life. How Bayard him- self, who gave up with characteristic bounty all such prizes of this kind as fortune threw in his way, was enabled to support the appearance which he made, and the liberal expenditure in which he indulged, is not explained by his biographer. We hear of the presents which he received from the king, or his immediate commander ; but he is always represented as giving as largely as he received, and these, even if he had kept them wholly to himself, could not have suflbiced. Resources, however, he must have had, and ample ones. Perhaps the abbot of Esnay had forgiven him, and become proud of a nephew who was doing honour to the family; perhaps the Bishop of Grenoble assisted him. All that appears in his memoirs is that at all times he wanted money as little as he cared for it. This disposition was shown with circumstances of peculiar generosity when he intercepted a money- changer and his man, each with a great pouch full of money behind him, on their way to Gonzalo de Cordova, with an escort of horse. The prize con- sisted of 15,000 ducats. The law of distribution in such cases seems not to have been clearly understood : there were two roads which the money-changer might have taken : Bayard occupied the one by which he happened to come, and sent a certain Tardieu of his 342 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE company to occupy the other ; and when Tardieu claimed his share as having been of the undertaking {de Ventreprinse) Bayard, with a smile, denied his claim, as he had not been at the taking {de la prinse). Tardieu grew warm, and complained to the com- mander ; the opinions of all the captains were taken, and the decision, contrary to what might have been expected, was, that Tardieu had no right to share. This officer, who was as light in heart as in pocket, bore the decision with good humour, and swearing by the blood of St. George that he was an unlucky fellow, said merrily to the Good Knight, Pardieu, it's all one, for you will have to maintain me as long as we tarry in this land. Bayard displayed the duc- ats before Tardieu, and asked him if they were not pretty things. The Loyal Servant wrongs him on this occasion by ascribing to him the unworthy mo- tive of wishing to mortify his comrade, whereas it was evident that no such thought could have been entertained by him at the moment ; for upon Tar- dieu's reply, that half that sum would make him rich for life. Bayard immediately gave him half. The astonished officer fell upon his knees, and with tears of joy exclaimed. My master, and my friend, what return can I ever make ! This bounty, it is added, was well bestowed. Tardieu did not squander the large sum of which he became thus possessed, and in consequence was enabled on his return to France to obtain an heiress for wife, with 3,000 livres a year. The other half the Good Knight, "with heart as pure as a pearl," distributed among all the soldiers of his garrison, to each according to his quality, without reserving a single denier for himself ; and he set the money-changer and his servant free without requiring any ransom, and without taking from him LIFE OF BAYARD $43 rings and money to the amount of some 500 ducats more, which he had about his person. When Lewis undertook the expedition to Genoa, to reheve his party in that city, who in the profane language of Jean Marot were attendant le Messias de France, Bayard was one of the king's equerries, hold- ing that appointment till some company of gendarmes should be vacant. At that time he was suffering under the same ague which was upon him when he performed the combat with Sotomayor, and which continued upon him seven years; he had also an ulcer in the arm, in consequence of a blow from a pike which had been ill-treated. In those days, when men recovered from diseases or wounds, it was by the remedial power of nature, not by the skill of the physicians or surgeons. Though, however, in such ill condition for service, he thought it dishonourable to remain at Lyons when the king was in the field, crost the mountains with him, and distinguished himself in the campaign. The League of Cambray followed, and the expedi- tion against the Venetians. On this occasion the king gave him a company, but told him that his lieu- tenant must lead his gendarmes, for he wished him to have the charge of the infantry. Bayard asked what number of foot he was to command, and the king said, a thousand; no man had more. Sire, replied the Good Knight, they are too many for my skill ; I beseech you let me have but five hundred, and I will take care to chuse such as shall do you service. Even this, methinks, is a heavy charge for one that would do his duty. He is mentioned in Jean Marot's Voyage de Venise as commanding this number, but he is only mentioned in the three words which comprize his name, and the amount of his 344 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE company ; — had it suited the verse we might have been informed what was the character of his people, — it is to be hoped, for Bayard's sake, that they were better than those with whom the poet has classed them, some of whom he describes to be gentle as cats, humane as leopards, honest as millers, having fingers as adhesive as glue, and being innocent as Judas Iscariot. . . . The Good Knight appears next at the siege of Padua, after it had been recovered by a successful stratagem of the Venetians. . . . Before the be- siegers could take up their ground there were four barricades to be won upon the Vicenza road, two hundred paces from one another, and which, on ac- count of the ditches on each side the road, could only be attacked in front. The charge of winning them was entrusted to Bayard. He got possession of the first, the enemy falling back upon the second. *'If there was good fighting at the first barrier, at this there was still better." A body of peasants were brought up who had been trained as pioneers, and after a good half-hour's assault this was carried also, and the defendants were pursued so closely and with such effect, that instead of making a stand at the third barrier, they betook themselves at once to the last. This was defended by i,ooo or 1,200 men, with three or four falconets, and it was but a stone's throw from the city bulwarks. There they made a resolute stand, and the conflict continued for about an hour, with pikes and arquebusses. The Good Knight grew impatient, and said to his companions. Sirs, these people detain us too long, let us ahght and press forward to the barrier! Some thirty or forty gendarmes immediately dismounted, and raising their visors and couching their lances pushed on to the LIFE OF BAYARD 345 barricado. The Prince of Anhalt was one of this brave party, and Great John of Picardy was another, a person in name and stature, and probably enough in his propensities, like Little John of Sherwood, though not of equal celebrity, because he had no ballad writer who should "him immortal make With verses dipt in dew of Castaly" — all that is known of Great John being this incidental mention of his name by the Loyal Servant. These brave companions faisoient raige. But the defend- ants were continually reinforced by fresh men from the city ; and Bayard, seeing this, exclaimed, they will keep us here these six years at this rate, sound, trumpet ! and every one follow me ! Then like a Hon robbed of his whelps — (for it is of a lion-father that the chronicler speaks) — he led on so fierce an assault, that the Venetians retired a pike's length from the barricade. On, comrades, he cried, they are ours ! and, leaping the barricade, was gallantly fol- lowed, and not less perilously received ; but the sight of his danger excited the French, and he was speedily supported in such strength, that he remained master of the ground. "Thus were the barricades before Padua won at mid-day, whereby the French, horse as well as foot, acquired great honour, above all the Good Knight, to whom the glory was universally ascribed." . . . During the siege, and indeed whenever opportuni- ties could be found or made, Bayard distinguished himself by many perilous enterprizes, in which he was beholden sometimes for success and sometimes for deliverance or escape, as much to his own personal prowess and the strong attachment of his comrades, 346 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE as to his well-concerted plans. As a soldier indeed the Good Knight was better fitted for the time of Du Guesclin and the Black Prince, than for the age of Italian politicians and Swiss mercenaries. His mind in this respect was retrospective rather than anticipant. Congenial as the spirit of chivalry was to his natural disposition, it had been fostered in him by education and family pride of the best and worthiest kind ; and he regarded sorrowfully that change in the system of war which the use of fire- arms was then rapidly producing, plainly foreseeing that the chivalrous character must in consequence soon become extinct. The time was fresh in remem- brance when the presence of a single knight was felt to be of such importance as to give the one side an assurance of victory, and impress upon the other a forefeeling which prepared them for defeat. The prose romancers exaggerate the personal achieve- ments of their heroes, even beyond the becoming limits of fiction ; but as their machinery had its foundation in popular belief, so had this exaggera- tion its ground in the chivalrous system of warfare. When Jayme, King of Aragon, saw his son embark for the conquest of Sardinia, the first charge which he gave him was to pronounce these words veneer o Morir,^ three times before he entered into battle, and then to lead on himself, with that fixed determina- tion. The second charge was to see that all his knights were ready before he began, and if a single one were wanting, to wait for him, "that you may have the benefit," says the old king, "of his advice and pres- ence, and not be the cause that he receive shame, and be without his part of the glory of the victory. Many a time the counsel or the prowess of a single knight ^ To conquer or die. LIFE OF BAYARD 347 hath gained a battle." "Villainous saltpetre" was putting an end to this personal importance, and the invectives against this invention in the poets only express what was the real feeHng of those persons in the higher ranks of society, who had any of the nobler feelings which were called forth in war. Jean Marot complains of its levelling effects, and says that more courage was required for soldiers now than in the time of Alexander. "Car en ses jours n'avoieni point cest oraige De feu et pouldre, Aux Jons d'enfer inventee pour touldre Vie mix humains, plus que tonnerre ou fouldre; Cil qti'elle actaint se peult Hen faire absouldre, Car s'en est faict. Ung Roy, ung Prince, ung Chevalier de faict Est aussi-tost qu'unjeune enfant dejfaict. Centre son sort peu vault d'armes Vefaict Force et valeur; Et croy que si Hector fier hatailleur, Fort Hercules, Cesar grand debelleur, Estoieni vivans, auroient crainte et frayeur De teV tempeste." ^ The author of the Memoires de Tremoille observes that the harquebuss is a weapon which Christians ought not to use in their wars with each other, but only against infidels ; and Bayard partook this feel- ing so strongly, that excellently gentle and humane as he was in the whole tenour of his life and actions, he would give no quarter to harquebussiers. ^ For in his days they did not have this storm of fire and powder invented in the pit of hell to destroy the life of men more than thunder or lightning. He whom it strikes may well get ready for his absolu- tion, for he is done. A king, a prince, a knight of prowess is as quickly undone as a small child, Httle avails against his fate the effect of arms or might or valor. I believe if Hector the fierce warrior, strong Hercules, or Caesar the great general were Hving, they would be possessed with great fear and terror at such a storm. 348 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Bayard, who "never grudged money if he could learn what the enemy were doing," was in general well served by his spies, because he paid them well. And once by their means he laid a scheme for catch- ing the Pope, which was so well concerted, that his Holiness must inevitably have been taken if he had not turned back in consequence of a violent snow- storm ; yet the Good Knight was so close upon him, that as the Pope was about to enter the castle of Saint Felice, he heard the French in the town, and leaping out of his litter, at the alarm, helped to raise the drawbridge himself, which was wisely done, for "had he delayed while one might say a paternoster, he would assuredly have been snapped." Such adven- tures gave a character of romantic interest to the wars of those days, and in such things it was that Bayard was chiefly tried. He used to say that a perfect knight ought to possess three qualities, the attack of a bull-dog, the defence of a wild boar, and the pur- suit of a wolf. This speech might have come from the Clissons of history, or the Sir Turpins and Sir Breuses of romance. But Bayard was a better soldier as well as a better man than one who should have united in himself all these ferine qualities. Car il fault que tous lisans ceste histoire sqaichent que ce hon chevalier estoit un may registre des hatailles ; ' and in the early part of his career he was not more distin- guished for enterprizing valour, than he was in ma- turer life for sage counsel. One of his maxims was, that he who makes no account of his enemy is a madman. Pope Julius had a strong desire to be revenged on the French, and at a time when Bayard was at Fer- ^ For all who read this history should know that this good knight was a true register of battles. LIFE OF BAYARD 349 rara, with the duke, sent one of his agents to propose an aUiance with the duke's family, and offered to make him gonfalonier and captain-general of the church, if he would dismiss these alhes; whatever direction they might take he knew they would be at his mercy, and it was his intention that not one of them should escape. The duke gave him hearing, regaled him well, communicated his embassy to Bayard, and when Bayard, crossing himself in aston- ishment, would hardly be persuaded that the Pope would be wicked enough to accomplish what he in- tended, the duke proposed to buy over the agent, and as the Pope wished to perpetrate a piece of vil- lany, act upon the principle of like for like. The con- versation which ensued may be genuine in the main, for the duke reported it to Bayard, and from him it is likely that the Loyal Servant directly derived it. The duke began with this Messer Augustino by stating the reasons why it would be folly in him to trust the Pope, who coveted his dominions, and hated him more than any other person in the world. He then proceeded to state that it would not be easy to deceive the French, and impracticable to turn them out. But he added, Messer Augustino, the Pope is of a very terrible nature, exceeding choleric and vindictive, as you well know, and however he may trust you now in his secret affairs, he will some day or other play you a shrewd trick. Moreover, when he dies, what will become of his servants? Another pope will succeed, who will not harbour any of them, and it is a very bad service except for ecclesiastics. He then offered to reward him richly, if he would do him good service to rid him of his enemy. This precious agent of his Holiness struck a bargain imme- diately, and for 2,000 ducats in hand, and a promise 350 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of 500 yearly, engaged to poison the Pope within eight days. This was so much according to the cus- tom of the country, that the duke felt neither com- punction in making such a bargain, nor shame in communicating it to Bayard. Having found him on the ramparts, the following characteristic scene ensued. "They took one another by the hand, and, as they walked upon the ramparts, at a distance from all others, the Duke began to say: 'My Lord Bayard, it never fell out but that deceivers were themselves deceived in the end. You have heard the villany which the Pope would have made me commit against you and the French that are here. And in this intent he hath sent a man of his to me, as you know. I have so brought him over to our side, and changed his purpose, that he wiU do to the Pope what he wished to do to you ; for he hath assured me that in eight days at the farthest, he shall be no more.' "The Good Knight, who would never have suspected the real truth of the fact, made answer: 'How can that be, my Lord, hath he spoken with God?' 'Give yourself no concern about the matter,' said the Duke; 'so shall it be.' And they went on communing together till he told him that Messer Augustino had engaged himself to poison the Pope. Whereat the Good Knight said : ' Oh ! my Lord, I can never believe so worthy a Prince as you will consent to so black a treachery; and were I assured of it, I swear to you, by my soul, that I would apprize the Pope thereof, before it were night.' ' Why ? ' said the Duke, 'he would have done as much to you and me : and you know that we have hung seven or eight spies of his.' 'No matter for that,' said the Good Knight, 'I never wiU consent to the effecting of his death in this manner.' The Duke shrugged up his shoulders, spat upon the ground, and said : ' My Lord Bayard, would that I had killed all my enemies as I did that ! Howbeit, since the thing is not to your liking it shall be given up ; and, but God help us, we shall both repent of it.' 'Not so, please God,' said the Good Knight. 'But I pray you, my Lord, put this fellow into my hands who would perform this precious piece of work, and, if I have him not hung within an hour, let me be so dealt with in his stead.' 'No, LIFE OF BAYARD 351 my Lord Bayard,' said the Duke ; 'I have assured him of his personal safety : but I will go and dismiss him.' Which the Duke did as soon as he got back to his palace. What the man said or how he acted on his return to the Pope I know not : but he executed none of his enterprizes. So he continued about the person of his Holiness, who was much grieved at being able to discover no method of bringing his schemes to pass." Vol. ii. pp. g-ii. Bayard's character was shown not less advan- tageously when Brescia having been recovered by the Venetians, was attacked by the French. There were 8,000 troops in the town, and 12,000 or 14,000 peasantry, who had flocked thither to maintain it against their foreign enemies. The Duke of Ne- mours could not bring thither more than 12,000 to besiege it, but they were "the very flower of knight- hood," and Nemours had so gained their hearts that they were all ready to lay down their lives for him. When the arrangement for the attack was made, Bayard was the only person who objected to it. The Lord of Molart was appointed with the infantry to force the first hne : upon him, he said, and upon many worthy persons of his company he had the firmest rehance ; but it was of great importance never to give back on such occasions. The Vene- tians would place their best men (and they had good ones) foremost, and arquebussiers with them, and great disorder might ensue if the infantry should be repulsed, having no gendarmes to support them. He proposed, therefore, that some 150 dismounted horsemen should accompany the Lord of Molart, because, being better armed than the infantry, they would be better able to sustain the shock. The duke replied, you say truly, my Lord of Bayard, but where is the captain who will put himself at the 352 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE mercy of their arquebussiers ? I will, said the Good Knight : and be assured the company whereof I have charge will this day do honour to the king and you, and service that you shall be sensible of. When he had spoken, n'y eust capitaine qui ne regardast Vun Vautre, car sans point de fauUe le faict estoit tres- dangereux} Whatever we may think of former times, the sense of honour was never so generally felt in mihtary bodies as it is now. We find men of birth and station, with all the advantages of defen- sive armour, not willing to expose themselves on a service upon which the infantry were ordered. In our days, officers as well as men, and men as well as officers, are always found ready for any enterprize however dangerous, however desperate, even when it may almost be called a service of certain death. The wonder now is not at him who volunteers, but at him who holds back. Did indeed the Christian spirit take possession of us with half as much force as the military spirit, war itself would be at an end, and the diseases of society would have their sure and only effectual remedy. The duke summoned the city, feehng some com- punction at the thought that if it was taken by as- sault it would be sacked and all within slaughtered. Alas ! says the Loyal Servant, the poor inhabitants would gladly have surrendered, but they had not the upper hand. The ascent being slippery, Ne- mours, "to show that he would not be among the last, doffed his shoes," and many followed his example. They won the rampart. Bayard was the first person who entered, but he received a deep wound in the upper part of the thigh, from a pike, which broke ^ All the captains looked at one another, for it was an affair of great danger and no mistake. LIFE OF BAYARD 353 and was left hanging in the wound. Comrade, said he, to Molart, make your men march, the town is won : as for me I can go no farther, I am slain. And that he might not die without confession, he with- drew, with the help of two of his archers, who tore their shirts to staunch his wound. As soon as the citadel was taken, they broke down a door from the first house, and carried him on it to the goodHest mansion in the neighbourhood. The owner, a man of great wealth, had fled to a neighbouring convent, leaving his wife and two fair daughters ''in the Lord's keeping," rather than be butchered in their presence without any possibility of protecting them. The daughters hid themselves in a hay-loft, and when the soldiers knocked, the mother, putting her trust in God, opened the door herself. The happiest fortune which ever befell that family was when Bayard entered their house. His first orders were to set a guard there, and admit none but his own people ; and he assured those who had borne him and whom he thus employed, that though they missed some booty for his sake, they should lose noth- ing in the end. The lady of the house fell on her knees, and besought him to spare her daughters and herself. The Good Knight, who never harboured an evil thought, replied. Madam, it may be that I shall not recover from this wound of mine, but while I live no wrong shall be done to you and your daughters : only keep them in their chamber, let them not be seen. When the wound had been drest, and he had leisure to think of others, he inquired concerning the master of the house, had him sought for where his wife said that, if hving, he would probably be found, and made the family happy by having him safely escorted home. They looked upon themselves, how- 354 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE ever, as his prisoners, and all their goods and chattels as his property by the lot of war, "this being the case with the other houses which had fallen into the hands of the French." And in the hope, seeing his generous temper, that a handsome offering might prevent his exacting a ruinous sum, the lady, on the day he was about to depart, entered his room, ac- knowledged his kindness, and, entreating his further compassion, presented him with a Httle steel box full of ducats. Bayard laughed, and asked how many ducats there were there? and the lady, fearing he was offended, said only 2,500, but if he were not content therewith, they would produce a larger sum. Upon his refusing to take any, she entreated him to accept that trifling gift as a mark of gratitude, with an earnestness which proved her sincerity. He then took the box, sent for her daughters, gave them 1,000 of the ducats each, toward their marriage portions, and accepting the 500, dehvered them to his hostess, to be distributed by her, in his behoof, among the poor nuns whose convents had been pillaged. Such men as Bayard are always unhappily too few, and yet in the worst ages there have been enough of his stamp to redeem humanity. A Httle before the storming of Brescia, an astrologer had assured Bayard that he would not fall in the dreadful battle which he predicted for the Good Fri- day or Easter Sunday following, but that, within twelve years at farthest, he would be slain by artil- lery; "otherwise," he added, "you would never end your days in the field, for you are so beloved by those under your command, that they would sooner die than leave you in jeopardy." The story of this astrologer is rather remarkable. The battle of Ravenna fulfilled his several predictions both as to LIFE OF BAYARD 355 the day, its issue, and the fate of the Duke of Ne- mours; of whom Guicciardini says, that "if, as the opinion is, death is to be desired when men are come to the height of felicity, then surely he died happily," — but that with him the very sinew and strength of the French army utterly perished. That army had suffered much in consequence of its success at Bres- cia; so many of the adventurers enriched them- selves there, and withdrew in consequence, that the Loyal Servant says, this was the ruin of the French cause in Italy. They who look in history for proofs of that providential government of the world, in which the best and wisest men have beheved, may see reason to suppose that if Gaston de Foix, the young and heroic Duke de Nemours, had resembled Bayard as much in humanity and other virtues as he did in courage, his career might not so speedily have been cut short. But he had shown no mercy at Brescia, and made no effort to check the excesses of his men. The Loyal Servant tells us, many griev- ous things happened, and Guicciardini says that "for seven days the city was exposed to the rapacity, to the lust, and to the cruelty of the soldiers ; things sacred as well as profane being parcel of the prey, and no less the Hves than the goods of men." The astrologer, who had dehvered his other pre- dictions concerning the expected action openly, took La Pahsse and Bayard apart, and charged them that they should give heed to the Prince on the day of battle, for he would be in as great danger of falling as ever man was, and he said they might cut off his head if they did not find his words fulfilled. The duke went forth early that morning armed at all points, his surcoat gorgeously embroidered with the arms of Navarre and Foix, so as to add inconveniently 356 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE to the weight of his armour. The sun had just risen, and appeared so red, that one of the company said. Know you, my lord, what that forebodes? Some prince or great officer will die to-day. It must be either you or the viceroy. This was said by one with whom he was accustomed to jest, and he smiled at the words, as a soldier would do, however they might have imprest him. Before the action com- menced, a parley occurred, in the spirit of the Homeric age. Bayard, with the duke and some twenty others, was riding along the canal to while away the time, when they observed a party of Spaniards about the same number, and employed in like manner. He advanced towards them alone, and said. Sirs, you are amusing yourselves as we are doing, till the fine sport begins. I pray you let no guns be discharged on your side, and none shall be fired on ours. Their commander, Pedro de Paes, (a brave and distinguished man, who fell in the battle,) inquired who he might be, and with a soldierly spirit replied, upon hearing his name, On my honour, Senor de Bayard, I am right glad to see you, though we have gained nothing by your arrival, but may reckon your army 2,000 men the stronger for it. Would to God there were peace between your master and mine, that we might have some interviews, for I have loved you for your prowess all my life. The Spaniard was then intro- duced to Nemours, and those courtesies were ex- changed, which even in the heat of war excite a wish for peace, and insensibly prepare a way for it. One of the bravest and honestest of the German mercenaries fell on the French side ; an anecdote concerning his death, which the Loyal Servant was not acquainted with, is found in the Commentaries of the Seiior Alarcon. He had challenged the Span- LIFE OF BAYARD 357 ish colonel, Zamudio, who, as he advanced to meet him, exclaimed, "O king, dearly do your favours cost me, and well are they deserved on such days as this!" Both parties might have agreed in that feeling ; for the German captain, Jacob, fell by Za- mudio's pike, and Zamudio himself was killed in the course of the battle. In revenge of Jacob's death, a feat was performed by Captain Fabian, which may remind the reader of Arnold von Winkelraid. It required, perhaps, more bodily powers, and did not involve the same inevitable self-devotement. The Spaniards had stationed a strong body with crossed pikes on the edge of their foss : Fabian, who was a person of prodigious strength and stature, took his own pike crossway, laid it upon those of the enemy, and bearing their points towards the ground, en- abled those of his comrades who were near to rush in : mats pour le passer y eut un meurtre merveilleux: car oncques gens nefeirent plus de defense que les Espagnols, qui encores n'ayans plus bras ne jambe entiere mor- doient leurs ennemis} Bayard himself seems to have owed his life in this battle, when he was rashly adventuring it, to the presence of mind of a Span- iard. Returning from the pursuit with some forty gendarmes, he fell in with two Spanish companies, who were retreating in good order from the field. Spent as his own party was, and inferior in numbers, he was preparing to charge them, when the Spanish captain stept forward and said, "Sir, what are you about? You cannot suppose yourself strong enough to beat us ! You have won the battle and killed all our men ; be satisfied with the honour you have ^ But in passing him there was a wondrous slaughter; for never did men make a braver defense than the Spaniards, who when they were without a sound arm or leg continued to bite their enemies. 358 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE gained, and let us go with our lives, since by God's will we have escaped!" Bayard felt this address as became him. It is added, that he demanded their colours, and that they were given him ; if it was so, it adds no grace to the story. But they parted courteously, the Spaniards opening their ranks, and the French passing between them. Little did he imagine that the duke, attacking these very com- panies as rashly as he was about to have done, had fallen by their hands. "Had he but suspected this," says the Loyal Servant, "he would rather have died ten thousand deaths than not have avenged him." And yet however strong the desire of vengeance may have been in the first emotions of grief. Bayard, in his cooler moments, must have felt thankful to Providence that the Spanish officer had acted more moderately and more wisely than he himself was disposed to have done. The battle of Ravenna proved fatal to the con- querors. The loss which they had there sustained was so severe, that they were unable to with- stand the fresh forces that were brought against them, and in their retreat the Good Knight was struck by a falconet shot between the neck and shoulder, which laid the shoulder bone bare. He was able, however, to cross the Alps, and visit his uncle, the Bishop of Grenoble. There he was seized with fever, either in consequence of the wound or the fatigue which he had undergone, and the Loyal Servant puts a lamentation in his mouth at the thought of dying, hke a girl, in bed, which would have read better in romance than in history. The speech ended, however, with a prayer, and a hope of amend- ing his evil life. It was just after his recovery that that adventure occurred with the damsel, whom her LIFE OF BAYARD 359 mother would have sold to him, which has found its way into most collections of anecdotes. His death occurred within the time and in the manner which the astrologer is said to have foretold. He was conducting the rear of the French army, when retreating in good order before the Spaniards. On such occasions the rear was always his post, and he was now making his gendarmes proceed with as much composure as if they had been in their own country, with no enemy to apprehend, when a stone from a harquebuss struck him across the loins and fractured his spine. It was one of those wounds (as in Nelson's case) in which the stroke of death is felt, ana which the sufferer instantly knows to be mortal. Jesus ! was the first word which he uttered, then, "Oh God, I am slain!" He had ever wished to die in battle, and it seems as if, in forecasting the end which he desired, he had predetermined how to act whenever it might occur: for holding up his sword and kissing the cross at its handle, he pro- nounced these words audibly. Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam ! ^ He then grew faint, but saved himself from falling by holding the saddle-bow, till his steward helped him from off the horse, and placed him under a tree, and there holding his sword as a cross before him, he confessed to the steward, there being no priest at hand. The Seigneur d'Alegro came up, and to him he said some- thing concerning his will. A Swiss captain would have carried him off upon pikes, hoping to save him : but Bayard felt that the motion would accelerate his certain death, and entreated that he might be left, and employ the little life that remained in thinking about his soul. He besought them to go their way, and * Have mercy on me, Lord, according to thy great compassion. 360 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE not expose themselves to the enemy by remaining with him, to whom they could afford no earthly help, but he commended his poor soul to them, and de- sired the Seigneur d'Alegro to salute the king in his name, and say it troubled him that he could do him no farther services ; likewise he added, Mes- sires the Princes of France, and the gentlemen of my company, and all gentlemen of the honoured realm of France in general, salute them all when you see them, on my part. When the Spaniards came up and discovered who he was, he received from them that honourable kindness which Bayard's name would have commanded from enemies of any nation, and which, in the better days of Spain, no people were so ready as the Spaniards to exhibit. A tent was spread for him, he was laid upon a camp bed, and a priest was brought, to whom he confessed devoutly, saying, afterwards, these very words — "My God! I am assured ^ha thou hast declared thyself ever ready to receive into mercy and to forgive whoso shall return to thee with a sincere heart, however great a sinner he may have been : Alas ! my Creator and Redeemer, I have grievously offended thee during my life, of which I repent with my whole soul. FuU well I know that, had I spent an hundred years in a desert on bread and water, even that would not have entitled me to enter thy kingdom of Heaven, unless it had pleased thee, of thy great and infinite goodness, to receive me into the same ; for no creature is able in this world to merit so high a reward, My Father and Saviour ! I entreat thee be pleased to pass over the faults by me committed, and show me thy abundant clemency instead of thy rigorous justice." Vol. ii. pp. 227, 228. The Marquis of Pescara came up before he ex- pired, and "Pronounced a lofty eulogium on him in his own language, but to the following effect ; ' Would God, gentle Lord Bayard, LIFE OF BAYARD 361 that, by parting with a quart of my own blood, (so that could be done without loss of life,) and by abstaining from flesh for two years, I might have kept you whole and my prisoner; for my treatment of you should have manifested how highly I honoured the exalted prowess that was in you. The first tribute of praise that my nation paid you, when they said, 'Muchos Grisones, y pocos Bayardos,' was not undeservedly bestowed ; for since my first acquaintance with arms have I never seen or heard tell of any King who can compare with you in all admirable qualities : and though I have reason to rejoice at beholding you thus, being assured that my master, the Emperor, in his wars had no greater and more formidable adversary than yourself, nevertheless, when I consider the heavy loss which all Knighthood sustains this day, may God never aid me if I would not give the half of all I am worth in the world that it were otherwise ; but, since from death there is no refuge, I make supplication to Him who hath created all in his likeness, that he will be pleased to take back your soul unto himself." -.71 •• „ ' Vol. u. p. 222. To have died thus honoured by such an enemy must have been only less desirable than to fall in the moment of victory and in the height of success. The Spanish general appointed certain gentlemen to bear the body to a church, where solemn service was per- formed over it for two days. His own people then carried it home for interment. As they past through Savoy, orders were given by the duke that wherever the corpse passed or rested, as much respect should be paid to it as if it were that of his own brother. The magistrates of Grenoble, with most of the in- habitants and nobles of the surrounding country, went out to meet it when it drew nigh, and it was finally deposited in a convent of Minims, half a mile from that city, which his uncle the bishop had founded. A monument was afterwards erected to him there, not by the king whom he had served so faithfully, not by the nation of which he is the proud- 362 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE est boast, not even by his family, but by Scipio de Poulloud, Seigneur de St. Agnin, an individual no otherwise connected with him than as being a native of the same province, and an admirer of his worth. He was in the forty-eighth year of his age when he was slain. He left a natural daughter, whose mother was a Milanese of noble birth. If it be true that Bayard had promised marriage to this Milanese lady both by word and in writing, he cannot in this instance be said to have been sans reproche. The Loyal Servant indeed tells us that he was no saint; but it may be questioned whether any saint of his age left so useful an example. We must judge of men according to the standard of their own times and the circumstances in which they were placed. There are some callings which deaden the moral sense, some which directly harden the heart, some which produce the even more injuri- ous effect of perverting our perceptions of right and wrong. These are their effects upon ordinary minds ; and where the bent of the individual's disposition is towards evil, natural obhquity is easily ripened into thorough wickedness. We have thus such politi- cians as Shaftesbury, such lawyers as Jefferies, such commanders as Buonaparte. On the other hand, there are spirits so happily constituted as to resist these injurious influences, and preserve, under all circumstances, the integrity of their nature. Few are the generations in which some such examples have not appeared for the relief and consolation of humanity. Success cannot elevate them, neither are they to be depressed by ill fortune ; the former only exhibits more conspicuously the grace and beauty of their character, the latter only displays its dignity and its strength. We have thus such LIFE OF BAYARD 363 statesmen as Clarendon, such lawyers as Sir Thomas More, such soldiers as Bayard. It may be said of him, as of one of our own distinguished officers who fell in the Peninsular War — "That in the midst of camps his manly breast Retained its youthful virtue ; that he walk'd Thro ' blood and evil uncontaminate ; And that the stern necessity of war But nurtured with its painful discipline Thoughtful compassion in his gentle soul, And feelings such as man should cherish still For aU of woman born." If he had merely won victories for France greater than those of Turenne or Villars, he would have con- ferred less honour upon his country, and rendered less service to it, than he has done by the example of his personal character. Henri IV. used to say, that Montluc's Commen- taries should be the soldier's bible. It was a saying that would have been more in character with Buona- parte, than with the prince from whom it came ; for though the book is in its kind incomparably good, it is the composition of one who, with all his great qualities, was a brutal soldier. Henri should have held up Bayard as a model to the military youth of France. We, who have Robert of Gloucester, and the Black Prince, and Sidney, and Marlborough, and Nelson, need not go abroad for examples. Yet it is desirable that nations should be conversant with foreign models, and particularly with those which may be found among their hereditary and natural rivals. In proportion as this knowledge is cultivated they will be disposed to judge more gen- erously, more kindly, and more equitably of each other. We are glad therefore that Enghsh readers 364 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE may now become as familiar with the history of the Chevalier Bayard as they were with his name ; and a wish may be expressed that the French in return would make themselves acquainted with the English knight, sans peur et sans reproche, Sir Philip Sidney. Quarterly Review, xxxii, 355-397. (October, 1825.) SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) Important as the battle of Baylen was in its direct and immediate consequences to the Spaniards, their cause derived greater celebrity and more per- manent strength from the defence of Zaragoza. Order had been restored in that city from the hour when Palafox assumed the command. Implicit confidence in the commander produced implicit and alert obedience, and preparations were made with zeal and activity proportioned to the danger. When the new Captain- General declared war against the French, the troops which he mustered amounted only to 220 men, and the pubhc treasury could furnish him with no more than one hundred dollars ; sixteen ill-mounted guns were all the artillery in the place, and the arsenal contained but few muskets. Fowling-pieces were put in requisition, pikes were forged, powder was supplied from the mills at Villa- feliche, which were some of the most considerable in Spain, — for everything else Palafox trusted to his country and his cause. And his trust was not in vain ; the Zaragozans were ready to endure any suffering and make any sacrifice in the discharge of their duty ; the same spirit possessed the whole country, and from all those parts of Spain which were under the yoke of the enemy, officers and soldiers repaired to Zaragoza as soon as it was seen that an army was collecting there ; many came from Madrid and from Pampluna, and some officers of engineers from the mihtary academy at Alcala. And the 36s 366 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE spirits of the people were encouraged by the discovery of a depot of fire arms walled up in the Aljafaria ; they had probably been secreted there in the suc- cession war, when one party resigned that city to its enemies, and their discovery in this time of need was regarded by the Zaragozans as a manifestation of divine Providence in their favour. The defeats which their undisciplined levies sustained at Tudela, Mallen, and Alagon abated not their resolution; and in the last of these actions a handful of regular troops protected their retreat with great steadiness. The French general, Lefebvre Desnouettes, pursuing his hitherto uninterrupted success, advanced, and took up a position very near the city, and covered by a rising ground planted with oHve trees. Zaragoza was not a fortified town ; the brick wall which surrounded it was from ten to twelve feet high, and three feet thick, and in many places it was interrupted by houses, which formed part of the inclosure. The city had no advantages of situation for its defence, and would not have been considered capable of resistance by any men but those whose courage was sustained by a virtuous and holy prin- ciple of duty. It stands in an open plain, which was then covered with olive grounds, and is bounded on either hand by high and distant mountains ; but it is commanded by some high ground called the Torrero, about a mile to the south-west, upon which there was a convent, with some smaller buildings. The canal of Aragon divides this elevation from an- other rising ground, where the Spaniards had erected a battery. The Ebro bathes the walls of the city, and separates it from the suburbs ; it has two bridges, within musket-shot of each other; one of wood, said to be more beautiful than any other of the like SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 367 materials in Europe ; the other of freestone, con- sisting of seven arches, the largest of which is 122 feet in diameter; the river is fordable above the city. Two smaller rivers, the Galego and the Guerva, flow at a little distance from the city, the one on the east, the other on the west ; the latter being sep- arated from the walls only by the breadth of the common road ; both are received into the Ebro. Unlike most other places of the peninsula, Zaragoza has neither aqueduct nor fountains, but derives its water wholly from the river. The people of Tortosa, (and probably of the other towns upon its course,) drink also of the Ebro, preferring it to the finest spring ; the water is of a dirty red colour, but, having stood a few hours, it becomes perfectly clear, and has a softness and pleasantness of taste, which soon in- duces strangers to agree with the natives in their preference of it. The population was stated in the census of 1787 at 42,600; that of 1797, excellent as it is in all other respects, has the fault of not specify- ing the places in each district; later accounts com- puted its inhabitants at 60,000, and it was certainly one of the largest cities in the peninsula. It had twelve gates, four of them in the old wall of Augus- tus, by whom the older town of Salduba upon the same site was enlarged, beautified, and called Caesarea- Augusta, or Caesaraugusta ; a word easily corrupted into its present name.^ The whole city is built of brick ; even the convents and churches were of this coarse material, which was bad of its kind, so that there were cracks in most of these edifices from top to bottom. The houses are not so high as they usually are in old Spanish towns, ^ The Spaniards, by a more curious corruption, call Syracuse, Zaragoza de Sicilia. 368 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE their general height being only three stories; the streets are, as usual, very narrow and crooked ; there are, however, open market-places ; and one very wide, long, and regularly built street, formerly called the Calle Santa, having been the scene of many martyrdoms, but now more commonly known by the name of the Cozo. The people, like the rest of the Aragonese, and their neighbours, the Catalans, have been always honourably distinguished in Span- ish history for their love of liberty; and the many unavailing struggles which they have made dur- ing the last four centuries, had not abated their attachment to the good principles of their forefathers. Within the peninsula, (and once indeed throughout the whole of Catholic Europe,) Zaragoza was famous as the city of our Lady of the Pillar, whose legend is still so firmly believed by the people, and most of the clergy in Spain, that it was frequently appealed to in the proclamations of the different generals and Juntas, as one of the most popular articles of the national faith. The legend is this : when the apos- tles, after the resurrection, separated and went to preach the gospel in different parts of the world, St. James the elder, (or Santiago as he may more properly be called in his mythological history,) departed for Spain, which province Christ himself had previously commended to his care. When he went to kiss the hand of the Virgin, and request her leave . to set off, and her blessing, she commanded him, in the name of her Son, to build a church to her honour in that city of Spain wherein he should make the greatest number of converts, adding, that she would give him farther instructions concerning the edifice upon the spot. Santiago set sail, landed in Galicia, and, having preached with little success SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 369 through the northern provinces, reached Caesarea- Augusta, where he made eight disciples. One night, after he had been conversing and praying with them as usual on the banks of the river, they fell asleep, and just at midnight the apostle heard heavenly voices sing, Ave Maria gratia plena! He fell on his knees, and instantly beheld the Virgin upon a marble pillar in the midst of a choir of angels, who went through the whole of the matin service. When this, was ended, she bade him build her church around that pillar, which his Lord, her blessed Son, had sent him by the hands of his angels ; there, she told him, that pillar was to remain till the end of the world, and great mercies would be vouchsafed there to those who supplicated for them in her name. Having said this, the angels transported her back to her house at Jerusalem, (for this was before the Assumption) and Santiago, in obedience, erected upon that spot the first church which was ever dedicated to the Virgin. Cathedral service was performed both in this church and in the see, and the meetings of the chapter were held alternately in each. The interior of each was of the most imposing kind. When the elder of these joint cathedrals was erected. Pope Gelasius granted indulgencies to all persons who would contribute toward the work, and thus introduced a practice which contributed as much to the grandeur and magnificence of ecclesiastical architecture, as to laxity of morals and the prevalence of superstition. Many mournful scenes of bigotry and superstition have been exhibited in Zaragoza ; but, in these fiery trials which Buonaparte's tyranny was preparing for the inhabitants, the dross and tinsel of their faith disappeared, and its pure gold remained. The French, accustomed as they were to undervalue the Spanish 370 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE character, had spoken with peculiar contempt of the Zaragozans. "Few persons," they said, "are to be seen among them who distinguish themselves by their dress ; there is little of that elegant attire so observ- able in large cities. All is serious and regular, — dull and monotonous. The place seems without any kind of resource, because the inhabitants use no effort to obtain any ; — accustomed to a state of apathy and languor, they have not an idea of the possibiHty of shaking it off." With this feeling, equally despising the strength of the place, and the character of the people, the French proceeded to besiege the capital of Aragon. A party of their cavalry entered the town on the 14th, perhaps in pursuit of the retreating patriots ; they thought to scour the streets, but they were soon made to feel, that the superiority of discipKned soldiers to citizens exists only in the field. On the following morning, the French, with part of their force, attacked the outposts upon the canal, and, with their main body, attempted to storm the city by the gate called Portillo. A desperate con- flict ensued. The Aragonese fought with a spirit worthy of their cause. They had neither time, nor room, nor necessity for order. Their cannon, which they had hastily planted before the gates, and in the best situations without the town, were served by any persons who happened to be near them; any one gave orders who felt himself competent to take the command. A party of the enemy entered the city, and were all slain. Lefebvre perceived that it was hopeless to persist in the attack with his present force, and drew off his troops, having suffered great loss. The patriots lost about 2000 men killed, and as many wounded. In such a conflict the circum- SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 371 stances are so materially in favour of the defendants, that the carnage made among the French must have been much greater. Some part of their baggage and plunder was abandoned in their retreat. The con- querors would have exposed themselves by a rash pursuit, but Palafox exhorted them not to be im- patient, telling them, that the enemy would give them frequent opportunities to display their courage. While he thus restrained their impetuosity, he con- tinued to excite their zeal. This victory, he said, was but the commencement of the triumphs which they were to expect under the powerful assistance of their divine patrons. The precious blood of their brethren had been shed in the field of glory, — on their own soil. Those blessed martyrs required new victims; let us, he added, be prepared for the sac- rifice ! The Zaragozans had obtained only a respite ; de- feated as he was, Lefebvre had only removed beyond the reach of their guns ; his troops were far superior to any which they could bring against him ; and it was not to be doubted that he would soon return in greater force, to take vengeance for the repulse and the disgrace which he had suffered. A regular siege was to be expected ; how were the citizens to sustain it with their brick walls, without heavy artillery, and without troops who could sally to interrupt the be- siegers in their works? In spite of all these dis- couraging circumstances, confiding in God and their own courage, they determined to defend the streets to the last extremity. Palafox, immediately after the repulse of the enemy, set out to muster reinforce- ments, to provide such resources for the siege as he could, and to place the rest of Aragon in a state of defence, if the capital should fall. He was accom- 372 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE panied by Colonel Burton, his friend and aide-de- camp ; Lieut.-Colonel Beillan, of the engineers ; Padre Basilio, and Tio Jorge. With these com- panions and a small escort he left the city by the suburbs, crossed the Ebro at Pina, and collecting on the way about 1400 soldiers who had escaped from Madrid, formed a junction at Belchite with Baron Versage and some newly raised troops from Calatayud. Their united numbers amounted to some 7000 men, with 100 horse and four pieces of artillery. Small as this force was, and still more inefficient for want of discipline than of numerical strength, Palafox resolved upon making an attempt with it to succour the city. The prudence of this determination was justly ques- tioned by some ; others proposed the strange measure of marching to Valencia : this probably originated with some of the stray soldiers who were at liberty to seek their fortune where they pleased, and the proposal was so well received that a considerable party prepared to set off in that direction, without orders. But Palafox called them together, exhorted them to do their duty, and offered passports to as many as chose to leave him in the moment of danger. The consequence of this offer was that not a man departed. From Almunia, where he had rested a day, he then marched towards Epila, thinking to advance to the village of La Muela, and thus place the invaders between his little army and the city, in the hope of cutting them off from their reinforce- ments. Lefebvre prevented this, by suddenly at- tacking him at Epila, on the night of the 23d : after a most obstinate resistance, the superior arms and disci- pline of the French were successful. The wreck of this gallant band retreated to Calatayud, and afterwards, with great difficulty, threw themselves into Zaragoza. SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 373 The besiegers' army was soon reinforced by General Verdier, with 2500 men, besides some battaHons of Portugueze, who, according to the devilish system of Buonaparte's tyranny, had been forced out of their own country, to be pushed on in the foremost ranks, wherever the first fire of a battery was to be received, a line of bayonets clogged, or a ditch filled, with bodies. They occupied the best positions in the surrounding plain, and, on the 27th, attacked the city and the Torrero ; but they were repulsed with the loss of 800 men, six pieces of artillery, and five carts of ammunition. By this time, they had invested nearly half the town. The next morning they re- newed the attack at both places ; from the city they were again repulsed, losing almost all the cavalry who were engaged. But the Torrero was lost through the alleged misconduct of an artillery officer, who was charged with having made his men abandon the batteries at the most critical moment. For this he was condemned to run the gauntlet six times, the soldiers beating him with their ramrods, and after this cruelty he was shot. The French, having now received a train of mor- tars, howitzers, and twelve-pounders, which were of sufficient calibre against mud walls, kept up a con- stant fire, and showered down shells and grenades from the Torrero. About twelve hundred were thrown into the town, and there was not one building that was bomb proof within the walls. After a time, the inhabitants placed beams of timber to- gether, endways, against the houses, in a sloping direction, behind which those who were near when a shell fell, might shelter themselves. The enemy continued also to invest the city more closely, while the Aragonese made every effort to strengthen their 374 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE means of defence. They tore down the awnings from their windows, and formed them into sacks, which they filled with sand, and piled up before the gates, in the form of a battery, digging round it a deep trench. They broke holes for musketry in the walls and intermediate buildings, and stationed cannon where the position was favourable for it. The houses in the environs were destroyed. "Gar- dens and olive grounds," says an eye-witness, "that in better times had been the recreation and support of their owners, were cheerfully rooted up by the proprietors themselves, wherever they impeded the defence of the city, or covered the approach of the enemy." Women of all ranks assisted ; they formed themselves into companies, some to relieve the wounded, some to carry water, wine, and provisions, to those who defended the gates. The Countess Burita instituted a corps for this service ; she was young, delicate, and beautiful. In the midst of the most tremendous fire of shot and shells, she was seen coolly attending to those occupations which were now become her duty ; nor throughout the whole of a two months' siege did the imminent danger, to which she incessantly exposed herself, produce the sHghtest apparent effect upon her, or in the slightest degree bend her from her heroic purpose. Some of the monks bore arms ; others exercised their spiritual offices to the dying : others, with the nuns, were busied in making cartridges which the children dis- tributed. Among threescore thousand persons there will always be found some wicked enough for any em- ployment, and the art of corrupting has constituted great part of the French system of war. During the night of the 28th the powder magazine, in the area SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 375 where the bull-fights were performed, which was in the very heart of the city, was blown up, by which fourteen houses were destroyed, and about 200 persons killed. This was the signal for the enemy to appear before three gates which had been sold to them. And while the inhabitants were digging out their fellow-citizens from the ruins, a fire was opened upon them with mortars, howitzers, and cannons, which had now been received for battering the town. Their attack seemed chiefly to be directed against the gate called Portillo, and a large square building near it, without the walls, and surrounded by a deep ditch ; though called a castle, it served only for a prison. The sand-bag battery before this gate was frequently destroyed, and as often reconstructed under the fire of the enemy. The carnage here throughout the day was dreadful. Augustina Zaragoza, a handsome woman of the lower class, about twenty-two years of age, arrived at this battery with refreshments, at the time when not a man who defended it was left alive, so tremendous was the fire which the French kept up against it. For a moment the citizens hesi- tated to re-man the guns. Augustina sprung for- ward over the dead and dying, snatched a match from the hand of a dead artilleryman, and fired off a six-and-twenty pounder ; then, jumping upon the gun, made a solemn vow never to quit it alive during the siege. Such a sight could not but animate with fresh courage all who beheld it. The Zaragozans rushed into the battery, and renewed their fire with greater vigour than ever, and the French were re- pulsed here, and at all other points, with great slaugh- ter. On the morning of this day a fellow was detected going out of the city with letters to Murat. It was not till after these repeated proofs of treasonable 376 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE practices, that the French residents in Zaragoza, with other suspected persons, were taken into custody. Lefebvre now supposing that his destructive bom- bardment must have dismayed the people, and con- vinced them how impossible it was for so defenceless a city to persist in withstanding him, again attempted to force his way into the town, thinking that, as soon as his troops could find a lodgement within the gates, the Zaragozans would submit. On the 2d of July, a column of his army marched out of their battery, which was almost within musket-shot of the Portillo, and advanced towards it with fixed bayonets, and without firing a shot. But when they reached the castle, such a discharge of grape and musketry was opened upon their flank, that, notwithstanding the most spirited exertions of their officers, the column immediately dispersed. The remainder of their force had been drawn up to support their attack, and follow them into the city; but it was impossible to bring them a second time to the charge. The general, however, ordered another column instantly to ad- vance against the gate of the Carmen, on the left of the Portillo. This entrance was defended by a sand- bag battery, and by musketeers, who lined the walls on each side, and commanded two out of three ap- proaches to it; and here also the French suffered great loss, and were repulsed. The military men in Zaragoza considered these attacks as extremely injudicious. Lefebvre probably was so indignant at meeting with any opposition from a people whom he despised, and a place which, according to the rules and pedantry of war, was not tenable, that he lost his temper, and thought to subdue them the shortest way, by mere violence and superior force. Having found his mistake, he proceeded to SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 377 invest the city still more closely. In the beginning of the siege, the besieged received some scanty suc- cours ; yet, however scanty, they were of importance. Four hundred soldiers from the regiment of Estrema- dura, small parties from other corps, and a few artillerymen got in. Two hundred of the militia of Logrono were added to these artillerymen, and soon learnt their new service, being in the presence of an enemy whom they had such righteous reason to abhor. Two four-and-twenty-pounders and a few shells, which were much wanted, were procured from Lerida. The enemy, meantime, were amply sup- plied with stores from the magazine in the citadel of Pamplona, which they had so perfidiously seized on their first entrance, as allies, into Spain. Hitherto they had remained on the right bank of the Ebro. On the nth of July they forced the passage of the ford, and posted troops enough on the opposite side to protect their workmen while forming a floating bridge. In spite of all the efforts of the Aragonese, this bridge was completed on the 14th; a way was thus made for their cavalry, to their superiority in which the French were mostly indebted for all their victories in Spain. This gave them the command of the surrounding country; they destroyed the mills, levied contributions on the villages, and cut off every communication by which the besieged had hitherto received suppHes. These new difficulties called out new resources in this admirable people and their general, — a man worthy of commanding such a people in such times. Corn mills, worked by horses, were erected in various parts of the city; the monks were employed in manufacturing gun- powder, materials for which were obtained by im- mediately collecting all the sulphur in the place, by 378 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE washing the soil of the streets to extract its nitre, and making charcoal from the stalks of hemp, which in that part of Spain grows to a magnitude that would elsewhere be thought very unusual. By the end of July the city was completely invested, the supply of food was scanty, and the inhabitants had no reason to expect succour. Their exertions had now been unremitted for forty-six days, and nothing but the sense of duty could have supported their bodily strength and their spirit under such trials. They were in hourly expectation of another general attack, or another bombardment. They had not a single place of security for the sick and the children, and the number of wounded was daily increased by repeated skirmishes, in which they engaged for the purpose of opening a communication with the country. At this juncture they made one desperate effort to recover the Torrero. It was in vain; and convinced by repeated losses, and es- pecially by this repulse, that it was hopeless to make any effectual sally, they resolved to abide the issue of the contest within the walls, and conquer or perish there. On the night of the second of August, and on the following day, the French bombarded the city from their batteries opposite the gate of the Carmen. A foundhng hospital, which was now filled with the sick and wounded, took fire, and was rapidly con- sumed. During this scene of horror, the most in- trepid exertions were made to rescue these helpless sufferers from the flames. No person thought of his own property or individual concerns, — every one hastened thither. The women were eminently con- spicuous in their exertions, regardless of the shot and shells which fell about them, and braving the flames SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 379 of the building. It has often been remarked, that the wickedness of women exceeds that of the other sex ; — for the same reason, when circumstances, forcing them out of the sphere of their ordinary nature, compel them to exercise manly virtues, they display them in the highest degree, and, when they are once awakened to a sense of patriotism, they carry the principle to its most heroic pitch. The loss of women and boys, during this siege, was very great, fully proportionate to that of men ; they were always the more forward, and the difficulty was to teach them a prudent and proper sense of their danger. On the following day, the French completed their batteries upon the right flank of the Guerva, within pistol-shot of the gate of St. Engracia, so called from a splendid church and convent of Jeronimites, situated on one side of it. This convent was, on many accounts, a remarkable place. Men of letters beheld it with reverence, because the excellent his- torian Zurita spent the last years of his life there, observing the rules of the community, though he had not entered into the order ; and because he was buried there, and his countryman and fellow-la- bourer, Geronymo de Blancas, after him. Devotees revered it, even in the neighbourhood of our Lady of the Pillar, for its reUcs and the saint to whom it was dedicated. . . . On the 4th of August, the French opened batteries within pistol-shot of this church and convent. The mud walls were levelled at the first discharge; and the besiegers, rushing through the opening, took the batteries before the adjacent gates in reverse. Here General Mori, who had distinguished himself on many former occasions, was made prisoner. The street of 380 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE St. Engracia, which they had thus entered, leads into the Cozo, and the corner buildings where it thus terminated, were on the one hand the convent of St. Francisco, and on the other the General Hospital. Both were stormed and set on fire ; the sick and the wounded threw themselves from the windows to escape the flames, and the horror of the scene was aggravated by the maniacs, whose voices raving or singing in paroxysms of wilder madness, or crying in vain to be set free, were heard amid the confusion of dreadful sounds. Many fell victims to the fire, and some to the indiscriminating fury of the assail- ants. Those who escaped were conducted as pris- oners to the Torrero ; but when their condition had been discovered, they were sent back on the morrow, to take their chance in the siege. After a severe contest and dreadful carnage, the French forced their way into the Cozo, in the very centre of the city, and, before the day closed, were in possession of one half of Zaragoza. Lefebvre now believed that he had effected his purpose, and required Palafox to sur- render, in a note containing only these words : "Headquarters, St. Engracia. Capitulation!" The heroic Spaniard immediately returned this reply : "Headquarters, Zaragoza. War to the knife's point!" The contest which was now carried on is unex- ampled in history. One side of the Cozo, a street about as wide as Pall-mall, was possessed by the French; and, in the centre of it, their general, Ver- dier, gave his orders from the Franciscan convent. The opposite side was maintained by the Aragonese, who threw up batteries at the openings of the cross streets, within a few paces of those which the French erected against them. The intervening space was SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 381 presently heaped with dead, either slain upon the spot, or thrown out from the windows. Next day the ammunition of the citizens began to fail; the French were expected every moment to renew their efforts for completing the conquest, and even this circumstance occasioned no dismay, nor did any one think of capitulation. One cry was heard from the people, wherever Palafox rode among them, that, if powder failed they were ready to attack the enemy with their knives, — formidable weapons in the hands of desperate men. Just before the day closed, Don Francisco Palafox, the general's brother, en- tered the city with a convoy of arms, and ammuni- tion, and a reinforcement of three thousand men, composed of Spanish guards, Swiss, and volunteers of Aragon, — a succour as Httle expected by the Zara- gozans, as it had been provided against by the enemy. The war was now continued from street to street, from house to house, and from room to room ; pride and indignation having wrought up the French to a pitch of obstinate fury, little inferior to the devoted courage of the patriots. During the whole siege, no man distinguished himself more remarkably than the curate of one of the parishes, within the walls, by name P. Santiago Sass. He was always to be seen in the streets, sometimes fighting with the most determined bravery against the enemies, not of his country alone, but of freedom, and of all vir- tuous principles, wherever they were to be found ; at other times, administering the sacrament to the dying, and confirming with the authority of faith, that hope, which gives to death, under such cir- cumstances, the joy, the exultation, the triumph, J and the spirit of martyrdom. Palafox reposed the utmost confidence in this brave priest, and selected 382 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE him whenever anything pecuHarly difficult or hazard- ous was to be done. At the head of forty chosen men, he succeeded in introducing a supply of powder into the town, so essentially necessary for its defence. This most obstinate and murderous contest was continued for eleven successive days and nights, more indeed by night than by day ; for it was almost certain death to appear by daylight within reach of those houses which were occupied by the other party. But under cover of darkness, the combatants fre- quently dashed across the street to attack each other's batteries ; and the battles which began there, were often carried on into the houses beyond, where they fought from room to room, and floor to floor. The hostile batteries were so near each other, that a Spaniard in one place made way under cover of the dead bodies, which completely filled the space between them, and fastened a rope to one of the French can- nons ; in the struggle which ensued, the rope broke, and the Zaragozans lost their prize at the very mo- ment when they thought themselves sure of it.^ * It is asserted by the French, in their oflBcial account, that, after many days' fighting, they won possession of many cloisters which had been fortified, three-fourths of the city, the arsenal, and all the magazines ; and that the peaceable inhabitants, encouraged by these advantages, hoisted a white flag, and came forward to offer terms of capitulation; but that they were murdered by the insurgents; for this is the name which the French, and the tyrant whom they served, applied to a people fighting in defence of their country, and of whatever could be dear to them. Unquestionably, if any traitors had thus ventured to show themselves in the heat of the con- test, they would have been put to death as certainly as they would have deserved it; and, if the thing had occurred, it would be one fact more to be recorded in honour of the Zaragozans; but there is no other authority for it than the French official account, in which account the result of the siege is totally suppressed. The circumstance, had it really taken place, would not have been omitted in Mr. Vaughan's Narrative, and in the accounts published by the Spaniards. SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 383 A new horror was added to the dreadful circum- stances of war in this ever memorable siege. In general engagements the dead are left upon the field of battle, and the survivors remove to clear ground and an untainted atmosphere ; but here — in Spain, and in the month of August, there where the dead lay the struggle was still carried on, and pestilence was dreaded from the enormous accumula- tion of putrifying bodies. Nothing in the whole course of the siege so embarrassed Palafox as this evil. The only remedy was to tie ropes to the French prisoners, and push them forward amid the dead and dying, to remove the bodies, and bring them away for interment. Even for this necessary office there was no truce, and it would have been certain death to the Aragonese who should have attempted to perform it ; but the prisoners were in general secured by the pity of their own soldiers, and in this manner the evil was, in some degree, diminished. A council of war was held by the Spaniards on the 8th, not for the purpose which is too usual in such councils, but that their heroic resolution might be communicated with authority to the people. It was, that in those quarters of the city where the Aragonese still maintained their ground, they should continue to defend themselves with the same firm- ness : should the enemy at last prevail, they were then to retire over the Ebro into the suburbs, break down the bridge, and defend the suburbs till they perished. When this resolution was made pubhc, it was received with the loudest acclamations. But in every conflict the citizens now gained ground upon the soldiers, winning it inch by inch, till the space occupied by the enemy, which on the day of their entrance was nearly half the city, was gradually 384 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE reduced to about an eighth part. Meantime, intel- ligence of the events in other parts of Spain was received by the French, — all tending to dishearten them ; the surrender of Dupont, the failure of Mon- cey before Valencia, and the news that the Junta of that province had dispatched six thousand men to join the levies in Aragon, which were destined to reheve Zaragoza. During the night of the 13th, their fire was particularly fierce and destructive ; after their batteries had ceased, flames burst out in many parts of the buildings which they had won; their last act was to blow up the church of St. En- gracia ; the powder was placed in the subterranean church, — and this remarkable place, — this monu- ment of fraud and creduHty, — the splendid theatre wherein so many feelings of deep devotion had been excited, — which so many thousands had visited in faith, and from which unquestionably many had departed with their imaginations elevated, their principles ennobled, and their hearts strengthened, was laid in ruins. In the morning the French columns, to the great surprise of the Spaniards, were seen at a distance, retreating over the plain, on the road to Pamplona. The history of a battle, however skilfully narrated, is necessarily uninteresting to all except military men ; but in the detail of a siege, when time has destroyed those considerations, which prejudice or pervert our natural sense of right and wrong, every reader sym- pathizes with the besieged, and nothing, even in fictitious narratives, excites so deep and animating an interest. There is not, either in the annals of ancient or of modern times, a single event recorded more worthy to be held in admiration, now and for evermore, than the siege of Zaragoza. Will it be SIEGE OF ZARAGOZA (1808) 385 said that this devoted people obtained for themselves, by all this heroism and all these sacrifices, nothing more than a short respite from their fate? Woe be to the slavish heart that conceives the thought, and shame to the base tongue that gives it utterance ! They purchased for themselves an everlasting re- membrance upon earth, — a place in the memory and love of all good men in all ages that are yet to come. They performed their duty; they redeemed their souls from the yoke ; they left an example to their country, never to be forgotten, never to be out of mind, and sure to contribute to and hasten its deliverance. Htstory of the Peninsular War, en. IX. 2C THE UPRISING AT MARVAM A PoRTUGUEZE of the old stamp, by name Antonio Leite de Araujo Ferreira Bravo, held the office of Juiz de Fora at Marvam, a small town about eight miles from Portalegre, surrounded with old walls. Of the many weak places upon that frontier it was the only one which, in the short campaign of 1801, resisted the Spaniards in their unjust and impolitic invasion, and was not taken by them; and this was in great measure owing to his exertions. When the French usurped the government, a verbal order came from the Marquez d'Alorna, at that time general of the province, to admit either French or Spanish troops as friends, and give them possession of the place. Antonio Leite protested against this, maintaining that no governor ought to deliver up a place intrusted to his keeping without a formal and authentic order : proceedings were instituted against him for his opposi- tion, and he was severely reprehended, this being thought punishment enough at that time, and in a town where no commotion was dreamt of. When the decree arrived at Marvam, by which it was announced that the house of Braganza had ceased to reign, Antonio Leite sent for the pubhc notaries of the town, and resigned his office, stating, in a formal instrument, that he did this because he would not be compelled to render that obedience to a foreign power which was due to his lawful and beloved Sovereign, and to him alone. Then taking with him these wit- nesses to the church of the Misericordia, he deposited 386 THE UPRISING AT MARVAM 387 his wand of office in the hands of an image of N. Senhor dos Passes, and in the highest feelings of old times called upon the sacred image to keep it till it should one day be restored to its rightful possessor. He then returned to his house, and put himself in deep mourning. The order arrived for taking down the royal arms. He entreated the Vereador not to execute it, upon the plea that the escutcheon here was not that of the Braganza family, but of the kingdom, put up in the reign of Emanuel, and distinguished by his device ; and when this plea was rejected, he took the shield into his own keeping, and laid it care- fully by, to be preserved for better days. The Juiz seems to have been a man who had read the chronicles of his own country till he had thor- oughly imbibed their spirit. These actions were so little in accord with the feelings and manners of the present age, that they were in all likelihood ascribed to insanity, and that imputation saved him from the persecution which he would otherwise have incurred. But when the national feeling began to manifest itself, such madness was then considered dangerous, and the Corregedor of Portalegre received orders from Lisbon to arrest him. Before these orders arrived he had begun to stir for the deliverance of his country, and had sent a confidential person with a letter to Galluzo, the Spanish commander at Badajoz, requesting aid from thence to occupy Marvam ; men could not be spared ; and the messenger returned with the unwelcome intelligence that before he left Badajoz the business on which he went had trans- pired, and was publicly talked of. Perceiving now that his fife was in danger, his first care was that no person might suffer but himself, and therefore he laid upon his table a copy of the letter which he had 388 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE written, from which it might be seen that the invita- tion was his single act and deed ; having done this, he seemed rather to trust to Providence than to take any means for securing himself. It was not long before, looking out at the window, he saw the Correge- dor with an adjutant of Kellermann's and a party of horse coming to his house. He had just time to bid the servant say he was not within, and slip into the street by a garden door. He had got some distance, when the Corregedor saw him, and called after him, saying he wanted to settle with him concerning the quartering of some troops. Antonio Leite knew what his real business was too well to be thus deceived, and quickened his pace. The town has two gates, one of which was fastened, because the garrison was small : toward that however he ran, well knowing that if he were not intercepted at the other, he should be pursued and surely overtaken. Joaquim Jose de Matos, a Coimbra student, then at home for the vacation, met him, and offered to conceal him in his house ; but the Juiz continued to run, seeing that the soldiers were in pursuit, dropt from the wall, escaped with little hurt, and then scrambled down the high and steep crag upon which it stands. Matos, thinking that he had now involved himself, ran also, and being of diminutive stature, squeezed himself through a hole in the gate; they then fled together toward Valencia de Alcantara, and had the satisfac- tion, at a safe distance, of seeing a Swiss escort come round the walls to the place where the Juiz had dropt. The Spanish frontier being so near, their escape was easy; but when they had been a few days at Valencia de Alcantara, Matos determined upon re- turning to his family, knowing that there was no THE UPRISING AT MARVAM 389 previous charge against him, and thinking that the act of having spoken to the Juiz could not be punished as a crime. In this he was mistaken. The governor of Marvam was a worthy instrument of the French. He not only arrested Matos, but his father also, an old man who was dragged from his bed, where he lay in a fit of the gout, to be thrown into a Portugueze prison ; and a physician, whom he suspected of being concerned in the scheme of an insurrection. This news reached the Juiz ; it was added, that his own property had been sequestered, he himself outlawed, and all persons forbidden to harbour him, and that a French escort had arrived to carry the three prisoners to Elvas. He could not endure to think that he should be, however innocently, the occasion of their death, and therefore determined to attempt at least their deliverance at any hazard. It was not difficult to find companions at a time when all usual occupa- tions were at a stand, and every man eager to be in action against an odious enemy. With a few Spanish volunteers he crossed the frontier, and there raised the peasantry, who knew and respected him : with this force he proceeded to a point upon the road between Marvam and Elvas ; the escort had passed, — but he had the satisfaction to learn that it had not gone for the prisoners, only to bring away the ammunition and spike the guns. This raised their spirits ; they directed their course to Marvam, cHmbed the walls during the night, opened the prison, seized the governor, and without the slightest opposition from two hundred Portugueze troops, whom he had just obtained from Elvas to secure the place, and who, if they knew what was passing, did not choose to notice it, the adventurers returned to Valencia in triumph with their friends, and with the governor 3 go SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE prisoner. The Junta of Valencia did not now hesi- tate, in conformity to an order from Badajoz, to give the Juiz regular assistance ; he entered Marvam in triumph with this auxihary force, and the Prince Regent was proclaimed there by the rejoicing inhabi- tants, at the very time when Beja was in flames. A few days afterwards a Spanish detachment from Albuquerque entered Campo-Mayor with the same facility. Some jealousies which arose there, as well as at Marvam, from the inconsiderate conduct of the Spanish officers in issuing orders as if they were in their own territories, were put an end to by the formation of a Junta, of which the Spanish com- mander at Campo-Mayor was made president. The example of these places was immediately followed at Ouguela, Castello de Vide, Arronches, and Porta- legre; and the insurrection thus extended through all that part of the province which is to the north of Elvas. History of the Peninsular War, ch. X. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY The system of the Jesuit Reductions was now fully matured. That system has been equally the subject of panegyric and of calumny. It will not be difficult to separate truth from falsehood, and represent this extraordinary commonwealth, without any feelings of superstition to mislead us on one hand, or of fac- tious and interested hatred on the other. They who founded this commonwealth profited by the experience of their brethren in Brazil : they knew what had been effected by Nobrega and his successors, and how mournfully the fruit of their labours had been lost; they represented therefore to the Court of Madrid that it was in vain to pursue the same course in Paraguay. Even if the tyranny of the Europeans did not consume those whom it could enslave, and drive others into the woods, the example of their lives would counteract all the lessons of reUgion and morality which the most zealous instructors could inculcate. Here were innumerable tribes, addicted to the vices, prone to the supersti- tions, and subject to the accumulated miseries of the savage Hfe ; suffering wrongs from the Spaniards, and seeking vengeance in return ; neither acknowledg- ing King nor God ; worshipping the Devil in this world, and condemned to him everlastingly in the next. These people the Jesuits undertook to reclaim with no other weapons than those of the Gospel, provided they might pursue their own plans, without the interference of any other power; and provided 391 392 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE the Spaniards, over whose conduct they could have no control, were interdicted from coming among them. The Spanish Government, whose real con- cern for the salvation of the Indians within its ex- tensive empire, however erroneous in its direction, should be remembered as well as the enormities of its first conquest, granted these conditions; and the Jesuits were thus enabled to form establishments according to their own ideas of a perfect common- wealth, and to mould the human mind, till they made a community of men after their own heart. Equally impressed with horror for the state of savage man, and for the vices by which civilized society was everywhere infected, they endeavoured to reclaim the Indians from the one, and preserve them from the other by bringing them to that middle state wherein they might enjoy the greatest share of per- sonal comforts, and be subject to the fewest spiritual dangers. For this purpose, as if they understood the words of Christ in their literal meaning, they sought to keep their converts always like little chil- dren in a state of pupillage. Their object was not to advance them in civilization, but to tame them to the utmost possible docility. Hereby they in- volved themselves in perpetual contradictions, of which their enemies did not fail to take advantage: for on one hand they argued with irresistible truth against the slave-traders, that the Indians ought to be regarded as human, rational, and immortal beings ; and on the other they justified themselves for treat- ing them as though they were incapable of self-con- duct, by endeavouring to establish, that though they were human beings, having discourse of reason, and souls to be saved or lost, they were nevertheless of an inferior species. They did not venture thus broadly SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 393 to assert a proposition which might well have been deemed heretical, but their conduct and their argu- ments unavoidably led to this conclusion. Acting upon these views, they formed a Utopia of their own. The first object was to remove from their people all temptations which are not inherent in human nature ; and by establishing as nearly as possible a community of goods, they excluded a large portion of the crimes and miseries which em- bitter the life of civilized man. For this they had the authority of sages and legislators : if they could have found as fair a ground-work for the mythology of Popery in the scriptures as for this part of their institutions, the bible would not have been a prohib- ited book wherever the influence of the Jesuits ex- tended. There was no difficulty in beginning upon this system in a wide and thinly-peopled country; men accustomed to the boundless liberty of the savage life would more readily perceive its obvious advan- tages, than they could be made to comprehend the more complicated relations of property, and the bene- fits of that inequahty in society, of which the evils are apparent as well as numerous. The master of every family had a portion of land allotted him suffi- cient for its use, wherein he cultivated maize, mandubi, a species of potatoe, cotton, and whatever else he pleased; of this land, which was called Abamba,^ 1 Azara affirms that the Jesuits compelled the Indians of both sexes and of all ages, to work for the common stock, and suffered no person to work for his own benefit. T. 2, p. 234. This is a calumny beyond all doubt; for that the Jesuits accumulated nothing from Paraguay is most certain. He says that the private field was only introduced in later times, to accustom them to the use of property, when the Court had begun to interfere, and represented that they had kept their converts long enough like rabbits in a warren : and this, he says, could be the only use of such an allotment, inasmuch as the Indians raised nothing for sale, and would have been fed by 394 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE or the private possession, he was tenant as long as he was able to cultivate it ; when he became too old for the labour, or in case of death, it was assigned to another occupier. Oxen for ploughing it were lent from the common stock. Two larger portions, called Tupamba, or God's Possession, were cultivated for the community, one part being laid out in grain and pulse, another in cotton; here the inhabitants all contributed their share of work at stated times, and the produce was deposited in the common storehouse, for the food and clothing of the infirm and sick, widows, orphans, and children of both sexes. From these stores whatever was needed for the church, or for the public use, was purchased, and the Indians were supplied with seed, if, as it often happened, they had not been provident enough to lay it up for themselves : but they were required to return from their private harvest the same measure which they received. The public tribute also was discharged from this stock : this did not commence till the year 1649, when Philip IV., honouring them at the same time with the title of his most faithful vassals, and confirming their exemption from all other services, required an annual poll-tax of one peso of eight reales from all the males between the ages of twenty-two and fifty; that of all other Indian subjects was five pesos. There was an additional charge of an hundred pesos as a commutation for the tenths ; but these payments produced Httle to the treasury; for as the kings of Spain allowed a salary of six hundred pesos to the two missionaries, and provided wine for the community if they had not fed themselves. He adds, that the Jesuits actually took their produce, like that of the public fields, for the common storehouse. Whatever Azara says on this subject is to be received with great suspicion. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 395 the sacrament and oil for the lamps, which burnt day and night before the high altar, (both articles of exceeding cost, the latter coming from Europe, and the former either from thence or from Chili,) the balance upon an annual settlement of accounts was very trifling on either side. The municipal government of every Reduction was the same in appearance as that of all Spanish towns. There was a Corregidor,^ two Alcaldes, an Alcalde de la Hermandad, whose jurisdiction related to affairs in the country, four Regidores,^ an Alguazil Mayorf a Procurador, and a Secretary.^ These officers were annually elected by the community; but if the Rector did not approve the choice, he recommended other persons, so that in reality the power of appointment was vested in him ; they were afterwards confirmed by the governor of the prov- ince, — a confirmation which was as mere a formality as the election. The officers themselves were of essential use, but their authority was little more than nominal ; for the system of government was an abso- lute Hierocracy. There were two Jesuits in every Reduction ; the Cura, or Rector, who from his knowledge of the Indian character, his tried abilities, and his perfect acquaintance with the language, was fully competent to govern them; and a younger ^ Called in Guarani Poroquaitara, qui agenda jubet (who orders what is to be done). 2 Called Cabildoiguara, they who belong to the Chamber, or Cahildo. ^ Ibirararuzu, primus inter eos qui manu virgam praeferunt. * This officer they called Qtiatiaapobara, he who paints. Ipsi scripturam non norant, sed a pictura, quam rudi quodam modo norant, scripturse nomen accomodarunt. Peramas de Administra- tione, b'c, 216, note. (They did not themselves know writing, but from the rude kind of painting which they had, they adopted a word for writing.) 396 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE member, who was either newly arrived from Europe, or had lately completed his studies at Cordoba, and acted as the Rector's assistant, while he acquired the language, and qualified himself for the labours of a Saint-Errant, and for the service of the Company in a higher station. One of these was to be always in the Reduction, while the other went round to visit the sick in the territory belonging to it, and attended to those who were engaged in any occupa- tion at a distance. The Superior of the Mission was constantly employed in visiting the Reductions within his jurisdiction, and the Provincial also in- spected them at stated times. There were two con- fraternities in each : one of St. Michael the Archangel, in which men were admitted from the age of twelve till thirty : the other of the Mother of God, to which only the most pious subjects were chosen, who made themselves over by bond to the service of the Queen of Angels ; the deed was signed by the member him- self, and countersigned by the Rector, and was then regarded with so much veneration that the Indian kept it in the same bag with his rehcs. There were also certain Indians appointed to watch over the health of the community, and attend the sick, but always under the Jesuits' direction. They seem to have been trained to this office ; for when the Mis- sionary visited the sick two boys at least always accompanied him. Their business was to go every morning through the Reduction, each having his district, and report if any disease had appeared; and they were also twice a day to report the state of the patients to the Rector, that the sacrament might always be administered in time. These officers are compared to the Par abolanioi the primitive church, in imitation of whom they were perhaps instituted; SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 397 their badge of office was a tall wand with a cross at the top, from whence they were called Curuzuyu, the Cross-bearers. The Missionaries had gardens of every medicinal herb ^ with whose properties they were acquainted ; not only such as were indigenous, but those from Europe which would bear the climate. As in the Jesuits' system nothing was the result of fortuitous circumstances, but all had been pre- conceived and ordered, the towns were all built upon the same plan. The houses were placed on three sides of a large square. At first they were mere hovels : the frame-work was of stakes firmly set in the ground, and canes between them, well secured either with withes or thongs ; these were then plas- tered with a mixture of mud, straw, and cowdung. Shingles of a tree called the Caranday were found the best roofing ; and a strong compost, which was water proof, was made of clay and bullocks' blood. As the Reductions became more settled they improved ^ Sigismund Asperger, who was a physician before he entered the Company, and died at the age of an hundred and fourteen, after its extinction, practiced forty years in Paraguay, and left a collection of prescriptions, in which only the indigenous plants were employed. Some of the Ciiranderos, or empirical practitioners of that country, have copies of this work, in which, Azara observes, some new specifics might possibly be found. The balm of aguaraibay, which he intro- duced, was thought so precious, that a certain quantity was sent yearly to the king of Spain. It is well known that we are indebted to the Jesuits for bark. It would have been fortunate if Dom Pernetty had met with this manuscript instead of the receipts of his Franciscan friend at Monte- video, which he repeats with equal want of sense and of decency. His Editor has written under one of these most extraordinary speci- mens of Franciscan medicine, or, as it may be called, the Pharma- copoeia Serapkica, "Observez que cette recette n'est point de Sydenham ou de Boerhaave, — maic dii Pere Rock, Franciscain." (Observe that this recipe does not come from Sydenham or Boerhaave, but from Father Roch the Franciscan.) Never was a malicious remark more properly bestowed. 398 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE in building ; the houses were more soUdly constructed, and covered with tiles. Still, by persons accustomed to the decencies of life, they would be deemed miser- able habitations, — a single room ^ of about twenty- four feet square being all, and the door serving at once to admit the light and let out the smoke. The houses were protected from sun and rain by wide porticos, which formed a covered walk. They were built in rows of six or seven each ; these were at regu- lar distances, two on each of three sides of the square ; and as many parallel rows were placed behind them as the population of the place required. The largest of the Guarani Reductions contained eight thousand inhabitants, the smallest twelve hundred and fifty, — the average was about three thousand. On the fourth side of the square was the church, having on the right the Jesuits' house, and the public work- shops, each inclosed in a quadrangle, and on the left a walled burial-ground ; behind this range was a large garden ; and on the left of the burial-ground, but separated from it, was the Widows'-house, built in a quadrangle. The enemies of the Jesuits, as well as their friends, agree in representing their churches as the largest and most splendid in that part of the world. Their height was ill proportioned to their size, because every pillar was made of a single piece of wood, — the trunk of a tree ; but as the houses consisted only of one floor, the church was still a lofty building in relation to the town. They had usually three naves, but some had five; and there were numerous windows, which were absolutely ^ The plan of N. Senora de Candelaria, which Peramas has given, represents them as each having two floors and a garret, windows and chimnies. This is more probably a blunder of the coarse artist than any misrepresentation on the author's part. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 399 necessary ; ^ for though the church was always adorned with flowers, and sprinkled upon festivals with orange-flower and rose-water, neither these perfumes nor the incense could prevail over the odour of an unclean congregation. Glass was scarcely known in Paraguay till the middle of the eighteenth century; paper was used in its stead, or linen, or talc from Tucuman ; but this was costly, and conse- quently rare. When glass was introduced, it was generally used in the Reductions for the churches and the Jesuits' houses; but the southern windows of the church were filled up with a sort of alabaster, brought at great expense from Peru, which, though not transparent,^ admitted a little light : glass would not resist the tremendous gales from the south. The eggs ^ of the Emu, or American ostrich, were some- times used to hold holy water, sometimes placed as ornaments upon the altar. The altars, which were usually five in number, were remarkable for their size and splendour : the only ambition of the Indians was to vie with each other in ornamenting their churches, which were therefore profusely enriched with pictures, sculpture, and gilding, and abundantly furnished with images. Pope Gregory the Great ^ "Necessarie ancor sono, affinche nella State, che ivi e ardentissima, possano esalare ifiati e vapori di quella grossolana gente, da cui ricevono non poca molestia i celebranti e i predicatori." Muratori, p. 114. (They were necessary in order that in the summer, which is there very hot, they might allow a vent for the breath of this squalid assemblage from which the celebrants and preachers received no slight injury.) 2 Perhaps a stone of the same kind as that which Gemelli Careri and Tavernier describe in the mosque at Tauris. * The Persians and Turks suspend them among the lamps in their mosques. Hence Aladin's request of a Roc's egg, or more properly a Simorg's, which excited so much indignation in the Genius of the Lamp. 400 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE called these idols the books of the poor, and the Catholic clergy have succeeded in substituting them for the bible. The splendour of their vestments and the richness of their church plate were boasted of by the Jesuits. At each corner of the square was a cross, and in the middle a column supporting an image of the Virgin, the Magna Mater of this idolatry. In the middle of the burial-ground was a little chapel, with a cross over the entrance. The area was divided into four parts, for adults and children of different sexes, — the sexes being separated in death as well as in life. A more natural feeling would have laid the members of a family side by side ; — except in this point the churchyard was what a chris- tian place of burial should be, — a sacred garden of the dead. The four divisions were subdivided into plats, containing ten or twelve graves : these were bordered with the sweetest shrubs and flowers, which the women, who were accustomed to pray there over their departed friends, kept clear of weeds. The wider walks were planted on each side alternately with palms and orange-trees. The whole was sur- rounded by a sort of cloister or piazza, to shelter those who attended a funeral, when shelter was required. It does not appear that coffins were used : the body was wrapt in a cotton cloth : children, after the cathohc manner, were drest and adorned for their funeral, and accompanied to the grave with marks of joy, the bells ringing as for a festival, be- cause it was beHeved that they had no purgatory through which to pass, but entered immediately into a state of beatitude. When the corpse was laid in the earth, the women began to cry aloud; this howling was called Guaju, and was probably one of the savage customs which they were allowed to SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 40I retain : in the intervals of these outcries they bewailed the dead, reciting his praises, and proclaiming what honours he had borne, or what might have been in store for him had his mortal existence been prolonged. Persons who had particularly distinguished them- selves by their public merits were buried in the church, and this the Indians esteemed above all other honours. The houses were built and repaired by the com- munity, and allotted by the magistrates as the Rector directed : every couple had a house assigned them upon their marriage. Highly as the celibate state is esteemed among Romish Christians, it was not thought prudent to recommend it here ; and the Jesuits, inclining to an opposite extreme, wished that the males should marry at the age of seventeen, and the girls at fifteen.^ These immature unions they thought better than the danger of incontinence : they were less injurious than they would be in any other state of society ; for an Indian under their tuition was little more advanced in intellect at seventy than at seventeen ; and there were no cares and anxieties concerning future subsistence, — no after- reckoning between passion and prudence. A ham- mock, a few vessels, (the larger ones of pottery, the smaller of gourds,) a chest or two, and a few benches or stools, were all their furniture, and all their worldly goods. Many couples were usually married at the same time, and generally on holidays, when the church was full, because the Jesuits wished to make the ceremony as imposing as possible, for the sake of impressing a sense of its solemnity upon the un- ^ Upon this subject Azara {T. 2, 175) repeats a silly and indecent charge against the Jesuits, which he wishes to make the reader believe, though he evidently does not, and certainly could not believe it him- self. But it came in aid of one of his theories, and therefore he would not lose it. 402 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE converted part of the spectators. It is part of the marriage ceremony in the Romish church, that the priest deliver a few pieces of silver to the bridegroom, to be by him given to the bride in pledge of dowry ; but in the Reductions the money and the wedding- ring also were church property, and only used upon this occasion, because of the scarcity of metals. Some addition from the pubhc stores was made to the marriage-feast. An Indian of the Reductions never knew, during his whole progress from the cradle to the grave, what it was to take thought for the morrow : all his duties were comprized in obedience. The strictest discipline soon becomes tolerable when it is certain and immutable ; — that of the Jesuits extended to everything, but it was neither capricious nor oppres- sive. The children were considered as belonging to the community; they lived with their parents, that the course of natural affection might not be in- terrupted ; but their education was a public duty. Early in the morning the bell summoned them to church, where having prayed and been examined in the catechism, they heard mass ; their breakfast was then given them at the Rector's from the public stores ; after which they were led by an elder, who acted both as overseer and censor, to their daily occupations. From the earHest age the sexes were separated ; they did not even enter the church by the same door, nor did woman or girl ever set foot within the Jesuits' house. The business of the young girls was to gather the cotton, and drive away birds from the field. The boys were employed in weeding, keeping the roads in order, and other tasks suited to their strength. They went to work with the music of flutes, and in procession, bearing a Httle SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 403 image of St. Isidro the husbandman, the patron saint of Madrid, who was in high odour during the seventeenth century : this idol was placed in a con- spicuous situation while the boys were at work, and borne back with the same ceremony when the morn- ing's task was over. In the afternoon they were again summoned to church, where they went through the rosary ; they had then their dinner in the same man- ner as their breakfast, after which they returned home to assist their mothers, or amuse themselves during the remainder of the day. Those children who by the manner in which they repeated morning and evening their prayers and catechism, were thought to give promise ^ of a good voice, were instructed in reading, writing,^ and music, ^ Muratori has expressed this in strong and singular language. "Sogliono con particolar cura i saggi missionari scegliere qtie' fanciulli, che da' primi anni si conoscono forniti di miglior metallo di voce." (The wise missionaries are accustomed to choose with special care those children who from their earliest years are seen to be provided with the best vocal metal.) This expression could hardly have origi- nated anywhere except in a country where men are considered as musical instruments. 2 P. Florentin de Bourges, therefore (Lettres Edifiantes, T. 8, p. 384, ed. 1 781), must be incorrect in stating, that from the age of seven or eight to twelve the children went to school to learn reading and writing, and be instructed in their catechism and their prayers ; the girls being in separate schools, where they were taught to spin and to sew. There is nothing in the whole of the Lettres Edifiantes more suspicious than this Capuchin's account of the manner in which he lost himself between Santa Fe and Cordoba, and travelled alone through the woods to the Reduction of S. Francisco Xavier in Para- guay. He does not even hint at the sUghtest difficulty, danger, or inconvenience of any kind upon the way, — totde au contraire; — " Tout ce que V etude et I'industrie des hommes ont pu imaginer pour rendre un lieu agreable, n'approche point de ce que la simple nature y avoit rassemble de beautes." (On the contrary all that the skill and effort of men could imagine to make a place agreeable falls short of the beauties which nature alone has there collected.) The most edifying and audacious miracles in the book are not more extraor- dinary than this. 404 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE and made choristers ; there were usually about thirty in a Reduction : this was an honour which parents greatly coveted for their children. Except these choristers, only those children were taught to read and write who were designed for public officers, servants of the church, or for medical practice ; and they were principally chosen from the families of the Caciques ^ and chief persons of the town, — for amid this perfect equality of goods, there was an inequality of rank, as well as office. The Cacique retained his title, and some appearance of distinction, and was exempt from tribute. One of the charges against the Jesuits was, that they carefully kept their Indians in ignorance of the Spanish tongue. Like many other charges against them, it was absurd as well as groundless. Throughout the Spanish settlements in Paraguay, Guarani is the language which children learn from their mothers and their nurses ; and which, owing to the great mixture of native blood, and the number of Indians in slavery or in service, is almost exclusively used. Even in the city of Asumpcion, sermons were better understood in Guarani than in Spanish ; and many women of Spanish name and Spanish extraction did not understand the language of their fathers. In a country, therefore, where all the Spaniards spoke Guarani, the imputed policy of keeping the Indians a distinct people could not be ^ If Dobrizhoffer's remark be well founded, this preference ought not to have been shown. He says, "Experti sumus passim Caziquios plerumque plebeiis stiipidiores sese, et ad publica oppidi mimia minus habiles." (It was generally our experience that the Caciques were more stupid than the common people and less apt for the per- formance of the public duties of the town.) T. 2, p. 117. There were fifty Caciques in the thirty Guarani Reductions. Philip V. would have made them all Knights of Santiago, but was dissuaded, being assured that they would not regard the honour as they ought. Peramas, 156. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 405 forwarded by preventing them from learning Span- ish. It was altogether unnecessary that this lan- guage should make part of their education. The laws enjoined that it should be taught to such In- dians as were desirous of learning it, and accordingly there were some in every Reduction who were able to read Spanish and Latin as well as their own tongue. Their learning, however, was of little extent — the Tree of Knowledge was not suffered to grow in a Jesuit Paradise. Equal care was taken to employ and to amuse the people ; and for the latter purpose, a religion which consisted so much of externals afforded excellent means. It was soon discovered that the Indians possessed a remarkable aptitude for music. This talent was cultivated for the church-service, and brought to great perfection by the skill and assiduity of F. Juan Vaz : in his youth he is said to have been one of Charles the Fifth's musicians ; but having given up all his property, and entered the Company, he applied the stores of his youthful art to this pur- pose, and died in the Reduction of Loretto, from the fatigues which in extreme old age he underwent in attending upon the neophytes during a pestilence. You would say, says Peramas, that these Indians are born, like birds, with an instinct for singing. Having also, like the Chinese, an admirable ingenuity in imitating whatever was laid before them, they made all kinds of musical instruments : the lute, guitarre, harp, violin, violin-cello, sackbut, cornet, oboe, spin- ette, and organ were found among them ; and the choral part of the church service excited the ad- miration and astonishment of all Europeans who visited the Reductions. In dancing according to the ordinary manner, the 4o6 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Jesuits saw as many dangers as the old Albigenses, or the Quakers in later times ; and like them, perhaps, believed that the paces of a promiscuous dance were so many steps toward Hell. But they knew that to this also the Indians had a strong propensity, and therefore they made dancing a part of all their reh- gious festivities. Boys and youths were the per- formers ; the grown men and all the females assisted only as spectators, apart from each other : the great square was the place, and the Rector and his Co- adjutor were seated in the church-porch to preside at the solemnity. The performances were dramatic figure-dances, for which the Catholic mythology furnished subjects in abundance. Sometimes they were in honour of the Virgin, whose flags and banners were then brought forth ; each of the dancers bore a letter of her name upon a shield, and in the evolu- tions of the dance the whole were brought together and displayed in their just order: at intervals they stopt before her image, and bowed their heads to the ground. Sometimes they represented a battle between Christians and Moors, always to the proper discomfiture of the Misbelievers. The Three Kings of the East formed the subject of another favourite pageant; the Nativity of another; but that which perhaps gave most delight was the battle between Michael and the Dragon, with all his imps. These stories were sometimes represented in the form of Autos, or Sacred Plays, (like the mysteries of our ancient drama) in which no female actors were ad- mitted : the dresses and decorations were public property, and deposited among the public stores, under the Rector's care. The Jesuits, who incor- porated men of all descriptions in their admirably- formed society, had at one time a famous dancing- SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 407 master in Paraguay, by name Joseph Cardiel ; who, whether he had formerly practiced the art as a pro- fessor, or was only an amateur, took so much dehght in it, that he taught the Indians no fewer than seventy different dances, all, we are assured, strictly decorous. Sometimes the two arts of music and dancing were combined, as in ancient Greece, and the performers, with different kinds of hand-instruments, danced in accordance to their own playing. One great festival in every Reduction was the day of its tutelar saint, when the boys represented reli- gious dramas ; the inhabitants of the nearest Reduc- tions were invited, and by means of these visits a cheerful and friendly intercourse was maintained. But here, as in most other Cathohc countries, the most splendid spectacle was that which, in the naked monstrosity of Romish superstition, is called the Procession of the Body of God ! On this day the houses were hung with the best productions of the Guarani loom, interspersed with rich feather-works, garlands, and festoons of flowers. The whole line of the procession was covered with mats, and strewn with flowers and fragrant herbs. Arches were erected of branches wreathed with flowers, and birds were fastened to them by strings of such length as allowed them to fly from bough to bough, and display a plumage more gorgeous than the richest produce of the vegetable world. Wild beasts were secured beside the way, and large vessels of water placed at inter- vals, in which there were the finest fish, that all creatures might thus by their representatives render homage to the present Creator ! The game which had been killed for the feast made a part of the spec- tacle. Seed reserved for the next sowing was brought forth to receive a blessing, and the first fruits of the 4o8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE harvest as an offering. The flour-and-water object of Romish idolatry went first, under a canopy, which was borne by the Cacique and the chief magistrates of the town : the royal standard came next : then followed the male inhabitants in military array, horse and foot, with their banners. There was an altar at the head of every street ; the sacrament stopt at each, while a mottetto, or anthem, was sung ; and the howling of the beasts assorted strangely with these strains, and with the chaunting of the choristers. Part of the dainties which had been exposed were sent to the sick ; the men dined in public upon the rest, and a portion of the feast was sent to the women at their houses. After a sermon, one of the chief inhabitants repeated a summary ^ of the discourse to the men, in the great square, or in the court before the Jesuits' house ; an older man did the same to the women. Practice had made them so expert in this, that their report was sometimes almost a verbal repetition. Upon hoHdays the men amused themselves, after evening service, with mock-battles, or shooting ar- rows at a mark, or playing with a ball of gum-elastic, which they struck with the upper part of the foot. On working-days, if they had any leisure from public or private occupation, they went fowHng, hunting, and fishing. Some were employed as shepherds and herdsmen, and in tending the horses of the com- munity. The women had their full share of labour ; they provided the houses with wood and water; they assisted their husbands in cultivating the private ground ; they were the potters ; and the mistress of every family received weekly a certain portion of raw ^ A Guarani of Loretto composed a volume of these summaries, which Peramas praises, adding that he had often found it useful. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 409 cotton, to be spun for the common stores.^ Con- siderable progress had been made both in the useful and ornamental arts. Besides carpenters, masons, and blacksmiths, they had turners, carvers, painters, and gilders ; they cast bells and built organs. In these arts they were instructed by some of the lay- brethren, among whom artificers of every kind were found. Metal was brought from Buenos Ayres, at an enormous cost, having been imported there from Europe. They were taught enough of mechanics to construct horse-mills, enough of hydraulics to raise water for irrigating the lands, and supplying their stews, and pubUc cisterns for washing. A Guarani, however nice the mechanism, could imitate anything which was set before him. There were several weavers in every Reduction, who worked for the pubUc stock ; and a certain number were employed for the use of individuals, women taking their thread to the steward, and receiving an equal weight in cloth when it had passed through the loom, the weav- ers being paid from the treasury. This was the produce of their private culture, and in this some little incitement was afforded to vanity and volun- tary exertion; for they were suppHed every year with a certain quantity of clothing, and what they provided themselves was so much finery. In their unreclaimed state some of these tribes were entirely naked, and the others nearly so, — but the love of dress became almost a universal passion among them as soon as they acquired the first rudiments of civi- lization. "Give them any thing fine," says Dobriz- 1 Azara (2, 250) says, that only the musicians, sacristans, and choristers were taught to use the needle ; the women doing no needle- work except spinning. Needlework, indeed, could little be wanted, except for the service of the church, and the dress of the Jesuits perhaps. 4IO SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE hoffer, *'and — in caelum jusseris, ibunt." ^ This, therefore, was one of the ways by which his colleagues enticed them to Heaven. The dress of the men was partly Spanish, partly Indian, consisting of shirt, doublet, breeches, and the poncho, called among them aobaci, a garment which the Spaniards in these countries have very generally adopted from the southern tribes. It is the rudest of all modes of dress, but far ^ from being the least commodious, — a long cloth, with a sHt in the middle, through which the head is put ; the two halves then fall before and behind to a convenient length, and the sides being open, the arms are left unimpeded. In the Reductions these were made of cotton; the common people wore them of one colour, and each man was provided with a change ; for persons in office, they were woven with red or blue stripes. The women, when they appeared at church, and other pubhc occasions, were covered from head to foot with a cotton cloak, which left only the face and the throat visible. Their domestic and common dress was lighter,^ and better adapted for business. The hair ^ Bid them scale heaven and they will go. ^ Ridiculam dices rem ; atqui nee ridicula est, et eadem commodissima ad equitandum, sive quid aliud agendum sit. Sane Hispani vel nobilis- simi, cum equitant vel ruri sunt, non alio utuntur iliac sago, quod ipsi vacant poncho. Hoc uniim interest, quod his multo pretio ejusmodi amictus is constet oh exquisitiorem materiam, inlextosque labores. Peramas, § 20I. (You might think it ridiculous, yet it is by no means ridiculous but very well suited to riding or any other kind of work. Indeed, the very noblest Spaniards when they ride or are Uving in the country use no other garment than this, which they call a poncho. There is only this difference, that in their case a cloak of this kind costs much more on account of the finer material and the embroidery.) * Azara (2, 252) says, the cloth whereof this common dress was made was so open in its texture as not to answer the purpose of decent concealment. This I have no doubt is false. SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 411 was collected in a net, after the Spanish and Portu- gueze fashion ; but when they went abroad it was worn loose. They used no kind of head-dress, nor any covering for the feet and legs ; Peramas confesses that an alteration in this latter point would have been desirable, for the purpose of protecting them from snakes. Brazen ear-rings were worn, and necklaces and bracelets of coloured beads : such things are so universal among women, through all gradations of society, from the lowest point to the highest degree of civiHzation which has yet been attained, that a love of trinketry seems almost to be characteristic of the sex. On gala-days the magistrates were dressed in a full Spanish suit, with hat, and shoes, and stockings : this finery was not their own, and was only suppKed from the public property for the occasion. The per- sons also who ofi&ciated at the altar wore shoes and stockings during the service ; but when that was ended they went barefooted again, Hke the rest of their countrymen. Every morning, after mass, the Corregidor waited upon the Rector, told him what public business was to be done in the day, and informed him if anything deserving reprehension had occurred since yester- day's report. In such a community there could be few subjects for litigation : if a dispute arose which the friends of the parties could not adjust, they were brought before the Rector, who heard both parties in person, and pronounced a final sentence. The punishment for criminal cases was stripes and im- prisonment ; the prisoner was led to mass every day in bonds : if the offence were such as would in other places have been punished with death, he was kept a year in close confinement and in chains, during which time he was sparingly dieted, and frequently 412 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE disciplined with stripes ; at the year's end he was banished from the Reductions, and turned out in a direction toward the Spanish settlements. The magistrates were not allowed to inflict any of these punishments without the Rector's approbation ; but such cases rarely occurred. For as the aim of the Jesuits was to keep their people in a state of perpetual pupillage, the Indians were watched as carefully as children under the most vigilant system of school- discipline. All persons were to be in their houses at a certain hour in the evening, after which the patrole immediately began their rounds, for the double purpose of guarding against any surprize from the savages, (a danger which was always possible,) and of seeing that no person left his home during the night, except for some valid reason. The patroles were chosen with as much care among the most docile subjects, as if they had been designed for the service of the church. Overseers also were appointed, whose business it was to go from place to place during the day, and see that none were idle, and that the cattle with which individuals were entrusted either for their own or the public use, were not neglected or abused. Man may be made either the tamest or the most ferocious of animals. The Jesuits' discipline, beginning with birth and ending only with death, ensured that implicit obedience which is the first duty of Monachism, and was the great object of their legislation. Beside the overseers who inspected the work of the Indians, there were others who acted as inspectors of their moral conduct, and when they dis- covered any misdemeanour, clapt upon the offender a penitential dress, and led him first to the church to make his confession in public, and then into the square to be publicly beaten. It is said that these SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 413 castigations were always received without a mur- mur, and even as an act of grace, — so completely were they taught to lick the hand which chastised and fed them. The children were classed according to their ages, and every class had its inspectors, whose especial business it was to watch over their behaviour ; some of these censors stood always behind them at church with rods, by help of which they maintained strict silence and decorum. This system succeeded in effectually breaking down the spirit. Adults, who had eluded the constant super- intendance of their inspectors, would voluntarily accuse themselves, and ask for the punishment which they had merited ; but by a wise precaution they were not allowed to do this in public till they had obtained permission, and that permission was sel- dom accorded to the weaker sex. They would often enquire of the priest if what they had done were or were not a sin ; the same system which rendered their understanding torpid, producing a diseased irritabihty of conscience, if that may be called con- science which was busied with the merest trifles, and reposed implicitly upon the priest. In conse- quence of their utter ignorance of true morality, and this extreme scrupulosity, one of their confessions occupied as much time as that of ten or twelve Span- iards. The Pope, in condescension to their weak- ness, indulged them with a jubilee every year; and on these occasions the Missionaries of the nearest Reductions went to assist each other. The Jesuits boast that years would sometimes pass away without the commission of a single deadly sin, and that it was even rare to hear a confession which made absolu- tion necessary. Few vices, indeed, could exist in such communities. Avarice and ambition were ex- 414 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE eluded; there was little room for envy, and little to excite hatred and malice. Drunkenness, the sin which most easily besets savage and half-civilized man, was effectually prevented by the prohibition of fermented liquors : and against incontinence every precaution was taken which the spirit of Monachism could dictate. It has been seen how the sexes were separated, from the earHest age, and all the inhabi- tants coupled almost as early as the course of nature would permit; and lest the nightly watch and the daily vigilance of the inspectors should prove insuffi- cient preservatives, the widows, and women whose husbands were employed at a distance, unless they had infants at the breast, were removed into a sepa- rate building adjoining the burial-ground, and inclosed from the town. Their idolatry came in aid of this precautionary system : no person who had in the slightest degree trespassed against the laws of mod- esty could be worthy to be accounted among the servants of the Queen of Virgins. The exclusion of the Spaniards from this common- wealth excited so much suspicion as well as enmity, that it could not long be maintained to that full extent which the Jesuits desired. In later times, therefore, ingress was permitted to the six towns north of the Parana, and the inhabitants of Corrientes came also to the Reduction of Candelaria, which is on the southern side. But the privilege was strictly ob- served in the other settlements between the Parana and the Uruguay, and in all those beyond the latter river, upon the grounds that by the water-communi- cation they were abundantly supplied with all they wanted from Buenos Ayres ; and that if the door were once opened, runaway slaves and mulattoes would fly into these parts. Where the intercourse SYSTEM OF THE JESUITS IN PARAGUAY 415 was allowed, it was exclusively for the purpose of commerce ; the inn for strangers was apart from the Indians' dwellings, and when the exchange of com- modities was effected, the strangers were dismissed. Money was scarcely known in Paraguay, and the capital being the most inland part of the province, it was less in use there than in any other place. All officers at Asumpcion were paid in kind ; everything had its fixed rate of barter, and he who wanted to purchase one article gave another in payment for it. Among the Reductions there was no circulating medium of any kind. They had factors at Santa Fe and at Buenos Ayres, who received their commodi- ties, and having paid the tribute from the products, returned the surplus in tools, colours for painting, oil and salt, neither of which the country produced, vestments of linen and silk, gold thread for church- ornaments, European wax for church-tapers, and wine for what in the Romish religion is called the sacrifice. They exported cotton and tobacco ; rosaries, and little saints, articles which were in great demand in Paraguay and Tucuman, and at Buenos Ayres, were distributed gratuitously, as incitements to reli- gion, and as means of conciliating favour ; they were given especially to those Spaniards who lived remote from Spanish settlements, and who were very thank- ful for toys in which they had almost as much faith as a negro in his greegree. History of Brazil, II, 333-356- THE MANUFACTURING SYSTEM J. HAD provided us with letters to a gentleman in Manchester; we delivered them after breakfast, and were received with that courtesy which a foreigner when he takes with him the expected recommenda- tions is sure to experience in England. He took us to one of the great cotton manufactories, showed us the number of children who were at work there, and dwelt with delight on the infinite good which resulted from employing them at so early an age. I listened without contradicting him, for who would lift up his voice against Diana in Ephesus ! — proposed my questions in such a way as not to imply, or at least not to advance, any difference of opinion, and returned with a feeling at heart which makes me thank God I am not an Englishman. There is a shrub in some of the East Indian islands which the French call veloutier ; it exhales an odour that is agreeable at a distance, becomes less so as you draw nearer, and, when you are quite close to it, is insupportably loathsome. Alciatus himself could not have imagined an emblem more appropriate to the commercial prosperity of England. Mr. remarked that nothing could be so bene- ficial to a country as manufactures. "You see these children, sir," said he. "In most parts of England poor children are a burthen to their parents and to the parish ; here the parish, which would else have to support them, is rid of all expense ; they get their bread almost as soon as they can run about, and by the time they are seven or eight years old bring in 416 THE MANUFACTURING SYSTEM 417 money. There is no idleness among us : — they come at five in the morning ; we allow them half an hour for breakfast, and an hour for dinner; they leave work at six, and another set relieves them for the night; the wheels never stand still." I was looking while he spoke, at the unnatural dexterity with which the fingers of these little creatures were playing in the machinery, half giddy myself with the noise and the endless motion ; and when he told me there was no rest in these walls, day nor night, I thought that if Dante had peopled one of his hells with children, here was a scene worthy to have sup- plied him with new images of torment. "These children, then," said I, "have no time to receive instruction." "That, sir," he rephed, "is the evil which we have found. Girls are employed here from the age you see them till they marry, and then they know nothing about domestic work, not even how to mend a stocking or boil a potatoe. But we are remedying this now, and send the children to school for an hour after they have done work." I asked if so much confinement did not injure their health. "No," he replied, "they are as healthy as any children in the world could be. To be sure, many of them as they grew up went off in consump- tions, but consumption was the disease of the Eng- lish." I ventured to inquire afterwards concern- ing the morals of the people who were trained up in this monstrous manner, and found, what was to be expected, that in consequence of herding together such numbers of both sexes, who are utterly unin- structed in the commonest principles of religion and morality, they were as debauched and profligate as human beings under the influence of such circum- stances must inevitably be ; the men drunken, the 4l8 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE women dissolute ; that however high the wages they earned, they were too improvident ever to lay-by for a time of need ; and that, though the parish was not at the expense of maintaining them when chil- dren, it had to provide for them in diseases induced by their mode of life, and in premature debility and old age ; the poor-rates were oppressively high, and the hospitals and workhouses always full and over- flowing. I inquired how many persons were employed in the manufactory, and was told, children and all about two hundred. What was the firm of the house ? — There were two partners. So ! thought I, — a hundred to one ! "We are well off for hands in Manchester," said Mr. ; "manufactures are favourable to popu- lation, the poor are not afraid of having a family here, the parishes therefore have always plenty to apprentice, and we take them as fast as they can supply us. In new manufacturing towns they find it difficult to get a supply. Their only method is to send people round the country to get children from their parents. Women usually undertake this busi- ness; they promise the parents to provide for the children ; one party is glad to be eased of a burthen, and it answers well to the other to find the young ones in food, lodging and clothes, and receive their wages." "But if these children should be ill-used?" said I. "Sir," he replied, "it never can be the interest of the women to use them ill, nor of the manufacturers to permit it." It would have been in vain to argue had I been disposed to it. Mr. — — was a man of humane and kindly nature, who would not himself use anything cruelly, and judged of others by his own feelings. I thought of the cities in Arabian romance, where THE MANUFACTURING SYSTEM 419 all the inhabitants were enchanted : here Commerce is the queen witch, and I had no talisman strong enough to disenchant those who were daily drinking of the golden cup of her charms. We purchase English cloth, English muslins, Eng- lish buttons, &c., and admire the excellent skill with which they are fabricated, and wonder that from such a distance they can be afforded to us at so low a price, and think what a happy country is England ! A happy country indeed it is for the higher orders ; no where have the rich so many enjojrments, no where have the ambitious so fair a field, no where have the ingenious such encouragement, no where have the intellectual such advantages ; but to talk of English happiness is like talking of Spartan freedom, the Helots are overlooked. In no other country can such riches be acquired by commerce, but it is the one who grows rich by the labour of the hundred. The hun- dred, human beings like himself, as wonderfully fash- ioned by Nature, gifted with the Hke capacities, and equally made for immortality, are sacrificed body and soul. Horrible as it must needs appear, the assertion is true to the very letter. They are de- prived in childhood of all instruction and all enjoy- ment ; of the sports in which childhood instinctively indulges, of fresh air by day and of natural sleep by night. Their health physical and moral is alike de- stroyed ; they die of diseases induced by unremitting task work; by confinement in the impure atmosphere of crowded rooms, by the particles of metallic or vege- table dust which they are continually inhaling; or they live to grow up without decency, without com- fort, and without hope, without morals, without religion, and without shame, and bring forth slaves like themselves to tread in the same path of misery. 420 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE The dwellings of the labouring manufacturers are in narrow streets and lanes, blocked up from light and air, not as in our country to exclude an insup- portable sun, but crowded together because every inch of land is of such value, that room for Ught and air cannot be afforded them. Here in Manchester a great proportion of the poor lodge in cellars, damp and dark, where every kind of filth is suffered to accumulate, because no exertions of domestic care can ever make such homes decent. These places are so many hotbeds of infection ; and the poor in large towns are rarely or never without an infectious fever among them, a plague of their own, which leaves the habitations of the rich, like a Goshen of cleanli- ness and comfort, unvisited. Wealth flows into the country, but how does it circulate there ? Not equally and healthfully through the whole system ; it sprouts into wens and tumours, and collects in aneurisms which starve and palsy the extremities. The government indeed raised millions now as easily as it raised thousands in the days of Elizabeth : the metropolis is six times the size which it was a century ago ; it has nearly doubled during the present reign ; a thousand carriages drive about the streets of London, where, three genera- tions ago, there were not an hundred; a thousand hackney coaches are licensed in the same city, where at the same distance of time there was not one ; they whose grandfathers dined at noon from wooden trenchers, and upon the produce of their own farms, sit down by the light of waxen tapers to be served upon silver, and to partake of dehcacies from the four quarters of the globe. But the number of the poor, and the sufferings of the poor, have continued to increase ; the price of every thing which they con- THE MANUFACTURING SYSTEM 421 sume has always been advancing, and the price of labour, the only commodity which they have to dis- pose of, remains the same. Work-houses are erected in one place, and infirmaries in another; the poor- rates increase in proportion to the taxes ; and in times of dearth the rich even purchase food, and retail it to them at a reduced price, or supply them with it gratuitously : still every year adds to their number. Necessity is the mother of crimes ; new prisons are built, new punishments enacted ; but the poor be- come year after year more numerous, more miserable, and more depraved ; and this is the inevitable tend- ency of the manufacturing system. This system is the boast of England, — long may she continue to boast it before Spain shall rival her ! Yet this is the system which we envy, and which we are so desirous to imitate. Happily our religion presents one obstacle ; that incessant labour which is required in these task-houses can never be exacted in a Catholic country, where the Church has wisely provided so many days of leisure for the purposes of religion and enjoyment. Against the frequency of these holy days much has been said ; but Heaven forbid that the clamour of philosophizing com- merciaHsts should prevail, and that the Spaniard should ever be brutalized by unremitting task-work, like the negroes in America and the labouring manu- facturers in England ! Let us leave to England the boast of supplying all Europe with her wares ; let us leave to these lords of the sea the distinction of which they are so tenacious, that of being the white slaves of the rest of the world, and doing for it all its dirty work. The poor must be kept miserably poor, or such a state of things could not continue ; there must be laws to regulate their wages, not by 422 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE the value of their work, but by the pleasures of their masters ; laws to prevent their removal from one place to another within the kingdom, and to pro- hibit their emigration out of it. They would not be crowded in hot task-houses by day, and herded together in damp cellars at night; they would not toil in unwholesome employments from sun-rise till sun-set, whole days, and whole days and quarters, for with twelve hours labour the avidity of trade is not satisfied ; they would not sweat night and day, keeping up this laus perennis ^ of the Devil, before furnaces which are never suffered to cool, and breath- ing-in vapours which inevitably produce disease and death ; the poor would never do these things unless they were miserably poor, unless they were in that state of abject poverty which precludes instruction, and, by destroying all hope for the future, reduces man, like the brutes, to seek for nothing beyond the gratification of present wants. How England can remedy this evil, for there are not wanting in England those who perceive and con- fess it to be an evil, it is not easy to discover, nor is it my business to inquire. To us it is of more conse- quence to know how other countries may avoid it, and, as it is the prevaihng system to encourage manu- facturers everywhere, to inquire how we may reap as much good and as little evil as possible. The best methods appear to be by extending to the ut- most the use of machinery, and leaving the price of labour to find its own level : the higher it is the better. The introduction of machinery in an old manufac- turing country always produces distress by throw- ing workmen out of employ, and it is seldom effected without riots and executions. Where new fabrics ^ Perpetual praise. THE MANUFACTURING SYSTEM 423 are to be erected it is obvious that this difficulty does not exist, and equally obvious that, when hard labour can be performed by iron and wood, it is desirable to spare flesh and blood. High wages are a general benefit, because money thus distributed is employed to the greatest general advantage. The labourer, lifted up one step in society, acquires the pride and the wants, the habits and the feelings, of the class now next above him. Forethought, which the miserably poor necessarily and instinctively shun, is to him who earns a comfortable competence, new pleasure ; he educates his children, in the hope that they may rise higher than himself, and that he is fitting them for better fortunes. Prosperity is said to be more dangerous than adversity to human vir- tue ; both are wholesome when sparingly distributed, both in the excess perilous always, and often deadly : but if prosperity be thus dangerous, it is a danger which falls to the lot of few; and it is sufficiently proved by the vices of those unhappy wretches who exist in slavery, under whatever form or in whatever disguise, that hope is as essential to prudence, and to virtue, as to happiness. Letters of Espriella, XXXVIII. OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS FROM THE COMMON-PLACE BOOKS PERSONAL REFLECTIONS I INTEND to be a hedge-hog and roll myself up in my own prickles : all I regret is that I am not a por- cupine, and endowed with the property of shooting them to annoy the beasts who come near enough to annoy me. When the cable of happiness is cut, surely it is better that the vessel should sink at once, than be tost about on the dreary ocean of existence, hopeless of a haven. If Momus had made a window in my breast, I should have made a shutter to it. The loss of a friend is like that of a limb. Time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired. A man is a fool if he be enraged with an ill that he cannot remedy, or if he endures one that he can. He must bear the gout, but there is no occasion to let a fly tickle his nose. IV 44. Sisters of Helicon — yours is a thankless service ; he who rears the olive of Pallas is well repaid — or the grain of Ceres — your votaries receive only a barren laurel to wave over their graves. jy, 273. 424 OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 425 I lay no siege to impregnable understandings. IV, 685. Every one sees how preposterous it would be for his shoes to be made upon another man's last. And how many a one is there who thinks that his last ought to fit everybody's foot ! IV, 691. I have indeed worn my opinions for daws to peck at : but though many daws peck with impunity, those which I lay hold on, are not likely soon to forget the finger and thumb which have grasped them. IV, 693. Many who think they are proceeding at quick time in the straight forward march of an upright mind, are owing to a squint in the intellect, making all speed in a wrong fine. IV, 698. Some hearts are like certain fruits, the better for having been wounded. IV 504. I am afraid that more persons abstain from doing good, for fear of contingent evil, than from doing evil, in the persuasion that good may follow. /j^ Perhaps a degree of Christian holiness may be attainable in which the heart will not be accessible to evil thoughts. But we who are far from this must turn from them when they assail us, and never for a moment entertain them with the will's consent. And with regard to angry and resentful emotions, which oftentimes must, and sometimes ought to arise, the sin lies in giving utterance to them, in any other manner than is solely and certainly for the good of others. jj^. 426 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE He who dives into thick water will find mud at the bottom ; no stream is clearer than that which runs over golden sands. lY , .^ LITERATURE Sonnets. — Unless strikingly good, immediately forgotten. They please us like the scenery of a tame country ; we look with pleasure upon a green field, and the light ash that bends over its hedges, and the grey alders along its clear brook side. But the next copse, or the little arch that spans the brook, effaces the faint impression ; and they in their turn yield to the following picture. But the woods of the Wye and the rocks of the Avon, even these we long remember, and years will scarcely blunt the recol- lection of the Tagus, and the heights of Lisbon, and the thousand -fold beauties of Cintra. ly, 258. Copying from Obscure Writers. — If there be a gem in the dunghill, it is well to secure it and set it where its brilliancy may be seen. More often the rudiments of a thought are found — the seed that will only vegetate in good soil, and must be warmed by the sun into life and blossom. So in this Milton has done — he has quickened grub ideas into butterfly beauty. 7j^, Poetical Ornaments. — These are not enough. If the groundwork be bad, they are like the rich colour- ing of a dauber's picture, like the jewels that bedizen a clumsy church-idol. To lard a good story with prettinesses, were Hke periwigging and powdering the Apollo Belvidere — and dressing the Venus of Florence in a hoop. /j^_ OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 427 Devotional poetry usually unsuccessful, not because the subject is bad, but because it has usually been managed by blockheads. /jj^ A writer of original genius must wield language at his will. The syntax must bend to him. He must sometimes create — who else are the makers of language? IV, 259. Gothic genius improved every fiction which it adopted. Like torchlight in a cathedral, its strong lights and shades made every thing terrible, and as it were Hving. j^^ Works of fiction monstrous in kind, devilish in feeling, damnable in purpose. IV, 663. A book is new when, on a second or third perusal, we bring to it a new mind. And who is there who, in the course of even a few years, does not feel him- self in this predicament ? IV, 692. Herrick. — Of all our poets this man appears to have had the coarsest mind. Without being inten- tionally obscene, he is thoroughly filthy, and has not the slightest sense of decency. In an old writer, and especially one of that age, I never saw so large a pro- portion of what may be truly called either trash or ordure. The reprint of 1825 has in the title-page a wreath with the motto perennis et fragrans. A stink- ing cabbage-leaf would have been the more appro- priate emblem. . . . Herrick has noticed more old customs and vulgar superstitions than any other of our poets, and this is almost the only value of his verses. I question 428 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE whether any other poet ever thought it worth while to preserve so many mere scraps, and of such very trash. He seems to have been a man of coarse and jovial temper, who was probably kept by his profession from any scandalous sins, and may have shown some restraint in his Ufe, though there is so very little in his language. There is not any other of our old poets who so little deserves the reputation which he has obtained. Herrick is the coarsest writer of his age. Perhaps Habington may deserve to be called the purest. IV, 303-305- "Harvey's drunken prose," properly enough so called, though perhaps maudlin might be the better epithet, the soft mood of semi-drunkenness. IV, 340. Tristan. — This romance has disappointed me, it is very inferior to Meliadus. The characters are in many instances so discordant, and the leading circumstances of the story so little consonant not merely with our ordinary morals, but our ordinary feelings, that the general effect of the book is far from being pleasant. There is something vile in produc- ing that love on which the whole history turns — by a philtre, — in making both the heroes live in adultery, — and in the unworthy usage of the second Yseult. That everlasting fault of the romancers in sacrificing the character of one hero to enhance the fame of another, is carried to a great degree here. With the creatures of his own creation an author may do what he will, but it is a literary crime to take up the hero whom others have represented as a knight of prowess and of worth, and to engraft vices upon OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 429 him and stain him with dishonour. Palamedes is better conceived than any other personage in this book. IV^ 282 Romances of Calprenede. — Whoever was the in- ventor of the French heroic romance, Calprenade is the writer who carried it to its greatest perfection. It is the fault of the romances of chivalry that they contain so many adventures of the same character, one succeeding the other, which have no necessary connection with the main story, and which might be left out without affecting it; in fact they are in the main made up of these useless episodes. The fault of Calprenade is of an opposite character : he ran into the other extreme, and his three romances for variety of adventures and character, and for extent and intricacy of plot, are perhaps the most extraor- dinary works that have ever appeared. There is not one of them that would not furnish the plots for fifty tragedies, perhaps for twice the number, and yet all these are made into one whole. For this kind of invention, certainly he never has been equalled. The old romances gave true manners, though they applied them to wrong times ; but the anachronism was of little import. Every thing in them was fic- tion. A double sin was committed by the French romancers in chusing historical groundwork, and in Frenchifying the manners of all ages, especially in the abominable fashion of fine letter writing. Story is involved within story, like a nest of boxes ; or they come one after another, so that you have always to go back to learn what has happened, and the main business seldom goes on ; this was inevitable from the prodigious number of characters which were introduced. 43© SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE Pharamond was the romance which he composed with most care ; but he did not live to finish it. Seven parts of the twelve he printed ; the remainder were added by M. de Vaumoriere. The story is by no means so ably conducted as in the former part. I perceived the great inferiority before I knew the cause of it. IV, 280. Gongora is the frog of the fable, his limbs are large, but it is a dropsy that has swollen them. You read him, and after you have unravelled the maze of his meaning, feel like one who has tired his jaws in crack- ing an empty nut. The spider oars himself along the river, but woe to him if he be entangled in its froth. 11^ 2og^ Portuguese Poets. — Sa de Miranda never kindles, never dazzles, never agitates; but he enlightens, he enlivens, he pleases, he adapts himself to the dim sight of the little-knowing reader. Conciseness and perspicuity characterize his style, — he endeavours simply to express his conceptions in ready, not studied, language. The spirit of his thoughts embodied itself in the first shape that presented. It was indifferent to him whether he poured his wine into a golden goblet or an earthen cruise — the contents were the value, not the vessel — but the vessel was ever well sized and pure. He addressed the judgment, not the eye — wiUing rather to instruct the one, than to amuse the other. Of Antonio Ferreira, Horace was the favourite author. He devoted himself to useful poetry — the same severity of taste made him concise, and he ever attended less to harmony than to the brief ex- pression of his meaning. His pictures are graves, OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 43 1 and somewhat rudely finished. Strong rather than sweet, he is animated and full of that fire which elevates the spirit and moves the heart. Except Camoens Ferreira most enriched the language. His imitations of the classics are numerous, — the fre- quent conjunction he first used, ''Suspire, e chora, e canca, e geme, e sua." — more correct, more flowing, more elegant, than Sa de Miranda, he gave that atticism to the language to which Camoens gave the last finish. Ferreira introduced the verso solto into the lan- guage, a metre which only Trissino in Italy had used before him. Some of his chorusses are in Sap- phics, these innovations manifested taste conducted by courageous genius. Diogo Bernardes is easy, natural, more harmonious, more fluent than Ferreira, whom yet he imitated and called his master ; — but less correct and often negli- gent — yet gracefully. But Diogo Bernardes not content with imitating the fashion of Camoens — sometimes stole his cloaths. His language is fuller than that of his predecessors — the stream flowed freer for its copiousness. D. Francisco Manoel says he is a poet of the land of promise — all honey and butter. Pedro de Andrade Caminha has the rust of ruder times with a few spots of poHsh where he had rubbed against his contemporaries ; his four Eclogues are valueless in thought, and cold and feeble in style, the soul of a driveller in the body of a paralytic. His epistles are better, and contain occasional pas- sages of strong and bold morality and manly free- dom ; his funeral elegies are inartificial — not quite worthless; that to Sa de M. on the death of Prince 432 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE de Joa5 is not bad — to Antonio Ferreira on his wife's death is sufferable — on the death of Ferreira himself the best; but they produce no effect, so clumsy the expression, so dead the style. Caminha struck the lyre with frost-bitten fingers ; his amatory elegies are dull and dry whinings, without fancy, without feeling, their sole merit is their shortness. His odes are his best production, either because not written in triads, or because they may have been touched by his abler friends, Sa de Miranda and Fer- reira. His epigrams are seldom faulty, his talents were only equal to an epigram — a steel workman who could only point needles. Caminha was a bad scholar. (He often contracts three or four vowels, and even as many consonants. To read such lines is to set one foot in a quagmire, and hurt the other against a stumbling-stone.) To the shame of these four poets be it spoken, that while they commended each other, and lavished praise upon every rhymer of rank, they never men- tion Camoens. Noble and opulent themselves, they only praised the noble and the opulent. Camoens though well born, was far superior in talents, and miserably poor. Talents and poverty ! ever ever the object of envy and contempt. They would not degrade their wealthiness by condescending to notice genius in misery, and genius in misery did not deign to notice them. Sa de Miranda painted strongly with few and poor colours. Ferreira flavoured with the spice of the ancients. Bernardes was more free, more bold, more abundant in images, more fanciful, more original ; but Kke the English Schakepeer, he produces the most monstrous extravagancies by the side of the greatest beauties. H^ 247-248. OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 433 Camoens. — He treated the language like a man of genius, supplying its defects. To nouns only plural he gave a singular; changed the termination of proper names for the sake of euphony ; lengthened or abbreviated words, and made them from the Latin. "Sometimes," says Antonio das Neves, "he abused this liberty, and coined words almost macarronic." He revived obsolete words also. These are the merits which escape the notice of a foreigner. We look at Camoens as a dim eyed man beholds a cathedral. He catches the general plan, and the stronger features ; but the minuter parts, the numberless ornaments escape him : he sees an arch indeed, but the capital and the frieze elude his eyesight ; he beholds the battlements, but he cannot see the Caryatides that form them and their varying attitudes of beauty. We build with ready materials, but Camoens dug in the quarry, and hewed the stones for his edifice. n 258, Vieyra. — "Like Seneca, he corrupted the oratory of his countrymen, but not the language, which he alone enriched as much as all the poets." ^^ Dias Corrupted ! Vieyra is the Jeremy Taylor of Portugal. Can the Arte de Furtar be his ? It wants the flow, the fulness, the flood of language, the life, warmth, the animation of spirit. His is a rapid style ; he runs, yet is never out of breath : it is a current that hurries you on. A com- pressed sententious language would, in a fourth part of the words, express the meaning : perhaps the reader would not gain time : he must pause and pon- der as he proceeded, the galley may equal the speed 434 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE of the brig, but the one sails easily along, and the other is impelled by the tug and the labour of arms. II, 259. POLITICS The divine right was a wholesome opinion both for prince and subject ; impressing upon both a sense of duty, from which no ill could follow, but much good might arise. IV, 665. The present race are what Johnson emphatically called bottomless Whigs. Their attachment to the most sacred institutions of the country is so lax, that no person knows how far the loose tether of their principles extends. IV, 666. They who set aside the consideration of religion in political matters, act like a physician who, in the treatment of his patients, should disregard all affec- tions of the mind. IV, 677. Man is the most valuable thing that this earth produces, and the moral and intellectual culture of the species ought to be the great object of govern- ment. — Moral economy versus political. IV, 694. ECONOMICS National wealth wholesome only when justly, equitably (not equally) diffused. When the work- man as well as the capitalist has his fair proportion of gains and comforts. IV, 662. Machinery tends to create enormous wealth for a few individuals. IV, 665. Manufacturers seditious when provisions are at a high price : the agriculturalists when they are cheap, and both classes showino; their total want of reverence OPINIONS AND REFLECTIONS 435 and attachment towards the institutions of their country. IV, 667. The condition of the poor must be bettered before they can be improved ; that of the great must be worsened : i.e. birth and connections must not be passports to situations for which worth and ability are required. IV, 694. The political economists treat this subject as MacchiavelH treated the policy of princes, setting aside all considerations of morals and religion. IV, 702. RELIGION AND THE STATE It cannot be denied, but in this last age in most of our memories, our nation has manifestly degen- erated from the practice of former times, in many moral virtues and spiritual graces, which should teach us to render to God the things that are God's, and to Caesar the things that are Caesar's. Where is that integrity of manners, that truth of conversa- tion, that dutiful observance of order, that modesty of private life, that charity towards men, that humble devotion towards God, in which we can only say we have heard our nation once excelled? 'Twould be a melancholy employment to search into the causes of this unhappy change ; but whatever other occasions may have contributed to the continuance and increase of it, certainly the chief cause of the beginning of it was spiritual pride, — the want, nay the contempt of an humble and docile spirit. The different effects of this disposition, and of that which is contrary to it, have been abundantly tried in all histories, in all states, civil and ecclesiastical. Those countries and societies of men have ever most flourished 436 SOUTHEY'S SELECT PROSE where men have been kept longest under a reasonable discipline, those where the number of teachers have been few in comparison with the number of learners. There was never yet any wise nation, or happy church, at least never any that continued long so, where all have thought themselves equally fit, and have been promiscuously admitted to be teachers or lawgivers. What can be the consequence of such a headstrong, stiffnecked, overweening, unmanage- able spirit? Can anything be more destructive to church and state than such a perverse humour, as is unteachable, ungovernable itself, and yet over- hasty to govern and teach others? Where children get too soon out of the government of their parents and masters, — where men think it a duty of religion to strive to get out of the government of their magis- trates and princes, — where Christians shall think themselves not at all bound to be under the govern- ment of the church, — must not all domestic and politic and spiritual relations soon be dissolved? must not all order be speedily overthrown, where all the true ways to make and keep men orderly are confounded? And what in time would be the issue of such a confusion? what, but either gross igno- rance, or false knowledge, which is as bad, or worse ? what, but a contempt of virtue and prudence, under the disgraceful titles of pedantry and formality? what, but a looseness of tongues and lives, and at last men taking pride in, and valuing themselves on such looseness? what but a disobedience to the laws of man, in truth a neglect of all the laws both of God and man ? — Query ?^ II 8 ' ^ This editorial Query apparently refers to the authorship of the passage, but if it is not Southey's own, all the ideas at any rate are such as he would have unhesitatingly subscribed to. Printed in the United States of America. 'T'HE following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan books on kindred subjects. College Readings in English Prose By franklin W. SCOTT Assistant Professor of English, and JACOB ZEITLIN Associate in English, in the University of Illinois ^53PP't ^2mo, $i.2s One of the most useful books of specimens for freshman students ever published and probably the most complete in range of subject matter, typical forms, and levels of style. That which the editors have chiefly kept in mind is the needs of different classes of students. In addition to those things which form a common ground of interest to all students there are articles of special interest to the engineering and agricultural student, though in no case are these so technical as to be uninteresting to the general student. The material under Exposition and Argumentation has been chosen with a view to its timeliness, a good many of the selections being drawn from the literature of the last few years. There is also, however, an ample representation of writers like Macaulay, John Fiske, Huxley, Robert Louis Stevenson, whose usefulness as class models has been satisfactorily tested. An appendix of student themes offers models of a standard of writing which the undergraduate might reasonably be expected to attain, thus serving as an incentive and encouragement for the student who believes the achievements of the masters to be impossible of his own attainment. A double scheme of classification and brief notes for each specimen aid the instructor in using the book in the classroom. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York A Book of English Literature Selected and Edited By F. B. SNYDER, Ph.D. . Associate Professor of English, and R. G. MARTIN, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of English, in Northwestern University Cloth^ 8vo, $2.2J A new volume of selected readings in prose and poetry for use in intro- ductory college survey, or history, of literature courses. In general, the selections may be said to represent English poetry, exclusive of the drama, from Chaucer to Meredith, and English prose, exclusive of the novel and the short story, from Mallory to Stevenson. The omission of illustrations of the drama (with the single exception of one early mystery play) , and of the novel and the short story, is one of the distinctive features of this volume. Another feature is the inclusion of a greater amount of material from the more important writers than is to be found in similar volumes, without sacrificing an adequate representation of the minor authors, some knowledge of whose works is essential to a thor- ough understanding of the development of English literature. The instruc- tor is thus enabled either to select according to his preference from a wide range of material or to plan an extensive reading course. Special attention has also been paid to the notes on the texi, and the biographical and biblio- graphical introductions (placed at the end of the volume). The editors have sought not to increase the amount of the notes, but to make them of more actual service to the student. The biographical and bibliographical introductions, although tersely written, convey much information, and offer considerable guidance to the student in short space. They are accurate in detail, and yet, withal, of a certain literary value seldom to be found in work of this sort. Not only in its contents, but also in all details of its manufacture, will this book be found superior. The type is larger than that used in similar volumes, and, in fact, is as large as that generally used in college textbooks of ordinary size. On the other hand, the bulk and the price will not exceed that of other similar volumes. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York A History of Nineteenth Century Literature By GEORGE SAINTSBURY Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature at the University of Edinburgh 477 PP'> i2mo, $i.jo Recognizing the danger of mixing estimates of work which is done and of work which is unfinished, the author has excluded from this outline history all the living writers. He has presented a critical evalu- ation of the writers of the nineteenth century and their contribution to the literature of their time, and has shown the moulding influence of the writers in the early part of the century upon those of the latter end. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York Representative Biographies of English Men of Letters Chosen and Edited By CHARLES TOWNSEND COPELAND Lecturer on English Literature in Harvard University, and FRANK WILSON CHENEY HERSEY Instructor in English in Harvard University 642 pp., i2mo, $1.2^ In this book are illustrated the varieties of biographical writ- ing. There are included : first, extracts from notable autobiog- raphies, among which are those of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Colley Cibber, Gibbon, and Ruskin ; second, examples of the method and style of such famous biographers as Izaac Walton, Dr. Johnson, Boswell, Lockhart, Southey, Macaulay, and Carlyle ; and third, many complete lives from the " Dictionary of National Biography " which represent the work of the most accomplished of modern literary historians. To teachers such a collection will suggest ways of enlivening and humanizing the study of literature for their pupils. For it shows the intimate relationship of the author to his written product — as a part of his life and thought, and not as a thing apart and isolated ; the unconscious self- revelation of actuating motives and purposes, hopes and ambi- tions, all reveal literature as part and product of life, pulsing with vitality and fire as it is shaped and moulded by the hands of the great masters. In a general survey course such a collection should be of first importance, since it serves to remove the barrier which separates student and writers, for the former is able to see, for the first time, th^t the latter also are men of like passions. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date; May 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Crantieny Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 I i i LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 529 7916 9 ■'■■■'M