STEPHAN LANGTON--ALFRED.
I wrote "Stephan Langton, a Story of the Time of King John," because,
1st, I had little to do in the country; 2dly, I wished to give some
special literary lift to Albury and its neighbourhood, more particularly
as my story had a geographical connection with Surrey; 3dly, I had the
run of Mr. Drummond's library, and consulted there some 300 volumes for
my novel: so it was not an idle work though a rapid one; 4thly, I wanted
to show that though in a Popish age England's heart, and especially
Langton's, was Protestant, quite a precursor of Luther. As this book is
extant, at Lasham's, Guildford, I refer my readers to it. One curious
matter is that my ideal scenes have taken such hold upon my
neighbourhood that streams of tourists come constantly through Albury to
visit "The Silent Pool" and other sites of scenes invented by me, and
have thereby enriched our village inn and the flymen, as well as given
to us a new sort of fame. The book, so cheap in the Guildford edition,
was originally published by Hurst & Blackett in 2 vols., illustrated by
Cousins: that edition is very scarce now.
The tragedy at the "Silent Pool" and the _Auto-da-fé_ are perhaps the
most dramatic scenes in the book,--as the Robin Hood gathering in Combe
Valley is the most picturesque.
* * * * *
I quote a few particulars from one of my diaries. "This book tended to
clear my brain of sundry fancies and pictures, as only the writing of
another book could do _that_. Its seed is truly recorded in the first
chapter as to the two stone coffins still in the chancel of St.
Martha's. I began the book on November 26, 1857, and finished it in
exactly eight weeks, on January 21, 1858, reading for the work included.
In two months more it was printed by Hurst & Blackett. I intended it for
one full volume, but the publishers preferred to issue it in two scant
ones; it has since been reproduced by Lasham, Guildford, in one vol., at
one-and-sixpence; it was 14s. I consulted and partially read for it (as
I wanted accurate pictures of John's reign in England) the histories of
Tyrrell, Hollingshed, Hume, Poole, Markland, Thomson's Magna Charta,
James's Philip Augustus, Milman's Latin Christianity, Hallam's Middle
Ages, Maimbourg's Lives of the Popes, Ranke's Life of Innocent III.,
Maitland on the Dark Ages, Ritson's Life of Robin Hood, Salmon's,
Bray's, and Brayley's Surrey, Tupper's and Duncan's Guernsey, besides
the British and National and other Encyclopædias and Dictionaries as
required. It was a work of hard and quick and fervid labour, not an idle
piece of mere brain-spinning, and it may be depended on for
archæological accuracy in every detail. More than thirty localities in
our beautiful county Surrey are painted in the book; of other parts of
England twelve; of France and Italy twelve; there are more than twenty
historical characters honestly (as I judge) depicted; and some fifteen
ideal ones fairly enough invented as accessories: I preferred Stephan
to the commoner Stephen, for etymological and archæological reasons: it
is clearly nearer the Greek, and is spelt so in ancient records."
King Alfred's own Poems.
One of the rarest of the books I have written (if any bibliomaniac of
some future age desires to collect them) must always be "King Alfred's
Poems, now first turned into English metres;" for the little volume was
privately printed by Dr. Allen Giles, the edition being only of 250
copies, which soon vanished, a few of them bearing Hall & Virtue's name
on a new title, and being dated 1850,--the majority hailing from the
private press aforesaid. I constructed it purposely for the "Jubilee
Edition of the Works of King Alfred," learning as well as I could (by
the help of Dr. Bosworth's Dictionary and a Grammar) in a few weeks a
little Anglo-Saxon,--and I confess considerably assisted by Mr. Fox's
prose translation of Boethius. There are thirty-one poems in all, some
being of Alfred's own, but the major part rendered by the wise king out
of Latin into the language of his own people to help their teaching. I
turned it into English verse in thirty-one different metres, each being
as nearly as I could manage in the rhythm of the original: there were no
rhymes in those days; alliteration was the only sort of jingle: in the
judgment of Mr. Fox and some other Anglo-Saxon critics my version was
fairly close, and for the poetical part of my own production at least
nothing is of the slipshod order of half rhymes or alternate prose and
verse--too common, especially in our hymnology--but honest double
rhyming throughout. Without transcribing the little volume I could not
give a true idea of it: but here shall come three or four samples:--
"Lo, I sang cheerily
In my bright days,--
But now all wearily
Chaunt I my lays,--
Sorrowing tearfully,
Saddest of men,
Can I sing cheerfully
As I could then?" &c. &c.
Here is a verse of another:--
"O Thou that art Maker of heaven and earth,
Who steerest the stars, and hast given them birth,
For ever thou reignest upon Thy high throne,
And turnest all swiftly the heavenly zone," &c.
Yet another:--
"What is a man the better,
A man of worldly mould,
Though he be gainful getter
Of richest gems and gold,
With every kind well fillèd
Of goods in ripe array,
And though for him be tillèd
A thousand fields a day?" &c.
Again:--
"I have wings like a bird, and more swiftly can fly
Far over this earth to the roof of the sky,
And now must I feather thy fancies, O mind,
To leave the mid earth and its earthlings behind," &c.
And for a last word:--
"Thus quoth Alfred--'If thou growest old
And hast no pleasure, spite of weal and gold,
And goest weak,--then thank thy Lord for this,
That He hath sent thee hitherto much bliss,
For life and light and pleasures past away;
And say thou, Come and welcome, come what may.'"
These are little bits taken casually: to each of the poems I have added
suitable comment in prose. Mr. Bohn in his well-known series has added
my verse to Mr. Fox's prose Boethius.
The Anglo-Saxon preface to that volume commences thus: "Alfred, King,
was the translator of this book: and from book-Latin turned it into Old
English, as it is now done. Awhile he put word for word; awhile sense
for sense. He learned this book, and translated it for his own people,
and turned it into song, as it is now done." His Old English song, that
is, Anglo-Saxon alliteration, is all now modernised in this curious
little book of English metres. It was well praised by many critics; but
at present is out of the market. When I am "translated" myself, all
these old works of mine will rise again in a voluminous complete
edition.
* * * * *
"The Alfred Jubilee," on that great king's thousandth year, 1848, is one
of the exploits of my literary life, undertaken and accomplished by Mr.
Evelyn, the brothers Brereton, Dr. Giles, and myself in the year 1848,
chiefly at Wantage, where Alfred was born. We arranged meetings and
banquets in several places, notably Liverpool, where Mr. Bramwell Moore,
the mayor, gave a great feast in commemoration, a medal was struck, the
Jubilee edition of King Alfred's works was at least begun at Dr. Giles's
private printing-press, whilst at Wantage itself 20,000 people collected
from all parts for old English games, speeches, appropriate songs, such
as "To-day is the day of a thousand years" from my pen, collections for
a local school and college as a lasting memorial, and--to please the
commonalty--a gorgeous procession and an ox roasted whole, with gilded
horns and ribbons,--the huge carcase turned like a hare on a gigantic
spit by help of a steam-engine before a furnace of two tons of blazing
coal; and that ox was consumed after a most barbaric Abyssinian fashion
in the open air. My Anglo-Saxon Magazine came out strong on the
occasion,--but it is obsolete now; and I care not to use up space in
reprinting patriotic indignation: for let me state that, considered as a
national commemoration of the Great King, the chief founder of our
liberties, this Wantage jubilee was all but a failure; the British lion
slumbered, and it was flogging a dead horse to try to wake him up; very
few of the magnates responded to our appeal: but we did our best,
nevertheless, as independent Englishmen, and locally achieved a fair
success.
If I went into the whole story with anecdotical detail, I should weary
my reader: let me only reproduce my song at the grand Liverpool banquet,
by way of ending cheerily.
_The Day of a Thousand Years._
"To-day is the day of a thousand years!
Bless it, O brothers, with heart-thrilling cheers!
Alfred for ever!--to-day was He born,
Day-star of England, to herald her morn,
That, everywhere breaking and brightening soon,
Sheds on us now the full sunshine of noon,
And fills us with blessing in Church and in State,
Children of Alfred, the Good and the Great!
_Chorus_--Hail to his Jubilee Day,
The Day of a thousand years.
"Anglo-Saxons!--in love are we met,
To honour a Name we can never forget!
Father, and Founder, and King of a race
That reigns and rejoices in every place,--
Root of a tree that o'ershadows the earth,
First of a Family blest from his birth,
Blest in this stem of their strength and their state,
Alfred the Wise, and the Good, and the Great!
_Chorus_,--Hail to his Jubilee Day,
The Day of a thousand years!
"Children of Alfred, from every clime
Your glory shall live to the deathday of Time!
Hereafter in bliss still ever expand
O'er measureless realms of the Heavenly Land!
For you, like him, serve God and your Race,
And gratefully look on the birthday of Grace:
Then honour to Alfred! with heart-stirring cheers!
To-day is the Day of a thousand years!
_Chorus_,--Hail to his Jubilee Day,
The Day of a thousand years!"
This song was set to excellent music, and went well, especially in the
chorus. Several Americans were of our company, in particular, Richmond,
a literary friend of mine. At the dinner I had to make a principal
speech, and my cousin Gaspard of the Artillery (now General) answered
for the Army.