The first evils which occurred to her were those of the law, its

uncertainty and its delays by which properties were wasted, families

ruined and hearts broken. What barbarity it is, she says, that a cause

should continue forty years in the Courts! that one Counsellor should

tell you the right is on your side, and another should say the same

thing to your adversary; that one decision should be given in one

place, and another to revoke it in that; and in a third a different

one from either, and all three perhaps equally wide of the truth and

justice of the case, and yet each such as can be maintained by legal

arguments, and supported by legal authorities! The cause of all this

she ascribes to the multiplicity of laws and of legal books, which

were more than enough to load twenty carts, and yet more were

continually added, and all were in Latin. Could any folly exceed that

of those lawgivers who presumed to prescribe laws for all possible

contingencies, and for the whole course of future generations! She was

therefore for reducing the written laws to a few fundamentals in the

vernacular tongue, and leaving every thing else to be decided by men

of good conscience and sincere understanding; by which the study of

jurisprudence as a science would be abolished, and there might be an

end to those numerous costly professorships for which so many chairs

and universities had been founded. Ten short commandments comprised

the law of God; but human laws by their number and by the manner in

which they were administered occasioned more hurt to the souls of men

than even to their lives and fortunes; for in courts of law it was

customary, even if not openly permitted, to bear false witness against

your neighbour, to calumniate him in writing, and to seek his

destruction or his death. Laws which touched the life ought to be

written, because in capital cases no man ought to be left to an

uncertain sentence, nor to the will of a Judge, but all other cases

should be left to the Judges, who ought always to be chosen from

Monasteries, or some other course of retired life, and selected for

their religious character. This she thought, with the imposition of a

heavy fine for any direct falsehood, or false representation advanced

either in evidence, or in pleading, and for denying the truth, or

suppressing it, would produce the desired reformation.

Next she considered the condition of the agricultural labourers, a

class which had greatly diminished and which it was most desirable to

increase. Their condition was to be bettered by raising their wages

and consequently the price of produce, and exempting their cattle,

their stores and their persons from being taken in execution. She

would also have them protected against their own imprudence, by

preventing them from obtaining credit for wedding garments, that being

one of the most prevalent and ruinous modes of extravagance in her

days. In this rank of life it sometimes happened, that a shopkeeper

not only seized the garments themselves, but the peasant's cattle also

to make up the payment of a debt thus contracted.

She thought it a strange want of policy that in a country where the

corn failed for want of rain, the waters with which all brooks and

rivers were filled in winter should be allowed to run to waste.

Therefore she advised that great tanks and reservoirs should be formed

for the purposes of irrigation, and that they should be rendered

doubly profitable by stocking them with fish, such as shad, tench and

trout. She advised also that the seed should frequently be changed,

and crops raised in succession, because the soil loved to embrace new

products: and that new plants should be introduced from the Indies;

where hitherto the Spaniards had been more intent upon introducing

their own, than in bringing home from thence others to enrich their

own country; the cacao in particular she recommended, noticing that

this nut for its excellence had even been used as money.

Duels she thought the Christian Princes and the Pope might easily

prevent, by erecting a Jurisdiction which should take cognizance of

all affairs of honour. She would have had them also open the road to

distinction for all who deserved it, so that no person should be

debarred by his birth from attaining to any office or rank; this she

said, was the way to have more Rolands and Cids, more Great Captains,

more Hannibals and Tamerlanes.

Such were Doña Oliva's views of political reformation, the wretched

state of law and of medicine explaining satisfactorily to her most of

the evils with which Spain was afflicted in the reign of Philip II.

She considered Law and Physic as the two great plagues of human life,

according to the Spanish proverb,

_A quien yo quiero mal,

De le Dios pleyto y orinal._

Upon these subjects and such as these the Spanish lady might speculate

freely; if she had any opinions which “savoured of the frying-pan,”

she kept them to herself.

CHAPTER CCXXI.

THE DOCTOR'S OPINION OF DOÑA OLIVA'S PRACTICE AND HUMANITY.

_Anchor dir si potrebber cose assai

Che la materia è tanto piena et folta,

Che non se ne verrebbe à capo mai,

Dunque fia buono ch'io suoni à raccolta._

FR. SANSOVINO.

The Doctor's opinion of Doña Oliva's practice was that no one would be

killed by it, but that many would be allowed to die whom a more active

treatment might have saved. It would generally fail to help the

patient, but it would never exasperate the disease; and therefore in

her age it was an improvement, for better is an inert treatment than a

mischievous one.

He liked her similitude of the tree, but wondered that she had not

noted as much resemblance to the trunk and branches in the bones and

muscles, as in the vascular system. He admired the rational part of

her practice, and was disposed to think some parts of it not

irrational which might seem merely fanciful to merely practical men.

She was of opinion that more persons were killed by affections of the

mind, than by intemperance, or by the sword; this she attempts to

explain by some weak reasoning from a baseless theory; but the proofs

which she adduces in support of the assertion are curious. Many

persons she says, who in her own time had fallen under the King's

displeasure, or even received a harsh word from him, had taken to

their beds and died. It was not uncommon for wives who loved their

husbands dearly, to die a few days after them; two such instances had

occurred within the same week in the town in which she resided: and

she adds the more affecting fact that the female slaves of the better

kind (_esclavas abiles_) meaning perhaps those upon whom any care had

been bestowed, were frequently observed to pine away as they grew up,

and perish; and that this was still more frequent with those who had a

child born to an inheritance of slavery. Mortified ambition,

irremediable grief, and hopeless misery, had within her observation,

produced the same fatal effect. The general fact is supported by

Harvey's testimony. That eminent man said to Bishop Hacket that during

the Great Rebellion, more persons whom he had seen in the course of

his practice died of grief of mind than of any other disease. In

France it was observed not only that nervous diseases of every kind

became much more frequent during the revolution but cases of cancer

also,—moral causes producing in women a predisposition to that most

dreadful disease.

Our friend was fortunate enough to live in peaceful times, when there

were no public calamities to increase the sum of human suffering. Yet

even then, and within the limits of his own not extensive circle, he

saw cases enough to teach him that it is difficult to minister to a

mind diseased, but that for a worm in the core there is no remedy

within the power of man.

He liked Doña Oliva for the humanity which her observations upon this

subject implies. He liked her also for following the indications of

nature in part of her practise; much the better he liked her for

prescribing all soothing circumstances and all inducements to

cheerfulness that were possible; and nothing the worse for having

carried some of her notions to a whimsical extent. He had built an

Infirmary in the air himself, others he said, might build Castles

there.

It was not such an Infirmary as the great Hospital at Malta, where the

Knights attended in rotation and administered to the patients, and

where every culinary utensil was made of solid silver, such was the

ostentatious magnificence of the establishment. The Doctor provided

better attendance, for he had also built a Beguinage in the air, as an

auxiliary institution; and as to the utensils he was of opinion that

careful neatness was very much better than useless splendour. But here

he would have given Doña Oliva's soothing system a fair trial, and

have surrounded the patients with all circumstances that could

minister to the comfort or alleviation of either a body or a mind

diseased. The principal remedy in true medicine, said that Lady

practitioner, is to reconcile the mind and body, or to bring them in

accord with each other,—(_componer el anima con el cuerpo:_) to effect

this you must administer contentment and pleasure to the mind, and

comfort to the stomach and to the brain; the mind can only be reached

by judicious discourse and pleasing objects; the stomach is to be

comforted by restoratives; the brain by sweet odours and sweet sounds.

The prospect of groves and gardens, the shade of trees, the flowing of

water, or its gentle fall, music and cheerful conversation, were

things which she especially advised. How little these circumstances

would avail in the fiercer forms of acute diseases, or in the

protracted evils of chronic suffering, the Doctor knew but too well.

But he knew also that medical art was humanely and worthily employed,

when it alleviated what no human skill could cure.

“So great,” says Dr. Currie, “are the difficulties of tracing out the

hidden causes of the disorders to which this frame of ours is subject,

that the most candid of the profession have allowed and lamented how

unavoidably they are in the dark; so that the best medicines,

administered by the wisest heads, shall often do the mischief they

intend to prevent.” There are more reasons for this than Dr. Currie

has here assigned. For not only are many of the diseases which flesh

is heir to, obscure in their causes, difficultly distinguishable by

their symptoms, and altogether mysterious in their effect upon the

system, but constitutions may be as different as tempers, and their

varieties may be as many and as great as those of the human

countenance. Thus it is explained wherefore the treatment which proves

successful with one patient, should fail with another, though

precisely in the same stage of the same disease. Another and not

unfrequent cause of failure is that the life of a patient may depend

as much upon administering the right remedy at the right point of

time, as the success of an alchemist was supposed to do upon seizing

the moment of projection. And where constant attendance is not

possible, or where skill is wanting, it must often happen that the

opportunity is lost. This cause would not exist in the Columbian

Infirmary, where the ablest Physicians would be always within instant

call, and where the Beguines in constant attendance would have

sufficient skill to know when that call became necessary.

A ship-captain, the Doctor used to say, when he approaches the coast

of France from the Bay of Biscay, or draws near the mouth of the

British Channel, sends down the lead into the sea, and from the

appearance of the sand which adheres to its tallowed bottom, he is

enabled to find upon the chart where he is, with sufficient precision

for directing his course. Think, he would say, what an apparently

impossible accumulation of experience there must have been, before the

bottom of that sea, everywhere within soundings could be so accurately

known, as to be marked on charts which may be relied on with perfect

confidence! No formal series of experiments was ever instituted for

acquiring this knowledge; and there is nothing in history which can

lead us to conjecture about what time sailors first began to trust to

it. The boasted astronomy of the Hindoos and Egyptians affords a

feebler apparent proof in favour of the false antiquity of the world,

than might be inferred from this practice. Now if experience in the

Art of Healing had been treasured up with equal care, it is not too

much to say that therapeutics might have been as much advanced, as

navigation has been by preserving the collective knowledge of so many

generations?[1]

[Footnote 1: The following fragments belong to the chapters which were

to have treated on the Medical Science. They may therefore

appropriately be appended to these chapters on Doña Oliva. I have only

prefixed a motto from Butler.]

* * * * *

“—The prince

Of Poets, Homer, sang long since,

A skilful leech is better far

Than half a hundred men of war.”

Such prescriptions as were composed of any part of the human body were

reprobated by Galen, and he severely condemned Xenocrates for having

introduced them, as being worse than useless in themselves, and wicked

in their consequences. Yet these abominable ingredients continued in

use till what may be called the Reformation of medicine in the

Seventeenth Century. Human bones were administered internally as a

cure for ulcers, and the bones were to be those of the part affected.

A preparation called Aqua Divina was made by cutting in pieces the

body of a healthy man who had died a violent death, and distilling it

with the bones and intestines. Human blood was prescribed for

epilepsy, by great authorities, but others equally great with better

reason condemned the practice, for this among other causes, that it

might communicate the diseases of the person from whom it was taken.

Ignorant surgeons when they bled a patient used to make him drink the

warm blood that he might not lose the life which it contained. The

heart dried, and taken in powder was thought good in fevers, but

consciencious practitioners were of opinion that it ought not to be

used, because of the dangerous consequences which might be expected if

such a remedy were in demand. It is not long since a Physician at

Heidelberg prescribed human brains to be taken inwardly in violent

fevers, and boasted of wonderful cures. And another German

administered cat's entrails as a panacea!

* * * * *

The Egyptian physicians, each being confined to the study and

treatment of one part of the body, or one disease, were bound to

proceed in all cases according to the prescribed rules of their art.

If the patient died under this treatment, no blame attached to the

physician; but woe to the rash practitioner who ventured to save a

life by any means out of the regular routine; the success of the

experiment was not admitted as an excuse for the transgression and he

was punished with death; for the law presumed that in every case the

treatment enjoined was such as by common consent of the most learned

professors had been approved because by long experience it had been

found beneficial. The laws had some right to interfere because

physicians received a public stipend.

Something like this prevails at this day in China. It is enacted in

the Ta Tsing Leu Lee, that “when unskilful practitioners of medicine

or surgery, administer drugs, or perform operations with the

puncturing needle, contrary to the established rules and practice, and

thereby kill the patient, the Magistrates shall call in other

practitioners to examine the nature of the medicine, or of the wound,

as the case may be, which proved mortal; and if it shall appear upon

the whole to have been simply an error without any design to injure

the patient, the practitioner shall be allowed to redeem himself from

the punishment of homicide, as in cases purely accidental, but shall

be obliged to quit his profession for ever. If it shall appear that a

medical practitioner intentionally deviates from the established rules

and practice, and while pretending to remove the disease of his

patient, aggravates the complaint, in order to extort more money for

its cure, the money so extorted shall be considered to have been

stolen, and punishment inflicted accordingly, in proportion to the

amount. If the patient dies, the medical practitioner who is convicted

of designedly employing improper medicines, or otherwise contriving to

injure his patient, shall suffer death by being beheaded after the

usual period of confinement.”

* * * * *

No man ever entertained a higher opinion of medical science, and the

dignity of a Physician than Van Helmont. What has been said of the

Poet, ought in his opinion to be said of the Physician also,

_nascitur, non fit_, and in his relation to the Creator, he was more

Poet, or Prophet, whom the word VATES brings under one

predicament,—more than Priest. _Scilicet Pater Misericordiarum, qui

Medicum ab initio, ceu Mediatorem inter Deum et hominem, constituit,

immo sibi in deliciis posuit, à Medico vinci velle, nimirum, ad hoc se

creasse peculiari elogio, et elegisse testatur. Ita est sane. Non enim

citius hominem punit Deus, infirmat, aut interimere minatur, sibi quam

optet opponentem Medicum, ut se Omnipotentem, etiam meritas immittendo

pœnas, vincat propriis clementiæ suæ donis. Ejusmodi autem Medici sunt

in ventre matris præparati,—suo fungentes munere, nullius lucri

intuitu, nudèque reflectuntur super beneplacitum (immo mandatum)

illius, qui solus, verè misericors, nos jubet, sub indictione pœnæ

infernalis, fore Patri suo similes._—Obedite præpositis _præceptum

quidem: sed_ honora parentes, honora Medicum, _angustius est quam

obedire, cum cogamur etiam obedire minoribus. Medicus enim Mediator

inter Vitæ Principem et Mortem._

“To wit,”—this done into English by J. C. sometime of M. H. Oxon.—“the

Father of mercies, he who appointed a Physician, or Mediator between

God and man from the beginning, yea He made it his delight that he

would be overcome by a Physician, indeed he testifieth that he created

and chose him to this end—for a peculiar testimony of his praise. It

is so in truth. For no sooner doth He punish, weaken, and threaten to

kill man, but he desireth a Physician opposing himself, that He may

conquer himself, being Omnipotent, and even in sending deserved

punishments, by the proper gifts of his clemency.—Of this sort are

Physicians, which are fitted from their Mothers wombs, exercise their

gift with respect to no gain; and they are nakedly cast upon the good

pleasure,—yea the command—of him, who alone being truly merciful

commands us that, under pain of infernal punishment, we be like to his

father.—_Obey those that sit over you,_ is a precept indeed; but

honour thy Parents, honour the Physician, is more strict than to obey,

seeing we are constrained even to obey our youngers. For the Physician

is a Mediator between the Prince of life and Death.”

* * * * *

Some of the Floridian tribes had a high opinion of medical virtue.

They buried all their dead, except the Doctors; them they burnt,

reduced their bones to powder and drank it in water.

* * * * *

A century ago the Lions in the Tower were named after the different

Sovereigns then reigning, “and it has been observed that when a King

dies, the Lion of that name dies also.”

* * * * *

In the great Place at Delhi the poor Astrologers sit, as well

Mahometan as Heathen. These Doctors, forsooth, sit there in the sun

upon a piece of tapistry, all covered with dust, having about them

some old mathematical instruments, which they make shew of to draw

passengers, and a great open book representing the animals of the

Zodiack. These men are the oracles of the vulgar, to whom they pretend

to give for one _Payssa_, that is a penny, good luck, and they are

they that looking upon the hands and face, turning over their books

and making a shew of calculation, determine the fortunate moment when

a business is to be begun, to make it successful. The mean women,

wrapt up in a white sheet from head to foot, come to find them out,

telling them in their ear their most secret concerns, as if they were

their confessors, and intreat them to render the stars propitious to

them, and suitable to their designs, as if they could absolutely

dispose of their influences.

The most ridiculous of all these astrologers in my opinion was a

mongrel Portugueze from Goa, who sat with much gravity upon his piece

of tapistry, like the rest, and had a great deal of custom, though he

could neither read nor write; and as for instruments and books was

furnished with nothing but an old sea-compass, and an old Romish

prayer-book in the Portugueze language, of which he shewed the

pictures for figures of the Zodiac. “_As taes bestias tal

Astrologo_—for such beasts, such an Astrologer,” said he to father

Buze a Jesuit, who met him there.

* * * * *

M. Rondeau in 1780, opened a large tumour which had grown behind a

woman's left ear, at Brussels, and found in it a stone, in form and

size like a pigeon's egg, which all the experiments to which it was

subject proved to be a real Bezoar, of the same colour, structure,

taste and substance with the oriental and occidental Bezoars. This,

however was a fact which the Doctor could not exactly accommodate to

his theory, though it clearly belonged to it; the difficulty was not

in this, that there are those animals in which the Bezoar is produced,

the goat in which it is most frequent, the cow, in which it is of less

value, and the ape, in which it is very seldom found, but is of most

efficacy. Through either of these forms the Archeus might have passed.

But how the Bezoar which is formed in the stomach of these animals

should have concreted in a sort of wen upon the woman's head was a

circumstance altogether anomalous.

* * * * *

At Mistra, a town built from the ruins of Sparta, the sick are daily

brought and laid at the doors of the metropolitan Church, as at the

gates of the ancient temples, that those who repair thither to

worship, may indicate to them the remedies by which their health may

be recovered.

* * * * *

It is well remarked of the Spaniards by the Abbé de Vayrac _que d'un

trop grand attachment pour les Anciens en matiere de Philosophie et de

Medecine, et de trop de negligence pour eux en matiere de Poësie, il

arrive presque toujours qu'ils ne sont ni bons Philosophes, ni bons

Medicins, ni bons Poëtes._

* * * * *

The desire of having something on which to rely, as dogmatical truths,

“as it appears,” says Donne, “in all sciences, so most manifestly in

Physic, which for a long time considering nothing but plain curing,

and that by example and precedent, the world at last longed for some

certain canons and rules how these cures might be accomplished; and

when men are inflamed with this desire, and that such a fire breaks

out, it rages and consumes infinitely by heat of argument, except some

of authority interpose. This produced Hippocrates his Aphorisms; and

the world slumbered, or took breath, in his resolution divers hundreds

of years. And then in Galen's time, which was not satisfied with the

effect of curing, nor with the knowledge how to cure, broke out

another desire of finding out the causes why those simples wrought

those effects. Then Galen rather to stay their stomachs than that he

gave them enough, taught them the qualities of the four Elements, and

arrested them upon this, that all differences of qualities proceeded

from them. And after, (not much before our time,) men perceiving that

all effects in physic could not be derived from these beggarly and

impotent properties of the Elements, and that therefore they were

driven often to that miserable refuge of specific form, and of

antipathy and sympathy, we see the world hath turned upon new

principles, which are attributed to Paracelsus, but indeed too much to

his honour.”

* * * * *

“This indenture made 26 Apr. 18 Hen. 8, between Sir Walter Strickland,

knight, of one part, and Alexander Kenet, Doctor of Physic, on the

other part, witnesseth, that the said Alexander permitteth, granteth,

and by these presents bindeth him, that he will, with the grace and

help of God, render and bring the said Sir Walter Strickland to

perfect health of all his infirmities and diseases contained in his

person, and especially stomach and lungs and breast, wherein he has

most disease and grief; and over to minister such medicines truly to

the said Sir Walter Strickland, in such manner and ways as the said

Master Alexander may make the said Sir Walter heal of all infirmities

and diseases, in as short time as possible may be, with the grace and

help of God. And also the said Master Alexander granteth he shall not

depart at no time from the said Sir Walter without his license, unto

the time the said Sir Walter be perfect heal, with the grace and help

of God. For the which care the said Sir Walter Strictland granteth by

these presents, binding himself to pay or cause to be paid to the said

Mr. Alexander or his assigns £20. sterling monies of good and lawful

money of England, in manner and form following: that is, five marks to

be paid upon the first day of May next ensuing, and all the residue of

the said sum of £20. to be paid parcel by parcel as shall please the

said Sir Walter, as he thinks necessary to be delivered and paid in

the time of his disease, for sustaining such charges as the said Mr.

Alexander must use in medicine for reducing the said Sir Walter to

health; and so the said payment continued and made, to the time the

whole sum of £20. aforesaid be fully contented and paid. In witness

whereof, either to these present indentures have interchangeably set

their seals, the day and year above mentioned.”

Sir Walter however died on the 9th of January following.

* * * * *

“_Je voudrois de bon cœur_,” says an interlocutor in one of the

evening conversation parties of Guillaume Bouchet, Sieur de Brocourt,

“_qu'il y eust des Medecins pour remedier aux ennuis et maladies de

l'esprit, ne plus ne moins qu'il en y a qui guerissent les maladies et

douleurs du corps; comme it se trouve qu'il y en avoit en Grece; car

il est escrit que Xenophon ayant faict bastir une maison à Corinthe,

il mit en un billet sur la porte, qu'il faisoit profession, et avoit

le moyen de guerir de paroles ceux qui estoient ennuyez et faschez; et

leur demandant les causes de leurs ennuis, il les guerissoit, les

recomfortant, et consolant de leurs douleurs et ennuis._”

* * * * *

Under barbarous governments the most atrocious practices are still in

use. It was reported in India that when Hyder Aly was suffering with a

malignant bile on his back common in that country, and which

occasioned his death, an infant's liver was applied to it every day.

An Englishman in the service of Phizal Beg Cawn was on an embassy at

Madras when this story was current; the Governor asked him whether he

thought it likely to be true, and he acknowledged his belief in it,

giving this sufficient reason, that his master Phizal Beg had tried

the same remedy, but then he begged leave to affirm in behalf of his

master, that the infants killed for his use, were slaves, and his own

property.

* * * * *

Of odd notions concerning virginity I do not remember a more curious

one than that virgin mummy was preferred in medicine.

INTERCHAPTER XXV.

A WISHING INTERCHAPTER WHICH IS SHORTLY TERMINATED, ON SUDDENLY

RECOLLECTING THE WORDS OF CLEOPATRA,—“WISHERS WERE EVER FOOLS.”

Begin betimes, occasion's bald behind,

Stop not thine opportunity, for fear too late

Thou seek'st for much, but canst not compass it.

MARLOWE.

“_Plust a Dieu que j'eusse presentement cent soixante et dixhuit

millions d'or!_” says a personage in Rabelais: “_ho, comment je

triumpherois!_”

It was a good, honest, large, capacious wish; and in wishing, it is as

well to wish for enough. By enough in the way of riches, a man is said

to mean always something more than he has. Without exposing myself to

any such censorious remark, I will like the person above quoted, limit

my desires to a positive sum, and wish for just one million a year.

And what would you do with it? says Mr. Sobersides.

“_Attendez encores un peu, avec demie once de patience._”

I now esteem my venerable self

As brave a fellow, as if all that pelf

Were sure mine own; and I have thought a way

Already how to spend.

And first for my private expenditure, I would either buy a house to my

mind, or build one; and it should be such as a house ought to be,

which I once heard a glorious agriculturist define “a house that

should have in it every thing that is voluptuous, and necessary and

right.” In my acceptation of that felicitous definition, I request the

reader to understand that every thing which is right is intended, and

nothing but what is perfectly so: that is to say I mean every possible

accommodation conducive to health and comfort. It should be large

enough for my friends, and not so large as to serve as an hotel for my

acquaintance, and I would live in it at the rate of five thousand a

year, beyond which no real and reasonable enjoyment is to be obtained

by money.

I would neither keep hounds, nor hunters, nor running horses.

I would neither solicit nor accept a peerage. I would not go into

Parliament. I would take no part whatever in what is called public

life, farther than to give my vote at an election against a Whig, or

against any one who would give his in favour of the Catholic Question.

I would not wear my coat quite so threadbare as I do at present: but I

would still keep to my old shoes, as long as they would keep to me.

But stop—Cleopatra adopted some wizard's words when she said “Wishers

were ever fools!”

CHAPTER CCXXII.

ETYMOLOGY.—UN TOUR DE MAÎTRE GONIN.—ROMAN DE VAUDEMONT AND THE LETTER

C.—SHENSTONE.—THE DOCTOR'S USE OF CHRISTIAN NAMES.

_Πρᾶγμα, πρᾶγμα μέγα κεκίνηται, μέγα._

ARISTOPHANES.

_Magnus thesaurus latet in nominibus,_ said Strafford, then Lord

Deputy Wentworth, when noticing a most unwise scheme which was

supposed to proceed from Sir Abraham Dawes, he observes, it appeared

most plainly that he had not his name for nothing! In another letter,

he says, “I begin to hope I may in time as well understand these

customs as Sir Abraham Dawes. Why should I fear it? for I have a name

less ominous than his.”

_Gonin_, Court de Gebelin says, is a French word or rather name which

exists only in these proverbial phrases, _Maître Gonin_,—_un tour de

Maître Gonin_; it designates _un Maître passé en ruses et artifices;

un homme fin et rusé._ The origin of the word, says he, was altogether

unknown. Menage rejects with the utmost contempt the opinion of those

who derive it from the Hebrew ץובנ, _Gwunen_ a diviner, an enchanter.

It is true that this etymology has been advanced too lightly, and

without proofs: Menage however ought to have been less contemptuous,

because he could substitute nothing in its place.

It is remarkable that neither Menage nor Court de Gebelin should have

known that Maistre Gounin was a French conjurer, as well known in his

day as Katterfelto and Jonas, or the Sieur Ingleby Emperor of

Conjurors in later times. He flourished in the days of Francis the

first, before whom he is said to have made a private exhibition of his

art in a manner perfectly characteristic of that licentious King and

his profligate court. Thus he effected “_par ses inventions, illusions

et sorcelleries et enchantements,—car il estoit un homme fort expert

et subtil en son art,_ says Brântome; _et son petit-fils, que nous

avons veu, n'y entendoit rien au prix de luy._” Grandfather and

grandson having been at the head of their worshipful profession, the

name past into a proverbial expression, and survived all memory of the

men.

Court de Gebelin traced its etymology far and wide. He says, it is

incontestable that this word is common to us with the ancient Hebrews

though it does not come to us from them. We are indebted for it to the

English. Cunning _designe chez eux un homme adroit, fin, rusé._ Master

Cunning _a fait Maître Gonin_. This word comes from the primitive

_Cen_ pronounced _Ken_, which signifies ability, (_habilité_) art,

power. The Irish have made from it _Kanu_, I know; _Kunna_, to know;

_Kenning_, knowledge, (_science_); _Kenni_-mann, wise men (_hommes

savans_), Doctors, Priests.

It is a word common to all the dialects of the Celtic and Teutonic; to

the Greek in which _Konne-ein_[1] signifies to know (_savoir_) to be

intelligent and able &c., to the Tartar languages &c.

[Footnote 1: So in the MS.]

_Les Anglois associant_ Cunning _avec_ Man, _homme, en font le mot_

Cunning-Man, _qui signifie Devin, Enchanteur, homme qui fait de

grandes choses, et qui est habile: c'est donc le correspondant du mot

Hebreu_ Gwunen, _Enchanteur, Devin;_ Gwuna, _Magicienne, Devineresse;

d'où le verbe_ Gwunen, _deviner, observer les Augures, faire des

prestiges. Ne soyons par étonnés,_ says the author, bringing this

example to bear upon his system, _de voir ce mot commun à tant de

Peuples, et si ancien: il vint chez tous d'une source commune, de la

haute Asie, berceau de tous ces Peuples et de leur Langue._

If Mr. Canning had met with the foregoing passage towards the close of

his political life, when he had attained the summit of his wishes, how

would it have affected him, in his sober mind? Would it have tickled

his vanity, or stung his conscience? Would he have been flattered by

seeing his ability prefigured in his name? or would he have been

mortified at the truth conveyed in the proverbial French application

of it, and have acknowledged in his secret heart that cunning is as

incompatible with self-esteem as it is with uprightness, with

magnanimity, and with true greatness?

His name was unlucky not only in its signification, but according to

Roman de Vaudemont, in its initial.

_Maudit est nom qui par C se commence,

Coquin, cornard, caignard, coqu, caphard:

Aussi par B, badaud, badin, bavard,

Mais pire est C, si j'ay bien remembrance._

Much as the Doctor insisted upon the virtues of what he called the

divine initial, he reprehended the uncharitable sentiment of these

verses, and thought that the author never could have played at “I love

my Love with an A,” or that the said game perhaps was not known among

the French; for you must get to x, y, and z before you find it

difficult to praise her in any letter in the alphabet, and to

dispraise her in the same.

Initials therefore, he thought, (always with one exception) of no

other consequence than as they pleased the ear, and combined

gracefully in a cypher, upon a seal or ring. But in names themselves a

great deal more presents itself to a reflecting mind.

Shenstone used to bless his good fortune that his name was not

obnoxious to a pun. He would not have liked to have been complimented

in the same strain as a certain Mr. Pegge was by an old epigrammatist.

What wonder if my friendship's force doth last

Firm to your goodness? You have pegg'd it fast.

Little could he foresee, as Dr. Southey has observed that it was

obnoxious to a rhyme in French English. In the gardens of Ermenonville

M. placed this inscription to his honour.

This plain stone

To William Shenstone.

In his writings he display'd

A mind natural;

At Leasowes he laid

Arcadian greens rural.

Poor Shenstone hardly appears more ridiculous in the frontispiece to

his own works, where, in the heroic attitude of a poet who has won the

prize and is about to receive the crown, he stands before Apollo in a

shirt and boa, as destitute of another less dispensible part of dress

as Adam in Eden, but like Adam when innocent, not ashamed: while the

shirtless God holding a lyre in one hand prepares with the other to

place a wreath of bay upon the brow of his delighted votary.

The father of Sir Joshua Reynolds fancied that if he gave his son an

uncommon Christian name, it might be the means of bettering his

fortune; and therefore he had him christened Joshua. It does not

appear however that the name ever proved as convenient to the great

painter as it did to Joshua Barnes. He to whose Barnesian labours

Homer and Queen Esther, and King Edward III. bear witness, was a good

man and a good scholar, and a rich widow who not imprudently inferred

that he would make a good husband, gave him an opportunity by

observing to him one day that Joshua made the Sun and Moon stand

still, and significantly adding that nothing could resist Joshua. The

hint was not thrown away;—and he never had cause to repent that he had

taken, nor she that she had given it.

A Spanish gentleman who made it his pastime to write books of

chivalry, being to bring into his work a furious Giant, went many days

devising a name which might in all points be answerable to his

fierceness, neither could he light upon any; till playing one day at

cards in his friend's house, he heard the master of the house say to

the boy—muchacho—_tra qui tantos_. As soon as he heard Traquitantos he

laid down his cards and said that now he had found a name which would

fit well for his Giant.[2]

[Footnote 2: HUARTE.]

I know not whether it was the happy-minded author of the Worthies and

the Church History of Britain who proposed as an epitaph for himself

the words “Fuller's Earth,” or whether some one proposed it for him.

But it is in his own style of thought and feeling.

Nor has it any unbeseeming levity, like this which is among Browne's

poems.

Here lieth in sooth

Honest John Tooth,

Whom Death on a day

From us drew away.

Or this upon a Mr. Button,

Here lieth one, God rest his soul

Whose grave is but a button-hole.

No one was ever punned to death, nor, though Ditton is said to have

died in consequence of “the unhappy effect” which Swift's verses

produced upon him, can I believe that any one was ever rhymed to

death.

A man may with better reason bless his godfathers and godmothers if

they chuse for him a name which is neither too common nor too

peculiar.[3]

[Footnote 3: It is said of an eccentric individual that he never

forgave his Godfathers and Godmother for giving him the name of Moses,

for which the short is Mo.]

It is not a good thing to be Tom'd or Bob'd, Jack'd or Jim'd, Sam'd or

Ben'd, Natty'd or Batty'd, Neddy'd or Teddy'd, Will'd or Bill'd,

Dick'd or Nick'd, Joe'd or Jerry'd as you go through the world. And

yet it is worse to have a christian name, that for its oddity shall be

in every body's mouth when you are spoken of, as if it were pinned

upon your back, or labelled upon your forehead. Quintin Dick for

example, which would have been still more unlucky if Mr. Dick had

happened to have a cast in his eye. The Report on Parochial

Registration contains a singular example of the inconvenience which

may arise from giving a child an uncouth christian name. A gentleman

called Anketil Gray had occasion for a certificate of his baptism: it

was known at what church he had been baptized, but on searching the

register there, no such name could be found: some mistake was presumed

therefore not in the entry, but in the recollection of the parties,

and many other registers were examined without success. At length the

first register was again recurred to, and then upon a closer

investigation, they found him entered as Miss Ann Kettle Grey.

“_Souvent_,” says Brântome, “ceux qui portent le nom de leurs ayeuls,

leur _ressemblent volontiers, comme je l'ay veu observer et en

discourir à aucuns philosophes._” He makes this remark after observing

that the Emperor Ferdinand was named after his grandfather Ferdinand

of Arragon, and Charles V. after his great grandfather Charles the

Bold. But such resemblances are as Brântome implies, imitational where

they exist. And Mr. Keightley's observation, that “a man's name and

his occupation have often a most curious coincidence,” rests perhaps

on a similar ground, men being sometimes designated by their names for

the way of life which they are to pursue. Many a boy has been called

Nelson in our own days, and Rodney in our fathers', because he was

intended for the sea service, and many a seventh son has been

christened Luke in the hope that he might live to be a physician. In

what other business than that of a lottery-office would the name

Goodluck so surely have brought business to the house? Captain Death

could never have practised medicine or surgery, unless under an alias;

but there would be no better name with which to meet an enemy in

battle. Dr. Damman was an eminent physician and royal professor of

midwifery at Ghent in the latter part of the last century. He ought to

have been a Calvinistic divine.

The Ancients paid so great a regard to names, that whenever a number

of men were to be examined on suspicion, they began by putting to the

torture the one whose name was esteemed the vilest. And this must not

be supposed to have had its origin in any reasonable probability, such

as might be against a man who being apprehended for a riot, should say

his name was Patrick Murphy, or Dennis O'Connor, or Thady O'Callaghan;

or against a Moses Levi, or a Daniel Abrahams for uttering bad money;

it was for the import of the name itself, and the evidence of a base

and servile origin which it implied.

“_J'ai été tousjours fort etonné_,” says Bayle, “_que les familles qui

portent un nom odieux ou ridicule, ne le quitent pas._” The

Leatherheads and Shufflebottoms, the Higgenses and Huggenses, the

Scroggses and the Scraggses, Sheepshanks and Ramsbottoms, Taylors and

Barbers, and worse than all, Butchers, would have been to Bayle as

abominable as they were to Dr. Dove. I ought, the Doctor would say, to

have a more natural dislike to the names of Kite, Hawk, Falcon and

Eagle; and yet they are to me (the first excepted) less odious than

names like these: and even preferable to Bull, Bear, Pig, Hog, Fox or

Wolf.

What a name, he would say, is Lamb for a soldier, Joy for an

undertaker, Rich for a pauper, or Noble for a taylor: Big for a lean

and little person, and Small for one who is broad in the rear and

abdominous in the van. Short for a fellow six feet without his shoes,

or Long for him whose high heels hardly elevate him to the height of

five. Sweet for one who has either a vinegar face, or a foxey

complection. Younghusband for an old batchelor. Merryweather for any

one in November and February, a black spring, a cold summer or a wet

autumn. Goodenough for a person no better than he should be: Toogood

for any human creature, and Best for a subject who is perhaps too bad

to be endured.

Custom having given to every Christian name its _alias_, he always

used either the baptismal name or its substitute as it happened to

suit his fancy, careless of what others might do. Thus he never called

any woman Mary, though _Mare_ he said being the sea was in many

respects but too emblematic of the sex. It was better to use a

synonyme of better omen, and Molly therefore was to be preferred as

being soft. If he accosted a vixen of that name in her worst temper he

_mollyfied_ her. On the contrary he never could be induced to

substitute Sally for Sarah.—Sally he said had a salacious sound, and

moreover it reminded him of rovers, which women ought not to be.

Martha he called Patty, because it came pat to the tongue. Dorothy

remained Dorothy, because it was neither fitting that women should be

made Dolls, nor Idols. Susan with him was always Sue, because women

were to be sued, and Winifred Winny because they were to be won.

CHAPTER CCXXIII.

TRUE PRONUNCIATION OF THE NAME OF DOVE.—DIFFICULTIES OF PRONUNCIATION

AND PROSODY.—A TRUE AND PERFECT RHYME HIT UPON.

_Tal nombre, que a los siglos extendido,

Se olvide de olvidarsele al Olvido._

LOPE DE VEGA.

Considering the many mysteries which our Doctor discovered in the name

of Dove, and not knowing but that many more may be concealed in it

which will in due time be brought to light, I am particularly

desirous,—I am solicitous,—I am anxious,—I wish (which is as much as

if a Quaker were to say “I am moved,” or “it is upon my mind”) to fix

for posterity, if possible, the true pronunciation of that name. _If

possible_, I say, because whatever those readers may think, who have

never before had the subject presented to their thoughts, it is

exceedingly difficult. My solicitude upon this point will not appear

groundless, if it be recollected to what strange changes pronunciation

is liable, not from lapse of time alone, but from caprice and fashion.

Who in the present generation knows not how John Kemble was persecuted

about his _a-ches_, a point wherein right as he was, he was proved to

be wrong by a new _norma loquendi_. Our allies are no longer iambic as

they were wont to be, but pure trochees now like Alley Croker and Mr.

Alley the counsellor. _Beta_ is at this day called _Veta_ in Greece to

the confusion of Sir John Cheke, to the triumph of Bishop Gardiner,

and in contempt of the whole ovine race. Nay, to bring these

observations home to the immediate purport of this chapter, the modern

Greeks when they read this book will call the person on whose history

it relates, Thaniel Thove! and the Thoctor! their Delta having

undergone as great a change as the Delta in Egypt. Have I not reason

then for my solicitude?

Whoever examines that very rare and curious book, _Lesclarcissement de

la langue françoyse_, printed by Johan Haukyns, 1530, (which is the

oldest French grammar in our language, and older than any that the

French possess in their own) will find indubitable proof that the

pronunciation of both nations is greatly altered in the course of the

last three hundred years.

Neither the Spaniards nor Portuguese retain in their speech that

strong Rhotacism which they denoted by the double _rr_, and which

Camden and Fuller notice as peculiar to the people of Carlton in

Leicestershire. Lily has not enumerated it among those _isms_ from

which boys are by all means to be deterred, a most heinous _ism_

however it is. A strange uncouth wharling, Fuller called it, and

Camden describes it as a harsh and ungrateful manner of speech with a

guttural and difficult pronunciation. They were perhaps a colony from

Durham or Northumberland in whom the _burr_ had become hereditary.

Is the poetry of the Greeks and Romans ever read as they themselves

read it? Have we not altered the very metre of the pentameter by our

manner of reading it? Is it not at this day doubtful whether Cæsar was

called Kæsar, Chæsar, or as we pronounce his name? And whether Cicero

ought not to be called Chichero[1] or Kikero? Have I not therefore

cause to apprehend that there may come a time when the true

pronunciation of Dove may be lost or doubtful? Major Jardine has

justly observed that in the great and complicated art of alphabetical

writing, which is rendered so easy and familiar by habit, we are not

always aware of the limits of its powers.

[Footnote 1: The well known verses of Catullus would be against

C_h_ic_h_ero, at least.

_Chommoda dicebat, si quando commoda vellet

Dicere, et_ h_insidias Arrius insidias:

Et tum mirificè sperabat se esse locutum,

Cum quantum poterat, dixerat_ h_insidias, &c._

CARM. lxxxiv.

The _h_ appears to have been an old Shibboleth, and not restricted

either to Shropshire or Warwickshire. Mr. Evans' verses will occur to

many readers of “The Doctor, &c.”]

“Alphabetical writing,” says that always speculative writer, “was

doubtless a wonderful and important discovery. Its greatest merit, I

think, was that of distinguishing sounds from articulations, a degree

of perfection to which the eastern languages have not yet arrived; and

that defect may be, with those nations, one of the chief causes of

their limited progress in many other things. You know they have no

vowels, except some that have the _a_, but always joined to some

articulation: their attempt to supply that defect by points give them

but very imperfect and indistinct ideas of vocal and articulate

sounds, and of their important distinction. But even languages most

alphabetical, if the expression may be allowed, could not probably

transmit by writing a compleat idea of their own sounds and

pronunciation from any one age or people to another. Sounds are to us

infinite and variable, and we cannot transmit by one sense the ideas

and objects of another. We shall be convinced of this when we

recollect the innumerable qualities of tone in human voices, so as to

enable us to distinguish all our acquaintances, though the number

should amount to many hundreds, or perhaps thousands. With attention

we might discover a different quality of tone in every instrument; for

all these there never can be a sufficient number of adequate terms in

any written language; and when that variety comes to be compounded

with a like variety of articulations, it becomes infinite to us. The

varieties only upon the seven notes in music, varied only as to pitch

and modulation throughout the audible scale, combined with those of

time, are not yet probably half exhausted by the constant labour of so

many ages. So that the idea of Mr. Steel and others, of representing

to the eye the tune and time only of the sounds in any language, will

probably ever prove inadequate to the end proposed, even without

attempting the kinds and qualities of tones and articulations, which

would render it infinite and quite impossible.”

Lowth asserts that “the true pronunciation of Hebrew is lost,—lost to

a degree far beyond what can ever be the case of any European language

preserved only in writing; for the Hebrew language, like most of the

other Oriental languages, expressing only the consonants, and being

destitute of its vowels, has lain now for two thousand years in a

manner mute and incapable of utterance, the number of syllables is in

a great many words uncertain, the quantity and accent wholly unknown.”

In the Pronouncing Dictionary of John Walker, (that great benefactor

to all ladies employed in the task of education) the word is written

_Duv_, with a figure of 2 over the vowel, designating that what he

calls the short simple _u_ is intended, as in the English, _tub_,

_cup_, _sup_, and the French _veuf_, _neuf_. How Sheridan gives it, or

how it would have been as Mr. Southey would say, _uglyographized_ by

Elphinstone and the other whimsical persons who have laboured so

disinterestedly in the vain attempt of regulating our spelling by our

pronunciation, I know not, for none of their books are at hand. My

Public will forgive me that I have not taken the trouble to procure

them. It has not been neglected from idleness, nor for the sake of

sparing myself any pains which ought to have been taken. Would I spare

any pains in the service of my Public!

I have not sought for those books because their authority would have

added nothing to Walker's: nor if they had differed from him, would

any additional assistance have been obtained. They are in fact all

equally inefficient for the object here required, which is so to

describe and fix the true pronunciation of a particular word, that

there shall be no danger of it ever being mistaken, and that when this

book shall be as old as the Iliad, there may be no dispute concerning

the name of its principal personage, though more places should vie

with each other for the honour of having given birth to Urgand the

Unknown, than contended for the birth of Homer. Now that cannot be

done by literal notation. If you think it may, “I beseech you, Sir,

paint me a voice! Make a sound visible if you can! Teach mine ears to

see, and mine eyes to hear!”

The prosody of the ancients enables us to ascertain whether a syllable

be long or short. Our language is so much more flexible in verse that

our poetry will not enable the people of the third and fourth

millenniums even to do this, without a very laborious collation, which

would after all in many instances leave the point doubtful. Nor will

rhyme decide the question; for to a foreigner who understands English

only by book (and the people of the third and fourth millenniums may

be in this state) Dove and Glove, Rove and Grove, Move and Prove, must

all appear legitimate and interchangeable rhymes.

I must therefore have given up the matter in despair had it not been

for a most fortunate and felicitous circumstance. There is one word in

the English language which, happen what may, will never be out of use,

and of which the true pronunciation like the true meaning is sure to

pass down uninterruptedly and unaltered from generation to generation.

That word, that one and only word which must remain immutable wherever

English is spoken, whatever other mutations the speech may undergo,

till the language itself be lost in the wreck of all things,—that word

(Youths and Maidens ye anticipate it now!) that one and only word—

_Τόδε μὲν οὐκέτι στόματος ὲν πύλαις

Καθέξω·_[2]

that dear delicious monosyllable LOVE, that word is a true and perfect

rhyme to the name of our Doctor.

Speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied;

... pronounce but Love and Dove.[3]

[Footnote 2: EURIPIDES.]

[Footnote 3: ROMEO AND JULIET.]

CHAPTER CCXXIV.

CHARLEMAGNE, CASIMIR THE POET, MARGARET DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE,

NOCTURNAL REMEMBRANCER.—THE DOCTOR NOT AMBITIOUS OF FAME.—THE AUTHOR

IS INDUCED BY MR. FOSBROOKE AND NORRIS OF BEMERTON TO EJACULATE A

HEATHEN PRAYER IN BEHALF OF HIS BRETHREN.

_Tutte le cose son rose et viole

Ch' io dico ò ch' io dirò de la virtute._

FR. SANSOVINO.

It is recorded of Charlemagne by his secretary Eginhart, that he had

always pen, ink and parchment beside his pillow, for the purpose of

noting down any thoughts which might occur to him during the night:

and lest upon waking he should find himself in darkness, a part of the

wall, within reach from the bed was prepared, like the leaf of a

tablet, with wax, on which he might indent his memoranda with a style.

The Jesuit poet Casimir had a black tablet always by his bedside, and

a piece of chalk, with which to secure a thought, or a poetical

expression that might occur to him, _si quid insomnis noctu non

infeliciter cogitabat ne id sibi periret._ In like manner it is

related of Margaret Duchess of Newcastle that some of her young ladies

always slept within call, ready to rise at any hour in the night, and

take down her thoughts, lest she should forget them before morning.

Some threescore years ago a little instrument was sold by the name of

the Nocturnal Remembrancer; it consisted merely of some leaves of what

is called asses-skin, in a leathern case wherein there was one

aperture from side to side, by aid of which a straight line could be

pencilled in the dark: the leaf might be drawn up, and fixed at

measured distances, till it was written on from top to bottom.

_Our_ Doctor, (—now that thou art so well acquainted with him and

likest him so cordially, Reader, it would be ungenerous in me to call

him mine)—_our_ Doctor needed no such contrivances. He used to say

that he laid aside all his cares when he put off his wig, and that

never any were to be found under his night cap. Happy man, from whom

this might be believed! but so even had been the smooth and noiseless

tenour of his life that he could say it truly. Anxiety and

bereavements had brought to him no sleepless nights, no dreams more

distressful than even the realities that produce and blend with them.

Neither had worldly cares or ambitious hopes and projects ever

disquieted him, and made him misuse in midnight musings the hours

which belong to sleep. He had laid up in his mind an inexhaustible

store of facts and fancies, and delighted in nothing more than in

adding to these intellectual treasures; but as he gathered knowledge

only for its own sake, and for the pleasure of the pursuit, not with

any emulous feelings, or aspiring intent

—to be for ever known,

And make the years to come his own,

he never said with the studious Elder Brother in Fletcher's comedy,

the children

Which I will leave to all posterity,

Begot and brought up by my painful studies

Shall be my living issue.

And therefore—_voilà un homme qui était fort savant et fort eloquent,

et neanmoins_—(altering a little the words of Bayle),—_il n'est pas

connu dans la république des lettres, et il y a eu une infinité de

gens beaucoup moins habile que lui, qui sont cent fois plus connus;

c'est qu'ils ont publié des livres, et que la presse n'a point roulé

sur ses productions. Il importe extrêmement aux hommes doctes, qui ne

veulent pas tomber dans l'oubli après leur mort, de s'ériger en

auteurs; sans cela leur nom ne passe guère la première génération; res

erat unius ætatis. Le commun des lecteurs ne prend point garde au nom

des savans qu'ils ne connaissent que par le témoignage d'autrui; on

oublie bientôt un homme, lorsque l'eloge qu'en font les autres finit

par—le public n'a rien ou de lui._

Bayle makes an exception of men who like Peiresc distinguish

themselves _d'un façon singulière_.

“I am not sure,” says Sir Egerton Brydges, “that the life of an author

is an happy life; but yet if the seeds of authorship be in him, he

will not be happy except in the indulgence of this occupation. Without

the culture and free air which these seeds require, they will wither

and turn to poison.” It is no desirable thing, according to this

representation, to be born with such a predisposition to the most

dangerous of all callings. But still more pitiable is the condition of

such a person if Mr. Fosbrooke has described it truly: “the mind of a

man of genius,” says he, (who beyond all question is a man of genius

himself) “is always in a state of pregnancy, or parturition; and its

power of bearing offspring is bounded only by supervening disease, or

by death.” Those who are a degree lower in genius are in a yet worse

predicament; such a sort of man, as Norris of Bemerton describes, who

“although he conceives often, yet by some chance or other, he always

miscarries, and the issue proves abortive.”

JUNO LUCINA _fer opem!_

This invocation the Doctor never made metaphorically for himself,

whatever serious and secret prayers he may have preferred for others,

when exercising one branch of his tripartite profession.

Bernardin de Saint Pierre says in one of his letters, when his _Etudes

de la Nature_ were in the press, _Je suis a present dans les douleurs

de l'enfantement, car il n'y a point de mère qui souffre autant en

mettant un enfant au monde, et qui craigne plus qu'on ne l'ecorche ou

qu'on ne les crève un œil, qu'un auteur qui revoit les épreuves de son

ouvrage._

CHAPTER CCXXV.

TWO QUESTIONS GROWING OUT OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER.

A Taylor who has no objection to wear motley, may make himself a great

coat with half a yard of his own stuff, by eking it out with cabbage

from every piece that comes in his way.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

But here two questions arise:

Ought Dr. Dove, or ought he not, to have been an author?

Was he, or was he not, the happier, for not being one?

“Not to leave the reader,” as Lightfoot says, “in a _bivium_ of

irresolutions,” I will examine each of these questions, _escriviendo

algunos breves reglones, sobre lo mucho que dezir y escrivir se podria

en esto;—moviendo me principalmente a ello la grande ignorancia que

sobre esta matheria veo manifiestamente entre las gentes de nuestro

siglo._[1]

[Footnote 1: GARIBAY.]

“I am and have been,” says Robert Wilmot, “(if there be in me any

soundness of judgment) of this opinion, that whatsoever is committed

to the press is commended to eternity; and it shall stand a lively

witness with our conscience, to our comfort or confusion, in the

reckoning of that great day. Advisedly therefore was that proverb used

of our elder Philosopher, _Manum a Tabulâ_; withhold thy hand from the

paper, and thy papers from the print, or light of the world.”

Robert Wilmot _says_, I say, using the present tense in setting his

words before the reader, because of an author it may truly be said

that “being dead he yet speaketh.” Obscure as this old author now is,

for his name and his existing works are known only to those who love

to pore among the tombs and the ruins of literature, yet by those who

will always be enough “to make a few,” his name will continue to be

known, long after many of those bubbles which now glitter as they

float upon the stream of popularity are “gone for ever;” and his

remains are safe for the next half millennium, if the globe should

last so long without some cataclasm which shall involve its creatures

and its works in one common destruction.

Wilmot is right in saying that whatever is written for the public, is

as regards the individual responsibility of the writer, written for

eternity, however brief may be its earthly duration;—an aweful

consideration for the authors of wicked books, and for those who by

becoming instrumental in circulating such books, involve themselves in

the author's guilt as accessaries after the fact, and thereby bring

themselves deservedly under the same condemnation.

Looking at the first question in this point of view, it may be

answered without hesitation, the Doctor was so pure in heart, and

consequently so innocent in mind that there was no moral reason why he

ought not to have been an author. He would have written nothing but

what,—religiously speaking might have been accounted among his good

works,—so far as, so speaking, any works may deserve to be called

good.

But the question has two handles, and we must now take it by the

other.

An author more obscure in the literature of his own country than

Wilmot, (unless indeed some Spanish or Italian Haslewood may have

disinterred his name) has expressed an opinion, directly the reverse

of Wilmot's concerning authorship. Ye who understand that noble

language which the Emperor Charles V. ranked above all other living

tongues may have the satisfaction of here reading it in the original.

“_Muchos son los que del loable y fructuoso trabajo de escrevir,

rehuir suelen; unos por no saber, a los quales su ignorancia en alguna

manera escusa; otros por negligencia, que teniendo habilidad y

disposicion par ello no lo hazen; y a estos es menester que Dios los

perdone en lo passado, y emiende en lo por venir; otros dexan de

hazello por temor de los detractores y que mal acostumbran dezir; los

quales a mi parecer de toda reprehension son dignos, pues siendo el

acto en si virtuoso, dexan de usarlo por temor. Mayormente que todos,

o los mas que este exercicio usan, o con buen ingenio escriven, o con

buen desseo querrian escrevir. Si con buen ingenio hazen buena obra,

cierto es que dese ser alabada. Y së el defecto de mas no alcanzar

algo, la haze diminuta de lo que mejor pudiera ser, deve se loar lo

que el tal quisiera hazer, si mas supiera, o la invencion y fantasia

de la obra, por que fue, o porque desseo ser bueno. De manere que es

mucho mejor escrevir como quiera que se pueda hazer, que no por algun

temor dexar de hazerlo._”[2]

[Footnote 2: QUESTION DE AMOR. PROLOGO.]

“Many,” says this author, “are they who are wont to eschew the

meritorious and fruitful labour of writing, some for want of

knowledge, whom their ignorance in some manner excuses; others for

negligence, who having ability and fitness for this, nevertheless do

it not, and need there is for them, that God should forgive them for

the past, and amend them for the time to come, others forbear writing,

for fear of detractors and of those who accustom themselves to speak

ill, and these in my opinion are worthy of all reprehension, because

the act being in itself so virtuous, they are withheld by fear from

performing it. Moreover it is to be considered that all, or most of

those who practise this art, either write with a good genius, or a

good desire of writing well. If having a good genius they produce a

good work, certes that work deserves to be commended. And if for want

of genius it falls short of this, and of what it might better have

been, still he ought to be praised, who would have made his work

praiseworthy if he had been able, and the invention and fancy of the

work, either because it is or because he wished it to be so. So that

it is much better for a man to write whatever his ability may be, than

to be withheld from the attempt by fear.”

A very different opinion was expressed by one of the most learned of

men, _Ego multos studiosos quotidie video, paucos doctos; in doctis

paucos ingeniosos; in semidoctis nullos bonos; atque adeo literæ

generis humani unicum solamen, jam pestis et perniciei maximæ loco

sunt._[3]

[Footnote 3: SCALIGER.]

M. Cornet used to say, _que pour faire des livres, il faloit être ou

bien fou ou bien sage, que pour lui, comme il ne se croïoit pas assez

sage pour faire un bon livre, ni assez fou pour en faire un méchant,

il avoit pris le parti de ne point ecrire._

_Pour lui_, the Docteur of the Sorbonne: _pour moi_,—every reader

will, in the exercise of that sovereign judgement whereof every reader

is possessed, determine for himself whether in composing the present

work I am to be deemed _bien sage_, or _bien fou_. I know what Mr.

Dulman thinks upon this point, and that Mr. Slapdash agrees with him.

To the former I shall say nothing; but to the latter, and to

Slenderwit, Midge, Wasp, Dandeprat, Brisk and Blueman, I shall let

Cordara the Jesuit speak for me.

_O quanti, o quanti sono, a cui dispiace

Vedere un uom contento; sol per questo

Lo pungono con stile acre e mordace,

Per questi versi miei chi sa che presto

Qualche zanzara contro me non s'armi,

E non prenda di qui qualche pretesto.

Io certo me l'aspetto, che oltraggiarmi

Talun pretenderà sol perchè pare,

Che di lieti pensier' sappia occuparmi.

Ma canti pur, lo lascerò cantare

E per mostrargli quanto me ne prendo,

Tornerò, se bisogna, a verseggiare._

Leaving the aforesaid _litterateurs_ to construe and apply this, I

shall proceed in due course to examine and decide whether Dr. Daniel

Dove ought, or ought not to have been an author,—being the first of

two questions, propounded in the present chapter, as arising out of

the last.

CHAPTER CCXXVI.

THE AUTHOR DIGRESSES A LITTLE, AND TAKES UP A STITCH WHICH WAS DROPPED

IN THE EARLIER PART OF THIS OPUS.—NOTICES CONCERNING LITERARY AND

DRAMATIC HISTORY, BUT PERTINENT TO THIS PART OF OUR SUBJECT.

_Jam paululum digressus a spectantibus,

Doctis loquar, qui non adeo spectare quam

Audire gestiunt, logosque ponderant,

Examinant, dijudicantque pro suo

Candore vel livore; non latum tamen

Culmum (quod aiunt) dum loquar sapientibus

Loco movebor._

MACROPEDIUS.

The boy and his schoolmaster were not mistaken in thinking that some

of Textor's Moralities would have delighted the people of Ingleton as

much as any of Rowland Dixon's stock pieces. Such dramas have been

popular wherever they have been presented in the vernacular tongue.

The progress from them to the regular drama was slow, perhaps not so

much on account of the then rude state of most modern languages, as

because of the yet ruder taste of the people. I know not whether it

has been observed in literary history how much more rapid it was in

schools, where the Latin language was used, and consequently fit

audience was found, though few.

George von Langeveldt, or Macropedius as he called himself, according

to the fashion of learned men in that age, was contemporary with

Textor, and like him one of the pioneers of literature, but he was a

person of more learning and greater intellectual powers. He was born

about the year 1475, of a good family in the little town or village of

Gemert, at no great distance from Bois-le-Duc. As soon as his juvenile

studies were compleated he entered among the _Fratres Vitæ Communis_;

they employed him in education, first as Rector in their college at

Bois-le-duc, then at Liege, and afterwards at Utrecht from whence in

1552, being infirm and grievously afflicted with gout, he returned to

Bois-le-duc there to pass the remainder of his days, as one whose work

was done. Old and enfeebled however as he was, he lived till the year

1558, and then died not of old age, but of a pestilential fever.

There is an engraved portrait of him in the hideous hood and habit of

his order; the countenance is that of a good-natured, intelligent,

merry old man: underneath are these verses by Sanderus the

topographer.

_Tu Seneca, et nostri potes esse Terentius ævi,

Seu struis ad faciles viva theatra pedes,

Sen ploras tragicas, Macropedi, carmine clades,

Materiam sanctis adsimilante modis.

Desine jam Latios mirari Roma cothurnos;

Nescio quid majus Belgica scena dabit._

Macropedius published Rudiments both of the Greek and Latin languages;

he had studied the Hebrew and Chaldee; had some skill in mathematics,

and amused his leisure in making mathematical instruments, a branch of

art in which he is said to have been an excellent workman. Most of the

men who distinguished themselves as scholars in that part of the Low

Countries, toward the latter part of the 16th century had been his

pupils: for he was not more remarkable for his own acquirements than

for the earnest delight which he took in instructing others. There is

some reason for thinking that he was a severe disciplinarian, perhaps

a cruel one. Herein he differed widely from Textor, who took every

opportunity for expressing his abhorrence of magisterial cruelty. In

one of these Dialogues with which Guy and young Daniel were so well

acquainted, two schoolmasters after death are brought before

Rhadamanthus for judgement; one for his inhumanity is sent to be

tormented in Tartarus, part of his punishment in addition to those

more peculiarly belonging to the region, being that

_Verbera quæ pueris intulit, ipse ferat:_

the other who indulged his boys and never maltreated them is ordered

to Elysium, the Judge saying to him

—_tua te in pueros clementia salvum

Reddit, et æternis persimilem superis._

That Textor's description of the cruelty exercised by the pedagogues

of his age was not overcharged, Macropedius himself might be quoted to

prove, even when he is vindicating and recommending such discipline as

Dr. Parr would have done. I wish Parr had heard an expression which

fell from the honest lips of Isaac Reid, when a school, noted at that

time for its consumption of birch, was the subject of conversation;

the words would have burnt themselves in. I must not commit them to

the press; but this I may say, that the Recording Angel entered them

on the creditor side of that kind-hearted old man's account.

Macropedius, like Textor, composed dramatic pieces for his pupils to

represent. The latter, as has been shown in a former chapter, though

he did not exactly take the Moralities for his model, produced pieces

of the same kind, and adapted his conceptions to the popular facts,

while he clothed them in the language of the classics. His aim at

improvement proceeded no farther, and he never attempted to construct

a dramatic fable. That advance was made by Macropedius, who in one of

his dedicatory epistles laments that among the many learned men who

were then flourishing, no Menander, no Terence was to be found, their

species of writing, he says, had been almost extinct since the time of

Terence himself, or at least of Lucilius. He regretted this because

comedy might be rendered useful to persons of all ages, _quid enim

plus pueris ad eruditionem, plus adolescentibus ad honesta studia,

plus provectioribus, immò omnibus in commune ad virtutem conducat?_

Reuchlin, or Capnio (as he who was one of the lights of his generation

was misnamed and misnamed himself,) who had with his other great and

eminent merits that of restoring or rather introducing into Germany

the study of Hebrew, revived the lost art of comedy. If any one had

preceded him in this revival, Macropedius was ignorant of it, and by

the example and advice of this great man he was induced to follow him,

not only as a student of Hebrew, but as a comic writer. Hrosvitha

indeed, a nun of Gandersheim in Saxony, who lived in the tenth century

and in the reign of Otho II. composed six Latin comedies _in

emulation_ of Terence, but in praise of virginity; and these with

other of her poems were printed at Nuremberg in the year 1501. The

book I have never seen, nor had De Bure, nor had he been able (such is

its rarity) to procure any account of it farther than enabled him to

give its title. The name of Conrad Celtes, the first German upon whom

the degree of Poet Laureate was conferred, appears in the title, as if

he had discovered the manuscript; _Conrado Celte inventore_. De Bure

says the volume was _attribué au même Conradus Celtes_. It is rash for

any one to form an opinion of a book which he has never examined,

unless he is well acquainted with the character and capacity of its

author; nevertheless I may venture to observe that nothing can be less

in unison with the life and conversation of this Latin poet, as far as

these may be judged of by his acknowledged poems, than the subjects of

the pieces published under Hrosvitha's name; and no reason can be

imagined why if he had written them himself, he should have palmed

them upon the public as her composition.

It is remarkable that Macropedius when he spoke of Reuchlin's comedies

should not have alluded to these, for that he must have seen them

there can be little or no doubt. One of Reuchlin's is said to have

been imitated from _la Farce de Pathelin_, which under the title of

the Village Lawyer has succeeded on our own stage, and which was so

deservedly popular that the French have drawn from it more than one

proverbial saying. The French Editor who affirms this says that

Pathelin was printed in 1474, four years before the representation of

Reuchlin's comedy, but the story is one of those good travellers which

are found in all countries, and Reuchlin may have dramatised it

without any reference to the French drama, the existence of which may

very probably have been unknown to him, as well as to Macropedius.

Both his pieces are satirical. His disciple began with a scriptural

drama upon the Prodigal Son, Asotus is its title. It must have been

written early in the century, for about 1520 he laid it aside as a

juvenile performance, and faulty as much because of the then

comparatively rude state of learning, as of his own inexperience.

_Scripsi olim adolescens, trimetris versibus,

Et tetrametris, eâ phrasi et facundiâ

Quæ tum per adolescentiam et mala tempora

Licebat, evangelicum Asotum aut Prodigum

Omnis quidem mei laboris initium._

After it had lain among his papers for thirty years, he brought it to

light, and published it. In the prologue he intreats the spectators

not to be offended that he had put his sickle into the field of the

Gospel, and exhorts them while they are amused with the comic parts of

the dialogue, still to bear in mind the meaning of the parable.

_Sed orat author carminis vos res duas:

Ne ægre feratis, quod levem falcem tulit

Sementem in evangelicam, eamque quod audeat

Tractare majestatem Iambo et Tribracho;

Neve insuper nimis hæreatis ludicris

Ludisque comicis, sed animum advortite

Hic abdito mysterio, quod eruam._

After these lines he proceeds succinctly to expound the parable.

Although the grossest representations were not merely tolerated at

that time in the Miracle Plays, and Mysteries, but performed with the

sanction and with the assistance of the clergy, it appears that

objections were raised against the sacred dramas of this author. They

were composed for a learned audience,—which is indeed the reason why

the Latin or as it may more properly be called the Collegiate drama,

appeared at first in a regular and respectable form, and received

little or no subsequent improvement. The only excuse which could be

offered for the popular exhibitions of this kind, was that they were

if not necessary, yet greatly useful, by exciting and keeping up the

lively faith of an ignorant, but all-believing people. That apology

failed, where no such use was needed. But Macropedius easily

vindicated himself from charges which in truth were not relevant to

his case; for he perceived what scriptural subjects might without

impropriety be represented as he treated them, and he carefully

distinguished them from those upon which no fiction could be engrafted

without apparent profanation. In the prologue to his Lazarus he makes

this distinction between the Lazarus of the parable, and the Lazarus

of the Gospel History: the former might be thus treated for

edification, the latter was too sacred a theme,

—_quod is sine

Filii Dei persona agi non possiet._

Upon this distinction he defends himself, and carefully declares what

were the bounds which ought not to be overpassed.

_Fortassis objectabit illi quispiam

Quod audeat sacerrimam rem, et serio

Nostræ saluti a Christo Jesu proditam

Tractare comicè, et facere rem ludicram.

Fatetur ingenuè, quod eadem ratio se

Sæpenumero deterruit, ne quid suum,

Vel ab aliis quantumlibet scriptum, piè

Doctève, quod personam haberet Christi Jesu

Agentis, histrionibus seu ludiis

Populo exhibendum ex pulpito committeret._

From this passage I am induced to suspect that the Jesus Scholasticus,

and the tragedy De Passione Christi, which are named in the list of

his works, have been erroneously ascribed to him. No date of time or

place is affixed to either, by the biographers. After his judicious

declaration concerning such subjects it cannot be thought he would

have written these tragedies; nor that if he had written them before

he seriously considered the question of their propriety, he would

afterwards have allowed them to appear. It is more probable that they

were published without an author's name, and ascribed to him, because

of his reputation. No inference can be drawn from their not appearing

in the two volumes of his plays; because that collection is entitled

_Omnes Georgii Macropedii Fabulæ_ COMICÆ, and though it contains

pieces which are deeply serious, that title would certainly preclude

the insertion of a tragedy. But a piece upon the story of Susanna

which the biographers have also ascribed to him is not in the

collection;[1] the book was printed after his retirement to

Bois-le-duc, when from his age and infirmities he was most unlikely to

have composed it, and therefore I conclude, that like the tragedies,

it is not his work.

[Footnote 1: This must be a comic drama.—R. S.]

Macropedius was careful to guard against anything which might give

offence and therefore he apologizes for speaking of the _fable_ of his

Nama:

_Mirabitur fortasse vestrûm quispiam,

Quod fabulam rem sacrosanctam dixerim.

Verum sibi is persuasum habebit, omne quod

Tragico artificio comicovè scribitur,

Dici poetis fabulam; quod utique non

Tam historia veri texitur, quod proprium est,

Quam imago veri fingitur, quod artis est.

Nam comicus non propria personis solet,

Sed apta tribuere atque verisimilia, ut

Quæ pro loco vel tempore potuere agi

Vel dicier._

For a very different reason he withdrew from one of these dramas

certain passages, by the advice of his friends, he says, _qui rem

seriam fabulosius tractandum dissuaserunt._ These it seems related to

the first chapter of St. Luke, but contained circumstances derived not

from that Gospel, but from the legends engrafted upon it, and

therefore he rejects them as _citra scripturæ authoritatem_.

From the scrupulousness with which Macropedius in this instance

distinguishes between the facts of the Gospel history, and the fables

of man's invention, it may be suspected that he was not averse at

heart to those hopes of a reformation in the church which were at that

time entertained. This is still further indicated in the drama called

Hecastus (_ἕκαστος_,—Every one,) in which he represents a sinner as

saved by faith in Christ and repentance. He found it necessary to

protest against the suspicion which he had thus incurred, and to

declare that he held works of repentance, and the sacraments appointed

by the Church necessary for salvation.[2]

[Footnote 2: Hecastus was represented by the schoolboys in 1538 _non

sine magno spectantium plausu_. It was printed in the ensuing year;

and upon reprinting it, in 1550, the author offers his apology. He

says, “_fuere multi quibus (fabulæ scopo recte considerato) per omnia

placuit; fuere quibus in ea nonnulla offenderunt; fuere quoque, quibus

omnino displicuit, ob hoc præcipue, quod erroribus quibusdam nostri

temporis connivere et suffragari videretur. Inprimis illi, quod citra

pænitentiæ opera (satisfactionem dicimus) et ecclesiæ sacramenta, per

solam in Christum fidem et cordis contritionem, condonationem criminum

docere, vel asserere videretur: et quod quisque certo se fore

servandum credere teneretur: Id quod nequaquam nec mente concepi, nec

unquam docere volui, licet quibusdam fortassis fabulæ scopum non

exactè considerantibus, primâ (quod aiunt) fronte sic videri potuerit.

Si enim rei scopum, quem in argumento indicabam, penitus observassent,

secus fortassis judicaturi fuissent._”—R. S.]

Hecastus is a rich man, given over to the pomps and vanities of the

world, and Epicuria his wife is of the same disposition. They have

prepared a great feast, when Nomodidascalus arrives with a summons for

him to appear before the Great King for Judgment. Hecastus calls upon

his son Philomathes who is learned in the law for counsel; the son is

horror-stricken, and confesses his ignorance of the language in which

the summons is written:

_Horror, pater, me invadit, anxietas quoque

Non mediocris; nam elementa quanquam barbara

Miram Dei potentiam præ se ferunt,

Humaniores literas scio; barbaras

Neque legere, neque intelligere, pater, queo._

The father is incensed that a son who had been bred to the law for the

purpose of pleading his cause at any time should fail him thus; but

Nomodidascalus vindicates the young man, and reads a severe lecture to

Hecastus, in which Hebrew words of aweful admonishment are introduced

and interpreted. The guests arrive, he tells them what has happened,

and entreats them to accompany him, and assist him when he appears

before the Judge; they plead other engagements, and excuse themselves.

He has no better success with his kinsmen; though they promise to look

after his affairs, and say that they will make a point of attending

him with due honour as far as the gate. He then calls upon his two

sons to go with him unto the unknown country whereto he has been

summoned. The elder is willing to fight for his father, but not to

enter upon such a journey; the lawyer does not understand the practice

of those courts, and can be of no use to him there; but he advises his

father to take his servants with him, and plenty of money.

Madam Epicuria, who is not the most affectionate of wives, refuses to

accompany him upon this unpleasant expedient, and moreover requests

that her maids may be left with her; let him take his man servants

with him, and gold and silver in abundance. The servants bring out his

wealth. Plutus, _ex arcâ loquens_ is one of the Dramatis Personæ, and

the said Plutus when brought upon the stage in a chest, or strong box,

complains that he is shaken to pieces by being thus moved. Hecastus

tells him he must go with him to the other world and help him there,

which Plutus flatly refuses. If he will not go of his own accord he

shall be carried whether he will or no, Hecastus says. Plutus stands

stiffly to his refusal.

_Non transferent; prius quidem

Artus et ilia ruperint, quam transferant.

In morte nemini opitulor usquam gentium,

Quin magis ad alienum dominum transeo._

Hecastus on his part is equally firm, and orders his men to fetch some

strong poles, and carry off the chest, Plutus and all. Having sent

them forward, he takes leave of his family, and Epicuria protests that

she remains like a widowed dove, and his neighbours promise to

accompany him as far as the gate.

Death comes behind him now:

_Horrenda imago, larva abominabilis,

Figura tam execranda, ut atrum dæmona

Putetis obvium._[3]

[Footnote 3: The reader should by all means consult Mr. Sharpe's

“Dissertation on the Pageants or Dramatic Mysteries anciently

performed in Coventry.” “The Devil,” he observes, “was a very favorite

and prominent character in our Religious Mysteries, wherein he was

introduced as often as was practicable, and considerable pains taken

to furnish him with appropriate habiliments, &c.” p. 31. also pp.

57-60. There are several plates of “_Hell-Mought and Sir Sathanas_”

which will not escape the examination of the curious. The bloody Herod

was a character almost as famous as “_Sir Sathanas_”—hence the

expression “_to out-herod Herod_” _e.g._ in Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. ii.

With reference to the same personage Charmian says to the Soothsayer

in Antony and Cleopatra, “Let me have a child at fifty, to whom _Herod

of Jewry_ may do homage.” Act i. Sc. ii., and Mrs. Page asks in the

Merry Wives of Windsor, “What _Herod of Jewry_ is this?” Act ii. Sc.

i.]

This dreadful personage is with much difficulty intreated to allow him

the respite of one short hour, after which Death declares he will

return, and take him, will he or nill he before the Judge, and then to

the infernal regions. During this interval who should come up but an

old and long-neglected friend of Hecastus, Virtue by name; a poor

emaciated person, in mean attire, in no condition to appear with him

before the Judge, and altogether unfit to plead his desperate cause.

She promises however to send him a Priest to his assistance and says

moreover that she will speak to her sister Faith, and endeavour to

persuade her to visit him.

Meantime the learned son predicts from certain appearances the

approaching end of his father.

_Actum Philocrate, de patris salute, uti

Plane recenti ex lotio prejudico,

Nam cerulea si tendit ad nigredinem

Urina mortem proximam denunciat._

He has been called on, he says, too late,

_Sero meam medentis admisit manum._

The brothers begin to dispute about their inheritance, and declare law

against each other; but they suspend the dispute when Hieronymus the

Priest arrives, that they may look after him lest he should prevail

upon the dying to dispose of too large a part of his property in

charitable purposes.

_Id cautum oportet maximè. Novimus enim

Quàm tum sibi, tum cæteris quibus favent,

Legata larga extorqueat id hominum genus,

Cum morte ditem terminandum viderint._

Virtue arrives at this time with his sister Faith; they follow

Hieronymus into the chamber into which Hecastus has been borne; and as

they go in up comes Satan to the door, and takes his seat there to

draw up a bill of indictment against the dying man, he must do it

carefully, he says, that there may be no flaw in it.

_Causam meam scripturus absolutius

Adversum Hecastum, hic paululum desedero;

Ne si quid insit falsitatis maximis

Facinoribus, res tota veniat in gravem

Fœdamque controversiam. Abstinete vos,

Quotquot theatro adestis, à petulantiâ,

Nisi si velitis et hos cachinnos scribier._

Then he begins to draw up the indictment, speaking as he writes,

_Primum omnium superbus est et arrogans,—

Superbus est et arrogans,—et arrogans;—

Tum in ædibus,—tum in ædibus; tum in vestibus,—

Tum in vestibus. Jam reliqua tacitus scripsero,

Loquaculi ne exaudiant et deferant._

While Satan is thus employed at the door, the priest Hieronymus within

is questioning the patient concerning his religion. Hecastus possesses

a very sound and firm historical belief. But this the Priest tells him

is not enough, for the Devils themselves believe and tremble, and he

will not admit Faith into the chamber till Hecastus be better

instructed in the true nature of a saving belief.

_Credis quod omnia quæ patravit Filius

Dei unicus, tibi redimendo gesserit?

Tibi natus est? tibi vixerit? tibi mortuus

Sit? tibi sepultus? et tibi surrexerit?

Mortemque tibi devicerit?_

Hecastus confesses in reply that he is a most miserable sinner,

unworthy of forgiveness, and having brought him into this state of

penitence the Priest calls Fides in.

Then says Fides,

_Hæc tria quidem, cognitio nempe criminis,

Horror gehennæ, et pœnitentia, læta sunt

Veræ salutis omnium primordia,

Jam perge, ut in Deum excites fiduciam._

When this trust has been given him, and he has declared his full

belief, he confesses that still he is in fear,

—_est quod adhuc parit mihi scrupulum;

Mors horrida, atque aspectus atri Dæmonis,

Queis terribilius (inquiunt) nil hominibus,

Post paululum quos adfuturos arbitros._

But Hieronymus assures him that Fides and Virtus will defend him from

all danger, and under their protection he leaves him.

The scene is now again at the door, Mors arrives. Satan abuses her for

having made him wait so long, and the _improba bestia_ in return

reproaches him for his ingratitude and imprudence. However they make

up their quarrel. Satan goes into the house expecting to have a long

controversy with his intended victim, and Mors amuses herself in the

mean time with sharpening her dart. Satan, however, finds that his

controversy is not to be with Hecastus himself, but with his two

advocates Fides and Virtus, and they plead their cause so provokingly

that the old Lawyer tears his bill, and sculks into a corner to see

how Mors will come off.

Now comes his son the Doctor and prognosticates speedy dissolution _ex

pulsu et atro lotio_. And having more professional pride than filial

feelings he would fain persuade the Acolyte who is about to assist in

administering extreme unction, that he has chosen a thankless calling,

and would do wisely if he forsook it for more gainful studies. The

youth makes a good defence for his choice, and remains master in the

argument, for the Doctor getting sight of Death brandishing the

sharpened dart, takes fright and runs off. Having put the Doctor to

flight, Death enters the sick chamber, and finding Fides there calls

in Satan as an ally: their joint force avails nothing against Virtus,

Fides and Hieronymus, and these dismiss the departing Spirit under a

convoy of Angels to Abraham's bosom.

Three supplementary scenes conclude the two dramas; in the two first

the widow and the sons and kinsmen lament the dead, and declare their

intention of putting themselves all in mourning, and giving a funeral

worthy of his rank. But Hieronymus reproves them for the excess of

their grief, and for the manner by which they intended to show their

respect for the dead. The elder son is convinced by his discourse, and

replies

_Recte mones vir omnium piissime,

Linquamus omnem hunc apparatum splendidum,

Linquamus hæcce cuncta in usum pauperum,

Linquamus omnem luctum inanem et lachrymas;

Moresque nostros corrigamus pristinos.

Si multo amœniora vitæ munia,

Post hanc calamitatem, morantur in fide

Spe ut charitate mortuos, quid residuum est

Nisi et hunc diem cum patre agamus mortuo

Lætissimum? non in cibis et poculis

Gravioribus, natura quam poposcerit;

Nec tympanis et organis, sed maximas

Deo exhibendo gratias. Viro pio

Congaudeamus intimis affectibus;

Et absque pompâ inituli exequias pias

Patri paremus mortuo._

The Steward then concludes the drama by dismissing the audience in

these lines;

_Vos qui advolastis impigri ad

Nostra hæc theatra, tum viri, tum fœminæ,

Adite nunc vestras domos sine remorâ.

Nam Hecastus hic quem Morte cæsum exhibuimus,

Non ante tertium diem tumulandus est,

Valete cuncti, et si placuimus, plaudite._

We have in our own language a dramatic piece upon the same subject,

and of the same age. It was published early in Henry the Eighth's

reign, and is well known to English philologists by the name of Every

Man. The title page says, “Here begynneth a treatyse how the hye Fader

of Heven sendeth Dethe to somon every creature to come and gyve a

counte of theyr lyves in this worlde, and is in maner of a moralle

Playe.”

The subject is briefly stated in a prologue by a person in the

character of a Messenger, who exhorts the spectators to hear with

reverence.

This mater is wonders precyous;

But the extent of it is more gracyous,

And swete to here awaye.

The story sayth, Man, in the begynnynge

Loke well and take good heed to the endynge,

Be you never so gay.

God (the Son) speaketh at the opening of the piece, and saying that

the more He forbears the worse the people be from year to year,

declares his intention to have a reckoning in all haste of every man's

person, and do justice on every man living.

Where art thou, Deth, thou mighty messengere?

Dethe.

Almighty God, I am here at your wyll

Your commaundement to fulfyll.

God.

Go thou to Every-man

And shewe hym in my name,

A pylgrymage he must on hym take,

Whiche he in no wyse may escape:

And that he brynge with him a sure rekenynge,

Without delay or ony taryenge.

Dethe.

Lorde, I wyll in the world go renne over all

And cruelly out serche bothe grete and small.

The first person whom Death meets is Every-man himself, and he summons

him in God's name to take forthwith a long journey and bring with him

his book of accounts. Every-man offers a thousand pounds to be spared,

and says that if he may but have twelve years allowed him, he will

make his accounts so clear that he shall have no need to fear the

reckoning. Not even till to-morrow is granted him. He then asks if he

may not have some of his acquaintances to accompany him on the way,

and is told yes, if he can get them. The first to whom he applies, is

his old boon-companion Fellowship, who promises to go with him

anywhere,—till he hears what the journey is on which Every-man is

summoned: he then declares that he would eat, drink and drab, with

him, or lend him a hand to kill any body, but upon such a business as

this he will not stir a foot; and with that bidding him God speed, he

departs as fast as he can.

Alack, exclaims Every-man, when thus deserted,

Felawship herebefore with me wolde mery make,

And now lytell sorowe for me dooth he take.

Now wheder for socoure shall I flee

Syth that Felawship hath forsaken me?

To my kynnesmen I wyll truely,

Prayenge them to helpe me in my necessyte.

I byleve that they wyll do so;

For kynde wyll crepe where it may not go.

But one and all make their excuses; they have reckonings of their own

which are not ready, and they cannot and will not go with him. Thus

again disappointed he breaks out in more lamentations; and then

catches at another fallacious hope.

Yet in my mynde a thynge there is;

All my lyfe I have loved Ryches;

If that my good now helpe me myght

He wolde make my herte full lyght.

I wyll speke to hym in this distresse,

Where art thou, my Goodes, and Ryches?

Goodes.

Who calleth me? Every-man? What hast thou haste?

I lye here in corners, trussed and pyled so hye,

And in chestes I am locked so fast,

Also sacked in bagges, thou mayst se with thyn eye

I cannot styrre; in packes low I lye.

What wolde ye have? lightly me saye,—

Syr, an ye in the worlde have sorowe or adversyte

That can I helpe you to remedy shortly.

Every-man.

In this world it is not, I tell thee so,

I am sent for an other way to go,

To gyve a strayte counte generall

Before the hyest Jupiter of all:

And all my life I have had joye and pleasure in the,

Therefore, I pray the, go with me:

For paraventure, thou mayst before God Almighty

My rekenynge helpe to clene and puryfye;

For it is said ever amonge

That money maketh all ryght that is wrong.

Goodes.

Nay, Every-man, I synge an other songe;

I folowe no man in such vyages.

For an I wente with the,

Thou sholdes fare moche the worse for me.

Goodes then exults in having beguiled him, laughs at his situation and

leaves him. Of whom shall he take council? He bethinks him of Good

Dedes.

But alas she is so weke

That she can nother go nor speke.

Yet wyll I venter on her now

My Good Dedes, where be you?

Good Dedes.

Here I lye colde on the grounde,

Thy sinnes hath me sore bounde

That I cannot stere.

Every-man.

I pray you that ye wyll go with me.

Good Dedes.

I wolde full fayne, but I can not stand veryly.

Every-man.

Why, is there any thynge on you fall?

Good Dedes.

Ye, Sir; I may thanke you of all.

If ye had parfytely sheved me,

Your boke of counte full redy had be.

Loke, the bokes of your workes and dedes eke,

A! se how they lye under the fete,

To your soules hevynes.

Every-man.

Our Lorde Jesus helpe me,

For one letter here I cannot se!

Good Dedes.

There is a blynde rekenynge in tyme of dystres!

Every-man.

Good-Dedes, I pray you, helpe me in this nede,

Or elles I am for ever dampned in dede.

Good Dedes calls in Knowledge to help him to make his reckoning; and

Knowledge takes him lovingly to that holy man Confession; and

Confession gives him a precious jewel called Penance, in the form of a

scourge.

When with the scourge of Penance man doth hym bynde,

The oyl of forgyvenes than shall he fynde,—

Now may you make your rekenynge sure.

Every-man.

In the name of the holy Trynyte,

My body sore punyshed shall be.

Take this, Body, for the synne of the flesshe!

Also thou delytest to go gay and fresshe,

And in the way of dampnacyon thou dyd me brynge,

Therefore suffre now strokes of punysshynge.

Now of penaunce I wyll wede the water clere

To save me from Purgatory, that sharpe fyre.

Good Dedes.

I thanke God, now I can walke and go;

And am delyvered of my sykenesse and wo,

Therfore with Every-man I wyll go and not spare;

His good workes I wyll helpe hym to declare.

Knowlege.

Now Every-man, be mery and glad,

Your Good Dedes cometh now, ye may not be sad.

Now is your Good Dedes hole and sounde,

Goynge upryght upon the grounde.

Every-man.

My herte is lyght, and shall be evermore,

Now wyll I smyte faster than I dyde before.

Knowledge then makes him put on the garment of sorrow called

contrition, and makes him call for his friends Discretion, Strength

and Beauty to help him on his pilgrimage, and his Five Wits to counsel

him. They come at his call and promise faithfully to help him.

Strength.

I Strength wyll by you stande in dystres,

Though thou wolde in batayle fyght on the grownde.

Fyve-Wyttes.

And thought it were thrugh the world rounde,

We wyll not depart for swete ne soure.

Beaute.

No more wyll I unto dethes howre,

Watsoever therof befall.

He makes his testament, and gives half his goods in charity.

Discretion and Knowledge send him to receive the holy sacrament and

extreme unction, and Five-Wits expatiates upon the authority of the

Priesthood, to the Priest he says,

God hath—more power given

Than to ony Aungell that is in Heven,

With five wordes he may consecrate

Goddes body in flesshe and blode to make,

And handeleth his maker bytwene his handes.

The preest byndeth and unbyndeth all bandes

Both in erthe and in heven.—

No remedy we fynde under God

But all-onely preesthode.

—God gave Preest that dygnyte,

And setteth them in his stede among us to be:

Thus they be above Aungelles in degree.

Having received his viaticum Every-man sets out upon this mortal

journey: his comrades renew their protestations of remaining with him;

till when he grows faint on the way, and his limbs fail,—they fail him

also.

Every-man.

—into this cave must I crepe,

And tourne to erth, and there to slepe.

What, says Beauty; into this Grave?

—adewe by saynt Johan,

I take my tappe in my lappe and am gone.

Strength in like manner forsakes him; and Discretion says that “when

Strength goeth before, he follows after ever more.” And Fyve-Wyttes,

whom he took for his best friend, bid him, “farewell and then an end.”

Every-man.

O Jesu, helpe! all hath forsaken me!

Good Dedes.

Nay, Every-man, I wyll byde with the,

I wyll not forsake the in dede;

Thou shalt fynde me a good frende at nede.

Knowledge also abides him till the last; the song of the Angel who

receives his spirit is heard, and a Doctour concludes the piece with

an application to the audience.

This morall men may have in mynde,

—forsake Pryde for he deceyveth you in the ende,

And remembre Beaute, Fyve-Wyttes, Strength and Dyscrecyon

They all at the last do Every-man forsake,

Save his Good Dedes, these doth he take:

But be ware, an they be small,

Before God he hath no helpe at all!

CHAPTER CCXXVII.

SYSTEM OF PROGRESSION MARRED ONLY BY MAN'S INTERFERENCE.—THE DOCTOR

SPEAKS SERIOUSLY AND HUMANELY AND QUOTES JUVENAL.

MONTENEGRO. How now, are thy arrows feathered?

VELASCO. Well enough for roving.

MONTENEGRO. Shoot home then.

SHIRLEY.

It is only when Man interferes, that the system of progression which

the All Father has established throughout the living and sentient

world, is interrupted, and Man, our Philosopher would sorrowfully

observe, has interrupted it, not only for himself, but for such of the

inferior creatures as are under his controul. He has degraded the

instincts of some, and in others, perhaps it may not be too much to

say that he has corrupted that moral sense of which even the brute

creation partakes in its degree; and has inoculated them with his own

vices. Thus the decoy duck is made a traitor to her own species, and

so are all those smaller birds which the bird-catcher trains to assist

him in ensnaring others. The Rat, who is one of the bravest of created

things, is in like manner rendered a villain.

Upon hunting and hawking the Doctor laid little stress, because both

dogs and falcons in their natural state would have hunted and fowled

on their own account. These sports according to his “poor way of

thinking,” tended to deprave not so much the animals, as the human

beings employed in them; for when they ceased to be necessary for the

support or protection of man, they became culpable. But to train dogs

for war, and flesh them upon living prisoners, as the Spaniards did,

(and as, long since the decease of my venerable friend, Buonaparte's

officers did in St. Domingo),—to make horses, gentle and harmless as

well as noble in their disposition as they are, take a part in our

senseless political contentions, charge a body of men, and trample

over their broken limbs and palpitating bodies;—to convert the

Elephant, whom Pope, he said, had wronged by only calling him

half-reasoning, the mild, the thoughtful, the magnanimous Elephant,

into a wilful and deliberate and cruel executioner, these he thought

were acts of high treason against humanity, and of impiety against

universal nature. Grievous indeed it is, he said, to know that the

whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain; but more grievous to

consider that man, who by his original sin was the guilty cause of

their general deprivation, should continue by repeated sins to

aggravate it;—to which he added that the lines of the Roman Satirist,

though not exactly true, were yet humiliating and instructive.

_Mundi

Principio indulsit communis conditor illis

Tantum animas, nobis animum quoque, mutuus ut nos

Adfectus petere auxilium et præstare juberet,

Dispersos trahere in populum, migrare vetusto

De nemore, et proavis habitatas linquere silvas;

Ædificare domos, Laribus conjungere nostris

Tectum aliud, tutos vicino limine somnos

Ut conlata daret fiducia; protegere armis

Labsum, aut ingenti nutantem vulnere civem,

Communi dare signa tubâ, defendier îsdem

Turribus, atque unâ portarum clave teneri.

Sed jam serpentum major concordia; parcit

Cognatis maculis similis fera; quando leoni

Fortior eripuit vitam leo? quo nemore unquam

Expiravit aper majoris dentibus apri?

Indica tigris agit rabidâ cum tigride pacem

Perpetuam: sævis inter se convenit ursis.

Ast homini ferrum lethale incude nefandâ

Produxisse parum est; quum rastra et sarcula tantum

Adsueti coquere, et marris ac vomere lassi

Nescierint primi gladios excudere fabri.

Adspicimus populos, quorum non sufficit iræ

Occidisse aliquem: sed pectora, brachia, vultum

Crediderint genus esse cibi. Quid diceret ergo

Vel quo non fugerit, si nunc hæc monstra videret

Pythagoras: cunctis animalibus abstinuit qui

Tanquam homine, et ventri indulsit non omne legumen._[1]

[Footnote 1: The reader may call to mind the commencement of the Third

Canto of Rokeby.