T HE

UN IV ERSA L A N T HOL OG Y

_« fiAq!“

L 1“ l - lD v —a u - u x. ) J — l J

EDITED BY

RICHARD GARNETTKEE PER OF PRM ED BOOKS AT THE BRIT ISH M USEUM , LONDON

,185 1 To l 899

LEON VALLEELIBRARIAN AT THE BIBLIOTHEQDE NATIONALE

,PARIS

,SINCE 187 1

ALOIS BRANDLPROFESSOR OF LITERATURE [N THE IM PERIAL UNIVERSlTY OP BERLIN

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THE CLARKE COMPANY, LIMITED, LONDON

ERRILL BAKER, NEW YORK EM ILE TERQUEM , PA R

BIBLIOTHEK VERLAG , BERLiN

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London, 1899

Droits de reproduction et de traduction réservé

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P roprieta Letieraria, Riservate tutti i divittiRome , 1899

Copyrigh t 1899b y

Richard Garnett

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

VOLU ME X .

The B attle Of Crecy F roi'ssartDu Guescl in and the Condottieres A . Conan D oyleRomeo and Juliet Shakesp eare

G esta Romanorum

Of F idelityOf Rememb ering D eath and F orgetting Things Temp 0 1 alOf th e A varicious P ursuit of Riches , wh ich leads to HellOf F em inine Sub tletyThe Three B lack Crows

The D eath Of R ienz i . B u lwer—LyttonStories from th e D ecameron B occaccio

I talian P racticalJOkingC onversion b y the L aw of C ontrariesThe Three RingsThe P ot of B asil

T he F alconSonnets B occaccio (tr. R ossetti)A G roup Of I talian P oets Tr. Rossetti

F ranco Sacchetti — Ou a W et D ay

C iullo D ’A lcamO — A D ialogueGuido Cavalcanti C anz one : A D ispute with D eath .

F az io degl i Ub erti— C anz one : His P ortrait of his L ady, A ngiola of

Verona 1 06

The D amsel of the L aurel P et? arch (tr. 0 . B . Cayley) 1 09

Sonnets P etrarch (tr. R . Ga rnett) 1 1 0

M ediaeval P ei s ian P oets : Sadi, Hafiz , Rumi,Jam i

A Ghaz alM editationsZulaikhaSalaman and A b salP iers P lowman

’s D ream

On Church TemporalitiesF rom Wyclif ’s B ib le, M atthew V l l .

L aconicsThe C anterb uryTales

F rom the P rologueThe P ardoner ’s T ale

E . B . Cowel lH afi z (tr. H . IV. C larke)H afiz (tr. E . H . P a lmer)Jami (tr. R . T. H . Griffith)Jami (tr. F itz gera ld)Wil l iam L angleyJohn Wycl if

THE BATTLE OF CRECY, 1 346.

B r FROISSART .

[JE AN Fnorssanr , French historian ,was b orn at Valenciennes ab out 1 333 ;

b ecam e a cleric b egan wh ile a youth to write the h istory Of the wars of h is owntime , and in 1 360 started on a tour for material . H e was for m any years th eguest Of the highest p otentates in E ngland , Scotland , F rance, the N etherlands ,etc . , and ab out 1 390 settled in F landers and resumed his “Chron icle .

” In 1 395

he revis ited E ngland . He d ied at Ch imay in 1419. His great work covers theyears from 1 326 to 1 400 , and deals ch iefly with E ngland and Scotland , F ranceand F landers , th ough not confined to them . He wrote some verses also ]

THE king Of England encamped this Friday in the plainfor he found the country aboun ding in provisions but, if theyshould have failed, he had plenty in the carriages which attendedon him . The army set about furbishing and repairing theirarmor ; and the king gave a supper that evening to the earlsand barons Of his army, where they made good cheer . On theirtaking leave , the king remain ed alone, with the lords Of his bedchamber : he retired into his oratory, and, falling on his kneesbefore the altar, prayed to G od, that, if he should combat hisenemies on the morrow, he might come Off with honor . Aboutmidnight he went to bed ; and, rising early the next day, he andthe P rince Of Wales heard mass, and communicated . The greaterpart Of his army did the same , confessed, and made proper preparations . After mass , the king ordered his men to arm themselves, and assembl e on the ground he had before fixed on . He

had inclosed a large park near a wood, on the rear Of his army,in which he placed all his baggage -wagons and horses ; andthis park had but one entrance : his men-at-arms and archersremained on foot .

T he king afterwards ordered, through his constable and histwo marshals, that the army should be divided into three battal ion s . In the first, he placed the young P rince Of Wales, andwith him the E arls Of Warwick and Oxford, Sir G odfrey de Har

13

1 4 THE B A TTLE OF CRECY .

court, the Lord Reginald C obham, Lord Thomas Holland , LordStafford, Lord M anl ey, the Lord D elaware , Sir John Chandos,Lord Bartholomew B urgherst, Lord Robert Neville,Lord T homasC lifford , the Lord B ou rchier, the Lord Latimer, and many otherknights and squires whom I cannot name . T here might be

,in

this first division , about eight hundred men-at-arms, two thousand archers, and a thousand Welshmen . They advanced inregular order to their ground, each lord under his bann er andpennon , and in the center Of his men . In the second battalionwere the E arl of Northampton, the E arl of A rundel, the LordsRoos, Willoughby, Basset, St . Albans, Sir Lewis T ufton, LordM u l ton, the Lord Lascel s, and many others ; amounting, in thewhole, to about e ight hundred men-at-arms, and twelve hundredarchers . The third battalion was commanded by the king, andwas composed Of about s even hundred men-at-arms, and twothousand archers .

The king then mounted a small palfrey, having a whitewand in his hand, and attended by his two marshals on eachside Of him : he rode a foot’s pace through all the ranks, encouraging and entreating the army, that they would guard his honorand defend his right . H e spoke this so sweetly, and with sucha cheerful countenance , that all who had been dispirited wered ire ctly comforted by see ing and hearing him . When he hadthus visited all the battalions, i t was near ten O

’clock : he retiredto his own division , and ordered them all to eat heartily, anddrink a glass after . T hey ate and drank at their ease ; and,having packed up pots, barrels, etc . , in the carts, they returnedto their battalions, according to the marshals

’ orders, and seatedthemselves on the ground , placing their helmets and bows beforethem , that they might be the fresher when the ir enemies shoul darr ive .

That same Saturday, the king of France rose betimes, andheard mass in the monastery Of St . P eter’s in Abbeville, wherehe was lodged : having ordered his army to do the same, heleft that town after sunrise . When he had marched about twoleagues from Abbeville, and was approaching the enemy, he wasadvised to form his army in order Of battle, and to let those onfoot march forward, that they might not be trampled on by thehorses . The king, upon this, sent Off four knights, the LordM oyne Of B astl eb erg , the Lord Of Noyers, the Lord of Beauj eu,and the Lord Of Aubigny, who rode so near to the E nglish thatthey could clearly distinguish their position . The E nglish

THE B A TTLE OF CRECY . 1 5

plainly perceived they were come to reconnoiter them : however, they took n o notice of it, but suff ered them to returnunmolested . When the king of France saw them coming back

,

b e halted his army ; and the knights, pushing through thecrowds, came near the king, who said to them,

“M v lords,what news ! ” They looked at each other, without Open ingtheir m onths : for neither chose to speak first . At last theking addressed himself to the Lord M oyne, who was attachedto the king Of Bohemia, and had performed very many gallantdeeds

,so that he was esteemed one Of the most valiant knights

in Christendom . The Lord M oyne said, “Sir, I will speak,since it pleases you to order me, but under the correction ofmy companions . We have advanced far enough to reconnoiteryour enemies . Know, then , that they are drawn up in threebattalions

,and are waiting for you . I would advise , for my

part, ( submitting, however, to better counsel,) that you haltyou r army here, and quarter them for the night for before therear shall come up , and the army b e properly drawn out, it willbe very late, your men will be tired and in disorder, while theywill find your enemies fresh and properly arrayed . On themorrow, you may draw up your army more at your ease , andm ay reconnoiter at leisure on what part it will be most advantageou s to begin the attack ; for, be assured they will wait foron .

”

yThe king commanded that it shoul d so b e done : and the

two marshals rode, one toward the front, and the other to therear, crying out, “H alt banners, in the name Of G od and St .

D enis . ” T hose that were in the front halted ; but thosebehind said they would not halt, un til they were as forwardas the front . When the front perceived the rear pressing on,they pushed forward ; and neither the king nor the marshalscould stop them , but they marched without any order untilthey came in sight Of their enemies . As soon as the foremostrank saw them, they fell back at once , in great disorder, whichalarmed those in the rear, who thought they had been fighting .

There was then space and room enough for them to havepassed forward, had they been willing so to do : some did so,but others remained shy . All the roads between Abbevill eand C recy were covered with common people, who, when theywere come within three leagues Of their enemies, drew theirswords, bawling out, Kill, kil l

” and with them were manygreat lords that were eager to make show of their courage .

1 6 THE B A TTLE OF CRECY.

There i s no man, unless he had been present, that can imagine,or describe truly, the confusion of that day especially the badmanagement and disorder Of the French, whose troops wereout Of number . What I know, and shall relate in this book, Ihave learnt chiefly from the E nglish, who had well Observedthe confusion they were in, and from those attached to SirJohn Of H ainaul t, who was always near the person Of the kingOf France .

The English, who were dr awn up in three divis ions, andseated on the ground , on seeing their enemies advance, roseundaun tedl y up, and fell into their ranks . T hat Of the princewas the first to do so, whose archers were formed in the manner of a portcull is, or harrow, and the men-at-arms in the rear .T he E arls Of Northampton and Arun del, who commanded thesecond division , had posted themselves in good order on hiswing, to assist and succor the prince , i f necessary .

You must know, that these kings, earls, barons, and lords OfFrance, did not advance in any regular order, but one afterthe other, or any way most pleas ing to themselves . As soonas the king of France came in sight of the E nglish, his bloodbegan to boil, and he cried out to his marshals , “Order theG enoese forward, and begin the battle, in the name Of G od andSt . D enis . ” T here were about fifteen thousand G enoese crossbowmen ; but they were quite fatigued, having marched onfoot that day six leagues, complete ly armed , and with theircrossbows . T hey told the constable, they were not in a fitcondition to do any great things that day in battle . The E arlOf Alencon , hearing this, said, T his is what on e gets by employing such scoundrels, who fall Off when there i s any needfor them .

”D ur ing this time a heavy rain fell , accompanied

by thunder and a very terrible eclipse Of the sun ; and beforethis rain a great fl ight Of crows hovered in the air Over allthose battalions, making a loud noise . Shortly afterward itcleared up, and the sun shone very bright but the Frenchmenhad it in the ir faces, and the E nglish in their backs .When the G enoese were somewhat in order, and approached

the E nglish, they set up a loud shout, in order to frightenthem ; but they remained quite sti ll, and did not seem toattend to it . T hey then set up a second shout, and advanceda little forward ; but the English never moved . They hooteda third time , advancing with their crossbows presented, andbegan to shoot . The English archers then advanced one step

THE B A TTLE OF CRECY . 1 7

forward, and shot their arrows with such force and quickness,that it seemed as if it snowed . When the G enoese felt thesearrows, which pierced their arms, heads, and through theirarmor, some of them cut the strings Of their crossbows, othersflung them on the ground, and all turn ed about and retreatedquite discomfited . The French had a large body of men-at

arms on horseback, richly dressed, to support the G enoese .The king Of F rance, seeing them thus fall back, cried out,Kill me those scoundr els for they stop up our road, withoutany reason .

” You would then have seen the above-mentionedmen-at-arms lay about them , killing all they could Of theserunaways .

[Lord Berners’ account Of the advance of the G enoese is som e

what d ifferent from th is ; he describes them as leap ing forward witha f el l cry, and as this is not m entioned in the printed editions, itseem s probable that he fol lowed a M S . varying from those exam inedby M r. Johnes . The whole passage is so spirited and graphic thatwe give it entire.

Whan the genowaye s were assembled toguyder and beganne toaproche, they made a great l eap e and crye to ab asshe thenglysshm en

,

but they stode styl l and styredde n at for al l that. Than the genowayes agayne the seconde tym e m ade another l eap e and a fel l cryeand stepped forwarde a lytell, and thenglysshm en rem eued nat onefote ; thi rdly agayne they leap t and cryed, and went forthe tyl l theycam e within shotte than they shotte feersly with thei r crosb owes .

Than thenglysshe archers stept forthe one pase and lette fly theirarowes so hotly and so thycke that it sem ed snowe . Whan the

genowayes fel te the arowes p ersynge through heeds, arm es, and

b restes, m any Of them cast downe th ei r crosb owes and did cutte theirstrynges and retourned dysconfited . Wh an the french e kynge sawethem flye away, he said, Slee these rascals, for they shal l lette andtrouble us without reason ; than you shou lde haue sene the men ofarm es dasshe in among them and kyl l ed a great nombre Of them ;and euer styl l the englysshmen shot where as they sawe thyckestpreace

,the sharp arowe s ranne into the m en Of arm es and into their

horses,and m any fell horse and m en am onge the genowayes, and

whan they were downe they coude nat relyne agayne ; th e preacewas so thycke that one ouerthrewe a nother . A nd also amonge the

englysshem en there were certayne rascal l es that went a fote with

great knyu es, and they went in am ong the m en Of arm es and sl ewe

and m urdredde m any as they lay on the grounde, both erles, barownes

,knyghts, and squyers , whereof the kyng of Engl ande was

Cla fter dysp l ea sed, for he h ad rather they had been takenVOL . x .

— 2

1 8 THE B A TTLE OF CRECY .

The English continued shooting as vigorously and quicklyas before some Of their arrows fell among the horsemen

,who

were sumptuously equipped, and, killing and wounding many,made them caper and fall among the G enoese, so that theywere in such confusion they could never ral ly again . In theE nglish army there were some C orn ish and Welshmen on foot

,

who had armed themselves with large kn ives the se advancingthrough the ranks Of the men-at-arms and archers, who m adeway for them , came upon the French when they were in thisdanger, and, falling upon earls, barons, knights and squires,slew many, at which the king Of E ngland was afterwards muchexasperated . The valiant king Of Bohemia was slain there .H e was called Charles Of Luxembourg ; for he was the son Of

the gallant king and emperor, H enry Of Luxembourg : havingheard the order Of the battle , he inquired where his son, theLord Charles, was : his attendants answered, that they did notknow, but believed he was fighting . The king said to them

,

G entlemen, you are all my people, my friends and brethrenat arms this day : therefore , as I am blind, I request Of you tolead me so far into the engagement that I may strike one strokewith my sword .

”The knights replied, they would directly

lead him forward ; and in order that they might not lose himin the crowd , they fastened all the reins Of their horses together,and put the king at their head, that he might gratify his wish,and advanced toward the enemy . The Lord Charles Of Bohemia

,who already signed his nam e as king Of G ermany , and

bore the arms , had come in good order to the engagemen t ; butwhen he perceived that it was likely to tur n out against theFrench, he departed, and I do not wel l know what road hetook . The king, his father, had rode in among the enemy, andmade good use Of his sword ; for he and his compan ions hadfought most gallantly . They had advanced so far that theywere all slain ; and on the morrow they were found on theground, with their horses all tied together .

T he E arl of Alencon advanced in regular order upon theEngl ish, to fight with them ; as did the E arl Of Flanders , inanother part . These two lords, with their detachments, coasting, as it were , the archers, came to the prince

’s battalion,where they fought valiantly for a length Of time . The king Of

France was eager to march to the place where he saw theirbanners displayed, but there was a hedge Of archers before him.

H e had that day made a present of a handsome black horse to

THE BA TTLE OF CRECY 1 9

Sir John of H ainault, who had mounted on it a knight of his,called Sir John de F u ssel les , that bore his banner which horseran off with him

,and forced his way through the E nglish army

,

and,when about to return , stumbled and fell into a ditch and

severely wounded him : he would have been dead, if his pagehad not followed him round the battalions, and found himunable to rise : he had not, however, any other hindrance thanfrom his horse ; for the E nglish did not quit the ranks thatday to make prisoners . The page alighted, and raised him up ;but he did not return the way he came, as he would have foundit difficult from the crowd . This battle which was fought onthe Saturday between La Broyes and C recy, was very murderous and cruel and many gallant deeds of arms were performedthat were never known . T oward evening, many knights andsquires of the French had lost their masters : they wanderedup and down the plain

,attacking the English in small parties

they were soon destroyed ; for the English had determinedthat day to give no quarter, or hear of ransom from any one .

Early in the day some French, G ermans, and Savoyards,had broken through the archers of the prince ’s battalion

,and

had engaged with the men-at-arms ; upon which the s econdbattalion came to his aid, and it was time , for otherwise hewould have been hard pressed . The first division , seeing thedanger they were in, sent a knight in great haste to the kingof England, who was posted upon an eminence, near a windmill . On the kn ight’s arrival, he said, Sir, the E arl of Warwick, the Lord Reginald C obham, and the others who are aboutyour son, are vigorously attacked by the French ; and theyentreat that you would come to their assistance with yourbattalion, for, i f their numbers should increase , they fear hewill have too much to do .

”The king replied, “Is my son

dead, unhorsed, or so badly wounded that he cannot supporthimself ? ” “Nothing of the sort, thank G od,

” rej oined the

kn ight ; “but he is in so hot an engagement that he has greatneed of your help .

”The king answered, “Now, Sir Thomas,

return back to those that sent you,and tell them from me

,not

to send again for me this day, or expect that I shal l come, le twhat will happen , as long as my son has life ; and say, that Icommand them to let the boy w in his spurs ; for I am determ ined, if it please G od , that all the glory and honor of thisday shall be given to him , and to those into whose care I havein trusted him .

”The kn ight returned to his lords

,and related

20 THE B A TTLE OF CRECY .

the king’s answer, which mightily encouraged them, and madethem repent they had ever sent such a message .

[The style of Lord Berners, in m any instances, is so d ifferentfrom the mode of expression adop ted b y M r.John es, as almost tom ake the p aralle l passage app ear a d istinct narrative, and in suchcases it is interesting to compare the two translations. The following is Lord Berners

’ version of this narration .

“I n the m ornyng the day of the b atayle certayn e french em en

and a lmaygnes perforce opyned the archers of the princes b atayle,and cam e and fought w ith the m en at arm es hande to hande . Thanthe second b atayle of thenglyshe m en cam e to sucour th e p rince

’sb atayl e, the whiche was tym e

,for they had as than m och e ado

, and

they with the prince sent a m essangar to the kynge who was on alytell wyndmil l hil l . Than the knyght sayd to the kyng, Sir therleof W arwyke and therl e of Cafort (Stafford) Sir Reynol de Cobhamand other such as be ab out the prince your sonne are feersly foughtwith all

, and are sore handl ed, wherefore they desire you that youand your b atayle wol l com e and ayde them ,

for if the french em en

encrease as they dout they woll your sonne end they shall havem oche a do. Than the kynge sayde, is my sonne deed or hurt or onth e yerthe felled ? No

,sir

,quoth the kn ight, but he is hardely

matched wherfore he hath nede of your ayde . Wel l sayde the kyng,retourne to b ym and to them that sent you b yther

, and say to themthat they sende no more to me for any adventure that fal leth as longas my sonn e is alyve ; and al so say to them that they suffer b ymthis day to wynne his spurres, for if God be pleased , I woll thisiourney be his and the honoure therof and to them that be abouteb ym . Than the knyght retourned agaym to them and shewed thekynges wordes, the which greatly encouraged them ,

and repoyned

in that they had sende to the kynge as they

It is a certa in fact, that Sir G odfrey de H arcourt, who wasin the prince ’s battalion , having been told by some of theE nglish, that they had seen the banner of his brother engagedin the battle against him, was exceedingly anxious to save him ;but he was too late , for he was left dead on the field , and sowas the E arl of A um arl e his nephew . On the other hand, theE arls of Alencon and of Flanders were fighting lustily undertheir banners, and with the ir own people but they could notresist the force of the E nglish , and were there slain , as well asmany other kn ights and squires that were attending on oraccompanying them . The E arl of Blois, n ephew to the kingof France , and the D uke of Lorraine , his brother-in-law, with

THE BA TTLE OF CRECY . 21

their troops, made a gallant defense but they were surroundedby a troop of E nglish and Welsh, and slain in spite of theirprowess . The E arl of St . P ol and the E arl of Auxerre werealso kil led, as we ll as many others . Late after vespers, theking of France had not more about him than sixty men , everyone included . Sir John of Hainaul t, who was of the number,had once remounted the king ; for his horse had been killedunder him by an arrow : he said to the king, “Sir, retreatwhile you have an opportunity, and do not expose yourself sosimply if you have lost this battle , another time you will bethe conqueror . ” After he had said this, he took the b ridle ofthe king ’s horse, and led him off by force for he had beforeentreated of him to retire .

The king rode on until he came to the castle of la Broyes ,where he found the gates shut, for it was very dark . The kingordered the governor of it to be summoned he came upon thebattlements, and asked who it was that called at such an hour ?

The king answered , Open , open , governor i t is the fortuneof France .

”The governor , hearing the king

’s voice , imm edi

ately descended , opened the gate , and let down the bridge .

The king and his company entered the castle but he had on lywith him five barons, Sir John of H ainault, the Lord Charles ofM ontmorency, the Lord of Beauj eu, the Lord of Aubigny, andthe Lord of M ontfort . The king would not bury himself insuch a place as that, but, having taken some refreshments , setout again with his attendants about midnight, and rode on ,under the dire ction of guides who were well acquainted with thecountry, until , about daybreak , he came to Amiens, where hehalted . This Saturday the English never quitted “their ranksin pursuit of any one , but remained on the field, guarding theirposition, and defending themselves against all who attackedthem . The battle was ended at the hour of vespers .When , on the Saturday night, the English heard no more

hooting or shouting, nor any more crying out to particular lordsor their banners, they looked upon the field as their own , andtheir enemies as beaten . They made great fires , and lightedtorches because of the obscurity of the night . King E dwardthen came down from his post, who all that day had not put onhis helmet

,and, w ith his whole battalion , advanced to the

P rince of Wales, whom he embraced in his arms and kissed , andsaid, “Sweet son , G od give you good perseverance you are

my son , fo r most loyal ly have you acquitted yourself this day

22 THE B A TTLE OF CRECY .

you are worthy to be a sovere ign . The prince bowed downve ry low, and humbled himself, giving all the honor to theking

, his father. The E nglish, during the night, made frequentthanksgivings to the Lord, for the happy issue of the day, andwithout rioting ; for the king had forbidden all riot or noise .On the Sunday morn ing, there was so great a fog that onecould scarcely see the distance of half an acre . The kingordered a detachment from the army, under the command ofthe two marshals, consisting of about five hun dred lances andtwo thousand archers, to make an excur sion , and see if therewere any bodies of French collected together . The quota oftroops from Rouen and Beauvais, had, this Sunday morn ing,left Abbeville and St . Ricqu ier in P onthieu , to j oin the Frencharmy, and were ignorant of the defeat of the preceding evening : they met this detachm ent, and, thinking they must beFren ch, hastened to j oin them .

As soon as the E nglish found who they were , they fell uponthem ; and there was a sharp engagement ; but the Fren chsoon turned their backs, and fled in great disorder . T here wereslain in this flight in the open fields, under hedges and bushes ,upward of seven thousand ; and had it been clear weather, notone soul would have escaped .

A little time afterwards, this same party fell in with thearchbishop of Rouen and the great prior of France, who werealso ignorant of the discomfitu re of the French for they hadbeen inform ed that the king was not to fight before Sunday .

H ere began a fresh battle : for those two lords were wellattended by good men-a t-arms however, they could not withstand the E nglish, but were almost all slain , w ith the two chiefswho commanded them very few escaping . In the course ofthe morn ing, the E nglish found many Frenchmen who had losttheir road on the Saturday, and had lain in the open fields, notknowing what was become of the king, or their own leaders .The E nglish put to the sword all they met : and it has beenassured to me for fact, that of foot soldiers, sen t from the cities,towns and municipalities, there were slain , this Sunday morning, four times as many as in the battle of Saturday .

The king sent to have the numbers and condition of thedead examined They made to him a very circumstantialreport of all they had observed

,and said they had found eighty

banne rs, the bodies of eleven princes, twelve hundred knights,and about thirty thousand common men .

DU GUESCLIN AN D THE CONDOTTIERES. 23

DU GUESCL IN A ND THE CONDOTT IERES.

(F rom “The Wh ite

B Y A . CONAN DOYLE .

! A RTH U R CONA N D OYL E , Scotch novelist, wa s b orn in E dinb urgh , M ay 22,

1 859. H e is the son of Charles D oyle , an artist, and nephew of R ichard D oyleof P unch . H e received his early education a t Stonyhurst, in Lancash ire, and inG erm any ; stud ied m edicm e at E dinb urgh four years and practiced at South seafrom 1 882 to 1 890 , when he gave h is wh ole attention to literature. He firstb ecame p opular With the detective stories ,

“A Study in Scarlet,” T he Sign of

the F our ,” and “A dventures of Sherlock Holmes .

” His other works inc ludethe h istorical novels M icah Clarke,” The W h ite Com pany ,” “The Refugees ,”R odney Stone,” and “U ncle B erna c ” The C ap tain of the P olestarStark M unro L etters ” R ound the R ed L amp T ragedy of the K orosko .

”

He is also the author of the one-act p lay, A Story of W aterloo,

”p roduced b y

Sir Henry Irving in

TH E RA VA GED COUN TRY .

IF it were grim and desolate upon the English border, however

,what can describe the hideous barrenness of this ten times

harried tract of France ? The whole face of the country wasscarred and disfigured, mottled over with the black blotches ofburned farm steadings, and the gray, gaunt gable ends of whathad been chateaux . Broken fences , crumbling walls , vineyards ,l ittered with ston es, the shattered arches of bridges — lookwhere you might, the signs of ruin and rapine met the eye .

H ere and there only , on the farthest sky line , the gnarled turrets of a castle , or the graceful pinnacles of church or of monastery showed where the forces of the sword or of the spirithad preserved some small islet of security in this universalflood of misery . M oodily and in silence the littl e party rodealong the narrow and irregular track

,their hearts weighed

down by this far-stretching land of despair . It was indeed astricken and a blighted country, and a m an might have riddenfrom Auvergne in the north to the marches of Foix , nor everseen a smiling village or a thriving homestead .

From time to time as they advan ced they saw strange leanfigures scraping and scratching amid the weeds and thistles

,

who , on sight of the band of horsemen , threw up their armsand dived in among the brushwood

,as shy and as swift as wild

24 DU GUE SCL IN AND THE CONDOTTIERES.

animals . M ore than once, however, they came on familie s bythe wayside, who were too weak from hunger and disease tofly, so that they could but sit like hares on a tussock, withpanting chests and terror in their eyes . So gaunt were thesepoor folk, so worn and spen t — with bent and knotted frames

,

and sullen , hopeless, mutinous faces — that it made the youngEnglishman heartsick to look upon them . Indeed , it seemedas though all hope and light had gone so far from them that itwas not to be brought back for when Sir Nigel threw down ahandful of silver among them there came no soften ing of theirlined faces, but they clutched greedily at the coins, peeringquestion ingly at him , and champing with their an imal j aws .H ere and there amid the brushwood the travelers s aw the rudebundle of stick s which served them as a home — more like afowl ’s nest than the dwelling place of man . Yet why shouldthey build and strive , when the first adventurer who passedwould set torch to their thatch, and when their own feudallord would wring from them with blows and curses the lastfruits of their toil ? T hey sat at the lowest depth of humanmisery, and hugged a bitter comfort to their souls as theyrealized that they could go no lower . Yet they had still thehuman gift of speech , and would take council among themselves in their brushwood hovels, glaring with bleared eyesand pointing with thin fingers at the great widespread chateaux which ate like a cancer into the life of the countryside .

When such men , who are beyond hope and fear, begin in theirdim minds to see the source of their woes, it may be an evil timefor those who have wronged them . The weak man becomesstrong when he has nothing, for then only can he feel the wild,mad thrill of despair . H igh and strong the chateaux , lowlyand weak the brushwood hut ; but G od help the seigneur andhis lady when the men of the brushwood set their hands to thework of revenge

Sir T ristram de Rochefort, Seneschal of Auvergne and Lordof Villefranche

,was a fierce and renowned soldier who had

grown gray in the E nglish wars . As lord of the marches andguardian of an exposed countryside, there was little rest forhim even in times of so-called peace , and his whole life wasspent in raids and outfalls upon the Brabanters, late comers,flayers, free compan ions, and roving archers who wandered overhis province . At times he would come back in triumph , and a

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26 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTT IERES.

to raise the money from them for my ransom . The sulky dogswould rather have three tw ists of a rack, or the thumbikins foran hour

,than pay out a denier for their own feudal father and

liege lord . Yet there is not one of them but hath an Old stocking full of gold pieces hid away in a snug corner.

Why do they not buy food then ?” asked Sir Nigel . BySt . P aul ! it seemed to me their bones were breaking thr oughtheir skin .

”

It is their grutching and grumbling that makes them thin .

We have a saying here , Sir Nigel , that if you pommel JacquesBonhomme he will pat you, but if you pat him he will pommelyou . D oubtless you find it so in E ngland .

M a foi, no I said Sir Nigel . I have two Englishmen ofthis class in my train , who are at this instant, I make littledoubt, as full of your wine as any cask in your cellar . H e

who pommeled them might come by such a pat as he wouldbe likely to remember .

”

“I cannot understand it , quoth the seneschal, “for theEnglish knights and nobles whom I have met were not men tobrook the insolence of the baseborn .

P erchance, my fair lord, the poor folk are sweeter and ofa better countenance in England,

” laughed the Lady Rochefort .“M on D i eu ! you cannot conceive to yourself how ugly theyare ! Without hair, without teeth, all twisted and bent ; forme

,I cannot think how the good G od ever came to make such

people . I cannot bear it, I , and so my trusty Raoul goes everbefore me with a cudgel to drive them from my path .

Yet they have souls, fair lady, they have soul s !” mur

mured the chaplain, a white-haired man with a weary, patientface .

So I have heard you tell them , said the lord of the castleand for myself, father, though I am a true son of holy Church,yet I think that you were better employed in saying your massand in teaching the children of my men at arms, than in goingover the countryside to put ideas in these folks’ heads whichwould never have been there but for you . I have heard thatyou have said to them that their soul s are as good as ours, andthat it is likely that in another life they may stand as high asthe oldest blood of Auvergne . For my part, I believe that thereare so many worthy knights and gallant gentlemen in heavenwho know how such things should be arranged, that there islittle fear that we shall find ourselves mixed up with base

DU GUESCL IN AND THE CoNDOTTIEaEs. 27

roturiers and swineherds . T ell your beads, father, and conyour psalter, but do not come between m e and those whom the

king has given to me IGod help them I cried the old priest . A higher King

than yours has given them to me, and I tell you here in yourown castle hall , Sir T ristram de Rochefort, that you have sinneddeeply in you r dealings with these poor folk, and that the hourwill come, and may even now be at hand, when G od

’s hand willbe heavy upon you for what you have done .

”H e rose as he

spoke,and walked slowly from the room .

P est take him I cri ed the French knight . Now,what

is a man to do with a priest, Sir Bertrand ? for one can neitherfight him like a man nor coax him like a woman .

”

By St . Ives I T ristram , this chaplain of yours seems to meto be a worthy man , and you should give heed to his words, forthough I care nothing for the curse of a bad pope, it wouldb e a grief to me to have aught but a blessing from a goodpriest . ”

H e shall have four silver candlesticks, said the seneschal ,moodily .

“And yet I would that he would leave the folkalone . You cannot conceive in your mind how stubborn andbrainless they are . M ules and pigs are full of reason besidethem . G od H e knows that I have had great patience withthem . It was but last week that, having to raise some money,I called up to the castle Jean G oubert, who , as all men know,

has a casketfu l of gold pieces hidden away in some hollow tree .

I give you my word that I did not so much as lay a stripe uponhis fool ’s back , but after speaking with him, and telling himhow needful the money was to me , I left him for the n ight tothink over the matter in my dungeon . What think you thatthe dog did ? Why, in the morn ing we found that he hadm ade a rope from strips of his leathern j erkin , and had hunghimself to the bar of the window .

”

For me, I cannot conceive such wickedness !” cried the

And there was G ertrude Le Boeuf, as fair a maiden as eyecould see , but as bad and bitter as the rest of them . Whenyoung Amory de Valance was here last Lammastide , he lookedkindly upon the girl , and even spoke of taking her into his se rvice . What does she do, with her dog of a father ? Why, theytie themselves together and leap into the Linden P ool, wherethe water is five spears ’ lengths deep . I give you my word that

28 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

i t was a great grief to young Amory, and it was days ere hecould cast it from his mind . But how can one serve peoplewho are so foolish and so ungrateful ?”

How TH E BRU SHW OOD M EN CA M E To THE CH A TE A U OF

VI LLE F RA N CHE .

It was late ere Alleyne E dricson , having carried Sir Nigelthe goblet of spiced wine which it was his custom to drink afterthe curling of his hair, was able at last to seek his chamber . Itwas a stone-flagged room upon the second floor, with a b ed ina recess for him, and two smaller pallets on the other side , onwhich Aylward and H ordle John were already snoring . Alleynehad knelt down to his even ing orisons, when there came a tapat his door, and Ford entered with a small lamp in his hand .

His face was deadly pale , and his hand shook until the shadowsfl ickered up and down the wall .

What is it, Ford ?” cried Alleyne , springing to his feet .

I can scarce tell you,” said he , sitting down on the side of

the couch , and resting his chin upon his hand .

“I know notwhat to say or what to think .

”

H as aught befallen you , thenYes, or I have been slave to my own fancy . I tell you,

lad, that I am all undone , like a fretted bowstring . H arkhither, Alleyne ! it cannot be that you have forgotten littleT ita, the daughter of the Old glass stainer at Bordeaux ?

”

“I remember her well . ”

She and I, Alleyne , broke the lucky groat together ere weparted, and she wears my ring upon her finger . ‘C aro m io,

’

quoth she when last we parted, ‘I shall be near thee in thewars

,and thy danger will be my danger . ’ Alleyne , as G od is

my help,as I came up the stairs this night I saw her stand b e

fore me, her face in tears , her hands out as though in warningI saw it, Alleyne , even as I see those two archers upon their

couches . Our very finger tips seemed to meet, ere she thinnedaway like a mist in the sunshine .

”

I would not give overmuch thought to it, answeredAlleyne . Our minds will play us strange pranks .Ford shook his head . I saw little T ita as clearly as though

I were back at the Ru e des A pOtres at Bordeaux ,” said he.

But the hour is late , and I must go .

”

Where do you sleep , then ?”

DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES. 29

‘In the chamber above you . M ay the saints be with us all I”

H e rose from the couch and left the chamber, while Alleynecoul d hear his feet sounding upon the w inding stair . T he

young squire walked across to the window and gazed out at themoonlit landscape .

The window at which he stood was in the second floor ofthat portion of the castle which was nearest to the keep . Infront lay the broad moat, w ith the moon lying upon its surface

,now clear and round, now drawn lengthwise as the breeze

stirred the waters . Beyond, the plain sloped down to a thickwood

,while further to the left a second wood shut out the view .

Between the two an open glade stretched, silvered in the moonshine

, with the river curving across the lower end of it .As he gazed, he saw of a sudden a man steal forth from the

wood into the open clearing . H e walked w ith his head sunk,

his shoulders curved , and his knees bent, as one who strivesha rd to remain unseen . T en paces from the fringe Of trees heglanced around, and waving his hand he crouched down , andwas lost to sight among a belt of furze bushes . After himthere came a second man , and after him a third , a fourth, anda fifth, stealing across the narrow open space and darting intothe shelter of the brushwood . Nine and seventy Alleynecounted of these dark figures flitting across the line of themoonlight . M any bore huge burdens upon their backs, thoughwhat it was that they carried he could not tell at the distance .Out of the one wood and into the other they passed , all withthe same crouching, furtive gait, until the black bristle of treeshad swallowed up the last of them .

For a moment Alleyne stood in the window, still staringdown at the silent forest, uncertain as to what he should thinkof these midn ight walkers . Then he bethought him that therewas one beside him who was fitter to j udge on such a matter .H is fingers had scarce rested upon Aylward ’s shoulder ere thebowman was on his feet, with his hand outstretched to hissword .

Qui va ? he cried . Hola I mon petit . By my hilt I Ithought there had been a camisade . What then

,mon gar .

C ome hither by the w indow, Aylward , said Alleyne . Ihave seen fourscore men pass from yonder shaw across theglade , and nigh every man of them had a great burden on hisback What think you of it ?

I think nothing of it, mon camarade ! T here are as many

30 DU GUE SCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

masterless folk in this country as there are rabbits on CowdrayD own , and there are many who show their faces by night butwould dance in a hempen collar if they stirred forth in theday . On all the French marches are droves of outcasts, reivers,spoilers, and drawl atches , of whom I judge that these are some,though I marvel that they should dare to come so n igh to thecastle of the seneschal . All seems very quiet now,

” he added ,peering out of the window .

They are in the further wood , said Alleyne .And there they may bide . Back to rest, mon petit ; for,

by my hilt ! each day now will bring its own work . Yet itwould be well to shoot the bolt in yonder door when one is instrange quarters. So I

”He threw himself down upon his

pallet and in an instant was fast asleep .

It might have been about three o’clock in the morningwhen Alleyne was aroused from a troubled sleep by a low cryor exclamation . H e listened, but, as he heard no more , he setit down as the challenge of the guard upon the walls, anddropped off to sleep once more . A few minutes later he wasdisturbed by a gentle creaking of his own door, as though someone were pushing cautiously against it, and immediately afterwards he heard the soft thud of cautious footsteps upon thestair which led to the room above , followed by a confusednoise and a muffled groan . Alleyne sat up on his couch withall his nerve s in a tingle , uncertain whether these sounds mightcome from a simple cau se some sick archer and visiting leechperhaps or whether they might have a more sinister meaning .

But what danger could threaten them here in this strong castle ,under the care of famous warriors, with high walls and a broadmoat around them ? Who was there that could injure them ?

H e had well-nigh persuaded himself that his fears were a fooli sh fancy, when his eyes fell upon that which sent the bloodcold to his heart, and left him gasping, with hands clutchingat the counterpane .

Right in front of him was the broad window of the chamber,with the moon shining brightly through it . For an instantsom ething had obscured the light, and now a head was bobbingup and down outside , the face looking in at him , and swingingslowly from on e side of the w indow to the other . E ven inthat dim light there could be no mistaking those features .D rawn , distorted, and blood-stain ed, they were still those ofthe young fellow-squire who had sat so recently upon his own

DU GUE SCLIN A ND THE CONDOTT IERES. 31

couch . With a cry Of horror A lleyne sprang from his bed andrushed to the casemen t, while the two archers, aroused by thesound

,seized their weapons and stared about them in bewilder

ment . One glance was enough to show E dricson that his fearswere but too true . Foully murdered , w ith a score of woundsupon him and a rope round his neck, his poor friend had beencast from the upper window and swung slowly in the n ightwind

,his body rasping against the wall and his disfigured face

upon a level with the casement .M y G od I cried Alleyne , shaking in every limb . What

has come upon us ? What devil’s deed is this ? ”

“H ere is fl int and steel , said John , stolidly . The lamp,Aylward ! This moonshine softens a man ’s heart . Now wemay use the eyes which G od hath given us . ”

By my hilt I cried Aylward, as the yellow flame fl ickeredup

,

“it is indeed young M aster Ford, and I think that thissene schal is a black villain , who dare not face us in the daybut would murther us in our sleep . By the twang of string !if I do not soak a goose ’s feather with his heart’s blood itwil l be no fault of Samkin Aylward of the White C ompany .

“But,Aylward, think of the men whom I saw yesternight,

said Alleyne . It may not be the seneschal . It may be thatothers have come into the castle . I must to Sir Nigel ere it b etoo late . Let me go , Aylward, for my place is by his side .

”

One moment, mon gar . P ut that steel headpiece on theend of my yew stave . So ! I will put it first through thedoor ; for it is ill to come out when you can neither see norguard you rself . Now, camarades, out swords and stand readyH ola, by my hilt I it i s time that we were stirring IAs he spoke, a sudden shouting broke forth in the castle ,

with the scream of a woman and the rush of many feet . Thencame the sharp clink of clashing steel, and a roar like that ofan angry lion — “Notre D ame D u G u escl in ! St . Ives ! St .

Ives ! ” The bowman pulled back the bolt of the door, andthrust out the headpiece at the end of the bow . A clash , theclatter of the steel cap upon the ground , and, ere the man whostruck could heave up for another blow, the archer had passedhis sword through his body . On , camarades , on I he cried ;and

,breaking fiercely past two men who threw themselves in

his way,he sped down the broad corridor in the direction of

the shouting .

A sharp turn ing, and then a second one , brought them to

32 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CoNDOTTIEEEs.

the head of a short stair, from which they looked straight downupon the scene of the uproar . A square oak-floored hall laybeneath them , from which opened the doors of the principalguest chambers . This hall was as light as day

,for torches

burned in numerous sconces upon the walls , throwing strangeshadows from the tusked or antlered heads which ornamentedthem . At the very foot of the stair, close to the open door oftheir chamber, lay the seneschal and his wife : she with herhead shorn from her shoulders, he thrust through with a sharpened stake, which still protruded from either side of his body .

Three servants of the castle lay dead beside them ,all torn and

draggled, as though a pack of wolves had been upon them .

In front of the central guest chamber stood D u G uesclin andSir Nigel , half-clad and unarmored, with the mad joy of battlegleaming in their eyes . Their heads were thrown back

,their

lips compressed, their blood-stained swords poised over theirright shoulders, and their left feet thrown out . T hree deadmen lay huddled together in front of them ; while a fourth,with the blood squirting from a severed vessel, lay back withupdrawn knees, breathing in wheezy gasps . Further backall panting together, like the wind in a tree — there stood agroup of fierce, wild creatures, bare -armed and bare-legged,gaunt, unshaven , with deep-set murderous eyes and wild beastfaces . With their flashing teeth, the ir bristling hair, their madl eapings and scream ings, they seemed to Alleyne more likefiends from the pit than men of flesh and blood . E ven as helooked, they broke into a hoarse yell and dashed once moreupon the two knights, hurling themselves m adly upon theirsword points ; clutching, scrambling, biting, tearing, carelessof wounds if they could but drag the two soldiers to earth .

Sir Nigel was thrown down by the sheer weight of them, andSir Bertrand with his thunderous war cry was sw inging roundhis heavy sword to clear a space for him to rise , when thewhistle of two long English arrow s, and the rush of the squireand the two E nglish archers down the stairs, turned the tideof the combat . The assailants gave back, the knights rushedforward, and in a very few moments the hall was cleared , andHordle John had hurled the last of the wild men down thesteep steps which led from the end of it .

“D o not follow them , cried D u G u esclin . W e are lostif we scatter . For myself I care not a denier, though it is apoor thing to meet one ’s end at the hands of such scum ; b ut

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34 DU GUE SCLIN AND THE CONDOTTIERES.

On the contrary , quoth Sir Nigel , there is much left tous, for there is a very honorable contention before us, and a fairlady for whom to give our lives . There are many ways inwhich a man might die , but non e better than this .

”

“You can tell us, G odfrey,” said D u G u escl in to the French

squ ire how came these men into the castle , and what succorscan we count upon ? By St . Ives ! if we come not quickly tosome counsel we shall be burned like young rooks in a nest .

The squire , a dark , slender stripling , spoke firmly andquickly, as one who was trained to sw ift action .

“There is apas sage under the earth into the castle , said he , and throughit some of the Jacks made the ir way, cas ting open the gates forthe others . T hey have had help from within the walls , and

the men at arms were heavy with wine they must have beenslain in their beds , for thes e devils crept from room to roomwith soft step and ready knife . Sir Amory the H ospitalerwas struck down with an ax as b e rushed before us from hissleeping chamber . Save onl y ours elves, I do not think thatthere are any left alive .

”

What, then , would you counsel ?”

That we make for the keep . It is unused , save in time ofwar, and the key hangs from my poor lord and master

’s belt . ”

T here are two keys there .

It is the larger . Once there , we might hold the narrowstair ; and at least, as the walls are of a greater thickness, i twould be longer ere they could burn them . C ould we butcarry the lady across the bailey, all might be well with us .

”

“Nay ; the lady hath seen something of the work of war,said T iphaine, coming forth, as white, as grave, and as unmovedas ever . “I would not be a hamper to you , my dear spouseand gallant friend . Rest assured of this, that if all els e fail Ihave always a safeguard here — drawing a small silver-hiltedponiard from her bosom which sets me beyond the fear ofthese vile and blood- stained wretches .

T iphaine , cried D u Gu escl in , I have always loved you ;and now, by Our Lady of Rennes I I love you more than ever .D id I not know that your hand will be as ready as your words,I would myself turn my last blow upon you , ere you should fallinto their hands . Lead on , G odfrey ! A new golden pyx willshine in the minster of D inan if we come safely through with it.

The attention of the insurgents had been drawn away frommurder to plunder, and all over the castle might be heard their

DU GUESCL IN A ND THE CONDOTTIEEES. 35

cries and whoops of delight as they dragged forth the rich tapestries, the silver flagons , and the carved furniture . D own inthe courtyard half-clad wretches, their bare limbs all mottledwith blood stains , strutted about with plumed helmets upontheir heads , or with the Lady Rochefort

’s silken gowns girtround their loins and trailing on the ground behind them .

Casks of choice wine had b een rolled out from the cellars , andstarving peasants squatted, goblet in hand, draining off vintage swhich D e Rochefort had set aside for noble and royal guests .Others, with slabs of bacon and joints of dried meat upon theends of their p ikes, held them up to the blaze or tore at themravenously with their teeth . Yet all order had not been los tamongst them , for some hundreds of the better armed stood together in a silent group , leaning upon their rude weapons andlooking up at the fire, which had spread so rapidly as to involveon e whole side of the castle . Already All eyne could hear thecrabkl ing and roaring of the flames, while the air was heavywith heat and full of the pungent whiff of burning wood .

How FIVE M EN HE LD THE KE E P OF VI L LE F RA N CH E .

Under the guidance Of the French squire the party passeddown two narrow corridors . The first was empty

,but at the

head of the second stood a peasant sentry, who started off atthe s ight of them , yel ling loudly to his comrades . Stop him,

or we are undone i cried D u Guescl in , and had started to run ,when Aylward ’s great war bow twanged like a harp string

,and

the man fell forward upon his face , with twitching limbs andclutching fingers . Within five paces of where he lay a narrowand little-used door led out into the bailey . From beyond itcame such a Babel of hooting and screaming

,horrible oaths and

yet more horrible laughter, that the stoutest heart might haveshrunk from casting down the frail barrier which faced them .

M ake straight for the keep I said D u G u esc lin , in a sharp ,stern whisper . The two archers in front

,the lady in the

center, a squire on either side, while we three knights shallhide behind and beat back those who press upon us . SO I Now

open the door , and G od have us in His holy keeping IFor a few moments it s eemed that their obj ect would b e

attained without danger, so swift and so silent had been the irmovements .

°

They were halfway across the bailey ere the fran ~

tic, howling peasants made a movement to stop them . The

36 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

few who threw themselves in their way were overpowered or

brushed aside, while the pursuers were beaten back by theready weapons of the three cavaliers . Unscathed they foughttheir way to the door of the keep, and faced round upon theswarming mob, while the squire thrust the great key into thelock

M y G od I he cried, “it i s the wrong key .

The wrong keyD olt, fool that I am I T his is the key of the castle gate

the other Opens the keep . I must back for it ! ” H e turned,with some wild intention of retracing his steps, but at the instanta great j agged rock , hurled by a brawny pea sant, struck him fullupon the ear, and he dropped senseless to the ground .

“This is key enough for me I quoth H ordle John, pickingup the huge stone , and hurling it against the door w ith all thestrength of his enormous body . The lock shivered, the woodsmashed, the stone flew intO

‘

five pieces, but the iron clampsstill held the door in its position . Bending down , he thrusthis great fingers under it, and with a heave raised the wholemass of wood and iron from its hinges . For a moment it tottered and swayed, and then , falling outward, buried him in itsruin, while his comrades rushed into the dark archway whichled to safety .

Up the steps, T iphaine !” cried D u G uesclin . Now

round , friends, and beat them back ! The mob of peasantshad surged in upon their heels, but the two trustiest bladesin Europe gleamed u pon that narrow stair, and four of theirnumber dropped upon the threshold . The others gave back,and gathered in a half-circle round the open door, gnashingtheir teeth and shaking their clenched hands at the defenders .The body of the French squire had been dragged out by themand hacked to pieces . Three or four others had pulled Johnfrom under the door, when he suddenly bounded to his feet,and clutching one in either hand dashed them together withsuch force that they fell senseless across each other upon theground . With a kick and a blow he freed himself from twoothers who clung to him, and in a moment he was within theportal with his comrades .Yet their position was a desperate one . The peasants from

far and near had been assembled for this deed of vengeance, andnot less than six thousand were within or around the walls ofthe Chateau of Vi llefranche . Ill armed and half starved, they

DU GUESCL I N A ND THE CONDOTT IERES. 37

were still desperate men , to whom danger had lost all fearsfor what was death that they should shun it to cling to such al ife as theirs ? The castle was theirs, and the roaring flameswere Spurting through the windows and fl ickering high abovethe turrets on two sides of the quadrangle . From either sidethey were sweeping down from room to room and from bastionto bastion in the direction of the keep . Faced by an army, andgirt in by fire , w ere six men and one woman b u t some of themwere men so trained to danger and so wise in war that evennow the combat was less unequal than it seemed . C ourage andresource were penned in by desperation and numbers, while thegreat yellow sheets of flame threw their lurid glare over thescene of death .

There is but space for two upon a step to give free playto our sword arms,

” said D u Gu escl in .

“D o you stand withme

,Nigel , upon the lowest . France and E ngland will fight

together this night . Sir Otto, I pray you to stand behind uswith this young squire . The archers may go higher yet andshoot over our heads . I would that we had our harness,Nigel . ”

Often have I heard my dear Sir John Chandos say that aknight should never, even when a guest, be parted from it .Yet it will be more honor to us if we come well out of it . W e

have a vantage , since we see them against the light and theycan scarce see us . It seems to me that they muster for anonslaught . ”

If we can but keep them in play, said the Bohemian , “iti s l ikely that these flames may bring us succor if there b eany true men in the country .

”

‘Bethink you, my fair lord, said Alleyne to Sir Nigel ,that we have never in jured these men , nor have we cause ofquarrel against them . Would it not be well , if but for thelady ’s sake , to speak them fair and see if we may not come tohonorable terms with them ? ”

“Not so, by St . P aul ! ” cried Sir Nigel . It does notaccord with mine honor, nor shall it ever be said that I , aknight of E ngland, was ready to hold parley with men whohave slain a fair lady and a holy priest .

As well hold parley with a pack of ravening wolves,said

the French captain . Ha ! Notre D ame D u G uescl in ! St .

Ives I St . Ives IAs he thundered forth his war cry, the Jacks who had

38 DU G UESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

been gathering before the black arch of the gateway rushedin madl y in a desperate effort to carry the staircase . T heirleaders were a small man , dark in the face, with his beard don eup in two plaits, and another larger man , very bowed in theshoulders, with a huge club studded with sharp nails in hishand . T he first had not taken three steps ere an arrow fromAylward’s bow struck him ful l in the chest, and he fell coughingand spluttering across the threshold . The other rushed ou

wards, and breaking between D u G uescl in and Sir Nigel hedashed out the brains of the Bohemian with a single blow ofhis c lumsy weapon . With three swords through him he stillstruggled on , and had almost won his way through them erehe fell dead upon the stair . C lose at his heels came a hundred furious peasants , who flung themselves again and againagainst the five swords which confronted them . It was cutand parry and stab as quick as eye could see or hand act. The

door was piled with bodies, and the stone floor was slipperywith blood . The deep shout of D u G u escl in , the hard, hissingbreath of the pressing multitude, the clatter of steel, the thudof falling bodies, and the screams of the stricken, made up sucha medley as came often in after years to break upon Alleyne ’ssleep . Slowly and sullenly at last the throng drew off, withmany a fierce backward glance, while eleven of their numberlay huddled in front of the stair which they had failed to win .

The dogs have had enough,” said D u G u escl in .

By St . P aul ! there appear to be some very w orthy andvaliant persons among them ,

” observed Sir Nigel . “They aremen from whom, had they been of better birth, much honorand advancement might be gained . E ven as it is, it is a greatpleasure to have seen them . But what is this that they arebringing forward ?

“It is as I feared, growled D u G uescl in . They willburn us out, since they cannot win their way past us . Shootstraight and hard, archers for, by St . Ives I our good swordsare of little use to us .”

As he spoke , a dozen men rushed forward , each screen inghimself behind a huge fardel of brushwood . Hurling their burden s in on e vast heap within the portal, they threw burningtorches upon the top of it . The wood had been soaked in oil ,for in an instant it was ablaze , and a long, hissing yellow flamelicked over the heads of the defenders, and drove them furtherup to the first floor of the keep . They had scarce reached it,

DU GUESCLIN AN D THE CoNDOTTrEnEs . 39

however, ere they found that the wooden joists and planks of

the flooring were already on fire . D ry and worm eaten, aspark upon them became a smolder, and a smolder a blaze .

A choking smoke filled the air, and the five could scarce gropethe ir way to the staircase which led up to the very summit ofthe square tower .Strange was the scene which met their eyes from this emi

mence . Beneath them on every side stretched the long sweepof peaceful country , rolling plain, and tangled wood, allsoftened and mellowed in the silver moonshine . No light

,nor

movement, nor any sign of human aid could be seen , but faraway the hoarse clangor of a heavy bell rose and fell upon thewinter air . Beneath and around them blazed the huge fire

,

roaring and crackling on every side of the bailey, and even asthey looked the two corner turrets fell with a deafening crash

,

and the whole castle was but a shapeless mass, spouting flamesand smoke from every window and embrasure . The greatblack tower upon which they stood rose like a last island ofrefuge amid this sea of fire but the ominous crackling and roaring below showed that it would not be long ere it was engulfedalso in the common ruin . At their very feet was the squarecourtyard

,crowded with the how ling and dancing peasants

,

their fierce faces upturned , their clenched hands waving, alldrunk with bloodshed and with vengeance . A yell of execration and a scream of hideous laughter burst from the vastthrong, as they saw the faces of the last survivors of theirenemies peering down at them from the height of the keep .

They still piled the brushwood round the base of the tower,

and gamboled hand in hand around the blaze, screaming outthe doggerel lines which had long been the watchword of theJacquerie

Cessez, cessez, gens d’arm es et piétons

,

D e pi ller et m anger l e b onhomm e,Qui de longtem p s Jacques Bonhomm e

Se nomm e .

T heir thin , shrill voices rose high above the roar of theflames and the crash of the masonry, like the yelping of a packof wolves who see their quarry before them and know that theyhave well-nigh run him down .

By my hilt ! ” said Aylward to John , “it i s in my mindthat we shall not see Spain this j ourney . It is a great joy to

40 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

me that I have placed my feather b ed and other things of pricewith that worthy woman at Lyndhurst, who will now have theuse of them . I have thirteen arrows yet, and if one of themfly unfleshed , then , by the twang of string I shall deserve mydoom . First at him who flaunts with my lady ’s s ilken frock .

C lap in the clout, by G od though a hand ’s breadth lower thanI had meant . Now for the rogue with the head upon hispike . Ha ! to the inch , John . When my eye is true, I am

better at rovers than at long-butts or hoyles . A good shootfor you also , John I The villain hath fallen forward into thefire . But I pray you, John , to loose gently , and not to pluckwith the drawing hand, for it is a trick that hath marred manya fine bowman .

”

Whilst the two archers were keeping up a brisk fire uponthe mob beneath them , D u G u escl in and his lady were consu l ting with Sir Nigel upon their desperate situation .

’

T is a strange end for one who has seen so many strickenfields, said the French chieftain . For me one death is asanother, but it is the thought of my sweet lady which goes tomy heart . ”

Nay, Bertrand, I fear it as little as you , said she .

I my dearest wish, it would be that we should go together .

Well answered, fair lady I cried Sir Nigel . And verysure I am that my own sweet wife would have said the same .

If the end be now come , I have had great good fortune inhaving lived in times when so much glory was to be won

,and

in knowing so many valiant gentlemen and knights . But whydo you pluck my sleeve , Alleyne .

”

If it please you, my fair lord, there are in this corner twogreat tubes of iron , w ith many heavy balls, which may perchance b e those bombards and shot of which I have heard .

By St. Ives it i s true, cried Sir Bertrand, stridingacross to the recess where the ungainly, funnel-shaped, thickribbed engines were standing .

“Bombards they are , and ofgood size . We may shoot down upon them .

”

Shoot with them , quotha ?” cried Aylward in high dis

dain, for pressing danger i s the great leveler of classes .How is a man to take aim with these fool’s toys, and how canhe hope to do scath with them ?

“I will show you ,” answered Sir Nigel ; “for here is the

great box of powder, and if vou will raise it for me, John , I

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42 DU GUESCLI N A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

descend . P ent in, a hundr ed feet from earth, with a furnaceraging under them and a ravening multitude all round whothirsted for their blood , it seemed indeed as though no menhad ever come through such peril with their lives . Slowlythey made their way back to the summit, but as they came outupon it the Lady T iphaine darted forward and caught her husband by the wrist .

Bertrand,” said she , “hush and li sten ! I have heard the

voices of men all singing together in a strange tongue .

”

Breathl ess they stood and silent, but no sound came up tothem , save the roar of the flames and the clamor of theirenemies .

“It cann ot be, lady, said Du G u escl in . T his night hathoverwrought you, and your senses play you fals e . What menare there in this country who would sing in a strange tongue ?”

HolaI yelled Aylward , l eaping suddenly into the airwith waving hands and j oyous face .

“I thought I heard itere we went down , and now I hear it again . We are saved

,

comrades ! By these ten finger bones, we are saved ! It isthe marching song Of the White C ompany . H ush !With upraised forefinger and slanting head, he stood listen

ing . Suddenly there came swelling up a deep-voiced, rollicking chorus from somewhere out of the darkness . Never didchoice or dainty ditty of P rovence or Languedoc sound moresweetly in the ears than did the rough-tongued Saxon to thesix who strained their ears from the blazing keep

We’l l d rink al l togetherTo the gray goose featherA nd the land where the gray goose flew.

Ha, by my hilt !” shouted Aylward , “it i s the dear old

bow song of the Company . H ere come two hundred as tightlads as ever twirled a shaft over their thumb nails . H ark tothe dogs, how lustily they sing INearer and clearer, swelling up out of the night, came the

gay marching lilt

What of the bowThe bow was m ade in England.

Of true wood, of yew wood,The wood of E ngl ish bows ;

DU GUESCLIN AND THE CONDOTTIERES. 43

For m en who are freeL ove the old yew treeA nd the land where the yew tree grows.What of the m en

The m en were bred in E ngland,The bowm en

,the yeom en

,

The lads of the dale and fell,

H ere’s to you and to you,To the hearts that are true

,

A nd the land where the true hearts dwell .

They sing very joyful ly, said D u Guescl in,“as though

they were going to a festival . ”

It is their wont when there is work to b e done .By St . P aul ! ” quoth Sir Nigel , “it i s in my mind that

they come too late, for I cannot see how we are to come downfrom this tower .

”

“T here they come, the hearts of gold !” cried Aylward .

“See, they move out from the shadow . Now they cross themeadow. T hey are on the further side of the moat . H ola,camarades, hola ! Johnston, E ccles , C ooke , H arward, Bligh !Would ye see a fair lady and two gallant knights done foul lyto death

Who is there ?” shouted a deep voice from below . Whois this who speaks with an E nglish tongue ? ”

It is I , old lad . It is Sam Aylward of the C ompany andhere is your captain, Sir Nigel Loring, and four others, all laidout to be grilled like an E asterl ing’s herrings.”

Curse me if I did not think that it was the style ofspeech of old Samkin Aylward,

” said the voice , amid a buzzfrom the ranks . “Wherever there are knocks going there isSammy in the heart of it . But who are these ill-faced rogueswho block the path T o your kennels, canaille I What ! youdare look us in the eyes ? Ou t swords, lads, and give themthe flat of them ! Waste not your shafts upon such runagateknaves .”

There was little fight left in the peasants, however, stilldazed by the explosion , amazed at their own losses , and disheartened by the arrival of the disciplined archers . In a veryfew minutes they were in full flight for their brushwood homes,

44 DU GUESCLIN A ND THE CONDOTTIERES.

leaving the morn ing sun to rise upon a blackened and bloodstained ruin , where it had left the night before the magnificentcastle of the Seneschal of Auvergne . Already the white linesin the east were deepen ing into pink as the archers gatheredround the keep and took counsel how to rescue the survivors .

H ad we a rope ,” said Alleyne, there is one side which is

not yet on fire , down which we might slip .

But how to get a rope ?”

It is an old trick,” quoth Aylward . Hola I Johnston,

cast m e up a rope, even as you did at M aupertius in the wartime . ”

The grizzl ed archer thus addressed took several lengths ofrope from his comrades, and knotting them firmly together, hestretched them out in the long shadow which the rising sunthrew from the frowning keep . Then he fixed the yew staveof his bow upon end and measured the long, thin , black linewhich it threw upon the turf.

“A six-foot stave throws a twelve-foot shadow, he muttered .

The keep throws a shadow of sixty paces . T hirty paces ofrope will be enow and to spare . Another strand, Watkin !Now pull at the end that all may be safe . So I It is ready forthem .

”

“But how are they to reach it ? ” asked the young archerbeside him .

“Watch and see, young fool’s head, growled the old bow

man . H e took a long string from his pouch and fastened oneend to an arrow .

All ready, SamkinReady, camarade .

”

C lose to your hand, then . With an easy pull he sent theshaft flickering gently up , falling upon the stonework withina foot of where Aylward was standing . The other end wassecured to the rope , so that in a minute a good strong cord wasdangling from the only sound side of the blazing and shatteredtower . The Lady T iphaine was lowered w ith a noose drawnfast under the arms, and the other five slid swiftly down , amidthe cheers and j oyous outcry of their rescuers .

Rom eo andJu l ietF rom the p ainting b y William M iller

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ROM EO A ND JULIET .

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,A nd I ’ll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom eo

Shal l I hear m ore, or shal l I speak at thisJu liet’Tis b ut thy nam e, that is my enemy ;T hou art thyself though, not a M ontague .What’s M ontague ? it is nor hand, nor foot,Nor arm ,

nor face,nor any oth er part

Belonging to a m an . 0 ,be som e other nam e !

What’s in a nam e that which we cal l a rose,

By any other nam e would sm ell as sweet ;So Rom eo would

,were he not Rom eo called

,

R eta in that dear p erfection which he owes,W ithout that title : — Rom eo

,doff thy name ;

A nd for that nam e which is no p art of thee,T ake al l myself.

Romeo I take thee at thy wordCal l m e but love

, and I’l l be new baptized ;

H enceforth I never wi l l be Rom eo .

Ju l iet“That m an art thou,that thus

,bescreened in night,

So stum b lest on my counsel ?

R om eo By a namI know not how to tel l thee who I amM y nam e, dear saint, is hateful to myself,Becau se it is an enemy to thee ;H ad I it written

,I would tear the word .Ju liet

M y ears have not yet drunk a hundred wordsOf that tongue

’s utterance,yet I know the sound ;

Art thou not Romeo, and a M ontague

Romeo

Neither,fair saint

,if either thee disl ike .Ju liet

How cam’st thou hither, tel l m e and wherefOrc

The orchard wal ls are high, and hard to cl imb ;A nd the place death

,considering who thou art,

I f any of my kinsm en find thee here .Rom eo

With love’s l ight wings did I o’erperch these wal ls ;

F or stony l im its cannot hold love out :A nd what love can do

,that dares love attemp t,

Therefore thy kinsm en are no let to m e .Ju lietI f they do see thee

, they will murder th ee .

ROMEO AND JULIET . 47

Romeo

Alack ! there l ies m ore peril in thine eye,Than twenty of the i r swords ; look thou but sweet,A nd I am proof against their enmity.

Ju lietI would not for the world they saw thee here.

Romeo

I have night’s cloak to hide me from the ir sight ;

A nd , b ut thou love m e, let them find me here :

M y l ife were better ended b y the ir hate,Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love .Ju l ietBy whose d irection found ’

st thou out th is placeR omeo

By love,who first did prompt me to inqui re ;

H e lent m e counsel , and I lent him eyes.I am no pilot ; yet wert thou as farAs that vast shore washed w ith the furthest sea,I would adventure for such m erchand ise .

Ju lietThou know’

st the mask of night is on my face ;E lse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,For that which thou hast heard m e speak to-night.Fain would I dwel l on form ,

fain,fain deny

What I have spoke : But farewell compl im ent !D ost thou love m e ? I know thou wilt say — A y

'

,

A nd I wil l take thy word : yet if thou swear’st,Thou m ayst prove false ; at lovers

’

p erjuries,They say

,Jove laughs. O, gentle Rom eo,

If thou dost love,pronounce it faithfully :

Or, if thou think’st I am too quickly won

,

I ’ll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo ; b ut else, not for the world.

In truth,fair M ontague, I am too fond ;

A nd therefore thou m ayst think my’havior l ight ;

But trust m e, gentleman, I

’l l prove more trueThan those that have more cunning to be strange.I should have been more strange, I must confess,But that thou overheard ’

st, ere I was’ware

,

M y true lov e’s pass ion ; therefore, pardon m e ;

A nd not impute this yield ing to l ight love,Wh ich the dark night hath so d iscovered .

RomeoL ady

,by yonder blessed moon I swear,

That tips with silver al l these fruit tree tops,

48 ROM EO AND JULIET .

Ju l ietO,swear not by the m oon, the inconstant moon,

That m onthly changes in her circled orb,Lest that thy love prove l ikewise variable .

Romeo

What shall I swear by ?Ju liet D O not swear at al l ;Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,Which is the god of my idolatry,A nd I ’l l believe thee.

Romeo If my heart’s dear loveJu lietWell

,do not swear : although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract to nightIt is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ;Too l ike the lightning, which doth cease to be,E re one can say — I t l ightens . Sweet, good night !Th is b ud of love, by summ er

’s r ip ening breath,M ay p rove a beauteous flower when next we meet.G ood night, good night ! as sweet repose and restCom e to thy heart, as that w ithin my breast !

Romeo

0 ,wilt thou leave m e so unsatisfiedJu liet

What satisfaction canst thou have to-nightRomeo

The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for m ine.Ju liet

I gave th ee m ine before thou d idst request itA nd yet I would it were to give again .

Romeo

Wouldst thou withdraw it for what purpose,loveJu liet

But to be frank, and give it thee again.

A nd yet I wish but for the thing I haveM y bounty is as boundless as the sea,M y love as deep ; the m ore I give to thee,The m ore I have

,for both are infinite .

[Nurse ca lls within.

I hear som e noise within : D ear love,adieu !

Anon, good nurse I Sweet M ontague, be true .

Stay b u t a l ittle, I will come again .

Romeo

0 blessed,blessed night ! I am afeard,

Be ing in nigh t, al l this is but a d ream ,

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial .

ROMEO AND JULIET . 49

Reenter JU L IE T a bove.JulietThree words, dear Rom eo, and good night, indeed .

I f that thy bent of love be honorable,Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,

By one that I’l l procure to come to thee,Where, and what tim e, thou wilt perform the rite ;A nd all my fortunes at thy foot I

’l l lay,

A nd follow thee,my lord

,throughout the world

N urse [within]M adam .

I com e, anon z — But if thou m ean

’st not well

,

I do b eseech thee,

N urse [within]M adam .

By and by, I comeTO cease thy suit, and leave me to my griefTo-morrow wi ll I send .

Romeo SO thrive my soul,Ju lietA thousand times good night !

Romeo

A thousand tim es the worse,to want thy light.

Love goes toward love, as schoolb oys from thei r books,

B ut love from love,toward school with heavy looks .

[Retiring slowly.

R eenter JU L I E T, a bove.

H ist ! Rom eo, hist ! — O,for a falconer’s voice,

To lure this tassel-gentle back again !Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ;E lse would I tear the cave where echo l ies,A nd make her ai ry tongue m ore hoarse than mineWith repetition of my Romeo’s nam e .

Romeo

I t i s my soul,that calls upon my name

H ow silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,Like softest music to attend ing ears !Ju lietRom eo !

Romeo M y sweet !Ju liet At what o’clock to-morrowShal l I send to thee

Romeo At the hour of nine .VOL . x.

— 4

50 ROM EO A ND JULIET .

Ju lietI will not fail ;

’tis twenty years til l then.

I have forgot why I did call thee back .

Romeo

L et m e stand here til l thou rem ember it.Ju lietI shall forget, to have thee still stand there,Remem b

’ring how I love thy company.

Rom eo

A nd I’l l stil l stay,to have thee still forget,

F orgetting any other hom e but this.

’Tis almost morning, I would have thee goneA nd yet no further than a wanton’s bi rd ;Who lets it hOp a l ittle from her hand,Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,A nd with a silk thread plucks it back again,So loving-j ealous of his l iberty.

Romeo

I woul d, I were thy bird.Ju liet Sweet,so would I

Yet I should kil l thee with much cherishing.

G ood n ight, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrowThat I shal l say good night, til l it be morrow. [Exit

Romeo

Sleep dwel l upon thine eyes, p eace in thy breast !Would I were sleep and peace

,so sweet to rest !

H ence will I to my ghostly father’s cel l ;

H is help to crave, and my dear hap to tel l .

S cene F riar L aurence’s Cell.

E nter FR IA R LAU REN CE and ROMEO.

F riar

So smile the heavens upon this holy act,That after hours with sorrow chide us not.

Romeo

Am en, am en ! but come what sorrow can,I t cannot countervai l the exchange of joyThat one short m inute gives m e in her sightD o thou b ut close our hands with holy words

,

Then love-devouring death do what he dare,I t is enough I m ay but cal l her mine .

F riar

These violent delights have violent ends,

ROM EO A ND JULIET . 5 1

A nd in their triumph die ; like fire and powder,

Wh ich,as they kiss

,consume : The sweetest honey

Is loathsom e in his own del iciousness,A nd in the taste confounds the appetiteTherefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ;Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

E nter JU L I E T .

H ere com es the lady : 0 ,so light a foot

Wil l ne’er wear out the everlasting flint :A lover m ay bestride the gossam ersThat id le in the wanton summ er air

,

A nd yet not fal l ; so light is vanity.Ju lietGood even to my ghostly confessor.

F riar

Romeo shall thank thee,daughter, for us both.Juliet

As much to him,else are his thanks too much.

Romeo

Ah,Jul iet, if the m easure of thy j oy

Be heaped lik e mine, and that thy skil l be more

To blazon it,then sweeten with thy breath

This neighbor ai r, and let rich music’s tongue,

U nfold the imagined happiness that bothReceive in either by this dear encounter.

Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,Brags of his substance, not of ornamentThey are but beggars that can count their worth ;But my true love is grown to such excess,I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

F riar

Come, com e with me,and we will m ake short work ;

For, by your leaves, you shal l not stay alone,T ill holy church incorporate two in one . [E xeunt.

S cene Ju liet’s Cham ber .

Ju liet E nter ROME O and JU L I E T .

Wilt thou be gone it is not yet near dayI t was the nightingale, and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hol low of thine ear ;Nightly she s ings on yon pom egranate tree :Believe me, love, it was the nightingale .

ROM EO AND JUL IET .

Romeo

It was the lark,the herald of the morn

,

No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaksDO lace the severing clouds in yonder eastN ight

’s candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ;I m ust be gone and live, or stay and die .Ju lietYon light is not daylight, I know it, IIt is som e m eteor that the sun exhales

,

To be to thee this night a torchbearer,A nd light thee on thy way to M antuaTherefore stay yet, thou need

’st not to b e gone.

Romeo

Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death ;I am content, so thou wilt have it so.

I’l l say, yon gray is not the morning’s eye

,

’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow !

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beatThe vau lty heaven so high above our heads :I have m ore care to stay

,than wil l to go ;

Com e, death, and welcome ! Jul iet wills it so .H ow is’t, my soul let’s talk, it is not day.

It is, it is, hie hence, b e gone, away ;It is the lark that sings so out of tune,Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps .

Som e say, the lark m akes sweet d ivision ;This doth not so

,for she divideth us :

Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes0 ,now I would they had changed voices too ;

Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day .

0 ,now be gone ; more light and light it grows.

Rom eo

M ore light and light — more dark and dark our woes.

E nter NURSE .

M adam !Ju lietNurse

N urse

Your lady mother’s com ing to your chamberThe day is broke ; be wary, look ab out.Ju lietThen, window,

let day in, and let l ife out.

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54 GESTA ROM ANORUM .

frequently visited the young man with the hope of al leviatinghis griefs . But he was too disconsolate to hearken .

It one day fell out that, while the damsel was with him, theyouth said to her

, Oh , that you would try to set me free, kindmaiden I She repli ed, But how am I to effe ct it Thy father,thine own father

,will not ransom thee ; on what ground then

Should I, a stranger, attempt it ? And suppose that I wereinduced to do so, I Should incur the wrath of my parent, b ecause thin e den ies the price of thy redemption . Nevertheless,on one condition thou shalt be liberated .

” Kind damsel,”

return ed he, “impose what thou wilt ; so that it be possible, Iwill accomplish it . ” “P romise , then ,

” said She,“to marry

me,whenever an opportun ity may occur .” I promise,

” saidthe youth, j oyfully, “and plight thee a faith that shall neverbe broken .

The girl straightway set him free from his bonds, withouther father’s knowledge, and fled with him to his own country .

When they arrived, the father of the youth welcomed him ,and

said , Son , I am overj oyed at thy return ; but who is the ladyunder thy escort ? ”

He replied, It is the daughter of a king,to whom I am betrothed .

”The father returned, On pain of

losing thy inheritance, I charge thee , marry her not .” “M y

father, exclaimed the youth, what hast thou said ? M yobligations to her are greater than they are to you for whenimprisoned and fettered by my enemy, I implored you to ransom me ; but you would not . Now, she not only released mefrom prison , but from deadly peril — and

,therefore

,I am

resolved to marry her .The father answered : Son , I tell thee that thou canst not

confide in her, and consequently ought not to espouse her .She deceived her own father, when she liberated thee fromprison ; for this did her father lose the price of thy ransom .

Therefore, I am of Opinion that thou canst not confide in her,and con sequently ought not to espouse her . 1 Besides, there isanother reason . It is true she liberated thee , but it was for thegratification of her passions, and in order to oblige thee tomarry her . And Since an unworthy passion was the source ofthy liberty, I think she ought not to be thy w ife .

1“L ook to her, M oor ; have a quick eye to see

She has deceived her f ather, and may thee.

”

Othel lo, A ct. 1. So. 3.

GESTA ROM ANORUM . 55

When the lady heard such reasons assigned, she answered ,“To your first Obj ection, that I deceived my own parent, Ireply that it is not true . H e deceives who takes away ordiminishes a certain good . But my father is so rich that heneeds not any addition . When, therefore , I had maturelyweighed this matter, I procured the young man

’s freedom .

And if my father had received a ransom for him, he had beenbut little richer while you would have been utterly im poverished . Now, in acting thus, I have served you, who refusedthe ransom, and have done no inj ury to my parent. As foryour last obj ection, that an unworthy passion urged m e to dothis

,I assert that it is false . Feelings of such a nature arise

e ither from great personal beauty, or from wealth , or honors ;or finally, from a robust appearance . Non e of which qualitie syour son possessed . For imprisonment had destroyed hisbeauty ; and he had not sufficient wealth even to effect hisliberation ; while much anxiety had worn away his strength,and left him emaciated and sickly . T herefore , compassionrather persuaded me to free him .

”

When the father had heard this, he could obj ect nothingmore . So his son married the lady with very great pomp,and closed his life in peace .

A P P L I CA T ION .

M y beloved, the son captured by pirates is the whole humanrace, led by the sin of our first parent into the prison of thedevil — that is, into his power . The father who would notredeem him is the world, which aids not man

’s escape from theevil one, but rather loves to detain him in thraldom . The

daughter who visited him in prison is the D ivinity of Christunited to the soul who sympathized with the human Speciesand who, after his passion , des cended into hell and freed usfrom the chains of the devil . B ut the celestial Father had nooccasion for wealth, because H e i s infinitely rich and good .

T herefore Christ, moved with compassion, came down fromheaven to visit us, and took upon H imself our form, and requiredno more than to be united in the closest bonds with man . So

H osea ii I will marry her to me in faithfulness . B ut ourfather, the world, whom many obey, ever murmurs and obj ectsto this . If thou unitest thyself to G od , thou shalt lose myinh eritance “ that is the inheritance of this world ; because

56 GESTA ROM ANORUM .

it is “impossible to serve G od and mammon . M att . vi He

who Shall leave father, or mother , or wife, or country for mysake

,he shall receive an hundredfold, and possess everlasting

life .

” Which may Jesus Christ, the Son of the living G od ,vouchsafe to bestow upon us ; who with the Father, and the

H oly G host, liveth and reigneth for ever and ever . Amen .

OF REM EM B E R I N G D E A TH , A N D F ORG ETTI N G TH IN G S T EM

P ORA L .

T here was an image in the city of Rome standing in anerect posture , with the dexter hand outstretched ; and uponthe middle finger was written , “STR I K E H ERE .

”The image

stood a long time in this mann er, and no one understood whatthe inscription signified. It was much wondered at, and comm ented on ; but this was all, for they invariably departed aswise as they came . At last, a certain subtle clerk, hearing ofthe image

,felt anxiou s to see it and when he had done so , he

observed the superscription , S trike here .

’

H e noticed thatwhen the sun shone upon the image, the outstretched fingerwas discern ible in the lengthened Shadow . After a little consideration he took a spade, and where the shadow ceased, dugto the depth of about three feet . This brought him to a number of steps

,which led into a subterranean cavity . Not a little

exhilarated with his discovery, the clerk prosecuted the adventure .

D escending the steps, he entered the hall of a magnificentpalace

,in which he perceived a king and a queen and many

nobles seated at table , and the hall itself filled with men .

T hey were all habited in costly apparel , and kept the mostrigid silence . Looking about, he beheld in one corner of theplace a polished stone, called a carbuncle , by the single aid ofwhich the hall was lighted . In the opposite corner stood aman armed with a bow and arrow, in the act of taking aim atthe precious stone . Upon his brow was inscribed, I am whatI am : my shaft is inevitable ; least of all can yon luminouscarbuncle escape its stroke .

”The clerk, amazed at what he

saw,entered the bedchamber, and found a multitude of

beautiful women arrayed in purple garments, but not a soundescaped them . From thence he proceeded to the stables,and observed a number of horses and asses in their stalls . He

touched them, but they we re nothing but stone . H e visited

GESTA ROM ANORUM . 5 7

all the various buildings of the palace , and whatsoever hisheart desired was to be found there . Returning to the hall

,

he thought of making good his retreat . I have seen wondersto-day

,

” said he to himsel f, “but nobody will credit the relation

,unless I carry back with m e some incontrovertible testi

mony .

”

C asting his eyes upon the highest table, he beheld a quantity of golden cups and beautiful knives, which b e ap

p roached , and laid his hands upon one of each, designing tocarry them away . But no sooner had he placed them in hisbosom

,than the archer struck the carbuncle with the arrow,

and shivered it into a thousand atoms . Instantly the wholebuilding was enveloped in thick darkness, and the clerk , inutter consternation, sought his way back . But being u nable,in consequence of the darkness, to discover it, he perished inthe greatest misery, amid the mysterious statues of the palace .

A P P L I CA T ION .

M y beloved, the image is the devi l ; the clerk is any covetous man , who sacrifices himself to the cupidity of his desires .The steps by which he descends are the passions . The archeris death , the carbuncle is human life, and the cup and knife areworldl y possessions .

OF THE AVA R I C IOU S P U R SU IT OF RIOHE S, W H I CH LE AD S

To H ELL .

A certain carpenter residing in a city near the sea, verycovetous and very wicked, collected a large sum of money, andplaced it in the trunk of a tree , which he placed by hisfireside , that no one might have any suspicion that it heldmoney . It happened once that, while all his household slept,the sea overflowed its boundaries, broke down that side of thebuilding where the log was situated, and carried it away . Itfloated many miles, and reached , at length , a city in which therelived a person who kept Open house . Arising early in themorning, he perceived the trunk of a tre e in the water, andbrought it to land, thinking it was nothing but a bit of timberthrown away by some one . H e was a liberal, kind-heartedman, and a great benefactor to the poor . It one day chanced

58 GESTA ROM A NORUM .

that he entertained some pilgrims in his house and the weatherbeing extremely cold, he cut up the log for firewood . Whenhe had struck two or three blows with the ax , he heard a rattling sound ; and cleaving it in twain , the gold pieces rolledout in every direction . G reatly rej oiced at the dis covery, hereposited them in a secure place , until he shoul d ascertain whowas the owner .Now

,the carpenter, bitterly lamenting the loss of his money,

traveled from place to place in pursuit of it . H e came by acci~

dent,to the house of the hospitable man who had found the

trunk . He failed not to mention the obj ect of his search andthe host, understanding that the money was his, said to himself,I will prove , if G od will, that the money should be return edto him . Accordingly, he made th ree cakes, the first of whichhe filled with earth ; the second, with the bones of dead men ;and in the third, he put a quantity of the gold which he haddiscovered in the trunk .

“Friend,” said he, addressing the

carpenter,we will eat three cakes, composed of the best meat

in the house . Choose which you will have . The carpenterdid as he was directed ; he took the cakes and weighed themin his hand, on e after another, and finding that with the earthweigh heaviest, he chose it . And if I wan t more , my worthyhost

,added he , I w ill have that,

” laying his hand upon thecake containing the bones . You may keep the third cakeyourself. ” I see clearly,

” murmured the host, “I see veryclearly that G od does not will the money to b e restored to thiswretched man . Calling, therefore , the poor and infirm, the

blind and the lame , and opening the cake of gold in the presence of the carpenter, to whom he spoke , Thou miserablevarlet

,this is thine own gold . But thou p referredst the cake

of earth,and dead men’s bones . I am persuaded, therefore,

that G od wills not that I return thee thy money withoutdelay

,he distributed the whole amongst the paupers, and drove

the carpenter away in great tribulation .

A P P LI CA T ION .

M y beloved, the carpenter is any worldly-minded man the

trunk of the tree denotes the human heart, filled with the richesof this life . The host is a wise confessor . The cake of earthis the world that of the bones of dead men is the flesh andthat of gold is the kingdom of heaven .

GESTA ROMANORUM . 59

OF FEMI N INE SU B TLETY .

KIN G D A R I U S was a circumspect prince , and had three sons,whom he much loved . On his deathbed he bequeathed thekingdom to his fir stborn ; to the second, all his own personalacquisitions ; and to the third a golden ring, a n ecklace , and apiece of valuable cloth . The ring had the power to render anyone who bore it on his finger beloved ; and, moreover, obtainedfor him whatsoever he sought . The necklace enabled the person who wore it upon his breast to accomplish his heart’s desire and the cloth had such virtue, that whosoever sat upon itand thought where he would be carried, there he instantly fou ndhimself . These thr ee gifts the king conferred upon the youngerson

,for the purpose of aiding his studies ; but the mother re

tained them un til he was of a proper age . Soon after thebequests, the Old monarch gave up the ghost, and was m agnifi

cently bur i ed . The two elder sons then took possession oftheir legacies , and the mother of the younger delivered to himthe ring, with the caution that he should beware of the artifices of women , or he would otherwise lose it . Jonathan ( forthat was his name) took the ring, and went zealously to hisstudies, in which he made himself a proficient . But walkingon a certain day through the street, he observed a very beautiful woman , with whom he was so much struck, that he took herto him . H e continued, however, to use the ring, and foundfavor with every one, insomuch that whatever he desired hehad .

Now, the lady was greatly surprised that he lived so splendidl y, having no possessions ; and once, when he was p articul arly exhilarated, tenderly embraced him, and protested thatthere was not a creature under the sun whom she loved so muchas she did him . H e ought therefore , she thought, to tell herby what means he supported his magn ificence . H e , suspectingnothing, explained the virtues of the ring ; and she beggedthat he would be careful of so invaluable a treasure . But,added she, “in your daily intercourse w ith men you may loseit place it in my custody , I beseech you . Overcome by herentreaties, he gave up the ring ; and when his necessities cameupon him, she asserted loudly that thieves had carried it off .

60 GESTA ROMANORUM .

H e lamented bitterly that now he had not any means of subsistence ; and, hastening to his mother, stated how he had losthis ring . M y son ,

” said she , I forewarned you of whatwould happen

,but you have paid no attention to my advice .

H ere is the necklace preserve it more carefully . If it be lost,you w ill forever want a thing of the greatest honor and profit . ”

Jonathan took the necklace , and returned to his studies . Atthe gate of the city his mistress met him, and received him withthe appearance of great j oy . H e remained with her, wearing thenecklace upon his breast ; and whatever he thought, he possessed . As before, he lived so gloriously that the lady wondered, well knowing that he had neither gold nor silver . She

guessed, therefore, that he carried another talisman ; and cunningly drew from him the history of the wonder-working necklace . Why,

” said the lady, do you always take it with you ?You may think in one moment more than can be made use ofin a year . Let m e keep it .” No,

” replied he, “you wil l losethe necklace, as you lost the ring ; and thus I shall receive thegreatest possible inj ury . O my lord, replied she, “I havelearnt, by having had the custody of the ring, how to securethe necklace and I assur e you no one can possibly get it fromme .” The silly youth confided in her words, and delivered thenecklace .Now, when all he possessed was expended, he sought his talis

man ; and she, as before, solemn ly protested that it had beenstolen . T his threw Jonathan into the greatest distress . AmI mad, cried he, “that after the loss of my ring I should giveup the necklace ? Immediately hasten ing to his mother, herelated to her the whole circumstance . Not a little affli cted, Shesaid, Oh , my dear child, why didst thou place confidence inthe woman ? P eople will believe thee a fool : but be wise, forI have nothing more for you than the valuable cloth which yourfather left and if you lose that, it will be quite useless returning to me . Jonathan received the cloth, and again went tohis studies . The harlot seemed very joyful ; and he, spreadingout the cloth , said, “M y dear girl, my father bequeathed methis beautiful cloth ; sit down upon it by my Side . She complied, and Jonathan secretly wished that they were in a desertp lace, out of the reach of man . The talisman took effect theywere carried in to a forest on the utmost boundary of the world,where there was not a trace of humanity . The lady wept bitterly, but Jonathan paid no regard to her tears . H e solemnly

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62 GESTA ROM ANORUM .

any one, it must be restored . The lady, reduced to the veryverge of the grave , in a low voice acknowledged that she hadcheated Jonathan of the ring , necklace, and cloth ; and hadleft him in a desert place to be devoured by wild beasts . Whenshe had said this , the pretended physician exclaimed, “T el lme

,lady , where these talismans are ?

” “In that chest,”an

swered she , and delivered up the keys, by which he obtainedpossession of his treasures . Jonathan then gave her of thefruit which produced leprosy ; and, after she had eaten , of thewater which separated the flesh from the bones . The couse

qu ence was that she was excruciated with agony, and shortlydied . Jonathan hastened to his mother, and the whole kingdomrejoiced at his return . H e told by what means G od had freedhim from such various dangers and, having lived many years,ended his days in peace .

AP P L I CA TION .

M y beloved, the king is Christ ; the queen mother, theChurch ; and the three sons, men living in the world . The

third son is any good Christian ; the ring is faith ; the necklace is grace or hope ; and the cloth, charity . The concubineis the flesh ; the bitter water is repentance , and the first fruitis remorse the second water is confession , and the second fruitis prayer, fasting, and almsgiving . The leprous king is anySinful man the ship in which Jonathan embarked is the divinecommand .

THE THREE BL A CK CRows .

There were two brothers, of whom one was a layman andthe other a parson . The former had often heard his brotherdeclare that there never was a woman who could keep a secret .H e had a mind to put this maxim to the test in the personof his own wife, and one night he addressed her in the following manner : “M y dear wife , I have a secret to commun icateto you, if I were certain that you would reveal it to nobody .

Should you divulge it, it would cause me the greatest uneasic

ness and vexation .

”M y lord , answered his wife , fear not

we are one body, and your advantage is mine . In like manner,

your injury must deeply afl ect m e .

” “W ell, then,” said he,

GESTA ROM ANORUM . 63

“know that, my bowel s being oppressed to an extraordinarydegree

,I fell very Sick . M y dear wife, what will you think ?

I actually voided a huge black crow, which instantly took wing,and left me in the greatest trepidation and confusion of mind .

”

“I s it pos sible ? ” asked the innocent lady ; “but, husband,why should this trouble you ? You ought rather to rej oicethat you are freed from such a pestilent tenant . ” H ere theconversation closed ; in the morning, the wife hurried off tothe house of a neighbor “M y best friend,

” said she , “mayI tell you a secret ? "

,As safely as to your own soul,

answered the fair auditor . Why, replied the other, “amarvelous thing has happened to my poor husband . Beinglast night extremely sick, he voided two prodigious blackcrows

,feathers and all , which immediately flew away . I am

much concerned .

”The other promised very faithfully — m and

immediately told her n eighbor that three black crows hadtaken this most alarming flight . The next edition of the storymade i t f our ; and in this way it spread, until it was verycredibly reported that sixty black crows had been evacuated byone unfortunate varlet . But the joke had gone further thanhe dreamt of he became much disturbed , and assembl ing hisbusy neighbors, explained to them that, having wished toprove whether or not his wife could keep a secret, he hadmade such a communication . Soon after this, his wife dying,he ended his days in a cloister, where he learnt three letters ;of which one was black ; the second, red ; and the third ,white . [This seems merely introduced to tell us, in the appl ication

,that the black letter is recollection of our sins the red,

Christ’s blood ; and the white, the desire of heaven . ]

A P P L I CA TI ON .

M y beloved, the layman is any worldly-minded man who,thinking to do one foolish thing without ofi ense , falls into athousand errors . But he assembles the people — that is, pastand present sins — and by confession expurgates his conscience .

[Dr. John Byrom’

s famous versification of th is story will b e found in a latervolume ]

64 THE DEA TH OF RIENZI .

THE DE ATH OF RIENZ I .

B Y BULWER-LYTTON .

(F rom The L ast of the

[E DWARD G E ORG E E A R L E LYTTON-B U LWE R , later LORD LYTTON , Englishnovelis t, p laywrigh t, and p oet , was b orn in Norfolk in 1 803. He graduated at

Trinity C ollege, Cam b ridge b ecam e a m emb er of P arliament for many years ,colonial secretary 1 858- 1 859 was ed itor of the N ewM onthlyM aga z ine 1 831

— 1 833

elected lord rector of GlasgowUniversity 1856 d ied January 1 8 , 1 873. H is novelsinclude (among many others) : P elham ,

” “P aul Clifford ,” “Eugene A ram .

”

“The L ast D ays of P ompeii,” R ienz i,” E rnest M altravers ,” “A lice , or theM ysteries ,” “Zanoni,” “The Caxtons ,” “M y N ovel ,” “K enelm Ch illingly ,”and “The Com ing Race” ; his p lays , the p ermanent favorites “R iche lieu,”“M oney ,

”and The Lady of Lyons his p oems , the satirical “N ew T im on ,

and translations of Schiller’s b allads . )

IT was the morning of the 8th of October, 1 354. Rienzi,who rose betimes, stirred restlessly in his bed . It is yet early,

”

he said to Nina, whose soft arm was round his neck ; “none ofmy people seem to b e astir. H owbeit, my day begins beforetheirs .

”

Rest yet, my C ola you want sleep .

No I feel feverish, and this old pain in the side tormentsme . I have letters to write .

Let me b e your secretary, dearest, said Nina .

Rienzi smiled affectionately as he rose ; he repaired to hiscloset adj oining his sleeping apartment, and used the bath aswas his wont . T hen dressing himself, he returned to Nina,who, already loosely robed, sat by the writing table , ready forher office of love .“How still are all things I” said Rienzi . “What a cool and

delicious prelude, in these early hours, to the toilsome day .

”

Leaning over his wife, he then dictated difi erent letters,interrupting the task at times by such observations as crossedhis mind .

So, now to A nnib al di ! By the way, young Adrian shouldj oin us to-day how I rej oice for Irene ’s sake I

D ear sister — yes I she loves, — if any, C ola, can so love ,as we do .

”

Well, but to your task, my fair scribe . H a what noise isthat ? I hear an armed step — the stairs creak — some one

shouts my name .

”

THE DEA TH OF RIENZI. 65

Rienzi flew to his sword the door was thrown rudely open,

and a figure in complete armor appeared w ithin the chamber .How I what means this ? ” said Rienzi , standing before

Nina, with his drawn sword .

The intruder lifted his visor it was Adrian C olonna .

Fly, Rienzi hasten, Signora ! Thank H eaven , I can saveye yet ! M yself and train released by the capture of P alestrina,the pain of my wound detained me last night at T ivoli . T he

town was filled w ith armed men — not thine, Senator . I heardrumors that alarmed me . I resolved to proceed onward ; Ireached Rome, the gates of the city were wide open I

How I

Your guard gone . P resently I came upon a band of the retainers of the Savelli . M y insignia, as a C olonna, misled them .

I learned that this very hour some of your enemies are W ithinthe city, the rest are on their march , the people themselvesarm against you . In the obscurer streets I passed through ,the mob were already forming . They took me for thy foe, andshouted . I came hither thy sentries have vanished . The

private door below is unbarred and open . Not a soul seems leftin thy palace . H aste — fly

— save thyself ! Where is Irene ? ”

The C apitol deserted I— impossible I ” cried Rienzi . H e

strode across the chambers to the anteroom, where his nightguard usually waited — it was empty ! H e passed hastily toV il lani

’

s room — it was untenanted ! H e would have passedfarther, but the doors were secured W ithout . It was eviden tthat all egress had been cut off, save by the private door b elow,

— and tha t had been left Open to admit his murderers !He return ed to his room . Nina had already gon e to rouse

and prepare Irene, whose chamber was on the other side , withinone of their own .

“Quick , Senator !” said Adrian . M ethinks there is yet

time . We must make across to the T iber . I have stationedmy faithful squires and Northmen there . A boat waits us . ”

H ark inte rrupted Rienzi, whose senses had of late beenp reternaturally quicken ed .

“I hear a distant shout — a fam

i l iar shout, ‘Viva ’

l P opolo I Why, so say I ! These mustbe friends .

D eceive not thyself ; thou hast scarce a friend at Rom e .

H ist,” said Rienzi in a whisper ; save Nina save Irene .

I cannot accom pany thee .

”

Art thou mad ?V O L . x .

— 5

66 THE DE A TH OF RIENZI .

No I but fearless . Besides , did I accompany, I might butdestroy you all . Were I found with you , you would b e massacred with me . Without me ye are safe . Yes, even the Senator

’

s wife and sister have provoked no revenge . Save them ,

noble C olonna I C ola di Ri enzi puts his trust in G od alone IBy this time Nina had returned, Irene with her . Afar was

heard the tramp — steady — slow — gathering — of the fatalmultitude .

Now, Cola, said Nina, with a bold and cheerful air, andshe took her husband’s arm , while Adrian had already foundhis charge in Irene .“Yes, now, Nina said Rienzi ; at length w e part I If

this is my last hour — in my last hour I pray G od to bless andshield thee I for verily, thou hast been my exceeding solaceprovident as a parent, tender as a child, the smile of my hearth,the the

Rienzi was almost unmanned . Emotions, deep , conflicting,unspeakably fond and grateful , literally choked his speech .

What ! ” cried Nina, clinging to his breast , and partingher hair from her eyes , as she sought his averted face .

“P art Inever ! This is my place ; all Rome shall not tear me fromit IAdrian, in despair, seized her hand, and attempted to drag

her thence .

T ouch me not, Sir I said Nina, waving her arm w ithangry maj esty, while her eyes sparkled as a lioness whom the

huntsmen would sever from her young .

“I am the w ife ofCola di Rienzi, the G reat Senator of Rome, and by his side willI live and die“T ake her hence : quick ! quick ! I hear the crowd ad

vancing .

”

Iren e tore herself from Adrian , and fell at the feet ofRienzi she clasped his knees .

C ome, my brother, come ! Why lose these precious moments ? Rome forbids you to cast away a life in which hervery self is bound up .

”

Right, Irene ; Rome is bound up with me, and we will riseor fall t ogether I — no more I

You destroy us all ! ” said Adrian , with generous and impatient warmth . A few minutes more, and we are lost . Rashm an ! it i s not to fall by an infuriate mob that you have beenpreserved from so many dangers .

”

Y”

THE DEA TH OF RIENZI.

I believe it, said the Senator, as his tall form seemed todilate as with the greatness of his own soul . I shall triumphyet I Never shall mine enemies — never shall posterity saythat a second time Rienzi abandoned Rome ! H ark ! ‘Viva’

l P opolo ? ’ still the cry of ‘TH E P EOP LE .

’

T hat cry scaresnon e but tyrants I shall triumph and survive I

“And I with thee I ” said Nina, firmly . Ri enzi paused amoment

,gazed on his w ife , passionately clasped her to his

heart,kissed her again and again , and then said , “Nina, I com

mand thee , G o I“Never ! ”

H e paused . Irene ’s face , drowned in tears, met his eyes .We will all perish with you,

” said his sister ; “you only,Adrian , you leave us I“Be it so,

” said the knight, sadly ; “we will a l l remain,

and he desisted at once from further effort .T here was a dead but short pause , broken but by a convu l

sive sob from Irene . The tramp of the raging thousandssounded fearfully distinct . Rienzi seemed lost in thought ;then lifting his head, he said calmly , Ye have triumphed — I

j oin ye ; I but collect these papers, and follow you . Quick,

Adrian,save them I and he pointed meaningly to Nina.

Waiting no other hint, the young C olonna seized Nina inhis strong grasp ; with his left hand he supported Irene, whowith terror

'

and excitement was almost insensible . Rienzi rel ieved him of the lighter load ; he took his sister in his arms,and descended the winding stairs . Nina remained passive — sheheard her husband’s step behind, it was enough for her — shebut turned once to thank him with her eyes . A tall Northmanclad in armor stood at the open door . Rienzi placed Iren e ,now perfectly lifeless, in the soldier

’s arms, and kissed her palecheek in silence .

“Quick , my lord, said the Northman , on all sides theycome ! ” So saying, he bounded down the descent with hisburden . Adrian followed with Nina ; the Senator paused on emoment, turned back , and was in his room, ere Adrian wasaware that he had vanished .

H astily he drew the coverlid from his bed,fastened it to the

easem ent bars, and by its aid dropped (at a distance of severalfeet) into the balcony below . I will not die like a rat

,

” saidhe

,

“in a trap they have set for me The whol e crowd shall, atleast, see and hear me .

”

68 THE DEA TH OF RIENZI .

This was the work of a moment .M eanwhile Nina had scarcely proceeded six paces , before

she discovered that she was alone w ith Adrian .

H a ! C ola I she cried, where is he ? he has gone I ”

T ake heart, lady, he has returned but for some secretpapers he has forgotten . He will follow us anon .

Let us wait, then .

”

Lady, said Adrian , grinding his teeth , “hear you notthe crowd ? on , on I

” and he flew with a swifter step . Ninastruggled in his grasp Love gave her the strength of despair .With a wild laugh she broke from him . She flew back — the

door was closed, but unbarred her trembling hands lingereda moment round the spring . She Opened it , drew the heavybolt across the panels, and frustrated all attempt from Adrianto regain her . She was on the stairs, — she was in the room .

Rienzi was gone ! She fled, shrieking his name , through theState Chambers all was desolate . She found the doors opening on the various passages that admitted to the rooms belowbarred without . Breathless and gasping, she returned to thechamber . She hurried to the casemen t ; she perceived themethod by which he had descended below ; her brave hearttold her of his brave d esign ; she saw they were separated .

“But the same roof holds us, she cried j oyously, “and ourfate Shall be the same I With that thought she sank in mutepatience on the floor .Forming the generous resolve not to abandon the faithful

and devoted pair without another effort, Adrian had followedNina, but too late the door was closed against his efforts . The

crowd marched on he heard their cry change on a sudden ; itwas no longer “LIVE TH E P EOP LE !

”b u t ,

“D E A TH To THE

TRA I TOR I His attendant had already disappeared, andwaking now only to the danger of Irene , the C olonna inbitter grief turned away , lightly sped down the descen t, andhastened to the river side , where the boat and his band awaitedhim .

The balcony on which Ri enzi had alighted was that fromwhich he had been accustomed to address the people it comm unicated with a vast hall used on solemn occasions for Statefestivals and on either side were square proj ecting towers ,whose grated casements looked into the balcony . One of thesetowers was devoted to the armory, the other contained theprison of Brettone, the brother of M ontreal . Beyond the latter

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0 THE DEA TH OF RIENZI .

shrill and youthful tone ; and by the side of the artisan stoodAngelo Villani .“H ear him not ! death to the death giver ! ” cried a voice

close at hand,and from the grating of the neighboring prison

glared near upon him, as the eye of a tiger, the vengeful gazeof the brother of M ontreal .

Then from E arth to H eaven rose the roar : D own with thetyrant down with him who taxed the people IA shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator , still

he stirred not . No changing muscle betokened fear . H is persuasion of his own wonderful powers of eloquence , if he couldbut be heard, inspired him yet with hope ; he stood collectedin his own indignant but determined thoughts but the knowledge of that very eloquence was now his deadl iest foe . T he

leaders of the multitude trembled lest he shou ld be heard ;“and dou btless,

” says the contemporaneous biographer, “hadhe bu t Sp oken he wou ld have changed them a ll , and the work been

marred .

The soldiers of the barons had already mixed themselveswith the throng ; more deadly weapons than stones aided thewrath of the multitude ; darts and arrows darkened the air ;and now a voice was heard shrieking, Way for the torches IAnd red in the sunlight the torches tossed and waved, anddanced to and fro, above the heads of the crowd, as if thefi ends were let loose amongst the mob ! And what place inhell ha th fiends like those a mad mob can furn ish ? Straw, andwood

,and litter

,were piled hastily round the great doors of

the C apitol , and the smoke curled suddenly up , beating backthe rush of the assailants .

Rienzi was no longer visible , an arrow had pierced his hand— the right hand that supported the flag of Rome — the righthand that had given a constitution to the Republic . H e retiredfrom the storm into the desolate hall .

H e sat down ; and tears, springing from no weak womansource, but tears from the loftiest fountain of emotion — tearsthat b efit a warrior when his own

,troops desert him a patriot

when his countrymen rush to their own doom a father whenhis children rebel against his love , - tears such as these forcedthemselves from his eyes and relieved, but they changed, hisheart I

E nough, enough I he said, presently rising and dashingthe drops scornfully away ; I have risked, dared, toiled

THE DEA TH OF RIENZ I . 71

enough for this dastard and degen erate race . I will yet baffletheir malice ! I renounce the thought of which they are solittle worthy ! Let Rome perish ! I feel, at last, that I amn obler than my country ! she deserves not so high a sacrifi ce I

With that feeling, D eath lost all the nobleness of aspect ithad before presented to him ; and he resolved, in very scornof his ungrateful foes, in very defeat of their inhuman wrath,to make one effort for his life ! H e divested himself of hisglittering arms ; his address, his dexterity, his craft, returnedto him . H is active mind ran over the chances of disguise — of

escape ; he left the hall , passed through the humbler roomsdevoted to the servitors and menials, found in one of them acoarse working garb ; indued himself with it, placed upon hishead some of the draperies and furniture of the palace, as ifescaping with them ; and said, w ith his old “f anta stico riso,

”

“When all other friends desert me , I may well forsake myself ! With that he awaited his occasion .

M eanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast the outer doorbelow was already consumed ; from the apartment he haddeserted the fire burst out in volleys of smoke — the woodcrackled, the lead melted with a crash fell the seve red gate s— the dreadful entrance was Opened to all the multitude — theproud C apitol of the C aesars was already tottering to its fall !Now was the time ! H e passed the flaming door — the smoldering threshold ; he passed the outer gate unscathed — he wasin the middle of the crowd .

“P len ty of pillage within,

” hesaid to the bystanders , in the Roman p a tois , his face concealedby his load “D own, down with the traitor .

”The mob rushed

past him — he went on — he gained the last stair descendinginto the open streets — he was at the last gate — liberty andlife were before him .

A soldier (one of his own) seized him . P ass not — whithergoest thou ? ”

Beware , lest the Senator escape disguised I cried a voicebehind — it was V il l ani’s . The concealing load was torn fromhis head — Rien zi stood revealed !

I am the Senator ! he said in a loud voice . Who daretouch the Representative of the P eople

The multitude were round him in an instant . Not led,but

rather hu rried and whi rled along, the Senator was borne to theP lace of the Lion . With the intens e glare of the bursting

72 THE DEA TH OF RIENZI .

flames, the gray image reflected a lurid light, and glowed

( that grim and solemn monument I) as i f itself of fire IT here arrived, the crowd gave way, terrified by the great

nes s of their victim . Silent he stood, and turned his facearound ; nor could the squalor of his garb, nor the terror ofthe hour, nor the proud grief of detection, abate the maj estyof his mien, or reassure the courage of the th ousands whogathered

,gazing round him . T he whole Capitol, wrapped in

fire,l ighted w ith ghastly pomp the immense multitude . D own

the long vista of the streets extended the fiery light and theserried throng, till the crowd closed with the gleaming standards of the C olonna — the Orsini — the Savelli ! Her truetyrants were marching into Rome ! As the sound of the irapproaching horn s and trumpets broke upon the burning air

,

the mob seemed to regain their courage . Rienzi prepared tospeak ; his first word was as the signal of his own death .

As Rienzi , without a word , without a groan, fell to the earth- as the roaring waves of the multitude closed over him — a

voice,shrill, sharp, and wild, was heard above all the clamor.

At the casement of the palace (the casement of her bridalchamber) Nina stood I -through the flames that burst belowand around, her face and outstretched arms alone Visible ! E re

yet the sound of that thrilling cry passed from the air, downwith a mighty crash thundered that whole wing of the C apitola blackened and smoldering mass I

At that hour a solitary boat was gliding swiftly along theT iber . Rome was at a distance ; but the lurid glow of theconflagration cast its reflection upon the placid and glassystream : fair beyond description was the landscape — soft b eyond all art of painter and of poet, the sunlight quiveringover the autumnal herbage , and hushing into tender calm the

waves of the golden river I

Adrian’s eyes were strain ed towards the towers of theC apitol , distinguished by the flames from the spires and domesaround ; senseless, and clasped to his guardian breast, Irene washappily unconscious of the horrors of the time .

They dare not — they dare not,” said the brave Colonna,

“touch a hair of that sacred head ! If Rienzi fall , the liberties of Rome fall forever ! As those towers that surmountthe flames, the pride and monument of Rome, he shall riseabove the dangers of the hour . Behold, still unscathed amidstthe raging element, the C apitol itself is his embl em I

”

THE DECAM ERON. 78

Scarce had he spoken , when a vast volume of smokeobscured the fires afar off, a dull crash (deadened by the distance) traveled to his ear, and the next moment the towerson which he gazed had van ished from the scene , and one intense and sullen glare seemed to settle over the atmosphere,making all Rome itself the funeral pyre of THE LA ST OF TH E

ROM A N TR I B UN E S I

STORIE S FROM THE “D ECAM ERON .

B Y G IOVANNI BOCCACCIO.

[G I OVA NN I B OCCA CC IO , I talian novelist, p oet , and sch olar, was b orn p robab ly at C ertaldo , I taly , in 1 313, the son of a F lorentine merchant. A t first heengaged in mercantile pursuits , b ut , finding a b us iness life uncongenial, studiedthe class ics , especially G reek , and b ecame one of the most learned men of his

time . He served the F lorentine state on several occasions as amb as sador , andfrom 1373 to 1 374 filled the chair instituted at F lorence for the exposition of

D ante’s D ivine Comedy.

” His death , which occurred D ecemb er 2 1 , 1 375 , atCertaldo, was h astened b y that of his friend P etrarch . B occaccio ’s nam e is

chiefly associated with the D ecameron,

”p rob ab ly written 1 344— 1 350 , b ut not

pub lished until 1 353. I t is a collection of one hundred stories , supp osed to b e

narrated b y a p arty of ladies and gentlem en , who h ave fled to a country villa toescape the plague wh ich visited F lorence in 1 348 . Other works are

“1 1F ilocopo,

” “I I F ilostra to,” “F iammetta ,” and four L atin works on mytho

logical and h istorical sub jects ]

ITA L I A N P RA CTI CA L JOK I N G .

TH ERE dwelt not long S ince , in our city of Florence , a placewhich has indeed always possessed a variety of character andmanners, a painter named C alandrino, a man of simple mind,and much addicted to novelties . The most part of his time hespent in the company of two brother painters, the one calledBruno , and the other B u ffalmacco, both men of humor and

mirth , and somewhat satiri cal . These men often visited C alandrino, and found m uch entertainment in his original and un

affected simplicity of mind . There lived in Florence at thesame time a young man of very engaging manners, witty, andagreeable , called M aso del Saggio , who , hearing of the extremesimplicity of Calandrino , resolved to derive some amusementfrom his love of the marvelous , and to excite his curiosity bysome novel and wonderful tales . Happening, therefore , tomeet him one day in the church of St . John , and observing him

74 THE DE CA M ERON .

attentively engaged in admiring the painting and scul pture ofthe tabernacle

,which had been lately placed over the altar in

that church,he thought he had found a fit opportun ity of put

ting his scheme in execution , and acquainting one of his friendswith his intentions, they walked together to the Spot whereCalandrino was seated by himself, and seeming not to be awareof his p resence , began to converse between themselves of thequalities of various kinds of precious stones, of which M asospoke with all the confidence of an experienced and skillfullapidary . C alandrino lent a ready ear to their conference , andrising from his seat, and perceiving from their loud speakingthat their conversation was not of a private nature , he accostedthem .

M aso was not a little delighted at this, and pursuing hisdiscourse , Calandrino at length asked him where these stoneswere to be found . M aso replied :

“T hey mostly abound inB erl in z one , near a city of the Baschi, in a country called Bengodi

,in which the vines are tied with sausages, a goose is sold

for a penny, and the gosl ings given into the bargain ; wherethere is also a high mountain made of P armesan grated cheese ,whereon dwell people whose sole employ is to make macaroniand other dainties, boiling them w ith capon broth, and afterwards throw ing them out to all who choose to catch them andnear to the mountain runs a r iver of white wine , the best thatwas ever drunk, and w ithout one drop of water in it .

Oh I exclaimed C alandrino, what a delightful countryto live in but pray, sir, tell me , what do they with the caponsafter they have boiled them ?

The Baschi ,” said M aso , “eat them all I

H ave you ,” said C alandrino , ever been in that country ?

”

How,answered M aso , “do you ask me, if I were ever

there ? a thousand times at the least I“And how far, I pray you , is this happy land from our

city ? ” quoth Calandrino .

“In truth , repl ied M aso, “the miles are scarcely to benumbered but for the most part we travel when we are in ourbeds at n ight

,and if a man dream aright, he may be there in a

few minutes . ”

Surely, sir, said C alandrino , “it i s further hence . than toAbruzzo ?“U ndoubtedly, replied M aso, “but to a willing mind no

travel is tedious .

THE DECAM ERON. 75

Calandrino , observing that M aso delivered all these speecheswith a steadfast and grave countenance , and without any gesturethat he could construe into distrust, gave as much credit tothem as to any matter of manifest truth, and said with muchsimplicity “Believe m e , sir, the j ourney is too far for meto undertake ; but if it were somewhat nearer I shoul d like toaccompany you thither to see them make this macaroni , andtake my fill of it . But now we are conversing, allow me , sir,to ask you whether or not any of the precious stones you j ustnow spoke of are to be found in that country ? ”

Yes,indeed, replied M aso, “there are two kinds of them

to be found in those territories, and both possessing eminentvirtues . The one kind are the sandstones of Settigniano, andof M ontisci, which are of such excellent quality that whenmillstones or grindston es are to be made, they knead the sandas they do meal , and make them in what form they please , inwhich respect they have a saying there , T hat grace is from G od ,and mill stones from M ontisci I Such plenty are there of thesemillstones, so lightly here esteemed among us as emeralds arewith them , that there are whole mountains of them far greaterthan our M ontem orel lo, which shine with a prodigious brightness at midnight, if you will believe me . They moreover cutand polish these millstones, and encliase them in rings , whichare sent to the great Soldan, who gives whatever price they askfor them . The other is a stone which most of our lapidariescall heliotropium, and is of admirable virtue , for whoever carriesit about his person is thereby rendered invisible as long as hepleases .

Calandrino then said, This is wonderful indeed butwhere el se are these latter kind to be found ? ”

To which M aso replied, “They are not unfrequently to befound on our M ugnone .

”

Of what size and color is this stone ?” said C alandrino .

It i s of various size s,

” replied M aso , “some larger thanothers , but un iformly black .

C alandrino , treasuring up all these things in his mind, andpretending to have some urgent business on hand , took leave ofM aso , secretly proposing to himself to go in quest of theseston es ;

"ut resolved to do nothing until he had first seen his

friends Bruno and B u ffa lm acco, to whom he was much attached .

He went therefore immediately in pursuit of them , in orderthat they thre e might have the honor of first discovering these

76 THE DECAM ERON.

stones, and consumed the whole morning in looking for them .

At last recollecting that they were painting in the convent ofthe sisters of Faenza, neglecting all other affairs, and thoughthe cold was extreme, he ran to them in all haste , and thusaddressed them

“M y good friends, if you will follow my advice , we threemay Shortly become the richest men in Florence, for I havejust now learnt from a man of undeniab le veracity, that inM ugnone there is to be found a ston e which renders any personthat carries it about him invisible at his pleasure ; and if youwill be persuaded by me, we will all three go there before anyone else to look for it, and we shall find it to a certainty, b ecause I know its description and when we have found it, we havenothing to do but to put it in our pockets

,and go to the tables

of the bankers and money changers , which we see daily loadedwith gold and silver, and help ourselves to as much as we please .Nobody can detect us, for we shall be invisible, and we shall thusspeedily become rich without toiling all day on these churchwalls like slimy snails, as we poor artists are forced to do .

Bruno and B u ffalm acco, hearing this, began to smile , and,looking archly at each other, seemed to express their surprise ,and greatly commended the advice of C alandrino . B u ffalm acco

then asked C alandrino what the stone was called . C alandrino,who had but a stupid memory, had utterly forgotten the nameof the stone , and therefore said, “What need have we of thename, since we are so well assured of its virtues Let us notdelay any longer, but go off in search of it .

”

But of what shape is it ?” said Bruno .

Calandrino replied : “They are to b e found of all shapes,but uniformly black : therefore it seems to me that we hadbetter collect all the stones that we find black , and we shallthen be certain to find it among them : but let us depart without further loss of time .

Bruno signified his assent but turn ing to B u ffalm acco saidI fully agree with C alandrino, but I do not think that this i s

the proper time for our search, as the sun is now high , and isso hot that we shall find all the stones on M ugnone dried andparched, and the very blackest will now seem whitest . But inthe morning when the dew is on the ground , and before thesun has dried the earth

,every ston e will have its true color .

Besides, there are many laborers now working in the plain , who,seeing us occupied in so serious a search, may guess what we

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78 THE DEC AM ERON .

has l eft us to pick up black stones on these scorching plainsof M ugnone .

”

“Indeed he has served us right, said B uffalm acco,“for

allowing ourselves to be gulled by such stories, nor could anybut we two have been s o credulous as to believe in the virtuesof this heliotropium .

”

Calandrino , hearing them make use of these words whilehe stood so near to them, imagined that he had possessedhimse lf of the genuine ston e , and that by virtue of its qualities he was become invisible to his companion s . His j oy wasnow unbounded

,and w ithout saying a word b e resolved to

return home w ith all speed, leaving his friends to provide forthemselves .

B u ffalm acco, perceiving his intent, said to Bruno , “Whyshould we remain here any longer ? let us return to the city .

T o which Bruno replied “Yes ! let u s go ; but I vowto G od , Caland rino shall no more make a fool of me , and wereI now as near him as I was not long since , I would give himsuch a remembrance on the heel w ith this fl int stone , as shouldstick by him for a month, and teach him a lasting lesson forabusing his friends ; and ere he had well finished his words,he struck C alandrino a violent blow on the heel with the stone .

T hough the blow was evidently very painful , C alandrino stillpreserved his silence , and only mended his pace . B uffalm acco,

then selecting another large flint stone , said to Bruno, “Thouseest this pebble ! If Calandrino were but here , he shouldhave a brave knock on the loins ; and taking aim

,he threw

it, and struck C alandrino a violent blow on the back ; andthen all the way along the plain of M ugnone they did nothingbut pelt him with stones, j esting and laughing until they cameto the gates of San G allo . They then threw down the re

m ainder of the stones they had gathered,and stepping before

Calandrino into the gateway, acquainted the guards w ith thewhole matter ; who , in order to support the j est, would notseem to see Calandrino as he passed by them

,and w ere ex

ceedingly amused to observe him sweat and groan under hisburthensome load .

Without resting himself in any place,he proceeded straight

to his own house , which was situated near to the mills : fortun e favoring him so far in the course of his adventures thatas he passed along the river side

,and afterwards through part

of the city, he was neither met nor seen by any one , as every

THE DECAM ERON. 79

body was then at dinner . Calandr ino , ready to sink underhis burthen, at length entered his own house . His wife, ahandsome and discreet woman of the name of M onna T essa,happened to be standing at the head of the stairs on hisarrival , and being disconcerted and impatient at his longabsence , somewhat angrily exclaimed, I thought that thedevil would never let thee come home ! All the city havedined , and yet w e must remain without our dinn er .

”

When Calandrino heard these words, and found that he wasnot invisible to his wife, he fell into a fit of rage , and exclaimed,Wretch as thou art, thou hast utterly undon e me but I willreward thee for it and ascending into a small room

,and

there ridding himself of his burthen of stones, he ran downagain to his wife, and seiz ing her by the hair of the head, andthrowing her on the ground, beat and kicked her in the mostunmerciful manner, giving her so many blows, in spite of allher tears and submission , that she was not able to move .

B u ffalmacco and Bruno, after they had spent some time inlaughter with the guards at the gate, followed Calandrino attheir leisur e , and arriving at the door of his house, and hearingthe disturbance upstairs between C alandrino and his wife

,they

called out to him . C alandrino, still in a furious rage, came tothe window, and entreated they would come up to him . T hey

,

counterfeiting great surprise, ascended the stairs, and found thechamber floor covered with stones, and C al andrino

’

s wife seatedin a corner, her limbs severely bruised, her hair disheveled,and her face bleeding, and on the other side Calandrino himself wearied and exhausted, flung on a chair . After regardinghim for some time , they said

How now, C alandrino, art thou about building a house,that thou hast provided thyself with so many loads of stones ? ”

and then added,

“And, M onna T essa ! what has happened toher ? You surely have been beating her . What is the meaning of this ?

C alandrino , exhausted with carrying the stones, and w ithhis furious gust of passion, and moreover with the misfortunewhich he considered had befallen him , could not collect suffi cientSpirits to speak a single word in reply . Whereupon B u ffal ~

macco said further, C alandrino , if you have cause for anger inany other quarter, yet you should not have made such mockeryof your friends as you have done to -day, carrying us out to theplains of M ugnone , like a couple of fools, and leaving us there

80 THE DECA M ERON .

without taking leave of us , or so much as bidding us good day .

But be assu red this i s the last tim e thou w ilt ever serve us inthis m anner . ”

Calandr ino , somewhat recovered, repl iec Alas I my friends,he not offended ; the case is very diffe rent to what you imagine .

U nfo rtunate man that I am I the rare and precious stone thatyou speak of I found, and w ill relate the whole truth to you .

You must know then,that when you asked each other the first

time, what wa s become of me, I was hard by you , not more

than two yards’ d istance and perceiving that you saw me not,I went before you, smiling to myself to hear you vent yourrage upon me and proceeding in his discourse , he recountedall that had happened on his way home and to convince themShowed them where he was struck on the back and on the heel ;and further added “As I pass ed through the gates, I sawyou standing with the guards, but by virtue of the stone I carried in my bosom , was undiscovered of you all, and in goingthrough the streets I met many friends and acquaintances , whoare in the daily habit of stopping and conversing with me , andyet non e of them addressed me, as I passed invisible to them all.But at length arriving at my own house , this fiend of a womanwaiting on the stairs’ head, by ill luck happened to see me , asyou well know that women cause all things to lose their virtues o that I, who might have called myself the only happy man inFlorence , am now the most miserable of all . T herefore did Ijustly beat her as long as my strength would allow me , and Iknow no reason why I should not yet tear her in a thousandpieces, for I may w ell curse the day of our marriage , and the

hour she entered my house .

”

B uffalm acco and Bruno, when they heard this, feigned thegreatest aston ishment, though they were ready to burst withlaughter, hearing Calandrino _so confidently assert that he hadfound the wonderful stone , and lost it again by his w ife

’sspeaking to him . But when they saw him rise in a rage

,w ith

intent to beat her again, they stepped between them,protesting

that his w ife was in no wise to blame,but rather he himself

,

who knowing beforehand that women cause all things to losetheir Vi rtue , had not expressly commanded her not to be seenin his presence all that day, until he had satisfied him self of thereal qual ities of the stone ; and that doubtless P rovidence hadd epr ived him of this good fortune

,because though his fr iends

had accompanied him and assisted him in the search,he had

THE DECAM ERON . 81

deceived them, and had not allowed them to participate in thebenefit of the discovery . After much more conversation theywith difficulty reconciled him to his wife , and , leaving him overwhelmed with grief for the loss of the heliotropium, took theirdeparture .

CoNvE RSI ON B Y TH E LA W OF CON TRA R I E S .

Some parts of P amfilo’

s story made them laugh heartily, andthe whole was much commended by the ladies,who had been veryattentive and, as it was now ended , the queen ordered N eiphile ,

in the next seat to her, to go on in the manner prescribed .

T hat lady, being as afi ab l e in behavior as her person was beautiful

,very cheerfully complied, and began in this mannerP amfilo has showed us in his novel the great goodness of

God in not regarding any errors of ours, which proceed fromthe blindness and imperfection of our nature . I intend to setforth in mine how the same goodness of G od displays itself inthe most plain and evident manner, by bearing with the vicesof those persons, who , though bound to give testimony concerning it, both in the ir words and actions, yet do the reversef — a truth by which we may be taught more steadily to persevere in what we believe .

At P aris there lived , as I have been told, a great merchant,and worthy man called Jeannot de Chivigni, a dealer in silk,and an intimate friend to a certain rich Jew, whose name wasAbraham , a merchant also, and a very honest man . Jeannot,being no stranger to Abraham ’s good and upright intentions,was greatly troubled that the soul of so wise and well-meaninga person should perish through his unbelief . He began, therefore , in the m ost friendly manner, to entreat him to renouncethe errors of Judaism, and embrace the truth of Christianity,which he might plainly see flourishing more and more , and, asbeing the most wise and holy institution, gaining ground,whereas the religion of the Jews was dwindl ing to nothing .

Abraham answered,that he esteemed no religion l ike his own

he was born in it, and in i t he intended to live and die ; norcould anything make him alter his resolution . All this didnot hinder Jeannot from beginning the same arguments overagain in a few days , and setting forth , in as awkward a manneras a merchant must be supposed to do, for what reasons ourreligion ought to be preferred : and though the Jew was well

V O L . x.— 6

go THE DECA M ERON .d

read in their law,yet

,whether it was his regard to the man,

or that Jcannot had the spirit of G od upon his tongue, he beganto be greatly pleased with his arguments but continued ob sti

nate,n evertheless

,in his own creed, and would not sufi er him

self to be converted . Jeannot, on the other hand, was no lesspersevering in his earnest solicitations, insomuch that the Jewwas overcome by them at last, and said : Look you, Jeannot,you are very desirous I Should become a Christian , and I am somuch disposed to do as you would have me, that I intend inthe first place to go to Rome, to see him whom you call G od

’svicar on earth

,and to consider his ways a little , and those of

his brother cardinals . If they appear to m e in such a lightthat I may be able to comprehend by them, and by what youhave said

,that your religion is better than mine , as you would

persuade me,I will then become a Christian ; otherwise I will

continue a Jew as I am .

”

When Jcannot heard this he was much troubled, and saidto himself : “I have lost all my labor, which I thought wellbestowed , expecting to have converted this man for should hego to Rome, and s ee the wickedness of the clergy there , so farfrom turning Christian, were he one already, he would certainlyagain become a Jew .

”T hen addressing Abraham, he said

Nay, my friend, why should you be at the great trouble andexpense of such a journey ? Not to mention the dangers, bothby sea and land, to which so rich a person as yourself must b eexposed, do you think to find nobody here that can baptizeyou ? Or if you have any doubts and scruples

,where wil l you

meet with abler men than are here to clear them up for you,

and to answer such questions as you shall put to them ? You

may take it for granted that the prelates yonder are like thoseyou see in France , only so much the better as they are nearerto the principal pastor . Then let me advise you to spare yourse lf the trouble of this j ourney, until such time as you maywant some pardon or indulgence, and then I may probably bearyou company .

”

I believe it is as you say, replied the Jew ;“but the long

and the short of the matter is, that I am fully resolved, if youwould have me do what you have so much solicited

,to go

thither ; else I will in no W ise comply .

”

Jeannot , seeing him determined, said, G od b e with you !and , supposing that he would n ever be a Christian after he hadseen Rome, gave him over for lost . T he Jew took horse, and

THE DECAM ERON . 83

made the best of his way to Rome , where he was most honorably received by his brethren, the Jews ; and, without sayinga word of what he was come about, he began to look narrowlyinto the manner of living of the pope , the cardinals , and otherprelates , and of the whole court ; and , from what he himselfperce ived, being a person of keen observation , and from whathe gathered from others, he found that, from the highes t to thelowest, they were given to all sorts of lewdness , without the leastshame or remorse ; so that the only way to obtain anythingconsiderable was , by applying to prostitutes of every description . H e observed , also, that they were generally drunkardsand gluttons, and , like brutes, more solicitous about theirbellies than anything else . Inquiring farther

,he found them

all such lovers of money that they would not only buy andsell men ’s blood in general, but even the blood of Christians,and sacred things, of what kind soever, whether b eneficesor pertaining to the altar ; that they drove as great a tradein this wa y as there is in selling cloth an d other comm odi

ties in P aris ; that to palpable simony they had given the

plausible name of procuration, and debaucheries they calledsupporting the body as if G od had been totally unacquaintedwith their wicked intentions , and, like men, was to b e imposedupon by the names of things . T hese , and other things which Ishall pass over, gave great offense to the Jew, who was a soberand modest person ; and now thinking he had seen enough, hereturned home .As soon as Jeannot heard of his arrival he went to see h im,

thinking of nothing so little as of his convers ion . T hey receivedone another with a great deal of pleasure and in a day or two,after the traveler had recovered from his fatigue , Jeannot beganto inquire of him what he thought of the holy father , the cardinal s, and the rest of the court . The Jew immediately an

swered T o me it seems as if God was much kinder to themthan they deserve for

,if I may be allowed to judge , I must

be bold to tell you that I have neither seen devotion , sanctity,or anything good in the clergy of Rome but, on the contrary,luxury, avarice , gluttony, and worse than these , if worse thingscan be , are so much in fashion with all sorts of people that Ishould rather esteem the court of Rome to be a forge , if youallow the expression

,for diabolical operations than things

divine ; and , for what I can perceive , your pastor, and cousequently the rest, strive with their Whole might and skill to

84 THE DECAM ERON.

overthrow the Christian religion, and to drive it from off theface of the earth

,even where they ought to be its chief succor

and support . B ut as I do not see this come to pass, which theyso earnestly aim at on the contrary, that your religion gainsstrength

,and b ecomes every day more glorious I plainly per

c eive that it is upheld by the spirit of G od, as the most true andholy of all . For which reason, though I continued obstinateto your exhortations

,nor would sufler myself to b e converted

by them,now I declare to you that I will no longer defer being

made a Christian . Let us go then to the church, and do youtake care that I b e baptized according to the manner of yourholy faith .

Jeannot, who expected a quite different conclusion, was themost overj oyed man that could b e ; and taking his friend toour Lady ’s church at P aris, he requested the priests there tobaptize him

,which was done forthwith . Jcannot, being his

sponsor,gave him the name of John, and afterwards took care

to have him well instructed in our faith, in which he made aspeedy proficiency, and became, in time, a good and holy man .

TH E THREE RING S .

This novel having been universally applauded, Filomenathus began : N eiphile

’

s story put m e in mind of a ticklishcase that befell a certain Jew ; for as enough has been saidconcerning G od and the truth of our religion, it will not beamiss if we descend to the actions of men . I proceed, therefore , to the relation of a thing which may make you more cautious for the time to come, in answering questions that shallbe put to you . For you must know that as a man’s folly oftenbrings him down from the most exalted state of life to thegreatest misery, so shall his good sense secure him in the midstof the utmost danger, and procure him a safe and honorablerepose . T here are many instances of people being brought tomisery by their own folly, but these I choose to omit, as theyhappen daily . What I purpose to exemplify

,in the following

short novel , is the great cause for comfort to be found in thepossession of a good understanding .

Saladin was so brave and great a man that he had raisedh imself from an inconsiderable station to be Sultan of Babylon ,a nd had gained many victories over both T urkish and Christianprinces . This monarch, having in divers wars, and by many

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86 THE DECAM ERON.

approaching,he secretly gave one ring to each of his sons ;

and they,after his death

,all claimed the honor and estate, each

disputing with his brothers, and producing his ring ; and therings were found so much alike that the true one could not bed istinguished . T o law then they went, as to which Should succeed , nor is that question yet decided . And thus it has happened

,my Lord, with regard to the three laws given by G od

the Father,concerning which you proposed your question

every one believes he is the true heir of G od , has his law , andobeys his commandments but which is in the right is uncertain , in like manner as with the rings .

”

Saladin perceived that the Jew had very cleverly escapedthe net which was Spread for him : he therefore resolved todiscover his necessity to him, and see if he would lend himmoney, telling him at the same time what he had designed todo, had not that discreet answer prevented him . The Jewfreely supplied the monarch with what he wanted ; and Saladinafterwards paid him back in full, made him large presents,besides maintain ing him nobly at his court, and was his friendas long as he lived .

THE P OT OF BA SIL .

E liz a having concluded her novel , which was commendedby the king, Filomena was then ordered to begin . Ful l of pityfor the two unhappy lovers last mentioned

,she heaved a deep

sigh, and said : M y novel will not be concerning people ofsuch high rank as those of whom E l iza has spoken, but perhapsit may be equally moving ; and I am led to it from her mentioning M essina, where the thing happened .

There lived at M essina three young merchants,who were

brothers, and left very rich by their father : they had an onlysister, named Isabella, a lady of worth and beauty, who, whatever was the reason, was yet unmarried . Now they had intheir employ a young man of P isa, called Lorenzo, who managed a l l their affairs . H e was a young man of very agreeableperson and manners, and being often in Isabella

’s company, she

loved him , and he forsook all others for her sake ; nor was itlong before their mutual desires were consummated . This aff airwas carried on between them for a considerable time

,without

the least suspicion ; till one night it happened, as Isabella wasgoing to Lorenzo

’

s chamber, that the eldest brother saw her,

THE DECAM ERON. 87

without her knowing it . This afflicted him greatly yet,being

a prudent man , he made no discovery, but lay considering withhimself till morning what course was best to take . H e thenrelated to his brothers what he had seen w ith regard to theirsister and Lorenzo, and , after a long debate , it was resolved toseem to take no notice of it for the present, but to make awaywith him privately, the first opportunity, that they mightremove all cause of reproach both to their sister and themselves . C ontinuing in this resolution, they behaved w ith thesame freedom and civility to Lorenzo as ever, till at length,under a pretense of going out of the city, upon a party of pleasure, they carried him along with them , and arriving at a lonesome place, fit for their purpose , they slew him, unpreparedas he was to make any defen se, and buried him on the spot .T hen , returning to M essina, they gave it out that they had senthim on a j ourney of business, which was easily believed, becaus ethey frequently did so .

After some time Isabella, thinking that Lorenzo made a longstay, began to inquire earnestly of her brothers concerning him,

and this she did so often that at last one of them said to her,What have you to do with Lorenzo that you are continuallyteasing us about him ? If you inquire any more , you shallreceive such an answ er as you will by no means like .

”T his

grieved her exceedingly, and, fearing she knew not what, sheremained without asking any more questions ; yet all the nightwould she lament and complain of his long stay and thus sheSpent her life in a tedious and anxious waiting for his return ;till one night it happened that, having wept herself to sleep , heappeared to her in a dream , all pale and ghastly, with hisclothes rent in piece s, and she thought that he Spoke to herthus : “M y dearest Isabel, thou grievest incessantly for myabsence, and art continually calling upon me but know that Ican return no more to thee , for the last day that thou sawestme thy brothers put me to death . And , describing the placewhere they had buried him

,he bade her call no more upon him ,

nor ever expect to see him again , and disappeared .

Isabella woke up, implicitly believing the vision, and weptbitterly . In the morning, not daring to say anything to herbrothers , she resolved to go to the place mentioned in thedream, to be convinced of the reality . Accordingly, havingleave to go a little way into the coun try, along with a comp anion oi hers, who was acquainted with all her aff airs, she went

88 THE DECAM ERON .

thither,and clearing the ground of the dried leaves with which

it was covered,she ob s erved where the earth seemed to be

lightest,and dug there . She had not searched far before she

came to her lover ’s body, which she found in no degree wasted ;this info rmed her of the truth of her vision , and she was in theutmost conce rn on that account ; but, as that was not a fitplace for lam entation , she would w illingly have taken the corpseaway w ith her, to give it a more decent interment but findingherself unable to do that , she cut off the head, which she putinto a handkerchief

,and covering the trunk again with mold,

she gave the head to her maid to carry, and returned home without being perceived . She then shut herself up in her chamber,and lamented over her lover’s head till she had washed it withher tears

,and then she put it into a flowerpot, having folded it

in a fine napkin , and covering it with earth, she planted sweetherbs therein , which she watered with nothing but rose ororange water, or else with her tears, accustoming herself to sitalways before it, and devoting her whole heart unto it, as containing her dear Lorenzo .

The sweet herbs, what with her continual bathing, and themoisture arising from the pu trefied head , flourished exceedingly,and sent forth a most agreeable odor . Continuing this mannerof life, she was observed by some of the neighbors, and theyrelated her conduct to her brothers, who had before remarkedwith surpris e the decay of her beauty . Accordingly, theyboth reprimanded her for it , and, finding that ineffectual , stolethe pot from her . She , perceiving that it was taken away,begged earnestly of them to restore it, which they refusing,she fell sick . The young men wondered much why she Shouldhave so great a fancy for it, and were resolved to see what itcontained : turning out the earth, therefore , they saw the napkin, and in it the head, not so much consumed but that, bythe curled locks, they knew it to be Lorenzo

’s,which threw

them into the utmost astonishment, and fearing lest it shouldbe known , they buried it privately, and withdrew themselvesthence to Naples . The young lady never ceased weeping

,and

calling for her pot of flowers, til l She died : and thus terminatedher unfortunate love . But, in some time afterwards, the thingbecame public, which gave rise to this song

M ost cruel and unkind was he,

That of my flowers dep rived m e,

— etc.

THE DECAM ERON. 89

TH E FA L CON .

The queen, now observing that only she and D ioneo wereleft to speak, said pleasantly to this effect : As it is now cometo my turn , I shall give you, ladies, a novel something like thepreceding one, that you may not only know what influence thepower of your charms has over a generous heart, but that youmay learn likewise to bestow your favors of your own accord

,

and where you think most proper , W ithout suffering Fortune tobe your directress, who disposes blindly, and without the leastj udgment whats oever .You must understand then , that C oppo di Borghese (who

was a person of great respect and authority among us,and

whose amiable qualities , j oined to his noble birth, had renderedhim worthy of immortal fame) in the decline of life used todivert himself among his neighbors and acquaintances, byrelating things that had happened in his day, and this heknew how to do with more exactness and elegance of expression than any other person : he , I say, amongst other pleasantstories, used to tell us that at Florence dwelt a young gentleman named Federigo , son of Filippo A l b erighi, who , in feats ofarms and gentility, surpassed all the youth in T uscany . Thisgentleman was in love with a lady called M onna G iovanna, oneof the most agreeable women in Florence , and to gain her affection , he was continually making tilts, balls, and such diversionslavishing away his money in rich presents, and everything thatwas extravagant . B ut she , as pure in conduct as she was fair,made no account either of what he did for her sake , or ofhimself .As Federigo continued to live in this manner, spending pro

fusely, and acquiring nothing, his wealth soon began to waste ,till at last he had nothing left but a very small farm , the incomeof which was a most slender maintenance , and a single hawk ,one of the best in the world . Yet loving still more than ever,and finding he could subsist no longer in the city in the mannerhe would choose to l ive

,he retired to his farm, where he went

out fowling as often as the weather would permit, and bore hisdistress patiently

,without ever making his n ecessity known to

anybody . Now it happened, after he was thus brought low, thelady ’s husband fell sick, and, being very rich , he made a wi ll bywhich he left all his substance to an only son , who was almost

90 THE DECAM ERON .

grown up,and if he should die w ithout issue , he then ordered

that it should reve rt to his lady, whom he was extremely fondof ; and when he had disposed thus of his fortune, he died .

M onna G iovanna now being left a widow, retired, as our ladiesusually do during the summer season , to a house of hers in thecountry

,near to that of Federigo whence it happened that her

son soon became acquainted with him, and they used to divertthemselves together with dogs and hawks and the boy, havingoften seen F ederigo

’

s hawk fly, and being strangely taken withit

,was desirous of having it, though the other valued it to that

degree that he knew not how to ask for it .T his being so , the boy soon fell sick, which gave his mother

great concern,as he was her only child, and she ceased not to

attend on and comfort him ; often requesting, if there was anyparticular thing which he fancied, to let her know it, and promising to procure it for him if it was possible . The young gentlem an ,

after many offers of this kind, at last said :“M adam,

if you could contrive for me to have F ederigo’

s hawk, I shouldsoon be well . ” She was in some perplexity at this, and beganto consider how best to act . She knew that Federigo had longentertained a liking for her, without the least encouragementon her part therefore she said to herself, How can I send orgo to ask for this hawk , which I hear is the very best of thekind, and which is all he has in the world to maintain him ?Or how can I offer to take away from a gentleman all the pleasure that he has in life ? ” Being in this perplexity, though shewas very sure of having it for a word, she stood without makingany reply till at last the love of her son so far prevailed, thatshe resolved, at all events, to make him easy, and not send, butgo herself . She then replied, Set your heart at rest, my boy,and think only of your recovery ; for I promise you that I willgo to-morrow for it the first thing I do .

”T his afforded him

such joy that he immediately showed sign s of amendment .T he next morn ing she went, by way of a walk, with another

lady in company, to F ederigo’

s little cottage to inquire for him .

A t that time, as it was too early to go out upon his diversion ,he was at work in his garden . H earing, therefore , that hismistress inquired for him at the door

,he ran thither

,surprised

and ful l of j oy ; whilst she , with a great deal of complaisance,went to meet him and after the usual compliments

,she said

“G ood morning to you , sir ; I am come to make you someamends for the losses you have sustained on my account what

THE DECAMI -IRON . 91

I m ean is that I have brought a compan ion to take a neighborlydinner with you to-day .

”H e replied, with a great deal of

humility, “M adam , I do not remember ever to have sufferedany loss by your means , but rather so much good, that if I wasworth anything at any time it was due to your singular merit,and the love I had for you and most assuredly this courteousvisit is more welcome to me than if I had all that I have wastedreturned to me to spend over again but you are come to a vervpoor host . ” With these words he showed her into his house ,seeming much out of countenance , and thence they went into thegarden , when, having no company for her, he said : M adam

,

as I have nobody else , please to admit this honest woman , alaborer ’s wife, to be with you , whil st I set forth the table .

”

Although his poverty was extreme , never till now had hebeen so sensible of his past extravagance but finding nothingto entertain the lady with

,for whose s ake he had treated thou

sands, he was in the utmost perplexity, cursing his evil fortune ,and runn ing up and down like one out of his wits . At length ,having neither money nor anything he could pawn , and longingto give her something, at the sam e time that he woul d not makehis cas e kn own , even so much as to his own laborer, he espiedhis hawk upon the perch , s eized it, and finding it very fat,judged it might make a dish not unworthy of such a lady .

IVithout farther thought, then, he wrung its head off , and gaveit to a girl to dress and roast careful ly, whilst he laid the cloth ,

having a small quantity of linen yet left and then he returned ,with a smil e on his countenance , into the garden , to tell M onnaG iovanna that what little dinner he was able to provide wasnow ready . She and her friend, therefore , entered and satdown w ith him , he serving them all the time with great respect,when they ate the good hawk , not kn ow ing what it was .After dinner was over, and they had sat chatting a l ittle

W hile together , the lady thought it a fit time to tell her errand ,and addressed him court eously in this manner : “Sir, if youcall to mind your past l i fe , and my resolution , which perhapsyou may call cruelty, I doubt not but you wi ll wonder at mypresumption , when you know what I am come for : but if youhad children of your own , to know how strong our natur alaffection i s towards them , I am very sure you would excuse me .

Now , my having a son forces me , against my own inclinationand all reason whatsoeve r , to request a thing of you which Iknow you value extremely , as you have no other comfort or

92 THE DECAM ERON .

diversion left you in your small circumstances ; I mean yourhawk

,which he has taken such a fancy to , that unless I bring

it back with me,I very much fear that he will die of his dis

order . Therefore I entreat you, not for any regard you havefor me ( for in that respect you are no way obliged to me) , butfor that generosity with which you have always distinguishedyourself

,that you would please to let m e have it, so that I may

be able to say that my child’s life has been restored to m e

through your gift,and that he and I are under perpetual obli

gations to you .

”

Federigo,hearing the lady ’s request, and knowing it was out

of his power to fulfill it, began to weep before he was able tomake a word of reply . This she at first attributed to his reluetance to part with his favorite bird, and expected that he wasgoing to give her a flat denial but after she had waited a littlefor his answer, he said “M adam , ever since I have fixed myaffection s upon you, fortune has still been contrary to me inmany things, and sorely I have felt them ; but all the rest isnothing to what has now come to pass . You are here to Visitme in this my poor dwelling, to which in my prosperity youwould never deign to come : you also entreat a small presentfrom me , which it is wholly out of my power to give , as I amgoing briefly to tell you . As soon as I was acquainted with thegreat favor you designed me , I thought it proper, consideringyour superior merit and excellency, to treat you , according tomy ability, with something choicer than is usually given toother persons , when , calling to mind my hawk, which you now

request, and his goodness, I judged him a fit repast for you, andyou have had him roasted . Nor could I have thought himbetter bestowed, had you not now desired him in a diff erentmanner, which is such a grief to m e that I shall never be atpeace as long as I live and saying this, he produced thehawk ’s feathers, feet, and talons . The lady began now toblame him for killing such a bird to entertain any woman with,in her heart all the while extoll ing the greatness of his soul ,which poverty had no power to abase .

Having now no farther hopes of obtaining the hawk , she

took leave of Federigo, and returned sadly to her son ; who,either out of grief for the disappointment or through the violence of his disorder, died in a few days . She continued sorrowfu l for some time ; but being left rich and young, herbrothers were very pressing with her to marry again . This

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SONNETS OF BOCCA CCIO.

M y lofty fancy passed as low as H ell,As high as H eaven, secure and unconfined ;A nd in my nob le book doth every kind

Of earthly lore and heavenly doctrine dwell .Renowned F lorence was my m other, — nay,Stepmother unto m e her piteous son,Through sin of cursed slander’s tongue and tooth.

Ravenna sheltered m e so cast away ;M y body is with her, — my soul with OneFor whom no envy can make dim the truth.

Of his last sight of F iammetta .

Round her red garland and her golden hairI saw a fire about F iamm etta

’s head ;

Thence to a little cloud I watched it fade,Than silver or than gold more brightly fai r ;A nd l ike a pearl that a gold ring doth bear,Even so an angel sat there in, who spedAlone and glorious throughout heaven, arrayedIn sapphires and in gold that l it the ai r .

Then I rejoiced as hoping happy things,Who rather should have then discerned how GodH ad haste to make my lady al l his own,

Even as it came to pass . A nd with these stingsOf sorrow,

and with l ife’s m ost weary loadI dwel l

,who fain would be where she is gone.

Of three Girls and of their Ta lk.

By a clear well,within a little fie ld

Full of green grass and flowers of every hue,Sat three young gi rls, relating (as I knew)

Their loves . A nd each had twined a bough to shieldH er lovely face ; and the green leaves did y ieldThe golden hai r the i r shadow ; while the twoSweet colors m ingled , both blown lightly through

With a soft wind forever sti rred and stil led .

After a l ittle while one of them said,

(I h eard her,) Th ink I I f ere the next hour struck,

E ach of our lovers should com e here to day,Think you that we should fly or feel afraid ?To whom the others answered

,

“From such luckA gii l would be a fool to run away

A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS. 95

A GROUP OF ITALIAN P OETS.

TR A N SL A T E D BY DA NTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI .

[F or b iographical sketch of Rossetti,see p age

F RA NCO SA CCHETT I .

ON A WE T D A Y .

As I walked thinking through a l ittle grove,Some girls that gathered flowers cam e pass ing me,Saying L ook here ! look there ! ” del ightedly.

0 here it is I” “What’s that ? ” A l ily love ! ”“A nd there are violets ! ”Farther for roses I O the lovely pets !The darl ing beauties ! O the nasty thorn !Look here

,my hand

’s al l torn ! ”

What’s that that jumps ? 0 don’t ! it’s a grasshopper !”

Come, run ! com e, run !H ere’s bluebells I 0 what fun ! ”

Not that way ! stop her !“Yes ! this way I” “P luck them then ! ”0 ,I’ve found m ushroom s ! 0 look here I” “0 I’m

Quite sure that farther on we’l l get wild thyme.O,we shal l stay too long ; it

’s going to rain ;There’s lightning ; O I there

’s “thunder IO shan’t we hear the vesper bel l ? I wonder.Why

,it’s not nones

,you silly little thing !

A nd don’t you hear the nightingales that singFly away

, 0 die awayO,I hear som ething ; hush I

”

Why,where what is it then ? Ah ! in that bush.

”

So every girl here knocks it, shakes and shocks itT ill with the sti r they m akeOut scurries a great snake .

O Lord ! 0 m e ! Alack ! Ah m e ! Alack I”

They scream , and then all run and scream again,A nd then in heavy drop s com es down the rain .

E ach running at the other in a fright,E ach trying to get before the other, and crying,A nd flying, and stum bl ing, tumbl ing, wrong or right ;

96 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

One sets her kneeThere where her foot should be ;One has her hands and dressAll smothered up with mud in a fine mess ;A nd one gets trampled on b y two or three .What’s gathered is let fallAbout the wood, and not picked up at all .The wreaths of flowers are scattered on the ground,A nd still as

,scream ing, hustl ing, without rest,

They run this way and that and round and round,

She thinks herself in luck who runs the best.

I stood quite stil l to have a perfect view,

And never noticed til l I got wet through.

C IULLO D ’ALCA M O.

D IA LOGU E : LOVER A N D LAD Y .

THOU sweetly smel l ing fresh red roseThat near thy summer art

,

Of whom each damsel and each dameWould fain be counterpart ;

Oh ! from this fire to d raw me forthBe it in thy good heart

For night or day there is no rest with me,Think ing of none, my lady, but of thee.

If thou hast set thy thoughts on me,Thou hast done a fool ish thing.

Yea, al l the pine wood of this worldTogether might

’st thou bring,A nd m ake thee ships

, and plow the seaTherewith for corn-sowing,

E re any way to win me could be foundFor I am going to shear my locks al l round.

Lady, before thou shear thy looksI hope I m ay be dead

A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS. 97

For I shou ld lose such joy therebyA nd gain such grief instead .

M erely to pass and look at thee,Rose of the garden-b ed,

H as comforted me m uch, once and again .

Oh ! if thou woul dst but love, what were it then !

Nay,though my heart were prone to love,

I would not grant it leave .

H ark I should my father or his kinBut find thee here this eve,

Thy loving body and lost breathOur m oat m ay well receive .

Whatever path to com e here thou dost know,By the same path I counse l thee to go.

H e.

And if thy kinsfolk find me here,Shall I be drowned then M arry

,

I’l l set,for price against my head,

Two thousand agostari.

I think thy father would not do’t

For al l his lands in Bari .Long l ife to the Emperor I Be G od

’s the praise !Thou hear’st, my beauty, what thy servant says.

A nd am I then to have no peaceM orning or eveningI have strong coffers of my own

A nd m uch good gold therein ;So that if thou couldst offer meThe wealth of Salad in,

A nd add to that the Soldan’s money-hoard,

Thy suit would not be anything toward .

I have known m any women,love

,

Whose thoughts were h igh and proud,A nd yet have been m ade gentle byM an’s speech not overloud.

VOL . x.— 7

98 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

If we but pre ss ye long enough,At length ye wil l b e b owed ;

For stil l a wom an ’s weaker than a man.

When the end comes, recal l how this began.

God grant that I may die beforeAny such end do com e,Before the sight of a chaste m aidSeem to m e troublesom e !I marked thee here all yestereveLurking about my hom e,

And now I say, “Leave cl imbing, lest thouFor these thy words delight me not at all .

”

H ow m any are the cunning chainsThou hast wound round my heart !

Only to think upon thy voiceSometim es I groan apart.

For I did never love a maidOf this world, as thou art,

So much a s I love thee,thou crim son rose.

Thou wilt be mine at last : this my soul knows.

If I could think it would be so,

Sm al l p ride it were of m ineThat al l my beauty should be meantB u t to make thee to shine .

Sooner than stoop to that,I ’d shear

These golden tresses fine,And m ake one of som e holy sisterhood ;E scaping so thy love, which is not good.

I f thou un to the cloister fly,

Thou cruel lady and cold,Unto the cloister I will comeAn d by th e cloister hold ;

A GROUP OF ITALIAN POETS. 99

For such a conquest l iketh meM uch better than much gold ;

At matins and at vespers I shal l beStil l where thou art. H ave I not conquered thee

Out and alack ! wherefore am ITormented in such w ise

Lord Jesus Christ the Saviour ,In whom my best hOp e l ies,

0 give me strength that I may hushThis vain man’s blasphem ies

Let him seek through the earth ;’tis long and broad

He w ill find fairer damsels, O my God !

I have sought th rough Calabria,Lombardy, and Tuscany,

Rome, P isa, Lucca, G enoa,Al l between sea and sea

Yea,even to Baby lon I went

A nd d istant BarbaryBut not a woman foun d I anywhereE qual to thee, who art indeed most

If thou have al l this love for me,Thou canst no better do

Than ask me of my father dearA nd my dear mother too

They willing, to the abbey-churchWe will together go,

A nd, before Advent, thou and I will wedAf ter the which

,I ’ll do as thou hast said.

These thy conditions, lady m ine,Are altogether naught ;

D esp ite of them ,I ’l l make a net

Wh erein thou shalt be caught.What

,wil t thou put on wings to fly

Nay,but of wax they’re wrought,

1 00 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

They’ll let thee fall to earth, not r ise with thee

So, if thou canst, then keep thyself from me .

Think not to fright m e with thy netsA nd suchlike chil d ish gear ;I am safe p ent within the wal lsOf this strong castle here ;

A boy before he is a manCould give m e as m uch fear .

If suddenly thou get not hence again,It is my prayer thou mayst be found and

H e.

Wouldst thou in very truth that IWere slain

,and for thy sake

Then let them hew m e to such minceAs a m an’s l imbs m ay m akeBut meanwhile I shall not stir henceT il l of that fruit I take

Wh ich thou hast in thy garden, ripe enoughA ll day and night I thirst to think thereof.

S he.

None have p artaken of that fruit,Not counts nor cavaliers

Though m any have reached up for it,Barons and great seigneurs,

They all went hence in wrath becauseThey could not m ake it theirs .

Then how canst thou think to succeed aloneWho has not a thousand ounces of th ine own ?

H e.

H ow many nosegays I have sentU nto thy house, sweet soul !

A t least til l I am put to proof,

Th l S scorn of thine control .For if the wind

,so fai r for thee

,

Turn ever and wax foul,

Be sure that thou shalt say when all is done,

Now is my h eart heavy for him that’s gone.

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1 02 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

A cloth of samite silver—flowered,A nd gem s within my hair .

But one more word ; if on Christ’s Book

To wed m e thou d idst swear,There’s noth ing now could win me to be thineI had rather make my b ed in the sea-brine.

H e.

And if thou make thy bed therein,M ost courteous lady and bland,I ’l l follow al l among the waves,P addlin g with foot and hand ;

Then when the sea hath done w ith thee,I ’ll seek thee on the sand .

For I will not be conquered in this strifeI ’l l wait

,but win ; or losing, lose my l ife.

She.

For Father, Son, and H oly Ghost,Three times I cross myself.

Thou art no godl ess heretic,Nor Jew, whose G od

’s his pel fEven as I know it then

,m eseems

,

Thou needs m ust know thyselfThat wom an, when the breath in her doth cease,Loseth al l savor and all love l iness .

Woe’s m e P erforce it mu st be saidNo craft could then avail :

So that if thou be thus resolved,

I know my suit must fail .Then have some pity

,of thy grace !

Thou mayst, love, very well ;For though thou love not m e, my love is suchThat ’tis enough for both — yea

,overmuch.

Is it even so Learn,then

,that I

D o love thee from my heart.To—morrow, early in the day,Com e here, but now depart.By thine obedience in th is thingI sha ll know what thou art

,

A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS. 1 03

A nd if thy love be real or nothing worth ;Do b ut go now, and I am thine henceforth.

N ay, for such promise, my own life,I wil l not sti r a foot.

I ’ve said, if thou wouldst tear awayM y love even from its root,

I have a dagger at my sideWhich thou m ayst take to do’

t

But as for my going hence, it will not b e.

0 hate m e not ! my heart is burning me.

Think’st thou I know not that thy heart

Is hot and burns to deathf all that thou or I can say

,

But one word succoreth .

T il l thou upon the H oly BookG ive m e thy bounden faith,

God is my witness that I will not yieldFor with thy sword ’twere better to be killed.

H e.

Then on Christ’s Book, borne with me stillTo read from and to pray

,

(I took it, fairest, in a church,The priest being gone away,)I swear that my whole self shall beThine always from th is day .

And now at once give joy for all my grief,Lest my soul fly

,that’s thinner than a leaf.

Now that this oath is sworn, sweet lord,There is no need to speak

M y heart that was so strong before,Now feels itse lf grow weak .

If any of my words were harsh,Thy pardon : I am m eek

Now,and wil l give thee entrance presently.

It is best so, sith so it was to be.

1 04 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

GUIDO CA VA LCA NTL

CA N ZON E : A D I SP UTE W I TH DE A TH .

O SLU G G I SH ,hard

,ingrate, what doest thou

P oor s inner, folded round with heavy sin,Whose l ife to find out joy alone is bent.

I call thee, and thou fal l

’st to deafness now ;

A nd,deem ing that my path whereby to win

Thy seat is lost, there sitt’st thee down content,

A nd hold’st m e to thy will subservient.

But I into thy heart have crept d isguisedAmong thy senses and thy sins I went,

By roads thou d idst not guess, unrecognized .

T ears wil l not now suffice to b id m e go,

Nor countenance abased, nor words of woe.

Now when I heard the sudden dreadful voiceWake thus within to cruel utterance,Whereby th e very heart of hearts did fail

,

M y Spi rit m ight not any m ore rejoice,But fell from its courageous p ride at once,A nd turned to fly, where fl ight m ay not avail .Then slowly ’

gan som e strength to reinhal e

The trembl ing l ife wh ich heard that wh isper sp eak,A nd had conce ived the sense with sore travail ;

T il l in the m outh it mu rmured,v ery weak

,

Saying Youth, wealth, and beauty, th ese have IO D eath ! rem it thy claim,

— I would not die .

”

Sm all sign of pity in that aspect dwellsWhich then had scattered al l my l ife abroadT il l there was com fort with no single sense.

A nd yet almost in piteous syl lables,When I had ceased to speak

,this answer flowed

Behold what path is spread before thee henceThy l if e has all but a day

’s p ermanence .

And is it for the sake of youth there seem sI n loss of human years such sore offense

Nay,look unto the end of youthful dream s.

What p resent glory does thy hope possess,That shall not yield ashes and bitterness

B u t, when I looked on D eath m ade visible

,

F rom my heart’s sojourn brought b efore m ine eyes,

A nd holding in her hand my grievous sin,

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1 06 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS .

That thou hast no m ore power to dwell with theseAs l iving man . Let pass thy soul in peace .

Yea,Lord . 0 Thou, the Builder of the spheres,

Who,m aking m e

,d idst shap e me, of Thy grace,

In Th ine own image and high counterpart ;Do Thou subdue my spir it, long perverse,To weep with in Thy will a certain space,E re yet Thy thunder com e to rive my heart.Set in my hand some s ign of what Thou art,

Lord God, and suffer me to seek out Christ,Weeping, to seek H im in Thy ways apart ;

U ntil my sorrow have at length sufliced

In some accepted instant to atoneFor sins of thought, for stubb orn evil done.

D isheveled and in tears, go, song of mine,

To break the hardness of the heart of manSay how his l ife began

From dust,and in that dust doth sink supine

Yet,say

,the unerring spirit of grief shall guide

H is soul , being purified,To seek its M aker at the heavenly shrine.

FA ZIO DEGLI UB ERT I .

CAN ZONE : H rs P ORTRA I T OF H I S LA DY,AN G I OLA OF

I LOOK at the crisp golden-threaded hairWhereof, to thral l my heart, Love twists a netU sing at tim es a string of pearls for bait,A nd som etim es with a single rose therein.

I look into her eyes which unawareThrough m ine own eyes to my heart penetrate ;Their sp lendor, that is excel lently great,To the sun’s radiance seem ing near akin,Yet from herself a sweeter l ight to win .

So that I, gaz ing on that lovely one,D iscourse in this wise with my secret thought :Woe’s me why am I not

,

Even as my wish, alone with her alone,That hair of hers

,so heavily up laid,

To shed down braid by b raid,

A nd m ake myself two m i rrors of her eyesWithin whose l ight al l other glory d ies

A GROUP OF ITA L IAN POETS. 1 07

I look at the amorous, beautif ul mouth,The spacious forehead which her locks inclose

,

The sm al l wh ite teeth,the straight and shapely nose,

A nd the clear brows of a sweet pencil ing.

A nd then the thought within me gains ful l growth,Saying, Be careful that thy glance now goesBetween her l ips

,red as an Open rose

,

Quite full of every dear and precious thing ;A nd l isten to her gracious answering,

Born of the gentle m ind that in her dwel ls,Which from al l things can glean the nobler half.L ook thou when she doth laugh

H ow m uch her laugh is sweeter than aught else.”

Thus everm ore my sp irit m akes avowTouching her m outh ; til l nowI would give anything that I possess,Only to hear her m outh say frankly, “Yes.”

I look at her wh ite,easy neck

,so wel l

From shoulders and from bosom lifted out ;A nd at her round cleft chin

,which beyond doubt

No fancy in the world coul d have designed .

A nd then, with longing grown more voluble,Were it not pleasant now,

” pursues my thought,To have that neck within thy two arm s caught,A nd kiss it til l the m ark were left behindThen

,urgently : The eyel ids of thy m ind

Open thou : if such loveliness be givenTo sight here, — what of that which she doth hideOnly the wondrous ride

Of sun and p lanets through the visible heavenT el ls us that there beyond is P aradise .Thus

,if thou fix thine eyes

,

Of a truth certainly thou m ust inferThat every earth ly joy abides in her .

I look at the large arms, so l ithe and round,At the hands, which are white and rosy too,At the long fingers, clasped and woven through,Bright with the ring which one of them doth wear.

Then my thought whispers : Were thy body woundWithin those arms

,as loving wom en

’s do

,

I n al l thy ve ins were born a life made newWhich thou couldst find no language to declare.Behold, if any picture can compare

1 08 A GROUP OF ITA LIAN POETS.

With her j ust l imbs, each fit in shape and size,Or m atch her angel

’s color l ike a pearl .She is a gentle girl

TO see ; yet when it needs, her scorn can rise .M eek , b ashful, and in all things temperate,H er v irtue holds its state ;In whose least act there is that gift expressedWh ich of all reverence makes her worthiest.”

Soft as a peacock step s she, or as a storkStraight on herself, taller and statel ier’Tis a good sight how every l imb doth stirForever in a wom anly sweet way.

Open thy soul to see G od’s perfect work

,

(M y thought begins afresh ,) and look at herWh en with som e lady-friend exceeding fairShe b ends and m ingles arm s and locks in play.

Even as all lesser lights vanish away,When the sun moves

,before his dazzl ing face,

So is this lady brighter than al l these.How should she fai l to p lease,

Love’s self being no m ore than her lovelinessI n al l her ways som e beauty springs to view ;A l l that she loves to do

T ends alway to do her honor’s single scop eA nd on ly from good deeds she draws her hope.

Song, thou canst surely say, without pretense,That since the first fair wom an ever m ade

,

N ot one can have d isp layedM ore p ower upon al l hearts than this one doth,Because in her are both

Lovel iness and the soul’s true excellenceAn d yet (woe

’s me is pity absent thence

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1 1 0 SONNETS OF P ETRARCH .

A nd they consum e me as the sun does snowWherefore L ove leads my tears, l ike stream s ashore,U nder the foot of that ob durate laurel ,Which boughs of ad amant hath and golden hair.

Sooner wi ll change, I dread, my face and hairThan truly will turn on m e pitying eyesM ine Idol , which is carved in l iving laurelFor now,

if I m iscount not, full seven yearsA sighing have I gone from shore to shore,By night and day, through drought and through the snow.

A ll fire within and al l outside pale snow,

Alone with these my thoughts, with altered hair,I shall go weeping over every shore,Belike to draw compassion to men’s eyes

,

N ot to be born for th e next thousand years,

If so long can abide well-nurtured laurel.

But gold and sunlit topazes on snowAre passed by her pale hair

,above those eyes

By which my years are brought so fast ashore.

SONNETS OF P ETRARCH.

TRA N SLAT ED BY RICHARD GARNETT.

(W ritten during Laura’s life .)

YE WH O attend the desultory flowOf sigh ing strains whereon my heart I fed,Young on youth

’s path of devious error sped,

A nd other m an in part than I am now :

On song m id words and tears swayed to and fro,By id le hope and idle grief bested,H e

, whom L ife’s hand on ways of Love hath led,P ardon, I hop e, yea, p ity wil l bestow.

But well I m a rk how byword I becam eLong in the p eop le

’s mouth,and often hence

I droop dej ected in m ine own esteem

SONNETS or PETRARCH , 1 1 1

And for the fruit of folly gather shame,Self-condemnation, and intell igenceThat al l brief joy of earth is but a dream.

The southern window where one Sun is shownWhen such its will

,one only at noontide ;

The window of the north,where cold airs chide,

In briefest days by breath of Boreas blown ;The rock whereon in open day aloneM y Lady sits and lets her fancies glide ;A nd every spot that e’er, b eatified,

Her veil ing shadow or l ight foot hath known ;And pass where I by Love was overta’

en ;

And novel Spring awakening ancient smartAs other Aprils come with other years ;

A nd words and looks that in the midmost heartImprinted ineffaceably remain ;P ersuade mine eyes to render up their tears.

Blessed for aye the day, the m onth, the year,Season and time, and hour, and moment

’s space,A nd lovely land and favorable place,Wh ere on my neck was laid the yoke I bear !And blest the tender trouble and sweet careBegot when Love and I did first embraceA nd blest the bow and shaft whose ruddy trace

The heart in its deep core shal l ever wear !A nd words unsummed wherewith my Lady

’s name,So oft invoked, upon the air I sped ;A nd sighing and lament, and passion

’s flam e ;And blest all songs and music that have spreadH er laud afar ; and thought that comes and cameFor her alone

,unto all other dead.

Now that so m any times,so many ways,

W e proof have m ade of m an’s uncertain lot,U r to the G ood Suprem e, that faileth not,

Our errant hearts reverting let us raise .

M an’s l ife is as a m ead,where winds and strays

The serpent in green herb and flowery plot,A nd

,be som e charm from good ly prospect got,

’Tis but the m ore the d rowsy sou l to daze.

1 1 2 SONNETS OF PETRARCH .

Be the few wise your guides, ye who would reachU ntroub led l ife, and calm Of closing day ;A nd clamor of the rabble d isavow.

But of myself what hear I Thou dost teach,Friend

,the right road whence thou thyself didst stray

SO oft, and never yet so far as now.

R iver, this husk of me well m ayest thouBear on thy fleet and potent flood away,But the free sou l these veils of flesh array

N ot to thy m ight or other might doth bow .

Scorning al l shifts of sail or helm or prow,

D irect on favoring breeze she takes her way ;Wind

,wave

,and sheet and oar her nothing stay,

Bound upon heating wing to golden bough.

P O, king of rivers, first in pr ide and m ight,Encountering the sun when day he leads,A nd fairer l ight forsaking in the West ;

’Tis but my earthly part thy torrent speedsThe other, in soft plum es of L ove bed ight,Wings back her way to her beloved nest.

Oblivion for her freight, my bark dividesWild seas

,

’twixt Scylla and Charybdis borneAt wintry m idnight, o

’er her course forlornM y Lord say rather enemy presides.At every oar a fierce dark thought deridesD eath and the hurricane it holds in scorn ;A nd sails b y drenching blasts are split and torn

Of sigh s, hopes, passions, storm ing on all sides.T ears fal l in torrents

,angers rise in m ist

To soak and slack the tackl ing’s fretted cord

Of ignorance and error jointly wound.

Th e two sweet stars wh ich guided me are m issed ;R eason and Sk il l have p erished overboard ;M ethinks the haven hard ly shall be found.

Stand we here,Love

,our glory to survey ;

Things Nature overpassing, wond rous, new ;Behold what sweet of her doth E arth imbue ;Behold what light in her doth H eaven display.See Art impearl, impurple, gild the arrayOf mortal charm s none oth er may indue ;See her feet traverse and her eyes review

The cloistered vales of her enshadowed way.

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1 1 4 SONNETS OF PETRARCH .

Comes where I sit and write on Love intentThen her whom H eaven revealed, and E arth doth hide,I see and feel and know, how, from my side

Sundered so far, she answers my lam ent.Why thus b efore the tim e wear life awaySh e pitying saith, wherefore incessant runThine eyes with bitter waters weep, I pray,

N 0 more for me, who endless l ife have wonBy death, and opened to eternal dayThe eyes I seemed to shut un to the Sun .

The eyes whose p raise I penned with glowing thought,A nd countenance and l imbs and all fai r worthThat sun dered m e from m en of mortal birth,From them dissevered, in myself distraughtThe clustering locks, with golden glory fraught ;The sudden-shining smile, as angels

’ m irth,W

'

onted to make a parad ise on earth ;Are now a l ittle dust

,that feels not aught.

Still have I l ife, who rail and rage at it,Lorn of Love’s light that solely Life endears ;M astless b efore the hurricane I fl it ;Be this my last of lays to mortal ears ;D ried is the ancient fountain of my wit,A nd al l my music melted into tears.

Recalling the sweet look and golden headSo lowly b ent, whereof now H eaven is proud,Visage angelic, tones not ever loud,Whose music joy

,whose m em ory woe hath bred ;

CeI-tes,I now were numbered with the dead,

H ad not that One, of whom’tis not avowed

I f chaster or more beauteous, earthward b owed,A t dawn’s approach un to my succor sped .

H ow pure in pious tenderness our greeting !With what attention doth she note and weighThe long sad tale I ever am repeating !

Til l sm itten by the m orning’s vanward ray

,

With dewy cheek and eye she fades, retreatingTo H eaven, as one fam il iar with the way.

M EDIE VA L P ERSIAN POETS. 1 1 5

ME D IE VAL P ERSIAN P OETS .

SA D I , RIiM I , JA M I .

B Y EDWARD B . COWE LL .

[E DWA RD B . COWE L L , the famous Orientalist, and friend of Edward F itzgerald ,whom he turned to th e Oriental studieswh ich imm ortaliz ed him ,

was b orn1 826 educated at M agdalen College , Oxf ord in 1 856 b ecam e P rofessor of History in the P residency C ollege , Calcutta , and in 1 858 p rincipal of the G overnm ent Sanskrit College as well. Returning to E ngland in 1 864, in 1 867 h e wasmad e P rofessor of Sanskrit in Camb ridge Un iversity . H is life work , b esides thecollege lectures , h as b een the editing and translation of Sanskrit and other HinduWorks

,and the preparation of text-b ooks ]

P E R SI A N poetry, as we see it in its highest efforts, possessesa peculiar charm, not more from the novelty of its images, thanthe warm atmosphere of poeti c feeling, which bathes themas with a tropic glow . The poet proj ects himself everywhere nature and life present themselves to his view, deeplycolored by his present emotions, while he sings . H ence thehigher P ersian poetry is rarely descriptive : it rarely burstsout into that enthusiasti c admiration of Nature in herself,which forms so marked a feature in all the poetry of theH indus . P ersian poets may describe the aspects of Nature ,under the varying succession of the seasons, but they paintthem from the head rather than the heart ; their pictur es arevague and indefinite ; and instead of opening their bosom s tothe impulse and inspiration of the hour, they too Often wearyus with extravagant metaphors, or bewilder u s with inexp licable conceits .

The peculiar feature of P ersian poetry — its distinguishingcharm — is the mystical tone which universally pervades it .This mystical tone is not confined to mere isolated pas sages ;with but few excepti ons it extends its influence everywhere .

By this we do not mean that it is everywhere obtruding itself ;for this perpetual intrusion wou ld annihilate the charm , onemain element of which consists in the vague and undefinedfeeling of its presence . The outer form of the poem mayappear a romance or a song it may tell of the loves of Yusufand Zulaikha, or of M ajnun and Laili or it may plant us bythe bowers of M osel la , amid the light-hearted revelry of thewine-worshipers of Shiraz , and to the idle listener the wordsmay have conveyed nothing more . B ut j ust as in Caldron ’scomedy of The Open Secret (E l Secreto a Voces) , the verywords, which to common persons of the drama only conveyed

1 16 M EDIE VA L PERSIAN POETS .

acommon mean ing

,bore to the two partners of the secret the

whole history of their sorrows and joys, so to the ear, which isrightly attuned

,in these utterances Of the P ersian M use,

echoes of a d eeper harmony untwine themselves from the con

fusion of sounds . This mystical mean ing never obtrudesitself

;we may

,if we will, pass it by, confining ourselves

exclusively to those passages which sing of a mortal love , oran earthly summer and wine . But the vague and undefinedshadow remains ; the feeling of a greater presence will still

hang over us and

M emories of his music shal l descendWith the pure spirits of the sunless hours,Sink th rough our hearts, like dew in to the flowers,A nd haunt us without end .

The following Ode of Hafiz will serve as an interestingspecimen of a large class of these poems : it appears to b eaddressed to an earthly obj ect, who is apparently dissatisfiedwith the poet’s mystic idolatry ; and the ode seems intended tojustify his abstracted passion, while it shows ( like Spenser

’

s

Odes to heavenly and earthl y love) how

“Beauty is not, as fond m en m isdeem ,

An outward Show of things, that only seem.

When thou hearest the words of the wise, say not, there is an error ;Oh, heart-stealer, thou knowest not the ir meaning, — the error ishere .

M y thoughts stoop not to the present or futurity ;Al lah be blessed for the passion which rages in my heart !Wounded as I am ,

there is something, I know not what, within mysoul

,

Which,while I keep silence, bursts forth in loud and tumul tuous

cries .M y heart rushes forth from the veil ; where art thou, oh minstrelOr raise that lament again ; at its note my hopes revive .Never have I paid regard to the things of the world ;For it was thy cheek

,which in my eyes adorned it so fair.

I cannot sleep for the image, which I carry with m e at n ight ;The languor of an hundred sleepless nights is mine, — where is the

wine-tavernF or this in the M agian

’s wine-tavern they hold m e in honor,F or in my heart is b urning th e perpetual fi re .

What m elody was that which the m instrel playedL ife hath passed, yet the echo still fills my soul.

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1 1 8 M EDIE VA L PERSIA N POETS.

less need for such details, as the various sects among them are

by no means agreed on the several points of their system .

Sir John M al colm has wel l said that “the essence of Su feyismi s poetry

,as

,indeed, the P ersian temperament might easily

lead us to anticipate . The value or interest of its philosophydoes not consist in its logical accuracy, or the pitiless rigorof its deductive method, such as we cannot help admiring inthe P antheistic subtleties of the H indu ; for those qualitiesare totally foreign to the P ersian mind . Su feyism , in fact,has risen from the bosom of M ohammedanism , as a vague protest of the human soul in its instinctive longings after a purercreed . M usic, P oetry, and the Arts are the unconscious aspirations of the soul

,as it hurries along in its restless impulses

through the world , stung by the echo of A la st .

’ yet ringing inits ear

,but with no visible Object to claim the passionate adora

tion which it burns to pour forth . The odes of Su feyism , aswe find them in the diwans of H afiz and Jel aleddin, are supposed to be the natural expression of these vague and mysterious longings ; in these its dumb and struggling aspirationsfind a voice, while it passes from stage to stage in the j ourneyof Sufi development, learning to recognize the divine originwith continually clearer intuition, as it gradually escapes frommatter and its selfish tendencies .

Human speech, however, i s weak and imperfect ; and, sinceordinary language is only framed to convey the daily wantsand impressions of mankind, these higher experiences of thesoul can only be represented by symb ols and metaphors .H ence the Sufi poets adopt a form of expression which to theuninitiated ear can convey no such depth of meaning . U nderthe evil of an earthly passion , and the woes of a temporalseparation , they disguise the dark riddle of human life, andthe ce lestial banishment, which lies beyond the threshold ofexistence and under the j oys of revelry and intoxication theyfigure mystical tran sports and divine ecstasi es . In the wordsof their great M anla, “they profess eager desire , but with nocarnal affection, and circulate the cup, but no material gobletsince al l things are spiritual in their sect

,all is mystery within

mystery . T o similar purport speaks the poet Jami,

Som etimes the wine, som etim es the cup I cal l thee ;Som etim es the lure, som etim es th e net I call thee .

Except thy name, there is no letter on the tablet of the universe ;Say by what app ellation shal l I call thee

M E DIE VA L P ERSIAN POETS. 1 1 9

P ersian poetry may be lyrical, as in the Odes Of H afiz, orromantic

,as in the Yusuf of Jami, or it may string together

moral apologues, as in the Rose-garden of Sadi ; but nearlyall the P ersian poets were Sufis, and Su feyism formed theburden of their song . Thus, amidst all the moving picturesof Jami ’s celebrated romance , which float before the reader

’seye like some gorgeous panorama of E astern scenery, — amids tall the various scenes of Zu laikha ’

s hopes, disappoin tments,and despair, there comes ever and anon the mystic voice ofthe poet, as the hierophant

’s to the awestruck 671-677-7 779 in somepageant of the ancient mysteries, — reminding us in a fewpregnant couplets that it is

'

no mere common love story whichhe is singing, but something of older date, — a sorrow

,whose

birth-time stretches far back

Into the deep immortal ancient tim e .

“3k 926 916 9K 916 9K 9k

W e pass on to Sadi of Shiraz , who flourished in the thirteenth century, and whose G ulistan or Rose-garden has longenj oyed something of a E uropean celebrity, having been publ ished at Amsterdam in 1 65 1 , by G entiu s , with an uncouthLatin translation . Sadi ’s writings are a very favorable specimen of those collections of moral apologues which are sopopular in the E ast . His two best works are the G ulistanand Bostan ; the former in prose, in terspersed with distichsand quatrains, and sometimes with longer poems ; the latterentirely in verse . The G ulistan has been translated by P rofessor E astw i ck, who has also edited the original text, and fromhis translation we give the follow ing very graceful fable

I saw som e handfuls of the rose in bloom,

With b and s of grass suspended from a dome.I said

,What m eans this worthless grass, that it

Shoul d in the rose ’s fai ry circle sitThen wept the grass, and said, Be stil l ! and knowThe kind th eir old associates ne’er forego.

M ine is no b eauty,hue

,or fragrance, true

But in the garden of my L ord I grew.

”

Th e Bostan has n ever been translated into English , althoughmuch of it well deserves it . Sadi, unlike many E astern authors,is never wearisome his stories are always short

,and his

remarks pithy and to the point . His vein of poetry is not ofthe highest order ; but his thoughts are graceful , and his

1 20 M EDIE VA L P ERSIAN POETS.

language exquisitely polished ; and there is a genial fund Of

s trong good sense and humor, which never fails to refresh thereader . The following apologue will not be new to somereaders ,

for Jeremy T aylor has given it from a Jewish sourcein his Liberty of P rophesying,

” yet it may still come with acertain novelty and freshness in the form of a genu ine Orientalapologue of Sadi .

I have h eard, that for one whole week no wayfarerCam e to the Open tent of the “friend of God .

”

With no happy heart would he take his m orning m eal,U nless som e forlorn wanderer cam e in from the desert.Forth he fared from his tent, and looked on every side,To the skirts of the valley did he d irect hi s gaze .

There saw he an Ol d man, l ike a willow,alone in the desert

,

H is head and hai r white with the snows of age.

VVI th affectiona te kindness he bade him welcome ;

After the manner of the munificent he m ade his salutationOh , thou,

” he said,who art dear as the apple of m ine eye,

D eign to honor me by partaking of my bread and salt ! ”

With a glad assent the old m an leaped up and set forth,For wel l knew he the saint’s character

,on whom be peace.

The servants in charge of Abraham’s tent

P laced in the seat of honor that poor old m an

A nd the m aster bade them make ready to eat,

A nd they all sate in order round the table.But when they comm enced their solemn grace in the name Of God,They heard no response from the Old man’s lips .Abrah am said to him, Oh , ol d m an of ancient days

,

I see not in thee the rel igion and devotion of ageI s it not thy custom ,

when thou eatest bread,To nam e the name Of the L ord

,who giveth that daily meed

H e answered, I never practice custom s,

Which I have not learned from the old p riest of the Fire-worshipers !”

Then knew the p rophet of blessed om enThat the old man was a lost unbe l iever ;A nd he drove him ignom iniously from his tent,When he saw the stranger in his foulness in the presence of the pure.

Then cam e there an angel from the glorious Creator,An d W ith awful maj esty rebuked the prophet ;F or a hundred years, oh Abraham ,

have I given him daily foodand l ife ;

An d canst not thou bear his p resence for a single hour

The follow ing apologue from the G ulistan may remind us

of the well -known sto ry of the G reek philosopher,who

,when

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1 22 M EDIE VA L PERSIAN POETS .

H e asked what present he should b ring them home,And each one nam ed what he several ly wished,And to each one the good master p rom ised h is desire.Then he said to the parrot, “A nd what gift wishest thou,That I should b ring to thee from H industanThe parrot replied,

“When thou seest the parrots there,Oh , b id them know of my cond ition .

T ell them ,that a parrot, who longs for their company,

Through heaven’s decree is confined in my cage .

H e sends you his salutation, and dem ands his right,A nd seeks from you help and counsel .H e says

,Is it right I in my longings

Should pine and die in this prison th rough separationIs it right that I shou ld be here fast in th is cage,Whil e you dance at will on the grass and the treesIs this the fidelity of friends,I here in a p rison, and you in a groveOh rem ember, I pray you, that bower of ours,A nd our morning d raughts in the Olden tim e ;Oh rem em b er all our ancient friendships,A nd al l the festive days of our intercourse ! ”

The m erchant received its m essage,The salutation which he was to bear to its fellows ;A nd when he cam e to the borders of H industan

,

H e beheld a number of parrots in the desert.H e stayed his horse

,and he lifted his voice

,

A nd he repeated his m essage, and deposited his trust ;A nd one of those p arrots suddenly fluttered,An d fel l to th e ground, and presently d ied .

B itterly did the m erchant repent his words ;I have slain,

” he cried,a l iving creature .

P erchance this p arrot and my little bird were close Of kin,The bodies p erchance were two and the i r souls one .Why did I this why gave I the m essageI have consum ed a help less victim by my fool ish words !M y tongue is as fl int, and my l ips as steel ;An d the words that burst from th em are sparks of fire.

Strike not together in thy folly the fl int and steel,Wheth er for the sake of kind words or vain boasting ;The world aroun d is as a cotton-field by n ight ;In the m idst of cotton

,how shal l the sparks do no harm

The m erchant at length comp leted his traffic,A nd he returned righ t glad to his hom e once more.

To every servant h e brought a p resent,To every maid he gave a token ;

M ED IE VA L PERSIA N POETS. 123

And the parrot said,

“Where is my p resentTel l all that thou hast said and seen ! ”

H e answered, I repeated thy complaintsTO that company of parrots, thy old companions

,

A nd one of those birds,when it inhaled the breath of thy sorrow

Broke its heart,and fluttered, and d ied .

”

A nd when the parrot heard what its fellow had done,

It too fluttered,and fel l down

,and d ied .

When the m erchant beheld it thus fall,

U p he sp rang, and dashed his cap to the ground,“Oh , alas ! ” he cried, “my sweet and pleasant parrot,Companion of my bosom and Sharer of my secrets !Oh alas ! alas and again alasThat so bright a m oon i s hidden under a cloudAfter this

,he threw its body out of the cage ;

A nd 10 ! the little bird flew to a lofty bough .

Th e merchant stood am azed at what it had done,

U tterly bewildered he pondered its mystery.

It answered,Yon parrot taught m e by its action

‘E scape,

’ it told m e,‘from speech and articul ate voice

,

Since it was thy voice that brought thee into prison ;A nd to prove its own words itsel f did die .

”

It then gave the m erchant som e words of wise counsel,A nd at last bade him a long farewel l .“Farewell

,my m aster, thou hast done me a kindness,

Thou hast freed m e from the bond of th is tyranny.

Farewe ll,my m aster, I fly towards hom e ;

Thou shalt one day be free like me !”

Besides the M esnavi, Jelal eddin also wrote a collection (orD iwan) of mystical odes, which are full of very remarkablepassages . The following has been rendered into English verseby the late P rofessor Falconer, in the A sia ticJourna l of 1 842his translation, which we subjoin , is not less adm irable forfidelity to the spirit of the original than for elegance of dictionas a composition

Seeks thy spirit to be giftedWith a deathless l ife

Let it seek to be upl iftedO

’er earth’s storm and strife.

Spurn its joys its ties dissever ;H opes and fears divest ;

Thus aspire to l ive foreverBe forever blest !

124 M EDIE VA L PERSIAN POETS.

Faith and doubt leave far behind thee ;Cease to love or hate ;Let no T im e’s il lusions blind thee ;Thou shalt T ime outdate.

M erge th ine ind ividual beingI n the E ternal’s love ;

A l l this sensuous nature fleeingF or pure bl iss above .

E arth receives the seed and guards it ;T rustful ly it d ies ;

Then with teem ing life rewards itFor self-sacrifice !

With green leaf and clustering blossomC lad , and golden fruit,

See it from earth’s cheerless bosomEver sunward shoot !

Thus,when self-abased, M an

’s spiritFrom each earthly tie

R ises d isenthralled t’ inheritImmortality

The fol lowing extract from the same work will show howJel aleddin , and indeed the Sufis generally, endeavor to sublimethe letters of M ohammedanism, in order to express their ownmore elevated views, — how they adopt the various formulaeof the creed, while they expand them indefinitely by their ownsystem of interpretation . T o enable our readers to understandits allusions, we add the following extract from Sir John M al

colm “M ohammed’s doctrine is termed Islam, faith i stermed Inam, t. e . a belief of the creed ; and religion in itspractical sense D een . The duties of religion or practice are

prayer according to the prescribed forms,alms

,fasting, and

the pilgrimage to M ecca .

Oh ! thou who layest a claim to Islam,

Without the inner m eaning thy claim hath no stability.

L earn what are the p illars of the M ussulm an’s creed

,

F asting, p ilgrimage, p rayer and alm s.Know that fasting is abstinence from the fashions of mankind,F or in the eye of the soul this is the true mortification .

P ilgrimage to the p lace of the wise

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1 26 M EDIE VA L P ERSIA N POETS .

The following ode has more of passion than we usuall y findin H afiz several of the couplets are admirable examples of thatextreme condensation of thought, which so strongly character.

izes his poetry,in contradistinction to other P ersian writers

Shou ld a thousand enem ies p urpose my destruction,If thou art my friend, I care not for enem ies .

’Tis the hop e of thy p resence which keeps m e al ive ;E lse in a hundred ways from thy absence am I threatened by death.

U nless every m om ent I inhale thy odor from the b reez e,E very m inute for sorrow shall I rend my collar, l ike the rose .Wh ither shall I go what shall I do What help shal l I deviseF or I am slain by the tortures of F ortune’s tyranny.

Can my eyes, for thy im age, fa ll into sleep Away with the thought !Can my heart be patient under thy absence God forbid !I f thou sm itest the b low,

it is well,for thou art the plaster

,

I f thou givest the poison, it is we l l, for thou art the antidote .D eath from the stroke of thy sword is to m e l ife im m ortal ;The only value of l ife is to offer it a sacrifice to thee .I will not turn my reins, if thou sm itest m e with thy scim iter ;I wil l make my head my shield, nor raise my hand from the saddlebow.

H ow should every eye see thee as thou artE very one comp rehends according to his power of seeing,H afiz will then be honored in the eyes of m en

,

When he lays the head of poverty in the dust at thy door.

We can only add a brief account of Jami,a poet of the fif

teenth century, whose seven poems ( called in P ersia “TheSeven Thrones abound with beautiful passages

,and are like

wise deeply imbued with P ersian mysticism . We have alreadyalluded to his poem on the loves of Yusuf and Zulaikha ; wetherefore confine our extracts to two of his other works .

The first of these , the T uh fat-u l -Ahrar, or the G ift of theNoble, is a collection of mystical apologues , interspersed withshort digressions on various points of Sufi doctrine .

The other poem , the Salaman and Absal , i s an allegory,which describes the connection of the soul and the body underthe form of a love story

,and relates the gradual disentangle

ment of the soul from material ties,as it rises nearer and nearer

to the contemplation of heavenly beauty . From it we selectthe open ing invocation, one of the most rem arkable passagesin the whole range of P ersian poetry . The reader of Sufi

M ED IE VAL P ERSIAN POETS . 1 27

writings is continually reminded how near at times the morepassionate language of St . Augustin e or St . Bernard approachesthat of the great Sufi poets, if we only modify the P antheism,

which is so native to the E ast .

Oh ! Thou whose m emory refreshes the lover’s soul,

Th e water of whose kindness m oistens the lover’s tongue,F rom Thee hath fallen a shadow of the world

,

A nd earth’s fair ones hav e traded on this as their whole capital .E arth’s lovers fal l in hom age before that shadow,

At the sight of that capital they are fi lled with frenzy .

E re from Lail i rose the secrets of Thy b eauty,H er love excited no flam e in M aj nun .

E re thou hadst m ade Sh érin’s lips l ike sugar,

H er two lovers’ hearts were not filled with blood.

E re thou hadst given Azra’

. her si lver cheeks,

No quicksilver tears filled Wamik’s eyes.

F rom Thee,and Thee alone, com es mention of beauty and love ;

Lover and loved,there is none save Thee .

The beauty of earth’s fair ones is a veil before Thee

,

Thou hast h idden Thy face behind the veil .I t i s Thou that with

’

Thine own beauty deckest the vei l ;’Tis for this that the heart is fixed thereon as on a ve iled bride.Long enough hath Thy d ivine face been concealed by the vei l ;We cannot d istinguish Thy face from the curtain .

H ow long wilt Thou shoot Thy glances from behind its folds,With a whole world enraptured at the picture of the veilI t is tim e for Thee to remove the ve il from before Thee,A nd to d isplay Thy face unclouded by its screen ;That I may be lost in the revelation of Thyself,And freed from all power to d istinguish good or il l ;That I m ay be Thy lover, enlightened by Thee,With my eyes sealed to al l other obj ects .Thy goings are concealed under the various form s of truth ;U nder all the creatures we see only Thee .

Though I look forth from every p lace of seeing,I n al l the world I behold none other but Thee .

Thou adornest Thyself under the im age of the world,Thou art the keen-eyed censor in the guise of m an .

There i s no adm ission for separate p ersonal ity Within Thy sacredchamber ;

There is no m ention there of great or sm all .From separate consciousness, oh , m ake m e united to Thyself

,

Oh ! grant m e a p lace in Thy assem b ly,That like the K urd in the story, escaped from personality,

1 28 A GHAZA L OF HA FIZ.

I may say, Is it I, O G od, or is it ThouI f it be I , then whence this knowledge and powerA nd if it be Thou, whence th is weakness and frailty

A GHAZAL OF HAFIZ.

(L iteral translation b y L ieutenant~Colonel H . W ilb erforce Cl arke.)

[HA r I z (Shems—ed-D in M uhammad) , the greatest P ersian lyrical p oet, wasb orn at Shiraz early in the fourteenth century lived there , and died there ab out1 388 . See previous article for the character of his work. ]

I F that hold one of Shiraz gain our heart,F or his dark m ole I wil l give Sam arkand and Bukhara.

Saki ! give the wine rem aining, for in P aradise thou w ilt not haveThe bank of the water of Ruknabad nor the rose of the garden of

M usalla.

Alas ! These saucy dainty ones, sweet of work, the torm ent of thecity

,

Take patience from the heart even as the men of Turkistan take thetray of p lunder.

The beauty of the Beloved i s in no need of our imperfect love ;Of luster and color and mole and tricked l ine (of eyebrow) what

need hath the lovely face

By reason of that beauty daily increasing that Yusuf had, I knewthat love for him would bring

Zulaikha forth from the screen of chastity.

The tale of m instrel and of love utter ; little seek the mystery oftim e ;

F or this mystery, none sol ved by skill and shal l not solve.

0 Soul hear the counsel of the M ursh id (or pious wise m an) ;For dearer than the soul hold hap py youth s the counsel of the wise

old m an.

0 M urshid ! thou spakest il l of me ; and now I am happy.

God M ost H igh forgive thee, thou spakest wellThe bitter rep ly suiteth the ruddy l ip , sugar-eating.

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1 30 M EDITA TIONS.

But,ah ! sweet maid ! my counsel hear

(Youth Should attend when those advise,Whom long experience renders sage)While music charm s the ravished ear,While sparkl ing cups del ight our eyes,Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age .

What cruel answer have I heard !A nd yet, by heaven, I love thee stillCan augh t be cruel from thy l ipYet say, how fell that bitter wordFrom l ip s which stream s of sweetness fi l l,Which naught but drops of honey sip

G o boldly forth, my Simple lay ;Whose accents flow with artless ease,Like orient p earls at random strung :Thy notes are sweet th e damsels say ;B ut

,oh ! far sweeter, if they please

The nymph for whom these notes are sung.

M ED ITAT IONS .

B Y HAF IZ .

(Translated b y E . H . P almer.)

0 CU P REA RE R ! fi l l up the goblet, and hand it around to us al l !For to Love that seem ed easy at first these unforeseen troubles befall .

In the hop e that the breeze of the South wil l blow yon dark tressesap art

An d d iffuse their sweet perfume around, O what anguish is caused

to the heart !

A y ! sully your p rayer m at with wine,if the elder encourage such sin !

For the traveler surely should know al l the m anners and ways ofthe in .

Wh at rest or what comfort for me can there be in the Loved One’sab ode

,

When the hel l is incessantly tol ling to b id us each pack up his load

The darkness of night and the fear of the waves and the waters thatroar

H ow should they be aware of our state,who are roam ing in safety

ashore

ZULA IKHA 1 31

I yielded m e up to delight, and it brought me il l fam e at the last.Shall a secret be hidden which into a general topic has passed

Woul dst thou dwell in H is presence then never thyself unto absencebetake !

T il l thou meetest the One whom thou lovest, the world and its pleasures forsake !

ZULAIKHA .

B Y JAM I . 1414- 1492.

(Translated b y R . T . H . G riffith .)

THE RE was a King in the West. His nameTaim i

‘

i s, was Spread wide by the d rum of Fame .Of royal power and wealth possessed ,No wish unanswered rem ained in his breast.His brow gave luster to G lory

’s crown,

A nd his foot gave the thrones of the M ighty renown.

With Orion from heaven his host to aid,Conquest was his when he bared his blade .His child Zulaikha was passing fairNone in h is heart m ight with her compare,Of his royal house the m ost b ril l iant star

,

A gem from the chest where the treasures are.P raise cannot equal her beauty ; no !But its faint

,faint Shadow my pen m ay show .

L ike her own bright hair fall ing loosely down,I will touch each charm to her feet from her crown .

M ay the soft reflection of that bright cheekLend l ight to my sp irit and b id m e speak !A nd that flashing ruby, her m outh, b estowThe power to tel l of the things I know !

H er stature was l ike to a palm tree grownIn the G arden of G race, where no sin is known ;Bedewed by the love of her father the King,Sh e m ocked the cypress that rose by the Spring.

Sweet with the odor of m usk, a snareF or the heart of the Wise, was the m a iden ’s hair ;Tangled at night, in the morning throughH er long thick tresses a comb she d rew,

A nd cleft the heart of the m usk deer in twainAs for that rare odor he sighed in vain .

1 32 ZULA IKHA .

A dark shade fel l from her loose hair sweetAs jasm ine over the rose of he r feet.A b road silver tab let her forehead d isplayedF or the heaven-set lessons of b eauty m ade ;U nder its edge two inverted NunsShowed b lack as musk thei r Splend id half-moons,A nd b eneath them l ively and bright were p lacedTwo Saids by the pen of her M aker traced .

From Nun to the ring of the M im there roseP ure as silver, l ike Al if, her nose .

To the cipher, her mouth, add Al if : thenShe had ten strong spel ls for the conquest of men.

That laughing ruby to view exposedA Sin wh en the knot of her l ips unclosedA t the touch of her pure white teeth, and betweenThe l ines of crim son their flash was seen .

H er face was the garden of Iram , whereRoses of every hue are fair .

The dusky moles that enhanced the redWere l ike M oorish boys playing in each rose bed.

Of si lver that p aid no tithe, her chinH ad a well with the Water of L ife therein .

I f a sage in his thi rst cam e near to drink,H e would feel the Spray ere he reached the brink ;But lost were his soul if he nearer d rewFor it was a well and a wh irlpool too.

H er neck was of ivory. Thither drawn,Cam e with her tribute to beauty the fawn ;A nd the rose hung her head at the gleam of the skinOf the shoulders fai rer than j essam ine .

H er b reasts were orbs of a l ight m ost pure,Twin bubbles new risen from Fount K afi

’

i r ;

Two young pomegranates grown on one Sp ray,Where b old hope never a finger m ight lay .

The touch stone itself was proved false wh en it triedH er arm s’ fine silver thrice purified ;B ut the pearl-pure ainu lets fas tened thereWere the h earts of the holy absorb ed in prayer .The lovel iest gave her thei r souls for rue ;A nd round the charm th ei r own heartstrings d rew.

H er arm s filled her sleeves with si lver from themWhose b rows are bound with a d iadem .

To lab or and care her soft hand lent aid,A nd to wounded hearts heal ing unction laid .

Like reeds were those taper fingers of hers

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SALAMAN AND AB SAL .

Soon as seen, the f amisht clownS eizes up a nd swa llows down .

Then his mouth undaunted wip ing0 h , K ha lif ah, hear me swear,While I brea the the dust of B aghdad,

N e’

er a t any other Ta bleThan a t Thine to sup or dine.

G rimly la ughed H arun, and answered

F ool ! who think’

st to arbitra te

Wha t is in the hands of F a teTake and thrust him f rom the Gate

While a fu ll Year was counted by the M oon,Salam an and Ab sal rejoiced together,A nd ne ither Shah nor Sage his face beheld .

They questioned those about him ,and from them

H eard som ething : then him self to presence summoned,An d all the truth was told . Then Sage and ShahStruck out with hand and foot in his redress.A nd first with RE A SON , which is also best ;RE A SON that rights th e wanderer ; that completesThe imperfect ; REA SON that resolves the knotOf either world, and sees beyond the Veil .For RE A SON is the fountain from of Ol dF rom which the P rophets d rew

, and none besideWho boasts of other insp iration, l iesThere are no other P roph ets than THE WI SE .

A nd first T H E SH A H Salaman, Oh my Soul,L ight of the eyes of my P rosperity,A nd making bloom the court of H ope w ith rose ;Year after year

, Salamaii, l ike a b udThat cannot blow

,my own blood I devoured

,

T ill, by the seasonable breath of God,At last I blossom ed into thee

,my Son ;

Oh , do not wound m e with a dagger thorn ;Let not the full-blown rose of RoyaltyBe left to wither in a hand unclean .

For what thy prop er pastim e Bat in handTo mount and m anage RA H H SH along the Field ;N ot

, with no weapon but a wanton curlIdly reposing on a silver breast.G o

, fly thine arrow at the antelopeA nd l ion — let m e not M y l ion seeSlain by the arrow eyes of a Ghazal .G o, challenge ZAL or RU STA M to the Field,An d smite the warriors’ neck ; not, flying them,

SA LAM A’

N AN D A BSAL . 1 35

Beneath a wom an’s foot subm it thine own,0 wipe the wom an’s henna from thy hand

,

Withdraw thee from the m inion who from theeD ominion d raws, and draws me with thee down ;Years have I held my head aloft, and al lF or Thee Oh, shame if thou prepare my Fall !

”

When bef ore SH I RUY E H’

S dagger

K A I K H U SRA U , his F a ther f el l,H e decla red this P a ra ble

Wretch ! There was a branch tha t waxingWanton o

’

er the root he drankf rom,

A t a dra ught the living wa ter

D ra ined wherewith himself to crown ;D ied the root — and with him died

The branch — and barren was brought down !

The SHAH ceased counsel , and The Sage began.

O last new vintage of the Vine of LifeP lanted in P arad ise ; Oh , M aster-stroke,A nd all-concluding flourish of the P enK UN F A Y A K UN ; Thyself prim e Archetype,A nd ultim ate Accompl ishment of M A N !

The Alm ighty hand, that out of comm on earthThy m ortal outward to the perfect formOf Beauty m olded, in the fleeting dustInscrib ed H IMSE LF

,and in thy bosom set

A m irror to reflect H IMSE LF in Thee .Let not that dust by rebel passion blownObl iterate that character : nor letThat M irror, sull ied by the breath impure,Or form of carnal beauty fore-possest,Be m ade incapable of the D ivine .Suprem e is thine Original degree,Thy Star upon the top of H eaven ; but LustWill bring it down, down even to the Dust !

Quoth a M uez z in to the crestedCock 0 h, P rop het of the Al orning,N ever P rop het l ike to you

P rop hesied of D awn , nor ill u ez z in

With so shril l a voice of warningWoke the sleep er to conf ession,C rying,

‘L A A LLA H iL L A’

L LA H ,

M U H A M M A D RA SU L U I IU .

’

One, methinks , so ra rely g if tedShou ld have p rop hesied and sungI n H ea v

’

n, the B irds of H ea v

’

n among,

1 36 SALAM AN A ND A BSAL.

Not with these p oor hens a bout him,

R aking in a heap of dung .

”

“A nd ,”rep lied the C ock,

“in H eaven

Once I wa s ; bu t by mg f oolishL ust to this uncleanly living

With my sorry ma tes a bout meThus amf a l len. Otherwise,

I were p rop hesying D awn

B ef ore the gates of P aradise.

Of all the Lover’s sorrows, next to thatOf Love b y Love forbidden, is the voiceOf friendsh ip turning harsh in Love

’s reproof,A nd overmuch of Counsel whereby LoveG rows stub born, and recoil ing unsupprest

Within,devours the heart within the breast.

Salaman heard ; his Soul cam e to his l ips ;R eproaches struck not Absal out of him ,

B ut drove Confusion in ; bitter becam eThe drinking of the sweet d raught of D el ightA nd warned the splendor of his M oon of Beauty.

H is breath was Indignation, and his heartBled from the arrow

,and his anguish grew.

H ow b ear it By the hand of H atred dealt,

E asy to m eet — and deal with, b low for blow ;

But from L ove’s hand which one m ust not requite,

A nd cannot y ield to what resource but F lightR esolved on which

,h e victualed and equipped

A Cam el , and one night he l ed I t forth,A nd m ounted — he with Absal at his side

,

Like sweet twin almonds in a single shel l .A nd L ove least mu rmurs at the narrow spaceThat draws him close and closer in embrace.

When the M oon of Canaan Y U SUFI n the p rison of E gyp t darkened ,N ightlyf rom her sp a cious P a la ceChamber, and its rich array,

S tole ZULA I K H A like a f antomTo the dark and na rrow dungeonWhere her buried Trea sure lay.

Then to those a bout her wond ’ring

Were my P a la ce, she rep lied,Wider than H oriz on—wide,I t were na rrower than a n A n t

’

s eye,Were my Treasure not inside

A nd an A nt’

s ege, if b ut thereM y Lover, H eaven

’

s horiz on were.

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1 38 SALAM AN A ND A B SAL .

League on league, one yet shou ld never

S ee the f a ce of M an f oreverThere to gaz e on my B elovedG az e, till G a z ing ou t of G a z ing

G rew to B eing Her I gaz e on,

She a nd I no more, but in OneUndivided B eing b lended .

A l l that is by N a ture twain

F ears or suf ers by, the p ainOf Sep a ration : L ove is on lyP erf ect when itself transcends

I tself and, one with tha t it loves,I n undivided B eing blends .

”

When by and by the SHAH was m ade awareOf that heart-breaking F light, hi s royal robeH e changed for ashes, and his Throne for dust,A nd wept awhile in darkness and alone .

Then rose ; and, taking counsel from the SA GE ,P ursuit set everywhere afoot : b ut noneCoul d trace the footstep s of the flying D eer.Then from h is secret Art the Sage-VizyrA M agic M irror m ade ; a M i rror l ikeThe b osom of All-wise Intel l igenceReflecting in its mystic compass allWith in the sev

’nfold volum e of the World

Involved ; and, looking in that M irror’s face

The SHAH beheld the face of his D esi re.Beh eld those Lovers

,like that earl iest pair

Of Lovers,in this other P aradise

So far from hum an eyes in the m id sea,

A nd yet within the magic glass so nearAs with a finger one m ight touch th em ,

isled .

The SHAH b eheld them and comp assion touchedH is eyes and anger d ied upon his l ip s ;A nd arm ed with R ighteous Judgm ent as he was,Y et

, see ing those two L overs with one l ipD rinking that cup of H appiness and T earsIn which F arewel l had never yet been flung,H e paused for thei r Repentance to recal lThe l ifted arm that was to shatte r al l .

The L ords of Wrath have p erished by the blowThem selves had aim ed at others long ago.

D raw not in haste the sword,which Fate

,m ay be,

Wil l sheathe, hereafter to b e d rawn on Thee .

SALAMAN AND AB sAL . 1 39

F A B HAD ,who the shap eless mountain

I nto human likeness molded, _

Under SH I R I N’

S eyes a s s lavish

P otters ’ earth himself became.

Then the secretfire of j ea lousF renzy, catching and devouringK A I K H U SRA U , broke in to fl ame.

With tha t ancient H ag of D a rkness

P lotting, a t the midnight B anquetF A R HAD

’

s golden cup he p oisoned ,A nd in SH I R IN

’

S eyes a loneReigned B u t F a te tha t F a te revenges,A rms SH I R I

’

IY E H with the dagger

Tha t a t once f rom SH IR I N tore,A nd hurled him lifelessf rom his throne.

B ut as the days went on, and stil l TH E SHAHBeheld his Son how in the Wom an lost,A nd stil l the C rown that should adorn his head,An d still the Throne that waited for his foot

,

Both trampled under by a base desi re,

Of which the Sou l was stil l un satisfiedThen from the sorrow of THE SH A H fel l Fire ;To G racelessness ungracious he becam e,A nd

,quite to shatter that rebell ious lust

,

U pon SA LAMAN all h is WI LL,with all

H is SA GE -Vrzvn’s M ight-m agic arm ed, discharged.

A nd L o ! SA LAMAN to his M istress turned,But could not reach her — looked and looked again,A nd p alpitated tow

’rd her — but in vain !

Oh M isery ! As to the Bankrupt’s eyesThe G old he may not finger ! or the Wel lTo him who sees a—thirst

, and cannot reach,Or H eav

’n above revealed to those in H ell !

Yet when Salaman’s anguish was extrem e

The door of M ercy opened,and he saw

That Arm he knew to be his Father’s reachtTo l ift him from the pit in which he lay :

T im idly tow’rd his Father’s eyes his own

H e l ifted, pardon-plead ing, crime-confest,A nd drew once m ore to that forsaken Throne

,

As the stray bird one day will find her nest.

One was a sking of a Tea cher,How a F a ther his rep u ted

Sun f or his shou ld recogniz e 1'Sa id the M aster,

“By the strip ling,

1 40 SA LAM AN A ND A B SAL.

A s he grows to manhood, growingLike to his rep uted F a ther,

G ood or E vil, F ool or Wise .

L o the disregarded D arnel

With itself adorns the Wheaty‘ield,

A nd f or a ll the verna l sea sonSa tisfi es the f a rmer

’s eye ;

B ut the hour of ha rvest coming,A nd the thrasher by and by,

Then a barren ear sha ll answer,

D arnel , and no W'

hea t, am I .

Yet Ah,for that p oor Lover !

“Next the curseOf Love by Love forbidden, nothing worseThan Friendsh ip tu rned in Love’s reproof unkind,A nd Love from Love d ivorcing

”- Thus I said

Alas,a worse

,and worse, is yet behind

Love’s back-blow of R evenge for having fled !

SA LAMAN bowed his forehead to the dustBefore his Father ; to his Father

’s h andFast — b ut yet fast, and faster, to his ownC lung one, who by no tempest of rep roofOr wrath m ight be d issevered from the stemShe grew to : till, between Remorse and Love,H e cam e to loathe his Life and long for D eath.

A nd, as from him SHE would not be d ivorced,

With H er he fled again he fled — but nowTo no such Island centered in the seaAs lulled them into P arad ise b efore ;But to the Sol itude of D esolation

,

The Wilderness of D eath . A nd as beforeOf sundry scented woods along the shoreA shallop h e devised to carry themOver the waters whither foot nor eyeShould ever follow them

,he thought — so now

Of sere wood strewn ab out the p lain of D eath,A raft to b ear them through the wave of Fi reInto Annihilation

,he dev ised

,

G athered and built ; and, firing with a Torch,Into the central flam e A B sAL and H e

Sp rung hand in hand exulting. But the SA GEI n secret a l l had ordered and the F lam e,D i rected by his self-fu lfil l ing WI LLD evouring H er to ash es

,left untouched

SA LAMAN al l th e baser m etal burned,A nd to itself the authentic Gold retu rned.

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1 42

Strict.13 B elieve .

P IERS PLOWM AN’

S DREAM .

With deep d itches and darkAn d dreadful of sight .

A fai r field full of folkFound I there between,Of all m anner of men,The m ean and the rich

,

Working and wandering,As the world asketh .

Som e putten them to the plowP leiden 1 full selde

,

2

In setting and sowingSwonken 3 full hard

,

A nd wonnen that“wastersWith gluttony destroyeth .

A nd som e putten them to pride,Appareled them thereafter

,

In contenaunce5 of clothing

Com ing d isguised .

I n prayers and penancesP utten them m any

,

Al l for the love of our L ordLiveden full strayte,

6

In hope to have afterH eaven-rich bl iss ;As ancres 7 and erem itesThat holden them in their cells

,

A nd covet naught in countryTo carryen ab out,For no l ickerish l i v ingThei r likam e

8 to p lease .A nd som e chosen chaffer

,

9

They cheveden 10 the betterAs it seem eth to our sightThat su ch m en thriveth .

A nd som e m irths to m ake,

As m instrels konne,

1 1

A nd getten gold with their glee,Guiltless I l eeve .

12

Ac japers and janglers13

Judas’ children,

F eignen them fantasies,A nd fools them m aketh

,

9 Seldom .8 L ab ored .

4 Won what. 5 A ppearance .

7 Anch orites .

3 B ody .9 Trade .

1 0 A chieved .U Know.

1 3 Jesters and fakirs .

”

P IERS PLOWM AN ’

S DREAM . 1 43

And have their wit,at will

To work,if they woul d .

That [what] P aul preacheth of themI wil l not prove it here ;But Qui loquitur turpiloquiumIs L ucifer’s hin e .2

Bidders 3 and beggarsFast about yede,

4

With their bell ies and their bagsOf bread fully cramm ed ;F aiteden 5 for thei r food

,

Fought at the ale .In gluttony, God wot,G o they to b ed,A nd risen with r ibaldry

,

Those Rob erdes knaves ; ’s

S leep and sorry slothSueth 7 them ever.P ilgrim s and palmers

P l ighten8 them together

For to seek Saint Jam esAnd saints at Rom e .They went forth in their way,With m any wise tales

,

A nd had leave to l ieAll their l ives after.

I saw som e that saidenThey had y-sought saints ;To each-a tale that they toldThei r tongue was tempered to lieM ore than to say sooth

,

I t seem ed by the i r speech.

E rem ites on a heap 9

With hooked stavesWent to Walsingham ,

A nd their wenches after,

G reat lob ies 1 ° and longThat loth were to swink n

C lothed them in capes,

To be known from othere ;

A nd shapen them 1’ eremites,Thei r ease to have .

1 Who speaks vile talk .

2 H ind , servant .3 P etitioners .

4 Go.5 C ozened .

0 F ootp ads .

7 F ollow .

3 P ledged .9 In a crowd .

1° Clowns.1 1 W ork.

13 M ade themselves .

144 PIERS PLOWM AN’

S DREAM .

I found there friars,Al l the four orders,1

P reaching the peopleFor profit of themselves ;G lossed the gospelAs th em good l iked ;For covetise of copies

,

2

Construed it as they would.

M any of these master friarsNow clothen them at l iking,F or their m oney and their m erchandiseM archen together.For sith charity hath been chapmanf

'

A nd chief to shrive lords,‘

M any ferl ies 5 have fallenIn a few years ;But 6 holy church and theyH old better together,The most m ischief on mold 7

Is mounting wel l fast.There preached a pardoner

,8

As he a priest were ;Brought forth a bul lWith m any bishops’ seals

,

A nd said that him self mightA ssoil en them al lOf falsehood of fasting,

9

Of avows y-broken .

Lewd 10 m en loved it well,

A nd l iked his words ;Com en up kneel ingTo kissen his bulls.H e b ouched 1 1 them with his brevet "

A nd bleared their eyen,

13

A nd raughte1“with his rageman 1 5

R ings and brooches .Thus they give their gold

G luttons to keep,

A nd leveth 16 in such losels 17

As lechery haunten .

1 F ranciscans , A ugustin es, D om inicans , and Carm el ites .

2 D esire of b eingchurchmen.

3 Turned m erchant .

4 L ords purchase p ardon b y gifts .

5 M arvels .6 E xcep t .

7 E arth .

3 P eddler of indulgences .

” 9 B reaking fast days .

1 0 L ay or ignorant .1 1 Closed their months .

1 2 L etter ofcommission .

1 3 D imm ed their eyes , imp osed on them .

1 4 Reached , obtained .

1 5 Catalogue — of sins to b e pardoned .

1 5 B elieve.1 7 Rogues .

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1 46 P IERS P LOWM AN’

S DREAM .

D read is at the last,Lest Christ in consistoryA -curse full many.

I perceived of the powerThat P eter h ad to keepTo binden and unb inden,As the book tel leth ;H ow he it left 1 with love,As our Lord highte

2

Amongst four vi rtues,That card inals are called,A nd closing gates.There is Christ in his KingdomTo close and to shut,3

A nd to Open it to them,

A nd heaven bl iss show.

Ac of the card inal s at courtThat caught of

4 that nam e,A nd power presumed in themA pope to make,To have that power that P eter had,Impugn I nel l efFor in love and l ettruseThe election belongeth,

6

F orthi7 can and can naughtOf court speak more .Then cam e there a king,Knighthood him l ed

,

M ight of the commons8

M ade him to reign .

A nd then cam e kind wit,’

A nd clerks he made,For to counsel th e king,A nd the common 8 save .

The king and the knighthoodA nd clergy both,Casten that the comm uneShould them selves find .

1 0

The comm on contrivedOf kind wit 9 crafts,A nd for profit of al l the p eopleP lowm en ordained

,

2 Ordered .3 F asten .

4 U tiliz ed.

0 A l l goes b y favor in love and learning.7 Therefore.

9 Community.

9 M other s-wit .1 ° Supp ort them .

P IERS PLOWM AN’

S DREAM . 1 47

To til l and to travail,As true l ife asketh .

The king and the communeA nd kind wit the third,Shapen 1 law and l eauté,

2

E ach m an to know his own .

Then looked up a lunatic,A lean thing withal,A nd

,kneel ing to the king,

Clergial ly he said :Christ keep thee, Sir King !

A nd thy kingric,A nd ene 3 thee lead thy land

,

So loyalty thee lovye [love] ,A nd for thy rightful rul ingBe rewarded in heaven .

”

With that ran there a routOf ratons 4 at once,A nd smal l mice with themM ore than a thousand

,

A nd comen to a coun cilFor the common profit ;For a cat of the countryCame when him l iked

,

A nd overleapt them l ightlyAn d laughed them at his will,A nd played with them p erilously,And pushed about.“For doubt of diverse dreadsWe dare not wel l look ;A nd if we grudge of his gamen,

‘

H e will grieven us al l,Scratch en us

,or clawen us,

A nd in his clutches hold,

That us loatheth the l if eE re he let us pass.M ight we with any witHis will withstand

,

We might be lords aloftA nd l iven at our ease .”

A raton of renown ,

M ost re [asojnab le of tongue,Said for a sovereignH elp to him self :

Formed .2 L oyalty .

3 Give.

4 Rats.

148 P IERS PLOWM AN’

S DREAM .

I have y-seen segges, quoth he,“In the cité of London,

B earen b eighes2 full bright

A bouten thei r necks,A nd som e col lars of crafty work ;U ncoupled 3 they wentBoth in warren and in wasteWhere themselves l iked ;A nd otherwhile they are elsewhere

,

As I here tell ;Were there a bel l on their heigh,By Jesu, as methinketh,M en m ight witten where they went,And away run

And right so, quoth that raton,

Reason m e showeth,To bugge

4 a bell of brass,

Or of bright silver,A nd knitten it on a collar

,

For our comm on profit,

Whe [the] r he ride or rest,Or runneth to playAnd if him list for to laike

,

‘s

Then look we mowen,6

A nd peeren in7 his presence

The while him play l iketh ;A nd if him wratheth , beware,A nd his way shonye .

” 8

Al l this rout of ratonsTo this reason they assented .

Ac though the bell was y-brought,A nd on the b eigh hanged,There ne was raton in al l the rout

,

For all the realm of France,

That durst have b ounden the bel l,Abou t the cattes neck,Ne hangen it about the cattes hals,9

A ll Engeland to win .

Al l helden them unhardy,

A nd their counsel feeble ;A nd letten thei r labor lostA nd all their long study.

A m ouse that m uch goodCouthe

,

10a s m ethought,

2 Neckb ands .3 Unfettered .

5 Sport.5 Shun .

9 Neck.1 ° K new.

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15 0 P IERS P LOWM AN’

S DREAM .

A nd though it h ad costened me catal,‘

B eknowen2 it I nolde

,

3

B ut suffer, as h im self would,To do as him l ikethCoupled and uncoupled,To catch what he mowe .4

F orthi each-a wise wight I warn,Wit well his own .

”

What this metel s 5 b emeaneth,

Y e m en that be merryD ivine ye, for I ne dare,By dear God in heaven .

Yet hoved 6 there an hundredI n howves 7 of silk,Sergeants it beseemed,That serveden at the bar

,

P leteden 8 for penniesA nd pounds the law ;A nd naught for love of our LordU nclose their l ips once.Thou m ightest better m eet mistOn M alvern H il ls,Than get a mom 9 of their mouth

,

T il l money he showed .

Barons and burgesses,A nd bondm en al l

,

I saw in this assembly,

As ye shal l hereafter,

B akesters and brewsters,

A nd butchers many ;Woolen websters

,

A nd weavers of l inen,

Tai lors and tinkers,

A nd tollers in m arkets,

M asons and m iners,

A nd m any other crafts,

Of all kin l iving laborersLOpen

10 forth som e.Al l this I saw sleeping,

A nd seven sithes 1 1 m ore .

1 Cap ital, prop erty.

2 A cknowledge.

3 Would not.D ream .

6 Dwelt .7 Hoods.

8 P leading.

9 Sound.

10 Leapt. 1 1 T imes.

ON CHURCH TEM PORALITIE S. 1 5 1

ON CHURCH TEM P ORALIT IES.

B Y JOHN WYCLIF .

[JOHN Wr c r, or W I CK L I F F E , the greatest of English church reformers,

was b orn in Y orksh ire, ab out 1 320 stud ied at Oxford , b ecame m aster of B alliolb efore 1 360 , and shortly after took orders . M ade ch ap lain to E dward I I I . ,

from 1 366 h e was the nation ’s ab lest literary champ ion against th e claim s of the

p apacy (then under F rench control at A vignon) to the tribute b egun b y K ingJohn in ackn owledgment of h old ing the Crown from th e H oly See . He thus

grew into , and put into p olem ic writings of immense force and influence, convictions which were the b asis of the E nglish Reformation ch iefly , that a churchwas a purely sp iritual b ody th at in its civil emb odim ent it was sub ject to civiljurisdiction ; that it could h old no p rop erty excep t as delegated b y and at the

sufferance of the State ; th at excommunica tion was void excep t for sp iritualoffenses and so far as justified b y the sin Of the sub ject and , m ost imp ortant ofall , th at the s oul needed no p riesth ood to m ed iate for it with God , and sacraments were not indisp ensab le . In 1 374 h e was second on a royal comm ission toconfer with the p ap al d elegate at B ruges on ab uses comp lained of b y P arl iap

ment. He b ecam e a p owerful p reacher in L ondon , exc ited great alarm , and

was p rosecuted for h is Op inions in 1 377 b ut p rotected b y John of Gaunt, D ukeof L ancaster, and the trial b roke up in a riot aga inst the duke ’s retainers. L ater,Gregory X I . condemned eigh teen tenets drawn from Wyclif ’s writings , and

ordered h is imp risonm en t and trial ; b ut no attention was p aid to th e order,excep t a summons b y the b ish op s to a h earing. H e app eared b efore them ,

b ut

another mob and a royal message d irecting his acquittal rescued him again . He

continued to write against Ob ed ience to th e p ap acy ’s p olitical claims ; and the

sch ism of 1 378 from the election of two rival p op es thoroughly d isgus ting himwith the institution ,

h e sent p riests through th e country to p reach to the peop lein their own tongue, and translated the B ib le , to give a l l m en the p ower ofp rivate judgment and overth row what h e regarded as the sp iritual desp otismb ased on services in a dead language. I n 1 38 1 he gave forth a set of thesesdenying transub stantiation ; the U niversity condemn ed th em , and John of

G aunt ordered h im to keep s ilence on th e sub ject . The next year th e archb ish op oi Canterb ury held a long council wh ich condemned twenty-four p rop ositions from his writings and imp risoned some of h is adherents b ut the Universitystood b y him , and he lived the short remnant Of his life to D ecem b er 3 1 , 1 384,in p eace, even his itinerant p reachers b eing unmolested . In 1 428 , during thereaction in the b oyhood of Henry V I .

,his remains were dug up and b urned ]

OP E N teaching and G od’s law, Old and new, Open ensampleof Chr ist’s l ife and his glorious apostles, and love of G od ,

dread of pains and G od ’s curse , and hope of great reward inthe bliss of heaven, should stir all priests and religious to livein great meekness and w ill ful povert [y] of the gospel, and discreet penance , and travail to st0 p pride, covetise, and fleshlylusts and idleness of worldly men , and run fast to heaven byright way of G od ’s commandments, and to forsake trust inwealth of this false world, and all manner falseness hereof ;

1 52 ON CHURCH TEM PORAL ITIES.

for the end of this false worldly life is bitte r death, and strongpains of hell in body and soul withouten end .

T hree th ings should move lords to compel clerks to thisholy life of Christ and his apostles . The first is dread of G od’s

curse and pains in this world, in purgatory and hell ; anddesiring of G od ’s blessing, and peace . and prosperity of realms .The second is winning of holy life , both of clerks, lords, andcommons . The third is strengthening of realms, and destroying of sins in each estate , and the Church .

First,kings and lords should wit that they be ministers and

vicars of G od , to venge sin and punish misdoers, and praisegood doers

,as P eter and P aul teach . And herefore teaches

Saint Isidore in the law of the Church , that this is Office ofkings and lords

,by dread and bodily rigor to constrain men to

hold G od’s law, when they will not by preaching of priests ;and God shall ask reckon ing of worldly lords, where holychurch increases by their government. Then , sith priests leavemeekness

,and take worldly pride and boast, and forsake will

ful povert of the gospel , and take worldly lordships by hypocrisy of vain prayers, with burning covetise , w rongs, extortions,and selling of sacraments, and leave discreet penance andghostly [spiritual] travail, and live in gluttony, wasting poorm en’s goods, and in idleness and vanity of this world, lords b ein debt [under obligation] to amend these sins : for else theylove not G od , for they do not execution of G od

’s hests, andvenge not wrong despite of G od but they venge wrongs doneto themselves, and look that their own commandments b e keptu p , [with] great pain . Also P aul saith, that not only m en

doing sin be worthy of death, but als o they that consent tothem . Then , sith lords may amend these great sins of pride,covetise, and extortions, and simony of clerks, they b e damnable with the sinners, but [except] if they do ; and then theybe cursed of G od for breaking of his hests , and for they lovenot Jesus Christ . And great vengeance cometh for maintaining of sin, and breaking of G od

’s hests, as G od’s law shoveth

in many places . And sith adversities and worries come forsin’s reigning that be not amended, lords should have neitherprosperity nor peace till these sin s be amended . For no manwithstanding thus G od ’s laws shall have peace . For lords havehere lordships by G od to destroy sin, and maintain righteousness and holy life ; then, if they pay not to God his rent, witthey well G od must punish them

,as he teacheth in his law.

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1 54 ON CHURCH TEM PORA LI TIES.

ing and sacraments , as curates , and have riches, and treasuremore than any worldly man, and travail not therefore as m er

chants and laborers . And, as Bernard saith, they take the winning and gifts of each degree in the Church, and travail nottherefore . And therefore they should go where is none but everlasting error and pain . T his covetise, simony, and more sins,should go away from clerks if they had no secular lordship andholy life and povert should turn to them, and new teaching andgood ensample to all manner men .

The third profit is stabling of realms and destroying of sins .For parish churches appropriated thus should freely b e given toclerks able of cunning [knowledge] and life, and true teachingin word and deed . And then shoul d the clergy be stronger, andpeople of better l ife . And secular lordships, that clerks have fullfalsely against G od’s law, and spend them so wickedly, should b egiven wisely by the king and witty [sagacious] lords to poorgentlemen, that would justly govern the people, and maintainthe land against enemies and then might our land be strongerby many thousand men-at-arms than it is now,withouten any newcost of lords or talliage of the poor commons, b e discharged ofgreat heavy rent, and wicked customs brought up by covetousclerks, and of many ta l l iages and extortions, by which they b enow cruelly pilled [pillaged] and robbed . And thus the restoring of lordships to secular men , as they due [should be] by H olyWrit, and by bringing of clerks to meekness and willful povertand busy ghostly travail, as lived Christ and his apostles, shouldsin be destroyed in each degree of the Church, and holy lifebrought in , and secular lords much strengthened, and the poorcommons relieved, and good government, both ghostly andworldl y, come again , and righteousness and truth and rest andpeace and charity . And hereto should each Christian man help

,

by all his will,heart, cunning, and power .

And if worldly clerks of the Chancery or Chequer see thatthe king and lords may not thus amend the clergy, turn theirtemporal ities into secul ar men ’s hands , for dread of cause see

that they babble much of Antichrist’s curs e and his clerks, andmagnify that for their own pride and covetise, but they speaknot of curse of G od that our lords run in, for they maintainnot Chr ist’s ordinance in the clergy . And to Lucifer’s clerks

,

that it is all one to babble that our lords may not take againthe temporalities from Antichrist’s clerks, and to babble thatour lords may not hold and maintain G od’s hests and Christ’s

A CHA P TER FROM WYCLIF ’S VERSION OF THE B IBLE . 1 5 5

own ordinance be these worldly clerks ware , that they counselnot our lords to run into G od ’s curse, to maintain high prelatesand religious, against state of apostles and their own profession ,for gold, robes, and fees that they take of Antichrist

’s clerks .B ut wit lords well though all clerks in earth curse them, forasmuch as they travail with clean conscience to bring clerks tothis holy life, ensampled and commanded of Christ, and to

restore secular lordships to secular men as they should byG od’s law, that G od and all angels and saints bless them for

this righteousn ess and then man’s curse harm eth nothing, norinterdicting, nor any censures that Satan may fain .

Almight [y] G od, stir our clerks, our lords and our commons,to maintain thy rightfu l ordinance that Jesus Christ made forclerks, and to dread curse of G od and not curse of Antichrist,and to desire speedily the honor of G od and bliss of heaven,more than their own honor and worldl y j oy .

A CHAP TER FROM WYCLIF ’

S VERSION OF THE

BIBLE .

M A TTH EW VII .

N I LE ye deme, that ye be not dem ed for in what doom yedemen , ye schulen be dem ed , and in what measure ye meten, i tschal be meten ayen to you . But what seest thou a l itil motein the iye of thi brother, and seest not a beem in thin owne iyeOr hou seist thou to thi b rothir, B rothir, su ffre I schal do outa mote fro thin iye, and lo a beem is in thin owne iye ? Ipocrite, do thou out first the beem of thin iye, and thanne thouschalt se to do out the mote of the iye of thi b rothir. Nile ye

yyu e [give] b ooli thing to houndis , nethir caste ye youre margaritis bifore swyne, l est p erau enture the i defou l en hem with herfeet, and the houndis be turned, and a l to-tere you . Axe ye,and it schal be you un to you seke ye, and ye schulen fynde ;knocke ye, and it schal be Openyed to you . For ech that axith,takith ; and he that sekith , fyndith ; and it schal be Openyedto b ym , that knocketh . What man of you is, that if his soneaxe b ym breed, whethir he wole take hym a stoon ? Or i f heaxe fische, whethir he wole take b ym an edder ? Therfor if ye,

1 56 A CHA P TER FROM WYCLIF ’

S VE RSION OF THE B IBLE.

whanne ye ben yuele [evil] men, kunnen yyue yiftis to youresones

,hou myche more youre fadir that is in heu enes schal yyue

good thingis to men that axen b ym ? Therfor alle thingis, whateu ere thingis ye wol en that men do to you , do ye to hem,

forthis is the lawe and the p rophetis . Entre ye hi the streyt yatefor the yate that l edith to p erdicioun is large , and the weie isb roode, and there ben many that entren bi it . Hou streit i sthe yate , and narwy the weye , that ledith to liji, and ther benfewe that fynden it . Be ye war of fals p rOphetis, that comento you in clothingis of scheep, but withynne forth thei ben aswol ues Of rau eyn ; of her fruytis ye s chulen knowe hem .

Whether men gaderen grapis of thornes, or figus of b reris ? SOeu ery good tre m akith good fruytis ; but an yu el tre m akith

yu el fruytis . A good tre may not make yu el fruytis , nethir an

yuel tre make good fruytis . E u ery tre that m akith not goodfruyt, schal be kyt down, and schal b e cas t in to the fier .

Therfor of her fruytis ye schulen knowe hem . Not ech manthat seith to me , Lord, Lord, schal entre in to the kyngdom ofheu enes ; but he that doith the wille of my fadir that is inheu enes, he schal entre in to the kyngdoom of heu enes . M anyschulen seie to me in that dai, Lord, Lord, whether we han notprophesied in thi name, and b an caste out feendis in thi name,and b an doon many vertues in thi name ? And thanne Yschal knou leche to hem,

T hat Y knewe you neuere departeawei fro me, ye that worchen wickidnesse . Therfor ech manthat herith these my wordis , and doith hem, schal be maad l ijkto a wise man, that b il did his hou s on a stoon . And reyn feldedoun, and flodis camen, and wyndis b l ewen , and russchiden into that hou s ; and it felde not doun, for i t was foundun ona stoon . And eu ery man that b erith these my wordis, anddoith hem not, i s l ijk to a fool, that hath b ildid his hous ongrauel . And reyn cam doun, and floodis camen, and wyndisb l ewen , and thei hurl iden ayen that b ous ; and it felde doun,and the fal lyng doun therof was greet . And it was doon,whanne Jhesu s b adde endid these wordis , the pupl e wondrideon his techyng ; for he tauyte hem, as he that hadde power,and not as the scrib is of hem, and the F arisees .

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1 5 8 THE CANTERBURY TA LES.

SO p riketh hem nature in hir corages ,

Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,A nd p alm ers for to seken strange strondes,To ferne halwes 1 kouthe 2 in sondry londes ;A nd sp ecial ly, from every shi res endeOf E ngelond, to Canterbury they wende,The holy b l isfu l martyr for to seke,That hem hath holpen, whan that they wer seke.

Refel,that

,in that seson on a day,

In Sou thwerk at the T abard as I lay,Redy to wenden on my pilgrimageTo Canterbury with ful devou t corage,At night was com e into that hostel rieWel nine and twenty in a compagnieOf sondry folk, by aventure y-falle 3

In felawship , and pilgrim s wer they alle,That toward Canterbury wolden ride.The chambres and the stables weren wide,A nd we l we weren esed 4 atte beste.5

A nd shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,SO b adde I spoken with hem everichon,

6

That I was of hi r 7 felawship anon,A nd m ade forward erly for to rise

,

To take our way ther as I you devise.But natheles, while I have tim e and space,

Or that I forther in this tale pace’

,

M e thinketh it accordant to reson,To tel l you alle the cond itionOf eche of hem , so as it semed to me,A nd which they weren

,and of what degre ;

A nd eek in what array that they were inneA nd at a knight than wol I first beginne.

TH E KN I GHT .

A KN I GH T ther was, and that a worthy man,That from the time that he first beganTo riden out, he loved cheval rie

,

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie.

F ul worthy was he in his lordes werre,

8

A nd therto had he ridden, no m an ferre,

9

As wel in Cristendom as in H ethenesse,A nd ever honoured for his worthinesse.

1 D istant Saints .

2 K nown .3 F allen .

4 A ccomm odated .5 In

the b est manner. 6 E very one Of them .7 Their. 9 War .

9 F arther.

THE CANTERBURY TA LES. 1 59

At A lisandre he was whan it was wonne .

l

Ful often tim e he had the bord b egonne 2

A b oven al le nations in P ruce .

3

In L ettowe b adde he reysed4and in Ruce

,

N O cristen man so oft Of his degre .

In G ernade 5 at the siege eek had he beOf A l gesir, and rid in B elmarie .

6

At Leyes ’ was he, and at Satal ie,8

Whan they were wonne ; and in the G rete see 9

At many a noble arive 1° b adde he be .At mortal b atail s hadde he ben fi ftene

,

A nd foughten for our faith at TramasseneIn listes thries, and ay slain his fo.

This ilke 1 1 worthy knight had ben alsoSomtime with the lord of P alatie,

12

Agen another hethen in T urkieA nd evermore he b adde a sovereyn p rys.

13

A nd though that he was worthy he was wys,A nd of his port as meke as is a m ayde .H e never yet no vilanie me sayde

In al l his l if,unto no m aner 1 4 wight.

H e was a veray parfit genti l knight.But for to tellen you of his aray

,

H is hors was good, but he ne was not gay.

Of fustian he wered a gipon,15

Al le b esmotred 1“with h is habergeon,For he was late y-com from his viage,And he wente for to don 18 his p ilgrim age.

THE YOUN G SOU I RE .

With him ther was his some a yong SQU I ER,A lover

,and a lusty b acheler

,

With locke’ s crul l 19 as they were leyd in presse .Of twenty yeer of age he was I gesse .

1 A lexandria wa s cap tured A .D . 1 365 , b y P ierre de Lusignan, K ing of Cyprus ,who , however, immed iately ab andoned it .

2 L e . he had b een p laced a t the head of the ta b le ; or, p ossib ly, won ch iefplace in tourneys .

P ra ce, P russia ; L ettowe, L ithuania ; Rnce, Russia .

4 Journeyed .

5 The city Of A lgez ir was taken from the M oorish K ing of G ranada in 1 344.

0 P almyra .7 L ayas , in A rmenia .

8 A ttalia .

9 The M editerranean.

1° A rive, disemb arka tion .

1 1 Same. 1 2 P a lath ia , in A natolia .

1 3 G reat re<nown .

1 1 N o kind of p erson .1 5 A short cassock .

1“Smutted .1 7 Jour«

ney .1 9 P erform .

19 Curled .

160 THE CANTERB URY TA LES.

Of his stature he was of even l engthe,A nd wonderly del ivre,

land grete of strengthe.

A nd he had ben som tim e in chevachie,2

I n F laundres, in Artois, and P icard ie,A nd b orn h im wel

,as of so l itel space,

I n hop e to stonden in his lad ies grace .Em b rouded 3 was he

,a s it were a m ede

Al ful of freshe flou res,white and rede .

S inging he was, or floyting4al the day,

H e was as fresh, as is the m onth Of M ay .

Short was his goun, with s leves long and wyde.

Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ryde .H e coude songes m ake, and wel endite,Juste and eek dance, and wel pourtraie and write.

So hote he loved, that by n ightertale5

H e slep no m ore than doth a nightingale.Curteis he was, lowly, and servisab le

,

And carf before his fader at the table .

H rs G ROOM.

A YEMA N 6 b adde he, and servants no mo

At that tim e,for him luste ride so ; 7

A nd he was clad in cote and hood of grene.A shefe of peacock arwes 8 bright and keneU nder his belt he bare ful thriftily.

Wel coude he d ress his takel 9 yem anlyH is arwes drouped not with feth ers lowe .A nd in his hond he bare a m ighty b owe .

A not-hed 1° had he, with a broun visage.Of woodcraft coude 1‘he wel al the u sage .U pon his arm he bare a gay b racer,

12

A nd by his side a swerd and bokeler,

A nd on that other side a gaie daggere,H arneised 13 wel , and sharpe as point of spereA Cristofre 14 on his brest of silver shene .An hom e he bar

,the b audrik was of grene .

A forster was he soth ly as I gesse .

1 A gile , n imb le .2 M ilitary exp edition .

3 Emb roidered .

4 P layingon th e flute .

5 Nigh ttim e .

6 Yeman , or yeoma n,is an ab b reviation of

yeongema n, as you the is of yeongthe.

7 He preferred to ride so.

8 A rrowswith p eacock fea thers .

9 B ows and arrows .

1 0 L e . round , like a nu t, p roba b ly from b eing cropp ed .

1 1 K new.1 2 A rmor for the arm .

1 3 E quipp ed .

14 A figure of St. Christopher.

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1 62 THE CANTERBURY TA LES.

Ful l fetis 1 was hir cloke, as I was ware.Of sm al coral about hi r arm she bareA p air of bedes, gauded

2 al l with grene ;A nd theron heng a broch of gold ful shene,On whiche was first y-write a croun ed A,

A nd after, A mor vincit omnia .

Another Nonne also with hir had she,

That was h i re chapel leine, and P reestes thre.

THE M ON K .

A M ON K ther was, a fayr for the maistrie,’

An outrider, th at loved venerie 4

A m anly m an, to ben an abbot able .Ful m any a deinte hors had h e in stab leA nd whan he rood, m en m ight h is b ridel hereGingéling in a whistl ing wind as clere,A nd eek as loude

,as doth the chap el belle.

Ther as 5 this lord was kep er of the cel le,Th e reu l e of seint M aure and of seint B eneit,Because that it was old and somdel stre it,Th is ilke monk let Olde thinges pace,A nd h e ld after th e newe world the trace .H e yave not of the text a pul led hen

,

6

That saith, that hunters ben not holy men ;Ne that a m onk

,whan he is rekkel es,

Is l ikned to a fi sh that is waterl es ;This is to say, a m onk out Of his c loistre .

But thilke text held he not worth an Oistre.

A nd I say his Op inion was good .

Wh at 7 shu l de he stud ie,and m ake him selven wood,

U pon a book in cloistre alway to pore,Or swinken with his hondes, and lab oure,As Austin bit 9 how shal th e world b e servedLet Austin have his swink 1° to him reserved .

Therfore he was a p rickasouren aright

G reihounds he h ad as swift as foul in fl ightOf p ricking and of hunting for the hareWas al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare .

1 Neat, tasteful. 2 W ith green gawdes , or large P aternoster b eads .

3 A f air one ; for the maistrie, excellent ab ove a ll others . M S . B od . 761 .

Secreta h . Samp de C lowburnel , fol . 1 7 b . Ciroigne b one p ur la maistrie a b riseret a meurer apostemes

,etc . Tyrwhitt.

4 Hun ting.

5 W here .

6 B aldor scurvy a molting.

7 Why .

8 M ad .9 B iddeth .

1 0 L ab or. 11 A

h ard rider, from p rick, to spur on a h orse.

THE CANTERB URY TA LES. 1 63

I saw his sleevs purfil ed at the b ondWith gris,

1and that the finest of the lond .

A nd for to fastne his hood under his chinne,H e had Of gold y-wrought a curious p inn e :A love knot in the greter end ther was .H is h ed was bald

,and shone as any glas,

A nd eek his face, as it h ad ben anoint.H e was a lord ful fat and in good point.H is eyen step e,

2and roll ing in his hed,

That stem ed as a forneis of a l ed .

3

H is botes souple, his hors in gret estat,Now certainl y he was a fayr p rel at .

H e was not pale as a for-pined 4

gost.A fat swan loved he best Of any rost.His palfrey was as bronne as is a bery.

THE FRI A R .

A FRE RE ther was,a wanton 5

and a mery,A L imitour,

6 a ful sol empne man .

In al l the ordres foure is non that can 7

So moche of dal iance 8 and fayr langage.H e b adde y-m ade ful many a m ariageOf yonge wimm en, at his owh e cost .U nto his ordre he was a nob le post.Ful wel beloved

,and fam il ier was he

With frankl ein s 9 over al l in his contree,A nd eek with worthy wimm en of the tounF or he had power of conf essiOun ,As said him sel fe

’

,more than a curat

,

For of his ordre he was l icenciat.Ful swetely herd he confession,A nd plesant was his absolution .

H e was an esy m an to give penance,Ther as he wiste to han 1" a good p itance

11 °

For unto a poure ordre for to giveIs signe that a m an is wel y-sh rive .

For if he gave, he dorste m ake avant,1 2

H e wiste that a m an was repentant.For m any a m an so hard is of h is herte,H e m ay not wepe although him sore sm erte.

rab b it fur.

2 Sunk deep in his head .3 Copper caldron.

4 W asted , torm en ted .

5 L ively .

5 L e. one licensed to b eg within a certa indistrict .

7 K new.

5 G oss ip .

9 W ealthy landholders ; coun try gentlemenof good estate.

10 Have. 1 1 M ess of v ictuals .

1 2 B oast.

1 64

1 Cowl .

THE CA NTERB URY TA LES.

Therfore in stede of weping and praieres,M en m oot give si lver to th e poure freres.H is tippet 1 was ay farsed

" ful of knives,

A nd pinnes, for to given fayre wives .A nd certainly he had a m ery note.We l coude he singe and p laien on a rote.3

Of yeddings4 he b are utterly the prys.

His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys .Therto h e strong was as a champioun,H e knew the taverns wel in every toun

,

A nd every hosteler and gay tap stére,Bet 5 than a lazar or a b eggestere,

6

For unto swiche a worthy man as heA ccordeth nought, as by his facul te,To han with sike lazars 7 acquaintance .It is not honest

,it may not avance

,

As for to delen, with no such pourail le,8

But al l with riche,and sellers of vitail le.

An d o’er all,th er as profit shu l d arise

,

Curteis he was, and lowly of servise .

Ther n’as no m an nowher so vertuous.H e was the beste begger in his b ousFor though a widwe 9 b adde not a shoo,(SO plesant was his I n p rincip io)

19

Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went.His purchas 1 1 was wel better than his rent.A nd rage he coude and p l eyen as a whelp,In love-days

,

12 coud he m ochel help.

For ther he was not like a cloisterere,With thredb ar cope

,as is a p our scol ere,

But he was like a m aister or a pope .Of double worsted was his sem icope

,

That rounded as a belle out of the presse.Somwhat he l isped for his wantonnesse,To make his E ngl ish swete upon his tonge ;A nd in h is harping, whan that he had songe,His eyen twinkeld in his hed aright,As don the sterres in a frosty night.This worthy l im itour was clept H ub erd .

2 Stuffed .3 On a harp .

4 Gleem an’s songs.

5 B etter.5 B eggar. 7 L ep ers .

5 Commonalty , p oor p eop le .

9 W idow.1 ° In the

b eginning,” L atin text eith er of the first verse of Genesis or of St. John ’s G osp el .

1 1 P roceeds of h is alm s collecting.1 2 Days app ointed for the amicab le settle

m ent or arb itra tion of differences.

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1 66 THE CANTERB URY TA LES.

Not a word spak he more than was nede ;A nd that he said in form e and reverence,A nd short and quik, and ful of high sentence.

Souming in moral vertue was his speche,And gladly wolde he lerne, and glad ly teche.

THE SERGEA N T OF L Aw.

A SERGE A N T OF THE LAWE ware and wise,That often had y-ben at the parvy s,

1

Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.D iscrete he was, and of gret reverenceH e semed such, his wordes were so wise,Justice he was ful Often in assise .By p atent, and by pleyn comm issioun ;F or his science, and for his high renoun

,

Of fees and robes had he m any on .

SO grete a purchasour was nowher non .

Al l was fee simple to him in effect,

H is purchasing might not ben in suspect.N owher so besy a man as he ther n’as

,

A nd yet he semed besier than he was.In termes had he cas and domes 2 alle,That from the tim e of king Wi l liam wer falle,Therto he coude endite, and m ake a thing,Ther coude no wight p inche 3 at his writing.

A nd every statute coude he plaine by rote .H e rode but hom ely in a medl ee cote

,

G irt with a seint 4 Of silk, with barres 5 smaleOf his array tell I no lenger tale .

THE G EN TLEM A N .

A F RA N K E LE I N was in this compagnieWhite was his berd

,as is the dayesie .

Of his complexion he was sanguin .

Wel loved he by the morwe 9 a Sop in win.

TO liven in del it was ae his wone,

7

For he was Epicures owen sone,

That held opinion,that p lein delit

Was veraily felicité parfit.

1 Church p orch .2 Op inions .

5 F ind fault with .

4B elt. 5 Stripes5 M orning.

7 Hab it.

THE CANTERBURY TA LES. 1 67

An housholder,and that a gret, was he ;

Seint Julian 1 he was in h is contre,H is breed, his ale, was alway after on ;

2

A better envyned3 man was no wher non.

W ithou te bak m eet never was his hou s,Of flesh and fish , and that so plenteous,It snewed in h is hou s of mete and drinke,Of alle deintees that m en coud of thinke

,

Af ter the sondry sesons of the yere,

SO changed b e his m ete and his soup ere .

Ful m any a fat p artrich had he in m ewe,A nd m any a brem e, and many a luce 4 in stewe.

WO was his cook but if 5 his sauce wereP oinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere.H is table dorm ant in his halle alwayStood redy covered al the longe day.

At sessions ther was he lord and S ire .F ul Often time he was knight of the shire.

An anlas,6and a gipcer

7 al l of silk,

H eng at his girdel , white as m orwe 5 milk.

A shereve had he ben, and a countodr.

9

Was no wher such a worthy vavasofir }?

TH E WI FE OF BA TH .

A good W I E was ther of beside Bathe,But she was somdel des f, and that was skathe.

Of cloth m aking she hadde swiche an haunt,n

She passed hem 19of Ypres

,and of G aunt.

In al l the parish wif ne was ther non,

That to the Offring1 3 before hi r shu ld gon,

A nd if ther did,certain so wroth was she

,

That she was out of alle charité .

H ire coverchiefs weren ful fine of ground ;I dorste swer, they weyeden a pound ;That on the Sonday were upon hi r hede.H ir hosen weren of fyn scarlet rede,Ful streit y-teyed, and shoon ful m oist

‘4 and newe.Bold was hir face

, and fayr and reed of hew.

She was a worthy wom an all hi r lyfe,H ou sb onds at chi rche door had she had fyfe,

1 P atron Of p ilgrims .

2 One O’clock.

5 Stocked with wine.4 P ike.

5 E xcep t. 5 K nife or dagger. 7 A purse .5 M orning.

9 A ccountant.1° Landholder. 1 1 SO large a custom .

1 2 P assed them Off as .15 Offertory.

1 4 F resh .

1 68 THE CANTERBURY TA LES.

Withouten 1 other compagnie in you theBut therof nedeth not to speke as nouthe.

9

A nd thries had she b en at Jeru sa lem e .

She hadde passed m any a strange strem e .

At Rom e she had ben, and at B oloine,In G al ice at Seih t Jam es, and at Coloine .

She coude moche of wandring by the way.

G at-tothed 3 was sh e, soth ly for to say .

U pon an ambler esily she sat,Y -wimpled wel, and on hir hede an hat,As brode as is a b okler, or a targe.A fote—mantel about hi r hippes large,An d on h ir fete a pair Of sporres sharpe .In felawship wel coud she laughs and carpeOf rem edies of love she knew p archance,For of that art She coud 4 the Olde dance .

TH E M I LLE R .

The M I LLE R was a stout carl for the nones,

’

Ful b ig he was of braun , and eek of b ones ;That p roved wel, for overal ther he cam e,At wrastling he wold bere away the ram .

H e was short shu ldred, brode, a thikke gnarre .

9

Ther n’as no door,that he n’olde heve of harre

,

7

Or breke it at a renning with his hede .

H is berd as any sowe or fox was rede,A nd therto brode

,as though it were a spade.

U pon the cop9 right of his nose he hade

A wert,and theron stode a tufte of heres

,

Rede as th e bristles of a sowes eres .H is nose-th irls blacke were and wide .

A swerd and b okl er bare he by his s ide.H is m outh as wide was as a forneis .

H e was a jangler,9 and a gol iardeis,10

A nd that was m ost of Sinne, and harlotries.Wel coude he stelen corne

,and tollen thries .

A nd yet he had a thomb of gold p a rde.

A wh it cote and a blew hood wered he .

A b aggepipe coude he b lowe and soune,A nd therwitha l l he brought us out of toune .

1 B esides .

2 Now.

5 W ith teeth far apart or p rojecting hence lascivious .

4 Kn ew.5 Nonce .

5 T ree knot .7 H inge .

5 Top .

9 A p rater, b ab b ler.1 0 Full of rib a lding on the Church and ecclesiastics from an imaginary B ishop

G olias (perhap s invented b y W alter M ap ) , on whom were fathered satiric Latinrhymes in th e twelf th century .

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1 70 THE CA NTERB URY TA LES.

A vernicle 1 had he sewed on his cappe.H is wallet lay b eforn him in his lappe,B ret fu l of pardon com e frOm Rom e a l hote.A vois he b adde, as smale as eny gote .No berde had he, ne never non shu ld have

,

As smothe it was as it were newe shave ;I trowe he were a gelding or a m are.But of his craft, fro B erwike unto Ware,

Ne was ther swich another p ardonere .

For in his m ale 9 he b adde a pilweb ere,3

Which, that he saide, was our lady veil

H e said, he hadde a gobbet4of the seyl

That seinte P eter had, whan that he wentU pon the see, til l Jesu C rist him h ent.5

H e had a cros of laton 6 ful of stones,A nd in a glas he b adde pigges bones .But with these rel iks , whanne that he fondA poure person dwell ing up on lond,U pon a day he gat him m ore m oneie

Than that the p ersone gat in moneths tweie .

A nd thus with fained flattering and japes,

H e m ade the person, and the p ep l e, his apes.But trewely to tel len atte last,

H e was in ch irche a noble eccles iast.Wel coud he rede a lesson or a storieBut al derb est he sang an offertorie

For wel he wiste,whan that song was songe,

H e muste prech e, and wel afi le7 his tonge,

To winne silver,as he right wel coude

Therfore he sang ful m erily and loude.

Now have I told you shortly in a clause,

Thestat, tharaie, the nombre, and eke the cause

Why that assem b led was this com pagnieIn Southwerk at this gentil hostel rie,That h ighte the T ab ard , faste by the Bel le.

M I N E H OST .

G ret chere m ade oure H OST us everich on,A nd to the souper set he us anon :

1 A m iniature copy Of the p icture of Christ , which is said to have b een

m iraculously imp rinted up on a handk erch ief , p reserved in the church of St .

P eter at Rome. 2 P ortmanteau.

3 A p illowcase. 4 M orsel . 5 T ookh old of him .

5 A sort Of mixed metal, of th e color of b rass 7 P olish .

THE P ARDONER’

S TA LE . 1 71

An d served us w ith vitail atte beste .

Strong was the wyn, and wel to d rinke us leste.

l

A sem ely man our hoste’ was withal leFor to han ben a m arshal in an halle .A large m an he was with eyen stepe,A fairer burgeis is ther non in ChepeBold of his speche, and wise and wel y-taught,A nd of m anhed him lacked righte naught.E ek therto was he right a mery m an,

And after souper p laien he began.

THE P ARDONER’

S T ALE .

B Y CHAUCER.

(Slightly m odern iz ed in sp elling, b ut not otherwise changed. )

IN FLA N D E RS whilom was a companieOf younge folk, that haunteden foll ie,As riot, hazard, stewes and taverns,Where as with harpes, lutes, and gitterns,They dance and playen at d ice, both day and night,A nd eaten also

, and drinken over the ir might,Through which they do the devil sacrificeWithin that devi l ’s temple

,in cursed wise

,

By sup erfluity abom inab le .

The i r oathes been so great and damnableThat it is grisly for to hear them swear.Our blessed L orde’s body they do tear ;Them thought that Jewes rent him not enough,A nd each of them at others’ sinne laugh ;A nd right anon then com eth tom b esters

2

Fetis 9 and sm al l,and younge fruitesters,

S ingers with harpes, b awde s, waferers,4

Which been the very devi l ’s officers,

To kindle and blow the fire of lechery,

That is annexed unto gluttony.

The H oly NVrit take I to my witnessThat luxu ry 4 is in wine and d runkenness .These riotoures three, Of which I tell ,Long e rst ere prim e rung of any he l l ,

1 I t pleased u s well. 2 F emale acrob ats .

5 G raceful. 4 Sweetmeat

sellers. 5 What self-indulgence.

1 72 THE P ARDONER’

S TA LE .

Were set them in a tavern for to drink ;A nd as they sat they heard a bel le cl inkB eforn a corse [that] was carried to his grave .

The one of th em gan callen to his knaveGO b et,

” 1 quod he, and axe read ily

What corse is this that passeth here forbyA nd look that thou report his name weel .

Sir,” quod this boy, “it needeth never a deel,’

It was m e told ere ye cam e here two hours ;H e was, p ardee, an old fel law of yours

,

A nd suddenly he was y-slain to-night,For-drunk

,as he sat on his bench upright ;

There cam e a privy thief m en cl epeth3 D eath,

That in this country all the people s laith ,A nd w ith his spear he smote his heart atwo

,

A nd went his way withouten wordes mo.

H e hath a thousand slain, this pestilence,A nd, m aster, ere ye com e in his presence,M e thinketh that it were necessarieFor to be ware of such an adversarie ;Be ready for to meet him evermore ;Thus taughte

’

m e my dam e ; I say na-more.By Saint M arie ! ” said this taverner

,

The child saith sooth, for he hath slain this yearH ence over a m ile

,within a great vi llage,

Both man and woman,chi ld

,and hind

,and page ;

I trow his hab itation be thereTo be advised great wisdOm it were

,

E re that he did a m an a d ishonour .

”

“Yea, G odde

’s armes quoth this riotour

,

Is it such peril with him for to m eetI shall him seek by way

,and eke by street ;

I m ake avow to G odde ’s d igne

4 bones !H earken

,felawes, we three be all ones

Let each of us hold up his hand ti l other,

A nd each of us b ecom en other’s brother,

A nd we wil l slay this false traitor,D eath

H e shal l be slain,he that so many slaith

,

By Godde’s dignity, ere it be nightTogether have these three their truthes plight

To l ive and dien each Of them for oth er,

As though he were his own y-borne brother ;A nd up they start

,all drunken

,in this rage 5

A nd forth they go towardes that vil lage

1 Quickly.2 Whit. 5 Cal1 4 Reverend .

5 F renzy.

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1 74 THE PA RDONER ’

S TA LE .

“Nay,Olde churl, by God, thou shalt not so

Saide th is other haz ardour 1 anonThou partest not so l ightly, by Saint John

Thou spake right now of thilke traitor, D eath,That in this country al l our friendes sl aith ;H ave here my truth , as thou art his espy,T ell where he is, or thou shalt it abye,

2

By God and by the holy sacram ent !For soothly

,thou art one of his assent 9

To slay us younge folk, thou false thief !”

Now,sirs

,

” quoth he,

“if that ye be so l iefTo finde D eath , turn up th is crooked way,F or in that grove I left him ,

by my fay,U nder a tree, and there he will ab ide ;Naught for your boast he will him nothing hide.See ye that oak ? R ight there ye shall him find.

G od save you, that bought again m ankind,

A nd you am ende thus said this Olde m an

An d every of these riotoures ranT ill he cam e to that tree, and there th ey found,Of florins fine , of gold y-coyned round,Wel l nigh a seven bushels, as them thought.No longer thenne after D eath they sought,But each of them so glad was of that sight,For that the florins been so fair and bright,That down they set them by this precious hoard .

The worst of them he spake the firste word“Brethren

,

” quod he,take keepe what I say ;

M y wit is great, though that I b oord4and play.

This treasure hath F orti’

ine unto us givenIn m i rth and joll ity our l ife to l iven

,

A nd l ightly as it com th, so will we sp end .

Ey, G odde’s p recious d ignity ! who wend

5

TO-day, that we should have so fai r a graceBut m ight this gold be carried from this placeH om e to mine house

,or elles unto yours

,

For wel ye wot that al l this gold is ours,Then were we in high fel icity .

But true ly, by day it may not beM en wou l de say that we were thieves strong,A nd for our owen treasure do us hong.

6

This treasure must y-carried be by night,As wisely and as slyly as it m ight.

1 Gamb ler. 2 P ay for .

5 P lot. 4 Joke.5 W eened (thought).

5 Hang u s .

THE P A RDONER ’

S TALE . 1 75

Wh erefore, I rede that out among us allB e drawn, and let see where the out wil l fall ;A nd he that hath the cut

,with hearte bl ithe

Shal l runne to the town, and that ful swithe,l

A nd bring us bread and wine ful l p rivily,A nd two of us shal l keepen subtlelyThis treasure wel l ; and if he will not tarry,When it is night we wil l this treasure ca rry,By one assent

,where as us think eth b est.”

The one of them the cut brought in his fist,A nd bade them draw and look where it will fal l ;And it fel l on the youngest of them all,A nd forth toward the town he went anon

,

A nd al l so soone as that he was gone,Th e one of them spake thus unto the other

Thou knowest well thou art my sworne brother ;Thy profit will I telle thee anonThou wost wel l that our fel low is agone,An d here is gold, and that full great pl entee,That shal l departed 7 be am ong us three ;But natheless

,if I can Shape it so

That it departed were am ong us two,H ad I not done a f riende ’

s turn to theeThat other answered

,I noot 5 how that m ay b e

H e wot how that the gold is w ith us tway :What shal l we do

,what shall we to him say

Shal l it be counsel ? ” said the firste shrew,

4

A nd I shal l tel le thee in wordes fewWh at we shal l do

,and bringen it wel l about.

”

I grante,” 5 quod the other

,out of doubt,

That by my truth I shal l not thee bewray .

”

Now,

’f quod the fi rst,thou wost wel l we be tway

,

A nd two of us shal l stronger be than one .Look when that he is set

,and right anon

Arise,as though thou wouldest with him play,

A nd I shal l rive him through the Sides tway,Whi le that thou strugglest with him as in gam e,A nd with thy dagger look thou do the same !

A nd then shal l al l this gold departed be,M y deare friend , betwixen m e and thee .Then may we both our lustes al l fulfill ,A nd p lay at d ice right at our owen will .A nd thus accorded been these shrewes tway,

To slay the thi rd,as ye have heard m e say .

1 F as t.

2 P arted .5 K now not. 4 Ras cal . 5 A ssure you .

1 76 THE P ARDONER ’

S TA LE .

This youngest, which that went unto the town,Ful l oft in heart he rol leth up and downThe b eauty of th ese florins new and bright ;O Lord,

” quoth he,

“if so were that I m ightH ave al l this treasure to myself alone,There i s no m an that l iveth under the throneOf God, that shou lde l ive so m erry as I !

”

A nd atte last the Fiend, our enemy,P ut in his thought that he should p oison buy,With which he m igh te slay his fellows tway ;For-why the F iend found him in such l ivingThat he had leave him to sorrow bring,For this was utterly his full intent

,

To slay them both and never to repent.A nd forth he go

’th,no longer would he tarry,

Into the town,unto a pothecary

,

A nd prayde him ,that he him wou l de sel l

Som e p oison, that he m ight his rattes quell ;A nd eke there was a polecat in his haw,

That, as he said, his capons h ad y-slaw,

1

A nd fain he wou lde wreak him ,if he might,

On verm in that destroyed him by night.The pothecarie answered,

“A nd thou shalt haveA thing that — al l so G od my soule saveI h al l this world there nis no creature,That eaten or drunken hath of this confiture 9

Naught but the m ontance 3 of a corn of wheat,

That he ne shal l his l ife anon forl ete,

4

Yea,starve 5 he shall

, and th at in lesse whileThan thou wilt go apace not but a m ile,This p oison is so strong and violent .

”

This cursed m an hath in his hand y-hentThis p oison in a box, and sith

5 he ranInto the nexte street unto a m an,

A nd borrowed him large bottelles three,A nd in the two his p oison p oured he ;The third he kept clean for his owne drink ;For al l the night he shoop

7 him for to swink 5

In carrying of the gold out of that p lace .A nd when this riotour with sorry graceH ad fil led with wine his greate bottles three,To his fellows again repaireth he .

2 Confection .5 Amount. 4 F orego .

5 D ie .5 Then.

5 W ork .

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1 78 REYNA RD THE FOX .

REYNARD THE FOX .

[The original form of th is fam ous story was F lem ish — a L atin poem called4‘Y sengrimus ,

” written b y a priest, Nivardus of Ghent, ab out 1 1 48 . The nam es

are F lem ish : Reynard (Reginhard ) , the utterly h ard I sengrim , iron helm ; B ruin ,

the b rown (b ear) . A G erman version was pub l ished ab out 1 1 80 , a F rench one

ab out 1 300 in its present form it was remodeled and added to ab out 1 380 ]

AB OU T the Feast of P entecost, which is commonly calledWhitsuntide

,when the woods are full of lustihood and songs

of gallantry, and every tree fresh clothed in its vernal garb ofglorious leaves and sweet-smelling blossoms ; when the earthis covered with her fairest mantle of flowers, and all the birdsentertain her with the delights of their melodious songs evenat this j oyous period of the lusty Spring, the lion, that royalking of beasts

,the monarch of the ancient woods , thought to

celebrate this holy festival, and to keep Open court at his greatpalace of Sanden, with all triumphant ceremony and m agnifi

cence . T o this end he made solemn proclamation over allhis kingdom to all manner of beasts whatsoever, that uponpain of being held in contempt, every one should resort to theapproaching celebration of the grand festival .Within a few days, at the time prefixed, all beasts, both

great and small, came in infinite numbers crowding to the

court, with the exception of Reynard the fox, who did notappear . C on scious as he was of so many trespasses and trans

gressions against the live s and fortunes of other beasts , hekn ew that his presence might have put his life into great jeopardy, and he forbore .Now, when the royal monarch had assembled his whole

court, there were few beasts who had not some complaint tomake against the fox ; but especially Isegrim the wolf, whobeing the first and principal complainant, came with all hisl ineage and kindred . Standing uncovered before the king, hesaid : “M ost dread and dearest sovereign lord the king !H umbly I beseech you , that from the height and strength ofyour great power, and the multitude of your mercies, you willgraciously take compassion upon the insufferable trespassesand inj ur ies which that unworthy creature

, Reynard the fox ,has late ly committed against me and my wife and my wholefamily . T o give your maj esty some idea of these wrongs,kn ow that this Reynard broke into my house in my absence,

REYNA RD THE FOX . 1 79

against the will of me and my wife , where , finding my childrenlaid in their quiet couch, he maltreated them in so vile a manner, especially about the eyes, that with the Sharpness of thecrime they fell instantly blind . Now, for this offense a daywas set apart, where in Reynard should appear to justify himself, and make solemn oath that he was guiltless of that foul ihjury but as soon as the holy book was tendered to him, he , wellknowing his own enormity, refused to swear, or rather evadedit, by instantly running into his hole, in contempt both of yourmaj esty and your laws . T his, perhaps, my dread lord, some ofthe noblest beasts resident at your court did not know ; yetthis was not enough to satiate his malice , and he continued totrespass against me in many other things, which, however,neither your maj esty’s time nor patience would suffice to hear .E nough that my injur ies are so great that nothing can exceedthem, and the shame and villainy that he has shown my wifei s such that I can no longer suffer it to go unrevenged . Fromhim I am come to demand reparation , and from your maj estycompassion .

”

When the wolf had spoken these words, there stood by hima little hound , whose name was Curtise, who now stepping forth,also made a grievous complaint to the king, saying, that in thecold winter season , when the frost was most violent, and he washalf starved by want of prey, having nothing further left himto sustain life than one poor piece of pudding, that vil e Reynard ran upon him from ambush, and un justly seized it .

Scarcely had these words escaped the hound’s lips, before insprang T ibert the cat, with a fierce and angry countenance,and falling down at his maj esty ’s feet, exclaimed O my lordthe king, though I must confess that the fox is here grievouslyaccused, yet were other beasts

’ actions searched , each wouldfind enough to do to clear h imself . T ouching the com plaint ofCurtise the hound, it was an off ense committed many years agoand though I myself complain of no in jury, yet was the puddingmin e and not his, for I got it one night out of a mill , when themill er lay asle ep . If Curtise could challenge any share thereof,i t must be de r ived solely from me .

When P anther heard T ib ert ’s words, he stood forth, andsaid, D o you imagine, O T ibert, that it would be jus t or goodthat Reynard shou ld not be accused ? Why, the whole worldknows he i s a murderer, a ravisher, and a thief that he loves notany creature, no, not his majesty himself and would suffer his

1 80 REYNARD THE FOX .

highness to lose both honor and renown , if he thought he couldthus obtain so much as the leg of a fat pullet . Let me tell youwhat I s aw him do only yesterday to Kayward the hare , nowstanding in the king’s presence . Under pretense of teaching poor Kayward his creed, and making a good chaplain ofhim

,he persuaded him to come and sit between his legs, and

sing aloud, C redo, C redo I happened to pass that way, and

heard the song and upon going nearer, I found that M r . Reynard had left his first note, and began to play in his Old key,for he had caught Kayward by the throat, and had I not at thatmoment come , he had certainly taken his l ife , as you may seeby K ayward

’

s fresh wound under his throat . If my lord theking should suffer such conduct to go unpunished, the peacebroken

,the royal dignity profaned, and the just laws violated,

your princely children many years to come shall bear the slander of this evil .”

“D oubtless, P anther, cried Isegrim ,

“you say well andtrue it is only fit that they should receive the benefit of justicewho wish to live in peace .

”

Then Spoke G rim b ard , the brock [badger] , who was Reynard ’s sister’s son, being much moved by anger Isegrim

, you

are malicious, and it is a common proverb that ‘m alice neveryet spake well ;

’ and what can you advance against my kinsman Reynard ? I wish you had only to encounter the risk, thatwhichever of you had most injured the other, was to b e hangedand die a felon ’s death ; for I tell you, were b e here in court,and as mu ch in our favor as you are , it would be but smallsatisfaction for you to beg mercy . You have many times bittenand torn my kinsman with your venomous teeth, and muchOftener than I can reckon though I will recall some instancesto your Shame . Can you have forgotten how you cheated himin regard to the plaice which he threw down from the cart

,

while you followed aloof for fear Yet you devoured the goodplaice alone , and left him nothing b u t the bones, which youcould not eat yourself. You played the same trick with the fatflitch of bacon , which was so good, that you took care to devourthe whole of it yourself . When my uncle entreated his share ,you retorted with scorn , ‘Fair young man , you shall surelyhave your share and yet you gave him nothing, although hewon it at great hazard, inasmuch as the owner contrived tocatch my kinsman in a sack , from which he with difficulty gota way with life . Such injuries hath this I segrim done to

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1 82 REYNARD THE FOX .

Thus while G rimb ard stood preaching, they perceived come

ing down the hill toward them , stout Chanticleer the cock, whobrought upon a bier a dead hen, whose head Reynard had bittenclean off , and it was brought before the king to take cognizancethereof .

Chanticleer marching foremost, hung his wings and smotehis feathers piteously, whilst on the other side the bier wenttwo of his fairest hens, the fairest between H oll and and Arden .

E ach of them bore a straight bright burning taper, for theywere S isters to C oppel that lay dead upon the bier and as theymarched

,they cried, “Alack , alack ! and well-a -day ! for the

death of Coppel, our sister dear .”

Two young pull ets bore thebier, and cackled so heavily and wept so loud for the death ofC oppel, their mother, that the very hil ls e choed to their clamor .

On reaching the presence of the king, Chanticleer, kneelingdown , spake as follows

M ost merciful, dread lord, the king vouchsafe , I dobeseech you, to hear and redress the injuries which the fox Reynard hath done me and my children, whom you here be holdweeping, as well they may . For it was in the beginn ing ofA pril,when the weather was fair, I being then in the height of mypride and plumage , Sprung from great stock and lin eage, witheight valiant sons and seven fair daughters by my side , all ofwhom my w ife had brought me at a single hatch

,all of whom

were strong and fa t, strutting in a yard well fenced round about .H ere they had several Sheds, besides six stout mastiff dogs fortheir guard, which had torn the skins of many wild beasts ; SO

that my children felt secure from any evil that might happen tothose more exposed to the snares of the world ; but Reynard ,that false and d issembling traitor, envying their happy fortune,many times assailed the wall s in such desperate manner

,that

the dogs were obliged to be loosed, and they hunted him away .

Once , indeed, they overtook and bit him, making him pay theprice of his theft, as his torn skin bore witness . Neverthelesshe escaped, the more the pity .

But we lived more quietly some time after until at last hecame in the likeness of a hermit, and brought me a letter toread . It was sealed with your maj esty ’s royal seal and in itI found written that you had proclaimed peace throughout allyour realm, and that no manner of beasts or fowl were longer toinjure one another . Reynard affirmed that, for his own part, hewas become a monk, a cloistered recluse , and had vowed to

REYNARD THE FOX . 1 83

perform daily penance for his sins . H e next showed me andcoun ted his beads he had his books, and wore a hair shirt nextto his Skin , whil e in a very humble tone he said, ‘You see

, Sir

Chanticleer, you have never need to be afraid of me henceforwardfor I have vowed nevermore to eat flesh . I am now waxedold, and woul d only remember my soul ; I have yet my noonand my evening prayers to say ; I must therefore take myleave .

’

“H e departed, singing his credo as he went, and I saw himlie down under a hawthorn . T hese tidings made me exceedingly glad ; I took no further heed, but chuckling my familytogether

,I went to ramble outside the wall, a step I shall for

ever rue . For that same devout Reynard, lying under thebush

,came creeping between us and the gate then suddenly

surprised one of my children, which he thrust into his maw,

and to my great sorrow bore away . For having tasted thesweetness of our flesh, neither hunter nor hound can protectus from him . Night and day he continues to watch us withsuch hungry assiduity, that out of fifteen children he hath nowleft me only four unslain . Yesterday, my daughter C oppelhere lying dead upon her bier, her body being rescued by thearrival of a pack of b ounds , too late alas — hath fall en, afterher mother, a Vi ctim to his arts . This is my just complaint

,

which I refer to your highness’s mercy to have compassion upon,

and upon my many slaughtered children .

Then spake the king Sir G rimb ard , hear you this of youruncle

,the recluse ? H e seems to have feasted and prayed w ith

a vengeance ; but i f I live another year he shall dearly abideit . For you, Chanticleer, your complaint is heard, and shal lbe repaired . We will bestow handsome obsequies upon yourdaughter dead, laying her in the earth with solemn d irge andworship due . T his done, we will consult w ith our lords howto do you right, and bring the murderer to justice .

”

Then began the P la cebo D omino, with all the verses belonging to it, too many to recite ; the dirge being done, the bodywas interred, and over it was placed a fair marble stone , polished as bright as glass, upon which was inscribed the following epitaph in large letters C oppel , Chanticleer

’s daughter,whom Reynard the fox has slain , lieth here interred M ourn ,reader

,mourn for her death was violent and lamentable .

”

The monarch n ext sent for his lords and wisest counselors,to consult how best this foul murder committed by Reynard

1 84 REYNARD THE FOX .

might be punished . In the end it was concluded that heShould be sent for, and without any excuse be made to appearbefore the king

,to an swer these charges, and the message be

del ivered by Bruin the bear . The king gave consent, and calling him before him , said, “Sir Bruin , it is our pleasure thatyou del iver this message yet in so doing, have a good eye toyourself ; for Reynard is full of policy, and knows well howto dissem ble

,flatter, and betray . H e has a world of snares

to entangle you withal , and, without great exerc ise of judgment

,will make a mock and scorn of the most consummate

wisdom .

”

M y lord, answered Sir Bruin,“l et me alone with Rey

nard ; I am not such a truant to discretion as to become amock for his knavery .

” And thus, full of j ollity, the beartook his departure to fetch Reynard .

[B ruin is tricked and nearly killed b y Reynard’

s m anagem ent, and the kingcalls another council .]

Then the king called for Sir T ibert the cat, and said, “SirT ibert, you shall go to Reyn ard and summon him the secondtime , and command him to appear and answer his Offenses forthough he be cruel to other beasts, to you he is courteous .Assure him if he fail at the first summons, that I will take sosevere a course against him and his posterity, that h i s exampleshall terrify all Ofi enders .

”

Then said T ibert the cat, “M y dread lord, they were myfoes which thus advised you , for the re is nothing I can do thatcan force him to come or to tarry . I do beseech your maj estysend some one of greater power : I am small and feeble for ifnoble Sir Bruin, who was so strong and mighty, could not compel him, what w ill my weakness avail ?

”

The king replied, “It is your wisdom, Sir T ibert, that Iemploy, and not your strength : many prevail with art, whenviolence r eturns home with labor lost .

Well,” said T ibert, “since it is your pleasure , it must be

accomplished, and H eaven make my fortune better than myheart presages

T ibert then made things in re adiness and went to M al epar

dus . In his j ourn ey he saw come flying towards him one of St.

M artin ’s birds, to whom the cat cried aloud, H ail ! gentle birdI beseech thee turn thy wings, and fly on my right hand .

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1 86 REYNA RD THE FOX .

any of your affairs . Had you slain my father, my mother, andal l my kin, I would freely forgive you now .

”

Surely, said Reynard ,“you do but j est “No, by my

life,repl ied the cat .Well

,then

,if you be in earnest, I will so contrive this very

night, that you shall have your fi ll .

”

I S it possible ? ” said the cat .Only follow me ,

” said Reynard ; “I will bring you to theplace presently .

”

SO away they went with all speed towards the priest’s barn,well fenced about with a mud wall, where, but the night before ,the fox had broken in, and stolen an exceeding fat pullet fromthe j olly priest . Now the priest was so angry, that he had seta trap before the hole to catch the thief at his next coming ;which the fox well knew, and therefore he said to the cat, Sir

T ibert, here is the hole : creep in . It will not take a minutebefore you find more mice than you are able to devour : hear

you how they squeak ? But come back when you are full, andI will wait here for you, that we may then proceed togethertowards court. Stay not long, for I know my wife is expecting us .

”

“But think you I may safely enter in at this hole inquiredthe cat these priests are very wily and subtle , and oftenconceal their snares very close , making the rash fool sorelyrepent .

Why, cousin T ibert, said Reynard, “are you turning coward ? What, man, fear you a shadow

Quite ashamed, the cat sprang qu i ckly in , and was caughtfast by the neck in the gin . H e tried to leap back, which onlybrought the snare closer, so that he was half strangled, andstruggled and cried out piteously . Reynard stood before thehole and heard all, at which he greatly rej oiced, and cried inscorn, C ousin T ibert, love you mice ? I hope they are fat foryour sake . D id the priest or M artinet know of your feasting

,

I know them so well, they would bring you sauce to your meatvery quickly . What I you sing at your meat : is that the courtfashion now ? If so , I only wish that Isegrim the wolf bore youcompany, that all my friends might feast together .

”

M eanwhile the poor cat was fast, and mewed so sadly, thatM artinet leaped out of his bed and cried to his people, “Up ,up ! for the thief is taken that caught our hens . ” At thesewords the priest unluckily rose

,awaking his whole household

,

REYNARD THE FOX . 1 87

and crying, The fox is taken the fox is taken Not halfdr essed, he handed his wife the sacred taper, and running first,he smote T ibert a blow with a huge staff, while many othersfollowed his example . The cat received many deadly blows ;for the anger Of M artin et was so great, that he struck out oneof the cat ’s eyes, which he did to please the priest, intending todash out the poor T ib ert’s brain s at a blow . Beholding deathso near, Sir T ibert made a desperate efi ort, and jumping betweenthe priest’s legs, fastened there in a style which caused him themost excruciating pain . When D ameJu l lock his wife saw this,She cried out, and swore in the bitterness of her heart, and withalcursed the gin, which she wished, along with its inventor, at thedevil .All this while Reynard stood before the hole, and seeing

what passed, laughed so excessively that he was ready to burst ;but the poor priest fell down in a swoon, and every one left thecat in order to revive the priest . D uring this last scene, thefox set off back again to M al epardu s, for he believed that it wasnow all over with Sir T ibert . But he, seeing his foes so busyabout the priest, began to gnaw his cord , until he bit it quiteasunder . H e then leaped out of the hole , and went roaringand tumbling like his predecessor, the bear, back to the court .Before he reached it, i t was wide day, and the sun being risen,he entered the king’s court in a most pitiful plight . For hisbody was beaten and bruised to a j elly, owing to the fox

’s crafthis bones were shivered and broken , one of his eyes lost, andhis skin rent and mangled .

T his when the king beheld, he grew a thousand times moreangry than before . H e summoned his council, and debated onthe su rest means of revenging such injuries upon the head ofthe fox . After long consultation ,G rim b ard the brock, Reynard

’sS ister ’s son , said to the rest of the king

’s council, G ood, mylords . though my uncle were twice as bad as he is represented,yet there is remedy enough against his mischiefs, and i t is fityou do him the justice du e to a man of his rank, by summoninghim a third time , and then it wil l be time to pronounce himguilty of all that is laid to his charge .

”

But,” said his maj esty, who will now be found so desper

ate as to hazard his hands, his ears, nay, his very life , with oneso tyrannical and irreligious

T rul y,

” answered the brock , “if it please your maj esty, Iam that desperate person, who will venture to carry the mes

1 88 REYNARD THE FOX .

sage to my most subtle kinsman, if your highness but commandme .”

[Grim b ard visits M alepardus and induces Reynard to return to court withhim .]

!Vhen Reynard and G rim b ard had proceeded some way ontheir j ourney, the former stopped and said , Fair nephew, blameme not if I say my heart is very heavy, for my life is in greatj eopardy . Would that to blot out my manifold sins and castoff so great a burden, I might here repent and be Shriven by you .

I know you are holy ; and having received penance for my Sin ,

my soul w ill be more quiet within me .

”

G rim b ard bid him proceed . Then, said the fox, “Confitebor tibi, p a ter .

Nay,” interrupted the brock, “if you will shrive to m e , do

it in English, that I may understand you .

”

Then,” resumed Reynard, I have grievously offended

against all the beasts that live, and especially against mine uncleBruin the bear, whom I lately almost massacred, and T ibert thecat, whom I no less cruelly ensnared in a gin . I have trespassedagainst Chanticleer and his children , and have devou red manyof them . Nay, the king has not been safe from my malice , forI have slandered him, and not respected the name of the queen .

I have betrayed Isegrim the wolf, while I called him uncle,though no part of his blood ran in my veins . I made him a monkof E sinane , where I became also one of the order, onl y to dohim Open mischief . I made him bind his foot to the bell ropeto teach him to ring ; but the peal had like to have cost himhis l ife , the parishioners beat and wounded him so very sorely .

After this I taught him to catch fish ; but he got soundlybeaten for it, and beareth the stripes to this moment . I led himinto a rich priest’s house to steal bacon, where he ate SO much,that, unable to get out where he came in , I raised all the townupon him ; and while the priest ran from table, I seized upona fat fow l, while the priest and his people were busy cudgeling the sides of Isegrim . At last the wolf fell down as ifhe had been dead, and they dragged his body over rocks andstones until they came to an old ditch

,where they threw him

in . There he lay groaning all n ight,and how he ever got

thence I know not . Another time I led him to a place whereI told him there were seven cocks and hens perched together,all in excellent condition

,and hard by stood a false door, upon

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1 90 REYNARD THE FOX .

drew G rimb ard out of the right path, and finding the pul letspicking near the barn , among which was a fine fat capon thathad strayed a little way from the rest, he made a sudden springand caught him by the feathers, which flew abou t his ears yetthe capon escaped . At this sight G rimb ard cried out, “A o

cursed wretch what would you do ? will you for a silly pulletagain fall into all your S ins

To which Reynard answered, “P ardon me , dear nephew ;

but I had forgotten myself : I do entreat your forgiveness , andmy eye shall not wander .”

They then wen t over a l ittle bridge , the fox still glancinghis eye towards the pullets as if it were impossible for him torefrain ; for the evil was bred in his bones, and i t stuck fast tohis flesh ; his heart carried his eyes that way as long as he couldsee them . The brock, aware of this, again said, “For Shame,dissembler ! why wander your eyes after the fowls ?

The fox replied, “Nay, nephew, you do me wrong ; youmistake my looks, for I was merely saying a paternoster forthe souls of all the pullets and geese which I have Slain beforemy piety interfered .

We ll,

” said G rim b ard , “it may be so, but your glances arevery suspicious .Now, by this time they had regained the highway, and pushed

on more speedily to the court, which the fox no sooner saw thanhis heart began to quake for fear . He knew too well the crimeshe had to answer for they were indeed infin ite and heinous .

[Reynard is condemned and led ou t to execution .]

On reaching the place of execution , the king, the queen , andall the nobility took their place, to behold the fox die . Reynard,though full of sorrow and dismay , was still busy thinking howhe might escape , and again triumph over his proud enemies , bydraw ing the king over to his party .

“Though the king,

”he

said to himself, be offended with me , as he has reason enough ,Heaven knows, yet I may perhaps live to become his bosomfriend .

”

While thus cogitating, the wolf s aid, Now, Sir Bruin , remember your inj uries ; revenge yourself well, for the day iscome we have so long looked for . G o, T ibert, and mount thegallows tree with a rope, and m ake a runn ing noose , for youshall have your wil l of your enemy . T ake heed, good Sir Bruin,

REYNARD THE FOX . 1 91

that he eludes us not, and I will now place the ladder, wheneverything will be complete .

This being done the fox spoke : “Now well may my heartb e heavy, for death stands in all its naked horrors before myeyes, and I cannot escape . O my dread lord the king, and youmy sovereign lady the queen , and all you, my lords and gentlemen , here assembled to see me die , I beseech you grant me thison e charitable boon . Let me unburden my heart before you

,

and clean se my soul of its manifold sin s, SO that hereafter noman may be unjustly accused or executed for my secret misdeeds .This done , death will come more easy to m e, and the assistanceof your prayers will li ft my soul , I doubt not, to the skies .

”

All now took compassion on the fox , and beseeched the king togrant his request ; which was done . A nd then the fox spake :

H elp me, H eaven for I see no man here whom Ihave not offended . Yet this was not from evil inclination ; forin my youth I was accounted as virtuous as any breathing . Iplayed with the lambs all day long, and took delight in theirpretty bleating . But once in my play I bit one, and the tasteof its blood was so sweet, that ever since I could not forbear .This evil humor drew me into the woods among the goats ;where , hearing the bleating of the young kids, I slew one , andafter two more , which made me so hardy, that I began to murder geese and pullets . Thus my crime growing by habit, thefancy so possessed me , that all was fish that was caught in mvnet . In the winter season I met with Isegrim, as he lay undera hollow tree, and he unfolded unto me how he was my uncle,and laid the pedigree down so plain , that from that day forthwe became companions . A friendship I have reason to cursefor then , indeed. began the history of our thefts and Slaughters .He stole the great prizes and I the small he murdered noble sand I the meanest subj ects and in all thes e actions his Sharewas ever the greatest . When he caught a calf, a rain , or awether , his voracity would hardly afford me the bones to pick .

When he mustered an ox or a cow,he first served himself, his

w ife , and all his family, nothing remain ing, I say , for me butthe bare bones . I state not this as having been in want, it beingwell known that I have more plate , j ewels, and coin than twentycarts would carry but only to Show his vile ingratitude .

”

When the king heard him speak of his infinite wealth hisheart grew inflamed w ith avarice and , interrupting the prisone r ,he said , Reynard , where is that treasure you speak of

1 92 REYNA RD THE FOX .

The fox proceeded as followsSince it is the pleasure of my dread lord the king, and that

his royal life lies in the balance with my present breath , I willfreely unfold this foul and capital treason, sparing no guiltyperson for any respect whatsoever, however high in greatness,blood

,or authority . Know, then, my dread lord, that my

father,by accident turn ing up the earth, found King E rm etick

’

s

treasur e, an infin ite and in calculable mass of riches, with whichhe became so vain and haughty, that he looked down upon allthe beasts of the forest with contempt, even upon his kinsmenand compan ions . At length he caused T ibert the cat to go intothe forest of Arden to Bruin the bear, and to render him hishomage and fealty ; saying, that if it would please him to beking, he must come into Flanders, where my father received himnobly . Next he sent for his wife, G rim b ard my nephew,

andfor Isegrim the wolf, with T ibert the cat. These five comingbetween G aunt and the village called E lfe , they held solemncounsel for the Space of one n ight, in which , instigated by the

devil, and confident in my father’s ri ch es, it was concluded that

your maj esty Should be murdered . They took a solemn oath tothis effect in the follow ing way Sir Bruin , my father, G rimbard, and T ibert, laid their hands on Isegrim

’s crown,and swore

to make Bruin their king ; to place him in the chair of state atA con, and set the imperial diadem on his head . T hat shouldany oppose the scheme , my father was to hire assassin s thatshould utterly chase and root them out of the forests .

After this it happened that my nephew G rim b ard , being oneday heated with wine, made a discovery of this damnable plotto D ame Slop ard his wife , commanding her also to keep itsecret . But she too, as women will, only kept it until she metw ith me, charging me to reveal it to no one She moreovergave me such proofs of its truth as to cause the very hairs ofmy head to start upright, while my heart sank cold andheavy within me like a piece Of lead . Indeed, it led me to callto mind the story of the frogs, who complained to Jupiter thatthey had no king to govern them, and he presently sent thema stork , which ate and devoured them up, and by whose tyrannythey became the most miserable of all creatures . Then theycri ed unto Jupiter for redress , but it was too late ; for thosethat will not be content w ith their freedom ,

must consequen tlybe subj ected to thraldom . Even so I feared it might happen tous ; and I grieved for the fate of your maj esty, though you

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1 94 REYN ARD THE FOX .

kinsman Were he dissembling, he might have laid his imputation upon other beasts, and not on those he loves best .

”

Well,madam

,

” replied the king, “you shall, for this time,rule me . I will give free pardon to the fox, yet under thi scondition

,that if he be ever found tripping again , though in the

smallest offense , both he and his shall be utterly rooted out ofmy domin ions . ”

T he fox looked sadly when the king spake thus withal herejoiced within himself, and he said, M ost dread lord, it werea huge Sham e in me, Should I dare to speak any untruths in thisaugust presence .” T hen the king, taking a straw from the

ground, pardoned the fox for all the transgressions which eitherhe or his father before him had comm itted . No wonder the foxnow began to sm ile , for life was most sweet to him and he felldown before the king and queen, humbly thanking them for alltheir mercies, and p rotesting that he would make them the richest pr inces ih the world . At these words the fox took up a strawand proffe ring it to the king, said to him ,

“M y dr ead lord , Ibeseech your m aj esty to receive this pledge of entire surrenderunto your majesty of the great King E rm etick

’

s treasure , withwhich I freely present you out of my free will and pleasure .

”

The king rece ived the straw, and smiling, gave the foxgreat thanks, at which the latter chuckled heartily to think ofthe grossness of the imposture . From that day forward noone ’s counsel SO much prevailed w ith the king as that Of thefox .

[Reyn ard locates the treasure in an inaccessib le wilderness , b u t declines togo with him on pretense of b eing excommun ica ted , and wishes to m ake

p ilgrimage to Rome and the H oly L and ]

The royal king mounted upon his high throne , raised in theform of a scaffold, m ade of fair square stone , and commandedthence a general silence among all his subj ects . Every one wasto take his place according to his birth or dign ity in office,except the fox, who sat between the king and the queen . The

king then spokeH ear all you noblemen

,knights

,gentlemen , and others of

inferior quality ! Sir Reynard, on e of the supreme oflicers ofmy household, whose misdeeds had brought him to his finalaccount, standing between these two quarrelsome mistresses,law and justice , hath this day recovered our best grace andfavor . He hath done that noble and worthy service to the

REYNA RD THE FOX . 1 95

state, that both myself and my queen are bound to him for.

ever . H enceforth I do command all of you, upon pain andhazard of your dearest lives, that you henceforward fail not,from this day, to Show all reverence and honor, not onl y toReynard him self, but to his whole famil y, wherever you mayhappen by night or day to meet with them . Nor let any one

hereafter be so audacious as to trouble my ears with complaintsagainst him , for he will no more b e guilty of doing wrong.

T o-morrow, very early, he sets out on a pil grimage to Rome ,where he means to pur chase a free pardon and indulgence fromthe pope and afte rwards to proceed to the H oly Land .

”

Now, when T issell en the raven heard this speech, he flew toSir Bruin, Isegrim , and T ibert, and said, Wretched creatu res !how are your fortunes changed how can you endure to hearthese tidings Why, Reynard is now a courtier, a chancell or,nay prime minister and favorite : his ofi enses are forgiven ; andyou are all betrayed and sold unto bondage .

”

Isegrim answeredNay, it i s impossible, T issel l en , nor can such an abuse b e

suffered .

”

I te ll you it can Do not deceive yourselves, it is as trueas that I now speak it .

T hen went the wolf and the bear to the king but the catrefused, and was s o sore afraid at what She heard, that to havepu rchased the fox ’s favor once more, she would have forgivennot only the in juries she had received, but have run a secondhazard . But Isegrim

,with much confidence and pride, appeared

before the king and queen, and with the most bitter wordsinveighed against the fox and in so passionate and impudenta manner withal , that the king was roused to anger, and orderedboth the wolf and the bear to b e arrested for high treason .

This was forthwith done with every m ark of violence andindignity ; the prisoners were bound hand and foot, that theycould not stir a limb, nor a step from the place where theywere couched . The fox having thus entangled them , he so farprevailed w ith the queen as to obtain as much of the bear’s skina s would m ake him a large scrip for his j ourney .

T his being put in force, he wanted nothing but a strongpair of shoes to defend his feet from the stones while he travcled . Again, therefore , he said to the queen, M adame, I amyour poor pilgrim and if it would please your majesty but totake it into your consideration

,you will perce ive that Sir Ise

1 96 REYNA RD THE FOX .

grim wears a pair of excellent long lasting ones, which wouldyou vouchsafe to bestow upon me, I would pray for your maj esty’s soul during my travels upon my charitable mission . A lsomin e aunt

, D ame E rsewind, hath other two shoes, which wouldyour maj esty bestow upon m e you would b e doing her littleinjury, as she seldom ventures abroad .

”

The queen replied, Yes , Reynard, I believe you will wantsuch shoes for your journey it is full of labor and difficulty, bothrespecting the stony hills and the gravelly highways . Therefore

,be sure you Shall have, though it touch their l ife never SO

nearly, a pair of shoes from each of them , the better to speedand accomplish your j ourney .

”

So Isegrim was taken, and his Shoes pulled off in the mostcruel manner . After being thus tormented, D ame E rsewind ,his wife, was treated in the same manner as her husband andhad the cat been there, he woul d doubtless have experiencedthe same fate, in addition to the cruel m ockery of thefox

The three friends j ourneyed on together until they came tothe gates Of Reynard’s own house . T hen he said to the ram ,

P ray, cousin, keep watch here without, whil e I and Kaywardgo in I wish him to witness my pleasure at meeting myfamily . Bellin said he would and the fox and the hare wentinto M al epardu s where they found Lady E rmelin sorrowingexceedingly for the absence of her husband . But when shesaw him, her j oy knew no bounds and she expressed heraston ishment on beholding his mail, his staff, and his Shoes .D earest husband,

” she cried, “how have you fared ?”

Reynard then related his adventures at court, adding that he wasgoing a pilgrimage, having left Bruin and Isegrim in pledgefor him till his return . As for Kayward, he added, turningtowards him , the king had bestowed him upon him to do withas he pleased, as Kayward had been the first to complain of him ,

for which he vowed deadly revenge .

He aring these words, Kayward was quite appalled, and triedto fly ; but the fox had placed himself between him and the door ,and soon seized him by the neck . Kayward cried to Bellin forhelp, but the fox had cut his throat with his sharp teeth beforehe could be heard . This done , the traitor and his family began tofeast upon him me rrily, and drank his blood to the king

’s health .

E rmelin then said, I fear, Reynard, you mock me ; as youlove me , tell me how you sped at the king

’s court .” Then he

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1 98 REYNA RD THE FOX .

cil entreated me to write, before I set out for the pilgrimage,upon some matters important to the state .

In what shall I carry these papers most safely ?” inquiredBellin

That is already provided for you, replied Reynard, “foryou shall have my scrip, which you may hang round your neckand take care of it ; they are matters of great importance .

”

Then Reynard returned into the house , and taking Kayward’s head, he thrust it into the scrip, and enj oined the ramnot to look into it, as he valued the king

’s favor, until hereached the court ; adding that he might rest assured that hispresentation of the letters to the king would pave the way tohis great preferment .Bellin thanked the fox , and being informed that he had

other ad airs to impart to Kayward, set out on his j ourneyalon e . When he arrived at court, he found the king in hispalace , seated amidst his nobility . T he king wondered whenhe saw Bellin come in with the scrip made of Bruin ’s Skin , andhe sa id , “How now, Bellin ! where is Sir Reynard, that youhave got his scrip with you ?”

“M y dread lord,” said Bellin, “I have escorted the noble

fox to his castle , when , after Short repose , he des ired me tobear certain letters to your maj esty, of vast importance , whichhe inclosed in his own scrip .

”

The king commanded the letters to be delivered to his secretary, B ocart, an excellent l inguist, who understood all languages, that he might read them publicly . So he and SirT ibert the cat took the scrip from B el l in

’

s n eck, and open ingthe same , instead of letters, drew out the bloody head of Kayward At which sight they cried out, in huge dismay Woe

,

and alas what letters call you these ? 0 dread lord, behold !here is nothing but the head of poor murdered Kayward

Seeing this, the monarch cried, Unhappy king that I am,

ever to have given credit to the traitor fox ! ” And overwhelmed with anger, grief, and shame , he held down his head agood space , as well as the queen likewise . At last Shaking hisroyal locks, he made such a tremendous noise, that a ll the lordsof the forest trembled with fear . T hen spake Sir F irap el theleopard , the king

’s nearest kinsman , and said, “What of allthis ? you are seated above all inj uries, and on e smile can salvethe greatest wound upon your honor . You have power torecompense and to punish, and you can destroy or restore repu

EARLY DUTCH POETRY . 1 99

tation as you pleas e . What if the bear lost his skin, the wolfand D ame Ersewind their shoes ? you may in recompense, sinceBellin has conf essed himself a party to this foul murder, bestowhim and his substance upon the party aggrieved . As for Reynard, we can go and besiege his castle, and having arrested hisperson, hang him up by law of arms without further trial, andthere is an end .

”

The king cons ented to this motion . P eace be ing thusrestored between the king and his nobles, Bell in was forthwiths lain ( the wolf following U p his enmity to him and his race inperpetuity) ; and afterwards the king proclaimed a grand feast,which was held with al l due solemnity during twelve days.

EARLY DUTCH P OETRY.

TRA N SLA T ED BY SIR JOHN BOWR ING .

TE E H UN TER FROM GREECE.

A HU N TER went a hunting in to the forest wide,A nd naught he found to hunt but a man whose arm s were tied.

H unter,

” quoth he,

“a wom an i s roam ing in the grove,A nd to your joyous youth-tide a deadly bane shal l prove .

t at ! shoul d I fear a woman — who never feared a man ?Then to him

,while yet speaking, the cruel woman ran .

She seized his arm s and grasped his horse’s reins

,and hied

Fu l l seventy m iles, ascending with him the mountain’s side.

The m oun tains they were lofty, the valleys deep and low,Two suckl ings dead — one turn ing upon a spit he saw .

“A nd am I doomed to perish, as I these perish seeThen may I curse my fortune that I a G reek should be.Wh at ! are you th en from G reece for my husband is a G reek

A nd tell m e of your parents perchance I know them speak.

“But should I nam e them,they m ay to you be all unknown

M y fath er is the monarch of G reece, and I his son ;A nd M argaret h is consort — my mother too is sh e ;You well m ay know the i r titles, and they my parents be .

”

The mona rch of the G recian s — a com ely man and gayBut should you ne

’er grow tal ler, what boots your l ife, I pray ?”

t y should I not grow taller ? I bu t eleven years have seen ;I hOp e I shal l grow tal ler than trees in the forest green .

”

H ow hope you to grow taller than trees in the forest greenI have a maiden daughter, a young and graceful queen,

200 EA RLY DUTCH POETRY .

And on her head she weareth a crown of p earls so fine ;But not e’en wooing monarchs should have that daughter m ine.

U pon her breast she beareth a l ily and a sword,A nd even hel l ’s black tenants al l trem b le at her word .

“Y ou boast so of your daughter, I w ish she’d cross my way,

I ’d steal her kisses slyly, and b id her a good day.

”

I have a l ittle courser that’s swifter than the wind,I ’l l lend it to you slyly go seek - the m aiden find .

”

Then b ravely on the courser gal loped the hunter l ad ;“F arewell ! black hag, farewel l ! for your daughter is too bad.

”

O had I , as th is morning, you in my clutch es back,You dared not then have cal led m e you dared not cal l m e black.

’

She struck the tree in fury with a club stick which she took,T ill the trees in the greenwood trembled, and al l the green leavesshook.

THE F ETTERED N I GHT I N GA LE .

Now I wil l speed to the E astern land,for there my sweet love

dwel ls,Over hill and over valley, far over the heather, for there my sweet

love dwel ls :A nd two fai r trees are stand ing at the gates of my sweet love,One bears the fragrant nutm eg, and one the fragrant clove .The nutm egs were so round, and the cloves they sm elt so sweet,I thought a knight would court m e

, and but a m ean man m eet.The m aiden by the hand , by her snow-white hand he l ed,A nd th ey traveled far away to where a couch was spread ;A nd there they lay concealed through the loving l ivelong night,From evening to the m orning til l broke the gay dayl ight ;A nd the sun is gone to rest, and the stars are shining clear,I fain would hide m e now in an orchard w ith my dear ;A nd none should enter then my orchard

’s deep alcove,

But the p roud nightingale that carols high above.We’ll chain the nightingale his head unto his feet

,

A nd he no m ore shal l chatter of lovers when they m eet.I ’m not less faithful now

,although in fetters bound,

A nd stil l w il l chatter on of two sweet lovers’ wound .

TH E KN I GH T A N D H I S SQU I RE .

A Knight and his E squire did stray S antio 1

I n the narrow path and the gloomy way, — N on weder

1 The chorus of this Rom ance isSantio

Non weder de kneder de koorde sante janteIko, kantiko di kandelaar sti.

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202 M A NDE VILLE’

S TRAVELS.

that was hardy and doughty in arms , said that he would kissher

.And when he was upon his courser, and went to the

cas tle , and ente red into the cave , the dragon lift up her headagainst him

.And when the knight saw her in that form so

h ideous and so horrible , he fled away . And the dragon barethe knight upon a rock , mauger his head and from that rockshe cast him into the sea and so was lost both horse and man .

And also a young man , that w ist not of the dragon, went out ofa ship

,and went through the Isle, till that he came to the castle,

and cam e in to the cave , and went so long till that he found achamber

,and there he saw a damsel that combed her head, and

looked in a mirror and she had much treasure about her, andhe trowed that she had been a common woman , that dwelledthere to receive men to folly . And he abode, till the damselsaw the shadow of him in the mirror. And she turned hertowa rd him, and asked him, what he would . And he said, hewould be her leman or paramour . And she asked him if thathe we re a knight . And he said, nay . And then she said thathe might not be her lem an : but she bade him go again unto hisfell ows, and make him kn ight, and come again upon the morrow, and she should come out of the cave before him , and thencome and kiss her on the mouth, and have no dread ; “For Ishall do thee no manner of harm, albeit that thou see m e inliken ess of a dragon . For though thou see me hideous andhorrible to look on, I do thee to w itness, that it is made byenchantment . For without doubt, I am none other than thouseest now, a woman ; and therefore dread thee naught . Andif thou kiss me , thou shalt have all this treasure , and be mylord, and lord also of all that isle .

” And he departed from herand went to his fel lows to ship , and let make him knight, andcame again upon the morrow, for to kiss this damsel . Andwhen he saw her come out of the cave , in form of a dragon , sohideous and so horrible , he had so great dread , that he fledagain to the ship ; and she followed him . And when she sawthat he turned not again, she began to cry , as a thing thathad much sor row : and then she turned again , into her cave ;and anon the kn ight died . And since then

,hitherwards

,might

no knight see her, but that he died anon . But when a knightcometh, that is so hardy to kiss her , he shall not die ; but heshall turn the dam sel into her right form and kindly shape

,and

he shal l be lord of all the countries and isles abovesaid .

M ANDEVILLE’

S TRAVELS. 203

OF THE QuA L rTrE s OF THE RI GHT BA LM .

And wyte ye well that, that a man ought to take good kepefor to buy balm, but if he can know it right well : for he mayright lightly be deceived . For men sell a gum , that men cl epenturpentine, instead of balm and they put thereto a little balmfor to give good odor . And some put wax in oil of the wood ofthe fruit of balm , and say that it is balm and some distill clovesof gil lyflower and of spikenard of Spain and of other spices, thatbe well smelling ; and the liquor that goeth out thereof theyclepe it balm and they wean that they have balm and theyhave none . For the Saracens counterfeit it by subtilty of craft,for to dece ive the Christian men , as I have see full many a time .

And after them , the merchants and the apothecaries counterfeitit eftsoons, and then it is less worth, and a great deal worse . Butif it l ike you, I shall show, how ye shall know and prove, to theend that ye shall not be deceived . First ye shall well know,

that the natural balm is full clear, and of citron color, and strongsmelling . And if it be thick , or red, or black , it is sophisticate,that is to say coun terfe ited and made like it, for deceit .

THE CA STLE OF THE SP A RROW HA W K .

And from thence , men go through little E rmonye . And inthat country is an old castle , that stands upon a rock, the whichis cleped the C astle of the Sparrowhawk , that is beyond the cityof L ayays , beside the town of P harsipee , that belongeth to thelordship of Oruk that is a rich lord and a good Christian man ;where men find a sparrowhawk upon a perch right fair, and rightwell made ; and a fair Lady of F ayrye , that keepeth it . Andwho that w ill wake that Sparrowhawk , 7 days and 7 nights, anda s some men say, 3 days and 3 n ights , without com pany andwithout sleep

,that fair lady shall give him , when he hath done ,

the fi rst w ish,that he w ill wish , of earthly things : and that

hath been proved oftentimes . And 0 time befel l , that a king ofE rm onye , that was a worthy kn ight and a doughty m an and anoble prince

,woke that hawk some time ; and at the end of 7

days and 7 n ights, the lady came to him and bade him wish ;for he had well deserved it . And he answe red that he was greatlord the now

,and well in peace , and had enough of worldly

riches and therefore he would wish none other thing, but the

204 M A NDEVILLE’

S TRAVELS.

body of that fair lady, to have it at his will . And she answeredhim, that he knew not what he asked ; and said, that he was afool

,to desire that he might not have : for she said, that he

should not ask, but earthly thing for she was no earthly thing,

b ut a ghostly thing . And the king said, that he would ask noneother thing . And the lady answered, “Sith that I may notw ithdraw you from your lewd courage, I shall give you withoutwishing, and to all them that shall come of you . Sire King, yeshall have war w ithout peace , and always to the 9 degree, yeshall be in subjection of your enemies and ye shall be needyof all goods . ” And never since, neither the King of E rm onye,

nor the country, were never in peace, nor they had never sinceplenty of goods and they have been s ince always under tributeof the Saracens . Also the son of a poor man woke that hawk

,

and w ished that he might cheve well, and to be happy to merchandise . And the lady granted him . And he became the mostrich and the most famous merchant, that might be on sea or onearth . And he became so rich, that he knew not the 1 000 partof that he had : and he was w iser, in wishing, than was theking . Also a Knight of the T emple woke there and wished apurs e ever more full of gold and the lady granted him . Butshe said him , that he had asked the destruction of their Orderfor the trust and the affiance of that purse, and for the greatpride , that they should have : and so it was . And thereforelook he kepe him well , that shall wake : for if he sleep , he islost, that never man shall see him more . This is not the rightway for to go to the parts, that I have named before but forto see the marvel, that I have spoken of .

THE STA TE OF P RE STER JOHN .

This Emperor P rester John , when he goeth in to battle,against any other lord , he hath no banners borne before himbut he hath three crosses of gold, fine, great, and high, full ofprecious stones : and every of the crosses be set in a chariot,full richly arrayed . And for to keep every cross, be ordained

men of arms, and more than men on foot, inm ann e r as men would keep a standard in our countries, whenthat we be in land of war . And this number of folk i s w ithoutthe principal host, and without w ings ordained for the battle .And when he hath no war, b u t rideth with a privy retinue , thenhe hath borne before him but a cross of tree

,without peinture,

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200 THE B ATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

THE BATTLE OF OTT ERBOURNE .

(F rom F rois sart’s Chronicle ”)

[F or b iograph ical sketch , see p age

I H A VE before related in this history the troubles whichKing Richard of E ngland had suffered from his quarrel withhis uncles . By advice of the Archbishop of C anterbury

,and

the king’s new council, the Lord Neville, who had commandedthe defense of the frontiers of Northumberland for five yearsagainst the Scots, was dismissed, and Sir H enry P ercy appointedin his stead

,which circumstance created much animosity and

hatred between the P ercys and the Nevilles . The barons andkn ights of Scotland, considering this a favorable opportunity,now that the English were quarreling among themselves

,

determined upon an inroad into the country, in order to makesome return for the many in sults that had been offered tothem . That their intention m ight not be known, they appointed a feast to be holden at Aberdeen , on the borders of theH ighlands this feast the greater part of the barons attended

,

and it was then resolved that in the middle of August, in theyear 1 888 , they should assemble all their forces at a castlecalled Jedworth , situated amidst deep forests on the borders ofCumberland . When all things were arranged the barons separated , but never mentioned on e word of their inten tion s to theking ; for they said among themselves that he knew nothingabout war . On the day appointed James, E arl of D ouglas,first arrived at Jedworth , then came John , E arl of M oray , theE arl of M arch and D unbar, William , E arl of Fife , John , E arlof Sutherland, Stephen, E arl of M enteith, William, E arl ofM ar, Sir Archibald D ouglas, Sir Robert E rskine , and verymany other kn ights and squires of Scotland . There had notbeen for sixty years so numerous an assembly — they amountedto 1 200 spears

,and other men and archers . W ith the

us e of the bow the Scots are but little acquain ted, but theysling their axes over their shoulders

,and when in battle give

very deadly blows with them . The lords were well pleased atmeeting, and declared they would never return home withouthaving m ade an inroad into E ngland and the more completelyto combine their plan s

,they fixed another meeting to be held

at a church in the forest of Jedworth called Zedon .

Intell igence was carried to the E arl of Northumberland , to

THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE . 207

the Seneschal of York , and to Sir M atthew Redman , governorof Berwick , of the great feast which was to b e kept at Aberdeen , and in order to learn what was done at it, these lords sen tthither heralds and minstrels , at the same time making everypreparation in case of an inroad ; for they said if the Scotsenter the country through Cumberland, by C arlisle , we willride into Scotland, and do them more damage than they can doto us , for the irs is an open country, which can be entered anywhere ; but ours , on the contrary, contains well-fortified townsand castles . In order to be more sur e of the intentions ofthe Scots, they resolved to send an E nglish gentleman , wellacquainted w ith the country , to the meeting in the forest ofJedworth, of which the minstrels told them . The Englishsquire j ourneyed without interruption un til he came to thechurch of Yetholm, where the Scottish barons were assembled ;he entered it as a servant follow ing his master, and heard thegreater part of their plans . When the meeting was near breaking up , he left the church on his return , and went to a treethinking to find his horse

,which he had tied there by the bridle

,

but it was gone , for a Scotsman ( they are all thieves) had stolenhim ; and being fearful of making a noise about it, he set off onfoot, though booted and spur red . He had not, however, gonemore than two bowshots from the church before he was noticedby two Scottish knights, who were conversing together .

The first who saw him said,

“I have witnessed many wonderfu l things, but what I now s ee is equal to any ; that manyonder has , I believe , lost his horse , and yet he makes no inquiryabout it . On my troth , I doubt much if he belongs to us letus go after him and ascertain . The two knights soon overtook him , when they asked him where he was going, whence hecame , and what he had don e with his horse . As he contradictedhimself in his an swers

,they laid hands on him, saying that he

must come before their captain s . U pon which , they broughthim back to the church of Yetholm, to the E arl of D ouglas andthe other lords, who examined him closely, for they knew himto be an E ngl ishman

,and assured him that if he did not truly

answer all their question s,his head should be struck off , but if

he did , no harm should happen to him . H e obeyed, thoughvery unwillingly, for the love of life prevailed ; and the Scotsbarons learnt that he had been sent by the E arl of Northumberland to discover the number of their forces, and whither theywere to march . H e was then asked where the barons of North

208 THE BA TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

umb erl and were ? If they had any intention of making an excursion ? Also what road they would take to Scotland, along thesea from Berwick to D unbar, or by the mountains through thecountry of M ente ith to Stirling . H e replied , Since you willforce me to tell the truth , when I left Newcastle there were notany signs of an excursion being made ; but the barons are allready to set out at a minute ’s warning, as soon as they shallhear that you have entered E ngland . They will not Opposeyou

,for they are not in number sufficient to meet so large a

body as you are reported to be .” And at what do they estimate our numbers ? ” said Lord M oray . T hey say, my lord,

”

replied the squire , “that you have full men and 1 200spears

,and by way of counteracting your career, should you

march to Cumberland, they will take the road through Berwickto D unbar, D alkeith , and E dinburgh ; if you follow the otherroad they will then march to Carlisle, and enter your countryby these mountains . ” The Scottish lords, on hearing this, weresilent, but looked at each other . The E nglish squire was del ivered to the governor of the castle of Jedworth , with orders toguard him carefully . The barons were in high spirits at theintelligence they had received, and considered their success ascertain , now they knew the disposition of the enemy . Theyheld a council as to their mode of proceeding, at which thewisest and most accustomed to arms, such as Sir ArchibaldD ouglas, the E arl of Fife , Sir Alexander Ramsay, and others ,said, “that to avoid any chance of failing in their attempt,they would advise the army to be divided, and two expeditionsto be made , so that the enemy might be puzzled whither tomarch their forces . The largest division with the baggageshould go to Carlis le in Cumberland, and the others, consistingof three or four hundred spears and 2000 stout infantry andarchers, all well mounted, should make for Newcastle-on -Tyne ,cross the river, and en ter D urham , spoil ing and burn ing thecountry . They will have committed great waste in England

,

”

they continued, “before our enemy can have any informationof their being there ; if we find they come in pursuit of us,which they certainly will , we will then unite , and fix on aproper place to offer them battle

,as we all seem to have that

desire , and to be anxious to gain honor ; for it is time to repaythem some of the mischief they have don e to u s .

”T his plan

was adopted, and Sir Archibald D ouglas, the E arl of Fife , theE arl of Sutherland, the E arl of M enteith , the E arl of M ar, the

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21 0 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

and there was not a town in all this district, unless wellinclosed

,that was not burnt .

All the knights and squires of the country collected at Newcastle thither came the Seneschal of York , Sir Ralph Langley,Sir M atthew Redman , Sir Robert Ogle , Sir John Felton, SirWilliam Walsingham , and so many others, that the town couldnot lodge them all . T hese three Scottish lords, having com

p leted the object of their first expedition in D urham, lay threedays before Newcastle , where there was an almost continualskirmish . The son s of the E arl of Northumberland, from theirgreat courage , were always first at the barriers . The E arl ofD ouglas had a long conflict with Sir H enry P ercy, and in it, bygallantry of arms, won his pennon, to the great vexation of SirH enry and the other E nglish . The earl , as he bore away hisprize , said, I will carry this token of your prowess with me toScotland , and place it on the tower of my castle at D alkeith,that it may be seen from far . ” By G od , repli ed Sir H enry,“you shall not even bear it out of Northumberland b e assuredyou shall never have this pennon to brag of .” You mustcome this night and seek it, then, answered E arl D ouglas ;“I will fix your pennon before my tent, and shall see if youwill venture to take it away .

” As it was now late, the skirmishended, and each party retired to their quarters . They hadplenty of everything, particularly fresh meat. The Scots keptup a very strict watch , concluding from the words Of Sir H enryP ercy that their quarters would be beaten up in the nighttimehowever, they were disappointed, for Sir H enry was advised todefer his attack . On the morrow the Scots dislodged fromNewcastle, and taking the road to their own country came to atown and castle called P onclau , of which Sir Raymond de Lavalwas lord here they halted about four O’clock in the morning,and made preparations for an assault, which was carried on withsuch courage that the place was easily won, and Sir Raymondmade prisoner . They then marched away for Otterbourn e,which is eight E nglish leagues from Newcastle , and there em

camped . This day they made no attack, but very early on themorrow the trumpet sounded , when all advanced towards thecastle, which was tolerably strong, and situated among marshes .After a long and unsuccessful attack

,they were forced to retire ,

and the chiefs held a council how they should act . The greaterpart were for decamping on the morrow

,j oin ing their coun

trym en in the neighborhood of Carlisle . T his, however, the

THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE . 21 1

E arl of D ouglas overruled by saying, In despite of Sir H enryP ercy, who, the day before yesterday, declared he woul d takefrom me his pennon, I will not depart hence for two or threedays . We will renew our attack on the castle, for it is to betaken

,and we shall see if he will come for his pennon .

”E very

one agreed to what E arl D ouglas said . They made huts oftree s and branches, and fortified themselves as well as theycould

,placing their baggage and servants at the entrance of

the marsh, on the road to Newcastle, and dri ving the cattle in tothe marsh lands .I will now return to Sir H enry and Sir Ralph P ercy, who

w ere both greatly mortified that this E arl of D ouglas shouldhave conquered their pennon, and who felt the disgrace themore because Sir H enry had not kept his word . The Englishimagined the army under the E arl of D ouglas to be only thevan of the Scots, and that the main body was behind , for whichreason those knights who had the most experience in armsstrongly Opposed the proposal of Sir H enry P ercy to pursuethem . They said, “M any losses happen in war ; if the E arlof D ouglas has won your pennon he has bought it dear enough

,

and another time you will gain from him as much, if not more .

The whole power of Scotland have taken the field . We are

not strong enough to offer them battle perhaps this skirmishmay have been onl y a trick to draw us out of the town . It ismuch better to lose a pennon than 200 or 300 knights andsquires, and leave our country in a defenseless state .

”This

spe ech checked the eagerness Of the two P ercys, when othernews was brought them by some knights and squires, who hadfol lowed and observed the Scots, their number and dispos ition .

Sir H enry and Ralph P ercy,” they said, “we are come to tell

you that we have followed the Scottish army, and Observed allthe country where they now are . T hey halted first at P ontland, and took Sir Raymond de Laval in his castle . T hencethey went to Otterbourne, and took up their quarters for thenight . We are ignoran t of what they did on the morrow butthey seemed to have taken measures for a long stay . We knowfor certain that the army does not consist of more than 3000men

,including all sorts . Sir H enry P ercy, on hearing this,

was greatly rejoiced, and cried out, “To horse , to horse ! Forby the faith I owe to my God, and to my lord and father, I wills eek to recover my pennon, and beat up the Scots

’ quarters thisnight .” Such knights and squires in N ewcas tle as learnt this

,

21 2 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

and were willing to be of the party, made themselves ready.

The Bishop of D urham was daily expected at that town, for hehad heard that the Scots lay before it, and that the sons of theE arl of Northumberland were preparing to off er them battle .The bishop had collected a number of men, and was hasteningto their assistance ; but Sir H enry P ercy would not wait, forhe had with him 600 spears of knights and squires, and upwardsof 8000 infantry, which he said would be more than enoughto fight the Scots, who were but 300 lances and 2000 others .When all were assembled, they left Newcastle after dinner, andtook the field in good array, following the road the Scots hadtaken towards Otterbourne, which was only eight short leaguesdistant .

The Scots were supping, and some indeed asleep, when theEnglish arrived, and mistook, at the entrance , the huts of theservants for those of their masters they forced their way intothe camp, which was tolerably strong, shouting out, “P ercy,P ercy ! ” In such cases, you may suppose, an alarm is soongiven, and it was fortunate for the Scots the English had madethe first attack upon the servants’ quarters, which checked themsome little . The Scots, expecting the E nglish, had preparedaccordingly for, while the lords were arming themselves, theyordered a body of the infantry to j oin their servants and keepup the skirmish . As their men were armed, they formed themselves under the pennons of the three principal barons, whoeach had his particular appointment .In the mean time the night advanced but it was sufficiently

light for them to see what they were doing, for the moon shone,and it was the month of August, when the weather is temperateand s erene . When the Scots were properly arrayed, they leftthe camp in silence, but did not march to meet the English .

D uring the preceding day they had well examined the country,and settled their plans beforehand, which, indeed, was the saving of them . The English had soon overpowered the servantsbut as they advanced into the camp they found fresh bodiesof men ready to oppose them and to continue the fight . The

Scots, in the mean time , marched along the mountain side , andfell on the enemy’s flank quite unexpectedly, shouting the ir warcries . This was a great surprise to the E nglish, who, however,formed themselves in better order and reinforced that part ofthe army .

The cries of P ercy and D ouglas resounded on each side.

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214 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

play between them, nor do they shrink from combat ; and in

the further details of this battle you will see as excellent deedsas were ever pe rformed . The knights and squires of eitherparty were most anxious to continue the combat with vigor, aslong as their Spears might be capable of holding . C owardicewas unknown among them, and the most splendid courageeverywhere exhibited by the gallant youths of England andScotland ; they were so densely intermixed that the archers

’

bows were useless, and they fought hand to hand, withouteither battalion giving way . The Scots behaved most valiantly, for the English were thre e to one . I do not meanto say that the E nglish did not acquit themselves wel l ; forthey would sooner be slain or made prisoners in battle thanreproached with flight .As I before mentioned, the two banners of D ouglas and

P ercy met, and the men at arms under each exerted themselvesby every means to gain the victory ; but the English, at theattack, were so much the stronger that the Scots were drivenback . The E arl of D ouglas, seeing his men repul sed, seized abattle-ax with both his hands and, in order to rally his forces,dashed into the midst of his enemies, and gave such blows toall around him that no one could withstand them , but all madeway for him on every side . Thus he advanced like anotherH ector, thinking to conquer the field by his own prowess , untilhe was met by three spears that were pointed at him . One

struck him on the shoulder, another on the stomach, near thebell y, and the third entered his thigh . As he could not disengagehimself from these spears, he was borne to the ground, stillfighting desperately . From that moment, he never rose again .

Some of his knights and squires had followed him, but not allfor, though the moon shone, it was rather dark . The threeE nglish lances knew they had struck down some person of considerab l e rank, but never supposed it was E arl D ouglas ; for, hadthey known it, they would have redoubled their courage, and thefortune of the day would have been determined to their side .

The Scots also were ignorant of their loss until the battle wasover and it was fortunate for them, for otherwise they wouldcertainly from despair have been discomfited . As soon as theearl fell his head was cleaved with a battle-ax, a spear thrustthrough his thigh, and the main body of the E nglish marchedover him without once supposing him to be their principalenemy. In another part of the field the E arl of M arch and

THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE . 21 5

D unbar fought valiantly, and the E nglish gave full employmentto the Scots, who had followed the E arl of D ouglas, and hadengaged w ith the two P ercys . The E arl of M oray behaved sogallantly in pursuing the E nglish , that they knew not how toresist him . Of all the battles, great or small, that have beendescribed in this history, this of which I am now speaking wasthe best fought and the most severe for there was not a man,knight, or squire who did not acquit himself gallantly hand tohand with the enemy . The sons Of the E arl of Northumberland,Sir H enry and Sir Ralph P ercy , who were the leaders Of the

expedition, behaved themselves like good knights . An accident befe ll Sir Ralph P ercy , almost similar to that which happened to the E arl of D ouglas ; having advanced too far, he wassurrounded by the enemy and severely wounded, and being outof breath surrendered himself to a Scottish knight, called SirJohn M axwell, who was of the household of the E arl of M oray .

As soon as he was made prisoner the knight asked him who hewas . Sir Ralph was so weakened by loss of blood that he hadscarcely time to avow himself to be Sir Ralph P ercy . Well,repli ed the knight, “Sir Ralph, rescued or not, you are myprisoner : my name is M axwell . ” “I agree , said Sir Ralph ;“but pay me some attention, for I am so desperately woundedthat my drawers and greaves are full of blood .

”Upon this,

the Scottish knight took care of him, and suddenly hearing thecry of M oray hard by, and perceiving the earl

’s banner advanc ing, Sir John addressed himself to him , and said, M y lord, Ipresent you with Sir Ralph P ercy as a prisoner ; but let himbe well attended to, for he i s very badly wounded . The earlwas much pleased, and said, M axwell, thou hast well earnedthy spurs this day .

”H e then ordered his men to take care of

Sir Ralph , and bind up his wounds . The battle still continuedto rage , and no one , at that moment , could say which sidewould be the conquerors . T here were many captures and rescues which never came to my knowledge . T he young E arlof D ouglas had performed wonders during the day . When hewas struck down there was a great crowd round him, and hewas unable to raise himself, for the blow on his head was mortal .H is men had followed him as closely as they were able , andthere came to him his cousins, Sir James Lindsay, Sir John andSir Walter Sinclair, with other knights and squires . T heyfound by his side a gallant knight who had constantly attendedhim, who was his chaplain , but who at this time had exchanged

21 6 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

his profession for that Of a valiant man at arms . The wholen ight he had followed the earl, with his battle -ax in hand, andby his exertion had more than once repulsed the E nglish . H is

name was Sir William of North Berwick . T 0 say the truth,

he was well formed in all his limbs to shine in battle , and inthis combat was himself severely wounded . When theseknights came to the E arl of D ouglas they found him in a melanchol y state , as we ll as one of his kn ights, Sir Robert H art,who had fought by his side the whole of the night, and nowlay beside him covered with fifte en wounds from lances andother weapon s . Sir John Sinclair asked the earl, “C ousin ,how fares it with you ? ” But so so ,

” he replied ; “thanksto G od , there are but few of my ancestors who have died inchambers or in their beds . I bid you, therefore , revenge mydeath , for I have but l ittle hope of living, as my heart becomesevery minute more faint . D o you , Walter and Sir John, raiseup my banner, for it is on the ground, owing to the death ofSir D avid Campbell, that valiant squire, who bore it, and whothis day refused knighthood from my hands, though he wasequal to the most eminent knight for courage and loyalty .

Also, continue to shout D ouglas I but do not tell friend or foewhether I am in your company or not ; for should the enemyknow the truth they will greatly rej oice .

”The two S inclairs

and Sir James Lindsay obeyed his orders .The banner was raised, and “D ouglas shouted . T hose

men who had remained b ehind, hearing the shout of D ouglas sooften repeated, ascended a small eminence , and pushed theirlances with such courage that the English were repu lsed andmany killed . The Scots, by thus valiantly driving the enemybeyond the spot where E arl D ouglas lay dead, for he had ex

p ired on giving his last orders, arrived at his banner, whichwas borne by Sir John Sinclair . Numbers were continuallyincreasing, from the repeated shouts of D ouglas , and the greaterpart of the Scottish knights and squires were now there .

Among them were the E arls of M oray and M arch, with theirbanners and men . When all the Scots were thus collected,they renewed the battle w ith greater vigor than before . T o

say the truth , the E nglish had harder work than the Scots, forthey had come by a forced march that evening from NewcastleOn -Tyne, which was eight E nglish leagues distant, to meet theScots ; by which mean s the greater part were exce edinglyfatigued before the combat began . The Scots , on the contrary,

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21 8 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

in sufficient numbers, none of the E nglish would have escapeddeath or captivity and if Sir Archibald D ouglas, the E arl ofFife

,the E arl Of Sutherland, with the division that had marched

for Carlisle , had been there , they would have taken the Bishopof D urham and the town of Newcastle, as I shall explain to you.

The sam e evening that Sir H enry and Sir Ralph P ercy hadleft Newcastle

,the Bishop of D urham, with the remainder of

the forces of that district, had arrived there and supped . Whileseated at table , he considered that he should not act very honorably if he remained in the town while his countrymen hadtaken the field . In consequence he rose up , ordered his horsesto be saddl ed, and his trumpet to sound for his men to preparethey amounted in all to 7000 that is, 2000 on horseback and5000 on foot . Although it was now night, they took the roadtowards Otterbourne , and they had not advanced a league fromNewcastle when intelligence was brought that the E nglish wereengaged with the Scots . On this the bishop halted his men ,and several more joined them, out of breath from the combat .On being asked how the affair went on , they replied, “Badl yand unfortunately . We are defeated, and the Scots are closeat our heels .

”T he second intelligence being worse than the

first, gave alarm to several, who broke from their ranks andwhen, shortly after, crowds came to them flying, they werepanic-struck , and so frightened with the bad news that theBishop of D urham could not keep 500 of his men together .Now, supposing a large body had come upon them, and followedthem to the town, would not much mischief have ensued ?T hose acquainted with arms imagin e the alarm would havebeen so great that the Scots would have forced their way intothe place with them.

When the bishop saw his own men thus j oin the runawaysin their flight, he demanded of Sir William de Lu ssy, Sir

Thomas C lifford, and other knights of his company, what theywere now to do ? These knights e ither could not or would notadvise him ; so at length the bishop said, G entlemen, everything considered, there i s no honor in foolhardiness, nor is itrequisite that to one misfortune we should add another . Ou r

men are defeated, and we cannot remedy it . We must, therefore, return this night to Newcastle, and to-morrow we willmarch and find our enemies .” Upon this, they all marchedback to Newcastle .

I must say something of Sir M atthew Redman, who had

THE BA TTLE OF OTTERB OURNE . 21 9

mounted his horse to escape from the battle , as he alone couldnot recover the day . On his departure, he was noticed by SirJames Lindsay, a val iant Scottish knight, who, with his battleax hung at his neck and his spear in hand, through courage andthe hope of gain, mounted his horse to pursue him . When soclose that he might have struck him with his lance

,he cried

out, Sir kn ight, turn about, it is disgraceful thus to fly I amJames Lindsay, and if you do not turn , I will drive my spearinto your back .

”Sir M atthew m ade no reply, but spurred his

horse harder than before . In this state did the chas e last forthree miles, when Sir M atthew

’s horse stumbling under him,he

leaped Off, drew his sword, and put himself in a posture ofdefen se . The Scottish knight made a thrust at his breast w ithhis lance but Sir M atthew escaped the blow by writhing hisbody

,the point of the lance was buried in the ground

,and Sir

M atthew cut it in two with his sword . Sir James upon thisdismounted, grasped his battle-ax, which was slung across hisshoulder

,and handled it after the Scottish mann er, with one

hand , most dexterously, attacking the knight with renewedcourage . T hey fought for a long time , on e with his battle-axand the other with his sword, for there was no one to preventthem . At last, however, Sir James laid about him such heavyblows that Sir M atthew was quite out of breath, and , desiringto surrender, said, Lindsay, I yield myself to you Indeed

,

repl ied the Scottish knight, “rescued or not ?” I consent

,

said Sir M atthew .

“You will take good care of me T hatI will,

” replied Sir James and, upon this, Sir M atthew put hissword into the scabbard and said, Now, what do you require ,for I am your prisoner by fair conquest ? ” What is it youwish me to do ? ” replied Sir James . I should like ,

” said SirM atthew,

“to return to Newcastle , and within fifteen days Iwill come to you in any part of Scotland you shall appoint .

I agree ,” said Sir James, on your pledging yourself to be in

Edinburgh within three weeks .” And when this condition hadbeen sworn to , each sought

'

his horse , which was pasturing hardby

,and rode away, Sir James to join his compan ions, and Sir

M atthew to Newcastle . Sir James, from the darkness of then ight

,mistook his road , and fell in w ith the Bishop of D urham ,

and about 500 E nglish , whom he mistook for his own friends inpursuit of the enemy . When in the midst of them , those nearest asked who he was, and he replied, “I am Sir James Lindsay ; upon which the bishop, who was within hearing, pushed

220 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

forward and said, “Lindsay, you are a prisoner . And whoare you ? ” said Lindsay . I am the Bishop of D urham . Sir

James then told the bishop that he had just captured SirM atthew Redman , and ran somed him , and that he had returnedto Newcastle under a promise to come to him in three weeks’

time .

Before day dawned after the battle the field was clear of comb atants ; the Scots had retired within the camp , and had sentscouts and parties of light horse towards Newcastle , and on theadj acent roads, to observe whether the Engli sh were collectingin any large bodies, that they might not b e surprised a secondtime . This was wisely done ; for when the Bishop of D urhamwas return ed to Newcastle and had disarmed himself, he wasvery melancholy at the unfortunate news he had heard thathis cousins the son s of the E arl of Northumberland, and all thekn ights who had followed them, were either taken or s lain ; hesen t for all knights and squires at the time in Newcastle, andrequested to know if they would suffer things to remain in theirpresent state, since it was very disgraceful that they should re

turn without ever seeing their enemies . They therefore helda council , and determined to arm themselves by sunrise, marchhorse and foot after the Scots to Otterbourne, and offer thembattle . This resolution was published throughout the town ,and the trumpet sounded at the hour appointed ; upon whichthe whole army made themselves ready, and were drawn upbefore the bridge .About sunrise they left Newcastle, through the gate leading

to Berwick, and followed the road to Otterbourne includinghorse and foot, they amounted to men . They had notadvanced two leagues when it was signified to the Scots thatthe Bishop of D urham had rallied his troop, and was on hismarch to give them battle . Sir M atthew, on his return toNewcastle, told the event of the battle , and of his being madeprisoner by Sir James Lindsay, and to his surprise he learnedfrom the bishop or some of his people that Sir James had in histurn been taken prisoner by the bishop . As soon, therefore , asthe bishop had quitted Newcastle, Sir M atthew went to seekfor Sir James, whom he found at his lodgings very s orrowful,and who said on seeing him , I believe , Sir M atthew, there willbe no need of your coming to E dinburgh to obtain your ransom , for as I am now a prison er, we may finish the matter here,if my master consent to it . ” T O this Redman replied by invito

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222 THE B A TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE .

they departed each to his own country, and those who had prisoners carried them with them, or ransomed them before theyleft M elrose . It was told me, and I believe it, that the Scotsgained francs by the ransoms and that never since thebattle of Bannockburn , when the Bruce , Sir William D ouglas,Sir Robert de V ersy, and Sir Simon Frazer pursued the Engl ish for three days, have they had so complete or so gainful avictory . When the news of it was brought to Sir ArchibaldD ouglas, the E arls of Fife and Sutherland, before Carlisle,where they were with the larger division of the army, theywere‘ greatly rejoiced, though at the same time vexed that theyhad not been present . They held a council, and determinedto retreat into Scotland, since their companions had alreadymarched thither .

THE BA TTLE OF OTTERB OU RNE .

(F rom the Old b allad . )

When P ercy wi’ the D ouglas m et,

I wat he was fu ’ fain !They swakked their swords

,ti l l sair they

A nd the blood ran down like rain .

But P ercy with his good broadsword,That could so sharply wound

,

H as wounded D ouglas on the brow,T il l he fel l to the ground .

Then he called on his l ittle foot page,A nd said

,

“Run sp eedil ie,A nd fetch my ain dear sister

’s son,Sir H ugh M ontgom ery.

”

M y nephew good,” the D ouglas said,

What recks the death of aneL ast nigh t I dream ed a dreary dream,

A nd I ken the day’s thy ain .

“M y wound i s deep, I fain would sleep ;Take thou the vanguard of the three

A nd hide m e by the b raken bush,

That grows on yonder l ilye lee .

O bury m e by the b raken bush,Beneath the bloom ing brier ;

THE BA TTLE OF OTTERBOURNE . 223

L et never l iving mortal ken,That ere a kindl y Scot lies here.

”

H e lifted up that noble lord,

W i’ the saut tear in his ee ;H e hid him in the b raken bush,That his m errie men m ight not see .

The moon was clear,the day drew near,

The spears in flinders fiew ;But m ony a gal lant E ngl ishmanE re day the Scotsm en slew.

The G ordons good, in Engl ish bloodThey steeped the i r hose and shoon

The L indsays flew l ike fire aboutT i l l all the fray was done .

The P ercy and M ontgomery met,That e ither of other were fain ;

They swapped swords,and they twa swat

,

A nd aye the blood ran down between .

“Now, yield thee, yield thee, P ercy,” he said

,“Or else I vow I’l l lay thee low ! ”To whom must I yield ,

” quoth E arl P ercy,“Now that I see it must be so

Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,

Nor yet shalt thou y ield to m e ;

But yield thee to the b raken bush,That grows upon yonder l ilye lee .

I wil l not y ield to a b raken bush,Nor yet w il l I yield to the brier ;But I would y ield to E arl D ouglas,Or Sir Hugh the M ontgom ery, if he were hire.

As soon as he knew it was M ontgom ery,H e stuck his sword’s point in the gronde

The M ontgom ery was a courteous knight,A nd quickly took him by the honde .

This deed was done at the Otterbourne,About the breaking of the day ;

E arl D ouglas was buried at the b raken bush,And the P ercy l ed captive away.

221 A CHA P TER OF FROISSA RT .

A CHAP TER OF FROISSART .

B Y AU STIN DOB SON .

[HE NRY A USTIN D OB SON : E nglish p oet and b iographer ; b orn at P lymouth ,England , January 1 8 , 1 840 . He was educated as a civ11 engineer, b u t Since 1 856has held a p osition In the B oard of T rade , devoting his leisure hours to literarywork . H e d om esticated th e old F rench stanz a form in English verse, and hasdone much to revive an interest in E nglish art and literature of the eigh teenthcentury.

“Vignettes in Rhyme ,” “A t the Sign of the L yre,” and P roverb sin P orcelain ” constitute h is ch ief p oetical works . In p rose he has writtenb iograph ies of B ewick , Walp ole, Hogarth , Steele, and G oldsm ith ; E ighteenthCentury Vignettes ,” etc . ]

(GRA N D P A P A LOQU I TU R .)

Y OU don’t know Froissart now,young folks.

This age, I think, prefers recitalsOf high-Spiced crime, with “slang ” for jokes

,

A nd startl ing titles ;

But,in my tim e, when stil l som e few

L oved old M ontaigne,”and praised P ope’s “H omer

(Nay, thought to style him“poet too

,

Were scarce misnomer),

Sir John was less ignored . Indeed,

I can recal l how Som e One p resent

(Who spoi ls her grandson , F rank !) would read,A nd find him p leasant ;

For,

— by this copy, — hangs a Tale .

Long Since, in an ol d house in Surrey,

Where m en knew m ore of m orning ale ”

Than L ind ley M urray,

I n a dim -l ighted , whip-hung hal l,’Neath H ogarth

’S“M idnight Conversation

I t stood ; and of t ’twixt Sp ring and fall

,

lVith fond e lation,

I turned the brown Old leaves . For thereAl l through one hopeful happy summ er,

A t such a page (I wel l knew where),Som e secret com er

,

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226 THE BA LLAD OF CHEVY CHACE .

THE BA LLAD OF CHEVY CHACE .

(M odern F orm . F rom P ercy’s

[I t was an ancient custom with the b orderers of the two kingdoms, whenthey were at peace, to send to the L ord W ardens of th e Opp osite M arches forleave to hunt within their districts. I f leave was granted , th en towards the endof summer, theywould come and hunt for several days together, “with theirgreyhounds for deer

” b ut if they took this lib erty unpermitted , then the L ordW arden of the b order so invaded , would not fail to interrup t their sp ort and

chastise their b oldness . He [Carey , E arl of M onmouth ] m entions a remarkab leins tance that happened wh ile he was Warden ,

when some Scotch gentlemencom ing to hunt in defiance of him , there must have ensued such an action as th isof Chevy Chace , if the intruders had b een proportionab ly numerous and wellarmed .

— P E RCY . ]

GOD prosper long our noble king,Our l iffes and safetyes all ;A woeful l hunting once there didIn Chevy Chac e befall .

To drive the deere with hound and hom e,

E rle P ercy took his way ;Th e child may rue that is unborneThe hunting of that day.

The stout E rle of NorthumberlandA vow to God did make,

H is pleasure in the Scottish woodsThree summers days to take ;

The cheefest harts in Chevy ChaceTo kil l and beare away

These tydings to E rle D ouglas came,In Scotland where he lay.

Who sent E rle P ercy p resent word,H e wold p revent his sport ;

The Engl ish E rle not fearing that,D id to the woods resort,

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold,All chosen m en of m ight,Who knew ful l wel l in tim e of needeTo ayme their Shafts arright .

The gal lant greyhounds swiftly ran,

To chase the fal low deere ;On M unday they began to hunt,E re dayl ight did appeare ;

THE BA LLAD OF CHEVY CHA CE . 227

And long before high noone they hadAn hundred fat b uckes slaine ;

Then having dined , the drovyers wentTo rouz e the deere againe .

Th e bowm en m ustered on the hil ls,

Wel l able to endure ;Theire backsides all

,with special l care,

That day were guarded sure .

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,The nimble deere to take

,

That with thei r cryes the hills and dalesAn eccho shril l did make .

Lord P ercy to the quarry went,

To view the tender deere ;Quoth he, E rle D ouglas prom isedThis day to m eet m e heere ;

But if I thought he wold not come,Noe longer wold I stay .

”

With that,a brave younge gentlem an

Thus to the E rle did say

“Loe,yonder doth E rle D ouglas come,

H is m en in armor b righ t ;Ful l twenty hund red Scottish speros,Al l m arching in our sight.

Al l m en of pleasant T ivydale,Fast by the river Tweede :O cease your Sport

,

” E rle P ercy said,“A nd take your bowes with sp eede .

“A nd now with m e,my countrym en,

Your courage forth advanceFor never was there champ ion yettI n Scotland or in France

,

That ever did on horseb acke com e,

But, i f my hap it were,I durst encounter m an for m an

,

With him to b reake a Spere .

”

2c) 8 THE B A LLAD OF CHEVY CHA CE .

E rle D ouglas on his m ilke-white steede,M ost l ike a baron bold,

Rode formost of his company,Whose armor shone like gold.

Show me, sayd hee, whose men you b ee,That hunt soe boldly heere,

That, without my consent, doe chaseA nd kil l my fal low deere .

”

The m an that first did answer makeWas noble P ercy hee ;Who sayd, “Wee l ist not to declareNor shew whose men wee bee .

Yet wil l wee spend our deerest blood,

Thy cheefest harts to SlayThen D ouglas swore a sol empne oathe,A nd thus in rage did say :

E re thus I will out—braved bee,

One of us two Shal l dyeI know thee well, an erle thou art,L ord P ercy, soe am I .

But trust m e,P ercy, pittye it were,

A nd great offense, to killAny of these our guil tl esse m en,

For they have done no ill .

“Let thou and I the b attel l trye,

A nd set our m en aside .

”

Accurst b ee he,

” E rle P ercy sayd,

By whom e this is denyed .

”

Then stept a gallant squier forth,Witherington was his nam e,Who said, “I wold not have it toldTo H enry our k ing for sham e,

That ere my cap taine fought on foote,A nd I stood looking onYou bee two erles

,

” sayd Witherington,A nd I a squier alone .

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THE B A LLAD OF CHEVY CHA CE .

They fought, until l they both did sweat,With swords of tempered steele ;

U ntil the b lood, l ike d rops of rain,They tricklingdowne did feele .

Y eeld thee, Lord P ercy,” D ouglas sayd ;

“In faith I will thee b ringe,Where thou shalt high advanced beeBy James our Scottish king.

Thy ransome I wil l free ly give,A nd thus report of thee,

Thou art the m ost cou ragiou s knightThat ever I did see .”

“Noe, D ouglas, quoth E rle P ercy then,

“Thy p roffer I doe scorne ;

I wil l not yeelde to any Scott,That ever yett was borne .

”

With that,there cam e an arrow keene

Out of an E ngl ish bow,

Which stra cke E rle D ouglas to the heart,A deepe and deadlye blow

Who never spake more words than these,“F ight on, my m erry m en a ll ;

For why,my l ife is at an end :

Lord P ercy sees my fall .”

Then leaving l iffe, E rle P ercy tookeThe dead m an by the hand ;

A nd said, E rle D ouglas, for thy lifeWold I had lost my land !

O Ch rist my verry hart doth bleedWith sorrow for thy sakeFor sure

,a m ore renowned knight

M ischance cold never take .”

A knight am ongst the Scotts there was,Which saw E rle D ouglas dye,

Who streight in wrath did vow revengeU pon the Lord P ercye ;

THE B A LLAD OF CHEVY CHA CE . 231

Sir H ugh M ountgom erye was he called,Who

,with a speare m ost bright,

Wel l m ounted on a gal lant steed,Ran fiercely through the fight ;

A nd past the E ngl ish archers all,Without all d read or feare,

An d through E rle P ercyes body thenH e thrust his hateful l spere

With such a vehem ent force and m ightH e did his body gore,

The speare ran through the other sideA large cloth yard, and m ore .

So thus did both these nobles dye,Whose courage none could staine ;An E ngl ish archer then p erceivedThe noble erle was Slaine .

H e h ad a bow bent in his hand,

M ade of a trusty tree ;An arrow of a cloth yard longU p to the head d rew hee .

Against Sir H ugh M ountgom erye,So right the Shaft he sett,

The grey goose wing that was thereonI n his harts b loode was wett.

This figh t did last from b reake of dayT i l l setting of the sun ;

For when they rung the evening bell,The battel scarce was done .

With stout E rl e P ercy,there was slain e

,

Sir John of E gerton,Sir Robert Ratcl iff, and Sir John,Sir Jam es, that bold Baron .

A nd with Sir G eorge and stout Sir James,Both knights of good account,

G ood Sir Ra lph R ab by there was slaine,Whose p rowesse did surmount.

232 THE B A LLAD OF CHEVY CHA CE .

For Witherington needs must I wayle,As one in doleful dumpes ;For when his legs were sm itten off,H e fought upon h is stumpes .

A nd with E rle D ouglas, there was slaineSir H ugh M ountgom erye,

Sir Charles M urray, that from the feeldOne foote wold never flee .

Sir Charles M urray of Ratcl iff,too

,

H is sisters sonne was hee ;Sir D avid Lamb, so wel l esteemed,Yet saved cold not bee.

A nd the Lord M axwel l in l ike caseD id with E rle D ouglas dye

Of twenty hundred Scottish sp eares,Scarce fifty-five did fiye .

Of fifteen hundred E ngl ishmen,Went hom e but fi fty-three ;

The rest were slaine in Chevy Chace,U nder the greene wood tree .

Next day did m any widowes come,Thei r husbands to b ewayle ;

They washt their wounds in brinish teares,B ut all wold not prevayle .

Theyr b odyes, bathed in purple blood,They b ore with them away

They kist them dead a thousand tim es,

E re they were cladd in clay .

This newes was brought to Eddenb orrow,

Where Scotlands k ing did raigne,That brave E rle D ouglas suddenlyeWas with an arrow slaine .

O heavy newes,

” King James did say ;Scottland can witnesse bee

,

I have not any captaine m oreOf such account as hee.”

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234 FALSTA FF A ND THE PRINCE .

take purses go by the moon and seven stars, and not by P hceb us ,he that wandering kn ight so fair .” And, I pray thee, sweetwag, when thou art king, as, G od save thy grace , — maj esty

,I

Should say, for grace thou wilt have noneP rince What, noneF a lstafi

f No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to b e

p rologue to an egg and butter .P rince W ell, how then ? come, roundly, roundl y .

F a lstafi M arry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, letnot us that are squires Of the night ’s body b e called thieves ofthe day’s beauty let us be D iana’s foresters, gentlemen of theshade, minions of the moon ; and let men say we be men ofgood government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble andchaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal .P rince Thou sayest well, and it holds well too ; for the

fortune of us that are the moon ’s men doth ebb and flow likethe sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon . As, forproof, now a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on M on

day night, and most dissolutely spent on T uesday morn ing ;got with swearing “Lay by, and spent with crying, “Bringin now in as low an eb b as the foot of the ladder, and by andby in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows .F a lstafi

r By the Lord, thou sayest true , lad . And is notmy hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ?

P rince — As the honey Of Hybla, my Old lad Of the castle .

And is not a buff j erkin a most sweet robe of durance ?F a lstafi

f How now, how now, mad wag ? What, in thyquips and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to do with abuff j erkin ?P rince Why, what a pox have I to do with my hoste ss Of

the tavern ?F a lstafi Wel l, thou hast call ed her to a reckoning many

a time and oft.P rin ce — D id I ever cal l for thee to pay thy part ?F a lstafi — No . I

’

ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there .

P rince Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin woul dstretch and where it would not, I have used my credit .F a lstafi

f Yea, and so used it that, were i t not here apparentthat thou art heir apparent

,— but

,I prithee, sweet wag, shal l

there be gallows standing in E ngland when thou art king andresolution thus fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of Old fatherantic, the l aw ? Do not thou

,when thou art king, hang a thief

A fter the Highway Robbery’

F rom the'

painting by Eduard Grut'zner Am i

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FA LSTA FF AND THE PRINCE . 235

P rince NO, thou shalt.F a lstafi — Shall I ? O rare I By the Lord, I

’

l l b e a bravej udgeP rince — Thou judgest false already ; I mean , thou shalt

have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

F a lstafi Wel l, Hal , well and in some sort it jumps withmy humor as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you .

P rince For Obta ining Of suits ?F a lstafi Yea, for obta ining of suits , whereof the hangman

hath no lean wardrobe .

’

Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gibcat, or a lugged bear .

P rince — Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute .

F a lstafif Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe .

P rince — What say’st thou to a hare , or the melancholyof M oor-ditch ?

F a lstafi — Thou hast the most unsavory Simile s, and art indeed the most comparative, rascalliest — sweet young prince .

But, Hal , I prithee, trouble m e no more with vanity . I woul dto G od thou and I knew where a commodity of good nameswere to be bought An Old lord of the council rated me theother day in the street about you, Sir but I marked him notand yet he talked very wisely ; but I regarded him not : and

yet he talked wisely, and in the street, too .

P rince T hou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in the

s treets , and no man regards it .F a lstafi Oh , thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed

able to corrupt a saint . T hou has t done much harm upon me ,Hal ; G od forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee , Ha l

, Iknew nothing ; and now am I, if a man should speak truly,little better than one of the wicked . I must give over this life ,and I will give it over ; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain I ’ll be damned for never a king ’s son in Christendom .

P rince — Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack ?F a lstafi ~ Where thou wilt, lad ; I

’

l l make one ; an I donot, call me vill ain and baffle me .

P rin ce — I see a good amendment of lif e in thee frompraying to purse taking .

F a lstafi Why, Ha l ,’tis my vocation, Hal

’tis no Sin fora man to labor in his vocation .

AF TER TH E H I G HW A Y ROB B E RY .

P ains — Welcome,Jack . Where hast thou been ?

236 FA LSTA FF AND THE PRINCE .

F a lstafi — A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeancetoo m arry and amen G ive me a cup of sack, boy .

— E re Ilead this life long

,I ’ll sew nether stocks and mend them and

foot them too . A plague of all cowards I — G ive me a cup ofsack

,rogue . I S there no virtue extant ? [H e drinks .

P rince - D idst thou never see T itan kiss a dish of butter,— pitiful-hearted T itan , that melted at the sweet tale of thesun ? If thou didst, then behold that compound .

F a lstafi You rogue , here’s lime in this sack, too there is

nothing but roguery to b e found in villainous m an ; yet acoward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it ; a villainous coward G O thy ways, old Jack ; die when thou wilt ifmanhood

,good manhood, b e not forgot upon the face of the

earth,then am I a shotten herring . T here live not three good

men unhanged in England ; and one of them i s fat and growsold ; G od help the while ! a bad world, I say . I would I werea weaver ; I could sing psalms or anything . A plague of allcowards, I say still .

P rince How now, woolsack ? what mutter you ?F a lstafi — A king’s s on ! If I do not beat thee out of thy

kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subj ects aforethee like a flock of wild geese , I

’ll never wear hair on my facemore . You P rince of Wales

P rin ce — Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter ?

F a lstafi Are you not a coward ? answer me to that,and P oin s, there ?

P oins Zounds, ye fat paunch, and ye call me coward, I’ll

stab theeF a lstafi — I call thee coward ! I ’ ll see thee damned ere I

call thee coward ; but I would give a thousand pound I couldrun as fast as thou canst . You are straight enough in theshoul ders, you care not who sees your back ; call you thatbacking of your friends ? A plague upon such backing giveme them that will face me . G ive me a cup of sack I am arogue if I drank to-day .

P rince — O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thoudrunkest last .

F a lstaf — All’s one for t hat. [H e drinks ] A plague ofal l c owards, still say I .

P rince What’s the matter ?F a lstafi — What’s the matter ? There be four of us here

have ta’

en a thousand pounds this morning .

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FAL STA FF A ND THE PRINCE .

F a l stafi In buckramP ains A y, four, in buckram suits .

F a lstafi Seven , by these hilts, or I am a villain else .

P rince — P r ithee , let him alone we shall have more anon.

F a lstaf D ost thou hear me , Hal ?

P rince — A y, and mark thee too , Jack .

F a lstafi — D O so, for it i s worth the listening to . T hesen ine in buckram that I told thee of

P rince — So, two more already .

F a lstafi Their points being brokenP ains D own fell their hose .

F a lstafi Began to give me ground ; but I foll owed m e

close,came in foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the

eleven I paid .

P rin ce O monstrous eleven buckram men grown out oftwo

F a lstafi But, as the devil would have it, three mishegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let driveat me ; for it was so dark, H a l , that thou couldst not see thyhand .

P rince — These lies are like the father that begets them,

gross as a mountain , open, palpable . Why, thou clay-brainedguts , thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson , Obscene , greasytal low catch

F a lstafi What art thou mad ? art thou mad ? i s not thetruth the truth ?P rince — Why, how couldst thou know these men in Ken

dal green , when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand ?come , tell us your reason ; what sayest thou to thisP ains C ome , your reason, Jack, your reason .

F a lstafif What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at the

strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell youon compul sion . G ive you a reason on compulsion ! if reasonswere a s plenty as blackberries

,I would give no man a reason

upon compulsion,I .

P rince I ’ll be no longer guilty of this sin this sanguinecoward, this bed presser, this horseback breaker , this huge hillOf flesh

F a lstafi Away, you starveling, you elf skin, you driedneat

’

s tongue, you stockfish .— Oh for breath to utter what is

like thee — you tailor’s yard,you sheath

,you bow case , you

vil e standing tuck

FALSTA FF A ND THE P RINCE . 239

P rince — Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again ; andwhen thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear mespeak but this .

P ains — M ark, Jack .

P rince — W e two saw you four set on four ; you boundthem , and were masters of their wealth . M ark, now, howplain a tal e shall put you down . T hen did we two set onyou four, and , with a word, outfaced you from your prize, andhave it ; yea, and can Show it you here in the house : and ,Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quickdexterity, and roared for mercy and still ran and roared, asever I heard bull calf . What a slave art thou

,to hack thy

sword as thou hast don e, and then say it was in fight Whattrick, what device, what starting hole, canst thou now find out,to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ?

P oins — C ome , let’s hear, Jack what trick hast thou now ?

F a lstafi By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that madeye . Why, hear ye , my masters was it for me to k ill the heirapparent ? shoul d I turn upon the true prince ? why, thouknowest I am as valiant as H ercules : but beware in stinct ; thelion will not touch the true prince . Instinct is a great matter ;I was a coward on instinct . I shall think the better of myselfand thee dur ing my life , — I for a valiant l ion , and thou for atrue prince . But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have themoney .

— H ostess , clap to the doors watch to -night, prayto-morrow .

— G allants, lads , boys , hearts Of gold, all the titlesof good-fellowship come to you ! What ! shall we be m erry ?

shall we have a play extemporeP rince — C ontent ; and the argument shall be thy running

away .

F a l stafi Ah, no more of that , H al , an thou lovest me .

FA L STA F F , assuming the p a rt of H enry I V. , rebukes the P R I N CE

OF WA L ES .

P rince — H ere comes lean Jack , here comes barebon e .

How now , my swe et creature of bombast ! How long is’t ago,Jack

,since thou sawest thine own knee ?

F a lstafi M y own knee when I was about thy years, H a l ,

I was not an eagle ’s talon in the waist I could have crept intoany alderman ’s thumb ring a plague of sighing and grief itblows a man up like a bladder . There ’s villainous new s ab roadhere was Sir John B racy from your father ; you must to the

240 FA LSTA FF A ND THE PRINCE .

court in the morn ing . Thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father if thou love m e,

practice an answer .P rince D o thou stand for my father, and examine me

upon the particulars of my life .

F a lstafi Shall I ? content ; this chair Shall b e my state ,this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown .

P rince — Thy state is taken for a j oint-stool , thy golden

scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious r ich crown fora pitiful bald crown .

F a lstafi Well,an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee,

now shalt thou be moved .— G ive me a cup of sack to make

my eyes look red,that it may be thought I have wept ; for I

must speak in passion , and I will do it in King C ambyses’ vein .

P rince Well, here is my leg .

F a lstafi And here is my speech . Stand aside, nob ilityJHostess — This is excellent Sport, i

’ faithF a lstafi — Weep not, sweet queen , for trickling tears are vain .

H ostess — O, the father, how he holds his countenanceF a lstafi For G od’s sake, lords, convey my tristful queen

for tears do stop the flood gates of her eyes .Hostess — O rare, he does it as like one of these harlotry

players as I ever seeF a lstafi P eace, good pint pot peace, good tickle brain .

Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time , butalso how thou art accompanied for though the camomile, themore it is trodden on, the faster it grows , yet youth , the moreit is wasted, the s ooner it wears . That thou art my son , I havepartly thy mother ’s word, partly my own Opin ion , but chiefly avillainous trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy netherlip , that doth warrant me . If then thou be son to me

,here

lieth the point why, being son to me , art thou so pointed at ?Shall the blessed son of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries ? - a question not to be asked . Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses ? — a question to be asked .

The re is a thing, H arry, which thou hast Often heard of, and itis known to many in our land by the name of pitch this pitch

,

as ancient writers do report, doth defile so doth the companythou keepest : for, H arry, now I do not speak to thee in drinkbut in tears, not in pleasure but in passion , not in words onlybut in woes also : and yet there is a virtuous man whom I haveoften noted in thy com pany

,but I know not his name .

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242 HENRY v. B EFORE HARFLEUR.

F a lstafi But to say I know more harm in him than in myself

,were to say more than I know . That he is old, the more

the pity, his white hairs do w itness it ; but that he is, saving

your reverence,a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. I f sack

and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked ! If to b e Old and

merry be a sin,then many an old host that I know is damned !

If to be fat be to be hated, then P haraoh’

s lean kine are to b eloved

. NO, my good lord banish P eto, banish Bardolph, banish P oins ; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, trueJack Falstaff

,valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,

being,as he is

,old Jack Falstaff, ban ish not him thy Harry

’

s

company banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

P rince I do, I wil l .

HENRY V. TO HIS ARM Y BEFORE HARFLEUR .

BY SHAKE SPEARE .

K ing H enry

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ;Or close the wall up with our E nglish dead .

I n peace there’s noth ing so becom es a man

As m odest stil lness and hum i l ity ;But when the b last of war blows in our ears

,

Then im itate the action of the tiger ;Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,D isguise fai r nature with hard-favored rage ;Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ;Let it p ry th rough the portage Of the headLike the brass cannon ; let the brow o

’erwhelm it

As fearfully as cloth a gal led rockO

’erhang and j utty his confounded base

,

Swilled with the wi ld and wasteful ocean .

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostri l wide,H old hard the breath and bend up every SpiritTo his full height. On, on, you nob lest Engl ish,Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof !Fathers that

,l ike so m any Alexanders

,

H ave in these parts from morn til l even foughtA nd sheath ed their swords for lack of argum entD ishonor not your mothers ; now attest

HENRY V. A T A GIN COURT . 243

That those whom you cal led fathers did beget you.

Be copy now to m en of grosser blood,And teach them how to war . A nd you

, good yeomen,Whose limbs were m ade in E ngland, show us hereThe mettle of your pasture ; let us swearThat you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt not ;For there is none of you so mean and base,Tha t hath not noble luster in your eyes.I see you stand l ike greyhounds in the Sl ips,Straining upon the start. The gam e

’s afootFol low your spirit, and upon this chargeCry God for H arry, E ngland, and S a int George !

HENRY V. A T AG INCOURT .

BY SHAKE SPEARE .

WestmorelandOf fighting men they have ful l threescore thousand.

E xeter

There’s five to one ; besides, they al l are fresh.

S a lisburyGod ’s arm strike with us ! ’tis a fearful odds.God buy [be wi

’

j you, princes all : I’l l to my charge

If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,Then, joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford,M y dear lord G loster, and my good lord Exeter,A nd my kind kinsmen, warriors al l

,adieu !

Westmoreland Oh that we now had here

E nter K I N G H EN RY .

But one ten thousand Of the men in EnglandThat do no work to-day

K ing H enry What’s he that wishesM y cousin Westmoreland N O, my fai r cousin :If we are marked to die

,we are enow

To do our country loss ; and if to l ive,The fewer men the greater Share of honor.G od ’

s wil l ! I p ray thee, wish not one m an more.

By Jove,I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ;I t yearns m e not if m en my garments wear ;Such outward things dwel l not in my desires

244 HENRY V. A T A GIN COURT .

But if it b e a sin to covet honor,I am th e most offend ing soul al ive.N O,

’fa ith,my coz, wish not a m an from England

G od ’s peace I would not lose so great an honorA S one m an more, m eth inks, would share from m e,

For the b est hope I have . Oh , do not wish one more !Rather p roclaim it

,Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stom ach to this fight,Let him depart ; his passport shall be m ade,A nd crowns for convoy put into his purse :We would not die in that man’s company

,

That fears his fellowship to die with us.This day is called the feast of Crispian :

H e that outl ives this day, and com es safe home,Wil l stand a-tiptoe when this day is nam ed ,An d rouse him at the nam e of Crispian :

H e that outlives this day, and sees ol d age,

Will yearly on the vigi l feas t hi s friends,A nd say, to—morrow is Saint Crisp ian ;Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,A nd say, these wounds I had on C rispin

’s day .

Old m en forget ; yet al l shal l be forgot,But he’ll rem emb er with advantages,What feats he did that day. Then shal l our names,Fam iliar in their months as household words,H arry the K ing, Bedford and Exeter,Warwick and Talb ot

, Sal isbury and G los ter,Be in thei r flowing cups freshly remembered .

This story shall the good man teach h is son ;A nd Crisp in Crispian shall ne

’er go byFrom this day to the end ing of the world,B ut we in it shall be remembe red ,lVe few, we happy few,

we band of brothersF or he to-day that sheds his blood with m e

Shall b e my brother ; be he ne’er so vile

This day shall gentle his cond itionA nd gentlem en in E ngland, now abed,Shal l th ink them selves accursed they were not here ;A nd hold their m anhoods ch eap

,whi les any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

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246 THE B A TTLE OF A GINCOURT.

Victor I wil l rem ain,Or on th is earth l ie slain,Never Sha l l she sustainLoss to redeem me .

The D uke of York so dread,The eager vaward l ed ;With the m ain H enry sp ed,Among h is henchm en.

Excester h ad the rea r,A braver m an not there

,

O L ord,how hot th ey were

On the false Frenchm en !

They now to fight are gone,Armor on armor shone ;D rum now to drum did groan,TO hear was wonder ;

That with the cries they m akeThe very earth did Shake,T rump et to trumpet spake,Thun der to thunder .

“P oictiers and Cressy tell,Wh en m ost their pride did swell,U nder our swords they fell ;N0 less our skil l is

,

Than when our grands ire great,C laim ing the regal seat,By m any a warl ike featLopped the French L il ies .

”

Wel l it thine age becam e,O nob le E rpingham ,

Which d idst the Signa l aimTO our hid forces ;

When from a m eadow by,

Like a storm suddenly,

The English archeryStuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth yard long,That l ike to serpents stung,P iercing the weather ;None from his fellow starts

,

But playing manly p arts,

THE BA TTLE OF A GIN COURT . 247

And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.

When down their bows they th rew,

A nd forth the ir b ilb ows drew,

A nd on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy ;Arm s were from shoulders sent

,

Scal ps to the teeth were rent,

D own the F rench peasants wentOur m en were hardy.

This while our noble K ing,His broadsword brand ish ing,D own the French host did dingAs to o’

erwhelm it ;A nd m any a deep wound lent,H is arm s with blood besprent

,

And many a cruel dentBruised his helm et.

G lo’ster, that Duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For fam ous E ngland stood ,With hi s brave brother ;

C larence, in steel so bright,Though but a m aiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,Oxford the foe invade,A nd cruel slaughter m ade,Stil l as they ran up ;

Suffolk his ax did ply,Beaumont and

"

Wil loughbyBare them right doughtily,Ferrers and F anh ope .

U pon St. C risp in’s day

Fought wa s th i s nob le fray,Which F am e did not delay,To E ngland to ca rry ;

0 ,when shal l Engl ishmen

With such acts fi l l a pen ,

Or E ngland b reed aga inSuch a King H arry !

248 JOHN HUSS ON HIS TIM ES.

JOHN HUSS ON H IS T IM ES.

(F rom his “Sermons

[JOHN H uss (Hussinecz ) , the great B oh em ian p recursor of Luther, was b ornin 1 369 of a p easant fam ily ; studied at the University of P rague , and in 1 398

b egan to lecture on Wyclif ’s writings , whose advanced p os1tions h e at firststrongly condemned , and only drew toward in h is last years . He was not b y

na ture a i evolu tionist, though eloquent, b ut a m ild unoriginal man of greatm oral earnestness, anxious to b ring ab out reform W ithin the Church . In 1 402— 03

h e was rector of the university. In 1 403 he took a pastorate in P rague, wherehis p reach ing against immoral ity and ecclesiastical ab uses in the Cz ech vernacul ar roused great enthusiasm am ong the comm on p eople . In 1 409 h e was aga inelected rector of the university . In 141 2 a p apa l crusade against L adislaus ofHungary led him to denounce th is ab use Of the P ope’

s p os ition , and also thesale of indulgences ; the next year he was excommunicated , and in 1 414 citedb efore the C ouncil of Constance forh eresy , with a safe-conduct from the Em perorSigismund wh ich the church p arty at once b roke , flung him into a foul pris on infetters , and after a trial b urned him at the stake ]

I F A priest in the alehouse , during a quarrel over his diceor about vile harlots, receives a box on the ear, his opponent isforthwith summon ed before the spiritual tribunal and excom

m unicated . But if the priest is wounded, then is publicworship interdicted, and his Opponent is forced to go on apilgrimage to Rome, S ince they pretend that only the P ope canabsolve him who has wounded a priest . But if a priest cuts offany one ’s hand or foot, or even puts an innocent man to death ,neither is publi c wo rship interdicted, nor is such a priestlytransgressor subj ected to excommunication .

Whoso preaches that priests are G ods and divine miracleworkers that they have power to save or damn a man as theyplease that no one without them can be saved that no onemust accuse them of any Sin whatever ; that they alone musteat and drink and waste the very best of all things whoeverpreaches after this fashion is an honorable preacher

,and only

such a one must preach . But whoso p reaches that priestsshould not be wanton , that they should not plunder the peopleby their sim ony and greed, that they should have only matronsto whom they are not related, and be satisfied with a singleb en efice — he is a Slanderer of the holy priesthood, a troublerof the ho ly Church , and a heretic, and must not be allowed topreach . H im they summon before their tribunals and curse .And if this snare of the devil does not an swer

,they prohibit

public worship , and spread their devil ’s net as much as possible,

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25 0 JOHN HUSS ON HIS TIM ES.

out ceasing . And thus as Solomon says, “wickedness hasblinded them

,that they think they do God service if they curse ,

excommun i cate,imprison

,torture , and kill true Christians .

”

T herefore, says the Saviour, the time shall come when he thatkilleth you shall think he doeth G od service So it was withJews

,putting Christ and H is disciples to death . They said

,

we have a law and according to that law H e ought to die .

”

And so our priests do also, when they lay hold of a man thatcrosses their avarice and wantonness, and disturbs them thereinthey curse him

,summon him to trial, put him in prison, and

cry out,this man, according to our statutes, mus t die , and not

by any easy death, but he must b e consumed by fire .

But H e who alone i s infal lible, who can neither deceivenor be deceived

,says of them that they shall do this to you

because they know n either my Father nor me . And Isaiahsays

,the ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master

’s crib,

but Israel doth not know, my people do not consider .” A toil

ing ox that plows the earth, i s a good priest who with theplowshare of the word of G od goes into the heart of man, androots out the tares of sin , and sow s the word of God, which isthe seed

,in the heart, and press es out the grain from the chaff,

or frees the truth from human inventions and additions . Sucha priest is one of G od’s oxen, that knows his master, JesusChr ist . But the priests who fare sumptuously and be come fat,and in consequence trouble themselves no more about the soul ’ssalvation , and plow and work no mo re are the fat oxen towhom the P rophet Amos cries out H ear this word

, ye fatoxen , ye who dwell in Samaria, who wrong the needy andtrample on the poor, and say to your masters, bring, le t usdrink the Lord G od hath sworn by his holiness, that the daysShall come upon you, that ye shall b e taken away with hooks,and your posterity with fishhooks . T hus did the herdsman ,Amos, prophesy to the oxen , that is, to the fat priests on themountains of Samaria, — that is, on the watch, for Samaria istranslated, watch .

And the priests are to keep watch over men that the devil donot steal them away and destroy them . Yet instead of this, theywrong the needy, oppress them, and bring them to want . Foron one side they force them to pay tithes

,sacrifice

,pay them

gold for baptism, confession, the holy sacrament, and otherspiritual things . On the other side they reduce them to want

,

tearing from them all that good men woul d give to the poor .

The Execution ofJohnF rom the p ainting L essing

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JOHN HUSS ON HIS T IM ES. 25 1

They wrong them also with lying indulgences, and therebyespecially absorb their property, or avaric iously keep it back ;for al l that priests have belongs to the poor, that is, whatever i smore than they need for comfortable clothing, etc . , so that thusthe priests may lead G od ’s people to eternal salvation . Andthereupon the fat oxen say to their lords — that is, the laitywho are set Off for the maintenance of chur ch goods and priests“bring, let us drink .

” And they stuff themselves evenbeyond the animal appetite , which no four-footed ox would do,and therefore woe b e to them .

The l ife of G od’s true servants has become bitte r to them .

In many lands, as Bohemia, M oravia, M isnia , England, andelsewhere, they suffer great persecutions . The faithful priestsare put to death, tortured, cursed ; nor i s it advisable on anyaccount to appeal to Rome, where anti-Christ

’s wickedness, baseness

,pride , and simony have culmin ated, so that simony and

avarice have poured forth in a rushing tide from Rome to

Bohemia. Bishoprics are bought and sold at a higher pricethan many a lordl y estate . The common people are confounded .

Some are afraid to conf ess the truth against error . Some,through the di scord among priests, do not know what to hold .

Others still experience great concern that many go thus astray,while yet othe rs sufler wrong, are slandered as heretics, andput to death, through the great persecution of divine truth .

The waves of the sea, that is, the men of the world, rage , forthe world is compared to the sea, and they bruit abroad thatthey who confess Christ and defend His truth are errorists andheretics .If any true Christian spirit i s to b e found to oppose their

baseness, they are filled with hate and bitterness, and by theirw i cked devi ce forbid by inte rdict the public worship of G od ,when they cannot suppress the preaching which reveals to the people their scandalous perversity . Of this wickedness haveI written, in my books, both in Bohemian and Latin , and to methis wickedness seems to be the most vexatious and intolerableto the true Christian . But neither wrong nor pain and deathcan d ete r the true preacher with real love to G od , from preaching of the truth, and the false prohibition of public worship is agrievous stone of stumbling, not so much to the preache r whois glad to preach, as to the people who would gladly hear theword of G od .

25 0 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF ARC .d

TRIAL A ND DEATH OF JOAN OF A RC .

B YJULES M ICHELET .

(F rom the History of

[JULE s M I CHE LE T , a b rilliant F rench h istorian and social and polem ic writer,was b orn in P a i is , A ugust 2 1 , 1 798 . Of precocious talents , he was made professorof liistOIy in the College Rollin at twenty-three, and five years later pub lishedSynchronous P ictures of M odern History .

” A fte r the Revolution of 1 830 he wasmade chief of the Historic Section , curator of the National A rch ives , ass istant toG iu zot at the Sorb onne A cademy , and tutor to the P rincess Clementine and in

1 838 profes sor of h istory and m ora l philosophy at the College de F rance . In

1 83 1 he pub lish ed an Introduction to Universal H istory in 1 833 the firstins tallment of h is great masterp iece, the History of F rance up to the Revolution ,

”not finished till 1 867 , b ut continued in the History of the Revolution

( 1 847 and in the fragmentary History of the Nineteenth Century,” onlyb rough t down to Wa terloo the same year, a very popular M anua l of M odernH istory 1 837 ,

“Origins of F rench Law ” 1 838 ,“Trial of the Templars ” ;

1 839, History of the Roman Repub lic b esides editing Vico ’s works and

Luther’s mem oirs. The revival of the Jesuits’ ac tivity in 1 838 set him and E dgarQuinet to lecturing vehemently against them ; the lectures were collected in1 843—4 5 as The Jesuits ,” The P riest, the W ife , and the F am ily ,” and “TheP eople. ” In 1 85 1 he pub lished “P oland and Russia .

” Refusing to take the

oath to L ouis Napoleon ,he lost his government p lace. For many years he

m ingled his main historical work with ep isodical matter (“The Women of

the Revolution,” 1 854,“The Soldiers of the Revolution ”

and “D emocraticLegends of the m iscellanies of various dates (“The Sorceress ,”social studies 1 859, W om an ,

” 1 860 ,“Our Children ,

” 1 869,“The

B anquet,” posthumous) , natural-history sketches (“The B ird ,” 1 856,

“TheInsect ,” 1 85 7 ,

“The Sea ,” 1 861 ,“The M ountain ,

”and a h istory of re

ligions, The B ib le of Humanity ,” 1 864. He died F eb ruary 9, 1 874 ]

THE inquiries touching the P ucelle were so utterly iusufficient [as a bas is for prosecution] that the prosecution which,on thes e worthless data, was about to b e begun against her onthe charge of magic was instituted on the charge of heresy .

On February 21 the P ucelle was brought be fore her judges .The bishop of Beauvais admonished her “with mildness andcharity,

” praying her to answer truly to whatever she shouldbe asked , w ithout evasion or subterfuge, both to Shorten hertrial and eas e he r conscience .

— A nswer . I do not know whatyou mean to question me about : you might ask me thingsI would not tell you .

— She consented to swear to speak thet ruth on all m atte rs except those which related to her visions ;Bu t w ith respect to these , she said, “you shall cut Off my head

fi rst . Neve rtheless She was induced to swear that she wouldanswer all questions on points affecting faith .

”

She was again urged on the following day,the 22d , and

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254 TRIAL A ND DEATH OF JOAN OF A RC .

for the king . Then she added, with fervor, Ah if

he knew them,he would eat his dinner with greater relish .

“f ou ld that he did know them, and would drink now ine from this to E aster .

”

She gave utterance to some sublime th ings , while prattlingin this simple strain :

“I come from God , I have naught todo here dismiss me to G od , from whom I come .

You say that you are my judge ; think well what you are

about,for of a truth I am sent of G od , and you are putting

yourself in great danger .”

There can be no doubt such language irritated the judges,and they put to her an insidious and base question , a questionwhich it is a crime to put to any man alive : “Jehanne, doyou believe yourself to be in a state of grace ? ”

They thought that they had bound her with an indissolubleknot . To say no, was to confess herself unworthy of havingbeen G od ’s chosen instrument ; but, on the other hand, howsay yes ? Which of us, frail b eings as we are, is sure herebelow of being truly in G od’s grace ? Not one , except theproud, presumptuous man, who, of all, is prec isely the furthestfrom it .She cut the knot, with heroic and Christian simplicityIf I am not, may G od be pleased to rece ive m e int o it if

I am, may G od be pleased to keep me in it .”

The P harisees were struck Speechless .But, with all her heroism, she was nevertheless a woman .

After giving utterance to this sublime sentiment, she sankfrom the high-wrought mood, and relapsed into the softness ofher Sex, doubting of her state , as is natural to a Christian soul,interrogating herself, and trying to gain confidence .

“Ah !if I knew that I were not in G od’s grace

,I should be the most

w retched being in the world . But,if I were in a state of

sin , no doubt the voice would not come . Would thateve ry one could hear it like myself.

These words gave a hold to her judges . After a long pause ,they returned to the charge with redoubled hate

,and pressed

upon her question after question designed to ruin her . Had

not the voices told her to ha te the Burgundians ?” D id

she not go when a child to the F airies’ tree ?” etc . T hey nowlonged to burn her as a witch .

At the fifth sitting she was attacked on delicate and dangerons ground, namely, with regard to the appearances she had

TR IA L A ND DEA TH OF JOA N OF A RC . 25 5

seen . The bishop, become all of a sudden compassionate andhoneyed, addressed her with, “Jehanne, how have you beensince Saturday ? You see, said the poor prisoner, loadedwith chains, as well as I might . ”

“Jehanne, do you fast every day this Lent ? ”— “Is the

question a necessary one ?” — “Yes, truly .

” W ell then, yes,I have always fasted .

”

She was then pressed on the subj ect of her visions , andw ith regard to a Sign shown the dauphin, and concern ing St .

C atherine and St . M ichael . Among other insidious and indel icate questions, She was asked whether, when St . M ichael app eared to her, he wa s naked T o this shameful questionshe replied, without understanding its drift, and with heavenlypurity, D o you think, then , that our Lord has not wherewithto clothe him ? ”

On M arch 3, other out-of—the-way questions were put to her,in order to entrap her into confessing some diabolical agency,some evil correspondence with the devil . Has this St .

M ichael of yours, have these holy women , a body and limbs ?Are you sure the figures you see are those of angels ? ” Yes ,I believe so, as firmly as I believe in G od .

”This answer was

carefull y noted down .

T hey then turn to the subj ect of her wearing male attire ,and of her standard . D id not the soldiery make standardsin imitation of yours ? D id they not replace them with others ? ”

Yes , when the lance (stafi ) happened to break .

”D id you

not say that those standards would bring them luck ?” No,I only said, Fall boldly upon the E nglish,

’ and I fell uponthem myself .

But why was this standard borne at the coronation , in thechurch of Reims, rather than those of the other captains

It had seen all the danger, and it was only fair that i tShould share the honor . ”

“What was the impression of the people who kissed yourfeet

,hands , and garments ? The poor came to me of their

own free will, because I never did them any harm , and assistedand protected them , as far as was in my power .

”

I t was imposs ible for heart of man not to be touchedw ith such answers . C auchon thought it prudent to proce edhenceforward with only a few assessors on whom he could rely,and quite quietly . We find the number of assessors varyingat each Sitting from the very beginning of the trial : s ome

25 0 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOA N OF A RC .

leave,and their places are taken by others . The place of trial

is sim ilarly changed . T he accused, who a t first i s interrogatedin the hal l of the castle of Rouen , i s now questioned in prison .

In order not to fatigue the rest,”Cauchon took there only two

assessors and two w itnesses ( from the l 0th to the 1 7th ofM a rch) . H e was, perhaps, emboldened thus to proceed withshut doors

,from being sure of the support Of the Inquisition

the Vicar having at length received from the Inquisitor G eneralof France full powers to preside at the trial along w ith theb is liOp (M archIn these fresh examinations, She is press ed only on a few

points indicated beforehand by C auchon .

“Did the voices command her to make that sally out ofCompiegne in which she was taken ? ”

— T o this She does not

give a direct reply :“The saints had told me that I should

be taken before midsummer ; that it behooved so to be , that Imust not be aston ied, but suffer all cheerfully, and G od wouldaid me . Since it has so pleased G od , it is for the best thatI Should have been taken .

”

D O you think you did well in setting out without the leaveOf you r father and m other ? Ought we not to honor our parents — “They have forgiven me .

” “And did you think youwere not sinning in doing so ? It was by G od ’s command ;and if I had had a hundred fathers and mothers I should haveset out.

Did not the voices call you daughter of G od , daughter ofthe Church, the maid of the great heart ?

” Before the siegeof Orléan s was raised, and since then, the voices have called me ,and they call me every day, Jehanne the P ucelle , daughter ofG od .

’

“Was it right to attack P aris, the day of the Nativity ofOur Lady ? ” It is fitting to keep the festivals of Our Lady ;and it would be so, I truly think , to keep them every day .

”

Why did you leap from the tower of Beaur evoir ? (Thedrift of this question was to induce her to say that she hadw ished to kill herself . ) — “I heard that the poor people ofCompiegn e would all be slain, down to children seven years ofage , and I knew , too, that I was sold to the E nglish ; I wouldrather have died than fall into the hands of the English .

”

D o St . C atherine and St . M argaret hate the English ? ”

They love what our Lord loves,and hate what he hates

Does G od hate the English ?”Of the love or hate G od

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258 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF A RC .

voice considered equal , or preferred to , the instruction of theChurch , the prescr iptions of authority — inspiration , but freeand independent inspiration revelation, but a personal revelation — submission to G od ; what G od ? the G od within .

These preliminary examinations were concluded by a formaldem and, whether She would submit her actions and opinions tothe judgment of the Church ; to which she replied, I love theChurch, and would support it to the best Of my power . As tothe good works which I have wrought, I must refer them to theKing of heaven , who sent me .

”

The question being repeated , she gave no other answer, butadded, Our Lo rd and the Church, it i s all one .

”

She was then told, that there was a distinction ; that therewas the Church triump hant, G od , the saints , and those who hadbeen admitted to salvation and the Church militant, or, in otherwords, the pope, the cardinals, the clergy, and all good Christian s

- the which Church, “properly assembled,” cannot err, and is

guided by the H oly G host . Will you not then submit yourself to the Church militant ? ”

— “I am come to the king Of

France from G od , from the Virgin M ary, the saints, and theChurch victoriou s there above to that Church I submit myself,my works, all that I have done or have to do . And to theChurch militant ? I will give no other answer .According to one of the assessors she said that, on certain

points, she trusted to neither bishop, pope, nor any one ; butheld her belief of God alone .

The question on which the trial was to turn was thus laiddown in all its Simplicity and grandeur, and the true debatecommenced : on the one hand, the visible Church and authority, on the other, inspiration attesting the invisible Churchinvisible to vulgar eyes

,but clearly seen by the pious girl, who

was forever contemplating it,forever hearing it within herself,

forever carrying in her heart these saints and angels therewas her Church, there G od shone in his brightness everywhereelse , how shadowy He was !

Such being the case at issue,the accused was deem ed to

irremediable destruction . She could not give way, she couldnot, save falsely, disavow,

deny what she saw and heard so distinctly . On the other hand

,could authority remain authority

if it abdicated its jurisdiction,if it did not punish ?

She fe ll sick in P assion Week . H er temptation began, nodoubt, on P alm Sunday . A country girl

,born on the skirts of

TRIAL A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF A RC .

a forest , and having ever lived in the Open air of heaven , shewas compelled to pass this fin e P alm Sunday in the depth of adungeon . T he grand su ccor which the Church invokes camenot for her the doors did not op en .

They were opened on the T uesday ; but it was to leadthe accused to the great hall of the castle before her judges .They read to her the articles which had been founded on heran swers , and the bishop previously represented to her, “thatthese doctors were all churchmen , clerks, and well read in law,

divine and human ; that they were all tender and pitiful, anddesired to proceed mildly, seeking neither vengeance nor corp o

ra l p unishment, but solely wishing to enlighten her, and puther in the way of truth and of salvation and that, as she wasnot sufficiently informed in such high matters, the bishop andthe inquisitor offered her the choice of one or m ore of the ass esse rs to act as her counsel . ” The accused, in presence ofthis as sembly, in which she did not descry a single friendlyface , mildly answered For what you adm onish me as to mygood

,and concerning our faith, I thank you ; as to the counsel

you offer me , I have no intention to forsake the counsel of ourLord .

The fir st article touched the capital point, submission . She

repli ed as before W ell do I believe that our H oly Father,the bishops, and others of the Church are to guard the Christian f a ith, and pun ish those who are found wanting . As tomy deeds (faits) , I submit myself only to the Church in heaven,to G od and the Virgin, to the sainted men and women in P aradisc . I have not been wanting in regard to the Chr istian faith,and trust I never shall be .

”

And, shortly afterwards : “I would rather die than recallwhat I have done by our Lord’s command .

”

What illustrates the time , the uninformed mind of thesedoctors, and their blind attachment to the letter without regardto the spirit, is , that no point seemed graver to them than thesin of having assumed male attire . They represented to herthat, according to the canons, those who thus change the habitof their sex are abominable in the sight of G od . At first shewou ld not give a direct answer, and begged for a respite tillthe next day ; but her judges insisting on her discarding thedress, she replied , “T hat She was not empowered to say whenShe could quit it . But if you Should be deprived of theprivil ege of hearing mass ? Well, our Lord can grant me

260 TR IA L A ND DEA TH OF JOA N OF A RC .

to hear it w ithout you . Will you put on a woman ’s dress,in order to receive your Saviour at E aster ? NO ; I cannotquit this dress it matters not to m e in what dress I receive mySaviour .

— After this she seems shaken, asks to be at least allowed to hear mass

,adding, “I wont say but if you were to

give me a gown such as the daughters of the burghers wear, avery long gownIt is clear she shrank , through modesty, from explaining her

self . The poor girl durst not explain her position in prison , orthe constant danger she was in . The truth is, that three soldie rs Slept in her room, three of the brigand ru ffians calledhou sp illeurs ; that She was chained to a beam by a large ironchain

,almost wholly at their mercy ; the man

’s dress theyw ished to compel her to discontinue was all her safeguard .

What are we to think of the imbecility of the judge, or of hishorrible connivanceBesides being kept under the eyes of these wretches, and

exposed to their insults and mockery, she was subj ected toespial from without . Winchester, the inquisitor, and C auchonhad each a key to the tower, and watched her hourly through ahole in the wall . E ach stone of this infernal dungeon had eyes .

H er only consolation was, that she was at first allowed interviews with a priest, who told her that he was a prisoner,and attached to Charles V I I .

’

s cause . Loysel eur, so he wasnamed, was a tool of the English . H e had won Jeanne’

s confidence, who used to confess herself to him and, at such times,her confessions were taken down by notaries concealed on purpose to overhear her . It is said that Loysel eu r encouragedher to hold out, in order to insure her destruction . On thequestion of her being put to the torture being discussed ( avery useless proceeding, since she neither denied nor conceal ed anything) , there were only two or three of her judgeswho counseled the atrocious deed, and the confessor was oneof these .

The sentence of grace was a most severe one : Jehanne,we condemn you, out of our grace and moderation , to pass therest of your days in prison , on the bread of grief and water ofanguish , and so to mourn your Sins .

”

She was admitted by the ecclesiastical j udge to do penance,n f doubt, nowhere save in the prison s of the church . The

e cclesiastic in p a ce, however severe it might be , would at theleast withdraw her from the hands of the English, place her

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262 TRIA L A ND DE ATH OF JOAN OF A RC .

This great English people, with so many good and solidqualities

,is infected by one vice , which corrupts these very

qualities themselves . This rooted, all-poisoning vice, is pridea cruel disease , but which is nevertheless the principle of E ngl ish life

,the explanation of its contradictions, the secret of its

acts . W ith them, virtue or crime is almost ever the result ofp ride ; even their follies have no other source . This pride issensitive

,and easily pained in the extreme ; they are great

sufferers from it, and again , make it a point of pride to concealthese sufferings . Neve rtheles s, they will have vent . The twoexpressive words, disapp ointment and mortifica tion, are peculiarto the E nglish language .

Th is self-adoration , thi s internal worship of the creature forits own sake, is the sin by which Satan fe ll, the height of impiety . This is the reason that with so many of the virtues Ofhumanity

,with their seriousness and sobriety of demeanor

,and

with their biblical turn of mind , no nation i s further off fromgrace . They are the on ly people who have been unable toclaim the authorship of the “Imitation Of Jesus ” : a Frenchman might wr ite it, a G e rman , an Italian , never an E nglishman . From Shakespeare to M ilton , from M ilton to Byron

,

their beautiful and somber literature is skeptical , Judaica l , satani e, in a word, antichr istian .

“As regards law, as a legistwell says, “the E nglish are Jews , the French Christians .

”

A theologian might express himself in the same manner,as

regards faith . The American Indians, with that penetrationand originality they so often exhibit, expressed this distinctionin the ir fashion . Christ,

” said one of them,“was a French

man whom the E nglish crucified in London ; P ontius P ilatewas an officer in the service of G reat Britain .

”

The Jews never exhibited the rage against Jesus which theEnglish did against the P ucelle . It must be owned that She hadwounded them cruelly in ‘the most sensible part in the s implebut deep esteem they have for themselves . At Orléans, theinvincible men at arms, the famous archers, T albot at theirhead, had shown their backs ; at Jargeau , sheltered by thegood walls of a fortified town, they had suffered themselvesto be taken ; at P atay, they had fled as fast as their legswould carry them, fled before a girl . This was hard tobe borne, and these taciturn E nglish were forever ponderingover the disgrace . T hey had been afraid of a girl, and itwas not very certain but that, chained as She was, they felt fear

TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOA N OF A RC. 263

of her still though, seemingly, not of her, but of thedevil , whose agent she was . At least , they endeavored bothto believe , and to have it believed so .

But there was an Obstacle in the way of this, for she wassaid to be a virgin ; and it was a notorious and well-ascertainedfact that the devi l could not make a compact with a virgin .

The coolest head among the English, Bedford, the regent, resolved to have the point cleared up and his wife, the duchess,intrusted the matter to some matrons, who declared Jehanne tobe a maid : a favorable declaration which turned against her,by giving rise to another superstitious notion to wit, that hervirgin ity constituted her strength, her power, and that todeprive her of it was to disarm her, was to break the charm,

and lower her to the level of other women .

The poor girl’s only defense against such a danger had beenwearing male attire ; though, strange to say, no one had everseemed able to understand her motive for wearing it . All

,

both friends and enemies, were scandalized by it . At the outset, she had been obliged to explain her reasons to the womenof P oitiers and when made prisoner, and under the care of theladies of Luxembourg, those excell ent persons prayed her toclothe herself as honest girls were wont to do . Above all,the E nglish ladies , who have always made a parade of chastityand modesty, must have considered her so disguising herselfmonstrous , and insuff erably indecent . The duchess of Bedfordsent her female attire but by whom ? by a man, a tailor . The

fellow , with impudent familiarity, was about to pass it over herhead, and , when She pushed him away, laid his unmannerly handupon her ; his tailor

’s hand on that hand which had borne theflag of France — she boxed his ear .

If women could not understand this femin in e question , howmuch less could priests T hey quoted the text of acouncil held in the fourth c entury, which anathematized suchchanges of dress not seeing that the prohibition speciallyapplied to a period when manners had been barely retri evedfrom pagan impurities . The doctors belonging to the partyof Charles VII . , the apologists Of the P ucelle , find exceedingdifficulty in justifying her on this head . One of them ( thoughtto be G erson) makes the gratuitous supposition that the momen t she dismounted from her horse , she was in the habit ofresuming woman ’s apparel con fessing that E sther and Judithhad had recourse to more natural and feminine means for their

26-1 TRIA L AND DE A T H OF JOAN OF A RC .

triumphs over the enemies of G od ’s people . Entirely preoccupied wi th the soul, these theologians seem to have held the bodycheap ; p rovided the letter , the written l aw, be followed, thesoul w ill be saved ; the flesh may take its chance Apoor and simple girl may be pardoned her inability to distinguish so clearly .

I t i s our hard condition here below, that soul and body areso closely bound one with the other, that the soul takes theflesh along w ith it, undergoes the same hazards, and is answerable for it This has ever been a heavy fatality ; buthow much more so does it become under a religious law , whichordains the endurance of insult, and which does not allow imperiled honor to escape by fl inging away the body, and takingrefuge in the world of spirits !

On the Friday and the Saturday, the unfortunate prisoner,despoiled of her man ’s dress, had much to fear . Brutality,furious hatred , vengeance , might severally incite the cowards todegrade her before she perished, to sully what they were aboutto burn . Bes ides, they might be tempted to varn ishthe ir infamy by a rea son of sta te , according to the notion s of theday ; by depriving her of her virgin ity, they would undoubtedly destroy that s ecret power of which the E nglish entertainedsuch great dread, who, perhaps, might re cover their couragewhen they knew that, after all, she was but a woman . According to her confes sor, to whom she divulged the fact, an E nglishman , not a common soldier, but a gentleman , a lordpatriotically devoted himself to this execution , bravely undertook to violate a girl laden with fetters , and, being unable toeffect his wishes, rained blows upon her .

“On the Sunday morning, T rinity Sunday, when it wastime for her to ris e ( as she told him who speaks) , She said toher E nglish guards, ‘Leave me, that I may get up .

’

One ofthem took off her woman ’s dress, emptied the bag in whichwas the man ’s apparel , and said to her, ‘G et up .

’ ‘G entlem en ,

’ she said, ‘you know that dres s is forbidden me ; excuseme , I w ill not put it on .

’

The point was contested till noon ;when , being compelled to go out for some bodily want, she putit on . When she came back, they would give her no otherdespite her entreaties .

”

In reality , it was not to the interest Of the E nglish that sheshould resum e her m an ’s d ress , and so make null and void a

retractation Obtained w ith such di fficulty . But at this moment,

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266 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF A RC .

kill me,she

,in reality, did not think so . She did not imagine

that she could ever be deserted . She had faith in her king, inthe good people of France . She had said expressly, “T herew ill be som e disturbance e ither in prison or at the trial , bywhich I shall be delivered greatly, Victoriously dclivered .

” But though king and people deserted her, shehad another source of aid, and a far more powerful and certainone

,from her friends above , her kind and dear saints .

When She was assaul ting Saint-P ierre , and deserted by herfollowers, her saints sent an invisible army to her aid . How

coul d they abandon their obedient girl ; they who had so oftenpromised her saf ety and deliverance .

What then must her thoughts have been, when she saw thatshe must die ; when, carri ed in a cart, she passed through atrembling crowd, under the guard of eight hundr ed Englishmen armed with Sword and lance . She wept and bemoanedherself

,yet reproached neither her king nor her saints .

She was only heard to utter, “O Rouen , Rouen ! must I thendie here ?”

The term of her sad journey was the Old market place,the

fish market. Three scaffolds had been raised : on one,was the

episcopal and roya l chair, the throne of the cardinal of England

,surrounded by the stalls of his prelates ; on another

,were

to figure the principal personages of the mournful dram a,the

preacher,the judges, and the bailli, and, lastly, the condemned

one ; apart,was a large sca ffolding of plaster

,groaning under

a weight of wood— nothing had been grudged the stake,which

struck terror by its height alone. This was not only to add tothe solemnity of the execution

,but was done with the intent

that from the height to which it was rea red, the executionermight not get at it save at the base

,and that to light it only

,

so that he would be unable to cu t Short the torments and re

lieve the sufferer,as he did with others

,spa ring them the

flames. On this occasion,the important point was that justice

Should not be defrauded of her due,or a dead body be com

m itted to the flames ; they desired that She should be rea llyburnt alive, and that, placed on the summit of this mountainof wood, and commanding the circle of lances and of swords,She might be seen from every part of the market place . Therewas reason to suppose that being slowly

,tediously burnt before

the eyes of a curious crowd,she might at least be surprised into

e weakness, that something might escape her which could

TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF A RC . 267

be set down as a disavowal,at the least some confused words

which might be in terpreted at pleasure, perhaps , low prayers,humiliating cries for mercy, such as proceed from a woman ind espair .A chronicler, friendly to the E nglish , brings a heavy charge

against them at this moment . According to him, they wantedher gown to be burnt first, so that she might remain naked, “inorder to remove all the doubts of the people that the fagotsshould then be removed so that all might draw nigh to see her

,

and all the se crets which can or should be in a woman andthat after this immodest, ferocious exhibition, the executioners should replace the great fir e on her poor carrion .

The frightful ceremony began with a sermon . M asterNicolas M idy, one of the lights of the university of P aris,preached upon the edifying text When one limb of theChur ch is sick , the whole Church is sick .

”This poor Church

could only be cured by cutting off a limb . H e wound up withthe formula : “Jeanne, go in peace, the Church can no longerdefend thee .

The ecclesiastical judge, the bishop Of Beauvais, then b enign ly exhorted her to take care of her soul and to re call allher misdeeds, in order that she might awaken to true repentance . The assessors had rul ed that it was the law to read overher abjuration to her the bishop did nothing of the sort . H e

feared her denials, her disclaimers . But the poor girl had no

thought of so chican ing away life ; her mind was fixed on farother sub j ects . E ven before she was exhorted to rep entance ,she had knelt down and invoked G od, the Virgin, St . M i chael ,and St . Catherine , pardoning all and asking pardon , saying tothe bystanders, “P ray for me !

” In particular, she b es ought the priests to say each a mass for her soul .al l this, so devoutly, humbly, and touchingly, that sympathybecom ing contagious, no one could any longer contain him selfthe bishop of Beauvais melted in to tears, the bishop of Boulognesobbed , and the very E nglish cried and wept as well, ‘vVinchesterwith the rest .

M ight it be in this moment of unive rsal tenderness, of tears,of contagious weakness, that the unhappy girl , softened , and

relapsing into the mere wom an , confessed that she saw clearlyshe had erred , and that, apparently, She had been deceived whenpromised deliverance . This is a point on which we cannot im

p licitly rely on the interested testimony of the English . Never

268 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOA N OF A RC .

thel ess , it would betray scant knowledge of human nature todoubt

,with her hopes so frustrated, her having wavered in her

faith . Whether she confessed to this e ffect in words isuncertain ; but I will confidently affirm that she owned it inthought .

M eanwhile the judges, for a moment put out of countenance,had recovered their usual bearing, and the bishop of Beauvais,drying his eyes, began to read the act of condemnation . H e

reminded the guilty one Of all her crimes, of her schism,

idolatry, invocation of demons , how she had been admittedto repentance , and how,

“Seduced by the prince of lies, shehad fallen , O grief like the dog which retu rns to his vomit.

Therefore , w e pronounce you to be a rotten limb, and, as such,to be lopped off from the Church . We deliver you over tothe secular power, praying it at the same time to relax itssentence and to spare you death , and the mutilation of yourmembers .”

D eserted thus by the Church, she put her whole trust inG od . She asked for the cross . An E nglishman handed her across which he made out of a stick ; She took it, rudely fashionedas it was, with not less devotion , kissed it, and placed it u nderher garments, next to her skin . But what she desired wasthe crucifix belonging to the Church, to have it before her eyestill she breathed her last . The good huissier , M assieu, andbrother I sam b art, interfered with such effect, that it was broughther from St . Sauveur’s . While she was embracing this crucifix,and brother I samb art was encouraging her, the E nglish beganto think all this exceedingly tedious ; it was now noon , at leastthe soldiers grumbled, and the captains called out : “What

’sthis, priest ; do you mean us to dine here Then, losingpatience, and without waiting for the order from the bailli , whoalone had authority to dismiss her to death, they sent two constables to take her out of the hands of the priests . She wasseized at the foot Of the tribunal by the men at arms, whodragged her to the executioner with the words, D O thy office .

The fury of the soldiery filled all present with horror ;and many there , even of the judges, fled the spot that theymight see no more .

When she found herself brought down to the market place,surrounded by English

,laying rude hands on her, nature as

serted her rights , and the flesh was troubled . Again she criedout, O Rouen , thou art then to be my l ast abode She

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270 TRIA L A ND DEA TH OF JOAN OF A RC.

Th e great testimony she thus bore is attested by the swornand compelled w itness of her death, by the D omin ican whomounted the pile w ith her , whom she forced to descend, butwho spoke to her from its feet, listened to her, and held out toher the crucifix .

There is yet another witness of this sainted death, a mostgrave witness , who must himself have been a saint . T his witness

,whose name history ought to preserve , was the Augustine

monk already mentioned, brother I samb art de la P ierre . D u r

ing the trial , he had hazarded his life by counseln the P ucelle,and yet

,though so clearly pointed out to the hate of the Eng

lish,he persisted in accompanying her in the cart, procured the

parish crucifix for her, and comforted her in the midst of theraging multitude , both on the scaffold where she was interrogated, and at the stake .

Twenty years afterwards, the two venerable friars, simplemonks, vowed to poverty, and having nothing to hope or fearin this world, bear w itness to the scene we have just describedWe heard her

,

” they say, “in the midst of the flames invokeher saints , her archangel ; seve ral times she called on herSaviour . At the last , as her head sunk on her bosom, she

shr ieked, Jesus“T en thousand men wept . A few of the E nglish

alone laughed, or endeavored to laugh . On e of the most furious among them had sworn that he would throw a fagot on thepile . Just as he brought it, she breathed her last . H e wastaken ill . His comrades led him to a tavern to recruit hissp irits by drink , but he was beyond recovery . I saw,

” he exclaimed, in his frantic despair, “I saw a dove fly out of hermouth with her last sigh .

”Others had read in the flames the

word “Jesus,” which she so often repeated . The executioner

repaired in the even ing to brother I sam b art, full of consternation , and confessed himself ; but felt persuaded that G od wouldnever pardon him . One of the English king’s secretariessaid aloud

,on returning from the dismal scene , We are l e st ;

we have burnt a saint !Though these words fell from an enemy ’s mouth, they are

not the less important,and will live, uncontradicted by the

future . Yes, whether considered religiously or patriotically,Jeanne D arc was a saint .

THE IM I TA TION OF CHRIST . 271

THE IM ITAT ION OF CHRIST .

BY THOM A S A KE M P IS.

[THOM A S A K E M P I S , the fam ous ecclesiastic and author, was so called fromthe town of K empen ,

near Cologne , where h e was b orn ab out 1 380 . His fam ilynam e was Hamerken (L atin i z ed , M a l leo lus , l ittle A t the age of

twenty he entered the A ugustinian m onastery of M ount St. A gnes , near Zwolle,H oll and ,

where h e was ordained p riest b ecame sub prior and

p assed h is entire life in seclusion . H e died July 26, 147 1 . His writings consistof sermons , letters , hymns , etc of wh ich only the celeb rated ascetical treatise

,

“D e Im ita tione Christi ” (On the F ollowing or Im itation of Christ) , pub lishedin 1 60 7 , deserves m ention . I t is the most widely read b ook in Christian l i terature

,With the excep tion of the B ib le

,and has passed through thousands of edi

tions in the original L atin and in translations . The auth orship of th e work wasfor som e time a sub ject of controversy, p artly b ecause it seemed unlikely that aquiet m onk should know so th oroughly a ll phases of hum an temp tation ; eventhose of p ract ical life b ut a K emp is ’ auth orsh ip is now thoroughly estab lished .

The work seems to have b een originally meant to b e sung. )

OE INORD I N A TE AF F E CT ION S .

WH E N SOEVER a man desireth anything inordinately, hebecometh presently disquieted in himself .

T he proud and covetous can never rest. The poor andhumble in Spirit dwell in the multitude Of peace .

T he man that is not yet perfectly dead to himself, is quicklytempted and overcome in small and trifling things .

The weak in spirit, and he that is yet in a manner carnaland prone to the things of sense

,can hardly withdraw himself

altogether from earthly desires .

And therefore he is often affli cted when he goeth about towithdraw himself from them ; and is easily angered when anyopposeth him .

And if he hath followed his appetite,he is presently dis

quieted w ith remorse of conscien ce ; for that he hath yieldedto his passion , which profiteth him nothing to the obtaining ofthe peace which he sought .

T rue quietness of heart therefore is gotten by resisting ourpassions, not by obeying them .

There is then no peace in the heart of a carnal man , nor inhim that is given to outward things, but in the Spiritual anddevout man.

272 THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST .

OE AVOI D I N G VA I N HOP E A N D P R I D E .

E steem not thyself better than others, lest perhaps in th eSight of G od , who knoweth what is in man , thou be accountedwo rse than they .

Be not proud of welldoing for the judgment of G od is fardifferent from the j udgment of men , and that often offendeth

H im which pleaseth them .

If there be any good in thee , believe that there is muchmore in others, that so thou mayest preserve humility .

It hurteth thee not to submit to all men : but it hurteththee most of all to prefer thyself even to one .

The humble enjoy continual peace , but in the heart of theproud is envy , and frequent indignation .

TH A T T OO M U CH FA M I L I A RI TY I S TO B E SHUNNED .

Lay not thy heart open to every one ; but treat of thyaffairs with the wise, and such as fear G od .

C onverse not much with the young, nor with strangers .Flatter not the rich : neither do thou appear willingly b e

fore the great .Keep company with the humble and Single-hearted, with

the devout and virtuous and confer with them of those thingsthat may edify . Be not familiar w ith any woman ; but commend all good women in general to G od .

D esire to be familiar with G od alone and H is Angels, andavoid the acquaintance of men .

We must have love towards all, but familiarity with a ll isnot expedient .

Sometimes it falleth out, that a person unknown to us ismuch esteemed of, from the good report given him by otherswhose presence notwithstanding is not grateful to the eyes ofthose who see him .

We think sometimes to please others by our society, andw e rather displease them with these bad qualities which theydiscover in us .

OE OB E D I EN CE A ND SU B JE CTION .

It is a great matter to live in obedience , to be under a superior and not to be at our own disposing .

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274 THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST .

we most love or desire or of those things which we feel to b eagainst us .But

,alas

, Oftentimes in vain , and to no end ; for this outward comfort is the cause of no small 10 14 of inward and divineconsolation .

Therefore we must watch and pray, lest our time pass awayidly

I f it be lawful and expedient for thee to speak, speak thosethings that may edify .

Evil habit and neglect of our own growt h in grace do givetoo much liberty to inconsiderate speech .

Yet discourse of spiritual things doth greatly further ourspiritual growth, especially when persons of one mind and spiritassociate together in G od .

OE THE OB TA I N IN G OF P E A CE , A ND OF ZE A LOU S D E SI REF OR G ROW TH IN G RA CE .

We m ight enjoy much peace , if we would not busy ourselves with the words and deeds of othermen , and with thingswhich appertain nothing to our charge .

How can he abide long in peace , who trusteth himself intothe cares of others, who seeketh occasions abroad, who little orseldom cometh to himself ?Blessed are the single-hearted ; for they shall enjoy much

peace .

Why were some of the Saints so perfect and contemplative ?Because they labored to mortify themselves wholly to a l l

earthly desires ; and therefore they could with their wholeheart fix themselves upon G od , and be free for holy retirement .We are too much led by our passions, and too solicitous

for transitory things .We also seldom overcome any one vice perfectly, and are

not inflamed with a fervent des ire to grow better every day ;and therefore we remain cold and lukewarm .

If we were perfectly intent upon our own hearts, and notentangled with outward things, then should we b e able torelish divine things, and to have some experience of heavenlycontemplation .

The greatest, and indeed the whole impediment is that weare not free from passions and lusts

,neither do we endeavor to

THE IM ITA TION OE CHRIST . 275

walk in the perfect way of the Saints ; and when but a smalladversity befalleth us, we are too quickly dej ected , and turnourselves to human consolations .If we would endeavor like brave men to stand in the battle,

surely we should feel the assistance of G od from H eaven .

For H e who giveth us occasion to fight, to the end we mayget the victory, is ready to succor those that fight, and thattrust in H is grace .

If we esteem our progress in religious life to consist onlyin some outward Observances, our devotion will quickly be atan end .

But let us lay the ax to the root, that being freed frompassions, we may find rest to our s ouls .If every year we would root out one vice , we should sooner

become perfect men .

But how oftentimes we perceive , on the contrary, that wewere better and purer at the beginning of our conversion

,than

after many years of our profession .

Our fervor and profiting Should increase daily ; but now itis accounted a great matter, if a man can retain but some partof his first zeal .If we wou ld do but a little violence to ourselves at the b e

ginning,then Should we be able to perform all things after

wards with ease and delight .It is a hard matter to forego that to which we are accus

tom ed , but it is harder to go against our own w il l .But if thou dost not overcome small and easy things, when

W i lt thou overcome harder things ?Resist thy inclination in the very beginning, and unlearn

evil habits,lest perhaps by little and little they draw thee to

greater difficulty .

O if thou didst but consider how much inward peace untothyself

,and j oy unto others, thou wouldest procure by demean

ing thyself well, I think that thou wouldest be more careful ofthy spiritual progress .

OE TH E P ROF I T OE ADVE RSI TY .

It is good that we have sometimes some troubles andcrosses ; for they often make a man enter into himself, andconsider that he i s here in banishment, and ought not to placehis trust in any worldly thing .

276 THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST .

It is good that we be sometimes contradicted, and that menthink ill or inadequately ; and this , although we do and intendwell .

These things help often to the attaining of humility, anddefend u s from vainglory : for then we are more inclined toseek G od for our inward witness, when outwardl y we b e contemned by men, and when there is no credit given unto us .And therefore a man should settle himself so fully in G od ,

that he need not to seek many comforts of men .

When a good man is afflicted, tempted , or troubled withevil thoughts, then he understandeth better the great need hehath of God , without whom he perceiveth he can do nothingthat i s good .

T hen also he sorroweth, lamenteth , and prayeth, by reasonof the miseries he suffereth .

T hen he is weary Of living longer, and wisheth that deathwould come, that he might depart and b e with Christ .

T hen also he wel l perceiveth that perfect s ecurity and fullpeace cannot b e had in this world .

OE RE SI ST I N G TEM P TA T I ON .

So long as we live in this world we cannot b e without tribulation and temptation .

Hence it is written in Job, The life of man upon earth isa life of temptation .

”

E very one therefore ought to b e careful about his temp tations , and to watch in prayer, lest the devil find an advantageto deceive him for he never Sleepeth, but goeth about, seekingwhom he may devour .No man is so perfect and holy but he hath sometimes temp

tations, and we cannot b e altogether without them .

Nevertheless temptations are often very profitable to us,though they be troublesome and grievous ; for in them a man

is humbled, purified , and instructed .

All the Saints passed through man’ s tribulations and temptations , and profited thereby .

And they that could not b ear temptations became reprobate ,and fell away .

There is no order so holy,nor place so secret, as that there

b e not temptations or adversities in it .

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278 THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST .

Some suffer great temptations in the beginning of their con

vers ion others in the latter end .

Others again are much troubled almost through the wholeof the ir life .

Some are but Slightly tempted , according to the wisdom andequity of the D ivine appointment, which weigheth the statesand deserts of men, and ordaineth all things for the welfare ofHis own chosen ones .We ought not therefore to despair when we are tempted

,

but so much the more fervently to pray unto G od , that H e willvouchsafe to help us in all tribulations for H e will surely, according to the words of St . P aul , make with the temptation away to escape , that we may be able to bear it .Let us therefore humble our souls under the hand of G od in

all temptations and tribulations ; for H e will save and exaltthe humble in spirit.In temptations and afflictions a man is proved, how much

he hath profited ; and his reward is thereby the greater, andhis graces do more eminently shine forth .

Neither is it any such great thing if a man be devout andfervent, when he feel eth no affli ction ; but if in time of ad "

versity he bear himself patiently, there is hope then of greatgrowth in grace .

Some are kept from great temptations, and in small oneswhich do daily occur are often overcome to the end that

,being

humbled, they may never presume on themselves in great matters, while they are worsted in so small things .

OE AVOID I NG RA SH JU D GM E NT .

T urn thine eyes unto thyself, and beware thou judge notthe deeds of other men . In judging of others a man lab orethin vain, Often erreth , and easily sinneth ; but in judging andexamining himself, he always l ab oreth fruitfully .

We often j udge of things according as we fancy them for

private affection bereaves us easily of a right judgment.If G od were always the pure obj ect of our desire

, we Shouldnot be so easily troubled, through the repugnance of our carnal mind .

But oftentimes something lu rketh W ithin, or else occurrethfrom W ithout, which draweth us after it.

THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST . 279

M any secretly seek themselves in what they do, and knowit not .

They seem also to live in good peace Of mind, when thingsare done according to their will and Opinion ; but if thingshappen otherwise than they desire, they are straightway movedand much vexed .

The diversities of judgments and opin ions cause oftentimesdissensions between friends and countrymen , between religiousand devout persons.

An old custom is hardly broken , and no man is willing tobe led farther than himself can see .If thou dost more rely upon thine own reason or industry

,

than upon that power which brings thee under the obedienceof Jesus Christ , it will be long before thou become illuminated ;for G od will have us perfectly subj ect unto H im , that, beinginflamed with His love, we may transcend the narrow limits ofhuman reason .

OE WORK S D ONE OU T OE CHA R I TY .

For no worldly thing, nor for the love of any man, i s anyevi l to be done ; but yet, for the welfare of one that standethin n eed, a good work is sometimes to be intermitted withoutany scruple, or even to be changed for a better .For by doing this, a good work is not lost, but changed into

a better .Without charity the outward work profiteth nothing ; but

whatsoever is done of charity, be it never s o little and cont emp tib l e in the Sight of the world, it becomes wholly fruitful .For G od weigheth more with how much love a man work

eth, than how much he doeth . H e doeth much that lovethmuch .

H e doeth much that doeth a thing well . He doeth wellthat rather serveth the common weal than his own will .

Oftentimes a work seemeth to be of charity, and it is rathera work of the flesh because natural inclination , self-will, hopeof reward

,and desire of our own interest are motives seldom

H e that hath true and perfect charity Seeketh himself innothing but only desireth in all things that the glory Of G od

should be exalted .

He also envieth none, because he seeketh no private good ;

280 THE IM ITA TION OF CHRIST .

neither doth he will to rej oice in himself, but wisheth above all

things to be made happy in the enj oyment of God .

H e attrib u teth nothing that is good to any man , but whollyreferreth it unto G od , from whom as from their fountain allthings proceed ; in whom finally all the Saints do rest as intheir highest fruition .

If a man had but one spark of true charity, he woul d certainly discern that all earthly things are full of vanity.

OE BE A R I N G W I TH THE FA U LTS OE OTH ERS .

Those things that a man cannot amend in himself or inothers, he ought to suffer patiently , until God order themotherw ise .

Think that perhaps it is better so for thy trial and patience ,without which all our good deeds are not much to be esteemed .

Thou oughtest to pray notwithstanding when thou hast suchimpediments, that G od would vouchsafe to help thee, and thatthou mayest bear them rightly .

If one that is once or tw ice warned will not give over, contend not w ith him : but commit all to G od, that His will maybe done , and His name honored in all His servants, who wellknoweth how to turn evil into good .

E ndeavor to be patient in bearing with the defects andinflrm ities of others, of what sort soever they be for that thyself also hast many failings which must be borne w ith by others .If thou canst not m ake thyself such an one as thou wouldest,

how canst then expect to have another in all things to thylikingWe would willingly have others perfect, and yet we amend

not our own faults .We w ill have others severely corrected, and will not b e

corrected ourselves .The large liberty of others displ easeth us and yet we will

not have our own desires denied us .We w ill have others kept under by strict laws ; but in no

sort will ourselves be restrained .

And thus it appeareth, how seldom we weigh our neighborin the same balance w ith ourselves .If all men were perfect

,what should we have to suffer of

our n eighbor for the sake of G odBut now G od hath thus ordered it, that we may learn to

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282 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY.

THE KING ’

S TRA GEDY .

l

JA ME S I . OE SCOTS .— 2OTH FEB RU A RY , 1437.

B Y DANTE GAB RIE L ROSSETTI .

[GA BR I E L CHA R L E S D A NTE ROSSE TT I , E nglish p oet and artist, was the son

of a refugee I talian patriot and p oet , and was b orn in L ondon , M ay 1 2 , 1 828 . His

early am b itions and efforts were a l l in the line of p ictorial art, and in 1 848 he

took part in founding th e P reraphael ite B rotherhood ; and a l l h is life his firstth ought of h imsel f was as artist. B u t his larger side in cap ac ity was the p oeticaland th ough not great in b u lk , his p oetry stands n ext to the very h ighest rankin English verse. H is great b allads , “Sister H elen ,

” “Rose M ary ,” “TheK ing’

s Tragedy ,” and “The Wh ite Ship “The B lessed D am oz el ” (writtenat n ineteen ) “A L ast Confession ,

” “Jenny ,” etc. , are imperishab le. He d iedA p ril 9,

I CA THE RI N E am a D ouglas born,A nam e to al l Scots dear ;

A nd Kate B arlass they’ve called me nowThrough many a waning year .

This Old arm ’s withered now .

’Twas onceM ost deft ’m ong m aidens al l

To rein the steed, to wing the shaft,To sm ite the p alm -

p lay bal l .

I n hal l adown the close-l inked danceIt has shone m ost wh ite and fai r ;It has b een the rest for a true lord’s head

,

An d m any a sweet bab e’s nursing b ed,A nd the bar to a King

’s chambere.

Ay, lasses, draw round Kate B arl ass,A nd hark with bated breath

H ow good K ing Jam es, K ing Robert’s son

,

Was foul ly done to death .

1 NOTE BY ROSSE TT I .— Tradition says that Catherine D ouglas , in honor of

her heroic act when sh e b arred th e door with h er arm against th e murderers of

James the F irst of Scots , received p opul arly th e nam e of B arlass .

” Th is name

rem ain s to h er descendants , the B arlas family, in Scotland , who b ear for theircrest a b roken arm . Sh e m arried A lexander L ovell of B olunnie .

A few stanz as from K ing James’ lovely p oem ,

known as The K ing’s

Qub air,” are quoted in the course of th is b allad . The writer must exp ress re

gret for the necessity wh ich h as compelled him to shorten the ten-syllab led linesto eight syll ab les, in order that they m ight h arm on iz e with the b allad meter.

THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY. 283

Through al l the days of his gallant youthThe p rincely James was pent,By his friends at first and then by his fees,In long imprisonm ent.

For the e lder P r ince,the kingdom

’s heir,

By treason’s murderous broodWas Slain ; and the father quaked for the childWith the royal m ortal blood .

I ’ the Bass R ock fort, by his father’s care

,

Was h is chi ldhood’s l ife assured ;A nd H enry the subtle Bol ingbroke,P roud England

’s K ing,’neath the southron yoke

H is youth for long years imm ured .

Yet in al l things meet for a kingly m an

H im self did he approve ;A nd the nightingale through his prison wallTaught him both lore and l ove .

For once,when the bird’s song drew him close

To the Opened window p ane,In her b owers beneath a lady stood

,

A l ight of l ife to his sorrowful mood,Like a lily am id the rain .

A nd for her sake, to the sweet bird’s note,

H e fram ed a sweeter Song,M ore sweet than ever a poet’s heartG ave yet to the English tongue .

She was a lady of royal blood ;A nd when

,past sorrow and teen

,

H e stood where stil l through his crownless yearsH is Scotish realm had been

,

At Scone were the happy lovers crowned,A heart—wed King and Queen .

But the bird m ay fall from the bough of youth,A nd song be turned to m ean

,

A nd L ove’s storm cloud be the Shadow of H ate,

When the tempest waves of a troubled StateAre beating against a throne .

284 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY.

Yet wel l they loved ; and the god of Love,Whom wel l the K ing had sung,

M ight find on the earth no truer heartsH is lowliest swains among.

From the days when first she rode abroadWith Scotish m aids in her train,I Catherine D ouglas won the trustOf my m i stress sweet Queen Jane .

And oft she sighed , To be born a King !A nd oft along the way

When she saw the hom ely lovers p assShe has said, Alack the day !

”

Years waned,

— the loving and toil ing yearsT il l E ngland

’s wrong renewedD rove Jam es, by outrage cast on his crown,To the open field of feud .

’Twas when the King and his host were metAt the leaguer of Roxbro

’ hold,

The Queen 0’ the sudden sought his camp

With a tale of dread to b e told .

A nd she Showed him a secret letter writThat spoke of treasonous strife

,

A nd how a b and of his noblest lordsWere sworn to take his l ife .

“A nd it may be here or it m ay be there,I n the camp or the court

,

” she said :“But for my sake com e to your peop le

’s arm sA nd guard your royal head .

”

Quoth he,’Tis the fifteenth day of the siege,

A nd th e castle’s nigh to yield.

0 face your fees on your throne,

” she cried,

A nd Show the power you wield ;A nd under your Scotish people’s loveYou shal l sit as under your shie ld .

”

At the fair Queen’s side I stood that dayWhen he bade them raise the siege,

A nd b ack to his Court he sped to knowH ow the lords would meet their Liege.

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286 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

“N O Liege of m ine thou art ; but I seeFrom th is day forth alone in theeG od ’s creature

,my m ortal foe .

Through thee are my wife and ch ildren lost,M y h eritage and lands ;

A nd when my G od shal l show me a way,Thyself my mortal fee will I SlayWith these my proper hands .

”

Against the coming of ChristmastideThat year the King bade cal lI’ the Black Friars’ Charterhouse of P erthA solemn festival .

And we of his household rode with himI n a close-ranked company ;But not til l the sun had sunk from his throneD id we reach the Scotish Sea .

That eve was clenched for a bod ing storm,

’Neath a toilsom e moon,half seen ;

Th e cloud stooped low and the surf rose high ;And where there was a l ine of the sky

,

Wild wings loom ed dark between .

A nd on a rock of the black beach sideBy the vei led moon d im ly l it,

There was som ething seem ed to heave with l ifeA S the K ing drew nigh to it.

A nd was it only the tossing fu rzeOr brake of the waste sea wold

Or was it an eagle b ent to the blastWhen near we cam e

,we knew it at last

For a wom an tattered and old .

But it seem ed as though by a fire withinH er writhen l imbs were wrung ;

A nd as soon as the K ing was close to her,She stood up gaunt and strong.

’Twas then the m oon sailed clear of the rackOn high in her hollow dome ;

A nd stil l as aloft with hoary crestE ach clam orous wave rang hom e,

THE KIN G’

S TRA GEDY . 287

Like fire in snow the moonlight blazedAm id the champing foam .

A nd the wom an h eld his eyes with her eyes0 K ing, thou art com e at last ;

But thy wraith has haunted the Scotish SeaTo my sight for four years past.

“Four years it is s ince first I m et,

’Twixt the D uchray and the Dhu,

A shape whose feet clung close in a Sh roud,A nd that shape for thine I knew.

“A year again, and on I nchkeith IsleI saw thee pass in the breeze

,

W ith the cerecloth r isen above thy feetA nd wound about thy knees .

And yet a year,in the Links of Forth

,

As a wanderer without rest,

Thou cam’st with both thine arms i’ the shroud

That clung high up thy breast.

A nd in this hour I find thee here,

A nd well m ine eyes may noteThat the wind ing sheet hath passed thy breastA nd risen around thy throat.

“A nd when I meet thee again, O K ing,That of death hast such sore drouth,

Except thou turn again on this shore,The wind ing sheet shal l have moved once moreA nd covered thine eyes and mouth .

0 K ing, whom poor men bless for their King,Of thy fate be not so fain ;But these my words for G od

’s message take,A nd turn thy steed, O K ing, for her sakeWho rides beside thy re in ! ”

While the woman spoke,the King

’s horse rearedAs if it would breast the sea,

A nd the Queen turned pale as she heard on the galeThe voice die dolorously.

288 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

When the wom an ceased, the steed was stil l,B u t the K ing gazed on her yet,

A nd in si lence save for the wail of the seaH is eyes and her eyes met.

At last he said : G od’s ways are H is own .

M an is but shadow and dust.Last night I prayed by H is altar stone ;To-night I wend to the Feast of H is Son ;A nd in H im I set my trust.

I have held my peop le in sacred charge,A nd have not feared the sting

Of proud m en’s hate,to H is will resigned

Who has b ut one same death for a hindA nd one sam e death for a K ing.

A nd if God in His w isdom have brought closeThe day when I must die,

That day by water or fire or ai rM y feet shal l fal l in the destined snareWherever my road m ay l ie .

What m an can say b ut the Fiend hath setThy sorcery on my path,

M y heart w ith the fear of death to fi l l,A nd tu rn me against G od

’s very willTo sink in His burning wrath

The wom an stood as the train rode past,

A nd moved nor limb nor eye ;A nd when we were shipped, we saw her thereStil l standing against the sky .

As the ship made way,the m oon once more

Sank slow in her r ising pal l ;A nd I thought of the shrouded wraith of the King,A nd I said

,The H eavens know all .”

A nd now, ye lasses, must ye hearH ow my name is Kate B arlass

But a l ittle th ing, when all the taleI s told of the weary m ass

Of crim e and woe which in Scotland ’s realmG od ’s wil l let com e to pass .

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290 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

And the King said, (for he thought to j estA nd soothe the Queen therebyIn a book ’tis writ that this sam e yearA King shal l in Scotland die .

“A nd I have pondered the m atter o’er,A nd this h ave I found, Sir H ugh ,

There are but two K ings on Scotish ground,A nd those Kings are I and you .

A nd I have a wife and a newborn heir,A nd you are yourself alone

So stand you stark at my side with meTo guard our doub le throne .

For here sit I and my wife and child,As wel l your heart shall approve

,

In full surrender and soothfastness,Beneath your Kingdom Of Love .”

And the Knight laughed, and the Queen too smiled ;But I knew her heavy thought,

A nd I strove to find in the good King’s j est

What cheer m ight thence b e wrought.

A nd I said,

“M y Liege, for the Queen’s dear love

N OW sing the song that of oldYou m ade

,when a captive P rince you lay

,

A nd the nightingale sang sweet on the spray,In Windsor’s castle hold .

”

Then he sm i led the sm ile I knew so wellWhen he thought to p lease the Queen ;

Th e sm ile wh ich under al l bitter frown sOf hate that rose between

,

Forever dwelt at the poet’s heartLike the bird of love unseen .

And he kissed her hand and took h is harp,

A nd the m usic sweetly rang ;A nd wh en the song b urst forth, it seem ed

’Twas the nightingale that sang.

Worship , ye lovers, on this M ayOf b liss your ka lends a re begun

S ing with us, A way, W7inter, away !

THE KING ’

S TRA GEDY.

Come, Summer, the sweet sea son and sun !

A wake for shame, your heaven is won,

A nd amorou s ly your heads lift a llThank L ove, tha t you to his gra ce doth ca ll ! ”

B ut when he bent to the Queen, and sangThe speech Whose praise was hers,

I t seemed his voice was the voice of the SpringA nd the voice of the bygone years .

The f a irest and the f reshestflowerTha t ever I saw before tha t hour,The which 0

’the sudden made to start

The b lood of my body to my heart.

=X= >X<

A h sweet,are ye a world ly crea ture

Or heaven ly thing in f orm of na ture

And the song was long, and richly storedWith wonder and beauteous things ;

A nd the harp was timed to every changeOf m instrel m inisterings ;

But when he spoke of the Queen at the last,I ts strings were his own heartstrings .

hiworthy but on ly of her gra ce,Up on L ove

’s rock tha t

’s ea sy and sure,

In gu erdon of a ll my love’s sp a ce

S he took m e her humb le creature.

Thus f el l my b lissf ul aventure

I n youth of love tha tf rom day to day

F lowereth ay new, and further I say.

To reckon a ll the circumstance

A s it happ ed when lessen gan my sore,

Of my rancor and woefu l chance,I t were too long, I have done therefor.

A nd of this flower I say no more

B ut unto my help her hea rt ha th tended

A nd even f rom dea th her man def ended .

”

Ay, even from death,” to mysel f I Said ;

For I thought of the day when She

H ad borne him th e news, at Roxbro’ siege,

Of the fel l confederacy.

292 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

But D eath even then took aim as he sangWith an arrow dead ly bright ;

A nd the grinning skull lurked grim ly aloof,A nd the wings were spread far over the roofM ore dark than the winter night.

Yet truly along the amorous songOf Love’s high pomp and state,

There were words of Fortune’s trackless doomA nd the d readful face of Fate .

A nd oft have I heard again in d ream sTh e voice of d i re appealIn which the K ing then sang of the pitThat is under F ortune’s wheel .

“A nd under the wheel b eheld I there

A n ugly P it a s deep a s hel l,

T ha t to b ehold I quaked for f earA nd this I hea rd, tha t who therein f ellCame no more up , tidings to tell

Wherea t, a stound of the f earf u l sight,I wist not wha t to do f or f right.

”

A nd oft has my thought cal led up againThese words of the changeful songWist thou thy p a in a nd thy travail

To come, well might’st thou weep a nd wail ! ”

A nd our wail, O God ! is long .

But the song’s end was al l of his love ;

A nd wel l his heart was gracedWith her sm il ing l ips and her tear-bright eyesAs his arm went round her waist.

A nd on the swel l of her long fair throatC lose clung the necklet chainAs he bent her pearl-tired head aside

,

A nd in the warm th of his love and p rideH e kissed her lips full fain .

A nd her true face was a rosy red,

The very red of the roseThat, couch ed on the happy garden bed,I n the summ er sunl ight glows.

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c)94 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

B ut we that were the Queen’s bower maidsAlone were left beh ind ;

And with heed we d rew the curtains closeAgainst the winter wind .

A nd now that al l was stil l through the hall,M ore clearly we heard the rain

That clamored ever against the glassA nd the boughs that beat on the p ane .

But the fire was bright in the ingle nook,A nd through empty space around

The shadows cast on the arrased wal l’M id the pictured kings stood sudden and tallL ike specters sprung f rom the ground .

And the b ed was dight in a deep alcove ;A nd as he stood by the fire

The K ing was stil l in talk with the QueenWhile he doffed his goodly atti re .

A nd the song had brought the image backOf m any a bygone year ;

A nd m any a loving word they saidWith hand in hand and head laid to head ;A nd none of us went anear.

But Love was weeping outside the house,A ch ild in the piteous rain ;

A nd as he watched the arrow of D eath,H e wailed for his own shafts close in the sheathThat never should fiy again .

A nd now beneath the window aroseA wild voice suddenly :

A nd the King reared straight, but the Queen fell backAs for bitter dule to d ree ;

A nd al l of us knew the wom an’s voiceWho spoke by the Scotish Sea .

0 King,” she cr ied,“in an evil hour

Th ey d rove me from thy gate ;An d yet my voice must rise to thine ears ;But alas ! it com es too late !

THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY . 295

“Last night at mid watch, by Aberdour,When the m oon was dead in the skies

,

0 K ing, in a death light of thine ownI saw thy shape arise.

“A nd in full season,as erst I said

,

The doom had gained its growth ;And the sh roud had risen above thy neckA nd covered thine eyes and mouth.

“A nd no m oon woke,but the pale dawn broke

,

A nd stil l thy soul stood there ;A nd I thought its si lence cried to my soulAs the first rays crowned its hair.

“Since then have I journeyed fast and fainIn very despite of Fate

,

L est H ope might still be found in G od’s w ill

But they drove me from thy gate .

“For every man on G od’s ground, 0 King,His death grows up from his birthIn a shadow plant perpetually ;And thine towers high, a black yew tree,O

’er the Charterhouse of P erth ! ”

That room was buil t far out from the house ;A nd none but we in the room

M ight hear the voice that rose beneath,Nor the tread of the coming doom .

For now there cam e a torchlight glare,A nd a clang of arm s there came ;

A nd not a soul in that space but thoughtOf the foe Sir Robert G raeme.

Yea,from the country of the Wild Scots,

O’er mountain, val ley, and glen,

H e h ad brought with him in murderous leagueThree hundred armed men .

The King knew al l in an instant’s flash

,

A nd l ike a King did he stand ;But there was no armor in al l the room

,

Nor weapon lay to his hand .

[0 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

A nd al l we wom en flew to the doorA nd thought to have m ade it fast ;

B ut the b ol ts were gone and the bars were goneA nd the locks were riven and b rast.

A nd he caught the pale, pale Queen in his armsAs the i ron footstep s fell,

Then loosed her, standing alone, and said,“Our b l iss was our farewel l ! ”

A nd ’twixt his lip s he murmured a p rayer,A nd he crossed his brow and breast ;

A nd p roudly in royal hardihoodEven so with folded arm s he stood

,

The prize of the bloody quest.

Then on m e leap ed the Queen like a deer0 Catherine, help !

” she cried .

A nd low at his feet we clasped his kneesTogether side by side .

“Oh ! even a K ing, for his peop le’s sake,F rom treasonous death m ust hide ! ”

“For her sake most ! ” I cried, and I m arkedThe pang that my words could wring.

A nd the iron tongs from the chimney nookI snatched and held to the KingWrench u p the p lank and the vault beneathShal l yield safe harboring.

”

With brows low-bent,from my eager hand

The heavy heft did he take ;A nd the plank at his feet he wrenched and tore ;A nd as h e frowned through the Op en floor,Again I said, “For her sake ! ”

Then he cried to the Queen, G od’s w il l be done ! ”

For her hands were clasp ed in p rayer.

A nd down he sp rang to the inner cryp t ;A nd straight we closed the p lank he had rippedA nd toiled to smooth it fair .

(Alas in that vault a gap once wasWherethro’ the King m ight have fled

B ut three days since close-wal led had it beenBy h is will ; for the bal l would rol l there inWhen without at th e palm he p layed .)

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98 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY.

And under the l itters and th rough the bedA nd within the presses all

Th e traitors sought for the King, and piercedThe arras around the wal l .

A nd through the chamber they ramp ed and stormedLike l ions loose in the lair

,

A nd scarce coul d trust to thei r very eyes,

For behold ! no King was there.

Then one of them seized the Queen, and cried,“Now tell us

,where is thy lord

A nd he held the sharp point over her heartShe drooped not her eyes nor did she start,But she answered never a word .

Then the sword half pierced the true, true breastBut it was the G raem e’s own son

Cried, “This is a wom an, — we seek a m an ! ”

A nd away from her gird le z oneH e struck the point of th e m urderous steel ;A nd that foul deed was not done .

A nd forth flowed all the throng like a sea,A nd ’twas empty space once m ore ;

A nd my eyes sought out the wounded QueenAs I lay behind the door .

An d I said : “D ear Lady,leave m e here

,

For I cannot help you now ;But fly while you m ay, and none shal l reckOf my place here ly ing low.

”

A nd she said, “M y Catherine, God help thee !”

Then she looked to the d istant floor,A nd clasping her hands, O G od help him,

She sob bed, for we can no more !”

But God H e knows what help may mean,

I f it m ean to l ive or to die ;A nd what sore sorrow and m ighty m oanOn earth it m ay cost ere yet a th roneBe fil led in H is house on high .

THE KING ’

S TRA GEDY. 299

And now the lad ies fled with the Queen ;A nd through the open door

The night wind wailed round the empty roomA nd the rushes shook on the floor.

And the b ed drooped low in the dark recessWh ence the arras was rent away ;

And the firel ight stil l shone over the spaceWhere our hidden secret lay .

An d the rain had ceased, and the moonbeamsThe window high in the wal l,Bright beam s th at on the plank that I knewThrough the painted pane did fal l

An d gleam ed with the splendor of Scotland’s crown

A nd shield armorial .

But then a great wind swept up the skies,A nd the cl imbing moon f ell back ;

A nd the royal blazon fled from the floor,

A nd naught remained on its track ;A nd high in the darkened window paneThe shield and the crown were black.

And what I say next I partly sawA nd partly I heard in sooth,

An d partly since from the m urderers’ lipsTh e torture wrung the truth.

For now again cam e the armed tread,A nd fast through the hal l it fel l ;But the throng was less : and ere I saw,By the voice without I could tel l

That Robert Stuart had com e with themWho knew that chamber wel l .

A nd over the space the G raem e strode darkW ith his m antle round him flung ;

A nd in his eye was a flam ing l ightBut not a word on his tongue .

A nd Stuart held a torch to the floor,

A nd he found the th ing he sought ;A nd they slashed the plank away with their swords ;A nd 0 God ! I fainted not !

300 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY.

A nd the traitor held his torch in the gap ,Al l smok ing and smoldering ;

A nd through the vapor and fire,beneath

In the dark crypt’s narrow ring,W ith a shout that pealed to the room’s high roThey saw their naked King.

H alf naked he stood, but stood as oneI Vho yet could do and dareWith the crown

,the K ing was stript away,

The Knigh t was reft of his battle array,But stil l the M an was there .

From the rout then stepped a villain forth,

Sir John H all was his nam e ;With a knife unsheathed he leapt to the vaul tBeneath the torchlight flame .

Of his p erson and stature was the KingA m an right m anly strong,

A nd mightily by the shoulder bladesH is foe to his feet he flung.

Then the traitor’s brother, Sir Thomas H al l,Sp rang down to work his worst ;

A nd the King caught the second man by the neckA nd flung him above the first.

And he smote and trampled them under him ;

A nd a long m onth thence they bareAl l black thei r throats with the grip of his handsWh en the hangm an

’s hand cam e there .

A nd sore he strove to have had their knives,But the sharp blades gashed his hands .

Oh Jam es so arm ed, thou hadst battled thereT il l help had come of thy hands ;

A nd oh ! once m ore thou hadst held our throneA nd rul ed thy Scotish lands

But while the King o’er his foes still raged

W ith a heart that naught could tam e,Another m an sprang down to the crypt ;A nd with his sword in his hand hard-gripped,There stood Sir Robert G raeme .

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302 THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY .

Too late, too late, 0 God, did it soundAnd I heard the true m en muster ing round,A nd the cries and the com ing tread .

But ere they cam e,to the black death gap

Somewise did I creep and steal ;A nd 10 ! or ever I swooned away,Through the dusk I saw where the white face layIn the P it of Fortune’s Wheel .

A nd now,ye Scotish maids who have heard

D read things of the days grown old,

Even at the last, of true Queen JaneM ay som ewhat yet be told,

A nd how she dealt for her dear lord’s sakeD ire vengeance man ifold .

’Twas in the Charterhouse of P erth,In the fair-lit D eath chapelle,

That the slain K ing’s corpse on bier was laid

With chaunt and requiem knell .

A nd al l with royal wealth of balmWas the body purified ;

A nd none cou ld trace on the brow and lipsThe death that he had died .

In his robes of state he lay asleepWith orb and scepter in hand ;

A nd by the crown he wore on his throneWas his kingly forehead spanned .

A nd, girls,’twas a sweet sad thing to see

H ow the curl ing golden hair,As in the day of the poet

’s youth,From the K ing

’s crown clustered there.

And if al l had com e to pass in the brainThat throbbed beneath those curls,

Then Scots had said in the days to com e

That this their soi l was a d iff erent homeA nd a difi erent Scotland, girls !

A nd the Queen sat by him night and day,A nd oft she knelt in prayer,All wan and pale in the widow

’s veilThat shrouded her shining hair.

THE K ING ’

S TRA GEDY . 303

And I had got good help of my hurtA nd only to m e some sign

She m ade ; and save the priests that were thereNo face would she see but mine .

And the m onth of M arch wore on apace ;A nd now fresh couriers fared

Stil l from the country of the Wild ScotsWith news of the traitors snared .

And stil l as I told her day by day,H er pallor changed to s ight,

A nd the frost grew to a furnace flameThat burnt her visage white .

A nd everm ore as I brought her word,She bent to her dead King Jam es,

A nd in the cold ear with fire-d rawn breathShe spoke the traitors’ nam es.

But when the name of Sir Robert G raemeWas the one she had to give,I ran to hold her up from the floor ;For the froth was on her l ips

,and sore

I feared that she coul d not l ive .

And the m onth of M arch wore nigh to its end,A nd stil l was the death pal l spread ;For she would not bury her slaughtered lordT il l his Slayers all were dead.

And now of their dooms d read tidings came,A nd of torments fierce and dire ;

A nd naught she Spake, she had ceased to speak,

But her eyes were a soul on fire .

But when I told her the bitter endOf the stem and just award,

She leaned o’er the bier,and thrice three times

She kissed the lips of her lord.

And then she said,

M y King, they are dead !”

A nd she knelt on the chape l floor,A nd wh ispered low with a strange proud smile,“James

,Jam es

,they suff ered more I

304 THE K ING ’

S QUA IR.

Last she stood up to her queenly height,But she shook l ike an autum n leaf,

As though the fire wh erein she burnedThen left her body, and al l were turnedTO winter of lifelong grief.

A nd “0 James ! ” she said, M y James !”she said,“

Alas for the woeful thing,That a p oet true and a friend of man,In desperate days of bale and ban,Shoul d needs be born a King !

”

THE KING ’

S QUAIR (BOOK) .

B Y JAME S I . OF SCOTLAND .

[This is the p oem Rossetti quotes from in The K ing’s Tragedy'y ]

BEWA I LI N G in my chambe r thus alone,D espaired of al l joy and rem edy

,

F or-ti red of my thought and wo-b egone,A nd to the window ’

gan I walk On high,To see the world and folk that went forby

,

As for the time though I of mirthes foodM ight have no more, to look it did me good.

Now was there made fast by the Towere’s wallA garden fair, and in the corneres setAn herb ery green, with wandes long and smal lRailed about and so with trees setWas al l the place

,and hawthorn hedges knet,

That l ife was none walking there forby,That might within scarce any wight espy.

SO th ick the boughes and the leaves greenB eshaded all the alleys that there were

,

And middes every b erbery m ight be seenThe sharpe greene sweete juniper

,

G rowing so fair with branches here and there,That, as it seemed to a life without,The boughes spread the herb ery al l about.

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306 THE KING ’

S QUA IR .

Can I not elles [else] find b u t gif that heB elovd, and as a god, m ay l iv e and reign,

To bind, and loose, and m aken thra l l es free,Then would I pray his bl issful grace benignTo hable [enable] m e unto his serv ice d ign,

A nd everm ore for to be one of thoHim truly for to serve in weal and woe.

A nd therewith cast I down mine eye again,Where as I saw walking under the tower,

Full secretly, new comen here to plain,The fai rest or the freshest younge flowerThat ever I saw,

methought, before that hour,For which suddain abate, anon astartThe blood of al l my body to my heart.

And though I stood abased there a lyte [l ittle],No wonder was ; for why my wittes al l

Were so overcome with pleasance and delight,Only through letting of m ine eyen fall,That suddenly my heart become her thral l,Forever of free will

,for Of manace [pride]

There was no token in her sweete face.

A nd in my head I drew right hastily,A nd eft soones I leant it out again,

A nd saw her walk that very wom anly,

With no wight more, but only women twain ;Then gan I study in myself and sayen,Ah ! sweet, are ye a worldly creature,Or heavenl y thing in likeness of nature

Or are ye god Cupide’s own princesse

An d com en are to loose me out of band,

Or are ye very Nature the goddess,That have depainted with your heavenly handThis garden full of floweres, as they stand ?

What shal l I think,alas ! what reverence

Shal l I m inister to your excellence

G if ye a goddess b e, and that ye l ikeTo do m e pain

,I may it not astart ;

Gif ye be worldly wight, that doth me sike [sigh],Why list God make you so, my dearest heart,To do a seely [simple] p risoner thus sm art,

That loves you al l,and wot of naught but wo

A nd therefore,merci

,sweet ! since it is so.

THE K ING ’

S QUA IR. 307

When I a little throw had made my moan,Bewail ing m ine infortune and my chance,

U nknowing how or what was best to done,So far I fal l ing into love

’s dance,

That suddenl y my wit, my countenance,M y heart, my will, my nature, and my m ind,Was changed clean right in another kind.

as as

I n her was youth, b eau tée, with humble port,B ountée, richesse, and womanly faiti

’

ire,

God better wot than my pen can report ;Wisdom, largesse, estate, and cunning sureIn every point

,so guided her m easure,

In word, in d eed, in shape, in countenance,That Nature might no more her chi ld advance.

Through which anon I knew and understoodWel l that she was a worldly creature,

On whom to rest m ine eye, so much goodIt did my woful heart, I you assureThat it was to m e joy without m easure,

A nd, at the last, my look unto the heavenI threw forthwith, and said these verses [l ines] seven

0 Venus clear ! of goddés stel lified,To whom I y ield homage and sacrifice,

From this day forth your grace be m agnified,That we received have in such a wise,To live under your law and your servise ;Now help me forth, and for your mercy leadM y heart to rest, that dies near for d read.

When I with good intent this orisonThus ended had, I stint a l ittle stound

A nd eft mine eye ful l pitou sly adownI cast

,behold ing unto her l ittle hound,

That with his belles played on the ground,Then would I say, and sigh therewith a lite,Ah ! wel l were him that now were in thy pl ight !

308 FIFTEENTH— CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE .

FIFTEENTH — CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE

(F rom the P aston L etters .

FROM A W IF E To A CONVA L E SCEN T HUSBAND .

M argaret P aston toJohn P a ston.

(Septemb er 28,

RIGHT WORSH I P F UL HUSB A ND

I recommend me to you , desiring heartily to hear of yourwelfare, thanking G od of your amending of the great diseasethat ye have had ; and I thank you for the le tter ye sent m e,

for my troth my mother and I were naught in heart’s eas e forthe time that we wost [knew] of your sickn ess till we wostverily of your amending . M y mother b ehested [vowed] an

other image of wax of the weight of you to Our Lady ofW al singham, and she sent iiii nobles [about to the i iii orders ofFriars at Norw ich to pray for you, and I have b ehested to goon pilgrimage to Walsingham and to Saint Leonard’s for youby my troth I had never so heavy a season as I had from the

time that I wost of your sickness till I wost of your amend ing,and sith [since then] my heart is in no great ease, nor naughtshall b e till I wot that ye be very hale . Your father and minewas this day seventh [a week ago] at Beccles for a matter ofthe Friar of B romholm e, and he lay at G elderstone that night,and was there till it was nine of the clock, and the tother day .

And I sent thither for a gown , and my mother said that Ishould have [non e then, til l I had b een there anon, and sothey could none get.

M y father G arneys sent me word that he should b e herethe next week, and my emme [uncle] also , and play [entertain]them here with their hawks, and they should have me homewith them ; and so G od help me , I Shall excuse me of minegoing thither if I may, for I suppose that I shall readil ier havetidings from you here than I should have there . I Shall sendmy mother a token that She took [brought] m e , for I supposethe time is come that I Should send [it] her, if I keep thebehest that I have made ; I suppose I have told you what itwas . I pray you heartily that ye will vouchsafe to send me aletter as hastily as ye may, if writing be no disease [discomtort] to you, and that ye will vouchsafe to send me word how

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31 0 FIF TEENTH— CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE .

Secondly, next him, above all earthly things, to be trueliege man in heart, in will, in thought, in deed , unto the kingour a ldermost [supreme] high and sovereign lord, to whomboth ye and I be so much bound to ; charging you, as fathercan and may, rather to die than to b e the contrary, or to knowanything that were against the welfare and prosperity of hismost royal person but that as far as your body and life maystretch

,ye live and die to defend it, and to let his highness

have knowledge thereof in all the haste ye can .

Thirdl y, in the same wise, I charge you , my dear son,alway

,as ye be bounden by the commandment of G od to do,

to love,to worship your lady and mother, and also that ye

obey alway her commandments, and to believe her coun selsand advices in all your works, the which dread not but shallbe best and truest to you . And if any other body would steeryou to the contrary, to flee the counsel in any wise , for yeShal l find it naught and evi l .Furthermore, as far as father may and can, I charge you in

any wise to flee the company and counsel of proud men, ofcovetous men , and of flattering men, the more especially andmightily to withstand them , and not to draw nor to meddl ewith them, with all your m ight and power . And to draw toyou and to your company good and virtuous men , and such asbe of good conversation and of truth, and by them Shall yenever be deceived nor repent you of . M oreover, never followyour own w it in no wise , but in all your works , Of such folksas I wr ite above , ask your advice and counsel ; and doing this,with the mercy of G od , ye Shall do right well, and live in rightmuch worship , and great heart

’s rest and ease . And I will b eto you as good lord and father as my heart can think .

And last of all , as heartily and as lovingly as ever fatherblest his child in earth, I give you the blessing of our Lordand of me, which of his infinite mercy increase you in allvirtue and good living . And that your blood may by hisgrac e from kindred to kindred multiply in this earth to hisservice , in such wise as after the departing fro this wretchedworld here , ye and they may glorify him eternally, among hisangels in heaven .

Written of min e hand,The day of my departing fro this land .

Your true and loving father, SUF F OLK .

F IFTEENTH— CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE . 31 1

THE M U RD ER OF THE D U K E OF SUF F OLK .

William L omner toJohn P a ston .

(M ay 5 ,

To M Y RIGH T WORSHI P F U L JOHN P A STON , A T NORW ICH

Right W rshipf u l Sir : I recommend me to you, and amright sorry of that I shall say, and have so wash this littlebill [et] with sorrowful tears, that un eths [hardl y] ye shallread it .As on M onday next after M ay day there come tidings to Lon

don, that on Thursday before , the D uke of Suffolk come to thecoasts of Kent full nearD over, w ith his ii . ships and a little Spinner ; the which Spinner he sent with certain letters to certainof his trusted men unto C alais ward, to know how he Shouldhimself b e received and with him met a Ship called Nicholas ofthe T ower, with other ships waiting on him, and by them thatwere in the spinner the master of the Nicholas had knowledgeOf the D uke ’s coming . And when he espied the D uke ’s Shipshe sent forth his boat to wit what they were , and the D ukeSpoke to them and said he was by the king ’s commandment sentto C alais ward, etc .And they said he must speak with their master . And SO he,

with ii . or iii . of his men, wen t forth with them in their boatto the N i cholas and when he come, the master bad himW elcome T raitor,

” as men say and further the masterdesired to wit if the shipmen would hold with the duke

,and

they sent word they would not in no w ise and so he was inthe Nicholas till Saturday next follow ing .

Some say he wrote much thing even to be delivered to theKing, but that is not verily known . H e had his confessor withhim , etc .

And some say he was arraigned in the ship on their mannerupon the appeachments and found guilty, etc .

Also he asked the name of the Ship, and when he knew it, heremembered Stacy that said, i f he might escape the danger ofthe T ower, he should be safe ; and then his heart failed him ,

for he thought he was deceived, and in the Sight of all his menhe was drawn out of the great ship into the b oat ; and therewas an ax , and a stock , and one of the lewdest [lowest] of theship bade him lay down his head , and he should be fair faredwith, and die on a sword and took a rusty sword . and smote

31 2 F IF TEENTH— CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE .

Off his head within half a dozen strokes, and took away hisgown of russet, and his doublet of velvet mailed, and laid hisbody on the sands of D over ; and some say his head was seton a pole by it, and his men set on the land by great circumstance and prey [w ith great formality and parade] . And thesheriff of Kent doth watch the body, and sent his under sheriffto the judges to wit what to do, and also to the King what shallbe done .Further I wot not, but thus far is that if the process b e erro

neou s, let his council reverse it, etc .Also for all your other matters they sleep, and the friar also,

Sir Thomas K eriel is taken prisoner, and all the leg harnessand about iii . In

1

[3000] E nglishmen slain .

M atthew G ough with xvc . [1 500] fled, and saved himself andthem and P eris Brusy was chief captain, and had x . m 1

French men and more, etc .

I pray you let my mistress your mother know these tidings,and G od have you all in his keeping .

I pray you this bill may recommend me to my mistresse s yourmother and wife, etc .James G resham hath written to John of D am , and recommend

eth him , etc .Written in great haste at London , the v. day of M ay, etc .

By your wife, W . L .

[H e had been M argaret P astou ’s amanuensis, and absentmindedly signed as often before . ]

A N E P I SOD E OF JA CK CA D E’

S RE B E LL I ON , 1 450 .

J. P ayn toJohn P a ston .

(A Rem iniscence written in

TO M Y RI GH T HONOR A B LE M A STE R , JOH N P A STON

R ight honora ble and my right entirely be loved master, I recomm end me unto you, with all manner of due reverence , inthe most l owlv wise as we ought to do, evermore desiring tohear of your worshipful state , prosperity , and welfare ; thewhich I beseech G od of his abundant grace increase and maintain to his most pleasance, and to your heart

’s desire .

P leaseth it your good and gracious mastership tenderly toc ons ider the great losses and hurts that your poor petitioner

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314 F IFTEENTH — CENTURY CORRESPONDENCE .

cles, and brought them to my master, and that cost m e moreamongst the commons that day than xxvii. s .

Whereupon I come to my M aster F astol f, and brought himthe articles

,and info rmed him of all the matter, and counseled

him to put away all the habiliments of war and the old soldiers ; and SO he did, and went himself to the T ower, and allhis mein i e [household] with him but Betts and i . [one] M at

thew B rayn ; and had not I been , the comm ons would haveburnt his place and all his tenu ries , wherethrough it cost meof mine own proper goods at that time mo re than vi . marks

in meat and drink ; and notwithstanding, the captainthat same time let take me at White H art in Southwark, andthere commanded Lovelace to despoil me out of mine array,and so he did . And there he took a fine gown of musterdewil l ers furred with fine beavers, and i . pair of brigandines

[a coat of mail, breast and back] covered with blue velvet andgilt nails

,with leg harness, the value Of the gown and the

brigandine viii. l .Item, the captain sent certain of his mein ie [ retinue] to my

chamber in your rents [buildings] , and the re b roke up mychest, and took away one Obligation of m in e that was due untome of xxxvii. l . by a p ri es t of P aul ’s, and i . nother obligationof i . knight of x. l . , and my purse with v . rings of gold, andxvii.s . vi.d . of gold and S ilver ; and i . harness complete of the1LAiu ch [make] of M ilan ; and i . gown of fine perse blue furredwith martens, and ii . gowns, one furred with bogey [budge]and i . nother lined w ith friez e and there would have sm ittenoff mine head, when that they had despoiled me at White H art.And there my M aster P oyn ings and my friends saved me

,and

SO I was put up till at n ight that the battle was at LondonBridge ; and then at n ight the captain put me out into thebattle at [the] Bridge, and there I was wounded, and hurtnear hand at death ; and there I was vi. hou rs in the battle,and might never com e out thereof ; and iiii . times before thattime I was carr ied about through Kent and Sussex, and therethey woul d have smitten off my head .

And in Kent, thereas my wife dwelled, they took away allour goods movable that we had, and there would have hangedmy wife and v. of my children, and left her no more goodsthan her kirtle and her Smock . And anon after that hurling

[hurly-burly] , the bishop Roffe [of Rochester] appeached meto the Queen, and so I was arrested by the Queen

’s command

F I F TEENTH— CENTURY CORRE SPONDEN CE . 31 5

ment into the M arshalsea, and there was in right great duresseand fear of mine life, and was threatened to have been hanged,drawn

,and quartered ; and so wou ld have made me to have

peached my master F astol f of treason . Any by cause that Iwould not, they had me up to Westminster, and the re wouldhave sent me to the j ail house at Windsor ; but my wife

’s andi . cousin of mine own that were yeomen of the C rown, theywent to the King, and got grace and i . charter of pardon .

P er l e vostre, J . P A YN .

WA RW I CK T H E KI N G M A K ER ,TH E FU T U R E E D W A R D IV

A N D LORD RIVE RS .

Wil liam P a ston toJohn P a s ton .

(Janua ry 28 ,

TO H I S RI G H T WORSH IP F U L BROTH E R , JOHN P A STON ,

be this letter delivered .

After due recomm endation had, please you to w it that wecame to London on the T uesday by noon , next after our departure from Norwich, and sent our men to inquire after my LordChancellor and M aster John Stokes and M alm esbury .

And as for my Lord Chance llo r, he was departed from London

,and was ridden to the King ii . days ere we w ere come to

London and as we understand, he hasted him to the King bycause Of my Lord Rivers taking [being taken] at Sandw i ch, etc .

A S to tidings, my Lo rd Rivers was brought to C alais, andbefore the Lords with viii . "x [eight score] torches, and there myLord of Salisbury rated him, calling him knave

’s son,that he

Should be [SO] rude to call him and these other Lords traitors,for they Shall be found the King’s true liege men , when heshould be found a traito r, etc . And my Lord of Warw ickrated him , and said that his father was but a squire , andb rought up with King H arry the V th , and sithen [S ince then]himsel f made by marr iage

,and also made Lord, and that i t was

not his part to have such language of Lords being of the King’sb lood . And my Lord of M arch [afterwards Edward IV . ]rated him in like wise . And Sir An tony [W idvil l e, afterwards E arl Rivers and Edward IV .

’

S father-in-law] was ratedfor his language of all iii . Lo rds in like wise .

Item, the King cometh to London ward, and, as i t is said ,reareth [raises] the people as he come ; but it is certain therebe comm issions made into divers Shires that every man be

31 6 W'

ARWICK THE K INGMAKER.

ready in his best array to come when the K ing send forthem .

Item,my Lord Roos is come from G uisnes .

No more,but we pray to Jesu have you in his most merciful

keeping . Amen .

Written at London the M onday next after Saint P aul ’s day .

Your brother, W IL L I A M P A STON .

WARWICK THE KINGM AKER.

B Y CHARLES w. OMA N .

[CHA RLE S W I L L IA M CHA DWI CK OM AN ,h istorical scholar and writer, was

b orn in India in 1 860 , and educated at W inchester School and at New College ,Oxford . His mas sive work (only one volume yet pub lished) is the H istory of

th e A rt of W ar in th e M iddle A ges (1 898) b ut he has written several excellent manuals and compendiums , Of wh ich the b est are the L ife of W arwick,”here excerpted and the History of Europe, 476— 91 8

TH E SOI L F ROM W HI CH TH E WA RS OF THE ROSES GREW .

OF A LL the great men of action who since the Conquest haveguided the course of E nglish policy, it is probable that none isless known to the reader of history than Richard N eville E arlof Warwick and Salisbury . For the Kingmaker, the manwho for ten years was the first subj ect of the English C rown ,and whose figure looms out with a vague grandeur even throughthe misty annal s of the W ars of the Roses, no writer has spareda monograph . E very one , it is true , knows his name , but hispersonal identity is quite ungrasped . Nine persons out of tenif asked to sketch his character would find, to their own surprise,that they were falling back for their information to Lord Lytton

’

s

Last of the Barons or Shakespeare ’s H enry the Sixth.

An attempt therefore, even an inadequate attempt, to traceout with accuracy his career and his habits of mind from the

original authorities cannot fail to be of some use to the generalreader as well as to the student of history . The result will perhaps appear meager to those who are accustomed to the b iographies of the men of later centuries . We are curiously ignorantof many of the facts that should aid us to build up a picture ofthe man . No trustworthy representation of his bodily formexists . The day of portraits was not yet come ; his monument

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31 8 WARWICK THE K INGM AKER.

formed more than a third Of any host that took the field inFrance) , and persisted in long after it had become hopeless,partly from misplaced national pride, partly because of the personal interests of the ruling classes . Thirty-five years of awar that was as unjust as it was unfortunate had b oth souredand demoralized the nation . England was full of disbandedsoldiers of fortune ; of knights who had lost the ill-gottenlands across the Channel , where they had maintained a precarious lordship in the days of better fortune ; of castellansand governors whose occupation was gone ; of hangers-on ofal l sorts who had once maintained themselves on the spoils ofNormandy and G uienne . Year after year men and money hadbeen lavished on the war to no effect and when the final catastrophe came , and the fights of Formigny and Chatillon endedthe chapter of our d isasters, the nation b egan to cast aboutfor a scapegoat on Whom to lay the burden of its failures .

The real blame lay on the nation itself, not on any individual ; and the real fault that had been committed was notthe mismanagement of an enterprise which presented any hopesof success, but a wrong-headed persistence in an attempt to conquer a country which was too strong to be held down . H ow

ever, the majority of the E nglish people chose to assume firstlythat the war with France might have been conducted to aprosperous is sue , and secondly that certain particular personswere responsible for its having come to the opposite conclusion . At first the unfortunate Suffolk and Somerset had the responsibility laid upon them . A little later the outcry becamemore bold and fixed upon the Lancastrian dynasty itself asbeing to blame not only for disaster abroad, but for the wantof governance at home . If King H enry had understood thecharge, and posses sed the wit to answer it, he might fairlyhave replied that his subj ects must fit the burden upon theirown backs, not upon his . The war had been weakly conducted,it was true but weakly because the men and money for it weregrudged . The England that could put one hundred thousandmen into the field in a civil broil at T owton sent four thousandto fight the decisive battle at Formigny that settled our fate inNormandy .

At home the bulwarks of social order seemed crumblingaway. P rivate wars , riot, open highway robbery, murder , ahduction, armed resistance to the law, prevailed on a scale thathad been unknown since the troublous times of E dward the

WA RWICK THE KIN GM A KER . 31 9

Second — we might almost say since the evil days of Stephen .

But it was not the C rown alone that should have been blamedfor the state of the realm . The nation had chosen to impose over-stringent constitutional checks on the kingly powerbefore it was ripe for self-government, and the Lancastrianhouse sat on the throne because it had agre ed to submit tothose checks . If the result of the experimen t was disastrous

,

both parties to the contract had to bear their share of the responsibility . But a nation seldom allows that it has beenwrong ; and H enry of Windsor had to serve as scapegoat forall the misfortunes of the realm , because H enry of Bolingbrokehad committed his descendants to the unhappy compact .Want of a strong central government was undoubtedly the

complaint under which E ngland was laboring in the middle ofthe fifteenth century, and all the grievances against which outcry was made were but symptoms of one latent disease .

E ver since the death of H enry the Fifth the internal governm ent of the country had been steadily going from bad toworse . The mischief had begun in the young King’s earliestyears . The C ouncil of Regency that ruled in his name hadfrom the first proved unable to make its authority felt as asingle individual ruler might have done . With the burdenof the interminable French War weighing upon their backs,and the division s caused by the quarrels of Beaufort andG loucester dividing them into factions, the councilors had notenough attention to spare for home government . As early as1 428 we find them , when confronted by the outbreak of a private war in the north, endeavoring to patch up the quarrel byarbitration instead of punishing the offenders on each side .

Accounts of riotous assemblages in all parts of the country, ofarmed violence at parliamentary elections, of party fights inLondon at P arliament time — like that which won for the meeting Of 1426 the name of the P arliamen t of Bats (bludgeons)— grow more and more common . We even find treasonableinsurrection appearing in the strange Obscure rising of thepolitical Lollards under Jack Sharp in 1 431 , an incident whichshows how England was on the verge of bloodshed twentyyears before the final outbreak of civil war was to take place .

But all these public troubles would have been of comparativel y small importance i f the heart of the nation had beensound . The phenomenon which makes the time so depressingi s the terrible decay in private morals since the previous century .

320 WARWI CK THE K INGM AKER .

A steady deterioration is going on through the whole period,

till at its end we find hardly a single individual in whom it ispossible to interest ourselves, save an occasional C olet or C axton,who belongs in spirit, if not date , to the oncoming renascenceof the next century . There is no class or caste in Englandwhich comes well out of the scrutiny . The church, whichhad served as the conscience of the nation in better times ,had become dead to Spiritual things ; it no longer producedeither men of saintly life or learned theologians or patrioticstatesmen . In its corporate capacity it had grown inertlyorthodox . D estitute of any pretense of spiritual energy, yetshow ing a spirit of persecution such as it had never displayedin earlier centuries, its sole activity consisted in hunting to thestake the few men who displayed any sym ptoms of thinkingfor themselves in matters of religion . So great was the deadness Of the Church that it was possible to fall into trouble ,like Bishop P ecock, not for defending Lollardry, but for showing too much originality in attacking it . Individually theleading churchmen of the day were politicians and nothingmore, nor were they as a rule politicians of the better sort forone like Beaufort, who was at any rate consistent and steadfast

,there were many B ou rchiers and G eorge Nevilles and

Beauchamps, who merely sailed with the wind and intriguedfor their own fortunes or those of their families .

Of the English baronage of the fifteenth century we shallhave so much to say in future chapters that we need not hereenlarge on its characteristics . G rown too few and too powerful , divided into a few rival groups, whose political attitudewas settled by a consideration Of family grudges and interestsrather than by any grounds of principle, or patriotism, orloyalty, they were as unlike their ancestors of the days of Johnor Edward the First as the ir ecclesiastical contemporaries wereunlike Langton or even W inchel sey . The baronage of England had often been unruly, but it had never before developedthe two vices which distinguished it in the times of the TwoRoses — a taste for indiscriminate bloods hed and a turn forrapid political apostasy . T o put prisoners to death by tortureas did T ip toft E arl of Worcester, to desert to the enemy in themidst of battle like Lord G rey de Ru thyn at Northampton , orStanley at Boswo rth , had never before been the custom Of England . I t is impossible not to recognize in such traits the resul tsof the French War . Twenty years spent in contact with French

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322 WA RWICK THE K IN GM AK ER.

If we find a few exceptions to the rule , we almost always learnthat entrance was den ied not by the citizens, but by some garrison of the Opposite side which was already within the walls .Loyalty seems to have been as wanting among the citizens asamong the barons Of E ngland . If they generally showed someslight p reference for York rather than for Lancaster, it was noton any moral or sentimental ground, but because the house ofLancaster was known by experience to be weak in enforcing“good governance

,

” and the house of York was pledged torestore the strength of the C rown and to secure better timesfor trade than its rival .Warwick was a strong man , born at the commencement of

H enry the Sixth’s unhappy minority,whose coming of age

coincided with the outburst Of national rage caused by theend of the disastrous French War, whose birth placed him atthe head Of one of the great factions in the nobil ity, whosestrength of body and mind enabled him to turn that headship to full accoun t . How he dealt with the problems whichinevitable necessity laid before him we Shall endeavor torelate .

THE BA TTLE OF BA RN ET A N D WA RW I CK’

S D E A TH .

The E aster morning dawned dim and gray ; a dense foghad rolled up from the valley, and the two hosts could see nomore of each other than on the previous n ight . Only the dullsound of unseen multitudes told each that the other was stillbefore them in position .

Of the two armies each, so far as we can judge, must havenumbered some twenty-five thousand men . It is impossible inthe conflict of evidence to say which was the stronger

,but there

cannot have been any great difference in force . E ach had drawnitself up in the normal order of a mediaeval army, with a central main battle , the van and rear ranged to its right and left,and a small reserve held back behind the center . Both sides

,

too , had dismounted nearly every man , according to the universal practice of the English in the fifteenth century . E venWarw ick himself, whose wont it had been to lead his first lineto the charge , and then to mount and place himself at the head ofthe reserve , ready to deliver the final blow,

— On this one occas ion sent his horse to the rear and fought on foot all day . H e

wished to Show his men that this was no common battle,but that

WA RW ICK THE K INGM AKER . 323

he was risking life as w ell as lands and name and power in theircompany .

In the E arl’s army M ontagu and Oxford, with their menfrom the North and E ast, held the right wing ; Somerset withhis West-C ountry archery and bil lmen formed the center ;Warwick himself w ith his own M idland retainers had the leftwing ; with him was his old enemy Exeter, — his unwillingpartn er in the famous procession of 1 45 7, his adversary at seain the spring of 1 460 . H ere and all down the line the Old

Lancastrians and the partisan s of Warwick were intermixed ;the C resset of the H ollands stood hard by the Ragged Staff ;the D un Bull of M ontagu and the Radiant Star of the D e Vereswere side by side . We cannot doubt that many a look was castaskance at new friends who had so long been Old foes, and thatthe suspicion of possible treachery must have been present inevery breast .

E dward’s army was drawn up in a similar order . Richardof G loucester commanded the right wing ; he was but eighteen,but his brother had already learnt to trust much to his zeal andenergy . Th e King himself headed C larence ’s men in the center ;he was determined to keep his shifty brother at his side

,le st he

might repent at the eleventh hour of his treachery to his fatherin -law . H astings led the rear battle on the left .

The armies were too close to each other to al low of manenvering ; the men rose from the muddy ground on which theyhad lain all night, and dressed their line where they stood .

But the night had led King E dward astray ; he had drawn uphis host so as to overlap the E arl’s extreme left, while heopposed nothing to his extreme right . G loucester in the one

army and M ontagu and Oxford in the other had each thepower of outflanking and turning the wing Opposed to them .

T h e first glimpse of sunlight would have revealed these factsto both armies had the day been fair ; but in the dense fogne ither party had perceived as yet its advantage or its danger .It was not till the lines met that they made out each other’sstrength and position .

Between four and five o clock, in the first gray of the dawning , the two hosts felt their way towards each other ; each sidecould at last descry the long lin e of bills and bows opposed toit , stretching right and left till it was lost in the mist . For atime the archers and the bombards of the two parties playedtheir p art ; then the two lines roll ed closer, and met from end

WA RWICK THE KINGM AKER.

to end all along G ladsmore H eath . The first shock was morefavorable to Warwick than to the King . At the east end ofthe line

,indeed, the E arl himself was ou tflanked by G loucester,

forced to throw back his wing, and compelled to yield groundtowards his center . But at the other end of the line the Yorkists suffered a far worse disaster ; M ontagu and Oxford notonly turned H astings’ flank, but rolled up his line , broke it, andchased it right over the heath, and down toward Barnet town .

M any of the routed troops fled as far as London ere they stopped,spreading everywhere the news that the King was Slain and thecause of York undone . But the defeat of E dward’s left winghad not all the effect that might have been expected . Owingto the fog it was unnoticed by the victorious right, and evenby the center, where the King and C larence were now hard atwork with Somerset, and gaining rather than losing ground . NOpanic spread down the line, “for no man was in anything discou raged, because, saving a few that stood nearest to them, noman wist of the rout : also the other party by the same fl ightand chase were never the greatl ier encouraged .

”M oreover,

the victorious troops threw away their chance ; instead of turning to aid his hard-pressed comrades, Oxford pursued recklessly,cutting down the flying enemy for a mile , even into the streetsof Barnet . Consequently he and his men lost themselves in thefog many were scattered ; the rest collected themselves slowly,and felt their way back towards the field, guiding themselvesby the din that sounded down from the hillside . M ontaguappears not to have gone so far in pursuit ; he must haveretained part of his wing with him , and would seem to haveused it to strengthen his brother ’s hard-pressed troops on the

left .B ut meanwhile King Edward himself was gaining ground

In the center his own column, as the Yorkist chron icle rdelights to record, “beat and bare down all that stood in hisway, and then turned to range , first on that hand and then onthe other hand, and in length so beat and bare them down thatnothing might stand in the Sight of him and of the well-assuredfellowship that attended truly upon him .

”Somerset, in short,

was giving way ; in a short time the Lancastrian center wouldb e broken .

At this moment, an hour after the fight had begun , Oxfordand his victo r ious followers came once more upon the scene .

I, >s t in the fog, they appeared, not where they might have been

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326 YVARW ICK THE K INGM A KER .

people should not be abused by feigned tales, else the rumorshould have been sowed about that the E arl was yet alive .

”

After lying three days on the stones, the bodies were givenover to G eorge Neville the Archbishop , who had them bothborne to Bisham, and buried in the abbey, hard by the tombsof thei r father Salisbury and their ancestors the E arls of thehouse of M ontacute . All alike were swept away, together withthe roof that covered them , by the Vandalism of the E dwardianreformers, and not a trace remains of the sepulcher of the twounquiet brothers .

Thus ended Richard Neville in the forty-fourth year of hisage

,slain by the sword in the sixteenth year since he had first

taken it up at the Battle of St . Albans . Fortune , who had soOften been his friend, had at last deserted him ; for no reasonable prevision could have foreseen the series of chances whichended in the disaster Of Barnet . M on tagu

’s irresolution and

C larence ’s treachery were not the only things that had workedagainst him . If the winds had not been adverse, Queen M ar

garet,who had been lying on the Norman coast S ince the first

week in M arch, would have been in London long before E dwardarrived

,and could have secured the city with the three thou

sand men un der Wenlock , L angstrother, and John Beaufortwhom her fleet carried . But for five weeks the wind blew fromthe north and made the voyage impossible on G ood Fridayonly did it turn and allow the Queen to sail . It chanced thatthe first ship, which came to land in P ortsmouth harbor thevery m orning of Barn et, carried among others the C ountess ofWarw i ck at the same moment that she was setting her footon shore her husband was striking his last blows on G l adsm ore

H eath . Nor was it only from France that aid was coming ;there were re inforcements gathering in the North, and thi

Kentishmen w ere only waiting for a leader . Within a few daysafter Warwick ’s death the Bastard of F au conb ridge had mustered seventeen thousand men at Canterbury in King H enry ’sname . If Warwick could have avoided fighting, he might havedoubled his army in a week, and offered the Yorkists battleunder far more favorable conditions . The wrecks of the partywere strong enough to face the enemy on almost equal terms atT ewkesbury, even when their head was gone . The stroke ofmilitary genius which made King E dward compel the E arl tofight, by placing his army SO close that no retreat was possiblefrom the position of Barnet, was the proximate cause of War

WA RWICK THE K INGM AKER . 327

wick ’s ruin but in all the rest of the campaign it was fortunerather than Skill which fought against the E arl . H is adversaryplayed his dangerous game with courage and success ; but ifonly ordinary luck had ruled, E dward must have failed ; theOdds against him were too many .

But fortune interposed and Warwick fell . For England’ssake perhaps it was well that it should be so . If he had suc

ceeded , and Edward had been driven once more from the land ,we may be sure that the Wars of the Roses would have draggedon for many another year ; the house of York had too manyheirs and too many followers to allow Of its dispossession withouta long time of further trouble . The cause of Lancaster, on theother hand, was bound up In a single life when P rince E dwardfell in the Bloody M eadow, as he fled from the field Of T ewkes

bury, the struggle was ended perforce , for no one survived toclaim his rights . H enry of R i chmond, whom an unexpectedchance ultimately placed on the throne, was neither in law norin fact the real heir of the house of Lancaster . On the otherhand, Warwick

’s success would have led , so far as we canjudge , first to a continuance of civil war, then, i f he had ul timately been successful in rooting out the Yorkists , to a protracted political struggle between the house of Neville and theOl d Lan castrian party headed by the Beauforts and probablyaided by the Queen ; for it i s doubtful how far the marriage OfP rince E dward and Anne Neville would ever have served toreconcile two such enemies as the E arl and M argaret of Anj ou .

If Warw ick had held his own, and his abil ities and his popularity combined to make it likely, his victory would have meantthe domination of a family group — a form of governmentwhich no nation has endured for long . At the best, the historyof the last thirty years of the fifteenth century in Englandwould have been a tale resembling that of the days when thehouse of D ouglas struggled with the crown of Scotland, or theG uises with the rulers of France .

Yet for Warwick as a ruler there would have been much tobe said . T o a king of the type of H enry the Sixth the E arlwould have made a pe rfect min ister and vicegerent

,i f only he

could have been placed in the pos ition without a preliminarycourse of bloodshed and civil war . The misfortune for England was that his lot was cast not with H enry the Sixth, butwith strong-willed, hot-headed, selfish E dward the Fourth .

‘

928 WARWICK THE K INGM AKER.

The two prominent features in Warwick ’s character wh ichmade him a leader of men were not those which might havebeen expected in a man born and reared in his position . The

first was an inordinate love of the activi ty of business the second was a courtesy and affability which made him the friend ofall men save the one clas s he could not brook — the “madelords

,

” the parvenu nobility which Edward the Fourth delighted to foster .

Of these characteristics it is impossible to exaggerate thestrength of the first. Warwick ’s ambition took the shape of adevouring love of work of all kinds . P rominent though hewas as a soldier, his activity in war was only one side of hispassionate desire to m anage well and thoroughly everythingthat came to his hand . He never could cease for a moment tobe busy ; from the first moment when he entered into officialharness in 1 455 down to the day of his death, he seems hardlyto have rested for a moment . The energy of his soul took himinto every em ploym ent w general, admiral, governor, j udge ,councilor, ambassador, as the exigencies of the moment dem anded ; he was always moving, always busy, and never atleisure . When the details Of his life are studied, the moststriking point is to find how seldom he was at home , how constantly away at public s ervice . His castles and manors saw

comparatively little of him . It was not at Warwick or Amesbury, at C aerphilly or M iddleham, that he was habitually to befound, but in London, or Calais, or York , or on the ScotchBorder . It was not that he neglected his vassals and retainers

,

- the loyalty w ith which they rallied to him on every occasionis sufficient evidence to the contrary, — but he preferred to be agreat minister and Official, not merely a great baron and feudalchief .In this sense , then, it is most deceptive to call W arwick the

Last of the Barons . Vast though his strength might be as thegreatest landholder in England, it was as a statesman and ad

min istrator that he left his mark on the age . H e should bethought of as the forerunner of Wolsey rather than as the successor of Rober t of B el esme , or the Bohuns and Bigods . Thatthe world remembers him as a turbulent noble is a misfortune .

Such a view is only drawn from a hasty survey of the last threeor four years of his life , when under desperate provocation hewas driven to use for personal ends the vast feudal power that

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330 W'

A RWICK THE KINGM AKER.

the majority of his contemporari e s in pol itical prescience isshown by the fact that, in spite of Yorkist traditions, he sawclearly that E ngland must give up her ancient claims onFrance

,and continually worked to reconcile the two coun

tries .In war Warw i ck was a commander of ability ; good for all

ordinary emergencies where courage and a cool head wouldcarry him through, but not attain ing the heights of militarygen ius displayed by his pupil E dward . His battles were foughtin the old E nglish style of E dward the Third and H enry theFifth

,by l ines of archery flanked by clumps of billmen and

d ismounted knights . H e is found employing both cannon andhand-gun men , but made no decisive o r novel use of e ither,except in the case of his siege artillery in the campaign of1 464. Nor did he employ cavalry to any great extent ; hismen dismounted to fight like their grandfathers at Agincourt

,

although the power of horsemen had again revindicated itselfon the C ontinent . The E arl was a cool and capable commander ; he was not one of the hot-headed feudal chiefs whostrove to lead every charge . It was his wont to conduct hisfirst l ine to the attack and then to retire and take commandof the reserve, with which he delivered his final attack in person . T his caution led some contemporary criti cs, especiallyBurgundians who contrasted his conduct with the headlongvalor of Charles the Rash, to throw doubts on his personalcourage . The sneer was ridiculous . The man who was firstinto the H igh Street at St . Albans, who fought through theten hours of T owton, and won a name by his victories at seain an age when sea fights were carried on by desperate handto-hand attempts to board, might afford to laugh at any suchcriticism . If he fell at Barnet “somewhat flying,

” as theYorkist chronicler declares, he was surely right in endeavoring to save himself for another field ; he knew that one lostbattle would not wreck his cause, while his own life was thesole pledge of the union between the Lancastrian party andthe maj ority of the nation .

Brave , courteous, l iberal , active, and able, a generous lordto his followers

,an untiring servant to the commonweal, War

wick had all that was needed to attract the homage of his contemporaries : they called him , as the Kentish ballad mongersang, “a very noble knight, the flower of manhood . But it

WARWICK THE K INGM AKER. 331

is only fair to record that he bore in his characte r the fatalmarks of the two sin s which distinguished the English noblesof his time . Occasionally he was reckless in bloodshedding .

Once in his li fe he descended to the u se of a long and delibe rate course of treason and treachery.

In the first-named sin Warwick had less to reproach himself with than most of his contemporaries . H e never authoriz ed a massacre, or broke Open a sanctuary, or entrapped menby false pretenses in order to put them to death . In battle

,

too, he always b id his men to Spare the C ommons . M oreover,

some of his crimes of bloodshed are easily to be palliatedM undeford and the other captains whom he beheaded at C alaishad broken their oath Of loyalty to him the Bastard of E xeter

,

whom he executed at York , had been the prime agent in themurder of his father . The only wholly unpardonable act ofthe E arl was his slaying of the Woodvilles and H erberts in1 469. They had been his bitter enemies , it i s true ; butto avenge political rivalrie s with the ax, without any legalform of trial, was unworthy of the high reputation whichWarwick had up to that moment enj oyed . It increases ratherthan lessens the sum of his guilt to say that he did not publ icly order their death , but allowed them to be executed byrebels whom he had roused and might as easily have quieted .

But far worse , in a moral aspect, than the slaying of theWoodvilles and H erberts, was the course of treachery anddeceit that had preceded it . That the E arl had been wantonly insulted by his thankless master in a way that wouldhave driven even one of milder mood to desperation , we havestated elsewhere . An ideally loyal man might have borne theKing’s ingratitude in sil ent dignity, and forsworn the C ourtforeve r : a hot-headed man m ight have burst out at once intoopen rebellion but Warwick did neither . When his first gustof wrath had passed, he set himself to seek revenge by secrettreachery . H e returned to the C ourt, was superficially reconciled to his enemies, and bore himself as i f he had forgottenhis wrongs . Yet all the while he was organ iz ing an armedrising to sweep the Woodvilles and H erberts away, and tocoerce the King into subj ection to his will . The plan was asunwise as it was unworthy . Although Warwick ’s treason wasfor the moment entirely successful, it made any confidencebetween himself and his master impossible for the future . At

332 WA RWICK THE K INGM AKER.

the earli est opportun ity E dward revenged himself on Warwickwith the same weapons that had been used against himself, anddrove the Earl into exile .

There is nothing in Warwick’s subsequent reconciliationwith the Lancastrians which need call up our moral indignation . It was the line of conduct which forced him into thatconnection that was evil, not the connection itself . There isno need to reproach him for changing his allegiance ; no othercourse was possible to him in the circumstances. The Kinghad cast him off, not he the King . When he transferred hisloyalty to the house of Lancaster, he never swerved again .

All the offers which E dward made to him after his return in1471 were treated with contempt . Warwick was not the manto sell himself to the highest bidder .If then Warwick was once in his life driven into treachery

and bloodthirsty revenge, we must set against his crime hisfifteen long years of honest and consistent service to the causehe had made his own, and remember how dire was the provocation which drove him to betray it. C ounting his evil deeds of1 469— 1 470 at their worst, he will still compare not unfavorablywith any other of the leading E nglishmen of his time . E venin that demoralized age his sturdy figure stands out in notunattractive colors . Born in a happier generation, his industry and perseverance , his courage and courtesy, his liberal handand generous heart, might have made him not only the idol ofhis followers , but the bulwark Of the commonwealth . C astinto the godless times of the Wars of the Roses, he was doomedto Spend in the cause of a faction the abilities that were meantto benefit a whole nation ; the selfishness , the cruelty, thepolitical immorality of the age, left their mark on his character ; his long and honorable career was at last stained bytreason , and his roll of successes terminated by a crushingdefeat . E ven after his death his misfortune has not ended .

P opular history has given him a scanty record merely as theKingmaker or the Last of the Barons, as a selfish intriguer ora turbulent feudal chief ; and for four hundred and ten yearshe has lacked even the doubtful honor of a biography .

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334 I N THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

then held it out to her . She took it with a smile , and lO '.acquaintance made ; and babbled like Old friends . G reeting sopretty and delicate I n e ’er did see . Yet were they both of thebaser sort . So the next lass I saw a coming, I said to myservant lord :

‘For further penance bow thy pride , go meetyon base -born girl ; kiss thy homicidal hand, and give it her,and hold her in discourse as best ye may .

’ And my noble servant said humbly, I Shall Obey my lord .

’ And we drew reinand watched while he went forward, kissed his hand, and heldit out to her . Forthwith she took it smiling, and was mostaffable w ith him , and he with her . P resently came up a bandof her companions . So this time I bade him doff his bonnetto them, as though they were empresses and he did so . And10 the lasses drew up as stiff as hedge stakes, and moved notnor spake .

”

D enys Aie ! aie ! aie ! P ardon , the company .

“This surprised me n one ; for so they did discountenancepoor D enys . And that whole day I wore in experimentingthese G erman lasses ; and

’twas still the same . An ye doffbonnet to them they stiffen into statues distance for distance .But accost them with honest freedom, and with that customary,and, though rustical , most gracious proffer of the kiss ed hand,and they withhold neither their hands in turn nor theiracquaintance in an honest way . Seeing which I vexed myselfthat D enys was not with us to prattle w ith them he is so fondof women .

”

(“Are you fond of women , And the

reader opened two great violet eyes upon him with gentlesurprise .

D enys Ahem ! H e says SO, she-comrade . By H annibal ’s helmet ’

tiS their fault, not mine . They wi l l have suchsoft voices, and white Skins, and sunny hair, and dark blueeyes, and

M argaret [reading suddenly] Which their affability Iput to profit thus . I asked them how they made Shift togrow roses in yule . For know, dear M argaret, that throughout G ermany the baser sort of lasses wear for headdressnaught but a crantz,

’ or wreath Of roses , encircling their barehair, as laurel C aesar

’s and though of the worshipful scorned,yet is braver, I wist, to your eye and min e which painters be ,though sorry ones, than the gorgeous , uncouth, mechanicalhead gear of the time

,and adorns

,not hides , her hair, that

goodly ornament fitted to her head by craft divine . So the

IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US. 335

good lasses,being ques tioned close, did let me know the rose

buds are cut in summer and laid then in great clay pots, thusordered : first bay salt, then a row of buds, and over thatrow bay salt sprinkled ; then another row of buds placed crosswise for they say it is death to the buds to touch on e anotherand SO on , buds and salt in layers . T hen each pot is coveredand soldered tight

,and kept in cool cel lar . And on Saturday

night the master of the house, or mistress , if master be none,open s a pot

,and doles the rosebuds out to every female in the

house,high or low, without grudge ; then solders it up again .

And such as of these buds would full -blown roses make putthem in warm water a little space , or else in the stove , andthen w ith tiny brush and soft, wetted in Rhenish wine , do coaxthem till they ope their folds . And some perfume them w ithrose water . For, alack ! their smell it is fled w ith the summer ;and only their fair b odyes lie withouten sou l, in tomb of clay,awaiting resurre ction .

“And some with the roses and buds mix nutmegs gilded,but not by my good will ; for gold, brave in itself, cheek byjowl with ros es

,is but yellow earth . And it does the eye ’s

heart good to see these fair heads of hair come , blooming w ithroses

,over snowy roads, and by snow —capped hedges, setting

winter ’s beauty by the Side of summer ’s glory . For what sofair as win ter ’s lilie s

,snow yclept, and what so brave as roses ?

And shouldst have had a picture here , but for their superstition . Leaned a lass in Sunday garb , cross-ankled , againsther cottage corner, whose low roof was snow-clad , and with hercrantz did se em a summer flower Sprouting from winter ’sbosom . I drew rein

,and out pencil and brush to limn he r for

thee . But the simpleton , fearing the evil eye , or glamour, clapsboth hands to her face and flies panic - stricken . But, indeed,they are more superstitious than the Sevenbergen folk , whichtake thy father for a magician . Yet softly, S ith at this momentI profit by this darkness of their minds ; for at first, sittingdown to write this diary, I could frame nor thought no r word,so harried and deaved was I with noise of mechan ical persons ,and hoarse laughter at dull j ests of one of these party-colo red‘fools

,

’ which are so rife in G e rmany . But, O sorry wit, thatis d r iven to the poor resource of pointed earcap s , and a greenand yellow body . T rue wit, methinks , is of the mind . Wemet in Burgundy an honest wench , though overfree for m v

palate,a t hamb erm aid , had made havoc of all these zan ies,

336 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

droll by brute force . 0 D igressor Well, then, I to b e rid ofroaring rustical ls and mindless j ests, put my finger in a glassand drew on the table a great watery circle ; whereat theru stical l s did look askant, like venison at a cat ; and in thatcircle a smaller circle . The rustical ls held their peace ; andbeside these circles cabalistical I laid down on the table solemnlyyon parchment deed I had out of your house . The rustical ls

held their breath . T hen did I look as glum as might be,and

muttered thus Videamu s —

quamdiu tu fictu s multo — vosque

veri stu l ti — audeb itis — in hac aula morari, strepitantes i taet ol enteS — u t du l cissimae nequ eam miser scrib ere .

’

T heyshook like aspens, and stole away on tiptoe one by one at first,then in a rush and j ostling, and left me alone and most scaredof all was the fool ; never earned j ester fairer his ass

’s ears .So rubbed I their foible , who first rubbed mine ; for of all atraveler’s foes I dread those giants twain , Sir Noise and ekeSir Stench . The saints and martyrs forgive my peevishness .T hus I write to thee in balmy peace, and tell thee trivial thingsscarce worthy ink , also how I love thee , which there was noneed to tell, for well thou knowest it . And , 0 dear M argaret,looking on their roses , which grew in summer, but blew inwinter

,I see the picture of our true affe ction born it was in

smiles and bliss , but soon adversity beset us sore with many abitter blast . Yet our love hath lost no leaf, thank God, butblossoms full and fair as ever, proof against frowns, and gibes,and prison , and ban ishment, as those sweet G erman flowers ablooming in winter ’s snow.

“Janu ary 2 .— M y servant, the count, finding me curious,

took me to the stables of the prince that rules this part . In

the first court was a horse bath, adorned with twenty-two pillars

,graven with the prince ’s arms ; and also the horse-leech

’sshop

,so furnished as a rich apothecary might envy . The stable

is a fair quadrangle , whereof three sides filled with horses ofall nations . Before each horse ’s nos e was a glazed window,

w ith a green curtain to be drawn at pleasure, and at his taila thick wooden pillar w ith a brazen shield, whence by turningof a pipe he is watered, and serves too for a cupboard to keephis comb and rubbing cloths . E ach rack was iron

,and each

manger Shin ing copper, and each nag covered with a scarlet mantle , and above him his bridle and saddle hung, ready to gallopforth in a minute ; and not less than three hundred horses ,whereof twelve score of foreign breed . And we returned to

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338 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

rode in,and the gate closed with a clang after me . I found my

self in a great building with a bridge at my feet . T his I rodeover

,and presently came to a porter’s lodge , where one asked

me again my name and business, then rang a bell, and a greatportcullis that barred the way began to rise, drawn by a wheeloverhead

,and no hand Seen . Behind the portcullis was a thick

oaken door studded with steel . It opened without hand, andI rode into a hall as dark as pitch . T rembling there awhile,a door opened

,and showed me a smaller hall lighted . I rode

into it : a tin goblet came down from the ceiling by a littlechain ; I put two batzen into it, and it went up again . Beinggone

,another thick door creaked and Opened, and I rid through .

It closed on me with a tremendous clang, and behold m e inAugsburg city . I lay at an inn called The T hree M oors,

’ overan hundred years old ; and this morning, according to my way ofviewing towns to learn their compass and Shape, I mounted thehighest tower I coul d find, and, setting my dial at my foot, surveyed the beautiful city whole streets of palaces, and churchestiled with copper burnished like gold ; and the house frontsgayly painted, and all glazed, and the glass so clean and burnished as ’tis most resplendent and rare ; and I, now first see«

ing a great citie, did crow with delight, and like cook on hisladder, and at the tower foot was taken into custody for a spy ;for

,whilst I watched the city, the watchman had watched m e .

The burgomaster re ceived m e courteously, and heard my story ;then rebuked his offi cers . ‘C ould ye not question him yourselves, or read in his face ? This is to make our city stink instranger ’s report . ’ T hen he told me my curiosity was of a commendable sort ; and, seeing I was a craftsman and inquisitive,bade his clerk take me among the guilds . G od bless the citywhere the very burgomaster i s cut of Solomon ’s cloth“January 5 .

— D ear M argaret, it is a noble city, and a kindmother to arts . H ere they cut in wood and ivory, that

’tis likespider ’s work, and paint on glass, and S ing angelical harmonies .Writing of books is quite gone by : here be six printers . Yetwas I offered a bountiful wage to write fairly a merchant’s aocounts, one Fugger, a grand and wealthy trader, and hath storeof ships, yet his father was but a poor weaver . But here incommerce, her very garden, men swell like mushrooms . Andhe bought my horse of me, and abated me not a j ot, which wayof deal ing is not known in H olland . But, 0 M argaret, the workmen of all the guilds are so kind and brotherly to one another,

IN THE GENERA TION BE FORE ERA SM US. 339

and to me . H ere, methinks, I have found the true G ermanmind, loyal, frank , and kindly, somewhat choleric withal, butnaught revengeful . E ach mechan i c wears a sword . The veryweavers at the loom Sit girded with their weapons, and allG erman s on too slight occasion draw them and fight ; but notreachery ; challenge first, then draw, and with the edge only,mostly the face , not with Sir P oint ; for if in these combats onethrust at his adversary and hurt him,

’tis called ein schelem

s iu clce, a heinous act ; both men and women turn their backson him and even the j udges punish thrusts bitterly, but passover cuts . H ence in G ermany be good stores of scarred faces,three in five at least, and in France scarce more than one inthree .

But in arts mechanical no citizens may compare with these .Fountains in every street that play to heaven , and in the gardensseeming trees, which, being approached, one standing afartouches a spring, and every tw ig Shoots water, and sous es theguests, to their host

’s much delectation . Big culverins of warthey cast with no more ado than our folk horseshoes , and havedone this fourscore years . All stufi s they weave , and linen fineas ours at home , or nearly, which elsewhere in E urope vainlyshall you seek . Sir P rinting P ress — sore foe to poor G erard,but to other humans b eneficial —

p l ieth by night and day, andcasteth goodly words like sower afield ; while I , poor fool, canbut sow them as I saw women in France sow rye , dribbling itin the furrow grain by grain . And of their strange mechanicalskill take two examples . For ending of exemplary rogues theyhave a figure like a woman

,seven feet high, and called Jung

Frau but 10 a spring is touched, She seiz eth the poor wretchwith her iron arms

,and

,opening herself, hales him inside her,

and there pierces him through and through w ith twoscore lances .Secondly, in all great houses the spit is turned, not by a scrubbyboy, but by smoke . A y, mayst well admire , and judge m e alying knave . T hese cunn ing G erm ans do set in the chim ney alittle windmill , and the smoke . struggling to wend past, turnsit, and from the mill a w ire runs through the wall and turnsthe Spit on wheels ; beholding which I doffed my bonnet tothe men of Augsb urg, for who but these had ere devised tobind ye so dark and subtle a knave as Sir Smoke, and set himto roast D ame P ullet ?

This day, January 5 , with three craftsmen of the town, Ipainted a pack of cards . T hey were for a senator in a hurry .

340 IN THE GENERA TION BEFORE ERA SM US.

I the diamonds . M y queen came forth with eyes like springviolets

,hair a golden brown , and W i tching smile . M y fellow

craftsmen saw her, and put their arms round my neck and hailedme master . 0 noble G ermans ! No j ealou sy of a brotherworkman : no sour looks at a stranger : and would have m e

Spend Sunday w ith them after matins ; and the merchant paidme so richly as I was ashamed to take the guerdon : and I tomy inn , and tried to paint the queen of diamonds for poorG erard ; but no , she would not come like again . Luck willnot be bespoke . 0 happy rich man that hath got her ! Fiefie Happy G erard, that shall have herself one day, and keephouse with her at Augsburg .

“January 1 0 .-This day started for Venice .

“January 1 8 .— In the midst of life we are in death . 0

dear M argaret, I thought I had lost thee . H ere I lie in painand dole, and shall write ye that, which read you it in a re

mance ye should cry most improbable And SO still wondering that I am alive to write it, and thanking for it G od and thesaints

,this is what befell thy G erard . Yestreen I wearied of

being Shut up in litter, and of the mule’s slow pace, and SO

went forward ; and being, I know not why, strangely full ofSpirit and hope , as I have heard befall some men when ontroub le ’s brink, seemed to tread on air and soon distancedthem all . P resently I came to two roads, and took the largerI should have taken the smaller . After traveling a good halfhour I found my error and return ed , and, deeming my companyhad long passed by, pushed bravely on , but I could not overtakethem , and small wonder, as you shall hear . T hen I was anx

ious , and ran ; but bare was the road Of those I sought, andnight came down , and the wild beasts afoot, and I bemoanedmy fol ly also I was hungered . T he moon rose clear and brightexceedingly, and presently, a little way Off the road, I saw atall w indmill . C ome,

’ said I, ‘m ayhap the miller will takeruth on me .

’ Near the mill was a haystack, and scattered aboutwere store of l ittle barrels, but 10 ! they were not flour barrels,but tar barrels , one or two , and the rest of spirits, B rantvein andSchiedam ; I knew them momently, having seen the like inH olland . I knocked at the mill door, but none answered. Ilifted the latch , and the door opened inwards . I went in , andgladly, for the night was fine but cold, and a rime on the trees.which were a kind of lofty sycamores . T here was a stove, butblack ; I lighted it with some of the hay and wood, for there

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342 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US .

put the bed against the door . I went to move i t, but couldnot . It was free at the head, but at the foot fast clamped withiron to the floor. So I flung my psaltery on the bed, but formyself made a layer of straw at the door, SO none could Openon me unawares . And I laid my sword ready to my hand .

And said my prayers for thee and me, and turned to sleep .

Below they drank and made merry . And hearing thisgave me confidence . Said I , Ou t of sight, out Of mind .

Another hour and the good Schiedam will make them forgetthat I am here .’ And SO I composed myself to sleep . And forsome time could not for the boisterous mirth below . At last Idropped Off. How long I slept I knew not but I woke witha start ; the noise had ceased below, and the sudden S ilencewoke me . And scarce was I awake , when sudden the truckle-e

bed was gon e with a loud clang all but the feet, and the flooryawned

,and I heard my psaltery fall and break to atoms

,deep

,

deep,below the very floor of the mill . It had fallen into a well .

And so had I done , lying where it lay .

M argaret shuddered, and put her face in her hands . Butspeedily resumed .

I lay stup efied at first . T hen horror fell on me and I rose,

but stood rooted there, shaking from head to foot . At last Ifound myself looking down into that fearsome gap

,and my

very hair did bristle as I peered . And then , I remember, Iturned quite calm , and made up my mind to die sword in hand.

For I s aw no man must know this their bloody secret and live .And I said, P oor M argaret And I took out of my bosom

,

where they lie ever, our marriage lines , and kiss ed them again andagain . And I pinned them to my shirt again, that they mightlie in one grave with me , if die I must . And I thought

, A ll

our love and hopes to end thusE li Whisht all T heir marriage lines ? G ive her time

But no word . I can bear no chat . M y poor ladD uring the long pause that ensued, C atherine leaned for

ward, and passed something adroitly from her own lap underher daughter ’ s apron who sat next her .

P resently thinking, all in a whirl, of all that ever passedbetween us, and taking leave of all those pleasant hours, I calledto mind how one day at Sevenbergen thou taughtest me tomake a rope of straw. M indest then ? The moment memoryb rought that happy day back to me, I cried out very loudM argaret gives me a chance for life even here . ’ I woke from

I N THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US. 343

my lethargy . I seized on the s traw and twisted it eagerly, asthen didst teach me, but my fingers trembled and delayed thetask . While s I wrought I heard the door Open below . T hatwas a terrible moment . Even as I twisted my rope I got to thewindow and looked down at the great arms of the mill comingS low ly up, passing, then turning less slowly down, as it seemedand I thought, ‘They go not as when there is wind ; yet, Slowor fast, what man rid ever on such steed as these , and lived ?

Yet,’ said I , ‘better trust to them and God than to il l men .

’

And I prayed to him whom even the wind obeyeth .

D ear M argaret, I fastened my rope , and let myself gentlydown , and fixed my eyes on that huge arm of the mill, whichwas then creeping up to me , and went to spring on to it . Butmy heart failed me at the pinch . And methought it was notnear enow . And it passed calm and awful by . I watched foranother ; they were three . And after a little while one creptup Slower than the rest methought . And I with my foot thrustmyself in good time somewhat out from the wall, and cryingaloud , M argaret ! did grip with all my soul the woodwork ofthe sail , and that momen t was swimming in the air .

”

G iles Well done well done“M otion I felt littl e ; but the stars seemed to go round

the sky, and then the grass came up to me nearer and n earer,and when the hoary grass was quite close I was sent rollingalong it as if hurled from a catapult, and got up breathless , andevery point and tie about me broken . I rose, but fell downagain in agony . I had but one leg I could stand on .

Ga therine Eh ! dear ! his leg is broke , my boy’s leg is

broke !And, e

’en as I lay groaning, I heard a sound like thunder .It was the assassins running up the stairs . The crazy old millshook under them . They must have found I had not falleninto their bloody trap, and were running to dispatch me . M ar a

garet, I felt no fear , for now I had no hope . I could neitherrun nor hide , so wild the place, SO bright the moon . I struggledup

,all agony and revenge, more like some wounded wild beast

than your G erard . Lean ing on my sword hilt I hobbled roundand swift as lightning, or vengeance , I heaped a great pile oftheir hay and wood at the mill door ; then drove my daggerinto a barrel of their smuggled Spir its, and flung it on ; thenout w ith my tinder and lighted the pile . T his will bring truemen round my dead body ,

’ said I . Aha l I cried, ‘think you

344 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

I ’ll die alone , cowards, assassins reckless fiends and at eachword on went a barrel pierced . But, 0 M argaret ! the fire,fed by the Spirits, surprised me it Shot up and singed my veryhair it went roaring up the side of the mill , swift as falls thelightning ! and I yelled and laughed in my torture and despair,and pierced more barrels, and the very tar b arrels, and flungthem on . The fire roared like a lion for its prey, and voicesanswered it inside from the top of the mill, and the feet camethundering down , and I stood as near that awful fire as I could,with uplifted sword to Slay and be slain . The bolt was drawn .

A tar barrel caught fire . The door was Opened . W hat followed ? Not the men came out, but the fire rushed in at themlike a living death , and the first I thought to fight with wasblackened and crumpled on the floor like a leaf . One fearsomeyell

,and dumb forever . The feet ran up again , but fewer . I

heard them hack w ith their swords a little way up, at the mill’s

wooden Sides but they had no time to hew their way out ; thefire and reek were at their heels , and the smoke burst out atevery loophole, and oozed blue in the moonlight through eachcrevice . I hobbled back, racked with pain and fury . Therewere white faces up at my window . T hey saw me . Theycursed me . I cursed them back, and Shook my naked sword .

C ome down the road I came,’ I cried .

‘But ye must comeone by one, and, as ye come , ye die upon my sword .

’

Somecursed at that, but others wailed . For I had them all at deadlyvantage . And doubtless w ith my smoke -grimed face and fiendish rage I looked a demon . And now there was a steady roarinside the mill . The flames were going up it as from furnaceup its chimn ey . The mill caught fire . Fire glimmered throughit . T ongues of flame darted through each loophole , and shotsparks and fiery flakes into the night . One of the assassinsleaped on to the sail , as I had don e . In his hurry he missed hisgrasp and fell at my feet, and bounded from the hard groundlike a ball, and never spoke a word nor moved again . And therest screamed like women , and, with their despair, came backto me both ruth for them and hope of life for myself . And thefire gnawed through the mill in placen , and shot forth showersof great flat sparks like flakes of fiery snow ; and the sailscaught fire one after another ; and I became a man again , andstaggered away terror— stricken , lean ing on my sword, from the

sight of my revenge , and , w ith great bodily pain , crawled backto the read . And, dear M argaret, the rimy trees were all now

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346 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

A y, good M aster G ile s, sighed M argaret, feebly,“he was

alive . But how know I what hath s inc e befallen him ? 0 ,

why left he H olland to go amongst strangers fierce as lions ?And why did I not drive him from me sooner than part himfrom his own flesh and blood ? Forgive me, you that are hismotherAnd she gently removed Catherine ’s arm , and made a feeble

attempt to slide off the chair on to her knees, which, after abrief struggle with superior force , ended in her finding herselfon C atherine ’s bosom . Then M argaret held out the letter toE li, and said faintly but sweetly, I will trust it from my handnow . In sooth, I am little fit to read any more — and — andloath to leave my comfort : and She wreathed her other armround C atherine ’s neck .

“Read thou, Ri chart, said E li ; thine eyes be youngerthan mine .

Richart took the letter . W ell, said he, “such writingsaw I never . A writeth with a n eedle ’s point ; and clear toboot. Why is not he in my counting-house at Amsterdaminstead of vagabonding it out yonder ? ”

When I came to myself I was seated in the litter,and my

good merchant holding of my hand . I babbled I know notwhat, and then shuddered awhile in silence . H e put a horn ofwine to my lips

Ga therine Bless him ! bless him !E li Whisht .”

And I told him what had befallen . He would see my leg .

It was sprained sore , and swelled at the ankle ; and all mypoints were broken, as I could scarce keep up my hose and Isaid, ‘Sir, I Shall be but a bu rden to you, I doubt, and canmake you no harmony now ; my poor psaltery, i t i s broken ;and I did grieve over my broken music

,companion of so many

weary leagues . But he patted me on the cheek, and bade menot fret als o he did put up my leg on a pillow, and tended m e

like a kind father .January 20 . I sit all day in the litter , for we are pushing forward with haste , and at night the good kind merchantsendeth me to bed, and will not let me work . Strange whene ’er I fall in with men like fiends

,then th e next moment G od

still sendeth me some good man or woman,le st I should turn

away from humankind . 0 M argaret ! how strangely mixedthey be, and how old I am by what I was three months agone

IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US . 347

And 1 if good M aster Fugger hath not been and bought mea psaltery .

Ca therine E li, my man, an yon merchant comes ourway, let us buy a hundred ells of cloth of him,

and nothiggle .

”

E li That will I, take your oath on’t

While Richart prepared to read, Kate looked at her mother,and with a fain t blush drew out the piece of work from underher apron , and sewed, with head depressed a little more thannecessary . On this her mother drew a piece of work out ofher pocket, and sewed too, while Richart read . Both the specimens these sweet surreptitious creatures new first exposed toObservation were babies’ caps, and not more than half fin ished,which told a tale . H orror they were like little monks’ cowlsin shape and delicacy .

“Janu ary 22 . Laid up in the litter, and as good as blind,but, halting to bait , Lombardy plains burst on me . 0 M ar

garet a land flowing with milk and honey ; all sloping plains,goodly rivers, j ocund meadows, delectable orchards , and blooming garden s ; and, though winter, looks warmer than poor b eloved H olland at midsummer, and makes the wanderer

’s faceto Shine , and his heart to leap for joy to see earth so kind andsmiling . H ere be vines, cedars, Olives, and cattle plenty, butthree goats to a sheep . The draught oxen wear white linen ontheir necks, and, standing by dark green olive trees each one isa pictur e and the folk, especially women , wear delicate strawenhats with flowers and leaves fairly imitated in silk , with silvermixed . This day we crossed a river prettily in a chained ferryboat . On either bank was a W indlass, and a S ingle man byturning of it drew our whole company to his shore , whereat Idid admire , being a stranger . P assed over with us some country folk . And

,an Old woman looking at a young w ench, she

did hide her face with her hand, and held her crucifix out likeknight his sword in tourney, dreading the evil eye .

“Janu ary 25 .— Safe at Ven ice . A place whose strange

and passing beauty is well known to thee by report of ourmarine rs . D ost mind , too , how P eter would oft fill our earsw ithal

,we handed beneath the table , and he still discoursing of

this sea-enthroned and peerless citie , in shape a bow, and itsgreat canal and palaces on piles, and its watery ways plied byscores of gilded boats and that market place of nation s, orbis ,non u rbis , f orum , St . M ark his place ; and his statue with the

348 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

peerless j ewels in his eyes, and the lion at his gate . But I,

lying at my window in pain, may see none of these beauties asyet

,but only a street fairly paved, which is dull , and houses

with oiled paper and linen , in lieu of glass, which is rude, andthe passers-b y, their habits and their gestures, wherein they aresuperfluous . Therefore , not to miss my daily comfort Of whispering to thee

,I will e ’en turn mine eyes inward, and bind my

sheaves of wisdom reaped by travel . For I love thee so , that notreasure pleases me not Shared with thee and what treasure sogood and enduring as knowledge ? This then have I , Sir Footsore

,learned, that each nation hath its proper wisdom, and its

proper folly ; and methinks, could a great king, or duke, tramplike me

,and see with his own eyes, he might pick the flowers and

eschew the weeds of nations, and go home and set his own folkon VVisdom ’

s hill . The G ermans in the north were churlish,

but frank and honest ; in the south, kindly and honest too .

Their general blot is drunkenness, the which they carry evento mislike and contempt of sober men . They say commonly

,

K anstu niecht sau ffen und fressen so kanstu kienem hern woldienen .

’ In E ngland the vulgar sort drink as deep, but theworshipful hold excess in this a reproach , and drink a health ortwo for courtesy, not gluttony, and still sugar the wine . Intheir cups the G ermans u se l ittle mirth, or discourse , but plythe business sadly, crying, Seyte frolich The best Of theirdrunken sport is K url emurl ehu ff,

’ a way of drinking withtouching deftly of the glass, the beard, the table , in due turn,intermixed with whistlings and snappings of the finger, so curiou sly ordered as

’tis a labor of H ercules, but to the beholderright pleasant and mirthful . T heir topers , by advice of G erman leeches , sleep with pebbles ih their mouths . For, as of aboiling pot the lid must be set aj ar, so with these fleshly wine

p ets, to vent the heat of their inward parts ; spite of whichmany die suddenly from drink ; but

’tis a matter of religion toslur it, and gloze it, and charge some innocent disease therewith . Yet ’tis more a custom than very nature , for theirwomen come among the tipplers , and do but stand a moment,and , as it were , kiss the wine cup and are indeed most temperate ih eating and drinking, and, Of all women, modest and vir

tuons, and true spouses and friends to the ir mates ; far beforeour H olland lasses, that, being maids, put the question to themen , and , being wived, do lord it over them . Why, there is awife in T ergou , not far from our door . One came to the house

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350 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

sovereign ruler . Also, they often hang their female m alefac

tors,instead of drowning them decently, as other nations use .

The furn iture in their inns is walnut, in G ermany only deal .French windows are ill . The lower half is of wood, and opens ;the upper half is of glass, but fixed , SO that the servant cannotcome at it to clean it . The G erman windows are all glass, andmovable

,and shine far and near like diamonds . In France many

mean houses are not glazed at all . Once I saw a Frenchmanpass a church without unbonneting . This I ne ’er witnessed inH olland, G ermany, or Italy . At many inns they Show the

traveler his sheets to give him assurance they are clean, andwarm them at the fire before him,

— a laudable custom . T heyreceive him kindly , and like a guest ; they mostly cheat him,

and whiles cut his throat . T hey plead in excuse hard andtyrannous laws . And true it is their law thrusteth its noseinto every platter, and its finger into every pie . In Franceworshipful men wear their hats and their furs indoors

,and go

abroad lighter clad . In G ermany they don hat and furredcloak to go abroad, but sit bareheaded and light-clad round thestove .

“The French intermix not the men and women folk inassemblies, as we H ollanders use . Round their preachers thewomen Sit on their heels in rows, and the men stand behindthem . Their harvests are rye, and flax, and wine . Threemules Shall you see to one horse , and whole flocks of sheep asblack as coal .

“In G ermany the snails be red . I l ie not . The Frenchbuy minstrelsy, but breed j ests, and make their own mirth .

The G ermans foster their set fools with earcap s, which movethem to laughter by simulating madness , a calamity that askspity , not laughter . In this particular I deem that lighternation wiser than the graver G erman . What sayest thou ?

Alas canst not answer me now .

“In G ermany the petty laws are wondrous wise and just ;those against criminals bloody . In France , bloodier still, andexecuted a trifle more cruelly there . H ere the wheel is common , and the fiery stake ; and under this king they drownmen by the score in P ari s river, Seine yclept . But the E nglishare as peremptory in hanging and drowning for a light faultso travelers report . Finally

,a true-hearted Frenchman, when

ye chance on one,is a man as near perfect as earth affords ;

and such a man is my D enys, spite of his foul mouth.

”

I N THE GENERA T ION BEFORE ERA SM US. 35 1

D enys M y foul mouth ! Is that so writ, M aster Richart

Richart A y, in sooth ; see else .

D enys [insp ecting the letter gravely] I read not thelette r so .

”

R ichart H ow then ?D enys H umph ahem why, j ust the contrary . H e

added ,’

T is kittle work perusing of these black scratches menare agreed to take for words . And I trow ’tis still by guessyou clerks do go , worthy sir . M y foul mouth ! This is thefirst time e ’er I heard on ’t . Eh , mesdamesBut the females did not seize the opportun ity he gave them

,

and burst into a loud and general disclaimer . M argaret blushedand said nothing ; the other two bent silently over their workwith something very like a sly smile . D enys inspected theircountenances long and carefully and the perusal was so satisfactory, that he turned with a tone Of injured but patient innocence , and bade Richart read on .

The Italians are a polished and subtle people . They judgea man, not by his habits, but his speech and gestures . H ereSir Chough m ay by no means pass for falcon gentle , as did I inG ermany, pranked in my noble servant

’s feathers . Wisest ofall nation s in their singular temperance of food and drinkmost foolish of all to search strangers coming into their borders,and stay them from bringing much money in . They shoul drather invite it, and, like other nations, let the traveler fromtaking of it out . Also, here in Venice the dames turn theirblack hair yellow by the sun and art, to be wiser than H imwho made them . Ye enter no Italian town without a bill ofhealth, though now is no plague in E urope . This peevishnessi s for extortion ’s sake . The innkeepers cringe and fawn and

cheat, and, in country places, murder you . Yet w ill they giveyou clean sheets by paying therefor . D elicate in eating, andabhor from putting their hand in the plate ; sooner will theyapply a crust or what not . They do even tell of a cardinal atRome which arm eth his guest’s left hand with a little bifurcaldagger to hold the meat, while his kn ife cutteth it . But methinks this

,too

,is to be wiser than Him who made the hand so

supple and prehensile .

”

E li I am of your mind, my lad .

“T hey are sore troubled with the itch and ointment for it,ungu ento p er la rogna , is cried at every corner of Venice . From

35 2 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US.

this my window I saw an urchin sell it to thr ee several damesin s ilken trains, and to two velvet kn ights .

Ga therine Italy, my lass , I rede ye wash your body i’

the tub o ’ Sundays and then ye can put you r hand i ’ the plate0

’

Thursday withouten offense .Their bread is lovely white . Their meats they spoil with

sprinkling cheese over them O pervers ity Their salt is black :

without a lie . In commerce these Venetians are masters of theearth and sea, and govern their territories wis ely . Onl y oneflaw I find, the same I once heard a learned friar cast up againstP lato his republic to wit, that here women are encouraged tovenal frailty, and to pay a tax to the State, which , not contentwith silk and spice and other rich and honest freights, goodstore , must trade in Sin . Twenty thousand of thes e Jez eb el sthere be in Veni ce and Candia, and about, pampered and honoredfor bringing strangers to the city, and many live in princelypalaces of their own . But herein methinks the politic signers

of Venice forget what King D avid saith, E xcept the Lord keepthe citie , the watchman waketh but in vain .

’ Also, in rel igion ,they hang their cloth according to the wind , siding now withthe P ope, now with the Turk, but ay with the god of traders,M ammon hight . Shall flower so cankered bloom to the world’send ? But, since I speak of flowers, this none may deny them,

that they are most cunning in making roses and gil lyflowers toblow unseasonably . In summer they n ip certain of the buddingroses and water them not . Then in winter they dig round thesediscouraged plants, and put in cloves ; and s o with great artrear sweet-scented roses, and bring them to market in January .

And did first learn this art of a cow . Buds she grazed in summer, and they sprouted at Yule . Women have sat in the doctor ’schairs at their colleges . But she that sat in St . P eter’s was aG erman . Italy, too , for artfu l fountains and figures that moveby water and enact life . And next for fountains is Augsburg,where they harness the foul knave Smoke to good Sir Spit, andhe turn eth stout M aster Roast . But lest any one place shouldvaunt, two towns there be in Europe , which, scorning giddyfountain s , bring water tame into pipes to every burgher

’s door,and he fil l eth his vessels with b ut turning Of cock . One isLondon , so watered this many a year by pipes of a league fromP addington , a neighboring city ; and the other is the fair townof Lubeck . Also the fierce E nglish are reported to me wise inthat they will not share their lands and flocks with wolves, but

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354 IN THE GENERA TION B EFORE ERA SM US .

the very place where it lay was forgotten . The holy priestsfasted and prayed many days seeking for light, and lo , theE vangelist’s body brake at midn ight through the marble andstood before them . They fell to the earth, but in the morning found the crevice the sacred body had burst through

,and

,

peering through it, saw him lie . T hen they took and laid himin his chest beneath the altar, and carefully put back the stonewith its miraculous crevice , which crevice I saw, and shall gapefor a monument while the world lasts . After that they Showedme the Virgin ’s chair it is of ston e ; also her picture , paintedby St . P aul, very dark , and the features new scarce visible .This picture , in time of dr ought, they carry in procession , andb r ings the rain . I w ish I had not seen it . Item , two pieces ofmarble Spotted w ith John the Baptis t’s blood item , a piece ofthe true cross and of the pillar to which Christ was tied item

,

the rock struck by M oses, and wet to this hour ; also a stoneChrist sat on , preaching at Tyre ; but some say it is the onethe patriarch Jacob laid his head on , and I hold with them , byreason our Lord never preached at Tyre . G oing hence theyshowed me the state nursery for the children of those aphrodi

sian dames , their favorites . H ere in the outer wall was a broadniche , and if they bring them so little as they can s queeze throughit alive , the bairn falls into a net inside, and the state takescharge of it, but, if too big, their mothers must even take themhome again , with whom abiding

’tis l ike to be m a li corvi ma li

ovum . C oming out of the church we met them carrying in acorps e, with the feet and face bare . This I then first learnedis Venetian custom ; and sure no other town will ever robthem of it, nor of this that follows . On a great porphyry slabin the piazza were three ghastly heads rotting and tainting the

air, and in their hot summers like to take vengeance withbreeding of a plague . These were traitors to the state , and, aheavy price — two thousand ducats — being put on each head,their friends had slain them and brought all three to the slab,and so sold blood of others and their own faith . NO state buysheads SO many, nor pays half so high a price for that sorrymerchandise . But what I most admired was to see over againstthe duke ’s palace a fair gallows in alabaster, reared express tohang him, and no other, for the least treason to the state andthere it stands in his eye

,whispering him memento mori. I

pondered, and owned these seigniors my masters, who will let noman , not even their sovereign, be above the common weal .

IN THE GENERATION B EFORE ERA SM US. 355

H ard by, on a wall , the workmen were just finishing, by orderof the seigniory, the stone effigy of a tragical and enormous actenacted last year, yet on the wall looks innocent . H ere twogentlefolks whisper together , and there other twain , theirswords by their side . Four brethren were they, which did oneither Side conspire to poison the other two , and so halve theirland in lieu of quartering it ; and at a mutual banquet thesetwain drugged the wine . and those twain envenomed a marchpane, to such good purpose that the same afternoon lay four‘brave men ’ around on e table groveling in mortal agony

,

and cursing of one another and themselves , and SO concludedmiserably

,and the land , for which they had lost their immortal

souls, went into another family . And why not ? it could notgo into a worse .

But O sovereign wisdom Of bywords ! how true they putthe finger on each nation ’s, or particular

’s, fault .

Quand Ital ie sera sans poisonE t F rance sans trah isonE t l ’A ngl eterre sans guerre,Lors sera l e m onde sans terre .

Richart explained this to Catherine , then proceeded : “Andafter this they took me to the quay, and presently I espiedamong the masts one garlanded w ith amaranth flowers . ‘T akeme thither,

’ said I , and I let my guide know the custom of theD utch skippers to hoist flowers to the masthead when they arecourting a maid . Oft had I scoffed at this , saying, ‘SO thenhis wooing is the earth ’s concern .

’ But now, so far from theRotter,

’ that bunch at her masthead made my heart leap withassurance of a countryman . They carried me , and, 0 M ar

garet ! on the stern of that D utch b oy was writ in muckleletters,

RI CH A RT E L I A SSOEN , AM STE RD A M .

P ut me down ,’ I said : for Ou r Lady ’s sake put me down .

’ Isat on the bank and looked , scarce be l ieving my eyes , and looked,and presently fell to crying till I could see the wo rds no more .

Ah me,how they went to my heart , those bare letters in a foreign

land I”

356 POEM S OF FRA NCOIS VILLON .

P OEM S OF FRANCOIS VILLON .

[F RANCO I S V I L LON , one Of the earliest of F rench p oets (real nam e uncertain,perhap s Corb ier) , was b orn in P aris in 1431 . L ittle is known Of h is life excep twhat may b e gathered from his writings , from which it is evident that he was avagab ond and a thief,was several times imp risoned for b urglary or sacrilege, andwas once condemned to death , b u t on app eal to P arliament managed to have thesentence commuted to b anishm ent. He passed the summer of 1 461 in the p risonof the B ish op of Orleans at M eung. Th is tim e he owed his escap e to L ouis X L ,

who passed through M eung, Octob er 2 , and ordered a jail delivery in honor ofhis accession . Villon ’

s works consist of “The G reater Testament ” The L ittleTestam ent forty or fifty sh ort p ieces , ch iefly b allads , such as The B allad of

the C ondemned ”and The L adies of B ygone D ays and a series of ob scure

slang rhymes , entitled “L e J

ON D E A TH .

(P receding th e B allad Of D ead L adies in the G rea ter T estam ent ”

b urne’s T ranslation . )

WH O d ies soever, d ies with p a in ;N O m an may ease him of h is grief.

D eath m akes him shudder,swoon

,wax pale

,

Nose bend,veins stretch

, and breath surrender,Neck swel l

,flesh soften

,joints that fail

Crack their strained nerves and arteries slender.O wom an’s body found so tender

,

Smooth, sweet, so precious in men’s eyes

,

M ust then too bear such count to renderYes ; or pass quick into the sk ies .

TH E BA LLA D OF D E A D L A D I E S .

(Rossetti’s T ranslation .)

Tel l m e new in what hidden way isLady Flora the lovely Rom anWhere’s H ipparchia, and where is Thais,Neither of them the fairer wom anWhere is E cho

,beheld of no man

,

Only hea rd on river and m ere,

She whose beauty was m ore than hum an

B ut where are the snows of yester-year

Where’s H eloise , the learned nun,F or whose sake A b eil lard

,I ween

,

L ost m anhood and put p riesthood on

(F rom L ove he won such dule and teen !)A nd where, I p ray you, is the Queen

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35 8 POEM S OF FRANCOIS VILLON.

Such m ercies as thy sovereign mercies are ;Without the which (as true words testify)No soul can reach thy H eaven so fair and far.Even in this faith I choose to l ive and die.

U nto thy Son say then that I am His,A nd to m e graceless make H im gracious.

Sad M ary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss,Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theophilus

,

Whose bitter sins were set aside even thusThough to the Fiend his bounden service was.Oh help m e

,lest in vain for m e should pass

(Sweet Vi rgin that shalt have no loss thereby !)The blessed H ost and sacring of the M ass.E ven in this faith I choose to l ive and die .

A pitiful p oor woman, shrunk and ol d,I am

,and nothing learned in letter lore.

Within my parish cloister I beholdA painted H eaven where harps and lutes adore,A nd eke an H el l whose damned folk see the full sore.

One b ringeth fear, the other joy to m e .

That joy, great G oddess, m ake thou m ine to b e,

Thou of whom all m ust ask it even as I ;A nd that which faith desires, that let it see .For in this faith I choose to live and die.

0 excel lent Virgin P rincess ! thou d idst bearKing Jesus, the m ost excel lent com forter,Who even of this our weakness craved a shareA nd for our sake stooped to us from on high,

Offering to death His young l ife sweet and fair.

Such as H e is, Our L ord, I H im declare

,

A nd in this faith I choose to l ive and die.

BA LLA D S OF OLD -T IME LORD S .

(Translated b y John P ayne. )

Where i s Cal ixtus, third of the nam e,That d ied in the purple

,whiles ago,

Four years since he to the tiar cam eA nd the King of Aragon, AlfonsoThe D uke of Bourbon

,sweet of Show,

A nd the D uke Arthur of B rittaine

POEM S OF F RANCOIS VILLON. 359

A nd Charles the Se venth, the G ood H eigho !But where is the doughty Charlem agne

Likewise the K ing of Scots, whose shameWas the half Of his face (or folk say so),

Verm e il as am ethyst held to the flam e,

From chin to forehead all of a glowThe K ing of Cyprus, of friend and fee

Renowned ; and the gentle K ing of Spain,Wh ose nam e, G od

’ield m e, I do not knowBut where is the doughty Charlem agne

Of many more m ight I ask the sam e,Who are but dust that the breezes blow ;But I desist

,for none m ay claim

To stand against D eath, that lays all low.

Y et one m ore question before I goWhere is L ancelot

,K ing of Behaine

A nd where are his val iant ancestors,troi

But where is the doughty Charlemagne

EN VOI .

Where is D u G uesc lin , the Breton p rO‘

N

Wh ere Auvergne’s D auphin

,and where again

The late good Duke of Alencon Lo !But where is the doughty Charlem agne

Where are the holy Apostles gone,Alb-clad and am ice-tried and stoledWith the sacred tippet and that alone,Wherewith

,when he waxeth overbold

,

The foul fiend’s throttle th ey take and hold

Al l m ust com e to the selfsam e bay ;Sons and servants, the i r days are told

The w ind carries their like away .

Where is he now that held the throneOf Constantine, with the hands Of gold

A nd the K ing Of F rance, o’er al l kings known

For grace and worship that was extolled,

360 POEM S OF FRANCOIS VILLON .

Who convents and churches m anifoldBuilt for G od’s service In their dayWh at of the honor they had ? Behold

,

The wind carries their l ike away .

Where are the champions every one,

The D auphins,the counselors

,young and old

The b arons of Sal ins, DO1, D ijon,Vienne

, G renoble They al l are cold .

Or take the folk under the i r banners enrolled,

P ursuivants,trumpeters, heralds, (hey !

H ow they fed of the fat and the flagon trolled ! )The wind carries their l ike away .

ENVOI .

P rinces to death are al l foretold ,Even as the humblest of the ir arrayWhether they sorrow or whether they scold,The wind carries their l ike away .

SEE MLY LE SSON OF VI LLON To THE G OOD -F OR-NA U GHTS.

(Translated b y John P ayne .)

Fair sons, you’re wasting, ere you

’re old,

The fai rest rose to you that fel l .You, that l ike birdl im e take and hold,When to M ontpippeau or Ruel

(M y clerks) you wander, keep you wellFor of the tricks that there be played

,

Think ing to’scape a second spell

,

Col in of Cayeulx lost his head.

No trifling gam e is this to play,Where one stakes soul and body tooIf losers

,no remorse can stay

A sham eful death from end ing you ;A nd even the winner

,for his due,

H ath not a D ido to his wife .

F ool ish and lewd I hold him whoD oth for so l ittle risk his l ife .

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362 POEM S OF FRANCOIS VILLON .

EN VOI .

P rinces and lords aforesaid, young and Old,G et m e the king his letters sealed and scrol ledA nd draw me from this dungeon ; for, God wot,

E ven swine, when one squeaks in the butcher’s fold

,

Flock round their fellow and do squeak and scold :Will you al l leave poor Vi llon here to rot

THE E P I TA P H,

I N B A LLA D FORM, THA T VI LLON MA D E F OR H IMSE LF AN D H I S

COMP A N I ON S, E X P E CT I N G N O B ETTER TH A N TO B E HA N GED

I N THE IR COMP A N Y .

Brothers,that after us on l ife rem ain

,

H arden your hearts against us not as stone ;For

,if to pity us p oor wights you

’re fain,

God Shall the rather grant you benison .

You see us s ix, the gibbet hereuponAs for the flesh that we too well have fed

,

’Tis all devoured and rotted,shred by shred .

Let none m ake merry of our p iteous case,Whose crumbl ing bones the l ife long S ince hath fledThe rather pray, God grant us of his grace !

Yea,we conjure you

,look not with d isdain

,

Brothers,on us, though we to death were done

By j ustice . Wel l you know,the saving grain

Of sense springs not in every mother’s son

Commend us, therefore, now we’re dead and gone,

To Christ, the Son of M ary’s maidenhead,

That he leave not his grace on us to shedA nd save us from the nether torture place .Let no one harry us ; for sooth, we

’re sped :The rather pray

, God grant us of his grace !

We are whiles scoured and soddened of the rain,A nd whiles burnt up and blackened of the sun ;

Corbies and pyets have our eyes out ta’en,A nd plucked our beard and hai r out, one by one .Wh ether by night or day, rest have we none

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT . 363

Now here, now there, as the wind Shifts its stead,

We swing and creak and rattle overhead,N O thimble d inted l ike our bi rd-peeked face.Brothers, have heed and Shim the l ife we l edThe rather pray

, God grant us of his grace

EN VOL

P rince Jesus, over all empowered,Let us not fal l into the P lace of D read

,

But all our reckoning with the Fiend efface.

Folk, mock u S not that are forspent and dead ;The rather pray, God grant us of his grace !

A LODG ING FOR THE N IGHT .

B Y ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON .

[ROBE RT L OU I S B A L FOUR STE vE N SON , cosmop olitan novelist, was b orn at

E dinb urgh , Scotland , N ovemb er 1 3, 1 850 . Intended for an engineer, and then

studying law and called to th e b ar, he b ecame a traveler and story-teller, settl ing in Samoa in 1 889 and dying there D ecemb er 3, 1 894. He was warmlyinterested in , and greatly b eloved b y , th e Sam oan natives , and A F ootnote toHis tory ” is an accoun t of an ep isode in the foreign handling of their p olitics .

His novels, stories , travel sketches , and p oem s al l contrib ute to a h igh literaryfame, as instance “Travels with a D onkey in th e Cevennes ,” “The New A rab ian N ights ,” “Kidnapp ed ,” “The M aster of B allantrae ,” “A Ch ild ’

s Gardenof Verse,” P rince Otto ,” “D r. Jekyll and M r. Hyde,” Catriona (the same

as“D avid and th e unfinished “Weir of Hermiston,” b esides the

“L ife of F leeming Jenkin,” and others ]

T was late in November, 1 456. The snow fell over P ariswith rigorous, relentless persistence ; sometimes the wind m adea sally and scattered it in flying vortices ; sometimes there wasa lull

,and flake after flake descended out of the black n ight air,

silent, c ircuitous, interminable . To poor people , looking upunder moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all camefrom . M aster Francis Villon had propounded an alternativethat afternoon

,at a tavern window was it only P agan Jupiter

plucking geese upon Olympus ? or were the holy angels me lting ? H e was only a poor M aster of Arts, he went on ; and asthe question somewhat touched upon divinity, he durst notventure to conclude . A silly old priest from M ontargis , who

was among the company, treated the young rascal to a bottle

364 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

of wine in honor of the j est and grimaces with which it wasaccompanied, and swore on his own white beard that he hadbeen just such another irreverent dog when he was Villon’s age .

The air was raw and pointed, but not far below freezing ;and the flakes were large , damp , and adhesive . The wholecity was Sheeted up . An army might have marched from endto end and not a footfal l given the alarm . If there were anybelated birds in heaven, they saw the island like a large whitepatch, and the bridges like slim white spars, on the blackground of the river . H igh up overhead the snow settledamong the tracery of the cathedral towers . M any a niche wasdrifted full ; many a statue wore a long white bonnet on itsgrotesque or sainted head . The gargoyles had been transformed into great false noses, drooping towards the point.The crockets were like upright pillows swollen on one side .

In the intervals of the wind, there was a dull sound Of drippingabout the precincts of the church .

The cemetery of St . John had taken its own share of thesnow . All the graves were decently covered tall white housetops stood around in grave array ; worthy burghers were longago in bed, b e-nightcapped like their domiciles there was nolight in all the neighborhood but a little peep from a lamp thathung swinging in the church choir, and tossed the Shadows toand fro in time to its oscillations . The clock was hard on tenwhen the patrol went by with halberds and a lantern , beatingtheir hands ; and they saw nothing suspicious about the cemetery of St . John .

Yet there was a small house , backed up against the cemeterywall, which was still awake , and awake to evil purpose , in thatsnoring district . T here was not much to betray it from without, — only a stream of warm vapor from the chimney top, apatch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few halfobliterated footprints at the door . But within, behind theshuttered windows , M aster Francis Villon the poet, and someof the thievish crew with whom he consorted, were keeping thenight alive and passing round the bottle .

A great pile of living embers diffused a strong and ruddyglow from the arched chimney . Before this straddled DomNicolas, the P i cardy monk , with his skirts picked up and hisfat legs bared to the comfortable warmth . H is dilated Shadowcut the room in half and the firel ight only escaped on eitherside of his broad person, and in a little pool between his outspread

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366 A LODGING FOR THE NI GHT .

The wind was freshening without ; it drove the snow beforeit

,and sometimes raised its voice in a victorious whoop

,and

made sepulchral grumblings in the chimney . The cold wasgrow ing Sharper as the night went on . Villon, protruding hislips

,imitated the gust w ith something between a whistle and

a groan . It was an eerie , uncomfortable talent of the poet’s,

much detested by the P icardy monk .

“C an ’t you hear it rattle in the gibbet ? ” said Villon .

They are all dancing the devil ’s j ig on nothing, up there .You may dance , my gallants, you

’ll be none the warmer !t ew ! what a gust ! D own went somebody just now ! Amedlar the fewer on the three-legged medlar tree — I say, D om

Nicolas, it’ll be cold to -night on the St . D enis Road he asked.

D om Nicolas winked both his big eyes, and seemed tochoke upon his Adam ’s apple . M ontfaucon, the great grislyP aris gibbet, stood hard by the St . D enis Road, and the pleasautry touched him on the raw . As for T abary, he laughed immoderately over the medlars ; he had never heard anythingmore light-hearted and he held his sides and crowed . Vil lonfetched him a fi l l ip on the nose , which turned his mirth into anattack of coughing .

Oh , stop that row, said Villon , and think of rhymes to

D oubles or quits, said M ontigny, doggedl y .

With all my heart,” quoth Thevenin .

Is there any more in that bottle ? ” asked the monk .

Open another,” said Villon . How do you ever hope to

fill that big hogshead,your body, with little things like bottles ?

And how do you expect to get to heaven H OW many angels,do you fancy, can be spared to carry up a single monk fromP i cardy ? Or do you think yourself another E lias — and they’llsend the coach for you ?

H ominibus imp ossibile, replied the monk, as he filled hisglass .

T abary was in ecstasies .Villon fil l iped his nose again .

Laugh at my jokes,if you like, he said .

It was very gooc obj ected T abary .

Villon made a face at him . Think of rhymes to ‘fish,he said . What have you to do with Latin ? You’ll wish youknew none of it at the great assizes

,when the devil calls for

G uido T abary, cl ericu S — the devi l with the humpback and

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT . 367

red-hot finger nails . T alking of the devil, he added in awhisper, “look at M ontigny !

”

A l l three peered covertly at the gamester . H e did notseem to be enjoying his luck . H is mouth was a little to aside ; one nostril nearly Shut, and the other much inflated .

The black dog was on his back , as people say, in terrifyingnursery metaphor ; and he breathed hard under the grewsomeburden .

H e looks as if he could knife him, whispered T abary,with round eyes .

T he monk shuddered, and turn ed his face and Spread hisOpen hands to the red embers . It was the cold that thusaffected D om Nicolas, and not any excess of moral sensibility .

C ome now,

” said Villon , “about this ballade . How doesit run so far ? ” And beating time with his hand, he read italoud to T abary .

T hey were interrupted at the fourth rhyme by a brief andfatal movement among the gamesters . The round was com

pl eted , and Thevenin was j ust Opening his mouth to claimanother victory, when M ontigny leaped up, swift as an adder,and stabbed him to the heart . The blow took effect before hehad time to utter a cry, before he had time to move . A tremoror two convulsed his frame ; his hands Opened and shut, hisheels rattled on the floor ; then his head rolled backward overone shoulder with the eyes wide Open and Theven in P ensete ’

s

spirit had returned to H im who made it .E very on e sp rang to his feet but the business was over in

two twos . The four living fellows looked at each other inrather a ghastly fashion , the dead man contemplating a cornerof the roof with a singu lar and ugly leer .

M y G od said T abary and he began to pray in Latin .

Villon broke out into hysterical laughter . H e came a stepforward and ducked a ridiculous bow at T hevenin , and laughedstill louder . T hen he sat down suddenly, all of a heap , upona stool

,and continued laughing bitterly as though he would

shake himself to pieces .M ontigny recovered his composure first .“Let ’s see what he has about him ,

” he rem arked , and hepicked the dead man ’s pockets with a practiced hand, anddivided the money into four equal portions on the table .

There ’s for you,” he said .

T he monk received his share with a deep sigh, and a S ingle

368 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

stealthy glance at the dead Theven in , who was beginning tosink into himself and topple sideways Off the chair .

We ’re all in for it,” cried Villon , swallow ing his mirth .

It’s a hanging job for every man jack of us that ’s here — notto Speak of those who aren ’t . ” He made a shocking gesture inthe air with his raised right hand, and put out his tongue andthrew his head on one side , so as to counterfeit the appearanceof one who has been hanged . Then he pocketed his share ofthe spoil, and executed a shuffle with his feet as if to restorethe circulation .

T abary was the last to help himself he made a dash at themoney, and retired to the other end of the apartment .

M ontigny stuck Thevenin upright in the chair, and drewout the dagger, which was followed by a j et of blood .

You fellows had better be moving,” he said, as he wiped

the blade on his victim’s doublet .I think we had,

” returned Villon, with a gulp . D amnhis fat head ! ” he broke out . It sticks in my throat likephlegm . What right has a m an to have red hair when he isdead ?” And he fell all of a heap again upon the stool, andfairly covered his face with his hands .

M ontigny and D om Nicolas laughed aloud, even T abaryfeebly chiming in .

Cry baby,” said the monk .

I always said he was a woman, added M ontigny, with asneer . “Sit up, can

’t you ?” he went on, giving another shaketo the murdered body . T read out that fire , Nick !But Nick was better employed he was quietly taking Vil

lon ’s purse, as the poet sat, l imp and trembling, on the stoolwhere he had been making a ballade not three minutes before .

M ontigny and T abary dumbly demanded a share of the booty,which the monk silently promised as he passed the little baginto the bosom of his gown . In many ways an artistic natureunfits a man for practical existence .

NO sooner had the theft been accomplished than Villonshook himself, jumped to his feet, and began helping to s eatter and extinguish the embers . M eanwhile M ontigny openedthe door and cautiously peered into the street . The coast wasclear ; there was no meddlesome patrol in s ight. Still it wasj udged wiser to Slip out severally ; and as Villon was himselfin a hurry to escape from the neighborhood of the dead Thevenin , and the rest were in a still greater hurry to get rid of him

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370 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT.

some sub stance which offered an indescribable mixture of resistanecs, hard and soft, firm and loose . H is heart gave a leap

,

and he sprang two steps back and stared dreadfully at the ohstacl e . Then he gave a little laugh of relief . It was only awoman

,and she dead . H e knelt beside her to make sure upon

this latter point . She was freez ing cold, and rigid like a stick .

A little ragged finery fluttered in the wind about her hair, andher cheeks had been h eavily rouged that same afternoon . H er

pockets were quite empty ; but in her stocking, underneath thegarter

,Villon found two of the small coins that went by the

name of whites . It was little enough, but i t was alwayssomething and the poet was moved with a deep sense ofpathos that She should have died before she had spent hermoney . That seemed to him a dark and pitiable mystery ;and he looked from the coins in his hand to the dead woman,and back again to the coins, Shaking his head over the riddleof man ’s life . H enry V . Of E ngland, dying at Vincennes justafter he had conquered France, and this poor j ade cut off by acold draught in a great man ’s doorway, before she had time toSpend her couple Of whites — it seemed a cruel way to carry on

the world . Two whites would have taken such a little whileto squander ; and yet it would have been one more good tastein the mouth, one more smack of the lips, before the devil gotthe soul, and the body was left to birds and vermin . H e wouldl ike to u se all his tallow before the light was blown out and thelantern broken .

While these thoughts were passing through his mind, he wasfeeling, half mechanically, for his purse . Suddenly his heartstopped beating a feeling of cold scales passed up the back ofhis legs, and a cold blow seemed to fall upon his scalp . He

stood petrified for a moment then he felt again with one

feverish movement ; and then his loss burst upon him, and hewas covered at once with perspiration . T o spendthrifts moneyis so living and actual — it is such a thin ve il between them andtheir pleasures ! T here i s only one limit to their fortune thatOf time and a Spendthrift with only a few crowns i s the Em

p eror of Rome until they are spent . For such a person to losehis money is to suffer the most shocking reverse, and fall fromheaven to hell, from all to nothing, in a breath . And all themore if he has put his head in the halter for it if he may b ehanged to-inorrow for that same purse, so dearly earned, sofoolishl y departed ! Villon stood and cursed ; he threw the

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT . 371

two whites into the street ; he shook his fist at heaven ; hestamped, and was not horrified to find himself trampling thepoor corpse . T hen he began rapidly to retrace his stepstowards the house beside the cemetery . H e had forgotten allfear of the patrol, which was long gone by at any rate, and hadno idea but that of his lost purse . It was in vain that helooked right and left upon the snow : nothing was to be seen .

H e had not dropped it in the streets . H ad it fallen in thehouse ? He would have liked dearly to go in and see but theidea of the grisly occupant unmanned him . And he saw

besides, as he drew near, that their efforts to put out the firehad been unsuccessful ; on the contrary, it had broken into ablaze , and a changeful light played in the chinks of door andw indow, and revived his terror for the authorities and P arisgibbet .

H e returned to the hotel with the porch, and groped aboutupon the snow for the money he had thrown away in his childish passion . But he could only find one white the other hadprobably struck sideways and sunk deeply in . With a singlewhite in his pocket, all his proj ects for a rousing night in somewild tavern vanished utterly away . And it was not onlypleasure that fled laughing from his grasp positive discomfort

,

positive pain , attacked him as he stood ruefully before the

porch . His perspiration had dried upon him ; and althoughthe wind had now fallen , a binding frost was setting in strongerwith every hour, and he felt benumbed and Sick at heart . Whatwas to b e done ? Late as was the hour, improbable as wassuccess , he would try the house of his adopted father, the chaplain of St . Benoit .

He ran there all the way, and knocked timidly . There wasno answer . H e knocked again and again , taking heart withevery stroke ; and at last steps were heard approaching fromw ithin . A barred wicket fell open in the iron-studded door,and emitted a gush of yellow light .

Hold u p your face to the wicket, said the chaplain fromWithin .

It’s only me , whimpered Villon .

Oh , it’s only you

,i s it ? ” returned the chaplain ; and he

cursed him with foul unpriestly oaths for disturbing him atsuch an hour

,and bade him be off to hell, where he came from .

M y hands are blue to the wrist,” pleaded Villon ; “my

feet are dead and full of twinges my nose aches with the sharp

372 A LODG ING FOR THE NIGHT .

air : the cold lies at my heart . I may be dead before morning . Only this once, father, and before G od , I will never askagain

You should have come earlier, said the ecclesiastic, coolly.

Young men require a lesson now and then .

”H e shut the

wicket and retired deliberately into the interior of the house .

Villon was beside himself he beat u pon the door with hishands and fee t, and shouted hoarsely after the chaplain .

Wormy Old fox ! ” he cried . If I had my hand underyour twist, I would send you flying headlong into the bottomless pit . ”

A door shut in the interior, faintly audible to the poet downlong passages . H e passed his hand over his mouth with anoath . And then the humor of the s ituation struck him , andhe laughed and looked lightly up to heaven , where the starsseemed to b e winking over his discomfiture .

What was to be done ? It looked very like a night in thefrosty streets . The idea of the dead woman popped into hisimagination , and gave him a hearty fright ; what had happenedto her in the early night might very well happen to him beforemorning . And he so young ! and with such immense possib ilities of di sorderly amusement before him ! H e felt quitepathetic over the notion of his own fate, as if i t had been someone else ’s, and made a little imaginative vignette of the scenein the morn ing when they should find his body .

H e passed all his chances under review, turn ing the whitebetween his thumb and forefinger . U nfortunately he was onbad terms with some old friends who would on ce have takenpity on him in such a plight . He had lampooned them inverses ; he had beaten and cheated them and yet now, whenhe was in so close a pinch, he thought there was at least onewho might perhaps relent . It was a chance . It was worthtrying at least, and he would go and see .

On the way, two little accidents happened to him whichcolored his musings in a very different manner . For, first, hefel l in with the track of a patrol, and walked in it for somehundred yards, although it lay out of his direction . And thisspirited him up at least he had confused his trail ; for he wasstill possessed with the idea of people tracking him all aboutP aris over the snow, and collaring him next morning before hewas awake . The other matter affected him quite differently .

He passed a street corner where,not SO long before, a woman

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374 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

I shall never finish that ballade , he thought to himself ;and then , with another shudder at the recollection, Oh , damnhis fat head he repeated fervently, and spat upon the snow .

The house in question looked dark at first sight ; but asVillon made a preliminary inspection in search of the handiestpoint of attack , a little twinkle of light caught his eye frombehind a curtained window .

“The devil ! ” he thought . “P eople awake ! Some student or some saint, confound the crew C an ’t they get drunkand lie in bed snoring like their neighbors ! What’s the goodof curfew, and poor devils of hel l ringers j umping at a rope

’send in bell towers What’s the use of day, if people Sit up allnight ? The gripes to them He grinned as he saw wherehis logic was leading him .

“E very man to his business , afterall

,added he, and if they’re awake , by the Lord, I may come

by a supper honestly for once , and cheat the devil .H e went boldly to the door and knocked w ith an assured

hand . On both previous occasions, he had knocked timidlyand with some dread of attracting notice ; but now, when hehad just discarded the thought of a burglarious entry, knocking at a door seemed a mighty simple and innocent proceeding .

T he sound of his blows echoed through the house with thin ,phantasmal reverberations , as though it were quite empty ; butthese had scarcely died away before a measured tread drewnear, a couple Of bolts were withdrawn , and one w ing wasOpened broadly, as though no guile or fear of guile w ere knownto those within . A tall figure of a man, muscular and spare ,but a little bent, confronted Villon . The head was massive inbulk , but finely sculptured ; the nose blunt at the bottom, butrefining upward to where it j oined a pair Of strong and honesteyebrows ; the mouth and eyes surrounded with delicate markings , and the whole face based upon a thick white beard, boldlyand squarely trimmed . Seen as it was by the light of a flick

ering hand lamp, it looked perhaps nobler than it had a right todo ; but it was a fine face, honorable rather than intel ligent,strong, Simple, and righteous .

You knock late,sir

,

” said the Ol d man, in resonant, courtecus tones .Villon cringed

,and brought up many servile words of

apology ; at a crisis of this sort, the beggar was uppermost inhim , and the man of genius hid his head with confusion .

You are cold,repeated the Old man , and hungry ?

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT . 375

Wel l , step in . And he ordered him into the house with anoble enough gesture .

Some great seigneur, thought Villon, as his host, settingdown the lamp on the flagged pavement of the entry, shot thebolts once more into their places .

“You will pardon me if I go in front, he said, when thiswas done and he preceded the poet upstairs into a large apartment

,warmed with a pan of charcoal and lit by a great lamp

hanging from the roof . It was very bare Of furniture : onlysome gold plate on a sideboard ; some folios ; and a stand ofarmor between the windows . Some smart tapestry hung uponthe walls

,representing the crucifixion of our Lord in one piece

,

and in another a scene of shepherds and Shepherdesses by arunn ing stream . Over the chimney was a shield of arms .

“Will you seat yourself, said the old man , “and forgiveme if I leave you ? I am alone in my house ton ight, and if youare to eat I must forage for you myself . ”

No sooner was his host gone than Villon leaped from thechair on which he had just seated himself, and began exam in

ing the room,w ith the stealth and passion of a cat . He weighed

the gold flagons in his hand , opened all the folios , and investigated the arms upon the shield, and the stuff with which theseats were lined . H e raised the W indow curtains , and saw thatthe windows were set with rich stained glass in figures , so faras he could see

,of martial import . T hen he stood in the mid

dle Of the room ,drew a long breath, and retaining it w i th

puffed cheeks, looked round and round him , turning on hishe els

,as if to impress every feature of the apartment on his

memory .

“Seven pieces of plate , he said . If there had been ten ,I would have risked it . A fine house , and a fine old master, sohelp me all the saints !And just then

,hearing the Ol d man

’s tread returning alongthe corridor

,he stole back to his chair, and began humbly

toasting his wet legs before the charcoal pan .

H is entertainer had a plate of m eat in one hand and a jugof w ine in the other . H e set down the plate upon the table ,motion ing Villon to d raw in his chai r , and going to the s ideboard

,brought back two goblets, which he fil led .

“I d rink your better fortune ,” he said, gravely touching

Villon ’s cup with his own .

T o our better acquaintance , said the poet, grow ing bold .

376 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

A mere man of the people would have been awed by the courtesyof the old seigneur, but Villon was hardened in that matter ;he had made mirth for great lords before now, and found themas black rascals as himself . And so b e devoted himself to theviands with a ravenous gusto , while the old man, leaning backward

,watched him with steady, curious eyes .You have blood on your shoulder, my man , he said .

M ontigny must have laid his wet right hand upon him as hel eft the house . H e cursed M ontigny in his heart .

It was none of my shedding, he stammered .

I had not supposed so, returned his host, quietly .

“Abrawl

Well, something of that sort, Villon admitted with a

quaver .P erhaps a fellow murdered ?”

Oh , no , not murdered,” said the poet, more and more con

fused . It was all fair play — murdered by accident . I hadno hand in it, G od strike me dead he added fervently .

One rogue the fewer, I dare say, Observed the master ofthe house .“You may dare to say that, agreed Villon , infinitely re

l ieved . A S big a rogue as there is between here and Jerusalem . He turned up his toes l ike a lamb . But it was a nastything to look at . I dare say you ’ve seen dead men in yourtime, my lord ? he added, glancing at the armor .

M any,” said the old man . I have foll owed the wars, as

you imagine .

”

Villon laid down his knife and fork, which he had just takenup again .

Were any of them bald ? he asked .

Oh yes, and with hair as white as mine .I don’t think I should mind the white so much, said

Villon . H is was red .

” And he had a return of his shuddering and tendency to laughter, which he drown ed with a greatdraught of wine .

“I ’m a little put out when I think of it,”

he went on . I knew him — damn him And then the coldgives a man fancies — or the fancies give a man cold, I don

’tknow which .

Have you any money ? asked the Ol d man .

I have one white,

” returned the poet, laughing.

“I got itout of a dead j ade ’s stocking in a porch . She was as dead asCaesar , poor wench , and as cold as a church , with bits of ribbon

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378 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

drive overhard ; there are spirits in every rank not eas ilymoved by pity ; and, indeed, many follow arms who are nobetter than brigands . ”

“You see,” said the poet, “you cannot Separate the soldier

from the brigand ; and what is a thief but an isolated brigandwith circumspect manners ? I steal a couple of mutton chops

,

without so much as disturbing people ’s sleep the farmer grumbles a bit, but sups none the less wholesomely on what remains .

You come up blowing gloriously on a trumpet,take away the

whole sheep , and beat the farmer pitifully into the bargain . Ihave no trumpet ; I am only T om , D i ck, or H arry ; I am arogue and a dog, and hanging

’s too good for me — with all myheart but just ask the farmer which of us he prefers

,j ust find

out which of us he lies awake to curse on cold nights . ”

Look at us two ,” said his lordship .

“I am Old , strong,and honored . If I were turned from my house to-morrow

,

hundreds would be proud to shelter me . P oor people wouldgo out and pass the night in the streets with their children

,if I

merely hinted that I wished to be alone . And I find you up,

wandering homeles s, and picking farthings off dead women bythe wayside ! I fear no man and nothing ; I have seen youtremble and lose countenance at a word . I wait G od’s summons contentedly in my own house, or, if it please the kingto call me out again , upon the field of battle . You look forthe gallows a rough , swift death, without hope or honor . I S

there no difference between these two ?

As far as to the moon ,” Villon acquiesced . But if I had

been born lord of B risetout, and you had been the poor scholarFrancis

,would the difference have been any the less ? Should

not I have been warming my knees at this charcoal pan,and

would not you have been groping for farthings in the snow ?Should not I have be en the soldier, and you the thief ?

A thief ?” cried the old man . I a thief If you understood your words, you would repent them .

Villon turned out his hands with a gesture of inimitab leimpudence . If your lordship had done me the honor to follow my argument I he said .

I do you too much honor in submitting to your presence,

said the knight . Learn to curb your tongue when you speakwith Old and honorable men, or some one hastier than I mayreprove you in a sharper fashion .

” And he rose and paced thelower end Of the apartment, struggling with anger and antip

A LODG ING FOR THE N IGHT . 379

athy . Villon surreptitiously refilled his cup, and settled him<

self more comfortably in the chair, crossing his knees andlean ing his head upon one hand and the elbow against the backof the chair . He was now replete and warm ; and he was inno wise frightened for his host, having gauged him as justly aswas possible between two such different characters . The nightwas far Spent, and in a very comfortable fashion after all ; andhe felt morally certain of a safe departure on the morrow .

“T ell me one thing,” said the Old man, pausing in his walk .

Are you really a thief ?“I claim the sacred rights of hospitality, returned the

M y lord, I am .

YOu are very young, the knight continued .

I should never have been SO Old , replied Villon, showinghis fingers, “if I had not helped myself with these ten talents .They have been my nursing mothers and my nursing fathers .”

“You may still repent and changeI repent daily,

” said the poet . There are few peoplemore given to repentance than poor Francis . As for change ,let somebody change my circumstances . A man must continu e to eat, if it were only that he may continue to repent .

”

“The change must begin in the heart,” returned the old

man, solemnly .

M y dear lord, answered Villon , do you really fancythat I steal for pleasure ? I hate stealing, like any other pieceof work or of danger . M y teeth chatter when I see a gallows .But I must eat, I must drink, I must mix in society of somesort . What the devil ! M an i s not a solitary animal Gui

D eu s f ceminam tradit. M ake me king ’s pantler — make meabbot of St . D en is make me bailly of the P atatrac and thenI shall be changed indeed . But as long as you leave me thepoor sch olar Francis Villon , without a farthing, why, of course ,I remain the same .

”

The grace of G od is all-powerful .I should be a hereti c to question it, said Francis . It

has made you lord of B risetout and bailly of the P atatrac ; ithas given me nothing but the quick w its under my hat andthese ten toes upon my hands . M ay I help myself to w ine ? Ithank you respectfully . By G od ’s grace , you have a verysuperior vintage .

”

T he lord of B risetou t walked to and fro w i th his handsbehind his back . P e rhaps he was not yet quite settled in his

380 A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT .

mind about the parallel between thieves and soldiers perhapsVillon had interested him by some cross thread of sympathy ;perhaps his wits were simply muddled by so much unfamiliarreasoning ; but whatever the cause , he somehow yearned toconvert the young m an to a better way of thinking, and couldnot make up his mind to drive him forth again into the stree t .

There is something more than I can un derstand in this ,he said at length . Your mouth is full of subtleties, and thedevil has led you very far astray but the devil i s only a veryweak Spirit before G od’s truth, and all his subtleties vanish ata word of true honor, l ike darkness at morning . Listen to meonce more . I learned long ago that a gentlem an should livechivalrously and lovingly to G od , and the king, and his lady ;and though I have seen many strange things done , I have stillstriven to command my ways upon that rul e . I t i s not onlywritten in all noble histories, but in every man

’s heart, if hewill take care to read . You speak of food and wine, and Iknow very well that hunger is a difficult trial to endure ; butyou do not speak of other wants you say nothing Of honor, offaith to G od and other men , of courtesy, of love w ithout re

proach . It may be that I am not very w ise — and yet I thinkI am — but you seem to me like one who has lost his way andmade a great error in life . You are attending to the littlewants , and you have totally forgotten the great and only realones , like a man who Should b e doctoring toothache on theJudgment D ay . For such things as honor and love and faithare not only nobler than food and drink, but indeed I think wedesire them more , and suffer more sharply for their absence .I speak to you as I think you will most easily understand me .

Are you not, while careful to fil l your belly, disregarding anotherappetite in your heart, which spoils the pleasure of your lifeand keeps you continually wretched ?Villon was sensibly nettled under all this sermonizing .

You think I have no sense of honor he cried .

“I ’m poorenough, G od knows ! It

’s hard to see rich people with theirgloves , and you blowing in your hands . An empty belly is abitter thing , although you speak SO lightly of it . If you hadhad as many as I, perhaps you would change your tune . Anyway I ’m a thief make the most of that — but I ’m not a devilfrom hell, G od strike me dead . I would have you to know I ’vean honor of my own , as good as yours, though I don

’t prateabout it all day long, as if it was a G od

’s miracle to have any .

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382 COPLA S DE M ANRIQUE .

COP LAS D E M ANRIQUE .

(L ongfellow’s T ranslation . )

[DONJORGE M A NR I QUE , the author of the following p oem , flourish ed in thelast half of the fifteenth century. He followed the p rofess ion of arm s

, and d iedon the field of b attle. M ariana

,in his H istory of Sp ain ,

” makes h onorab lemention of him , as b eing p resent at the siege of U cles ; and speaks of him as

“a youth of estimab le qualities, who in th is war gave b rilliant p roofs of his

valor. He died young, and was thus cut off from long exercis ing his greatvirtues

,and exh ib iting to the world the light of h is genius , wh ich was already

known to fame. ” He was m ortally wounded in a skirmish near Canavete, inthe year 1 479. The name of Rodrigo M anrique

,the fath er of the p oet, Conde

de P aredes and M aes tre de Santiago , is well known in Sp anish h istory and

song. He died in 1476 ; according to M ariana, in the town of U cl és, b u t

according to the p oem of his son ,in Ocafla . I t was h is death that called forth

the p oem up on wh ich rests the literary reputation of the younger M anrique. In

the language of h is h istorian ,

“D on Jorge M anrique , in an elegant ode, ful l ofp oetic b eauties , rich em b ellishments of genius , and h igh m oral reflections ,m ourned the death of his father as with a funeral hymn .

” Th is p raise is not

exaggerated . The p oem is a model in its kind . I ts concep tion is solemn and

b eautiful ; and in accordance with it the style moves on ,— calm , dignified , and

majestic. LONG F E L LOWJO L E T the soul her slumbers break

,

Let thought be quickened, and awake ;Awake to seeH ow soon this l ife is past and gone,A nd death com es softly steal ing on,H ow silently !

Swiftly our p leasures gl ide away,Our hearts recall the distant dayWith m any S ighs ;The mom ents that are speed ing fastWe heed not

,b ut the past, — the past,

M ore highly prize .

Onward its course the p resent keep s,Onward the constant current sweep s,T ill l ife is done ;A nd

,did we j udge of tim e aright,

The past and future in th ei r fl ightWould be as one .

Let no one fondly dream again,That H op e and all her shadowy trainWil l not decay ;

COPLA S DE M ANRIQUE . 383

Fleeting as were the dreams of old,Rem em b ered like a tale that’s told

,

They pass away.

Our l ives are rivers, gliding free

T o that un fathom ed,boundl ess sea

,

The s ilent grave !Th ither all earthly p omp and boastR 0 11, to be swallowed up and lostI n one dark wave .

Thither the m ighty torrents stray,Thither the brook pursues its way

,

A nd tinkl ing ril l .There all are equal . Side by sideThe poor m an and the son of prideLie calm and still .

I will not here invoke the throngOf orators and sons of song,Th e deathless few ;Fiction entices and dece ives

,

A nd,sprinkled o’er her fragrant leaves,

L ies p oisonous dew.

To One alone my thoughts arise,The E ternal T ruth, — the G ood and Wise,To H im I cry,Who shared on earth our common lot

,

But the world comprehended notHis deity.

This world is but the rugged roadWh ich leads us to the bright abodeOf peace above ;So let us choose that narrow way,Which leads no traveler’s foot astrayFrom realm s of love .

Our cradle is the starting place,In life we run the onwa rd race,A nd reach the goal ;Wh en

,in the m ansions of the blest,

D eath leaves to its eternal restThe weary soul .

384 COPLA S DE M ANRIQUE .

Did we but use it as we ought,This world would school each wandering thoughtTo its h igh state .

F aith wings the soul beyond the sky,U p to that better world on high,For wh ich we wait.

Yes,

— the glad m e ssenger of love,To guide us to our home above,The Savior cam e ;Born am id m ortal cares and fears

,

H e suffered in this vale of tearsA death of sham e.

Behold of what delusive worthThe bubbles we pursue on earth

,

The shapes we chase,

Am id a world of treachery !They vanish ere death shuts the eye

,

A nd leave no trace .

T im e steals them from u s,

— chances strange,D isastrous accidents

,and change,

That com e to all ;Even in the most exalted state

,

Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate ;The strongest fall .

T el l me,

— the charm s that lovers seekIn the clear eye and blushing cheek,The hues that playO’er rosy l ip and brow of snow,

When hoary age approaches slow,

Ah,where are they

The cunning skill, the curious arts,The glorious strength that youth impartsI n l ife’s first stage ;These shal l becom e a heavy weight,When T im e swings wide his outward gateTo weary age .

The noble blood of Gothic nam e,H eroes emblazoned high to fame,I n long array ;

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386 COPLA S DE M ANRIQUE .

No foe,no dangerous pass, we heed,

Brook no delay,

— but onward speedW ith loosened rein ;A nd, when the fatal snare is near,We strive to check our m ad career

,

But strive in vain .

Could we new charms to age impart,A nd fashion with a cunning artThe hum an face,As we can clothe the soul with l ight,A nd m ake the gloriou s spirit brightWith heavenly grace,

H ow busily each passing hourShould we exert that m agic power !What ardor show,

To deck the sensual slave of sin,Yet leave the freeborn sou l within,In weeds of woe !

M onarchs, the powerful and the strong,Famous in history and in songOf olden tim e,Saw

,by the stern decrees of fate

,

Thei r kingdoms lost, and desolateThe ir race sublim!

Who is the champion who the strongP ontiff and priest, and sceptered throngOn these shal l fallAs heavily the hand of D eath

,

As when it stays the shepherd ’s breathBeside his stal l .

I speak not of the Trojan name,

Neither its glory nor its sham eH as m et our eyes ;Nor of Rom e’s great and glorious dead,Though we have heard so oft, and read,Their histories .

Little avails it now to knowOf ages passed so long ago,Nor how they rolled ;

COPLA S DE MANRIQUE . 387

Our theme shall be of yesterday,

Which to oblivion sweeps away,

Lik e days of old .

Where is th e K ing, D on Juan WhereE ach royal prince and noble hei rOf AragonWhere are the courtly gal lantriesThe deeds of love and high emprise,In battle done

Tourney and joust,that charm ed the eye,

A nd scarf, and gorgeous panop ly,A nd nodding plume,What were they but a pageant sceneWh at but the garlands, gay and green,That deck the tomb

Where are the highborn dam es, and whereThei r gay attire, and j eweled hai r,A nd odors sweetWhere are the gentle knights, that cam eTo kneel, and breathe love

’s ardent flam e,

Low at the ir feet

The countless gifts, — the stately wal ls,The royal palaces, and hallsAl l filled with gold ;P late with arm orial bearings wrought,Chambers with ample treasures fraughtOf wealth untold ;

Th e noble steeds, and harness bright,A nd gallant lord, and stalwart knight,In rich array

,

Where shal l we seek th em now Alas !L ike the bright dewd rops on th e grass,They passed away .

OWorld ! so few the yea rs we l i ve,Woul d that the l ife wh ich thou dost giveWere life indeed !Alas ! thy sorrows fal l so fast,Our happ iest hour is when at lastThe soul is freed .

388 COP LA S DE M A NRIQUE .

Our days are covered o’er with grief,A nd sorrows ne ither few nor b riefVeil all in gloom ;Left desolate of real good,With in this cheerless solitudeNo pleasures bloom .

Thy p ilgrimage begins in tears,A nd ends in bitter doub ts and fears,Or dark despair ;M idway so m any toils app ear,That he who l ingers longest hereK nows most of care .

Thy goods are bought with m any a groan,By the hot sweat of toil alone,A nd weary hearts ;Fleet-footed is the approach of woe

,

But with a l ingering step and slowIts form departs.

A nd he, the good man’s shield and shade,

To whom all hearts their hom age paid,As Vi rtue’s son,Roderic M anrique, — he whose nam eIs written on the scrol l of Fame,Spain’s champion ;

H is signal deeds and prowess highDem and no pompous eulogy,Ye saw his deeds !Why should thei r praise in verse b e sungThe nam e

,that dwel ls on every tongue,

No m instre l needs .

To friends a friend ; — how k ind to al lThe vassals of this ancient ha llA nd feudal fiefTo foes how stern a foe was he !A nd to the valiant and the freeH ow brave a chief !

What p rudence with the old and wiseWhat grace in youthful gayeties ;In all how sage !

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‘

90 COP LA S DE M ANRIQUE .

A nd if, of old, his hal ls d isplayedThe honored and exalted gradeH is worth h ad gained,So, in the dark, d isastrous hour,Brothers and bondsm en of his powerHis hand sustained .

After h igh deeds, not left untold,In the stern warfare

,which of old

’Twas his to share,

Such nob le leagues he m ade, that moreA nd fairer regions, than before,H is guerdon were .

These are the records, half effaced,Which

,with the hand of youth

,he traced

On h istory’s p age ;But with fresh victories he drewE ach fading character anewI n his ol d age .

B y his unrivaled skill, by greatA nd veteran service to the state

,

By worth adored,H e stood

,in h is high d ignity ,

The p roudest knight of chivalry,Knight of the Sword .

H e found his cities and dom ainsBeneath a tyrant’s galling chainsA nd cruel p ower ;But, by fierce battle and blockade,Soon his own banner was d isplayedFrom every tower.

By th e tried valor of his hand,H is m onarch and his native landWere nob ly served ;Let P ortugal repeat the story,A nd p roud Castile, who shared the gloryH is arm s deserved .

A nd when so oft,for weal or w

His l ife upon the fatal throwH ad been cast down

COPLA S DE M A NRIQUE . 391

When he had served,with p atriot zea.

Beneath the banner of Castile,His sovereign

’s crown ;

A nd done such deeds of valor strong,That neither history nor songCan count them all ;Then, on Ocana

’s castled rock,

D eath at his portal cam e to knock,

With sudden call,

Saying, G ood Cavalier, p repareTo leave th is world of toil and careWith joyful m ien ;Let thy strong heart of steel this dayP u t on its arm or for the fray

,

The closing scene .

Since thou hast been,in battle strife,

So prodigal of health and l ife,

For earthly fam e,

Let vi rtue nerve thy heart again ;Loud on the last stern battle p lainThey cal l thy name .

Think not the struggle that d raws nearToo terrib le for m an

,— nor fear

To meet the foe ;Nor let thy nob le spirit grieve,Its l ife of glorious fam e to leaveOn earth below.

A l ife of honor and of worthH as no eternity on earth,’Tis but a nam e ;A nd yet its glory far exceedsThat base and sensual l ife, which leadsTo want and sham e .

The eternal l ife, beyond the sky,Wealth cannot purchase, nor the h ighA nd p roud estate ;The soul in dalliance la id , the sp iritCorrup t with s in, sha l l not inh eritA joy so great.

392 COPLA S DE M ANRIQUE .

“But the good monk, in cloistered cell,Shal l gain it by his book and bell ,H is prayers and tears ;A nd the brave knight, whose arm enduresFierce battle, and against the M oorsH is standard rears.

“A nd thou, brave knight, whose hand has pouredThe l ifeblood of the P agan hordeO’er all the land

,

In heaven shalt thou receive,at length,

The guerdon of thine earthly strengthA nd dauntless hand .

Cheered onward by this prom ise sure,Strong in the faith entire and pureThou dost p rofess,D epart

,— thy hop e is certainty,

The thi rd - the better life on highShalt thou possess .”

0 D eath, no more, no more delayM y sp i rit longs to flee away,A nd be at rest ;The will of H eaven my will shall b e,I bow to the d ivine decree

,

To God ’s behest.

M y soul is ready to depart,No thought rebels, the obed ient heartBreathes forth no sigh ;The wish on earth to linger stillWere vain

,when ’tis G od’s sovereign wil l

That we shall die .

‘f O thou, that for our sins d idst takeA hum an form

,and humbly make

Thy hom e on earth ;Thou, that to thy d ivinityA human nature d idst al lyBy mortal birth

,

“A nd in that form d idst suffer her .

Torm ent,and agony, and fear,

So patiently ;

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39-1 RECUEIL DES HISTOIRES DE TROYE .

Bourgoyne,of Lotryk, of Brabant, etc . , which said translation

and work was begun in Bruges in the C ounty of Flanders,the

first day of M arch, the year of the incarnation of our said LordG od on e thousand four hundred sixty and eight, and ended andfin ished in the holy city of C ologne the i9th day of September

,

the year of our said Lord G od one thousand four hundred s ixtyand eleven , etc .

And on that other side of this leaf followeth the prologue .When I remember that every man is bounden by the com

mandment and counsel of the wise man to eschew sloth andidleness

,which is mother and nourisher of vices, and ought to

put myself unto virtuous occupation and bus in es s, then I , having no great charge of occupation , follow ing the said counsel,took a French book and read therein many strange and marvelous histories wherein I had great pleasure and delight, as wellfor the novelty of the same as for the fair language of French

,

which was in prose so well and compendiously set and written,

which methought I unders tood the s entence and substance ofevery matter . And forsomuch as this book was new and latemade and drawn into French , and never had seen it in our E ngl ish tongue , I thought in myself it should be a good business totranslate it into our E nglish , to the end that it might be had aswell in the realm of E ngland as in other lands, and also for topass therewith the time, and thus concluded in myself to beginthis said work . And forthwith took pen and ink and beganboldly to run forth as blind Bayard, in this present work whichis named the R ecuez

’

l of the T rojan histories . And afterwardwhen I remembered myself of my simplen ess and unperfectnessthat I had in both languages, that is, to wit, in French and inE nglish, for in France was I never, and was born and learnedmine English in Kent in the Weald where , I doubt not, i sspoken as broad and rude English as in any place of E ngland,and have continued , by the space of thirty years, for the mostpart in the countries of Brabant, Flanders, H olland, and Z eeland and thus when all these things came tofore me after thatI had made and written a five or six quires, I fell in despair ofthis work and purposed no more to have continued therein, andthose quires laid apart, and in two years after labored no morein this work . And was fully in will to have left it, til l on atime it fortuned that the right high, excellent, and right virtuous princess, my right redoubted lady, my lady M argaret, bythe grace of God sister unto the King of E ngland and of

DICTES A ND SAY INGS OF THE P HILOSOPHERS. 395

France, my sovereign lord D uchess of Bourgoyne , of Lotryk,of Brabant, of Lym b u rgh , and of Luxembourg, C ountess ofFlanders and Artois and of Bourgoyne , P alatine of H ainault,of H olland, of Z eeland, and of Namur, M archioness of the holyempire

,lady of Fries, of Salins , and of M echl in — sent for me

to speak with her good grace of divers matters . Among thewhich, I let her highness have knowledge of the foresaid beginning of this work , which anon commanded me to show the saidfive or six quires to her said grace , and when she had seen them,

anon she found a default in mine E nglish , which she comm anded me to amend, and moreover commanded me straitly tocontinue and make an end of the residue then not translated ;whose dreadful commandment I durst in no wise disobey

, b e

cause I am a servant unto her said grace , and receive of heryearly fee, and other many good and great benefits, and alsohope many more to receive of her highness but forthwith wentand labored in the said translation after my simple and poorcunning ; also, nigh as I can, following mine author, meeklybeseeching the bounteous highness of my said lady that of herbenevolence lis t to accept and take in gree this s imple and rudework here following . And if there be anything written or saidto her pleasure , I shall think my labor well employed, andwhereas there is defaul t that she arette i t to the simpleness ofmy cunning which is full small in this behalf, and require andpray all them that shall read this said work to correct it, andto hold me excused of the rude and simple translation . Andthus I end my prologue .

EP ILOGUE TO THE D ICTES A ND SAYINGS OF

THE PH ILOSOPHERS .

B Y W ILLIAM CAX TON .

HERE endeth the book named the dictes or sayings of thephilosophers

,imprinted by me , William C axton , at Westminster,

the year of our Lord 1 477 . Which book is late translated outof French into E nglish , by the noble and puissant lord, Lo rdAnthony

, E arl of Rivers, lord of Scales and of the Isle of Wight,D efender and D irector of the siege apostolic for our holy Fatherthe P ope, in this realm of England, and governor of my lord

396 DICTES A ND SAY IN GS OF THE PHILOSOPHERS.

P rince of Wales . And it is so that at such time as he had ao

complished this said work , it l iked him to send it to me in certain quires to oversee , which forthwith I saw and found thereinmany great, notable, and wise sayings of the philosophers, according unto the books made in French which I had oft afore read,but certainly I had seen none in E nglish till that time . And soafterward, I came unto my said lord, and told him how I hadread and seen his book , and that he had done a m eritory deedin the labor of the translation thereof into our English tongue

,

wherein he had d eserved a singular laud and thank,etc . Then

my said lord desired me to oversee it and , whereas I should findfault, to correct it wherein I answered unto his lordship thatI could not amend it, but if I should so presume I might apaireit, for it was right well and cunningly made and translated intoright good and fair English . Notwithstanding he willed m e tooversee it, and showed me divers things which, as him seemed,might be left out, as divers letters missives sent from Alexanderto D arius and Aristotle and each to other, which letters werelittle pertinent unto the dictes and sayings aforesaid forasmuchas they specify of other matters, and also desired me, that done ,to put the said book in print . And thus, obeying his request andcommandment, I have put me in devoir to oversee this his saidbook, and behold, as nigh as I could, how it accordeth with theoriginal , being in French . And I find nothing discordant therein,save only in the dictes and sayings of Socrates . Wherein I findthat my said lord hath left out certain and divers conclusionstouching women . Whereof I marvel that my said lord hathnot written them, nor what hath moved him so to do, norwhat cause he had at that time . But I suppose that some fairlady hath desired him to leave i t out of his book, or else he wasamorous on some noble lady, for whose love he would not setit in his book, or else for the very affection, love , and good willthat he hath unto all ladies and gentlewomen, he thought thatSocrates spared the sooth and wrote of women more than truth ,which I cannot think that so true a man and so noble a philosopher as Socrates was should write otherwise than truth . For ifhe had made fault in writing of women, he ought not nor shouldnot be bel ieved in his other dictes and sayings . But I apper

ceive that my said lord knoweth verily that such defaults be nothad nor found in the women born and dwelling in these partsnor regions of the world . Socrates was a G re ek born in a farcountry from hence

,which country is all of other conditions

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Trib unal of H oly Inquisition

F rom the p ainting by P aul Laurens, in the Luxembourg

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398 THE GREA T CA P TA IN.

C avaliers . H andsome , gay, of a reckles s daring, true to hisfriends, loyal to his King, and a prime favorite with QueenIsabella of luxurious habits but able to undergo inconceivablefatigue

,he had, also, the very remarkable distinct ion of having

fewer enemies than any man of our time — perhaps fewer thanany great man of any t ime . U n ited with these qualities was astrange winsomeness of manner, which caused men to accepthis leadership in battle or advice in counsel , without argument or suspicion , and a gen ius for military affairs as unob trusive as it was marvelous . H is long service with the Spanisharmies had shown him their defects, and without discussionor advice he set himself to make those changes on which hisfuture fame so greatly depended . H e was one of the first torecogn iz e the fact that a foot soldier is better and cheaper thana horseman , if he is so armed and disciplined as to develop hisfull capacity .

When I was first ushered into his presence he sat in asumptuous chair having high carved arms, over which was

thrown a lion’s skin . It was of a fashion said to have beenmodeled on the throne chairs of the M oors, which was at thattime much in vogue . H e was attired in a suit of rich brocadeand velvet . At his right was a small table , the top of whichwas a single slab of that rich stone, shining like emerald , onlya paler green , as if it had caught the light by lying for agesunder the waters of the sea, as indeed some say it hath, whichthe plunder of M oorish palaces had introduced into Spain . Ihad seen pieces of it before , but never on e so large , and indeedonly in the palace of the Alhambra have I seen its equal since .On this table were writing materials and a book to which henow and then recurred as if it contained memorandums of

what he had in hand . Back of this, at another table, sat a secretary who took notes of such matters as he was directed torecord . H e was evidently engaged in the dispatch of business,for while I waited in the anteroom more than a score passedthrough the double velvet curtains into the room where he sat,only to come forth after a brief interview and hurry away as ifcharged to use dispatch in executing the orders they had re

ceived . At last, there was but one remain ing with me , a smallslender man of about my own age, with regular features, apiercing eye , and a composed manner . While others chafed atbeing requir ed to wait, he stood quietly looking out of the window . I was greatly impressed with his youth and grace, both

THE GREA T CA P TA IN. 399

of which were enhanced by the slightness of his form , which,however, was compact and wiry . We were bidden to entertogether, and he led the way as if entitled of right to precedence . I noted the fact with a smile , as characteristic of theSpan ish people to whom, though the most fastidious people inthe world, self-assertion seems altogether consistent with gentlemanners .

The Chevalier G onsalvo looked up as we entered andwatched our approach with a steady glance . I was becominglyarrayed and kn ew that my appearance was that of one accustomed to a military life , so I fel t no discomposure in cominginto the presen ce of the great C aptain . M otioning me to oneside with a gesture that was a request in its gentle courtesy, headdressed my companion :

Your name,Sefior

Alonzo de Oj eda .

”

Your wishT o serve in the corps you are recruiting .

In what capacity ?

Such as you may assign me .

What can you do ? ”

I carry a sword,” touching the hilt lightly.

What service would you prefer ?”

What others shrink from .

”

If I give thee a spear ? ”

T hou shalt never find it out of line .

Bring me twenty spearmen and thou shalt be an ensign .

H e waved his hand and the other w ithdrew .

And now, Sefior, by what name shall I call you ?

There was something in his tone and smile which satisfiedme that I was recognized but I answered gravely :

T al l erte de La j es, at your lordship’

s service .

T al l erte de Laj es ! G ood sooth, a fair name , but I re

member it not . M ay I ask if you are a BiscayanI bowed my head but made no reply . H e made a sign to

his sec retary,who left the room and we were alone .

Thou wishest serviceT hat is my desire .

”

In what capacity ? ”

Where I may serve with credit to myself and advantage

to the cause of their C atholic M aj esties .

”

What induces thee to seek service ?

400 THE GREA T CA P TA IN .

There be many reasons .What is the strongest ?”

A pair of spurs . ”

What other reward dost thou expect ?”

Faith ! I know of nothing, beyond reasonable pay andgood equipment . ”

Rank ? Favor ? P lace for others ? ”

I seek nothing for mysel f, beyond the distinction of a goodsoldier

,and have neither family nor friends for whom I need

ask favor .”

And if thy service be one of which few know the meritIf G onsalvo de C ordova coun ts it important, and it b e

worthy of a soldier, I am content .”

And how about the rewardI leave that to thee .

”

H ark y e, Senor I am making up a body of foot soldiers .It is on them we must rely hereafter, regular foot battalions,not a horse among them . I mean to arm and drill them on an ew plan ; every third file to carry long pikes like the Swissinfantry, and the other two sword and buckler, with perhaps ashort spear . What think ye of it ? ”

“If well trained they should be effective .

I mean them to be pikemen against cavalry and swordsmen against infantry .

“Why not all pikemen at need ?” I answered . Short pikesin the front and long ones behind them ? ”

G od ’s death , Senor he exclaimed, springing to his feet .Thou hast my thought exactly a combination of Swiss pikemen and Asturian spearmen with bucklers and swords. Say one

spearman to two swordsmen !That should make a strong line and a flexible force .

T hat is it the Swiss pikes are too heavy .

”

The M oors ran under them in the pass of M alaga andmade short work with those that held them .

”

“Ah, thou sawest that ? Yet the Sw iss infantry bids defiance to the best cavalry in E urope as long as its formationholds . What we need is a union of heavy spearmen and lightswordsmen the one with shoulders like thine and the otherwith legs like mountain goats .”

Was that why you proffered a spear to the Seiior Oj eda ?

I asked with a smile .

If he is content to bear a spear he will deserve a sword .

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

402 THE GREAT CA P TAIN .

When thou hast no farther u se for an Adjutant of Infantry,

” I answered .

“Agreed . When that time comes, I wil l let thee kn ow .

When wilt thou begin thy duty ?”

To-morrow, your ExcellencyT ill to-morrow then , adios .H e extended his hand ; I touched it, bowed, and withdrew,

no longer wondering that the Queen had said it was “worththe trouble of being a sovereign to have one such subj ect asG onsalvo de C ordova .

”The memory of that time brings

back a proud day when G onsalvo de C ordova publicly acknowl

edged the indebtedness of his fame to my e fficiency .

Nevertheless, there was on e who had not forgotten D el

P orro . Riding at eventide across the plain that lay withoutthe walls of G ranada after service in the conquered city hadbecome monotonous, I spoke to one whom I overtook, somewhat bitterly oi the wrongs imposed upon the subjugated people and the rapacity of the H oly Offi ce, who , when the waragain st the M oors was over, began at once the spoliation of theJews to fill the depleted treasury . As if shaped out of thegathering mist, an unshod mule came softly over the whitedust to my side , and a voice I shall never forget, exclaimed incold harsh tones

Who art thou that speakest thus lightly of the RightH and of G od ?”

“And who art thou that makest such demand of a soldierof their M aj esties

M en call me the P illar of Fire, was the calm, exultantreply .

G od have mercy ! ” shouted my companion . T orquemada ! Thereupon he put spurs to his horse and fled . I n eversaw him more . As he had spoken quite as harshly as I , he hadequal reason to fear . I did not attempt to fly not because Idid not fear, for I felt a chill as of death creep down my backunder my armor, though it was midsummer and the breath ofthe south wind was stifl ing . But I knew it was useless to tryto escape from on e who had ten thousand eyes and ears at hiscommand in Spain , and who held King and Queen in mortalterror of his wrath . On ly guile could serve , and of this therewas littl e hope . E ven then a dull flame just visible to theright of the road we traveled

,showed where another victim,

“del ivered up to the civil authorities,” had expired in the

THE GREA T CA PTA IN. 403

flames of the Quemadero , which was set up without the city,almost before the cross had been reared within it .

“What is thy name ? ” asked the Chief Inquisitor,sternly .

In truth, H oly Father,” I answered, “my words were but

lightly spoken . A soldier abhors bloodshed except by thesword and in open strife .

”

The Holy Office sheds no man’s blood . The H oly Worddeclares an unqualified curse against every one by whom man ’sblood is shed :

‘by man shall his blood be shed .

’ It is notseemly that the servants of the M ost H igh should be exposedto this anathema, in their efforts to rid the world of error andunbelief . In all that they do, therefore , care is taken to shedno drop of blood, even of the unworthiest while probing hissoul for sin and compelling assent to the truths he hates .Even when found incorrigible , the sentence of destruction i snever executed by the agents of the H oly Office, but clothed inthe garb of the impen itent, the unhappy one against whometernal doom is pronounced , through the faithfulness of theirC atholic M aj esties, i s executed by the civil authorit ies by burning only ; in order that even by implication no drop of b loodm ay be shed by our action .

”

I doubt not thou art right, H oly Father ; I am no casuistand shall will ingly do penance for my words .

”

Aye,thou shalt do penance , of that be assured but thou

wert not so modest about thy casuistic skill a little time ago,methinks . What is thy name ? ”

M en call me D el P orro ,” I an swered as calmly as I could .

But now it was my listener’s turn to show surprise .

D el P orro The D uke of M edina Sidonia’s Captain ! he

exclaimed . Where hast thou hid thyself so long ?

In truth, H oly Father, I an swered,

“you must n ot blamea soldier if you find him not, because he is in the front of battlerather than with them that chant the victory .

But thou mightest have heard the King’

s trumpets !

Knowest thou not that for a year proclamation hath beenmade for thee in every camp and a reward offered for him thatshould find thee dead or al ive ! T hat every Familiar in Spainhath special order to seize thee and bring thee be fore their

M aj esties without delay or intervention G od and Sa int D om in i c be praised for this good fortune ! C om e thou w ith m e , myson

H e reached out his hand to take m y rein , but the brid le of

40-1: THE GREA T CA P TA IN.

A chm et’

s son was far beyond his reach before he could touchit with a finger . E re he could recover, my sword was out andthough I would not turn its point against a man of his calling,I thought it no harm to send it into the neck of his mule j ustwhere the j ointure leaves the marrow exposed, whereby thegood Father was sudden ly rolled in the dust .

G ood-b y, H oly Father !” I shouted as I spurred away .

It will be more than two years ere thou seest me againStop ! Stop he cried .

“T hou knowest not what thouart fleeing from ! I will forgive thy sacrilege and impietyI will absolve thy offense, if thou wilt but wait and hear meA chm et

’

s hoof strokes drowned his voice as we fled awayinto the darkness.