And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect---
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal's in the market place,
And you'll be there anon,
To see your flag-bird flap its vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes.
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.
I. FACTS TO KNOW
This little poem is very different from the poems of Longfellow, which
we read a few pages back. It is very nervous and tense, and as you read
it, it seems jerky in movement, not smooth as the waters of the
Charles. Then again, sometimes words are omitted that make it a little
difficult to understand at first reading. Moreover, Browning uses words
in curious ways that Longfellow would not have thought about.
There are many interesting things to learn about this incident,
however, and after we have learned them, we appreciate the poem very
much better. First we need to know the following facts:
_Ratisbon_, or _Regensburg_, is a city in Bavaria, on the Danube River.
Napoleon Bonaparte, the great Emperor of the French, was much the man
the poem shows us.
_Prone brow_ means that Napoleon's brow was inclined forward, that his
head was drooping.
_Lannes_ was a famous French marshal, who showed remarkable powers of
leadership. Both his legs were shot away at the Battle of Aspern, and he
died a few days later at Vienna.
_Out-thrust full-galloping, flag-bird_, are compound words which
Browning has formed for his own use.
_Fancy_ in the fifth line means _can imagine_.
_Vans_ in the fourth stanza is an old word no longer in use. It means
_wings_.
The eagle has what is really a third eyelid, a thin translucent
membrane, which naturalists call the nictitating, or winking, membrane.
It may be drawn over the eye independently of the other lids. You may
have seen ducks, chickens or other birds drawing this milky film back
and forth over their eyes as they looked at you.
_Nor bridle drew_, and _his chief beside_, are phrases in which Browning
has used the words out of their natural order. Can you find other
similar expressions?
II. THE STORY
1. Incidents:
(a) Napoleon watches the storming of Ratisbon.
(b) He thinks it may be a failure.
(c) He sees a rider galloping from out the smoke of battle.
(d) The rider reaches Napoleon, leaps from his horse and clings to its
mane.
(e) The rider announces the fall of Ratisbon.
(f) Napoleon rejoices.
(g) He speaks to the boy of his wound.
(h) The boy answers and falls dead.
2. The whole story might be summed up as follows: _A wounded youth
brings to Napoleon news of the fall of Ratisbon, and expires at the
emperor's feet._
III. THE CHARACTERS
There are just two persons in this little tragedy, a boy and an
emperor. Let us see what they were like; the boy is of greater interest
than the emperor.
1. The Boy:
(a) From the way he rode his horse, we know he must have been strong
and athletic.
(b) He was gay and joyful, for he smiled as he dismounted from his
horse, and he smiled as he fell dead.
(c) That he was strong-willed, we know; for his tightly compressed lips
held back the blood, and he concealed his suffering.
(d) He was courageous: he put the flag in the market place, as we are
told in the fourth stanza.
(e) He was ambitious, we know; for it satisfied his heart's desire to
win Ratisbon.
(f) He was proud, else he would not have noticed that the emperor
called him wounded. Had it been a mere wound, he would never have
fallen.
2. At different places in the poem, we find that Napoleon was
_ambitious_, yet _anxious_ over the outcome of the battle; that he was
_thoughtful_ and _resourceful_; that while he _rejoiced_ in his victory,
he _sympathized_ with the wounded boy.
IV. THE STAGE
The poem is like a little drama or play in one scene. Place Napoleon in
his uniform on a little mound, and see him standing there with his head
thrust forward, looking at the storming of a city a mile or so away.
Things are indistinct in the background because the smoke of the battle
obscures the walls and towers of the city. However, Napoleon is not so
far away but that he hears the roar, and sees the denser clouds rise at
each new discharge of battery guns. From between the clouds comes the
single horse with its youthful rider galloping at full speed, without
an instant's pause, until the mound is reached. We see the young man
leap from his horse and grasp its mane to keep himself from falling,
but though his lips are compressed, we see his eyes smiling brightly as
he tells the emperor the great news.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
_By_ GHACE E. SELLON
One of the most daring of those who engaged in the sea-fights of the
American Revolution was Daniel Hawthorne, commander of a privateer, a
man whose courage and enterprise won for him the title of "Bold
Daniel." He came of one of the earliest American families, one that had
been established in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1637, and had contributed
not a little to the fame of that seaport, for his ancestors had been
leaders among those whose stern and narrow views of justice had led
them to persecute the Quakers and later to put to death innocent people
during the awful period of the Salem witchcraft. Yet the same hardihood
and fearless uprightness that had won esteem for Daniel Hawthorne had
distinguished the family from the very first, and was passed on to the
brave commander's descendants. His son Nathaniel, like the long line of
notable men who had gone before him, possessed a strict sense of right
and wrong, much courage and an especial fondness for the adventurous
life on the sea. Though he contributed nothing to the celebrity of his
forefathers, his son and namesake, the novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne,
born in Salem, on July 4, 1804, gained for the old New England family a
glory that will last.
It was in the home built by his father's father that Nathaniel was born
and that he spent the first four years of his life. Yet he was never
privileged to hear from the old captain's lips of the exciting sea-
skirmishes in which the "Fair America," under the command of "Bold
Daniel," had encountered and held her own against British vessels, for
his grandfather had died many years before. Nor did the young boy ever
know the pleasure of companionship with his father, who died in South
America in 1808. In a great measure, too, he was deprived of
association with his mother from the time when, following her husband's
death, she removed with her children to her father's home, in another
part of Salem. So deeply did she feel her loss that she shut herself
away from the world during the remainder of her lifetime, and kept such
strict privacy that she did not even take her meals with her family.
The children were naturally quiet and reserved, and with the example of
their mother's seclusion always before them, they took little part in
the life outside of their home. Nathaniel did not like school, and,
being under the care of relatives who allowed him much freedom, he
missed a considerable part of the early school training that most boys
receive. Yet his time was not wasted, for there were good books in his
home, and these he read of his own free will.
When he was about eight or nine years of age, his mother took her
children to live for a time upon property owned by her family on the
shore of Lake Sebago, in Maine. Then began a period of great delight
for the young boy and his sisters. As the land was mostly covered with
woods and the settlements were far apart, there were endless
opportunities for fishing and hunting and roaming about the woods or
spending long, uninterrupted hours with favorite authors. In the winter
Nathaniel passed much time in skating on Lake Sebago, feeling wholly
free and at home in the midst of the wild life of nature.
So far as the boy's wishes were concerned, these days in Maine might
have continued indefinitely; but his mother, feeling that he needed the
discipline of regular study, sent him back to Salem to be prepared by a
private teacher for entrance into Bowdoin College. The result of this
training was that when he was about eighteen he became a member of the
class at Bowdoin to which Longfellow and Horatio Bridge belonged, and
thus began a career at college in which he proved himself a somewhat
wayward student. The grind and drudgery of courses uninteresting to him
he shunned, yet he would not let himself fail in any work that he
undertook. Subjects that he liked he mastered readily.
Though he found no pleasure in breaking college rules, yet he made no
pretensions to being a model student. He played cards in his room when
he might have been studying, and would go off on a fishing trip when
the fancy took him, without much regard for unfinished lessons. He
looked forward with undisguised pleasure to his vacations spent at
home, and on one occasion was so overcome by his desire to bring his
studies to an end and leave Brunswick that, a short time before the
close of the term, he wrote to his sister Louisa demanding that she
invent an excuse for his return home. After stating five reasons for
thus quitting Bowdoin, he continued:
"If you are at a loss for an excuse, say that mother is out of health;
or that Uncle R. is going a journey on account of his health, and
wishes me to attend him; or that Elizabeth is on a visit at some
distant place, and wishes me to come and bring her home; or that George
Archer has just arrived from sea, and is to sail again immediately, and
wishes to see me before he goes; or that some of my relations are to
die or be married, and my presence is necessary on the occasion. And
lastly, if none of these excuses will suit you, and you can think of no
other, write and order me to come home without any. If you do not, I
shall certainly forge a letter, for I will be at home within a week.
Write the very day you receive this. If Elizabeth were at home, she
would be at no loss for a good excuse. If you will do what I tell you,
I shall be
Your affectionate brother,
NATH. HAWTHORNE.
"My want of decent clothes will prevent my calling at Mrs. Sutton's.
Write immediately, write immediately, write immediately.
"Haste, haste, post-haste, ride and run, until these shall be
delivered. You must and shall and will do as I desire. If you can think
of a true excuse, send it; if not, any other will answer the same
purpose. If I do not get a letter by Monday, or Tuesday at farthest, I
will leave Brunswick without liberty."
It is an interesting fact that this impetuous young student was
regarded as the finest-looking man at Bowdoin. He was not much less
than six feet tall, and was strong, supple and well proportioned. His
dark hair waved back from a handsomely formed face; and his deep blue
eyes, under their heavy brows, impressed one with their remarkable
brightness and expressiveness.
Though it may seem surprising, it is true that Nathaniel Hawthorne was
not at all conscious in his early youth of the great possibilities that
lay in him to become a writer, and that not until he had advanced in
his college course did he form the purpose of making literature a
profession. As early as sixteen years of age he had written verses that
had been published; yet he was far from believing that he had poetic
power. That he did not at this time take very seriously his ability as
a writer, may be judged from this passage in a letter to his mother
written in March, 1821:
"I am quite reconciled to going to college, since I am to spend the
vacations with you. Yet four years of the best part of my life is a
great deal to throw away. I have not yet concluded what profession I
shall have.
"The being a minister is of course out of the question. I should not
think that even you could desire me to choose so dull a way of life.
Oh, no, mother, I was not born to vegetate forever in one place, and to
live and die as calm and tranquil as--a puddle of water.
"As to lawyers, there are so many of them already that one half of them
(upon a moderate calculation) are in a state of actual starvation.
"A physician, then, seems to be 'Hobson's choice;' but yet I should not
like to live by the diseases and infirmities of my fellow-creatures.
And it would weigh very heavily on my conscience, in the course of my
practice, if I should chance to send any unlucky patient 'ad inferum,'
which being interpreted is, 'to the realms below.' Oh that I was rich
enough to live without a profession!
"What do you think of my becoming an author, and relying for support
upon my pen? Indeed, I think the illegibility of my handwriting is very
author-like. How proud you would feel to see my works praised by the
reviewers, as equal to the proudest productions of the scribbling sons
of John Bull. But authors are always poor devils, and therefore Satan
may take them. I am in the same predicament as the honest gentleman in
'Espriella's Letters,'--
'I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here,
A-musing in my mind what garment I shall wear.'"
However, by the time of his graduation from Bowdoin College he had laid
aside his jesting and doubt, and in the following period of remarkable
seclusion spent in his mother's home in Salem he gave himself to the
work of composition. Thirteen years he passed thus in a sort of ideal
world, so shut away from his neighbors that they scarcely knew of his
existence.
Hawthorne always felt that these years of seclusion were peculiarly
significant in his life, in that they enabled him to keep, as he said,
"the dews of his youth and the freshness of his heart." Still, he
realized that he had been much deceived in fancying that there, in his
solitary chamber, he could imagine all passions, all feelings and
states of the heart and mind.
Of all that was written in these years the author gave out for
publication only the romance _Fanshawe,_ which he regarded later
as a very inferior production, and the various stories published at
length in the collection known as _Twice Told Tales._ Fame came
very slowly. Though the worth of these writings was discovered by
people of good literary judgment, it was not of the kind to make them
widely popular. Sometimes the young author was so overcome by
discouragement that it would seem as if only the confidence in his
final success felt by his friends could save him from despair.
Relief from this situation came in a most wholesome way. In 1839 George
Bancroft secured for Hawthorne a position as weigher and gauger in the
Boston Customhouse, and thus his lonely life of brooding came to an
end. In discharging his duties he came into much-needed everyday
contact with practical men and affairs. This office he held for two
years until the Whigs won the presidential election and the Democrats
went out of power. Meanwhile he had written _Grandfather's Chair,_
a collection of children's stories concerning early New England
history.
Somewhat previous to the appointment to the office in the Customhouse
had taken place an event which was even more full of important meaning.
While he was living in Salem he had become acquainted with the Peabody
family and in their home had met the young woman who later became his
wife, and who brought into his life the powerful influence for good
that more than anything else developed the fine qualities of his nature
and drew forth his powers as a writer. He had preferred to live hidden
away from every one if he must give up the beauty and purity of the
thought-world for the harshness and ugliness of the actual world
without. But in his association with Sophia Peabody his faith in the
reality that lay back of his beautiful visions was so strengthened that
he felt a deep peace and joy never known to him before. The loveliness
of her character is shown in her letters, and it is not surprising that
Hawthorne should on one occasion write, in response to a letter from
her, "I never, till now, had a friend who could give me repose; all
have disturbed me, and, whether for pleasure or pain, it was still
disturbance. But peace overflows from your heart into mine. Then I feel
that there is a Now, and that Now must be always calm and happy, and
that sorrow and evil are but phantoms that seem to flit across it."
In the summer of 1842 Hawthorne and Miss Peabody were married and went
to live in the "Old Manse," in Concord. In the preceding year he had
unfortunately invested money in a settlement known as the Brook Farm,
where people of different classes of society were to live together on
an equality, all sharing alike the duties of the farm life, and all
contributing to the expenses of the common living. The experiment
proved a failure and Hawthorne withdrew disgusted. With this hope of
providing for himself and his wife destroyed, he found it necessary to
work industriously, and as a result a new series of stories for
children, the _Mosses from an Old Manse_, appeared in 1846.
In the same year he was made surveyor of the collection of revenue at
the Salem Customhouse. Then for a time he ceased to write, until his
discovery among some rubbish in the customhouse of an old manuscript
that gave him excellent material for a greater work of fiction than he
had ever before attempted, called him back to literary effort. The
actual composition of the book was not begun, however, until the day on
which Hawthorne lost his position as surveyor.
When he made known this unfortunate event to his wife, instead of
becoming depressed, she exclaimed joyfully, "Oh, then, you can write
your book!" and a little later, pulling open a drawer, showed him a
considerable sum of money that she had been saving all unknown to him.
Thus it became possible for him to devote himself to the work that
proved to be his masterpiece, _The Scarlet Letter,_ published in 1850.
The unusual excellence of the romance brought to the writer far-spread
praise and popularity, and he became at length recognized as a foremost
American man of letters.
The Hawthornes now went to live at Lenox, in the mountains of western
Massachusetts. In their delightful home in this place the novelist
produced a second great romance, _The House of the Seven Gables,_ and
then gave up four months to rest. This vacation was largely a playtime
spent with his two older children, Una and Julian, the younger daughter
Rose being then only a baby. He had worked so hard that he was ready for
plenty of fun, and this he and his two young playfellows found in
excursions for wild flowers or nuts, in bathing in the lake or sending
over its surface home-made toy sail-boats, in romping through the woods
or reading or story-telling. After this happy period it is not
surprising that Hawthorne should have written easily and with enjoyment
the _Wonder Book_ for children, a simple and entertaining series of
stories in which old legends are put into attractive new forms.
[Illustration: WAYSIDE, HAWTHORNE'S HOME AT CONCORD]
After the removal from Lenox in 1851, the family stayed for a short time
in West Newton, where _The Blithedale Romance_ was written, and then
settled at the Wayside, the second of the famous homes of Hawthorne in
Concord. Not long afterward were published the _Tanglewood Tales_, which
continue the _Wonder Book_ series; and a biography of his intimate
friend, Franklin Pierce. When in 1853 Pierce became president of the
United States, he appointed Hawthorne to be the consul at Liverpool,
England, and thus came to an end the quiet life at Concord.
The publicity into which Hawthorne's duties as consul brought him was
very disagreeable to one of his retiring disposition. He could feel at
ease only among those whose gentle and sensitive natures responded to
his own; hence attendance at formal dinners, speech making and other
social obligations that forced him often into the company of more or
less uncongenial people, seemed scarcely bearable to him. It was with
relief then, that he resigned the consulate in 1857 and went to live in
southern Europe. The greater part of his time until his return to
America in 1860 was passed in Italy, and near Florence was written the
last of his celebrated romances, _The Marble Faun_.
During the four remaining years of his life, spent at the Wayside, in
Concord, Hawthorne's strength gradually ebbed away. Nevertheless, he
was able to produce _Our Old Home,_ in which he described scenes from
English life, as well as _Septimus Felton_ and parts of two other
romances. In 1864, while traveling for his health through southern New
Hampshire with his friend Franklin Pierce, Hawthorne died in the quiet,
sudden way in which he had hoped that he should pass from earth. He was
buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, where a simple headstone marks his
grave.
As the cheerfulness and simple beauty of Hawthorne's stories for
children are as light among the gloom and sadness that overshadowed his
works for older people, so his love for children and his delight in
their companionship illumine his character and bring into view his rare
gentleness and purity of nature. In recalling the days when she was a
little girl, his daughter Rose has told us:
"My father's enjoyment of frolicking fun was as hilarious as that
accorded by some of us to wildest comic opera. He had a delicate way of
throwing himself into the scrimmage of laughter, and I do not for an
instant attempt to explain how he managed it. I can say that he lowered
his eyelids when he laughed hardest, and drew in his breath half a
dozen times with dulcet sounds and a murmur of mirth between. Before
and after this performance he would look at you straight from under his
black brows, and his eyes seemed dazzling. I think the hilarity was
revealed in them, although his cheeks rounded in ecstasy. I was a
little roguish child, but he was the youngest and merriest person in
the room when he was amused."
Though the suffering and wrong that he saw in the world deeply
perplexed and saddened him, yet he found so much of happier meaning in
life and expressed this with such marvelous power and grace that no one
to-day holds a worthier place in American literature. That no successor
can take this place nor imitate the subtle beauty of his style, we feel
to be true as we read the lines written by the poet Longfellow, just
after the death of Hawthorne:
"Now I look back, and meadow, manse and stream
Dimly my thought defines;
I only see--a dream within a dream--
The hill-top hearsed with pines.
"I only hear above his place of rest
Their tender undertone,
The infinite longings of a troubled breast,
The voice so like his own.
"There in seclusion and remote from men
The wizard hand lies cold,
Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen,
And left the tale half told.
"Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,
And the lost dew regain?
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower
Unfinished must remain!"
THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS
[Footnote: From _Grandfather's Chair._]
_By_ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Captain John Hull was the mint-master of Massachusetts, and coined all
the money that was made there. This was a new line of business, for in
the earlier days of the colony the current coinage consisted of gold
and silver money of England, Portugal, and Spain. These coins being
scarce, the people were often forced to barter their commodities
instead of selling them.
For instance, if a man wanted to buy a coat, he perhaps exchanged a
bear-skin for it. If he wished for a barrel of molasses, he might
purchase it with a pile of pine boards. Musket-bullets were used
instead of farthings. The Indians had a sort of money called wampum,
which was made of clam-shells, and this strange sort of specie was
likewise taken in payment of debts by the English settlers. Bank-bills
had never been heard of. There was not money enough of any kind, in
many parts of the country, to pay the salaries of the ministers, so
that they sometimes had to take quintals of fish, bushels of corn, or
cords of wood instead of silver or gold.