great, yet it runs pleasantly, for it rises out of the same hill on
which the town stands, and so runs down through it and falls into the
Anider. The inhabitants have fortified the fountain-head of this
river, which springs a little without the towns; that so, if they
should happen to be besieged, the enemy might not be able to stop or
divert the course of the water, nor poison it; from thence it is
carried in earthen pipes to the lower streets. And for those places of
the town to which the water of that small river can not be conveyed,
they have great cisterns for receiving the rain-water, which supplies
the want of the other.
The town is compassed with a high and thick wall, in which there are
many towers and forts; there is also a broad and deep dry ditch, set
thick with thorns, cast round three sides of the town, and the river
is instead of a ditch on the fourth side. The streets are very
convenient for all carriage, and are well sheltered from the winds.
Their buildings are good, and are so uniform that a whole side of a
street looks like one house. The streets are twenty feet broad. There
lie gardens behind all their houses; these are large, but inclosed
with buildings, that on all hands face the streets, so that every
house has both a door to the street and a back door to the garden.
Their doors have all two leaves, which, as they are easily opened, so
they shut of their own accord; and there being no property among them,
every man may freely enter into any house whatsoever. At every ten
years' end they shift their houses by lots. They cultivate their
gardens with great care, so that they have both vines, fruits, herbs,
and flowers in them; and all is so well ordered and so finely kept
that I never saw gardens anywhere that were both so fruitful and so
beautiful as theirs. And this humor of ordering their gardens so well
is not only kept up by the pleasure they find in it, but also by an
emulation between the inhabitants of the several streets, who vie with
each other. And there is, indeed, nothing belonging to the whole town
that is both more useful and more pleasant. So that he who founded the
town seems to have taken care of nothing more than of their gardens;
for they say the whole scheme of the town was designed at first by
Utopus, but he left all that belonged to the ornament and improvement
of it to be added by those that should come after him, that being too
much for one man to bring to perfection.
Their records, that contain the history of their town and state, are
preserved with an exact care, and run backward seventeen hundred and
sixty years. From these it appears that their houses were at first low
and mean, like cottages, made of any sort of timber, and were built
with mud walls and thatched with straw. But now their houses are three
stories high; the fronts of them are faced either with stone,
plastering, or brick, and between the facings of their walls they
throw in their rubbish. Their roofs are flat; and on them they lay a
sort of plaster, which costs very little, and yet is so tempered that
it is not apt to take fire, and yet resists the weather more than
lead. They have great quantities of glass among them, with which they
glaze their windows; they use also in their windows a thin linen
cloth, that is so oiled or gummed that it both keeps out the wind and
gives free admission to the light.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 21: The "Utopia" was written originally in Latin. It derived
its name from an imaginary island, the seat of an ideal state. Ralph
Robinson made a translation into English in 1551. Another translation
was made by Bishop Burnet in 1633.]
JOHN KNOX
Born in 1505, died in 1572; early influenced by George
Wishart, a Lutheran refugee who had found an asylum in
Scotland; a royal chaplain in 1550; assisted in the revision
of the Prayer-book; fled to the Continent after the
accession of Mary Tudor and visited Calvin; preached for a
time at Frankfort and afterward traveled and preached in
Scotland; occupied himself with the organization of the
Presbyterian Church, having frequent dramatic encounters
with Mary, Queen of Scots, whose sympathies were Catholic.
AN INTERVIEW WITH MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS[22]
The queen, in a vehement fume, began to cry out that never prince was
handled as she was. "I have," said she, "borne with you in all your
rigorous manner of speaking, both against myself and against my
uncles; yea, I have sought your favors by all possible means. I
offered unto you presence and audience, whensoever it pleased you to
admonish me, and yet I cannot be quit of you. I avow to God I shall be
anes [once] revenged." And with these words scarcely could Marnock,
her secret chamber-boy, get napkins to hold her eyes dry for the
tears; and the owling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech.
The said John did patiently abide all the first fume, and at
opportunity answered: "True it is, Madam, your Grace and I have been
at diverse controversies, into the which I never perceived your Grace
to be offended at me. But when it shall please God to deliver you from
that bondage of darkness and error, in the which ye have been
nourished, for the lack of true doctrine, your majesty will find the
liberty of my tongue nothing offensive. Without the preaching-place,
Madam, I think few have occasion to be offended at me, and there,
Madam, I am not master of myself, but man [must] obey Him who commands
me to speak plain, and to flatter no flesh upon the face of the
earth."
"But what have ye to do," said she, "with my marriage?"
"If it please your majesty," said he, "patiently to hear me, I shall
shew the truth in plain words. I grant your Grace offered me more than
ever I required; but my answer was then, as it is now, that God hath
not sent me to await upon the courts of princesses, nor upon the
chambers of ladies; but I am sent to preach the evangel of Jesus
Christ to such as please to hear it; and it hath two parts--repentance
and faith. And now, Madam, in preaching repentance, of necessity it
is, that the sins of men be so noted, that they may know wherein they
offend; but so it is, that the most part of your nobility are so
addicted to your affections, that neither God, His word, nor yet their
commonwealth, are rightly regarded. And therefore, it becomes me so
to speak that they may know their duty."
"What have ye to do," said she, "with my marriage? Or what are ye
within this commonwealth?"
"A subject born within the same," said he, "Madam. And, albeit I
neither be earl, lord, nor baron within it, yet has God made me--how
abject that ever I be in your eyes--a profitable member within the
same. Yea, Madam, to me it appertains no less to forewarn of such
things as may hurt it, if I foresee them, than it does to any of the
nobility; for both my vocation and conscience craves plainness of me.
And therefore, Madam, to yourself I say that which I speak in public
place: whensoever that the nobility of this realm shall consent that
ye be subject to an unfaithful husband, they do as much as in them
lieth to renounce Christ, to banish His truth from them, to betray the
freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort
to yourself."
At these words, owling was heard, and tears might have been seen in
greater abundance than the matter required. John Erskine of Dun--a man
of meek and gentle spirit--stood beside, and entreated what he could
to mitigate her anger, and gave unto her many pleasing words of her
beauty, of her excellence, and how that all the princes of Europe
would be glad to seek her favors. But all that was to cast oil in the
flaming fire. The said John stood still, without any alteration of
countenance, for a long season, while that the queen gave place to her
inordinate passion, and in the end he said: "Madam, in God's presence
I speak: I never delighted in the weeping of any of God's creatures;
yea, I can scarcely well abide the tears of my own boys, whom my own
hand corrects, much less can I rejoice in your majesty's weeping. But,
seeing that I have offered unto you no just occasion to be offended,
but have spoken the truth, as my vocation craves, I may sustain,
albeit unwillingly, your majesty's tears, rather than hurt my
conscience, or betray my commonwealth."
Herewith was the queen more offended, and commanded the said John to
pass forth of the cabinet, and to abide further of her pleasure in the
chamber. The Laird of Dun tarried, and Lord John of Coldingham came
into the cabinet, and so they both remained with her near the space of
an hour. The said John stood in the chamber, as one whom men had never
seen--so were all effrayed--except that the Lord Ochiltree bare him
company; and therefore began he to forge talking of the ladies, who
were there sitting in all their gorgeous apparel, which espied, he
merrily said: "O fair ladies, how pleasant were this life of yours if
it should ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heaven
with all this gay gear! But fie upon that knave Death, that will come
whether we will nor not! And when he has laid on his arrest, the foul
worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so tender; and the
silly soul, I fear, shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with
it gold, garnishing, targeting, pearl, nor precious stones." And by
such means procured he the company of women; and so passed the time
till that the Laird of Dun willed him to depart to his house.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 22: From the "History of the Reformation in Scotland." The
spelling has been modernized. After the arrival of Mary in Scotland in
1561, Knox had several interviews with her, followed by an open
rupture with her party in the government of Scotland, and by his
retirement into comparative privacy. Burton, the historian of
Scotland, believes that the dialog here given took place in French,
rather than in the language in which Knox reports it. Mary's habitual
speech was French and Knox knew the language well.]
ROGER ASCHAM
Born in 1515, died in 1568; educated at Cambridge, where he
taught Greek; became a tutor to Princess Elizabeth,
afterward to the Queen, in 1548; served as Latin Secretary
to Queens Mary and Elizabeth, 1563-68; his work, "The
Schoolmaster," published in 1570.
OF GENTLE METHODS IN TEACHING[23]
Yet some will say that children, of nature, love pastime, and mislike
learning; because, in their kind, the one is easy and pleasant, the
other hard and wearisome. Which is an opinion not so true as some men
ween. For the matter lieth not so much in the disposition of them that
be young, as in the order and manner of bringing up by them that be
old; nor yet in the difference of learning and pastime. For, beat a
child if he dance not well, and cherish him tho he learn not well, you
shall have him unwilling to go to dance, and glad to go to his book;
knock him always when he draweth his shaft ill, and favor him again
tho he fault at his book, you shall have him very loth to be in the
field, and very willing to be in the school. Yea, I say more, and not
of myself, but by the judgment of those from whom few wise men will
gladly dissent; that if ever the nature of man be given at any time,
more than other, to receive goodness, it is in innocency of young
years, before that experience of evil have taken root in him. For the
pure clean wit of a sweet young babe is like the newest wax, most
able to receive the best and fairest printing; and like a new bright
silver dish never occupied, to receive and keep clean any good thing
that is put into it.
And thus, will in children, wisely wrought withal, may easily be won
to be very well willing to learn. And wit in children, by nature,
namely memory, the only key and keeper of all learning, is readiest to
receive and surest to keep any manner of thing that is learned in
youth. This, lewd and learned, by common experience know to be most
true. For we remember nothing so well when we be old as those things
which we learned when we were young. And this is not strange, but
common in all nature's works. "Every man seeth (as I said before) new
wax is best for printing, new clay fittest for working, new-shorn wool
aptest for soon and surest dyeing, new fresh flesh for good and
durable salting." And this similitude is not rude, nor borrowed of the
larder-house, but out of his school-house, of whom the wisest of
England need not be ashamed to learn. "Young grafts grow not only
soonest, but also fairest, and bring always forth the best and
sweetest fruit; young whelps learn easily to carry; young popinjays
learn quickly to speak." And so, to be short, if in all other things,
tho they lack reason, sense, and life, the similitude of youth is
fittest to all goodness, surely nature in mankind is most beneficial
and effectual in their behalf.
Therefore, if to the goodness of nature be joined the wisdom of the
teacher, in leading young wits into a right and plain way of
learning; surely children kept up in God's fear, and governed by His
grace, may most easily be brought well to serve God and their country,
both by virtue and wisdom.
But if will and wit, by farther age, be once allured from innocency,
delighted in vain sights, filled with foul talk, crooked with
wilfulness, hardened with stubbornness, and let loose to disobedience;
surely it is hard with gentleness, but impossible with severe cruelty,
to call them back to good frame again. For where the one perchance may
bend it, the other shall surely break it: and so, instead of some
hope, leave an assured desperation, and shameless contempt of all
goodness; the furthest point in all mischief, as Xenophon doth most
truly and most wittily mark.
Therefore, to love or to hate, to like or to contemn, to ply this way
or that way to good or to bad, ye shall have as ye use a child in his
youth.
And one example whether love or fear doth work more in a child for
virtue and learning, I will gladly report; which may be heard with
some pleasure, and followed with more profit.
Before I went into Germany, I came to Broadgate in Leicestershire, to
take my leave of that noble lady, Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding
much beholding. Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the
household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I
found her in her chamber, reading Phædo Platonis in Greek, and that
with as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in
Boccace. After salutation and duty done, with some other talk, I
asked her why she would leese [lose] such pastime in the park? Smiling
she answered me: "I wisse, all their sport in the park is but a shadow
to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they never
felt what true pleasure meant." "And how came you, madame," quoth I,
"to this deep knowledge of pleasure? and what did chiefly allure you
unto it, seeing not many women, but very few men, have attained
thereunto?" "I will tell you," quoth she, "and tell you a truth, which
perchance ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever
God gave me, is, that He sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so
gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or
mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink,
be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else,
I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so
perfectly, as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, so
cruelly threatened, yea, presently, sometimes with pinches, nibs, and
bobs, and other ways which I will not name, for the honor I bear them,
so without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell, till time
come that I must go to Mr. Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so
pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that I think all
the time nothing whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him,
I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do else but learning, is full
of grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And thus my book
hath been so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure
and more, that in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deed,
be but trifles and troubles unto me."
I remember this talk gladly, both because it is so worthy of memory,
and because also it was the last talk that ever I had, and the last
time that ever I saw that noble and worthy lady.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 23: From "The Schoolmaster."]
JOHN FOXE
Born in 1516, died in 1587; educated at Oxford; became in
1584 tutor to the children of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey;
in order to escape persecution as a Protestant, fled to the
Continent at the accession of Mary Tudor; returned to
England in 1559, becoming in 1563 prebendary in Salisbury
Cathedral; his "Book of Martyrs" first published in 1563.
THE DEATH OF ANNE BOLEYN[24]
In certain records thus we find, that the king, being in his justs at
Greenwich, suddenly, with a few persons, departed to Westminster; and
the next day after, Queen Anne, his wife, was had to the Tower, with
the Lord Rochford, her brother, and certain other, and the nineteenth
day after, was beheaded. The words of this worthy and Christian lady,
at her death, were these: "Good Christian people, I am come hither to
die; for, according to the law, and by the law, I am judged to death,
and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to
accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that whereof I am accused, and
condemned to die; but I pray God save the king, and send him long to
reign over you, for a gentler or a more merciful prince was there
never; and to me he was a very good, a gentle, and a sovereign lord.
And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge
the best. And thus I take my leave of the world, and of you all; and I
heartily desire you all to pray for me. The Lord have mercy on me; to
God I recommend my soul." And so she kneeled down, saying, "To Christ
I commend my soul; Jesus, receive my soul," repeating the same divers
times, till at length the stroke was given, and her head was stricken
off.
And this was the end of that godly lady and queen. Godly I call her,
for sundry respects, whatsoever the cause was, or quarrel objected
against her. First, her last words, spoken at her death, declared no
less her sincere faith and trust in Christ than did her quiet modesty
utter forth the goodness of the cause and matter, whatsoever it was.
Besides that, to such as wisely can judge upon cases occurrent, this
also may seem to give a great clearing unto her, that the king, the
third day after, was married in his whites unto another. Certain this
was, that for the rare and singular gifts of her mind, so well
instructed, and given toward God, with such a fervent desire unto the
truth, and setting forth of sincere religion, joined with like
gentleness, modesty, and pity toward all men, there have not many such
queens before her borne the crown of England. Principally, this one
commendation she left behind her, that, during her life, the religion
of Christ most happily flourished, and had a right prosperous course.
Many things might be written more of the manifold virtues, and the
quiet moderation of her mild nature; how lowly she would bear, not
only to be admonished, but also of her own accord would require her
chaplains plainly and freely to tell whatsoever they saw in her
amiss. Also, how bountiful she was to the poor, passing not only the
poor example of other queens, but also the revenues almost of her
estate: insomuch that the alms which she gave in three-quarters of a
year, in distribution, is summed to the number of fourteen or fifteen
thousand pounds; besides the great piece of money which her Grace
intended to impart into four sundry quarters of the realm, as for a
stock, there to be employed to the behoof of poor artificers and
occupiers. Again, what a zealous defender she was of Christ's gospel
all the world doth know, and her acts do and will declare to the
world's end. Amongst which other her acts, this is one, that she
placed Master Hugh Latimer in the bishopric of Worcester, and also
preferred Dr. Sharton to his bishopric, being then accounted a good
man. Furthermore, what a true faith she bore unto the Lord, this one
example may stand for many: for that, when King Henry was with her at
Woodstock,[25] and there being afraid of an old blind prophecy, for
the which neither he nor other kings before him durst hunt in the said
park of Woodstock, nor enter into the town of Oxford, at last, through
the Christian and faithful counsel of that queen, he was so armed
against all infidelity, that both he hunted in the aforesaid park, and
also entered into the town of Oxford, and had no harm. But because
touching the memorable virtues of this worthy queen, partly we have
said something before, partly because more also is promised to be
declared of her virtuous life (the Lord so permitting), by other who
then were about her, I will cease in this matter further to proceed.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 24: From the "Book of Martyrs."]
[Footnote 25: At Woodstock was one of the residences of Henry VIII and
earlier kings. The Black Prince was born there and Elizabeth was there
imprisoned by Queen Mary. After the battle of Blenheim, the place was
given in perpetuity to Marlborough, and his famous residence Blenheim
erected there. It is about eight miles from Oxford.]
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
Born in 1552, died in 1618; educated at Oxford; commanded an
English Company in Ireland in 1580; a favorite of Queen
Elizabeth; obtained a charter to colonize Virginia in 1584,
and sent out several expeditions, none of which founded
permanent settlements; introduced tobacco into Europe, and
the potato into Ireland; took an active part against the
Armada in 1588; explored the Oronoko in 1595; charged with
having plotted to place Arabella Stuart on the throne in
1603, and sent to the Tower, where he wrote his "History of
the World"; sailed again for the Oronoko in 1616; and on his
return, the expedition having failed, condemned and
executed.
THE MUTABILITY OF HUMAN AFFAIRS[26]
If we truly examine the difference of both conditions--to wit, of the
rich and mighty, whom we call fortunate, and of the poor and opprest,
whom we count wretched--we shall find the happiness of the one, and
the miserable estate of the other, so tied by God to the very instant,
and both so subject to interchange (witness the sudden downfall of the
greatest princes, and the speedy uprising of the meanest persons), as
the one hath nothing so certain whereof to boast, nor the other so
uncertain whereof to bewail itself.
For there is no man so assured of his honor, of his riches, health, or
life but that he may be deprived of either, or all, the very next hour
or day to come. _Quid vesper vehat, incertum est_; what the evening
will bring with it is uncertain.
And yet ye can not tell, saith St. James, what shall be to-morrow.
To-day he is set up, and to-morrow he shall not be found, for he is
turned into dust, and his purpose perisheth. And altho the air which
compasseth adversity be very obscure, yet therein we better discern
God than in that shining light which environeth worldly glory; through
which, for the clearness thereof, there is no vanity which escapeth
our sight. And let adversity seem what it will--to happy men,
ridiculous, who make themselves merry at other men's misfortunes; and
to those under the cross, grievous--yet this is true, that for all
that is past, to the very instant, the portions remaining are equal to
either. For, be it that we have lived many years (according to
Solomon), "and in them all we have rejoiced"; or be it that we have
measured the same length of days, and therein have evermore sorrowed;
yet, looking back from our present being, we find both the one and the
other--to wit, the joy and the wo--sailed out of sight; and death,
which doth pursue us and hold us in chase from our infancy, hath
gathered it. _Quicquid ætatis retro est, mors tenet_; whatsoever of
our age is past, death holds it.