FamiliarStudiesOfMenAndBooks

ByRobertLouisStevenson

FamiliarStudiesOfMenAndBooks

VICTORHUGO’SROMANCES.

AprèsleromanpittoresquemaisprosaïquedeWalterScottilresteraunautreromanàcréer,plusbeauetpluscompletencoreselonnous.C’estleroman,àlafoisdrameetépopée,pittoresquemaispoétique,réelmaisidéal,vraimaisgrand, qui enchâsseraWalter Scott dansHomère.—VictorHugo onQuentinDurward.VICTORHUGO’Sromancesoccupyanimportantpositioninthehistoryofliterature;manyinnovations,timidlymadeelsewhere,haveinthembeencarriedboldlyouttotheirlastconsequences;muchthatwasindefiniteinliterarytendencieshasattainedtodefinitematurity;manythingshavecometoapointandbeendistinguishedonefromtheother;anditisonlyinthelastromanceofall,QuatreVingtTreize,thatthisculminationismostperfect.Thisisinthenatureofthings.Menwhoareinanywaytypicalofastageofprogressmaybecomparedmorejustlytothehanduponthedialoftheclock,whichcontinuestoadvanceasitindicates,thantothestationarymilestone,whichisonlythemeasureofwhatispast.Themovementisnotarrested.Thatsignificantsomethingbywhichtheworkofsuchamandiffersfromthatofhispredecessors,goesondisengagingitselfandbecomingmoreandmorearticulateandcognisable.Thesameprincipleofgrowththatcarriedhisfirstbookbeyondthebooksofpreviouswriters,carrieshislastbookbeyondhis

first.Andjustasthemostimbecileproductionofanyliteraryagegivesussometimestheverycluetocomprehensionwehavesoughtlongandvainlyincontemporarymasterpieces,soitmaybetheveryweakestofanauthor’sbooksthat,cominginthesequelofmanyothers,enablesusatlasttogetholdofwhatunderliesthewholeofthem—ofthatspinalmarrowofsignificancethatunitestheworkofhislifeintosomethingorganicandrational.ThisiswhathasbeendonebyQuatreVingtTreizefortheearlierromancesofVictorHugo,and,throughthem,forawholedivisionofmodernliterature.Wehaveherethelegitimatecontinuationofalongandlivingliterarytradition; andhence, so far, its explanation.Whenmany lines diverge from each other indirection so slightly as to confuse the eye, we know that we have only toproducethemtomakethechaosplain:thisiscontinuallysoinliteraryhistory;andweshallbestunderstandtheimportanceofVictorHugo’sromancesifwethinkof themassomesuchprolongationofoneof themain linesof literarytendency.WhenwecomparethenovelsofWalterScottwiththoseofthemanofgeniuswhoprecededhim,andwhomhedelightedtohonourasamasterintheart—ImeanHenryFielding—weshallbesomewhatpuzzled,atthefirstmoment,tostate the difference that there is between these two. Fielding has as muchhumanscience;hasa far firmerholdupon the tillerofhis story;hasakeensenseof character,whichhedraws (andScottoftendoes so too) in a ratherabstractandacademicalmanner;andfinally,isquiteashumorousandquiteasgood-humouredasthegreatScotchman.Withallthesepointsofresemblancebetweenthemen,itisastonishingthattheirworkshouldbesodifferent.Thefact is, that the English novelwas looking oneway and seeking one set ofeffects in the hands of Fielding; and in the hands of Scott it was lookingeagerly inallwaysandsearchingforall theeffects thatbyanypossibility itcould utilise. The difference between these two men marks a greatenfranchisement.With Scott the Romantic movement, the movement of anextendedcuriosityandanenfranchisedimagination,hasbegun.Thisisatritethingtosay;buttritethingsareoftenveryindefinitelycomprehended:andthisenfranchisement, in as far as it regards the technical change that came overmodernproseromance,hasneverperhapsbeenexplainedwithanyclearness.Todoso,itwillbenecessaryroughlytocomparethetwosetsofconventionsuponwhichplaysandromancesarerespectivelybased.Thepurposesofthesetwoartsaresomuchalike,andtheydealsomuchwiththesamepassionsandinterests,thatweareapttoforgetthefundamentaloppositionoftheirmethods.Andyetsuchafundamentaloppositionexists.Inthedramatheactionisdevelopedingreatmeasurebymeansofthingsthatremainoutsideoftheart;bymeansofrealthings,thatis,andnotartisticconventionsforthings.Thisisasortofrealismthatisnottobeconfoundedwiththatrealisminpaintingofwhichwehearsomuch.Therealisminpaintingisathingofpurposes;this,

thatwehavetoindicateinthedrama,isanaffairofmethod.Wehaveheardastory,indeed,ofapainterinFrancewho,whenhewantedtopaintasea-beach,carriedrealismfromhisendstohismeans,andplasteredrealsanduponhiscanvas;andthatispreciselywhatisdoneinthedrama.Thedramaticauthorhastopainthisbeacheswithrealsand:reallivemenandwomenmoveaboutthestage;wehearrealvoices;whatisfeignedmerelyputsasenseuponwhatis;wedoactuallyseeawomangobehindascreenasLadyTeazle,and,afteracertaininterval,wedoactuallyseeherveryshamefullyproducedagain.Nowallthesethings,thatremainastheywereinlife,andarenottransmutedintoanyartisticconvention,areterriblystubbornanddifficulttodealwith;andhencethereareforthedramatistmanyresultantlimitationsintimeandspace.Theselimitationsinsomesortapproximatetowardsthoseofpainting:thedramaticauthoristieddown,notindeedtoamoment,buttothedurationofeachsceneoract;heisconfinedtothestage,almostasthepainterisconfinedwithinhisframe.Butthegreatrestrictionisthis,thatadramaticauthormustdealwithhisactors,andwithhisactorsalone.Certainmomentsofsuspense,certainsignificantdispositionsofpersonages,acertainlogicalgrowthofemotion,thesearetheonlymeansatthedisposaloftheplaywright.Itistruethat,withtheassistanceofthescene-painter,thecostumierandtheconductoroftheorchestra,hemayaddtothissomethingofpageant,somethingofsoundandfury;buttheseare,forthedramaticwriter,besidethemark,anddonotcomeunderthevivifyingtouchofhisgenius.Whenweturntoromance,wefindthisnolonger.Herenothingisreproducedtooursensesdirectly.Notonlythemainconceptionofthework,butthescenery,theappliances,themechanismbywhichthisconceptionisbroughthometous,havebeenputthroughthecrucibleofanotherman’smind,andcomeoutagain,oneandall,intheformofwrittenwords.Withthelossofeverydegreeofsuchrealismaswehavedescribed,thereisforartacleargainoflibertyandlargenessofcompetence.Thus,painting,inwhichtheroundoutlinesofthingsarethrownontoaflatboard,isfarmorefreethansculpture,inwhichtheirsolidityispreserved.Itisbygivinguptheseidentitiesthatartgainstruestrength.Andsointhecaseofnovelsascomparedwiththestage.Continuousnarrationistheflatboardontowhichthenovelistthrowseverything.Andfromthisthereresultsforhimagreatlossofvividness,butagreatcompensatinggaininhispoweroverthesubject;sothathecannowsubordinateonethingtoanotherinimportance, and introduce allmanner of very subtle detail, to a degree thatwasbefore impossible.He can render just as easily the flourish of trumpetsbefore a victorious emperor and the gossip of country market women, thegradual decay of forty years of aman’s life and the gesture of a passionatemoment.Hefindshimselfequallyunable, ifhe looksat it fromonepointofview—equallyable,ifhelooksatitfromanotherpointofview—toreproducea colour, a sound, an outline, a logical argument, a physical action.Hecan

show his readers, behind and around the personages that for the momentoccupytheforegroundofhisstory,thecontinualsuggestionofthelandscape;the turnof theweather thatwill turnwith itmen’s livesandfortunes,dimlyforeshadowed on the horizon; the fatality of distant events, the stream ofnational tendency, the salient framework of causation. And all this thrownupontheflatboard—allthisentering,naturallyandsmoothly,intothetextureofcontinuousintelligentnarration.ThistouchesthedifferencebetweenFieldingandScott.Intheworkofthelatter,truetohischaracterofamodernandaromantic,webecomesuddenlyconsciousofthebackground.Fielding,ontheotherhand,althoughhehadrecognisedthatthenovelwasnothingelsethananepicinprose,wroteinthespiritnotoftheepic,butofthedrama.Thisisnot,ofcourse,tosaythatthedramawasinanywayincapableofaregenerationsimilarinkindtothatofwhichIamnowspeakingwithregardtothenovel.Thenotoriouscontraryfactissufficienttoguardthereaderagainstsuchamisconstruction.Allthatismeantis,thatFieldingremainedignorantofcertaincapabilitieswhichthenovelpossessesoverthedrama;or,atleast,neglectedanddidnotdevelopthem.Totheendhecontinuedtoseethingsasaplaywrightseesthem.Theworldwithwhichhedealt,theworldhehadrealisedforhimselfandsoughttorealiseandsetbeforehisreaders,wasaworldofexclusivelyhumaninterest.Asforlandscape,hewascontenttounderlinestagedirections,asitmightbedoneinaplay-book:TomandMollyretireintoapracticablewood.Asfornationalityandpublicsentiment,itiscuriousenoughtothinkthatTomJonesislaidintheyearforty-five,andthattheonlyusehemakesoftherebellionistothrowatroop of soldiers into his hero’s way. It is most really important,however,toremarkthechangewhichhasbeenintroducedintotheconceptionofcharacterby thebeginningof theromanticmovementand theconsequentintroductionintofictionofavastamountofnewmaterial.Fieldingtellsusasmuchashe thoughtnecessary toaccount for theactionsofhiscreatures;hethoughtthateachoftheseactionscouldbedecomposedonthespotintoafewsimplepersonalelements,aswedecomposea force inaquestionofabstractdynamics.Thelargermotivesareallunknowntohim;hehadnotunderstoodthatthenatureofthelandscapeorthespiritofthetimescouldbeforanythingin a story; and so, naturally and rightly, he said nothing about them. ButScott’sinstinct,theinstinctofthemanofanageprofoundlydifferent,taughthimotherwise;and, inhiswork, the individualcharactersbegin tooccupyacomparatively small proportion of that canvas on which armies manœuvre,and great hills pile themselves upon each other’s shoulders. Fielding’scharacterswere always great to the full stature of a perfectly arbitrarywill.Already in Scott we begin to have a sense of the subtle influences thatmoderateandqualifyaman’spersonality;thatpersonalityisnolongerthrownout inunnatural isolation,but is resumed into itsplace in theconstitutionof

things.Itisthischangeinthemannerofregardingmenandtheiractionsfirstexhibitedinromance,thathassincerenewedandvivifiedhistory.Forartprecedesphilosophyandevenscience.Peoplemusthavenoticedthingsandinterestedthemselvesinthembeforetheybegintodebateupontheircausesorinfluence.Anditisinthiswaythatartisthepioneerofknowledge;thosepredilectionsoftheartistheknowsnotwhy,thoseirrationalacceptationsandrecognitions,reclaim,outoftheworldthatwehavenotyetrealised,everanotherandanothercorner;andafterthefactshavebeenthusvividlybroughtbeforeusandhavehadtimetosettleandarrangethemselvesinourminds,somedaytherewillbefoundthemanofsciencetostandupandgivetheexplanation.ScotttookaninterestinmanythingsinwhichFieldingtooknone;andforthisreason,andnoother,heintroducedthemintohisromances.Ifhehadbeentoldwhatwouldbethenatureofthemovementthathewassolightlyinitiating,hewouldhavebeenveryincredulousandnotalittlescandalised.Atthetimewhenhewrote,therealdriftofthisnewmannerofpleasingpeopleinfictionwasnot yet apparent; and, even now, it is only bylooking at the romances of Victor Hugo that we are enabled to form anyproper judgment in the matter. These books are not only descended byordinarygenerationfromtheWaverleynovels,butitisinthemchieflythatweshallfindtherevolutionarytraditionofScottcarriedfartherthatweshallfindScott himself, in so far as regards his conception of prose fiction and itspurposes, surpassed in his own spirit, instead of tamely followed.We havehere, as I said before, a line of literary tendency produced, and by thisproductiondefinitelyseparatedfromothers.WhenwecometoHugo,weseethatthedeviation,whichseemedslightenoughandnotveryseriousbetweenScottandFielding, is indeedsuchagreatgulph in thoughtandsentimentasonlysuccessivegenerationscanpassover:anditisbutnaturalthatoneofthechief advances that Hugo has made upon Scott is an advance in self-consciousness. Both men follow the same road; but where the one wentblindly and carelessly, the other advances with all deliberation andforethought.There neverwas artistmuchmore unconscious than Scott; andtherehavebeennotmanymoreconsciousthanHugo.Thepassageattheheadofthesepagesshowshoworganicallyhehadunderstoodthenatureofhisownchanges.Hehas, underlying eachof the five great romances (which alone Ipurpose here to examine), two deliberate designs: one artistic, the otherconsciouslyethicalandintellectual.This isaman living inadifferentworldfromScott,whoprofesses sturdily (inoneofhis introductions) thathedoesnotbelieve innovelshavinganymoral influenceatall;butstillHugois toomuchofanartist to lethimselfbehamperedbyhisdogmas;andthe truth isthattheartisticresultseems,inatleastonegreatinstance,tohaveverylittleconnectionwiththeother,ordirectlyethicalresult.

Theartisticresultofaromance,whatisleftuponthememorybyanyreallypowerfulandartisticnovel,issomethingsocomplicatedandrefinedthatitisdifficulttoputanameuponitandyetsomethingassimpleasnature.Thesetwopropositionsmayseemmutuallydestructive,buttheyaresoonlyinappearance.Thefactisthatartisworkingfaraheadoflanguageaswellasofscience,realisingforus,byallmannerofsuggestionsandexaggerations,effectsforwhichasyetwehavenodirectname;nay,forwhichwemayneverperhapshaveadirectname,forthereasonthattheseeffects do not enter verylargelyintothenecessitiesoflife.Hencealoneisthatsuspicionofvaguenessthatoftenhangs about thepurposeof a romance: it is clear enough tous inthought; butwe arenot used to consider anything clearuntilwe are able toformulateitinwords,andanalyticallanguagehasnotbeensufficientlyshapedto that end.We all know this difficulty in the case of a picture, simple andstrongasmaybetheimpressionthatithasleftwithus;anditisonlybecauselanguageisthemediumofromance,thatwearepreventedfromseeingthatthetwocasesarethesame.Itisnotthatthereisanythingblurredorindefiniteintheimpressionleftwithus,itisjustbecausetheimpressionissoverydefiniteafteritsownkind,thatwefindithardtofititexactlywiththeexpressionsofourphilosophicalspeech.It is this idea which underlies and issues from a romance, this somethingwhich it is the functionof that formofart tocreate, thisepicalvalue, that Ipropose chiefly to seek and, as far as may be, to throw into relief, in thepresentstudy.Itisthus,Ibelieve,thatweshallseemostclearlythegreatstridethatHugohastakenbeyondhispredecessors,andhow,nolongercontentwithexpressingmore or less abstract relations ofman toman, he has set beforehimself the task of realising, in the language of romance, much of theinvolutionofourcomplicatedlives.Thisepicalvalueisnottobefound,letitbeunderstood,ineveryso-callednovel.Thegreatmajorityarenotworksofartinanythingbutaverysecondarysignification.Onemightalmostnumberonone’sfingerstheworksinwhichsuchasupremeartisticintentionhasbeeninanywaysuperiortotheotherandlesseraims,themselvesmoreorlessartistic,thatgenerallygohandinhandwithitintheconceptionofproseromance.Thepurelycriticalspiritis,inmostnovels,paramount.Atthepresentmomentwecanrecallonemanonly,forwhoseworksitwouldhavebeenequallypossibletoaccomplishourpresentdesign:andthatmanisHawthorne.Thereisaunity,anunwaveringcreativepurpose,aboutsomeatleastofHawthorne’sromances,thatimpressesitselfonthemostindifferentreader;andtheveryrestrictionsandweaknessesofthemanservedperhapstostrengthenthevividandsingleimpressionofhisworks.ThereisnothingofthiskindinHugo:unity,ifheattainstoit,isindeedunityoutofmultitude;and it is thewonderfulpowerofsubordinationand synthesis thus displayed, that gives us the measure of his talent. No

amount of mere discussion and statement, such as this, could give a justconception of the greatness of this power. It must be felt in the booksthemselves, and all that can be done in the present essay is to recall to thereaderthemoregeneralfeaturesofeachofthefivegreatromances,hurriedlyandimperfectly,asspacewillpermit,andratherasasuggestionthananythingmorecomplete.ThemoralendthattheauthorhadbeforehimintheconceptionofNotreDamedePariswas(hetellsus)to“denounce”theexternalfatalitythathangsovermenintheformoffoolishandinflexiblesuperstition.Tospeakplainly,thismoralpurposeseemstohavemightylittletodowiththeartisticconception;moreoveritisveryquestionablyhandled,whiletheartisticconceptionisdevelopedwiththemostconsummatesuccess.OldParislivesforuswithnewnessoflife:wehaveeverbeforeoureyesthecitycutintothreebythetwoarmsoftheriver,theboat-shapedisland“moored”byfivebridgestothedifferentshores,andthetwounequaltownsoneitherhand.Weforgetallthatenumerationofpalacesandchurchesandconventswhichoccupiessomanypagesofadmirabledescription,andthethoughtlessreadermightbeinclinedtoconcludefromthis,thattheywerepagesthrownaway;butthisisnotso:weforget,indeed,thedetails,asweforgetordonotseethedifferentlayersofpaintonacompletedpicture;butthethingdesiredhasbeenaccomplished,andwecarryawaywithusasenseofthe“Gothicprofile”ofthecity,ofthe“surprisingforestofpinnaclesandtowersandbelfries,”andweknownotwhatofrichandintricateandquaint.Andthroughout,NotreDamehasbeenheldupoverParisbyaheightfargreaterthanthatofitstwintowers:theCathedralispresenttousfromthefirstpagetothelast;thetitlehasgivenustheclue,andalreadyinthePalaceofJusticethestorybeginstoattachitselftothatcentralbuildingbycharacteraftercharacter.Itispurelyaneffectofmirage;NotreDamedoesnot,inreality,thusdominateandstandoutabovethecity;andanyonewhoshouldvisitit,inthespiritoftheScott-touriststoEdinburghortheTrossachs,wouldbealmostoffendedatfindingnothingmorethanthisoldchurchthrustawayintoacorner.Itispurelyaneffectofmirage,aswesay;butitisaneffectthatpermeatesandpossessesthewholebookwithastonishingconsistencyandstrength.Andthen,HugohaspeopledthisGothiccity, and, above all, this Gothic church, with a race of men even moredistinctlyGothicthantheirsurroundings.Weknowthisgenerationalready:wehave seen themclusteredabout theworncapitalsofpillars, or craning forthoverthechurch-leadswiththeopenmouthsofgargoyles.Aboutthemallthereisthatsortofstiffquaintunreality,thatconjunctionofthegrotesque,andevenofacertainbourgeoissnugness,withpassionatecontortionandhorror,thatissocharacteristicofGothicart.Esmeraldaissomewhatanexception;sheandthegoat traverse thestory like twochildrenwhohavewandered inadream.The finestmoment of the book iswhen these two sharewith the two other

leading characters,DomClaude andQuasimodo, the chill shelter of the oldcathedral.It isherethatwetouchmostintimatelythegenerativeartisticideaof the romance: are they not all four taken out of some quaint moulding,illustrativeoftheBeatitudes,ortheTenCommandments,orthesevendeadlysins?WhatisQuasimodobutananimatedgargoyle?WhatisthewholebookbutthereanimationofGothicart?Itiscuriousthatinthis,theearliestofthefivegreatromances,thereshouldbesolittleofthatextravagancethatlatterlywehavecomealmosttoidentifywiththeauthor’smanner.Yetevenherewearedistressedbywords,thoughts,andincidents that defy belief and alienate the sympathies. The scene of the inpace,forexample,inspiteofitsstrength,vergesdangerouslyontheprovinceof thepennynovelist. Idonotbelieve thatQuasimodorodeupon thebell; Ishouldassoonimaginethatheswungbytheclapper.Andagainthefollowingtwosentences,outof anotherwiseadmirablechapter, surely surpasswhat ithaseverenteredintotheheartofanyothermantoimagine(vol.ii.p.180):“Ilsouffraittantqueparinstantsils’arrachaitdespoignéesdecheveux,pourvoirs’ils ne blanchissaient pas.” And, p. 181: “Ses pensées étaient siinsupportablesqu’ilprenaitsatêteàdeuxmainsettâchaitdel’arracherdesesépaulespourlabrisersurlepavé.”Oneotherfault,beforewepasson.Inspiteofthehorrorandmiserythatpervadeallofhislaterwork,thereisinitmuchlessofactualmelodramathanhere,andrarely,Ishouldsaynever,thatsortofbrutality,thatuselessinsufferable violence to the feelings, which is the last distinction betweenmelodrama and true tragedy. Now, in Notre Dame, the whole story ofEsmeralda’spassionfortheworthlessarcherisunpleasantenough;butwhenshebetraysherself inher lasthiding-place,herselfandherwretchedmother,bycallingouttothissordidherowhohaslongsinceforgottenher—well,thatisjustoneofthosethingsthatreaderswillnotforgive;theydonotlikeit,andthey are quite right; life is hard enough for poormortals,without having itindefinitelyembitteredforthembybadart.WelookinvainforanysimilarblemishinLesMisérables.Here,ontheotherhand,thereisperhapsthenearestapproachtoliteraryrestraintthatHugohasevermade:thereisherecertainlytheripestandmosteasydevelopmentofhispowers.Itisthemoralintentionofthisgreatnoveltoawakenusalittle,ifitmaybe—forsuchawakeningsareunpleasant—tothegreatcostofthissocietythatweenjoyandprofitby,tothelabourandsweatofthosewhosupportthelitter,civilisation,inwhichweourselvesaresosmoothlycarriedforward.Peopleareallgladtoshuttheireyes;anditgivesthemaverysimplepleasurewhentheycanforgetthatourlawscommitamillionindividualinjustices,tobeonceroughlyjustinthegeneral;thatthebreadthatweeat,andthequietofthefamily,andallthatembellisheslifeandmakesitworthhaving,havetobe

purchasedbydeath—bythedeathsofanimals,andthedeathsofmenweariedoutwithlabour,andthedeathsofthosecriminalscalledtyrantsandrevolutionaries,andthedeathsofthoserevolutionariescalledcriminals.ItistosomethingofallthisthatVictorHugowishestoopenmen’seyesinLesMisérables;andthismorallessonisworkedoutinmasterlycoincidencewiththeartisticeffect.Thedeadlyweightofcivilisationtothosewhoarebelowpressessensiblyonourshouldersasweread.AsortofmockingindignationgrowsuponusaswefindSocietyrejecting,againandagain,theservicesofthemostserviceable;settingJeanValjeantopickoakum,castingGalileointoprison,evencrucifyingChrist.Thereisahauntingandhorriblesenseofinsecurityaboutthebook.Theterrorwethusfeelisaterrorforthemachineryoflaw,thatwecanheartearing,inthedark,goodandbadbetweenitsformidablewheelswiththeironstolidityofallmachinery,humanordivine.Thisterrorincarnatesitselfsometimesandleapshorriblyoutuponus;aswhenthecrouchingmendicantlooksup,andJeanValjean, in the light of the streetlamp, recognises the face of the detective; aswhen the lantern of the patrolflashes suddenly through the darkness of the sewer; or aswhen the fugitivecomesforthatlastatevening,bythequietriverside,andfindsthepolicetherealso,waitingstolidlyforviceandstolidlysatisfiedtotakevirtueinstead.Thewholebookisfullofoppression,andfullofprejudice,whichisthegreatcauseofoppression.WehavetheprejudicesofM.Gillenormand, theprejudicesofMarius, the prejudices in revolt that defend the barricade, and the thronedprejudices that carry it by storm. And then we have the admirable but ill-writtencharacterofJavert,themanwhohadmadeareligionofthepolice,andwouldnot survive themomentwhenhe learned that therewasanother truthoutsidethetruthoflaws;ajustcreation,overwhichthereaderwilldowelltoponder.Withsogloomyadesignthisgreatworkisstillfulloflifeandlightandlove.TheportraitofthegoodBishopisoneofthemostagreeablethingsinmodernliterature.ThewholesceneatMontfermeilisfullofthecharmthatHugoknowssowellhowtothrowaboutchildren.WhocanforgetthepassagewhereCosette,sentoutatnighttodrawwater,standsinadmirationbeforetheilluminatedbooth,andthehucksterbehind“luifaisaitunpeul’effetd’êtrelePèreéternel?”ThepathosoftheforlornsabotlaidtrustinglybythechimneyinexpectationoftheSantaClausthatwasnot,takesusfairlybythethroat;thereisnothinginShakespearethattouchestheheartmorenearly.ThelovesofCosetteandMariusareverypureandpleasant,andwecannotrefuseouraffectiontoGavroche,althoughwemaymakeamentalreservationofourprofounddisbeliefinhisexistence.Takeitforallinall,therearefewbooksintheworldthatcanbecomparedwithit.ThereisasmuchcalmandserenityasHugohaseverattainedto;themelodramaticcoarsenessesthatdisfiguredNotreDamearenolongerpresent.Thereiscertainlymuchthatispainfully

improbable;andagain,thestoryitselfisalittletoowellconstructed;itproducesonustheeffectofapuzzle,andwegrowincredulousaswefindthateverycharacterfitsagainandagainintotheplot,andis,likethechild’scube,serviceableonsixfaces;thingsarenotsowellarrangedinlifeasallthatcomesto.Someofthedigressions,also,seemoutofplace,anddonothingbutinterruptandirritate.Butwhenallissaid,thebookremainsofmasterlyconceptionandofmasterlydevelopment,fullofpathos,fulloftruth,fullofahigheloquence.Superstitionandsocialexigencyhavingbeenthusdealtwithinthefirsttwomembersoftheseries,itremainedforLesTravailleursdelaMertoshowmanhandtohandwiththeelements,thelastformofexternalforcethatisbroughtagainsthim.Andhereoncemoretheartisticeffectandthemorallessonareworkedouttogether,andare,indeed,one.Gilliat,aloneuponthereefathisherculeantask,offersatypeofhumanindustryinthemidstofthevague“diffusionofforcesintotheillimitable,”andthevisionarydevelopmentof“wastedlabour”inthesea,andthewinds,andtheclouds.NocharacterwaseverthrownintosuchstrangereliefasGilliat.Thegreatcircleofsea-birdsthatcomewanderinglyaroundhimonthenightofhisarrival,strikesatoncethenoteofhispre-eminenceandisolation.Hefillsthewholereefwithhisindefatigabletoil;thissolitaryspotintheoceanringswiththeclamourofhisanvil;weseehimashecomesandgoes,thrownoutsharplyagainsttheclearbackgroundofthesea.AndyethisisolationisnottobecomparedwiththeisolationofRobinsonCrusoe,forexample;indeed,notwobookscouldbemoreinstructivetosetsidebysidethanLesTravailleursandthisotheroftheolddaysbeforearthadlearnttooccupyitselfwithwhatliesoutsideofhumanwill.Crusoewasonesolecentreofinterestinthemidstofanatureutterlydeadandutterlyunrealisedbytheartist;butthisisnothowwefeelwithGilliat;wefeelthatheisopposedbya“darkcoalitionofforces,”thatan“immenseanimosity”surroundshim;wearethewitnessesoftheterriblewarfarethathewageswith“thesilentinclemencyofphenomenagoingtheirownway,andthegreatgenerallaw,implacableandpassive:”“aconspiracyoftheindifferencyofthings”isagainsthim.Thereisnotoneinterestonthereef,buttwo.JustaswerecogniseGilliatforthehero,werecognise,asimpliedbythisindifferencyofthings,thisdirectionofforcestosomepurposeoutsideourpurposes,yetanothercharacterwhomayalmosttakerankasthevillainofthenovel,andthetwofaceuptooneanotherblowforblow,feintforfeint,until,inthestorm,theyfightitepicallyout,andGilliatremainsthevictor;—avictor,however,whohasstilltoencountertheoctopus.Ineedsaynothingofthegruesome,repulsiveexcellenceofthatfamousscene;itwillbeenoughtoremindthereader that Gilliat is in pursuit of a crab when he is himselfassaulted by the devil fish, and that this, in itsway, is the last touch to theinnersignificanceofthebook;here,indeed,isthetruepositionofmaninthe

universe.ButinLesTravailleurs,withallitsstrength,withallitseloquence,withallthebeauty and fitness of itsmain situations,we cannot conceal from ourselvesthat there is a threadof something thatwillnotbearcalmscrutiny.There ismuch that is disquieting about the storm, admirably as it begins. I am verydoubtful whether it would be possible to keep the boat from foundering insuchcircumstances,byanyamountofbreakwaterandbroken rock. Idonotunderstandthewayinwhichthewavesarespokenof,andpreferjusttotakeitasaloosewayofspeaking,andpasson.Andlastly,howdoesithappenthatthe sea was quite calm next day? Is this great hurricane a piece of scene-paintingafterall?AndwhenwehaveforgivenGilliat’sprodigiesofstrength(although, in soberness, he reminds us more of Porthos in the Vicomte deBragelonnethanisquitedesirable),whatistobesaidtohissuicide,andhoware we to condemn in adequate terms that unprincipled avidity after effect,whichtellsusthatthesloopdisappearedoverthehorizon,andtheheadunderthewater,atoneandthesamemoment?MonsieurHugomaysaywhathewill,butwe know better;we know verywell that they did not; a thing like thatraisesupadespairingspiritofoppositioninaman’sreaders;theygivehimtheliefiercely,astheyread.Lastly,wehaveherealreadysomebeginningofthatcuriousseriesofEnglishblunders, thatmakesuswonder if thereareneitherproof-sheets nor judicious friends in the whole of France, and affects ussometimeswith a sickening uneasiness as towhatmaybe our own exploitswhenwetouchuponforeigncountriesandforeigntongues.Itisherethatweshallfindthefamous“firstofthefourth,”andmanyEnglishwordsthatmaybe comprehensible perhaps in Paris. It is here that we learn that “laird” inScotlandisthesametitleas“lord”inEngland.Here,also,isanaccountofaHighlandsoldier’sequipment,whichwerecommendtotheloversofgenuinefun.In L’Homme qui Rit, it was Hugo’s object to ‘denounce’ (as he would sayhimself) the aristocratic principle as it was exhibited in England; and thispurpose,somewhatmoreunmitigatedlysatiricthanthatofthetwolast,mustanswer for much that is unpleasant in the book. The repulsiveness of thescheme of the story, and the manner in which it is bound up withimpossibilitiesandabsurdities,discouragethereaderattheoutset,anditneedsan effort to take it as seriously as it deserves. And yet when we judge itdeliberately,itwillbeseenthat,hereagain,thestoryisadmirablyadaptedtothemoral.Theconstructiveingenuityexhibitedthroughoutisalmostmorbid.Nothing could bemore happily imagined, as a reductio ad absurdumof thearistocratic principle, than the adventures of Gwynplaine, the itinerantmountebank, snatched suddenly out of his little way of life, and installedwithoutpreparationasoneofthehereditarylegislatorsofagreatcountry.Itiswithaverybitterironythatthepaper,onwhichallthisdepends,islefttofloat

foryearsatthewillofwindandtide.What,again,canbefinerinconceptionthan that voice from the people heard suddenly in the House of Lords, insolemnarraignmentofthepleasuresandprivilegesofitssplendidoccupants?Thehorriblelaughter,stampedforever“byorderoftheking”uponthefaceofthisstrangespokesmanofdemocracy,addsyetanotherfeatureofjusticetothescene; in all time, travesty has been the argument of oppression; and, in alltime,theoppressedmighthavemadethisanswer:“IfIamvile,isitnotyoursystemthathasmademeso?”Thisghastlylaughtergivesoccasion,moreover,for the one strain of tenderness running through theweb of this unpleasantstory: the loveof theblindgirlDea, for themonster. It is amost benignantprovidencethatthusharmoniouslybringstogetherthesetwomisfortunes;itisoneofthosecompensations,oneofthoseafterthoughtsofarelentingdestiny,that reconcile us from time to time to the evil that is in the world; theatmosphere of the book is purified by the presence of this pathetic love; itseemstobeabovethestorysomehow,andnotofit,asthefullmoonoverthenightofsomefoulandfeverishcity.ThereishereaqualityinthenarrationmoreintimateandparticularthanisgeneralwithHugo;butitmustbeowned,ontheotherhand,thatthebookiswordy,andeven,nowandthen,alittlewearisome.Ursusandhiswolfarepleasantenoughcompanions;buttheformerisnearlyasmuchanabstracttypeasthelatter.Thereisabeginning,also,ofanabuseofconventionalconversation,suchasmaybequitepardonableinthedramawhereneedsmust,butiswithoutexcuseintheromance.Lastly,Isupposeonemustsayawordortwoabout theweakpointsof thisnot immaculatenovel;andifso, itwillbebesttodistinguishatonce.ThelargefamilyofEnglishblunders,towhichwehavealludedalreadyinspeakingofLesTravailleurs,areofasortthatisreallyindifferentinart.IfShakespearemakeshisshipscastanchorbysomeseaportofBohemia, ifHugoimaginesTom-Tim-Jacktobea likelynicknameforanEnglishsailor,orifeitherShakespeare,orHugo,orScott,forthatmatter,beguilty of “figments enough to confuse the march of a whole history—anachronismsenoughtooversetall,chronology,”thelifeoftheircreations,theartistictruthandaccuracyoftheirwork,isnotsomuchascompromised.Butwhen we come upon a passage like the sinking of the “Ourque” in thisromance, we can do nothing but cover our face with our hands: theconscientious reader feels a sort of disgrace in the very reading. For suchartisticfalsehoods,springingfromwhatIhavecalledalreadyanunprincipledavidity after effect, no amount of blame can be exaggerated; and above all,when the criminal is suchamanasVictorHugo.Wecannot forgive in himwhatwemighthavepassedoverinathird-ratesensationnovelist.Littleasheseemstoknowoftheseaandnauticalaffairs,hemusthaveknownverywellthatvesselsdonotgodownashemakesthe“Ourque”godown;hemusthaveknown that such a liberty with fact was against the laws of the game, and

incompatiblewithallappearanceofsincerityinconceptionorworkmanship.Ineachofthesebooks,oneafteranother,therehasbeensomedeparturefromthetraditionalcanonsofromance;buttakingeachseparately,onewouldhavefearedtomaketoomuchofthesedepartures,ortofoundanytheoryuponwhatwasperhapspurelyaccidental.TheappearanceofQuatreVingtTreizehasputusoutoftheregionofsuchdoubt.Likeadoctorwhohaslongbeenhesitatinghowtoclassifyanepidemicmalady,wehavecomeatlastuponacasesowellmarkedthatouruncertaintyisatanend.Itisanovelbuiltupon“asortofenigma,”whichwasatthatdatelaidbeforerevolutionaryFrance,andwhichispresentedbyHugotoTellmarch,toLantenac,toGauvain,andveryterriblytoCimourdain,eachof whom gives his own solution of thequestion,clementorstern,accordingtothetemperofhisspirit.Thatenigmawasthis:“Canagoodactionbeabadaction?Doesnothewhosparesthewolfkill thesheep?”Thisquestion,as Isay,meetswithoneanswerafteranotherduringthecourseofthebook,andyetseemstoremainundecidedtotheend.And something in the same way, although one character, or one set ofcharacters,afteranothercomestothefrontandoccupiesourattentionforthemoment,weneveridentifyourinterestwithanyofthesetemporaryheroesnorregretthemaftertheyarewithdrawn.Wesooncometoregardthemsomewhatas special cases of a general law;whatwe really care for is something thattheyonlyimplyandbodyforthtous.Weknowhowhistorycontinuesthroughcenturyaftercentury;howthiskingor thatpatriotdisappears fromitspageswithhiswholegeneration,andyetwedonotcease to read,nordoweevenfeelasifwehadreachedanylegitimateconclusion,becauseourinterestisnotin themen,but in thecountry that they lovedorhated,benefitedor injured.Andsoitishere:GauvainandCimourdainpassaway,andweregardthemnomore than the lost armies of which we find the cold statistics in militaryannals;whatweregardiswhatremainsbehind;itistheprinciplethatputthesemenwheretheywere,thatfilledthemforawhilewithheroicinspiration,andhas the power, now that they are fallen, to inspire others with the samecourage.Theinterestof thenovelcentresaboutrevolutionaryFrance: justastheplotisanabstractjudicialdifficulty,theheroisanabstracthistoricalforce.And this hasbeendone, not, as itwouldhavebeenbefore, by the cold andcumbersome machinery of allegory, but with bold, straightforward realism,dealing only with the objective materials of art, and dealing with them somasterfully that thepalestabstractionsof thoughtcomebeforeus,andmoveourhopesandfears,asiftheyweretheyoungmenandmaidensofcustomaryromance.TheepisodeofthemotherandchildreninQuatreVingtTreizeisequaltoanythingthatHugohaseverwritten.Thereisonechapterinthesecondvolume,forinstance,called“Seinguéri,cœursaignant,”thatisfulloftheverystuffoftruetragedy,andnothingcouldbemoredelightfulthanthehumoursof

thethreechildrenonthedaybeforetheassault.ThepassageonLaVendéeisreallygreat,andthescenesinParishavemuchofthesamebroad merit. Thebookisfull,asusual,ofpregnantandsplendidsayings.Butwhenthusmuchisconcededbywayofpraise,wecometotheotherscaleofthebalance,andfindthis, also, somewhat heavy.There is here a yet greater over-employment ofconventionaldialogue than inL’HommequiRit;andmuch that shouldhavebeen said by the author himself, if it were to be said at all, he has mostunwarrantablyputintothemouthsofoneorotherofhischaracters.WeshouldliketoknowwhatbecomesofthemainbodyofthetroopinthewoodofLaSaudraie during the thirty pages or so inwhich the foreguard lays aside alldiscipline,andstopstogossipoverawomanandsomechildren.Wehaveanunpleasant idea forceduponusatoneplace, inspiteofall thegood-naturedincredulity thatwe can summon up to resist it. Is it possible thatMonsieurHugothinkstheyceasedtosteerthecorvettewhilethegunwasloose?Ofthechapter inwhichLantenac andHalmalho are alone together in theboat, thelesssaidthebetter;ofcourse,iftherewerenothingelse,theywouldhavebeenswamped thirty timesoverduring thecourseofLantenac’sharangue.Again,afterLantenachaslanded,wehavescenesofalmostinimitableworkmanshipthatsuggest theepithet“statuesque”by theirclearandtrenchantoutline;butthetocsinscenewillnotdo,andthetocsinunfortunatelypervadesthewholepassage, ringing continually in our ears with a taunting accusation offalsehood.And then,whenwe come to the placewhereLantenacmeets theroyalists,undertheideathatheisgoingtomeettherepublicans,itseemsasiftherewereahitchinthestagemechanism.Ihavetrieditover ineveryway,andIcannotconceiveanydispositionthatwouldmakethescenepossibleasnarrated.Such then, with their faults and their signal excellences, are the five greatnovels.Romanceisalanguageinwhichmanypersonslearntospeakwithacertainappearanceoffluency;buttherearefewwhocaneverbendittoanypracticalneed,fewwhocaneverbesaidtoexpressthemselvesinit.IthasbecomeabundantlyplainintheforegoingexaminationthatVictorHugooccupiesahighplaceamongthosefew.Hehasalwaysaperfectcommandoverhisstories;andweseethattheyareconstructedwithahighregard to someulteriorpurpose,andthateverysituationisinformedwithmoralsignificanceandgrandeur.Ofnoothermancanthesamethingbesaidinthesamedegree.His romances are not to be confused with “the novel with a purpose” asfamiliar to the English reader: this is generally themodel of incompetence;andweseethemoralclumsilyforcedintoeveryholeandcornerofthestory,or thrown externally over it like a carpet over a railing. Now the moralsignificance,withHugo,isoftheessenceoftheromance;itistheorganisingprinciple.IfyoucouldsomehowdespoilLesMisérablesorLesTravailleursof

theirdistinctivelesson,youwouldfindthatthestoryhadlostitsinterestandthebookwasdead.Havingthuslearnedtosubordinatehisstorytoanidea,tomakehisartspeak,hewentontoteachittosaythingsheretoforeunaccustomed.Ifyoulookbackatthefivebooksofwhichwehavenowsohastilyspoken,youwillbeastonishedatthefreedomwithwhichtheoriginalpurposesofstory-tellinghavebeenlaidasideandpassedby.WherearenowthetwoloverswhodescendedthemainwatershedofalltheWaverleynovels,andallthenovelsthathavetriedtofollowintheirwake?Sometimestheyarealmostlostsightofbeforethesolemnisolationofamanagainsttheseaandsky,asinLesTravailleurs;sometimes,asinLesMisérables,theymerelyfigureforawhile,asabeautifulepisodeintheepicofoppression;sometimestheyareentirelyabsent,asinQuatreVingtTreize.ThereisnoheroinNotreDame:inLesMisérablesitisanoldman:inL’HommequiRititisamonster:inQuatreVingtTreizeitistheRevolution.Thoseelementsthatonlybegantoshowthemselvestimidly,asadjuncts,inthenovelsofWalterScott,haveusurpedevermoreandmoreofthecanvas;untilwefindthewholeinterestofoneofHugo’sromancescentringaroundmatterthatFieldingwouldhavebanishedfromhisaltogether,asbeingoutofthefieldoffiction.Sowehaveelementalforcesoccupyingnearlyaslargeaplace,playing(sotospeak)nearlyasimportantarôle,astheman,Gilliat,whoopposesandovercomesthem.Sowefindthefortunesofanationputuponthestagewithasmuchvividnessaseverbeforethefortunesofavillagemaidenoralostheir;andtheforcesthatopposeandcorruptaprincipleholdingtheattentionquiteasstronglyasthewickedbaronsordishonestattorneysofthepast.HencethoseindividualintereststhatweresupremeinFielding,andeveninScott,stoodoutovereverythingelseandformedasitwerethespineofthestory,figurehereonlyasonesetofinterestsamongmanysets,oneforceamongmanyforces,onethingtobe treatedoutofawholeworldof thingsequallyvividand important.Sothat, for Hugo, man is no longer an isolated spirit without antecedent orrelationherebelow,butabeinginvolvedintheactionandreactionofnaturalforces, himself a centre of such action and reaction or an unit in a greatmultitude,chasedhitherandthitherbyepidemicterrorsandaspirations,and,inallseriousness,blownaboutbyeverywindofdoctrine.Thisisalongwaythatwehave travelled:betweensuchworkand theworkofFielding is therenot,indeed,agreatgulphinthoughtandsentiment?Art,thusconceived,realisesformenalargerportionoflife,andthatportionone that it ismoredifficult for themtorealiseunaided;and,besideshelpingthemtofeelmoreintenselythoserestrictedpersonalinterestswhicharepatenttoall, itawakesin themsomeconsciousnessof thosemoregeneralrelationsthataresostrangelyinvisibletotheaveragemaninordinarymoods.Ithelpstokeepmaninhisplaceinnature,and,aboveall,ithelpshimtounderstand

more intelligently the responsibilities of his place in society.And in all thisgeneralisationofinterest,wenevermissthosesmallhumanitiesthatareattheoppositepoleofexcellenceinart;andwhileweadmiretheintellectthatcouldseelifethuslargely,wearetouchedwithanothersentimentforthetenderheartthatslippedthepieceofgoldintoCosette’ssabot,thatwasvirginallytroubledattheflutteringofherdressinthespringwind,orputtheblindgirlbesidethedeformityofthelaughingman.This,then,isthelastpraisethatwecanawardto these romances. The author has shown a power of just subordinationhithertounequalled;andas,inreachingforwardtooneclassofeffects,hehasnotbeenforgetfulorcarelessof theother,hiswork ismorenearlycompletework,andhisart,withallitsimperfections,dealsmorecomprehensivelywiththematerialsoflifethanthatofanyofhisotherwisemoresureandmasterlypredecessors.Thesefivebookswouldhavemadeaverygreatfameforanywriter,andyettheyarebutonefaçadeofthemonumentthatVictorHugohaserectedtohisgenius.Everywherewefindsomewhatthesamegreatness,somewhatthesameinfirmities.Inhispoemsandplaystherearethesameunaccountableprotervitiesthathavealreadyastonishedusintheromances.There,too,isthesamefeverishstrength,weldingthefieryironofhisideaunderforge-hammerrepetitions—anemphasis that issomehowakin toweaknesses—strength thatis a little epileptic. He stands so far above all his contemporaries, and soincomparablyexcelstheminrichness,breadth,variety,andmoralearnestness,thatwealmostfeelasifhehadasortofrighttofalloftenerandmoreheavilythanothers;butthisdoesnotreconcileustoseeinghimprofitbytheprivilegesofreely.Weliketohave,inourgreatmen,somethingthatisabovequestion;weliketoplaceanimplicitfaithinthem,andseethemalwaysontheplatformof their greatness; and this, unhappily, cannot bewithHugo.AsHeine saidlongago,hisisageniussomewhatdeformed;but,deformedasitis,weacceptitgladly;weshallhave thewisdomtoseewherehis footslips,butweshallhave the justice also to recognise in him one of the greatest artists of ourgeneration,and,inmanyways,oneofthegreatestartistsoftime.Ifwelookback,yetonce,uponthesefiveromances,weseeblemishessuchaswecanlaytothechargeofnoothermaninthenumberofthefamous;buttowhatothermancanweattributesuchsweeping innovations,suchanewandsignificantpresentment of the life of man, such an amount, if wemerely think of theamount,ofequallyconsummateperformance?

SOMEASPECTSOFROBERTBURNS

TOwritewithauthorityaboutanotherman,wemusthavefellow-feelingand

somecommongroundofexperiencewithoursubject.Wemaypraiseorblameaccordingaswefindhimrelatedtousbythebestorworstinourselves;butitisonlyinvirtueofsomerelationshipthatwecanbehisjudges,eventocondemn.Feelingswhichweshareandunderstandenterforusintothetissueoftheman’scharacter;thosetowhichwearestrangersinourownexperienceweareinclinedtoregardasblots,exceptions,inconsistencies,andexcursionsofthediabolic;weconceivethemwithrepugnance,explainthemwithdifficulty,andraiseourhandstoheaveninwonderwhenwefindtheminconjunctionwithtalentsthatwerespectorvirtuesthatweadmire.David,kingofIsrael,wouldpassasounderjudgmentonamanthaneitherNathanielorDavidHume.Now,PrincipalShairp’srecentvolume,althoughIbelievenoonewillreaditwithoutrespectandinterest,hasthisonecapitaldefect—thatthereisimperfectsympathybetweentheauthorandthesubject,betweenthecriticandthepersonalityundercriticism.Henceaninorganic,ifnotanincoherent,presentationofboththepoemsandtheman.OfHolyWillie’sPrayer,PrincipalShairpremarksthat“thosewhohavelovedmostwhatwasbestinBurns’spoetrymusthaveregrettedthatitwaseverwritten.”TotheJollyBeggars,sofarasmymemoryservesme,herefersbutonce;andthenonlytoremarkonthe“strange,nottosaypainful,”circumstancethatthesamehandwhichwrotetheCotter’sSaturdayNightshouldhavestoopedtowritetheJollyBeggars.TheSaturdayNightmayormaynotbeanadmirablepoem;butitssignificanceistrebled,andthepowerandrangeofthepoetfirstappears,whenitissetbesidetheJollyBeggars.Totakeaman’sworkpiecemeal,exceptwiththedesignofelegantextracts,isthewaytoavoid,andnottoperform,thecritic’sduty.ThesamedefectisdisplayedinthetreatmentofBurnsasaman,whichisbroken,apologetical,andconfused.ThemanherepresentedtousisnotthatBurns,teresatquerotundus—aburlyfigureinliterature,as,fromourpresentvantageoftime,wehavebeguntoseehim.This,ontheotherhand,isBurnsashemayhaveappearedtoacontemporaryclergyman,whomweshallconceivetohavebeenakindandindulgentbutorderlyandorthodoxperson,anxioustobepleased,buttoooftenhurtanddisappointedbythebehaviourofhisred-hotprotégé,andsolacinghimselfwiththeexplanationthatthepoetwas“themostinconsistentofmen.”Ifyouaresosensiblypainedbythemisconductofyoursubject,andsopaternallydelightedwithhisvirtues,youwillalwaysbeanexcellentgentleman,butasomewhatquestionablebiographer.Indeed,wecanonlybesorryandsurprisedthatPrincipalShairpshouldhavechosenathemesouncongenial.WhenwefindamanwritingonBurns,wholikesneitherHolyWillie,northeBeggars,northeOrdination,nothingisadequatetothesituationbuttheoldcryofGéronte:“Quediableallait-ilfairedanscettegalère?”Andeverymeritwefindinthebook,whichissoberandcandidin a degree unusual withbiographies of Burns, only leads us to regret more heartily that goodwork

shouldbesogreatlythrownaway.Itisfarfrommyintentiontotelloveragainastorythathasbeensooftentold;buttherearecertainlysomepointsinthecharacterofBurnsthatwillbeartobe brought out, and some chapters in his life that demand a brief rehearsal.Theunityoftheman’snature,forallitsrichness,hasfallensomewhatoutofsight in the pressure of new information and the apologetical ceremony ofbiographers.Mr.Carlylemadean inimitablebustof thepoet’sheadofgold;may Inotbe forgiven ifmybusiness shouldhavemore todowith the feet,whichwereofclay?

YOUTH.

AnyviewofBurnswouldbemisleadingwhichpassedoverinsilencetheinfluencesofhishomeandhisfather.Thatfather,WilliamBurnes,afterhavingbeenformanyyearsagardener,tookafarm,married,and,likeanemigrantinanewcountry,builthimselfahousewithhisownhands.Povertyofthemostdistressingsort,withsometimesthenearprospectofagaol,embitteredtheremainderofhislife.Chill,backward,andausterewithstrangers,graveandimperiousinhisfamily,hewasyetamanofveryunusualpartsandofanaffectionatenature.Onhiswaythroughlifehehadremarkedmuchuponothermen,withmoreresultintheorythanpractice;andhehadreflecteduponmanysubjectsashedelvedthegarden.Hisgreatdelightwasinsolidconversation;hewouldleavehisworktotalkwiththeschoolmasterMurdoch;andRobert,whenhecamehomelateatnight,notonlyturnedasiderebukebutkepthisfathertwohoursbesidethefirebythecharmofhismerryandvigoroustalk.Nothingismorecharacteristicoftheclassingeneral,andWilliamBurnesinparticular,thanthepainshetooktogetproperschoolingforhisboys,and,whenthatwasnolongerpossible,thesenseandresolutionwithwhichhesethimselftosupplythedeficiencybyhisowninfluence.Formanyyearshewastheirchiefcompanion;hespokewiththemseriouslyonallsubjectsasiftheyhad been grown men; at night, when work was over, hetaught themarithmetic;heborrowedbooksfor themonhistory,science,andtheology;andhefeltithisdutytosupplementthislast—thetraitislaughablyScottish—byadialogueofhisowncomposition,wherehisownprivateshadeof orthodoxy was exactly represented. He would go to his daughter as shestayed afield herding cattle, to teach her the names of grasses and wildflowers, or to sit byher sidewhen it thundered.Distance to strangers, deepfamilytenderness,loveofknowledge,anarrow,precise,andformalreadingoftheology—everythingwe learn of him hangswell together, and builds up apopularScotchtype.IfImentionthenameofAndrewFairservice,itisonlyas

Imight couple for an instantDugaldDalgettywith oldMarshalLoudon, tohelpoutthereader’scomprehensionbyapopularbutunworthyinstanceofaclass.Suchwas the influenceof this good andwiseman that his householdbecameaschooltoitself,andneighbourswhocameintothefarmatmeal-timewouldfindthewholefamily,father,brothers,andsisters,helpingthemselveswithonehand,andholdingabookintheother.WearesurprisedattheprosestyleofRobert;thatofGilbertneedsurpriseusnoless;evenWilliamwritesaremarkableletterforayoungmanofsuchslenderopportunities.Oneanecdotemarks the tasteof the family.MurdochbroughtTitusAndronicus, and,withsuchdominieelocutionaswemaysuppose,begantoreaditaloudbeforethisrustic audience; butwhenhe had reached the passagewhereTamora insultsLavinia,withonevoiceand“inanagonyofdistress”theyrefusedtohearittoanend.Insuchafatherandwithsuchahome,Roberthadalreadythemakingofanexcellenteducation;andwhatMurdochadded,althoughitmaynothavebeenmuchinamount,wasincharactertheveryessenceofaliterarytraining.Schools and colleges, for one great man whom they complete, perhapsunmakeadozen;thestrongspiritcandowelluponmorescantyfare.Robertstepsbeforeus,almostfromthefirst,inhiscompletecharacter—aproud,headstrong,impetuouslad,greedyofpleasure,greedyofnotice;inhisownphrase“pantingafterdistinction,”andinhisbrother’s“cherishingaparticularjealousyofpeoplewhowerericherorofmoreconsequencethanhimself:”withallthis,hewasemphaticallyoftheartistnature.AlreadyhemadeaconspicuousfigureinTarboltonchurch,withtheonlytied hair in theparish, “and his plaid, which was of a particular colour, wrapped in aparticularmannerroundhisshoulders.”Tenyearslater,whenamarriedman,thefatherofafamily,afarmer,andanofficerofExcise,weshallfindhimoutfishing in masquerade, with fox-skin cap, belted great-coat, and greatHighlandbroadsword.Helikeddressingup,infact,foritsownsake.Thisisthespiritwhich leads to theextravagantarrayofLatinQuarterstudents,andthe proverbial velveteen of the English landscape-painter; and, though thepleasurederivedisinitselfmerelypersonal,itshowsamanwhois,tosaytheleast of it, not pained by general attention and remark.His fatherwrote thefamilynameBurnes;RobertearlyadoptedtheorthographyBurnessfromhiscousinin theMearns;andinhis twenty-eighthyearchangeditoncemoretoBurns. It is plain that the last transformation was not made without somequalm;forinaddressinghiscousinheadheres, inat leastonemoreletter, tospelling number two. And this, again, shows a man preoccupied about themannerofhisappearanceevendowntothename,andlittlewillingtofollowcustom.Again,hewasproud,andjustlyproud,ofhispowersinconversation.To no other man’s have we the same conclusive testimony from differentsourcesandfromeveryrankoflife.Itisalmostacommonplacethatthebestofhisworkswaswhathesaidintalk.Robertsonthehistorian“scarcelyever

met anymanwhose conversation displayed greater vigour;” theDuchess ofGordondeclaredthathe“carriedheroffherfeet;”and,whenhecamelatetoaninn,theservantswouldgetoutofbedtohearhimtalk.But,intheseearlydays at least, he was determined to shine by any means. He made himselffearedinthevillageforhistongue.Hewouldcrushweakermentotheirfaces,or even perhaps—for the statement of Sillar is not absolute—say cuttingthings of his acquaintances behind their back. At the church door, betweensermons,hewouldparadehisreligiousviewsamidhisses.Thesedetailsstamptheman.Hehadnogenteel timidities in theconductofhis life.He loved toforcehispersonalityupontheworld.Hewouldpleasehimself,andshine.Hadhe lived in theParisof1830,and joinedhis lotwith theRomantics,wecanconceivehimwriting Jehan for Jean, swaggering inGautier’s redwaistcoat,andhorrifyingBourgeoisinapubliccaféwithparadoxandgasconnade.Aleadingtraitthroughouthiswholecareerwashisdesiretobeinlove.Nefaitpas ce tourquiveut.His affectionswereoften enough touched, but perhapsneverengaged.Hewasallhis lifeonavoyageofdiscovery,but itdoesnotappearconclusivelythatheevertouchedthehappyisle.Amanbringstolovea deal of ready-made sentiment, and even from childhood obscurelyprognosticatesthesymptomsofthisvitalmalady.Burnswasformedforlove;he had passion, tenderness, and a singular bent in the direction; he couldforesee,withtheintuitionofanartist,whatloveoughttobe;andhecouldnotconceiveaworthy lifewithout it.Buthehad ill-fortune,andwasbesidessogreedy after every shadow of the true divinity, and somuch the slave of astrongtemperament,thatperhapshisnervewasrelaxedandhishearthadlostthepowerofself-devotionbeforeanopportunityoccurred.Thecircumstancesof his youth doubtless counted for something in the result. For the lads ofAyrshire, as soon as the day’s work was over and the beasts were stabled,wouldtaketheroad,itmightbeinawintertempest,andtravelperhapsmilesbymossandmoorland tospendanhouror two incourtship.Rule10of theBachelors’ClubatTarboltonprovidesthat“everymanproperforamemberofthisSocietymustbeaprofessedloverofoneormoreofthefemalesex.”Therich, as Burns himself points out, may have a choice of pleasurableoccupations,buttheseladshadnothingbuttheir“canniehourate’en.”Itwasupon love and flirtation that this rustic society was built; gallantry was theessenceoflifeamongtheAyrshirehillsaswellasintheCourtofVersailles;and the days were distinguished from each other by love-letters, meetings,tiffs,reconciliations,andexpansionstothechosenconfidant,asinacomedyofMarivaux.Herewas a field for amanofBurns’s indiscriminate personalambition,wherehemightpursuehisvoyageofdiscoveryinquestoftruelove,andenjoy temporary triumphsby theway.Hewas“constantly thevictimofsomefairenslaver”—atleast,whenitwasnottheotherwayabout;andtherewereoftenunderplotsandsecondaryfairenslavers in thebackground.Many

—ormaywenotsaymost?—oftheseaffairswereentirelyartificial.One,hetellsus,hebeganoutof“avanityofshowinghisparts incourtship,” forhepiquedhimselfonhisabilityata love-letter.But,howevertheybegan,theseflames of his were fanned into a passion ere the end; and he standsunsurpassed in his power of self-deception, and positively without acompetitorintheart,tousehisownwords,of“batteringhimselfintoawarmaffection,”—a debilitating and futile exercise. Once he had worked himselfintothevein,“theagitationsofhismindandbody”wereanastonishmenttoallwhoknewhim.Suchacourseasthis,howeverpleasanttoathirstyvanity,wasloweringtohisnature.HesankmoreandmoretowardstheprofessionalDon Juan.With a leer ofwhat the French call fatuity, he bids the belles ofMauchlinebewareofhisseductions;andthesamecheapself-satisfactionfindsayetuglierventwhenheplumeshimselfonthescandalatthebirthofhisfirstbastard.We canwell believewhat we hear of his facility in striking up anacquaintancewithwomen:hewouldhaveconqueringmanners;hewouldbeardownuponhisrusticgamewiththegracethatcomesofabsoluteassurance—theRichelieuofLochleaorMossgiel.Inyetanothermannerdidthesequaintwaysof courtshiphelphim into fame. If heweregreat asprincipal, hewasunrivalledasconfidant.Hecouldenterintoapassion;hecouldcounselwarymoves,being,inhisownphrase,sooldahawk;nay,hecouldturnaletterforsomeunluckyswain,orevenstringafewlinesofversethatshouldclinchthebusinessandfetch thehesitatingfairone to theground.Nor,perhaps,was itonlyhis“curiosity,zeal,andintrepiddexterity”thatrecommendedhimforasecond insuchaffairs; itmusthavebeenadistinction tohave theassistanceand advice of Rab the Ranter; and one who was in no way formidable byhimselfmightgrowdangerousandattractivethroughthefameofhisassociate.Ithinkwecanconceivehim,intheseearlyyears,inthatroughmoorlandcountry,pooramongthepoorwithhissevenpoundsayear,lookeduponwithdoubtbyrespectableelders,butforallthatthebesttalker,thebestletter-writer,themostfamousloverandconfidant,thelaureatepoet,andtheonlymanwhoworehishairtiedintheparish.Hesayshehadthenashighanotionofhimselfaseverafter;andIcanwellbelieveit.Amongtheyouthhewalkedfacileprinceps,anapparentgod;andevenif,fromtimetotime,theReverendMr.AuldshouldswoopuponhimwiththethundersoftheChurch,and,incompanywithsevenothers,RabtheRantermustfiguresomefineSundayonthestoolofrepentance,wouldtherenotbeasortofglory,aninfernalapotheosis,insoconspicuousashame?WasnotRichelieuindisgracemoreidolisedthaneverbythedamesofParis?andwhenwasthehighwaymanmostacclaimedbutonhiswaytoTyburn?Or, to takeasimilefromnearerhome,andstillmoreexactlytothepoint,whatcouldevencorporalpunishmentavail,administeredbyacold,abstract,unearthlyschool-master,againsttheinfluenceandfameoftheschool’shero?

AndnowwecometotheculminatingpointofBurns’searlyperiod.Hebegantobereceivedintotheunknownupperworld.Hisfamesoonspreadfromamonghisfellow-rebelsonthebenches,andbegantoreachtheushersandmonitorsofthisgreatAyrshireacademy.Thisaroseinpartfromhislaxviewsaboutreligion;foratthistimethatoldwarofthecreedsandconfessors,whichisalwaysgrumblingfromendtoendofourpoorScotland,briskedupinthesepartsintoahotandvirulentskirmish;andBurnsfoundhimselfidentifiedwiththeoppositionparty,—acliqueofroaringlawyersandhalf-hereticaldivines,withwitenoughtoappreciatethevalueofthepoet’shelp,andnotsufficienttastetomoderatehisgrossnessandpersonality.WemayjudgeoftheirsurprisewhenHolyWilliewasputintotheirhand;liketheamorousladsofTarbolton,theyrecognisedinhimthebestofseconds.Hissatiresbegantogotheroundinmanuscript;Mr.Aiken,oneofthelawyers,“readhimintofame;”hehimselfwassoonwelcomeinmanyhousesofabettersort,wherehisadmirabletalk,andhismanners,whichhehaddirectfromhisMaker,exceptforabrushhegavethematacountrydancingschool,completedwhathispoemshadbegun.WehaveasightofhimathisfirstvisittoAdamhill,inhisploughman’sshoes,coastingaroundthecarpetasthoughthatweresacredground.Buthesoongrewusedtocarpetsandtheirowners;andhewasstillthesuperiorofallwhomheencountered,andruledtheroostinconversation.Suchwastheimpressionmade,thatayoungclergyman,himselfamanofability,trembledandbecameconfusedwhenhesawRobertenterthechurchinwhichhewastopreach.Itisnotsurprisingthatthepoetdeterminedtopublish:hehadnowstoodthetestofsomepublicity,andunderthishopefulimpulsehecomposedinsixwintermonthsthebulkofhismoreimportantpoems.Herewasayoungmanwho,fromaveryhumbleplace,wasmountingrapidly;fromthecynosureofaparish,hehadbecomethetalkofacounty;oncethebardofruralcourtships,hewasnowabouttoappearasaboundandprintedpoetintheworld’sbookshops.Afewmoreintimatestrokesarenecessarytocompletethesketch.Thisstrongyoung plough-man,who feared no competitorwith the flail, suffered like afine lady from sleeplessness and vapours; he would fall into the blackestmelancholies,andbefilledwithremorseforthepastandterrorforthefuture.Hewasstillnotperhapsdevotedtoreligion,buthauntedbyit;andatatouchof sickness prostrated himself before God in what I can only call unmanlypenitence.As he had aspirations beyond his place in the world, so he hadtastes,thoughts,andweaknessestomatch.Helovedtowalkunderawoodtothe sound of awinter tempest; he had a singular tenderness for animals; hecarriedabookwithhiminhispocketwhenhewentabroad,andworeoutinthisservicetwocopiesoftheManofFeeling.Withyoungpeopleinthefieldat work he was very long-suffering; and when his brother Gilbert spokesharplytothem—“Oman,yearenoforyoungfolk,”hewouldsay,andgive

thedefaulter ahelpinghandanda smile. In theheartsof themenwhomhemet,hereadasinabook;and,whatisyetmorerare,hisknowledgeofhimselfequalledhisknowledgeofothers.TherearenotruerthingssaidofBurnsthanwhat is tobe found inhisown letters.CountryDonJuanashewas,hehadnoneofthatblindvanitywhichvaluesitselfonwhatitisnot;heknewhisownstrengthandweaknesstoahair:hetookhimselfboldlyforwhathewas,and,exceptinmomentsofhypochondria,declaredhimselfcontent.

THELOVESTORIES.

OnthenightofMauchlineraces,1785,theyoungmenandwomenoftheplacejoinedinapennyball,accordingtotheircustom.InthesamesetdancedJeanArmour,themaster-mason’sdaughter,andourdark-eyedDonJuan.Hisdog(nottheimmortalLuath,butasuccessorunknowntofame,caretquiavatesacro),apparentlysensibleofsomeneglect,followedhismastertoandfro,totheconfusionofthedancers.Somemirthfulcomments followed; and Jeanheardthepoetsaytohispartner—or,asIshouldimagine,laughinglylaunchtheremarktothecompanyatlarge—that“hewishedhecouldgetanyofthelasses to like him as well as his dog.” Some time after, as the girl wasbleaching clothes on Mauchline green, Robert chanced to go by, stillaccompanied by his dog; and the dog, “scouring in long excursion,”scamperedwith four blackpaws across the linen.This brought the two intoconversation;whenJean,withasomewhathoydenishadvance,inquiredif“hehadyetgotanyofthelassestolikehimaswellashisdog?”ItisoneofthemisfortunesoftheprofessionalDonJuanthathishonourforbidshimtorefusebattle;heisinlifeliketheRomansoldieruponduty,orliketheswornphysicianwhomustattendonalldiseases.Burnsacceptedtheprovocation;hungryhopereawakenedinhisheart;herewasagirl—pretty,simpleatleast,ifnothonestlystupid,andplainlynotaversetohisattentions:itseemedtohimoncemoreasiflovemightherebewaitinghim.Hadhebutknownthetruth!forthisfacileandempty-headedgirlhadnothingmoreinviewthanaflirtation;andherheart,fromthefirstandontotheendofherstory,wasengagedbyanotherman.Burnsoncemorecommencedthecelebratedprocessof“batteringhimselfintoawarmaffection;”andtheproofsofhissuccessaretobefoundinmanyversesoftheperiod.Nordidhesucceedwithhimselfonly;Jean,withherheartstillelsewhere,succumbedtohisfascination,andearlyinthenextyearthenaturalconsequencebecamemanifest.Itwasaheavystrokeforthisunfortunatecouple.Theyhadtrifledwithlife,andwerenowrudelyremindedoflife’sseriousissues.Jeanawoketotheruinofherhopes;thebestshehadnowtoexpectwasmarriagewitha

manwhowasastrangertoherdearestthoughts;shemightnowbegladifshecouldgetwhatshewouldneverhavechosen.AsforBurns,atthestrokeofthecalamityherecognisedthathisvoyageofdiscoveryhadledhimintoawronghemisphere—thathewasnot,andneverhadbeen,reallyinlovewithJean.Hearhiminthepressureofthehour.“Againsttwothings,”hewrites,“Iamasfixedasfate—stayingathome,andowningherconjugally.Thefirst,byheaven,Iwillnotdo!—thelast,byhell,Iwillneverdo!”Andthenheadds,perhapsalreadyinamorerelentingtemper:“IfyouseeJean,tellherIwillmeether,soGodhelpmeinmyhourofneed.”Theymetaccordingly; andBurns, touched with her misery, came down from these heights ofindependence,andgaveherawrittenacknowledgmentofmarriage. It is thepunishmentofDonJuanismtocreatecontinuallyfalsepositions—relationsinlifewhicharewronginthemselves,andwhichitisequallywrongtobreakorto perpetuate.Thiswas such a case.WorldlyWisemanwould have laughedandgonehisway;letusbegladthatBurnswasbettercounselledbyhisheart.Whenwediscoverthatwecanbenolongertrue,thenextbestistobekind.Idaresay he came away from that interview not very content, but with agloriousconscience;andashewenthomeward,hewouldsinghis favourite,“HowareThy servantsblest,OLord!” Jean,on theotherhand, armedwithher“lines,”confidedherpositiontothemaster-mason,herfather,andhiswife.Burnsandhisbrotherweretheninafairwaytoruinthemselvesintheirfarm;thepoetwasanexecrablematchforanywell-to-docountrylass;andperhapsoldArmourhadaninklingofapreviousattachmentonhisdaughter’spart.Atleast,hewasnotsomuchincensedbyherslipfromvirtueasbythemarriagewhichhadbeendesignedtocoverit.Ofthishewouldnothearaword.Jean,whohadbesoughttheacknowledgmentonlytoappeaseherparents,andnotatall from any violent inclination to the poet, readily gave up the paper fordestruction;andallpartiesimagined,althoughwrongly,thatthemarriagewasthus dissolved. To a proud man like Burns here was a crushing blow. Theconcession which had been wrung from his pity was now publicly thrownback in his teeth. The Armour family preferred disgrace to his connection.Since the promise, besides, he had doubtless been busy “battering himself”backagainintohisaffectionforthegirl;andtheblowwouldnotonlytakehiminhisvanity,butwoundhimattheheart.Herelievedhimselfinverse;butforsuchasmartingaffrontmanuscriptpoetrywasinsufficienttoconsolehim.Hemustfindamorepowerfulremedyingoodfleshandblood,andafterthisdiscomfiture,setforthagainatonceuponhisvoyageofdiscoveryinquestoflove.Itisperhapsoneofthemosttouchingthingsinhumannature,asitisacommonplaceofpsychology,thatwhenamanhasjustlosthopeorconfidenceinonelove,heisthenmosteagertofindandleanuponanother.Theuniversecouldnotbeyetexhausted;theremustbehopeandlovewaitingforhimsomewhere; and so, with his head

down, this poor, insulted poet ran once more upon his fate. There was aninnocent and gentle Highland nursery-maid at service in a neighbouringfamily;andhehadsoonbatteredhimselfandherintoawarmaffectionandasecretengagement.Jean’smarriagelineshadnotbeendestroyedtillMarch13,1786;yetallwassettledbetweenBurnsandMaryCampbellbySunday,May14,whentheymetforthelasttime,andsaidfarewellwithrusticsolemnitiesuponthebanksofAyr.Theyeachwet theirhands inastream,and,standingone on either bank, held aBible between them as they vowed eternal faith.ThentheyexchangedBibles,ononeofwhichBurns,forgreatersecurity,hadinscribedtextsastothebindingnatureofanoath;andsurely,ifceremonycandoaughttofixthewanderingaffections,hereweretwopeopleunitedforlife.Marycameofasuperstitiousfamily,sothatsheperhapsinsistedontheserites;but theymust have been eminently to the taste of Burns at this period; fornothing would seem superfluous, and no oath great enough, to stay histotteringconstancy.Eventsofconsequencenowhappenedthicklyinthepoet’slife.Hisbookwasannounced;theArmourssoughttosummonhimatlawforthealimentofthechild;he layhereand there inhiding tocorrect the sheets;hewasunderanengagementforJamaica,whereMarywastojoinhimashiswife;now,hehad“orders within three weeks at latest to repair aboard the Nancy, CaptainSmith;”nowhischestwasalreadyontheroadtoGreenock;andnow,inthewildautumnweatheronthemoorland,hemeasuresversesoffarewell:—“Theburstingtearsmyheartdeclare;FarewellthebonnybanksofAyr!”Butthegreatmasterdramatisthadsecretlyanotherintentionforthepiece;bythe most violent and complicated solution, in which death and birth andsudden fame all play a part as interposing deities, the act-drop fell upon asceneoftransformation.Jeanwasbroughttobedoftwins,and,byanamicablearrangement, the Burnses took the boy to bring up by hand, while the girlremained with her mother. The success of the book was immediate andemphatic; itput£20atonce into theauthor’spurse;andhewasencourageduponallhandstogotoEdinburghandpushhissuccessinasecondandlargeredition.Thirdandlastintheseseriesofinterpositions,alettercameonedaytoMossgielFarmforRobert.Hewenttothewindowtoreadit;asuddenchangecame over his face, and he left the roomwithout aword.Years afterwards,when the story began to leak out, his family understood that he had thenlearned the death ofHighlandMary. Except in a few poems and a few dryindicationspurposelymisleadingastodate,Burnshimselfmadenoreferencetothispassageofhislife;itwasanadventureofwhich,forIthinksufficientreasons,hedesiredtoburythedetails.Ofonethingwemaybeglad:inafteryearshevisitedthepoorgirl’smother,andleftherwiththeimpressionthathe

was“arealwarm-heartedchield.”Perhapsamonthafterhereceived this intelligence,hesetout forEdinburghon a pony he had borrowed from a friend.The town thatwinterwas “agogwith the ploughman poet.” Robertson, Dugald Stewart, Blair, “DuchessGordonandallthegayworld,”wereofhisacquaintance.Sucharevolutionisnot to be found in literary history. He was now, it must be remembered,twenty-sevenyearsofage;hehadfoughtsincehisearlyboyhoodanobstinatebattle against poor soil, bad seed, and inclement seasons, wading deep inAyrshiremosses, guiding the plough in the furrowwielding “the thresher’sweary flingin’-tree;”andhis education,hisdiet, andhispleasures,hadbeenthose of a Scotch countryman. Now he stepped forth suddenly among thepoliteandlearned.Wecanseehimashethenwas,inhisbootsandbuckskins,his blue coat andwaistcoat stripedwith buff and blue, like a farmer in hisSundaybest;theheavyploughman’sfigurefirmlyplantedonitsburlylegs;hisface full of sense and shrewdness, and with a somewhatmelancholy air ofthought,andhislargedarkeye“literallyglowing”ashespoke.“Ineversawsuchanothereyeinahumanhead,”saysWalterScott,“thoughIhaveseenthemostdistinguishedmenofmy time.”Withmen,whether theywere lordsoromnipotentcritics,hismannerwasplain,dignified,andfreefrombashfulnessor affectation. If he made a slip, he had the social courage to pass on andrefrainfromexplanation.Hewasnotembarrassedinthissociety,becausehereadandjudgedthemen;hecouldspysnobberyinatitledlord;and,asforthecritics,hedismissedtheirsysteminanepigram.“Thesegentlemen,”saidhe,“remindmeofsomespinstersinmycountrywhospintheirthreadsofinethatitisneitherfitforweftnorwoof.”Ladies,ontheotherhand,surprisedhim;hewasscarcecommanderofhimselfintheirsociety;hewasdisqualifiedbyhisacquirednatureasaDonJuan;andhe,whohadbeensomuchathiseasewithcountrylasses,treatedthetowndamestoanextremeofdeference.Onelady,whomethimat aball, gaveChambers a speaking sketchofhisdemeanour.“Hismannerwasnotprepossessing—scarcely,shethinks,manlyornatural.Itseemed as if he affected a rusticity or landertness, so thatwhen he said themusic was ‘bonnie, bonnie,’ it was like the expression of a child.” Thesewouldbecompanymanners;anddoubtlessonaslightdegreeofintimacytheaffectationwouldgrowless.Andhistalktowomenhadalways“aturneithertothepatheticorhumorous,whichengagedtheattentionparticularly.”TheEdinburghmagnates (to conclude this episodeatonce)behavedwell toBurnsfromfirsttolast.Wereheaven-borngeniustorevisitusinsimilarguise,IamnotventuringtoofarwhenIsaythatheneedexpectneithersowarmawelcomenorsuchsolidhelp.AlthoughBurnswasonlyapeasant,andoneofnoveryelegantreputationastomorals,hewasmadewelcometotheirhomes.Theygavehimagreatdealofgoodadvice,helpedhimtosomefivehundredpounds of readymoney, andgot him, as soon as he asked it, a place in the

Excise.Burns, onhis part, bore the elevationwith perfect dignity; andwithperfect dignity returned,when the timehad come, into a countryprivacyoflife.Hispowerfulsenseneverdesertedhim,andfromthefirstherecognisedthathisEdinburghpopularitywasbutanovationand theaffairofaday.Hewroteafewlettersinahigh-flown,bombasticveinofgratitude;butinpracticehe suffered noman to intrude upon his self-respect. On the other hand, henever turnedhisback,evenforamoment,onhisoldassociates;andhewasalways ready to sacrifice an acquaintance to a friend, although theacquaintance were a duke. He would be a bold man who should promisesimilar conduct in equally exacting circumstances. It was, in short, anadmirableappearanceonthestageoflife—sociallysuccessful,intimatelyself-respecting,andlikeagentlemanfromfirsttolast.In thepresent study, thismustonlybe takenby theway,whilewe return toBurns’s loveaffairs.Even on the road toEdinburgh he had seized upon theopportunity of a flirtation, and had carried the “battering” so far that whennexthemovedfromtown,itwastosteal twodayswiththisanonymousfairone.The exact importance toBurnsof this affairmaybegathered from thesong inwhichhecommemorated itsoccurrence. “I love the dear lassie,” hesings, “because she loves me;” or, in the tongue of prose: “Finding anopportunity, I did not hesitate to profit by it, and evennow, if it returned, Ishouldnothesitatetoprofitbyitagain.”Alovethusfoundedhasnointerestformortalman.Meantime, early in thewinter, and only once,we find himregretting Jean in his correspondence. “Because”—such is his reason—“becausehedoesnotthinkhewillevermeetsodeliciousanarmfulagain;”andthen,afterabriefexcursion intoverse,hegoesstraighton todescribeanewepisodeinthevoyageofdiscoverywiththedaughterofaLothianfarmerforaheroine.Imustaskthereadertofollowallthesereferencestohisfuturewife;theyareessentialtothecomprehensionofBurns’scharacterandfate.InJune, we find him back at Mauchline, a famous man. There, the Armourfamily greeted himwith a “mean, servile compliance,”which increased hisformer disgust. Jean was not less compliant; a second time the poor girlsubmittedtothefascinationofthemanwhomshedidnotlove,andwhomshehad so cruelly insulted littlemore than a year ago; and, thoughBurns tookadvantageofherweakness, itwas in theugliestandmostcynicalspirit,andwith a heart absolutely indifferent. Judge of this by a letter written sometwentydaysafterhisreturn—alettertomymindamongthemostdegradinginthe whole collection—a letter which seems to have been inspired by aboastful, libertinebagman.“I amafraid,” it goes, “Ihavealmost ruinedonesource, the principal one, indeed, of my former happiness—the eternalpropensityIalwayshadtofallinlove.Myheartnomoreglowswithfeverishrapture; I have no paradisiacal evening interviews.” Even the process of“battering”hasfailedhim,youperceive.Stillhehadsomeoneinhiseye—a

lady,ifyouplease,withafinefigureandelegantmanners,andwhohad“seenthepolitestquartersinEurope.”“Ifrequentlyvisitedher,”hewrites,“andafterpassingregularlytheintermediatedegreesbetweenthedistantformalbowandthefamiliargrasproundthewaist, Iventured, inmycarelessway, to talkoffriendshipinratherambiguousterms;andafterherreturnto—,Iwroteherinthe same terms.Miss, construingmy remarks further than even I intended,flewoffinatangentoffemaledignityandreserve,likeamountinglarkinanAprilmorning;andwrotemeananswerwhichmeasuredoutverycompletelywhatanimmensewayIhadtotravelbeforeIcouldreachtheclimateofherfavours. But I am an old hawk at the sport, and wrote her such a cool,deliberate,prudent reply,asbroughtmybird fromheraerial towerings,pop,downtomyfoot,likeCorporalTrim’shat.”Iavowacarnallonging,afterthistranscription, tobuffet theOldHawkabout the ears.There is little questionthattothisladyhemusthaverepeatedhisaddresses,andthathewasbyher(Miss Chalmers) eventually, though not at all unkindly, rejected. One moredetailtocharacterisetheperiod.Sixmonthsafterthedateofthisletter,Burns,back in Edinburgh, is servedwith a writ inmeditatione fugæ, on behalf ofsomeEdinburghfairone,probablyofhumblerank,whodeclaredanintentionofaddingtohisfamily.AboutthebeginningofDecember(1787),anewperiodopensinthestoryofthepoet’srandomaffections.HemetatateapartyoneMrs.AgnesM’Lehose,amarriedwomanofabouthisownage,who,withhertwochildren,hadbeendeserted by an unworthy husband. She hadwit, could use her pen, and hadreadWertherwithattention.Sociable,andevensomewhatfrisky,therewasagood,sound,humankernelinthewoman;awarmthoflove,strongdogmaticreligious feeling, and a considerable, but not authoritative, sense of theproprieties.Ofwhatbiographersrefertodaintilyas“hersomewhatvoluptuousstyleofbeauty,”judgingfromthesilhouetteinMr.ScottDouglas’sinvaluableedition,thereaderwillbefastidiousifhedoesnotapprove.Takeherforallinall, I believe she was the best woman Burns encountered. The pair took afancyforeachotheron thespot;Mrs.M’Lehose, inher turn, invitedhimtotea; but the poet, in his character of the Old Hawk, preferred a tête-à-tête,excusedhimself at the lastmoment, andofferedavisit instead.An accidentconfined him to his room for nearly a month, and this led to the famousClarindaandSylvandercorrespondence.Itwasbeguninsimplesport;theyarealready at their fifth or sixth exchange, when Clarinda writes: “It is reallycurious somuch funpassingbetween twopersonswhosaweachotheronlyonce;”butitishardlysafeforamanandwomaninthefloweroftheiryearstowritealmostdaily,andsometimesintermstooambiguous,sometimesintermstoo plain, and generally in terms too warm, for mere acquaintance. Theexercise partakes a little of the nature of battering, and danger may beapprehendedwhennext theymeet. It is difficult to give any account of this

remarkablecorrespondence;itistoofarawayfromus,andperhaps,notyetfarenough,inpointoftimeandmanner;theimaginationisbaffledbythesestiltedliterary utterances, warming, in bravura passages, into downright truculentnonsense. Clarinda has one famous sentence in which she bids Sylvanderconnect the thought of hismistresswith the changing phases of the year; itwasenthusiasticallyadmiredbytheswain,butonthemodernmindproducesmildamazementandalarm.“Oh,Clarinda,”writesBurns,“shallwenotmeetin a state—some yet unknown state—of being, where the lavish hand ofPlentyshallministertothehighestwishofBenevolence,andwherethechillnorth wind of Prudence shall never blow over the flowery field ofEnjoyment?”Thedesignmaybe thatofanOldHawk,but thestyle ismoresuggestiveof aBirdofParadise. It is sometimes hard to fancy they are notgravelymaking fun of each other as theywrite. Religion, poetry, love, andcharming sensibility, are the current topics. “I am delighted, charmingClarinda,withyourhonestenthusiasmforreligion,”writesBurns;andthepairentertainedafictionthatthiswastheir“favouritesubject.”“ThisisSunday,”writes the lady, “and not a word on our favourite subject. O fy ‘divineClarinda!’” I suspect, although quite unconsciously on the part of the lady,who was bent on his redemption, they but used the favourite subject as astalking-horse. In the meantime, the sportive acquaintance was ripeningsteadily intoagenuinepassion.Visits tookplace,and thenbecamefrequent.Clarinda’s friends were hurt and suspicious; her clergyman interfered; sheherself had smart attacks of conscience, but her heart had gone from hercontrol; it was altogether his, and she “counted all things but loss—heavenexcepted—thatshemightwinandkeephim.”Burnshimselfwastransportedwhile in her neighbourhood, but his transports somewhat rapidly declinedduringanabsence.Iamtemptedto imagine that,womanlike,he tookonthecolourofhismistress’sfeeling;thathecouldnotbutheathimselfatthefireofherunaffectedpassion;butthat,likeonewhoshouldleavethehearthuponawinter’snight, his temperature soon fellwhenhewasout of sight, and in aword, though he could share the symptoms, that he had never shared thedisease.Atthesametime,amidthefustianofthelettersthereareforcibleandtrueexpressions,andtheloveverses thathewroteuponClarindaareamongthemostmovinginthelanguage.Weareapproachingthesolution.Inmid-winter,Jean,oncemoreinthefamilyway,wasturnedoutofdoorsbyherfamily;andBurnshadherreceivedandcaredforinthehouseofafriend.Forheremainedtothelastimperfectinhischaracter ofDon Juan, and lacked the sinister courage to desert his victim.AboutthemiddleofFebruary(1788),hehadtotearhimselffromhisClarindaandmakea journey into the south-westonbusiness.Clarindagavehim twoshirtsforhislittleson.Theyweredailytomeetinprayeratanappointedhour.Burns, too late for the post at Glasgow, sent her a letter by parcel that she

mightnothavetowait.Clarindaonherpartwrites,thistimewithabeautifulsimplicity:“Ithinkthestreetslookdeserted-likesinceMonday;andthere’sacertaininsipidityingoodkindfolksIonceenjoyednotalittle.MissWardrobesupped here onMonday. She once named you,which keptme from fallingasleep. Idrankyourhealth inaglassofale—as the lassesdoatHallowe’en—‘in to mysel’.’” Arrived atMauchline, Burns installed Jean Armour in alodging,andprevailedonMrs.Armourtopromiseherhelpandcountenancein the approaching confinement. This was kind at least; but hear hisexpressions: “I have takenher a room; I have takenher tomyarms; I havegivenheramahoganybed;Ihavegivenheraguinea....Isworeherprivatelyand solemnly never to attempt any claim onme as a husband, even thoughanybody should persuade her she had such a claim—which she has not,neitherduringmy lifenoraftermydeath.Shedid all this like agoodgirl.”And then he took advantage of the situation. To Clarinda he wrote: “I thismorningcalledforacertainwoman.Iamdisgustedwithher;Icannotendureher;” and he accused her of “tasteless insipidity, vulgarity of soul, andmercenary fawning.” This was already in March; by the thirteenth of thatmonthhewasback inEdinburgh.On the17th, hewrote toClarinda: “Yourhopes,your fears,yourcares,my love,aremine;sodon’tmind them.Iwilltakeyou inmyhand through thedrearywildsof thisworld,andscareawaythe raveningbirdorbeast thatwouldannoyyou.”Again,on the21st: “Willyouopen,with satisfaction anddelight, a letter fromamanwho loves you,whohas lovedyou,andwhowill loveyou, todeath, throughdeath, and forever. . . .HowrichamI tohavesuchatreasureasyou! . . . ‘TheLordGodknoweth,’and,perhaps,‘Israelheshallknow,’myloveandyourmerit.Adieu,Clarinda! I amgoing to rememberyou inmyprayers.”By the7thofApril,seventeendayslaterhehadalreadydecidedtomakeJeanArmourpubliclyhiswife.Amoreastonishingstage-trickisnottobefound.Andyethisconductisseen,uponanearerexamination,tobegroundedbothinreasonandinkindness.Hewasnowabouttoembarkonasolidworldlycareer;hehadtakenafarm;theaffairwithClarinda,howevergratifyingtohisheart,wastoocontingenttoofferanygreatconsolationtoamanlikeBurns,towhommarriagemusthaveseemedtheverydawnofhopeandself-respect.Thisistoregardthequestionfromitslowestaspect;butthereisnodoubtthatheenteredonthisnewperiodofhislifewithasinceredeterminationtodoright.Hehadjusthelpedhisbrotherwithaloanofahundredandeightypounds;shouldhedonothingforthepoorgirlwhomhehadruined?ItwastruehecouldnotdoashedidwithoutbrutallywoundingClarinda;thatwasthepunishmentofhisbygonefault;hewas,ashetrulysays,“damnedwithachoiceonlyofdifferentspeciesoferrorandmisconduct.”TobeprofessionalDonJuan,toaccepttheprovocationofanylivelylassuponthevillagegreen,maythusleadaman

throughaseriesofdetestablewordsandactions,andlandhimatlastinanundesiredandmostunsuitableunionforlife.Ifhehadbeenstrongenoughtorefrainorbadenoughtopersevereinevil;ifhehadonlynotbeenDonJuanatall,orbeenDonJuanaltogether,therehadbeensomepossibleroadforhimthroughoutthistroublesomeworld;butaman,alas!whoisequallyatthecallofhisworseandbetterinstincts,standsamongchangingeventswithoutfoundationorresource.

DOWNWARDCOURSE.

ItmaybequestionablewhetheranymarriagecouldhavetamedBurns;butitisatleastcertainthattherewasnohopeforhiminthemarriagehecontracted.Hedidright,butthenhehaddonewrongbefore;itwas,asIsaid,oneofthoserelations in lifewhich it seems equallywrong to breakor to perpetuate.Heneitherlovednorrespectedhiswife.“Godknows,”hewrites,“mychoicewasas randomasblindman’sbuff.”Heconsoleshimselfby the thought thathehas acted kindly to her; that she “has the most sacred enthusiasm ofattachment to him;” that she has a good figure; that she has a “wood-notewild,” “her voice risingwith ease to B natural,” no less. The effect on thereader isoneofunmingledpityforbothpartiesconcerned.Thiswasnot thewifewho(inhisownwords)could“enter intohisfavouritestudiesorrelishhisfavouriteauthors;”thiswasnotevenawife,aftertheaffairofthemarriagelines,inwhomahusbandcouldjoytoplacehistrust.Lethermanageafarmwith sense, let her voice rise toB natural all day long, shewould still be apeasanttoherletteredlord,andanobjectofpityratherthanofequalaffection.She could now be faithful, she could now be forgiving, she could now begenerous even to apathetic and touchingdegree; but coming fromonewhowasunloved,andwhohadscarceshownherselfworthyofthesentiment,thesewereallvirtuesthrownaway,whichcouldneitherchangeherhusband’sheartnor affect the inherent destiny of their relation. From the outset, it was amarriage that had no root in nature; and we find him, ere long, lyricallyregretting Highland Mary, renewing correspondence with Clarinda in thewarmest language, on doubtful terms with Mrs. Riddel, and on termsunfortunatelybeyondanyquestionwithAnnePark.Alas!thiswasnottheonlyillcircumstanceinhisfuture.Hehadbeenidleforsome eighteenmonths, superintending his new edition, hanging on to settlewith the publisher, travelling in the Highlands with Willie Nichol, orphilanderingwithMrs.M’Lehose; and in this period the radical part of theman had suffered irremediable hurt. He had lost his habits of industry, andformed the habit of pleasure. Apologetical biographers assure us of the

contrary;butfromthefirst,hesawandrecognisedthedangerforhimself;hismind, he writes, is “enervated to an alarming degree” by idleness anddissipation; and again, “mymind has been vitiated with idleness.” It neverfairly recovered. To business he could bring the required diligence andattentionwithoutdifficulty;buthewasthenceforwardincapable,exceptinrareinstances,ofthatsuperioreffortofconcentrationwhichisrequiredforseriousliterary work. He may be said, indeed, to have worked no more, and onlyamused himself with letters. The man who had written a volume ofmasterpieces in six months, during the remainder of his life rarely foundcourageforanymoresustainedeffortthanasong.Andthenatureofthesongsis itselfcharacteristicof these idle lateryears; for theyareoftenaspolishedand elaborate ashis earlierworkswere frank, andheadlong, and colloquial;andthissortofverbalelaborationinshortflightsis,foramanofliteraryturn,simply the most agreeable of pastimes. The change in manner coincidesexactly with the Edinburgh visit. In 1786 he had written the Address to aLouse,whichmaybe taken as an extreme instance of the firstmanner; andalready,in1787,wecomeupontherosebudpiecestoMissCruikshank,whichareextremeexamplesofthesecond.Thechangewas,therefore,thedirectandvery natural consequence of his great change in life; but it is not the lesstypical of his loss ofmoral courage that he should have given up all largerventures,northelessmelancholythatamanwhofirstattackedliteraturewithahandthatseemedcapableofmovingmountains,shouldhavespenthislateryearsinwhittlingcherry-stones.Meanwhile, the farm did not prosper; he had to join to it the salary of anexciseman; at last he had to give it up, and rely altogether on the latterresource. He was an active officer; and, though he sometimes temperedseverity withmercy, we have local testimony oddly representing the publicfeeling of the period, that, while “in everything else he was a perfectgentleman, when he met with anything seizable he was no better than anyothergauger.”Thereisbutonemanifestationofthemanintheselastyearswhichneeddelayus:andthatwasthesuddeninterestinpoliticswhicharosefromhissympathywiththegreatFrenchRevolution.HisonlypoliticalfeelinghadbeenhithertoasentimentalJacobitism,notmoreorlessrespectablethanthatofScott,Aytoun,and the rest of what George Borrow has nicknamed the “Charlie over thewater”Scotchmen.Itwasasentimentalmostentirelyliteraryandpicturesqueinitsorigin,builtonballadsandtheadventuresoftheYoungChevalier;andinBurnsitisthemoreexcusable,becausehelayoutofthewayofactivepoliticsin his youth.With the great FrenchRevolution, something living, practical,andfeasibleappearedtohimforthefirsttimeinthisrealmofhumanaction.Theyoungploughmanwhohaddesiredsoearnestlytorise,nowreachedouthis sympathies to awholenationanimatedwith the samedesire.Already in

1788wefindtheoldJacobitismhandinhandwiththenewpopulardoctrine,when, in a letter of indignation against the zeal of a Whig clergyman, hewrites:“IdaresaytheAmericanCongressin1776willbeallowedtobeasableand as enlightened as the English Convention was in 1688; and that theirposteritywillcelebratethecentenaryoftheirdeliverancefromus,asdulyandsincerely aswe do ours from the oppressivemeasures of thewrong-headedhouseofStuart.”Astimeworeon,hissentimentsgrewmorepronouncedandevenviolent;buttherewasabasisofsenseandgenerousfeelingtohishottestexcess.What he askedwas a fair chance for the individual in life; an openroadtosuccessanddistinctionforallclassesofmen.Itwasinthesamespiritthathehadhelpedtofoundapubliclibraryintheparishwherehisfarmwassituated, and that he sang his fervent snatches against tyranny and tyrants.Witness,wereitalone,thisverse:—“Here’sfreedomtohimthatwadread,Here’sfreedomtohimthatwadwrite;There’snaneeverfearedthatthetruthshouldbeheardButthemwhamthetruthwadindite.”Yethisenthusiasmforthecausewasscarceguidedbywisdom.Manystoriesarepreservedofthebitterandunwisewordsheusedincountrycoteries;howheproposedWashington’s health as an amendment toPitt’s, gave as a toast“the last verseof the last chapter ofKings,” and celebratedDumouriez in adoggrel impromptu full of ridicule and hate. Now his sympathies wouldinspire himwithScots,whahae; now involve him in a drunkenbroilwith aloyal officer, and consequent apologies and explanations, hard tooffer for amanofBurns’sstomach.Norwasthisthefrontofhisoffending.OnFebruary27, 1792, he took part in the capture of an armed smuggler, bought at thesubsequent sale four carronades, and despatched them with a letter to theFrench Assembly. Letter and guns were stopped at Dover by the Englishofficials; there was trouble for Burns with his superiors; he was remindedfirmly,howeverdelicately,that,asapaidofficial,itwashisdutytoobeyandtobesilent;andallthebloodofthispoor,proud,andfallingmanmusthaverushedtohisheadat thehumiliation.Hisletter toMr.Erskine,subsequentlyEarlofMar, testifies, in its turgid, turbulentphrases, to aperfectpassionofalarmedself-respectandvanity.Hehadbeenmuzzled,andmuzzled,whenallwas said, byhis paltry salary as an exciseman; alas! hadhenot a family tokeep?Already, hewrote, he looked forward to some such judgment from ahackney scribbler as this: “Burns, notwithstanding the fanfaronnade ofindependence to be found in hisworks, and after having been held forth toviewandtopublicestimationasamanofsomegenius,yet,quitedestituteofresourceswithinhimself tosupporthisborroweddignity,hedwindled intoapaltryexciseman,andshrunkouttherestofhisinsignificantexistenceinthe

meanestofpursuits,andamongthevilestofmankind.”Andthenonhegoes,in a style of rhodomontade, but filledwith living indignation, to declare hisright to a political opinion, and his willingness to shed his blood for thepoliticalbirthrightofhissons.Poor,perturbedspirit!hewasindeedexercisedinvain; thosewhoshareand thosewhodiffer fromhissentimentsabout theRevolution,alikeunderstandandsympathisewithhiminthispainfulstrait;forpoetryandhumanmanhoodare lasting like the race,andpolitics,whicharebutawrongfulstrivingafterright,passandchangefromyeartoyearandagetoage.TheTwaDogshasalreadyoutlastedtheconstitutionofSiéyèsandthepolicyoftheWhigs;andBurnsisbetterknownamongEnglish-speakingracesthaneitherPittorFox.Meanwhile,whetherasaman,ahusband,orapoet,hisstepsleddownward.He knew, knew bitterly, that the best was out of him; he refused to makeanother volume, for he felt that it would be a disappointment; he grewpetulantlyalivetocriticism,unlesshewassureitreachedhimfromafriend.For his songs, he would take nothing; they were all that he could do; theproposed Scotch play, the proposed series of Scotch tales in verse, all hadgonetowater;andinaflingofpainanddisappointment,whichissurelynoblewiththenobilityofaviking,hewouldratherstooptoborrowthantoacceptmoney for these last and inadequate efforts of hismuse.And this desperateabnegationrisesattimesneartotheheightofmadness;aswhenhepretendedthathehadnotwritten,butonlyfoundandpublished,hisimmortalAuldLangSyne.Inthesamespirithebecamemorescrupulousasanartist;hewasdoingso little, hewould fain do that littlewell; and about twomonths before hisdeath,heaskedThomsontosendbackallhismanuscriptsforrevisal,sayingthat he would rather write five songs to his taste than twice that numberotherwise. The battle of his life was lost; in forlorn efforts to do well, indesperatesubmissions toevil, the lastyears flewby.His temper isdarkandexplosive, launchingepigrams,quarrellingwithhisfriends, jealousofyoungpuppyofficers.Hetriestobeagoodfather;heboastshimselfalibertine.Sick,sad, and jaded, he can refuse no occasion of temporary pleasure, noopportunitytoshine;andhewhohadoncerefusedtheinvitationsoflordsandladiesisnowwhistledtotheinnbyanycuriousstranger.Hisdeath(July21,1796), in his thirty-seventh year,was indeed a kindly dispensation. It is thefashiontosayhediedofdrink;manyamanhasdrunkmoreandyetlivedwithreputation, and reached a good age. That drink and debauchery helped todestroy his constitution, and were the means of his unconscious suicide, isdoubtlesstrue;buthehadfailedinlife,hadlosthispowerofwork,andwasalreadymarriedtothepoor,unworthy,patientJean,beforehehadshownhisinclination toconvivialnights,orat leastbefore that inclinationhadbecomedangerouseithertohishealthorhisself-respect.Hehadtrifledwithlife,andmust pay the penalty. He had chosen to be Don Juan, he had grasped at

temporarypleasures,andsubstantialhappinessandsolidindustryhadpassedhim by. He died of being Robert Burns, and there is no levity in such astatementofthecase;forshallwenot,oneandall,deserveasimilarepitaph?

WORKS.

Thesomewhatcruelnecessitywhichhas lainuponmethroughout thispaperonly to touch upon those points in the life of Burns where correction oramplification seemed desirable, leavesme little opportunity to speak of theworks which have made his name so famous. Yet, even here, a fewobservationsseemnecessary.At the timewhen the poetmade his appearance and great first success, hiswork was remarkable in two ways. For, first, in an age when poetry hadbecome abstract and conventional, instead of continuing to deal withshepherds, thunderstorms, and personifications, he dealt with the actualcircumstances of his life, howevermatter-of-fact and sordid thesemight be.And,second,inatimewhenEnglishversificationwasparticularlystiff,lame,and feeble, and words were used with ultra-academical timidity, he wroteverses that were easy, racy, graphic, and forcible, and used language withabsolute tactandcourageas itseemedmostfit togiveaclear impression.Ifyou take even those English authors whom we know Burns to have mostadmired and studied, youwill see at once that he owed themnothing but awarning. Take Shenstone, for instance, and watch that elegant author as hetries tograpplewith thefactsof life.Hehasadescription, I remember,ofagentlemanengagedinslidingorwalkingonthinice,whichisalittlemiracleof incompetence. You see my memory fails me, and I positively cannotrecollectwhetherhisherowasslidingorwalking;as thoughawriter shoulddescribe a skirmish, and the reader, at the end, be still uncertainwhether itwereachargeofcavalryoraslowandstubbornadvanceoffoot.Therecouldbe no such ambiguity in Burns; hiswork is at the opposite pole from suchindefinite and stammeringperformances; and awhole lifetimepassed in thestudyofShenstonewouldonlyleadamanfurtherandfurtherfromwritingtheAddress to a Louse. Yet Burns, like most great artists, proceeded from aschool and continued a tradition; only the school and traditionwereScotch,and not English. While the English language was becoming daily morepedantic and inflexible, andEnglish lettersmore colourless and slack, therewas another dialect in the sister country, and a different school of poetrytracing its descent, throughKing James I., fromChaucer. The dialect aloneaccountsformuch;foritwasthenwrittencolloquially,whichkeptitfreshandsupple;and,althoughnot shaped forheroic flights, itwasadirectandvivid

mediumforallthathadtodowithsociallife.Hence,wheneverScotchpoetslefttheirlaboriousimitationsofbadEnglishverses,andfellbackontheirowndialect, theirstylewouldkindle,andtheywouldwriteof theirconvivialandsomewhatgrossexistenceswithpithandpoint.InRamsay,andfarmoreinthepoorladFergusson,therewasmettle,humour,literarycourage,andapowerofsayingwhattheywishedtosaydefinitelyandbrightly,whichinthelattercaseshouldhave justifiedgreatanticipations.HadBurnsdied at the sameage asFergusson,hewouldhave leftus literallynothingworthremark.ToRamsayandtoFergusson,then,hewasindebtedinaveryuncommondegree,notonlyfollowingtheir traditionandusingtheirmeasures,butdirectlyandavowedlyimitatingtheirpieces.Thesametendencytoborrowahint,toworkonsomeone else’s foundation, is notable inBurns from first to last, in theperiodofsong-writingaswellasinthatoftheearlypoems;andstrikesoneoddlyinamanofsuchdeeporiginality,wholeftsostrongaprintonallhetouched,andwhose work is so greatly distinguished by that character of “inevitability”whichWordsworthdeniedtoGoethe.Whenwe rememberBurns’s obligations to his predecessors,wemust neverforgethisimmenseadvancesonthem.Theyhadalready“discovered”nature;butBurnsdiscoveredpoetry—ahigher andmore intensewayof thinkingofthethingsthatgotomakeupnature,ahigherandmoreidealkeyofwordsinwhichtospeakofthem.RamsayandFergussonexcelledatmakingapopular—or shall we say vulgar?—sort of society verses, comical and prosaic,written,youwouldsay,intavernswhileasupperpartywaitedforitslaureate’sword;butontheappearanceofBurns,thiscoarseandlaughingliteraturewastouchedtofinerissues,andlearnedgravityofthoughtandnaturalpathos.Whathehadgainedfromhispredecessorswasadirect,speakingstyle,andtowalkonhisownfeetinsteadofonacademicalstilts.Therewasneveramanofletterswithmore absolute commandof hismeans; andwemay sayof him,withoutexcess, thathis stylewashis slave.Hence thatenergyofepithet, soconciseand telling, that a foreigner is tempted toexplain itby somespecialrichness or aptitude in thedialect hewrote.Hence thatHomeric justice andcompletenessofdescriptionwhichgivesus theveryphysiognomyofnature,inbodyanddetail,asnatureis.Hence,too,theunbrokenliteraryqualityofhisbestpieces,whichkeepshim fromany slip into theweariful tradeofword-painting,andpresentseverything,aseverythingshouldbepresentedbytheartof words, in a clear, continuous medium of thought. Principal Shairp, forinstance, gives us a paraphrase of one tough verse of the original; and forthosewhoknowtheGreekpoetsonlybyparaphrase,thishastheveryqualitytheyareaccustomedtolookforandadmireinGreek.ThecontemporariesofBurnswere surprised thathe shouldvisit somanycelebratedmountainsandwaterfalls,andnotseizetheopportunitytomakeapoem.Indeed,itisnotforthose who have a true command of the art of words, but for peddling,

professional amateurs, that these pointed occasions are most useful andinspiring.As thosewho speak French imperfectly are glad to dwell on anytopic theymay have talked upon or heard others talk upon before, becausetheyknowappropriatewordsforitinFrench,sothedabblerinverserejoicesto behold a waterfall, because he has learned the sentiment and knowsappropriatewordsforit inpoetry.ButthedialectofBurnswasfittedtodealwith any subject; andwhether it was a stormy night, a shepherd’s collie, asheepstrugglinginthesnow,theconductofcowardlysoldiersinthefield,thegait and cogitations of a drunken man, or only a village cockcrow in themorning,hecouldfindlanguagetogiveitfreshness,body,andrelief.Hewasalwaysreadytoborrowthehintofadesign,as thoughhehadadifficultyincommencing—a difficulty, let us say, in choosing a subject out of a worldwhich seemedall equally livingand significant tohim;butoncehehad thesubject chosen, he could cope with nature single-handed, and make everystrokeatriumph.Again,hisabsolutemasteryinhisartenabledhimtoexpresseachandallofhisdifferenthumours,andtopasssmoothlyandcongruouslyfrom one to another.Many men invent a dialect for only one side of theirnature—perhapstheirpathosortheirhumour,orthedelicacyoftheirsenses—and,forlackofamedium,leavealltheothersunexpressed.Youmeetsuchanone, and find him in conversation full of thought, feeling, and experience,whichhehaslackedthearttoemployinhiswritings.ButBurnswasnotthushamperedinthepracticeoftheliteraryart;hecouldthrowthewholeweightofhisnatureintohiswork,andimpregnateitfromendtoend.IfDoctorJohnson,that stilted and accomplished stylist, had lacked the sacred Boswell, whatshould we have known of him? and how should we have delighted in hisacquaintance aswedo?Thosewho spokewithBurns tell us howmuchwehavelostwhodidnot.ButIthinktheyexaggeratetheirprivilege:IthinkwehavethewholeBurnsinourpossessionsetforthinhisconsummateverses.Itwasbyhisstyle,andnotbyhismatter,thatheaffectedWordsworthandtheworld.Thereis,indeed,onlyonemeritworthconsideringinamanofletters—thatheshouldwritewell;andonlyonedamningfault—thatheshouldwriteill.Wearelittlethebetterforthereflectionsofthesailor’sparrotinthestory.Andso,ifBurnshelpedtochangethecourseofliteraryhistory,itwasbyhisfrank,direct,andmasterlyutterance,andnotbyhishomelychoiceofsubjects.Thatwasimposeduponhim,notchosenuponaprinciple.Hewrotefromhisown experience, because itwas his nature so to do, and the tradition of theschool from which he proceeded was fortunately not opposed to homelysubjects.Buttothesehomelysubjectshecommunicatedtherichcommentaryof his nature; they were all steeped in Burns; and they interest us not inthemselves,butbecausetheyhavebeenpassedthroughthespiritofsogenuineandvigorousaman.Suchisthestampoflivingliterature;andtherewasneveranymorealivethanthatofBurns.

What a gust of sympathy there is in him sometimes flowing out in bywayshitherto unused, upon mice, and flowers, and the devil himself; sometimesspeakingplainlybetweenhumanhearts; sometimes ringingout in exultationlike a peal of bells!When we compare theFarmer’s Salutation to his AuldMare Maggie, with the clever and inhumane production of half a centuryearlier, TheAuldMan’sMare’s dead, we see in a nutshell the spirit of thechange introducedbyBurns.Andas to itsmanner,who that has read it canforgethow the collie,Luath, in theTwaDogs,describes andenters into themerry-makinginthecottage?“Theluntin’pipean’sneeshin’mill,Arehandedroundwi’richtguidwill;Thecantyauldfolkscrackin’crouse,Theyounganesrantin’throughthehouse—MyhearthasbeensaefaintoseethemThatIforjoyhaebarkitwi’them.”Itwasthisardentpowerofsympathythatwasfataltosomanywomen,and,through Jean Armour, to himself at last. His humour comes from him in astreamsodeepandeasythatIwillventuretocallhimthebestofhumorouspoets.He turns about in themidst to utter a noble sentiment or a trenchantremarkonhumanlife,andthestylechangesandrisestotheoccasion.Ithinkit is Principal Shairp who says, happily, that Burns would have been noScotchman if he had not loved tomoralise; neither,maywe add,would hehavebeenhisfather’sson;but(whatisworthyofnote)hismoralisingsaretoalargeextentthemoralofhisowncareer.Hewasamongtheleastimpersonalofartists.ExceptintheJollyBeggars,heshowsnogleamofdramaticinstinct.Mr.Carlylehascomplained thatTamo’Shanter is, from theabsenceof thisquality,onlyapicturesqueandexternalpieceofwork;andImayaddthatintheTwaDogs it isprecisely in the infringementofdramaticpropriety thatagreatdealofthehumourofthespeechesdependsforitsexistenceandeffect.Indeed,Burnswassofullofhisidentitythatitbreaksforthoneverypage;andthere is scarce an appropriate remark either in praise or blame of his ownconduct, but he has put it himself into verse. Alas! for the tenor of theseremarks!Theyare,indeed,hisownpitifulapologyforsuchamarredexistenceandtalentssomisusedandstunted;andtheyseemtoproveforeverhowsmallapart is playedby reason in the conductofman’s affairs.Herewasone, atleast,whowithunfailingjudgmentpredictedhisownfate;yethisknowledgecouldnotavailhim,andwithopeneyeshemustfulfilhistragicdestiny.Tenyearsbeforetheendhehadwrittenhisepitaph;andneithersubsequentevents,nor the critical eyes of posterity, have shown us aword in it to alter. And,lastly,hashenotputinforhimselfthelastunanswerableplea?—

“Thengentlyscanyourbrotherman,Stillgentlersisterwoman;Thoughtheymaygangakenninwrang,Tostepasideishuman:Onepointmuststillbegreatlydark—”One?Alas! I fear everyman andwomanof us is “greatly dark” to all theirneighbours, fromthedayofbirthuntildeathremoves them, in theirgreatestvirtuesaswellasintheirsaddestfaults;andwe,whohavebeentryingtoreadthe character of Burns, may take home the lesson and be gentle in ourthoughts.

WALTWHITMAN.

OFlateyearsthenameofWaltWhitmanhasbeenagooddealbandiedaboutinbooksandmagazines. Ithasbecome familiarboth ingoodand ill repute.His works have been largely bespattered with praise by his admirers, andcruellymauledandmangledbyirreverentenemies.Now,whetherhispoetryisgoodorbadaspoetry, isamatter thatmayadmitofadifferenceofopinionwithoutalienatingthosewhodiffer.Wecouldnotkeepthepeacewithamanwho should put forward claims to taste and yet depreciate the choruses inSamsonAgonistes; but, I think,wemay shakehandswithonewho seesnomoreinWaltWhitman’svolume,fromaliterarypointofview,thanafarragoof incompetent essays inawrongdirection.Thatmaynotbeat allourownopinion. We may think that, when a work contains many unforgettablephrases, it cannot be altogether devoid of literary merit. We may even seepassages of a high poetry here and there among its eccentric contents. Butwhen all is said, Walt Whitman is neither a Milton nor a Shakespeare; toappreciatehisworksisnotaconditionnecessarytosalvation;andIwouldnotdisinheritasonuponthequestion,noreventhinkmuchtheworseofacritic,forIshouldalwayshaveanideawhathemeant.What Whitman has to say is another affair from how he says it. It is notpossibletoacquitanyoneofdefectiveintelligence,orelsestiffprejudice,whoisnotinterestedbyWhitman’smatterandthespirititrepresents.Notasapoet,butaswhatwemustcall(forlackofamoreexactexpression)aprophet,heoccupiesacuriousandprominentposition.Whetherhemaygreatlyinfluencethe future or not, he is a notable symptom of the present.As a sign of thetimes,itwouldbehardtofindhisparallel.Ishouldhazardalargewager,forinstance,thathewasnotunacquaintedwiththeworksofHerbertSpencer;andyet where, in all the history books, shall we lay our hands on two more

incongruouscontemporaries?Mr.Spencersodecorous—Ihadalmostsaid,sodandy—in dissent; and Whitman, like a large shaggy dog, just unchained,scouringthebeachesoftheworldandbayingatthemoon.Andwhenwasanechomorecuriouslylikeasatire,thanwhenMr.SpencerfoundhisSyntheticPhilosophyreverberatedfromtheothershoresoftheAtlanticinthe“barbaricyawp”ofWhitman?

I.

Whitman, it cannot be too soon explained,writes up to a system.Hewas atheoriser about society before he was a poet. He first perceived somethingwanting,andthensatdownsquarelytosupplythewant.Thereader, runningover hisworks,will find that he takes nearly asmuch pleasure in criticallyexpoundinghistheoryofpoetryasinmakingpoems.Thisisasfarasitcanbefrom the caseof the spontaneousvillageminstreldear to elegy,whohasnotheorywhatever, although sometimes hemay have fully asmuch poetry asWhitman. Thewhole ofWhitman’swork is deliberate and preconceived.Amanborn into a society comparativelynew, full of conflicting elements andinterests, could not fail, if he had any thoughts at all, to reflect upon thetendenciesaroundhim.Hesawmuchgoodandevilonallsides,notyetsettleddownintosomemoreorlessunjustcompromiseasinoldernations,butstillinthe act of settlement.And he could not butwonderwhat itwould turn out;whether the compromisewould be very just or verymuch the reverse, andgive great or little scope for healthy human energies. From idle wonder toactivespeculationisbutastep;andheseemstohavebeenearlystruckwiththeinefficacyofliteratureanditsextremeunsuitabilitytotheconditions.Whathe calls “Feudal Literature” could have little living action on the tumult ofAmerican democracy; what he calls the “Literature of Wo,” meaning thewholetribeofWertherandByron,couldhavenoactionforgoodinanytimeorplace.Bothpropositions,ifarthadnonebutadirectmoralinfluence,wouldbe true enough; and as this seems to be Whitman’s view, they were trueenoughforhim.HeconceivedtheideaofaLiteraturewhichwastoinhereinthe life of the present; which was to be, first, human, and next, American;whichwastobebraveandcheerfulaspercontract;togivecultureinapopularand poetical presentment; and, in so doing, catch and stereotype somedemocraticidealofhumanitywhichshouldbeequallynaturaltoallgradesofwealth and education, and suited, in one of his favourite phrases, to “theaverageman.”Totheformationofsomesuchliteratureasthishispoemsareto be regarded as so many contributions, one sometimes explaining,sometimes superseding, the other: and the whole together not so much afinishedworkasabodyofsuggestivehints.Hedoesnotprofesstohavebuilt

thecastle,buthepretendshehastracedthelinesofthefoundation.Hehasnotmade the poetry, but he flatters himself he has done something towardsmakingthepoets.His notion of the poetic function is ambitious, and coincides roughly withwhatSchopenhauerhas laiddownas theprovinceof themetaphysician.Thepoet is to gather together for men, and set in order, the materials of theirexistence.He is “TheAnswerer;”he is to find somewayof speaking aboutlifethatshallsatisfy,ifonlyforthemoment,man’senduringastonishmentathis own position. And besides having an answer ready, it is he who shallprovoke the question. He must shake people out of their indifference, andforce them to make some election in this world, instead of sliding dullyforward in a dream. Life is a business we are all apt tomismanage; eitherlivingrecklesslyfromdaytoday,orsufferingourselvestobegulledoutofourmomentsby the inanitiesof custom.We shoulddespise amanwhogave aslittleactivityandforethoughttotheconductofanyotherbusiness.Butinthis,whichistheonethingofallothers,sinceitcontainsthemall,wecannotseethe forest for the trees. One brief impression obliterates another. There issomethingstupefying in therecurrenceofunimportant things.And it isonlyon rare provocations that we can rise to take an outlook beyond dailyconcerns, and comprehend the narrow limits and great possibilities of ourexistence.Itisthedutyofthepoettoinducesuchmomentsofclearsight.Heisthedeclaredenemyofalllivingbyreflexaction,ofallthatisdonebetwixtsleepandwaking,ofall thepleasurelesspleasuringsandimaginaryduties inwhichwecoinawayourheartsandfritterinvaluableyears.Hehastoelectrifyhis readers into an instant unflagging activity, founded on awide and eagerobservation of the world, and make them direct their ways by a superiorprudence,whichhaslittleornothingincommonwiththemaximsofthecopy-book.Thatmanyofusleadsuchlivesastheywouldheartilydisownaftertwohours’seriousreflectiononthesubjectis,Iamafraid,atrue,and,Iamsure,avery galling thought. The Enchanted Ground of dead-alive respectability isnext, upon the map, to the Beulah of considerate virtue. But there they allslumber and take their rest in themiddle ofGod’s beautiful andwonderfuluniverse; thedrowsyheadshavenodded together in the sameposition sincefirst their fathers fell asleep; andnot even the soundof the last trumpet canwakethemtoasingleactivethought.Thepoethasahardtaskbeforehimtostirupsuchfellowstoasenseoftheirownandotherpeople’sprinciplesinlife.And it happens that literature is, in someways, but an indifferentmeans tosuchanend.Languageisbutapoorbull’s-eyelanternwherewithtoshowoffthevastcathedraloftheworld;andyetaparticularthingoncesaidinwordsisso definite andmemorable, that itmakes us forget the absenceof themany

which remain unexpressed; like a bright window in a distant view, whichdazzles and confuses our sight of its surroundings. There are not wordsenoughinallShakespearetoexpressthemerestfractionofaman’sexperiencein an hour. The speed of the eyesight and the hearing, and the continualindustry of the mind, produce, in ten minutes, what it would require alaboriousvolumetoshadowforthbycomparisonsandroundaboutapproaches.If verbal logic were sufficient, life would be as plain sailing as a piece ofEuclid.But,asamatteroffact,wemakeatravestyofthesimplestprocessofthoughtwhenweputitintowordsforthewordsareallcolouredandforsworn,applyinaccurately,andbringwiththem,fromformerusesideasofpraiseandblamethathavenothingtodowiththequestioninhand.Sowemustalwayssee to it nearly, thatwe judge by the realities of life and not by the partialterms that represent them inman’s speech; and at times of choice,wemustleavewordsupononeside,andactuponthosebruteconvictions,unexpressedand perhaps inexpressible, which cannot be flourished in an argument, butwhich are truly the sum and fruit of our experience. Words are forcommunication,not for judgment.This iswhatevery thoughtfulmanknowsfor himself, for only fools and silly schoolmasters push definitions over farintothedomainofconduct;andthemajorityofwomen,not learnedinthesescholasticrefinements,liveall-of-a-pieceandunconsciously,asatreegrows,without caring to put a name upon their acts or motives. Hence, a newdifficultyforWhitman’sscrupulousandargumentativepoet;hemustdomorethanwakenupthesleeperstohiswords;hemustpersuadethemtolookoverthebookandatlifewiththeirowneyes.ThissideoftruthisverypresenttoWhitman;itisthisthathemeanswhenhetellsusthat“Toglancewithaneyeconfoundsthelearningofalltimes.”Buthe is not unready. He is never weary of descanting on the undebatableconviction that is forced upon our minds by the presence of other men, ofanimals,orofinanimatethings.Toglancewithaneye,wereitonlyatachairorapark railing, isby faramorepersuasiveprocess,andbringsus toa farmore exact conclusion, than to read theworks of all the logicians extant. Ifboth,byalargeallowance,maybesaidtoendincertainty,thecertaintyintheonecase transcends theother toan incalculabledegree. Ifpeopleseea lion,they run away; if they only apprehend a deduction, they keep wanderingaround in an experimental humour. Now, how is the poet to convince likenature,andnotlikebooks?Istherenoactualpieceofnaturethathecanshowthe man to his face, as he might show him a tree if they were walkingtogether?Yes, there isone: theman’sownthoughts. In fact, if thepoet is tospeak efficaciously, hemust saywhat is already in his hearer’smind. That,alone,thehearerwillbelieve;that,alone,hewillbeabletoapplyintelligentlyto thefactsof life.Anyconviction,even if itbeawhole systemorawholereligion,mustpassintotheconditionofcommonplace,orpostulate,beforeit

becomes fully operative. Strange excursions and high-flying theories mayinterest,buttheycannotrulebehaviour.Ourfaithisnotthehighesttruththatweperceive,butthehighestthatwehavebeenabletoassimilateintotheverytextureandmethodofour thinking. It is not, therefore, by flashingbefore aman’s eyes the weapons of dialectic; it is not by induction, deduction, orconstruction; it is not by forcing him on from one stage of reasoning toanother, that the man will be effectually renewed. He cannot be made tobelieve anything; but he can bemade to see that he has always believed it.Andthisisthepracticalcanon.Itiswhenthereadercries,“Oh,Iknow!”andis,perhaps,halfirritatedtoseehownearlytheauthorhasforestalledhisownthoughts,thatheisonthewaytowhatiscalledintheologyaSavingFaith.HerewehavethekeytoWhitman’sattitude.Togiveacertainunityofidealtothe average population of America—to gather their activities about someconception of humanity that shall be central and normal, if only for themoment—the poet must portray that population as it is. Like human law,humanpoetryissimplydeclaratory.Ifanyidealispossible,itmustbealreadyinthethoughtsofthepeople;and,bythesamereason,inthethoughtsofthepoet,who isoneof them.AndhenceWhitman’sown formula: “Thepoet isindividual—he iscomplete inhimself: theothersareasgoodashe;onlyhesees it, and they do not.” To show them how good they are, the poetmuststudyhisfellow-countrymenandhimselfsomewhatlikeatravelleronthehuntforhisbookoftravels.Thereisasense,ofcourse,inwhichalltruebooksarebooksoftravel;andallgenuinepoetsmustruntheirriskofbeingchargedwiththetraveller’sexaggeration;fortowhomaresuchbooksmoresurprisingthantothosewhoseownlifeisfaithfullyandsmartlypictured?Butthisdangerisall upon one side; and you may judiciously flatter the portrait without anylikelihoodofthesitter’sdisowningitforafaithfullikeness.AndsoWhitmanhasreasoned: thatbydrawingatfirsthandfromhimselfandhisneighbours,acceptingwithoutshametheinconsistenciesandbrutalitiesthatgotomakeupman,andyettreatingthewholeinahigh,magnanimousspirit,hewouldmakesureofbelief,andatthesametimeencouragepeopleforwardbythemeansofpraise.

II.

Weareaccustomednowadaystoagreatdealofpulingoverthecircumstancesinwhichweareplaced.Thegreatrefinementofmanypoeticalgentlemenhasrendered thempracticallyunfit for the jostlinganduglinessof life,and theyrecord their unfitness at considerable length. The bold and awful poetry ofJob’s complaint produces too many flimsy imitators; for there is always

somethingconsolatoryingrandeur,butthesymphonytransposedforthepianobecomes hysterically sad. This literature of woe, as Whitman calls it, thisMaladie de René, as we like to call it in Europe, is in many ways a mosthumiliating and sickly phenomenon. Young gentlemen with three or fourhundred a year of private means look down from a pinnacle of dolefulexperience on all the grown and heartymenwho have dared to say a goodword for life since the beginning of theworld. There is no prophet but themelancholyJacques,andthebluedevilsdanceonallourliterarywires.Itwouldbe a poor service to spread culture, if this be its result, among thecomparativelyinnocentandcheerfulranksofmen.Whenourlittlepoetshavetobesenttolookattheploughmanandlearnwisdom,wemustbecarefulhowwetamperwithourploughmen.Whereamaninnotthebestofcircumstancespreservescomposureofmind,andrelishesaleandtobacco,andhiswifeandchildren, in the intervalsofdullandunremunerative labour;whereaman inthis predicament can afford a lesson by the way to what are called hisintellectual superiors, there is plainly something to be lost, as well assomething to be gained, by teaching him to think differently. It is better toleave him as he is than to teach himwhining. It is better that he should gowithout the cheerful lights of culture, if cheerless doubt and paralysingsentimentalismaretobetheconsequence.Letus,byallmeans,fightagainstthat hide-bound stolidity of sensation and sluggishness ofmindwhich blursanddecolorises forpoornatures thewonderfulpageantofconsciousness; letus teach people, as much as we can, to enjoy, and they will learn forthemselves to sympathise; but let us see to it, above all, thatwe give theselessonsinabrave,vivaciousnote,andbuildthemanupincouragewhilewedemolishitssubstitute,indifference.Whitmanisalivetoall this.Heseesthat, if thepoetis tobeofanyhelp,hemusttestifytothelivablenessoflife.Hispoems,hetellsus,aretobe“hymnsofthepraiseofthings.”Theyaretomakeforacertainhighjoyinliving,orwhathecallshimself“abravedelightfitforfreedom’sathletes.”Andhehashadnodifficultyinintroducinghisoptimism:itfittedreadilyenoughwithhissystem; for the averageman is truly a courageous person and truly fond ofliving.OneofWhitman’sremarksuponthisheadisworthquotation,asheisthere perfectly successful, and does precisely what he designs to dothroughout: Takes ordinary and even commonplace circumstances; throwsthemout, by a happy turn of thinking, into significance and something likebeauty;andtacksahopefulmorallessontotheend.“The passionate tenacity of hunters, woodmen, early risers, cultivators ofgardensandorchardsand fields,he says, the loveofhealthywomen for themanlyform,seafaringpersons,driversofhorses,thepassionforlightandtheopenair,—allisanoldunvariedsignoftheunfailingperceptionofbeauty,and

ofaresidenceofthepoeticinoutdoorpeople.”There seems tomesomething trulyoriginal in thischoiceof triteexamples.Youwill remarkhowadroitlyWhitmanbegins,huntersandwoodmenbeingconfessedlyromantic.Andonethingmore.Ifhehadsaid“theloveofhealthymenforthefemaleform,”hewouldhavesaidalmostasilliness;forthethinghasneverbeendissembledoutofdelicacy,andissoobviousastobeapublicnuisance. But by reversing it, he tells us something not unlike news;something that sounds quite freshly in words; and, if the reader be a man,giveshimamomentofgreatself-satisfactionandspiritualaggrandisement.Inmanydifferentauthorsyoumayfindpassagesmoreremarkableforgrammar,butfewofamoreingeniousturn,andnonethatcouldbemoretothepointinourconnection.Thetenacityofmanyordinarypeopleinordinarypursuitsisasortofstandingchallengetoeverybodyelse.Ifonemancangrowabsorbedindelvinghisgarden,othersmaygrowabsorbedandhappyoversomethingelse.Not to be upsides in thiswith anygroomor gardener, is to be verymeanlyorganised.Amanshouldbeashamed to takehis food ifhehasnotalchemyenough in his stomach to turn some of it into intense and enjoyableoccupation.Whitman tries to reinforce thischeerfulnessbykeepingupasortofoutdooratmosphere of sentiment.His book, he tells us, should be read “among thecooling influences of external nature;” and this recommendation, like thatotherfamousonewhichHawthorneprefixedtohiscollectedtales,isinitselfacharacterofthework.Everyonewhohasbeenuponawalkingoraboatingtour,livingintheopenair,withthebodyinconstantexerciseandthemindinfallow,knows trueeaseandquiet.The irritatingactionof thebrain is set atrest;wethinkinaplain,unfeverishtemper;littlethingsseembigenough,andgreatthingsnolongerportentous;andtheworldissmilinglyacceptedasitis.ThisisthespiritthatWhitmaninculcatesandparades.Hethinksveryilloftheatmosphere of parlours or libraries.Wisdomkeeps school outdoors.And hehas the art to recommend this attitude of mind by simply pluming himselfupon it asavirtue; so that the reader, tokeep theadvantageoverhisauthorwhichmostreadersenjoy, is tricked intoprofessing thesameview.And thisspirit, as it ishis chief lesson, is thegreatest charmofhiswork.Thence, inspiteofanunevenandemphatickeyofexpression,somethingtrenchantandstraightforward,somethingsimpleandsurprising,distinguisheshispoems.HehassayingsthatcomehometooneliketheBible.WefalluponWhitman,aftertheworksofsomanymenwhowritebetter,withasenseofrelieffromstrain,withasenseoftouchingnature,aswhenonepassesoutoftheflaring,noisythoroughfaresofagreatcityintowhathehimselfhascalled,withunexcelledimaginative justice of language, “the huge and thoughtful night.” And hisbook in consequence, whatever may be the final judgment of its merit,whatever may be its influence on the future, should be in the hands of all

parents and guardians as a specific for the distressing malady of beingseventeenyearsold.Green-sicknessyields tohis treatment as to a charmofmagic; and the youth, after a short course of reading, ceases to carry theuniverseuponhisshoulders.

III.

Whitmanisnotoneofthosewhocanbedeceivedbyfamiliarity.Heconsidersitjustaswonderfulthattherearemyriadsofstars,asthatonemanshouldrisefromthedead.Hedeclares“ahaironthebackofhishandjustascuriousasany special revelation.”Hiswhole life is to himwhat itwas toSirThomasBrowne, one perpetual miracle. Everything is strange, everythingunaccountable,everythingbeautiful;fromabugtothemoon,fromthesightoftheeyestotheappetiteforfood.Hemakesithisbusinesstoseethingsasifhesaw themfor the first time, andprofessesastonishmentonprinciple.Buthehas no leaning towards mythology; avows his contempt for what he calls“unregeneratepoetry;”anddoesnotmeanbynature“The smoothwalks, trimmedhedges, butterflies, posies, and nightingales oftheEnglish poets, but thewhole orb,with its geologic history, theKosmos,carrying fire and snow, that rolls through the illimitable areas, light as afeatherthoughweighingbillionsoftons.”Nor is this exhaustive; for in his character of idealist all impressions, allthoughts, trees and people, love and faith, astronomy, history, and religion,enter upon equal terms into his notion of the universe. He is not againstreligion;not,indeed,againstanyreligion.Hewishestodragwithalargernet,tomake amore comprehensive synthesis, than any or than all of them puttogether. In feeling after the central type of man, he must embrace alleccentricities;hiscosmologymustsubsumeallcosmologies,andthefeelingsthatgavebirthtothem;hisstatementoffactsmustincludeallreligionandallirreligion,ChristandBoodha,Godandthedevil.Theworldas it is,and thewholeworldasit is,physical,andspiritual,andhistorical,withitsgoodandbad,withitsmanifoldinconsistencies,iswhathewishestosetforth,instrong,picturesque, and popular lineaments, for the understanding of the averageman. One of his favourite endeavours is to get the whole matter into anutshell;toknockthefourcornersoftheuniverse,oneafteranother,abouthisreaders’ears;tohurryhim,inbreathlessphrases,hitherandthither,backandforward, in time and space; to focus all this about his own momentarypersonality;andthen,drawingthegroundfromunderhisfeet,as ifbysomecataclysm of nature, to plunge him into the unfathomable abyss sownwithenormous suns and systems, and among the inconceivable numbers and

magnitudes and velocities of the heavenly bodies. So that he concludes bystrikingintoussomesenseofthatdisproportionofthingswhichShelleyhasilluminatedbytheironicalflashoftheseeightwords:Thedesireofthemothforthestar.Thesametruth,buttowhatadifferentpurpose!Whitman’smothismightilyathis ease about all the planets in heaven, and cannot think too highly of oursublunarytapers.Theuniverseissolargethatimaginationflagsintheefforttoconceive it; but here, in the meantime, is the world under our feet, a verywarm and habitable corner. “The earth, that is sufficient; I do notwant theconstellationsanynearer,”heremarks.Andagain:“Letyoursoulstandcoolandcomposed,”sayshe,“beforeamillionuniverses.”Itisthelanguageofatranscendental common sense, such asThoreau held and sometimes uttered.ButWhitman,whohas a somewhatvulgar inclination for technical talk andthejargonofphilosophy,isnotcontentwithafewpregnanthints;hemustputthedotsuponhisi’s;hemustcorroboratethesongsofApollobysomeofthedarkest talk of human metaphysic. He tells his disciples that they must beready “to confront the growing arrogance of Realism.” Each person is, forhimself,thekeystoneandtheoccasionofthisuniversaledifice.“Nothing,notGod,” he says, “is greater to one than oneself is;” a statement with anirreligioussmackatthefirstsight;butlikemoststartlingsayings,amanifesttruismonasecond.Hewillgiveeffecttohisowncharacterwithoutapology;hesees“thattheelementarylawsneverapologise.”“Ireckon,”headds,withquaint colloquial arrogance, “I reckon I behave no prouder than the level Iplant my house by, after all.” The level follows the law of its being; so,unrelentingly,willhe;everything,everyperson,isgoodinhisownplaceandway;Godisthemakerofallandallareinonedesign.ForhebelievesinGod,and thatwithasortofblasphemoussecurity.“Noarrayof terms,”quothhe,“no array of terms can say howmuch at peace I am about God and aboutdeath.”Therecertainlyneverwasaprophetwhocarriedthingswithahigherhand;hegivesuslessabodyofdogmasthanaseriesofproclamationsbythegraceofGod;andlanguage,youwillobserve,positivelyfailshimtoexpresshowfarhestandsabovethehighesthumandoubtsandtrepidations.Butnextinorderoftruthstoaperson’ssublimeconvictionofhimself,comesthe attraction of one person for another, and all that wemean by thewordlove:—“Thedearloveofmanforhiscomrade—theattractionoffriendforfriend,Ofthewell-marriedhusbandandwife,ofchildrenandparents,Ofcityforcityandlandforland.”Thesolitudeofthemostsublimeidealistisbrokeninuponbyotherpeople’sfaces;he seesa look in their eyes that corresponds to something inhisown

heart; there comes a tone in their voices which convicts him of a startlingweakness for his fellow-creatures. While he is hymning the ego andcommercingwithGodandtheuniverse,awomangoesbelowhiswindow;andattheturnofherskirt,orthecolourofhereyes,Icarusisrecalledfromheavenbytherun.Loveissostartlinglyrealthatittakesrankuponanequalfootingof reality with the consciousness of personal existence. We are as heartilypersuaded of the identity of those we love as of our own identity. And sosympathypairswithself-assertion,thetwogerentsofhumanlifeonearth;andWhitman’sidealmanmustnotonlybestrong,free,andself-reliantinhimself,but his freedom must be bounded and his strength perfected by the mostintimate, eager, and long-suffering love for others. To some extent this istaking awaywith the left handwhat has been so generously givenwith theright.Morality has been ceremoniously extruded from the door only to bebroughtinagainbythewindow.Wearetold,ononepage,todoasweplease;andon thenextweare sharplyupbraided fornothavingdoneas the authorpleases.Wearefirstassuredthatwearethefinestfellowsintheworldinourown right; and then it appears thatwe are only fine fellows in so far aswepractiseamostquixoticcodeofmorals.Thedisciplewhosawhimselfinclearether a moment before is plunged down again among the fogs andcomplications of duty. And this is all the more overwhelming becauseWhitmaninsistsnotonlyonlovebetweensexandsex,andbetweenfriendsofthesamesex,butinthefieldofthelessintensepoliticalsympathies;andhisidealmanmustnotonlybeagenerousfriendbutaconscientiousvoterintothebargain.His method somewhat lessens the difficulty. He is not, the reader willremember,totellushowgoodweoughttobe,buttoremindushowgoodweare.Heistoencourageustobefreeandkind,byprovingthatwearefreeandkind already. He passes our corporate life under review, to show that it isupheldbytheveryvirtuesofwhichhemakeshimselftheadvocate.“Thereisnoobjectsosoft,”hesayssomewhereinhisbig,plainway,“thereisnoobjectsosoftbutitmakesahubforthewheel’duniverse.”Rightlyunderstood,itison the softestof allobjects, the sympatheticheart, that thewheelof societyturnseasilyandsecurelyasonaperfectaxle.Thereisnoroom,ofcourse,fordoubtordiscussion,aboutconduct,whereeveryoneistofollowthelawofhisbeingwithexactcompliance.Whitmanhatesdoubt,deprecatesdiscussion,anddiscouragestohisutmostthecraving,carpingsensibilitiesoftheconscience.Wearetoimitate,touseoneofhisabsurdandhappyphrases,“thesatisfactionandaplombofanimals.”IfhepreachesasortofrantingChristianityinmorals,a fit consequent to the ranting optimism of his cosmology, it is because hedeclaresittobetheoriginaldeliveranceofthehumanheart;oratleast,forhewould be honestly historical in method, of the human heart as at presentChristianised.His is a morality without a prohibition; his policy is one of

encouragement all round. A man must be a born hero to come up toWhitman’s standard in the practice of any of the positive virtues; but of anegativevirtue,suchastemperanceorchastity,hehassolittletosay,thatthereaderneednotbesurprisedifhedropsawordortwoupontheotherside.Hewouldlaydownnothingthatwouldbeaclog;hewouldprescribenothingthatcannotbedoneruddily,inaheat.Thegreatpointistogetpeopleunderway.TothefaithfulWhitmanitethiswouldbejustifiedbythebeliefthatGodmadeall,andthatallwasgood;theprophet,inthisdoctrine,hasonlytocry“Tally-ho,”andmankindwillbreakintoagallopontheroadtoElDorado.Perhaps,toanotherclassofminds,itmaylookliketheresultofthesomewhatcynicalreflectionthatyouwillnotmakeakindmanoutofonewhoisunkindbyanypreceptsunderheaven; temperedby thebelief that, innaturalcircumstances,the largemajority iswell disposed.Thence itwould follow, that if you canonly get every one to feel more warmly and act more courageously, thebalanceofresultswillbeforgood.So far, you see, thedoctrine is pretty coherent as adoctrine; as apictureofman’slifeitisincompleteandmisleading,althougheminentlycheerful.Thisheishimselfthefirsttoacknowledge;forifheispropheticinanything,itisinhis noble disregard of consistency. “Do I contradict myself?” he askssomewhere; and then pat comes the answer, the best answer ever given inprint,worthyofa sage,or ratherofawoman:“Verywell, then, I contradictmyself!” with this addition, not so feminine and perhaps not altogether sosatisfactory: “I am large—I contain multitudes.” Life, as a matter of fact,partakes largelyof thenatureof tragedy.Thegospelaccording toWhitman,even if it be not so logical, has this advantage over the gospel according toPangloss, that it does not utterly disregard the existence of temporal evil.Whitmanacceptsthefactofdiseaseandwretchednesslikeanhonestman;andinsteadof trying toqualify it in the interestofhisoptimism, setshimself tospurpeopleuptobehelpful.Heexpressesaconviction,indeed,thatallwillbemadeuptothevictimsintheend;that“whatisuntriedandafterward”willfailnoone,noteven“theoldmanwhohaslivedwithoutpurposeandfeelsitwithbitternessworsethangall.”Butthisisnottopalliateoursenseofwhatishardormelancholyinthepresent.Pangloss,smartingunderoneoftheworstthingsthat ever was supposed to come from America, consoled himself with thereflection that itwas the pricewe have to pay for cochineal.Andwith thatmurderous parody, logical optimism and the praises of the best of possiblewordswentirrevocablyoutofseason,andhavebeennomoreheardofinthemouthsofreasonablemen.Whitmansparesusallallusions to thecochineal;hetreatsevilandsorrowinaspiritalmostasofwelcome;asanoldsea-dogmighthavewelcomedthesightoftheenemy’stopsailsofftheSpanishMain.There, at least, he seems to say, is something obvious to be done. I do notknowmanybetterthingsinliteraturethanthebriefpictures,—briefandvivid

likethingsseenbylightning,—withwhichhetriestostiruptheworld’sheartupon the side of mercy. He braces us, on the one hand, with examples ofheroicdutyandhelpfulness;ontheother,hetouchesuswithpitifulinstancesofpeopleneedinghelp.Heknowshowtomaketheheartbeatatabravestory;to inflameuswith just resentmentover thehuntedslave; tostopourmouthsforshamewhenhetellsofthedrunkenprostitute.Foralltheafflicted,alltheweak,allthewicked,agoodwordissaidinaspiritwhichIcanonlycalloneofultra-Christianity; andhoweverwild, however contradictory, itmaybe inparts,thisatleastmaybesaidforhisbook,asitmaybesaidoftheChristianGospels, that no onewill read it, however respectable, but he gets a knockupon his conscience; no one however fallen, but he finds a kindly andsupportingwelcome.

IV.

Nor has he been content withmerely blowing the trumpet for the battle ofwell-doing; he has given to his precepts the authority of his own braveexample.Naturallyagrave,believingman,withlittleornosenseofhumour,hehassucceededaswellinlifeasinhisprintedperformances.Thespiritthatwas in him has come forthmost eloquently in his actions.Manywhohaveonlyreadhispoetryhavebeentemptedtosethimdownasanass,orevenasacharlatan;butInevermetanyonewhohadknownhimpersonallywhodidnotprofessasolidaffectionandrespectfortheman’scharacter.Hepractisesasheprofesses;hefeelsdeeplythatChristianloveforallmen,thattoleration,thatcheerfuldelightinservingothers,whichheoftencelebratesinliteraturewithadoubtfulmeasureofsuccess.Andperhaps,outofallhiswritings,thebestandthemosthumanandconvincingpassagesaretobefoundin“thesesoil’dandcreas’d little livraisons, each composed of a sheet or two of paper, foldedsmall to carry in the pocket, and fastened with a pin,” which he scribbledduringthewarbythebedsidesof thewoundedor in theexcitementofgreatevents.Theyarehardly literature in theformalmeaningof theword;hehasleft his jottings for themostpart ashemade them; ahomelydetail, awordfromthelipsofadyingsoldier,abusinessmemorandum,thecopyofaletter-short,straightforwardtothepoint,withnoneofthetrappingsofcomposition;buttheybreatheaprofoundsentiment,theygiveusavividlookatoneofthesidesoflife,andtheymakeusacquaintedwithamanwhomitisanhonourtolove.Whitman’s intenseAmericanism, his unlimited belief in the future ofTheseStates (as, with reverential capitals, he loves to call them),made thewar aperiodofgreattrialtohissoul.Thenewvirtue,Unionism,ofwhichheisthe

sole inventor,seemed tohavefallen intoprematureunpopularity.All thatheloved,hoped,orhated,hunginthebalance.Andthegameofwarwasnotonlymomentoustohiminitsissues;itsublimatedhisspiritbyitsheroicdisplays,andtorturedhimintimatelybythespectacleofitshorrors.Itwasatheatre,itwasaplaceofeducation,itwaslikeaseasonofreligiousrevival.HewatchedLincoln going daily to his work; he studied and fraternised with youngsoldierypassing to the front; above all, hewalked thehospitals, reading theBible, distributing clean clothes, or apples, or tobacco; a patient, helpful,reverendman,fullofkindspeeches.Hismemorandaofthisperiodarealmostbewilderingtoread.Fromonepointofviewtheyseemthoseofadistrictvisitor;fromanother,theylookliketheformless jottings of an artist in the picturesque.More than one woman, onwhom I tried the experiment, immediately claimed the writer for a fellow-woman. More than one literary purist might identify him as a shoddynewspapercorrespondentwithout thenecessary facultyof style.Andyet thestorytoucheshome;andifyouareoftheweepingorderofmankind,youwillcertainly find your eyes fill with tears, of which you have no reason to beashamed.Thereisonlyonewaytocharacteriseaworkofthisorder,andthatistoquote.Hereisapassagefromalettertoamother,unknowntoWhitman,whosesondiedinhospital:—“Frank,asfarasIsaw,hadeverythingrequisiteinsurgicaltreatment,nursing,etc.Hehadwatchesmuchofthetime.Hewassogoodandwell-behaved,andaffectionate, Imyself liked himverymuch. Iwas in the habit of coming inafternoonsandsittingbyhim,andhe liked tohaveme—liked toputouthisarmandlayhishandonmyknee—wouldkeepitsoalongwhile.Towardthelasthewasmorerestlessandflightyatnight—oftenfanciedhimselfwithhisregiment—byhistalksometimesseem’dasifhisfeelingswerehurtbybeingblamed by his officers for something he was entirely innocent of—said ‘Ineverinmylifewasthoughtcapableofsuchathing,andneverwas.’Atothertimeshewouldfancyhimselftalkingasitseem’dtochildrenorsuchlike,hisrelatives,Isuppose,andgivingthemgoodadvice;wouldtalktothemalongwhile.Allthetimehewasoutofhisheadnotonesinglebadword,orthought,or ideaescapedhim. Itwas remark’d thatmanyaman’s conversation inhissenseswasnothalfsogoodasFrank’sdelirium.“Hewasperfectlywillingtodie—hehadbecomeveryweak,andhadsuffer’dagooddeal,andwasperfectlyresign’d,poorboy.Idonotknowhispastlife,but I feelas if itmusthavebeengood.Atanyratewhat Isawofhimhere,under the most trying circumstances, with a painful wound, and amongstrangers,Icansaythathebehavedsobrave,socomposed,andsosweetandaffectionate, it couldnotbe surpassed.Andnow, likemanyother noble andgoodmen,afterservinghiscountryasasoldier,hehasyieldeduphisyoung

lifeat theveryoutset inherservice.Such thingsaregloomy—yet there isatext,‘Goddoethallthingswell,’themeaningofwhich,afterduetime,appearstothesoul.“Ithoughtperhapsafewwords,thoughfromastranger,aboutyourson,fromonewhowaswithhimatthelast,mightbeworthwhile,forIlovedtheyoungman,thoughIbutsawhimimmediatelytolosehim.”Itiseasyenoughtopickholesinthegrammarofthisletter,butwhatarewetosayofitsprofoundgoodnessandtenderness?Itiswrittenasthoughhehadthemother’sfacebeforehiseyes,andsawherwincinginthefleshateveryword.Andwhat,again,arewetosayofitssobertruthfulness,notexaggerating,notrunning to phrases, not seeking to make a hero out of what was only anordinarybutgoodandbraveyoungman?LiteraryreticenceisnotWhitman’sstronghold; and this reticence is not literary, but humane; it is not that of agoodartistbutthatofagoodman.Heknewthatwhat themotherwishedtohearaboutwasFrank;andhetoldheraboutherFrankashewas.

V.

Something should be said ofWhitman’s style, for style is of the essence ofthinking.Andwhereamanissocriticallydeliberateasourauthor,andgoessolemnlyabouthispoetryforanulteriorend,everyindicationisworthnotice.Hehaschosenarough,unrhymed,lyricalverse;sometimesinstinctwithafineprocessional movement; often so rugged and careless that it can only bedescribedbysayingthathehasnottakenthetroubletowriteprose.Ibelievemyself that itwasselectedprincipallybecauseitwaseasytowrite,althoughnotwithoutrecollectionsofthemarchingmeasuresofsomeoftheproseinourEnglishOldTestament.According toWhitman,on theotherhand,“the timehasarrivedtoessentiallybreakdownthebarriersofformbetweenProseandPoetry . . . for themostcogentpurposesof thosegreat inlandstates,andforTexas, and California, and Oregon;”—a statement which is among thehappiestachievementsofAmericanhumour.Hecallshisverses“recitatives,”ineasilyfollowedallusiontoamusicalform.“Easily-written, loose-fingeredchords,”hecries,“Ifeelthethrumofyourclimaxandclose.”Toooften,Ifear,he is the only one who can perceive the rhythm; and in spite of Mr.Swinburne, a great part of hiswork considered as verses is poor bald stuff.Considered,notasverse,butasspeech,agreatpartofitisfullofstrangeandadmirablemerits.Therightdetailisseized;therightword,boldandtrenchant,isthrustintoitsplace.Whitmanhassmallregardtoliterarydecencies,andistotallyfreefromliterarytimidities.Heisneitherafraidofbeingslangynorofbeingdull;nor,letmeadd,ofbeingridiculous.Theresultisamostsurprising

compoundofplaingrandeur,sentimentalaffectation,anddownrightnonsense.Itwouldbeuselesstofollowhisdetractorsandgiveinstancesofhowbadhecanbeathisworst;andperhapsitwouldbenotmuchwisertogiveextractedspecimensofhowhappilyhecanwritewhenheisathisbest.Thesecomeinto most advantage in their own place; owing something, it may be, to theoffsetoftheircurioussurroundings.Andonethingiscertain,thatnoonecanappreciateWhitman’sexcellencesuntilhehasgrownaccustomedtohisfaults.Untilyouarecontenttopickpoetryoutofhispagesalmostasyoumustpickitout of a Greek play in Bohn’s translation, your gravity will be continuallyupset,yourearsperpetuallydisappointed,andthewholebookwillbenomoretoyouthanaparticularlyflagrantproductionbythePoetClose.Awriterofthisuncertainqualitywas,perhaps,unfortunateintakingforthesisthebeautyoftheworldasitnowis,notonlyonthehill-topsbutinthefactory;not only by the harbour full of stately ships, but in the magazine of thehopelesslyprosaichatter.Toshowbeautyincommonthingsistheworkoftheraresttact.Itisnottobedonebythewishing.Itiseasytopositasatheory,butto bring it home to men’s minds is the problem of literature, and is onlyaccomplishedby rare talent, and in comparatively rare instances.Tobid thewholeworld standanddeliver,withadogma inone’s righthandbywayofpistol; tocoverreamsofpaperinagalloping,headstrongvein; tocrylouderand louderovereverythingas itcomesup,andmakenodistinction inone’senthusiasmoverthemostincomparablematters;toproveone’sentirewantofsympathyforthejaded,literarypalate,bycalling,notaspadeaspade,butahatter a hatter, in a lyrical apostrophe;—this, in spite of all the airs ofinspiration,isnotthewaytodoit.Itmaybeverywrong,andverywoundingto a respectable branch of industry, but the word “hatter” cannot be usedseriouslyinemotionalverse;nottounderstandthis,istohavenoliterarytact;andIwould,forhisownsake,thatthisweretheonlyinadmissibleexpressionwithwhichWhitman had bedecked his pages. The book teemswith similarcomicalities;and,toareaderwhoisdeterminedtotakeitfromthatsideonly,presentsaperfectcarnivaloffun.Agooddealofthisistheresultoftheoryplayingitsusualviletrickupontheartist.ItisbecauseheisaDemocratthatWhitmanmusthaveinthehatter.IfyoumaysayAdmiral,hereasons,whymayyounotsayHatter?Onemanisasgoodasanother,anditisthebusinessofthe“greatpoet”toshowpoetryinthelifeof theoneaswellas theother.Amostincontrovertiblesentimentsurely,andonewhichnobodywouldthinkofcontroverting,where—andhereis thepoint—whereanybeautyhasbeenshown.Buthow,wherethatisnotthecase?wherethehatterissimplyintroduced,asGodmadehimandashisfellow-menhavemiscalledhim,atthecrisisofahigh-flownrhapsody?Andwhatareweto say, where a man ofWhitman’s notable capacity for putting things in abright,picturesque,andnovelway,simplygivesuptheattempt,andindulges,

with apparent exultation, in an inventory of trades or implements, with nomorecolourorcoherencethansomanyindex-wordsoutofadictionary?Idonot know that we can say anything, but that it is a prodigiously amusingexhibitionforalineorso.Theworstofitis,thatWhitmanmusthaveknownbetter.Themanisagreatcritic,and,sofarasIcanmakeout,agoodone;andhowmuchcriticismdoesitrequiretoknowthatcapitulationisnotdescription,or that fingeringonadumbkeyboard,withwhatevershowofsentimentandexecution, is not at all the same thing as discoursingmusic? Iwish I couldbelievehewasquitehonestwithus;but, indeed,whowaseverquitehonestwhowrote a book for a purpose? It is a flight beyond the reach of humanmagnanimity.Oneotherpoint,wherehismeansfailedhim,mustbetouchedupon,howevershortly. In his desire to accept all facts loyally and simply, it fellwithin hisprogrammetospeakatsomelengthandwithsomeplainnessonwhatis,forIreallydonotknowwhatreason, themostdelicateofsubjects.Seeing in thatoneof themostseriousandinterestingpartsof life,hewasaggrievedthat itshouldbelookeduponasridiculousorshameful.Noonespeaksofmaternitywith his tongue in his cheek; and Whitman made a bold push to set thesanctity of fatherhood beside the sanctity ofmotherhood, and introduce thisalsoamongthethingsthatcanbespokenofwithouteitherablushorawink.ButthePhilistineshavebeentoostrong;and,tosaytruth,Whitmanhasratherplayed thefool.Wemaybe thoroughlyconscious thathisend is improving;thatitwouldbeagoodthingifawindowwereopenedonthesecloseprivaciesof life; that on this subject, as on all others, he now and then lets fall apregnantsaying.Butwearenotsatisfied.Wefeelthathewasnotthemanforsodifficultanenterprise.Helosesoursympathyinthecharacterofapoetbyattracting toomuch of our attention in that of aBull in aChinaShop.Andwhere,byalittlemoreart,wemighthavebeensolemnisedourselves,itistoooftenWhitman alone who is solemn in the face of an audience somewhatindecorouslyamused.

VI.

Lastly, asmost important, after all, to humanbeings in our disputable state,what is that higher prudence which was to be the aim and issue of thesedeliberateproductions?Whitman is too clever to slip into a succinct formula. If he could haveadequatelysaidhissayinasingleproverb,itistobepresumedhewouldnothave put himself to the trouble of writing several volumes. It was hisprogramme to state as much as he could of the world with all its

contradictions, and leave the upshotwithGodwhoplanned it.What he hasmade of the world and the world’smeanings is to be found at large in hispoems. These altogether give his answers to the problems of belief andconduct; inmanyways righteous andhigh-spirited, in someways loose andcontradictory.AndyettherearetwopassagesfromtheprefacetotheLeavesofGrasswhich do prettywell condense his teaching on all essential points,andyetpreserveameasureofhisspirit.“Thisiswhatyoushalldo,”hesaysintheone,“lovetheearth,andsun,andanimals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for thestupidandcrazy,devoteyourincomeandlabourtoothers,hatetyrants,arguenot concerningGod, have patience and indulgence towards the people, takeoffyourhattonothingknownorunknown,ortoanymanornumberofmen;gofreelywithpowerfuluneducatedpersons,andwiththeyoung,andmothersoffamilies,readtheseleaves(hisownworks)intheopenaireveryseasonofeveryyearofyourlife;re-examineallyouhavebeentoldatschoolorchurch,orinanybook,anddismisswhateverinsultsyourownsoul.”“The prudence of the greatest poet,” he adds in the other—and the greatestpoet is, of course, himself—“knows that the young man who composedlyperilledhislifeandlostit,hasdoneexceedingwellforhimself;whilethemanwhohasnotperilledhis life,andretainsit tooldageinrichesandease,hasperhaps achieved nothing for himself worth mentioning; and that only thatpersonhasnogreatprudencetolearn,whohaslearnttopreferreallong-livedthings,andfavoursbodyandsoulthesame,andperceivestheindirectsurelyfollowing the direct, and what evil or good he does leaping onward andwaitingtomeethimagain,andwhoinhisspirit,inanyemergencywhatever,neitherhurriesnoravoidsdeath.”There is much that is Christian in these extracts, startlingly Christian. Anyreader who bears in mindWhitman’s own advice and “dismisses whateverinsults his own soul” will find plenty that is bracing, brightening, andchasteningtorewardhimforalittlepatienceatfirst.ItseemshardlypossiblethatanybeingshouldgetevilfromsohealthyabookastheLeavesofGrass,whichissimplycomicalwhereveritfallsshortofnobility;butiftherebeanysuch,whocannotbothtakeandleave,whocannotletasingleopportunitypassby without some unworthy and unmanly thought, I should have as greatdifficulty,andneithermorenorless,inrecommendingtheworksofWhitmanas in lending them Shakespeare, or letting them go abroad outside of thegroundsofaprivateasylum.

HENRYDAVIDTHOREAU:HISCHARACTERANDOPINIONS.

I.

THOREAU’S thin, penetrating, big-nosed face, even in a bad woodcut,conveys some hint of the limitations of his mind and character. With hisalmostacidsharpnessofinsight,withhisalmostanimaldexterityinact,therewentnoneofthat large,unconsciousgenialityoftheworld’sheroes.Hewasnot easy, not ample, not urbane, not even kind; his enjoyment was hardlysmiling,orthesmilewasnotbroadenoughtobeconvincing;hehadnowastelandsnorkitchen-middeninhisnature,butwasallimprovedandsharpenedtoapoint.“Hewasbredtonoprofession,”saysEmerson;“henevermarried;helivedalone;heneverwenttochurch;henevervoted;herefusedtopayataxtotheState;heatenoflesh,hedranknowine,heneverknewtheuseoftobaccoand, thoughanaturalist,heusedneither trapnorgun.Whenaskedatdinnerwhat dish he preferred, he answered, ‘the nearest.’” So many negativesuperioritiesbegintosmackalittleoftheprig.Fromhislaterworkshewasinthehabitofcuttingoutthehumorouspassages,undertheimpressionthattheywerebeneath thedignityofhismoralmuse;and therewesee theprigstandpublicandconfessed.Itwas“mucheasier,”saysEmersonacutely,mucheasierforThoreautosaynothanyes;andthat isacharacteristicwhichdepicts theman. It is a useful accomplishment to be able to sayno, but surely it is theessence of amiability to prefer to say yes where it is possible. There issomething wanting in the man who does not hate himself whenever he isconstrained to say no. And there was a great deal wanting in this borndissenter.Hewasalmostshockinglydevoidofweaknesses;hehadnotenoughof them tobe trulypolarwithhumanity;whetheryou call himdemi-godordemi-man, hewas at least not altogether one of us, for hewas not touchedwithafeelingofourinfirmities.Theworld’sheroeshaveroomforallpositivequalities,eventhosewhicharedisreputable, in thecapacious theatreof theirdispositions.Suchcanlivemanylives;whileaThoreaucanlivebutone,andthatonlywithperpetualforesight.Hewasnoascetic,ratheranEpicureanofthenoblersort;andhehadthisonegreatmerit,thathesucceededsofarastobehappy.“Ilovemyfatetothecoreandrind,”hewroteonce;andevenwhilehelaydying,hereiswhathedictated(for it seems he was already too feeble to control the pen): “You askparticularlyaftermyhealth.IsupposethatIhavenotmanymonthstolive,butof courseknownothing about it. Imay say that I am enjoying existence asmuch as ever, and regret nothing.” It is not given to all to bear so clear atestimony to the sweetness of their fate, nor to any without courage andwisdom;forthisworldinitselfisbutapainfulanduneasyplaceofresidence,andlastinghappiness,at least totheself-conscious,comesonlyfromwithin.NowThoreau’scontentandecstasyinlivingwas,wemaysay,likeaplantthathe hadwatered and tendedwithwomanish solicitude; for there is apt to be

somethingunmanly,somethingalmostdastardly,inalifethatdoesnotmovewithdashandfreedom,andthatfearsthebracingcontactoftheworld.Inoneword,Thoreauwasaskulker.Hedidnotwishvirtuetogooutofhimamonghisfellow-men,butslunkintoacornertohoarditforhimself.Heleftallforthe sake of certain virtuous self-indulgences. It is true that his tastes werenoble; thathisrulingpassionwas tokeephimselfunspottedfromtheworld;andthathisluxurieswereallofthesamehealthyorderascoldtubsandearlyrising.But amanmay be both coldly cruel in the pursuit of goodness, andmorbideveninthepursuitofhealth.Icannotlaymyhandsonthepassageinwhichheexplainshisabstinencefromteaandcoffee,butIamsureIhavethemeaningcorrectly.Itisthis;Hethoughtitbadeconomyandworthyofnotruevirtuoso to spoil the natural rapture of the morning with such muddystimulants; let him but see the sun rise, and he was already sufficientlyinspirited for the labours of the day. That may be reason good enough toabstain from tea; butwhenwegoon to find the sameman, on the sameorsimilargrounds,abstainfromnearlyeverythingthathisneighboursinnocentlyandpleasurablyuse,andfromtherubsandtrialsofhumansocietyitselfintothe bargain, we recognise that valetudinarian healthfulness which is moredelicate thansickness itself.Weneedhaveno respect fora stateofartificialtraining. True health is to be able to do without it. Shakespeare, we canimagine,mightbeginthedayuponaquartofale,andyetenjoythesunrisetothefullasmuchasThoreau,andcommemoratehisenjoymentinvastlybetterverses.Amanwhomustseparatehimselffromhisneighbours’habitsinordertobehappy,isinmuchthesamecasewithonewhorequirestotakeopiumforthesamepurpose.Whatwewanttoseeisonewhocanbreastintotheworld,doaman’swork,andstillpreservehisfirstandpureenjoymentofexistence.Thoreau’sfacultieswereofapiecewithhismoralshyness;for theywerealldelicacies.Hecouldguidehimselfaboutthewoodsonthedarkestnightbythetouchofhisfeet.Hecouldpickupatonceanexactdozenofpencilsby thefeeling, pace distanceswith accuracy, and gauge cubic contents by the eye.Hissmellwassodaintythathecouldperceivethefœtorofdwelling-housesashepassedthembyatnight;hispalatesounsophisticatedthat,likeachild,hedislikedthetasteofwine—orperhaps,livinginAmerica,hadnevertastedanythatwasgood;andhisknowledgeofnaturewassocompleteandcuriousthathecouldhave told the timeofyear,withinadayorso,by theaspectof theplants. In his dealings with animals, he was the original of Hawthorne’sDonatello.Hepulledthewoodchuckoutofitsholebythetail;thehuntedfoxcame to him for protection; wild squirrels have been seen to nestle in hiswaistcoat;hewouldthrusthisarmintoapoolandbringforthabright,pantingfish,lyingundismayedinthepalmofhishand.Therewerefewthingsthathecouldnotdo.Hecouldmakeahouse,aboat,apencil,orabook.Hewasasurveyor, a scholar, a natural historian. He could run, walk, climb, skate,

swim,andmanageaboat.Thesmallestoccasionservedtodisplayhisphysicalaccomplishment; and a manufacturer, from merely observing his dexteritywith thewindow of a railway carriage, offered him a situation on the spot.“Theonlyfruitofmuchliving,”heobserves,“istheabilitytodosomeslightthingbetter.”But suchwas the exactitude of his senses, so alivewas he ineveryfibre,thatitseemsasifthemaximshouldbechangedinhiscase,forhecould do most things with unusual perfection. And perhaps he had anapproving eye to himself when he wrote: “Though the youth at last growsindifferent,thelawsoftheuniversearenotindifferent,butareforeveronthesideofthemostsensitive.”

II.

Thoreauhaddecided,itwouldseem,fromtheveryfirsttoleadalifeofself-improvement: the needle did not tremble aswith richer natures, but pointedsteadily north; and as he saw duty and inclination in one, he turned all hisstrength in that direction. He was met upon the threshold by a commondifficulty.Inthisworld,inspiteofitsmanyagreeablefeatures,eventhemostsensitivemustundergosomedrudgerytolive.Itisnotpossibletodevoteyourtime to study and meditation without what are quaintly but happilydenominated private means; these absent, a man must contrive to earn hisbreadbysomeservicetothepublicsuchasthepubliccarestopayhimfor;or,asThoreaulovedtoputit,ApollomustserveAdmetus.ThiswastoThoreauevenasourernecessitythanitistomost;therewasaloveoffreedom,astrainofthewildman,inhisnature,thatrebelledwithviolenceagainsttheyokeofcustom;andhewassoeagertocultivatehimselfandtobehappyinhisownsociety, that he could consent with difficulty even to the interruptions offriendship.“SucharemyengagementstomyselfthatIdarenotpromise,”heonce wrote in answer to an invitation; and the italics are his own.MarcusAurelius found time to study virtue, and between whiles to conduct theimperialaffairsofRome;butThoreau is sobusy improvinghimself, thathemustthinktwiceaboutamorningcall.Andnowimaginehimcondemnedforeight hours a day to some uncongenial and unmeaning business!He shrankfromtheverylookofthemechanicalinlife;allshould,ifpossible,besweetlyspontaneous and swimmingly progressive. Thus he learned to make lead-pencils,and,whenhehadgainedthebestcertificateandhisfriendsbegantocongratulatehimonhisestablishmentinlife,calmlyannouncedthatheshouldnevermakeanother. “Why should I?” saidhe “Iwouldnot do againwhat Ihavedoneonce.”Forwhenathinghasoncebeendoneaswellasitwantstobe,itisofnofurtherinteresttotheself-improver.Yetinafteryears,andwhenit became needful to support his family, he returned patiently to this

mechanicalart—astepmorethanworthyofhimself.The pencils seem to have been Apollo’s first experiment in the service ofAdmetus; but others followed. “I have thoroughly tried school-keeping,” hewrites, “and found that my expenses were in proportion, or rather out ofproportion,tomyincome;forIwasobligedtodressandtrain,nottosaythinkand believe, accordingly, and I lost my time into the bargain. As I did notteachforthebenefitofmyfellow-men,butsimplyforalivelihood,thiswasafailure.Ihavetriedtrade,butIfoundthatitwouldtaketenyearstogetunderway in that, and that then I should probably be on my way to the devil.”Nothing, indeed, can surpass his scorn for all so-called business.Upon thatsubjectgallsquirtsfromhimatatouch.“Thewholeenterpriseofthisnationisnotillustratedbyathought,”hewrites;“itisnotwarmedbyasentiment;thereisnothinginitforwhichamanshouldlaydownhislife,norevenhisgloves.”Andagain:“Ifourmerchantsdidnotmostofthemfail,andthebankstoo,myfaith in the old laws of this world would be staggered. The statement thatninety-sixinahundreddoingsuchbusinesssurelybreakdownisperhapsthesweetest fact that statistics have revealed.”Thewishwas probably father tothe figures; but there is something enlivening in a hatred of so genuine abrand,hotasCorsicanrevenge,andsneeringlikeVoltaire.Pencils, school-keeping, and trade being thus discarded one after another,Thoreau,withastrokeofstrategy,turnedtheposition.Hesawhiswaytogethis board and lodging for practically nothing; and Admetus never got lessworkoutofanyservantsince theworldbegan. Itwashisambition tobeanorientalphilosopher;buthewasalwaysaveryYankeesortoforiental.Eveninthe peculiar attitude in which he stood to money, his system of personaleconomics,aswemaycallit,hedisplayedavastamountoftrulydown-Eastcalculation,andheadoptedpovertylikeapieceofbusiness.Yethissystemisbasedononeor two ideaswhich, Ibelieve,comenaturally toall thoughtfulyouths,andareonlypoundedoutof thembycityuncles. Indeed, somethingessentiallyyouthfuldistinguishesallThoreau’sknock-downblowsatcurrentopinion. Like the posers of a child, they leave the orthodox in a kind ofspeechlessagony.Theseknowthethingisnonsense.Theyaresuretheremustbeananswer,yetsomehowcannotfindit.Soitiswithhissystemofeconomy.He cuts through the subject on so new a plane that the accepted argumentsapplynolonger;heattacksitinanewdialectwheretherearenocatchwordsreadymadeforthedefender;afteryouhavebeenboxingforyearsonapolite,gladiatorialconvention,hereisanassailantwhodoesnotscrupletohitbelowthebelt.“Thecostofathing,”sayshe,“istheamountofwhatIwillcalllifewhichisrequiredtobeexchangedforit,immediatelyorinthelongrun.”Ihavebeenaccustomedtoputittomyself,perhapsmoreclearly,thatthepricewehaveto

pay formoney ispaid in liberty.Between these twowaysof it, at least, thereader will probably not fail to find a third definition of his own; and itfollows,ononeorother,thatamanmaypaytoodearlyforhislivelihood,bygiving,inThoreau’sterms,hiswholelifeforit,or,inmine,barteringforitthewholeofhisavailableliberty,andbecomingaslavetilldeath.Therearetwoquestionstobeconsidered—thequalityofwhatwebuy,andthepricewehavetopayforit.Doyouwantathousandayear,atwothousandayear,oratenthousand a year livelihood? and can you afford the one you want? It is amatter of taste; it is not in the least degree a question of duty, thoughcommonlysupposedso.Butthereisnoauthorityforthatviewanywhere.ItisnowhereintheBible.Itistruethatwemightdoavastamountofgoodifwewerewealthy, but it is also highly improbable; notmany do; and the art ofgrowingrichisnotonlyquitedistinctfromthatofdoinggood,butthepracticeoftheonedoesnotatalltrainamanforpractisingtheother.“Moneymightbeofgreatservicetome,”writesThoreau;“butthedifficultynowisthatIdonotimprove my opportunities, and therefore I am not prepared to have myopportunitiesincreased.”Itisamereillusionthat,aboveacertainincome,thepersonal desireswill be satisfied and leave awidermargin for thegenerousimpulse. It is as difficult to be generous, or anything else, except perhaps amemberofParliament,onthirtythousandasontwohundredayear.NowThoreau’stasteswerewelldefined.Helovedtobefree,tobemasterofhistimesandseasons,toindulgethemindratherthanthebody;hepreferredlong rambles to rich dinners, his own reflections to the consideration ofsociety, and an easy, calm, unfettered, active life among green trees to dulltoilingatthecounterofabank.Andsuchbeinghisinclinationhedeterminedtogratifyit.Apoormanmustsaveoffsomething;hedeterminedtosaveoffhislivelihood.“Whenamanhasattainedthosethingswhicharenecessarytolife,”hewrites,“thereisanotheralternativethantoobtainthesuperfluities;hemay adventure on life now, his vacation from humbler toil havingcommenced.”Thoreauwouldgetshelter,somekindofcoveringforhisbody,and necessary daily bread; even these he should get as cheaply as possible;andthen,hisvacationfromhumblertoilhavingcommenced,devotehimselftoorientalphilosophers,thestudyofnature,andtheworkofself-improvement.Prudence,whichbidsusallgototheantforwisdomandhoardagainstthedayofsickness,wasnotafavouritewithThoreau.Hepreferredthatother,whosenameissomuchmisappropriated:Faith.Whenhehadsecuredthenecessariesofthemoment,hewouldnotreckonuppossibleaccidentsortormenthimselfwithtroubleforthefuture.Hehadnotolerationfortheman“whoventurestoliveonlybytheaidofthemutualinsurancecompany,whichhaspromisedtobury him decently.” He would trust himself a little to the world. “Wemaysafelytrustagooddealmorethanwedo,”sayshe.“Howmuchisnotdonebyus! orwhat ifwehadbeen taken sick?”And then,with a stab of satire, he

describescontemporarymankindinaphrase:“Allthedaylongonthealert,atnightweunwillinglysayourprayersandcommitourselvestouncertainties.”It isnot likely that thepublicwill bemuchaffectedbyThoreau,when theyblink thedirect injunctionsof the religion theyprofess;andyet,whetherwewillorno,wemakethesamehazardousventures;webackourownhealthandthehonestyofourneighbours for all thatweareworth; and it is chilling tothinkhowmanymustlosetheirwager.In 1845, twenty-eight years old, an age bywhich the liveliest have usuallydeclined into some conformity with the world, Thoreau, with a capital ofsomething less than five pounds and a borrowed axe,walked forth into thewoods by Walden Pond, and began his new experiment in life. He builthimself a dwelling, and returned the axe, he says with characteristic andworkman-likepride,sharperthanwhenheborrowedit;hereclaimedapatch,wherehecultivatedbeans,peas,potatoes,andsweetcorn;hehadhisbreadtobake,hisfarmtodig,andforthematterofsixweeksinthesummerheworkedatsurveying,carpentry,orsomeotherofhisnumerousdexterities,forhire.Formore than fiveyears, thiswasall thathe required todo forhis support,andhehadthewinterandmostofthesummerathisentiredisposal.Forsixweeksofoccupation,alittlecookingandalittlegentlehygienicgardening,theman, youmay say, had as good as stolen his livelihood.Orwemust ratherallowthathehaddonefarbetter;forthethiefhimselfiscontinuallyandbusilyoccupied;andevenoneborntoinheritamillionwillhavemorecallsuponhistimethanThoreau.Wellmighthesay,“Whatoldpeopletellyouyoucannotdo, you try and findyoucan.”Andhowsurprising is his conclusion: “I amconvinced that to maintain oneself on this earth is not a hardship, but apastime, ifwewill livesimplyandwisely;as thepursuitsofsimplernationsarestillthesportsofthemoreartificial.”Whenhe had enoughof that kindof life, he showed the same simplicity ingivingitupasinbeginningit.Therearesomewhocouldhavedonetheone,but, vanity forbidding, not the other; and that is perhaps the story of thehermits; but Thoreaumade no fetish of his own example, and did what hewantedsquarely.AndfiveyearsislongenoughforanexperimentandtoprovethesuccessoftranscendentalYankeeism.Itisnothisfrugalitywhichisworthyofnote;for,tobeginwith,thatwasinborn,andthereforeinimitablebyotherswhoaredifferentlyconstituted;andagain,itwasnonewthing,buthasoftenbeen equalled by poor Scotch students at the universities. The point is thesanityofhisviewoflife,andtheinsightwithwhichherecognisedthepositionofmoney,andthoughtoutforhimselftheproblemofrichesandalivelihood.Apartfromhiseccentricities,hehadperceived,andwasactingon,atruthofuniversal application. For money enters in two different characters into theschemeoflife.Acertainamount,varyingwiththenumberandempireofour

desires,isatruenecessarytoeachoneofusinthepresentorderofsociety;butbeyondthatamount,moneyisacommoditytobeboughtornottobebought,aluxuryinwhichwemayeitherindulgeorstintourselves,likeanyother.Andtherearemanyluxuriesthatwemaylegitimatelyprefertoit,suchasagratefulconscience, a country life, or the woman of our inclination. Trite, flat, andobvious as this conclusion may appear, we have only to look round us insocietytoseehowscantilyithasbeenrecognised;andperhapsevenourselves,afteralittlereflection,maydecidetospendatriflelessformoney,andindulgeourselvesatriflemoreinthearticleoffreedom.

III.

“Tohavedoneanythingbywhichyouearnedmoneymerely,”saysThoreau,“istobe”(havebeen,hemeans)“idleandworse.”Therearetwopassagesinhis letters, both, oddly enough, relating to firewood,whichmust bebroughttogether to be rightly understood. So taken, they contain between them themarrowofallgoodsenseonthesubjectofworkin itsrelationtosomethingbroaderthanmerelivelihood.Hereisthefirst:“IsupposeIhaveburnedupagood-sized tree to-night—and forwhat? I settledwithMr. Tarbell for it theotherday;butthatwasn’tthefinalsettlement.Igotoffcheaplyfromhim.Atlastonewillsay:‘Letussee,howmuchwooddidyouburn,sir?’AndIshallshudder to think that thenextquestionwillbe, ‘Whatdidyoudowhileyouwerewarm?’”EvenafterwehavesettledwithAdmetusinthepersonofMr.Tarbell, there comes, you see, a further question. It is not enough to haveearnedourlivelihood.Eithertheearningitselfshouldhavebeenserviceabletomankind,orsomethingelsemust follow.To live issometimesverydifficult,butitisnevermeritoriousinitself;andwemusthaveareasontoallegetoourownconsciencewhyweshouldcontinuetoexistuponthiscrowdedearth.IfThoreauhadsimplydweltinhishouseatWalden,aloveroftrees,birds,andfishes,andtheopenairandvirtue,areaderofwisebooks,anidle,selfishself-improver, he would have managed to cheat Admetus, but, to cling tometaphor,thedevilwouldhavehadhimintheend.ThosewhocanavoidtoilaltogetheranddwellintheArcadiaofprivatemeans,andeventhosewhocan,by abstinence, reduce the necessary amount of it to some sixweeks a year,having themore liberty, haveonly thehighermoralobligation tobeupanddoingintheinterestofman.Thesecondpassageisthis:“Thereisafarmoreimportantandwarmingheat,commonly lost,whichprecedes theburningof thewood. It is the smokeofindustry, which is incense. I had been so thoroughly warmed in body andspirit, thatwhenat lengthmy fuelwashoused, I camenear selling it to the

ashman, as if I had extracted all its heat.” Industry is, in itself and whenproperly chosen,delightful andprofitable to theworker; andwhenyour toilhasbeenapleasure,youhavenot,asThoreausays,“earnedmoneymerely,”butmoney,health,delight,andmoralprofit,all inone.“Wemustheapupagreatpileofdoing for a smalldiameterofbeing,”he says inanotherplace;andthenexclaims,“Howadmirablytheartistismadetoaccomplishhisself-culture by devotion to his art!” We may escape uncongenial toil, only todevoteourselvestothatwhichiscongenial.Itisonlytotransactsomehigherbusiness that even Apollo dare play the truant fromAdmetus.Wemust allworkfor thesakeofwork;wemustallwork,asThoreausaysagain, inany“absorbing pursuit—it does notmuchmatterwhat, so it be honest;” but themost profitable work is that which combines into one continued effort thelargestproportionofthepowersanddesiresofaman’snature;thatintowhichhewillplungewithardour,andfromwhichhewilldesistwithreluctance;inwhichhewillknowthewearinessoffatigue,butnotthatofsatiety;andwhichwill be ever fresh, pleasing, and stimulating to his taste.Suchwork holds amantogether,bracedatallpoints;itdoesnotsufferhimtodozeorwander;itkeepshimactivelyconsciousofhimself,yetraisedamongsuperiorinterests;itgiveshimtheprofitofindustrywiththepleasuresofapastime.Thisiswhathisartshouldbetothetrueartist,andthattoadegreeunknowninotherandless intimate pursuits. For other professions stand apart from the humanbusinessof life;butanarthasitsseatat thecentreof theartist’sdoingsandsufferings,dealsdirectlywithhisexperiences, teacheshimthelessonsofhisown fortunes and mishaps, and becomes a part of his biography. So saysGoethe:“Späterklingtwasfrüherklang;GlückundUnglückwirdGesang.”NowThoreau’sartwasliterature;anditwasoneofwhichhehadconceivedmostambitiously.Helovedandbelievedingoodbooks.Hesaidwell,“Lifeisnothabituallyseenfromanycommonplatformsotrulyandunexaggeratedasinthelightof literature.”Buttheliteraturehelovedwasof theheroicorder.“Books,notwhichaffordusacoweringenjoyment,butinwhicheachthoughtisofunusualdaring;suchasanidlemancannotread,andatimidonewouldnotbeentertainedby,whichevenmakeusdangeroustoexistinginstitutions—suchIcallgoodbooks.”Hedidnot thinkthemeasytoberead.“Theheroicbooks,”hesays,“even ifprinted in thecharacterofourmother-tongue,willalways be in a language dead to degenerate times; andwemust laboriouslyseek the meaning of each word and line, conjecturing a larger sense thancommonusepermitsoutofwhatwisdomandvalourandgenerositywehave.”Nordoeshesupposethatsuchbooksareeasilywritten.“Greatprose,ofequalelevation, commands our respect more than great verse,” says he, “since it

implies a more permanent and level height, a life more pervaded with thegrandeur of the thought. The poet often only makes an irruption, like theParthian,andisoffagain,shootingwhileheretreats;buttheprosewriterhasconqueredlikeaRomanandsettledcolonies.”Wemayaskourselves,almostwith dismay, whether such works exist at all but in the imagination of thestudent.Forthebulkofthebestofbooksisapttobemadeupwithballast;andthoseinwhichenergyofthoughtiscombinedwithanystatelinessofutterancemaybealmostcountedon the fingers.Looking round inEnglish forabookthat should answerThoreau’s two demands of a style like poetry and sensethatshallbebothoriginalandinspiriting,IcometoMilton’sAreopagitica,andcannamenootherinstanceforthemoment.Twothingsatleastareplain:thatifamanwillcondescendtonothingmorecommonplaceinthewayofreading,hemust not look to have a large library; and that if he proposes himself towriteinasimilarvein,hewillfindhisworkcutoutforhim.Thoreau composed seemingly while he walked, or at least exercise andcomposition were with him intimately connected; for we are told that “thelengthofhiswalkuniformlymadethelengthofhiswriting.”Hespeaksinoneplace of “plainness and vigour, the ornaments of style,”which is rather tooparadoxicaltobecomprehensively,true.Inanotherheremarks:“Asforstyleofwriting, ifonehasanything tosay itdropsfromhimsimplyasastonefallstotheground.”Wemustconjectureaverylargesenseindeedforthephrase“ifonehasanythingtosay.”Whentruthflowsfromaman,fittinglyclothedinstyleandwithoutconsciouseffort,itisbecausetheefforthasbeenmadeandtheworkpracticallycompletedbeforehesatdowntowrite. It isonlyoutof fulnessof thinking thatexpressiondropsperfectlikearipefruit;andwhenThoreauwrotesononchalantlyathisdesk,itwas because he had been vigorously active during his walk. For neitherclearnesscompression,norbeautyoflanguage,cometoanylivingcreaturetillafter a busy and a prolonged acquaintance with the subject on hand. Easywriters are thosewho, likeWalter Scott, choose to remain contentedwith aless degree of perfection than is legitimately within the compass of theirpowers.WehearofShakespeareandhiscleanmanuscript;but infaceoftheevidenceofthestyleitselfandofthevariouseditionsofHamlet,thismerelyproves that Messrs. Hemming and Condell were unacquainted with thecommon enough phenomenon called a fair copy. He who would recast atragedyalreadygiventotheworldmustfrequentlyandearnestlyhavereviseddetails in the study.Thoreau himself, and in spite of his protestations, is aninstanceofevenextremeresearchinonedirection;andhiseffortafterheroicutterance is provednotonlyby theoccasional finish, butby thedeterminedexaggerationofhisstyle.“ItrustyourealisewhatanexaggeratorIam—thatIlaymyselfouttoexaggerate,”hewrites.Andagain,hintingattheexplanation:“Who that has heard a strain of music feared lest he should speak

extravagantlyanymoreforever?”Andyetoncemore,inhisessayonCarlyle,and this timewithhismeaningwell in hand: “No truth,we think,was everexpressedbutwiththissortofemphasis,thatforthetimethereseemedtobeno other.” Thus Thoreau was an exaggerative and a parabolical writer, notbecausehelovedtheliteratureoftheEast,butfromadesirethatpeopleshouldunderstandand realisewhathewaswriting.Hewasnear the truthupon thegeneral question; but in his own particular method, it appears to me, hewandered.Literatureisnotlessaconventionalart thanpaintingorsculpture;anditistheleaststriking,asitisthemostcomprehensiveofthethree.Toheara strain ofmusic to see a beautifulwoman, a river, a great city, or a starrynight, is tomake aman despair of hisLilliputian arts in language.Now, togain that emphasis which seems denied to us by the very nature of themedium, the propermethod of literature is by selection,which is a kind ofnegativeexaggeration.It is therightof the literaryartist,asThoreauwasonthepointofseeing,toleaveoutwhateverdoesnotsuithispurpose.Thusweextractthepuregold;andthusthewell-writtenstoryofanoblelifebecomes,byitsveryomissions,morethrillingtothereader.Buttogobeyondthis,likeThoreau, and to exaggerate directly, is to leave the saner classical tradition,andtoputthereaderonhisguard.Andwhenyouwritethewholeforthehalf,you do not express your thoughtmore forcibly, but only express a differentthoughtwhichisnotyours.Thoreau’struesubjectwasthepursuitofself-improvementcombinedwithanunfriendlycriticismoflifeasitgoesoninoursocieties;itistherethathebestdisplaysthefreshnessandsurprisingtrenchancyofhisintellect;itistherethathis style becomes plain and vigorous, and therefore, according to his ownformula,ornamental.Yethedidnotcare to followthisveinsingly,butmustdropintoitbythewayinbooksofadifferentpurport.Walden,orLifeintheWoods,AWeekontheConcordandMerrimackRivers,TheMaineWoods,—sucharethetitlesheaffects.Hewasprobablyremindedbyhisdelicatecriticalperception that the true business of literature is with narrative; in reasonednarrative,and therealone, thatartenjoysall itsadvantages,andsuffers leastfromitsdefects.Drypreceptanddisembodieddisquisition,astheycanonlybereadwithaneffortofabstraction,canneverconveyaperfectlycompleteoraperfectly natural impression. Truth, even in literature,must be clothedwithfleshandblood,oritcannottellitswholestorytothereader.Hencetheeffectofanecdoteonsimpleminds;andhencegoodbiographiesandworksofhigh,imaginativeart,arenotonlyfarmoreentertaining,butfarmoreedifying,thanbooksoftheoryorprecept.NowThoreaucouldnotclothehisopinionsinthegarment of art, for that was not his talent; but he sought to gain the sameelbow-room for himself, and to afford a similar relief to his readers, byminglinghisthoughtswitharecordofexperience.Again,hewasaloverofnature.Thequalitywhichweshouldcallmysteryina

painting,andwhichbelongssoparticularlytotheaspectoftheexternalworldandtoitsinfluenceuponourfeelings,wasonewhichhewasneverwearyofattempting to reproduce in his books. The seeming significance of nature’sappearances, their unchanging strangeness to the senses, and the thrillingresponse which they waken in the mind of man, continued to surprise andstimulatehis spirits. It appeared to him, I think, that ifwe could onlywritenear enough to the facts, and yetwith no pedestrian calm, but ardently,wemighttransfertheglamourofrealitydirectuponourpages;andthat,ifitwereoncethuscapturedandexpressed,anewandinstructiverelationmightappearbetweenmen’sthoughtsandthephenomenaofnature.Thiswastheeaglethathepursuedallhislifelong,likeaschoolboywithabutterflynet.Hearhimtoafriend: “Letme suggest a theme for you—to state to yourself precisely andcompletelywhatthatwalkoverthemountainsamountedtoforyou,returningtothisessayagainandagainuntilyouaresatisfiedthatallthatwasimportantinyourexperienceisinit.Don’tsupposethatyoucantellitpreciselythefirstdozentimesyoutry,butat’emagain;especiallywhen,afterasufficientpauseyoususpectthatyouaretouchingtheheartorsummitofthematter,reiterateyourblowsthere,andaccountforthemountaintoyourself.Notthatthestoryneed be long, but itwill take a longwhile tomake it short.” Suchwas themethod,notconsistentforamanwhosemeaningswereto“dropfromhimasastonefallstotheground.”PerhapsthemostsuccessfulworkthatThoreaueveraccomplishedinthisdirectionistobefoundinthepassagesrelatingtofishintheWeek.Theseare remarkable foravivid truthof impressionandahappysuitabilityoflanguage,notfrequentlysurpassed.WhateverThoreau tried todowas tried in fair, squareprose,with sentencessolidly built, and no help from bastard rhythms. Moreover, there is aprogression—I cannot call it a progress—in his work towards a more andmorestrictlyprosaic level,untilat lasthesinks into thebathosof theprosy.EmersonmentionshavingonceremarkedtoThoreau:“Whowouldnotliketowritesomethingwhichallcanread,likeRobinsonCrusoe?andwhodoesnotseewith regret that his page is not solidwith a rightmaterialistic treatmentwhich delights everybody?” I must say in passing that it is not the rightmaterialistictreatmentwhichdelightstheworldinRobinson,buttheromanticand philosophic interest of the fable. The same treatment does quite thereverseofdelightinguswhenitisapplied,inColonelJack,tothemanagementofaplantation.ButIcannothelpsuspectingThoreautohavebeeninfluencedeitherbythisidenticalremarkorbysomeothercloselysimilarinmeaning.Hebegan to fallmore andmore into a detailedmaterialistic treatment; hewentintothebusinessdoggedly,asonewhoshouldmakeaguide-book;henotonlychronicled what had been important in his own experience, but whatevermighthavebeenimportant in theexperienceofanybodyelse;notonlywhathadaffectedhim,butallthathesaworheard.Hisardourhadgrownless,or

perhapsitwasinconsistentwitharightmaterialistictreatmenttodisplaysuchemotions as he felt; and, to complete the eventful change, he chose, from asense of moral dignity, to gut these later works of the saving quality ofhumour.Hewasnotoneofthoseauthorswhohavelearned,inhisownwords,“to leave out their dulness.”He inflicts his full quantity upon the reader insuchbooksasCapeCod,orTheYankeeinCanada.Ofthelatterheconfessedthathehadnotmanagedtogetmuchofhimselfintoit.Heavenknowshehadnot,noryetmuchofCanada,wemayhope.“Nothing,”he says somewhere,“canshockabravemanbutdulness.”Well,therearefewspotsmoreshockingtothebravethanthepagesofTheYankeeinCanada.There are but three books of his that will be read withmuch pleasure: theWeek,Walden, and the collected letters. As to his poetry, Emerson’s wordshall suffice for us, it is so accurate and so prettily said: “The thyme andmajoramarenotyethoney.” In this,as inhisprose,he reliedgreatlyon thegoodwill of the reader, andwrote throughout in faith. It was an exercise offaithtosupposethatmanywouldunderstandthesenseofhisbestwork,orthatanycouldbeexhilaratedbythedrearychroniclingofhisworst.“But,”ashesays,“thegodsdonothearanyrudeordiscordantsound,aswelearnfromtheecho; and I know that thenature towardswhich I launch these sounds is sorichthatitwillmodulateanewandwonderfullyimprovemyrudeststrain.”

IV.

“Whatmeansthefact,”hecries,“thatasoulwhichhaslostallhopeforitselfcan inspire in another listening soul such an infinite confidence in it, evenwhileitisexpressingitsdespair?”Thequestionisanechoandanillustrationof the words last quoted; and it forms the key-note of his thoughts onfriendship.Nooneelse, tomyknowledge,has spoken in sohighand just aspiritofthekindlyrelations;andIdoubtwhetheritbeadrawbackthattheselessonsshouldcomefromoneinmanywayssounfittedtobeateacherinthisbranch. The very coldness and egoism of his own intercourse gave him aclearerinsightintotheintellectualbasisofourwarm,mutualtolerations;andtestimony to theirworthcomeswithadded force fromonewhowassolitaryanddisobliging,andofwhomafriendremarked,withequalwitandwisdom,“IloveHenry,butIcannotlikehim.”He can hardly be persuaded to make any distinction between love andfriendship; in such rarefied and freezing air, upon the mountain-tops ofmeditation,hadhetaughthimselftobreathe.Hewas,indeed,tooaccurateanobserver not to have remarked that “there exists already a naturaldisinterestedness and liberality” between men and women; yet, he thought,

“friendshipisnorespecterofsex.”Perhapsthereisasenseinwhichthewordsaretrue;buttheywerespokeninignorance;andperhapsweshallhaveputthemattermostcorrectly,ifwecallloveafoundationforanearerandfreerdegreeoffriendshipthancanbepossiblewithoutit.Fortherearedelicacies,eternalbetween persons of the same sex, which are melted and disappear in thewarmthoflove.Toboth, if they are tobe right, he attributes the samenature and condition.“Wearenotwhatweare,”sayshe,“nordowetreatoresteemeachotherforsuch,butforwhatwearecapableofbeing.”“Afriendisonewhoincessantlypays us the compliment of expecting all the virtues from us, and who canappreciate them in us.” “The friend asks no return but that his friend willreligiouslyacceptandwearandnotdisgracehisapotheosisofhim.”“Itisthemeritandpreservationoffriendshipthatittakesplaceonalevelhigherthanthe actual characters of the parties would seem to warrant.” This is to putfriendshiponapedestalindeed;andyettherootofthematteristhere;andthelast sentence, in particular, is like a light in a dark place, andmakesmanymysteriesplain.Wearedifferentwithdifferentfriends;yetifwelookcloselyweshallfindthateverysuchrelationreposesonsomeparticularapotheosisofoneself;witheachfriend,althoughwecouldnotdistinguishitinwordsfromanyother,wehave at least one special reputation topreserve: and it is thusthatwerun,whenmortified,toourfriendorthewomanthatwelove,nottohearourselvescalledbetter,buttobebettermeninpointoffact.Weseekthissociety to flatter ourselves with our own good conduct. And hence anyfalsehoodintherelation,anyincompleteorpervertedunderstanding,willspoileventhepleasureofthesevisits.ThussaysThoreauagain:“Onlyloversknowthevalueoftruth.”Andyetagain:“Theyaskforwordsanddeeds,whenatruerelationiswordanddeed.”Butitfollowsthatsincetheyareneitherofthemsogoodastheotherhopes,andeachis,inaveryhonestmanner,playingapartabovehispowers,suchanintercoursemustoftenbedisappointingtoboth.“Wemaybidfarewellsoonerthancomplain,”saysThoreau,“forourcomplaint is toowellgroundedtobeuttered.”“Wehavenotsogoodarighttohateanyasourfriend.”“ItweretreasontoourloveAndasintoGodabove,OneiotatoabateOfapure,impartialhate.”Love is not blind, nor yet forgiving. “Oyes, believeme,” as the song says,“Lovehaseyes!”Thenearer the intimacy, themorecuttinglydowefeel theunworthinessofthosewelove;andbecauseyouloveone,andwoulddieforthat love to-morrow,youhavenot forgiven,andyouneverwill forgive, that

friend’smisconduct.Ifyouwantaperson’sfaults,gotothosewholovehim.They will not tell you, but they know. And herein lies the magnanimouscourageoflove,thatitenduresthisknowledgewithoutchange.It required a cold, distant personality like that of Thoreau, perhaps, torecogniseandcertainly toutter this truth; foramorehuman lovemakes itapointofhonournottoacknowledgethosefaultsofwhichitismostconscious.Buthispointofview isbothhighanddry.Hehasno illusions;hedoesnotgivewaytoloveanymorethantohatred,butpreservesthembothwithcarelike valuable curiosities. A more bald-headed picture of life, if I may soexpress myself, has seldom been presented. He is an egoist; he does notremember, or does not think it worth while to remark, that, in these nearintimacies,we are ninety-nine times disappointed in our beggarly selves foronce that we are disappointed in our friend; that it is we who seem mostfrequentlyundeservingofthelovethatunitesus;andthatitisbyourfriend’sconduct that we are continually rebuked and yet strengthened for a freshendeavour.Thoreauisdry,priggish,andselfish.Itisprofitheisafterintheseintimacies;moralprofit,certainly,butstillprofittohimself.IfyouwillbethesortoffriendIwant,heremarksnaïvely,“myeducationcannotdispensewithyoursociety.”Hiseducation!as thoughafriendwereadictionary.Andwithallthis,notonewordaboutpleasure,orlaughter,orkisses,oranyqualityofflesh and blood. It was not inappropriate, surely, that he had such closerelationswiththefish.Wecanunderstandthefriendalreadyquoted,whenhecried:“Asfor takinghisarm, Iwouldassoon thinkof taking thearmofanelm-tree!”Asamatteroffactheexperiencedbutabrokenenjoymentinhisintimacies.He says he has been perpetually on the brink of the sort of intercourse hewanted,andyetnevercompletelyattainedit.Andwhatelsehadhetoexpectwhen he would not, in a happy phrase of Carlyle’s, “nestle down into it”?Truly,soitwillbealwaysifyouonlystrollinuponyourfriendsasyoumightstrollintoseeacricketmatch;andeventhennotsimplyforthepleasureofthething, but with some afterthought of self-improvement, as though you hadcometothecricketmatchtobet.Itwashistheorythatpeoplesaweachothertoofrequently,so that theircuriositywasnotproperlywhetted,norhad theyanythingfreshtocommunicate;butfriendshipmustbesomethingelsethanasocietyformutualimprovement—indeed,itmustonlybethatbytheway,andto some extent unconsciously; and if Thoreau had been aman instead of amannerofelm-tree,hewouldhavefeltthathesawhisfriendstooseldom,andhave reapedbenefits unknown to his philosophy fromamore sustained andeasy intercourse.Wemight remind him of his ownwords about love: “Weshould have no reserve; we should give the whole of ourselves to thatbusiness. But commonly men have not imagination enough to be thusemployedaboutahumanbeing,butmustbecooperingabarrel,forsooth.”Ay,

orreadingorientalphilosophers.Itisnotthenatureoftherivaloccupation,itis the fact that you suffer it to be a rival, that renders loving intimacyimpossible.Nothing is given for nothing in thisworld; there can be no truelove, even on your own side, without devotion; devotion is the exercise oflove,bywhichitgrows;butifyouwillgiveenoughofthat,ifyouwillpaythepriceinasufficient“amountofwhatyoucalllife,”whythen,indeed,whetherwith wife or comrade, youmay havemonths and even years of such easy,natural, pleasurable, and yet improving intercourse as shall make time amomentandkindnessadelight.The secret of his retirement lies not in misanthropy, of which he had notincture,butpartinhisengrossingdesignofself-improvementandpartintherealdeficienciesofsocialintercourse.Hewasnotsomuchdifficultabouthisfellowhumanbeingsashecouldnottoleratethetermsoftheirassociation.Hecould take to a man for any genuine qualities, as we see by his admirablesketchoftheCanadianwoodcutterinWalden;buthewouldnotconsent,inhisownwords, to“feebly fabulateandpaddle in thesocial slush.” It seemed tohim,Ithink,thatsocietyispreciselythereverseoffriendship,inthatittakesplaceonalowerlevelthanthecharactersofanyofthepartieswouldwarrantustoexpect.Thesocietytalkofeventhemostbrilliantmanisofgreatlylessaccount than what you will get from him in (as the French say) a littlecommittee. And Thoreau wanted geniality; he had not enough of thesuperficial,evenatcommand;hecouldnot swoop intoaparlourand, in thenaval phrase, “cut out” a human being from that dreary port; nor had heinclinationforthetask.Isuspecthelovedbooksandnatureaswellandnearaswarmlyashelovedhisfellow-creatures,—amelancholy,leandegenerationofthehumancharacter.“As for the dispute about solitude and society,” he thus sums up: “Anycomparisonisimpertinent.Itisanidlingdownontheplainatthebaseofthemountaininsteadofclimbingsteadilytoitstop.Ofcourseyouwillbegladofallthesocietyyoucangettogoupwith?Willyougotoglorywithme?istheburdenofthesong.Itisnotthatwelovetobealone,butthatwelovetosoar,andwhenwedosoarthecompanygrowsthinnerandthinnertillthereisnoneatall. It iseither the tribuneon theplain,a sermonon themount,oraveryprivate ecstasy still higher up. Use all the society that will abet you.” Butsurelyitisnoveryextravagantopinionthatitisbettertogivethantoreceive,toservethantouseourcompanions;andaboveall,wherethereisnoquestionofserviceuponeitherside,thatitisgoodtoenjoytheircompanylikeanaturalman. It is curiousand in somewaysdispiriting that awritermaybealwaysbest corrected out of his own mouth; and so, to conclude, here is anotherpassagefromThoreauwhichseemsaimeddirectlyathimself:“Donotbetoomoral;youmaycheatyourselfoutofmuchlifeso....Allfables,indeed,havetheirmorals;buttheinnocentenjoythestory.”

V.

“Theonlyobligation,”sayshe,“whichIhavearighttoassumeistodoatanytimewhatIthinkright.”“Whyshouldweevergoabroad,evenacrosstheway,to ask a neighbour’s advice?” “There is a nearer neighbour within, who isincessantly tellingushowweshouldbehave.Butwewait for theneighbourwithout to tell us of some false, easierway.” “The greater part ofwhatmyneighbourscallgoodIbelieveinmysoultobebad.”Tobewhatweare,andto become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life. It is“when we fall behind ourselves” that “we are cursed with duties and theneglectofduties.”“I love thewild,”he says, “not less than thegood.”Andagain:“Thelifeofagoodmanwillhardlyimproveusmorethanthelifeofafreebooter,fortheinevitablelawsappearasplainlyintheinfringementasinthe observance, and” (mark this) “our lives are sustained by a nearly equalexpense of virtue of some kind.” Even although he were a prig, it will beownedhecouldannounceastartlingdoctrine.“Asfordoinggood,”hewriteselsewhere,“thatisoneoftheprofessionsthatarefull.Moreover,Ihavetrieditfairly,and,strangeasitmayseem,amsatisfiedthatitdoesnotagreewithmyconstitution. Probably I should not conscientiously and deliberately forsakemyparticularcallingtodothegoodwhichsocietydemandsofme,tosavetheuniverse from annihilation; and I believe that a like but infinitely greatersteadfastness elsewhere is all that now preserves it. If you should ever bebetrayedintoanyofthesephilanthropies,donotletyourlefthandknowwhatyourrighthanddoes,foritisnotworthknowing.”Elsewherehereturnsuponthe subject, andexplainshismeaning thus: “If I everdidamananygood intheirsense,ofcourseitwassomethingexceptionalandinsignificantcomparedwiththegoodorevilIamconstantlydoingbybeingwhatIam.”There is a rude nobility, like that of a barbarian king, in this unshakenconfidenceinhimselfandindifferencetothewants,thoughts,orsufferingsofothers.InhiswholeworksIfindnotraceofpity.Thiswaspartlytheresultoftheory, for he held the world too mysterious to be criticised, and asksconclusively:“WhatrighthaveI togrievewhohavenotceasedtowonder?”Butitsprangstillmorefromconstitutionalindifferenceandsuperiority;andhegrewuphealthy,composed,andunconsciousfromamonglife’shorrors,likeagreenbay-treefromafieldofbattle. Itwasfromthis lackinhimself thathefailed to do justice to the spirit of Christ; for while he could glean moremeaning from individual precepts than any score of Christians, yet heconceived life in such a different hope, and viewed it with such contraryemotions,thatthesenseandpurportofthedoctrineasawholeseemstohavepassedhimbyor lefthimunimpressed.Hecouldunderstandtheidealismof

theChristianview, but hewashimself sounaffectedlyunhuman that hedidnot recognise the human intention and essence of that teaching. Hence hecomplained thatChristdidnot leaveusa rule thatwasproperandsufficientforthisworld,nothavingconceivedthenatureoftherulethatwaslaiddown;for things of that character that are sufficiently unacceptable becomepositivelynon-existent to themind.Butperhapsweshallbestappreciate thedefectinThoreaubyseeingitsuppliedinthecaseofWhitman.Fortheone,Ifeelconfident,isthediscipleoftheother;itiswhatThoreauclearlywhisperedthatWhitman so uproariously bawls; it is the same doctrine, but with howimmenseadifference!thesameargument,butusedtowhatanewconclusion!Thoreau had plenty of humour until he tutored himself out of it, and soforfeitedthatbestbirthrightofasensibleman;Whitman,inthatrespect,seemstohavebeensentintotheworldnakedandunashamed;andyetbyastrangeconsummation,itisthetheoryoftheformerthatisarid,abstract,andclaustral.Ofthesetwophilosophiessonearlyidenticalatbottom,theonepursuesSelf-improvement—achurlish,mangydog;theotherisupwiththemorning,inthebest of health, and following the nymph Happiness, buxom, blithe, anddebonair.Happiness,at least, isnotsolitary; it joys tocommunicate; it lovesothers,foritdependsonthemforitsexistence;itsanctionsandencouragestoalldelightsthatarenotunkindinthemselves;ifitlivedtoathousand,itwouldnotmakeexcisionofasinglehumorouspassage;andwhiletheself-improverdwindles towardstheprig,and, ifhebenotofanexcellentconstitutionmayevengrowdeformed into anObermann, theverynameandappearanceof ahappymanbreatheofgood-nature,andhelptherestofustolive.InthecaseofThoreau,sogreatashowofdoctrinedemandssomeoutcomeinthe field of action. If nothing were to be done but build a shanty besideWalden Pond, we have heard altogether too much of these declarations ofindependence.Thatthemanwrotesomebooksisnothingtothepurpose,forthe same has been done in a suburban villa. That he kept himself happy isperhapsa sufficientexcuse,but it isdisappointing to the reader.Wemaybeunjust, butwhen aman despises commerce and philanthropy alike, and hasviews of good so soaring that hemust take himself apart frommankind fortheircultivation,wewillnotbecontentwithoutsomestrikingact.ItwasnotThoreau’s fault if he were not martyred; had the occasion come, he wouldhavemadeanobleending.Asitis,hedidonceseektointerfereintheworld’scourse;hemadeonepracticalappearanceonthestageofaffairs;andastrangeoneitwas,andstrangelycharacteristicofthenobilityandtheeccentricityoftheman. It was forced on him by his calm but radical opposition to negroslavery. “Voting for the right is doing nothing for it,” he saw; “it is onlyexpressing tomenfeeblyyourdesire that it shouldprevail.”Forhispart,hewould not “for an instant recognise that political organisation for hisgovernmentwhichistheslave’sgovernmentalso.”“Idonothesitatetosay,”

he adds, “that those who call themselves Abolitionists should at onceeffectually withdraw their support, both in person and property, from thegovernmentofMassachusetts.”Thatiswhathedid:in1843heceasedtopaythepoll-tax.Thehighway-taxhepaid,forhesaidhewasasdesiroustobeagoodneighbour as to be a bad subject; but nomore poll-tax to theState ofMassachusetts.Thoreauhadnowseceded,andwasapolityuntohimself;or,asheexplainsitwithadmirablesense,“Infact,IquietlydeclarewarwiththeState after my fashion, though I will still make what use and get whatadvantageofher Ican,as isusual insuchcases.”Hewasput inprison;butthat was a part of his design. “Under a government which imprisons anyunjustly,thetrueplaceforajustmanisalsoaprison.Iknowthiswell,thatifone thousand, if one hundred, if ten men whom I could name—ay, if oneHONESTman, in this State ofMassachusetts, ceasing to hold slaves,wereactuallytowithdrawfromthiscopartnership,andbelockedupinthecountygaol therefor, itwouldbe theabolitionofslavery inAmerica.For itmattersnothowsmallthebeginningmayseemtobe;whatisoncewelldoneisdoneforever.”Suchwashistheoryofcivildisobedience.Andtheupshot?Afriendpaidthetaxforhim;continuedyearbyyeartopayitin thesequel;andThoreauwasfree towalk thewoodsunmolested. Itwasafiasco, but tome it does not seem laughable; even thosewho joined in thelaughteratthemomentwouldbeinsensiblyaffectedbythisquaintinstanceofa good man’s horror for injustice.We may compute the worth of that onenight’simprisonmentasoutweighinghalfahundredvotersatsomesubsequentelection:andifThoreauhadpossessedasgreatapowerofpersuasionas(letussay)Falstaff,ifhehadcountedapartyhoweversmall,ifhisexamplehadbeenfollowedbyahundredorbythirtyofhisfellows,Icannotbutbelieveitwould have greatly precipitated the era of freedom and justice.We feel themisdeedsofourcountrywithsolittlefervour,forwearenotwitnessestothesuffering they cause; but when we see them wake an active horror in ourfellow-man,whenweseeaneighbourprefertolieinprisonratherthanbesomuchaspassivelyimplicatedintheirperpetration,eventhedullestofuswillbegintorealisethemwithaquickerpulse.Not far from twenty years later, when Captain John Brown was taken atHarper’s Ferry, Thoreau was the first to come forward in his defence. Thecommitteeswrote to himunanimously that his actionwas premature. “I didnotsendtoyouforadvice,”saidhe,“buttoannouncethatIwastospeak.”Ihaveused theword “defence;” in truthhedidnot seek todefendhim, evendeclared it would be better for the good cause that he should die; but hepraisedhisactionasIthinkBrownwouldhavelikedtohearitpraised.Thusthissingularlyeccentricandindependentmind,weddedtoacharacterofso much strength, singleness, and purity, pursued its own path of self-

improvement for more than half a century, part gymnosophist, partbackwoodsman;andthusdiditcometwice,thoughinasubalternattitude,intothefieldofpoliticalhistory.

YOSHIDA-TORAJIRO

THEnameattheheadofthispageisprobablyunknowntotheEnglishreader,andyet I think it shouldbecomeahouseholdword like thatofGaribaldiorJohnBrown.Somedaysoon,wemayexpecttohearmorefullythedetailsofYoshida’s history, and the degree of his influence in the transformation ofJapan;evennowtheremustbeEnglishmenacquaintedwith thesubject,andperhapstheappearanceofthissketchmayelicitsomethingmorecompleteandexact.IwishtosaythatIamnot,rightlyspeaking, theauthorof thepresentpaper: I tell the story on the authority of an intelligent Japanese gentleman,Mr. TaisoMasaki, who told itmewith an emotion that does honour to hisheart; and though I have taken somepains, and sentmy notes to him to becorrected,thiscanbenomorethananimperfectoutline.Yoshida-TorajirowassontothehereditarymilitaryinstructorofthehouseofChoshu. The name you are to pronouncewith an equality of accent on thedifferent syllables, almost as in French, the vowels as in Italian, but theconsonantsintheEnglishmanner—exceptthej,whichhastheFrenchsound,or,asithasbeencleverlyproposedtowriteit, thesoundofzh.YoshidawasverylearnedinChineseletters,or,aswemightsay,intheclassics,andinhisfather’s subject; fortificationwas amonghis favourite studies, and hewas apoetfromhisboyhood.Hewasborntoalivelyandintelligentpatriotism;thecondition of Japan was his great concern; and while he projected a betterfuture,helostnoopportunityofimprovinghisknowledgeofherpresentstate.With this end hewas continually travelling in his youth, going on foot andsometimeswith three days’ provision on his back, in the brave, self-helpfulmannerofallheroes.Hekeptafulldiarywhilehewasthusuponhisjourneys,butitisfearedthatthesenoteshavebeendestroyed.Iftheirvaluewereinanyrespectsuchaswehavereasontoexpectfromtheman’scharacter,thiswouldbealossnoteasytoexaggerate.ItisstillwonderfultotheJapanesehowfarhecontrived to push these explorations; a cultured gentleman of that land andperiodwould leaveacomplimentarypoemwhereverhehadbeenhospitablyentertained;andafriendofMr.Masaki,whowas likewiseagreatwanderer,hasfoundsuchtracesofYoshida’spassageinveryremoteregionsofJapan.Politics is perhaps the only profession for which no preparation is thoughtnecessary; butYoshida considered otherwise, and he studied themiseries ofhisfellow-countrymenwithasmuchattentionandresearchasthoughhehadbeengoingtowriteabookinsteadofmerelytoproposearemedy.Toamanof

his intensity and singleness, there is no question but that this survey wasmelancholyintheextreme.Hisdissatisfactionisprovedbytheeagernesswithwhich he threw himself into the cause of reform; and what would havediscouragedanotherbracedYoshidaforhistask.Asheprofessedthetheoryofarms,itwasfirstlythedefencesofJapanthatoccupiedhismind.Theexternalfeebleness of that countrywas then illustrated by themanners of overridingbarbarians, and the visits of big barbarian war ships: she was a countrybeleaguered.ThusthepatriotismofYoshidatookaformwhichmaybesaidtohave defeated itself: he had it upon him to keep out these all-powerfulforeigners,whomitisnowoneofhischiefmeritstohavehelpedtointroduce;butamanwhofollowshisownvirtuousheartwillbealwaysfoundintheendtohavebeenfightingfor thebest.Onethingleadsnaturally toanother inanawakenedmind,and thatwithanupwardprogress fromeffect tocause.Thepowerandknowledgeoftheseforeignerswerethingsinseparable;byenvyingthemtheirmilitarystrength,Yoshidacametoenvythemtheirculture;fromthedesire to equal them in the first, spranghisdesire to sharewith them in thesecond; and thus he is found treating in the samebookof a new scheme tostrengthenthedefencesofKiotoandoftheestablishment,inthesamecity,ofauniversityof foreign teachers.Hehoped,perhaps, toget thegoodofotherlands without their evil; to enable Japan to profit by the knowledge of thebarbarians, and still keep her inviolate with her own arts and virtues. Butwhateverwastheprecisenatureofhishope,themeansbywhichitwastobeaccomplished were both difficult and obvious. Some one with eyes andunderstanding must break through the official cordon, escape into the newworld,andstudythisothercivilisationonthespot.Andwhocouldbebettersuitedforthebusiness?Itwasnotwithoutdanger,buthewaswithoutfear.Itneededpreparationandinsight;andwhathadhedonesincehewasachildbutpreparehimselfwith thebestcultureofJapan,andacquire inhisexcursionsthepowerandhabitofobserving?Hewasbuttwenty-two,andalreadyallthiswasclearinhismind,whennewsreachedChoshuthatCommodorePerrywaslyingneartoYeddo.Here,then,wasthepatriot’sopportunity.AmongtheSamuraiofChoshu,andinparticularamongthecouncillorsoftheDaimio,hisgeneralculture,hisviews,whichtheenlightened were eager to accept, and, above all, the prophetic charm, theradiantpersuasionoftheman,hadgainedhimmanyandsinceredisciples.HehadthusastronginfluenceattheprovincialCourt;andsoheobtainedleavetoquitthedistrict,and,bywayofapretext,aprivilegetofollowhisprofessioninYeddo. Thither he hurried, and arrived in time to be too late: Perry hadweighed anchor, and his sails had vanished from the waters of Japan. ButYoshida,havingputhishand to theplough,wasnot theman togoback;hehad enteredupon this business, and, pleaseGod, hewould carry it through;andsohegaveuphisprofessionalcareerandremainedinYeddotobeathand

againstthenextopportunity.Bythisbehaviourheputhimselfintoanattitudetowards his superior, the Daimio of Choshu, which I cannot thoroughlyexplain. Certainly, he became a Ronyin, a broken man, a feudal outlaw;certainlyhewasliable tobearrestedifhesetfootuponhisnativeprovince;yetIamcautionedthat“hedidnotreallybreakhisallegiance,”butonlysofarseparatedhimself as that theprincecouldno longerbeheldaccountable forhis late vassal’s conduct. There is some nicety of feudal custom here thatescapesmycomprehension.InYeddo,withthisnondescriptpoliticalstatus,andcutofffromanymeansoflivelihood, he was joyfully supported by those who sympathised with hisdesign.OnewasSákuma-Shozan,hereditary retainerofoneof theShogun’scouncillors,andfromhimhegotmorethanmoneyorthanmoney’sworth.Asteady,respectableman,withaneyetotheworld’sopinion,Sákumawasoneofthosewho, if theycannotdogreatdeedsin theirownperson,haveyetanardourofadmirationforthosewhocan,thatrecommendsthemtothegratitudeofhistory.Theyaidandabetgreatnessmore,perhaps,thanweimagine.OnethinksoftheminconnectionwithNicodemus,whovisitedourLordbynight.AndSákumawasinapositiontohelpYoshidamorepracticallythanbysimplecountenance;forhecouldreadDutch,andwaseagertocommunicatewhatheknew.WhiletheyoungRonyinthuslaystudyinginYeddo,newscameofaRussianshipatNangasaki.Notimewastobelost.Sákumacontributed“alongcopyofencouragingverses;”andoffsetYoshidaonfootforNangasaki.Hiswaylaythrough his own province of Choshu; but, as the highroad to the south layapartfromthecapital,hewasabletoavoidarrest.Hesupportedhimself,likeatrouvère,byhisproficiencyinverse.Hecarriedhisworksalongwithhim,toserve as an introduction.When he reached a town hewould inquire for thehouse of any one celebrated for swordsmanship, or poetry, or some of theotheracknowledgedformsofculture;andthere,ongivingatasteofhisskill,hewould be received and entertained, and leave behindhim,whenhewentaway,acompliment inverse.Thushe travelled through theMiddleAgesonhis voyage of discovery into the nineteenth century. When he reachedNangasakihewasoncemoretoolate.TheRussiansweregone.Buthemadeaprofitonhis journey in spiteof fate, andstayedawhile topickupscrapsofknowledgefromtheDutchinterpreters—alowclassofmen,butonethathadopportunities;andthen,stillfullofpurpose,returnedtoYeddoonfoot,ashehadcome.It was not only his youth and courage that supported him under thesesuccessivedisappointments,butthecontinualaffluenceofnewdisciples.ThemanhadthetenacityofaBruceoraColumbus,withapliabilitythatwasallhisown.Hedidnotfightforwhattheworldwouldcallsuccess;butfor“the

wages of going on.” Check him off in a dozen directions, he would findanother outlet and break forth. Hemissed one vessel after another, and themainworkstillhalted;butsolongashehadasingleJapanesetoenlightenandprepareforthebetterfuture,hecouldstillfeelthathewasworkingforJapan.Now,hehad scarce returned fromNangasaki,whenhewas soughtoutbyanew inquirer, themost promisingof all.Thiswas a common soldier, of theHemming class, a dyer by birth, who had heard vaguely of Yoshida’smovements,andhadbecomefilledwithwonderastotheirdesign.ThiswasafardifferentinquirerfromSákuma-Shozan,orthecouncillorsoftheDaimioofChoshu. Thiswas no two-sworded gentleman, but the common stuff of thecountry, born in low traditions and unimproved by books; and yet thatinfluence, that radiant persuasion that never failed Yoshida in anycircumstance of his short life, enchanted, enthralled, and converted thecommonsoldier,asithaddonealreadywiththeelegantandlearned.Themaninstantlyburnedupintoatrueenthusiasm;hismindhadbeenonlywaitingforateacher;hegraspedinamomenttheprofitofthesenewideas;he,too,wouldgo to foreign, outlandish parts, and bring back the knowledge that was tostrengthenandrenewJapan;andinthemeantime,thathemightbethebetterprepared,Yoshidasethimselftoteach,andhetolearn,theChineseliterature.ItisanepisodemosthonourabletoYoshida,andyetmorehonourablestilltothesoldier,andtothecapacityandvirtueofthecommonpeopleofJapan.Andnow,at length,CommodorePerryreturnedtoSimoda.FriendscrowdedroundYoshida with help, counsels, and encouragement. One presented himwithagreatsword,threefeetlongandveryheavy,which,intheexultationofthehour,hesworetocarrythroughoutallhiswanderings,andtobringback—afar-travelledweapon—toJapan.A long letterwas prepared inChinese fortheAmericanofficers;itwasrevisedandcorrectedbySákuma,andsignedbyYoshida, under the nameofUrinaki-Manji, and by the soldier under that ofIchigi-Koda.Yoshidahad suppliedhimselfwith aprofusionofmaterials forwriting; his dress was literally stuffed with paper which was to come backagainenrichedwithhisobservations,andmakeagreatandhappykingdomofJapan.Thusequipped,thispairofemigrantssetforwardonfootfromYeddo,and reached Simoda about nightfall. At no period within history can travelhavepresentedtoanyEuropeancreaturethesamefaceofaweandterrorastothesecourageousJapanese.ThedescentofUlyssesintohellisaparallelmorenearthecasethantheboldestexpeditioninthePolarcircles.Fortheiractwasunprecedented; itwas criminal; and itwas to take them beyond the pale ofhumanityintoalandofdevils.Itisnottobewonderedatiftheywerethrilledby the thought of their unusual situation; and perhaps the soldier gaveutterancetothesentimentofbothwhenhesang,“inChinesesinging”(sothatweseehehadalreadyprofitedbyhislessons),thesetwoappropriateverses:“Wedonotknowwherewearetosleepto-night,

Inathousandmilesofdesertwherewecanseenohumansmoke.”In a little temple, hard by the sea-shore, they lay down to repose; sleepovertookthemastheylay;andwhentheyawoke,“theeastwasalreadywhite”fortheirlastmorninginJapan.Theyseizedafisherman’sboatandrowedout—Perry lying far to sea because of the two tides. Their very manner ofboardingwassignificantofdetermination;fortheyhadnosoonercaughtholdupontheshipthantheykickedawaytheirboattomakereturnimpossible.Andnow you would have thought that all was over. But the Commodore wasalreadyintreatywiththeShogun’sGovernment;itwasoneofthestipulationsthatnoJapanesewastobeaidedinescapingfromJapan;andYoshidaandhisfollowers were handed over as prisoners to the authorities at Simoda. Thatnighthewhohadbeentoexplorethesecretsofthebarbarianslept,ifhemightsleepatall, inacell tooshort for lyingdownat full length,and too lowforstandingupright.Therearesomedisappointmentstoogreatforcommentary.Sákuma, implicated by his handwriting, was sent into his own province inconfinement, from which he was soon released. Yoshida and the soldiersufferedalongandmiserableperiodofcaptivity,andthelatter,indeed,died,while yet in prison, of a skin disease. But such a spirit as that of Yoshida-Torajiroisnoteasilymadeorkeptacaptive;andthatwhichcannotbebrokenby misfortune you shall seek in vain to confine in a bastille. He wasindefatigably active, writing reports to Government and treatises fordissemination.Theselatterwerecontraband;andyethefoundnodifficultyintheirdistribution,forhealwayshadthejailoronhisside.Itwasinvainthattheykeptchanginghimfromoneprisontoanother;Governmentbythatplanonlyhastenedthespreadofnewideas;forYoshidahadonlytoarrivetomakea convert.Thus, though he himself has laid by the heels, he confirmed andextendedhispartyintheState.Atlast,aftermanylessertransferences,hewasgivenoverfromtheprisonsoftheShoguntothoseofhisownsuperior,theDaimioofChoshu.Iconceiveitpossible that hemay then have served out his time for the attempt to leaveJapan,andwasnowresignedtotheprovincialGovernmentonalessercount,asaRonyinorfeudalrebel.But,howeverthatmaybe,thechangewasofgreatimportance toYoshida; for by the influence of his admirers in theDaimio’scouncil, he was allowed the privilege, underhand, of dwelling in his ownhouse.Andthere,aswelltokeepupcommunicationwithhisfellow-reformersastopursuehisworkofeducation,hereceivedboystoteach.Itmustnotbesupposedthathewasfree;hewastoomarkedamanforthat;hewasprobablyassigned to some small circle, and lived, as we should say, under policesurveillance;buttohim,whohaddonesomuchfromunderlockandkey,thiswouldseemalargeandprofitableliberty.Itwasat thisperiod thatMr.Masakiwasbrought intopersonalcontactwith

Yoshida; andhence, through the eyesof aboyof thirteen,weget onegoodlook at the character and habits of the hero. He was ugly and laughablydisfiguredwiththesmallpox;andwhilenaturehadbeensoniggardlywithhimfrom the first, his personal habits were even sluttish. His clothes werewretched;whenheateorwashedhewipedhishandsuponhissleeves;andashishairwasnottiedmorethanonceinthetwomonths,itwasoftendisgustingtobehold.Withsuchapicture, it iseasy tobelieve thathenevermarried.Agoodteacher,gentleinact,althoughviolentandabusiveinspeech,hislessonswere apt to go over the heads of his scholars and to leave them gaping, ormore often laughing. Such was his passion for study that he even grudgedhimselfnaturalrepose;andwhenhegrewdrowsyoverhisbookshewould,ifitwassummer,putmosquitoesuphissleeve;and,ifitwaswinter,takeoffhisshoes and run barefoot on the snow. His handwriting was exceptionallyvillainous;poetthoughhewas,hehadnotasteforwhatwaselegant;andinacountry where to write beautifully was not the mark of a scrivener but anadmiredaccomplishmentforgentlemen,hesufferedhisletterstobejoltedoutofhimby thepressofmatterand theheatofhisconvictions.Hewouldnottolerateeventheappearanceofabribe;forbriberylayattherootofmuchthatwas evil in Japan, as well as in countries nearer home; and once when amerchantbroughthimhissontoeducate,andadded,aswascustomary,alittleprivatesweetener,Yoshidadashedthemoneyinthegiver’sface,andlaunchedintosuchanoutbreakofindignationasmadethematterpublicintheschool.He was still, whenMasaki knew him, much weakened by his hardships inprison;andthepresentationsword,threefeetlong,wastooheavyforhimtowearwithoutdistress;yethewouldalwaysgirditonwhenhewenttodiginhisgarden.That isa touchwhichqualifies theman.Aweakernaturewouldhaveshrunkfromthesightofwhatonlycommemoratedafailure.ButhewasofThoreau’smind, that ifyoucan“makeyourfailure tragicalbycourage, itwill not differ from success.” He could look backwithout confusion to hisenthusiasticpromise.Ifeventshadbeencontrary,andhefoundhimselfunabletocarryoutthatpurpose—well,therewasbutthemorereasontobebraveandconstant in another; if he could not carry the sword into barbarian lands, itshouldatleastbewitnesstoalifespententirelyforJapan.Thisisthesightwehaveofhimasheappearedtoschoolboys,butnotrelatedintheschoolboyspirit.Amansocarelessofthegracesmustbeoutofcourtwith boys and women. And, indeed, as we have all been more or less toschool,itwillastonishnoonethatYoshidawasregardedbyhisscholarsasalaughing-stock.Theschoolboyhasakeensenseofhumour.Heroeshelearnstounderstandandtoadmire inbooks;buthe isnotforwardtorecognise theheroicunderthetraitsofanycontemporaryman,andleastofallinabrawling,dirty, and eccentric teacher. But as the years went by, and the scholars ofYoshidacontinuedinvaintolookaroundthemfortheabstractlyperfect,and

beganmoreandmoretounderstandthedriftofhisinstructions,theylearnedtolookbackupontheircomicschool-masterasuponthenoblestofmankind.Thelastactofthisbriefandfullexistencewasalreadynearathand.Someofhisworkwasdone; foralready therehadbeenDutch teachersadmitted intoNangasaki,andthecountryatlargewaskeenforthenewlearning.Butthoughtherenaissancehadbegun,itwasimpededanddangerouslythreatenedbythepower of the Shogun. His minister—the same who was afterwardsassassinated in the snow in the verymidst of his bodyguard—not only heldback pupils from going to the Dutchmen, but by spies and detectives, byimprisonment anddeath,kept thinningoutof Japan themost intelligent andactivespirits.Itistheoldstoryofapoweruponitslastlegs—learningtothebastille, and courage to the block; when there are none left but sheep anddonkeys, theStatewill have been saved.But amanmust not think to copewith aRevolution; nor aminister, however fortifiedwith guards, to hold incheckacountrythathadgivenbirthtosuchmenasYoshidaandhissoldier-follower. The violence of the ministerial Tarquin only served to directattention to the illegalityofhismaster’s rule;andpeoplebegan to turn theirallegiance fromYeddo and the Shogun to the long-forgottenMikado in hisseclusion at Kioto. At this juncture, whether in consequence or not, therelationsbetweenthesetworulersbecamestrained;andtheShogun’sministerset forth for Kioto to put another affront upon the rightful sovereign. Thecircumstancewaswellfittedtoprecipitateevents.ItwasapieceofreligiontodefendtheMikado;itwasaplainpieceofpoliticalrighteousnesstoopposeatyrannicalandbloodyusurpation.ToYoshidathemomentforactionseemedtohavearrived.Hewashimselfstillconfined inChoshu.Nothingwasfreebuthisintelligence;butwiththathesharpenedaswordfortheShogun’sminister.Apartyofhis followerswere towaylay the tyrantatavillageon theYeddoandKioto road, present himwith a petition, and put him to the sword.ButYoshidaandhisfriendswerecloselyobserved;andthetoogreatexpeditionoftwo of the conspirators, a boy of eighteen and his brother, wakened thesuspicion of the authorities, and led to a full discovery of the plot and thearrestofallwhowereconcerned.In Yeddo, to which he was taken, Yoshida was thrown again into a strictconfinement.Buthewasnotleftdestituteofsympathyinthislasthouroftrial.InthenextcelllayoneKusákabé,areformerfromthesouthernhighlandsofSatzuma. They were in prison for different plots indeed, but for the sameintention; they shared the same beliefs and the same aspirations for Japan;manyandlongweretheconversationstheyheldthroughtheprisonwall,anddear was the sympathy that soon united them. It fell first to the lot ofKusákabétopassbeforethejudges;andwhensentencehadbeenpronouncedhewas led towards theplaceofdeathbelowYoshida’swindow.To turn theheadwould have been to implicate his fellow-prisoner; but he threw him a

look from his eye, and bade him farewell in a loud voice, with these twoChineseverses:—“Itisbettertobeacrystalandbebroken,Thantoremainperfectlikeatileuponthehousetop.”SoKusákabé,fromthehighlandsofSatzuma,passedoutofthetheatreofthisworld.Hisdeathwaslikeanantiqueworthy’s.Alittleafter,andYoshidatoomustappearbeforetheCourt.Hislastscenewasofapiecewithhiscareer,andfitlycrownedit.Heseizedontheopportunityofa public audience, confessed and gloried in his design, and, reading hisauditorsalessoninthehistoryoftheircountry,toldatlengththeillegalityofthe Shogun’s power and the crimes by which its exercise was sullied. So,havingsaidhissayforonce,hewas ledforthandexecuted, thirty-oneyearsold.A military engineer, a bold traveller (at least in wish), a poet, a patriot, aschoolmaster, a friend to learning, amartyr to reform,—there are notmanymen, dying at seventy, who have served their country in such variouscharacters.Hewasnotonlywiseandprovidentinthought,butsurelyoneofthefieriestofheroesinexecution.Itishardtosaywhichismostremarkable—hiscapacityforcommand,whichsubduedhisveryjailors;hishot,unflaggingzeal; or his stubborn superiority to defeat. He failed in each particularenterprisethatheattempted;andyetwehaveonlytolookathiscountrytoseehowcompletehasbeenhisgeneralsuccess.His friendsandpupilsmade themajorityof leaders in thatfinalRevolution,nowsometwelveyearsold;andmanyofthemare,orwereuntiltheotherday,highplacedamongtherulersofJapan.Andwhenweseeallroundusthesebriskintelligentstudents,withtheirstrangeforeignair,weshouldneverforgethowYoshidamarchedafootfromChoshu toYeddo, and fromYeddo toNangasaki, and fromNangasaki backagain to Yeddo; how he boarded the American ship, his dress stuffed withwritingmaterial;norhowhelanguishedinprison,andfinallygavehisdeath,ashehadformerlygivenallhis lifeandstrengthand leisure, togain forhisnativelandthatverybenefitwhichshenowenjoyssolargely.ItisbettertobeYoshidaandperish,thantobeonlySákumaandyetsavethehide.Kusákabé,ofSatzuma,hassaidtheword:itisbettertobeacrystalandbebroken.Imustaddaword;forIhopethereaderwillnotfailtoperceivethatthisisasmuchthestoryofaheroicpeopleasthatofaheroicman.ItisnotenoughtorememberYoshida;wemustnotforgetthecommonsoldier,norKusákabé,northeboyofeighteen,Nomura,ofChoshu,whoseeagernessbetrayedtheplot.Itis exhilarating to have lived in the same days with these great-heartedgentlemen. Only a few miles from us, to speak by the proportion of theuniverse,whileIwasdroningovermylessons,Yoshidawasgoadinghimself

tobewakefulwiththestingsofthemosquito;andwhileyouweregrudgingapennyincometax,Kusákabéwassteppingtodeathwithanoblesentenceonhislips.

FRANÇOISVILLON,STUDENT,POET,ANDHOUSEBREAKER.

PERHAPSoneofthemostcuriousrevolutionsinliteraryhistoryisthesuddenbull’s-eye light cast by M. Longnon on the obscure existence of FrançoisVillon.Hisbookisnotremarkablemerelyasachapterofbiographyexhumedafter four centuries. To readers of the poet it will recall, with a flavour ofsatire,thatcharacteristicpassageinwhichhebequeathshisspectacles—withahumorousreservationofthecase—tothehospitalforblindpaupersknownasthe Fifteen-Score. Thus equipped, let the blind paupers go and separate thegoodfromthebadinthecemeteryoftheInnocents!Forhisownpartthepoetcanseenodistinction.Muchhavethedeadpeoplemadeoftheiradvantages.Whatdoesitmatternowthattheyhavelaininstatebedsandnourishedportlybodiesuponcakesandcream!Heretheyalllie,tobetroddeninthemud;thelargeestateandthesmall,soundingvirtueandadroitorpowerfulvice,inverymuchthesamecondition;andabishopnot tobedistinguishedfromalamp-lighterwitheventhestrongestspectacles.Such was Villon’s cynical philosophy. Four hundred years after his death,when surely all danger might be considered at an end, a pair of criticalspectacles havebeen applied to his own remains; and thoughhe left behindhima sufficiently ragged reputation from the first, it isonlyafter these fourhundredyearsthathisdelinquencieshavebeenfinallytrackedhome,andwecan assign him to his proper place among the good or wicked. It is astaggeringthought,andonethataffordsafinefigureoftheimperishabilityofmen’sacts, that thestealthof theprivate inquiryofficecanbecarriedsofarbackintothedeadanddustypast.WearenotsosoonquitofourconcernsasVillon fancied. In the extremeof dissolution,when not somuch as aman’snameisremembered,whenhisdustisscatteredtothefourwinds,andperhapsthe very grave and the very graveyardwhere hewas laid to rest have beenforgotten,desecrated,andburiedunderpopuloustowns,—eveninthisextremelet an antiquary fall across a sheet of manuscript, and the name will berecalled,theoldinfamywillpopoutintodaylightlikeatoadoutofafissureintherock,andtheshadowoftheshadeofwhatwasonceamanwillbeheartilypilloriedbyhisdescendants.AlittlewhileagoandVillonwasalmosttotallyforgotten;thenhewasrevivedforthesakeofhisverses;andnowheisbeingrevived with a vengeance in the detection of his misdemeanours. Howunsubstantialisthisprojectionofaman’sexistence,whichcanlieinabeyance

forcenturiesandthenbebrushedupagainandsetforthfortheconsiderationofposteritybyafewdipsinanantiquary’sinkpot!Thisprecarioustenureoffamegoesalongwaytojustifythose(andtheyarenotfew)whoprefercakesandcreamintheimmediatepresent.

AWILDYOUTH.

FrançoisdeMontcorbier,aliasFrançoisdesLoges,aliasFrançoisVillon,aliasMichelMouton,MasterofArtsintheUniversityofParis,wasborninthatcityin the summer of 1431. It was a memorable year for France on other andhigherconsiderations.Agreat-heartedgirlandapoor-heartedboymade, theoneherlast,theotherhisfirstappearanceonthepublicstageofthatunhappycountry.On the30thofMay the ashesof JoanofArcwere thrown into theSeine, and on the 2d ofDecember ourHenry Sixthmade his Joyous EntrydismallyenoughintodisaffectedanddepopulatingParis.Swordandfirestillravagedtheopencountry.OnasingleAprilSaturdaytwelvehundredpersons,besideschildren,madetheirescapeoutofthestarvingcapital.Thehangman,as is not uninteresting to note in connectionwithMaster Francis, was kepthardatworkin1431;onthelastofAprilandonthe4thofMayalone,sixty-twobanditsswungfromParisgibbets.Amoreconfusedor troublous time itwould have been difficult to select for a start in life. Not even a man’snationalitywascertain; for thepeopleofParis therewasno such thingas aFrenchman.TheEnglishwere theEnglish indeed, but theFrenchwereonlytheArmagnacs,whom,withJoanofArcat theirhead, theyhadbeatenbackfromundertheirrampartsnottwoyearsbefore.Suchpublicsentimentastheyhad centred about their dearDuke of Burgundy, and the dearDuke had nomoreurgentbusiness than tokeepoutof theirneighbourhood. . . .At least,andwhether he liked it or not, our disreputable troubadourwas tubbed andswaddledasasubjectoftheEnglishcrown.We hear nothing of Villon’s father except that he was poor and of meanextraction.Hismotherwasgivenpiously,whichdoesnotimplyverymuchinanoldFrenchwoman,andquiteuneducated.Hehad anuncle, amonk in anabbey atAngers,whomust have prospered beyond the family average, andwas reported to beworth five or six hundred crowns.Of this uncle and hismoney-boxthereaderwillhearoncemore.In1448FrancisbecameastudentoftheUniversityofParis;in1450hetookthedegreeofBachelor,andin1452thatofMasterofArts.Hisbourse,orthesumpaidweeklyforhisboard,wasoftheamountoftwosous.Nowtwosouswasaboutthepriceofapoundofsalt butter in the bad times of 1417; itwas the price of half-a-pound in theworse times of 1419; and in 1444, just four years before Villon joined the

University,itseemstohavebeentakenastheaveragewageforaday’smanuallabour.Inshort,itcannothavebeenaveryprofuseallowancetokeepasharp-setladinbreakfastandsupperforsevenmortaldays;andVillon’sshareofthecakes and pastry and general good cheer, to which he is never weary ofreferring,musthavebeenslenderfromthefirst.Theeducationalarrangementsof theUniversityofPariswere, toourwayofthinking, somewhat incomplete. Worldly and monkish elements werepresented in a curious confusion, which the youth might disentangle forhimself. If he had an opportunity, on the one hand, of acquiringmuch hair-drawn divinity and a taste for formal disputation, hewas put in theway ofmuchgrossandflauntingviceupontheother.Thelectureroomofascholasticdoctor was sometimes under the same roof with establishments of a verydifferent and peculiarly unedifying order. The students had extraordinaryprivileges,whichbyallaccountstheyabusedextraordinarily.Andwhilesomecondemnedthemselvestoanalmostsepulchralregularityandseclusion,othersfled the schools, swaggered in the street “with their thumbs in their girdle,”passedthenightinriot,andbehavedthemselvesastheworthyforerunnersofJehan Frollo in the romance ofNotreDame de Paris.Villon tells us himselfthat he was among the truants, but we hardly needed his avowal. Theburlesqueeruditioninwhichhesometimesindulgedimpliesnomorethanthemerest smattering of knowledge; whereas his acquaintance with blackguardhauntsand industries couldonlyhavebeenacquiredbyearlyandconsistentimpiety and idleness.He passed his degrees, it is true; but some of uswhohavebeentomodernuniversitieswillmaketheirownreflectionsonthevalueofthetest.Asforhisthreepupils,ColinLaurent,GirardGossouyn,andJehanMarceau—if theywere really his pupils in any serious sense—what canwesaybutGodhelpthem!Andsureenough,byhisowndescription,theyturnedoutasragged,rowdy,andignorantaswastobelookedforfromtheviewsandmannersoftheirrarepreceptor.At some time or other, before or during his university career, the poet wasadoptedbyMasterGuillaumedeVillon,chaplainofSaintBenoît-le-BétournéneartheSorbonne.Fromhimheborrowedthesurnamebywhichheisknowntoposterity. Itwasmost likely fromhis house, called the PorteRouge, andsituatedinagardeninthecloisterofSt.Benoît,thatMasterFrancisheardthebell of the Sorbonne ring out theAngeluswhile hewas finishing his SmallTestamentatChristmastide in1456.Towards thisbenefactorheusuallygetscreditforarespectabledisplayofgratitude.Butwithhistrapandpitfallstyleofwriting,itiseasytomaketoosure.Hissentimentsareaboutasmuchtobereliedonas thoseof aprofessionalbeggar; and in this, as in somanyothermatters,hecomestowardsuswhiningandpipingtheeye,andgoesoffagainwithawhoopandhisfingertohisnose.Thus,hecallsGuillaumedeVillonhis“more than father,” thanks him with a great show of sincerity for having

helpedhimoutofmanyscrapes,andbequeathshimhisportionofrenown.Buttheportionofrenownwhichbelongedtoayoungthief,distinguished(if,attheperiod when he wrote this legacy, he was distinguished at all) for havingwrittensomemoreorlessobsceneandscurrilousballads,musthavebeenlittlefitted to gratify the self-respect or increase the reputation of a benevolentecclesiastic. The same remark applies to a subsequent legacy of the poet’slibrary,with specificationofoneworkwhichwasplainlyneitherdecentnordevout.We are thus left on the horns of a dilemma. If the chaplain was agodly, philanthropic personage, who had tried to graft good principles andgood behaviour on this wild slip of an adopted son, these jesting legacieswouldobviouslycuthimtotheheart.Thepositionofanadoptedsontowardshis adoptive father is one full of delicacy; where aman lends his name helooks for great consideration.And this legacyofVillon’sportionof renownmay be taken as themere fling of an unregenerate scapegracewho haswitenoughtorecogniseinhisownshamethereadiestweaponofoffenceagainstaprosy benefactor’s feelings.The gratitude ofMaster Francis figures, on thisreading,asa frightfulminusquantity. If,on theotherhand, those jestsweregiven and taken in good humour, the whole relation between the pairdegeneratesintotheunedifyingcomplicityofadebauchedoldchaplainandawittyanddissoluteyoungscholar.Atthisratethehousewiththereddoormayhaverungwiththemostmundaneminstrelsy;anditmayhavebeenbelowitsroof that Villon, through a hole in the plaster, studied, as he tells us, theleisuresofarichecclesiastic.It was, perhaps, of some moment in the poet’s life that he should haveinhabitedthecloisterofSaintBenoît.Threeofthemostremarkableamonghisearly acquaintances are Catherine deVausselles, forwhom he entertained ashort-livedaffectionandanenduringandmostunmanlyresentment;Regnierde Montigny, a young blackguard of good birth; and Colin de Cayeux, afellowwithamarkedaptitudeforpickinglocks.Nowweareonafoundationofmereconjecture,butitisatleastcurioustofindthattwoofthecanonsofSaint Benoît answered respectively to the names of Pierre de Vaucel andEtienne de Montigny, and that there was a householder called Nicolas deCayeuxinastreet—theRuedesPoirées—intheimmediateneighbourhoodofthecloister.M.LongnonisalmostreadytoidentifyCatherineasthenieceofPierre; Regnier as the nephew of Etienne, andColin as the son ofNicolas.Without going so far, itmust be owned that the approximation of names issignificant.Aswegoontoseethepartplayedbyeachofthesepersonsinthesordidmelodramaofthepoet’slife,weshallcometoregarditasevenmorenotable. Is it notCloughwhohas remarked that, after all, everything lies injuxtaposition?Many aman’s destiny has been settled bynothing apparentlymoregravethanaprettyfaceontheoppositesideofthestreetandacoupleofbadcompanionsroundthecorner.

Catherine de Vausselles (or de Vaucel—the change is within the limits ofVillon’s licence) had plainly delighted in the poet’s conversation; nearneighboursornot,theyweremuchtogetherandVillonmadenosecretofhiscourt,andsufferedhimselftobelievethathisfeelingwasrepaidinkind.Thismay have been an error from the first, or he may have estranged her bysubsequent misconduct or temerity. One can easily imagine Villon animpatientwooer.One thing, at least, is sure: that the affair terminated in amanner bitterly humiliating toMaster Francis. In presence of his lady-love,perhaps under her window and certainly with her connivance, he wasunmercifully thrashed by oneNoë le Joly—beaten, as he says himself, likedirty linen on the washing-board. It is characteristic that his malice hadnotably increased between the time when he wrote the Small Testamentimmediatelyon thebackof theoccurrence, and the timewhenhewrote theLargeTestamentfiveyearsafter.Onthelatteroccasionnothingistoobadforhis“damselwiththetwistednose,”ashecallsher.Sheissparedneitherhintnoraccusation,andhetellshismessengertoaccostherwiththevilestinsults.Villon,itisthought,wasoutofPariswhentheseamenitiesescapedhispen;orperhapsthestrongarmofNoëleJolywouldhavebeenagaininrequisition.Soends the love story, if love story it may properly be called. Poets are notnecessarily fortunate in love; but they usually fall among more romanticcircumstancesandbeartheirdisappointmentwithabettergrace.The neighbourhood of Regnier de Montigny and Colin de Cayeux wasprobablymoreinfluentialonhisafterlifethanthecontemptofCatherine.Foramanwhoisgreedyofallpleasures,andprovidedwithlittlemoneyandlessdignityofcharacter,wemayprophesyasafeandspeedyvoyagedownward.Humble or even truckling virtue may walk unspotted in this life. But onlythosewhodespisethepleasurescanaffordtodespisetheopinionoftheworld.A man of a strong, heady temperament, like Villon, is very differentlytempted.Hiseyeslayholdonallprovocationsgreedily,andhisheartflamesupata look into imperiousdesire;he issnaredandbroached-tobyanythingandeverything,fromaprettyfacetoapieceofpastryinacookshopwindow;hewilldrinktherinsingofthewinecup,staythelatestatthetavernparty;tapat the lit windows, follow the sound of singing, and beat the wholeneighbourhood for another reveller, as he goes reluctantly homeward; andgrudgehimselfeveryhourofsleepasablackemptyperiodinwhichhecannotfollowafterpleasure.Suchaperson is lost ifhehavenotdignity,or, failingthat,atleastpride,whichisitsshadowandinmanywaysitssubstitute.MasterFrancis,Ifancy,wouldfollowhisowneagerinstinctswithoutmuchspiritualstruggle.Andwesoonfindhimfallenamongthievesinsober,literalearnest,andcountingasacquaintances themostdisreputablepeoplehecould layhishands on: fellowswho stole ducks in ParisMoat; sergeants of the criminalcourt, and archers of the watch; blackguards who slept at night under the

butchers’ stalls, and for whom the aforesaid archers peered about carefullywith lanterns; Regnier de Montigny, Colin de Cayeux, and their crew, allbound on a favouring breeze towards the gallows; the disorderly abbess ofPort Royal, who went about at fair time with soldiers and thieves, andconducted her abbey on the queerest principles, and most likely PeretteMauger, the great Paris receiver of stolen goods, not yet dreaming, poorwoman!of the last sceneof her careerwhenHenryCousin, executor of thehigh justice, shall bury her, alive and most reluctant, in front of the newMontignygibbet.Nay,our friendsoonbegan to takea foremost rank in thissociety.Hecouldstringoffverses,whichisalwaysanagreeabletalent;andhecouldmake himself useful inmany otherways. Thewhole ragged army ofBohemia,andwhosoeverlovedgoodcheerwithoutatalllovingtoworkandpayforit,areaddressedincontemporaryversesasthe“SubjectsofFrançoisVillon.”Hewas agoodgenius to all hungry andunscrupulouspersons; andbecametheheroofawholelegendarycycleoftaverntricksandcheateries.Atbest, thesewere doubtful levities, rather too thievish for a schoolboy, rathertoo gamesome for a thief. But he would not linger long in this equivocalborderland.Hemustsoonhavecompliedwithhissurroundings.Hewasonewhowould gowhere the cannikin clinked, not caringwho should pay; andfromsuppinginthewolves’den,thereisbutasteptohuntingwiththepack.Andhere,asIamonthechapterofhisdegradation,IshallsayallImeantosayaboutitsdarkestexpression,andbedonewithitforgood.Somecharitablecriticsseenomore thana jeud’esprit,agracefuland triflingexerciseof theimagination,inthegrimyballadofFatPeg(GrosseMargot).Iamnotabletofollow thesegentlemen to thispolite extreme.OutofallVillon’sworks thatballadstandsforthinflaringreality,grossandghastly,asathingwritteninacontractionofdisgust.M.Longnonshowsusmoreandmoreclearlyateverypagethatwearetoreadourpoetliterally,thathisnamesarethenamesofrealpersons, and the events he chronicles were actual events. But even if thetendencyofcriticismhadruntheotherway,thisballadwouldhavegonefartoprove itself. I can well understand the reluctance of worthy persons in thismatter;forofcourseit isunpleasanttothinkofamanofgeniusasonewhoheld,inthewordsofMarinatoBoult—“Aplace,forwhichthepained’stfiendOfhellwouldnotinreputationchange.”Butbeyondthisnaturalunwillingness,thewholedifficultyofthecasespringsfromahighlyvirtuousignoranceoflife.ParisnowisnotsodifferentfromtheParisof then;andthewholeof thedoingsofBohemiaarenotwrittenin thesugar-candypastoralsofMurger.Itisreallynotatallsurprisingthatayoungmanofthefifteenthcentury,withaknackofmakingverses,shouldaccepthisbread upon disgraceful terms. The race of thosewho do is not extinct; and

someofthemtothisdaywritetheprettiestversesimaginable....Afterthis,itwere impossible forMasterFrancis to fall lower: togoandsteal forhimselfwouldbeanadmirableadvancefromeverypointofview,divineorhuman.And yet it is not as a thief, but as a homicide, that he makes his firstappearancebeforeangryjustice.OnJune5,1455,whenhewasabouttwenty-four,andhadbeenMasterofArtsforamatterofthreeyears,webeholdhimforthefirsttimequitedefinitely.Angryjusticehad,asitwere,photographedhimintheactofhishomicide;andM.Longnon,rummagingamongolddeeds,has turned up the negative and printed it off for our instruction.Villon hadbeensupping—copiouslywemaybelieve—andsatonastonebenchinfrontof the Church of St. Benoît, in company with a priest called Gilles and awomanofthenameofIsabeau.Itwasnineo’clock,amightylatehourfortheperiod,andevidentlyafinesummer’snight.MasterFranciscarriedamantle,like a prudent man, to keep him from the dews (serain), and had a swordbelowitdanglingfromhisgirdle.SothesethreedalliedinfrontofSt.Benoît,takingtheirpleasure(poursoyesbatre).Suddenlytherearriveduponthescenea priest, Philippe Chermoye or Sermaise, also with sword and cloak, andaccompaniedbyoneMaster Jehan leMardi.Sermaise, according toVillon’saccount, which is all we have to go upon, came up blustering and denyingGod;asVillonrosetomakeroomforhimuponthebench,thrusthimrudelybackintohisplace;andfinallydrewhisswordandcutopenhislowerlip,bywhat I should imagine was a very clumsy stroke. Up to this point, Villonprofessestohavebeenamodelofcourtesy,evenoffeebleness:andthebrawl,inhisversion,readslikethefableofthewolfandthelamb.Butnowthelambwasroused;hedrewhissword,stabbedSermaiseinthegroin,knockedhimontheheadwithabigstone,andthen,leavinghimtohisfate,wentawaytohavehisownlipdoctoredbyabarberof thenameofFouquet.Inoneversion,hesaysthatGilles,Isabeau,andLeMardiranawayatthefirsthighwords,andthatheandSermaisehaditoutalone;inanother,LeMardiisrepresentedasreturning and wresting Villon’s sword from him: the reader may pleasehimself. Sermaise was picked up, lay all that night in the prison of SaintBenoît,wherehewasexaminedbyanofficialof theChâtelet andexpresslypardonedVillon,anddiedonthefollowingSaturdayintheHôtelDieu.This,as Ihavesaid,was inJune.NotbeforeJanuaryof thenextyearcouldVillonextractapardonfromtheking;butwhilehishandwasin,hegottwo.Oneisfor“FrançoisdesLoges,alias(autrementdit)deVillon;”andtheotherruns in the name of François de Montcorbier. Nay, it appears there was afurthercomplication;forinthenarrativeofthefirstofthesedocuments,itismentionedthathepassedhimselfoffuponFouquet,thebarber-surgeon,asoneMichelMouton.M. Longnon has a theory that this unhappy accident withSermaisewas the cause ofVillon’s subsequent irregularities; and that up tothatmomenthehadbeenthepinkofgoodbehaviour.Butthematterhastomy

eyes amoredubious air.Apardonnecessary forDesLoges andanother forMontcorbier?andthesetwothesameperson?andoneorbothofthemknownbythealiasofVillon,howeverhonestlycomeby?andlastly,intheheatofthemoment,afourthnamethrownoutwithanassuredcountenance?Ashipisnottobetrustedthatsailsundersomanycolours.Thisisnotthesimplebearingofinnocence. No—the young master was already treading crooked paths;already,hewouldstartandblenchatahanduponhisshoulder,withthelookweknowsowellinthefaceofHogarth’sIdleApprentice;already,inthebluedevils, he would see Henry Cousin, the executor of high justice, going indolorous procession towards Montfaucon, and hear the wind and the birdscryingaroundParisgibbet.

AGANGOFTHIEVES.

Inspiteoftheprodigiousnumberofpeoplewhomanagedtogethanged,thefifteenthcenturywasbynomeansabadtimeforcriminals.Agreatconfusionof parties and great dust of fighting favoured the escape of privatehousebreakersandquietfellowswhostoleducksinParisMoat.Prisonswereleaky;andasweshallsee,amanwithafewcrownsinhispocketandperhapssomeacquaintanceamongtheofficials,couldeasilyslipoutandbecomeoncemore a free marauder. There was no want of a sanctuary where he mightharbouruntiltroublesblewby;andaccompliceshelpedeachotherwithmoreor lessgood faith.Clerks, aboveall,had remarkable facilities foracriminalway of life; for they were privileged, except in cases of notoriousincorrigibility, tobepluckedfromthehandsofrudesecular justiceandtriedby a tribunal of their own. In 1402, a couple of thieves, both clerks of theUniversity,were condemned to death by theProvost ofParis.As theyweretakentoMontfaucon,theykeptcrying“highandclearly”fortheirbenefitofclergy,butwerenonethelesspitilesslyhangedandgibbeted.IndignantAlmaMater interfered before the king; and the Provostwas deprived of all royaloffices,andcondemnedtoreturnthebodiesanderectagreatstonecross,onthe road fromParis to the gibbet gravenwith the effigies of these twoholymartyrs.Weshallhearmoreof thebenefitofclergy;forafter this thereaderwillnotbesurprisedtomeetwith thieves in theshapeof tonsuredclerks,orevenpriestsandmonks.Toaknotofsuchlearnedpilferersourpoetcertainlybelonged;andbyturningoverafewmoreofM.Longnon’snegatives,weshallgetaclearideaoftheircharacter and doings.Montigny and De Cayeux are names already known;GuyTabary,Petit-Jehan,DomNicolas,littleThibault,whowasbothclerkandgoldsmith, and who made picklocks and melted plate for himself and his

companions—withthesethereaderhasstilltobecomeacquainted.Petit-Jehanand De Cayeux were handy fellows and enjoyed a useful pre-eminence inhonour of their doings with the picklock. “Dictus des Cahyeus est fortisoperator crochetorum,” says Tabary’s interrogation, “sed dictus Petit-Jehan,ejus socius, est forcius operator.” But the flower of the flock was littleThibault; it was reported that no lock could stand before him; he had apersuasivehand; letussalutecapacitywhereverwemayfind it.Perhaps thetermgangisnotquiteproperlyappliedtothepersonswhosefortuneswearenow about to follow; rather they were independent malefactors, sociallyintimate,andoccasionallyjoiningtogetherforsomeseriousoperationjustasmodernstockjobbersformasyndicateforanimportantloan.Norweretheyatall particular to any branch ofmisdoing.They did not scrupulously confinethemselves to a single sort of theft, as I hear is common among modernthieves.Theywere ready for anything, frompitch-and-toss tomanslaughter.Montigny,for instance,hadneglectedneitherof theseextremes,andwefindhimaccusedofcheatingatgamesofhazardontheonehand,andontheotherofthemurderofoneTheveninPenseteinahousebytheCemeteryofSt.John.Iftimehadonlysparedussomeparticulars,mightnotthislasthavefurnisheduswiththematterofagrislywinter’stale?At Christmas-time in 1456, readers of Villon will remember that he wasengaged on the Small Testament. About the same period, circa festumnativitatisDomini,hetookpartinamemorablesupperattheMuleTavern,infront of the Church of St.Mathurin. Tabary, who seems to have been verymuchVillon’screature,hadorderedthesupperinthecourseoftheafternoon.HewasamanwhohadhadtroublesinhistimeandlanguishedintheBishopof Paris’s prisons on a suspicion of picking locks; confiding, convivial, notvery astute—who had copied out a whole improper romance with his ownrighthand.Thissupper-partywastobehisfirstintroductiontoDeCayeuxandPetit-Jehan,whichwasprobablyamatterofsomeconcerntothepoorman’smuddy wits; in the sequel, at least, he speaks of both with an undisguisedrespect, based on professional inferiority in the matter of picklocks. DomNicolas,aPicardymonk,wasthefifthandlastattable.Whensupperhadbeendespatchedandfairlywasheddown,wemaysuppose,withwhiteBaigneuxorredBeaune,whichwere favouritewines among the fellowship, Tabarywassolemnlyswornovertosecrecyonthenight’sperformances;andthepartylefttheMuleandproceededtoanunoccupiedhousebelongingtoRobertdeSaint-Simon.This,overa lowwall, theyenteredwithoutdifficulty.AllbutTabarytookofftheiruppergarments;aladderwasfoundandappliedtothehighwallwhich separated Saint-Simon’s house from the court of the College ofNavarre; the four fellows in their shirt-sleeves (aswemight say) clamberedover in a twinkling; and Master Guy Tabary remained alone beside theovercoats.From thecourt theburglarsmade theirway into thevestryof the

chapel, where they found a large chest, strengthened with iron bands andclosedwithfourlocks.Oneoftheselockstheypicked,andthen,byleveringup the corner, forced the other three. Inside was a small coffer, of walnutwood,alsobarredwithiron,butfastenedwithonlythreelocks,whichwereallcomfortably picked by way of the keyhole. In the walnut coffer—a joyoussightbyour thieves’ lantern—were fivehundredcrownsofgold.Therewassome talk of opening the aumries, where, if they had only known, a bootyeightorninetimesgreaterlayreadytotheirhand;butoneoftheparty(Ihaveahumorous suspicion itwasDomNicolas, thePicardymonk) hurried themaway.Itwasteno’clockwhentheymountedtheladder;itwasaboutmidnightbeforeTabarybeheld themcomingback.Tohim theygave ten crowns, andpromised a share of a two-crown dinner on the morrow; whereat we maysupposehismouthwatered.Incourseoftime,hegotwindoftherealamountoftheirbootyandunderstoodhowscurvilyhehadbeenused;butheseemstohavebornenomalice.Howcouldhe,againstsuchsuperboperatorsasPetit-JehanandDeCayeux;oraperson likeVillon,whocouldhavemadeanewimproperromanceoutofhisownhead,insteadofmerelycopyinganoldonewithmechanicalrighthand?The rest of the winter was not uneventful for the gang. First they made ademonstration against the Church of St. Mathurin after chalices, and wereignominiouslychasedawaybybarkingdogs.ThenTabaryfelloutwithCasinChollet,oneofthefellowswhostoleducksinParisMoat,whosubsequentlybecame a sergeant of theChâtelet anddistinguishedhimself bymisconduct,followed by imprisonment and public castigation, during the wars of LouisEleventh.The quarrelwas not conductedwith a proper regard to the king’speace,andthepairpubliclybelabouredeachotheruntilthepolicesteppedin,andMasterTabarywascastoncemoreintotheprisonsoftheBishop.Whilehestilllayindurance,anotherjobwascleverlyexecutedbythebandinbroaddaylight, at the Augustine Monastery. Brother Guillaume Coiffier wasbeguiled by an accomplice to St. Mathurin to say mass; and during hisabsence,his chamberwasenteredand fiveor sixhundredcrowns inmoneyandsomesilverplatesuccessfullyabstracted.AmelancholymanwasCoiffieron his return! Eight crowns from this adventure were forwarded by littleThibault to the incarcerated Tabary; andwith these he bribed the jailor andreappearedinParistaverns.Sometimebeforeorshortlyafterthis,VillonsetoutforAngers,ashehadpromisedintheSmallTestament.Theobjectofthisexcursionwas notmerely to avoid the presence of his cruelmistress or thestrong armofNoë le Joly, but to plan a deliberate robberyonhis uncle themonk.Assoonashehadproperlystudied theground, theotherswere togoover in force from Paris—picklocks and all—and away with my uncle’sstrongbox!Thisthrowsacomicalsidelightonhisownaccusationagainsthisrelatives,thattheyhad“forgottennaturalduty”anddisownedhimbecausehe

waspoor.Apoorrelationisadistastefulcircumstanceatthebest,butapoorrelationwhoplansdeliberaterobberiesagainstthoseofhisblood,andtrudgeshundredsofwearyleaguestoputthemintoexecution,issurelyalittleonthewrong side of toleration. The uncle at Angers may have been monstrouslyundutiful;butthenephewfromPariswasupsideswithhim.Onthe23dApril,thatvenerableanddiscreetperson,MasterPierreMarchand,Curate and Prior of Paray-le-Monial, in the diocese of Chartres, arrived inParis and put up at the sign of the Three Chandeliers, in the Rue de laHuchette.Nextday,orthedayafter,ashewasbreakfastingatthesignoftheArmchair,hefellintotalkwithtwocustomers,oneofwhomwasapriestandtheotherourfriendTabary.TheidioticTabarybecamemightyconfidentialasto his past life. Pierre Marchand, who was an acquaintance of GuillaumeCoiffier’sandhadsympathisedwithhimoverhisloss,prickeduphisearsatthe mention of picklocks, and led on the transcriber of improper romancesfromonethingtoanother,untiltheywerefastfriends.ForpicklocksthePriorof Paray professed a keen curiosity; but Tabary, upon some late alarm, hadthrownallhisintotheSeine.Letthatbenodifficulty,however,forwastherenotlittleThibault,whocouldmakethemofallshapesandsizes,andtowhomTabary,smellinganaccomplice,wouldbeonlytoogladtointroducehisnewacquaintance?Onthemorrow,accordingly,theymet;andTabary,afterhavingfirst wet his whistle at the prior’s expense, led him to Notre Dame andpresented him to four or five “young companions,” who were keepingsanctuary in the church. Theywere all clerks, recently escaped, likeTabaryhimself,fromtheepiscopalprisons.AmongthesewemaynoticeThibault,theoperator, a little fellow of twenty-six, wearing long hair behind. The Priorexpressed, through Tabary, his anxiety to become their accomplice andaltogether such as they were (de leur sorte et de leurs complices). Mightypolite theyshowed themselves,andmadehimmany finespeeches in return.Butforall that,perhapsbecause theyhad longerheads thanTabary,perhapsbecause it is less easy to wheedle men in a body, they kept obstinately togeneralitiesandgavehimnoinformationastotheirexploits,past,present,ortocome.IsupposeTabarygroanedunderthisreserve;fornosoonerwereheandthePrioroutof thechurch thanhefairlyemptiedhisheart tohim,gavehimfulldetailsofmanyhangingmattersinthepast,andexplainedthefutureintentionsoftheband.TheschemeofthehourwastorobanotherAugustinemonk, Robert de la Porte, and in this the Prior agreed to take a handwithsimulatedgreed.Thus,inthecourseoftwodays,hehadturnedthiswineskinofaTabaryinsideout.Forawhilelongerthefarcewascarriedon;thePriorwasintroducedtoPetit-Jehan,whomhedescribesasalittle,verysmartmanofthirty,withablackbeardandashortjacket;anappointmentwasmadeandbroken in the de la Porte affair; Tabary had some breakfast at the Prior’schargeandleakedoutmoresecretsundertheinfluenceofwineandfriendship;

and thenallof a sudden,on the17thofMay, analarmsprangup, thePriorpicked up his skirts and walked quietly over to the Châtelet to make adeposition,and thewholeband took to theirheelsandvanishedoutofParisandthesightofthepolice.Vanishas they like, theyallgowithaclogabout their feet.Sooner or later,hereor there, theywill be caught in the fact, and ignominiously sent home.Fromourvantageof fourcenturiesafterwards, it isoddandpitiful towatchtheorderinwhichthefugitivesarecapturedanddraggedin.Montignywasthefirst.InAugustofthatsameyear,hewaslaidbytheheelsonmany grievous counts; sacrilegious robberies, frauds, incorrigibility, andthatbadbusinessaboutTheveninPenseteinthehousebythecemeteryofSt.John.He was reclaimed by the ecclesiastical authorities as a clerk; but theclaimwas rebutted on the score of incorrigibility, and ultimately fell to theground;andhewascondemnedtodeathbytheProvostofParis.ItwasaveryrudehourforMontigny,buthopewasnotyetover.Hewasafellowofsomebirth;hisfatherhadbeenking’spantler;hissister,probablymarriedtosomeone about the Court, was in the family way, and her health would beendangerediftheexecutionwasproceededwith.SodowncomesCharlestheSeventhwithlettersofmercy,commutingthepenaltytoayearinadungeonon bread andwater, and a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James inGalicia.Alas! the document was incomplete; it did not contain the full tale ofMontigny’s enormities; it did not recite that he had been denied benefit ofclergy, and it said nothing aboutTheveninPensete.Montigny’s hourwas athand.Benefitofclergy,honourabledescent fromking’spantler, sister in thefamilyway,royallettersofcommutation—allwereofnoavail.Hehadbeeninprison inRouen, inTours, inBordeaux,andfour timesalreadyinParis;andout of all these he had come scatheless; but now he must make a littleexcursionasfarasMontfauconwithHenryCousin,executorofhighjustice.Therelethimswingamongthecarrioncrows.Aboutayear later, inJuly1458, thepolice laidhandsonTabary.Before theecclesiasticalcommissaryhewastwiceexamined,and,onthelatteroccasion,put to the question ordinary and extraordinary.What a dismal change frompleasant suppers at theMule,wherehe sat in triumphwith expert operatorsandgreatwits!He isat the leesof life,poor rogue;and thosefingerswhichonce transcribed improper romances arenowagonisingly stretchedupon therack.We have no sure knowledge, butwemay have a shrewd guess of theconclusion.Tabary, the admirer,would go the sameway as thosewhom headmired.ThelastwehearofisColindeCayeux.Hewascaughtinautumn1460,inthegreatChurchofSt.Leud’Esserens,whichmakessofineafigureinthepleasantOisevalleybetweenCreilandBeaumont.Hewasreclaimedbyno

lessthantwobishops;buttheProcureurfortheProvostheldfastbyincorrigibleColin.1460wasanill-starredyear:forjusticewasmakingacleansweepof“poorandindigentpersons,thieves,cheats,andlockpickers,”intheneighbourhoodofParis;andColindeCayeux,withmanyothers,wascondemnedtodeathandhanged.

VILLONANDTHEGALLOWS.

VillonwasstillabsentontheAngersexpeditionwhenthePriorofParaysentsuchabombshellamonghisaccomplices;andthedatesofhisreturnandarrestremainundiscoverable.M.Campauxplausiblyenoughopinedfortheautumnof1457,whichwouldmakehimcloselyfollowonMontigny,andthefirstofthosedenouncedbythePrior tofall intothetoils.Wemaysuppose,at least,thatitwasnotlongthereafter;wemaysupposehimcompetedforbetweenlayandclericalCourts;andwemaysupposehimalternatelypertand impudent,humbleandfawning,inhisdefence.Butattheendofallsupposing,wecomeuponsomenuggetsoffact.Forfirst,hewasputtothequestionbywater.HewhohadtossedoffsomanycupsofwhiteBaigneuxorredBeaune,nowdrankwater through linen folds,until hisbowelswere floodedandhisheart stoodstill.After somuch raisingof the elbow, somuchoutcryof fictitious thirst,hereatlastwasenoughdrinkingforalifetime.Truly,ofourpleasantvices,thegods make whips to scourge us. And secondly he was condemned to behanged.Amanmayhavebeenexpectingacatastropheforyears,andyetfindhimselfunpreparedwhenitarrives.Certainly,Villonfound,inthislegitimateissueofhiscareer,averystaggeringandgraveconsideration.Everybeast,ashesays,clingsbitterlytoawholeskin.Ifeverythingislost,andevenhonour,lifestillremains;nay,anditbecomes,liketheewelambinNathan’sparable,asdearasalltherest.“Doyoufancy,”heasks,inalivelyballad,“thatIhadnotenoughphilosophyundermyhood tocryout: ‘I appeal’? If Ihadmadeanybonesaboutthematter,Ishouldhavebeenplanteduprightinthefields,bytheSt.DenisRoad”—MontfauconbeingonthewaytoSt.Denis.AnappealtoParliament,aswesawinthecaseofColindeCayeux,didnotnecessarilyleadtoanacquittaloracommutation;andwhilethematterwaspending,ourpoethadampleopportunitytoreflectonhisposition.Hangingisasharpargument,andtoswingwithmanyothersonthegibbetaddsahorriblecorollaryfortheimagination.With theaspectofMontfauconhewaswellacquainted; indeed,astheneighbourhoodappearstohavebeensacredtojunketingandnocturnalpicnicsofwildyoungmenandwomen,hehadprobablystudied itunderallvarietiesofhourandweather.Andnow,ashelayinprisonwaitingthemortalpush,thesedifferentaspectscrowdedbackonhisimaginationwithanewandstartlingsignificance;andhewroteaballad,bywayofepitaphforhimselfand

hiscompanions,whichremainsuniqueintheannalsofmankind.Itis, inthehighestsense,apieceofhisbiography:—“Lapluyenousadebuezetlavez,Etlesoleildessechezetnoirciz;Pies,corbeaulx,nousontlesyeuxcavez,Etarrachezlabarbeetlessourcilz.Jamais,nultemps,nousnesommesrassis;Puisça,puislà,commeleventvarie,Asonplaisirsanscessernouscharie,Plusbecquetezd’oiscaulxquedezàcouldre.Nesoyezdoncdenostreconfrairie,MaispriezDieuquetousnousvueilleabsouldre.”Hereissomegenuinethieves’literatureaftersomuchthatwasspurious;sharpas an etching, written with a shuddering soul. There is an intensity ofconsideration in the piece that shows it to be the transcript of familiarthoughts. It is the quintessence of many a doleful nightmare on the straw,whenhefelthimselfswinghelplessinthewind,andsawthebirdsturnabouthim,screamingandmenacinghiseyes.And, after all, the Parliament changed his sentence into one of banishment;and toRoussillon, inDauphiny,ourpoetmustcarryhiswoeswithoutdelay.TravellersbetweenLyonsandMarseillesmayrememberastationontheline,somewaybelowVienne,where theRhonefleetsseawardbetweenvine-cladhills.ThiswasVillon’sSiberia.Itwouldbealittlewarminsummerperhaps,andalittlecoldinwinterinthatdraughtyvalleybetweentwogreatmountainfields;butwhatwiththehills,andtheracingriver,andthefieryRhonewines,hewaslittletobepitiedontheconditionsofhisexile.Villon,inaremarkablybadballad,written in a breath, heartily thanked and fulsomelybelauded theParliament; the envoi, like the proverbial postscript of a lady’s letter,containing the pith of his performance in a request for three days’ delay tosettlehis affairs andbidhis friends farewell.Hewasprobablynot followedoutofParis,likeAntoineFradin,thepopularpreacher,anotherexileofafewyears later, by weepingmultitudes; but I daresay one or two rogues of hisacquaintancewouldkeephimcompanyforamileorsoonthesouthroad,anddrinkabottlewithhimbeforetheyturned.Forbanishedpeople,inthosedays,seem tohave set out on their own responsibility, in their ownguard, and attheirownexpense.Itwasnojoketomakeone’swayfromParistoRoussillonaloneandpennilessinthefifteenthcentury.Villonsaysheleftaragofhistailsoneverybush.Indeed,hemusthavehadmanyawearytramp,manyaslender

meal,andmanyato-dowithblusteringcaptainsoftheOrdonnance.Butwithoneof his light fingers,wemay fancy that he took as good as hegave; forevery rag of his tail, he would manage to indemnify himself upon thepopulation in the shape of food, or wine, or ringing money; and his routewould be traceable across France and Burgundy by housewives and inn-keeperslamentingoverpettythefts,likethetrackofasinglehumanlocust.Astrange figurehemusthavecut in theeyesof thegoodcountrypeople: thisragged,blackguardcitypoet,withasmackoftheParisstudent,andasmackoftheParisstreetarab,postingalongthehighways,inrainorsun,amongthegreen fieldsandvineyards.Forhimself,hehadno taste for rural loveliness;greenfieldsandvineyardswouldbemightyindifferenttoMasterFrancis;buthewouldoftenhavehistongueinhischeekatthesimplicityofrusticdupes,and often, at city gates, he might stop to contemplate the gibbet with itsswingingbodies,andhughimselfonhisescape.How long he stayed at Roussillon, how far he became the protégé of theBourbons, to whom that town belonged, or when it was that he took part,under the auspices of Charles of Orleans, in a rhyming tournament to bereferredtoonceagaininthepagesofthepresentvolume,aremattersthatstillremain in darkness, in spite of M. Longnon’s diligent rummaging amongarchives.Whenwenext findhim, insummer1461,alas!he isoncemore indurance: this timeatMéun-sur-Loire, in theprisonsofThibault d’Aussigny,BishopofOrleans.Hehadbeenloweredinabasketintoanoisomepit,wherehe lay, all summer, gnawinghard crusts and railing upon fate.His teeth, hesays,wereliketheteethofarake:atouchofhaggardportraitureallthemorerealforbeingexcessiveandburlesque,andallthemorepropertothemanforbeing a caricature of his own misery. His eyes were “bandaged with thickwalls.” Itmight blow hurricanes overhead; the lightningmight leap in highheaven;butnowordofallthisreachedhiminhisnoisomepit.“Iln’entre,ougist,n’esclernitourbillon.”Aboveall,hewasfeveredwithenvyandangeratthefreedomofothers;andhisheartflowedoverintocursesashethoughtofThibault d’Aussigny, walking the streets in God’s sunlight, and blessingpeople with extended fingers. So much we find sharply lined in his ownpoems.Why hewas cast again into prison—how he had againmanaged toshavethegallows—thisweknownot,nor,fromthedestructionofauthorities,areweeverlikelytolearn.ButonOctober2d,1461,orsomedayimmediatelypreceding, thenewKing,LouisEleventh,madehis joyousentry intoMéun.Now it was a part of the formality on such occasions for the newKing toliberatecertainprisoners;andsothebasketwasletdownintoVillon’spit,andhastilydidMasterFrancisscramblein,andwasmostjoyfullyhauledup,andshotout,blinkingandtottering,butoncemoreafreeman,intotheblessedsunandwind.Noworneveristhetimeforverses!Suchahappyrevolutionwouldturn the head of a stocking-weaver, and set him jingling rhymes.And so—

afteravoyage toParis,wherehe findsMontignyandDeCayeuxclattering,their bones upon the gibbet, and his three pupils roystering in Paris streets,“withtheirthumbsundertheirgirdles,”—downsitsMasterFrancistowritehisLargeTestament,andperpetuatehisnameinasortofgloriousignominy.

THELARGETESTAMENT.

Ofthiscapitalachievementand,withit,ofVillon’sstyleingeneral,itisherethe place to speak. The Large Testament is a hurly-burly of cynical andsentimentalreflectionsaboutlife,jestinglegaciestofriendsandenemies,and,interspersedamong thesemanyadmirableballades,both seriousandabsurd.With so free a design, no thought that occurred to him would need to bedismissedwithoutexpression;andhecoulddrawatfulllengththeportraitofhisownbedevilledsoul,andofthebleakandblackguardlyworldwhichwasthetheatreofhisexploitsandsufferings.Ifthereadercanconceivesomethingbetween the slap-dash inconsequence of Byron’s Don Juan and the racyhumorous gravity and brief noble touches that distinguish the vernacularpoemsofBurns,hewillhaveformedsomeideaofVillon’sstyle.Tothelatterwriter—exceptintheballades,whicharequitehisown,andcanbeparalleledfromnoother languageknowntome—hebearsaparticular resemblance. IncommonwithBurnshehasacertainruggedcompression,abrutalvivacityofepithet, a homely vigour, a delight in local personalities, and an interest inmanysidesoflife,thatareoftendespisedandpassedoverbymoreeffeteandculturedpoets.Bothalso,intheirstrong,easycolloquialway,tendtobecomedifficultandobscure;theobscurityinthecaseofVillonpassingattimesintotheabsolutedarknessofcant language.Theyareperhaps theonly twogreatmastersofexpressionwhokeepsendingtheirreaderstoaglossary.“Shallwenotdaretosayofathief,”asksMontaigne,“thathehasahandsomeleg?”It isa farmoreseriousclaim thatwehave toput forward inbehalfofVillon. Beside that of his contemporaries, his writing, so full of colour, soeloquent,sopicturesque,standsoutinanalmostmiraculousisolation.Ifonlyoneortwoofthechroniclerscouldhavetakenaleafoutofhisbook,historywouldhavebeenapastime,andthefifteenthcenturyaspresenttoourmindsastheageofCharlesSecond.Thisgallows-birdwastheonegreatwriterofhisageandcountry,andinitiatedmodernliteratureforFrance.Boileau,longago,intheperiodofperukesandsnuff-boxes,recognisedhimasthefirstarticulatepoet in the language; and if wemeasure him, not by priority of merit, butliving duration of influence, not on a comparisonwith obscure forerunners,but with great and famous successors, we shall instal this ragged anddisreputable figure in a far higher niche in glory’s temple than was ever

dreamedofbythecritic.Itis,initself,amemorablefactthat,before1542,intheverydawnofprinting,andwhilemodernFrancewas in themaking, theworksofVillonranthroughsevendifferenteditions.OutofhimflowsmuchofRabelais;andthroughRabelais,directlyandindirectly,adeep,permanent,andgrowing inspiration.Notonlyhis style,buthis callouspertinentwayoflooking upon the sordid and ugly sides of life, becomes every day a morespecificfeatureintheliteratureofFrance.Andonlytheotheryear,aworkofsomepowerappearedinParis,andappearedwithinfinitescandal,whichoweditswholeinnersignificanceandmuchofitsoutwardformtothestudyofourrhymingthief.Theworldtowhichheintroducesusis,asbeforesaid,blackguardlyandbleak.Paris swarms before us, full of famine, shame, and death; monks and theservantsofgreatlordsholdhighwassailuponcakesandpastry;thepoormanlickshislipsbeforethebaker’swindow;peoplewithpatchedeyessprawlallnight under the stalls; chuckling Tabary transcribes an improper romance;bare-bosomedlassesandrufflingstudentsswaggerinthestreets;thedrunkardgoes stumbling homewards; the graveyard is full of bones; and away onMontfaucon, Colin de Cayeux and Montigny hang draggled in the rain. Istherenothingbetter tobe seen than sordidmisery andworthless joys?Onlywhere the poor old mother of the poet kneels in church below paintedwindows,andmakestremuloussupplicationtotheMotherofGod.In our mixed world, full of green fields and happy lovers, where not longbefore,JoanofArchadledoneofthehighestandnoblestlivesinthewholestoryofmankind,thiswasallworthchroniclingthatourpoetcouldperceive.Hiseyeswere indeedsealedwithhisownfilth.Hedweltallhis life inapitmorenoisomethanthedungeonatMéun.In themoralworld,also, therearelargephenomenanotcognisableoutofholesandcorners.Loudwindsblow,speeding home deep-laden ships and sweeping rubbish from the earth; thelightning leaps and cleans the face of heaven; high purposes and bravepassions shake and sublimate men’s spirits; and meanwhile, in the narrowdungeonofhissoul,Villonismumblingcrustsandpickingvermin.Alongwiththisdeadlygloomofoutlook,wemusttakeanothercharacteristicof hiswork: its unrivalled insincerity. I cangivenobetter similitudeof thisquality than I have given already: that he comes upwith awhine, and runsaway with a whoop and his finger to his nose. His pathos is that of aprofessionalmendicantwhoshouldhappen tobeamanofgenius;his levitythat of a bitter street arab, full of bread. On a first reading, the patheticpassagespreoccupythereader,andheischeatedoutofanalmsintheshapeofsympathy. But when the thing is studied the illusion fades away: in thetransitions,aboveall,wecandetecttheevil,ironicaltemperoftheman;andinstead of a flighty work, where many crude but genuine feelings tumble

togetherforthemasteryasinthelistsoftournament,wearetemptedtothinkof the Large Testament as of one long-drawn epical grimace, pulled by amerry-andrew, who has found a certain despicable eminence over humanrespect and human affections by perching himself astride upon the gallows.Between these two views, at best, all temperate judgmentswill be found tofall;andrather,asIimagine,towardsthelast.Therewere two things onwhich he feltwith perfect and, in one case, eventhreateningsincerity.The first of thesewas anundisguised envyof those richer thanhimself.Hewas for ever drawing a parallel, already exemplified from his own words,betweenthehappylifeofthewell-to-doandthemiseriesofthepoor.Burns,too proud and honest not towork, continued through all reverses to sing ofpovertywithalight,defiantnote.Bérangerwaitedtillhewashimselfbeyondthe reach of want, before writing the Old Vagabond or Jacques. SamuelJohnson, althoughhewasvery sorry tobepoor, “wasagreat arguer for theadvantages of poverty” in his ill days. Thus it is that bravemen carry theircrosses,andsmilewiththefoxburrowingintheirvitals.ButVillon,whohadnot the courage to be poor with honesty, now whiningly implores oursympathy, now shows his teeth upon the dung-heapwith an ugly snarl. Heenviesbitterly,enviespassionately.Poverty,heprotests,drivesmentosteal,ashungermakesthewolfsallyfromtheforest.Thepoor,hegoeson,willalwayshave a carping word to say, or, if that outlet be denied, nourish rebelliousthoughts.Itisacalumnyonthenoblearmyofthepoor.Thousandsinasmallwayoflife,ay,andeveninthesmallest,gothroughlifewithtenfoldasmuchhonouranddignityandpeaceofmind,astherichgluttonswhosedaintiesandstate-bedsawakenedVillon’scovetoustemper.Andeverymorning’ssunseesthousands who pass whistling to their toil. But Villon was the “mauvaispauvre”definedbyVictorHugo,and,initsEnglishexpression,soadmirablystereotypedbyDickens.Hewasthefirstwickedsansculotte.Heisthemanofgeniuswiththemoleskincap.Heismightypatheticandbeseechinghereinthestreet,butIwouldnotgodownadarkroadwithhimforalargeconsideration.Thesecondofthepointsonwhichhewasgenuineandemphaticwascommonto the middle ages; a deep and somewhat snivelling conviction of thetransitorynatureofthislifeandthepityandhorrorofdeath.Oldageandthegrave,with some dark and yet half-sceptical terror of an after-world—thesewere ideas thatclungabouthisbones likeadisease.Anoldape,ashesays,may play all the tricks in its repertory, and none of them will tickle anaudience intogoodhumour.“Tousjoursvieilsyngeestdesplaisant.” It is nottheold jesterwhoreceivesmostrecognitionata tavernparty,but theyoungfellow,freshandhandsome,whoknowsthenewslang,andcarriesoffhisvicewith a certain air.Of this, as a tavern jester himself, hewould be pointedly

conscious. As for the women with whom he was best acquainted, hisreflectionsontheiroldage,inall theirharrowingpathos,shallremainintheoriginalforme.Horacehasdisgracedhimselftosomethingthesametune;butwhatHoracethrowsoutwithanill-favouredlaugh,Villondwellsonwithanalmostmaudlinwhimper.It is in death that he finds his truest inspiration in the swift and sorrowfulchangethatovertakesbeauty;inthestrangerevolutionbywhichgreatfortunesandrenownsarediminishedtoahandfulofchurchyarddust;andintheutterpassingawayofwhatwasoncelovableandmighty.Itisinthisthatthemixedtextureofhisthoughtenableshimtoreachsuchpoignantandterribleeffects,and to enchance pity with ridicule, like a man cutting capers to a funeralmarch.Itisinthis,also,thatherisesoutofhimselfintothehigherspheresofart. So, in the ballade bywhich he is best known, he rings the changes onnamesthatoncestoodforbeautifulandqueenlywomen,andarenownomorethan letters and a legend. “Where are the snows of yester year?” runs theburden.And so, in another not so famous, he passes in review the differentdegreesofbygonemen,fromtheholyApostlesandthegoldenEmperoroftheEast, down to the heralds, pursuivants, and trumpeters, who also bore theirpartintheworld’spageantriesandategreedilyatgreatfolks’tables:allthistothe refrain of “So much carry the winds away!” Probably, there was somemelancholy in hismind for a yet lower grade, andMontigny and Colin deCayeux clattering their bones on Paris gibbet. Alas, and with so pitiful anexperienceoflife,Villoncanofferusnothingbutterrorandlamentationaboutdeath!Noonehasevermoreskilfullycommunicatedhisowndisenchantment;nooneeverblownamoreear-piercingnoteofsadness.ThisunrepentantthiefcanattainneithertoChristianconfidence,nortothespiritofthebrightGreeksaying,thatwhomthegodslovedieearly.Itisapoorheart,andapoorerage,thatcannotaccepttheconditionsoflifewithsomeheroicreadiness.ThedateoftheLargeTestamentisthelastdateinthepoet’sbiography.Afterhaving achieved that admirable and despicable performance, he disappearsintothenightfromwhencehecame.Howorwhenhedied,whetherdecentlyin bed or trussed up to a gallows, remains a riddle for foolhardycommentators. It appearshishealthhad suffered in thepit atMéun;hewasthirty years of age and quite bald; with the notch in his under lip whereSermaisehad struckhimwith the sword, andwhatwrinkles the readermayimagine.Indefaultofportraits, this isall Ihavebeenable topiece together,andperhapseventhebaldnessshouldbetakenasafigureofhisdestitution.Asinisterdog,inalllikelihood,butwithalookinhiseye,andthelooseflexilemouththatgoeswithwitandanoverweeningsensualtemperament.Certainlythesorriestfigureontherollsoffame.

CHARLESOFORLEANS.

FOR one who was no great politician, nor (as men go) especially wise,capable or virtuous,Charles ofOrleans ismore than usually enviable to allwholove thatbettersortof famewhichconsists inbeingknownnotwidely,butintimately.“Tobecontentthattimetocomeshouldknowtherewassuchaman, not caringwhether they knewmore of him, or to subsist under nakeddenominations,withoutdesertsornobleacts,”is,saysSirThomasBrowne,afrigidambition.Itistosomemorespecificmemorythatyouthlooksforwardinitsvigils.Oldkingsaresometimesdisinterredinalltheemphasisoflife,thehands untainted by decay, the beard that had so often wagged in camp orsenate still spread upon the royal bosom; and in busts and pictures, somesimilitudeof thegreat andbeautiful of formerdays is handeddown. In thisway,publiccuriositymaybegratified,buthardlyanyprivateaspirationafterfame.Itisnotlikelythatposteritywillfallinlovewithus,butnotimpossiblethatitmayrespectorsympathise;andsoamanwouldratherleavebehindhimtheportraitofhis spirit thanaportraitofhis face, figuraanimimagisquamcorporis.Ofthosewhohavethussurvivedthemselvesmostcompletely,leftasortofpersonalseductionbehindthemintheworld,andretained,afterdeath,theartofmakingfriends,MontaigneandSamuelJohnsoncertainlystandfirst.But we have portraits of all sorts ofmen, from august Cæsar to the king’sdwarf; and all sorts of portraits, from a Titian treasured in the Louvre to aprofileover thegrocer’schimneyshelf.Andso ina lessdegree,butno lesstruly, than the spirit ofMontaigne lives on in the delightful Essays, that ofCharlesofOrleanssurvivesinafewoldsongsandoldaccount-books;anditisstillinthechoiceofthereadertomakethisduke’sacquaintance,and,iftheirhumourssuit,becomehisfriend.

I.

Hisbirth—ifwearetoarguefromaman’sparents—wasabovehismerit.Itisnotmerelythathewasthegrandsonofoneking,thefatherofanother,andtheuncleofathird;butsomethingmorespeciouswastobelookedforfromthesonofhis father,LouisdeValois,DukeofOrleans,brother to themadkingCharlesVI.,loverofQueenIsabel,andtheleadingpatronofartandoneoftheleading politicians in France.And the poet might have inherited yet highervirtuesfromhismother,ValentinaofMilan,averypatheticfigureoftheage,the faithfulwifeofanunfaithfulhusband,and the friendofamostunhappyking. The father, beautiful, eloquent, and accomplished, exercised a strangefascinationoverhiscontemporaries;andamongthosewhodipnowadaysinto

theannalsofthetimetherearenotmany—andthesefewarelittletobeenvied—whocanresistthefascinationofthemother.AllmankindoweheradebtofgratitudebecauseshebroughtsomecomfortintothelifeofthepoormadmanwhoworethecrownofFrance.Born(May1391)ofsuchanoblestock,Charleswastoknowfromthefirstallfavours of nature and art. His father’s gardens were the admiration of hiscontemporaries;hiscastlesweresituatedinthemostagreeablepartsofFrance,and sumptuously adorned.We have preserved, in an inventory of 1403, thedescriptionoftapestriedroomswhereCharlesmayhaveplayedinchildhood.“Agreen room,with the ceiling full of angels, and thedossierof shepherdsand shepherdesses seeming (faisant contenance) to eat nuts and cherries. Aroomofgold,silkandworsted,withadeviceoflittlechildreninariver,andtheskyfullofbirds.Aroomofgreentapestry,showingaknightandladyatchess in a pavilion. Another green room, with shepherdesses in a trellisedgarden worked in gold and silk. A carpet representing cherry-trees, wherethereisafountain,andaladygatheringcherriesinabasin.”Theseweresomeof thepicturesoverwhichhis fancymightbusy itselfof anafternoon,or atmorningashe layawake inbed.Withourdeeperandmore logical senseoflife,wecanhavenoideahowlargeaspaceintheattentionofmediævalmenmightbeoccupiedbysuchfiguredhangingsonthewall.Therewassomethingtimid and purblind in the view they had of the world. Morally, they sawnothingoutsideoftraditionalaxioms;andlittleofthephysicalaspectofthingsentered vividly into their mind, beyond what was to be seen on churchwindowsandthewallsandfloorsofpalaces.ThereaderwillrememberhowVillon’smotherconceivedofheavenandhellandtookallherscantystockoftheology from the stained glass that threw its light upon her as she prayed.Andthereisscarcelyadetailofexternaleffectinthechroniclesandromancesof the time, butmight have been borrowed at second hand from a piece oftapestry.Itwasastageinthehistoryofmankindwhichwemayseeparalleled,tosomeextent,inthefirstinfantschool,wheretherepresentationsoflionsandelephantsalternateroundthewallwithmoralversesandtritepresentmentsofthelesservirtues.Sothattoliveinahouseofmanypictureswastantamount,forthetime,toaliberaleducationinitself.AtCharles’sbirthanorderofknighthoodwasinauguratedinhishonour.Atnineyearsold,hewasasquire;ateleven,hehadtheescortofachaplainandaschoolmaster;attwelve,hisunclethekingmadehimapensionoftwelvethousandlivresd’or.HesawthemostbrilliantandthemostlearnedpersonsofFrance,inhisfather’sCourt;andwouldnotfailtonoticethatthesebrilliantandlearnedpersonswereoneandallengagedinrhyming.Indeed,ifitisdifficulttorealisethepartplayedbypictures,itisperhapsevenmoredifficulttorealisethatplayedbyversesinthepoliteandactivehistoryoftheage.AtthesiegeofPontoise,EnglishandFrenchexchangeddefiantballadesoverthe

walls.Ifascandalhappened,asintheloathsomethirty-thirdstoryoftheCentNouvellesNouvelles,allthewitsmustmakerondelsandchansonettes,whichtheywouldhandfromonetoanotherwithanunmanlysneer.Ladiescarriedtheirfavourite’sballadesintheirgirdles.MargaretofScotland,alltheworldknowsalready,kissedAlainChartier’slipsinhonourofthemanyvirtuousthoughtsandgoldensayingstheyhaduttered;butitisnotsowellknown,thatthisprincesswasherselfthemostindustriousofpoetasters,thatsheissupposedtohavehastenedherdeathbyherliteraryvigils,andsometimeswroteasmanyastwelverondelsintheday.Itwasinrhyme,even,thattheyoungCharlesshouldlearnhislessons.Hemightgetallmannerofinstructioninthetrulynobleartofthechase,notwithoutasmackofethicsbytheway,fromthecompendiousdidacticpoemofGacedelaBigne.Nay,anditwasinrhymethatheshouldlearnrhyming:intheversesofhisfather’sMaîtred’Hôtel,EustacheDeschamps,whichtreatedof“l’artdedictieretdefairechançons,ballades,virelaisetrondeaux,”alongwithmanyothermattersworthattention,fromthecourtsofHeaventothemisgovernmentofFrance.Atthisrate,allknowledgeistobehadinagoody,andtheendofitisanoldsong.WeneednotwonderwhenwehearfromMonstreletthatCharleswasaverywelleducatedperson.HecouldstringLatintextstogetherbythehour,andmakeballadesandrondelsbetterthanEustacheDeschampshimself.Hehadseenamadkingwhowouldnotchangehisclothes,andadrunkenemperorwhocouldnotkeephishandfromthewine-cup.Hehadspokenagreatdealwithjestersandfiddlers,andwiththeprofligatelordswhohelpedhisfathertowastetherevenuesofFrance.Hehadseenladiesdanceonintobroaddaylight,andmuchburningoftorchesandwasteofdaintiesandgoodwine.Andwhenallissaid,itwasnoveryhelpfulpreparationforthebattleoflife.“IbelieveLouisXI.,”writesComines,“wouldnothavesavedhimself,ifhehadnotbeenverydifferentlybroughtupfromsuchotherlordsasIhaveseeneducatedinthiscountry;fortheseweretaughtnothingbuttoplaythejackanapeswithfineryandfinewords.”IamafraidCharlestooksuchlessonstoheart,andconceivedoflifeasaseasonprincipallyforjunketingandwar.Hisviewofthewholedutyofman,soempty,vain,andwearisometous,wasyetsincerelyandconsistentlyheld.Whenhecameinhisripeyearstocomparethegloryoftwokingdoms,EnglandandFrance,itwasonthreepointsonly,—pleasures,valour,andriches,—thathecaredtomeasurethem;andintheveryoutsetofthattracthespeaksofthelifeofthegreataspassed,“whetherinarms,asinassaults,battles,andsieges,orinjoustsandtournaments,inhighandstatelyfestivitiesandinfuneralsolemnities.”Whenhewasnomorethanthirteen,hisfatherhadhimaffiancedtoIsabella,virgin-widowofourRichard II. anddaughterofhisuncleCharlesVI.; and,twoyearsafter (June29,1406), thecousinsweremarriedatCompiègne,hefifteen, she seventeen years of age. It was in every way a most desirable

match. The bride brought five hundred thousand francs of dowry. Theceremony was of the utmost magnificence, Louis of Orleans figuring incrimson velvet, adorned with no less than seven hundred and ninety-fivepearls, gathered together expressly for this occasion. And no doubt it musthavebeenverygratifyingforayounggentlemanoffifteen, toplaythechiefpartinapageantsogailyputuponthestage.Only,thebridegroommighthavebeenalittleolder;and,asill-luckwouldhaveit,thebrideherselfwasofthiswayofthinking,andwouldnotbeconsoledforthelossofhertitleasqueen,or thecontemptibleageofhernewhusband.Pleuroit fort ladite Isabeau; thesaidIsabellaweptcopiously.ItisfairlydebatablewhetherCharleswasmuchtobepitiedwhen,threeyearslater(September1409), thisoddmarriagewasdissolved by death. Short as it was, however, this connection left a lastingstampuponhismind;andwefindthat,inthelastdecadeofhislife,andafterhe had remarried for perhaps the second time, he had not yet forgotten orforgiven the violent death of Richard II. “Ce mauvais cas”—that uglybusiness,hewrites,hasyettobeavenged.Themarriage festivity was on the threshold of evil days. The great rivalrybetweenLouisofOrleansandJohntheFearless,DukeofBurgundy,hadbeenforsworn with the most reverend solemnities. But the feud was only inabeyance, and JohnofBurgundy still conspired in secret.OnNovember23,1407—inthatblackwinterwhenthefrostlastedsix-and-sixtydaysonend—asummonsfromthekingreachedLouisofOrleansattheHôtelBarbette,wherehehadbeensuppingwithQueenIsabel.Itwassevenoreightintheevening,and the inhabitants of the quarter were abed. He set forth in haste,accompanied by two squires riding on one horse, a page, and a few varletsrunningwithtorches.Asherode,hehummedtohimselfandtrifledwithhisglove.Andsoriding,hewasbesetbythebravoesofhisenemyandslain.MylordofBurgundysetanillprecedentinthisdeed,ashefoundsomeyearsafteronthebridgeofMontereau;andeveninthemeantimehedidnotprofitquietlybyhisrival’sdeath.Thehorrorof theotherprincesseems tohaveperturbedhimself;heavowedhisguiltinthecouncil, triedtobrazenitout,finallylostheartandfledatfullgallop,cuttingbridgesbehindhim,towardsBapaumeandLille. And so there we have the head of one faction, who had just madehimselfthemostformidablemaninFrance,engagedinaremarkablyhurriedjourney,withblackcareonthepillion.Andmeantime,ontheotherside, thewidowed duchess came to Paris in appropriatemourning, to demand justicefor her husband’s death. Charles VI., whowas then in a lucid interval, didprobably all that he could, when he raised up the kneeling suppliant withkissesandsmoothwords.Thingswereatadead-lock.Thecriminalmightbeinthesorriestfright,buthewasstillthegreatestofvassals.Justicewaseasytoask and not difficult to promise; how it was to be executed was anotherquestion.Noone inFrancewas strongenough topunish JohnofBurgundy;

andperhapsnoone,exceptthewidow,verysincereinwishingtopunishhim.She,indeed,waseatenupofzeal;buttheintensityofhereagernessworeherout; and she died about a year after the murder, of grief and indignation,unrequited loveandunsatisfied resentment. Itwasduring the lastmonthsofherlifethatthisfieryandgenerouswoman,seeingthesoftheartsofherownchildren,lookedwithenvyonacertainnaturalsonofherhusband’sdestinedtobecomefamousinthesequelastheBastardofOrleans,orthebraveDunois.“Youwere stolen fromme,” she said; “it is youwho are fit to avengeyourfather.” These are not the words of ordinary mourning, or of an ordinarywoman. It is a saying, overwhichBalzacwould have rubbed his episcopalhands.Thatthechildwhowastoavengeherhusbandhadnotbeenbornoutofherbody,wasathingintolerabletoValentinaofMilan;andtheexpressionofthis singularand tragic jealousy ispreserved tousbya rarechance, in suchstraightforward and vivid words as we are accustomed to hear only on thestressofactuallife,orinthetheatre.Inhistory—whereweseethingsasinaglassdarkly,andthefashionofformertimesisbroughtbeforeus,deplorablyadulteratedanddefaced,fittedtoveryvagueandpompouswords,andstrainedthroughmanymen’smindsofeverythingpersonalorprecise—thisspeechofthe widowed duchess startles a reader, somewhat as the footprint startledRobinsonCrusoe.Ahumanvoicebreaksinuponthesilenceofthestudy,andthestudentisawareofafellow-creatureinhisworldofdocuments.Withsucha clue inhand, onemay imaginehow thiswounded lionesswould spur andexasperatetheresentmentofherchildren,andwhatwouldbethelastwordsofcounselandcommandsheleftbehindher.With these instanciesofhisdyingmother—almost avoice from the tomb—stilltinglinginhisears,thepositionofyoungCharlesofOrleans,whenhewasleft at the head of that great house, was curiously similar to that ofShakspeare’sHamlet.Thetimeswereoutofjoint;herewasamurderedfathertoavengeonapowerfulmurderer;andhere, inbothcases,a ladof inactivedisposition born to set these matters right. Valentina’s commendation ofDunois involved a judgment on Charles, and that judgment was exactlycorrect.Whoevermightbe,Charleswasnotthemantoavengehisfather.LikeHamlet,thissonofadearfathermurderedwassincerelygrievedatheart.LikeHamlet,too,hecouldunpackhisheartwithwords,andwroteamosteloquentletter to the king, complaining that what was denied to him would not bedenied “to the lowest born and poorest man on earth.” Even in his privatehourshestrovetopreservealivelyrecollectionofhisinjury,andkeepupthenative hue of resolution. He had gems engraved with appropriate legends,hortatoryorthreatening:“Dieulescet,”Godknowsit;or“Souvenez-vousde—”Remember!Itisonlytowardstheendthatthetwostoriesbegintodiffer;and in some points the historical version is the more tragic. Hamlet onlystabbed a silly old councillor behind the arras;Charles ofOrleans trampled

France for five years under the hoofs of his banditti. The miscarriage ofHamlet’svengeancewasconfined,atwidest, to thepalace; theruinwroughtbyCharlesofOrleanswasasbroadasFrance.Yetthefirstactoftheyoungdukeisworthyofhonourablemention.ProdigalLouishadmadeenormousdebts;andthereisastoryextant,toillustratehowlightly he himself regarded these commercial obligations. It appears thatLouis,afteranarrowescapehemadeinathunder-storm,hadasmartaccessofpenitence, and announced hewould pay his debts on the followingSunday.Morethaneighthundredcreditorspresentedthemselves,butbythattimethedevilwaswell again, and theywere shown the doorwithmore gaiety thanpoliteness.A timewhen such cynical dishonestywas possible for aman ofculture is not, it will be granted, a fortunate epoch for creditors.When theoriginaldebtorwassolax,wemayimaginehowanheirwoulddealwiththeincumbrancesofhisinheritance.OnthedeathofPhiliptheForward,fatherofthatJohntheFearlesswhomwehaveseenatwork,thewidowwentthroughthe ceremony of a public renunciation of goods; taking off her purse andgirdle,sheleftthemonthegrave,andthus,byonenotableact,cancelledherhusband’s debts and defamed his honour. The conduct of young Charles ofOrleans was very different. To meet the joint liabilities of his father andmother(forValentinaalsowaslavish),hehadtosellorpledgeaquantityofjewels;andyethewouldnottakeadvantageofapretext,evenlegallyvalid,todiminishtheamount.Thus,oneGodefroiLefèvre,havingdisbursedmanyoddsumsforthelateduke,andreceivedorkeptnovouchers,Charlesorderedthathe should be believed upon his oath. To a modern mind this seems ashonourabletohisfather’smemoryasifJohntheFearlesshadbeenhangedashigh as Haman. And as things fell out, except a recantation from theUniversityofParis,whichhad justified themurderoutofparty feeling, andvarious other purely paper reparations, this was about the outside of whatCharleswastoeffectinthatdirection.Helivedfiveyears,andgrewupfromsixteentotwenty-one,inthemidstofthemosthorriblecivilwar,orseriesofcivilwars,thateverdevastatedFrance;andfromfirsttolasthiswarswereill-starred,orelsehisvictoriesuseless.Twoyearsafterthemurder(March1409),John the Fearless having the upper hand for the moment, a shameful anduselessreconciliationtookplace,bytheking’scommand,inthechurchofOurLadyatChartres.TheadvocateoftheDukeofBurgundystatedthatLouisofOrleanshadbeenkilled“forthegoodoftheking’spersonandrealm.”Charlesandhisbrothers,with tearsofshame,underprotest,pournepasdesobéirauroi,forgavetheirfather’smurdererandsworepeaceuponthemissal.Itwas,asI say, a shameful and useless ceremony; the very greffier, entering it in hisregister, wrote in the margin, “Pax, pax, inquit Propheta, et non est Pax.”CharleswassoonafteralliedwiththeabominableBernardd’Armagnac,evenbetrothedormarriedtoadaughterofhis,calledbyanamethatsoundslikea

contradiction in terms,Bonned’Armagnac.From that time forth, throughoutallthismonstrousperiod—averynightmareinthehistoryofFrance—heisnomore than a stalking-horse for the ambitiousGascon. Sometimes the smokelifts,andyoucanseehimforthetwinklingofaneye,averypalefigure;atonemoment there is a rumour he will be crowned king; at another, when theuproarhassubsided,hewillbeheardstillcryingoutforjustice;andthenext(1412),he isshowinghimself to theapplaudingpopulaceon thesamehorsewithJohnofBurgundy.But theseareexceptional seasons,and, for themostpart,hemerelyridesat theGascon’sbridleoverdevastatedFrance.Hisverypartygo,notbythenameofOrleans,butbythenameofArmagnac.Parisisinthehandsofthebutchers:thepeasantshavetakentothewoods.Alliancesaremadeandbrokenasifinacountrydance;theEnglishcalledin,nowbythisone, now by the other. Poor people sing in church, with white faces andlamentable music: “Domine Jesu, parce populo tuo, dirige in viam pacisprincipes.”AndtheendandupshotofthewholeaffairforCharlesofOrleansisanotherpeacewithJohntheFearless.Franceisoncemoretranquil,withthetranquillity of ruin; he may ride home again to Blois, and look, with whatcountenancehemay,onthosegemshehadgotengravedintheearlydaysofhisresentment,“Souvenez-vousde—”Remember!HehaskilledPolonius,tobesure;butthekingisneverapennytheworse.

II.

FromthebattleofAgincourt(Oct.1415)datesthesecondperiodofCharles’slife.TheEnglishreaderwillrememberthenameofOrleansintheplayofHenryV.;anditisatleastoddthatwecantracearesemblancebetweenthepuppetandtheoriginal.Theinterjection,“Ihaveheardasonnetbeginsotoone’smistress”(Actiii.scene7),mayverywellindicateonewhowasalreadyanexpertinthatsortoftrifle;andthegameofproverbsheplayswiththeConstableinthesamescene,wouldbequiteincharacterforamanwhospentmanyyearsofhislifecappingverseswithhiscourtiers.Certainly,Charleswasinthegreatbattlewithfivehundredlances(say,threethousandmen),andtherehewasmadeprisonerasheledthevan.Accordingtoonestory,someraggedEnglisharchershothimdown;andsomediligentEnglishPistol,huntingransomsonthefieldofbattle,extractedhimfromunderaheapofbodiesandretailedhimtoourKingHenry.Hewasthemostimportantcaptureoftheday,andusedwithallconsideration.OnthewaytoCalais,Henrysenthimapresentofbreadandwine(andbread,youwillremember,wasanarticleofluxuryintheEnglishcamp),butCharleswouldneithereatnordrink.Thereupon,Henrycametovisithiminhisquarters.“Noblecousin,”saidhe,“howareyou?”Charlesrepliedthathewaswell.“Why,

then,doyouneithereatnordrink?”Andthenwithsomeasperity,asIimagine,theyoungduketoldhimthat“trulyhehadnoinclinationforfood.”AndourHenryimprovedtheoccasionwithsomethingofasnuffle,assuringhisprisonerthatGodhadfoughtagainsttheFrenchonaccountoftheirmanifoldsinsandtransgressions.Uponthistheresupervenedtheagoniesofaroughseapassage;andmanyFrenchlords,Charles,certainly,amongthenumber,declaredtheywouldratherenduresuchanotherdefeatthansuchanothersoretrialonshipboard.Charles,indeed,neverforgothissufferings.Longafterwards,hedeclaredhishatredtoaseafaringlife,andwillinglyyieldedtoEnglandtheempireoftheseas,“becausethereisdangerandlossoflife,andGodknowswhatpitywhenitstorms;andsea-sicknessisformanypeoplehardtobear;andtheroughlifethatmustbeledislittlesuitableforthenobility:”which,ofallbabyishutterancesthateverfellfromanypublicman,maysurelybearthebell.Scarcelydisembarked,hefollowedhisvictor,withsuchwryfaceaswemayfancy,throughthestreetsofholidayLondon.Andthenthedoorscloseduponhislastdayofgarishlifeformorethanaquarterofacentury.Afteraboyhoodpassedinthedissipationsofaluxuriouscourtorinthecampofwar,hisearsstillstunnedandhischeeksstillburningfromhisenemies’jubilations;outofallthisringingofEnglishbellsandsingingofEnglishanthems,fromamongalltheseshoutingcitizensinscarletcloaks,andbeautifulvirginsattiredinwhite,hepassedintothesilenceandsolitudeofapoliticalprison.Hiscaptivitywasnotwithoutalleviations.Hewasallowedtogohawking,andhefoundEnglandanadmirablecountryforthesport;hewasafavouritewithEnglishladies,andadmiredtheirbeauty;andhedidnotlackformoney,wine,orbooks;hewashonourablyimprisonedinthestrongholdsofgreatnobles,inWindsor Castle and the Tower of London. But when all is said, he was aprisonerforfive-and-twentyyears.Forfive-and-twentyyearshecouldnotgowherehewould,ordowhathe liked,orspeakwithanybuthisgaolers.Wemaytalkverywiselyofalleviations;thereisonlyonealleviationforwhichthemanwouldthankyou:hewouldthankyoutoopenthedoor.WithwhatregretScottishJamesI.bethoughthim(inthenextroomperhapstoCharles)ofthetimewhenherose“asearlyastheday.”Whatwouldhenothavegiventowethisbootsoncemorewithmorningdew,andfollowhisvagrantfancyamongthe meadows? The only alleviation to the misery of constraint lies in thedispositionoftheprisoner.Toeachonethisplaceofdisciplinebringshisownlesson.ItstirsLatudeorBaronTrenckintoheroicaction;itisahermitageforpiousandconformablespirits.Bérangertellsushefoundprisonlife,withitsregularhours and longevenings,bothpleasant andprofitable.ThePilgrim’sProgress and Don Quixote were begun in prison. It was after they werebecome (to use the words of one of them), “Oh, worst imprisonment—thedungeonofthemselves!”thatHomerandMiltonworkedsohardandsowell

for the profit ofmankind. In the year 1415HenryV. had two distinguishedprisoners,FrenchCharlesofOrleansandScottishJamesI.,whowhiledawaythe hours of their captivity with rhyming. Indeed, there can be no betterpastimeforalonelymanthanthemechanicalexerciseofverse.SuchintricateformsasCharleshadbeenusedtofromchildhood,theballadewithitsscantyrhymes; the rondel, with the recurrence first of the whole, then of half theburthen,inthirteenverses,seemtohavebeeninventedfortheprisonandthesickbed.The commonScotch saying, on the sight of anything operose andfinical, “he must have had little to do that made that!” might be put asepigraph on all the song books of old France. Making such sorts of versebelongs to the same class of pleasures as guessing acrostics or “buryingproverbs.” It is almost purely formal, almost purely verbal. Itmust be donegently and gingerly. It keeps the mind occupied a long time, and never sointentlyastobedistressing;foranythinglikestrainisagainsttheverynatureofthecraft.Sometimesthingsgoeasily,therefrainsfallintotheirplaceasifoftheirownaccord,anditbecomessomethingofthenatureofanintellectualtennis; youmustmake your poem as the rhymeswill go, just as youmuststrikeyourball asyouradversaryplayed it.So that these formsare suitableratherforthosewhowishtomakeverses,thanforthosewhowishtoexpressopinions.Sometimes, on the other hand, difficulties arise: rival verses comeinto aman’s head, and fugitivewords elude hismemory. Then it is that heenjoysat the same time thedeliberatepleasuresof aconnoisseurcomparingwines,andtheardourofthechase.Hemayhavebeensittingalldaylonginprisonwith foldedhands;butwhenhegoes tobed, the retrospectwill seemanimatedandeventful.Besidesconfirminghimselfasanhabitualmakerofverses,Charlesacquiredsomenewopinionsduringhiscaptivity.Hewasperpetually remindedof thechange that had befallen him. He found the climate of England cold and“prejudicial to the human frame;” he had a great contempt forEnglish fruitand English beer; even the coal fires were unpleasing in his eyes. Hewasrootedupfromamonghisfriendsandcustomsandtheplacesthathadknownhim.Andso in this strange landhebegan to learn the loveofhisown.Sadpeople all the world over are like to be moved when the wind is in someparticularquarter.SoBurnspreferredwhenitwasinthewest,andblewtohimfromhismistress;sothegirlintheballade,lookingsouthtoYarrow,thoughtitmightcarryakissbetwixtherandhergallant;andsowefindCharlessingingof the “pleasantwind that comes fromFrance.”One day, at “Dover-on-the-Sea,”helookedacrossthestraits,andsawthesandhillsaboutCalais.And ithappenedtohim,hetellsusinaballade,torememberhishappinessoverthereinthepast;andhewasbothsadandmerryattherecollection,andcouldnothavehisfillofgazingontheshoresofFrance.Althoughguiltyofunpatrioticacts, he had never been exactly unpatriotic in feeling. But his sojourn in

Englandgave,forthetimeatleast,someconsistencytowhathadbeenaveryweak and ineffectual prejudice. He must have been under the influence ofmorethanusuallysolemnconsiderations,whenheproceededtoturnHenry’spuritanical homily after Agincourt into a ballade, and reproach France, andhimselfbyimplication,withpride,gluttony,idleness,unbridledcovetousness,and sensuality.For themoment, hemust really have been thinkingmore ofFrancethanofCharlesofOrleans.Andanotherlessonhelearned.Hewhowasonlytobereleasedincaseofpeace,beginstothinkuponthedisadvantagesofwar.“Prayforpeace,”ishisrefrain:astrangeenoughsubjectfortheallyofBernardd’Armagnac.Butthislessonwasplainandpractical;ithadonesideinparticularthatwasspeciallyattractiveforCharles;andhedidnothesitatetoexplainitinsomanywords.“Everybody,”hewrites—Itranslateroughly—“everybodyshouldbemuchinclinedtopeace,foreverybodyhasadealtogainbyit.”Charles made laudable endeavours to acquire English, and even learned towrite a rondel in that tongue of quite averagemediocrity.Hewas for sometime billeted on the unhappy Suffolk, who received fourteen shillings andfourpence a day for his expenses; and from the fact that Suffolk afterwardsvisitedCharlesinFrancewhilehewasnegotiatingthemarriageofHenryVI.,aswell as the termsof thatnobleman’s impeachment,wemaybelieve therewassomenotunkindlyintercoursebetweentheprisonerandhisgaoler:afactof considerable interest when we remember that Suffolk’s wife was thegranddaughter of the poet Geoffrey Chaucer. Apart from this, and a merecatalogue of dates and places, only one thing seems evident in the story ofCharles’scaptivity.Itseemsevidentthat,asthesefive-and-twentyyearsdrewon,hebecamelessandlessresigned.Circumstanceswereagainstthegrowthofsuchafeeling.Oneafteranotherofhisfellow-prisonerswasransomedandwenthome.More thanoncehewashimselfpermitted tovisitFrance;whereheworked on abortive treaties and showed himselfmore eager for his owndeliverancethanfortheprofitofhisnativeland.Resignationmayfollowafterareasonabletimeupondespair;butifamanispersecutedbyaseriesofbriefandirritatinghopes,hismindnomoreattainstoasettledframeofresolution,thanhiseyewouldgrowfamiliarwithanightofthunderandlightning.Yearsafter,whenhewasspeakingat thetrialofthatDukeofAlençon,whobeganlifesohopefullyastheboyishfavouriteofJoanofArc,hesoughttoprovethatcaptivity was a harder punishment than death. “For I have had experiencemyself,”hesaid;“andinmyprisonofEngland,fortheweariness,danger,anddispleasureinwhichIthenlay,IhavemanyatimewishedIhadbeenslainatthe battle where they took me.” This is a flourish, if you will, but it issomethingmore.Hisspiritwouldsometimesriseupinafineangeragainstthepetty desires and contrarieties of life.Hewould compare his own conditionwith the quiet and dignified estate of the dead; and aspire to lie among his

comradesonthefieldofAgincourt,asthePsalmistprayedtohavethewingsofadoveanddwellintheuttermostpartsofthesea.ButsuchhighthoughtscametoCharlesonlyinaflash.JohntheFearlesshadbeenmurderedinhisturnonthebridgeofMontereausofar back as 1419. His son, Philip the Good—partly to extinguish the feud,partlythathemightdoapopularaction,andpartly,inviewofhisambitiousschemes,todetachanothergreatvassalfromthethroneofFrance—hadtakenupthecauseofCharlesofOrleans,andnegotiateddiligentlyforhisrelease.In1433 a Burgundian embassy was admitted to an interviewwith the captiveduke,inthepresenceofSuffolk.Charlesshookhandsmostaffectionatelywiththeambassadors.Theyaskedafterhishealth.“Iamwellenoughinbody,”hereplied,“butfarfromwellinmind.Iamdyingofgriefathavingtopassthebestdaysofmylife inprison,withnone tosympathise.”Thetalkfallingonthe chancesofpeace,Charles referred toSuffolk if hewerenot sincere andconstant inhisendeavours tobring it about. “If peacedependedonme,”hesaid,“Ishouldprocureitgladly,wereittocostmemylifesevendaysafter.”Wemaytakethisasshowingwhatalargepriceheset,notsomuchonpeace,asonsevendaysoffreedom.Sevendays!—hewouldmakethemsevenyearsin the employment. Finally, he assured the ambassadors of his goodwill toPhilipofBurgundy;squeezedoneofthembythehandandnippedhimtwicein the arm to signify things unspeakable before Suffolk; and two days aftersentthemSuffolk’sbarber,oneJeanCarnet,anativeofLille,totestifymorefreelyofhissentiments.“AsIspeakFrench,”saidthisemissary,“theDukeofOrleansismorefamiliarwithmethanwithanyotherofthehousehold;andIcan bear witness he never said anything against Duke Philip.” It will berememberedthatthisperson,withwhomhewassoanxioustostandwell,wasnoother thanhishereditaryenemy, thesonofhis father’smurderer.But thehonest fellowborenomalice, indeednot he.He began exchanging balladeswith Philip, whom he apostrophises as his companion, his cousin, and hisbrother.Heassureshimthat,soulandbody,heisaltogetherBurgundian;andproteststhathehasgivenhisheartinpledgetohim.Regardedasthehistoryofavendetta,itmustbeownedthatCharles’slifehaspointsofsomeoriginality.And yet there is an engaging frankness about these balladeswhich disarmscriticism.You seeCharles throwinghimself headforemost into the trap; youhearBurgundy, inhisanswersbegin to inspirehimwithhisownprejudices,anddrawmelancholypicturesofthemisgovernmentofFrance.ButCharles’sownspiritsaresohighandsoamiable,andheissothoroughlyconvincedhiscousinisafinefellow,thatone’sscruplesarecarriedawayinthetorrentofhishappinessandgratitude.Andhiswouldbeasordidspiritwhowouldnotclaphandsattheconsummation(Nov.1440);whenCharles,afterhavingswornonthe Sacrament that he would never again bear arms against England, andpledgedhimselfbodyandsoul to theunpatriotic faction inhisowncountry,

setoutfromLondonwithalightheartandadamagedintegrity.In the magnificent copy of Charles’s poems, given by our Henry VII. toElizabeth of York on the occasion of their marriage, a large illuminationfiguresattheheadofoneofthepages,which,inchronologicalperspective,isalmost ahistoryofhis imprisonment. ItgivesaviewofLondonwithall itsspires,theriverpassingthroughtheoldbridgeandbusywithboats.Onesideof theWhiteTower has been taken out, andwe can see, as under a sort ofshrine,thepavedroomwherethedukesitswriting.Heoccupiesahigh-backedbenchinfrontofagreatchimney;redandblackinkarebeforehim;andtheupperendoftheapartmentisguardedbymanyhalberdiers,withtheredcrossofEnglandon their breast.On the next side of the tower he appears again,leaningoutofwindowandgazingontheriver;doubtlessthereblowsjustthen“apleasantwind fromout the landofFrance,”andsomeshipcomesup theriver:“theshipofgoodnews.”At thedoorwefindhimyetagain; this timeembracingamessenger,whileagroomstandsbyholdingtwosaddledhorses.Andyetfurthertotheleft,acavalcadedefilesoutofthetower;thedukeisonhiswayatlasttowards“thesunshineofFrance.”

III.

Duringthefive-and-twentyyearsofhiscaptivity,Charleshadnotlostintheesteemofhisfellow-countrymen.Forsoyoungaman,theheadofsogreatahouse,andsonumerousaparty,tobetakenprisonerasherodeinthevanguardofFrance,andstereotypedforallmeninthisheroicattitude,wastotasteuntimeouslythehonoursofthegrave.Ofhim,asofthedead,itwouldbeungeneroustospeakevil;whatlittleenergyhehaddisplayedwouldberememberedwithpiety,whenallthathehaddoneamisswascourteouslyforgotten.AsEnglishfolklookedforArthur;asDanesawaitedthecomingofOgier;asSomersetshirepeasantsorsergeantsoftheOldGuardexpectedthereturnofMonmouthorNapoleon;thecountrymenofCharlesofOrleanslookedoverthestraitstowardshisEnglishprisonwithdesireandconfidence.Eventshadsofallenoutwhilehewasrhymingballades,thathehadbecomethetypeofallthatwasmosttrulypatriotic.TheremnantsofhisoldpartyhadbeenthechiefdefendersoftheunityofFrance.HisenemiesofBurgundyhadbeennotoriouslyfavourersandfurtherersofEnglishdomination.PeopleforgotthathisbrotherstilllaybytheheelsforanunpatriotictreatywithEngland,becauseCharleshimselfhadbeentakenprisonerpatrioticallyfightingagainstit.ThatHenryV.hadleftspecialordersagainsthisliberation,servedtoincreasethewistfulpitywithwhichhewasregarded.Andwhen,indefianceofallcontemporaryvirtue,andagainstexpresspledges,theEnglish

carriedwarintotheirprisoner’sfief,notonlyFrance,butallthinkingmeninChristendom,wererousedtoindignationagainsttheoppressors,andsympathywiththevictim.Itwaslittlewonderifhecametobulksomewhatlargelyintheimaginationofthebestofthoseathome.CharlesleBoutteillier,when(asthestorygoes)heslewClarenceatBeaugé,wasonlyseekinganexchangeforCharlesofOrleans.ItwasoneofJoanofArc’sdeclaredintentionstodeliverthecaptiveduke.Iftherewasnootherway,shemeanttocrosstheseasandbringhimhomebyforce.AndsheprofessedbeforeherjudgesasureknowledgethatCharlesofOrleanswasbelovedofGod.Alas! itwasnotatallasadeliverer thatCharlesreturnedtoFrance.Hewasnearlyfiftyyearsold.Manychangeshadbeenaccomplishedsince,attwenty-three, he was taken on the field of Agincourt. But of all these he wasprofoundly ignorant,orhadonlyheardof themin thediscolouredreportsofPhilipofBurgundy.He had the ideas of a former generation, and sought tocorrect them by the scandal of a factious party.With such qualifications hecame back eager for the domination, the pleasures, and the display thatbefittedhisprincelybirth.Alongdisuseofallpoliticalactivitycombinedwiththeflatteriesofhisnewfriendstofillhimwithanoverweeningconceitofhisowncapacityandinfluence.Ifaughthadgonewronginhisabsence,itseemedquite natural men should look to him for its redress.Was not King Arthurcomeagain?TheDukeofBurgundyreceivedhimwithpolitichonours.He tookhisguestby his foible for pageantry, all the easier as itwas a foible of his own; andCharles walked right out of prison into much the same atmosphere oftrumpeting and bell-ringing as he had left behindwhen hewent in. FifteendaysafterhisdeliverancehewasmarriedtoMaryofCleves,atSt.Omer.Themarriagewascelebratedwith theusualpompof theBurgundiancourt; therewere joustings, and illuminations, and animals that spoutedwine; andmanynobles dined together, comme en brigade, andwere served abundantlywithmanyrichandcuriousdishes.ItmusthaveremindedCharlesnotalittleofhisfirst marriage at Compiègne; only then he was two years the junior of hisbride, and this timehewas five-and-thirtyyearsher senior. Itwill be a finequestionwhichmarriagepromisesmore:foraboyoffifteentoleadoffwithalass of seventeen, or a man of fifty to make a match of it with a child offifteen.But therewas somethingbitter inboth.The lamentationsof Isabellawillnothavebeenforgotten.AsforMary,shetookupwithoneJaquetdelaLain, a sort of muscular Methody of the period, with a huge appetite fortournaments,andahabitofconfessinghimselfthelastthingbeforehewenttobed.Withsuchahero,theyoungduchess’samoursweremostlikelyinnocent;andinallotherwaysshewasasuitablepartnerfortheduke,andwellfittedtoenterintohispleasures.

WhenthefestivitiesatSaintOmerhadcometoanend,CharlesandhiswifesetforthbyGhentandTournay.Thetownsgavehimofferingsofmoneyashepassed through, tohelp in thepaymentofhis ransom.Fromallsides, ladiesandgentlementhrongedtoofferhimtheirservices;somegavehimtheirsonsforpages,somearchersforabodyguard;andbythetimehereachedTournay,hehad a followingof300horse.Everywherehewas received as thoughhehadbeentheKingofFrance.Ifhedidnotcometoimaginehimselfsomethingofthesort,hecertainlyforgottheexistenceofanyonewithabetterclaimtothetitle.HeconductedhimselfonthehypothesisthatCharlesVII.wasanotherCharlesVI.HesignedwithenthusiasmthattreatyofArras,whichleftFrancealmostatthediscretionofBurgundy.OnDecember18hewasstillnofartherthanBruges,whereheenteredintoaprivatetreatywithPhilip;anditwasnotuntilJanuary14,tenweeksafterhedisembarkedinFrance,andattendedbyaruckofBurgundiangentlemen,thathearrivedinParisandofferedtopresenthimself before Charles VII. The king sent word that he might come, if hewould,withasmallretinue,butnotwithhispresentfollowing;andtheduke,whowasmightilyonhishighhorseafteralltheovationshehadreceived,tookthe king’s attitude amiss, and turned aside into Touraine, to receive morewelcomeandmorepresents,andbeconvoyedbytorchlightintofaithfulcities.Andsoyousee,herewasKingArthurhomeagain,andmattersnowisemendedinconsequence.Thebestwecansayis,thatthislaststageofCharles’spubliclifewasofnolongduration.Hisconfidencewassoonknockedoutofhiminthecontactwithothers.Hebegantofindhewasanearthenvesselamongmanyvesselsofbrass;hebegantobeshrewdlyawarethathewasnoKingArthur.In1442,atLimoges,hemadehimselfthespokesmanofthemalcontentnobility.Thekingshowedhimselfhumiliatinglyindifferenttohiscounsels,andhumiliatinglygeneroustowardshisnecessities.Andthere,withsomeblushes,hemaybesaidtohavetakenfarewellofthepoliticalstage.AfeebleattemptonthecountyofAstiisscarceworththenameofexception.ThenceforwardletAmbitionwilewhomshemayintotheturmoilofevents,ourdukewillwalkcannilyinhiswell-orderedgarden,orsitbythefiretotouchtheslenderreed.

IV.

Ifitweregiveneachofustotransplanthislifewhereverhepleasedintimeorspace,withalltheagesandallthecountriesoftheworldtochoosefrom,therewouldbequitean instructivediversityof taste.Acertain sedentarymajoritywouldprefertoremainwheretheywere.ManywouldchoosetheRenaissance;manysomestatelyandsimpleperiodofGrecian life; andstillmoreelect to

passafewyearswanderingamongthevillagesofPalestinewithan inspiredconductor. For some of our quaintly vicious contemporaries, we have thedeclineoftheRomanEmpireandthereignofHenryIII.ofFrance.Butthereare others not quite so vicious, who yet cannot look upon the world withperfectgravity,whohavenevertakenthecategoricalimperativetowife,andhavemore taste forwhat is comfortable than forwhat ismagnanimous andhigh;andIcan imaginesomeof thesecasting their lot in theCourtofBloisduringthelasttwentyyearsofthelifeofCharlesofOrleans.Thedukeandduchess,theirstaffofofficersandladies,andthehigh-bornandlearnedpersonswhowere attracted toBlois on avisit, formeda society forkilling time and perfecting each other in various elegant accomplishments,such as we might imagine for an ideal watering-place in the DelectableMountains. The company hunted and went on pleasure-parties; they playedchess, tables, and many other games.What we now call the history of theperiod passed, I imagine, over the heads of these good people much as itpassesoverourown.Newsreachedthem,indeed,ofgreatandjoyfulimport.WilliamPeel received eight livres and five sous from the duchess,whenhebrought thefirst tidingsthatRouenwasrecapturedfromtheEnglish.Alittlelaterandthedukesang, ina trulypatrioticvein, thedeliveranceofGuyenneandNormandy.Theywereliberalofrhymesandlargesse,andwelcomedtheprosperityoftheircountrymuchastheywelcomedthecomingofspring,andwith nomore thought of collaborating towards the event. Religionwas notforgotten in theCourt ofBlois. Pilgrimageswere agreeable and picturesqueexcursions. In those days a well-served chapel was something like a goodvinery in our own, an opportunity for display and the source of mildenjoyments.Therewasprobablysomethingofhisrooteddelightinpageantry,aswellasagooddealofgentlepiety,inthefeelingswithwhichCharlesgavedinnereveryFridaytothirteenpoorpeople,servedthemhimself,andwashedtheir feetwithhisownhands.Solemnaffairswould interestCharlesandhiscourtiers from their trivial side. The duke perhaps cared less for thedeliverance of Guyenne and Normandy than for his own verses on theoccasion; just asDr.Russell’s correspondence inTheTimeswas among themostmaterialpartsoftheCrimeanWarforthattalentedcorrespondent.AndIthink it scarcely cynical to suppose that religion as well as patriotism wasprincipallycultivatedasameansoffillinguptheday.Itwasnotonlymessengersfieryredwithhasteandchargedwiththedestinyof nations, who were made welcome at the gates of Blois. If any man ofaccomplishmentcamethatway,hewassureofanaudience,andsomethingforhispocket.ThecourtierswouldhavereceivedBenJonsonlikeDrummondofHawthornden,andagoodpugilistlikeCaptainBarclay.Theywerecatholic,asnone but the entirely idle can be catholic. It might be Pierre, called Dieud’amours,thejuggler;oritmightbethreehighEnglishminstrels;orthetwo

men, players of ghitterns, from the kingdom of Scotland, who sang thedestruction of the Turks; or again Jehan Rognelet, player of instruments ofmusic, who played and dancedwith his wife and two children; theywouldeachbecalledintothecastletogiveatasteofhisproficiencybeforemylordthe duke. Sometimes the performance was of a more personal interest, andproducedmuch the same sensations as are felt on an English green on thearrivalofaprofessionalcricketer,orroundanEnglishbilliardtableduringamatchbetweenRobertsandCooke.ThiswaswhenJehanNègre,theLombard,cametoBloisandplayedchessagainstallthesechess-players,andwonmuchmoney frommy lord and his intimates; orwhenBaudetHarenc ofChalonsmadeballadesbeforealltheseballade-makers.Itwill not surprise the reader to learn theywere allmakers of ballades androndels.TowriteversesforMayday,seemstohavebeenasmuchamatterofcourse, as to ride outwith the cavalcade thatwent to gather hawthorn. ThechoiceofValentineswas a standingchallenge, and the courtierspeltedeachother with humorous and sentimental verses as in a literary carnival. If anindecorousadventurebefellourfriendMaistreEstienneleGout,mylordthedukewouldturnitintothefunniestofrondels,alltherhymesbeingthenamesofthecasesofnounsorthemoodsofverbs;andMaistreEstiennewouldmakereply in similar fashion, seeking to prune the story of its more humiliatingepisodes. IfFrédetwas too longaway fromCourt, a rondelwent toupbraidhim;anditwasinarondelthatFrédetwouldexcusehimself.Sometimestwoor three,or asmanyas adozen,would set toworkon the same refrain, thesame idea, or in the same macaronic jargon. Some of the poetasters wereheavy enough; others were not wanting in address; and the duchess herselfwas among those who most excelled. On one occasion eleven competitorsmadeaballadeontheidea,“Idieofthirstbesidethefountain’sedge”(Jemeursdesoifemprèsdelafontaine).Theseelevenballadesstillexist;andoneof themarrests theattention ratherfromthenameoftheauthorthanfromanyspecialmeritinitself.ItpurportstobetheworkofFrançoisVillon;andsofarasaforeignercanjudge(whichisindeedasmallway),itmayverywellbehis.Nay,andifanyonethingismoreprobablethananother,inthegreattabularasa,orunknownland,whichwearefain to call the biography of Villon, it seems probable enough that hemayhavegoneuponavisittoCharlesofOrleans.WhereMasterBaudetHarenc,ofChalons,foundasympathetic,orperhapsaderisiveaudience(forwhocantellnowadaysthedegreeofBaudet’sexcellenceinhisart?),favourwouldnotbewanting for thegreatestballade-makerof all time.Great aswould seem theincongruity,itmayhavepleasedCharlestoownasortofkinshipwithraggedsingers,andwhimsically regardhimselfasoneof theconfraternityofpoets.

Andhewould have other grounds of intimacywithVillon.A room lookinguponWindsorgardens is a differentmatter fromVillon’sdungeon atMéun;yeteachinhisowndegreehadbeentriedinprison.Eachinhisownwayalso,lovedthegoodthingsofthislifeandtheserviceoftheMuses.Butthesamegulf that separated Burns from his Edinburgh patrons would separate thesinger of Bohemia from the rhyming duke. And it is hard to imagine thatVillon’s trainingamongst thieves, loosewomen,andvagabondstudents,hadfitted him tomove in a society of any dignity and courtliness.Ballades areveryadmirable things;andapoet isdoubtlessamost interestingvisitor.Butamong the courtiers of Charles, there would be considerable regard for theproprieties of etiquette; and even a dukewill sometimes have an eye to histeaspoons. Moreover, as a poet, I can conceive he may have disappointedexpectation.ItneedsurprisenobodyifVillon’sballadeonthetheme,“Idieofthirstbesidethefountain’sedge,”wasbutapoorperformance.Hewouldmakebetterversesonthelee-sideofaflagonatthesignofthePommeduPin,thaninacushionedsettleinthehallsofBlois.Charleslikedchangeofplace.Hewasoftennotsomuchtravellingasmakingaprogress;nowtojointhekingforsomegreattournament;nowtovisitKingRené, atTarascon,where he had a study of his own and saw allmanner ofinteresting things—oriental curios, King René painting birds, and, whatparticularlypleasedhim,Triboulet, thedwarf jester,whoseskull-capwasnobiggerthananorange.Sometimesthejourneysweresetaboutonhorsebackinalargeparty,withthefourrierssentforwardtopreparea lodgingat thenextstage. We find almost Gargantuan details of the provision made by theseofficers against the duke’s arrival, of eggs andbutter and bread, cheese andpeasandchickens,pikeandbreamandbarbel,andwinebothwhiteandred.Sometimeshewentbywaterinabarge,playingchessortableswithafriendin the pavilion, or watching other vessels as they went before the wind.Childrenranalongthebank,astheydotothisdayontheCrinanCanal;andwhenCharlesthrewinmoney,theywoulddiveandbringitup.Ashelookedonattheirexploits,Iwonderwhetherthatroomofgoldandsilkandworstedcamebackintohismemory,withthedeviceoflittlechildreninariver,andtheskyfullofbirds?Hewasabitofabook-fancier,andhadviedwithhisbrotherAngoulêmeinbringingbackthelibraryoftheirgrandfatherCharlesV.,whenBedfordputitupforsaleinLondon.Theduchesshadalibraryofherown;andwehearofherborrowingromancesfromladiesinattendanceontheblue-stockingMargaretofScotland.Notonlywerebookscollected,butnewbookswerewrittenatthecourtofBlois.ThewidowofoneJeanFougère,abookbinder,seemstohavedoneanumberofoddcommissionsforthebibliophilouscount.

Sheitwaswhoreceivedthreevellum-skinstobindtheduchess’sBookofHours,andwhowasemployedtoprepareparchmentfortheuseoftheduke’sscribes.AndsheitwaswhoboundinvermilionleatherthegreatmanuscriptofCharles’sownpoems,whichwaspresentedtohimbyhissecretary,AnthonyAstesan,withthetextinonecolumn,andAstesan’sLatinversionintheother.Suchtastes,withthecomingofyears,woulddoubtlesstaketheplaceofmanyothers.WefindinCharles’sversemuchsemi-ironicalregretforotherdays,andresignationtogrowinginfirmities.Hewhohadbeen“nourishedintheschoolsoflove,”nowseesnothingeithertopleaseordispleasehim.Oldagehasimprisonedhimwithindoors,wherehemeanstotakehisease,andletyoungerfellowsbestirthemselvesinlife.Hehadwritten(inearlierdays,wemaypresume)abrightanddefiantlittlepoeminpraiseofsolitude.Iftheywouldbutleavehimalonewithhisownthoughtsandhappyrecollections,hedeclareditwasbeyondthepowerofmelancholytoaffecthim.Butnow,whenhisanimalstrengthhassomuchdeclinedthathesingsthediscomfortsofwinterinsteadoftheinspirationsofspring,andhehasnolongeranyappetiteforlife,heconfessesheiswretchedwhenalone,and,tokeephismindfromgrievousthoughts,hemusthavemanypeoplearoundhim,laughing,talking,andsinging.WhileCharleswasthusfallingintoyears,theorderofthings,ofwhichhewastheoutcomeandornament,wasgrowingoldalongwithhim.Thesemi-royaltyoftheprincesofthebloodwasalreadyathingofthepast;andwhenCharlesVII.wasgathered tohis fathers, anewking reigned inFrance,whoseemedevery way the opposite of royal. Louis XI. had aims that wereincomprehensible,andvirtuesthatwereinconceivabletohiscontemporaries.Buthiscontemporarieswereableenoughtoappreciatehissordidexterior,andhiscruelandtreacherousspirit.TothewholenobilityofFrancehewasafatalandunreasonablephenomenon.AllsuchcourtsasthatofCharlesatBlois,orhis friendRené’s inProvence,would soonbemade impossible; interferencewastheorderoftheday;huntingwasalreadyabolished;andwhoshouldsaywhatwastogonext?Louis,infact,musthaveappearedtoCharlesprimarilyinthelightofakill-joy.Itakeit,whenmissionarieslandinSouthSeaIslandsandlaystrangeembargoonthesimplestthingsinlife,theislanderswillnotbemuchmorepuzzledandirritatedthanCharlesofOrleansat thepolicyof theEleventhLouis.Therewas one thing, I seem to apprehend, that had alwaysparticularlymovedhim;andthatwas,anyproposaltopunishapersonofhisacquaintance.Nomatterwhattreasonhemayhavemadeormeddledwith,anAlençonoranArmagnacwassuretofindCharlesreappearfromprivatelife,anddohisbesttogethimpardoned.Heknewthemquitewell.Hehadmaderondels with them. They were charming people in every way. There mustcertainly be some mistake. Had not he himself made anti-national treaties

almostbeforehewasoutofhisnonage?And for thematterof that,hadnotevery one else done the like? Such are some of the thoughts by which hemight explain to himself his aversion to such extremities; but it was on adeeperbasisthatthefeelingprobablyreposed.Amanofhistempercouldnotfailtobeimpressedatthethoughtofdisastrousrevolutionsinthefortunesofthoseheknew.Hewould feel painfully the tragic contrast,when thosewhohadeverything tomakelifevaluableweredeprivedof life itself.And itwasshocking to the clemencyofhis spirit, that sinners shouldbehurriedbeforetheirjudgewithoutafittingintervalforpenitenceandsatisfaction.Itwasthisfeeling which brought him at last, a poor, purblind blue-bottle of the laterautumn, intocollisionwith “theuniversal spider,”LouisXI.He tookup thedefenceoftheDukeofBrittanyatTours.ButLouiswastheninnohumourtohear Charles’s texts and Latin sentiments; he had his back to the wall, thefutureofFrancewasatstake;andifalltheoldmenintheworldhadcrossedhis path, theywould have had the rough side of his tongue likeCharles ofOrleans.Ihavefoundnowherewhathesaid,butitseemsitwasmonstrouslyto the point, and so rudely conceived that the old duke never recovered theindignity.HegothomeasfarasAmboise,sickened,anddiedtwodaysafter(Jan.4,1465),intheseventy-fourthyearofhisage.Andsoawhiffofpungentprosestoppedtheissueofmelodiousrondelstotheendoftime.

V.

The futility of Charles’s public life was of a piece throughout. He neversucceeded inany singlepurposehe setbeforehim; forhisdeliverance fromEngland, after twenty-five years of failure and at the cost of dignity andconsistency,itwouldberidiculouslyhyperbolicaltotreatasasuccess.Duringthe first part of his life he was the stalking horse of Bernard d’Armagnac;duringthesecond,hewasthepassiveinstrumentofEnglishdiplomatists;andbeforehewaswellenteredonthethird,hehastenedtobecomethedupeandcatspawofBurgundiantreason.Oneachoftheseoccasions,astrongandnotdishonourable personal motive determined his behaviour. In 1407 and thefollowingyears,hehadhisfather’smurderuppermostinhismind.DuringhisEnglishcaptivity, thatthoughtwasdisplacedbyamoreimmediatedesireforhis own liberation. In 1440 a sentiment of gratitude to Philip of Burgundyblindedhimtoallelse,andledhimtobreakwiththetraditionofhispartyandhisownformerlife.Hewasbornagreatvassal,andheconductedhimselflikeaprivategentleman.Hebeganlifeinashowyandbrilliantenoughfashion,bythe light of a petty personal chivalry. He was not without some tincture ofpatriotism;butitwasresolvableintotwoparts:apreferenceforlifeamonghisfellow-countrymen, and a barren point of honour. In England, he could

comforthimselfbythereflectionthat“hehadbeentakenwhileloyallydoinghis devoir,” without anymisgiving as to his conduct in the previous years,when he had prepared the disaster of Agincourt by wasteful feud. Thisunconsciousnessofthelargerinterestsisperhapsmosthappilyexampledoutofhisownmouth.WhenAlençonstoodaccusedofbetrayingNormandyintothehandsoftheEnglish,Charlesmadeaspeechinhisdefence,fromwhichIhavealreadyquotedmorethanonce.Alençon,hesaid,hadprofessedagreatloveandtrusttowardshim;“yetdidhegivenogreatproofthereof,whenhesoughttobetrayNormandy;wherebyhewouldhavemademeloseanestateof10,000 livres a year, and might have occasioned the destruction of thekingdomand of all us Frenchmen.”These are thewords of one,mark you,againstwhomGloucesterwarned the EnglishCouncil because of his “greatsubtilityandcautelousdisposition.”ItisnothardtoexcusetheimpatienceofLouisXI.,ifsuchstuffwasfoistedonhimbywayofpoliticaldeliberation.Thisincapacitytoseethingswithanygreatness,thisobscureandnarrowviewwasfundamentallycharacteristicofthemanaswellasoftheepoch.Itisnotevensostrikinginhispubliclife,wherehefailed,asinhispoems,wherehenotablysucceeded.Forwhereverwemightexpectapoettobeunintelligent,itcertainlywouldnotbeinhispoetry.AndCharles isunintelligenteventhere.Of all authors whom a modern may still read and read over again withpleasure,hehasperhaps the least to say.Hispoemsseem tobear testimonyrather to the fashion of rhyming, which distinguished the age, than to anyspecial vocation in the man himself. Some of them are drawing-roomexercises and the rest seem made by habit. Great writers are struck withsomethinginnatureorsociety,withwhichtheybecomepregnantandlonging;theyarepossessedwithanidea,andcannotbeatpeaceuntiltheyhaveputitoutsideoftheminsomedistinctembodiment.ButwithCharlesliteraturewasanobject rather thanamean;hewasonewho lovedbandyingwords for itsownsake;therigidityofintricatemetricalformsstoodhiminlieuofprecisethought;insteadofcommunicatingtruth,heobservedthelawsofagame;andwhen he had no one to challenge at chess or rackets, he made verses in awageragainsthimself.Fromtheveryidlenessoftheman’smind,andnotfromintensity of feeling, it happens that all his poems are more or lessautobiographical. But they form an autobiography singularly bald anduneventful.Littleisthereinrecordedbesidesentiments.Thoughts,inanytruesense,hehadnonetorecord.AndifwecangatherthathehadbeenaprisonerinEngland,thathehadlivedintheOrleannese,andthathehuntedandwentinpartiesofpleasure,Ibelieveitisaboutasmuchdefiniteexperienceasistobefoundinallthesefivehundredpagesofautobiographicalverse.Doubtless,wefind here and there a complaint on the progress of the infirmities of age.Doubtless,hefeelsthegreatchangeoftheyear,anddistinguisheswinterfromspring; winter as the time of snow and the fireside; spring as the return of

grassandflowers,thetimeofSt.Valentine’sdayandabeatingheart.Andhefeelsloveafterafashion.Againandagain,welearnthatCharlesofOrleansisinlove,andhearhimringthechangesthroughthewholegamutofdaintyandtender sentiment. But there is never a spark of passion; and heaven aloneknowswhether therewas any realwoman in thematter, or thewhole thingwasanexerciseinfancy.Ifthesepoemswereindeedinspiredbysomelivingmistress,onewouldthinkhehadneverseen,neverheard,andnevertouchedher.Thereisnothinginanyoneof thesesonumerouslove-songsto indicatewho or what the lady was.Was she dark or fair, passionate or gentle likehimself,wittyorsimple?Wasitalwaysonewoman?orarethereadozenhereimmortalised incold indistinction?TheoldEnglish translatormentionsgrayeyesinhisversionofoneoftheamorousrondels;sofarasIremember,hewasdrivenbysomeemergencyoftheverse;butintheabsenceofallsharplinesofcharacterandanythingspecific,wefeelforthemomentasortofsurprise,asthough the epithetwere singularly happy and unusual, or as thoughwe hadmade our escape from cloudland into something tangible and sure. Themeasure of Charles’s indifference to all that now preoccupies and excites apoet,isbestgivenbyapositiveexample.If,besidesthecomingofspring,anyoneexternalcircumstancemaybesaidtohavestruckhisimagination,itwasthedespatchof fourriers,whileona journey, toprepare thenight’s lodging.This seems to be his favourite image; it reappears like the upas-tree in theearly work of Coleridge: wemay judge with what childish eyes he lookedupontheworld,ifoneofthesightswhichmostimpressedhimwasthatofamangoingtoorderdinner.Althoughtheyarenotinspiredbyanydeepermotivethanthecommonrunofcontemporaneous drawing-room verses, those of Charles of Orleans areexecuted with inimitable lightness and delicacy of touch. They deal withfloatingandcolourlesssentiments,andthewriterisnevergreatlymoved,buthe seems always genuine.Hemakes no attempt to set off thin conceptionswith amultiplicity of phrases.His ballades are generally thin and scanty ofimport;fortheballadepresentedtoolargeacanvas,andhewaspreoccupiedby technical requirements. But in the rondel he has put himself before allcompetitors by a happy knack and a prevailing distinction ofmanner.He isverymuchmoreofadukeinhisversesthaninhisabsurdandinconsequentialcareer as a statesman; andhowhe showshimself aduke ispreciselyby theabsenceofallpretension,turgidity,oremphasis.Heturnsverses,ashewouldhavecomeintotheking’spresence,withaquietaccomplishmentofgrace.ThéodoredeBanville, theyoungestpoetofa famousgenerationnownearlyextinct, and himself a sure and finished artist, knocked off, in his happiestvein, a few experiments in imitation of Charles of Orleans. I wouldrecommendthesemodernrondelstoallwhocareabouttheoldduke,notonlybecausetheyaredelightfulinthemselves,butbecausetheyserveasacontrast

tothrowintoreliefthepeculiaritiesoftheirmodel.WhendeBanvillerevivesaforgotten formof verse—andhehas alreadyhad thehonour of reviving theballade—hedoesitinthespiritofaworkmanchoosingagoodtoolwhereverhe can find one, and not at all in that of the dilettante,who seeks to renewbygone forms of thought andmake historic forgeries.With the ballade thisseemed natural enough; for in connection with ballades the mind recurs toVillon,andVillonwasalmostmoreofamodernthandeBanvillehimself.Butinthecaseoftherondel,acomparisonischallengedwithCharlesofOrleans,andthedifferencebetweentwoagesandtwoliteraturesisillustratedinafewpoems of thirteen lines. Something, certainly, has been retained of the oldmovement; the refrain falls in time like a well-played bass; and the verybrevityofthething,byhamperingandrestrainingthegreaterfecundityofthemodernmind,assists theimitation.ButdeBanville’spoemsare fullof formandcolour;theysmackracilyofmodernlife,andownsmallkindredwiththeverseofotherdays,whenitseemsasifmenwalkedbytwilight,seeinglittle,and that with distracted eyes, and instead of blood, some thin and spectralfluid circulated in their veins. Theymight gird themselves for battle, makelove,eatanddrink,andacquitthemselvesmanfullyinalltheexternalpartsoflife; but of the life that is within, and those processes by which we renderourselves an intelligent account of what we feel and do, and so representexperience thatwefor thefirst timemakeitours, theyhadonlya looseandtroubledpossession.Theybeheldortookpartingreatevents,buttherewasnoanswerable commotion in their reflective being; and they passed throughoutturbulent epochs ina sortofghostlyquiet andabstraction.Feeling seems tohave been strangely disproportioned to the occasion, and words werelaughably trivial and scanty to set forth the feeling even such as it was.JuvenaldesUrsinschroniclescalamityaftercalamity,withbutonecommentfor them all: that “it was great pity.” Perhaps, after toomuch of our floridliterature,wefindanadventitiouscharminwhatissodifferent;andwhilethebigdrumsarebeateneverydaybyperspiringeditorsoverthelossofacock-boator the rejectionofaclause,andnothing isheard that isnotproclaimedwithsoundof trumpet, it isnotwonderful ifweretirewithpleasure intooldbooks, and listen to authors who speak small and clear, as if in a privateconversation.TrulythisissowithCharlesofOrleans.Wearepleasedtofindasmall man without the buskin, and obvious sentiments stated withoutaffectation.Ifthesentimentsareobvious,thereisallthemorechancewemayhaveexperiencedthelike.Asweturnovertheleaves,wemayfindourselvesinsympathywithsomeoneorotherofthesestaidjoysandsmilingsorrows.Ifwe dowe shall be strangely pleased, for there is a genuine pathos in thesesimplewords, and the lines gowith a lilt, and sing themselves tomusic oftheirown.

SAMUELPEPYS.

IN two books a fresh light has recently been thrown on the character andpositionofSamuelPepys.Mr.MynorsBrighthasgivenusanewtranscriptionoftheDiary,increasingitinbulkbynearathird,correctingmanyerrors,andcompletingourknowledgeof themaninsomecuriousandimportantpoints.Wecanonlyregretthathehastakenlibertieswiththeauthorandthepublic.Itisnopartof thedutiesof theeditorofanestablishedclassic todecidewhatmay ormay not be “tedious to the reader.” The book is either an historicaldocumentornot,andincondemningLordBraybrookeMr.Brightcondemnshimself. As for the time-honoured phrase, “unfit for publication,” withoutbeing cynical, we may regard it as the sign of a precaution more or lesscommercial;andwemaythink,withoutbeingsordid,thatwhenwepurchasesix huge and distressingly expensive volumes, we are entitled to be treatedrathermorelikescholarsandratherlesslikechildren.ButMr.Brightmayrestassured:whilewecomplain,wearestillgrateful.Mr.Wheatley,todivideourobligation, brings together, clearly and with no lost words, a body ofillustrativematerial.Sometimeswemightaskalittlemore;never,Ithink,less.And as a matter of fact, a great part of Mr. Wheatley’s volume might betransferred, by a good editor of Pepys, to the margin of the text, for it ispreciselywhatthereaderwants.In the light of these two books, at least, we have now to read our author.Between them they contain allwe can expect to learn for, itmay be,manyyears.Now,ifeverweshouldbeabletoformsomenotionofthatunparalleledfigure in the annals ofmankind—unparalleled for three good reasons: first,because he was a man known to his contemporaries in a halo of almosthistorical pomp, and to his remote descendantswith an indecent familiarity,likeatap-roomcomrade;second,becausehehasoutstrippedallcompetitorsinthe art or virtue of a conscious honesty about oneself; and, third, because,beinginmanywaysaveryordinaryperson,hehasyetplacedhimselfbeforethepubliceyewithsuchafulnessandsuchanintimacyofdetailasmightbeenviedbyageniuslikeMontaigne.Not thenforhisownsakeonly,butasacharacterinauniqueposition,endowedwithauniquetalent,andsheddingaunique light upon the lives of themass ofmankind, he is surelyworthy ofprolongedandpatientstudy.

THEDIARY.

That there shouldbe suchabookasPepys’sDiary is incomparably strange.

Pepys, in a corrupt and idle period, played theman in public employments,toilinghardandkeepinghishonourbright.MuchofthelittlegoodthatissetdowntoJamestheSecondcomesbyrighttoPepys;andifitwerelittleforaking, it is much for a subordinate. To his clear, capable head was owingsomewhatofthegreatnessofEnglandontheseas.IntheexploitsofHawke,Rodney, or Nelson, this dead Mr. Pepys of the Navy Office had someconsiderableshare.He stoodwellbyhisbusiness in theappallingplagueof1666.He was loved and respected by some of the best and wisest men inEngland.HewasPresident of theRoyal Society; andwhen he came to die,people said of his conduct in that solemn hour—thinking it needless to saymore—that itwasanswerable to thegreatnessofhis life.Thushewalked indignity, guards of soldiers sometimes attending him in hiswalks, subalternsbowing before his periwig; and when he uttered his thoughts they weresuitabletohisstateandservices.OnFebruary8,1668,wefindhimwritingtoEvelyn,hismindbitterlyoccupiedwiththelateDutchwar,andsomethoughtsof thedifferent storyof the repulse of theGreatArmada: “Sir, youwill notwonder at the backwardness ofmy thanks for the present youmademe, somany days since, of the Prospect of theMedway,while theHollander rodemaster in it, when I have told you that the sight of it hath ledme to suchreflectionsonmyparticularinterest,bymyemployment,inthereproachduetothatmiscarriage,ashavegivenmelittlelessdisquietthanheisfanciedtohavewhofoundhisfaceinMichaelAngelo’shell.Thesameshouldservemealsoinexcuseformysilenceincelebratingyourmasteryshowninthedesignand draught, did not indignation rather than courtship urge me so far tocommendthem,astowishthefurnitureofourHouseofLordschangedfromthestoryof’88 to thatof ’67(ofEvelyn’sdesigning), till thepravityof thiswere reformed to the temper of that age, wherein GodAlmighty found hisblessingsmoreoperativethan,Ifear,hedothinourshisjudgments.”This is a letter honourable to thewriter,where themeaning rather than thewords is eloquent. Such was the account he gave of himself to hiscontemporaries;suchthoughtshechosetoutter,andinsuchlanguage:givinghimselfoutforagraveandpatrioticpublicservant.WeturntothesamedateintheDiarybywhichheisknown,aftertwocenturies,tohisdescendants.Theentry begins in the same key with the letter, blaming the “madness of theHouse ofCommons” and “the base proceedings, just the epitome of all ourpublicproceedingsinthisage,oftheHouseofLords;”andthen,withouttheleast transition, this is how our diarist proceeds: “To the Strand, to mybookseller’s, and thereboughtan idle, rogueishFrenchbook,L’escholledesFilles,whichIhaveboughtinplainbinding,avoidingthebuyingofitbetterbound,becauseIresolve,assoonasIhavereadit,toburnit,thatitmaynotstand in the listofbooks,noramong them, todisgrace them, if it shouldbefound.” Even in our day, when responsibility is so much more clearly

apprehended,themanwhowrotetheletterwouldbenotable;butwhatabouttheman, Idonot saywhoboughta roguishbook,butwhowasashamedofdoingso,yetdidit,andrecordedboththedoingandtheshameinthepagesofhisdailyjournal?Weall,whetherwewriteorspeak,mustsomewhatdrapeourselveswhenweaddressourfellows;atagivenmomentweapprehendourcharacterandactsbysomeparticularside;wearemerrywithone,gravewithanother,asbefitsthenatureanddemandsof the relation.Pepys’s letter toEvelynwouldhavelittle in commonwith that other one toMrs.Knippwhich he signed by thepseudonymofDapperDicky;yet eachwouldbe suitable to thecharacterofhiscorrespondent.Thereisnountruthinthis,forman,beingaProteananimal,swiftly shares and changes with his company and surroundings; and thesechangesare thebetterpartofhiseducation in theworld.Tostrikeapostureonce for all, and to march through life like a drum-major, is to be highlydisagreeabletoothersandafoolforoneselfintothebargain.ToEvelynandtoKnippwe understand the double facing; but towhomwas he posing in theDiary,andwhat,inthenameofastonishment,wasthenatureofthepose?Hadhesuppressedallmentionofthebook,orhadheboughtit,gloriedintheact,andcheerfullyrecordedhisglorification,ineithercaseweshouldhavemadehim out. But no; he is full of precautions to conceal the “disgrace” of thepurchase,andyetspeeds tochronicle thewholeaffair inpenand ink. It isasortofanomalyinhumanaction,whichwecanexactlyparallelfromanotherpartoftheDiary.Mrs.Pepyshadwrittenapaperofhertoojustcomplaintsagainstherhusband,andwritten it inplainandverypungentEnglish.Pepys, inanagonylest theworld should come to see it, brutally seizes and destroys the tell-taledocument; and then—youdisbelieveyour eyes—downgoes thewhole storywithunsparingtruthandinthecruellestdetail.Itseemshehasnodesignbuttoappearrespectable,andherehekeepsaprivatebooktoprovehewasnot.You are at first faintly reminded of some of the vagaries of the morbidreligiousdiarist;butat amoment’s thought the resemblancedisappears.Thedesign of Pepys is not at all to edify; it is not from repentance that hechronicleshispeccadilloes,forhetellsuswhenhedoesrepent,and,tobejusttohim,thereoftenfollowssomeimprovement.Again,thesinsofthereligiousdiaristareofaveryformalpattern,andaretoldwithanelaboratewhine.ButinPepysyoucomeupongood,substantivemisdemeanours;beamsinhiseyeof which he alone remains unconscious; healthy outbreaks of the animalnature,andlaughablesubterfugestohimselfthatalwayscommandbeliefandoftenengagethesympathies.Pepys was a youngman for his age, came slowly to himself in the world,sowedhiswildoats late, tooklate to industry,andpreservedtillnearlyforty

the headlong gusto of a boy. So, to come rightly at the spirit in which theDiarywaswritten,wemustrecallaclassofsentimentswhichwithmostofusare over and done before the age of twelve. In our tender years we stillpreserve a freshness of surprise at our prolonged existence; eventsmake animpression out of all proportion to their consequence; we are unspeakablytouched by our own past adventures, and look forward to our futurepersonality with sentimental interest. It was something of this, I think, thatclung to Pepys. Although not sentimental in the abstract, he was sweetlysentimentalabouthimself.Hisownpastclungabouthisheart,anevergreen.Hewastheslaveofanassociation.HecouldnotpassbyIslington,wherehisfather used to carry him to cakes and ale, but hemust light at the “King’sHead”andeatanddrink“forremembranceoftheoldhousesake.”Hecounteditgood fortune to lieanightatEpsomto renewhisoldwalks,“whereMrs.HelyandIdidusetowalkandtalk,withwhomIhadthefirstsentimentsoflove and pleasure in a woman’s company, discourse and taking her by thehand,shebeingaprettywoman.”Hegoesaboutweighingup theAssurance,which laynearWoolwichunderwater,andcries inaparenthesis,“Poorship,that I have been twice merry in, in Captain Holland’s time;” and afterrevisiting theNaseby, nowchanged into theCharles, he confesses “itwas agreatpleasuretomyselftoseetheshipthatIbeganmygoodfortunein.”Thestone thathewascut forhepreserved ina case; and to theTurnershekeptalivesuchgratitudefortheirassistancethatforyears,andafterhehadbeguntomounthimselfintohigherzones,hecontinuedtohavethatfamilytodinneron the anniversary of the operation. Not Hazlitt nor Rousseau had a moreromanticpassionfor theirpast,althoughat timestheymightexpress itmoreromantically; and if Pepys sharedwith them this childish fondness, did notRousseau, who left behind him theConfessions, or Hazlitt, who wrote theLiberAmoris, and loaded his essayswith loving personal detail, sharewithPepysinhisunweariedegotism?Forthetwothingsgohandinhand;or,tobemoreexact,itisthefirstthatmakesthesecondeitherpossibleorpleasing.But, to be quite in sympathywith Pepys, wemust return oncemore to theexperienceofchildren.Icanremembertohavewritten,inthefly-leafofmorethanonebook,thedateandtheplacewhereIthenwas—if,forinstance,Iwasillinbedorsittinginacertaingarden;thesewerejottingsformyfutureself;ifIshouldchanceonsuchanote inafteryears, I thought itwouldcausemeaparticular thrill torecognisemyselfacrosstheinterveningdistance.Indeed, Imightcomeuponthemnow,andnotbemovedonetittle—whichshowsthatIhavecomparativelyfailedinlife,andgrownolderthanSamuelPepys.ForintheDiarywecanfindmorethanonesuchnoteofperfectchildishegotism;aswhen he explains that his candle is going out, “whichmakesmewrite thusslobberingly;”orasinthisincredibleparticularity,“Tomystudy,whereIonlywrotethusmuchofthisday’spassagestothis*,andsooutagain;”orlastly,as

here,withmoreofcircumstance:“Istaiduptillthebellmancamebywithhisbellundermywindow,asIwaswritingofthisveryline,andcried,‘Pastoneoftheclock,andacold,frosty,windymorning.’”Suchpassagesarenottobemisunderstood.TheappealtoSamuelPepysyearshenceisunmistakable.Hedesires that dear, though unknown, gentleman keenly to realise hispredecessor;torememberwhyapassagewasuncleanlywritten;torecall(letus fancy,witha sigh) the tonesof thebellman, thechillof theearly,windymorning,andtheverylinehisownromanticselfwasscribingatthemoment.Theman,youwillperceive,wasmakingreminiscences—asortofpleasurebyricochet, which comforts many in distress, and turns some others intosentimental libertines: and thewhole book, if youwill but look at it in thatway,isseentobeaworkofarttoPepys’sownaddress.Here, then, we have the key to that remarkable attitude preserved by himthroughouthisDiary,tothatunflinching—Ihadalmostsaid,thatunintelligent—sincerity which makes it a miracle among human books. He was notunconsciousofhiserrors—farfromit;hewasoftenstartledintoshame,oftenreformed,oftenmadeandbrokehisvowsofchange.Butwhetherhedidillorwell,hewasstillhisownunequalledself; still thatentrancingegoofwhomalonehecaredtowrite;andstillsureofhisownaffectionateindulgence,whenthepartsshouldbechanged,andtheWritercometoreadwhathehadwritten.Whateverhedid,orsaid,orthought,orsuffered,itwasstillatraitofPepys,acharacterofhiscareer;andas,tohimself,hewasmoreinterestingthanMosesorthanAlexander,soallshouldbefaithfullysetdown.IhavecalledhisDiaryaworkofart.Nowwhentheartisthasfoundsomething,wordordeed,exactlyproper toa favouritecharacter inplayornovel,hewillneithersuppressnordiminish it, though the remark be silly or the act mean. The hesitation ofHamlet, the credulity of Othello, the baseness of Emma Bovary, or theirregularities ofMr. Swiveller, caused neither disappointment nor disgust totheir creators. And so with Pepys and his adored protagonist: adored notblindly,butwithtrenchantinsightandenduring,humantoleration.IhavegoneoverandoverthegreaterpartoftheDiary;andthepointswhere,tothemostsuspicious scrutiny, he has seemed not perfectly sincere, are so few, sodoubtful,andsopetty,thatIamashamedtonamethem.Itmaybesaidthatweallofuswritesuchadiaryinairycharactersuponourbrain;butIfearthereisa distinction to be made; I fear that as we render to our consciousness anaccountofourdaily fortunesandbehaviour,we toooftenweavea tissueofromanticcomplimentsanddullexcuses;andeven ifPepyswere theassandcowardthatmencallhim,wemusttakerankassillierandmorecowardlythanhe.Thebaldtruthaboutoneself,whatwearealltootimidtoadmitwhenweare not too dull to see it, that was what he saw clearly and set downunsparingly.It is improbable that theDiary can have been carried on in the same single

spirit inwhich it was begun. Pepyswas not such an ass, but hemust haveperceived, as he went on, the extraordinary nature of the work he wasproducing.Hewasagreatreader,andheknewwhatotherbookswerelike.Itmust,atleast,havecrossedhismindthatsomeonemightultimatelydecipherthe manuscript, and he himself, with all his pains and pleasures, beresuscitated in some later day; and the thought, although discouraged,musthavewarmed his heart.Hewas not such an ass, besides, but hemust havebeenconsciousofthedeadlyexplosives,thegun-cottonandthegiantpowder,hewashoardinginhisdrawer.Letsomecontemporarylightuponthejournal,andPepyswasplungedforeverinsocialandpoliticaldisgrace.Wecantracethegrowthofhisterrorsbytwofacts.In1660,whiletheDiarywasstillinitsyouth,hetellsaboutit,asamatterofcourse,toalieutenantinthenavy;butin1669,whenitwasalreadynearanend,hecouldhavebittenhistongueout,asthesayingis,becausehehadletsliphissecrettoonesograveandfriendlyasSirWilliamCoventry.AndfromtwootherfactsIthinkwemayinferthathehadentertained,evenifhehadnotacquiescedin,thethoughtofafar-distantpublicity.Thefirstisofcapitalimportance:theDiarywasnotdestroyed.Thesecond—thathetookunusualprecautionstoconfoundthecipherin“rogueish”passages—proves,beyondquestion,thathewasthinkingofsomeotherreaderbesideshimself.Perhapswhilehisfriendswereadmiringthe“greatnessofhisbehaviour” at the approach of death, hemay have had a twinkling hope ofimmortality.Menscujusque isestquisque,saidhischosenmotto;and,ashehadstampedhismindwitheverycrookandfoibleinthepagesoftheDiary,hemightfeelthatwhatheleftbehindhimwasindeedhimself.Thereisperhapsno other instance so remarkable of the desire of man for publicity and anenduring name. The greatness of his life was open, yet he longed tocommunicateitssmallnessalso;and,whilecontemporariesbowedbeforehim,hemust buttonhole posteritywith the news that his periwigwas once alivewithnits.Butthisthought,althoughIcannotdoubthehadit,wasneitherhisfirstnorhisdeepest;itdidnotcolouronewordthathewrote;andtheDiary,for as long as he kept it, remained what it was when he began, a privatepleasure for himself. It was his bosom secret; it added a zest to all hispleasures; he lived in and for it, andmightwell write these solemnwords,whenheclosedthatconfidantforever:“AndsoIbetakemyselftothatcoursewhichisalmostasmuchastoseemyselfgointothegrave;forwhich,andallthe discomforts thatwill accompanymy being blind, the goodGod prepareme.”

ALIBERALGENIUS.

Pepys spent part of a certain winter Sunday, when he had taken physic,

composing“asonginpraiseofaliberalgenius(suchasItakemyowntobe)toallstudiesandpleasures.”Thesongwasunsuccessful,buttheDiaryis,inasense, the very song that he was seeking; and his portrait by Hales, soadmirably reproduced in Mynors Bright’s edition, is a confirmation of theDiary.Hales,itwouldappear,hadknownhisbusiness;andthoughheputhissittertoadealoftrouble,almostbreakinghisneck“tohavetheportraitfullofshadows,”anddrapinghiminanIndiangownhiredexpresslyforthepurpose,he was preoccupied about nomerely picturesque effects, but to portray theessenceoftheman.WhetherwereadthepicturebytheDiaryortheDiarybythepicture,weshallatleastagreethatHaleswasamongthenumberofthosewhocan“surprise themanners in theface.”Herewehaveamouthpouting,moistwith desires; eyes greedy, protuberant, and yet apt forweeping too; anose great alike in character and dimensions; and altogether amost fleshly,melting countenance. The face is attractive by its promise of reciprocity. Ihaveusedthewordgreedy,butthereadermustnotsupposethathecanchangeit for that closely kindred one of hungry, for there is here no aspiration, nowaitingforbetterthings,butananimaljoyinallthatcomes.Itcouldneverbethe faceofanartist; it is the faceofaviveur—kindly,pleasedandpleasing,protectedfromexcessandupheldincontentmentbytheshiftingversatilityofhisdesires.Forasingledesireismorerightlytobecalledalust;butthereishealthinavariety,whereonemaybalanceandcontrolanother.The whole world, town or country, was to Pepys a garden of Armida.Wherever hewent, his stepswerewingedwith themost eager expectation;whatever he did, it was done with the most lively pleasure. An insatiablecuriosityinalltheshowsoftheworldandallthesecretsofknowledge,filledhimbrimfulof thelongingtotravel,andsupportedhiminthetoilsofstudy.Romewas thedreamofhis life;hewasneverhappier thanwhenhereadortalkedoftheEternalCity.WhenhewasinHolland,hewas“withchild”toseeany strange thing.Meeting some friends and singingwith them in a palaceneartheHague,hispenfailshimtoexpresshispassionofdelight,“themoresobecause inaheavenofpleasureand inastrangecountry.”Hemustgo toseeallfamousexecutions.Hemustneedsvisit thebodyofamurderedman,defaced“withabroadwound,”he says, “thatmakesmyhandnowshake towriteofit.”Helearnedtodance,andwas“liketomakeadancer.”Helearnedto sing, andwalked aboutGray’s Inn Fields “humming tomyself (which isnowmyconstantpractice)thetrillo.”Helearnedtoplaythelute,theflute,theflageolet,andthetheorbo,anditwasnotthefaultofhisintentionifhedidnotlearntheharpsichordorthespinet.Helearnedtocomposesongs,andburnedtogiveforth“aschemeandtheoryofmusicnotyetevermadeintheworld.”Whenheheard“afellowwhistlelikeabirdexceedingwell,”hepromisedtoreturnanotherdayandgiveanangelforalessonintheart.Once,hewrites,“ItooktheBezanbackwithme,andwithabravegaleandtidereachedupthat

night to theHope, takinggreat pleasure in learning the seamen’smanner ofsingingwhen they sound thedepths.” If he foundhimself rusty in hisLatingrammar,hemustfalltoitlikeaschoolboy.HewasamemberofHarrington’sClub till its dissolution, andof theRoyalSociety before it had received thename.Boyle’sHydrostaticswas“ofinfinitedelight”tohim,walkinginBarnesElms. We find him comparing Bible concordances, a captious judge ofsermons, deep in Descartes and Aristotle. We find him, in a single year,studying timber and themeasurement of timber; tar and oil, hemp, and theprocess of preparing cordage;mathematics and accounting; the hull and therigging of ships from a model; and “looking and improving himself of the(naval)storeswith”—harktothefellow!—“greatdelight.”HisfamiliarspiritofdelightwasnotthesamewithShelley’s;buthowtrueitwastohimthroughlife!He is only copying something, and behold, he “takes great pleasure torulethelines,andhavethecapitalwordswrotewithredink;”hehasonlyhadhis coal-cellar emptied and cleaned, and behold, “it do please himexceedingly.”Ahog’sharslett is “apieceofmeathe loves.”Hecannot ridehome in my Lord Sandwich’s coach, but he must exclaim, with breathlessgusto, “his noble, rich coach.” When he is bound for a supper party, heanticipates a “glut of pleasure.” When he has a new watch, “to see mychildishness,”sayshe,“Icouldnotforbearcarryingitinmyhandandseeingwhato’clock itwas anhundred times.”Togo toVauxhall, he says, and “tohearthenightingalesandotherbirds,hearfiddles,andthereaharpandhereaJew’s trump, and here laughing, and there fine people walking, is mightydivertising.”Andthenightingales,Itakeit,wereparticularlydeartohim;anditwasagain“withgreatpleasure”thathepausedtohearthemashewalkedtoWoolwich,whilethefogwasrisingandtheAprilsunbrokethrough.He must always be doing something agreeable, and, by preference, twoagreeablethingsatonce.Inhishousehehadaboxofcarpenter’s tools, twodogs,aneagle,acanary,andablackbirdthatwhistledtunes,lest,eveninthatfulllife,heshouldchanceuponanemptymoment.Ifhehadtowaitforadishof poached eggs, he must put in the time by playing on the flageolet; if asermonweredull,hemustreadinthebookofTobitordiverthismindwithslyadvancesonthenearestwomen.Whenhewalked, itmustbewithabookinhispocket tobeguile theway in case thenightingaleswere silent; andevenalong the streets of London, with somany pretty faces to be spied for anddignitaries to be saluted, his trail was marked by little debts “for wine,pictures,etc.,”thetrueheadmarkofalifeintolerantofanyjoylesspassage.Hehadakindofidealisminpleasure;liketheprincessinthefairystory,hewasconsciousofarose-leafoutofplace.Dearlyashelovedtotalk,hecouldnotenjoynorshineinaconversationwhenhethoughthimselfunsuitablydressed.Dearlyashelovedeating,he“knewnothowtoeatalone;”pleasureforhimmustheightenpleasure;and theeyeandearmustbeflattered like thepalate

ereheavowhimselfcontent.Hehadnozestinagooddinnerwhenitfelltobeeaten “in a bad street and in a periwig-maker’s house;” and a collationwasspoiledforhimby indifferentmusic.Hisbodywas indefatigable,doinghimyeoman’sserviceinthisbreathlesschaseofpleasures.OnApril11,1662,hementionsthathewent tobed“weary,whichIseldomam;”andalreadyoverthirty, he would sit up all night cheerfully to see a comet. But it is neverpleasurethatexhauststhepleasure-seeker;forinthatcareer,asinallothers,itis failure thatkills.Themanwhoenjoyssowhollyandbearsso impatientlythe slightestwidowhood from joy, is just theman to loseanight’s restoversomepaltryquestionofhisrighttofiddleontheleads,ortobe“vexedtotheblood”byasolecisminhiswife’sattire;andwefindinconsequencethathewasalwayspeevishwhenhewashungry, and thathishead“akedmightily”afteradispute.Butnothingcoulddiverthimfromhisaiminlife;hisremedyincarewasthesameashisdelightinprosperity;itwaswithpleasure,andwithpleasureonly,thathesoughttodriveoutsorrow;and,whetherhewasjealousof his wife or skulking from a bailiff, he would equally take refuge in thetheatre. There, if the house be full and the company noble, if the songs betunable, theactorsperfect,andtheplaydiverting, thisoddheroofthesecretDiary,thisprivateself-adorer,willspeedilybehealedofhisdistresses.Equallypleasedwithawatch,acoach,apieceofmeat,atuneuponthefiddle,orafactinhydrostatics,Pepyswaspleasedyetmorebythebeauty,theworth,themirth,orthemerescenicattitudeinlifeofhisfellow-creatures.Heshowshimself throughoutasterlinghumanist.Indeed,hewho loveshimself,not inidlevanity,butwithaplenitudeofknowledge, is thebestequippedofall tolovehisneighbours.Andperhapsitisinthissensethatcharitymaybemostproperlysaidtobeginathome.Itdoesnotmatterwhatqualityapersonhas:Pepyscanappreciateandlovehimforit.He“fillshiseyes”withthebeautyofLadyCastlemaine;indeed,hemaybesaidtodoteuponthethoughtofherforyears;ifawomanbegood-lookingandnotpainted,hewillwalkmilestohaveanother sight of her; and even when a lady by a mischance spat upon hisclothes, he was immediately consoled when he had observed that she waspretty.But,ontheotherhand,heisdelightedtoseeMrs.Pettuponherknees,and speaks thus of his Aunt James: “a poor, religious, well-meaning, goodsoul, talkingofnothingbutGodAlmighty,andthatwithsomuchinnocencethatmightilypleasedme.”HeistakenwithPen’smerrimentandloosesongs,but not less taken with the sterling worth of Coventry. He is jolly with adrunken sailor, but listens with interest and patience, as he rides the Essexroads, to the story of aQuaker’s spiritual trials and convictions.He lends acriticaleartothediscourseofkingsandroyaldukes.HespendsaneveningatVauxhallwith“KilligrewandyoungNewport—loosecompany,”sayshe,“butworthaman’sbeinginforonce,toknowthenatureofit,andtheirmanneroftalkandlives.”Andwhenarag-boylightshimhome,heexamineshimabout

hisbusinessandotherwaysoflivelihoodfordestitutechildren.Thisisalmosthalf-waytothebeginningofphilanthropy;haditonlybeenthefashion,asitisatpresent,Pepyshadperhapsbeenaman famous forgooddeeds.And it isthroughthisqualitythatherises,attimes,superiortohissurprisingegotism;hisinterestintheloveaffairsofothersis,indeed,impersonal;heisfilledwithconcern formyLadyCastlemaine,whomheonlyknowsby sight, shares inher very jealousies, joys with her in her successes; and it is not untrue,however strange it seems in his abrupt presentment, that he loved hismaidJanebecauseshewasinlovewithhismanTom.Let us hear him, for once, at length: “So the women andW. Hewer and IwalkedupontheDownes,whereaflockofsheepwas;andthemostpleasantand innocent sight that ever I saw inmy life.We found a shepherd and hislittleboyreading,farfromanyhousesorsightofpeople,theBibletohim;soImadetheboyreadtome,whichhedidwiththeforcedtonethatchildrendousuallyread,thatwasmightypretty;andthenIdidgivehimsomething,andwenttothefather,andtalkedwithhim.Hedidcontenthimselfmightilyinmylikinghisboy’sreading,anddidblessGodforhim,themost likeoneof theoldpatriarchsthateverIsawinmylife,anditbroughtthosethoughtsoftheoldageoftheworldinmymindfortwoorthreedaysafter.Wetooknoticeofhiswoolenknit stockingsof twocoloursmixed, andofhis shoes shodwithiron, both at the toe and heels, andwith great nails in the soles of his feet,which was mighty pretty; and taking notice of them, ‘Why,’ says the poorman, ‘the downes, you see, are full of stones, and we are faine to shoeourselves thus; and these,’ says he, ‘will make the stones fly till they ringbefore me.’ I did give the poor man something, for which he was mightythankful,and I tried tocast stoneswithhishornecrooke.Hevalueshisdogmightily,thatwouldturnasheepanywaywhichhewouldhavehim,whenhegoestofoldthem;toldmetherewasabouteighteenscoresheepinhisflock,andthathehathfourshillingsaweektheyearroundforkeepingofthem;andMrs. Turner, in the common fields here, did gather one of the prettiestnosegaysthateverIsawinmylife.”Andsothestoryramblesontotheendofthatday’spleasuring;withcupsofmilk, andglowworms, andpeoplewalkingat sundownwith theirwives andchildren, and all theway home Pepys still dreaming “of the old age of theworld”andtheearlyinnocenceofman.Thiswashowhewalkedthroughlife,hiseyesandearswideopen,andhishand,youwillobserve,notshut;andthushe observed the lives, the speech, and themanners of his fellow-men,withprosefidelityofdetailandyetalingeringglamourofromance.Itwas“twoorthreedaysafter”thatheextendedthispassageinthepagesofhisjournal,andthestylehasthusthebenefitofsomereflection.Itisgenerallysupposedthat,asawriter,Pepysmustrankatthebottomofthescaleofmerit.

Butastylewhich is indefatigably lively, telling,andpicturesque throughsixlargevolumesofeverydayexperience,whichdealswiththewholematterofalife, and yet is rarelywearisome,which condescends to themost fastidiousparticulars,andyetsweepsallawayintheforthrightcurrentofthenarrative,—such a style may be ungrammatical, it may be inelegant, it may be onetissueofmistakes,butitcanneverbedevoidofmerit.Thefirstandthetruefunctionofthewriterhasbeenthoroughlyperformedthroughout;andthoughthemannerofhisutterancemaybechildishlyawkward, thematterhasbeentransformedandassimilatedbyhisunfeigned interestanddelight.Thegustoofthemanspeaksoutfierilyafteralltheseyears.ForthedifferencebetweenPepys andShelley, to return to that half-whimsical approximation, is oneofqualitybutnotoneofdegree;inhissphere,Pepysfeltaskeenly,andhisisthetrue prose of poetry—prose because the spirit of the man was narrow andearthly,butpoetrybecausehewasdelightedlyalive.Hence,insuchapassageasthisabouttheEpsomshepherd,theresultuponthereader’smindisentireconviction and unmingled pleasure. So, you feel, the thing fell out, nototherwise; and you would no more change it than you would change asublimity of Shakespeare’s, a homely touch of Bunyan’s, or a favouredreminiscenceofyourown.Thereneverwasamannearerbeinganartist,whoyetwasnotone.Thetangwasin thefamily;whilehewaswritingthe journalforourenjoyment inhiscomely house in Navy Gardens, no fewer than two of his cousins weretramping thefens,kitunderarm, tomakemusic to thecountrygirls.Buthehimself, thoughhecouldplaysomany instrumentsandpass judgment in somanyfieldsofart,remainedanamateur.Itisnotgiventoanyonesokeenlytoenjoy, without some greater power to understand. That he did not likeShakespeareasanartistforthestagemaybeafault,butitisnotwithouteitherparallelorexcuse.Hecertainlyadmiredhimasapoet;hewasthefirstbeyondmereactorsontherollsofthatinnumerablearmywhohavegot“Tobeornottobe”byheart.Norwashecontentwiththat;ithauntedhismind;hequotedittohimselfinthepagesoftheDiary,and,rushinginwhereangelsfeartotread,hesetittomusic.Nothing,indeed,ismorenotablethantheheroicqualityofthe verses that our little sensualist in a periwig chose out tomarrywith hisown mortal strains. Some gust from brave Elizabethan times must havewarmedhisspirit,ashesat tuninghis sublime theorbo.“Tobeornot tobe.Whether ’tis nobler”—“Beauty retire, thou dost my pity move”—“It isdecreed, nor shall thy fate, O Rome;”—open and dignified in the sound,variousandmajestic in thesentiment, itwasno inapt,as itwascertainlynotimid,spiritthatselectedsucharangeofthemes.Of“GazenotonSwans,”Iknownomorethanthesefourwords;yet thatalsoseemstopromisewell. Itwas, however, on a probable suspicion, the work of his master, Mr.Berkenshaw—asthedrawingsthatfigureatthebreakingupofayoungladies’

seminary are the work of the professor attached to the establishment. Mr.Berkenshawwasnotaltogetherhappyinhispupil.Theamateurcannotusuallyrise into theartist, some leavenof theworldstillclogginghim;andwefindPepysbehavinglikeapickthankto themanwhotaughthimcomposition.Inrelation to the stage,whichhe sowarmly lovedandunderstood,hewasnotonlymore hearty, butmore generous to others.Thus he encountersColonelReames,“aman,”sayshe,“whounderstandsandlovesaplayaswellasI,andIlovehimforit.”Andagain,whenheandhiswifehadseenamostridiculousinsipidpiece,“Gladwewere,”hewrites,“thatBettertonhadnopartinit.”Itis by such a zeal and loyalty to those who labour for his delight that theamateur growsworthyof the artist.And it should be kept inmind that, notonly inart,but inmorals,Pepysrejoiced torecognisehisbetters.Therewasnotonespeckofenvyinthewholehuman-heartedegotist.

RESPECTABILITY.

Whenwritersinveighagainstrespectability,inthepresentdegradedmeaningof the word, they are usually suspected of a taste for clay pipes and beercellars;andtheirperformancesarethoughttohailfromtheOwl’sNestofthecomedy.Theyhavesomethingmore,however,intheireyethanthedulnessofaroundmilliondinnerpartiesthatsitdownyearlyinoldEngland.For todoanythingbecauseothersdo it,andnotbecause the thing isgood,orkind,orhonest in its own right, is to resign all moral control and captaincy uponyourself,andgopost-hastetothedevilwiththegreaternumber.Wesmileovertheascendencyofpriests;butIhadratherfollowapriestthanwhattheycallthe leaders of society. No life can better than that of Pepys illustrate thedangersof this respectable theoryof living.Forwhatcanbemoreuntowardthantheoccurrence,atacriticalperiodandwhilethehabitsarestillpliable,ofsucha sweeping transformationas the returnofCharles theSecond?RoundwentthewholefleetofEnglandontheothertack;andwhileafewtallpintas,MiltonorPen, still saileda lonelycourseby the starsand theirownprivatecompass, thecock-boat,Pepys,mustgoaboutwith themajorityamong“thestupidstarersandtheloudhuzzas.”Therespectablearenotledsomuchbyanydesireofapplauseasbyapositiveneed for countenance.Theweaker and the tamer theman, themorewill herequirethissupport;andanypositivequalityrelieveshim,byjustsomuch,ofthis dependence. In a dozenways, Pepyswas quite strong enough to pleasehimself without regard for others; but his positive qualities were not co-extensivewiththefieldofconduct;andinmanypartsoflifehefollowed,withgleeful precision, in the footprints of the contemporary Mrs. Grundy. In

morals,particularly,he livedby thecountenanceofothers; feltaslightfromanothermorekeenlythanameannessinhimself;andthenfirstrepentedwhenhewasfoundout.Youcouldtalkofreligionormoralitytosuchaman;andbytheartistsideofhim,byhislivelysympathyandapprehension,hecouldrise,asitweredramatically,tothesignificanceofwhatyousaid.Allthatmatterinreligion which has been nicknamed other-worldliness was strictly in hisgamut; but a rule of life that shouldmake aman rudely virtuous, followingright ingood report and ill report,was foolishnessanda stumbling-block toPepys.He was much thrown across the Friends; and nothing can be moreinstructivethanhisattitudetowardsthesemostinterestingpeopleofthatage.Ihavementionedhowhe conversedwith one as he rode;whenhe saw somebroughtfromameetingunderarrest,“IwouldtoGod,”saidhe,“theywouldeitherconform,orbemorewiseandnotbecatched;”andtoaQuakerinhisownofficeheextendedatimidthougheffectualprotection.Meanwhile therewasgrowingupnextdoortohimthatbeautifulnatureWilliamPen.ItisoddthatPepyscondemnedhim for a fop;odd, thoughnatural enoughwhenyouseePen’sportrait,thatPepyswasjealousofhimwithhiswife.Butthecreamof thestory iswhenPenpublisheshisSandyFoundationShaken,andPepyshasitreadaloudbyhiswife.“Ifindit,”hesays,“sowellwritas,Ithink,itistoogoodforhimevertohavewritit;anditisaserioussortofbook,andnotfitforeverybodytoread.”Nothingismoregallingtothemerelyrespectablethan to be brought in contact with religious ardour. Pepys had his ownfoundation,sandyenough,butdeartohimfrompracticalconsiderations,andhewouldreadthebookwithtrueuneasinessofspirit;forconceivetheblowif,bysomeplaguyaccident,thisPenweretoconverthim!Itwasadifferentkindofdoctrinethathejudgedprofitableforhimselfandothers.“AgoodsermonofMr.Gifford’s at our church, upon ‘Seek ye first the kingdomof heaven.’Averyexcellentandpersuasive,goodandmoralsermon.Heshowed,likeawiseman, that righteousness is a surer moral way of being rich than sin andvillainy.” It is thus that respectable people desire to have their Greatheartsaddress them, telling, inmild accents, how youmaymake the best of bothworlds, and be a moral hero without courage, kindness, or troublesomereflection; and thus the Gospel, cleared of Eastern metaphor, becomes amanual ofworldlyprudence, and ahandybook forPepys and the successfulmerchant.TherespectabilityofPepyswasdeeplygrained.HehasnoideaoftruthexceptfortheDiary.Hehasnocarethatathingshallbe, if itbutappear;givesoutthathehasinheritedagoodestate,whenhehasseeminglygotnothingbutalawsuit;andispleasedtobethoughtliberalwhenheknowshehasbeenmean.He is conscientiously ostentatious. I say conscientiously, with reason. Hecould never have been taken for a fop, like Pen, but arrayed himself in amanner nicely suitable to his position. For long he hesitated to assume the

famousperiwig;forapublicmanshouldtravelgravelywiththefashionsnotfoppishly before, nor dowdily behind, the centralmovement of his age. Forlonghedurstnotkeepacarriage;that,inhiscircumstanceswouldhavebeenimproper; but a time comes, with the growth of his fortune, when theimproprietyhasshifted to theotherside,andhe is“ashamedtobeseen inahackney.” Pepys talked about being “a Quaker or some very melancholything;”formypart,Icanimaginenothingsomelancholy,becausenothinghalfsosilly,astobeconcernedaboutsuchproblems.Butsorespectabilityandthedutiesofsocietyhauntandburdentheirpoordevotees;andwhatseemsatfirsttheveryprimrosepathoflife,provesdifficultandthornyliketherest.AndthetimecomestoPepys,astoallthemerelyrespectable,whenhemustnotonlyorderhispleasures,butevencliphisvirtuousmovements,tothepublicpatternoftheage.Therewassomejugglingamongofficialstoavoiddirecttaxation;and Pepys, with a noble impulse, growing ashamed of this dishonesty,designed to charge himself with £1000; but finding none to set him anexample,“nobodyofourablestmerchants”withthismoderatelikingforcleanhands,hejudgedit“notdecent;”hefeareditwould“bethoughtvainglory;”and, rather than appear singular, cheerfully remained a thief. One ablemerchant’s countenance, and Pepys had dared to do an honest act! Had hefoundonebravespirit,properlyrecognisedbysociety,hemighthavegonefaras adisciple.Mrs.Turner, it is true, can fill him full of sordid scandal, andmakehimbelieve,againstthetestimonyofhissenses,thatPen’svenisonpastystanklikethedevil;but,ontheotherhand,SirWilliamCoventrycanraisehimbyaword intoanotherbeing.Pepys,whenhe iswithCoventry, talks in theveinof anoldRoman.Whatdoeshe care forofficeor emolument? “ThankGod,Ihaveenoughofmyown,”sayshe,“tobuymeagoodbookandagoodfiddle,andIhaveagoodwife.”Andagain,wefindthispairprojectinganoldagewhenanungrateful country shallhavedismissed themfrom the fieldofpublicservice;Coventrylivingretiredinafinehouse,andPepysdroppingin,“itmaybe,toreadachapterofSeneca.”Under this influence, theonlygoodone inhis life,Pepyscontinuedzealousand, for theperiod,pure inhisemployment.Hewouldnotbe“bribed tobeunjust,”hesays,thoughhewas“notsosqueamishastorefuseapresentafter,”suppose the king to have received no wrong. His new arrangement for thevictuallingofTangierhetellsuswithhonestcomplacency,willsavethekingathousand and gain Pepys three hundred pounds a year,—a statement whichexactly fixes thedegreeof theage’senlightenment.But forhis industryandcapacitynopraisecanbetoohigh.ItwasanunendingstruggleforthemantosticktohisbusinessinsuchagardenofArmidaashefoundthislife;andthestoryofhisoaths,sooftenbroken,socourageouslyrenewed,isworthyratherofadmirationthatthecontemptithasreceived.Elsewhere,andbeyondthesphereofCoventry’sinfluence,wefindhimlosing

scruplesanddailycomplyingfurtherwiththeage.Whenhebeganthejournal,hewasatrifleprimandpuritanic;merryenough,tobesure,overhisprivatecups, and still rememberingMagdalene ale and his acquaintance withMrs.Ainsworth of Cambridge. But youth is a hot season with all; when a mansmellsAprilandMayheisaptattimestostumble;andinspiteofadisorderedpractice,Pepys’stheory,thebetterthingsthatheapprovedandfollowedafter,wemayevensaywerestrict.Wheretherewas“tag,rag,andbobtail,dancing,singing,anddrinking,”hefelt“ashamed,andwentaway;”andwhenhesleptinchurch,heprayedGodforgivehim.Inbutalittlewhilewefindhimwithsomeladieskeepingeachotherawake“fromspite,”asthoughnottosleepinchurchwereanobvioushardship;andyet laterhecalmlypasses the timeofservice,lookingabouthim,withaperspectiveglass,onalltheprettywomen.His favourite ejaculation, “Lord!” occurs but once that I have observed in1660,neverin’61,twicein’62,andatleastfivetimesin’63;afterwhichthe“Lords”maybesaidtopullulatelikeherrings,withhereandthereasolitary“damned,”as itwereawhaleamong theshoal.Heandhiswife,once filledwithdudgeonbysomeinnocentfreedomsatamarriage,aresooncontenttogopleasuringwithmyLordBrouncker’smistress,whowasnoteven,byhisownaccount, the most discreet of mistresses. Tag, rag, and bobtail, dancing,singing, and drinking, become his natural element; actors and actresses anddrunken,roaringcourtiersaretobefoundinhissociety;untilthemangrewsoinvolvedwithSaturnalianmanners and companions that hewas shot almostunconsciouslyintothegranddomesticcrashof1668.Thatwasthelegitimateissueandpunishmentofyearsofstaggeringwalkandconversation.Themanwhohassmokedhispipeforhalfacenturyinapowdermagazinefindshimselfatlasttheauthorandthevictimofahideousdisaster.Sowithourpleasant-mindedPepysandhispeccadilloes.Allofasudden,ashestilltripsdexterouslyenoughamongthedangersofadouble-facedcareer,thinking no great evil, humming to himself the trillo, Fate takes the furtherconduct of thatmatter fromhis hands, andbringshim face to facewith theconsequences of his acts. For a man still, after so many years, the lover,althoughnottheconstantlover,ofhiswife,—foraman,besides,whowassogreatly careful of appearances,—the revelation of his infidelities was acrushingblow.Thetearsthatheshed,theindignitiesthatheendured,arenottobemeasured.Avulgarwoman,andnowjustlyincensed,Mrs.Pepyssparedhimno detail of suffering. Shewas violent, threatening himwith the tongs;shewascarelessofhishonour,drivinghim to insult themistresswhomshehad driven him to betray and to discard; worst of all, she was hopelesslyinconsequent, in word and thought and deed, now lulling him withreconciliations, and anon flaming forth againwith the original anger. Pepyshad not used hiswifewell; he hadwearied herwith jealousies, evenwhilehimselfunfaithful;hehadgrudgedherclothesandpleasures,whilelavishing

bothuponhimself;hehadabusedherinwords;hehadbenthisfistatherinanger;hehadonceblackedhereye;andit isoneoftheoddestparticularsinthatoddDiaryofhis,that,whiletheinjuryisreferredtoonceinpassing,thereisnohintastotheoccasionorthemanneroftheblow.Butnow,whenheisinthewrong, nothing can exceed the long-suffering affection of this impatienthusband.While hewas still sinning and still undiscovered, he seems not tohaveknownatouchofpenitencestrongerthanwhatmightleadhimtotakehiswife to the theatre, or for an airing, or to give her a new dress, byway ofcompensation.Oncefoundout,however,andheseemstohimselftohavelostallclaimtodecentusage.Itisperhapsthestrongestinstanceofhisexternality.Hiswifemay dowhat she pleases, and though hemay groan, itwill neveroccurtohimtoblameher;hehasnoweaponleftbuttearsandthemostabjectsubmission.We should perhaps have respected himmore had he not givenwaysoutterly—aboveall,hadherefusedtowrite,underhiswife’sdictation,an insulting letter tohisunhappyfellow-culprit,MissWillet;butsomehowIbelievewelikehimbetterashewas.The death of his wife, following so shortly after, must have stamped theimpressionofthisepisodeuponhismind.FortheremainingyearsofhislonglifewehavenoDiarytohelpus,andwehaveseenalreadyhowlittlestressistobelaiduponthetenorofhiscorrespondence;butwhatwiththerecollectionof the catastropheof hismarried life,whatwith thenatural influenceof hisadvancing years and reputation, it seems not unlikely that the period ofgallantrywasatanendforPepys;anditisbeyondadoubtthathesatdownatlast to an honoured and agreeable old age among his books andmusic, thecorrespondentofSir IsaacNewton,and, inone instanceat least thepoeticalcounsellorofDryden.Throughallthisperiod,thatDiarywhichcontainedthesecretmemoirsofhislife,withallitsinconsistenciesandescapades,hadbeenreligiously preserved; nor, when he came to die, does he appear to haveprovidedforitsdestruction.Sowemayconceivehimfaithfultotheendtoallhis dear and early memories; still mindful of Mrs. Hely in the woods atEpsom;stilllightingatIslingtonforacupofkindnesstothedead;still,ifheheard again that air that once so much disturbed him, thrilling at therecollectionofthelovethatboundhimtohiswife.

JOHNKNOXANDHISRELATIONSTOWOMEN.I.—THECONTROVERSYABOUTFEMALERULE.

WHENfirsttheideabecamewidelyspreadamongmenthattheWordofGod,insteadofbeing truly the foundationofallexisting institutions,was ratherastonewhich thebuildershad rejected, itwasbutnatural that theconsequent

havocamongreceivedopinionsshouldbeaccompaniedby thegenerationofmanynewand livelyhopesfor thefuture.Somewhatas in theearlydaysoftheFrenchRevolution,menmusthavelookedforanimmediateanduniversalimprovement in their condition. Christianity, up to that time, had beensomewhat of a failure politically. The reason was now obvious, the capitalflawwasdetected,thesicknessofthebodypolitictracedatlasttoitsefficientcause. Itwasonlynecessary toput theBible thoroughly intopractice, tosetthemselves strenuously to realise in life the Holy Commonwealth, and allabuses and iniquitieswould surely pass away. Thus, in a pageant played atGenevaintheyear1523,theworldwasrepresentedasasickmanattheendofhis wits for help, to whom his doctor recommends Lutheran specifics. TheReformers themselves had set their affections in a different world, andprofessedtolookforthefinishedresultoftheirendeavoursontheothersideof death. They took no interest in politics as such; they even condemnedpolitical action asAntichristian: notably,Luther in the case of thePeasants’War.And yet, as the purely religious questionwas inseparably complicatedwithpoliticaldifficulties,and theyhadtomakeopposition, fromdaytoday,againstprincipalitiesandpowers, theywereled,oneafteranother,andagainandagain,toleavethespherewhichwasmorestrictlytheirown,andmeddle,forgoodandevil,withtheaffairsofState.Notmuchwastobeexpectedfrominterference in such a spirit. Whenever a minister found himself galled orhindered, hewouldbe inclined to suppose some contraventionof theBible.Whenever Christian liberty was restrained (and Christian liberty for eachindividual would be about coextensive with what he wished to do), it wasobvious that theStatewasAntichristian.Thegreat thing, and theone thing,wastopushtheGospelandtheReformers’owninterpretationofit.Whateverhelpedwasgood;whateverhinderedwasevil;andifthissimpleclassificationprovedinapplicableoverthewholefield,itwasnobusinessofhistostopandreconcile incongruities.He hadmore pressing concerns on hand; he had tosavesouls;hehad tobeabouthisFather’sbusiness.Thisshort-sightedviewresultedinadoctrinethatwasactuallyJesuiticalinapplication.Theyhadnoserious ideas upon politics, and they were ready, nay, they seemed almostbound, to adopt and supportwhichever ensured for themoment thegreatestbenefit tothesoulsoftheirfellow-men.Theyweredishonest inallsincerity.Thus Labitte, in the introduction to a book in which he exposes thehypocritical democracy of theCatholics under theLeague, steps aside for amoment to stigmatise the hypocritical democracy of the Protestants. Andnowherewasthisexpediencyinpoliticalquestionsmoreapparentthanaboutthequestionoffemalesovereignty.SomuchwasthisthecasethatoneJamesThomasius, ofLeipsic,wrote a little paper about the religiouspartialities ofthose who took part in the controversy, in which some of these learneddisputantscutaverysorryfigure.

Now Knox has been from the first a man well hated; and it is somewhatcharacteristicofhisluckthathefigureshereintheveryforefrontofthelistofpartial scribes who trimmed their doctrine with the wind in all goodconscience, andwerepoliticalweathercocksoutofconviction.Not onlyhasThomasiusmentionedhim,butBaylehastakenthehintfromThomasius,anddedicated a long note to the matter at the end of his article on the ScotchReformer.Thisisalittlelessthanfair.Ifanyoneamongtheevangelistsofthatperiod showed more serious political sense than another, it was assuredlyKnox;andeveninthisverymatteroffemalerule,althoughIdonotsupposeanyonenowadayswillfeelinclinedtoendorsehissentiments,IconfessIcanmakegreatallowanceforhisconduct.Thecontroversy,besides,hasaninterestofitsown,inviewoflatercontroversies.JohnKnox,from1556to1559,wasresidentinGeneva,asminister,jointlywithGoodman,ofalittlechurchofEnglishrefugees.HeandhiscongregationwerebanishedfromEnglandbyonewoman,MaryTudor,andproscribedinScotlandbyanother,theRegentMaryofGuise.Thecoincidencewastempting:hereweremanyabusescentringaboutoneabuse;herewasChrist’sGospelpersecutedinthetwokingdomsbyoneanomalouspower.Hehadnotfartogotofindtheideathatfemalegovernmentwasanomalous.Itwasanage,indeed,inwhichwomen,capableandincapable,playedaconspicuouspartuponthestageofEuropeanhistory;andyettheirrule,whatevermayhavebeentheopinionofhereandthereawisemanorenthusiast,wasregardedasananomalybythegreatbulkoftheircontemporaries.Itwasdefendedasananomaly.It,andallthataccompaniedandsanctionedit,wassetasideasasingleexception;andnoonethoughtofreasoningdownfromqueensandextendingtheirprivilegestoordinarywomen.Greatladies,asweknow,hadtheprivilegeofenteringintomonasteriesandcloisters,otherwiseforbiddentotheirsex.Aswithonething,sowithanother.Thus,MargaretofNavarrewrotebookswithgreatacclamation,andnoone,seemingly,sawfittocallherconductinquestion;butMademoiselledeGournay,Montaigne’sadopteddaughter,wasinacontroversywiththeworldastowhetherawomanmightbeanauthorwithoutincongruity.Thus,too,wehaveThéodoreAgrippad’Aubignéwritingtohisdaughtersaboutthelearnedwomenofhiscentury,andcautioningthem,inconclusion,thatthestudyofletterswasunsuitedtoladiesofamiddlingstation,andshouldbereservedforprincesses.Andoncemore,ifwedesiretoseethesameprinciplecarriedtoludicrousextreme,weshallfindthatReverendFatherinGodtheAbbotofBrantôme,claiming,ontheauthorityofsomelordofhisacquaintance,aprivilege,orratheraduty,offreeloveforgreatprincesses,andcarefullyexcludingotherladiesfromthesamegallantdispensation.Oneseesthespiritinwhichtheseimmunitiesweregranted;andhowtheywerebutthenaturalconsequenceofthataweforcourtsandkingsthatmadethelastwritertellus,withsimplewonder,howCatherine

deMediciwould“laughherfilljustlikeanother”overthehumoursofpantaloonsandzanies.Andsuchservilitywas,ofallthings,whatwouldtouchmostnearlytherepublicanspiritofKnox.Itwasnotdifficultforhimtosetasidethisweakscrupleofloyalty.Thelanternofhisanalysisdidnotalwaysshinewithaveryserviceablelight;buthehadthevirtue,atleast,tocarryitintomanyplacesoffictitiousholiness,andwasnotabashedbythetinseldivinitythathedgedkingsandqueensfromhiscontemporaries.Andsohecouldputthepropositionintheformalreadymentioned:therewasChrist’sGospelpersecutedinthetwokingdomsbyoneanomalouspowerplainly,then,the“regimentofwomen”wasAntichristian.Earlyin1558hecommunicatedthisdiscoverytotheworld,bypublishingatGenevahisnotoriousbook—TheFirstBlastoftheTrumpetagainsttheMonstrousRegimentofWomen.Asawhole,itisadullperformance;butthepreface,asisusualwithKnox,isbothinterestingandmorallyfine.Knoxwasnotoneofthosewhoarehumblein the hour of triumph; he was aggressive even when things were at theirworst.Hehadagrimrelianceinhimself,orratherinhismission;ifhewerenotsurethathewasagreatman,hewasatleastsurethathewasonesetapartto dogreat things.Andhe judged simply thatwhatever passed in hismind,whatevermovedhim to flee frompersecution insteadof constantly facing itout, or, as here, to publish and withhold his name from the title-page of acriticalwork,wouldnotfailtobeofinterest,perhapsofbenefit,totheworld.There may be something more finely sensitive in the modern humour, thattends more and more to withdraw a man’s personality from the lessons heinculcates or the cause that he has espoused; but there is a loss herewith ofwholesomeresponsibility;andwhenwefindintheworksofKnox,asintheEpistles of Paul, the man himself standing nakedly forward, courting andanticipating criticism, putting his character, as it were, in pledge for thesincerityofhisdoctrine,wehadbestwaivethequestionofdelicacy,andmakeouracknowledgmentsforalessonofcourage,notunnecessaryinthesedaysofanonymouscriticism,andmuchlight,otherwiseunattainable,onthespirit inwhichgreatmovementswere initiated and carried forward.Knox’s personalrevelations are always interesting; and, in the case of the “FirstBlast,” as Ihavesaid, there isnoexception to therule.Hebeginsbystating the solemnresponsibilityofallwhoarewatchmenoverGod’sflock;andallarewatchmen(hegoeson toexplain,with that finebreadthofspirit thatcharacteriseshimevenwhen,ashere,heshowshimselfmostnarrow),allarewatchmen“whoseeyes God doth open, and whose conscience he pricketh to admonish theungodly.”Andwith the full consciousness of this great duty before him, hesets himself to answer the scruples of timorous or worldly-minded people.Howcanamanrepent,heasks,unlessthenatureofhistransgressionismadeplaintohim?“AndthereforeIsay,”hecontinues,“thatofnecessityitisthatthismonstriferousempireofwomen(whichamongallenormitiesthatthisday

doabounduponthefaceofthewholeearth,ismostdetestableanddamnable)beopenlyandplainlydeclaredtotheworld,totheendthatsomemayrepentandbesaved.”Tothosewhothinkthedoctrineuseless,becauseitcannotbeexpectedtoamendthoseprinceswhomitwoulddispossessifonceaccepted,he makes answer in a strain that shows him at his greatest. After havinginstancedhowtherumourofChrist’scensuresfounditswaytoHerodinhisowncourt,“evenso,”hecontinues,“maythesoundofourweaktrumpet,bythesupportofsomewind(blowitfromthesouth,orblowitfromthenorth,itisofnomatter),cometotheearsofthechiefoffenders.Butwhetheritdoornot, yet dare we not cease to blow as God will give strength. For we aredebtorstomorethantoprinces,towit,tothegreatmultitudeofourbrethren,of whom, no doubt, a great number have heretofore offended by error andignorance.”It is for the multitude, then, he writes; he does not greatly hope that histrumpetwillbeaudibleinpalaces,orthatcrownedwomenwillsubmissivelydiscrownthemselvesathisappeal;whathedoeshope,inplainEnglish,istoencourageandjustifyrebellion;andweshallsee,beforewehavedone,thathecanputhispurposeintowordsasroundlyasIcanputitforhim.Thisheseestobeamatterofmuchhazard;heisnot“altogethersobrutishandinsensible,butthathehaslaidhisaccountwhatthefinishingoftheworkmaycost.”Heknows that he will find many adversaries, since “to the most part of men,lawfulandgodlyappearethwhatsoeverantiquityhathreceived.”Helooksforopposition, “not onlyof the ignorantmultitude, but of thewise, politic, andquietspiritsoftheearth.”Hewillbecalledfoolish,curious,despiteful,andasowerofsedition;andoneday,perhaps,forallheisnownameless,hemaybeattaintedoftreason.Yethehas“determinedtoobeyGod,notwithstandingthatthe world shall rage thereat.” Finally, he makes some excuse for theanonymousappearanceofthisfirstinstalment:itishispurposethricetoblowthetrumpetinthismatter,ifGodsopermit;twiceheintendstodoitwithoutname;butatthelastblasttotaketheodiumuponhimself,thatallothersmaybepurged.Thusheendsthepreface,andentersuponhisargumentwithasecondarytitle:“TheFirstBlasttoawakeWomendegenerate.”Weareinthelandofassertionwithoutdelay.Thatawomanshouldbearrule,superiority,dominionorempireoveranyrealm,nation,orcity,hetellsus,isrepugnanttonature,contumelytoGod, and a subversion of good order. Women are weak, frail, impatient,feeble, and foolish. God has denied to woman wisdom to consider, orprovidence to foresee, what is profitable to a commonwealth.Women havebeen ever lightly esteemed; they have been denied the tutory of their ownsons,andsubjectedtotheunquestionableswayoftheirhusbands;andsurelyitisirrationaltogivethegreaterwherethelesshasbeenwithheld,andsufferawoman to reign supreme over a great kingdom who would be allowed no

authoritybyherownfireside.Heappeals to theBible;but thoughhemakesmuchofthefirst transgressionandcertainstrongtextsinGenesisandPaul’sEpistles, he does not appealwith entire success. The cases ofDeborah andHuldahcanbebroughtintonosortofharmonywithhisthesis.Indeed,Imaysaythat,logically,helefthisbonesthere;andthatitisbutthephantomofanargumentthatheparadesthenceforwardtotheend.WellwasitforKnoxthathesucceedednobetter;itisunderthisveryambiguityaboutDeborahthatweshallfindhimfaintocreepforshelterbeforeheisdonewiththeregimentofwomen.AfterhavingthusexhaustedScripture,andformulateditsteachinginthesomewhatblasphemousmaximthat themanisplacedabove thewoman,even as God above the angels, he goes on triumphantly to adduce thetestimonies of Tertullian, Augustine, Ambrose, Basil, Chrysostom, and thePandects; and having gathered this little cloud ofwitnesses about him, likepursuivantsaboutaherald,he solemnlyproclaimsall reigningwomen tobetraitoresses and rebels against God; discharges all men thenceforward fromholding any office under such monstrous regiment, and calls upon all theliegeswithoneconsentto“studytorepresstheinordinateprideandtyranny”ofqueens.Ifthisisnottreasonableteaching,onewouldbegladtoknowwhatis; and yet, as if he feared he had not made the case plain enough againsthimself,hegoesontodeducethestartlingcorollarythatalloathsofallegiancemust be incontinently broken. If it was sin thus to have sworn even inignorance, it were obstinate sin to continue to respect them after fullerknowledge. Then comes the peroration, inwhich he cries aloud against thecrueltiesof thatcursedJezebelofEngland—thathorriblemonsterJezebelofEngland;andafterhavingpredictedsuddendestructiontoherruleandtotheruleofallcrownedwomen,andwarnedallmenthatiftheypresumetodefendthesamewhenany“nobleheart”shallberaiseduptovindicatethelibertyofhiscountry, theyshallnot fail toperish themselves in theruin,heconcludeswith a last rhetorical flourish: “And therefore let allmen be advertised, forTHETRUMPETHATHONCEBLOWN.”Thecapitalsarehisown.Inwriting,heprobablyfelt thewantofsomesuchreverberationofthepulpitunderstronghandsashewaswonttoemphasisehisspokenutteranceswithal; therewould seem tohimawantofpassion in theorderly lines of type; and I suppose we may take the capitals as a meresubstituteforthegreatvoicewithwhichhewouldhavegivenitforth,hadwehearditfromhisownlips.Indeed,asitis,inthislittlestrainofrhetoricaboutthetrumpet,thiscurrentallusiontothefallofJericho,thatalonedistinguisheshisbitterandhastyproduction,hewasprobablyright,accordingtoallartisticcanon,thustosupportandaccentuateinconclusionthesustainedmetaphorofa hostile proclamation. It is curious, by the way, to note how favourite animagethetrumpetwaswiththeReformer.Hereturnstoitagainandagain;itistheAlphaandOmegaofhisrhetoric;itistohimwhatashipistothestage

sailor;andonewouldalmost fancyhehadbegun theworldasa trumpeter’sapprentice. The partiality is surely characteristic. All his life long he wasblowingsummonsesbeforevariousJerichos,someofwhichfellduly,butnotall.Whereverheappearsinhistoryhisspeechisloud,angry,andhostile;thereisnopeaceinhislife,andlittletenderness;heisalwayssoundinghopefullytothefrontforsomeroughenterprise.Andashisvoicehad somethingof the trumpet’shardness, ithad somethingalsoofthetrumpet’swarlikeinspiration.SoRandolph,possiblyfreshfromthesound of the Reformer’s preaching, writes of him to Cecil:—“Where yourhonourexhortethustostoutness,Iassureyouthevoiceofonemanisable,inanhour,toputmorelifeinusthansixhundredtrumpetscontinuallyblusteringinourears.”Thuswastheproclamationmade.NorwasitlonginwakeningalltheechoesofEurope.Whatsuccessmighthaveattendedit,hadthequestiondecidedbeenapurelyabstractquestion,itisdifficulttosay.Asitwas,itwastostandorfall,not by logic, but by political needs and sympathies. Thus, in France, hisdoctrinewastohavesomefuture,becauseProtestantssufferedthereunderthefeebleandtreacherousregencyofCatherinedeMedici;andthusitwastohavenofutureanywhereelse,becausetheProtestantinterestwasboundupwiththeprosperityofQueenElizabeth.Thisstumbling-blocklayattheverythresholdofthematter;andKnox,inthetextofthe“FirstBlast,”hadseteverybodythewrongexampleandgone to thegroundhimself.He findsoccasion to regret“the blood of innocentLady JaneDudley.”But Lady JaneDudley, or LadyJaneGrey,aswecallher,wasawould-betraitoressandrebelagainstGod,touse his own expressions. If, therefore, political and religious sympathy ledKnox himself into so grave a partiality, what was he to expect from hisdisciples?Ifthetrumpetgavesoambiguousasound,whocouldheartilypreparehimselffor the battle? The question whether Lady Jane Dudley was an innocentmartyr, or a traitoress againstGod,whose inordinate pride and tyranny hadbeeneffectuallyrepressed,wasthusleftaltogetherinthewind;anditwasnot,perhaps, wonderful if many of Knox’s readers concluded that all right andwronginthematterturneduponthedegreeofthesovereign’sorthodoxyandpossiblehelpfulnesstotheReformation.Heshouldhavebeenthemorecarefulofsuchanambiguityofmeaning,ashemusthaveknownwellthelukewarmindifference and dishonesty of his fellow-reformers in political matters. Hehad already, in 1556 or 1557, talked thematter over with his greatmaster,Calvin, in “a private conversation;” and the interviewmust have been trulydistastefultobothparties.Calvin,indeed,wentafarwaywithhimintheory,andownedthatthe“governmentofwomenwasadeviationfromtheoriginaland proper order of nature, to be ranked, no less than slavery, among the

punishments consequent upon the fall of man.” But, in practice, their tworoads separated. For theMan of Geneva saw difficulties in the way of theScriptureproof in thecasesofDeborahandHuldah, and in theprophecyofIsaiah that queens shouldbe thenursingmothers of theChurch.And as theBiblewas not decisive, he thought the subject should be let alone, because,“bycustomandpublicconsentandlongpractice,ithasbeenestablishedthatrealms and principalitiesmay descend to females by hereditary right, and itwould not be lawful to unsettle governments which are ordained by thepeculiarprovidenceofGod.”IimagineKnox’searsmusthaveburnedduringthisinterview.Thinkofhimlisteningdutifullytoallthis—howitwouldnotdotomeddlewithanointedkings—howtherewasapeculiarprovidenceinthesegreat affairs; and then think of his own peroration, and the “noble heart”whomhelooksfor“tovindicatethelibertyofhiscountry;”orhisanswertoQueenMary,when she askedhimwhohewas, to interfere in the affairs ofScotland:—“Madam,asubjectbornwithinthesame!”Indeed,thetwodoctorswho differed at this private conversation represented, at the moment, twoprinciplesofenormousimportinthesubsequenthistoryofEurope.InCalvinwe have represented that passive obedience, that toleration of injustice andabsurdity, that holding back of the hand from political affairs as fromsomethingunclean,which lostFrance, ifweare tobelieveM.Michelet, fortheReformation;a spiritnecessarily fatal in the long run to theexistenceofanysectthatmayprofessit;asuicidaldoctrinethatsurvivesamongustothisdayinnarrowviewsofpersonalduty,andthelowpoliticalmoralityofmanyvirtuousmen. InKnox, on the other hand, we see foreshadowed thewholePuritanRevolutionandthescaffoldofCharlesI.ThereislittledoubtinmymindthatthisinterviewwaswhatcausedKnoxtoprinthisbookwithoutaname.ItwasadangerousthingtocontradicttheManofGeneva,anddoublyso,surely,whenonehadhadtheadvantageofcorrectionfromhiminaprivateconversation;andKnoxhadhislittleflockofEnglishrefugeestoconsider.IftheyhadfallenintobadodouratGeneva,whereelsewastherelefttofleeto?Itwasprinted,asIsaid,in1558;and,byasingularmal-à-propos,inthatsameyearMarydied,andElizabethsucceededtothethroneofEngland.AndjustastheaccessionofCatholicQueenMaryhadcondemnedfemaleruleintheeyesofKnox,theaccessionofProtestantQueenElizabethjustifieditintheeyesofhiscolleagues.Femaleruleceasestobeananomaly,notbecauseElizabethcan“replytoeightambassadorsinonedayintheirdifferentlanguages,”butbecausesherepresentsforthemomentthepoliticalfutureoftheReformation.TheexilestroopbacktoEnglandwithsongsofpraiseintheirmouths.Thebrightoccidentalstar,ofwhichwehaveallreadinthePrefacetotheBible,hasrisenoverthedarknessofEurope.ThereisathrillofhopethroughthepersecutedChurchesoftheContinent.CalvinwritestoCecil,washinghishandsofKnoxandhispolitical

heresies.Thesaleofthe“FirstBlast”isprohibitedinGeneva;andalongwithittheboldbookofKnox’scolleague,Goodman—abookdeartoMilton—wherefemalerulewasbrieflycharacterisedasa“monsterinnatureanddisorderamongmen.”Anywhomayeverhavedoubted,orbeenforamomentledawaybyKnoxorGoodman,ortheirownwickedimaginations,arenowmorethanconvinced.Theyhaveseentheoccidentalstar.Aylmer,withhiseyesetgreedilyonapossiblebishopric,and“thebettertoobtainthefavourofthenewQueen,”sharpenshispentoconfoundKnoxbylogic.Whatneed?Hehasbeenconfoundedbyfacts.“ThuswhathadbeentotherefugeesofGenevaastheverywordofGod,nosoonerweretheybackinEnglandthan,behold!itwasthewordofthedevil.”Now,whatof the real sentimentsof these loyal subjectsofElizabeth?Theyprofessed a holy horror for Knox’s position: let us see if their own wouldpleaseamodernaudienceanybetter,orwas,insubstance,greatlydifferent.JohnAylmer,afterwardsBishopofLondon,publishedananswertoKnox,underthetitleofAnHarbourforFaithfulandtrueSubjectsagainstthelateBlownBlast,concerningthegovernmentofWomen.Andcertainlyhewasathoughtmoreacute,athoughtlessprecipitateandsimple,thanhisadversary.Heisnottobeledawaybysuchcaptioustermsasnaturalandunnatural.Itisobvioustohimthatawoman’sdisabilitytoruleisnotnaturalinthesamesenseinwhichitisnaturalforastonetofallorfiretoburn.Heisdoubtful,onthewhole,whetherthisdisabilitybenaturalatall;nay,whenheislayingitdownthatawomanshouldnotbeapriest,heshowssomeelementaryconceptionofwhatmanyofusnowholdtobethetruthofthematter.“Thebringing-upofwomen,”hesays,“iscommonlysuch”thattheycannothavethenecessaryqualifications,“fortheyarenotbroughtupinlearninginschools,nortrainedindisputation.”Andevenso,hecanask,“AretherenotinEnglandwomen,thinkyou,thatforlearningandwisdomcouldtelltheirhouseholdandneighboursasgoodataleasanySirJohnthere?”Forallthat,hisadvocacyisweak.Ifwomen’sruleisnotunnaturalinasensepreclusiveofitsveryexistence,itisneithersoconvenientnorsoprofitableasthegovernmentofmen.HeholdsEnglandtobespeciallysuitableforthegovernmentofwomen,becausetherethegovernorismorelimitedandrestrainedbytheothermembersoftheconstitutionthaninotherplaces;andthisargumenthaskepthisbookfrombeingaltogetherforgotten.Itisonlyinhereditarymonarchiesthathewillofferanydefenceoftheanomaly.“Ifrulersweretobechosenbylotorsuffrage,hewouldnotthatanywomenshouldstandintheelection,butmenonly.”Thelawofsuccessionofcrownswasalawtohim,inthesamesenseasthelawofevolutionisalawtoMr.HerbertSpencer;andtheoneandtheothercounselshisreaders,inaspiritsuggestivelyalike,nottokickagainstthepricksorseektobemorewisethanHewhomadethem.IfGodhasputafemalechildintothedirectlineofinheritance,itis

God’saffair.Hisstrengthwillbeperfectedinherweakness.HemakestheCreatoraddresstheobjectorsinthisnotveryflatteringvein:—“I,thatcouldmakeDaniel,asuckingbabe,tojudgebetterthanthewisestlawyers;abrutebeasttoreprehendthefollyofaprophet;andpoorfisherstoconfoundthegreatclerksoftheworld—cannotImakeawomantobeagoodruleroveryou?”Thisisthelastwordofhisreasoning.AlthoughhewasnotaltogetherwithoutPuritanicleaven,shownparticularlyinwhathesaysoftheincomesofBishops,yetitwasratherloyaltytotheoldorderofthingsthananygenerousbeliefinthecapacityofwomen,thatraisedupforthemthisclericalchampion.Hiscourtlyspiritcontrastssingularlywiththerude,bracingrepublicanismofKnox.“Thykneeshallbow,”hesays,“thycapshalloff,thytongueshallspeakreverentlyofthysovereign.”Forhimself,histongueisevenmorethanreverent.Nothingcanstaytheissueofhiseloquentadulation.Againandagain,“theremembranceofElizabeth’svirtues”carrieshimaway;andhehastoharkbackagaintofindthescentofhisargument.Heisrepressinghisvehementadorationthroughout,until,whentheendcomes,andhefeelshisbusinessatanend,hecanindulgehimselftohisheart’scontentinindiscriminatelaudationofhisroyalmistress.Itishumoroustothinkthatthisillustriouslady,whomheherepraises,amongmanyotherexcellences,forthesimplicityofherattireandthe“marvellousmeeknessofherstomach,”threatenedhim,yearsafter,innoverymeekterms,forasermonagainstfemalevanityindress,whichsheheldasareflectiononherself.Whateverwaswantinghereinrespectforwomengenerally,therewasnowantofrespectfortheQueen;andonecannotverygreatlywonderifthesedevotedservants lookedaskance,notuponKnoxonly,butonhis little flock,as theycamebacktoEnglandtaintedwithdisloyaldoctrine.Forthem,asforhim,theoccidentalstarrosesomewhatredandangry.AsforpoorKnox,hispositionwas the saddest of all. For the juncture seemed to him of the highestimportance;itwasthenickoftime,theflood-waterofopportunity.NotonlywasthereanopeningforhiminScotland,asmoulderingbrandofcivillibertyandreligiousenthusiasmwhichitshouldbeforhimtokindleintoflamewithhispowerfulbreathbuthehadhiseyeseeminglyonanobjectofevenhigherworth. For now, when religious sympathy ran so high that it could be setagainstnationalaversion,hewished tobegin the fusion togetherofEnglandandScotland,andtobeginitat thesoreplace.Ifoncetheopenwoundwereclosed at the Border, the work would be half done. Ministers placed atBerwick and suchplacesmight seek their converts equallyon either sideofthemarch; old enemieswould sit together to hear the gospel of peace, andforget the inherited jealousies of many generations in the enthusiasm of acommon faith; or—let us say better—a common heresy. For people are notmostconsciousofbrotherhoodwhentheycontinuelanguidlytogetherinonecreed, butwhen,with somedoubt,with somedanger perhaps, and certainly

notwithoutsomereluctance,theyviolentlybreakwiththetraditionofthepast,and go forth from the sanctuary of their fathers to worship under the bareheaven.Anewcreed,likeanewcountry,isanunhomelyplaceofsojourn;butitmakesmen lean on one another and join hands. Itwas on this thatKnoxreliedtobegintheunionoftheEnglishandtheScotch.Andhehad,perhaps,bettermeans of judging than any even of his contemporaries. He knew thetemper of both nations; and already during his two years’ chaplaincy atBerwick,hehadseenhisschemeputtotheproof.Butwhetherpracticableornot,theproposaldoeshimmuchhonour.Thatheshouldthushavesoughttomake a love-match of it between the two peoples, and tried to win theirinclinationtowardsaunioninsteadofsimplytransferringthem,likesomanysheep, by a marriage, or testament, or private treaty, is thoroughlycharacteristicofwhatisbestintheman.Norwasthisall.Hehad,besides,toassurehimselfofEnglishsupport,secretoravowed,forthereformationpartyinScotland;adelicateaffair,trenchingupontreason.AndsohehadplentytosaytoCecil,plentythathedidnotcareto“committopaperneitheryettotheknowledge of many.” But his miserable publication had shut the doors ofEngland in his face. Summoned to Edinburgh by the confederate lords, hewaitedatDieppe,anxiouslyprayingforleavetojourneythroughEngland.Themostdispiritingtidingsreachhim.Hismessengers,comingfromsoobnoxiousa quarter, narrowly escape imprisonment. His old congregation are coldlyreceived,andevenbegintolookbackagaintotheirplaceofexilewithregret.“MyFirstBlast,” hewrites ruefully, “has blown fromme allmy friends ofEngland.”And then he adds, with a snarl, “The Second Blast, I fear, shallsoundsomewhatmoresharp,exceptmenbemoremoderate thanIhear theyare.”But the threat isempty; therewillneverbeasecondblast—hehashadenoughofthattrumpet.Nay,hebeginstofeeluneasilythat,unlessheistoberendereduselessfortherestofhislife,unlessheistolosehisrightarmandgoabouthisgreatworkmaimedandimpotent,hemustfindsomewayofmakinghispeacewithEnglandand the indignantQueen.The letter justquotedwaswrittenonthe6thofApril1559;andonthe10th,afterhehadcooledhisheelsfor four days more about the streets of Dieppe, he gave in altogether, andwritesaletterofcapitulationtoCecil.Inthisletter,whichhekeptbackuntilthe22d,stillhopingthatthingswouldcomerightofthemselves,hecensuresthegreat secretary for having “followed theworld in thewayof perdition,”characteriseshimas“worthyofhell,” and threatenshim, ifhebenot foundsimple,sincere,andferventinthecauseofChrist’sgospel,thatheshall“tasteofthesamecupthatpoliticheadshavedrunkeninbeforehim.”Thisisall,Itake it, out of respect for theReformer’s own position; if he is going to behumiliated, let others be humiliated first; like a childwhowill not take hismedicineuntilhehasmadehisnurseandhismotherdrinkof itbeforehim.“But I have, say you, written a treasonable book against the regiment and

empireofwomen....ThewritingofthatbookIwillnotdeny;buttoproveittreasonable I think it shall be hard. . . . It is hinted that my book shall bewrittenagainst. If sobe, sir, Igreatlydoubt they shall ratherhurtnor (than)mend thematter.”Andhere come the termsof capitulation; for hedoesnotsurrenderunconditionally, even in this sore strait: “Andyet if any,”hegoeson,“thinkmeenemytotheperson,oryettotheregiment,ofherwhomGodhathnowpromoted,theyareutterlydeceivedinme,forthemiraculousworkof God,comforting His afflicted by means of an infirm vessel, I doacknowledge,andthepowerofHismostpotenthandIwillobey.Moreplainlytospeak,ifQueenElizabethshallconfess,thattheextraordinarydispensationofGod’sgreatmercymakeththatlawfuluntoherwhichbothnatureandGod’slaw do deny to all women, then shall none in England be more willing tomaintainherlawfulauthoritythanIshallbe.Butif(God’swondrousworksetaside) she ground (asGod forbid) the justness of her title upon consuetude,laws,orordinancesofmen,then”—ThenKnoxwilldenounceher?Notso;heismorepoliticnowadays—then,he“greatlyfears”thatheringratitudetoGodwillnotgolongwithoutpunishment.His letter to Elizabeth, written some few months later, was a mereamplificationof thesentencesquotedabove.Shemustbaseher titleentirelyupon the extraordinary providence ofGod; but if she does this, “if thus, inGod’spresence, shehumblesherself, sowill hewith tongueandpen justifyher authority, as the Holy Ghost hath justified the same in Deborah, thatblessedmotherinIsrael.”Andso,yousee,hisconsistencyispreserved;heismerelyapplyingthedoctrineofthe“FirstBlast.”Theargumentgoesthus:Theregiment of women is, as before noted in our work, repugnant to nature,contumelytoGod,andasubversionofgoodorder.IthasneverthelesspleasedGod to raise up, as exceptions to this law, first Deborah, and afterwardElizabethTudor—whoseregimentweshallproceedtocelebrate.There is no evidence as to how theReformer’s explanationswere received,andindeeditismostprobablethattheletterwasnevershowntoElizabethatall.ForitwassentundercoverofanothertoCecil,andasitwasnotofaverycourtlyconceptionthroughout,andwas,ofallthings,whatwouldmostexcitetheQueen’suneasyjealousyabouthertitle,itislikeenoughthatthesecretaryexercisedhisdiscretion(hehadKnox’sleaveinthiscase,anddidnotalwayswait for that, it is reputed) to put the letter harmlessly away beside othervalueless or unpresentable State Papers. I wonder very much if he did thesamewithanother,writtentwoyearslater,afterMaryhadcomeintoScotland,inwhichKnoxalmostseekstomakeElizabethanaccomplicewithhiminthematterofthe“FirstBlast.”TheQueenofScotlandisgoingtohavethatworkrefuted,he tellsher;and“though itwerebut foolishness inhim toprescribeuntoherMajestywhat is tobedone,”hewouldyet remindher thatMary isneithersomuchalarmedaboutherownsecurity,norsogenerouslyinterested

inElizabeth’s,“thatshewouldtakesuchpains,unlesshercraftycounselinsodoing shot at a further mark.” There is something really ingenious in thisletter;itshowedKnoxinthedoublecapacityoftheauthorofthe“FirstBlast”andthefaithfulfriendofElizabeth;andhecombinesthemtheresonaturally,thatonewouldscarcelyimaginethetwotobeincongruous.Twenty days later he was defending his intemperate publication to anotherqueen—his own queen, Mary Stuart. This was on the first of those threeinterviewswhichhehaspreservedforuswithsomuchdramaticvigourinthepicturesque pages of his history.After he had avowed the authorship in hisusual haughty style, Mary asked: “You think, then, that I have no justauthority?” The question was evaded. “Please your Majesty,” he answered,“that learned men in all ages have had their judgments free, and mostcommonly disagreeing from the common judgment of the world; such alsohave they published by pen and tongue; and yet notwithstanding theythemselves have lived in the common society with others, and have bornepatientlywiththeerrorsandimperfectionswhichtheycouldnotamend.”Thusdid“Plato thephilosopher:” thuswilldo JohnKnox.“I have communicatedmy judgment to the world: if the realm finds no inconvenience from theregiment of awoman, thatwhich they approve, shall I not further disallowthanwithinmy own breast; but shall be aswell content to live under yourGrace, as Paulwas to live underNero.Andmy hope is, that so long as yedefile not your handswith the blood of the saints ofGod, neither I normybookshallhurteitheryouoryourauthority.”Allthisisadmirableinwisdomandmoderation, and, except that hemight have hit upon a comparison lessoffensivethanthatwithPaulandNero,hardlytobebettered.Havingsaidthusmuch,hefeelsheneedssaynomore;andso,whenheisfurtherpressed,hecloses that part of the discussion with an astonishing sally. If he has beencontenttoletthismattersleep,hewouldrecommendherGracetofollowhisexample with thankfulness of heart; it is grimly to be understoodwhich ofthem has most to fear if the question should be reawakened. So the talkwandered toother subjects.Only,when theQueenwas summonedat last todinner (“for it was afternoon”) Knox made his salutation in this form ofwords: “I pray God,Madam, that you may be as much blessed within theCommonwealthofScotland,ifitbethepleasureofGod,aseverDeborahwasintheCommonwealthofIsrael.”Deborahagain.Buthewasnotyetdonewiththeechoesofhisown“FirstBlast.”In1571,whenhewasalreadynearhisend,theoldcontroversywastakenupinoneofaseriesofanonymouslibelsagainsttheReformeraffixed,SundayafterSunday,tothechurchdoor.Thedilemmawasfairlyenoughstated.Eitherhisdoctrineisfalse,inwhichcaseheisa“falsedoctor”andseditious;or,ifitbetrue,whydoeshe“avowandapprovethecontrare,ImeanthatregimentintheQueenofEngland’sperson;whichheavowethandapproveth,notonly

prayingforthemaintenanceofherestate,butalsoprocuringheraidandsupportagainsthisownnativecountry?”Knoxansweredthelibel,ashiswontwas,nextSunday,fromthepulpit.Hejustifiedthe“FirstBlast”withalltheoldarrogance;thereisnodrawingbackthere.Theregimentofwomenisrepugnanttonature,contumelytoGod,andasubversionofgoodorder,asbefore.WhenhepraysforthemaintenanceofElizabeth’sestate,heisonlyfollowingtheexampleofthoseprophetsofGodwhowarnedandcomfortedthewickedkingsofIsrael;orofJeremiah,whobadetheJewsprayfortheprosperityofNebuchadnezzar.AsfortheQueen’said,thereisnoharminthat:quia(thesearehisownwords)quiaomniamundamundis:becausetothepureallthingsarepure.Onething,inconclusion,he“maynotpretermit”togivethelieinthethroattohisaccuser,wherehechargeshimwithseekingsupportagainsthisnativecountry.“WhatIhavebeentomycountry,”saidtheoldReformer,“WhatIhavebeentomycountry,albeitthisunthankfulagewillnotknow,yettheagestocomewillbecompelledtobearwitnesstothetruth.AndthusIcease,requiringofallmenthathaveanythingtoopponeagainstme,thathemay(theymay)doitsoplainly,asthatImaymakemyselfandallmydoingsmanifesttotheworld.Fortomeitseemethathingunreasonable,that,inthismydecrepitage,Ishallbecompelledtofightagainstshadows,andhowletsthatdarenotabidethelight.”Now,inthis,whichmaybecalledhisLastBlast,thereisassharpspeakingasanyinthe“FirstBlast”itself.Heisof thesameopiniontotheend,yousee,although he has been obliged to cloak and garble that opinion for politicalends.Hehasbeentackingindeed,andhehasindeedbeenseekingthefavourofaqueen;butwhatmaneversoughtaqueen’sfavourwithamorevirtuouspurpose, or with as little courtly policy? The question of consistency isdelicate, and must be made plain. Knox never changed his opinion aboutfemalerule,but livedtoregret thathehadpublishedthatopinion.Doubtlesshehadmanythoughtssofaroutoftherangeofpublicsympathy,thathecouldonly keep them to himself, and, in his own words, bear patiently with theerrors and imperfections that he could not amend. For example, I make nodoubtmyselfthat,inhisownheart,hedidholdtheshockingdogmaattributedtohimbymore thanone calumniator; and that, had the timebeen ripe, hadtherebeenaught togainbyit, insteadofall to lose,hewouldhavebeenthefirsttoassertthatScotlandwaselectiveinsteadofhereditary—“electiveasinthedaysofpaganism,”asoneThevetsaysinholyhorror.Andyet,becausethetimewasnotripe,Ifindnohintofsuchanideainhiscollectedworks.Now,the regiment of women was another matter that he should have kept tohimself;rightorwrong,hisopiniondidnotfitthemoment;rightorwrong,asAylmerputs it,“theBlastwasblownoutofseason.”And this itwas thathebegantoperceiveaftertheaccessionofElizabeth;notthathehadbeenwrong,andthatfemalerulewasagoodthing,forhehadsaidfromthefirstthat“the

felicityofsomewomenintheirempires”couldnotchangethelawofGodandthenatureofcreatedthings;notthis,butthattheregimentofwomenwasoneofthoseimperfectionsofsocietywhichmustbebornewithbecauseyettheycannotberemedied.Thethinghadseemedsoobvioustohim,inhissenseofunspeakable masculine superiority, and his fine contempt for what is onlysanctionedbyantiquityandcommonconsent,hehadimaginedthat,atthefirsthint,menwouldariseandshakeoff thedebasing tyranny.He foundhimselfwrong, and he showed that he could be moderate in his own fashion, andunderstoodthespiritoftruecompromise.HecameroundtoCalvin’sposition,infact,butbyadifferentway.Anditderogatesnothingfromthemeritofthiswiseattitude that itwas theconsequenceof a changeof interest.Weare alltaughtby interest;and if the interestbenotmerelyselfish, there isnowiserpreceptorunderheaven,andperhapsnosterner.Such is the history of John Knox’s connection with the controversy aboutfemale rule. In itself, this is obviously an incomplete study; not fully to beunderstood,without a knowledgeof his private relationswith the other sex,andwhathethoughtoftheirpositionindomesticlife.Thisshallbedealtwithinanotherpaper.

II.—PRIVATELIFE.

TOthosewhoknowKnoxbyhearsayonly,Ibelievethematterofthispaperwill be somewhat astonishing. For the hard energy of theman in all publicmattershaspossessedtheimaginationoftheworld;heremainsforposterityincertain traditional phrases, browbeating Queen Mary, or breaking beautifulcarvedwork inabbeysandcathedrals, thathad long smoked themselvesoutandwerenomorethansorryruins,whilehewasstillquietlyteachingchildrenin a country gentleman’s family. It does not consist with the commonacceptationofhischaractertofancyhimmuchmoved,exceptwithanger.Andyet the language of passion came to his pen as readily, whether it was apassionof denunciation against someof the abuses that vexedhis righteousspirit,orofyearningforthesocietyofanabsentfriend.Hewasvehementinaffection,asindoctrine.Iwillnotdenythattheremayhavebeen,alongwithhis vehemence, something shifty, and for themoment only; that, likemanymen,andmanyScotchmen,hesawtheworldandhisownheart,notsomuchunderanyverysteady,equablelight,asbyextremeflashesofpassion,trueforthe moment, but not true in the long run. There does seem to me to besomething of this traceable in the Reformer’s utterances: precipitation andrepentance,hardyspeechandactionsomewhatcircumspect,astrongtendencytoseehimselfinaheroiclightandtoplaceareadybeliefinthedispositionof

the moment.Withal he had considerable confidence in himself, and in theuprightness of his own disciplined emotions, underlying much sincereaspiration after spiritual humility. And it is this confidence that makes hisintercourse with women so interesting to a modern. It would be easy, ofcourse,tomakefunofthewholeaffair,topicturehimstruttingvaingloriouslyamong these inferior creatures, or compare a religious friendship in thesixteenth century with what was called, I think, a literary friendship in theeighteenth.Butitismorejustandprofitabletorecognisewhatthereissterlingandhumanunderneathallhis theoreticalaffectationsof superiority.Women,he has said in his “First Blast,” are, “weak, frail, impatient, feeble, andfoolish;” and yet it does not appear that hewas himself any less dependentthan other men upon the sympathy and affection of these weak, frail,impatient,feeble,andfoolishcreatures;itseemsevenasifhehadbeenrathermoredependentthanmost.Ofthosewhoaretoactinfluentiallyontheirfellows,weshouldexpectalwayssomethinglargeandpublicintheirwayoflife,somethingmoreorlessurbaneandcomprehensiveintheirsentimentforothers.Weshouldnotexpecttoseethem spend their sympathy in idyls, however beautiful.We should not seekthemamongthosewho,iftheyhavebutawifetotheirbosom,asknomoreofwomankind,justastheyasknomoreoftheirownsex,iftheycanfindafriendortwofortheirimmediateneed.Theywillbequicktofeelallthepleasuresofour association—not the great ones alone, but all. Theywill knownot loveonly,butallthoseotherwaysinwhichmanandwomanmutuallymakeeachotherhappy—bysympathy,byadmiration,bytheatmospheretheybearaboutthem—down to themere impersonal pleasure of passing happy faces in thestreet. For, through all this gradation, the difference of sex makes itselfpleasurably felt. Down to the most lukewarm courtesies of life, there is aspecialchivalrydueandaspecialpleasurereceived,when the twosexesarebroughteverso lightly intocontact.Weloveourmothersotherwise thanweloveourfathers;asisterisnotasabrothertous;andfriendshipbetweenmanand woman, be it never so unalloyed and innocent, is not the same asfriendshipbetweenmanandman.Suchfriendshipisnotevenpossibleforall.Toconjointendernessforawomanthatisnotfarshortofpassionatewithsuchdisinterestednessandbeautifulgratuityofaffectionasthereisbetweenfriendsof the same sex, requires no ordinary disposition in the man. For either itwould presuppose quite womanly delicacy of perception, and, as it were, acuriosity in shades of differing sentiment; or it would mean that he hadaccepted the large, simple divisions of society: a strong and positive spiritrobustly virtuous, who has chosen a better part coarsely, and holds to itsteadfastly,withallitsconsequencesofpaintohimselfandothers;asonewhoshould go straight before him on a journey, neither tempted by waysideflowersnorveryscrupulousofsmalllivesunderfoot.Itwasinvirtueofthis

latterdispositionthatKnoxwascapableofthoseintimacieswithwomenthatembellishedhislife;andwefindhimpreservedforusinoldlettersasamanofmanywomenfriends;amanofsomeexpansiontowardtheothersex;amaneverreadytocomfortweepingwomen,andtoweepalongwiththem.Of such scraps and fragments of evidence as to his private life and moreintimatethoughtsashavesurvivedtousfromalltheperilsthatenvironwrittenpaper,anastonishinglylargeproportionisintheshapeofletterstowomenofhisfamiliarity.Hewastwicemarried,butthatisnotgreatlytothepurpose;fortheTurk,who thinksevenmoremeanlyofwomen thanJohnKnox, isnonethe less given to marrying. What is really significant is quite apart frommarriage.ForthemanKnoxwasatrueman,andwoman,theewig-weibliche,was as necessary to him, in spite of all low theories, as ever she was toGoethe.Hecametoherinacertainhaloofhisown,astheministeroftruth,just asGoethe came to her in a glory of art; hemade himself necessary totroubledheartsandmindsexercisedinthepainfulcomplicationsthatnaturallyresultfromallchangesintheworld’swayofthinking;andthosewhomhehadthushelpedbecamedeartohim,andweremadethechosencompanionsofhisleisure if they were at hand, or encouraged and comforted by letter if theywereafar.ItmustnotbeforgottenthatKnoxhadbeenapresbyteroftheoldChurch,andthat themanywomenwhomwe shall see gathering aroundhim, as he goesthroughlife,hadprobablybeenaccustomed,whilestill inthecommunionofRome,torelymuchuponsomechosenspiritualdirector,sothattheintimaciesofwhichIproposetooffersomeaccount,whiletestifyingtoagoodheartintheReformer,testifyalsotoacertainsurvivalofthespiritoftheconfessionalintheReformedChurch,andarenotproperlytobejudgedwithoutthisidea.Thereisnofriendshipsonoble,butitistheproductofthetime;andaworldoflittle finicalobservances,and little frailproprietiesand fashionsof thehour,gotomakeortomar,tostintortoperfect,theunionofspiritsthemostlovingandthemostintolerantofsuchinterference.Thetrickofthecountryandtheagestepsinevenbetweenthemotherandherchild,countsouttheircaressesuponniggardlyfingers,andsays,inthevoiceofauthority,thatthisonethingshallbeamatterofconfidencebetween them,and thisother thingshallnot.AndthusitisthatwemusttakeintoreckoningwhatevertendedtomodifythesocialatmosphereinwhichKnoxandhiswomenfriendsmet,andlovedandtrustedeachother.To themanwhohadbeen theirpriest andwasnow theirminister,womenwouldbeabletospeakwithaconfidencequiteimpossibleintheselatterdays; thewomenwouldbeabletospeak,andthemantohear.Itwasabeatenroadjustthen;andIdaresayweshouldbenolessscandalisedattheir plain speech than they, if they could come back to earth, would beoffendedatourwaltzesandworldlyfashions.This, then,was thefootingonwhichKnoxstoodwithhismanywomen friends.The readerwill see,ashe

goes on, how much of warmth, of interest, and of that happy mutualdependencewhichistheverygistoffriendship,hecontrivedtoingraftuponthissomewhatdryrelationshipofpenitentandconfessor.Itmustbeunderstoodthatweknownothingofhisintercoursewithwomen(asindeedweknowlittleatallabouthislife)untilhecametoBerwickin1549,whenhewasalreadyintheforty-fifthyearofhisage.Atthesametimeit isjust possible that some of a little group at Edinburgh, with whom hecorresponded during his last absence, may have been friends of an olderstanding. Certainly they were, of all his female correspondents, the leastpersonally favoured. He treats them throughout in a comprehensive sort ofspirit thatmustat timeshavebeena littlewounding.Thus,he remitsoneofthemtohisformerletters,“whichItrustbecommonbetwixtyouandtherestofoursisters,fortomeyeareallequalinChrist.”Anotherletterisageminthisway.“Albeit” itbegins,“albeit Ihavenoparticularmatter towriteuntoyou,belovedsister,yet Icouldnot refrain towrite these few lines toyou indeclarationofmy remembranceofyou.True it is that I havemanywhom IbearinequalremembrancebeforeGodwithyou,towhomatpresentIwritenothing, either for that I esteem them stronger than you, and therefore theyneedthelessmyrudelabours,orelsebecausetheyhavenotprovokedmebytheirwriting to recompense their remembrance.”His “sisters in Edinburgh”hadevidentlyto“provoke”hisattentionprettyconstantly;nearlyallhislettersare,onthefaceofthem,answerstoquestions,andtheanswersaregivenwithacertaincruditythatIdonotfindrepeatedwhenhewritestothosehereallycares for. So when they consult him about women’s apparel (a subject onwhichhisopinionmaybepretty correctly imaginedby the ingenious readerforhimself)hetakesoccasiontoanticipatesomeofthemostoffensivematterofthe“FirstBlast”inastyleofrealbrutality.Itisnotmerelythathetellsthem“thegarmentsofwomendodeclaretheirweaknessandinabilitytoexecutetheofficeofman,”thoughthatinitselfisneitherverywisenorveryopportuneinsuchacorrespondenceonewouldthink;butifthereaderwilltakethetroubleto wade through the long, tedious sermon for himself, he will see proofenoughthatKnoxneitherloved,norverydeeplyrespected,thewomenhewasthenaddressing.Inverytruth,IbelievetheseEdinburghsisterssimplyboredhim.Hehadacertain interest in themashischildren in theLord; theywerecontinually“provokinghimby theirwriting;”and, if theyhandedhis lettersabout,writingtothemwasasgoodaformofpublicationaswasthenopentohiminScotland.Thereisoneletter,however,inthisbudget,addressedtothewifeofClerk-RegisterMackgil,whichisworthyofsomefurthermention.TheClerk-Registerhadnotopenedhisheart,itwouldappear,tothepreachingoftheGospel,andMrs.Mackgilhaswritten,seekingtheReformer’sprayersinhisbehalf.“Yourhusband,”he answers, “is dear tome for that he is amanindued with some good gifts, but more dear for that he is your husband.

Charitymovethmetothirsthisillumination,bothforhiscomfortandforthetrouble which you sustain by his coldness, which justly may be calledinfidelity.”Hewishesher,however,nottohopetoomuch;hecanpromisethathisprayerswillbeearnest,butnotthattheywillbeeffectual;itispossiblethatthis is to be her “cross” in life; that “her head, appointed by God for hercomfort,shouldbeherenemy.”Andifthisbeso,well,thereisnothingforit;“withpatienceshemustabideGod’smercifuldeliverance,”takingheedonlythatshedoesnot“obeymanifestiniquityforthepleasureofanymortalman.”IconceivethisepistlewouldhavegivenaverymodifiedsortofpleasuretotheClerk-Register,had itchanced to fall intohishands.Compare its tenor—thedry resignation not without a hope of merciful deliverance thereinrecommended—with these words from another letter, written but the yearbefore to twomarriedwomenofLondon:“Call first forgracebyJesus,andthereafter communicate with your faithful husbands, and then shall God, Idoubtnot,conductyourfootsteps,anddirectyourcounselstoHisglory.”Herethe husbands are put in a very high place;we can recognise here the samehandthathaswrittenforourinstructionhowthemanissetabovethewoman,even asGod above the angels.But the point of the distinction is plain. ForClerk-RegisterMackgilwasnotafaithfulhusband;displayed,indeed,towardsreligiona“coldnesswhich justlymightbecalled infidelity.”Weshallsee inmore notable instances howmuch Knox’s conception of the duty of wivesvariesaccordingtothezealandorthodoxyofthehusband.AsIhavesaid,hemaypossiblyhavemadetheacquaintanceofMrs.Mackgil,Mrs.Guthrie,orsomeother,orall,oftheseEdinburghfriendswhilehewasstillDouglasofLongniddry’sprivatetutor.Butourcertainknowledgebeginsin1549.HewasthenbutnewlyescapedfromhiscaptivityinFrance,afterpullinganoarfornineteenmonthsonthebenchesofthegalleyNostreDame;nowuptherivers,holdingstealthyintercoursewithotherScottishprisonersinthecastleofRouen;nowoutintheNorthSea,raisinghissickheadtocatchaglimpseofthefar-offsteeplesofSt.Andrews.AndnowhewassentdownbytheEnglishPrivyCouncilasapreachertoBerwick-upon-Tweed;somewhatshakeninhealthbyallhishardships,fullofpainsandagues,andtormentedbygravel,thatsorrowofgreatmen;altogether,whatwithhisromanticstory,hisweakhealth,andhisgreatfacultyofeloquence,averynaturalobjectforthesympathyofdevoutwomen.AtthishappyjuncturehefellintothecompanyofaMrs.ElizabethBowes,wifeofRichardBowes,ofAske,inYorkshire,towhomshehadbornetwelvechildren.Shewasareligioushypochondriac,averywearifulwoman,fullofdoubtsandscruples,andgivingnorestoneartheithertoherselfortothosewhomshehonouredwithherconfidence.FromthefirsttimesheheardKnoxpreachsheformedahighopinionofhim,andwassolicitouseverafterofhissociety.NorwasKnoxunresponsive.“Ihavealwaysdelightedinyourcompany,”hewrites,“andwhenlabourswould

permit,youknowIhavenotsparedhourstotalkandcommunewithyou.”Oftenwhentheyhadmetindepressionheremindsher,“Godhathsentgreatcomfortuntoboth.”Wecangatherfromsuchlettersasareyetextanthowcloseandcontinuouswastheirintercourse.“Ithinkitbestyouremaintillthemorrow,”hewritesonce,“andsoshallwecommuneatlargeatafternoon.ThisdayyouknowtobethedayofmystudyandprayeruntoGod;yetifyourtroublebeintolerable,or,ifyouthinkmypresencemayreleaseyourpain,doastheSpiritshallmoveyou....Yourmessengerfoundmeinbed,afterasoretroubleandmostdolorousnight,andsodolourmaycomplaintodolourwhenwetwomeet....AndthisismoreplainthaneverIspoke,toletyouknowyouhaveacompanionintrouble.”Oncewehavethecurtainraisedforamoment,andcanlookatthetwotogetherforthelengthofaphrase.“Afterthewritingofthispreceding,”writesKnox,“yourbrotherandmine,HarrieWycliffe,didadvertisemebywriting,thatyouradversary(thedevil)tookoccasiontotroubleyoubecausethatIdidstartbackfromyourehearsingyourinfirmities.Iremembermyselfsotohavedone,andthatismycommononconsuetudewhenanythingpiercethortouchethmyheart.CalltoyourmindwhatIdidstandingatthecupboardatAlnwick.InverydeedIthoughtthatnocreaturehadbeentemptedasIwas;andwhenIheardproceedfromyourmouththeverysamewordsthathetroublesmewith,Ididwonderandfrommyheartlamentyoursoretrouble,knowinginmyselfthedolourthereof.”Nowintercourseofsoverycloseadescription,whetheritbereligiousintercourseornot,isapttodispleaseanddisquietahusband;andweknowincidentallyfromKnoxhimselfthattherewassomelittlescandalabouthisintimacywithMrs.Bowes.“Theslanderandfearofmen,”hewrites,“hasimpededmetoexercisemypensooftasIwould;yea,veryshamehathholdenmefromyourcompany,whenIwasmostsurelypersuadedthatGodhadappointedmeatthattimetocomfortandfeedyourhungryandafflictedsoul.GodinHisinfinitemercy,”hegoeson,“removenotonlyfrommeallfearthattendethnottogodliness,butfromotherssuspiciontojudgeofmeotherwisethanitbecomethonemembertojudgeofanother.”Andthescandal,suchasitwas,wouldnotbeallayedbythedissensioninwhichMrs.Bowesseemstohavelivedwithherfamilyuponthematterofreligion,andthecountenanceshownbyKnoxtoherresistance.Talkingoftheseconflicts,andhercourageagainst“herownfleshandmostinwardaffections,yea,againstsomeofhermostnaturalfriends,”hewritesit,“tothepraiseofGod,hehaswonderedattheboldconstancywhichhehasfoundinherwhenhisownheartwasfaint.”Now,perhaps inorder tostopscandalousmouths,perhapsoutofadesire tobindthemuch-lovedevangelistnearertoherintheonlymannerpossible,Mrs.Bowesconceivedtheschemeofmarryinghimtoherfifthdaughter,Marjorie;andtheReformerseemstohavefalleninwith it readilyenough.It seems tohave been believed in the family that the wholematter had been originally

madeupbetweenthesetwo,withnoveryspontaneousinclinationonthepartofthebride.Knox’sideaofmarriage,asIhavesaid,wasnotthesameforallmen;butonthewhole,itwasnotlofty.Wehaveacuriousletterofhis,writtenat the request of Queen Mary, to the Earl of Argyle, on very delicatehouseholdmatters;which, ashe tellsus, “wasnotwell acceptedof the saidEarl.” We may suppose, however, that his own home was regulated in asimilarspirit.Icanfancythatforsuchaman,emotional,andwithaneed,nowandagain,toexerciseparsimonyinemotionsnotstrictlyneedful,somethingalittlemechanical,somethinghardandfastandclearlyunderstood,wouldenterintohis ideal of a home.Therewere storms enoughwithout, and equabilitywas to bedesired at the fireside even at a sacrifice of deeper pleasures.So,fromawife,ofallwomen,hewouldnotaskmuch.Onelettertoherwhichhascomedowntousis,Ihadalmostsaid,conspicuousforcoldness.Hecallsher,ashecalledotherfemalecorrespondents,“dearlybelovedsister;”theepistleisdoctrinal,andnearlythehalfofitbears,notuponherowncase,butuponthatofhermother.However,weknowwhatHeinewroteinhiswife’salbum;andthere is,afterall,onepassage thatmaybeheld to intimatesometenderness,althougheventhatadmitsofanamusinglyoppositeconstruction.“Ithink,”hesays,“IthinkthisbethefirstletterIeverwrotetoyou.”This,ifwearetotakeit literally, may pair off with the “two or three children” whomMontaignementionshavinglostatnurse;theoneisaseccentricinaloverastheotherinaparent.Nevertheless,hedisplayedmoreenergyinthecourseofhistroubledwooing than might have been expected. The whole Bowes family, angryenough already at the influence he had obtained over the mother, set theirfaces obdurately against thematch.And I daresay the opposition quickenedhis inclination. I find him writing to Mrs. Bowes that she need no furthertroubleherselfaboutthemarriage;itshouldnowbehisbusinessaltogether;itbehovedhimnowto jeopardhis life“for thecomfortofhisownflesh,bothfear and friendship of all earthly creature laid aside.”This is awonderfullychivalrousutteranceforaReformerforty-eightyearsold;anditcompareswellwiththeleadencoquetriesofCalvin,notmuchoverthirty,takingthisandthatintoconsideration,weighingtogetherdowriesandreligiousqualificationsandtheinstancyoffriends,andexhibitingwhatM.Bungenercalls“anhonourableand Christian difficulty” of choice, in frigid indecisions and insincereproposals.ButKnox’snext letter is inahumbler tone;hehasnot found thenegotiationsoeasyashefancied;hedespairsofthemarriagealtogether,andtalks of leaving England,—regards not “what country consumes his wickedcarcass.” “You shall understand,” he says, “that this sixth of November, IspokewithSirRobertBowes”(theheadof thefamily,hisbride’suncle)“inthe matter you know, according to your request; whose disdainful, yea,despiteful,wordshathsopiercedmyheartthatmylifeisbittertome.Ibearagoodcountenancewithasoretroubledheart,becausehethatoughttoconsider

matterswithadeepjudgmentisbecomenotonlyadespiser,butalsoataunterofGod’smessengers—Godbemerciful unto him!Amongst others hismostunpleasing words, while that I was about to have declaredmy heart in thewholematter, he said, ‘Awaywith your rhetorical reasons! for Iwill not bepersuadedwiththem.’GodknowsIdidusenorhetoricnorcolouredspeech;butwouldhavespokenthetruth,andthatinmostsimplemanner.Iamnotagoodoratorinmyowncause;butwhathewouldnotbecontenttohearofme,Godshalldeclare tohimoneday tohisdispleasure,unlesshe repent.”PoorKnox,you see, isquite commoved. It has been a veryunpleasant interview.Andasitistheonlysamplethatwehaveofhowthingswentwithhimduringhiscourtship,wemayinferthattheperiodwasnotasagreeableforKnoxasithasbeenforsomeothers.However,whenoncetheyweremarried,IimagineheandMarjorieBoweshititoff togethercomfortablyenough.The littleweknowof itmaybebroughttogetherinaveryshortspace.Sheborehimtwosons.Heseemstohavekeptherprettybusy,anddependedonhertosomedegreeinhiswork;sothatwhenshefellill,hispapersgotatonceintodisorder.Certainlyshesometimeswrotetohisdictation;and,inthiscapacity,hecallsher“hislefthand.”InJune1559,at the headiestmoment of theReformation inScotland, hewrites regrettingtheabsenceofhishelpfulcolleague,Goodman,“whosepresence”(thisisthenotverygrammaticalformofhislament)“whosepresenceImorethirst,thanshe that is my own flesh.” And this, considering the source and thecircumstances,maybeheldasevidenceofaverytendersentiment.Hetellsushimselfinhishistory,ontheoccasionofacertainmeetingattheKirkofField,that“hewasinnosmallheavinessbyreasonofthelatedeathofhisdearbed-fellow,MarjorieBowes.”Calvin,condolingwithhim,speaksofheras“awifewhoselikeisnottobefoundeverywhere”(thatisverylikeCalvin),andagain,as“themostdelightfulofwives.”WeknowwhatCalvinthoughtdesirableinawife,“goodhumour,chastity,thrift,patience,andsolicitudeforherhusband’shealth,”andsowemaysupposethatthefirstMrs.Knoxfellnotfarshortofthisideal.The actual date of themarriage is uncertain but by September 1566, at thelatest, the Reformer was settled in Geneva with his wife. There is no feareither thathewillbedull;even if thechaste, thrifty,patientMarjorieshouldnotaltogetheroccupyhismind,heneednotgooutofthehousetoseekmorefemale sympathy; for behold! Mrs. Bowes is duly domesticated with theyoungcouple.Dr.M‘Crie imagined thatRichardBoweswasnowdead, andhiswidow,consequently, free to livewhereshewould;andwherecouldshegomorenaturallythantothehouseofamarrieddaughter?This,however,isnot the case. Richard Bowes did not die till at least two years later. It isimpossible tobelievethatheapprovedofhiswife’sdesertion,aftersomanyyears of marriage, after twelve children had been born to them; and

accordinglywe find in hiswill, dated 1558, nomention either of her or ofKnox’swife.Thisisplainsailing.ItiseasyenoughtounderstandtheangerofBowesagainst this interloper,whohadcomeintoaquietfamily,marriedthedaughter in spite of the father’s opposition, alienated the wife from thehusband and the husband’s religion, supported her in a long course ofresistance and rebellion, and, after years of intimacy, already too close andtender for any jealous spirit to beholdwithout resentment, carried her awaywithhimatlastintoaforeignland.Butitisnotquiteeasytounderstandhow,exceptoutofsheerwearinessanddisgust,hewaseverbroughttoagreetothearrangement.Noris iteasytosquaretheReformer’sconductwithhispublicteaching.Wehave,forinstance,aletterbyhim,Craig,andSpottiswood,totheArchbishopsofCanterburyandYork,anent“awickedandrebelliouswoman,”one Anne Good, spouse to “John Barron, a minister of Christ Jesus hisevangel,”who,“aftergreatrebellionshownuntohim,anddiversadmonitionsgiven,aswellbyhimselfasbyothersinhisname,thatsheshouldinnowisedepart from this realm, nor fromhis housewithout his license, hath not theless stubbornly and rebelliouslydeparted, separatedherself fromhis society,lefthishouse,andwithdrawnherselffromthisrealm.”Perhapssomesortoflicensewasextorted,asIhavesaid,fromRichardBowes,wearywithyearsofdomesticdissension;butsettingthataside,thewordsemployedwithsomuchrighteous indignation by Knox, Craig, and Spottiswood, to describe theconduct of thatwicked and rebelliouswoman,Mrs.Barron,would describenearly as exactly the conduct of the religious Mrs. Bowes. It is a littlebewildering,untilwerecollectthedistinctionbetweenfaithfulandunfaithfulhusbands; for Barron was “a minister of Christ Jesus his evangel,” whileRichardBowes,besidesbeingownbrothertoadespiserandtaunterofGod’smessengers, is shrewdly suspected to have been “a bigoted adherent of theRomanCatholicfaith,”or,asKnoxhimselfwouldhaveexpressedit,“arottenPapist.”YouwouldhavethoughtthatKnoxwasnowprettywellsuppliedwithfemalesociety.Butwearenotyetattheendoftheroll.ThelastyearofhissojourninEnglandhadbeenspentprincipallyinLondon,wherehewasresidentasoneofthechaplainsofEdwardtheSixth;andhereheboasts,althoughastranger,hehad,byGod’sgrace,foundfavourbeforemany.Thegodlywomenofthemetropolis mademuch of him; once he writes toMrs. Bowes that her lastletterhadfoundhimclosetedwiththree,andheandthethreewomenwereallin tears.Out of all, however, he had chosen two. “God,” hewrites to them,“broughtusinsuchfamiliaracquaintance,thatyourheartswereincensedandkindledwithaspecialcareoverme,asamotherusethtobeoverhernaturalchild;andmyheartwasopenedandcompelled inyourpresence tobemoreplainthaneverIwastoany.”Andoutofthetwoevenhehadchosenone,Mrs.Anne Locke, wife to Mr. Harry Locke, merchant, nigh to Bow Kirk,

Cheapside,inLondon,astheaddressruns.Ifonemayventuretojudgeuponsuchimperfectevidence,thiswasthewomanhelovedbest.Ihaveadifficultyinquiteformingtomyselfanideaofhercharacter.Shemayhavebeenoneofthethreetearfulvisitorsbeforealludedto;shemayevenhavebeenthatoneofthemwhowassoprofoundlymovedbysomepassagesofMrs.Bowes’sletter,which the Reformer opened, and read aloud to them before they went. “OwouldtoGod,”criedthisimpressionablematron,“wouldtoGodthatImightspeakwiththatperson,forIperceivetherearemoretemptedthanI.”Thismayhave beenMrs. Locke, as I say; but even if itwere,wemust not concludefromthisonefactthatshewassuchanotherasMrs.Bowes.Alltheevidencetends the other way. She was a woman of understanding, plainly, whofollowed political eventswith interest, and towhomKnox thought itworthwhile to write, in detail, the history of his trials and successes. She wasreligious, but without that morbid perversity of spirit that made religion soheavyaburdenfor thepoor-heartedMrs.Bowes.Moreofher Idonot find,save testimony to theprofoundaffection thatunitedher to theReformer.SowefindhimwritingtoherfromGeneva,insuchtermsasthese:—“Youwritethatyourdesireisearnesttoseeme.Dearsister,ifIshouldexpressthethirstand languor which I have had for your presence, I should appear to passmeasure. . .Yea, Iweepand rejoice in remembranceofyou;but thatwouldevanishbythecomfortofyourpresence,whichIassureyouissodeartome,that if thechargeof this littleflockhere,gatheredtogether inChrist’sname,didnotimpedeme,mycomingshouldpreventmyletter.”IsaythatthiswaswrittenfromGeneva;andyetyouwillobservethatit isnoconsiderationforhiswifeormother-in-law,only the chargeofhis little flock, thatkeepshimfrom setting out forthwith for London, to comfort himself with the dearpresence of Mrs. Locke. Remember that was a certain plausible enoughpretextforMrs.LocketocometoGeneva—“themostperfectschoolofChristthateverwasonearthsincethedaysoftheApostles”—forwearenowunderthereignofthat“horriblemonsterJezebelofEngland,”whenaladyofgoodorthodox sentiments was better out of London. It was doubtful, however,whetherthiswastobe.ShewasdetainedinEngland,partlybycircumstancesunknown, “partly by empire of her head,”Mr. Harry Locke, the Cheapsidemerchant. It is somewhat humorous to see Knox struggling for resignation,now that he has to do with a faithful husband (for Mr. Harry Locke wasfaithful).Haditbeenotherwise,“inmyheart,”hesays,“Icouldhavewished—yea,”herehebreaksout,“yea,andcannotceasetowish—thatGodwouldguideyou to thisplace.”Andafterall,hehadnot long towait, for,whetherMr. Harry Locke died in the interval, or was wearied, he too, into givingpermission, fivemonths after the date of the letter last quoted, “Mrs.AnneLocke, Harry her son, and Anne her daughter, and Katharine her maid,”arrivedinthatperfectschoolofChrist,thePresbyterianparadise,Geneva.So

now,andforthenexttwoyears,thecupofKnox’shappinesswassurelyfull.Ofanafternoon,whenthebellsrangoutforthesermon,theshopsclosed,andthegoodfolkgatheredtothechurches,psalm-bookinhand,wecanimaginehimdrawingneartotheEnglishchapelinquitepatriarchalfashion,withMrs.KnoxandMrs.BowesandMrs.Locke, Jameshisservant,Patrickhispupil,and a due following of children andmaids. Hemight be alone at work allmorninginhisstudy,forhewrotemuchduringthesetwoyears;butatnight,youmaybesuretherewasacircleofadmiringwomen,eagertohearthenewparagraph,andnotsparingofapplause.Andwhatwork,amongothers,washeelaboratingatthistime,butthenotorious“FirstBlast”?Sothathemayhaverolled out in his big pulpit voice, how women were weak, frail, impatient,feeble, foolish, inconstant, variable, cruel, and lacking the spirit of counsel,andhowmenwereabovethem,evenasGodisabovetheangels,intheearsofhisownwife,andthetwodearestfriendshehadonearth.Buthehadlostthesenseofincongruity,andcontinuedtodespiseintheorythesexhehonouredso much in practice, of whom he chose his most intimate associates, andwhosecouragehewascompelledtowonderat,whenhisownheartwasfaint.Wemay say that such amanwas not worthy of his fortune; and so, as hewould not learn, he was taken away from that agreeable school, and hisfellowshipofwomenwasbrokenup,nottobereunited.CalledintoScotlandto take at last that strange position in history which is his best claim tocommemoration,hewas followed thitherbyhiswife andhismother-in-law.Thewifesoondied.ThedeathofherdaughterdidnotaltogetherseparateMrs.BowesfromKnox,butsheseemstohavecomeandgonebetweenhishouseandEngland.In1562,however,wefindhimcharacterisedas“asolemanbyreasonoftheabsenceofhismother-in-law,Mrs.Bowes,”andapassportisgotforher,herman,amaid,and“threehorses,whereoftwoshallreturn,”aswellaslibertytotakeallherownmoneywithherintoScotland.Thislookslikeadefinite arrangement; but whether she died at Edinburgh, or went back toEnglandyetagain,Icannotfind.With that great family of hers, unless in leaving her husband she hadquarrelled with them all, there must have been frequent occasion for herpresence, one would think. Knox at least survived her; and we possess hisepigraphtotheir longintimacy,giventotheworldbyhiminanappendixtohislatestpublication.IhavesaidinaformerpaperthatKnoxwasnotshyofpersonal revelations in his published works. And the trick seems to havegrownonhim.Tothislasttract,acontroversialonslaughtonaScottishJesuit,heprefixedaprayer,notverypertinenttothematterinhand,andcontainingreferences to his family which were the occasion of some wit in hisadversary’s answer; and appendedwhat seems equally irrelevant, one of hisdevout letters to Mrs. Bowes, with an explanatory preface. To say truth, Ibelieve he had always felt uneasily that the circumstances of this intimacy

were very capable of misconstruction; and now, when he was an old man,taking “his good night of all the faithful in both realms,” and only desirous“thatwithoutanynotablesclandertotheevangelofJesusChrist,hemightendhis battle; for as theworldwasweary of him, sowas he of it;”—in such aspirititwasnot,perhaps,unnaturalthatheshouldreturntothisoldstory,andseektoputitrightintheeyesofallmen,erehedied.“BecausethatGod,”hesays,“becausethatGodnowinHismercyhathputanendtothebattleofmydear mother, Mistress Elizabeth Bowes, before that He put an end to mywretchedlife,Icouldnotceasebutdeclaretotheworldwhatwasthecauseofourgreatfamiliarityandlongacquaintance;whichwasneitherfleshnorblood,butatroubledconscienceuponherpart,whichneversufferedhertorestbutwhenshewasinthecompanyofthefaithful,ofwhom(fromthefirsthearingofthewordatmymouth)shejudgedmetobeone.. . .Hercompanytomewascomfortable(yea,honourableandprofitable,forshewastomeandminea mother), but yet it was not without some cross; for besides trouble andfashery of body sustained for her, my mind was seldom quiet, for doingsomewhatforthecomfortofhertroubledconscience.”Hehadwrittentoheryears before, from his first exile in Dieppe, that “only God’s hand” couldwithholdhimfromoncemorespeakingwithherfacetoface;andnow,whenGod’shandhas indeed interposed,when there liesbetween them, insteadofthevoyageablestraits,thatgreatgulfoverwhichnomancanpass,thisisthespirit in which he can look back upon their long acquaintance. She was areligious hypochondriac, it appears, whom, not without some cross andfasheryofmindandbody,hewasgoodenoughtotend.Hemighthavegivenatruercharacteroftheirfriendship,hadhethoughtlessofhisownstandinginpublicestimation,andmoreofthedeadwoman.Buthewas inall things,asBurkesaidofhis son in that evermemorablepassage,apubliccreature.Hewished that even into this private place of his affections posterity shouldfollowhimwith a complete approval; andhewaswilling, in order that thismightbeso, toexhibit thedefectsofhis lost friend,and tell theworldwhatweariness he had sustained through her unhappy disposition. There issomethingherethatremindsoneofRousseau.I do not think he ever saw Mrs. Locke after he left Geneva; but hiscorrespondence with her continued for three years. It may have continuedlonger,ofcourse,butIthinkthelastletterswepossessreadlikethelastthatwouldbewritten.PerhapsMrs.Lockewasthenremarried,for thereismuchobscurityoverhersubsequenthistory.Foraslongastheirintimacywaskeptup, at least, the human element remains in theReformer’s life.Here is onepassage,forexample,themostlikableutteranceofKnox’sthatIcanquote:—Mrs. Locke has been upbraiding him as a bad correspondent. “Myremembranceofyou,”heanswers,“isnotsodead,butItrustitshallbefreshenough,albeititberenewedbynooutwardtokenforoneyear.Ofnature,Iam

churlish;yetonethingIashamenottoaffirm,thatfamiliarityoncethoroughlycontractedwasneveryetbrokenonmydefault.ThecausemaybethatIhaverather need of all, than that any have need of me. However it (that) be, itcannotbe,asIsay,thecorporalabsenceofoneyearortwothatcanquenchinmy heart that familiar acquaintance in Christ Jesus, which half a year didengender, and almost two years did nourish and confirm. And therefore,whetherIwriteorno,beassuredlypersuadedthatIhaveyouinsuchmemoryas becometh the faithful to have of the faithful.”This is the truest touch ofpersonalhumilitythatIcanremembertohaveseeninallthefivevolumesoftheReformer’scollectedworks: it isnosmallhonour toMrs.Lockethathisaffection forher shouldhavebroughthome tohim thisunwonted feelingofdependenceuponothers.Everythingelseinthecourseofthecorrespondencetestifiestoagood,sound,down-rightsortoffriendshipbetweenthetwo,lessecstaticthanitwasatfirst,perhaps,butserviceableandveryequal.Hegivesherampledetailsastotheprogressoftheworkofreformation;sendsherthesheetsoftheConfessionofFaith,“inquairs,”ashecallsit;askshertoassisthimwithherprayers,tocollectmoneyforthegoodcauseinScotland,andtosendhimbooksforhimself—booksbyCalvinespecially,oneonIsaiah,andanewrevisededitionofthe“Institutes.”“Imustbeboldonyourliberality,”hewrites,“notonlyinthat,butingreaterthingsasIshallneed.”Onherpartsheappliestohimforspiritualadvice,notafterthemannerofthedroopingMrs.Bowes,butinamorepositivespirit,—adviceastopracticalpoints,adviceasto the Church of England, for instance, whose ritual he condemns as a“mingle-mangle.” Just at the end she ceases to write, sends him “a token,withoutwriting.”“Iunderstandyourimpediment,”heanswers,“andthereforeI cannot complain. Yet if you understood the variety of my temptations, Idoubtnotbutyouwouldhavewrittensomewhat.”One lettermore,and thensilence.AndIthinkthebestoftheReformerdiedoutwiththatcorrespondence.It isafter this, of course, that he wrote that ungenerous description of hisintercoursewithMrs.Bowes.Itisafterthis,also,thatwecometotheunlovelyepisodeofhissecondmarriage.Hehadbeenleftawidowerattheageoffifty-five.Three years after, it occurred apparently to yet another pious parent tosacrifice a child upon the altar of his respect for the Reformer. In January1563,RandolphwritestoCecil:“YourHonourwilltakeitforagreatwonderwhenIshallwriteuntoyouthatMr.KnoxshallmarryaverynearkinswomanoftheDuke’s,aLord’sdaughter,ayounglassnotabovesixteenyearsofage.”Headdsthathefearshewillbelaughedatforreportingsomadastory.Andyet it was true; and on Palm Sunday, 1564, Margaret Stewart, daughter ofAndrewLordStewartofOchiltree, aged seventeen,wasdulyunited to JohnKnox,MinisterofSt.Giles’sKirk,Edinburgh,aged fifty-nine,—to thegreatdisgust of QueenMary from family pride, and I would fain hope of many

othersformorehumaneconsiderations.“Inthis,”asRandolphsays,“Iwishhehaddoneotherwise.”TheConsistoryofGeneva,“thatmostperfectschoolofChrist that everwas on earth since the days of theApostles,”werewont toforbidmarriageson thegroundof toogreat adisproportion in age. I cannothelp wondering whether the old Reformer’s conscience did not uneasilyremindhim,nowandagain,ofthisgoodcustomofhisreligiousmetropolis,ashethoughtofthetwo-and-fortyyearsthatseparatedhimfromhispoorbride.Fitlyenough,wehearnothingof the secondMrs.Knoxuntil sheappearsatherhusband’sdeathbed,eightyearsafter.Sheborehimthreedaughtersintheinterval;andIsupposethepoorchild’smartyrdomwasmadeaseasyforherasmight be.Shewas “extremely attentive to him” at the end,we read and heseemstohavespokentoherwithsomeconfidence.Moreover,andthisisverycharacteristic, he had copied out for her use a little volume of his owndevotionalletterstootherwomen.This is the end of the roll, unless we add to it Mrs. Adamson, who haddelighted much in his company “by reason that she had a troubledconscience,” and whose deathbed is commemorated at some length in thepagesofhishistory.Andnow,lookingback,itcannotbesaidthatKnox’sintercoursewithwomenwasquiteofthehighestsort.Itischaracteristicthatwefindhimmorealarmedforhisownreputationthanforthereputationofthewomenwithwhomhewasfamiliar.Therewas a fatal preponderanceof self in all his intimacies:manywomen came to learn from him, but he never condescended to become alearnerinhisturn.Andsothereisnotanythingidyllicintheseintimaciesofhis;andtheywereneversorenovatingtohisspiritas theymighthavebeen.ButIbelievetheyweregoodenoughforthewomen.Ifancythewomenknewwhat theywere aboutwhen somanyof them followed afterKnox. It is notsimplybecauseamanisalwaysfullypersuadedthatheknowstherightfromthewrongandseeshiswayplainlythroughthemazeoflife,greatqualitiesastheseare, thatpeoplewill loveand followhim,andwritehim letters fulloftheir“earnestdesireforhim”whenheisabsent.It isnotoveraman,whoseone characteristic is grim fixity of purpose, that the hearts of women are“incensed and kindled with a special care,” as it were over their naturalchildren. In the strong quiet patience of all his letters to the weariful Mrs.Bowes, we may perhaps see one cause of the fascination he possessed forthese religiouswomen.Herewas onewhom you could besiege all the yearroundwith inconsistent scruples and complaints; youmightwrite tohimonThursdaythatyouweresoelateditwasplainthedevilwasdeceivingyou,andagainonFridaythatyouweresodepresseditwasplainGodhadcastyouoffforever;andhewouldreadallthispatientlyandsympathetically,andgiveyouananswer in themost reassuringpolysyllables,andalldivided intoheads—who knows?—like a treatise on divinity. And then, those easy tears of his.

Therearesomewomenwholiketoseemencrying;andherewasthisgreat-voiced,beardedmanofGod,whomightbeseenbeatingthesolidpulpiteverySunday, and casting abroad his clamorous denunciations to the terror of all,andwhoontheMondaywouldsitintheirparloursbythehour,andweepwiththemovertheirmanifoldtrialsandtemptations.Nowadays,hewouldhavetodrinkadishofteawithallthesepenitents....Itsoundsalittlevulgar,asthepastwilldo,ifwelookintoittooclosely.Wecouldnotletthesegreatfolkofoldintoourdrawing-rooms.QueenElizabethwouldpositivelynotbeeligibleforahousemaid.Theoldmannersandtheoldcustomsgosinkingfromgradetograde,until,ifsomemightyemperorrevisitedtheglimpsesofthemoon,hewouldnotfindanyoneofhiswayofthinking,anyonehecouldstrikehandswithandtalktofreelyandwithoutoffence,saveperhapstheporterattheendof the street, or the fellowwithhis elbowsoutwho loafs all daybefore thepublic-house. So that this little note of vulgarity is not a thing to be dweltupon; it is to be put away from us, as we recall the fashion of these oldintimacies;so thatwemayonlyrememberKnoxasonewhowasverylong-sufferingwithwomen,kindtotheminhisownway, lovingtheminhisownway—andthatnottheworstway,ifitwasnotthebest—andonceatleast,ifnottwice,movedtohisheartofheartsbyawoman,andgivingexpressiontotheyearninghehadforhersocietyinwordsthatnoneofusneedbeashamedtoborrow.AndletusbearinmindalwaysthattheperiodIhavegoneoverinthisessaybeginswhen theReformerwas already beyond themiddle age, and alreadybrokeninbodilyhealth:ithasbeenthestoryofanoldman’sfriendships.ThisitisthatmakesKnoxenviable.Unknownuntilpastforty,hehadthenbeforehim five-and-thirty years of splendid and influential life, passed throughuncommon hardships to an uncommon degree of power, lived in his owncountryasasortofking,anddidwhathewouldwiththesoundofhisvoiceout of the pulpit.And besides all this, such a following of faithfulwomen!Onewould take the first forty years gladly, if one could be sure of the lastthirty.Mostofus,evenif,byreasonofgreatstrengthandthedignityofgrayhairs, we retain some degree of public respect in the latter days of ourexistence, will find a falling away of friends, and a solitude making itselfroundaboutusdaybyday,untilweare leftalonewith thehiredsick-nurse.Fortheattractionofaman’scharacterisapttobeoutlived,liketheattractionof his body; and the power to love grows feeble in its turn, as well as thepower to inspire love in others. It is only with a few rare natures thatfriendship is added to friendship, love to love, and theman keeps growingricherinaffection—richer,Imean,asabankmaybesaidtogrowricher,bothgivingandreceivingmore—afterhisheadiswhiteandhisbackweary,andhepreparestogodownintothedustofdeath.THEEND.

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