Inclination would lead me to hibernate during half the year in this
uncomfortable climate of Great Britain, where few men who have tasted the
enjoyments of a better would willingly take up their abode, if it were
not for the habits, and still more for the ties and duties which root us
to our native soil. I envy the Turks for their sedentary constitutions,
which seem no more to require exercise than an oyster does or a toad in a
stone. In this respect, I am by disposition as true a Turk as the Grand
Seignior himself; and approach much nearer to one in the habit of
inaction than any person of my acquaintance. Willing however, as I
should be to believe, that anything which is habitually necessary for a
sound body, would be unerringly indicated by an habitual disposition for
it, and that if exercise were as needful as food for the preservation of
the animal economy, the desire of motion would recur not less regularly
than hunger and thirst, it is a theory which will not bear the test; and
this I know by experience.
On a grey sober day, therefore, and in a tone of mind quite accordant
with the season, I went out unwillingly to take the air, though if taking
physic would have answered the same purpose, the dose would have been
preferred as the shortest, and for that reason the least unpleasant
remedy. Even on such occasions as this, it is desirable to propose to
oneself some object for the satisfaction of accomplishing it, and to set
out with the intention of reaching some fixed point, though it should be
nothing better than a mile-stone, or a directing post. So I walked to
the Circle of Stones on the Penrith road, because there is a long hill
upon the way which would give the muscles some work to perform; and
because the sight of this rude monument which has stood during so many
centuries, and is likely, if left to itself, to outlast any edifice that
man could have erected, gives me always a feeling, which, however often
it may be repeated, loses nothing of its force.
The circle is of the rudest kind, consisting of single stones, unhewn and
chosen without any regard to shape or magnitude, being of all sizes, from
seven or eight feet in height, to three or four. The circle, however, is
complete, and is thirty-three paces in diameter. Concerning this, like
all similar monuments in Great Britain, the popular superstition
prevails, that no two persons can number the stones alike, and that no
person will ever find a second counting confirm the first. My children
have often disappointed their natural inclination to believe this wonder,
by putting it to the test and disproving it. The number of the stones
which compose the circle, is thirty-eight, and besides these there are
ten which form three sides of a little square within, on the eastern
side, three stones of the circle itself forming the fourth; this being
evidently the place where the Druids who presided had their station; or
where the more sacred and important part of the rites and ceremonies
(whatever they may have been) were performed. All this is as perfect at
this day as when the Cambrian bards, according to the custom of their
ancient order, described by my old acquaintances, the living members of
the Chair of Glamorgan, met there for the last time,
"On the green turf and under the blue sky,
Their heads in reverence bare, and bare of foot."
The site also precisely accords with the description which Edward
Williams and William Owen give of the situation required for such meeting
places:
"--a high hill top,
Nor bowered with trees, nor broken by the plough:
Remote from human dwellings and the stir
Of human life, and open to the breath
And to the eye of Heaven."
The high hill is now enclosed and cultivated; and a clump of larches has
been planted within the circle, for the purpose of protecting an oak in
the centre, the owner of the field having wished to rear one there with a
commendable feeling, because that tree was held sacred by the Druids, and
therefore, he supposed, might be appropriately placed there. The whole
plantation, however, has been so miserably storm-stricken that the poor
stunted trees are not even worth the trouble of cutting them down for
fuel, and so they continue to disfigure the spot. In all other respects
this impressive monument of former times is carefully preserved; the soil
within the enclosure is not broken, a path from the road is left, and in
latter times a stepping-stile has been placed to accommodate Lakers with
an easier access than by striding over the gate beside it.
The spot itself is the most commanding which could be chosen in this part
of the country, without climbing a mountain. Derwentwater and the Vale
of Keswick are not seen from it, only the mountains which enclose them on
the south and west. Lattrigg and the huge side of Skiddaw are on the
north; to the east is the open country towards Penrith expanding from the
Vale of St. John's, and extending for many miles, with Mellfell in the
distance, where it rises alone like a huge tumulus on the right, and
Blencathra on the left, rent into deep ravines. On the south-east is the
range of Helvellyn, from its termination at Wanthwaite Crags to its
loftiest summits, and to Dunmailraise. The lower range of Nathdalefells
lies nearer, in a parallel line with Helvellyn; and the dale itself, with
its little streamlet, immediately below. The heights above Leatheswater,
with the Borrowdale mountains, complete the panorama.
While I was musing upon the days of the Bards and Druids, and thinking
that Llywarc Hen himself had probably stood within this very circle at a
time when its history was known, and the rites for which it was erected
still in use, I saw a person approaching, and started a little at
perceiving that it was my new acquaintance from the world of spirits. "I
am come," said he, "to join company with you in your walk: you may as
well converse with a ghost as stand dreaming of the dead. I dare say you
have been wishing that these stones could speak and tell their tale, or
that some record were sculptured upon them, though it were as
unintelligible as the hieroglyphics, or as an Ogham inscription."
"My ghostly friend," I replied, "they tell me something to the purport of
our last discourse. Here upon ground where the Druids have certainly
held their assemblies, and where not improbably, human sacrifices have
been offered up, you will find it difficult to maintain that the
improvement of the world has not been unequivocal, and very great."
_Sir Thomas More_.--Make the most of your vantage ground! My position
is, that this improvement is not general; that while some parts of the
earth are progressive in civilisation, others have been retrograde; and
that even where improvement appears the greatest, it is partial. For
example; with all the meliorations which have taken place in England
since these stones were set up (and you will not suppose that I who laid
down my life for a religious principle, would undervalue the most
important of all advantages), do you believe that they have extended to
all classes? Look at the question well. Consider your
fellow-countrymen, both in their physical and intellectual relations, and
tell me whether a large portion of the community are in a happier or more
hopeful condition at this time, than their forefathers were when Caesar
set foot upon the island?
_Montesinos_.--If it be your aim to prove that the savage state is
preferable to the social, I am perhaps the very last person upon whom any
arguments to that end could produce the slightest effect. That notion
never for a moment deluded me: not even in the ignorance and
presumptuousness of youth, when first I perused Rousseau, and was
unwilling to feel that a writer whose passionate eloquence I felt and
admired so truly could be erroneous in any of his opinions. But now, in
the evening of life, when I know upon what foundation my principles rest,
and when the direction of one peculiar course of study has made it
necessary for me to learn everything which books could teach concerning
savage life, the proposition appears to me one of the most untenable that
ever was advanced by a perverse or a paradoxical intellect.
_Sir Thomas More_.--I advanced no such paradox, and you have answered me
too hastily. The Britons were not savages when the Romans invaded and
improved them. They were already far advanced in the barbarous stage of
society, having the use of metals, domestic cattle, wheeled carriages,
and money, a settled government, and a regular priesthood, who were
connected with their fellow-Druids on the Continent, and who were not
ignorant of letters. Understand me! I admit that improvements of the
utmost value have been made, in the most important concerns: but I deny
that the melioration has been general; and insist, on the contrary, that
a considerable portion of the people are in a state, which, as relates to
their physical condition, is greatly worsened, and, as touching their
intellectual nature, is assuredly not improved. Look, for example, at
the great mass of your populace in town and country--a tremendous
proportion of the whole community! Are their bodily wants better, or
more easily supplied? Are they subject to fewer calamities? Are they
happier in childhood, youth, and manhood, and more comfortably or
carefully provided for in old age, than when the land was unenclosed, and
half covered with woods? With regard to their moral and intellectual
capacity, you well know how little of the light of knowledge and of
revelation has reached them. They are still in darkness, and in the
shadow of death!
_Montesinos_.--I perceive your drift: and perceive also that when we
understand each other there is likely to be little difference between us.
And I beseech you, do not suppose that I am disputing for the sake of
disputation; with that pernicious habit I was never infected, and I have
seen too many mournful proofs of its perilous consequences. Towards any
person it is injudicious and offensive; towards you it would be
irreverent. Your position is undeniable. Were society to be stationary
at its present point, the bulk of the people would, on the whole, have
lost rather than gained by the alterations which have taken place during
the last thousand years. Yet this must be remembered, that in common
with all ranks they are exempted from those dreadful visitations of war,
pestilence, and famine by which these kingdoms were so frequently
afflicted of old.
The countenance of my companion changed upon this, to an expression of
judicial severity which struck me with awe. "Exempted from these
visitations!" he exclaimed; "mortal man! creature of a day, what art
thou, that thou shouldst presume upon any such exemption! Is it from a
trust in your own deserts, or a reliance upon the forbearance and long-
suffering of the Almighty, that this vain confidence arises?"