Like to a golden lustre, naught in her form misplaced;
Her hands and fingers perfect, each unto either trim;
Her nails so white and shining, you could see yourself therein.
Her hair was bound in beauty with noble silken twine,
She let it flow a-downward, that lovely maiden fine.
She wore a crown with jewels, and all of gold so red.
Of Elberich the Dwarfling she had in truth great need.
And in that crown bright shining lay a carbùncle stone,
Which even in the palace like a bright topaz shone.
Upon her head the ringlets in glossy masses lay;
They gleamed as clear and brightly as doth the sun by day.
She stood alone, unheeded, right sorrowful her mood.
How beautiful her colour, it was like milk and blood;
And through her locks so purely the neck shone white as snow.
Ah! Elberich the Little felt deep the maiden’s woe.’
Then in time her sorrow was relieved, and amid the conflicting jar
of legendary songs, it appeared that she married Siegfried. But her
great deed was to lay out a glorious and wonderful garden of roses, or
Rooseveldt, in German Rosengarten, of which Carlyle writes:
‘Chriemhild, whose altered history makes such a figure in the
_Nibelungen_, had, it would seem, a rose-garden some seven English
miles in circuit, fenced only by a silk thread, wherein, however,
she maintained twelve stout fighting men, and these, so unspeakable
was their prowess, sufficed to defend the silk-thread garden against
all mortals. A good antiquary, Von der Hagen, imagines that this
rose-garden in the primæval tradition glances obliquely at the
Ecliptic, with its Twelve signs, at Jupiter’s fight with the Titans,
and we know not what confused skirmishing in the Utgard, Asgard, or
Midgard of the Scandinavians.’
Of the great battle of all the heroes of the North about or in this
rose-field, I will say nothing. Suffice it to write that in time the
fair Chriemhilde had a son by Siegfried, ‘though history passes it
over, oh,’ and this offspring grew up to be a glorious youth, who was
known as the Lord of the Rooseveldt, from his patrimony, being often
called simply Roosevelt, for brevity’s sake. And he was a credit to his
highly respectable ancestry, first making himself famous in learning
and letters, then in council, holding divers offices, and yet again
in a war with Spain, wherein he gained great renown, till in the
fulness of time he governed Holland, or had a kingdom therein, which he
administered with wisdom and grace.
Now there are some folk who are brave in one way, and some in another;
some braving-mad when drunk, and others only bold while sober, or to
show off, or to gratify temper; but Roosevelt was brave all round,
having not only physical, but in the highest degree moral courage, for
he had that of his Opinions, which is the noblest of all. And Flaxius
to his great joy observed this.
The king had soon seen in the Sage great wisdom and a genial spirit,
and had therefore made of him a friend. It came to pass one day that
as they were riding near the Rhine, they saw seated by the road-side a
poor man, of very dark colour, yet one who seemed as if he might be far
better than his looks.
‘Whence camest thou?’ asked the king.
‘With the sun whose livery I wear, from the South. I am of the dark
races, and was brought here a captive.’
‘What hast thou seen?’
‘I have seen sorrow, and felt oppression, heard curses, tasted
bitterness, and smelt the air of dungeons, and all because of my
colour, for God knows my soul is white enough, and were my skin the
same I should be called learned, and, perhaps, something more. Yet at
this minute I am hungry, and few, indeed, are they who would give me
food, and none who would eat with me.’
‘By Frey and all the gods!’ cried Roosevelt in anger, ‘come thou with
me, friend, and we will see whether no man will keep thy company!
For I am lord of all this land, and I swear that this day thou shalt
dine with me in my palace, sitting at my table with me, and may Loki
and Svanttowit, Teuston, Vith, and Busteric, Chrodo, Swackenhammer,
Irminsul, Hela, Hellwolf, Zernebock,[1] and the whole gang, do their
worst with me, if I stand not by thee!’
So they went to the palace, and the pilgrim was bathed and clad in
seemly garments; and when the horn was blown for dinner, and the band
struck up, lo! there sat the dark man at the royal table, and Roosevelt
treated him as he did the other guests.
But the dark man behaved modestly, like any other gentleman, conversing
chiefly with Flaxius about foreign countries.
‘There will be a row about this,’ said Flaxius to Breitmann, a northern
warrior, who spoke a barbarous Dutch, and who was something of a bard,
because he had sung a ‘bardy.’ He was Poet Laureate.
‘You pet all you got on it,’ was the reply. ‘All de small minds who
had rader live in a liddle country dan in a pig von, will pe hoppin’
mad. And efery man who has nodding boot a white colour to make him
resbectaple, and a crate many pious beople among dem, will fluke and
coorse and damn der Roosevelt; for peing too moosh like de Lord Jesus,
who did in his vay de fery same ding. I shall have to sing a song apout
dis.’
It is certainly true that what Breitmann (who as a poet was also
something of a prophet) predicted, came to pass. For there was great
rage all over the land, and people cursed, and ‘swore in high Dutch,’
and abused their lord for being morally brave and good; and it was
noticed withal that everybody in the land who came of a race which had
ever grunted and groaned because it had been ‘persecuted’--and there
were a great many of these--all cried out the loudest against ‘the
nigger,’ to show their social superiority. But the king, knowing that
he had done right before God and man, cared not one broken straw for
them all.
‘Go thy ways, O King,’ said Flaxius admiringly, ‘for the best and
noblest, kindest and bravest man who ever sat on a throne, and had the
least fear to do what is right. Others have been of good descent and
brave, some again brave and learned, others as bold and honest, but of
them all, thou alone art all, and with it the only one who dared be a
friend to the downtrodden and oppressed. Now for this, God bless thee,
Roosevelt, and thou shalt be blessed! And even if the future has no
more great or glorious deeds for thee, rest content. Thou hast shown
more true courage than any monarch before thee ever did, saving Christ,
the Lord of all the world.’
Then it came to pass in the year 1901....
But here the chronicle abruptly ends.
History repeats itself.
* * * * *
Now the Laureate kept his word, and made a song, which he sang to a
harp, which song travelled from Scheveningen up the Rhine, till it
arrived, about a month later, at Cologne. It was thence transferred
to Heidelberg by a wandering Minne-singer to Constance, which lies on
the Bodensee, as is affirmed in a very ancient ballad, which consists
of nothing else but this fact repeated fifty times in different forms,
in which it bears a great resemblance to much modern intellectual
effort, as displayed in political speeches, sermons, and the like.
And from the Bodensee it was colported by divers wandering students
and Handwerksburschen through German Switzerland, till one warm day
it crossed the Alps and got to Verona or Berne in Lombardy, where I
believe it stopped, albeit there is a passage or two in the _Divina
Commedia_, which indicate that Dante had possibly come across some rude
Italian version of it. And this was the _Lied_, which I have followed
closely:
DER NOBLE ROOSEVELT
‘It is writ in many a shtory which came from olden time,
In legends full of glory, in many a minstrel’s rhyme;
Dot he who acted kindly since history began,
And gently to all beople, was der truest gentleman.
And among de very truest of dis kind in der Welt,
As die Rose among de Ritters, I put der Roosevelt;
For brave in dis, or dat, in deed, is many a king or knight,
But Roosevelt’s der only von dot’s brave in all dot’s right.
Grand in der crash of pattle among de cavaliers,
Grand in der rush of warriors among de breakin’ spears,
Vhen Odin to de Northmen his help in glory brings,
Und de Spaniards fly before dem all shkared like avery-dings.
But vhere he show der grandest and rise to der Beyond,
On de oder side of Jordan, above dis eart’ly pond,
Is when he knows he’s in der right he’s efer at his ease,
Und in spite of all de tyfels, will do yoost what he blease.
So Gott be-help him onwards unto a glorious end!
For de trodden-down and lowly efer find in him a friend.
Votefer snobs and copperheads against his name may bring,
Heaven pless dee for dy nople heart, O Roosevelt, my king!
[1] _Zernebock._ It was over this deity that George Borrow came to
grief when he ridiculed Walter Scott for making an old Saxon witch
swear by him. For the Saxons did adopt Zernebock, though he was the
_Cerneboh_ or black god of their Slavonic neighbours.
FLAXIUS AND HAMLET
SHOWING HOW THE PRINCE OF DENMARK, WHEN AT THE UNIVERSITY OF
WITTENBERG, LISTENED TO THE LECTURE ON ROMAN HISTORY BY THE LEARNED
FLAXIUS, AND WAS TAKEN BY THE LATTER TO A BALL, AND INTRODUCED TO THE
FAIRY QUEEN.
‘O valiant Hamlet, and worthy of immortal fame, who, being shrewdly
armed with feint of folly, covered a wisdom too high for human wit
under a marvellous disguise of want of sense, and in that subtlety
found means whereby he did protect himself, and yet revenge the murder
of his father long before.’--_Saxo Grammaticus_, Lib. 3.
IT happened once, amid the blaze, the splendour, and the symmetry of
the centuries, as they whirled magnificently on--many ere this of ours,
yet many more after wise Flaxius had his natal day--that the scholar
went to the University of Wittenberg to see what he could pick up in
the way of ideas. For, with all his experience and erudition, he was
always learning something new, as any man may at any hour in this world
school, if he be not too proud to note facts; as somebody’s wisdom hath
it in Latin: ‘_Ea est vera nominis existimatio quæ non ex sermonibus,
sed ex rebus istis deducitur_’; or, as an Englishman more concisely
expressed it: ‘There’s nothing like facts to learn from.’
And being a man of marked, yet modest mien, who conversed in Latin with
singular purity, and one who, when he so pleased, could construct his
whole discourse out of nothing but quotations from the classics--or
from the works of his auditors, which was even more agreeable to
them--he was soon held in great esteem. And having read in public a
paper, _De vera Essentia Verborum_, in which he demonstrated from A.
Artemidorus down to Z. Zoilus, that words have souls, he came to be
regarded as _clericus vel addiscens_, almost a professor.
So it befel one day, when a certain teacher named Brunkenstrorphius
was incapacitated--owing to fourteen bottles of Rhenish wine the night
before--from lecturing, that Flaxius kindly took his place, and read to
his class in Roman history, the subject for that day being Nero.
Now, as Flaxius had had the great advantage of having been long
personally acquainted with this emperor--to whom he was introduced
by Seneca--and had been present by special invitation at the
brilliant reception which was lighted by a whole congregation of early
Christians rolled in pitch and ignited, had talked with Locusta, and
seen the stupendous spectacle of the burning of Rome with an Imperial
orchestra of one, and received an estate for exclaiming, ‘_Artes omnes
novit Cæsar!_’ and was finally in at the death of that remarkable
artist, he had almost as good a conception of the true character of
the latter as sundry modern novelists and immoralists, who have so
black- or white-washed him by turns that his memory seems to be like
the Cathedral of Florence, or a zebra, or a chequer board, or a bad
photograph, or what the Liberal and Conservative press in turn declared
of G.O.M.--that is to say, an alternation of ebony and ivory, of coal
and alabaster, the raven and blanche dove, or a Prussian sentry-box,
or a cup jewelled in niello, or Saint Paul’s, or a cardinal’s
conscience....
According to Flaxius the emperor was in himself something such a
combination, well nigh beyond all the analysis of our modern moral
chemistry, the wondrous product of a monstrous age, a terrible Thought
elaborated with agony from a mighty but corrupt world, one who, in the
true spirit of history, was more a symbol than a man; mere bronze medal
from the iron die of his time. The lecturer could well nigh believe
that no Nero, _per se_, had ever existed at all, but had been a mere
_simulacrum_ or phantom set up in a high place, wherewith the Mighty
Powers who rule the world had mocked or lessoned man; a Pharos, or
beacon-tower with an effulgent burning-head, standing deeply footed in
the freezing-cold, damp, roaring sea--a giant giving light in agony,
and warning ships not to approach, and, like old Pharos, fearful in
his pride.
There was a kind of daïs or higher range of seats and desks, at which
sat only the young noblemen who were studying at the University, and
among these was one who, to Flaxius--who was a marvellous reader of
men, not only by metoposcopia, or physiognomy, but by all which was
indicative of the soul?--seemed to be as far beyond all his fellows
as an eagle would be amid the dullest, pettiest featherlings of a
barnyard. Yet, though very quietly dignified, he was devoid of that
arrogance of rank which displayed itself so conspicuously in every
detail of dress, every gesture, and in the very intonation of every
word of the aristocracy of that time; for he was truly too much above
them to affect even their superiority--a thing in which the German
noble of the present day hath still almost everything to learn,
especially in Prussia. For even yet among these good folk, well nigh
all the joy of life, and mental life itself, consists in the happy
reflection that a majority of mankind are (by law, at least) their
_inferiors_; which stupendous idea (it being generally their only
possible one) they contemplate even as a Hindu saint contemplates God,
to the exclusion of all other conception. This reflection has been
concisely made into a law of ethical science by one of their number,
an Austrian named Von Mannteufel, in the words, ‘_Humanity, properly
speaking, begins with the rank of count._’
This young nobleman was, indeed, so elevated in rank that he could
well afford to dispense with vanity, since he was heir-apparent to
the throne of Denmark. His name was Hamlet, and there was that in his
appearance which would indicate--to even a less clairvoyant eye than
that of Flaxius--an original character of the strongest type, devoid
of the eccentricity which attracts comment, learned in philosophy
without pedantry, endowed with a personal grace of manner suggesting
natural courtesy and a marvellous observation by a quiet eye--all of
which might be seen in him by all. But Flaxius noted in him something
far deeper: a soul which, if not yet risen, was rapidly rising above
the storm and whirl of all things in life and time, be they great or
small, so as to behold in them all the mere passing show of a drama,
yet feeling all the time that _in that drama_ there would be incidents
which would wreck this mere mortal life and wrench his soul with agony.
He who has this tremendous dual action to undergo in life--that of
being a true philosopher, yet a great sufferer--will assuredly have
a strange foreboding of it, and to such a mind the idea of Nero, as
presented by Flaxius, in its similar doubleness, was a marvellous
revelation. He had long suffered from that problem which a great poet
has expressed by saying that--
‘Not in that strife,
Wherefrom I take strange lore and read it deep,
Can I find reason why _I_ should be thus:
No--nowhere can unriddle, though I search
And pore on Nature’s universal scroll
Even to swooning, why Divinities,
The first born of all shaped and palpable gods,
Should cower beneath what, in comparison,
Is untremendous Might.’
All of which Flaxius the immortal, who could read the soul in the
glance, and who saw that he had before him one into whose essence
Immortality had cast its brightest rays, deeply divined. So it came
that he lectured to Hamlet alone, rising far beyond the rest of the
audience. And, mindful of his man, who, he felt, was thirsting to
think, he made good long pauses, which his auditors deemed were to give
himself rests to make new bounds.
The lecture was at an end, and Hamlet, by a sign, intimated to his
friends that he would fain be left alone. When all were departed, he,
with courtesy beyond the time, arose and approached the professor, and
said:
‘Learned master, thou hast touched with such unerring hand the
harp-strings of my heart, and drawn from it such marvellous chords that
I would gladly have them combined in more coherent melody. Even as a
bee in a bewildered flight, driven by the wind, at chance may light
upon----’
‘A flower,’ said Flaxius, ‘which gives him rest.’
‘And in which, too, he finds a honey-store, such as he never found in
flight before,’ subjoined the prince gently.
‘Yet around which some curling petals close somewhat too tightly for
his eager search,’ added Flaxius, almost with a smile. ‘Truly to thee
who art born to be a prince among more than mortals, I will gladly lend
what aid I can to clear away the tangling, hindering leaves.’
‘Learned master,’ replied the prince, ‘I would first deeply reflect on
what I have heard, since I as yet toil slowly after you. And if it be
your pleasure, I pray you seek me this evening in my library.’
‘I will be there,’ said Flaxius, ‘with joy.’
* * * * *
Flaxius the Immortal, and the prince who was unconsciously an aspirant
for immortality, sat at a table under antique, grotesquely carved
arches, before them a flask of Rhenish, and the works of Hesiod
and Homer. In the face of the Master there was the calm dignity of
centuries; in that of Hamlet the quiet of a summer sea, beneath which
tides are working which may break bounds in time of storm. They had
long held deep discourse, and during the time Flaxius had penetrated
more deeply with every utterance into the soul of the young man. At
last, after a pause, the Master said:
‘He who has risen so far as to find a reality in the tremendous action
of the infinite in nature, and who has dwelt so long and earnestly on
the change of dynasties of gods from Saturn to Jove, of old worlds
into new, on man in his stormiest moods and the rabbit sporting in
the thicket, birds and clouds and life still circling on, till all
such thoughts are most habitual--has gone too far to retreat. He has
advanced beyond his fellows. If he be weak and break down under the
stupendous load he will go mad, and readily will men esteem him so, as
they do all whom they cannot understand. If he succeed, they may deem
him a poet or a god. But the imbroglio is sadly worse when the man is
not a hermit, or one alone in life, who can battle freely with his
destiny. If he be one who is enmeshed in some dire tragedy with others,
which he, being human, must humanly endure and suffer, and yet is
always having his wonted glimpses of the infinite, as prisoners catch
glimpses of the sun, then he has before him such a battle and a strife
as deserve to bend the decree of fate for very pity. Those who achieve
victory over it all live for ever. Now know there are two lives beyond
the grave: one the vital life which ever was, and can never pass away;
the other the life of our great deeds, imperishable in the mind of man.’
‘Ay,’ replied the prince, ‘and I feel in my deepest soul, great
master, not only that thou speakest truth, but thou ne’er wouldst tell
me this, didst thou not divine by some mystic power, all unknown to
me, that I am destined to such warring woe? Worst of all is it for me
that I have added into all of this the _weakness_ which must be truly
overcome, a wax in the bronze which must be melted out, a love of sleep
and ease and pleasant dreams.’
‘Go on, thou hast more to say,’ replied Flaxius.
‘Well, this remains,’ rejoined the prince, after a long pause, a
draught of wine, and casting his glance briefly at the scrolls before
him.... ‘In all these lives of mortals in the past, who rose by power
to immortality, I find some golden glimpse vouchsafed to them of the
supernatural, some comforting assurance of beings now invisible to
me, of gods, guardian angels--“followers,” as my northern ancestors
called them, or the beautiful _Fylgia_ who flit over the ocean after
the heroes whom they protect. Truly, if I could only so much as see
and talk once with moonlight fairies and merry elves, or a sprightly
goblin, I, being only human, should have some strengthening assurance
that life is not all a struggle with mere mortals and matter. Even in
so little as what I ask, I should realise that I shall live. Do I speak
wisely?’
‘Yes,’ replied Flaxius, ‘there are men dying with hunger whom a crumb
may save. This much may be granted to thee. ’Tis little enough. All
over doth this outer life an inner life enfold, one of exquisite
beauty and grace, as the rough seaweed and grim, ugly moss, and
ragged madrepores, and hard crust envelop the exquisitely curved,
snow-and-rose-bloom, blushing shell, the only thing on earth which is
like in hues to a lovely maiden. Around and about us there circles ever
in viewless beauty and undreamed perfume, moving to music all unheard
by man, a thronging host of attendant beings; following sweet missions
and holy biddings; talking in mystic tongues, of which echoes may be
caught in the breeze, in the forest, and in tinkling springs or falling
fountains. Truly, I forget myself when I abstract my mind an instant
towards them from this our earthly sphere. Yes, ’tis but little for
thee to ask, who hast before thee such a destiny, to live immortal in
a poet’s verse! Yes, I will give it, and with all my heart, and thou
shalt see the light invisible, and hear the music never meant for ears,
to such degree as a beginner may. I see thee smile--well, be it when
thou wilt; but, as thy wont is, thou requirest time to think on what
I’ve said. Go, take an hour. There lies not far beyond the city gate,
in a wild place among the lonely rocks, an old and crumbling castle,
which all men shun as a haunted place; and in its hall fairies and
goblins hold their revelry from midnight till the morning red is seen.
Thither together we will wend our way.’
‘It might seem marvellous to me,’ said Flaxius, as he, with Hamlet,
walked forth in the summer night under the stars, ‘that thou, O
Prince, who livest in the contemplation of greater marvels, who seest
the miracle of the growth of flowers and the wonders of the circling
universe which amaze even the spirits of earth and air, shouldst crave
a mere glimpse of that which is after all only something new and
unaccustomed, did I not know how deeply the desire of what is new to
him is implanted in man. Yes, it is so deep that he who masters the
problem treads on the verge of the Infinite. I myself----’