LIVING WATERS
About ten million copies of the Bible are circulated in a year; this
means so many copies either are bought, or given to people without
payment, yearly. The reason for such a great and constant demand for
the Bible by all kinds of people is because they find in it something
they need. What they find is spiritual life, life for the soul.
It is interesting to know something about the authorized English
translation of the Bible. The books of the Bible, as you know, were
not first written in English. Those who wrote the books of the
Bible, except possibly in one or two instances, were Jews. Copies of
the books of the Bible, before the fifteenth century, had to be
written by hand. Following the invention of printing in the first
part of the fifteenth century, the Bible was one of the first books
to be printed. But still, there were few books and there was little
reading. Books of any kind were expensive and many people did not
know how to read.
In the sixteenth century, there were in existence several
translations or versions of some of the books of the Bible; and there
was a great desire on the part of English people to be able to read
the whole Bible in English so that everyone might {54} understand it.
Comparatively few people could read Latin, and the translations in
English were of some of the books only.
The authorized English translation of the Bible was first published
in 1611. It was the work of some forty-seven scholars who had taken
all the different versions then in use and had translated and
compiled the various readings into one book. You will recognize that
1611 is a date belonging to the time when English literature was in
one of its most glorious periods. The authorized English translation
of the Bible is written in very perfect English. It is what we call
a masterpiece. The beautiful diction of the authorized version helps
us to remember the stories of the Bible, and the great passages in
which we find our highest spiritual life.
A list of some of the wonderful passages in the Bible, especially
such passages as were written to tell of the life of Christ and to
record His sayings, is given at the end of this chapter. You will
find the Ten Commandments, which many of you know by heart, in
Exodus, chap. xix, 1-24, chap. xx, 1-2. Solomon's great prayer at
the dedication of the Temple is in I Kings, chap. viii, 22-58. The
Book of Psalms is read by countless numbers of people all through
their lives. Some of the Psalms you will specially want to read are
i, xv, xix, xxiii, xxiv, xxvii, xlvi, lxvii, c, ciii, cvii, cxxi,
cxxvi, cxxvii, cxxxiv, cxlv, cxlviii, and cl. Many great passages
are to be found in the books of the Prophets, and in Job. Read
Isaiah, chapters xxxv, xl and lv which belong to the greatest
writings in the world.
{55}
But the most important parts of the Bible for us to read, the easiest
to read, the most simple and beautiful, are these which tell of the
life of Christ.
PASSAGES TELLING OF THE LIFE OF CHRIST FROM THE
NEW TESTAMENT
The Sermon on the Mount Matthew, chaps. v, vi and vii
Rest for the Weary Matthew, chap. xi 25-30
The Greatest in the Kingdom Matthew, chap. xviii, 1-14
of Heaven
The Young Man of Great Matthew, chap. xix, 16-22
Possessions
The Two Great Commandments Matthew, chap. xxii, 35-40
The Judgment Day Matthew, chap. xxv, 31-46
The Widow's Two Mites Mark, chap. xii, 41-44
Jesus Calls Zachaeus Luke, chap. xix, 1-10
The Water of Life John, chap. iv, 5-26
The Bread of Life John, chap. vi, 26-35
The Good Shepherd John, chap. x, 1-16
The Raising of Lazarus John, chap. xi, 1-46
Christ Blesses the Children Mark, chap. x, 13-16
Christ's Bequest of Peace John, chap. xiv, 1-27
Christ's Intercessory Prayer John, chap. xviii, 1-26
Christ's Commission to His Matthew, chap. xxviii, 16-20
Followers
Who Shall Separate Us Romans, chap. viii, 18-39
The Two Crowns I Corinthians, chap. ix, 24-27
Charity I Corinthians, chap. xiii, 1-13
Resurrection of the Dead I Corinthians, chap. xv, 1-58
{56}
The Fruit of the Spirit Galatians, chap. v, 16-24
Heavenly Armour Ephesians, chap. vi, 10-8
The Crown of Righteousness II Timothy, chap. iv, 6-8
The Children of Light I Thessalonians, chap. v, 1-10
The Cloud of Witnesses Hebrews, chap. xi, 1-40;
chap. xii, 1-2
Pure Religion James, chap. i, 1-27
Behold I stand at the Door Revelations, chap. iii, 14-22
and Knock
The Saints in Glory Revelations, chap. vii, 9-17
John's Vision of the New Revelations, chap. xxi, 1-27;
Jerusalem chap. xxii, 1-21
{57}
PART II
ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE
{59}
CHAPTER X
DUMAS--HUGO--STEVENSON
A story can scarcely open better than by showing us a young man
setting out to find his fortune. One of the most eminent of romantic
writers, Alexandre Dumas, begins _The Three Musketeers_ after this
fashion. We have a choice of reading the story either in French or
English. Dumas, a Frenchman, wrote _Les Trois Mousquetaires_ in
French, and, therefore, naturally, this thrilling story is more
wonderful in French even than it is in English. But an English
translation, one can promise every boy and girl, is very well worth
reading.
On an April morning of the year 1626, in the market town of Meung, in
the country of France, a young man, eighteen years of age, came to
the door of an inn. He was riding an orange-coloured pony, none too
good a specimen of a steed. His name was d'Artagnan. He came from
Gascony, and in a story it is always taken for granted that Gascons
are very proud and hot-tempered. He was poor and somewhat shabby in
appearance. A man at one of the windows of the inn appeared to be
laughing at him and at the queer colour of his pony; indeed the man
had called the pony a buttercup. D'Artagnan, who was wearing a
sword, at once challenged the man, Rochefort, to fight with him.
There was a fight which was rather a scuffle than a combat. Still
d'Artagnan {60} acquitted himself with credit, although later he was
beaten into insensibility by Rochefort's servants. He lost, however,
the precious letter his father had given him to M. de Treville,
Captain of the King's Musketeers. Nevertheless, that same day he
rode to the St. Antoine Gate of Paris, sold his horse, and on the day
following presented himself in the antechamber of M. de Treville.
There he meets the three famous musketeers, Athos, Aramis and
Porthos. Louis XIII is King of France, Anne of Austria is Queen, and
Cardinal Richelieu is as powerful a leader as either of them. So
begins the thrilling series of romances in which d'Artagnan appears,
the whole series being the masterpiece of Alexandre Dumas.
_The Three Musketeers_ is the first story about d'Artagnan. The
second is called _Twenty Years After_; the third, _Vicomte de
Bragelonne_. In the second story, Louis XIII has died and Anne of
Austria is regent. Her chief minister is Mazarin. We see in his
youth the young king who is to be the famous Louis XIV. But the
really important characters are d'Artagnan, Athos, Aramis and
Porthos; the Vicomte de Bragelonne, who is dearly loved by these four
heroes, is Athos' son.
French history is shown by Dumas to have a curious relation to
English history. But the connection is more or less imaginary. When
we read these stories, it is possible that we may obtain some idea of
French history, even of English history. We see brilliant scenes of
colour, romance and intrigue. We read of triumphs, catastrophes and
great occasions. But what really {61} matters are d'Artagnan's
splendid wit and audacity, the silent dignity of Athos, the subtlety
of Aramis, and the marvellous strength of Porthos.
These four form a heroic comradeship. They help, support, rescue and
defend each other. Danger follows danger. Intrigue leads to
intrigue. D'Artagnan never fails in strategy, nor Athos in nobility.
When any one of the four is sorely pressed, the others are certain to
appear before the danger becomes overwhelming. There are many famous
episodes in these stories, the recovery by d'Artagnan and his man
Planchet of the Queen's diamond studs, the release from prison of the
Duc de Beaufort by means of a colossal pie in which are concealed
ropes and daggers, the kidnapping of General Monk by d'Artagnan and
his followers disguised as fishermen, the epic of the death of
Porthos, who is one of the strongest heroes to be found in any
romance.
When we read such stories as these written by Dumas we are made to
feel light-hearted. He is gay and witty, while under wit and gayety
he hides a tender heart. The man who wrote the stories is himself
frank, kind and generous, and we discover the same frankness,
kindness and generosity in the pages of his romances. His writing is
characterized by speed, directness and clearness. It has been said,
and no doubt truly, that sometimes a person suffering from
homesickness has been so invigorated mentally by reading one of
Dumas' stories that the fit of homesickness has been cured.
Dumas was something of a giant physically, {62} like Porthos.
Indeed, it is thought that he may have made Porthos a partial
portrait of himself and of his father, who also was a large man and
very powerful. Dumas' grandfather, a Frenchman, had left France for
St. Domingo and there had married a native of the island, a coloured
woman. Dumas inherited the physical characteristics of his father
who was like his St. Domingan mother. The vivacity and gaiety we
find in the works of Dumas may have come in part at least from his
grandmother. His mother was left a widow early and she and her
children lived in great poverty. Dumas' immense vitality and high
spirits conquered many obstacles. We enjoy reading about d'Artagnan,
Athos, Aramis and Porthos all the more for knowing that the writer
who invented them and wrote of them so gayly, was a brave man.
Romance carries us easily from one country to another. Yet a second
noted writer of romance, in some ways more gifted than Dumas, is also
a Frenchman, Victor Hugo, generally considered greater as a poet than
as a writer of prose. Two of his books, _Notre Dame de Paris_, and
_Les Misérables_, belong to the famous books of the world and may be
read in the French original, preferably of course, or in an English
translation.
Hugo's romances, as well as the romantic stories of Dumas, were
inspired to a certain extent by the novels of Sir Walter Scott. But
in Scott we find ourselves in the sunlight of a reasonable and happy
world. The atmosphere of Hugo's stories one might compare to that of
stormy days, illuminated by flashes of lightning. The romance of
{63} _Notre Dame de Paris_ is dominated by a vision of the cathedral
in Paris which seems in the story far greater and larger than it is
actually. Some day you may see the cathedral for yourselves, but
before doing so, read Hugo's story. It imparts to the famous
cathedral an air of wonder and mystery which proves to us Hugo's
remarkable powers as a writer. Round Notre Dame he gathers as
strange a multitude of people as can be found in any story, the
beautiful gypsy dancer Esmeralda, her goat Djali, the terrible dwarf
Quasimodo, the swarm of beggars, with their beggar king, Claude
Frollo, Captain Phoebus, Pierre Gringoire, and the unhappy recluse
Gudule.
An even more remarkable romance by Victor Hugo is named _Les
Misérables_. The book is more than a story. Hugo brings in so many
affairs outside the story itself that when we have finished the book
we feel as if we had read part of the history of the world. You
remember the strong impulse to heal and relieve the distresses of
humanity which we found in the novels of Charles Dickens. The same
powerful motive is seen in action in these romances by Victor Hugo.
Perhaps there are few books in which we can find explained so clearly
the problems, distresses and poverty of the older and more crowded
countries of the continent of Europe as they existed at the time of
the story. Hugo means to awaken our pity and he does so. Jean
Valjean, the escaped convict of _Les Misérables_, is condemned by
harsh and wicked laws, yet he becomes the soul of tenderness and
goodness. For his sake, and for the sake of the good Bishop Myriel
who first {64} showed Jean Valjean what love and forgiveness mean, we
should read some part at least of _Les Misérables_; or we may be able
to find someone who has read Hugo's immensely long novel and is
willing to tell us the story of Jean Valjean.
It is difficult to imagine a sharper contrast to the writings of
Victor Hugo than the gay, youthful, carefree stories which Robert
Louis Stevenson wrote for young people. Yet Stevenson admired Hugo
greatly, and was as well one of the most loyal adherents of Dumas.
Stevenson wrote _Treasure Island_ to help his step-son, Lloyd
Osbourne, then a boy of twelve years old, through rather a dull and
lonely holiday spent near Braemar in the north of Scotland.
Stevenson's father, an old man with a boy's heart, used to listen to
the story when it was read aloud in the afternoons as soon as each
chapter was written, one chapter a day. It was Thomas Stevenson, the
father, who wrote out the list of the contents of Billy Bones' sea
chest.
Robert Louis Stevenson loved adventure, and this is one of the
reasons why _Treasure Island_ is such a delightful story. First, he
and Lloyd Osbourne drew the map that you will find at the beginning
of _Treasure Island_. Then the story begins, told by Jim Hawkins,
whose mother kept an inn, the Admiral Benbow. To the inn comes Billy
Bones, bringing his sea chest. Later one old sailor after another
arrives, the most terrifying of all being the blind man Pew, who felt
his way tapping with a stick. Soon it appears there is hidden
treasure to be found. Jim Hawkins, Dr. Livesay and Squire Trelawney
sail away on the {65} _Hispaniola_, but many of the crew on board,
led by John Silver, mean to take the treasure for themselves.
_Treasure Island_ is one of the best stories of adventure ever
written for young people. What happens on board the _Hispaniola_ and
at the island is waiting hidden in the pages of the story for you to
read.
Robert Louis Stevenson was born in the city of Edinburgh, which was
also Sir Walter Scott's native city. He was a brave, very lovable
person. All his life, he was more or less of an invalid. But he did
not allow ill-health to make much difference to his way of living.
He kept on working, and as you know, his work was writing. There is
nothing about his books which would make any one think he was an
invalid. Finally, he and his wife went to live at Samoa in the South
Seas, where the climate suited him, and he was able to lead a more
active life than had been possible for some time. He was engaged in
writing what is judged to be his best work, a novel called _Weir of
Hermiston_, when he died. Of the many books that Stevenson wrote,
two others besides _Treasure Island_ are especially interesting to
boys and girls, _Kidnapped_, and its continuation _Catriona_.
Together, the two stories make one volume, called _David Balfour_
after the hero.
Swiftly moving, gay, gallant, easy to read, sweet and sound at heart
as the kernel of a nut, Robert Louis Stevenson's romantic adventurous
stories belong more completely than most books of fiction to the
world of youth. He wrote _A Child's Garden of Verse_, _Underwoods_,
and _Ballads_, as {66} well as other novels, _Prince Otto_, _Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_, and _The Master of Ballantrae_. Stevenson's
essays are much thought of; and he was an individual and delightful
letter-writer.
{67}
CHAPTER XI
ROBINSON CRUSOE--LORNA DOONE--HEREWARD--WESTWARD HO!--ROUND THE WORLD
IN EIGHTY DAYS--TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA--MIDSHIPMAN
EASY--PETER SIMPLE--TWO YEARS BEFORE THE MAST--THE GOLDEN DOG
Let us stop for a little while to consider why we enjoy ourselves so
much when we read stories of romance and adventure. Indeed, books of
this character are fascinating to almost everyone.
You have read of the magic carpet which belongs to the world of fairy
tales. One had only to stand on the carpet and wish one's self in
any part of the world, to travel where one wanted to be in a flash.
Many of us would like to travel to strange countries, learn foreign
customs, see uncommon sights and listen to marvels of which we have
not known before. Stories of romance and adventure enable us to
visit, as it were, all parts of the known world; we can even imagine
ourselves in unknown worlds by means of their assistance. So, in a
real sense it is true that the magic of a good book of adventure is
like that of the carpet in the story; it can carry us anywhere.
But perhaps the most enjoyable quality we find in such books is the
power they have to give us a sense of holiday. We turn to the first
page of {68} whatever book of adventure we may happen to choose, and
then in a moment we are away with the hero, travelling swiftly by sea
or land, wandering on foot, fighting battles, in peril from robbers,
helping the distressed, finding treasure, climbing mountains, or lost
in the desert. We are exactly the kind of people we want to be and
we have a share in all kinds of wonderful happenings.
The adventures in these books may not always seem probable, or, as
people say, true to life. But this makes very little difference
fortunately in romantic and adventurous stories which have a splendid
truth of their own. The truth belonging to these stories is that the
bravery, strength, resourcefulness, generosity, honour and chivalry
of which we read are among the finest qualities in the world; these
qualities, with patience and persistence added, can actually
sometimes achieve the seemingly impossible happenings related to us.
A moment ago, we spoke of being lost in the desert. You very
probably know that a book called _Robinson Crusoe_ is the most famous
story ever written about being cast away on an uninhabited island.
Indeed, ever since Daniel Defoe wrote the story everyone who likes
speculating what he would do if this or that happened, has tried to
imagine what it would be like to live alone by oneself. We can make
a game of writing down what we think we really could not do without
under such circumstances. But Daniel Defoe, basing his story partly
on the actual experiences of a man called Alexander Selkirk, has
played this game better than anyone else is ever likely to play it.
_Robinson Crusoe_ is a wonderful story, so vivid, {69} convincing and
reasonable, that it might be the actual journal of a man, a very
practical and clever man cast wholly on his own resources, with the
never failing bounties of nature on which he may draw.
Robinson Crusoe had been many years on the island before he found one
day, marked on the sand, the print of a naked foot. Imagine how he
must have looked at it! Of course he knew that it had been made by a
savage, and so it was. Eventually, he is visited by these savages.
He rescues one of them; and because Friday was the day of the week on
which the man was rescued, Robinson Crusoe called him Friday. He was
a gentle, kind, good fellow who served Robinson Crusoe faithfully all
the rest of his life. It was thirty-five years before Robinson
Crusoe was able to return to England; eventually a ship came to the
island. There is a second part of the story which relates further
adventures. One of the best parts of the narrative is its peaceful
ending which tells us that at last the hero found happiness and
contentment after all his wanderings.
It is interesting to know some of the facts concerning the people who
have written the books we are reading. Daniel Defoe wrote this great
story of adventure when he was fifty-eight or fifty-nine years old.
He had had a stirring and difficult life, had taken part in
Monmouth's rebellion, had been in prison, and had been put in the
pillory, which was an old form of punishment now properly abolished.
He was a journalist and novelist, and wrote a great deal, especially
in the form of pamphlets. His story, _Robinson Crusoe_, was first
{70} published as long ago as 1719. Its popularity has never failed
since then.
Now let us suppose that we are looking at a shelf which holds ten
books, counting _Robinson Crusoe_ as the first; all the ten are
exceptionally good stories of adventure. What are the other nine
books about and who wrote them?
Following _Robinson Crusoe_ comes a tale of robbers, called _Lorna
Doone_, which is a story of a boy named Jan, or John, Ridd, and of a
famous outlaw family, the Doones, who lived in a beautiful, wild glen
of Exmoor, part of the romantic English county of Devon. Richard
Doddridge Blackmore, the author, knew Exmoor and Devon well. He had
been a schoolmaster and had studied law before he became a novelist.
The date of the story belongs to the time of James II. Blackmore
draws a wonderful picture of the English country at that time,
remote, strong, romantic and stout-hearted. _Lorna Doone_ is one of
the most lovable romances ever written.
Jan's father was killed by the Doones when Jan was a lad. He had to
leave school and come home to take care of his mother and sister, and
learn how to be the master of a farm. Blackmore was skilled in all
country knowledge, and he writes truly and attractively of farm life.
When Jan was a small boy he saw Lorna, an orphan and a lovely child,
who was of the same kindred as the Doones but not like them in heart
or disposition. Jan Ridd grows up a giant. He is a great fighter,
and brave, clean and generous, a hero of the people. We love to read
of Dunkery Beacon, of the great snow storm, of Jan's long contest
with the {71} wicked Doones, of Tom Faggis, the highwayman, and his
mare Winnie, of Jan's mother and sister, of the lovely Lorna who is
brought by Jan at last home to the farm, and finally of Jan's great
fight with Carver Doone.
Next are two fine historical romances by Charles Kingsley, who was
rector of Eversley in Hampshire, England, for many years. Kingsley,
a vigorous, wholehearted man whose writing is of the same character,
was the author of a number of well-known books. He was specially
interested in history and was professor of modern history at
Cambridge in his later years. _Hereward the Wake_ is a story of the
Old English. Wake means watchful. What happy, thrilling hours boys
and girls and other people have spent with Hereward. No one who
reads this story can forget it. _Westward Ho!_ is a story of the
sea. The name of its hero is Amyas Leigh. He sails away with
adventuring ships to the Western world, but returns to command a ship
in the Armada.
Jules Verne was a Frenchman who wrote stories of scientific
imagination. His _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ was written
long before the days of submarines, but in it you will find an
exciting account of what it is like to live in the depths of the sea.
Jules Verne's stories have helped to inspire many inventors; this in
itself is a proud achievement. We may think that _Round the World in
Eighty Days_ is slow travelling compared with the speed of to-day.
But when we read the story, we will find ourselves living in an
atmosphere of haste, despatch and adventure in travel which no writer
has yet been able to {72} surpass. Many a lad afterwards famous has
spent long hours with Jules Verne.
The famous Captain Marryat has taught us more, probably, about the
sea, the navy and fighting ships than any other writer of stories of
adventure. Frederick Marryat was born in England of Huguenot
ancestry in the year 1792. He belonged to a family of fifteen
children and seems always to have been of a stirring, restless
disposition. More than once, he ran away from home or school to go
to sea, giving as an excuse that he had to wear his elder brother's
old clothes. He was not a particularly attentive student, although a
story is told that he was once discovered standing on his head, in
order, he explained, to see if he could learn one of his lessons
better in that position. He had tried, so he said, for three hours
to learn the lesson in the more usual attitude. This of course was
one of young Frederick Marryat's little jokes. He entered the King's
Navy in 1806 as a midshipman when he was fourteen years old. It was
his good fortune to be under a very fine type of Captain, Lord
Cochrane, the Earl of Dundonald, an able, fearless and upright
person. In many of Marryat's stories, we find that his captains are
like the Earl of Dundonald. Marryat's promotion in the Navy was
rapid. These were the years of the great Napoleonic Wars. He had
reached the rank of Commander by the end of the war in 1815 when he
was only twenty-three, having seen much smart service. Later, he was
given the responsible task of mounting guard over Napoleon.
Two of Marryat's best known and most interesting {73} stories are
_Midshipman Easy_ and _Peter Simple_. These give interesting,
authentic, and exciting accounts of life at sea from the point of
view first of a midshipman, and then of a young officer in command.
Farce, fun, reality and strange adventure are so blended that we can
almost imagine we hear the splash of waves, smell the salt tang of
the sea, and experience the nerve-racking excitement of going into
action. There is occasionally a quality of coarseness in Marryat's
stories, but they are honest, straightforward and brave. We learn
from them with unmistakable clearness that the world is not a place
where people are pampered and made much of, but a scene of discipline
and hard work, as well as of fun and adventure.
_Two Years Before the Mast_, by Richard Henry Dana, is a narrative of
the American merchant service, as well known in its way as Captain
Marryat's stories of the Navy. Young Dana was at Harvard University
when, on account of his eyesight, he became unable to study. He had
had a wish to be a sailor previously, but his father had not
approved. Young Dana felt now that a long voyage would re-establish
his health. He shipped as a sailor before the mast, and sailed from
the port of Boston in the year 1834 on the brig _Pilgrim_. He
returned two years later in the _Alert_, having kept a full and
careful log of his voyages. Re-entering Harvard University he found
time during his studies to prepare the manuscript of his book which
was published in New York, 1840. The year following, an English
edition appeared, and was bought up by the naval authorities for {74}
distribution on the Queen's ships. _Before the Mast_ is a plain,
simple narrative of the daily life of a sailor on a merchant ship.
It tells of many hardships, some of which have been remedied since
the publication of the book. It has been called "A voice from the
forecastle". Dana's accounts of rounding Cape Horn are wonderfully
vivid, and all the descriptions of California in its early days are
enthralling. _Before the Mast_ is a remarkably interesting and
realistic narrative; it is, however, a book of travel rather than a
story of adventure. The incidents are plainly in no case imaginary.
A book about Canada of a wholly different character is a well-known
historical romance, _The Golden Dog_, written by William Kirby. This
is a tale of early days in the beautiful, romantic city of Quebec
when some of the colour and glory of the French court was reproduced
on western soil. _The Golden Dog_ has not a little romantic charm.
Many readers have been puzzled and attracted by the rhyme which in
all likelihood first gave Kirby the idea for his story.
I am a dog that gnaws his bone,
I couch and gnaw it all alone--
A time will come, which is not yet,
When I'll bite him by whom I'm bit.
The lines have been translated from the French. Here are the words
of the original.
Je suis un chien qui ronge l'os,
En le rongeant je prends mon repos.
Un temps viendra qui n'est pas venu
Que je mordrai qui m' aura mordu.
{75}
A rude carving of the dog and his bone, with the lines cut above and
underneath, is to be seen still on a building in Quebec City.
{76}
CHAPTER XII
LAVENGRO--THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS--TOM SAWYER--HUCKLEBERRY
FINN--KIM--SARD HARKER--THE LIVING FOREST
We occasionally meet an odd person, someone out of the common, who is
not like other people. Books can be odd too, not like other books,
but strikingly individual, and interesting for the very reason that
they are odd. _Lavengro_, written by a man with out-of-the-way
knowledge of many things, whose name was George Borrow, is a book of
this description.
Possibly not everyone who tries to read _Lavengro_ will care for it
very much. As people say, it is not a book that belongs to
everybody. Yet _Lavengro_ is a great book, or at least a remarkable
one, and numbers of people find much enjoyment in it. What those who
read _Lavengro_ value in it most is a sense which it possesses of
life under the open sky. In _Lavengro_ we have as our companions the
winds and the stars. Its characters have no fixed place of abode,
but are always ready to travel on the high road which winds away into
the distance inviting us to follow it. There is something in almost
all of us which answers to the call of the open sky and the winding
road. Even if we have no intention of living that kind of life, a
gypsy's life, we like to read about it.
{77}
_Lavengro_ is a book about the gypsies. The word Lavengro is romany,
or gypsy, and it means word-master. George Borrow had the gift of
learning languages easily and knew many different languages. The
gypsies therefore called him _Lavengro_.
There is a famous passage in the book, which you will find at the
very end of chapter twenty-five, that gathers up the charm of the
narrative, or story, in a few words. Here it is:
"Life is sweet, brother."
"Do you think so?"
"Think so!--There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun,
moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind
on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?"
"I would wish to die--"
"You talk like a gorgio--which is the same as talking like a
fool--were you a Romany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die,
indeed!--A Romany Chal would wish to live for ever!"
"In sickness, Jasper?"
"There's the sun and the stars, brother."
"In blindness, Jasper?"
"There's the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I
would gladly live forever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put
on the gloves; and I'll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is
to be alive, brother!"
Jasper Petulengro, the chief of the Smith tribe of gypsies, and
Lavengro, who are the two men speaking, were skilled boxers and liked
to box with each other.
{78}
Notice how sharply we can distinguish the difference between the
points of view of the two men. Lavengro, or Borrow, wants in the
future something better and more perfect than he has in his present
life, but Jasper loves everything as it is, and wants to live the
same kind of life always. There is truth in both points of view. We
all long for perfection. But, certainly, Jasper is right when he
sees and feels the deep, intense beauty and ecstasy which live in
nature and which we feel in the wind on the heath, the sky, the
stars, the sun and the moon.
This brief quotation will give you an idea of Borrow's story at its
best. Even if you have read no more than the ending of chapter
twenty-five, you will know something of _Lavengro_, which is a book
of adventure, and yet has a very distinct character of its own.
_The Last of the Mohicans_, by James Fenimore Cooper, is judged to be
one of the most successful and enjoyable stories ever written about
North American Indians. You know how we can form in our minds a
picture of the great skill of the Indian as a hunter. We can imagine
an Indian hunter stealing through the woods, treading so lightly and
carefully that he makes no noise, bending his head to listen, able to
hear sounds that to the rest of us are inaudible, his quick eyes
noting tiny signs of broken twigs or crushed grass which are to us
invisible. This picture, which, if we could look into other people's
minds, we would find hidden away in the thoughts of almost everyone,
the world owes largely to the author of _The Last of the Mohicans_.
{79}
Cooper was born in the State of New Jersey in 1789, but, while he was
still an infant, he was taken to the State of New York. His father
had bought a large tract of land there, and in the wild forest and on
the shores of Otsego Lake, young James Cooper learned to watch and
know the Indians. He was sent to college, but was not very
successful as a student, and before long shipped as a sailor before
the mast. For a number of years, he had many experiences on the
Great Lakes and at sea. Finally, he gave up being a sailor, and
lived near Cooperstown. _The Last of the Mohicans_ is one of a
series of five stories known as the Leatherstocking Tales. Cooper
wrote many stories, but this series is the most interesting.
Leatherstocking himself is the white man who has gained Indian skill
and cunning as a hunter. He is known by many names, Leatherstocking,
Natty Bumppo, Hawk-eye, and La Longue Carabine. Part of the
enjoyment we have in reading Cooper's stories arises from the
circumstance that these stirring and exciting days of which he writes
have already almost completely vanished and his books contain a
record which is of value historically. Read the following
description of the scout Leatherstocking.
"His person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than full; but
every nerve and muscle appeared strong and indurated by unremitting
exposure and toil. He wore a hunting-shirt of forest-green, fringed
with faded yellow, and a summer cap of skins, which had been shorn of
their fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum, like that
which confined the scanty {80} garments of the Indian, but no
tomahawk. His moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the
natives, while the only part of his under dress which appeared below
the hunting-frock, was a pair of buckskin leggings, that laced at the
sides, and were gartered above the knees with the sinews of a deer.
A pouch and horn completed his personal accoutrements, though a rifle
of a great length, which the theory of the more ingenious whites had
taught them was the most dangerous of all fire-arms, leaned against a
neighbouring sapling."
There is something honest, strong and dependable about Hawk-eye,
besides his bravery and skill, which makes us like and respect him
greatly. But the most heroic and romantic figure in the book is
young Uncas, who is the last of the Mohicans. This story of danger,
attack, slaughter and peril, centering round Hawk-eye, Uncas, his
father Chingachgook, and two beautiful English girls attempting to
escape through the woods with a young English officer, Heyward, is
almost the perfection of a story of adventure in its own class. As
an example of how thrilling the story can be, read the account of the
shooting contest in chapter twenty-nine.
Several generations of boys and girls have already enjoyed _Tom
Sawyer_ and _Huckleberry Finn_. Perhaps no other writer has ever
succeeded as well as Mark Twain in putting a real boy between the
covers of a book in a story. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn are not
fanciful portraits. They are exactly such boys as anyone to-day can
watch playing in a vacant lot, or down {81} by a river on a raft, or
up in a hay-mow, or playing at being robbers in an old deserted shed
or house, or reading books, or telling stories, or teasing but loving
mothers and aunties, and learning about grown-up men and life in
general. _Tom Sawyer_ is the first of Mark Twain's famous books
about boys, and _Huckleberry Finn_ is a continuation of the same
story.
Tom lived with his Aunt Polly in the village of St. Petersburg on the
Mississippi. He was the leading spirit among the boys of the place,
largely because he had an active imagination and could devise many
exciting games which often led to real adventures. Huckleberry Finn
was a boy without a home; he had a father who was a source of danger
rather than a loving protector. In _Huckleberry Finn_, there is the
splendid story of Jim who was a slave and ran away with Huckleberry.
As we read of their adventures, while they floated down the
Mississippi on a raft, we learn to know and love Jim for his
devotion, loyalty and child-like nature. Huck, too, plays as fine a
part as many a hero who may appear more romantic than this runaway
boy. But you must read _Huckleberry Finn_ yourself, and find out
what happened. The great Mississippi river, mysterious, picturesque,
flowing always past their village into the unknown south, exercised a
powerful fascination on the minds of the boys. Many of their
adventures had to do with the river, and some of the happenings were
terrifying as well as exciting. But Tom and Huck actually did find
hidden treasure and each boy's share was put in the bank, so that the
boys had a small yearly income at the end of the {82} first story.
These two books, when we read them, give us a curious, lasting
feeling of real life and actual happenings, probably in part because
Mark Twain, whose everyday name was Samuel Clemens, must have been
writing about his own boyhood. When he was a boy, nothing would
satisfy him but learning to be a pilot on a Mississippi steamboat; he
was on the river for four years.
There are many other romantic and adventurous stories for us to read.
Make sure that the author knows and understands what he is writing
about, otherwise it is seldom worth while to spend much time in
reading his book. Stories of romance and adventure ought always to
be brave and fearless, kind and generous, pure and light-hearted.
They ought to make us feel that it is worth while to go on an
adventure. When these things are true of a book, we can spend many
happy hours with its hero, no matter where he rides, or sails, or
flies.
There are three books, the work of authors who belong to our own
time, that we should not miss reading. First comes Rudyard Kipling's
glorious story of a boy in India called _Kim_; then the poet
Masefield's story of _Sard Harker_ and of the sea and South America;
and, last of the three, a fine story of the woods and rivers of the
far north, called _The Living Forest_, written by a Canadian artist,
Arthur Heming.
{83}
PART III
SONGS OF HEROES, MYTHS, FAIRY TALES AND MARVELS
{85}
CHAPTER XIII
THE ILIAD AND THE ODYSSEY--GREEK
HEROES--TANGLEWOOD TALES--THE WONDER BOOK
Once upon a time, nearly three thousand years ago, a poet in a song
which he sang of heroes described the making of a suit of armour.
The poet's name was Homer. His poem is called _The Iliad_. Some day
possibly you will read for yourselves _The Iliad_ in the original
Greek, for Homer was a Greek. There are many good translations, both
in poetry and prose. The beautiful translation known as _The Iliad
of Homer_, done into English prose by Andrew Lang, Walter Leaf and
Ernest Myers, is one of the best translations for our present purpose.
In Homer's day people believed in the existence of many gods, some
more important and others of less consequence. These gods, both men
and women, imagined by the Greeks, were like human beings, only more
powerful and more beautiful. But they were not any better than
ordinary men and women. Indeed, the gods of the Greeks were often
bad-tempered, jealous, cruel, and faithless. The Greeks imagined
that their gods had favourites among men and women. When a battle
was raging, the gods were supposed to help one side or the other; and
in _The Iliad_ you may read how Aphrodite helped her favourite,
Paris, how {86} Poseidon was on the side of the Achaians, and Apollo
aided Hector. The most powerful and important gods, of whom the
greatest was Zeus, lived on Mount Olympus. But the Greeks believed
that the sea, rivers, streams, springs, hillsides, and trees, were
the dwelling-places of various deities or gods.
_The Iliad_ is an epic of the Trojan War which was fought between the
Greeks and the Trojans. The famous hero Achilles, who had quarrelled
with King Agamemnon, would not go to fight himself, but he lent his
armour to his noble friend Patroklos, who drove the Trojans from the
ships, but was himself slain by Hector, son of King Priam of Troy.
Achilles was then without armour, and Thetis, a goddess, said by the
Greeks to be the mother of Achilles, went on his behalf to a very
clever god, named Hephaistos, who was lame, but had wonderful skill
in making armour. Hephaistos, if he had lived now, would likely have
been a great engineer.
In the eighteenth book of _The Iliad_, we can read a description of
Hephaistos, of some of the marvels he had made and of his meeting
with Thetis.
Hephaistos "from the anvil rose limping, a huge bulk, but under him
his slender legs moved nimbly. The bellows he set away from the
fire, and gathered all his gear wherewith he worked into a silver
chest; and with a sponge he wiped his face and hands and sturdy neck
and shaggy breast, and did on his doublet, and took a stout staff and
went forth limping; but there were handmaidens of gold that moved to
help their {87} lord, the semblances of living maids. In them is
understanding at their hearts, in them are voice and strength, and
they have skill of the immortal gods. These moved beneath their
lord, and he gat him haltingly near to where Thetis was, and set him
on a bright seat, and clasped her hand in his and spake and called
her by her name."
It is delightful to understand while we read that the Greeks three
thousand years ago were already imagining the marvels which could be
accomplished by mankind. Many of these marvels actually have been
achieved since then, only not exactly in the shape that the Greeks
imagined.
Hephaistos made, for Thetis to give to Achilles, a shield and a
corslet and a helmet and greaves. He made them strong and beautiful.
On the shield he fashioned wondrous pictures of life among the
Greeks, marriage feasts, dancing, law courts, a city besieged, armies
fighting, herds of cattle, harvesting, feasting, a vineyard, and
youths and maidens gathering grapes. If you turn to this eighteenth
book of Homer's _Iliad_, you may spend a very happy hour reading of
Hephaistos and the armour.
These songs made by Homer are one of the glories of mankind. In
everything he sang, there is the special genius of the ancient
Greeks, a power to create beauty, so perfect in all its proportions
that it gives people when they read his songs a feeling of strength
and steadiness as well as joy. Yet, it is true at the same time,
that parts of _The Iliad_ and _The Odyssey_ show us a world which was
savage and barbarous.
In _The Odyssey_, Homer tells of the wanderings {88} of Odysseus,
King of Ithaca, on his way back from the Trojan war to his own island
on the west coast of Greece. His adventures are as wonderful as any
that have ever been related in song or story. The description of his
home-coming, to his wife Penelope and his son Telemachus, is one of
the stories rightly called universal, for such stories belong to
everyone. A charming part of _The Odyssey_ contains the story of
Odysseus in his wanderings coming to Scheria where King Alcinous
reigns. Nausicaa, the King's daughter, with her maidens, had gone
out in the early morning to wash the clothes of her father, mother
and brethren, and after their labour, the princess and her companions
were playing a game of ball when their cries of excitement woke the
weary Odysseus from his slumbers. You will find this adventure of
Odysseus in the sixth book of _The Odyssey_, of which there is a
prose translation by S. H. Butcher and Andrew Lang.
There are many other stories of the early Greeks. Some of them have
been re-told in three books, written for young people. In _The
Heroes_ by Charles Kingsley you may read of Perseus, the Argonauts
and Theseus. _Tanglewood Tales_ and _The Wonder Book_ were written
by Nathaniel Hawthorne for his children. One of the best of the
stories in _The Wonder Book_ is called The Miraculous Pitcher, a tale
of two old people, Philemon and his wife Baucis, and of what happened
to them. These stories are not exactly fairy-tales, because people
believed in that far away time that the gods visited them and played
pranks like boys and girls.
{89}
These three books, _The Heroes_, _Tanglewood Tales_ and _The Wonder
Book_ are easy to read and interesting. Yet, after a while, although
perhaps not for some years, you likely will find that you would
rather turn to a translation of _The Iliad_ or _The Odyssey_, so that
you may read for yourself Homer's songs telling of the world long ago
in its youth, and of these great heroes.
{90}
CHAPTER XIV
ÆSOP'S FABLES--GRIMM's FAIRY TALES--HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES--THE
ARABIAN NIGHTS--MALORY'S MORTE D'ARTHUR
We know a little of the glorious gift of song that the early Greeks
themselves enjoyed and left to coming generations of mankind. But
other countries, these countries where men and women earliest taught
themselves by hard work, as we say, to be civilized, have also given
the world treasures of wit, wisdom and enjoyment.
One of the earliest forms used by men, when they wanted to tell of
some experience they had had, was the fable. A fable is a very
brief, simple story, generally a little story about animals. Very
early in the history of mankind, men noticed animals, watched them,
saw that the animals often acted somewhat in the same way as men did
themselves, and were delighted and amused by their cunning and
cleverness. It was natural that people should begin by telling
stories about animals.
Here are two fables, one of an animal trying to get the better of
another animal, and the second of two animals helping one another.
These fables are said to have been made by Æsop.
A wolf seeing a goat feeding on the brow of a high precipice where he
could not come at her, besought her to come down lower, for fear she
{91} should miss her footing at that dizzy height; "And moreover,"
said he, "the grass is far sweeter and more abundant here below."
But the goat replied, "Excuse me; it is not for my dinner that you
invite me, but for your own."
The second fable tells of an ant falling into a fountain of water
where he was drinking because he was thirsty and of the ant being
nearly drowned. A dove dropped a leaf into the water on which the
ant climbed and so escaped. A man just then had almost caught the
dove in a net, but the ant bit him on the heel, the man started,
dropped his net and the dove flew away. The fable ends by saying
that one good turn deserves another.
Fables as a rule were first told, it is believed, not by famous
people or great writers, but more often by ordinary people who were
not rich or learned. Perhaps they wanted to say something about the
politics of the country where they lived, or about some ruler who was
a tyrant. They did not wish to get into trouble, so they put what
they wanted to say into a little story.
Tradition tells us that Æsop, the most famous maker of fables, was a
slave, very misshapen in body, and that he stammered when he spoke.
There is a collection of Æsop's and other Fables in Everyman's
Library. Read some of these little stories and remember how men, who
were not as free or as safe as we are to-day, made these fables which
are full of laughter, good temper, and keen wit, and which are very
wise. We can learn a great deal from fables, and we can enjoy them
at the same time.
{92}
Fairy tales are probably almost as old as fables. We all know how
delightful fairy tales can be. Who would do without Jack the Giant
Killer, or Cinderella, or Silver Locks, or Blue Beard, or
Puss-in-Boots? You can add many more to the list. Some fairy tales
are very old, but others are modern. People sometimes say that fairy
tales are not true. In a sense, perhaps, they are right; that is, we
do not expect to see Jack cutting down and conquering a giant in a
day. Yet the men who have perfected telegraph, telephone and radio
have overcome in a real way the giant distance, and other men and
women are conquering daily, little by little, the great giant disease.
The everyday world we live in is as wonderful as a fairy tale,
perhaps more wonderful. Whenever we find in a fairy tale, or in any
other way, a sense of the wonder of the world, and of life, this is a
very great gain, because then we know that we are really seeing
clearly, and understanding what we see. Most of all, perhaps, fairy
tales are meant to show us how beautiful the world is.
There are many good collections of fairy tales. The long series of
which Andrew Lang was editor contains an excellent selection.
Grimm's _Fairy Tales_ are among the most famous in the world. Jacob
and William Grimm were two brothers, both of whom were learned
professors. Early in the nineteenth century, they published a book
of fairy tales which they had gathered by listening to stories told
in the nurseries and by the firesides of their own country, Germany.
One {93} of the prettiest of these stories is Snow-Drop and the Seven
Dwarfs.
Hans Andersen is, perhaps, the best loved of all the writers of fairy
stories. He was born in Odense in Denmark in 1805, and was a very
poor boy. But he made a toy theatre for his amusement, and no doubt
began to make his stories at the same time. He wrote other books,
but his _Fairy Tales_ are by far his best work. Hans Andersen was a
genius. His stories have such power to touch our hearts that we want
to be kind and true and modest, following the example of his heroes
and heroines. The world, especially the world of homes, would be a
poorer place if Hans Andersen had never written The Wild Swans, The
Red Shoes, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, The Little Match Girl, and
especially The Ugly Duckling.
Many of the most wonderful tales of magic come out of the East. The
people of Arabia and Egypt are gifted narrators of stories. We owe
them our vast enjoyment of the stories in _The Arabian Nights_.
These stories are very old indeed; many of them must have come in the
first place from Persia and India. Egypt supplies much of what we
call local colour. The stories were gathered together from different
sources, probably between 1450 and 1500; England then was engaged in
the long struggle know as the Wars of the Roses. It was not until
1704 that Europeans first could read _The Arabian Nights_. At that
time a French professor, Antoine Galland, published a French
translation of a book of Arabic stories. It is odd to think that
children {94} of the English-speaking world did not know of Ali Baba,
or Sindbad, or Aladdin, until the time of the reign of Queen Anne.
Now we all can listen to the beautiful Schehera-zade telling her
thousand and one tales to her husband, the great sultan Schah-riar,
so that she would not be executed before the last of the stories was
finished. Schah-riar was a tyrant, and a very spoiled person. But
Schehera-zade was clever and resourceful, and in the end saved
herself. These strange stories of giants, genii, caliphs, and lovely
princesses are among the most famous in the world.
We come now to a different kind of book, _Morte d'Arthur_, stories of
King Arthur of Britain and his Knights of the Bound Table. These
stories Scott used to read when he was a boy, and so did many another
lad of genius who, when he was older, never forgot the chivalry and
the glory of Malory's great book. It may seem a curious book,
perhaps, to many of you when you first look at it, for it is written
in an older English than the words we use; and the customs and the
people may appear strange and hard to understand. Sir Thomas Malory,
who collected the stories and translated most of them from French
into English, is supposed to have been a Lancastrian knight who was
thrown into prison in the Wars of the Roses and kept there long
years. He spent that weary time copying out by hand, for then there
were no printing presses, the book we know as _Morte d'Arthur_.
Malory finished his work in 1470. Not long after his death, the
manuscript was brought to Caxton, who was the first great printer in
England, and Caxton printed the book in 1485.
{95}
These are stories of heroes, in some far away sense like _The Iliad_
and _The Odyssey_, but they are written in a wonderful prose, not
like Homer's even more wonderful poetry. There is, however, a great
change in the lives of heroes between the days of Homer and the days
of Malory. Let us take one of Malory's stories, and try to see what
the change is.
The seventh book of _Morte d'Arthur_ tells the story of Beaumains,
who was Gareth of Orkney in disguise, and of how he won his
knighthood. Like many other young men of that time, Gareth wanted to
be one of King Arthur's Knights. Gareth was well-born and wealthy,
but he wished to win honour and glory--what Malory calls worship--by
worthy deeds, so he came in disguise to Arthur's Court.
He asked three petitions, and the King granted them. The first was
that he might be given food and drink and lodging for a year. At the
end of that time, he would ask for his other two petitions. Sir Kay,
who was the steward, thought only a poor-spirited fellow would ask
for meat and drink, so he gave him lodging and food with the boys in
the kitchen, and called him Beaumains, fair hands, or as people
sometimes say now lily fingers. Beaumains waited the year, then a
damsel came asking for a knight to rescue her lady who was besieged
in a castle, but she would not tell her name. King Arthur said he
would not let any of his knights go unless she told the name. Then
Beaumains made his other petitions. The first was that he might be
commissioned to go with the damsel and rescue the lady, {96} and the
second that he might joust with the great knight, Sir Launcelot of
the Lake, and win knighthood from him. King Arthur gave his consent.
Beaumains jousted with Sir Launcelot and won his knighthood. But the
damsel was very angry, and said she had been given only a kitchen
page. Beaumains went with her in spite of her angry abuse, fought
with many knights and overcame them, and finally rescued the Lady
Lionesse who was the damsel's sister. The damsel's name was Linet.
Thus Sir Gareth won great honour and worship.
What really is this honour--the worship of which Malory writes?
Knighthood was won by being brave, and by doing mighty deeds. But
the true spirit of knighthood--the very essence of it, as we say--is
shown by one test; the deeds must be unselfish. The knight was a
rescuer; he was a righter of other people's wrongs. When King Arthur
lived, people had begun to learn that the most heroic life is the
self-sacrificing life. When Linet was abusing Beaumains, and telling
him that he would never accomplish the great adventure on which his
hopes were set, the only answer he made to her was, "I shall assay."
This means, "I shall try." It was a noble answer. There is still
only one way of winning true honour by unselfish deeds. First, one
must have the desire, then those who desire must also try. As
Beaumains said, "I shall assay."
{97}
CHAPTER XV
ALICE IN WONDERLAND--THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS--THE GOLDEN AGE--WIND
IN THE WILLOWS--FOUR BOOKS BY A. A. MILNE--RIP VAN WINKLE
The story begins with a chapter called Down the Rabbit-Hole. Alice
was feeling sleepy, you remember, when suddenly she saw a white
rabbit with pink eyes running by close beside her. She thought
nothing of that. She was not surprised even when she heard the
rabbit saying to itself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!"
But when the rabbit took a watch out of its waist-coat pocket, looked
at it and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, ran across the
field, and was just in time to see the Rabbit pop down a large
rabbit-hole under the hedge.
The name of the story, as most of you know, is _Alice in Wonderland_.
All over the English-speaking world, children, and older people as
well, seem to know Alice.
When you hear someone talking about the Mad Hatter at the tea party,
or a blue caterpillar smoking a hookah, or the Duchess losing her
temper, or the cat vanishing but the smile remaining, and you ask
what it means, you will be told, if you have not guessed already,
that all these odd phrases belong to _Alice in Wonderland_.
Alice followed the White Rabbit down the hole, falling down a very
long way without hurting {98} herself a bit. Then she found herself
in a hall where there was a three-legged table with a tiny gold key
on it, and she discovered a little door that she opened with the tiny
gold key, but she was too big to go through the door, although she
could see that it led into the loveliest garden. Then, as you may
remember, she found a bottle with "Drink me" printed on it, and when
she saw that it was not marked poison, she tasted it, and since it
had a very good taste, she drank it all, and after that she was only
ten inches high. Then she had forgotten the key, and now she was too
small to reach to the top of the table, but under the table she saw a
glass box and in the box a cake with "Eat me" marked on it
beautifully in currants. And so, finally, with the help of the cake,
and then with the help of a fan, of which you must read for
yourselves, Alice found her way into the garden; and after that she
had the most curious adventures.
Perhaps no one can explain the exact reason why we enjoy _Alice in
Wonderland_ so much. The story is so precisely what we should like
it to be, that we take it as it is, and hurry on through its pages in
a sort of breathless happiness, wanting to know only what comes next.
There is nothing puzzling or difficult in the story, no hidden
meanings, nothing to make one sad or discontented, only laughter and
curious, amusing incidents. It is a perfect story about the strange
adventures of a little girl, and most people find delight in it.
There is a sequel to the story of Alice, called _Through the
Looking-Glass_.
{99}
Lewis Carroll is the name you will find printed on the title pages of
these stories, but this is a pen name. The author's real name was
Dodgson. He did not like people to know that he wrote children's
books. Lewis Carroll seems to have been a quiet, shy man, a
mathematician who wrote difficult books for students, but he was
wonderfully fond of children and understood how to write stories that
they would like.
Most of the books spoken of in this chapter ought to be read aloud.
They are generally called children's stories, but without exception
they are also books that are loved and keenly enjoyed by older
people. You will not need to think of giving them up when you grow
older. They really belong to all ages. If you take the trouble to
learn how to read aloud well, perhaps you may be the first to read
_Alice in Wonderland_ to some small person, younger than you are. It
is great pleasure to introduce anyone to a really delightful book.
_The Golden Age_ and _The Wind in the Willows_ are two stories
written for boys and girls by Kenneth Grahame. The first story is
about Harold, Charlotte, Edward, Selina, and the boy who tells the
story. They lived with their uncles and aunts in a small town or
village. The children, perhaps, were rather lonely, but they made
games and adventures for themselves, and it is pleasant to read about
them. They had pets like many other children, and they made games
from the books they were reading, like _The Arabian Nights_, and the
_Story of Ulysses_, and _King Arthur and his Round Table_. _The
Golden Age_ is an English story. It is one of the books {100} that
will tell you accurately and delightfully of the lives of boys and
girls who live in the country in England, in the same way that _Tom
Sawyer_ and _Huckleberry Finn_ tell us about boys in the United
States. But, of course, we know that all boys in the States do not
live as Tom and Huckleberry did. Girls and boys in England live in
different ways also. It depends a good deal on the part of the
country the author is writing about and on the circumstances of the
families to which the boys and girls belong. Miss L. M. Montgomery's
stories of Prince Edward Island in the same way tell a good deal
about the lives of boys and girls in Canada.
_The Wind in the Willows_ is a wise, delightful and amusing story
about animals,--a mole, a rabbit, a water rat, a badger, an otter, a
toad, hedgehogs, field mice, stoats and weasels. We hear a good deal
about birds too, especially swallows. Toad, Badger, Mole and Water
Rat were great friends, and we are as much interested in their doings
as if they were friends of ours as well.
Books have many curious and strange characteristics. Some books, as
we have learned, live for thousands of years. Homer's songs and the
books of the Bible were kept at first, not in print, but in various
other ways. But, now-a-days, hundreds of books are printed every
year which in a little while are forgotten and no one reads them
again. It is deeply interesting to ponder over what makes a book
live. We think we can recognize sometimes which of the new books
will continue to be read, and which, although they may be pleasant
enough to read once, are not likely to {101} be known for more than a
few years. The truth is that no one can foretell accurately how long
a book will last, or which books will last longest. For instance, it
is not likely that when Lewis Carrol wrote _Alice in Wonderland_ he
had any idea that the story would make him famous when his other
books were forgotten. Only one thing can test this lasting quality
in a book; that one thing is time. So you can think of time, if you
like, as a great umpire deciding which books will keep on living, and
which will be forgotten.
There are four little books that have been written in the last few
years which may last a long while, although, of course, no one can be
sure about this until time decides. These four little books are
_When We were Very Young_, _Winnie the Pooh_, _Now We Are Six_, and
_The House at Pooh Corner_, two books in poetry and two in prose, by
A. A. Milne. They tell about Christopher Robin and his toys. These
are very delightful books to read aloud to little people. But they
belong also to people of all ages.
An American writer, called Washington Irving, who was born as long
ago as 1783, in New York, once wrote a story called _Rip Van Winkle_,
which is not exactly a fairy story, or a story of magic; and yet it
has a great deal of magic in it. The tale is about a man who was
what is called a ne'er-do-well. He liked to hunt and shoot, but not
to work. One day, he went off into the mountains with his dog Wolf.
He heard sounds like thunder, and he met an odd, square-built old
fellow who asked him by signs to help him carry a keg up the
mountain. Then they came on a group of {102} men, all dressed in a
by-gone fashion, who were playing bowls. None of these men spoke to
Rip Van Winkle, who helped himself several times from the keg, and by
and by fell asleep. When he awoke, he found his way back to the
mountain village where his home was, and discovered that he had been
asleep twenty years. _Rip Van Winkle_ is one of the very few tales
of magic which has been written of any part of the North American
continent. Most of the stories of this character of which we have
been speaking belong to older countries.
{103}
CHAPTER XVI
THE JUNGLE BOOKS--JUST SO STORIES--PUCK OF
POOK'S HILL--REWARDS AND FAIRIES--THE
BLUE BIRD--PETER PAN--KILMENY
_The Jungle Book_ by Rudyard Kipling was first published as a book in
1894. Some of the stories had appeared in the magazine _St.
Nicholas_ before that date. _The Second Jungle Book_ was published
in 1895. Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. It gives one a
wonderful, very delightful thrill to take up a book by a new writer,
whose name one has never heard before, and after reading a little
while, to find oneself convinced that this unknown author has
unmistakable genius. Some day you will likely have the pleasure of
discovering for yourselves a writer of, perhaps, the first rank. The
grand-fathers and grand-mothers or perhaps the fathers and mothers of
boys and girls to-day experienced this thrill when they read for the
first time one of Kipling's short stories of India.
Rudyard Kipling had been writing nearly ten years, and was a
well-known author, before he published _The Jungle Books_, which are
his first books for young people. Like some other books for boys and
girls, older people are fascinated by them also. Kipling's father,
John Lockwood Kipling, was an Englishman in the Indian Civil Service.
His mother was the daughter of a {104} Wesleyan minister, whose sons
and daughters all have showed distinguished ability. Kipling lived
in India when he was a child. While he was still a small boy, he was
sent home to school in England. But from his child's recollections
of India have come pictures of Indian life, and an understanding and
interpretation of the people of that widely-spreading, mysterious
country with its swarming population, its plains, mountains, and deep
jungles where lions, tigers and many other animals live, which are
unparalleled elsewhere in English literature.
Carried safely and swiftly by the magic of Kipling's stories, we may
all visit the Indian jungle, hear Shere Khan, the tiger, roar, stand
with the Lone Wolf on the Council Rock, learn to know Bagheera, the
Black Panther, Baloo, the bear, Hathi, the elephant and many more of
the jungle people, as well as Father Wolf, Mother Wolf, and the Pack.
The Man cub, the boy Mowgli, is the pattern and epitome of what every
boy likes to be, brave, resourceful, loyal, quick to see and hold
advantage, staunch in friendship, fond of play, longing to do great
deeds, and now and then showing that he is capable. The stories of
Mowgli are collected in _The Jungle Book_. In _The Second Jungle
Book_ are such stories as Rikki-tikki-tavi, the Mongoose; the White
Seal; Toomai of the Elephants; and Her Majesty's Servants, which is a
tale of the animals of a military camp. None of us to-day can
imagine how any writer could possibly create finer stories of animals
than Kipling has written in _The Jungle Books_.
{105}
It is not easy to try to tell how charming and wise are the _Just So
Stories_, told in Kipling's book for little people known by that
name. Much of the tenderness that fathers and mothers feel for the
very youngest, and that you feel for your small brothers and sisters,
if you have brothers and sisters younger than you are, shines in
these stories. Here, too, you will find laughter, very sweet and
merry, and much wise understanding, not only of animals and children,
but of the great world and its history. Some of the more noted of
the tales in _Just So Stories_ are: How the Camel Got His Hump; How
the Rhinoceros Got His Skin; The Elephant's Child; The Sing-Song of
Old Man Kangaroo; The Beginning of the Armadillos; and The Cat that
Walked by Himself. There are six more stories that perhaps are as
wonderful as those which have been named. _Just So Stories_ was
published in 1902.
Kipling has written as well two books of stories which reveal to
young people in a remarkable way the course and glory of English
history. These books could have been written only for one reason, to
help and delight Kipling's own children. The books are called _Puck
of Pook's Hill_ and _Rewards and Fairies_. Una and Dan are the names
of the children who have the adventures told of in these books, and
who see far, far back into the past of England. With Pict, Roman,
Dane, Saxon, Norman, soldiers, peasants, Jews, priests, Crusaders,
squires, dames, knights, down to the time of the great sea captains
and Sir Francis Drake, this famous writer unfolds the pageant of
English history in an incomparable way for {106} boys and girls
belonging to the twentieth century. _Puck of Pook's Hill_ appeared
first in 1906; and _Rewards and Fairies_ in 1909.
Not many years ago Maurice Maeterlinck, a Belgian poet, wrote for
every one, old and young, a fairy play called _The Blue Bird_. You
may sometimes see the play acted in a theatre, or you may read the
scenes and acts of the play in a book. First of all, in the book,
come the names of all the characters, and then a description of the
costumes in which they are dressed. Tyltyl and Mytyl, a brother and
sister, for the sake of a neighbour's child, go away from home into
strange, marvellous places, looking for the blue bird, Happiness.
Tyltyl wears scarlet knickerbockers, pale-blue jacket, white
stockings, tan shoes, which is the way Hop o' My Thumb is dressed.
Mytyl is dressed like Little Red Riding-hood. _The Blue Bird_ is a
fairy story, a wonderful story, and true, as we say, spiritually.
The brother and sister, when they are at home, live in a
wood-cutter's cottage. On their travels, they visit the Land of
Memory, the Palace of Night, a great forest, the Palace of Happiness,
a graveyard, and the Kingdom of the Future. Tylo, the dog, and
Tylette, the cat, are two of the most important characters; and in
the play, you will meet people called Bread, Sugar, Fire, Water,
Milk, and many more familiar to you in everyday life, but not in the
same shape. _The Blue Bird_ is a wonderful fairy play. When you
read it, you will discover whether or not Tyltyl and Mytyl find the
bluebird, Happiness.
{107}
Everyone is likely to have heard of Peter Pan, the boy who would not
grow up. You may have seen the play, _Peter Pan_, acted on a stage,
or you may have read the story in a book. Barrie, who wrote the
play, was born in a village in Scotland, called Kirriemuir, in the
year 1860. He is a novelist as well as a playwright. His full name
is James Matthew Barrie, and because his novels and plays are so
pleasing, and whimsical, very many people have a special feeling of
love and kindness for Barrie.
_Peter Pan_ is a delightful play; and the story _Peter Pan_ is almost
as enjoyable. The three Darling children, Wendy, John and Michael,
are taught by Peter Pan how to fly, and they fly away with him to the
Never-Never Land. Here are the lost boys, Slightly, Tootles, Nibs
and Curly, and the crocodile, Captain Hook and his pirates, mermaids,
redskins, and Tinker Bell, the fairy who is devoted to Peter Pan. In
the end, the Darling children return to their father and mother.
Peter Pan chooses to stay in the Never-Never Land; but once a year,
at the time of spring cleaning, Wendy goes back to keep house for him
for a little while.
So we learn that fairy stories, very wonderful fairy stories, are
still being written to-day as they were long years ago when the world
was younger. Beauty, fantasy, and magic belong to us all. The love
of these things calls us, as it were, with a very sweet voice, and
when we hear that call--often from a book--we recognize it as the
spirit of the fairy story. Sometimes the spirit of a fairy tale is
caught perfectly and beautifully in {108} a poem. You will find such
a poem in the collection known as _The Oxford Book of English Verse_.
The name of the poem is "Kilmeny", and the name of the man who wrote
it is James Hogg, or, as he is often called, The Ettrick Shepherd.
He was a friend of Sir Walter Scott. "Kilmeny" has the same magic
that Barrie's plays show so remarkably.
Late, late in gloamin' when all was still,
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane,
The reek o' the cot hung over the plain,
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;
When the ingle low'd wi' an eiry leme,
Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!
You may not know what some of these words mean. Gloaming is
twilight; westlin is western; reek is smoke; its lane means all by
itself; ingle is the open fire-place; low'd is flamed; eiry leme is
eery gleam.
{109}
PART IV
BALLADS, LAYS AND STORIES IN VERSE
{111}
CHAPTER XVII
PERCY'S RELIQUES--CHEVY CHASE AND THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE--SIR
PATRICK SPENS--THE NORTHERN MUSE
A ballad is a simple tale told in simple verse. These tales in verse
may be very old, or they may have been composed only a few years ago.
But, generally speaking, the old ballads are best. The world seems
to have lost the art of telling stories in verse as simply and
naturally as people could many hundreds of years ago.
The old ballads are like old fairy tales; no one knows when they were
first told or sung. It seems likely that they were made, not by
great people or distinguished scholars, but by simple, ordinary
people, to be sung or told to other simple, ordinary people. You
will remember that fables in the same way were likely told first by
one neighbour to another. Ballads and fairy tales and fables, long
before books or newspapers were printed, were ways in which everyday
people handed down from fathers and mothers to sons and daughters,
chronicles and history, learning and good advice, wise sayings, and
notable happenings.
After a long time, very many years, people who enjoyed these ballads,
as soon as they knew how to write, began to write them down.
Apparently, {112} no one thought much about the songs for a while.
Then scholars who were fond of ancient songs looked for and treasured
the old ballads. One of the first and most famous collectors of
ballads was Bishop Percy who published his _Reliques of Ancient
English Poetry_ in 1765. Sir Walter Scott's _Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border_ was published in 1802. Bishop Percy reproduced, as
part of his collection, an old manuscript of ballads which he had
rescued from being used by a maid to light a fire.
Ballads belong to many countries, and oddly enough, the same stories
are sometimes sung in different words in many of these countries. In
English poetry, a number of the finest ballads come from the borders
between England and Scotland before these two countries were joined.
"Chevy Chase" and "The Battle of Otterbourne" were sung of raids and
wars between the English and the Scots. Other countries famous for
their ballads are Greece, France, Provence, Portugal, Denmark and
Italy.
The ballads called "Chevy Chase" and "The Battle of Otterbourne"
perhaps have become confused one with the other. Part of "Chevy
Chase" seems to have found its way into "The Battle of Otterbourne".
There are many different versions of these ballads. The versions
written by English balladists tell how the English defeated the
Scots; on the other hand, the Scots versions say that the Scots were
victors.
Here is part of "The Battle of Otterbourne", taken from Scott's
_Minstrelsy_.
{113}
It fell upon the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey.
And he marched up to Newcastle,
And rode it round about;
"O wha's the lord of this castle,
Or wha's the lady o't?"
But up spoke proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spake hie!
"I am the Lord of this castle,
My wife's the lady gay."
Lord Percy and the Douglas agreed to fight with their men at
Otterbourne in three days. Percy wounded the Douglas to his death
and the Douglas sent for his nephew Sir Hugh Montgomery.
"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the braken bush,
That grows on yonder lily lea.
"O bury me by the braken bush,
Beneath the blooming brier,
Let never living mortal ken
That a kindly Scot lies here."
Later in the battle, Sir Hugh Montgomery and Lord Percy fought, and
Sir Hugh was the victor. He said to Lord Percy to yield, who
answered to whom must he yield!
"Thou shalt not yield to lord or loun,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken bush,
That grows upon yon lily lea!"
{114}
"I will not yield to a braken bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he were here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He struck his sword's point in the ground;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the hand.
This deed was done at Otterbourne
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,
And the Percy led captive away.
Little is known from history of the story told in "Sir Patrick
Spens". It was first published by Bishop Percy in his _Reliques_.
Princess Margaret of Scotland was married to Prince Eric of Norway in
1281. The ballad of "Sir Patrick Spens" may possibly have some
reference to this historical event, but no one can say so with
certainty. We learn from the ballad that Sir Patrick Spens was a
splendid seaman, and that the Scots king gave him a commission to
sail to Norway and bring home the king's daughter. But it was late
in the year. The waters would be stormy; and Sir Patrick knew that
he and his men would be in peril of their lives. They sailed to
Norway, which is called Noroway in the ballad, and had been there a
week only when the lords of Noroway began to complain that the Scots
were costly guests. Sir Patrick answered that they had brought white
money and good red gold, more than enough to pay for all they cost,
but that he would sail immediately. His sailors told him that they
had seen signs of a storm.
{115}
"I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm."
They hadna mailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm,
And the waves came o'er the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.
Sir Patrick must have been steering the ship himself, for he asked
for a volunteer to take the helm while he went up to the tall
topmast, to see if he could spy land. A sailor took the helm, but
Sir Patrick had only gone a step when a bolt flew out of the good
ship and the salt water came in. They tried to stop the leak but
failed, and Sir Patrick and his men were lost.
O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.
And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their goud kames in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,
'Tis fifty fathoms deep
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
{116}
"Sir Patrick Spens" is a wonderful old ballad. Most of the words,
old as they are, you will understand. In the second verse quoted,
lift means sky; a gurly sea is a stormy sea. Goud kames in the verse
before the last means gold combs.
Mr. John Buchan a few years ago made a collection of Scottish poetry
called _The Northern Muse_. In it, you may read a number of famous
ballads. There are also many delightful old songs which tell of the
lives of ordinary folk, or people, in their everyday work. Turn
specially to number sixty-six, which is the famous, beautiful old
song of a woman, a good wife, who is getting ready for the homecoming
of her husband; it is called "There's nae Luck about the House".
Number sixty-eight is a song of fishing people. These are not
exactly ballads, but they are written, as we say, almost in the same
mood as a ballad. An amusing song about a clever small boy is number
one hundred and eighty; it is a ballad, and is called "The False
Knight Upon the Road". In days long ago people believed in witches
and wizards.
The false knight is supposed to be a wizard. If the small boy had
not been quick enough to give him an answer to every question, the
wizard, people thought then, might carry him away. Now listen to the
small boy.
"O whare are ye gaun?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
"I'm gaun to the scule,"
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
"What is that upon your back?"
Quo' the fause knicht upon the road:
{117}
"Atweel it is my bukes,"
Quo' the wee boy, and still he stude.
And so on to the end of the story. Scule, of course, is school, and
bukes are books. Stude is stood.
{118}
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LADY OF THE LAKE--MARMION--JOHN GILPIN--EDINBURGH AFTER
FLODDEN--HORATIUS--THE ARMADA
In times of war, as you know, people sometimes have to go into
hiding. Long ago, a nobleman, Earl Douglas, who lived during the
reign of King James V of Scotland, had offended the King, or rather
some words he was falsely reported to have uttered had been told the
King, and he was in danger of imprisonment. Earl Douglas took refuge
in the Highlands of Scotland with his kinsman, Sir Roderick Dhu, the
head or chief of the clan Alpine, who was unwilling to acknowledge
that he owed allegiance to anyone. Ellen Douglas, a very beautiful
young woman, shared her father's exile. As it happened, King James
went on a hunting expedition as a knight, not a king, in the same
part of his kingdom. There he met Ellen, who had never seen the King
and did not know who he was. The King called himself James
Fitz-James. Roderick Dhu, who is in love with Ellen, plans a rising
of his clan. Fitz-James is brave. He is in peril, but he wishes to
extricate himself without calling on his soldiers. The story is told
by Sir Walter Scott in a poem called _The Lady of the Lake_. You
will find this romance in verse easy to read and very interesting.
{119}
The scene is laid in the West Highlands of Perthshire. Much of what
happens takes place in the neighbourhood of a beautiful lake, Loch
Katrine. Scott, you will remember, is a master in the description of
romantic scenery. After a short introduction, the story begins with
an account of stag-hunting. James Fitz-James and a few of his men
are the hunters.
The stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade;
But, when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from farther distance borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
The tale is made to unroll itself like a picture before our eyes.
The scenes are wonderfully picturesque, and the story is exciting.
What happens to Ellen, Roderick Dhu, young Malcolm Graeme who also is
in love with Ellen and whom she loves, and to Fitz-James, you must
discover for yourself by reading _The Lady of the Lake_.
But before leaving the poem, let us quote part of the stanza which
tells how in answer to Fitz-James's wish, Roderick Dhu gives the
signal which calls his men from hiding in the glen where he and
Fitz-James are to take leave of each other.
"Have then thy wish!"--he whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
{120}
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles gray their lances start,
The bracken-bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrisoned the glen
At once with full five hundred men.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood and still;
. . . . . . . . . . .
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,
Then fixed his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James--"How say'st thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,--I am Roderick Dhu!"
_Marmion_ is one of the most romantic and moving of Scott's
narratives. Lord Marmion is a fictitious character. Scott wished to
tell the story of Flodden Field, a battle fought between the English
and the Scotch in 1513 in which the English were victorious. It was
a most disastrous battle for the Scots, who lost their King and the
flower of their nobility. Lord Marmion, who was an Englishman, and
many among the English, were also slain. The poem opens with a vivid
description of life in England and Scotland in the Middle Ages. We
visit a feudal castle in England, Norham Castle, where Sir Hugh Heron
welcomes Lord Marmion. A Palmer returning {121} from the Holy Land
has also come to Norham Castle.
His sable cowl o'erhung his face;
In his black mantle was he clad,
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,
On his broad shoulders wrought,
The scallop shell, his cap did deck;
The crucifix around his neck
Was from Loretto brought;
His sandals were with travel tore;
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore;
The faded palm branch in his hand
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land.
We visit as well, by the magic of Scott's verses, a convent, a
monastery and an inn, and learn many things of the way in which
people lived in the Middle Ages. It is in _Marmion_ that we find one
of Sir Walter Scott's famous songs, "Lochinvar", which is introduced
in the fifth canto. But the most memorable part of _Marmion_ is the
description of the battle of Flodden with which the poem concludes.
The sixth canto tells the story of the battle. Turn to the
thirty-fourth stanza of that canto, and you may read how the Scots
tried to save their king. These lines are judged to be among the
noblest that Sir Walter Scott ever wrote. Other tales in verse by
Scott are _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, _Rokeby_, and _The Lord of
the Isles_.
Four stories by other writers of verse, which you will like, and in
which you will find humour or heroic valour, are told somewhat in the
fashion of ballads or lays; we listen to them with special {122}
enjoyment when they are spoken by a skilled reciter.
The first of these is "The Diverting History of John Gilpin", showing
how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again. It
was written by the English poet Cowper who, although he was often sad
himself, in this story has left as wholesome and carefree humour as
anyone may wish to discover in a story. John Gilpin was a London
citizen of long ago. His wife said that, although they had been
married twenty years, they had never had a holiday. She proposed
that they should take her sister, and her sister's child, and their
own three children, and drive to an inn at Edmonton not far away.
But, since the carriage would be crowded, John Gilpin was to come on
horseback. John was delayed, first by one thing, then another, but
finally got started. Then his horse wanted to trot, and John was not
a good rider. Besides that, he had two stone bottles of wine, one
tied to each side of his leathern belt. The horse ran away with
John. He lost his wig. The stone bottles were broken. The horse
raced past the inn at Edmonton where his wife and children were
waiting, and galloped on to its owner's house at Ware which was ten
miles further. The friend who had lent Gilpin the horse asked what
it was all about. John, who was a plucky, good-humoured fellow, and
loved a joke, answered him.
I came because your horse would come,
And, if I well forebode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.
{123}
His friend started him back to Edmonton, but even yet John had
adventures. There was to be no family dinner at Edmonton that day.
Yet John Gilpin at last got safe home as you may read in Cowper's
story.
"Edinburgh After Flodden", by a writer called Aytoun, is the story of
how the people of Edinburgh first heard the news of the great defeat.
Most people, certainly most boys and girls, must thrill as they read
the opening stanza.
News of battle!--news of battle!
Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:
And the archways and the pavement
Bear the clang of hurrying feet.
News of battle! who hath brought it?
News of triumph? Who should bring
Tidings from our noble army,
Greetings from our gallant King?
These lines are part only of the first stanza. They are taken from
the book known as Aytoun's _Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers_.
Lord Macaulay, who was a distinguished historian, wrote a famous
_History of England_. He wrote also a number of lays, or stories in
verse. Some of the best-known are about the deeds of the Romans,
that remarkable people who gave the world much that is great in law
and government. You likely will have heard of the story of Horatius,
who, with two others, held the bridge over the Tiber, and saved Rome
when Lars Porsena came with an army to take the city. It is a famous
story. Read it, in Macaulay's _Lays of Ancient Rome_. The last poem
in this same {124} book of lays is called "The Armada". It also
tells a thrilling tale. What a pity it would be if any mischievous
sprite were to take away and hide the books in which are the stories
written of in this chapter!
{125}
CHAPTER XIX
HIAWATHA--FRENCH CHANSONS IN QUEBEC--A CHRISTMAS SONG
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Portland, which is in the
state of Maine, in the year 1807. His father and mother both
belonged to families that had been settled in the States for a number
of generations. He was of a scholarly disposition, and studied and
travelled to fit himself for writing and teaching. He became Smith
Professor of Modern Languages at Harvard when he was twenty-seven
years old. From that time, he was closely associated with the town
of Cambridge, near Boston, in Massachusetts. Harvard University is
situated in Cambridge. You may still visit the house where
Longfellow lived. In a pleasant small park near the house, there is
a statue of the poet. He was fond of children, and loved to have
them near him.
_The Song of Hiawatha_ was written specially for the delight of young
people. It is a story in verse, telling of a leader among North
American Indians, one of themselves, who was to rescue and help his
people, aiding them to clear their fishing grounds, to find food, and
to live more comfortably and peaceably than in the past.
Hiawatha and his people in Longfellow's story are supposed to live on
the south shore of Lake {126} Superior, the largest of the Great
Lakes. The scene of the story is between the Pictured Rocks and the
Grand Sable.
The poem begins by telling of a sweet singer among the Indians. The
singer first sings of the Master of Life; this is a translation of
the name which to the Indians means God, Gitche Manito, the Great
Spirit. After that, he sings of the four winds, North-wind,
South-wind, East-wind, West-wind. Then we come to Hiawatha's
childhood. He lived with his grandmother, old Nokomis. His mother
was Wenonah, but she died when Hiawatha was born.
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
Here Hiawatha was brought up. He saw the fire-flies, and heard the
owls, and he learned to know the name and language of all birds and
beasts. When he was old enough, Iagoo, who was a friend of Nokomis,
made him a bow and arrows, and told him to bring home a roebuck so
that they all might have food. After this, Hiawatha meets his
father, Mudjekeewis, the West-wind, who had gone away and left his
mother. Indian stories, like Greek stories, tell of the immortals
coming down to earth. Hiawatha had a great struggle or contest with
Mudjekeewis, who had {127} deserted Wenonah, and Hiawatha, now a
young man, was such a mighty warrior that Mudjekeewis could scarcely
withstand him. At last he said to Hiawatha,
"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!
'Tis impossible to kill me,
For you cannot kill the immortal.
I have put you to this trial,
But to know and prove your courage;
Now receive the prize of valour!
"Go back to your home and people,
Live among them, toil among them,
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,
Slay all monsters and magicians,
All the giants, the Wendigoes,
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks,
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains."
On his way home, Hiawatha was buying arrow-heads from the
arrow-maker, and there he met and fell in love with Minnehaha. Later
in the story, you will read of Hiawatha's wooing and of the
wedding-feast. But before his wedding, Hiawatha completes his first
great service for his people. He discovers the secret of a food,
Indian corn or maize, a new gift to the Indian nations which was to
be their food for ever.
One of the most attractive of the Hiawatha stories tells how he built
his canoe.
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
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Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float upon the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily!"
After this, we read in the story of how Hiawatha slew Pearl-Feather,
the greatest of magicians, of many other deeds of Hiawatha, and of
his joys and sorrows. Finally, the white man comes. Then Hiawatha
is ready for his departure; and his people greatly lament his going.
Thus departed Hiawatha,
Hiawatha the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom of Ponemah
To the land of the Hereafter!
_Hiawatha_, and other stories in verse, travel round the world in
books, and boys and girls read them in every country. But old
ballads, the simple songs sung among the peoples of different
countries, so old that no one knows how old they are, which we read
about in Chapter seventeen, have their own ways of travelling. Some
of these ballads crossed the sea when the first settlers came, and in
parts of the North American continent to-day, the old words and the
old airs are sung by descendants of the people who first brought them
across the ocean. Two of the places where these ballads are still
sung are in North Carolina, and in Nova Scotia where sailors and
lumberjacks sing many shanties or songs.
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The most beautiful old songs, however, on this continent are the
French chansons of Quebec which were brought over from France when
the French first came to Canada. Now French settlement in Canada
ceased early in the eighteenth century, so these songs must at least
be as old as the seventeenth century. They are probably considerably
more than three hundred years old. Various collections of the
_chansons_ have been published. Many of them are happy and romantic
songs. One of the most beautiful is a Christmas song.
Here is the story of the song told very briefly. Then you will find
the song printed in its own French words. If you do not know French
well, still you should try to make out the meaning of the words. No
translation can give the meaning, or the perfume, as we sometimes
say, of the beautiful old song exactly.
The singer meets a shepherd-maid and asks where she has been. She
answers that when she was out walking she had come by the stable, and
had seen a miracle. What did you see? asks the singer. She had seen
a baby lying cradled on the straw. Was he beautiful! As beautiful
as the sun. Had she seen nothing more? Mary, his mother, who nursed
her child, and Joseph, his father, trembling with the cold. Nothing
more? The ox and the ass were near the stall, warming with their
breath the place where the baby lay. Nothing more? Three little
angels coming down from heaven singing the praises of the Father
Eternal.
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D'ou viens-tu, bergère,
D'ou viens-tu?
'Je viens de l'étable
De m'y promener;
J' ai vu un miracle
Ce soir arrivé.
Qu' as-tu vu, bergère,
Qu' as-tu vu?
'J'ai vu dans la crèche
Un petit enfant
Sur la paille frâiche
Mis bien tendrement.'
Est-il beau, bergère,
Est-il beau?
This beau que la lune,
Aussi le soleil;
Jamais dans le monde
On vit son pareil.'
Rien de plus, bergère,
Rien de plus?
'Saint' Marie, sa mere,
Qui lui fait boir' du lait,
Saint Joseph, son père,
Qui tremble de froid.'
Rien de plus, bergère,
Rien de plus?
'Ya le bœuf et l'âne
Qui sont par devant,
Avec leur haleine
Réchauffant l'enfant.'
Rien de plus, bergère,
Rien de plus?
'Ya trois petits anges
Descendus du ciel
Chantant les louanges
Du Père éternal.'
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PART V
SOME GREAT IMAGINATIVE WRITERS
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CHAPTER XX
DANTE--CERVANTES--SPENSER
Dante, an Italian poet, was born in Florence, in 1265, a long time
ago, and lived in what we call the Middle Ages. Italy then was
divided into factions who fought with each other most of the time,
and people had very uneasy, uncomfortable lives. Once, when Dante
was a boy, he saw a girl whose name was Beatrice Portinari. We do
not know how often he saw her; possibly even, they scarcely spoke to
one another. But he never forgot Beatrice. He studied at more than
one university, and had also much to do with fighting. While she was
still very young, Beatrice died. She remained always to Dante the
loveliest and most lovable person he had ever seen. Dante, however,
married and had sons and daughters.
When he was little more than thirty years old, Dante was exiled from
Florence, and never returned to his home, but led the life of a
wanderer. He had written other poems; in his exile he wrote a very
great poem called _The Divine Comedy_, or, in Italian, _Divina
Commedia_. The idea of the poem is to give a picture in a vision of
the life that comes after this life; and in this way to tell us what
is truly important in our present life.
Dante divided his poem into three parts. He called the first part
Inferno, the second part {134} Purgatorio, and the third part
Paradiso, following the conceptions and beliefs of his own time. The
scenery he describes is in reality Italian scenery. In the poem, or
vision, he has two guides, the Latin poet Virgil, whose _Æneid_ is
one of the great poems of the world; and Beatrice, who shows him the
glories of Paradise. Dante thinks of Beatrice now as an angel in
heaven, who has grown strong and more lovely, and who teaches and
helps him in many ways.
Some day, perhaps, you will visit Italy, and if you have not read the
_Divine Comedy_ before that time, you likely will read the poem then
for it gives a true, wonderful picture of the mountainous country of
Italy. One of the best translations of Dante's great poem is by the
Rev. H. F. Cary. It is called _The Vision of Dante_. Here is how
Beatrice, his guide, first appeared to Dante when he met her in his
vision in the Purgatorio:
I have beheld, ere now, at break of day,
The eastern clime all roseate, and the sky
Oppos'd, one deep and beautiful serene,
And the sun's face so shaded, and with mists
Attempered at his rising, that the eye
Long while endur'd the sight: thus in a cloud
Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose,
And down, within and outside of the car
Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreath'd,
A virgin in my view appear'd, beneath
Green mantle, rob'd in hue of living flame:
And o'er my spirit, that in former days
Within her presence had abode so long,
No shudd'ring terror crept. Mine eyes no more
Had knowledge of her; yet there mov'd from her
A hidden virtue, at whose touch awak'd,
The power of ancient love was strong within me.
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It is possible, perhaps even it is certain, that the first time you
read these lines you will not care for them very much. After a
while, when you have read them several times, you likely will begin
to feel that the words express purity, elevation, and an ethereal
beauty which belong only to our highest thoughts and feelings. These
are qualities which are characteristic of Dante's writings.
There is one other quotation from the _Divine Comedy_ that you may
like to read before we leave Dante's poem. Paradiso, the third part,
naturally is the most beautiful. Dante imagines in his vision the
blessed spirits in Paradise, singing praises in a great choir. This
choir he sees arrayed in many circles, one circle surrounding another
circle, like the leaves of a rose. The lines quoted are from the
beginning of the thirty-first canto:
In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay then
Before my view the saintly multitude,
Which in his own blood Christ espous'd. Meanwhile
That other host, that soar aloft to gaze
And celebrate his glory, whom they love,
Hover'd around; and, like a troop of bees,
Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,
Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,
Flew downward to the mighty flow'r, or rose
From the redundant petals, streaming back
Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy.
Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;
The rest was whiter than the driven snow.
And as they flitted down into the flower,
From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,
Whisper'd the peace and ardour, which they won
From that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vast
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Interposition of such numerous flight
Cast, from above, upon the flower, or view
Obstructed aught. For, through the universe,
Wherever merited, celestial light
Glides freely, and no obstacle prevents.
No, these lines are not easy to read or to understand. But there is
a fascination in reading them, nevertheless. We are able to lay hold
of an idea, a picture, a scene, very bright and beautiful, full of
light and glory. When you read the lines again, perhaps in a few
months, you will find that the picture is clearer, and that the lines
will not seem so hard to understand. Most of us like to remember,
whether we have read the _Divine Comedy_ or not, that Dante was an
Italian poet who lived a long time ago, that he had seen and loved
Beatrice in his youth, and that later in his life Dante made a great
poem in which he tells of Beatrice, and of life on the other side of
death.
Some of you, no doubt, have played, when you felt like it, at being
knights errant. You have imagined that you were dressed in armour,
and that you were mounted on splendid steeds. Then, of course, as
knights errant, you had to carry out successfully some hard task or
accomplish some brave deed. Once upon a time, almost exactly in the
same years during which Shakespeare was living in England, a Spanish
writer called Cervantes wrote a book, _The Delightful History of the
Most Ingenious Knight Don Quixote of the Mancha_, which tells how a
man of fifty resolved that he would be a knight errant.
By this time, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, it had
gone out of fashion to wear armour {137} every day; and Don Quixote
had a good deal of trouble to find what he wanted. But he owned part
of a helmet, and he made out of pasteboard and strips of iron a
contrivance to take the place of the part that was missing. He had a
target, or shield, and a lance. Then he must have a steed. He had a
horse that was little more than skin and bone. He thought this horse
would do, and he called it Rozinante. He wanted a lady to love and
serve. There was a young woman who lived in a village not far away
whom he did not know very well, but he had to have someone to call
the lady of his thoughts, so he decided she would do, and he called
her Dulcinea, since he thought that would sound as if she were a
princess or great lady. Then after a while, he chose as his squire a
labourer who had no horse, but he had an ass, and his name was Sancho
Panza. Don Quixote promised Sancho that on their adventures, if he
captured an island, he would make Sancho the governor of it; and so
they set out on their journeys.
Don Quixote was a very odd man. He often mistook ordinary things for
wonderful marvels. He and Sancho had not gone far when they saw
thirty or forty windmills in a field. Don Quixote said, Behold, here
are thirty or forty monstrous giants. Sancho answered, no, that they
were windmills. But Don Quixote set his lance in rest and charged
one of the giants or windmills. He struck the windmill. Its arms
flew round, and gave Don Quixote and Rozinante a very bad fall.
Another day he said to Sancho that he saw a knight coming to meet
them, riding a dapple-grey {138} horse, and wearing a helmet of gold
on his head. Sancho thought that he saw a man riding a grey ass with
something on his head that shone in the sunlight. The man proved to
be the village barber, carrying his barber's basin on his head, and
riding a grey ass as Sancho had said. But Don Quixote was certain
that he was a knight, and the basin really a magic helmet. So Don
Quixote and Rozinante charged at the barber, but he jumped off his
ass and ran away.
Many other adventures of this kind befell Don Quixote and Sancho. If
they came to an inn, Don Quixote thought it was a castle. Any men
they met on the road were knights, or robbers, or under enchantment,
and Don Quixote wanted either to fight them or to rescue them. In
the beginning of the story, Sancho thought his master was only a very
silly person. But as time went by, Sancho saw that he was kind,
good, unselfish and brave, although he made so many mistakes, and
Sancho came to love his master dearly.
Finally, near the end of the story, Don Quixote thought he saw a lady
in distress and meant to rescue her. But the lady was only an image
that some men were carrying from one place to another. They laughed
at Don Quixote and then they beat him until he was almost dead.
Sancho was distracted with grief and made a great lamentation over
his master, praising him for all his virtues. Here is part of what
Sancho said of Don Quixote:
"O humbler of the proud, and stately to the humbled, undertaker of
perils, endurer of affronts, enamoured without cause, imitator of
good men, {139} whip of the evil, enemy of the wicked, and, in
conclusion, knight-errant than which no greater thing may be said!"
After this, Don Quixote was so bruised and sick that he and Sancho
had to go home. And so ended Don Quixote's adventures.
Cervantes' novel was a success as soon as it was published. All the
world laughed at Don Quixote, but all the world loved him too. He
has never been forgotten, or Sancho either. A very great many people
carry about with them in their minds a picture of a tall, lean man,
in rusty armour, riding a very thin horse, and carrying a lance. A
short, fat man on an ass rides behind him. These are Don Quixote and
Sancho. Now we know something of what it means when people say this
man or that man has been "tilting at windmills".
An English poet, Edmund Spenser, who lived in Queen Elizabeth's time,
wrote a famous poem called _The Faery Queen_ which tells the story of
the Red Cross Knight. After a long period of wars and religious
troubles, Spenser was the first noted English poet, since the time of
Chaucer, to write exquisite verse. He was the forerunner of a
greater poet who, as you know, was Shakespeare. We will learn some
facts concerning Chaucer's history in another chapter.
People love to read Spenser's _Faery Queen_. The first line of the
poem seems to tell how melodious and sweet the whole poem is to be.
"A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine." Spenser was the first
to show the music, grace, and inexhaustible riches of the English
tongue.
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The Red Cross Knight had been given a hard task. He was to kill a
fierce dragon. In the first book of _The Faery Queen_, Canto XI, you
will find a description of this dragon. The Red Cross Knight was
sworn to defend Una, a beautiful maiden, but he was deceived by
enchantments, and Una was left to wander alone in woods and on
wastes. Here is Spenser's beautiful description of Una:--
Her angels face,
As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,
And made a sunshine in the shadie place;
When Una was wandering alone in a wood, a lion sprang at her out of a
thicket. But when the lion saw her, he kissed her feet and licked
her hands, and after that he was her defender.
The story ends happily. The dreadful dragon is slain by the Red
Cross Knight who finds Una again. But what we love most in _The
Faery Queen_ is not so much the story, as the sweet and lovely music
of Spenser's wonderful lines, such lines as you will find in Canto IX
of the first book, and also in Canto VIII of the second book. The
second stanza of Canto VIII, second book, tells of the angels
visiting the earth to care for us.
How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us, that succour want,
How oft do they with golden pineons cleave
The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant,
Against foule feendes to aide us militant:
They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward:
O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard?
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You will notice that the spelling of some of the words in the poem is
not the same as we use. They are the same words only spelled
differently. For Spenser lived nearly four hundred years ago.
Would you like to have the names and dates of some of those who are
counted among the greatest writers of the world? Then you may trace
for yourselves how the inspiration of genius is found from age to age
in different countries.
Homer wrote about nine hundred years before the birth of Christ.
Virgil, the Latin poet,--you remember that both Kipling and Macaulay
have told us something of the Romans, the great law-givers and
road-builders whose language was the Latin language,--lived and wrote
from 70 B.C. to 19 B.C. The following names and dates, you will
easily understand.
Dante, 1265-1321.
Cervantes, 1547-1616.
Shakespeare, 1564-1616.
Goethe, 1749-1832.
Johann Wolfgang Goethe was a German writer whose most famous works
are _Faust_ and _Wilhelm Meister_. He lived at almost the same time
as Scott. Several of the writers in the Bible belong to the same
rank as those named in this brief list.
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CHAPTER XXI
JOHN BUNYAN AND THE PILGRIM's PROGRESS
The story begins in this way.