i. _Translation from an Unpublished Work of Herodotus_
ii. _The Shield of Achilles_, _with Variations_
iii. _The Two Deans_
iv. _On the Italian Priesthood_
_Butler wrote these four pieces while he was an undergraduate at St.
John’s College_, _Cambridge_. _He kept no copy of any of them_, _but his
friend the Rev. Canon Joseph McCormick_, _D.D._, _Rector of St. James’s_,
_Piccadilly_, _kept copies in a note-book which he lent me_. _The only
one that has appeared in print is_ “_The Shield of Achilles_,” _which
Canon McCormick sent to_ The Eagle, _the magazine of St. John’s College_,
_Cambridge_, _and it was printed in the number for December_ 1902, _about
six months after Butler’s death_.
“_On the Italian Priesthood_” _is a rendering of the Italian epigram
accompanying it which_, _with others under the heading_ “_Astuzia_,
_Inganno_,” _is given in_ Raccolta di Proverbi Toscani di Giuseppe Giusti
(_Firenze_, 1853).
v. _A Psalm of Montreal_
_This was written in Canada in_ 1875. _Butler often recited it and gave
copies of it to his friends_. _Knowing that Mr. Edward Clodd had had
something to do with its appearance in the_ Spectator _I wrote asking him
to tell me what he remembered about it_. _He very kindly replied_,
29_th_ _October_, 1905:
“_The_ ‘_Psalm_’ _was recited to me at the Century Club by Butler_. _He
gave me a copy of it which I read to the late Chas. Anderson_, _Vicar of
S. John’s_, _Limehouse_, _who lent it to Matt. Arnold_ (_when inspecting
Anderson’s Schools_) _who lent it to Richd. Holt Hutton who_, _with
Butler’s consent_, _printed it in the_ Spectator _of_ 18_th_ _May_,
1878.”
_The_ “_Psalm of Montreal_” _was included in_ Selections from Previous
Works (1884) _and in_ Seven Sonnets, _etc._
vi. _The Righteous Man_
_Butler wrote this in_ 1876; _it has appeared before only in_ 1879 _in
the_ Examiner, _where it formed part of the correspondence_ “_A
Clergyman’s Doubts_” _of which the letter signed_ “_Ethics_” _has already
been given in this volume_ (_see p._ 304 _ante_). “_The Righteous Man_”
_was signed_ “_X.Y.Z._” _and_, _in order to connect it with the
discussion_, _Butler prefaced it with a note comparing it to the last six
inches of a line of railway_; _there is no part of the road so ugly_, _so
little travelled over_, _or so useless generally_, _but it is the end_,
_at any rate_, _of a very long thing_.
vii. _To Critics and Others_.
_This was written in_ 1883 _and has not hitherto been published_.
viii. _For Narcissus_
_These are printed for the first time_. _The pianoforte score of_
Narcissus _was published in_ 1888. _The poem_ (_A_) _was written because
there was some discussion then going on in musical circles about
additional accompaniments to the_ Messiah _and we did not want any to be
written for_ Narcissus.
_The poem_ (_B_) _shows how Butler originally intended to open Part II
with a kind of descriptive programme_, _but he changed his mind and did
it differently_.
ix. _A Translation Attempted in Consequence of a Challenge_
_This translation into Homeric verse of a famous passage from_ Martin
Chuzzlewit _was a by-product of Butler’s work on the_ Odyssey _and the_
Iliad. _It was published in_ The Eagle _in March_, 1894, _and was
included in_ Seven Sonnets.
_I asked Butler who had challenged him to attempt the translation and he
replied that he had thought of that and had settled that_, _if any one
else were to ask the question_, _he should reply that the challenge came
from me_.
x. _In Memoriam H. R. F._
_This appears in print now for the first time_. _Hans Rudolf Faesch_, _a
young Swiss from Basel_, _came to London in the autumn of_ 1893. _He
spent much of his time with us until_ 14_th_ _February_, 1895, _when he
left for Singapore_. _We saw him off from Holborn Viaduct Station_; _he
was not well and it was a stormy night_. _The next day Butler wrote this
poem and_, _being persuaded that we should never see Hans Faesch again_,
_called it an In Memoriam_. _Hans did not die on the journey_, _he
arrived safely in Singapore and settled in the East where he carried on
business_. _We exchanged letters with him frequently_; _he paid two
visits to Europe and we saw him on both occasions_. _But he did not live
long_. _He died in the autumn of_ 1903 _at Vien Tiane in the Shan
States_, _aged_ 32, _having survived Butler by about a year and a half_.
xi. _An Academic Exercise_
_This has never been printed before_. _It is a Farewell_, _and that is
why I have placed it next after the In Memoriam_. _The contrast between
the two poems illustrates the contrast pointed out at the close of the
note on_ “_The Dislike of Death_” (_ante_, p. 359):
“_The memory of a love that has been cut short by death remains still
fragrant though enfeebled_, _but no recollection of its past can keep
sweet a love that has dried up and withered through accidents of time and
life_.”
_In the ordinary course Butler would have talked this Sonnet over with me
at the time he wrote it_, _that is in January_, 1902; _he may even have
done so_, _but I think not_. _From_ 2_nd_ _January_, 1902, _until late
in March_, _when he left London alone for Sicily_, _I was ill with
pneumonia and remember very little of what happened then_. _Between his
return in May and his death in June I am sure he did not mention the
subject_. _Knowing the facts that underlie the preceding poem I can tell
why Butler called it an In Memoriam_; _not knowing the facts that
underlie this poem I cannot tell why Butler should have called it an
Academic Exercise_. _It is his last Sonnet and is dated_ “_Sund. Jan._
12th 1902,” _within six months of his death_, _at a time when he was
depressed physically because his health was failing and mentally because
he had been_ “_editing his remains_,” _reading and destroying old letters
and brooding over the past_. _One of the subjects given in the section_
“_Titles and Subjects_” _(ante_) _is_ “_The diseases and ordinary causes
of mortality among friendships_.” _I suppose that he found among his
letters something which awakened memories of a friendship of his earlier
life—a friendship that had suffered from a disease_, _whether it
recovered or died would not affect the sincerity of the emotions
experienced by Butler at the time he believed the friendship to be
virtually dead_. _I suppose the Sonnet to be an In Memoriam upon the
apprehended death of a friendship as the preceding poem is an In Memoriam
upon the apprehended death of a friend_.
_This may be wrong_, _but something of the kind seems necessary to
explain why Butler should have called the Sonnet an Academic Exercise_.
_No one who has read_ Shakespeare’s Sonnets Reconsidered _will require to
be told that he disagreed contemptuously with those critics who believe
that Shakespeare composed his Sonnets as academic exercises_. _It is
certain that he wrote this_, _as he wrote his other Sonnets_, _in
imitation of Shakespeare_, _not merely imitating the form but approaching
the subject in the spirit in which he believed Shakespeare to have
approached his subject_. _It follows therefore that he did not write
this sonnet as an academic exercise_, _had he done so he would not have
been imitating Shakespeare_. _If we assume that he was presenting his
story as he presented the dialogue in_ “_A Psalm of Montreal_” _in a
form_ “_perhaps true_, _perhaps imaginary_, _perhaps a little of the one
and a little of the other_,” _it would be quite in the manner of the
author of_ The Fair Haven _to burlesque the methods of the critics by
ignoring the sincerity of the emotions and fixing on the little bit of
inaccuracy in the facts_. _We may suppose him to be saying out loud to
the critics_: “_You think Shakespeare’s Sonnets were composed as academic
exercises_, _do you_? _Very well then_, _now what do you make of this_?”
_And adding aside to himself_: “_That will be good enough for them_;
_they’ll swallow anything_.”
xii. _A Prayer_
_Extract from Butler’s Note-Books under the date of February or March_
1883:
“‘_Cleanse thou me from my secret sins_.’ _ I heard a man moralising on
this and shocked him by saying demurely that I did not mind these so
much_, _if I could get rid of those that were obvious to other people_.”
_He wrote the sonnet in_ 1900 _or_ 1901. _In the first quatrain_
“_spoken_” _does not rhyme with_ “_open_”; _Butler knew this and would
not alter it because there are similar assonances in Shakespeare_, _e.g._
“_open_” _and_ “_broken_” _in Sonnet LXI_.
xiii. _Karma_
_I am responsible for grouping these three sonnets under this heading_.
_The second one beginning_ “_What is’t to live_” _appears in Butler’s
Note-Book with the remark_, “_This wants much tinkering_, _but I cannot
tinker it_”—_meaning that he was too much occupied with other things_.
_He left the second line of the third of these sonnets thus_:
“_Them palpable to touch and view_.”
_I have_ “_tinkered_” _it by adding the two syllables_ “_and clear_” _to
make the line complete_.
_In writing this sonnet Butler was no doubt thinking of a note he made
in_ 1891:
“_It is often said that there is no bore like a clever bore_. _Clever
people are always bores and always must be_. _That is_, _perhaps_, _why
Shakespeare had to leave London—people could not stand him any longer_.”
xiv. _The Life after Death_
_Butler began to write sonnets in_ 1898 _when he was studying those of
Shakespeare on which he published a book in the following year_.
(Shakespeare’s Sonnets Reconsidered, _&c._) _He had gone to Flushing by
himself and on his return wrote to me_:
24 _Aug._ 1898. “_Also at Flushing I wrote one myself_, _a poor innocent
thing_, _but I was surprised to find how easily it came_; _if you like it
I may write a few more_.”
_The_ “_poor innocent thing_” _was the sonnet beginning_ “_Not on sad
Stygian shore_,” _the first of those I have grouped under the heading_
“_The Life after Death_.” _It appears in his notebooks with this
introductory sentence_:
“_Having now learned Shakespeare’s Sonnets by heart—and there are very
few which I do not find I understand the better for having done this—on
Saturday night last at the Hotel Zeeland at Flushing_, _finding myself in
a meditative mood_, _I wrote the following with a good deal less trouble
than I anticipated when I took pen and paper in hand_. _I hope I may
improve it_.”
_Of course I liked the sonnet very much and he did write_ “_a few
more_”—_among them the two on Handel which I have put after_ “_Not on sad
Stygian shore_” _because he intended that they should follow it_. _I am
sure he would have wished this volume to close with these three sonnets_,
_especially because the last two of them were inspired by Handel_, _who
was never absent from his thoughts for long_. _Let me conclude these
introductory remarks by reproducing a note made in_ 1883:
“_Of all dead men Handel has had the largest place in my thoughts_. _In
fact I should say that he and his music have been the central fact in my
life ever since I was old enough to know of the existence of either life
or music_. _All day long—whether I am writing or painting or walking_,
_but always—I have his music in my head_; _and if I lose sight of it and
of him for an hour or two_, _as of course I sometimes do_, _this is as
much as I do_. _I believe I am not exaggerating when I say that I have
never been a day since I was_ 13 _without having Handel in my mind many
times over_.”
i—Translation from an Unpublished Work of Herodotus
And the Johnians practise their tub in the following manner:—They select
8 of the most serviceable freshmen and put these into a boat and to each
one of them they give an oar; and, having told them to look at the backs
of the men before them, they make them bend forward as far as they can
and at the same moment, and, having put the end of the oar into the
water, pull it back again in to them about the bottom of the ribs; and,
if any of them does not do this or looks about him away from the back of
the man before him, they curse him in the most terrible manner, but if he
does what he is bidden they immediately cry out:
“Well pulled, number so-and-so.”
For they do not call them by their names but by certain numbers, each man
of them having a number allotted to him in accordance with his place in
the boat, and the first man they call stroke, but the last man bow; and
when they have done this for about 50 miles they come home again, and the
rate they travel at is about 25 miles an hour; and let no one think that
this is too great a rate for I could say many other wonderful things in
addition concerning the rowing of the Johnians, but if a man wishes to
know these things he must go and examine them himself. But when they
have done they contrive some such a device as this, for they make them
run many miles along the side of the river in order that they may
accustom them to great fatigue, and many of them, being distressed in
this way, fall down and die, but those who survive become very strong and
receive gifts of cups from the others; and after the revolution of a year
they have great races with their boats against those of the surrounding
islanders, but the Johnians, both owing to the carefulness of the
training and a natural disposition for rowing, are always victorious. In
this way, then, the Johnians, I say, practise their tub.
ii—The Shield of Achilles—With Variations
And in it he placed the Fitzwilliam and King’s College Chapel and the
lofty towered church of the Great Saint Mary, which looketh towards the
Senate House, and King’s Parade and Trumpington Road and the Pitt Press
and the divine opening of the Market Square and the beautiful flowing
fountain which formerly Hobson laboured to make with skilful art; him did
his father beget in the many-public-housed Trumpington from a slavey
mother and taught him blameless works; and he, on the other hand, sprang
up like a young shoot and many beautifully matched horses did he nourish
in his stable, which used to convey his rich possessions to London and
the various cities of the world; but oftentimes did he let them out to
others and whensoever any one was desirous of hiring one of the
long-tailed horses he took them in order, so that the labour was equal to
all, wherefore do men now speak of the choice of the renowned Hobson.
And in it he placed the close of the divine Parker, and many beautiful
undergraduates were delighting their tender minds upon it playing cricket
with one another; and a match was being played and two umpires were
quarrelling with one another; the one saying that the batsman who was
playing was out and the other declaring with all his might that he was
not; and while they two were contending, reviling one another with
abusive language, a ball came and hit one of them on the nose and the
blood flowed out in a stream and darkness was covering his eyes, but the
rest were crying out on all sides:
“Shy it up.”
And he could not; him, then, was his companion addressing with scornful
words:
“Arnold, why dost thou strive with me since I am much wiser? Did not I
see his leg before the wicket and rightly declare him to be out? Thee,
then, has Zeus now punished according to thy deserts and I will seek some
other umpire of the game equally-participated-in-by-both-sides.”
And in it he placed the Cam and many boats equally rowed on both sides
were going up and down on the bosom of the deep rolling river and the
coxswains were cheering on the men, for they were going to enter the
contest of the scratchean fours; and three men were rowing together in a
boat, strong and stout and determined in their hearts that they would
either first break a blood vessel or earn for themselves the
electroplated-Birmingham-manufactured magnificence of a pewter to stand
on their ball tables in memorial of their strength, and from time to time
drink from it the exhilarating streams of beer whensoever their dear
heart should compel them; but the fourth was weak and unequally matched
with the others and the coxswain was encouraging him and called him by
name and spake cheering words:
“Smith, when thou hast begun the contest, be not flurried nor strive too
hard against thy fate, look at the back of the man before thee and row
with as much strength as the Fates spun out for thee on the day when thou
fellest between the knees of thy mother, neither lose thine oar, but hold
it tight with thy hands.”
iii—The Two Deans
_Scene_: _The Court of St. John’s College_, _Cambridge_. _Enter the two
deans on their way to morning chapel_.
JUNIOR DEAN: Brother, I am much pleased with Samuel Butler,
I have observed him mightily of late;
Methinks that in his melancholy walk
And air subdued when’er he meeteth me
Lurks something more than in most other men.
SENIOR DEAN: It is a good young man. I do bethink me
That once I walked behind him in the cloister,
He saw me not, but whispered to his fellow:
“Of all men who do dwell beneath the moon
I love and reverence most the senior Dean.”
JUNIOR DEAN: One thing is passing strange, and yet I know not
How to condemn it; but in one plain brief word
He never comes to Sunday morning chapel.
Methinks he teacheth in some Sunday school,
Feeding the poor and starveling intellect
With wholesome knowledge, or on the Sabbath morn
He loves the country and the neighbouring spire
Of Madingley or Coton, or perchance
Amid some humble poor he spends the day
Conversing with them, learning all their cares,
Comforting them and easing them in sickness.
Oh ’tis a rare young man!
SENIOR DEAN: I will advance him to some public post,
He shall be chapel clerk, some day a fellow,
Some day perhaps a Dean, but as thou sayst
He is indeed an excellent young man—
_Enter Butler suddenly without a coat_, _or anything on his head_,
_rushing through the cloisters_, _bearing a cup_, _a bottle of cider_,
_four lemons_, _two nutmegs_, _half a pound of sugar and a nutmeg
grater_.
_Curtain falls on the confusion of Butler and the horror-stricken dismay
of the two deans_.
iv—On the Italian Priesthood
(Con arte e con inganno, si vive mezzo l’anno;
Con inganno e con arte, si vive l’altra parte.)
In knavish art and gathering gear
They spend the one half of the year;
In gathering gear and knavish art
They somehow spend the other part.
v—A Psalm of Montreal
The City of Montreal is one of the most rising and, in many respects,
most agreeable on the American continent, but its inhabitants are as yet
too busy with commerce to care greatly about the masterpieces of old
Greek Art. In the Montreal Museum of Natural History I came upon two
plaster casts, one of the Antinous and the other of the Discobolus—not
the good one, but in my poem, of course, I intend the good one—banished
from public view to a room where were all manner of skins, plants,
snakes, insects, etc., and, in the middle of these, an old man stuffing
an owl.
“Ah,” said I, “so you have some antiques here; why don’t you put them
where people can see them?”
“Well, sir,” answered the custodian, “you see they are rather vulgar.”
He then talked a great deal and said his brother did all Mr. Spurgeon’s
printing.
The dialogue—perhaps true, perhaps imaginary, perhaps a little of the one
and a little of the other—between the writer and this old man gave rise
to the lines that follow:
Stowed away in a Montreal lumber room
The Discobolus standeth and turneth his face to the wall;
Dusty, cobweb-covered, maimed and set at naught,
Beauty crieth in an attic and no man regardeth:
O God! O Montreal!
Beautiful by night and day, beautiful in summer and winter,
Whole or maimed, always and alike beautiful—
He preacheth gospel of grace to the skin of owls
And to one who seasoneth the skins of Canadian owls:
O God! O Montreal!
When I saw him I was wroth and I said, “O Discobolus!
Beautiful Discobolus, a Prince both among gods and men!
What doest thou here, how camest thou hither, Discobolus,
Preaching gospel in vain to the skins of owls?”
O God! O Montreal!
And I turned to the man of skins and said unto him, “O thou man of
skins,
Wherefore hast thou done thus to shame the beauty of the Discobolus?”
But the Lord had hardened the heart of the man of skins
And he answered, “My brother-in-law is haberdasher to Mr. Spurgeon.”
O God! O Montreal!
“The Discobolus is put here because he is vulgar—
He has neither vest nor pants with which to cover his limbs;
I, Sir, am a person of most respectable connections
My brother-in-law is haberdasher to Mr. Spurgeon.”
O God! O Montreal!
Then I said, “O brother-in-law to Mr. Spurgeon’s haberdasher,
Who seasonest also the skins of Canadian owls,
Thou callest trousers ‘pants,’ whereas I call them ‘trousers,’
Therefore thou art in hell-fire and may the Lord pity thee!”
O God! O Montreal!
“Preferrest thou the gospel of Montreal to the gospel of Hellas,
The gospel of thy connection with Mr. Spurgeon’s haberdashery to the
gospel of the Discobolus?”
Yet none the less blasphemed he beauty saying, “The Discobolus hath no
gospel,
But my brother-in-law is haberdasher to Mr. Spurgeon.”
O God! O Montreal!
vi—The Righteous Man
The righteous man will rob none but the defenceless,
Whatsoever can reckon with him he will neither plunder nor kill;
He will steal an egg from a hen or a lamb from an ewe,
For his sheep and his hens cannot reckon with him hereafter—
They live not in any odour of defencefulness:
Therefore right is with the righteous man, and he taketh advantage
righteously,
Praising God and plundering.
The righteous man will enslave his horse and his dog,
Making them serve him for their bare keep and for nothing further,
Shooting them, selling them for vivisection when they can no longer
profit him,
Backbiting them and beating them if they fail to please him;
For his horse and his dog can bring no action for damages,
Wherefore, then, should he not enslave them, shoot them, sell them for
vivisection?
But the righteous man will not plunder the defenceful—
Not if he be alone and unarmed—for his conscience will smite him;
He will not rob a she-bear of her cubs, nor an eagle of her eaglets—
Unless he have a rifle to purge him from the fear of sin:
Then may he shoot rejoicing in innocency—from ambush or a safe
distance;
Or he will beguile them, lay poison for them, keep no faith with them;
For what faith is there with that which cannot reckon hereafter,
Neither by itself, nor by another, nor by any residuum of ill
consequences?
Surely, where weakness is utter, honour ceaseth.
Nay, I will do what is right in the eye of him who can harm me,
And not in those of him who cannot call me to account.
Therefore yield me up thy pretty wings, O humming-bird!
Sing for me in a prison, O lark!
Pay me thy rent, O widow! for it is mine.
Where there is reckoning there is sin,
And where there is no reckoning sin is not.
vii—To Critics and Others
O Critics, cultured Critics!
Who will praise me after I am dead,
Who will see in me both more and less than I intended,
But who will swear that whatever it was it was all perfectly right:
You will think you are better than the people who, when I was alive,
swore that whatever I did was wrong
And damned my books for me as fast as I could write them;
But you will not be better, you will be just the same, neither better
nor worse,
And you will go for some future Butler as your fathers have gone for
me.
Oh! How I should have hated you!
But you, Nice People!
Who will be sick of me because the critics thrust me down your
throats,
But who would take me willingly enough if you were not bored about me,
Or if you could have the cream of me—and surely this should suffice:
Please remember that, if I were living, I should be upon your side
And should hate those who imposed me either on myself or others;
Therefore, I pray you, neglect me, burlesque me, boil me down, do
whatever you like with me,
But do not think that, if I were living, I should not aid and abet
you.
There is nothing that even Shakespeare would enjoy more than a good
burlesque of _Hamlet_.
viii—For _Narcissus_
(A)
(To be written in front of the orchestral score.)
May he be damned for evermore
Who tampers with Narcissus’ score;
May he by poisonous snakes be bitten
Who writes more parts than what we’ve written.
We tried to make our music clear
For those who sing and those who hear,
Not lost and muddled up and drowned
In over-done orchestral sound;
So kindly leave the work alone
Or do it as we want it done.
(B)