Magazine_, March, 1832: “We feel in Scott’s characters that it is not
romance, but real life which is represented. Every word that is said,
especially in the Scotch novels, is nature itself. Homer, Cervantes,
Shakspere, and Scott, alone have penetrated to the deep substratum of
character, which, however disguised by the varieties of climate and
government, is at bottom everywhere the same; and thence they have
found a responsive echo in every human heart. He has carried romance
out of the region of imagination and sensibility into the walks of
actual life. He has combined historical accuracy and romantic adventure
with the interest of tragic events; we live with the heroes, and
princes, and paladins of former times, as with our own contemporaries;
and acquire from the splendid coloring of his pencil such a vivid
conception of the manners and pomp of the feudal ages, that we confound
them, in our recollections, with the scenes which we ourselves have
witnessed. The splendor of their tournaments, the magnificence of
their dress, the glancing of their arms, their haughty manners, daring
courage, and knightly courtesy; the shock of their battle-steeds, the
splintering of their lances, the conflagration of their castles, are
brought before our eyes in such vivid colors, that we are at once
transported to the age of Richard and Saladin, of Charles the Bold and
Philip Augustus.”
The four novels, which deal with the history of the Crusades, are
“Count Robert of Paris,” “The Betrothed,” “The Talisman,” and
“Ivanhoe.” It is a singular fact that the one occupying the first
place in chronological order was written last, and hardly completed
by the author when he died. “Ivanhoe” is, without doubt, the great
favorite. I have often thought that “Ivanhoe” bears the same relation
to Scott’s novels that “The Merchant of Venice” does to the dramas of
Shakspere. “Old Mortality,” and “Hamlet,” may show deeper insight; but
neither Scott nor Shakspere ever surpassed the two I have associated in
dramatic interest. The three novels which precede “Ivanhoe” in point of
time will give us a complete knowledge of the times and manners of the
Crusades, and lead us, as it were, from one picture-gallery to another,
until we come to the master-piece of the great artist.
“Count Robert of Paris” opens with a description of the court of
Alexius Commenus—a wily monarch, who had ample need of all his strategy
in dealing with foes that menaced him from every side: the Franks
from the west, the Turks from the east, the Scythians from the north,
the Saracens from the south. The wealthy city on the Bosphorous,
enriched by the spoils of nations, whose golden gate symbolized the
wealth and magnificence of seven hundred years of prosperity, was on
the great highway of travel, where, so to speak, the “cross-roads”
of Europe met, and presented a tempting prize to the restless and
barbarous hordes from the shores of the Caspian to the German Ocean.
“The superb successor of the earth’s mistress,” decked in borrowed
splendor, gave early intimations of that speedy decay to which the
whole civilized world, then limited within the Roman Empire, was
internally and imperceptibly tending. Intrigue and corruption in the
palace had compelled the Greek sovereigns of Constantinople, for
many years, to procure foreign soldiers to quell insurrections and
defend any traitorous attempt on the imperial person. These were known
as Verangians—a word signifying barbarians—and formed a corps of
satellites more distinguished for valor than the famed Prætorian Bands
of Rome.
The second chapter of the book reveals the hatred and jealousy existing
between these foreign soldiers and the crafty civilians. The Verangian,
to whom the reader is introduced, is an Anglo-Saxon too proud to bow
his head to a Norman conqueror, a wanderer from his father-land,
a soldier in search of better fortune, soon to discover by lucky
chance among the crusaders the fair Bertha of his early love. Upon
this slender thread the novelist hangs the romantic elements of the
story. But Count Robert of Paris is in no sense a love drama; in fact
it can hardly be termed a romance. It is rather a historic sketch,
placing in sharp contrast the wild enthusiasm of western Europe, her
castles of rude masonry, her mud hovels, her rude simplicity, with
the over-refined manners and tapestried chambers of the eastern court
hastening to its decay. It is living Europe confronting the dead
centuries.
The third chapter introduces us to a richly furnished drawing room,
where the Princess Anna Commena—the first lady historian—sits reading
to a sleepy group her prolix history of the glory of her father’s
reign. At this gathering Scott brings together with great art all the
leading actors of the drama; the Emperor Alexius and his wife Irene;
Nicepherous Briennius, the intriguing son-in-law, husband of the fair
historian; the crafty philosopher Agelastes; Achilles Tatius, master of
the guards, and the faithful Verangian. This is the real commencement
of the story, and to this gathering the news is announced of another
body of the great Crusade, consisting not of the ignorant or of the
fanatical like those led on by Peter the Hermit, but an army of lords
and nobles marshaled by kings and emperors. Against this mass of
steel-clad warriors the East had no power to oppose save the inherent
cunning and strategy of Commenus. Craft and wealth meet stupidity and
avarice. The more powerful chiefs of the Crusades are loaded with
presents, feasted by the emperor with the richest delicacies, and
their thirst slaked with iced wine; while their followers are left
at a distance in malarial districts, and intentionally supplied with
adulterated flour, tainted provisions, and bad water. Neglected by
friends and insulted by foes, they contracted diseases and died in
great numbers “without having once seen a foot of the Holy Land, for
the recovery of which they had abandoned their peace, their competence,
and their native country. Their misfortunes were imputed to their
own wilfulness, and their sickness to the vehemence of their own
appetites for raw fruits and unripened wines.” By promises of wealth
and long-practiced arts of diplomacy, the Emperor Commenus at last even
induces the leaders of the crusade individually to acknowledge him—the
Grecian Emperor—originally lord paramount of all these regions, as
their liege lord and suzerain.
Scott takes advantage of this historical fact to draw one of his
matchless pictures, which in color and incident rivals the best pages
of his more dramatic romances; and it is here that Count Robert, when
the emperor left his throne for a single moment, dismounted from his
horse, took the seat of royal purple, and indolently began to caress
a large wolf-hound, which had followed him, and which, feeling as
much at ease as his master, reposed its grim form on the carpets of
gold and silk damask which tapestried the imperial footstool. It was
a picture of modern liberty looking worn-out despotism in the face.
That sublime audacity revealed the mettle of the race which was to
make individual conscience supreme; and his haughty and fearless
speech was the prologue of Magna Charta, the Bill of Rights, and the
Declaration of Independence. We must pass over the meeting in the
garden of Agesilaus, the entertainment at the palace, the drugged cup,
the dungeon experience of the count, and his miraculous release, the
fortitude and virtue of his Countess Brenhilda, the meeting of the
Verangian with Bertha in the garden of the philosopher, the treachery
of Briennius, his imprisonment and death-decree, and many other
incidents of interest, for the remaining space of this article must
be given to a brief consideration of “The Betrothed;” but the reader
will be happy to know that, after the conquest of Jerusalem, Count
Robert of Paris returned to Constantinople _en route_ to his native
kingdom. Upon reaching Italy the marriage of the Verangian and Bertha
was celebrated in princely style; and on his return to England a large
district, adjacent to the New Forest, near the home of his ancestors,
was conferred upon him by William Rufus, where it is presumed they
spent their declining years in peace and happiness.
“The Betrothed” opens with the year 1187—the time of the Third
Crusade—when Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, preached the crusade
from castle to castle, from town to town, awaking the inmost valleys
of his native Cambria with the call to arms for the recovery of the
Holy Sepulcher. As a connecting link between the stories we will say
that the soldiers of the First Crusade, after years of hardship and
suffering, at last accomplished their vows. Antioch and Jerusalem
yielded to their arms, the Holy Sepulcher was redeemed from infidels.
Those who returned to their homes recounted their triumphs, and all
Europe was aglow with new zeal. Forty-five years later, in the year
1142, a Second Crusade was organized against the impending dangers
which threatened Palestine and Jerusalem. The warlike West was again
in arms; but this crusade was more unfortunate than the first. The
crusaders were again compelled to endure the outrages and perfidies of
the Greek. As in the First Crusade, the Christian armies dragged in
their train a great number of children, women, and old men, who could
do nothing toward victory but greatly augmented the disaster of defeat.
The piety and heroism of the First Crusade had degenerated into a love
of show and military splendor. “That which was still more injurious to
discipline,” to quote from the admirable “History of the Crusades,” by
J. F. Michaud, “was the depravity of manners in the Christian army,
which must be principally attributed to the great number of women
that had taken arms and mixed in the ranks of the soldiery. In this
crusade there was a troop of Amazons, commanded by a general, whose
dress was much more admired than her courage,” and whose gilded boots
procured her a name which we will not copy from the historian’s pages.
Forty years of struggle pass away in Palestine, and at the time of the
opening of our story Henry the Second of England, Richard the First,
and Philip of France, determine on renewing the Holy War. Moved by the
eloquence and enthusiasm of Baldwin, there is a general cessation of
hostilities between the Welsh princes and their warlike neighbors on
the Marches of England. But one castle, known as the Garde Doloureuse,
was not so fortunate. Its owner was Raymond Berenger. The hand of his
daughter was asked in marriage by one of the Welsh chieftains. The
compliment was declined. Raymond Berenger, in accordance with a rash
promise, gave battle upon the plain and was slain. The castle was
assaulted, but faithfully defended by an honest Fleming, inspired by
the heroism of the orphaned daughter. Before the battle, Scott gives
us a fine picture of the Welsh bards, and an admirable idea of life in
the mountain fastnesses of Wales. His description of the defense of
the castle is so graphic that we seem to walk the ramparts with the
soldiers, and listen to the counsel of its defenders. Hugo De Lacy,
Constable of Chester, arrives in time to raise the siege of the castle,
and at once lays siege to the heart of the fair Eveline, to whom it
seems she had been promised, when a child, by her father. From a sense
of duty, rather than love, she accepts his proposal. She visits her
Saxon aunt—a cruel and demented relic of the house of Baldringham; and
is compelled to sleep in a haunted chamber, known as the “Room of the
Red Finger.” The picture of Saxon life here presented is in strong
contrast with the life of the Norman nobles. The century that had
followed the Norman invasion of England had irritated wounded pride.
Overcome by superstition and terror, Eveline sees in her dreams the
spectre, and hears the fatal couplet, which gives name to the romance:
“Widowed wife and married maid,
Betrothed, betrayer, and betrayed.”
Eveline goes from her aunt’s to the abbess of a convent, a near
relative, and Hugo De Lacy, having signified his intention of going
to the Holy Land, asks a remission of his vow for two years; but the
rigid prelate Baldwin was inexorable: “The advancement of the crusade
was the chief business of Baldwin’s life, and the liberation of the
Holy Sepulcher from the infidels was the unfeigned object of all his
exertions. The successor of the celebrated Becket had neither the
extensive views, nor the aspiring spirit of that redoubted personage;
but on the other hand, saint as the latter had become, it may be
questioned whether, in his professions for the weal of christendom, he
was half so sincere as was the present archbishop.”
The interview between De Lacy and Baldwin shows the great power of the
Church in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. He was compelled to leave
Eveline before wedlock had united them indissolubly, and the first line
of the couplet: “Widowed wife and married maid,” seemed already in the
course of fulfillment. Hugo de Lacy sets sail for Palestine with these
good-by words: “If I appear not when three years are elapsed let the
Lady Eveline conclude that the grave holds De Lacy, and seek out for
her mate some happier man. She can not find one more grateful, though
there are many who better deserve her.”
Eveline returns to the castle of her father; the care of the country
against Welsh invasion is assigned to Damian de Lacy, who had already
by acts of bravery won the esteem of Eveline. The days and months of
indolent castle life wear slowly away, with the occasional visit of
a strolling harper, or a hawking expedition near the castle, which
Scott, with his love for out-door amusements, enters into with apparent
relish. On one of these excursions Eveline is made prisoner by a
party of Welsh soldiers, and she is led away blindfolded through the
recesses of the hills. She is rescued by Damian de Lacy, who however
is seriously wounded, and taken against the advice of friends to the
castle. Unfounded rumors poison the minds of the people, the castle is
attacked by the king’s forces, led on by a traitor of Hugo’s family.
Damian is taken prisoner and condemned to death. More than three years
had passed away, and now Hugo returns in poverty, and completely broken
in spirit. Damian is released, and Hugo waives his claim to the hand
of Eveline, and Damian wins one of the noblest women that Scott has
made immortal in the world. So much for the brief outline of the story,
which reveals the manner of life on the Welsh borders during the time
of the Third Crusade. The two novels which follow, “The Talisman” and
“Ivanhoe,” portray even in more vivid colors the sufferings of the
crusaders in Palestine, and the every day life of Merrie England.
THE IVY.
By HENRY BURTON.
Pushing the clods of earth aside,
Leaving the dark where foul things hide,
Spreading its leaves to the summer sun,
Bondage ended, freedom won;
So, my soul, like the ivy be,
Rise, for the sunshine calls for thee!
Climbing up as the seasons go,
Looking down upon things below,
Twining itself in the branches high,
As if the frail thing owned the sky;
So, my soul, like the ivy be,
Heaven, not earth, is the place for thee.
Wrapping itself round the giant oak,
Hiding itself from the tempest’s stroke;
Strong and brave is the fragile thing,
For it knows one secret, how to cling:
So, my soul, there’s strength for thee,
Hear the Mighty One, “Lean on me!”
Green are its leaves when the world is white,
For the ivy sings through the frosty night;
Keeping the hearts of oak awake,
Till the flowers shall bloom and the spring shall break;
So, my soul, through the winter’s rain,
Sing the sunshine back again.
Opening its green and fluttering breast,
Giving the timid birds a nest;
Coming out from the winter wild,
To make a wreath for the Holy Child;
So let my life like the ivy be,
A help to man and a wreath for Thee!
—_Good Words._
C. L. S. C. COMMENCEMENT.[A]
CLASS OF 1883.
A special dispensation of weather seemed to have been prepared for the
accommodation of the second graduating class of the Chautauqua Literary
and Scientific Circle on Saturday. A bright warm day was benevolently
shaded and cooled by nature’s great sunshade of cloud during all the
out-door exercises, and promptly upon the entry of the multitude under
the cover of the Amphitheater it began to rain to still further cool
the air. Everything was opportune, and the surroundings faultless.
The management terrestrial was equally good. There were four different
processions, in five divisions, moving from different rendezvous in
the grounds and converging and articulating with each other. Each of
them started on time “to a tick,” got to and dropped into place, and
everything moved with the smoothness and precision of a well-adjusted
machine. The program, as prepared, was carried out to the letter and
second.
The attendance was as immense, the feeling as good as the day and
management. The unprecedented crowd of the night before was augmented
in the morning by boat-loads and train-loads, and when the signal-bells
for beginning the day’s movement sounded the avenues were thronged.
Punctually at the hour the “Guard of the Gate,” H. S. Field, J. J.
Covert, Miss E. E. Tuttle, W. H. Rogers, Charles B. Wood, S. J. M.
Eaton, Miss Myrtie Hudson, A. M. Martin, J. G. Allen, A. M. Mattison,
and the “Guard of the Grove,” Miss Annie E. Wilcox, A. Wilder, Miss M.
F. Wells, Miss E. Irvin, Miss Eleanor O’Connell, E. C. Norton, Mrs.
E. Howe, De Forest Temple, Mrs. Isaiah Golding, George Seebrick, in
charge of Marshal S. J. M. Eaton, formed at the cottage of Lewis Miller
(Auditorium), the right resting on Hedding Avenue.
The keys of the Golden Gate having been delivered by President Miller
to the Messenger, Rev. A. H. Gillet, the division marched up Hedding
Avenue to Clark, and out Clark to the Hall of Philosophy, and were
distributed to their proper positions in charge of the inclosure of St.
Paul’s Grove.
The second division, consisting of fifty-two little girls, the
youngest, Jennie Templeton, four years of age, heading the procession,
beautifully garlanded and bearing artistic baskets laden with flowers
to their very brim, conducted by Mrs. Frank Beard, superintendent,
assisted by Miss M. E. Bemis, Miss Minnie Barney, Messrs. Garret E.
Ryckman, and W. H. Burroughs, and Miss Blanche Shove, was formed at
the Children’s Temple, the right resting on Clark Avenue. The “Society
of the Hall in the Grove,” (the graduates of the class of 1882, C. L.
S. C.) were thus escorted by this beautiful company of prospective
Chautauquans through Clark Avenue to Hedding, down Hedding to Simpson,
through Simpson to Park Athenæum, through Park Athenæum to Lake Avenue,
to Dr. Vincent’s cottage.
The sixth division, consisting of the graduates of the class of 1883,
and the graduates of the class of 1882, who had not last year passed
through the Golden Gate, and under the Arches, met at the gate of
St. Paul’s Grove, on Merrill Avenue, each provided with a ticket, a
garnet badge, and a copy of the commencement service. A portion of
the Guard of the Grove stood within the gate, and a portion stood in
waiting without. The Messenger stood at the portal, holding the keys
of the gate. The Guard of the Gate took their places in order, near
the Messenger, while the leaders of the graduating class, Rev. H. C.
Farrar, chairman, and Rev. George C. Wilding, took their stations, one
on the right and the other on the left of the gateway, that at a given
signal the class might read responsively the form of service provided.
The classes were arranged in parallel columns stretching from the
portal itself to the middle of Miller Avenue, a block and a half.
At precisely 9:45 the Chautauqua Band, headed by Frank Wright, Marshal,
marching up Lake Avenue, reached the cottage of Dr. Vincent. Here the
banner of the C. L. S. C., with the “Guard of the Banner,” Mrs. M.
Bailey and Mrs. Delos Hatch, were escorted to their places in the line.
Four little children, Chippie Firestone, Edna McClellan, Nellie Mallory
and Bobbie Davenport were conducted to their places as “streamer
bearers,” while the beautiful fabric itself was borne by Mr. W. E. H.
Massey and Mr. Will Butler. The Superintendent of Instruction, Dr.
Vincent, took his place in the line.
The procession took its order of march, moving through Lake Avenue to
Haven Avenue, and up Haven to the Hall of Philosophy, which it entered,
and the band departed to escort thither “The Chautauqua Procession.”
(Division V.) This division formed at the Hotel Athenæum, Frank Wright,
Marshal, the right resting on the north main front of the hotel, in the
following order:
Band.
Chautauqua Board of Trustees, led by Lewis Miller,
Esq., President.
The Faculty and Students of the “Chautauqua School of
Languages,” J. H. Worman, Marshal.
The Normal Alumni, carrying their banners for the
various years since 1874, Frank Beard, Marshal.
The members of the classes of the C. L. S. C. for the
years 1887, 1886, 1885, 1884, Mr. Copeland, Marshal.
The guests of the Assembly, Rev. Frank Russell, Marshal.
The procession, thus constituted, moved at ten o’clock from the piazza
of the Hotel Athenæum, across the north side of the Park Athenæum, to
Lake Avenue, out Lake Avenue to Cookman Avenue, up Cookman to Clark,
halting on Cookman, the right resting on Clark, in open order, the Hall
of Philosophy being on its right flank.
At this time the entire neighborhood of the “Hall in the Grove” was
filled with interested crowds of spectators, whose eyes saw for the
second time the “Recognition Services” of the immense class in the
“People’s University.”
More than a hundred and fifty of the “Society of the Hall in the Grove”
(graduates of the preceding year), entered the Hall, and were seated in
its western side.
Precisely at ten o’clock, as the booming of the great bell at the Point
indicated the hour, the members of the Class of 1883, with such members
of the Class of 1882 as had not last year passed the Arches, standing
at the gate of St. Paul’s Grove, read responsively the devotional
services, Rev. George C. Wilding acting as precentor of the first
section, and Rev. H. C. Farrar as the precentor of the second section.
The “Messenger,” Rev. A. H. Gillet, in slow and solemn utterance gave
the announcement as follows:
I come to inform all candidates for enrollment in
the “Society of the Hall in the Grove” that the hour
appointed for your reception has arrived; the Hall
has been set in order; the Path through the Grove has
been opened; the Arches under which you must pass have
been erected; the Key which will open this Gate has
been placed in my hands. And to you who, as members of
the CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE, have
completed the four years’ Course of Reading, and now
hold in your hands a pledge of the same, I extend, in
the name of the authorities, a welcome into St. Paul’s
Grove, under the First Arch—and let the watchman guard
carefully the Gate.
After the announcement by the Messenger, he turned and opened the gate.
The first to enter was Mr. Miner Curtis, an invalid, borne in a wheeled
carriage by the advance members of the class of ’83, and accompanied by
his wife and son, who were graduates of last year.
Having entered the Gate, and the Gate having been closed, the class
proceeded very slowly toward the Hall, passing the second and third
Arches. As they walked up the beautifully decorated way, the “Choir of
the Hall in the Grove” stationed at the fourth Arch, and led by Prof.
C. C. Case, sang “A Song of To-day:”
“Sing peans over the Past!
We bury the dead years tenderly.”
At the entrance to the Hall stood the Superintendent of Instruction to
welcome the coming class, and as they passed by the Arch nearest the
Hall, the fifty-two little girls standing in double columns, scattered
the way of the coming graduates with the beauteous flowers, emblematic
of the flower-strewn paths of intellectual light which they may hope to
tread in the coming years.