LOST DIARIES
BY
MAURICE BARING
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & GO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. W.C.
1913
These "Lost Diaries" originally appeared in the _Eye Witness_, the _New
Witness_, and the _Morning Post_; they are here reprinted by the kind
permission of the Editors of those newspapers.
M.B.
To
E.M.
CONTENTS
I. FROM THE DIARY OF SMITH MINOR
II. FROM THE DIARY OF ISEULT OF BRITTANY
III. FROM THE DIARY OF KING COPHETUA
IV. FROM THE DIARY OF FROISSART, WAR CORRESPONDENT
V. FROM THE DIARY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON
VI. FROM THE DIARY OF MARCUS AURELIUS
VII. FROM THE DIARY OF MRS JAMES LEE'S HUSBAND
VIII. FROM THE DIARY OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
IX. FROM THE DIARY OF THE EMPEROR TITUS
X. FROM THE DIARY OF HARRIET SHELLEY
XI. FROM THE _JOURNAL INTIME_ OF THE EMPEROR TIBERIUS
XII. FROM THE DIARY OF ŒDIPUS REX
XIII. FROM THE DIARY OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR
XIV. FROM THE DIARY OF MARY, MRS JOHN MILTON
(_NÉE_ POWELL)
XV. FROM THE DIARY OF MARK ANTONY
XVI. FROM THE DIARY OF IVAN THE TERRIBLE
XVII. FROM THE PRIVATE LOG OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
XVIII. FROM THE DIARY OF THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
XIX. FROM THE DIARY OF AN ENGLISH GOVERNESS
RESIDING IN PARIS DURING THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
XX. FROM THE DIARY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK,
DURING HIS STAY AT ENGLAND, WHITHER HE WAS SENT
TO STUDY AT THE UNIVERSITY AT OXFORD, UNDER
THE SPECIAL CARE OF POLONIUS
I.
FROM THE DIARY OF SMITH MINOR
ST JAMES'S SCHOOL,
_September_, 1884.
_Sunday_.--Yesterday afternoon was a half-holiday we were playing
prisoners base exept four boys who were gardening with Mrs Wickham. Peel
hit Bell by mistake with all his force with the pic-axe on Bell's wrist.
_Sunday_.--Last night their was a total eclipse of the moon. We all
stayed up to see it, it looked very funny. There was a shadow right over
the moon. We began football yesterday. At tea the Head asked if any one
had eaten chesnuts in the garden. Simes major said yes at once. Then the
Head said he was sure others had too. Then Wilson stood up and after a
time 7 chaps stood up. Then the Head said it would be the worse for
those who didn't stand up as he knew who the culprets were. I hadn't
eaten any but Anderson had given me a piece off his knife so I stood up
two. The Head said we should all have two hours extra work. He was very
waxy he said we were unreliabel.
_Sunday_.--Yesterday we were all photografed. Simes laughed and was sent
to bed for misbehavier. Pork's people came down yesterday. We call Pork
Hogg because he's dirty. He showed them over the school, and turned on
the electrik light. The Head was looking through the curtain in the
library and saw this. When his people went away Hogg was sent for and
he is to be swished to-morrow. We told him he would get it hot and he
blubbed.
_Sunday_.--We went for the choir expedition last Thursday. It was _great
fun._ We went to London by the 8.35 train. We missed the train!! So we
went by the 8.53. We got to London at 10.15. We then went to the mint we
first saw the silver melted and made into thick tablets, then we saw it
rolled out into thin bits then cut stamped and weighed then we had a
very good luncheon and went to the Tower. We first saw the Bloody Tower
were the little Princes were murdered then we saw the jewels the warder
said the Queen's crown was worth over £1,000,000 then we saw the armory
and the torture's, then we went to Madame Tussaus it is quite a large
building now with a large stairkes then we had tea and went home.
_Sunday_.--I said to Anderson that we might start an aquarium but he
said Ferguson had one last term and that it would be copying, he said he
hates copying. So we'll have a menagery instead with lizards.
_Sunday_.--The lizard is very well indeed and has eat a lot of worms.
White cheeked Jones ma and Mac said they must fight it out in the
play-room in the hour. They fought with gloves. White gave him a bloody
nose. We had a very good game of football yesterday. Williams and Pierce
which left last term came from Eton to play. Pierce changed in my room.
He says you don't say squit at Eton and you say Metutors not My tutors.
The fireworks are in a week.
_Saturday_.--There was no work this morning as it was "All Saints day."
There was a football matsh against another scool--Reynolds'. We won by
three goals and three tries.
There was an awful row on Wednesday. Anderson cut off a piece of his
hair. Mac nabbed it, and he said he hadn't as he was afraid of the
consequenses. Then a search was made and they fond a piece of hair in
his drawer. Mac told him he would find himself in Queer Street and Colly
said when he was writing home on Sunday that he had better add that he
was a liar. Nothing hapened till Monday and Anderson thought it was
forgoten but at reading over when the 3nd Div came up the Head said:
"Anderson I am astounded at you; you are a shufler and worse." He lost
50 marks and was swished. He would get 20 the head said if he did it
again and he would be turned out of the choir.
_Sunday_.--When Colly was out of the room in Set 3 this morning Mason
said he wouldn't sneak about me talking if I didn't sneak about him so I
talked. When Colly came back Mason sneaked, Please sir will you ask
Smith not to talk. I had to stand on the stool of penitence. We are
going to put Mason in Coventry because he always sneaks just after he
has sworn he won't. Last night we all had to play our pieces in the
Drawing Room. I played a duet with Wilson mi. Astley played best. When
everybody had played their pieces we had ginger beer and biscuits and
went to bed. Fish played worst (on the violin).
_Sunday_.--We had fireworks on the 5th romman candles rockets crackers
squibs and a set piece with God Save the Queen on it. They came from
Broks who makes the fireworks at the Crystal palace we burnt a man in
effigee a man with collars and an axe. The Head said he wouldn't say who
it was meant to be but that all true Englishmen who were not traiters
could guess. Rowley said it was meant to be Mister Gladstone but he only
said this to get a rise out of Pork whose paters a liberal. It was
reelly Guy Fawks then Pork said Anderson's father was a liberal too and
Anderson hit him in the eye. The Head hates liberals.
There was another row this week; Christy said something to Broadwood at
breakfast that the poridge was mighty good. That was copying Anderson
who learnt it from his mater who is a Yankee. Mac asked him what he'd
said. He said he'd said the porridge was good. Mac asked Is that all
you've said. Christy got very red and looked as if he was going to blub
and said that was all. Very well said Mac Come afterwards. Mac reported
him for telling bungs. He wasn't swished as its his first term: but Mac
told him he was making himself very unpopular.
On Tuesday Fatty the butler came into the 3rd Div scoolroom with a
message. Some one said in a wisper Hullo Fatty. Mac nabbed it and said
who said that nobody answered then Mac said he knew it was Middleton mi
as he had recognised his voice Middleton swore he hadn't said a word but
he was reported and swished he still swears he didn't say Fatty and I
believe it was Pork. The other day at French Campbell went up to Colly
and asked him what was wrong with les tables it had a pencil cross on
it. Colly said that when he'd corrected it there was no S there.
Campbell swore their was. Colly held the paper to the window and said he
saw the ink of the S was fresh, then Christy began to blub and said he
had done it and Colly said it was a for jerry and wrote forjer in white
chalk on his back and said he would tell the chaps in the first Div but
he didn't report him to the Head which was awfully decent of him becaus
Christy is a new chap.
_Sunday_.--Trials are nearly over. We had Latin G and Greek G paper
yesterday (set by the Head). There are only two more papers geography
and Latin verse. The Consert is on Saturday. Pork's sister is called
Jane!! Campbell saw it on the seel of a letter he got. His people were
coming for the Consert but he's written to tell them not to as we told
him the Head thought liberals worse than thieves.
II
FROM THE DIARY OF ISEULT OF BRITTANY
_May_ 1.--Mamma sent me up a message early this morning to say that I
was to put on my best white gown with my coral necklace, as guests were
expected. She didn't say who. Nurse was in a fuss and pulled my hair
when she did it, and made my face very sore by scrubbing it with
pumice-stone. I can't think why, as there was no hurry. I came down
punctually at noon. Mamma and papa were sitting in the hall, waiting.
Fresh rushes were strewn on the floor. I was told to get out my harp,
and to sit with my back to the light. I hadn't practised for weeks, and
I can only play one song properly, "The Mallard," a Cornish song. When I
told mamma that was the only song I knew, she said I was on no account
to mention it, if I was asked to play; but I was only to play _Breton_
songs. I said I didn't know any. She said that didn't matter; but that I
could sing anything I knew and call it a Breton song. I said nothing,
but I thought, and I still think, this was dishonest. Besides the only
songs that I know are quite new. The stable people whistle them, and
they come from Rome.
We waited a long time. Papa and mamma were both very fidgety and mamma
kept on pulling me about, and telling me that my hair was badly done and
that she could see daylight between the pleats of my frock. I nearly
cried and papa said: "Leave the dear child alone; she's very good."
After we'd been waiting about twenty minutes, the trumpets sounded and
Morgan, the seneschal, walked in very slowly, and announced: "Sir
Tristram of Lyoness."
Rather an oldish man walked in, with a reddish beard, and many wrinkles.
One of his front teeth was broken and the other was black. He was
dressed in a coat of mail which was too tight for him. He had nice eyes
and seemed rather embarrassed. Mamma and papa made a great fuss about
him and brought me forward and said: "This is our daughter Iseult," and
mamma whispered to me: "Show your hands." I didn't want to do this, as
nurse had scrubbed them so hard that they were red.
Sir Tristram bowed deeply, and seemed more and more embarrassed. After
a long pause he said: "It's a very fine day, isn't it?"
Before I had time to answer, mamma broke in by saying: "Iseult has been
up since six with the falconers." This wasn't true and I was surprised
that mamma should be so forgetful. I hadn't been out with the hawkers
for weeks.
Then dinner was served. It lasted for hours I thought, and the
conversation flagged terribly. Kurneval, Sir Tristram's Squire, had
_twice_ of everything and drank much more cider than was good for him.
After dinner, mamma told me to fetch my harp and to sing a Breton song.
I was just going to say I didn't know one, when she frowned at me so
severely that I didn't dare. So I sang the Provençal orchard song about
waking up too early that Kerodac the groom taught me. Sir Tristram
said: "Charming, charming, that's German, isn't it; how well taught she
is. I do like good singing." Then he yawned, although he tried not to,
and papa said he was sure Sir Tristram was tired, and that he would take
him to see the stables. Sir Tristram then became quite lively and said
he would be delighted.
When they'd gone, mamma scolded me, and said that I had behaved like a
ninny and that she didn't know what our guests would think of me. It
seemed to me we only had one guest; but I didn't say so. Then she told
me to go and rest so as to be ready for dinner.
I forgot to say that just as Sir Tristram was going out of the room he
said to papa: "Your daughter's name is--er?" and papa said, "Yes,
Iseult, after her aunt." And Sir Tristram said: "Oh! what a pretty
name!"
_May_ 6.--They've been here a week now and I haven't seen much of them;
because Sir Tristram has been riding with papa nearly all day, and every
day. But every day after dinner mamma makes me sing the Provençal song,
and every time I sing it, Sir Tristram says: "Charming, charming, that's
German, isn't it?" although I've already told him twice now that it
isn't. I like Sir Tristram, only he's very silent, and after dinner he
becomes sleepy directly, just like papa.
_May_ 7.--I've had a most exciting day. Papa and mamma sent for me and
when I came into the room they were both very solemn and said they had
something particular to say to me. Then mamma cried and papa tried to
soothe her and said: "It's all right, it's all right," and then he
blurted out that I was to marry Sir Tristram next Wednesday. I cried,
and papa cried, and mamma cried, and then they said I was a lucky girl,
and mamma said that I must see about my clothes at once.
_May_ 8.--Nurse is in a fearful temper. She says we shall never be ready
by Wednesday and that it's more than flesh and blood can stand to worrit
folks like this. But mamma is in the best of tempers. Sir Tristram has
gone away--to stay with some friends--he is coming back on Tuesday
night. My wedding gown is to be made of silver with daisies worked on
it. The weavers are working day and night, _but most of the stuff is
old_. It belonged to mamma. I do think they might have given me a new
gown. Blanche had a new one when she was married.
_May_ 12.--The wedding went off very well. I had four maidens and four
pages. After Mass, we had a long feast. Papa made a speech and broke
down, and Tristram made a speech and got into a muddle about my name,
and everybody was silent. Then he said I had beautiful hands and
everybody cheered. After supper we were looking out on the sea, and just
as Tristram was becoming talkative I noticed that he wore another ring
besides his wedding ring, a green one, made of jasper. I said, "What a
pretty ring! Who gave it you?" He said, "Oh, a friend," and changed the
subject. Then he said he was very tired and went away.
_May_ 13.--It's the 13th and that's an unlucky number. Nurse said that
no child of hers should marry in May, so I suppose that's what brought
it about. In any case Tristram, who has been very gloomy ever since he's
been here, has got to go and fight in a tournament. He says he won't be
away long and that there's no danger; not any more than crossing the
sea in an open boat, which I _do_ think _is_ dangerous. He starts
to-morrow at dawn.
_May_ 14.--Nothing particular.
_May_ 15.--No news.
_May_ 16.--Kurneval arrived this evening. He says that Tristram was
slightly wounded; but would be all right in a day or two. I am very
anxious.
_May_ 17.--Tristram was brought back on a litter in the middle of the
night. He has been wounded in the arm. The doctors here say he was
bandaged wrong by the local doctor. They say he is suffering from slight
local pain. Kurneval says the horrid henchman hit his arm as hard as he
could with a broad sword. Papa and mamma arrive to-morrow with the
doctor. Tristram insists on sleeping out of doors on the beach. The
doctor says this is a patient's whim and must be humoured. I'm sure
it's bad for him, as the nights are very cold.
_July_ 1.--I've been too busy to write my diary for weeks. Tristram is
still just the same. The doctors say there is no fear of immediate
change.
_August_ 10.--Mamma says the Queen of Cornwall (whose name is Iseult the
same as mine) is coming for a few days, with her husband and some
friends. I do think it's very inconsiderate, considering how full the
house is already; and what with Tristram being so ill--and insisting on
sleeping on the beach--it makes it very difficult for every one.
_September_ 1.--Papa went out to shoot birds with his new cross-bow; but
he came back in a bad temper as he'd only shot one, and a hen. Tristram
is no better. He keeps on talking about a ship with a black sail.
_September_ 19.--To-day I was on the beach with Tristram and he asked me
if I saw a ship. I said I did. He asked me if the sail was black, and as
the doctor had told me to humour him, I said it was. Upon which he got
much worse, and I had to call the doctors. They said he was suffering
from hypertrophy of the sensory nerves.
_September_ 20.--Tristram unconscious. The Queen of Cornwall just
arrived. Too busy to write.
III
FROM THE DIARY OF KING COPHETUA
_Cophetua Castle, May_ 3.--We had to be married in May, after all. It
was a choice between that and being married on a Friday, and Jane would
not hear of that, so I gave in. Poor dear Mamma relented at the end and
came to the wedding. On the whole she behaved with great restraint. She
could not help saying just a word about rash promises. Jane looked
exceedingly beautiful. I felt very proud of her. I regret nothing. We
start for Italy to-morrow. We are to visit Milan, Florence-and Rome.
Jane is looking forward to the change.
_Dijon, May_ 6.--We decided to break the journey here: but we shall
probably start again to-morrow, as Jane is extremely dissatisfied with
the Inn, the _Lion d'Or_. I, of course, chose the best. But she says she
found a spider in her bedroom; she complained that the silver plates on
which dinner was served were not properly cleaned; that the veal was
tough, and that we had been given _Graves_ under the guise of _Barsac_.
All these things seem to me exceedingly trivial; but Jane is particular.
In a way it is a good thing, but considering her early upbringing and
her former circumstances, I confess I am astonished.
_Lyons, May_ 12.--I shall be glad when we get to Italy. Jane becomes
more and more fastidious about Inns. She walked out of four running,
here. I was imprudent enough to say that Mamma had a vassal who was a
distant connection of the Sieur Jehan de Blois and Jane insisted on my
paying him a visit and asking him to lodge us, telling him who we are,
as we are travelling incognito as the Baron and Baroness of Wessex. This
put me in a very awkward position, as I don't know him. I did it,
however, and Jane came with me. I have seldom felt so awkward, but
really he could not have made things easier. He was tact itself, and
while respecting our incognito, he treated us with the utmost
consideration. He was most kind. Jane made me a little uncomfortable by
praising a fine crystal goblet encrusted with emeralds. Sieur Jehan was
of course obliged to offer it her, and, to my vexation, she accepted it.
_Avignon, May_ 20.--Jane finds our incognito more and more irksome. I
was looking forward to a real quiet holiday, where we could get away
from all fuss and worry, and all the impediments of rank and riches. I
wanted to pretend we were poor for a while. To send on the litters with
the oxen, the horses, and the baggage, and to ride on mules--as soon as
we had reached the South--but Jane would not hear of this. She said she
had had enough of poverty without playing at it now. This is of course
quite true, but I wish she wouldn't say such things before people. It
makes one so uncomfortable. Here she has insisted on our staying with
the Pope, which may put me in a very awkward position with regard to
several of our allies in Italy. He has been, however, most gracious.
Jane is very impulsive at times. She insisted on our making an
expedition to the Bridge here, by moonlight, and dancing on it. She
kicked off her shoes and danced barefooted; I asked her not to do this,
whereupon she said: "If the courtiers hadn't praised my ankles you would
never have married me and what's the use of having pretty ankles, if
nobody can see them!" I shall be glad when we get to Italy. I am
determined to preserve a strict incognito, once we are across the
frontier.
_Turin, June_ 10.--It has poured with rain every day since we crossed
the frontier, and Jane won't believe that it is ever fine in Italy. It
is very cold for the time of year, and the people here say that there
has not been such a summer for thirty years. Every time I mention the
blue sky of Italy Jane loses her temper. She spends all her time at the
goldsmiths' shops and at the weavers'--I am afraid she is extravagant:
and her taste in dress is not quite as restrained as I could wish. Of
course it doesn't matter here, but at home it would shock people. For
instance, last night she came down to supper dressed as a Turkish
Sultana in pink trousers and a scimitar, and without even a veil over
her face. When I remonstrated she said men did not understand these
things.
_Milan, June_ 15.--It is still raining. Jane refused to look at the
Cathedral and spends her whole time at the merchants' booths as usual.
To-day I broached the incognito question. I suggested our walking on
foot, or perhaps riding on mules, to Florence. Jane, to my great
surprise, said she would be delighted to do this, and asked when we were
to start. I said we had better start the day after to-morrow. I am
greatly relieved. She is really very sensible, if a little impulsive at
times; but considering her early life, it might be much worse. I have
much to be thankful for. She is greatly admired, only I wish she would
not wear such bright colours.
_Florence, June_ 20.--It has been a great disappointment. Just as we
were making preparations to start entirely incognito--Jane had even
begged that we should walk on foot the whole way and take no clothes
with us--a messenger arrived from the Florentine Embassy here, saying
that the Duke of Florence had heard of our intended visit and had put a
cavalcade of six carriages, fifty mules, seven litters, and a hundred
men-at-arms at our disposal. How he could have heard of our intention I
don't know! Jane was bitterly disappointed. She cried, and said she had
been looking forward to this walking tour more than to anything else.
But I managed to soothe her, and she eventually consented to accept the
escort of the Duke. It would have been impossible to refuse. As it was,
we were very comfortable. We stopped at Bologna on the way, and Jane
insisted on going to the market and buying a sausage. She tried to make
me taste it, but I cannot endure the taste of garlic.
At Florence we were magnificently received, and taken at once to the
Palace--where the rooms are very spacious. Jane complains of the
draughts and the cold. It is still pouring with rain. There is a very
fine collection of Greek statues to be seen here, but Jane takes no
interest in these things. The first thing she did was to go to the New
bridge, which is lined with goldsmiths' shops on both sides and to spend
a great deal of money on perfectly useless trinkets. She says she must
have some things to bring back to my sisters. This was thoughtful of
her. The Duke is going to give a great banquet in our honour on Tuesday
next.
_June_ 23.--The feast is to-night. The gardens have been hung with
lanterns: a banquet has been prepared on a gigantic scale. Five hundred
guests have been bidden. Jane was greatly looking forward to it and lo
and behold! by the most evil mischance a terrible vexation has befallen
us. A courier arrived this morning, bearing letters for me, and among
them was one announcing the death of the Duke of Burgundy, who is my
uncle by marriage. I told Jane that of course we could not possibly be
present at the banquet. Jane said that I knew best, but that the Duke
would be mortally offended by our absence, since he had arranged the
banquet entirely for us and spent a sum of 10,000 ducats on it. It would
be, she pointed out--and I am obliged to admit she is right--most
impolitic to annoy the Duke. After an hour's reflection I hit on what
seemed to me an excellent solution--that we should be present, but
dressed in mourning. Jane said this was impossible as she had no black
clothes. Then she suggested that I should keep back the news until
to-morrow, and if the news were received in other quarters, deny its
authenticity, and say we had a later bulletin. This on the whole seemed
to be the wisest course. As the etiquette here is very strict and the
Dowager Duchess is most particular, I pray that Jane may be careful and
guarded in her expressions.
_June_ 25.--My poor dear mother was right after all. I should have
listened, and now it is too late. The dinner went off very well. We sat
at a small table on a raised dais. Jane sat between the Duke and the
Prime Minister and opposite the Dowager Duchess. There was no one at the
table, except myself, under sixty years of age, and only the greatest
magnates were present. Jane was silent and demure and becomingly
dressed. I congratulated myself on everything. After the banquet came
the dance, and Jane took part with exquisite grace in the saraband: she
observed all the rules of etiquette. The Dowager Duchess seemed charmed
with her. Then later came supper, which was served in a tent, and which
was perhaps more solemn than everything. When the time came to lead Jane
to supper she was nowhere to be found. Outside in the garden the minor
nobles were dancing in masks, and some mimes were singing. We waited,
and then a message came that the Queen had had a touch of ague and had
retired. The supper went off gloomily. At the close an enormous pie was
brought in, the sight of which caused a ripple of well-bred applause.
"Viva Il Re Cophetua" was written on it in letters of pink sugar. It was
truly a triumph of culinary art. The mime announced that the moment had
come for it to be cut, and as the Grand Duke rose to do this the thin
crust burst of itself, and out stepped Jane, with no garments beside her
glorious dark hair! She tripped on to the table, and then with a peal of
laughter leapt from it and ran into the garden, since when she has not
been heard of! My anguish and shame are too great for words.
But the Duke and the Dowager have been most sympathetic.
_June_ 26.--Jane has fled, and my jewels as well as hers are missing.
It is suspected that the attaché at the Florentine Embassy at Milan is
at the bottom of the conspiracy, for Jane herself had a good heart.
IV
FROM THE DIARY OF FROISSART, WAR CORRESPONDENT
_Parys, The Feast of the Epiphanie_.--The astrologers say there will be
plenty-full trouble in Normandy, in the spring.
_June_ 10.--To dyner with the Cardinall of Piergourt to meet the gentyll
King of Behayne and the Lorde Charles, his son. The Cardinall sayd
neither the Kynge of Englande nor the Frenche Kynge desire warre, but
the honour of them and of their people saved, they wolde gladly fall to
any reasonable way. But the King of Behayne shook his heade and sayd: "I
am feare I am a pesymyste," which is Almayne for a man who beholds the
future with no gladde chere.
_June_ 20.--The great merchaunt of Araby, Montefior, says there will be
no warre. He has received worde from the cytie of London, and his
friends, great merchaunts all, and notably, Salmone and Glukstyn, sayd
likewise that there will be no warre.
_June_ 30.--The currours have brought worde home, the Kynge of Englande
was on the see with a great army, and is now a lande in Normandy. Have
received faire offers for chronycles of the warre from London, Parys,
and Rome; they offer three thousand crounes monthly, payeing curtesly
for all my expenses. Have sayd I will gladly fall to their wish.
_July_ 1.--Trussed bagge and baggage in great hast and departed towarde
Normandy, the seat of warre.
_July_ 2.--Ryde but small journeys, and do purpose, being no great
horseman, every time I have to ryde a horse, to add three crounes to the
expenses which my patrons curtesly pay.
Take lodgynges every day bytwene noone and thre of the clocke. Finde the
contrey frutefull and reasonably suffycent of wyne.
_July_ 3, _Cane_.--A great and ryche town with many burgesses, crafty
men. They solde wyne so deare that there were no byers save myself who
bought suffycent and added to the lyste which my patrons curtesly pay.
_July_ 4, _Amyense_.--Left Cane and the englysshmen have taken the toune
and clene robbed it. Right pensyve as to putting my lyfe in adventure.
Sir Godmar de Fay is to kepe note of the chronyclers and he has ordayned
them to bring him their chronycles. He has curtesly made these rules
for the chronyclers. Chronyclers may only chronycle the truth.
Chronyclers may not chronycle the names of places, bridges, rivers,
castels where batayles happen--nor the names of any lordes, knyghtes,
marshals, erles, or others who take part in the batayle: nor the names
of any weapons or artillery used, nor the names or numbers of any
prisoners taken in batayle.
Thanks to Sir Godmar de Fay the chronycler's task has been made lyghter.
_July_ 6, _Calys_.--The chronyclers have been ordayned by Sir Godmar de
Fay to go to Calys. There are nine chronyclers. One is an Alleymayne,
who is learned in the art of warre, one is a Genowayes, and one an
Englysshman, the rest are Frenche. The cytie of Calys is full of drapery
and other merchauntdyse, noble ladyes and damosels. The chronyclers
have good wyl to stay in the cytie.
_July_ 7.--Sir Godmar de Fay has ordayned all the chronyclers to leave
the cytie of Calys and to ride to a lytell town called Nully, where
there are no merchauntdyse, and no damosels, nor suffycent of wyne. The
chronyclers are not so merrie as in the cytie of Calys.
_July_ 9.--Played chesse with the Genowayse and was checkmate with a
bishop.
_August_ 6.--The chronyclers are all pensyve. They are lodged in the
feldes. There has fallen a great rayne that pours downe on our tents.
There is no wyne nor pasties, nor suffycent of flesshe, no bookes for to
rede, nor any company.
Last nyghte I wrote a ballade on Warre, which ends, "But Johnnie
Froissart wisheth he were dead." It is too indiscrete to publysh. I wysh
I were at Calys. I wysh I were at Parys. I wysh I were anywhere but at
Nully.
_August_ 23.--At the Kynge's commandment the chronyclers are to go to
the fronte.
_August_ 25, _Friday_.--The Kynge of Englande and the French Kynge have
ordayned all the business of a batayle. I shall watch it and chronycle
it from a hill, which shall not be too farre away to see and not too
neare to adventure my lyfe.
_August_ 26.--I rode to a windmill but mistooke the way, as a great
rayne fell, then the eyre waxed clere and I saw a great many Englyssh
erls and Frenche knyghtes, riding in contrarie directions, in hast. Then
many Genowayse went by, and the Englysshmen began to shote feersly with
their crossbowes and their arowes fell so hotly that I rode to a lytell
hut, and finding shelter there I wayted till the snowe of arowes should
have passed. Then I clymbed to the top of the hill but I could see
lytell but dyverse men riding here and there. When I went out again,
aboute evensong, I could see no one aboute, dyverse knyghtes and squyers
rode by looking for their maisters, and then it was sayd the Kynge had
fought a batayle, and had rode to the castell of Broye, and thence to
Amyense.
_August_ 30.--The chronyclers have been ordayned to go to Calys, whereat
they are well pleased save for a feare of a siege. The chronyclers have
writ the chronycle of the Day of Saturday, August 26. It was a great
batayle, ryght cruell, and it is named the batayle of Cressey.
Some of the chronyclers say the Englysshmen discomfyted the French;
others that the King discomfyted the Englysshe; but the Englysshmen
repute themselves to have the victorie; but all this shall be told in my
chronycle, which I shall write when I am once more in the fayre cytie of
Parys. It was a great batayle and the Frenche and the Englysshe Lordes
are both well pleased at the feats of arms, and the Frenche Kynge,
though the day was not as he wolde have had it, has wonne hygh renowne
and is ryght pleased--likewise the Englysshe Kynge, and his son; but
both Kynges have ordayned the chronyclers to make no boast of their good
adventure.
_August_ 30.--The Kynge of Englande has layd siege to Calys and has sayd
he will take the towne by famysshing. When worde of this was brought to
the chronyclers they were displeased. It is well that I have hyd in a
safe place some wyne and other thynges necessarie.
_Later_.--All thynges to eat are solde at a great pryce. A mouse costs a
croune.
_August_ 31.--All the poore and mean people were constrained by the
capture of Calys to yssue out of the town, men, women, and children, and
to pass through the Englysshe host, and with them the poore chronyclers.
And the Kynge of Englande gave them and the chronyclers mete and drinke
to dyner, and every person ii d. sterlying in alms.
And the chronyclers have added to the lyst of their costs which their
patrons curtesly pay: To loss of honour at receiving alms from an
Englysshe Kynge, a thousand crounes.
V
FROM THE DIARY OF GEORGE WASHINGTON
WRITTEN WHEN A SCHOOLBOY
_Bridges Creek_, 1744, _September_ 20.--My mother has at last consented
to let me go to school. I had repeatedly made it quite plain to her that
the private tuition hitherto accorded to me was inadequate; that I would
be in danger of being outstripped in the race owing to insufficient
groundwork. My mother, although very shrewd in some matters, was
curiously obstinate on this point. She positively declined to let me
attend the day-school, saying that she thought I knew quite enough for a
boy of my age, and that it would be time enough for me to go to school
when I was older. I quoted to her Tacitus' powerful phrase about the
insidious danger of indolence; how there is a charm in indolence--but
let me taste the full pleasure of transcribing the noble original:
"Subit quippe etiam ipsius inertiæ dulcedo: et invisa primo desidia
postremo amatur"; but she only said that she did not understand Latin.
This was scarcely an argument, as I translated it for her.
I cannot help thinking that there was sometimes an element of pose in
Tacitus' much-vaunted terseness.
_September_ 29.--I went to school for the first time to-day. I confess I
was disappointed. We are reading, in the Fourth Division, in which I was
placed at my mother's express request, Eutropius and Ovid; both very
insipid writers. The boys are lamentably backward and show a deplorable
lack of interest in the classics. The French master has an accent that
leaves much to be desired, and he seems rather shaky about his past
participles. However, all these things are but trifles. What I really
resent is the gross injustice which seems to be the leading principle at
this school--if school it can be called.
For instance, when the master asks a question, those boys who know the
answer are told to hold up their hands. During the history lesson Henry
VIII. was mentioned in connection with the religious quarrels of the
sixteenth century, a question which, I confess, can but have small
interest for any educated person at the present day. The master asked
what British poet had written a play on the subject of Henry VIII. I, of
course, held up my hand, and so did a boy called Jonas Pike. I was told
to answer first, and I said that the play was in the main by Fletcher,
with possible later interpolations. The usher, it is scarcely credible,
said, "Go to the bottom of the form," and when Jonas Pike was asked he
replied, "Shakespeare," and was told to go up one. This was, I consider,
a monstrous piece of injustice.
During one of the intervals, which are only too frequent, between the
lessons, the boys play a foolish game called "It," in which even those
who have no aptitude and still less inclination for this tedious form of
horse-play, are compelled to take part. The game consists in one boy
being named "it" (though why the neuter is used in this case instead of
the obviously necessary masculine it is hard to see). He has to
endeavour to touch one of the other boys, who in their turn do their
best to evade him by running, and should he succeed in touching one of
them, the boy who is touched becomes "it" _ipso facto_. It is all very
tedious and silly. I was touched almost immediately, and when I said
that I would willingly transfer the privilege of being touched to one of
the other boys who were obviously eager to obtain it, one of the bigger
boys (again Jonas Pike) gave me a sharp kick on the shin. I confess I
was ruffled. I was perhaps to blame in what followed. I am, perhaps,
inclined to forget at times that Providence has made me physically
strong. I retaliated with more insistence than I intended, and in the
undignified scuffle which ensued Jonas Pike twisted his ankle. He had to
be supported home. When questioned as to the cause of the accident I
regret to say he told a deliberate falsehood. He said he had slipped on
the ladder in the gymnasium. I felt it my duty to inform the head-master
of the indirect and unwilling part I had played in the matter.
The head master, who is positively unable to perceive the importance of
plain-speaking, said, "I suppose you mean you did it." I answered, "No,
sir; I was the resisting but not the passive agent in an unwarrantable
assault." The result was I was told to stay in during the afternoon and
copy out the First Eclogue of Virgil. It is characteristic of the head
master to choose a feeble Eclogue of Virgil instead of one of the
admirable Georgics. Jonas Pike is to be flogged, as soon as his foot is
well, for his untruthfulness.
This, my first experience of school life, is not very hopeful.
_October_ 10.--The routine of the life here seems to me more and more
meaningless. The work is to me child's play; and indeed chiefly
consists in checking the inaccuracies of the ushers. They show no
gratitude to me--indeed, sometimes the reverse of gratitude.
One day, in the English class, one of the ushers grossly misquoted Pope.
He said, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." I held up my hand
and asked if the line was not rather "A little learning is a dangerous
thing," adding that Pope would scarcely have thought a little
_knowledge_ to be dangerous, since all _knowledge_ is valuable. The
usher tried to evade the point by a joke, which betrayed gross
theological ignorance. He said: "All Popes are not infallible."
One of the boys brought into school a foolish toy--a gutta-percha snake
that contracts under pressure and expands when released, with a
whistling screech.
Jonas Pike, who is the most ignorant as well as the most ill-mannered of
all the boys, suggested that the snake should be put into the French
master's locker, in which he keeps the exercises for the week. The key
of the locker is left in charge of the top boy of the class, who, I say
it in all modesty, is myself. Presently another boy, Hudson by name,
asked me for the key. I gave it to him, and he handed it to Pike, who
inserted the snake in the locker. When the French master opened the
locker the snake flew in his face. He asked me if I had had any hand in
the matter. I answered that I had not touched the snake. He asked me if
I had opened the locker; I, of course, said "No." Questioned further as
to how the snake could have got there, I admitted having lent the key to
Hudson, ignorant of any ulterior purpose. In spite of this I was
obliged, in company with Pike and Hudson, to copy out some entirely
old-fashioned and meaningless exercises in syntax.
_October_ 13.--A pretty little episode happened at home to-day. The
gardener's boy asked me if he might try his new axe on the old
cherry-tree, which I have often vainly urged mother to cut down. I said,
"By all means." It appears that he misunderstood me and cut down the
tree. My mother was about to send him away, but I went straight to her
and said I would take the entire responsibility for the loss of the tree
on myself, as I had always openly advocated its removal and that the
gardener's boy was well aware of my views on the subject. My mother was
so much touched at my straightforwardness that she gave me some candy, a
refreshment to which I am still partial. Would that the ushers at
school could share her fine discrimination, her sound judgment, and her
appreciation of character.
VI
FROM THE DIARY OF MARCUS AURELIUS
_Rome. The Ides of March_.--It is curious that Julius Cæsar should have
considered this date to be unlucky! It was on that--for him
auspicious--date that he was for ever prevented from committing the
egregious folly of accepting the crown of Rome. A _king_ of Rome is an
unthinkable thing! An emperor of the Roman Empire is, of course, a very
different matter.
_April_ 1.--Faustina, in accordance with some ridiculous tradition,
committed a grossly undignified act. She came into my study, the third
hour--my busiest time, and asked me to lend her the memoirs of Remus in
the Wolf's Lair. I spent a fruitless half-hour in search of the book. It
then occurred to me that the whole matter was a jest--in the very worst
taste, since both my secretaries were present--and I regret to say they
smiled.
_April_ 6.--Went to the games, in company with Faustina and Commodus.
Commodus, as usual, too exuberant in the manner of his applause. I am
all in favour of his applauding. The games are not what they used to be.
The modern lions consume the Christians without the slightest
discrimination. All this modern hurry and hustle is very distressing.
_April_ 10.--Stayed at Tivoli with V.... and A.... from Saturday to
Monday. Even in a country house a day may be well spent. Much
interesting talk on the Fiscal question. V.... deprecates Tariff Reform
in all its shapes. A.... while remaining, as he ever was, a staunch Free
Trader, considers that in some cases--and given certain conditions
--retaliation is admissible--possibly in the matter of the fringes of
litters and the axles of chariot-wheels---objects which exclusively
concern the very rich.
_April_ 20.--An exhilarating day. Walked to the Tiber and back. Read the
preface of the new Persian grammar. Faustina interrupted me three times
over purely trivial matters of domestic detail.
_April_ 20.--Commodus is impossible. He grows more and more extravagant
every day. He persists in spending his pocket money in buying absurd
pets--and the gods know that Faustina has enough pets in the house
already. But I am thankful to say I have drawn the line at badgers. I
put my foot down. I was dignified, but firm. I endure Faustina's
peacocks, because I think it is good for my better nature. Besides which
they are ornamental and--if properly dressed--not unpleasant to the
palate, but badgers--!
_April_ 20.--A painful episode occurred. When I returned from my morning
stroll I was aware that an altercation was taking place in the atrium. I
entered and found myself face to face with two Persian merchants--of the
lowest type--who were exhibiting to Faustina several ropes of pearls.
Faustina, of course, had had no hand in the matter. The merchants had
forced themselves on her presence on some ridiculous pretext. Faustina,
in spite of her faults, values jewels at their true price. She has a
soul above such things. She abhors trinkets. She sees their futility.
_April_ 23.--Re-read the Iliad. Find it too long. The character of Helen
shows defective psychology. Homer did not understand women.
_April_ 27.--Games again. Very tame. Lions lethargic as usual. How
dissatisfied Nero would have been! Nero, although a bad poet, was an
excellent organiser. He understood the _psychology of the crowd_. He was
essentially an altruist. Faustina insisted on making a foolish bet.
Women's bets are the last word of silliness. They bet because the name
of a gladiator reminds them of a pet dog, or for some such reason. They
have no inkling of logic: no power of deduction. I found no difficulty
in anticipating the victories of the successful candidates, but I
refrained from making a wager.
_May_ 1.--Absurd processions in the streets. Faustina painted her face
black and walked round the garden in a movable bower of greenery. I
could see no kind of point or sense in the episode. Under
cross-examination, she confessed that the idea had been suggested to her
by her nurse. All this is very trying. It sets Commodus the worst
possible example. But I suppose I must endure this. The ways of Fate are
inscrutable, and after all, things might have been worse. Faustina might
have been a loose woman! A profligate!
_May_ 6.--Read out the first canto of my epic on the origins of species
to Faustina and Commodus. Commodus, I regret to say, yawned and finally
dozed. Faustina enjoyed it immensely. She said she always thought that I
was a real poet, and that now she _knew it_. She says she thinks it is
far better than Homer or Virgil; that there is so much more in it.
Faustina is a very good judge of literature. There is no one whose
opinion on matters of art and literature I value more. For instance she
thinks Sappho's lyrics are not only trivial, but coarse. She also thinks
Æschylus much overrated, which, of course, he is. How far we have got
beyond all that! Some day I mean to write a play on the subject of love.
It has never yet been properly treated--on the stage. Sophocles and
Seneca knew nothing of women; and Euripides' women are far too
complicated.
_May_ 12.--Meditated on religion, but was again interrupted by Faustina
just as I was making a really illuminating note on the subject of Isis.
Much distressed by modern free thought. Commodus pays much too much
attention to the minor goddesses, but this, at his age, is excusable.
He is, thank goodness, entirely untainted by the detestable Jewish or
so-called "Christian" superstition, which I fear is spreading.
_May_ 13.--V.... and A.... dined. Also a Greek philosopher whose name
escapes me. The Greek was most indiscreet. He discussed the Christian
question before everybody. He must have been aware by my expression that
the topic is one which I consider unfit for public discussion. He not
only discussed, but he actually defended this hysterical, obstinate,
unpatriotic, and fundamentally criminal sect. I do not, of course,
entirely credit the stories current with regard to their orgies and
their human sacrifices. The evidence is not--so far--sufficiently sound;
but, whatever their practices and their rites may be, the Christians are
a pernicious and dangerous sect. They will prove, unless they are
extirpated, the ruin of the Empire. They have no notion of civic duty;
no reverence, no respect for custom or tradition. They are unfilial, and
they are the enemies of the human race. They are a cancer in the State.
Faustina agrees with me, I am glad to say.
_May_ 14.--Commodus is suspected of having made friends with a Christian
slave. The rumour is no doubt a calumny. I cannot bring myself to
believe that a son of mine, with the education which he has enjoyed, and
the example which has ever been before his eyes, of his father's
unswerving and unremitting devotion to duty and the State, can have
degraded himself by dabbling in this degrading and wicked superstition.
Nevertheless it is as well to be on the safe side, and, after prolonged
reflection, I have decided to make a great sacrifice. I am going to
allow him to take part professionally in the games: under another name
of course. I think it may distract him. The games are a Roman
institution. They are the expression of the Empire. They breathe the
spirit of Romulus, of Brutus, of Regulus, of Fabius Cunctator, of
Cincinnatus, of the Gracchi. Faustina said only yesterday that she felt
she was the mother of at least one Gracchus! That was well said. I was
much touched.
_May_ 20.--Commodus has appeared with great success, but the Lions still
show apathy.
VII
FROM THE DIARY OF MRS JAMES LEE'S HUSBAND
_October_ 1.--At last the heat wave is over. It's the first day we have
been able to breathe for months.
Just as I was coming back from my morning walk, Hilda leant out of the
window, and suggested I could climb up into her room like Romeo. I said
I preferred the door. Hilda shut the window with a bang and was cross
all through luncheon.
"Rissoles again," I said to Hilda, "you know I hate hashed meat." She
said: "I know I can't give you the food you get at the Grand Hotel."
That's because I went to Deauville last week.
_October_ 5.--We lit a fire for the first time last night. Hilda said
she felt cold. I thought it was rather stuffy. She said: "Do light the
fire," and went out of the room. I lit it, and it smoked. This chimney
always does smoke at first. When she came back she said: "What have you
done?" I said: "I've lit the fire; you asked me to." She said: "But not
all that wood at once, and you ought to have pushed the wood back." For
the rest of the evening she complained of the heat and the smoke,
although we had the window open in the dining room and the smoke had all
disappeared after a few moments.
_October_ 7.--It's very windy. Went for a walk on the cliffs. Back
through the fields. Saw a rabbit and a magpie. Wish I had had a gun.
I said to Hilda that the sea was striped to leeward like a snake, and
olive-coloured, but on the weather side it was spotted with wind. Hilda
said: "You are very observant about the weather." This was a hit at me
and the fire. Little things rankle in her mind.
Afterwards she was sorry she had said this and she said: "What fun we
shall have here in winter." I don't think it's a winter place myself,
but I want to stay here till I've finished my poem. I'm getting on with
it.