tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13336197580068230332024-03-17T20:03:29.030-07:00Harvard Classics 365A liberal education in 365 daysAmanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.comBlogger378125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-33393533749104138992021-01-31T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-31T00:00:05.403-08:00What "Don Quixote" Really Slew<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPpncuchpho0TCN0_d_DDskjejV4UQfdRC4Z7qZ1xSm0hElCtmQhQ5wtvYi2fugd-MzI_A1ZOC8Zf9KBpYLHy2NMQGOJSfUbGAy1tJIm9swEB4nWMUE2GdcAikPNJnJT42NwX1jybYJ-8/s1600/Cervates_jauregui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPpncuchpho0TCN0_d_DDskjejV4UQfdRC4Z7qZ1xSm0hElCtmQhQ5wtvYi2fugd-MzI_A1ZOC8Zf9KBpYLHy2NMQGOJSfUbGAy1tJIm9swEB4nWMUE2GdcAikPNJnJT42NwX1jybYJ-8/s320/Cervates_jauregui.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cervates_jauregui.jpg" target="_blank">Miguel de Cervantes</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547–1616). <i>Don Quixote, Part 1.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Slayer of windmills, rescuer of fair damsels in distress, eccentric Don Quixote, scores of years behind his time, set out on a mad quest of knight-errantry. Worlds of fun and killing satire are in this absorbing story of Cervantes.</i><br />
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<br />
<b>VIII. Of the Good Success Don Quixote Had, in the Dreadful and Never-Imagined Adventure of the Windmills, with Other Accidents Worthy to Be Recorded</b><br />
<br />
AS they discoursed, they discovered some thirty or forty windmills, that are in that field; and as soon as Don Quixote espied them, he said to his squire, ‘Fortune doth address our affairs better than we ourselves could desire; for behold there, friend Sancho Panza, how there appears thirty or forty monstrous giants, with whom I mean to fight, and deprive them all of their lives, with whose spoils we will begin to be rich; for this is a good war, and a great service unto God, to take away so bad a seed from the face of the earth.’ ‘What giants?’ quoth Sancho Panza. ‘Those that thou seest there,’ quoth his lord, ‘with the long arms; and some there are of that race whose arms are almost who leagues long.’ ‘I pray you understand,’ quoth Sancho Panza, ‘that those which appear there are no giants, but windmills; and that which seems in them to be arms, are their sails, that, swung about by the wind, do also make the mill go.’ ‘It seems well,’ quoth Don Quixote ‘that thou art not yet acquainted with matter of adventures. They are giants; and, if thou beest afraid, go aside and pray, whilst I enter into cruel and unequal battle with them.’ And, saying so, he spurred his horse Rozinante, without taking heed to his squire Sancho’s cries, advertising him how they were doubtless windmills that he did assault, and no giants; but he went so fully persuaded that they were giants as he neither heard his squire’s outcries, nor did discern what they were, although he drew very near to them, but rather said, so loud as he could, ‘Fly not, ye cowards and vile creatures! for it is only one knight that assaults you.’<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
With this the wind increased, and the mill sails began to turn about; which Don Quixote espying, said, ‘Although thou movest more arms than the giant Briareus thou shalt stoop to me.’ And, after saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady Dulcinea, desiring her to succor him in that trance, covering himself well with his buckler, and setting his lance on his rest, he spurred on Rozinante, and encountered with the first mill that was before him, and, striking his lance into the sail, the wind swung it about with such fury, that it broke his lance into shivers, carrying him and his horse after it, and finally tumbled him a good way off from it on the field in evil plight. Sancho Panza repaired presently to succor him as fast as his ass could drive; and when he arrived he found him not able to stir, he had gotten such a crush with Rozinante. ‘Good God!’ quoth Sancho, ‘did I not foretell unto you that you should look well what you did, for they were none other than windmills? nor could any think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his brains.’ ‘Peace, Sancho,’ quoth Don Quixote; ‘for matters of war are more subject than any other thing to continual change; how much more, seeing I do verily persuade myself, that the wise Frestron, who robbed my study and books, hath transformed these giants into mills, to deprive me of the glory of the victory, such in the enmity he bears towards me. But yet, in fine, all his bad arts shall but little prevail against the goodness of my sword.’ ‘God grant it as he may!’ said Sancho Panza, and then helped him to arise; and presently he mounted on Rozinante, who was half shoulder-pitched by rough encounter; and, discoursing upon that adventure, they followed on the way which guided towards the passage or gate of Lapice; for there, as Don Quixote avouched, it was not possible but to find many adventures, because it was a thoroughfare much frequented; and yet he affirmed that he went very much grieved, because he wanted a lance; and, telling it to his squire, he said, ‘I remember how I have read that a certain Spanish knight, called Diego Peres of Vargas, having broken his sword in a battle, tore off a great branch or stock from an oak-tree, and did such marvels with it that day, and battered so many Moors, as he remained with the surname of Machuca, which signifies a stump, and as well he as all his progeny were ever after that day called Vargas and Machuca. I tell thee this, because I mean to tear another branch, such, or as good as that at least, from the first oak we shall encounter, and I mean to achieve such adventures therewithal, as thou wilt account thyself fortunate for having merited to behold them, and be a witness of things almost incredible.’ ‘In God’s name!’ quoth Sancho, ‘I do believe every word you said. But, I pray you, sit right in your saddle; for you ride sideling, which proceeds, as I suppose of the bruising you got by your fall.’ ‘Thou sayst true,’ quoth Don Quixote; ‘and if I do not complain of the grief, the reason is, because knights-errant use not to complain of any wound, although their guts did issue out thereof.’ ‘If it be so,’ quoth Sancho, ‘I know not what to say; but God knows that I would be glad to hear you to complain when anything grieves you. Of myself I dare affirm, that I must complain of the least grief that I have, if it be not likewise meant that the squires of knights-errant must not complain of any harm.’ Don Quixote could not refrain laughter, hearing the simplicity of his squire; and after showed unto him that he might lawfully complain, both when he pleased, and as much as he listed with desire, or without it; for he had never yet read anything to the contrary in the order of knighthood. Then Sancho said unto him that it was dinner-time. To whom he answered, that he needed no repast; but if he had will to eat, he might begin when he pleased. Sancho, having obtained his license, did accommodate himself on his ass’ back the best he might. Taking out of his wallet some belly-munition, he rode after his master, travelling and eating at once, and that with great leisure; and ever and anon he lifted up his bottle with such pleasure as the best-fed victualler of Malaga might envy his state; and whilst he rode, multiplying of quaffs in that manner, he never remembered any of the promises his master had made him, nor did he hold the fetch of adventures to be a labour, but rather a great recreation and ease, were they never so dangerous. In conclusion, they passed over that night under certain trees, from one of which Don Quixote tore a withered branch, which might serve him in some sort for a lance; and therefore he set thereon the iron of his own, which he had reserved when it was broken.<br />
<br />
All that night Don Quixote slept not one wink, but thought upon his Lady Dulcinea, that he might conform himself to what he had read in his books of adventures, when knights passed over many nights without sleep in forests and fields, only entertained by the memory of their mistresses. But Sancho spent not his time so vainly; for, having his stomach well stuffed, and that not with succory water, he carried smoothly away the whole night in one sleep; and if his master had not called him up, neither the sunbeams which struck on his visage, nor the melody of the birds, which were many, and did cheerfully welcome the approach of the new day, could have been able to awake him. At his arising he gave one essay to the bottle, which he found to be somewhat more weak than it was the night before, whereat his heart was somewhat grieved; for he mistrusted that they took not a course to remedy that defect so soon as he wished. Nor could Don Quixote break his fast, who, as we have said, meant only to sustain himself with pleasant remembrances.<br />
<br />
Then did they return to their commenced way towards the port of Lapice, which they discovered about three of the clock in the afternoon. ‘Here,’ said Don Quixote, as soon as he kenned it, ‘may we, friend Sancho, thrust our hands up to the very elbows in that which is called adventures. But observe well this caveat which I shall give thee, that, although thou seest me in the greatest dangers of the world, thou must no set hand to thy sword in my defence, if thou dost not see that those which assault me be base and vile vulgar people; for in such a case thou mayst assist me. Marry, if they be knights, thou mayst not do so in anywise, nor is it permitted, by the laws of arms, that thou mayst help me, until thou beest likewise dubbed knight thyself.’ ‘I do assure you, sir,’ quoth Sancho, ‘that herein you shall be most punctually obeyed; and therefore chiefly in respect that I am of mine own nature a quiet and peaceable man, and a mortal enemy of thrusting myself into stirs or quarrels; yet it is true that, touching the defence of mine own person, I will not be altogether so observant of those laws, seeing that both divine and human allow every man to defend himself from any one that would wrong him.’ ‘I say no less,’ answered Don Quixote; ‘but in this of aiding me against any knight, thou must set bounds to thy natural impulses.’ ‘I say I will do so,’ quoth Sancho; ‘and I will observe this commandment as punctually as that of keeping holy the Sabbath day.’<br />
<br />
Whilst thus they reasoned, there appeared in the way two monks of St. Benet’s order, mounted on two dromedaries; for the mules whereon they rode were but little less. They wore masks with spectacles in them, to keep away dust from their faces; and each of them besides bore their umbrills. After them came a coach, and four or five a-horseback accompanying it, and two lackeys that ran hard by it. There came therein, as it was after known, a certain Biscaine lady, which travelled towards Seville, where her husband sojourned at the present, and was going to the Indies with an honorable charge. The monks rode not with her, although they travelled the same way. Scarce had Don Quixote perceived them, when he said to his squire, ‘Either I am deceived, or else this will prove the most famous adventure that ever hath been seen; for these two great black bulks, which appear there, are, questionless, enchanters, that steal, or carry away perforce, some princess in that coach; and therefore I must, with all my power, undo that wrong.’ ‘This will be worse than the adventure of the windmills,’ quoth Sancho. ‘Do not you see, sir, that those are friars of St. Benet’s order? and the coach can be none other than of some travellers. Therefore, listen to mine advice, and see well what you do, lest the devil deceive you.’ ‘I have said already to thee, Sancho, that thou art very ignorant in matter of adventures. What I say is true, as now thou shalt see.’ And, saying so, he spurred on his horse, and placed himself just in the midst of the way by which the friars came; and when they approached so near as he supposed they might hear him, he said, with a loud voice, ‘Devilish and wicked people! leave presently those high princesses which you violently carry away with you in that coach; or, if you will not, prepare yourselves to receive sudden death, as a just punishment of your bad works.’ The friars held their horses, and were amazed both at the shape and works of Don Quixote; to whom they answered: ‘Sir knight, we are neither devilish nor wicked, but religious men of St. Benet’s order, that travel about our affairs; and we know not whether or no there come any princesses forced in this coach.’ ‘With me fair words take no effect,’ quoth Don Quixote; ‘for I know you very well, treacherous knaves!’ And then, without expecting their reply, he set spurs to Rozinante, and, laying his lance on the thigh, charged the first friar with such fury and rage, that if he had not suffered himself willingly to fall off his mule, he would not only have overthrown him against his will, but likewise have slain, or at least wounded him very ill with the blow. The second religious man, seeing how ill his companion was used, made no words; but setting spurs to that castle his mule, did fly away through the field, as swift as the wind itself. Sancho Panza, seeing the monk overthrown, dismounted very speedily off his ass, and ran over, and would have ransacked his habits. In this arrived the monks’ two lackeys, and demanded of him why he thus despoiled the friar. Sancho replied that it was his due, by the law of arms, as lawful spoils gained in battle by his lord, Don Quixote. The lackeys, which understood not the jest, nor knew not what words of battle or spoils meant, seeing that Don Quixote was now out of the way, speaking with those that came in the coach, set both at once upon Sancho, and left him not a hair in his beard but they plucked, and did so trample him under their feet, as they left him stretched on the ground without either breath or feeling. The monk, cutting off all delays, mounted again on horseback, all affrighted, having scarce any drop of blood left in his face through fear; and, being once up, he spurred after his fellow, who expected him a good way off, staying to see the success of that assault; and, being unwilling to attend the end of that strange adventure, they did, prosecute their journey, blessing and crossing themselves as if the devil did pursue them.<br />
<br />
Don Quixote, as is rehearsed, was in this season speaking to the lady of the coach, to whom he said: ‘Your beauty, dear lady, may dispose from henceforth of your person as best ye liketh; for the pride of your robbers lies now prostrated on the ground, by this my invincible arm. And because you may not be troubled to know your deliverer his name, know that I am called Don Quixote de la Mancha, a knight-errant and adventurer, and captive to the peerless and beautiful Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. And, in reward of the benefit which you have received at my hands, I demand nothing else but that you return to Toboso, and there present yourselves, in my name, before my lady, and recount unto her what I have done to obtain your liberty.’ To all these words which Don Quixote said, a certain Biscaine squire, that accompanied the coach, gave ear; who, seeing that Don Quixote suffered not the coach to pass onward, but said that it must presently turn back to Toboso, he drew near to him, and, laying hold on his lance, he said, in his bad Spanish and worse Basquish: ‘Get thee away, knight, in an ill hour. By the God that created me, if thou leave not the coach, I will kill thee, as sure as I am a Biscaine.’ Don Quixote, understanding him, did answer, with great staidness: ‘If you were a knight, as thou art not, I would by this have punished thy folly and presumption, caitiff creature!’ The Biscaine replied, with great fury: ‘Not I a gentleman! I swear God thou liest, as well as I am a Christian, If thou cast away thy lance, and draw thy sword, thou shalt see the water as soon as thou shalt carry away the cat: a Biscaine by land, and a gentleman by sea, a gentleman in spite of the devil; and thou liest, if other things thou sayst!’ ‘“Straight thou shalt see that,” said Agrages,’ replied Don Quixote; and, throwing his lance to the ground, he out with his sword, and took his buckler, and set on the Biscaine, with resolution to kill him. The Biscaine, seeing him approach in that manner, although he desired to alight off his mule, which was not to be trusted, being one of those naughty ones which are wont to be hired, yet had he no leisure to do any other thing than to draw out his sword; but it befel him happily to be near to the coach, out of which be snatched a cushion, that served him for a shield; and presently the one made upon the other like mortal enemies. Those that were present laboured all that they might, but in vain, to compound the matter between them; for the Biscaine swore, in his bad language, that if they hindered him from ending the battle, he would put his lady, and all the rest that dared to disturb him, to the sword.<br />
<br />
The lady, astonished and fearful of that which she beheld, commanded the coachman to go a little out of the way, and sat aloof, beholding the rigorous conflict; in the progress whereof the Biscaine gave Don Quixote over the target a mighty blow on one of the shoulders, where, if it had not found resistance in his armour, it would doubtlessly have cleft him down to the girdle. Don Quixote, feeling the weight of that unmeasurable blow, cried, with a loud voice, saying, ‘O Dulcinea! lady of my soul! the flower of all beauty! succor this thy knight, who to set forth thy worth, finds himself in this dangerous trance!’ The saying of these words, the gripping fast of his sword, the covering of himself well with his buckler, and the assailing of the Biscaine, was done all in one instant, resolving to venture all the success of the battle on that one only blow. The Biscaine, who perceived him come in that manner, perceived, by his doughtiness, his intention, and resolved to do the like; and therefore expected him very well, covered with his cushion, not being able to manage his mule as he wished from one part to another, who was not able to go a step, it was so wearied, as a beast never before used to the like toys. Don Quixote, as we have said, came against the wary Biscaine with his sword lifted aloft, with full resolution to part him in two; and all the beholders stood, with great fear suspended, to see the success of those monstrous blows wherewithal they threatened one another. And the lady of the coach, with her gentlewomen, made a thousand vows and offerings to all the devout places of Spain, to the end that God might deliver the squire and themselves out of that great danger wherein they were.<br />
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But it is to be deplored how, in this very point and term, the author of this history leaves his battle depending, excusing himself that he could find no more written of the acts of Don Quixote than those which he hath already recounted. True it is, that the second writer of this work would not believe that so curious a history was drowned in the jaws of oblivion, or that the wits of the Mancha were so little curious as not to reserve among their treasures or records some papers treating of this famous knight; and therefore, encouraged by this presumption, he did not despair to find the end of this pleasant history; which, Heaven being propitious to him, he got at last, after the manner that shall be recounted in the Second Part.Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-79739904358914014912021-01-30T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-30T00:00:07.078-08:00First Problem Play Popular<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlGl73Wz_KoetKtW5o5jiTQy5BAyzdNBSvZYETSwSDPVJYR0Ghov3kw7ARSviuT4QhQFQlw9Hl4wTLms74JB9QDqQGglvd5lOJmNEJ05-6a7-eIaf-TAJY3nvvIRO11Z7dRNHepDg_nyN/s1600/Sophocles_pushkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlGl73Wz_KoetKtW5o5jiTQy5BAyzdNBSvZYETSwSDPVJYR0Ghov3kw7ARSviuT4QhQFQlw9Hl4wTLms74JB9QDqQGglvd5lOJmNEJ05-6a7-eIaf-TAJY3nvvIRO11Z7dRNHepDg_nyN/s320/Sophocles_pushkin.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Sophocles_pushkin.jpg" target="_blank">Sophocles</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Sophocles (c.496 B.C.–406 B.C.). <i>Antigone.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Antigone, an orphan princess, defies a king's mandate and risks her life to do her duty to her brother. What is this duty which her brother calls her to perform and the king forbids?</i><br />
<i>(Sophocles died at Athens, Jan. 30. 405 B. C.)</i><br />
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<br />
<b>Dramatis Personæ</b><br />
<br />
Creon, King of Thebes<br />
Hæmon, son of Creon<br />
Teiresias, a seer<br />
Guard<br />
First Messenger<br />
Second Messenger<br />
Eurydice, wife of Creon<br />
Antigone<br />
Ismene, daughters of Œdipus<br />
Chorus of Theban Elders<br />
<br />
SCENE—Thebes, in front of the Palace.<br />
<br />
<br />
Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENE<br />
<br />
<br />
ANTIGONE ISMENE, mine own sister, dearest one;<br />
Is there, of all the ills of Œdipus,<br />
One left that Zeus will fail to bring on us,<br />
While still we live? for nothing is there sad<br />
Or full of woe, or base, or fraught with shame,<br />
But I have seen it in thy woes and mine.<br />
And now, what new decree is this they tell,<br />
Our ruler has enjoined on all the state?<br />
Know’st thou? hast heard? or is it hid from thee,<br />
The doom of foes that comes upon thy friends?<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
ISM. No tidings of our friends, Antigone,<br />
Painful or pleasant since that hour have come<br />
When we, two sisters, lost our brothers twain,<br />
In one day dying by each other’s hand.<br />
And since in this last night the Argive host<br />
Has left the field, I nothing further know,<br />
Nor brightening fortune, nor increasing gloom.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. That knew I well, and therefore sent for thee<br />
Beyond the gates, that thou mayst hear alone.<br />
<br />
ISM. What meanest thou? It is but all to clear<br />
Thou broodest darkly o’er some tale of woe.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. And does not Creon treat our brothers twain<br />
One with the rites of burial, one with shame?<br />
Eteocles, so say they, he interred<br />
Fitly, with wonted rites, as one held meet<br />
To pass with honour to the gloom below.<br />
But for the corpse of Polynices, slain<br />
So piteously, they say, he has proclaimed<br />
To all the citizens, that none should give<br />
His body burial, or bewail his fate,<br />
But leave it still unsepulchred, unwept,<br />
A prize full rich for birds that scent afar<br />
Their sweet repast. So Creon bids, they say,<br />
Creon the good, commanding thee and me,<br />
Yes, me, I say, and now is coming here,<br />
To make it clear to those who knew it not,<br />
And counts the matter not a trivial thing;<br />
But whoso does the things that he forbids,<br />
For him, there waits within the city’s walls<br />
The death of stoning. Thus, then, stands thy case;<br />
And quickly thou wilt show, if thou art born<br />
Of noble nature, or degenerate liv’st,<br />
Base child of honoured parents.<br />
<br />
ISM. How could I,<br />
O daring in thy mood, in this our plight,<br />
Or doing or undoing, aught avail?<br />
<br />
ANTIG. Wilt thou with me share risk and toil? Look to it.<br />
<br />
ISM. What risk is this? What purpose fills thy mind?<br />
<br />
ANTIG. Wilt thou with me go forth to help the dead?<br />
<br />
ISM. And dost thou mean to give him sepulture,<br />
When all have been forbidden?<br />
<br />
ANTIG. He is still<br />
My brother; yes, and thine, though thou, it seems,<br />
Wouldst fain he were not. I desert him not.<br />
<br />
ISM. O daring one, when Creon bids thee not!<br />
<br />
ANTIG. What right has he to keep me from mine own?<br />
<br />
ISM. Ah me! remember, sister, how our sire<br />
Perished, with hate o’erwhelmed and infamy,<br />
From evils that he brought upon himself,<br />
And with his own hand robbed himself of sight,<br />
And how his wife and mother, both in one,<br />
With twist and cordage, cast away her life;<br />
And thirdly, how our brothers in one day<br />
In suicidal conflict wrought the doom,<br />
Each of the other. And we twain are left;<br />
And think, how much more wretchedly than all<br />
We twain shall perish, if, against the law,<br />
We brave our sovereign’s edict and his power.<br />
For this we need remember, we were born<br />
Women; as such, not made to strive with men.<br />
And next, that they who reign surpass in strength,<br />
And we must bow to this, and worse than this.<br />
I, then, entreating those that dwell below,<br />
To judge me leniently, as forced to yield,<br />
Will hearken to our rulers. Over-zeal<br />
In act or word but little wisdom shows.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. I would not ask thee. No! if thou shouldst wish<br />
To do it, and wouldst gladly join with me.<br />
Do what thou wilt, I go to bury him;<br />
And good it were, this having done, to die.<br />
Loved I shall be with him whom I have loved,<br />
Guilty of holiest crime. More time have I<br />
In which to win the favour of the dead,<br />
Than that of those who live; for I shall rest<br />
For ever there. But thou, if thus thou please,<br />
Count as dishonoured what the Gods approve.<br />
<br />
ISM. I do them no dishonour, but I find<br />
Myself too weak to war against the state.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. Make what excuse thou wilt, I go to rear<br />
A grave above the brother whom I love.<br />
<br />
ISM. Ah, wretched me! how much I fear for thee.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. Fear not for me. Thine own fate guide aright.<br />
<br />
ISM. At any rate, disclose this deed to none:<br />
Keep it close hidden. I will hide it too.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. Speak out! I bid thee. Silent, thou wilt be<br />
More hateful to me than if thou shouldst tell<br />
My deed to all men.<br />
<br />
ISM. Fiery is thy mood,<br />
Although thy deeds might chill the very blood.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. I know I please the souls I seek to please.<br />
<br />
ISM. If thou canst do it; but thy passion craves<br />
For things impossible.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. I’ll cease to strive<br />
When strength shall fail me.<br />
<br />
ISM. Even from the first,<br />
It is not meet to seek what may not be.<br />
<br />
ANTIG. If thou speak thus, my hatred wilt thou gain,<br />
And rightly wilt be hated of the dead.<br />
Leave me and my ill counsel to endure<br />
This dreadful doom. I shall not suffer aught<br />
So evil as a death dishonourable.<br />
<br />
ISM. Go, then, if so thou wilt. Of this be sure,<br />
Wild as thou art, thy friends must love thee still. [Exeunt.<br />
<br />
Enter Chorus<br />
<br />
STROPH. I<br />
<br />
<br />
Chor. Ray of the glorious sun,<br />
Brightest of all that ever shone on Thebes,<br />
Thebes with her seven high gates,<br />
Thou didst appear that day,<br />
Eye of the golden dawn,<br />
O’er Dirkè’s streams advancing,<br />
Driving with quickened curb,<br />
In haste of headlong flight,<br />
The warrior who, in panoply of proof,<br />
From Argos came, with shield as white as snow;<br />
Who came to this our land,<br />
Roused by the strife of tongues<br />
That Polynices stirred;<br />
Shrieking his shrill sharp cry,<br />
The eagle hovered round,<br />
With snow-white wing bedecked,<br />
Begirt with myriad arms,<br />
And flowing horsehair crests.<br />
<br />
ANTISTROPH. I<br />
<br />
<br />
He stood above our towers,<br />
Circling, with blood-stained spears,<br />
The portals of our gates;<br />
He went, before he filled<br />
His jaws with blood of men,<br />
Before Hephæstus with his pitchy flame<br />
Had seized our crown of towers.<br />
So loud the battle din that Ares loves,<br />
Was raised around his rear,<br />
A conflict hard and stiff,<br />
E’en for his dragon foe.<br />
For breath of haughty speech<br />
Zeus hateth evermore exceedingly;<br />
And seeing them advance,<br />
Exulting in the clang of golden arms,<br />
With brandished fire he hurls them headlong down,<br />
In act, upon the topmost battlement<br />
Rushing, with eager step,<br />
To shout out, ‘Victory!’<br />
<br />
STROPH. II<br />
<br />
<br />
Crashing to earth he fell,<br />
Who came, with madman’s haste,<br />
Drunken, but not with wine,<br />
And swept o’er us with blasts,<br />
The whirlwind blasts of hate.<br />
Thus on one side they fare,<br />
And mighty Ares, bounding in his strength,<br />
Dashing now here, now there,<br />
Elsewhere brought other fate.<br />
For seven chief warriors at the seven gates met,<br />
Equals with equals matched,<br />
To Zeus, the Lord of War,<br />
Left tribute, arms of bronze;<br />
All but the hateful ones<br />
Who, from one father and one mother sprung,<br />
Stood wielding, hand to hand,<br />
Their doubly pointed spears;<br />
They had their doom of death,<br />
In common, shared by both.<br />
<br />
ANTISTROPH. II<br />
<br />
<br />
But now, since Victory, of mightiest name,<br />
Hath come to Thebes, of many chariots proud,<br />
Joying and giving joy,<br />
After these wars just past,<br />
Learn ye forgetfulness,<br />
And all night long, with dance and voice of hymns<br />
Let us go round to all the shrines of Gods,<br />
While Bacchus, making Thebes resound with shouts,<br />
Begins the strain of joy;<br />
But, lo! the sovereign of this land of ours,<br />
CREON, Menœkeus’ son,<br />
He, whom strange change and chances from the God<br />
Have nobly raised to power,<br />
Comes to us, steering on some new device;<br />
For, lo! he hath convened,<br />
By herald’s loud command,<br />
This council of the elders of our land.<br />
<br />
Enter CREON<br />
<br />
<br />
CREON. My Friends, for what concerns our commonwealth,<br />
The Gods who vexed it with the billowing storms<br />
Have righted it again; but I have sent,<br />
By special summons, calling you to come<br />
Apart from all the others, This, in part,<br />
As knowing ye did all along uphold<br />
The might of Laius’ throne, in part again,<br />
Because when Œdipus our country ruled,<br />
And, when he perished, then towards his sons<br />
Ye still were faithful in your steadfast mind.<br />
And since they fell, as by a double death,<br />
Both on the selfsame day with murderous blow,<br />
Smiting and being smitten, now I hold<br />
Their thrones and all their power of sov’reignty<br />
By nearness of my kindred to the dead.<br />
And hard it is to learn what each man is,<br />
In heart and mind and judgment, till one gains<br />
Experience in the exercise of power.<br />
For me, whoe’er is called to guide a state,<br />
And does not catch at counsels wise and good,<br />
But holds his peace through any fear of man,<br />
I deem him basest of all men that are,<br />
Of all that ever have been; and whoe’er<br />
As worthier than his country counts his friend,<br />
I utterly despise him. I myself,<br />
Zeus be my witness, who beholdeth all,<br />
Will not keep silence, seeing danger come,<br />
Instead of safety, to my subjects true.<br />
Nor could I take as friend my country’s foe;<br />
For this I know, that there our safety lies,<br />
And sailing in her while she holds her course,<br />
We gather friends around us. By these rules<br />
And such as these will I maintain the state.<br />
And now I come, with edicts close allied<br />
To these in spirit, for my subjects all,<br />
Concerning those two sons of Œdipus.<br />
Eteocles, who died in deeds of might<br />
Illustrious, fighting for our fatherland,<br />
To honour him with sepulture, all rites<br />
Duly performed that to the noblest dead<br />
Of right belong. Not so his brother; him<br />
I speak of, Polynices, who, returned<br />
From exile, sought with fire and sword to waste<br />
His father’s city and the shrines of Gods,<br />
Yea, sought to glut his rage with blood of men,<br />
And lead them captives to the bondslave’s doom;<br />
Him I decree that none should dare entomb,<br />
That none should utter wail or loud lament,<br />
But leave his corpse unburied, by the dogs<br />
And vultures mangled, foul to look upon.<br />
Such is my purpose. Ne’er, if I can help,<br />
Shall the vile share the honours of the just;<br />
But whoso shows himself my country’s friend,<br />
Living or dead, from me shall honour gain.<br />
<br />
Chor. This is thy pleasure, O Menœkeus’ son,<br />
For him who hated, him who loved our state;<br />
And thou hast power to make what laws thou wilt,<br />
Both for the dead and all of us who live.<br />
<br />
CREON. Be ye, then, guardians of the things I speak.<br />
<br />
Chor. Commit this task to one of younger years.<br />
<br />
CREON. The watchmen are appointed for the corpse.<br />
<br />
Chor. What duty, then, enjoin’st thou on another?<br />
<br />
CREON. Not to consent with those that disobey.<br />
<br />
Chor. None are so foolish as to seek for death.<br />
<br />
CREON. And that shall be his doom; but love of gain<br />
Hath oft with false hopes lured men to their death.<br />
<br />
Enter Guard<br />
<br />
<br />
GUARD. I will not say, O king, that I am come<br />
Panting with speed and plying nimble feet,<br />
For I had many halting-points of thought,<br />
Backwards and forwards turning, round and round;<br />
For now my mind would give me sage advice:<br />
“Poor wretch, and wilt thou go and bear the blame?”<br />
Or—“Dost thou tarry now? Shall Creon know<br />
These things from others? How wilt thou escape?”<br />
Resolving thus, I came in haste, yet slow,<br />
And thus a short way finds itself prolonged,<br />
But, last of all, to come to thee prevailed.<br />
And though I tell of naught, thou shalt hear all;<br />
For this one hope I cling to steadfastly,<br />
That I shall suffer nothing but my fate.<br />
<br />
CREON. What is it, then, that causes such dismay?<br />
<br />
GUARD. First, for mine own share in it, this I say,<br />
I did not do it, do not know who did,<br />
Nor should I rightly come to ill for it.<br />
<br />
CREON. Thou tak’st good aim and fencest up thy tale<br />
All round and round. ’Twould seem thou hast some news.<br />
<br />
GUARD. Yea, news of fear engenders long delay.<br />
<br />
CREON. Tell thou thy tale, and then depart in peace.<br />
<br />
GUARD. And speak I will. The corpse … Some one has been<br />
But now and buried it, a little dust<br />
O’er the skin scattering, with the wonted rites.<br />
<br />
CREON. What say’st thou? Who has dared this deed of guilt?<br />
<br />
GUARD. I know not. Neither was there stroke of spade,<br />
Nor earth cast up by mattock. All the soil<br />
Was dry and hard, no track of chariot wheel;<br />
But he who did it went and left no sign.<br />
But when the first day’s watchman showed it us,<br />
The sight caused wonder and sore grief to all,<br />
For he had disappeared. No tomb, indeed,<br />
Was over him, but dust all lightly strown,<br />
As by some hand that shunned defiling guilt;<br />
And no work was there of a beast of prey<br />
Or dog devouring. Evil words arose<br />
Among us, guard to guard imputing blame,<br />
Which might have come to blows, for none was there<br />
To check its course, and each to each appeared<br />
The man whose hand had done it. As for proof,<br />
That there was none, and so he ’scaped our ken.<br />
And we were ready in our hands to take<br />
Bars of hot iron, and to walk through fire,<br />
And call the Gods to witness none of us<br />
Had done the deed, nor knew who counselled it,<br />
Nor who had wrought it. Then at last, when naught<br />
Was gained by all our searching, some one says<br />
What made us bend our gaze upon the ground<br />
In fear and trembling; for we neither saw<br />
How to oppose it, nor, accepting it,<br />
How we might prosper in it. And his speech<br />
Was this, that all our tale should go to thee,<br />
Not hushed up anywise. This gained the day;<br />
And me, ill-starred, the lot condemns to win<br />
This precious prize. So here I come to thee<br />
Against my will; and surely do I trow<br />
Thou dost not wish to see me. Still ’tis true<br />
That no man loves the messenger of ill.<br />
<br />
Chor. For me, my prince, my mind some time has thought<br />
That this perchance has some divine intent.<br />
<br />
CREON. Cease thou, before thou fillest me with wrath,<br />
Lest thou be found a dastard and a fool.<br />
For what thou say’st is most intolerable,<br />
That for this corpse the providence of Gods<br />
Has any care. What! have they buried him,<br />
As to their patron paying honours high,<br />
Who came to waste their columned shrines with fire,<br />
To desecrate their offerings and their lands,<br />
And all their wonted customs? Dost thou see<br />
The Gods approving men of evil deeds?<br />
It is not so; but men of rebel mood,<br />
Lifting their head in secret long ago,<br />
Have stirred this thing against me. Never yet<br />
Had they their neck beneath the yoke, content<br />
To own me as their ruler. They, I know,<br />
Have bribed these men to let the deed be done.<br />
No thing in use by man, for power of ill,<br />
Can equal money. This lays cities low,<br />
This drives men forth from quiet dwelling-place,<br />
This warps and changes minds of worthiest stamp,<br />
To turn to deeds of baseness, teaching men<br />
All shifts of cunning, and to know the guilt<br />
Of every impious deed. But they who, hired,<br />
Have wrought this crime, have laboured to their cost,<br />
Or soon or late to pay the penalty.<br />
But if Zeus still claims any awe from me,<br />
Know this, and with an oath I tell it thee,<br />
Unless ye find the very man whose hand<br />
Has wrought this burial, and before mine eyes<br />
Present him captive, death shall not suffice,<br />
Till first, impaled still living, ye shall show<br />
The story of this outrage, that henceforth,<br />
Knowing what gain is lawful, ye may grasp<br />
At that, and learn it is not meet to love<br />
Gain from all quarters. By base profit won,<br />
You will see more destroyed than prospering.<br />
<br />
GUARD. May I, then speak? Or shall I turn and go?<br />
<br />
CREON. Dost thou not see how vexing are thy words?<br />
<br />
GUARD. Is it thine ears they trouble, or thy soul?<br />
<br />
CREON. Why dost thou gauge my trouble where it is?<br />
<br />
GUARD. The doer grieves thy heart, but I thine ears.<br />
<br />
CREON. Pshaw! what a babbler, born to prate, art thou.<br />
<br />
GUARD. And therefore not the man to do this deed.<br />
<br />
CREON. Yes, that too; selling e’en thy soul for pay.<br />
<br />
GUARD. Ah me!<br />
How fearful ’tis, in thinking, false to think.<br />
<br />
CREON. Prate about thinking; but unless ye show<br />
To me the doers, ye shall say ere long<br />
That evil gains still work their punishment. [Exit.<br />
<br />
GUARD. God send we find him! Should we find him not,<br />
As well may be, for this must chance decide,<br />
You will not see me coming here again;<br />
For now, being safe beyond all hope of mine,<br />
Beyond all thought, I owe the Gods much thanks. [ExitAmanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-49394260067149656372021-01-29T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-29T00:00:00.770-08:00Visits the Land of Fire<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzKou-wxr2Nsge05ufwjlZX6jWcVCu7fe2g3qsKoZIi3cCTJHBX0ssx4wWsLvMHJsZsmN74DfFDRU239yMILpKhcR_-dKRr2v6LneyXrQ5Hsr0ubm3gYkRqe8HGpCNDnk30ZyUtHzDErg/s1600/Charles_Darwin_seated_crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzKou-wxr2Nsge05ufwjlZX6jWcVCu7fe2g3qsKoZIi3cCTJHBX0ssx4wWsLvMHJsZsmN74DfFDRU239yMILpKhcR_-dKRr2v6LneyXrQ5Hsr0ubm3gYkRqe8HGpCNDnk30ZyUtHzDErg/s320/Charles_Darwin_seated_crop.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Charles_Darwin_seated_crop.jpg" target="_blank">Charles Darwin</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Charles Robert Darwin (1809–1882). <i>The Voyage of the Beagle.</i></b></div>
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<i>South of Patagonia is Tierra del Fuego - "The Land of Fire." The natives of that primitive country are today almost extinct. Darwin made a careful and vitally interesting study of that land and its ill-fated inhabitants. </i></div>
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<i>(Darwin married Emma Wedgewood, Jan. 29, 1839.)</i></div>
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<b>Chapter X</b></div>
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Tierra del Fuego, first arrival—Good Success Bay—An Account of the Fuegians on board—Interview with the Savages—Scenery of the Forests—Cape Horn—Wigwam Cove—Miserable Condition of the Savages—Famines—Cannibals—Matricide—Religious Feelings—Great Gale—Beagle Channel—Ponsonby Sound—Build Wigwams and settle the Fuegians—Bifurcation of the Beagle Channel—Glaciers—Return to the Ship—Second Visit in the Ship to the Settlement—Equality of Condition amongst the Natives</div>
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DECEMBER 17th, 1832.—Having now finished with Patagonia and the Falkland Islands, I will describe our first arrival in Tierra del Fuego. A little after noon we doubled Cape St. Diego, and entered the famous strait of Le Maire. We kept close to the Fuegian shore, but the outline of the rugged, inhospitable Statenland was visible amidst the clouds. In the afternoon we anchored in the Bay of Good Success. While entering we were saluted in a manner becoming the inhabitants of this savage land. A group of Fuegians partly concealed by the entangled forest, were perched on a wild point overhanging the sea; and as we passed by, they sprang up and waving their tattered cloaks sent forth a loud and sonorous shout. The savages followed the ship, and just before dark we saw their fire, and again heard their wild cry. The harbour consists of a fine piece of water half surrounded by low rounded mountains of clay-slate, which are covered to the water’s edge by one dense gloomy forest. A single glance at the landscape was sufficient to show me how widely different it was from anything I had ever beheld. At night it blew a gale of wind, and heavy squalls from the mountains swept past us. It would have been a bad time out at sea, and we, as well as others, may call this Good Success Bay.</div>
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In the morning the Captain sent a party to communicate with the Fuegians. When we came within hail, one of the four natives who were present advanced to receive us, and began to shout most vehemently, wishing to direct us where to land. When we were on shore the party looked rather alarmed, but continued talking and making gestures with great rapidity. It was without exception the most curious and interesting spectacle I ever beheld: I could not have believed how wide was the difference between savage and civilized man: it is greater than between a wild and domesticated animal, inasmuch as in man there is a greater power of improvement. The chief spokesman was old, and appeared to be the head of the family; the three others were powerful young men, about six feet high. The women and children had been sent away. These Fuegians are a very different race from the stunted, miserable wretches farther westward; and they seem closely allied to the famous Patagonians of the Strait of Magellan. Their only garment consists of a mantle made of guanaco skin, with the wool outside: this they wear just thrown over their shoulders, leaving their persons as often exposed as covered. Their skin is of a dirty coppery-red colour.</div>
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The old man had a fillet of white feathers tied round his head, which partly confined his black, coarse, and entangled hair. His face was crossed by two broad transverse bars; one, painted bright red, reached from ear to ear and included the upper lip; the other, white like chalk, extended above and parallel to the first, so that even his eyelids were thus coloured. The other two men were ornamented by streaks of black powder, made of charcoal. The party altogether closely resembled the devils which come on the stage in plays like Der Freischutz.</div>
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Their very attitudes were abject, and the expression of their countenances distrustful, surprised, and startled. After we had presented them with some scarlet cloth, which they immediately tied round their necks, they became good friends. This was shown by the old man patting our breasts, and making a chuckling kind of noise, as people do when feeding chickens. I walked with the old man, and this demonstration of friendship was repeated several times; it was concluded by three hard slaps, which were given me on the breast and back at the same time. He then bared his bosom for me to return the compliment, which being done, he seemed highly pleased. The language of these people, according to our notions, scarcely deserves to be called articulate. Captain Cook has compared it to a man clearing his throat, but certainly no European ever cleared his throat with so many hoarse, guttural, and clicking sounds.</div>
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They are excellent mimics: as often as we coughed or yawned, or made any odd motion, they immediately imitated us. Some of our party began to squint and look awry; but one of the young Fuegians (whose whole face was painted black, excepting a white band across his eyes) succeeded in making far more hideous grimaces. They could repeat with perfect correctness each word in any sentence we addressed them, and they remembered such words for some time. Yet we Europeans all know how difficult it is to distinguish apart the sounds in a foreign language. Which of us, for instance, could follow an American Indian through a sentence of more than three words? All savages appear to possess, to an uncommon degree, this power of mimicry. I was told, almost in the same words, of the same ludicrous habit among the Caffres; the Australians, likewise, have long been notorious for being able to imitate and describe the gait of any man, so that he may be recognized. How can this faculty be explained? is it a consequence of the more practised habits of perception and keener senses, common to all men in a savage state, as compared with those long civilized?</div>
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When a song was struck up by our party, I thought the Fuegians would have fallen down with astonishment. With equal surprise they viewed our dancing; but one of the young men, when asked, had no objection to a little waltzing. Little accustomed to Europeans as they appeared to be, yet they knew and dreaded our fire-arms; nothing would tempt them to take a gun in their hands. They begged for knives, calling them by the Spanish word “cuchilla.” They explained also what they wanted, by acting as if they had a piece of blubber in their mouth, and then pretending to cut instead of tear it.</div>
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I have not as yet noticed the Fuegians whom we had on board. During the former voyage of the Adventure and Beagle in 1826 to 1830, Captain Fitz Roy seized on a party of natives, as hostages for the loss of a boat, which had been stolen, to the great jeopardy of a party employed on the survey; and some of these natives, as well as a child whom he bought for a pearl-button, he took with him to England, determining to educate them and instruct them in religion at his own expense. To settle these natives in their own country, was one chief inducement to Captain Fitz Roy to undertake our present voyage; and before the Admiralty had resolved to send out this expedition, Captain Fitz Roy had generously chartered a vessel, and would himself have taken them back. The natives were accompanied by a missionary, R. Matthews; of whom and of the natives, Captain Fitz Roy had published a full and excellent account. Two men, one of whom died in England of the small-pox, a boy and a little girl, were originally taken; and we had now on board, York Minster, Jemmy Button (whose name expresses his purchase-money), and Fuegia Basket. York Minster was a full-grown, short, thick, powerful man: his disposition was reserved, taciturn, morose, and when excited violently passionate; his affections were very strong towards a few friends on board; his intellect good. Jemmy Button was a universal favourite, but likewise passionate; the expression of his face at once showed his nice disposition. He was merry and often laughed, and was remarkably sympathetic with any one in pain: when the water was rough, I was often a little sea-sick, and he used to come to me and say in a plaintive voice, “Poor, poor fellow!” but the notion, after his aquatic life, of a man being sea-sick, was too ludicrous, and he was generally obliged to turn on one side to hide a smile or laugh, and then he would repeat his “Poor, poor fellow!” He was of a patriotic disposition; and he liked to praise his own tribe and country, in which he truly said there were “plenty of trees,” and he abused all the other tribes: he stoutly declared that there was no Devil in his land. Jemmy was short, thick, and fat, but vain of his personal appearance; he used always to wear gloves, his hair was neatly cut, and he was distressed if his well-polished shoes were dirtied. He was fond of admiring himself in a looking glass; and a merry-faced little Indian boy from the Rio Negro, whom we had for some months on board, soon perceived this, and used to mock him: Jemmy, who was always rather jealous of the attention paid to this little boy, did not at all like this, and used to say, with rather a contemptuous twist of his head, “Too much skylark.” It seems yet wonderful to me, when I think over all his many good qualities, that he should have been of the same race, and doubtless partaken of the same character, with the miserable, degraded savages whom we first met here. Lastly, Fuegia Basket was a nice, modest, reserved young girl, with a rather pleasing but sometimes sullen expression, and very quick in learning anything, especially languages. This she showed in picking up some Portuguese and Spanish, when left on shore for only a short time at Rio de Janeiro and Monte Video, and in her knowledge of English. York Minster was very jealous of any attention paid to her; for it was clear he determined to marry her as soon as they were settled on shore.</div>
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Although all three could both speak and understand a good deal of English, it was singularly difficult to obtain much information from them, concerning the habits of their countrymen; this was partly owing to their apparent difficulty in understanding the simplest alternative. Every one accustomed to very young children, knows how seldom one can get an answer even to so simple a question as whether a thing is black or white; the idea of black or white seems alternately to fill their minds. So it was with these Fuegians, and hence it was generally impossible to find out, by cross-questioning, whether one had rightly understood anything which they had asserted. Their sight was remarkably acute; it is well known that sailors, from long practice, can make out a distant object much better than a landsman; but both York and Jemmy were much superior to any sailor on board: several times they have declared what some distant object has been, and though doubted by every one, they have proved right, when it has been examined through a telescope. They were quite conscious of this power; and Jemmy, when he had any little quarrel with the officer on watch, would say, “Me see ship, me no tell.”</div>
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It was interesting to watch the conduct of the savages, when we landed, towards Jemmy Button: they immediately perceived the difference between him and ourselves, and held much conversation one with another on the subject. The old man addressed a long harangue to Jemmy, which it seems was to invite him to stay with them. But Jemmy understood very little of their language, and was, moreover, thoroughly ashamed of his countrymen. When York Minster afterwards came on shore, they noticed him in the same way, and told him he ought to shave; yet he had not twenty dwarf hairs on his face, whilst we all wore our untrimmed beards. They examined the colour of his skin, and compared it with ours. One of our arms being bared, they expressed the liveliest surprise and admiration at its whiteness, just in the same way in which I have seen the ourang-outang do at the Zoological Gardens. We thought that they mistook two or three of the officers, who were rather shorter and fairer, though adorned with large beards, for the ladies of our party. The tallest amongst the Fuegians was evidently much pleased at his height being noticed. When placed back to back with the tallest of the boat’s crew, he tried his best to edge on higher ground, and to stand on tiptoe. He opened his mouth to show his teeth, and turned his face for a side view; and all this was done with such alacrity, that I dare say he thought himself the handsomest man in Tierra del Fuego. After our first feeling of grave astonishment was over, nothing could be more ludicrous than the odd mixture of surprise and imitation which these savages every moment exhibited.</div>
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The next day I attempted to penetrate some way into the country. Tierra del Fuego may be described as a mountainous land, partly submerged in the sea, so that deep inlets and bays occupy the place where valleys should exist. The mountain sides, except on the exposed western coast, are covered from the water’s edge upwards by one great forest. The trees reach to an elevation of between 1000 and 1500 feet, and are succeeded by a band of peat, with minute alpine plants; and this again is succeeded by the line of perpetual snow, which, according to Captain King, in the Strait of Magellan descends to between 3000 and 4000 feet. To find an acre of level land in any part of the country is most rare. I recollect only one little flat piece near Port Famine, and another of rather larger extent near Goeree Road. In both places, and everywhere else, the surface is covered by a thick bed of swampy peat. Even within the forest, the ground is concealed by a mass of slowly putrefying vegetable matter, which, from being soaked with water, yields to the foot.</div>
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Finding it nearly hopeless to push my way through the wood, I followed the course of a mountain torrent. At first, from the waterfalls and number of dead trees, I could hardly crawl along; but the bed of the stream soon became a little more open, from the floods having swept the sides. I continued slowly to advance for an hour along the broken and rocky banks, and was amply repaid by the grandeur of the scene. The gloomy depth of the ravine well accorded with the universal signs of violence. On every side were lying irregular masses of rock and torn-up trees; other trees, though still erect, were decayed to the heart and ready to fall. The entangled mass of the thriving and the fallen reminded me of the forests within the tropics—yet there was a difference: for in these still solitudes, Death, instead of Life, seemed the predominant spirit. I followed the watercourse till I came to a spot where a great slip had cleared a straight space down the mountain side. By this road I ascended to a considerable elevation, and obtained a good view of the surrounding woods. The trees all belong to one kind, the Fagus betuloides; for the number of the other species of Fagus and of the Winter’s Bark, is quite inconsiderable. This beech keeps its leaves throughout the year; but its foliage is of a peculiar brownish-green colour, with a tinge of yellow. As the whole landscape is thus coloured, it has a sombre, dull appearance; nor is it often enlivened by the rays of the sun.</div>
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December 20th.—One side of the harbour is formed by a hill about 1500 feet high, which Captain Fitz Roy has called after Sir J. Banks, in commemoration of his disastrous excursion, which proved fatal to two men of his party, and nearly so to Dr. Solander. The snowstorm, which was the cause of their misfortune, happened in the middle of January, corresponding to our July, and in the latitude of Durham! I was anxious to reach the summit of this mountain to collect alpine plants; for flowers of any kind in the lower parts are few in number. We followed the same watercourse as on the previous day, till it dwindled away, and we were then compelled to crawl blindly among the trees. These, from the effects of the elevation and of the impetuous winds, were low, thick and crooked. At length we reached that which from a distance appeared like a carpet of fine green turf, but which, to our vexation, turned out to be a compact mass of little beech-trees about four or five feet high. They were as thick together as box in the border of a garden, and we were obliged to struggle over the flat but treacherous surface. After a little more trouble we gained the peat, and then the bare slate rock.</div>
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A ridge connected this hill with another, distant some miles, and more lofty, so that patches of snow were lying on it. As the day was not far advanced, I determined to walk there and collect plants along the road. It would have been very hard work, had it not been for a well-beaten and straight path made by the guanacos; for these animals, like sheep, always follow the same line. When we reached the hill we found it the highest in the immediate neighbourhood, and the waters flowed to the sea in opposite directions. We obtained a wide view over the surrounding country: to the north a swampy moorland extended, but to the south we had a scene of savage magnificence, well becoming Tierra del Fuego. There was a degree of mysterious grandeur in mountain behind mountain, with the deep intervening valleys, all covered by one thick, dusky mass of forest. The atmosphere, likewise, in this climate, where gale succeeds gale, with rain, hail, and sleet, seems blacker than anywhere else. In the Strait of Magellan looking due southward from Port Famine, the distant channels between the mountains appeared from their gloominess to lead beyond the confines of this world.</div>
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December 21st.—The Beagle got under way: and on the succeeding day, favoured to an uncommon degree by a fine easterly breeze, we closed in with the Barnevelts, and running past Cape Deceit with its stony peaks, about three o’clock doubled the weather-beaten Cape Horn. The evening was calm and bright, and we enjoyed a fine view of the surrounding isles. Cape Horn, however, demanded his tribute, and before night sent us a gale of wind directly in our teeth. We stood out to sea, and on the second day again made the land, when we saw on our weather-bow this notorious promontory in its proper form—veiled in a mist, and its dim outline surrounded by a storm of wind and water. Great black clouds were rolling across the heavens, and squalls of rain, with hail, swept by us with such extreme violence, that the Captain determined to run into Wigwam Cove. This is a snug little harbour, not far from Cape Horn; and here, at Christmas-eve, we anchored in smooth water. The only thing which reminded us of the gale outside, was every now and then a puff from the mountains, which made the ship surge at her anchors.</div>
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December 25th.—Close by the Cove, a pointed hill, called Kater’s Peak, rises to the height of 1700 feet. The surrounding islands all consist of conical masses of greenstone, associated sometimes with less regular hills of baked and altered clay-slate. This part of Tierra del Fuego may be considered as the extremity of the submerged chain of mountains already alluded to. The cove takes its name of “Wigwam” from some of the Fuegian habitations; but every bay in the neighbourhood might be so called with equal propriety. The inhabitants, living chiefly upon shell-fish, are obliged constantly to change their place of residence; but they return at intervals to the same spots, as is evident from the piles of old shells, which must often amount to many tons in weight. These heaps can be distinguished at a long distance by the bright green colour of certain plants, which invariably grow on them. Among these may be enumerated the wild celery and scurvy grass, two very serviceable plants, the use of which has not been discovered by the natives.</div>
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The Fuegian wigwam resembles, in size and dimensions, a haycock. It merely consists of a few broken branches stuck in the ground, and very imperfectly thatched on one side with a few tufts of grass and rushes. The whole cannot be the work of an hour, and it is only used for a few days. At Goeree Roads I saw a place where one of these naked men had slept, which absolutely offered no more cover than the form of a hare. The man was evidently living by himself, and York Minster said he was “very bad man,” and that probably he had stolen something. On the west coast, however, the wigwams are rather better, for they are covered with seal-skins. We were detained here several days by the bad weather. The climate is certainly wretched: the summer solstice was now passed, yet every day snow fell on the hills, and in the valleys there was rain, accompanied by sleet. The thermometer generally stood about 45°, but in the night fell to 38° or 40°. From the damp and boisterous state of the atmosphere, not cheered by a gleam of sunshine, one fancied the climate even worse than it really was.</div>
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While going one day on shore near Wollaston Island, we pulled alongside a canoe with six Fuegians. These were the most abject and miserable creatures I anywhere beheld. On the east coast the natives, as we have seen, have guanaco cloaks, and on the west they possess seal-skins. Amongst these central tribes the men generally have an otter-skin, or some small scrap about as large as a pocket-handkerchief, which is barely sufficient to cover their backs as low down as their loins. It is laced across the breast by strings, aid according as the wind blows, it is shifted from side to side. But these Fuegians in the canoe were quite naked, and even one full-grown woman was absolutely so. It was raining heavily, and the fresh water, together with the spray, trickled down her body. In another harbour not far distant, a woman, who was suckling a recently-born child, came one day alongside the vessel, and remained there out of mere curiosity, whilst the sleet fell and thawed on her naked bosom, and on the skin of her naked baby! These poor wretches were stunted in their growth, their hideous faces bedaubed with white paint, their skins filthy and greasy, their hair entangled, their voices discordant, and their gestures violent. Viewing such men, one can hardly make one’s self believe that they are fellow-creatures, and inhabitants of the same world. It is a common subject of conjecture what pleasure in life some of the lower animals can enjoy: how much more reasonably the same question may be asked with respect to these barbarians! At night, five or six human beings, naked and scarcely protected from the wind and rain of this tempestuous climate, sleep on the wet ground coiled up like animals. Whenever it is low water, winter or summer, night or day they must rise to pick shell-fish from the rocks; and the women either dive to collect sea-eggs, or sit patiently in their canoes, and with a baited hair-line without any hook, jerk out little fish. If a seal is killed, or the floating carcass of a putrid whale is discovered, it is a feast; and such miserable food is assisted by a few tasteless berries and fungi.</div>
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They often suffer from famine: I heard Mr. Low, a sealing-master intimately acquainted with the natives of this country, give a curious account of the state of a party of one hundred and fifty natives on the west coast, who were very thin and in great distress. A succession of gales prevented the women from getting shell-fish on the rocks, and they could not go out in their canoes to catch seal. A small party of these men one morning set out, and the other Indians explained to him, that they were going a four days’ journey for food: on their return, Low went to meet them, and he found them excessively tired, each man carrying a great square piece of putrid whale’s-blubber with a hole in the middle, through which they put their heads, like the Gauchos do through their ponchos or cloaks. As soon as the blubber was brought into a wigwam, an old man cut off thin slices, and muttering over them, broiled them for a minute, and distributed them to the famished party, who during this time preserved a profound silence. Mr. Low believes that whenever a whale is cast on shore, the natives bury large pieces of it in the sand, as a resource in time of famine; and a native boy, whom he had on board, once found a stock thus buried. The different tribes when at war are cannibals. From the concurrent, but quite independent evidence of the boy taken by Mr. Low, and of Jemmy Button, it is certainly true, that when pressed in winter by hunger, they kill and devour their old women before they kill their dogs: the boy, being asked by Mr. Low why they did this, answered, “Doggies catch otters, old women no.” This boy described the manner in which they are killed by being held over smoke and thus choked; he imitated their screams as a joke, and described the parts of their bodies which are considered best to eat. Horrid as such a death by the hands of their friends and relatives must be, the fears of the old women, when hunger begins to press, are more painful to think of; we are told that they then often run away into the mountains, but that they are pursued by the men and brought back to the slaughter-house at their own firesides!</div>
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Captain Fitz Roy could never ascertain that the Fuegians have any distinct belief in a future life. They sometimes bury their dead in caves, and sometimes in the mountain forests; we do not know what ceremonies they perform. Jemmy Button would not eat land-birds, because “eat dead men”: they are unwilling even to mention their dead friends. We have no reason to believe that they perform any sort of religious worship; though perhaps the muttering of the old man before he distributed the putrid blubber to his famished party, may be of this nature. Each family or tribe has a wizard or conjuring doctor, whose office we could never clearly ascertain. Jemmy believed in dreams, though not, as I have said, in the devil: I do not think that our Fuegians were much more superstitious than some of the sailors; for an old quartermaster firmly believed that the successive heavy gales, which we encountered off Cape Horn, were caused by our having the Fuegians on board. The nearest approach to a religious feeling which I heard of, was shown by York Minster, who, when Mr. Bynoe shot some very young ducklings as specimens, declared in the most solemn manner, “Oh, Mr. Bynoe, much rain, snow, blow much.” This was evidently a retributive punishment for wasting human food. In a wild and excited manner he also related, that his brother, one day whilst returning to pick up some dead birds which he had left on the coast, observed some feathers blown by the wind. His brother said (York imitating his manner), “What that?” and crawling onwards, he peeped over the cliff, and saw “wild man” picking his birds; he crawled a little nearer, and then hurled down a great stone and killed him. York declared for a long time afterwards storms raged, and much rain and snow fell. As far as we could make out, he seemed to consider the elements themselves as the avenging agents: it is evident in this case, how naturally, in a race a little more advanced in culture, the elements would become personified. What the “bad wild men” were, has always appeared to me most mysterious: from what York said, when we found the place like the form of a hare, where a single man had slept the night before, I should have thought that they were thieves who had been driven from their tribes; but other obscure speeches made me doubt this; I have sometimes imagined that the most probable explanation was that they were insane.</div>
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The different tribes have no government or chief; yet each is surrounded by other hostile tribes, speaking different dialects, and separated from each other only by a deserted border or neutral; territory: the cause of their warfare appears to be the means of subsistence. Their country is a broken mass of wild rocks, lofty hills, and useless forests: and these are viewed through mists and endless storms. The habitable land is reduced to the stones on the beach; in search of food they are compelled unceasingly to wander from spot to spot, and so steep is the coast, that they can only move about in their wretched canoes. They cannot know the feeling of having a home, and still less that of domestic affection; for the husband is to the wife a brutal master to a laborious slave. Was a more horrid deed ever perpetrated, than that witnessed on the west coast by Byron, who saw a wretched mother pick up her bleeding dying infant-boy, whom her husband had mercilessly dashed on the stones for dropping a basket of sea-eggs. How little can the higher powers of the mind be brought into play: what is there for imagination to picture, for reason to compare, for judgment to decide upon? to knock a limpet from the rock does not require even cunning, that lowest power of the mind. Their skill in some respects may be compared to the instinct of animals; for it is not improved by experience: the canoe, their most ingenious work, poor as it is, has remained the same, as we know from Drake, for the last two hundred and fifty years.</div>
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Whilst beholding these savages, one asks, whence have they come? What could have tempted, or what change compelled a tribe of men, to leave the fine regions of the north, to travel down the Cordillera or backbone of America, to invent and build canoes, which are not used by the tribes of Chile, Peru, and Brazil, and then to enter on one of the most inhospitable countries within the limits of the globe? Although such reflections must at first seize on the mind, yet we may feel sure that they are partly erroneous. There is no reason to believe that the Fuegians decrease in number; therefore we must suppose that they enjoy a sufficient share of happiness, of whatever kind it may be, to render life worth having. Nature by making habit omnipotent, and its effects hereditary, has fitted the Fuegian to the climate and the productions of his miserable country.</div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-14709140856817620472021-01-28T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-28T00:00:01.789-08:00Man's Wings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Thomas_von_Kempen_JS.jpg" target="_blank">Thomas à Kempis</a></td></tr>
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<b>Thomas à Kempis. (b. 1379 or 1380, d. 1471). <i>The Imitation of Christ.</i></b><br />
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<i>A pure heart, says Thomas à Kempis, comprehends the very depths of Heaven and Hell. And it is by the wings of simplicity and purity that man is lifted above all earthly things.</i><br />
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<b>Book II: Admonitions Concerning the Inner Life</b><br />
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<b>IV. Of a Pure Mind and Simple Intention</b><br />
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BY two wings is man lifted above earthly things, even by simplicity and purity. Simplicity ought to be in the intention, purity in the affection. Simplicity reacheth towards God, purity apprehendeth Him and tasteth Him. No good action will be distasteful to thee if thou be free within from inordinate affection. If thou reachest after and seekest, nothing but the will of God and the benefit of thy neighbour, thou wilt entirely enjoy inward liberty. If thine heart were right, then should every creature be a mirror of life and a book of holy doctrine. There is no creature so small and vile but that it showeth us the goodness of God.<br />
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2. If thou wert good and pure within, then wouldst thou look upon all things without hurt and understand them aright. A pure heart seeth the very depths of heaven and hell. Such as each one is inwardly, so judgeth he outwardly. If there is any joy in the world surely the man of pure heart possesseth it, and if there is anywhere tribulation and anguish, the evil conscience knoweth it best. As iron cast into the fire loseth rust and is made altogether glowing, so the man who turneth himself altogether unto God is freed from slothfulness and changed into a new man.<br />
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3. When a man beginneth to grow lukewarm, then he feareth a little labour, and willingly accepteth outward consolation; but when he beginneth perfectly to conquer himself and to walk manfully in the way of God, then he counteth as nothing those things which aforetime seemed to be so grievous unto him.<br />
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<b>V. Of Self-Esteem</b><br />
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WE cannot place too little confidence in ourselves, because grace and understanding are often lacking to us. Little light is there within us, and what we have we quickly lose by negligence. Oftentimes we perceive not how great is our inward blindness. We often do ill and excuse it worse. Sometimes we are moved by passion and count it zeal; we blame little faults in others and pass over great faults in ourselves. Quickly enough we feel and reckon up what we bear at the hands of others, but we reflect not how much others are bearing from us. He who would weigh well and rightly his own doings would not be the man to judge severely of another.<br />
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2. The spiritually-minded man putteth care of himself before all cares; and he who diligently attendeth to himself easily keepeth silence concerning others. Thou wilt never be spiritually minded and godly unless thou art silent concerning other men’s matters and take full heed to thyself. If thou think wholly upon thyself and upon God, what thou seest out of doors shall move thee little. Where art thou when thou art not present to thyself? and when thou hast overrun all things, what hath it profited thee, thyself being neglected? If thou wouldst have peace and true unity, thou must put aside all other things, and gaze only upon thyself.<br />
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3. Then thou shalt make great progress if thou keep thyself free from all temporal care. Thou shalt lamentably fall away if thou set a value upon any worldly thing. Let nothing be great, nothing high, nothing pleasing, nothing acceptable unto thee, save God Himself or the things of God. Reckon as altogether vain whatsoever consolation comes to thee from a creature. The soul that loveth God looketh not to anything that is beneath God. God alone is eternal and incomprehensible, filling all things, the solace of the soul, and the true joy of the heart.<br />
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<b>VI. Of the Joy of a Good Conscience</b><br />
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THE TESTIMONY of a good conscience is the glory of a good man. Have a good conscience and thou shalt ever have joy. A good conscience is able to bear exceeding much, and is exceeding joyful in the midst of adversities; an evil conscience is ever fearful and unquiet. Thou shalt rest sweetly if thy heart condemn thee not. Never rejoice unless when thou hast done well. The wicked have never true joy, nor feel internal peace, for there is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked. (1) And if they say “we are in peace, there shall no harm happen unto us, and who shall dare to do us hurt?” believe them not, for suddenly shall the wrath of God rise up against them, and their deeds shall be brought to nought, and their thoughts shall perish.<br />
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2. To glory in tribulation is not grievous to him who loveth; for such glorying is glorying in the Cross of Christ. Brief is the glory which is given and received of men. Sadness always goeth hand in hand with the glory of the world. The glory of the good is in their conscience, and not in the report of men. The joy of the upright is from God and in God, and their joy is in the truth. He who desireth true and eternal glory careth not for that which is temporal; and he who seeketh temporal glory, or who despiseth it from his heart, is proved to bear little love for that which is heavenly. He who careth for neither praises nor reproaches hath great tranquillity of heart.<br />
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3. He will easily be contented and filled with peace, whose conscience is pure. Thou art none the holier if thou art praised, nor the viler if thou art reproached. Thou art what thou art; and thou canst not be better than God pronounceth thee to be. If thou considerest well that thou art inwardly, thou wilt not care what men will say to thee. Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart: (2) man looketh on the deed, but God considereth the intent. It is the token of a humble spirit always to do well, and to set little by oneself. Not to look for consolation from any created thing is a sign of great purity and inward faithfulness.<br />
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4. He that seeketh no outward witness on his own behalf, showeth plainly that he hath committed himself wholly to God. For not he that commendeth himself is approved, as St. Paul saith, but whom the Lord commendeth. (3) To walk inwardly with God, and not to be held by any outer affections, is the state of a spiritual man.<br />
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Note 1. Isaiah lvii. 21.<br />
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Note 2. 1 Samuel xvi. 7.<br />
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Note 3. 2 Corinthians x. 18.<br />
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<b>VII. Of loving Jesus above all Things</b><br />
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BLESSED is he who understandeth what it is to love Jesus, and to despise himself for Jesus’ sake. He must give up all that he loveth for his Beloved, for Jesus will be loved alone above all things. The love of created things is deceiving and unstable, but the love of Jesus is faithful and lasting. He who cleaveth to created things will fall with their slipperiness; but he who embraceth Jesus will stand upright for ever. Love Him and hold Him for thy friend, for He will not forsake thee when all depart from thee, nor will he suffer thee to perish at the last. Thou must one day be separated from all, whether thou wilt or wilt not.<br />
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2. Cleave thou to Jesus in life and death, and commit thyself unto His faithfulness, who, when all men fail thee, is alone able to help thee. Thy Beloved is such, by nature, that He will suffer no rival, but alone will possess thy heart, and as a king will sit upon His own throne. If thou wouldst learn to put away from thee every created thing, Jesus would freely take up His abode with thee. Thou wilt find all trust little better than lost which thou hast placed in men, and not in Jesus. Trust not nor lean upon a reed shaken with the wind, because all flesh is grass, and the goodliness thereof falleth as the flower of the field. (1)<br />
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3. Thou wilt be quickly deceived if thou lookest only upon the outward appearance of men, for if thou seekest thy comfort and profit in others, thou shalt too often experience loss. If thou seekest Jesus in all things thou shalt verily find Jesus, but if thou seekest thyself thou shalt also find thyself, but to thine own hurt. For if a man seeketh not Jesus he is more hurtful to himself than all the world and all his adversaries.<br />
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Note 1. Isaiah xl. 6.<br />
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<b>VIII. Of the Intimate Love of Jesus</b><br />
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WHEN Jesus is present all is well and nothing seemeth hard, but when Jesus is not present everything is hard. When Jesus speaketh not within, our comfort is nothing worth, but if Jesus speaketh but a single word great is the comfort we experience. Did not Mary Magdalene rise up quickly from the place where she wept when Martha said to her, The Master is come and calleth for thee? (1) Happy hour when Jesus calleth thee from tears to the joy of the spirit! How dry and hard art thou without Jesus! How senseless and vain if thou desirest aught beyond Jesus! Is not this greater loss than if thou shouldst lose the whole world?<br />
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2. What can the world profit thee without Jesus? To be without Jesus is the nethermost hell, and to be with Jesus is sweet Paradise. If Jesus were with thee no enemy could hurt thee. He who findeth Jesus findeth a good treasure, yea, good above all good; and he who loseth Jesus loseth exceeding much, yea, more than the whole world. Most poor is he who liveth without Jesus, and most rich is he who is much with Jesus.<br />
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3. It is great skill to know how to live with Jesus, and to know how to hold Jesus is great wisdom. Be thou humble and peaceable and Jesus shall be with thee. Be godly and quiet, and Jesus will remain with thee. Thou canst quickly drive away Jesus and lose His favour if thou wilt turn away to the outer things. And if thou hast put Him to flight and lost Him, to whom wilt thou flee, and whom then wilt thou seek for a friend? Without a friend thou canst not live long, and if Jesus be not thy friend above all thou shalt be very sad and desolate. Madly therefore doest thou if thou trusteth or findest joy in any other. It is preferable to have the whole world against thee, than Jesus offended with thee. Therefore of all that are dear to thee, let Jesus be specially loved.<br />
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4. Let all be loved for Jesus’ sake, but Jesus for His own. Jesus Christ alone is to be specially loved, for He alone is found good and faithful above all friends. For His sake and in Him let both enemies and friends be dear to thee, and pray for them all that they may all know and love Him. Never desire to be specially praised or loved, because this belongeth to God alone, who hath none like unto Himself. Nor wish thou that any one set his heart on thee, nor do thou give thyself up to the love of any, but let Jesus be in thee and in every good man.<br />
<br />
5. Be pure and free within thyself, and be not entangled by any created thing. Thou oughtest to bring a bare and clean heart to God, if thou desirest to be ready to see how gracious the Lord is. And in truth, unless thou be prevented and drawn on by His grace, thou wilt not attain to this, that having cast out and dismissed all else, thou alone art united to God. For when the grace of God cometh to a man, then he becometh able to do all things, and when it departeth then he will be poor and weak and given up unto troubles. In these thou art not to be cast down nor to despair, but to rest with calm mind on the will of God, and to bear all things which come upon thee unto the praise of Jesus Christ; for after winter cometh summer, after night returneth day, after the tempest a great calm.<br />
<br />
Note 1. John xi. 28.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>IX. Of the Lack of all Comfort</b><br />
<br />
IT is no hard thing to despise human comfort when divine is present. It is a great thing, yea very great, to be able to bear the loss both of human and divine comfort; and for the love of God willingly to bear exile of heart, and in nought to seek oneself, nor to look to one’s own merit. What great matter is it, if thou be cheerful of heart and devout when favour cometh to thee? That is an hour wherein all rejoice. Pleasantly enough doth he ride whom the grace of God carrieth. And what marvel, if he feeleth no burden who is carried by the Almighty, and is led onwards by the Guide from on high?<br />
<br />
2. We are willing to accept anything for comfort, and it is difficult for a man to be freed from himself. The holy martyr Laurence overcame the love of the world and even of his priestly master, because he despised everything in the world which seemed to be pleasant; and for the love of Christ he calmly suffered even God’s chief priest, Sixtus, whom he dearly loved, to be taken from him. Thus by the love of the Creator he overcame the love of man, and instead of human comfort he chose rather God’s good pleasure. So also learn thou to resign any near and beloved friend for the love of God. Nor take it amiss when thou hast been deserted by a friend, knowing that we must all be parted from one another at last.<br />
<br />
3. Mightily and long must a man strive within himself before he learn altogether to overcome himself, and to draw his whole affection towards God. When a man resteth upon himself, he easily slippeth away unto human comforts. But a true lover of Christ, and a diligent seeker after virtue, falleth not back upon those comforts, nor seeketh such sweetnesses as may be tasted and handled, but desireth rather hard exercises, and to undertake severe labours for Christ.<br />
<br />
4. When, therefore, spiritual comfort is given by God, receive it with giving of thanks, and know that it is the gift of God, not thy desert. Be not lifted up, rejoice not overmuch nor foolishly presume, but rather be more humble for the gift, more wary and more careful in all thy doings; for that hour will pass away, and temptation will follow. When comfort is taken from thee, do not straightway despair, but wait for the heavenly visitation with humility and patience, for God is able to give thee back greater favour and consolation. This is not new nor strange to those who have made trial of the way of God, for with the great saints and the ancient prophets there was often this manner of change.<br />
<br />
5. Wherefore one said when the favour of God was present with him, I said in my prosperity I shall never be moved, (1) but he goeth on to say what he felt within himself when the favour departed: Thou didst turn Thy face from me, and I was troubled. In spite whereof he in no wise despaireth, but the more instantly entreateth God, and saith, Unto Thee, O Lord, will I cry, and will pray unto my God; and then he receiveth the fruit of his prayer, and testifieth how he hath been heard, saying, The Lord heard me and had mercy upon me, the Lord was my helper. But wherein? Thou hast turned my heaviness into joy, Thou hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness. If it was thus with the great saints, we who are poor and needy ought not to despair if we are sometimes in the warmth and sometimes in the cold, for the Spirit cometh and goeth according to the good pleasure of His will. Wherefore holy Job saith, Thou dost visit him in the morning, and suddenly Thou dost prove him. (2)<br />
<br />
6. Whereupon then can I hope, or wherein may I trust, save only in the great mercy of God, and the hope of heavenly grace? For whether good men are with me, godly brethren or faithful friends, whether holy books or beautiful discourses, whether sweet hymns and songs, all these help but little, and have but little savour when I am deserted by God’s favour and left to mine own poverty. There is no better remedy, then, than patience and denial of self, and an abiding in the will of God.<br />
<br />
7. I have never found any man so religious and godly, but that he felt sometimes a withdrawal of the divine favour, and lack of fervour. No saint was ever so filled with rapture, so enlightened, but that sooner or later he was tempted. For he is not worthy of the great vision of God, who, for God’s sake, hath not been exercised by some temptation. For temptation is wont to go before as a sign of the comfort which shall follow, and heavenly comfort is promised to those who are proved by temptation. As it is written, To him that overcometh I will give to eat of the tree of life. (3)<br />
<br />
8. Divine comfort is given that a man may be stronger to bear adversities. And temptation followeth, lest he be lifted up because of the benefit. The devil sleepeth not; thy flesh is not yet dead; therefore, cease thou not to make thyself ready unto the battle, for enemies stand on thy right hand and on thy left, and they are never at rest.<br />
<br />
Note 1. Psalm xxx. 6.<br />
<br />
Note 2. Job vii. 18.<br />
<br />
Note 3. Revelation ii. 7.Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-81368552488795772952021-01-27T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-27T00:00:04.316-08:00Dante and Beatrice in Paradise<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LKKtpEViytpNxLlXwLminyzvs4sBkXwB_JWGfN-dKuYU7QAJUZH87m9cwmnBRaZ_UELeF3h5urrg0PSaaMG5BMZtoRLNfhe3nwTPNiGZwoeBUjRTgynho0JKFem82Jt4a2DEa5W_IJ1S/s1600/Portrait_de_Dante.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LKKtpEViytpNxLlXwLminyzvs4sBkXwB_JWGfN-dKuYU7QAJUZH87m9cwmnBRaZ_UELeF3h5urrg0PSaaMG5BMZtoRLNfhe3nwTPNiGZwoeBUjRTgynho0JKFem82Jt4a2DEa5W_IJ1S/s320/Portrait_de_Dante.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_de_Dante.jpg" target="_blank">Dante Alighieri</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). <i>Purgatory, The Divine Comedy.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Dante fell madly in love with Beatrice at first sight; but it is doubted if he ever spoke to her in this world. He tells of his happy meeting with Beatrice in Paradise.</i><br />
<i>(Dante victim of political persecution in Florence, Jan. 27, 1302.)</i><br />
<br />
<b>Canto XXX</b><br />
<br />
ARGUMENT.—Beatrice descends from Heaven, and rebukes the Poet.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
SOON as that polar light, (1) fair ornament<br />
Of the first Heaven, which hath never known<br />
Setting nor rising, nor the shadowy veil<br />
Of other cloud than sin, to duty there<br />
Each one convoying, as that lower doth<br />
The steersman to his port, stood firmly fix’d;<br />
Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the van<br />
Between the Gryphon and its radiance came,<br />
Did turn them to the car, as to their rest:<br />
And one, as if commission’d from above,<br />
In holy chant thrice shouted forth aloud;<br />
“Come, (2) spouse! from Libanus:” and all the rest<br />
Took up the song.—At the last audit, so<br />
The blest shall rise, from forth his cavern each<br />
Uplifting lightly his new-vested flesh;<br />
As, on the sacred litter, at the voice<br />
Authoritative of that elder, sprang<br />
A hundred ministers and messengers<br />
Of life eternal. “Blessed (3) thou, who comest!”<br />
And, “Oh!” they cried, “from full hands scatter ye<br />
Unwithering lilies”: and, so saying, cast<br />
Flowers overhead and round them on all sides.<br />
I have beheld, ere now, at break of day,<br />
The eastern clime all roseate; and the sky<br />
Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene;<br />
And the sun’s face so shaded, and with mists<br />
Attemper’d, at his rising, that the eye<br />
Long while endured the sight: thus, in a cloud<br />
Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose,<br />
And down within and outside of the car<br />
Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed,<br />
A virgin in my view appear’d, beneath<br />
Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame:<br />
And o’er my spirit, that so long a time<br />
Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread,<br />
Albeit mine eyes discern’d her not, there moved<br />
A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch<br />
The power of ancient love was strong within me.<br />
No sooner on my vision streaming, smote<br />
The heavenly influence, which, years past, and e’en<br />
In childhood, thrill’d me, than towards Virgil I<br />
Turn’d me to leftward; panting, like a babe,<br />
That flees for refuge to his mother’s breast,<br />
If aught have terrified or work’d him woe:<br />
And would have cried, “There is no dram of blood,<br />
That doth not quiver in me. The old flame<br />
Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire.”<br />
But Virgil had bereaved us of himself;<br />
Virgil, my best-loved father, Virgil, he<br />
To whom I gave me up for safety: nor<br />
All, our prime mother lost, avail’d to save<br />
My undew’d cheeks from blur of soiling tears.<br />
“Dante! weep not that Virgil leaves thee; nay,<br />
Weep thou not yet: behoves thee feel the edge<br />
Of other sword; and thou shalt weep for that.”<br />
As to the prow or stern, some admiral<br />
Paces the deck, inspiriting his crew,<br />
When ’mid the sail-yards all hands ply aloof;<br />
Thus, on the left side of the car, I saw<br />
(Turning me at the sound of mine own name,<br />
Which here I am compell’d to register)<br />
The virgin station’d, who before appear’d<br />
Veil’d in that festive shower angelical.<br />
Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes;<br />
Though from her brow the veil descending, bound<br />
With foliage of Minerva, suffer’d not<br />
That I beheld her clearly: then with act<br />
Full royal, still insulting o’er her thrall,<br />
Added, as one who, speaking, keepeth back<br />
The bitterest saying, to conclude the speech:<br />
“Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I am<br />
Beatrice. What! and hast thou deign’d at last<br />
Approach the mountain? Knewest not, O man!<br />
Thy happiness is here?” Down fell mine eyes<br />
On the clear fount; but there, myself espying,<br />
Recoil’d, and sought the greensward; such a weight<br />
Of shame was on my forehead. With a mien<br />
Of that stern majesty, which doth surround<br />
A mother’s presence to her awe-struck child,<br />
She look’d; a flavor of such bitterness<br />
Was mingled in her pity. There her words<br />
Brake off; and suddenly the angels sang,<br />
“In thee, O gracious Lord! my hope hath been”:<br />
But (4) went no further than, “Thou, Lord! hast set<br />
My feet in ample room” As snow, that lies,<br />
Amidst the living rafters on the back<br />
Of Italy, congeal’d, when drifted high<br />
And closely piled by rough Sclavonian blasts;<br />
Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls,<br />
And straightway melting it distills away,<br />
Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I,<br />
Without a sigh or tear, or ever these<br />
Did sing, that, with the chiming of Heaven’s sphere,<br />
Still in their warbling chime: but when the strain<br />
Of dulcet symphony express’d for me<br />
Their soft compassion, more than could the words,<br />
“Virgin! why so consumest him?” then, the ice<br />
Congeal’d about my bosom, turn’d itself<br />
To spirit and water; and with anguish forth<br />
Gush’d, through the lips and eyelids, from the heart.<br />
Upon the chariot’s same edge still she stood,<br />
Immovable; and thus address’d her words<br />
To those bright semblances with pity touch’d:<br />
“Ye in the eternal day your vigils keep;<br />
So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth,<br />
Conveys from you a single step, in all<br />
The goings on of time: thence, with more heed<br />
I shape mine answer, for his ear intended,<br />
Who there stands weeping; that the sorrow now<br />
May equal the transgression. Not alone<br />
Through operation of the mighty orbs,<br />
That mark each seed to some predestined aim,<br />
As with aspect or fortunate or ill<br />
The constellations meet; but through benign<br />
Largess of heavenly graces, which rain down<br />
From such a height as mocks our vision, this man<br />
Was, in the freshness of his being, such,<br />
So gifted virtually, that in him<br />
All better habits wondrously had thrived<br />
The more of kindly strength is in the soil,<br />
So much doth evil seed and lack of culture<br />
Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness.<br />
These looks sometime upheld him; for I show’d<br />
My youthful eyes, and led him by their light<br />
In upright walking. Soon as I had reach’d<br />
Tee threshold of my second age, and changed<br />
My mortal for immortal; then he left me,<br />
And gave himself to others. When from flesh<br />
To spirit I had risen, and increase<br />
Of beauty and of virtue circled me,<br />
I was less dear to him, and valued less.<br />
His steps were turn’d into deceitful ways,<br />
Following false images of good, that make<br />
No promise perfect. Nor avail’d me aught<br />
To sue for inspirations, with the which,<br />
I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise,<br />
Did call him back; of them, so little reck’d him.<br />
Such depth he fell, that all device was short<br />
Of his preserving, save that he should view<br />
The children of perdition. To this end<br />
I visited the purlieus of the dead:<br />
And one, who hath conducted him thus high,<br />
Received my supplications urged with weeping.<br />
It were a breaking of God’s high decree,<br />
If Lethe should be pass’d, and such food (5) tasted,<br />
Without the cost of some repentant tear.”<br />
<br />
<br />
Note 1. The seven candlesticks of gold, which he calls the polar light of Heaven itself, because they perform the same office for Christians that the polar star does for mariners, in guiding them to their port.<br />
Note 2. “Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me, from Lebanon.”—Song of Solomon, iv. 8.<br />
Note 3. Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”—Matt. xxi. 9.<br />
Note 4. “But.” They sang the thirty-first Psalm, to the end of the eighth verse. What follows would not have suited the place or the occasion.<br />
Note 5. The oblivion of sins.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Canto XXXI</b><br />
<br />
ARGUMENT.—Beatrice continues her reprehension of Dante, who confesses his error, and falls to the ground; coming to himself again, he is by Matilda drawn through the waters of Lethe, and presented first to the four virgins who figure the cardinal virtues; these in their turn lead him to the Gryphon, a symbol of our Saviour; and the three virgins, representing the evangelical virtues, intercede for him with Beatrice, that she would display to him her second beauty.<br />
<br />
<br />
“O THOU!” her words she thus without delay<br />
Resuming, turn’d their point on me, to whom<br />
They, with but lateral edge, seem’d harsh before:<br />
“Say thou, who stand’st beyond the holy stream,<br />
If this be true. A charge, so grievous, needs<br />
Thine own avowal.” On my faculty<br />
Such strange amazement hung, the voice expired<br />
Imperfect, ere its organs gave it birth.<br />
A little space refraining, then she spake:<br />
“What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The wave<br />
On thy remembrances of evil yet<br />
Hath done no injury.” A mingled sense<br />
Of fear and of confusion, from my lips<br />
Did such a “Yea” produce, as needed help<br />
Of vision to interpret. As when breaks,<br />
In act to be discharged, a cross-bow bent<br />
Beyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o’erstretch’d;<br />
The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark:<br />
Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burst,<br />
Beneath the heavy load: and thus my voice<br />
Was slacken’d on its way. She straight began:<br />
“When my desire invited thee to love<br />
The good, which sets a bound to our aspirings;<br />
What bar of thwarting foss or linked chain<br />
Did meet thee, that thou so shouldst quit the hope<br />
Of further progress? or what bait of ease,<br />
Or promise of allurement, led thee on<br />
Elsewhere, that thou elsewhere shouldst rather wait?”<br />
A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voice<br />
To answer; hardly to these sounds my lips<br />
Gave utterance, wailing: “Thy fair looks withdrawn,<br />
Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn’d<br />
My steps aside.” She answering spake: “Hadst thou<br />
Been silent, or denied what thou avow’st,<br />
Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more; such eye<br />
Observes it. But whene’er the sinner’s cheek<br />
Breaks forth into the precious-streaming tears<br />
Of self-accusing, in our court the wheel<br />
Of justice doth run counter to the edge. (1)<br />
Howe’er, that thou mayst profit by thy shame<br />
For errors past, and that henceforth more strength<br />
May arm thee, when thou hear’st the Syren-voice;<br />
Lay thou aside the motive to this grief,<br />
And lend attentive ear, while I unfold<br />
How opposite a way my buried flesh<br />
Should have impell’d thee. Never didst thou spy,<br />
In art or nature, aught so passing sweet,<br />
As were the limbs that in their beauteous frame<br />
Enclosed me, and are scatter’d now in dust.<br />
If sweetest thing thus fail’d thee with my death,<br />
What, afterward, of moral, should thy wish<br />
Have tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dart<br />
Of perishable things, in my departing<br />
For better realms, thy wing thou shouldst have pruned<br />
To follow me; and never stoop’d again,<br />
To ’bide a second blow, for a slight girl, (2)<br />
Or other gaud as transient and as vain.<br />
The new and inexperienced bird (3) awaits,<br />
Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler’s aim;<br />
But in the sight of one whose plumes are full,<br />
In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing’d.”<br />
I stood, as children silent and ashamed<br />
Stand, listening, with their eyes upon the earth,<br />
Acknowledging their fault, and self-condemn’d.<br />
And she resumed: “If, but to hear, thus pains thee,<br />
Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do.”<br />
With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm,<br />
Rent from its fibres by a blast, that blows<br />
From off the pole, or from Iarbas’ land, (4)<br />
Than I at her behest my visage raised:<br />
And thus the face denoting by the beard,<br />
I mark’d the secret sting her words convey’d.<br />
No sooner lifted I mine aspect up,<br />
Than I perceived those primal creatures cease<br />
Their flowery sprinkling; and mine eyes beheld<br />
(Yet unassured and wavering in their view)<br />
Beatrice; she, who toward the mystic shape,<br />
That joins two natures in one form, had turn’d:<br />
And, even under shadow of her veil,<br />
And parted by the verdant rill that flow’d<br />
Between, in loveliness she seem’d as much<br />
Her former self surpassing, as on earth<br />
All others she surpass’d. Remorseful goads<br />
Shot sudden through me. Each thing else, the more<br />
Its love had late beguiled me, now the more<br />
Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smote<br />
The bitter consciousness, that on the ground<br />
O’erpower’d I fell: and what my state was then,<br />
She knows, who was the cause. When now my strength<br />
Flow’d back, returning outward from the heart,<br />
The lady, (5) whom alone I first had seen,<br />
I found above me. “Loose me not,” she cried:<br />
“Loose not thy hold:” and lo! had dragg’d me high<br />
As to my neck into the stream; while she,<br />
Still as she drew me after, swept along,<br />
Swift as a shuttle, bounding o’er the wave.<br />
The blessed shore approaching, then was heard<br />
So sweetly, “Tu asperges me,” that I<br />
May not remember, much less tell the sound.<br />
The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp’d<br />
My temples, and immerged me where ’twas fit<br />
The wave should drench me: and, thence raising up,<br />
Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphs<br />
Presented me so laved; and with their arm<br />
They each did cover me. “Here are we nymphs,<br />
And in the heaven are stars. Or ever earth<br />
Was visited of Beatrice, we,<br />
Appointed for her handmaids, tended on her.<br />
We to her eyes will lead thee: but the light<br />
Of gladness, that is in them, well to scan,<br />
Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours,<br />
Thy sight shall quicken.” Thus began their song:<br />
And then they led me to the Gryphon’s breast,<br />
Where, turn’d toward us, Beatrice stood.<br />
“Spare not thy vision. We have station’d thee<br />
Before the emeralds, whence love, erewhile,<br />
Hath drawn his weapons on thee.” As they spake,<br />
A thousand fervent wishes riveted<br />
Mine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stood,<br />
Still fix’d toward the Gryphon, motionless.<br />
As the sun strikes a mirror, even thus<br />
Within those orbs the twofold being shone;<br />
Forever varying, in one figure now<br />
Reflected, now in other. Reader! muse<br />
How wondrous in my sight it seem’d, to mark<br />
A thing, albeit steadfast in itself,<br />
Yet in its imaged semblance mutable.<br />
Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soul<br />
Fed on the viand, whereof still desire<br />
Grows with satiety; the other three,<br />
With gesture that declared a loftier line,<br />
Advanced: to their own carol, on they came<br />
Dancing, in festive ring angelical.<br />
“Turn, Beatrice!” was their song: “Oh! turn<br />
Thy saintly sight on this thy faithful one,<br />
Who, to behold thee, many a wearisome pace<br />
Hath measured. Gracious at our prayer, vouchsafe<br />
Unveiled to him thy cheeks; that he may mark<br />
Thy second beauty, now conceal’d.” O splendour!<br />
O sacred light eternal! who is he,<br />
So pale with musing in Pierian shades,<br />
Or with that fount so lavishly imbued,<br />
Whose spirit should not fail him in the essay<br />
To represent thee such as thou didst seem,<br />
When under cope of the still-chiming Heaven<br />
Thou gavest to open air thy charms reveal’d?<br />
<br />
<br />
Note 1. “The weapons of divine justice are blunted by the confession and sorrow of the offender.”<br />
Note 2. “For a slight girl.” Daniello and Venturi say that this alludes to Gentucca of Lucca, mentioned in the twenty-fourth Canto.<br />
Note 3. “Bird.” “Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird.”—Prov. i. 17.<br />
Note 4. “From Iarbas’ land.” The south.<br />
Note 5. “The lady.” Matilda.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Canto XXXII</b><br />
<br />
ARGUMENT.—Dante is warned not to gaze too fixedly on Beatrice. The procession moves on, accompanied by Matilda, Statius, and Dante, till they reach an exceeding lofty tree, where divers strange chances befall.<br />
<br />
<br />
MINE eyes with such an eager coveting<br />
Were bent to rid them of their ten years’ thirst, (1)<br />
Not other sense was waking: and e’en they<br />
Were fenced on either side from heed of aught;<br />
So tangled, in its custom’d toils, that smile<br />
Of saintly brightness drew me to itself:<br />
When forcibly, toward the left, my sight<br />
The sacred virgins turn’d; for from their lips<br />
I heard the warning sounds: “Too fix’d a gaze!”<br />
A while my vision labour’d; as when late<br />
Upon the o’erstrained eyes the sun hath smote:<br />
But soon, to lesser object, as the view<br />
Was now recover’d, (lesser in respect<br />
To that excess of sensible, whence late<br />
I had perforce been sunder’d), on their right<br />
I mark’d that glorious army wheel, and turn,<br />
Against the sun and sevenfold lights, their front.<br />
As when, their bucklers for protection raised,<br />
A well-ranged troop, with portly banners curl’d,<br />
Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground;<br />
E’en thus the goodly regiment of Heaven<br />
Proceeding, all did pass us, ere the car<br />
Had sloped his beam. Attendant at the wheels<br />
The damsels turn’d; and on the Gryphon moved<br />
The sacred burden, with a pace so smooth,<br />
No feather on him trembled. The fair dame,<br />
Who through the wave had drawn me, companied<br />
By Statius and myself, pursued the wheel,<br />
Whose orbit, rolling, mark’d a lesser arch.<br />
Through the high wood, now void, (the more her blame,<br />
Who by the serpent was beguiled), I pass’d,<br />
With step in cadence to the harmony<br />
Angelic. Onward had we moved, as far,<br />
Perchance, as arrow at three several flights<br />
Full wing’d had sped, when from her station down<br />
Descended Beatrice. With one voice<br />
All murmur’d “Adam”; circling next a plant<br />
Despoil’d of flowers and leaf, on every bough,<br />
Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose,<br />
Were such, as ’midst their forest wilds, for height,<br />
The Indians might have gazed at. “Blessed thou,<br />
Gryphon! (2)whose beak hath never pluck’d that tree<br />
Pleasant to taste: for hence the appetite<br />
Was warp’d to evil.” Round the stately trunk<br />
Thus shouted forth the rest, to whom return’d<br />
The animal twice-gender’d: “Yea! for so<br />
The generation of the just are saved.”<br />
And turning to the chariot-pole, to foot<br />
He drew it of the widow’d branch, and bound<br />
There, left unto the stock whereon it grew.<br />
As when large floods of radiance from above<br />
Stream, with that radiance mingled, which ascends<br />
Next after setting of the scaly sign,<br />
Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anew<br />
His wonted colours, ere the sun have yoked<br />
Beneath another star his flamy steeds;<br />
Thus putting forth a hue more faint than rose,<br />
And deeper than the violet, was renew’d<br />
The plant, erewhile in all its branches bare.<br />
Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose.<br />
I understood it not, nor to the end<br />
Endured the harmony. Had I the skill<br />
To pencil forth how closed the unpitying eyes<br />
Slumbering, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paid<br />
So dearly for their watching), then, like painter,<br />
That with a model paints, I might design<br />
The manner of my falling into sleep.<br />
But feign who will the slumber cunningly,<br />
I pass it by to when I waked; and tell,<br />
How suddenly a flash of splendour rent<br />
The curtain of my sleep, and one cries out,<br />
“Arise; what dost thou?” As the chosen three,<br />
On Tabor’s mount, admitted to behold<br />
The blossoming of that fair tree, (3) whose fruit<br />
Is coveted of Angels, and doth make<br />
Perpetual feast in Heaven; to themselves<br />
Returning, at the word whence deeper sleeps (4)<br />
Were broken, they their tribe diminish’d saw;<br />
Both Moses and Elias gone, and changed<br />
The stole their Master wore; thus to myself<br />
Returning, over me beheld I stand<br />
The piteous one, (5) who, cross the stream, had brought<br />
My steps. “And where,” all doubting, I exclaim’d,<br />
“Is Beatrice?”—“See her,” she replied,<br />
“Beneath the fresh leaf, seated on its root.<br />
Behold the associate choir that circles her.<br />
The others, with a melody more sweet<br />
And more profound, journeying to higher realms,<br />
Upon the Gryphon tend.” If there her words<br />
Were closed, I know not; but mine eyes had now<br />
Ta’en view of her, by whom all other thoughts<br />
Were barr’d admittance. On the very ground<br />
Alone she sat, as she had there been left<br />
A guard upon the wain, which I beheld<br />
Bound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphs<br />
Did make themselves a cloister round about her;<br />
And, in their hands, upheld those lights (6) secure<br />
From blast septentrion and the gusty south.<br />
“A little while thou shalt be forester here;<br />
And citizen shalt be, forever with me,<br />
Of that true Rome, (7) wherein Christ dwells a Roman,<br />
To profit the misguided world, keep now<br />
Thine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest,<br />
Take heed thou write, returning to that place.” (8)<br />
Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclined<br />
Devout, at her behest, my thought and eyes<br />
I, as she bade, directed. Never fire,<br />
With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloud<br />
Leap’d downward from the welkin’s farthest bound,<br />
As I beheld the bird of Jove, (9) descend<br />
Down through the tree; and, as he rush’d, the rind<br />
Disparting crush beneath him; buds much more,<br />
And leaflets. On the car, with all his might<br />
He struck; whence, staggering, like a ship it reel’d,<br />
At random driven, to starboard now, o’ercome,<br />
And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves.<br />
Next, springing up into the chariot’s womb,<br />
A fox (10) I saw, with hunger seeming pined<br />
Of all good food. But, for his ugly sins<br />
The saintly maid rebuking him, away<br />
Scampering he turn’d, fast as his hide-bound corpse<br />
Would bear him. Next, from whence before he came,<br />
I saw the eagle dart into the hull<br />
O’ the car, and leave it with his feathers lined: (11)<br />
And then a voice, like that which issues forth<br />
From heart with sorrow rived, did issue forth<br />
From Heaven, and “O poor bark of mine!” it cried,<br />
“How badly art thou freighted.” Then it seem’d<br />
That the earth open’d, between either wheel;<br />
And I beheld a dragon (12) issue thence,<br />
That through the chariot fix’d his forked train;<br />
And like a wasp, that draggeth back the sting,<br />
So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg’d<br />
Part of the bottom forth; and went his way,<br />
Exulting. What remain’d, as lively turf<br />
With green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, (13)<br />
Which haply had, with purpose chaste and kind,<br />
Been offer’d; and therewith were clothed the wheels,<br />
Both one and other, and the beam, so quickly,<br />
A sigh were not breathed sooner. Thus transform’d,<br />
The holy structure, through its several parts,<br />
Did put forth heads; (14) three on the beam, and one<br />
On every side: the first like oxen horn’d;<br />
But with a single horn upon their front,<br />
The four. Like monster, sight hath never seen.<br />
O’er it (15) methought there sat, secure as rock<br />
On mountain’s lofty top, a shameless whore,<br />
Whose ken roved loosely round her. At her side,<br />
As ’t were that none might bear her off, I saw<br />
A giant stand; and ever and anon<br />
They mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyes<br />
Chancing on me to wander, that fell minion<br />
Scourged her from head to foot all o’er; then full<br />
Of jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloosed<br />
The monster, and dragg’d on, (16) so far across<br />
The forest, that from me its shades alone<br />
Shielded the harlot and the new-form’d brute.<br />
<br />
<br />
Note 1. “Their ten years’ thirst.” Beatrice had been dead ten years.<br />
Note 2. “Gryphon.” Our Saviour’s submission to the Roman Empire appears to be intended, and particularly his injunction to “render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s.”<br />
Note 3. “The blossoming of that fair tree.” Our Saviour’s transfiguration. “As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.”—Solomon’s Song, ii. 3.<br />
Note 4. “Deeper sleeps.” The sleep of death, in the instance of the ruler of the synagogue’s daughter and of Lazarus.”<br />
Note 5. “The piteous one.” Matilda.<br />
Note 6. “Those lights.” The tapers of gold.<br />
Note 7. “Of that true Rome.” Of Heaven.<br />
Note 8. “To that place.” To the earth.<br />
Note 9. “The bird of Jove.” This, which is imitated from Ezekiel, xvii. 3, 4, is typical of the persecutions which the Church sustained from the Roman emperors.<br />
Note 10. “A fox.” By the fox probably is represented the treachery of the heretics.<br />
Note 11. “With his feathers lined.” In allusion to the donations made by Constantine to the Church.<br />
Note 12. “A dragon.” Probably Mohammed; for what Lombardi offers to the contrary is far from satisfactory.<br />
Note 13. “With plumes.” The increase of wealth and temporal dominion, which followed the supposed gift of Constantine.<br />
Note 14. “Heads.” By the seven heads, it is supposed with sufficient probability, are meant the seven capital sins: by the three with two horns, pride, anger, and avarice, injurious both to man himself and to his neighbor: by the four with one horn, gluttony, gloominess, concupiscence, and envy, hurtful, at least in their primary effects, chiefly to him who is guilty of them.<br />
Note 15. “O’er it.” The harlot is thought to represent the state of the Church under Boniface VIII, and the giant to figure Philip IV of France.<br />
Note 16. “Dragg’d on.” The removal of the Pope’s residence from Rome to Avignon is pointed at.Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-37758272474145139102021-01-26T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-26T00:00:01.617-08:00In the Cradle of Civilization<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yjELALNGv2tPjR2tJUzoeMt0IViY4aA-ZfUSUeMf7DL7VxDxFiRS-DErW9CqqK1eFK6sFu85Cure7ff-onLN7WWtOzdGRmRAb0g52qqBDKGcgZvCJODZgYpnt5vhj2G1ep9HmxODcv4j/s1600/Herodotos_Met_91.8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0yjELALNGv2tPjR2tJUzoeMt0IViY4aA-ZfUSUeMf7DL7VxDxFiRS-DErW9CqqK1eFK6sFu85Cure7ff-onLN7WWtOzdGRmRAb0g52qqBDKGcgZvCJODZgYpnt5vhj2G1ep9HmxODcv4j/s320/Herodotos_Met_91.8.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Herodotos_Met_91.8.jpg" target="_blank">Herodotus</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Herodotus. <i>An
Account of Egypt: Being the Second Book of His Histories Called
Euterpe</i></b><br />
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<i>A king who entombed his daughter in a
golden cow - the worship of the bull and the cat - scandal of the
court and the gossip of the temples is given by Herodotus in his
delightful story of old Egypt.</i></div>
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Down to the
time when Rhampsinitos was king, they told me there was in Egypt
nothing but orderly rule, and Egypt prospered greatly; but after him
Cheops became king over them and brought them to every kind of evil:
for he shut up all the temples, and having first kept them from
sacrifices there, he then bade all the Egyptians work for him. So
some were appointed to draw stones from the stone-quarries in the
Arabian mountains to the Nile, and others he ordered to receive the
stones after they had been carried over the river in boats, and to
draw them to those which are called the Libyan mountains; and they
worked by a hundred thousand men at a time, for each three months
continually. Of this oppression there passed ten years while the
causeway was made by which they drew the stones, which causeway they
built, and it is a work not much less, as it appears to me, than the
pyramid; for the length of it is five furlongs and the breadth ten
fathoms and the height, where it is highest, eight fathoms, and it is
made of stone smoothed and with figures carved upon it. For this they
said, the ten years were spent, and for the underground chambers on
the hill upon which the pyramids stand, which he caused to be made as
sepulchral chambers for himself in an island, having conducted
thither a channel from the Nile. For the making of the pyramid itself
there passed a period of twenty years; and the pyramid is square,
each side measuring eight hundred feet, and the height of it is the
same. It is built of stone smoothed and fitted together in the most
perfect manner, not one of the stones being less than thirty feet in
length. This pyramid was made after the manner of steps, which some
called “rows” and others “bases”: and when they had first
made it thus, they raised the remaining stones with machines made of
short pieces of timber, raising them first from the ground to the
first stage of the steps, and when the stone got up to this it was
placed upon another machine standing on the first stage, and so from
this it was drawn to the second upon another machine; for as many as
were the courses of the steps, so many machines there were also, or
perhaps they transferred one and the same machine, made so as easily
to be carried, to each stage successively, in order that they might
take up the stones; for let it be told in both ways, according as it
is reported. However that may be, the highest parts of it were
finished first, and afterwards they proceeded to finish that which
came next to them, and lastly they finished the parts of it near the
ground and the lowest ranges. On the pyramid it is declared in
Egyptian writing how much was spent on radishes and onions and leeks
for the workmen, and if I rightly remember that which the interpreter
said in reading to me this inscription, a sum of one thousand six
hundred talents of silver was spent; and if this is so, how much
besides is likely to have been expended upon the iron with which they
worked, and upon bread and clothing for the workmen, seeing that they
were building the works for the time which has been mentioned and
were occupied for no small time besides, as I suppose, in the cutting
and bringing of the stones and in working at the excavation under the
ground? Cheops moreover came, they said, to such a pitch of
wickedness, that being in want of money he caused his own daughter to
sit in the stews, and ordered her to obtain from those who came a
certain amount of money (how much it was they did not tell me); and
she not only obtained the sum appointed by her father, but also she
formed a design for herself privately to leave behind her a memorial,
and she requested each man who came in to her to give her one stone
upon her building: and of these stones, they told me, the pyramid was
built which stands in front of the great pyramid in the middle of the
three, each side being one hundred and fifty feet in length.</div>
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This
Cheops, the Egyptians said, reigned fifty years; and after he was
dead his brother Chephren succeeded to the kingdom. This king
followed the same manner of dealing as the other, both in all the
rest and also in that he made a pyramid, not indeed attaining to the
measurements of that which was built by the former (this I know,
having myself also measured it), and moreover there are no
underground chambers beneath nor does a channel come from the Nile
flowing to this one as to the other, in which the water coming
through a conduit built for it flows round an island within, where
they say that Cheops himself is laid: but for a basement he built the
first course of Ethiopian stone of divers colours; and this pyramid
he made forty feet lower than the other as regards size, building it
close to the great pyramid. These stand both upon the same hill,
which is about a hundred feet high. And Chephren, they said, reigned
fifty and six years. Here then they reckon one hundred and six years,
during which they say that there was nothing but evil for the
Egyptians, and the temples were kept closed and not opened during all
that time. These kings the Egyptians by reason of their hatred of
them are not very willing to name; nay, they even call the pyramids
after the name of Philitis the shepherd, who at that time pastured
flocks in those regions. After him, they said, Mykerinos became king
over Egypt, who was the son of Cheops; and to him his father’s
deeds were displeasing, and he both opened the temples and gave
liberty to the people, who were ground down to the last extremity of
evil, to return to their own business and to their sacrifices: also
he gave decisions of their causes juster than those of all the other
kings besides. In regard to this then they commend this king more
than all the other kings who had arisen in Egypt before him; for he
not only gave good decisions, but also when a man complained of the
decision, he gave him recompense from his own goods and thus
satisfied his desire. But while Mykerinos was acting mercifully to
his subjects and practising this conduct which has been said,
calamities befell him, of which the first was this, namely that his
daughter died, the only child whom he had in his house: and being
above measure grieved by that which had befallen him, and desiring to
bury his daughter in a manner more remarkable than others, he made a
cow of wood, which he covered over with gold, and then within it he
buried this daughter who, as I said, had died. This cow was not
covered up in the ground, but it might be seen even down to my own
time in the city of Saïs, placed within the royal palace in a
chamber which was greatly adorned; and they offer incense of all
kinds before it every day, and each night a lamp burns beside it all
through the night. Near this cow in another chamber stand images of
the concubines of Mykerinos, as the priests at Saïs told me; for
there are in fact colossal wooden statues, in number about twenty,
made with naked bodies; but who they are I am not able to say, except
only that which is reported. Some however tell about this cow and the
colossal statues the following tale, namely that Mykerinos was
enamoured of his own daughter and afterwards ravished her; and upon
this they say that the girl strangled herself for grief, and he
buried her in this cow; and her mother cut off the hands of the maids
who had betrayed the daughter to her father; wherefore now the images
of them have suffered that which the maids suffered in their life. In
thus saying they speak idly, as it seems to me, especially in what
they say about the hands of the statues; for as to this, even we
ourselves saw that their hands had dropped off from lapse of time,
and they were to be seen still lying at their feet even down to my
time. The cow is covered up with a crimson robe, except only the head
and the neck, which are seen, overlaid with gold very thickly; and
between the horns there is the disc of the sun figured in gold. The
cow is not standing up but kneeling, and in size it is equal to a
large living cow. Every year it is carried forth from the chamber, at
those times, I say, the Egyptians beat themselves for that god whom I
will not name upon occasion of such a matter; at these times, I say,
they also carry forth the cow to the light of day, for they say that
she asked of her father Mykerinos, when she was dying, that she might
look upon the sun once in the year.</div>
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After the
misfortune of his daughter it happened, they said, secondly to the
king as follows:—An oracle came to him from the city of Buto,
saying that he was destined to live but six years more, in the
seventh year to end his life: and he being indignant at it sent to
the Oracle a reproach against the god, making complaint in reply that
whereas his father and uncle, who had shut up the temples, and had
not only not remembered the gods, but also had been destroyers of
men, had lived for a long time, he himself, who practised piety, was
destined to end his life so soon: and from the Oracle there came a
second message, which said that it was for this very cause that he
was bringing his life to a swift close; for he had not done that
which it was appointed for him to do, since it was destined that
Egypt should suffer evils for a hundred and fifty years, and the two
kings who had arisen before him had perceived this, but he had not.
Mykerinos having heard this, and considering that this sentence had
passed upon him beyond recall, procured many lamps, and whenever
night came on he lighted these and began to drink and take his
pleasure, ceasing neither by day nor by night; and he went about to
the fen-country and to the woods and wherever he heard there were the
most suitable places of enjoyment. This he devised (having a mind to
prove that the Oracle spoke falsely) in order that he might have
twelve years of life instead of six, the nights being turned into
days.</div>
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This king
also left behind him a pyramid, much smaller than that of his father,
of a square shape and measuring on each side three hundred feet
lacking twenty, built moreover of Ethiopian stone up to half the
height. This pyramid some of the Hellenes say was built by the
courtesan Rhodopis, not therein speaking rightly: and besides this it
is evident to me that they who speak thus do not even know who
Rhodopis was, for otherwise they would not have attributed to her the
building of a pyramid like this, on which have been spent (so to
speak) innumerable thousands of talents: moreover they do not know
that Rhodopis flourished in the reign of Amasis, and not in this
king’s reign; for Rhodopis lived very many years later than the
kings who left behind them these pyramids. By descent she was of
Thrace, and she was a slave of Iadmon the son of Hephaistopolis a
Samian, and a fellow-slave of Esop the maker of fables; for he too
was once the slave of Iadmon, as was proved especially by this fact,
namely that when the people of Delphi repeatedly made proclamation in
accordance with an oracle, to find some one who would take up the
blood-money for the death of Esop, no one else appeared, but at
length the grandson of Iadmon, called Iadmon also, took it up; and
thus it is shown that Esop too was the slave of Iadmon. As for
Rhodopis, she came to Egypt brought by Xanthes the Samian, and having
come thither to exercise her calling she was redeemed from slavery
for a great sum by a man of Mytilene, Charaxos son of Scamandronymos
and brother of Sappho the lyric poet. Thus was Rhodopis set free, and
she remained in Egypt and by her beauty won so much liking that she
made great gain of money for one like Rhodopis, though not enough to
suffice for the cost of such a pyramid as this. In truth there is no
need to ascribe to her very great riches, considering that the tithe
of her wealth may still be seen even to this time by any one who
desires it: for Rhodopis wished to leave behind her a memorial of
herself in Hellas, namely to cause a thing to be made such as happens
not to have been thought of or dedicated in a temple by any besides,
and to dedicate this at Delphi as a memorial of herself. Accordingly
with the tithe of her wealth she caused to be made spits of iron of
size large enough to pierce a whole ox, and many in number, going as
far therein as her tithe allowed her, and she sent them to Delphi:
these are even at the present time lying there, heaped all together
behind the altar which the Chians dedicated, and just opposite to the
cell of the temple. Now at Naucratis, as it happens, the courtesans
are rather apt to win credit; for this woman first, about whom the
story to which I refer is told, became so famous that all the
Hellenes without exception came to know the name of Rhodopis, and
then after her one whose name was Archidiche became a subject of song
all over Hellas, though she was less talked of than the other. As for
Charaxos, when after redeeming Rhodopis he returned back to Mytilene,
Sappho in an ode violently abused him. Of Rhodopis then I shall say
no more.</div>
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After
Mykerinos the priests said Asychis became king of Egypt, and he made
for Hephaistos the temple gateway which is towards the sunrising, by
far the most beautiful and the largest of the gateways; for while
they all have figures carved upon them and innumerable ornaments of
building besides, this has them very much more than the rest. In this
king’s reign they told me that, as the circulation of money was
very slow, a law was made for the Egyptians that a man might have
that money lent to him which he needed, by offering as security the
dead body of his father; and there was added moreover to this law
another, namely that he who lent the money should have a claim also
to the whole of the sepulchral chamber belonging to him who received
it, and that the man who offered that security should be subject to
this penalty, if he refused to pay back the debt, namely that neither
the man himself should be allowed to have burial, when he died,
either in that family burial-place or in any other, nor should he be
allowed to bury any of his kinsmen whom he lost by death. This king
desiring to surpass the kings of Egypt who had arisen before him left
as a memorial of himself a pyramid which he made of bricks, and on it
there is an inscription carved in stone and saying thus: “Despise
not me in comparison with the pyramids of stone, seeing that I excel
them as much as Zeus excels the other gods; for with a pole they
struck into the lake, and whatever of the mud attached itself to the
pole, this they gathered up and made bricks, and in such manner they
finished me.”</div>
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Such were
the deeds which this king performed: and after him reigned a blind
man of the city of Anysis, whose name was Anysis. In his reign the
Ethiopians and Sabacos the king of the Ethiopians marched upon Egypt
with a great host of men; so this blind man departed, flying to the
fen-country, and the Ethiopian was king over Egypt for fifty years,
during which he performed deeds as follows:—whenever any man of the
Egyptians committed any transgression, he would never put him to
death, but he gave sentence upon each man according to the greatness
of the wrong-doing, appointing them to work at throwing up an
embankment before that city from whence each man came of those who
committed wrong. Thus the cities were made higher still than before;
for they were embanked first by those who dug the channels in the
reign of Sesostris, and then secondly in the reign of the Ethiopian,
and thus they were made very high: and while other cities in Egypt
also stood high, I think in the town at Bubastis especially the earth
was piled up. In this city there is a temple very well worthy of
mention, for though there are other temples which are larger and
built with more cost, none more than this is a pleasure to the eyes.
Now Bubastis in the Hellenic tongue is Artemis, and her temple is
ordered thus:—Except the entrance it is completely surrounded by
water; for channels come in from the Nile, not joining one another,
but each extending as far as the entrance of the temple, one flowing
round on the one side and the other on the other side, each a hundred
feet broad and shaded over with trees; and the gateway has a height
of ten fathoms, and it is adorned with figures six cubits high, very
note-worthy. This temple is in the middle of the city and is looked
down upon from all sides as one goes round, for since the city has
been banked up to a height, while the temple had not been moved from
the palace where it was at the first built, it is possible to look
down into it: and round it runs a stone wall with figures carved upon
it, while within it there is a grove of very large trees planted
round a large temple-house, within which is the image of the goddess:
and the breadth and length of the temple is a furlong every way.
Opposite the entrance there is a road paved with stone for about
three furlongs, which leads through the market-place towards the
East, with a breadth of about four hundred feet; and on this side and
on that grow trees of height reaching to heaven: and the road leads
to the temple of Hermes. This temple then is thus ordered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The final
deliverance from the Ethiopian came about (they said) as follows:—he
fled away because he had seen in his sleep a vision, in which it
seemed to him that a man came and stood by him and counselled him to
gather together all the priests in Egypt and cut them asunder in the
midst. Having seen this dream, he said that it seemed to him that the
gods were foreshowing him this to furnish an occasion against him, in
order that he might do an impious deed with respect to religion, and
so receive some evil either from the gods or from men: he would not
however do so, but in truth (he said) the time had expired, during
which it had been prophesied to him that he should rule Egypt before
he departed thence. For when he was in Ethiopia the Oracles which the
Ethiopians consult had told him that it was fated for him to rule
Egypt fifty years: since then this time was now expiring, and the
vision of the dream also disturbed him, Sabacos departed out of Egypt
of his own free will.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Then when
the Ethiopian had gone away out of Egypt, the blind man came back
from the fen-country and began to rule again, having lived there
during fifty years upon an island which he had made by heaping up
ashes and earth: for whenever any of the Egyptians visited him
bringing food, according as it had been appointed to them severally
to do without the knowledge of the Ethiopian, he bade them bring also
some ashes for their gift. This island none was able to find before
Amyrtaios; that is, for more than seven hundred years the kings who
arose before Amyrtaios were not able to find it. Now the name of this
island is Elbo, and its size is ten furlongs each way.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After him
there came to the throne the priest of Hephaistos, whose name was
Sethos. This man, they said, neglected and held in no regard the
warrior class of the Egyptians, considering that he would have no
need of them; and besides other slights which he put upon them, he
also took from them the yokes of corn-land which had been given to
them as a special gift in the reigns of the former kings, twelve
yokes to each man. After this, Sanacharib king of the Arabians and of
the Assyrians marched a great host against Egypt. Then the warriors
of the Egyptians refused to come to the rescue, and the priest, being
driven into a strait, entered into the sanctuary of the temple and
bewailed to the image of the god the danger which was impending over
him; and as he was thus lamenting, sleep came upon him, and it seemed
to him in his vision that the god came and stood by him and
encouraged him, saying that he should suffer no evil if he went forth
to meet the army of the Arabians; for he would himself send him
helpers. Trusting in these things seen in sleep, he took with him,
they said, those of the Egyptians who were willing to follow him, and
encamped in Pelusion, for by this way the invasion came: and not one
of the warrior class followed him, but shop-keepers and artisans and
men of the market. Then after they came, there swarmed by the night
upon their enemies mice of the fields, and ate up their quivers and
their bows, and moreover the handles of their shields, so that on the
next day they fled, and being without defense of arms great numbers
fell. And at the present time this king stands in the temple of
Hephaistos in stone, holding upon his hand a mouse, and by letters
inscribed he says these words: “Let him who looks upon me learn to
fear the gods.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So far in
the story the Egyptians and the priests were they who made the
report, declaring that from the first king down to this priest of
Hephaistos who reigned last, there had been three hundred and
forty-one generations of men, and that in them there had been the
same number of chief-priests and of kings: but three hundred
generations of men are equal to ten thousand years, for a hundred
years is three generations of men; and in the one-and-forty
generations which remain, those I mean which were added to the three
hundred, there are one thousand three hundred and forty years. Thus
in the period of eleven thousand three hundred and forty years they
said that there had arisen no god in human form; nor even before that
time or afterwards among the remaining kings who arose in Egypt, did
they report that anything of that kind had come to pass. In this time
they said that the sun had moved four times from his accustomed place
of rising, and where he now sets he had thence twice had his rising,
and in the place from whence he now rises he had twice had his
setting; and in the meantime nothing in Egypt had been changed from
its usual state, neither that which comes from the earth nor that
which comes to them from the river nor that which concerns diseases
or deaths. And formerly when Hecataios the historian was in Thebes,
and had traced his descent and connected his family with a god in the
sixteenth generation before, the priests of Zeus did for him much the
same as they did for me (though I had not traced my descent). They
led me into the sanctuary of the temple, which is of great size, and
they counted up the number, showing colossal wooden statues in number
the same as they said; for each chief-priest there sets up in his
lifetime an image of himself: accordingly the priests, counting and
showing me these, declared to me that each one of them was a son
succeeding his own father, and they went up through the series of
images from the image of the one who had died last, until they had
declared this of the whole number. And when Hecataios had traced his
descent and connected his family with a god in the sixteenth
generation, they traced a descent in opposition to his, besides their
numbering, not accepting it from him that a man had been born from a
god; and they traced their counter-descent thus, saying that each one
of the statues had been piromis son of piromis, until
they had declared this of the whole three hundred and forty-five
statues, each one being surnamed piromis; and neither with
a god nor a hero did they connect their descent. Now piromis means
in the tongue of Hellas “honourable and good man.” From their
declaration then it followed, that they of whom the images were had
been of form like this, and far removed from being gods: but in the
time before these men they said that gods were the rulers in Egypt,
not mingling with men, and that of these always one had power at a
time; and the last of them who was king over Egypt was Oros the son
of Osiris, whom the Hellenes call Apollo: he was king over Egypt
last, having deposed Typhon. Now Osiris in the tongue of Hellas is
Dionysos.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Among the
Hellenes Heracles, and Dionysos and Pan are accounted the latest-born
of the gods; but with the Egyptians Pan is a very ancient god, and he
is one of those which are called the eight gods, while Heracles is of
the second rank, who are called the twelve gods, and Dionysos is of
the third rank, namely of those who were born of the twelve gods. Now
as to Heracles I have shown already how many years old he is
according to the Egyptians themselves, reckoning down to the reign of
Amasis, and Pan is said to have existed for yet more years than
these, and Dionysos for the smallest number of years as compared with
the others; and even for this last they reckon down to the reign of
Amasis fifteen thousand years. This the Egyptians say that they know
for a certainty, since they always kept a reckoning and wrote down
the years as they came. Now the Dionysos who is said to have been
born of Semele the daughter of Cadmos, was born about sixteen
hundred years before my time, and Heracles who was the son of
Alcmene, about nine hundred years, and that Pan who was born of
Penelope, for of her and of Hermes Pan is said by the Hellenes to
have been born, came into being later than the wars of Troy, about
eight hundred years before my time. Of these two accounts every man
may adopt that one which he shall find the more credible when he
hears it. I however, for my part, have already declared my opinion
about them. For if these also, like Heracles the son of Amphitryon,
had appeared before all men’s eyes and had lived their lives to old
age in Hellas, I mean Dionysos the son of Semele and Pan the son
of Penelope, then one would have said that these also had been born
mere men, having the names of those gods who had come into being long
before: but as it is, with regard to Dionysos, the Hellenes say that
as soon as he was born Zeus sewed him up in his thigh and carried him
to Nysa, which is above Egypt in the land of Ethiopia; and as to Pan,
they cannot say whither he went after he was born. Hence it has
become clear to me that the Hellenes learnt the names of these gods
later than those of the other gods, and trace their descent as if
their birth occurred at the time when they first learnt their names.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thus far
then the history is told by the Egyptians themselves; but I will now
recount that which other nations also tell, and the Egyptians in
agreement with the others, of that which happened in this land: and
there will be added to this also something of that which I have
myself seen.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Being set
free after the reign of the priest of Hephaistos, the Egyptians,
since they could not live any time without a king, set up over them
twelve kings, having divided all Egypt into twelve parts. These made
intermarriages with one another and reigned, making agreement that
they would not put down one another by force, nor seek to get an
advantage over one another, but would live in perfect friendship: and
the reason why they made these agreements, guarding them very
strongly from violation, was this, namely that an oracle had been
given to them at first when they began to exercise their rule, that
he of them who should pour a libation with a bronze cup in the temple
of Hephaistos, should be king of all Egypt (for they used to assemble
together in all the temples). Moreover they resolved to join all
together and leave a memorial of themselves; and having so resolved
they caused to be made a labyrinth, situated a little above the lake
of Moiris and nearly opposite to that which is called the City of
Crocodiles. This I saw myself, and I found it greater than words can
say. For if one should put together and reckon up all the buildings
and all the great works produced by Hellenes, they would prove to be
inferior in labour and expense to this labyrinth, though it is true
that both the temple at Ephesos and that at Samos are works worthy of
note. The pyramids also were greater than words can say, and each one
of them is equal to many works of the Hellenes, great as they may be;
but the labyrinth surpasses even the pyramids. It has twelve courts
covered in, with gates facing one another, six upon the North side
and six upon the South, joining on one to another, and the same wall
surrounds them all outside; and there are in it two kinds of
chambers, the one kind below the ground and the other above upon
these, three thousand in number, of each kind fifteen hundred. The
upper set of chambers we ourselves saw, going through them, and we
tell of them having looked upon them with our own eyes; but the
chambers under ground we heard about only; for the Egyptians who had
charge of them were not willing on any account to show them, saying
that here were the sepulchres of the kings who had first built this
labyrinth and of the sacred crocodiles. Accordingly we speak of the
chambers below by what we received form hearsay, while those above we
saw ourselves and found them to be works of more than human
greatness. For the passages through the chambers, and the goings this
way and that way through the courts, which were admirably adorned,
afforded endless matter for marvel, as we went through from a court
to the chambers beyond it, and from the chambers to colonnades, and
from the colonnades to other rooms, and then from the chambers again
to other courts. Over the whole of these is a roof made of stone like
the walls; and the walls are covered with figures carved upon them,
each court being surrounded with pillars of white stone fitted
together most perfectly; and at the end of the labyrinth, by the
corner of it, there is a pyramid of forty fathoms, upon which large
figures are carved, and to this there is a way made under ground.</div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-54132912744628911162021-01-25T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-25T00:00:04.858-08:00A Field Mouse Made Famous<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt4-91mHukrWxNwMquboetTFhbdgBQmiSenpK-esipdAPEISJ5YmLBSFni85pndLHf830sPzAiM7oBh8qGmsPIX4spq9zx7-2Pam-jwtbr-EWlWOO8AMxBIx9Xlb9UZdSOPZMHrsX92jw/s1600/Burns_Naysmithcrop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt4-91mHukrWxNwMquboetTFhbdgBQmiSenpK-esipdAPEISJ5YmLBSFni85pndLHf830sPzAiM7oBh8qGmsPIX4spq9zx7-2Pam-jwtbr-EWlWOO8AMxBIx9Xlb9UZdSOPZMHrsX92jw/s320/Burns_Naysmithcrop.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:PG_1063Burns_Naysmithcrop.jpg" target="_blank">Robert Burns</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Robert Burns (1759–1796). <i>To A Mouse, Poems and Songs.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A humble Scotchman, plowing his fields, turns over the nest of a frightened mouse. He apologizes with the deepest sincerity and explains how "the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley."</i><br />
<br />
<br />
WEE, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,<br />
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!<br />
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,<br />
Wi’ bickering brattle!<br />
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,<br />
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!<br />
<br />
I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,<br />
Has broken nature’s social union,<br />
An’ justifies that ill opinion,<br />
Which makes thee startle<br />
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,<br />
An’ fellow-mortal!<br />
<br />
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;<br />
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!<br />
A daimen icker in a thrave<br />
’S a sma’ request;<br />
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,<br />
An’ never miss’t!<br />
<br />
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!<br />
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!<br />
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,<br />
O’ foggage green!<br />
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,<br />
Baith snell an’ keen!<br />
<br />
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,<br />
An’ weary winter comin fast,<br />
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,<br />
Thou thought to dwell—<br />
Till crash! the cruel coulter past<br />
Out thro’ thy cell.<br />
<br />
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,<br />
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!<br />
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,<br />
But house or hald,<br />
To thole the winter’s sleety dribble,<br />
An’ cranreuch cauld!<br />
<br />
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,<br />
In proving foresight may be vain;<br />
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men<br />
Gang aft agley,<br />
An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,<br />
For promis’d joy!<br />
<br />
Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me<br />
The present only toucheth thee:<br />
But, Och! I backward cast my e’e.<br />
On prospects drear!<br />
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,<br />
I guess an’ fear!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-22137649446289237242021-01-24T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-24T00:00:04.479-08:00Odysseus Silenced the Sirens<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAfiqSORWRSkhb3BuUupURrW1aJHaoC9syXEy7UWwL2O9VpRm8YjQem8Nk5nqlgTwQCRtezUbMNK2dKNdMPHBNNWNqANRuBqvtC-_8T9Fq7pQyQ4Cg1tC8B9DLvgNDM4r3z-42mG1IVVG/s1600/Homer_British_Museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAfiqSORWRSkhb3BuUupURrW1aJHaoC9syXEy7UWwL2O9VpRm8YjQem8Nk5nqlgTwQCRtezUbMNK2dKNdMPHBNNWNqANRuBqvtC-_8T9Fq7pQyQ4Cg1tC8B9DLvgNDM4r3z-42mG1IVVG/s320/Homer_British_Museum.jpg" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Homer_British_Museum.jpg" target="_blank">Homer</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<h3 class="western">
<b>Homer (fl. 850
B.C.). <i>Book XII, The Odyssey.</i></b></h3>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>When his ship
approached the siren's rock, Odysseus stuffed the ears of his crew
with wax and had himself bound to the mast that he might hear the
alluring voice of the siren and yet not wreck his ship on the
enchanted rock.</i></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Odysseus, his passage by the Sirens, and by Scylla
and Charybdis. The sacrilege committed by his men in the isle
Thrinacia. The destruction of his ships and men. How he swam on a
plank nine days together, and came to Ogygia, where he stayed seven
years with Calypso.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
‘NOW after the ship had left the stream of the
river Oceanus, and was come to the wave of the wide sea, and the isle
Aeaean, where is the dwelling place of early Dawn and her dancing
grounds, and the land of sunrising, upon our coming thither we
beached the ship in the sand, and ourselves too stept ashore on the
sea beach. There we fell on sound sleep and awaited the bright Dawn.</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the
rosy-fingered, I sent forth my fellows to the house of Circe to fetch
the body of the dead Elpenor. And speedily we cut billets of wood and
sadly we buried him, where the furthest headland runs out into the
sea, shedding big tears. But when the dead man was burned and the
arms of the dead, we piled a barrow and dragged up thereon a pillar,
and on the topmost mound we set the shapen oar.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Now all that task we finished, and our coming
from out of Hades was not unknown to Circe, but she arrayed herself
and speedily drew nigh, and her handmaids with her bare flesh and
bread in plenty and dark red wine. And the fair goddess stood in the
midst and spake in our ears, saying:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Men overbold, who have gone alive into the
house of Hades, to know death twice, while all men else die once for
all. Nay come, eat ye meat and drink wine here all day long; and with
the breaking of the day ye shall set sail, and myself I will show you
the path and declare each thing, that ye may not suffer pain or hurt
through any grievous ill-contrivance by sea or on the land.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake she, and our lordly souls consented
thereto. Thus for that time we sat the livelong day, until the going
down of the sun, feasting on abundant flesh and on sweet wine. Now
when the sun sank and darkness came on, my company laid them to rest
by the hawsers of the ship. Then she took me by the hand and led me
apart from my dear company, and made me to sit down and laid herself
at my feet, and asked all my tale. And I told her all in order duly.
Then at the last the Lady Circe spake unto me, saying:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Even so, now all these things have an end;
do thou then hearken even as I tell thee, and the god himself shall
bring it back to thy mind. To the Sirens first shalt thou come, who
bewitch all men, whosoever shall come to them. Whoso draws nigh them
unwittingly and hears the sound of the Sirens’ voice, never doth he
see wife or babes stand by him on his return, nor have they joy at
his coming; but the Sirens enchant him with their clear song, sitting
in the meadow, and all about is a great heap of bones of men, corrupt
in death, and round the bones the skin is wasting. But do thou drive
thy ship past, and knead honey-sweet wax, and anoint therewith the
ears of thy company, lest any of the rest hear the song; but if thou
myself art minded to hear, let them bind thee in the swift ship hand
and foot, upright in the mast-stead, and from the mast let rope-ends
be tied, that with delight thou mayest hear the voice of the Sirens.
And if thou shalt beseech thy company and bid them to loose thee,
then let bind thee with yet more bonds. But when thy friends have
driven they ship past these, I will not tell thee fully which path
shall thenceforth be thine, but do thou thyself consider it, and I
will speak to thee of either way. On the one side there are beetling
rocks, and against them the great wave roars of dark-eyed Amphitrite.
These, ye must know, are they the blessed gods call the Rocks
Wandering. By this way even winged things may never pass, nay, not
even the cowering doves that bear ambrosia to Father Zeus, but the
sheer rock evermore takes away one even of these, and the Father
sends in another to make up the tale. Thereby no ship of men ever
escapes that comes thither, but the planks of ships and the bodies of
men confusedly are tossed by the waves of the sea and the storms of
ruinous fire. One ship only of all that fare by sea hath passed that
way, even Argo, that is in all men’s minds, on her voyage from
Aeetes. And even her the wave would lightly have cast there upon the
mighty rocks, but Here sent her by for love of Jason.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“On the other part are two rocks, whereof
the one reaches with sharp peak to the wide heaven, and a dark cloud
encompasses it; this never streams away, and there is no clear air
about the peak neither in summer nor in harvest tide. No mortal man
may scale it or set foot thereon, not though he had twenty hands and
feet. For the rock is smooth, and sheer, as it were polished. And in
the midst of the cliff is a dim cave turned to Erebus, towards the
place of darkness, whereby ye shall even steer your hollow ship,
noble Odysseus. Not with an arrow from a bow might a man in his
strength reach from his hollow ship into that deep cave. And therein
dwelleth Scylla, yelping terribly. Her voice indeed is no greater
than the voice of a new-born whelp, but a dreadful monster is she,
nor would any look on her gladly, not if it were a god that met her.
Verily she hath twelve feet all dangling down; and six necks
exceeding long, and on each a hideous head, and therein three rows of
teeth set thick and close, full of black death. Up to her middle is
she sunk far down in the hollow cave, but forth she holds her heads
from the dreadful gulf, and there she fishes, swooping round the
rock, for dolphins or sea-dogs, or whatso greater beast she may
anywhere take, whereof the deep-voiced Amphitrite feeds countless
flocks. Thereby no sailors boast that they have fled scatheless ever
with their ship, for with each head she carries off a man, whom she
hath snatched from out the dark-prowed ship.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“But that other cliff, Odysseus, thou shalt
note, lying lower, hard by the first: thou couldest send an arrow
across. And thereon is a great fig-tree growing, in fullest leaf, and
beneath it mighty Charybdis sucks down black water, for thrice a day
she spouts it forth, and thrice a day she sucks it down in terrible
wise. Never mayest thou be there when she sucks the water, for none
might save thee then from thy bane, not even the Earth-Shaker! But
take heed and swiftly drawing nigh to Scylla’s rock drive the ship
past, since of a truth it is far better to mourn six of thy company
in the ship, than all in the selfsame hour.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake she, but I answered, and said unto
her: “Come I pray thee herein, goddess, tell me true, if there be
any means whereby I might escape from the deadly Charybdis and avenge
me on that other, when she would prey upon my company.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake I, and that fair goddess answered
me: “Man overbold, lo, now again the deeds of war are in thy mind
and the travail thereof. Wilt thou not yield thee even to the
deathless gods? As for her, she is no mortal, but an immortal plague,
dread, grievous, and fierce, and not to be fought with; and against
her there is no defence; flight is the bravest way. For if thou tarry
to do on thine armour by the cliff, I fear lest once again she sally
forth and catch at thee with so many heads, and seize as many men as
before. So drive past with all thy force, and call on Cratais, mother
of Scylla, which bore her for a bane to mortals. And she will then
let her from darting forth thereafter.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Then thou shalt come unto the isle
Thrinacia; there are the many kine of Helios and his brave flocks
feeding, seven herds of kine and as many goodly flocks of sheep, and
fifty in each flock. They have no part in birth or in corruption, and
there are goddesses to shepherd them, nymphs with fair tresses,
Phaethusa and Lampetie whom bright Neaera bare to Helios Hyperion.
Now when the lady their mother had borne and nursed them, she carried
them to the isle Thrinacia to dwell afar, that they should guard
their father’s flocks and his kine with shambling gait. If thou
doest these no hurt, being heedful of thy return, truly ye may even
yet reach Ithaca, albeit in evil case. But if thou hurtest them, I
foreshow ruin for thy ship and for thy men, and even though thou
shouldest thyself escape, late shalt thou return in evil plight with
the loss of all thy company.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake she, and anon came the
golden-throned Dawn. Then the fair goddess took her way up the
island. But I departed to my ship and roused my men themselves to
mount the vessel and loose the hawsers. And speedily they went aboard
and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly smote the grey sea
water with their oars. And in the wake of our dark-prowed ship she
sent a favouring wind that filled the sails, a kindly escort,—even
Circe of the braided tresses, a dread goddess of human speech. And
straightway we set in order the gear throughout the ship and sat us
down, and the wind and the helmsman guided our barque.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Then I spake among my company with a heavy
heart: “Friends, forasmuch as it is not well that one or two alone
should know of the oracles that Circe, the fair goddess, spake unto
me, therefore will I declare them, that with foreknowledge we may
die, or haply shunning death and destiny escape. First she bade us
avoid the sound of the voice of the wondrous Sirens, and their field
of flowers, and me only she bade listen to their voices. So bind ye
me in a hard bond, that I may abide unmoved in my place, upright in
the mast-stead, and from the mast let rope-ends be tied, and if I
beseech and bid you to set me free, then do ye straiten me with yet
more bonds.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Thus I rehearsed these things one and all,
and declared them to my company. Meanwhile our good ship quickly came
to the island of the Sirens twain, for a gentle breeze sped her on
her way. Then straightway the wind ceased, and lo, there was a
windless calm, and some god lulled the waves. Then my company rose up
and drew in the ship’s sails, and stowed them in the hold of the
ship, while they sat at the oars and whitened the water with their
polished pine blades. But I with my sharp sword cleft in pieces a
great circle of wax, and with my strong hands kneaded it. And soon
the wax grew warm, for that my great might constrained it, and the
beam of the lord Helios, son of Hyperion. And I anointed therewith
the ears of all my men in their order, and in the ship they bound me
hand and foot upright in the mast-stead, and from the mast they
fastened rope-ends and themselves sat down, and smote the grey sea
water with their oars. But when the ship was within the sound of a
man’s shout from the land, we fleeing swiftly on our way, the
Sirens espied the swift ship speeding toward them, and they raised
their clear-toned song:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Hither, come hither, renowned Odysseus,
great glory of the Achaeans, here stay thy barque, that thou mayest
listen to the voice of us twain. For none hath ever driven by this
way in his black ship, till he hath heard from our lips the voice
sweet as the honeycomb, and hath had joy thereof and gone on his way
the wiser. For lo, we know all things, all the travail that in wide
Troy-land the Argives and Trojans bare by the gods’ designs, yea,
and we know all that shall hereafter be upon the fruitful earth.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake they uttering a sweet voice, and my
heart was fain to listen, and I bade my company unbind me, nodding at
them with a frown, but they bent to their oars and rowed on. Then
straight uprose Perimedes and Eurylochus and bound me with more cords
and straitened me yet the more. Now when we had driven past them, nor
heard we any longer the sound of the Sirens or their song, forthwith
my dear company took away the wax wherewith I had anointed their ears
and loosed me from my bonds.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘But so soon as we left that isle, thereafter
presently I saw smoke and a great wave, and heard the sea roaring.
Then for very fear the oars flew from their hands, and down the
stream they all splashed, and the ship was holden there, for my
company no longer plied with their hands the tapering oars. But I
paced the ship and cheered on my men, as I stood by each one and
spake smooth words:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Friends, forasmuch as in sorrow we are not
all unlearned, truly this is no greater woe that is upon us, (1) than
when the Cyclops penned us by main might in his hollow cave; yet even
thence we made escape by my manfulness, even by my counsel and my
wit, and some day I think that this adventure too we shall remember.
Come now, therefore, let us all give ear to do according to my word.
Do ye smite the deep surf of the sea with your oars, as ye sit on the
benches, if peradventure Zeus may grant us to escape from and shun
this death. And as for thee, helmsman, thus I charge thee, and ponder
it in thine heart seeing that thou wieldest the helm of the hollow
ship. Keep the ship well away from this smoke and from the wave and
hug the rocks, lest the ship, ere thou art aware, start from her
course to the other side, and so thou hurl us into ruin.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So I spake, and quickly they hearkened to my
words. But of Scylla I told them nothing more, a bane none might deal
with, lest haply my company should cease from rowing for fear, and
hide them in the hold. In that same hour I suffered myself to forget
the hard behest of Circe, in that she bade me in nowise be armed; but
I did on my glorious harness and caught up two long lances in my
hands, and went on the decking of the prow, for thence methought that
Scylla of the rock would first be seen, who was to bring woe on my
company. Yet could I not spy her anywhere, and my eyes waxed weary
for gazing all about toward the darkness of the rock.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
“Next we began to sail up the narrow strait
lamenting. For on the one hand lay Scylla, and on the other mighty
Charybdis in terrible wise sucked down the salt sea water. As often
as she belched it forth, like a cauldron on a great fire she would
seethe up through all her troubled deeps, and overhead the spray fell
on the tops of either cliff. But oft as she gulped down the salt sea
water, within she was all plain to see through her troubled deeps,
and the rock around roared horribly and beneath the earth was
manifest swart with sand, and pale fear gat hold on my men. Toward
her, then, we looked fearing destruction; but Scylla meanwhile caught
from out my hollow ship six of my company, the hardiest of their
hands and the chief in might. And looking into the swift ship to find
my men, even then I marked their feet and hands as they were lifted
on high, and they cried aloud in their agony, and called me by my
name for that last time of all. Even as when as fisher on some
head-land lets down with a long rod his baits for a snare to the
little fishes below, casting into the deep the horn of an ox of the
homestead, and as he catches each flings it writhing ashore, so
writhing were they borne upward to the cliff. And there she devoured
them shrieking in her gates, they stretching forth their hands to me
in the dread death-struggle. And the most pitiful thing was this that
mine eyes have seen of all my travail in searching out the paths of
the sea.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Now when we had escaped the Rocks and dread
Charybdis and Scylla, thereafter we soon came to the fair island of
the god; where were the goodly kine, broad of brow, and the many
brave flocks of Helios Hyperion. Then while as yet I was in my black
ship upon the deep, I heard the lowing of the cattle being stalled
and the bleating of the sheep, and on my mind there fell the saying
of the blind seer, Theban Teiresias, and of Circe of Aia, who charged
me very straitly to shun the isle of Helios, the gladdener of the
world. Then I spake out among my company in sorrow of heart:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Hear my words, my men, albeit in evil
plight, that I may declare unto you the oracles of Teiresias and of
Circe of Aia, who very straitly charged me to shun the isle of
Helios, the gladdener of the world. For there she said the most
dreadful mischief would befall us. Nay, drive ye then the black ship
beyond and past that isle.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake I, and their heart was broken within
them. And Eurylochus straightway answered me sadly, saying:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Hardy art thou, Odysseus, of might beyond
measure, and thy limbs are never weary; verily thou art fashioned all
of iron, that sufferest not thy fellows, foredone with toil and
drowsiness, to set foot on shore, where we might presently prepare us
a good supper in this sea-girt island. But even as we are thou
biddest us fare blindly through the sudden night, and from the isle
go wandering on the misty deep. And strong winds, the bane of ships,
are born of the night. How could a man escape from utter doom, if
there chanced to come a sudden blast of the South Wind, or of the
boisterous West, which mainly wreck ships, beyond the will of the
gods, the lords of all? Howbeit for this present let us yield to the
black night, and we will make ready our supper abiding by the swift
ship, and in the morning we will climb on board, and put out into the
broad deep.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake Eurylochus, and the rest of my
company consented thereto. Then at the last I knew that some god was
indeed imagining evil, and I uttered my voice and spake unto him
winged words:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Eurylochus, verily ye put force upon me,
being but one among you all. But come, swear me now a mighty oath,
one and all, to the intent that if we light on a herd of kine or a
great flock of sheep, none in the evil folly of his heart may slay
any sheep or ox; but in quiet eat ye the meat which the deathless
Circe gave.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So I spake, and straightway they swore to
refrain as I commanded them. Now after they had sworn and done that
oath, we stayed our well-builded ship in the hollow harbour near to a
well of sweet water, and my company went forth from out the ship and
deftly got ready supper. But when they had put from them the desire
of meat and drink, thereafter they fell a weeping as they thought
upon their dear companions whom Scylla had snatched from out the
hollow ship and so devoured. And deep sleep came upon them amid their
weeping. And when it was the third watch of the night, and the stars
had crossed the zenith, Zeus the cloud-gatherer roused against them
an angry wind with wondrous tempest, and shrouded in clouds land and
sea alike, and from heaven sped down the night. Now when early Dawn
shone forth, the rosy-fingered, we beached the ship, and dragged it
up within a hollow cave, where were the fair dancing grounds of the
nymphs and the places of their session. Thereupon I ordered a
gathering of my men and spake in their midst, saying:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Friends, forasmuch as there is yet meat
and drink in the swift ship, let us keep our hands off those kine,
lest some evil thing befall us. For these are the kine and the brave
flocks of a dread god, even of Helios, who overseeth all and
overheareth all things.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So I spake, and their lordly spirit hearkened
thereto. Then for a whole month the South Wind blew without ceasing,
and no other wind arose, save only the East and the South.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Now so long as my company still had corn and
red wine, they refrained them from the kine, for they were fain of
life. But when the corn was now all spent from out the ship, and they
went wandering with barbed hooks in quest of game, as needs they
must, fishes and fowls, whatsoever might come to their hand, for
hunger gnawed at their belly, then at last I departed up the isle,
that I might pray to the gods, if perchance some one of them might
show me a way of returning. And now when I had avoided my company on
my way through the island, I laved my hands where was a shelter from
the wind, and prayed to all the gods that hold Olympus. But they shed
sweet sleep upon my eyelids. And Eurylochus the while set forth an
evil counsel to my company:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Hear my words, my friends, though ye be in
evil case. Truly every shape of death is hateful to wretched mortals,
but to die of hunger and so meet doom is most pitiful of all. Nay
come, we will drive off the best of the kine of Helios and will do
sacrifice to the deathless gods who keep wide heaven. And if we may
yet reach Ithaca, our own country, forthwith will we rear a rich
shrine to Helios Hyperion, and therein would we set many a choice
offering. But if he be somewhat wroth for his cattle with straight
horns, and is fain to wreck our ship, and the other gods follow his
desire, rather with one gulp at the wave would I cast my life away,
than be slowly straitened to death in a desert isle.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘So spake Eurylochus, and the rest of the
company consented thereto Forthwith they drave off the best of the
kine of Helios that were nigh at hand, for the fair kine of shambling
gait and broad of brow were feeding no great way from the dark-prowed
ship. Then they stood around the cattle and prayed to the gods,
plucking the fresh leaves from an oak of lofty boughs, for they had
no white barley on board the decked ship. Now after they had prayed
and cut the throats of the kine and flayed them, they cut out slices
of the thighs and wrapped them in the fat, making a double fold, and
thereon they laid raw flesh. Yet had they no pure wine to pour over
the flaming sacrifices, but they made libation with water and roasted
the entrails over the fire. Now after the thighs were quite consumed
and they had tasted the inner parts, they cut the rest up small and
spitted it on spits. In the same hour deep sleep sped from my eyelids
and I sallied forth to the swift ship and the sea-banks. But on my
way as I drew near to the curved ship, the sweet savour of the fat
came all about me; and I groaned and spake out before the deathless
gods:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Father Zeus, and all ye other blessed gods
that live for ever, verily to my undoing ye have lulled me with a
ruthless sleep, and my company abiding behind have imagined a
monstrous deed.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Then swiftly to Helios Hyperion came Lampetie
of the long robes, with the tidings that we had slain his kine. And
straight he spake with angry heart amid the Immortals:</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘“Father Zeus, and all ye other blessed gods
that live for ever, take vengeance I pray you on the company of
Odysseus, son of Laertes, that have insolently slain my cattle,
wherein I was wont to be glad as I went toward the starry heaven, and
when I again turned earthward from the firmament. And if they pay me
not full atonement for the cattle, I will go down to Hades and shine
among the dead.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘And Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered him,
saying: “Helios, do thou, I say, shine on amidst the deathless
gods, and amid mortal men upon the earth, the grain-giver. But as for
me, I will soon smite their swift ship with my white bolt, and cleave
it in pieces in the midst of the wine-dark deep.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘This I heard from Calypso of the fair hair;
and she said that she herself had heard it from Hermes the Messenger.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘But when I had come down to the ship and to
the sea, I went up to my companions and rebuked them one by one; but
we could find no remedy, the cattle were dead and gone. And soon
thereafter the gods showed forth signs and wonders to my company. The
skins were creeping, and the flesh bellowing upon the spits, both the
roast and raw, and there was a sound as the voice of kine.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Then for six days my dear company feasted on
the best of the kine of Helios, which they had driven off. But when
Zeus, son of Cronos, had added the seventh day thereto, thereafter
the wind ceased to blow with a rushing storm, and at once we climbed
the ship and launched into the broad deep, when we had set up the
mast and hoisted the white sails.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘But now when we left that isle nor any other
land appeared, but sky and sea only, even then the son of Cronos
stayed a dark cloud above the hollow ship, and beneath it the deep
darkened. And the ship ran on her way for no long while, for of a
sudden came the shrilling West, with the rushing of a great tempest,
and the blast of wind snapped the two forestays of the mast, and the
mast fell backward and all the gear dropped into the bilge. And
behold, on the hind part of the ship the mast struck the head of the
pilot and brake all the bones of his skull together, and like a diver
he dropped down from the deck, and his brave spirit left his bones.
In that same hour Zeus thundered and cast his bolt upon the ship, and
she reeled all over being stricken by the bolt of Zeus, and was
filled with sulphur, and lo, my company fell from out the vessel.
Like sea-gulls they were borne round the black ship upon the billows,
and the god reft them of returning.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘But I kept pacing through my ship, till the
surge loosened the sides from the keel, and the wave swept her along
stript of her tackling, and brake her mast clean off at the keel. Now
the backstay fashioned of an oxhide had been flung thereon; therewith
I lashed together both keel and mast, and sitting thereon I was borne
by the ruinous winds.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Then verily the West Wind ceased to blow with
a rushing storm, and swiftly withal the South Wind came, bringing
sorrow to my soul, that so I might again measure back that space of
sea, the way to deadly Charybdis. All the night was I borned, but
with the rising of the sun I came to the rock of Scylla, and to dread
Charybdis. Now she had sucked down her salt sea water, when I was
swung up on high to the tall fig-tree whereto I clung like a bat, and
could find no sure rest for my feet nor place to stand, for the roots
spread far below and the branches hung aloft out of reach, long and
large, and overshadowed Charybdis. Steadfast I clung till she should
spew forth mast and keel again; and late they came to my desire. At
the hour when a man rises up from the assembly and goes to supper,
one who judges the many quarrels of the young men that seek to him
for law, at that same hour those timbers came forth to view from out
Charybdis. And I let myself drop down hands and feet, and plunged
heavily in the midst of the waters beyond the long timbers, and
sitting on these I rowed hard with my hands. But the father of gods
and of men suffered me no more to behold Scylla, else I should never
have escaped from utter doom.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
‘Thence for nine days was I borne, and on the
tenth night the gods brought me nigh to the isle of Ogygia, where
dwells Calypso of the braided tresses, an awful goddess of mortal
speech, who took me in and entreated me kindly. But why rehearse all
this tale? For even yesterday I told it to thee and to thy noble wife
in thy house; and it liketh me not twice to tell a plain-told tale.’</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1333619758006823033" name="note1.12.1"></a>
Note 1. Reading [Greek], not [Greek] with La Roche.</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-37143193105741480032021-01-23T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-23T00:00:05.800-08:00Pascal Knew Men and Triangles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Blaise_pascal.jpg" target="_blank">Blaise Pascal</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Blaise Pascal (1623–1662). <i>The Art of Persuasion, Minor Works.</i></b><br />
<br />
(Pascal publishes "Provincial Letters," Jan. 23, 1656.)<br />
Pascal, the keen-minded philosopher and mathematician, fathomed the human traits of man's nature with the same accurate measurements which made him famous in the realm of geometry. Read his searching analysis of man's conceit.<br />
<br />
<br />
THE ART of persuasion has a necessary relation to the manner in which men are led to consent to that which is proposed to them, and to the conditions of things which it is sought to make them believe.<br />
<br />
No one is ignorant that there are two avenues by which opinions are received into the soul, which are its two principal powers: the understanding and the will. The more natural is that of the understanding, for we should never consent to any but demonstrated truths; but the more common, though the one contrary to nature, is that of the will; for all men are almost led to believe not of proof, but by attraction. This way is base, ignoble, and irrelevant: every one therefore disavows it. Each one professes to believe and even to love nothing but what he knows to be worthy of belief and love.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I do not speak here of divine truths, which I shall take care not to comprise under the art of persuasion, because they are infinitely superior to nature: God alone can place them in the soul and in such a way as it pleases him. I know that he has desired that they should enter from the heart into the mind, and not from the mind into the heart, to humiliate that proud power of reasoning that pretends to the right to be the judge of the things that the will chooses; and to cure this infirm will which is wholly corrupted by its filthy attachments. And thence it comes that whilst in speaking of human things, we say that it is necessary to know them before we can love them, which has passed into a proverb, (1) the saints on the contrary say in speaking of divine things that it is necessary to love them in order to know them, and that we only enter truth through charity, from which they have made one of their most useful maxims.<br />
<br />
From which it appears that God has established this super-natural order, which is directly contrary to the order that should be natural to men in natural things. They have nevertheless corrupted this order by making of profane things what they should make of holy things, because in fact we believe scarcely any thing except that which pleases us. And thence comes the aversion which we have to consenting to the truths of the Christian religion that are opposed to our pleasures. “Tell us of pleasant things and we will hearken to you,” said the Jews to Moses; as if the agreeableness of a thing should regulate belief! And it is to punish this disorder by an order which is conformed to him, that God only pours out his light into the mind after having subdued the rebellion of the will by an altogether heavenly gentleness which charms and wins it.<br />
<br />
I speak therefore only to the truths within our reach; and it is of them that I say that the mind and the heart are as doors by which they are received into the soul, but that very few enter by the mind, whilst they are brought in in crowds by the rash caprices of the will, without the counsel of the reason.<br />
<br />
These powers have each their principles and their main-springs of action.<br />
<br />
Those of the mind are truths which are natural and known to all the world, as that the whole is greater than its part, besides several particular maxims that are received by some and not by others, but which as soon as they are admitted are as powerful, although false, in carrying away belief, as those the most true.<br />
<br />
Those of the will are certain desires natural and common to all mankind, as the desire of being happy, which no one can avoid having, besides several particular objects which each one follows in order to attain, and which having the power to please us are as powerful, although pernicious in fact, in causing the will to act, as though they made its veritable happiness.<br />
<br />
So much for that which regards the powers that lead us to consent.<br />
<br />
But as for the qualities of things which should persuade us, they are very different.<br />
<br />
Some are drawn, by a necessary consequence, from com-mon principles and admitted truths. These may be infallibly persuasive; for in showing the harmony which they have with acknowledged principles there is an inevitable necessity of conviction, and it is impossible that they shall not be received into the soul as soon as it has been enabled to class them among the principles which it has already admitted.<br />
<br />
There are some which have a close connection with the objects of our satisfaction; and these again are received with certainty, for as soon as the soul has been made to perceive that a thing can conduct it to that which it loves supremely, it must inevitably embrace it with joy.<br />
<br />
But those which have this double union both with admitted truths and with the desires of the heart, are so sure of their effect that there is nothing that can be more so in nature.<br />
<br />
As, on the contrary, that which does not accord either with our belief or with our pleasures is importunate, false, and absolutely alien to us.<br />
<br />
In all these positions, there is no room for doubt. But there are some wherein the things which it is sought to make us believe are well established upon truths which are known, but which are at the same time contrary to the pleasures that interest us most. And these are in great danger of showing, by an experience which is only too common, what I said at the beginning—that this imperious soul, which boasted of acting only by reason, follows by a rash and shameful choice the desires of a corrupt will, whatever resistance may be opposed to it by the too enlightened mind.<br />
<br />
Then it is that a doubtful balance is made between truth and pleasure, and that the knowledge of the one and the feeling of the other stir up a combat the success of which is very uncertain, since, in order to judge of it, it would be necessary to know all that passes in the innermost spirit of the man, of which the man himself is scarcely ever conscious.<br />
<br />
It appears from this, that whatever it may be of which we wish to persuade men, it is necessary to have regard to the person whom we wish to persuade, of whom we must know the mind and the heart, what principles he acknowledges, what things he loves; and then observe in the thing in question what affinity it has with the acknowledged principles, or with the objects so delightful by the pleasure which they give him.<br />
<br />
So that the art of persuasion consists as much in that of pleasing as in that of convincing, so much more are men governed by caprice than by reason!<br />
<br />
Now, of these two methods, the one of convincing, the other of pleasing, I shall only give here the rules of the first; and this in case we have granted the principles, and remain firm in avowing them: otherwise I do not know whether there could be an art for adapting proofs to the inconstancy of our caprices.<br />
<br />
But the manner of pleasing is incomparably more difficult, more subtle, more useful, and more admirable; therefore, if I do not treat of it, it is because I am not capable of it; and I feel myself so far disproportionate to the task, that I believe the thing absolutely impossible.<br />
<br />
Not that I do not believe that there may be as sure rules for pleasing as for demonstrating, and that he who knows perfectly how to comprehend and to practice them will as surely succeed in making himself beloved by princes and by people of all conditions, as in demonstrating the elements of geometry to those who have enough imagination to comprehend its hypotheses. But I consider, and it is, perhaps, my weakness that makes me believe it, that it is impossible to reach this. At least I know that if any are capable of it, they are certain persons whom I know, and that no others have such clear and such abundant light on this matter.<br />
<br />
The reason of this extreme difficulty comes from the fact that the principles of pleasure are not firm and stable. They are different in all mankind, and variable in every particular with such a diversity that there is no man more different from another than from himself at different times. A man has other pleasures than a woman; a rich man and a poor man have different enjoyments; a prince, a warrior, a merchant, a citizen, a peasant, the old, the young, the well, the sick, all vary; the least accidents change them.<br />
<br />
Now there is an art, and it is that which I give, for showing the connection of truths with their principles, whether of truth or of pleasure, provided that the prin-ciples which have once been avowed remain firm, and without being ever contradicted.<br />
<br />
But as there are few principles of this kind, and as, a part from geometry, which deals only with very simple figures, there are hardly any truths upon which we always remain agreed, and still fewer objects of pleasure which we do not change every hour, I do not know whether there is a means of giving fixed rules for adapting discourse to the inconstancy of our caprices.<br />
<br />
This art, which I call the art of persuading, and which, properly speaking, is simply the process of perfect methodical proofs, consists of three essential parts: of defining the terms of which we should avail ourselves by clear definitions; of proposing principles or evident axioms to prove the thing in question; and of always mentally substituting in the demonstrations the definition in the place of the thing defined.<br />
<br />
The reason of this method is evident, since it would be useless to propose what it is sought to prove, and to undertake the demonstration of it, if all the terms which are not intelligible had not first been clearly defined; and since it is necessary in the same manner that the demonstration should be preceded by the demand for the evident principles that are necessary to it, for if we do not secure the foundation we cannot secure the edifice; and since, in fine, it is necessary in demonstrating mentally, to substitute the definitions in the place of the things defined, as otherwise there might be an abuse of the different meanings that are encountered in the terms. It is easy to see that, by observing this method, we are sure of convincing, since the terms all being understood, and perfectly exempt from ambiguity by the definitions, and the principles being granted, if in the demonstration we always mentally substitute the definitions for the things defined, the invincible force of the conclusions cannot fail of having its whole effect.<br />
<br />
Thus, never can a demonstration in which these conditions have been observed be subject to the slightest doubt; and never can those have force in which they are wanting.<br />
<br />
It is, therefore, of great importance to comprehend and to possess them; and hence, to render the thing easier and more practicable, I shall give them all in a few rules which include all that is necessary for the perfection of the definitions, the axioms, and the demonstrations, and consequently of the entire method of the geometrical proofs of the art of persuading.<br />
<br />
<br />
Rules for Definitions<br />
<br />
I. Not to undertake to define any of the things so well known of themselves that clearer terms cannot be had to explain them.<br />
<br />
II. Not to leave any terms that are at all obscure or ambiguous without definition.<br />
<br />
III. Not to employ in the definition of terms any words but such as are perfectly known or already explained.<br />
<br />
Rules for Axioms<br />
<br />
I. Not to omit any necessary principle without asking whether it is admitted, however clear and evident it may be.<br />
<br />
II. Not to demand, in axioms, any but things that are perfectly evident of themselves.<br />
<br />
Rules for Demonstrations<br />
<br />
I. Not to undertake to demonstrate any thing that is so evident of itself that nothing can be given that is clearer to prove it.<br />
<br />
II. To prove all propositions at all obscure, and to employ in their proof only very evident maxims or propositions already admitted or demonstrated.<br />
<br />
III. To always mentally substitute definitions in the place of things defined, in order not to be misled by the ambiguity of terms which have been restricted by definitions.<br />
<br />
These eight rules contain all the precepts for solid and immutable proofs, three of which are not absolutely necessary and may be neglected without error; while it is difficult and almost impossible to observe them always exactly, although it is more accurate to do so as far as possible; these are the three first of each of the divisions.<br />
<br />
For definitions. Not to define any terms that are perfectly known.<br />
<br />
For axioms. Not to omit to require any axioms perfectly evident and simple.<br />
<br />
For demonstrations. Not to demonstrate any things well-known of themselves.<br />
<br />
For it is unquestionable that it is no great error to define and clearly explain things, although very clear of themselves, nor to omit to require in advance axioms which cannot be refused in the place where they are necessary; nor lastly to prove propositions that would be admitted without proof.<br />
<br />
But the five other rules are of absolute necessity, and cannot be dispensed with without essential defect and often without error; and for this reason I shall recapitulate them here in detail.<br />
<br />
Rules necessary for definitions. Not to leave any terms at all obscure or ambiguous without definition;<br />
<br />
Not to employ in definitions any but terms perfectly known or already explained.<br />
<br />
Rule necessary for axioms. Not to demand in axioms any but things perfectly evident.<br />
<br />
Rules necessary for demonstrations. To prove all propositions, and to employ nothing for their proof but axioms fully evident of themselves, or propositions already demonstrated or admitted;<br />
<br />
Never to take advantage of the ambiguity of terms by failing mentally to substitute definitions that restrict and explain them.<br />
<br />
These five rules form all that is necessary to render proofs convincing, immutable, and to say all, geometrical; and the eight rules together render them still more perfect.<br />
<br />
I pass now to that of the order in which the propositions should be arranged, to be in a complete geometrical series.<br />
<br />
After having established (2) …<br />
<br />
This is in what consists the art of persuading, which is comprised in these two principles: to define all the terms of which we make use; to prove them all by mentally substituting definitions in the place of things defined.<br />
<br />
And here it seems to me proper to anticipate three principal objections which may be made:<br />
<br />
1st, that this method has nothing new; 2d, that it is very easy to learn, it being unnecessary for this to study the elements of geometry, since it consists in these two words that are known at the first reading; and, 3d, that it is of little utility, since its use is almost confined to geometrical subjects alone.<br />
<br />
It is necessary therefore to show that there is nothing so little known, nothing more difficult to practise, and nothing more useful or more universal.<br />
<br />
As to the first objection, that these rules are common in the world, that it is necessary to define every thing and to prove every thing, and that logicians themselves have placed them among the principles of their art, I would that the thing were true and that it were so well known that I should not have the trouble of tracing with so much care the source of all the defects of reasonings which are truly so common. But so little is this the case, that, geometricians alone excepted, who are so few in number that they are single in a whole nation and long periods of time, we see no others who know it. It will be easy to make this understood by those who have perfectly comprehended the little that I have said; but if they have not fully comprehended this, I confess that they will learn nothing from it.<br />
<br />
But if they have entered into the spirit of these rules, and if the rules have made sufficient impression on them to become rooted and established in their minds, they will feel how much difference there is between what is said here and what a few logicians may perhaps have written by chance approximating to it in a few passages of their works.<br />
<br />
Those who have the spirit of discernment know how much difference there is between two similar words, according to their position, and the circumstances that accompany them. Will it be maintained, indeed, that two persons who have read the same book, and learned it by heart, have a like acquaintance with it, if the one comprehends it in such a manner that he knows all its principles, the force of its conclusions, the answers to the objections that may be made to it, and the whole economy of the work; while to the other these are but dead letters and seeds, which, although like those which have produced such fruitful trees, remain dry and unproductive in the sterile mind that has received them in vain.<br />
<br />
All who say the same things do not possess them in the same manner; and hence the incomparable author of the Art of Conversation (3) pauses with so much care to make it understood that we must not judge of the capacity of a man by the excellence of a happy remark that we have heard him make; but instead of extending our admiration of a good speech to the speaker, let us penetrate, says he, the mind from which it proceeds; let us try whether he owes it to his memory, or to a happy chance; let us receive it with coldness and contempt, in order to see whether he will feel that we do not give to what he says the esteem which its value deserves: it will oftenest be seen that he will be made to disavow it on the spot, and will be drawn very far from this better thought in which he does not believe, to plunge himself into another quite base and ridiculous. We must, therefore, sound in what manner this thought is lodged in its author; (4) how, whence, to what extent he possesses it; otherwise, the hasty judgment will be a rash judge.<br />
<br />
I would inquire of reasonable persons whether this principle: Matter is naturally wholly incapable of thought, and this other: I think, therefore I am, are in fact the same in the mind of Descartes, and in that of St. Augustine,, who said the same thing twelve hundred years before. (5)<br />
<br />
In truth, I am far from affirming that Descartes is not the real author of it, even though he may have learned it only in reading this distinguished saint; for I know how much difference there is between writing a word by chance without making a longer and more extended reflection on it, and perceiving in this word an admirable series of conclusions, which prove the distinction between material and spiritual natures, and making of it a firm and sustained principle of a complete metaphysical system, as Descartes has pretended to do. For without examining whether he has effectively succeeded in his pretension, I assume that he has done so, and it is on this supposition that I say that this expression is as different in his writings from the same saying in others who have said it by chance, as is a man full of life and strength from a corpse.<br />
<br />
One man will say a thing of himself without comprehending its excellence, in which another will discern a marvellous series of conclusions, which make us affirm boldly that it is no longer the same expression, and that he is no more indebted for it to the one from whom he has learned it, than a beautiful tree belongs to the one who cast the seed, without thinking of it, or knowing it, into the fruitful soil which caused its growth by its own fertility.<br />
<br />
The same thoughts sometimes put forth quite differently in the mind of another than in that of their author: unfruitful in their natural soil, abundant when transplanted. But it much oftener happens that a good mind itself makes its own thoughts produce all the fruit of which they are capable, and that afterwards others, having heard them admired, borrow them, and adorn themselves with them, but without knowing their excellence; and it is then that the difference of the same word in different mouths is the most apparent.<br />
<br />
It is in this manner that logic has borrowed, perhaps, the rules of geometry, without comprehending their force; and thus, in placing them by chance among those that belong to it, it does not thence follow that they (6) have entered into the spirit of geometry, and I should be greatly averse if they gave no other evidence of it than that of having mentioned it by chance, to placing them on a level with that science that teaches the true method of directing the reason.<br />
<br />
But I should be, on the contrary, strongly disposed to exclude them from it, and almost irrevocably. For to have said it by chance, without having taken care that every thing was included within it, and instead of following this light to wander blindly in useless researches, pursuing what they promise but never can give, is truly showing that they are not very clear-sighted, and much more than if they had failed to follow the light, because they had not perceived it.<br />
<br />
The method of not erring is sought by all the world. The logicians profess to guide to it, the geometricians alone attain it, and apart from their science, and the imitations of it, there are no true demonstrations. The whole art is included in the simple precepts that we have given; they alone are sufficient, they alone afford proofs; all other rules are useless or injurious. This I know by long experience of all kinds of books and persons.<br />
<br />
And on this point I pass the same judgment as those who say that geometricians give them nothing new by these rules, because they possessed them in reality, but confounded with a multitude of others, either useless or false, from which they could not discriminate them, as those who, seeking a diamond of great price amidst a number of false ones, but from which they know not how to distinguish it, should boast, in holding them all together, of possessing the true one equally with him who without pausing at this mass of rubbish lays his hand upon the costly stone which they are seeking and for which they do not throw away the rest.<br />
<br />
The defect of false reasoning is a malady which is cured by these two remedies. Another has been compounded of an infinity of useless herbs in which the good are enveloped and in which they remain without effect through the ill qualities of the compound.<br />
<br />
To discover all the sophistries and equivocations of captious reasonings, they have invented barbarous names that astonish those who hear them; and whilst we can only unravel all the tangles of this perplexing knot by drawing out one of the ends in the way proposed by geometricians, they have indicated a strange number of others in which the former are found included without knowing which is the best.<br />
<br />
And thus, in showing us a number of paths which they say conduct us whither we tend, although there are but two that lead to it, it is necessary to know how to mark them in particular. It will be pretended that geometry which indicates them with certainty gives only what had already been given by others, because they gave in fact the same thing and more, without heeding that this boon lost its value by abundance, and was diminished by adding to it.<br />
<br />
Nothing is more common than good things: the point in question is only to discriminate them; and it is certain that they are all natural and within our reach and even known to all mankind. But they know not how to distinguish them. This is universal. It is not among extraordinary and fantastic things that excellence is to be found, of whatever kind it may be. We rise to attain it and become removed from it: it is oftenest necessary to stoop for it. The best books are those, which those who read them believe they themselves could have written. Nature, which alone is good, is wholly familiar and common.<br />
<br />
I make no doubt therefore that these rules, being the true ones, are simple, artless, and natural, as in fact they are. It is not Barbara and Baralipton that constitute reasoning. The mind must not be forced; artificial and constrained manners fill it with foolish presumption, through unnatural elevation and vain and ridiculous inflation, instead of solid and vigorous nutriment. And one of the principal reasons that diverts those who are entering upon this knowledge so much from the true path which they should follow, is the fancy that they take at the outset that good things are inaccessible, giving them the name of great, lofty, elevated, sublime. This destroys every thing. I would call them low, common, familiar:these names suit them better; I hate such inflated expressions.<br />
<br />
<br />
Note 1. Ignoti nulla cupido—”We do not desire what we do not know.”<br />
Note 2. The rest of the phrase is wanting; and all this second part of the composition, either because it was not redacted by Pascal, or because it has been lost, is found neither in our MS. nor in Father Desmolets.—Faugère.<br />
Note 3. Montaigne, Essais, liv. III, chap. viii.—Faugère.<br />
Note 4. Montaigne’s expression is: “Feel on all sides how it is lodged in its author.” Essais,same chapter.—Ibid.<br />
Note 5. Civ. Dei, l. XI, c. xxvi.<br />
Note 6. Doubtless the logicians.—Faugère.Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-15441388632307212842021-01-22T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-22T00:00:08.264-08:00A King's Pleasure Now Yours<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2Jim9XoLvZTUrs2z88ATQ_OLVkWE4SBPSw3oeo71xooqtzIrzRrB7RWGOycT_P8JzyFmJus-DeoJ9NF0cxSqzgF3JP6f0ClGI8TgIqtDpTw6uXROl3w7jAqkY8QaL_JMEDKnYlqe9c5s/s1600/Pierre_Corneille_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2Jim9XoLvZTUrs2z88ATQ_OLVkWE4SBPSw3oeo71xooqtzIrzRrB7RWGOycT_P8JzyFmJus-DeoJ9NF0cxSqzgF3JP6f0ClGI8TgIqtDpTw6uXROl3w7jAqkY8QaL_JMEDKnYlqe9c5s/s320/Pierre_Corneille_2.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pierre_Corneille_2.jpg" target="_blank">Pierre Corneille</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Pierre Corneille (1606–1684). <i>Polyeucte</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The classic plays of French literature are produced to-day precisely as when they were given for the resplendent kings they were written to please. We are fortunate to have in English, excellent translations of these noble plays.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
POLYEUCTE. NEARCHUS<br />
<br />
Nearchus.<br />
SHALL woman’s dream of terror hurl the dart?<br />
Oh, feeble weapon ’gainst so great a heart!<br />
Must courage proved a thousand times in arms<br />
Bow to a peril forged by vain alarms?<br />
<br />
POLY. I know that dreams are born to fade away,<br />
And melt in air before the light of day;<br />
I know that misty vapours of the night<br />
Dissolve and fly before the morning bright.<br />
The dream is naught—but the dear dreamer—all!<br />
She has my soul, Nearchus, fast in thrall;<br />
Who holds the marriage torch—august, divine,<br />
Bids me to her sweet voice my will resign.<br />
She fears my death—tho’ baseless this her fright,<br />
Pauline is wrung with fear—by day—by night;<br />
My road to duty hampered by her fears,<br />
How can I go when all undried her tears?<br />
Her terror I disown—and all alarms,<br />
Yet pity holds me in her loving arms:<br />
No bolts or bars imprison,—yet her sighs<br />
My fetters are—my conquerors, her eyes!<br />
Say, kind Nearchus, is the cause you press<br />
Such as to make me deaf to her distress?<br />
The bonds I slacken I would not unloose—<br />
Nothing I yield—yet grant a timely truce.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
NEAR. How grant you know not what? Are you assured<br />
Of constancy?—as one who has endured?<br />
God claims your soul for Him!—Now! Now! To-day!<br />
The fruit to-morrow yields—oh, who shall say?<br />
Our God is just, but do His grace and power<br />
Descend on recreants with equal shower?<br />
On darkened souls His flame of light He turns,<br />
Yet flame neglected soon but faintly burns,<br />
And dying embers fade to ashes cold<br />
If we the heart His spirit wooes withhold.<br />
Great Heaven retains the fire no longer sought,<br />
While ashes turn to dust, and dust to naught.<br />
His holy baptism He bids thee seek,—<br />
Neglect the call, and the desire grows weak.<br />
Ah! whilst from woman’s breast thou heedst the sighs,<br />
The flame first flickers, then, untended—dies!<br />
<br />
POLY. You know me ill,—’tis mine, that holy fire,<br />
Fed, not extinguished, by unslaked desire<br />
Her tears—I view them with a lover’s eye;<br />
And yet your Christ is mine—a Christian I!<br />
The healing, cleansing flood o’er me shall flow,<br />
I would efface the stain from birth I owe;<br />
I would be pure—my sealed eyes would see!<br />
The birthright Adam lost restored to me—<br />
This, this, the unfading crown! For this I yearn,<br />
For that exhaustless fount I thirst, I burn.<br />
Then, since my heart is true, Nearchus, say—<br />
Shall I not grant to pity this delay?<br />
<br />
NEAR. So doth the ghostly foe our souls abuse,<br />
And all beyond his force he gains by ruse;<br />
He hates the purpose fast he cannot foil,—<br />
Then he retreats—retreats but to recoil!<br />
In endless barricade obstruction piles,—<br />
To-day ’tis tears impede, to-morrow—smiles!<br />
And this poor dream—his coinage of the night—<br />
Gives place to other lures, all falsely bright:<br />
All tricks he knows and uses—threats and prayers—<br />
Attacks in parley—as the Parthian dares.<br />
In chain unheeded weakest link must fail,<br />
So fortress yet unwon he’ll mount and scale.<br />
O break his bonds! Let feeble woman weep!<br />
The heart that God has touched ’tis God must keep!<br />
Who looks behind to dally with his choice<br />
When Heaven demands—obeys another voice!<br />
<br />
POLY. Who loves thy Christ—say, must he love no other?<br />
<br />
NEAR. He may—he must! ’Tis Christ says, “Love thy brother,’<br />
Yet on the altar of the Heavenly King<br />
No rival place, no alien incense fling!<br />
Through Him—by Him—for him—all goodness know!<br />
’Tis from the source alone each stream must flow.<br />
To please Him, wife, and wealth, and rank, and state<br />
Must be forsaken—strait the heavenly gate.<br />
Poor silly sheep! afar you err and stray<br />
From Him who is The Life, The Truth, The Way!<br />
My grief chokes utterance! I see your fate,<br />
As round the fold the hungry wolves of hate<br />
Closer and fiercer rage: from sword and flame<br />
One shelter for His flock—one only Name!<br />
The Cross alone our victor over fears,<br />
Not this thy strength,—thy plea—a woman’s tears!<br />
<br />
POLY. I know thy heart! It is mine own—the tear<br />
My pity drops hath ne’er a taint of fear!<br />
Who dreads not torture, yet—to give relief<br />
To her he loves, perforce must ease her grief!<br />
If Heaven should claim my life, my death, my all,—<br />
Then Heaven will give the strength to heed the call.<br />
The shepherd guides me surely to the fold,<br />
There, safe with Him, ’tis He will make me bold!<br />
<br />
NEAR. Be bold! O come!<br />
<br />
POLY. Yes, let thy faith be mine!<br />
There—at his feet—do I my life resign<br />
If but Pauline—my love—would give consent!<br />
Else heaven were hell, and home but banishment!<br />
<br />
NEAR. Come!—to return. Thrice welcome to her sight,<br />
To see thee safe will double her delight:<br />
As the pierced cloud unveils a brighter sun,—<br />
So is her joy enhanced—thy glory won!<br />
O come, they wait!<br />
<br />
POLY. Appease her fear! Ah, this<br />
Alone will give her rest—her lover bliss.<br />
She comes!<br />
<br />
NEAR. Then fly!<br />
<br />
POLY. I cannot!<br />
<br />
NEAR. To deny<br />
Would yield thine enemy the victory!<br />
He loves to kill, and knows his deadliest dart<br />
Finds friend within the fort—thy traitor heart!<br />
<br />
Enter PAULINE and STRATONICE<br />
<br />
POLY. I needs must go, Pauline! My love, good-bye!<br />
I go but to return—for thine am I!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Oh, why this haste to leave a loving wife?<br />
Doth honour call?—or fear’st thou for thy life?<br />
<br />
POLY. For more, a thousandfold!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Great Gods above!<br />
<br />
POLY. Thou hast my heart! Let this content thy love!<br />
<br />
PAUL. You love and yet you leave me. What am I?<br />
Not mine to solve the dreary mystery!<br />
<br />
POLY. I love thee more than self—than life—than fame—<br />
But——<br />
<br />
PAUL. There is something that thou dar’st not name.<br />
Oh, on my knees I supplicate, I pray,<br />
Remove my darkness!—turn my night to day!<br />
<br />
POLY. Oh, dreams are naught!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Yet, when they tell of thee,<br />
I needs must listen, for I love! Ah, me!<br />
<br />
POLY. Take courage, dear one, ’tis but for an hour,<br />
Thy love must draw me back, for love hath power<br />
O’er all in earth and heaven. My soul’s delight,<br />
I can no more! My only safety-flight! [Exeunt POLYEUCTE and NEARCHUS.<br />
<br />
PAUL. Yes, go, despise my prayer—my agony;<br />
Go, ruthless—meet thy fate—forewarned by me;<br />
Chase thy pursuer, herald thine own doom;<br />
Go, kiss the murderer’s hand, and hail the tomb!<br />
Ah, Stratonice! for our boasted power<br />
As sovereigns o’er man’s heart! Poor regents of an hour!<br />
Faint, helpless, moonbeam-light was all I gave,<br />
The sun breaks forth—his queen becomes his slave!<br />
Wooed? Yes; as other queens I held my court—<br />
Won—but to lose my crown, and be the sport<br />
Of proud, absorbing and imperious man!<br />
<br />
STRAT. Ah, man does what he wills—we, what we can;<br />
He loves thee, lady!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Love should mate with trusts;<br />
He leaves me!<br />
<br />
STRAT. Lady, ’tis because he must!<br />
He loves thee with a love will never die,<br />
Then, if he leave thee, reason not the why:<br />
Give him thy trust! Oh, thou shalt have reward,<br />
For thee he hides the secret! Let him guard<br />
Thy life beloved—in fullest liberty.<br />
The wife who wholly trusts alone in free!<br />
One heart for thee and him—one purpose sure,<br />
Yet this heart beats to dare—and to endure.<br />
The wife’s true heart must o’er the peril sigh<br />
Which meets his heart moved but to purpose high;<br />
Thy pain his pain, but not his terror thine:<br />
He is Armenian, thou of Roman line.<br />
We, of Armenia, mock thy dreams to scorn,<br />
For they are born of night, as truth of morn;<br />
While Romans hold that dreams are heaven-sent,<br />
And spring from Jove for man’s admonishment.<br />
<br />
PAUL. Though this thy faith—if thou my dream shouldst hear—<br />
My grief must needs be thine, thy fear my fear,<br />
And, that the horror thou may’st fully prove,<br />
Know that I—his dear wife—did once another love!<br />
Nay, start not, shrink not, ’tis no tale of shame,<br />
For though in other years the heavenly flame<br />
Descended, kindled, scorched—it left me pure—<br />
With courage to resign—with strength to endure.<br />
He touched my heart, but never stained the soul<br />
That gained this hardest conquest—self-control.<br />
At Rome—where I was born—a soldier’s eye<br />
Marked this poor face, from which must Polyeucte fly;<br />
Severus was his name:—Ah! memory<br />
May spare love linked with death a tear, a sigh!<br />
<br />
STRAT. Say, is it he who, at the risk of life,<br />
Saved Decius from his foes and endless strife?<br />
Who, dying, dealt to Persia stroke of death,<br />
And shouted ‘Victory!’ with his latest breath?<br />
His whitening bones, amid the nameless brave,<br />
Lie still unfound, unknown, without a grave;<br />
Unburied lies his dust amid the slain,<br />
While Decius rears an empty urn in vain!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Alas! ’tis he; all Rome attests his worth,—<br />
Hide not his memory, kindly Mother Earth!<br />
’Tis but his memory that I adore—<br />
The past is past—and I can say no more.<br />
All gifts save one had he—yes, Fortune held her hand,<br />
And I, as Fortune’s slave, obeyed my sire’s command.<br />
<br />
STRAT. Ah! I must wish that love the day had won!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Which duty lost—then had I been undone;<br />
Though duty gave, yet duty healed, my pain;<br />
Yet say not that my love was weak or vain!<br />
Our tears fell fast, yet ne’er bore our distress<br />
The fatal fruit of strife and bitterness.<br />
Then, then, I left my hero, hope and Rome,<br />
And, far from him, I found another home;<br />
While he, in his despair, sought sure relief<br />
In death, the only end to life’s long grief!<br />
You know the rest:—you know that Polyeucte’s eye<br />
Was caught,—his fancy pleased; his wife am I.<br />
Once more by counsel of my father led,<br />
To Armenia’s greatest noble am I wed;<br />
Ambition, prudence, policy his guide<br />
Yet only duty made Pauline his bride;<br />
Love might have bound me to Severus’ heart,<br />
Had duty not enforced a sterner part.<br />
Yes, let these fears attest, all trembling for his life,<br />
That I am his for aye—his faithful, loving wife.<br />
<br />
STRAT. Thy new love true and tender as the old:—<br />
But this thy dream? No more thy tale withhold!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Last night I saw Severus: but his eye<br />
With anger blazed; his port was proud and high,<br />
No suppliant he—no feeble, formless shade,<br />
With dim, averted eye; no sword had made<br />
My hero lifeless ghost. Nor wound, nor scar<br />
Marked death his only conqueror in war.<br />
Nor spoil of death, nor memory’s child was he,<br />
His mien triumphant, full of majesty!<br />
So might victorious Caesar near his home<br />
To claim the key to every heart in Rome!<br />
He spoke: in nameless awe I heard his voice,—<br />
‘Give love, that is my due, to him—thy choice,—<br />
But know, oh faithless one, ere day expires,<br />
All vain these tears for him thy heart desires!’<br />
Anon a Christian band (an impious horde),<br />
With shameful cross in hand, attest his word;<br />
They vouch Severus’ truth—and, to complete<br />
My doom, hurl Polyeucte beneath his feet!<br />
I cried, ‘O father, timely succour bear!’<br />
He heard, he came, my grief was now despair!<br />
He drew his dagger—plunged it in the breast<br />
Of him, my husband, late his honoured guest!<br />
Relief came but from agony supreme—<br />
I shrieked—I writhed—I woke—it was a dream!<br />
And yet my dream is true!<br />
<br />
STRAT. ’Tis true your dream is sad,<br />
But now you are awake, ’tis but a dream you had!<br />
For horror’s prey in darkness of the night<br />
Is but our reason’s sport in morning light.<br />
How can you dread a shade? How a fond father fear,<br />
Who as a son regards the man you hold so dear?<br />
To phantom of the night no credence yield;<br />
For him and you he chose thy strength and shield.<br />
<br />
PAUL. You say his words: at all my fears he smiles,<br />
But I must dread these Christians and their wiles!<br />
I dread their vengeance, wreaked upon my lord,<br />
For Christian blood my father has outpoured!<br />
<br />
STRAT. Their sect is impious, mad, absurd and vain,<br />
Their rites repulsive, as their cult profane.<br />
Deride their altar, their weak frenzy ban,<br />
Yet do they war with gods and not with man!<br />
Relentless wills our law that they must die:<br />
Their joy—endurance; death—their ecstasy;<br />
Judged—by decree, the foes of human race,<br />
Meekly their heads they bow—to court disgrace!<br />
<br />
PAUL. My father comes—oh, peace!<br />
<br />
Enter FELIX and ALBIN<br />
<br />
FELIX. Nay, peace is flown!<br />
Thy dream begets dull fears, till now unknown;<br />
In part this dream is true, and for the rest——<br />
<br />
PAUL. By what new fear, say, is thy heart opprest?<br />
<br />
FELIX. Severus lives!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Ah! this no cause for fear!<br />
<br />
FELIX. At Decius’ court, he, held in honour dear,<br />
Risked life to save his Emperor from his foes,<br />
’Tis to his saviour Decius honour shows!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Thus fickle Fortune bows her head to fate,<br />
And pays the honour due, though all too late!<br />
<br />
FELIX. He comes! Is near——<br />
<br />
PAUL. The gods——<br />
<br />
FELIX. Do all things well.<br />
<br />
PAUL. My dream fulfilled! But how? O father, tell!<br />
<br />
FELIX. Let Albin speak, who saw him face to face<br />
With tribe of courtiers; all to him give place;<br />
Unscathed in battle, all extol his fame,<br />
Unstained, undimmed, his glory, life and name!<br />
<br />
ALBIN. You know the issue of that glorious fight:<br />
The crowning glory his—who, in despite<br />
Of danger sore to life and liberty,<br />
Became a slave to set his Emperor free:<br />
Rome gave her honours to Severus’ shade,<br />
Whilst he, her ransomer, in a dungeon stayed.<br />
His death they mourned above ten thousand slain,<br />
While Persia held him—yes, their tears were vain,<br />
But not in vain his noble sacrifice!<br />
The king released him: Rome grudged not the price;<br />
No Persian bribe could tempt him from his home.<br />
When Decius cried—‘Fight once again for Rome!’<br />
Again he fights—he leads—all others hope resign;<br />
But from despair’s deep breast he plucks a star benign,<br />
This—hope’s fair fruit, contentment, plenty, ease,<br />
Brings joy from grief, to crown a lasting peace.<br />
The Emperor holds him as his dearest friend,<br />
And doth Severus to Armenia send—<br />
To offer up to Mars, and mighty Jove,<br />
’Mid feast and sacrifice, his thanks and love.<br />
<br />
FELIX. Ah, Fortune, turn thy wheel, else I misfortune meet!<br />
<br />
ALBIN. This news I learn’d from one of great Severus’ suite:<br />
Thence, swiftly here, the tale to tell I sped.<br />
<br />
FELIX. He who once vainly wooed, hopes now to wed.<br />
The sacrifice, the offering, all are feigned,<br />
All but the suit, which lightly I disdained.<br />
<br />
PAUL. Yes, this may be, for ah! he loved me well!<br />
<br />
FELIX. What room for hope? Such wrath is child of hell.<br />
Before his righteous ire I shrink, I cower;<br />
Revenge I dread—and vengeance linked with power<br />
Unnerves me quite.<br />
<br />
PAUL. Fear not, his soul is great.<br />
<br />
FELIX. Thy comfort, oh my daughter, comes too late.<br />
The thought to crush me down, to turn my heart to stone,<br />
This, that I prized not worth for worth’s dear sake alone!<br />
Too well, Pauline, thou hast thy sire obeyed;<br />
Thy heart was fond, but duty love betrayed.<br />
How surely thy revolt had safety won!<br />
’Tis thine obedience leaves us all undone.<br />
In thee, in thee alone, one hope remains,<br />
Love held him fast, relax not thou love’s chains.<br />
O Love, my sometime foe, forgive, be mine ally,<br />
And let the dart that slew now bring the remedy!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Forbid it, Heaven! One good yet mine,—my will,<br />
The dart that wounded has the power to kill.<br />
One lesson woman learns—her feebleness;<br />
Shame is the only grief without redress.<br />
The traitor heart shall still a prisoner be;<br />
For freedom were disgrace to thee and me!<br />
I will not see him!<br />
<br />
FELIX. But one word! Be kind!<br />
<br />
PAUL. I will not, for I love!—and love is blind.<br />
Before his kingly eye my soul to unveil<br />
Were shame and failure: and I will not fail:<br />
I will not see him!<br />
<br />
FELIX. One word more—‘Obey!’<br />
Wouldst thou thy father and his weal betray?<br />
<br />
PAUL. I yield! Come woe!—come shame!—come every ill!<br />
My father thou!—and I thy daughter still!<br />
<br />
FELIX. I know thee pure.<br />
<br />
PAUL. And pure I will remain,<br />
But, crushed and bruised, the flower no guilt shall stain.<br />
I fear the combat that I may not fly,—<br />
Hard-won the fight, and dear the victory.<br />
Here, love, my curse! Here, dearest friend, my foe!<br />
Yet will I arm me! Father, I would go<br />
To steel my heart—all weapons to embrace!<br />
<br />
FELIX. I too will go, the conqueror’s march to grace!<br />
Restore thy strength, ere yet it be too late,<br />
And know that in thy hands thou hold’st our fate!<br />
<br />
PAUL. Go, broken heart, to probe thy wound; cut deep and do not spare!<br />
Herself—the crowning sacrifice—the victim shall prepare!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-33005400522205922772021-01-21T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-21T00:00:02.066-08:00The Nightingale's Healing Melody<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovgMYSlKSiQfsE3YFaAFa2MUMyGDojhgO4xi3NTEWw41vg_r8-InXVnlDAhdPIMf-_PGbq8tdrRLUmwTIwnjaBfI0UB0Uk9rQu453W98WK6SgxzAth1rVG183ZXnGye4n7e5wREfByNBg/s1600/393px-HCA_by_Thora_Hallager_1869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovgMYSlKSiQfsE3YFaAFa2MUMyGDojhgO4xi3NTEWw41vg_r8-InXVnlDAhdPIMf-_PGbq8tdrRLUmwTIwnjaBfI0UB0Uk9rQu453W98WK6SgxzAth1rVG183ZXnGye4n7e5wREfByNBg/s320/393px-HCA_by_Thora_Hallager_1869.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:HCA_by_Thora_Hallager_1869.jpg" target="_blank">Hans Christian Anderson</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Hans Christian Andersen. (1805–1875) <i>The Nightingale, from Tales.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The Emperor of China lies on his deathbed grieving for the song of his favorite bird. Hark, the song! It charms, coaxes, and bribes Death to depart. It brings new life to the master.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
IN China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has about him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but that’s just why it’s worth while to hear the story, before it is forgotten. The Emperor’s palace was the most splendid in the world; it was made entirely of porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle that one had to take care how one touched it. In the garden were to be seen the most wonderful flowers, and to the costliest of them silver bells were tied, which sounded, so that nobody should pass by without noticing the flowers. Yes, everything in the Emperor’s garden was admirably arranged. And it extended so far, that the gardener himself did not know where the end was. If a man went on and on, he came into a glorious forest with high trees and deep lakes. The wood extended straight down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great ships could sail to and fro beneath the branches of the trees; and in the trees lived a nightingale, which sang so splendidly that even the poor Fisherman, who had many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had gone out at night to throw out his nets, and heard the Nightingale.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
“How beautiful that is!” he said; but he was obliged to attend to his property, and thus forgot the bird. But when in the next night the bird sang again, and the Fisherman heard it, he exclaimed again, “How beautiful that is!”<br />
<br />
From all the countries of the world travellers came to the city of the Emperor and admired it, and the palace, and the garden, but when they heard the Nightingale, they said, “That is the best of all!”<br />
<br />
And the travellers told of it when they came home; and the learned men wrote many books about the town, the palace, and the garden. But they did not forget the Nightingale; that was placed highest of all; and those who were poets wrote most magnificent poems about the Nightingale in the wood by the deep lake.<br />
<br />
The books went through all the world, and a few of them once came to the Emperor. He sat in his golden chair, and read, and read: every moment he nodded his head, for it pleased him to peruse the masterly descriptions of the city, the palace, and the garden. “But the Nightingale is the best of all!”—it stood written there.<br />
<br />
“What’s that?” exclaimed the Emperor. “I don’t know the Nightingale at all! Is there such a bird in my empire, and even in my garden? I’ve never heard of that. To think that I should have to learn such a thing for the first time from books!”<br />
<br />
And hereupon he called his Cavalier. This Cavalier was so grand that if any one lower in rank than himself dared to speak to him, or to ask him any question, he answered nothing but “P!”—and that meant nothing.<br />
<br />
“There is said to be a wonderful bird here called a Nightingale!” said the Emperor. “They say it is the best thing in all my great empire. Why have I never heard anything about it?”<br />
<br />
“I have never heard him named,” replied the Cavalier. “He has never been introduced at court.”<br />
<br />
“I command that he shall appear this evening, and sing before me,” said the Emperor. “All the world knows what I possess, and I do not know it myself!”<br />
<br />
“I have never heard him mentioned,” said the Cavalier, “I will seek for him. I will find him.”<br />
<br />
But where was he to be found? The Cavalier ran up and down all the staircases, through halls and passages, but no one among all those whom he met had heard talk of the Nightingale. And the Cavalier ran back to the Emperor, and said that it must be a fable invented by the writers of books.<br />
<br />
“Your Imperial Majesty cannot believe how much is written that is fiction, besides something that they call the black art.”<br />
<br />
“But the book in which I read this,” said the Emperor, “was sent to me by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot be a falsehood. I will hear the Nightingale! It must be here this evening! It has my imperial favor; and if it does not come, all the court shall be trampled upon after the court has supped!”<br />
<br />
“Tsing-pe” said the Cavalier; and again he ran up and down all the staircases, and through all the halls and corridors; and half the court ran with him, for the courtiers did not like being trampled upon.<br />
<br />
Then there was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale, which all the world knew excepting the people at court.<br />
<br />
At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said,—<br />
<br />
“The Nightingale? I know it well; yes, it can sing gloriously. Every evening I get leave to carry my poor sick mother the scraps from the table. She lives down by the strand, and when I get back and am tired, and rest in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale sing. And then the water comes into my eyes, and it just as if my mother kissed me!”<br />
<br />
“Little Kitchen Girl,” said the Cavalier, “I will get you a place in the kitchen, with permission to see the Emperor dine, if you will lead us to the Nightingale, for it is announced for this evening.”<br />
<br />
So they all went out into the wood where the Nightingale was accustomed to sing; half the court went forth. When they were in the midst of their journey a cow began to low.<br />
<br />
“O!” cried the court page, “now we have it! That shows a wonderful power in so small a creature! I have certainly heard it before.”<br />
<br />
“No, those are cows lowing!” said the little Kitchen Girl. “We are a long way from the place yet!”<br />
<br />
Now the frogs began to croak in the marsh.<br />
<br />
“Glorious!” said the Chinese Court Preacher. “Now I hear it—it sounds just like little church bells.”<br />
<br />
“No, those are frogs!” said the little Kitchen-maid. “But now I think we shall soon hear it.”<br />
<br />
And then the Nightingale began to sing.<br />
<br />
“That is it!” exclaimed the little Girl. “Listen, listen! and yonder it sits.”<br />
<br />
And she pointed to a little gray bird up in the boughs.<br />
<br />
“Is it possible?” cried the Cavalier. “I should never have thought it looked like that! How simple it looks! It must certainly have lost its color at seeing such grand people around.”<br />
<br />
“Little Nightingale” called the Kitchen-maid, quite loudly “our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him.”<br />
<br />
“With the greatest pleasure!” replied the Nightingale, and began to sing most delightfully.<br />
<br />
“It sounds just like glass bells!” said the Cavalier. “And look at its little throat, how it’s working! It’s wonderful that we should never have heard it before. That bird will be a great success at court.”<br />
<br />
“Shall I sing once more before the Emperor?” asked the Nightingale, for it thought the Emperor was present.<br />
<br />
“My excellent little Nightingale,” said the Cavalier, “I have great pleasure in inviting you to a court festival this evening, when you shall charm his Imperial Majesty with your beautiful singing.”<br />
<br />
“My song sounds best in the greenwood!” replied the Nightingale; still it came willingly when it heard what the Emperor wished.<br />
<br />
The palace was festively adorned. The walls and the flooring, which were of porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The most glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in the passages. There was a running to and fro, and a thorough draught, and all the bells rang so loudly that one could not hear one’s self speak.<br />
<br />
In the midst of the great hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch had been placed, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole court was there, and the little Cook-maid had got leave to stand behind the door, as she had now received the title of a real court cook. All were in full dress, and all looked at the little gray bird, to which the Emperor nodded.<br />
<br />
And the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the Emperor’s eyes, and the tears ran down over his cheeks; and then the Nightingale sang still more sweetly, that went straight to the heart. The Emperor was so much pleased that he said the Nightingale should have his golden slipper to wear round its neck. But the Nightingale declined this with thanks, saying it had already received a sufficient reward.<br />
<br />
“I have seen tears in the Emperor’s eyes—that is the real treasure to me. An emperor’s tears have a peculiar power. I am rewarded enough!” And then it sang again with a sweet, glorious voice.<br />
<br />
“That’s the most amiable coquetry I ever saw!” said the ladies who stood round about, and then they took water in their mouths to gurgle when any one spoke to them. They thought they should be nightingales too. And the lackeys and chambermaids reported that they were satisfied too; and that was saying a good deal, for they are the most difficult to please. In short, the Nightingale achieved a real success.<br />
<br />
It was now to remain at court, to have its own cage, with liberty to go out twice every day and once at night. Twelve servants were appointed when the Nightingale went out, each of whom had a silken string fastened to the bird’s leg, which they held very tight. There was really no pleasure in an excursion of that kind.<br />
<br />
The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two people met, one said nothing but “Nightin,” and the other said “gale;” and then they sighed, and understood one another. Eleven peddler’s children were named after the bird, but not one of them could sing a note.<br />
<br />
One day the Emperor received a large parcel, on which was written “The Nightingale.”<br />
<br />
“There we have a new book about this celebrated bird,” said the Emperor.<br />
<br />
But it was not a book, but a little work of art, contained in a box, an artificial nightingale, which was to sing like a natural one and was brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. So soon as the artificial bird was wound up, he could sing one of the pieces that he really sang, and then his tail moved up and down, and shone with silver and gold. Round his neck hung a little ribbon, and on that was written, “The Emperor of China’s Nightingale is poor compared to that of the Emperor of Japan.”<br />
<br />
“That is capital!” said they all, and he who had brought the artificial bird immediately received the title, Imperial Head-Nightingale-Bringer.<br />
<br />
“Now they must sing together; what a duet that will be!”<br />
<br />
And so they had to sing together; but it did not sound very well, for the real Nightingale sang in its own way, and the artificial bird sang waltzes.<br />
<br />
“That’s not his fault,” said the Play-master; “he’s quite perfect, and very much in my style.”<br />
<br />
Now the artificial bird was to sing alone. He had just as much success as the real one, and then it was much handsomer to look at—it shone like bracelets and breastpins.<br />
<br />
Three-and-thirty times over did it sing the same piece, and yet was not tired. The people would gladly have heard it again, but the Emperor said that the living Nightingale ought to sing something now. But where was it? No one had noticed that it had flown away out of the open window, back to the greenwood.<br />
<br />
“But what is become of that?” said the Emperor.<br />
<br />
And all the courtiers abused the Nightingale, and declared that it was a very ungrateful creature.<br />
<br />
“We have the best bird, after all,” said they.<br />
<br />
And so the artificial bird had to sing again, and that was the thirty-fourth time that they listened to the same piece. For all that they did not know it quite by heart, for it was so very difficult. And the Play-master praised the bird particularly; yes, he declared that it was better than a nightingale, not only with regard to its plumage and the many beautiful diamonds, but inside as well.<br />
<br />
“For you see, ladies and gentlemen, and above all, your Imperial Majesty, with a real nightingale one can never calculate what is coming, but in this artificial bird everything is settled. One can explain it; one can open it, and make people understand where the waltzes come from, how they go, and how one follows up another.”<br />
<br />
“Those are quite our own ideas,” they all said.<br />
<br />
And the speaker received permission to show the bird to the people on the next Sunday. The people were to hear it sing too, the Emperor commanded; and they did hear it, and were as much pleased as if they had all got tipsy upon tea, for that’s quite the Chinese fashion; and they all said, “O!” and held up their forefingers and nodded. But the poor Fisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said,—<br />
<br />
“It sounds pretty enough, and the melodies resemble each other, but there’s something wanting, though I know not what!”<br />
<br />
The real Nightingale was banished from the country and empire. The artificial bird had its place on a silken cushion close to the Emperor’s bed; all the presents it had received, gold and precious stones, were ranged about it; in title it had advanced to be the High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer, and in rank, to number one on the left hand; for the Emperor considered that side the most important in which the heart is placed, and even in an emperor the heart is on the left side; and the Play-master wrote a work of five-and-twenty volumes about the artificial bird; it was very learned and very long, full of most difficult Chinese words; but yet all the people declared that they had read it, and understood it, for fear of being considered stupid, and having their bodies trampled on.<br />
<br />
So a whole year went by. The Emperor, the court, and all the other Chinese knew every little twitter in the artificial bird’s song by heart. But just for that reason it pleased them best—they could sing with it themselves, and they did so. The street boys sang, “Tsi-tsi-tsi-glug-glug!” and the Emperor himself sang it too. Yes, that was certainly famous.<br />
<br />
But one evening, when the artificial bird was singing its best, and the Emperor lay in bed listening to it, something inside the bird said, “Whizz!” Something cracked. “Whir-r-r!” All the wheels ran round, and then the music stopped.<br />
<br />
The Emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and caused his body physician to be called; but what could he do? Then they sent for a watchmaker, and after a good deal of talking and investigation, the bird was put into something like order; but the Watchmaker said that the bird must be carefully treated, for the barrels were worn, and it would be impossible to put new ones in such a manner that the music would go. There was great lamentation; only once in a year was it permitted to let the bird sing, and that was almost too much. But then the Play-master made a little speech, full of heavy words, and said this was just as good as before—and so of course it was as good as before.<br />
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Now five years had gone by, and a real grief came upon the whole nation. The Chinese were really fond of their Emperor, and now he was ill, and could not, it was said, live much longer. Already a new Emperor had been chosen, and the people stood out in the street and asked the Cavalier how their old Emperor did.<br />
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“P!” said he, and shook his head.<br />
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Cold and pale lay the Emperor in his great gorgeous bed; the whole court thought him dead, and each one ran to pay homage to the new ruler. The chamberlains ran out to talk it over, and the ladies’-maids had a great coffee party. All about, in all the halls and passages, cloth had been laid down so that no footstep could be heard, and therefore it was quiet there, quiet quiet. But the Emperor was not dead yet: stiff and pale he lay on the gorgeous bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy gold tassels; high up, a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the Emperor and the artificial bird.<br />
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The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it was just as if something lay upon his chest: he opened his eyes, and then he saw that it was Death who sat upon his chest, and had put on his golden crown, and held in one hand the Emperor’s sword and in the other his beautiful banner. And all around, from among the folds of the splendid velvet curtains, strange heads peered forth; a few very ugly, the rest quiet lovely and mild. These were all the Emperor’s bad and good deeds, that stood before him now that Death sat upon his heart.<br />
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“Do you remember this?” whispered one to the other. “Do you remember that?” and then they told him so much that the perspiration ran from his forehead.<br />
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“I did not know that!” said the Emperor. “Music! music! the great Chinese drum!” he cried, “so that I need not hear all they say!” And they continued speaking, and Death nodded like a Chinaman to all they said.<br />
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“Music! music!” cried the Emperor. “You little precious golden bird, sing, sing! I have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my golden slipper around your neck—sing now, sing!”<br />
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But the bird stood still; no one was there to wind him up, and he could not sing without that; but Death continued to stare at the Emperor with his great hollow eyes, and it was quiet, fearfully quiet.<br />
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Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song. It was the little live Nightingale, that sat outside on a spray. It has heard of the Emperor’s sad plight, and had come to sing to him of comfort and hope. And as it sang the spectres grew paler and paler; the blood ran quickly and more quickly through the Emperor’s weak limbs; and even Death listened, and said,—<br />
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“Go on, little Nightingale, go on!”<br />
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“But will you give me that splendid golden sword? Will you give me that rich banner? Will you give me the Emperor’s crown?”<br />
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And Death gave up each of these treasures for a song. And the Nightingale sang on and on; and it sang of the quiet church-yard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-blossom smells sweet, and where the fresh grass is moistened by the tears of survivors. The Death felt a longing to see his garden, and floated out at the window in the form of a cold, white mist.<br />
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“Thanks! thanks!” said the Emperor. “You heavenly little bird! I know you well. I banished you from my country and empire, and yet you have charmed away the evil faces from my couch, and banished Death from my heart! How can I reward you?”<br />
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“You have rewarded me!” replied the Nightingale. “I have drawn tears from your eyes, when I sang the first time— I shall never forget that. Those are the jewels that rejoice a singer’s heart. But now sleep and grow fresh and strong again. I will sing you something.”<br />
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And it sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet slumber. Ah! how mild and refreshing that sleep was! The sun shone upon him through the windows, when he awoke refreshed and restored; not one of his servants had yet returned, for they all thought he was dead; only the Nightingale still sat beside him and sang.<br />
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“You must always stay with me,” said the Emperor. “You shall sing as you please; and I’ll break the artificial bird into a thousand pieces.”<br />
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“Not so,” replied the Nightingale. “It did well as long as it could; keep it as you have done till now. I cannot build my nest in the palace to dwell in; but let me come when I feel the wish; then I will sit in the evening on the spray yonder by the window, and sing you something, so that you may be glad and thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and of those who suffer. I will sing of good and of evil that remain hidden round about you. The little singing bird flies far around, to the poor fisherman, to the peasant’s roof, to every one who dwells far away from you and from your court. I love your heart more than your crown, and yet the crown has an air of sanctity about it. I will come and sing to you—but one thing you must promise me.”<br />
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“Everything!” said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial robes, which he had put on himself, and pressed the sword which was heavy with gold to his heart.<br />
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“One thing I beg of you: tell no one that you have a little bird who tells you everything. Then it will go all the better.”<br />
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And the Nightingale flew away.<br />
<br />
The servants came in to look to their dead Emperor, and—yes, there he stood, and the Emperor said “Good morning!”Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-55121125891829559642021-01-20T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-20T00:00:05.023-08:00"Ah! It Is St. Agnes. Eve-"<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnQtz1dJyBJ1ztCgTNWgTBuZRRYzCNoWCs26bgkMkLBM0yLFQE-R5H9Bb7sJSN3vV3j3W7Pylrl8fu7fvQpkqVHlErGur0kr3-JtfpdbBpXPmf-0nn2zpsaWMTr2xnMyRpnhfYxLP_XzX/s1600/Keats,_listening_to_a_nightingale_on_Hampstead_Heath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnQtz1dJyBJ1ztCgTNWgTBuZRRYzCNoWCs26bgkMkLBM0yLFQE-R5H9Bb7sJSN3vV3j3W7Pylrl8fu7fvQpkqVHlErGur0kr3-JtfpdbBpXPmf-0nn2zpsaWMTr2xnMyRpnhfYxLP_XzX/s320/Keats,_listening_to_a_nightingale_on_Hampstead_Heath.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_of_Keats,_listening_to_a_nightingale_on_Hampstead_Heath.jpg" target="_blank">John Keats</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>John Keats, <i>The Eve of St. Agnes</i></b></div>
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<i>(St. Agnes' Eve, Jan. 20.)</i></div>
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<i>At midnight on the eve of St. Agnes there were certain solemn ceremonies which all virgins must perform to have "visions of delight and soft adorings from their loves." Porphyro took ad?vantage of this custom to win his bride.</i></div>
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ST. AGNES’ EVE!—Ah, bitter chill it was!</div>
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The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;</div>
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The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,</div>
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And silent was the flock in woolly fold:</div>
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Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told</div>
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His rosary, and while his frosted breath,</div>
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Like pious incense from a censer old,</div>
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Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death,</div>
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Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith.</div>
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His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;</div>
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Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,</div>
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And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,</div>
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Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:</div>
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The sculptur’d dead, on each side, seem to freeze,</div>
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Emprison’d in black, purgatorial rails:</div>
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Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat’ries,</div>
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He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails</div>
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To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.</div>
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Northward he turneth through a little door,</div>
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And scarce three steps, ere Music’s golden tongue</div>
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Flatter’d to tears this aged man and poor;</div>
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But no—already had his deathbell rung;</div>
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The joys of all his life were said and sung:</div>
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His was harsh penance on St. Agnes’ Eve:</div>
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Another way he went, and soon among</div>
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Rough ashes sat he for his soul’s reprieve,</div>
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And all night kept awake, for sinners’ sake to grieve.</div>
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That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;</div>
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And so it chanc’d, for many a door was wide,</div>
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From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,</div>
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The silver, snarling trumpets ’gan to chide:</div>
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The level chambers, ready with their pride,</div>
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Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:</div>
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The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,</div>
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Star’d where upon their heads the cornice rests,</div>
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With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.</div>
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At length burst in the argent revelry,</div>
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With plume, tiara, and all rich array,</div>
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Numerous as shadows haunting fairily</div>
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The brain, new stuff’d, in youth, with triumphs gay</div>
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Of old romance. These let us wish away,</div>
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And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,</div>
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Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,</div>
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On love, and wing’d St. Agnes’ saintly care,</div>
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As she had heard old dames full many times declare.</div>
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They told her how, upon St. Agnes’ Eve,</div>
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Young virgins might have visions of delight,</div>
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And soft adorings from their loves receive</div>
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Upon the honey’d middle of the night</div>
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If ceremonies due they did aright;</div>
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As, supperless to bed they must retire,</div>
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And couch supine their beauties, lily white;</div>
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Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require</div>
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Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.</div>
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Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline;</div>
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The music, yearning like a God in pain,</div>
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She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,</div>
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Fix’d on the floor, saw many a sweeping train</div>
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Pass by—she heeded not at all: in vain</div>
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Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,</div>
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And back retir’d; not cool’d by high disdain,</div>
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But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere:</div>
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She sigh’d for Agnes’ dreams, the sweetest of the year.</div>
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She danc’d along with vague, regardless eyes,</div>
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Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:</div>
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The hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs</div>
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Amid the timbrels, and the throng’d resort</div>
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Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;</div>
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’Mid looks of love, defiance, hate and scorn,</div>
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Hoodwink’d with faery fancy; all amort,</div>
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Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,</div>
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And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.</div>
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So, purposing each moment to retire,</div>
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She linger’d still. Meantime, across the moors,</div>
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Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire</div>
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For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,</div>
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Buttress’d from moonlight, stands he, and implores</div>
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All saints to give him sight of Madeline,</div>
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But for one moment in the tedious hours,</div>
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That he might gaze and worship all unseen;</div>
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Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth such things have been.</div>
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He ventures in: let no buzz’d whisper tell:</div>
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All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords</div>
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Will storm his heart, Love’s fev’rous citadel;</div>
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For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,</div>
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Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,</div>
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Whose very dogs would execrations howl</div>
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Against his lineage: not one breast affords</div>
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Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,</div>
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Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.</div>
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Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,</div>
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Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,</div>
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To where he stood, hid from the torch’s flame,</div>
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Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond</div>
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The sound of merriment and chorus bland:</div>
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He startled her; but soon she knew his face,</div>
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And grasp’d his fingers in her palsied hand,</div>
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Saying, ‘Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;</div>
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They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race!</div>
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‘Get hence! get hence! there’s dwarfish Hildebrand;</div>
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He had a fever late and in the fit</div>
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He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:</div>
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Then there’s that old Lord Maurice, not a whit</div>
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More tame for his grey hairs—Alas me! flit!</div>
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Flit like a ghost away.’—’Ah, Gossip dear,</div>
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We’re safe enough; here in this armchair sit,</div>
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And tell me how’—‘Good Saints! not here, not here;</div>
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Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.’</div>
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He follow’d through a lowly arched way,</div>
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Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;</div>
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And as she mutter’d ‘Well-a—well-a-day!</div>
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He found him in a little moonlight room,</div>
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Pale, lattic’d, chill, and silent as a tomb.</div>
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‘Now tell me where is Madeline,’ said he,</div>
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‘O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom</div>
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Which none but secret sisterhood may see,</div>
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When they St. Agnes’ wool are weaving piously.’</div>
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‘St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes’ Eve—</div>
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Yet men will murder upon holy days:</div>
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Thou must hold water in a witch’s sieve,</div>
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And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,</div>
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To venture so: it fills me with amaze</div>
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To see thee, Porphyro!—St. Agnes’ Eve!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
God’s help! my lady fair the conjurer plays</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
This very night: good angels her deceive!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
But let me laugh awhile, I’ve mickle time to grieve.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Who keepeth clos’d a wond’rous riddle-book,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
His lady’s purpose; and he scarce could brook</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Made purple riot: then doth he propose</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘A cruel man, and impious thou art:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Alone with her good angels, far apart</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
From wicked men like thee. Go, go!—I deem</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Quoth Porphyro: ‘O may I ne’er find grace</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
If one of her soft ringlets I displace,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Or look with ruffian passion in her face:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Good Angela, believe me by these tears;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Or I will, even in a moment’s space,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen’s ears,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And beard them, though they be more fang’d than wolves and bears.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Were never miss’d.’ Thus plaining, doth she bring</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
That Angela gives promise she will do</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Even to Madeline’s chamber, and there hide</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Him in a closet, of such privacy</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
That he might see her beauty unespied,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
While legion’d faeries pac’d the coverlet,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Never on such a night have lovers met,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘It shall be as thou wishest,’ said the Dame:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘All cates and dainties shall be stored there</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
On such a catering trust my dizzy head.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The lover’s endless minutes slowly pass’d;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The Dame return’d, and whisper’d in his ear</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
To follow her; with agèd eyes aghast</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Through many a dusky gallery, they gain</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The maiden’s chamber, silken, hush’d, and chaste;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Where Porphyro took covert, pleas’d amain.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her falt’ring hand upon the balustrade,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Old Angela was feeling for the stair,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
When Madeline, St. Agnes’ charmèd maid,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Rose, like a mission’d spirit, unaware:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
With silver taper’s light, and pious care,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She turn’d, and down the agèd gossip led</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
To a safe level matting. Now prepare,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray’d and fled.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Out went the taper as she hurried in;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She clos’d the door, she panted, all akin</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
To spirits of the air, and visions wide:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A casement high and triple-arch’d there was,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
All garlanded with carven imag’ries</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And diamonded with panes of quaint device,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Unnumerable of stains and splendid dyes.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And in the midst, ’mong thousand heraldries,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A shielded scutcheon blush’d with blood of queens and kings.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She seem’d a splendid angel, newly drest,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Save wings, for heaven: Porphyro grew faint:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of all its wreathèd pearls her hair she frees;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex’d she lay,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress’d</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her soothèd limbs, and soul fatigued away;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Blissfully haven’d both from joy and pain;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Clasp’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Stol’n to this paradise, and so entranced,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And listen’d to her breathing, if it chanced</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
To wake into a slumberous tenderness;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And breath’d himself: then from the closet crept,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And over the hush’d carpet, silent, stepped,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And ’tween the curtains peep’d, where, lo!—how fast she slept.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A table, and, half-anguish’d, threw thereon</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender’d,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
While he from forth the closet brought a heap</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
From silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
These delicates he heap’d with glowing hand</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
On golden dishes and in baskets bright</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of wreathèd silver: sumptuous they stand</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In the retired quiet of the night,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Filling the chilly room with perfume light.—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes’ sake,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
By the dusk curtains:—’twas a midnight charm</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Impossible to melt as icèd stream:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
It seem’d he never, never could redeem</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
From such a steadfast spell his lady’s eyes;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She mus’d awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
He play’d an ancient ditty, long since mute,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In Provence call’d, ‘La belle dame sans merci:’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Close to her ear touching the melody;—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Wherewith disturb’d, she utter’d a soft moan:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
He ceased—she panted quick—and suddenly</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her blue affrighted eyes wide open shone:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Upon his knees he sank, as smooth-sculptured stone.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
There was a painful change, that nigh expell’d</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The blisses of her dream so pure and deep</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
At which fair Madeline began to weep,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Fearing to move or speak, she look’d so dreamingly.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘Ah, Porphyro!’ said she, ‘but even now</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
How chang’d thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Beyond a mortal man impassion’d far</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Ethereal, flush’d, and like a throbbing star</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Into her dream he melted, as the rose</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
’Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
’Tis dark: the icèd gusts still rave and beat:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Though thou forsakest a deceived thing:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunèd wing!’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Thy beauty’s shield, heart-shap’d and vermeil dyed?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
After so many hours of toil and quest,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A famish’d pilgrim,—saved by miracle.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think’st well</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
‘Hark! ’tis an elfin-storm from faery land,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The bloated wassailers will never heed:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Let us away, my love, with happy speed;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Drown’d all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
For o’er the southern moors I have a home for thee.’</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
She hurried at his words, beset with fears,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
For there were sleeping dragons all around,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
In all the house was heard no human sound.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
A chain-droop’d lamp was flickering by each door;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Flutter’d in the besieging wind’s uproar</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
With a huge empty flagon by his side:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And they are gone: aye, ages long ago</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
These lovers fled away into the storm.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Were long be-nightmar’d. Angela the old</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre face deform;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-86161397153963055342021-01-19T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-19T00:00:06.238-08:00Poe on Poetry<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Edgar_Allan_Poe_2_retouched_and_transparent_bg.png" target="_blank">Edgar Allen Poe</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Edgar Allen Poe, <i>The Poetic Principle</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Regarded in Europe as one of America's greatest writers, Poe originated the detective story, perfected the mystery short story, and produced America.s first great poems. Here he unravels the fabric of which all poetry is woven.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
IN speaking of the Poetic Principle, I have no design to be either thorough or profound. While discussing, very much at random, the essentiality of what we call Poetry, my principal purpose will be to cite for consideration some few of those minor English or American poems which best suit my own taste, or which upon my own fancy have left the most definite impression. By “minor poems” I mean, of course, poems of little length. And here in the beginning permit me to say a few words in regard to a somewhat peculiar principle, which, whether rightfully or wrongfully, has always had its influence in my own critical estimate of the poem. I hold that a long poem does not exist. I maintain that the phrase, “a long poem,” is simply a flat contradiction in terms.<br />
<br />
I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is in the ratio of this elevating excitement. But all excitements are, through a psychal necessity, transient. That degree of excitement which would entitle a poem to be so called at all, cannot be sustained throughout a composition of any great length. After the lapse of half an hour, at the very utmost, it flags—fails—a revulsion ensues—and then the poem is, in effect, and in fact, no longer such.<br />
<br />
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<br />
There are, no doubt, many who have found difficulty in reconciling the critical dictum that the “Paradise Lost” is to be devoutly admired throughout, with the absolute impossibility of maintaining for it, during perusal, the amount of enthusiasm which that critical dictum would demand. The great work, in fact, is to be regarded as poetical, only when, losing sight of that vital requisite in all works of Art, Unity, we view it merely as a series of minor poems. If, to preserve its Unity—its totality of effect or impression—we read it (as would be necessary) at a single sitting, the result is but a constant alternation of excitement and depression. After a passage of what we feel to be true poetry, there follows, inevitably, a passage of platitude which no critical prejudgment can force us to admire; but if, upon completing the work, we read it again, omitting the first book (that is to say, commencing with the second), we shall be surprised at now finding that admirable which we before condemned—that damnable which we had previously so much admired. It follows from all this that the ultimate, aggregate, or absolute effect of even the best epic under the sun is a nullity;—and this is precisely the fact.<br />
<br />
In regard to the “Iliad,” we have, if not positive proof, at least very good reason for believing it intended as a series of lyrics; but, granting the epic intention, I can say only that the work is based in an imperfect sense of art. The modern epic is, of the supposititious ancient model, but an inconsiderate and blindfold imitation. But the day of these artistic anomalies is over. If, at any time, any very long poems were popular in reality—which I doubt—it is at least clear that no very long poem will ever be popular again.<br />
<br />
That the extent of a poetical work is, ceteris paribus, the measure of its merit, seems undoubtedly, when we thus state it, a proposition sufficiently absurd—yet we are indebted for it to the Quarterly Reviews. Surely there can be nothing in mere size, abstractly considered—there can be nothing in mere bulk, so far as a volume is concerned which has so continuously elicited admiration from these saturnine pamphlets! A mountain, to be sure, by the mere sentiment of physical magnitude which it conveys, does impress us with a sense of the sublime—but no man is impressed after this fashion by the material grandeur of even “The Columbiad.” Even the Quarterlies have not instructed us to be so impressed by it. As yet, they have not insisted on our estimating Lamartine by the cubic foot, or Pollok by the pound—but what else are we to infer from their continual prating about “sustained effort”? If, by “sustained effort,” any little gentleman has accomplished an epic, let us frankly commend him for the effort,—if this indeed be a thing commendable,—but let us forbear praising the epic on the effort’s account. It is to be hoped that common sense, in the time to come, will prefer deciding upon a work of Art, rather by the impression it makes—by the effect it produces—than by the time it took to impress the effect, or by the amount of “sustained effort” which had been found necessary in effecting the impression. The fact is, that perseverance is one thing and genius quite another; nor can all the Quarterlies in Christendom confound them. By and by, this proposition, with many which I have been just urging, will be received as self-evident. In the mean time, by being generally condemned as falsities, they will not be essentially damaged as truths.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, it is clear that a poem may be improperly brief. Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism. A very short poem, while now and then producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a profound or enduring, effect. There must be the steady pressing down of the stamp upon the wax. Beranger has wrought innumerable things, pungent and spirit-stirring; but, in general, they have been too imponderous to stamp themselves deeply into the public opinion, and thus, as so many feathers of fancy, have been blown aloft only to be whistled down the wind.<br />
<br />
A remarkable instance of the effect of undue brevity in depressing a poem—in keeping it out of the popular view—is afforded by the following exquisite little serenade:—<br />
<br />
I arise from dreams of thee<br />
In the first sweet sleep of night,<br />
When the winds are breathing low,<br />
And the stars are shining bright;<br />
I arise from dreams of thee,<br />
And a spirit in my feet<br />
Hath led me—who knows how?—<br />
To thy chamber-window, sweet!<br />
<br />
“The wandering airs they faint<br />
On the dark, the silent stream;<br />
And the champak odors fail<br />
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;<br />
The nightingale’s complaint,<br />
It dies upon her heart,<br />
As I must on thine,<br />
Oh, beloved as thou art!<br />
<br />
Oh, lift me from the grass!<br />
I die! I faint! I fail!<br />
Let thy love in kisses rain<br />
On my lips and eyelids pale.<br />
My cheek is cold and white, alas!<br />
My heart beats loud and fast;<br />
Oh! press it to thine own again,<br />
Where it will break at last!<br />
<br />
Very few, perhaps, are familiar with these lines—yet no less a poet than Shelley is their author. There warm, yet delicate and ethereal imagination will be appreciated by all; but by none so thoroughly as by him who has himself arisen from sweet dreams of one beloved to bathe in the aromatic air of a southern midsummer night.<br />
<br />
One of the finest poems by Willis—the very best, in my opinion, which he has ever written—has, no doubt, through this same defect of undue brevity, been kept back from its proper position, not less in the critical than in the popular view.<br />
<br />
The shadows lay along Broadway,<br />
’Twas near the twilight-tide—<br />
And slowly there a lady fair<br />
Was walking in her pride.<br />
Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,<br />
Walked spirits at her side.<br />
<br />
Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,<br />
And Honor charmed the air;<br />
And all astir looked kind on her,<br />
And called her good as fair;<br />
For all God ever gave to her<br />
She kept with chary care.<br />
<br />
She kept with care her beauties rare<br />
From lovers warm and true,—<br />
For her heart was cold to all but gold,<br />
And the rich came not to woo,—<br />
But honored well are charms to sell<br />
If priests the selling do.<br />
<br />
Now walking there was one more fair—<br />
A slight girl, lily-pale;<br />
And she had unseen company<br />
To make the spirit quail:<br />
’Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn,<br />
And nothing could avail.<br />
<br />
No mercy now can clear her brow<br />
For this world’s peace to pray;<br />
For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in air,<br />
Her woman’s heart gave way!—<br />
But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven<br />
By man is cursed always!<br />
<br />
In this composition we find it difficult to recognize the Willis who has written so many mere “verses of society.” The lines are not only richly ideal, but full of energy, while they breathe an earnestness—an evident sincerity of sentiment—for which we look in vain throughout all the other works of this author.<br />
<br />
While the epic mania—while the idea that, to merit in poetry, prolixity is indispensable—has, for some years past, been gradually dying out of the public mind by mere dint of its own absurdity—we find it succeeded by a heresy too palpably false to be long tolerated, but one which, in the brief period it has already endured, may be said to have accomplished more in the corruption of our Poetical Literature than all its other enemies combined. I allude to the heresy of The Didactic. It has been assumed, tacitly and avowedly, directly and indirectly, that the ultimate object of all Poetry is Truth. Every poem, it is said, should inculcate a moral; and by this moral is the poetical merit of the work to be adjudged. We Americans, especially, have patronized this happy idea; and we Bostonians, very especially have developed it in full. We have taken it into our heads that to write a poem simply for the poem’s sake, and to acknowledge such to have been our design, would be to confess ourselves radically wanting in the true Poetic dignity and force; but the simple fact is, that, would we but permit ourselves to look into our own souls, we should immediately there discover that under the sun there neither exists nor can exist any work more thoroughly dignified, more supremely noble, than this very poem—this poem per se—this poem which is a poem and nothing more—this poem written solely for the poem’s sake.<br />
<br />
With as deep a reverence for the True as ever inspired the bosom of man, I would, nevertheless, limit in some measure its modes of inculcation. I would limit to enforce them. I would not enfeeble them by dissipation. The demands of Truth are severe; she has no sympathy with the myrtles. All that which is so indispensable in Song is precisely all that with which she has nothing whatever to do. It is but making her a flaunting paradox to wreathe her in gems and flowers. In enforcing a truth we need severity rather than efflorescence of language. We must be simple, precise, terse. We must be cool, calm, unimpassioned. In a word, we must be in that mood, which, as nearly as possible, is the exact converse of the poetical. He must be blind, indeed, who does not perceive the radical and chasmal differences between the truthful and the poetical modes of inculcation. He must be theory-mad beyond redemption who, in spite of these differences, shall still persist in attempting to reconcile the obstinate oils and waters of Poetry and Truth.<br />
<br />
Dividing the world of mind into its three most immediately obvious distinctions, we have the Pure Intellect, Taste, and the Moral Sense. I place Taste in the middle, because it is just this position which in mind it occupies. It holds intimate relations with either extreme, but from the Moral Sense is separated by so faint a difference that Aristotle has not hesitated to place some of its operations among the virtues themselves. Nevertheless, we find the offices of the trio marked with a sufficient distinction. Just as the intellect concerns itself with Truth, so Taste informs us of the Beautiful, while the Moral Sense is regardful of Duty. Of this latter, while Conscience teaches the obligation, and Reason the expediency, Taste contents herself with displaying the charms:—waging war upon Vice solely on the ground of her deformity—her disproportion—her animosity to the fitting, to the appropriate, to the harmonious—in a word, to Beauty.<br />
<br />
An immortal instinct, deep within the spirit of man, is thus, plainly, a sense of the Beautiful. This it is which administers to his delight in the manifold forms, and sounds, and odors, and sentiments, amid which he exists. And just as the lily is repeated in the lake, or the eyes of Amaryllis in the mirror, so is the mere oral or written repetition of these forms, and sounds, and colors, and odors, and sentiments, a duplicate source of delight. But this mere repetition is not poetry. He who shall simply sing, with however glowing enthusiasm, or with however vivid a truth of description, of the sights, and sounds, and odors, and colors, and sentiments, which greet him in common with all mankind—he, I say, has yet failed to prove his divine title. There is still a something in the distance which he has been unable to attain. We have still a thirst unquenchable, to allay which he has not shown us the crystal springs. This thirst belongs to the immortality of Man. It is at once a consequence and an indication of his perennial existence. It is the desire of the moth for the star. It is no mere appreciation of the Beauty before us, but a wild effort to reach the Beauty above. Inspired by an ecstatic prescience of the glories beyond the grave, we struggle, by multiform combinations among the things and thoughts of Time, to attain a portion of that Loveliness whose very elements, perhaps, appertain to eternity alone. And thus when by Poetry—or when by Music, the most entrancing of the Poetic moods—we find ourselves melted into tears not as the Abbate Gravia supposes through excess of pleasure, but through a certain petulant, impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp now, wholly, here on earth, at once and forever, those divine and rapturous joys, of which through the poem, or through the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses.<br />
<br />
The struggle to apprehend the supernal Loveliness—this struggle, on the part of souls fittingly constituted—has given to the world all that which it (the world) has ever been enabled at once to understand and to feel as poetic.<br />
<br />
The Poetic Sentiment, of course, may develop itself in various modes—in Painting, in Sculpture, in Architecture, in the Dance—very especially in Music,—and very peculiarly and with a wide field, in the composition of the Landscape Garden. Our present theme, however, has regard only to its manifestation in words. And here let me speak briefly on the topic of rhythm. Contenting myself with the certainty that Music, in its various modes of metre, rhythm, and rhyme, is of so vast a moment in Poetry as never to be wisely rejected—is so vitally important an adjunct, that he is simply silly who declines its assistance—I will not now pause to maintain its absolute essentiality. It is in Music, perhaps, that the soul most nearly attains the great end for which, when inspired by the Poetic Sentiment, it struggles—the creation of supernal Beauty. It may be, indeed, that here this sublime end is, now and then, attained in fact. We are often made to feel, with a shivering delight, that from an earthly harp are stricken notes which cannot have been unfamiliar to the angels. And thus there can be little doubt that in the union of Poetry with Music in its popular sense we shall find the widest field for the Poetic development. The old Bards and Minnesingers had advantages which we do not possess—and Thomas Moore, singing his own songs, was, in the most legitimate manner, perfecting them as poems.<br />
<br />
To recapitulate, then:—I would define, in brief, the Poetry of words as The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole arbiter is Taste. With the Intellect or with the Conscience, it has only collateral relations. Unless incidentally, it has no concern whatever either with Duty or with Truth.<br />
<br />
A few words, however, in explanation. That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating, and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the Beautiful. In the contemplation of Beauty we alone find it possible to attain that pleasurable elevation, or excitement, of the soul, which we recognize as the Poetic Sentiment, and which is so easily distinguished from Truth, which is the satisfaction of the Reason, or from Passion, which is the excitement of the Heart. I make Beauty, therefore—using the word as inclusive of the sublime,—I make Beauty the province of the poem, simply because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring as directly as possible from their causes—no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar elevation in question is at least most readily attainable in the poem. It by no means follows, however, that the incitements of Passion, or the precepts of Duty, or even the lessons of Truth, may not be introduced into a poem and with advantage; for they may subserve, incidentally, in various ways, the general purposes of the work; but the true artist will always contrive to tone them down in proper subjection to that Beauty which is the atmosphere and the real essence of the poem.<br />
<br />
I cannot better introduce the few poems which I shall present for your consideration, than by the citation of the “Proem” to Mr. Longfellow’s “Waif”:<br />
<br />
The day is done, and the darkness<br />
Falls from the wings of Night,<br />
As a feather is wafted downward<br />
From an eagle in his flight.<br />
<br />
I see the lights of the village<br />
Gleam through the rain and the mist,<br />
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me,<br />
That my soul cannot resist:<br />
<br />
A feeling of sadness and longing,<br />
That is not akin to pain,<br />
And resembles sorrow only<br />
As the mist resembles the rain.<br />
<br />
Come, read to me some poem,<br />
Some simple and heartfelt lay,<br />
That shall soothe this restless feeling,<br />
And banish the thoughts of day.<br />
<br />
Not from the grand old masters,<br />
Not from the bards sublime,<br />
Whose distant footsteps echo<br />
Through the corridors of Time.<br />
<br />
For, like strains of martial music,<br />
Their mighty thoughts suggest<br />
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;<br />
And to-night I long for rest.<br />
<br />
Read from some humbler poet,<br />
Whose songs gushed from his heart,<br />
As showers from the clouds of summer,<br />
Or tears from the eyelids start;<br />
<br />
Who, through long days of labor,<br />
And nights devoid of ease,<br />
Still heard in his soul the music<br />
Of wonderful melodies.<br />
<br />
Such songs have power to quiet<br />
The restless pulse of care,<br />
And come like the benediction<br />
That follows after prayer.<br />
<br />
Then read from the treasured volume<br />
The poem of thy choice,<br />
And lend to the rhyme of the poet<br />
The beauty of thy voice.<br />
<br />
And the night shall be filled with music,<br />
And the cares, that infest the day,<br />
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,<br />
And as silently steal away.<br />
<br />
With no great range of imagination, these lines have been justly admired for their delicacy of expression. Some of the images are very effective. Nothing can be better than—<br />
<br />
the bards sublime,<br />
Whose distant footsteps echo<br />
Through the corridors of Time.<br />
<br />
The idea of the last quatrain is also very effective. The poem, on the whole, however, is chiefly to be admired for the graceful insouciance of its metre, so well in accordance with the character of the sentiments, and especially for theease of the general manner. This “ease,” or naturalness, in a literary style, it has long been the fashion to regard as ease in appearance alone—as a point of really difficult attainment. But not so; a natural manner is difficult only to him who should never meddle with it—to the unnatural. It is but the result of writing with the understanding, or with the instinct, that the tone, in composition, should always be that which the mass of mankind would adopt—and must perpetually vary, of course, with the occasion. The author who, after the fashion of the “North American Review,” should be, upon alloccasions, merely, “quiet,” must necessarily, upon many occasions, be simply silly, or stupid; and has no more right to be considered “easy,” or “natural,” than a Cockney exquisite, or than the sleeping Beauty in the wax-works.<br />
<br />
Among the minor poems of Bryant, none has so much impressed me as the one which he entitles “June.” I quote only a portion of it:—<br />
<br />
There, through the long, long summer hours,<br />
The golden light should lie,<br />
And thick, young herbs and groups of flowers<br />
Stand in their beauty by.<br />
The oriole should build and tell<br />
His love-tale, close beside my cell;<br />
The idle butterfly<br />
Should rest him there, and there be heard<br />
The housewife-bee and humming-bird.<br />
<br />
And what, if cheerful shouts at noon,<br />
Come, from the village sent,<br />
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon,<br />
With fairy laughter blent?<br />
And what, if in the evening light,<br />
Betrothèd lovers walk in sight<br />
Of my low monument?<br />
I would the lovely scene around<br />
Might know no sadder sight nor sound.<br />
<br />
I know that I no more should see<br />
The season’s glorious show,<br />
Nor would its brightness shine for me,<br />
Nor its wild music flow;<br />
But if, around my place of sleep,<br />
The friends I love should come to weep,<br />
They might not haste to go.<br />
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom<br />
Should keep them, lingering by my tomb.<br />
<br />
These to their softened hearts should bear<br />
The thought of what has been,<br />
And speak of one who cannot share<br />
The gladness of the scene;<br />
Whose part, in all the pomp that fills<br />
The circuit of the summer hills,<br />
Is—that his grave is green;<br />
And deeply would their hearts rejoice<br />
To hear again his living voice.<br />
<br />
The rhythmical flow, here, is even voluptuous—nothing could be more melodious. The poem has always affected me in a remarkable manner. The intense melancholy, which seem to well up, perforce, to the surface of all the poet’s cheerful sayings about his grave, we find thrilling us to the soul, while there is the truest poetic elevation in the thrill. The impression left is one of a pleasurable sadness.<br />
<br />
And if, in the remaining compositions which I shall introduce to you, there be more or less of a similar tone always apparent, let me remind you that (how or why we know not) this certain taint of sadness is inseparably connected with all the higher manifestations of true Beauty. It is, nevertheless,<br />
<br />
A feeling of sadness and longing<br />
That is not akin to pain,<br />
And resembles sorrow only<br />
As the mist resembles the rain.<br />
<br />
The taint of which I speak is clearly perceptible even in a poem so full of brilliancy and spirit as the “Health” of Edward C. Pinkney:—<br />
<br />
I fill this cup to one made up<br />
Of loveliness alone,<br />
A woman, of her gentle sex<br />
The seeming paragon;<br />
To whom the better elements<br />
And kindly stars have given<br />
A form so fair, that, like the air,<br />
’Tis less of earth than heaven.<br />
<br />
Her every tone is music’s own,<br />
Like those of morning birds,<br />
And something more than melody<br />
Dwells ever in her words;<br />
The coinage of her heart are they,<br />
And from her lips each flows<br />
As one may see the burdened bee<br />
Forth issue from the rose.<br />
<br />
Affections are as thoughts to her,<br />
The measures of her hours;<br />
Her feelings have the fragrancy,<br />
The freshness of young flowers;<br />
And lovely passions, changing oft,<br />
So fill her, she appears<br />
The image of themselves by turns,—<br />
The idol of past years!<br />
<br />
Of her bright face one glance will trace<br />
A picture on the brain,<br />
And of her voice in echoing hearts<br />
A sound must long remain;<br />
But memory, such as mine of her,<br />
So very much endears,<br />
When death is nigh, my latest sigh<br />
Will not be life’s, but hers.<br />
<br />
I fill this cup to one made up<br />
Of loveliness alone,<br />
A woman, of her gentle sex<br />
The seeming paragon—<br />
Her health! and would on earth there stood<br />
Some more of such a frame,<br />
That life might be all poetry,<br />
And weariness a name.<br />
<br />
It was the misfortune of Mr. Pinkney to have been born too far south. Had he been a New Englander, it is probable that he would have been ranked as the first of American lyrists by that magnanimous cabal which has so long controlled the destinies of American Letters, in conducting the thing called the “North American Review.” The poem just cited is especially beautiful; but the poetic elevation which it induces we must refer chiefly to our sympathy in the poet’s enthusiasm. We pardon his hyperboles for the evident earnestness with which they are uttered.<br />
<br />
It was by no means my design, however, to expatiate upon the merits of what I should read you. These will necessarily speak for themselves. Boccalini, in his “Advertisements from Parnassus,” tells us that Zoilus once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable book; whereupon the god asked him for the beauties of the work. He replied that he only busied himself about the errors. On hearing this, Apollo, handing him a sack of unwinowed wheat, bade him pick out all the chaff for his reward.<br />
<br />
Now this fable answers very well as a hit at the critics; but I am by no means sure that the god was in the right. I am by no means certain that the true limits of the critical duty are not grossly misunderstood. Excellence, in a poem especially, may be considered in the light of an axiom, which need only be properly put, to become self-evident. It is not excellence if it requires to be demonstrated as such; and thus, to point out too particularly the merits of a work of Art, is to admit that they are not merits altogether.<br />
<br />
Among the “Melodies” of Thomas Moore, is one whose distinguished character as a poem proper seems to have been singularly left out of view. I allude to his lines beginning: “Come, rest in this bosom.” The intense energy of their expression is not surpassed by anything in Byron. There are two of the lines in which a sentiment is conveyed that embodies the all in all of the divine passion of love—a sentiment which, perhaps, has found its echo in more, and in more passionate, human hearts than any other single sentiment ever embodied in words:—<br />
<br />
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,<br />
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;<br />
Here still is the smile than no cloud can o’ercast,<br />
And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.<br />
<br />
Oh! what was love made for, if ’tis not the same<br />
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?<br />
I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that heart,<br />
I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.<br />
<br />
Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss,<br />
And thy angel I’ll be, ’mid the horrors of this,—<br />
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,<br />
And shield thee, and save thee,—or perish there too!<br />
<br />
It has been the fashion, of late days, to deny Moore imagination, while granting him fancy—a distinction originating with Coleridge—than whom no man more fully comprehended the great powers of Moore. The fact is that the fancy of this poet so far predominates over all his other faculties, and over the fancy of all other men, as to have induced, very naturally, the idea that he is fanciful only. But never was there a greater mistake. Never was a grosser wrong done the fame of a true poet. In the compass of the English language I can call to mind no poem more profoundly, more weirdly imaginative, in the best sense, than the lines commencing: “I would I were by that dim lake,” which are the composition of Thomas Moore. I regret that I am unable to remember them.<br />
<br />
One of the noblest—and, speaking of fancy, one of the most singularly fanciful—of modern poets, was Thomas Hood. His “Fair Inesp” had always, for me, an inexpressible charm:—<br />
<br />
O saw ye not fair Ines?<br />
She’s gone into the West,<br />
To dazzle when the sun is down,<br />
And rob the world of rest;<br />
She took our daylight with her,<br />
The smiles that we love best,<br />
With morning blushes on her cheek,<br />
And pearls upon her breast.<br />
<br />
O turn again, fair Ines,<br />
Before the fall of night,<br />
For fear the moon should shine alone,<br />
And stars unrivalled bright;<br />
And blessèd will the lover be<br />
That walks beneath their light,<br />
And breathes the love against thy cheek<br />
I dare not even write!<br />
<br />
Would I had been, fair Ines,<br />
That gallant cavalier,<br />
Who rode so gayly by thy side,<br />
And whispered thee so near!<br />
Were there no bonny dames at home,<br />
Or no true lovers here,<br />
That he should cross the seas to win<br />
The dearest of the dear?<br />
<br />
I saw thee, lovely Ines,<br />
Descend along the shore,<br />
With bands of noble gentlemen,<br />
And banners waved before;<br />
And gentle youth and maidens gay,<br />
And snowy plumes they wore;<br />
It would have been a beauteous dream—<br />
If it had been no more!<br />
<br />
Alas, alas, fair Ines!<br />
She went away with song,<br />
With Music waiting on her steps,<br />
And shoutings of the throng;<br />
But some were sad and felt no mirth,<br />
But only Music’s wrong,<br />
In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,<br />
To her you’ve loved so long.<br />
<br />
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines!<br />
That vessel never bore<br />
So fair a lady on its deck,<br />
Nor danced so light before,—<br />
Alas, for pleasure on the sea,<br />
And sorrow on the shore!<br />
The smile that blest one lover’s heart<br />
Has broken many more!<br />
<br />
“The Haunted House,” by the same author, is one of the truest poems ever written; one of the truest, one of the most unexceptionable, one of the most thoroughly artistic both in its theme and in its execution. It is, moreover, powerfully ideal, imaginative. I regret that its length renders it unsuitable for the purposes of this Lecture. In place of it, permit me to offer the universally appreciated “Bridge of Sighs.”<br />
<br />
One more Unfortunate,<br />
Weary of breath,<br />
Rashly importunate,<br />
Gone to her death!<br />
<br />
Take her up tenderly,<br />
Lift her with care:<br />
Fashioned so slenderly,<br />
Young, and so fair!<br />
<br />
Look at her garments<br />
Clinging like cerements;<br />
Whilst the wave constantly<br />
Drips from her clothing;<br />
Take her up instantly,<br />
Loving, not loathing,—<br />
<br />
Touch her not scornfully;<br />
Think of her mournfully,<br />
Gently and humanly;<br />
Not of the stains of her—<br />
All that remains of her<br />
Now is pure womanly.<br />
<br />
Make no deep scrutiny<br />
Into her mutiny<br />
Rash and undutiful:<br />
Past all dishonor,<br />
Death has left on her<br />
Only the beautiful.<br />
<br />
Still, for all slips of hers,<br />
One of Eve’s family—<br />
Wipe those poor lips of hers<br />
Oozing so clammily,<br />
Loop up her tresses<br />
Escaped from the comb,<br />
Her fair auburn tresses;<br />
Whilst wonderment guesses<br />
Where was her home?<br />
<br />
Who was her father?<br />
Who was her mother?<br />
Had she a sister?<br />
Had she a brother?<br />
Or was there a dearer one<br />
Still, and a nearer one<br />
Yet, than all other?<br />
<br />
Alas! for the rarity<br />
Of Christian charity<br />
Under the sun!<br />
Oh, it was pitiful!<br />
Near a whole city full,<br />
Home she had none.<br />
<br />
Sisterly, brotherly,<br />
Fatherly, motherly<br />
Feelings had changed;<br />
Love, by harsh evidence,<br />
Thrown from its eminence;<br />
Even God’s providence<br />
Seeming estranged.<br />
<br />
Where the lamps quiver<br />
So far in the river,<br />
With many a light<br />
From window and casement,<br />
From garret to basement,<br />
She stood, with amazement,<br />
Houseless by night.<br />
<br />
The bleak wind of March<br />
Made her tremble and shiver,<br />
But not the dark arch,<br />
Or the black flowing river:<br />
Mad from life’s history,<br />
Glad to death’s mystery,<br />
Swift to be hurled—<br />
Anywhere, anywhere<br />
Out of the world!<br />
<br />
In she plunged boldly,<br />
No matter how coldly<br />
The rough river ran,—<br />
Over the brink of it,<br />
Picture it—think of it,<br />
Dissolute man!<br />
Lave in it, drink of it,<br />
Then, if you can!<br />
<br />
Take her up tenderly,<br />
Lift her with care;<br />
Fashioned so slenderly,<br />
Young, and so fair!<br />
<br />
Ere her limbs frigidly<br />
Stiffen too rigidly,<br />
Decently—kindly—<br />
Smoothe and compose them:<br />
And her eyes, close them,<br />
Staring so blindly!<br />
<br />
Dreadfully staring<br />
Through muddy impurity,<br />
As when with the daring<br />
Last look of despairing<br />
Fixed on futurity.<br />
<br />
Perishing gloomily,<br />
Spurred by contumely,<br />
Cold inhumanity,<br />
Burning insanity,<br />
Into her rest.—<br />
Cross her hands humbly,<br />
As if praying dumbly,<br />
Over her breast!<br />
<br />
Owning her weakness.<br />
Her evil behavior,<br />
And leaving, with meekness,<br />
Her sins to her Saviour!”<br />
<br />
The vigor of this poem is no less remarkable than its pathos. The versification, although carrying the fanciful to the very verge of the fantastic, is nevertheless admirably adapted to the wild insanity which is the thesis of the poem.<br />
<br />
Among the minor poems of Lord Byron, is one which has never received from the critics the praise which it undoubtedly deserves:—<br />
<br />
Though the day of my destiny’s over,<br />
And the star of my fate hath declined,<br />
Thy soft heart refused to discover<br />
The faults which so many could find;<br />
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted,<br />
It shrunk not to share it with me,<br />
And the love which my spirit hath painted<br />
It never hath found but in thee.<br />
<br />
Then when nature around me is smiling,<br />
The last smile which answers to mine,<br />
I do not believe it beguiling,<br />
Because it reminds me of thine;<br />
And when winds are at war with the ocean,<br />
As the breasts I believed in with me,<br />
If their billows excite an emotion,<br />
It is that they bear me from thee.<br />
<br />
Though the rock of my last hope is shivered,<br />
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,<br />
Though I feel that my soul is delivered<br />
To pain—it shall not be its slave.<br />
There is many a pang to pursue me;<br />
They may crush, but they shall not contemn;<br />
They may torture, but shall not subdue me;<br />
’Tis of thee that I think—not of them.<br />
<br />
Though human, thou didst not deceive me;<br />
Though woman, thou didst not forsake;<br />
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me;<br />
Though slandered, thou never couldst shake;<br />
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me;<br />
Though parted, it was not to fly;<br />
Though watchful, ’twas not to defame me;<br />
Nor mute, that the world might belie.<br />
<br />
Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it,<br />
Nor the war of the many with one—<br />
If my soul was not fitted to prize it,<br />
’Twas folly not sooner to shun;<br />
And if dearly that error hath cost me,<br />
And more than I once could foresee,<br />
I have found that, whatever it lost me,<br />
It could not deprive me of thee.<br />
<br />
From the wreck of the past, which hath perished,<br />
Thus much I at least may recall:<br />
It hath taught me that what I most cherished<br />
Deserved to be dearest of all.<br />
In the desert a fountain is springing,<br />
In the wide waste there still is a tree,<br />
And a bird in the solitude singing,<br />
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.<br />
<br />
Although the rhythm here is one of the most difficult, the versification could scarcely be improved. No nobler theme ever engaged the pen of poet. It is the soul-elevating idea, that no man can consider himself entitled to complain of Fate while, in his adversity, he still retains the unwavering love of woman.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tears from the depth of some divine despair<br />
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,<br />
In looking on the happy autumn fields,<br />
And thinking of the days that are no more.<br />
<br />
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail<br />
That brings our friends up from the underworld;<br />
Sad as the last which reddens over one<br />
That sinks with all we love below the verge;<br />
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.<br />
<br />
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns<br />
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds<br />
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes<br />
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;<br />
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.<br />
<br />
Dear as remembered kisses after death,<br />
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned<br />
On lips that are for others; deep as love,<br />
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;<br />
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.”<br />
<br />
Thus, although in a very cursory and imperfect manner, I have endeavored to convey to you my conception of the Poetic Principle. It has been my purpose to suggest that, while this Principle itself is, strictly and simply, the Human Aspiration for Supernal Beauty, the manifestation of the Principle is always found in an elevating excitement of the Soul, quite independent of that passion which is the intoxication of the Heart, or of that Truth which is the satisfaction of the Reason. For, in regard to Passion, alas! its tendency is to degrade rather than elevate the Soul. Love, on the contrary—Love, the true, the divine Eros, the Uranian as distinguished from the Dionæan Venus—is unquestionably the purest and truest of all poetical themes. And in regard to Truth—if, to be sure, through the attainment of a truth we are led to perceive a harmony where none was apparent before, we experience, at once the true poetical effect; but this effect is referable to the harmony alone, and not in the least degree to the truth which merely served to render the harmony manifest.<br />
<br />
We shall reach, however, more immediately a distinct conception of what the true Poetry is, by mere reference to a few of the simple elements which induce in the Poet himself the true poetical effect. He recognizes the ambrosia, which nourishes his soul, in the bright orbs that shine in Heaven, in the volutes of the flower, in the clustering of low shrubberies, in the waving of the grain-fields, in the slanting of the tall, Eastern trees, in the blue distance of mountains, in the grouping of clouds, in the twinkling of half-hidden brooks, in the gleaming of silver rivers, in the repose of sequestered lakes, in the star-mirroring depths of lonely wells. He perceives it in the songs of birds, in the harp of Æolus, in the sighing of the night-wind, in the repining voice of the forest, in the surf that complains to the shore, in the fresh breath of the woods, in the scent of the violet, in the voluptuous perfume of the hyacinth, in the suggestive odor that comes to him at eventide from far-distant, undiscovered islands, over dim oceans, illimitable and unexplored. He owns it in all noble thoughts, in all unworldly motives, in all holy impulses, in all chivalrous, generous, and self-sacrificing deeds. He feels it in the beauty of woman, in the grace of her step, in the lustre of her eye, in the melody of her voice, in her soft laughter, in her sigh, in the harmony of the rustling of her robes. He deeply feels it in her winning endearments, in her burning enthusiasms, in her gentle charities, in her meek and devotional endurances; but above all—ah! far above all—he kneels to it, he worships it in the faith, in the purity, in the strength, in the altogether divine majesty of her love.<br />
<br />
Let me conclude by the recitation of yet another brief poem—one very different in character from any that I have before quoted. It is by Motherwell, and is called “The Song of the Cavalier.” With our modern and altogether rational ideas of the absurdity and impiety of warfare, we are not precisely in that frame of mind best adapted to sympathize with the sentiments, and thus to appreciate the real excellence, of the poem. To do this fully, we must identify ourselves, in fancy, with the soul of the old cavalier.<br />
<br />
Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants, all,<br />
And don your helmes amaine:<br />
Deathe’s couriers, Fame and Honor, call<br />
Us to the field againe.<br />
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye<br />
When the sword-hilt’s in our hand;<br />
Heart-whole we’ll part and no whit sighe<br />
For the fayrest of the land;<br />
Let piping swaine, and craven wight,<br />
Thus weepe and puling crye,<br />
Our business is like men to fight,<br />
And hero-like to die!”Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-55223445722655175522021-01-18T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-18T00:00:07.655-08:00Origin of Yale "Brekekekex-Ko-ax"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aristophanes_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_12788.png" target="_blank">Aristophanes</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Aristophanes (c.448 B.C.–c.388 B.C.). <i>The Frogs.</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master, at which the audience never fails to laugh?" Like an up-to-date vaudeville team, Xanthias and Dionysus start off a dialogue that mingles wit and poetry with humor and keen satire.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
XANTHIAS. SHALL I crack any of those old jokes, master,<br />
At which the audience never fail to laugh?<br />
<br />
DIONYSUS. Aye, what you will, except I’m getting crushed:<br />
Fight shy of that: I’m sick of that already.<br />
<br />
XAN. Nothing else smart?<br />
<br />
DIO. Aye, save my shoulder’s aching.<br />
<br />
XAN. Come now, that comical joke?<br />
<br />
DIO. With all my heart.<br />
Only be careful not to shift your pole.<br />
And— XAN. What? DIO. And vow that you’ve a belly-ache.<br />
<br />
XAN. May I not say I’m overburdened so<br />
That if none ease me, I must ease myself?<br />
<br />
DIO. For mercy’s sake, not till I’m going to vomit.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
XAN. What! must I bear these burdens, and not make<br />
One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis<br />
And Phrynichus, in every play they write,<br />
Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers?<br />
<br />
DIO. Don’t make them; no! I tell you when I see<br />
Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away<br />
More than a twelvemonth older than I went.<br />
<br />
XAN. O, thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now<br />
Is getting crushed, yet must not crack its joke!<br />
<br />
DIO. Now is not this fine pampered insolence<br />
When I myself, Dionysus, son of—Pipkin,<br />
Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride,<br />
Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing?<br />
<br />
XAN. What, don’t I bear? DIO. How can you when you’re riding?<br />
<br />
XAN. Why, I bear these. DIO. How? XAN. Most unwillingly.<br />
<br />
DIO. Does not the donkey bear the load you’re bearing?<br />
<br />
XAN. Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he.<br />
<br />
DIO. How can you bear, when you are borne yourself?<br />
<br />
XAN. Don’t know: but anyhow my shoulder’s aching.<br />
<br />
DIO. Then since you say the donkey helps you not,<br />
You lift him up and carry him in turn.<br />
<br />
XAN. O, hang it all! why didn’t I fight at sea?<br />
You should have smarted bitterly for this.<br />
<br />
DIO. Get down, you rascal; I’ve been trudging on<br />
Till now I’ve reached the portal, where I’m going<br />
First to turn in. Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy!<br />
<br />
HERACLES. Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur<br />
He drove against it! Mercy o’ me, what’s this?<br />
<br />
DIO. Boy. XAN. Yes. DIO. Did you observe? XAN. What? DIO. How alarmed<br />
He is. XAN. Aye, truly, lest you’ve lost your wits.<br />
<br />
HER. O, by Demeter, I can’t choose but laugh.<br />
Biting my lips won’t stop me. Ha! ha! ha!<br />
<br />
DIO. Pray you, come hither, I have need of you.<br />
<br />
HER. I vow I can’t help laughing, I can’t help it.<br />
A lion’s hide upon a yellow silk,<br />
A club and buskin! What’s it all about?<br />
Where were you going? DIO. I was serving lately<br />
Aboard the—Cleisthenes. HER. And fought? DIO. And sank<br />
More than a dozen of the enemy’s ships.<br />
<br />
HER. You two? DIO. We two. HER. And then I awoke, and lo!<br />
<br />
DIO. There as, on deck, I’m reading to myself<br />
The “Andromeda,” a sudden pang of longing<br />
Shoots through my heart, you can’t conceive how keenly.<br />
<br />
HER. How big a pang? DIO. A small one, Molon’s size.<br />
<br />
HER. Caused by a woman? DIO. No. HER. A boy? DIO. No, no.<br />
<br />
HER. A man? DIO. Ah! ah! HER. Was it for Cleisthenes?<br />
<br />
DIO. Don’t mock me, brother; on my life I am<br />
In a bad way: such fierce desire consumes me.<br />
<br />
HER. Aye, little brother? how? DIO. I can’t describe it.<br />
But yet I’ll tell you in a riddling way.<br />
Have you e’er felt a sudden lust for soup?<br />
<br />
HER. Soup! Zeus-a-mercy, yes, ten thousand times.<br />
<br />
DIO. Is the thing clear, or must I speak again?<br />
<br />
HER. Not of the soup: I’m clear about the soup.<br />
<br />
DIO. Well, just that sort of pang devours my heart<br />
For lost Euripides. HER. A dead man too.<br />
<br />
DIO. And no one shall persuade me not to go<br />
After the man. HER. Do you mean below, to Hades?<br />
<br />
DIO. And lower still, if there’s a lower still.<br />
<br />
HER. What on earth for? DIO. I want a genuine poet,<br />
“For some are not, and those that are, are bad.”<br />
<br />
HER. What! does not Iophon live? DIO. Well, he’s the sole<br />
Good thing remaining, if even he is good.<br />
For even of that I’m not exactly certain.<br />
<br />
HER. If go you must, there’s Sophocles—he comes<br />
Before Euripides—why not take him?<br />
<br />
DIO. Not till I’ve tried if Iophon’s coin rings true<br />
When he’s alone, apart from Sophocles.<br />
Besides, Euripides, the crafty rogue,<br />
Will find a thousand shifts to get away,<br />
But he was easy here, is easy there.<br />
<br />
HER. But Agathon, where is he? DIO. He has gone and left us.<br />
A genial poet, by his friends much missed.<br />
<br />
HER. Gone where? DIO. To join the blessed in their banquets.<br />
<br />
HER. But what of Xenocles? DIO. O, he be hanged!<br />
<br />
HER. Pythangelus? XAN. But never a word of me,<br />
Not though my shoulder’s chafed so terribly.<br />
<br />
HER. But have you not a shoal of little songsters,<br />
Tragedians by the myriad, who can chatter<br />
A furlong faster than Euripides?<br />
<br />
DIO. Those be mere vintage-leavings, jabberers, choirs<br />
Of swallow-broods, degraders of their art,<br />
Who get one chorus, and are seen no more,<br />
The Muses’ love once gained. But, O my friend,<br />
Search where you will, you’ll never find a true<br />
Creative genius, uttering startling things.<br />
<br />
HER. Creative? how do you mean? DIO. I mean a man<br />
Who’ll dare some novel venturesome conceit,<br />
Air, Zeus’ chamber, or Time’s foot, or this:<br />
’Twas not my mind that swore: my tongue committed<br />
A little perjury on its own account.<br />
<br />
HER. You like that style? DIO. Like it? I dote upon it.<br />
<br />
HER. I vow it’s ribald nonsense, and you know it.<br />
<br />
DIO. “Rule not my mind”: you’ve got a house to mind.<br />
<br />
HER. Really and truly, though, ’tis paltry stuff.<br />
<br />
DIO. Teach me to dine! XAN. But never a word of me.<br />
<br />
DIO. But tell me truly—’twas for this I came<br />
Dressed up to mimic you—what friends received<br />
And entertained you when you went below<br />
To bring back Cerberus, in case I need them.<br />
And tell me too the havens, fountains, shops,<br />
Roads, resting-places, stews, refreshment rooms,<br />
Towns, lodgings, hostesses, with whom were found<br />
The fewest bugs. XAN. But never a word of me.<br />
<br />
HER. You are really game to go?<br />
<br />
DIO. O, drop that, can’t you?<br />
And tell me this: of all the roads you know,<br />
Which is the quickest way to get to Hades?<br />
I want one not too warm, nor yet too cold.<br />
<br />
HER. Which shall I tell you first? which shall it be?<br />
There’s one by rope and bench: you launch away<br />
And—hang yourself. DIO. No, thank you: that’s too stifling.<br />
<br />
HER. Then there’s a track, a short and beaten cut,<br />
By pestle and mortar. DIO. Hemlock, do you mean?<br />
<br />
HER. Just so. DIO. No, that’s too deathly cold a way;<br />
You have hardly started ere your shins get numbed.<br />
<br />
HER. Well, would you like a steep and swift descent?<br />
<br />
DIO. Aye, that’s the style: my walking powers are small.<br />
<br />
HER. Go down to the Cerameicus. DIO. And do what?<br />
<br />
HER. Climb to the tower’s top pinnacle— DIO. And then?<br />
<br />
HER. Observe the torch-race started, and when all<br />
The multitude is shouting Let them go,<br />
Let yourself go. DIO. Go whither? HER. To the ground.<br />
<br />
DIO. O, that would break my brain’s two envelopes.<br />
I’ll not try that. HER. Which will you try? DIO. The way<br />
You went yourself. HER. A parlous voyage that,<br />
For first you’ll come to an enormous lake<br />
Of fathomless depth. DIO. And how and I to cross?<br />
<br />
HER. An ancient mariner will row you over<br />
In a wee boat, so big. The fare’s two obols.<br />
<br />
DIO. Fie! The power two obols have, the whole world through!<br />
How came they thither? HER. Theseus took them down.<br />
And next you’ll see great snakes and savage monsters<br />
In tens of thousands. DIO. You needn’t try to scare me,<br />
I’m going to go. HER. Then weltering seas of filth<br />
And ever-rippling dung: and plunged therein,<br />
Whoso has wronged the stranger here on earth,<br />
Or robbed his boylove of the promised pay,<br />
Or swinged his mother, or profanely smitten<br />
His father’s cheek, or sworn an oath forsworn,<br />
Or copied out a speech of Morsimus.<br />
<br />
DIO. There too, perdie, should he be plunged, whoe’er<br />
Has danced the sword-dance of Cinesias.<br />
<br />
HER. And next the breath of flutes will float around you,<br />
And glorious sunshine, such as ours, you’ll see,<br />
And myrtle groves, and happy bands who clap<br />
Their hands in triumph, men and women too.<br />
<br />
DIO. And who are they? HER. The happy mystic bands,<br />
<br />
XAN. And I’m the donkey in the mystery show.<br />
But I’ll not stand it, not one instant longer.<br />
<br />
HER. Who’ll tell you everything you want to know.<br />
You’ll find them dwelling close beside the road<br />
You are going to travel, just at Pluto’s gate.<br />
And fare thee well, my brother. DIO. And to you<br />
Good cheer. (To Xan.) Now, sirrah, pick you up the traps.<br />
<br />
XAN. Before I’ve put them down? DIO. And quickly too.<br />
<br />
XAN. No, prithee, no; but hire a body, one<br />
They’re carrying out, on purpose for the trip.<br />
<br />
DIO. If I can’t find one? XAN. Then I’ll take them. DIO. Good.<br />
And see! they are carrying out a body now.<br />
Hallo! you there, you deadman, are you willing<br />
To carry down our little traps to Hades?<br />
<br />
CORPSE. What are they? DIO. These. CORP. Two drachmas for the job?<br />
<br />
DIO. Nay, that’s too much. CORP. Out of the pathway, you!<br />
<br />
DIO. Beshrew thee, stop: maybe we’ll strike a bargain.<br />
<br />
CORP. Pay me two drachmas, or it’s no use talking.<br />
<br />
DIO. One and a half. CORP. I’d liefer live again!<br />
<br />
XAN. How absolute the knave is! He be hanged!<br />
I’ll go myself. DIO. You’re the right sort, my man.<br />
Now to the ferry. CHARON. Yoh, up! lay her to.<br />
<br />
XAN. Whatever’s that? DIO. Why, that’s the lake, by Zeus,<br />
Whereof he spake, and yon’s the ferry-boat.<br />
<br />
XAN. Poseidon, yes, and that old fellow’s Charon.<br />
<br />
DIO. Charon! O welcome, Charon! welcome, Charon!<br />
<br />
CHAR. Who’s for the Rest from every pain and ill?<br />
Who’s for the Lethe’s plain? the Donkey-shearings?<br />
Who’s for Cerberia? Taenarum? or the Ravens?<br />
<br />
DIO. I. CHAR. Hurry in. DIO. But where are you going really?<br />
In truth to the Ravens? CHAR. Aye, for your behoof.<br />
Step in. DIO. (To Xan.) Now, lad. CHAR. A slave? I take no slave,<br />
Unless he has fought for his bodyrights at sea.<br />
<br />
XAN. I couldn’t go. I’d got the eye-disease.<br />
<br />
CHAR. Then fetch a circuit round about the lake.<br />
<br />
XAN. Where must I wait? CHAR. Beside the Withering stone,<br />
Hard by the Rest. DIO. You understand? XAN. Too well.<br />
O, what ill omen crossed me as I started!<br />
<br />
CHAR. (To Dio.) Sit to the oar. (Calling.) Who else for the boat? Be quick.<br />
(To Dio.) Hi! What are you doing? DIO. What am I doing? Sitting<br />
On to the oar. You told me to, yourself.<br />
<br />
CHAR. Now sit you there, you little Potgut. DIO. So?<br />
<br />
CHAR. Now stretch your arms full length before you. DIO. So?<br />
<br />
CHAR. Come, don’t keep fooling; plant your feet, and now<br />
Pull with a will. DIO. Why, how am I to pull?<br />
I’m not an oarsman, seaman, Salaminian.<br />
I can’t! CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once,<br />
You’ll hear the loveliest timing songs. DIO. What from?<br />
<br />
CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful. DIO. Then give the word.<br />
<br />
CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy!<br />
<br />
FROGS. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!<br />
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax!<br />
We children of the fountain and the lake,<br />
Let us wake<br />
Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out,<br />
Our symphony of clear-voiced song.<br />
The song we used to love, in the Marshland up above,<br />
In praise of Dionysus to produce,<br />
Of Nysaean Dionysus, son of Zeus,<br />
When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay,<br />
To our precinct reeled along on the holy<br />
Pitcher day.<br />
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. O, dear! O, dear! now I declare<br />
I’ve got a bump upon my rump.<br />
<br />
FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. But you, perchance, don’t care.<br />
<br />
FR. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. Hang you, and your ko-axing too!<br />
There’s nothing but ko-ax with you.<br />
<br />
FR. That is right, Mr. Busybody, right!<br />
For the Muses of the lyre love us well;<br />
And hornfoot Pan who plays on the pipe his jocund lays;<br />
And Apollo, Harper bright, in our Chorus takes delight;<br />
For the strong reed’s sake which I grow within my lake<br />
To be girdled in his lyre’s deep shell.<br />
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. My hands are blistered very sore;<br />
My stern below is sweltering so,<br />
’Twill soon, I know, upturn and roar<br />
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
O tuneful race, O, pray give o’er,<br />
O, sing no more. FR. Ah, no! ah, no!<br />
Loud and louder our chant must flow.<br />
Sing if ever ye sang of yore,<br />
When in sunny and glorious days<br />
Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing<br />
On we swept, in the joy of singing<br />
Myriad-diving roundelays.<br />
Or when fleeing the storm, we went<br />
Down to the depths, and our choral song<br />
Wildly raised to a loud and long<br />
Bubble-bursting accompaniment.<br />
<br />
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. This timing song I take from you.<br />
<br />
FR. That’s a dreadful thing to do.<br />
<br />
DIO. Much more dreadful, if I row<br />
Till I burst myself, I trow.<br />
<br />
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. Go, hang yourselves; for what care I?<br />
<br />
FR. All the same we’ll shout and cry,<br />
Stretching all our throats with song,<br />
Shouting, crying, all day long,<br />
<br />
FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
<br />
DIO. In this you’ll never, never win.<br />
<br />
FR. This you shall not beat us in.<br />
<br />
DIO. No, nor ye prevail o’er me.<br />
Never! never! I’ll my song<br />
Shout, if need be, all day long,<br />
Until I’ve learned to master your ko-ax.<br />
Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.<br />
I thought I’d put a stop to your ko-ax.<br />
<br />
CHAR. Stop! Easy! Take the oar and push her to.<br />
Now pay your fare and go. DIO. Here ’tis: two obols.<br />
Xanthias! where’s Xanthias? Is it Xanthias there?<br />
<br />
XAN. Hoi, hoi! DIO. Come hither. XAN. Glad to meet you, master.<br />
<br />
DIO. What have you there? XAN. Nothing but filth and darkness.<br />
<br />
DIO. But tell me, did you see the parricides<br />
And perjured folk he mentioned? XAN. Didn’t you?<br />
<br />
DIO. Poseidon, yes. Why, look! (Pointing to the audience.) I see them now.<br />
What’s the next step? XAN. We’d best be moving on.<br />
This is the spot where Heracles declared<br />
Those savage monsters dwell. DIO. O, hang the fellow!<br />
That’s all his bluff: he thought to scare me off,<br />
The jealous dog, knowing my plucky ways.<br />
There’s no such swaggerer lives as Heracles.<br />
Why, I’d like nothing better than to achieve<br />
Some bold adventure, worthy of our trip.<br />
<br />
XAN. I know you would. Hallo! I hear a noise.<br />
<br />
DIO. Where? what? XAN. Behind us, there. DIO. Get you behind.<br />
<br />
XAN. No, it’s in front. DIO. Get you in front directly.<br />
<br />
XAN. And now I see the most ferocious monster.<br />
<br />
DIO. O, what’s it like? XAN. Like everything by turns.<br />
Now it’s a bull: now it’s a mule: and now<br />
The loveliest girl. DIO. O, where? I’ll go and meet her.<br />
<br />
XAN. It’s ceased to be a girl: it’s a dog now.<br />
<br />
DIO. It is Empusa! XAN. Well, its face is all<br />
Ablaze with fire. DIO. Has it a copper leg?<br />
<br />
XAN. A copper leg? yes, one; and one of cow dung.<br />
<br />
DIO. O, whither shall I flee? XAN. O, whither I?<br />
<br />
DIO. My priest, protect me, and we’ll sup together.<br />
<br />
XAN. King Heracles, we’re done for. DIO. O, forbear,<br />
Good fellow, call me anything but that.<br />
<br />
XAN. Well, then, Dionysus. DIO. O, that’s worse again.<br />
<br />
XAN. (To the Spectre.) Aye, go thy way. O master, here, come here.<br />
<br />
DIO. O, what’s up now? XAN. Take courage; all’s serene.<br />
And, like Hegelochus, we now may say,<br />
“Out of the storm there comes a new fine wether.”<br />
Empusa’s gone. DIO. Swear it. XAN. By Zeus she is.<br />
<br />
DIO. Swear it again. XAN. By Zeus. DIO. Again. XAN. By Zeus.<br />
O, dear, O, dear, how pale I grew to see her,<br />
But he from fright has yellowed me all over.<br />
<br />
DIO. Ah me, whence fall these evils on my head?<br />
Who is the god to blame for my destruction?<br />
Air, Zeus’ chamber, or the Foot of Time?<br />
<br />
(A flute is played behind the scenes.)<br />
<br />
<br />
DIO. Hist! XAN. What’s the matter? DIO. Didn’t you hear it?<br />
<br />
XAN. What?<br />
<br />
DIO. The breath of flutes. XAN. Aye, and a whiff of torches<br />
Breathed o’er me too; a very mystic whiff.<br />
<br />
DIO. Then crouch we down, and mark what’s going on.<br />
<br />
CHORUS. (In the distance.) O Iacchus!<br />
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!<br />
<br />
XAN. O have it, master: ’tis those blessed Mystics,<br />
Of whom he told us, sporting hereabouts.<br />
They sing the Iacchus which Diagoras made.<br />
<br />
DIO. I think so too: we had better both keep quiet<br />
And so find out exactly what it is.<br />
<br />
(The calling forth of Iacchus.)<br />
<br />
<br />
CHOR. O Iacchus! power excelling, here in stately temples dwelling,<br />
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!<br />
Come to tread this verdant level,<br />
Come to dance in mystic revel,<br />
Come whilst round thy forehead hurtles<br />
Many a wreath of fruitful myrtles,<br />
Come with wild and saucy paces<br />
Mingling in our joyous dance,<br />
Pure and holy, which embraces all the charms of all the Graces,<br />
When the mystic choirs advance.<br />
<br />
XAN. Holy and sacred queen, Demeter’s daughter,<br />
O, what a jolly whiff of pork breathed o’er me!<br />
<br />
DIO. Hist! and perchance you’ll get some tripe yourself.<br />
<br />
(The welcome to Iacchus.)<br />
<br />
<br />
CHOR. Come, arise, from sleep awaking, come the fiery torches shaking,<br />
O Iacchus! O Iacchus!<br />
Morning Star that shinest nightly.<br />
Lo, the mead is blazing brightly,<br />
Age forgets its years and sadness,<br />
Agèd knees curvet for gladness,<br />
Lift thy flashing torches o’er us,<br />
Marshal all thy blameless train,<br />
Lead, O, lead the way before us; lead the lovely youthful Chorus<br />
To the marshy flowery plain.Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-43534861790301956392021-01-17T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-17T00:00:02.951-08:00Franklin's Family Tree<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BenFranklinDuplessis.jpg" target="_blank">Benjamin Franklin</a></td></tr>
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<b>Benjamin Franklin, <i>Autobiography</i></b></div>
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<i>Good middle-class people, Franklin boasts, were his ancestors. Some have attributed his genius to his being the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations. In his famous auto?biography, he reveals quaint family history.</i></div>
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TWYFORD, at the Bishop of St. Asaph’s, 1771.</div>
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DEAR SON: I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes of my ancestors. You may remember the inquiries I made among the remains of my relations when you were with me in England, and the journey I undertook for that purpose. Imagining it may be equally agreeable to you to know the circumstances of my life, many of which you are yet unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a week’s uninterrupted leisure in my present country retirement, I sit down to write them for you. To which I have besides some other inducements. Having emerged from the poverty and obscurity in which I was born and bred, to a state of affluence and some degree of reputation in the world, and having gone so far through life with a considerable share of felicity, the conducing means I made use of, which with the blessing of God so well succeeded, my posterity may like to know, as they may find some of them suitable to their own situations, and therefore fit to be imitated.</div>
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That felicity, when I reflected on it, has induced me sometimes to say, that were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to a repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults of the first. So I might, besides correcting the faults, change some sinister accidents and events of it for others more favorable. But though this were denied, I should still accept the offer. Since such a repetition is not to be expected, the next thing most like living one’s life over again seems to be a recollection of that life, and to make that recollection as durable as possible by putting it down in writing.</div>
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Hereby, too, I shall indulge the inclination so natural in old men, to be talking of themselves and their own past actions; and I shall indulge it without being tiresome to others, who, through respect to age, might conceive themselves obliged to give me a hearing, since this may be read or not as any one pleases. And, lastly (I may as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity. Indeed, I scarce ever heard or saw the introductory words,“Without vanity I may say,” &c., but some vain thing immediately followed. Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others that are within his sphere of action; and therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life.</div>
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And now I speak of thanking God, I desire with all humility to acknowledge that I owe the mentioned happiness of my past life to His kind providence, which lead me to the means I used and gave them success. My belief of this induces me to hope, though I must not presume, that the same goodness will still be exercised toward me, in continuing that happiness, or enabling me to bear a fatal reverse, which I may experience as others have done: the complexion of my future fortune being known to Him only in whose power it is to bless to us even our afflictions.</div>
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The notes one of my uncles (who had the same kind of curiosity in collecting family anecdotes) once put into my hands, furnished me with several particulars relating to our ancestors. From these notes I learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in Northamptonshire, for three hundred years, and how much longer he knew not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before was the name of an order of people, was assumed by them as a surname when others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about thirty acres, aided by the smith’s business, which had continued in the family till his time, the eldest son being always bred to that business; a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest sons. When I searched the registers at Ecton, I found an account of their births, marriages and burials from the year 1555 only, there being no registers kept in that parish at any time preceding. By that register I perceived that I was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas, who was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to follow business longer, when he went to live with his son John, a dyer at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served an apprenticeship. There my grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton, and left it with the land to his only child, a daughter, who, with her husband, one Fisher, of Wellingborough, sold it to Mr. Isted, now lord of the manor there. My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz.: Thomas, John, Benjamin and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of them, at this distance from my papers, and if these are not lost in my absence, you will among them find many more particulars.</div>
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Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and encouraged in learning (as all my brothers were) by an Esquire Palmer, then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county; was a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county or town of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances were related of him; and much taken notice of and patronized by the then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, January 6, old style, just four years to a day before I was born. The account we received of his life and character from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as something extraordinary, from its similarity to what you knew of mine. “Had he died on the same day,” you said, “one might have supposed a transmigration.”</div>
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John was bred a dyer, I believe of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I remember him well, for when I was a boy he came over to my father in Boston, and lived in the house with us some years. He lived to a great age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations, of which the following, sent to me, is a specimen. He had formed a short-hand of his own, which he taught me, but, never practising it, I have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being a particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious, a great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in his short-hand, and had with him many volumes of them. He was also much of a politician; too much, perhaps, for his station. There fell lately into my hands, in London, a collection he had made of all the principal pamphlets, relating to public affairs, from 1641 to 1717; many of the volumes are wanting as appears by the numbering, but there still remain eight volumes in folio, and twenty-four in quarto and in octavo. A dealer in old books met with them, and knowing me by my sometimes buying of him, he brought them to me. It seems my uncle must have left them here, when he went to America, which was about fifty years since. There are many of his notes in the margins.</div>
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This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation, and continued Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary, when they were sometimes in danger of trouble on account of their zeal against popery. They had got an English Bible, and to conceal and secure it, it was fastened open with tapes under and within the cover of a joint-stool. When my great-great-grandfather read it to his family, he turned up the joint-stool upon his knees, turning over the leaves then under the tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice if he saw the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual court. In that case the stool was turned down again upon its feet, when the Bible remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I had from my uncle Benjamin. The family continued all of the Church of England till about the end of Charles the Second’s reign, when some of the ministers that had been outed for non-conformity holding conventicles in Northamptonshire, Benjamin and Josiah adhered to them, and so continued all their lives: the rest of the family remained with the Episcopal Church.</div>
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Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having been forbidden by law, and frequently disturbed, induced some considerable men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen; of which I remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to be men and women, and married; I was the youngest son, and the youngest child but two, and was born in Boston, New England. My mother, the second wife, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather, in his church history of that country, entitled Magnalia Christi Americana, as “a godly, learned Englishman,” if I remember the words rightly. I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years since. It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there. It was in favor of liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the Baptists, Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution, ascribing the Indian wars, and other distresses that had befallen the country, to that persecution, as so many judgments of God to punish so heinous an offense, and exhorting a repeal of those uncharitable laws. The whole appeared to me as written with a good deal of decent plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was, that his censures proceeded from good-will, and, therefore, he would be known to be the author.</div>
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“Because to be a libeller (says he)</div>
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I hate it with my heart;</div>
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From Sherburne town, where now I dwell</div>
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My name I do put here;</div>
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Without offense your real friend,</div>
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It is Peter Folgier.”</div>
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My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades. I was put to the grammar-school at eight years of age, my father intending to devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the Church. My early readiness in learning to read (which must have been very early, as I do not remember when I could not read), and the opinion of all his friends, that I should certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and proposed to give me all his short-hand volumes of sermons, I suppose as a stock to set up with, if I would learn his character. I continued, however, at the grammar-school not quite one year, though in that time I had risen gradually from the middle of the class of that year to be the head of it, and farther was removed into the next class above it, in order to go with that into the third at the end of the year. But my father, in the meantime, from a view of the expense of a college education, which having so large a family he could not well aford, and the mean living many so educated were afterwards able to obtain—reasons that he gave to his friends in my hearing—altered his first intention, took me from the grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing and arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr. George Brownell, very successful in his profession generally, and that by mild, encouraging methods. Under him I acquired fair writing pretty soon, but I failed in the arithmetic, and made no progress in it. At ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in his business, which was that of a tallow-chandler and sope-boiler; a business he was not bred to, but had assumed on his arrival in New England, and on finding his dying trade would not maintain his family, being in little request. Accordingly, I was employed in cutting wick for the candles, filling the dipping mold and the molds for cast candles, attending the shop, going of errands, etc.</div>
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I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the sea, but my father declared against it; however, living near the water, I was much in and about it, learnt early to swim well, and to manage boats; and when in a boat or canoe with other boys, I was commonly allowed to govern, especially in any case of difficulty; and upon other occasions I was generally a leader among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an early projecting public spirit, tho’ not then justly conducted.</div>
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There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, on the edge of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a wharff there fit for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my play-fellows, and working with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharff. The next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which were found in our wharff. Inquiry was made after the removers; we were discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected by our fathers; and though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest.</div>
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I think you may like to know something of his person and character. He had an excellent constitution of body, was of middle stature, but well set, and very strong; he was ingenious, could draw prettily, was skilled a little in music, and had a clear pleasing voice, so that when he played psalm tunes on his violin and sung withal, as he sometimes did in an evening after the business of the day was over, it was extremely agreeable to hear. He had a mechanical genius too, and, on occasion, was very handy in the use of other tradesmen’s tools; but his great excellence lay in a sound understanding and solid judgment in prudential matters, both in private and publick affairs. In the latter, indeed, he was never employed, the numerous family he had to educate and the straitness of his circumstances keeping him close to his trade; but I remember well his being frequently visited by leading people, who consulted him for his opinion in affairs of the town or of the church he belonged to, and showed a good deal of respect for his judgment and advice: he was also much consulted by private persons about their affairs when any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen an arbitrator between contending parties.</div>
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At his table he liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible friend or neighbor to converse with, and always took care to start some ingenious or useful topic for discourse, which might tend to improve the minds of his children. By this means he turned our attention to what was good, just, and prudent in the conduct of life; and little or no notice was ever taken of what related to the victuals on the table, whether it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad flavor, preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind, so that I was bro’t up in such a perfect inattention to those matters as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was set before me, and so unobservant of it, that to this day if I am asked I can scarce tell a few hours after dinner what I dined upon. This has been a convenience to me in travelling, where my companions have been sometimes very unhappy for want of a suitable gratification of their more delicate, because better instructed, tastes and appetites.</div>
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My mother had likewise an excellent constitution: she suckled all her ten children. I never knew either my father or mother to have any sickness but that of which they dy’d, he at 89, and she at 85 years of age. They lie buried together at Boston, where I some years since placed a marble over their grave, with this inscription:</div>
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JOSIAH FRANKLIN,</div>
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and</div>
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ABIAH his Wife,</div>
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lie here interred.</div>
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They lived lovingly together in wedlock</div>
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fifty-five years.</div>
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Without an estate, or any gainful employment,</div>
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By constant labor and industry,</div>
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with God’s blessing,</div>
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They maintained a large family</div>
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comfortably,</div>
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and brought up thirteen children</div>
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and seven grandchildren</div>
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reputably.</div>
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From this instance, reader,</div>
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Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling,</div>
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And distrust not Providence.</div>
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He was a pious and prudent man;</div>
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She, a discreet and virtuous woman.</div>
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Their youngest son,</div>
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In filial regard to their memory,</div>
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Places this stone.</div>
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J. F. born 1655, died 1744, Ætat 89.</div>
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A. F. born 1667, died 1752, —— 85</div>
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By my rambling digressions I perceive myself to be grown old. I us’d to write more methodically. But one does not dress for private company as for a publick ball. ’Tis perhaps only negligence.</div>
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To return: I continued thus employed in my father’s business for two years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John, who was bred to that business, having left my father, married, and set up for himself at Rhode Island, there was all appearance that I was destined to supply his place, and become a tallow-chandler. But my dislike to the trade continuing, my father was under apprehensions that if he did not find one for me more agreeable, I should break away and get to sea, as his son Josiah had done, to his great vexation. He therefore sometimes took me to walk with him, and see joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some trade or other on land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle their tools; and it has been useful to me, having learnt so much by it as to be able to do little jobs myself in my house when a workman could not readily be got, and to construct little machines for my experiments, while the intention of making the experiment was fresh and warm in my mind. My father at last fixed upon the cutler’s trade, and my uncle Benjamin’s son Samuel, who was bred to that business in London, being about that time established in Boston, I was sent to be with him some time on liking. But his expectations of a fee with me displeasing my father, I was taken home again.</div>
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From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the Pilgrim’s Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan’s works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton’s Historical Collections; they were small chapmen’s books, and cheap, 40 or 50 in all. My father’s little library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen in my way, since it was now resolved I should not be a clergyman. Plutarch’s Lives there was in which I read abundantly, and I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book of De Foe’s, called an Essay on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather’s, called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life.</div>
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This bookish inclination at length determined my father to make me a printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In 1717 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age, only I was to be allowed journeyman’s wages during the last year. In a little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices of booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my room reading the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the morning, lest it should be missed or wanted.</div>
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And after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house, took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account, encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was called The Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters: the other was a sailor’s song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched stuff, in the Grub-street-ballad style; and when they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully, the event being recent, having made a great noise. This flattered my vanity; but my father discouraged me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one; but as prose writing had been of great use to me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability I have in that way.</div>
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Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-69425191274604345832021-01-16T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-16T00:00:06.265-08:00The Old Woman and the Wine Jar<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-7BfQQNM0k9RXK8kECpYqANxvffGh3grzbmh-9Gidmuu0Gz5_5o6r0S24_7Ek9clGVUhRmzD589ENxYKihXD-EP-OpUyqp3Jcz8BTb_5SdbvB5GtOjE7mTAlwKM50TVYvkkmj54V1hwM/s1600/Aesop_pushkin01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-7BfQQNM0k9RXK8kECpYqANxvffGh3grzbmh-9Gidmuu0Gz5_5o6r0S24_7Ek9clGVUhRmzD589ENxYKihXD-EP-OpUyqp3Jcz8BTb_5SdbvB5GtOjE7mTAlwKM50TVYvkkmj54V1hwM/s320/Aesop_pushkin01.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aesop_pushkin01.jpg" target="_blank">Aesop</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Æsop. (Sixth century B.C.) Fables.</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>An old woman
once found a wine jar, but it was empty. She sniffed at the mouth of
the jar and said: "What memories cling 'round the instruments of
our pleasure."</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Editor's Note: Other
fables are included in today's reading as indicated by the prompts in
Eliot's original reading guide.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Two Pots</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
TWO Pots had been left
on the bank of a river, one of brass, and one of earthenware. When
the tide rose they both floated off down the stream. Now the
earthenware pot tried its best to keep aloof from the brass one,
which cried out: “For nothing, friend, I will not strike you.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“But I may come in
contact with you,” said the other, “if I come too close; and
whether I hit you, or you hit me, I shall suffer for it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“THE STRONG AND THE
WEAK CANNOT KEEP COMPANY.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Four Oxen and
the Lion</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
LION used to prowl about a field in which Four Oxen used to dwell.
Many a time he tried to attack them; but whenever he came near they
turned their tails to one another, so that whichever way he
approached them he was met by the horns of one of them. At last,
however, they fell a-quarrelling among themselves, and each went off
to pasture alone in a separate corner of the field. Then the Lion
attacked them one by one and soon made an end of all four.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE FALL.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Fisher and the
Little Fish</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
IT
happened that a Fisher, after fishing all day, caught only a little
fish. “Pray, let me go, master,” said the Fish. “I am much too
small for your eating just now. If you put me back into the river I
shall soon grow, then you can make a fine meal off me.” 1</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Nay, nay, my little Fish,” said the Fisher, “I have you now. I
may not catch you hereafter.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“A LITTLE THING IN HAND IS WORTH MORE THAN A GREAT THING IN
PROSPECT.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Avaricious and
Envious</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
TWO
neighbours came before Jupiter and prayed him to grant their hearts’
desire. Now the one was full of avarice, and the other eaten up with
envy. So to punish them both, Jupiter granted that each might have
whatever he wished for himself, but only on condition that his
neighbour had twice as much. The Avaricious man prayed to have a room
full of gold. No sooner said than done; but all his joy was turned to
grief when he found that his neighbour had two rooms full of the
precious metal. Then came the turn of the Envious man, who could not
bear to think that his neighbour had any joy at all. So he prayed
that he might have one of his own eyes put out, by which means his
companion would become totally blind.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“VICES ARE THEIR OWN PUNISHMENT.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Crow and the
Pitcher</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
CROW, half-dead with thirst, came upon a Pitcher which had once been
full of water; but when the Crow put its beak into the mouth of the
Pitcher he found that only very little water was left in it, and that
he could not reach far enough down to get at it. He tried, and he
tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to
him, and he took a pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he
took another pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took
another pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another
pebble and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble
and dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and
dropped it into the Pitcher. Then he took another pebble and dropped
it into the Pitcher. At last, at last, he saw the water mount up near
him, and after casting in a few more pebbles he was able to quench
his thirst and save his life.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“LITTLE BY LITTLE DOES THE TRICK.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Man and the
Satyr</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
MAN had lost his way in a wood one bitter winter’s night. As he was
roaming about, a Satyr came up to him, and finding that he had lost
his way, promised to give him a lodging for the night, and guide him
out of the forest in the morning. As he went along to the Satyr’s
cell, the Man raised both his hands to his mouth and kept on blowing
at them. “What do you do that for?” said the Satyr.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“My hands are numb with the cold,” said the Man, “and my breath
warms them.” </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After this they arrived at the Satyr’s home, and soon the Satyr put
a smoking dish of porridge before him. But when the Man raised his
spoon to his mouth he began blowing upon it. “And what do you do
that for?” said the Satyr. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“The porridge is too hot, and my breath will cool it.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Out you go,” said the Satyr. “I will have nought to do with a
man who can blow hot and cold with the same breath.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Goose with the
Golden Egg</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
ONE
day a countryman going to the nest of his Goose found there an egg
all yellow and glittering. When he took it up it was as heavy as lead
and he was going to throw it away, because he thought a trick had
been played upon him. But he took it home on second thoughts, and
soon found to his delight that it was an egg of pure gold. Every
morning the same thing occurred, and he soon became rich by selling
his eggs. As he grew rich he grew greedy; and thinking to get at once
all the gold the Goose could give, he killed it and opened it only to
find,—nothing.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“GREED OFT O’ERREACHES ITSELF.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Labourer and the
Nightingale</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
LABOURER lay listening to a Nightingale’s song throughout the
summer night. So pleased was he with it that the next night he set a
trap for it and captured it. “Now that I have caught thee,” he
cried, “though shalt always sing to me.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We Nightingales never sing in a cage,” said the bird.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Then I’ll eat thee,” said the Labourer. “I have always heard
say that nightingale on toast is a dainty morsel.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Nay, kill me not,” said the Nightingale; “but let me free, and
I’ll tell thee three things far better worth than my poor body.”
The Labourer let him loose, and he flew up to a branch of a tree and
said: “Never believe a captive’s promise; that’s one thing.
Then again: Keep what you have. And third piece of advice is: Sorrow
not over what is lost forever.” Then the song-bird flew away.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Fox, the Cock
and the Dog</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
ONE
moonlight night a Fox was prowling about a farmer’s hencoop, and
saw a Cock roosting high up beyond his reach. “Good news, good
news!” he cried.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Why, what is that?” said the Cock.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“King Lion has declared a universal truce. No beast may hurt a bird
henceforth, but all shall dwell together in brotherly friendship.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Why, that is good news,” said the Cock; “and there I see some
one coming, with whom we can share the good tidings.” And so saying
he craned his neck forward and looked afar off.
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What is it you see?” said the Fox. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It is only my master’s Dog that is coming towards us. What,
going so soon?” he continued, as the Fox began to turn away as soon
as he had heard the news. “Will you not stop and congratulate the
Dog on the reign of universal peace?”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I would gladly do so,” said the Fox, “but I fear he may not
have heard of King Lion’s decree.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“CUNNING OFTEN OUTWITS ITSELF.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Wind and the Sun
</b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
THE
WIND and the Sun were disputing which was the stronger. Suddenly they
saw a traveller coming down the road, and the Sun said: “I see a
way to decide our dispute. Whichever of us can cause that traveller
to take off his cloak shall be regarded as the stronger You begin.”
So the Sun retired behind a cloud, and the Wind began to blow as hard
as it could upon the traveller. But the harder he blew the more
closely did the traveller wrap his cloak round him, till at last the
Wind had to give up in despair. Then the Sun came out and shone in
all his glory upon the traveller, who soon found it too hot to walk
with his cloak on.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“KINDNESS EFFECTS MORE THAN SEVERITY.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Hercules and the
Waggoner</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
WAGGONER was once driving a heavy load along a very muddy way. At
last he came to a part of the road where the wheels sank half-way
into the mire, and the more the horses pulled, the deeper sank the
wheels. So the Waggoner threw down his whip, and knelt down and
prayed to Hercules the Strong. “O Hercules, help me in this my hour
of distress,” quoth he. But Hercules appeared to him, and said:</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Tut, man, don’t sprawl there. Get up and put your shoulder to
the wheel.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“THE GODS HELP THEM THAT HELP THEMSELVES.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Man, the Boy and
the Donkey</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
MAN and his son were once going with their Donkey to market. As they
were walking along by its side a countryman passed them and said:
“You fools, what is a Donkey for but to ride upon?” </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So the Man put the Boy on the Donkey and they went on their way. But
soon they passed a group of men, one of whom said: “See that lazy
youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So the Man ordered his Boy to get off, and got on himself. But they
hadn’t gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the
other: “Shame on that lazy lout to let his poor little son trudge
along.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Well, the Man didn’t know what to do, but at last he took his Boy
up before him on the Donkey. By this time they had come to the town,
and the passers-by began to jeer and point at them. The Man stopped
and asked what they were scoffing at. The men said: “Aren’t you
ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor Donkey of yours—you
and your hulking son?” </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Man and Boy got off and tried to think what to do. They thought
and they thought, till at last they cut down a pole, tied the
Donkey’s feet to it, and raised the pole and the Donkey to their
shoulders. They went along amid the laughter of all who met them till
they came to Market Bridge, when the Donkey, getting one of his feet
loose, kicked out and caused the Boy to drop his end of the pole. In
the struggle the Donkey fell over the bridge, and his fore-feet being
tied together he was drowned.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That will teach you,” said an old man who had followed them:</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“PLEASE ALL, AND YOU WILL PLEASE NONE.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Miser and His
Gold</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
ONCE
upon a time there was a Miser who used to hide his gold at the foot
of a tree in his garden; but every week he used to go and dig it up
and gloat over his gains. A robber, who had noticed this, went and
dug up the gold and decamped with it. When the Miser next came to
gloat over his treasures, he found nothing but the empty hole. He
tore his hair, and raised such an outcry that all the neighbours came
around him, and he told them how he used to come and visit his gold.
“Did you ever take any of it out?” asked one of them.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Nay,” said he, “I only came to look at it.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Then come again and look at the hole,” said a neighbour; “it
will do you just as much good.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WEALTH UNUSED MIGHT AS WELL NOT EXIST.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Fox and the
Mosquitoes</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
FOX after crossing a river got its tail entangled in a bush, and
could not move. A number of Mosquitoes seeing its plight settled upon
it and enjoyed a good meal undisturbed by its tail. A hedgehog
strolling by took pity upon the Fox and went up to him: “You are in
a bad way, neighbour,” said the hedgehog, “shall I relieve you by
driving off those Mosquitoes who are sucking your blood?”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Thank you, Master Hedgehog,” said the Fox, “but I would rather
not.” </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Why, how is that?” asked the hedgehog. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Well, you see,” was the answer, “these Mosquitoes have had
their fill; if you drive these away, others will come with fresh
appetite and bleed me to death.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Fox Without a
Tail</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
IT
happened that a Fox caught its tail in a trap, and in struggling to
release himself lost all of it but the stump. At first he was ashamed
to show himself among his fellow foxes. But at last he determined to
put a bolder face upon his misfortune, and summoned all the foxes to
a general meeting to consider a proposal which he had to place before
them. When they had assembled together the Fox proposed that they
should all do away with their tails. He pointed out how inconvenient
a tail was when they were pursued by their enemies, the dogs; how
much it was in the way when they desired to sit down and hold a
friendly conversation with one another. He failed to see any
advantage in carrying about such a useless encumbrance. “That is
all very well,” said one of the older foxes; “but I do not think
you would have recommended us to dispense with our chief ornament if
you had not happened to lose it yourself.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“DISTRUST INTERESTED ADVICE.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The One-Eyed Doe</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
DOE had had the misfortune to lose one of her eyes, and could not see
any one approaching her on that side. So to avoid any danger she
always used to feed on a high cliff near the sea, with her sound eye
looking towards the land. By this means she could see whenever the
hunters approached her on land, and often escaped by this means. But
the hunters found out that she was blind of one eye, and hiring a
boat rowed under the cliff where she used to feed and shot her from
the sea. “Ah,” cried she with her dying voice,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR FATE.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Belling the Cat </b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
LONG
ago, the mice had a general council to consider what measures they
could take to outwit their common enemy, the Cat. Some said this, and
some said that; but at last a young mouse got up and said he had a
proposal to make, which he thought would meet the case. “You will
all agree,” said he, “that our chief danger consists in the sly
and treacherous manner in which the enemy approaches us. Now, if we
could receive some signal of her approach, we could easily escape
from her. I venture, therefore, to propose that a small bell be
procured, and attached by a ribbon round the neck of the Cat. By this
means we should always know when she was about, and could easily
retire while she was in the neighbourhood.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This proposal met with general applause, until an old mouse got up
and said: “That is all very well, but who is to bell the Cat?”
The mice looked at one another and nobody spoke. Then the old mouse
said:</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“IT IS EASY TO PROPOSE IMPOSSIBLE REMEDIES.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Hare and the
Tortoise</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
THE
HARE was once boasting of his speed before the other animals. “I
have never yet been beaten,” said he, “when I put forth my full
speed. I challenge any one here to race with me.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Tortoise said quietly, “I accept your challenge.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That is a good joke,” said the Hare; “I could dance round you
all the way.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Keep your boasting till you’ve beaten,” answered the Tortoise.
“Shall we race?”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So a course was fixed and a start was made. The Hare darted almost
out of sight at once, but soon stopped and, to show his contempt for
the Tortoise, lay down to have a nap. The Tortoise plodded on and
plodded on, and when the Hare awoke from his nap, he saw the Tortoise
just near the winning-post and could not run up in time to save the
race. Then said the Tortoise:</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“PLODDING WINS THE RACE.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Old Man and
Death</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AN
OLD labourer, bent double with age and toil, was gathering sticks in
a forest. At last he grew so tired and hopeless that he threw down
the bundle of sticks, and cried out: “I cannot bear this life any
longer. Ah, I wish Death would only come and take me!”
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As he spoke, Death, a grisly skeleton, appeared and said to him:
“What wouldst thou, Mortal? I heard thee call me.” </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Please, sir,” replied the woodcutter, “would you kindly help
me to lift this faggot of sticks on to my shoulder?”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WE WOULD OFTEN BE SORRY IF OUR WISHES WERE GRATIFIED.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Hare with Many
Friends </b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
HARE was very popular with the other beasts who all claimed to be her
friends. But one day she heard the hounds approaching and hoped to
escape them by the aid of her many Friends. So she went to the horse,
and asked him to carry her away from the hounds on his back. But he
declined, stating that he had important work to do for his master.
“He felt sure,” he said, “that all her other friends would come
to her assistance.” She then applied to the bull, and hoped that he
would repel the hounds with his horns. The bull replied: “I am very
sorry, but I have an appointment with a lady; but I feel sure that
our friend the goat will do what you want.” The goat, however,
feared that his back might do her some harm if he took her upon it.
The ram, he felt sure, was the proper friend to apply to. So she went
to the ram and told him the case. The ram replied: “Another time,
my dear friend. I do not like to interfere on the present occasion,
as hounds have been known to eat sheep as well as hares.” The Hare
then applied, as a last hope, to the calf, who regretted that he was
unable to help her, as he did not like to take the responsibility
upon himself, as so many older persons than himself had declined the
task. By this time the hounds were quite near, and the Hare took to
her heels and luckily escaped.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“HE THAT HAS MANY FRIENDS, HAS NO FRIENDS.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Lion in Love </b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
LION once fell in love with a beautiful maiden and proposed marriage
to her parents. The old people did not know what to say. They did not
like to give their daughter to the Lion, yet they did not wish to
enrage the King of Beasts. At last the father said: “We feel highly
honoured by your Majesty’s proposal, but you see our daughter is a
tender young thing, and we fear that in the vehemence of your
affection you might possibly do her some injury. Might I venture to
suggest that your Majesty should have your claws removed, and your
teeth extracted, then we would gladly consider your proposal again.”
The Lion was so much in love that he had his claws trimmed and his
big teeth taken out. But when he came again to the parents of the
young girl they simply laughed in his face, and bade him do his
worst.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“LOVE CAN TAME THE WILDEST.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Bundle of Sticks</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AN
OLD man on the point of death summoned his sons around him to give
them some parting advice. He ordered his servants to bring in a
faggot of sticks, and said to his eldest son: “Break it.” The son
strained and strained, but with all his efforts was unable to break
the Bundle. The other sons also tried, but none of them was
successful. “Untie the faggots,” said the father, “and each of
you take a stick.” When they had done so, he called out to them:
“Now, break,” and each stick was easily broken. “You see my
meaning,” said their father.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“UNION GIVES STRENGTH.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Lion, the Fox
and the Beasts</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
THE
LION once gave out that he was sick unto death and summoned the
animals to come and hear his last Will and Testament. So the Goat
came to the Lion’s cave, and stopped there listening for a long
time. Then a Sheep went in, and before she came out a Calf came up to
receive the last wishes of the Lord of the Beasts. But soon the Lion
seemed to recover, and came to the mouth of his cave, and saw the
Fox, who had been waiting outside for some time. “Why do you not
come to pay your respects to me?” said the Lion to the Fox. </div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I beg your Majesty’s pardon,” said the Fox, “but I noticed
the track of the animals that have already come to you; and while I
see many hoof-marks going in, I see none coming out. Till the animals
that have entered your cave come out again I prefer to remain in the
open air.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“IT IS EASIER TO GET INTO THE ENEMY’S TOILS THAN OUT
AGAIN.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Ass' Brains</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
THE
LION and the Fox went hunting together. The Lion, on the advice of
the Fox, sent a message to the Ass, proposing to make an alliance
between their two families. The Ass came to the place of meeting,
overjoyed at the prospect of a royal alliance. But when he came there
the Lion simply pounced on the Ass, and said to the Fox: “Here is
our dinner for today. Watch you here while I go and have a nap. Woe
betide you if you touch my prey.” The Lion went away and the Fox
waited; but finding that his master did not return, ventured to take
out the brains of the Ass and ate them up. When the Lion came back he
soon noticed the absence of the brains, and asked the Fox in a
terrible voice: “What have you done with the brains?”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Brains, your Majesty! it had none, or it would never have fallen
into your trap.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WIT HAS ALWAYS AN ANSWER READY.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Eagle and the
Arrow</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AN
EAGLE was soaring through the air when suddenly it heard the whizz of
an Arrow, and felt itself wounded to death. Slowly it fluttered down
to the earth, with its life-blood pouring out of it. Looking down
upon the Arrow with which it had been pierced, it found that the haft
of the Arrow had been feathered with one of its own plumes. “Alas!”
it cried, as it died,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WE OFTEN GIVE OUR ENEMIES THE MEANS FOR OUR OWN
DESTRUCTION.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Milkmaid and her
Pail</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
PATTY
the Milkmaid was going to market carrying her milk in a Pail on her
head. As she went along she began calculating what she would do with
the money she would get for the milk. “I’ll buy some fowls from
Farmer Brown,” said she, “and they will lay eggs each morning,
which I will sell to the parson’s wife. With the money that I get
from the sale of these eggs I’ll buy myself a new dimity frock and
a chip hat; and when I go to market, won’t all the young men come
up and speak to me! Polly Shaw will be that jealous; but I don’t
care. I shall just look at her and toss my head like this.” As she
spoke she tossed her head back, the Pail fell off it, and all the
milk was spilt. So she had to go home and tell her mother what had
occurred.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Ah, my child,” said the mother,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“DO NOT COUNT YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY ARE HATCHED.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Cat-Maiden</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
THE
GODS were once disputing whether it was possible for a living being
to change its nature. Jupiter said “Yes,” but Venus said “No.”
So, to try the question, Jupiter turned a Cat into a Maiden, and gave
her to a young man for a wife. The wedding was duly performed and the
young couple sat down to the wedding feast. “See,” said Jupiter,
to Venus, “how becomingly she behaves. Who could tell that
yesterday she was but a Cat? Surely her nature is changed?” 1</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Wait a minute,” replied Venus, and let loose a mouse into the
room. No sooner did the bride see this than she jumped up from her
seat and tried to pounce upon the mouse. “Ah, you see,” said
Venus,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“NATURE WILL OUT.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Horse and the
Ass </b>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
HORSE and an Ass were travelling together, the Horse prancing along
in its fine trappings, the Ass carrying with difficulty the heavy
weight in its panniers. “I wish I were you,” sighed the Ass;
“nothing to do and well fed, and all that fine harness upon you.”
Next day, however, there was a great battle, and the Horse was
wounded to death in the final charge of the day. His friend, the Ass,
happened to pass by shortly afterwards and found him on the point of
death. “I was wrong,” said the Ass:</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“BETTER HUMBLE SECURITY THAN GILDED DANGER.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Trumpeter Taken
Prisoner</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
TRUMPETER during a battle ventured too near the enemy and was
captured by them. They were about to proceed to put him to death when
he begged them to hear his plea for mercy. “I do not fight.” said
he, “and indeed carry no weapon; I only blow this trumpet, and
surely that cannot harm you; then why should you kill me?” 1</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“You may not fight yourself,” said the others, “but you
encourage and guide your men to the fight.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WORDS MAY BE DEEDS.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Buffoon and the
Countryman</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AT
a country fair there was a Buffoon who made all the people laugh by
imitating the cries of various animals. He finished off by squeaking
so like a pig that the spectators thought that he had a porker
concealed about him. But a Countryman who stood by said: “Call that
a pig’s squeak! Nothing like it. You give me till tomorrow and I
will show you what it’s like.” The audience laughed, but next
day, sure enough, the Countryman appeared on the stage, and putting
his head down squealed so hideously that the spectators hissed and
threw stones at him to make him stop. “You fools!” he cried, “see
what you have been hissing,” and held up a little pig whose ear he
had been pinching to make him utter the squeals.</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“MEN OFTEN APPLAUD AN IMITATION AND HISS THE REAL THING.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Old Woman and
the Wine-Jar</b></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
YOU
must know that sometimes old women like a glass of wine. One of this
sort once found a Wine-Jar lying in the road, and eagerly went up to
it hoping to find it full. But when she took it up she found that all
the wine had been drunk out of it. Still she took a long sniff at the
mouth of the Jar. “Ah,” she cried,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“WHAT MEMORIES CLING ’ROUND THE INSTRUMENTS OF OUR
PLEASURE.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>The Fox and the Goat</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
BY
an unlucky chance a Fox fell into a deep well from which he could not
get out. A Goat passed by shortly afterwards, and asked the Fox what
he was doing down there. “Oh, have you not heard?” said the Fox;
“there is going to be a great drought, so I jumped down here in
order to be sure to have water by me. Why don’t you come down too?”
The Goat thought well of this advice, and jumped down into the well.
But the Fox immediately jumped on her back, and by putting his foot
on her long horns managed to jump up to the edge of the well.
“Good-bye, friend,” said the Fox, “remember next time,</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“NEVER TRUST THE ADVICE OF A MAN IN DIFFICULTIES.”</div>
<div class="western" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And this is the end of Æsop’s Fables. HURRAH!</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-5879525488961266142021-01-15T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-15T00:00:10.588-08:00"The Moving Finger Writes"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lIVGQt7Uh8GUmmGK8wSvsRypKh0MbKk_49HOVFgh0xjKRVrA8xb71KttBd5mxkI7CdM8t9ryZOFB7p91vYxKdrznog6koXbuXm-pe7lu3z1shWTplZF7WAczorPoqxr-VTyTnbaT7vjV/s1600/Edward_FitzGerald.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lIVGQt7Uh8GUmmGK8wSvsRypKh0MbKk_49HOVFgh0xjKRVrA8xb71KttBd5mxkI7CdM8t9ryZOFB7p91vYxKdrznog6koXbuXm-pe7lu3z1shWTplZF7WAczorPoqxr-VTyTnbaT7vjV/s1600/Edward_FitzGerald.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Edward_FitzGerald.jpg" target="_blank">Edward Fitzgerald</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Edward Fitzgerald (1809–1883), <i>"Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam" </i></b><br />
<br />
<i>Omar Khayyam laughed and enjoyed the good things of life. His "Rubaiyat," the most popular philosophic poem, is the best of all books to dip into for an alluring thought.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I<br />
<br />
WAKE! For the Sun behind yon Eastern height<br />
Has chased the Session of the Stars from Night;<br />
And to the field of Heav’n ascending, strikes<br />
The Sulta´n’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.<br />
<br />
II<br />
<br />
Before the phantom of False morning died,<br />
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,<br />
“When all the Temple is prepared within,<br />
Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?”<br />
<br />
III<br />
<br />
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before<br />
The Tavern shouted—“Open then the Door!<br />
You know how little while we have to stay,<br />
And, once departed, may return no more.”<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
IV<br />
<br />
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,<br />
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,<br />
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough<br />
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.<br />
<br />
V<br />
<br />
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,<br />
And Jamshy´d’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows;<br />
But still a Ruby gushes from the Vine,<br />
And many a Garden by the Water blows.<br />
<br />
VI<br />
<br />
And David’s lips are lockt; but in divine<br />
High-piping Pe´hlevi, with “Wine! Wine! Wine!<br />
Red Wine!”—the Nightingale cries to the Rose<br />
That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine.<br />
<br />
VII<br />
<br />
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring<br />
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:<br />
The Bird of Time has but a little way<br />
To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.<br />
<br />
VIII<br />
<br />
Whether at Naisha´pu´r or Babylon,<br />
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,<br />
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,<br />
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.<br />
<br />
IX<br />
<br />
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;<br />
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?<br />
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose<br />
Shall take Jamshy´d and Kaikoba´d away.<br />
<br />
X<br />
<br />
Well, let it take them! What have we to do<br />
With Kaikoba´d the Great, or Kaikhosru´?<br />
Let Rustum cry “To Battle!” as he likes,<br />
Or Ha´tim Tai “To supper!”—heed not you.<br />
<br />
XI<br />
<br />
With me along the strip of Herbage strown<br />
That just divides the desert from the sown,<br />
Where name of Slave and Sulta´n is forgot—<br />
And Peace to Ma´hmu´d on his golden Throne!<br />
<br />
XII<br />
<br />
Here with a little Bread beneath the Bough,<br />
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou<br />
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—<br />
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!<br />
<br />
XIII<br />
<br />
Some for the Glories of This World; and some<br />
Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come;<br />
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,<br />
Nor heed the music of a distant Drum!<br />
<br />
XIV<br />
<br />
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin<br />
The Thread of present Life away to win—<br />
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall<br />
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!<br />
<br />
XV<br />
<br />
Look to the blowing Rose about us—“Lo,<br />
Laughing,” she says, “into the world I blow,<br />
At once the silken tassel of my Purse<br />
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.”<br />
<br />
XVI<br />
<br />
For those who husbanded the Golden grain,<br />
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,<br />
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn’d<br />
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.<br />
<br />
XVII<br />
<br />
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon<br />
Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,<br />
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face,<br />
Lighting a little hour or two—was gone.<br />
<br />
XVIII<br />
<br />
Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai<br />
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,<br />
How Sulta´n after Sulta´n with his Pomp<br />
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.<br />
<br />
XIX<br />
<br />
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep<br />
The Courts where Jamshy´d gloried and drank deep:<br />
And Bahra´m, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass<br />
Stamps o’er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.<br />
<br />
XX<br />
<br />
The Palace that to Heav’n his pillars threw,<br />
And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew—<br />
I saw the solitary Ringdove there,<br />
And “Coo, coo, coo,” she cried; and “Coo, coo, coo.”<br />
<br />
XXI<br />
<br />
Ah, my Belove´d, fill the Cup that clears<br />
TO-DAY of past Regret and Future Fears:<br />
To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be<br />
Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand Years.<br />
<br />
XXII<br />
<br />
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best<br />
That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest,<br />
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,<br />
And one by one crept silently to rest.<br />
<br />
XXIII<br />
<br />
And we, that now make merry in the Room<br />
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,<br />
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth<br />
Descend—ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?<br />
<br />
XXIV<br />
<br />
I sometimes think that never blows so red<br />
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;<br />
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears<br />
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.<br />
<br />
XXV<br />
<br />
And this delightful Herb whose living Green<br />
Fledges the River’s Lip on which we lean—<br />
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows<br />
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!<br />
<br />
XXVI<br />
<br />
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,<br />
Before we too into the Dust descend;<br />
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie<br />
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!<br />
<br />
XXVII<br />
<br />
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,<br />
And those that after some TO-MORROW stare,<br />
A Muezzi´n from the Tower of Darkness cries,<br />
“Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!”<br />
<br />
XXVIII<br />
<br />
Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,<br />
“The Flower should open with the Morning skies.”<br />
And a retreating Whisper, as I wake—<br />
“The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”<br />
<br />
XXIX<br />
<br />
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d<br />
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly are thrust<br />
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn<br />
Are scatter’d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.<br />
<br />
XXX<br />
<br />
Myself when young did eagerly frequent<br />
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument<br />
About it and about: but evermore<br />
Came out by the same door as in I went.<br />
<br />
XXXI<br />
<br />
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,<br />
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;<br />
And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d—<br />
“I came like Water, and like Wind I go.”<br />
<br />
XXXII<br />
<br />
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing<br />
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;<br />
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,<br />
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.<br />
<br />
XXXIII<br />
<br />
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?<br />
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!<br />
Ah, contrite Heav’n endowed us with the Vine<br />
To drug the memory of that insolence!<br />
<br />
XXXIV<br />
<br />
Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate<br />
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;<br />
And many Knots unravel’d by the Road;<br />
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.<br />
<br />
XXXV<br />
<br />
There was the Door to which I found no Key:<br />
There was the Veil through which I could not see:<br />
Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE<br />
There was—and then no more of THEE and ME.<br />
<br />
XXXVI<br />
<br />
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn<br />
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;<br />
Nor Heaven, with those eternal Signs reveal’d<br />
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.<br />
<br />
XXXVII<br />
<br />
Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind<br />
The Veil of Universe I cried to find<br />
A Lamp to guide me through the Darkness; and<br />
Something then said—“An Understanding blind.”<br />
<br />
XXXVIII<br />
<br />
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn<br />
I lean’d, the secret Well of Life to learn:<br />
And Lip to Lip it murmur’d—“While you live,<br />
Drink!—for, once dead, you never shall return.”<br />
<br />
XXXIX<br />
<br />
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive<br />
Articulation answer’d, once did live,<br />
And drink; and that impassive Lip I kiss’d,<br />
How many Kisses might it take—and give!<br />
<br />
XL<br />
<br />
For I remember stopping by the way<br />
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:<br />
And with its all-obliterated Tongue<br />
It murmur’d—“Gently, Brother, gently, pray!”<br />
<br />
XLI<br />
<br />
For has not such a Story from of Old<br />
Down Man’s successive generations roll’d<br />
Of such a clod of saturated Earth<br />
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?<br />
<br />
XLII<br />
<br />
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw<br />
On the parcht herbage, but may steal below<br />
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye<br />
There hidden—far beneath, and long ago.<br />
<br />
XLIII<br />
<br />
As then the Tulip for her wonted sup<br />
Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up,<br />
Do you, twin offspring of the soil, till Heav’n<br />
To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.<br />
<br />
XLIV<br />
<br />
Do you, within your little hour of Grace,<br />
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,<br />
Before the Mother back into her arms<br />
Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.<br />
<br />
XLV<br />
<br />
And if the Cup you drink, the Lip you press,<br />
End in what All begins and ends in—Yes;<br />
Imagine then you are what heretofore<br />
You were—hereafter you shall not be less.<br />
<br />
XLVI<br />
<br />
So when at last the Angel of the Drink<br />
Of Darkness finds you by the river-brink,<br />
And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul<br />
Forth to your Lips to quaff it—do not shrink.<br />
<br />
XLVII<br />
<br />
And fear not lest Existence closing your<br />
Account, should lose, or know the type no more;<br />
The Eternal Sa´kì from that Bowl has pour’d<br />
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.<br />
<br />
XLVIII<br />
<br />
When You and I behind the Veil are past,<br />
Oh, but the long long while the World shall last,<br />
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds<br />
As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.<br />
<br />
XLIX<br />
<br />
One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,<br />
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—<br />
The Stars are setting, and the Caravan<br />
Draws to the Dawn of Nothing—Oh make haste.<br />
<br />
L<br />
<br />
Would you that spangle of Existence spend<br />
About THE SECRET—quick about it, Friend!<br />
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True—<br />
And upon what, prithee, does Life depend?<br />
<br />
LI<br />
<br />
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True;<br />
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue—<br />
Could you but find it—to the Treasure-house,<br />
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;<br />
<br />
LII<br />
<br />
Whose secret Presence, through Creation’s veins<br />
Running, Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;<br />
Taking all shapes from Ma´h to Ma´hi; and<br />
They change and perish all-but He remains;<br />
<br />
LIII<br />
<br />
A moment guess’d—then back behind the Fold<br />
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll’d<br />
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,<br />
He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.<br />
<br />
LIV<br />
<br />
But it in vain, down on the stubborn floor<br />
Of Earth, and up to Heav’n’s unopening Door,<br />
You gaze TO-DAY, while You are YOU—how then<br />
TO-MORROW, You when shall be You no more?<br />
<br />
LV<br />
<br />
Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,<br />
To-morrow’s tangle to itself resign,<br />
And lose your fingers in the tresses of<br />
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.<br />
<br />
LVI<br />
<br />
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit<br />
Of This and That endeavour and dispute;<br />
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape<br />
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.<br />
<br />
LVII<br />
<br />
You know, my Friends, how bravely in my House<br />
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse;<br />
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,<br />
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.<br />
<br />
LVIII<br />
<br />
For “IS” and “IS-NOT” though with Rule and Line<br />
And “UP-AND-DOWN” by Logic I define,<br />
Of all that one should care to fathom, I<br />
Was never deep in anything but—Wine.<br />
<br />
LIX<br />
<br />
Ah, but my Computations, People say,<br />
Have squared the Year to human compass, eh?<br />
If so, by striking from the Calendar<br />
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.<br />
<br />
LX<br />
<br />
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,<br />
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape<br />
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and<br />
He bid me taste of it; and ’twas—the Grape!<br />
<br />
LXI<br />
<br />
The Grape that can with Logic absolute<br />
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:<br />
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice<br />
Life’s leaden metal into Gold transmute:<br />
<br />
LXII<br />
<br />
The mighty Mahmu´d, Allah-breathing Lord,<br />
That all the misbelieving and black Horde<br />
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul<br />
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.<br />
<br />
LXIII<br />
<br />
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare<br />
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?<br />
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?<br />
And if a Curse—why, then, Who set it there?<br />
<br />
LXIV<br />
<br />
I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,<br />
Scared by some After-reckoning ta’en on trust,<br />
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,<br />
When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!<br />
<br />
LXV<br />
<br />
If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band<br />
Are in the Prophet’s Paradise to stand,<br />
Alack, I doubt the Prophet’s Paradise<br />
Were empty as the hollow of one’s Hand.<br />
<br />
LXVI<br />
<br />
Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!<br />
One thing at least is certain—This Life flies;<br />
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;<br />
The Flower that once is blown for ever dies.<br />
<br />
LXVII<br />
<br />
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who<br />
Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through,<br />
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,<br />
Which to discover we must travel too.<br />
<br />
LXVIII<br />
<br />
The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d<br />
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d,<br />
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep<br />
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return’d.<br />
<br />
LXIX<br />
<br />
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,<br />
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,<br />
Is’t not a Shame—is’t not a Shame for him<br />
So long in this Clay Suburb to abide?<br />
<br />
LXX<br />
<br />
But that is but a Tent wherein may rest<br />
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;<br />
The Sulta´n rises, and the dark Ferra´sh<br />
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.<br />
<br />
LXXI<br />
<br />
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,<br />
Some letter of that After-life to spell:<br />
And after many days my Soul return’d,<br />
And said, “Behold, Myself am Heav’n and Hell:”<br />
<br />
LXXII<br />
<br />
Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire,<br />
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,<br />
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,<br />
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.<br />
<br />
LXXIII<br />
<br />
We are no other than a moving row<br />
Of visionary Shapes that come and go<br />
Round with this Sun-illumin’d Lantern held<br />
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;<br />
<br />
LXXIV<br />
<br />
Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays<br />
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;<br />
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,<br />
And one by one back in the Closet lays.<br />
<br />
LXXV<br />
<br />
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,<br />
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;<br />
And He that toss’d you down into the Field,<br />
He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows!<br />
<br />
LXXVI<br />
<br />
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,<br />
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit<br />
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,<br />
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.<br />
<br />
LXXVII<br />
<br />
For let Philosopher and Doctor preach<br />
Of what they will, and what they will not—each<br />
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain<br />
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.<br />
<br />
LXXVIII<br />
<br />
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,<br />
Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die,<br />
Lift not your hands to It for help—for It<br />
As impotently rolls as you or I.<br />
<br />
LXXIX<br />
<br />
With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man knead,<br />
And there of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed:<br />
And the first Morning of Creation wrote<br />
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.<br />
<br />
LXXX<br />
<br />
YESTERDAY This Day’s Madness did prepare;<br />
TO-MORROW’S Silence, Triumph, or Despair:<br />
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:<br />
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.<br />
<br />
LXXXI<br />
<br />
I tell you this—When, started from the Goal,<br />
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal<br />
Of Heav’n Parwi´n and Mushtari they flung,<br />
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.<br />
<br />
LXXXII<br />
<br />
The Vine had struck a fibre: which about<br />
If clings my being—let the Dervish flout;<br />
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,<br />
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.<br />
<br />
LXXXIII<br />
<br />
And this I know: whether the one True Light<br />
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,<br />
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught<br />
Better than in the Temple lost outright.<br />
<br />
LXXXIV<br />
<br />
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke<br />
A conscious Something to resent the yoke<br />
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain<br />
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!<br />
<br />
LXXXV<br />
<br />
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid<br />
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay’d<br />
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,<br />
And cannot answer—Oh the sorry trade!<br />
<br />
LXXXVI<br />
<br />
Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,<br />
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;<br />
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but<br />
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.<br />
<br />
LXXXVII<br />
<br />
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin<br />
Beset the Road I was to wander in,<br />
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round<br />
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!<br />
<br />
LXXXVIII<br />
<br />
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,<br />
And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake:<br />
For all the Sin the Face of wretched Man<br />
Is black with—Man’s Forgiveness give—and take!<br />
<br />
LXXXIX<br />
<br />
As under cover of departing Day<br />
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramaza´n away,<br />
Once more within the Potter’s house alone<br />
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.<br />
<br />
XC<br />
<br />
And once again there gather’d a scarce heard<br />
Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr’d<br />
Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,<br />
Which mine ear kindled into living Word.<br />
<br />
XCI<br />
<br />
Said one among them—“Surely not in vain<br />
My substance from the common Earth was ta’en<br />
That he who subtly wrought me into Shape<br />
Should stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?”<br />
<br />
XCII<br />
<br />
Another said—“Why, ne’er a peevish Boy<br />
Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;<br />
Shall He that of His own free Fancy made<br />
The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!”<br />
<br />
XCIII<br />
<br />
None answer’d this; but after silence spake<br />
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;<br />
“They sneer at me for leaning all awry:<br />
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?”<br />
<br />
XCIV<br />
<br />
Thus with the Dead as with the Living, What?<br />
And Why? so ready, but the Wherefor not,<br />
One on a sudden peevishly exclaim’d,<br />
“Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?”<br />
<br />
XCV<br />
<br />
Said one—“Folks of a surly Master tell,<br />
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;<br />
They talk of some sharp Trial of us—Pish!<br />
He’s a Good Fellow, and ’twill all be well.”<br />
<br />
XCVI<br />
<br />
“Well,” said another, “Whoso will, let try,<br />
My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:<br />
But fill me with the old familiar Juice,<br />
Methinks I might recover by and by.”<br />
<br />
XCVII<br />
<br />
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,<br />
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:<br />
And then they jogg’d each other, “Brother! Brother!<br />
Now for the Porter’s shoulder-knot a-creaking!”<br />
<br />
XCVIII<br />
<br />
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,<br />
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,<br />
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,<br />
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.<br />
<br />
XCIX<br />
<br />
Whither resorting from the vernal Heat<br />
Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,<br />
Under the Branch that leans above the Wall<br />
To shed his Blossom over head and feet.<br />
<br />
C<br />
<br />
Then ev’n my buried Ashes such a snare<br />
Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air<br />
As not a True-believer passing by<br />
But shall be overtaken unaware.<br />
<br />
CI<br />
<br />
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long<br />
Have done my credit in Men’s eyes much wrong:<br />
Have drown’d my Glory in a shallow Cup<br />
And sold my Reputation for a Song.<br />
<br />
CII<br />
<br />
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before<br />
I swore—but was I sober when I swore?<br />
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand<br />
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.<br />
<br />
CIII<br />
<br />
And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel,<br />
And robb’d me of my Robe of Honour—Well,<br />
I often wonder what the Vintners buy<br />
One half so precious as the ware they sell.<br />
<br />
CIV<br />
<br />
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!<br />
That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!<br />
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,<br />
Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!<br />
<br />
CV<br />
<br />
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield<br />
One glimpse—if dimly, yet indeed, reveal’d,<br />
Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring,<br />
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!<br />
<br />
CVI<br />
<br />
Oh if the World were but to re-create,<br />
That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate,<br />
And make The Writer on a fairer leaf<br />
Inscribe our names, or quite obliterate!<br />
<br />
CVII<br />
<br />
Better, oh better, cancel from the Scroll<br />
Of Universe one luckless Human Soul,<br />
Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls<br />
Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages roll.<br />
<br />
CVIII<br />
<br />
Ah Love! could you and I with Fate conspire<br />
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,<br />
Would not we shatter it to bits—and then<br />
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!<br />
<br />
CIX<br />
<br />
But see! The rising Moon of Heav’n again<br />
Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane:<br />
How oft hereafter rising will she look<br />
Among those leaves—for one of us in vain!<br />
<br />
CX<br />
<br />
And when Yourself with silver Foot shall pass<br />
Among the Guests Star-scatter’d on the Grass,<br />
And in your joyous errand reach the spot<br />
Where I made One—turn down an empty Glass!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-76882793026563972742021-01-14T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-14T00:00:08.958-08:00The First Step Toward Independence<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<i><b>Fundamental
Orders of Connecticut,</b></i><b> adopted Jan. 14, 1639</b></div>
<b><br /></b>
<br />
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<i>The Fundamental
Orders of Connecticut is "the first written constitution as a
permanent limitation on governmental power, known in history."
It is the work of the Connecticut Yankee.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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[These “Orders”
were adopted by a popular convention of the three towns of Windsor,
Hartford, and Wethersfield, on January 14, 1639. They form, according
to historians, “the first written constitution, in the modern sense
of the term, as a permanent limitation on governmental power, known
in history, and certainly the first American constitution of
government to embody the democratic idea.”]</div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
FORASMUCH as it
hath pleased the Almighty God by the wise disposition of his divine
providence so to Order and dispose of things that we the Inhabitants
and Residents of Windsor, Harteford and Wethersfield are now
cohabiting and dwelling in and upon the River of Connecticut and the
Lands thereunto adjoining; And well knowing where a people are
gathered together the word of God requires that to maintain the peace
and union of such a people there should be an orderly and decent
Government established according to God, to order and dispose of the
affrays of the people at all seasons as occasion shall require; do
therefore associate and connive ourselves to be as one Public State
or Commonwealth; and do, for ourselves and our Successors and such as
shall be adjoined to us at any time hereafter, enter into Combination
and Confederation to gather, to maintain and pressure the liberty and
purity of the gospel of our Lord Jesus which we now profess, as also
the discipline of the Churches, which according to the truth of the
said gospel is now practised amongst vs; As also in our Civil Affairs
to be guided and governed according to such Laws, Rules, Orders and
decrees as shall be made, ordered & decreed, as followeth:—</div>
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</div>
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<br />
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</div>
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1. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that there shall be yearly two general
Assemblies or Courts, the on the second thursday in April, the other
the second thursday in September, following; the first shall be
called the Court of Election, wherein shall be yearly Chosen from
time to time so many Magistrates and other public Officers as shall
be found requisite: Whereof one to be chosen Governor for the year
ensuing and until another be chosen, and no other Magistrate to be
chosen for more than one year; provided always there be six chosen
besides the Governor; which being chosen and sworn according to an
Oath recorded for that purpose shall have power to administer justice
according to the Laws here established, and for want thereof
according to the rule of the word of God; which chose shall be made
by all that are admitted freemen and have taken the Oath of Fidelity,
and doe cohabit within this Jurisdiction, (having been admitted
Inhabitants by the major part of the Town wherein they lieu,) or the
mayor party of such as shall be then present.</div>
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<br /></div>
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2. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that the Election of the aforesaid Magistrate
shall be on this manner: every person present and qualified for
choose shall bring in (to the persons deputed to receive them) one
single paper with the name of him written in at whom he desires to
have Governor, and he that hath the greatest number of papers shall
be Governor for that year. And the rest of the Magistrates or public
Officers to be chosen in this manner: The Secretary for the time
being shall first read the names of all that are to be put to choose
and then shall severally nominate them distinctly, and every one that
would have the person nominated to be chosen shall bring in one
single paper written upon, and he that would not have him chosen
shall bring in a blank: and every one that hath more written papers
then blanks shall be a Magistrate for that year; which papers shall
be received and told by one or more that shall be then chosen by the
court and sworn to be faithful therein; but in case there should not
be six chosen as aforesaid, besides the Governor, out of those which
are nominated, then he or they which have the most written papers
shall be a Magistrate or Magistrates for the ensuing year, to make up
the foresaid number.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
3. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that the Secretary shall not nominate any
person, nor shall any person be chosen newly into the Magistracy
which was not propounded in some General Court before, to be
nominated the next Election; and to that end at shall be lawful for
each of the Towns aforesaid by their deputies to nominate any two
whom they conceive fitte to be put to election; and the Court may ad
so many more as they judge requisite.</div>
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<br /></div>
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4. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed that no person be chosen Governor above once in
two years, and that the Governor be always a member of some approved
congregation, and formerly of the Magistracy within this
Jurisdiction; and all the Magistrates Freemen of this Commonwealth:
and that no Magistrate or other public officer shall execute any
party of his or their Office before they are severally sworn, which
shall be done in the face of the Court if they be present, and in
case of absence by some deputed for that purpose.</div>
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<br /></div>
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5. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that to the aforesaid Court of Election the
several Towns shall send their deputies, and when the Elections are
ended they may proceed in any public service as at other Courts. Also
the other General Court in September shall be for making of laws, and
any other public occasion, which concerns the good of the
Commonwealth.</div>
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<br /></div>
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6. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that the Governor shall, ether by himself or
by the secretary, send out summons to the Constables of every Town
for the calling of these two standing Courts, on month at lest before
their several times: And also if the Governor and the greatest party
of the Magistrates see cause upon any special occasion to call a
general Court, they may give order to the secretary so to do within
fourteen days warning; and if urgent necessity so require, upon a
shorter notice, giving sufficient grounds for at to the deputies when
they meet, or else be questioned for the same; And if the Governor
and Mayor party of Magistrates shall ether neglect or refuse to call
the two General standing Courts or ether of them, as also at other
times when the occasions of the Commonwealth require, the Freemen
thereof, or the Mayor party of them, shall petition to them so to do:
if then at be ether denied or neglected the said Freemen or the Mayor
party of them shall have power to give order to the Constables of the
several Towns to doe the same, and so may meet to gather, and chose
to themselves a Moderator, and may proceed to do any Act of power,
which any other General Court may.</div>
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<br /></div>
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7. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed that after there are warrants given out for any
of the said General Courts, the Constable or Constables of each Town
shall forthwith give notice distinctly to the inhabitants of the
same, in some Public Assembly or by going or sending from house to
house, that at a place and time by him or them limited and set, they
meet and assemble themselves to gather to elect and chose certain
deputies to be at the General Court then following to agitate the
affrays of the commonwealth; which said Deputies shall be chosen by
all that are admitted Inhabitants in the several Towns and have taken
the oath of fidelity; provided that non be chosen a Deputy for any
General Court which is not a Freeman of this Commonwealth.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The foresaid
deputies shall be chosen in manner following: every person that is
present and qualified as before expressed, shall bring the names of
such, written in several papers, as they desire to have chosen for
that Employment, and these 3 or 4, more or less, being the number
agreed on to be chosen for that time, that have greatest number of
papers written for them shall be deputies for that Court; whose names
shall be endorsed on the back side of the warrant and returned into
the Court, with the Constable or Constables hand unto the same.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
8. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that Wyndsor, Hartford and Wethersfield shall
have power each Town, to send power of their freemen as deputies to
every General Court; and whatsoever other Towns shall be hereafter
added to this Jurisdiction, they shall send so many deputies as the
Court shall judge meet, a reasonable proportion to the number of
Freemen that are in the said Towns being to be attended therein;
which deputies shall have the power of the whole Town to give their
boats and allowance to all such laws and orders as may be for the
public good, and unto which the said Towns are to be bound.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
9. It is ordered
and decreed, that the deputies thus chosen shall have power and
liberty to appoint a time and a place of meeting to gather before any
General Court to advise and consult of all such things as may concern
the good of the public, as also to examine their own Elections,
whether according to the order, and if they or the greatest party of
them find any election to be illegal they may seclude such for
present from their meeting, and return the same and their reasons to
the Court; and if at prove true, the Court may fine the party or
parties so intruding and the Town, if they see cause, and give out a
warrant to go to a new election in a legal way, either in party or in
whole. Also the said deputies shall have power to fine any that shall
be disorderly at their meetings, or for not coming in due time or
place according to appointment; and they may return the said fines
into the Court if at be refused to be paid, and the treasurer to take
notice of at, and to estreet or levy the same as he doth other fines.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
10. It is Ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that every General Court, except such as
through neglect of the Governor and the greatest party of Magistrates
the Freemen themselves doe call, shall consist of the Governor, or
some one chosen to moderate the Court, and 4 other Magistrates at
least, with the mayor part of the deputies of the several Towns
legally chosen; and in case the Freemen or mayor party of them,
through neglect or refusal of the Governor and major party of the
magistrates, shall call a Court, at shall consist of the mayor party
of Freemen that are present or their deputies, with a Moderator
chosen by them: In which said General Courts shall consist the
supreme power of the Commonwealth, and they only shall have power to
make laws or repeal them, to grant levys, to admit of Freemen,
dispose of lands undisposed of, to several Towns or persons, and also
shall have power to call ether Court or Magistrate or any other
person whatsoever into question for any misdemeanor, and may for just
causes displace or deal otherwise according to the nature of the
offence; and also may deal in any other matter that concerns the good
of this commonwealth, except election of Magistrates, which shall be
done by the whole body of Freemen.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In which Court the
Governor or Moderator shall have power to order the Court to give
liberty of speech, and silence unreasonable and disorderly speakings,
to put all things to vote, and in case the vote be equal to have the
casting voice. But non of these Courts shall be adorned or dissolved
without the consent of the mayor party of the Court.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
11. It is ordered,
sentenced and decreed, that when any General Court upon the occasions
of the Commonwealth have agreed upon any some or somes of money to be
levied upon the several Towns within this Jurisdiction, that a
Committee be chosen to set out and appoint what shall be the
proportion of every Town to pay of the said levy, provided the
Committees be made up of an equal number out of each Town.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
14th January, 1638,
the 11 Orders abovesaid are voted.</div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Oath of the
Governor, for the [Present.]</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I, N.W. being now
chosen to be Governor within this Jurisdiction, for the year ensuing,
and until a new be chosen, do swear by the great and dreadful name of
the everliving God, to promote the public good and peace of the same,
according to the best of my skill; as also will maintain all lawful
privileges of this Commonwealth; as also that all wholesome laws that
are or shall be made by lawful authority here established, be duly
executed; and will further the execution of Justice according to the
rule of Gods word; so help me God, in the name of the Lo: Jesus
Christ.</div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Oath of a
Magistrate, for the present.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I, N.W. being
chosen a Magistrate within this Jurisdiction for the year ensuing, do
swear by the great and dreadful name of the everliving God, to
promote the public good and peace of the same, according to the best
of my skill, and that I will maintain all the lawful privileges
thereof, according to my understanding, as also assist in the
execution of all such wholesome laws as are made or shall be made by
lawful authority hear established, and will further the execution of
Justice for the time aforesaid according to the righteous rule of
Gods word; so help me God, etc.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-92221796405649052522021-01-13T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-13T00:00:05.701-08:00Rousseau Seeks Sanctuary in England<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf05HYfOGc759qcDsluaf4ia4V9K412LyEnic6Gqc-E65yODEud97-A4zd1Ehx4Ap2d6QGKafDcBZmD6ln4qa7tNbB42k3ATmdwgUPVVikaTu-VrbpRSmSe95hUGvhr2KItAJ5jqlqZYr/s1600/Jean-Jacques_Rousseau_(painted_portrait).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf05HYfOGc759qcDsluaf4ia4V9K412LyEnic6Gqc-E65yODEud97-A4zd1Ehx4Ap2d6QGKafDcBZmD6ln4qa7tNbB42k3ATmdwgUPVVikaTu-VrbpRSmSe95hUGvhr2KItAJ5jqlqZYr/s320/Jean-Jacques_Rousseau_(painted_portrait).jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Jean-Jacques_Rousseau_(painted_portrait).jpg" target="_blank">Jean Jacques Rousseau</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Jean Jacques
Rousseau (1712–1778). </b><i><b>On the Inequality among Mankind.</b></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>Rousseau taught
that men were not created free and equal. To substantiate his daring
beliefs he traced man's history back to his primitive beginnings. For
his teachings, Rousseau was forced to seek refuge in England.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Political writers
argue in regard to the love of liberty with the same philosophy that
philosophers do in regard to the state of nature; by the things they
see they judge of things very different which they have never seen,
and they attribute to men a natural inclination to slavery, on
account of the patience with which the slaves within their notice
carry the yoke; not reflecting that it is with liberty as with
innocence and virtue, the value of which is not known but by those
who possess them, though the relish for them is lost with the things
themselves. I know the charms of your country, said Brasidas to a
satrap who was comparing the life of the Spartans with that of the
Persepolites; but you can not know the pleasures of mine.</div>
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</div>
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<br />
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As an unbroken
courser erects his mane, paws the ground, and rages at the bare sight
of the bit, while a trained horse patiently suffers both whip and
spur, just so the barbarian will never reach his neck to the yoke
which civilized man carries without murmuring but prefers the most
stormy liberty to a calm subjection. It is not therefore by the
servile disposition of enslaved nations that we must judge of the
natural dispositions of man for or against slavery, but by the
prodigies done by every free people to secure themselves from
oppression. I know that the first are constantly crying up that peace
and tranquillity they enjoy in their irons, and that miserrimam
servitutem pacem appellant: but when I see the others sacrifice
pleasures, peace, riches, power, and even life itself to the
preservation of that single jewel so much slighted by those who have
lost it; when I see free-born animals through a natural abhorrence of
captivity dash their brains out against the bars of their prison;
when I see multitudes of naked savages despise European pleasures and
brave hunger, fire and sword, and death itself to preserve their
independency; I feel that it belongs not to slaves to argue
concerning liberty.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As to paternal
authority, from which several have derived absolute government and
every other mode of society, it is sufficient, without having
recourse to Locke and Sidney, to observe that nothing in the world
differs more from the cruel spirit of despotism, than the gentleness
of that authority, which looks more to the advantage of him who obeys
than to the utility of him who commands; that by the law of nature
the father continues master of his child no longer than the child
stands in need of his assistance; that after that term they become
equal, and that then the son, entirely independent of the father,
owes him no obedience, but only respect. Gratitude is indeed a duty
which we are bound to pay, but which benefactors can not exact.
Instead of saying that civil society is derived from paternal
authority, we should rather say that it is to the former that the
latter owes its principal force: No one individual was acknowledged
as the father of several other individuals, till they settled about
him. The father’s goods, which he can indeed dispose of as he
pleases, are the ties which hold his children to their dependence
upon him, and he may divide his substance among them in proportion as
they shall have deserved his attention by a continual deference to
his commands. Now the subjects of a despotic chief, far from having
any such favour to expect from him, as both themselves and all they
have are his property, or at least are considered by him as such, are
obliged to receive as a favour what he relinquishes to them of their
own property. He does them justice when he strips them; he treats
them with mercy when he suffers them to live. By continuing in this
manner to compare facts with right, we should discover as little
solidity as truth in the voluntary establishment of tyranny; and it
would be a hard matter to prove the validity of a contract which was
binding only on one side, in which one of the parties should stake
everything and the other nothing, and which could turn out to the
prejudice of him alone who had bound himself.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This odious system is
even, at this day, far from being that of wise and good monarchs, and
especially of the kings of France, as may be seen by divers passages
in their edicts, and particularly by that of a celebrated piece
published in 1667 in the name and by the orders of Louis XIV. “Let
it therefore not be said that the sovereign is not subject to the
laws of his realm, since, that he is, is a maxim of the law of
nations which flattery has sometimes attacked, but which good princes
have always defended as the tutelary divinity of their realms. How
much more reasonable is it to say with the sage Plato, that the
perfect happiness of a state consists in the subjects obeying their
prince, the prince obeying the laws, and the laws being equitable and
always directed to the good of the public? I shall not stop to
consider, if, liberty being the most noble faculty of man, it is not
degrading one’s nature, reducing one’s self to the level of
brutes, who are the slaves of instinct, and even offending the author
of one’s being, to renounce without reserve the most precious of
his gifts, and submit to the commission of all the crimes he has
forbid us, merely to gratify a mad or a cruel master; and if this
sublime artist ought to be more irritated at seeing his work
destroyed than at seeing it dishonoured. I shall only ask what right
those, who were not afraid thus to degrade themselves, could have to
subject their dependants to the same ignominy, and renounce, in the
name of their posterity, blessings for which it is not indebted to
their liberality, and without which life itself must appear a burthen
to all those who are worthy to live.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Puffendorf says that,
as we can transfer our property from one to another by contracts and
conventions, we may likewise divest ourselves of our liberty in
favour of other men. This, in my opinion, is a very poor way of
arguing; for, in the first place, the property I cede to another
becomes by such cession a thing quite foreign to me, and the abuse of
which can no way affect me; but it concerns me greatly that my
liberty is not abused, and I can not, without incurring the guilt of
the crimes I may be forced to commit, expose myself to become the
instrument of any. Besides, the right of property being of mere human
convention and institution, every man may dispose as he pleases of
what he possesses: But the case is otherwise with regard to the
essential gifts of nature, such as life and liberty, which every man
is permitted to enjoy, and of which it is doubtful at least whether
any man has a right to divest himself: By giving up the one, we
degrade our being; by giving up the other we annihilate it as much as
it is our power to do so; and as no temporal enjoyments can indemnify
us for the loss of either, it would be at once of fending both nature
and reason to renounce them for any consideration. But though we
could transfer our liberty as we do our substance, the difference
would be very great with regard to our children, who enjoy our
substance but by a cession of our right; whereas liberty being a
blessing, which as men they hold from nature, their parents have no
right to strip them of it; so that as to establish slavery it was
necessary to do violence to nature, so it was necessary to alter
nature to perpetuate such a right; and the jurisconsults, who have
gravely pronounced that the child of a slave comes a slave into the
world, have in other words decided, that a man does not come a man
into the world.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It therefore appears
to me incontestably true, that not only governments did not begin by
arbitrary power, which is but the corruption and extreme term of
government, and at length brings it back to the law of the strongest,
against which governments were at first the remedy, but even that,
allowing they had commenced in this manner, such power being illegal
in itself could never have served as a foundation to the rights of
society, nor of course to the inequality of institution.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I shall not now enter
upon the inquiries which still remain to be made into the nature of
the fundamental pacts of every kind of government, but, following the
common opinion, confine myself in this place to the establishment of
the political body as a real contract between the multitude and the
chiefs elected by it. A contract by which both parties oblige
themselves to the observance of the laws that are therein stipulated,
and form the bands of their union. The multitude having, on occasion
of the social relations between them, concentered all their wills in
one person, all the articles, in regard to which this will explains
itself, become so many fundamental laws, which oblige without
exception all the members of the state, and one of which laws
regulates the choice and the power of the magistrates appointed to
look to the execution of the rest. This power extends to everything
that can maintain the constitution, but extends to nothing that can
alter it. To this power are added honours, that may render the laws
and the ministers of them respectable; and the persons of the
ministers are distinguished by certain prerogatives, which may make
them amends for the great fatigues inseparable from a good
administration. The magistrate, on his side, obliges himself not to
use the power with which he is intrusted but conformably to the
intention of his constituents, to maintain every one of them in the
peaceable possession of his property, and upon all occasions prefer
the good of the public to his own private interest.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Before experience had
demonstrated, or a thorough knowledge of the human heart had pointed
out, the abuses inseparable from such a constitution, it must have
appeared so much the more perfect, as those appointed to look to its
preservation were themselves most concerned therein; for magistracy
and its rights being built solely on the fundamental laws, as soon as
these ceased to exist, the magistrates would cease to be lawful, the
people would no longer be bound to obey them, and, as the essence of
the state did not consist in the magistrates but in the laws, the
members of it would immediately become entitled to their primitive
and natural liberty.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A little reflection
would afford us new arguments in confirmation of this truth, and the
nature of the contract might alone convince us that it can not be
irrevocable: for if there was no superior power capable of
guaranteeing the fidelity of the contracting parties and of obliging
them to fulfil their mutual engagements, they would remain sole
judges in their own cause, and each of them would always have a right
to renounce the contract, as soon as he discovered that the other had
broke the conditions of it, or that these conditions ceased to suit
his private convenience. Upon this principle, the right of abdication
may probably be founded. Now, to consider as we do nothing but what
is human in this institution, if the magistrate, who has all the
power in his own hands, and who appropriates to himself all the
advantages of the contract, has notwithstanding a right to divest
himself of his authority; how much a better right must the people,
who pay for all the faults of its chief, have to renounce their
dependence upon him. But the shocking dissensions and disorders
without number, which would be the necessary consequence of so
dangerous a privilege, show more than anything else how much human
governments stood in need of a more solid basis than that of mere
reason, and how necessary it was for the public tranquillity, that
the will of the Almighty should interpose to give to sovereign
authority, a sacred and inviolable character, which should deprive
subjects of the mischievous right to dispose of it to whom they
pleased. If mankind had received no other advantages from religion,
this alone would be sufficient to make them adopt and cherish it,
since it is the means of saving more blood than fanaticism has been
the cause of spilling. But to resume the thread of our hypothesis.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The various forms of
government owe their origin to the various degrees of inequality
between the members, at the time they first coalesced into a
political body. Where a man happened to be eminent for power, for
virtue, for riches, or for credit, he became sole magistrate, and the
state assumed a monarchical form; if many of pretty equal eminence
out-topped all the rest, they were jointly elected, and this election
produced an aristocracy; those, between whose fortune or talents
there happened to be no such disproportion, and who had deviated less
from the state of nature, retained in common the supreme
administration, and formed a democracy. Time demonstrated which of
these forms suited mankind best. Some remained altogether subject to
the laws; others soon bowed their necks to masters. The former
laboured to preserve their liberty; the latter thought of nothing but
invading that of their neighbours, jealous at seeing others enjoy a
blessing which themselves had lost. In a word, riches and conquest
fell to the share of the one, and virtue and happiness to that of the
other.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In these various
modes of government the offices at first were all elective; and when
riches did not preponderate, the preference was given to merit, which
gives a natural ascendant, and to age, which is the parent of
deliberateness in council, and experience in execution. The ancients
among the Hebrews, the Geronts of Sparta, the Senate of Rome, nay,
the very etymology of our word seigneur, show how much gray hairs
were formerly respected. The oftener the choice fell upon old men,
the oftener it became necessary to repeat it, and the more the
trouble of such repetitions became sensible; electioneering took
place; factions arose; the parties contracted ill-blood; civil wars
blazed forth; the lives of the citizens were sacrificed to the
pretended happiness of the state; and things at last came to such a
pass, as to be ready to relapse into their primitive confusion. The
ambition of the principal men induced them to take advantage of these
circumstances to perpetuate the hitherto temporary charges in their
families; the people already inured to dependence, accustomed to ease
and the conveniences of life, and too much enervated to break their
fetters, consented to the increase of their slavery for the sake of
securing their tranquillity; and it is thus that chiefs, become
hereditary, contracted the habit of considering magistracies as a
family estate, and themselves as proprietors of those communities, of
which at first they were but mere officers; to call their
fellow-citizens their slaves; to look upon them, like so many cows or
sheep, as a part of their substance; and to style themselves the
peers of Gods, and Kings of Kings.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By pursuing the
progress of inequality in these different revolutions, we shall
discover that the establishment of laws and of the right of property
was the first term of it; the institution of magistrates the second;
and the third and last the changing of legal into arbitrary power; so
that the different states of rich and poor were authorized by the
first epoch; those of powerful and weak by the second; and by the
third those of master and slave, which formed the last degree of
inequality, and the term in which all the rest at last end, till new
revolutions entirely dissolve the government, or bring it back nearer
to its legal constitution.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To conceive the
necessity of this progress, we are not so much to consider the
motives for the establishment of political bodies, as the forms these
bodies assume in their administration; and the inconveniences with
which they are essentially attended; for those vices, which render
social institutions necessary, are the same which render the abuse of
such institutions unavoidable; and as (Sparta alone expected, whose
laws chiefly regarded the education of children, and where Lycurgus
established such manners and customs, as in a great measure made laws
needless,) the laws, in general less strong than the passions,
restrain men without changing them; it would be no hard matter to
prove that every government, which carefully guarding against all
alteration and corruption should scrupulously comply with the ends of
its institution, was unnecessarily instituted; and that a country,
where no one either eluded the laws, or made an ill use of
magistracy, required neither laws nor magistrates.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Political
distinctions are necessarily attended with civil distinctions. The
inequality between the people and the chiefs increase so fast as to
be soon felt by the private members, and appears among them in a
thousand shapes according to their passions, their talents, and the
circumstances of affairs. The magistrate can not usurp any illegal
power without making himself creatures, with whom he must divide it.
Besides, the citizens of a free state suffer themselves to be
oppressed merely in proportion as, hurried on by a blind ambition,
and looking rather below than above them, they come to love authority
more than independence. When they submit to fetters, ’tis only to
be the better able to fetter others in their turn. It is no easy
matter to make him obey, who does not wish to command; and the most
refined policy would find it impossible to subdue those men, who only
desire to be independent; but inequality easily gains ground among
base and ambitious souls, ever ready to run the risks of fortune, and
almost indifferent whether they command or obey, as she proves either
favourable or adverse to them. Thus then there must have been a time,
when the eyes of the people were bewitched to such a degree, that
their rulers needed only to have said to the most pitiful wretch, “Be
great you and all your posterity,” to make him immediately appear
great in the eyes of every one as well as in his own; and his
descendants took still more upon them, in proportion to their removes
from him: the more distant and uncertain the cause, the greater the
effect; the longer the line of drones a family produced, the more
illustrious it was reckoned.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Were this a proper
place to enter into details, I could easily explain in what manner
inequalities in point of credit and authority become unavoidable
among private persons the moment that, united into one body, they are
obliged to compare themselves one with another, and to note the
differences which they find in the continual use every man must make
of his neighbour. These differences are of several kinds; but riches,
nobility or rank, power and personal merit, being in general the
principal distinctions, by which men in society measure each other, I
could prove that the harmony or conflict between these different
forces is the surest indication of the good or bad original
constitution of any state: I could make it appear that, as among
these four kinds of inequality, personal qualities are the source of
all the rest, riches is that in which they ultimately terminate,
because, being the most immediately useful to the prosperity of
individuals, and the most easy to communicate, they are made use of
to purchase every other distinction. By this observation we are
enabled to judge with tolerable exactness, how much any people has
deviated from its primitive, institution and what steps it has still
to make to the extreme term of corruption. I could show how much this
universal desire of reputation, of honours, of preference, with which
we are all devoured, exercises and compares our talents and our
forces: how much it excites and multiplies our passions; and, by
creating an universal competition, rivalship, or rather enmity among
men, how many disappoinments, successes, and catastrophes of every
kind it daily causes among the innumerable pretenders whom it engages
in the same career. I could show that it is to this itch of being
spoken of, to this fury of distinguishing ourselves which seldom or
never gives us a moment’s respite, that we owe both the best and
the worst things among us, our virtues and our vices, our sciences
and our errors, our conquerors and our philosophers; that is to say,
a great many bad things to a very few good ones. I could prove, in
short, that if we behold a handful of rich and powerful men seated on
the pinnacle of fortune and greatness, while the crowd grovel in
obscurity and want, it is merely because the first, prize what they
enjoy, but in the same degree that others want it, and that, without
changing their condition, they would cease to be happy the minute the
people ceased to be miserable.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But these details
would alone furnish sufficient matter for a more considerable work,
in which might be weighed the advantages and disadvantages of every
species of government, relatively to the rights of man in a state of
nature, and might likewise be unveiled all the different faces under
which inequality has appeared to this day, and may hereafter appear
to the end of time, according to the nature of these several
governments, and the revolutions, time must unavoidably occasion in
them. We should then see the multitude oppressed by domestic tyrants
in consequence of those very precautions taken by them to guard
against foreign masters. We should see oppression increase
continually without its being ever possible for the oppressed to know
where it would stop, nor what lawful means they had left to check its
progress. We should see the rights of citizens, and the liberties of
nations extinguished by slow degrees, and the groans, and
protestations and appeals of the weak treated as seditious
murmurings. We should see policy confine to a mercernary portion of
the people the honour of defending the common sense. We should see
imposts made necessary by such measures, the disheartened husbandman
desert his field even in time of peace, and quit the plough to take
up the sword. We should see fatal and whimsical rules laid down
concerning the point of honour. We should see the champions of their
country sooner or later become her enemies, and perpetually holding
their poniards to the breasts of their fellow citizenry. Nay, the
time would come when they might be heard to say to the oppressor of
their country.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pectore si fratris
gladium juguloque parentis</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Condere me jubeas,
gravidæque in viscera partu</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Conjugis, in vitâ
peragam tamen omnia dextrâ.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From the vast
inequality of conditions and fortunes, from the great variety of
passions and of talents, of useless arts, of pernicious arts, of
frivolous sciences, would issue clouds of prejudices equally contrary
to reason, to happiness, to virtue. We should see the chiefs foment
everything that tends to weaken men formed into societies by dividing
them; everything that, while it gives society an air of apparent
harmony, sows in it the seeds of real division; everything that can
inspire the different orders with mutual distrust and hatred by an
opposition of their rights and interest, and of course strengthen
that power which contains them all.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
’Tis from the bosom
of this disorder and these revolutions, that despotism gradually
rearing up her hideous crest, and devouring in every part of the
state all that still remained sound and untainted, would at last
issue to trample upon the laws and the people, and establish herself
upon the ruins of the republic. The times immediately preceding this
last alteration would be times of calamity and trouble: but at last
everything would be swallowed up by the monster; and the people would
no longer have chiefs or laws, but only tyrants. At this fatal period
all regard to virtue and manners would likewise disappear; for
despotism, cui ex honesto nulla est spes, tolerates no other
master, wherever it reigns; the moment it speaks, probity and duty
lose all their influence, and the blindest obedience is the only
virtue the miserable slaves have left them to practise.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is the last term
of inequality, the extreme point which closes the circle and meets
that from which we set out. ’Tis here that all private men return
to their primitive equality, because they are no longer of any
account; and that, the subjects having no longer any law but that of
their master, nor the master any other law but his passions, all
notions of good and principles of justice again disappear. ’Tis
here that everything returns to the sole law of the strongest, and of
course to a new state of nature different from that with which we
began, in as much as the first was the state of nature in its purity,
and the last the consequence of excessive corruption. There is, in
other respects, so little difference between these two states, and
the contract of government is so much dissolved by despotism, that
the despot is no longer master than he continues the strongest, and
that, as soon as his slaves can expel him, they may do it without his
having the least right to complain of their using him ill. The
insurrection, which ends in the death or despotism of a sultan, is as
juridical an act as any by which the day before he disposed of the
lives and fortunes of his subjects. Force alone upheld him, force
alone overturns him. Thus all things take place and succeed in their
natural order; and whatever may be the upshot of these hasty and
frequent revolutions, no one man has reason to complain of another’s
injustice, but only of his own indiscretion or bad fortune.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By thus discovering
and following the lost and forgotten tracks, by which man from the
natural must have arrived at the civil state; by restoring, with the
intermediate positions which I have been just indicating, those which
want of leisure obliges me to suppress, or which my imagination has
not suggested, every attentive reader must unavoidably be struck at
the immense space which separates these two states. ’Tis in this
slow succession of things he may meet with the solution of an
infinite number of problems in morality and politics, which
philosophers are puzzled to solve. He will perceive that, the mankind
of one age not being the mankind of another, the reason why Diogenes
could not find a man was, that he sought among his cotemporaries the
man of an earlier period: Cato, he will then see, fell with Rome and
with liberty, because he did not suit the age in which he lived; and
the greatest of men served only to astonish that world, which would
have cheerfully obeyed him, had he come into it five hundred years
earlier. In a word, he will find himself in a condition to understand
how the soul and the passions of men by insensible alterations change
as it were their nature; how it comes to pass, that at the long run
our wants and our pleasures change objects; that, original man
vanishing by degrees, society no longer offers to our inspection but
an assemblage of artificial men and factitious passions, which are
the work of all these new relations, and have no foundation in
nature. Reflection teaches us nothing on that head, but what
experience perfectly confirms. Savage man and civilised man differ so
much at bottom in point of inclinations and passions, that what
constitutes the supreme happiness of the one would reduce the other
to despair. The first sighs for nothing but repose and liberty; he
desires only to live, and to be exempt from labour; nay, the ataraxy
of the most confirmed Stoic falls short of his consummate
indifference for every other object. On the contrary, the citizen
always in motion, is perpetually sweating and toiling, and racking
his brains to find out occupations still more laborious: He continues
a drudge to his last minute; nay, he courts death to be able to live,
or renounces life to acquire immortality. He cringes to men in power
whom he hates, and to rich men whom he despises; he sticks at nothing
to have the honour of serving them; he is not ashamed to value
himself on his own weakness and the protection they afford him; and
proud of his chains, he speaks with disdain of those who have not the
honour of being the partner of his bondage. What a spectacle must the
painful and envied labours of an European minister of state form in
the eyes of a Caribbean! How many cruel deaths would not this
indolent savage prefer to such a horrid life, which very often is not
even sweetened by the pleasure of doing good? But to see the drift of
so many cares, his mind should first have affixed some meaning to
these words power and reputation; he should be apprised that there
are men who consider as something the looks of the rest of mankind,
who know how to be happy and satisfied with themselves on the
testimony of others sooner than upon their own. In fact, the real
source of all those differences, is that the savage lives within
himself, whereas the citizen, constantly beside himself, knows only
how to live in the opinion of others; insomuch that it is, if I may
say so, merely from their judgment that he derives the consciousness
of his own existence. It is foreign to my subject to show how this
disposition engenders so much indifference for god and evil,
notwithstanding so many and such fine discourses of morality; how
everything, being reduced to appearances, becomes mere art and
mummery; honour, friendship, virtue, and often vice itself, which we
at last learn the secret to boast of; how, in short, ever inquiring
of others what we are, and never daring to question ourselves on so
delicate a point, in the midst of so much philosophy, humanity, and
politeness, and so many sublime maxims, we have nothing to show for
ourselves but a deceitful and frivolous exterior, honour without
virtue, reason without wisdom, and pleasure without happiness. It is
sufficient that I have proved that this is not the original condition
of man, and that it is merely the spirit of society, and the
inequality which society engenders, that thus change and transform
all our natural inclinations.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have endeavoured to
exhibit the origin and progress of inequality, the institution and
abuse of political societies, as far as these things are capable of
being deduced from the nature of man by the mere light of reason, and
independently of those sacred maxims which give to the sovereign
authority the sanction of divine right. It follows from this picture,
that as there is scarce any inequality among men in a state of
nature, all that which we now behold owes its force and its growth to
the development of our faculties and the improvement of our
understanding, and at last becomes permanent and lawful by the
establishment of property and of laws. It likewise follows that moral
inequality, authorised by any right that is merely positive, clashes
with natural right, as often as it does not combine in the same
proportion with physical inequality: a distinction which sufficiently
determines, what we are able to think in that respect of that kind of
inequality which obtains in all civilised nations, since it is
evidently against the law of nature that infancy should command old
age, folly conduct wisdom, and a handful of men should be ready to
choke with superfluities, while the famished multitude want the
commonest necessaries of life.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-43450980447011875282021-01-12T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-12T00:00:05.629-08:00What Is Good Taste?<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:EdmundBurke1771.jpg" target="_blank">Edmund Burke</a></td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Edmund Burke
(1729–1797). </b><i><b>On Taste.</b></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>A Turkish
sultan, relates Burke, when shown a picture of the beheaded John the
Baptist, praised many things, but pointed out one gruesome defect.
Did this observation show the sultan to be an inferior judge of art?</i><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
ON a superficial view,
we may seem to differ very widely from each other in our reasonings,
and no less in our pleasures: but notwithstanding this difference,
which I think to be rather apparent than real, it is probable that
the standard both of reason and taste is the same in all human
creatures. For if there were not some principles of judgment as well
as of sentiment common to all mankind, no hold could possibly be
taken either on their reason or their passions, sufficient to
maintain the ordinary correspondence of life. It appears indeed to be
generally acknowledged, that with regard to truth and falsehood there
is something fixed. We find people in their disputes continually
appealing to certain tests and standards, which are allowed on all
sides, and are supposed to be established in our common nature. But
there is not the same obvious concurrence in any uniform or settled
principles which relate to taste. It is even commonly supposed that
this delicate and aerial faculty, which seems too volatile to endure
even the chains of a definition, cannot be properly tried by any
test, nor regulated by any standard. There is so continual a call for
the exercise of the reasoning faculty, and it is so much strengthened
by perpetual contention, that certain maxims of right reason seem to
be tacitly settled amongst the most ignorant. The learned have
improved on this rude science, and reduced those maxims into a
system. If taste has not been so happily cultivated, it was not that
the subject was barren, but that the labourers were few or negligent;
for, to say the truth, there are not the same interesting motives to
impel us to fix the one, which urge us to ascertain the other. And,
after all, if men differ in their opinion concerning such matters,
their difference is not attended with the same important
consequences; else I make no doubt but that the logic of taste, if I
may be allowed the expression, might very possibly be as well
digested, and we might come to discuss matters of this nature with as
much certainty, as those which seem more immediately within the
province of mere reason. And indeed, it is very necessary, at the
entrance into such an inquiry as our present, to make this point as
clear as possible; for if taste has no fixed principles, if the
imagination is not affected according to some invariable and certain
laws, our labour is likely to be employed to very little purpose; as
it must be judged a useless, if not an absurd undertaking, to lay
down rules for caprice, and to set up for a legislator of whims and
fancies.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The term taste,
like all other figurative terms, is not extremely accurate; the thing
which we understand by it is far from a simple and determinate idea
in the minds of most men, and it is therefore liable to uncertainty
and confusion. I have no great opinion of a definition, the
celebrated remedy for the cure of this disorder. For, when we define,
we seem in danger of circumscribing nature within the bounds of our
own notions, which we often take up by hazard, or embrace on trust,
or form out of a limited and partial consideration of the object
before us; instead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature
comprehends, according to her manner of combining. We are limited in
our inquiry by the strict laws to which we have submitted at our
setting out.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
—Circa vilem
patulumque morabimur orbem,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Unde pudor proferre
pedem vetat aut operis lex.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A definition may be
very exact, and yet go but a very little way towards informing us of
the nature of the thing defined; but let the virtue of a definition
be what it will, in the order of things, it seems rather to follow
than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to be considered as
the result. It must be acknowledged, that the methods of disquisition
and teaching may be sometimes different, and on very good reason
undoubtedly; but, for my part, I am convinced that the method of
teaching which approaches most nearly to the method of investigation
is incomparably the best; since, not content with serving up a few
barren and lifeless truths, it leads to the stock on which they grew;
it tends to set the reader himself in the track of invention, and to
direct him into those paths in which the author has made his own
discoveries, if he should be so happy as to have made any that are
valuable.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But to cut off all
pretence for cavilling, I mean by the word Taste no more than that
faculty or those faculties of the mind, which are affected with, or
which form a judgment of, the works of imagination and the elegant
arts. This is, I think the most general idea of that word, and what
is the least connected with any particular theory. And my point in
this inquiry is, to find whether there are any principles, on which
the imagination is affected, so common to all, so grounded and
certain, as to supply the means of reasoning satisfactorily about
them. And such principles of taste I fancy there are; however
paradoxical it may seem to those, who on a superficial view imagine,
that there is so great a diversity of tastes, both in kind and
degree, that nothing can be more indeterminate.</div>
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All the natural
powers in man, which I know, that are conversant about external
objects, are the senses; the imagination; and the judgment. And first
with regard to the senses. We do and we must suppose, that as the
conformation of their organs is nearly or altogether the same in all
men, so the manner of perceiving external objects is in all men the
same, or with little difference. We are satisfied that what appears
to be light to one eye, appears light to another; that what seems
sweet to one palate, is sweet to another; that what is dark and
bitter to this man, is likewise dark and bitter to that; and we
conclude in the same manner of great and little, hard and soft, hot
and cold, rough and smooth, and indeed of all the natural qualities
and affections of bodies. If we suffer ourselves to imagine, that
their senses present to different men different images of things,
this sceptical proceeding will make every sort of reasoning on every
subject vain and frivolous, even that sceptical reasoning itself
which had persuaded us to entertain a doubt concerning the agreement
of our perceptions. But as there will be little doubt that bodies
present similar images to the whole species, it must necessarily be
allowed, that the pleasures and the pains which every object excites
in one man, it must raise in all mankind, whilst it operates
naturally, simply, and by its proper powers only; for if we deny
this, we must imagine that the same cause, operating in the same
manner, and on subjects of the same kind, will produce different
effects; which would be highly absurd. Let us first consider this
point in the sense of taste, and the rather, as the faculty in
question has taken its name from that sense. All men are agreed to
call vinegar sour, honey sweet, and aloes bitter; and as they are all
agreed in finding these qualities in those objects, they do not in
the least differ concerning their effects with regard to pleasure and
pain. They all concur in calling sweetness pleasant, and sourness and
bitterness unpleasant. Here there is no diversity in their
sentiments; and that there is not, appears fully from the consent of
all men in the metaphors which are taken from the sense of taste. A
sour temper, bitter expressions, bitter curses, a bitter fate, are
terms well and strongly understood by all. And we are altogether as
well understood when we say, a sweet disposition, a sweet person, a
sweet condition, and the like. It is confessed, that custom and some
other causes have made many deviations from the natural pleasures or
pains which belong to these several tastes: but then the power of
distinguishing between the natural and the acquired relish remains to
the very last. A man frequently comes to prefer the taste of tobacco
to that of sugar, and the flavour of vinegar to that of milk; but
this makes no confusion in tastes, whilst he is sensible that the
tobacco and vinegar are not sweet, and whilst he knows that habit
alone has reconciled his palate to these alien pleasures. Even with
such a person we may speak, and with sufficient precision, concerning
tastes. But should any man be found who declares, that to him tobacco
has a taste like sugar, and that he cannot distinguish between milk
and vinegar; or that tobacco and vinegar are sweet, milk bitter, and
sugar sour; we immediately conclude that the organs of this man are
out of order, and that his palate is utterly vitiated. We are as far
from conferring with such a person upon tastes, as from reasoning
concerning the relations of quantity with one who should deny that
all the parts together were equal to the whole. We do not call a man
of this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad. Exceptions of
this sort, in either way, do not at all impeach our general rule, nor
make us conclude that men have various principles concerning the
relations of quantity or the taste of things. So that when it is
said, taste cannot be disputed, it can only mean, that no one can
strictly answer what pleasure or pain some particular man may find
from the taste of some particular thing. This indeed cannot be
disputed; but we may dispute, and with sufficient clearness too,
concerning the things which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable to
the sense. But when we talk of any peculiar or acquired relish, then
we must know the habits, the prejudices, or the distempers of this
particular man, and we must draw our conclusion from those.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This agreement of
mankind is not confined to the taste solely. The principle of
pleasure derived from sight is the same in all. Light is more
pleasing than darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, when
the heavens are serene and bright, is more agreeable than winter,
when everything makes a different appearance. I never remember that
anything beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a plant, was
ever shown, though it were to a hundred people, that they did not all
immediately agree that it was beautiful, though some might have
thought that it fell short of their expectation, or that other things
were still finer. I believe no man thinks a goose to be more
beautiful than a swan, or imagines that what they call a Friesland
hen excels a peacock. It must be observed, too, that the pleasures of
the sight are not near so complicated, and confused, and altered by
unnatural habits and associations, as the pleasures of the taste are;
because the pleasures of the sight more commonly acquiesce in
themselves; and are not so often altered by considerations which are
independent of the sight itself. But things do not spontaneously
present themselves to the palate as they do to the sight; they are
generally applied to it, either as food or as medicine; and, from the
qualities which they possess for nutritive or medicinal purposes,
they often form the palate by degrees, and by force of these
associations. Thus opium is pleasing to Turks, on account of the
agreeable delirium it produces. Tobacco is the delight of Dutchmen,
as it diffuses a torpor and pleasing stupefaction. Fermented spirits
please our common people, because they banish care, and all
consideration of future or present evils. All of these would lie
absolutely neglected if their properties had originally gone no
further than the taste; but all these together, with tea and coffee,
and some other things, have passed from the apothecary’s shop to
our tables, and were taken for health long before they were thought
of for pleasure. The effect of the drug has made us use it
frequently; and frequent use, combined with the agreeable effect, has
made the taste itself at last agreeable. But this does not in the
least perplex our reasoning; because we distinguish to the last the
acquired from the natural relish. In describing the taste of an
unknown fruit, you would scarcely say that it had a sweet and
pleasant flavour like tobacco, opium, or garlic, although you spoke
to those who were in the constant use of these drugs, and had great
pleasure in them. There is in all men sufficient remembrance of the
original natural causes of pleasure, to enable them to bring all
things offered to their senses to that standard, and to regulate
their feelings and opinions by it. Suppose one who had so vitiated
his palate as to take more pleasure in the taste of opium than in
that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bolus of squills;
there is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the butter or
honey to this nauseous morsel, or to any bitter drug to which he had
not been accustomed; which proves that his palate was naturally like
that of other men in all things, that it is still like the palate of
other men in many things, and only vitiated in some particular
points. For in judging of any new thing, even of a taste similar to
that which he has been formed by habit to like, he finds his palate
affected in a natural manner, and on the common principles. Thus the
pleasure of all the senses, of the sight, and even of the taste, that
most ambiguous of the senses, is the same in all, high and low,
learned and unlearned.</div>
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Besides the ideas,
with their annexed pains and pleasures, which are presented by the
sense; the mind of man possesses a sort of creative power of its own;
either in representing at pleasure the images of things in the order
and manner in which they were received by the senses, or in combining
those images in a new manner, and according to a different order.
This power is called imagination; and to this belongs whatever is
called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be observed,
that this power of the imagination is incapable of producing anything
absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideas which
it has received from the senses. Now the imagination is the most
extensive province of pleasure and pain, as it is the region of our
fears and our hopes, and of all our passions that are connected with
them; and whatever is calculated to affect the imagination with these
commanding ideas, by force of any original natural impression, must
have the same power pretty equally over all men. For since the
imagination is only the representation of the senses, it can only be
pleased or displeased with the images, from the same principle on
which the sense is pleased or displeased with the realities; and
consequently there must be just as close an agreement in the
imaginations as in the senses of men. A little attention will
convince us that this must of necessity be the case.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But in the
imagination, besides the pain or pleasure arising from the properties
of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from the resemblance
which the imitation has to the original: the imagination, I conceive,
can have no pleasure but what results from one or other of these
causes. And these causes operate pretty uniformly upon all men,
because they operate by principles in nature, and which are not
derived from any particular habits or advantages. Mr. Locke very
justly and finely observes of wit, that it is chiefly conversant in
tracing resemblances: he remarks, at the same time, that the business
of judgment is rather in finding differences. It may perhaps appear,
on this supposition, that there is no material distinction between
the wit and the judgment, as they both seem to result from different
operations of the same faculty of comparing. But in reality,
whether they are or are not dependent on the same power of the mind,
they differ so very materially in many respects, that a perfect union
of wit and judgment is one of the rarest things in the world. When
two distinct objects are unlike to each other, it is only what we
expect; things are in their common way; and therefore they make no
impression on the imagination: but when two distinct objects have a
resemblance, we are struck, we attend to them, and we are pleased.
The mind of man has naturally a far greater alacrity and satisfaction
in tracing resemblances than in searching for differences: because by
making resemblances we produce new images; we unite, we create, we
enlarge our stock; but in making distinctions we offer no food at all
to the imagination; the task itself is more severe and irksome, and
what pleasure we derive from it is something of a negative and
indirect nature. A piece of news is told me in the morning; this,
merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to my stock, gives me some
pleasure. In the evening I find there was nothing in it. What do I
gain by this, but the dissatisfaction to find that I have been
imposed upon? Hence it is that men are much more naturally inclined
to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle, that
the most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequently excelled in
similitudes, comparisons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been
weak and backward in distinguishing and sorting their ideas. And it
is for a reason of this kind, that Homer and the Oriental writers,
though very fond of similitudes, and though they often strike out
such as are truly admirable, seldom take care to have them exact;
that is, they are taken with the general resemblance, they paint it
strongly, and they take no notice of the difference which may be
found between the things compared.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now, as the
pleasure of resemblance is that which principally flatters the
imagination, all men are nearly equal in this point, as far as their
knowledge of the things represented or compared extends. The
principle of this knowledge is very much accidental, as it depends
upon experience and observation, and not on the strength or weakness
of any natural faculty; and it is from this difference in knowledge,
that what we commonly, though with no great exactness, call a
difference in taste proceeds. A man to whom sculp ture is new, sees a
barber’s block, or some ordinary piece of statuary, he is
immediately struck and pleased, because he sees something like a
human figure; and, entirely taken up with this likeness, he does not
at all attend to its defects. No person, I believe, at the first time
of seeing a piece of imitation ever did. Some time after, we suppose
that this novice lights upon a more artificial work of the same
nature; he now begins to look with contempt on what he admired at
first; not that he admired it even then for its unlikeness to a man,
but for that general, though inaccurate, resemblance which it bore to
the human figure. What he admired at different times in these so
different figures, is strictly the same; and though his knowledge is
improved, his taste is not altered. Hitherto his mistake was from a
want of knowledge in art; and this arose from his inexperience; but
he may be still deficient from a want of knowledge in nature. For it
is possible that the man in question may stop here, and that the
masterpiece of a great hand may please him no more than the middling
performance of a vulgar artist: and this not for want of better or
higher relish, but because all men do not observe with sufficient
accuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of an
imitation of it. And that the critical taste does not depend upon a
superior principle in men, but upon superior knowledge, may appear
from several instances. The story of the ancient painter and the
shoemaker is very well known. The shoemaker set the painter right
with regard to some mistakes he had made in the shoe of one of his
figures, and which the painter, who had not made such accurate
observations on shoes, and was content with a general resemblance,
had never observed. But this was no impeachment to the taste of the
painter; it only showed some want of knowledge in the art of making
shoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomist had come into the painter’s
working-room. His piece is in general well done, the figure in
question in a good attitude, and the parts well adjusted to their
various movements; yet the anatomist, critical in his art, may
observe the swell of some muscle not quite just in the peculiar
action of the figure. Here the anatomist observes what the painter
had not observed; and he passes by what the shoemaker had remarked.
But a want of the last critical knowledge in anatomy no more
reflected on the natural good taste of the painter or of any common
observer of his piece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the
formation of a shoe. A fine piece of a decollated head of St. John
the Baptist was shown to a Turkish emperor; he praised many things,
but he observed one defect; he observed that the skin did not shrink
from the wounded part of the neck. The sultan on this occasion,
though his observation was very just, discovered no more natural
taste than the painter who executed this piece, or than a thousand
European connoisseurs, who probably never would have made the same
observation. His Turkish Majesty had indeed been well acquainted with
that terrible spectacle, which the others could only have represented
in their imagination. On the subject of their dislike there is a
difference between all these people, arising from the different kinds
and degrees of their knowledge; but there is something in common to
the painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, and the Turkish emperor,
the pleasure arising from a natural object, so far as each perceives
it justly imitated; the satisfaction in seeing an agreeable figure;
the sympathy proceeding from a striking and affecting incident. So
far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all.</div>
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In poetry, and
other pieces of imagination, the same parity may be observed. It is
true, that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, and reads Virgil
coldly; whilst another is transported with the Eneid, and leaves Don
Bellianis to children. These two men seem to have a taste very
different from each other; but in fact they differ very little. In
both these pieces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a tale
exciting admiration is told; both are full of action, both are
passionate; in both are voyages, battles, triumphs, and continual
changes of fortune. The admirer of Don Bellianis perhaps does not
understand the refined language of the Eneid, who, if it was degraded
into the style of the Pilgrim’s Progress, might feel it in all its
energy, on the same principle which made him an admirer of Don
Bellianis.</div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In his favourite
author he is not shocked with the continual breaches of probability,
the confusion of times, the offences against manners, the trampling
upon geography; for he knows nothing of geography and chronology, and
he has never examined the grounds of probability. He perhaps reads of
a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia; wholly taken up with so
interesting an event, and only solicitous for the fate of his hero,
he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. For why
should he be shocked at a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia, who does
not know but that Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic ocean? and
after all, what reflection is this on the natural good taste of the
person here supposed?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So far then as
taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is the same in all
men; there is no difference in the manner of their being affected,
nor in the causes of the affection; but in the degree there is a
difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from a
greater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longer
attention to the object. To illustrate this by the procedure of the
senses, in which the same difference is found, let us suppose a very
smooth marble table to be set before two men; they both perceive it
to be smooth; and they are both pleased with it because of this
quality. So far they agree. But suppose another, and after that
another table, the latter still smoother than the former, to be set
before them. It is now very probable that these men, who are so
agreed upon what is smooth, and in the pleasure from thence, will
disagree when they come to settle which table has the advantage in
point of polish. Here is indeed the great difference between tastes,
when men come to compare the excess or diminution of things which are
judged by degree and not by measure. Nor is it easy, when such a
difference arises, to settle the point, if the excess or diminution
be not glaring. If we differ in opinion about two quantities, we can
have recourse to a common measure, which may decide the question with
the utmost exactness; and this, I take it, is what gives mathematical
knowledge a greater certainty than any other. But in things whose
excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as smoothness and
roughness, hardness and softness, darkness and light, the shades of
colours, all these are very easily distinguished when the difference
is any way considerable, but not when it is minute, for want of some
common measures, which perhaps may never come to be discovered. In
these nice cases, supposing the acuteness of the sense equal, the
greater attention and habit in such things will have the advantage.
In the question about the tables, the marble-polisher will
unquestionably determine the most accurately. But notwithstanding
this want of a common measure for settling many disputes relative to
the senses, and their representative the imagination, we find that
the principles are the same in all, and that there is no disagreement
until we come to examine into the pre-eminence or difference of
things, which brings us within the province of the judgment.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So long as we are
conversant with the sensible qualities of things, hardly any more
than the imagination seems concerned; little more also than the
imagination seems concerned when the passions are represented,
because by the force of natural sympathy they are felt in all men
without any recourse to reasoning, and their justness recognized in
every breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, all these passions have,
in their turns, affected every mind; and they do not affect it in an
arbitrary or casual manner, but upon certain, natural, and uniform
principles. But as many of the works of imagination are not confined
to the representation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the
passions, but extend themselves to the manners, the characters, the
actions, and designs of men, their relations, their virtues, and
vices, they come within the province of the judgment, which is
improved by attention, and by the habit of reasoning. All these make
a very considerable part of what are considered as the objects of
taste; and Horace sends us to the schools of philosophy and the world
for our instruction in them. Whatever certainty is to be acquired in
morality and the science of life; just the same degree of certainty
have we in what relates to them in the works of imitation. Indeed it
is for the most part in our skill in manners, and in the observances
of time and place, and of decency in general, which is only to be
learned in those schools to which Horace recommends us, that what is
called taste, by way of distinction, consists; and which is in
reality no other than a more refined judgment. On the whole it
appears to me, that what is called taste, in its most general
acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is partly made up of a
perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of the secondary
pleasures of the imagination, and of the conclusions of the reasoning
faculty, concerning the various relations to these, and concerning
the human passions, manners, and actions. All this is requisite to
form taste, and the ground-work of all these is the same in the human
mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all our ideas, and
consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not uncertain and
arbitrary, the whole ground-work of taste is common to all, and
therefore there is a sufficient foundation for a conclusive reasoning
on these matters.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whilst we consider
taste merely according to its nature and species, we shall find its
principles entirely uniform; but the degree in which these principles
prevail in the several individuals of mankind, is altogether as
different as the principles themselves are similar. For sensibility
and judgment, which are the qualities that compose what we commonly
call a taste, vary exceedingly in various people. From a defect in
the former of these qualities arises a want of taste; a weakness in
the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. There are some men
formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic,
that they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole course of
their lives. Upon such persons the most striking objects make but a
faint and obscure impression. There are others so continually in the
agitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in
the low drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honours and
distinction, that their minds, which had been used continually to the
storms of these violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put
in motion by the delicate and refined play of the imagination. These
men, though from a different cause, become as stupid and insensible
as the former; but whenever either of these happen to be struck with
any natural elegance or greatness, or with these qualities in any
work of art, they are moved upon the same principle.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The cause of a
wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arise from a
natural weakness of understanding, (in whatever the strength of that
faculty may consist,) or, which is much more commonly the case, it
may arise from a want of proper and well-directed exercise, which
alone can make it strong and ready. Besides that ignorance,
inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, in short, all
those passions, and all those vices, which pervert the judgment in
other matters, prejudice it no less in this its more refined and
elegant province. These causes produce different opinions upon
everything which is an object of the understanding, without inducing
us to suppose that there are no settled principles of reason. And
indeed, on the whole, one may observe that there is rather less
difference upon matters of taste among mankind, than upon most of
those which depend upon the naked reason; and that men are far better
agreed on the excellency of a description in Virgil, than on the
truth or falsehood of a theory of Aristotle.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A rectitude of
judgment in the arts, which may be called a good taste, does in a
great measure depend upon sensibility; because, if the mind has no
bent to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself
sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent
knowledge in them. But, though a degree of sensibility is requisite
to form a good judgment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily
arise from a quick sensibility of pleasure; it frequently happens
that a very poor judge, merely by force of a greater complexional
sensibility, is more affected by a very poor piece, than the best
judge by the most perfect; for as everything new, extraordinary,
grand, or passionate, is well calculated to affect such a person, and
that the faults do not affect him, his pleasure is more pure and
unmixed; and as it is merely a pleasure of the imagination, it is
much higher than any which is derived from a rectitude of the
judgment; the judgment is for the greater part employed in throwing
stumbling-blocks in the way of the imagination, in dissipating the
scenes of its enchantment, and in tying us down to the disagreeable
yoke of our reason: for almost the only pleasure that men have in
judging better than others, consists in a sort of conscious pride and
superiority, which arises from thinking rightly; but then, this is an
indirect pleasure, a pleasure which does not immediately result from
the object which is under contemplation. In the morning of our days,
when the senses are unworn and tender, when the whole man is awake in
every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects that
surround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how
false and inaccurate the judgments we form of things? I despair of
ever receiving the same degree of pleasure from the most excellent
performances of genius, which I felt at that age from pieces which my
present judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every trivial
cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a
complexion: his appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be
delicate; and he is in all respects what Ovid says of himself in
love,</div>
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Molle meum levibus cor
est violabile telis,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Et semper causa est,
cur ego semper amem.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One of this character
can never be a refined judge; never what the comic poet calls
elegans formarum spectator. The excellence and force of a
composition must always be imperfectly estimated from its effect on
the minds of any, except we know the temper and character of those
minds. The most powerful effects of poetry and music have been
displayed, and perhaps are still displayed, where these arts are but
in a very low and imperfect state. The rude hearer is affected by the
principles which operate in these arts even in their rudest
condition; and he is not skillful enough to perceive the defects. But
as the arts advance towards their perfection, the science of
criticism advances with equal pace, and the pleasure of judges is
frequently interrupted by the faults which are discovered in the most
finished compositions.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Before I leave this
subject I cannot help taking notice of an opinion which many persons
entertain, as if the taste were a separate faculty of the mind, and
distinct from the judgment and imagination; a species of instinct, by
which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance, without any
previous reasoning, with the excellencies, or the defects, of a
composition. So far as the imagination and the passions are
concerned, I believe it true, that the reason is little consulted;
but where disposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned,
in short, wherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am
convinced that the understanding operates, and nothing else; and its
operation is in reality far from being always sudden, or, when it is
sudden, it is often far from being right. Men of the best taste, by
consideration, come frequently to change these early and precipitate
judgments, which the mind, from its aversion to neutrality and doubt,
loves to form on the spot. It is known that the taste (whatever it
is) is improved exactly as we improve our judgment, by extending our
knowledge, by a steady attention to our object, and by frequent
exercise. They who have not taken these methods, if their taste
decides quickly, it is always uncertainly; and their quickness is
owing to their presumption and rashness, and not to any sudden
irradiation, that in a moment dispels all darkness from their minds.
But they who have cultivated that species of knowledge which makes
the object of taste, by degrees, and habitually, attain not only a
soundness, but a readiness of judgment, as men do by the same methods
on all other occasions. At first they are obliged to spell, but at
least they read with ease and with celerity; but this celerity of its
operation is no proof that the taste is a distinct faculty. Nobody, I
believe, has attended the course of a discussion, which turned upon
matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, but must have
observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process of the
argument is carried on, the grounds discovered, the objections raised
and answered, and the conclusions drawn from premises, with a
quickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work
with; and yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be
suspected to operate. To multiply principles for every different
appearance, is useless, and unphilosophical too in a high degree.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This matter might
be pursued much further; but it is not the extent of the subject
which must prescribe our bounds, for what subject does not branch out
to infinity? It is the nature of our particular scheme, and the
single point of view in which we consider it, which ought to put a
stop to our researches.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-41618499342474475592021-01-11T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-11T00:00:03.127-08:00Hamilton - Father of Wall Street<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERvHT7mLV2UD2WpkhZbKrO473H_h_OPfzQAWqrgQy0FTf4oLqobRKehv1RJKMHEhDDMTv6iF2sYwciEe6n2cY5EnjVftf7VztwSwlgNXDMO7cV-wncS6Wwr4S4YYCG8q7Zx81igs7V59B/s1600/Alexander_Hamilton_portrait_by_John_Trumbull_1806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERvHT7mLV2UD2WpkhZbKrO473H_h_OPfzQAWqrgQy0FTf4oLqobRKehv1RJKMHEhDDMTv6iF2sYwciEe6n2cY5EnjVftf7VztwSwlgNXDMO7cV-wncS6Wwr4S4YYCG8q7Zx81igs7V59B/s320/Alexander_Hamilton_portrait_by_John_Trumbull_1806.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Alexander_Hamilton_portrait_by_John_Trumbull_1806.jpg" target="_blank">Alexander Hamilton</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Alexander Hamilton,
</b><i><b>The Federalist, No. 1 and 2</b></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Hamilton
organized the Treasury Department. He penned most of the Federalist
papers, which were greatly influential in bringing New York into the
Union - the first step toward its eminent position in national and
world finance.</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For the Independent
Journal</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Federalist, No. I</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By Alexander Hamilton</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To the People of the
State of New York:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
AFTER an unequivocal
experience of the inefficacy of the subsisting Federal Government,
you are called upon to deliverate on a new Constitution for the
United States of America. The subject speaks its own importance;
comprehending in its consequences, nothing less than the existence of
the UNION, the safety and welfare of the parts of which it is
composed, the fate of an empire, in many respects, the most
interesting in the world. It has been frequently remarked, that it
seems to have been reserved to the people of this country, by their
conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether
societies of men are really capable or not, of establishing good
government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever
destined to depend, for their political constitutions, on accident
and force. If there be any truth in the remark, the crisis, at which
we are arrived, may with propriety be regarded as the area in which
that decision is to be made; and a wrong election of the part we
shall act, may, in this view, deserve to be considered as the general
misfortune of mankind.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This idea will add
the inducements of philanthropy to those of patriotism to heighten
the solicitude, which all considerate and good men must feel for the
event. Happy will it be if our choice should be directed by a
judicious estimate of our true interests, unperplexed and unbiased by
considerations not connected with the public good. But this is a
thing more ardently to be wished, than seriously to be expected. The
plan offered to our deliberations, affects too many particular
interest, innovates upon too many local institutions, not to involve
in its discussion a variety of objects foreign to its merits, and of
views, passions and prejudices little favorable to the discovery of
truth.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Among the most
formidable of the obstacles which the new Constitution will have to
encounter, may readily be distinguished the obvious interest of a
certain class of men in every State to resist all changes which may
hazard a diminution of the power, emolument and consequence of the
offices they hold under the State—establishments—and the
perverted ambition of another class of men, who will either hope to
aggrandize themselves by the confusion of their country, or will
flatter themselves with fairer prospects of elevation from the
subdivision of the empire into several partial confederacies, than
from its union under one Government.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is not, however,
my design to dwell upon observations of this nature. I am well aware
that it would be disingenuous to resolve indiscriminately the
opposition of any set of men (merely because their situations might
subject them to suspicion) into interested or ambitious views: Candor
will oblige us to admit, that even such men may be actuated by
upright intentions; and it cannot be doubted, that much of the
opposition which has made its appearance, or may hereafter make its
appearance, will spring from sources, blameless at least, if not
respectable; the honest errors of minds led astray by preconceived
jealousies and fears. So numerous indeed and so powerful are the
causes, which serve to give a false bias to the judgment, that we,
upon many occasions, see wise and good men on the wrong as well as on
the right side of questions, of the first magnitude to society. This
circumstance, if duly attended to, would furnish a lesson of
moderation to those, who are ever so much persuaded of their being in
the right, in any controversy. And a further reason for caution, in
this respect, might be drawn from the reflection, that we are not
always sure, that those who advocate the truth are influenced by
purer principles than their antagonists. Ambition, avarice, personal
animosity, party opposition, and many other motives, not more
laudable than these, are apt to operate as well upon those who
support, as upon those who oppose, the right side of a question. Were
there not even these inducements to moderation, nothing could be more
ill—judged than that intolerant spirit, which has, at all times,
characterized political parties. For, in politics as in religion, it
is equally absurd to aim at making proselytes by fire and sword.
Heresies in either can rarely be cured by persecution.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And yet however
just these sentiments will be allowed to be, we have already
sufficient indications, that it will happen in this as in all former
cases of great national discussion. A torrent of angry and malignant
passions will be let loose. To judge from the conduct of the opposite
parties, we shall be led to conclude, that they will mutually hope to
evince the justness of their opinions, and to increase the number of
their converts by the loudness of their declamations, and the
bitterness of their invectives. An enlightened, zeal for the energy
and efficiency of government will be stigmatized, as the offspring of
a temper fond of despotic power, and hostile to the principles of
liberty. An over scrupulous jealousy of danger to the rights of the
people, which is more commonly the fault of the head than of the
heart, will be represented as mere pretence and artifice; the stale
bait for popularity at the expense of public good. It will be
forgotten, on the one hand, that jealousy is the usual concomitant of
violent love, and that the noble enthusiasm of liberty is too apt to
be infected with a spirit of narrow and illiberal distrust. On the
other hand, it will be equally forgotten, that the vigor of
Government is essential to the security of liberty; that, in the
contemplation of a sound and well—informed judgment, their interest
can never be separated; and that a dangerous ambition more often
lurks behind the specious mask of zeal for the rights of the people,
than under the forbidding appearance of zeal for the firmness and
efficiency of Government. History will teach us, that the former has
been found a much certain road to the introduction of despotism, than
the latter; and that of those men who have over turned the liberties
of republics the greatest number have begun their career, by paying
an obsequious court to the people; commencing Demagogues, and ending
Tyrants.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the course of
the preceding observations I have had an eye, my Fellow—Citizens,
to putting you upon your guard against all attempts, from whatever
quarter, to influence your decision in a matter of the utmost moment
to your welfare by any impressions other than those which may result
from the evidence of truth. You will, no doubt, at the same time,
have collected from the general scope of them that they proceed from
a source not unfriendly to the new Constitution. Yes, my Countrymen,
I owe to you, that, after having given it an attentive consideration,
I am clearly of opinion, it is your interest to adopt it. I am
convinced, that this is the safest course for your liberty, your
dignity, and your happiness. I affect not reserves, which I do not
feel. I will amuse you with an appearance of deliberation, when I
have decided. I frankly acknowledge to you my convictions, and I will
freely lay before you the reasons on which they are founded. The
consciousness of good intentions disdains ambiguity. I shall not
however multiply professions on this head. My motives must remain in
the depository of my own breast: My arguments will be open to all,
and may be judged of by all. They shall at least be offered in a
spirit which will not disgrace the cause of truth.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I propose, in a
series of papers, to discuss the following interesting
particulars.—The utility of the UNION to your political
prosperity—The insufficiency of the present Confederation to
preserve that Union—The necessity of a Government at least equally
energetic with the one proposed, to the attainment of this object—The
conformity of the proposed Constitution to the true principles of
republican Government—Its analogy to your own State
Constitution—and lastly, The additional security which its adoption
will afford to the preservation of that species of Government, to
liberty, and to property.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the progress of
this discussion, I shall endeavor to give a satisfactory answer to
all the objections which shall have made their appearance, that may
seem to have any claim to your attention.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It may perhaps be
thought superfluous to offer arguments to prove the utility of the
UNION, a point, no doubt, deeply engraved on the hearts of the great
body of the people in every State, and one, which it may be imagined,
has no adversaries. But the fact is, that we already hear it
whispered in the private circles of those who oppose the new
Constitution, that the Thirteen States are of too great extent for
any general system, and that we must of necessity, resort to separate
confederacies of distinct portions of the whole. This doctrine will,
in all probability, be gradually propagated, till it has votaries
enough to countenance an open avowal of it. For nothing can be more
evident, to those who are able to take an enlarged view of the
subject, than the alternative of an adoption of the new Constitution
or a dismemberment of the Union. It will, therefore, be of use to
begin by examining the advantages of that Union, the certain evils,
and the probable dangers, to which every State will be exposed from
its dissolution. This shall accordingly constitute the subject of my
next address.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Publius.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For the Independent
Journal</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Federalist, No. II</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By John Jay</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To the People of the
State of New York:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the people of
America reflect that they are now called upon to decide a question,
which, in its consequences, must prove one of the most important,
that ever engaged their attention, the propriety of their taking a
very comprehensive, as well as a very serious, view of it, will be
evident.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nothing is more
certain than the indispensable necessity of Government, and it is
equally undeniable, that whenever and however it is instituted, the
people must cede to it some of their natural rights, in order to vest
it with requisite powers. It is well worthy of consideration,
therefore, whether it would conduce more to the interest of the
people of America, that they should, to all general purposes, be one
nation, under one Federal Government, or that they should divide
themselves into separate confederacies, and give to the head of each,
the same kind of powers which they are advised to place in one
national Government.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It has until lately
been a received and uncontradicted opinion that the prosperity of the
people of America depended on their continuing firmly united, and the
wishes, prayers, and efforts of our best and wisest Citizens have
been constantly directed to that object. But Politicians now appear,
who insist that this opinion is erroneous, and that instead of
looking for safety and happiness in union, we ought to seek it in a
division of the States into distinct confederacies or sovereignties.
However extraordinary this new doctrine may appear, it nevertheless
has its advocates; and certain characters who were much opposed to it
formerly, are at present of the number. Whatever may be the arguments
or inducements which have wrought this change in the sentiments and
declarations of these Gentlemen, it certainly would not be wise in
the people at large to adopt these new political tenets without being
fully convinced that they are founded in truth and sound Policy.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It has often given
me pleasure to observe, that Independent America was not composed of
detached and distant territories, but that one connected, fertile,
wide—spreading country was the portion of our western sons of
liberty. Providence has in a particular manner blessed it with a
variety of soils and productions and watered it with innumerable
streams, for the delight and accommodation of its inhabitants. A
succession of navigable waters forms a kind of chain round its
borders, as if to bind it together; while the most noble rivers in
the world, running at convenient distances, present them with
highways for the easy communication of friendly aids, and the mutual
transportation and exchange of their various commodities.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With equal pleasure
I have as often taken notice, that Providence has been pleased to
give this one connected country, to one united people; a people
descended from the same ancestors, speaking the same language,
professing the same religion, attached to the same principles of
government, very similar in their manners and customs, and who, by
their joint counsels, arms and efforts, fighting side by side
throughout a long and bloody war, have nobly established their
general Liberty and Independence.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This country and
this people seem to have been made for each other, and it appears as
if it was the design of Providence, that an inheritance so proper and
convenient for a band of brethren, united to each other by the
strongest ties, should never be split into a number of unsocial,
jealous, and alien sovereignties.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Similar sentiments
have hitherto prevailed among all orders and denominations of men
among us. To all general purposes we have uniformly been one people;
each individual citizen everywhere enjoying the same national rights,
privileges, and protection. As a nation we have made peace and war:
as a nation we have vanquished our common enemies: as a nation we
have formed alliances and made treaties, and entered into various
compacts and conventions with foreign States.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A strong sense of
the value and blessings of Union induced the people, at a very early
period, to institute a Foederal Government to preserve and perpetuate
it. They formed it almost as soon as they had a political existence;
nay, at a time, when their habitations were in flames, when many of
their Citizens were bleeding, and when the progress of hostility and
desolation left little room for those calm and mature inquiries and
reflections, which must ever precede the formation of a wise and
well—balanced government for a free people. It is not to be
wondered at, that a Government instituted in times so inauspicious,
should on experiment be found greatly deficient and inadequate to the
purpose it was intended to answer.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This intelligent
people perceived and regretted these defects. Still continuing no
less attached to Union, than enamored of Liberty, they observed the
danger, which immediately threatened the former and more remotely the
latter; and being persuaded that ample security for both, could only
be found in a national Government more wisely framed, they, as with
one voice, convened the late Convention at Philadelphia, to take that
important subject under consideration.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This Convention,
composed of men who possessed the confidence of the people, and many
of whom had become highly distinguished by their patriotism, virtue,
and wisdom, in times which tried the minds and hearts of men,
undertook the arduous task. In the mild season of peace, with minds
unoccupied by other subjects, they passed many months in cool,
uninterrupted, and daily consultations, and finally, without having
been awed by power, or influenced by any passions except love for
their Country, they presented and recommended to the people the plan
produced by their joint and very unanimous councils.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Admit, for so is
the fact, that this plan is only recommended, not imposed, yet let
it be remembered, that it is neither recommended to blind
approbation, nor to blind reprobation; but to that sedate and
candid consideration, which the magnitude and importance of the
subject demand, and which it certainly ought to receive. But this,
(as was remarked in the foregoing number of this Paper,) is more to
be wished than expected, that it may be so considered and examined.
Experience on a former occasion teaches us not to be too sanguine in
such hopes. It is not yet forgotten, that well grounded apprehensions
of imminent danger induced the people of America to form the
Memorable Congress of 1774. That Body recommended certain measures to
their Constituents, and the event proved their wisdom; yet it is
fresh in our memories how soon the Press began to teem with Pamphlets
and weekly Papers against those very measures. Not only many of the
Officers of Government, who obeyed the dictates of personal interest,
but others, from a mistaken estimate of consequences, or the undue
influence of former attachments, or whose ambition aimed at objects
which did not correspond with the public good, were indefatigable in
their endeavors to persuade the people to reject the advice of that
Patriotic Congress. Many indeed were deceived and deluded, but the
great majority of the people reasoned and decided judiciously; and
happy they are in reflecting that they did so.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They considered
that the Congress was composed of many wise and experienced men. That
being convened from different parts of the country they brought with
them and communicated to each other a variety of useful information.
That in the course of the time they passed together in inquiring into
and discussing the true interests of their country, they must have
acquired very accurate knowledge on that head. That they were
individually interested in the public liberty and prosperity, and
therefore that it was not less their inclination that their duty, to
recommend only such measures as after the most mature deliberation
they really thought prudent and advisable.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
These and similar
considerations then induced the people to rely greatly on the
judgment and integrity of the Congress; and they took their advice,
notwithstanding the various arts and endeavors used to deter and
dissuade them from it. But if the people at large had reason to
confide in the men of that Congress, few of whom had then been fully
tried or generally known, still greater reason have they now to
respect the judgment and advice of the Convention, for it is well
known that some of the most distinguished members of that Congress,
who have been since tried and justly approved for patriotism and
abilities, and who have grown old in acquiring political information,
were also members of this Convention, and carried into it their
accumulated knowledge and experience.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is worthy of
remark, that not only the first, but every succeeding Congress, as
well as the late Convention, have invariably joined with the people
in thinking that the prosperity of America depended on its Union. To
preserve and perpetuate it, was the great object of the people in
forming that Convention, and it is also the great object of the plan
which the Convention has advised them to adopt. With what propriety,
therefore, or for what good purposes, are attempts at this particular
period, made by some men, to depreciate the importance of the Union?
Or why is it suggested that three or four confederacies would be
better than one? I am persuaded in my own mind, that the people have
always thought right on this subject, and that their universal and
uniform attachment to the cause of the Union rests on great and
weighty reasons, which I shall endeavor to develop and explain in
some ensuing papers. They who promote the idea of substituting a
number of distinct confederacies in the room of the plan of the
Convention, seem clearly to foresee that the rejection of it would
put the continuance of the Union in the utmost jeopardy: that
certainly would be the case, and I sincerely wish that it may be as
clearly foreseen by every good Citizen, that whenever the dissolution
of the Union arrives, America will have reason to exclaim in the
words of the Poet, “Farewell! A long Farewell, to all my
Greatness.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Publius.</div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-68587719820334312312021-01-10T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-10T00:00:05.791-08:00Where Love Lies Waiting<div class="western" style="page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1W58C14OzDu1BUA6A8n0woyUf2GFMCGtEDdevCplnlPN_msJptKIKSWEt8qsVKbUos2JeDW5ZKzMsV97CuVtL5B9eEY18wM-hLV4Igey0XuIs67vROg4I3pGJoaOjSnb5MtMl_eZPAev/s1600/Euripides_Pio-Clementino_Inv302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1W58C14OzDu1BUA6A8n0woyUf2GFMCGtEDdevCplnlPN_msJptKIKSWEt8qsVKbUos2JeDW5ZKzMsV97CuVtL5B9eEY18wM-hLV4Igey0XuIs67vROg4I3pGJoaOjSnb5MtMl_eZPAev/s320/Euripides_Pio-Clementino_Inv302.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Euripides_Pio-Clementino_Inv302.jpg" target="_blank">Euripedes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Euripides (480 or
485–406 B.C.). <i>The Bacchæ.</i></b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>King Pantheus of
Thebes contended against Dionysus, the God, for the adoration of the
Theban women. The god was winning by bewitching the women when the
king interceded. Euripides tells the story in a masterpiece of Greek
drama.</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
DIONYSUS</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
BEHOLD, God’s Son is
come unto this land</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of heaven’s hot
splendour lit to life, when she</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of Thebes, even I,
Dionysus, whom the brand</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Who bore me, Cadmus’
daughter Semelê,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Died here. So, changed
in shape from God to man,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I walk again by Dirce’s
streams and scan</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ismenus’ shore. There
by the castle side</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I see her place, the
Tomb of the Lightning’s Bride,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The wreck of
smouldering chambers, and the great</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Faint wreaths of fire
undying—as the hate</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dies not, that Hera
held for Semelê.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Aye, Cadmus bath
done well; in purity</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He keeps this place
apart, inviolate,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His daughter’s
sanctuary; and I have set</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My green and clustered
vines to robe it round.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Far now behind me
lies the golden ground</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of Lydian and of
Phrygian; far away</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The wide hot plains
where Persian sunbeams play,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Bactrian war-holds,
and the storm-oppressed</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Clime of the Mede, and
Araby the Blest,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And Asia all, that by
the salt sea lies</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In proud embattled
cities, motley-wise</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of Hellene and
Barbarian interwrought;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And now I come to
Hellas—having taught</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All the world else my
dances and my rite</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of mysteries, to show
me in men’s sight</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Manifest God.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And first of Helene lands</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I cry this Thebes to
waken; set her hands</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To clasp my wand, mine
ivied javelin,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And round her shoulders
hang my wild fawn-skin.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For they have scorned
me whom it least beseemed,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Semelê’s sisters;
mocked my birth, nor deemed</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That Dionysus sprang
from Dian seed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My mother sinned, said
they; and in her need,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With Cadmus plotting,
cloaked her human shame</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With the dread name of
Zeus; for that the flame</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From heaven consumed
her, seeing she lied to God.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thus must they
vaunt; and therefore bath my rod</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On them first fallen,
and stung them forth wild-eyed</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From empty chambers;
the bare mountain side</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Is made their home, and
all their hearts are flame.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yea, I have bound upon
the necks of them</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The harness of my
rites. And with them all</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The seed of womankind
from hut and hall</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of Thebes, bath this my
magic goaded out.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And there, with the old
King’s daughters, in a rout</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Confused, they make
their dwelling-place between</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The roofless rocks and
shadowy pine trees green.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thus shall this Thebes,
how sore soe’er it smart,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Learn and forget not,
till she crave her part</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In mine adoring; thus
must I speak clear</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To save my mother’s
fame, and crown me here</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As true God, born by
Semelê to Zeus.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now Cadmus yieldeth
up his throne and use</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Of royal honour to his
daughter’s son</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pentheus; who on my
body hath begun</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A war with God. He
thrusteth me away</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From due
drink-offering, and, when men pray,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My name entreats not.
Therefore on his own</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Head and his people’s
shall my power he shown.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Then to another land,
when all things here</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Are well, must I fare
onward, making clear</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My godhead’s might.
But should this Theban town</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Essay with wrath and
battle to drag down</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My maids, lo, in their
path myself shall be,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And maniac armies
battled after me!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For this I veil my
godhead with the wan</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Form of the things that
die, and walk as Man.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
O Brood of Tmolus
o’er the wide world flown,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
O Lydian band, my
chosen and mine own,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Damsels uplifted o’er
the orient deep</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To wander where I
wander, and to sleep</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Where I sleep; up, and
wake the old sweet sound,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The clang that I and
mystic Rhea found,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Timbrel of the
Mountain! Gather all</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thebes to your song
round Pentheus’ royal hall.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I seek my new-made
worshippers, to guide</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Their dances up
Kithaeron’s pine clad side. [As he departs, there comes stealing
in from the left a band of fifteen Eastern Women, the light of the
sunrise streaming upon their long white robes and ivy-bound hair.
They wear fawn-skins over the robes, and carry some of them timbrels,
some pipes and other instruments. Many bear the thyrsus or sacred
Wand, made of reed ringed with ivy. They enter stealthily till they
see that the place is empty, and then begin their mystic song of
worship.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
CHORUS</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A Maiden</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From Asia, from the
dayspring that uprises,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To Bromios ever
glorying we came.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We laboured for our
Lord in many guises;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We toiled, but the toil
is as the prize is;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thou Mystery, we
hail thee by thy name!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Who lingers in the
road? Who espies us?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We shall hide him
in his house nor be bold.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Let the heart keep
silence that defies us;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For I sing this day to
Dionysus</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The song that is
appointed from of old.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All the Maidens</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, blessèd he in all
wise,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Who hath drunk the
Living Fountain,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whose life no
folly staineth,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And his
soul is near to God;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whose sins are lifted,
pall-wise,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As he worships on
the Mountain,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And where
Cybele ordaineth,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Our Mother,
he has trod:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His head
with ivy laden</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And his
thyrsus tossing high,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For
our God he lifts his cry;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Up, O
Bacchæ, wife and maiden,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Come, O ye Bacchæ, come;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, bring the
Joy-bestower,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
God-seed of God
the Sower,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bring Bromios
in his power</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From Phrygia’s mountain dome;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To street
and town and tower,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, bring ye Bromios home.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whom erst in anguish
lying</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For an unborn
life’s desire,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As a dead thing
in the Thunder</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His mother
cast to earth;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For her heart was
dying, dying,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the white heart
of the fire;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Till Zeus, the
Lord of Wonder,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Devised new
lairs of birth;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yea,
his own flesh tore to hide him,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And
with clasps of hitter gold</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Did
a secret son enfold,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And the
Queen knew not beside him;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Till the perfect hour was there;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Then a
hornèd God was found,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And a God
of serpents crowned;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And for
that are serpents wound</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
the wands his maidens bear,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And the
songs of serpents sound</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
the mazes of their hair.</div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-49970767736602356992021-01-09T00:00:00.001-08:002021-01-09T00:00:10.986-08:00A Treasure Hunt in Nombre de Dios<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42kBICa7alPrYowSXWxZUNJTTgbt_aX4VyclD8sOyZgeKk3yjECHCp-R3GOkm_tuB5fAJc8ligNAGh5l3CvKk55J9H7S5-S4BgvKXTkD0SGtG5QD5MNlddbVCKo6vz_-tZbB3VXBgv8oX/s1600/Francis_Drake_Buckland_Abbey,_Devon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42kBICa7alPrYowSXWxZUNJTTgbt_aX4VyclD8sOyZgeKk3yjECHCp-R3GOkm_tuB5fAJc8ligNAGh5l3CvKk55J9H7S5-S4BgvKXTkD0SGtG5QD5MNlddbVCKo6vz_-tZbB3VXBgv8oX/s320/Francis_Drake_Buckland_Abbey,_Devon.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:1590_or_later_Marcus_Gheeraerts,_Sir_Francis_Drake_Buckland_Abbey,_Devon.jpg" target="_blank">Sir Francis Drake</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Philip
Nichols, </b><i><b>Sir Francis Drake Revived</b></i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>With only
fifty-two men, Sir Francis Drake conceives the idea of attacking his
archenemy, Spain, at her most vulnerable point the treasure at Nombre
de Dios.<br />(Drake died at Nombre de Dios, Jan. 9, 1596.)</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Thus having parted (23rd July) from our company:
we arrived at the island of Cativaas, being twenty-five leagues
distant, about five days afterward (28th July). There we landed all
in the morning betimes: and our Captain trained his men, delivering
them their several weapons and arms which hitherto he had kept very
fair and safe in good caske [<i>casks</i>]: and exhorting them after
his manner, he declared “the greatness of the hope of good things
that was there! the weakness of the town, being unwalled! and the
hope he had of prevailing to recompense his wrongs! especially now
that he should come with such a crew, who were like-minded with
himself; and at such a time, as he should be utterly undiscovered.”</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western">
Therefore, even that afternoon, he causeth us to
set sail for Nombre de Dios, so that before sunset we were as far as
Rio Francisco. Thence, he led us hard aboard the shore, that we might
not be descried of the Watch House, until that being come within two
leagues of the point of the bay, he caused us to strike a hull, and
cast our grappers [<i>grappling irons</i>], riding so until it was
dark night.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Then we weighed again, and set sail, rowing hard
aboard the shore, with as much silence as we could, till we recovered
the point of the harbour under the high land. There, we stayed, all
silent; purposing to attempt the town in the dawning of the day:
after that we had reposed ourselves, for a while.</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
But our Captain with some other of his best men,
finding that our people were talking of the greatness of the town,
and what their strength might be; especially by the report of the
Negroes that we took at the Isle of Pinos: thought it best to put
these conceits out of their heads, and therefore to take the
opportunity of the rising of the moon that night, persuading them
that “it was the day dawning.” By this occasion we were at the
town a large hour sooner then first was purposed. For we arrived
there by three of the clock after midnight. At what time it fortuned
that a ship of Spain, of 60 tons, laden with Canary wines and other
commodities, which had but lately come into the bay; and had not yet
furled her sprit-sail (espying our four pinnaces, being an
extraordinary number, and those rowing with many oars) sent away her
gundeloe [<i>gondola ?</i>] towards the town, to give warning. But
our Captain perceiving it, cut betwixt her and the town, forcing her
to go to the other side of the bay: whereby we landed without
impeachment, although we found one gunner upon the Platform [<i>battery</i>]
in the very place where we landed; being a sandy place and no key
[<i>quay</i>] at all, not past twenty yards from the houses.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
There we found six great pieces of brass
ordnance, mounted upon their carriages, some Demy, some
Whole-Culvering.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We presently dismounted them. The gunner fled.
The town took alarm (being very ready thereto, by reason of their
often disquieting by their near neighbours the Cimaroons); as we
perceived, not only by the noise and cries of the people, but by the
bell ringing out, and drums running up and down the town.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Our Captain, according to the directions which
he had given over night, to such as he had made choice of for the
purpose, left twelve to keep the pinnaces; that we might be sure of a
safe retreat, if the worst befell. And having made sure work of the
Platform before he would enter the town, he thought best, first to
view the Mount on the east side of the town: where he was informed,
by sundry intelligences the year before, they had an intent to plant
ordnance, which might scour round about the town.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Therefore, leaving one half of his company to
make a stand at the foot of the Mount, he marched up presently unto
the top of it, with all speed to try the truth of the report, for the
more safety. There we found no piece of ordnance, but only a very fit
place prepared for such use, and therefore we left it without any of
our men, and with all celerity returned now down the Mount.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Then our Captain appointed his brother, with
J<span style="font-size: x-small;">OHN</span> O<span style="font-size: x-small;">XNAM</span> [<i>or</i>
O<span style="font-size: x-small;">XENHAM</span>] and sixteen other of his men, to go
about, behind the King’s Treasure House, and enter near the
easter[n] end of the Market Place: himself with the rest, would pass
up the broad street into the Market Place, with sound of drum and
trumpet. The Firepikes, divided half to the one, and half to the
other company, served no less for fright to the enemy than light of
our men, who by his means might discern every place very well, as if
it were near day: whereas the inhabitants stood amazed at so strange
a sight, marvelling what the matter might be, and imagining, by
reason of our drums and trumpets sounding in so sundry places, that
we had been a far greater number then we were.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Yet, by means of the soldiers of which were in
the town, and by reason of the time which we spent in marching up and
down the Mount, the soldiers and inhabitants had put themselves in
arms, and brought their companies in some order, at the south-east
end of the Market Place, near the Governor’s House, and not far
from the gate of the town, which is the only one, leading towards
Panama: having (as it seems) gathered themselves thither, either that
in the Governor’s sight they might shew their valour, if it might
prevail; or else, that by the gate they might best take their <i>Vale,</i>
and escape readiest.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
And to make a shew of far greater numbers of
shot, or else of a custom they had, by the like device to terrify the
Cimaroons; they had hung lines with matches lighted, overthwart the
wester[n] end of the Market Place, between the Church and the Cross;
as though there had been in a readiness some company of shot, whereas
indeed there were not past two or three that taught these lines to
dance, till they themselves ran away, as soon as they perceived they
were discovered.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
But the soldiers and such as were joined with
them, presented us with a jolly hot volley of shot, beating full upon
the full egress of that street, in which we marched; and levelling
very low, so as their bullets ofttimes grazed on the sand.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We stood not to answer them in like terms: but
having discharged our first volley of shot, and feathered them with
our arrows (which our Captain had caused to be made of purpose in
England; not great sheaf arrows, but fine roving shafts, very
carefully reserved for the service) we came to the push of pike, so
that our firepikes being well armed and made of purpose, did us very
great service.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
For our men with their pikes and short weapons,
in short time took such order among these gallants (some using the
butt-end of their pieces instead of other weapons), that partly by
reason of our arrows which did us there notable service, partly by
occasion of this strange and sudden closing with them in this manner
unlooked for, and the rather for that at the very instant, our
Captain’s brother, with the other company, with their firepikes,
entered the Market Place by the easter[n] street: they casting down
their weapons, fled all out of the town by the gate aforesaid, which
had been built for a bar to keep out of the town the Cimaroons, who
had often assailed it; but now served for a gap for the Spaniards to
fly at.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
In following, and returning divers of our men
were hurt with the weapons which the enemy had let fall as he fled;
somewhat, for that we marched with such speed, but more for that they
lay so thick and cross one on the other.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Being returned, we made our stand near the midst
of the Market Place, where a tree groweth hard by the Cross; whence
our Captain sent some of our men to stay the ringing of the alarm
bell, which had continued all this while: but the church being very
strongly built and fast shut, they could not without firing (which
our Captain forbade) get into the steeple where the bell rung.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
In the meantime, our Captain having taken two or
three Spaniards in their flight, commanded them to shew him the
Governor’s House, where he understood was the ordinary place of
unlading the moiles [<i>mules</i>] of all the treasure which came
from Panama by the King’s appointment. Although the silver only was
kept there; the gold, pearl, and jewels (being there once entered by
the King’s officer) was carried from thence to the King’s
Treasure House not far off, being a house very strongly built of lime
and stone, for the safe keeping thereof.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
At our coming to the Governor’s House, we
found the great door where the mules do usually unlade, even then
opened, a candle lighted upon the top of the stairs; and a fair
gennet ready saddled, either for the Governor himself, or some other
of his household to carry it after him. By means of this light we saw
a huge heap of silver in that nether [<i>lower</i>] room; being a
pile of bars of silver of, as near as we could guess, seventy feet in
length, of ten feet in breadth, and twelve feet in height, piled up
against the wall, each bar was between thirty-five and forty pounds
in weight.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
At sight hereof, our Captain commanded
straightly that none of us should touch a bar of silver; but stand
upon our weapons, because the town was full of people, and there was
in the King’s Treasure House near the water side, more gold and
jewels than all our four pinnaces could carry: which we would
presently set some in hand to break open, notwithstanding the
Spaniards report the strength of it.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We were no sooner returned to our strength, but
there was a report brought by some of our men that our pinnaces were
in danger to be taken; and that if we ourselves got not aboard before
day, we should be oppressed with multitude both of soldiers and
towns-people. This report had his ground from one D<span style="font-size: x-small;">IEGO</span>
a Negro, who, in the time of the first conflict, came and called to
our pinnaces, to know “whether they were Captain D<span style="font-size: x-small;">RAKE’S?”</span>And
upon answer received, continued entreating to be taken aboard, though
he had first three or four shot made at him, until at length they
fetched him; and learned by him, that, not past eight days before our
arrival, the King had sent thither some 150 soldiers to guard the
town against the Cimaroons, and the town at this time was full of
people beside: which all the rather believed, because it agreed with
the report of the Negroes, which we took before at the Isle of Pinos.
And therefore our Captain sent his brother and J<span style="font-size: x-small;">OHN</span>
O<span style="font-size: x-small;">XNAM</span> to understand the truth thereof.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
They found our men which we left in our pinnaces
much frightened, by reason that they saw great troops and companies
running up and down, with matches lighted, some with other weapons,
crying <i>Que gente? que gente?</i> which not having been at the
first conflict, but coming from the utter ends of the town (being at
least as big as Plymouth), came many times near us; and understanding
that we were English, discharged their pieces and ran away.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Presently after this, a mighty shower of rain,
with a terrible storm of thunder and lightning, fell, which poured
down so vehemently (as it usually doth in those countries) that
before we could recover the shelter of a certain shade or penthouse
at the western end of the King’s Treasure House, (which seemeth to
have been built there of purpose to avoid sun and rain) some of our
bow-strings were wet, and some of ours match and powder hurt! which
while we were careful of, to refurnish and supply; divers of our men
harping on the reports lately brought us, were muttering of the
forces of the town, which our Captain perceiving, told them, that “He
had brought them to the mouth of the Treasure of the World, if they
would want it, they might henceforth blame nobody but themselves!”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
And therefore as soon as the storm began to
assuage of his fury (which was a long half hour) willing to give his
men no longer leisure to demur of those doubts, nor yet allow the
enemy farther respite to gather themselves together, he stept forward
commanding his brother, with J<span style="font-size: x-small;">OHN</span> O<span style="font-size: x-small;">XNAM</span>
and the company appointed them, to break the King’s Treasure house:
the rest to follow him to keep the strength of the Market Place, till
they had despatched the business for which they came.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
But as he stepped forward, his strength and
sight and speech failed him, and he began to faint for want of blood,
which, as then we perceived, had, in great quantity, issued upon the
sand, out of a wound received in his leg in the first encounter,
whereby though he felt some pain, yet (for that he perceived divers
of the company, having already gotten many good things, to be very
ready to take all occasions, of winding themselves out of that
conceited danger) would he not have it known to any, till this his
fainting, against his will, bewrayed it: the blood having first
filled the very prints which our footsteps made, to the greater
dismay of all our company, who thought it not credible that one man
should be able to spare so much blood and live.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
And therefore even they, which were willing to
have adventured the most for so fair a booty, would in no case hazard
their Captain’s life; but (having given him somewhat to drink
wherewith he recovered himself, and having bound his scarf about his
leg, for the stopping of the blood) entreated him to be content to go
with them aboard, there to have his wound searched and dressed, and
then to return on shore again if he thought good.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
This when they could not persuade him unto (as
who knew it to be utterly impossible, at least very unlikely, that
ever they should, for that time, return again, to recover the state
in which they now were: and was of opinion, that it were more
honourable for himself, to jeopard his life for so great a benefit,
than to leave off so high an enterprise unperformed), they joined
altogether and with force mingled with fair entreaty, they bare him
aboard his pinnace, and so abandoned a most rich spoil for the
present, only to preserve their Captain’s life: and being resolved
of him, that while they enjoyed his presence, and had him to command
them, they might recover wealth sufficient; but if once they lost
him, they should hardly be able to recover home. No, not with that
which they had gotten already.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Thus we embarked by break of the day (29th
July), having besides our Captain, many of our men wounded, though
none slain but one Trumpeter: whereupon though our surgeons were
busily employed, in providing remedies and salves for their wounds:
yet the main care of our Captain was respected by all the rest; so
that before we departed out of the harbour for the more comfort of
our company, we took the aforesaid ship of wines without great
resistance.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
But before we had her free of the haven, they of
the town had made means to bring one of their culverins, which we had
dismounted, so as they made a shot at us, but hindered us not from
carrying forth the prize to the Isle of <i>Bastimentos,</i> or the
Isle of Victuals: which is an island that lieth without the bay to
the westward, about a league off the town, where we stayed the two
next days, to cure our wounded men, and refresh ourselves, in the
goodly gardens which we there found abounding with great store of all
dainty roots and fruits; besides great plenty of poultry and other
fowls, no less strange then delicate.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Shortly upon our first arrival in this island,
the Governor and the rest of his Assistants in the town, as we
afterwards understood, sent unto our Captain, a proper gentleman, of
mean stature, good complexion, and a fair spoken, a principal soldier
of the late sent garrison, to view in what state we were. At his
coming he protested “He came to us, of mere good will, for that we
had attempted so great and incredible a matter with so few men: and
that, at the first, they feared that we had been French, at whose
hands they knew they should find no mercy: but after they perceived
by our arrows, that we were Englishmen, their fears were the less,
for that they knew, that though we took the treasure of the place,
yet we would not use cruelty toward their persons. But albeit this
his affection gave him cause enough, to come aboard such, whose
virtue he so honoured: yet the Governor also had not only consented
to his coming, but directly sent him, upon occasion that divers of
the town affirmed, said he, ‘that they knew our Captain, who the
last two years had been often on our coast, and had always used their
persons very well.’ And therefore desired to know, first, Whether
our Captain was the same Captain D<span style="font-size: x-small;">RAKE</span> or not?
and next, Because many of their men were wounded with our arrows,
whether they were poisoned or not? and how their wounds might best be
cured? lastly, What victuals we wanted, or other necessaries? of
which the Governor promised by him to supply and furnish us, as
largely as he durst.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Our Captain, although he thought this soldier
but a spy: yet used him very courteously, and answered him to his
Governor’s demands: that “He was the same D<span style="font-size: x-small;">RAKE</span>
whom they meant! It was never his manner to poison his arrows! They
might cure their wounded by ordinary surgery! As for wants, he knew
the Island of <i>Bastimentos</i> had sufficient, and could furnish
him if he listed! but he wanted nothing but some of that special
commodity which that country yielded, to content himself and his
company.” And therefore he advised the Governor “to hold open his
eyes! for before he departed, if GOD lent him life and leave, he
meant to reap some of their harvest, which they get out of the earth,
and send into Spain to trouble all the earth!”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
To this answer unlooked for, this gentleman
replied, “If he might, without offence, move such a question, what
should then be the cause of our departing from that town at this
time, where was above 360 tons of silver ready for the Fleet, and
much more gold in value, resting in iron chests in the King’s
Treasure House?”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
But when our Captain had shewed him the true
cause of his unwilling retreat aboard, he acknowledged that “we had
no less reason in departing, than courage in attempting”: and no
doubt did easily see, that it was not for the town to seek revenge of
us, by manning forth such frigates or other vessels as they had; but
better to content themselves and provide for their own defence.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Thus, with great favour and courteous
entertainment, besides such gifts from our Captain as most contended
him, after dinner, he was in such sort dismissed, to make report of
that he had seen, that he protested, “he was never so much honoured
of any in his life.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
After his departure, the Negro formentioned,
being examined more fully, confirmed this report of the gold and the
silver; with many other intelligences of importance: especially how
we might have gold and silver enough, if we would, by means of the
Cimaroons, whom though he had betrayed divers times (being used
thereto by his Masters) so that he knew they would kill him, if they
got him: yet if our Captain would undertake his protection, he durst
adventure his life, because he knew our Captain’s name was most
precious and highly honoured by them.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
This report ministered occasion to further
consultation: for which, because this place seemed not the safest; as
being neither the healthiest nor quietest; the next day, in the
morning, we all set our course for the Isle of <i>Pinos</i> or Port
Plenty, where we had left our ships, continuing all that day, and the
next till towards night, before we recovered it.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We were the longer in this course, for that our
Captain sent away his brother and E<span style="font-size: x-small;">LLIS</span>H<span style="font-size: x-small;">IXOM</span>
to the westward, to search the River of Chagres, where himself had
been the year before, and yet was careful to gain more notice of; it
being a river which trendeth to the southward, within six leagues of
Panama, where is a little town called Venta Cruz [<i>Venta de
Cruzes</i>], whence all the treasure, that was usually brought
thither from Panama by mules, was embarked in frigates [sailing] down
that river into the North sea, and so to Nombre de Dios.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
It ebbeth and floweth not far into the land, and
therefore it asketh three days’ rowing with a fine pinnace to pass
[up] from the mouth to Venta Cruz; but one day and a night serveth to
return down the river.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
At our return to our ships (1st August), in our
consultation, Captain R<span style="font-size: x-small;">ANSE</span> (forecasting divers
doubts of our safe continuance upon that coast, being now discovered)
was willing to depart; and our Captain no less willing to dismiss
him: and therefore as soon as our pinnaces returned from chagres (7th
August) with such advertisement as they were sent for, about eight
days before; Captain R<span style="font-size: x-small;">ANSE</span> took his leave,
leaving us at the isle aforesaid, where we had remained five or six
days.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
In which meantime, having put all things in a
readiness, our Captain resolved, with his two ships and three
pinnaces to go to Cartagena; whither in sailing, we spent some six
days by reason of the calms which came often upon us: but all this
time we attempted nothing that we might have done by the way, neither
at [Santiago de] Tolou nor otherwhere, because we would not be
discovered.</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We came to anchor with our two ships in the
evening [13th August], in seven fathom water, between the island of
Charesha [<i>the island of Cartagena, p.</i> 156] and St. Barnards
[<i>San Bernardo.</i>]</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
Our Captain led the three pinnaces about the
island, into the harbour of Cartagena; where at the very entry, he
found a frigate at anchor, aboard which was only one old man; who
being demanded, “Where the rest of his company was?” answered,
“That they were gone ashore in their gundeloe [<i>gondola or ship’s
boat?</i>], that evening, to fight about a mistress”: and
voluntarily related to our Captain that, “two hours before night,
there past by them a pinnace, with sail and oars, as fast as ever
they could row, calling to him ‘Whether there had not been any
English and Frenchmen there lately?’ and upon answer that, ‘There
had been none!’ they bid them ‘look to themselves!’ That,
within an hour that this pinnace was come to the utterside [<i>outside</i>]
of Cartagena, there were many great pieces shot off, whereupon one
going to top, to descry what might be the cause? espied, over the
land, divers frigates and small shipping bringing themselves within
the Castle.”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
This report our Captain credited, the rather for
that himself had heard the report of the ordinance at sea; and
perceived sufficiently, that he was now descried. Notwithstanding in
farther examination of this old mariner, having understood, that
there was, within the next point, a great ship of Seville, which had
here discharged her loading, and rid now with her yards across, being
bound the next morning for Santo Domingo: our Captain took this old
man into his pinnace to verify that which he had informed, and rowed
towards this ship, which as we came near it, hailed us, asking,
“Whence our shallops were?”</div>
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
<div class="western">
We answered, “From Nombre de Dios!”</div>
<br />
<div class="western">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-22750165652760591752021-01-08T00:00:00.000-08:002021-01-08T00:00:03.188-08:00Trying the Patience of Job<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqAezSq_VnOm5uZygMJQOqUQT9YWJEEd65NkYdQQYOfhIYfYMJeUwjTiiIw_PhH9EtzwophLJ7xSmiBsam5K-_BeqtyBaHXdjP9406nktjV-RufJXAmw7Vq0BJ4Jb0cNHmPEcaxzR05Kg/s1600/Book+of+Job.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqAezSq_VnOm5uZygMJQOqUQT9YWJEEd65NkYdQQYOfhIYfYMJeUwjTiiIw_PhH9EtzwophLJ7xSmiBsam5K-_BeqtyBaHXdjP9406nktjV-RufJXAmw7Vq0BJ4Jb0cNHmPEcaxzR05Kg/s320/Book+of+Job.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Job_Scroll.jpg" target="_blank">The Book of Job in Hebrew</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>The Book of Job</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>God was pleased
with the piety of Job, but Satan accredited the piety to Job's
prosperity and happiness. So a trial was made. See how each
succeeding affliction visited on Job shook the depths of his nature,
and how he survived.</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[1] THERE was a man
in the land of Uz, whose name was Job; and that man was perfect and
upright, and one that feared God, and turned away from evil.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[2] And there were
born unto him seven sons and three daughters.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[3] His substance
also was seven thousand sheep, and three thousand camels, and five
hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she-asses, and a very great
household; so that this man was the greatest of all the children of
the east.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[4] And his sons went
and held a feast in the house of each one upon his day; and they sent
and called for their three sisters to eat and to drink with them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[5] And it was so,
when the days of their feasting were gone about, that Job sent and
sanctified them, and rose up early in the morning, and offered
burnt-offerings according to the number of them all: for Job said, It
may be that my sons have sinned, and renounced God in their hearts.
Thus did Job continually.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[6] Now it came to
pass on the day when the sons of God came to present themselves
before Jehovah, that Satan also came among them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[7] And Jehovah said
unto Satan, Whence comest thou? Then Satan answered Jehovah, and
said, from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and
down in it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[8] And Jehovah said
unto Satan, Hast thou considered my servant Job? for there is none
like him in the earth, a perfect and upright man, one that feareth
God, and turneth away from evil.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[9] Then Satan
answered Jehovah, and said, Doth Job fear God for nought?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[10] Hast not thou
made a hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he
hath, on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his
substance is increased in the land.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[11] But put forth
thy hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will renounce thee
to thy face.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[12] And Jehovah said
unto Satan, Behold, all that he hath is in thy power; only upon
himself put not forth thy hand. So Satan went forth from the presence
of Jehovah.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[13] And it fell on a
day when his sons and his daughters were eating and drinking wine in
their eldest brother’s house,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[14] that there came
a messenger unto Job, and said, The oxen were plowing, and the asses
feeding beside them;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[15] and the Sabeans
fell upon them, and took them away: yea, they have slain the servants
with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[16] While he was yet
speaking, there came also another, and said, The fire of God is
fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the sheep and the servants,
and consumed them; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[17] While he was yet
speaking, there came also another, and said, The Chaldeans made three
bands, and fell upon the camels, and have taken them away, yea, and
slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I only am escaped
alone to tell thee.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[18] While he was yet
speaking, there came also another, and said, Thy sons and thy
daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother’s
house;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[19] and, behold,
there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four
corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are
dead; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[20] Then Job
arose, and rent his robe, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the
ground, and worshipped;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[21] and he said,
Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return
thither: Jehovah gave, and Jehovah hath taken away; blessed be the
name of Jehovah.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
[22] In all this Job
sinned not, nor charged God foolishly.</div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1333619758006823033.post-25794962826449661772021-01-07T13:59:00.000-08:002021-01-07T13:59:02.721-08:00If He Yawned, She Lost Her Head!<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; page-break-before: always;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:One_Thousand_and_One_Nights19.jpg" target="_blank">One Thousand and One Nights Book</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Stories from The
Thousand and One Nights</i> (Introduction)</b></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<i>The Sultan had a
habit of beheading each dawn his beautiful bride of the night before,
until he encountered Scheherazade. Cleverly she saved her life a
thousand and one mornings.</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
PRAISE be to God, the
Beneficent King, the Creator of the universe, who hath raised the
heavens without pillars, and spread out the earth as a bed; and
blessing and peace be on the lord of apostles, our lord and our
master Mohammad, and his Family; blessing and peace, enduring and
constant, unto the day of judgment.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
To proceed:—The
lives of former generations are a lesson to posterity; that a man may
review the remarkable events which have happened to others, and be
admonished; and may consider the history of people of preceding ages,
and of all that hath befallen them, and be restrained. Extolled be
the perfection of Him who hath thus ordained the history of former
generations to be a lesson to those which follow. Such are the Tales
of a Thousand and One Nights, with their romantic stories and their
fables.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It is related (but
God alone is all-knowing, as well as all-wise, and almighty, and
all-bountiful), that there was, in ancient times, a King of the
countries of India and China, possessing numerous troops, and guards,
and servants, and domestic dependents; and he had two sons; one of
whom was a man of mature age; and the other, a youth. Both of these
princes were brave horsemen; but especially the elder, who inherited
the kingdom of his father, and governed his subjects with such
justice that the inhabitants of his country and whole empire loved
him. He was called King Shahriyar: his younger brother was named
Shah-Zeman, and was King of Samarkand. The administration of their
governments was conducted with rectitude, each of them ruling over
his subjects with justice during a period of twenty years with the
utmost enjoyment and happiness. After this period, the elder King
felt a strong desire to see his brother, and ordered his Wezir to
repair to him and bring him.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Having taken the
advice of the Wezir on this subject, he immediately gave orders to
prepare handsome presents, such as horses adorned with gold and
costly jewels, and memluks, and beautiful virgins, and expensive
stuffs. He then wrote a letter to his brother, expressive of his
great desire to see him; and having sealed it, and given it to the
Wezir, together with the presents above mentioned, he ordered the
minister to strain his nerves, and tuck up his skirts, and use all
expedition in returning. The Wezir answered, without delay, I hear
and obey; and forthwith prepared for the journey: he packed his
baggage, removed the burdens, and made ready all his provisions
within three days; and on the fourth day, he took leave of the King
Shahriyar, and went forth towards the deserts and wastes. He
proceeded night and day; and each of the kings under the authority of
King Shahriyar by whose residence he passed came forth to meet him,
with costly presents, and gifts of gold and silver, and entertained
him three days; after which, on the fourth day, he accompanied him
one day’s journey, and took leave of him. Thus he continued on his
way until he drew near to the city of Samarkand, when he sent forward
a messenger to inform King Shah-Zeman of his approach. The messenger
entered the city, inquired the way to the palace, and, introducing
himself to the King, kissed the ground before him, and acquainted him
with the approach of his brother’s Wezir; upon which Shah-Zeman
ordered the chief officers of his court, and the great men of his
kingdom, to go forth a day’s journey to meet him; and they did so;
and when they met him, they welcomed him, and walked by his stirrups
until they returned to the city. The Wezir then presented himself
before the King Shah-Zeman, greeted him with a prayer for he divine
assistance in his favour, kissed the ground before him, and informed
him of his brother’s desire to see him; after which he handed to
him the letter. The King took it, read it, and understood its
contents; and answered by expressing his readiness to obey the
commands of his brother. But, said he (addressing the Wezir), I will
not go until I have entertained thee three days. Accordingly, he
lodged him in a palace befitting his rank, accommodated his troops in
tents, and appointed them all things requisite in the way of food and
drink: and so they remained three days. On the fourth day, he
equipped himself for the journey, made ready his baggage, and
collected together costly presents suitable to his brother’s
dignity.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
These preparations
being completed, he sent forth his tents and camels and mules and
servants and guards, appointed his Wezir to be governor of the
country during his absence, and set out towards his brother’s
dominions. At midnight, however, he remembered that he had left in
his palace an article which he should have brought with him; and
having returned to the palace to fetch it, he there beheld his wife
sleeping in his bed, and attended by a male negro slave, who had
fallen asleep by her side.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On beholding this
scene, the world became black before his eyes; and he said within
himself, If this is the case when I have not departed from the city,
what will be the conduct of this vile woman while I am sojourning
with my brother? He then drew this sword, and slew them both in the
bed: after which he immediately returned, gave orders for departure,
and journeyed to his brother’s capital.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shahriyar, rejoicing
at the tidings of his approach, went forth to meet him, saluted him,
and welcomed him with the utmost delight. He then ordered that the
city should be decorated on the occasion, and sat down to entertain
his brother with cheerful conversation: but the mind of King
Shah-Zeman was distracted by reflections upon the conduct of his
wife; excessive grief took possession of him; and his countenance
became sallow; and his frame emaciated. His brother observed his
altered condition, and, imagining that it was occasioned by his
absence from his dominions, abstained from troubling him or asking
respecting the cause, until after the lapse of some days, when at
length he said to him, O my brother, I perceive that thy body is
emaciated, and thy countenance is become sallow. He answered, O
brother, I have an internal sore:—and he informed him not of the
conduct of his wife which he had witnessed. Shahriyar then said, I
wish that thou wouldest go out with me on a hunting excursion;
perhaps thy mind might so be diverted:—but he declined; and
Shahriyar went alone to the chase.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now there were some
windows in the King’s palace commanding a view of his garden; and
while his brother was looking out from one of these, a door of the
palace was opened, and there came forth from it twenty females and
twenty male black slaves; and the King’s wife, who was
distinguished by extraordinary beauty and elegance, accompanied them
to a fountain, where they all disrobed themselves, and sat down
together. The King’s wife then called out, O Mes’ud! and
immediately a black slave came to her, and embraced her; she doing
the like. So also did the other slaves and the women; and all of them
continued revelling together until the close of the day. When
Shah-Zeman beheld this spectacle he said within himself, By Allah! my
affliction is lighter than this! His vexation and grief were
alleviated, and he no longer abstained from sufficient food and
drink.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When his brother
returned from his excursion, and they had saluted each other, and
King Shahriyar observed his brother Shah-Zeman, that his colour had
returned, that his face had recovered the flush of health and that he
ate with appetite, after his late abstinence, he was surprised, and
said, O my brother, when I saw thee last, thy countenance was sallow,
and now thy colour hath returned to thee: acquaint me with thy
state.—As to the change of my natural complexion, answered
Shah-Zeman, I will inform thee of its cause; but excuse my explaining
to thee the return of my colour.—First, said Shahriyar, relate to
me the cause of the change of thy proper complexion, and of thy
weakness: let me hear it.—Know then, O my brother, he answered,
that when thou sentest thy Wezir to me to invite me to thy presence,
I prepared myself for the journey, and when I had gone forth from the
city, I remembered that I had left behind me the jewel that I had
gone forth from the city, I remembered that I had left behind me the
jewel that I have given thee; I therefore returned to my palace for
it, and there I found my wife sleeping in my bed, and attended by a
black male slave; and I killed them both, and came to thee: but my
mind was occupied by reflections upon this affair, and this was the
cause of the change of my complexion, and of my weakness: now, as to
the return of my colour, excuse my informing thee of its cause.—But
when his brother heard these words, he said, I conjure thee by Allah
that thou acquaint me with the cause of the return of thy colour:—so
he repeated to him all that he had seen. I would see this, said
Shahriyar, with my own eye.—Then, said Shah-Zeman, give out that
thou art going again to the chase, and conceal thyself here with me,
and thou shalt witness this conduct, and obtain ocular proof of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shahriyar, upon this,
immediately announced that it was his intention to make another
excursion. The troops went out of the city with the tents, and the
King followed them; and after he had reposed awhile in the camp, he
said to his servants, Let no one come in to me:—and he disguised
himself, and returned to his brother in the palace, and sat in one of
the windows overlooking the garden; and when he had been there a
short time, the women and their mistress entered the garden with the
black slaves, and did as his brother had described, continuing so
until the hour of the afternoon-prayer.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When King Shahriyar
beheld this occurrence, reason fled from his head, and he said to his
brother, Shah-Zeman, Arise, and let us travel whither we please, and
renounce the regal state, until we see whether such a calamity as
this have befallen any other person like unto us; and if not, our
death will be preferable to our life. His brother agreed to his
proposal, and they went out from a private door of the palace, and
journeyed continually, days and nights, until they arrived at a tree
in the midst of a meadow, by a spring of water, on the shore of the
sea. They drank of this spring, and sat down to rest; and when the
day had a little advanced, the sea became troubled before them, and
there arose from it a black pillar, ascending towards the sky, and
approaching the meadow. Struck with fear at the sight, they climbed
up into the tree, which was lofty; and thence they gazed to see what
this might be: and behold, it was a Jinni of gigantic stature,
broad-fronted and bulky, bearing on his head a chest. He landed, and
came to the tree into which the two kings had climbed, and, having
seated himself beneath it, opened the chest, and took out of it
another box, which he also opened; and there came forth from it a
young woman, fair and beautiful, like the shining sun. When the Jinni
cast his eyes upon her, he said, O lady of noble race, whom I carried
off on thy wedding-night, I have a desire to sleep a little: and he
placed his head upon her knee, and slept. The damsel then raised her
head towards the tree, and saw there the two Kings; upon which she
removed the head of the Jinni from her knee, and, having placed it on
the ground, stood under the tree, and made signs to the two Kings, as
though she would say, Come down, and fear not this ‘Efrit. They
answered her, We conjure thee by Allah that thou excuse us in this
matter. But she said, I conjure you by the same that ye come down;
and if ye do not, I will rouse this ‘Efrit, and shall put you to a
cruel death. So, being afraid, they came down to her; and, after they
had remained with her as long as she required, she took from her
pocket a purse, and drew out from this a string, upon which were
ninety-eight seal-rings; and she said to them, Know ye what are
these? They answered, We know not.—The owners of these rings, said
she, have, all of them, been admitted to converse with me, like as ye
have, unknown to this foolish ‘Efrit; therefore, give me your two
rings, ye brothers. So they gave her their two rings from their
fingers; and then she said to them, This ‘Efrit carried me off on
my wedding-night, and put me in the box, and placed the box in the
chest, and affixed to the chest seven locks, and deposited me thus
imprisoned, in the bottom of the roaring sea, beneath the dashing
waves; not knowing that, when one of our sex desires to accomplish
any object, nothing can prevent her. In accordance with this, says
one of the poets:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Never trust in women;
nor rely upon their vows;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For their pleasure and
displeasure depend upon their passions.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They offer a false
affection; for perfidy lurks within their clothing.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By the tale of Yusuf be
admonished, and guard against their stratagems.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dost thou not consider
that Iblis ejected Adam by means of woman?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And another poet says:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Abstain from censure;
for it will strengthen the censured, and increase desire into violent
passion.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If I suffer such
passion, my case is but the same that as of many a man before me:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For greatly indeed to
be wondered at is he who hath kept himself safe from women’s
artifice.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the two Kings
heard these words from her lips they were struck with the utmost
astonishment, and said, one to the other, If this is an ‘Efrit, and
a greater calamity hath happened unto him than that which hath
befallen us, this is a circumstance that should console us:—and
immediately they departed, and returned to the city.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As soon as they had
entered the palace, Shahriyar caused his wife to be beheaded, and in
like manner the women and black slaves; and thenceforth he made it
his regular custom, every time that he took a virgin to his bed, to
kill her at the expiration of the night. Thus he continued to do
during a period of three years; and the people raised an outcry
against him, and fled with their daughters, and there remained not a
virgin in the city of a sufficient age for marriage. Such was the
case when the King ordered the Wezir to bring him a virgin according
to his custom; and the Wezir went forth and searched, and found none;
and he went back to his house enraged and vexed, fearing what the
King might do to him.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now the Wezir had two
daughters; the elder of whom was named Shahrazad; and the younger,
Dunyzad. The former had read various books of histories, and the
lives of preceding kings, and stories of past generations: it is
asserted that she had collected together a thousand books of
histories, relating to preceding generations and kings, and works of
the poets: and she said to her father on this occasion, Why do I see
thee thus changed, and oppressed with solicitude and sorrows? It has
been said by one of the poets:—</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Tell him who is
oppressed with anxiety, that anxiety will not last:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As happiness passeth
away, so passeth away anxiety.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the Wezir heard
these words from his daughter, he related to her all that had
happened to him with regard to the King: upon which she said, By
Allah, O my father, give me in marriage to this King: either I shall
die, and be a ransom for one of the daughters of the Muslims, or I
shall live, and be the cause of their deliverance from him. I conjure
thee by Allah, exclaimed he, that thou expose not thyself to such
peril:—but she said, It must be so. Then, said he, I fear for thee
that the same will befall thee that happened in the case of the Ass
and the Bull and the husbandman.—And what, she asked, was that, O
my father?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Know, O my daughter,
said the Wezir, that there was a certain merchant, who possessed
wealth and cattle, and had a wife and children; and God, whose name
be exalted, had also endowed him with the knowledge of the languages
of beasts and birds. The abode of this merchant was in the country;
and he had, in his house, an ass and a bull. When the bull came to
the place where the ass was tied, he found it swept and sprinkled; in
his manger were sifted barley and sifted cut straw, and the ass was
lying at his ease; his master being accustomed only to ride him
occasionally, when business required, and soon to return: and it
happened, one day, that the merchant overheard the bull saying to the
ass, May thy food benefit thee! I am oppressed with fatigue, while
thou art enjoying repose: thou eatest sifted barley, and men serve
thee; and it is only occasionally that thy master rides thee, and
returns; while I am continually employed in ploughing, and turning
the mill.—The ass answered, When thou goest out to the field, and
they place the yoke upon thy neck, lie down, and do not rise again,
even if they beat thee; or, if thou rise, lie down a second time; and
when they take thee back, and place the beans before thee, eat them
not, as though thou wert sick: abstain from eating and drinking a day
or two days, or three; and so shalt thou find rest from trouble and
labour.—Accordingly, when the driver came to the bull with his
fodder, he ate scarcely any of it; and on the morrow, when the driver
came again to take him to plough, he found him apparently quite
infirm: so the merchant said, Take the ass, and make him draw the
plough in his stead all the day. The man did so; and when the ass
returned at the close of the day, the bull thanked him for the favour
he had conferred upon him by relieving him of his trouble on that
day; but the ass returned him no answer, for he repented most
grievously. On the next day, the ploughman came again, and took the
ass, and ploughed with him till evening; and the ass returned with
his neck flayed by the yoke, and reduced to an extreme state of
weakness; and the bull looked upon him, and thanked and praised him.
The ass exclaimed, I was living at ease, and nought but my meddling
hath injured me! Then said he to the bull, Know that I am one who
would give thee good advice: I heard our master say, If the bull rise
not from his place, take him to the butcher, that he may kill him,
and make a nat’ of his skin:—I am therefore in fear for thee, and
so I have given thee advice; and peace be on thee!—When the bull
heard these words of the ass, he thanked him, and said, To-morrow I
will go with alacrity:—so he ate the whole of his fodder, and even
licked the manger.—Their master, meanwhile, was listening to their
conversation.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the following
morning, the merchant and his wife went to the bull’s crib, and sat
down there; and the driver came, and took out the bull; and when the
bull saw his master, he shook his tail, and showed his alacrity by
sounds and actions, bounding about in such a manner that the merchant
laughed until he fell backwards. His wife, in surprise, asked him, At
what dost thou laugh? He answered, At a thing that I have heard and
seen; but I cannot reveal it; for if I did, I should die. She said,
Thou must inform me of the cause of thy laughter, even if thou die.—I
cannot reveal it, said he: the fear of death prevents me.—Thou
laughedst only at me, she said; and she ceased not to urge and
importune him until he was quite overcome and distracted. So he
called together his children and sent for the Kadi and witnesses,
that he might make his will, and reveal the secret to her, and die:
for he loved her excessively, since she was the daughter of his
paternal uncle, and the mother of his children, and he had lived with
her to the age of a hundred and twenty years. Having assembled her
family and his neighbours, he related to them his story, and told
them that as soon as he revealed his secret he must die; upon which
every one present said to her, We conjure thee by Allah that thou
give up this affair, and let not thy husband, and the father of thy
children, die. But she said, I will not desist until he tell me,
though he die for it. So they ceased to solicit her; and the merchant
left them, and went to the stable to perform the ablution, and then
to return, and tell them the secret, and die.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now he had a cock,
with fifty hens under him, and he had also a dog; and he heard the
dog call to the cock, and reproach him, saying, Art thou happy when
our master is going to die? The cock asked, How so?—and the dog
related to him the story; upon which the cock exclaimed, By Allah!
our master has little sense: I have fifty wives; and I please this,
and provoke that; while he has but one one wife, and cannot manage
this affair with her: why does he not take some twigs of the mulberry
tree, and enter her chamber, and beat her until she dies or repents?
She would never, after that ask him a question respecting
anything.—And when the merchant heard the words of the cock, as he
addressed the dog, he recovered his reason, and made up his mind to
beat her.—Now, said the Wezir to his daughter Shahrazad, perhaps I
may do to thee as the merchant did to his wife. She asked, And what
did he? He answered, He entered her chamber after he had cut off some
twigs of the mulberry tree, and hidden them there; and then said to
her, Come into the chamber, that I may tell thee the secret while no
one sees me, and then die:—and when she had entered, he locked the
chamber door upon her, and beat her until she became almost senseless
and cried out, I repent:—and she kissed his hands and his feet, and
repented, and went out with him; and all the company, and her own
family, rejoiced; and they lived together in the happiest manner
until death.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the Wezir’s
daughter heard the words of her father, she said to him, It must be
as I have requested. So he arrayed her, Shahriyar. Now she had given
directions to her younger sister saying to her, When I have gone to
the King, I will send to request thee to come; and when thou comest
to me, and seest a convenient time, do thou say to me, O my sister,
relate to me some strange story to beguile our waking hour:—and I
will relate to thee a story that shall, if it be the will of God, be
the means of procuring deliverance.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Her father, the
Wezir, then took her to the King, who, when he saw him, was rejoiced,
and said, Hast thou brought me what I desired? He answered Yes. When
the King, therefore, introduced himself to her, she wept; and he said
to her, What aileth thee? She answered, O King, I Have a young
sister, and I wish to take leave of her. So the King sent to her; and
she came to her sister, and embraced her, and sat near the foot of
the bed; and after she had waited for a proper opportunity, she said,
By Allah! O my sister, relate to us a story to beguile the waking
hour of our night. Most willingly, answered Shahrazad, if this
virtuous King permit me. And the King, hearing these words, and being
restless, was pleased with the idea of listening to the story; and
thus, on the first night of the thousand and one, Shahrazad commenced
her recitations.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Kennedyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15253950126983322536noreply@blogger.com0