Brantwood, Coniston,
3rd January, 1873.
"By St. George," said the English, "you say true!"
If, by the same oath, the English could still, now-a-days, both say and
do true, themselves, it would be a merrier England. I hear from those
of my acquaintance who are unhappy enough to be engaged in commercial
operations, that their correspondents are "failing in all directions."
Failing! What business has anybody to fail?
I observe myself to be getting into the habit of always thinking the
last blockheadism I hear, or think of, the biggest. But this system
of mercantile credit, invented simply to give power and opportunity to
rogues, and enable them to live upon the wreck of honest men--was ever
anything like it in the world before? That the wretched, impatient,
scrambling idiots, calling themselves commercial men, forsooth,
should not be able so much as to see this plainest of all facts,
that any given sum of money will be as serviceable to commerce in the
pocket of the seller of the goods, as of the buyer; and that nobody
gains one farthing by "credit" in the long run. It is precisely as
great a loss to commerce that every seller has to wait six months
for his money, as it is a gain to commerce that every buyer should
keep his money six months in his pocket. In reality there is neither
gain nor loss--except by roguery, when the gain is all to the rogue,
and the loss to the true man.
In all wise commerce, payment, large or small, should be over the
counter. If you can't pay for a thing--don't buy it. If you can't
get paid for it--don't sell it. So, you will have calm days, drowsy
nights, all the good business you have now, and none of the bad.
(Just as I am correcting this sheet I get a lovely illuminated
circular, printed in blue and red, from Messrs. Howell, James, and Co.,
silk mercers, etc., to the Royal Family, which respectfully announces
that their half-yearly clearance sale
COMMENCES JANUARY 27th.
and continues one month, and that the whole of the valuable stock
will be completely overhauled, and large portions subjected to such
reductions in price, as will ensure their being disposed of prior to
the commencement of the approaching spring season. Each department
will present special attractions in the way of bargains, and ladies
will have an opportunity of purchasing the highest class of goods at
prices quite as low as those of inferior manufacture. What a quite
beautiful and generally satisfactory commercial arrangement, most
obliging H. and J.!)
If, however, for the nonce, you chance to have such a thing as a real
"pound" in your own pocket, besides the hypothetical pounds you have
in other people's--put it on the table, and let us look at it together.
As a piece of mere die-cutting, that St. George is one of the best
bits of work we have on our money. [8] But as a design,--how brightly
comic it is! The horse looking abstractedly into the air, instead of
where precisely it would have looked, at the beast between its legs:
St. George, with nothing but his helmet on (being the last piece
of armour he is likely to want), putting his naked feet, at least
his feet showing their toes through the buskins, well forward, that
the dragon may with the greatest convenience get a bite at them; and
about to deliver a mortal blow at him with a sword which cannot reach
him by a couple of yards--or, I think, in George III.'s piece--with
a field-marshal's truncheon.
Victor Carpaccio had other opinions on the likelihood of matters
in this battle. His St. George exactly reverses the practice of
ours. He rides armed, from shoulder to heel, in proof--but without his
helmet. For the real difficulty in dragon-fights, as you shall hear,
is not so much to kill your dragon, as to see him; at least to see him
in time, it being too probable that he will see you first. Carpaccio's
St. George will have his eyes about him, and his head free to turn
this way or that. He meets his dragon at the gallop--catches him
in the mouth with his lance--carries him backwards off his fore
feet, with the spear point out at the back of his neck. But Victor
Carpaccio had seen knights tilting; and poor Pistrucci, who designed
this St. George for us, though he would have been a good sculptor in
luckier circumstances, had only seen them presenting addresses as my
Lord Mayor, and killing turtle instead of dragon.
And, to our increasing sorrow, modern literature is as unsatisfactory
in its picturing of St. George as modern art. Here is Mr. Emerson's
bas-relief of the Saint, given in his 'English Traits,' a book
occasionally wise, and always observant as to matters actually
proceeding in the world; but thus, in its ninth chapter, calumnious
of our Georgic faith:
"George of Cappadocia, born at Epiphania in Cilicia, was a low
parasite, who got a lucrative contract to supply the army with
bacon. A rogue and informer; he got rich, and was forced to run
from justice. He saved his money, embraced Arianism, collected
a library, and got promoted by a faction to the episcopal throne
of Alexandria. When Julian came, A.D. 361, George was dragged to
prison. The prison was burst open by the mob, and George was lynched,
as he deserved. And this precious knave became, in good time, Saint
George of England--patron of chivalry, emblem of victory and civility,
and the pride of the best blood of the modern world!"
Here is a goodly patron of our dainty doings in Hanover Square! If
all be indeed as our clear-sighted, unimaginative, American cousin
tells us. But if all be indeed so, what conclusion would our American
cousin draw from it? The sentence is amusing--the facts (if facts)
surprising. But what is to follow? Mr. Emerson's own conclusion is
"that nature trips us up when we strut." But that is, in the first
place, untrue absolutely, for Nature teaches all cock-sparrows,
and their like (who are many) to strut; and never without wholesome
effect on the minds of hen-sparrows, and their like, who are likewise
many. But in its relative, if not absolute, truth, is this the
conclusion here wisely to be gathered? Are "chivalry, victory,
civility, and the pride of the best blood of the modern world,"
generally to be described as "strutting?" And is the discovery of the
peculations of George of Cilicia a wholesome reproof, administered
by Nature, to those unnatural modes of thinking and feeling?
Mr. Emerson does not think so. No modern person has truer instinct
for heroism than he: nay, he is the only man I know of, among all who
ever looked at books of mine, who had nobleness enough to understand
and believe the story of Turner's darkening his own picture that
it might not take the light out of Lawrence's. The level of vulgar
English temper is now sunk so far below the power of doing such a
thing, that I never told the story yet, in general society, without
being met by instant and obstinate questioning of its truth, if not
by quiet incredulity. But men with "the pride of the best blood of
England" can believe it; and Mr. Emerson believes it. And yet this
chivalry, and faith, and fire of heart, recognised by him as existent,
confuse themselves in his mind with effete Gothic tradition; and are
all "tripped up" by his investigation, itself superficial, of the
story of St. George. In quieter thought, he would have felt that the
chivalry and victory, being themselves real, must have been achieved,
at some time or another, by a real chevalier and victor,--nay, by
thousands of chevaliers and victors. That instead of one St. George,
there must have been armies of St. Georges;--that this vision of
a single Knight was as securely the symbol of knights innumerable,
as the one Dragon of sins and trials innumerable; and no more depended
for its vitality, or virtue, on the behaviour of George of Cilicia than
the terror of the present temptation depends on the natural history
of the rattlesnake. And farther, being an American, he should have
seen that the fact of the Christian world's having made a bishop of a
speculating bacon-seller, and afterwards kept reverent record of this
false St. George, but only obscure record of its real St. Georges,
was by no means an isolated fact in the history of the Christian
world,--but rather a part of its confirmed custom and "practical
education;" and that, only the other day, St. James Fiske, canonised
tearfully in America, and bestrewn with tuberoses and camellias,
as above described, (xv. 14), was a military gentleman of exactly
the type of the Cilician St. George.
Farther. How did it never occur to Mr. Emerson that, whether his story
of the bookcollecting bishop were true or not, it was certainly not
the story told to Coeur-de-Lion, or to Edward III., when they took
St. George for their Master? No bookcollecting episcopal person,
had he been ever so much a saint, would have served them to swear by,
or to strike by. They must have heard some other story;--not, perhaps,
one written down, nor needing to be written. A remembered story,--yet,
probably, a little truer than the written one; and a little older.
It is, above all, strange that the confusion of his own first sentence
did not strike him, "George of Cappadocia, born in Cilicia." It is true
that the bacon-selling and book-collecting Arian bishop was born in
Cilicia, and that this Arian bishop was called George. But the Arians
only contrived to get this bishop of theirs thought of as a saint at
all, because there was an antecedent St. George, with whom he might
be confused; a St. George, indeed, "of Cappadocia;" and as it chanced
that their own bishop came out of Cappadocia to his bishopric, very few
years after his death sufficed to render the equivocation possible. But
the real St. George had been martyred seventy years before, A.D. 290,
whereas the Arian bishop was killed in 361. And this is the story of
the real St. George, which filled the heart of the early Christian
church, and was heard by Coeur-de-Lion and by Edward III., somewhat
in this following form, it, luckily for us, having been at least once
fairly written out, in the tenth century, by the best eastern scholar
who occupied himself with the history of Saints. I give you an old
English translation of it, rather than my own, from p. 132 of the
'Historie of that most famous Saint and Souldier of Christ Jesus,
St. George of Cappadocia, asserted from the fictions of the middle
ages of the Church, and opposition of the present, by Peter Heylyn;
printed in London for Henry Seyle, and to be sold at his shop the
signe of the Tyger's head in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1631.'
"St. George was born in Cappadocia, of Christian parents, and
those not of the meanest qualitie: by whom he was brought up in
true Religion, and the feare of God. Hee was no sooner past his
Childhood, but hee lost his father, bravely encountring with the
enemies of Christ; and thereupon departed with his afflicted Mother
into Palestine, whereof she was a native; and where great fortunes
and a faire inheritance did fall unto him. Thus qualified in birth,
and being also of an able bodie, and of an age fit for employment in
the warres; hee was made a Colonell." (This word is explained, above,
xv. 15.) "In which employment hee gave such testimonies of his valour,
and behav'd himselfe so nobly; that forthwith Diocletian, not knowing
yet that he was a Christian, advanc'd him to the place and dignitie of
his Councell for the warres; (for so on good authoritie I have made
bold to render 'Comes' in this place and time). About this time his
Mother dyed: and hee, augmenting the heroicke resolutions of his mind,
with the increase of his revenue, did presently applie himselfe unto
the Court and service of his Prince; his twentieth yeere being even
then compleat and ended."
"But Diocletian being soon after compelled into his persecution
of the Christians" (Heylyn now gives abstract of his author,) "and
warrants granted out unto the officers and rulers of the Provinces
to speed the execution, and that done also in frequent senate, the
Emperour there himself in person, St. George, though not yet sainted,
could continue no longer, but there exposed himself unto their fury
and his owne glory:" (Translation begins again.)
"When therefore George, even in the first beginnings, had observ'd
the extraordinarie cruelty of these proceedings, hee presently put
off his military habiliments, and, making dole of all his substance
to the poore, on the third Session of the Senate, when the Imperiall
decree was to be verified, quite voide of feare, he came into the
Senate-house, and spake unto them in this manner. 'How long, most noble
Emperour and you Conscript Fathers, will you augment your tyrannies
against the Christians? How long will you enact unjust and cruell
Lawes against them, compelling those which are aright instructed in
the faith, to follow that Religion, of whose truth your selves are
doubtfull. Your Idols are no Gods, and I am bold to say againe, they
are not. Be not you longer couzned in the same errour. Our Christ alone
is God, he only is the Lord, in the glory of the Father. Eyther do you
therefore acknowledge that Religion which undoubtedly is true: or else
disturbe not them by your raging follies, which would willingly embrace
it.' This said, and all the Senate wonderfully amazed at the free
speech and boldnesse of the man;" (and no wonder;--my own impression
is indeed that most martyrs have been made away with less for their
faith than their incivility. I have always a lurking sympathy with
the Heathen;) "they all of them turn'd their eyes upon the Emperour,
expecting what hee would reply: who beckoning to Magnentius, then
Consull, and one of his speciall Favourites, to returne an answere;
hee presently applyed himselfe to satisfie his Prince's pleasure."
"Further" (says Heylyn) "we will not prosecute the storie in our
Authors words, which are long and full of needlesse conference;
but will briefly declare the substance of it, which is this. Upon
St. George's constant profession of his Faith, they wooed him first
with promises of future honours, and more faire advancements: but
finding him unmoveable, not to be wrought upon with words, they tried
him next with torments: not sparing anything which might expresse their
cruelty or enoble his affliction. When they saw all was fruitlesse,
at last the fatall Sentence was pronounced against him in this manner:
that, beeing had againe to prison, hee should the following day be
drawne through the City and beheaded.
"Which sentence was accordingly performed, and George invested with
the glorious Crowne of Martyrdome upon the 23. day of April, Anno
Domini nostri, 290."
That is St. George's "true" story, how far literally true is of no
moment; it is enough for us that a young soldier, in early days of
Christianity, put off his armour, and gave up his soul to his Captain,
Christ; and that his death did so impress the hearts of all Christian
men who heard of it, that gradually he became to them the leader of
a sacred soldiership, which conquers more than its mortal enemies,
and prevails against the poison, and the shadow, of Pride, and Death.
And above all, his putting off his knight's armour, especially the
military belt, as then taking service with Christ instead of the
Roman Emperor, impressed the minds of the later Christian knights;
because of the law referred to by St. Golden-Lips (quoted by Heylyn
farther on), "No one, who is an officer, would dare to appear without
his zone and mantle before him who wears the diadem." So that having
thus voluntarily humbled himself, he is thought of as chiefly exalted
among Christian soldiers, and called, not only "the great Martyr,"
but the "Standard Bearer," (Tropæophorus). Whence he afterwards
becomes the knight bearing the bloody cross on the argent field,
and the Captain of Christian war.
The representation of all his spiritual enemies under the form
of the Dragon was simply the natural habit of the Greek mind: the
stories of Apollo delivering Latona from the Python, and of Perseus
delivering Andromeda from the sea monster, had been as familiar
as the pitcher and wine-cups they had been painted on, in red and
black, for a thousand years before: and the name of St. George,
the "Earthworker," or "Husbandman," [9] connected him instantly,
in Greek thoughts, not only with the ancient dragon, Erichthonius,
but with the Spirit of agriculture, called "Thricewarrior" to whom
the dragon was a harnessed creature of toil. Yet, so far as I know,
it was not until the more strictly Christian tradition of the armed
archangel Michael confused its symbolism with that of the armed saint,
that the dragon enters definitely into the story of St. George. The
authoritative course of Byzantine painting, sanctioned and restricted
by the Church in the treatment of every subject, invariably represents
St. George as the soldier Martyr, or witness, before Diocletian, never
as victor over the dragon: [10] his story, as the painters tell it,
corresponds closely with that of St. Catherine of Sinai; [11] and is,
in the root of it, truth, and in the branching of it, beautiful dream,
of the same wild and lovely character. And we might as well confuse
Catherine of Sinai with Catherine of Siena (or for that matter,
Catherine de Medicis!), as St. George of the Eastern Church with
George the Arian. And this witness of painting remains simple and
unbroken, down to the last days of Venice. St. Mark, St. Nicholas,
and St. George are the three saints who are seen, in the vision of
the Fisherman, delivering Venice from the fiends. St. George, first
"of the seaweed," has three other churches besides in Venice; and it
will be the best work I have ever done in this broken life of mine,
if I can some day show you, however dimly, how Victor Carpaccio has
painted him in the humblest of these,--the little chapel of St. George
on the "Shore of the Slaves." There, however, our dragon does not fail
us, both Carpaccio and Tintoret having the deepest convictions on that
subject;--as all strong men must have; for the Dragon is too true a
creature, to all such, spiritually. That it is an indisputably living
and venomous creature, materially, has been the marvel of the world,
innocent and guilty, not knowing what to think of the terrible worm;
nor whether to worship it, as the Rod of their lawgiver, or to abhor
it as the visible symbol of the everlasting Disobedience.
Touching which mystery, you must learn one or two main facts.
The word 'Dragon,' means "the Seeing Creature," and I believe
the Greeks had the same notion in their other word for a serpent,
"ophis." There were many other creeping, and crawling, and rampant
things; the olive stem and the ivy were serpentine enough, blindly;
but here was a creeping thing that saw!
The action of the cobra, with its lifted and levelled head, and
the watchfulness of the coiled viper impressed the Egyptians and
Greeks intensely. To the Egyptian the serpent was awful and sacred,
and became the ornament on the front of the King's diadems (though
an evil spirit also, when not erect). The Greeks never could make up
their minds about it. All human life seems to them as the story of
Laocoon. The fiery serpents slay us for our wisdom and fidelity;--then
writhe themselves into rest at the feet of the Gods.
The Egyptians were at the same pause as to their Nile Dragon, for
whom I told you they built their labyrinth. "For in the eyes of
some of the Egyptians, the crocodiles are sacred; but by others they
are held for enemies. And it is they who dwell by the Lake Moeris,
who think them greatly sacred. Every one of these lake people has
care of his own crocodile, taught to be obedient to the lifting of
finger. And they put jewels of enamel and gold into their ears, and
bracelets on their forefeet, and feed them with the sacred shew-bread
daily, and attend upon them, that they may live beautiful lives; and,
when they die, bury them, embalmed, in holy tombs." (Thus religion,
as a pious friend, I observe, writes in a Devonshire paper the other
day, leads to the love of Nature!) "But they of the city Elephantine
eat their crocodiles, holding them nowise sacred. Neither do they
call them crocodiles, but champsæ; it is the Ionians who call them
"crocodiles," because they think them like the little crocodiles that
live in the dry stone walls."
I do not know if children generally have strong associative fancy
about words; but when I was a child, that word "Crocodile" always
seemed to me very terrific, and I would even hastily, in any book,
turn a leaf in which it was printed with a capital C. If anybody had
but told me the meaning of it--"a creature that is afraid of crocuses!"
That, at least, is all I can make of it, now; though I can't understand
how this weakness of the lizard mind was ever discovered, for lizards
never see crocuses, that I know of. The next I meet in Italy, (poor
little, glancing, panting things,--I miss them a little here from
my mossy walls)--shall be shown an artificial crocus, Paris-made;
we will see what it thinks of it! But however it came to be given,
for the great Spirit-Lizard, the name is a good one. For as the
wise German's final definition of the Devil (in the second part of
Faust) is that he is afraid of roses, so the earliest and simplest
possible definition of him is that in spring time he is afraid of
crocuses; which I am quite sure, both our farmers and manufacturers
are now, in England, to the utmost. On the contrary, the Athenian
Spirit of Wisdom was so fond of crocuses that she made her own robe
crocus-colour, before embroidering it with the wars of the Giants;
she being greatly antagonistic to the temper which dresses sisters of
charity in black, for a crocus-colour dress was much the gayest--not
to say the giddiest--thing she could possibly wear in Athens.
And of the crocus, vernal, and autumnal, more properly the enchanted
herb of Colchis, (see, by the way, White's 'History of Selborne'
at the end of its 41st letter) I must tell you somewhat more in
next letter; meantime, look at the saffron crest in the centre of
it, carefully, and read, with some sympathy, if you can, this true
story of a crocus, which being told me the other day by one who,
whether I call him friend or not, is indeed friendly to me, and to
all whom he can befriend, I begged him to write it for your sakes,
which he has thus graciously done:--