Norton Anthology of English literature eighth edition Vol 1

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The Norton Anthology o f E nglish Literature EIGHTH

EDITION

V O L U M E

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Carol T. Christ PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF E N G L I S H , UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY PRESIDENT, SMITH C O L L E G E

Alfred David PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H EMERITUS, INDIANA UNIVERSITY

Barbara K. Lewalski WILLIAM R. KENAN PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H AND OF HISTORY AND LITERATURE, HARVARD UNIVERSITY

Lawrence Lipking PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH AND C H E S T E R D. TRIPP PROFESSOR OF HUMANITIES, NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY

George M. Logan JAMES CAPPON PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H , S U E E N ' s UNIVERSITY

Deidre Shauna Lynch ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H , INDIANA UNIVERSITY

Katharine Eisaman Maus JAMES BRANCH C A B E L L PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H , UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

James Noggle ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H AND WHITEHEAD ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF CRITICAL THOUGHT, WELLESLEY COLLEGE

Jahan Ramazani EDGAR F. SHANNON PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

Catherine Robson ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H AND CHANCELLOR'S FELLOW, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS

James Simpson PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH AND AMERICAN LITERATURE, HARVARD UNIVERSITY

Jon Stallworthy PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, OXFORD UNIVERSITY

Jack Stillinger CENTER FOR ADVANCED STUDY PROFESSOR OF E N G L I S H , UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

Editors Emeriti E. Talbot Donaldson, L A T E O F I N D I A N A U N I V E R S I T Y • Hallett Smith, L A T E O F T H E H U N T I N G T O N L I B R A R Y • Robert M. Adams, L A T E O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F C A L I F O R N I A , L O S A N G E L E S • Samuel Holt Monk, L A T E O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F M I N N E S O T A • George H. Ford, L A T E O F T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F R O C H E S T E R • David Daiches, L A T E OF THE INSTITUTE OF ADVANCED STUDIES, UNIVERSITY OF E D I N B U R G H

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The Norton Anthology of English Literature EIGHTH

EDITION

VOLUME 1

Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor COGAN

UNIVERSITY P R O F E S S O R OF THE

HUMANITIES,

HARVARD UNIVERSITY

M. H. Abrams, Founding Editor Emeritus CLASS

1916

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH

EMERITUS,

W • W • NORTON & COMPANY •

CORNELL

UNIVERSITY

New York • London

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W. W. Norton & Company has been independent since its founding in 1923, when William Warder Norton and Mary D. Herter Norton first published lectures delivered at the People's Institute, the adult education division of New York City's Cooper Union. The Nortons soon expanded their program beyond the Institute, publishing books by celebrated academics from America and abroad. By mid-century, the two major pillars of Norton's publishing program— trade books and college texts—were firmly established. In the 1950s, the Norton family transferred control of the company to its employees, and today—with a staff of four hundred and a comparable number of trade, college, and professional titles published each year— W. W. Norton & Company stands as the largest and oldest publishing house owned wholly by its employees.

Editor: Julia Reidhead Managing Editor, College: Marian Johnson Developmental Editor: Kurt Wildermuth Electronic Media Editor: Eileen Connell Production Manager: Diane O'Connor Associate Editor: Erin Granville Copy Editors: Alice Falk, Katharine Ings, Candace Levy, Alan Shaw, Ann Tappert Permissions Managers: Nancy Rodwan and Katrina Washington Text Design: Antonina Krass Art Research: Neil Ryder Hoos Composition by Binghamton Valley Composition Manufacturing by RR Donnelley Copyright © 2006, 2000, 1993, 1990, 1986, 1979, 1974, 1968, 1962 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Since this page cannot legibly accommodate all the copyright notices, Permissions Acknowledgments constitutes an extension of the copyright page. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Norton anthology of English literature / Stephen Greenblatt, general editor ; M.H. Abrams, founding editor emeritus.—8th ed. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and indexes. I S B N 0 - 3 9 3 - 9 2 7 1 3 - X (v. 1) — I S B N 0 - 3 9 3 - 9 2 5 3 1 - 5 (v. 1: pbk.) I S B N 0 - 3 9 3 - 9 2 7 1 5 - 6 (v. 2) — I S B N 0 - 3 9 3 - 9 2 5 3 2 - 3 (v. 2: pbk.) 1. English literature. 2. Great Britain—Literary collections. I. Greenblatt, Stephen, 1 9 4 3 - II. Abrams, M. H. (Meyer Howard), 1 9 1 2 PR1109.N6 2005 820.8—dc22 2005052313 W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10110 www.wwnorton.com W. W. Norton & Company Ltd., Castle House, 75/76 Wells Street, London WIT 3 Q T 6 7 8 9 0

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THE MIDDLE AGES

David / Simpson T H E SIXTEENTH CENTURY

Logan / Greenblatt T H E EARLY S E V E N T E E N T H C E N T U R Y

Lewalski / Maus T H E RESTORATION AND THE E I G H T E E N T H C E N T U R Y

Lipking / Noggle T H E ROMANTIC P E R I O D

Stillinger / Lynch T H E VICTORIAN A G E

Christ / Robson T H E T W E N T I E T H C E N T U R Y AND A F T E R

Stallworthy / Ramazani

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Contents PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION

xxxiii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

xliii

The Middle Ages (to ca. 1485)

Introduction 1 Anglo-Saxon Literature 3 Anglo-Norman Literature 7 Middle English Literature in the Fourteenth a n d Fifteenth Centuries 10 Medieval English 15 Old and Middle English Prosody 19 Timeline 22

ANGLO-SAXON LITERATURE B E D E (ca. 6 7 3 - 7 3 5 ) and C ^ E D M O N ' S H Y M N An Ecclesiastical History of the English People [The Story of Caedmon] 25

24 24 25

T H E DREAM OF T H E ROOD BEOWULF

translated by Seamus Heaney

JUDITH

100

KING ALFRED (849-899) Preface to the Pastoral Care

108 109

THE WANDERER

111

THE WIFE'S LAMENT

113

ANGLO-NORMAN LITERATURE THE ANGLO-SAXON C H R O N I C L E [Obituary for William the C o n q u e r o r j

115 115

115

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viii

CONTENTS L E G E N D A R Y H I S T O R I E S OF BRITAIN

1 17

G E O F F R E Y O F M O N M O U T H : T h e History o f the Kings o f Britain [The Story of B r u t u s and Diana's Prophecy] 119

118

W A C E : Le R o m a n de Brut [The R o m a n Challenge]

120

L A Y A M O N : Brut [Arthur's D r e a m ]

121 124

125

T H E MYTH OF ARTHUR'S R E T U R N Geoffrey of M o n m o u t h : From T h e History of the Kings of Britain 127 W a c e : From Le R o m a n de Brut 127 Layamon: From Brut 127 CELTIC CONTEXTS

127

128

EXILE OF T H E S O N S OF UISLIU

129

T H O M A S O F E N G L A N D : L e R o m a n d e Tristran [The D e a t h s of Tristran and Ysolt] 13 7

136

MARIE DE F R A N C E Lanval 142 Chevrefoil 155

141

A N C R E N E R I W L E (Rule for Anchoresses) [The Parable of the Christ-Knight] 158

157

MIDDLE ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE FOURTEENTH AND FIFTEENTH CENTURIES

160

S I R GAWAIN A N D T H E G R E E N K N I G H T (ca. 1 3 7 5 - 1 4 0 0 )

160

G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R (ca. 1 3 4 3 - 1 4 0 0 )

213

THE CANTERBURY TALES

2 16

T h e General Prologue 218 Summary: T h e Knight's Tale 238 The Miller's Prologue and Tale 239 T h e Prologue 239 The Tale 241 T h e M a n of Law's Epilogue 255 T h e Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale 256 The Prologue 257 The Tale 275 T h e Pardoner's Prologue and Tale 284 T h e Introduction 284 T h e Prologue 285

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CONTENTS

T h e Tale 288 T h e Epilogue 297 T h e Nun's Priest's Tale 298 [Close of Canterbury Tales] 312 T h e Parson's Tale 313 T h e Introduction 313 C h a u c e r ' s Retraction 315 LYRICS AND OCCASIONAL V E R S E

Troilus's S o n g 316 Truth 317 T o His Scribe A d a m Complaint to His Purse

316

318 318

J O H N G O W E R (ca. 1 3 3 0 - 1 4 0 8 ) T h e Lover's C o n f e s s i o n 320 The T a l e of Philomena and T e r e u s

319 320

W I L L I A M L A N G L A N D (ca. 1 3 3 0 - 1 3 8 7 ) T h e Vision of Piers Plowman 333 T h e Prologue 333 [The Field of Folk] 333 Passus 1 336 [The T r e a s u r e of Truth] 336 Passus 5 340 [Piers Plowman S h o w s the Way to Saint Truth] Passus 6 343 [The Plowing of Piers's Half-Acre] 343 Passus 7 350 [Piers T e a r s Truth's Pardon] 350 The C-Text 352 [The Dreamer M e e t s C o n s c i e n c e and Reason]

331

340

352 355

C H R I S T ' S HUMANITY

WILLIAM LANGLAND T h e Vision of Piers Plowman 357 P a s s u s 18 357 [The Crucifixion and Harrowing of Hell]

356

357

M I D D L E E N G L I S H INCARNATION AND CRUCIFIXION LYRICS What is he, this lordling, that cometh from the fight 368 Ye That P a s e n by the Weye 369 S u n s e t on Calvary 369 I sing of a M a i d e n 369 A d a m Lay B o u n d 370 T h e C o r p u s Christi Carol 370

367

J U L I A N OF N O R W I C H (1342-ca. 1416) A Book of Showings to the Anchoress Julian of Norwich Chapter 3 [Julian's Bodily Sickness and the W o u n d s of Christ] 372 Chapter 4 [Christ's Passion and Incarnation] 373

371

372

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CONTENTS

Chapter 5 [All Creation as a Hazelnut] 374 Chapter 7 [Christ as Homely and Courteous] 375 Chapter 27 [Sin Is Fitting] 376 Chapters 58, 59, 60, 61 [Jesus as Mother] 377 Chapter 86 [Christ's Meaning] 382 M A R G E R Y K E M P E (ca. 1 3 7 3 - 1 4 3 8 ) 383 The Book of Margery Kempe 384 Book 1.1 [The Birth of Her First Child and Her First Vision] 384 Book 1.11 [Margery and Her Husband Reach a Settlement] 385 Book 1.20 [Margery Sees the Host Flutter at Mass] 387 Book 1.28 [Pilgrimage to Jerusalem] 388 Book 1.35—36 [Margery's Marriage to and Intimacy with Christ] 389 Book 1.60 [Margery's Reaction to a Pieta] 392 Book 1.76 [Margery Nurses Her Husband in His Old Age] 394 Book 1.79 [Margery's Vision of the Passion Sequence] 395 T H E Y O R K PLAY O F T H E C R U C I F I X I O N (ca. 1425)

398

MYSTERY PLAYS The Wakefield Second Shepherds' Play

406

M I D D L E E N G L I S H LYRICS The Cuckoo Song 436 Alison 436 My Lief Is Faren in Londe Western Wind 437 I Am of Ireland 437

407 435

437

S I R T H O M A S MALORY (ca. 1 4 0 5 - 1 4 7 1 ) Morte Darthur 439 [The Conspiracy against Lancelot and Guinevere] [War Breaks Out between Arthur and Lancelot] [The Death of Arthur] 448 [The Deaths of Lancelot and Guinevere] 453

438 439 444

R O B E R T H E N R Y S O N (ca. 1 4 2 5 - c a . 1500) The C o c k and the Fox 457

456

EVERYMAN (after 1485)

463

The Sixteenth Century ( 1 4 8 5 - 1 6 0 3 )

485

Introduction

485

Timeline

512

J O H N S K E L T O N (ca. 1 4 6 0 - 1 5 2 9 ) Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale 515 With lullay, lullay, like a child 515

514

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T h e T u n n i n g of Elinour R u m m i n g Secundus Passus 516 SIR T H O M A S M O R E (1478-1535) Utopia 521 T h e History of King Richard III [A King's Mistress] 590

516

590

S I R T H O M A S WYATT T H E E L D E R ( 1 5 0 3 - 1 5 4 2 ) The long love that in my thought doth harbor 594 Petrarch, Rima 140 594 W h o s o list to hunt 595 Petrarch, Rima 190 595 Farewell, Love 596 I find no p e a c e 596 Petrarch, Rima 134 596 My galley 597 Petrarch, Rima 189 597 Divers doth u s e 598 What vaileth truth? 598 M a d a m , withouten many words 599 They flee from me 599 The Lover Showeth How He Is Forsaken of S u c h as He S o m e t i m e Enjoyed 600 My lute, awake! 600 Forget not yet 601 Blame not my lute 602 Stand whoso list 603 W h o list his wealth and e a s e retain 603 Mine own J o h n Poins 604 HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY (1517-1547) T h e soote s e a s o n 608 Petrarch, Rima 3 1 0 608 Love, that doth reign and live within my thought 608 Alas! so all things now do hold their p e a c e 609 Petrarch, Rima 164 609 Th'Assyrians' king, in p e a c e with foul desire 610 So cruel prison how could betide 610 Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest 612 0 happy d a m e s , that may e m b r a c e 613 Martial, the things for to attain 614 T h e Fourth Book of Virgil 614 [Dido in Love] 614 FAITH I N C O N F L I C T

THE ENGLISH BIBLE 1 Corinthians 13 619 From Tyndale's Translation From T h e Geneva Bible

619 619

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xii

CONTENTS

From T h e Douay-Rheims Version 620 From T h e Authorized (King J a m e s ) Version

620

W I L L I A M T Y N D A L E : T h e O b e d i e n c e of a Christian M a n [The Forgiveness of Sins] 621 [Scriptural Interpretation] 622

621

T H O M A S M O R E : A Dialogue C o n c e r n i n g Heresies From C h a p t e r 28 623

623

J O H N C A L V I N : T h e Institution o f Christian Religion From B o o k 3, C h a p t e r 21 625

625

A N N E A S K E W : From T h e First Examination of Anne Askew

628

J O H N F O X E : Acts and M o n u m e n t s [The Death of Anne Askew]

631 631

B O O K O F C O M M O N PRAYER: From T h e Form o f Solemnization of Matrimony

632

B O O K OF H O M I L I E S : From An Homily Against D i s o b e d i e n c e and Willful Rebellion

635

R I C H A R D H O O K E R : Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity Book 1, C h a p t e r 3 638 [On the Several Kinds of Law, and on the Natural Law]

637 638

R O B E R T S O U T H W E L L : T h e Burning B a b e

640

ROGER ASCHAM (1515-1568) The Schoolmaster 642 T h e First Book for the Youth [Teaching Latin] 642 [The Italianate Englishman]

641 642 643

SIR THOMAS HOBY (1530-1566) Castiglione's The Courtier 646 Book 1 646 [Grace] 646 Book 4 647 [The Ladder of Love] 647 WOMEN I N POWER

MARY I (MARY T U D O R ) Letter to Henry VIII 664 From An Ambassadorial Dispatch to the Holy R o m a n Emperor, C h a r l e s V: T h e Coronation of Mary I 665 The Oration of Q u e e n Mary in the Guildhall, on the First of February, 1554 666

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645

662

663

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CONTENTS

LADY J A N E G R E Y Roger A s c h a m ' s Schoolmaster 669 A Talk with Lady J a n e 669 From A Letter of the Lady J a n e to M . H . 670 A Letter of the Lady J a n e , Sent unto her Father 672 A Prayer of the Lady J a n e 673 A S e c o n d Letter to Her Father 674 Foxe's Acts and Monuments 674 T h e Words and Behavior of the Lady J a n e upon the S c a f f o l d MARY, Q U E E N O F S C O T S From C a s k e t Letter N u m b e r 2 677 A Letter to Elizabeth I, May 17, 1568 679 From Narrative of the Execution of the Q u e e n of S c o t s

xiii

668

674 675

681

ELIZABETH I 687 Verses Written with a D i a m o n d 688 From T h e P a s s a g e of O u r M o s t Dread Sovereign Lady Q u e e n Elizabeth through the City of L o n d o n to Westminster on the Day before Her Coronation 688 S p e e c h to the H o u s e of C o m m o n s , J a n u a r y 2 8 , 1563 690 From A S p e e c h to a Joint Delegation of Lords and C o m m o n s , November 5, 1 5 6 6 692 From A Letter to Mary, Q u e e n of Scots, February 24, 1 567 694 T h e doubt of f u t u r e foes 695 O n Monsieur's Departure 695 A Letter to Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, February 10, 1 5 8 6 696 A Letter to Sir Amyas Paulet, August 1 586 697 A Letter to King J a m e s VI of Scotland, February 14, 1 587 697 Verse E x c h a n g e between Elizabeth and Sir Walter Ralegh 698 S p e e c h to the Troops at Tilbury 699 T h e "Golden S p e e c h " 700

ARTHUR GOLDING (1536-1605) Ovid's Metamorphoses 704 [The Four Ages] 704

703

EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599) The Shepheardes Calender 708 To His Booke 708 October 709 T h e Faerie O u e e n e 714 A Letter of the Authors 716 Book 1 719 Book 2 857 Summary 857 C a n t o 12 857 [The Bower of Bliss] 857 Book 3 867 Summary 867

708

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xiv

CONTENTS

Canto 6 868 [The G a r d e n of Adonis] C a n t o s 7—10 S u m m a r y Canto 11 880 C a n t o 12 892 Amoretti a n d Epithalamion AMORETTL

868 880

902

903

Sonnet Sonnet Sonnet Sonnet Sonnet Sonnet

1 ("Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands") 903 34 ("Lyke as a ship that through the O c e a n wyde") 903 37 ("What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses") 904 54 ("Of this worlds T h e a t r e in which we stay") 904 64 ( " C o m m i n g to kisse her lyps [such grace I found]") 904 65 ("The doubt which ye m i s d e e m e , fayre love, is vaine") 905 S o n n e t 67 ("Lyke as a h u n t s m a n after weary c h a c e " ) 905 S o n n e t 68 ( " M o s t glorious Lord of lyfe, that on this day") 905 S o n n e t 74 ( " M o s t happy letters fram'd by skilfull trade") 906 S o n n e t 75 ( " O n e day I wrote her n a m e upon the strand") 906 S o n n e t 79 ( " M e n call you fayre, and you doe credit it") 907 Epithalamion 907 SIR WALTER RALEGH (1552-1618) T h e Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd 917 What is our life? 918 [Sir Walter Ralegh to His S o n ] 918 T h e Lie 919 Farewell, false love 921 M e t h o u g h t I saw the grave where L a u r a lay 921 Nature, that w a s h e d her hands in milk 922 [The Author's Epitaph, M a d e by Himself] 923 From T h e discovery of the large, rich, and beautiful Empire of Guiana 923 T h e History of the World 926 [Conclusion: O n Death] 926 THE WIDER WORLD

FROBISHER'S VOYAGES TO T H E ARCTIC, 1576-78 From A true discourse of the late voyages of discovery

917

927

928 928

DRAKE'S CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF T H E G L O B E , 1577-80 From T h e f a m o u s voyage of Sir Francis Drake into the S o u t h Sea 932

932

A M A D A S A N D B A R L O W E ' S V O Y A G E T O V I R G I N I A , 1584 From T h e first voyage m a d e to Virginia 935

935

HARIOT'S R E P O R T ON VIRGINIA, 1585 From A brief and true report of the new-found land of Virginia

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938 939

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CONTENTS

J O H N LYLY ( 1 5 5 4 - 1 6 0 6 ) Euphues: T h e Anatomy of Wit [Euphues Introduced] 944

94 944

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586) 94 The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia 948 Book 2, Chapter 1 949 The Defense of Poesy 953 [The Lessons of Horsemanship] 954 [The Poet, Poetry] 955 [Three Kinds of Poets] 958 [Poetry, Philosophy, History] 959 [The Poetic Kinds] 963 [Answers to Charges against Poetry] 967 [Poetry in England] 968 [Conclusion] 973 Astrophil and Stella 975 "Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show") 975 "Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed shot") 976 "It is most true that eyes are formed to serve") 976 " S o m e lovers speak, when they their muses entertain") 977 "When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes") 977 " Q u e e n Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face") 977 "Reason, in faith thou art well served, that still") 978 "You that do search for every purling spring") 978 "In nature apt to like when I did see") 978 "With what sharp checks I in myself am shent") 979 "Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death-wound, fly") 979 "Your words, my friend [right healthful caustics], blame") 979 " B e c a u s e I oft, in dark abstracted guise") 980 "You that with allegory's curious frame") 980 "With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies") 980 "I might [unhappy word], O me, I might") 981 " C o m e , let me write.'And to what e n d ? ' " ) 981 "My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell") 982 " C o m e sleep! O sleep the certain knot of peace") 982 "Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance") 982 "Stella oft sees the very face of woe") 983 "What, have I thus betrayed my liberty?") 983 "I on my horse, and Love on me doth try") 983 "A strife is grown between Virtue and Love") 984 "In martial sports I had my cunning tried") 984 " B e c a u s e I breathe not love to everyone") 984 "Fie, school of Patience, fie, your lesson is") 985 "Oft with true sighs, oft with uncalled tears") 985 "O joy, too high for my low style to show") 986 "Who will in fairest book of Nature know") 986 "Desire, though thou my old companion art") 986 "I never drank of Aganippe well") 987 "O kiss, which dost those ruddy gems impart") 987 Fourth Song ("Only joy, now here you are") 987

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xvi

CONTENTS

87 ("When I was forced from Stella ever dear") 989 89 ( " N o w that of a b s e n c e the most irksome night") 989 91 ("Stella, while now by Honor's cruel might") 989 94 ("Grief, find the words; for thou hast m a d e my brain") Eleventh S o n g ('Who is it that this dark night") 990 106 ("O absent presence, Stella is not here") 991 108 ("When Sorrow [using mine own fire's might]") 992 FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE (1554-1628) Caelica 993 100 ("In night when colors all to black are cast")

990

992 993

MARY ( S I D N E Y ) H E R B E R T , C O U N T E S S O F P E M B R O K E (1562-1621) Psalm 5 2 994 Psalm 139 995

993

SAMUEL DANIEL (1562-1619) Delia 998 33 ("When m e n shall find thy flower, thy glory p a s s " ) 998 45 ("Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night") 998 46 ("Let others sing of knights and paladins") 998

997

M I C H A E L DRAYTON (1563-1631) Idea 999 To the Reader of T h e s e S o n n e t s 999 6 ("How many paltry, foolish, painted things") 1000 61 ( " S i n c e there's no help, c o m e , let us kiss and part") Ode. To the Virginian Voyage 1000

999

1000

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE (1564-1593) Hero and L e a n d e r 1004 T h e Passionate S h e p h e r d to His Love 1022 Doctor F a u s t u s 1022 T h e Tragical History of Doctor F a u s t u s 1023 The Two Texts of Doctor Faustus 1056

1001

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)

1058

SONNETS

1 3 12 15 18 19 20 23 29 30 33 35 55

1060

("From fairest creatures we desire increase") 1062 ( " L o o k in thy glass and tell the f a c e thou viewest") 1062 ("When I do count the clock that tells the time") 1062 ("When I consider every thing that grows") 1063 ("Shall I c o m p a r e thee to a summer's day?") 1063 ("Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws") 1063 ("A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted") 1064 ("As an unperfect actor on the stage") 1064 ("When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes") 1065 ("When to the sessions of sweet silent thought") 1065 ("Full many a glorious morning have I seen") 1065 ( " N o more be grieved at that which thou hast done") 1066 ("Not marble, nor the gilded m o n u m e n t s " ) 1066

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CONTENTS

xvii

60 ("Like as the waves m a k e towards the pebbled shore") 1066 62 ("Sin of self-love p o s s e s s e t h all mine eye") 1067 65 ("Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea") 1067 71 ( " N o longer mourn for me when I am dead") 1067 73 ("That time of year thou mayst in me behold") 1068 74 ("But be contented; when that fell arrest") 1068 80 ("O, how I faint when I of you do write") 1068 85 ("My tongue-tied m u s e in m a n n e r s holds her still") 1069 87 ("Farewell: thou art too dear for my possessing") 1069 93 ("So shall I live s u p p o s i n g thou art true") 1069 94 ("They that have power to hurt and will do none") 1070 97 ("How like a winter hath my a b s e n c e been") 1070 98 ("From you have I been absent in the spring") 1071 105 ("Let not my love be called idolatry") 1071 106 ("When in the chronicle of wasted time") 1071 107 ("Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul") 1072 110 ("Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there") 1072 116 ("Let me not to the marriage of true minds") 1072 126 ("O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power") 1073 127 ("In the old age black was not counted fair") 1073 128 ("How oft when thou, my m u s i c , music play'st") 1073 129 ("Th' expense of spirit in a waste of s h a m e " ) 1074 130 ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun") 1074 135 ("Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will") 1075 138 ("When my love swears that she is m a d e of truth") 1075 144 ("Two loves I have of comfort and despair") 1075 146 ("Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth") 1076 147 ("My love is as a fever, longing still") 1076 152 ("In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn") 1076 Twelfth Night 1077 King Lear 1139 Excerpts from the Two Texts of King Lear From T h e History of King Lear: S c e n e 8 From T h e Tragedy of King Lear: 3.1

1224 1224 1225

THOMAS CAMPION (1567-1620) My sweetest Lesbia 1228 I care not for these ladies 1228 When to her lute C o r i n n a sings 1229 Now winter nights enlarge 1230 There is a garden in her f a c e 1230 Fain would I wed 1231

1228

THOMAS NASHE (1567-1601) A Litany in T i m e of Plague

1231 1232

RICHARD BARNFIELD (1574-1627) Cynthia 1234 Sonnet 9 ("Diana [on a time] walking the wood") Sonnet 11 ("Sighing, and sadly sitting by my love")

1233 1234 1234

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CONTENTS

The Early Seventeenth Century (1603-1660)

1235

Introduction

1235

Timeline

1258

JOHN DONNE (1572-1631) SONGS AND S O N N E T S

1260

1263

T h e Flea 1263 The Good-Morrow 1263 S o n g ( " G o a n d catch a falling star") 1264 T h e Undertaking 1265 T h e S u n Rising 1266 T h e Indifferent 1267 T h e Canonization 1267 S o n g ("Sweetest love, I do not go") 1269 Air and Angels 1270 Break of Day 1270 A Valediction: Of W e e p i n g 1271 Love's Alchemy 1272 A Nocturnal upon Saint Lucy's Day, B e i n g the Shortest Day T h e Bait 1274 T h e Apparition 1274 A Valediction: Forbidding M o u r n i n g 1275 T h e Ecstasy 1276 T h e Funeral 1278 The Blossom 1279 T h e Relic 1280 A Lecture upon the S h a d o w 1281

1272

Elegy 16. On His Mistress 1281 Elegy 19. To His Mistress G o i n g to Bed 1283 Satire 3 1284 S a p p h o to Philaenis 1287 From An Anatomy of the World: T h e First Anniversary 1289 Holy S o n n e t s 1295 1 ("Thou hast m a d e me, and shall thy work decay?") 1295 5 ("I am a little world m a d e cunningly") 1295 7 ("At the round earth's imagined corners, blow") 1295 9 ("If poisonous minerals, and if that tree") 1296 10 ("Death, be not proud, though s o m e have called thee") 1296 11 ("Spit in my f a c e , you J e w s " ) 1297 13 ("What if this present were the world's last night?") 1297 14 ("Batter my heart, three-personed G o d ; for you") 1297 17 ( " S i n c e she w h o m I loved hath paid her last debt") 1298 18 ( " S h o w me, dear Christ, thy s p o u s e so bright a n d clear") 1298 19 ("Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one") 1299 G o o d Friday, 1613. Riding Westward 1299 A Hymn to Christ, at the Author's L a s t G o i n g into G e r m a n y 1300 Hymn to G o d My G o d , in My S i c k n e s s 1301 A Hymn to G o d the Father 1302

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From Biathanatos 1303 Devotions u p o n E m e r g e n t O c c a s i o n s 1303 Meditation 4 1303 Meditation 17 1305 From Expostulation 19 [The L a n g u a g e of G o d ] From Death's D u e l 1307 IZAAK W A L T O N ( 1 5 9 3 - 1 6 8 3 ) T h e Life of Dr. J o h n D o n n e [Donne on His Deathbed]

1306 1309

1313

1314 1317

BEN JONSON (1572-1637) T h e M a s q u e o f Blackness 1326 Volpone, or T h e Fox 1334

1324

1427

To My Book 1427 O n Something, T h a t Walks S o m e w h e r e 1428 T o William C a m d e n 1428 On My First D a u g h t e r 1428 To John Donne 1429 O n Giles a n d J o a n 1429 O n M y First S o n 1430 On Lucy, C o u n t e s s of Bedford 1430 To Lucy, C o u n t e s s of Bedford, with Mr. Donne's Satires To Sir T h o m a s R o e 1431 Inviting a Friend to S u p p e r 1432 O n Gut 1433 Epitaph on S. P., a Child of Q u e e n Elizabeth's C h a p e l THE FOREST

xix

1309 1309

AEMILIA LANYER ( 1 5 6 9 - 1 6 4 5 ) Salve D e u s Rex J u d a e o r u m 1314 To the Doubtful Reader 1314 To the Q u e e n ' s M o s t Excellent Majesty To the Virtuous Reader 1315 Eve's Apology in D e f e n s e of W o m e n T h e Description of C o o k h a m 1319

EPIGRAMS

1431

1433

1434

T o Penshurst 1434 Song: T o Celia 1436 T o Heaven 1436 UNDERWOOD

1437

From A Celebration of Charis in T e n Lyric Pieces: 4. Her Triumph 1437 A S o n n e t to the Noble Lady, the Lady Mary Wroth 1438 My Picture L e f t in Scotland 1438 To the Immortal M e m o r y and Friendship of T h a t Noble Pair, Sir L u c i u s C a r y a n d Sir H. Morison 1439 Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount 1443 Q u e e n and Huntress 1443

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xxi

T h e Advancement of Learning 1563 [The A b u s e s of L a n g u a g e ] 1563 From N o v u m O r g a n u m 1565 The New Atlantis 1569 [Solomon's H o u s e ] 1569 ROBERT BURTON (1577-1640) T h e Anatomy of Melancholy 1574 From Democritus J u n i o r to the Reader From Love Melancholy 1578 SIR THOMAS BROWNE (1605-1682) Religio Medici 1582 Part 1, Sections 1 - 6 , 9, 15, 16, 3 4 , 59 Part 2, Section 1 1589 Hydriotaphia, or Urn-Burial 1590 From C h a p t e r 5 1590

1573 1574 1581 1582

THOMAS HOBBES (1588-1679) 1594 Leviathan 1596 The Introduction 1596 [The Artificial M a n ] 1596 P a r t i . Of Man 1596 C h a p t e r 1. Of S e n s e 1596 C h a p t e r 13. Of the Natural Condition of Mankind as Concerning Their Felicity and Misery 1598 From C h a p t e r 14. Of the First and S e c o n d Natural Laws 1600 From C h a p t e r 15. Of Other Laws of N a t u r e 1601 Part 2. Of C o m m o n w e a l t h 1602 Chapter 17. Of the C a u s e s , Generation, and Definition of a Commonwealth 1602

G E O R G E HERBERT (1593-1633) THE TEMPLE

1607

T h e Altar 1607 Redemption 160 7 Easter 1608 Easter Wings 1609 Affliction (1) 1609 Prayer (1) 1611 Jordan (1) 1611 Church M o n u m e n t s 1612 The Windows 1612 Denial 1613 Virtue 1614 Man 1614 J o r d a n (2) 1615 Time 1616 The B u n c h of Grapes 1617 T h e Pilgrimage 1618

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CONTENTS

The Holdfast 1619 The Collar 1619 The Pulley 1620 The Flower 1621 The Forerunners 1622 Discipline 1623 Death 1624 Love(3) 1624 HENRY VAUGHAN (1621-1695) POEMS

1625

1626

A Song to Amoret

1626

SILEX SCINTILLANS

1627

Regeneration 1627 The Retreat 1629 Silence, and Stealth of Days! 1630 Corruption 1631 Unprofitableness 1632 The World 1632 They Are All Gone into the World of Light! Cock-Crowing 1635 The Night 1636 The Waterfall 1638

1634

R I C H A R D C R A S H A W (ca. 1 6 1 3 - 1 6 4 9 ) THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES

Music's Duel

1639

1640

STEPS TO THE TEMPLE

1644

To the Infant Martyrs 1644 I Am the Door 1644 On the Wounds of Our Crucified Lord Luke 11.[27] 1645 CARMEN DEO NOSTRO

1644

1645

In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord God: A Hymn S u n g as by the Shepherds 1645 To the Noblest & Best of Ladies, the Countess of Denbigh 1648 The Flaming Heart 1650 ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674) HESPERIDES

1654

The Argument of His Book 1654 Upon the Loss of His Mistresses 1655 The Vine 1655 Dreams 1656 Delight in Disorder 1656 His Farewell to Sack 1656 Corinna's Going A-Maying 1658 To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time 1659 The Hock-Cart, or Harvest Home 1660 How Roses C a m e Red 1661

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xxiii

U p o n the Nipples of Julia's Breast 1661 U p o n J a c k a n d Jill. E p i g r a m 1662 T o Marigolds 1662 His Prayer to B e n J o n s o n 1662 T h e B a d S e a s o n M a k e s the Poet S a d 1663 T h e Night-Piece, to J u l i a 1663 Upon His Verses 1664 His Return to L o n d o n 1664 U p o n Julia's C l o t h e s 1664 U p o n Prue, His M a i d 1665 T o His Book's E n d 1665 NOBLE NUMBERS

1665

T o His C o n s c i e n c e 1665 Another G r a c e for a Child

1665

THOMAS CAREW (1595-1640) An Elegy u p o n the D e a t h of the D e a n of Paul's, Dr. J o h n Donne 1666 T o Ben J o n s o n 1669 A S o n g ("Ask me no more where J o v e bestows") 1670 To Saxham 1671 A Rapture 1672

1666

SIR J O H N S U C K L I N G (1609-1642) S o n g ("Why so pale and wan, fond lover?")

1676

FRAGMENTA AUREA

1676

1677

Loving a n d Beloved 1677 A Ballad upon a W e d d i n g 1677 T H E LAST REMAINS O F SIR J O H N S U C K L I N G

Out u p o n It!

1681

RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1657) LUCASTA

1681

1682

To L u c a s t a , G o i n g to the Wars The Grasshopper 1682 To Althea, from Prison 1683

1682

Love M a d e in the First Age. To Chloris E D M U N D WALLER (1606-1687) T h e Story of P h o e b u s and D a p h n e Applied S o n g ("Go, lovely rose!") 1687

1684 1686 1686

ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667) Ode: O f Wit 1688

1687

KATHERINE PHILIPS (1632-1664) A Married State 1691 U p o n the D o u b l e M u r d e r of King C h a r l e s Friendship's Mystery, To My Dearest Lucasia

1690 1691 1692

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CONTENTS

To Mrs. M. A. at Parting 1693 On the Death of My First and Dearest Child, Hector Philips ANDREW MARVELL (1621-1678) POEMS

1695 1695

1697

The Coronet 1697 Bermudas 1698 A Dialogue Between the Soul and Body 1699 T h e Nymph C o m p l a i n i n g for the Death of Her Fawn To His Coy Mistress 1703 The Definition of Love 1704 The Picture of Little T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers The Mower Against G a r d e n s 1706 D a m o n the Mower 1707 T h e Mower to the Glowworms 1709 T h e Mower's S o n g 1710 T h e Garden 1710 An Horatian O d e 1712 Upon Appleton H o u s e 1716

1700

1705

C R I S I S O F AUTHORITY

1737

Reporting the News From T h e Moderate, No. 2 8 , 1 6 - 2 3 J a n u a r y 1 6 4 9 1739 [The Trial of King Charles I, the first day] 1739 From A Perfect Diurnal of S o m e P a s s a g e s in Parliament, No. 2 8 8 1741 [The Execution of Charles I] 1741

1737

Political Writing R O B E R T F I L M E R : From Patriarcha 1746 J O H N M I L T O N : From T h e T e n u r e of Kings and Magistrates G E R R A R D W I N S T A N L E Y : From A New Year's Gift Sent to the Parliament and Army 1751

1744 1748

Writing the Self 1757 L U C Y H U T C H I N S O N : From Memoirs of the Life of Colonel J o h n Hutchinson 1758 [Charles I and Henrietta Maria] 1759 E D W A R D H Y D E , E A R L OF C L A R E N D O N : From T h e History of the Rebellion 1760 [The C h a r a c t e r of Oliver Cromwell] 1761 LADY A N N E H A L K E T T : From T h e Memoirs 1764 [Springing the Duke] 1764 D O R O T H Y W A U G H : From A Relation Concerning Dorothy Waugh's Cruel U s a g e by the Mayor of Carlisle 1767

THOMAS TRAHERNE (1637-1674) Centuries of Meditation 1770 From T h e Third Century 1770

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Wonder

xxv

1770

On Leaping over the Moon

1772

MARGARET CAVENDISH (1623-1673) POEMS AND FANCIES

1773

1774

T h e Poetess's Hasty Resolution 1774 T h e H u n t i n g of the H a r e 1775

From A T r u e Relation of My Birth, Breeding, and Life 1777 From T h e Description of a N e w World, Called T h e Blazing World 1780 JOHN MILTON (1608-1674) POEMS

1785

1789

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity On Shakespeare 1797 L'Allegro 1797 II Penseroso 1801 Lycidas 1805

1789

T h e R e a s o n of C h u r c h Government Urged Against Prelaty [Plans and Projects] 1811 From Areopagitica 1816 SONNETS

1811

1825

How S o o n Hath T i m e 1826 On the New Forcers of C o n s c i e n c e Under the L o n g Parliament To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652 1827 When I Consider How My Light Is Spent 1828 On the L a t e M a s s a c r e in Piedmont 1828 Methought I S a w My L a t e E s p o u s e d Saint 1829 ' Paradise Lost

1826

1830

The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century (1660-1785)

2057

Introduction

2057

Timeline

2081

JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1700) Annus Mirabilis 2085 [London Reborn] 2085 S o n g from Marriage a la Mode 2087 Absalom and Achitophel: A P o e m 2087 M a c Flecknoe 2111 To the Memory of Mr. O l d h a m 2117 A S o n g for St. Cecilia's Day 2118 Epigram on Milton 2120 Alexander's Feast 2120

2083

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CONTENTS

CRITICISM

2125

An E s s a y of D r a m a t i c Poesy 2125 [Two Sorts of B a d Poetry] 2125 [The Wit of the Ancients: T h e Universal] 2126 [Shakespeare a n d B e n J o n s o n C o m p a r e d ] 2128 T h e Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry and Heroic L i c e n s e ["Boldness" of Figures a n d T r o p e s D e f e n d e d : T h e Appeal to "Nature"] 2129 [Wit as "Propriety"] 2131 A Discourse C o n c e r n i n g the Original a n d Progress of Satire [The Art of Satire] 2131 T h e P r e f a c e to Fables Ancient and Modem 2132 [In Praise of C h a u c e r ] 2132

2129

2131

S A M U E L PEPYS (1633-1703) T h e Diary 2134 [The Great Fire] 2134 [The D e b Willet Affair] 2138

2133

J O H N BUNYAN (1628-1688) T h e Pilgrim's Progress 2143 [Christian S e t s out for the Celestial City] [The Slough of D e s p o n d ] 2145 [Vanity Fair] 2146 [The River of D e a t h a n d the Celestial City]

2142

2143

JOHN LOCKE (1632-1704) An E s s a y C o n c e r n i n g H u m a n Understanding From T h e Epistle to the Reader 2152 SIR ISAAC N E W T O N ( 1 6 4 2 - 1 7 2 7 ) From A Letter of Mr. Isaac Newton

2148 2152

2155 2156

SAMUEL BUTLER (1612-1680) Hudibras 2161 From Part 1, C a n t o 1 2161

2161

JOHN WILMOT, S E C O N D EARL OF ROCHESTER (1647-1680) T h e Disabled D e b a u c h e e 2168 T h e Imperfect Enjoyment 2169 U p o n Nothing 2171 A Satire against R e a s o n a n d Mankind 2172 APHRA B E H N (1640?-1689) T h e Disappointment 2180 Oroonoko, or T h e Royal Slave

2151

2167

2178 2183

WILLIAM C O N G R E V E (1670-1729) T h e Way of the World 2228 MARY A S T E L L ( 1 6 6 6 - 1 7 3 1 ) From S o m e Reflections upon Marriage

2226 2284 2285

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xxvii

D A N I E L D E F O E (ca. 1 6 6 0 - 1 7 3 1 ) Roxana 2289 [The C o n s of Marriage] 2289

2288

ANNE FINCH, C O U N T E S S OF WINCHILSEA (1661-1720) T h e Introduction 2295 A Nocturnal Reverie 2297

2294

MATTHEW PRIOR (1664-1721) A n Epitaph 2299 A Better Answer 2300

2298

2301 JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-1745) A Description of a City Shower 2303 Verses on the D e a t h of Dr. Swift 2304 From A T a l e of a T u b 2315 Gulliver's Travels 2323 A Letter from Captain Gulliver to His C o u s i n Sympson 2324 T h e Publisher to the Reader 2327 Part 1. A Voyage to Lilliput 2328 Part 2. A Voyage to Brobdingnag 2365 Part 3. A Voyage to L a p u t a , Balnibarbi, Glubbdubdrib, Luggnagg, and Japan 2405 C h a p t e r 2 [The Flying Island of L a p u t a ] 2405 C h a p t e r 5 [The A c a d e m y of L a g a d o ] 2410 C h a p t e r 10 [The Struldbruggs] 2413 Part 4. A Voyage to the Country of the H o u y h n h n m s 2418 A M o d e s t Proposal 2462 J O S E P H A D D I S O N and S I R R I C H A R D S T E E L E (1672-1719) (1672-1729) T H E P E R I O D I C A L ESSAY: M A N N E R S , SOCIETY, G E N D E R

2468 2470

Steele: [The Spectator's C l u b ] (Spectator 2) 2470 Addison: [The Aims of the Spectator] (Spectator 10) 2473 Steele: [Inkle and Yarico] (Spectator 11) 2476 Addison: [The Royal Exchange] (Spectator 6 9 ) 2478 T H E P E R I O D I C A L ESSAY: I D E A S

2481

Addison: [Wit: T r u e , False, Mixed] (Spectator 6 2 ) 2481 Addison: [Paradise Lost: General Critical Remarks] (Spectator 2 6 7 ) 2485 Addison: [The Pleasures of the Imagination] (Spectator 4 1 1 ) Addison: [On the S c a l e of Being] (Spectator 5 1 9 ) 2490

2488

ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744) An Essay on Criticism 2496 T h e R a p e of the L o c k 2513 Eloisa to Abelard 2532 An Essay on Man 2540 Epistle 1. Of the N a t u r e a n d State of M a n , with Respect to the Universe 2541

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CONTENTS

From Epistle 2. Of the N a t u r e and State of M a n with Respect to Himself, as an Individual 2547 Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot 2548 T h e Dunciad: B o o k the Fourth 2559 [The E d u c a t o r ] 2561 [The Carnation and the Butterfly] 2562 [The T r i u m p h of Dulness] 2563 ELIZA HAYWOOD ( 1 6 9 3 ? - 1 7 5 6 ) Fantomina; or, Love in a M a z e

2565 2566

LADY MARY W O R T L E Y M O N T A G U ( 1 6 8 9 - 1 7 6 2 ) The Lover: A Ballad 2585 Epistle from M r s . Yonge to Her H u s b a n d 2587 D E B A T I N G W O M E N : A R G U M E N T S IN V E R S E

J O N A T H A N S W I F T : T h e Lady's Dressing R o o m

2584

2589 2590

LADY MARY W O R T L E Y M O N T A G U : T h e R e a s o n s T h a t Induced Dr. Swift to Write a P o e m Called the Lady's Dressing R o o m A L E X A N D E R P O P E : Impromptu t o Lady Winchelsea

2593 2595

A N N E F I N C H , C O U N T E S S O F W I N C H I L S E A : T h e Answer (To Pope's Impromptu)

2596

A L E X A N D E R P O P E : Epistle 2. To a Lady

2597

A N N E I N G R A M , V I S C O U N T E S S I R W I N : A n Epistle t o Mr. Pope

2604

MARY L E A P O R An Essay on Woman An Epistle to a Lady

2607

J O H N GAY ( 1 6 8 5 - 1 7 3 2 ) The Beggar's O p e r a

2608 2610 2611 2613

WILLIAM HOGARTH (1697-1764) Marriage A-la-Mode 2658

2656

SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) The Vanity of H u m a n Wishes 2666 On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet 2674 Rambler No. 5 [On Spring] 2675 Idler No. 31 [On Idleness] 2678 T h e History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia 2680 Rambler No. 4 [On Fiction] 2743 Rambler No. 60 [Biography] 2746 A Dictionary of the English L a n g u a g e 2749 From Preface 2750 [ S o m e Definitions: A Small Anthology] 2753

2664

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The Preface to Shakespeare 2755 [Shakespeare's Excellence. General Nature] 2756 [Shakespeare's Faults. T h e T h r e e Dramatic Unities] [Twelfth Night] 2764 [King Lear] 2764

xxix

2759

2766 Cowley 2766 [Metaphysical Wit] 2766 Milton 2768 ["Lycidas"] 2768 [Paradise Lost] 2769 Pope 2774 [Pope's Intellectual Character. P o p e and Dryden C o m p a r e d ] LIVES OF T H E P O E T S

2774

JAMES BOSWELL (1740-1795) 2778 Boswell on the G r a n d T o u r 2779 [Boswell Interviews Voltaire] 2779 The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. 2781 [Plan of the Life] 2781 [Johnson's Early Years. Marriage and London] 2782 [The Letter to Chesterfield] 2787 [A M e m o r a b l e Year: Boswell M e e t s J o h n s o n ] 2790 [Goldsmith. Sundry Opinions. J o h n s o n M e e t s His King] 2793 [Fear of Death] 2797 [Ossian. "Talking for Victory"] 2797 [Dinner with Wilkes] 2800 [Dread of Solitude] 2804 [' A Bottom of G o o d S e n s e . " Bet Flint. "Clear Your M i n d of Cant"] 2805 [Johnson Prepares for Death] 2806 [Johnson F a c e s Death] 2807 FRANCES BURNEY (1752-1840) T h e J o u r n a l and Letters 2811 [First J o u r n a l Entry] 2811 [Mr. Barlow's Proposal] 2812 ["Down with her, Burney!"] 2815 [A Young and Agreeable Infidel] [Encountering the King] 2819 [A Mastectomy] 2822

2810

2816

LIBERTY

JOHN LOCKE Two Treatises of Government 2830 Chapter IV. Of Slavery 2830 Chapter IX. Of the E n d s of Political Society and Government MARY A S T E L L : A Preface, in Answer to S o m e Objections to Reflections upon Marriage

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2828 2829

2831

2833

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CONTENTS

ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, THIRD EARL OF SHAFTESBURY Sensus Communis: An E s s a y on the F r e e d o m of Wit and H u m o r Part 1, Section 1 2838 Part 1, Section 2 2839

2837 2838

J A M E S T H O M S O N : Ode: Rule, Britannia

2840

DAVID H U M E : Of the Liberty of the Press

2841

E D M U N D B U R K E : S p e e c h on the Conciliation with the American Colonies

2845

S A M U E L J O H N S O N : [A Brief to Free a Slave]

2849

O L A U D A H E O U I A N O : T h e Interesting Narrative of the Life of O l a u d a h Equiano, or G u s t a v u s V a s s a , the African, Written by Himself [The Middle Passage] 2851 [A F r e e M a n ] 2855

2850

JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) The Seasons 2860 Autumn 2860 [Evening a n d Night] 2860

2860

T H O M A S GRAY ( 1 7 1 6 - 1 7 7 1 ) O d e on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 2863 O d e on the Death of a Favorite C a t 2865 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard 2867

2862

WILLIAM C O L L I N S (1721-1759) O d e on the Poetical C h a r a c t e r O d e to Evening 2873

2870 2870

CHRISTOPHER SMART (1722-1771) J u b i l a t e Agno 2875 [My C a t Jeoffry] 2875

2874

O L I V E R G O L D S M I T H (ca. 1 7 3 0 - 1 7 7 4 ) T h e Deserted Village 2877

2877

GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) The Village 2887 From B o o k 1 2887

2886

WILLIAM C O W P E R (1731-1800) The Task 2891 Book 1 2891 [A L a n d s c a p e Described. Rural S o u n d s ] [Crazy Kate] 2892 Book 3 2893 [The Stricken Deer] 2893

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CONTENTS

Book 4 2893 [The Winter Evening: A Brown Study] T h e Castaway 2895

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POPULAR BALLADS Lord Randall 2899 Bonnv Barbara Allan 2899 T h e Wife of Usher's Well 2900 The Three Ravens 2902 Sir Patrick S p e n s 2902 The Bonny Earl of Murray 2904 P O E M S IN P R O C E S S J o h n Milton A3 Lvcidas A3 Alexander Pope A5 T h e Rape of the L o c k A5 An Essay on M a n A6 Samuel Johnson A7 T h e Vanity of H u m a n Wishes A8 T h o m a s Gray A9 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHIES Suggested General Readings A13 T h e Middle Ages A16 The Sixteenth Century A22 T h e Early Seventeenth Century A3 5 T h e Restoration and the Eighteenth Century

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A9 A13

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APPENDIXES Literary Terminology A56 Geographic N o m e n c l a t u r e A78 British Money A80 T h e British Baronage A85 The Royal Lines of England and Great Britain A87 Religions in England A90 Illustration: T h e Universe According to Ptolemy A94 Illustration: A L o n d o n Playhouse of Shakespeare's T i m e

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Permissions Acknowledgments

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Index

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Preface to the Eighth Edition T h e outpouring of English literature overflows all boundaries, including the capacious boundaries of The Norton Anthology of English Literature. But these pages m a n a g e to contain many of the most remarkable works written in English during centuries of restless creative effort. We have included epic poems and short lyrics; love songs and satires; tragedies and comedies written for p e r f o r m a n c e on the commercial stage, and private meditations meant to be p e r u s e d in silence; prayers, popular ballads, prophecies, ecstatic visions, erotic fantasies, sermons, short stories, letters in verse and prose, critical essays, polemical tracts, several entire novels, and a great deal more. S u c h works generally form the core of courses that are designed to introduce students to English literature, with its history not only of gradual development, continuity, a n d d e n s e internal echoes, but also of sudden change a n d startling innovation. One of the joys of literature in English is its spectacular abundance. Even within the geographical confines of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, where the majority of texts brought together in this collection originated, one c a n find more than enough distinguished and exciting works to fill the pages of this anthology many times over. T h e a b u n d a n c e is all the greater if one takes, as the editors of these volumes do, a broad understanding of the term literature. In the course of several centuries, the m e a n i n g of the term has shifted from the whole body of writing produced in a particular language to a subset of that writing consisting of works that claim special attention b e c a u s e of their u n u s u a l formal beauty or expressive power. Certain literary works, arousing enduring admiration, have achieved sufficient prominence to serve as widespread models for other writers and thus to constitute something approximating a canon. But just as in English-speaking countries there have never been a c a d e m i e s empowered to regulate the u s e of language, so too there have never been firmly settled guidelines for canonizing particular texts. Any individual text's claim to attention is subject to constant debate and revision; established texts are jostled both by new arrivals a n d by previously neglected claimants; a n d the boundaries between the literary and whatever is thought to be "nonliterary" are constantly challenged and redrawn. T h e heart of this collection consists of poems, plays, and prose fiction, but, like the language in which they are written, these categories are themselves products of ongoing historical transformations, and we have included many texts that call into question any conception of literature as only a limited set of particular kinds of writing. English literature as a field arouses not a sense of order but what Yeats calls "the emotion of multitude." Following the lead of most college courses, we have separated off, on pragmatic grounds, English literature from American literature, but, in keeping xxxiii

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with the multinational, multicultural, and hugely expansive character of the language, we have incorporated, particularly for the modern period, a substantial n u m b e r of texts by authors from other countries. This border-crossing is not a p h e n o m e n o n of modernity only. It is fitting that among the first works here is Beowulf, a powerful epic written in the G e r m a n i c language known as Old English about a singularly restless Scandinavian hero. Beowulf's remarkable translator in The Norton Anthology of English Literature, S e a m u s Heaney, is one of the great contemporary masters of English literature he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1 9 9 5 — b u t it would be potentially misleading to call him an "English poet" for he was born in Northern Ireland and is not in fact English. It would be still more misleading to call him a "British poet," as if the British Empire were the most salient fact about the language he speaks a n d writes in or the culture by which he was shaped. What matters is that the language in which H e a n e y writes is English, a n d this fact links him powerfully with the authors a s s e m b l e d in these volumes, a linguistic community that stubbornly r e f u s e s to fit comfortably within any firm geographical or ethnic or national boundaries. So too, to glance at other authors and writings in the anthology, in the sixteenth century William Tyndale, in exile in the L o w C o u n t r i e s and inspired by G e r m a n religious reformers, translated the New T e s t a m e n t from Greek and thereby changed the course of the English language; in the seventeenth century Aphra Behn deeply touched her readers with a story that moves from Africa, where its hero is born, to South America, where B e h n herself may have witnessed some of the tragic events she describes; and early in the twentieth century J o s e p h Conrad, born in Ukraine of Polish parents, wrote in eloquent English a celebrated novella whose vision of E u r o p e a n empire was trenchantly challenged at the century's end by the Nigerian-born writer in English, C h i n u a Achebe. A vital literary culture is always on the move. This principle was the watchword of M. H. Abrams, the distinguished literary critic who first conceived The Norton Anthology of English Literature, brought together the original team of editors, and, with characteristic insight, diplomacy, and humor, oversaw seven editions and graciously offered counsel on this eighth edition. Abrams wisely understood that the dense continuities that underlie literary perform a n c e are perpetually challenged and revitalized by innovation. He understood too that new scholarly discoveries and the shifting interests of readers constantly alter the l a n d s c a p e of literary history. H e n c e from the start he foresaw that, if the anthology were to be s u c c e s s f u l , it would have to undergo a process of periodic revision and reselection, an ambitious enterprise that would draw u p o n the energy a n d ideas of new editors brought in to work with the seasoned team. The Eighth Edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature represents the most thoroughgoing instance in its long publishing history of this generational renewal. Across the whole chronological breadth of the volumes, new editors joined forces with the existing editors in a spirit of close collaboration. T h e revitalized t e a m has considered afresh each of the selections and rethought all the other myriad aspects of the anthology. In doing so, we have, as in past years, profited from a remarkable flow of voluntary corrections and suggestions proposed by teachers, as well as students, who view the anthology with a loyal but critical eye. Moreover, we have again solicited and received detailed information on the works actually assigned, proposals for deletions and additions, and suggestions for improving the editorial matter, from over

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two hundred reviewers from around the world, almost all of them teachers who use the book in a course. The active participation of an engaged and dedicated community of readers has been crucial as the editors of the Norton Anthology grapple with the task of retaining (and indeed strengthening) the selection of more traditional texts even while adding many texts that reflect the transformation a n d expansion of the field of English studies. T h e great challenge (and therefore the interest) of the task is linked to the space constraints that even these hefty volumes m u s t observe. T h e virtually limitless resources of the anthology's W e b site make at least s o m e of the difficult choices less vexing, but the editorial team kept clearly in view the central importance in the classroom of the printed pages. T h e final decisions on what to include were m a d e by the editors, but we were immeasurably assisted by our ongoing collaboration with teachers a n d students. With e a c h edition, The Norton Anthology of English Literature has offered a broadened canon without sacrificing major writers and a selection of complete longer texts in which readers c a n immerse themselves. Perhaps the most emblematic of these longer texts are the two great epics Beowulf and Paradise Lost. To the extensive list of s u c h complete works, the Eighth Edition has added many others, including Sir T h o m a s More's Utopia, Samuel J o h n s o n ' s Rasselas (restored to its entirety), Eliza Haywood's Fantomina, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, T o m Stoppard's Arcadia, and Brian Friel's Translations. Though this latest edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature has retained the works that have traditionally been identified and taught as the principal glories of English literature, many of the newer selections reflect the fact that the national conception of literary history, the conception by which English Literature meant the literature of England or at most of Great Britain, has begun to give way to something else. Writers like William Butler Yeats (born in Dublin), H u g h M a c D i a r m i d (born in Dumfriesshire, Scotland), Virginia Woolf (born in London), and Dylan T h o m a s (born in Swansea, Wales) are now being taught, and are here anthologized, alongside s u c h writers as N a d i n e G o r d i m e r (born in the Transvaal, S o u t h Africa), Alice M u n r o (born in Wingham, Ontario), Derek Walcott (born on Saint Lucia in the West Indies), V. S. Naipaul (born in Trinidad), and S a l m a n Rushdie (born in Bombay, India). English literature, like so many other collective enterprises in our century, has ceased to be principally about the identity of a single nation; it is a global phenomenon. We have in this edition continued to expand the selection of writing by w o m e n in all of the historical periods. T h e sustained work of scholars in recent years has recovered dozens of significant authors who had been marginalized or neglected by a male-dominated literary tradition and has deepened our understanding of those women writers who had managed, against considerable odds, to claim a place in that tradition. T h e First Edition of the Norton Anthology included 6 w o m e n writers; this Eighth Edition includes 67, of whom 16 are newly added and 15 are reselected or expanded. Poets and dramatists whose names were scarcely mentioned even in the specialized literary histories of earlier generations—Aemilia Lanyer, Lady Mary Wroth, Elizabeth Cary, Margaret Cavendish, Mary Leapor, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Charlotte Smith, Letitia Elizabeth L a n d o n , and many others—now appear in the company of their male contemporaries. There are in addition four complete long prose works by w o m e n — A p h r a Behn's Oroonoko, Eliza Haywood's Fantomina, J a n e

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Austen's Love and Friendship, and Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own— along with new selections f r o m s u c h celebrated fiction writers as Maria Edgeworth, J e a n Rhys, Katherine Mansfield, and Doris Lessing. The novel is, of course, a stumbling block for an anthology. T h e length of many great novels defies their incorporation in any volume that hopes to include a broad s p e c t r u m of literature. At the s a m e time it is difficult to excerpt representative p a s s a g e s from narratives whose power often depends upon amplitude or upon the slow development of character or upon the onrushing urgency of the story. Therefore, better to represent the achievements of novelists, the publisher is making available the full list of Norton Critical Editions—more than 180 titles, including the most frequently assigned novels: J a n e Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, Charles Dickens's Hard Times, Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, and Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. A free Norton Critical Edition may be packaged with Volume 1 or 2 clothbound, p a p e r b o u n d , or three-volume package. Building on an innovation introduced in the Seventh Edition, the editors have included for e a c h of the periods several clusters that gather together short texts illuminating the cultural, historical, intellectual, and literary concerns of the age. In the Eighth Edition we have rethought, streamlined, and more closely coordinated these clusters with three aims: to make them easier to teach in the s p a c e of a class meeting or two, to make them more lively and accessible, and to heighten their relevance to the surrounding works of literature. H e n c e , for example, a new cluster for the Middle Ages, "Christ's Humanity," broaches one of the broadest and most explosive cultural and literary movements of the period, a movement that brought forth new kinds of readers and writers and a highly contested cultural politics of the visual. Similarly, a new cluster for the eighteenth century, "Liberty," goes to the heart of a central a n d m o m e n t o u s contradiction: on the one hand, the period's passionate celebration of liberty as the core British value, and, on the other hand, its extensive and profitable engagement in the slave trade. The implications of this contradiction, as the conjoined texts demonstrate, ripple out through English philosophy, law, and literature. Another new cluster, to take a final example, focuses on the fraught relationship between nation and language in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Through the vast extent of the former British Empire and, more recently, through American economic and political power, the English language has displaced or commingled with indigenous languages in many parts of the world. In c o n s e q u e n c e , imaginative writers from India to Africa, from the Caribbean to H o n g Kong, have grappled with the kind of vexed questions about linguistic and national identity that have been confronted by generations of Welsh, Scottish, and Irish writers. The political, psychological, and cultural complexity of these questions is evident in the array of texts brought together in the "Nation a n d L a n g u a g e " cluster, while their rich literary potential is fully apparent in Brian Friel's powerful play Translations. We s u p p l e m e n t the topical clusters for e a c h period by several more extensive topical selections of texts, with illustrations, on the anthology Web site. Now, as in the past, cultures define themselves by the songs they sing and the stories they love to tell. B u t the central importance of visual media in contemporary culture h a s heightened our awareness of the ways in which songs a n d stories have always been closely linked to the images that societies have fashioned. T h e Eighth Edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature features sixty pages of color plates (in seven new color inserts). In

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addition, black-and-white engravings a n d illustrations by Hogarth, Blake, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti provide compelling examples of the hybrid art of the "visual narrative." In selecting visual material—from the Sutton Hoo treasure of the seventh century to Anish Kapoor's i m m e n s e Marsyas in the twenty-first century—the editors sought to provide images that conjure up, whether directly or indirectly, the individual writers in each section; that relate specifically to individual works in the anthology; and that shape and illuminate the culture of a particular literary period. We have tried to c h o o s e visually striking images that will interest students and provoke discussion, and our captions draw attention to important details and cross-reference related texts in the anthology.

Period-by-Period

Revisions

T h e scope of the extensive revisions we have undertaken can be conveyed more fully by a list of s o m e of the principal texts and features that have been added to the Eighth Edition.

The Middle Ages. T h e period, edited by Alfred David and J a m e s S i m p s o n , is divided into three sections: Anglo-Saxon Literature, Anglo-Norman Literature, and Middle English Literature of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries. T h e heart of the Anglo-Saxon section is the great epic Beowulf\ in an acclaimed translation, specially c o m m i s s i o n e d for The Norton Anthology of English Literature, by S e a m u s Heaney. T h e selection of Anglo-Saxon texts has been newly augmented with the alliterative p o e m Judith and with King Alfred's p r e f a c e to the Pastoral Care. T h e Anglo-Norman section—a key bridge between the Anglo-Saxon period and the time of C h a u c e r — i n c l u d e s two clusters of texts: "Legendary Histories of Britain" traces the origins of Arthurian r o m a n c e in the a c c o u n t s of Geoffrey of M o n m o u t h , Wace, and Layamon. "Celtic C o n t e x t s " explores the complex multilingual situation of the period, represented by the Old Irish "Exile of the S o n s of Uisliu"; newly added, the conclusion of T h o m a s of England's Le Roman de Tristan, which c o m e s from Irish, Welsh, a n d Breton sources and was written down in Old French; and Marie de France's magnificent Breton lay Lanval, one of the period's principal texts, as well as her Chevrefoil, in a new verse translation by Alfred David. A tale from the Confessio Amantis of J o h n Gower, a new author, c o m p l e m e n t s the generous selections from C h a u c e r ' s Canterbury Tales. We have added new selections from the remarkable Margery K e m p e and from Langland's Piers Plowman and an important new topical cluster, "Christ's Humanity." Our representation of medieval d r a m a has been strengthened by the addition of the powerful York Play of the Crucifixion. The Sixteenth Century. For the first time with this edition, the anthology includes the whole of T h o m a s More's Utopia, the visionary masterpiece that helped to shape the modern world. Edited by George L o g a n and S t e p h e n Greenblatt, this period includes five other complete longer texts: B o o k 1 of Spenser's Faerie Queene, Marlowe's Hero and Leander and Doctor Faustus, a n d Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and King Lear. T h e selection of p o e m s offers new works by Wyatt, five additional sonnets by Sidney, five additional sonnets by Shakespeare, and two sonnets by a poet introduced here for the first time, Richard Barnfield. In addition we provide modern prose translations of several of Petrarch's rime in order to show their close relationship with sonnets by Wyatt, Sidney, and Ralegh. T h e cluster on the period's bitter religious contro-

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versies, "Faith in Conflict," has been redesigned in order to better represent the Catholic as well as the Protestant position. A new cluster, " W o m e n in Power," greatly expands the selections from Q u e e n Elizabeth and sets her writings alongside those of three compelling new figures: Mary Tudor ("Bloody Mary"), Lady J a n e Grey, the tragic queen for nine days, and Mary, Q u e e n of Scots, Elizabeth's cousin and prisoner. T h e topic as a whole provides insight into the strange position of f e m a l e rulers attempting to shape their public p e r f o r m a n c e s in a society that ordinarily allowed little scope for women's shaping power. The Early Seventeenth Century. At the heart of this section, edited by Barbara Lewalski and Katharine E i s a m a n M a u s , is J o h n Milton's Paradise Lost, presented in its entirety. Other complete longer works include J o h n Donne's soul-searching Satire 3, Aemilia Lanyer's country-house poem "The Description of C o o k h a m , " three major works by B e n J o n s o n (The Masque of Blackness, Volpone [freshly edited by Katharine E i s a m a n M a u s ] , and the Cary-Morison ode), J o h n Webster's tragedy The Duchess ofMalfi, and Milton's Lycidas. Significant additions have b e e n m a d e to the works of Donne, Jonson, Bacon, Carew, and H o b b e s . T h r e e newly conceived topical clusters will help teachers organize the rich profusion of seventeenth-century texts. " T h e Gender Wars" offers the stark contrast between J o s e p h Swetnam's misogynistic diatribe and Rachel Speght's vigorous response. " F o r m s of Inquiry" represents the vital intellectual currents of the period by bringing together reselected texts by B a c o n , Burton, Browne, and Hobbes. And introducing riveting reports on the trial and execution of Charles I, political writings by the conservative Filmer and the revolutionaries Milton and Winstanley, and searching memoirs by L u c y Hutchinson, Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, Lady Anne Halkett, a n d Dorothy W a u g h , "Crisis of Authority" shows how new literary forms arose out of the trauma of political conflict.

The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century. In response to widespread d e m a n d a n d our own sense of its literary merit, the editors, Lawrence Lipking and J a m e s Noggle, include the complete text of Samuel Johnson's philosophical fable Rasselas. We introduce as well Fantomina, a novella of sexual roleplaying by an author new to the anthology, Eliza Haywood. Other complete longer texts in this section include Dryden's satires Ahsolom and Achitophel and MacFlecknoe, Aphra Behn's novel Oroonoko, Congreve's comedy The Way of the World, Pope's Essay on Criticism, The Rape of the Lock, and Epistle to Dr. Ahuthnot, Gay's Beggar's Opera, Hogarth's graphic satire "Marriage A-laM o d e , " J o h n s o n ' s Vanity of Human Wishes, Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," and Goldsmith's "The Deserted Village." Additions have been m a d e to the works of J o h n Wilmot, S e c o n d Earl of Rochester, and Mary Leapor, and the selection from J o s e p h Addison and Sir Richard Steele has been recast. "Liberty," a new thematic cluster on freedom and slavery, brings together texts by J o h n Locke, Mary Astell, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftesbury, David H u m e , E d m u n d Burke, and others. The Romantic Period. T h e principal changes introduced by the editors, J a c k Stillinger and Deidre S h a u n a Lynch, center on significantly increased attention to w o m e n writers of both poetry and prose. There are more poems by Anna Letitia Barbauld, Charlotte Smith (including the great long work Beachy Head and a substantial selection from The Emigrants), Mary Robinson, J o a n n a Baillie, and Felicia H e m a n s . Mary Wollstonecraft and Dorothy Wordsworth are now joined by two new w o m a n authors, Maria Edgeworth and J a n e Austen. Mary Shelley is represented by two works, her introduction to The Last Man

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a n d her story "The Mortal Immortal" ( F r a n k e n s t e i n , formerly in the anthology, is now available in a Norton Critical Edition). T h e r e are additional p o e m s by Robert Burns, William Wordsworth, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and J o h n Keats and new prose pieces by Sir Walter Scott, Charles L a m b , and J o h n Clare. A new topic, "The Gothic and the Development of a M a s s Readership," f o c u s e s on the controversial history of a genre that continues to s h a p e popular fiction and films. Writings by Horace Walpole, William Beckford, Ann Radcliff, and "Monk" Lewis, together with commentaries and reviews by contemporaries such as A n n a Barbauld and S a m u e l Taylor Coleridge, illuminate the promise and m e n a c e that this period saw in a mode of writing that opened up a realm of nightmarish terror to literary exploration. The Victorian Age. A m o n g the major additions to this section, edited by Carol Christ and Catherine Robson, are Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; two new long p o e m s — E l i z a b e t h Barrett Browning's poem The Runaway Slave at Pilgrim's Point and Dante Gabriel Rossetti's Jenny; a new complete text of FitzGerald's The Rubaiyat of Omar Kayyam; and Rudyard Kipling's The White Man's Burden and If. Kipling's novella The Man Who Would Be King a n d O s c a r Wilde's comedy The Importance of Being Earnest continue to be featured, as does the poetry of Tennyson, Robert Browning, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Christina Rossetti, and others. Along with the widely assigned "Victorian I s s u e s " clusters (Evolution, Industrialism, and the " W o m a n Q u e s t i o n " ) , we present the topic " E m p i r e and National Identity." This is an innovative and highly teachable s e q u e n c e of paired texts, grappling with fiercely contentious issues that repeatedly arose across the empire's vast extent. The Twentieth Century and After. A host of new writers and topics mark this major revision by the editors, J o n Stallworthy a n d j a h a n Ramazani. T h e section now features two brilliant plays, Brian Friel's Translations and T o m Stoppard's Arcadia, both of which have vital connections to literary and cultural issues that extend throughout these volumes. T h e many writers introduced to the anthology for the first time include the Indian poet A. K. R a m a n u j a n , the C a n a d i a n poet A n n e C a r s o n , and the English poet Carol Ann Duffy. There are new stories by E. M. Forster and J e a n Rhys, a new selection from J. M. Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians, and new p o e m s by W. B. Yeats, W. H. Auden, Derek Walcott, and T e d Hughes. T h e r e is, as before, a remarkable array of complete longer texts, including Hardy's "On the Western Circuit," Conrad's Heart of Darkness, Woolf's A Room of One's Own, Eliot's The Waste Land, Mansfield's "The G a r d e n Party" and "The Daughters of the Late Colonel," Beckett's Endgame, Lessing's " T o R o o m N i n e t e e n , " Pinter's The Dumb Waiter, Achebe's Things Fall Apart, and Naipaul's One Out of Many. And two new, highly innovative topics will enable teachers to introduce students to major a s p e c t s of the period's cultural scene. T h e first, "Modernist M a n i f e s t o s , " brings together the radical experiments of T. E. H u l m e , Ezra Pound, H. D., Wyndham Lewis, and Mina Loy. T h e second, "Nation and L a n g u a g e , " gets to the heart of the questions that face colonial and postcolonial writers who must grapple with the power, at once estranging and liberating, of the English language. The voices in this cluster, C l a u d e McKay, Hugh MacDiarmid, Louise Bennett, Brian Friel, K a m a u Brathwaite, Wole Soyinka, Tony Harrison, NgugT wa Thiong'o, S a l m a n Rushdie, and J o h n Agard, bear eloquent witness to the global diffusion of English, the urgency of unresolved issues of nation and identity, and the rich complexity of literary history. That history is not a straightforward s e q u e n c e . S e a m u s Heaney's works, to which two new poems

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have been added, provide the occasion to look back again to Heaney's translation of Beowulf at the beginning of the anthology. This translation is a reminder that the most recent works c a n double back upon the distant past, and that words set down by men and w o m e n who have c r u m b l e d into dust can s p e a k to us with astonishing directness.

Editorial

Procedures

T h e Eighth Edition adheres to the core principles that have always characterized The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Period introductions, headnotes, and annotation are designed to e n h a n c e students' reading and, without imposing an interpretation, to give students the information they need to understand e a c h text. T h e aim of these editorial materials is to make the anthology self-sufficient, so that it c a n be read anywhere—in a c o f f e e bar, on a bus, or under a tree. Above all, we have tried always to keep in mind the actual classroom situation. Teachability is central to every aspect of these volumes. Our fidelity to a trusted a n d well-tried format may make it difficult for longtime users to take in, at first glance, how thoroughgoing and extensive the revisions to the Eighth Edition actually are. T h e editorial team undertook to rethink and update virtually everything in these pages, from the endpaper m a p s , scrutinized for accuracy by Catherine Robson and redrawn by cartographer Adrian Kitzinger, to the appendix on English money, which, thanks to J a m e s Noggle's clever chart, now provides, at a glance, answers to the perennial question, B u t what was money actually worth? Similarly, "Religions in E n g l a n d , " rewritten by Katharine M a u s , and " G e o g r a p h i c N o m e n c l a t u r e , " revised by J a h a n Ramazani, quickly a n d elegantly illuminate what students have often found obscure. E a c h volume of the anthology includes a " P o e m s in P r o c e s s " section, revised and expanded by Deidre Lynch with the help of Alfred David and J a m e s S i m p s o n , which reproduces from manuscripts a n d printed texts the genesis and evolution of a number of poems whose final f o r m is printed in that volume. And, thanks to the thoroughgoing work of J a m e s S i m p s o n , we now have a freshly conceived and thoroughly rewritten "Literary Terminology" appendix, recast as a quick-reference alphabetical glossary with examples from works in The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Drawing upon the latest scholarship and upon classroom experience, the editors have substantially rewritten the period introductions a n d headnotes. We have u p d a t e d as well the bibliographies and have carefully revised the timelines. A n d we have provided in-text references to the Norton Literature Online W e b site. With all aspects of the anthology's apparatus our intention is to facilitate direct a n d informed a c c e s s to the extraordinary works of literature a s s e m b l e d here. The Norton Anthology of English Literature prides itself on both the scholarly accuracy and the readability of its texts. To e a s e students' encounter with s o m e works, we have normalized spelling and capitalization in texts up to a n d including the Romantic period—for the m o s t part they now follow the conventions of modern English; we leave unaltered, however, texts in which s u c h modernizing would change semantic or metrical qualities. From the Victorian period onward, we have restored the original spelling and punctuation to selections retained from the previous edition. We continue other editorial procedures that have proved u s e f u l in the past. After e a c h work, we cite the date of first publication on the right; in some

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instances, this date is followed by the date of a revised edition for which the author was responsible. Dates of composition, when they differ from those of publication and when they are known, are provided on the left. We have used square brackets to indicate titles supplied by the editors for the convenience of readers. Whenever a portion of a text has been omitted, we have indicated that omission with three asterisks. If the omitted portion is important for following the plot or argument, we have provided a brief s u m m a r y within the text or in a footnote. Finally, we have reconsidered annotations throughout and increased the n u m b e r of marginal glosses for archaic, dialect, or unfamiliar words.

Additional

Resources

With the Eighth Edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature, the publisher is proud to launch an extensive new r e s o u r c e — N o r t o n Literature Online ( w w n o r t o n . c o m / l i t e r a t u r e ) — t h e gateway to all of the outstanding online literature resources available from Norton. Students who activate the password included in e a c h new copy of the anthology will find at Norton Literature Online a deep and broad array of general resources, a m o n g them a glossary of literary terms, advice on writing about literature and using M L A documentation style, study aids and quizzes, a portrait gallery featuring 3 8 0 authors, more than 100 maps, and over 90 minutes of recorded readings and musical selections. To e n c o u r a g e students to explore Norton Literature Online, cross-references in the anthology draw attention to relevant materials, notably to the 27 topical clusters (augmenting the 17 in-text topics) in the much-praised Norton Topics Online site. Prepared by the anthology editors, e a c h topic includes an introduction, a gathering of annotated texts and images, and study questions a n d research links. For use with the Eighth Edition, three entirely new Twentieth Century topics—"Imagining Ireland," "Modernist Experiment," and "Representing the G r e a t W a r " — a n d a recast Romantic topic, " T h e Satanic and Byronic Hero," have been added, a m o n g other updates and improvements. Norton Literature Online is also the portal to the Online Archive (wwnorton.com/nael/noa), which offers more than 150 downloadable texts from the Middle Ages through the early Victorian period, as well as s o m e 80 audio files. An ongoing project, the Online Archive is being expanded with all public-domain texts trimmed from The Norton Anthology of English Literature over six editions. A new feature of the archive, a Publication Chronology, lists over 1 , 0 0 0 texts and the edition of the anthology in which each was introduced, dropped, and sometimes reintroduced. As such, the table, and the archive of texts now being a s s e m b l e d (a massive project of a few years' duration) are a unique window on changing interests in the teaching of English literature over four d e c a d e s .

Teaching with T h e Norton Anthology of English Literature: A Guide for Instructors has been reconceived for ease of u s e and substantially rewritten by Sondra Archimedes, University of California, S a n t a Cruz; Elizabeth Fowler, University of Virginia; L a u r a Runge, University of S o u t h Florida; and Philip Schwyzer, University of Exeter. T h e G u i d e offers extensive help with teaching a course, from planning, to developing a syllabus and course objectives, to preparing exams. For authors and works, the G u i d e entries provide a "hook" to start class discussion; a " Q u i c k R e a d " section to help instructors review essential information about a text or author; teaching suggestions that call out interesting textual or contextual features; teaching clusters of suggested

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P R E F A C E TO THE E I G H T H EDITION

groups or pairs of texts; a n d discussion questions. Built into the Guide for Instructors is a freestanding M e d i a Guide, by Philip Schwyzer, which offers specific suggestions for integrating the anthology's rich multimedia resources with the text a n d for incorporating them into traditional or distance-learning courses. Finally, the Norton R e s o u r c e Library ( w i v n o r t o n . c o m / n r l ) , also by Philip Schwyzer, offers instructors brief period introductions and "class sess i o n s " to facilitate close reading, art galleries a n d literary links, enhanced period timelines, essay assignments, s a m p l e syllabi, and instructions for customizing the material. T h e s e materials are compatible with W e b C T a n d other course m a n a g e m e n t systems. T h e editors are deeply grateful to the hundreds of teachers worldwide who have helped us to improve The Norton Anthology of English Literature. A list of the advisors who prepared in-depth reviews a n d of the instructors who replied to a detailed questionnaire follows on a separate page, under Acknowledgments. T h e editors would like to express appreciation for their assistance to Elizabeth Anker (University of Virginia), S a n d i e Byrne (Oxford University), Timothy C a m p b e l l (Indiana University), Sarita C a r g a s (Oxford University), J a s o n C o a t s (University of Virginia), J o s e p h W. Childers (University of California, Riverside), Daniel C o o k (University of California, Davis), Linda David, Christopher F a n n i n g ( Q u e e n s University), William F l e s c h (Brandeis University), Robert Folkenflik (University of California, Irvine), Robert D. Fulk (India n a University), O m a a r H e n a (University of Virginia), T o m Keirstead (Indiana University), Shayna Kessel (University of S o u t h e r n California), J o a n n a Lipking (Northwestern University), Ian Little (Liverpool University), Tricia Lootens (University of Georgia), Erin Minear (Harvard University), Elaine Musgrave (University of California, Davis), J. M o r g a n Myers (University of Virginia), Kate N a s h (University of Virginia), Ruth Perry (M.I.T.), Emily Peterson (Harvard University), Kate Pilson (Harvard University), J a n e Potter (Oxford Brookes University), L e a h Price (Harvard University), Angelique Richardson (Exeter University), Philip Schwyzer (Exeter University), a n d R a m i e T a r g o f f (Brandeis University). We especially thank J o h n W. Sider (Westmont College) for his meticulous review of standing annotations and myriad suggestions for improvements. We also thank the many people at Norton who contributed to the Eighth Edition: J u l i a Reidhead, who served not only as the inhouse supervisor but also as an unfailingly wise and effective collaborator in every aspect of planning and accomplishing this Eighth Edition; Marian J o h n s o n , m a n a g i n g editor for college books, who kept the project moving forward with a remarkable blend of f o c u s e d energy, intelligence, a n d c o m m o n sense; Kurt Wildermuth, developmental and project editor; Alice Falk, Katharine Ings, C a n d a c e Levy, Alan Shaw, and Ann Tappert, manuscript editors; Eileen Connell, electronic m e d i a editor; Diane O'Connor, production manager; N a n c y Rodwan a n d Katrina Washington, permissions managers; Toni Krass, designer; Neil Ryder H o o s , art researcher; Erin Granville, associate editor; a n d C a t h e r i n e Spencer, editorial assistant. All these friends provided the editors with indispensable help in meeting the challenge of representing the unparalleled r a n g e a n d variety of English literature. We dedicate this Eighth Edition of The Norton Anthology of English Literature to our friend, mentor, and inspiring guide M. H. Abrams. His shaping power over these volumes and the profession it serves will long endure.

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Acknowledgments Among our many critics, advisors, and friends, the following were of especial help toward the preparation of the Eighth Edition, either by offering advice or by providing critiques of particular periods of the anthology: Daniel Albright (University of Rochester), David L. Anderson (Butler County Community College), Judith H. Anderson (Indiana University), David Barnard (University of Regina), Ian Baucom (Duke University), Dr. Richard Beadle (St John's College, Cambridge University), Elleke Boehmer (Nottingham Trent University), Scott Boltwood (Emory and Henry College), Joseph Bristow (University of California, Los Angeles), J a m e s Chandler (University of Chicago), William Cohen (University of Maryland, College Park), Helen Cooper (Oxford University), Valentine Cunningham (Oxford University), Timothy Drake (Queen's University), Ian Duncan (University of California), Elizabeth Hanson (Queen's University), Brean Hammond (University of Nottingham), Claudia Johnson (Princeton University), Emrys Jones (Oxford University), Suzanne Keen, Shanya Kessel (University of Southern California), Bruce King, Rebecca Krug (University of Minnesota), David Kuijt (University of Maryland), John Leonard (University of Western Ontario), Peter Lindenbaum (Indiana University), J e s s e Matz (Kenyon College), Brian May (Northern Illinois University), Father Germain Marc'hadour (Angers, France), Vincent Gillespie (Oxford University), Leah S. Marcus (Vanderbilt University), Paula McDowell (Rutgers University), Clarence H. Miller (St. Louis University), Tyrus Miller (University of California, Santa Cruz), Michael Moses (Duke University), Barbara Newman (Northwestern University), Michael North (University of California, Los Angeles), Stephen Orgel, (Stanford University), Ruth Perry (Massachusetts Institute of Technology), Adela Pinch (University of Michigan), David Porter (University of Michigan), Laura Quinney (Brandeis University), Alan Richardson (Boston College), Phillip Rogers (Queen's University), Mary Beth Rose (University of Illinois at Chicago), Elizabeth Scala (University of Texas), Nigel Smith (Princeton University), Janet Sorensen (Indiana University), Michele Stanco (Universita degli Studi di Napoli "Frederico"), Marta Straznicky (Queen's University), Helen Thompson (Northwestern University), Blakey Vermeule (Northwestern University), Richard Wendorf (Boston Athenaeum), Johnny Wink (Ouachita Baptist University), David Wyatt (University of Maryland), Steven Zwicker (Washington University, St. Louis). The editors would like to express appreciation and thanks to the hundreds of teachers who provided reviews: Laila Abdalla (Central Washington University), Avis Adams (Green River Community College), Kimberly VanEsveld Adams (Elizabethtown College), Thomas Amarose (Seattle Pacific University), Mark Addison Amos (Southern Illinois University, Carbondale), M. G. Aune (North Dakota State College), E. Baldwin (University of Victoria), Jackson Barry (University of Maryland, College Park), Elisa E. Beshero-Bondar (The xliii

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

xlv

versity of Lethbridge), Ruth McAdams (Tarrant County College), John McCombe (University of Dayton), Kristen McDermott (Central Michigan University), Joseph McGowan (University of San Diego), Christian Michener (St. Mary's University, Minnesota), D. Keith Mikolavich (Diablo Valley College), Nicholas Moschovakis (George Washington University), Gwendolyn Morgan (Montana State University), Daniel Mosser (Virginia Polytechnic Institute), K. D. Neill (University of Victoria, British Columbia), Douglas Nordfor (James Madison University), Michael North (University of California, Los Angeles), Bernie O'Donnell (University of Florida). Michael Olmert (University of Maryland, College Park), C. R. Orchard (Indiana University of Pennsylvania), Jennifer Panek (University of Ottawa), Cynthia Patton (Emporia State University), J a m e s Persoon (Grand Valley State University), Sara Pfaffenroth (County College of Morris), John Pfordreshen (Georgetown University), Jennifer Phegley (University of Missouri, Kansas City), Trey Philpotts (Arkansas Technical University), Brenda Powell (University of St. Thomas, St. Paul), Tison Pugh (University of Central Florida), Katherine Quinsey (University of Windsor), Eric Reimer (University of Montana), Kathryn Rummel (California Polytechnic State University), Harbindar Sanghara (University of Victoria, Canada), William Scheuede (University of South Florida), Michael Schoenfeldt (University of Michigan), R. M. Schuler (University of Victoria, British Columbia), D. Schwartz (Cal Poly, Saint Louis Obispo), Michael Schwartz (California State University, Chico), Richard Sha (American University), George Shuffelton (Carleton College), Brandie Sigfried (Brigham Young University), Elizabeth Signorotti (Binghamton University), Dawn Simmons (Ohio State University), Erik Simpson (Grinnell College), Sarah Singer (Delaware County Community College), Dr. Mary-Antoinette Smith (Seattle University), Jonathan Smith (University of Michigan, Dearborn), Nigel Smith (Princeton University), Malinda Snow (Georgia State University), Jean Sorenson (Grayson County College), C. Spinks (Trinity College), Donald Stone (City University of New York, Q u e e n s ) , Kevin Swafford (Bradley University), Andrew Taylor (University of Ottawa), Rebecca Totaro (Florida Gulf Coast University), Bente Videbaek (State University New York, Stony Brook), Joseph Viscome (University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill), Jennie Wakefield (Clemson University), David Ward (University of Pittsburgh), Tracy Ware (Queen's University), Alexander Weiss (Radford University), Lachlan Whalen (Marshall University), Christopher Wheatley (Catholic University of America), C. Williams (Mississippi State University), Jodi Wyett (Xavier University, Cincinnati), Jiyeon Yoo (University of California, Los Angeles), Richard Zeikowitz (University of South Alabama).

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The Middle Ages to ca. 1485 43—ca. 420: ca. 450: 597: 871-899: 1066: 1154-1189: ca. 1200: 1360—1400:

R o m a n invasion and occupation of Britain Anglo-Saxon C o n q u e s t St. A u g u s t i n e arrives in Kent; beginning of Anglo-Saxon conversion to Christianity Reign of King Alfred Norman Conquest Reign of Henry II Beginnings of Middle English literature Geoffrey Chaucer; Green

1485:

Piers

Plowman;

Sir Gawain and

the

Knight

William Caxton's printing of Sir T h o m a s Malory's Morte Darthur, one of the first books printed in England

T h e M i d d l e Ages designates the time span roughly from the collapse of the R o m a n E m p i r e to the R e n a i s s a n c e and Reformation. T h e adjective "medieval," coined from

L a t i n medium

(middle)

a n d aevum

(age),

refers

to w h a t e v e r was

made, written, or thought during the Middle Ages. The R e n a i s s a n c e was so n a m e d by n i n e t e e n t h - c e n t u r y historians and critics b e c a u s e they a s s o c i a t e d it with an o u t b u r s t of creativity a t t r i b u t e d to a "rebirth" or revival of Latin and, especially,

of G r e e k learning and literature.

T h e word " R e f o r m a t i o n " desig-

nates the p o w e r f u l religious m o v e m e n t that began in the early sixteenth century and r e p u d i a t e d the

s u p r e m e authority of the

Roman

Catholic

Church.

T h e R e n a i s s a n c e w a s s e e n a s s p r e a d i n g f r o m I t a l y i n t h e f o u r t e e n t h a n d fifteenth centuries

to the rest of E u r o p e , w h e r e a s the R e f o r m a t i o n b e g a n in

G e r m a n y a n d q u i c k l y a f f e c t e d all o f E u r o p e t o a g r e a t e r o r l e s s e r d e g r e e . T h e very idea of a R e n a i s s a n c e or rebirth, however, implies s o m e t h i n g d o r m a n t or lacking in the p r e c e d i n g era. M o r e recently, there have been two n o n - e x c l u s i v e tendencies

our understanding of the

medieval

period and what follows.

S o m e scholars e m p h a s i z e the continuities b e t w e e n the M i d d l e Ages and the later time n o w o f t e n called the Early M o d e r n Period. O t h e r s e m p h a s i z e the ways in w h i c h sixteenth-century writers in s o m e s e n s e "created" the Middle A g e s , in order to highlight what they saw as the brilliance of their own time. M e d i e v a l a u t h o r s , of c o u r s e , did not think of t h e m s e l v e s as living in the "middle"; they s o m e t i m e s e x p r e s s e d the idea that the world was g r o w i n g old and that theirs w a s a d e c l i n i n g age, close to the e n d of time. Yet art, literature, and science flourished during the Middle Ages, rooted in the Christian culture that preserved, transmitted, and t r a n s f o r m e d classical tradition. T h e w o r k s c o v e r e d in this s e c t i o n of t h e a n t h o l o g y e n c o m p a s s a p e r i o d of m o r e than eight h u n d r e d years, enth c e n t u r y to

f r o m C a s d m o n ' s Hymn a t t h e e n d o f t h e s e v -

Everyman a t t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e s i x t e e n t h . T h e d a t e

1485,

t h e y e a r o f t h e a c c e s s i o n o f H e n r y VTI a n d t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e T u d o r d y n a s t y , 1

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THE MIDDLE AGES

is an arbitrary but convenient one to mark the "end" of the Middle Ages in England. Although the R o m a n Catholic C h u r c h provided continuity, the period was one of e n o r m o u s historical, social, and linguistic change. To emphasize these c h a n g e s and the events underlying them, we have divided the period into three primary sections: Anglo-Saxon Literature, Anglo-Norman Literature, and Middle English Literature in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries. T h e AngloSaxon invaders, who began their c o n q u e s t of the southeastern part of Britain a r o u n d 4 5 0 , spoke an early form of the language we now call Old English. Old English displays its kinship with other Germanic languages ( G e r m a n or Dutch, for example) m u c h more clearly than does contemporary British and American English, of which Old English is the ancestor. As late as the tenth century, part of an Old Saxon p o e m written on the Continent was transcribed and transliterated into the West Saxon dialect of Old English without presenting problems to its English readers. In form and content Old English literature also has m u c h in c o m m o n with other Germanic literatures with which it shared a body of heroic as well as Christian stories. T h e major characters in Beowulf are pagan D a n e s and Geats, and the only connection to E n g l a n d is an o b s c u r e allusion to the ancestor of one of the kings of the Angles. T h e c h a n g e s already in progress in the language and culture of Anglo-Saxon E n g l a n d were greatly accelerated by the N o r m a n C o n q u e s t of 1066. T h e a s c e n d a n c y of a French-speaking ruling class had the effect of adding a vast n u m b e r of French loan words to the English vocabulary. T h e conquest resulted in new forms of political organization and administration, architecture, a n d literary expression. In the twelfth century, through the interest of the Anglo-Normans in British history before the Anglo-Saxon Conquest, not only England but all of Western Europe b e c a m e fascinated with a legendary hero n a m e d Arthur who makes his earliest appearances in Celtic literature. King Arthur and his knights b e c a m e a staple subject of medieval French, English, and G e r m a n literature. Selections from Latin, French, a n d Old Irish, as well as from Early Middle English have been included here to give a sense of the cross-currents of languages and literatures in Anglo-Norman England a n d to provide background for later English literature in all periods. Literature in English was performed orally and written throughout the Middle Ages, but the awareness of and pride in a uniquely English literature does not actually exist before the late fourteenth century. In 1336 Edward III began a war to enforce his claims to the throne of France; the war continued intermittently for one hundred years until finally the English were driven from all their French territories except for the port of Calais. O n e result of the war a n d these losses was a keener sense on the part of England's nobility of their English heritage and identity. Toward the close of the fourteenth century English finally began to displace French as the language for conducting business in Parliament and m u c h official correspondence. Although the high nobility continued to speak French by preference, they were certainly bilingual, whereas s o m e of the earlier N o r m a n kings had known no English at all. It was b e c o m i n g possible to obtain patronage for literary achievement in English. T h e decision of C h a u c e r (d. 1400) to emulate French a n d Italian poetry in his own vernacular is an indication of the change taking place in the status of English, and C h a u c e r ' s works were greatly to e n h a n c e the prestige of English as a vehicle for literature of high ambition. He was acclaimed by fifteenth-century poets as the embellisher of the English tongue; later writers called him the English H o m e r and the father of English poetry. His friend

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INTRODUCTION

J o h n Gower (1330?—1408) wrote long p o e m s in French and Latin before producing his last major work, the Confessio Amantis (The Lover's Confession), which in spite of its Latin title is c o m p o s e d in English. T h e third and longest of the three primary sections, Middle English Literature in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries, is thus not only a chronological and linguistic division but implies a new sense of English as a literary medium that could c o m p e t e with French and Latin in elegance and seriousness. B o o k production throughout the medieval period was an expensive process. Until the invention of moveable type in the mid-fifteenth century (introduced into England by Caxton in 1476), medieval books were reproduced by hand in manuscript (literally "written by hand"). While paper b e c a m e increasingly c o m m o n for less expensive manuscripts in the fifteenth century, manuscripts were until then written on carefully prepared animal (usually calf or sheep) skin, known as parchment or vellum. M o r e expensive books could be illuminated both by colored and calligraphic lettering, and by visual images. T h e institutions of book production developed across the period. In the Anglo-Saxon period monasteries were the main centers of book production a n d storage. Until their dissolution in the 1530s, monastic and other religious h o u s e s continued to produce books, but from the early fourteenth century, particularly in London, commercial book-making enterprises c a m e into being. T h e s e were loose organizations of various artisans such as parchmentmakers, scribes, flourishers, illuminators, and binders, who usually lived in the s a m e neighborhoods in towns. A bookseller or dealer (usually a member of one of these trades) would coordinate the production of books to order for wealthy patrons, sometimes distributing the work of copying to different scribes, who would be responsible for different gatherings, or quires, of the s a m e book. S u c h shops could call upon the services of professional scribes working in the bureaucracies of the royal court. T h e market for books also changed across the period: while monasteries, other religious houses, and royal courts continued to f u n d the production of books, from the Anglo-Norman period books were also produced for (and sometimes by) noble and gentry households. From the fourteenth century the market was widened yet further, with wealthy urban patrons also ordering books. S o m e of these books were dedicated to single works, some largely to single genres; most were m u c h more miscellaneous, containing texts of many kinds and (particularly in the Anglo-Norman period) written in different languages (especially Latin, French and English). Only a small proportion of medieval books survive; large numbers were destroyed at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries in the 1530s. Texts in Old English, Early Middle English, the more difficult texts in later Middle English ( S i r Gawain and the Green Knight, Piers Plowman), and those in other languages are given in translation. C h a u c e r and other Middle English works may be read in the original, even by the beginner, with the help of marginal glosses and notes. T h e s e texts have been spelled in a way that is intended to aid the reader. Analyses of the sounds and grammar of Middle English and of Old and Middle English prosody are presented on pages 15—21. ANGLO-SAXON

LITERATURE

From the first to the fifth century, England was a province of the R o m a n Empire and was n a m e d Britannia after its Celtic-speaking inhabitants, the

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THE MIDDLE AGES

Britons. T h e Britons adapted themselves to R o m a n civilization, of which the ruins survived to impress the poet of The Wanderer, who refers to them as "the old works of giants." T h e withdrawal of the Roman legions during the fifth century, in a vain attempt to protect R o m e itself from the threat of Germanic conquest, left the island vulnerable to seafaring G e r m a n i c invaders. T h e s e belonged primarily to three related tribes, the Angles, the Saxons, and the J u t e s . T h e n a m e English derives from the Angles, and the n a m e s of the counties Essex, Sussex, and Wessex refer to the territories occupied by the East, South, and West Saxons. T h e Anglo-Saxon occupation was no sudden conquest but extended over d e c a d e s of fighting against the native Britons. T h e latter were, finally, largely confined to the m o u n t a i n o u s region of Wales, where the modern form of their language is spoken alongside English to this day. T h e Britons had become Christians in the fourth century after the conversion of Emperor Constantine along with m o s t of the rest of the R o m a n Empire, but for about 150 years after the beginning of the invasion, Christianity was maintained only in the remoter regions where the as yet p a g a n Anglo-Saxons failed to penetrate. In the year 597, however, a Benedictine monk (afterward St. Augustine of Canterbury) was sent by Pope Gregory as a missionary to King Ethelbert of Kent, the most southerly of the kingdoms into which England was then divided, and about the s a m e time missionaries from Ireland began to preach Christianity in the north. Within 75 years the island was once more predominantly Christian. Before Christianity there had been no books. T h e impact of Christianity on literacy is evident from the fact that the first extended written specimen of the Old English (Anglo-Saxon) language is a code of laws promulgated by Ethelbert, the first English Christian king. In the centuries that followed the conversion, England produced many distinguished c h u r c h m e n . O n e of the earliest of these was Bede, whose Latin Ecclesiastical History of the English People, which tells the story of the conversion and of the English church, was completed in 7 3 1 ; this remains one of our most important sources of knowledge about the period. In the next generation Alcuin (735—804), a m a n of wide culture, b e c a m e the friend and adviser of the Frankish emperor Charlemagne, w h o m he assisted in making the Frankish court a great center of learning; thus by the year 800 English culture had developed so richly that it overflowed its insular boundaries. In the ninth century the Christian Anglo-Saxons were themselves subjected to new G e r m a n i c invasions by the D a n e s who in their longboats repeatedly ravaged the coast, sacking Bede's monastery among others. S u c h a raid date in the tenth century inspired The Battle of Maldon, the last of t-he Old English heroic p o e m s . T h e D a n e s also occupied the northern part of the island, threatening to overrun the rest. They were stopped by Alfred, king of the West Saxons from 871 to 8 9 9 , who for a time united all the kingdoms of southern England. This most active king was also an enthusiastic patron of literature. He himself translated various works from Latin, the most important of which was Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy, a sixth-century R o m a n work also translated in the fourteenth century by C h a u c e r . Alfred probably also instigated a translation of Bede's History and the beginning of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: this year-by-year record in Old English of important events in England was maintained at one monastery until the middle of the twelfth century. Practically all of Old English poetry is preserved in copies made in the West Saxon dialect after the reign of Alfred.

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INTRODUCTION

Old

English

Poetry

T h e Anglo-Saxon invaders brought with them a tradition of oral poetry (see " B e d e and Csedmon's Hymn," p. 24). B e c a u s e nothing was written down before the conversion to Christianity, we have only circumstantial evidence of what that poetry m u s t have been like. Aside from a few short inscriptions on small artifacts, the earliest records in the English language are in manuscripts p r o d u c e d at monasteries and other religious establishments, beginning in the seventh century. Literacy was mainly restricted to servants of the church, and so it is natural that the bulk of Old English literature deals with religious subjects and is mostly drawn from Latin sources. Under the expensive conditions of manuscript production, few texts were written down that did not pertain directly to the work of the church. M o s t of Old English poetry is contained in j u s t four manuscripts. G e r m a n i c heroic poetry continued to be performed orally in alliterative verse and was at times u s e d to describe current events. Tlte Battle of Brunaburh, which celebrates an English victory over the D a n e s in traditional alliterative verse, is preserved in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Tlte Battle of Maldon commemorates a Viking victory in which the Christian English invoke the ancient code of honor that obliges a warrior to avenge his slain lord or to die beside him. T h e s e p o e m s show that the aristocratic heroic and kinship values of Germanic society continued to inspire both clergy and laity in the Christian era. As represented in the relatively small body of Anglo-Saxon heroic poetry that survives, this world shares many characteristics with the heroic world described by H o m e r . Nations are reckoned as groups of people related by kinship rather than by geographical areas, and kinship is the basis of the heroic code. T h e tribe is ruled by a chieftain who is called king, a word that has "kin" for its root. T h e lord (a word derived from Old English hlaf, "loaf," plus weard, "protector") surrounds himself with a band of retainers (many of them his blood kindred) who are m e m b e r s of his household. He leads his men in battle a n d rewards them with the spoils; royal generosity was one of the most important a s p e c t s of heroic behavior. In return, the retainers are obligated to fight for their lord to the death, and if he is slain, to avenge him or die in the attempt. Blood vengeance is regarded as a sacred duty, and in poetry, everlasting s h a m e awaits those who fail to observe it. Even though the heroic world of poetry could be invoked to rally resistance to the Viking invasions, it was already remote from the Christian world of Anglo-Saxon England. Nevertheless, Christian writers like the Beowulf poet were fascinated by the distant culture of their p a g a n ancestors and by the inherent conflict between the heroic c o d e and a religion that teaches that we should "forgive those who trespass against u s " and that "all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." T h e Beowulf poet looks back on that ancient world with admiration for the courage of which it was capable and at the s a m e time with elegiac sympathy for its inevitable doom. For Anglo-Saxon poetry, it is difficult and probably futile to draw a line between "heroic" and "Christian," for the best poetry crosses that boundary. M u c h of the Christian poetry is also cast in the heroic mode: although the Anglo-Saxons adapted themselves readily to the ideals of Christianity, they did not do so without adapting Christianity to their own heroic ideal. T h u s M o s e s and St. Andrew, Christ and G o d the Father are represented in the style of

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THE MIDDLE AGES

heroic verse. In the Dream of the Rood, the C r o s s speaks of Christ as "the young hero, . . . strong and stouthearted." In Csedmon's Hymn the creation of heaven a n d earth is seen as a mighty deed, an "establishment of wonders." Anglo-Saxon heroines, too, are portrayed in the heroic manner. St. Helena, who leads an expedition to the Holy L a n d to discover the true Cross, is described as a "battle-queen." T h e biblical narrative related in the Anglo-Saxon p o e m fudith is recast in the terms of G e r m a n i c heroic poetry. Christian and heroic ideals are poignantly blended in The Wanderer, which laments the separation from one's lord and kinsmen and the transience of all earthly treasures. Love between m a n a n d woman, as described by the female speaker of The Wife's Lament, is disrupted by separation, exile, and the malice of kinfolk. T h e world of Old English poetryds often elegiac. M e n are said to be cheerful in the m e a d hall, but even there they think of war, of possible triumph but more possible failure. Romantic love—one of the principal topics of later lite r a t u r e — a p p e a r s hardly at all. Even so, at some of the bleakest m o m e n t s , the poets powerfully recall the return of spring. T h e blade of the magic sword with which Beowulf has killed Grendel's mother in her sinister underwater lair begins to melt, "as ice melts / when the Father eases the fetters off the frost / a n d unravels the water ropes, He who wields power." T h e poetic diction, formulaic phrases, a n d repetitions of parallel syntactic structures, which are determined by the versification, are difficult to reproduce in modern translation. A few features may be anticipated here and studied in the text of Csedmon's Hymn, printed below (pp. 25—27) with interlinear translation. Poetic language is created out of a special vocabulary that contains a multiplicity of terms f o r lord, warrior, spear, shield, and so on. Synecdoche and metonymy are c o m m o n figures of s p e e c h as when "keel" is u s e d for ship or "iron," for sword. A particularly striking e f f e c t is achieved by the kenning, a c o m p o u n d of two words in place of another as when sea b e c o m e s "whale-road" or body is called "life-house." T h e figurative u s e of language finds playful expression in poetic riddles, of which about one hundred survive. C o m m o n (and sometimes u n c o m m o n ) creatures, objects, 01* p h e n o m e n a are described in an enigmatic p a s s a g e of alliterative verse, a n d the reader must guess their identity. S o m e t i m e s they are personified and ask, "What is my name 1 ?" B e c a u s e special vocabulary and c o m p o u n d s are among the chief poetic effects, the verse is constructed in such a way as to show off s u c h terms by creating a series of them in apposition. In the second sentence of Csedmon's Hymn, for example, G o d is referred to five times appositively as "he," "holy C r e a t o r , " "mankind's G u a r d i a n , " "eternal Lord," and " M a s t e r Almighty." This u s e of parallel a n d appositive expressions, known as variation, gives the verse a highly structured and musical quality. T h e overall e f f e c t of the language is to formalize a n d elevate speech. Instead of being straightforward, it moves at a slow a n d stately p a c e with steady indirection. A favorite m o d e of this indirection is irony. A grim irony pervades heroic poetry even at the level of diction where fighting is called "battle-play." A favorite device, known by the rhetorical term litotes, is ironic understatement. After the monster Grendel has slaughtered the Danes in the great hall Heorot, it stands deserted. T h e poet observes, "It was easy then to meet with a m a n / shifting himself to a safer distance." M o r e than a figure of thought, irony is also a m o d e of perception in Old English poetry. In a f a m o u s p a s s a g e , the Wanderer articulates the theme of

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INTRODUCTION

Ubi sunt? (where are they now?): "Where has the horse gone? W h e r e the young warrior1? W h e r e the giver of treasure? . . ." Beowulf is full of ironic balances a n d contrasts—between the aged D a n i s h king and the youthful Beowulf, and between Beowulf, the high-spirited young warrior at the beginning, and Beowulf, the gray-haired king at the end, facing the dragon a n d death. T h e formal a n d dignified s p e e c h of Old English poetry was always distant from the everyday l a n g u a g e of the Anglo-Saxons, and this poetic idiom remained remarkably uniform throughout the roughly three hundred years that separate Casdmon's Hymn from The Battle of Maldon. This clinging to old f o r m s — g r a m m a t i c a l a n d orthographic as well as literary—by the AngloSaxon c h u r c h and aristocracy conceals from us the enormous changes that were taking place in the English language a n d the diversity of its dialects. T h e dramatic changes between Old and Middle English did not h a p p e n overnight or over the c o u r s e of a single century. T h e N o r m a n s displaced the English ruling class with their own barons a n d clerics, whose native language was a dialect of Old F r e n c h that we call Anglo-Norman. Without a ruling literate class to preserve English traditions, the c u s t o m of transcribing vernacular texts in an earlier form of the West-Saxon dialect was abandoned, and both lang u a g e a n d literature were allowed to develop u n c h e c k e d in new directions. ANGLO-NORMAN

LITERATURE

T h e N o r m a n s , who took p o s s e s s i o n of E n g l a n d after the decisive Battle of Hastings ( 1 0 6 6 ) , were, like the Anglo-Saxons, descendants of G e r m a n i c adventurers, who at the beginning of the tenth century had seized a wide part of northern France. Their n a m e is actually a contraction of " N o r s e m e n . " A highly adaptable people, they h a d adopted the F r e n c h language of the land they h a d settled in a n d its Christian religion. Both in Normandy and in Britain they were great builders of castles, with which they enforced their political dominance, and magnificent churches. N o r m a n bishops, who held land and castles like the barons, wielded both political a n d spiritual authority. T h e earlier N o r m a n kings of England, however, were often absentee rulers, as m u c h concerned with defending their Continental possessions as with ruling over their English holdings. T h e English Crown's F r e n c h territories were enormously increased in 1154 when Henry II, the first of England's Plantagenet kings, a s c e n d e d the throne. Through his marriage with Eleanor of Aquitaine, the divorced wife of Louis VII of France, Henry had acquired vast provinces in the southwest of France. T h e p r e s e n c e of a French-speaking ruling class in England created exceptional opportunities for linguistic a n d cultural exchange. F o u r languages coexisted in the realm of Anglo-Norman England: Latin, as it h a d been for Bede, remained the international l a n g u a g e of learning, u s e d for theology, science, and history. It was not by any m e a n s a written language only but also a lingua franca by which different nationalities c o m m u n i c a t e d in the church and the newly f o u n d e d universities. T h e N o r m a n aristocracy for the m o s t part spoke French, but intermarriage with the native English nobility and the business of daily life between masters a n d servants encouraged bilingualism. Different branches of the Celtic language group were spoken in Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, a n d Brittany. Inevitably, there was also literary intercourse a m o n g the different languages. T h e Latin Bible and Latin saints' lives provided subjects for a great deal of

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THE MIDDLE AGES

Old English as well as Old F r e n c h poetry and prose. T h e first medieval drama in the vernacular, The Play of Adam, with elaborate stage directions in Latin a n d realistic dialogue in the Anglo-Norman dialect of French, was probably p r o d u c e d in E n g l a n d during the twelfth century. T h e Anglo-Norman aristocracy was especially attracted to Celtic legends a n d tales that h a d b e e n circulating orally for centuries. T h e twelfth-century poets T h o m a s of England, Marie de F r a n c e and Chretien de Troyes each claim to have obtained their narratives from Breton storytellers, who were probably bilingual performers of native tales for F r e n c h audiences. "Breton" may indicate that they c a m e from Brittany, or it may have been a generic term for a Celtic bard. Marie speaks respectfully of the storytellers, while T h o m a s expresses caution about their tendency to vary narratives; Chretien a c c u s e s them of marring their material, which, he boasts, he has retold with an elegant f u s i o n of f o r m a n d meaning. Marie wrote a series of short romances, which she refers to as "lays" originally told by Bretons. Her versions are the m o s t original a n d sophisticated examples of the genre that c a m e to be known as the Breton lay, represented here by Marie's Lanval a n d ChevrefoiL It is very likely that Henry II is the "noble king" to w h o m she dedicated her lays and that they were written for his court. T h o m a s c o m p o s e d a moving, almost operatic version of the adulterous passion of Tristran and Isolt, very different from the powerful version of the s a m e story by Beroul, also c o m p o s e d in the last half of the twelfth century. Chretien is the principal creator of the r o m a n c e of chivalry in which knightly adventures are a m e a n s of exploring psychological a n d ethical dilemmas that the knights m u s t solve, in addition to displaying martial prowess in saving ladies from monsters, giants, a n d wicked knights. Chretien, like Marie, is thought to have spent time in England at the court of Henry II. T h o m a s , Marie, and Chretien de Troyes were innovators of the genre that h a s b e c o m e known as " r o m a n c e . " T h e word roman was initially applied in French to a work written in the F r e n c h vernacular. T h u s the thirteenthcentury Roman de Troie is a long p o e m about the Trojan W a r in French. While this work deals mainly with the siege of Troy, it also includes stories about the love of Troilus for C r e s s i d a a n d of Achilles for the Trojan princess Polyxena. Eventually, " r o m a n c e " acquired the generic associations it has for us as a story about love a n d adventure. : R o m a n c e was the principal narrative genre for late medieval readers. Insofar as it was centrally concerned with love, it developed ways of representing psychological interiority with great subtlety. T h a t subtlety itself provoked a sub-genre of questions about love. T h u s in the late twelfth century, Andreas C a p e l l a n u s (Andrew the Chaplain) wrote a Latin treatise, the title of which may be translated The Art of Loving Correctly [honeste]. In one part, Eleanor of Aquitaine, her daughter, the countess M a r i e de C h a m p a g n e , and other noble w o m e n are cited as a s u p r e m e court rendering decisions on difficult questions of love—for example, whether there is greater passion between lovers or between married couples. Whether s u c h "courts of love" were purely imaginary or whether they represent s o m e actual court entertainment, they imply that the literary taste a n d j u d g m e n t of w o m e n had a significant role in fostering the rise of r o m a n c e in F r a n c e and Anglo-Norman England. In Marie's Lanval and in Chretien's romances, the court of King Arthur h a d already acquired for F r e n c h audiences a reputation as the most f a m o u s center of chivalry. T h a t e m i n e n c e is owing in large m e a s u r e to a remarkable book in

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INTRODUCTION

Latin, TJte History of the Kings of Britain, completed by Geoffrey of M o n m o u t h , ca. 1136—38. G e o f f r e y claimed to have b a s e d his "history" on a book in the British tongue (i.e., Welsh), but no one has ever f o u n d such a book. He drew on a few earlier Latin chronicles, but the bulk of his history was probably fabricated from Celtic oral tradition, his familiarity with R o m a n history and literature, and his own fertile imagination. T h e climax of the book is the reign of King Arthur, who defeats the R o m a n armies but is forced to turn back to Britain to counter the treachery of his nephew Mordred. In 1155 Geoffrey's Latin was rendered into F r e n c h rhyme by an Anglo-Norman poet called Wace, and fifty or so years later Wace's p o e m was turned by Layamon, an English priest, into a m u c h longer p o e m that combines English alliterative verse with sporadic rhyme. Layamon's work is one of many instances where English receives new material directly through French sources, which may be drawn from Celtic or Latin sources. T h e r e are two Middle English versions of Marie's Lanval, and the English r o m a n c e called Yvain and Gawain is a cruder version of Chretien's Le Chevalier au Lion (The Knight of the Lion). There is a marvelous English lay, Sir Orfeo, a version of the Orpheus story in which Orpheus succeeds in rescuing his wife from the other world, for which a French original, if there was one, has never been found. R o m a n c e , stripped of its courtly, psychological, and ethical subtleties, had an i m m e n s e popular appeal for English readers and listeners. M a n y of these romances are simplified adaptations of more aristocratic F r e n c h p o e m s and recount in a rollicking and rambling style the adventures of heroes like G u y of Warwick, a poor steward who must prove his knightly worth to win the love of Fair Phyllis. T h e ethos of many romances, aristocratic a n d popular alike, involves a knight proving his worthiness through nobility of character and brave deeds rather than through high birth. In this respect romances reflect the aspirations of a lower order of the nobility to rise in the world, as historically s o m e of these nobles did. William the Marshall, for example, the fourth son of a baron of middle rank, used his talents in war a n d in tournaments to b e c o m e tutor to the oldest son of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. He married a great heiress and b e c a m e one of the most powerful nobles in England and the subject of a verse biography in French, which often reads like a romance. Of course, not all writing in Early Middle English depends on French sources or intermediaries. T h e Anglo-Saxon Chronicle continued to be written at the monastery of Peterborough. It is an invaluable witness for the changes taking place in the English language and allows us to see N o r m a n rule from an English point of view. The Owl and the Nightingale (Hate twelfth century) is a witty and entertaining p o e m in which these two female birds engage in a fierce debate about the benefits their singing brings to humankind. T h e owl grimly reminds her rival of the sinfulness of the h u m a n condition, which her mournful song is intended to a m e n d ; the nightingale sings about the pleasures of life and love when lord and lady are in bed together. T h e poet, who was certainly a cleric, is well aware of the fashionable new romance literature; he specifically has the nightingale allude to Marie de France's lay Laiistic, the Breton word, she says, for "rossignol" in F r e n c h and "nightingale" in English. T h e poet does not side with either bird; rather he has amusingly created the sort of dialectic between the discourses of religion and romance that is carried on throughout medieval literature. T h e r e is also a body of Early Middle English religious prose aimed at women.

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THE MIDDLE AGES

T h r e e saints' lives celebrate the heroic combats of virgin martyrs who suffer d i s m e m b e r m e n t and death; a tract entitled Holy Maidenhead paints the woes of marriage not from the point of view of the husband, as in standard medieval antifeminist writings, but from that of the wife. Related to these texts, n a m e d the Katherine G r o u p after one of the virgin martyrs, is a religious work also written for women but in a very different spirit. T h e Ancrene Riwle (Anchoresses' Rule), or Ancrene Wisse (Anchoresses' Guide) as it is called in another manuscript, is one of the finest works of English religious prose in any period. It is a m a n u a l of instruction written at the request of three sisters who have c h o s e n to live as religious recluses. T h e author, who may have been their personal confessor, addresses them with affection, and, at times, with kindness and humor. He is also profoundly serious in his analyses of sin, penance, and love. In the selection included here from his chapter on love, he, too, tells a tale of r o m a n c e in a strikingly different way. MIDDLE ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE F O U R T E E N T H AND FIFTEENTH C E N T U R I E S T h e styles of The Owl and the Nightingale and Ancrene Riwle show that around the year 1200 both poetry and prose were being written for sophisticated and well-educated readers whose primary language was English. Throughout the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, there are many kinds of evidence that, although French continued to be the principal language of Parliament, law, business, and high culture, English was gaining ground. Several authors of religious and didactic works in English state that they are writing for the benefit of those who do not understand Latin or French. Anthologies were m a d e of miscellaneous works adapted from French for English readers and original pieces in English. M o s t of the nobility were by now bilingual, and the author of an English r o m a n c e written early in the fourteenth century declares that he has seen many nobles who cannot speak French. Children of the nobility and the merchant class are now learning French as a second language. By the 1360s the linguistic, political, and cultural climate had been prepared for the flowering of Middle English literature in the writings of C h a u c e r , Gower, Langland, and the Gawain poet.

The Fourteenth Century War and disease were prevalent throughout the Middle Ages but never more devastatingly than during the fourteenth century. In the wars against France, the gains of two spectacular English victories, at Crecy in 1346 and Poitiers in 1356, were gradually frittered away in futile campaigns that ravaged the French countryside without obtaining any clear advantage for the English. In 1348 the first and most virulent epidemic of the bubonic plague—the Black D e a t h — s w e p t Europe, wiping out a quarter to a third of the population. The toll was higher in crowded urban centers. Giovanni Boccaccio's description of the plague in Florence, with which he introduces the Decameron, vividly portrays its ravages: " S o many corpses would arrive in front of a church every day a n d at every hour that the amount of holy ground for burials was certainly insufficient for the ancient c u s t o m of giving each body its individual place; when all the graves were full, huge trenches were dug in all of the cemeteries of the c h u r c h e s and into them the new arrivals were d u m p e d by the h u n d r e d s ; and they were packed in there with dirt, one on top of another, like a ship's

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INTRODUCTION

cargo, until the trench was filled." T h e resulting scarcity of labor and a sudden expansion of the possibilities for social mobility fostered popular discontent. In 1381 attempts to enforce wage controls and to collect oppressive new taxes provoked a rural uprising in Essex and Kent that dealt a profound shock to the English ruling class. T h e participants were for the most part tenant farmers, day laborers, apprentices, and rural workers not attached to the big manors. A few of the lower clergy sided with the rebels against their wealthy church superiors; the priest J o h n Ball was a m o n g the leaders. T h e movement was quickly suppressed, but not before sympathizers in London had admitted the rebels through two city gates, which had been barred against them. T h e insurgents burned down the p a l a c e of the hated duke of Lancaster, and they summarily b e h e a d e d the archbishop of Canterbury and the treasurer of England, who had taken refuge in the Tower of London. T h e church had b e c o m e the target of popular resentment b e c a u s e it was a m o n g the greatest of the oppressive landowners and b e c a u s e of the wealth, worldliness, and venality of many of the higher clergy. T h e s e calamities and upheavals nevertheless did not stem the growth of international trade and the influence of the merchant class. In the portrait of Geoffrey C h a u c e r ' s merchant, we see the budding of capitalism based on credit and interest. Cities like L o n d o n ran their own affairs under politically powerful mayors and aldermen. Edward III, chronically in need of money to finance his wars, was obliged to negotiate for revenues with the C o m m o n s in the English Parliament, an institution that b e c a m e a major political force during this period. A large part of the king's revenues depended on taxing the profitable export of English wool to the Continent. T h e Crown thus b e c a m e involved in the country's economic affairs, and this involvement led to a need for capable administrators. T h e s e were no longer drawn mainly from the church, as in the past, but from a newly educated laity that occupied a rank somewhere between that of the lesser nobility and the upper bourgeoisie. T h e career of C h a u c e r , who served Edward III and his s u c c e s s o r Richard II in a n u m b e r of civil posts, is typical of this class-—with the exception that C h a u c e r was also a great poet. In the fourteenth century, a few poets and intellectuals achieved the status and respect formerly accorded only to the ancients. Marie de France and Chretien de Troyes had dedicated their works to noble patrons and, in their role as narrators, address themselves as entertainers and sometimes as instructors to court audiences. Dante (1265—1321) m a d e himself the protagonist of The Divine Comedy, the sacred poem, as he called it, in which he revealed the secrets of the afterlife. After his death, manuscripts of the work were provided with lengthy commentaries as though it were Scripture, and public readings and lectures were devoted to it. Francis Petrarch (1304—1374) won an international reputation as a m a n of letters. He wrote primarily in Latin and contrived to have himself crowned "poet laureate" in emulation of the R o m a n poets whose works he imitated, but his most f a m o u s work is the sonnet sequence he wrote in Italian. Giovanni B o c c a c c i o (1313—1375) was a m o n g Petrarch's most ardent admirers and carried on a literary correspondence with him. C h a u c e r read these authors along with the ancient R o m a n poets and drew on them in his own works. Chaucer's Clerk's Tale is based on a Latin version Petrarch m a d e from the last tale in Boccaccio's Decameron; in his prologue, the Clerk refers to Petrarch as "lauriat p o e t e " whose sweet rhetoric illuminated

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THE MIDDLE AGES

all Italy with his poetry. Yet in his own time, the English poet C h a u c e r never attained the kind of laurels that he and others accorded to Petrarch. In his earlier works, C h a u c e r portrayed himself comically as a diligent reader of old books, as an aspiring apprentice writer, and as an eager spectator on the fringe of a fashionable world of courtiers a n d poets. In The House of Fame, he relates a dream of being snatched up by a h u g e golden eagle (the eagle and many other things in this work were inspired by Dante), who transports him to the p a l a c e of the goddess F a m e . T h e r e he gets to see phantoms, like the shades in Dante's p o e m , of all the f a m o u s authors of antiquity. At the end of his r o m a n c e Troilus and Criseyde, C h a u c e r asks his "litel book" to kiss the footsteps where the great ancient poets had p a s s e d before. Like Dante and Petrarch, C h a u c e r had an ideal of great poetry and, in his Troilus at least, strove to emulate it. But in Tlte House of Fame a n d in his final work, The Canterbury Tales, he also views that ideal ironically and distances himself from it. T h e many surviving d o c u m e n t s that record Geoffrey C h a u c e r ' s career as a civil servant do not contain a single word to show that he was also a poet. Only in the following centuries would he be canonized as the father of English poetry. C h a u c e r is unlikely to have known his contemporary William Langland, who says in an autobiographical p a s s a g e (see pp. 352—54), added to the third and last version of his great p o e m Piers Plowman, that he lived in L o n d o n on Cornhill (a poor area of the city) a m o n g "lollers." "Loller" was a slang term for the unemployed a n d transients; it was later applied to followers of the religious and social reformer J o h n Wycliffe, s o m e of whom were burned at the stake for heresy in the next century. Langland assailed corruption in church and state, but he was certainly no radical. It is thought that he may have written t h e third version of Piers Plowman, which tones down his attacks on the church, after the rebels of 1381 invoked Piers as one of their own. Although L a n g l a n d does not c o n d o n e rebellion a n d his religion is not revolutionary, he nevertheless presents the m o s t clear-sighted vision of social and religious issues in the England of his day. Piers Plowman is also a painfully honest search for the right way that leads to salvation. T h o u g h learned himself, Langland and the dreamer who represents him in the p o e m arrive at the insight that learning can be one of the chief obstacles on that way. L a n g l a n d c a m e from the west of England, and his poem belongs to the "Alliterative Revival," a final flowering in the late fourteenth century of the verse form that goes all the way back to Anglo-Saxon England. Anglo-Saxon traditions held out longest in the west a n d north, away f r o m London, where C h a u c e r and his a u d i e n c e were more open to literary fashions from the Continent. J o h n Gower is a third major late fourteenth-century English poet. While his first and second large works are written in French and Latin verse respectively, his Confessio Amantis ( 1 3 9 0 ) is written in English octosyllabic couplets. Gower's first two works are severe satires; the Confessio, by contrast, broaches political and ethical issues from an oblique angle. Its primary narrative concerns the treatment of a suffering lover. His therapy consists of listening to, and understanding, many other narratives, many of which are drawn from classical sources. Like C h a u c e r , Gower anglicizes and absorbs classical Latin literature. Admiration for the poetry of both C h a u c e r and Gower and the controversial nature of Langland's writing a s s u r e d the survival of their work in many manuscripts. T h e work of a fourth major fourteenth-century English poet, who

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INTRODUCTION

remains anonymous, is known only through a single manuscript, which contains four p o e m s all thought to be by a single author: Cleanness and Patience, two biblical narratives in alliterative verse; Pearl, a moving dream vision in which a grief-stricken father is visited and consoled by his dead child, who has been t r a n s f o r m e d into a q u e e n in the kingdom of heaven; and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the finest of all English r o m a n c e s . T h e plot of Gawain involves a folklore motif of a challenge by a supernatural visitor, first f o u n d in an Old Irish tale. T h e poet has m a d e this motif a challenge to King Arthur's court a n d has f r a m e d the tale with allusions at the beginning and end to the legends that link Arthur's reign with the Trojan W a r a n d the founding of R o m e and of Britain. T h e poet has a sophisticated awareness of romance as a literary genre and plays a g a m e with both the hero's and the reader's expectations of what is s u p p o s e d to h a p p e n in a romance. O n e could say that the broader subject of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is " r o m a n c e " itself, and in this respect the p o e m resembles C h a u c e r ' s Canterbury Tales in its author's interest in literary form. J u l i a n of Norwich is a fifth major writer of this period. T h e first known w o m a n writer in the English vernacular, the anchoress Julian participates in a Continental tradition of visionary writings, often by women. S h e spent a good deal of her life meditating and writing about a series of visions, which she called "showings," that she had received in 1373, when she was thirty years old. While very carefully negotiating the dangers of writing as a woman, and of writing sophisticated theology in the vernacular, Julian m a n a g e s to produce visionary writing that is at once penetrating a n d serene.

The Fifteenth Century In 1399 Henry Bolingbroke, the duke of Lancaster, deposed his cousin Richard II, who was murdered in prison. As Henry IV, he successfully d e f e n d e d his crown against several insurrections and p a s s e d it on to Henry V, who briefly united the country once more and achieved one last apparently decisive victory over the F r e n c h at the Battle of Agincourt ( 1 4 1 5 ) . T h e premature death of Henry V in 1422, however, left England exposed to the civil wars known as the Wars of the Roses, the red rose being the e m b l e m of the h o u s e of Lancaster; the white, of York. T h e s e wars did not end until 1485, when Henry T u d o r defeated Richard III at Bosworth Field and a c c e d e d to the throne as Henry VII. T h e m o s t prolific poet of the fifteenth century was the monk J o h n Lydgate (1371?—1449), who p r o d u c e d dream visions; a life of the Virgin; translations of F r e n c h religious allegories; a Troy Book; The Siege of Thebes, which he f r a m e d as a "new" Canterbury tale; and a thirty-six-thousand-line p o e m called The Fall of Princes, a free translation of a French work, itself based on a Latin work by B o c c a c c i o . T h e last illustrates the late medieval idea of tragedy, namely that emperors, kings, and other f a m o u s m e n enjoy power and fortune only to be cast down in misery. Lydgate shapes these tales as a "mirror" for princes, i.e., as object lessons to the powerful m e n of his own day, several of whom were his patrons. A self-styled imitator of C h a u c e r , Lydgate h a d a reputation almost equal to C h a u c e r ' s in the fifteenth century. T h e other significant poet of the first half of the fifteenth century is T h o m a s Hoccleve (1367?— 1426). Like Lydgate, Hoccleve also wrote for powerful Lancastrian patrons, but his poetry is strikingly private, painfully concerned as it often is with his penury and mental instability. Religious works of all kind continued to be produced in the fifteenth cen-

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THE MIDDLE AGES

tury, but under greater surveillance. T h e Lancastrian authorities responded to the reformist religious movement known as "Lollardy" in draconian ways. They introduced a statute for the burning of heretics (the first such statute) in 1401, and a series of m e a s u r e s designed to survey and censor theology in English in 1409. Despite this, many writers continued to produce religious works in the vernacular. Perhaps the most remarkable of these writers is Margery K e m p e (who records her visit to J u l i a n of Norwich in about 1413). K e m p e m a d e pilgrimages to the Holy Land, Rome, Santiago, and to shrines in Northern Europe. T h e s e she records, in the context of her often fraught and painful personal life, in her Book of Margery Kempe. Both Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe, in highly individual ways, allow us to see the medieval church and its doctrines from f e m a l e points of view. Social, economic, and literary life continued as they had throughout all of the previously mentioned wars. T h e prosperity of the towns was shown by performances of the mystery p l a y s — a s e q u e n c e or "cycle" of plays based on the Bible and produced by the city guilds, the organizations representing the various trades and crafts. T h e cycles of several towns are lost, but those of York and C h e s t e r have been preserved, along with two other complete cycles, one possibly from Wakefield in Yorkshire, and the other titled the "N-Town" Cycle. Under the guise of dramatizing biblical history, playwrights such as the Wakefield M a s t e r m a n a g e to c o m m e n t satirically on the social ills of the times. T h e century also saw the development of the morality play, in which personified vices and virtues struggle for the soul of "Mankind" or "Everyman." Performed by professional players, the morality plays were precursors of the professional theater in the reign of Elizabeth I. T h e best of C h a u c e r ' s imitators was Robert Henryson, who, in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, wrote The Testament of Cresseid, a continuation of C h a u c e r ' s great p o e m Troilus and Criseyde. He also wrote the Moral Fahilis of Esope, a m o n g which The Cock and the Fox, included here, is a remake of C h a u c e r ' s Nun's Priest's Tale. T h e works of Sir T h o m a s Malory (d. 1471) gave the definitive form in English to the legend of King Arthur and his knights. Malory spent years in prison Englishing a series of Arthurian r o m a n c e s that he translated and abridged chiefly from several enormously long thirteenth-century French prose romances. Malory was a passionate devotee of chivalry, which he personified in his hero Sir Lancelot. In the jealousies and rivalries that finally break up the round table and destroy Arthur's kingdom, Malory saw a distant image of the civil wars of his own time. A manuscript of Malory's works fell into the hands of William Caxton (1422?—1492), who had introduced the new art of printing by movable type to England in 1476. Caxton divided Malory's tales into the chapters and books of a single long work, as though it were a chronicle history, and gave it the title Morte Darthur, which has stuck to it ever since. Caxton also printed Tlte Canterbury Tales, s o m e of Chaucer's earlier works, and Gower's Confessio Amantis. Caxton himself translated many of the works he printed for English readers: a history of Troy, a book on chivalry, Aesop's fables, The History of Reynard the Fox, and The Game and Playe of Chesse. T h e new technology extended literacy and m a d e books more easily accessible to new classes of readers. Printing m a d e the production of literature a business and m a d e possible the bitter political and doctrinal disputes that, in the sixteenth century, were waged in print as well as on the field of battle.

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INTRODUCTION

MEDIEVAL

ENGLISH

T h e medieval works in this anthology were c o m p o s e d in different states of our language. Old English, the language that took shape a m o n g the G e r m a n i c settlers of England, preserved its integrity until the N o r m a n C o n q u e s t radically altered English civilization. Middle English, the first records of which date from the early twelfth century, was continually changing. Shortly after the introduction of printing at the end of the fifteenth century, it attained the form designated as Early M o d e r n English. Old English is a very heavily inflected language. (That is, the words change form to indicate changes in function, such as person, number, tense, case, mood, and so on. Most languages have s o m e inflection—for example, the personal pronouns in Modern English have different forms when used as objects—but a "heavily inflected" language is one in which almost all classes of words undergo elaborate patterns of change.) T h e vocabulary of Old English is almost entirely Germanic. In Middle English, the inflectional system was weakened, and a large number of words were introduced into it from French, so that many of the older AngloSaxon words disappeared. B e c a u s e of the difficulty of Old English, all selections from it in this book have been given in translation. So that the reader may see an example of the language, Caedmon's Hymn has been printed in the original, together with an interlinear translation. T h e present discussion, then, is concerned primarily with the relatively late form of Middle English used by C h a u c e r and the E a s t Midland dialect in which he wrote. T h e chief difficulty with Middle English for the modern reader is c a u s e d not by its inflections so m u c h as by its spelling, which may be described as a rough-and-ready phonetic system, and by the fact that it is not a single standardized language, but consists of a n u m b e r of regional dialects, each with its own peculiarities of s o u n d and its own systems for representing sounds in writing. T h e E a s t Midland dialect—the dialect of London and of C h a u c e r , which is the ancestor of our own standard speech—differs greatly from the dialect spoken in the west of England (the original dialect of Piers Plowman), from that of the northwest ( S i r Gawain and the Green Knight), and from that of the north ( Tlte Second Shepherds' Play). In this book, the long texts composed in the more difficult dialects have been translated or modernized, and those that—like C h a u c e r , Gower, Everyman, and the lyrics—appear in the original, have been re-spelled in a way that is designed to aid the reader. T h e remarks that follow apply chiefly to C h a u c e r ' s E a s t Midland English, although certain non-Midland dialectal variations are noted if they occur in s o m e of the other selections.

I. The Sounds of Middle English: General Rules T h e following general analysis of the sounds of Middle English will enable the reader who does not have time for detailed study to read Middle English aloud and preserve s o m e of its most essential characteristics, without, however, worrying too m u c h about details. T h e next section, "Detailed Analysis," is designed for the reader who wishes to go more deeply into the pronunciation of Middle English. T h e best way of absorbing the sound of Middle English pronunciation is to listen to it; Norton Literature Online offers recordings of selections as an aid to this end. Middle English differs from M o d e r n English in three principal respects: ( I ) the pronunciation of the long vowels a, e, i (or y), o, and u (spelled ou, ow);

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THE MIDDLE AGES

(2) the fact that Middle English final e is often sounded; and (3) the fact that all Middle English consonants are sounded. 1. LONG VOWELS

Middle English vowels are long when they are doubled (aa, ee, oo) or when they are terminal (he, to, holy); a, e, and o are long when followed by a single c o n s o n a n t plus a vowel (name, mete, note). Middle English vowels are short when they are followed by two consonants. L o n g a is sounded like the a in M o d e r n English "father": maken, madd. L o n g e may be s o u n d e d like the a in M o d e r n English " n a m e " (ignoring the distinction between the close a n d open vowel): he, sweete. L o n g i (or y) is s o u n d e d like the i in M o d e r n English "machine": lif, whit; myn, holy. L o n g o may be s o u n d e d like the o in M o d e r n English "note" (again ignoring the distinction between the close and open vowel): do, soone. L o n g u (spelled ou, ow) is s o u n d e d like the oo in Modern English "goose": hous, flowr. N o t e that in general Middle English long vowels are pronounced like long vowels in modern E u r o p e a n languages other than English. Short vowels and diphthongs, however, may be p r o n o u n c e d as in Modern English. 2. FINAL E

In Middle English syllabic verse, final e is s o u n d e d like the a in " s o f a " to provide a needed unstressed syllable: Another Nonne with hire hadde she. B u t (cf. hire in the example) final e is s u p p r e s s e d when not needed for the meter. It is commonly silent before words beginning with a vowel or h. 3 . CONSONANTS

Middle English c o n s o n a n t s are p r o n o u n c e d separately in all combinations— gnat: g-nat; knave: k-nave; write: w-rite; folk: fol-k. In a simplified system of pronunciation the combination gh as in night or thought may be treated as if it were silent.

II.

The

Sounds

of Middle

English:

Detailed Analysis

1. S I M P L E VOWELS

Sound

Pronunciation

Example

long a (spelled a, aa) short a long e close (spelled e, ee) long e open (spelled e, ee) short e final e long i (spelled i, y) short i long o close (spelled o, oo) long o open (spelled o, oo) short o long u when spelled ou, ow long u when spelled u short u (spelled u, o)

a in "father" o in "hot" a in " n a m e " e in "there" e in "set" a in " s o f a " i in " m a c h i n e " i in wit o in "note" oa in "broad" o in " o f t " oo in " g o o s e " u in " p u r e " u in "full"

maken, maad cappe he, sweete mete, heeth setten large lif, myn wit do, soone go, goon pot hous, flowr vertu ful, love

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INTRODUCTION

D o u b l e d vowels and terminal vowels are always long, whereas single vowels before two c o n s o n a n t s other than th, ch are always short. T h e vowels a, e, and o are long before a single consonant followed by a vowel: name, sehe (sick), holy. In general, words that have d e s c e n d e d into Modern English reflect their original Middle English quantity: liven (to live), but lif (life). T h e close and open s o u n d s of long e and long o may often be identified by the M o d e r n English spellings of the words in which they appear. Original long close e is generally represented in M o d e r n English by ee: "sweet," "knee," "teeth," " s e e " have close e in Middle English, but so does "be"; original long open e is generally represented in M o d e r n English by ea: " m e a t , " "heath," " s e a , " "great," "breath" have open e in Middle English. Similarly, original long close o is now generally represented by oo: " s o o n , " "food," "good," but also "do," "to"; original long open o is represented either by oa or by o: "coat," "boat," " m o a n , " but also "go," " b o n e , " "foe," " h o m e . " Notice that original close o is now almost always p r o n o u n c e d like the oo in "goose," but that original open o is almost never so pronounced; thus it is often possible to identify the Middle English vowels through Modern English sounds. T h e nonphonetic Middle English spelling of o for short u has been preserved in a n u m b e r of M o d e r n English words ("love," " s o n , " "come"), but in others u has been restored: " s u n " ( Sonne ), " r u n " ( r o n n e ) . For the treatment of final e, see "General R u l e s , " "Final e." 2.

Sound

ai, ay, ei, ay au, aw eu, ew oi, oy ou, ow

DIPHTHONGS

Pronunciation between ai in "aisle" and ay in "day" ou in "out" ew in "few" oy in "joy" ou in "thought"

Example

saide, day, veine, preye chaunge, hawdy newe joye, point thought, lowe

Note that in words with ou, ow that in M o d e r n English are sounded with the ou of "about," the combination indicates not the diphthong but the simple vowel long u (see " S i m p l e Vowels"). 3 . CONSONANTS

In general, all consonants except h were always sounded in Middle English, including c o n s o n a n t s that have b e c o m e silent in Modern English, such as the g in gnaw, the k in knight, the I in folk, and the w in write. In noninitial gn, however, the g was silent as in M o d e r n English "sign." Initial h was silent in short c o m m o n English words a n d in words borrowed from French and may have been almost silent in all words. T h e combination gh as in night or thought was s o u n d e d like the ch of G e r m a n ich or nach. N o t e that Middle English gg represents both the hard s o u n d of "dagger" and the soft sound of "bridge."

III.

Parts of Speech and

Grammar

1. NOUNS

T h e plural a n d possessive of nouns end in es, f o r m e d by adding s or es to the singular: knight, knightes; roote, rootes-, a final c o n s o n a n t is frequently doubled before es: hed, beddes. A c o m m o n irregular plural is yen, from ye, eye.

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THE

MIDDLE AGES

PRONOUNS

T h e chief comparisons with M o d e r n English are as follows: M o d e r n English I you (singular) her its you (plural) they their them

E a s t Midlands Middle English

I, ich (ik is a northern form) thou (subjective); thee (objective) hir(e), her(e) his ye (subjective); you (objective) they hir (their is a Northern form) hem (them is a Northern form)

In formal speech, the second person plural is often used for the singular. T h e possessive adjectives my, thy take n before a word beginning with a vowel or h; thyn ye, rnyn host. 3.

ADJECTIVES

Adjectives ending in a consonant add final e when they stand before the noun they modify and after another modifying word such as the, this, that, or nouns or p r o n o u n s in the possessive: a good hors, but the (this, my, the hinges) goode hors. They also generally add e when standing before and modifying a plural noun, a noun in the vocative, or any proper noun: goode men, oh goode man, faire Venus. Adjectives are c o m p a r e d by adding er(e) for the comparative, est(e) for the superlative. S o m e t i m e s the stem vowel is shortened or altered in the process: sweete, swettere, swettest; long, lenger, lengest. 4.

ADVERBS

Adverbs are f o r m e d from adjectives by adding e, by, or liche; the adjective fair thus yields faire, fairly, fairliche. 5. VERBS

Middle English verbs, like M o d e r n English verbs, are either "weak" or "strong." W e a k verbs form their preterites and past participles with a t or d suffix and preserve the s a m e stem vowel throughout their systems, although it is sometimes shortened in the preterite and past participle: love, loved; bend, bent; hear, heard; meet, met. Strong verbs do not use the t or d suffix, but vary their stem vowel in the preterite and past participle: take, took, taken; begin, began, begun; find, found, found. T h e inflectional endings are the s a m e for Middle English strong verbs and weak verbs except in the preterite singular and the imperative singular. In the following paradigms, the weak verbs loven (to love) and heeren (to hear), and the strong verbs taken (to take) and ginnen (to begin) serve as models. Present Indicative I thou

love, heere take, ginne lovest, heerest tahest, ginnest

Preterite Indicative

loved(e), herde took, gan lovedest, herdest tooke, gonne

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INTRODUCTION

he, she, it we, ye, they

loveth, heereth taheth, ginneth love(n) (th), heere(n) (th) take(n) (th), ginne(n) (th)

loved(e), herde took, gan loved(e) (en), herde(n) tooke(n), gonne(n)

T h e present plural ending eth is southern, whereas the e(n) ending is Midland and characteristic of C h a u c e r . In the north, s may appear as the ending of all persons of the present. In the weak preterite, when the ending e gave a verb three or more syllables, it was frequently dropped. N o t e that in certain strong verbs like ginnen there are two distinct stem vowels in the preterite; even in Chaucer's time, however, one of these had begun to replace the other, and C h a u c e r occasionally writes gan for all persons of the preterite.

Singular Plural

Present Subjunctive

Preterite Subjunctive

love, heere take, ginne love(n), heere(n) take(n), ginne(n)

lovede, herde tooke, gonne lovede(n), herde(n) tooke(n), gonne(n)

In verbs like ginnen, which have two stem vowels in the indicative preterite, it is the vowel of the plural and of the second person singular that is used for the preterite subjunctive. T h e imperative singular of most weak verbs is e: (thou) love, but of s o m e weak verbs and all strong verbs, the imperative singular is without termination: (thou) heer, taak, gin. T h e imperative plural of all verbs is either e or eth: (ye) love(th), heere(th), take(th), ginne(th). T h e infinitive of verbs is e or en: love(n), heere(n), take(n), ginne(n). T h e past participle of weak verbs is the s a m e as the preterite without inflectional ending: loved, herd. In strong verbs the ending is either e or en: take(n), gonne(n). T h e prefix y often appears on past participles: yloved, yherd, ytake(n). OLD AND

MIDDLE

ENGLISH

PROSODY

All the poetry of Old English is in the s a m e verse form. T h e verse unit is the single line, b e c a u s e rhyme was not u s e d to link one line to another, except very occasionally in late Old English. T h e organizing device of the line is alliteration, the beginning of several words with the s a m e s o u n d ( " F o e m e n fled"). T h e Old English alliterative line contains, on the average, four principal stresses and is divided into two half-lines of two stresses e a c h by a strong medial caesura, or p a u s e . T h e s e two half-lines are linked to e a c h other by the alliteration; at least one of the two stressed words in the first half-line, and often both of them, begin with the s a m e s o u n d as the first stressed word of the s e c o n d half-line (the second stressed word is generally nonalliterative). T h e fourth line of Beowulf is an example (sc has the value of modern sh; J) is a runic symbol with the value of modern th): O f t Scyld Scefing

sceajDena joreatum.

For further examples, s e e Casdmon's Hymn. It will be noticed that any vowel alliterates with any other vowel. In addition to the alliteration, the length of the unstressed syllables and their n u m b e r and pattern is governed by a highly complex set of rules. When s u n g or intoned—as it was—to the rhythmic

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THE MIDDLE AGES

s t r u m m i n g of a harp, Old English poetry must have been wonderfully impressive in the dignified, highly formalized way that aptly fits both its subject matter a n d tone. T h e majority of Middle English verse is either in alternately stressed rhyming verse, a d a p t e d from French after the conquest, or in alliterative verse that is d e s c e n d e d from Old English. T h e latter preserves the c a e s u r a of Old English and in its purest form the s a m e alliterative system, the two stressed words of the first half-line (or at least one of them) alliterating with the first stressed word in the second half-line. But most of the alliterative poets allowed themselves a n u m b e r of deviations from the norm. All four stressed words may alliterate, as in the first line of Piers Plowman: In a s u m m e r s e a s o n

when soft was the sun.

Or the line may contain five, six, or even more stressed words, of which all or only the basic m i n i m u m may alliterate: A / a i r / i e l d / u l l of

/ o l k / o u n d I there between.

There is no rule determining the n u m b e r of unstressed syllables, and at times s o m e poets s e e m to ignore alliteration entirely. As in Old English, any vowel may alliterate with any other vowel; furthermore, since initial h was silent or lightly p r o n o u n c e d in Middle English, words beginning with h are treated as though they began with the following vowel. T h e r e are two general types of stressed verse with rhyme. In the more common, unstressed and stressed syllables alternate regularly as x X x X x X or, with two unstressed syllables intervening a s x x X x x X x x X o r a combination of the two a s x x X x X x x X (of the reverse patterns, only X x X x X x is c o m m o n in English). There is also a line that can only be defined as containing a predetermined n u m b e r of stressed syllables but an irregular number and pattern of unstressed syllables. M u c h Middle English verse has to be read without expectation of regularity; s o m e of this was evidently c o m p o s e d in the irregular meter, but s o m e was probably originally c o m p o s e d according to a strict metrical system that has been obliterated by scribes careless of fine points. O n e receives the impression that many of the lyrics—as well as the Second Shepherds' Play—were at least c o m p o s e d with regular syllabic alternation. In the play Everyman, only the n u m b e r of stresses is generally predetermined but not the n u m b e r or placement of unstressed syllables. In p r e - C h a u c e r i a n verse the n u m b e r of stresses, whether regularly or irregularly alternated, was most often four, although sometimes the number was three a n d rose in s o m e poems to seven. Rhyme in Middle English (as in Modern English) may be either between adjacent or alternate lines, or may occur in more complex patterns. M o s t of the Canterbury Tales are in rhymed couplets, the line containing five stresses with regular alternation—technically known as iambic pentameter, the standard English poetic line, perhaps introd u c e d into English by C h a u c e r . In reading C h a u c e r and m u c h pre-Chaucerian verse, one m u s t remember that the final e, which is silent in M o d e r n English, could be p r o n o u n c e d at any time to provide a needed unstressed syllable. Evidence s e e m s to indicate that it was also pronounced at the end of the line, even though it thus p r o d u c e d a line with eleven syllables. Although he was a very regular metricist, C h a u c e r u s e d various conventional devices that are apt

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INTRODUCTION

to m a k e the reader stumble until he or s h e understands them. Final e is often not pronounced before a word beginning with a vowel or h, a n d may be supp r e s s e d whenever metrically convenient. T h e s a m e medial a n d terminal syllables that are slurred in M o d e r n English are apt to be suppressed in Chaucer's English: Canterb'ry for Canterbury; ev'r (perhaps e'er) for evere. T h e plural in es may either be syllabic or reduced to s as in M o d e r n English. Despite these seeming irregularities, Chaucer's verse is not difficult to read if one constantly bears in m i n d the basic pattern of the iambic pentameter line.

Additional information about the Middle Ages, including primary texts a n d images, is available at Norton Literature Online (wwnorton.com/literature). Online topics are * • * •

Medieval Estates and Orders King Arthur T h e First C r u s a d e T h e Linguistic and Literary Contexts of Beowulf

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THE MIDDLE AGES TEXTS

CONTEXTS 43—ca. 4 2 0 Romans conquer Britons; Brittania a province of the R o m a n Empire 307—37

Reign of Constantine the Great

leads to adoption of Christianity as official religion of the Roman Empire ca. 4 0 5 St. J e r o m e completes Vulgate, Latin translation of the Bible that b e c o m e s standard for the R o m a n Catholic C h u r c h 432 St. Patrick begins mission to convert Ireland ca. 4 5 0 begins 523 (Latin)

Anglo-Saxon conquest of Britons

Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy 597 St. Augustine of Canterbury 's mission to Kent begins conversion of Anglo-Saxons to Christianity

c a . 658—80 Csedmon's Hymn, earliest poem recorded in English 731 of the

B e d e completes Ecclesiastical History English People

? ca. 7 5 0

871—99 Alfred

Beoividf c o m p o s e d

Texts written or commissioned by

ca. 1000 and Judith

ca. 787

First Viking raids on England

871-99

Reign of King Alfred

Unique manuscript of Beowulf 1066 Norman Conquest by William I establishes French-speaking ruling class in England 1095-1221

Crusades

c a . 1135—38 Geoffrey of Monmouth's Latin History of the Kings of Britain gives pseudohistorical status to Arthurian and other legends

1152 Future Henry II marries Eleanor of Aquitaine, bringing vast French territories to the English crown

1154 branch

End of Peterborough Chronicle, last of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

? c a . 1165—80 Marie de France, Lais in Anglo-Norman French from Breton sources 1170 Archbishop T h o m a s Becket murdered in Canterbury Cathedral

c a . 1170—91 Chretien de Troyes, chivalric romances about knights of the Round Table

1182 ? ca. 1200

Birth of St. Francis of Assisi

Layamon's Brut

? c a . 1215—25

1215 Fourth Lateran Council requires annual confession. English barons force King J o h n to seal Magna Carta (the Great Charter) guaranteeing baronial rights

Ancrene Riwle

c a . 1304—21 Dante Alighieri writing Divine Comedy

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texts

CONTEXTS ca.

1337-1453

Hundred Years'War

1348

Black Death ravages Europe

1362

English first used in law courts and

Parliament Chaucer, Book of the Duchess

1368

1372 1373-93 Showings

C h a u c e r ' s first j o u r n e y to Italy

Julian of Norwich, Book of

ca.

1375—1400 Knight

Sir Gawain and the Green 1376 Earliest record of p e r f o r m a n c e of cycle drama at York

1377-79 William Langland, Piers Plowman(B-Texxt) ca. 1380

Followers o f J o h n Wycliffe begin

first complete translation of the Bible into English 1381

People's uprising briefly takes

control of London b e f o r e being suppressed ca. 1385—87 Criseyde

Chaucer, Troilus and

ca. 1387—89 C h a u c e r working on The Canterbury Tales ca. 1390—92 Amantis

J o h n Gower, Confessio 1399 Richard II deposed by his cousin, who succeeds him as H e n r y IV 1400

Richard II m u r d e r e d

1401 Execution of William Sawtre, first Lollard b u r n e d at the stake u n d e r n e w law against heresy ca. 1410—49

J o h n Lydgate active 1415 H e n r y V defeats F r e n c h at Agincourt

ca.

1425

York Play of the Crucifxxion 1431

English b u r n Joan of Arc at Rouen

ca. 1432—38 Margery Kempe, The Book of Margery Kempe ca. 1450—75 W a k e f i e l d mystery cycle, Second Shepherds' Play 1455-8 5

Wars of the Roses

ca. 1470 Sir T h o m a s Malory in prison working on Morte Darthur ca. 1475

Robert H e n r y s o n active 1476

William Caxton sets up first printing

press in England 1485 Caxton publishes Morte Darthur, one of the first books in English to be printed ca.

1510

1485 The earl of Richmond defeats the Yorkist king, Richard III, at Bosworth Field and succeeds h i m as H e n r y VTI, f o u n d e r of the T u d o r dynasty

Everyman 1575 Last p e r f o r m a n c e of mystery plays at Chester

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Anglo-Saxon BEDE

(ca.

673-735)

and

Literature CSEDMON'S

HYMN

T h e Venerable Bede (the title by which he is known to posterity) b e c a m e a novice at the age of seven and spent the rest of his life at the neighboring monasteries of W e a r m o u t h and Jarrow. Although he may never have traveled beyond the boundaries of his native district of N o r t h u m b r i a , he achieved an international reputation as one of the greatest scholars of his age. Writing in Latin, the learned language of the era, Bede p r o d u c e d m a n y theological works as well as books on science and rhetoric, but his most popular and e n d u r i n g work is the Ecclesiastical History of the English People (completed 731). The History tells about the Anglo-Saxon c o n q u e s t and the vicissit u d e s of the petty k i n g d o m s that comprised Anglo-Saxon England; Bede's main theme, however, is the spread of Christianity and the growth of the English c h u r c h . The latter were the great events leading up to Bede's own time, and he regarded t h e m as the u n f o l d i n g of God's providence. The History is, t h e r e f o r e , also a moral work and a h a g i o g r a p h y — t h a t is, it contains m a n y stories of saints and miracles m e a n t to testify to the grace and glory of God. The story we reprint preserves what is probably the earliest extant Old English poem (composed s o m e t i m e between 658 and 680) and the only biographical information, outside of what is said in the p o e m s themselves, about any Old English poet. Bede tells how Casdmon, an illiterate cowherd employed by the monastery of Whitby, miraculously received the gift of song, entered the monastery, and b e c a m e the f o u n d e r of a school of Christian poetry. Caedmon was clearly an oral-formulaic poet, one who created his work by combining and varying f o r m u l a s — u n i t s of verse developed in a tradition transmitted by one generation of singers to another. In this respect he resembles the singers of the H o m e r i c p o e m s and oral-formulaic poets recorded in the twentieth century, especially in the Balkan countries. Although Bede tells us that Caedmon had never learned the art of song, we may suspect that he concealed his skill f r o m his fellow w o r k m e n and f r o m the m o n k s because he was ashamed of knowing "vain and idle" songs, the kind Bede says Caedmon never composed. Caedmon's inspiration and the true miracle, then, was to apply the meter and language of such songs, p r e s u m a b l y including pagan heroic verse, to Christian t h e m e s . Although most Old English poetry was written by lettered poets, they c o n t i n u e d to use the oral-formulaic style. The Hymn is, t h e r e f o r e , a good short example of the way Old English verse, with its traditional poetic diction and interwoven f o r m u l a i c expressions, is c o n s t r u c t e d . Eight of the poem's eighteen half-lines contain epithets describing various aspects of God: He is Weard (Guardian), Meotod (Measurer), Wuldor-Fseder (Glory-Father), Drihten (Lord), Scyppend (Creator), and Frea (Master). God is heofonrices Weard or mancynnes Weard (heaven's or mankind's Guardian), d e p e n d i n g on the alliteration required. This f o r m u l a i c style provides a richness of texture and m e a n i n g difficult to convey in translation. As Bede said about his own Latin p a r a p h r a s e of the Hymn, no literal translation of poetry from one language to another is possible without sacrifice of some poetic quality. Several m a n u s c r i p t s of Bede's History contain the Old English text in addition to Bede's Latin version. The poem is given here in a W e s t Saxon form with a literal interlinear translation. In Old English spelling, se (as in Caedmon's n a m e and line 3) is a vowel symbol that represents the vowel of Modern English cat; {} (line 2) and 5 2 4

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ECCLESIASTICAL

HISTORY OF

THE

ENGLISH

PEOPLE

(line 7) both represented the sound th. The spelling sc (line 1) = sh; g (line 1) = y in yard; c (line I) = ch in chin; c (line 2) = k. The large space in the middle of the line indicates the caesura. The alliterating sounds that connect the half-lines are printed in bold italics.

From An Ecclesiastical History of the English People [THE

STORY OF

CTEDMON]

Heavenly grace had especially singled out a certain one of the brothers in the monastery ruled by this abbess, 1 for he u s e d to c o m p o s e devout and religious songs. Whatever he learned of holy Scripture with the aid of interpreters, he quickly turned into the sweetest and most moving poetry in his own language, that is to say English. It often happened that his songs kindled a contempt for this world and a longing for the life of Heaven in the hearts of many men. Indeed, after him others a m o n g the English people tried to c o m p o s e religious poetry, but no one could equal him b e c a u s e he was not taught the art of song by m e n or by h u m a n agency but received this gift through heavenly grace. Therefore, he was never able to c o m p o s e any vain and idle songs but only such as dealt with religion and were proper for his religious tongue to utter. As a matter of fact, he had lived in the secular estate until he was well advanced in age without learning any songs. Therefore, at feasts, when it was decided to have a good time by taking turns singing, whenever he would see the harp getting close to his place, 2 he got up in the middle of the meal and went h o m e . O n c e when he left the feast like this, he went to the cattle shed, which he had been assigned the duty of guarding that night. And after he had stretched himself out and gone to sleep, he dreamed that s o m e o n e was standing at his side and greeted him, calling out his name. "Caedmon," he said, "sing me something." And he replied, "I don't know how to sing; that is why I left the feast to c o m e h e r e — b e c a u s e I cannot sing." "All the s a m e , " said the one who was speaking to him, "you have to sing for me." "What must I sing?" he said. And he said, " S i n g about the Creation." At this, Caedmon immediately began to sing verses in praise of G o d the Creator, which he had never heard before and of which the sense is this: N u sculon f o e r i g e a n N o w we must praise

foeofonrices Weard heaven-kingdom's Guardian,

M e otodes weahte the Measurer's might weorc Wuldor-Fseder the work of the Glory-Father,

and his modgejDanc and his mind-plans, swa he w u n d r a gehwses when he of wonders of every one,

I. A b b e s s H i l d a ( 6 1 4 - 6 8 0 ) , a g r a n d n i e c e of the f i r s t C h r i s t i a n king o f N o r t h u m b r i a , f o u n d e d Whitby, a d o u b l e h o u s e for m o n k s and n u n s , in 6 5 7 a n d ruled over it for twenty-two years.

2. Oral poetry was p e r f o r m e d to the a c c o m p a n i m e n t of a harp; here the harp is b e i n g p a s s e d f r o m o n e participant of the f e a s t to another, e a c h being expected to p e r f o r m in turn.

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BEDE

ece Drihten eternal Lord,

or onstealde the beginning established. 3

He merest sceop He first created

ielda 4 bearnum for men's sons

heofon to ferofe heaven as a roof,

foalig Scyppend holy Creator;

da widdangeard then middle-earth

moncynnes Weard mankind's Guardian,

ece Drihten eternal Lord,

defter teode afterwards m a d e —

/irum /oldan for men earth,

Frea aelmihtig Master almighty.

This is the general sense but not the exact order of the words that he sang in his sleep; 5 for it is impossible to make a literal translation, no matter how wellwritten, of poetry into another language without losing some of the beauty and dignity. When he woke up, he remembered everything that he had sung in his sleep, and to this he soon added, in the same poetic measure, more verses praising God. The next morning he went to the reeve, 6 who was his foreman, and told him about the gift he had received. He was taken to the abbess and ordered to tell his dream and to recite his song to an audience of the most learned men so that they might judge what the nature of that vision was and where it came from. It was evident to all of them that he had been granted the heavenly grace of God. Then they expounded some bit of sacred story or teaching to him, and instructed him to turn it into poetry if he could. He agreed and went away. And when he came back the next morning, he gave back what had been commissioned to him in the finest verse. Therefore, the abbess, who cherished the grace of God in this man, instructed him to give up secular life and to take monastic vows. And when she and all those subject to her had received him into the community of brothers, she gave orders that he be taught the whole sequence of sacred history. He remembered everything that he was able to learn by listening, and turning it over in his mind like a clean beast that chews the cud, 7 he converted it into sweetest song, which sounded so delightful that he made his teachers, in their turn, his listeners. He sang about the creation of the world and the origin of the human race and all the history of Genesis; about the exodus of Israel out of Egypt and entrance into the promised land; and about many other stories of sacred Scripture, about the Lord's incarnation, and his passion, 8 resurrection, and ascension into Heaven; about the advent of the Holy Spirit and the teachings of the apostles. He also made many songs about the terror of the 3. I.e., established the beginning of every one of the wonders. 4. The later manuscript copies read eorjian, "earth," for selda (West Saxon ielda), "men's." 5. Bede is referring to his Latin translation, for which we have substituted the Old English text with interlinear translation. 6. Superintendent of the farms belonging to the

monastery. 7. In Mosaic law "clean" animals, those that may be eaten, are those that both chew the cud and have a cloven hoof (cf. Leviticus I 1.3 and Deuteronomy 14.6). 8. The suffering of Christ on the Cross and during his trial leading up to the Crucifixion.

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THE

DREAM OF THE

ROOD

coming j u d g m e n t and the horror of the p u n i s h m e n t s of hell and the sweetness of the heavenly kingdom; and a great many others besides about divine grace and j u s t i c e in all of which he sought to draw men away from the love of sin a n d to inspire them with delight in the practice of good works. 9 * * * 9. T h e great majority of extant O l d English p o e m s are on religious s u b j e c t s like those listed here, but most a r e t h o u g h t to be later than C a e d m o n .

THE DREAM OF THE ROOD The Dream of the Rood (i.e., of the Cross) is the finest of a rather large number of religious poems in Old English. Neither its author nor its date of composition is known. It appears in a late tenth-century manuscript located in Vercelli in northern Italy, a manuscript made up of Old English religious poems and sermons. The poem may antedate its manuscript, because some passages from the Rood's speech were carved, with some variations, in runes on a stone cross at some time after its construction early in the eighth century; this is the famous Ruthwell Cross, which is preserved near Dumfries in southern Scotland. The precise relation of the poem to this cross is, however, uncertain. The experience of the Rood—its humiliation at the hands of those who changed it from tree to instrument of punishment for criminals, its humility when the young hero Christ mounts it, and its pride as the restored "tree of glory"—has a suggestive relevance to the condition of the sad, lonely, sin-stained Dreamer. His isolation and melancholy is typical of exile figures in Old English poetry. For the Rood, however, glory has replaced torment, and at the end, the Dreamer's description of Christ's triumphant entiy into heaven with the souls He has liberated from hell reflects the Dreamer's response to the hope that has been brought to him. Christ and the Cross both act, paradoxically, in keeping with, and diametrically opposed to, a code of heroic action: Christ is heroic and passive, while the Cross is loyal to its lord, yet must participate in his death.

The Dream of the Rood1 Listen, I will speak of the best of dreams, of what I dreamed at midnight when m e n and their voices were at rest. It s e e m e d to me that I saw a most rare tree reach high aloft, wound in light, brightest of beams. All that beacon 2 was covered with gold; gems stood fair where it met the ground, five were above about the crosspiece. Many hosts of angels gazed on it, fair in the form created for them. This was surely no felon's gallows, but holy spirits beheld it there, men upon earth, and all this glorious creation. Wonderful was the triumphtree, and I stained with sins, wounded with wrongdoings. I saw the tree of glory shine splendidly, adorned with garments, decked with gold: jewels had worthily covered the Lord's tree. Yet through that gold I might perceive ancient agony of wretches, for now it began to bleed on the right side. 1 I was all afflicted with sorrows, I was afraid for that fair sight. I saw that bright beacon I. T h i s prose translation, by E. T. D o n a l d s o n , h a s b e e n b a s e d in general on the edition of the p o e m by J o h n C. Pope, Eight Old English Poems, 3rd ed., rev. by R. D. Fulk ( 2 0 0 0 ) .

2. T h e O l d English word beacen also m e a n s token or sign and battle standard. 3. T h e w o u n d Christ received on the C r o s s was s u p p o s e d to have been on the right side.

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THE

DREAM

OF THE

ROOD

change in clothing and color: now it was wet with moisture, drenched with flowing of blood, now adorned with treasure. Yet I, lying there a long while troubled, beheld the Saviour's tree until I heard it give voice: the best of trees began to speak words. "It was long ago—I remember it still—that I was hewn down at the wood's edge, taken from my stump. Strong foes seized me there, hewed me to the shape they wished to see, commanded me to lift their criminals. Men carried me on their shoulders, then set me on a hill; foes enough fastened me there. Then I saw the Lord of mankind hasten with stout heart, for he would climb upon me. I dared not bow or break against God's word when I saw earth's surface tremble. I might have felled all foes, but I stood fast. Then the young Hero stripped himself—that was God Almighty—strong and stouthearted. He climbed on the high gallows, bold in the sight of many, when he would free mankind. I trembled when the Warrior embraced me, yet I dared not bow to earth, fall to the ground's surface; but I must stand fast. I was raised up, a cross; I lifted up the Mighty King, Lord of the Heavens: I dared not bend. They pierced me with dark nails: the wounds are seen on me, open gashes of hatred. Nor did I dare harm any of them. They mocked us both together. I was all wet with blood, drenched from the side of that Man after he had sent forth his spirit. I had endured many bitter happenings on that hill. I saw the God of Hosts cruelly racked. The shades of night had covered the Ruler's body with their mists, the bright splendor. Shadow came forth, dark beneath the clouds. All creation wept, bewailed the King's fall; Christ was on Cross. "Yet from afar some came hastening to the Lord. 4 All that I beheld. I was sore afflicted with griefs, yet I bowed to the men's hands, meekly, eagerly. Then they took Almighty God, lifted him up from his heavy torment. The warriors left me standing, covered with blood. I was all wounded with arrows. They laid him down weary of limb, stood at the body's head, looked there upon Heaven's Lord; and he rested there a while, tired after the great struggle. Then warriors began to build him an earth-house in the sight of his slayer, 5 carved it out of bright stone; they set there the Wielder of Triumphs. Then they began to sing him a song of sorrow, desolate in the evening. Then they wished to turn back, weary, from the great Prince; he remained with small company. 6 Yet we 7 stood in our places a good while, weeping. The voice of the warriors departed. The body grew cold, fair house of the spirit. Then some began to fell us to earth—that was a fearful fate! Some buried us in a deep pit. Yet thanes 8 of the Lord, friends, learned of me there. . . . decked me in gold and silver. 9 "Now you might understand, my beloved man, that I had endured the work of evildoers, grievous sorrows. Now the time has come that men far and wide upon earth honor m e — a n d all this glorious creation—and pray to this beacon. On me God's Son suffered awhile; therefore I tower now glorious under the heavens, and I may heal every one of those who hold me in awe. Of old I became the hardest of torments, most loathed by men, before I opened the right road of life to those who have voices. Behold, the Lord of Glory honored 4. A c c o r d i n g to J o h n 19.38—39, it was J o s e p h of A r i m a t h e a a n d N i c o d e m u s who received Christ's body f r o m the C r o s s . 5. I.e., the C r o s s . 6. I.e., a l o n e (an u n d e r s t a t e m e n t ) . 7. I.e., Christ's C r o s s a n d those on which the two thieves were c r u c i f i e d .

8. M e m b e r s of the king's body of warriors. 9. A n u m b e r of lines describing the finding of the C r o s s have apparently b e e n lost here. A c c o r d i n g to the legend, St. Helen, the mother of C o n s t a n t i n e the G r e a t , the first C h r i s t i a n e m p e r o r , led a R o m a n expedition that discovered the true C r o s s in the 4th century.

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BEOWULF

me over all the trees of the wood, the Ruler of Heaven, just as also he honored his mother Mary, Almighty G o d for all men's sake, over all woman's kind. " N o w I c o m m a n d you, my beloved man, that you tell men of this vision. Disclose with your words that it is of the tree of glory on which Almighty God suffered for mankind's many sins and the deeds Adam did of old. He tasted death there; yet the Lord arose again to help mankind in his great might. Then he climbed to the heavens. He will c o m e again hither on this earth to seek mankind on Doomsday, the Lord himself, Almighty God, and his angels with him, for then he will judge, he who has power to judge, each one j u s t as in this brief life he has deserved. Nor may any one be unafraid of the word the Ruler will speak. Refore his host he will ask where the man is who in the n a m e of the Lord would taste bitter death as he did on the Cross. But then they will be afraid, and will think of little to begin to say to Christ. There need none be afraid who bears on his breast the best of tokens, but through the Cross shall the kingdom be sought by each soul on this earthly journey that thinks to dwell with the Lord." Then I prayed to the tree, blithe-hearted, confident, there where I was alone with small company. My heart's thoughts were urged on the way hence. I endured many times of longing. Now is there hope of life for me, that I am permitted to seek the tree of triumph, more often than other men honor it well, alone. For it my heart's desire is great, and my hope of protection is directed to the Cross. I do not possess many powerful friends on earth, but they have gone hence from the delights of the world, sought for themselves the King of Glory. They live now in the heavens with the High Father, dwell in glory. And every day I look forward to when the Lord's C r o s s that I beheld here on earth will fetch me from this short life and bring me then where joy is great, delight in the heavens, where the Lord's folk are seated at the feast, where bliss is eternal. And then may it place me where thenceforth I may dwell in glory, fully enjoy bliss with the saints. May the Lord be my friend, who once here on earth suffered on the gallows-tree for man's sins: he freed us and granted us life, a heavenly home. Hope was renewed, with joys and with bliss, to those who endured fire. 1 The Son was victorious in that foray, mighty and successful. T h e n he c a m e with his multitude, a host of spirits, into God's kingdom, the Almighty Ruler; and the angels and all the saints who dwelt then in glory rejoiced when their Ruler, Almighty God, c a m e where his home was. I. This and the following sentences refer to the Harrowing (i.e., pillaging) of Hell; after His death on the Cross, Christ descended into Hell, from

which He released the souls of certain of the patriarchs and prophets, conducting them triumphantly to Heaven.

BEOWULF Beowulf, the oldest of the great long poems written in English, may have been composed more than twelve hundred years ago, in the first half of the eighth century, although some scholars would place it as late as the tenth century. As is the case with most Old English poems, the title has been assigned by modern editors, for the manuscripts do not normally give any indication of title or authorship. Linguistic evidence shows that the poem was originally composed in the dialect of what was then Mercia,

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BEOWULF

the Midlands of England today. But in the unique late-tenth-century manuscript preserving the poem, it has been converted into the West-Saxon dialect of the southwest in which most of Old English literature survives. In 1731, before any modern transcript of the text had been made, the manuscript was seriously damaged in a fire that destroyed the building in London that housed the extraordinary collection of medieval English manuscripts made by Sir Robert Bruce Cotton (1571 —1631). As a result of the fire and subsequent deterioration, a number of lines and words have been lost from the poem. It is possible that Beowulf may be the lone survivor of a genre of Old English long epics, but it must have been a remarkable and difficult work even in its own day. The poet was reviving the heroic language, style, and pagan world of ancient Germanic oral poetry, a world that was already remote for his contemporaries and that is stranger to the modern reader, in many respects, than the epic world of Homer and Virgil. With the help of Beowulf itself, a few shorter heroic poems in Old English, and later poetry and prose in Old Saxon, Old Icelandic, and Middle High German, we can only conjecture what Germanic oral epic must have been like when performed by the Germanic scop, or bard. The Beowulf poet himself imagines such oral performances by having King Hrothgar's court poet recite a heroic lay at a feast celebrating Beowulf's defeat of Grendel. Many of the words and formulaic expressions in Beowulf can be found in other Old English poems, but there are also an extraordinary number of what linguists call hapax legomena—that is, words recorded only once in a language. The poet may have found them elsewhere, but the high incidence of such words suggests that he was an original wordsmith in his own right. Although the poem itself is English in language and origin, it deals not with native Englishmen but with their Germanic forebears, especially with two south Scandinavian tribes, the Danes and the Geats, who lived on the Danish island of Zealand and in southern Sweden. Thus the historical period the poem concerns—insofar as it may be said to refer to history at all—is some centuries before it was written—that is, a time after the initial invasion of England by Germanic tribes in the middle of the fifth century but before the Anglo-Saxon migration was completed. The one datable fact of history mentioned in the poem is a raid on the Franks in which Hygelac, the king of the Geats and Beowulf's lord, was killed, and this raid occurred in the year 520. Yet the poet's elliptical references to quasihistorical and legendary material show that his audience was still familiar with many old stories, the outlines of which we can only infer, sometimes with the help of later analogous tales in other Germanic languages. This knowledge was probably kept alive by other heroic poetry, of which little has been preserved in English, although much may once have existed. It is now widely believed that Beowulf is the work of a single poet who was a Christian and that his poem reflects well-established Christian tradition. The conversion of the Germanic settlers in England had been largely completed during the seventh century. The Danish king Hrothgar's poet sings a song about the Creation (lines 87—98) reminiscent of Caadmon's Hymn. The monster Grendel is said to be a descendant of Cain. There are allusions to God's judgment and to fate ( wyrd ) but none to pagan deities. References to the New Testament are notably absent, but Hrothgar and Beowulf often speak of God as though their religion is monotheistic. With sadness the poet relates that, made desperate by Grendel's attacks, the Danes pray for help at heathen shrines—apparently backsliding as the children of Israel had sometimes lapsed into idolatry. Although Hrothgar and Beowulf are portrayed as morally upright and enlightened pagans, they fully espouse and frequently affirm the values of Germanic heroic poetry. In the poetry depicting this warrior society, the most important of human relationships was that which existed between the warrior—the thane—and his lord, a relationship based less on subordination of one man's will to another's than on mutual trust and respect. When a warrior vowed loyalty to his lord, he became not so much his servant as his voluntary companion, one who would take pride in defending him

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BEOWULF

and fighting in his wars. In return, the lord was expected to take care of his thanes and to reward them richly for their valor; a good king, one like Hrothgar or Beowulf, is referred to by such poetic epithets as "ring-giver" and as the "helmet" and "shield" of his people. The relationship between kinsmen was also of deep significance to this society. If one of his kinsmen had been slain, a man had a moral obligation either to kill the slayer or to exact the payment of wergild (man-price) in compensation. Each rank of society was evaluated at a definite price, which had to be paid to the dead man's kin by the killer if he wished to avoid their vengeance—even if the killing had been an accident. In the absence of any legal code other than custom or any body of law enforcement, it was the duty of the family (often with the lord's support) to execute justice. The payment itself had less significance as wealth than as proof that the kinsmen had done what was right. The failure to take revenge or to exact compensation was considered shameful. Hrothgar's anguish over the murders committed by Grendel is not only for the loss of his men but also for the shame of his inability either to kill Grendel or to exact a "death-price" from the killer. "It is always better / to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning" (lines 1384—85), Beowulf says to Hrothgar, who has been thrown back into despair by the revenge-slaying of his old friend Aeschere by Grendel's mother. Yet the young Beowulfs attempt to comfort the bereaved old king by invoking the code of vengeance may be one of several instances of the poet's ironic treatment of the tragic futility of the never-ending blood feuds. The most graphic example in the poem of that irony is the Finnsburg episode, the lay sung by Hrothgar's hall-poet. The Danish princess Hildeburh, married to the Frisian king Finn—probably to put an end to a feud between those peoples—loses both her brother and her son when a bloody fight breaks out in the hall between a visiting party of Danes and her husband's men. The bodies are cremated together on a huge funeral pyre: "The glutton element flamed and consumed / the dead of both sides. Their great days were gone" (lines 1124-25). Such feuds, the staple subject of Germanic epic and saga, have only a peripheral place in the poem. Instead, the poem turns on Beowulf's three great fights against preternatural evil, which inhabits the dangerous and demonic space surrounding human society. He undertakes the fight against Grendel to save the Danes from the monster and to exact vengeance for the men Grendel has slain. Another motive is to demonstrate his strength and courage and thereby to enhance his personal glory. Hrothgar's magnificent gifts become the material emblems of that glory. Revenge and glory also motivate Beowulf's slaying of Grendel's mother. He undertakes his last battle against the dragon, however, only because there is no other way to save his own people. A somber and dignified elegiac mood pervades Beowulf. The poem opens and closes with the description of a funeral and is filled with laments for the dead. Our first view of Beowulf is of an ambitious young hero. At the end, he has become an old king, facing the dragon and death. His people mourn him and praise him, as does the poet, for his nobility, generosity, courage, and, what is less common in Germanic heroes, kindness to his people. The poet's elegiac tone may be informed by something more than the duty to "praise a prince whom he holds dear / and cherish his memory when that moment comes / when he has to be convoyed from his bodily home" (lines 3175— 77). The entire poem could be viewed as the poet's lament for heroes like Beowulf who went into the darkness without the light of the poet's own Christian faith. The present verse translation is by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney, who received the Nobel Prize for literature in 1995. Selections from Heaney's own poems appear in Volume 2 of the anthology.

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3 2

BEOWULF

TRIBES

AND

GENEALOGIES

I. The Danes (Bright-, Half-, Ring-, Spear-, North-, East-, South-, West-Danes; Sliieldings, Honor-, Victor-, War-Shieldings; Ing's friends) Shield Beow Halfdane Heorogar

Hrothgar TO. Wealhtheow

Hrethric

Hrothmund

Halga

Daughter m. Onela the Swede

Freawaru TO. Ingeld the Heatho-Bard

Hrothulf

2. TIte Geats (Sea-, War-, Weather-Geats) Hrethel Herebeald

Haethcyn

•

Hygelac TO. Hygd

Heardred

Daughter m. Ecgtheow

Daughter* m. Eofor

Beowulf the Geat

3. The Swedes Ongentheow Ohthere Eanmund

Onela m. Halfdane's Daughter Eaidgils

Miscellaneous A. The Half-Danes (also called Shieldings) involved in the fight at Finnsburg may represent a different tribe from the Danes described above. Their king Hoc had a son, Hnaef, who succeeded him, and a daughter Hildeburh, who married Finn, king of the Jutes. B. The Jutes or Frisians are represented as enemies of the Danes in the fight at Finnsburg and as allies of the Franks or Hugas at the time Hygelac the Geat made the attack in which he lost his life and from which Beowulf swam home. Also allied with the Franks at this time were the Hetware. C. The Heatho-Bards (i.e., "Battle-Bards") are represented as inveterate enemies of the Danes. Their king Froda had been killed in an attack on the Danes, and Hrothgar's attempt to make peace with them by marrying his daughter Freawaru to Froda's son Ingeld failed when the latter attacked Heorot. The attack was repulsed, although Heorot was burned.

* The daughter of Hygelac who was given to Eofor may have been born to him by a former wife, older than Hygd.

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BEOWULF

The Poet's Song in Heorot To give the reader a sample of the language, style, and texture of Beowulf in the original we print the following passage, lines 90—98, in Old English with interlinear glosses. One may compare these lines with Caedmon's Hymn (pp. 24—27) on the same theme. See the headnote there for the pronunciation of Old English characters. Ssegde se J3e cuj>e Said he who knew [how] /rumsceaft jfira [the] origin [of] men

/eorran reccan, from far [time] [to]recount,

cwaed jDast se /Elmightiga eorSan worhte, said that the Almighty [the] earth wrought wlite-beorhtne xvang, beauty-bright plain

swa wseter bebugeQ, as water surrounds [it]

gesette sige-hre^ig set triumph-glorious ieoman to leohte beacons as light ond ge/rsetwade and adorned

sunnan ond monan, sun and moon

iandbuendum, [for] land-dwellers /oldan sceatas' [of] earth [the] grounds

ieomum ond leafum, [with]Iimbs and leaves, cynna gehwylcum* [of]lands [for]each

lif eac gesceop life also [he] created [jara 5e cwice hwyrfajj. [of]those who living move about

A N O T E ON N A M E S Old English, like Modern German, contained many compound words, most of which have been lost in Modern English. Most of the names in Beowulf are compounds. Hrothgar is a combination of words meaning "glory" and "spear"; the name of his older brother, Heorogar, conies from "army" and "spear"; Hrothgar's sons Hrethric and Hrothmund contain the first elements of their father's name combined, respectively, with tie (kingdom, empire; Modern German Reich) and mund (hand, protection). As in the case of the Danish dynasty, family names often alliterate. Masculine names of the warrior class have military associations. The importance of family and the demands of alliteration frequently lead to the designation of characters by formulas identifying them in terms of relationships. Thus Beowulf is referred to as "son of Ecgtheow" or "kinsman of Hygelac" (his uncle and lord). The Old English spellings of names are mostly preserved in the translation. A few rules of pronunciation are worth keeping in mind. Initial H before r was sounded, and so Hrothgar's name alliterates with that of his brother Heorogar. The combination eg has the value of dg in words like "edge." The first element in the name of Beowulf's father "Ecgtheow" is the same word as "edge," and, by the figure of speech called synecdoche (a part of something stands for the whole), ecg stands for sword and Ecgtheow means "sword-servant." * M o d e m syntax would be "for each of kinds." In Old English, the endings -a and - a m indicate that gewylcum is an indirect object and cynna, a possessive plural.

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For more information about Beowulf, see "The Linguistic and Literary Contexts of Beowulf," at Norton Literature Online.

Beowulf [ P R O L O G U E : T H E RISE OF T H E DANISH NATION]

So. T h e S p e a r - D a n e s ' in days gone by a n d the kings who ruled them h a d c o u r a g e a n d greatness. We have heard of those princes' heroic c a m p a i g n s . T h e r e was Shield S h e a f s o n , 2 scourge of many tribes, s a wrecker of m e a d - b e n c h e s , rampaging a m o n g foes. This terror of the hall-troops had c o m e far. A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on as his powers waxed a n d his worth was proved. In the end each clan on the outlying coasts io beyond the whale-road had to yield to him and begin to pay tribute. T h a t was one good king. Afterward a boy-child was born to Shield, a c u b in the yard, a comfort sent by G o d to that nation. He knew what they had tholed, 3 is the long times and troubles they'd c o m e through without a leader; so the Lord of Life, the glorious Almighty, m a d e this m a n renowned. Shield had fathered a f a m o u s son: Beow's n a m e was known through the north. 20 And a young prince must be prudent like that, giving freely while his father lives so that afterward in a g e when fighting starts steadfast c o m p a n i o n s will stand by him and hold the line. Behavior that's admired 25 is the path to power a m o n g people everywhere. Shield was still thriving when his time c a m e a n d he crossed over into the Lord's keeping. His warrior b a n d did what he b a d e t h e m when he laid down the law a m o n g the D a n e s : so they shouldered him out to the sea's flood, the chief they revered who had long ruled them. A ring-whorled prow rode in the harbor, ice-clad, outbound, a craft for a prince. T h e y stretched their beloved lord in his boat, 35 laid out by the mast, amidships, the great ring-giver. Far-fetched treasures were piled u p o n him, a n d precious gear.

I. There are different compound names for tribes, often determined by alliteration in Old English poetry. Line I reads, "Hwset, we Gar-dena in geardagum," where alliteration falls on Gar (spear) and gear (year). Old English hard and soft g (spelled y in Modern English) alliterate. The compoundgeardagum derives from "year," used in the special sense of "long ago," and "days" and survives in the archaic expression "days of yore."

2. Shield is the name of the founder of the Danish royal line. Sheafson translates Scefing, i.e., sheaf + the patronymic suffix-mg. Because Sheaf was a "foundling" (line 7: feasceaft funden, i.e., found destitute) who arrived by sea (lines 45—46), it is likely that as a child Shield brought with him only a sheaf, a symbol of fruitfulness. 3. Suffered, endured.

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I never heard before of a ship so well furbished with battle-tackle, bladed weapons and coats of mail. The massed treasure was loaded on top of him: it would travel faton out into the ocean's sway. They decked his body no less bountifully with offerings than those first ones did who cast him away when he was a child and launched him alone out over the waves. 4 And they set a gold standard up high above his head and let him drift to wind and tide, bewailing him and mourning their loss. No man can tell, no wise man in hall or weathered veteran knows for certain who salvaged that load. Then it fell to Beow to keep the forts. He was well regarded and ruled the Danes for a long time after his father took leave of his life on earth. And then his heir, the great Halfdane, 5 held sway for as long as he lived, their elder and warlord. He was four times a father, this fighter prince: one by one they entered the world, Heorogar, Hrothgar, the good Halga, and a daughter, I have heard, who was Onela's queen, a balm in bed to the battle-scarred Swede. The fortunes of war favored Hrothgar. Friends and kinsmen flocked to his ranks, young followers, a force that grew to be a mighty army. So his mind turned to hall-building: he handed down orders for men to work on a great mead-hall meant to be a wonder of the world forever; it would be his throne-room and there he would dispense his God-given goods to young and old— but not the common land or people's lives. 6 Far and wide through the world, I have heard, orders for work to adorn that wallstead were sent to many peoples. And soon it stood there finished and ready, in full view, the hall of halls. Heorot was the name 7 he had settled on it, whose utterance was law. Nor did he renege, but doled out rings and torques at the table. The hall towered, its gables wide and high and awaiting a barbarous burning. 8 That doom abided,

4. S e e n. 2, above. Since Shield was found destitute, "no less bountifully" is litotes or understatement; the ironic reminder that he came with nothing (line 43) emphasizes the reversal of his fortunes. 5. Probably named so because, according to one source, his mother was a Swedish princess.

6. The king could not dispose of land used by all, such as a common pasture, or of slaves. 7. I.e., "Hart," from antlers fastened to the gables or because the crossed gable-ends resembled a stag's antlers; the hart was also an icon of royalty. 8. An allusion to the future destruction of Heorot by fire, probably in a raid by the Heatho-Bards.

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b u t in time it w o u l d c o m e : the killer instinct u n l e a s h e d a m o n g in-laws, the blood-lust r a m p a n t . 9 [HEOROT IS ATTACKED]

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T h e n a p o w e r f u l d e m o n , 1 a prowler t h r o u g h the dark, n u r s e d a hard grievance. It h a r r o w e d h i m to hear the din of the l o u d b a n q u e t every day in the hall, the harp b e i n g s t r u c k a n d the clear s o n g of a skilled p o e t telling with m a s t e r y of m a n ' s b e g i n n i n g s , h o w the Almighty h a d m a d e the e a r t h a g l e a m i n g plain girdled with waters; i n His s p l e n d o r H e set the s u n a n d the m o o n to be earth's lamplight, lanterns for m e n , a n d filled the b r o a d lap of the world with b r a n c h e s a n d leaves; a n d q u i c k e n e d life in every other thing that m o v e d . S o times w e r e p l e a s a n t for the p e o p l e there until finally o n e , a fiend out of hell, b e g a n to work his evil in the world. G r e n d e l w a s the n a m e o f this grim d e m o n h a u n t i n g the m a r c h e s , m a r a u d i n g r o u n d the h e a t h a n d the d e s o l a t e f e n s ; he h a d dwelt for a time in misery a m o n g the b a n i s h e d m o n s t e r s , C a i n ' s clan, w h o m the C r e a t o r h a d o u t l a w e d a n d c o n d e m n e d as o u t c a s t s . 2 F o r the killing of Abel t h e Eternal L o r d h a d e x a c t e d a price: C a i n got n o g o o d f r o m c o m m i t t i n g that m u r d e r b e c a u s e the Almighty m a d e h i m a n a t h e m a a n d out of the c u r s e of his exile there s p r a n g o g r e s a n d elves a n d evil p h a n t o m s a n d the giants too who strove with G o d time a n d a g a i n until H e gave t h e m their reward. S o , a f t e r nightfall, G r e n d e l set out for the lofty h o u s e , to s e e h o w the R i n g - D a n e s were settling into it a f t e r their drink, a n d there he c a m e u p o n t h e m , a c o m p a n y of the b e s t a s l e e p f r o m their f e a s t i n g , i n s e n s i b l e to p a i n a n d h u m a n sorrow. S u d d e n l y t h e n the G o d - c u r s e d b r u t e w a s c r e a t i n g havoc: greedy a n d grim, h e g r a b b e d thirty m e n f r o m their resting p l a c e s a n d r u s h e d to his lair, f l u s h e d u p a n d i n f l a m e d f r o m the raid, b l u n d e r i n g b a c k with the b u t c h e r e d c o r p s e s . T h e n a s d a w n b r i g h t e n e d a n d the day broke, G r e n d e l ' s powers of d e s t r u c t i o n w e r e plain: their wassail w a s over, they wept to heaven a n d m o u r n e d u n d e r m o r n i n g . T h e i r mighty prince,

9. As told later (lines 2 0 2 0 - 6 9 ) , Hrothgar plans to marry a daughter to Ingeld, chief of the HeathoBards, in hopes of resolving a long-standing feud. See previous note.

1. The poet withholds the name for several lines. He does the same with the name of the hero as well as others. 2. See Genesis 4 . 9 - 1 2 .

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the storied leader, sat stricken a n d helpless, h u m i l i a t e d by the loss of his g u a r d , bewildered a n d s t u n n e d , staring a g h a s t at the d e m o n ' s trail, in d e e p d i s t r e s s . He w a s n u m b with grief, but got no respite 135 for o n e night later m e r c i l e s s G r e n d e l s t r u c k a g a i n with m o r e g r u e s o m e m u r d e r s . M a l i g n a n t by n a t u r e , he never s h o w e d r e m o r s e . It w a s e a s y then to m e e t with a m a n s h i f t i n g h i m s e l f to a s a f e r d i s t a n c e uo to b e d in the bothies, 3 for w h o c o u l d be blind to the e v i d e n c e of his eyes, the o b v i o u s n e s s of the hall-watcher's h a t e ? W h o e v e r e s c a p e d kept a weather-eye o p e n a n d m o v e d away. So G r e n d e l ruled in d e f i a n c e of right, 145 o n e a g a i n s t all, until the greatest h o u s e in the world s t o o d empty, a d e s e r t e d wallstead. F o r twelve winters, s e a s o n s of woe, the lord of the S h i e l d i n g s 4 s u f f e r e d u n d e r his load of sorrow; a n d so, b e f o r e long, i 50 the news w a s k n o w n over the whole world. S a d lays were s u n g a b o u t the b e s e t king, the vicious raids a n d ravages of G r e n d e l , his long a n d u n r e l e n t i n g f e u d , nothing b u t war; h o w he w o u l d never 155 parley or m a k e p e a c e with any D a n e nor stop his d e a t h - d e a l i n g nor p a y the death-price. 5 N o c o u n s e l o r c o u l d ever expect fair reparation f r o m t h o s e rabid h a n d s . All were e n d a n g e r e d ; y o u n g a n d old 160 were h u n t e d down by that dark d e a t h - s h a d o w who lurked a n d s w o o p e d in the long nights on the misty m o o r s ; n o b o d y knows w h e r e t h e s e reavers f r o m hell r o a m on their e r r a n d s . So G r e n d e l w a g e d his lonely war, 165 inflicting c o n s t a n t cruelties on the p e o p l e , a t r o c i o u s hurt. He took over H e o r o t , h a u n t e d the glittering hall a f t e r dark, b u t the throne itself, the t r e a s u r e - s e a t , he w a s kept f r o m a p p r o a c h i n g ; he w a s the Lord's o u t c a s t . 170 T h e s e were hard times, h e a r t b r e a k i n g for the p r i n c e of the S h i e l d i n g s ; p o w e r f u l c o u n s e l o r s , the highest in the land, w o u l d lend advice, plotting h o w b e s t the b o l d d e f e n d e r s m i g h t resist a n d beat o f f s u d d e n attacks. 175 S o m e t i m e s at p a g a n shrines they vowed o f f e r i n g s to idols, swore o a t h s that the killer of souls 6 might c o m e to their aid

3. Huts, outlying buildings. Evidently Grendel wants only to dominate the hall. 4. The descendants of Shield, another name for the Danes. 5. I.e., wergild (man-price); monetary compensa-

tion for the life of the slain man is the only way, according to Germanic law, to settle a feud peacefully. 6. I.e., the devil. Heathen gods were thought to be devils.

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and save the people. That was their way, their heathenish hope; deep in their hearts they remembered hell. The Almighty Judge of good deeds and bad, the Lord God, Head of the Heavens and High King of the World, was unknown to them. Oh, cursed is he who in time of trouble has to thrust his soul in the fire's embrace, forfeiting help; he has nowhere to turn. But blessed is he who after death can approach the Lord and find friendship in the Father's embrace. [THE HERO COMES TO HEOROT]

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So that troubled time continued, woe that never stopped, steady affliction for Halfdane's son, too hard an ordeal. There was panic after dark, people endured raids in the night, riven by the terror. When he heard about Grendel, Hygelac's thane was on home ground, over in Geatland. There was no one else like him alive. In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth, highborn and powerful. He ordered a boat that would ply the waves. He announced his plan: to sail the swan's road and seek out that king, the famous prince who needed defenders. Nobody tried to keep him from going, no elder denied him, dear as he was to them. Instead, they inspected omens and spurred his ambition to go, whilst he moved about like the leader he was, enlisting men, the best he could find; with fourteen others the warrior boarded the boat as captain, a canny pilot along coast and currents. Time went by, the boat was on water, in close under the cliffs. Men climbed eagerly up the gangplank, sand churned in surf, warriors loaded a cargo of weapons, shining war-gear in the vessel's hold, then heaved out, away with a will in their wood-wreathed ship. Over the waves, with the wind behind her and foam at her neck, she flew like a bird until her curved prow had covered the distance, and on the following day, at the due hour, those seafarers sighted land, sunlit cliffs, sheer crags and looming headlands, the landfall they sought. It was the end of their voyage and the Geats vaulted over the side, out on to the sand, and moored their ship. There was a clash of mail and a thresh of gear. They thanked God

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for that easy crossing on a calm sea. When the watchman on the wall, the Shieldings' lookout whose job it was to guard the sea-cliffs, saw shields glittering on the gangplank and battle-equipment being unloaded he had to find out who and what the arrivals were. So he rode to the shore, this horseman of Hrothgar's, and challenged them in formal terms, flourishing his spear: "What kind of men are you who arrive rigged out for combat in your coats of mail, sailing here over the sea-lanes in your steep-hulled boat? I have been stationed as lookout on this coast for a long time. My job is to watch the waves for raiders, any danger to the Danish shore. Never before has a force under arms disembarked so openly—not bothering to ask if the sentries allowed them safe passage or the clan had consented. Nor have I seen a mightier man-at-arms on this earth than the one standing here: unless I am mistaken, he is truly noble. This is no mere hanger-on in a hero's armor. So now, before you fare inland as interlopers, I have to be informed about who you are and where you hail from. Outsiders from across the water, I say it again: the sooner you tell where you come from and why, the better." The leader of the troop unlocked his word-hoard; the distinguished one delivered this answer: "We belong by birth to the Geat people and owe allegiance to Lord Hygelac. In his day, my father was a famous man, a noble warrior-lord named Ecgtheow. He outlasted many a long winter and went on his way. All over the world men wise in counsel continue to remember him. We come in good faith to find your lord and nation's shield, the son of Halfdane. Give us the right advice and direction. We have arrived here on a great errand to the lord of the Danes, and I believe therefore there should be nothing hidden or withheld between us. So tell us if what we have heard is true about this threat, whatever it is, this danger abroad in the dark nights, this corpse-maker mongering death in the Shieldings' country. I come to proffer my wholehearted help and counsel. I can show the wise Hrothgar a way to defeat his enemy and find respite—

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if any respite is to reach him, ever. I can calm the turmoil and terror in his mind. Otherwise, he must endure woes and live with grief for as long as his hall 285 stands at the horizon on its high ground." Undaunted, sitting astride his horse, the coast-guard answered: "Anyone with gumption and a sharp mind will take the measure of two things: what's said and what's done. 290 I believe what you have told me, that you are a troop loyal to our king. So come ahead with your arms and your gear, and I will guide you. What's more, I'll order my own comrades on their word of honor to watch your boat 295 down there on the strand—keep her safe in her fresh tar, until the time comes for her curved prow to preen on the waves and bear this hero back to Geatland. May one so valiant and venturesome BOO come unharmed through the clash of battle." So they went on their way. The ship rode the water, broad-beamed, bound by its hawser and anchored fast. Boar-shapes 7 flashed above their cheek-guards, the brightly forged 305 work of goldsmiths, watching over those stern-faced men. They marched in step, hurrying on till the timbered hall rose before them, radiant with gold. Nobody on earth knew of another 310 building like it. Majesty lodged there, its light shone over many lands. So their gallant escort guided them to that dazzling stronghold and indicated the shortest way to it; then the noble warrior 315 wheeled on his horse and spoke these words: "It is time for me to go. May the Almighty Father keep you and in His kindness watch over your exploits. I'm away to the sea, back on alert against enemy raiders." 320 It was a paved track, a path that kept them in marching order. Their mail-shirts glinted, hard and hand-linked; the high-gloss iron of their armor rang. So they duly arrived in their grim war-graith 8 and gear at the hall, 325 and, weary from the sea, stacked wide shields of the toughest hardwood against the wall, then collapsed on the benches; battle-dress and weapons clashed. They collected their spears in a seafarers' stook, a stand of grayish 330 tapering ash. And the troops themselves 7. Carved images of boars were placed on helmets, probably as good luck charms to protect the war-

riors. 8. "Graith": archaic for apparel.

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were as good as their weapons. Then a proud warrior questioned the men concerning their origins: "Where do you come from, carrying these decorated shields and shirts of mail, these cheek-hinged helmets and javelins? I am Hrothgar's herald and officer. I have never seen so impressive or large an assembly of strangers. Stoutness of heart, bravery not banishment, must have brought you to Hrothgar." The man whose name was known for courage, the Geat leader, resolute in his helmet, answered in return: "We are retainers from Hygelac's band. Beowulf is my name. If your lord and master, the most renowned son of Halfdane, will hear me out and graciously allow me to greet him in person, I am ready and willing to report my errand." Wulfgar replied, a Wendel chief renowned as a warrior, well known for his wisdom and the temper of his mind: "I will take this message, in accordance with your wish, to our noble king, our dear lord, friend of the Danes, the giver of rings. I will go and ask him about your coming here, then hurry back with whatever reply it pleases him to give." With that he turned to where Hrothgar sat, an old man among retainers; the valiant follower stood foursquare in front of his king: he knew the courtesies. Wulfgar addressed his dear lord: "People from Geatland have put ashore. They have sailed far over the wide sea. They call the chief in charge of their band by the name of Beowulf. They beg, my lord, an audience with you, exchange of words and formal greeting. Most gracious Hrothgar, do not refuse them, but grant them a reply. From their arms and-appointment, they appear well born and worthy of respect, especially the one who has led them this far: he is formidable indeed." Hrothgar, protector of Shieldings, replied: "I used to know him when he was a young boy. His father before him was called Ecgtheow. Hrethel the Geat 9 gave Ecgtheow his daughter in marriage. This man is their son, here to follow up an old friendship. A crew of seamen who sailed for me once with a gift-cargo across to Geatland returned with marvelous tales about him: a thane, they declared, with the strength of thirty

9. Hygelac's father and Beowulf's grandfather.

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in the grip of each hand. Now Holy God has, in His goodness, guided him here to the West-Danes, to defend us from Grendel. This is my hope; and for his heroism 385 I will recompense him with a rich treasure. Go immediately, bid him and the Geats he has in attendance to assemble and enter. Say, moreover, when you speak to them, they are welcome to Denmark." At the door of the hall, 390 Wulfgar duly delivered the message: "My lord, the conquering king of the Danes, bids me announce that he knows your ancestry; also that he welcomes you here to Heorot and salutes your arrival from across the sea. 395 You are free now to move forward to meet Hrothgar in helmets and armor, but shields must stay here and spears be stacked until the outcome of the audience is clear." The hero arose, surrounded closely 400 by his powerful thanes. A party remained under orders to keep watch on the arms; the rest proceeded, led by their prince under Heorot's roof. And standing on the hearth in webbed links that the smith had woven, 405 the fine-forged mesh of his gleaming mail-shirt, resolute in his helmet, Beowulf spoke: "Greetings to Hrothgar. I am Hygelac's kinsman, one of his hall-troop. When I was younger, I had great triumphs. Then news of Grendel, 410 hard to ignore, reached me at home: sailors brought stories of the plight you suffer in this legendary hall, how it lies deserted, empty and useless once the evening light hides itself under heaven's dome. 415 So every elder and experienced councilman among my people supported my resolve to come here to you, King Hrothgar, because all knew of my awesome strength. They had seen me boltered 1 in the blood of enemies 420 when I battled and bound five beasts, raided a troll-nest and in the night-sea slaughtered sea-brutes. I have suffered extremes and avenged the Geats (their enemies brought it upon themselves; I devastated them). 425 Now I mean to be a match for Grendel, settle the outcome in single combat. And so, my request, O king of Bright-Danes, dear prince of the Shieldings, friend of the people and their ring of defense, my one request 430 is that you won't refuse me, who have come this far, 1. Clotted, sticky.

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the privilege of purifying Heorot, with my own men to help me, and nobody else. I have heard moreover that the monster scorns in his reckless way to use weapons; therefore, to heighten Hygelac's fame and gladden his heart, I hereby renounce sword and the shelter of the broad shield, the heavy war-board: hand-to-hand is how it will be, a life-and-death fight with the fiend. Whichever one death fells must deem it a just judgment by God. If Grendel wins, it will be a gruesome day; he will glut himself on the Geats in the war-hall, swoop without fear on that flower of manhood as on others before. Then my face won't be there to be covered in death: he will carry me away as he goes to ground, gorged and bloodied; he will run gloating with my raw corpse and feed on it alone, in a cruel frenzy fouling his moor-nest. No need then to lament for long or lay out my body: 2 if the battle takes me, send back this breast-webbing that Weland 3 fashioned and Hrethel gave me, to Lord Hygelac. Fate goes ever as fate must." Hrothgar, the helmet of Shieldings, spoke: "Beowulf, my friend, you have traveled here to favor us with help and to fight for us. There was a feud one time, begun by your father. With his own hands he had killed Heatholaf who was a Wulfing; so war was looming and his people, in fear of it, forced him to leave. He came away then over rolling waves to the South-Danes here, the sons of honor. I was then in the first flush of kingship, establishing my sway over the rich strongholds of this heroic land. Heorogar, my older brother and the better man, also a son of Halfdane's, had died. Finally I healed the feud by paying: I shipped a treasure-trove to the Wulfings, and Ecgtheow acknowledged me with oaths of allegiance. "It bothers me to have to burden anyone with all the grief that Grendel has caused and the havoc he has wreaked upon us in Heorot, our humiliations. My household guard are on the wane, fate sweeps them away into Grendel's clutches—but God can easily halt these raids and harrowing attacks! "Time and again, when the goblets passed

2. I.e., for burial. Hrothgar will not need to give Beowulf an expensive funeral.

3. Famed blacksmith in Germanic legend.

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and seasoned fighters got flushed with beer they would pledge themselves to protect Heorot and wait for Grendel with their whetted swords. But when dawn broke and day crept in over each empty, blood-spattered bench, the floor of the mead-hall where they had feasted would be slick with slaughter. And so they died, faithful retainers, and my following dwindled. Now take your place at the table, relish the triumph of heroes to your heart's content." [FEAST AT HEOROT]

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Then a bench was cleared in that banquet hall so the Geats could have room to be together and the party sat, proud in their bearing, strong and stalwart. An attendant stood by with a decorated pitcher, pouring bright helpings of mead. And the minstrel sang, filling Heorot with his head-clearing voice, gladdening that great rally of Geats and Danes. From where he crouched at the king's feet, Unferth, a son of Ecglaf's, spoke contrary words. Beowulf's coming, his sea-braving, made him sick with envy: he could not brook or abide the fact that anyone else alive under heaven might enjoy greater regard than he did: "Are you the Beowulf who took on Breca in a swimming match on the open sea, risking the water just to prove that you could win? It was sheer vanity made you venture out on the main deep. And no matter who tried, friend or foe, to deflect the pair of you, neither would back down: the sea-test obsessed you. You waded in, embracing water, taking its measure, mastering currents, riding on the swell. The ocean swayed, winter went wild in the waves, but you vied for seven nights; and then he outswam you, came ashore the stronger contender. He was cast up safe and sound one morning among the Heatho-Reams, then made his way to where he belonged in Branding country, home again, sure of his ground in strongroom and bawn. 4 So Breca made good his boast upon you and was proved right. No matter, therefore, how you may have fared in every bout and battle until now, this time you'll be worsted; no one has ever

4. Fortified outwork of a court or castle. The word was used by English planters in Ulster to describe fortified dwellings they erected on lands confiscated from the Irish [Translator's note].

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outlasted an entire night against Grendel." Beowulf, Ecgtheow's son, replied: 530 "Well, friend Unferth, you have had your say about Breca and me. But it was mostly beer that was doing the talking. The truth is this: when the going was heavy in those high waves, I was the strongest swimmer of all. 535 We'd been children together and we grew up daring ourselves to outdo each other, boasting and urging each other to risk our lives on the sea. And so it turned out. Each of us swam holding a sword, 540 a naked, hard-proofed blade for protection against the whale-beasts. But Breca could never move out farther or faster from me than I could manage to move from him. Shoulder to shoulder, we struggled on 545 for five nights, until the long flow and pitch of the waves, the perishing cold, night falling and winds from the north drove us apart. The deep boiled up and its wallowing sent the sea-brutes wild. 550 My armor helped me to hold out; my hard-ringed chain-mail, hand-forged and linked, a fine, close-fitting filigree of gold, kept me safe when some ocean creature pulled me to the bottom. Pinioned fast 555 and swathed in its grip, I was granted one final chance: my sword plunged and the ordeal was over. Through my own hands, the fury of battle had finished off the sea-beast. "Time and again, foul things attacked me, 560 lurking and stalking, but I lashed out, gave as good as I got with my sword. My flesh was not for feasting on, there would be no monsters gnawing and gloating over their banquet at the bottom of the sea. 565 Instead, in the morning, mangled and sleeping the sleep of the sword, they slopped and floated like the ocean's leavings. From now on sailors would be safe, the deep-sea raids were over for good. Light came from the east, 570 bright guarantee of God, and the waves went quiet; I could see headlands and buffeted cliffs. Often, for undaunted courage, fate spares the man it has not already marked. However it occurred, my sword had killed 575 nine sea-monsters. Such night dangers and hard ordeals I have never heard of nor of a man more desolate in surging waves. But worn out as I was, I survived, came through with my life. The ocean lifted 580 and laid me ashore, I landed safe

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on the coast of Finland.

585

590

595

6oo

605

6io

6i5

620

625

630

N o w I c a n n o t recall any fight you entered, U n f e r t h , that bears comparison. I don't boast w h e n I say t h a t n e i t h e r you n o r Breca were ever m u c h celebrated for s w o r d s m a n s h i p or for facing d a n g e r on t h e field of battle. You killed your own kith a n d kin, so for all your cleverness a n d quick tongue, you will s u f f e r d a m n a t i o n in t h e d e p t h s of hell. T h e fact is, U n f e r t h , if you were truly as keen or courageous as you claim to be G r e n d e l would never have got away with s u c h u n c h e c k e d atrocity, attacks on your king, havoc in H e o r o t a n d horrors everywhere. But he knows he n e e d never be in dread of your blade making a mizzle of his blood or of v e n g e a n c e arriving ever f r o m this q u a r t e r — f r o m t h e Victory-Shieldings, t h e shoulderers of t h e spear. He knows he c a n trample down you D a n e s to his heart's c o n t e n t , humiliate a n d m u r d e r w i t h o u t fear of reprisal. But he will find me different. I will show him h o w Geats s h a p e to kill in t h e h e a t of battle. T h e n whoever w a n t s to may go bravely to m e a d , w h e n t h e m o r n i n g light, scarfed in sun-dazzle, shines forth f r o m t h e s o u t h a n d brings a n o t h e r daybreak to t h e world." T h e n t h e gray-haired treasure-giver was glad; f a r - f a m e d in battle, t h e prince of Bright-Danes a n d keeper of his people c o u n t e d on Beowulf, on t h e warrior's steadfastness a n d his word. So the laughter started, t h e din got louder a n d t h e crowd was happy. W e a l h t h e o w c a m e in, Hrothgar's q u e e n , observing t h e courtesies. A d o r n e d in h e r gold, she graciously saluted t h e m e n in t h e hall, t h e n h a n d e d t h e c u p first to H r o t h g a r , their h o m e l a n d ' s guardian, urging h i m to drink deep a n d enjoy it b e c a u s e he was d e a r to t h e m . And he d r a n k it down like t h e warlord he was, with festive cheer. So t h e H e l m i n g w o m a n w e n t on h e r rounds, queenly a n d dignified, decked o u t in rings, offering t h e goblet to all ranks, treating t h e h o u s e h o l d a n d t h e assembled troop, until it was Beowulf's t u r n to take it f r o m h e r h a n d . W i t h m e a s u r e d words s h e welcomed t h e G e a t a n d t h a n k e d G o d for granting h e r wish t h a t a deliverer she could believe in would arrive to ease their afflictions. He a c c e p t e d t h e cup, a d a u n t i n g m a n , d a n g e r o u s in action a n d eager for it always. He addressed W e a l h t h e o w ; Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, said: "I had a fixed p u r p o s e w h e n I p u t to sea.

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635

640

645

650

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As I sat in the boat with my band of men, I meant to perform to the uttermost what your people wanted or perish in the attempt, in the fiend's clutches. And I shall fulfill that purpose, prove myself with a proud deed or meet my death here in the mead-hall." This formal boast by Beowulf the Geat pleased the lady well and she went to sit by Hrothgar, regal and arrayed with gold. Then it was like old times in the echoing hall, proud talk and the people happy, loud and excited; until soon enough Halfdane's heir had to be away to his night's rest. He realized that the demon was going to descend on the hall, that he had plotted all day, from dawn light until darkness gathered again over the world and stealthy night-shapes came stealing forth under the cloud-murk. The company stood as the two leaders took leave of each other: Hrothgar wished Beowulf health and good luck, named him hall-warden and announced as follows: "Never, since my hand could hold a shield have I entrusted or given control of the Danes' hall to anyone but you. Ward and guard it, for it is the greatest of houses. Be on your mettle now, keep in mind your fame, beware of the enemy. There's nothing you wish for that won't be yours if you win through alive." [THE FIGHT WITH G R E N D E L ]

665

670

675

680

Hrothgar departed then with his house-guard. The lord of the Shieldings, their shelter in war, left the mead-hall to lie with Wealhtheow, his queen and bedmate. The King of Glory (as people learned) had posted a lookout who was a match for Grendel, a guard against monsters, special protection to the Danish prince. And the Geat placed complete trust in his strength of limb and the Lord's favor. He began to remove his iron breast-mail, took off the helmet and handed his attendant the patterned sword, a smith's masterpiece, ordering him to keep the equipment guarded. And before he bedded down, Beowulf, that prince of goodness, proudly asserted: "When it comes to fighting, I count myself as dangerous any day as Grendel. So it won't be a cutting edge I'll wield to mow him down, easily as I might. He has no idea of the arts of war, of shield or sword-play, although he does possess

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685

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700

705

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720

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730

BEOWULF

a wild strength. No weapons, therefore, for either this night: unarmed he shall face me if face me he dares. And may the Divine Lord in His wisdom grant the glory of victory to whichever side He sees fit." Then down the brave man lay with his bolster under his head and his whole company of sea-rovers at rest beside him. None of them expected he would ever see his homeland again or get back to his native place and the people who reared him. They knew too well the way it was before, how often the Danes had fallen prey to death in the mead-hall. But the Lord was weaving a victory on His war-loom for the Weather-Geats. Through the strength of one they all prevailed; they would crush their enemy and come through in triumph and gladness. The truth is clear: Almighty God rules over mankind and always has. Then out of the night came the shadow-stalker, stealthy and swift. The hall-guards were slack, asleep at their posts, all except one; it was widely understood that as long as God disallowed it, the fiend could not bear them to his shadow-bourne. One man, however, was in fighting mood, awake and on edge, spoiling for action. In off the moors, down through the mist-bands God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping. The bane of the race of men roamed forth, hunting for a prey in the high hall. Under the cloud-murk he moved toward it until it shone above him, a sheer keep of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time he had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar's dwelling— although never in his life, before or since, did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders. Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead and arrived at the bawn. 5 The iron-braced door turned on its hinge when his hands touched it. Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open the mouth of the building, maddening for blood, pacing the length of the patterned floor with his loathsome tread, while a baleful light, flame more than light, flared from his eyes. He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping, a ranked company of kinsmen and warriors quartered together. And his glee was demonic, picturing the mayhem: before morning he would rip life from limb and devour them,

5. See p. 44, n. 4.

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feed on their flesh; but his fate that night was due to change, his days of ravening had come to an end. Mighty and canny, Hygelac's kinsman was keenly watching for the first move the monster would make. Nor did the creature keep him waiting but struck suddenly and started in; he grabbed and mauled a man on his bench, bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood and gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body utterly lifeless, eaten up hand and foot. Venturing closer, his talon was raised to attack Beowulf where he lay on the bed, he was bearing in with open claw when the alert hero's comeback and armlock forestalled him utterly. The captain of evil discovered himself in a handgrip harder than anything he had ever encountered in any man on the face of the earth. Every bone in his body quailed and recoiled, but he could not escape. He was desperate to flee to his den and hide with the devil's litter, for in all his days he had never been clamped or cornered like this. Then Hygelac's trusty retainer recalled his bedtime speech, sprang to his feet and got a firm hold. Fingers were bursting, the monster back-tracking, the man overpowering. The dread of the land was desperate to escape, to take a roundabout road and flee to his lair in the fens. The latching power in his fingers weakened; it was the worst trip the terror-monger had taken to Heorot. And now the timbers trembled and sang, a hall-session6 that harrowed every Dane inside the stockade: stumbling in fury, the two contenders crashed through the building. The hall clattered and hammered, but somehow survived the onslaught and kept standing: it was handsomely structured, a sturdy frame braced with the best of blacksmith's work inside and out. The story goes that as the pair struggled, mead-benches were smashed and sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all. Before then, no Shielding elder would believe there was any power or person upon earth capable of wrecking their horn-rigged hall unless the burning embrace of a fire engulf it in flame. Then an extraordinary

6. In Hiberno-English the word "session" ( seissiun in Irish) can mean a gathering where musicians and singers perform for their own enjoyment [Translator's note].

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805

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8i5

820

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wail arose, a n d bewildering fear c a m e over t h e D a n e s . Everyone felt it who h e a r d t h a t cry as it e c h o e d off t h e wall, a God-cursed s c r e a m a n d strain of catastrophe, t h e howl of t h e loser, t h e l a m e n t of t h e hell-serf k e e n i n g his w o u n d . He was overwhelmed, m a n a c l e d tight by t h e m a n who of all m e n was f o r e m o s t a n d strongest in t h e days of this life. But t h e earl-troop's leader was n o t inclined to allow his caller to depart alive: he did not consider that life of m u c h a c c o u n t to a n y o n e anywhere. T i m e a n d again, Beowulf's warriors worked to d e f e n d their lord's life, laying a b o u t t h e m as best they could, with their ancestral blades. Stalwart in action, they kept striking out on every side, seeking to c u t straight to t h e soul. W h e n they j o i n e d t h e struggle t h e r e was s o m e t h i n g they could not have known at t h e time, t h a t no blade on earth, no blacksmith's art could ever d a m a g e their d e m o n o p p o n e n t . H e h a d c o n j u r e d t h e h a r m f r o m t h e cutting edge of every weapon. 7 But his going away o u t of this world a n d the days of his life would be agony to him, a n d his alien spirit would travel far into fiends' keeping. T h e n h e w h o h a d harrowed t h e h e a r t s o f m e n with pain a n d affliction in f o r m e r times a n d h a d given o f f e n s e also to G o d f o u n d that his bodily powers failed him. Hygelac's k i n s m a n kept h i m helplessly locked in a handgrip. As long as either lived, h e was h a t e f u l t o t h e other. T h e monster's whole body was in pain; a t r e m e n d o u s w o u n d a p p e a r e d on his shoulder. Sinews split a n d t h e bone-lappings burst. Beowulf was granted t h e glory of winning; G r e n d e l was driven u n d e r t h e fen-banks, fatally h u r t , to his desolate lair. His days were n u m b e r e d , t h e e n d of his life was coming over him, he k n e w it for certain; a n d o n e bloody clash h a d fulfilled t h e dearest wishes of t h e Danes. T h e m a n who h a d lately landed a m o n g t h e m , p r o u d a n d sure, h a d purged t h e hall, kept it f r o m h a r m ; he was h a p p y with his nightwork a n d t h e courage h e h a d shown. T h e G e a t captain h a d boldly fulfilled his boast to t h e Danes: he had healed a n d relieved a h u g e distress, u n r e m i t t i n g humiliations, t h e hard fate they'd b e e n forced to undergo, no small affliction. Clear proof of this

7. Grendel is protected by a charm against metals.

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835

could be seen in the hand the hero displayed high up near the roof: the whole of Grendel's shoulder and arm, his awesome grasp. [CELEBRATION AT HEOROT]

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Then morning came and many a warrior gathered, as I've heard, around the gift-hall, clan-chiefs flocking from far and near down wide-ranging roads, wondering greatly at the monster's footprints. His fatal departure was regretted by no one who witnessed his trail, the ignominious marks of his flight where he'd skulked away, exhausted in spirit and beaten in battle, bloodying the path, hauling his doom to the demons' mere. 8 T h e bloodshot water wallowed and surged, there were loathsome upthrows and overturnings of waves and gore and wound-slurry. With his death upon him, he had dived deep into his marsh-den, drowned out his life and his heathen soul: hell claimed him there. Then away they rode, the old retainers with many a young man following after, a troop on horseback, in high spirits on their bay steeds. Beowulf's doings were praised over and over again. Nowhere, they said, north or south between the two seas or under the tall sky on the broad earth was there anyone better to raise a shield or to rule a kingdom. Yet there was no laying of blame on their lord, the noble Hrothgar; he was a good king. At times the war-band broke into a gallop, letting their chestnut horses race wherever they found the going good on those well-known tracks. Meanwhile, a thane of the king's household, a carrier of tales, a traditional singer deeply schooled in the lore of the past, linked a new theme to a strict meter. 9 The man started to recite with skill, rehearsing Beowulf's triumphs and feats in well-fashioned lines, entwining his words. He told what he'd heard repeated in songs about Sigemund's exploits, 1 all of those many feats and marvels, the struggles and wanderings of Waels's son, 2

8. A lake or pool, although we learn later that it has an outlet to the sea. Grendel's habitat. 9. I.e., an extemporaneous heroic poem in alliterative verse about Beowulf's deeds. 1. Tales about Sigemund, his nephew SinQotli (Fitela), and his son Sigurth are found in a 13th-

century Old Icelandic collection of legends known as the Volsung Saga. Analogous stories must have been known to the poet and his audience, though details differ. 2. Waels is the father of Sigemund.

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things unknown to anyone except to Fitela, feuds and foul doings confided by uncle to nephew when he felt the urge to speak of them: always they had been partners in the fight, friends in need. They killed giants, their conquering swords had brought them down.

After his death Sigemund's glory grew and grew because of his courage when he killed the dragon, the guardian of the hoard. Under gray stone he had dared to enter all by himself to face the worst without Fitela. But it came to pass that his sword plunged right through those radiant scales and drove into the wall. The dragon died of it. His daring had given him total possession of the treasure-hoard, his to dispose of however he liked. He loaded a boat: Waels's son weighted her hold with dazzling spoils. The hot dragon melted. Sigemund's name was known everywhere. He was utterly valiant and venturesome, a fence round his fighters and flourished therefore after King Heremod's 3 prowess declined and his campaigns slowed down. The king was betrayed, ambushed in Jutland, overpowered and done away with. The waves of his grief had beaten him down, made him a burden, a source of anxiety to his own nobles: that expedition was often condemned in those earlier times by experienced men, men who relied on his lordship for redress, who presumed that the part of a prince was to thrive on his father's throne and defend the nation, the Shielding land where they lived and belonged, its holdings and strongholds. Such was Beowulf in the affection of his friends and of everyone alive. But evil entered into Heremod.

They kept racing each other, urging their mounts down sandy lanes. The light of day broke and kept brightening. Bands of retainers galloped in excitement to the gabled hall to see the marvel; and the king himself, guardian of the ring-hoard, goodness in person, walked in majesty from the women's quarters with a numerous train, attended by his queen and her crowd of maidens, across to the mead-hall. When Hrothgar arrived at the hall, he spoke, standing on the steps, under the steep eaves,

3. Heremod was a had king, held up by the bard as the opposite of Beowulf, as Sigemund is held up as a heroic prototype of Beowulf.

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gazing toward the roofwork and Grendel's talon: "First and foremost, let the Almighty Father be thanked for this sight. I suffered a long harrowing by Grendel. But the Heavenly Shepherd 930 can work His wonders always and everywhere. Not long since, it seemed I would never be granted the slightest solace or relief from any of my burdens: the best of houses glittered and reeked and ran with blood. 935 This one worry outweighed all others— a constant distress to counselors entrusted with defending the people's forts from assault by monsters and demons. But now a man, with the Lord's assistance, has accomplished something 940 none of us could manage before now for all our efforts. Whoever she was who brought forth this flower of manhood, if she is still alive, that woman can say that in her labor the Lord of Ages 945 bestowed a grace on her. So now, Beowulf, I adopt you in my heart as a dear son. Nourish and maintain this new connection, you noblest of men; there'll be nothing you'll want for, no worldly goods that won't be yours. 950 I have often honored smaller achievements, recognized warriors not nearly as worthy, lavished rewards on the less deserving. But you have made yourself immortal by your glorious action. May the God of Ages 955 continue to keep and requite you well." Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: "We have gone through with a glorious endeavor and been much favored in this fight we dared against the unknown. Nevertheless, 960 if you could have seen the monster himself where he lay beaten, I would have been better pleased. My plan was to pounce, pin him down in a tight grip and grapple him to death— have him panting for life, powerless and clasped 965 in my bare hands, his body in thrall. But I couldn't stop him from slipping my hold. The Lord allowed it, my lock on him wasn't strong enough; he struggled fiercely and broke and ran. Yet he bought his freedom 970 at a high price, for he left his hand and arm and shoulder to show he had been here, a cold comfort for having come among us. And now he won't be long for this world. He has done his worst but the wound will end him. 975 He is hasped and hooped and hirpling with pain, limping and looped in it. Like a man outlawed for wickedness, he must await the mighty judgment of God in majesty."

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980

985

990

995

iooo

1005

IOIO

1015

1020

1025

BEOWULF

T h e r e w a s l e s s t a m p e r i n g a n d b i g talk t h e n f r o m U n f e r t h t h e b o a s t e r , l e s s of his b l a t h e r as the hall-thanes eyed the awful proof of the hero's prowess, the splayed h a n d u p u n d e r t h e e a v e s . E v e r y nail, c l a w - s c a l e a n d s p u r , every s p i k e a n d welt on t h e h a n d of t h a t h e a t h e n b r u t e w a s like b a r b e d s t e e l . E v e r y b o d y s a i d t h e r e w a s n o h o n e d iron h a r d e n o u g h to pierce him through, no time-proofed blade t h a t c o u l d c u t his b r u t a l , b l o o d - c a k e d c l a w . T h e n t h e o r d e r w a s given f o r all h a n d s to help to refurbish Heorot immediately: m e n a n d w o m e n thronging the wine-hall, g e t t i n g i t ready. G o l d t h r e a d s h o n e in the wall-hangings, woven scenes that a t t r a c t e d a n d h e l d t h e eye's a t t e n t i o n . But iron-braced as the inside of it had been, t h a t b r i g h t r o o m lay i n r u i n s n o w . T h e very d o o r s h a d b e e n d r a g g e d f r o m their h i n g e s . Only the roof remained unscathed by t h e t i m e t h e g u i l t - f o u l e d fiend t u r n e d tail i n d e s p a i r o f his life. B u t d e a t h i s n o t e a s i l y escaped from by anyone: all o f u s w i t h s o u l s , e a r t h - d w e l l e r s and children of men, m u s t m a k e our way to a d e s t i n a t i o n a l r e a d y o r d a i n e d where the body, after the banqueting, s l e e p s o n its d e a t h b e d . T h e n t h e d u e t i m e arrived f o r H a l f d a n e ' s s o n t o p r o c e e d t o t h e hall. T h e k i n g h i m s e l f w o u l d sit d o w n t o f e a s t . N o g r o u p ever g a t h e r e d in g r e a t e r n u m b e r s o r b e t t e r o r d e r a r o u n d their ring-giver. T h e b e n c h e s f i l l e d with f a m o u s m e n w h o fell t o w i t h r e l i s h ; r o u n d u p o n r o u n d of mead was passed; those powerful kinsmen, H r o t h g a r a n d H r o t h u l f , w e r e in h i g h spirits i n t h e r a f t e r e d hall. I n s i d e H e o r o t there was nothing but friendship. T h e Shielding nation w a s n o t yet f a m i l i a r with f e u d a n d b e t r a y a l . 4 Then Halfdane's son presented Beowulf with a g o l d s t a n d a r d as a victory gift, an embroidered banner; also breast-mail a n d a h e l m e t ; a n d a s w o r d c a r r i e d high, that was both precious object and token of honor. S o B e o w u l f d r a n k his drink, a t e a s e ; it w a s hardly a s h a m e to be s h o w e r e d with s u c h g i f t s in front of the hall-troops. T h e r e haven't b e e n many moments, I am sure, when m e n exchanged

4. Probably an ironic allusion to the future usurpation of the throne from Hrothgar's sons by Hrothulf, although no such treachery is recorded of Hrothulf, who is the hero of other Germanic stories.

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1030

1035

1040

1045

1050

1055

io6o

1065

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four such treasures at so friendly a sitting. An embossed ridge, a band lapped with wire arched over the helmet: head-protection to keep the keen-ground cutting edge from damaging it when danger threatened and the man was battling behind his shield. Next the king ordered eight horses with gold bridles to be brought through the yard into the hall. The harness of one included a saddle of sumptuous design, the battle-seat where the son of Halfdane rode when he wished to join the sword-play: wherever the killing and carnage were the worst, he would be to the fore, fighting hard. Then the Danish prince, descendant of Ing, handed over both the arms and the horses, urging Beowulf to use them well. And so their leader, the lord and guard of coffer and strongroom, with customary grace bestowed upon Beowulf both sets of gifts. A fair witness can see how well each one behaved. The chieftain went on to reward the others: each man on the bench who had sailed with Beowulf and risked the voyage received a bounty, some treasured possession. And compensation, a price in gold, was settled for the Geat Grendel had cruelly killed earlier— as he would have killed more, had not mindful God and one man's daring prevented that doom. Past and present, God's will prevails. Hence, understanding is always best and a prudent mind. Whoever remains for long here in this earthly life will enjoy and endure more than enough. They sang then and played to please the hero, words and music for their warrior prince, harp tunes and tales of adventure: there were high times on the hall benches, and the king's poet performed his part with the saga of Finn and his sons, unfolding the tale of the fierce attack in Friesland where Hnaef, king of the Danes, met death. 5 Hildeburh

had little cause

5. The bard's lay is known as the Finnsburg Episode. Its allusive style makes the tale obscure in many details, although some can be filled in from a fragmentary Old English lay, which modern editors have entitled The Fight at Finnsburg. Hildeburh, the daughter of the former Danish king Hoc, was married to Finn, king of Friesland, presumably to help end a feud between their peoples. As the episode opens, the feud has already broken out

again when a visiting party of Danes, led by Hildeburh's brother Hnaef, who has succeeded their father, is attacked by a tribe called the Jutes. The Jutes are subject to Finn but may be a clan distinct from the Frisians, and Finn does not seem to have instigated the attack. In the ensuing battle, both Hnaef and the son of Hildeburh and Finn are killed, and both sides suffer heavy losses.

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to credit the Jutes: she lost them both She,

bereft

son and

brother,

on the

battlefield.

and blameless, they cut down and spear-gored. Site, 1075 the woman in shock, waylaid by grief, Hoe's daughter— how could she not lament Iter fate when morning came and the light broke on her murdered dears? And so farewell delight on earth, 1080 war carried away Finn's troop of thanes all but a few. How then could Finn hold the line or fight on to the end with Hengest, how save the rump of his force from that enemy chief? 1085 So a truce was offered as follows: 6 first separate quarters to be cleared for the Danes, hall and throne to be shared with the Frisians. Tlten, second: every day at the dole-out of gifts Finn, son of Focwald, 1090 should honor the Danes, bestow with an even hand to Hengest and Hengest's men the wrought-gold rings, bounty to match the measure he gave his own Frisians— to keep morale in the beer-hall high. 1095 Both sides then sealed their agreement. With oaths to Hengest foredoomed,

6. The truce was offered by Finn to Hengest, who succeeded Hnaef as leader of the Danes.

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openly,

solemnly,

Finn

swore

that the battle survivors guaranteed honor and status. No infringement by word or deed, iioo no provocation would be permitted. Their own ring-giver after all was dead and gone, they were leaderless, in forced allegiance to his murderer. So if any Frisian stirred up bad blood i io5 with insinuations or taunts about this, the blade of the sword would arbitrate it. A funeral pyre was then prepared, effulgent gold brought out from the hoard. The pride and prince of the Shieldings lay mo awaiting the flame. Everywhere there were blood-plastered coats of mail. The pyre was heaped with boar-shaped helmets forged in gold, with the gashed corpses of wellborn Danes— many had fallen. ins Then Hildeburh ordered her own son's body be burnt with Hnaef's, the flesh on his bones to sputter and blaze beside his uncle's. The woman wailed and sang keens, the warrior went up. 7 1120 Carcass flame swirled and fumed, they stood round the burial would

7. The meaning may be that the warrior was placed up on the pyre, or went up in smoke. "Keens": lamentations or dirges for the dead.

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heads melted,

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and

howled

crusted gashes ran bloody matter. The glutton element flamed and consumed 1125 the dead of both sides. Their great days were gone. Warriors scattered to homes and forts all over Friesland, fewer now, feeling loss of friends. Hengest stayed, lived out that whole resentful, blood-sullen 1130 winter with Finn, homesick and helpless. No ring-whorled prow could up then and away on the sea. Wind and water raged with storms, wave and shingle were shackled in ice until another year ii35 appeared in the yard as it does to this day, the seasons constant, the wonder of light coming over us. Then winter was gone, earth's lap grew lovely, longing woke in the cooped-up exile for a voyage home— i 140 but more for vengeance, some way of bringing things to a head: his sword arm hanlzered to greet the Jutes. So he did not balk once Hunlafing placed on his lap Dazzle-the-Duel, the best sword of all, 8 1145 whose edges Jutes knew only too well. Thus blood was spilled, spattered

and

8. Hunlafing may be the son of a Danish warrior called Hunlaf. The placing of the sword in Hengest's lap is a symbolic call for revenge.

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slain in his home

the gallant

Finn

after Guthlaf and Oslaf 9 their voyage made old accusation: the brutal ambush, the fate they had suffered, all blamed on Finn. The wildness in them had to brim over. The hall ran red with blood of enemies. Finn was cut down, the queen brought away and everything the Shieldings could find inside Finn's walls— the Frisian king's gold collars and gemstones— swept off to the ship. Over sea-lanes then back to Daneland the warrior troop bore that lady home.

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T h e p o e m was over, the poet had performed, a pleasant m u r m u r s t a r t e d on t h e b e n c h e s , s t e w a r d s did t h e r o u n d s w i t h w i n e i n s p l e n d i d j u g s , a n d W e a l h t h e o w c a m e t o sit i n h e r gold c r o w n b e t w e e n two good m e n , uncle and nephew, each one of whom still t r u s t e d t h e other; 1 a n d t h e f o r t h r i g h t U n f e r t h , a d m i r e d by all for his m i n d a n d c o u r a g e a l t h o u g h u n d e r a c l o u d f o r killing his b r o t h e r s , r e c l i n e d n e a r t h e king. T h e q u e e n spoke: " E n j o y this drink, m y m o s t g e n e r o u s lord; raise u p y o u r goblet, e n t e r t a i n t h e G e a t s duly a n d gently, d i s c o u r s e with t h e m , be open-handed, happy and fond. Relish t h e i r c o m p a n y , b u t r e c o l l e c t a s well all o f t h e b o o n s t h a t have b e e n b e s t o w e d o n y o u . T h e bright court of Heorot has been cleansed a n d n o w t h e w o r d is t h a t you w a n t to a d o p t this w a r r i o r as a s o n . So, w h i l e you may, bask in your fortune, and then bequeath k i n g d o m a n d n a t i o n t o y o u r kith a n d kin, b e f o r e y o u r d e c e a s e . I am c e r t a i n of H r o t h u l f . He is n o b l e a n d will u s e t h e y o u n g o n e s well.

9. It is not clear w h e t h e r the D a n e s h a v e traveled h o m e a n d then r e t u r n e d to F r i e s l a n d with reinf o r c e m e n t s , o r w h e t h e r the D a n i s h survivors a t t a c k

o n c e t h e w e a t h e r allows t h e m t o take ship. 1. S e e n. 4 , p. 5 4 .

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He will not let you down. Should you die before him, he will treat our children truly and fairly. He will honor, I am sure, our two sons, repay them in kind, when he recollects all the good things we gave him once, the favor and respect he found in his childhood." She turned then to the bench where her boys sat, Hrethric and Hrothmund, with other nobles' sons, all the youth together; and that good man, Beowulf the Geat, sat between the brothers. The cup was carried to him, kind words spoken in welcome and a wealth of wrought gold graciously bestowed: two arm bangles, a mail-shirt and rings, and the most resplendent torque of gold I ever heard tell of anywhere on earth or under heaven. There was no hoard like it since Hama snatched the Brosings' neck-chain and bore it away with its gems and settings to his shining fort, away from Eormenric's wiles and hatred, 2 and thereby ensured his eternal reward. Hygelac the Geat, grandson of Swerting, wore this neck-ring on his last raid; 3 at bay under his banner, he defended the booty, treasure he had won. Fate swept him away because of his proud need to provoke a feud with the Frisians. He fell beneath his shield, in the same gem-crusted, kingly gear he had worn when he crossed the frothing wave-vat. So the dead king fell into Frankish hands. They took his breast-mail, also his neck-torque, and punier warriors plundered the slain when the carnage ended; Geat corpses covered the field. Applause filled the hall. Then Wealhtheow pronounced in the presence of the company: "Take delight in this torque, dear Beowulf, wear it for luck and wear also this mail from our people's armory: may you prosper in them! Be acclaimed for strength, for kindly guidance to these two boys, and your bounty will be sure. You have won renown: you are known to all men far and near, now and forever. Your sway is wide as the wind's home, as the sea around cliffs. And so, my prince, I wish you a lifetime's luck and blessings to enjoy this treasure. Treat my sons

2. The necklace presented to Beowulf is compared to one worn by the goddess Freya in Germanic mythology. In another story it was stolen by Hama from the Gothic king Eormenric, who is treated as a tyrant in Germanic legend, but how Eormenric came to possess it is not known. 3. Later we learn that Beowulf gave the necklace

to Hygd, the queen of his lord Hygelac. Hygelac is here said to have been wearing it on his last expedition. This is the first of several allusions to Hygelac's death on a raid up the Rhine, the one incident in the poem that can be connected to a historical event documented elsewhere.

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with tender care, be strong and kind. Here each comrade is true to the other, loyal to lord, loving in spirit. The thanes have one purpose, the people are ready: having drunk and pledged, the ranks do as I bid." She moved then to her place. Men were drinking wine at that rare feast; how could they know fate, the grim shape of things to come, the threat looming over many thanes as night approached and King Hrothgar prepared to retire to his quarters? Retainers in great numbers were posted on guard as so often in the past. Benches were pushed back, bedding gear and bolsters spread across the floor, and one man lay down to his rest, already marked for death. At their heads they placed their polished timber battle-shields; and on the bench above them, each man's kit was kept to hand: a towering war-helmet, webbed mail-shirt and great-shafted spear. It was their habit always and everywhere to be ready for action, at home or in the camp, in whatever case and at whatever time the need arose to rally round their lord. They were a right people. [ANOTHER ATTACK]

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They went to sleep. And one paid dearly for his night's ease, as had happened to them often, ever since Grendel occupied the gold-hall, committing evil until the end came, death after his crimes. Then it became clear, obvious to everyone once the fight was over, that an avenger lurked and was still alive, grimly biding time. Grendel's mother, monstrous hell-bride, brooded on her wrongs. She had been forced down into fearful waters, the cold depths, after Cain had killed his father's son, felled his own brother with a sword. Branded an outlaw, marked by having murdered, he moved into the wilds, shunned company and joy. And from Cain there sprang misbegotten spirits, among them Grendel, the banished and accursed, due to come to grips with that watcher in Heorot waiting to do battle. The monster wrenched and wrestled with him, but Beowulf was mindful of his mighty strength, the wondrous gifts God had showered on him: he relied for help on the Lord of All, on His care and favor. So he overcame the foe, brought down the hell-brute. Broken and bowed, outcast from all sweetness, the enemy of mankind made for his death-den. But now his mother

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had sallied forth on a savage journey, grief-racked and ravenous, desperate for revenge. She came to Heorot. There, inside the hall, 1280 Danes lay asleep, earls who would soon endure a great reversal, once Grendel's mother attacked and entered. Her onslaught was less only by as much as an amazon warrior's strength is less than an armed man's 1285 when the hefted sword, its hammered edge and gleaming blade slathered in blood, razes the sturdy boar-ridge off a helmet. Then in the hall, hard-honed swords were grabbed from the bench, many a broad shield 1290 lifted and braced; there was little thought of helmets or woven mail when they woke in terror. The hell-dam was in panic, desperate to get out, in mortal terror the moment she was found. She had pounced and taken one of the retainers 1295 in a tight hold, then headed for the fen. To Hrothgar, this man was the most beloved of the friends he trusted between the two seas. She had done away with a great warrior, ambushed him at rest. Beowulf was elsewhere. i3oo Earlier, after the award of the treasure, the Geat had been given another lodging. There was uproar in Heorot. She had snatched their trophy, Grendel's bloodied hand. It was a fresh blow to the afflicted bawn. The bargain was hard, 1305 both parties having to pay with the lives of friends. And the old lord, the gray-haired warrior, was heartsore and weary when he heard the news: his highest-placed adviser, his dearest companion, was dead and gone. i3io Beowulf was quickly brought to the chamber: the winner of fights, the arch-warrior, came first-footing in with his fellow troops to where the king in his wisdom waited, still wondering whether Almighty God 1315 would ever turn the tide of his misfortunes. So Beowulf entered with his band in attendance and the wooden floorboards banged and rang as he advanced, hurrying to address the prince of the Ingwins, asking if he'd rested 1320 since the urgent summons had come as a surprise. Then Hrothgar, the Shieldings' helmet, spoke: "Rest? What is rest? Sorrow has returned. Alas for the Danes! Aeschere is dead. He was Yrmenlaf's elder brother 1325 and a soul-mate to me, a true mentor, my right-hand man when the ranks clashed and our boar-crests had to take a battering in the line of action. Aeschere was everything

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the world admires in a wise man and a friend. Then this roaming killer came in a fury and slaughtered him in Heorot. Where she is hiding, glutting on the corpse and glorying in her escape, I cannot tell; she has taken up the feud because of last night, when you killed Grendel, wrestled and racked him in ruinous combat since for too long he had terrorized us with his depredations. He died in battle, paid with his life; and now this powerful other one arrives, this force for evil driven to avenge her kinsman's death. Or so it seems to thanes in their grief, in the anguish every thane endures at the loss of a ring-giver, now that the hand that bestowed so richly has been stilled in death. "I have heard it said by my people in hall, counselors who live in the upland country, that they have seen two such creatures prowling the moors, huge marauders from some other world. One of these things, as far as anyone ever can discern, looks like a woman; the other, warped in the shape of a man, moves beyond the pale bigger than any man, an unnatural birth called Grendel by the country people in former days. They are fatherless creatures, and their whole ancestry is hidden in a past of demons and ghosts. They dwell apart among wolves on the hills, on windswept crags and treacherous keshes, where cold streams pour down the mountain and disappear under mist and moorland. A few miles from here a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch above a mere; the overhanging bank is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface. At night there, something uncanny happens: the water burns. And the mere bottom has never been sounded by the sons of men. On its bank, the heather-stepper halts: the hart in flight from pursuing hounds will turn to face them with firm-set horns and die in the wood rather than dive beneath its surface. That is no good place. When wind blows up and stormy weather makes clouds scud and the skies weep, out of its depths a dirty surge is pitched toward the heavens. Now help depends again on you and on you alone. The gap of danger where the demon waits is still unknown to you. Seek it if you dare. I will compensate you for settling the feud

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as I did the last time with lavish wealth, coffers of coiled gold, if you come back." [BEOWULF FIGHTS GRENDEL'S MOTHER]

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: "Wise sir, do not grieve. It is always better 1385 to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death. When a warrior is gone, that will be his best and only bulwark. 1390 So arise, my lord, and let us immediately set forth on the trail of this troll-dam. I guarantee you: she will not get away, not to dens under ground nor upland groves nor the ocean floor. She'll have nowhere to flee to. 1395 Endure your troubles today. Bear up and be the man I expect you to be." With that the old lord sprang to his feet and praised God for EJeowuIf's pledge. Then a bit and halter were brought for his horse 1400 with the plaited mane. The wise king mounted the royal saddle and rode out in style with a force of shield-bearers. The forest paths were marked all over with the monster's tracks, her trail on the ground wherever she had gone 1405 across the dark moors, dragging away the body of that thane, Hrothgar's best counselor and overseer of the country. So the noble prince proceeded undismayed up fells and screes, along narrow footpaths 1410 and ways where they were forced into single file, ledges on cliffs above lairs of water-monsters. He went in front with a few men, good judges of the lie of the land, and suddenly discovered the dismal wood, 1415 mountain trees growing out at an angle above gray stones: the bloodshot water surged underneath. It was a sore blow to all of the Danes, friends of the Shieldings, a hurt to each and every one 1420 of that noble company when they came upon Aeschere's head at the foot of the cliff. Everybody gazed as the hot gore kept wallowing up and an urgent war-horn repeated its notes: the whole party 1425 sat down to watch. The water was infested with all kinds of reptiles. There were writhing sea-dragons and monsters slouching on slopes by the cliff, serpents and wild things such as those that often surface at dawn to roam the sail-road 1430 and doom the voyage. Down they plunged,

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lashing in anger at the loud call of the battle-bugle. An arrow from the bow of the Geat chief got one of them as he surged to the surface: the seasoned shaft stuck deep in his flank and his freedom in the water got less and less. It was his last swim. He was swiftly overwhelmed in the shallows, prodded by barbed boar-spears, cornered, beaten, pulled up on the bank, a strange lake-birth, a loathsome catch men gazed at in awe. Beowulf got ready, donned his war-gear, indifferent to death; his mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail would soon meet with the menace underwater. It would keep the bone-cage of his body safe: no enemy's clasp could crush him in it, no vicious armlock choke his life out. To guard his head he had a glittering helmet that was due to be muddied on the mere bottom and blurred in the upswirl. It was of beaten gold, princely headgear hooped and hasped by a weapon-smith who had worked wonders in days gone by and adorned it with boar-shapes; since then it had resisted every sword. And another item lent by Unferth at that moment of need was of no small importance: the brehon4 handed him a hilted weapon, a rare and ancient sword named Hrunting. The iron blade with its ill-boding patterns had been tempered in blood. It had never failed the hand of anyone who hefted it in battle, anyone who had fought and faced the worst in the gap of danger. This was not the first time it had been called to perform heroic feats. When he lent that blade to the better swordsman, Unferth, the strong-built son of Ecglaf, could hardly have remembered the ranting speech he had made in his cups. He was not man enough to face the turmoil of a fight under water and the risk to his life. So there he lost fame and repute. It was different for the other rigged out in his gear, ready to do battle. Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: "Wisest of kings, now that I have come to the point of action, I ask you to recall what we said earlier: that you, son of Halfdane and gold-friend to retainers, that you, if I should fall and suffer death while serving your cause, would act like a father to me afterward.

4. One of an ancient class of lawyers in Ireland [Translator's note]. The Old English word for Unferth's office, thyle, has been interpreted as "orator" and "spokesman."

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If this combat kills me, take care of my young company, my comrades in arms. And be sure also, my beloved Hrothgar, to send Hygelac the treasures I received. Let the lord of the Geats gaze on that gold, i48s let Hrethel's son take note of it and see that I found a ring-giver of rare magnificence and enjoyed the good of his generosity. And Unferth is to have what I inherited: to that far-famed man I bequeath my own 1490 sharp-honed, wave-sheened wonder-blade. With Hrunting I shall gain glory or die." After these words, the prince of the Weather-Geats was impatient to be away and plunged suddenly: without more ado, he dived into the heaving 1495 depths of the lake. It was the best part of a day before he could see the solid bottom. Quickly the one who haunted those waters, who had scavenged and gone her gluttonous rounds for a hundred seasons, sensed a human 1500 observing her outlandish lair from above. So she lunged and clutched and managed to catch him in her brutal grip; but his body, for all that, remained unscathed: the mesh of the chain-mail saved him on the outside. Her savage talons 1505 failed to rip the web of his war-shirt. Then once she touched bottom, that wolfish swimmer carried the ring-mailed prince to her court so that for all his courage he could never use the weapons he carried; and a bewildering horde 1510 came at him from the depths, droves of sea-beasts who attacked with tusks and tore at his chain-mail in a ghastly onslaught. The gallant man could see he had entered some hellish turn-hole and yet the water there did not work against him 1515 because the hall-roofing held off the force of the current; then he saw firelight, a gleam and flare-up, a glimmer of brightness. The hero observed that swamp-thing from hell, the tarn-hag in all her terrible strength, 1520 then heaved his war-sword and swung his arm: the decorated blade came down ringing and singing on her head. But he soon found his battle-torch extinguished; the shining blade refused to bite. It spared her and failed 1525 the man in his need. It had gone through many hand-to-hand fight, had hewed the armor and helmets of the doomed, but here at last the fabulous powers of that heirloom failed. Hygelac's kinsman kept thinking about 1530 his name and fame: he never lost heart. Then, in a fury, he flung his sword away. The keen, inlaid, worm-loop-patterned steel

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was hurled to the ground: he would have to rely on the might of his arm. So must a man do who intends to gain enduring glory in a combat. Life doesn't cost him a thought. Then the prince of War-Geats, warming to this fight with Grendel's mother, gripped her shoulder and laid about him in a battle frenzy: he pitched his killer opponent to the floor but she rose quickly and retaliated, grappled him tightly in her grim embrace. The sure-footed fighter felt daunted, the strongest of warriors stumbled and fell. So she pounced upon him and pulled out a broad, whetted knife: now she would avenge her only child. But the mesh of chain-mail on Beowulf's shoulder shielded his life, turned the edge and tip of the blade. The son of Ecgtheow would have surely perished and the Geats lost their warrior under the wide earth had the strong links and locks of his war-gear not helped to save him: holy God decided the victory. It was easy for the Lord, the Ruler of Heaven, to redress the balance once Beowulf got back up on his feet. Then he saw a blade that boded well, a sword in her armory, an ancient heirloom from the days of the giants, an ideal weapon, one that any warrior would envy, but so huge and heavy of itself only Beowulf could wield it in a battle. So the Shieldings' hero hard-pressed and enraged, took a firm hold of the hilt and swung the blade in an arc, a resolute blow that bit deep into her neck-bone and severed it entirely, toppling the doomed house of her flesh; she fell to the floor. The sword dripped blood, the swordsman was elated. A light appeared and the place brightened the way the sky does when heaven's candle is shining clearly. He inspected the vault: with sword held high, its hilt raised to guard and threaten, Hygelac's thane scouted by the wall in Grendel's wake. Now the weapon was to prove its worth. The warrior determined to take revenge for every gross act Grendel had committed— and not only for that one occasion when he'd come to slaughter the sleeping troops, fifteen of Hrothgar's house-guards surprised on their benches and ruthlessly devoured, and as many again carried away, a brutal plunder. Beowulf in his fury now settled that score: he saw the monster

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in his resting place, war-weary and wrecked, a lifeless corpse, a casualty of the battle in Heorot. The body gaped at the stroke dealt to it after death: Beowulf cut the corpse's head off. Immediately the counselors keeping a lookout with Hrothgar, watching the lake water, saw a heave-up and surge of waves and blood in the backwash. They bowed gray heads, spoke in their sage, experienced way about the good warrior, how they never again expected to see that prince returning in triumph to their king. It was clear to many that the wolf of the deep had destroyed him forever. The ninth hour of the day arrived. The brave Shieldings abandoned the cliff-top and the king went home; but sick at heart, staring at the mere, the strangers held on. They wished, without hope, to behold their lord, Beowulf himself. Meanwhile, the sword began to wilt into gory icicles to slather and thaw. It was a wonderful thing, the way it all melted as ice melts when the Father eases the fetters off the frost and unravels the water-ropes, He who wields power over time and tide: He is the true Lord. The Geat captain saw treasure in abundance but carried no spoils from those quarters except for the head and the inlaid hilt embossed with jewels; its blade had melted and the scrollwork on it burned, so scalding was the blood of the poisonous fiend who had perished there. Then away he swam, the one who had survived the fall of his enemies, flailing to the surface. The wide water, the waves and pools, were no longer infested once the wandering fiend let go of her life and this unreliable world. The seafarers' leader made for land, resolutely swimming, delighted with his prize, the mighty load he was lugging to the surface. His thanes advanced in a troop to meet him, thanking God and taking great delight in seeing their prince back safe and sound. Quickly the hero's helmet and mail-shirt were loosed and unlaced. The lake settled, clouds darkened above the bloodshot depths. With high hearts they headed away along footpaths and trails through the fields, roads that they knew, each of them wrestling with the head they were carrying from the lakeside cliff, men kingly in their courage and capable of difficult work. It was a task for four

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to hoist Grendel's head on a spear and bear it under strain to the bright hall. But soon enough they neared the place, fourteen Geats in fine fettle, striding across the outlying ground in a delighted throng around their leader. In he came then, the thanes' commander, the arch-warrior, to address Hrothgar: his courage was proven, his glory was secure. Grendel's head was hauled by the hair, dragged across the floor where the people were drinking, a horror for both queen and company to behold. They stared in awe. It was an astonishing sight. [ANOTHER CELEBRATION AT HEOROT]

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Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: "So, son of Halfdane, prince of the Shieldings, we are glad to bring this booty from the lake. It is a token of triumph and we tender it to you. I barely survived the battle under water. It was hard-fought, a desperate affair that could have gone badly; if God had not helped me, the outcome would have been quick and fatal. Although Hrunting is hard-edged, I could never bring it to bear in battle. But the Lord of Men allowed me to behold— for He often helps the unbefriended— an ancient sword shining on the wall, a weapon made for giants, there for the wielding. Then my moment c a m e in the combat and I struck the dwellers in that den. Next thing the damascened sword blade melted; it bloated and it burned in their rushing blood. I have wrested the hilt from the enemies' hand, avenged the evil done to the Danes; it is what was due. And this I pledge, O prince of the Shieldings: you can sleep secure with your company of troops in Heorot Hall. Never need you fear for a single thane of your sept or nation, young warriors or old, that laying waste of life that you and your people endured of yore." Then the gold hilt was handed over to the old lord, a relic from long ago for the venerable ruler. That rare smithwork was passed on to the prince of the Danes when those devils perished; once death removed that murdering, guilt-steeped, God-cursed fiend, eliminating his unholy life and his mother's as well, it was willed to that king who of all the lavish gift-lords of the north was the best regarded between the two seas. Hrothgar spoke; he examined the hilt,

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that relic of old times. It was engraved all over and showed how war first came into the world and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants. They suffered a terrible severance from the Lord; the Almighty made the waters rise, drowned them in the deluge for retribution. In pure gold inlay on the sword-guards there were rune-markings correctly incised, stating and recording for whom the sword had been first made and ornamented with its scrollworked hilt. Then everyone hushed as the son of Halfdane spoke this wisdom: "A protector of his people, pledged to uphold truth and justice and to respect tradition, is entitled to affirm that this man was born to distinction. Beowulf, my friend, your fame has gone far and wide, you are known everywhere. In all things you are even-tempered, prudent and resolute. So I stand firm by the promise of friendship we exchanged before. Forever you will be your people's mainstay and your own warriors' helping hand. Heremod was different, the way he behaved to Ecgwela's sons. His rise in the world brought little joy to the Danish people, only death and destruction. He vented his rage on men he caroused with, killed his own comrades, a pariah king who cut himself off from his own kind, even though Almighty God had made him eminent and powerful and marked him from the start for a happy life. But a change happened, he grew bloodthirsty, gave no more rings to honor the Danes. He suffered in the end for having plagued his people for so long: his life lost happiness. So learn from this and understand true values. I who tell you have wintered into wisdom. It is a great wonder how Almighty God in His magnificence favors our race with rank and scope and the gift of wisdom; His sway is wide. Sometimes He allows the mind of a man of distinguished birth to follow its bent, grants him fulfillment and felicity on earth and forts to command in his own country. He permits him to lord it in many lands until the man in his unthinkingness forgets that it will ever end for him. He indulges his desires; illness and old age mean nothing to him; his mind is untroubled by envy or malice or the thought of enemies

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with their hate-honed swords. The whole world conforms to his will, he is kept from the worst until an element of overweening enters him and takes hold while the soul's guard, its sentry, drowses, grown too distracted. A killer stalks him, an archer who draws a deadly bow. And then the man is hit in the heart, the arrow flies beneath his defenses, the devious promptings of the demon start. His old possessions seem paltry to him now. He covets and resents; dishonors custom and bestows no gold; and because of good things that the Heavenly Powers gave him in the past he ignores the shape of things to come. Then finally the end arrives when the body he was lent collapses and falls prey to its death; ancestral possessions and the goods he hoarded are inherited by another who lets them go with a liberal hand. "O flower of warriors, beware of that trap. Choose, dear Beowulf, the better part, eternal rewards. Do not give way to pride. For a brief while your strength is in bloom but it fades quickly; and soon there will follow illness or the sword to lay you low, or a sudden fire or surge of water or jabbing blade or javelin from the air or repellent age. Your piercing eye will dim and darken; and death will arrive, dear warrior, to sweep you away. "Just so I ruled the Ring-Danes' country for fifty years, defended them in wartime with spear and sword against constant assaults by many tribes: I came to believe my enemies had faded from the face of the earth. Still, what happened was a hard reversal from bliss to grief. Grendel struck after lying in wait. He laid waste to the land and from that moment my mind was in dread of his depredations. So I praise God in His heavenly glory that I lived to behold this head dripping blood and that after such harrowing I can look upon it in triumph at last. Take your place, then, with pride and pleasure, and move to the feast. Tomorrow morning our treasure will be shared and showered upon you." The Geat was elated and gladly obeyed the old man's bidding; he sat on the bench. And soon all was restored, the same as before. Happiness came back, the hall was thronged, and a banquet set forth; black night fell and covered them in darkness.

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T h e n t h e c o m p a n y rose for t h e old campaigner: t h e gray-haired prince was ready for bed. And a n e e d for rest c a m e over t h e brave shield-bearing G e a t . He was a weary seafarer, far f r o m h o m e , so immediately a h o u s e - g u a r d guided h i m out, o n e w h o s e office entailed looking a f t e r whatever a t h a n e on t h e road in those days might n e e d or require. It was noble courtesy. [BEOWULF

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RETURNS HOME]

T h a t great h e a r t rested. T h e hall towered, gold-shingled a n d gabled, a n d t h e guest slept in it until t h e black raven with r a u c o u s glee a n n o u n c e d heaven's joy, a n d a hurry of brightness overran t h e shadows. Warriors rose quickly, i m p a t i e n t to be off: their own country was b e c k o n i n g t h e nobles; a n d t h e bold voyager longed to be aboard his distant boat. T h e n that stalwart fighter ordered H r u n t i n g to be b r o u g h t to U n f e r t h , a n d b a d e U n f e r t h take t h e sword a n d t h a n k e d him for lending it. He said he h a d f o u n d it a f r i e n d in battle a n d a p o w e r f u l help; he p u t no b l a m e on t h e blade's c u t t i n g edge. He was a considerate m a n . A n d t h e r e t h e warriors stood in their war-gear, eager to go, while their h o n o r e d lord a p p r o a c h e d t h e p l a t f o r m w h e r e t h e o t h e r sat. T h e u n d a u n t e d hero addressed Hrothgar. Beowulf, son of Ecghteow, spoke: "Now we who crossed t h e wide sea have to i n f o r m you t h a t we feel a desire to r e t u r n to Hygelac. H e r e we have b e e n welcomed a n d thoroughly e n t e r t a i n e d . You have treated us well. If t h e r e is any favor on e a r t h I c a n p e r f o r m beyond deeds of arms I have d o n e already, anything that would merit your affections more, I shall act, my lord, with alacrity. If ever I h e a r f r o m across t h e o c e a n that people on your borders are t h r e a t e n i n g battle as attackers have d o n e f r o m time to time, I shall land with a t h o u s a n d t h a n e s at my back to help your cause. Hygelac may be young to rule a nation, b u t this m u c h I know a b o u t t h e king of t h e Geats: he will c o m e to my aid a n d w a n t to support me by word a n d action in your h o u r of need, w h e n h o n o r dictates that I raise a h e d g e of spears a r o u n d you. T h e n if H r e t h r i c should t h i n k a b o u t traveling as a king's son to t h e c o u r t of t h e Geats, he will find m a n y friends. Foreign places yield m o r e to o n e who is himself worth meeting."

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H r o t h g a r spoke a n d answered him: "The Lord in his wisdom sent you those words a n d they c a m e f r o m t h e heart. I have never heard so young a m a n m a k e t r u e r observations. You are strong in body a n d m a t u r e in mind, impressive in speech. If it should c o m e to pass t h a t Hrethel's d e s c e n d a n t dies b e n e a t h a spear, if deadly battle or t h e sword blade or disease fells t h e prince w h o guards your people a n d you are still alive, t h e n I firmly believe t h e seafaring G e a t s won't find a m a n worthier of acclaim as their king a n d d e f e n d e r t h a n you, if only you would u n d e r t a k e t h e lordship of your h o m e l a n d . My liking for you d e e p e n s with time, dear Beowulf. W h a t you have d o n e is to draw two peoples, t h e G e a t nation a n d us neighboring Danes, into shared p e a c e a n d a pact of friendship in spite of hatreds we have harbored in t h e past. For as long as I rule this far-flung land treasures will c h a n g e h a n d s a n d e a c h side will treat t h e o t h e r with gifts; across t h e gannet's bath, over t h e broad sea, whorled prows will bring presents a n d tokens. I k n o w your people are beyond r e p r o a c h in every respect, steadfast in t h e old way with friend or foe." T h e n t h e earls' d e f e n d e r f u r n i s h e d t h e hero with twelve treasures a n d told h i m to set out, sail with those gifts safely h o m e to t h e people he loved, b u t to r e t u r n promptly. And so t h e good a n d gray-haired D a n e , that highborn king, kissed Beowulf a n d e m b r a c e d his neck, t h e n broke d o w n in s u d d e n tears. Two forebodings disturbed him in his wisdom, b u t o n e was stronger: n e v e r m o r e would they m e e t e a c h o t h e r face to face. And s u c h was his affection t h a t he could not help being overcome: his f o n d n e s s for t h e m a n was so d e e p - f o u n d e d , it w a r m e d his heart a n d w o u n d t h e heartstrings tight in his breast. The embrace ended a n d Beowulf, glorious in his gold regalia, s t e p p e d t h e green earth. Straining at a n c h o r a n d ready for boarding, his boat awaited him. So they went on their journey, a n d Hrothgar's generosity was praised repeatedly. He was a peerless king until old age sapped his strength a n d did him mortal harm, as it has d o n e so many. D o w n to t h e waves t h e n , dressed in t h e web of their chain-mail a n d war-shirts t h e young m e n m a r c h e d in high spirits. T h e coast-guard spied t h e m , t h a n e s setting forth, t h e s a m e as before.

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BEOWULF

His salute this time from the top of the cliff was far from unmannerly; he galloped to meet them and as they took ship in their shining gear, 1895 he said how welcome they would be in Geatland. Then the broad hull was beached on the sand to be cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear. The curved prow motioned; the mast stood high above Hrothgar's riches in the loaded hold. 1900 The guard who had watched the boat was given a sword with gold fittings, and in future days that present would make him a respected man at his place on the mead-bench. Then the keel plunged and shook in the sea; and they sailed from Denmark. 1905 Right away the mast was rigged with its sea-shawl; sail-ropes were tightened, timbers drummed and stiff winds kept the wave-crosser skimming ahead; as she heaved forward, her foamy neck was fleet and buoyant, 1910 a lapped prow loping over currents, until finally the Geats caught sight of coastline and familiar cliffs. The keel reared up, wind lifted it home, it hit on the land. The harbor guard came hurrying out 1915 to the rolling water: he had watched the offing long and hard, on the lookout for those friends. With the anchor cables, he moored their craft right where it had beached, in case a backwash might catch the hull and carry it away. 1920 Then he ordered the prince's treasure-trove to be carried ashore. It was a short step from there to where Hrethel's son and heir, Hygelac the gold-giver, makes his home on a secure cliff, in the company of retainers. 1925 The building was magnificent, the king majestic, ensconced in his hall; and although Hygd, his queen, was young, a few short years at court, her mind was thoughtful and her manners sure. Haereth's daughter behaved generously i93o and stinted nothing when she distributed bounty to the Geats. Great Queen Modthryth perpetrated terrible wrongs. 5 If any retainer ever made bold to look her in the face, if an eye not her lord's6 1935 stared at her directly during daylight, the outcome was sealed: he was kept bound, 5. The story of Q u e e n Modthryth's vices is abruptly introduced as a foil to Q u e e n Hygd's virtues. A transitional passage may have been lost, but the poet's device is similar to that of using the earlier reference to the wickedness of King Heremod to contrast with the good qualities of Sigemund and Beowulf.

6. This could refer to her husband or her father before her marriage. The story resembles folktales about a proud princess whose unsuccessful suitors are all put to death, although the unfortunate victims in this case seem to be guilty only of looking at her.

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in hand-tightened shackles, racked, tortured until doom was pronounced—death by the sword, slash of blade, blood-gush, and death-qualms in an evil display. Even a queen outstanding in beauty must not overstep like that. A queen should weave peace, not punish the innocent with loss of life for imagined insults. But Hemming's kinsman 7 put a halt to her ways and drinkers round the table had another tale: she was less of a bane to people's lives, less cruel-minded, after she was married to the brave Offa, a bride arrayed in her gold finery, given away by a caring father, ferried to her young prince over dim seas. In days to come she would grace the throne and grow famous for her good deeds and conduct of life, her high devotion to the hero king who was the best king, it has been said, between the two seas or anywhere else on the face of the earth. Offa was honored far and wide for his generous ways, his fighting spirit and his farseeing defense of his homeland; from him there sprang Eomer, Garmund's grandson, kinsman of Hemming, 8 his warriors' mainstay and master of the field. Heroic Beowulf and his band of men crossed the wide strand, striding along the sandy foreshore; the sun shone, the world's candle warmed them from the south as they hastened to where, as they had heard, the young king, Ongentheow's killer and his people's protector, 9 was dispensing rings inside his bawn. Beowulf's return was reported to Hygelac as soon as possible, news that the captain was now in the enclosure, his battle-brother back from the fray alive and well, walking to the hall. Room was quickly made, on the king's orders, and the troops filed across the cleared floor. After Hygelac had offered greetings to his loyal thane in a lofty speech, he and his kinsman, that hale survivor, sat face to face. Haereth's daughter moved about with the mead-jug in her hand, taking care of the company, filling the cups

7. I.e., Offa I, a legendary king of the Angles. We know nothing about Hemming other than that Offa was related to him. O f f a II (757—96) was king of Mercia, and although the story is about the second Offa's ancestor on the Continent, this is the only English connection in the poem and has been taken as evidence to date its origins to 8th-century Mercia.

8. I.e., Eomer, Offa's son. See previous note. Garmund was presumably the name of Offa's father. 9. I.e., Hygelac. Ongentheow was king of the Swedish people called the Shylfings. This is the first of the references to wars between the Geats and the Swedes. One of Hygelac's war party named Eofer was the actual slayer of Ongentheow.

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BEOWULF that warriors held out. T h e n Hygelac began to p u t c o u r t e o u s questions to his old c o m r a d e

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in the high hall. He h a n k e r e d to k n o w e v e r y tale t h e S e a - G e a t s h a d t o tell: " H o w did you fare on your foreign voyage, dear Beowulf, when you abruptly decided to sail a w a y a c r o s s the salt w a t e r

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a n d fight at Heorot? D i d you help Hrothgar m u c h in the end? Could you ease the prince of his well-known troubles? Your undertaking cast my spirits d o w n ,

I dreaded the outcome

of your expedition and pleaded with you 1995

long a n d h a r d to leave the killer be, let t h e S o u t h - D a n e s settle their o w n blood-feud with Grendel.

So God be thanked

I am granted this sight of you, safe a n d sound." Beowulf, 2000

son of Ecgtheow,

spoke:

" W h a t h a p p e n e d , L o r d Hygelac, is hardly a secret a n y m o r e a m o n g m e n i n this w o r l d — myself a n d G r e n d e l c o m i n g to grips on the very spot where he visited destruction on the Victory-Shieldings and violated

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life a n d limb, l o s s e s I a v e n g e d so no earthly offspring of Grendel's need ever boast of that bout before dawn, n o m a t t e r h o w l o n g t h e last o f his evil family

survives. W h e n I first l a n d e d

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I h a s t e n e d to the ring-hall a n d saluted H r o t h g a r . O n c e he discovered why I had come, the son of Halfdane sent me immediately t o sit with his o w n s o n s o n t h e b e n c h . It w a s a h a p p y gathering. In my w h o l e life

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I have never seen m e a d enjoyed more in any hall on earth.

Sometimes the queen

herself appeared, peace-pledge between nations, to hearten the young ones and hand out a t o r q u e to a warrior, t h e n t a k e h e r p l a c e . 2020

Sometimes Hrothgar's daughter distributed ale to older ranks, in order on the benches: I heard the c o m p a n y call her Freawaru as she made her rounds, presenting m e n with the

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gem-studded bowl, young bride-to-be

to the g r a c i o u s Ingeld,1 in her g o l d - t r i m m e d attire. T h e friend of the Shieldings favors her betrothal: the guardian of the kingdom sees good in it a n d h o p e s this w o m a n will h e a l old w o u n d s and grievous feuds. But generally the spear

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is p r o m p t to retaliate w h e n a p r i n c e is killed, no matter how admirable the bride m a y be.

1. King of the Heatho-Bards; his father, Froda, was killed by the Danes.

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"Think how the Heatho-Bards are bound to feel, their lord, Ingeld, and his loyal thanes, when he walks in with that woman to the feast: Danes are at the table, being entertained, honored guests in glittering regalia, burnished ring-mail that was their hosts' birthright, looted when the Heatho-Bards could no longer wield their weapons in the shield-clash, when they went down with their beloved comrades and forfeited their lives. Then an old spearman will speak while they are drinking, having glimpsed some heirloom that brings alive memories of the massacre; his mood will darken and heart-stricken, in the stress of his emotion, he will begin to test a young man's temper and stir up trouble, starting like this: 'Now, my friend, don't you recognize your father's sword, his favorite weapon, the one he wore when he went out in his war-mask to face the Danes on that final day? After Withergeld 2 died and his men were doomed, the Shieldings quickly claimed the field; and now here's a son of one or other of those same killers coming through our hall overbearing us, mouthing boasts, and rigged in armor that by right is yours.' And so he keeps on, recalling and accusing, working things up with bitter words until one of the lady's retainers lies spattered in blood, split open on his father's account. 3 The killer knows the lie of the land and escapes with his life. Then on both sides the oath-bound lords will break the peace, a passionate hate will build up in Ingeld, and love for his bride will falter in him as the feud rankles. I therefore suspect the good faith of the Heatho-Bards, the truth of their friendship and the trustworthiness of their alliance with the Danes. But now, my lord, I shall carry on with my account of Grendel, the whole story of everything that happened in the hand-to-hand fight. After heaven's gem had gone mildly to earth, that maddened spirit, the terror of those twilights, came to attack us where we stood guard, still safe inside the hall. There deadly violence came down on Hondscio and he fell as fate ordained, the first to perish, rigged out for the combat. A comrade from our ranks

2. One of the Heatho-Bard leaders. 3. I.e., the young Danish attendant is killed because his father killed the father of the young

Heatho-Bard who has been egged on by the old veteran of that campaign.

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had come to grief in Grendel's maw: he ate up the entire body. There was blood on his teeth, he was bloated and dangerous, all roused up, yet still unready to leave the hall empty-handed; renowned for his might, he matched himself against me, 2085 wildly reaching. He had this roomy pouch, a strange accoutrement, intricately strung and hung at the ready, a rare patchwork of devilishly fitted dragon-skins. I had done him no wrong, yet the raging demon 2090 wanted to cram me and many another into this bag—but it was not to be once I got to my feet in a blind fury. It would take too long to tell how I repaid the terror of the land for every life he took 2095 and so won credit for you, my king, and for all your people. And although he got away to enjoy life's sweetness for a while longer, his right hand stayed behind him in Heorot, evidence of his miserable overthrow 2100 as he dived into murk on the mere bottom. "I got lavish rewards from the lord of the Danes for my part in the battle, beaten gold and much else, once morning came and we took our places at the banquet table. 2105 There was singing and excitement: an old reciter, a carrier of stories, recalled the early days. At times some hero made the timbered harp tremble with sweetness, or related true and tragic happenings; at times the king 21 io gave the proper turn to some fantastic tale, or a battle-scarred veteran, bowed with age, would begin to remember the martial deeds of his youth and prime and be overcome as the past welled up in his wintry heart. 2ii5 "We were happy there the whole day long and enjoyed our time until another night descended upon us. Then suddenly the vehement mother avenged her son and wreaked destruction. Death had robbed her, 2120 Geats had slain Grendel, so his ghastly dam struck back and with bare-faced defiance laid a man low. Thus life departed from the sage Aeschere, an elder wise in counsel. But afterward, on the morning following, 2125 the Danes could not burn the dead body nor lay the remains of the man they loved on his funeral pyre. She had fled with the corpse and taken refuge beneath torrents on the mountain. It was a hard blow for Hrothgar to bear, 2130 harder than any he had undergone before. And so the heartsore king beseeched me

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BEOWULF

in your royal name to take my chances underwater, to win glory and prove my worth. He promised me rewards. 2135 Hence, as is well known, I went to my encounter with the terror-monger at the bottom of the tarn. For a while it was hand-to-hand between us, then blood went curling along the currents and I beheaded Grendel's mother in the hall 2140 with a mighty sword. I barely managed to escape with my life; my time had not yet come. But Halfdane's heir, the shelter of those earls, again endowed me with gifts in abundance. "Thus the king acted with due custom. 2145 I was paid and recompensed completely, given full measure and the freedom to choose from Hothgar's treasures by Hrothgar himself. These, King Hygelac, I am happy to present to you as gifts. It is still upon your grace 2150 that all favor depends. I have few kinsmen who are close, my king, except for your kind self." Then he ordered the boar-framed standard to be brought, the battle-topping helmet, the mail-shirt gray as hoar-frost, and the precious war-sword; and proceeded with his speech: 2155 "When Hrothgar presented this war-gear to me he instructed me, my lord, to give you some account of why it signifies his special favor. He said it had belonged to his older brother, King Heorogar, who had long kept it, 2160 but that Heorogar had never bequeathed it to his son Heoroward, that worthy scion, loyal as he was. Enjoy it well." I heard four horses were handed over next. Beowulf bestowed four bay steeds 2165 to go with the armor, swift gallopers, all alike. So ought a kinsman act, instead of plotting and planning in secret to bring people to grief, or conspiring to arrange the death of comrades. The warrior king 2170 was uncle to Beowulf and honored by his nephew: each was concerned for the other's good. I heard he presented Hygd with a gorget, the priceless torque that the prince's daughter, Wealhtheow, had given him; and three horses, 2175 supple creatures brilliantly saddled. The bright necklace would be luminous on Hygd's breast. Thus Beowulf bore himself with valor; he was formidable in battle yet behaved with honor and took no advantage; never cut down 2180 a comrade who was drunk, kept his temper and, warrior that he was, watched and controlled his God-sent strength and his outstanding natural powers. He had been poorly regarded for a long time, was taken by the Geats

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BEOWULF for less than he w a s worth:4 a n d their lord too had never m u c h esteemed him in the mead-hall. They firmly believed that he lacked force, that the prince was a weakling; but presently every affront to his deserving w a s reversed.

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T h e battle-famed king, b u l w a r k of his earls, ordered a gold-chased heirloom of Hrethel's5 to be b r o u g h t in; it w a s t h e b e s t e x a m p l e of a g e m - s t u d d e d sword in the G e a t treasury. This he laid on Beowulf's lap

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a n d t h e n r e w a r d e d h i m with land as well, seven t h o u s a n d hides; a n d a hall a n d a throne. B o t h owned land by birth in that country, ancestral grounds; but the greater right and sway were inherited by the higher born. [THE DRAGON WAKES]

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A lot w a s to h a p p e n in later days in t h e f u r y of battle. H y g e l a c fell and the shelter of Heardred's shield proved useless against the fierce aggression of the Shylfings:6 ruthless swordsmen,

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seasoned campaigners,

they c a m e against h i m a n d his c o n q u e r i n g nation, and with cruel force cut him down so that afterwards the wide kingdom reverted to Beowulf.

He ruled it well

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as warden of the land until o n e

began

to d o m i n a t e t h e dark, a d r a g o n on t h e p r o w l . ^ f r o m the steep vaults of a stone-roofed barrow w h e r e he g u a r d e d a hoard; there w a s a hidden passage, unknown to men, but someone 2215

managed

to enter by it a n d interfere with the h e a t h e n trove.

He had handled and removed

4. There is no other mention of Beowulf's unpromising youth. This motif of the "Cinderella hero" and others, such as Grendel's magic pouch, are examples of folklore material, probably circulating orally, that made its way into the poem. 5. Hygelac's father and Beowulf's grandfather. 6. There are several references, some of them lengthy, to the wars between the Geats and the Swedes. Because these are highly allusive and not in chronological order, they are difficult to follow and keep straight. This outline, along with the Genealogies (p. 32), may serve as a guide. Phase 1: After the death of the Geat patriarch, King Hrethel (lines 2462—70), Ohthere and Onela, the sons of the Swedish king Ongentheow, invade Geat territory and inflict heavy casualties in a battle at Hreosnahill (lines 2 4 7 2 - 7 8 ) . Phase 2: The Geats invade Sweden under Haethcyn, King Hrethel's son who has succeeded him. At the battle of Ravenswood, the Geats capture Ongentheow's queen, but Ongentheow counterattacks, rescues the

queen, and kills Haethcyn. Hygelac, Haethcyn's younger brother, arrives with reinforcements; Ongentheow is killed in savage combat with two of Hygelac's men; and the Swedes are routed (lines 2 4 7 9 - 8 9 and 2 9 2 2 - 9 0 ) . Phase 3: Eanmund and Eadgils, the sons of Ohthere (presumably dead), are driven into exile by their uncle Onela, who is now king of the Swedes. They are given refuge by Hygelac's son Heardred, who has succeeded his father. Onela invades Geatland and kills Heardred; his retainer Weohstan kills Eanmund; and after the Swedes withdraw, Beowulf becomes king (lines 2 2 0 4 - 8 , which follow, and 2 3 7 9 - 9 0 ) . Phase 4: Eadgils, supported by Beowulf, invades Sweden and kills Onela (lines 2 3 9 1 - 9 6 ) . 7. The following section was damaged by fire. In lines 2215—31 entire words and phrases are missing or indicated by only a few letters. Editorial attempts to reconstruct the text are conjectural and often disagree.

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a g e m - s t u d d e d goblet; it gained h i m nothing, t h o u g h with a thief's wiles he h a d outwitted the sleeping dragon. That drove him into rage, 2220

as the people of that country would soon discover. T h e intruder who broached the dragon's treasure a n d m o v e d h i m t o w r a t h h a d n e v e r m e a n t to. It w a s desperation on the part of a slave fleeing the heavy hand of s o m e master,

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guilt-ridden a n d on the run, going to ground.

But he soon began

to s h a k e with terror;8 the

in shock

wretch panicked and

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away with the precious metalwork. There were many other heirlooms heaped inside the earth-house, because long ago, with deliberate care, some forgotten person had deposited the whole

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rich i n h e r i t a n c e of a h i g h b o r n r a c e in this ancient c a c h e . D e a t h h a d c o m e a n d t a k e n t h e m all i n t i m e s g o n e b y a n d t h e o n l y o n e left t o tell their tale, the last of their line, c o u l d look f o r w a r d to n o t h i n g

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b u t the s a m e fate for himself: he f o r e s a w that his joy in the treasure w o u l d be brief. A

newly constructed

barrow stood waiting, on a wide headland c l o s e t o t h e w a v e s , its e n t r y w a y s e c u r e d . Into it the keeper of the hoard had carried 2245

all t h e g o o d s a n d g o l d e n w a r e worth preserving. His words were few: " N o w , earth, hold what earls o n c e held a n d h e r o e s c a n n o m o r e ; i t w a s m i n e d f r o m y o u first by honorable men.

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My own people

have been ruined in war; one by one they went d o w n to death, looked their last on s w e e t life in the hall. I am left with n o b o d y to bear a sword or to burnish plated goblets, put a sheen on the cup. T h e companies have departed.

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T h e hard helmet, hasped with gold, will b e s t r i p p e d o f its h o o p s ; a n d t h e h e l m e t - s h i n e r w h o should polish the metal of the war-mask sleeps; t h e c o a t o f m a i l t h a t c a m e t h r o u g h all fights, through shield-collapse and cut of sword,

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decays with the warrior. N o r m a y w e b b e d mail range far and wide on the warlord's b a c k beside his m u s t e r e d troops.

No trembling harp,

no tuned timber, no tumbling hawk swerving t h r o u g h the hall, no swift h o r s e 2265

pawing the courtyard. Pillage and slaughter have emptied the earth of entire peoples."

8. Lines 2227—30 are so damaged that they defy guesswork to reconstruct them.

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And so he mourned as he moved about the world, deserted and alone, lamenting his unhappiness day and night, until death's flood brimmed up in his heart. Then an old harrower of the dark happened to find the hoard open, the burning one who hunts out barrows, the slick-skinned dragon, threatening the night sky with streamers of fire. People on the farms are in dread of him. He is driven to hunt out hoards under ground, to guard heathen gold through age-long vigils, though to little avail. For three centuries, this scourge of the people had stood guard on that stoutly protected underground treasury, until the intruder unleashed its fury; he hurried to his lord with the gold-plated cup and made his plea to be reinstated. Then the vault was rifled, the ring-hoard robbed, and the wretched man had his request granted. His master gazed on that find from the past for the first time. When the dragon awoke, trouble flared again. He rippled down the rock, writhing with anger when he saw the footprints of the prowler who had stolen too close to his dreaming head. So may a man not marked by fate easily escape exile and woe by the grace of God. The hoard-guardian scorched the ground as he scoured and hunted for the trespasser who had troubled his sleep. Hot and savage, he kept circling and circling the outside of the mound. No man appeared in that desert waste, but he worked himself up by imagining battle; then back in he'd go in search of the cup, only to discover signs that someone had stumbled upon the golden treasures. So the guardian of the mound, the hoard-watcher, waited for the gloaming with fierce impatience; his pent-up fury at the loss of the vessel made him long to hit back and lash out in flames. Then, to his delight, the day waned and he could wait no longer behind the wall, but hurtled forth in a fiery blaze. The first to suffer were the people on the land, but before long it was their treasure-giver who would come to grief. The dragon began to belch out flames and burn bright homesteads; there was a hot glow that scared everyone, for the vile sky-winger would leave nothing alive in his wake. Everywhere the havoc he wrought was in evidence. Far and near, the Geat nation

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bore the brunt of his brutal assaults and virulent hate. Then back to the hoard he would dart before daybreak, to hide in his den. He had swinged the land, swathed it in flame, in fire and burning, and now he felt secure in the vaults of his barrow; but his trust was unavailing. Then Beowulf was given bad news, the hard truth: his own home, the best of buildings, had been burned to a cinder, the throne-room of the Geats. It threw the hero into deep anguish and darkened his mood: the wise man thought he must have thwarted ancient ordinance of the eternal Lord, broken His commandment. His mind was in turmoil, unaccustomed anxiety and gloom confused his brain; the fire-dragon had razed the coastal region and reduced forts and earthworks to dust and ashes, so the war-king planned and plotted his revenge. The warriors' protector, prince of the hall-troop, ordered a marvelous all-iron shield from his smithy works. He well knew that linden boards would let him down and timber burn. After many trials, he was destined to face the end of his days, in this mortal world, as was the dragon, for all his long leasehold on the treasure. Yet the prince of the rings was too proud to line up with a large army against the sky-plague. He had scant regard for the dragon as a threat, no dread at all of its courage or strength, for he had kept going often in the past, through perils and ordeals of every sort, after he had purged Hrothgar's hall, triumphed in Heorot and beaten Grendel. He outgrappled the monster and his evil kin. One of his cruelest hand-to-hand encounters had happened when Hygelac, king of the Geats, was killed in Friesland: the people's friend and lord, Hrethel's son, slaked a swordblade's thirst for blood. But Beowulf's prodigious gifts as a swimmer guaranteed his safety: he arrived at the shore, shouldering thirty battle-dresses, the booty he had won. There was little for the Hetware 9 to be happy about as they shielded their faces and fighting on the ground began in earnest. With Beowulf against them, few could hope to return home. Across the wide sea, desolate and alone,

9. A tribe of the Franks allied with the Frisians.

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the son of Ecgtheow swam back to his people. There Hygd offered him throne and authority as lord of the ring-hoard: with Hygelac dead, she had no belief in her son's ability to defend their homeland against foreign invaders. Yet there was no way the weakened nation could get Beowulf to give in and agree to be elevated over Heardred as his lord or to undertake the office of kingship. But he did provide support for the prince, honored and minded him until he matured as the ruler of Geatland. Then over sea-roads exiles arrived, sons of Ohthere. 1 They had rebelled against the best of all the sea-kings in Sweden, the one who held sway in the Shylfing nation, their renowned prince, lord of the mead-hall. That marked the end for Hygelac's son: his hospitality was mortally rewarded with wounds from a sword. Heardred lay slaughtered and Onela returned to the land of Sweden, leaving Beowulf to ascend the throne, to sit in majesty and rule over the Geats. He was a good king. In days to come, he contrived to avenge the fall of his prince; he befriended Eadgils when Eadgils was friendless, aiding his c a u s e with weapons and warriors over the wide sea, sending him men. The feud was settled on a comfortless campaign when he killed Onela. And so the son of Ecgtheow had survived every extreme, excelling himself in daring and in danger, until the day arrived when he had to come face to face with the dragon. The lord of the Geats took eleven comrades and went in a rage to reconnoiter. By then he had discovered the c a u s e of the affliction being visited on the people. The precious cup had come to him from the hand of the finder, the one who had started all this strife and was now added as a thirteenth to their number. They press-ganged and compelled this poor creature to be their guide. Against his will he led them to the earth-vault he alone knew, an underground barrow near the sea-billows and heaving waves, heaped inside with exquisite metalwork. T h e one who stood guard was dangerous and watchful, warden of the trove buried under earth: no easy bargain would be made in that place by any man. The veteran king sat down on the cliff-top.

1. See p. 80, n. 6, Phases 3 and 4.

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He wished good luck to the Geats who had shared his hearth and his gold. He was sad at heart, 2420 unsettled yet ready, sensing his death. His fate hovered near, unknowable but certain: it would soon claim his coffered soul, part life from limb. Before long the prince's spirit would spin free from his body. 2425 Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, spoke: "Many a skirmish I survived when I was young and many times of war: I remember them well. At seven, I was fostered out by my father, left in the charge of my people's lord. 2430 King Hrethel kept me and took care of me, was openhanded, behaved like a kinsman. While I was his ward, he treated me no worse as a wean2 about the place than one of his own boys, Herebeald and Haethcyn, or my own Hygelac. 2435 For the eldest, Herebeald, an unexpected deathbed was laid out, through a brother's doing, when Haethcyn bent his horn-tipped bow and loosed the arrow that destroyed his life. He shot wide and buried a shaft 2440 in the flesh and blood of his own brother. That offense was beyond redress, a wrongfooting of the heart's affections; for who could avenge the prince's life or pay his death-price? It was like the misery endured by an old man 2445 who has lived to see his son's body swing on the gallows. He begins to keen and weep for his boy, watching the raven gloat where he hangs: he can be of no help. The wisdom of age is worthless to him. 2450 Morning after morning, he wakes to remember that his child is gone; he has no interest in living on until another heir is bom in the hall, now that his first-born has entered death's dominion forever. 2455 He gazes sorrowfully at his son's dwelling, the banquet hall bereft of all delight, the windswept hearthstone; the horsemen are sleeping, the warriors under ground; what was is no more. No tunes from the harp, no cheer raised in the yard. 2460 Alone with his longing, he lies down on his bed and sings a lament; everything seems too large, the steadings and the fields. Such was the feeling of loss endured by the lord of the Geats after Herebeald's death. He was helplessly placed 2465 to set to rights the wrong committed, could not punish the killer in accordance with the law of the blood-feud, although he felt no love for him. 2. A young child [Northern Ireland; Translator's note].

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Heartsore, wearied, he turned away from life's joys, chose God's light and departed, leaving buildings and lands to his sons, as a man of substance will. "Then over the wide sea Swedes and Geats battled and feuded and fought without quarter. Hostilities broke out when Hrethel died. 3 Ongentheow's sons were unrelenting, refusing to make peace, campaigning violently from coast to coast, constantly setting up terrible ambushes around Hreosnahill. My own kith and kin avenged these evil events, as everybody knows, but the price was high: one of them paid with his life. Haethcyn, lord of the Geats, met his fate there and fell in the battle. Then, as I have heard, Hygelac's sword was raised in the morning against Ongentheow, his brother's killer. When Eofor cleft the old Swede's helmet, halved it open, he fell, death-pale: his feud-calloused hand could not stave off the fatal stroke. "The treasures that Hygelac lavished on me I paid for when I fought, as fortune allowed me, with my glittering sword. He gave me land and the security land brings, so he had no call to go looking for some lesser champion, some mercenary from among the Gifthas or the Spear-Danes or the men of Sweden. I marched ahead of him, always there at the front of the line; and I shall fight like that for as long as I live, as long as this sword shall last, which has stood me in good stead late and soon, ever since I killed Dayraven the Frank in front of the two armies. He brought back no looted breastplate to the Frisian king but fell in battle, their standard-bearer, highborn and brave. No sword blade sent him to his death: my bare hands stilled his heartbeats and wrecked the bone-house. Now blade and hand, sword and sword-stroke, will assay the hoard." [ B E O W U L F ATTACKS T H E DRAGON]

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Beowulf spoke, made a formal boast for the last time: "I risked my life often when I was young. Now I am old, but as king of the people I shall pursue this fight for the glory of winning, if the evil one will only abandon his earth-fort and face me in the open."

1. See p. 80, n. 6, Phases 3 and 4.

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Then he addressed each dear companion one final time, those fighters in their helmets, resolute and highborn: "I would rather not use a weapon if I knew another way to grapple with the dragon and make good my boast as I did against Grendel in days gone by. But I shall be meeting molten venom in the fire he breathes, so I go forth in mail-shirt and shield. I won't shift a foot when I meet the cave-guard: what occurs on the wall between the two of us will turn out as fate, overseer of men, decides. I am resolved. I scorn further words against this sky-borne foe. "Men-at-arms, remain here on the barrow, safe in your armor, to see which one of us is better in the end at bearing wounds in a deadly fray. This fight is not yours, nor is it up to any man except me to measure his strength against the monster or to prove his worth. I shall win the gold by my courage, or else mortal combat, doom of battle, will bear your lord away." Then he drew himself up beside his shield. The fabled warrior in his war-shirt and helmet trusted in his own strength entirely and went under the crag. No coward path. Hard by the rock-face that hale veteran, a good man who had gone repeatedly into combat and danger and come through, saw a stone arch and a gushing stream that burst from the barrow, blazing and wafting a deadly heat. It would be hard to survive unscathed near the hoard, to hold firm against the dragon in those flaming depths. Then he gave a shout. The lord of the Geats unburdened his breast and broke out in a storm of anger. Under gray stone his voice challenged and resounded clearly. Hate was ignited. The hoard-guard recognized a human voice, the time was over for peace and parleying. Pouring forth in a hot battle-fume, the breath of the monster burst from the rock. There was a rumble under ground. Down there in the barrow, Beowulf the warrior lifted his shield: the outlandish thing writhed and convulsed and viciously turned on the king, whose keen-edged sword, an heirloom inherited by ancient right, was already in his hand. Roused to a fury, each antagonist struck terror in the other. Unyielding, the lord of his people loomed by his tall shield, sure of his ground, while the serpent looped and unleashed itself.

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Swaddled in flames, it came gliding and flexing and racing toward its fate. Yet his shield defended the renowned leader's life and limb for a shorter time than he meant it to: that final day was the first time when Beowulf fought and fate denied him 2575 glory in battle. So the king of the Geats raised his hand and struck hard at the enameled scales, but scarcely cut through: the blade flashed and slashed yet the blow was far less powerful than the hard-pressed king 2580 had need of at that moment. The mound-keeper went into a spasm and spouted deadly flames: when he felt the stroke, battle-fire billowed and spewed. Beowulf was foiled of a glorious victory. The glittering sword, 2585 infallible before that day, failed when he unsheathed it, as it never should have. For the son of Ecgtheow, it was no easy thing to have to give ground like that and go unwillingly to inhabit another home 2590 in a place beyond; so every man must yield the leasehold of his days. Before long the fierce contenders clashed again. The hoard-guard took heart, inhaled and swelled up and got a new wind; he who had once ruled 2595 was furled in fire and had to face the worst. No help or backing was to be had then from his highborn comrades; that hand-picked troop broke ranks and ran for their lives to the safety of the wood. But within one heart 2600 sorrow welled up: in a man of worth the claims of kinship cannot be denied. His name was Wiglaf, a son of Weohstan's, a well-regarded Shylfing warrior related to Aelfhere.4 When he saw his lord 2605 tormented by the heat of his scalding helmet, he remembered the bountiful gifts bestowed on him, how well he lived among the Waegmundings, the freehold he inherited from his father5 before him. He could not hold back: one hand brandished 26io the yellow-timbered shield, the other drew his sword— an ancient blade that was said to have belonged to Eanmund, the son of Ohthere, the one Weohstan had slain when he was an exile without friends. He carried the arms to the victim's kinfolk,

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4. Although Wiglaf is here said to be a Shylfing (i.e., a Swede), in line 2 6 0 7 we are told his family are Waegmundings, a clan of the Geats, which is also Beowulf's family. It was possible for a family to owe allegiance to more than one nation and to shift sides as a result of feuds. Nothing is known of Aelfhere.

5. I.e., Weohstan, who, as explained below, was the slayer of Onela's nephew Eanmund. Possibly, Weohstan joined the Geats under Beowulf after Eanmund's brother, with Beowulf's help, avenged Eanmund's death on Onela and became king of the Shylfings. See p. 80, n. 6, Phase 2.

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the burnished helmet, the webbed chain-mail and that relic of the giants. But Onela returned the weapons to him, rewarded Weohstan with Eanmund's war-gear. He ignored the blood-feud, the fact that E a n m u n d was his brother's son. 6 Weohstan kept that war-gear for a lifetime, the sword and the mail-shirt, until it was the son's turn to follow his father and perform his part. Then, in old age, at the end of his days among the Weather-Geats, he bequeathed to Wiglaf innumerable weapons. And now the youth was to enter the line of battle with his lord, his first time to be tested as a fighter. His spirit did not break and the ancestral blade would keep its edge, as the dragon discovered as soon as they came together in the combat. S a d at heart, addressing his companions, Wiglaf spoke wise and fluent words: "I remember that time when mead was flowing, how we pledged loyalty to our lord in the hall, promised our ring-giver we would be worth our price, make good the gift of the war-gear, those swords and helmets, as and when his need required it. He picked us out from the army deliberately, honored us and judged us fit for this action, made me these lavish gifts— and all because he considered us the best of his arms-bearing thanes. And now, although he wanted this challenge to be one he'd face by himself alone—the shepherd of our land, a man unequaled in the quest for glory and a name for daring—now the day has come when this lord we serve needs sound men to give him their support. Let us go to him, help our leader through the hot flame and dread of the fire. As G o d is my witness, I would rather my body were robed in the same burning blaze as my gold-giver's body than go back home bearing arms. That is unthinkable, unless we have first slain the foe and defended the life of the prince of the Weather-Geats. I well know the things he has done for us deserve better. Should he alone be left exposed to fall in battle? We must bond together, shield and helmet, mail-shirt and sword." Then he waded the dangerous reek and went under arms to his lord, saying only: " G o on, dear Beowulf, do everything

6. An ironic comment: since Onela wanted to kill Eanmund, he rewarded Weohstan for killing his nephew instead of exacting compensation or revenge.

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you said you would when you were still young and vowed you would never let your name and fame be dimmed while you lived. Your deeds are famous, so stay resolute, my lord, defend your life now with the whole of your strength. I shall stand by you." After those words, a wildness rose 2670 in the dragon again and drove it to attack, heaving up fire, hunting for enemies, the humans it loathed. Flames lapped the shield, charred it to the boss, and the body armor on the young warrior was useless to him. 2675 But Wiglaf did well under the wide rim Beowulf shared with him once his own had shattered in sparks and ashes. Inspired again by the thought of glory, the war-king threw his whole strength behind a sword stroke 2680 and connected with the skull. And Naegling snapped. Beowulf's ancient iron-gray sword let him down in the fight. It was never his fortune to be helped in combat by the cutting edge of weapons made of iron. When he wielded a sword, 2685 no matter how blooded and hard-edged the blade, his hand was too strong, the stroke he dealt (I have heard) would ruin it. He could reap no advantage. Then the bane of that people, the fire-breathing dragon, was mad to attack for a third time. 2690 When a chance came, he caught the hero in a rush of flame and clamped sharp fangs into his neck. Beowulf's body ran wet with his life-blood: it came welling out. Next thing, they say, the noble son of Weohstan 2695 saw the king in danger at his side and displayed his inborn bravery and strength. He left the head alone, 7 but his fighting hand was burned when he came to his kinsman's aid. He lunged at the enemy lower down 2700 so that his decorated sword sank into its belly and the flames grew weaker. Once again the king gathered his strength and drew a stabbing knife he carried on his belt, sharpened for battle. He stuck it deep in the dragon's flank. 2705 Beowulf dealt it a deadly wound. They had killed the enemy, courage quelled his life; that pair of kinsmen, partners in nobility, had destroyed the foe. So every man should act, be at hand when needed; but now, for the king, 2710 this would be the last of his many labors and triumphs in the world. Then the wound

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dealt by the ground-burner earlier began to scald and swell; Beowulf discovered deadly poison suppurating inside him, surges of nausea, and so, in his wisdom, the prince realized his state and struggled toward a seat on the rampart. He steadied his gaze on those gigantic stones, saw how the earthwork was braced with arches built over columns. And now that thane unequaled for goodness with his own hands washed his lord's wounds, swabbed the weary prince with water, bathed him clean, unbuckled his helmet. Beowulf spoke: in spite of his wounds, mortal wounds, he still spoke for he well knew his days in the world had been lived out to the end—his allotted time was drawing to a close, death was very near. "Now is the time when I would have wanted to bestow this armor on my own son, had it been my fortune to have fathered an heir and live on in his flesh. For fifty years I ruled this nation. No king of any neighboring clan would dare face me with troops, none had the power to intimidate me. I took what came, cared for and stood by things in my keeping, never fomented quarrels, never swore to a lie. Ail this consoles me, doomed as I am and sickening for death; because of my right ways, the Ruler of mankind need never blame me when the breath leaves my body for murder of kinsmen. Go now quickly, dearest Wiglaf, under the gray stone where the dragon is laid out, lost to his treasure; hurry to feast your eyes on the hoard. Away you go: I want to examine that ancient gold, gaze my fill on those garnered jewels; my going will be easier for having seen the treasure, a less troubled Ietting-go of the life and lordship I have long maintained." And so, I have heard, the son of Weohstan quickly obeyed the command of his languishing war-weary lord; he went in his chain-mail under the rock-piled roof of the barrow, exulting in his triumph, and saw beyond the seat a treasure-trove of astonishing richness, wall-hangings that were a wonder to behold, glittering gold spread across the ground, the old dawn-scorching serpent's den packed with goblets and vessels from the past, tarnished and corroding. Rusty helmets all eaten away. Armbands everywhere, artfully wrought. How easily treasure

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buried in the ground, gold hidden however skillfully, can escape from any man! And he saw too a standard, entirely of gold, hanging high over the hoard, a masterpiece of filigree; it glowed with light so he could make out the ground at his feet and inspect the valuables. Of the dragon there was no remaining sign: the sword had dispatched him. Then, the story goes, a certain man plundered the hoard in that immemorial howe, filled his arms with flagons and plates, anything he wanted; and took the standard also, most brilliant of banners. Already the blade of the old king's sharp killing-sword had done its worst: the one who had for long minded the hoard, hovering over gold, unleashing fire, surging forth midnight after midnight, had been mown down. Wiglaf went quickly, keen to get back, excited by the treasure. Anxiety weighed on his brave heart—he was hoping he would find the leader of the Geats alive where he had left him helpless, earlier, on the open ground. So he came to the place, carrying the treasure and found his lord bleeding profusely, his life at an end; again he began to swab his body. The beginnings of an utterance broke out from the king's breast-cage. The old lord gazed sadly at the gold. "To the everlasting Lord of all, to the King of Glory, I give thanks that I behold this treasure here in front of me, that I have been allowed to leave my people so well endowed on the day I die. Now that I have bartered my last breath to own this fortune, it is up to you to look after their needs. I can hold out no longer. Order my troop to construct a barrow on a headland on the coast, after my pyre has cooled. It will loom on the horizon at Hronesness 8 and be a reminder among my people— so that in coming times crews under sail will call it Beowulf's Barrow, as they steer ships across the wide and shrouded waters." Then the king in his great-heartedness unclasped the collar of gold from his neck and gave it to the young thane, telling him to use it and the war-shirt and gilded helmet well. "You are the last of us, the only one left of the Waegmundings. Fate swept us away,

8. A headland by the sea. The name means "Whalesness."

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sent my whole brave highborn clan to their final doom. Now I must follow them." That was the warrior's last word. He had no more to confide. The furious heat of the pyre would assail him. His soul fled from his breast to its destined place among the steadfast ones. [BEOWULF'S

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It was hard then on the young hero, having to watch the one he held so dear there on the ground, going through his death agony. The dragon from underearth, his nightmarish destroyer, lay destroyed as well, utterly without life. No longer would his snakefolds ply themselves to safeguard hidden gold. Hard-edged blades, hammered out and keenly filed, had finished him so that the sky-roamer lay there rigid, brought low beside the treasure-lodge. Never again would he glitter and glide and show himself off in midnight air, exulting in his riches: he fell to earth through the battle-strength in Beowulf's arm. There were few, indeed, as far as I have heard, big and brave as they may have been, few who would have held out if they had had to face the outpourings of that poison-breather or gone foraging on the ring-hall floor and found the deep barrow-dweller on guard and awake. The treasure had been won, bought and paid for by Beowulf's death. Both had reached the end of the road through the life they had been lent. Before long the battle-dodgers abandoned the wood, the ones who had let down their lord earlier, the tail-turners, ten of them together. When he needed them most, they had made off. Now they were ashamed and came behind shields, in their battle-outfits, to where the old man lay. They watched Wiglaf, sitting worn out, a comrade shoulder to shoulder with his lord, trying in vain to bring him round with water. Much as he wanted to, there was no way he could preserve his lord's life on earth or alter in the least the Almighty's will. What God judged right would rule what happened to every man, as it does to this day. Then a stern rebuke was bound to come from the young warrior to the ones who had been cowards. Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke

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disdainfully and in disappointment: "Anyone ready to admit the truth 2865 will surely realize that the lord of men who showered you with gifts and gave you the armor you are standing in—when he would distribute helmets and mail-shirts to men on the mead-benches, a prince treating his thanes in hall 2870 to the best he could find, far or near— was throwing weapons uselessly away. It would be a sad waste when the war broke out. Beowulf had little cause to brag about his armed guard; yet God who ordains 2875 who wins or loses allowed him to strike with his own blade when bravery was needed. There was little I could do to protect his life in the heat of the fray, but I found new strength welling up when I went to help him. 2880 Then my sword connected and the deadly assaults of our foe grew weaker, the fire coursed less strongly from his head. But when the worst happened too few rallied around the prince. "So it is good-bye now to all you know and love 2885 on your home ground, the open-handedness, the giving of war-swords. Every one of you with freeholds of land, our whole nation, will be dispossessed, once princes from beyond get tidings of how you turned and fled 2890 and disgraced yourselves. A warrior will sooner die than live a life of shame." Then he ordered the outcome of the fight to be reported to those camped on the ridge, that crowd of retainers who had sat all morning, sad at heart, 2895 shield-bearers wondering about the man they loved: would this day be his last or would he return? He told the truth and did not balk, the rider who bore news to the cliff-top. He addressed them all: 2900 "Now the people's pride and love, the lord of the Geats, is laid on his deathbed, brought down by the dragon's attack. Beside him lies the bane of his life, dead from knife-wounds. There was no way 2905 Beowulf could manage to get the better of the monster with his sword. Wiglaf sits at Beowulf's side, the son of Weohstan, the living warrior watching by the dead, keeping weary vigil, holding a wake 2910 for the loved and the loathed. Now war is looming over our nation, soon it will be known to Franks and Frisians, far and wide, that the king is gone. Hostility has been great among the Franks since Hygelac sailed forth

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at the head of a war-fleet into Friesland: there the Hetware harried and attacked and overwhelmed him with great odds. The leader in his war-gear was laid low, fell among followers: that lord did not favor his company with spoils. The Merovingian king has been an enemy to us ever since. "Nor do 1 expect peace or pact-keeping of any sort from the Swedes. Remember: at Ravenswood, 9 Ongentheow slaughtered Haethcyn, Hrethel's son, when the Geat people in their arrogance first attacked the fierce Shylfings. The return blow was quickly struck by Ohthere's father. 1 Old and terrible, he felled the sea-king and saved his own aged wife, the mother of Onela and of Ohthere, bereft of her gold rings. Then he kept hard on the heels of the foe and drove them, Ieaderless, lucky to get away in a desperate rout into Ravenswood. His army surrounded the weary remnant where they nursed their wounds; all through the night he howled threats at those huddled survivors, promised to axe their bodies open when dawn broke, dangle them from gallows to feed the birds. But at first light when their spirits were lowest, relief arrived. They heard the sound of Hygelac's horn, his trumpet calling as he came to find them, the hero in pursuit, at hand with troops. "The bloody swathe that Swedes and Geats cut through each other was everywhere. No one could miss their murderous feuding. Then the old man made his move, pulled back, barred his people in: Ongentheow withdrew to higher ground. Hygelac's pride and prowess as a fighter were known to the earl; he had no confidence that he could hold out against that horde of seamen, defend his wife and the ones he loved from the shock of the attack. He retreated for shelter behind the earthwall. Then Hygelac swooped on the Swedes at bay, his banners swarmed into their refuge, his Geat forces drove forward to destroy the camp. There in his gray hairs, Ongentheow was cornered, ringed around with swords. And it came to pass that the king's fate

9. The messenger describes in greater detail the Battle of Ravenswood. See the outline of the Swed-

ish wars on p. 80, n. 6. I. I.e., Ongentheow.

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was in Eofor s hands, 2 and in his alone. Wulf, son of Wonred, went for him in anger, split him open so that blood came spurting from under his hair. The old hero still did not flinch, but parried fast, hit back with a harder stroke: 2970 the king turned and took him on. Then Wonred's son, the brave Wulf, could land no blow against the aged lord. Ongentheow divided his helmet so that he buckled and bowed his bloodied head 2975 and dropped to the ground. But his doom held off. Though he was cut deep, he recovered again. "With his brother down, the undaunted Eofor, Hygelac's thane, hefted his sword and smashed murderously at the massive helmet 2980 past the lifted shield. And the king collapsed, the shepherd of people was sheared of life. Many then hurried to help Wulf, bandaged and lifted him, now that they were left masters of the blood-soaked battle-ground. 2985 One warrior stripped the other, looted Ongentheow's iron mail-coat, his hard sword-hilt, his helmet too, and carried the graith3 to King Hygelac, he accepted the prize, promised fairly 2990 that reward would come, and kept his word. For their bravery in action, when they arrived home, Eofor and Wulf were overloaded by Hrethel's son, Hygelac the Geat, with gifts of land and linked rings 2995 that were worth a fortune. They had won glory, so there was no gainsaying his generosity. And he gave Eofor his only daughter to bide at home with him, an honor and a bond. "So this bad blood between us and the Swedes, 3000 this vicious feud, I am convinced, is bound to revive; they will cross our borders and attack in force when they find out that Beowulf is dead. In days gone by when our warriors fell and we were undefended, 3005 he kept our coffers and our kingdom safe. He worked for the people, but as well as that he behaved like a hero. We must hurry now to take a last look at the king and launch him, lord and lavisher of rings, 3010 on the funeral road. His royal pyre will melt no small amount of gold:

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means boar; Wulf is the Old English spelling of wolf. 3. Possessions, apparel.

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heaped there in a hoard, it was bought at heavy cost, and that pile of rings he paid for at the end with his own life will go up with the flame, be furled in fire: treasure no follower will wear in his memory, nor lovely woman link and attach as a torque around her neck— but often, repeatedly, in the path of exile they shall walk bereft, bowed under woe, now that their leader's laugh is silenced, high spirits quenched. Many a spear dawn-cold to the touch will be taken down and waved on high; the swept harp won't waken warriors, but the raven winging darkly over the doomed will have news, tidings for the eagle of how he hoked and ate, how the wolf and he made short work of the dead." 4 Such was the drift of the dire report that gallant man delivered. He got little wrong in what he told and predicted. The whole troop rose in tears, then took their way to the uncanny scene under Earnaness. 5 There, on the sand, where his soul had left him, they found him at rest, their ring-giver from days gone by. The great man had breathed his last. Beowulf the king had indeed met with a marvelous death. But what they saw first was far stranger: the serpent on the ground, gruesome and vile, lying facing him. The fire-dragon was scaresomely burned, scorched all colors. From head to tail, his entire length was fifty feet. He had shimmered forth on the night air once, then winged back down to his den; but death owned him now, he would never enter his earth-gallery again. Beside him stood pitchers and piled-up dishes, silent flagons, precious swords eaten through with rust, ranged as they had been while they waited their thousand winters under ground. That huge cache, gold inherited from an ancient race, was under a spell— which meant no one was ever permitted to enter the ring-hall unless God Himself, mankind's Keeper, True King of Triumphs, allowed some person pleasing to Him— and in His eyes worthy—to open the hoard. What came about brought to nothing the hopes of the one who had wrongly hidden

4. The raven, eagle, and wolf—the scavengers who will feed on the slain—are "the beasts of battie," a common motif in Germanic war poetry. "Hoked": rooted about [Northern Ireland,

Translator's note]. 5. T h e site of Beowulf's fight with the dragon. The name means "Eaglesness."

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riches under the rock-face. First the dragon slew that man among men, who in turn made fierce amends and settled the feud. Famous for his deeds a warrior may be, but it remains a mystery where his life will end, when he may no longer dwell in the mead-hall among his own. So it was with Beowulf, when he faced the cruelty and cunning of the mound-guard. He himself was ignorant of how his departure from the world would happen. The highborn chiefs who had buried the treasure declared it until doomsday so accursed that whoever robbed it would be guilty of wrong and grimly punished for their transgression, hasped in hell-bonds in heathen shrines. Yet Beowulf's gaze at the gold treasure when he first saw it had not been selfish. Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, spoke: "Often when one man follows his own will many are hurt. This happened to us. Nothing we advised could ever convince the prince we loved, our land's guardian, not to vex the custodian of the gold, let him lie where he was long accustomed, lurk there under earth until the end of the world. He held to his high destiny. The hoard is laid bare, but at a grave cost; it was too cruel a fate that forced the king to that encounter. I have been inside and seen everything amassed in the vault. I managed to enter although no great welcome awaited me under the earthwall. I quickly gathered up a huge pile of the priceless treasures handpicked from the hoard and carried them here where the king could see them. He was still himself, alive, aware, and in spite of his weakness he had many requests. He wanted me to greet you and order the building of a barrow that would crown the site of his pyre, serve as his memorial, in a commanding position, since of all men to have lived and thrived and lorded it on earth his worth and due as a warrior were the greatest. Now let us again go quickly and feast our eyes on that amazing fortune heaped under the wall. I will show the way and take you close to those coffers packed with rings and bars of gold. Let a bier be made and got ready quickly when we come out and then let us bring the body of our lord, the man we loved, to where he will lodge for a long time in the care of the Almighty." Then Weohstan's son, stalwart to the end, had orders given to owners of dwellings, many people of importance in the land,

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to fetch wood from far and wide for the good man's pyre: "Now shall flame consume our leader in battle, the blaze darken round him who stood his ground in the steel-hail, when the arrow-storm shot from bowstrings pelted the shield-wall. The shaft hit home. Feather-fledged, it finned the barb in flight." Next the wise son of Weohstan called from among the king's thanes a group of seven: he selected the best and entered with them, the eighth of their number, under the God-cursed roof; one raised a lighted torch and led the way. No lots were cast for who should loot the hoard for it was obvious to them that every bit of it lay unprotected within the vault, there for the taking. It was no trouble to hurry to work and haul out the priceless store. They pitched the dragon over the cliff-top, let tide's flow and backwash take the treasure-minder. Then coiled gold was loaded on a cart in great abundance, and the gray-haired leader, the prince on his bier, borne to Hronesness. The Geat people built a pyre for Beowulf, stacked and decked it until it stood foursquare, hung with helmets, heavy war-shields and shining armor, just as he had ordered. Then his warriors laid him in the middle of it, mourning a lord far-famed and beloved. On a height they kindled the hugest of all funeral fires; fumes of woodsmoke billowed darkly up, the blaze roared and drowned out their weeping, wind died down and flames wrought havoc in the hot bone-house, burning it to the core. They were disconsolate and wailed aloud for their lord's decease. A Geat woman too sang out in grief; with hair bound up, she unburdened herself of her worst fears, a wild litany of nightmare and lament: her nation invaded, enemies on the rampage, bodies in piles, slavery and abasement. Heaven swallowed the smoke. Then the Geat people began to construct a mound on a headland, high and imposing, a marker that sailors could see from far away, and in ten days they had done the work. It was their hero's memorial; what remained from the fire they housed inside it, behind a wall as worthy of him as their workmanship could make it. And they buried torques in the barrow, and jewels and a trove of such things as trespassing men

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had once dared to drag from the hoard. They let the ground keep that ancestral treasure, gold under gravel, gone to earth, as useless to men now as it ever was. Then twelve warriors rode around the tomb, chieftains' sons, champions in battle, all of them distraught, chanting in dirges, mourning his loss as a man and a king. They extolled his heroic nature and exploits and gave thanks for his greatness; which was the proper thing, for a man should praise a prince whom he holds dear and cherish his memory when that moment comes when he has to be convoyed from his bodily home. So the Geat people, his hearth-companions, sorrowed for the lord who had been laid low. They said that of all the kings upon earth he was the man most gracious and fair-minded, kindest to his people and keenest to win fame.

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JUDITH Biblical narrative inspired Anglo-Saxon poetry from its earliest recorded beginnings: the poet Casdmon (p. 24) is said, for example, to have composed poetry on biblical subjects from Genesis to the Last Judgment. Although those texts do not survive, up to one third of surviving Anglo-Saxon poetic texts are translations of biblical material. Prose writers also produced ambitious biblical translations: at the end of the tenth century/Elfric, Abbot of Eynsham (died ca. 1010), made partial translations of many texts that he worked into sermon material; an Anglo-Saxon version of the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Old Testament) was compiled at about the same time. The prose translations are more or less faithful to the biblical text. The poetic translations, on the other hand, are much freer: they take liberties with the narrative and style of the biblical sources, reshaping narratives and placing the stories within a recognizably Germanic cultural setting. One of the biblical books from which ^Elfric drew material was the Book of Judith. This book was regarded as apocryphal (i.e., not authentically a part of the Old Testament) by Protestant churches from the sixteenth century, but for all pre- and postReformation Catholic readers it was an authentic part of the Hebrew Bible. The narrative recounts the campaign of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar to punish many subject peoples who had refused to join him in his successful war against Media (another ancient empire). Nebuchadnezzar's general Holofernes plunders and razes many cities that resist his army, and others capitulate to him. He lays siege to the strategic Israelite town of Bethulia, which blocks his route to Jerusalem (Bethulia no longer exists, and its location in biblical times is uncertain). The leaders of the suffering and thirsty population of Bethulia are almost ready to surrender, but the pious, wealthy, and beautiful widow Judith rebukes them for their faintness of heart and promises to liberate them if they will hold out a few days longer. After praying to God in sackcloth and ashes, Judith dresses and adorns herself sumptuously. With only one servant she enters the enemy camp, where all, and especially Holofernes himself, are amazed at her beauty. She pretends to be fleeing a doomed people and persuades Holofernes that she will lead him to victory over all the Israelite cities. The Old

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English text begins four days after Judith's arrival, with Holofernes's invitation to his principal warriors to a banquet, after which he plans to go to bed with the beautiful Israelite. Judith, however, has other plans. The poet of Judith translated from the Latin text of the Bible (the so-called "Vulgate" Bible, produced in the late fourth century). We do not know the date for this rendering of the Book of Judith into Anglo-Saxon poetry, but it was probably composed sometime in the tenth century (the one surviving text appears in the same late tenth-century manuscript that contains Beowulf). Neither do we know the motives for this translation. /Elfric, writing in the late tenth century, made his translation of Judith to encourage the Anglo-Saxons in defense of their territory against the invading Vikings. The text is, he says, "set down in our manner in English, as an example to you people that you should defend your land with weapons against the invading army."* The opening of the poem is lost (scholars estimate that some one hundred lines are missing), but from the remainder we can see that the poet has freely reshaped the biblical source and set the narrative within terms intelligible to an Anglo-Saxon audience. The poet has stripped the geographical, historical, and political complexity of the story down to its bare essentials: the confrontation between Judith and Holofernes. Judith is the leader of an embattled people up against an exultant and terrifying enemy. Her only resources are her unfailing courage, her wits, and her faith in God. Within this concentrated narrative, the poet colors certain episodes by employing the traditional language and formulas of Anglo-Saxon poetry. Holofernes, for example, becomes riotous at the feast; "the beasts of battle" anticipate and enjoy their feast (cf. Beowulf, lines 3023—27); Judith is rewarded with Holofernes's battle gear, not with his household treasures as in the biblical narrative. Perhaps the most penetrating touch added by the Anglo-Saxon poet is the account of the net surrounding Holofernes's bed, from which he can see out but.cannot be seen inside. This technology of tyrannical power undermines Holofernes's army in the end, since his men, waiting nervously around his bed because they are afraid to wake up their leader, lose precious time under attack from the Israelites. Like the Abbess Hilda (see p. 25), Judith is one of the women of power in AngloSaxon history and literature. Another is St. Helen, the mother of the emperor Constantine the Great: in the poem Elene she leads a Roman army to the Holy Land to discover the cross on which Christ was crucified.

Judith 1

. . . S h e doubted gifts in this wide earth; there she readily f o u n d protection from the glorious Lord, when she h a d most need of favour from the highest J u d g e , so that he, the Lord of creation, d e f e n d e d her against the greatest terror. T h e glorious F a t h e r in the skies granted her request, since she always p o s s e s s e d true faith in the Almighty. I have heard then that Holofernes eagerly i s s u e d invitations to a f e a s t a n d provided all types of magnificent wonders for the b a n q u e t s ; to it the lord of m e n summoned the most experienced retainers. T h e warriors obeyed

* The Old English Heptateuch, ed. S. J. Crawford, Early English Text Society 160 (London, 1922), p. 48.

1. The translation is by Elaine Treharne, Old and Middle English: An Anthology (2000).

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with great haste; they came to the powerful lord and proceeded to the leader of people. That was the fourth day after Judith, prudent in mind, this woman of elfin beauty first visited him. They went into the feast to sit down, proud men at the wine-drinking, bold mail-coated warriors, all his companions in misfortune. There, along the benches, deep bowls were carried frequently; full cups and pitchers were also carried to the sitters in the hall. They received those, doomed to die, brave warriors, though the powerful man did not expect it, that terrible lord of heroes. Then Holofernes, the gold-giving friend of his men, became joyous from the drinking. He laughed and grew vociferous, roared and clamoured, so that the children of men could hear from far away, how the fierce one stormed and yelled; arrogant and excited by mead, he frequently admonished the guests that they enjoy themselves well. So, for the entire day, the wicked one, the stern dispenser of treasures, drenched his retainers with wine until they lay unconscious, the whole of his troop were as drunk as if they had been struck down in death, drained of every ability. So, the men's lord commanded the guests to be served, until the dark night approached the children of men. Then corrupted by evil, he commanded that the blessed maiden should be hastily fetched to his bed, adorned with bracelets, decorated with rings. The retainers quickly did as their lord, the ruler of warriors, commanded them. They stepped into the tumult of the guest-hall where they found the wise Judith, and then quickly the warriors began to lead the illustrious maiden to the lofty tent, where the powerful man Holofernes, hateful to the Saviour, rested himself during the night. There was a beautiful all-golden fly-net 2 that the commander had hung around the bed, so that the wicked one, the lord of warriors, could look through on each of those sons of men who came in there, but not one of the race of mankind could look on him, unless, brave man, he commanded one of his very iniquitous men to come nearer to him for secret consultation. They quickly brought to bed the prudent woman. Then the resolute heroes went to inform their lord that the holy maiden had been brought into his tent. Then the notorious one, that lord of cities,

2. Book of Judith 10.21: "A mosquito-net of purple interwoven with gold, emerald, and precious stones." Here the "fly-net" is a kind of screen enabling Holofernes to see outside his bed without being seen.

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became happy in his mind: he intended to violate the bright woman with defilement and with sin. The J u d g e of glory, 60 the majestic Guardian, the Lord, Ruler of hosts, would not consent to that, but he prevented him from that thing. Then the diabolical one, the wanton and wicked man, departed with a troop of his men to find his bed, where he would lose his life forthwith within that one night. He had attained his violent end 65 on earth, just as he had previously deserved, this severe lord of men, since he had dwelled under the roof of clouds in this world. The mighty man then fell into the middle of his bed, so drunk with wine that he possessed no sense in his mind. T h e warriors stepped 70 out from that place with great haste, men sated with wine, who led the traitor, that hateful tyrant, to bed for the last time. Then the Saviour's glorious handmaiden was very mindful 75 of how she could deprive the terrible one of life most easily, before the impure and foul one awoke. Then the Creator's maiden, with her braided locks, took a sharp sword, a hard weapon in the storms of battle, and drew it from the sheath 80 with her right hand. She began to call the Guardian of heaven by name, the Saviour of all the inhabitants of earth, and said these words: " G o d of creation, Spirit of comfort, Son of the Almighty, I want to beseech you 85 for your mercy on me in my time of need, glorious Trinity. 3 My heart is intensely inflamed within me now, and my mind is troubled, greatly afflicted with sorrows. Give me, Lord of heaven, victory and true belief so I might cut down this bestower of torment 90 with this sword. Grant me my salvation, mighty Lord of men: I have never had more need of your mercy than now. Avenge now, mighty Lord, eminent Bestower of glory, that which is so grievous in my mind, so fervent in my heart." Then the highest J u d g e 95 inspired her immediately with great zeal, as he does to each of the dwellers on earth who seek help from him with reason and with true faith. Then she felt relief in her mind, hope was renewed for the holy woman. She seized the heathen man securely by his hair, pulled him shamefully towards her IOO with her hands, and skilfully placed the wicked and loathsome man so that she could most easily manage the miserable one well. Then, the woman with braided locks struck the enemy, that hostile one, 105 with the shining sword, so that she cut through half

3. Anglo-Saxon "Brynesse," "threeness." In lines 83—84, the heroine prays to the three persons of the Trinity. In the Apocrypha, she invokes the "Lord, God of Israel."

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of his neck, such that he lay unconscious, drunk and wounded. He was not dead yet, not entirely lifeless. The courageous woman struck the heathen hound energetically another time so that his head rolled forwards on the floor. The foul body lay behind, dead; the spirit departed elsewhere under the deep earth and was oppressed there and fettered in torment forever after, wound round with serpents, bound with punishments, cruelly imprisoned in hell-fire after his departure. Enveloped in darkness, he had no need at all to hope that he should get out from that serpent-hall, but there he must remain always and forever, henceforth without end, in that dark home deprived of the joy of hope. Judith had won illustrious glory in the battle as God, the Lord of heaven, granted it so when he gave her her victory. Then the prudent woman immediately placed the warrior's head still bloody into the sack in which her attendant, a woman of pale complexion, an excellent handmaiden, had brought food for them both; and then Judith put it, all gory, into the hands of her thoughtful servant to carry home. Then both the courageous women went from there straightaway, until the triumphant women, elated, got away out from that army so that they could clearly see the beautiful city walls of Bethulia glitter. Then, ring-adorned, they hurried forwards along the path until, glad at heart, they had reached the rampart gate. Warriors were sitting, men watching, and keeping guard in that stronghold, just as Judith the wise maiden had asked, when she had previously departed from the sorrowful people, the courageous woman. The beloved woman had returned again to the people, and the prudent woman soon asked one of the men from the spacious city to come towards her, and hastily to let them in through the gate of the city-wall; and she spoke these words to the victorious people: "I am able to tell you a memorable thing so that you need no longer mourn in your minds. The Ruler, the Glory of kings, is well disposed towards you. It had become revealed throughout this wide world that glorious and triumphant success is approaching and that honour has been granted by fate to you because of the afflictions that you have long suffered."

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Then the city-dwellers were joyful when they heard how the holy one spoke over the high city-wall. The army was joyous and people hurried to the fortress gate, men and women, in multitudes and crowds, groups and troops pressed forward and ran towards the Lord's maiden in their thousands, old and young. The mind of each one of the people in that rejoicing city was gladdened when they perceived that Judith had returned to her native land; and then hastily and reverently, they let her in. Then the prudent woman, adorned with gold, asked her attentive handmaiden to uncover the warrior's head and to display it, bloodied, as proof to the citizens of how she had been helped in battle. Then the noble woman spoke to all the people: "Victorious heroes, here you can gaze clearly on the leader of the people, on this head of the most hateful of heathen warriors, of the unliving Holofernes, who, among men, inflicted on us the worst torments, grievous afflictions, and wished to add to these even more; but God would not grant him a longer life so that he could plague us with wrongs. I deprived him of life through God's help. Now I intend to ask each of the men of these citizens, each of the warriors, that you immediately hasten to battle, as soon as the God of creation, that glorious King, sends his radiant beam of light from the east. Go forward carrying shields, shields in front of your breasts and corslets, gleaming helmets, into the troop of enemies; fell the commanders, those leaders doomed to die with shining swords. Your enemies are condemned to death, and you will possess glory, honour in conflict, just as mighty God has given you that sign by my hand." Then a host of brave and keen men prepared quickly for the battle. Noble warriors and retainers stepped out; they carried triumphant banners; heroes in helmets went forward to battle straightaway from that holy city at dawn of that same day. Shields clashed, resounded loudly. The lean wolf rejoiced in the forest, as did the dark raven, a bloodthirsty bird: they both knew that the warriors intended to provide them with a feast from those doomed to die; but behind them flew the eagle eager for food, dewy-winged with dark plumage; the horn-beaked bird

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sang a battle-song. 4 The warriors advanced, men to battle, protected by shields, hollow wooden shields, those who previously 2i5 had suffered the insolence of foreigners, the insult of heathens. In the spear-play, that was all grievously requited to the Assyrians, when the Israelites under their battle-banners had gone 220 to that camp. Then they boldly let showers of arrows fly forwards, battle arrows from horned bows, firm arrows. Angry warriors roared loudly, sent spears 225 into the midst of the cruel ones. The native heroes were angry against the hateful race, resolute, they marched, determined, they violently aroused their ancient enemies who were drunk with mead. With their hands, 230 the retainers drew brightly adorned swords from their sheaths, excellent sword-edges, zealously killed the Assyrian warriors, those evil schemers. They did not spare one man's life from that army, neither the 235 lowly nor the powerful whom they could overcome. So, in the morning, the retainers pursued the foreign people the entire time, until the chief leaders of that army, of those who were the enemies, perceived 240 that the Hebrew men had shown violent sword-brandishing to them. They went to reveal all that in words to the most senior retainers, and they aroused the warriors and announced fearfully to those drunk with mead 245 the dreadful news, the morning's terror, the terrible battle. Then, I have heard, immediately the warriors, doomed to perish, cast off sleep, and the subdued men thronged in crowds to the tent of the wicked man, 250 Holofernes. They intended to announce the battle to their lord at once, before the terrible force of the Israelites came down on them. They all supposed that the leader of the warriors and the bright maiden 255 were together in that beautiful tent: Judith the noble one, and the licentious one, terrible and fierce. There was not a single one of the men who dared to wake the warrior or inquire how the warrior 260 had got on with the holy maiden, the Lord's woman. The armed force of the Israelites approached; they fought vigorously 4. See Beowulf, lines 3 0 2 4 - 2 7 , n. 4 (p. 97).

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with hard swords, violently requited their ancient grudges, that old conflict, 265 with shining swords. The Assyrian's glory was destroyed in that day's work, their pride humbled. Warriors stood about their lord's tent very uneasy and sombre in spirit. Then together they all 270 began to cough, to cry out loudly, to gnash their teeth, suffering grief, to no avail. Then their glory, success and brave deeds were at an end. The men considered how to awaken their lord; it did them no good. 275 It got later and later when one of the warriors became bold in that he daringly risked going into the tent, as need compelled him to. He found on the bed his pale lord, lying deprived of spirit, 280 devoid of life. Immediately, he fell frozen to the floor, and began to tear at his hair and clothing, wild in mind, and he spoke these words to the warriors who were outside, dejected: 285 "Here our own destruction is made clear, the future signified, that the time of troubles is pressing near when we shall now lose, shall perish at the battle together. Here lies our protector cut down and beheaded by the sword." Sorrowful, they 290 threw their weapons down then, and departed from him weary-spirited to hasten in flight. The mighty people fought them from behind, until the greatest part of the army lay destroyed in battle on that field of victory, cut down by swords 295 as a pleasure for the wolves and also as a joy to bloodthirsty birds. Those who still lived fled from the wooden weapons of their enemies. Behind them came the army of the Hebrews, honoured with victory, glorified with that judgement. The Lord God, the almighty Lord, 300 helped them generously with his aid. Then quickly the valiant heroes made a war-path through the hateful enemies with their shining swords; cut down shields, and penetrated the shield-wall. The Hebrew missile-throwers 305 were enraged in the battle, the retainers at that time greatly desired a battle of spears. There in the sand fell the greatest part of the total number of leaders of the Assyrians, 310 that hateful nation. Few returned alive to their native land. The brave warriors turned back to retreat among the carnage, the reeking corpses. There was an opportunity for the native inhabitants to seize from the most hateful 315 ancient enemies, the unliving ones,

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bloody plunder, beautiful ornaments, shield and broad sword, shining helmets, precious treasures. The guardians of the country had gloriously conquered their foes, 320 the ancient enemy, on that battlefield, executed them with swords. Those who had been the most hateful of living men while alive rested in their tracks. Then the entire nation, the greatest of tribes, the proud braided-haired ones, 325 for the space of one month carried and led to the bright city of Bethulia helmets and hip-swords, grey corslets, men's armour decorated with gold, more illustrious treasures than any man 330 among the wise could say. All of that was earned by the warriors' glory, bold under the banners and in battle through the prudent counsel of Judith, the daring maiden. The brave warriors 335 brought as her reward from that expedition the sword of Holofernes and his gory helmet, and likewise his ample mail-coat adorned with red gold, and everything that the arrogant lord of warriors owned by way of treasures or personal heirlooms, 340 rings and bright riches; they gave that to the bright and ready-witted woman. For all of this Judith said thanks to the Lord of hosts, who had given her honour and glory in the kingdom of this earth, and also as her reward in heaven, the reward of victory in heaven's glory, because she possessed true faith 345 in the Almighty. Indeed, at the end she did not doubt in the reward which she had long yearned for. For that be glory to the beloved Lord for ever and ever, who created wind and air, the heavens and spacious earth, likewise the raging seas and joys of heaven through his own individual grace.

KING ALFRED 849-899 From the beginning of the ninth century, the separate kingdoms of England were subject to attack from Viking raiders. After 865 these raids developed into a full-scale invasion, which led to the collapse of the principal English kingdoms except Wessex, in the south. Under the rule of King Alfred (871—99), Wessex was itself almost defeated, but by 886 Alfred managed to conclude a treaty with the Danes that established him as ruler of most of England south of the Humber. Unsatisfied with military victory alone, Alfred set about a cultural and educational reform of what he saw as the decadent state of English learning. Whereas AngloSaxon poetry had a long history before Alfred's reign, there was no corresponding tradition of Old English prose. The "Preface to the Pastoral Care" offers the rationale

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for Alfred's program of prose translations from Latin into Anglo-Saxon, and for the educational reform he planned in order to exploit those translations. For Alfred, the power of a kingdom went hand in hand with the vigor of its learning. He is acutely aware that learning can only flourish "if we have peace," but no less aware that learning will itself sustain that peace; kings in the past, he says, respected wisdom and learning. Through the application of such wisdom they enlarged their authority both at home and abroad. Apart from foreign invasion, ignorance of languages is, by Alfred's account, the main enemy of wisdom. For even before the Viking invasions, Alfred remembers a time when the churches throughout England were full of books that too few were capable of reading. Alfred's solution to this decadent state of affairs is, in part, to promote education in both English and Latin literacy. Educational institutions also need teachers and books; accordingly, Alfred imported foreign scholars of high standing, and promoted the production of texts in the English language. While he deeply respected Latin learning, and clearly wanted to promote understanding of Latin, Alfred was not mesmerised by the status of that language itself. In the "Preface" he ambitiously traces a "translation of studies," by which he marks the movement of learning from Greek to Roman centers, and from there to other European nations, including England. Each nation translates key texts into its own language. Remarkably, Alfred wanted to present himself as, and very possibly was, actively engaged in the translation of these works. Alfred's biographer Asser tells us that, as a boy, Alfred learned Anglo-Saxon poetry by heart, and that, as an adult, he learned to read and translate Latin. Alfred commissioned others to translate some works (e.g., Gregory the Great's Dialogues, and, very possibly, both a history of the world by Orosius and Bede's Ecclesiastical History), but many others are presented as having been translated by Alfred himself. These are translations or renderings of the following works: Gregory the Great's Pastoral Care; Augustine's Soliloquies; Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy; a book of laws, and a prose version of the Psalms. Taken together, these books offer access to a remarkable range of learning. Many (those by Augustine, Orosius, Boethius, and Gregory) present key works of late Christian Antiquity, originally written between the early fifth and late sixth centuries. Just as Roman culture had adjusted to Christianity in those centuries, so too did Alfred introduce the classics of a new Christianity, with many powerful echoes of ancient, preChristian Platonic philosophy, to a recently pagan England. With the Ecclesiastical History translation he may have commissioned, Anglo-Saxon readers could develop a very sharp awareness of England's own recent history. Whether Alfred really did translate these works himself we can never know. Certainly many of the additions made to the original source (particularly in the Boethius translation) discuss the pressures of kingship with great insight and personal intensity. The "Preface to the Pastoral Care" presents us with the image of a king totally committed to, and actively engaged in, learning. Alfred can see "the footprints" of former lovers of knowledge. With his long memory he is determined not to allow recent forgetfulness and destruction to obscure those traces forever.

Preface to the Pastoral Care 1 This Book is to go to Worcester King Alfred sends greetings to Bishop Waerferth 2 with his loving and friendly words, and would declare to you that it has very often c o m e to my mind what wise men there were formerly throughout the English people, both in sacred I. The translation is by Michael Swanton, AngloSaxon Prose (1993).

2. Bishop of Worcester (873—915).

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and in secular orders; and how there were happy times then throughout England; and how the kings who had rule over the people in those days were obedient to God and his messengers, and both maintained their peace and their morality and their authority at home, and also enlarged their territory abroad; and how they prospered both in warfare and in wisdom; and also how zealous the sacred orders were both about teaching and about learning and all the services which they had to perform for God; and how men from abroad came here to this land in search of knowledge and instruction, and how we should now have to get them from abroad, if we were to have them. So complete was its decay among the English people that there were very few this side of the Humber who could comprehend their services in English, or even translate a letter from Latin into English; and I imagine that there were not many beyond the Humber. 3 There were so few of them that I cannot even remember a single one south of the Thames when I succeeded to the kingdom. Thanks be to Almighty God that now we have any supply of teachers. And therefore I command you to do, as I believe you wish, that you disengage yourself as often as you can from the affairs of this world, so that you can apply the wisdom which God has given you wherever you are able to apply it. Think what punishments then came upon us in this world when we neither loved it ourselves nor allowed it to other men—we loved only to be called Christians, and very few loved the virtues. When I remembered all this, then I also remembered how, before it was all ravaged and burnt, I had seen how the churches throughout all England stood filled with treasures and books, and there was also a great multitude of God's servants—they had very little benefit from those books, because they could not understand anything of them, since they were not written in their own language. As if they had said: "Our forefathers who formerly held these places loved knowledge, and through it they acquired wealth and left it to us. One can see their footprints here still, but we cannot follow after them and therefore we have now lost both the wealth and the knowledge because we would not bend our mind to that course." When I remembered all this, then I wondered greatly at those good wise men who formerly existed throughout the English people and had fully studied all those books, that they did not wish to translate any part of them into their own language. But then I immediately answered myself and said: "They did not imagine that men should ever become so careless and learning so decayed; they refrained from it by intention and hoped that there would be the greater knowledge in this land the more languages we knew." Then I remembered how the law was first found in the Hebrew language, and afterwards, when the Greeks learned it, they translated it all into their own language, and all the other books as well. And afterwards in the same way the Romans, when they had learned them, they translated them all into their own language through learned interpreters. And all other Christian nations also translated some part of them into their own language. Therefore it seems better to me, if it seems so to you, that we also should translate certain books which are most necessary for all men to know, into the language that we can all understand, and also arrange it, as with God's help we very easily can if we have peace, so that all the youth of free men now among the English 3. The River Humber was the boundary between the Christian south and the as yet predominantly pagan north, which was occupied by Danish invaders.

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people, who have the m e a n s to be able to devote themselves to it, may be set to study for as long as they are of no other use, until the time they are able to read English writing well; afterwards one may teach further in the Latin lang u a g e those w h o m one wishes to promote to holy orders. T h e n when I remembered how the knowledge of Latin had previously decayed throughout the English people, and yet many could read English writing, I began amidst other various and manifold cares of this kingdom to translate into English the book which is called Pastoralis in Latin and 'Shepherd's Book' in English, sometimes word for word, sometimes in a paraphrase, as I learned it from my archbishop Plegmund, 4 and my bishop Asser, 5 and my priest Grimbold 6 and my priest John. 7 W h e n I had learned it, I translated it into English as I understood it and as I could interpret it most intelligibly; and I will send one to every bishopric in my kingdom; and in each there will be a book-marker worth fifty m a n c u s e s . 8 And in the n a m e of G o d I c o m m a n d that no one remove the book-marker from the book, nor the book from the minster; it is uncertain how long there may be such learned bishops, as now, thanks be to G o d , there are almost everywhere; therefore I desire that they should always lie at that place, unless the bishop want to have it with him, or it be anywhere on loan, or anyone be copying it. 4. 5. 6. 7. by

Archbishop of Canterbury ( 8 9 0 - 9 1 4 ) . Bishop of Sherborne (ca. 8 9 2 - 9 0 9 ) . A Frankish monk from St. Omer. A continental Saxon, made Abbot of Athelney Alfred.

THE

8. A mancus is a unit of weight equivalent to the weight of thirty silver pence. It is tempting to regard the well-known gold, crystal, and enamel Alfred jewel found at Athelney in 1693 as the head of one of these objects.

WANDERER

The lament of The Wanderer is an excellent example of the elegiac mood so common in Old English poetry. The loss of a lord, of companions in arms, of a mead hall (in which Anglo-Saxon life realized itself to the full) are themes that enhance the melancholy tone of Beowulf as they are the emotional basis for such a poem as the present one. But nowhere more poignantly expressed than in The Wanderer is the loneliness of the exile in search of a new lord and hall; this is what Beowulf's father, Ecgtheow, would have suffered, had it not been for Hrothgar's hospitality. To the wretched seeker all weather is wintry, for nature seems to conspire to match a man's mood as he moves over the water from one land to another, yearning for a home and kin to replace those vanished ones that still fill his thoughts. As is true of most Old English elegiac laments, both the language and the structure of The Wanderer are difficult. At the beginning the speaker (whom the poet identifies as an "earth-walker") voices hope of finding comfort after his many tribulations. After the poet's interruption, the wanderer continues to speak—to himself—of his long search for a new home, describing how he must keep his thoughts locked within him while he makes his search. But these thoughts form the most vivid and moving part of his soliloquy—how, floating on the sea, dazed with sorrow and fatigue, he imagines that he sees his old companions, and how, as he wakens to reality, they vanish over the water like seabirds. The second part of the poem, beginning with the seventh paragraph ("Therefore I cannot think why . . ."), expands the theme from one man to all human beings in a world wasted by war and time, and the speaker draws philosophical implications from his harsh experiences (presumably now in the past). He derives such cold comfort as he can from asking the old question Ubi sunt?—where

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are they who were once so glad to be alive? And he concludes with the thought that "all this earthly habitation shall be emptied" of humankind. The narrator communes with himself in private, apparently as an indication of his detachment from life. The poem concludes with a characteristic Old English injunction to practice restraint on earth, place hope only in heaven. The Waitderer is preserved only in the Exeter Book, a manuscript copied about 975, which contains the largest surviving collection of Old English poetry.

The Wanderer1 " H e who is alone often lives to find favor, mildness of the Lord, even though he has long had to stir with his arms the frost-cold sea, troubled in heart over the water-way had to tread the tracks of exile. Fully-fixed is his fate." So spoke the earth-walker, remembering hardships, fierce war-slaughters— the fall of dear kinsmen. "Often before the day dawned I have had to speak of my cares, alone: there is now none among the living to whom I dare clearly express the thought of my heart. I know indeed that it is a fine custom for a man to lock tight his heart's coffer, keep closed the hoard-case of his mind, whatever his thoughts may be. Words of a weary heart may not withstand fate, nor those of an angry spirit bring help. Therefore men eager for fame shut sorrowful thought up fast in their breast's coffer. "Thus I, wretched with care, removed from my homeland, far from dear kinsmen, have had to fasten with fetters the thoughts of my heart—ever since the time, many years ago, that I covered my gold-friend in the darkness of the earth; and from there I crossed the woven waves, winter-sad, downcast for want of a hall, sought a giver of treasure—a place, far or near, where I might find one in a mead-hall who should know of my people, or would comfort me friendless, receive me with gladness. He who has experienced it knows how cruel a companion sorrow is to the man who has no beloved protectors. Exile's path awaits him, not twisted gold—frozen thoughts in his heart-case, no joy of earth. He recalls the hall-warriors and the taking of treasure, how in youth his gold-friend made him accustomed to feasting. All delight has gone. "He who has had long to forgo the counsel of a beloved lord knows indeed how, when sorrow and sleep together bind the poor dweller-alone, it will seem to him in his mind that he is embracing and kissing his liege lord and laying his hands and his head on his knee, as it some times was in the old days when he took part in the gift-giving. Then he wakens again, the man with, no lord, sees the yellow waves before him, the sea-birds bathe, spread their feathers, frost and snow fall, mingled with hail. "Then the wounds are deeper in his heart, sore for want of his dear one. His sorrow renews as the memory of his kinsmen moves through his mind: he greets them with glad words, eagerly looks at them, a company of warriors. Again they fade, moving off over the water; the spirit of these fleeting ones brings to him no familiar voices. Care renews in him who must again and again send his weary heart out over the woven waves. "Therefore I cannot think why the thoughts of my heart should not grow dark when I consider all the life of men through this world—with what terrible I. This translation by E. T. Donaldson is based on the text as edited by John C. Pope in Eight Old English Poems, 3rd ed., rev. by R. D. Fulk (2000).

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swiftness they forgo the hall-floor, bold young retainers. So this middle-earth e a c h day fails and falls. No m a n may indeed b e c o m e wise before he has had his share of winters in this world's kingdom. T h e wise m a n must be patient, m u s t never be too hot-hearted, nor too hasty of speech, nor too fearful, nor too glad, nor too greedy for wealth, nor ever too eager to boast before he has thought clearly. A m a n m u s t wait, when he speaks in boast, until he knows clearly, sure-minded, where the thoughts of his heart may turn. " T h e wise warrior m u s t consider how ghostly it will be when all the wealth of this world stands waste, j u s t as now here and there through this middleearth wind-blown walls stand covered with frost-fall, storm-beaten dwellings. Wine-halls totter, the lord lies bereft of joy, all the c o m p a n y has fallen, bold m e n beside the wall. W a r took away some, bore them forth on their way; a bird carried one away over the deep sea; a wolf shared one with Death; another a man sad of f a c e hid in an earth-pit. " S o the Maker of mankind laid waste this dwelling-place until the old works of giants 2 stood idle, devoid of the noise of the stronghold's keepers. Therefore the m a n wise in his heart considers carefully this wall-place and this dark life, remembers the multitude of deadly combats long ago, and speaks these words: 'Where has the horse gone? Where the young warrior? Where is the giver of treasure? W h a t has b e c o m e of the feasting seats? Where are the joys of the hall? Alas, the bright cup! Alas, the mailed warrior! Alas, the prince's glory! H o w that time has gone, vanished beneath night's cover, j u s t as if it never had been! T h e wall, wondrous high, decorated with snake-likenesses, stands now over traces of the beloved company. T h e ash-spears' might has borne the earls away—weapons greedy for slaughter, F a t e the mighty; and storms beat on the stone walls, snow, the herald of winter, falling thick binds the earth when darkness c o m e s a n d the night-shadow falls, sends harsh hailstones from the north in hatred of men. All earth's kingdom is wretched, the world beneath the skies is changed by the work of the fates. Here wealth is fleeting, here friend is fleeting, here m a n is fleeting, here woman is fleeting—all this earthly habitation shall be emptied.' " So the wise m a n spoke in his heart, sat apart in private meditation. He is good who keeps his word; a m a n m u s t never utter too quickly his breast's passion, unless he knows first how to achieve remedy, as a leader with his courage. It will be well with him who seeks favor, comfort from the Father in heaven, where for us all stability resides. 2. Probably a reference to Roman ruins.

THE WIFE'S

LAMENT

In modern English translation, the speaker of this poem sounds much like the speaker in The Wanderer, lamenting his exile, isolation, and the loss of his lord. But in Old English the grammatical gender of the pronouns reveals that this speaker is a woman; the man she refers to as "my lord" must, therefore, be her husband. The story behind the lament remains obscure. All that can be made out for certain is that the speaker was married to a nobleman of another country; that her husband has left her (possibly forced into exile as a result of a feud); that his kinsmen are hostile to her; and that

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she is now living alone in a wilderness. Although the circumstances are shadowy, it is reasonable to conjecture that the wife may have been a "peace-weaver" (a woman married off to make peace between warring tribes), like Hildeburh and Freawaru, whose politically inspired marriages only result in further bloodshed (see Beowulf, pp. 57 and 78). The obscurity of the Old English text has led to diametrically opposed interpretations of the husband's feeling toward his wife. One interpretation holds that, for unexplained reasons, possibly because of his kinsmen's hostility to her, he has turned against her. The other, which is adopted in this translation, is that, in her mind at least, they share the suffering of his exile and their separation. Thus in the line here rendered "I must suffer the feud of my much-beloved, "foehdu (feud) is read by some as the technical term for a blood feud—the way it is used in Beowulf when Hrothgar says he settled a great feud started by Beowulf's father with feo (fee), i.e., monetary compensation (pp. 44—45). Others take the word in a more general sense as referring to the man's enmity toward his wife. In either case, the woman's themes and language resemble those of male "wraeccas" (outcasts or exiles; the Old English root survives in modern wretch and wretched) in the Old English poems called "elegies" because of their elegiac content and mood.

The Wife's Lament 1 Full of grief, I m a k e this p o e m about myself, my own fate. I have the right to say what miseries I have endured since I grew up, new or old—never greater than now. Endlessly I have suffered the wretchedness of exile. First my lord went away from his people here across the storm-tossed sea. At daybreak I worried in what land my lord might be. Then I set o u t — a friendless exile—to seek a household to shelter me against wretched need. Hiding their thoughts, the man's kinfolk hatched a plot to separate us so that we two should live most unhappy and farthest from one another in this wide world. And I felt longing. My lord c o m m a n d e d me to stay in this place. I had few dear ones, faithful friends, in this country; that is why I am sad. T h e n I found my h u s b a n d likeminded—luckless, gloomy, hiding murderous thoughts in his heart. With glad c o u n t e n a n c e , how often we vowed that death alone—nothing else—would drive us apart. That vow has been overthrown. O u r friendship is as if it had never been. Far and near, I m u s t suffer the f e u d of my much-beloved. I was told to live in an earth-cave beneath an oak tree amid the forest. This earthen hall is old. I am overcome with longing. T h e s e dales are dark, and hills high, bitter bulwarks overgrown with briers, a joyless dwelling. Here very often my lord's going away has wrenched me. There are couples on earth, lovers lying together in bed, while at dawn I c o m e out of this cave to sit under the oak tree the summerlong day alone. There I weep my exile, the many burdens. Therefore I can never set my cares at rest, nor still all this life's longing, which is my lot. Should a young person ever be sad, harsh care at heart, he must then at one and the s a m e time have heartache and a glad countenance, although he suffers endless surging sorrows. Whether my friend has all the world's joy at his bidding or whether, outlawed from his homeland, he sits covered with storm-frost beneath a rocky c l i f f — m y weary-minded friend, drenched in some dreary hall—he suffers great anguish. T o o often he remembers a happier place. W o e is the one who, languishing, waits for a lover. 1. Translated by Alfred David.

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A n g l o - N o r m a n Literature THE ANGLO-SAXON

CHRONICLE

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is a historical record in English, which takes the form of annals—that is, an annual summary of important events. Entries begin with variations of the formula "Dis gear" (This year) and may be brief or, occasionally, extended narratives. Copies of the original Chronicle, which was started in 891, were distributed to centers of learning where thej' were carried on independently. Seven manuscripts survive. The following selection comes from the Peterborough Chronicle (named for the monastery where it was kept), which was continued until 1154. The Peterborough Chronicle provides an English perspective on the rule of the Normans after the conquest. In recording the death of William the Conqueror, the chronicler begins with conventional pious observations about the transitory nature of fortune in this world and the expected eulogy of the late king. But the rhetorical praise of the great man shifts into criticism and finally into doggerel rhyme satirizing William's greed and arbitrary exercise of power—especially his cruel game laws.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 1 [OBITUARY FOR WILLIAM T H E

CONQUEROR]

[ 1 0 8 7 ] In the s a m e year, before the feast of the Assumption of Saint Mary, 2 King William went from Normandy into F r a n c e with an army and m a d e war on his own lord King Philip, 3 and killed a great n u m b e r of his men, and burned down the city of M a n t e s and all the holy churches that were in the city; and two holy men, who served God, living there in an anchorite's cell, were burned to death. When he had done this, King William returned to Normandy. He did a wretched thing, and one more wretched happened to him. In what way more wretched? He got sick and suffered severely. Bitter death, which spares neither the powerful nor the lowly, seized him. He died in Normandy the day after the feast of the birth of Saint Mary, 4 and they buried him in C a e n at the abbey of St. Stephen. He had had it built and then endowed it richly. Oh, how false and how fickle is the wealth of this world! He who had been a powerful king and lord of many lands, of all the land then held no more than seven feet. He who was once clothed in gold and gems, now lay covered with earth. He left three sons: the oldest was called Robert, who s u c c e e d e d him as duke of Normandy; the s e c o n d was called William who bore the crown of England after him; the third was called Henry to whom the father bequeathed countless treasures. 1. Translated by Alfred David. 2. August 15. 3. T h e king of France was lord of the dukes of

Normandy. 4. September 9.

1I5

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If anyone wishes to know what kind of man he was, or what honor he possessed, or how many lands he was lord of, we will write about him just as he appeared to us, who beheld him and formerly lived in his court. This King William we are speaking about was a very wise man, and very powerful, and worthier and stronger than any of his predecessors. He was mild to good men who loved God and extremely harsh to men who crossed his will. On that site where God had granted him to gain possession of England, he established a famous monastery 5 and set up monks in it and endowed it well. In his days the famous church of Canterbury was built and also many others throughout England. Moreover, this land was filled with a great many monks, and they led their life according to the rule of St. Benedict. And Christianity was such in his day that every man who wished was able to perform the duties that pertained to his religious order. Also he attached great importance to ceremony: he wore his crown three times a year as often as he was in England— at Easter he wore it at Winchester, at Pentecost at Westminster, and at Christmas at Gloucester. And at those times all the powerful men in England attended him—archbishops and bishops, abbots and earls, thanes and knights. He was also a very harsh and violent man so that no one dared do anything against his will. He put earls who acted against his will in fetters; he removed bishops from their bishoprics and abbots from their abbacies; and he threw thanes into prison. And he did not spare even his own brother, who was called Odo. The latter was a very powerful bishop in Normandy—his see was at Bayeux—and he was the foremost man next to the king. He had an earldom in England, and when the king was in Normandy, then he was master in this land. The king threw him in prison. Among other things, one must not forget the good peace that he made in this land so that any man of property might travel safely throughout the kingdom with his purse full of gold. No man dared to kill another, no matter how much harm that one had done to him. And if a man raped a woman, he immediately lost those parts with which he took pleasure. He ruled over England and because of his management contrived that there was not a hide of land in England that he did not know who owned it and what it was worth; and he set it down in his record. 6 The land of the Britons 7 was in his power, and he built castles in it and completely dominated that people. Likewise he subjected Scotland because of his great strength. Normandy was his by inheritance, and he ruled over the county called Maine. 8 And if he had lived another two years, he would have conquered Ireland with no weapon other than astute diplomacy. Truly in his time men suffered much hardship and very many injuries. He built fortresses And caused poor men great distress. This king was very hard. He took many a gold mark From his subjects and did purloin Hundreds more of silver coin. He extorted it by pounds On most illegal grounds. 5. Battle Abbey, where the Battle of Hastings took place. 6. Reference to the Domesday Book, a census and survey of land ordered by William. A hide of land

is roughly equivalent to 120 acres, 7. Wales. 8. Province in France adjoining Normandy,

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His people he would bleed, N o t from any need. Into avarice he fell And loved greed above all. He laid laws severe To protect the deer. Whoever killed a hart or hind W a s to be m a d e blind. T h e harts were forbidden, and T h e wild boars were also banned. He loved the tall deer As if he were their father. And the hares, he m a d e a decree, T h a t they should go free. His rich m e n lamented it, And his poor m e n resented it, But so stern a m a n was he He cared not for all their enmity. But they m u s t in everything Follow the will of the king If they wished to live or planned To own any l a n d — Estates or goods to e m b r a c e And to remain in his good grace. Alas, that any m a n should be So filled with arrogance that he Exalts himself above all the rest And holds himself to be the highest. M a y almighty G o d be merciful And grant forgiveness to his soul. We have written these things about him, both the good and the bad, so that good m e n may take after the good and s h u n the b a d in every respect and follow the path that leads us to the kingdom of heaven.

LEGENDARY H I S T O R I E S OF BRITAIN During the twelfth century, three authors, who wrote in Latin, Anglo-Norman French, and Middle English, respectively, created a mostly legendary history of Britain for their Norman overlords (see p. 9). This "history" was set in the remote past, beginning with a foundation myth—a heroic account of national origins—modeled on Virgil's A eneid and ending with the Anglo-Saxon conquest of the native islanders, the Britons, in the fifth and sixth centuries. The chief architect of the history is Geoffrey of Monmouth, who was writing his History of the Kings of Britain in Latin prose ca. 1136—38. His work was freely translated into French verse by Wace in 1155, and Wace in turn was translated into English alliterative poetry by Layamon in his Brut (ca. 1190). Geoffrey of Monmouth and Wace wrote their histories of Britain primarily for an audience of noblemen and prelates who were descendants of the Norman conquerors of the Anglo-Saxons. Geoffrey wrote several dedications of his History, first to sup-

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porters of Matilda, the heiress presumptive of Henry I, and, when the Crown went instead to Stephen of Blois, to the new king's allies and to Stephen himself. Layamon tells us that Wace wrote his French version for Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of Stephen's successor, Henry II. The prestige and power of ancient Rome still dominated the historical and political imagination of the feudal aristocracy, and the legendary history of the ancient kings of the Britons, especially of King Arthur, who had defeated Rome itself, served to flatter the self-image and ambitions of the Anglo-Norman barons. Perhaps the destruction of Arthur's kingdom also provided a timely object lesson of the disastrous consequences of civil wars such as those over the English succession in which these lords were engaged. The selections from Geoffrey of Monmouth and Wace are translated by Alfred David. The Layamon selections are translated by Rosamund Allen. For more information about Arthur, see "King Arthur" at Norton Literature Online.

GEOFFREY OF

MONMOUTH

The author of the History of the Kings of Britain was a churchman, probably of Welsh or Breton ancestry, who spent much of his life at Oxford. One of his motives in writing the work was undoubtedly to obtain advancement in the church. In the dedications of the History, Geoffrey claims that it is merely a translation into Latin of "a very old book in the British language [i.e., Welsh]," which had been loaned to him by his friend Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, but scholars have discounted this story as another one of Geoffrey's many fictions. Geoffrey began his history with a British foundation myth modeled upon Virgil's Aeneid. Out of legends that Rome had been founded by refugees from the fall of Troy, the poet Virgil had created his epic poem the Aeneid for Augustus Caesar. Aeneas, carrying his father upon his back, had escaped from the ruins of Troy and, fulfilling prophecies, became the founding father of a new Troy in Italy. The Britons had developed an analogous foundation myth in which a great-grandson of Aeneas called Brutus had led another band of Trojan exiles to establish another Troy, which was named Britain after him. Geoffrey drew upon earlier Latin chronicles and Welsh oral tradition, but he himself provided his history with a chronology, a genealogy, a large cast of both historical and legendary characters (among many other stories, he is the first to tell of King Lear and his daughters), and a cyclical sense of the rise and fall of empires. The longest and most original part of the work (over one-fifth of the History) is devoted to the birth and reign of King Arthur. In the first part of Arthur's reign, he defeats and drives out the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders. At the end of his reign the Saxons return at the invitation of the traitor Mordred and, though defeated again by Arthur in his last battle, they ultimately triumph over his successors. The historicity of Geoffrey's book, although questioned by some of Geoffrey's contemporary historians, was widely accepted and not fully discredited until the seventeenth century. In the course of time Arthur was adopted as a national and cultural hero by the English against whose ancestors he had fought, and his court became the international ideal of a splendid chivalric order in the past of which contemporary knighthood was only a faint imitation. Geoffrey of Monmouth himself already declares that in Arthur's time, "Womenfolk became chaste and more virtuous and for their love the knights were ever more daring." In the following selections, Geoffrey relates the British foundation myth, which he historicizes, amplifies, and fleshes out with details that he regards as classical.

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From The History of the Kings of Britain [THE

STORY OF

BRUTUS AND

DIANA'S

PROPHECY]

After the Trojan War, Aeneas with his son Ascanius fled from the destruction of the city and sailed to Italy. Although King Latinus would have received him there with honor, Turnus, the king of the Rutuli, was envious and made war on him. In their rivalry Aeneas prevailed and, having slain Turnus, obtained the kingdom of Italy and Latinus's daughter, Lavinia. At the end of Aeneas's days, Ascanius was elevated to royal power and founded the city of Alba on the banks of the Tiber. He fathered a son whose name was Silvius. The latter had a secret love affair with a niece of Lavinia's whom he married and got with child. When his father Ascanius learned about this he ordered his wise men to find out the sex of the child that the girl had conceived. When the wise men had made sure of the truth, they said that she would bear a son who would be the death of his father and mother. After travelling through many lands as an exile, he would nevertheless attain to the highest honor. Their prophecies did not turn out to be mistaken. For when her time had come, the woman bore a boy and died in childbirth. The boy was handed over to the midwife and named Brutus. At last, after fifteen years had gone by, the boy went hunting with his father and killed him with a misdirected bowshot. For as the servants were driving some stags into their path, Brutus, believing that he was aiming at them, hit his father below the breast. On account of this death, his relatives, outraged that he should have done such a deed, drove him from Italy.* * * [The exiled Brutus travels to Greece, where he discovers descendants of Trojan prisoners of war living in slavery. He organizes a successful rebellion against their Greek masters and, like Aeneas before him, leads them on a quest for a new homeland.] Driven by favorable winds, the Trojans sailed for two days and one night until they made land on an island called Leogetia, which was uninhabited because long ago it had been devastated by pirate raids. So Brutus sent three hundred armed men to explore the island and see whether anything was living on it. They found no one but they killed several kinds of wild animals that they came across in the woods and thickets. They came to a deserted city where they found a temple of Diana in which a statue of the goddess rendered oracles if someone should consult it. At last they returned to their ships, loaded down with game, and told their comrades about the land and the city. They suggested to their chief that he go to the temple and, after making propitiatory sacrifices, inquire of the goddess what land might afford them a permanent home. When everyone agreed, Brutus with the soothsayer Gero and twelve elders set out for the temple, taking along everything necessary for the sacrifice. When they got there, they bound their brows with headbands and, in preparation of the most ancient rite, they erected three hearths to three gods, namely to Jupiter, Mercury, and Diana. They poured out libations to each one in turn. Before the altar of the goddess, Brutus himself, holding a sacrificial vessel filled with wine and the blood of a

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white doe in his right hand, raised his f a c e to her statue and broke the silence with these words: 1 Mighty goddess of woodlands, terror of the wild boar, T h o u who art free to traverse the ethereal heavens And the m a n s i o n s of hell, disclose my rights on this earth And say what lands it is your wish for us to inhabit, What dwelling-place where I shall worship you all my life, Where I shall dedicate temples to you with virgin choirs. After he had spoken this prayer nine times, he walked four times around the altar and poured out the wine he was holding upon the hearth. T h e n he spread out the hide of the doe before the altar and lay down on it. He tried to doze off and finally fell asleep. It was now the third hour of the night when sweetest slumber overcomes mortals. T h e n it s e e m e d to him that the goddess was standing before him and speaking to him like this: B r u t u s , where the sun sets beyond the kingdoms of G a u l Is an isle in the ocean, closed all around by the sea. O n c e on a time giants lived on that isle in the ocean, But now it stands empty and fit to receive your people. S e e k it out, for it shall be your homeland forever; It shall be a second Troy for your descendants. T h e r e kings shall be born of your seed and to them All nations of the round earth shall be subject. W h e n the vision vanished, B r u t u s remained in doubt whether what he had seen was only a p h a n t o m or whether the actual voice of the goddess had foretold the homeland to which he was to travel. Finally he called his comrades and told them point by point what had happened to him while he slept. Waves of great joy swept over them, and they urged that they return to the ships and, while the wind blew behind them, head with swiftest sail toward the ocean to seek out what the goddess had promised. Without delay they rejoined their c o m r a d e s and set out on the high seas. I. Brutus's prayer and Diana's prophecy are written as Latin poetry and employ a more formal diction than the prose narrative. The entire episode is

meant to show off Geoffrey's classical learning and familiarity with pagan ritual.

WACE Wace (ca. 1110—ca. 1180) was a Norman cleric, born on the island of Jersey in the English Channel, which was then part of the dukedom of Normandy. Although educated for the church, he seems to have served the laity, perhaps in a secretarial function. All of his extant works, which include saints' lives, Le Roman de Brut (1155), and Le Roman de Rou, were written in French verse for a lay audience that would have included women like Eleanor of Aquitaine, to whom he dedicated the Brut, and Marie de France, who drew on that work in her lays. Roman in these titles refers to the fact that they are chronicles in French verse about, respectively, the dynasties of Brutus (first of the kings of Britain) and Rollo (first of the dukes of Normandy). The Roman de Brut is a very free translation in eight-syllable couplets of Geoffrey

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of Monmouth's Latin prose History of the Kings of Britain. (We have rendered Wace's verse as prose.) Wace has cut some details and added a good deal, including the first mention of the Round Table. He is far more interested than Geoffrey in creating an atmosphere of courtliness—in the way his characters dress, think, speak, and behave. The following selection covers a challenge delivered to Arthur by the Roman emperor Lucius and Arthur's response. This climactic sequence follows an elaborate coronation scene attended by a large gathering of kings and dukes from Britain and overseas who owe allegiance to Arthur and whose lands comprise what might be called the Arthurian Empire. At the feast following his coronation, Arthur's authority is challenged by ambassadors who present an insulting letter from Lucius. Arthur's reply is a masterpiece of feudal rhetoric that would have been admired by Wace's audience.

From Le Roman de Brut [THE

ROMAN CHALLENGE]

Arthur was seated on a dais surrounded by counts and kings when a dozen white-haired, very well-dressed men c a m e into the hall in pairs, one holding the other's hand. E a c h held an olive branch. They crossed the hall very slowly in an orderly and solemn procession, approached the king and hailed him. They said they h a d c o m e from R o m e as messengers. They unfolded a letter, which one of them gave to Arthur on behalf of the R o m a n emperor. Listen to what it said: " L u c i u s who holds R o m e in his domain and is sovereign lord of the R o m a n s , proclaims to King Arthur, his enemy, what he has deserved. I am disdainful in a m a z e m e n t and am amazed with disdain at the inordinate and insane pride with which you have set your sights on Rome. With disdain and amazement I ask myself at whose prompting and from what quarters you have undertaken to pick a quarrel with R o m e as long as a single R o m a n remains alive. You have acted with great recklessness in attacking us who have the right to rule the world and hold s u p r e m a c y over it. You still don't know, but we shall teach you; you are blind, but we shall make you see what a great thing it is to anger Rome, which has the power to rule over everything. You have p r e s u m e d beyond your place and crossed the b o u n d s of your authority! Have you any idea who you are and where you c o m e f r o m — y o u who are taking and holding back the tribute that belongs to us? You are taking our tribute and our lands: why do you hold them, why don't you turn them over, why do you keep them, what right do you have to them? If you keep them any longer, you will be acting most recklessly. And if you are capable of holding them without our forcing you to give them up, you might as well s a y — a n unprecedented miracle!—that the lion flees from the lamb, the wolf from the goat, the greyhound from the hare. But that could never happen, for N a t u r e would not s u f f e r it. Julius Caesar, our a n c e s t o r — b u t maybe you have little respect for h i m — c o n q u e r e d Britain and imposed a tribute that our people have collected since that time. And we have also been receiving tribute for a long time from the other islands surrounding you. And you have foolishly p r e s u m e d to take tribute from both of them. Already you were guilty of senseless behavior, but you have committed an even greater insult that touches us still more closely than the losses we have sustained: you killed our vassal Frollo 1 and illegally occupied France. I. Roman governor of France.

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Therefore, since you are not afraid of Rome nor its great power, the Senate summons and orders you—for the summons is an order—to come before it in mid-August, ready, at whatever cost, to make full restitution of what you have taken from them. And thus you will give satisfaction for the wrongs of which we accuse you. But if you delay in any fashion to do what I command you, I will cross the Alps with an army and will deprive you of Britain and France. But I can't imagine that you will await my coming or will defend France against me. I don't think you will dare to face me on this side of the Channel. And even if you stay over there, you will never await my coming. You won't know a place to hide where I won't flush you out. I'll lead you to Rome in chains and hand you over to the Senate." At these words there was a great uproar, and all were greatly enraged. You could have heard the Britons shouting loudly, calling God as witness and swearing by his name that they were going to punish the messengers. They would have showered them with abuse and insults, but the king rose to his feet and called out to them, "Silence! Silence! Don't lay a hand on these men. They are messengers; they have a master, they are bringing his message; they can say whatever they like. No one shall do them the slightest harm." When the noise quieted down and the retainers recovered their composure, the king ordered his dukes and counts and his personal advisers to accompany him to a stone tower called the Giant Tower. There he wanted to seek advice on what to reply to the messengers. Side by side the barons and counts were already mounting the stairs, when Cador, the duke of Cornwall, with a smile spoke to the king, who was in front of him, as follows: "I've been afraid," he said, "and have often thought that leisure and peace might spoil the Britons, for leisure is conducive to bad habits and causes many a man to become lazy. Leisure diminishes prowess, leisure promotes lechery, leisure kindles clandestine love affairs. Through prolonged repose and leisure youth gets preoccupied with entertainment and pleasure and backgammon and other games of diversion. By staying put and resting for a long time, we could lose our reputation. Well, we've been asleep, but God has given us a little wake-up call—let us thank him for encouraging the Romans to challenge our country and the others we have conquered. Should the Romans find it in themselves to carry out what they say in that letter, the Britons will still retain their reputation for valor and strength. I never like peace for long, nor shall I love a peace that lasts a long time." "My lord," said Gawain, "in faith, you're getting upset over nothing. Peace after war is a good thing. The land is better and more beautiful on account of it. It's very good to amuse oneself and to make love. It's for love and for their ladies that knights perform chivalrous deeds." While bantering in this way, they entered the tower and took their seats. When Arthur saw them sitting down and waiting in silence with full attention, he paused for a moment in thought, then raised his head and spoke: "Barons," he said, "you who are here, my companions and friends, you have stood by me in good times and bad; you have supported me when I had to go to war; you have taken my part whether I won or lost; you have been partners in my loss, and in my gain when I conquered. Thanks to you and your help, I have won many a victory. I have led you through many dangers by land and by sea, in places near and far. I have found you loyal in action and in counsel. I have tested your mettle many times and always found it good. Thanks to you

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the neighboring countries are subject to me. You have heard the Romans' order, the tenor of the letter, and the overbearingness and arrogance of their demands. They have provoked and threatened us enough, but if God protects us, we shall do away with the Romans. They are rich and have great power, and now we must carefully consider what we can properly and reasonably say and do. Trouble is dealt with better when a strategy has been worked out in advance. If someone sees the arrow in flight, he must get out of the way or shield himself. That is how we must proceed. The Romans want to shoot at us, and we must get ready so that they cannot wound us. They demand tribute from Britain and must have it, so they tell us; they demand the same from the other islands and from France. "But first I shall reply how matters stand with regard to Britain. They claim that Caesar conquered it; Caesar was a powerful man and carried out his will by force. The Britons could not defend themselves against him, and he exacted tribute from them by force. But might is not right; it is force and superior power. A man does not possess by right what he has taken by force. Therefore, we are allowed to keep by right what they formerly took by force. They have held up to us the damages, losses, humiliations, the sufferings and fears that they inflicted on our ancestors. They boasted that they conquered them and extorted tribute and rents from them. We have all the more right to make them suffer; they have all the more restitution to make to us. We ought to hate those who hated our ancestors and to injure those who injured them. They remind us that they made them suffer, got tribute from them, and demand tribute from us. They want us to suffer the same shame and extortion as our ancestors. They once got tribute from Britain, and so they want to get it from us. By the same reason and with equal cause we can challenge the Romans and dispute our rights. Belinus, who was king of the Britons, and Brennus, 2 duke of the Burgundians, two brothers born in Britain, valiant and wise knights, marched on Rome, laid siege to the city, and took it by assault. They hanged twentyfour hostages in plain sight of their families. When Belinus returned from Rome, he entrusted the city to his brother. "I won't dwell on Belinus and Brennus but will speak of Constantine. He was British by birth, the son of Helen; he held Rome in his own right. Maximian, king of Britain, conquered France and Germany, crossed the Alps and Lombardy and reigned over Rome. These were my ancestors by direct descent, and each one held Rome in his possession. Now you may hear and understand that we have just as much right to possess Rome as they do to possess Britain. The Romans had our tribute, and my ancestors had theirs. They claim Britain, and I claim Rome. This is the gist of my counsel: that they may have the land and tribute who can take it away from another. As for France and the other lands we have taken from them, they have no right to dispute them since they would not or could not defend them, or perhaps had no right to them because they held them in bondage through force and greed. So let he who can hold all. There is no need to look for any other kind of right. The emperor threatens us. God forbid that he should do us any harm. He says that he will take away 2. Brennus was not a Briton but a Gaulish chieftain who sacked Rome in the 4th century. Belinus is fictional. Constantine I, who adopted Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire, was believed to be British. Maximian (Maximus) was a 5th-century Roman general serving in Britain who abandoned the island when his army pro-

claimed him emperor and usurped the imperium in civil wars that weakened Rome and left Britain at the mercy of attacks by the Picts, Scots, and Germanic tribes. Geoffrey of Monmouth's earlier accounts of these personages had conflated a tiny amount of fact with a great deal of fiction.

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our lands a n d lead me to R o m e as a prisoner. He has small regard or fear of me. But, G o d willing, if he c o m e s to this land, before he leaves again he'll have no s t o m a c h to m a k e threats. He defies me, a n d I defy him: may he possess the lands who is able to take them!" W h e n King Arthur had spoken what he wanted to his barons, the others spoke in turn while the rest listened. Hoel, king of Brittany, spoke next: "Sire," he said, "in faith, you have spoken many j u s t words; none could have said it better. S e n d after and mobilize your forces along with us who are here at court. Without delay p a s s over the sea, p a s s through Burgundy and France, pass the Alps, conquer Lombardy! Throw the emperor who is defying you into confusion and panic so that he will not have the c h a n c e to c a u s e you harm. T h e R o m a n s have b e g u n a suit that will ruin them. G o d wants to exalt you: don't hold back and lose any time! M a k e yourself master of the empire, which is ready to surrender to you of its own will. R e m e m b e r what is written in the Sibyl's prophecies. 3 T h r e e Britons will be born in Britain who shall conquer R o m e by might. T w o have already lived and b e e n sovereigns over Rome. T h e first was Belinus and the second, Constantine. You shall be the third to possess R o m e a n d c o n q u e r it by force; in you the Sibyl's prophecy will be fulfilled. Why delay to seize that which G o d wants to bestow on you? Increase your glory a n d ours to which we aspire. We may say truly that we are not afraid of blows or w o u n d s or death or hardship or prison so long as we strive for honor. As long as you are in danger, I will lead ten thousand armed knights in your host, a n d if that s h o u l d not be enough, I shall mortgage all my lands and give you the gold a n d silver. I won't keep b a c k a farthing so long as you have need of it!" 3. Reference to the Sibylline books containing prophecies of the Roman Sibyl of Cumae, but these no longer existed and could have been known

only by reputation. This prophecy was probably invented by Geoffrey of Monmouth.

LAYAMON Layamon, an English priest, adapted Wace's Roman de Brut into Middle English alliterative verse. His Brut (ca. 1190) runs to 16,095 lines, expanding on Wace and adding much new material. After winning the continental campaign against Lucius, Arthur is forced to return to Britain upon learning that his nephew, Mordred, whom he had left behind as regent, has usurped Arthur's throne and queen. The following selection, a passage added by Layamon, presents Arthur's dream of Mordred's treachery. Layamon employs a long alliterative line that harks back to Old English poetry, but the two halves of his line are often linked by rhyme as well as by alliteration. Layamon reveals his ties with Germanic literary tradition in other ways. In Arthur's nightmare, the king and Gawain are sitting astride the roof beam of a building like the mead hall Heorot in Beowulf—a symbol of the control a king wields over his house and kingdom. On the ground below, Mordred is chopping away at the foundations like the gigantic rodent in Norse mythology that is gnawing away at the roots of Yggdrasil, the great tree, which holds together earth, heaven, and hell.

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From Brut [ARTHUR'S

13965

13970

13975

13980

13985

13990

13995

14000

14005

DREAM]

Then came to pass what Merlin spoke of long before, That the walls of Rome would fall down before Arthur; This had already happened there in relation to the emperor Who had fallen in the fighting with fifty thousand men: That's when Rome with her power was pushed to the ground. And so Arthur really expected to possess all of Rome, And the most mighty of kings remained there in Burgundy. Now there arrived at this time a bold man on horseback; News he was bringing for Arthur the king From Modred, his sister's son: to Arthur he was welcome, For he thought that he was bringing very pleasant tidings. Arthur lay there all that long night, talking with the young knight, Who simply did not like to tell him the truth of what had happened. The next day, as dawn broke, the household started moving, And then Arthur got up, and, stretching his arms, He stood up, and sat down again, as if he felt very sick. Then a good knight questioned him: "My Lord, how did you get on last night?" Arthur responded (his heart was very heavy): "Tonight as I was sleeping, where I was lying in my chamber, There came to me a dream which has made me most depressed: I dreamed someone had lifted me right on top of some hall And I was sitting on the hall, astride, as if I was going riding; All the lands which I possess, all of them I was surveying, And Gawain sat in front of me, holding in his hands my sword. Then Modred came marching there with a countless host of men, Carrying in his hand a massive battle-axe. He started to hew, with horrible force, And hacked down all the posts which were holding up the hall. I saw Guinevere there as well, the woman I love best of all: The whole roof of that enormous hall with her hands she was pulling down; The hall started tottering, and I tumbled to the ground, And broke my right arm, at which Modred said 'Take that!' Down then fell the hall and Gawain fell as well, Falling on the ground where both his arms were broken, So with my left hand I clutched my beloved sword And struck off Modred's head and it went rolling over the ground, And I sliced the queen in pieces with my beloved sword, And after that I dropped her into a dingy pit. And all my fine subjects set off in flight, And what in Christendom became of them I had no idea, Except that I was standing by myself in a vast plain, And then I started roaming all around across the moors; There I could see griffins and really gruesome birds. "Then a golden lioness came gliding over the downs, As really lovely a beast as any Our Lord has made. The lioness ran up to me and put her jaws around my waist,

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And off she set, moving away towards the sea, And I could see the waves, tossing in the sea, And taking me with her, the lioness plunged into the water. When we two were in the sea, the waves swept her away from me; Then a fish came swimming by and ferried me ashore. 14015 Then I was all wet and weary, and I was sick with sorrow. And upon waking, I started quaking, And then I started to shudder as if burning up with fire, And so all night I've been preoccupied with my disturbing dream, For I know of a certainty this is the end of my felicity, 14020 And all the rest of my life I must suffer grief. 0 alas that I do not have here my queen with me, my Guinevere!" Then the knight responded: "My Lord, you are mistaken; Dreams should never be interpreted as harbingers of sorrow! You are the most mighty prince who has rule in any land, 14025 And the most intelligent of all inhabitants on the earth. If it should have happened—as may Our Lord not allow it— That your sister's son, Lord Modred, your own queen might have wedded, And all your royal domains might have annexed in his own name, Those which you entrusted to him when you intended going to Rome, 14030 And if he should have done all this by his treacherous deeds, Even then you might avenge yourself honorably with arms, And once again possess your lands and rule over your people, And destroy your enemies who wish you so much evil, And slay them, every one alive, so that there is none who survives!" 14035 Then Arthur answered him, most excellent of all kings: "For as long as is for ever, I have no fear whatever, That Modred who is my relative, the man I love best, Would betray all my trust, not for all of my realm, Nor would Guinevere, my queen, weaken in her allegiance, 14040 She will not begin to, for any man in the world!" Immediately after these words, the knight gave his answer: "I am telling you the truth, dear king, for I am merely your underling: Modred has done these things: he has adopted your queen, And has placed in his own hands your lovely land; 14045 He is king and she is queen; they don't expect your return, For they don't believe it will be the case that you'll ever come back from Rome. 1 am your loyal liegeman, and I did see this treason, And so I have come to you in person to tell you the truth. Let my head be as pledge of what I have told you, 14050 The truth and no lie, about your beloved queen, And about Modred, your sister's son, and how he has snatched Britain from you." Then everything went still in King Arthur's hall; There was great unhappiness for the excellent king, And because of it the British men were utterly depressed; 14055 Then after a while came the sound of a voice; All over could be heard the reactions of the British As they started to discuss in many kinds of expression

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H o w they wished to c o n d e m n M o d r e d and the q u e e n And destroy all the population who had supported Modred. M o s t c o u r t e o u s of all Britons, Arthur then called out aloud, "Sit down quietly, my knights in this assembly, And then I shall tell you s o m e very strange tales. N o w tomorrow when daylight is sent by our Lord to us, I wish to be on my way toward entering Britain, And there I shall kill M o d r e d and burn the q u e e n to death, And I shall destroy all of them who gave a s s e n t to the treason."

T H E MYTH O F A R T H U R ' S R E T U R N Folklore and literature provide examples of a recurrent myth about a leader or hero who has not really died but is asleep somewhere or in some state of suspended life and will return to save his people. Evidently, the Bretons and Welsh developed this myth about Arthur in oral tradition long before it turns up in medieval chronicles. Geoffrey of Monmouth, Wace, and Layamon, and subsequent writers about Arthur, including Malory (see p. 438), allude to it with varying degrees of skepticism.

From The History of the Kings of Britain

G E O F F R E Y OF M O N M O U T H :

But also the f a m o u s King Arthur himself was mortally wounded. When he was carried off to the island of Avalon to have his wounds treated, he bestowed the crown on his cousin Constantine, the son of D u k e Cador in the year 542 after the Incarnation of our lord. May his soul rest in peace.

WACE:

From Roman de Brut

Arthur, if the story is not false, was mortally wounded; he had himself carried to Avalon to be healed of his wounds. He is still there and the Britons expect him as they say and hope. He'll c o m e from there if he is still alive. Master Wace, who m a d e this book, won't say more about Arthur's end than the prophet Merlin rightly said once upon a time that one would not know whether or not he were dead. T h e prophet spoke truly: ever since men have asked and shall always ask, I believe, whether he is dead or alive. Truly he had himself taken to Avalon 5 4 2 years after the Incarnation. It was a pity that he had no offspring. He left his realm to Constantine, the son of C a d o r of Cornwall, and asked him to reign until his return.

LAYAMON:

From Brut

Arthur was mortally wounded, grievously badly; To him there c a m e a young lad who was from his clan,

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He was Cador the Earl of Cornwall's son; The boy was called Constantine; the king loved him very much. Arthur gazed up at him, as he lay there on the ground, And uttered these words with a sorrowing heart: "Welcome, Constantine; you were Cador's son; Here I bequeath to you all of my kingdom, And guard well my Britons all the days of your life And retain for them all the laws which have been extant in my days And all the good laws which there were in Uther's days. And I shall voyage to Avalon, to the fairest of all maidens, To the Q u e e n Argante, a very radiant elf, And she will make quite sound every one of my wounds, Will make me completely whole with her health-giving potions. And then I shall come back to my own kingdom And dwell among the Britons with surpassing delight." After these words there came gliding from the sea What seemed a short boat, moving, propelled along by the tide And in it were two women in remarkable attire, Who took Arthur up at once and immediately carried him And gently laid him down and began to move off. And so it had happened, as Merlin said before: That the grief would be incalculable at the passing of Arthur. The Britons even now believe that he is alive And living in Avalon with the fairest of the elf-folk, And the Britons are still always looking for when Arthur comes returning. Yet once there was a prophet and his name was Merlin: He spoke his predictions, and his sayings were the truth, Of how an Arthur once again would come to aid the English.

C E L T I C CONTEXTS The changes European literature underwent during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are greatly indebted to Celtic influences. The legends about King Arthur and his knights, although they were assimilated to the feudal culture of the AngloNormans and transmitted by texts written in Latin, French, and English (see p. 9), were originally products of Celtic myth and legend. The folkloric otherworld elements and the major role played by women in those stories profoundly shaped and colored the literature we now think of as "romance." The French Tristran romances, the romances of Marie de France and Chretien de Troyes, and even the legends of the Holy Grail could not have been imagined without their Celtic components. The Celts overran central Europe, Spain, and the British Isles during the first millennium B . C . E . On the Continent and in Great Britain, south of the wall built by the emperor Hadrian (see the map inside the front cover), they were absorbed into the Roman Empire. However, the Celtic vernacular continued to be spoken as the native language, and Ireland never became a Roman province. The Anglo-Saxon invasions in the fifth and early sixth centuries, and the Danish invasions after the eighth, displaced Celtic in England, but Celtic language and culture continued to flourish in Wales (Welsh), in Cornwall (Cornish), across the English Channel in Brittany (Breton), and, of course, in Ireland (Gaelic). While still part of the Roman Empire,

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Britain and, in consequence, Ireland had been converted to Christianity. As portrayed in the Arthurian legend, the Christian Britons fought against barbaric Germanic invaders. Irish and Welsh missionaries, along with Roman ones, brought about the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons. The earliest Celtic literature, like that of the Anglo-Saxons, was transmitted orally and little was copied down before the twelfth century. Nevertheless, the surviving monuments indicate its richness and its significance for the development of French and English medieval literature.

EXILE OF THE SONS OF UISLIU The Old Irish tale of the Exile of the Sons of Uisliu [tsh-lu] is believed on linguistic grounds to date back to at least the eighth century, although the earliest text is found in a mid-twelfth-century manuscript known as the Book of the Dun Cow. As is typical in Old Irish narrative, many of the characters' speeches are in verse that is probably even older. The Exile is one of several tales leading up to the epic Tain Bo Cuailnge (The Cattle Raid of Cooley), which tells of the war between the kingdoms of Connacht and Ulster. Its heroine Derdriu [der-dru] is one of the passionate and strong-willed women, whose prototypes may have been ancient divinities, for which Old Irish literature is noted. In some respects the triangle of Derdriu, Conchobor [kon-chor: ch is guttural as in Scots loch], and Noisiu [noi-shu] resembles that of Isolt, King Mark, and Tristran, told in twelfth-century poetic versions by Thomas (pp. 136—41), who probably wrote for the court of Henry II, and by the Norman Beroul. The Tristran story has antecedents in Irish, Welsh, and Breton. The story of Derdriu is the source of modern plays by William Butler Yeats and John Millington Synge and a novel by James Stephens.

Exile of the Sons of Uisliu1 What c a u s e d the exile of the sons of Uisliu? It is soon told. T h e m e n of Ulster were drinking in the h o u s e of Conchobor's storyteller, Fedlimid mac Daill. Fedlimid's wife was overseeing everything and looking after them all. S h e was full with child. Meat and drink were p a s s e d round, and a drunken uproar shook the place. W h e n they were ready to sleep the woman went to her bed. As she crossed the floor of the h o u s e the child screamed in her womb and was heard all over the enclosure. At that s c r e a m everyone in the h o u s e started up, staring at each other. S e n c h a m a c Ailella said: " N o one move! Bring the w o m a n here. We'll see what c a u s e d this noise." So the w o m a n was brought before them. Her h u s b a n d Fedlimid said: Woman, what was that fierce shuddering sound furious in your troubled womb? T h e weird uproar at your waist hurts the ears of all who hear it.

1. The translation and notes 2, 4, 6—8 are by Thomas Kinsella, The Tain (1969).

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My heart trembles at some great terror or some cruel injury. S h e turned distracted to the seer Cathbad: Fair-faced Cathbad, hear me —prince, pure, precious crown, grown huge in druid spells. I can't find the fair words that would shed the light of knowledge for my husband Fedlimid, even though it was the hollow of my own womb that howled. No woman knows what her womb bears. Then Cathbad said: A woman with twisted yellow tresses, green-irised eyes of great beauty and cheeks flushed like the foxglove howled in the hollow of your womb. I say that whiter than the snow is the white treasure of her teeth; Parthian-red, 2 her lip's luster. Ulster's chariot-warriors will deal many a blow for her. There howled in your troubled womb a tall, lovely, long-haired woman. Heroes will contend for her, high kings beseech on her account; then, west of Conchobor's kingdom a heavy harvest of fighting men. High queens will ache with envy to see those lips of Parthian-red opening on her pearly teeth, and see her pure perfect body. Cathbad placed his hand on the woman's belly and the baby wriggled under it.

"Yes," he said, "there is a girl there. Derdriu shall be her name. She will bring evil." Then the daughter was born and Cathbad said: " M u c h damage, Derdriu, will follow your high fame and fair visage: Ulster in your time tormented, demure daughter of Fedlimid. And later, too, jealousy will dog you, woman like a flame, and later still—listen well— the three sons of Uisliu exiled. 2. A word of doubtful meaning. It has been suggested that it derives from "Parthica"—Parthian leather dyed scarlet.

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Then again, in your lifetime, a bitter blow struck in Emain. Remorse later for that ruin wrought by the great son of Roech; 3 Fergus exiled out of Ulster through your fault, fatal woman, and the much-wept deadly wound of Fiachna, Conchobor's son. Your fault also, fatal woman, Gerrce felled, Illadan's son, and a crime that no less cries out, the son of Durthacht, Eogan, struck. Harsh, hideous deeds done in anger at Ulster's high king, and little graves everywhere —a famous tale, Derdriu. "Kill the child!" the warriors said. "No," Conchobor said. "The girl will be taken away tomorrow. I'll have her reared for me. This woman I'll keep to myself." The men of Ulster didn't dare speak against him. And so it was done. She was reared by Conchobor and grew into the loveliest woman in all Ireland. She was kept in a place set apart, so that no Ulsterman might see her until she was ready for Conchobor's bed. No one was allowed in the enclosure but her foster-father and her foster-mother, and Leborcham, tall and crooked, a satirist, who couldn't be kept out. 4 One day in winter, the girl's foster-father was skinning a milk-fed calf on the snow outside, to cook it for her. She saw a raven drinking the blood on the snow. She said to Leborcham: "I could desire a man who had those three colors there: hair like the raven, cheeks like blood and his body like snow." "Good luck and success to you!" Leborcham said. "He isn't too far away, but close at hand—Noisiu, Uisliu's son." "I'll be ill in that case," she said, "until I see him." This man Noisiu was chanting by himself one time near Emain, 5 on the rampart of the stronghold. The chanting of the sons of Uisliu was very sweet. Every cow or beast that heard it gave two-thirds more milk. Any person hearing it was filled with peace and music. Their deeds in war were great also: if the whole province of Ulster came at them at once, they could put their three backs together and not be beaten, their parrying and defense were so fine. Besides this they were swift as hounds in the chase, killing the wild beasts in flight. While Noisiu was out there alone, therefore, she slipped out quickly to him and made as though to pass him and not recognize him. "That is a fine heifer going by," he said. "As well it might," she said. "The heifers grow big where there are no bulls." 3. Fergus, a great hero of Ulster. One consequence of this episode is that he will side with Connacht in the war against Ulster. 4. Through fear that her verses might bring harm.

Leborcham, as a satirist, would have more than usual freedom. 5. Emain Macha [ev-in-ma-cha], Conchobor's royal stronghold.

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"You have the bull of this province all to yourself," he said, "the king of Ulster." "Of the two," she said, "I'd pick a game young bull like you." "You couldn't," he said. "There is Cathbad's prophecy." "Are you rejecting me?" "I am," he said. Then she rushed at him and caught the two ears of his head. "Two ears of shame and mockery," she said, "if you don't take me with you." "Woman, leave me alone!" he said. "You will do it," she said, binding him. 6 A shrill cry escaped him at that. The men of Ulster nearby, when they heard it, started up staring at each other. Uisliu's other sons went out to quieten their brother. "What is wrong?" they said. "Whatever it is, Ulstermen shouldn't kill each other for it." He told them what had happened. "Evil will come of this," the warriors said. "But even so, you won't be shamed as long as we live. We can bring her with us to some other place. There's no king in Ireland who would deny us a welcome." They decided on that. They left that night, with three times fifty warriors and three times fifty women and the same of hounds and menials. Derdriu was among them, mingling with the rest. They traveled about Ireland for a long time, under protection. Conchobor tried to destroy them often with ambushes and treachery. They went round southwestward from the red cataract at Es Ruaid, and to the promontory at Benn Etair, northeastward. But still the men of Ulster pursued them until they crossed the sea to the land of Alba. 7 They settled there in the waste places. When the mountain game failed them they turned to take the people's cattle. A day came when the people of Alba went out to destroy them. Then they offered themselves to the king of Alba, who accepted them among his people as hired soldiers. They set their houses on the green. They built their houses so that no one could see in at the girl in case there might be killing on her account. It happened that a steward came looking around their house early one morning. He saw the couple sleeping. Then he went and woke the king: "I never found a woman fit for you until today," he said. "There is a woman with Noisiu mac Uislenn who is fit for a king over the Western World. If you have Noisiu killed, you can have the woman to sleep with," the steward said. " N o , " the king said, "but go and ask her every day in secret." He did this, but every day he came she told Noisiu about it that night. Since nothing could be done with her, the sons of Uisliu were ordered into all kinds of traps and dangerous battles to have them killed. But they were so hard in the carnage that nothing came of it. They tried her one last time. Then the men of Alba were called together to kill them. She told Noisiu this. "Go away from here," she said. "If you don't leave here this night, you will be dead tomorrow."

6. The words "binding him" are not in the text. Her words put Noisiu under bond, or geasa, to do

what she asked. 7. This means Britain generally.

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So they left that night and reached an island in the sea. This news reached Ulster. "Conchobor," everyone said, "it would be shameful if the sons of Uisliu fell in enemy lands by the fault of a bad woman. Better to forgive and protect them—to save their lives and let them come home—than for enemies to lay them low." "Let them come," Conchobor said. "Send for them, with guarantees of safety." This news was brought to them. "It is welcome," they said. "We'll go if Fergus comes as a pledge of safety, and Dubthach and Conchobor's son Cormac." Then they went down with the messengers to the sea. So they were brought back to Ireland. But Fergus was stopped through Conchobor's cunning. He was invited to a number of ale feasts and, by an old oath, couldn't refuse. The sons of Uisliu had sworn they would eat no food in Ireland until they ate Conchobor's food first, so they were bound to go on. Fiacha, Fergus's son, went on with them, while Fergus and Dubthach stayed behind. The sons of Uisliu came to the green at Emain. Eogan mac Durthacht, king of Fernmag, was there: he had come to make peace with Conchobor, with whom he had long been at enmity. He had been chosen to kill them. Conchobor's hired soldiers gathered around him so that the sons of Uisliu couldn't reach him. They stood in the middle of the green. The women settled on the ramparts of Emain. Eogan crossed the green with his men. Fergus's son came and stood at Noisiu's side. Eogan welcomed Noisiu with the hard thrust of a great spear that broke his back. Fergus's son grasped Noisiu in his two arms and pulled him down and threw himself across him, and Noisiu was finished off through Fergus's son's body. Then the slaughter broke out all over the green. No one left except by spike of spear or slash of sword. Derdriu was brought over to Conchobor and stood beside him with her hands bound at her back. Fergus was told of this, and Dubthach and Cormac. They came at once and did mighty deeds. Dubthach killed Maine, Conchobor's son. Fiachna, son of Conchobor's daughter Fedelm, was killed with a single thrust. Fergus killed Traigthren, Traiglethan's son, and his brother. Conchobor was outraged, and on a day soon afterward battle was joined between them, and three hundred among the men of Ulster fell. Before morning Dubthach had massacred the girls of Ulster and Fergus had burned Emain. Then they went to Connacht, to Ailill and Medb—not that this was a home for Ulstermen, but that they knew these two would protect them. A full three thousand the exiles numbered. For sixteen years they made sure that weeping and trembling never died away in Ulster; there was weeping and trembling at their hands every single night. She was kept a year by Conchobor. In that time she never gave one smile, nor took enough food or sleep, nor lifted up her head from her knees. If they sent musicians to her, she would say this following poem: Sweet in your sight the fiery stride of raiding men returned to Emain. More nobly strode the three proud, sons of Uisliu toward their home:

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Noisiu bearing the best mead —I would wash him by the fire— Ardan, with a stag or a boar, Anle, shouldering his load. The son of Nes, battle-proud, drinks, you say, the choicest mead. Choicer still—a brimming sea— I have taken frequently. Modest Noisiu would prepare a cooking-pit in the forest floor. Sweeter then than any meat the son of Uisliu's, honey-sweet. Though for you the times are sweet with pipers and with trumpeters, I swear today I can't forget that I have known far sweeter airs. Conchobor your king may take delight in pipers and in trumpeters —I have known a sweeter thing, the three sons' triumphant song. Noisiu's voice a wave roar, a sweet sound to hear forever; Ardan's bright baritone; Anle, the hunter's, high tenor. Noisiu: his grave-mound is made and mournfully accompanied. The highest hero—and I poured the deadly potion when he died. His cropped gold fleece I loved, and fine form—a tall tree. Alas, I needn't watch today, nor wait for the son of Uisliu. I loved the modest, mighty warrior, loved his fitting, firm desire, loved him at daybreak as he dressed by the margin of the forest. Those blue eyes that melted women, and menaced enemies, I loved; then, with our forest journey done, his chanting through the dark woods. I don't sleep now, nor redden my fingernails.

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What have I to do with welcomes? The son of Indel 8 will not come. I can't sleep, lying there half the night. These crowds—I am driven out of my mind. I can neither eat nor smile. What use for welcome have I now with all these nobles crowding Emain? Comfortless, no peace nor joy, nor mansion nor pleasant ornament. If Conchobor tried to soothe her, she would chant this following poem: Conchobor, what are you thinking, you that piled up sorrow over woe? Truly, however long I live, I cannot spare you much love. The thing most dear to me in the world, the very thing I most loved, your harsh crime took from me. I will not see him till I die. I feel his lack, wearily, the son of Uisliu. All I see— black boulders on fair flesh so bright once among the others. Red-cheeked, sweet as the river-brink; red-lipped; brows beetle-black; pearly teeth gleaming bright with a noble snowy light. His figure easiest to find, bright among Alba's fighting-men —a border made of red gold matched his handsome crimson cloak. A soft multitude of jewels in the satin tunic—itself a jewel: for decoration, all told, fifty ounces of light gold. He carried a gold-hilted sword and two javelins sharply tipped, a shield rimmed with yellow gold with a knob of silver at the middle.

8. T h e mother of the three sons.

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Fergus did an injury bringing us over the great sea. H o w his deeds of valor shrank when he sold honor for a drink! If all Ulster's warriors were gathered on this plain, Conchobor, I would gladly give them all for Noisiu, son of Uisliu. Break my heart no more today. In a short while I'll be no more. Grief is heavier than the sea, if you were but wise, C o n c h o b o r . "What do you see that you hate m o s t ? " C o n c h o b o r said. "You, surely," she said, "and E o g a n m a c Durthacht!" " G o a n d live for a year with E o g a n , then," C o n c h o b o r said. T h e n he sent her over to Eogan. They set out the next day for the fair of M a c h a . S h e was behind Eogan in the chariot. S h e had sworn that two men alive in the world together would never have her. "This is good, Derdriu," C o n c h o b o r said. "Between me and Eogan you are a sheep eyeing two r a m s . " A big block of stone was in front of her. S h e let her head be driven against the stone, and m a d e a m a s s of fragments of it, and she was dead.

T H O M A S

E N G L A N D

The tragic love story of Tristran and Ysolt, the wife of Tristran's maternal uncle King Mark, derives mainly from Breton, Welsh, and Irish sources although it also incorporates motifs of eastern tales that were probably transmitted to Europe from India via Arabic Spain. The romance of Tristran and Ysolt entered the mainstream of Western European literature through the Old French version in octosyllabic couplets by a twelfth-century author who identifies himself only as "Thomas" and of whom practically nothing else is known for certain. Only 3,143 lines (roughly a sixth) of the poem survive in nine separate fragments. But we can reconstruct the story from the Tristrams saga (1226), a relatively faithful translation into Old Norse, and the Middle High German adaptation Tristan und Isolde (also early thirteenth century) by Gottfried von Strassburg, who names the author of his major source "Thomas of Britain." Thomas's Tristran is written in a dialect of western France containing AngloNorman forms; he is likely to have composed the romance for the court of Henry II. Borrowings from Wace's Brut (see pp. 120—24) prove that he wrote after 1155, probably some time before 1170. As Thomas himself tells his audience, "My lords, this tale is told in many ways." Comparisons with other early versions in French and German suggest that he was following a lost text from which he eliminated episodes he considered improbable or coarse and to which he added new courtly and psychological dimensions. Thomas's work proved enormously influential not only by way of Gottfried's important poem (the source of Richard Wagner's opera Tristan und Isolde), but it may well have provided the inspiration and model for the love affair of Lancelot

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and Guinevere. That relationship first appears (already in progress) in Chretien de Troye's romance The Knight of the Cart (see "King Arthur," at Norton Literature Online). The romance of Tristran was drawn into the orbit of Arthurian romance where Sir Tristran is the only knight who can match Sir Lancelot. After fighting a five-hour duel to a draw, they become fast friends. Tristran is thus a champion in war and tournaments, but in Thomas and in other Tristran romances he has other attributes as well: he is a master of the hunt, chess, and several languages; he is a gifted harp player; and he and Ysolt make an expert team in the art of deceiving a jealous husband. Tristran starts life as an orphan. His own story is preceded by the romance of his parents: Rivalen and Blanchefior, the sister of King Mark. Rivalen is killed in battle before Tristran's birth; Blanchefior dies in childbirth. Tristran is fostered by his father's steward until he is kidnapped by merchants who lure the handsome youth aboard their ship to play chess and then set sail. A storm they blame on the kidnapping causes them to strand the youth on a deserted coast of his uncle's kingdom. Tristran's gifts and charm lead Mark to adopt him as a trusted servant, who is identified as his nephew when Tristran's foster-father arrives at the court in search of him. Mark contracts to marry the king of Ireland's daughter Ysolt and sends Tristran to escort the bride to England. On the return voyage, Tristran and Ysolt become lovers after they unwittingly drink a love potion her mother had prepared for Ysolt and Mark. On Ysolt's wedding night, her maid Brengvein takes her place in the marriage bed. Tristran and Ysolt scheme repeatedly to meet secretly and devise ways to allay Mark's suspicions and frustrate his attempts to surprise them. Finally, however, Tristran is exiled from Britain for good and pursues wars on the Continent. Eventually, fearing that Ysolt no longer loves him and hoping that he will get over his love for her, he marries a second Ysolt, "Ysolt of the White Hands," the sister of Tristran's young friend and admirer Caerdin. Tristran, however, cannot bring himself to consummate the marriage, and the second Ysolt remains an unwilling virgin. When Tristran is wounded by a poisoned spear, Caerdin sets sail for England to fetch the first Ysolt who alone has it in her power to save Tristran's life. Medieval people believed that given names sometimes foreshadowed one's destiny, and the French authors of Tristran's story interpreted trist, the Celtic root of the name, as French triste (sad). The sense of a tragic illicit love whose passion finds an ultimate fulfillment in death haunts the story of Tristran and Ysolt in Thomas and in the different versions that derive from it. The geography of the Tristran romances varies from version to version. Tristran's homeland Lyonesse may originally have been Lothian in Scotland. In Marie de France's Chevrefoil (see pp. 155—57), it is in Wales. In Thomas it is Brittany, and the sea voyages across the English Channel and Irish Sea are episodes in which the sea itself plays a pivotal and symbolic role. The names Tristran and Ysolt vary according to the language of different versions. They are adopted here from the translation by A. T. Hatto (1960).

From Le Roman de Tristran [THE DEATHS OF TRISTRAN AND YSOLT]

W h e n Ysolt hears this m e s s a g e there is anguish in her heart, and pain, and sorrow, and grief—never yet has she known greater. Now she ponders deeply, and sighs and longs for Tristran, her lover. But she does not know how to c o m e to him. S h e goes to s p e a k with Brengvein. S h e tells her the whole story of the poisoned wound, the pain he is in and the misery, and how he lies there languishing, how and through whom he has sent for her—else his wound will

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never be healed. She has described all his torment and then asks advice what to do. And as they talk there begins a sighing, complaining, and weeping, and pain, sorrow, sadness, and grief, for the pity which they have on his account. Nevertheless they have discussed the matter and finally decide to set out on their journey and go away with Caerdin to treat Tristran's illness and succour him in his need. They make ready towards evening and take what they will require. As soon as the others are all asleep, they leave very stealthily under cover of night by a lucky postern in the wall overlooking the Thames. The water has come up to it with the rising tide. The boat is all ready and the Q u e e n has gone aboard it. They row, they sail with the ebb—quickly they fly before the wind. They make a mighty effort and keep on rowing till they are alongside the big ship. They hoist the yard and then they sail. They run before the waves as long as they have wind behind them. They coast along the foreign land past the port of Wissant, and then Boulogne, and Treport. The wind is strong and favourable and the ship that bears them is fleet. They sail past Normandy. They sail happily and joyfully, since they have the wind they want. Tristran lies on his bed languishing of his wound. He can find no succour in anything. Medicine cannot avail him; nothing that he does affords him any aid. He longs for the coming of Ysolt, desiring nothing else. Without her he can have no ease—it is because of her that he lives so long. There, in his bed, he pines and he waits for her. He has high hopes that she will come and heal his malady, and believes that he will not live without her. Each day he sends to the shore to see if the ship is returning, with no other wish in his heart. And many is the time that he commands his bed to be made beside the sea and has himself carried out to it, to await and see the ship—what way she is making, and with what sail? He has no desire for anything, except for the coming of Ysolt: his whole mind, wall, and desire are set on it. Whatever the world holds he rates of no account unless the Q u e e n is coming to him. Then he has himself carried back again from the fear which he anticipates, for he dreads that she may not come, may not keep her faith with him, and he would much rather hear it from another than see the ship come without her. He longs to look out for the ship, but does not wish to know it, should she fail to come. There is anguish in his heart, and he is full of desire to see her. He often laments to his wife but does not tell her what he longs for, apart from Caerdin, who does not come. Seeing him delay so long Tristran greatly fears that Caerdin has failed in his mission. Now listen to a pitiful disaster and a most sad mishap which must touch the hearts of all lovers! You never heard tell of greater sorrow arising from such love and such desire. Just there where Tristran is waiting and the lady is eager to arrive and has drawn close enough to see the land—gay they are on board and they sail lightheartedly—a wind springs up from the south and strikes them full in the middle of the yard, checking the whole ship in its course. The crew run to luff and turn the sail, they turn about whether they wish to or not. The wind gains in force and raises the swell, the deep begins to stir; the weather grows foul and the air thick, the waves rise, the sea grows black, it rains and sleets as the storm increases. Bowlines and shrouds snap. They lower the yard and drift along with the wind and waves. They had put out their boat on the sea, since they were close to their own country, but by ill luck they forgot it and a wave has smashed it to pieces. This at least they have now lost, and the tempest has grown so in violence that the best of sailors

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could never have kept his feet. All on board weep and lament and give vent to great grief, so afraid are they. "Alas, poor me," cried Ysolt. "God does not wish me to live until I see my lover Tristran.—He wants me to be drowned in the sea! Tristran, if only I had spoken with you, I would not mind if I had then died. Dear love, when you hear that I am dead I know you will never again be consoled. You will be so afflicted by my death, following your long-drawn sufferings, that you will never be well again. My coming does not rest with me. God willing, I would come and take charge of your wound. For I have no other sorrow than that you are without aid; this is my sorrow and my grief. And I am very sad at heart, my friend, that you will have no support against death, when I die. My own death matters nothing to me—if God wills it, so be it. But when at last you learn of it, my love, I know that you will die of it. Such is our love, I can feel no grief unless you are in it. You cannot die without me, nor can I perish without you. If I am to be shipwrecked at sea, then you, too, must drown. But you cannot drown on dry land, so you have come to sea to seek me! I see your death before my eyes and know that I am soon to die. Dear friend, I fail in my desire, since I hoped to die in your arms and to be buried in one coffin with you. But now we have failed to achieve it. Yet it may still happen so: for if I am to drown here, and you, as I think, must also drown, a fish could swallow us, and so, my love, by good fortune we should share one sepulture, since it might be caught by someone who would recognize our bodies and do them the high honour befitting our love. But what I am saying cannot be.—Yet if God wills it, it must be!—But what would you be seeking on the sea? I do not know what you could be doing here. Nevertheless I am here, and here shall I die. I shall drown here, Tristran, without you. Yet it is a sweet comfort to me, my darling, that you will not know of my death. From henceforward it will never be known and I do not know who should tell it. You will live long after me and await my coming. If it please God you may be healed—that is what I most desire. I long for your recovery more than that I should come ashore. So truly do I love you, dear friend, that I must fear after my death, if you recover, lest you forget me during your lifetime or console yourself with another woman, Tristran, when I am dead. My love, I am indeed much afraid of Ysolt of the White Hands, at least. I do not know whether I ought to fear her; but, if you were to die before me, I would not long survive you. I do not know at all what to do, but you I do desire above all things. God grant we come together so that I may heal you, love, or that we two may die of one anguish!" As long as the storm endures Ysolt gives vent to her sorrow and grief. The storm and foul weather last on the sea for five days and more; then the wind drops and it is fair. They have hoisted the white sail and are making good speed, when Caerdin espies the coast of Brittany. At this they are gay and light-hearted, they raise the sail right up so that it can be seen what sail it is, the white or the black. Caerdin wished to show its colour from afar, since it was the last day of the term that lord Tristran had assigned when they had set out for England. While they are happily sailing, there is a spell of warm weather and the wind drops so that they can make no headway. The sea is very smooth and still, the ship moves neither one way nor the other save so far as the swell draws it. They are also without their boat. And now they are in great distress. They see the land close ahead of them, but have no wind with which to reach it. And so up and down they go drifting, now back, now forward. They cannot make

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any progress and are very badly impeded. Ysolt is much afflicted by it. She sees the land she has longed for and yet she cannot reach it: she all but dies of her longing. Those in the ship long for land, but the wind is too light for them. Time and again, Ysolt laments her fate. Those on the shore long for the ship, but they have not seen it yet. Thus Tristran is wretched and sorrowful, he often laments and sighs for Ysolt, whom he so much desires. The tears flow from his eyes, he writhes about, he all but dies of longing. While Tristran endures such affliction, his wife Ysolt comes and stands before him. Meditating great guile she says: "Caerdin is coming, my love! I have seen his ship on the sea. I saw it making hardly any headway but nevertheless I could see it well enough to know that it is his. God grant it brings news that will comfort you at heart!" Tristran starts up at this news. "Do you know for sure that it is his ship, my darling1?" he asks. "Tell me now, what sort of sail is it?" "I know it for a fact!" answered Ysolt. "Let me tell you, the sail is all black! They have hoisted it and raised it up high because they have no wind!" At this Tristran feels such pain that he has never had greater nor ever will, and he turns his face to the wall and says: "God save Ysolt and me! Since you will not come to me I must die for your love. I can hold on to life no longer. I die for you, Ysolt, dear love! You have no pity for my sufferings, but you will have sorrow of my death. It is a great solace to me that you will have pity for my death." Three times did he say "Dearest Ysolt." At the fourth he rendered up his spirit. Thereupon throughout the house the knights and companions weep. Their cries are loud, their lament is great. Knights and serjeants rise to their feet and bear him from his bed, then lay him upon a cloth of samite and cover him with a striped pall. And now the wind has risen on the sea. It strikes the middle of the sailyard and brings the ship to land. Ysolt has quickly disembarked, she hears the great laments in the street and the bells from the minsters and chapels. She asks people what news? and why they toll the bells so? and the reason for their weeping? Then an old man answers: "My lady, as God help me, we have greater sorrow than people ever had before. Gallant, noble Tristran, who was a source of strength to the whole realm, is dead! He was generous to the needy, a great succour to the wretched. He has died just now in his bed of a wound that his body received. Never did so great a misfortune befall this realm!" As soon as Ysolt heard this news she was struck dumb with grief. So afflicted is she that she goes up the street to the palace in advance of the others, without her cloak. The Bretons have never seen a woman of her beauty; in the city they wonder whence she comes and who she may be. Ysolt goes to where she sees his body lying, and, turning towards the east, she prays for him piteously. "Tristran, my love, now that I see you dead, it is against reason for me to live longer. You died for my love, and I, love, die of grief, for I could not come in time to heal you and your wound. My love, my love, nothing shall ever console me for your death, neither joy nor pleasure nor any delight. May this storm be accursed that so delayed me on the sea, my sweetheart, so that I could not come! Had I arrived in time, I would have given you back your life and spoken gently to you of the love there was between us. I should have bewailed our fate, our joy, our rapture, and the great sorrow and pain that have been in our

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loving. I should have reminded you of this and kissed you and embraced you. If I h a d failed to cure you, then we could have died together. But since I could not c o m e in time and did not hear what had happened and have c o m e and f o u n d you dead, I shall console myself by drinking of the s a m e cup. You have forfeited your life on my account, and I shall do as a true lover: I will die for you in return!" S h e takes him in her arms and then, lying at full length, she kisses his f a c e and lips a n d clasps him tightly to her. T h e n straining body to body, mouth to mouth, she at once renders up her spirit and of sorrow for her lover dies thus at his side. Tristran died of his longing, Ysolt b e c a u s e she could not c o m e in time. Tristran died for his love; fair Ysolt b e c a u s e of tender pity. Here T h o m a s ends his book. Now he takes leave of all lovers, the sad and the amorous, the jealous and the desirous, the gay and the distraught, and all who will hear these lines. If I have not pleased all with my tale, I have told it to the best of my power and have narrated the whole truth, as I promised at the beginning. Here I have recounted the story in rhyme, and have done this to hold up an example, and to make this story more beautiful, so that it may please lovers, and that, here and there, they may find s o m e things to take to heart. M a y they derive great comfort from it, in the f a c e of fickleness and injury, in the f a c e of hardship a n d grief, in the f a c e of all the wiles of Love.

MARIE

FRANCE

Much of twelfth-century French literature was composed in England in the AngloNorman dialect (see p. 8). Prominent among the earliest poets writing in the French vernacular, who shaped the genres, themes, and styles of later medieval European poetry, is the author who, in an epilogue to her Fables, calls herself Marie de France. That signature tells us only that her given name was Marie and that she was born in France, but circumstantial evidence from her writings shows that she spent much of her life in England. A reference to her in a French poem written in England around 1180 speaks of "dame Marie" who wrote "lais" much loved and praised, read, and heard by counts, barons, and knights and indicates that her poems also appealed to ladies who listened to them gladly and joyfully. Three works can be safely attributed to Marie, probably written in the following order: the Lais [English "lay" refers to a short narrative poem in verse], the Fables, and St. Patrick's Purgatory. Marie's twelve lays are short romances (they range from 118 to 1,184 lines), each of which deals with a single event or crisis in the affairs of noble lovers. In her prologue, Marie tells us that she had heard these performed, and in several of the lays she refers to the Breton language and Breton storytellers—that is, professional minstrels from the French province of Brittany or the Celtic parts of Great Britain. Because no sources of Marie's stories have survived, it is not possible to determine the exact nature of the materials she worked from, but they were probably oral and were presented with the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. Marie's lays provide the basis of the genre that came to be known as the "Breton lay." In the prologue Marie dedicates the work to a "noble king," who is most likely to have been Henry II of England, who reigned from 1154 to 1189. The portrait of the author that emerges from the combination of these works is of

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a highly educated noblewoman, proficient in Latin and English as well as her native French, with ideas of her own and a strong commitment to writing. Scholars have proposed several Maries of the period who fit this description to identify the author. A likely candidate is Marie, abbess of Shaftesbury, an illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey of Anjou and thus half-sister of Henry II. Correct or not, such an identification points to the milieu in which Marie moved and to the kind of audience she was addressing. Many of Marie's lays contain elements of magic and mystery. Medieval readers would recognize that Lanval is about a mortal lover and a fairy bride, although the word "fairy" is not used in the tale. In the Middle Ages fairies were not thought of as the small creatures they became in Elizabethan and later literature. Fairies are supernatural, sometimes dangerous, beings who possess magical powers and inhabit another world. Their realm in some respects resembles the human (fairies have kings and queens), and fairies generally keep to themselves and disappear when humans notice them. But the tales are often about crossovers between the human and fairy worlds. Chaucer's Wife of Bath's Tale is such a story. In Lanval the female fairy world eclipses King Arthur's chivalric court (which Marie had read about in Wace's Roman de Brut) in splendor, riches, and generosity. Chevrefoil, the shortest of Marie's lays, tells of a brief encounter between Tristran and Ysolt. The lay exemplifies the pain of their separation as well as the stratagems by which the lovers are forced to communicate and meet. The title refers to an image from the natural world that serves as a symbol of the inextricable and fatal character of the love that binds them to one another. With Chretien de Troyes, Marie is among the twelfth-century writers who made love the means of analyzing the individual's relation to his or her society. The only woman writer known to be among the creators of this literature, Marie explores both female and male desire. Her lays portray different kinds of love relationships, both favorably and unfavorably, with both happy and tragic resolutions. They resist reduction to a pattern. Two Middle English versions of Marie's Lanval exist, but we prefer to offer a modern verse translation of the original. Marie wrote in eight-syllable couplets, which was the standard form of French narrative verse, employed also by Wace and Chretien de Troyes. Here is what the beginning of Marie's prologue to the Lais says about her view of a writer's duty and, implicitly, of her own talent: Ki Deu ad dune esci'ence E de parler bon' eloquence Ne s'en deit taisir ne celer, Ainz se deit volunters mustrer.

He to whom God has given knowledge And the gift of speaking eloquently, Must not keep silent nor conceal the gift, But he must willingly display it.

Lanval1

Another lay to you I'll tell, Of the adventure that befell A noble vassal w h o m they call In the Breton tongue Lanval. Arthur, the brave a n d courtly king, At Carlisle was sojourning B e c a u s e the S c o t s a n d Picts allied W e r e ravaging the countryside; Of Logres they had c r o s s e d the border 0 Where often they c a u s e d great disorder. He had c o m e there with his host

Arthur's kingdom

1. The translation is by Alfred David and is based on Marie de France: Lais, edited by Alfred Ewert (1947).

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M A R I E DE FRANCE: LANVAL

That spring to hold the Pentecost. He lavished ample patronage On all his noble baronage— That is the knights of the Round Table (In all the world none are so able). Wives and land he gave in fee To knights who served in his meiny, Except for one: that was Lanval, Nor did his men like him at all. They envied him his handsomeness, His courage, prowess, and largesse. There were a few who made a show Of friendship, but in case some blow Of fortune were to cause him pain They'd have no reason to complain. Although a king's son of great worth, He was far from his place of birth. As one of the king's company He spent all of his property, For he got nothing from the king And would not ask for anything. Now Lanval is much preoccupied, Gloomy, seeing the darker side. My lords, you should not think it rare, A newcomer is full of care When he comes to a foreign land And finds no help from any hand. The knight whose tale I want to tell, Who served King Arthur very well, Mounting upon his steed one day, For pleasure's sake set on his way. Outside the town he went to ride Alone into the countryside. He got off by a running brook, But there his horse trembled and shook.2 He unlaced the saddle and moved away, Left the horse in the meadow to roam and play. He folded up his riding gown To make a pillow and lay down. He broods about his woeful plight; Nothing can make his spirit light. As he lies there ill at ease He looks down to the bank and sees Two maidens approaching on the green, The fairest he had ever seen. Their clothes were in expensive taste, Close-fitting tunics, tightly laced, Made of deep-dyed purple wool. Their faces were most beautiful. The older of the two conveyed Gold washing basins, finely made,

2. Animals are believed to have a sixth sense that detects the presence of otherworldly beings.

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household

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T h e other, a towel—I won't fail To tell the truth in each detail. 3 65 The two of them went straightaway Right to the spot where the knight lay. Lanval, the soul of courtesy, Rose to his feet immediately. They greeted him first by his name 70 And told the reason why they came. "My lady, Sir Lanval, who is so free, Beautiful, wise, and praiseworthy, Ordered us to come for you, For she herself has come here, too. 75 We shall bring you safely to her: See, her pavilion is over there." The knight went with them; he paid no mind To the horse in the meadow he left behind. The tent to which they bring the knight so Was fairly pitched, a beauteous sight. Not Q u e e n Semiramis of yore, H a d she commanded even more Wisdom, wealth, and power, nor Octavian, the emperor, 85 Would have been rich enough to pay For the right-hand flap of the entryway. On top was set an eagle of gold, The cost of which cannot be told, Nor of the cords and poles which brace 90 That structure and hold it in place. No earthly king could own this tent For any treasure that he spent. Inside the tent the maiden was: Not rose nor lily could surpass 95 Her beauty when they bloom in May. The sumptuous bed on which she lay Was beautiful. The drapes and tassel, Sheets and pillows were worth a castle. The single gown she wore was sheer IOO And made her shapely form appear. She'd thrown, in order to keep warm, An ermine stole over her arm, White fur with the lining dyed Alexandrian purple. But her side, 105 Her face, her neck, her bosom Showed whiter than the hawthorn blossom. The knight moved toward the bed's head. She asked him to sit down and said, "Lanval, fair friend, for you I've come, no For you I've traveled far from home. If you are brave and courteous, 3. Cf. lines 174—75, where these articles are used. Washing one's hands before meals indicates aristocratic luxury and refinement. Marie makes a

mock pretense that her listeners could hardly imagine these splendors of the other world.

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You'll be m o r e glad a n d prosperous T h a n ever was e m p e r o r or king, For I love you over everything." us

H e r loveliness transfixed his gaze. L o v e p i e r c e d his e y e s w i t h its b r i g h t rays, S e t fire to a n d s c o r c h e d his heart. He gave fair a n s w e r on his part. " L a d y , " he said, "if this s h o u l d be

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Your wish (and such joy meant for me), To

have me for your paramour,

There's no c o m m a n d , you m a y be sure, W i s e o r f o o l i s h , w h a t y o u will, W h i c h I don't p r o m i s e to fulfill. 125

I'll f o l l o w o n l y y o u r b e h e s t . F o r y o u I'll g i v e u p a l l t h e r e s t . " W h e n the lady heard him say T h a t he w o u l d love her in this way, S h e presented him her heart

A n d her body, every part. N o w Lanval has taken the right road! This gift s h e afterwards bestowed: Whatsoever thing he wanted S h e promised him that she would grant it—

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M o n e y , a s f a s t a s h e c a n s p e n d it, N o m a t t e r h o w m u c h , s h e will s e n d it. T h e m o r e largesse h e gives, the m o r e G o l d a n d silver in his store. N o w Sir L a n v a l is h a r b o r e d well.

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To him then spoke the damoiselle:

"Ami" 4

she

said,

"please

understand,

I warn and pray you and c o m m a n d : Y o u m u s t n e v e r tell a n y o n e A b o u t the love that you have won. 145

T h e c o n s e q u e n c e I shall declare: S h o u l d people learn of this affair, You shall never again see me, Nor have my body in your fee." He promised her that he would do

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W h a t e v e r thing s h e told h i m to. H e lay b e s i d e her o n the bed: N o w is Lanval well bestead. H e s t a y e d w i t h h e r all a f t e r n o o n Until it would be evening soon

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A n d g l a d l y w o u l d h a v e s t a y e d all n i g h t H a d she consented that he might. But

she

told him,

" R i s e u p , Ami.

You m a y no longer stay with me. G e t on your way; I shall remain. i6o

B u t o n e t h i n g I will tell y o u p l a i n : W h e n y o u w o u l d like t o talk t o m e At any rendezvous that's free

4. Literally "friend," but used as a term of endearment for a lover. The feminine form is amie.

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Of blame or of unseemliness, Where one his true love may possess, I shall attend you at your will All your wishes to fulfill." These words gave him great happiness. He kissed her, then got up to dress. The damsels who had brought him there Gave him expensive clothes to wear. This world has no such comely squire As Lanval in his new attire. He was no simpleton or knave. Water to wash his hands they gave, Also the towel with which he dried, And next he was with food supplied. His love ate supper with Lanval, A thing he did not mind at all. They served him with great courtesy, Which he accepted with much glee. There were many special dishes That the knight found most delicious. There was also an interval5 Which gave great pleasure to Lanval. And many times the gallant knight Kissed his love and held her tight. At last after the meal was cleared, Lanval's horse again appeared. It had been saddled with utmost care: He found the service beyond compare. He took his leave, mounted the horse, Back toward town he held his course. Often Lanval looks to his rear, And he is very much in fear. As he rides he thinks about What happened and is assailed by doubt. He can't be certain if or when He'll ever see his love again. Arrived back home, Sir Lanval sees His men dressed in new liveries. That night the lavish host he plays, But no one knows from whence he pays. There is no knight of any sort In need of lodging or support Whom Lanval doesn't make his guest And serves him richly of the best. Lanval gives expensive presents; Lanval remits the captive's sentence; Lanval puts minstrels in new dress; Lanval does honors in excess. There is no stranger or private friend On whom Lanval does not spend.

5. French entremes: a side dish served between main courses; an interlude between acts. Marie may well intend a double-entendre involving both meanings.

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He lives in joy and in delight, Whether it be by day or night. He sees his lady often and Has all the world at his command. That same summer, I would say, After the feast of St. John's Day, Thirty knights made an excursion, For the sake of their diversion, To a garden beneath the tower In which the queen had her bower. Among that party was Gawain And his cousin, the good Yvain. Sir Gawain spoke, brave and sincere, Whom everybody held so dear, "By God, my lords, we've not done right By our companion, that good knight— Lanval, liberal in everything, And his father is a wealthy king— To leave that nobleman behind." And straightway they turn back and find Sir Lanval at his residence And beg that they might take him thence. From a window with fine molding The queen herself leaned out beholding (Waited on by damsels three) King Arthur's festive company. She gazed at Lanval and knew him well. She called out to one damoiselle And sent her for her maids-in-waiting, The fairest and most captivating. With her into the garden then They went to relax with the men. Thirty she took along and more, Down the stairs and out the door. Rejoiced to have the ladies meet them, The gentlemen advance to greet them. Each girl by a knight's hand is led: Such pleasant talk is not ill-bred. Lanval goes off alone and turns Aside from all the rest. He yearns To hold his love within his arms, To kiss, embrace, and feel her charms. The joy of others is less pleasant To him, his own not being present. When she perceives him stand alone, The queen straightway to him has gone To sit beside him and reveals All the passion that she feels: "Lanval, I've honored you sincerely, Have cherished you and loved you dearly. All my love is at your disposal. What do you say to my proposal? Your mistress I consent to be;

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You should receive much joy from me." "Lady," he said, "hold me excused Because your love must be refused. I've served the king for many a day; My faith to him I won't betray. Never for love, and not for you, Would I be to my lord untrue." Made angry by these words, the queen Insultingly expressed her spleen. "Lanval," she said, "It's evident That to such pleasures you have no bent. Often I have heard men aver That women are not what you prefer. But you have many pretty boys With whom you like to take your joys. Faithless coward of low degree, My lord was badly served when he Suffered your person to come near. For that he could lose God, I fear." Hearing this, Lanval was dismayed; His answer was not long delayed. With spite, as he was much upset, He spoke what soon he would regret. "My lady queen," was his retort, "I know nothing about that sport. But I love one, and she loves me; From every woman I know of, she Deserves to bear the prize away. And one more thing I wish to say, So that you may know it plain: Each serving-maid in her domain, The poorest of her household crew, My lady, is worth more than you In beauty of both figure and face, In good breeding and bounteous grace." In tears the queen at once repairs Back to her chamber up the stairs. Dolorous she is and mortified To be by him thus villified. She goes to bed where sick she lies, Vowing never again to rise, Unless the king grants her redress For that which caused her such distress. The king had come back from the wood Cheerful because the day was good. He entered the bedroom of the queen, Who, seeing him, broke out in spleen. Fallen at his feet, she cried, "Mercil 6 Lanval has done me infamy." To be her lover he had affected. When his advances were rejected,

An exclamation appealing for compassion and favor.

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He had reviled her shamefully And boasted he had an amie So chic, noble, and proud, he said, That even her lowliest chambermaid, The poorest one that might be seen, Was worthier than she—the queen. The king grew marvelously wroth, And solemnly he swore an oath: Unless the knight proved what he'd boasted, The king would have him hanged or roasted. Leaving the chamber, the king then Summoned three of his noblemen. After Lanval they were to go, Who, feeling enough of grief and woe, Had gone back home, being well aware, That he had spoiled the whole affair. Since he had told of their amour, He had lost his love for sure. In his room alone he languished, Melancholy and sorely anguished. He calls his love time and again, But all his pleadings are in vain. Sighs he utters and complaints, And from time to time he faints. A hundred times he cries merci And begs her speak to her ami. He cursed his tongue like one demented; It is a wonder what prevented Him from committing suicide; But though he beat himself and cried, She would not show him any grace, Even so much as show her face That he might see her once again. Alas, how can he bear the pain? The king's men have arrived to say He must to court without delay. The king had summoned him for this reason: The queen had charged the knight with treason. Lanval went with them very sadly. Should he be killed, he'd bear it gladly. The knight was brought before the king, Grief-stricken, not saying anything, Like someone in great misery. The king spoke out indignantly: "Vassal, you've played a churlish game To do me injury and shame. It was treason to demean And speak slander to the queen It was a foolish boast to call Your love the noblest one of all, And her servant—to declare her Worthier than the queen and fairer." Lanval protested, word for word,

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Any dishonor done to his lord Respecting the queen's accusation Of a guilty solicitation. But of his speech—to give her due— He confessed that it was true. The mistress he had boasted of He mourned, for he had lost her love. Regarding that, he said he'd do Whatever the court told him to. This put the king in a great fury. He summoned his knights to act as jury To tell how to proceed by law So none might catch him in a flaw.7 Ail obey the royal will, Whether it suits them well or ill. They met together to consult And deemed and judged with this result: A court day set, Lanval goes free But must find pledges to guarantee His lord that judgment he'll abide, Return to court and there be tried By Arthur's entire baronage, Not just the palace entourage. 8 Back to the king the barons bring The judgment of their parleying. The king demands his sureties, Thus putting Lanval ill at ease. A foreigner, he felt chagrin Since he had neither friend nor kin. Gawain stepped forth and pledged that he Would stand as Lanval's surety. And his companions in succession Each one made the same profession. The king replied, "He is in your hands At risk to forfeit all your lands And fiefs, whatever they may be, Which each of you obtained from me." The pledges made, the court adjourned, And Lanval to his place returned. The knights escort him on his way. They admonish him and say To shun excessive melancholy; And they lay curses on love's folly. Worried about his mental state, Each day they go investigate Whether he takes nourishment Or to himself is violent. On the day that had been set, All King Arthur's barons met.

7. The trial of Lanval shows precise knowledge of twelfth-century legal procedure concerning the respective rights of the king and his barons.

8. The case is important enough to require judg ment by all of Arthur's vassals, not just the imme diate household. Hence the delay of the trial.

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Attending were the king and queen; Pledges brought Lanval on the scene. They were all sad on his account— A hundred of them I could count Who would have done their best to see Him without trial go scot-free, Since he was wrongfully arraigned. On the charge, the king maintained, And his response, he must be tried: And now the barons must decide. To the judgment they go next Greatly worried and perplexed, Since the noble foreign guest In their midst is so hard-pressed. Some were willing to condemn To oblige their sovereign. The Duke of Cornwall counseled thus: "No fault shall be ascribed to us: Though some show joy and some remorse, Justice must take its lawful course. A vassal by the king denounced, Whose name—'Lanval'—I heard pronounced, Has been accused of felony And charged that mischievously he To a mistress had pretended And Madame the Queen offended. By the faith I owe you duly, In this case, should one speak truly, The king being the sole adversary, No defense were necessary— Save with respect to his lord's name, A man must never speak him shame.9 Sir Lanval by his oath must stand, And the king quitclaim our land, If the knight can guarantee The coming here of his amie. Should it prove true what he has claimed, By which the queen felt so defamed, Of that he'll be judged innocent, Since he spoke without base intent. But if he cannot prove it so, In that case we must let him know, All the king's service he must lose And banished say his last adieus." The knight was sent the court's decree And informed by them that he Must summon his amie and send her To be his witness and defender. The knight responded that he could not:

9. Lanval's denial of the queen's accusation of improper advances (lines 3 6 9 - 7 2 ) is accepted, but he is nevertheless guilty of dishonoring his lord

unless he can prove the claims about his mistress to which he has admitted.

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To his rescue come she would not. To the judges they made report That he looked for no support. The king pressed them to make an ending And not to keep the queen attending. When they came to enforce the law, Two maidens from afar they saw On two fine steeds, riding apace, Who were extremely fair of face. Of purple taffeta a sheath They wore with nothing underneath. The men took pleasure in these sights. Sir Gawain and three of his knights Went to Sir Lanval to report And show the girls coming to court. Happy, he asked him earnestly If one of them were his amie. He told them that he knew not who They were, where from, or going to. The damoiselles rode on withal Upon their mounts into the hall, And they got off before the dais There where the king sat at his place. Their features were of beauty rare; Their form of speech was debonair: "King, clear your chambers, if you please, And hang them with silk draperies, Where my lady may pause to rest, For she wishes to be your guest. The king gladly gave his consent. Two of his courtiers he sent To show them to their rooms upstairs. No more was said of these affairs. The king ordered his men at once To give their sentence and response. The long procrastination had, He said, made him extremely mad. "My lord," they answered, "we have acted. But our attention was distracted By those ladies we have seen. But now the court shall reconvene." They reassembled much perturbed, By too much noise and strife disturbed. While they engaged in this debate, Two damoiselles of high estate— In silks produced in Phrygia, On mules from Andalusia— Came riding up the street just then. This gave great joy to Arthur's men, Who told each other this must be The worthy Lanval's remedy. To him there hastened Sir Gawain With his companions in his train.

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M A R I E DE FRANCE: LANVAL

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"Sir knight," he said, "be of good cheer. For God's sake speak to us! See here, Two maidens are approaching us, Most beautiful and decorous; Surely one must be your amie" Lanval made answer hastily. He said that he recognized neither. He didn't know or love them either. Meanwhile the damoiselles had gone And dismounted before the throne Where the king was sitting on the dais. From many there they won great praise For figure, visage, and complexion. They came much nearer to perfection Than did the queen, so people said. The elder was courteous and well bred. She spoke her message with much flair: "King, tell your household to prepare A suite to lodge my lady, who Is coming here to speak with you." The king had them conducted where His men had lodged the previous pair. As soon as they were from him gone, He told his barons to have done And give their verdict right away. There had been far too much delay; The queen had found it most frustrating That they so long had kept her waiting. When they were just about to bring Judgment, a girl was entering The town, whose beauty, it was clear, In all the world could have no peer. She rode upon a milkwhite horse, Which bore her gently down the course. Its neck and head were shapeliest; Of all creatures, it was the best. Splendidly furnished was this mount: Beneath the heavens, no king or count Could have afforded gear so grand Unless he sold or pawned his land. And this is how she was arrayed: A white linen shift displayed— There where it was with laces tied— Her slender flanks on either side. Her figure shapely; hips tapered low; Her neck, whiter than branch in snow; Her eyes were gray; her face was bright; Her mouth, lovely; nose, set just right; Eyebrows black, forehead fair: Blonde and curly was her hair. Golden wire sheds no such ray As did her locks against the day. A mantle was around her drawn,

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A c l o a k of deep-dyed p u r p l e lawn. A f a l c o n on her wrist sat still; A g r e y h o u n d followed her at will. In town w a s neither high nor low, O l d m a n or child, who did not go A n d line the streets a l o n g the .way To w a t c h as s h e m a d e her entree. As s h e p a s s e d by, a n d they gazed after; H e r b e a u t y q u i e t e d j e s t a n d laughter. S h e rode up to the c a s t l e slowly. T h e j u d g e s , s e e i n g her, were wholly A s t o n i s h e d at that s p e c t a c l e A n d held it for a miracle. T h e heart of every single knight A m o n g t h e m w a r m e d with s h e e r delight. T h o s e w h o loved Sir L a n v a l well Q u i c k l y went to him to tell A b o u t the m a i d e n w h o p e r c h a n c e , P l e a s e G o d , b r o u g h t him deliverance: " C o m r a d e , a n o t h e r o n e draws nigh, By no m e a n s dark of hair or eye; 1 A m o n g all w o m e n there c a n be N o n e fairer in this world than s h e . " Lanval h e a r d a n d raised his eye; He knew her well a n d gave a sigh. T h e blood shot up into his c h e e k s , A n d s o m e w h a t hastily he s p e a k s : "In f a i t h , " he said that's my amie\ N o w I don't c a r e if they kill me If but her mercy is a s s u r e d , F o r w h e n I s e e her, I am c u r e d . " T h e m a i d rode through the p a l a c e door, S o fair c a m e never there before. In front of Arthur s h e got down With the whole c o m p a n y looking on. Softly she let her m a n t l e fall, T h e better to be s e e n by all. King Arthur, who w a s m o s t discreet, To greet her got up on his feet. In turn, to honor her the rest O f f e r e d their service to the g u e s t . W h e n they h a d satisfied their gaze A n d greatly s u n g her beauty's praise, S h e m a d e her s p e e c h in s u c h a way As s h e did not intend to stay: "King, I have loved o n e of your b a n d — It's Lanval, there you s e e him stand. I would not have the m a n i l l - u s e d — In your court he has b e e n a c c u s e d Of lies he s p o k e . L i s t e n to m e , T h e q u e e n c o m m i t t e d perjury;

I. Blonde hair and blue (or gray) eyes are considered the standard for beauty in romance.

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He never a s k e d her for her love. As for the things he b o a s t e d of, If I m a y be his warranty, Your b a r o n s o u g h t t o s p e a k h i m f r e e . " T h e king a g r e e d h e w o u l d a b i d e By what they lawfully d e c i d e . A m o n g t h e m there w a s n o dissent; L a n v a l was p r o n o u n c e d innocent. T h e d a m o i s e l l e set o f f again, T h o u g h the king a s k e d her to r e m a i n . O u t s i d e there s t o o d a m a r b l e rock W i t h steps to m a k e a m o u n t i n g block, F r o m which a r m e d m e n would get astride W h e n they f r o m c o u r t set out to ride. L a n v a l c l i m b e d up on it b e f o r e T h e d a m o i s e l l e r o d e out the door. Swiftly he s p r a n g the h o r s e to straddle A n d sat b e h i n d her on the saddle. With him to Avalon s h e returned, As f r o m the B r e t o n s we have learned, An isle m o s t b e a u t i f u l , they say, To w h i c h the youth w a s b o r n e away. N o m a n has heard m o r e o f his fate. I've nothing f u r t h e r to relate.

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I want to tell you, if I may, T h e w h o l e truth a b o u t a l a i — W h y it was m a d e a n d w h e n c e it c a m e — Chevrefoil is its n a m e . Several times the tale h a s b e e n T o l d o f T r i s t r a n a n d the Q u e e n . I've h e a r d a n d f o u n d it written, too, Of their love, so noble a n d true, W h i c h b r o u g h t great s u f f e r i n g until they D i e d together on the s a m e day. King M a r k was full of angry spite At his n e p h e w Tristran b e c a u s e the knight L o v e d the Q u e e n . T h e King gave orders D i s m i s s i n g T r i s t r a n f r o m his borders. A n d so T r i s t r a n went b a c k forlorn T o S o u t h W a l e s , where h e w a s born. A full year he lived in d e s p a i r Of ever a g a i n returning there. B u t then, at risk of getting c a u g h t , D e a t h a n d d e s t r u c t i o n he set at n a u g h t . T h i s s h o u l d not c a u s e you any wonder: W h e n a true lover is a s u n d e r F r o m the o n e w h o m he loves best, H e grows d o l e f u l a n d d i s t r e s s e d .

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Tristran was sad and downhearted. From his homeland he departed To Cornwall where dwelled the Queen. All day, to avoid being seen, In the forest he hid alone, But at dusk, when day was done, He ventured forth and shelter took With poor peasants and country folk. From them he sought news of the King. They said that he was summoning His barons to Tintagel to consort At Pentecost where he'd hold court. There would be much joy and cheer, And the Queen would be there. Hearing this, Tristran was overjoyed. There'd be no way she could avoid That he should see her along the route. The same day as the King set out, Tristran entered into a brake Beside the path they had to take. From a hazel growing there He broke a branch and split a square. He planed the wood till it was flat, Then cut his name into the slat. If the Queen was on her guard, She'd detect that signal board— It was not altogether new For her to notice such a clue— Straightaway she would discover It was a message from her lover. This is, in sum, what he conveyed By the message he sent, which said A long time he had lain there waiting In hiding and deliberating With himself to ascertain How he might see her once again. He could not live away from her. This was the way with them: they were Like honeysuckle which you see Wrapped around a hazel tree; When it takes hold there and has bound The trunk with tendrils all around, They will live, both vine and stem, But should someone uncouple them, Then the hazel quickly dies, And the honeysuckle likewise. "So we, fair friend, can never be— I without you; you without me." As the Queen went riding by, Up a hillside she cast her eye. She saw the sign and understood The letters cut into the wood. She asked the knights, riding beside her

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As an escort, to a b i d e her: S h e w a n t e d to get down a n d rest, A n d they a g r e e d to her r e q u e s t . F r o m her knights s h e walked s o m e d i s t a n c e A n d called B r a n g v e i n for a s s i s t a n c e , W h o w a s her g o o d a n d f a i t h f u l m a i d . A f e w steps f r o m the road s h e strayed Into the w o o d s a n d c a m e u p o n H i m s h e loved m o r e t h a n anyone. G r e a t j o y there w a s b e t w e e n t h o s e t w o — T h e y s p o k e all that they w a n t e d to. S h e told h i m that a p e a c e a c c o r d W o u l d reconcile him with his lord, W h o n o w w a s sorry h e h a d sent H i s n e p h e w into b a n i s h m e n t . R u m o r h a d provoked that move. T h e n they p a r t e d ; s h e left her love. B u t w h e n they h a d to say goodbye, T h e two of t h e m b e g a n to cry. T r i s t r a n to W a l e s went as b e f o r e , Till M a r k s h o u l d s e n d for him o n c e more. F o r the h a p p i n e s s h e h a d To s e e the O u e e n , a n d , as s h e b a d e , T o preserve r e m e m b r a n c e o f T h e words he wrote a b o u t their love, Tristran, who well k n e w how to play T h e harp, invented a n e w lai. I'll give the n a m e to y o u in brief: Its E n g l i s h title is Goatleaf; A n d the very s a m e r o m a n c e Is called Chevrefoil in F r a n c e . T h i s is the truth a b o u t the lai I have told you here today.

A N C R E N E RIWLE

(RULE FOR A N C H O R E S S E S )

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, there was a movement toward a more solitary religious life and a more personal encounter with God. In the early days of Christianity, monasticism had originated with the desert fathers, men who withdrew to the wilderness in order to lead a life of prayer and meditation. The fifth and sixth centuries saw the growth and spread of religious orders, men and women living in religious communities, especially the Benedictine order of monks, founded in Italy by St. Benedict. New orders founded in the eleventh and twelfth centuries—the Cistercians, for example—emphasized a more actively engaged and individual spirituality. The Dominican and Franciscan orders of friars were not confined to their houses but were preaching and teaching orders who staffed the newly founded universities. Along with the new orders, a number of both men and women chose to become anchorites or hermits, living alone or in small groups. In his Rule, St. Benedict had described such solitaries with a military metaphor: "They have built up their strength

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and go from the battle line in the ranks of their brothers to the single combat of the desert. Self-reliant now, without the support of another, they are ready with God's help to grapple single-handed with the vices of body and mind." Benedict's battle imagery anticipates the affinities between this solitary kind of spirituality and the literary form of romance, both of which were developing in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The individual soul confined in its enclosure fights temptation as Sir Gawain rides out alone in the wilderness to seek the Green Chapel and encounters temptation along the way. The wilderness in romance often contains hermits, who may be genuinely holy men, or they may be enchanters like Archimago, disguised as a holy hermit, in the Faerie Queene. The influence of romance on religion and of religion on romance is also strikingly seen in portrayals of Christ as a knight who jousts for the love and salvation of "human souls, which is a motif common to Ancrene Riwle, William Herebert's poem "What is he, this lordling, that cometh from the fight" (p. 3 6 8 ) , a n d Piers Plowman ( s e e p. 3 5 7 ) .

Anchoress (the feminine form of anchorite, from the Greek anachoretes, "one who lives apart") refers to a religious recluse who, unlike a hermit, lives in an enclosure, attached to a church, from which she never emerges. Anchoresses and anchorites might live singly, like Julian of Norwich (see p. 370) or in small groups. Ancrene Riwle (ca. 1215) was originally written for three young sisters, who, the author says in an aside in one manuscript, come from a noble family with ample means to support them. The author of Ancrene Riwle addresses the sisters in a colloquial, urbane, and personal prose style that distinguishes the guide both as a book of religious instruction and as a literary achievement of Early Middle English. The excerpt comes from Part 7, to which the author gave the title "Love." 1

From Ancrene Riwle [THE PARABLE OF THE CHRIST-KNIGHT]

A lady was completely s u r r o u n d e d by her e n e m i e s , her land laid waste, a n d she herself quite destitute, in a castle of clay. But a powerful king h a d fallen in love with her so inordinately that to win her love he sent her his m e s s e n g e r s , one after another, often m a n y together; he sent her many splendid presents of jewelry, provisions to support her, help f r o m his noble army to hold her castle. S h e a c c e p t e d everything as if it m e a n t nothing to her, a n d was so hardhearted that he could never c o m e closer to gaining her love. W h a t m o r e do you want? At last he c a m e himself; showed her his h a n d s o m e f a c e , as the most supremely h a n d s o m e of m e n ; spoke so very tenderly, and with words so beguiling that they c o u l d raise the d e a d to life; worked many wonders and did great f e a t s b e f o r e her eyes; s h o w e d her his power; told her a b o u t his kingdom; o f f e r e d to m a k e her q u e e n of all that he owned. All this had no effect. W a s not this scorn s u r p r i s i n g ? — f o r she was never fit to be his maidservant. B u t b e c a u s e of his gentle n a t u r e love h a d so o v e r c o m e him that at last he said: "You are u n d e r attack, lady, a n d your e n e m i e s are so strong that without my help there is no way that you c a n e s c a p e falling into their hands, a n d being put to a s h a m e f u l death after all your troubles. F o r your love I am willing to take on that fight, a n d r e s c u e you f r o m those who are seeking your death. But I know for certain that in fighting t h e m I shall receive a mortal w o u n d ; and I will a c c e p t it gladly in order to win your heart. Now, therefore, I b e g you, for 1. The translation is from Medieval English Prose for Women, edited by Bella Millett and Jocelyn WoganBrowne (1990).

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the love I am showing towards you, to love me at least when this is done, after my death, a l t h o u g h you r e f u s e d to during my life." This king did j u s t as he had p r o m i s e d ; he r e s c u e d her f r o m all her e n e m i e s , and was himself s h a m e fully ill-treated and at last put to death. But by a miracle he rose f r o m death to life. W o u l d not this lady have a b a s e nature if she did not love him after this a b o v e all things? T h i s king is J e s u s , S o n of G o d , who in j u s t this way w o o e d our soul, which devils had besieged. And he, like a noble suitor, after n u m e r o u s m e s s e n g e r s a n d many acts of kindness c a m e to prove his love, a n d showed by f e a t s of a r m s that he was worthy of love, as was the c u s t o m of knights o n c e upon a time. He entered the t o u r n a m e n t and, like a bold knight, h a d his shield pierced through and through in battle for love of his lady. His shield, which hid his divinity, was his dear body, which was stretched out on the cross: broad as a shield above in his extended arms, narrow below, where the one foot (as m a n y people think) was fixed above the other. T h a t this shield has no sides is to signify that his disciples, who should have stood by him a n d been his sides, all fled f r o m him a n d a b a n d o n e d him like strangers, as the G o s p e l says: rThey all abandoned him and fled [ M a t t h e w 2 6 . 5 6 ] . T h i s shield is given to us against all t e m p t a t i o n s , as J e r e m i a h testifies: You will give your labor as a shield for the heart [ L a m e n t a t i o n s 3 . 6 5 ] . T h i s shield not only protects us against all evils, but d o e s still more: it crowns us in heaven. With the shield of good will [Psalms 5 . 1 2 ] — " L o r d , " says David, "you have crowned us with the shield of your good will." He says "shield of g o o d will" b e c a u s e he s u f f e r e d willingly all that he s u f f e r e d . Isaiah says: He was offered because he wished to be [Isaiah 53.7]. " B u t , m a s t e r , " you say, "what was the point? C o u l d he not have saved us without so m u c h s u f f e r i n g ? " Yes, indeed, very easily; but he did not wish to. Why? To deprive us of any e x c u s e for denying him our love, since he h a d p a i d so dearly for it. You buy cheaply what you do not value highly. He bought us with his heart's b l o o d — a higher price w a s never p a i d — t o attract our love, which cost him so m u c h suffering. In a shield there are three things: the wood, a n d the leather, a n d the p a i n t e d design. So it was in this shield: the wood of the cross, the leather of G o d ' s body, the painting of the red blood which colored it so brightly. T h e third reason, then: after a brave knight's death, his shield is h u n g high in the c h u r c h in his m e m o r y . J u s t so this s h i e l d — t h a t is, the crucifix—is p l a c e d in c h u r c h where it c a n be seen m o s t easily, to be a r e m i n d e r of the knightly prowess of J e s u s C h r i s t on the cross. His beloved s h o u l d s e e in this how he b o u g h t her love: he let his shield be pierced, his side o p e n e d up, to show her his heart, to show her openly how deeply he loved her, a n d to attract her heart.

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Middle E relish Literature in tke Fourteentk and Fifteentk Centuries S I R GAWAIN A N D T H E G R E E N K N I G H T ca. 1 3 7 5 - 1 4 0 0 Between the Ancrene Riwle and the later fourteenth century, writers deployed English for many genres especially for saints' lives and romances. The finest Arthurian romance in English survives in only one manuscript, which also contains three religious poems— Pearl, Patience, and Purity—generally believed to be by the same poet. Nothing is known about the author except what can be inferred from the works. The dialect of the poems locates them in a remote corner of the northwest midlands between Cheshire and Staffordshire, and details of Sir Gawain's journey north show that the author was familiar with the geography of that region. But if author and audience were provincials, Sir Gawain and the other poems in the manuscript reveal them to have been highly sophisticated and well acquainted both with the international culture of the high Middle Ages and with ancient insular traditions.

Sir Gawain belongs to the so-called Alliterative Revival. After the Norman Conquest, alliterative verse doubtless continued to be recited by oral poets. At the beginning, the Gawain poet pretends that this romance is an oral poem and asks the audience to "listen" to a story, which he has "heard." Alliterative verse also continued to appear in Early Middle English texts. Layamon's Brut (see pp. 125—27) is the outstanding example. During the late fourteenth century there was a renewed flowering of alliterative poetry, especially in the north and west of Britain, which includes Piers Plowman and a splendid poem known as The Alliterative Morte Darthur. The Gawain poet's audience evidently valued the kind of alliterative verse that Chaucer's Parson caricatures as "Rum-Ram-Ruf by lettre" (see p. 314, line 43). They would also have understood archaic poetic diction surviving from Old English poetry such as athel (noble) and words of Scandinavian origin such as skete (quickly) and shifted, (alternated). They were well acquainted with French Arthurian romances and the latest fashions in clothing, armor, and castle building. In making Sir Gawain, Arthur's sister's son, the preeminent knight of the Round Table, the poet was faithful to an older tradition. The thirteenth-century French romances, which in the next century became the main sources of Sir Thomas Malory, had made Sir Lancelot the best of Arthur's knights and Lancelot's adultery with Q u e e n Guinevere the central event on which the fate of Arthur's kingdom turns. In Sir Gawain Lancelot is only one name in a list of Arthur's knights. Arthur is still a youth, and the court is in its springtime. Sir Gawain epitomizes this first blooming of Arthurian chivalry, and the reputation of the court rests upon his shoulders. Ostensibly, Gawain's head is what is at stake. The main plot belongs to a type folklorists classify as the "Beheading Game," in which a supernatural challenger offers to let his head be cut off in exchange for a return blow. The earliest written occurrence of this motif is in the Middle Irish tale of Bricriu's Feast. The Gawain poet could have encountered it in several French romances as well as in oral tradition. But the outcome of the game here does not turn only on the champion's courage as it does in 160

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Bricriu's Feast. The Gawain poet has devised another series of tests for the hero that link the beheading with his truth, the emblem of which is the pentangle—a fivepointed star—displayed on Gawain's coat of arms and shield. The word truth in Middle English, as in Chaucer's ballade of that name (see p. 317), and in Passus I of Piers Plowman (see p. 336), means not only what it still means now—a fact, belief, or idea held to be "true"—but what is conveyed by the old-fashioned variant from the same root: troth—that is, faith pledged by one's word and owed to a lord, a spouse, or anyone who puts someone else under an obligation. In this respect, Sir Gawain is being measured against a moral and Christian ideal of chivalry. Whether or not he succeeds in that contest is a question carefully left unresolved—perhaps as a challenge for the reader. The poet has framed Gawain's adventure with references in the first and last stanzas to what are called the "Brutus books," the foundation stories that trace the origins of Rome and Britain back to the destruction of Troy. See, for example, the selection from Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain (pp. 118—20). A cyclical sense of history as well as of the cycles of the seasons of the year, the generations of humankind, and of individual lives runs through Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. The poem is written in stanzas that contain a group of alliterative lines (the number of lines in a stanza varies). The line is longer and does not contain a fixed number or pattern of stresses like the classical alliterative measure of Old English poetry. Each stanza closes with five short lines rhyming ah ah a. The first of these rhyming lines contains just one stress and is called the "bob"; the four three-stress lines that follow are called the "wheel." For details on alliterative verse, see "Old and Middle English Prosody" (pp. 19—21). The opening stanza is printed below in Middle English with an interlinear translation. The stressed alliterating sounds have been italicized. Sithen the sege and the assaut was sesed at Troye, After the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy, The foorgh fcrittened and brent to fcrondes and askes, The city crumbled and burned to brands and ashes, The iulk that the frammes of iresoun ther wroght The man who the plots of treason there wrought Was tried for his tricherie, the trewest on erthe. Was tried for his treachery, the truest on earth. Hit was Ennias the athel and his highe kynde, It was Aeneas the noble and his high race, That sithen depreced provinces, and patrounes bicome Who after subjugated provinces, and lords became Welneghe of al the tvele in the west iles. Wellnigh of all the wealth in the west isles. Fro riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym swythe, Then noble Romulus to Rome proceeds quickly, With gret foobbaunce that fcurghe he iriges upon fyrst With great pride that city he builds at first And wevenes hit his aune wome, as hit »tow hat; And names it his own name, as it now is called;

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Ticius to Tuskan and teldes bigynnes, Ticius (goes) to Tuscany and houses begins, Langaberde in Lumbardie lyftes up homes, Longbeard in Lombardy raises up homes, A n d / e r over the French jlod, Felix Brutus And far over the English Channel, Felix Brutus On mony l?onkkes ful brode Bretayn he settes On many banks very broad Brittain he sets Wyth wynne, With joy, Where tverre and ivrake and wonder Where war and revenge and wondrous happenings Bi sythes has wont therinne, On occasions have dwelled therein And oft bothe Mysse and blunder And often both joy and strife Ful skete has skyfted synne. Very swiftly have alternated since.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight1 Part 1

Since the siege and the assault was ceased at Troy, The walls breached and burnt down to brands and ashes, The knight that had knotted the nets of deceit Was impeached for his perfidy, proven most true, 2 It was high-born Aeneas and his haughty race That since prevailed over provinces, and proudly reigned Over well-nigh all the wealth of the West Isles. 3 Great Romulus 4 to Rome repairs in haste; With boast and with bravery builds he that city And names it with his own name, that it now bears. Ticius to Tuscany, and towers raises, Langobard 5 in Lombardy lays out homes, And far over the French Sea, Felix Brutus 6 On many broad hills and high Britain he sets, most fair.

1. T h e Modern English translation is by Marie Borroff (1967), who has reproduced the alliterative meter of the original as well as the "bob" and "wheel," the five-line rhyming group that concludes each of the long irregular stanzas. 2. The treacherous knight is Aeneas, who was a traitor to his city, Troy, according to medieval tradition, but Aeneas was actually tried ("impeached") by the Greeks for his refusal to hand

over to them his sister Polyxena. 3. Perhaps Western Europe. 4. The legendary founder of Rome is here given Trojan ancestry, like Aeneas. 5. The reputed founder of Lombardy. "Ticius": not otherwise known. 6. Great-grandson of Aeneas and legendary founder of Britain; not elsewhere given the name Felix (Latin "happy").

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W h e r e war a n d w r a c k a n d w o n d e r By shifts have s o j o u r n e d there, A n d bliss by t u r n s with b l u n d e r In that land's lot h a d share. 20

A n d s i n c e this Britain w a s built by this b a r o n great, B o l d boys bred there, in broils delighting, T h a t did in their day m a n y a d e e d m o s t dire. M o r e marvels have h a p p e n e d in this merry l a n d T h a n in any other I know, s i n c e that olden time, 25 B u t of t h o s e that here built, of British kings, King Arthur w a s c o u n t e d m o s t c o u r t e o u s of all, W h e r e f o r e an a d v e n t u r e I a i m to unfold, T h a t a marvel of might s o m e m e n think it, A n d o n e u n m a t c h e d a m o n g Arthur's w o n d e r s . BO If you will listen to my lay b u t a little while, As I heard it in hall, I shall h a s t e n to tell anew. As it w a s f a s h i o n e d featly In tale of derring-do, 35 A n d linked in m e a s u r e s meetly By letters tried a n d true.

T h i s king lay at C a m e l o t 7 at C h r i s t m a s t i d e ; M a n y g o o d knights a n d gay his g u e s t s w e r e there, Arrayed of the R o u n d T a b l e 8 rightful brothers, W i t h f e a s t i n g a n d fellowship a n d c a r e f r e e mirth. T h e r e true m e n c o n t e n d e d i n t o u r n a m e n t s many, J o i n e d there in j o u s t i n g t h e s e gentle knights, T h e n c a m e t o the court for c a r o l - d a n c i n g , F o r the f e a s t w a s in f o r c e full f i f t e e n days, With all the m e a t a n d the mirth that m e n c o u l d devise, S u c h gaiety a n d glee, glorious to hear, Brave din by day, d a n c i n g by night. H i g h were their hearts in halls a n d c h a m b e r s , T h e s e lords a n d t h e s e ladies, for life w a s sweet. In p e e r l e s s p l e a s u r e s p a s s e d they their days, T h e m o s t n o b l e knights known u n d e r C h r i s t , A n d the loveliest ladies that lived on earth ever, A n d he the c o m e l i e s t king, that that c o u r t holds, F o r all this fair folk in their first a g e were still. H a p p i e s t of mortal kind, King n o b l e s t f a m e d of will; Y o u w o u l d n o w go far to find So hardy a host on hill. While the N e w Year was new, b u t yesternight c o m e , T h i s fair folk at f e a s t two-fold w a s served, W h e n the king a n d his c o m p a n y were c o m e in together,

7. Capital of Arth ur's kingdom, presumably located in southwest England or southern Wales. 8. According to legend, Merlin made the Round Table after a dispute broke out among Arthur's

knights about precedence: it seated one hundred knights. The table described in the poem is not round.

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T h e chanting in chapel achieved and ended. C l e r i c s a n d all the c o u r t a c c l a i m e d the glad s e a s o n , C r i e d N o e l a n e w , g o o d news to m e n ; T h e n gallants g a t h e r gaily, h a n d - g i f t s to m a k e , C a l l e d t h e m out clearly, c l a i m e d t h e m by hand, B i c k e r e d long a n d busily a b o u t t h o s e gifts. L a d i e s l a u g h e d aloud, t h o u g h losers they were, A n d he that won w a s not a n g e r e d , as well you will know. 9 All this mirth they m a d e until m e a t w a s served; W h e n they h a d w a s h e d t h e m worthily, they went to their s e a t s , T h e b e s t s e a t e d above, a s b e s t i t b e s e e m e d , G u e n e v e r e the goodly q u e e n gay in the m i d s t On a dais well-decked a n d duly arrayed W i t h costly silk c u r t a i n s , a c a n o p y over, O f T o u l o u s e a n d T u r k e s t a n tapestries rich, All broidered a n d b o r d e r e d with the b e s t g e m s Ever b r o u g h t into Britain, with bright p e n n i e s to pay. Fair q u e e n , without a flaw, S h e g l a n c e d with eyes of grey. A seemlier that o n c e he saw, In truth, no m a n c o u l d say. B u t A r t h u r w o u l d not eat till all were served; So light w a s his lordly heart, a n d a little boyish; H i s life he liked lively—the less he c a r e d To be lying for long, or long to sit, So b u s y his y o u n g blood, his brain so wild. A n d also a point of pride pricked him in heart, F o r he nobly h a d willed, he w o u l d never eat On so high a holiday, till he h a d h e a r d first O f s o m e fair f e a t o r fray s o m e far-borne tale, Of s o m e marvel of might, that he might trust, By c h a m p i o n s of chivalry achieved in a r m s , O r s o m e s u p p l i a n t c a m e s e e k i n g s o m e single knight To j o i n with h i m in j o u s t i n g , in j e o p a r d y e a c h To lay life for life, a n d leave it to f o r t u n e To a f f o r d h i m on field fair h a p or other. S u c h is the king's c u s t o m , w h e n his c o u r t he holds A t e a c h f a r - f a m e d f e a s t a m i d his fair h o s t so dear. T h e stout king s t a n d s in state Till a w o n d e r shall a p p e a r ; He leads, with heart elate, H i g h mirth in t h e N e w Year.

So he s t a n d s there in state, the s t o u t y o u n g king, T a l k i n g b e f o r e the high table of trifles fair. T h e r e G a w a i n the g o o d knight by G u e n e v e r e sits, I IO W i t h Agravain a la d u r e m a i n on his other side, B o t h knights of renown, a n d n e p h e w s of the king. T h e dispensing of New Year's gifts seems to have involved kissing.

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Bishop Baldwin above begins the table, And Yvain, son of Urien, ate with him there. These few with the fair queen were fittingly served; At the side-tables 1 sat many stalwart knights. Then the first course comes, with clamor of trumpets That were bravely bedecked with bannerets bright, With noise of new drums and the noble pipes. Wild were the warbles that wakened that day In strains that stirred many strong men's hearts. There dainties were dealt out, dishes rare, Choice fare to choose, on chargers so many That scarce was there space to set before the people The sendee of silver, with sundry meats, on cloth. Each fair guest freely there Partakes, and nothing loth; Twelve dishes before each pair; Good beer and bright wine both. Of the service itself I need say no more, For well you will know no tittle was wanting. Another noise and a new was well-nigh at hand, That the lord might have leave his life to nourish; For scarce were the sweet strains still in the hall, And the first course come to that company fair, There hurtles in at the hall-door an unknown rider, One the greatest on ground in growth of his frame: From broad neck to buttocks so bulky and thick, And his loins and his legs so long and so great, Half a giant on earth I hold him to be, But believe him no less than the largest of men, And that the seemliest in his stature to see, as he rides, For in back and in breast though his body was grim, His waist in its width was worthily small, And formed with every feature in fair accord was he. Great wonder grew in hall At his hue most strange to see, For man and gear and all Were green as green could be. And in guise all of green, the gear and the man: A coat cut close, that clung to his sides, And a mantle to match, made with a lining Of furs cut and fitted—the fabric was noble, Embellished all with ermine, and his hood beside, That was loosed from his locks, and laid on his shoulders. With trim hose and tight, the same tint of green, His great calves were girt, and gold spurs under He bore on silk bands that embellished his heels,

I. The side tables are on the main floor and run along the walls at a right angle with the high table, which is on a dais.

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And footgear well-fashioned, for riding most fit. And all his vesture verily was verdant green; Both the bosses on his belt and other bright gems That were richly ranged on his raiment noble About himself and his saddle, set upon silk, That to tell half the trifles would tax my wits, The butterflies and birds embroidered thereon In green of the gayest, with many a gold thread. The pendants of the breast-band, the princely crupper, And the bars of the bit were brightly enameled; The stout stirrups were green, that steadied his feet, And the bows of the saddle and the side-panels both, That gleamed all and glinted with green gems about. The steed he bestrides of that same green so bright. A green horse great and thick; A headstrong steed of might; In broidered bridle quick, Mount matched man aright. Gay was this goodly man in guise all of green, And the hair of his head to his horse suited; Fair flowing tresses enfold his shoulders; A beard big as a bush on his breast hangs, That with his heavy hair, that from his head falls, Was evened all about above both his elbows, That half his arms thereunder were hid in the fashion Of a king's cap-a-dos, 2 that covers his throat. The mane of that mighty horse much to it like, Well curled and becombed, and cunningly knotted With filaments of fine gold amid the fair green, Here a strand of the hair, here one of gold; His tail and his foretop twin in their hue, And bound both with a band of a bright green That was decked adown the dock with dazzling stones And tied tight at the top with a triple knot Where many bells well burnished rang bright and clear. Such a mount in his might, nor man on him riding, None had seen, I dare swear, with sight in that hall so grand. As lightning quick and light He looked to all at hand; It seemed that no man might His deadly dints withstand. Yet had he no helm, nor hauberk neither, Nor plate, nor appurtenance appending to arms, Nor shaft pointed sharp, nor shield for defense, But in his one hand he had a holly bob

2. The word capados occurs in this form in Middle English only in Gawain, here and in line 572. The translator has interpreted it, as the poet apparently

did also, as cap-a-dos, i.e., a garment covering its wearer "from head to back," on the model of capa-pie, "from head to foot," referring to armor.

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That is goodliest in green when groves are bare, And an ax in his other, a huge and immense, A wicked piece of work in words to expound: The head on its haft was an ell long; The spike of green steel, resplendent with gold; The blade burnished bright, with a broad edge, As well shaped to shear as a sharp razor; Stout was the stave in the strong man's gripe, That was wound all with iron to the weapon's end, With engravings in green of goodliest work. A lace lightly about, that led to a knot, Was looped in by lengths along the fair haft, And tassels thereto attached in a row, With buttons of bright green, brave to behold. This horseman hurtles in, and the hall enters; Riding to the high dais, recked he no danger; Not a greeting he gave as the guests he o'erlooked, Nor wasted his words, but "Where is," he said, "The captain of this crowd? Keenly I wish To see that sire with sight, and to himself say my say." He swaggered all about To scan the host so gay; He halted, as if in doubt Who in that hall held sway. There were stares on all sides as the stranger spoke, For much did they marvel what it might mean That a horseman and a horse should have such a hue, Grow green as the grass, and greener, it seemed, Than green fused on gold more glorious by far. All the onlookers eyed him, and edged nearer, And awaited in wonder what he would do, For many sights had they seen, but such a one never, So that phantom and faerie the folk there deemed it, Therefore chary of answer was many a champion bold, And stunned at his strong words stone-still they sat In a swooning silence in the stately hall. As all were slipped into sleep, so slackened their speech apace. Not all, I think, for dread, But some of courteous grace Let him who was their head Be spokesman in that place. Then Arthur before the high dais that entrance beholds, And hailed him, as behooved, for he had no fear, And said "Fellow, in faith you have found fair welcome; The head of this hostelry Arthur am I; Leap lightly down, and linger, I pray, And the tale of your intent you shall tell us after." "Nay, so help me," said the other, "He that on high sits, To tarry here any time, 'twas not mine errand;

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But as the praise of you, prince, is puffed up so high, And your court and your company are counted the best, Stoutest under steel-gear on steeds to ride, Worthiest of their works the wide world over, And peerless to prove in passages of arms, And courtesy here is carried to its height, And so at this season I have sought you out. You may be certain by the branch that I bear in hand That I pass here in peace, and would part friends, For had I come to this court on combat bent, I have a hauberk at home, and a helm beside, A shield and a sharp spear, shining bright, And other weapons to wield, I ween well, to boot, But as I willed no war, I wore no metal. But if you be so bold as all men believe, You will graciously grant the game that I ask by right." Arthur answer gave And said, "Sir courteous knight, If contest bare you crave, You shall not fail to fight." "Nay, to fight, in good faith, is far from my thought; There are about on these benches but beardless children, Were I here in full arms on a haughty steed, For measured against mine, their might is puny. And so I call in this court for a Christmas game, For 'tis Yule and New Year, and many young bloods about; If any in this house such hardihood claims, Be so bold in his blood, his brain so wild, As stoutly to strike one stroke for another, I shall give him as my gift this gisarme noble, This ax, that is heavy enough, to handle as he likes, And I shall bide the first blow, as bare as I sit. If there be one so wilful my words to assay, Let him leap hither lightly, lay hold of this weapon; I quitclaim it forever, keep it as his own, And I shall stand him a stroke, steady on this floor, So you grant me the guerdon to give him another, sans blame. In a twelvemonth and a day He shall have of me the same; Now be it seen straightway Who dares take up the game." If he astonished them at first, stiller were then All that household in hall, the high and the low; The stranger on his green steed stirred in the saddle, And roisterously his red eyes he rolled all about, Bent his bristling brows, that were bright green, Wagged his beard as he watched who would arise. When the court kept its counsel he coughed aloud, And cleared his throat coolly, the clearer to speak:

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"What, is this Arthur's house," said that horseman then, "Whose fame is so fair in far realms and wide? Where is now your arrogance and your awesome deeds, Your valor and your victories and your vaunting words? Now are the revel and renown of the Round Table Overwhelmed with a word of one man's speech, For all cower and quake, and no cut felt!" With this he laughs so loud that the lord grieved; The blood for sheer shame shot to his face, and pride. With rage his face flushed red, And so did all beside. Then the king as bold man bred Toward the stranger took a stride. And said "Sir, now we see you will say but folly, Which whoso has sought, it suits that he find. No guest here is aghast of your great words. Give to me your gisarme, in God's own name, And the boon you have begged shall straight be granted." He leaps to him lightly, lays hold of his weapon; The green fellow on foot fiercely alights. Now has Arthur his ax, and the haft grips, And sternly stirs it about, on striking bent. The stranger before him stood there erect, Higher than any in the house by a head and more; With stern look as he stood, he stroked his beard, And with undaunted countenance drew down his coat, No more moved nor dismayed for his mighty dints Than any bold man on bench had brought him a drink of wine. Gawain by Guenevere Toward the king doth now incline: "I beseech, before all here, That this melee may be mine." "Would you grant me the grace," said Gawain to the king, "To be gone from this bench and stand by you there, If I without discourtesy might quit this board, And if my liege lady misliked it not, I would come to your counsel before your court noble. For I find it not fit, as in faith it is known, When such a boon is begged before all these knights, Though you be tempted thereto, to take it on yourself While so bold men about upon benches sit, That no host under heaven is hardier of will, Nor better brothers-in-arms where battle is joined; I am the weakest, well I know, and of wit feeblest; And the loss of my life would be least of any; That I have you for uncle is my only praise; My body, but for your blood, is barren of worth; And for that this folly befits not a king, And 'tis I that have asked it, it ought to be mine,

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And if my claim be not comely let all this court judge, in sight." The court assays the claim, And in counsel all unite To give Gawain the game And release the king outright. Then the king called the knight to come to his side, And he rose up readily, and reached him with speed, Bows low to his lord, lays hold of the weapon, And he releases it lightly, and lifts up his hand, And gives him God's blessing, and graciously prays That his heart and his hand may be hardy both. "Keep, cousin," said the king, "what you cut with this day, And if you rule it aright, then readily, I know, You shall stand the stroke it will strike after." Gawain goes to the guest with gisarme in hand, And boldly he bides there, abashed not a whit. Then hails he Sir Gawain, the horseman in green: "Recount we our contract, ere you come further. First I ask and adjure you, how you are called That you tell me true, so that trust it I may." "In good faith," said the good knight, "Gawain am I Whose buffet befalls you, what'er betide after, And at this time twelvemonth take from you another With what weapon you will, and with no man else alive." The other nods assent: "Sir Gawain, as I may thrive, I am wondrous well content That you this dint shall drive." "Sir Gawain," said the Green Knight, "By God, I rejoice That your fist shall fetch this favor I seek, And you have readily rehearsed, and in right terms, Each clause of my covenant with the king your lord, Save that you shall assure me, sir, upon oath, That you shall seek me yourself, wheresoever you deem My lodgings may lie, and look for such wages As you have offered me here before all this host." "What is the way there?" said Gawain. "Where do you dwell? I heard never of your house, by him that made me, Nor I know you not, knight, your name nor your court. But tell me truly thereof, and teach me your name, And I shall fare forth to find you, so far as I may, And this I say in good certain, and swear upon oath." "That is enough in New Year, you need say no more," Said the knight in the green to Gawain the noble, "If I tell you true, when I have taken your knock, And if you handily have hit, you shall hear straightway Of my house and my home and my own name; Then follow in my footsteps by faithful accord. And if I spend no speech, you shall speed the better:

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S I R G A W A I N AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T

You can feast with your friends, nor further trace my tracks. Now hold your grim tool steady And show us how it hacks." "Gladly, sir; all ready," Says Gawain; he strokes the ax. The Green Knight upon ground girds him with care: Bows a bit with his head, and bares his flesh: His long lovely locks he laid over his crown, Let the naked nape for the need be shown. Gawain grips to his ax and gathers it aloft— The left foot on the floor before him he set— Brought it down deftly upon the bare neck, That the shock of the sharp blow shivered the bones And cut the flesh cleanly and clove it in twain, That the blade of bright steel bit into the ground. The head was hewn off and fell to the floor; Many found it at their feet, as forth it rolled; The blood gushed from the body, bright on the green, Yet fell not the fellow, nor faltered a whit, But stoutly he starts forth upon stiff shanks, And as all stood staring he stretched forth his hand, Laid hold of his head and heaved it aloft, Then goes to the green steed, grasps the bridle, Steps into the stirrup, bestrides his mount, And his head by the hair in his hand holds, And as steady he sits in the stately saddle As he had met with no mishap, nor missing were his head. His bulk about he haled, That fearsome body that bled; There were many in the court that quailed Before all his say was said. For the head in his hand he holds right up; Toward the first on the dais directs he the face, And it lifted up its lids, and looked with wide eyes, And said as much with its mouth as now you may hear: "Sir Gawain, forget not to go as agreed, And cease not to seek till me, sir, you find, As you promised in the presence of these proud knights. To the Green Chapel come, I charge you, to take Such a dint as you have dealt—you have well deserved That your neck should have a knock on New Year's morn. The Knight of the Green Chapel I am well-known to many, Wherefore you cannot fail to find me at last; Therefore come, or be counted a recreant knight." With a roisterous rush he flings round the reins, Hurtles out at the hall-door, his head in his hand, That the flint-fire flew from the flashing hooves. Which way he went, not one of them knew Nor whence he was come in the wide world

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so fair. The king and Gawain gay Make game of the Green Knight there, Yet all who saw it say 'Twas a wonder past compare. Though high-born Arthur at heart had wonder, He let no sign be seen, but said aloud To the comely queen, with courteous speech, "Dear dame, on this day dismay you no whit; Such crafts are becoming at Christmastide, Laughing at interludes, light songs and mirth, Amid dancing of damsels with doughty knights. Nevertheless of my meat now let me partake, For I have met with a marvel, I may not deny." He glanced at Sir Gawain, and gaily he said, "Now, sir, hang up your ax,3 that has hewn enough," And over the high dais it was hung on the wall That men in amazement might on it look, And tell in true terms the tale of the wonder. Then they turned toward the table, these two together, The good king and Gawain, and made great feast, With all dainties double, dishes rare, With all manner of meat and minstrelsy both, Such happiness wholly had they that day in hold. Now take care, Sir Gawain, That your courage wax not cold When you must turn again To your enterprise foretold. Part

495

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This adventure had Arthur of handsels 4 first When young was the year, for he yearned to hear tales; Though they wanted for words when they went to sup, Now are fierce deeds to follow, their fists stuffed full. Gawain was glad to begin those games in hall, But if the end be harsher, hold it no wonder, For though men are merry in mind after much drink, A year passes apace, and proves ever new: First things and final conform but seldom. And so this Yule to the young year yielded place, And each season ensued at its set time; After Christmas there came the cold cheer of Lent, When with fish and plainer fare our flesh we reprove; But then the world's weather with winter contends: The keen cold lessens, the low clouds lift; Fresh falls the rain in fostering showers On the face of the fields; flowers appear.

3. A colloquial expression equivalent to "bury the hatchet," but here with an appropriate literal

sense also. 4. New Year's presents.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T

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The ground and the groves wear gowns of green; Birds build their nests, and blithely sing That solace of all sorrow with summer comes ere long. And blossoms day by day Bloom rich and rife in throng; Then every grove so gay Of the greenwood rings with song. And then the season of summer with the soft winds, When Zephyr sighs low over seeds and shoots; Glad is the green plant growing abroad, When the dew at dawn drops from the leaves, To get a gracious glance from the golden sun. But harvest with harsher winds follows hard after, Warns him to ripen well ere winter comes; Drives forth the dust in the droughty season, From the face of the fields to fly high in air. Wroth winds in the welkin wrestle with the sun, The leaves launch from the linden and light on the ground, And the grass turns to gray, that once grew green. Then all ripens and rots that rose up at first, And so the year moves on in yesterdays many, And winter once more, by the world's law, draws nigh. At Michaelmas 0 the moon September Hangs wintry pale in sky; Sir Gawain girds him soon For travails yet to try. Till All-Hallows' Day5 with Arthur he dwells, And he held a high feast to honor that knight With great revels and rich, of the Round Table. Then ladies lovely and lords debonair With sorrow for Sir Gawain were sore at heart; Yet they covered their care with countenance glad: Many a mournful man made mirth for his sake. So after supper soberly he speaks to his uncle Of the hard hour at hand, and openly says, "Now, liege lord of my life, my leave I take; The terms of this task too well you know— To count the cost over concerns me nothing. But I am bound forth betimes to bear a stroke From the grim man in green, as God may direct." Then the first and foremost came forth in throng: Yvain and Eric and others of note, Sir Dodinal le Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence, Lionel and Lancelot and Lucan the good, Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere, big men both, And many manly knights more, with Mador de la Porte. All this courtly company comes to the king

5. All Saints' Day, November 1.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 1 7 4

To counsel their comrade, with care in their hearts; There was much secret sorrow suffered that day That one so good as Gawain must go in such wise To bear a bitter blow, and his bright sword lay by. He said, "Why should I tarry?" And smiled with tranquil eye; "In destinies sad or merry, True men can but try." He dwelt there all that day, and dressed in the morning; Asked early for his arms, and all were brought. First a carpet of rare cost was cast on the floor Where much goodly gear gleamed golden bright; He takes his place promptly and picks up the steel, Attired in a tight coat of Turkestan silk And a kingly cap-a-dos, closed at the throat, That was lavishly lined with a lustrous fur. Then they set the steel shoes on his sturdy feet And clad his calves about with comely greaves, And plate well-polished protected his knees, Affixed with fastenings of the finest gold. Fair cuisses enclosed, that were cunningly wrought, His thick-thewed thighs, with thongs bound fast, And massy chain-mail of many a steel ring He bore on his body, above the best cloth, With brace burnished bright upon both his arms, Good couters and gay, and gloves of plate, And all the goodly gear to grace him well that tide. His surcoat blazoned bold; Sharp spurs to prick with pride; And a brave silk band to hold The broadsword at his side. When he had on his arms, his harness was rich, The least latchet or loop laden with gold; So armored as he was, he heard a mass, Honored God humbly at the high altar. Then he comes to the king and his comrades-in-arms, Takes his leave at last of lords and ladies, And they clasped and kissed him, commending him to Christ. By then Gringolet was girt with a great saddle That was gaily agleam with fine gilt fringe, New-furbished for the need with nail-heads bright; The bridle and the bars bedecked all with gold; The breast-plate, the saddlebow, the side-panels both, The caparison and the crupper accorded in hue, And all ranged on the red the resplendent studs That glittered and glowed like the glorious sun. His helm now he holds up and hastily kisses, Well-closed with iron clinches, and cushioned within; It was high on his head, with a hasp behind,

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N

KNIGHT

175

A n d a covering of cloth to e n c a s e the visor, All b o u n d a n d e m b r o i d e r e d with the best g e m s 6io

O n b r o a d b a n d s o f silk, a n d b o r d e r e d w i t h birds, Parrots

a n d popinjays preening their wings,

Lovebirds a n d love-knots as lavishly w r o u g h t As

m a n y w o m e n had worked seven winters thereon, entire.

615

T h e d i a d e m costlier yet T h a t c r o w n e d that c o m e l y sire, W i t h d i a m o n d s richly set, T h a t f l a s h e d as if on fire. T h e n t h e y s h o w e d f o r t h t h e s h i e l d , t h a t s h o n e all r e d ,

620

With the pentangle6 portrayed in purest gold. A b o u t h i s b r o a d n e c k b y t h e b a l d r i c h e c a s t s it, T h a t w a s m e e t for the m a n , a n d m a t c h e d h i m well. A n d why the pentangle is proper to that peerless prince I i n t e n d n o w to tell, t h o u g h d e t a i n me it m u s t .

625

It is a s i g n by S o l o m o n s a g e l y d e v i s e d To be a t o k e n of t r u t h , by its title of old, F o r it is a figure f o r m e d of five points, A n d e a c h line is linked a n d locked with the next For ever a n d ever, a n d h e n c e it is called

630

In all E n g l a n d , as I h e a r , t h e e n d l e s s k n o t . A n d well m a y he w e a r it on his worthy arms, For ever faithful five-fold in five-fold fashion W a s Gawain in good works, as gold unalloyed, D e v o i d o f all villainy, w i t h virtues a d o r n e d

635

sight.

On shield and coat in view He bore that e m b l e m bright, As to his word m o s t true A n d in speech most courteous knight.

640

A n d first, he w a s faultless in his five s e n s e s , N o r f o u n d ever to fail in his five fingers, A n d all his fealty w a s fixed u p o n t h e five w o u n d s T h a t C h r i s t got o n t h e c r o s s , a s t h e c r e e d tells; A n d wherever this m a n in m e l e e took part,

645

H i s o n e t h o u g h t w a s o f this, p a s t all t h i n g s else,

6. A five-pointed star, formed by five lines that are drawn without lifting the pencil from the paper, supposed to have mystical significance; as Solomon's sign (line 625) it was enclosed in a circle.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 1 7 6

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T h a t all his f o r c e w a s f o u n d e d on the five joys 7 T h a t the high Q u e e n o f h e a v e n h a d i n her child. A n d therefore, as I find, he fittingly h a d On the inner part of his shield her i m a g e portrayed, T h a t w h e n his look on it lighted, he never lost heart. T h e fifth of the five fives followed by this knight W e r e b e n e f i c e n c e b o u n d l e s s a n d brotherly love A n d p u r e m i n d a n d m a n n e r s , that n o n e might i m p e a c h , And compassion most precious—these peerless five W e r e f o r g e d a n d m a d e f a s t in him, f o r e m o s t of m e n . N o w all t h e s e five fives were c o n f i r m e d in this knight, A n d e a c h linked in other, that e n d there w a s none, A n d fixed to five points, w h o s e f o r c e never failed, N o r a s s e m b l e d all on a side, nor a s u n d e r either, N o r anywhere at an end, b u t w h o l e a n d entire H o w e v e r the p a t t e r n p r o c e e d e d or played out its c o u r s e . A n d so on his shining shield s h a p e d was the knot Royally in red gold a g a i n s t red gules, T h a t is the p e e r l e s s p e n t a n g l e , prized of old in lore. N o w a r m e d is G a w a i n gay, A n d b e a r s his l a n c e before, A n d soberly said g o o d day, H e t h o u g h t forevermore. He s t r u c k his s t e e d with the s p u r s a n d s p e d on his way S o f a s t that the flint-fire f l a s h e d f r o m the s t o n e s . W h e n they saw h i m set forth they w e r e s o r e aggrieved, A n d all s i g h e d softly, a n d said to e a c h other, F e a r i n g for their fellow, "111 f o r t u n e it is T h a t you, m a n , m u s t be m a r r e d , that m o s t are worthy! His e q u a l o n this earth c a n hardly b e f o u n d ; T o have dealt m o r e discreetly h a d d o n e less h a r m , A n d have d u b b e d h i m a d u k e , with all d u e honor. A great leader of lords he w a s like to b e c o m e , A n d better so to have b e e n than b a t t e r e d to bits, B e h e a d e d by an e l f - m a n , ° for e m p t y pride! supernatural being W h o w o u l d credit that a king c o u l d be c o u n s e l e d so, A n d c a u g h t in a cavil in a C h r i s t m a s g a m e ? " M a n y were the w a r m tears they wept f r o m their eyes W h e n goodly Sir G a w a i n w a s g o n e f r o m the court that day. N o longer h e a b o d e , B u t speedily went his way Over m a n y a w a n d e r i n g road, As I h e a r d my a u t h o r say. N o w he rides in his array t h r o u g h the r e a l m of L o g r e s , 8 Sir G a w a i n , G o d knows, t h o u g h it gave h i m small joy! All a l o n e m u s t he lodge through m a n y a long night

7. Most commonly in Middle English literature, the Annunciation, Nativity, Resurrection, Ascension, and Assumption, although the list varies. These overlap but are not identical with the Five

Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary, which were not formally established until the 16th century. 8. One of the names for Arthur's kingdom.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T

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Where the food that he fancied was far from his plate; He had no mate but his mount, over mountain and plain, Nor man to say his mind to but almighty God, Till he had wandered well-nigh into North Wales. All the islands of Anglesey he holds on his left, And follows, as he fares, the fords by the coast, Comes over at Holy Head, and enters next The Wilderness of Wirral9—few were within That had great good will toward God or man. And earnestly he asked of each mortal he met If he had ever heard aught of a knight all green, Or of a Green Chapel, on ground thereabouts, And all said the same, and solemnly swore They saw no such knight all solely green in hue. Over country wild and strange The knight sets off anew; Often his course must change Ere the Chapel comes in view.

Many a cliff must he climb in country wild; Far off from all his friends, forlorn must he ride; 715 At each strand or stream where the stalwart passed 'Twere a marvel if he met not some monstrous foe, And that so fierce and forbidding that fight he must. So many were the wonders he wandered among That to tell but the tenth part would tax my wits. 720 Now with serpents he wars, now with savage wolves, Now with wild men of the woods, that watched from the rocks, Both with bulls and with bears, and with boars besides, And giants that came gibbering from the jagged steeps. Had he not borne himself bravely, and been on God's side, 725 He had met with many mishaps and mortal harms. And if the wars were unwelcome, the winter was worse, When the cold clear rains rushed from the clouds And froze before they could fall to the frosty earth. Near slain by the sleet he sleeps in his irons 7BO More nights than enough, among naked rocks, Where clattering from the crest the cold stream ran And hung in hard icicles high overhead. Thus in peril and pain and predicaments dire He rides across country till Christmas Eve, 735 our knight. And at that holy tide He prays with all his might That Mary may be his guide Till a dwelling comes in sight. 740

By a mountain next morning he makes his way Into a forest fastness, fearsome and wild; High hills on either hand, with hoar woods below,

9. Gawain went from Camelot north to the northern coast of Wales, opposite the islands of Anglesey; there he turned east across the Dee to the forest of Wirral in Cheshire.

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S I R GAWAIN AND THE G R E E N K N I G H T / 1 7 8

Oaks old and huge by the hundred together. T h e h a z e l a n d t h e h a w t h o r n w e r e all i n t e r t w i n e d 745

With rough raveled moss, that raggedly hung, With m a n y birds unblithe u p o n bare twigs That peeped most piteously for pain of the cold. T h e good knight on Gringolet glides thereunder T h r o u g h m a n y a m a r s h a n d m i r e , a m a n all a l o n e ;

750

He f e a r e d for his default, s h o u l d he fail to s e e T h e service of that Sire that on that s a m e night W a s b o r n of a bright maid, to bring us his peace. A n d therefore sighing he said, "I b e s e e c h of Thee, Lord, A n d Mary, thou mildest mother so dear,

755

S o m e harborage where haply I might hear mass A n d T h y m a t i n s t o m o r r o w — m e e k l y I a s k it, A n d thereto proffer and pray my pater and ave and

creed."

He said his prayer with sighs, 760

L a m e n t i n g his

misdeed;

He crosses himself, a n d cries On Christ in his great need. No

sooner h a d Sir G a w a i n signed himself thrice

T h a n he was ware, in the wood, of a wondrous dwelling, 765

W i t h i n a m o a t , on a m o u n d , bright a m i d b o u g h s Of m a n y a tree great of girth that grew by the w a t e r — A castle as c o m e l y as a knight c o u l d o w n , On g r o u n d s fair a n d green, in a goodly park With a palisade of palings planted about

770

F o r two miles a n d m o r e , r o u n d m a n y a fair tree. T h e stout knight stared at that stronghold great As it s h i m m e r e d a n d s h o n e a m i d shining leaves, T h e n with helmet in h a n d he offers his thanks To Jesus and Saint Julian,1

775

that are gentle both,

T h a t in courteous a c c o r d h a d inclined to his prayer; " N o w fair harbor," said he, "I h u m b l y b e s e e c h ! " T h e n he pricks his p r o u d steed with the plated spurs, And by chance he has chosen the chief path T h a t brought the bold knight to the bridge's end

780

haste.

T h e b r i d g e h u n g h i g h i n air; T h e gates were bolted fast; T h e walls well-framed to bear T h e fury of the blast. 785

T h e m a n on his m o u n t r e m a i n e d on the b a n k Of the deep

double m o a t that defended the place.

T h e wall went in the water wondrous deep, A n d a long way aloft it l o o m e d overhead. It was built of stone blocks to the battlements' height, 790

W i t h corbels u n d e r c o r n i c e s in c o m e l i e s t style; Watch-towers trusty protected the gate,

1. Patron saint of hospitality.

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S I R GAWAIN AND THE G R E E N K N I G H T

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BOO

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With m a n y a lean loophole, to look f r o m within: A b e t t e r - m a d e b a r b i c a n the knight b e h e l d never. A n d b e h i n d it there hoved a great hall a n d fair: T u r r e t s rising in tiers, with tines 0 at their tops, S p i r e s set b e s i d e t h e m , splendidly long, W i t h finials 0 well-fashioned, as filigree fine. C h a l k - w h i t e c h i m n e y s over c h a m b e r s high G l e a m e d in gay array u p o n g a b l e s a n d r o o f s ; T h e p i n n a c l e s in panoply, pointing in air, So vied there for his view that verily it s e e m e d A c a s t l e c u t of p a p e r for a king's f e a s t . 2 T h e g o o d knight on G r i n g o l e t t h o u g h t it great luck If he c o u l d b u t contrive to c o m e there within To keep the C h r i s t m a s f e a s t in that c a s t l e fair a n d bright. T h e r e a n s w e r e d to his call A porter m o s t polite; F r o m his station on the wall He greets the errant knight.

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spikes gable

" G o o d sir," said G a w a i n , " W o u l d s t go to inquire If your lord w o u l d allow me to lodge here a s p a c e ? " " P e t e r ! " said t h e porter, " F o r my part, I think So noble a knight will not w a n t for a w e l c o m e ! " T h e n he b u s t l e s o f f briskly, a n d c o m e s b a c k straight, A n d m a n y servants beside, to receive h i m the better. T h e y let d o w n the d r a w b r i d g e a n d duly w e n t forth A n d k n e e l e d d o w n on their k n e e s on the n a k e d earth To w e l c o m e this warrior as b e s t they were able. T h e y p r o f f e r e d him p a s s a g e — t h e portals s t o o d w i d e — A n d he b e c k o n e d t h e m to rise, a n d rode over the bridge. M e n s t e a d i e d his s a d d l e as he s t e p p e d to the g r o u n d , A n d there stabled his steed m a n y stalwart folk. N o w c o m e the knights a n d the noble squires To bring h i m with bliss into the bright hall. W h e n his high h e l m w a s off, there hied forth a throng Of a t t e n d a n t s to take it, a n d s e e to its care; T h e y bore away his b r a n d 0 a n d his b l a z o n e d shield; T h e n graciously h e g r e e t e d t h o s e gallants e a c h one, A n d m a n y a noble drew near, to do the knight honor. All in his a r m o r into hall he w a s led, W h e r e fire on a fair h e a r t h fiercely blazed. A n d s o o n the lord h i m s e l f d e s c e n d s f r o m his c h a m b e r T o m e e t with g o o d m a n n e r s the m a n o n his floor. He said, " T o this h o u s e you are heartily w e l c o m e : W h a t is here is wholly yours, to have in your power a n d sway." " M a n y t h a n k s , " said Sir G a w a i n ; " M a y C h r i s t your p a i n s repay!" T h e two e m b r a c e a m a i n As m e n well m e t that day.

2. A common table decoration at feasts.

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ornaments

sword

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Gawain gazed on the host that greeted him there, And a lusty fellow he looked, the lord of that place: A man of massive mold, and of middle age; Broad, bright was his beard, of a beaver's hue, Strong, steady his stance, upon stalwart shanks, His face fierce as fire, fair-spoken withal, And well-suited he seemed in Sir Gawain's sight To be a master of men in a mighty keep. They pass into a parlor, where promptly the host Has a servant assigned him to see to his needs, And there came upon his call many courteous folk That brought him to a bower where bedding was noble, With heavy silk hangings hemmed all in gold, Coverlets and counterpanes curiously wrought, A canopy over the couch, clad all with fur, Curtains running on cords, caught to gold rings, Woven rugs on the walls of eastern work, And the floor, under foot, well-furnished with the same. Amid light talk and laughter they loosed from him then His war-dress of weight and his worthy clothes. Robes richly wrought they brought him right soon, To change there in chamber and choose what he would. When he had found one he fancied, and flung it about, Well-fashioned for his frame, with flowing skirts, His face fair and fresh as the flowers of spring, All the good folk agreed, that gazed on him then, His limbs arrayed royally in radiant hues, That so comely a mortal never Christ made as he. Whatever his place of birth, It seemed he well might be Without a peer on earth In martial rivalry. A couch before the fire, where fresh coals burned, They spread for Sir Gawain splendidly now With quilts quaintly stitched, and cushions beside, And then a costly cloak they cast on his shoulders Of bright silk, embroidered on borders and hems, With furs of the finest well-furnished within, And bound about with ermine, both mantle and hood; And he sat at that fireside in sumptuous estate And warmed himself well, and soon he waxed merry. Then attendants set a table upon trestles broad, And lustrous white linen they laid thereupon, A saltcellar of silver, spoons of the same. He washed himself well and went to his place, Men set his fare before him in fashion most fit. There were soups of all sorts, seasoned with skill, Double-sized servings, and sundry fish, Some baked, some breaded, some broiled on the coals, Some simmered, some in stews, steaming with spice, And with sauces to sup that suited his taste.

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895

900

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He confesses it a feast with free words and fair; They requite him as kindly with courteous jests, well-sped. "Tonight you fast 3 and pray; Tomorrow we'll see you fed." The knight grows wondrous gay As the wine goes to his head.

Then at times and by turns, as at table he sat, They questioned him quietly, with queries discreet, And he courteously confessed that he comes from the court, And owns him of the brotherhood of high-famed Arthur, 905 The right royal ruler of the Round Table, And the guest by their fireside is Gawain himself, Who has happened on their house at that holy feast. When the name of the knight was made known to the lord, Then loudly he laughed, so elated he was, 910 And the men in that household made haste with joy To appear in his presence promptly that day, That of courage ever-constant, and customs pure, Is pattern and paragon, and praised without end: Of all knights on earth most honored is he. 915 Each said solemnly aside to his brother, "Now displays of deportment shall dazzle our eyes And the polished pearls of impeccable speech; The high art of eloquence is ours to pursue Since the father of fine manners is found in our midst. 920 Great is God's grace, and goodly indeed, That a guest such as Gawain he guides to us here When men sit and sing of their Savior's birth in view. With command of manners pure 925 He shall each heart imbue; Who shares his converse, sure, Shall learn love's language true."

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When the knight had done dining and duly arose, The dark was drawing on; the day nigh ended. Chaplains in chapels and churches about Rang the bells aright, reminding all men Of the holy evensong of the high feast. The lord attends alone: his fair lady sits In a comely closet, secluded from sight. Gawain in gay attire goes thither soon; The lord catches his coat, and calls him by name, And has him sit beside him, and says in good faith No guest on God's earth would he gladlier greet. For that Gawain thanked him; the two then embraced And sat together soberly the service through.

3. Gawain is said to be "fasting" because the meal, although elaborate, consisted only of fish dishes, appropriate to a fasting day.

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Then the lady, that longed to look on the knight, Came forth from her closet with her comely maids. The fair hues of her flesh, her face and her hair And her body and her bearing were beyond praise, And excelled the queen herself, as Sir Gawain thought. He goes forth to greet her with gracious intent; Another lady led her by the left hand That was older than she—an ancient, it seemed, And held in high honor by all men about. But unlike to look upon, those ladies were, For if the one was fresh, the other was faded: Bedecked in bright red was the body of one; Flesh hung in folds on the face of the other; On one a high headdress, hung all with pearls; Her bright throat and bosom fair to behold, Fresh as the first snow fallen upon hills; A wimple the other one wore round her throat; Her swart chin well swaddled, swathed all in white; Her forehead enfolded in flounces of silk That framed a fair fillet, of fashion ornate, And nothing bare beneath save the black brows, The two eyes and the nose, the naked lips, And they unsightly to see, and sorrily bleared. A beldame, by God, she may well be deemed, of pride! She was short and thick of waist, Her buttocks round and wide; More toothsome, to his taste, Was the beauty by her side. When Gawain had gazed on that gay lady, With leave of her lord, he politely approached; To the elder in homage he humbly bows; The lovelier he salutes with a light embrace. He claims a comely kiss, and courteously he speaks; They welcome him warmly, and straightway he asks To be received as their servant, if they so desire. They take him between them; with talking they bring him Beside a bright fire; bade then that spices Be freely fetched forth, to refresh them the better, And the good wine therewith, to warm their hearts. The lord leaps about in light-hearted mood; Contrives entertainments and timely sports; Takes his hood from his head and hangs it on a spear, And offers him openly the honor thereof Who should promote the most mirth at that Christmas feast; "And I shall try for it, trust me—contend with the best, Ere I go without my headgear by grace of my friends!" Thus with light talk and laughter the lord makes merry To gladden the guest he had greeted in hall that day. At the last he called for light The company to convey;

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Gawain says goodnight And retires to bed straightway. On the morn when each man is mindful in heart That God's son was sent down to suffer our death, No household but is blithe for his blessed sake; So was it there on that day, with many delights. Both at larger meals and less they were lavishly served By doughty lads on dais, with delicate fare; The old ancient lady, highest she sits; The lord at her left hand leaned, as I hear; Sir Gawain in the center, beside the gay lady, Where the food was brought first to that festive board, And thence throughout the hall, as they held most fit, To each man was offered in order of rank. There was meat, there was mirth, there was much joy, That to tell all the tale would tax my wits, Though I pained me, perchance, to paint it with care; But yet I know that our knight and the noble lady Were accorded so closely in company there, With the seemly solace of their secret words, With speeches well-sped, spotless and pure, That each prince's pastime their pleasures far outshone. Sweet pipes beguile their cares, And the trumpet of martial tone; Each tends his affairs And those two tend their own. That day and all the next, their disport was noble, And the third day, I think, pleased them no less; The joys of St. John's Day° were justly praised, December 27 And were the last of their like for those lords and ladies; Then guests were to go in the gray morning, Wherefore they whiled the night away with wine and with mirth, Moved to the measures of many a blithe carol; At last, when it was late, took leave of each other, Each one of those worthies, to wend his way. Gawain bids goodbye to his goodly host Who brings him to his chamber, the chimney beside, And detains him in talk, and tenders his thanks And holds it an honor to him and his people That he has harbored in his house at that holy time And embellished his abode with his inborn grace. "As long as I may live, my luck is the better That Gawain was my guest at God's own feast!" "Noble sir," said the knight, "I cannot but think All the honor is your own—may heaven requite it! And your man to command I account myself here As I am bound and beholden, and shall be, come what may." The lord with all his might Entreats his guest to stay;

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Brief answer makes the knight: Next morning he must away.

Then the lord of that land politely inquired What dire affair had forced him, at that festive time, So far from the king's court to fare forth alone Ere the holidays wholly had ended in hall. 1050 "In good faith," said Gawain, "you have guessed the truth: On a high errand and urgent I hastened away, For I am summoned by myself to seek for a place— I would I knew whither, or where it might be! Far rather would I find it before the New Year 1055 Than own the land of Logres, so help me our Lord! Wherefore, sir, in friendship this favor I ask, That you say in sober earnest, if something you know Of the Green Chapel, on ground far or near, Or the lone knight that lives there, of like hue of green. 1060 A certain day was set by assent of us both To meet at that landmark, if I might last, And from now to the New Year is nothing too long, And I would greet the Green Knight there, would God but allow, More gladly, by God's Son, than gain the world's wealth! 1065 And I must set forth to search, as soon as I may; To be about the business I have but three days And would as soon sink down dead as desist from my errand." Then smiling said the lord, "Your search, sir, is done, For we shall see you to that site by the set time. 1070 Let Gawain grieve no more over the Green Chapel; You shall be in your own bed, in blissful ease, All the forenoon, and fare forth the first of the year, And make the goal by midmorn, to mind your affairs, no fear! 1075 Tarry till the fourth day And ride on the first of the year. We shall set you on your way; It is not two miles from here." 1080

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Then Gawain was glad, and gleefully he laughed: "Now I thank you for this, past all things else! Now my goal is here at hand! With a glad heart I shall Both tarry, and undertake any task you devise." Then the host seized his arm and seated him there; Let the ladies be brought, to delight them the better, And in fellowship fair by the fireside they sit; So gay waxed the good host, so giddy his words, All waited in wonder what next he would say. Then he stares on the stout knight, and sternly he speaks: "You have bound yourself boldly my bidding to do— Will you stand by that boast, and obey me this once?" "I shall do so indeed," said the doughty knight; "While I lie in your lodging, your laws will I follow." "As you have had," said the host, "many hardships abroad And little sleep of late, you are lacking, I judge,

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Both in nourishment needful and nightly rest; You shall lie abed late in your lofty chamber Tomorrow until mass, and meet then to dine When you will, with my wife, who will sit by your side And talk with you at table, the better to cheer our guest. A-hunting I will go While you lie late and rest." The knight, inclining low, Assents to each behest. "And Gawain," said the good host, "agree now to this; Whatever I win in the woods I will give you at eve, And all you have earned you must offer to me; Swear now, sweet friend, to swap as I say, Whether hands, in the end, be empty or better." "By God," said Sir Gawain, "I grant it forthwith! If you find the game good, I shall gladly take part." "Let the bright wine be brought, and our bargain is done," Said the lord of that land—the two laughed together. Then they drank and they dallied and doffed all constraint, These lords and these ladies, as late as they chose, And then with gaiety and gallantries and graceful adieux They talked in low tones, and tarried at parting. With compliments comely they kiss at the last; There were brisk lads about with blazing torches To see them safe to bed, for soft repose long due. Their covenants, yet awhile, They repeat, and pledge anew; That lord could well beguile Men's hearts, with mirth in view. Part

Long before daylight they left their beds; Guests that wished to go gave word to their grooms, And they set about briskly to bind on saddles, Tend to their tackle, tie up trunks. The proud lords appear, appareled to ride, Leap lightly astride, lay hold of their bridles, Each one on his way to his worthy house. The liege lord of the land was not the last Arrayed there to ride, with retainers many; He had a bite to eat when he had heard mass; With horn to the hills he hastens amain. By the dawn of that day over the dim earth, Master and men were mounted and ready. Then they harnessed in couples the keen-scented hounds, Cast wide the kennel-door and called them forth, Blew upon their bugles bold blasts three; The dogs began to bay with a deafening din, And they quieted them quickly and called them to heel,

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A hundred brave huntsmen, as I have heard tell, together. Men at stations meet; From the hounds they slip the tether; The echoing horns repeat, Clear in the merry weather. At the clamor of the quest, the quarry trembled; Deer dashed through the dale, dazed with dread; Hastened to the high ground, only to be Turned back by the beaters, who boldly shouted. They harmed not the harts, with their high heads, Let the bucks go by, with their broad antlers, For it was counted a crime, in the close season, If a man of that demesne should molest the male deer. The hinds were headed up, with "Hey!" and "Ware!" The does with great din were driven to the valleys. Then you were ware, as they went, of the whistling of arrows; At each bend under boughs the bright shafts flew That tore the tawny hide with their tapered heads. Ah! they bray and they bleed, on banks they die, And ever the pack pell-mell comes panting behind; Hunters with shrill horns hot on their heels— Like the cracking of cliffs their cries resounded. What game got away from the gallant archers Was promptly picked off at the posts below When they were harried on the heights and herded to the streams: The watchers were so wary at the waiting-stations, And the greyhounds so huge, that eagerly snatched, And finished them off as fast as folk could see with sight. The lord, now here, now there, Spurs forth in sheer delight. And drives, with pleasures rare, The day to the dark night. So the lord in the linden-wood leads the hunt And Gawain the good knight in gay bed lies, Lingered late alone, till daylight gleamed, Under coverlet costly, curtained about. And as he slips into slumber, slyly there comes A little din at his door, and the latch lifted, And he holds up his heavy head out of the clothes; A corner of the curtain he caught back a little And waited there warily, to see what befell. Lo! it was the lady, loveliest to behold, That drew the door behind her deftly and still And was bound for his bed—abashed was the knight, And laid his head low again in likeness of sleep; And she stepped stealthily, and stole to his bed, Cast aside the curtain and came within, And set herself softly on the bedside there, And lingered at her leisure, to look on his waking.

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The fair knight lay feigning for a long while, Conning in his conscience what his case might M e a n or amount to—a marvel he thought it. But yet he said within himself, "More seemly it were To try her intent by talking a little." So he started and stretched, as startled from sleep, Lifts wide his lids in likeness of wonder, And signs himself swiftly, as safer to be, with art. Sweetly does she speak And kindling glances dart, Blent white and red on cheek And laughing lips apart. "Good morning, Sir Gawain," said that gay lady, "A slack sleeper you are, to let one slip in! Now you are taken in a trice—a truce we must make, Or I shall bind you in your bed, of that be assured." T h u s laughing lightly that lady jested. "Good morning, good lady," said Gawain the blithe, " B e it with me as you will; I am well content! For I surrender myself, and sue for your grace, And that is best, I believe, and behooves me now." Thus jested in answer that gentle knight. "But if, lovely lady, you misliked it not, And were pleased to permit your prisoner to rise, I should quit this couch and accoutre me better, And be clad in more comfort for converse here." "Nay, not so, sweet sir," said the smiling lady; "You shall not rise from your bed; I direct you better: I shall hem and hold you on either hand, And keep company awhile with my captive knight. For as certain as I sit here, Sir Gawain you are, Whom all the world worships, whereso you ride; Your honor, your courtesy are highest acclaimed By lords and by ladies, by all living men; And lo! we are alone here, and left to ourselves: My lord and his liegemen are long departed, The household asleep, my handmaids too, The door drawn, and held by a well-driven bolt, And since I have in this house him whom all love, I shall while the time away with mirthful speech at will. My body is here at hand, Your each wish to fulfill; Your servant to command I am, and shall be still." "In good faith," said Gawain, "my gain is the greater, Though I am not he of whom you have heard; To arrive at such reverence as you recount here I am one all unworthy, and well do I know it. By heaven, I would hold me the happiest of men

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If by word or by work I once might aspire To the prize of your praise—'twere a pure joy!" "In good faith, Sir Gawain," said that gay lady, "The well-proven prowess that pleases all others, Did I scant or scout it, 'twere scarce becoming. But there are ladies, believe me, that had liefer far Have thee here in their hold, as I have today, To pass an hour in pastime with pleasant words, Assuage all their sorrows and solace their hearts, Than much of the goodly gems and gold they possess. But laud be to the Lord of the lofty skies, For here in my hands all hearts' desire doth lie." Great welcome got he there From the lady who sat him by; With fitting speech and fair The good knight makes reply. "Madame," said the merry man, "Mary reward you! For in good faith, I find your beneficence noble. And the fame of fair deeds runs far and wide, But the praise you report pertains not to me, But comes of your courtesy and kindness of heart." "By the high Queen of heaven" (said she) "I count it not so, For were I worth all the women in this world alive, And all wealth and all worship were in my hands, And I should hunt high and low, a husband to take, For the nurture I have noted in thee, knight, here, The comeliness and courtesies and courtly mirth— And so I had ever heard, and now hold it true— No other on this earth should have me for wife." "You are bound to a better man," the bold knight said, "Yet I prize the praise you have proffered me here, And soberly your servant, my sovereign I hold you, And acknowledge me your knight, in the name of Christ." So they talked of this and that until 'twas nigh noon, And ever the lady languishing in likeness of love. With feat words and fair he framed his defense, For were she never so winsome, the warrior had The less will to woo, for the wound that his bane must be. He must bear the blinding blow, For such is fate's decree: The lady asks leave to go; He grants it full and free. Then she gaily said goodbye, and glanced at him, laughing, And as she stood, she astonished him with a stern speech: "Now may the Giver of all good words these glad hours repay! But our guest is not Gawain—forgot is that thought." "How so?" said the other, and asks in some haste, For he feared he had been at fault in the forms of his speech.

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But she held up her hand, and made answer thus: "So good a knight as Gawain is given out to be, And the model of fair demeanor and manners pure, Had he lain so long at a lady's side, Would have claimed a kiss, by his courtesy, Through some touch or trick of phrase at some tale's end." Said Gawain, "Good lady, I grant it at once! I shall kiss at your command, as becomes a knight, And more, lest you mislike, so let be, I pray." With that she turns toward him, takes him in her arms, Leans down her lovely head, and lo! he is kissed. They commend each other to Christ with comely words, He sees her forth safely, in silence they part, And then he lies no later in his lofty bed, But calls to his chamberlain, chooses his clothes, Goes in those garments gladly to mass, Then takes his way to table, where attendants wait, And made merry all day, till the moon rose in view. Was never knight beset 'Twixt worthier ladies two: The crone and the coquette; Fair pastimes they pursue. And the lord of the land rides late and long, Hunting the barren hind over the broad heath. He had slain such a sum, when the sun sank low, Of does and other deer, as would dizzy one's wits. Then they trooped in together in triumph at last, And the count of the quarry quickly they take. The lords lent a hand with their liegemen many, Picked out the plumpest and put them together And duly dressed the deer, as the deed requires. Some were assigned the assay of the fat: Two fingers' width fully they found on the leanest. Then they slit the slot open and searched out the paunch, Trimmed it with trencher-knives and tied it up tight. They flayed the fair hide from the legs and trunk, Then broke open the belly and laid bare the bowels, Deftly detaching and drawing them forth. And next at the neck they neatly parted The weasand 0 from the windpipe, and cast away the guts. At the shoulders with sharp blades they showed their skill, Boning them from beneath, lest the sides be marred; They breached the broad breast and broke it in twain, And again at the gullet they begin with their knives, Cleave down the carcass clear to the breach; Two tender morsels they take from the throat, Then round the inner ribs they rid off a layer And carve out the kidney-fat, close to the spine, Hewing down to the haunch, that all hung together, And held it up whole, and hacked it free,

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And this they named the numbles, 4 that knew such terms of art. They divide the crotch in two, And straightway then they start To cut the backbone through And cleave the trunk apart. With hard strokes they hewed off the head and the neck, Then swiftly from the sides they severed the chine, And the corbie's bone 5 they cast on a branch. Then they pierced the plump sides, impaled either one With the hock of the hind foot, and hung it aloft, To each person his portion most proper and fit. On a hide of a hind the hounds they fed With the liver and the lights, 0 the leathery paunches, And bread soaked in blood well blended therewith. High horns and shrill set hounds a-baying, Then merrily with their meat they make their way home, Blowing on their bugles many a brave blast. Ere dark had descended, that doughty band Was come within the walls where Gawain waits at leisure. Bliss and hearth-fire bright Await the master's pleasure; When the two men met that night, Joy surpassed all measure. Then the host in the hall his household assembles, With the dames of high degree and their damsels fair. In the presence of the people, a party he sends To convey him his venison in view of the knight. And in high good-humor he hails him then, Counts over the kill, the cuts on the tallies, Holds high the hewn ribs, heavy with fat. "What think you, sir, of this? Have I thriven well? Have I won with my woodcraft a worthy prize?" "In good earnest," said Gawain, "this game is the finest I have seen in seven years in the season of winter." "And I give it to you, Gawain," said the goodly host, "For according to our convenant, you claim it as your own." "That is so," said Sir Gawain, "the same say I: What I worthily have won within these fair walls, Herewith I as willingly award it to you." He embraces his broad neck with both his arms, And confers on him a kiss in the comeliest style. "Have here my profit, it proved no better; Ungrudging do I grant it, were it greater far." "Such a gift," said the good host, "I gladly accept— Yet it might be all the better, would you but say Where you won this same award, by your wits alone."

4. The other internal organs. 5. A bit of gristle assigned to the ravens ("corbies").

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"That was no part of the pact; press me no further, For you have had what behooves; all other claims forbear." With jest and compliment They conversed, and cast off care; To the table soon they went; Fresh dainties wait them there. And then by the chimney-side they chat at their ease; The best wine was brought them, and bounteously served; And after in their jesting they jointly accord To do on the second day the deeds of the first: That the two men should trade, betide as it may, What each had taken in, at eve when they met. They seal the pact solemnly in sight of the court; Their cups were filled afresh to confirm the jest; Then at last they took their leave, for late was the hour, Each to his own bed hastening away. Before the barnyard cock had crowed but thrice The lord had leapt from his rest, his liegemen as well. Both of mass and their meal they made short work: By the dim light of dawn they were deep in the woods away. With huntsmen and with horns Over plains they pass that day; They release, amid the thorns, Swift hounds that run and bay. Soon some were on a scent by the side of a marsh; When the hounds opened cry, the head of the hunt Rallied them with rough words, raised a great noise. The hounds that had heard it came hurrying straight And followed along with their fellows, forty together. Then such a clamor and cry of coursing hounds Arose, that the rocks resounded again. Hunters exhorted them with horn and with voice; Then all in a body bore off together Between a mere in the marsh and a menacing crag, To a rise where the rock stood rugged and steep, And boulders lay about, that blocked their approach. Then the company in consort closed on their prey: They surrounded the rise and the rocks both, For well they were aware that it waited within, The beast that the bloodhounds boldly proclaimed. Then they beat on the bushes and bade him appear, And he made a murderous rush in the midst of them all; The best of all boars broke from his cover, That had ranged long unrivaled, a renegade old, For of tough-brawned boars he was biggest far, Most grim when he grunted—then grieved were many, For three at the first thrust he threw to the earth, And dashed away at once without more damage. With "Hi!" "Hi!" and "Hey!" "Hey!" the others followed,

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Had horns at their lips, blew high and clear. Merry was the music of men and of hounds That were bound after this boar, his bloodthirsty heart to quell. Often he stands at bay, Then scatters the pack pell-mell; He hurts the hounds, and they Most dolefully yowl and yell. Men then with mighty bows moved in to shoot, Aimed at him with their arrows and often hit, But the points had no power to pierce through his hide, And the barbs were brushed aside by his bristly brow; Though the shank of the shaft shivered in pieces, The head hopped away, wheresoever it struck. But when their stubborn strokes had stung him at last, Then, foaming in his frenzy, fiercely he charges, Hies at them headlong that hindered his flight, And many feared for their lives, and fell back a little. But the lord on a lively horse leads the chase; As a high-mettled huntsman his horn he blows; He sounds the assembly and sweeps through the brush, Pursuing this wild swine till the sunlight slanted. All day with this deed they drive forth the time While our lone knight so lovesome lies in his bed, Sir Gawain safe at home, in silken bower so gay. The lady, with guile in heart, Came early where he lay; She was at him with all her art To turn his mind her way. She comes to the curtain and coyly peeps in; Gawain thought it good to greet her at once, And she richly repays him with her ready words, Settles softly at his side, and suddenly she laughs, And with a gracious glance, she begins on him thus: "Sir, if you be Gawain, it seems a great wonder— A man so well-meaning, and mannerly disposed, And cannot act in company as courtesy bids, And if one takes the trouble to teach him, 'tis all in vain. That lesson learned lately is lightly forgot, Though I painted it as plain as my poor wit allowed." "What lesson, dear lady?" he asked all alarmed; "I have been much to blame, if your story be true." "Yet my counsel was of kissing," came her answer then, "Where favor has been found, freely to claim As accords with the conduct of courteous knights." "My dear," said the doughty man, "dismiss that thought; Such freedom, I fear, might offend you much; It were rude to request if the right were denied." "But none can deny you," said the noble dame,

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"You are stout enough to constrain with strength, if you choose, Were any so ungracious as to grudge you aught." "By heaven," said he, "you have answered well, But threats never throve among those of my land, Nor any gift not freely given, good though it be. I am yours to command, to kiss when you please; You may lay on as you like, and leave off at will." With this, The lady lightly bends And graciously gives him a kiss; The two converse as friends Of true love's trials and bliss. "I should like, by your leave," said the lovely lady, "If it did not annoy you, to know for what cause So brisk and so bold a young blood as you, And acclaimed for all courtesies becoming a knight— And name what knight you will, they are noblest esteemed For loyal faith in love, in life as in story; For to tell the tribulations of these true hearts, Why, 'tis the very title and text of their deeds, How bold knights for beauty have braved many a foe, Suffered heavy sorrows out of secret love, And then valorously avenged them on villainous churls And made happy ever after the hearts of their ladies. And you are the noblest knight known in your time; No household under heaven but has heard of your fame, And here by your side I have sat for two days Yet never has a fair phrase fallen from your lips Of the language of love, not one little word! And you, that with sweet vows sway women's hearts, Should show your winsome ways, and woo a young thing, And teach by some tokens the craft of true love. How! are you artless, whom all men praise? Or do you deem me so dull, or deaf to such words? Fie! Fie! In hope of pastimes new I have come where none can spy; Instruct me a little, do, While my husband is not nearby." "God love you, gracious lady!" said Gawain then; "It is a pleasure surpassing, and a peerless joy, That one so worthy as you would willingly come And take the time and trouble to talk with your knight And content you with his company—it comforts my heart. But to take to myself the task of telling of love, And touch upon its texts, and treat of its themes To one that, I know well, wields more power In that art, by a half, than a hundred such As I am where I live, or am like to become, It were folly, fair dame, in the first degree!

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In all that I am able, my aim is to please, As in honor behooves me, and am evermore Your servant heart and soul, so save me our Lord!" Thus she tested his temper and tried many a time, Whatever her true intent, to entice him to sin, But so fair was his defense that no fault appeared, Nor evil on either hand, but only bliss they knew. They linger and laugh awhile; She kisses the knight so true, Takes leave in comeliest style And departs without more ado. Then he rose from his rest and made ready for mass, And then a meal was set and served, in sumptuous style; He dallied at home all day with the dear ladies, But the lord lingered late at his lusty sport; Pursued his sorry swine, that swerved as he fled, And bit asunder the backs of the best of his hounds When they brought him to bay, till the bowmen appeared And soon forced him forth, though he fought for dear life, So sharp were the shafts they shot at him there. But yet the boldest drew back from his battering head, Till at last he was so tired he could travel no more, But in as much haste as he might, he makes his retreat To a rise on rocky ground, by a rushing stream. With the bank at his back he scrapes the bare earth, The froth foams at his jaws, frightful to see. He whets his white tusks—then weary were all Those hunters so hardy that hoved round about Of aiming from afar, but ever they mistrust his mood. He had hurt so many by then That none had hardihood To be torn by his tusks again, That was brainsick, and out for blood. Till the lord came at last on his lofty steed, Beheld him there at bay before all his folk; Lightly he leaps down, leaves his courser, Bares his bright sword, and boldly advances; Straight into the stream he strides towards his foe. The wild thing was wary of weapon and man; His hackles rose high; so hotly he snorts That many watched with alarm, lest the worst befall. The boar makes for the man with a mighty bound So that he and his hunter came headlong together Where the water ran wildest—the worse for the beast, For the man, when they first met, marked him with care, Sights well the slot, slips in the blade, Shoves it home to the hilt, and the heart shattered, And he falls in his fury and floats down the water, ill-sped.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T

Hounds hasten by the score To maul him, hide and head; Men drag him in to shore And dogs pronounce him dead. With many a brave blast they boast of their prize, All hallooed in high glee, that had their wind; The hounds bayed their best, as the bold men bade That were charged with chief rank in that chase of renown. Then one wise in woodcraft, and worthily skilled, Began to dress the boar in becoming style: He severs the savage head and sets it aloft, Then rends the body roughly right down the spine; Takes the bowels from the belly, broils them on coals, Blends them well with bread to bestow on the hounds. Then he breaks out the brawn in fair broad flitches, And the innards to be eaten in order he takes. The two sides, attached to each other all whole, He suspended from a spar that was springy and tough; And so with this swine they set out for home; The boar's head was borne before the same man That had stabbed him in the stream with his strong arm, right through. He thought it long indeed Till he had the knight in view; At his call, he comes with speed To claim his payment due. The lord laughed aloud, with many a light word, When he greeted Sir Gawain—with good cheer he speaks. They fetch the fair dames and the folk of the house; He brings forth the brawn, and begins the tale Of the great length and girth, the grim rage as well, Of the battle of the boar they beset in the wood. The other man meetly commended his deeds And praised well the prize of his princely sport, For the brawn of that boar, the bold knight said, And the sides of that swine surpassed all othex*s. Then they handled the huge head; he owns it a wonder, And eyes it with abhorrence, to heighten his praise. "Now, Gawain," said the good man, "this game becomes yours By those fair terms we fixed, as you know full well." "That is true," returned the knight, "and trust me, fair friend, Ail my gains, as agreed, I shall give you forthwith." He clasps him and kisses him in courteous style, Then serves him with the same fare a second time. "Now we are even," said he, "at this evening feast, And clear is every claim incurred here to date, and debt." "By Saint Giles!" the host replies, "You're the best I ever met! If your profits are all this size, We'll see you wealthy yet!"

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Then attendants set tables on trestles about, And laid them with linen; light shone forth, Wakened along the walls in waxen torches. The service was set and the supper brought; Royal were the revels that rose then in hall At that feast by the fire, with many fair sports: Amid the meal and after, melody sweet, Carol-dances comely and Christmas songs, With all the mannerly mirth my tongue may describe. And ever our gallant knight beside the gay lady; So uncommonly kind and complaisant was she, With sweet stolen glances, that stirred his stout heart, That he was at his wits' end, and wondrous vexed; But he could not rebuff her, for courtesy forbade, Yet took pains to please her, though the plan might go wrong. When they to heart's delight H a d reveled there in throng, To his chamber he calls the knight, And thither they go along. And there they dallied and drank, and deemed it good sport To enact their play anew on New Year's Eve, But Gawain asked again to go on the morrow, For the time until his tryst was not two days. The host hindered that, and urged him to stay, And said, "On my honor, my oath here I take That you shall get to the Green Chapel to begin your chores By dawn on New Year's Day, if you so desire. Wherefore lie at your leisure in your lofty bed, And I shall hunt hereabouts, and hold to our terms, And we shall trade winnings when once more we meet, For I have tested you twice, and true have I found you; Now think this tomorrow: the third pays for all; Be we merry while we may, and mindful of joy, For heaviness of heart can be had for the asking." This is gravely agreed on and Gawain will stay. They drink a last draught and with torches depart to rest. To bed Sir Gawain went: His sleep was of the best; The lord, on his craft intent, Was early up and dressed. After mass, with his men, a morsel he takes; Clear and crisp the morning; he calls for his mount; The folk that were to follow him afield that day Were high astride their horses before the hall gates. Wondrous fair were the fields, for the frost was light; The sun rises red amid radiant clouds, Sails into the sky, and sends forth his beams. They let loose the hounds by a leafy wood; T h e rocks all around re-echo to their horns;

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Soon some have set off in pursuit of the fox, C a s t about with craft for a clearer scent; A young dog yaps, and is yelled at in turn; His fellows fall to sniffing, and follow his lead, Running in a rabble on the right track, And he scampers all before; they discover him soon, And when they see him with sight they pursue him the faster, Railing at him rudely with a wrathful din. Often he reverses over rough terrain, Or loops back to listen in the lee of a hedge; At last, by a little ditch, he leaps over the brush, C o m e s into a clearing at a cautious pace, Then he thought through his wiles to have thrown off the hounds Till he was ware, as he went, of a waiting-station Where three athwart his path threatened him at once, all gray. Q u i c k as a flash he wheels And darts off in dismay; With hard luck at his heels He is off to the wood away. Then it was heaven on earth to hark to the hounds When they had come on their quarry, coursing together! S u c h harsh cries and howls they hurled at his head As all the cliffs with a crash had come down at once. Here he was hailed, when huntsmen met him; Yonder they yelled at him, yapping and snarling; There they cried "Thief!" and threatened his life, And ever the harriers at his heels, that he had no rest. Often he was menaced when he made for the open, And often rushed in again, for Reynard was wily; And so he leads them a merry chase, the lord and his men, In this manner on the mountains, till midday or near, While our hero lies at home in wholesome sleep Within the comely curtains on the cold morning. But the lady, as love would allow her no rest, And pursuing ever the purpose that pricked her heart, Was awake with the dawn, and went to his chamber In a fair flowing mantle that fell to the earth, All edged and embellished with ermines fine; No hood on her head, but heavy with gems Were her fillet and the fret° that confined her tresses; ornamental net Her face and her fair throat freely displayed; Her bosom all but bare, and her back as well. S h e comes in at the chamber-door, and closes it with care, Throws wide a window—then waits no longer, But hails him thus airily with her artful words, with cheer: "Ah, man, how can you sleep? The morning is so clear!" Though dreams have drowned him deep, He cannot choose but hear.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 1 9 8 1750

D e e p in his d r e a m s he darkly mutters As a m a n may that mourns, with m a n y grim thoughts Of that day w h e n destiny shall deal h i m his d o o m W h e n he greets his grim host at the G r e e n C h a p e l A n d m u s t b o w t o his b u f f e t , b a t i n g all strife.

1755

B u t w h e n he sees her at his side he s u m m o n s his wits, Breaks f r o m the black dreams, a n d blithely answers. T h a t lovely lady c o m e s l a u g h i n g sweet, S i n k s d o w n at his side, a n d salutes h i m with a kiss. H e a c c o r d s her fair w e l c o m e i n courtliest style;

1760

He sees her so glorious, so gaily attired, So faultless her features, so fair a n d so bright, His heart swelled swiftly with surging joys. T h e y melt into mirth with m a n y a fond smile, N o r w a s fair l a n g u a g e lacking, to further that hour's

1765

delight. G o o d were their words of greeting; E a c h joyed in other's sight; G r e a t peril attends that m e e t i n g S h o u l d M a r y forget her knight.

1770

For that high-born beauty so h e m m e d him about, M a d e so plain her meaning, the m a n must needs Either take her tendered love or distastefully refuse. His courtesy c o n c e r n e d him, lest crass he appear, B u t m o r e his soul's mischief, s h o u l d he c o m m i t sin

1775

A n d belie his loyal o a t h to t h e lord of that h o u s e . " G o d forbid!" said the bold knight. "That shall not befall!" W i t h a little f o n d l a u g h t e r he lightly let p a s s All t h e w o r d s o f s p e c i a l w e i g h t that w e r e s p e d his way; "I find you m u c h at fault," the fair o n e said,

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" W h o c a n be cold toward a creature so close by your side, O f all w o m e n i n this w o r l d m o s t w o u n d e d i n heart, Unless you have a sweetheart, one you hold dearer, A n d allegiance to that lady so loyally knit T h a t y o u will n e v e r love a n o t h e r , as n o w I believe.

1785

A n d , s i r , i f i t b e s o , t h e n s a y it, I b e g y o u ; B y all y o u r h e a r t h o l d s d e a r , h i d e i t n o l o n g e r with guile." "Lady, by Saint John," He answers with a smile,

1790

"Lover have I none, N o r will h a v e , yet a w h i l e . " " T h o s e w o r d s , " s a i d t h e w o m a n , " a r e t h e w o r s t o f all, B u t I h a v e h a d m y a n s w e r , a n d h a r d d o I f i n d it! Kiss me n o w kindly: I c a n but go h e n c e

1795

To l a m e n t my life l o n g like a m a i d lovelorn." S h e inclines her head quickly a n d kisses the knight, T h e n straightens with a sigh, a n d says as she stands, " N o w , dear, ere I depart, do me this pleasure: G i v e m e s o m e little gift, y o u r g l o v e o r t h e like,

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T h a t I m a y think on you, man, and m o u r n the less."

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S I R G A W A I N AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T

"Now by heavens," said he, "I wish I had here My most precious possession, to put it in your hands, For your deeds, beyond doubt, have often deserved A repayment far passing my power to bestow. But a love-token, lady, were of little avail; It is not to your honor to have at this time A glove as a guerdon from Gawain's hand, And I am here on an errand in unknown realms And have no bearers with baggage with becoming gifts, Which distresses me, madame, for your dear sake. A man must keep within his compass: account it neither grief nor slight." "Nay, noblest knight alive," Said that beauty of body white, "Though you be loath to give, Yet you shall take, by right." She reached out a rich ring, wrought all of gold, With a splendid stone displayed on the band That flashed before his eyes like a fiery sun; It was worth a king's wealth, you may well believe. But he waved it away with these ready words: "Before God, good lady, I forgo all gifts; None have 1 to offer, nor any will 1 take." And she urged it on him eagerly, and ever he refused, And vowed in very earnest, prevail she would not. And she sad to find it so, and said to him then, "If my ring is refused for its rich cost— You would not be my debtor for so dear a thing— I shall give you my girdle; you gain less thereby." She released a knot lightly, and loosened a belt That was caught about her kirtle, the bright cloak beneath, Of a gay green silk, with gold overwrought, And the borders all bound with embroidery fine, And this she presses upon him, and pleads with a smile, Unworthy though it were, that it would not be scorned. But the man still maintains that he means to accept Neither gold nor any gift, till by God's grace The fate that lay before him was fully achieved. "And be not offended, fair lady, I beg, And give over your offer, for ever I must decline. I am grateful for favor shown Past all deserts of mine, And ever shall be your own True servant, rain or shine." "Now does my present displease you," she promptly inquired, " B e c a u s e it seems in your sight so simple a thing? And belike, as it is little, it is less to praise, But if the virtue that invests it were verily known, It would be held, 1 hope, in higher esteem. For the man that possesses this piece of silk,

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If he bore it on his body, belted about, There is no hand under heaven that could hew him down, For he could not be killed by any craft on earth." Then the man began to muse, and mainly he thought It was a pearl for his plight, the peril to come When he gains the Green Chapel to get his reward: Could he escape unscathed, the scheme were noble! Then he bore with her words and withstood them no more, And she repeated her petition and pleaded anew, And he granted it, and gladly she gave him the belt, And besought him for her sake to conceal it well, Lest the noble lord should know—and, the knight agrees That not a soul save themselves shall see it thenceforth with sight. He thanked her with fervent heart, As often as ever he might; Three times, before they part, She has kissed the stalwart knight. Then the lady took her leave, and left him there, For more mirth with that man she might not have. When she was gone, Sir Gawain got from his bed, Arose and arrayed him in his rich attire; Tucked away the token the temptress had left, Laid it reliably where he looked for it after. And then with good cheer to the chapel he goes, Approached a priest in private, and prayed to be taught To lead a better life and lift up his mind, Lest he be among the lost when he must leave this world. And shamefaced at shrift he showed his misdeeds From the largest to the least, and asked the Lord's mercy, And called on his confessor to cleanse his soul, And he absolved him of his sins as safe and as clean As if the dread Day of Doom were to dawn on the morrow. And then he made merry amid the fine ladies With deft-footed dances and dalliance light, As never until now, while the afternoon wore away. He delighted all around him, And all agreed, that day, They never before had found him So gracious and so gay. Now peaceful be his pasture, and love play him fair! The host is on horseback, hunting afield; He has finished off this fox that he followed so long: As he leapt a low hedge to look for the villain Where he heard all the hounds in hot pursuit, Reynard comes racing out of a rough thicket, And all the rabble in a rush, right at his heels. The man beholds the beast, and bides his time, And bares his bright sword, and brings it down hard, And he blenches from the blade, and backward he starts;

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A hound hurries up and hinders that move, And before the horse's feet they fell on him at once 1905 And ripped the rascal's throat with a wrathful din. The lord soon alighted and lifted him free, Swiftly snatched him up from the snapping jaws, Holds him over his head, halioos with a will, And the dogs bayed the dirge, that had done him to death. 1910 Hunters hastened thither with horns at their lips, Sounding the assembly till they saw him at last. When that comely company was come in together, All that bore bugles blew them at once, And the others all hallooed, that had no horns. 1915 It was the merriest medley that ever a man heard, The racket that they raised for Sir Reynard's soul that died. Their hounds they praised and fed, Fondling their heads with pride, 1920 And they took Reynard the Red And stripped away his hide. And then they headed homeward, for evening had come, Blowing many a blast on their bugles bright. The lord at long last alights at his house, 1925 Finds fire on the hearth where the fair knight waits, Sir Gawain the good, that was glad in heart. With the ladies, that loved him, he lingered at ease; He wore a rich robe of blue, that reached to the earth And a surcoat lined softly with sumptuous furs; 1930 A hood of the same hue hung on his shoulders; With bands of bright ermine embellished were both. He comes to meet the man amid all the folk, And greets him good-humoredly, and gaily he says, "I shall follow forthwith the form of our pledge 1935 That we framed to good effect amid fresh-filled cups." He clasps him accordingly and kisses him thrice, As amiably and as earnestly as ever he could. "By heaven," said the host, "you have had some luck Since you took up this trade, if the terms were good." 1940 "Never trouble about the terms," he returned at once, "Since all that I owe here is openly paid." "Marry!" said the other man, "mine is much less, For I have hunted all day, and nought have I got But this foul fox pelt, the fiend take the goods! 1945 Which but poorly repays such precious things That you have cordially conferred, such kisses three so good." "Enough!" said Sir Gawain; "I thank you, by the rood!" 1950 And how the fox was slain He told him, as they stood. With minstrelsy and mirth, with all manner of meats, They made as much merriment as any men might

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 2 0 2 ( A m i d l a u g h i n g o f ladies a n d light h e a r t e d girls; 1955

So gay grew Sir G a w a i n a n d the goodly host) Unless they h a d been besotted, or brainless fools. T h e knight j o i n e d in j e s t i n g with that j o y o u s folk, Until at last it w a s late; ere long they m u s t part, A n d be off to their beds, as b e h o o v e d t h e m each one.

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T h e n politely his leave of the lord of the h o u s e O u r noble knight takes, a n d r e n e w s his thanks: "The courtesies countless accorded me here, Y o u r k i n d n e s s at this C h r i s t m a s , m a y heaven's King repay! H e n c e f o r t h , if y o u will h a v e m e , I h o l d y o u my liege,

1965

A n d so, as I h a v e said, I m u s t set forth t o m o r r o w , If I m a y take s o m e trusty m a n to teach, as you promised, T h e way to the G r e e n Chapel, that as G o d allows I shall see my fate fulfilled on the first of the year." " I n g o o d f a i t h , " s a i d t h e g o o d m a n , " w i t h a g o o d will

1970

Every p r o m i s e on my part shall be fully performed." He assigns him a servant to set him on the path, T o s e e h i m s a f e a n d s o u n d o v e r the s n o w y hills, To follow the fastest way through forest green and

1975

grove.

Gawain thanks him again, So kind his favors prove, A n d of the ladies then He takes his leave, with love. C o u r t e o u s l y he kissed t h e m , with care in his heart,

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A n d often w i s h e d t h e m well, with w a r m e s t thanks, W h i c h they for their part were p r o m p t to repay. They c o m m e n d him to Christ with disconsolate sighs; A n d then in that hall with the h o u s e h o l d he p a r t s — E a c h m a n that he met, he remembered to thank

1985

F o r his d e e d s of devotion a n d diligent pains, A n d the trouble he h a d taken to tend to his needs; And each one as woeful, that watched him depart, A s h e h a d lived w i t h h i m loyally all his life l o n g . By lads bearing lights he was led to his c h a m b e r

1990

A n d blithely b r o u g h t to his bed, to be at his rest. H o w s o u n d l y he slept, I p r e s u m e not to say, F o r there w e r e matters of m o m e n t his thoughts m i g h t well pursue. L e t h i m lie a n d wait;

1995

He h a s little m o r e to d o , T h e n listen, while I relate H o w they kept their rendezvous.

Part 4 N o w the N e w Year draws near, and the night passes, T h e day dispels the dark, by the Lord's decree; 2000

B u t wild weather awoke in the world without: T h e clouds in the cold sky cast d o w n their s n o w With great gusts from the north, grievous to bear.

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S I R GAWAIN AND THE G R E E N K N I G H T

Sleet showered aslant upon shivering beasts; The wind warbled wild as it whipped from aloft, And drove the drifts deep in the dales below. Long and well he listens, that lies in his bed; Though he lifts not his eyelids, little he sleeps; Each crow of the cock he counts without fail. Readily from his rest he rose before dawn, For a lamp had been left him, that lighted his chamber. He called to his chamberlain, who quickly appeared, And bade him get him his gear, and gird his good steed, And he sets about briskly to bring in his arms, And makes ready his master in manner most fit. First he clad him in his clothes, to keep out the cold, And then his other harness, made handsome anew, His plate-armor of proof, polished with pains, The rings of his rich mail rid of their rust, And all was fresh as at first, and for this he gave thanks indeed. With pride he wears each piece, New-furbished for his need: No gayer from here to Greece; He bids them bring his steed. In his richest raiment he robed himself then: His crested coat-armor, close-stitched with craft, With stones of strange virtue on silk velvet set; All bound with embroidery on borders and seams And lined warmly and well with furs of the best. Yet he left not his love-gift, the lady's girdle; Gawain, for his own good, forgot not that: When the bright sword was belted and bound on his haunches, Then twice with that token he twined him about. Sweetly did he swathe him in that swatch of silk, That girdle of green so goodly to see, That against the gay red showed gorgeous bright. Yet he wore not for its wealth that wondrous girdle, Nor pride in its pendants, though polished they were, Though glittering gold gleamed at the end, But to keep himself safe when consent he must To endure a deadly dint, and all defense denied. And now the bold knight came Into the courtyard wide; That folk of worthy fame He thanks on every side. Then was Gringolet girt, that was great and huge, And had sojourned safe and sound, and savored his fare; He pawed the earth in his pride, that princely steed. The good knight draws near him and notes well his look, And says sagely to himself, and soberly swears, "Here is a household in hall that upholds the right! The man that maintains it, may happiness be his!

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 2 0 4 Likewise the dear lady, m a y love betide her! 2055

If t h u s they in charity c h e r i s h a g u e s t T h a t are h o n o r e d here on earth, m a y they have his reward T h a t r e i g n s h i g h i n h e a v e n — a n d a l s o y o u all; A n d m i g h t I live in this l a n d b u t a little w h i l e , I s h o u l d willingly r e w a r d you, a n d well, if I m i g h t . "

2060

T h e n he steps into the stirrup a n d bestrides his m o u n t ; H i s s h i e l d i s s h o w n f o r t h ; o n h i s s h o u l d e r h e c a s t s it; Strikes the side of his steed with his steel spurs, A n d he starts across the stones, nor stands any longer to prance.

2065

horseback was

the

swain

T h a t bore his spear a n d lance; " M a y Christ this And guard it

house maintain

from

mischance!"

T h e bridge was brought down, and the road gates 2070

Unbarred a n d carried b a c k u p o n both sides; He c o m m e n d e d h i m to Christ, a n d crossed over the planks; Praised the noble porter, w h o prayed on his knees That G o d save

Sir G a w a i n , a n d b a d e h i m g o o d day,

A n d went on his way alone with the m a n 2075

T h a t was to lead him ere long to that luckless place W h e r e the d o l o r o u s dint m u s t b e dealt h i m a t last. U n d e r b a r e b o u g h s they ride, w h e r e s t e e p b a n k s rise, O v e r high cliffs they climb, w h e r e cold s n o w clings; T h e heavens held aloof, but heavy thereunder

2080

Mist mantled the moors, moved on the slopes. E a c h hill h a d a hat, a h u g e c a p e of c l o u d ; Brooks bubbled and broke over broken rocks, Flashing in freshets that waterfalls fed. R o u n d a b o u t was the road that ran through the wood

2085

Till the s u n at that s e a s o n w a s s o o n to rise, that

day.

T h e y w e r e on a hilltop high; T h e w h i t e s n o w r o u n d t h e m lay; T h e m a n that rode nearby 2090

N o w b a d e his

m a s t e r stay.

"For I have seen you here safe at the set time, A n d n o w you are not far from that notable place That you have sought for so long with such special pains. B u t this I say for certain, s i n c e I k n o w you, sir knight, 2095

A n d have your good at heart, and hold you d e a r — W o u l d you heed well my words, it were worth your w h i l e — Y o u are r u s h i n g into risks that y o u reck not of: T h e r e is a villain in y o n valley, the veriest on earth, For he is r u g g e d a n d rude, a n d ready with his fists,

2100

A n d m o s t i m m e n s e in his m o l d of m o r t a l s alive, A n d his b o d y bigger than the best four T h a t are in Arthur's house, Hector6 or any.

6. Either the Trojan hero or one of Arthur's knights.

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He gets his grim way at the Green Chapel; None passes by that place so proud in his arms That he does not dash him down with his deadly blows, For he is heartless wholly, and heedless of right, For be it chaplain or churl that by the Chapel rides, Monk or mass-priest or any man else, He would as soon strike him dead as stand on two feet. Wherefore I say, just as certain as you sit there astride, You cannot but be killed, if his counsel holds, For he would trounce you in a trice, had you twenty lives for sale. He has lived long in this land And dealt out deadly bale; Against his heavy hand Your power cannot prevail. "And so, good Sir Gawain, let the grim man be; Go off by some other road, in God's own name! Leave by some other land, for the love of Christ, And I shall get me home again, and give you my word That I shall swear by God's self and the saints above, By heaven and by my halidom 7 and other oaths more, To conceal this day's deed, nor say to a soul That ever you fled for fear from any that I knew." "Many thanks!" said the other man—and demurring he speaks— "Fair fortune befall you for your friendly words! And conceal this day's deed I doubt not you would, But though you never told the tale, if I turned back now, Forsook this place for fear, and fled, as you say, I were a caitiff coward; I could not be excused. But I must to the Chapel to chance my luck And say to that same man such words as I please, Befall what may befall through Fortune's will or whim. Though he be a quarrelsome knave With a cudgel great and grim, The Lord is strong to save: His servants trust in him." "Marry," said the man, "since you tell me so much, And I see you are set to seek your own harm, If you crave a quick death, let me keep you no longer! Put your helm on your head, your hand on your lance, And ride the narrow road down yon rocky slope Till it brings you to the bottom of the broad valley. Then look a little ahead, on your left hand, And you will soon see before you that self-same Chapel, And the man of great might that is master there. Now goodbye in God's name, Gawain the noble! For all the world's wealth I would not stay here,

7. Holiness or, more likely, patron saints.

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S I R GAWAIN AND T H E G R E E N K N I G H T / 2 0 6 Or go with you in this w o o d o n e footstep further!" He tarried no m o r e to talk, b u t t u r n e d his bridle, Hit his horse with his heels as hard as he might, L e a v e s the knight a l o n e , a n d o f f like the w i n d 2155

goes

leaping.

"By G o d , " said Gawain then, "I shall not give way to weeping; G o d ' s will b e d o n e , a m e n ! I c o m m e n d me to his keeping." 216O

He p u t s his heels to his horse, a n d picks up the path; G o e s in beside a grove where the ground is steep, R i d e s d o w n the r o u g h slope right to the valley; A n d t h e n h e l o o k e d a little a b o u t h i m — t h e l a n d s c a p e w a s wild, A n d not a soul to be seen, nor sign of a dwelling,

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But high banks on either h a n d h e m m e d it about, With m a n y a ragged rock a n d rough-hewn crag; T h e skies s e e m e d scored by the scowling peaks. T h e n he halted his horse, a n d hoved there a space, A n d sought on every side for a sight of the Chapel,

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B u t no such place appeared, which puzzled him sore, Yet h e s a w s o m e w a y o f f w h a t s e e m e d like a m o u n d , A hillock high a n d broad, hard by the water, W h e r e the s t r e a m fell i n f o a m d o w n the f a c e o f the steep A n d b u b b l e d a s i f i t b o i l e d o n its b e d b e l o w .

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T h e knight urges his horse, a n d h e a d s for the knoll; L e a p s lightly to earth; loops well the rein Of his steed to a stout branch, a n d stations him there. H e s t r i d e s s t r a i g h t t o t h e m o u n d , a n d strolls all a b o u t , M u c h wondering what it was, but no whit the wiser;

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It h a d a hole at o n e end, a n d on either side, A n d w a s c o v e r e d w i t h c o a r s e g r a s s i n c l u m p s all w i t h o u t , A n d h o l l o w all w i t h i n , like s o m e o l d c a v e , Or a crevice of an old c r a g — h e could not discern aright.

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" C a n this be the C h a p e l G r e e n ? Alack!" said the man, "here might T h e devil h i m s e l f b e s e e n Saying matins at black midnight!" " N o w b y h e a v e n , " s a i d he, "it i s b l e a k h e r e a b o u t s ;

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This prayer-house is hideous, half-covered with grass! Well may the grim m a n mantled in green H o l d h e r e his o r i s o n s , in hell's o w n style! N o w I feel it is the Fiend, in my five wits, T h a t h a s t e m p t e d m e t o this tryst, t o t a k e m y life;

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T h i s i s a C h a p e l o f m i s c h a n c e , m a y t h e m i s c h i e f t a k e it! As a c c u r s e d a country c h u r c h as I c a m e u p o n ever!" W i t h his h e l m on his h e a d , his l a n c e in his h a n d , He stalks toward the steep wall of that strange house. T h e n h e h e a r d , o n t h e hill, b e h i n d a h a r d rock,

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As one upon a grindstone ground a great scythe! Lord! it whirred like a mill-wheel whirling about! Lord! it echoed loud and long, lamentable to hear! Then "By heaven," said the bold knight, "that business up there Is arranged for my arrival, or else I am much misled. Let God work! Ah me! All hope of help has fled! Forfeit my life may be But noise I do not dread." Then he listened no longer, but loudly he called, "Who has power in this place, high parley to hold1? For none greets Sir Gawain, or gives him good day; If any would a word with him, let him walk forth And speak now or never, to speed his affairs." "Abide," said one on the bank above over his head, "And what I promised you once shall straightway be given." Yet he stayed not his grindstone, nor stinted its noise, But worked awhile at his whetting before he would rest, And then he comes around a crag, from a cave in the rocks, Hurtling out of hiding with a hateful weapon, A Danish 0 ax devised for that day's deed, i.e., long-bladed With a broad blade and bright, bent in a curve, Filed to a fine edge—four feet it measured By the length of the lace that was looped round the haft. And in form as at first, the fellow all green, His lordly face and his legs, his locks and his beard, Save that firm upon two feet forward he strides, Sets a hand on the ax-head, the haft to the earth; When he came to the cold stream, and cared not to wade, He vaults over on his ax, and advances amain On a broad bank of snow, overbearing and brisk of mood. Little did the knight incline Wfien face to face they stood; Said the other man, "Friend mine, It seems your word holds good!" " G o d love you, Sir Gawain!" said the Green Knight then, "And well met this morning, man, at my place! And you have followed me faithfully and found me betimes, And on the business between us we both are agreed: Twelve months ago today you took what was yours, And you at this New Year must yield me the same. And we have met in these mountains, remote from all eyes: There is none here to halt us or hinder our sport; Unhasp your high helm, and have here your wages; Make no more demur than I did myself When you hacked off my head with one hard blow." "No, by God," said Sir Gawain, "that granted me life, I shall grudge not the guerdon, grim though it prove;

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Bestow but one stroke, and I shall stand still, And you may lay on as you like till the last of my part be paid." He proffered, with good grace, His bare neck to the blade, And feigned a cheerful face: He scorned to seem afraid. Then the grim man in green gathers his strength, Heaves high the heavy ax to hit him the blow. With all the force in his frame he fetches it aloft, With a grimace as grim as he would grind him to bits; Had the blow he bestowed been as big as he threatened, A good knight and gallant had gone to his grave. But Gawain at the great ax glanced up aside. As down it descended with death-dealing force, And his shoulders shrank a little from the sharp iron. Abruptly the brawny man breaks off the stroke, And then reproved with proud words that prince among knights. "You are not Gawain the glorious," the green man said, "That never fell back on field in the face of the foe, And now you flee for fear, and have felt no harm: Such news of that knight I never heard yet! I moved not a muscle when you made to strike, Nor caviled at the cut in King Arthur's house; My head fell to my feet, yet steadfast I stood, And you, all unharmed, are wholly dismayed— Wherefore the better man I, by all odds, must be." Said Gawain, "Strike once more; I shall neither flinch nor flee; But if my head falls to the floor There is no mending me!" "But go on, man, in God's name, and get to the point! Deliver me my destiny, and do it out of hand, For I shall stand to the stroke and stir not an inch Till your ax has hit home—on my honor I swear it!" "Have at thee then!" said the other, and heaves it aloft, And glares down as grimly as he had gone mad. He made a mighty feint, but marred not his hide; Withdrew the ax adroitly before it did damage. Gawain gave no ground, nor glanced up aside, But stood still as a stone, or else a stout stump That is held in hard earth by a hundred roots. Then merrily does he mock him, the man all in green: "So now you have your nerve again, I needs must strike; Uphold the high knighthood that Arthur bestowed, And keep your neck-bone clear, if this cut allows!" Then was Gawain gripped with rage, and grimly he said, "Why, thrash away, tyrant, I tire of your threats; You make such a scene, you must frighten yourself." Said the green fellow, "In faith, so fiercely you speak

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That I shall finish this affair, nor further grace allow." He stands prepared to strike And scowls with both lip and brow; No marvel if the man mislike Who can hope no rescue now. He gathered up the grim ax and guided it well: Let the barb at the blade's end brush the bare throat; He hammered down hard, yet harmed him no whit Save a scratch on one side, that severed the skin; The end of the hooked edge entered the flesh, And a little blood lightly leapt to the earth. And when the man beheld his own blood bright on the snow, He sprang a spear's length with feet spread wide, Seized his high helm, and set it on his head, Shoved before his shoulders the shield at his back, Bares his trusty blade, and boldly he speaks— Not since he was a babe born of his mother Was he once in this world one-half so blithe— "Have done with your hacking—harry me no more! I have borne, as behooved, one blow in this place; If you make another move I shall meet it midway And promptly, I promise you, pay back each blow with brand. One stroke acquits me here; So did our covenant stand In Arthur's court last year— Wherefore, sir, hold your hand!" He lowers the long ax and leans on it there, Sets his arms on the head, the haft on the earth, And beholds the bold knight that bides there afoot, How he faces him fearless, fierce in full arms, And plies him with proud words—it pleases him well. Then once again gaily to Gawain he calls, And in a loud voice and lusty, delivers these words: "Bold fellow, on this field your anger forbear! No man has made demands here in manner uncouth, Nor done, save as duly determined at court. I owed you a hit and you have it; be happy therewith! The rest of my rights here I freely resign. Had I been a bit busier, a buffet, perhaps, I could have dealt more directly, and done you some harm. First I flourished with a feint, in frolicsome mood, And left your hide unhurt—and here I did well By the fair terms we fixed on the first night; And fully and faithfully you followed accord: Gave over all your gains as a good man should. A second feint, sir, I assigned for the morning You kissed my comely wife—each kiss you restored. For both of these there behooved two feigned blows by right.

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True men pay what they owe; No danger then in sight. You failed at the third throw, So take my tap, sir knight. "For that is my belt about you, that same braided girdle, My wife it was that wore it; I know well the tale, And the count of your kisses and your conduct too, And the wooing of my wife—it was all my scheme! She made trial of a man most faultless by far Of all that ever walked over the wide earth; As pearls to white peas, more precious and prized, So is Gawain, in good faith, to other gay knights. Yet you lacked, sir, a little in loyalty there, But the cause was not cunning, nor courtship either, But that you loved your own life; the less, then, to blame." The other stout knight in a study stood a long while, So gripped with grim rage that his great heart shook. All the blood of his body burned in his face As he shrank back in shame from the man's sharp speech. The first words that fell from the fair knight's lips: "Accursed be a cowardly and covetous heart! In you is villainy and vice, and virtue laid low!" Then he grasps the green girdle and lets go the knot, Hands it over in haste, and hotly he says: "Behold there my falsehood, ill hap betide it! Your cut taught me cowardice, care for my life, And coveting came after, contrary both To largesse and loyalty belonging to knights. Now am I faulty and false, that fearful was ever Of disloyalty and lies, bad luck to them both! and greed. I confess, knight, in this place, Most dire is my misdeed; Let me gain back your good grace, And thereafter I shall take heed." Then the other laughed aloud, and lightly he said, "Such harm as I have had, I hold it quite healed. You are so fully confessed, your failings made known, And bear the plain penance of the point of my blade, I hold you polished as a pearl, as pure and as bright As you had lived free of fault since first you were born. And I give you, sir, this girdle that is gold-hemmed And green as my garments, that, Gawain, you may Be mindful of this meeting when you mingle in throng With nobles of renown—and known by this token How it chanced at the Green Chapel, to chivalrous knights. And you shall in this New Year come yet again And we shall finish out our feast in my fair hall, with cheer." He urged the knight to stay, And said, "With my wife so dear

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We shall see you friends this day, Whose enmity touched you near." "Indeed," said the doughty knight, and doffed his high helm, And held it in his hands as he offered his thanks, "I have lingered long enough—may good luck be yours, And he reward you well that all worship bestows! And commend me to that comely one, your courteous wife, Both herself and that other, my honoured ladies, That have trapped their true knight in their trammels so quaint. But if a dullard should dote, deem it no wonder, And through the wiles of a woman be wooed into sorrow, For so was Adam by one, when the world began, And Solomon by many more, and Samson the mighty— Delilah was his doom, and David thereafter Was beguiled by Bathsheba, and bore much distress; Now these were vexed by their devices—'twere a very joy Could one but learn to love, and believe them not. For these were proud princes, most prosperous of old, Past all lovers lucky, that languished under heaven, bemused. And one and all fell prey To women that they had used; If I be led astray, Methinks I may be excused. "But your girdle, God love you! I gladly shall take And be pleased to possess, not for the pure gold, Nor the bright belt itself, nor the beauteous pendants, Nor for wealth, nor worldly state, nor workmanship fine, But a sign of excess it shall seem oftentimes When I ride in renown, and remember with shame The faults and the frailty of the flesh perverse, How its tenderness entices the foul taint of sin; And so when praise and high prowess have pleased my heart, A look at this love-lace will lower my pride. But one thing would I learn, if you were not loath, Since you are lord of yonder land where I have long sojourned With honor in your house—may you have His reward That upholds all the heavens, highest on throne! How runs your right name?—and let the rest go." "That shall I give you gladly," said the Green Knight then; "Bertilak de Hautdesert, this barony I hold. Through the might of Morgan le Faye, 8 that lodges at my house, By subtleties of science and sorcerers' arts, The mistress of Merlin, 9 she has caught many a man, For sweet love in secret she shared sometime With that wizard, that knows well each one of your knights and you.

8. Arthur's half-sister, an enchantress who sometimes abetted him, sometimes made trouble for him.

9. The wise magician who had helped Arthur become king.

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Morgan the Goddess, she, So styled by title true; None holds so high degree That her arts cannot subdue. "She guided me in this guise to your glorious hall, To assay, if such it were, the surfeit of pride That is rumored of the retinue of the Round Table. She put this shape upon me to puzzle your wits, To afflict the fair queen, and frighten her to death With awe of that elvish man that eerily spoke With his head in his hand before the high table. She was with my wife at home, that old withered lady, Your own aunt 1 is she, Arthur's half-sister, The Duchess' daughter of Tintagel, that dear King Uther Got Arthur on after, that honored is now. And therefore, good friend, come feast with your aunt; Make merry in my house; my men hold you dear, And I wish you as well, sir, with all my heart, As any man God ever made, for your great good faith." But the knight said him nay, that he might by no means. They clasped then and kissed, and commended each other To the Prince of Paradise, and parted with one assent. Gawain sets out anew; Toward the court his course is bent; And the knight all green in hue, Wheresoever he wished, he went. Wild ways in the world our worthy knight rides On Gringolet, that by grace had been granted his life. He harbored often in houses, and often abroad, And with many valiant adventures verily he met That I shall not take time to tell in this story. The hurt was whole that he had had in his neck, And the bright green belt on his body he bore, Oblique, like a baldric, bound at his side, Below his left shoulder, laced in a knot, In betokening of the blame he had borne for his fault; And so to court in due course he comes safe and sound. Bliss abounded in hall when the high-born heard That good Gawain was come; glad tidings they thought it. The Icing kisses the knight, and the queen as well, And many a comrade came to clasp him in arms, And eagerly they asked, and awesomely he told, Confessed all his cares and discomfitures many, How it chanced at the Chapel, what cheer made the knight, The love of the lady, the green lace at last. The nick on his neck he naked displayed That he got in his disgrace at the Green Knight's hands,

1. Morgan was the daughter of Igraine, duchess of Tintagel, and her husband the duke; Igraine conceived Arthur when his father, Uther, lay with her through one of Merlin's trickeries.

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alone. With rage in heart he speaks, And grieves with many a groan; The blood burns in his cheeks For shame at what must be shown. "Behold, sir," said he, and handles the belt, "This is the blazon of the blemish that I bear on my neck; This is the sign of sore loss that I have suffered there For the cowardice and coveting that I came to there; This is the badge of false faith that I was found in there, And I must bear it on my body till I breathe my last. For one may keep a deed dark, but undo it no whit, For where a fault is made fast, it is fixed evermore." The king, comforts the knight, and the court all together Agree with gay laughter and gracious intent That the lords and the ladies belonging to the Table, Each brother of that band, a baldric should have, A belt borne oblique, of a bright green, To be worn with one accord for that worthy's sake. So that was taken as a token by the Table Round, And he honored that had it, evermore after, As the best book of knighthood bids it be known. In the old days of Arthur this happening befell; The books of Brutus' deeds bear witness thereto Since Brutus, the bold knight, embarked for this land After the siege ceased at Troy and the city fared amiss. Many such, ere we were born, Have befallen here, ere this. May He that was crowned with thorn Bring all men to His bliss! Amen. Honi

Soit Qui Mai Pense 2

2. " S h a m e be to the man who has evil in his mind." This is the motto of the Order of the Garter, founded ca. 1350: apparently a copyist of the poem

associated this order with the one founded to honor Gawain.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER ca. 1 3 4 3 - 1 4 0 0 Medieval social theory held that society was made up of three "estates": the nobility, composed of a small hereditary aristocracy, whose mission on earth was to rule over and defend the body politic; the church, whose duty was to look after the spiritual welfare of that body; and everyone else, the large mass of commoners who were supposed to do the work that provided for its physical needs. By the late fourteenth century, however, these basic categories were layered into complex, interrelated, and unstable social strata among which birth, wealth, profession, and personal ability all played a part in determining one's status in a world that was rapidly changing eco-

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nomically, politically, and socially. Chaucer's life and his works, especially The Canterbury Tales, were profoundly influenced by these forces. A growing and prosperous middle class was beginning to play increasingly important roles in church and state, blurring the traditional class boundaries, and it was into this middle class that Chaucer was born. C h a u c e r was the son of a prosperous wine merchant and probably spent his boyhood in the mercantile atmosphere of London's Vintry, where ships docked with wines from France and Spain. Here he would have mixed daily with people of all sorts, heard several languages spoken, become fluent in French, and received schooling in Latin. Instead of apprenticing Chaucer to the family business, however, his father was apparently able to place him, in his early teens, as a page in one of the great aristocratic households of England, that of the countess of Ulster who was married to Prince Lionel, the second son of Edward III. There Chaucer would have acquired the manners and skills required for a career in the service of the ruling class, not only in the role of personal attendant in royal households but in a series of administrative posts. (For Chaucer's portrait, see the color insert in this volume.) We can trace Chaucer's official and personal life in a considerable number of surviving historical documents, beginning with a reference, in Elizabeth of Ulster's household accounts, to an outfit he received as a page (1357). He was captured by the French and ransomed in one of Edward Ill's campaigns during the Hundred Years War (1359). He was a member of King Edward's personal household (1367) and took part in several diplomatic missions to Spain (1366), France (1368), and Italy (1372). As controller of customs on wool, sheepskins, and leather for the port of London (1374—85), C h a u c e r audited and kept books on the export taxes, which were one of the Crown's main sources of revenue. During this period he was living in a rent-free apartment over one of the gates in the city wall, probably as a perquisite of the customs job. He served as a justice of the peace and knight of the shire (the title given to members of Parliament) for the county of Kent (1385—86) where he moved after giving up the controllership. As clerk of the king's works ( 1 3 8 9 - 9 1 ) , Chaucer was responsible for the maintenance of numerous royal residences, parks, and other holdings; his duties included supervision of the construction of the nave of Westminster Abbey and of stands and lists for a celebrated tournament staged by Richard II. While the records show C h a u c e r receiving many grants and annuities in addition to his salary for these services, they also show that at times he was being pressed by creditors and obliged to borrow money. These activities brought Chaucer into association with the ruling nobility of the kingdom, with Prince Lionel and his younger brother John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, England's most powerful baron during much of Chaucer's lifetime; with their father, King Edward; and with Edward's grandson, who succeeded to the throne as Richard II. Near the end of his life Chaucer addressed a comic Complaint to His Purse to Henry IV—John of Gaunt's son, who had usurped the crown from his cousin Richard—as a reminder that the treasury owed C h a u c e r his annuity. Chaucer's wife, Philippa, served in the households of Edward's queen and of John of Gaunt's second wife, Constance, daughter of the king of Castile. A Thomas Chaucer, who was probably Chaucer's son, was an eminent man in the next generation, and Thomas's daughter Alice was married successively to the earl of Salisbury and the duke of Suffolk. The gap between the commoners and the aristocracy would thus have been bridged by Chaucer's family in the course of three generations. None of these documents contains any hint that this hardworking civil servant wrote poetry, although poetry would certainly have been among the diversions cultivated at English courts in Chaucer's youth. That poetry, however, would have been in French, which still remained the fashionable language and literature of the English aristocracy, whose culture in many ways had more in common with that of the French nobles with whom they warred than with that of their English subjects. Chaucer's earliest models, works by Guillaume de Machaut ( 1 3 0 0 ? - 1 3 7 7 ) and Jean Froissart

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(1333?—1400?), the leading French poets of the day, were lyrics and narratives about courtly love, often cast in the form of a dream in which the poet acted as a protagonist or participant in some aristocratic love affair. T h e poetry of Machaut and Froissart derives from the thirteenth-century Romance of the Rose, a long dream allegory in which the dreamer suffers many agonies and trials for the love of a symbolic rosebud. Chaucer's apprentice work may well have been a partial translation of the twentyone-thousand-line Romance. His first important original poem is The Book of the Duchess, an elegy in the form of a dream vision commemorating John of Gaunt's first wife, the young duchess of Lancaster, who died in 1368. T h e diplomatic mission that sent Chaucer to Italy in 1372 was in all likelihood a milestone in his literary development. Although he may have acquired some knowledge of the language and literature from Italian merchants and bankers posted in London, this visit and a subsequent one to Florence (1378) brought him into direct contact with the Italian Renaissance. Probably he acquired manuscripts of works by Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio—the last two still alive at the time of Chaucer's visit, although he probably did not meet them. These writers provided him with models of new verse forms, new subject matter, and new modes of representation. The House of Fame, still a dream vision, takes the poet on a journey in the talons of a gigantic eagle to the celestial palace of the goddess Fame, a trip that at many points affectionately parodies Dante's journey in the Divine Comedy. In his dream vision The Parliament of Fowls, all the birds meet on St. Valentine's Day to choose their mates; their "parliament" humorously depicts the ways in which different classes in human society think and talk about love. Boccaccio provided sources for two of Chaucer's finest poems—although C h a u c e r never mentions his name. Tke Knight's Tale, the first of The Canterbury Tales, is based on Boccaccio's romance II Teseida (The Story of Theseus). His longest completed poem, Troilus and Criseyde (ca. 1385), which tells the story of how Trojan Prince Troilus loved and finally lost Criseyde to the Greek warrior Diomede, is an adaptation of Boccaccio's II Filostrato (The Love-Stricken). C h a u c e r reworked the latter into one of the greatest love poems in any language. Even if he had never written The Canterbury Tales, Troilus would have secured Chaucer a place among the major English poets. A final dream vision provides the frame for Chaucer's first experiment with a series of tales, the unfinished Legend of Good Women. In the dream, Chaucer is accused of heresy and antifeminism by Cupid, the god of love himself, and ordered to do penance by writing a series of "legends," i.e., saints' lives, of Cupid's martyrs, women who were betrayed by false men and died for love. Perhaps a noble patron, possibly Q u e e n Anne, asked the poet to write something to make up for telling about Criseyde's betrayal of Troilus. Throughout his life C h a u c e r also wrote moral and religious works, chiefly translations. Besides French, which was a second language for him, and Italian, Chaucer also read Latin. He made a prose translation of the Latin Consolation of Philosophy, written by the sixth-century Roman statesman Boethius while in prison awaiting execution for crimes for which he had been unjustly condemned. The Consolation became a favorite book for the Middle Ages, providing inspiration and comfort through its lesson that worldly fortune is deceitful and ephemeral and through the platonic doctrine that the body itself is only a prison house for the soul that aspires to eternal things. The influence of Boethius is deeply ingrained in The Knight's Tale and Troilus. The ballade Truth compresses the Boethian and Christian teaching into three stanzas of homely moral advice. T h u s long before C h a u c e r conceived of Tlie Canterbury Tales, his writings were many faceted: they embrace prose and poetry; human and divine love; French, Italian, and Latin sources; secular and religious influences; comedy and philosophy. Moreover, different elements are likely to mix in the same work, often making it difficult to extract from Chaucer simple, direct, and certain meanings. This Chaucerian complexity owes much to the wide range of Chaucer's learning

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and his exposure to new literary currents on the Continent but perhaps also to the special social position he occupied as a member of a new class of civil servants. Born into the urban middle class, Chaucer, through his association with the court and service of the Crown, had attained the rank of "esquire," roughly equivalent to what would later be termed a "gentleman." His career brought him into contact with overlapping bourgeois and aristocratic social worlds, without his being securely anchored in either. Although he was born a commoner and continued to associate with commoners in his official life, he did not live as a commoner; and although his training and service at court, his wife's connections, and probably his poetry brought him into contact with the nobility, he must always have been conscious of the fact that he did not really belong to that society of which birth alone could make one a true member. Situated at the intersection of these social worlds, Chaucer had the gift of being able to view with both sympathy and humor the behaviors, beliefs, and pretensions of the diverse people who comprised the levels of society. Chaucer's art of being at once involved in and detached from a given situation is peculiarly his own, but that art would have been appreciated by a small group of friends close to Chaucer's social position—men like Sir Philip de la Vache, to whom C h a u c e r addressed the humorous envoy to Truth. C h a u c e r belongs to an age when poetry was read aloud. A beautiful frontispiece to a manuscript of Troilus pictures the poet's public performance before a magnificently dressed royal audience, and he may well have been invited at times to read his poems at court. But besides addressing a listening audience, to whose allegedly superior taste and sensibility the poet often ironically defers (for example, The General Prologue, lines 745—48), C h a u c e r has in mind discriminating readers whom he might expect to share his sense of humor and his complex attitudes toward the company of "sondry folk" who make the pilgrimage to Canterbury. The text given here is from E. T. Donaldson's Chaucer's Poetry: An Anthology for the Modern Reader ( 1 9 5 8 , 1975) with some modifications. For The Canterbury Tales the Hengwrt Manuscript has provided the textual basis. The spelling has been altered to improve consistency and has been modernized in so far as is possible without distorting the phonological values of the Middle English. A discussion of Middle English pronunciation, grammar, and prosody is included in the introduction to "The Middle Ages" (pp. 1 5 - 2 1 ) .

The Canterbury Tales

Chaucer's original plan for The Canterbury Tales—if we a s s u m e it to be the same as that which the fictional Host proposes at the end of The General Prologue—projected about one hundred twenty stories, two for each pilgrim to tell on the way to Canterbury and two more on the way back. Chaucer actually completed only twenty-two and the beginnings of two others. He did write an ending, for the Host says to the Parson, who tells the last tale, that everyone except him has told "his tale." Indeed, the pilgrims never even get to Canterbury. T h e work was probably first conceived in 1386, when C h a u c e r was living in Greenwich, some miles east of London. From his house he might have been able to see the pilgrim road that led toward the shrine of the famous English saint, Thomas a Becket, the archbishop of Canterbury who was murdered in his cathedral in 1170. Medieval pilgrims were notorious tale tellers, and the sight and sound of the bands riding toward Canterbury may well have suggested to Chaucer the idea of using a fictitious pilgrimage as a framing device for a number of stories. Collections of stories linked by such a device were common in the later Middle Ages. Chaucer's contemporary John Gower had used one in his Confessio Amantis (see p. 319). The most famous medieval framing tale besides Chaucer's is Boccaccio's Decameron, in which ten different narrators each tell a tale a day for ten days. C h a u c e r could have known the Decameron, which contains tales with plots analogous to plots found also in The Canterbury Tales, but

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these stories were widespread, and there is no proof that Chaucer got them from Boccaccio. Chaucer's artistic exploitation of the device is, in any case, altogether his own. Whereas in Gower a single speaker relates all the stories, and in Boccaccio the ten speakers—three young gentlemen and seven young ladies—all belong to the same sophisticated social elite, Chaucer's pilgrim narrators represent a wide spectrum of ranks and occupations. This device, however, should not be mistaken for "realism." It is highly unlikely that a group like Chaucer's pilgrims would ever have joined together and communicated on such seemingly equal terms. That is part of the fiction, as is the tacit assumption that a group so large could have ridden along listening to one another tell tales in verse. The variety of tellers is matched by the diversity of their tales: tales are assigned to appropriate narrators and juxtaposed to bring out contrasts in genre, style, tone, and values. T h u s the Knight's courtly romance about the rivalry of two noble lovers for a lady is followed by the Miller's fabliau of the seduction of an old carpenter's young wife by a student. In several of Tlte Canterbury Tales there is a fascinating accord between the narrators and their stories, so that the story takes on rich overtones from what we have learned of its teller in Tlte General Prologue and elsewhere, and the character itself grows and is revealed by the story. C h a u c e r conducts two fictions simultaneously—that of the individual tale and that of the pilgrim to whom he has assigned it. He develops the second fiction not only through The General Prologue but also through the "links," the interchanges among pilgrims connecting the stories. These interchanges sometimes lead to quarrels. Thus Tlte Miller's Tale offends the Reeve, who takes the figure of the Miller's foolish, cuckolded carpenter as directed personally at himself, and he retaliates with a story satirizing an arrogant miller very much like the pilgrim Miller. The antagonism of the two tellers provides comedy in the links and enhances the comedy of their tales. The links also offer interesting literary commentary on the tales by members of the pilgrim audience, especially the Host, whom the pilgrims have declared "governour" and "juge" of the storytelling. Further dramatic interest is created by the fact that several tales respond to topics taken up by previous tellers. The Wife of Bath's thesis that women should have sovereignty over men in marriage gets a reply from the Clerk, which in turn elicits responses from the Merchant and the Franklin. The tales have their own logic and interest quite apart from the framing fiction; no other medieval framing fiction, however, has such varied and lively interaction between the frame and the individual stories. The composition of none of the tales can be accurately dated; most of them were written during the last fourteen years of Chaucer's life, although a few were probably written earlier and inserted into The Canterbury Tales. The popularity of the poem in late medieval England is attested by the number of surviving manuscripts: more than eighty, none from Chaucer's lifetime. It was also twice printed by William Caxton, who introduced printing to England in 1476, and often reprinted by Caxton's early successors. The manuscripts reflect the unfinished state of the poem—the fact that when he died Chaucer had not made up his mind about a number of details and hence left many inconsistencies. The poem appears in the manuscripts as nine or ten "fragments" or blocks of tales; the order of the poems within each fragment is generally the same, but the order of the fragments themselves varies widely. The fragment containing The General Prologue; the Knight's, Miller's, and Reeve's tales; and the Cook's unfinished tale, always comes first, and the fragment consisting of The Parson's Tale and The Retraction always comes last. But the others, such as that containing the Wife of Bath, the Friar, and the S u m m o n e r or that consisting of the Physician and Pardoner or the longest fragment, consisting of six tales concluding with the Nun's Priest's, are by no means stable in relation to one another. The order followed here, that of the Ellesmere manuscript, has been adopted as the most nearly satisfactory.

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Chaucer did not need to make a pilgrimage himself to meet the types of people that his fictitious pilgrimage includes, because most of them had long inhabited literature as well as life: the ideal Knight, who had taken part in all the major expeditions and battles of the crusades during the last half-century; his fashionably dressed son, the Squire, a typical young lover; the lady Prioress, the hunting Monk, and the flattering Friar, who practice the little vanities and larger vices for which such ecclesiastics were conventionally attacked; the prosperous Franklin; the fraudulent Doctor; the lusty and domineering Wife of Bath; the austere Parson; and so on down through the lower orders to that spellbinding preacher and mercenary, the Pardoner, peddling his paper indulgences and phony relics. One meets all these types throughout medieval literature, but particularly in a genre called estates satire, which sets out to expose and pillory typical examples of corruption at all levels of society. (For more information on estates satire, see "Medieval Estates and Orders" at Norton Literature Online.) A remarkable number of details in The General Prologue could have been taken straight out of books as well as drawn from life. Although it has been argued that some of the pilgrims are portraits of actual people, the impression that they are drawn from life is more likely to be a function of Chaucer's art, which is able to endow types with a reality we generally associate only with people we know. The salient features of each pilgrim leap out randomly at the reader, as they might to an observer concerned only with what meets the eye. This imitation of the way our minds actually perceive reality may make us fail to notice the care with which Chaucer has selected his details to give an integrated sketch of the person being described. Most of these details give something more than mere verisimilitude to the description. The pilgrims' facial features, the clothes they wear, the foods they like to eat, the things they say, the work they do are all clues not only to their social rank but to their moral and spiritual condition and, through the accumulation of detail, to the condition of late-medieval society, of which, collectively, they are representative. What uniquely distinguishes Chaucer's prologue from more conventional estates satire, such as the Prologue to Piers Plowman, is the suppression in all but a few flagrant instances of overt moral judgment. The narrator, in fact, seems to be expressing chiefly admiration and praise at the superlative skills and accomplishments of this particular group, even such dubious ones as the Friar's begging techniques or the Manciple's success in cheating the learned lawyers who employ him. The reader is left free to draw out the ironic implications of details presented with such seeming artlessness, even while falling in with the easygoing mood of "felaweship" that pervades Chaucer's prologue to the pilgrimage.

FROM T H E

CANTERBURY

TALES

The General Prologue

W h a n that April with his° showres soote° T h e droughte of M a r c h hath perced to the roote, And b a t h e d every veine 1 in swich° licour, 0 Of which vertu 2 engendred is the flowr; W h a n Zephyrus eek° with his sweete breeth Inspired 3 hath in every holt° a n d heeth°

1. I.e., in plants. 2. By the power of which.

its /fresh such / liquid also grove / field

3. Breathed into. "Zephyrus": the west wind.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

The tendre croppes, 0 and the yonge sonne 4 Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne, And smale fowles 0 maken melodye 10 That sleepen ai the night with open ye°— So priketh hem° Nature in hir corages 5 — Thanne Iongen folk to goon 0 on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes To f e m e halwes, 6 couthe 0 in sondry 0 Iondes; 15 And specially from every shires ende Of Engelond to Canterbury they wende, The holy blisful martyr 7 for to seeke That hem hath holpen 0 whan that they were seke.° BifeP that in that seson on a day, 20 In Southwerk 8 at the Tabard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Canterbury with ful° devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrye Wei nine and twenty in a compaignye 25 Of sondry folk, by aventure 0 yfalle In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle That toward Canterbury wolden 0 ride. The chambres and the stables weren wide, And wel we weren esed° at the beste. 9 so And shortly, 0 whan the sonne was to reste, 1 So hadde I spoken with hem everichoon 0 That I was of hir felaweshipe anoon,° And made forward 2 erly for to rise, To take oure way ther as 3 I you devise. 0 35 But nathelees, 0 whil I have time and space, 4 Er° that I ferther in this tale pace, 0 Me thinketh it accordant to resoun 5 To telle you al the condicioun Of eech of hem, so as it seemed me, 40 And whiche they were, and of what degree, 0 And eek° in what array that they were inne: And at a knight thanne 0 wol I first biginne. A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he first bigan 45 To riden out, he loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, freedom and curteisye. 6 Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,° And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre, 0 As wel in Cristendom as hethenesse, 7 4. The sun is young because it has run only halfway through its course in Aries, the Ram—the first sign of the zodiac in the solar year. 5. Their hearts. 6. Far-off shrines. "Palmeres": palmers, wideranging pilgrims—especially those who sought out the "straunge strondes" (foreign shores) of the Holy Land. 7. St. Thomas a Becket, murdered in Canterbury Cathedral in 1170. 8. Southwark, site of the Tabard Inn, was then a suburb of London, south of the Thames River.

219

shoots birds eye them

go known / various

helped / sick It happened

very

chance would accommodated in brief every one at once describe nevertheless before / proceed

social rank also then

war farther

9. In the best possible way. 1. Had set. 2. I.e., (we) made an agreement. 3. Where. 4. I.e., opportunity. 5. It seems to me according to reason. 6. Courtesy. "Trouthe": integrity. "Freedom": generosity of spirit. 7. Heathen lands. "Cristendom" here designates specifically only crusades waged by the nations of Roman Catholic Western Europe in lands under other dispensations, primarily Arabic, Turkish, and

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And 8 evere honoured for his worthinesse. At Aiisandre 9 he was whan it was wonne; Ful ofte time he hadde the boord bigonne 1 Aboven alle nacions in Pruce; In Lettou had he reised, 0 and in Ruce, No Cristen man so ofte of his degree; In Gernade 0 at the sege eek hadde he be Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye; At Lyeis was he, and at Satalye, Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See° At many a noble arivee 0 hadde he be. At mortal batailes 2 hadde he been fifteene, And foughten for oure faith at Tramissene In listes 3 thries, 0 and ay° slain his fo. This ilke° worthy Knight hadde been also Sometime with the lord of Palatye 4 Again 0 another hethen in Turkye; And everemore he hadde a soverein pris. 0 And though that he were worthy, he was wis, 5 And of his port 0 as meeke as is a maide. He nevere yit no vilainye 0 ne saide In al his lif unto no manere wight: 6 He was a verray, 0 parfit, 0 gentil 0 knight. But for to tellen you of his array, His hors° were goode, but he was nat gay. 7 Of fustian 0 he wered° a gipoun 8 Al bismotered with his haubergeoun, 9 For he was late 0 come from his viage, 0 And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. With him ther was his sone, a yong Squier, 1 A lovere and a lusty bacheler, With Iokkes crulle 0 as° they were laid in presse. Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. Of his stature he was of evene° lengthe, And wonderly delivere, 0 and of greet 0 strengthe. And he hadde been som time in chivachye 2 In Flandres, in Artois, and Picardye, Moorish Islam but also, as indicated in the list of the Knight's campaigns given below, the Christian Eastern Orthodox Church. Conspicuous by absence is any reference to major battles in the Hundred Years War, fought between French and English Catholics. For excerpts from Christian, Jewish, and Arabic texts on the First Crusade, go to Norton Literature Online. 8. I.e., and he was. 9. The capture of Alexandria in Egypt (1365) was considered a famous victory, although the Crusaders abandoned the city after a week of looting. Below: "Pruce" (Prussia), "Lettow" (Lithuania), and "Ruce" (Russia) refer to campaigns by the Teutonic Order of Knights on the shores of the Baltic Sea in northern Europe against the Eastern Orthodox Church, "Gernada" (Granada), "Algezir" (Algeciras), and "Belmarye" (Belmarin), to northern Spain and Morocco; "Lyeis" (Ayash, seaport near Antioch, modern Syria), "Satalye," "Palatye" (Antalya and Balat, modern Turkey), "Tramyssene"

campaigned Granada

Mediterranean military landing

thrice / always same against reputation demeanor rudeness true / perfect / noble horses thick cloth / wore lately / expedition

curly / as if moderate agile / great

(Tlemcen, modern Algeria). 1. Sat in the seat of honor at military feasts. 2. Tournaments fought to the death. 3. Lists, tournament grounds. 4. A Moslem: alliances of convenience were often made during the Crusades between Christians and Moslems. 5. I.e., he was wise as well as bold. 6. Any sort of person. In Middle English, negatives are multiplied for emphasis, as in these two lines: "nevere," "no," "ne," "no." 7. I.e., gaily dressed. 8. Tunic worn underneath the coat of mail. 9. All rust-stained from his hauberk (coat of mail). 1. The vague term "Squier" (Squire) here seems to be the equivalent of "bacheler" (line 80), a young knight still in the service of an older one. 2. On cavalry expeditions. The places in the next line are sites of skirmishes in the constant warfare between the English and the French.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

And born him wel as of so Iitel space, 3 In hope to stonden in his lady° grace. Embrouded 0 was he as it were a mede, 4 90 Al ful of fresshe flowres, white and rede; 0 Singing he was, or floiting, 0 al the day: He was as fressh as is the month of May. Short was his gowne, with sleeves longe and wide. Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ride; 95 He coude songes make, and wel endite, 0 Juste 5 and eek° daunce, and wel portraye 0 and write. So hote° he loved that by nightertale 6 He slepte namore than dooth a nightingale. Curteis he was, Iowely,0 and servisable, 100 And carf biforn his fader at the table. 7 A Yeman hadde he8 and servants namo 0 At that time, for him Iiste9 ride so; And he1 was clad in cote and hood of greene. A sheef of pecok arwes,° bright and keene, 105 Under his belt he bar° ful thriftily; 0 Wel coude he dresse 0 his takel 0 yemanly: 2 His arwes drouped nought with fetheres lowe. And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. A not-heed° hadde he with a brown visage, no Of wodecraft wel coude 0 he al the usage. Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer, 3 And by his side a swerd 0 and a bokeler, 4 And on that other side a gay daggere, Harneised 0 wel and sharp as point of spere; ii5 A Cristophre 5 on his brest of silver sheene; 0 An horn he bar, the baudrik 6 was of greene. A forster 0 was he soothly, 0 as I gesse. Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hir smiling was ful simple and coy.7 120 Hir gretteste ooth was but by sainte Loy!° And she was cleped 0 Madame Eglantine. Ful wel she soong° the service divine, Entuned 0 in hir nose ful semely; 8 And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, 0 125 After the scole° of Stratford at the Bowe 9 — For Frenssh of Paris was to hire unknowe. At mete° wel ytaught was she withalle: 0 She Ieet° no morsel from hir Iippes falle, Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce deepe; 130 Wel coude she carye a morsel, and wel keepe° 3. I.e., considering the little time he had been in service. 4. Mead, meadow. 5. Joust, fight in a tournament. 6. At night. 7. It was a squire's duty to carve his lord's meat. 8. I.e., the Knight. The "Yeman" (Yeoman) is an independent commoner who acts as the Knight's military servant. 9. It pleased him to. I. I.e., the Yeoman.

221

lady's embroidered red whistling

compose verse also / sketch hotly humble no more

arrows bore / properly tend to / gear

close-cut head knew sword mounted bright forester / truly

Eloi named sang chanted elegantly school meals / besides let take care

2. In a workmanlike way. 3. Wrist guard for archers. 4. Buckler (a small shield). 5. St. Christopher medal. 6. Baldric (a supporting strap). 7. Sincere and shy. The Prioress is the mother superior of her nunnery. 8. In a seemly, proper manner. 9. The French learned in a convent school in Stratford-at-the-Bow, a suburb of London, was evidently not up to the Parisian standard.

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That no drope ne fille° upon hir brest. In curteisye was set ful muchel hir lest. 1 Hir over-lippe° wiped she so clene That in hir coppe° ther was no ferthing 0 seene Of grece,° whan she dronken hadde hir draughte; Ful semely after hir mete she raughte. 0 And sikerly0 she was of greet disport, 2 And ful plesant, and amiable of port, 0 And pained hire to countrefete cheere 3 Of court, and to been statlich 0 of manere, And to been holden digne 4 of reverence. But, for to speken of hir conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous 0 She wolde weepe if that she saw a mous Caught in a trappe, if it were deed 0 or bledde. Of 5 smale houndes hadde she that she fedde With rosted flessh, or milk and wastelbreed; 0 But sore wepte she if oon of hem were deed, Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte; 6 And al was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semely hir wimpeP pinched 0 was, Hir nose tretis, 0 hir yen° greye as glas, Hir mouth ful smal, and therto 0 softe and reed,° But sikerly0 she hadde a fair forheed: It was almost a spanne brood, 7 I trowe, 0 For hardily,0 she was nat undergrowe. Ful fetis 0 was hir cloke, as I was war; 0 Of smal° coral aboute hir arm she bar A paire of bedes, gauded all with greene, 8 And theron heeng 0 a brooch of gold ful sheene, 0 On which ther was first writen a crowned A,9 And after, Amor vincit omnia. 1 Another Nonne with hire hadde she That was hir chapelaine, 0 and preestes three. 2 A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrye, 3 An outridere 4 that loved venerye, 0 A manly man, to been an abbot able. 0 Ful many a daintee 0 hors hadde he in stable, And whan he rood, 0 men mighte his bridel heere Ginglen 0 in a whistling wind as clere And eek° as loude as dooth the chapel belle Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle. 5 The rule of Saint Maure or of Saint Beneit, By cause that it was old and somdeel strait 6 — 1. I.e., her chief delight lay in good manners. 2. Of great good cheer. 3. And took pains to imitate the behavior. 4. And to be considered worthy. 5. I.e., some. 6. If someone struck it with a rod sharply. 7. A handsbreadth wide. 8. Provided with green beads to mark certain prayers. "A paire": string (i.e., a rosary). 9. An A with an ornamental crown on it.

should fall upper lip cup / bit grease reached certainly

dignified

merciful

fine white bread

headdress / pleated well-formed / eyes moreover / red certainly believe assuredly becoming / aware dainty hung / bright

secretary hunting worthy fine rode jingle also

1. "Love conquers all." 2. The three get reduced to just one nun's priest. 3. I.e., a superlatively fine one. 4. A monk charged with supervising property distant from the monaster}'. Monasteries obtained income from large landholdings. 5. Prior of an outlying cell (branch) of the monastery. 6. Somewhat strict. St. Maurus and St. Benedict were authors of monastic rules.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

175

This ilke° Monk ieet olde thinges pace, 0 And heeld° after the newe world the space. 0 He yaf° nought of that text a pulled hen 7 That saith that hunteres been 0 nought holy men, Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees, 8 i8o Is Iikned til° a fissh that is waterlees— This is to sayn, a monk out of his cloistre; But thilke0 text heeld he nat worth an oystre. And I saide his opinion was good: What 0 sholde he studye and make himselven wood 0 185 Upon a book in cloistre alway to poure, 0 Or swinke 0 with his handes and Iaboure, As Austin bit? 9 How shal the world be served? Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved! Therefore he was a prikasour 0 aright. 190 Grehoundes he hadde as swift as fowl in flight. Of priking 0 and of hunting for the hare Was al his lust, 0 for no cost wolde he spare. I sawgh his sleeves purfiled 0 at the hand With gris,° and that the fineste of a land; 195 And for to festne his hood under his chin He hadde of gold wrought a ful curious 1 pin: A Iove-knotte in the grettere 0 ende ther was. His heed was balled, 0 that shoon as any glas, And eek his face, as he hadde been anoint: 200 He was a lord ful fat and in good point; 2 His yen steepe, 0 and rolling in his heed, That stemed as a furnais of a leed, 3 His bootes souple, 0 his hors in greet estat 0 Now certainly he was a fair prelat. 4 205 He was nat pale as a forpined 0 gost: A fat swan loved he best of any rost. His palfrey 0 was as brown as is a berye. A Frere ther was, a wantoune 0 and a merye, A limitour, 5 a ful solempne 0 man. 210 In alle the ordres foure is noon that can° So muche of daliaunce 0 and fair langage: He hadde maad ful many a mariage Of yonge wommen at his owene cost; Unto his ordre he was a noble post. 6 215 Ful wel biloved and familier was he With frankelains over al7 in his contree, And with worthy wommen of the town— For he hadde power of confessioun, As saide himself, more than a curat, 0

7. He didn't give a plucked hen for that text. 8. Reckless, careless of rule. 9. I.e., as St. Augustine bids. St. Augustine had written that monks should perform manual labor. 1. Of careful workmanship. 2. In good shape, plump. 3. That glowed like a furnace with a pot in it. 4. Prelate (an important churchman).

223

same / pass away held / course gave are to that same why / crazy pore work

hard rider riding pleasure fur lined gray fur

greater bald

protruding supple / condition wasted away saddle horse jovial ceremonious knows sociability

parish priest

5. The "Frere" (Friar) is a member of one of the four religious orders whose members live by begging; as a "limitour" he has been granted by his order exclusive begging rights within a certain limited area. 6. I.e., pillar, a staunch supporter. 7. I.e., with franklins everywhere. Franklins were well-to-do country men.

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224

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

For oP his ordre he was licenciat. 8 Ful swetely herde he confessioun, And plesant was his absolucioun. He was an esy man to yive penaunce Ther as he wiste to have9 a good pitaunce; 0 For unto a poore ordre for to yive Is signe that a man is wel yshrive,1 For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt 0 He wiste 0 that a man was repentaunt; For many a man so hard is of his herte He may nat weepe though him sore smerte: 2 Therfore, in stede of weeping and prayeres, Men mote° yive silver to the poore freres. 3 His tipet° was ay farsed 0 ful of knives And pinnes, for to yiven faire wives; And certainly he hadde a merye note; Wel coude he singe and playen on a rote;° Of yeddinges he bar outrely the pris. 4 His nekke whit was as the flowr-de-lis;° Therto he strong was as a champioun. He knew the tavernes wel in every town, And every hostiler 0 and tappestere, 0 Bet° than a Iazar or a beggestere. 5 For unto swich a worthy man as he Accorded nat, as by his facultee, 6 To have with sike° Iazars aquaintaunce: It is nat honeste, 0 it may nought avaunce, 0 For to delen with no swich poraile, 7 But al with riche, and selleres of vitaile; 0 And over al ther as 8 profit sholde arise, Curteis he was, and Iowely of servise. Ther was no man nowher so vertuous: 0 He was the beste beggere in his hous.° And yaf a certain ferme for the graunt: 9 Noon of his bretheren cam ther in his haunt. 1 For though a widwe° hadde nought a sho,° So plesant was his In principio 2 Yit wolde he have a ferthing 0 er he wente; His purchas was wel bettre than his rente. 3 And rage he coude as it were right a whelpe; 4 In Iove-dayes5 ther coude he mucheP helpe, 8. I.e., licensed to hear confessions. 9. Where he knew he would have. 1. Shriven, absolved. 2. Although he is sorely grieved. 3. Before granting absolution, the confessor must be sure the sinner is contrite; moreover, the absolution is contingent on the sinner's performance of an act of satisfaction. In the case of Chaucer's Friar, a liberal contribution served both as proof of contrition and as satisfaction. 4. He absolutely took the prize for ballads. 5. "Beggestere": female beggar. "Lazar:" leper. 6. It was not suitable because of his position. 7. I.e., poor trash. The oldest order of friars had been founded by St. Francis to administer to the

donation

boast knew

may hood / stuffed

fiddle lily

innkeeper / barmaid better

sick dignified / profit foodstuffs effective friary

widow / shoe small coin

much

spiritual needs of precisely those classes the Friar avoids. 8. Everywhere. 9. And he paid a certain rent for the privilege of begging. 1. Assigned territory. 2. A friar's usual salutation: "In the beginning [was the Word]" (John 1.1). 3. I.e., the money he got through such activity was more than his proper income. 4. And he could flirt wantonly, as if he were a puppy. 5. Days appointed for the settlement of lawsuits out of court.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

265

270

275

280

285

290

295

300

For ther he was nat lik a cloisterer, With a thredbare cope, as is a poore scoler, But he was lik a maister 6 or a pope. Of double worstede was his semicope, 0 And rounded as a belle out of the presse. 0 Somwhat he Iipsed 0 for his wantounesse 0 To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge; And in his harping, whan he hadde songe,° His yen twinkled in his heed aright As doon the sterres 0 in the frosty night. This worthy Iimitour was cleped Huberd. A Marchant was ther with a forked beerd, In motelee, 7 and hye on hors he sat, Upon his heed a Flandrissh 0 bevere hat, His bootes clasped faire and fetisly. 0 His resons 0 he spak ful solempnely, Souning 0 alway th' encrees of his winning. 0 He wolde the see were kept for any thing 8 Bitwixen Middelburgh and Orewelie. Wei coude he in eschaunge sheeldes 9 selle. This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette: 0 Ther wiste° no wight0 that he was in dette, So statly0 was he of his governaunce, 1 With his bargaines, 0 and with his chevissaunce. 0 Forsoothe 0 he was a worthy man withalle; But, sooth to sayn, I noot° how men him calle. A Clerk 2 ther was of Oxenforde also That unto Iogik hadde longe ygo.3 As lene was his hors as is a rake, And he was nought right fat, I undertake, But looked holwe, 0 and therto sobrely. Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy, For he hadde geten him yit no benefice, 4 Ne was so worldly for to have office. 0 For him was levere5 have at his beddes heed Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed, Of Aristotle and his philosophye, Than robes riche, or fithele, 0 or gay sautrye. 6 But al be that he was a philosophre 7 Yit hadde he but Iitel gold in cofre; 0 But al that he mighte of his freendes hente,° On bookes and on Ierning he it spente, And bisily gan for the soules praye Of hem that yaf him wherwith to scoleye. 0

6. A man of recognized learning. 7. Motley, a cloth of mixed color. 8. I.e., he wished the sea to be guarded at all costs. The sea route between Middelburgh (in the Netherlands) and Orwell (in Suffolk) was vital to the Merchant's export and import of wool—the basis of England's chief trade at the time. 9. Shields were units of transfer in international credit, which he exchanged at a profit. 1. The management of his affairs. 2. The Clerk is a student at Oxford; to become a

225

short robe bell mold lisped / affectation sung stars

Flemish elegantly opinions implying / profit

employed knew / person dignified bargainings / borrowing in truth don't know

hollow

secular employment

fiddle coffer take

study

student, he would have had to signify his intention of becoming a cleric, but he was not bound to proceed to a position of responsibility in the church. 3. Who had long since matriculated in philosophy. 4. Ecclesiastical living, such as the income a parish priest receives. "Courtepy": outer cloak. 5. He would rather. 6. Psaltery (a kind of harp). 7. The word may also mean alchemist, someone who tries to turn base metals into gold. The Clerk's "philosophy" does not pay either way.

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226

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Of studye took he most cure 0 and most heede. Nought oo° word spak he more than was neede, And that was said in forme 8 and reverence, And short and quik,° and ful of heigh sentence: 9 Souning 0 in moral vertu was his speeche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wis,1 That often hadde been at the Parvis 2 Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. Discreet he was, and of greet reverence— He seemed swich, his wordes weren so wise. Justice he was ful often in assise 0 By patente 3 and by plein° commissioun. For his science 0 and for his heigh renown Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. So greet a purchasour 0 was nowher noon; Al was fee simple 4 to him in effect— His purchasing mighte nat been infect. 5 Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas;° And yit he seemed bisier than he was. In termes hadde he caas and doomes 6 alle That from the time of King William 7 were falle. Therto he coude endite and make a thing, 8 Ther coude no wight pinchen 0 at his writing; And every statut coude 0 he plein 0 by rote.9 He rood but hoomly 0 in a medlee cote, 1 Girt with a ceint 0 of silk, with barres 2 smale. Of his array telle I no Ienger tale. A Frankelain 3 was in his compaignye: Whit was his beerd as is the dayesye; 0 Of his complexion he was sanguin. 4 Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in win.5 To liven in delit° was evere his wone,° For he was Epicurus 6 owene sone, That heeld opinion that plein 0 delit Was verray0 felicitee parfit. 0 An housholdere and that a greet was he: Saint Julian 7 he was in his contree. His breed, his ale, was always after oon; 8 8. With decorum. 9. Elevated thought. 1. Warj' and wise. The Sergeant is not only a practicing lawyer but one of the high justices of the nation. 2. The Paradise, the porch of St. Paul's Cathedral, a meeting place for lawyers and their clients. 3. Royal warrant. 4. Owned outright without legal impediments. 5. Invalidated on a legal technicality. 6. Law cases and decisions. "By termes": i.e., by heart. 7. I.e., the Conqueror (reigned 1066—87). 8. Compose and draw up a deed. 9. By heart. I. A coat of mixed color.

care one lively

circuit courts full knowledge speculator in land

was not

cavil knew / entire unpretentiously belt

dais)/

sensual delight / wont full true / perfect

2. Transverse stripes. 3. The "Frankelain" (Franklin) is a prosperous country man, whose lower-class ancestry is no impediment to the importance he has attained in his county. 4. A reference to the fact that the Franklin's temperament, "humor," is dominated by blood as well as to his red face (see p. 228, n. 8). 5. I.e., in the morning he was very fond of a piece of bread soaked in wine. 6. The Greek philosopher whose teaching is popularly believed to make pleasure the chief goal of life. 7. The patron saint of hospitality. 8. Always of the same high quality.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

A bettre envined 0 man was nevere noon. Withouten bake mete was nevere his hous, Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous 0 It snewed 0 in his hous of mete° and drinke, Of alle daintees that men coude thinke. After 0 the sondry sesons of the yeer 350 So chaunged he his mete° and his soper.° Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe,° And many a breem,° and many a luce° in stewe. 9 Wo was his cook but if his sauce were Poinant 0 and sharp, and redy all his gere. 355 His table dormant in his halle alway Stood redy covered all the longe day.1 At sessions ther was he lord and sire. Ful ofte time he was Knight of the Shire. 2 An anlaas 0 and a gipser 0 al of silk 360 Heeng at his girdel, 3 whit as morne 0 milk. A shirreve 0 hadde he been, and countour. 4 Was nowhere swich a worthy vavasour. 5 An Haberdasshere and a Carpenter, A Webbe, 0 a Dyere, and a Tapicer 0 — 365 And they were clothed alle in oo liveree6 Of a solempne and greet fraternitee. Ful fresshe and newe hir gere apiked 0 was; Hir knives were chaped 0 nought with bras, But al with silver; wrought ful clene and weel 370 Hir girdles and hir pouches everydeel.0 Wei seemed eech of hem a fair burgeis 0 To sitten in a yeldehalle 0 on a dais. Everich, for the wisdom that he can, 7 Was shaply 0 for to been an alderman. 375 For catel 0 hadde they ynough and rente, 0 And eek hir wives wolde it wel assente— And elles certain were they to blame: It is ful fair to been ycleped 0 "Madame," And goon to vigilies all bifore, 8 38o And have a mantel royalliche ybore. 9 A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones, 1 To boile the chiknes with the marybones, 0 And powdre-marchant tart and galingale. 2 Wel coude he knowe° a draughte of London ale. 385 He coude roste, and seethe, 0 and broile, and frye, Maken mortreux, 0 and wel bake a pie.

227

wine-stoclzed

345

9. Fishpond. 1. Tables were usually dismounted when not in use, but the Franklin kept his mounted and set ("covered"), hence "dormant." 2. County representative in Parliament. "Sessions": i.e., sessions of the justices of the peace. 3. H u n g at his belt. 4. Auditor of county finances. 5. Feudal landholder of lowest rank; a provincial gentleman.

plenteous snowed /food according to dinner/supper cage carp / pike spicy

dagger / purse morning sheriff

weaver / tapestry maker

trimmed mounted altogether burgher guildhall suitable property / income

called

marrowbones recognize boil stews

6. In one livery, i.e., the uniform of their "fraternitee" or guild, a partly religious, partly social organization. 7. Was capable of. 8. I.e., at the head of the procession. "Vigiles": feasts held on the eve of saints' days. 9. Royally carried. 1. For the occasion. 2. "Powdre-marchant" and "galingale" are flavoring materials.

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228

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

But greet harm was it, as it thoughte 0 me, That on his shine a mormal 0 hadde he, For blankmanger, 3 that made he with the beste. A Shipman was ther, woning 0 fer by weste—° For ought I woot,° he was of Dertemouthe. 4 He rood upon a rouncy 0 as he couthe, 5 In a gowne of falding 0 to the knee. A daggere hanging on a Iaas° hadde he Aboute his nekke, under his arm adown. The hote somer hadde maad his hewe 0 al brown; And certainly he was a good felawe. Ful many a draughte of win hadde he drawe 6 Fro Burdeuxward, whil that the chapman sleep: 7 Of nice 0 conscience took he no keep; 0 If that he faught and hadde the hyer° hand, By water he sente hem hoom to every land. 8 But of his craft, to rekene wel his tides, His stremes 0 and his daungers 0 him bisides, 9 His herberwe 0 and his moone, his Iodemenage, 1 There was noon swich from HuIIe to Cartage. 2 Hardy he was and wis to undertake; 3 With many a tempest hadde his beerd been shake; He knew alle the havenes 0 as they were Fro Gotlond to the Cape of Finistere, 4 And every crike° in Britaine 0 and in Spaine. His barge ycleped was the Maudelaine. 0 With us ther was a Doctour of Physik:0 In al this world ne was ther noon him Iik To speken of physik and of surgerye. For 0 he was grounded in astronomye, 0 He kepte 0 his pacient a ful greet deel 5 In houres by his magik naturel. 6 Wel coude he fortunen the ascendent Of his images 7 for his pacient. He knew the cause of every maladye, Were it of hoot or cold or moiste or drye, And where engendred and of what humour: 8 He was a verray parfit praktisour. 9 The cause yknowe,0 and of his 0 harm the roote, 3. A white stew or mousse. 4. Dartmouth, a port in the southwest of England. 5. As best he could. 6. Drawn, i.e., stolen. 7. Merchant slept. "Fro Burdeauxward": from Bordeaux; i.e., while carrying wine from Bordeaux (the wine center of France). 8. He drowned his prisoners. 9. Around him. 1. Pilotage, art of navigation. 2. From Hull (in northern England) to Cartagena (in Spain). 3. Shrewd in his undertakings. 4. From Gotland (an island in the Baltic) to Finisterre (the westernmost point in Spain). 5. Closely. 6. Natural—as opposed to black—magic. "In houres": i.e., the astrologically important hours (when

seemed to ulcer dwelling / in the west know large nag heavy wool strap color

fastidious / heed upper

currents / hazards anc

harbors inlet / Brittany Magdalene medicine

because / astrology tended to

known / its

conjunctions of the planets might help his recovery). 7. Assign the propitious time, according to the position of stars, for using talismanic images. Such images, representing either the patient himself or points in the zodiac, were thought to be influential on the course of the disease. 8. Diseases were thought to be caused by a disturbance of one or another of the four bodily "humors," each of which, like the four elements, was a compound of two of the elementary qualities mentioned in line 4 2 2 : the melancholy humor, seated in the black bile, was cold and dry (like earth); the sanguine, seated in the blood, hot and moist (like air); the choleric, seated in the yellow bile, hot and dry (like fire); the phlegmatic, seated in the phlegm, cold and moist (like water). 9. True perfect practitioner.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

430

435

440

445

450

455

460

465

Anoon he yaf the sike man his boote.° Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries To senden him drogges 0 and his letuaries, 0 For eech of hem made other for to winne: Hir frendshipe was nought newe to biginne. Wel knew he the olde Esculapius, 1 And Deiscorides and eek Rufus, Olde Ipocras, Hali, and Galien, Serapion, Razis, and Avicen, Averrois, Damascien, and Constantin, Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertin. Of his diete mesurable 0 was he, For it was of no superfluitee, But of greet norissing 0 and digestible. His studye was but litel on the Bible. In sanguin 0 and in pers° he clad was al, Lined with taffata and with sendal; 0 And yit he was but esy of dispence; 0 He kepte that he wan in pestilence. 2 For° gold in physik is a cordial, 3 Therfore he loved gold in special. A good Wif was ther of biside Bathe, But she was somdeel deef,° and that was scathe. 0 Of cloth-making she hadde swich an haunt, 0 She passed 0 hem of Ypres and of Gaunt. 4 In al the parissh wif ne was ther noon That to the offring 5 bifore hire sholde goon, And if ther dide, certain so wroth0 was she That she was out of alle charitee. Hir coverchiefs 0 ful fine were of ground 0 — I dorste 0 swere they weyeden 0 ten pound That on a Sonday weren 0 upon hir heed. Hir hosen° weren of fin scarlet reed, 0 Ful straite yteyd,6 and shoes ful moiste° and newe. Bold was hir face and fair and reed of hewe. She was a worthy womman al hir live: Housbondes at chirche dore 7 she hadde five, Withouten 0 other compaignye in youthe— But therof needeth nought to speke as nouthe. 0 And thries hadde she been at Jerusalem; She hadde passed many a straunge 0 streem; At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne, In Galice at Saint Jame, and at Coloigne: 8

1. The Doctor is familiar with the treatises that the Middle Ages attributed to the "great names" of medical history, whom Chaucer names: the purely legendary Greek demigod Aesculapius; the Greeks Dioscorides, R u f u s , Hippocrates, Galen, and Serapion; the Persians Hali and Rhazes; the Arabians Avicenna and Averroes; the early Christians John (?) of Damascus and Constantine Afer; the Scotsman Bernard Gordon; the Englishmen John of Gatesden and Gilbert, the former an early contemporary of Chaucer. 2. He saved the money he made during the plague

229

remedy drugs / medicines

moderate nourishment blood red / blue silk expenditure because a bit deaf/ a pity skill surpassed

angry headcovers / texture dare / weighed were leggings / red supple

not counting now foreign

time. 3. A stimulant. Gold was thought to have some medicinal properties. 4. Ypres and Ghent ("Gaunt") were Flemish clothmaking centers. 5. The offering in church, when the congregation brought its gifts forward. 6. Tightly laced. 7. In medieval times, weddings were performed at the church door. 8. Rome, Boulogne (in France), St. J a m e s (of Compostella) in Galicia (Spain), and Cologne (in

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230

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

She coude 0 muchel of wandring by the waye: Gat-toothed9 was she, soothly for to saye. Upon an amblere1 esily she sat, Ywimpled0 wel, and on hir heed an hat As brood as is a bokeler or a targe,2 A foot-mantel0 aboute hir hipes large, And on hir feet a paire of spores0 sharpe. In felaweshipe wel coude she laughe and carpe:0 Of remedies of love she knew parchaunce, 0 For she coude of that art the olde daunce. 3 A good man was ther of religioun, And was a poore Person0 of a town, But riche he was of holy thought and werk. He was also a Ierned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely0 wolde preche; His parisshens 0 devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was, and wonder0 diligent, And in adversitee ful pacient, And swich he was preved0 ofte sithes.0 Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,4 But rather wolde he yiven, out of doute,5 Unto his poore parisshens aboute Of his offring6 and eek of his substaunce: 0 He coude in litel thing have suffisaunce. 0 Wid was his parissh, and houses fer asonder, But he ne Iafte0 nought for rain ne thonder, In siknesse nor in meschief,0 to visite The ferreste0 in his parissh, muche and lite,7 Upon his feet, and in his hand a staf. This noble ensample 0 to his sheep he yaf That first he wroughte,8 and afterward he taughte. Out of the Gospel he tho° wordes caughte,0 And this figure0 he added eek therto: That if gold ruste, what shal iren do? For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste, No wonder is a Iewed0 man to ruste. And shame it is, if a preest take keep,0 A shiten0 shepherde and a clene sheep. Wel oughte a preest ensample for to yive By his clennesse how that his sheep sholde live. He sette nought his benefice9 to hire And leet° his sheep encombred in the mire And ran to London, unto Sainte Poules,1 To seeken him a chaunterye2 for soules, Germany) were all sites of shrines much visited by pilgrims. 9. Gap-toothed, thought to be a sign of amorousness. 1. Horse with an easy gait. 2. "Bokeler" and "targe": small shields. 3. I.e., she knew all the tricks of that trade. 4. He would be most reluctant to invoke excommunication in order to collect his tithes. 5. Without doubt. 6. The offering made by the congregation of his

knew

veiled riding skirt spurs talk as it happened

parson

faithfully parishioners wonderfully proved / times

property sufficiency neglected misfortune farthest example those / took metaphor

uneducated heed befouled

left

church was at the Parson's disposal. 7. Great and small. 8. I.e., he practiced what he preached. 9. I.e., his parish. A priest might rent his parish to another and take a more profitable position. 1. St. Paul's Cathedral. 2. Chantry, i.e., a foundation that employed priests for the sole duty of saying masses for the souls of wealthy deceased persons. St. Paul's had many of them.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

si5

520

525

530

535

540

545

550

555

231

Or with a bretherhede to been withholde,3 But dwelte at hoom and kepte wel his folde, So that the wolf ne made it nought miscarye: He was a shepherde and nought a mercenarye. And though he holy were and vertuous, scornful He was to sinful men nought despitous, 0 disdainful / haughty Ne of his speeche daungerous 0 ne digne,° But in his teching discreet and benigne, To drawen folk to hevene by fairnesse By good ensample—this was his bisinesse. But it0 were any persone obstinat, if there What so he were, of heigh or lowe estat, Him wolde he snibben0 sharply for the nones:4 scold A bettre preest I trowe° ther nowher noon is. believe He waited after5 no pompe and reverence, Ne maked him a spiced conscience,6 But Cristes lore0 and his Apostles twelve teaching He taughte, but first he folwed it himselve. With him ther was a Plowman, was his brother, carried / dung That hadde ylad° of dong° ful many a fother.7 worker A trewe swinkere0 and a good was he, peace Living in pees° and parfit charitee. whole God loved he best with al his hoole° herte At alle times, though him gamed or smerte,8 And thanne his neighebor right as himselve. He wolde thresshe, and therto dike0 and delve,0 work hard / dig For Cristes sake, for every poore wight, Withouten hire, if it laye in his might. His tithes payed he ful faire and wel, property Bothe of his propre swink9 and his catel.° workman's smock / mare In a tabard0 he rood upon a mere.0 estate manager Ther was also a Reeve0 and a Millere, A Somnour, and a Pardoner1 also, steward A Manciple,0 and myself—ther were namo. fellow The Millere was a stout carP for the nones. muscle Ful big he was of brawn0 and eek of bones— That preved2 wel, for overal ther he cam At wrastling he wolde have alway the ram.3 broad He was short-shuldred, brood,0 a thikke knarre.4 Ther was no dore that he nolde heve of harre,5 Or breke it at a renning0 with his heed.° running / head His beerd as any sowe or fox was reed,° red And therto brood, as though it were a spade; Upon the cop right6 of his nose he hade

3. Or to be employed by a brotherhood; i.e., to take a lucrative and fairly easy position as chaplain with a parish guild (see p. 230, n. 6). 4. On the spot, promptly. 5. I.e., expected. 6. Nor did he assume an overfastidious conscience, a holier-than-thou attitude. 7. Load. 8. Whether he was pleased or grieved. 9. His own work.

1. "Somnour" (Summoner): server of summonses to the ecclesiastical court. "Pardoner": dispenser of papal pardons (see p. 233, n. 8, and p. 234, 2nd n. 5). 2. Proved, i.e., was evident. 3. A ram was frequently offered as the prize in wrestling, a village sport. 4. Sturdy fellow. 5. He would not heave off (its) hinge. 6. Right on the tip.

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232

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A werte,° and theron stood a tuft of heres, Rede as the bristles of a sowes eres; 0 His nosethirles 0 blake were and wide. A swerd and a bokeler 0 bar° he by his side. His mouth as greet was as a greet furnais. 0 He was a janglere 0 and a Goliardais, 7 And that was most of sinne and harlotries. 0 Wel coude he stelen corn and tollen thries 8 — And yit he hadde a thombe 9 of gold, pardee. 0 A whit cote and a blew hood wered 0 he. A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune, 0 And therwithal 0 he broughte us out of towne. A gentil Manciple 1 was ther of a temple, Of which achatours 0 mighte take exemple For to been wise in bying of vitaile; 0 For wheither that he paide or took by taile, 2 Algate he waited so in his achat 3 That he was ay biforn and in good stat. 4 Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace That swich a lewed 0 mannes wit shal pace 0 The wisdom of an heep of lerned men? Of maistres 0 hadde he mo than thries ten That weren of lawe expert and curious, 0 Of whiche ther were a dozeine in that hous Worthy to been stiwardes of rente 0 and lond Of any lord that is in Engelond, To make him live by his propre good 5 In honour dettelees but if he were wood, 6 Or live as scarsiy 0 as him list0 desire, And able for to helpen al a shire In any caas° that mighte falle° or happe, And yit this Manciple sette hir aller cappe! 7 The Reeve was a sclendre 0 colerik 8 man; His beerd was shave as neigh 0 as evere he can; His heer was by his eres ful round yshorn; His top was dokked 9 Iik a preest biforn; 0 Ful longe were his legges and ful lene, Ylik a staf, ther was no calf yseene. 0 Wel coude he keepe 0 a gerner 0 and a binne— Ther was noon auditour coude on him winne. 1 Wel wiste 0 he by the droughte and by the rain The yeelding of his seed and of his grain. His lordes sheep, his neet,° his dayerye, 0 His swin, his hors, his stoor, 0 and his pultrye 7. Goliard, teller of ribald stories. 8. Take toll thrice—i.e., deduct from the grain far more than the lawful percentage. 9. Thumb. Ironic allusion to a proverb: "An honest miller has a golden thumb." 1. The Manciple is the business agent of a community of lawyers in London (a "temple"). 2. By tall}', i.e., on credit. 3. Always he was on the watch in his purchasing. 4. Financial condition. "Ay biforn": i.e., ahead of the game.

wart ears nostrils shield / bore furnace chatterer obscenities by heaven wore sound therewith buyers of food victuals

uneducated / surpass masters cunning

economically / it pleases event / befall slender close in front visible guard / granary knew cattle / dairy herd stock

5. His own money. 6. Out of debt unless he were crazy. 7. This Manciple made fools of them all. 8. Choleric describes a person whose dominant humor is yellow bile (choler)—i.e., a hot-tempered person. The Reeve is the superintendent of a large farming estate. 9. Cut short; the clergy wore the head partially shaved. I. I.e., find him in default.

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

Was hoolly0 in this Reeves governinge, And by his covenant yaf 2 the rekeninge, Sin° that his lord was twenty-yeer of age. There coude no man bringe him in arrerage. 3 605 Ther nas baillif, hierde, nor other hine, That he ne knew his sleighte and his covine 4 — They were adrad° of him as of the deeth. 0 His woning 0 was ful faire upon an heeth;° With greene trees shad wed was his place. 6io He coude bettre than his lord purchace. 0 Ful riche he was astored 0 prively.0 His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly, To yive and lene° him of his owene good, 0 And have a thank, and yit a cote and hood. 6i5 In youthe he hadde Ierned a good mister: 0 He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter. This Reeve sat upon a ful good stot° That was a pomely 0 grey and highte 0 Scot. A long surcote 0 of pers 0 upon he hade, 5 620 And by his side he bar° a rusty blade. Of Northfolk was this Reeve of which I telle, Biside a town men clepen Baldeswelle. 0 Tukked 6 he was as is a frere aboute, And evere he rood the hindreste of oure route. 7 625 A Somnour 8 was ther with us in that place That hadde a fir-reed0 cherubinnes 9 face, For saucefleem 0 he was, with yen narwe, And hoot° he was, and lecherous as a sparwe, 0 With scaled 0 browes blake and piled 1 beerd: 630 Of his visage children were aferd.° Ther nas quiksilver, Iitarge, ne brimstoon, Boras, ceruce, ne oile of tartre noon, 2 Ne oinement that wolde clense and bite, That him mighte helpen of his whelkes 0 white, 635 Nor of the knobbes 0 sitting on his cheekes. Wel loved he garlek, oinons, and eek Ieekes, And for to drinke strong win reed as blood. Thanne wolde he speke and crye as he were wood; 0 And whan that he wel dronken hadde the win, 640 Thanne wolde he speke no word but Latin: A fewe termes hadde he, two or three, That he hadde Ierned out of som decree; No wonder is—he herde it al the day, And eek ye knowe wel how that a jay° 2. And according to his contract he gave. 3. Convict him of being in arrears financially. 4. There was no bailiff (i.e., foreman), shepherd, or other farm laborer whose craftiness and plots he didn't know. 5. He had on. 6. With clothing tucked up like a friar. 7. Hindmost of our group. 8. The "Somnour" (Summoner) is an employee of the ecclesiastical court, whose duty is to bring to

233

wholly since

afraid / plague dwelling / meadow acquire goods stocked / secretly lend / property occupation stallion dapple / was named overcoat / blue bore Bawdswell

fire-red pimply hot / sparrow scabby afraid

pimples lumps

mad

parrot

court persons whom the archdeacon—the justice of the court—suspects of offenses against canon law. By this time, however, summoners had generally transformed themselves into corrupt detectives who spied out offenders and blackmailed them by threats of summonses. 9. Cherubs, often depicted in art with red faces. 1. Uneven, partly hairless. 2. These are all ointments for diseases affecting the skin, probably diseases of venereal origin.

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234

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Can clepen "Watte" 3 as wel as can the Pope— But whoso coude in other thing him grope, 0 Thanne hadde he spent all his philosophye; 4 Ay Questio quid juris 5 wolde he crye. He was a gentil harlot 0 and a kinde; A bettre felawe sholde men nought finde: He wolde suffre, 0 for a quart of win, A good felawe to have his concubin A twelfmonth, and excusen him at the fulle; 6 Ful prively0 a finch eek coude he puile. 7 And if he foond° owher° a good felawe He wolde techen him to have noon awe In swich caas of the Ercedekenes curs, 8 But if 9 a mannes soule were in his purs, For in his purs he sholde ypunisshed be. "Purs is the Ercedekenes helle," saide he. But wel I woot he lied right in deede: Of cursing 0 oughte eech gilty man him drede, For curs wol slee° right as assoiling 0 savith— And also war him of a significavit. 1 In daunger 2 hadde he at his owene gise 0 The yonge girles of the diocise, And knew hir conseil, 0 and was al hir reed. 3 A gerland hadde he set upon his heed As greet as it were for an ale-stake, 4 A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake. With him ther rood a gentil Pardoner 5 Of Rouncival, his freend and his compeer, 0 That straight was comen fro the Court of Rome/ Ful Ioude he soong, 0 "Com hider, love, to me." This Somnour bar to him a stif burdoun: 7 Was nevere trompe 0 of half so greet a soun. This Pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex, But smoothe it heeng° as dooth a strike 0 of flex;° By ounces 8 heenge his lokkes that he hadde, And therwith he his shuldres overspradde, 0 But thinne it lay, by colpons, 0 oon by oon; But hood for jolitee 0 wered 0 he noon, For it was trussed up in his walet:° Him thoughte he rood al of the newe jet.° 3. Call out: "Walter"—like modern parrots' "Polly." 4. I.e., learning. 5. "What point of law does this investigation involve?" A phrase frequently used in ecclesiastical courts. 6. Fully. Ecclesiastical courts had jurisdiction over many offenses that today would come under civil law, including sexual offenses. 7. "To pull a finch" (pluck a bird) is to have sexual relations with a woman. 8. Archdeacon's sentence of excommunication. 9. Unless. 1. And also one should be careful of a significavit (the writ that transferred the guilty offender from the ecclesiastical to the civil arm for punishment).

rascal •permit

secretly found / anywhere

excommunication slay / absolution disposal secrets

comrade sang trumpet / hank / flax overspread strands nonchalance / wore pack fashion

2. Under his domination. 3. Was their chief source of advice. 4. A tavern was signalized by a pole ("ale-stake"), rather like a modern flagpole, projecting from its front wall; on this hung a garland, or "bush." 5. A Pardoner dispensed papal pardon for sins to those who contributed to the charitable institution that he was licensed to represent; this Pardoner purported to be collecting for the hospital of Roncesvalles ("Rouncival") in Spain, which had a London branch. 6. The papal court. 7. I.e., provided him with a strong bass accompaniment. 8. I.e., thin strands.

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THE GENERAL

685

Dischevelee 0 save his cappe he rood al bare. Swiche glaring yen hadde he as an hare. A vernicle 9 hadde he sowed upon his cappe, His walet biforn him in his lappe, BretfuP of pardon, come from Rome al hoot.° 690 A vois he hadde as smal° as hath a goot; 0 No beerd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have; As smoothe it was as it were late yshave: I trowe° he were a gelding 1 or a mare. But of his craft, fro Rerwik into Ware, 2 695 Ne was ther swich another pardoner; For in his male 0 he hadde a pilwe-beer 0 Which that he saide was Oure Lady veil; He saide he hadde a gobet 0 of the sail That Sainte Peter hadde whan that he wente 700 Upon the see, til Jesu Crist him hente. 0 He hadde a crois° of Iaton,° ful of stones, And in a glas he hadde pigges bones, But with thise relikes 3 whan that he foond° A poore person 0 dwelling upon Iond,4 705 Upon 0 a day he gat° him more moneye Than that the person gat in monthes twaye; And thus with feined 0 flaterye and japes 0 He made the person and the peple his apes.° But trewely to tellen at the laste, 710 He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste; Wel coude he rede a lesson and a storye,0 But alderbest 0 he soong an offertorye, 5 For wel he wiste° whan that song was songe, He moste° preche and wel affile 0 his tonge 715 To winne silver, as he ful wel coude— Therefore he soong the merierly0 and loude. Now have I told you soothly in a clause 6 Th'estaat, th'array, the nombre, and eek the cause Why that assembled was this compaignye 720 In Southwerk at this gentil hostelrye That highte the Tabard, faste° by the Belle; 7 But now is time to you for to telle How that we baren us 8 that ilke° night Whan we were in that hostelrye alight; 725 And after wol I telle of oure viage, 0 And al the remenant of oure pilgrimage. But first I praye you of youre curteisye That ye n'arette it nought my vilainye9 Though that I plainly speke in this matere 730 To telle you hir wordes and hir cheere, 0 9. Portrait of Christ's face as it was said to have been impressed on St. Veronica's handkerchief, i.e., a souvenir reproduction of a famous relic in Rome. 1. A neutered stallion, i.e., a eunuch. 2. I.e., from one end of England to the other. 3. Relics, i.e., the pigs' bones that the Pardoner represented as saints' bones.

PROLOGUE

235

with hair down

brimful / hot high-pitched / goat

believe

bag / pillowcase piece seized cross / brassy metal found parson in / got false / tricks dupes

liturgical

narrative best of all knew must / sharpen more merrily

close same trip

behavior

4. Upcountry. 5. Part of the mass sung before the offering of alms. 6. I.e., in a short space. 7. Another tavern in Southwark. 8. Bore ourselves. 9. That you do not attribute it to my boorishness.

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236

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Ne though I speke hir wordes proprely; 0 For this ye knowen also wel as I: Who so shal telle a tale after a man He moot 0 reherce, 0 as neigh as evere he can, Everich a word, if it be in his charge, 0 Al speke he 1 nevere so rudeliche and large, 0 Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe, Or feine 0 thing, or finde 0 wordes newe; He may nought spare 2 although he were his brother: He moot as wel saye oo word as another. Crist spak himself ful brode 0 in Holy Writ, And wel ye woot no vilainye0 is it; Eek Plato saith, who so can him rede, The wordes mote be cosin to the deede. Also I praye you to foryive it me Al° have I nat set folk in hir degree Here in this tale as that they sholde stonde: My wit is short, ye may wel understonde. Greet cheere made oure Host 3 us everichoon, And to the soper sette he us anoon. 0 He served us with vitaile 0 at the beste. Strong was the win, and wel to drinke us leste.° A semely man oure Hoste was withalle For to been a marchal 4 in an haile; A large man he was, with yen steepe, 0 A fairer burgeis 0 was ther noon in Chepe 5 — Bold of his speeche, and wis, and wel ytaught, And of manhood him lakkede right naught. Eek therto he was right a merye man, And after soper playen he bigan, And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges— Whan that we hadde maad oure rekeninges 6 — And saide thus, "Now, lordinges, trewely, Ye been to me right welcome, hertely.0 For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lie, I sawgh nat this yeer so merye a compaignye At ones in this herberwe 0 as is now. Fain 0 wolde I doon you mirthe, wiste I7 how. And of a mirthe I am right now bithought, To doon you ese, and it shal coste nought. "Ye goon to Canterbury—God you speede; The blisful martyr quite you youre meede. 8 And wel I woot as ye goon by the waye Ye shapen you9 to talen 0 and to playe, For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon To ride by the waye domb as stoon;° And therefore wol I maken you disport As I saide erst,° and doon you som confort; And if you liketh alle, by oon assent, 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Although he speak. I.e., spare anyone. The landlord of the Tabard Inn. Marshal, one who was in charge of feasts. Cheapside, business center of London.

6. 7. 8. 9.

accurately

must / repeat responsibility broadly make up / devise

broadly rudeness

although

at once it pleased

prominent burgher

Had paid our bills. If I knew. Pay you your reward. Intend.

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heartily

inn gladly

stone before

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THE GENERAL PROLOGUE

For to stonden at1 my juggement, And for to werken as I shall you saye, Tomorwe whan ye riden by the waye— Now by my fader 0 soule that is deed, But° ye be merye I wol yive you myn heed! 0 785 Holde up youre handes withouten more speeche." Oure counseil was nat longe for to seeche; 0 Us thought it was not worth to make it wis, 2 And graunted him withouten more avis,° And bade him saye his voirdit0 as him Ieste. 3 790 "Lordinges," quod he, "now herkneth for the beste; But taketh it nought, I praye you, in desdain. This is the point, to speken short and plain, That eech of you, to shorte 0 with oure waye In this viage, shal tellen tales twaye°— 795 To Canterburyward, I mene it so, And hoomward he shal tellen othere two, Of aventures that whilom 0 have bifalle; And which of you that bereth him best of alle— That is to sayn, that telleth in this cas 8oo Tales of best sentence 0 and most solas 0 — Shal have a soper at oure aller cost, 4 Here in this place, sitting by this post, Whan that we come again fro Canterbury. And for to make you the more mury° 805 I wol myself goodly0 with you ride— Right at myn owene cost—and be youre gide. And who so wol my juggement withsaye 0 Shal paye al that we spende by the waye. And if ye vouche sauf that it be so, 8io Telle me anoon, withouten wordes mo,° And I wol erly shape me 5 therefore." This thing was graunted and oure othes swore With ful glad herte, and prayden 6 him also That he wolde vouche sauf for to do so, 8i5 And that he wolde been oure governour, And of oure tales juge and reportour, 0 And sette a soper at a certain pris,° And we wol ruled been at his devis, 0 In heigh and lowe; and thus by oon assent 820 We been accorded to his juggement. And therupon the win was fet° anoon; We dronken and to reste wente eechoon 0 Withouten any lenger 0 taryinge. Amorwe 0 whan that day bigan to springe 825 Up roos oure Host and was oure aller cok, 7 And gadred us togidres in a flok, And forth we riden, a litel more than pas,° Unto the watering of Saint Thomas; 8

237

780

1. 2. of 3. 4.

Abide by. We didn't think it worthwhile to make an issue it. It pleased. At the cost of us all.

5. 6. 7. 8.

father's unless / head seek deliberation verdict

shorten two

once upon a time

meaning / delight

merry kindly contradict

accountant price disposal

fetched each one longer in the morning

walking pace

Prepare myself. I.e., we prayed. Was rooster for us all. A watering place near Southwark.

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238

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

And ther oure Host bigan his hors arreste, 0 And saide, "Lordes, herkneth if you Ieste:° Ye woot youre forward 0 and it you recorde: 9 If evensong and morwesong 0 accorde, 0 Lat see now who shal telle the firste tale. As evere mote° I drinken win or ale, Who so be rebel to my juggement Shal paye for al that by the way is spent. Now draweth cut er that we ferrer twinne:1 He which that hath the shorteste shal biginne. "Sire Knight," quod he, "my maister and my lord, Now draweth cut, for that is myn accord. 0 Cometh neer," quod he, "my lady Prioresse, And ye, sire Clerk, lat be youre shamefastnesse 0 — Ne studieth nought. Lay hand to, every man!" Anoon to drawen every wight bigan, And shortly for to tellen as it was Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas, 2 The soothe 0 is this, the cut fil° to the Knight; Of which ful blithe and glad was every wight, And telle he moste 0 his tale, as was resoun, By forward and by composicioun, 3 As ye han herd. What needeth wordes mo? And whan this goode man sawgh that it was so, As he that wis was and obedient To keepe his forward by his free assent, He saide, "Sin° I shal biginne the game, What, welcome be the cut, in Goddes name! Now lat us ride, and herkneth what I saye." And with that word we riden forth oure waye, And he bigan with right a merye cheere 0 His tale anoon, and saide as ye may heere.

halt it please agreement morning song / agree may

will todesty

truth / fell must

countenance

[Tlte Knight's Tale is a romance of 2 , 3 5 0 lines, which Chaucer had written before beginning The Canterbury Tales—one of several works assumed to be earlier that he inserted into the collection. It is probably the same story, with only minor revisions, that C h a u c e r referred to in Tlte Legend of Good Women as "al the love of Palamon and Arcite." These are the names of the two heroes of The Knight's Tale, kinsmen and best friends who are taken prisoner at the siege and destruction of ancient Thebes by Theseus, the ruler of Athens. Gazing out from their prison cell in a tower, they fall in love at first sight and almost at the same moment with Theseus's sister-in-law, Emily, who is taking an early-morning walk in a garden below their window. After a bitter rivalry, they are at last reconciled through a tournament in which Emily is the prize. Arcite wins the tournament but, as he lies dying after being thrown by his horse, he makes a noble speech encouraging Palamon and Emily to marry. T h e tale is an ambitious combination of classical setting and mythology, romance plot, and themes of fortune and destiny.]

9. You recall it. 1. Go farther. "Draweth cut": i.e., draw straws.

2. Whether it was luck, fate, or chance. 3. By agreement and compact.

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THE

MILLER'S

P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

239

The Miller's Prologue and Tale Tlte Miller's Tale belongs to a genre known as the "fabliau": a short story in verse that deals satirically, often grossly and fantastically as well as hilariously, with intrigues and deceptions about sex or money (and often both these elements in the same story). These are the tales Chaucer is anticipating in The General Prologue when he warns his presumably genteel audience that they must expect some rude speaking (see lines 727—44). An even more pointed apology follows at the end of The Miller's Prologue. Fabliau tales exist everywhere in oral literature; as a literary form they flourished in France, especially in the thirteenth century. By having Robin the Miller tell a fabliau to "quit" (to requite or pay back) the Knight's aristocratic romance, Chaucer sets up a dialectic between classes, genres, and styles that he exploits throughout The Canterbury Tales. The

Prologue

Whan that the Knight hadde thus his tale ytold, In al the route 0 nas° ther yong ne old group / was not That he ne saide it was a noble storye, And worthy for to drawen 0 to memorye, recall And namely 0 the gentils everichoon. especially laughed Oure Hoste lough 0 and swoor, "So mote I goon, 1 pouch This gooth aright: unbokeled is the male. 0 Lat see now who shal telle another tale. For trewely the game is wel bigonne. Now telleth ye, sire Monk, if that ye conne,° can Somwhat to quite 0 with the Knightes tale." repay The Millere, that for dronken 2 was al pale, So that unnethe 0 upon his hors he sat, with difficulty He no!de° avalen 0 neither hood ne hat, would not / take off Ne abiden no man for his curteisye, But in Pilates vois 3 he gan to crye, And swoor, "By armes 4 and by blood and bones, I can 0 a noble tale for the nones, know With which I wol now quite the Knightes tale." Oure Hoste sawgh that he was dronke of ale, And saide, "Abide, Robin, leve° brother, dear Som bettre man shal telle us first another. Abide, and lat us werken thriftily." 0 with propriety "By Goddes soule," quod he, "that wol nat I, For I wol speke or elles go my way." Oure Host answerde, "Tel on, a devele way!5 Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome." "Now herkneth," quod the Millere, "alle and some. But first I make a protestacioun 0 public affirmation That I am dronke: 1 knowe it by my soun.° tone of voice And therfore if that I misspeke 0 or saye, speak or say wrongly Wite it7 the ale of Southwerk, I you praye; 1. So might I walk—an oath. 2. I.e., drunkenness. 3. The harsh voice usually associated with the character of Pontius Pilate in the mystery plays.

4. 5. 6. 7.

I.e., by God's arms, a blasphemous oath. I.e., in the devil's name. Each and every one. Blame it on.

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240

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

For I wol telle a legende 0 and a Iif

Bothe of a carpenter and of his wif, How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe." 8 The Reeve answerde and saide, "Stint thy clappe! 9 Lat be thy lewed° dronken harlotrye. 0 It is a sinne and eek° a greet folye To apairen 0 any man or him defame, And eek to bringen wives in swich fame. 0 Thou maist ynough of othere thinges sayn." This dronken Millere spak ful soone again, And saide, "Leve 0 brother Osewold, Who hath no wif, he is no cokewold. 0 But I saye nat therfore that thou art oon. Ther ben ful goode wives many oon,° And evere a thousand goode ayains oon badde. That knowestou wel thyself but if thou madde.° Why artou angry with my tale now? I have a wif, pardee, 0 as wel as thou, Yit nolde 0 I, for the oxen in my plough, Take upon me more than ynough 0 As deemen of myself that I were oon: 1 I wol bileve wel that I am noon. An housbonde shal nought been inquisitif Of Goddes privetee, 0 nor of his wif. So 2 he may finde Goddes foison 0 there, Of the remenant 0 needeth nought enquere." 0 What sholde I more sayn but this Millere He nolde his wordes for no man forbere, But tolde his cherles tale in his manere. M'athinketh 0 that I shal reherce 0 it here, And therefore every gentil wight I praye, Deemeth nought, for Goddes love, that I saye Of yvel entente, but for° I moot reherse Hir tales alle, be they bet 0 or werse, Or elles falsen 0 som of my matere. And therfore, whoso list it nought yheere 0 Turne over the Ieef,° and chese 0 another tale, For he shal finde ynowe,0 grete and smale, Of storial 3 thing that toucheth gentilesse, 0 And eek moralitee and holinesse: Blameth nought me if that ye chese amis. The Millere is a cherl, ye knowe wel this, So was the Reeve eek, and othere mo, And harlotrye 0 they tolden bothe two. Aviseth you, 4 and putte me out of blame: And eek men shal nought maken ernest of game.

8. I.e., how a clerk made a fool of a carpenter. 9. Stop your chatter. I. To think that I were one (a cuckold).

saint's life

ignorant / obscenity also injure reputation dear cuclwld a one rave by God would not enough

secrets plenty rest / inquire

I regret / repeat because better falsify hear page / choose enough gentility

ribaldry

2. Provided that. 3. Historical, i.e., true. 4. Take heed.

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THE

M I L L E R ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

The

241

Tale

Whilom ther was dwelling at Oxenforde once upon a time A riche gnoP that gestes heeld to boorde, 5 churl And of his craft he was a carpenter. With him ther was dwelling a poore scoler, Hadde Ierned art, 6 but al his fantasye 0 desire Was turned for to lere 0 astrologye, learn And coude a certain of conclusiouns, To deemen by interrogaciouns, 7 If that men axed° him in certain houres asked Whan that men sholde have droughte or elles showres, Or if men axed him what shal bifalle Of every thing—I may nat rekene hem alle. called This clerk was cleped 0 hende 8 Nicholas. Of derne love he coude, and of solas, 9 secretive And therto he was sly and ful privee, 0 And lik a maide meeke for to see. A chambre hadde he in that hostelrye Allone, withouten any compaignye, sweet Ful fetisly ydight1 with herbes swoote, 0 And he himself as sweete as is the roote Of Iicoris or any setewale. 2 His Almageste3 and bookes grete and smale, His astrelabye, longing for 4 his art, His augrim stones, 5 Iayen faire apart On shelves couched 0 at his beddes heed; set His presse 0 ycovered with a falding reed; 6 storage chest And al above ther lay a gay sautrye, 0 psaltery (harp) On which he made a-nightes melodye So swetely that al the chambre roong,° rang 0

A n d A n g e l u s ad Virginem 7 he s o o n g ,

And after that he soong the Kinges Note: 8 Ful often blessed was his merye throte. And thus this sweete clerk his time spente After his freendes finding and his rente. 9 This carpenter hadde wedded newe° a wif Which that he loved more than his lif. Of eighteteene yeer she was of age; Jalous he was, and heeld hire narwe in cage, For she was wilde and yong, and he was old, And deemed himself been lik a cokewold. 1

5. I.e., took in boarders. 6. Who had completed the first stage of university education (the trivium). 7. I.e., and he knew a number of propositions on which to base astrological analyses (which would reveal the matters in the next three lines). 8. Courteous, handy, attractive. 9. I.e., he knew about secret love and pleasurable practices. 1. Elegantly furnished. 2. Setwall, a spice. 3. The 2nd-century treatise by Ptolemy, still the

lately

standard astronomy textbook. 4. Belonging to. "Astrelabye": astrolabe, an astronomical instrument. 5. Counters used in arithmetic. 6. Red coarse woolen cloth. 7. "The Angel to the Virgin," an Annunciation hymn. 8. Probably a popular song of the time. 9. In accordance with his friends' provision and his own income. 1. I.e., suspected of himself that he was like a cuckold.

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He knew nat Caton, 2 for his wit was rude, That bad men sholde wedde his similitude: 3 Men sholde wedden after hir estat, 4 For youthe and elde° is often at debat. But sith that he was fallen in the snare, He moste endure, as other folk, his care. Fair was this yonge wif, and therwithal As any wesele 0 hir body gent and smal. 5 weasel A ceint she wered, barred 6 al of silk; A barmcloth 0 as whit as morne° milk apron / morning Upon hir Iendes, 0 ful of many a gore;° loins / flounce Whit was hir smok,° and broiden 0 al bifore undergarment / embroidered And eek bihinde, on hir coler° aboute, collar OP col-blak silk, withinne and eek withoute; with The tapes 0 of hir white voluper 0 ribbons/cap Were of the same suite of 7 hir coler; Hir filet 0 brood 0 of silk and set ful hye; headband / broad And sikerly0 she hadde a likerous 0 ye; certainly / wanton Ful smale ypulled 8 were hir browes two, And tho were bent, 0 and blake as any slo.° arching / sloeberry She was ful more blisful on to see Than is the newe perejonette 0 tree, pear And softer than the wolle0 is of a wether; 0 wool / ram And by hir girdel 0 heeng 0 a purs of lether, belt / hung Tasseled with silk and perled with latoun. 9 In al this world, to seeken up and down, Ther nis no man so wis that coude thenche 0 imagine So gay a popelote 0 or swich 0 a wenche. doll / such Ful brighter was the shining of hir hewe Than in the Towr1 the noble 0 yforged newe. gold coin But of hir song, it was as loud and yerne° lively As any swalwe 0 sitting on a berne.° swallow / barn Therto she coude skippe and make game 0 play As any kide or calf folwing his dame. 0 mother Hir mouth was sweete as bragot or the meeth, 2 Or hoord of apples laid in hay or heeth.° heather Winsing 0 she was as is a joly° colt, skittish / high-spirited Long as a mast, and upright 0 as a bolt. 0 straight / arrow A brooch she bar upon hir Iowe coler As brood as is the boos 0 of a bokeler; 0 boss / shield Hir shoes were laced on hir Iegges hye. She was a primerole, 0 a piggesnye, 3 primrose For any lord to Ieggen 0 in his bedde, lay Or yit for any good yeman to wedde. again Now sire, and eft° sire, so bifel the cas That on a day this hende Nicholas 2. of 3. 4. 5. 6.

Dionysius Cato, the supposed author of a book maxims used in elementary education. C o m m a n d e d that one should wed his equal. Men should marry according to their condition. Slender and delicate. A belt she wore, with transverse stripes.

7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3.

The same kind as, i.e., black. Delicately plucked. I.e., with brassy spangles on it. The Tower of London, the Mint. "Bragot" and "meeth" are honey drinks. A pig's eye, a name for a common flower.

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FiP with this yonge wif to rage° and playe, Whil that hir housbonde was at Oseneye 4 (As clerkes been ful subtil and ful quainte), 0 And prively he caughte hire by the queinte, 5 And saide, "Ywis,0 but° if ich° have my wille, For derne° love of thee, lemman, I spille," 0 And heeld hire harde by the haunche-bones,° And saide, "Lemman,° love me al atones, 6 Or I wol dien, also 0 God me save." And she sproong 0 as a colt dooth in a trave,7 And with hir heed she wried° faste away; She saide, "I wol nat kisse thee, by my fay. 0 Why, lat be," quod she, "lat be, Nicholas! Or I wol crye 'Out, harrow, 0 and alias!' Do way youre handes, for your curteisye!" This Nicholas gan mercy for to crye, And spak so faire, and profred him so faste, 8 That she hir love him graunted atte Iaste, And swoor hir ooth by Saint Thomas of Kent 9 That she wolde been at his comandement, Whan that she may hir Ieiser1 wel espye. "Myn housbonde is so ful of jalousye That but ye waite° wel and been privee I woot right wel I nam but deed," 2 quod she. "Ye moste been ful derne 0 as in this cas." "Nay, therof care thee nought," quod Nicholas. "A clerk hadde litherly biset his while,3 But if he coude a carpenter bigile." And thus they been accorded and ysworn To waite° a time, as I have told biforn. Whan Nicholas hadde doon this everydeel,0 And thakked 0 hire upon the Iendes 0 weel, He kiste hire sweete, and taketh his sautrye, And playeth faste, and maketh melodye. Thanne fil° it thus, that to the parissh chirche, Cristes owene werkes for to wirche, 0 This goode wif wente on an haliday: 0 Hir forheed shoon as bright as any day, So was it wasshen whan she Ieet0 hir werk. Now was ther of that chirche a parissh clerk, 4 The which that was ycleped 0 Absolon: Crul° was his heer, and as the gold it shoon, And strouted 0 as a fanne 5 large and brode; Ful straight and evene lay his joly shode. 6 His rode° was reed, his yen greye as goos.° 4. A town near Oxford. 5. Elegant (thing); a euphemism for the female genitals. 6. Right now. 7. Frame for holding a horse to be shod. 8. I.e., made such vigorous advances. 9. Thomas a Becket. 1. I.e., opportunity.

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happened /flirt clever truly I unless 11 secret!die thighs sweetheart so sprang twisted faith help

he on guard secret

watch for every bit patted / loins

befell perform holy day left called curly spread out

complexion /goose

2. I am no more than dead, I am done for. 3. Poorly employed his time. 4. Assistant to the parish priest, not a cleric or student. 5. Wide-mouthed basket for separating grain from chaff. 6. Parting of the hair.

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With Poules window corven 7 on his shoos, In hoses 0 rede he wente fetisly. 0 stockings / elegantly Yclad he was ful smale° and proprely, finely Al in a kirteP of a light waget°— tunic / blue Ful faire and thikke been the pointes 8 set— And therupon he hadde a gay surplis, 0 surplice As whit as is the blosme upon the ris.° bough A merye child 0 he was, so God me save. young man Wel coude he Iaten blood, and clippe, 9 and shave, And maken a chartre of land, or acquitaunce; 1 In twenty manere 0 coude he trippe and daunce ways After the scole of Oxenforde tho,° then And with his legges casten 0 to and fro, prance And playen songes on a smal rubible; 0 fiddle Therto he soong somtime a loud quinible, 2 And as wel coude he playe on a giterne: 0 guitar In al the town nas brewhous ne taverne That he ne visited with his solas, 0 entertainment Ther any gailard tappestere 3 was. But sooth to sayn, he was somdeel squaimous 0 a bit squeamish OP farting, and of speeche daungerous. 4 about This Absolon, that joly° was and gay, pretty, amorous Gooth with a cencer 0 on the haliday, incense burner Cencing the wives of the parissh faste, And many a lovely look on hem he caste, And namely 0 on this carpenteres wif: especially To looke on hire him thoughte a merye lif. She was so propre 0 and sweete and likerous, 5 neat I dar wel sayn, if she hadde been a mous, And he a cat, he wolde hire hente 0 anoon. pounce on This parissh clerk, this joly Absolon, Hath in his herte swich a Iove-longinge° lovesickness That of no wif ne took he noon offringe— For curteisye he saide he wolde noon. The moone, whan it was night, ful brighte shoon, 0 shone And Absolon his giterne 0 hath ytake— guitar For paramours 0 he thoughte for to wake— love And forth he gooth, joliP and amorous, pretty Til he cam to the carpenteres hous, A Iitel after cokkes hadde ycrowe, And dressed him up by a shot-windowe 6 That was upon the carpenteres wal. He singeth in his vois gentil and smal,° dainty "Now dere lady, if thy wille be, I praye you that ye wol rewe° on me," have pity Ful wel accordant to his giterninge. 7 This carpenter awook and herde him singe, 7. Carved with intricate designs, like the tracery in the windows of St. Paul's. 8. Laces for fastening the tunic and holding up the hose. 9. Let blood and give haircuts. Bleeding was a medical treatment performed by barbers. 1. Legal release. "Chartre": deed.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Part requiring a very high voice. Gay barmaid. Prudish about (vulgar) talk. Wanton, appetizing. Took his position by a hinged window. In harmony with his guitar playing.

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And spak unto his wif, and saide anoon, "What, Alison, heerestou nought Absolon That chaunteth thus under oure bowres 0 wal?" And she answerde hir housbonde therwithal, "Yis, God woot, John, I heere it everydeel." 0 This passeth forth. What wol ye bet than weel? 8 Fro day to day this joly Absolon So woweth 0 hire that him is wo-bigoon: He waketh 0 al the night and al the day; He kembed 0 his lokkes brode 9 and made him gay; He woweth hire by menes and brocage, 1 And swoor he wolde been hir owene page 0 He singeth, brokking 0 as a nightingale; He sente hire piment, 0 meeth,° and spiced ale, And wafres 0 piping hoot out of the gleede; 0 And for she was of towne, 2 he profred meede°— For som folk wol be wonnen for richesse, And som for strokes, 0 and som for gentilesse. Somtime to shewe his Iightnesse and maistrye, 3 He playeth Herodes 4 upon a scaffold 0 hye. But what availeth him as in this cas? She Ioveth so this hende Nicholas That Absolon may blowe the bukkes horn; 5 He ne hadde for his labour but a scorn. And thus she maketh Absolon hir ape, 6 And al his ernest turneth til° a jape.° Ful sooth is this proverbe, it is no lie; Men saith right thus: "Alway the nye slye Maketh the ferre Ieve to be loth." 7 For though that Absolon be wood 0 or wroth, By cause that he fer was from hir sighte, This nye° Nicholas stood in his lighte. Now beer 0 thee wel, thou hende Nicholas, For Absolon may waile and singe alias. And so bifel it on a Saterday This carpenter was goon til Oseney, And hende Nicholas and Alisoun Accorded been to this conclusioun, That Nicholas shal shapen 0 hem a wile0 This sely8 jalous housbonde to bigile, And if so be this game wente aright, She sholden sleepen in his arm al night— For this was his desir and hire0 also. And right anoon, withouten wordes mo, This Nicholas no lenger wolde tarye, But dooth ful softe unto his chambre carye Bothe mete and drinke for a day or twaye, 8. Better than well. 9. I.e., wide-spreading. 1. By go-betweens and agents. 2. Because she was a town woman. 3. Facility and virtuosity. 4. Herod, a role traditionally played as a bully in the mystery plays.

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bedroom's every bit

stays awake combed personal servant trilling spiced wine / mead pastries / coals money blows (force) platform, stage

to / joke

furious nearby bear

arrange / trick

hers

5. Blow the buck's horn, i.e., go whistle, waste his time. 6. I.e., thus she makes a monkey out of Absolon. 7. Always the sly man at hand makes the distant dear one hated. 8. Poor innocent.

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And to hir housbonde bad hire for to saye, If that he axed after Nicholas, She sholde saye she niste° wher he was— Of al that day she sawgh him nought with ye: She trowed 0 that he was in maladye, For for no cry hir maide coude him calle, He nolde answere for no thing that mighte falle. 0 This passeth forth al thilke0 Saterday That Nicholas stille in his chambre lay, And eet,° and sleep, 0 or dide what him leste, 9 Til Sonday that the sonne gooth to reste. This sely carpenter hath greet mervaile Of Nicholas, or what thing mighte him aile, And saide, "I am adrad,° by Saint Thomas, It stondeth nat aright with Nicholas. God shilde 0 that he deide sodeinly! This world is now ful tikel,° sikerly: I sawgh today a corps yborn to chirche That now a° Monday last I sawgh him wirche. 0 Go up," quod he unto his knave 0 anoon, "Clepe 0 at his dore or knokke with a stoon. 0 Looke how it is and tel me boldely." This knave gooth him up ful sturdily, And at the chambre dore whil that he stood He cride and knokked as that he were wood, 0 "What? How? What do ye, maister Nicholay? How may ye sleepen al the longe day?" But al for nought: he herde nat a word. An hole he foond ful lowe upon a boord, Ther as the cat was wont in for to creepe, And at that hole he looked in ful deepe, And atte Iaste he hadde of him a sighte. This Nicholas sat evere caping 0 uprighte As he hadde kiked 0 on the newe moone. Adown he gooth and tolde his maister soone In what array 0 he saw this ilke° man. This carpenter to blessen him1 bigan, And saide, "Help us, Sainte Frideswide! 2 A man woot Iitel what him shal bitide. This man is falle, with his astromye, 0 In som woodnesse 0 or in som agonye. I thoughte ay° wel how that it sholde be: Men sholde nought knowe of Goddes privetee. 0 Ye, blessed be alway a lewed° man That nought but only his bileve 0 can. 0 So ferde° another clerk with astromye: He walked in the feeldes for to prye0 Upon the sterres, 0 what ther sholde bifalle, Til he was in a marie-pit 3 yfalle— He saw nat that. But yit, by Saint Thomas, 9. He wanted. 1. Cross himself.

didn't know believed happen this ate / slept

forbid precarious on / work manservant call / stone

mad

condition / same

astronomy madness always secrets ignorant creed / knows fared gaze stars

2. Patron saint of Oxford. 3. Pit from which a fertilizing clay is dug.

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Me reweth sore 4 for hende Nicholas. He shal be rated of 5 his studying, If that I may, by Jesus, hevene king! Get me a staf that I may underspore, 0 Whil that thou, Robin, hevest 0 up the dore. He shal 6 out of his studying, as I gesse." And to the chambre dore he gan him dresse. 7 His knave was a strong carl° for the nones, 0 And by the haspe he haaP it up atones: Into 0 the floor the dore fil° anoon. This Nicholas sat ay as stille as stoon, And evere caped up into the air. This carpenter wende 0 he were in despair, And hente 0 him by the shuldres mightily, And shook him harde, and cride spitously, 0 "What, Nicholay, what, how! What! Looke adown! Awaak and thenk on Cristes passioun! 8 I crouche 9 thee from elves and fro wightes." 0 Therwith the nightspel saide he anoonrightes' On foure halves 0 of the hous aboute, And on the thresshfold 0 on the dore withoute: "Jesu Crist and Sainte Benedight, 0 Blesse this hous from every wikked wight! For nightes nerye the White Pater Noster. 2 Where wentestou, 0 thou Sainte Petres soster? 0 And at the laste this hende Nicholas Gan for to sike° sore, and saide, "Alias, Shal al the world be lost eftsoones 0 now?" This carpenter answerde, "What saistou? What, thenk on God as we doon, men that swinke." 0 This Nicholas answerde, "Fecche me drinke, And after wol I speke in privetee Of certain thing that toucheth me and thee. I wol telle it noon other man, certain." This carpenter gooth down and comth again, And broughte of mighty0 ale a large quart, And when that eech of hem hadde dronke his part, This Nicholas his dore faste shette, 0 And down the carpenter by him he sette, And saide, "John, myn hoste IieP and dere, Thou shalt upon thy trouthe 0 swere me here That to no wight thou shalt this conseiP wraye; 0 For it is Cristes conseil that I saye, And if thou telle it man, 3 thou art forlore, 0 For this vengeance thou shalt have therfore, 4. I sorely pity. 5. Scolded for. 6. I.e., shall come. 7. Took his stand. 8. I.e., the Crucifixion. 9. Make the sign of the cross on. 1. The night-charm he said right away (to ward off evil spirits). 2. Pater Noster is Latin for "Our Father," the

247

pry up heave fellow /purpose heaved on I fell thought seized vehemently wicked creatures sides threshold Benedict did you go/sister sigh again work

strong shut beloved word of honor secret I disclose lost

beginning of the Lord's Prayer. The line is obscure, but a conjectural reading would be, "May the White 'Our Father' (or 'Our White Father') [either a prayer or the personification of a protecting power] defend [nerye] (us) against nights." The "nightspel" is a jumble of Christian references and pagan superstition. 3. To anyone.

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400

405

410

4i5

420

425

430

435

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4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

That if thou wraye me, thou shalt be wood." 4 "Nay, Crist forbede it, for his holy blood," Q u o d tho this sely° man. "I nam no Iabbe,° innocent / tell-tale And though I saye, I nam nat lief to gabbe. 5 Say what thou wilt, I shal it nevere telle To child ne wif, by him that harwed helle." 6 "Now John," quod Nicholas, "I wol nought lie. I have yfounde in myn astrologye, As I have looked in the moone bright, That now a Monday next, at quarter night, 7 Shal falle a rain, and that so wilde and wood, 0 furious That half so greet was nevere Noees° flood. Noah's This world," he saide, "in lasse 0 than an hour less Shal al be dreint, 0 so hidous is the showr. drowned Thus shal mankinde drenche 0 and Iese 0 hir Iif." drown /lose This carpenter answerde, "Alias, my wif! And shal she drenche? Alias, myn Alisoun!" For sorwe of this he fil almost 8 adown, And saide, "Is there no remedye in this cas?" "Why yis, for 9 Gode," quod hende Nicholas, "If thou wolt werken after lore and reed 1 — Thou maist nought werken after thyn owene heed;° head For thus saith Salomon that was ful trewe, 'Werk al by conseil and thou shalt nought rewe.'° be sorry And if thou werken wolt by good conseil, I undertake, withouten mast or sail, Yit shal I save hire and thee and me. Hastou nat herd how saved was Noee Whan that oure Lord hadde warned him biforn That al the world with water sholde be lorn?" 0 tost "Yis," quod this carpenter, "ful yore° ago." "Hastou nat herd," quod Nicholas, "also The sorwe of Noee with his felaweshipe? Er° that he mighte gete his wif to shipe, before Him hadde levere, 2 1 dar wel undertake, At thilke time than alle his wetheres 3 blake That she hadde had a ship hirself allone. 4 And therfore woostou 0 what is best to doone? do you know This axeth° haste, and of an hastif 0 thing requires / urgent Men may nought preche or maken tarying. Anoon go gete us faste into this in° A kneeding trough or elles a kimelin 0 brewing tub For eech of us, but looke that they be large, 0 wide In whiche we mowen swimme as in a barge, 5 And han therinne vitaile suffisaunt 6 But for a day—fy° on the remenaunt! fie

G o mad. And though I say it myself, I don't like to gossip. By Him that despoiled hell—i.e., Christ. I.e., shortly before dawn. Almost fell. I.e., by. Act according to learning and advice.

2. He had rather. 3. Rams. I.e., he'd have given all the black rams he had. 4. The reluctance of Noah's wife to board the ark is a traditional comic theme in the mystery plays. 5. In which we can float as in a vessel. 6. Sufficient food.

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The water shal aslake 0 and goon away Aboute prime 7 upon the nexte day. But Robin may nat wite° of this, thy knave, Ne eek thy maide Gille I may nat save. Axe nought why, for though thou axe me, I wol nought tellen Goddes privetee. 0 Suffiseth thee, but if thy wittes madde, 0 To han° as greet a grace as Noee hadde. Thy wif shal I wel saven, out of doute. Go now thy way, and speed thee heraboute. But whan thou hast for hire 0 and thee and me Ygeten us thise kneeding-tubbes three, Thanne shaltou hangen hem in the roof ful hye, That no man of oure purveyance 0 espye. And whan thou thus hast doon as I have said, And hast oure vitaile faire in hem ylaid, And eek an ax to smite the corde atwo, Whan that the water comth that we may go, And broke an hole an heigh 8 upon the gable Unto the gardinward, 9 over the stable, That we may freely passen forth oure way, Whan that the grete showr is goon away, T h a n n e shaltou swimme as merye, I undertake, As dooth the white doke 0 after hir drake. Thanne wol I clepe, 0 'How, Alison? How, John? Be merye, for the flood wol passe anoon.' And thou wolt sayn, 'Hail, maister Nicholay! G o o d morwe, I see thee wel, for it is day!' And thanne shal we be lordes al oure lif Of al the world, as Noee and his wif. But of oo thing I warne thee ful right: Be wel avised 0 on that ilke night That we been entred into shippes boord That noon of us ne speke nought a word, Ne clepe, ne crye, but been in his prayere, For it is Goddes owene heeste dere. 1 Thy wif and thou mote hange fer atwinne, 2 For that bitwixe you shal be no sinne— Namore in looking than ther shal in deede. This ordinance is said: go, God thee speede. Tomorwe at night whan men been alle asleepe, Into oure kneeding-tubbes wol we creepe, And sitten there, abiding Goddes grace. Go now thy way, I have no Ienger space 0 To make of this no Ienger sermoning. Men sayn thus: 'Send the wise and say no thing.' Thou art so wis it needeth thee nat teche: Go save oure lif, and that I thee biseeche." 7. 9 A . M . 8. On high. 9. Toward the garden.

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diminish know

secrets go mad have

her

preparations

1. Precious commandment. 2. Far apart.

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duck call

warned

time

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This sely carpenter gooth forth his way: Ful ofte he saide alias and wailaway, And to his wif he tolde his privetee, And she was war," and knew it bet° than he, What al this quainte cast was for to saye. 3 But nathelees she ferde° as she wolde deye, And saide, "Alias, go forth thy way anoon. Help us to scape, 0 or we been dede eechoon. I am thy trewe verray wedded wif: Go, dere spouse, and help to save oure lif." Lo, which a greet thing is affeccioun! 0 Men may dien of imaginacioun, So deepe° may impression be take. This sely carpenter biginneth quake; Him thinketh verrailiche 0 that he may see Noees flood come walwing 0 as the see To drenchen 0 Alison, his hony dere. He weepeth, waileth, maketh sory cheere; He siketh 0 with ful many a sory swough, 0 And gooth and geteth him a kneeding-trough, And after a tubbe and a kimelin, And prively he sente hem to his in,° And heeng° hem in the roof in privetee; His° owene hand he made laddres three, To climben by the ronges 0 and the stalkes 0 Unto the tubbes hanging in the balkes,° And hem vitailed, 0 bothe trough and tubbe, With breed and cheese and good ale in a jubbe,° Suffising right ynough as for a day. But er° that he hadde maad al this array, He sente his knave, and eek his wenche also, Upon his neede 4 to London for to go. And on the Monday whan it drow to 5 nighte, He shette 0 his dore withouten candel-Iighte, And dressed 0 alle thing as it sholde be, And shortly up they clomben 0 alle three. They seten° stille wel a furlong way. 6 "Now, Pater Noster, clum," 7 saide Nicholay, And " C l u m " quod John, and " C l u m " saide Alisoun. This carpenter saide his devocioun, And stille he sit° and biddeth 0 his prayere, Awaiting on the rain, if he it heere.° The dede sleep, for wery bisinesse, Fil° on this carpenter right as I gesse Aboute corfew time, 8 or litel more. For travailing of his gost 9 he groneth sore, And eft° he routeth, 0 for his heed mislay. 1 Down of the laddre stalketh Nicholay, 3. What all this clever plan meant. 4. On an errand for him. 5. Drew toward. 6. The time it takes to go a furlong (i.e., a few minutes).

7. 8. 9. I.

aware / better acted escape

emotion deeply truly rolling drown sighs

I groan

dwelling hung with his rungs / uprights rafters victualed jug before

shut arranged climbed sat

sits / prays might hear fell

then / snores

Hush (?). "Pater Noster": Our Father. Probably about 8 P.M. Affliction of his spirit. Lay in the wrong position.

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And Alison ful softe adown she spedde: Withouten wordes mo they goon to bedde Ther as the carpenter is wont to lie. Ther was the revel and the melodye, And thus lith° Alison and Nicholas In bisinesse of mirthe and of solas, 0 Til that the belle of Laudes 2 gan to ringe, And freres° in the chauncel 0 gonne singe. This parissh clerk, this amorous Absolon, That is for love alway so wo-bigoon, Upon the Monday was at Oseneye, With compaignye him to disporte and playe, And axed upon caas a cloisterer 3 Ful prively after John the carpenter; And he drow him apart out of the chirche, And saide, "I noot: 4 I sawgh him here nought wirche 0 Sith Saterday. I trowe that he be went For timber ther oure abbot hath him sent. For he is wont for timber for to go, And dwellen atte grange 5 a day or two. Or elles he is at his hous, certain. Where that he be I can nought soothly sayn." This Absolon ful jolif was and light, 6 And thoughte, "Now is time to wake al night, For sikerly, 0 I sawgh him nought stiringe Aboute his dore sin day bigan to springe. So mote° I thrive, I shal at cokkes crowe Ful prively knokken at his windowe That stant 0 ful Iowe upon his bowres 0 wal. To Alison now wol I tellen al My love-longing,° for yet I shal nat misse That at the leeste way 7 I shal hire kisse. S o m manere confort shal I have, parfay. 0 My mouth hath icched al this longe day: That is a signe of kissing at the leeste. Al night me mette 8 eek I was at a feeste. Therfore I wol go sleepe an hour or twaye, And al the night thanne wol I wake and playe." Whan that the firste cok hath crowe, anoon Up rist° this joly lovere Absolon, And him arrayeth gay at point devis. 9 But first he cheweth grain 1 and licoris, To smellen sweete, er he hadde kembd° his heer. Under his tonge a trewe-Iove 2 he beer, 0 For therby wende 0 he to be gracious. 0 He rometh 0 to the carpenteres hous, And stille he stant 0 under the shot-windowe— 2. The first church service of the day, before daybreak. 3. Here a member of the religious order of Osney Abbey. "Upon caas": by chance. 4. Don't know. 5. The outlying farm belonging to the abbey.

6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2.

251

lies pleasure friars / chancel

work

certainly may stands / bedroom's lovesickness in faith

rises

combed bore supposed / pleasing strolls stands

Was very amorous and cheerful. I.e., at least. I dreamed. To perfection. Grain of paradise; a spice. Sprig of a cloverlike plant.

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252

590

595

600

605

6io

6i5

620

625

630

635

3. 4. 5. 6.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Unto his brest it raughte, 0 it was so lowe— And ofte he cougheth with a semisoun. 0 "What do ye, hony-comb, sweete Alisoun, My faire brid, 3 my sweete cinamome? 0 Awaketh, Iemman 0 myn, and speketh to me. Wel litel thinken ye upon my wo That for your love I swete 0 ther I go. No wonder is though that I sweite 0 and swete: I moorne as doth a Iamb after the tete. 0 Ywis, Iemman, I have swich love-Ionginge, That Iik a turtle 0 trewe is my moorninge: I may nat ete namore than a maide." " G o fro the windowe, Jakke fool," she saide. "As help me God, it wol nat be com-pa-me.° I love another, and elles I were to blame, Wel bet° than thee, by J e s u , Absolon. Go forth thy way or I wol caste a stoon, And lat me sleepe, a twenty devele way." 4 "Alias," quod Absolon, "and wailaway, That trewe love was evere so yvele biset. 5 T h a n n e kis me, sin that it may be no bet, For J e s u s love and for the love of me." "Woltou thanne go thy way therwith?" quod she. "Ye, certes, Iemman," quod this Absolon. "Thanne maak thee redy," quod she. "I come anoon." And unto Nicholas she saide stille, 0 "Now hust,° and thou shalt laughen al thy fille." This Absolon down sette him on his knees, And said, "I am a lord at alle degrees, 6 For after this I hope ther cometh more. Lemman, thy grace, and sweete brid, thyn ore!" 0 The windowe she undooth, and that in haste. "Have do," quod she, "come of and speed thee faste, Lest that oure neighebores thee espye." This Absolon gan wipe his mouth ful drye: Derk was the night as pich or as the cole, And at the windowe out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, 7 But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers, Ful savouriy, 0 er he were war of this. Abak he sterte, 0 and thoughte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no beerd. 0 He felte a thing al rough and longe yherd,° And saide, "Fy, alias, what have I do?" "Teehee," quod she, and clapte the windowe to. And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas. 8 "A beerd, a beerd!" 9 quod hende Nicholas, "By Goddes corpus, 0 this gooth faire and weel." This sely Absolon herde everydeel, 0

Bird or bride. In the name of twenty devils. Ill-used. In every way.

reached small sound cinnamon sweetheart sweat melt teat dove

come-kiss-me better

quietly hush

mercy

with relish started beard haired

body every bit

7. It befell him neither better nor worse. 8. I.e., walking sadly. 9. A trick (slang), but with a play on line 629.

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And on his lippe he gan for anger bite, And to himself he saide, "I shal thee quite.'" 3 repay Who rubbeth now, who froteth 0 now his Iippes wipes With dust, with sond,° with straw, with cloth, with chippes, sand But Absolon, that saith ful ofte alias? "My soule bitake 0 I unto Satanas, 0 commit / Satan But me were Ievere 1 than all this town," quod he, "Of this despit 0 awroken 0 for to be. insult /avenged Alias," quod he, "alias I ne hadde ybieint!" 0 turned aside His hote love was cold and al yqueint, 0 quenched For fro that time that he hadde kist hir ers Of paramours he sette nought a leers,2 For he was heled 0 of his maladye. cured Ful ofte paramours he gan defye,° renounce And weep° as dooth a child that is ybete. wept A softe paas 3 he wente over the streete Until 0 a smith men clepen daun Gervais, 4 to That in his forge smithed plough harneis: 0 equipment He sharpeth shaar and cultour 5 bisily. This Absolon knokketh al esily, 0 quietly And saide, "Undo, Gervais, and that anoon." 0 at once "What, who artou?" "It am I, Absolon." "What, Absolon? What, Cristes sweete tree! 0 cross Why rise ye so rathe? 0 Ey, benedicite, 0 early / bless me What aileth you? S o m gay girl, G o d it woot, Hath brought you thus upon the viritoot. 6 By Sainte Note, ye woot wel what I mene." This Absolon ne roughte nat a bene 7 Of al his play. No word again he yaf: He hadde more tow on his distaf 8 T h a n Gervais knew, and saide, "Freend so dere, This hote cultour in the chimenee 0 here, fireplace 9 As Iene it me: I have therwith to doone. I wol bringe it thee again ful soone." Gervais answerde, "Certes, were it gold, Or in a poke nobles alle untold, 1 Thou sholdest have, as I am trewe smith. Ey, Cristes fo, 2 what wol ye do therwith?" "Therof," quod Absolon, "be as be may. I shal wel telle it thee another day." And caughte the cultour by the colde stele. 0 handle Ful softe out at the dore he gan to stele, And wente unto the carpenteres wal: He cougheth first and knokketh therwithal Upon the windowe, right as he dide er.° before This Alison answerde, "Who is ther That knokketh so? I warante 3 it a thief." I. I had rather. 2. He didn't care a piece of cress for woman's love. 3. I.e., quiet walk. 4. Master Gervais. 5. He sharpens plowshare and coulter (the turf cutter on a plow). 6. I.e., on the prowl.

7. 8. 9. I. 2. 3.

Didn't care a bean. I.e., more on his mind. I.e., please lend. Or gold coins all uncounted in Foe, i.e., Satan. I.e., wager.

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254

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"Why, nay," q u o d he, " G o d woot, my sweete lief,° I am thyn Absolon, my dereling. 0 Of gold," q u o d he, "I have thee brought a ring— My m o d e r yaf it me, so G o d me save; Ful fin it is a n d therto wel ygrave: 0 This wol I yiven thee if thou me kisse." T h i s N i c h o l a s was risen for to pisse, And thoughte he wolde a m e n d e n 4 al the j a p e : 0 He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape. A n d up the windowe dide he hastily, A n d out his ers he putteth prively, Over the buttok to the haunche-boon. And therwith s p a k this clerk, this Absolon, " S p e e k , sweete brid, I noot nought wher thou art." This Nicholas a n o o n Ieet flee 5 a fart As greet as it h a d d e been a thonder-dent° T h a t with the strook he was almost yblent, 0 And he was redy with his iren hoot,° And N i c h o l a s a m i d d e the ers he smoot:° OP gooth the skin an hande-brede° aboute; T h e hote cultour brende so his toute° T h a t for the smert° he wende for to 6 die; As he were wood 0 for wo he gan to crye, "Help! Water! Water! Help, for G o d d e s herte!" This carpenter out of his slomber sterte, And herde oon cryen "Water!" as he were wood, And thoughte, "Alias, now c o m e t h Noweles 7 flood!" He sette him up 8 withoute wordes mo, A n d with his ax he smoot the corde atwo, And down gooth al: he foond neither to selle Ne breed ne ale til he c a m to the celle, 9 U p o n the floor, and ther a s w o u n e 0 he lay. Up sterte hire 1 Alison a n d Nicholay, And criden " O u t " a n d "Harrow" in the streete. T h e neighebores, bothe s m a l e a n d grete, In ronnen for to gauren 0 on this m a n T h a t a s w o u n e lay bothe pale a n d wan, For with the fal he brosten 0 hadde his arm; But stonde he m o s t e ° unto his owene harm, For whan he s p a k he was a n o o n bore down 2 With 0 h e n d e N i c h o l a s a n d Alisoun: They tolden every m a n that he was w o o d — He was agast so of Noweles flood, T h u r g h fantasye, that of his vanitee 0 He hadde ybought him kneeding-tubbes three, And hadde h e m hanged in the roof above, And that he prayed hem, for G o d d e s love, To sitten in the roof, par compaignye. 3 4. Improve on. 5. Let fly. 6. Thought he would. 7. The carpenter is confusing Noah and Noel (Christmas). 8. Got up.

dear darling

engraved

joke

thunderbolt blinded hot smote off / Imndsbreadth buttocks pain crazy

in a faint

gape broken must by

folly

9. He found time to sell neither bread nor ale until he arrived at the foundation, i.e., he did not take time out. 1. Started. 2. Refuted. 3. For company's sake.

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T h e folk gan laughen at his fantasye. Into the roof they kiken° and they c a p e , ° And turned al his h a r m unto a j a p e , ° For what so that this carpenter answerde, It was for nought: no m a n his reson° herde; With othes grete he was so sworn adown, T h a t he was holden 0 wood in al the town, For every clerk anoonright heeld with other: T h e y saide, " T h e m a n was wood, my leve brother," And every wight gan laughen at this strif.° T h u s swived 4 was the carpenteres wif For al his keeping 0 a n d his jalousye, And Absolon hath kist hir nether 0 ye, And Nicholas is scalded in the toute: This tale is doon, a n d G o d save al the route! 0

EPILOGUE

255

peer/gape jolte argument considered

fuss guarding lower company

The Man of Law's Epilogue The Reeve has taken The Miller's Tale personally and retaliates with a fabliau about a miller whose wife and daughter are seduced by two clerks. Next the Cook begins yet another fabliau, which breaks off after fifty-five lines, thereby closing Fragment I of Tlte Canterbury Tales. Chaucer may never have settled on a final order for the tales he completed, but all modern editors, following many manuscripts, agree in putting Tlte Man of Law's Tale next. The Man of Law tells a long moralistic tale about the many trials of a heroine called Constance for the virtue she personifies. This tale is finished, but Fragment II shows that Tlte Canterbury Tales reaches us as a work in progress, which Chaucer kept revising, creating many problems for its scribes and editors. In the link that introduces him, the Man of Law says he will tell a tale in prose, but the story of Constance turns out to be in a seven-line stanza called rhyme royal. That inconsistency has led to speculation that at one time the Man of Law was assigned a long prose allegory, which Chaucer later reassigned to his own pilgrim persona. In thirty-five manuscripts The Man of Law's Tale is followed by an Epilogue omitted in twenty-two of the manuscripts that contain more or less complete versions of The Canterbury Tales. The often-missing link begins with the Host praising the Man of Law's Tale and calling upon the Parson to tell another uplifting tale. The Parson, however, rebukes the Host for swearing. The Host angrily accuses the Parson of being a "Lollard," a derogatory term for followers of the reformist polemicist John Wycliffe. This is Chaucer's only overt reference to an important religious and political controversy that anticipates the sixteenth-century English Reformation. A third speaker, about whose identity the manuscripts disagree (six read "Summoner"; twenty-eight, "Squire"; one, "Shipman"), interrupts with the promise to tell a merry tale. Several modern editions, including the standard one used by scholars, print The Man of Law's Epilogue at the end of Fragment II, and begin Fragment III with The Wife of Bath's Prologue. Because the third speaker in the former sounds like the Wife, an argument has been made that she is the pilgrim who refers to "My joly body" (line 23), who at one time told a fabliau tale in which the narrator speaks of married women in the first person plural ("we," "us," "our"). Chaucer, so the argument goes, later gave that story to the Shipman. If in fact the Wife of Bath did once tell what is now Tlte Shipman's Tale, that would be an indication of the exciting new possibilities he discovered in the literary form he had invented.

4. The vulgar verb for having sexual intercourse.

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O u r e H o s t u p o n his stiropes stood anoon A n d saide, " G o o d e m e n , herkneth everichoon, T h i s was a thrifty 0 tale for the nones, 0 proper / occasion Sire parissh Preest," q u o d he, "for G o d d e s bones, Tel us a tale as was thy forward 0 yore. 0 agreement / earlier I see wel that ye lerned m e n in lore 0 teaching C a n 0 m u c h e good, by G o d d e s dignitee." know T h e Person him answerde, "Benedicite, 0 bless me W h a t aileth the m a n so sinfully to swere?" O u r e H o s t answerede, "O Jankin, be ye there? 1 I smelle a lollere 2 in the wind," q u o d he. "Now, g o o d e m e n , " q u o d oure Hoste, "herkneth me: Abideth, for G o d d e s digne 0 p a s s i o u n , worthy For we shal have a predicacioun. 0 sermon T h i s lollere here wol p r e c h e n us somwhat." "Nay, by my fader soule, that shal he nat," S a i d e the [Wif of Bathe], 3 "here shal he nat preche: He shal no gospel glosen 4 here ne teche. We leven 0 alle in the grete G o d , " q u o d [she]. believe " H e wolde sowen s o m difficultee Or sprengen cokkel in oure clene corn. 5 A n d therfore, Host, I warne thee biforn, My joly body shal a tale telle A n d I shal clinken you so merye a belle T h a t I shal waken al this compaignye. B u t it shal nat b e e n of philosophye, Ne physlias, 6 ne termes quainte of Iawe: T h e r e is but litel Latin in my ma we. stomach

The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale In creating the Wife of Bath, Chaucer drew upon a centuries-old tradition of antifeminist writings that was particularly nurtured by the medieval church. In their conviction that the rational, intellectual, spiritual, and, therefore, higher side of human nature predominated in men, whereas the irrational, material, earthly, and, therefore, lower side of human nature predominated in women, St. Paul and the early Church fathers exalted celibacy and virginity above marriage, although they were also obliged to concede the necessity and sanctity of matrimony. In the fourth century, a monk called Jovinian wrote a tract in which he apparently presented marriage as a positive good rather than as a necessary evil. That tract is known only through St. Jerome's extreme attack upon it. Jerome's diatribe and other antifeminist and antimatrimonial literature provided Chaucer with a rich body of bookish male "auctoritee" (authority) against which the Wife of Bath asserts her female "experience" and defends her rights and justifies her life as a five-time married woman. In her polemical wars with medieval clerks and her matrimonial wars with her five husbands, the last of whom was once a clerk of Oxenford, the Wife of Bath seems ironically to confirm 1. Is that where you're coming from? "Jankin": Johnny; derogatory name for a priest. 2. Contemptuous term for a religious reformer considered radical; a heretic. 3. On the speaker here, see discussion in headnote.

4. Gloss, with the sense of distorting the meaning of scripture. 5. Sow tares (impure doctrine) in our pure wheat. 6. No such word exists. The speaker is coining a professional-sounding term in philosophy, law, or medicine.

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the accusations of the clerks, but at the same time she succeeds in satirizing the shallowness of the stereotypes of women and marriage in antifeminist writings and in demonstrating how much the largeness and complexity of her own character rise above that stereotype.

The

Prologue

Experience, though noon auctoritee Were in this world, is right ynough for me To speke of wo that is in mariage: For lordinges, 0 sith I twelf yeer was of age— 5 Thanked be God that is eterne on live— Housbondes at chirche dore 1 I have had five (If I so ofte mighte han wedded be), And alle were worthy men in hir degree. But me was told, certain, nat longe agoon is, 10 That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but ones 0 To wedding in the Cane 2 of Galilee, That by the same ensample 0 taughte he me That I ne sholde wedded be but ones. Herke eek,° lo, which 0 a sharp word for the nones, 3 is Biside a welle, Jesus, God and man, Spak in repreve 0 of the Samaritan: "Thou hast yhad five housbondes," quod he, "And that ilke° man that now hath thee Is nat thyn housbonde." Thus saide he certain. 20 What that he mente therby I can nat sayn, But that I axe 0 why the fifthe man Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan? 4 How manye mighte she han in mariage? Yit herde I nevere tellen in myn age 25 Upon this nombre diffinicioun. 0 M e n m a y d i v i n e 0 a n d g l o s e n 0 up a n d d o w n , B u t wel I w o o t , ° e x p r e s , 0 w i t h o u t e n lie,

God bad us for to wexe5 and multiplye: That gentil text can I wel understonde. BO Eek wel I woot 0 he saide that myn housbonde Sholde lete° fader and moder and take to me, 6 But of no nombre mencion made he— Of bigamye or of octogamye: 7 Why sholde men thanne speke of it viiainye? 35 Lo, here the wise king daun° Salomon: I trowe° he hadde wives many oon, 8 As wolde God it leveful 0 were to me To be refresshed half so ofte as he. Which yifte 9 of God hadde he for alle his wives! 1. T h e actual wedding ceremony was celebrated at the church door, not in the chancel. 2. C a n a (see John 2.1). 3. To the purpose. 4. Christ was actually referring to a sixth man who was not married to the Samaritan woman (cf. John 4.6 ff.). 5. I.e., increase (see Genesis 1.28).

gentlemen

once example also /what reproof same ask

definition guess / interpret know / expressly

know leave

master believe permissible

6. See Matthew 19.5. 7. I.e., of two or even eight marriages. The Wife of Bath is referring to successive, rather than simultaneous, marriages. 8. Solomon had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines (1 Kings 11.3). 9. What a gift.

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER

No man hath swich° that in this world alive is. such God woot this noble king, as to my wit,0 knowledge The firste night hadde many a merye fit° bout With eech of hem, so wel was him on live.1 Blessed be God that I have wedded five, Of whiche I have piked out the beste, 2 Bothe of hir nether purs 3 and of hir cheste. 0 money box Diverse scoles maken parfit 0 clerkes, perfect And diverse practikes 4 in sondry werkes Maken the werkman parfit sikerly:0 certainly Of five housbondes scoleying 0 am I. schooling Welcome the sixte whan that evere he shal! 5 For sith I wol nat kepe me chast in al, Whan my housbonde is fro the world agoon, Som Cristen man shal wedde me anoon. 0 right away For thanne th'Apostle 6 saith that I am free To wedde, a Goddes half, where it liketh me. 7 He saide that to be wedded is no sinne: Bet is to be wedded than to brinne. 8 What rekketh me 9 though folk saye vilainye Of shrewed 0 Lamech 1 and his bigamye? cursed I woot wel Abraham was an holy man, And Jacob eek, as fer as evere I can, 0 know And eech of hem hadde wives mo than two, And many another holy man also. Where can ye saye in any manere age That hye God defended 0 mariage prohibited By expres word? I praye you, telleth me. Or where comanded he virginitee? I woot as wel as ye, it is no drede, 0 doubt Th'Apostle, whan he speketh of maidenhede, 0 virginity He saide that precept therof hadde he noon: Men may conseile a womman to be oon,° single But conseiling nis 0 no comandement. is not He putte it in oure owene juggement. For hadde God comanded maidenhede, Thanne hadde he dampned 0 wedding with the deede; 2 condemned And certes, if there were no seed ysowe, Virginitee, thanne wherof sholde it growe? Paul dorste nat comanden at the leeste A thing of which his maister yaP no heeste. 0 gave / command The dart 3 is set up for virginitee: Cacche whoso may, who renneth 0 best lat see. runs But this word is nought take of 4 every wight,0 person But ther as 5 God list 0 yive it of his might. it pleases 1. I.e., so pleasant a life he had. 2. Whom I have cleaned out of everything worthwhile. 3. Lower purse, i.e., testicles. 4. Practical experiences. 5. I.e., shall come along. 6. St. Paul. 7. I please. "A Goddes half": on God's behalf. 8. "It is better to marry than to burn" (1 Corinthians 7.9). Many of the Wife's citations of St. Paul

are from this chapter, often secondhand from St. Jerome's tract Against Jovinian. 9. What do I care. 1. The first man whom the Bible mentions as having two wives (Genesis 4.19—24); he is cursed, however, not for his marriages but for murder. 2. I.e., at the same time. 3. I.e., prize in a race. 4. Understood for, i.e., applicable to. 5. Where.

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virgin I woot wel that th'Apostle was a maide, 0 But nathelees, though that he wroot and saide He wolde that every wight were swich 0 as he, such Al nis but conseil to virginitee; And for to been a wif he yaf me leve disgrace Of indulgence; so nis it no repreve 0 mate To wedde me 6 if that my make 0 die, Withouten excepcion of bigamye 7 — Al° were it good no womman for to touche 8 although (He mente as in his bed or in his couche, For peril is bothe fir0 and tow° t'assemble— fire / flax Ye knowe what this ensample may resemble). 9 This al and som, 1 he heeld virginitee More parfit than wedding in freletee. 0 frailty (Freletee clepe I but if 2 that he and she Wolde leden al hir lif in chastitee.) I graunte it wel, I have noon envye Though maidenhede preferre 0 bigamye: 0 excel / remarriage It Iiketh hem to be clene in body and gost.° spirit Of myn estaat ne wol I make no boost; For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold Ne hath nat every vessel al of gold: Some been of tree, 0 and doon hir lord servise. wood God clepeth 0 folk to him in sondry wise, calls And everich hath of God a propre 3 yifte, Som this, som that, as him liketh shifte. 0 ordain Virginitee is greet perfeccioun, And continence eek with devocioun, But Crist, that of perfeccion is welle, 0 Bad nat every wight he sholde go selle Al that he hadde and yive it to the poore, And in swich wise folwe him and his fore:° 4 footsteps He spak to hem that wolde live parfitly 0 — perfectly And Iordinges, by youre leve, that am nat I. I wol bistowe the flour of al myn age In th'actes and in fruit of mariage. end Telle me also, to what conclusioun 0 Were membres maad of generacioun And of so parfit wis a wrighte ywrought? 5 Trusteth right wel, they were nat maad for nought interpret GIose° whoso wol, and saye bothe up and down That they were maked for purgacioun Of urine, and oure bothe thinges smale Was eek 0 to knowe a femele from a male, also And for noon other cause—saye ye no? Th'experience woot it is nought so. So that the clerkes be nat with me wrothe, I saye this, that they been maad for bothe— 6. For me to marry. 7. I.e., without there being any legal objection on the score of remarriage. 8. "It is good for a man not to touch a woman" (1 Corinthians 7.1). 9. I.e., what this metaphor may apply to.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

This is all there is to it. Frailty I call it unless. I.e., his own. Matthew 19.21. And wrought by so perfectly wise a maker.

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That is to sayn, for office 0 and for ese° Of engendrure, 0 ther we nat God displese. Why sholde men elles in hir bookes sette That man shal yeelde 6 to his wif hir dette? 0 Now wherwith sholde he make his payement If he ne used his sely° instrument? Thanne were they maad upon a creature To purge urine, and eek for engendrure. But I saye nought that every wight is holde, 0 That hath swich harneis 0 as I to you tolde, To goon and usen hem in engendrure: Thanne sholde men take of chastitee no cure. Crist was a maide° and shapen as a man, And many a saint sith that the world bigan, Yit lived they evere in parfit chastitee. I nil° envye no virginitee: Lat hem be breed 0 of pured° whete seed, And lat us wives hote° barly breed— And yit with barly breed, Mark telle can, Oure Lord Jesu refresshed many a man. 7 In swich estaat as God hath cleped us I wol persevere: I nam nat precious. 0 In wifhood wol I use myn instrument As freely 0 as my Makere hath it sent. If I be daungerous 8 , God yive me sorwe: Myn housbonde shal it han both eve and morwe, 0 Whan that him list9 come forth and paye his dette. An housbonde wol I have, I wol nat lette,1 Which shal be bothe my dettour 0 and my thral,0 And have his tribulacion withal 0 Upon his flessh whil that I am his wif. I have the power during al my lif Upon his propre 0 body, and nat he: Right thus th'Apostle tolde it unto me, And bad oure housbondes for to love us week Al this sentence 0 me liketh everydeel. 0

use / pleasure procreation (marital) debt innocent bound equipment heed virgin will not bread / refined be called

fastidious generously morning debtor / slave as well own sense / entirely

[AN INTERLUDE]

Up sterte the Pardoner and that anoon: "Now dame," quod he, "by God and by Saint John, Ye been a noble prechour in this cas. I was aboute to wedde a wif: alias, What 0 sholde I bye° it on my flessh so dere? Yit hadde I Ievere0 wedde no wif toyere." 0 "Abid," quod she, "my tale is nat bigonne. Nay, thou shalt drinken of another tonne, 0 Er° that I go, shal savoure wors than ale. And whan that I have told thee forth my tale

started

6. I.e., pay. 7. In the descriptions of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, it is actually John, not Mark, who mentions barley bread (6.9). 8. In romance dangerous is a term for disdainful-

why / purchase rather / this year tun, barrel before

ness with which a woman rejects a lover. The Wife means she will not withhold sexual favors, in emuluation of God's generosity (line 156). 9. When he wishes to. I. I will not leave off, desist.

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T H E W I F E O F B A T H ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

Of tribulacion in mariage, Of which I am expert in al myn age— This is to saye, myself hath been the whippe— Thanne maistou chese 0 wheither thou wolt sippe Of thilke 0 tonne that I shal abroche; 0 Be war of it, er thou too neigh approche, For I shal telle ensamples mo than ten. 'Whoso that nil0 be war by othere men, By him shal othere men corrected be.' Thise same wordes writeth Ptolomee: Rede in his Almageste and take it there." 2 "Dame, I wolde praye you if youre wil it were," Saide this Pardoner, "as ye bigan, Telle forth youre tale; spareth for no man, And teche us yonge men of youre practike." 0 "Gladly," quod she, "sith it may you like; 0 But that I praye to al this compaignye, If that I speke after my fantasye, 3 As taketh nat agrieP of that I saye, For myn entente nis but for to playe."

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choose this same / open

will not

mode of operation please

[THE WIFE CONTINUES]

Now sire, thanne wol I telle you forth my tale. As evere mote I drinke win or ale, I shal saye sooth: tho° housbondes that I hadde, As three of hem were goode, and two were badde. The three men were goode, and riche, and olde; Unnethe 0 mighte they the statut holde In which they were bounden unto me— Ye woot wel what I mene of this, pardee. As help me God, I laughe whan I thinke How pitously anight I made hem swinke; 0 And by my fay,° I tolde of it no stoor: 4 They hadde me yiven hir land and hir tresor; Me needed nat do lenger diligence To winne hir love or doon hem reverence. They loved me so wel, by God above, That I ne tolde no daintee of 5 hir love. A wis womman wol bisye hire evere in oon 6 To gete hire love, ye, ther as she hath noon. But sith I hadde hem hoolly in myn hand, And sith that they hadde yiven me al hir land, What 0 sholde I take keep 0 hem for to plese, But it were for my profit and myn ese? I sette hem so awerke, 0 by my fay, That many a night they songen 0 wailaway. The bacon was nat fet° for hem, I trowe, That some men han in Essexe at Dunmowe. 7 2. " H e who will not be warned by the example of others shall become an example to others." The Almagest, an astronomical work by the Greek astronomer and mathematician Ptolemy (2nd century C.E.), contains no such aphorism. 3. If I speak according to my fancy. 4. I set no store by it.

those

scarcely

work faith

why / care awork sang brought back

5. Set no value on. 6. Busy herself constantly. 7. At Dunmow, a side of bacon was awarded to the couple who after a year of marriage could claim no quarrels, no regrets, and the desire, if freed, to remarry one another.

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262

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

I governed hem so wel after 0 my lawe according to That eech of hem ful blisful was and fawe 0 glad To bringe me gaye thinges fro the faire; They were ful glade whan I spak hem faire, For God it woot, I chidde 0 hem spitously. 0 chided / cruelly Now herkneth how I bar me 8 proprely: Ye wise wives, that conne understonde, Thus sholde ye speke and bere him wrong on honde 9 — For half so boldely can ther no man Swere and lie as a woman can. I saye nat this by wives that been wise, But if it be whan they hem misavise. 1 A wis wif, if that she can hir good, 2 Shal bere him on hande the cow is wood, 3 And take witnesse of hir owene maide Of hir assent. 4 But herkneth how I saide: "Sire olde cainard, 0 is this thyn array? 5 sluggard Why is my neighebores wif so gay? She is honoured overaP ther she gooth: wherever I sitte at hoom; I have no thrifty0 cloth. decent What doostou at my neighebores hous? Is she so fair? Artou so amorous? What roune° ye with oure maide, benedicite? 6 whisper Sire olde Iechour, lat thy japes 0 be. tricks, intrigues And if I have a gossib 0 or a freend confidant Withouten gilt, ye chiden as a feend, If that I walke or playe unto his hous. Thou comest hoom as dronken as a mous, And prechest on thy bench, with yvel preef. 7 Thou saist to me, it is a greet meschieP misfortune To wedde a poore womman for costage. 8 And if that she be riche, of heigh parage, 0 descent Thanne saistou that it is a tormentrye To suffre hir pride and hir malencolye. 0 bad humor And if that she be fair, thou verray knave, Thou saist that every holour 0 wol hire have: lecher She may no while in chastitee abide That is assailed upon eech a side. "Thou saist som folk desiren us for richesse, Som 9 for oure shap, and som for oure fairnesse, And som for she can outher 0 singe or daunce, either And som for gentilesse and daliaunce, 0 flirtatiousness Som for hir handes and hir armes smale 0 — slender Thus gooth al to the devel by thy tale!1 Thou saist men may nat keepe 2 a castel wal, 8. Bore myself, behaved. 9. Accuse him falsely. 1. Unless it happens that they make a mistake. 2. If she knows what's good for her. 3. Shall persuade him the chough has gone crazy. The chough, a talking bird, was popularly supposed to tell husbands of their wives' infidelity. 4. And call as a witness her maid, who is on her side.

5. I.e., is this how you behave? 6. Bless me. 7. I.e., (may you have) bad luck. 8. Because of the expense. 9. "Som," in this and the following lines, means "one." 1. I.e., according to your story. 2. I.e., keep safe.

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T H E W I F E OF

B A T H ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

263

It may so Ionge assailed been overal. 0 everywhere And if that she be foul, 0 thou saist that she ugly Coveiteth 0 every man that she may see; desires For as a spaniel she wol on him lepe, Til that she finde som man hire to chepe.° bargain for Ne noon so grey goos gooth ther in the lake, mate As, saistou, wol be withoute make; 0 possess And saist it is an hard thing for to weelde 0 A thing that no man wol, his thankes, heelde. 3 wretch Thus saistou, lorel,° whan thou goost to bedde, And that no wis man needeth for to wedde, aims Ne no man that entendeth 0 unto hevene— thunderbolt / lightning With wilde thonder-dint° and firy Ievene0 Mote thy welked nekke be tobroke! 4 Thou saist that dropping 0 houses and eek smoke And chiding wives maken men to flee Out of hir owene hous: a, benedicite, What aileth swich an old man for to chide'? Thou saist we wives wil oure vices hide Til we be fast, 5 and thanne we wol hem shewe— rascal Wel may that be a proverbe of a shrewe! 0 horses Thou saist that oxen, asses, hors, 0 and houndes, tried out / times They been assayed 0 at diverse stoundes; 0 washbowls / buy Bacins, lavours, 0 er that men hem bye,° household goods Spoones, stooles, and al swich housbondrye, 0 are / clothing. And so be° pottes, clothes, and array 0 — But folk of wives maken noon assay Til they be wedded—olde dotard shrewe! And thanne, saistou, we wil oure vices shewe. Thou saist also that it displeseth me unless But iP that thou wolt praise my beautee, gaze And but thou poure 0 alway upon my face, And clepe me 'Faire Dame' in every place, And but thou make a feeste on thilke day That I was born, and make me fressh and gay, And but thou do to my norice 0 honour, And to my chamberere within my bowr,6 And to my fadres folk, and his allies 7 — Thus saistou, olde barel-ful of lies. And yit of our apprentice Janekin, curly For his crispe 0 heer, shining as gold so fin, because And for 0 he squiereth me bothe up and down, Yit hastou caught a fals suspecioun; I wil° him nat though thou were deed 0 tomorwe. want/dead "But tel me this, why hidestou with sorwe 8 The keyes of thy cheste 0 away fro me? money box It is my good 0 as wel as thyn, pardee. property What, weenestou 0 make an idiot of oure dame? 9 do you think to Now by that lord that called is Saint Jame, No man would willingly hold. May thy withered neck be broken! I.e., married. And to my chambermaid within my bedroom.

7. Relatives by marriage. 8. I.e., with sorrow to you. 9. I.e., me, the mistress of the house.

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264

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Thou shalt nought bothe, though thou were wood,c Be maister of my body and of my good: That oon thou shalt forgo, maugree thine yen.1 "What helpeth it of me enquere 0 and spyen? I trowe thou woldest Ioke° me in thy cheste. Thou sholdest saye, 'Wif, go wher thee leste.° Taak youre disport. 2 1 nil leve° no tales: I knowe you for a trewe wif, dame Alis.' We love no man that taketh keep or charge 3 Wher that we goon: we wol been at oure large. 4 Of alle men yblessed mote he be The wise astrologeti 0 daun Ptolomee, That saith this proverbe in his Almageste: 'Of alle men his wisdom is the hyeste That rekketh 0 nat who hath the world in honde.' 5 By this proverbe thou shalt understonde, Have thou 6 ynough, what thar° thee rekke or care How merily that othere folkes fare? For certes, olde dotard, by youre leve, Ye shal han queinte 7 right ynough at eve: He is too greet a nigard that wil werne° A man to lighte a candle at his lanterne; He shal han nevere the lasse° lighte, pardee. Have thou ynough, thee thar nat plaine thee. 8 "Thou saist also that if we make us gay With clothing and with precious array, That it is peril of oure chastitee, And yit, with sorwe, thou moste enforce thee, 9 And saye thise wordes in th' Apostles 1 name: 'In habit 0 maad with chastitee and shame Ye wommen shal apparaile you,' quod he, 'And nat in tressed heer 2 and gay perree, 0 As perles, ne with gold ne clothes riche.' 3 After thy text, ne after thy rubriche, 4 I wol nat werke as muchel as a gnat. Thou saidest this, that I was lik a cat: For whoso wolde senge° a cattes skin, Thanne wolde the cat wel dwellen in his in;° And if the cattes skin be slik° and gay, She wol nat dwelle in house half a day, But forth she wol, er any day be dawed, 5 To shewe her skin and goon a-caterwawed.° This is to saye, if I be gay, sire shrewe, I wol renne° out, my boreI° for to shewe. Sir olde fool, what helpeth 6 thee t'espyen? I. Despite your eyes, i.e., despite anything you can do about it. 2. Enjoy yourself. 3. Notice or interest. 4. I.e., liberty. 5. Who rules the world. 6. If you have. 7. Elegant, pleasing thing; a euphemism for sexual enjoyment.

furious

inquire lock it may please believe

astronomer

cares need

refuse less

clothing jewelry

singe lodging sleek

caterwauling run / clothing

8. I.e., you need not complain. 9. Strengthen your position. 1. I.e., St. Paul's. 2. I.e., elaborate hairdo. 3. See I Timothy 2.9. 4. Rubric, i.e., direction. 5. Has dawned. 6. What does it help.

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T H E W I F E O F B A T H ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

Though thou praye Argus with his hundred yen7 To be my wardecors, 0 as he can best, In faith, he shal nat keepe 0 me but me lest: 8 Yit coude I make his beerd, 9 so mote I thee.° "Thou saidest eek that ther been thinges three, The whiche thinges troublen al this erthe, And that no wight may endure the ferthe. 0 O leve0 sire shrewe, Jesu shorte 0 thy lif! Yit prechestou and saist an hateful wif Yrekened 0 is for oon of thise meschaunces. 1 Been ther nat none othere resemblaunces That ye may likne youre parables to, 2 But if° a sely 0 wif be oon of tho? "Thou Iiknest eek wommanes love to helle, To bareine 0 land ther water may nat dwelle; Thou Iiknest it also to wilde fir— The more it brenneth, 0 the more it hath desir To consumen every thing that brent 0 wol be; Thou saist right 0 as worm es shende 0 a tree, Right so a wif destroyeth hir housbonde— This knowen they that been to wives bonde." 0 Lordinges, right thus, as ye han understonde, Bar I stifly mine olde housbondes on honde 3 That thus they saiden in hir dronkenesse— And al was fals, but that I took witnesse On Janekin and on my nece also. 0 Lord, the paine I dide hem and the wo, Ful giltelees, by Goddes sweete pine! 0 For as an hors I coude bite and whine; 0 1 coude plaine 0 and° I was in the gilt, Or elles often time I hadde been spilt. 0 Whoso that first to mille comth first grint. 0 I plained first: so was oure werre stint. 4 They were ful glade to excusen hem ful blive0 Of thing of which they nevere agilte hir live.5 Of wenches wolde I beren hem on honde, 6 Whan that for sik7 they mighte unnethe 0 stonde, Yit tikled I his herte for that he Wende 0 I hadde had of him so greet cheertee. 0 I swoor that al my walking out by nighte Was for to espye wenches that he dighte. 8 Under that colour 9 hadde I many a mirthe. For al swich wit is yiven us in oure birthe: Deceite, weeping, spinning God hath yive To wommen kindely0 whil they may live.

7. Argus was a monster whom Juno set to watch over one of Jupiter's mistresses. Mercury put all one hundred of his eyes to sleep and slew him. 8. Unless I please. 9. I.e., deceive him. 1. For the other three misfortunes see Proverbs 30.21-23. 2. Are there no other (appropriate) similitudes to

265

guard prosper

fourth dear / shorten is counted

unless / innocent barren burns burned just / destroy bound

suffering whinny complain / if ruined grinds quickly

scarcely thought / affection

naturally

which you might draw analogies? 3. I rigorously accused my old husbands. 4. Our war brought to an end. 5. Of which they were never guilty in their lives. 6. Falsely accuse them. 7. I.e., sickness. 8. Had intercourse with. 9. I.e., pretense.

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266

GEOFFREY

CHAUCER

And thus of oo thing I avaunte me: 1 better At ende I hadde the bet° in eech degree, By sleighte or force, or by som manere thing, complaint / grumbling As by continuel murmur 0 or grucching; 0 especially Namely 0 abedde hadden they meschaunce: Ther wolde I chide and do hem no plesaunce; 2 I wolde no lenger in the bed abide If that I felte his arm over my side, Til he hadde maad his raunson 0 unto me; ransom foolishness (sex) Thanne wolde I suffre him do his nicetee. 0 And therfore every man this tale I telle: Winne whoso may, for al is for to selle; With empty hand men may no hawkes lure. For winning 0 wolde I al his lust endure, profit And make me a feined 0 appetit— And yit in bacon 3 hadde I nevere delit. That made me that evere I wolde hem chide; For though the Pope hadde seten° hem biside, sat I wolde nought spare hem at hir owene boord. 0 table For by my trouthe, I quitte 0 hem word for word. repaid As help me verray God omnipotent, Though I right now sholde make my testament, I ne owe hem nat a word that it nis quit. I broughte it so aboute by my wit That they moste yive it up as for the beste, Or elles hadde we nevere been in reste; furious For though he looked as a wood 0 leoun, object Yit sholde he faile of his conclusioun. 0 Thanne wolde I saye, "Goodelief, taak keep, 4 How mekely Iooketh Wilekin, 5 oure sheep! Com neer my spouse, lat me ba° thy cheeke— Ye sholden be al pacient and meeke, mild And han a sweete-spiced 0 conscience, Sith ye so preche of Jobes pacience; Suffreth alway, sin ye so wel can preche; And but ye do, certain, we shal you teche That it is fair to han a wif in pees. Oon of us two moste bowen, doutelees, And sith a man is more resonable patient Than womman is, ye mosten been suffrable. 0 grumble What aileth you to grucche 0 thus and grone? sexual organ Is it for ye wolde have my queinte 0 allone'? all of it Why, taak it al—lo, have it everydeel.0 curse / if you don't Peter, 6 I shrewe 0 you but ye° love it weel. For if I wolde selle my bele chose, 7 I coude walke as fressh as is a rose; But I wol keepe it for youre owene tooth. 0 taste Ye be to blame. By God, I saye you sooth!" 0 the truth Swiche manere 0 wordes hadde we on honde. kind of Now wol I speke of my ferthe 0 housbonde. fourth 1. 2. 3. 4.

Boast. Give them no pleasure. I.e., old meat. Good friend, take notice.

5. I.e., Willie. 6. By St. Peter. 7. French for "beautiful thing"; a euphemism for sexual organs.

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T H E W I F E OF BATH'S

P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

My ferthe housbonde was a revelour 0 This is to sayn, he hadde a paramour 0 And I was yong and ful of ragerye, 0 Stibourne 0 and strong and joly as a pie:° How coude I daunce to an harpe smale,° And singe, ywis,° as any nightingale, Whan I hadde dronke a draughte of sweete win. Metellius, the foule cherl, the swin, That with a staf birafte 0 his wif hir lif For° she drank win, though I hadde been his wif, Ne sholde nat han daunted 0 me fro drinke; And after win on Venus moste 0 I thinke, For also siker° as cold engendreth hail, A likerous 0 mouth moste han a likerous 0 tail: In womman vinolent 0 is no defence— This knowen Iechours by experience. But Lord Crist, whan that it remembreth me 8 Upon my youthe and on my jolitee, It tikleth me aboute myn herte roote— Unto this day it dooth myn herte boote° That I have had my world as in my time. But age, alias, that al wol envenime, 0 Hath me biraft 9 my beautee and my pith°— Lat go, farewel, the devel go therwith! The flour is goon, ther is namore to telle: The bren° as I best can now moste I selle; But yit to be right merye wol I fonde.° Now wol I tellen of my ferthe housbonde. I saye I hadde in herte greet despit That he of any other hadde delit, But he was quit, 0 by God and by Saint Joce: I made him of the same wode a croce 1 — Nat of my body in no foul manere— But, certainly, I made folk swich cheere 2 That in his owene grece I made him frye, For angre and for verray jalousye. By God, in erthe I was his purgatorye, For which I hope his soule be in glorye. For God it woot, he sat ful ofte and soong 0 Whan that his sho ful bitterly him wroong. 0 Ther was no wight save God and he that wiste° In many wise how sore I him twiste. He deide whan I cam fro Jerusalem, And Iith ygrave under the roode-beem, 3 Ai° is his tombe nought so curious 4 As was the sepulcre of him Darius, Which that Apelles wroughte subtilly:5 It nis but wast to burye him preciously. 0 8. When I look back. 9. Has taken away from me. 1. I made him a cross of the same wood. The proverb has much the same sense as the one quoted in line 493. 2. Pretended to be in love with others.

267

reveler mistress passion untamable / magpie gracefully indeed

because frightened must sure / lecherous who drinks

poison vigor

bran strive

paid back

sang pinched knew

although

expensively

3. And lies buried under the rood beam (the crucifix beam running between nave and chancel). 4. Carefully wrought. 5. Accordingly to medieval legend, the artist Apelles decorated the tomb of Darius, king of the Persians.

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309/ G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R

Lat him fare wel, God yive his soule reste; He is now in his grave and in his cheste. 0 coffin Now of my fifthe housbonde wol I telle— God lete his soule nevere come in helle— And yit he was to me the moste shrewe: 6 That feele I on my ribbes al by rewe, 7 And evere shal unto myn ending day. But in oure bed he was so fressh and gay, And therwithal so wel coulde he me glose° flatter, coax Whan that he wolde han my bele chose, That though he hadde me bet 0 on every boon, 0 beaten / bone He coude winne again my love anoon. 0 immediately I trowe I loved him best for that he Was of his love daungerous 8 to me. We wommen han, if that I shal nat lie, In this matere a quainte fantasye: 9 Waite what 1 thing we may nat lightly0 have, easily Therafter wol we crye al day and crave; Forbede us thing, and that desiren we; Preesse on us faste, and thanne wol we flee. With daunger oute we al oure chaffare: 2 Greet prees 0 at market maketh dere° ware, crowd / expensive And too greet chepe is holden at litel pris. 3 This knoweth every womman that is wis. My fifthe housbonde—God his soule blesse!— Which that I took for love and no richesse, He somtime was a clerk at Oxenforde, And hadde laft 0 scole and wente at hoom to boorde left With my gossib, 0 dwelling in oure town confidante God have hir soule!—hir name was Alisoun; She knew myn herte and eek my privetee 0 secrets Bet° than oure parissh preest, as mote I thee.° better / prosper To hire biwrayed 0 I my conseil 0 al, disclosed / secrets For hadde myn housbonde pissed on a wal, Or doon a thing that sholde han cost his lif, To hire, 0 and to another worthy wif, her And to my nece which I loved weel, I wolde han told his conseil everydeel; 0 entirely And so I dide ful often, God it woot, That made his face often reed° and hoot° red / hot For verray shame, and blamed himself for he Hadde told to me so greet a privetee. And so bifel that ones 0 in a Lente— So often times I to my gossib wente, For evere yit I loved to be gay, And for to walke in March, Averil, and May, From hous to hous, to heere sondry tales— That Janekin clerk and my gossib dame Alis And I myself into the feeldes wente. Worst rascal. In a row. I.e., he played hard to get. Strange fancy.

1. Whatever. 2. (Meeting) with reserve, we spread out our merchandise. 3. Too good a bargain is held at little value.

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T H E W I F E OF

BATH'S

P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

Myn housbonde was at London al that Lente: I hadde the better leiser for to playe, And for to see, and eek for to be seye° Of lusty folk—what wiste I wher my grace 0 Was shapen 0 for to be, or in what place? Therfore I made my visitaciouns To vigilies 4 and to processiouns, To preching eek, and to thise pilgrimages, To playes of miracles and to mariages, And wered upon 5 my gaye scarlet gites°— Thise wormes ne thise motthes ne thise mites, Upon my peril, 6 frete 0 hem neveradeel: And woostou why? For they were used week Now wol I tellen forth what happed me. I saye that in the feeldes walked we, Til trewely we hadde swich daliaunce, 0 This clerk and I, that of my purveyaunce 0 I spak to him and saide him how that he, If I were widwe, sholde wedde me. For certainly, I saye for no bobaunce, 0 Yit was I nevere withouten purveyaunce Of mariage n'of othere thinges eek: I holde a mouses herte nought worth a leek That hath but oon hole for to sterte 0 to, And if that faile thanne is al ydo. 7 I bar him on hand 8 he hadde enchaunted me (My dame° taughte me that subtiltee); And eek I saide I mette° of him al night: He wolde han slain me as I lay upright, 0 And al my bed was ful of verray blood— "But yit I hope that ye shul do me good; For blood bitokeneth 0 gold, as me was taught." And al was fals, I dremed of it right naught, But as I folwed ay my dames 0 lore 0 As wel of that as othere thinges more. But now sire—lat me see, what shal I sayn? Aha, by God, I have my tale again. Whan that my ferthe housbonde was on beere, 0 I weep,° algate, 0 and made sory cheere, As wives moten, 0 for it is usage, 0 And with my coverchief covered my visage; But for I was purveyed 0 of a make. 0 I wepte but smale, and that I undertake. 0 To chirche was myn housbonde born amorwe; 9 With neighebores that for him maden sorwe, And Janekin oure clerk was oon of tho. As help me God, whan that I saw him go After the beere, me thoughte he hadde a paire Of legges and of feet so clene 1 and faire, Evening service before a religious holiday. Wore. On peril (to my soul), an oath. I.e., the game is up.

269

seen luck destined

gowns ate

flirtation foresight

boast

mother dreamed on my back

signifies mother's / teaching

funeral bier wept/anyhow must / custom provided / mate guarantee

8. I pretended to him. 9. In the morning. 1. I.e., neat.

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That al myn herte I yaf unto his hold. 0 He was, I trowe,° twenty winter old, And I was fourty, if I shal saye sooth— But yit I hadde alway a coltes tooth: 2 Gat-toothed 3 was I, and that bicam me weel; I hadde the prente 4 of Sainte Venus seel.° As help me God, I was a lusty oon, And fair and riche and yong and wel-bigoon, 0 And trewely, as mine housbondes tolde me, I hadde the beste quoniam 5 mighte be. For certes I am al Venerien In feeling, and myn herte is Marcien: 6 Venus me yaf my lust, my likerousnesse, 0 And Mars yaf me my sturdy hardinesse. Myn ascendent was Taur 7 and Mars therinne— Alias, alias, that evere love was sinne! I folwed ay° my inclinacioun By vertu of my constellacioun; 8 That made me I coude nought withdrawe My chambre of Venus from a good felawe. Yit have I Martes 0 merk upon my face, And also in another privee place. For God so wis° be my savacioun, 0 I loved nevere by no discrecioun, 0 But evere folwede myn appetit, Al were he short or long or blak or whit; I took no keep, 0 so that he liked 0 me, How poore he was, ne eek of what degree. What sholde I saye but at the monthes ende This joly clerk Janekin that was so hende 0 Hath wedded me with greet solempnitee, 0 And to him yaf I al the land and fee° That evere was me yiven therbifore— But afterward repented me ful sore: He nolde suffre no thing of my list. 0 By God, he smoot 0 me ones on the list 0 For that I rente 0 out of his book a leef, That of the strook 0 myn ere weex° al deef. Stibourne 0 I was as is a Ieonesse, And of my tonge a verray jangleresse, 0 And walke I wolde, as I hadde doon biforn, From hous to hous, although he hadde it9 sworn; For which he often times wolde preche, And me of olde Romain geestes 0 teche, How he Simplicius Gallus lafte 0 his wif, And hire forsook for terme of al his lif, Nought but for open-heveded he hire sey1 2. I.e., youthful appetites. 3. Gap-toothed women were considered to be amorous. 4. Print, i.e., a birthmark. 5. Latin for "because"; another euphemism for a sexual organ. 6. Influenced by Mars. "Venerien": astrologically

possession believe

seal •well-situated

amorousness

Mars's surely / salvation moderation

heed / pleased

courteous, nice splendor property

wish struck / ear tore blow / grew stubborn chatterbox

stories left

influenced by Venus. 7. My birth sign was the constellation Taurus, a sign in which Venus is dominant. 8. I.e., horoscope. 9. I.e., the contrary. 1. Just because he saw her bareheaded.

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Looking out at his dore upon a day. Another Romain tolde he me by name That, for his wif was at a someres 0 game Withouten his witing, 0 he forsook hire eke; And thanne wolde he upon his Bible seeke That ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste 2 Where he comandeth and forbedeth faste 0 Man shal nat suffre his wif go roule 0 aboute; Thanne wolde he saye right thus withouten doute: "Whoso that buildeth his hous al of salwes, 0 And priketh 0 his blinde hors over the falwes, 3 And suffreth 0 his wif to go seeken halwes, 0 Is worthy to be hanged on the galwes." 0 But al for nought—I sette nought an hawe 4 Of his proverbes n'of his olde sawe; N' I wolde nat of him corrected be: I hate him that my vices telleth me, And so doon mo, God woot, of us than I. This made him with me wood al outrely: 0 I nolde nought forbere 0 him in no cas. Now wol I saye you sooth, by Saint Thomas, Why that I rente 0 out of his book a leef, For which he smoot me so that I was deef. He hadde a book that gladly night and day For his disport 0 he wolde rede alway. He

cleped

271

summers

strictly roam willow sticks rides allows / shrines gallows

entirely submit to

entertainment

it Valerie 5 and Theofraste,

At which book he lough 0 alway ful faste; And eek ther was somtime a clerk at Rome, A cardinal, that highte Saint Jerome, That made a book 6 again 0 Jovinian; In which book eek ther was Tertulan, Crysippus, Trotula, and Helouis, 7 That was abbesse nat fer fro Paris; And eek the Parables of Salomon, Ovides Art, 8 and bookes many oon— And alle thise were bounden in oo volume. And every night and day was his custume, Whan he hadde leiser and vacacioun 0 From other worldly occupacioun, To reden in this book of wikked wives. He knew of hem mo legendes and lives Than been of goode wives in the Bible. For trusteth wel, it is an impossible 0 That any clerk wol speke good of wives, But if it be of holy saintes lives, 2. Ecclesiasticus (25.25). 3. Plowed land. 4. I did not rate at the value of a hawthorn berry. 5. "Valerie": i.e., the Letter of Valerius Concerning Not Marrying, by Walter Map; "Theofraste": Theophrastus's Book Concerning Marriage. Medieval manuscripts often contained a number of different works, sometimes, as here, dealing with the same subject.

laughed

against

free time

impossibility

6. St. Jerome's antifeminist Against Jovinian. 7. "Tertulan": i.e., Tertullian, author of treatises on sexual modesty. "Crysippus": mentioned by Jerome as an antifeminist. "Trotula": a female doctor whose presence here is unexplained. "Helouis": i.e., Eloise, whose love affair with the great scholar Abelard was a medieval scandal. 8. Ovid's Art of Love. "Parables of Salomon": the biblical Book of Proverbs.

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N'of noon other womman nevere the mo— Who painted the Ieon, tel me who? 9 By God, if wommen hadden writen stories, As clerkes han within hir oratories, 0 chapels They wolde han writen of men more wikkednesse Than al the merk1 of Adam may redresse. The children of Mercurye and Venus 2 operation / opposed Been in hir werking 0 ful contrarious: 0 Mercurye Ioveth wisdom and science, revelry / spending And Venus Ioveth riot° and dispence; 0 And for hir diverse disposicioun Each falleth in otheres exaltacioun, 3 And thus, God woot, Mercurye is desolat In Pisces wher Venus is exaltat, 4 And Venus falleth ther Mercurye is raised: Therfore no womman of no clerk is praised. The clerk, whan he is old and may nought do Of Venus werkes worth his olde sho,° shoe sits / writes Thanne sit° he down and writ0 in his dotage That wommen can nat keepe hir mariage. But now to purpose why I tolde thee That I was beten for a book, pardee: Upon a night Janekin, that was our sire, 5 Redde on his book as he sat by the fire Of Eva first, that for hir wikkednesse Was al mankinde brought to wrecchednesse, For which that Jesu Crist himself was slain That boughte 0 us with his herte blood again— redeemed Lo, heer expres of wommen may ye finde That womman was the Ios° of al mankinde. 6 then Tho° redde he me how Sampson loste his heres: Sleeping his Iemman 0 kitte 0 it with hir sheres, lover / cut Thurgh which treson loste he both his yen. Tho redde he me, if that I shal nat lien, Of Ercules and of his Dianire, 7 That caused him to sette himself afire. No thing forgat he the sorwe and wo That Socrates hadde with his wives two— How Xantippa caste pisse upon his heed: poor, hapless This sely° man sat stille as he were deed; He wiped his heed, namore dorste 0 he sayn But "Er that thonder stinte, 0 comth a rain." stops Of Pasipha 8 that was the queene of Crete— For shrewednesse 0 him thoughte the tale sweete— malice 9. In one of Aesop's fables, the lion, shown a picture of a man killing a lion, asked who painted the picture. Had a lion been the artist, of course, the roles would have been reversed. 1. Mark, sex. 2. I.e., clerks and women, astrologically ruled by Mercury and Venus, respectively. 3. Because of their contrary positions (as planets), each one descends (in the belt of the zodiac) as the other rises, hence one loses its power as the other

becomes dominant. 4. I.e., Mercury is deprived of power in Pisces (the sign of the Fish), where Venus is most powerful. 5. My husband. 6. The stories of wicked women Chaucer drew mainly from St. Jerome and Walter Map. 7. Deianira unwittingly gave Hercules a poisoned shirt, which hurt him so much that he committed suicide by fire. 8. Pasiphae, who had intercourse with a bull.

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Fy, speek namore, it is a grisly thing Of hir horrible lust and hir liking.0 pleasure Of Clytermistra 9 for hir lecherye That falsly made hir housbonde for to die, 745 He redde it with ful good devocioun. He tolde me eek for what occasioun Amphiorax 1 at Thebes loste his lif: Myn housbonde hadde a legende of his wif Eriphylem, that for an ouche° of gold trinket 750 Hath prively unto the Greekes told Wher that hir hou,sbonde hidde him in a place, For which he hadde at Thebes sory grace. Of Livia tolde he me and of Lucie: 2 They bothe made hir housbondes for to die, 755 That oon for love, that other was for hate; Livia hir housbonde on an even late Empoisoned hath for that she was his fo; lecherous Lucia likerous 0 loved hir housbonde so in order that That for° he sholde alway upon hire thinke, 760 She yaf him swich a manere love-drinke That he was deed er it were by the morwe. 3 in every way And thus algates 0 housbondes han sorwe. Thanne tolde he me how oon Latumius Complained unto his felawe Arrius 765 That in his garden growed swich a tree, On which he saide how that his wives three Hanged hemself for herte despitous. 4 "O leve° brother," quod this Arrius, dear "Yif me a plante of thilke blessed tree, 770 And in my gardin planted shal it be." Of latter date of wives hath he red That some han slain hir housbondes in hir bed And lete hir lechour dighte 5 hire al the night, Whan that the cors° lay in the floor upright; 0 corpse / on his back 775 And some han driven nailes in hir brain Whil that they sleepe, and thus they han hem slain; Some han hem yiven poison in hir drinke. He spak more harm than herte may bithinke, 0 imagine And therwithal he knew of mo proverbes 780 Than in this world ther growen gras or herbes: "Bet° is," quod he, "thyn habitacioun better Be with a leon or a foul dragoun Than with a womman using 0 for to chide." accustomed "Bet is," quod he, "hye in the roof abide 785 Than with an angry wif down in the hous: They been so wikked0 and contrarious, perverse They haten that hir housbondes Ioveth ay." 9. Clytemnestra, who, with her lover, Aegisthus, slew her husband, Agamemnon. 1. Amphiaraus, betrayed by his wife, Eriphyle, and forced to go to the war against Thebes. 2. Livia murdered her husband in behalf of her lover, Sejanus. "Lucie": i.e., Lucilla, who was said

to have poisoned her husband, the poet Lucretius, with a potion designed to keep him faithful. 3. He was dead before it was near morning. 4. For malice of heart. 5. Have intercourse with.

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He saide, "A womman cast 0 hir shame away When she cast oP hir smok," 6 and ferthermo, "A fair womman, but she be chast also, Is like a gold ring in a sowes nose." Who wolde weene,° or who wolde suppose The wo that in myn herte was and pine? 0 And whan I sawgh he wolde nevere fine 0 To reden on this cursed book al night, Al sodeinly three leves have I plight 0 Out of his book right as he redde, and eke I with my fist so took 7 him on the cheeke That in oure fir he fil0 bakward adown. And up he sterte as dooth a wood 0 Ieoun, And with his fist he smoot me on the heed 0 That in the floor I lay as I were deed. 0 And whan he sawgh how stille that I lay, He was agast, and wolde have fled his way, Til atte laste out of my swough 0 I braide: 0 "O hastou slain me, false thief?" I saide, "And for my land thus hastou mordred 0 me? Er I be deed yit wol I kisse thee." And neer he cam and kneeled faire adown, And saide, "Dere suster Aiisoun, As help me God, I shal thee nevere smite. That I have doon, it is thyself to wite.° Foryif it me, and that I thee biseeke." 0 And yit eftsoones 0 I hitte him on the cheeke, And saide, "Thief, thus muchel am I wreke.° Now wol I die: I may no lenger speke." But at the laste with muchel care and wo We fille8 accorded by us selven two. He yaf me al the bridel 0 in myn hand, To han the governance of hous and land, And of his tonge and his hand also; And made 9 him brenne 0 his book anoonright tho. And whan that I hadde geten unto me By maistrye 0 al the sovereinetee, 0 And that he saide, "Myn owene trewe wif, Do as thee lust 0 the terme of al thy Iif; Keep thyn honour, and keep eek myn estat," After that day we hadde nevere debat. God help me so, I was to him as kinde As any wif from Denmark unto Inde,° And also trewe, and so was he to me. I praye to God that sit° in majestee, So blesse his soule for his mercy dere. Now wol I saye my tale if ye wol heere. [ANOTHER

casts off

think suffering end snatched

fell raging head

swoon / started murdered

blame beseech another time avenged

bridle

burn skill / dominion

INTERRUPTION]

The Frere lough whan he hadde herd all this: 'Now dame," quod he, "so have I joye or blis, 0

6. Undergarment. 7. I.e., hit.

8. I.e., became. 9. I.e., I made.

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it pleases

India

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This is a long preamble of a tale." And whan the Somnour herde the Frere gale,° "Lo," quod the Somnour, "Goddes armes two, A frere wol entremette him 1 everemo! Lo, goode men, a flye and eek a frere Wol falle in every dissh and eek matere. What spekestou of preambulacioun? What, amble or trotte or pisse or go sitte down! Thou lettest 0 oure disport in this manere." "Ye, woltou so, sire Somnour?" quod the Frere. "Now by my faith, I shal er that I go Telle of a somnour swich a tale or two That al the folk shal laughen in this place." 'Now elles, Frere, I wol bishrewe 0 thy face," Quod this Somnour, "and I bishrewe me, But if I telle tales two or three Of freres, er I come to Sidingborne, 2 That I shal make thyn herte for to moome°— For wel I woot thy pacience is goon." Oure Hoste cride, "Pees, and that anoon!" And saide, "Lat the womman telle hir tale: Ye fare as folk that dronken been of ale. Do, dame, tel forth youre tale, and that is best." "Al redy, sire," quod she, "right as you lest°— If I have licence of this worthy Frere." "Yis, dame," quod he, "tel forth and I wol heere." The

275

exclaim

hinder

it pleases

Tale

As was suggested in the headnote to The Man of Law's Epilogue, C h a u c e r may have originally written the fabliau that became Tlte Shipman's Tale for the Wife of Bath. If so, then he replaced it with a tale that is not simply appropriate to her character but that develops it even beyond the complexity already revealed in her Prologue. The story survives in two other versions in which the hero is Sir Gawain, whose courtesy contrasts sharply with the behavior of the knight in the Wife's tale. (For excerpts from The Marriage of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell, see "King Arthur" at Norton Literature Online.) As C h a u c e r has the Wife tell it, the tale expresses her views about the relations of the sexes, her wit and humor, and her fantasies. Like Marie de France's lay Lanval (see p. 142), the Wife's tale is about a fairy bride who seeks out and tests a mortal lover.

865

870

In th'olde dayes of the King Arthour, Of which that Britouns speken greet honour, Al was this land fulfild of fai'rye:3 The elf-queene° with hir joly compaignye Daunced ful ofte in many a greene mede°— This was the olde opinion as I rede; I speke of many hundred yeres ago. But now can no man see none elves mo, For now the grete charitee and prayeres Of limitours, 4 and othere holy freres,

1. Intrude himself. 2. Sittingbourne (a town forty miles from London).

queen of the fairies meadow

3. I.e., filled full of supernatural creatures. 4. Friars licensed to beg in a certain territory,

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That serchen every land and every streem, As thikke as motes 0 in the sonne-beem, dust particles Blessing halles, chambres, kichenes, bowres, Citees, burghes, 0 castels, hye towres, townships Thropes, bernes, shipnes, 5 dayeries— This maketh that ther been no fairies. For ther as wont to walken was an elf Ther walketh now the limitour himself, In undermeles 0 and in morweninges, 0 afternoons / mornings And saith his Matins and his holy thinges, As he gooth in his Iimitacioun. 6 Wommen may go saufly 0 up and down: safely In every bussh or under every tree Ther is noon other incubus 7 but he, And he ne wol doon hem but 8 dishonour. And so bifel it that this King Arthour Hadde in his hous a lusty bacheler, 0 young knight That on a day cam riding fro river,9 And happed 0 that, allone as he was born, it happened He sawgh a maide walking him biforn; Of which maide anoon, maugree hir heed, 1 By verray force he rafte° hir maidenheed; deprived her of For which oppression 0 was swich clamour, rape And swich pursuite 0 unto the King Arthour, petitioning That dampned was this knight for to be deed 2 By cours of Iawe, and sholde han lost his heed— Paraventure 0 swich was the statut tho— perchance But that the queene and othere ladies mo So longe prayeden the king of grace, Til he his lif him graunted in the place, And yaf him to the queene, al at hir wille, To chese 0 wheither she wolde him save or spille. 3 choose The queene thanked the king with al hir might, And after this thus spak she to the knight, Whan that she saw hir time upon a day: "Thou standest yit," quod she, "in swich array0 condition That of thy lif yit hastou no suretee. 0 guarantee I graunte thee lif if thou canst tellen me What thing it is that wommen most desiren: Be war and keep thy nekke boon 0 from iren. bone And if thou canst nat tellen me anoon, 0 right away Yit wol I yive thee leve for to goon A twelfmonth and a day to seeche 0 and Iere° search / learn An answere suffisant 0 in this matere, satisfactory And suretee wol I han er that thou pace, 0 pass Thy body for to yeelden in this place." Wo was this knight, and sorwefully he siketh. 0 sighs 5. Thorps (villages), barns, stables. 6. I.e., the friar's assigned area. His "holy thinges" are prayers. 7. An evil spirit that seduces mortal women. 8. " N e . . . but": only. 9. Hawking, usually carried out on the banks of a

stream. 1. Despite her head, i.e., despite anything she could do. 2. This knight was condemned to death. 3. Put to death.

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But what, he may nat doon al as him liketh, And atte laste he chees° him for to wende, Arid come again right at the yeres ende, With swich answere as God wolde him purveye, 0 And taketh his leve and wendeth forth his waye. He seeketh every hous and every place Wher as he hopeth for to finde grace, To Ierne what thing wommen love most. But he ne coude arriven in no coost 4 Wher as he mighte finde in this matere Two creatures according in fere. 5 Some saiden wommen loven best richesse; Some saide honour, some saide jolinesse; 0 Some riche array, some saiden lust abedde, And ofte time to be widwe and wedde. Some saide that oure herte is most esed Whan that we been yflatered and yplesed— He gooth ful neigh the soothe, I wol nat lie: A man shal winne us best with flaterye, And with attendance 0 and with bisinesse 0 Been we ylimed, 0 bothe more and lesse. And some sayen that we loven best For to be free, and do right as us Iest,° And that no man repreve 0 us of oure vice, But saye that we be wise and no thing nice. 0 For trewely, ther is noon of us alle, If any wight wol clawe° us on the galle,° That we nil kike° fior° he saith us sooth: Assaye 0 and he shal finde it that so dooth. For be we nevere so vicious withinne, We wol be holden 0 wise and clene of sinne. And some sayn that greet delit han we For to be holden stable and eek secree, 6 And in oo° purpos stedefastly to dwelle, And nat biwraye0 thing that men us telle— But that tale is nat worth a rake-stele. 0 Pardee, 0 we wommen conne no thing hele: 0 Witnesse on Mida.° Wol ye heere the tale? Ovide, amonges othere thinges smale, Saide Mida hadde under his longe heres, Growing upon his heed, two asses eres, The whiche vice 0 he hidde as he best mighte Ful subtilly from every mannes sighte, That save his wif ther wiste 0 of it namo. He loved hire most and trusted hire also. He prayed hire that to no creature She sholde tellen of his disfigure. 0 She swoor him nay, for al this world to winne, She nolde do that vilainye or sinne To make hir housbonde han so foul a name: 4. I.e., country. 5. Agreeing together.

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chose

pleasure

attention / solicitude ensnared it pleases reprove foolish rub / sore spot kick / because try considered

one disclose rake handle by God / conceal Midas

6. Reliable and also closemouthed.

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defect knew

deformity

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She nolde nat telle it for hir owene shame. But nathelees, hir thoughte that she dyde° would die That she so longe sholde a conseil 0 hide; secret Hire thoughte it swal° so sore about hir herte swelled That nedely som word hire moste asterte, 7 And sith she dorste nat telle it to no man, Down to a mareis 0 faste 0 by she ran— marsh / close Til she cam there hir herte was afire— And as a bitore bombleth 8 in the mire, She Iaide hir mouth unto the water down: "Biwray 0 me nat, thou water, with thy soun," 0 betray / sound Q u o d she. "To thee I telle it and namo:° to no one else Myn housbonde hath longe asses eres two. Now is myn herte al hool, 9 now is it oute. I mighte no Ienger keep it, out of doute." Here may ye see, though we a time abide, Yit oute it moot: 0 we can no conseil hide. The remenant of the tale if ye wol heere, Redeth Ovide, and ther ye may it lere. 1 This knight of which my tale is specially, Whan that he sawgh he mighte nat come thereby— This is to saye what wommen loven most— Within his brest ful sorweful was his gost,° spirit But hoom he gooth, he mighte nat sojourne: 0 delay The day was come that hoomward moste 0 he turne. must And in his way it happed him to ride In al this care under 0 a forest side, by Wher as he sawgh upon a daunce go Of ladies foure and twenty and yit mo; Toward the whiche daunce he drow ful yerne, 2 In hope that som wisdom sholde he lerne. But certainly, er he cam fully there, Vanisshed was this daunce, he niste° where. knew not No creature sawgh he that bar 0 lif, bore Save on the greene he sawgh sitting a wiP— woman A fouler wight ther may no man devise. 0 imagine Again 3 the knight this olde wif gan rise, And saide, "Sire knight, heer forth lith° no way.0 lies / road Telle me what ye seeken, by youre fay.° faith Paraventure it may the better be: Thise olde folk conne° muchel thing," quod she. know "My leve moder," 0 quod this knight, "certain, mother I nam but deed but if that I can sayn What thing it is that wommen most desire. Coude ye me wisse, 0 I wolde wel quite youre hire." 4 teach pledge "Plight 0 me thy trouthe here in myn hand," quod she, require of "The nexte thing that I requere 0 thee, Thou shalt it do, if it lie in thy might, 7. Of necessity some word must escape her. 8. Makes a booming noise. "Bittore": bittern, a heron. 9. I.e., sound. I. Learn. The reeds disclosed the secret bv whis-

pering "awes aselli" (ass's ears). 2. Drew very quickly, 3. I.e., to meet. 4. Repay your trouble.

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And I wol telle it you er it be night." "Have heer my trouthe," quod the knight. "I graunte." "Thanne," quod she, "I dar me wel avaunte 0 boast Thy lif is sauf,° for I wol stande therby. safe Upon my lif the queene wol saye as I. Lat see which is the pruddeste 0 of hem alle proudest That wereth on 5 a coverchief or a calle° headdress That dar saye nay of that I shal thee teche. Lat us go forth withouten lenger speeche." Tho rouned 0 she a pisteP in his ere, whispered / message And bad him to be glad and have no fere. Whan they be comen to the court, this knight Saide he hadde holde his day as he hadde hight,° promised And redy was his answere, as he saide. Ful many a noble wif, and many a maide, And many a widwe—for that they been wise— The queene hirself sitting as justise, Assembled been this answere for to heere, And afterward this knight was bode 0 appere. bidden to To every wight comanded was silence, And that the knight sholde telle in audience 0 open What thing that worldly wommen Ioven best. This knight ne stood nat stille as dooth a best, 0 beast But to his question anoon answerde With manly vois that al the court it herde. "My lige° lady, generally," quod he, liege "Wommen desire to have sovereinetee 0 dominion As wel over hir housbonde as hir love, And for to been in maistrye him above. This is youre moste desir though ye me kille. Dooth as you list: 0 I am here at youre wille." In al the court ne was ther wif ne maide Ne widwe that contraried 0 that he saide, contradicted But saiden he was worthy han° his lif. to have And with that word up sterte 0 that olde wif, started Which that the knight sawgh sitting on the greene; "Mercy," quod she, "my soverein lady queene, Er that youre court departe, do me right. I taughte this answere unto the knight, For which he plighte me his trouthe there The firste thing I wolde him requere 0 require He wolde it do, if it Iaye in his might. Bifore the court thanne praye I thee, sire knight," Q u o d she, "that thou me take unto thy wif, For wel thou woost that I have kept 0 thy lif. saved If I saye fals, say nay, upon thy fay." This knight answerde, "Alias and wailaway, I woot right wel that swich was my biheeste. 0 promise For Goddes love, as chees° a newe requeste: choose Taak al my good and lat my body go." "Nay thanne," quod she, "I shrewe 0 us bothe two. 5. That wears.

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1070

1075

1080

1085

1090

1095

noo

iio5

1115

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

For though that I be foul and old and poore, I nolde for al the metal ne for ore That under erthe is grave 0 or lith0 above, But if thy wif I were and eek thy love." "My love," quod he. "Nay, my dampnacioun! 0 Alias, that any of my nacioun 6 Sholde evere so foule disparaged 0 be." But al for nought, th'ende is this, that he Constrained was: he needes moste hire wedde, And taketh his olde wif and gooth to bedde. Now wolden some men saye, paraventure, That for my necligence I do no cure 7 To tellen you the joye and al th'array That at the feeste was that ilke day. To which thing shortly answere I shal: I saye ther nas no joye ne feeste at al; Ther nas but hevinesse and muche sorwe. For prively he wedded hire on morwe, 8 And al day after hidde him as an owle, So wo was him, his wif looked so foule. Greet was the wo the knight hadde in his thought: Whan he was with his wif abedde brought, He walweth 0 and he turneth to and fro. His olde wif lay smiling everemo, And saide, "O dere housbonde, benedicite, 0 Fareth 0 every knight thus with his wif as ye? Is this the lawe of King Arthures hous? Is every knight of his thus daungerous? 0 I am youre owene love and youre wif; I am she which that saved hath youre lif; And certes yit ne dide I you nevere unright. Why fare ye thus with me this firste night? Ye faren like a man hadde lost his wit. What is my gilt? For Goddes love, telle it, And it shal been amended if I may." "Amended!" quod this knight. "Alias, nay, nay, It wol nat been amended neveremo. Thou art so lothly0 and so old also, And therto comen of so lowe a kinde,° That litel wonder is though I walwe and winde. 0 So wolde God myn herte wolde breste!" 0 "Is this," quod she, "the cause of youre unreste?" "Ye, certainly," quod he. "No wonder is." "Now sire," quod she, "I coude amende al this, If that me liste, er it were dayes three, So° wel ye mighte bere you 9 unto me. "But for ye speken of swich gentilesse 0 As is descended out of old richesse— That therfore sholden ye be gentilmen— Swich arrogance is nat worth an hen. Looke who that is most vertuous alway,

6. I.e., family. 7. I do not take the trouble.

buried / lies damnation degraded

tosses bless me behaves standoffish

hideous lineage turn break

-provided that liability

8. In the morning. 9. Behave.

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T H E W I F E OF

B A T H ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

Privee and apert, 1 and most entendeth 0 ay° To do the gentil deedes that he can, Taak him for the gretteste 0 gentilman. Crist wol0 we claime of him oure gentilesse, Nat of oure eldres for hir 'old richesse.' For though they yive us al hir heritage, For which we claime to been of heigh parage, 0 Yit may they nat biquethe for no thing To noon of us hir vertuous living, That made hem gentilmen ycalled be, And bad 2 us folwen hem in swich degree. "Wel can the wise poete of Florence, That highte Dant, 3 speken in this sentence; 0 Lo, in swich manere rym is Dantes tale: 'Ful selde 0 up riseth by his braunches 4 smale Prowesse 0 of man, for God of his prowesse Wol that of him we claime oure gentilesse.' For of oure eldres may we no thing claime But temporel thing that man may hurte and maime. Eek every wight woot this as wel as I, If gentilesse were planted natureelly Unto a certain linage down the line, Privee and apert, thanne wolde they nevere fine 0 To doon of gentilesse the faire office 0 — They mighte do no vilainye or vice. "Taak fir and beer° it in the derkeste hous Bitwixe this and the Mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette 0 the dores and go thenne, 0 Yit wol the fir as faire lye0 and brenne 0 As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde: His 0 office natureel ay wol it holde, Up° peril of my lif, til that it die. Heer may ye see wel how that genterye 0 Is nat annexed 0 to possessioun, 5 Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alway, as dooth the fir, lo, in his kinde. 0 For God it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vilainye; And he that wol han pris of his gentrye, 6 For he was boren 0 of a gentil 0 hous, And hadde his eldres noble and vertuous, And nil himselven do no gentil deedes, Ne folwen his gentil auncestre that deed 0 is, He nis nat gentil, be he due or erl— For vilaines sinful deedes maken a cherl. Thy gentilesse 7 nis but renomee 0 Of thine auncestres for hir heigh bountee, 0 Which is a straunge 0 thing for thy persone. For gentilesse 8 cometh fro God allone. Thanne comth oure verray gentilesse of grace: Privately and publicly. I.e., they bade. Dante (see his Convivio). I.e., by the branches of a man's family tree.

5. 6. 7. 8.

281

tries / always greatest desires that

descent

topic seldom excellence

cease function bear shut /thence blaze / burn its upon gentility related nature

born / noble

magnanimity external

I.e., inheritable property. Have credit for his noble birth. I.e., the gentility you claim. I.e., true gentility.

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i 170

It was no thing biquethe us with oure place. Thenketh how noble, as saith Valerius, 9 Was thilke Tullius Hostilius That out of poverte 0 roos to heigh noblesse. Redeth Senek° and redeth eek Boece:° 1175 Ther shul ye seen expres that no drede° is That he is gentil that dooth gentil deedes. And therfore, leve housbonde, I thus conclude: Al° were it that mine auncestres weren rude, 1 Yit may the hye God—and so hope I— ii8o Graunte me grace to liven vertuously. Thanne am I gentil whan that I biginne To liven vertuously and waive0 sinne. "And ther as ye of poverte me repreve, 0 The hye God, on whom that we bileve, ii85 In wilful 0 poverte chees° to live his lif; And certes every man, maiden, or wif May understonde that Jesus, hevene king, Ne wolde nat chese° a vicious living. Glad poverte is an honeste 0 thing, certain; ii9o This wol Senek and othere clerkes sayn. Whoso that halt him paid of 2 his poverte, I holde him riche al hadde he nat a sherte. 0 He that coveiteth 3 is a poore wight, For he wolde han that is nat in his might; ii95 But he that nought hath, ne coveiteth 0 have, Is riche, although we holde him but a knave. Verray 0 poverte it singeth proprely. 0 Juvenal saith of poverte, 'Merily The poore man, whan he gooth by the waye, 1200 Biforn the theves he may singe and playe.' Poverte is hateful good, and as I gesse, A ful greet bringere out of bisinesse; 4 A greet amendere eek of sapience 0 To him that taketh it in pacience; 1205 Poverte is thing, although it seeme elenge, 0 Possession that no wight wol chalenge; s Poverte ful often, whan a man is lowe, Maketh 6 his God and eek himself to knowe; Poverte a spectacle 0 is, as thinketh me, 1210 Thurgh which he may his verray0 freendes see. And therfore, sire, sin that I nought you greve, Of my poverte namore ye me repreve. 0 "Now sire, of elde° ye repreve me: And certes sire, though noon auctoritee 1215 Were in no book, ye gentils of honour Sayn that men sholde an old wight doon favour, And clepe him fader for youre gentilesse— And auctours 7 shal I finde, as I gesse.

9. 1. 2. 3.

A Roman historian. I.e., low born. Considers himself satisfied with. I.e., suffers desires.

4. 5. 6. 7.

poverty Seneca / Boethius doubt

although

avoid reprove voluntary / chose

choose honorable

shirt

desires to true / appropriately

ivisdom wretched

pair of spectacles true reproach old age

I.e., remover of cares. Claim as his property. I.e., makes him. I.e., authorities.

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T H E W I F E OF

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283

"Now ther ye saye that I am foul and old: Thanne drede you nought to been a cokewold, 0 cuckold For filthe and elde, also mote I thee, 8 Been grete wardeins 0 upon chastitee. guardians But nathelees, sin I knowe your delit, I shal fulfille youre worldly appetit. "Chees 0 now," quod she, "oon of thise thinges twaye: choose To han me foul and old til that I deye And be to you a trewe humble wif, And nevere you displese in al my lif, Or elles ye wol han me yong and fair, And take youre aventure 0 of the repair 9 chance That shal be to youre hous by cause of me— Or in some other place, wel may be. Now chees youreselven wheither 0 that you liketh." whichever This knight aviseth him1 and sore siketh; 0 sighs But atte laste he saide in this manere: "My lady and my love, and wif so dere, I putte me in youre wise governaunce: Cheseth 0 youreself which may be most plesaunce 0 choose / pleasure And most honour to you and me also. I do no fors the wheither 2 of the two, For as you liketh it suffiseth 0 me." satisfies "Thanne have I gete° of you maistrye," quod she, got "Sin I may chese and governe as me lest?" 0 it pleases "Ye, certes, wif," quod he. "I holde it best." "Kisse me," quod she. "We be no Ienger wrothe. For by my trouthe, I wol be to you bothe— This is to sayn, ye, bothe fair and good. I praye to God that I mote sterven wood, 3 But 0 I to you be al so good and trewe unless As evere was wif sin that the world was newe. And but I be tomorn 0 as fair to seene tomorrow morning As any lady, emperisse, or queene, That is bitwixe the eest and eek the west, Do with my lif and deeth right as you lest: Caste up the curtin, 4 looke how that it is." And whan the knight sawgh verraily al this, That she so fair was and so yong therto, For joye he hente° hire in his armes two; took His herte bathed in a bath of blisse; A thousand time arewe° he gan hire kisse, in a row And she obeyed him in every thing That mighte do him plesance or liking.0 pleasure And thus they live unto hir lives ende In parfit 0 joye. And Jesu Crist us sende perfect Housbondes meeke, yonge, and fresshe abedde— And grace t'overbide 0 hem that we wedde. outlive And eek I praye Jesu shorte 0 hir lives shorten So may I prosper. I.e., visits. Considers.

2. I do not care whichever. 3. Die mad. 4. The curtain around the bed.

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284

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T h a t n o u g h t w o l b e g o v e r n e d b y hir w i v e s , And olde and angry nigardes of d i s p e n c e 0 — G o d s e n d e h e m s o o n e a verray 0 p e s t i l e n c e !

spending veritable

The Pardoner's Prologue and Tale As with The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale, The Pardoner's Prologue and Tale develop in profound and surprising ways the portrait sketched in The General Prologue. In his Prologue the Pardoner boasts to his fellow pilgrims about his own depravity and the ingenuity with which he abuses his office and extracts money from poor and ignorant people. T h e medieval pardoner's job was to collect money for the charitable enterprises, such as hospitals, supported by the church. In return for donations he was licensed by the pope to award token remission of sins that the donor should have repented and confessed. By canon law pardoners were permitted to work only in a prescribed area; within that area they might visit churches during Sunday service, briefly explain their mission, receive contributions, and in the pope's name issue indulgence, which was not considered to be a sale but a gift from the infinite treasury of Christ's mercy made in return for a gift of money. In practice, pardoners ignored the restrictions on their office, made their way into churches at will, preached emotional sermons, and claimed extraordinary power for their pardons. The Pardoner's Tale is a bombastic sermon against gluttony, gambling, and swearing, which he preaches to the pilgrims to show off his professional skills. The sermon is framed by a narrative that is supposed to function as an exemplum (that is, an illustration) of the scriptural text, the one on which the Pardoner, as he tells the pilgrims, always preaches: "Radix malorum est cupiditas" (Avarice is the root of evil).

The

Introduction

O u r e Hoste gan to swere as he were wood0 " H a r r o w , " 0 q u o d he, "by nailes a n d by blood,1 T h i s was a fals cherl a n d a fals justise.2 As s h a m e f u l deeth as herte may devise C o m e t o t h i s e j u g e s a n d hir a d v o c a t s . A l g a t e 0 this sely° m a i d e is s l a i n , a l i a s ! Alias, too dere b o u g h t e s h e beautee! W h e r f o r e I saye alday° that m e n m a y see T h e yiftes of F o r t u n e a n d of N a t u r e B e e n c a u s e of d e e t h to m a n y a c r e a t u r e . As b o t h e yiftes that I speke of now, M e n han ful ofte m o r e for h a r m than prow.0 " B u t trewely, m y n o w e n e m a i s t e r d e r e , T h i s is a p i t o u s t a l e f o r to h e e r e . B u t n a t h e l e e s , p a s s e over, i s n o f o r s : 3 I p r a y e to G o d to s a v e thy g e n t i l c o r s , ° A n d e e k t h i n e u r i n a l s a n d thy j u r d o n e s , 4 T h y n i p o c r a s a n d e e k thy g a l i o n e s , 5

1. I.e., God's nails and blood. 2. The Host has been affected by the Physicians's sad tale of the Roman maiden Virginia, whose great beauty caused a judge to attempt to obtain her person by means of a trumped-up lawsuit in which he connived with a "churl" who claimed her as his slave; in order to preserve her chastity, her father killed her.

insane help

at any rate I innocent always

benefit

body

3. I.e., never mind. 4. Jordans (chamber pots): the Host is somewhat confused in his endeavor to use technical medical terms. "Urinals": vessels for examining urine. 5. A medicine, probably invented on the spot by the Host, named after Galen. "Ipocras": a medicinal drink named after Hippocrates,

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THE

P A R D O N E R ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

And every boiste 0 ful of thy letuarye 0 — God blesse hem, and oure lady Sainte Marye. So mote I theen, 6 thou art a propre man, And lik a prelat, by Saint Ronian! 7 Saide I nat wel? I can nat speke in terme. 8 But wel I woot, thou doost° myn herte to erme 0 That I almost have caught a cardinacle. 9 By corpus bones, 1 but iP I have triacle, 0 Or elles a draughte of moiste 0 and corny 0 ale, Or but I here anoon 0 a merye tale, Myn herte is lost for pitee of this maide. "Thou bel ami, 2 thou Pardoner," he saide, "Tel us som mirthe or japes 0 right anoon." "It shal be doon," quod he, "by Saint Ronion. But first," quod he, "here at this ale-stake 3 I wol bothe drinke and eten of a cake." 0 And right anoon thise gentils gan to crye, "Nay, lat him telle us of no ribaudye. 0 Tel us som moral thing that we may lere,° Som wit,4 and thanne wol we gladly heere." "I graunte, ywis,"° quod he, "but I moot thinke Upon som honeste 0 thing whil that I drinke." The

malorum

est

285

box / medicine

make / grieve unless / medicine fresh / malty at once

jokes

jiat loaf of bread ribaldry learn certainly decent

Prologue

Lordinges—quod he—in chirches whan I preche, I paine me 5 to han° an hautein 0 speeche, And ringe it out as round as gooth a belle, For I can al by rote 6 that I telle. My theme is alway oon, 7 and evere was: Radix

have/loud

cupiditas. 8

First I pronounce whennes 0 that I come, And thanne my bulles shewe I alle and some: 9 Oure lige lordes seel on my patente, 1 50 That shewe I first, my body to warente, 0 That no man be so bold, ne preest ne clerk, Me to destourbe of Cristes holy werk. And after that thanne telle I forth my tales 2 — Bulles of popes and of cardinales, 55 Of patriarkes and bisshopes I shewe, And in Latin I speke a wordes fewe, To saffron with3 my predicacioun, 0 And for to stire hem to devocioun. Thanne shewe I forth my longe crystal stones, 0 60 Ycrammed ful of cloutes 0 and of bones 6. So might I prosper. 7. St. Ronan or St. Ninian, with a possible play on "runnion" (sexual organ). 8. Speak in technical idiom. 9. Apparently a cardiac condition, confused in the Host's mind with a cardinal. 1. An illiterate oath, mixing "God's bones" with corpus dei ("God's body"). 2. Fair friend. 3. Sign of a tavern. 4. I.e., something with significance.

whence keep safe

preaching jars rags

5. Take pains. 6. I know all by heart. 7. I.e., the same. "Theme": biblical text on which the sermon is based. 8. Avarice is the root of evil (I Timothy 6.10). 9. Each and every one. "Bulles": papal bulls, official documents. 1. I.e., the pope's or bishop's seal on my papal license. 2. I go on with my yarn. 3. To add spice to.

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286

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

R e l i k e s b e e n they, a s w e e n e n 0 t h e y e e c h o o n . T h a n n e h a v e I in I a t o n ° a s h u l d e r - b o o n W h i c h t h a t w a s o f a n holy J e w e s s h e e p . " G o o d e m e n , " I saye, "take of my wordes keep:0 I f t h a t this b o o n b e w a s s h e i n a n y w e l l e , If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swelle, That any worm hath ete or worm ystonge,4 T a k e w a t e r o f t h a t w e l l e a n d w a s s h his t o n g e , And it is hools anoon. And ferthermoor, O f p o k k e s 0 a n d o f s c a b b e a n d every s o o r ° S h a l every s h e e p b e h o o l t h a t o f this w e l l e D r i n k e t h a d r a u g h t e . T a k e k e e p e e k ° t h a t I telle: If that the g o o d e m a n that the beestes oweth° W o l every w i k e , ° er° t h a t t h e c o k h i m c r o w e t h , F a s t i n g d r i n k e n o f this w e l l e a d r a u g h t e — A s t h i l k e 0 holy J e w o u r e e l d r e s t a u g h t e — H i s b e e s t e s a n d his s t o o r ° s h a l m u l t i p l y e . " A n d sire, a l s o i t h e l e t h j a l o u s y e : For though a m a n be falle in j a l o u s rage, L a t m a k e n w i t h this w a t e r his p o t a g e , 0 A n d n e v e r e s h a l h e m o r e his wif m i s t r i s t e , 0 T h o u g h h e t h e s o o t h e o f hir d e f a u t e w i s t e , 6 Al h a d d e she7 taken preestes two or three. " H e r e is a mitein0 eek that ye may see: H e t h a t his h a n d wol p u t t e i n this m i t e i n H e s h a l h a v e m u l t i p l y i n g o f his g r a i n , W h a n he hath sowen, be it whete or otes— S o t h a t h e o f f r e p e n s o r elles g r o t e s . 8 " G o o d e m e n a n d w o m m e n , oo thing warne I you: I f a n y w i g h t b e i n this c h i r c h e n o w T h a t hath d o o n sinne horrible, that he D a r nat for s h a m e of it yshriven0 be, O r a n y w o m m a n , b e s h e y o n g o r old, T h a t h a t h y m a k e d hir h o u s b o n d e c o k e w o l d , 0 Swich0 folk shal have no power ne no grace T o o f f r e n to 9 m y relikes i n this p l a c e ; And whoso findeth him out of swich blame, He wol c o m e up a n d offre in G o d d e s n a m e , A n d I assoile0 him by the auctoritee W h i c h that by bulle ygraunted was to m e . " By this g a u d e ° h a v e I w o n n e , y e e r by y e e r , An h u n d r e d mark1 sith° I was pardoner. I s t o n d e lik a c l e r k in my p u l p e t , A n d w h a n t h e I e w e d ° p e p l e i s d o w n yset, I p r e c h e so as ye h a n herd bifore, A n d telle a n h u n d r e d f a l s e j a p e s 0 m o r e . T h a n n e paine 1 me2 to strecche forth the nekke, And eest and west upon the peple I bekke° As d o o t h a d o u v e , ° s i t t i n g on a b e r n e ; ° 4. That has eaten any worm or been bitten by any snake. 5. I.e., sound. 6. Knew the truth of her infidelity. 7. Even if she had.

8. 9. I. 2.

suppose brass

pox, pustules / sore also owns week / before that same stock

soup mistrust

confessed cuckold such

absolve trick since ignorant tricks

nod dove / bam

Pennies, groats, coins, To make gifts in reverence of. Marks (pecuniary units). I take pains.

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THE

P A R D O N E R ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

M i n e handes and my tonge goon so yerne° T h a t it is joye to see my bisinesse. Of avarice a n d of swich cursednesse0 Is al my preching, for to make h e m free0 T o yiven hir p e n s , a n d n a m e l y 0 u n t o m e , For myn entente is nat but for to winne,3 A n d no thing for correccion of sinne: I rekke° nevere w h a n that they b e e n beried0 T h o u g h t h a t hir s o u l e s g o o n a - b l a k e b e r i e d . 4 For certes, many a predicacioun0 C o m t h o f t e t i m e o f yvel e n t e n c i o u n : S o m for p l e s a n c e of folk a n d flaterye, To been avaunced0 by ypocrisye, A n d s o m f o r v a i n e glorye, a n d s o m f o r h a t e ; For whan I dar noon otherways debate,0 T h a n n e wol I s t i n g e h i m 5 with m y t o n g e s m e r t e 0 In preching, so that he shal nat asterte0 T o b e e n d e f a m e d falsly, i f t h a t h e Hath trespassed to my bretheren6 or to me. F o r t h o u g h I telle n o u g h t his p r o p r e n a m e , M e n s h a l wel k n o w e t h a t i t i s t h e s a m e By signes and by othere circumstaunces. T h u s quite0 I folk that doon us displesaunces;7 T h u s spete0 I out my venim under hewe0 O f h o l i n e s s e , t o s e e m e holy a n d t r e w e . B u t s h o r t l y m y n e n t e n t e I wol d e v i s e : 0 I p r e c h e of no thing but for coveitise;0 T h e r f o r e m y t h e m e i s yit a n d e v e r e w a s Radix malorum est cupiditas. T h u s c a n I p r e c h e again that s a m e vice W h i c h that I use, a n d that is avarice. B u t t h o u g h m y s e l f b e gilty i n t h a t s i n n e , Yit c a n I m a k e o t h e r f o l k to t w i n n e 0 F r o m avarice, and sore to r e p e n t e — B u t that is nat my principal entente: I p r e c h e no thing b u t for coveitise. O f this m a t e r e i t o u g h t e y n o u g h s u f f i s e . T h a n n e telle I h e m e n s a m p l e s 8 m a n y o o n Of olde stories longe time agoon, For lewed° p e p l e loven tales o l d e — S w i c h e 0 t h i n g e s c a n they wel r e p o r t e a n d h o l d e . s W h a t , trowe0 ye that whiles I m a y preche, A n d w i n n e g o l d a n d silver f o r 0 I t e c h e , T h a t I wol live in p o v e r t e w i l f u l l y ? 0 N a y , nay, I t h o u g h t e 0 it n e v e r e , trewely, For I wol p r e c h e a n d b e g g e in sondry landes; I wol n a t d o n o l a b o u r with m i n e h a n d e s , N e m a k e b a s k e t t e s a n d live therby, By c a u s e I wol n a t b e g g e n idelly. 1 I wol n o n e of the Apostles countrefete:0 3. 4. 5. 6.

My intent is only to make money. Go blackberrying, i.e., go to hell. An adversary critical of pardoners. Injured my fellow pardoners.

7. 8. 9. I.

287

fast

generous especially

care / buried

promoted fight sharply escape

pay back spit / false colors explain covetousness

separate

ignorant such believe because voluntarily intended

imitate

Make trouble for us. Exempla (stories illustrating moral principles). Repeat and remember. I.e., without profit.

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288

160

165

170

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

I wol have moneye, wolle,° cheese, and whete, Al were it2 yiven of the pooreste page, Or of the pooreste widwe in a village— Al sholde hir children sterve 3 for famine. Nay, I wol drinke Iicour of the vine And have a joly wenche in every town. But herkneth, Iordinges, in conclusioun, Youre liking0 is that I shal telle a tale: Now have I dronke a draughte of corny ale, By God, I hope I shal you telle a thing That shal by reson been at youre liking; For though myself be a ful vicious man, A moral tale yit I you telle can, Which I am wont to preche for to winne. Now holde youre pees, my tale I wol biginne. The

175

180

185

190

195

200

wool

pleasure

Tale

once In Flandres whilom 0 was a compaignye practiced Of yonge folk that haunteden 0 folye— As riot, hasard, stewes, 4 and tavernes, guitars Wher as with harpes, lutes, and giternes 0 dice They daunce and playen at dees° bothe day and night, And ete also and drinke over hir might, 5 Thurgh which they doon the devel sacrifise Within that develes temple in cursed wise overindidgence By superfluitee 0 abhominable. Hir othes been so grete and so dampnable That it is grisly for to heere hem swere: Oure blessed Lordes body they totere 6 — tore Hem thoughte that Jewes rente 0 him nought ynough. laughed And eech of hem at otheres sinne lough. 0 dancing girls And right anoon thanne comen tombesteres, 0 shapely / slender Fetis 0 and smale, 0 and yonge frutesteres, 7 pimps Singeres with harpes, bawdes, 0 wafereres 8 — Whiche been the verray develes officeres, To kindle and blowe the fir of lecherye That is annexed unto glotonye: 9 The Holy Writ take I to my witnesse That luxure 0 is in win and dronkenesse. lechery Lo, how that dronken Lot 1 unkindely 0 unnaturally Lay by his doughtres two unwitingly: So dronke he was he niste 0 what he wroughte. 0 didn't know / did Herodes, who so wel the stories soughte, 2 Whan he of win was repleet 0 at his feeste, filled Right at his owene table he yaf his heeste 0 command To sleen 0 the Baptist John, ful giltelees. slay

2. Even though it were. 3. Even though her children should die. 4. Wild parties, gambling, brothels. 5. Beyond their capacity. 6. Tear apart (a reference to oaths sworn by parts of His body, such as "God's bones!" or "God's teeth!").

7. Fruit-selling girls. 8. Girl cake vendors. 9. I.e., closely related to gluttony. 1. See Genesis 19.30—36. 2. For the story of Herod and St. John the Baptist, see Mark 6 . 1 7 - 2 9 . "Who so . . . soughte": i.e., whoever looked it up in the Gospel would find.

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Senek3 saith a good word doutelees: He saith he can no difference finde B i t w i x e a m a n t h a t i s o u t o f his m i n d e A n d a m a n which that is dronkelewe,0 drunken B u t that w o o d n e s s e , yfallen in a shrewe,4 Persevereth lenger than dooth dronkenesse. O g l o t o n y e , f u l of c u r s e d n e s s e ! 0 wickedness O c a u s e first o f o u r e c o n f u s i o u n ! 0 downfall O o r i g i n a l of o u r e d a m p n a c i o u n , 0 damnation Til Crist h a d d e b o u g h t 0 us with his blood again! redeemed Lo, how dere, shortly for to sayn, A b o u g h t 0 w a s thilke 0 c u r s e d vilainye; paid for / that same C o r r u p t w a s a l this w o r l d f o r g l o t o n y e : A d a m o u r e f a d e r a n d h i s wif a l s o Fro Paradis to labour and to wo W e r e d r i v e n f o r t h a t vice, i t i s n o d r e d e . ° doubt F o r whil t h a t A d a m f a s t e d , a s I r e d e , He was in Paradis; and whan that he E e t ° o f t h e f r u i t d e f e n d e d 0 o n a tree, ate / forbidden Anoon he was out cast to wo and paine. 0 g l o t o n y e , o n t h e e wel o u g h t e u s p l a i n e ! 0 complain O, wiste a m a n 5 how m a n y e maladies Folwen of excesse and of glotonies, He wolde been the more mesurable0 moderate O f his d i e t e , s i t t i n g a t his t a b l e . Alias, the shorte throte, the tendre m o u t h , M a k e t h that eest and west a n d north and south, I n e r t h e , i n air, i n w a t e r , m e n t o s w i n k e , 0 work To gete a gloton daintee mete° a n d drinke. food O f this m a t e r e , O P a u l , w e l c a n s t o u t r e t e : " M e t e unto wombe,° and wombe eek unto mete, belly Shal G o d destroyen bothe," as Paulus saith.6 A l i a s , a f o u l t h i n g is it, by my f a i t h , T o s a y e this w o r d , a n d f o u l e r i s t h e d e e d e W h a n m a n so drinketh of the white and rede7 T h a t of his throte he m a k e t h his privee0 toilet T h u r g h thilke c u r s e d s u p e r f l u i t e e . 0 overindulgence T h e Apostle8 weeping saith ful pitously, " T h e r w a l k e n m a n y e o f w h i c h y o u told h a v e I — 1 s a y e it n o w w e e p i n g w i t h p i t o u s v o i s — They been enemies of Cristes crois,0 O f w h i c h e t h e e n d e i s d e e t h — w o m b e i s hir g o d ! O w o m b e , O bely, O s t i n k i n g c o d , 0 Fulfilled0 of dong° and of corrupcioun! filled full / dung At either e n d e of thee foul is the soun.° sound H o w greet labour and cost is thee to finde!0 provide for T h i s e cookes, how they s t a m p e 0 a n d straine and grinde, pound A n d t u r n e n s u b s t a n c e into a c c i d e n t 1 . . . . .

Seneca, the Roman Stoic philosopher. But that madness, occurring in a wicked man. If a man knew. S e e I Corinthians 6.13. I.e., white and red wines.

8. I.e., St. Paul. 9. See Philippians 3.18. 1. A philosophic joke, depending on the distinction between inner reality (substance) and outward appearance (accident).

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T o f u l f i l l e n a l thy l i k e r o u s 0 t a l e n t ! 0 O u t of the harde b o n e s knokke they T h e mary,° for they c a s t e n o u g h t away T h a t may go thurgh the golet2 softe and soote.° Of spicerye0 of leef a n d bark a n d roote S h a l b e e n his s a u c e y m a k e d b y d e l i t , T o m a k e h i m yit a n e w e r a p p e t i t . But certes, he that haunteth swiche delices0 I s d e e d 0 whil t h a t h e liveth i n t h o ° v i c e s . A lecherous thing is win, a n d dronkenesse I s f u l o f striving 0 arid o f w r e c c h e d n e s s e . O d r o n k e m a n , d i s f i g u r e d is thy f a c e ! S o u r i s thy b r e e t h , f o u l a r t o u t o e m b r a c e ! A n d t h u r g h thy d r o n k e n o s e s e e m e t h t h e s o u n A s t h o u g h t h o u s a i d e s t ay, 0 " S a m p s o u n , S a m p s o u n . ' A n d yit, G o d w o o t , ° S a m p s o n d r a n k n e v e r e win. 3 T h o u f a l l e s t as it w e r e a s t i k e d s w i n ; ° T h y t o n g e i s lost, a n d a l thyn h o n e s t e c u r e , 4 F o r d r o n k e n e s s e is verray sepulture0 O f m a n n e s wit° a n d h i s d i s c r e c i o u n . In w h o m that drinke hath dominacioun He c a n no conseil0 keepe, it is no drede.0 N o w k e e p e you fro the white a n d fro the r e d e — A n d n a m e l y 0 fro t h e w h i t e w i n o f L e p e 5 T h a t is to selle in Fisshstreete or in C h e p e : 6 T h e w i n o f S p a i n e c r e e p e t h subtilly I n o t h e r e w i n e s g r o w i n g f a s t e 0 by, Of which ther riseth swich f u m o s i t e e 0 That whan a m a n hath dronken draughtes three A n d weeneth0 that he be at h o o m in C h e p e , H e i s i n S p a i n e , right a t t h e t o w n o f L e p e , N a t at T h e Rochele ne at B u r d e u x town;7 A n d t h a n n e wol h e sayn, " S a m p s o u n , S a m p s o u n . " B u t herkneth, Iordinges, oo° word I you praye, T h a t alle the soverein actes,8 dar I saye, Of victories in the O l d e T e s t a m e n t , T h u r g h verray G o d t h a t i s o m n i p o t e n t , W e r e d o o n i n a b s t i n e n c e a n d i n p r a y e re: L o o k e t h 0 t h e B i b l e a n d t h e r y e m a y i t Iere.° L o o k e Attila, t h e g r e t e c o n q u e r o u r , 9 D e i d e 0 i n h i s s l e e p with s h a m e a n d d i s h o n o u r , Bleeding at his n o s e in d r o n k e n e s s e : A c a p i t a i n s h o l d e live in s o b r e n e s s e . A n d overal t h i s , a v i s e t h y o u 1 right w e l What was comanded unto L a m u e l 2 — 2. Through the gullet. 3. Before Samson's birth an angel told his mother that he would be a Nazarite throughout his life; members of this sect took no strong drink. 4. Care for self-respect. 5. A town in Spain. 6. Fishstreet and Cheapside in the London market district. 7. The Pardoner is joking about the illegal custom

greedy / appetite marrow sweetly spices

pleasures dead / those

always knows stuck pig burial intelligence secrets / doubt particularly

close heady fumes supposes

behold / learn died

of adulterating fine wines of Bordeaux and La Rochelle with strong Spanish wine. 8. Distinguished deeds. 9. Attila was the leader of the Huns who almost captured Rome in the 5th century. 1. Consider. 2. Lemuel's mother told him that kings should not drink (Proverbs 3 1 . 4 - 5 ) .

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N a t S a m u e l , but L a m u e l , saye I— R e d e t h the Bible a n d finde it expresly, O f win-yiving° t o h e m t h a t h a n 3 j u s t i s e : N a m o r e of this, for it m a y wel suffise. A n d now that I have spoken of glotonye, N o w wol I y o u d e f e n d e 0 h a s a r d r y e : 0 H a s a r d is v e r r a y m o d e r ° of l e s i n g e s , 0 A n d of deceite a n d cursed forsweringes,0 B l a s p h e m e of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast° also Of catel° and of time; a n d ferthermo, It is r e p r e v e 0 a n d c o n t r a r y e of h o n o u r F o r to b e e n h o l d e n a c o m m u n e h a s a r d o u r , 0 A n d e v e r e t h e hyer h e i s o f e s t a t T h e more is he holden desolat.4 If t h a t a p r i n c e u s e t h h a s a r d r y e , In alle g o v e r n a n c e a n d policye H e is, a s b y c o m m u n e o p i n i o u n , Y h o l d e t h e l a s s e ° in r e p u t a c i o u n . S t i l b o n , t h a t w a s a wis e m b a s s a d o u r , W a s sent to Corinthe in ful greet honour F r o L a c e d o m y e 0 t o m a k e hir a l l i a u n c e , And whan he c a m him happede0 p a r c h a u n c e T h a t alle t h e g r e t t e s t e 0 t h a t w e r e o f t h a t l o n d Playing at the hasard he h e m foond,° For which as soone as it mighte be H e s t a l h i m 5 h o o m a g a i n t o his c o n t r e e , A n d s a i d e , " T h e r wol I n a t l e s e ° m y n a m e , N'l wol nat take on me so greet d e f a m e 0 Y o u t o allye u n t o n o n e h a s a r d o u r s : Sendeth othere wise embassadours, For by my trouthe, me were levere6 die T h a n I y o u s h o l d e t o h a s a r d o u r s allye. For ye that been so glorious in honours S h a l n a t allye y o u w i t h h a s a r d o u r s As by my wil, ne as by my t r e t e e . " 0 This wise philosophre, thus saide he. L o o k e eek that to the king D e m e t r i u s T h e King of Parthes,0 as the book7 saith us, S e n t e h i m a p a i r e of d e e s ° of g o l d in s c o r n , For he hadde used hasard therbiforn, F o r w h i c h h e h e e l d h i s glorye o r h i s r e n o w n At no value or reputacioun. Lordes may finden other m a n e r e play H o n e s t e 0 y n o u g h to drive t h e d a y a w a y . N o w wol I speke of othes false a n d grete A w o r d o r two, a s o l d e b o o k e s t r e t e : G r e e t s w e r i n g is a t h i n g a b h o m i n a b l e , A n d f a l s s w e r i n g is yit m o r e r e p r e v a b l e . 0

I.e., administer. I.e. dissolute. He stole away. I had rather.

291

wine-serving

prohibit /gambling mother /lies perjuries waste property disgrace gambler

less

Sparta i t happened greatest found

lose dishonor

treaty

Parthians dice

honorable

reprehensible

7. The book that relates this and the previous incident is the Policraticus of the 12th-century Latin writer John of Salisbury.

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T h e hye G o d f o r b a d s w e r i n g a t a l — Witnesse on Mathew.8 But in special Of swering saith the holy J e r e m i e , 9 " T h o u s h a l t s w e r e s o o t h t h i n e o t h e s a n d n a t lie, And swere in doom0 and eek in rightwisnesse,0 equity / righteousness B u t idel s w e r i n g is a c u r s e d n e s s e . " 0 wickedness Biholde a n d s e e that in the firste Table1 O f hye G o d d e s heestes0 honorable commandments H o w t h a t t h e s e c o n d e h e e s t e o f h i m i s this: " T a k e n a t m y n a m e i n idel o r a m i s . " Lo, rather0 he forbedeth swich swering T h a n homicide, or m a n y a c u r s e d thing. I saye that as by ordre thus it s t o n d e t h — T h i s k n o w e t h t h a t 2 his h e e s t e s u n d e r s t o n d e t h H o w that the s e c o n d e h e e s t e of G o d is that. A n d f e r t h e r o v e r , 0 I wol t h e e telle al p l a t ° moreover / plain T h a t v e n g e a n c e s h a l n a t p a r t e n 0 f r o m his h o u s depart T h a t of his othes is too o u t r a g e o u s . " B y G o d d e s precious herte!" a n d "By his nailes!' fingernails A n d "By t h e b l o o d o f C r i s t t h a t i s i n H a i l e s , 3 S e v e n e i s m y c h a u n c e , 0 a n d thyn i s c i n k a n d traye !" 4 winning number " B y G o d d e s a r m e s , if thou falsly playe T h i s d a g g e r e s h a l t h u r g h o u t thyn h e r t e g o ! " This fruit c o m e t h of the bicche bones5 t w o — F o r s w e r i n g , ire, f a l s n e s s e , h o m i c i d e . N o w f o r t h e love o f C r i s t t h a t f o r u s d y d e , ° died Lete° youre othes bothe grete a n d smale. leave B u t s i r e s , n o w wol I telle f o r t h m y tale. T h i s e r i o t o u r e s 0 t h r e e o f w h i c h e I telle, revelers L o n g e e r s t e r p r i m e 6 r o n g e o f a n y belle, W e r e set h e m in a t a v e m e to drinke, A n d a s t h e y s a t they h e r d e a b e l l e c l i n k e B i f o r n a c o r s ° w a s c a r i e d to his g r a v e . corpse T h a t oon of h e m g a n callen to his knave:0 servant G o b e t , " 7 q u o d h e , " a n d a x e ° redily 0 ask / promptly W h a t c o r s i s this t h a t p a s s e t h h e e r f o r b y , A n d looke° that thou reporte his n a m e weel."° be sure / well " S i r e , " q u o d this boy, "it n e e d e t h n e v e r a d e e l : I t w a s m e told e r y e c a m h e e r two h o u r e s . He was, pardee,0 an old felawe of youres, by God A n d sodeinly he was yslain tonight,0 last night F o r d r o n k e 0 a s h e s a t o n his b e n c h u p r i g h t ; very drunk T h e r c a m a privee0 thief m e n clepeth0 D e e t h , stealthy / call T h a t i n this c o n t r e e a l t h e p e p l e s l e e t h , 0 slays A n d w i t h his s p e r e h e s m o o t his h e r t e a t w o , A n d w e n t e his w a y w i t h o u t e n w o r d e s m o . He hath a t h o u s a n d slain this0 pestilence. during this 8. "But I say unto you, Swear not at all" (Matthew 5.34). 9. Jeremiah 4.2. 1. I.e., the first three of the Ten Commandments. 2. I.e., he that. 3. An abbey in Gloucestershire supposed to pos-

sess some of Christ's blood. 4. Five and three. 5. I.e., damned dice. 6. Long before 9 A.M. 7. Better, i.e., quick. 8. It isn't a bit necessary.

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A n d maister, er ye c o m e in his p r e s e n c e , Me thinketh that it were necessarye For to be war of swich an adversarye; B e e t h redy for to m e e t e him everemore: T h u s taughte me my dame.0 I saye namore." " B y S a i n t e M a r y e , " s a i d e this t a v e r n e r , " T h e c h i l d s a i t h s o o t h , f o r h e h a t h s l a i n this yeer, H e n n e ° over a m i l e , w i t h i n a g r e e t village, Bothe m a n and w o m m a n , child and hine9 and page. I t r o w e 0 his h a b i t a c i o n be t h e r e . To been avised0 greet wisdom it were Er t h a t he d i d e a m a n a d i s h o n o u r . " "Ye, G o d d e s a r m e s , " q u o d this r i o t o u r , " I s i t s w i c h p e r i l w i t h h i m f o r t o meete: 3 I shal him seeke by way a n d eek by streete,1 I m a k e avow to G o d d e s digne° bones. Herkneth, felawes, we three b e e n alle ones:0 L a t e e c h of us holde up his h a n d to other And eech of us b i c o m e otheres brother, A n d w e wol s l e e n this f a l s e t r a i t o u r D e e t h . He shal be slain, he that so m a n y e sleeth, By G o d d e s dignitee, er it be night." T o g i d r e s h a n t h i s e t h r e e hir t r o u t h e s p l i g h t 2 T o live a n d d i e n e e c h o f h e m w i t h o t h e r , As t h o u g h he were his o w e n e ybore° brother. A n d u p t h e y s t e r t e , 0 a l d r o n k e n i n this r a g e , A n d forth they g o o n towardes that village Of which the taverner h a d d e spoke biforn, A n d m a n y a grisly o o t h t h a n n e h a n t h e y s w o r n , A n d Cristes blessed body they torente:0 D e e t h shal be deed0 if that they may him hente.0 W h a n they h a n g o o n nat fully half a mile, R i g h t a s t h e y w o l d e h a n t r e d e n 0 o v e r a stile, An old m a n a n d a poore with h e m mette; This olde m a n ful mekely h e m grette,0 A n d saide thus, " N o w Iordes, G o d you see."3 T h e pruddeste0 of thise riotoures three A n s w e r d e again, "What, carl0 with sory grace, W h y a r t o u a l f o r w r a p p e d 0 s a v e thy f a c e ? W h y livestou so longe in so greet a g e ? " T h i s olde m a n g a n looke in his visage, And saide thus, "For° I ne can nat finde A m a n , t h o u g h t h a t I w a l k e d into I n d e , ° N e i t h e r i n c i t e e n e i n n o village, T h a t wolde c h a u n g e his youthe for myn age; A n d t h e r e f o r e m o o t 0 I h a n m y n a g e stille, A s l o n g e t i m e a s i t i s G o d d e s wille. " N e D e e t h , a l i a s , n e w o l n a t h a v e m y lif. T h u s w a l k e I lik a r e s t e l e e s c a i t i f , 0 And on the ground which is my modres0 gate 9. Farm laborer. I. By highway and byway.

293

mother

hence believe wary

worthy of one mind

born started

tore apart dead / catch stepped

proudest fellow muffled up

2. Pledged their words of honor. 3. May God protect you.

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because India

must

wretch mother's

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I k n o k k e w i t h m y s t a f b o t h e erly a n d l a t e , A n d s a y e , ' L e v e ° m o d e r , Ieet m e in: L o , h o w I vanisshe, flessh a n d blood a n d skin. Alias, whan shal my bones been at reste? M o d e r , with you wolde I c h a u n g e 0 my c h e s t e 4 T h a t in my c h a m b r e Ionge time hath be, Ye, f o r a n h a i r e - c l o u t 5 t o w r a p p e m e . ' B u t yit t o m e s h e wol n a t d o t h a t g r a c e , For which ful pale and welked0 is my face. B u t s i r e s , to y o u it is no c u r t e i s y e T o s p e k e n t o a n o l d m a n vilainye, 0 B u t ° he t r e s p a s s e 0 in word or elles in deede. I n H o l y W r i t y e m a y y o u r s e l f wel r e d e , ' A g a i n s 6 a n o l d m a n , h o o r 0 u p o n his h e e d , Ye s h a l l a r i s e . ' 7 W h e r f o r e I yive y o u r e e d , ° N e dooth unto a n old m a n n o o n h a r m now, N a m o r e than that ye wolde m e n dide to you In a g e , if t h a t ye so I o n g e a b i d e . 8 A n d G o d b e w i t h y o u w h e r y e g o 0 o r ride: I m o o t go t h i d e r as I h a v e to g o . " "Nay, olde cherl, by G o d thou shalt nat so," S a i d e this o t h e r h a s a r d o u r a n o o n . " T h o u p a r t e s t n a t s o lightly, 0 b y S a i n t J o h n ! T h o u s p e k e 0 right n o w o f thilke t r a i t o u r D e e t h , T h a t i n this c o n t r e e alle o u r e f r e e n d e s s l e e t h : H a v e h e r e m y t r o u t h e , a s t h o u art his e s p y e , 0 T e l w h e r h e is, o r t h o u s h a l t i t a b y e , ° B y G o d a n d b y t h e holy s a c r a m e n t ! F o r s o o t h l y t h o u art o o n o f his a s s e n t 9 T o s l e e n u s y o n g e folk, t h o u f a l s e t h i e f . " " N o w s i r e s , " q u o d h e , "if t h a t y e b e s o l i e P T o f i n d e D e e t h , t u r n e u p this c r o o k e d way, F o r in t h a t g r o v e I l a f t e 0 h i m , by my f a y , ° U n d e r a tree, a n d t h e r h e wol a b i d e : N a t for youre boost0 he wol h i m no thing hide. S e e ye that ook?° Right ther ye shal him finde. G o d save you, that b o u g h t e again1 mankinde, A n d y o u a m e n d e . " T h u s s a i d e this o l d e m a n . And everich of thise riotoures ran Til h e c a m t o t h a t t r e e , a n d t h e r t h e y f o u n d e Of florins0 fine of gold ycoined r o u n d e Wel neigh an eighte busshels as h e m thoughte— Ne Ienger t h a n n e after D e e t h they soughte, B u t e e c h of h e m so glad was of the sighte, For that the florins b e e n so faire a n d brighte, T h a t d o w n they s e t t e h e m b y this p r e c i o u s h o o r d . T h e worste of h e m he s p a k the firste word: " B r e t h e r e n , " q u o d he, "take keep0 what that I saye: M y wit i s g r e e t t h o u g h t h a t I b o u r d e 0 a n d p l a y e . 4. Chest for one's symbol for life—or 5. Haircloth, for a 6. In the presence

belongings, used here as the perhaps a coffin. winding sheet. of.

7. 8. 9. I.

exchange

withered

unless / offend hoar advice

walk

easily spoke spy pay for

left / faith

Cf. Leviticus 19.32. I.e., if you live so long. I.e., one of his party. Redeemed.

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boast oak

heed joke

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T h i s t r e s o r h a t h F o r t u n e u n t o u s yiven I n m i r t h e a n d j o l i t e e o u r e lif t o liven, A n d lightly 0 a s i t c o m e t h s o wol w e s p e n d e . easily Ey, G o d d e s precious dignitee, who w e n d e 2 T o d a y that we sholde han so fair a grace? B u t m i g h t e this g o l d b e c a r i e d f r o this p l a c e H o o m t o myn h o u s — o r elles u n t o y o u r e s — F o r wel y e w o o t t h a t a l this g o l d i s o u r e s — T h a n n e were we in heigh felicitee. B u t trewely, b y d a y e i t m i g h t e n a t b e : M e n wolde sayn that we were theves stronge,0 flagrant 3 And for oure owene tresor doon us honge. This tresor m o s t e ycaried be by nighte, A s wisely a n d a s slyly a s i t m i g h t e . T h e r e f o r e I r e d e ° t h a t c u t ° a m o n g e s us alle advise / straws B e d r a w e , a n d lat s e e w h e r t h e c u t wol f a l l e ; A n d he that hath the c u t with herte blithe S h a l r e n n e ° to t h e t o w n , a n d t h a t f u l s w i t h e , 0 run / quickly A n d b r i n g e u s b r e e d a n d w i n f u l prively; A n d two o f u s s h a l k e e p e n 0 subtilly guard T h i s t r e s o r wel, a n d i f h e w o l n a t tarye, W h a n i t i s n i g h t w e w o l this t r e s o r c a r y e By oon assent wher as us thinketh best." That oon of hem the cut broughte in his fest° fist A n d b a d h e m drawe a n d looke wher it wol falle; A n d i t f i l ° o n t h e y o n g e s t e o f h e m alle, fell A n d forth toward the town he wente anoon. A n d a l s o 0 s o o n e as t h a t he w a s a g o o n , ° as /gone away T h a t oon of h e m spak thus unto that other: " T h o u k n o w e s t wel t h o u a r t m y s w o r e n b r o t h e r ; T h y p r o f i t wol I telle t h e e a n o o n : T h o u w o o s t wel t h a t o u r e f e l a w e i s a g o o n , And here is gold, and that ful greet plentee, T h a t shall departed0 b e e n a m o n g us three. divided B u t n a t h e l e e s , if I c a n s h a p e 0 it so arrange T h a t i t d e p a r t e d w e r e a m o n g u s two, H a d d e I n a t d o o n a f r e e n d e s t u r n to t h e e ? " T h a t other answerde, "I noot4 how that may be: H e w o o t t h a t t h e g o l d i s w i t h u s twaye. W h a t shal we doon? W h a t shal we to him saye?" " S h a l it be conseil?"5 saide the firste shrewe.0 villain " A n d I s h a l telle in a w o r d e s f e w e W h a t w e s h u l d o o n , a n d b r i n g e i t wel a b o u t e . " "I g r a u n t e , " q u o d that other, "out of doute, T h a t by my t r o u t h e I wol t h e e n a t b i w r a y e . " 0 expose " N o w , " q u o d t h e firste, " t h o u w o o s t wel w e b e twaye, A n d two o f u s s h a l s t r e n g e r 0 b e t h a n o o n : stronger L o o k e w h a n t h a t h e i s s e t t h a t right a n o o n Aris a s t h o u g h t h o u w o l d e s t w i t h h i m p l a y e , A n d I s h a l rive° h i m t h u r g h t h e s i d e s twaye, pierce 2. Who would have supposed. 3. Have us hanged.

4. Don't know. 5. A secret.

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Whil that thou strugelest with him as in game, And with thy daggere looke thou do the same; And thanne shal al this gold departed be, My dere freend, bitwixe thee and me. 545 Thanne we may bothe oure lustes 0 al fulfille, And playe at dees 0 right at oure owene wille." And thus accorded been thise shrewes twaye To sleen the thridde, as ye han herd me saye. This yongeste, which that wente to the town, 550 Ful ofte in herte he rolleth up and down The beautee of thise florins newe and brighte. "O Lord," quod he, "if so were that I mighte Have al this tresor to myself allone, Ther is no man that liveth under the trone 0 555 Of God that sholde live so merye as I." And at the laste the feend oure enemy Putte in his thought that he sholde poison beye,° With which he mighte sleen his felawes twaye— Forwhy0 the feend° foond him in swich livinge 560 That he hadde leve° him to sorwe bringe: 6 For this was outrely 0 his fulle entente, To sleen hem bothe, and nevere to repente. And forth he gooth—no lenger wolde he tarye— Into the town unto a pothecarye, 0 565 And prayed him that he him wolde selle Som poison that he mighte his rattes quelle, 0 And eek ther was a polcat 7 in his hawe 0 That, as he saide, his capons hadde ysiawe, 0 And fain he wolde wreke him 8 if he mighte 570 On vermin that destroyed him 9 by nighte. The pothecarye answerde, "And thou shalt have A thing that, also 0 God my soule save, In al this world there is no creature That ete or dronke hath of this confiture 0 575 Nat but the mountance 0 of a corn 0 of whete— That he ne shal his lif anoon forlete. 0 Ye, sterve 0 he shal, and that in lasse 0 while Than thou wolt goon a paas 1 nat but a mile, The poison is so strong and violent." 580 This cursed man hath in his hand yhent° This poison in a box and sith° he ran Into the nexte streete unto a man And borwed of him large hotels three, And in the two his poison poured he— 585 The thridde he kepte clene for his drinke, For al the night he shoop him 2 for to swinke 0 In carying of the gold out of that place. And whan this riotour with sory grace Hadde filled with win his grete hotels three, 590 To his felawes again repaireth he. 6. Christian doctrine teaches that the devil may not tempt people except with God's permission. 7. A weasellike animal. 8. He would gladly avenge himself.

desires dice

throne buy because / devil permission plainly apothecary kill yard slain

as mixture amount /grain lose die / less

9. I.e., were ruining his farming, I. Take a walk. 2. He was preparing.

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taken then

work

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P A R D O N E R ' S P R O L O G U E AND T A L E

W h a t needeth it to s e r m o n e of it more? F o r right a s t h e y h a d c a s t 0 h i s d e e t h b i f o r e , Right so they h a n him slain, a n d that a n o o n . A n d w h a n t h a t this w a s d o o n , t h u s s p a k t h a t o o n : " N o w lat u s s i t t e a n d d r i n k e a n d m a k e u s m e r y e , A n d a f t e r w a r d w e wol his b o d y b e r y e . " 0 A n d with that word it h a p p e d him p a r c a s 3 To take the botel ther the poison was, A n d d r a n k , a n d y a f his f e l a w e d r i n k e a l s o , F o r w h i c h a n o o n t h e y s t o r v e n 0 b o t h e two. B u t certes I s u p p o s e that Avicen W r o o t n e v e r e i n n o c a n o n n e i n n o fen 4 Mo wonder signes5 of empoisoning T h a n h a d d e t h i s e w r e c c h e s two e r hir e n d i n g : T h u s e n d e d b e e n t h i s e h o m i c i d e s two, And eek the false empoisonere also. O c u r s e d sinne of alle c u r s e d n e s s e ! O traitours homicide, O wikkednesse! 0 glotonye, luxure,0 a n d hasardrye! T h o u b l a s p h e m o u r o f C r i s t w i t h vilainye And othes grete of usage0 a n d of pride! Alias, manldnde, how m a y it bitide T h a t t o thy C r e a t o u r w h i c h t h a t t h e e w r o u g h t e , A n d with his precious herte blood thee boughte,0 T h o u art so fals a n d so unkinde,0 alias? N o w g o o d e m e n , G o d foryive y o u y o u r e t r e s p a s , A n d ware0 you fro the sinne of avarice: M y n holy p a r d o n m a y you alle w a r i c e 0 — So that ye offre nobles or sterlinges,6 O r e l l e s silver b r o o c h e s , s p o o n e s , r i n g e s . B o w e t h y o u r h e e d u n d e r this holy b u l i e ! C o m e t h u p , y e w i v e s , o f f r e t h o f y o u r e woIIe!° Y o u r e n a m e I e n t r e h e r e i n m y rolle: a n o o n Into t h e b l i s s e o f h e v e n e s h u l y e g o o n . 1 y o u a s s o i l e 0 by m y n h e i g h p o w e r — Ye that wol o f f r e — a s clene a n d e e k as cleer A s y e w e r e b o r n . — A n d lo, s i r e s , t h u s I p r e c h e . And J e s u Crist that is oure soules Ieeche0 S o g r a u n t e y o u his p a r d o n t o r e c e i v e , For that is b e s t — I wol you nat deceive.

The

635

plotted

bmy

died

lechery habit

redeemed unnatural guard save

wool

absolve

physician

Epilogue

" B u t sires, oo word forgat I in my tale: I h a v e relikes a n d p a r d o n in my m a l e 0 As faire as any m a n in Engelond, W h i c h e w e r e m e yiven b y t h e P o p e s h o n d . If a n y of y o u wol of d e v o c i o u n Offren and han myn absolucioun, C o m e forth anoon, a n d kneeleth here adown,

3. By chance. 4. The Caiton of Medicine, by Avicenna, an 1 Ithcentury Arabic philosopher, was divided into sec-

297

bag

tions called "fens." 5. More wonderful symptoms. 6. "Nobles" and "sterlinges" were valuable coins.

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And mekely receiveth my pardoun, Or elles taketh p a r d o n as ye w e n d e , ° A l n e w e a n d f r e s s h a t every m i l e s e n d e — So that ye offre alway n e w e a n d newe7 N o b l e s or p e n s w h i c h e that be g o o d e a n d trewe. It is an h o n o u r to e v e r i c h 0 t h a t is h e e r T h a t ye have a suffisant0 p a r d o n e r T ' a s s o i l e y o u i n c o n t r e e s a s y e ride, For aventures0 w h i c h e that m a y bitide: P a r a v e n t u r e t h e r m a y f a l l e o o n o r two D o w n o f h i s h o r s a n d b r e k e his n e k k e a t w o ; L o o k e w h i c h a s u r e t e e 0 is it to y o u alle T h a t I am in youre felaweshipe yfalle T h a t may assoile you, bothe more and lasse,8 W h a n that the soule shal fro the body passe. I rede° that oure H o s t e shal biginne, For he is most envoluped0 in sinne. C o m f o r t h , sire H o s t , a n d o f f r e first a n o o n , A n d t h o u s h a l t k i s s e t h e relikes e v e r i c h o o n , 0 Ye, f o r a g r o t e : u n b o k e l e 0 a n o o n thy p u r s . " "Nay, nay," q u o d he, "thanne have I Cristes curs! L a t b e , " q u o d h e , "it s h a l n a t b e , s o t h e e c h ! 0 T h o u w o l d e s t m a k e m e k i s s e thyn o l d e b r e e c h 0 A n d s w e r e it w e r e a relik of a s a i n t , T h o u g h i t w e r e w i t h thy f u n d a m e n t 0 d e p e i n t . 0 But, by the crois which that Sainte Elaine foond,9 I w o l d e I h a d d e thy c o i l o n s 0 in m y n h o n d , I n s t e d e o f relikes o r o f s a i n t u a r y e . 0 L a t c u t t e h e m of: I w o l t h e e h e l p e h e m c a r y e . They shal be shrined in an hogges tord."° This Pardoner answerde nat a word: So wroth he was no word ne wolde he saye. " N o w , " q u o d o u r e H o s t , " I wol n o l e n g e r p l a y e With thee, ne with n o o n other angry m a n . " B u t right a n o o n t h e w o r t h y K n i g h t b i g a n , W h a n that he sawgh that al the peple lough,° " N a m o r e o f this, f o r i t i s right y n o u g h . Sire Pardoner, be glad and merye of cheere, A n d ye, sire H o s t t h a t b e e n t o m e s o d e r e , I p r a y e y o u t h a t ye k i s s e t h e P a r d o n e r , And Pardoner, I praye thee, draw thee neer, A n d a s w e d i d e n lat u s I a u g h e a n d p l a y e . " A n o o n t h e y k i s t e a n d r i d e n f o r t h hir w a y e .

ride along

everyone competent accidents

safeguard

advise involved each one unbuckle may I prosper breeches anus / stained testicles relic-box turd

laughed

The Nun's Priest's Tale In the framing story, The Nun's Priest's Tale is linked to a dramatic exchange that follows The Monk's Tale. T h e latter consists of brief tragedies, the common theme of 7. Over and over. mother of Constantine the Great, was reputed to 8. Both high and low (i.e., everybody). have found the cross on which Christ was cruci9. I.e., by the cross that St. Helena found. Helena, fied.

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299

which is the fall of f a m o u s men and one woman, most of whom are rulers, through the reversals of Fortune. Like The Knight's Tale, this was probably an earlier work of Chaucer's, one that he never finished. As the Monk's tragedies promise to go on and on monotonously, the Knight interrupts and politely tells the Monk that his tragedies are too painful. The Host chimes in to say that the tragedies are "nat worth a botterflye" and asks the M o n k to try another subject, but the Monk is offended and refuses. The Host then turns to the Nun's Priest, that is, the priest who is accompanying the Prioress. The three priests said in The General Prologue to have been traveling with her have apparently been reduced to one. The Nun's Priest's Tale is an example of the literary genre known as the "animal fable," familiar from the fables of Aesop in which animals, behaving like human beings, point a moral. In the Middle Ages fables often functioned as elementary texts to teach boys Latin. Marie de France's fables in French are the earliest known vernacular translations. This particular fable derives from an episode in the French Roman de Renard, a "beast epic," which satirically represents a feudal animal society ruled over by Noble the Lion. Reynard the Fox is a wily trickster hero who is constantly preying upon and outwitting the other animals, although sometimes Reynard himself is outwitted by one of his victims. In The Nun's Priest's Tale, morals proliferate: both the priest-narrator and his hero, Chauntecleer the rooster, spout examples, learned allusions, proverbs, and sententious generalizations, often in highly inflated rhetoric. The simple beast fable is thus inflated into a delightful satire of learning and moralizing and of the pretentious rhetoric by which medieval writers sometimes sought to elevate their works. Among them, we may include C h a u c e r himself, who in this tale seems to be making affectionate fun of some of his own works, like the tragedies which became The Monk's Tale.

A p o o r e w i d w e s o m d e e l s t a p e 0 in a g e W a s w h i l o m 0 d w e l l i n g in a n a r w e 1 c o t a g e , B i s i d e a grove, s t o n d i n g in a d a l e : T h i s w i d w e o f w h i c h I telle y o u m y t a l e , S i n t h i l k e 0 d a y t h a t s h e w a s l a s t a wif, In p a c i e n c e I a d d e ° a f u l s i m p l e lif. F o r litel w a s hir c a t e l ° a n d hir r e n t e , 0 B y h o u s b o n d r y e 0 o f s w i c h a s G o d hire s e n t e S h e f o o n d ° h i r s e l f a n d e e k hir d o u g h t r e n two. T h r e e large s o w e s h a d d e s h e a n d n a m o , T h r e e kin,° a n d eek a s h e e p that highte0 Malle. F u l s o o t y w a s hir b o w r ° a n d e e k hir h a l l e . In w h i c h s h e e e t f u l m a n y a s c l e n d r e 0 m e e l ; Of p o i n a n t 0 s a u c e hire n e e d e d n e v e r a d e e l : 0 No d a i n t e e m o r s e l p a s s e d t h u r g h hir t h r o t e — H i r d i e t e w a s a c c o r d a n t to hir c o t e . ° R e p l e c c i o u n 0 n e m a d e h i r e n e v e r e sik: A t t e m p r e 0 d i e t e w a s al hir p h y s i k , ° And exercise and hertes suffisaunce.0 T h e g o u t e l e t t e hire n o t h i n g f o r to d a u n c e , 2 N ' a p o p l e x y e s h e n t e 0 n a t hir h e e d . ° N o win n e d r a n k s h e , n e i t h e r w h i t n e r e e d : ° Hir boord° was served m o s t with whit a n d blak,3 M i l k a n d b r o w n b r e e d , i n w h i c h s h e f o o n d n o lak; 4

1. I.e., small. 2. The gout didn't hinder her at all from dancing.

advanced once upon a time

that same led property / income economy provided for cows I was called bedroom scanty pungent I not a bit cottage overeating moderate / medicine contentment hurt /head red table

3. I.e., milk and bread. 4. Found no fault.

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S e i n d 0 b a c o n , a n d s o m t i m e a n ey° o r twaye, For she was as it were a m a n e r e daye.5 A yeerd° she hadde, e n c l o s e d al withoute W i t h s t i k k e s , a n d a drye d i c h a b o u t e , In which she h a d d e a cok heet° Chauntecleer: I n a l t h e l a n d o f c r o w i n g n a s ° his p e e r . H i s vois w a s m e r i e r t h a n t h e m e r y e o r g o n On massedayes that in the chirche goon;6 W e l sikerer7 w a s his crowing in his logge° T h a n is a clok or an abbeye orlogge;0 By nature he knew eech ascensioun O f t h ' e q u i n o x i a l 8 i n thilke t o w n : For whan degrees fifteene were ascended, T h a n n e crew° he that it mighte nat been a m e n d e d / H i s c o m b w a s r e d d e r t h a n t h e fin c o r a l , A n d b a t a i l e d 0 as it w e r e a c a s t e l w a l ; H i s b i l e 0 w a s blak, a n d a s t h e j e e t 0 i t s h o o n ; L i k e a s u r e 9 w e r e his I e g g e s a n d his t o o n ; ° H i s n a i l e s w h i t t e r 0 t h a n t h e Iilye flowr, A n d lik t h e b u r n e d 0 g o l d w a s his c o l o u r . T h i s g e n t i l 0 c o k h a d d e i n his g o v e r n a u n c e S e v e n e h e n n e s for to d o o n al his p l e s a u n c e , 0 W h i c h e were his sustres a n d his p a r a m o u r s , 1 A n d w o n d e r like t o h i m a s o f c o l o u r s ; O f w h i c h e t h e f a i r e s t e h e w e d 0 o n hir t h r o t e W a s cleped0 faire damoisele Pertelote: Curteis she was, discreet, and debonaire,0 A n d c o m p a i g n a b l e , 0 a n d bar0 hirself so faire, S i n thilke d a y t h a t s h e w a s s e v e n n i g h t old, T h a t trewely s h e h a t h t h e h e r t e i n h o l d O f C h a u n t e c l e e r , l o k e n ° i n every lith.° H e l o v e d hire s o t h a t wel w a s h i m t h e r w i t h . 2 B u t swich a joye was it to heere h e m singe, W h a n that the brighte s o n n e gan to springe, In s w e e t e a c c o r d My Lief is Faren in Londe 3— F o r thilke time, as I have understonde, Beestes and briddes c o u d e n speke and singe. A n d so b i f e l t h a t in a d a w e n i n g e , A s C h a u n t e c l e e r a m o n g h i s wives a l l e S a t on his p e r c h e that w a s in the halle, A n d next him sat this faire Pertelote, T h i s C h a u n t e c l e e r g a n g r o n e n i n his t h r o t e , As m a n that in his d r e e m is drecched0 sore. A n d w h a n that Pertelote thus herde him rore,° S h e was agast, a n d saide, "Herte dere,

5. I.e., a kind of dairywoman. 6. I.e., is played. 7. More reliable. 8. I.e., he knew by instinct each step in the progression of the celestial equator. The celestial equator was thought to make a 360° rotation around the earth every twenty-four hours;

Broiled / egg

named was not

dwelling timepiece

crowed / improved battlemented bill / jet toes whiter burnished noble

colored called meek companionable / bore

locked / limb

troubled roar

therefore, a progression of 15° would be equal to the passage of an hour (line 37). 9. Blue (lapis lazuli). 1. His sisters and his mistresses. 2. That he was well contented. 3. "My Love Has Gone Away," a popular song of the time. See p. 437.

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THE

ioo

105

NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

W h a t a i l e t h y o u to g r o n e in this m a n e r e ? Y e b e e n a v e r r a y s l e p e r e , 4 fy, f o r s h a m e ! " And he answerde and saide thus, " M a d a m e , I p r a y e y o u t h a t ye t a k e it n a t a g r i e f . 0 By G o d , me mette I was in swich meschief5 R i g h t n o w , t h a t yit m y n h e r t e is s o r e a f r i g h t . N o w G o d , " q u o d he, " m y swevene r e c c h e aright,6 And keepe my body out of foul prisoun! Me mette° how that I romed up and down W i t h i n o u r e y e e r d , w h e r as I s a w g h a b e e s t , W a s lik a n h o u n d a n d w o l d e h a n m a a d a r r e s t 7 U p o n my body, a n d h a n had me deed.8 H i s c o l o u r w a s bitwixe y e l o w a n d r e e d , A n d t i p p e d w a s h i s tail a n d b o t h e his e r e s With blak, unlik the r e m e n a n t 0 of his heres;° H i s s n o u t e s m a l , w i t h g l o w i n g y e n twaye. Yit of h i s l o o k f o r f e r e a l m o s t I d e y e : ° This c a u s e d me my groning, doutelees." "Avoi,"° q u o d she, "fy on you, hertelees!0 Alias," q u o d she, "for by that G o d above, N o w h a n y e lost m y n h e r t e a n d a l m y love! I c a n n a t love a c o w a r d , by my f a i t h . For certes, what so any w o m m a n saith, We alle desiren, if it mighte be, T o h a n h o u s b o n d e s hardy, w i s e , a n d f r e e , 0 A n d secree,0 a n d no nigard, ne no fool, N e h i m t h a t i s a g a s t o f every t o o l , 0 Ne noon avauntour.0 By that G o d above, H o w d o r s t e 0 y e s a y n f o r s h a m e u n t o y o u r e love T h a t any thing mighte m a k e you aferd? H a v e ye no m a n n e s herte a n d h a n a beerd?° Alias, a n d conne0 ye b e e n agast of swevenes?0 N o t h i n g , G o d w o o t , b u t v a n i t e e 9 i n s w e v e n e is! Swevenes engendren of replexiouns,1 And ofte of f u m e ° and of complexiouns,0 W h a n h u m o u r s b e e n t o o h a b u n d a n t in a w i g h t . 2 C e r t e s , this d r e e m w h i c h y e h a n m e t 0 t o n i g h t C o m t h of the grete superfluitee Of youre rede colera,3 pardee, W h i c h c a u s e t h f o l k t o d r e d e n 0 i n hir d r e m e s O f a r w e s , ° a n d o f fir w i t h r e d e I e m e s , ° O f r e d e b e e s t e s , t h a t t h e y wol h e m b i t e , Of contek,0 and of whelpes grete and lite4— Right0 as the h u m o u r of malencolye5 C a u s e t h ful m a n y a m a n in sleep to crye

4. Sound sleeper. 5. I dreamed that I was in such misfortune. 6. Interpret my dream correctly (i.e., in an auspicious manner). 7. Would have laid hold. 8. I.e., killed me. 9. I.e., empty illusion. I. Dreams have their origin in overeating.

301

amiss

dreamed

rest / hairs die fie / coward

generous discreet weapon boaster dare beard can / dreams

gas / bodily humors dreamed

fear arrows /flames strife just

2. I.e., when humors (bodily fluids) are too abundant in a person. Pertelote's diagnosis is based on the familiar concept that an excess of one of the bodily humors in a person affected his or her temperament (see p. 228, n. 8). 3. Red bile. 4. And of big and little dogs. 5. I.e., black bile.

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302

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

For fere of blake beres° or boles 0 blake, bears / bulls Or elles blake develes wol hem take. Of othere humours coude I tell also That werken many a man in sleep ful wo, But I wol passe as lightly0 as I can. quickly Lo, Caton, 6 which that was so wis a man, Saide he nat thus? 'Ne do no fors of 7 dremes.' Now, sire," quod she, "whan we flee fro the bemes, 8 For Goddes love, as take som Iaxatif. Up° peril of my soule and of my lif, upon I conseile you the beste, I wol nat lie, That bothe of colere and of malencolye Ye purge you; and for° ye shal nat tarye, in order that Though in this town is noon apothecarye, I shal myself to herbes techen you, That shal been for youre hele° and for youre prow,° health / benefit And in oure yeerd tho° herbes shal I finde, those The whiche han of hir propretee by kinde 0 nature To purge you binethe and eek above. Foryet° nat this, for Goddes owene love. forget Ye been ful colerik 0 of complexioun; bilious Ware 0 the sonne in his ascencioun beware tfiat Ne finde you nat repleet 0 of humours hote;° filled / hot And if it do, I dar wel Iaye° a grote bet That ye shul have a fevere terciane, 9 Or an agu° that may be youre bane.° ague / death A day or two ye shul han digestives Of wormes, er° ye take youre laxatives before Of lauriol, centaure, and fumetere, 1 Or elles of ellebor 0 that groweth there, hellebore Of catapuce, or of gaitres beries, 2 Of herb-ive° growing in oure yeerd ther merye is 3 — herb ivy Pekke hem right up as they growe and ete hem in. Be merye, housbonde, for youre fader 0 kin! father's Dredeth no dreem: I can saye you namore." "Madame," quod he, "graunt mercy of youre lore, 4 But nathelees, as touching daun° Catoun, master That hath of wisdom swich a greet renown, Though that he bad no dremes for to drede, By God, men may in olde bookes rede Of many a man more of auctoritee 0 authority Than evere Caton was, so mote I thee,° prosper That al the revers sayn of his sentence, 0 opinion And han wel founden by experience That dremes been significaciouns As wel of joye as tribulaciouns 6. Dionysius Cato, supposed author of a book of maxims used in elementary education. 7. Pay no attention to. 8. Fly down from the rafters. 9. Tertian (recurring every other day). I. Of Iaureole, centaury, and fumitory. These, and

the herbs mentioned in the next lines, were all common medieval medicines used as cathartics. 2. Of caper berry or of gaiter berry. 3. Where it is pleasant. 4. Many thanks for your instruction.

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THE

NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

That folk enduren in this lif present. Ther needeth make of this noon argument: The verray preve 5 sheweth it in deede. "Oon of the gretteste auctour 6 that men rede 165 Saith thus, that whilom two felawes wente On pilgrimage in a ful good entente, And happed so they comen in a town, Wher as ther was swich congregacioun Of peple, and eek so strait of herbergage, 7 170 That they ne founde as muche as oo cotage In which they bothe mighte ylogged 0 be; Wherfore they mosten 0 of necessitee As for that night departe 0 compaignye. And eech of hem gooth to his hostelrye, 175 And took his logging as it wolde falle.° That oon of hem was logged in a stalle, Fer° in a yeerd, with oxen of the plough; That other man was logged wel ynough, As was his aventure 0 or his fortune, i8o That us governeth alle as in commune. And so bifel that Ionge er it were day, This man mette° in his bed, ther as he lay, How that his felawe gan upon him calle, And saide, 'Alias, for in an oxes stalle 185 This night I shal be mordred 0 ther I lie! Now help me, dere brother, or I die! In alle haste com to me,' he saide. "This man out of his sleep for fere abraide, 0 But whan that he was wakened of his sleep, 190 He turned him and took of this no keep: 0 Him thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee. 0 Thus twies in his sleeping dremed he, And atte thridde time yit his felawe Cam, as him thoughte, and saide, 'I am now slawe:° 195 Bihold my bloody woundes deepe and wide. Aris up erly in the morwe tide, 8 And atte west gate of the town,' quod he, 'A carte ful of dong° ther shaltou see, In which my body is hid ful prively: 200 Do thilke carte arresten boldely. 9 My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn' —And tolde him every point how he was slain, With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. And truste wel, his dreem he foond° ful trewe, 205 For on the morwe° as soone as it was day, To his felawes in° he took the way, And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle, After his felawe he bigan to calle. 5. Actual experience. 6. I.e., one of the greatest authors (perhaps Cicero or Valerius Maximus).

303

lodged must part befall far away lot

dreamed

murdered

started up

7. And also such a shortage of lodging. 8. In the morning. 9. Boldly have this same cart seized.

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heed illusion

slain

dung

found morning lodging

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304

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

"The hostiler0 answerde him anoon, And saide, 'Sire, youre felawe is agoon:° As soone as day he wente out of the town.' "This man gan fallen in suspecioun, Remembring on his dremes that he mette;° And forth he gooth, no lenger wolde he Iette,0 Unto the west gate of the town, and foond A dong carte, wente as it were to donge° Iond, That was arrayed in that same wise As ye han herd the dede° man devise; And with an hardy herte he gan to crye, 'Vengeance and justice of this felonye! My felawe mordred is this same night, And in this carte he lith° gaping upright!0 I crye out on the ministres,' quod he, 'That sholde keepe and rulen this citee. Harrow,0 alias, here Iith my felawe slain!' What sholde I more unto this tale sayn? The peple up sterte0 and caste the carte to grounde, And in the middel of the dong they founde The dede man that mordred was al newe.1 "O blisful God that art so just and trewe, Lo, how that thou biwrayest0 mordre alway! Mordre wol out, that see we day by day: Mordre is so wlatsom0 and abhominable To God that is so just and resonable, That he ne wol nat suffre it heled° be, Though it abide a yeer or two or three. Mordre wol out: this my conclusioun. And right anoon ministres of that town Han hent° the cartere and so sore him pined,2 And eek the hostiler so sore engined,0 That they biknewe0 hir wikkednesse anoon, And were anhanged0 by the nekke boon. Here may men seen that dremes been to drede.3 "And certes, in the same book I rede— Right in the nexte chapitre after this— I gabbe° nat, so have I joye or blis— Two men that wolde han passed over see For certain cause into a fer contree, If that the wind ne hadde been contrarye That made hem in a citee for to tarye, That stood ful merye upon an haven0 side— But on a day again0 the even-tide The wind gan chaunge, and blewe right as hem leste:4 JoliP and glad they wenten unto reste, And casten 0 hem ful erly for to saile. "But to that oo man fil° a greet mervaile; That oon of hem, in sleeping as he lay,

1. Recently. 2. Tortured.

innkeeper gone away

dreamed tarry put manure on dead

lies / on his back

help started

disclose loathsome concealed

seized racked confessed hanged

lie

harbor's toward merry determined befell

3. Worthy of being feared. 4. Just as they wished.

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THE

260

265

270

275

280

285

290

295

300

NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

Him mette5 a wonder dreem again the day: Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes side, And him comanded that he sholde abide, And saide him thus, 'If thou tomorwe wende, Thou shalt be dreint:0 my tale is at an ende.' "He wook and tolde his felawe what he mette, And prayed him his viage0 to Iette;° As for that day he prayed him to bide. "His felawe that lay by his beddes side Gan for to Iaughe, and scorned him ful faste. 0 'No dreem,' quod he, 'may so myn herte agaste0 That I wol lette for to do my thinges.0 I sette nat a straw by thy dreminges,6 For swevenes been but vanitees and japes: 7 Men dreme alday° of owles or of apes, 8 And of many a maze0 therwithal— Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne shal.9 But sith I see that thou wolt here abide, And thus forsleuthen0 wilfully thy tide,0 God woot, it reweth me;1 and have good day.' And thus he took his Ieve and wente his way. But er that he hadde half his cours ysailed— Noot I nat why ne what meschaunce it ailed— But casuelly the shippes botme rente,2 And ship and man under the water wente, In sighte of othere shippes it biside, That with hem sailed at the same tide. And therfore, faire Pertelote so dere, By swiche ensamples olde maistou lere° That no man sholde been too recchelees0 Of dremes, for I saye thee doutelees That many a dreem ful sore is for to drede. "Lo, in the lif of Saint Kenelm3 I rede— That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king Of Mercenrike0—how Kenelm mette a thing A lite° er he was mordred on a day. His mordre in his avision0 he sey.° His norice0 him expounded everydeeP His swevene, and bad him for to keepe him4 weel For traison, but he nas but seven yeer old, And therfore litel tale hath he told Of any dreem,5 so holy was his herte. By God, I hadde levere than my sherte6 That ye hadde rad° his legende as have I. "Dame Pertelote, I saye you trewely, Macrobeus, 7 that writ the Avisioun

5. He dreamed. 6. I don't care a straw for your dreamings. 7. Dreams are but illusions and frauds. 8. I.e., of absurdities. 9. I.e., shall be. 1. I'm sorry. 2. I don't know why nor what was the trouble with it—but accidentally the ship's bottom split.

305

drowned voyage / delay

hard terrify business

comtantly delusion

waste / time

learn careless

Mercia little dream / saw nurse / every bit

read

3. Kenelm succeeded his father as king of Mercia at the age of seven, but was slain by his aunt (in 821). 4. Guard himself. 5. Therefore he has set little store by any dream. 6. I.e., I'd give my shirt. 7. Macrobius wrote a famous commentary on Cicero's account in De Republica of the dream of

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306

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

In Affrike of the worthy Scipioun, Affermeth 0 dremes, and saith that they been Warning of thinges that men after seen. "And ferthermore, I praye you Iooketh wel In the Olde Testament of Daniel, If he heeld° dremes any vanitee. 8 "Rede eek of Joseph 9 and ther shul ye see Wher° dremes be somtime—I saye nat alle— Warning of thinges that shul after falle. "Looke of Egypte the king daun Pharao, His bakere and his botelere 0 also, Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes. 1 Whoso wol seeke actes of sondry remes 0 May rede of dremes many a wonder thing. "Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde° king, Mette° he nat that he sat upon a tree, Which signified he sholde anhanged 0 be? "Lo here Andromacha, Ectores 0 wif, That day that Ector sholde lese° his lif, She dremed on the same night biforn How that the lif of Ector sholde be lorn,° If thilke0 day he wente into bataile; She warned him, but it mighte nat availe: 0 He wente for to fighte nathelees, But he was slain anoon 0 of Achilles. But thilke tale is al too long to telle, And eek it is neigh day, I may nat dwelle. Shortly I saye, as for conclusioun, That I shal han of this avisioun 2 Adversitee, and I saye ferthermoor That I ne telle of laxatives no stoor, For they been venimes, 0 I woot it weel: I hem defye, I love hem neveradeel. 0 "Now lat us speke of mirthe and stinte 0 al this. Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of oo thing God hath sente me large grace: For whan I see the beautee of youre face— Ye been so scarlet reed° aboute youre yen— It maketh al my drede for to dien. For also siker° as In principio, 4 Mulier

est

hominis

confirms

considered whether

butler realms Lydia dreamed hanged Hector's lose lost that same do any good right away

poisons not a bit stop

red

confusion

Madame, the sentence 0 of this Latin is, 'Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.' For whan I feele anight youre softe side— Al be it that I may nat on you ride, For that oure perche is maad so narwe, alias— I am so ful of joye and of solas 0 Scipio Africanus Minor; the commentary came to be regarded as a standard authority on dream lore. 8. S e e Daniel 7. 9. See Genesis 37. 1. S e e Genesis 3 9 - 4 1 . 2. Divinely inspired dream (as opposed to the

meaning

delight

more ordinary "swevene" or "dreem"). 3. Set by. 4. Beginning of the Gospel of St. John that gives the essential premises of Christianity: "In the beginning was the Word." 5. Woman is man's ruination.

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THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE

That I defye bothe swevene and dreem." And with that word he fleigh 0 down fro the beem, For it was day, and eek his hennes alle, And with a "chuk" he gan hem for to calle, For he hadde founde a corn lay in the yeerd. Real 0 he was, he was namore aferd:° He fethered 6 Pertelote twenty time, And trad hire as ofte er it was prime. 7 He looketh as it were a grim leoun, And on his toes he rometh up and down: Him deined 8 nat to sette his foot to grounde. He chukketh whan he hath a corn yfounde, And to him rennen 0 thanne his wives alle. Thus royal, as a prince is in his halle, Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture, And after wol I telle his aventure. Whan that the month in which the world bigan, That highte° March, whan God first maked man, Was compleet, and passed were also, Sin March biran,° thritty days and two,9 Bifel that Chauntecleer in al his pride, His sevene wives walking him biside, Caste up his yen to the brighte sonne, That in the signe of Taurus hadde yronne Twenty degrees and oon and somwhat more, And knew by kinde,° and by noon other lore, That it was prime, and crew with blisful stevene. 0 "The sonne," he saide, "is clomben 1 up on hevene Fourty degrees and oon and more, ywis.° Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, Herkneth thise blisful briddes 0 how they singe, And see the fresshe flowers how they springe: Ful is myn herte of revel and solas." But sodeinly him fil° a sorweful cas,° For evere the latter ende of joye is wo— God woot that worldly joye is soone ago, And if a rethor 0 coude faire endite, He in a cronicle saufly 0 mighte it write, As for a soverein notabilitee. 2 Now every wis man lat him herkne me: This storye is also 0 trewe, I undertake,

307

flew

is called passed by

nature voice indeed birds

befell / chance

rhetorician safely

As is t h e b o o k of Launcelot de Lake,*

That wommen holde in ful greet reverence. Now wol I turne again to my sentence. 0 A colfox 4 ful of sly iniquitee, That in the grove hadde woned° yeres three, By heigh imaginacion forncast, 5 The same night thurghout the hegges 0 brast°

6. 7. 8. 9. I.

I.e., embraced. 9 A.M. "Trad": trod, copulated with. He deigned. The rhetorical time telling yields May 3. Has climbed.

main point dwelled hedges / burst

2. Indisputable fact. 3. Romances of the courteous knight Lancelot of the Lake were very popular. 4. Fox with black markings. 5. Predestined by divine planning.

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THE

445

450

455

460

465

470

475

480

485

490

NUN'S

PRIEST'S

Thise been the cokkes wordes and nat mine: I can noon harm of no womman divine. 0 Faire in the sond 0 to bathe hire merily Lith° Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, Again 0 the sonne, and Chauntecleer so free 0 Soong 0 merier than the mermaide in the see— For Physiologus 5 saith sikerly How that they singen wel and merily. And so bifel that as he caste his ye Among the wortes on a boterflye, 0 He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe. No thing ne liste him 6 thanne for to crowe, But cride anoon "Cok cok!" and up he sterte, 0 As man that 7 was affrayed in his herte— For naturelly a beest desireth flee Fro his contrarye 8 if he may it see, Though he nevere erst° hadde seen it with his ye. This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him espye, He wolde han fled, but that the fox anoon Saide, "Gentil sire, alias, wher wol ye goon? Be ye afraid of me that am youre freend? Now certes, I were worse than a feend If I to you wolde 0 harm or vilainye. I am nat come youre conseiP for t'espye, But trewely the cause of my cominge Was only for to herkne how ye singe: For trewely, ye han as merye a stevene 0 As any angel hath that is in hevene. Therwith ye han in musik more feelinge Than hadde Boece, 9 or any that can singe. My lord your fader—God his soule blesse!— And eek youre moder, of hir gentilesse, 0 Han in myn hous ybeen, to my grete ese. And certes sire, ful fain 0 wolde I you plese. "But for men speke of singing, I wol saye, So mote I brouke 1 wel mine yen twaye, Save ye, I herde nevere man to singe As dide youre fader in the morweninge. Certes, it was of herte 0 al that he soong. 0 And for to make his vois the more strong, He wolde so paine him 2 that with bothe his yen He moste winke,3 so loude wolde he cryen; And stonden on his tiptoon therewithal, And strecche forth his nekke long and smal; And eek he was of swich discrecioun That ther nas no man in no regioun That him in song or wisdom mighte passe. I have wel rad° in Daun Burnel the Asse 4

5. Supposed author of a bestiary, a book of moralized zoology describing both natural and supernatural animals (including mermaids). 6. He wished. 7. Like one who. 8. I.e., his natural enemy. 9. Boethius also wrote a treatise on music.

TALE

/ 349

guess sand lies in / noble sang

butterfly

started

before

meant secrets

voice

gentility gladly

heartfelt / sang

read

1. So might I enjoy the use of. 2. Take pains. 3. He had to shut his eyes. 4. Master Brunellus, a discontented donkey, was the hero of a 12th-century satirical poem by Nigel Wireker.

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CHAUCER

Into the yeerd ther C h a u n t e c l e e r the faire W a s wont, a n d e e k his wives, to repaire; A n d in a b e d of w o r t e s 0 stille he lay T i l it w a s p a s s e d u n d r e n 0 of t h e day, W a i t i n g his t i m e o n C h a u n t e c l e e r t o f a l l e , A s g l a d l y d o o n t h i s e h o m i c i d e s alle, T h a t in await liggen to mordre6 m e n . O f a l s e m o r d r o u r , l u r k i n g in thy d e n ! O newe Scariot! N e w e Geniloun!7 False dissimilour!0 O Greek Sinoun,8 T h a t b r o u g h t e s t T r o y e al o u t r e l y 0 to s o r w e ! 0 C h a u n t e c l e e r , a c c u r s e d be t h a t m o r w e ° That thou into the yeerd flaugh0 fro T h o u w e r e f u l wel y w a r n e d b y thy d r e m e s T h a t thilke d a y w a s p e r i l o u s t o t h e e ; B u t what that G o d forwoot0 moot0 needes be, A f t e r 0 t h e o p i n i o n of c e r t a i n c l e r k e s : W i t n e s s e on him that any parfit0 clerk is T h a t in scole is greet altercacioun I n this m a t e r e , a n d g r e e t d i s p u t i s o u n , 0 And hath been of an hundred thousand men. B u t I ne c a n nat bulte it to the bren,9 As c a n the holy d o c t o u r Augustin, Or Boece, or the bisshop Bradwardin1— Wheither that G o d d e s worthy forwiting0 Straineth me nedely2 for to d o o n a thing ("Nedely" clepe I simple necessitee), Or elles if free chois be graunted me To do that s a m e thing or do it naught, T h o u g h G o d f o r w o o t 0 it er t h a t I w a s w r o u g h t ; Or if h i s wiring 0 s t r a i n e t h n e v e r a d e e l , But by necessitee condicionel3— 1 wol n a t h a n to do of s w i c h m a t e r e : My tale is of a cok, as ye m a y heere, T h a t t o o k h i s c o n s e i l o f his wif w i t h s o r w e , To walken in the yeerd upon that morwe T h a t he h a d d e met0 the d r e e m that I you tolde. W o m m e n e s conseils been ful ofte colde,4 W o m m a n e s conseil broughte us first to wo, A n d m a d e A d a m fro Paradis to go, T h e r as he was ful merye a n d wel at ese. B u t f o r I n o o t ° to w h o m it m i g h t e d i s p l e s e If I conseil of w o m m e n wolde blame, P a s s e over, f o r I s a i d e it in my g a m e 0 — R e d e a u c t o u r s where they trete of swich matere, A n d what they sayn of w o m m e n ye m a y h e e r e — 6. That lie in ambush to murder. 7. I.e., Ganelon, who betrayed Roland to the Saracens (in the medieval French epic The Song of Roland). "Scariot": Judas Iscariot. 8. Sinon, who persuaded the Trojans to take the Greeks' wooden horse into their city—with, of course, the result that the city was destroyed. 9. Sift it to the bran, i.e., get to the bottom of it. 1. St. Augustine, Boethius (6th-century Roman

cabbages midmorning

the

dissembler utterly morning bemes! flew

foreknows / must according to -perfect disputation

foreknowledge

foreknew knowledge

dreamed

don't kviow sport

philosopher, whose Consolation of Philosophy was translated by Chaucer), and Thomas Bradwardine (archbishop of Canterbury, d. 1349) were all concerned with the interrelationship between people's free will and God's foreknowledge. 2. Constrains me necessarily. 3. Boethius's "conditional necessity" permitted a large measure of free will. 4. I.e., baneful.

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A m o n g his v e r s h o w t h a t t h e r w a s a c o k , F o r a preestes s o n e yaf him a knok5 U p o n his l e g whil h e w a s y o n g a n d n i c e , 0 H e m a d e h i m f o r t o I e s e ° his b e n e f i c e . 6 B u t c e r t a i n , t h e r nis n o c o m p a r i s o u n Bitwixe the w i s d o m a n d discrecioun Of youre f a d e r a n d of his subtiltee.7 N o w s i n g e t h , sire, f o r s a i n t e 0 c h a r i t e e ! Lat see, conne° ye youre fader countrefete?"0 T h i s C h a u n t e c l e e r his winges gan to bete, As m a n that c o u d e his traison nat espye, S o w a s h e r a v i s s h e d with h i s flaterye. A l i a s , ye l o r d e s , m a n y a f a l s f l a t o u r 0 Is in y o u r e c o u r t , a n d m a n y a I o s e n g e o u r 0 T h a t p l e s e n y o u wel m o r e , b y m y f a i t h , T h a n he that soothfastnesse0 unto you saith! R e d e t h E c c l e s i a s t e 8 o f flaterye. B e e t h w a r , y e l o r d e s , o f hir t r e c h e r y e . T h i s C h a u n t e c l e e r s t o o d hye u p o n h i s t o o s , S t r e c c h i n g his n e k k e , a n d h e e l d his y e n c l o o s , And gan to crowe loude for the nones;0 A n d d a u n R u s s e l t h e fox s t e r t e 0 u p a t o n e s , And by the gargat0 hente0 Chauntecleer, A n d o n his b a k t o w a r d t h e w o d e h i m b e e r , 0 F o r yit n e w a s t h e r n o m a n t h a t h i m s u e d . 0 O destinee that maist nat been eschued!0 Alias that C h a u n t e c l e e r fleigh0 fro the b e m e s ! A l i a s his wif n e r o u g h t e n a t o f 9 d r e m e s ! A n d o n a F r i d a y f i l ° a l this m e s c h a u n c e ! O V e n u s t h a t art g o d d e s s e o f p l e s a u n c e , S i n t h a t thy s e r v a n t w a s this C h a u n t e c l e e r , A n d i n thy s e r v i c e d i d e a l his p o w e r — M o r e f o r delit t h a n w o r l d 1 t o m u l t i p l y e — W h y w o l d e s t o u s u f f r e h i m o n thy d a y 2 t o d i e ? O G a u f r e d , 3 dere maister soverein, T h a t , w h a n thy w o r t h y k i n g R i c h a r d w a s s l a i n W i t h s h o t , 4 c o m p l a i n e d e s t his d e e t h s o s o r e , W h y n e h a d d e I n o w thy s e n t e n c e a n d thy lore, 5 T h e Friday for to chide as diden ye? F o r on a Friday soothly slain was he. T h a n n e wolde I shewe you how that I c o u d e plaine0 F o r C h a u n t e c l e r e s d r e d e a n d f o r his p a i n e . C e r t e s , s w i c h cry n e l a m e n t a c i o u n W a s nevere of ladies m a a d when Ilioun0 W a s w o n n e , a n d Pyrrus6 with his straite0 swerd, 5. Because a priest's son gave him a knock. 6. The offended cock neglected to crow so that his master, now grown to manhood, overslept, missing his ordination and losing his benefice. 7. His (the cock in the story) cleverness. 8. The Book of Ecclesiasticus, in the Apocrypha. 9. Didn't care for. 1. I.e., population. 2. Friday is Venus's day.

foolish lose

holy can / imitate

flatterer deceiver truth

occasion jumped throat / seized bore followed eschewed flew befell

lament

Ilium, Troy drawn

3. Geoffrey of Vinsauf, a famous medieval rhetorician, who wrote a lament on the death of Richard I in which he scolded Friday, the day on which the king died. 4. I.e., a missile. 5. Thy wisdom and thy learning. 6. Pyrrhus was the Greek who slew Priam, king of Troy.

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THE

NUN'S

PRIEST'S TALE

311

W h a n he hadde hent° King Priam by the beerd seized A n d s l a i n h i m , a s s a i t h u s Eneidos, 7 yard A s m a d e n alle t h e h e n n e s i n t h e c l o o s , 0 W h a n they h a d d e s e e n o f C h a u n t e c l e e r t h e s i g h t e . supremely / shrieked B u t sovereinly0 D a m e Pertelote shrighte0 F u l l o u d e r t h a n d i d e H a s d r u b a l e s 8 wif W h a n t h a t hir h o u s b o n d e h a d d e lost his lif, hurned And that the R o m a i n s hadden brend° Cartage: madness S h e was so ful of torment and of rage° jumped T h a t wilfully u n t o t h e fir s h e s t e r t e , 0 A n d b r e n d e h i r s e l v e n with a s t e d e f a s t h e r t e . O w o f u l h e n n e s , right so c r i d e n ye As, whan that N e r o brende the citee O f R o m e , c r i d e n s e n a t o u r e s wives F o r t h a t hir h o u s b o n d e s l o s t e n alle hir lives: 9 W i t h o u t e n gilt this N e r o h a t h h e m s l a i n . N o w wol I t u r n e t o m y t a l e a g a i n . innocent T h e sely° w i d w e a n d e e k hir d o u g h t r e s two H e r d e n thise h e n n e s crye a n d m a k e n wo, A n d out at dores sterten0 they anoon, leapt A n d s i e n ° t h e fox t o w a r d t h e g r o v e g o o n , saw A n d b a r u p o n his b a k t h e c o k a w a y , And criden, "Out, harrow,0 and wailaway, help H a , ha, the fox," a n d after him they ran, A n d e e k with staves m a n y another m a n ; Ran Colle oure dogge, and Talbot and Gerland,1 A n d M a l k i n w i t h a d i s t a f in hir h a n d , R a n c o w a n d calf, a n d eek the verray hogges, S o r e aferd° for berking of the dogges frightened And shouting of the m e n a n d w o m m e n eke. T h e y r o n n e 0 s o h e m t h o u g h t e hir h e r t e b r e k e ; 2 T h e y yelleden as f e e n d e s d o o n in helle; T h e dokes0 criden as m e n wolde hem quelle;0 / kill T h e gees for fere flowen0 over the trees; flew O u t o f t h e hive c a m t h e s w a r m o f b e e s ; So hidous was the noise, a, benedicite,0 bless me C e r t e s , h e J a k k e S t r a w 3 a n d his m e i n e e 0 company N e m a d e n e v e r e s h o u t e s h a l f s o shrille W h a n t h a t they w o l d e n a n y F l e m i n g kille, A s thilke d a y w a s m a a d u p o n t h e fox: Of bras they b r o u g h t e n b e m e s 0 a n d of box,0 trumpets / boxwood Of horn, of boon,0 in whiche they blewe a n d p o u p e d , bone / tooted A n d t h e r w i t h a l they s k r i k e d 0 a n d they h o u p e d 0 — shrieked / whooped It s e e m e d as that hevene sholde falle. N o w g o o d e m e n , I p r a y e y o u h e r k n e t h alle: Lo, how Fortune turneth0 sodeinly reverses, overturns T h e h o p e a n d p r i d e e e k o f hir e n e m y . 7. As the Aeneid tells us. 8. Hasdrubal was king of Carthage when it was destroyed by the Romans. 9. According to the legend, Nero not only set fire to Rome (in 64 C.E.) but also put many senators to death.

1. Two other dogs. 2. Would break. 3. One of the leaders of the Uprising of 1381, which was partially directed against the Flemings living in London.

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T h i s c o k t h a t lay u p o n t h e f o x e s b a k , I n a l h i s d r e d e u n t o t h e fox h e s p a k , A n d s a i d e , " S i r e , if t h a t I w e r e as ye, Yit s h o l d e I s a y n , a s w i s 0 G o d h e l p e m e , ' T u r n e t h a y a i n , y e p r o u d e c h e r l e s alle! A verray p e s t i l e n c e u p o n y o u f a l l e ! N o w a m I c o m e u n t o this w o d e s s i d e , M a u g r e e your heed,4 the cok shal here abide. I wol h i m e t e , in f a i t h , a n d t h a t a n o o n . ' " T h e fox a n s w e r d e , " I n f a i t h , i t s h a l b e d o o n . " A n d as he s p a k that word, al sodeinly T h e c o k b r a k f r o m h i s m o u t h deliverly, 0 A n d h y e u p o n a t r e e he f l e i g h 0 a n o o n . A n d w h a n t h e fox s a w g h t h a t h e w a s a g o o n , "Alias," q u o d he, "O C h a u n t e c l e e r , alias! I have to you," q u o d he, "ydoon trespas, In as m u c h e as I m a k e d you aferd W h a n I y o u h e n t e ° a n d b r o u g h t e o u t o f t h e yeerd. B u t sire, I d i d e it in no w i k k e ° e n t e n t e : C o m e d o w n , a n d I s h a l telle y o u w h a t I m e n t e . I shal saye sooth to you, G o d help me so." " N a y t h a n n e , " q u o d h e , " I s h r e w e 0 u s b o t h e two: B u t first I s h r e w e m y s e l f , b o t h e b l o o d a n d b o n e s , If thou bigile me ofter than ones; T h o u s h a l t n a m o r e t h u r g h thy f l a t e r y e D o ° m e t o s i n g e a n d w i n k e n w i t h m y n ye. For he that winketh whan he sholde see, A l wilfully, G o d lat h i m n e v e r e t h e e . " ° " N a y , " q u o d t h e fox, " b u t G o d yive h i m m e s c h a u n c e T h a t is so undiscreet of governaunce0 T h a t j a n g l e t h 0 w h a n h e s h o l d e h o l d e his p e e s . " L o , s w i c h it is f o r to be r e c c h e l e s s 0 A n d necligent a n d truste on flaterye. B u t ye t h a t h o l d e n this t a l e a f o l y e A s o f a fox, or o f a c o k a n d h e n , Taketh the moralitee, goode men. F o r Saint Paul saith that al that writen is To o u r e d o c t r i n e it is ywrit, ywis: 5 T a k e t h t h e fruit, a n d lat t h e c h a f b e stille. 6 N o w g o o d e G o d , i f t h a t i t b e thy wille, A s s a i t h m y lord, s o m a k e u s a l l e g o o d e m e n , A n d b r i n g e u s t o his h y e b l i s s e . A m e n .

surely

nimbly flew

seized wicked

curse

cause prosper self-control chatters careless

Close of Canterbury Tales At the end of The Canterbury Tales, C h a u c e r invokes a common allegorical theme, that life on earth is a pilgrimage. As C h a u c e r puts it in his moral ballade Truth (p. 317), "Here in noon home . . . / Forth, pilgrim, forth!" In the final fragment, he makes explicit a metaphor that has been implicit all 4. Despite your head—i.e., despite anything you can do. 5. S e e Romans 15.4. 6. The "fruit" refers to the kernel of moral or doc-

trinal meaning; the"chaf," or husk, is the narrative containing that meaning. The metaphor was commonly applied to scriptural interpretation.

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THE PARSON'S TALE

313

along in the journey to Canterbury. The pilgrims never arrive at the shrine of St. T h o m a s , but in The Parson's Tale, and in its short introduction and in the "Retraction" that follows it, C h a u c e r seems to be making an end for two pilgrimages that had b e c o m e one, that of his fiction and that of his life. In the introduction to the tale we find the twenty-nine pilgrims moving through a nameless little village as the sun sinks to within twenty-nine degrees of the horizon. The atmosphere contains something of both the chill and the urgency of a late autumn afternoon, and we are surprised to find that the pilgrimage is almost over, that there is need for haste to make that "good end" that every medieval Christian hoped for. This delicately suggestive passage, rich with allegorical overtones, introduces an extremely long penitential treatise, translated by Chaucer from Latin or French sources. Although often a s s u m e d to be an earlier work, it may well have been written by Chaucer to provide the ending for The Canterbury Tales. In the "Retraction" that follows The Parson's Tale, Chaucer acknowledges, lists, revokes, and asks forgiveness for his "giltes" (that is, his sins), which consist of having written most of the works on which his reputation as a great poet depends. He thanks Christ and Mary for his religious and moral works. One need not take this as evidence of a spiritual crisis or conversion at the end of his life. The "Retraction" seems to have been written to appear at the end of The Canterbury Tales, without censoring any of the tales deemed to be sinful. At the s a m e time, one need not question Chaucer's sincerity. A readiness to deny his own reality before the reality of his God is implicit in many of Chaucer's works, and the placement of the "Retraction" within or j u s t outside the border of the fictional pilgrimage suggests that although Chaucer finally rejected his fictions, he recognized that he and they were inseparable.

From The Parson's Tale Tlte

Introduction

B y that 1 t h e M a n c i p l e h a d d e h i s t a l e a l e n d e d , T h e s o n n e fro the s o u t h line2 was d e s c e n d e d S o Iowe, t h a t h e h a s n a t t o m y s i g h t e D e g r e e s nine and twenty as in highte. F o u r of the clokke it was, so as I gesse, F o r e l e v e n e f o o t , o r litel m o r e o r I e s s e , M y s h a d w e w a s a t thilke t i m e a s t h e r e , Of swich feet as° my Iengthe parted0 were I n sixe f e e t e q u a l o f p r o p o r c i o u n . 3 Therwith the m o o n e s e x a l t a c i o u n 4 — I mene Libra—always gan ascende, As we were entring at a thropes0 ende. F o r w h i c h o u r e H o s t , a s h e w a s w o n t t o gie° A s i n this c a a s o u r e j o l y c o m p a i g n y e , S a i d e i n this w i s e , " L o r d i n g e s e v e r i c h o o n , N o w Iakketh us no tales mo than oon: Fulfild is my sentence0 and my decree; I trowe0 that we han herd of e c h degree; Almost fulfild is al myn ordinaunce. I p r a y e t o G o d , s o yive h i m right g o o d c h a u n c e 1. By the time that. 2. I.e., the line that runs some 28° to the south of the celestial equator and parallel to it. 3. This detailed analysis merely says that the shad-

as if/ divided

village's lead

purpose believe

ows are lengthening. 4. I.e., the astrological sign in which the moon's influence was dominant.

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314

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T h a t t e l l e t h this t a l e t o u s lustily. vicar S i r e p r e e s t , " q u o d h e , " a r t o u a vicary, 0 faith O r a r t e a P e r s o n ? S a y s o o t h , b y thy f a y . ° break B e w h a t t h o u b e , n e b r e e k ° t h o u n a t o u r e play, F o r every m a n s a v e t h o u h a t h told h i s tale. U n b o k e l e a n d s h e w u s w h a t i s i n thy m a l e ! 0 expression F o r trewely, m e t h i n k e t h b y thy c h e e r e 0 T h o u sholdest knitte up wel a greet matere. Tel us a fable anoon, for cokkes bones!"5 immediately This Person answerde al atones,0 " T h o u getest fable n o o n ytold for me, For Paul, that writeth unto T i m o t h e e , reproves Repreveth0 h e m that waiven soothfastnesse,6 A n d tellen fables a n d swich wrecchednesse. chaff/fist Why sholde I sowen d r a P out of my fest,0 W h a n I m a y sowen whete if that me lest?7 F o r w h i c h I s a y e t h a t if y o u list to h e e r e Moralitee and vertuous matere, A n d t h a n n e t h a t y e wol yive m e a u d i e n c e , gladly I wol f u l f a i n , ° at C r i s t e s r e v e r e n c e , Do you plesance levefuP as I can. lawful B u t t r u s t e t h wel, I a m a s o u t h r e n m a n : I can nat geeste R u m - R a m - R u f by lettre8— consider N e , G o d w o o t , r y m h o l d e 0 I b u t Iitel b e t t r e . A n d therfore, if you list—I wol nat g l o s e 9 — I wol y o u telle a m e r y e t a l e in p r o s e T o k n i t t e u p a l this f e e s t e a n d m a k e a n e n d e . A n d J e s u f o r h i s g r a c e wit m e s e n d e T o s h e w e y o u t h e w a y i n this v i a g e ° journey O f thilke p a r f i t g l o r i o u s p i l g r i m a g e T h a t highte0 J e r u s a l e m celestial. is called A n d if ye v o u c h e sauf, a n o o n I shal B i g i n n e u p o n m y tale, f o r w h i c h I p r a y e T e l l e y o u r e avis: 0 I c a n n o b e t t r e s a y e . opinion B u t n a t h e l e e s , this m e d i t a c i o u n I p u t t e it ay u n d e r c o r r e c c i o u n Of clerkes, for I am nat textuel:1 I take but the s e n t e n c e , 0 trusteth wel. meaning Therefore I make protestacioun0 public acknowledgment T h a t I wol s t o n d e to c o r r e c c i o u n . " U p o n this w o r d w e h a n a s s e n t e d s o o n e , For, as it s e e m e d , it was for to doone2 doctrine To enden in som vertuous sentence,0 time A n d f o r t o yive h i m s p a c e 0 a n d a u d i e n c e ; And bede3 oure H o s t he sholde to him saye T h a t a l l e w e t o telle h i s t a l e h i m p r a y e . O u r e H o s t e h a d d e t h e w o r d e s f o r u s alle: " S i r e preest," q u o d he, " n o w faire you bifalle: 5. Cock's bones, a euphemism for God's bones. 6. Depart from truth (see I Timothy 1.4). 7. It pleases me. 8. I.e., I cannot tell stories in the alliterative measure (without rhyme): this form of poetry was not

common in southeastern England. 9. I.e., speak in order to please. 1. Literal, faithful to the letter. 2. Necessary to be done. 3. I.e., we bade.

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CHAUCER'S RETRACTION

Telleth," q u o d he, "youre meditacioun. B u t hasteth you; the s o n n e wol adown. B e e t h f r u c t u o u s , 0 a n d t h a t in Iitel s p a c e , 0 A n d to do wel G o d s e n d e you his grace. S a y e w h a t y o u list, a n d w e w o l gladly h e e r e . " A n d w i t h t h a t w o r d h e s a i d e i n this m a n e r e .

315

fruitful / time

Chaucer's Retraction Here

taketh

the

makere

of this

hook

his

leve 4

N o w p r a y e I to h e m alle t h a t h e r k n e this Iitel tretis 5 or r e d e , t h a t if ther be a n y t h i n g i n i t t h a t liketh 6 h e m , t h a t t h e r o f they t h a n k e n o u r e L o r d J e s u C r i s t , o f w h o m p r o c e e d e t h a l wit 7 a n d a l g o o d n e s s e . A n d i f ther b e a n y t h i n g t h a t d i s p l e s e h e m , I p r a y e h e m a l s o t h a t they a r r e t t e i t t o t h e d e f a u t e o f m y n u n c o n n i n g , 8 a n d n a t t o m y wil, t h a t w o l d e f u l f a i n h a v e s a i d b e t t r e i f I h a d d e h a d c o n n i n g . F o r o u r e b o o k s a i t h , "Al t h a t i s w r i t e n i s w r i t e n f o r o u r e d o c trine," 9 a n d t h a t i s m y n e n t e n t e . W h e r f o r e I b i s e e k e 1 you m e k e l y , f o r t h e m e r c y o f G o d , t h a t y e p r a y e f o r m e t h a t C r i s t h a v e m e r c y o n m e a n d foryive m e m y giltes, a n d n a m e l y o f m y t r a n s l a c i o n s a n d e n d i t i n g e s 2 o f worldly v a n i t e e s , t h e w h i c h e I r e v o k e in my r e t r a c c i o n s : as is t h e Book of Troilus; t h e B o o k a l s o of Fame; t h e Book of the Five and Twenty Ladies;3 t h e Book of the Duchesse; t h e Book of Saint Valentines Day of the Parlement of Briddes; t h e Tales of Canterbury, thilke t h a t s o u n e n into 4 s i n n e ; t h e Book of the Leon; 5 a n d m a n y a n o t h e r book, if they were in my r e m e m b r a n c e , a n d m a n y a s o n g a n d m a n y a Iecchero u s lay: t h a t C r i s t f o r h i s g r e t e m e r c y foryive m e t h e s i n n e . B u t o f t h e trans l a c i o n of B o e c e 6 De Consolatione, a n d o t h e r e b o o k e s of l e g e n d e s of s a i n t e s , and omelies,7 and moralitee, and devocion, that thanke I oure Lord J e s u Crist a n d his b l i s f u l M o d e r a n d alle t h e s a i n t e s o f h e v e n e , b i s e e k i n g h e m t h a t they f r o m h e n n e s 8 f o r t h u n t o m y lives e n d e s e n d e m e g r a c e t o biwaile m y giltes a n d t o s t u d y e t o t h e s a l v a c i o n o f m y s o u l e , a n d g r a u n t e m e g r a c e o f verray p e n i t e n c e , c o n f e s s i o n , a n d s a t i s f a c c i o n t o d o o n i n this p r e s e n t lif, t h u r g h the b e n i g n e g r a c e o f h i m t h a t i s k i n g o f k i n g e s a n d p r e e s t over alle p r e e s t e s , that b o u g h t e 9 u s with t h e p r e c i o u s b l o o d o f h i s h e r t e , s o that I m a y b e e n o o n o f h e m at t h e d a y of d o o m t h a t s h u l l e be s a v e d . Qui cum patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnas Deus per omnia saecula. 1 Amen. 1386-1400

4. "Chaucer's Retraction" is the title given to this passage by modern editors. The heading, "Here . . . leve," which does appear in all manuscripts, may be by Chaucer himself or by a scribe. 5. Hear this little treatise, i.e., Tlte Parson's Tale. 6. Pleases. 7. Understanding. 8. Ascribe it to the defect of my lack of skill. 9. Romans 15.4. 1. Beseech.

2. Compositions. "Namely": especially. 3. I.e., the Legend of Good Women. 4. Those that tend toward. 5. The Book of the Lion has not been preserved. 6. Boethius. 7. Homilies. 8. Hence. 9. Redeemed. 1. Who with the Father and the Holy Spirit Iivest and reignest God forever.

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316

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

LYRICS

AND

OCCASIONAL VERSE

In addition to his narrative verse, C h a u c e r wrote lyric poetry on the models of famous French and Italian poets who made lyric into a medieval art form aimed at learned and aristocratic audiences, an audience that included fellow poets. Chaucer also embedded lyric in narrative poetry. As an example of courtly lyric, we print a "song" that Troilus, the hero of Chaucer's romance Troilus and Criseyde, makes up about his violent and puzzling emotions after falling in love. The "song" is actually Chaucer's translation into rhyme royal of one of Petrarch's sonnets, more than a century before Sir T h o m a s Wyatt introduced the sonnet form itself to England. In the fifteenth century, Troilus's song was sometimes excerpted and included in anthologies of lyric poetry. C h a u c e r also wrote homiletic ballades, one of which is entitled Truth by modern editors and called "ballade de bon conseil" (ballade of good advice) in s o m e manuscripts. A ballade is a verse form of three or more stanzas, each with an identical rhyme s c h e m e and the s a m e last line, the refrain. Often a ballade ends with a shorter final stanza called an envoy in which the poem is addressed or sent to a friend or patron, or, conventionally, to a "prince" or "princes" in general. The good advice of Truth is to abandon worldly pursuits of wealth and power and to concentrate on the pilgrimage that leads to our true home in heaven. There are many copies of Truth with only this heartfelt advice. The one printed below contains a unique humorous envoy, addressed to a "Vache" (French for "cow"), who is probably a Sir Philip de la Vache. A single stanza To His Scribe Adam comically conveys Chaucer's exasperation at the sloppy work of a professional copyist. T h e Complaint to His Purse is a parody of a lover's complaint to his lady: Ladies, like coins, should be golden, and, like purses, they should not be "light" (i.e., fickle). Purse survives both without and with an envoy. T h e addressee in the latter c a s e is the recently crowned Henry IV, who is being wittily implored to restore payment of Chaucer's annuity, which had been interrupted by the new king's deposition of Richard II.

Troilus's Song 1

If no love is, O G o d , w h a t f e e l e I s o ? A n d i f love, is, w h a t t h i n g a n d w h i c h i s h e ? I f love b e g o o d , f r o m w h e n n e s c o m e t h m y w o ? If it be w i k k e , ° a w o n d e r t h i n k e t h 0 m e , miserable / it seems to W h a n every t o r m e n t a n d a d v e r s i t e e T h a t c o m e t h of h i m m a y to me savory 0 t h i n k e , 0 pleasant / seem F o r a y ° t h u r s t e I, t h e m o r e t h a t i c h ° d r i n k e . always /1 A n d if t h a t at m y n o w e n e l u s t ° I b r e n n e , 0 desire / burn F r o m w h e n n e s c o m e t h my wailing a n d my plainte?0 complaint If h a r m a g r e e 0 m e , w h e r t o p l a i n e 0 I t h e n n e ? agrees with / complain I n o o t , ° ne w h y u n w e r y 0 t h a t I f a i n t e . know not I not weary O q u i k k e 0 d e e t h , O s w e e t e h a r m so q u a i n t e , 0 living / strange H o w m a y ° of t h e e in me s w i c h q u a n t i t e e , can there be B u t if t h a t I c o n s e n t e t h a t it b e ? A n d if t h a t I c o n s e n t e , I w r o n g f u l l y C o m p l a i n e : ywis,° t h u s p o s s e d 0 to a n d

fro

indeed / tossed

1. Troilus and Criseyde, Book I, lines 400—420. A translation of Petrarch's Sonnet 132, "S'amor non e."

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TRUTH

All s t e r e l e s s 0 w i t h i n a b o o t 0 am I A m i d d e the see, bitwixen w i n d e s two, That in contrarye stonden everemo. A l i a s , w h a t is this w o n d e r m a l a d y e ? F o r h o o t ° of c o l d , f o r c o l d of h o o t I d i e .

317

rudderless / boat

Iwt

Truth 1 F l e e fro the prees° a n d dwelle with s o o t h f a s t n e s s e ; crowd S u f f i s e u n t o ° thy t h i n g , t h o u g h it be s m a l ; be content with For hoord hath2 hate, and climbing tikelnesse;0 insecurity P r e e s h a t h envye, a n d w e l e ° b l e n t 0 o v e r a l . prosperity / blinds Savoure0 no more than thee bihoove shal; relish Rule wel thyself that other folk c a n s t rede:0 advise A n d T r o u t h e s h a l d e l i v e r e , 3 it is no d r e d e . 0 doubt

T e m p e s t thee nought al crooked to redresse4 In t r u s t of hire 5 t h a t t u r n e t h as a b a l ; M u c h e w e l e s t a n t in Iitel b i s i n e s s e ; 6 B e w a r t h e r f o r e t o s p u r n e a y a i n s a n al. 7 S t r i v e n a t a s d o o t h t h e c r o k k e 0 w i t h t h e wal. D a u n t e 0 thyself that d a u n t e s t otheres deede: A n d T r o u t h e s h a l delivere, i t i s n o d r e d e . T h a t 0 t h e e is s e n t , r e c e i v e in b u x o m n e s s e ; 0 T h e wrastling for the world axeth0 a fal; H e r e is n o o n h o o m , h e r e n i s ° b u t w i l d e r n e s s e : F o r t h , p i l g r i m , f o r t h ! F o r t h , b e e s t , o u t o f thy stall K n o w thy c o u n t r e e , l o o k e u p , t h a n k G o d o f al. H o l d t h e h e i g h w a y a n d lat thy g o s t ° t h e e Iede: A n d T r o u t h e shal delivere, it is no drede.

pot master

what /obedience asks for is not

spirit

Envoy

T h e r f o r e , t h o u V a c h e , 8 leve thyn o l d e w r e c c h e d n e s s e U n t o t h e w o r l d ; leve° n o w to be thral. C r y e h i m m e r c y 0 t h a t of his h e i g h g o o d n e s s e M a d e t h e e of n o u g h t , a n d in e s p e c i a l Draw unto him, a n d pray in general, For thee and eek for othere, hevenelich meede:9 A n d T r o u t h e shal delivere, it is no drede.

1. Taking as his theme Christ's words to his disciples (in John 8.32), "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free," Chaucer plays on the triple meaning that the Middle English word trouthe seems to have had for him: the religious truth of Christianity, the moral virtue of integrity, and the philosophical idea of reality. By maintaining one's faith and one's integrity, one rises superior to the vicissitudes of this world and comes eventually to know reality—which is not, however, of this world. 2. Hoarding causes.

i.e., cease thank him

3. I.e., truth shall make you free. 4. Do not disturb yourself to straighten all that's crooked. 5. Fortune, who turns like a ball in that she is always presenting a different aspect to people. 6. Peace of mind stands in little anxiety. 7. Awl, i.e., "don't kick against the pricks," wound yourself by kicking a sharp instrument. 8. Probably Sir Philip de la Vache, with a pun on the French for "cow." 9. Reward, with a pun on meadow.

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318

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

To His Scribe Adam1

A d a m s c r i v a i n , 0 if e v e r e it t h e e b i f a l l e B o e c e or Troilus 2 f o r to w r i t e n n e w e , U n d e r thy I o n g e l o k k e s t h o u m o s t e 3 h a v e t h e s c a l l e , 0 B u t a f t e r m y m a k i n g t h o u write m o r e t r e w e , 4 So o f t e a d a y I m o o t 0 thy w e r k r e n e w e , It to correcte, and eek to rubbe and scrape: A n d a l i s t h u r g h thy n e c l i g e n c e a n d r a p e . 0

scribe scurf must haste

Complaint to His Purse

To you, my purs, a n d to n o o n other wight,0 C o m p l a i n e I, for ye be my lady dere. I a m s o sory, n o w t h a t y e b e light, F o r c e r t e s , b u t i P y e m a k e m e hevy c h e e r e , M e w e r e a s lief 1 b e laid u p o n m y b e e r e ; 0 F o r w h i c h u n t o y o u r e m e r c y t h u s I crye: B e e t h hevy a g a i n , or e l l e s m o o t 0 I die. N o w v o u c h e t h s a u P this d a y e r ° i t b e n i g h t That I of you the blisful s o u n may heere, Or s e e y o u r e c o l o u r , lik t h e s o n n e bright, T h a t of yelownesse hadde nevere peere.0 Y e b e m y life, y e b e m y n h e r t e s s t e e r e , 0 O u e e n e of confort and of good compaignye B e e t h hevy a g a i n , or e l l e s m o o t I d i e .

person

unless bier must grant / before

equal rudder, guide

Ye p u r s , t h a t b e e n to me my lives light A n d s a v i o u r , a s i n this w o r l d d o w n h e r e , O u t o f this t o w n e 2 h e l p e m e t h u r g h y o u r m i g h t , S i t h t h a t y e wol n a t b e m y t r e s o r e r e ; 0 For I am shave as neigh as any frere.3 B u t yit I p r a y e u n t o y o u r e c u r t e i s y e : B e e t h hevy a g a i n , or e l l e s m o o t I die.

Envoy to

treasurer

Henry IV

O c o n q u e r o u r of B r u t u s Albioun,4

W h i c h that by line0 a n d free e l e c c i o u n B e e n verray 0 k i n g , this s o n g to y o u I s e n d e : A n d ye, t h a t m o w e n ° a l l e o u r e h a r m e s a m e n d e , Have minde upon my supplicacioun.

1. Chaucer had fair copies of longer works made by a professional scribe. This humorous complaint about Adam's sloppy work is written in the verse form of Chaucer's great poem Troilus and Criseyde. 2. Troilus and Criseyde. "Boece": i.e., Chaucer's translation of Boethius's De Consolatione. 3. I.e., may you. 4. Unless you write more accurately what I've composed.

lineage true may

1. I'd just as soon. 2. Probably Westminster, where Chaucer had rented a house. 3. Shaved as close as any (tonsured) friar, an expression for being broke. 4. Britain (Albion) was supposed to have been founded by Brutus, the grandson of Aeneas, the founder of Rome.

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319

JOHN GOWER ca. 1 3 3 0 - 1 4 0 8 Of Gower's life relatively little is known: he was certainly a landowner in Kent, and from about 1377 he s e e m s to have been resident in Southwark, just over the River T h a m e s from the City of London. He had close relations with C h a u c e r , who sent Troilus and Criseyde (ca. 1385) to "moral G o w e r " for "correction" ( 5 . 1 8 5 6 ) . Indeed, as the co-initiator of a new tradition of English poetry, his reputation throughout the fifteenth century was very nearly on a par with that of C h a u c e r . He was himself more c o n c e r n e d than C h a u c e r for his own literary posterity, since he took care that texts of his work would be transmitted in finished, stable form. No contemporary poet m a t c h e s him for linguistic virtuosity, since Gower wrote in three languages. His main poetic works are as follows: the Mirour de Vomme (Mirror of Man) (finished 1376— 78), written in Anglo-Norman (the dialect of French spoken in England); the Latin Vox Clamantis (Voice of the Crier), written substantially before 1386; and the English Confessio Amantis (The Lover's C o n f e s s i o n ) , first published in 1390. T h e Mirour (the last major work written in Anglo-Norman in England) was addressed primarily to an upper-class a u d i e n c e capable of reading both French and English, while the Latin Vox was clearly directed to a highly educated audience. T h e first version of the Confessio was dedicated to Richard II. By the time of the third recension (1392—93), Richard had been replaced by Henry Bolingbroke, the future Henry IV, as the poem's dedicatee. Despite these dedications to specific and powerful readers, Gower in fact a d d r e s s e d the Confessio to all educated readers, both men and women.

Vox Clamantis refers to the saint whose n a m e Gower bore, J o h n the Baptist, whom all four gospels refer to as "the voice of one crying out in the wilderness" (Matthew 3.3, M a r k 1.3, L u k e 3.4, J o h n 1.23) who will prepare the way for the Lord, fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah 4 0 . 3 . Gower thus identifies himself with the prophetic voice of J o h n the Baptist as well as the apocalyptic voice of J o h n the Evangelist in the Book of Revelation. In keeping with this posture, the Mirour and the Vox are examples of estates satire, a genre of satire in which the writer addresses and berates each main occupational grouping of society in turn. (For more information on estates satire, see "Medieval E s t a t e s and Orders" at Norton Literature Online, where there are translations of excerpts from the Mirour and Vox.) In the Vox, for example, Gower vigorously attacks the peasantry for their part in the English Uprising of 1381. While Gower wrote as moralist and satirist in the Mirour and the Vox, he changed tack in the Confessio Amantis. To be sure, the p o e m is structured as a moral discourse: the C o n f e s s o r figure G e n i u s hears the confession of the penitent Amans, as if enacting the procedures of the Church's sacrament of p e n a n c e (one part of which was a formal, confidential c o n f e s s i o n to a priest). In seven of the poem's eight books, Genius hears Amans's confession concerning a different Deadly Sin (respectively Pride, Envy, Anger, Sloth, G r e e d , Gluttony, and Lechery). T h e very n a m e s of penitent and c o n f e s s o r themselves suggest, however, that this is no ordinary confession. For A m a n s (literally "one who loves") is heard by a "genial" aspect of the psyche, Genius, who is the priest of Venus. Far from c o n d e m n i n g A m a n s for his hopeless subjection to erotic desire, G e n i u s as often as not encourages A m a n s in his passion, or so it would s e e m initially. T h e eighty or so stories G e n i u s tells by way of "correcting" A m a n s are drawn not from penitential treatises; they are rather, on the whole, drawn from secular, classical sources, and often f r o m the poetry of Ovid, the classical poet of erotic love. As the Confessio progresses, however, G e n i u s increasingly registers the social and political disasters that result from solipsistic pursuit of sexual desire. While never abandoning his "genial" perspective altogether, and while never wishing wholly to repress sexual passion, G e n i u s finally brings A m a n s around, to the point where A m a n s reintegrates with the psyche of which he is ideally a part. He finally regains his full identity as "John Gower." This recovery of identity involves a very moving self-

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320

JOHN GOWER

recognition scene in the poem's finale, in which an aged Gower recognizes his position as a lover, a citizen, and a Christian. The poem is not only about one individual, however: Gower's sexual governance is linked to political governance of the kingdom. Just as Gower must rule yet recognize the proper demands of his body, so too must the king rule and recognize his kingdom. Many of Genius's narratives relate stories whose violence entirely overshadows the often pathetic, and always hopeless pursuit of Amans for his lady. The narrative of Tereus and Philomela ("Philomene" in Gower's narrative), drawn from Ovid, Metamorphoses (6.426—676), is one such frightening text. It tells a story of unremitting domestic violence, relating the "greediness" of rape to the larger concept of greed, the sin treated by Genius in Book 5 of the Confessio. A husband (Tereus) rapes and cuts out the tongue of his sister-in-law (Philomela); his wife (Procne) and her sister take their vengeance by murdering and cooking the rapist's child (Itys). Philomela's concern is as much for publication of the rape as for vengeance: with her excised tongue, she relies on weaving as a means of writing to communicate the terror of her experience, just as, transformed into a chattering bird at the end of the story, she continues to remind humans of Tereus's disgrace. When Chaucer had recounted the same story in The Legend of Good Women (ca. 1386), he omitted the most hair-raising episodes of the Ovidian source. Gower, by contrast, follows the lineaments of Ovid's narrative fairly closely, and does not turn aside from the transformation of suffering women into terrible avengers, as Procne (here "Progne") murders and butchers her own child. Nor does he fail to register the horror of rape, as Philomela feels the inescapable weight of Tereus upon her (lines 96—101).

From The Lover's Confession The Tale of Philomene and Tereus GENIUS: N o w list, 0 m y S o n e , a n d t h o u s h a l t h e e r e , S o a s i t h a t h b e f a l l e er° this In loves c a u s e h o w t h a t it is A m a n to t a k e b e ° r a v i n e 0 T h e preie° that is femeline. T h e r w a s a r e a l 0 n o b l e king, A n d r i c h e o f alle w o r l d e s thing, W h i c h o f his p r o p r e 0 i n h e r i t a n c e Athenes hadde in governance, And who so° thenke thereupon, H i s n a m e w a s king P a n d i o n . T w o d o u g h t r e s 0 h a d d e h e b e his wif, T h e w h i c h e h e l o v e d e a s his lif; T h e firste doughter Progne highte,0 A n d t h e s e c o u n d e , a s s h e wel m i g h t e , W a s cleped0 faire Philomene, T o w h o m fell a f t e r 0 m u c h e l t e n e . 0 T h e f a d e r o f his p u r v e a n c e 0 His doughter Progne wolde avance0 A n d y a P hire u n t o m a r r i a g e A w o r t h y k i n g of hye l i g n a g e , 0

listen before seize by I rape prey royal own whoever daughters was called

called afterward / grief forethought advance gave high lineage

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THE

A n o b l e k n i g h t e k e ° of his h o n d , 1 S o w a s h e kid° i n every l o n d , Of Trace2 he highte Tereus; T h e c l e r k O v i d e 3 telleth t h u s . T h i s T e r e u s his wif h o o m Iadde, A l u s t y 0 lif with hire he h a d d e ; T i l it b e f e l l u p o n a tide, 0 T h i s P r o g n e , a s s h e lay h i m b e s i d e , B e t h o u g h t e hire 0 h o w i t m i g h t e b e T h a t s h e hir s u s t e r m i g h t e s e e , A n d t o hir lord hir will s h e s a i d e , With goodly wordes a n d him prayde T h a t s h e t o hire m i g h t e g o : A n d if it liked h i m n o g h t 0 s o , That than he wolde himselve wende,0 O r elles b e ° s o m e o t h e r s e n d e , W h i c h m i g h t e hir d e e r e s u s t e r g r e e t e A n d s h a p e 0 h o w t h a t they m i g h t e n m e e t e . H i r lord a n o n ° t o t h a t h e h e r d e Y a f his a c o r d , a n d t h u s a n s w e r d e : " I w o l , " h e s a i d e , " f o r thy s a k e T h e w a y a f t e r thy s u s t e r t a k e M y s e l f , a n d b r i n g hire, if I m a y . " A n d s h e with t h a t , ther a s h e lay, B e g a n h i m i n hir a r m e s c l i p p e , 0 A n d kist h i m w i t h hir s o f t e l i p p e , And saide, "Sire, grant mercy."0 A n d h e s o o n e 0 a f t e r w a s redy, A n d t o o k his leve f o r t o g o ; I n sory° t i m e d i d e h e s o . This Tereus gooth forth to shipe W i t h h i m a n d with his f e l a w e s h i p e ; B y s e e t h e righte c o u r s e h e n a m , 0 Into t h e c o n t r e e til h e c a m , W h e r P h i l o m e n e was dwellinge, A n d o f hir s u s t e r t h e tidinge 0 H e tolde, a n d t h o ° they w e r e n g l a d e , A n d m u c h e l j o y o f h i m they m a d e . T h e fader and the moder bothe T o leve hir d o u g h t e r w e r e n Iothe, But if they weren in presence4 And natheles at reverence0 O f h i m , t h a t w o l d e h i m s e l f travaile, 0 They wolden noght he sholde faile O f t h a t h e p r a y e d , a n d yive hire leve: And she, that wolde noght beleve,0 I n alle h a s t e m a d e hire y a r e 0 L. With respect to himself (in addition to his high lineage). 2. Thrace.

LOVER'S CONFESSION

321

also known

agreeable certain time considered

if it did not displease him go by arrange immediately

embrace thank you right away

sorrowful

took news then

with due respect take the trouble

remain ready

3. Gower's source is the Roman poet Ovid's Metamorphoses 4.424—674. 4. Unless they should be present.

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T o w a r d hir s u s t e r f o r t o f a r e 0 With T e r e u s and forth she wente. A n d h e withal his h o o l e n t e n t e , 0 W h a n s h e w a s f r o m hir f r e n d e s go, A s s o t e t h 0 o f hir love s o , His ye° myghte he noght withholde, T h a t h e n e m o s t e o n hire b e h o l d e ; 5 A n d with t h e s i g h t e h e g a n d e s i r e , A n d s e t his o w e n e h e r t e o n f i r e ; And fir, w h a n it to tow° aprocheth, To him° anon the strengthe acrocheth,0 Til with h i s ° h e t e it be d e v o u r e d , T h e tow n e m a y n o g h t b e s o c o u r e d . 0 A n d s o t h a t tyrant raviner, W h a n t h a t s h e w a s i n his p o w e r , A n d he therto s a u g h time a n d place, A s h e t h a t lost h a t h alle g r a c e , Foryat he was a wedded man, A n d in a r a g e on hire he ran, R i g h t as a w o l f w h i c h t a k t h 6 his preye. A n d s h e b e g a n t o crye a n d p r a y e , "O fader, o mi m o d e r deere, N o w h e l p ! " B u t they n e m i g h t e i t h e e r e , A n d s h e w a s o f t o litel m i g h t D e f e n s e again0 so rude0 a knight To make, whan he was so wood0 That he no reson understood, B u t h e l d hire u n d e r i n s u c h wise, T h a t s h e ne myghte noght arise, B u t lay o p p r e s s e d a n d d i s e s e d , 0 As if a g o s h a w k h a d d e s e s e d 0 A brid° which dorste noght for fere° R e m u e 0 : a n d t h u s this tyrant t h e r e B e r a f t 0 hire s u c h t h i n g a s m e n s a y n May neveremore be yolde° again, A n d t h a t w a s t h e virginitee: O f s u c h ravine i t w a s p i t e e . B u t whan she to hirselven c a m , A n d o f hir m e s c h i e f h e e d e n a m , ° And knew how that she was no maide, With wo full herte thus she saide: " Q t h o u o f alle m e n t h e w o r s t e , W h e r was ther evere m a n that dorste Do such a dede as thou hast do? T h a t d a y s h a l falle, I h o p e s o , T h a t I s h a l telle o u t al my fille, 7 A n d with my s p e e c h e I s h a l fulfille T h e wide world in brede0 a n d Iengthe. 5. Could not keep from looking at her. 6. Gower frequently contracts the third-person

travel mind is besotted eye

flax it / draws its preserved

against / rough mad

distressed seized bird / fear escape deprived restored

took heed of Iter misfortune

breadth

present singular of verbs (taketh > takth). 7. I.e., have my fill of telling, tell all.

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THE LOVER'S CONFESSION

That0 thou hast do to me be strengthe, If I a m o n g t h e p e p l e d w e l l e , U n t o t h e p e p l e I s h a l it telle; A n d if I be w i t h i n n e wall Of stones closed, than I shal U n t o t h e s t o n e s c l e p e ° a n d crye, A n d tellen h e m thy f e l o n y e ; A n d if I to t h e w o o d e s w e n d e , T h e r shal I tellen tale a n d ende,0 A n d crye it to t h e b r i d d e s o u t e , T h a t they shul heer it al aboute. F o r I so l o u d e it s h a l r e h e r s e , 0 T h a t m y vois s h a l t h e h e v e n e p e r c e , ° T h a t i t s h a l s o u n e 0 i n g o d d e s ere. H a , f a l s e m a n , w h e r e i s thy f e r e ? 0 O more cruel than any beste, H o w h a s t t h o u h o l d e n thy b i h e s t e 0 Which thou unto my suster madest? O t h o u , w h i c h alle love u n g l a d e s t , A n d art e n s a m p l e o f alle u n t r e w e , N o w wolde G o d my suster knewe, Of thin untrouthe, how that it stood!" A n d he t h a n as a lion w o o d 0 W i t h his u n h a p p y h a n d e s s t r o n g e Hire caughte be the tresses longe, W i t h w h i c h h e b o n d t h e r b o t h e hir a r m e s T h a t was a fieble0 d e e d of a r m e s — A n d t o t h e g r o u n d e a n o n hire c a s t e , And out he clippeth also faste H i r t o n g e with a p a i r e of s h e r e s , 0 S o w h a t with b l o o d a n d w h a t with t e r e s O u t o f hir y e a n d o f hir m o u t h , H e m a d e hir f a i r e f a c e u n c o u t h : 0 S h e lay s w o u n e n d e 0 u n t o t h e d e e t h , T h e r was unnethes0 any breeth; B u t yit w h a n h e hir t o n g e r e f t e , A Iitel p a r t t h e r o f b e l e f t e , 0 B u t s h e with al no word may soune,° B u t c h i t r e 0 as a brid j a r g o u n e . 0 And natheles that woode hound Hir body hent° up fro the ground, A n d s e n t e hire t h e r a s b e his wille S h e s h o l d e a b i d e i n p r i s o n stille For everemo: but now take heede W h a t a f t e r fell o f this m i s d e e d e .

323

that which

call

the whole story

repeat pierce resound fear (of the gods) promise

mad

feeble, cowardly

shears

unfamiliar, distorted fainting scarcely was left utter twitter / chatters

W h a n a l this m e s c h i e f w a s b e f a l l e , T h i s T e r e u s , that f o u l e h i m f a l l e , U n t o h i s c o n t r e e h o o m h e tye;° A n d w h a n h e c o m his p a l e i s nye, H i s wif al r e d y ther h i m k e p t e . 0 W h a n h e hire sih,° a n o n h e w e p t e ,

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seized

traveled awaited saw

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324

JOHN GOWER

And that he dide for deceite, F o r s h e b e g a n to axe° him streite,0 "Wher is my suster?" And he saide That she was deed; and Progne abraide,0 As s h e t h a t w a s a w o f u l wif, 0 A n d s t o o d b e t w e e n hir d e e t h a n d lif, Of that s h e herde s u c h tidinge: B u t f o r s h e s i h ° hir lord w e p i n g e , S h e w e n d e ° n o g h t b u t alle t r o u t h e , A n d h a d d e wel t h e m o r e r o u t h e . 0 T h e perles weren tho forsake T o hire, 8 a n d b l a k e c l o t h e s t a k e ; A s s h e that w a s gentil a n d k i n d e , In w o r s h i p e 0 of hir s u s t r e s m i n d e ° S h e m a d e a riche enterement,0 For she fond non amendement0 To sighen or to sobbe more: So was ther guile under gore.9 N o w leve w e this k i n g a n d q u e e n e , And torne again to Philomene, As I b e g a n to tellen e r s t . ° W h a n s h e c a m into p r i s o n f e r s t , It t h o g h t e 0 a k i n g e s d o u g h t e r s t r a u n g e To maken so sodein a chaunge F r o w e l t h e u n t o so g r e e t a w o ; A n d s h e b e g a n t o t h e n k e tho, T h o g h she be m o u t h e nothing prayde, W i t h i n n e hir h e r t e t h u s s h e s a i d e : "O thou, almighty Jupiter, T h a t hye sits a n d Iookest f e r , T h o u suffrest many a wrong doinge, A n d yit it is n o g h t thy willinge. T o t h e e ther m a y n o t h i n g b e e n hid, T h o u woost how it is me betid: I w o l d e I h a d d e n o g h t be b o r e , ° For thanne I hadde noght forlore0 M y s p e e c h e a n d m y virginitee. B u t , g o o d e lord, al is in t h e e , W h a n t h o u t h e r o f wolt d o ° v e n g e a n c e And shape my deliverance." A n d e v e r e a m o n g this lady w e p t e , And thoghte that she nevere kepte° To been a worldes w o m m a n more, And that she wisheth everemore. B u t o f t e u n t o hir s u s t e r d e e r e H i r h e r t e s p e k t h i n this m a n e r e , And saide, " H a , Suster, if ye knewe O f m y n e s t a t , y e w o l d e rewe, 8. I.e., she gave up jewelry. 9. I.e., deceit under cover. "Gore" is a kind of

ask/directly started violently woman

saw thought pity

respect / memory funeral betterment

before seemed to

born lost

wish to do

cared

cloak; the expression is probably proverbial for deception.

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THE LOVER'S CONFESSION

I t r o w e , ° a n d my d e l i v e r a n c e Ye wolde shape, and do vengeance On him that is so fals a m a n : A n d natheles, so as I can, I wol you s e n d e s o m e t o k e n i n g e , 0 Whereof ye shul have knowlechinge Of t h i n g I w o o t , t h a t s h a l y o u Iothe,° The which you toucheth and me bothe." A n d t h o w i t h i n n e a w h i l e als tit 0 S h e w a P a c l o t h o f silk a l whit With lettres and ymagerye, In which was al the felonye W h i c h T e r e u s t o hire h a t h d o ; A n d I a p p e d e 0 it t o g i d r e t h o A n d s e t t e hir s i g n e t 0 t h e r u p o n And sende it unto Progne anon. T h e messager which forth it bar, W h a t i t a m o u n t e t h 0 i s n o g h t war; And natheles to Progne he goth A n d prively t a k t h hire t h e c l o t h , A n d w e n t e a g a i n right a s h e c a m , T h e court of him non heede nam. W h a n Progne of Philomene herde, S h e wolde knowe how that it ferde, A n d openeth that the m a n hath broght, A n d woot therby what hath be wroght A n d what meschief ther is befalie. I n s w o u n e 0 t h o s h e g a n d o u n falle, And eft° aroos and gan to stonde, And eft she takth the cloth on honde, B e h e l d t h e lettres a n d t h y m a g e s ; B u t atte laste, " O f s u c h outrages," S h e sayth, " w e e p i n g i s n o g h t t h e b o o t e , " c A n d s w e r t h , i f that s h e live m o o t e , It shal be venged otherwise. A n d w i t h t h a t s h e g a n hire a v i s e ° H o w f e r s t s h e m i g h t e u n t o hire w i n n e 0 Hir suster, that n o m a n withinne, B u t only t h e y t h a t w e r e s w o r e , 0 It sholde knowe, and shoop° therefore That T e r e u s nothing it wiste;0 A n d yit right as hirselven liste,° Hir suster was delivered s o o n e Out of prison, and be the moone To Progne she was broght be nighte. WTian e c h of o t h e r h a d d e a s i g h t e , I n c h a m b r e , t h e r they w e r e a l o n e , They maden many a pitous mone;° But Progne most of sorwe made, W h i c h sih° hir s u s t e r p a l e a n d f a d e 0 And speecheles and deshonoured,

325

believe

token make sick as quickly wove

wrapped seal

faint again

remedy

consider get sworn (to silence) arranged knew desired

moaning saw / wan

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326

JOHN GOWER

Of that she hadde be defloured; A n d e k e u p o n hir lord s h e t h o u g h t e , Of that he so untrewely wroghte A n d h a d d e his e s p o u s a i l e b r o k e . S h e m a k t h a v o w it s h a l be w r o k e , ° A n d with t h a t w o r d s h e k n e l e t h d o u n W e e p i n g in greet devocioun: Unto Cupide and to Venus S h e prayde, and saide thanne thus: "O ye, to w h o m n o t h i n g a s t e r t e 0 O f love m a y , f o r every h e r t e Ye knowe, as ye that been above T h e g o d a n d g o d d e s s e o f love; Ye w i t e n wel t h a t e v e r e yit W i t h a l m y will a n d a l m y wit, Sith ferst ye shoopen me to wedde, T h a t I lay with my lord a b e d d e , I h a v e be t r e w e in my d e g r e e , And evere thoghte forto be, A n d n e v e r e love i n o t h e r p l a c e , B u t a l only t h e king o f T r a c e , W h i c h is my lord a n d I his wif. B u t n o w a l i a s this w o f u l l strif! That I him thus againward0 finde T h e most untrewe and most unkinde0 T h a t e v e r e i n l a d y a r m e s lay. A n d wel I w o o t t h a t h e n e m a y A m e n d e h i s w r o n g , it is so g r e e t ; F o r he to litel of me leet, ° W h a n h e m y n o w n e s u s t e r took, A n d m e t h a t a m his wif f o r s o o k . " Lo, thus to Venus and Cupide S h e prayed, a n d furthermore she cryde U n t o Appollo the higheste, A n d saide, "O mighty god of reste, T h o u d o v e n g e a n c e o f this d e b a t . M y s u s t e r a n d a l hir e s t a t T h o u woost, and how she hath forlore0 Hir maidenhood, and I therfore In al t h e w o r l d s h a l b e r e a b l a m e Of that my suster hath a s h a m e , T h a t T e r e u s to hire I s e n t e : A n d wel t h o u w o o s t t h a t m y n e n t e n t e W a s al for worship a n d for goode. O lord, t h a t yifst° t h e lives f o o d e To every wight, I p r a y t h e e h e r e T h e s wofull sustres that b e e n here, A n d let us n o g h t to t h e e b e e n Iothe;° W e b e e n thyn o w n e w o m m e n b o t h e . " T h u s plaineth Progne and axeth wreche,0 A n d t h o g h hir s u s t e r l a c k e s p e e c h e ,

avenged

escapes

on the contrary unnatural

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prized

lost

gives

hateful vengeance

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THE LOVER'S CONFESSION

T o h i m t h a t alle t h i n g e s w o o t Hir sorwe is noght the Iasse hoot:0 B u t h e t h a t t h a n n e h a d h e r d h e m two, Him oughte have sorwed everemo For sorwe which was hem betweene. With signes plaineth Philomene, A n d P r o g n e sayth, "It s h a l b e w r e k e , ° T h a t al the world therof shal speke." A n d Progne tho° siknesse feineth, W h e r o f u n t o hir lord s h e p l a i n e t h , A n d p r a y t h s h e m o s t hir c h a m b r e s k e e p e , A n d a s hire liketh w a k e a n d s l e e p e . A n d h e hire g r a n t e t h t o b e s o ; A n d t h u s t o g i d r e b e e n they two, T h a t w o l d e h i m b u t a Iitel g o o d . Now herk herafter how it stood Of wofull auntres0 that befelle: T h e s sustres, that been bothe felle°— And that was noght on h e m along,0 But onliche on° the greete wrong Which Tereus hem hadde do— T h e y s h o o p e n forto v e n g e h e m tho. T h i s T e r e u s b e P r o g n e his wif A s o n e h a t h , w h i c h as his lif H e Ioveth, a n d Ithis h e h i g h t e : H i s m o d e r w i s t e wel s h e m i g h t e D o T e r e u s n o m o r e grief T h a n s l e e this c h i l d , w h i c h w a s s o lief.° T h u s s h e , t h a t w a s , a s w h o sayth, m a d O f wo, w h i c h h a t h hir o v e r l a d , 0 Withoute insighte of moderheede Foryat pitee and loste dreede, A n d in hir c h a m b r e prively T h i s c h i l d w i t h o u t e n n o i s e o r cry S h e sIou° a n d hewe° him al to pieces. A n d a f t e r with d i v e r s e s p i c e s T h e flessh, w h a n that it was tohewe,0 S h e takth, a n d m a k t h t h e r o f a s e w e , ° W i t h w h i c h t h e f a d e r a t his m e t e ° W a s s e r v e d , til h e h a d d e h i m e t e ; That he ne wiste how it stood, B u t t h u s his o w e n e f l e s s h a n d b l o o d Himself devoureth again kinde,° As he that was tofore unkinde. A n d thanne, er that he were arise, For that he sholde been agrise,0 To shewen him the child was deed, This Philomene took the heed B e t w e e n two d i s h e s , a n d a l w r o t h e 0 T h o c o m e n forth the sustres bothe, And setten it u p o n the bord.

327

hot

avenged then

chances fiercely cunning natural on account of

dear overborne

slew / cut all cut up stew meal

contrary to nature

horrified

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angry

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JOHN GOWER

A n d P r o g n e tho b e g a n the word, A n d s a i d e , " O w e r s t e o f alle w i c k e , Of conscience w h o m no pricke M a y s t e r e , 0 lo, w h a t t h o u h a s t d o ! L o , here b e e n now we sustres two; O raviner, lo h e r e thy p r e i e , ° With w h o m so falsliche on the waye T h o u h a s t thy t y r a n n y e w r o g h t . Lo, now it is somdel aboght,0 A n d b e t ° i t s h a l , f o r o f thi d e e d e T h e world shal evere singe and rede I n r e m e m b r a n c e o f thy d e f a m e : F o r t h o u t o love h a s t d o s u c h s h a m e , T h a t it shal nevere be foryete." W i t h t h a t h e s t e r t e u p fro t h e m e t e , A n d s h o o P the bord unto the floor, And caughte a swerd anon and swoor T h a t t h e y s h o l d e o f his h a n d e s dye A n d they u n t o t h e g o d d e s s crye B e g u n n e with so I o u d e a s t e v e n e , 0 T h a t they were herd unto the hevene; A n d in a t w i n k l i n g e of an ye T h e g o d d e s , t h a t t h e m e s c h i e f sye, H i r f o r m e s c h a u n g e n alle t h r e e . E c h o o n of h e m in his degree W a s t o r n e d into b r i d d e s k i n d e ; Diverseliche as m e n m a y finde, A f t e r t h e s t a t t h a t they w e r e i n n e , Hir f o r m e s were set atwinne.1 A n d as it telleth in t h e tale, T h e f e r s t into a n i g h t i n g a l e W a s shape, a n d that was Philomene, W h i c h in the winter is noght sene, F o r t h a n n e b e e n t h e leves f a l l e A n d n a k e d b e e n t h e b u s h e s alle. F o r a f t e r t h a t s h e w a s a brid, H i r will w a s e v e r e t o b e e n hid, A n d forto dwelle in privee place, T h a n n o m a n s h o l d e s e e n hir f a c e For s h a m e which may noght be lassed,0 Of thing that was tofore passed, W h a n t h a t s h e l o s t e hir m a i d e n h e d e : F o r e v e r e u p o n hir w o m m a n h e d e , T h o g h t h a t t h e g o d d e s w o l d e hire c h a u n g e , S h e thenkth, a n d is the more straunge, A n d h a l t hire c l o o s 2 t h e w i n t e r s day. B u t w h a n t h e w i n t e r g o o t h away, A n d that N a t u r e the g o d d e s s e I. I.e., their forms as birds differed from one another as they had in their human estate or con-

disturb prey

somewhat repaid better

pushed

diminished

dition. 2. Keeps herself concealed.

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THE LOVER'S CONFESSION

W o l e o f hir o w e n e f r e e 0 l a r g e s s e With herbes a n d with flowres bothe T h e feldes and the medwes0 clothe And eke the woodes and the greves0 B e e n heled° al with greene leves, So t h a t a brid hire h i d e m a y , B e t w e e n Averil 0 a n d M a r c h a n d M a y , S h e t h a t t h e w i n t e r h e l d hire c l o o s , For pure s h a m e and noght aroos, WTian t h a t s h e s e e t h t h e b o w e s thikke, A n d t h a t t h e r i s n o b a r e stikke, B u t al is hid with leves g r e e n e , T o w o o d e c o m t h this P h i l o m e n e A n d m a k t h hir f e r s t e y e r e s flight; W h e r a s s h e s i n g e t h d a y a n d night, A n d i n hir s o n g a l o p e n l y S h e m a k t h hir p l a i n t e a n d sayth, " O why, O why ne w e r e I yit a m a i d e ? ' 0 For so these olde wise saide, Which understooden what she mente, Hir notes been of such entente.0 A n d e k e they s a i d e h o w i n hir s o n g S h e makth greet joye a n d mirthe a m o n g , A n d sayth, " H a , n o w I am a brid, H a , n o w m y f a c e m a y b e e n hid: T h o u g h I h a v e lost m y m a i d e n h e d e , Shal noman see my cheekes rede." T h u s m e d l e t h 0 s h e with j o y e w o A n d with hir s o r w e m i r t h e a l s o , S o t h a t o f loves m a l a d y e S h e makth diverse melodye, A n d s a y t h love is a w o f u l l b l i s s e , A wisdom which c a n n o m a n wisse,0 A lusty 0 fevere, a w o u n d e s o f t e : This note she reherseth ofte T o h e m , w h i c h e u n d e r s t o n d e hir tale. N o w h a v e I of this n i g h t i n g a l e , W h i c h erst was cleped Philomene, T o l d al t h a t e v e r e I w o l d e m e n e , B o t h e o f hir f o r m e a n d o f hir n o t e , W h e r o f m e n m a y t h e storye n o t e . 0 A n d of hir s u s t e r P r o g n e I f i n d e , H o w she was torned0 out of kinde Into a s w a l w e 0 s w i f t of w i n g e , W h i c h e k e i n w i n t e r Iith s w o u n i n g e , 0 Ther as she may nothing be sene: But w h a n the world is woxe° greene And c o m e n is the somertide, T h a n fleth s h e f o r t h a n d g i n t h 0 t o c h i d e , A n d c h i t r e t h o u t i n hir l a n g a g e W h a t falshood is in marriage,

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generous meadows groves covered April

virgin

meaning

instruct healthy

remember transformed swallow lies fainting grown

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A n d telleth i n a m a n e r s p e e c h e Of T e r e u s s p o u s e b r e e c h e . ° S h e wol n o g h t i n t h e w o o d e s dwelle, F o r s h e w o l d e o p e n l i c h e telle; A n d eke for that she was a spouse, A m o n g the folk she comth to house, T o d o t h e s e wives u n d e r s t o n d e T h e f a l s h o o d o f hir h o u s b o n d e , T h a t they o f h e m b e w a r a l s o , For ther been m a n y untrewe of tho.° T h u s been the sustres briddes bothe, A n d b e e n t o w a r d t h e m e n s o Iothe, T h a t they n e w o l e o f p u r e s h a m e Unto no mannes hand be tame; F o r e v e r e it d w e l l e t h in hir m i n d e O f t h a t they f o u n d e a m a n u n k i n d e , And that was false T e r e u s . If such oon be amonges us I n o o t , ° b u t his c o n d i c i o u n M e n s a y n i n every r e g i o u n Withinne toune and eke withoute N o w regneth communliche aboute. And natheles in remembrance I wol d e c l a r e w h a t v e n g e a n c e T h e goddess hadden him ordained, Of that the sustres h a d d e n plained: For anon after he was chaunged A n d f r o m his o w e n e k i n d e s t r a u n g e d , 0 A lappewinge m a d e he was, And thus he hoppeth on the gras, And on his h e e d ther stant upright A c r e s t e in t o k n e he w a s a knight; A n d yit u n t o this d a y m e n sayth, A l a p p e w i n g e h a t h lore 0 his f a i t h A n d i s t h e brid f a l s e s t e o f alle.

zdultery

those

do not know

Bewar my sone, er thee so falle; For if thou be of s u c h covine,0 T o g e t o f love b e ravine Thy lust,0 it may thee falle thus, As it b e f e l l of T e r e u s .

lost

treachery desire

AMANS:

My fader, goddes forebode!0 M e w e r e levere b e f o r t r o d e 0 With wilde hors and be todrawe,0 Er I a g a i n love a n d his l a w e D i d e a n y t h i n g o r l o u d e o r stille, W h i c h w e r e n o g h t m y l a d y wille. M e n s a y n t h a t every love h a t h d r e d e ; So f o l w e t h it t h a t I hire d r e d e , F o r I hire love, a n d w h o so d r e d e t h ,

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forbid trodden drawn

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525

530

T o p l e s e his love a n d s e r v e h i m n e e d e t h . T h u s m a y y e k n o w e n b e this skile° T h a t no r a v i n e d o o n I wille A g a i n hir will be s u c h a w a y e ; B u t w h i l e I live, I wol o b e y e A b i d i n g e o n hir c o u r t e s y e , I f a n y m e r c y w o l d e hir plye.° F o r t h y , m y f a d e r , a s o f this I woot noght I have doon amis: B u t furthermore I you beseeche, S o m e other point that ye me teche A n d a x e t h forth, i f t h e r b e o u g h t , 0 T h a t I may be the bettre taught.

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argument

persuade

anything

1390

WILLIAM LANGLAND ca. 1 3 3 0 - 1 3 8 7 William Langland is agreed by most scholars to be the sole author of a long religious allegory in alliterative verse known as The Vision of Piers Plowman or more simply Piers Plowman, which survives in at least three distinct versions that scholars refer to as the A-, B-, and C-texts. The first, about twenty-four hundred lines long, breaks off at a rather inconclusive point in the action; the second (from which all but one of the selections here have been drawn) is a revision of the first plus an extension of more than four thousand lines; and the third is a revision of the second. About Langland we know hardly anything except what can be inferred from the poem itself. He c a m e from the west of England and was probably a native of the Malvern Hills area in which the opening of the poem is set. We can never identify the persona of the narrator of a medieval text positively or precisely with its author, especially when we are dealing with allegory. Nevertheless, a p a s s a g e that was added to the C-text, the last of the selections printed here, gives the strong impression of being at one and the s a m e time an allegory in which the narrator represents willful Mankind and a poignantly ironic self-portrait of the stubborn-willed poet who occasionally plays on his own name: "I have lived in land . . . my name is Long Will" (15.152). In this new episode the narrator tries to defend his shiftless way of life against Conscience and Reason, presumably his own conscience and reason. Conscience dismisses his specious argument that a clerical education has left him no "tools" to support himself with except for his prayer book and the Psalms with which he prays for the souls of those from whom he begs alms. The entire work conforms well with the notion that its author was a man who was educated to enter the church but who, through marriage and lack of preferment, was reduced to poverty and may well have wandered in his youth like those "hermits" he scornfully describes in the prologue.

Piers Plowman has the form of a dream vision, a common medieval type in which the author presents the story under the guise of having dreamed it. The dream vision generally involves allegory, not only b e c a u s e one expects from a dream the unrealistic, the fanciful, but also because people have always suspected that dreams relate the truth in disguised form—that they are natural allegories. Through a series of such visions it traces the Dreamer-narrator's tough-minded, persistent, and passionate search for answers to his many questions, especially the question he puts early in the

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poem to Lady Holy Church: "How I may save my soul." Langland's theme is nothing less than the history of Christianity as it unfolds both in the world of the Old and New Testaments and in the life and heart of an individual fourteenth-century Christian—two seemingly distinct realms between which the poet's allegory moves with dizzying rapidity. Within the larger sequence of the poem from its beginning until the end of Passus 7, the following selections form a thematically coherent narrative. In the Prologue (the first selection), Langland's narrator falls asleep and witnesses a compact vision of the whole of late fourteenth-century English society. Poised between two stark and static possibilities of heaven and hell, an intensely active, mobile earthly life is concentrated into a "field full of folk." Some ideal practitioners of earthly occupations are surrounded and undermined by a much larger set of very energetic social types who exploit their occupations for entirely selfish ends. Langland practices an estates satire, which surveys and excoriates each worldly occupation (cf. Chaucer's very dif-

ferent example of estates satire in the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales; for

other examples, see "Medieval Estates and Orders" at Norton Literature Online). He reserves his especial anger for those who abuse ecclesiastical authority, and for the wealthy, pitiless laity (i.e. non-ecclesiastical figures).

Passus, Latin for "step," is the word used for the poem's basic divisions. Passus I (the second selection) promises to give some intellectual and moral purchase on the teeming energies of the Prologue. Holy Church instructs the poem's narrator and dreamer Will in the proper relation of material wealth and spiritual health. In particular, she accentuates the value of the "best treasure," truthe, one of Langland's key words: truthe is the justice that flows from God; it manifests itself in the exercise of earthly justice and fidelity, and in the correlative poetic value of truth-telling. Will recognizes the force of Holy Church's sermon, but still needs to know it by an interior form of knowledge, grounded in the depths of the self. It would seem that the rest of the poem is devoted to the discovery of that internalized truth. The first of the poem's large-scale narratives (Passus 2—4) represents the attempt of earthly justice to control the disruptive energies of the profit economy. That economy is here represented by the personification "Lady Mede," meaning "reward beyond deserving." After this sequence concerning earthly justice, the poem then turns to the deeper, more personal mechanisms of spiritual justice. In Passus 5, accordingly, the seven Deadly Sins confess in turn, before the poem's ideal earthly representative of justice, Piers Plowman, offers to lead a spiritual pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Truthe (Passus 5.507—642, the third selection). The ideal of truthe takes a local habitation, then, in the model of society that Piers establishes for the conduct of his "pilgrimage." The truest form of pilgrimage is no pilgrimage at all; instead, all classes of society should stay at home and work harmoniously for the production of material food by agricultural workers, with knights helping plowmen and protecting the Church, while priests pray for both workers and knights. This ideal scene is pictured in Passus 6 (the fourth selection). Langland's poem might seem, thus far, to be a deeply conservative one, whereby justice is manifest only in a manorial society, within which each person knows his or her place, and works harmoniously and obediently with the others. There is, however, a problem with this model: it collapses. In Passus 6 the ideal society put into action by Piers fails entirely; workers simply refuse to work, abuse the authority of knights, and respond only to the terrible pressure of Hunger, a punishing, Gargantuan figure who graphically evokes the ravages of famine in the fourteenth century. In Passus 7 (the fifth selection) the limitations of the truthe model become dramatically visible. A pardon sent from God as Truthe promises no pardon at all, but only retribution for those who fail to meet the standards of God's justice, and reward for those who do not so fail. As the plowing has demonstrated, however, all fail. Such a "pardon" promises nothing but universal damnation. In an exceptionally powerful, dramatic and enigmatic moment, Piers actually tears this pardon in two, as he dis-

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putes with a priest about its force. Earlier in the poem it had seemed that all Will had to do was to absorb Holy Church's understanding of Truthe; once Piers tears the pardon, however, we realize that the search for Truthe modifies the goal. We realize, that is, that Truthe cannot be the whole truth. The shortcomings of Truthe propel Will to a more urgent search for God's love and forgiveness, beyond justice, in the deepest resources of his own self. This search climaxes in the vision of Christ's Atonement ( Passus 18; see the selection in this volume, pp. 357—67). In the last selection from the C-Text, Langland presents a moving, if less passionate and conflicted scene than the tearing of Truthe's Pardon. In a passage often regarded as autobiographical, Will argues with Conscience and Reason (principles of law, but also, doubtless, Will's own conscience and reason). They reproach him for his way of life in a poor district of London, where Will barely supports his family with alms he gets by praying for the souls of wealthy burghers. A large number of manuscripts and two sixteenth-century editions show that Piers Plowman was avidly read and studied by a great many people from the end of the fourteenth century to the reign of Elizabeth I. Some of these readers have left a record of their engagement with the poem in marginal comments. Almost from the first, it was a controversial text. Within four years of the writing of the second version—which scholars have good evidence to date 1377, the year of Edward Ill's death and Richard II's accession to the throne—it had become so well known that the leaders of of the Uprising of 1381 used phrases borrowed from it as part of the rhetoric of the rebellion (for an example of such rhetoric, see the letter by John Ball, "The Uprising of 1381," in "Medieval Estates and Orders" at Norton Literature Online). Langland's sympathy with the sufferings of the poor and his indignant satire of corruption in Church and State undoubtedly made his poem popular with the rebels. Although he may not have sympathized with the violence of the rebels and their leaders, he recognized that for the Church to be preserved, it needed profound reform. The passionate sympathy for the commoner, idealized in Piers Plowman, also appealed to reformers who felt that true religion was best represented not by the ecclesiastical hierarchy but by the humblest orders of society. Many persons reading his poem in the sixteenth century (it was first printed in 1550) saw in Piers Plowman a prophecy and forerunner of the English Reformation. Immersed as it is in thorny political and theological controversies of its own day, Piers Plowman is arguably the most difficult and, at times, even the most frustrating of Middle English texts, but its poetic, intellectual, and moral complexity and integrity also make it one of the most rewarding.

From The Vision of Piers Plowman1 From The Prologue [THE FIELD OF FOLK]

In a s u m m e r s e a s o n w h e n the s u n w a s mild I c l a d myself in c l o t h e s as I'd b e c o m e a s h e e p ; In the habit of a hermit u n h o l y of works, 2 W a l k e d w i d e in this world, w a t c h i n g for w o n d e r s . A n d on a M a y m o r n i n g , on M a l v e r n Hills, T h e r e befell me as by m a g i c a m a r v e l o u s thing: I was weary of w a n d e r i n g a n d went to rest

I. T h e translation is by E. T. Donaldson (1990) and is based on Piers Plowman: The B Version, edited by George Kane and E. T. Donaldson (1975).

2. For Langland's opinion of hermits, see lines 28—30 and 5 3 - 5 7 . The sheep's clothing may suggest the habit's physical resemblance to sheep's wool as well as a false appearance of innocence.

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LANGLAND

At the bottom of a broad bank by a brook's side, And as I lay lazily looking in the water I slipped into a slumber, it sounded so pleasant. There came to me reclining there a most curious dream That I was in a wilderness, nowhere that I knew; But as I looked into the east, up high toward the sun, I saw a tower on a hill-top, trimly built, A deep dale beneath, a dungeon tower in it, With ditches deep and dark and dreadful to look at. A fair field full of folk I found between them, Of human beings of all sorts, the high and the low, Working and wandering as the world requires. Some applied themselves to plowing, played very rarely, Sowing seeds and setting plants worked very hard; Won what wasters gluttonously consume. And some pursued pride, put on proud clothing, Came all got up in garments garish to see. To prayers and penance many put themselves, All for love of our Lord lived hard lives, Hoping thereafter to have Heaven's bliss— Such as hermits and anchorites that hold to their cells, Don't care to go cavorting about the countryside, With some lush livelihood delighting their bodies. And some made themselves merchants—they managed better, As it seems to our sight that such men prosper. And some make mirth as minstrels can And get gold for their music, guiltless, I think. But jokers and word jugglers, Judas' children,3 Invent fantasies to tell about and make fools of themselves, And have whatever wits they need to work if they wanted. What Paul preaches of them I don't dare repeat here: Qui loquitur turpiloquium 4 is Lucifer's henchman. Beadsmen 5 and beggars bustled about Till both their bellies and their bags were crammed to the brim; Staged flytings6 for their food, fought over beer. In gluttony, God knows, they go to bed And rise up with ribaldry, those Robert's boys.° i.e., robbers Sleep and sloth pursue them always. Pilgrims and palmers 7 made pacts with each other To seek Saint James 8 and saints at Rome. They went on their way with many wise stories, And had leave to lie all their lives after. I saw some that said they'd sought after saints: In every tale they told their tongues were tuned to lie More than to tell the truth—such talk was theirs. A heap of hermits with hooked staffs

3. Minstrels who entertain with jokes and fantastic stories are regarded as descendants of Christ's betrayer, Judas. 4. Who speaks filthy language. Not Paul, though cf. Ephesians 5.3—4. 5. Prayer sayers, i.e., people who offered to say prayers, sometimes counted on the beads of the

rosary, for the souls of those who gave them alms. 6. Contests in which the participants took turns insulting each other, preferably in verse. 7. Virtually professional pilgrims who took advantage of the hospitality offered them to go on traveling year after year (see p. 219, n. 6). 8. I.e., his shrine at Compostela in Spain.

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W e n t o f f t o W a l s i n g h a m , 9 with their w e n c h e s b e h i n d t h e m . G r e a t l o n g l u b b e r s that don't like to work D r e s s e d up in cleric's dress to look d i f f e r e n t f r o m other m e n A n d b e h a v e d as the)' were hermits, to have an e a s y life. I f o u n d friars t h e r e — a l l f o u r of the o r d e r s 1 — P r e a c h i n g to the p e o p l e for their own p a u n c h e s ' welfare, M a k i n g g l o s s e s 0 of the G o s p e l that w o u l d look g o o d for interpretations themselves; C o v e t i n g c o p e s , 2 they c o n s t r u e d it as they p l e a s e d . M a n y o f t h e s e M a s t e r s 3 m a y c l o t h e t h e m s e l v e s richly, F o r their m o n e y a n d their m e r c h a n d i s e 4 m a r c h h a n d i n h a n d . S i n c e Charity 5 h a s proved a p e d d l e r a n d principally shrives lords, M a n y marvels have b e e n m a n i f e s t within a f e w years. U n l e s s Holy C h u r c h a n d friars' orders hold together better, T h e worst m i s f o r t u n e in the world will be welling up s o o n . A p a r d o n e r 6 p r e a c h e d there as if he h a d priest's rights, B r o u g h t o u t a bull 7 with bishop's seals, A n d s a i d he h i m s e l f c o u l d a b s o l v e t h e m all Of failure to f a s t , of vows they'd broken. U n l e a r n e d m e n believed him a n d liked his words, C a m e c r o w d i n g up on k n e e s to kiss his bulls. H e b a n g e d t h e m with his brevet a n d b l e a r e d their eyes, 8 A n d r a k e d in with his parchment-roll rings a n d b r o o c h e s . T h u s you give your gold for gluttons' well-being, A n d s q u a n d e r it on s c o u n d r e l s s c h o o l e d in lechery. If the b i s h o p were b l e s s e d a n d worth b o t h his ears, H i s seal s h o u l d not b e s e n t o u t t o deceive the p e o p l e , — I t ' s n o t h i n g to the b i s h o p that the b l a c k g u a r d p r e a c h e s , A n d the p a r i s h priest a n d the p a r d o n e r split the m o n e y T h a t the p o o r p e o p l e o f the p a r i s h w o u l d have b u t for t h e m . P a r s o n s a n d p a r i s h priests c o m p l a i n e d t o the b i s h o p T h a t their p a r i s h e s were p o o r s i n c e the pestilence-time, 9 A s k e d for l i c e n s e a n d leave to live in L o n d o n , A n d sing M a s s e s there for simony, 1 for silver is sweet. A

Yet s c o r e s of m e n s t o o d there in silken coifs W h o s e e m e d to be l a w - s e r g e a n t s 2 that served at the bar, P l e a d e d c a s e s for p e n n i e s a n d i m p o u n d e d 3 the law, 9. English town, site of a famous shrine to the Virgin Mary. 1. In Langland's day there were four orders of friars in England: Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, and Augustinians. 2. Monks', friars', and hermits' capes. 3. I.e., masters of divinity. 4. The "merchandise" sold by the friars for money is shrift, that is, confession and remission of sins, which by canon law cannot be sold. 5. The ideal of the friars, as stated by St. Francis, was simply love, i.e., charity. 6. An official empowered to pass on from the pope temporal indulgence for the sins of people who contributed to charitable enterprises—a function frequently abused. 7. Papal license to act as a pardoner, endorsed with the local bishop's seals.

8. I.e., pulled the wool over their eyes. "Brevet": pardoner's license. 9. Since 1349 England had suffered a number of epidemics of the plague, the Black Death, which had caused famine and depopulated the countryside. 1. Buying and selling the functions, spiritual powers, or offices of the church. Wealthy persons, especially in London, set up foundations to pay priests to sing masses for their souls and those of their relatives (see the portrait of Chaucer's Parson, pp. 2 3 0 - 3 1 , lines 4 7 9 - 5 3 0 ) . 2. Important lawyers (see The General Prologue to Tlte Canterbury Tales, p. 226, lines 31 Iff.). "Coifs": a silk scarf was a lawyer's badge of office. 3. Detained in legal custody. Pennies were fairly valuable coins in medieval England.

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215

220

225

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And not for love of our Lord once unloosed their lips: You might better measure mist on Malvern Hills Than get a "mum" from their mouths till money's on the table. Barons and burgesses 4 and bondmen also I saw in this assemblage, as you shall hear later; Bakers and brewers and butchers aplenty. Weavers of wool and weavers of linen, Tailors, tinkers, tax-collectors in markets, Masons, miners, many other craftsmen. Of all living laborers there leapt forth some, Such as diggers of ditches that do their jobs badly, And dawdle away the long day with "Dieu save dame Emme. " 5 Cooks and their kitchen-boys crying, "Hot pies, hot! Good geese and pork! Let's go and dine!" Tavern-keepers told them a tale of the same sort: "White wine of Alsace and wine of Gascony, Of the Rhine and of La Rochelle, to wash the roast down with." All this I saw sleeping, and seven times more.

Passus I [THE TREASURE OF TRUTH]

What this mountain means, and the murky dale, And the field full of folk I shall clearly tell you. A lady lovely of look, in linen clothes, Came down from the castle and called me gently, And said, "Son, are you asleep? Do you see these people, How busy they're being about the maze? The greatest part of the people that pass over this earth, If they have well-being in this world, they want nothing more: For any heaven other than here they have no thought." I was afraid of her face, fair though she was, And said, "Mercy, madam, what may this mean?" "The tower on the hill-top," she said, "Truth6 is within it, And would have you behave as his words teach. For he is father of faith, formed you all Both with skin and with skull, and assigned you five senses To worship him with while you are here. And therefore he ordered the earth to help each one of you With woolens, with linens, with livelihood at need, In a moderate manner to make you at ease; And of his kindness declared three things common to all: None are necessary but these, and now I will name them And rank them in their right order—you repeat them after. The first is vesture to defend you from the cold; The second is food at fit times to fend off hunger, And drink when you're dry—but don't drink beyond reason Or you will be the worse for it when you've work to do.

4. Town dwellers who had full rights as the citizens of a municipality. In contrast, barons were members of the upper nobility, and bondmen were peasants who held their land from a lord in return for customary services or rent. 5. "God save Dame E m m a , " presumably a popular

song. 6. Langland plays on three meanings of the term "Truth": (1) fidelity, integrity—as in modern "troth"; (2) reality, actuality, conformity with what is; (3) God, the ultimate truth; see Headnote.

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F o r L o t in his lifetime b e c a u s e he liked drink D i d with his d a u g h t e r s w h a t t h e Devil f o u n d p l e a s i n g , T o o k delight in drink as the Devil w i s h e d , A n d lechery laid hold on h i m a n d he lay with t h e m both, B l a m e d it ail on the wine's working, t h a t w i c k e d d e e d .

Let us make him drunk with wine, and let us lie with him, that we may preserve seed of our father. 7

By wine and by w o m e n there Lot was overcome A n d there b e g o t i n gluttony g r a c e l e s s b r a t s . T h e r e f o r e d r e a d d e l i c i o u s drink a n d you'll d o the better: M o d e r a t i o n is m e d i c i n e no m a t t e r h o w you yearn. It's not all g o o d for your ghost 8 that your g u t w a n t s N o r of b e n e f i t to your body that's a b l e s s i n g to your soul. Don't believe your body for it d o e s the b i d d i n g of a liar: T h a t is this w r e t c h e d world that w a n t s to betray you; F o r the F i e n d a n d your f l e s h b o t h c o n f o r m to it, A n d that b e s m i r c h e s your s o u l : set this in your heart, A n d so that y o u s h o u l d yourself be wary I'm giving this advice." "Ah, m a d a m , m e r c y , " s a i d I , "your w o r d s m u c h p l e a s e m e . B u t the m o n e y m i n t e d o n e a r t h that m e n a r e s o greedy for, Tell me to w h o m that t r e a s u r e b e l o n g s ? " " G o t o the G o s p e l , " s h e said, " t h a t G o d h i m s e l f s p o k e W h e n the p e o p l e a p p r o a c h e d h i m with a p e n n y in t h e t e m p l e A n d a s k e d w h e t h e r they s h o u l d worship 9 with it C a e s a r the king. A n d h e a s k e d t h e m t o w h o m the inscription referred 'And the i m a g e also that is on the c o i n ? ' 'Caesaris,' 1 they said, 'we c a n all s e e it clearly.'

'Reddite Caesari,' said God, 'what Caesari belongs, 2 And quae sunt Dei Deo, or else you do wrong.'

F o r rightfully R e a s o n 3 s h o u l d rule y o u all, A n d Kind Wit be k e e p e r to take c a r e of your w e a l t h A n d be g u a r d i a n of your gold to give it o u t w h e n you n e e d it, For economy4 and he are of one accord." T h e n I q u e s t i o n e d her courteously, in the C r e a t o r ' s n a m e , " T h e d u n g e o n in the d a l e that's d r e a d f u l to s e e , W h a t m a y it m e a n , m a d a m , I b e s e e c h y o u ? " " T h a t is the C a s t l e of C a r e : whoever c o m e s into it Will be sorry he was ever born with body a n d soul. T h e c a p t a i n o f the c a s t l e i s c a l l e d W r o n g , F a t h e r of f a l s e h o o d , he f o u n d e d it h i m s e l f . A d a m a n d E v e he e g g e d to evil, C o u n s e l e d C a i n to kill his brother; He m a d e a j o k e out of J u d a s with J e w i s h silver, 5 A n d a f t e r w a r d s o n a n elder tree h a n g e d h i m high.

7. Genesis 19.32. 8. Spirit. 9. "Worship" in Middle English often means religious celebration, but the worship of God is only one instance of showing the appropriate honor and respect to someone or something; the word can therefore be used about objects other than God. 1. Caesar's. 2. "Render unto Caesar"; "to Caesar." In the next line the Latin clause means "What are God's unto God." See Matthew 2 2 . 1 5 - 2 1 . 3. Langland distinguishes the role of reason, as

the distinctive human capacity to reach truth by discursive reasoning, from the functions of a number of other related mental processes and sources of truth, e.g., Kind Wit (next line): natural intelligence, common sense. 4. I.e., prudent management. 5. For the fall of Adam and Eve, see Genesis 3; for Cain's murder of Abel, see Genesis 4. In the next lines, for Judas's betrayal of Jesus, see Matthew 2 6 . 1 4 - 1 6 ; for his death (line 68), see Matthew 2 7 . 3 - 6 .

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He's a molester of love, lies to every one; Those who trust in his treasure are betrayed soonest." Then I wondered in my wits what woman it might be Who could show from Holy Scripture such wise words, And I conjured her in the high name, ere she went away, To say who she really was that taught me so well. "I am Holy Church," she said, "you ought to know me: I befriended you first and taught the faith to you. You gave me gages 6 to be guided by my teaching And to love me loyally while your life lasts." Then kneeling on my knees I renewed my plea for grace, Prayed piteously to her to pray for my sins, And advise me how I might find natural faith 7 in Christ, That I might obey the command of him who made me man. "Teach me of no treasure, but tell me this one thing, How I may save my soul, sacred as you are?" "When all treasures are tried, Truth is the best. I call on Deus caritas8 to declare the truth. It's as glorious a love-gift as dear God himself. For whoever is true of his tongue, tells nothing untrue, Does his work with truth, wishes no man ill, He is a god by the Gospel, on ground and aloft, And also like our Lord by Saint Luke's words.9 Clerks who've been taught this text should tell it all about, For Christians and non-Christians lay claim to it both. To keep truth kings and knights are required by reason, And to ride out in realms about and beat down wrong-doers, Take transgressores1 and tie them up tight Until Truth has determined their trespass in full. For David in his days when he dubbed knights2 Made them swear on their swords to serve Truth forever. That is plainly the profession that's appropriate for knights, And not to fast one Friday in five score winters, But to hold with him and with her who ask for truth, And never leave them for love nor through a liking for presents, And whoever passes that point is an apostate to his order. For Christ, King of Kings, created ten orders, 3 Cherubim and seraphim, seven such and another. Gave them might in his majesty—the merrier they thought it— And over his household he made them archangels, Taught them through the Trinity how Truth may be known, And to be obedient to his bidding—he bade nothing else. Lucifer with his legions learned this in Heaven, And he was the loveliest of light after our Lord

6. I.e., pledges (at baptism). 7. The Middle English phrase is "kynde knowynge." 8. "God [is] love": I John 4.8. 9. Not Luke, but see I John 4.16 and cf. Psalms 81.6. The phrase "a god by the Gospel" is Langland's; what he means by it will be a recurrent theme. 1. Transgressors: the Latin word appears at Isaiah 53.12. 2. Behind the idea that King David created knight-

hood probably lies his selection of officers for his army (1 Chronicles 12.18) translated into chivalric terms; like other heroes, he was typically portrayed in the Middle Ages as a chivalric figure, just as God's creation of the angels, below, is pictured in terms of a medieval aristocratic household. 3. I.e., ten orders of heavenly beings; seraphim, cherubim, thrones, dominions, virtues, powers, principalities, archangels, angels, and the nameless order that fell with Lucifer.

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Till he broke obedience—his bliss was lost to him And he fell from that fellowship in a fiend's likeness us Into a deep dark hell, to dwell there forever, And more thousands went out with him than any one could count, Leaping out with Lucifer in loathly shapes, Because they believed Lucifer who lied in this way: I shall set my foot in the north and I shall be like the most high. 4 120 And all that hoped it might be so, no Heaven could hold them, But they fell out in fiend's likeness fully nine days together, Till God of his goodness granted that Heaven settle, Become stationary and stable, and stand in quiet. When these wicked ones went out they fell in wondrous wise, 125 Some in air, some on earth, some deep in hell, But Lucifer lies lowest of them all. For pride that puffed him up his pain has no end. And all that work with wrong will surely make their way After their death-day to dwell with that wretch. 130 But those who wish to work well, as holy words direct, And who end, as I said earlier, in Truth that is the best May be certain that their souls will ascend to Heaven Where Truth is in Trinity, bestowing thrones on all who come. Therefore I say as I said before, by the sense of these texts 135 When all treasures are tried, Truth is the best. Let unlearned men be taught this, for learned men know it, That Truth is the trustiest treasure on earth." "Yet I've no natural knowledge,"5 said I, "you must teach me more clearly Through what force faith is formed in my body and where." 140 "You doting dolt," said she, "dull are your wits: Too little Latin you learned, lad, in your youth. Alas, I repine for a barren youth was mine. 6 It's a natural knowledge that's nurtured in your heart To love your Lord more dearly than you love yourself, To do no deadly sin though you should die for it. 145 This I trust is truth: whoever can teach you better, Look to it that you let him speak, and learn it after. For thus his word witnesses: do your work accordingly. For Truth tells us that love is the trustiest medicine in Heaven. No sin may be seen on him by whom that spice is used. 150 And all the deeds he pleased to do were done with love. And he7 taught it to Moses as a matchless thing, and most like Heaven, And also the plant of peace, most precious of virtues. For Heaven might not hold it,8 so heavy it seemed, Till it had with earth alloyed itself. 155 And when it had of this earth taken flesh and blood, Never was leaf upon linden lighter thereafter, And portable and piercing as the point of a needle: 4. Cf. Isaiah 1 4 . 1 3 - 1 4 , which has "throne" (sedem) where Langland has "foot" ( p e d e m ) . 5. Instinctive or experiential knowledge; Langland's phrase, a recurrent and important one, is "kynde knowynge."

6. Proverbial. 7. I.e., Truth. 8. I.e., love, which, as the passage goes on, becomes embodied in Christ.

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No armor might obstruct it, nor any high walls. Therefore Love is leader of the Lord's people in Heaven, And an intermediary as the mayor is between community and king. Just so Love is a leader by whom the law's enforced Upon man for his misdeeds—he measures the fine. And to know this naturally, it's nourished by a power That has its head in the heart, and its high source. For a natural knowledge in the heart is nourished by a power That's let fall by the Father who formed us all, Looked on us with love and let his son die Meekly for our misdeeds, to amend us all. Yet he9 did not ask harm on those who hurt him so badly, But with his mouth meekly made a prayer for mercy— For pity for those people who so painfully killed him. Here you may see examples in himself alone, How he was mighty and meek, and bade mercy be granted To those who hanged him high and pierced his heart. if

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Love is Life's doctor, and next1 our Lord himself, And also the strait 2 street that goes straight to Heaven. Therefore I say as I said before, by the sense of these texts, When all treasures are tried, Truth is the best. Now that I've told you what Truth is—there's no treasure better— I may delay no longer now: our Lord look after you." From Passus 5 [ P I E R S P L O W M A N S H O W S T H E WAY T O S A I N T T R U T H ]

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Then Hope took hold of a horn of Deus tu conversus vivificabis nos 3 And blew it with Beati quorum remissae sunt iniquitates, 4 So that all the saints sang for sinners at once, "Men and animals thou shalt save inasmuch as thou hast multiplied thy mercy, O God." 5 A thousand men then thronged together, Cried upward to Christ and to his clean mother To have grace to go to Truth—God grant they might! But there was no one so wise as to know the way thither, But they blundered forth like beasts over banks and hills Till they met a man, many hours later, Appareled like a pagan 6 in pilgrims' manner. He bore a stout staff with a broad strap around it, In the way of woodbine wound all about. A bowl and a bag he bore by his side.

9. I.e., Christ, not the Father as in the sentence before. In such slippery transitions from one subject to another, Langland takes advantage of the greater flexibility of Middle English syntax; and usually, as here, the transition reflects an important connection of ideas, in this case the relationship between God's action and Christ's. 1. Next to. 2. I.e., narrow; see Matthew 7 . 1 3 - 1 4 .

3. O God, you will turn and give us life (from the Mass). 4. Blessed [are they] whose transgressions are forgiven (Psalms 3 2 . l ) . 5. Psalms 3 6 . 6 - 7 . 6. I.e., outlandishly. (Langland's word paynym was especially associated with Saracens, i.e., Arabs.)

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A hundred holy water phials were set on his hat, Souvenirs of Sinai and shells of Galicia, And many a Cross on his cloak and keys of Rome, And the vernicle in front so folk should know By seeing his signs what shrines he'd been to.7 These folk asked him fairly from whence he came. "From Sinai," he said, ".and from the Holy Sepulchre. Bethlehem, Babylon, I've been to both; In Armenia, in Alexandria,8 in many other places. You can tell by the tokens attached to my hat That I've walked far and wide in wet and in dry And sought out good saints for my soul's health." "Did you ever see a saint," said they, "that men call Truth? Could you point out a path to where that person lives?" "No, so God save me," said the fellow then. "I've never known a palmer with knapsack or staff To ask after him ere now in this place." "Peter!"9 said a plowman, and put forth his head. "We're as closely acquainted as a clerk and his books. Conscience and Kind Wit1 coached me to his place And persuaded me to swear to him I'd serve him forever, Both to sow and set plants so long as I can work. I have been his follower all these forty winters, Both sowed his seed and overseen his cattle, Indoors and outdoors taken heed for his profit, Made ditches and dikes, done what he bids. Sometimes I sow and sometimes I thresh, In tailor's craft and tinker's, whatever Truth can devise. I weave wool and wind it and do what Truth says. For though I say it myself, I serve him to his satisfaction. I get good pay from him, and now and again more. He's the promptest payer that poor men know. He withholds no worker's wages so he's without them by evening. He's as lowly as a lamb and lovely of speech. And if you'd like to learn where that lord dwells, I'll direct you on the road right to his palace." "Yes, friend Piers,"2 said these pilgrims, and proffered him pay. "No, by the peril of my soul!" said Piers, and swore on oath: "I wouldn't take a farthing's fee for Saint Thomas's shrine.3 Truth would love me the less a long time after. But you that are anxious to be off, here's how you go:

7. A pilgrim to Canterbury collected a phial of holy water from St. Thomas's shrine; collecting another every time one passed through Canterbury was a mark of a professional pilgrim. "Sinai": souvenirs from the Convent of St. Katharine on Sinai. "Shells": the emblem of St. J a m e s at-Compostela, in Galicia. "Many a cross": commemorating trips to the Holy Land. "Keys": the sign of St. Peter's keys, from Rome. "Vernicle": a copy of the image of Christ's face preserved on a cloth, another f a m o u s relic from Rome. 'It was believed to have appeared after Veronica gave her head cloth to Christ, as he was going to execution, to wipe his face on. 8. "Babylon": near Cairo, where there was a

church on the site where Mary lived during the Flight into Egypt. "Armenia": presumably to visit Mt. Ararat, where the Ark is said to have landed. "Alexandria": the site of the martyrdom of St. Catherine and St. Mark. 9. I.e., an oath "By St. Peter!" 1. Moral sense and natural intelligence (common sense). 2. I.e., Peter, hence the particular appropriateness of his swearing by St. Peter (line 537), a connection that Langland will exploit in a variety of ways. 3. The shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury was famous for the gold and jewels offered by important pilgrims.

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You must go through Meekness, both men and women, Till you come into Conscience 4 that Christ knows the truth That you love our Lord God of all loves the most, And next to him your neighbors—in no way harm them, Otherwise than you'd have them behave to you. And so follow along a brook's bank, Be-Modest-Of-Speech, Until you find a ford, Do-Your-Fathers-Honor; Honor thy father and thy mother, etc. 5 Wade in that water and wash yourselves well there And you'll leap the lighter all your lifetime. So you shall see Swear-Not-Unless-lt-Is-For-NeedAnd-Namely-Never-Take-In-Vain-The-Name-Of-God-AImighty. Then you'll come to a croft, 6 but don't come into it: The croft is called Covet-Not-Men's-Cattle-Nor-Their-Wives And-None-Of-Your-Neighbor's-Serving-Men-So-As~To-Harm-Them. See that you break no boughs there unless they belong to you. Two wooden statues stand there, but don't stop for them: They're called Steal-Not and Slay-Not: stay away from both; Leave them on your left hand and don't look back. And hold well your holiday until the high evening.7 Then you shall blench at a barrow,8 Bear-No-False-Witness: It's fenced in with florins and other fees aplenty. See that you pluck no plant there for peril of your soul. Then you shall see Speak-The-Truth-So-It-Must-Be-DoneAnd-Not-ln-Any-Other-Way-Not-For-Any-Man's-Asking. Then you shall come to a castle shining clear as the sun. The moat is made of mercy, all about the manor; And all the walls are of wit° to hold will out. reason The crenelations are of Christendom to save Christiankind, Buttressed with Believe-So-Or-You-Won't-Be-Saved; And all the houses are roofed, halls and chambers, Not with lead but with Love-And-Lowness-As-Brothers-Of-OneWomb. The bridge is of Pray-Properly-You-Will-Prosper-The-More. Every pillar is of penance, of prayers to saints; The hooks are of almsdeeds that the gates are hanging on. The gate-keeper's name is Grace, a good man indeed; His man is called Amend-Yourself, for he knows many men. Say this sentence to him: 'Truth sees what's true; I performed the penance the priest gave me to do And I'm sorry for my sins and shall be so always When I think thereon, though I were a pope.' Pray Amend-Yourself mildly to ask his master once To open wide the wicket-gate that the woman shut When Adam and Eve ate unroasted apples. Through Eve it was closed to all and through the Virgin Mary it was opened again. 9

4. Consciousness, moral awareness, related to but not identical with the moral sense personified in line 539. 5. Exodus 20.12. Beginning in lines 563—64 with the two "great" commandments (Matthew 22.37— 39), Piers's directions include most of the commandments of Exodus 20. 6. A small enclosed field, or a small agricultural

holding worked by a tenant. 7. A holiday (i.e., a holy day) lasted until sunset ("high evening"); it was not supposed to be used for work, and drinking and games were forbidden, at least until after attendance at church services. 8. A low hillock or a burial mound. 9. From a service commemorating the Virgin Mary.

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For he keeps the latchkey though the king sleep. And if Grace grants you to go in in this way You shall see in yourself Truth sitting in your heart In a chain of charity as though you were a child again, 1 To suffer your sire's will and say nothing against it." #

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"By Christ," cried a pickpocket, "I have no kin there." "Nor I," said an ape-trainer, "for anything I know." "God knows," said a cake-seller, "if I were sure of this, I wouldn't go a foot further for any friar's preaching." "Yes!" said Piers Plowman, and prodded him for his good. "Mercy is a maiden there that has dominion over them all, And she is sib to all sinners, and her son as well, And through the help of these two—think nothing else— You might get grace there if you go in time." "By Saint Paul!" said a pardoner, "possibly I'm not known there; I'll go fetch my box with my brevets and a bull with bishop's letters." "By Christ!" said a common woman, 2 "I'll keep you company. You shall say I am your sister." I don't know what became of them.

Passus 6 [THE PLOWING OF PIERS'S HALF-ACRE]

"This would be a bewildering way unless we had a guide Who could trace our way foot by foot": thus these folk complained. Said Perkin3 the Plowman, "By Saint Peter of Rome! I have a half-acre to plow by the highway; 5 If I had plowed this half-acre and afterwards sowed it, I would walk along with you and show you the way to go." "That would be a long delay," said a lady in a veil. "What ought we women to work at meanwhile?" "Some shall sew sacks to stop the wheat from spilling. io And you lovely ladies, with your long fingers, See that you have silk and sendal to sew when you've time Chasubles 4 for chaplains for the Church's honor. Wives and widows, spin wool and flax; Make cloth, I counsel you, and teach the craft to your daughters. 15 The needy and the naked, take note how they fare: Keep them from cold with clothing, for so Truth wishes. For I shall supply their sustenance unless the soil fails As long as I live, for the Lord's love in Heaven. And all sorts of folk that feed on farm products, 20 Busily abet him who brings forth your food." "By Christ!" exclaimed a knight then, "your counsel is the best. But truly, how to drive a team has never been taught me. But show me," said the knight, "and I shall study plowing." "By Saint Paul," said Perkin, "since you proffer help so humbly, 1. Cf. Mark 10.15: "whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein." This childlike quality is here envisaged as total submissiveness (line 608). "In a chain of charity": either Truth is bound by (that is, constrained by) caritas (love) or Truth is enthroned,

adorned with caritas like a chain of office. 2. Prostitute. "Brevets": pardoner's credentials. 3. A nickname for Piers, or Peter. 4. Garments worn by priests to celebrate Mass. "Sendal": a thin, rich form of silk.

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I shall sweat and strain and sow for us both, And also labor for your love all my lifetime, In exchange for your championing Holy Church and me Against wasters and wicked men who would destroy me. And go hunt hardily hares and foxes, Boars and bucks that break down my hedges, And have falcons at hand to hunt down the birds That come to my croft5 and crop my wheat." Thoughtfully the knight then spoke these words: "By my power, Piers, I pledge you my word To uphold this obligation though I have to fight. As long as I live I shall look after you." "Yes, and yet another point," said Piers, "I pray you further: See that you trouble no tenant unless Truth approves, And though you may amerce6 him, let Mercy set the fine, And Meekness be your master no matter what Meed0 does. bribery And though poor men proffer you presents and gifts, Don't accept them for it's uncertain that you deserve to have them. For at some set time you'll have to restore them In a most perilous place called purgatory. And treat no bondman badly—you'll be the better for it; Though here he is your underling, it could happen in Heaven That he'll be awarded a worthier place, one with more bliss: Friend, go up higher. 7 For in the charnelhouse8 at church churls are hard to distinguish, Or a knight from a knave: know this in your heart. And see that you're true of your tongue, and as for tales—hate them Unless they have wisdom and wit for your workmen's instruction. Avoid foul-mouthed fellows and don't be friendly to their stories, And especialty at your repasts shun people like them, For they tell the Fiend's fables—be very sure of that." "I assent, by Saint James," said the knight then, "To work by your word while my life lasts." "And I shall apparel myself," said Perkin, "in pilgrims' fashion And walk along the way with you till we find Truth." He donned his working-dress, some darned, some whole, His gaiters and his gloves to guard his limbs from cold, And hung his seed-holder behind his back instead of a knapsack: "Bring a bushel of bread-wheat for me to put in it, For I shall sow it myself and set out afterwards On a pilgrimage as palmers do to procure pardon. And whoever helps me plow or work in any way Shall have leave, by our Lord, to glean my land in harvest-time, And make merry with what he gets, no matter who grumbles. And all kinds of craftsmen that can live in truth, I shall provide food for those that faithfully live, Except for Jack the juggler and Jonette from the brothel, And Daniel the dice-player and Denot the pimp, And Friar Faker and folk of his order, And Robin the ribald for his rotten speech.

5. A small enclosed field. 6. Punish with a fine the amount of which is at the discretion of the judge.

7. Luke 14.10. 8. A crypt for dead bodies,

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Truth told me once and bade me tell it abroad: Deleantur de libro viventium: 9 I should have no dealings with them, For Holy Church is under orders to ask no tithes' of them. For let them not be written with the righteous. 2 Their good luck has left them, the Lord amend them now." Dame-Work-When-It's-Time-To was Piers's wife's name; His daughter was called Do-Just-So-Or-Your-Dame-Will-Beat-You; so His son was named Suffer-Your-Sovereigns-To-Have-Their-WillCondemn-Them-Not-For-If-You-Do-You'II-Pay-A-Dear-PriceLet-God-Have-His-Way-With-AJI-Things-For-So-His-Word-Teaches. "For now I am old and hoary and have something of my own, To penance and to pilgrimage I'll depart with these others; 85 Therefore I will, before I go away, have my will written: 'In Dei nomine, amen, 3 I make this myself. He shall have my soul that has deserved it best, And defend it from the Fiend—for so I believe— Till I come to his accounting, as my Creed teaches me— 90 To have release and remission I trust in his rent book. The kirk° shall have my corpse and keep my bones, church For of my corn and cattle it craved the tithe: I paid it promptly for peril of my soul; It is obligated, I hope, to have me in mind 95 And commemorate me in its prayers among all Christians. My wife shall have what I won with truth, and nothing else, And parcel it out among my friends and my dear children. For though I die today, my debts are paid; I took back what I borrowed before I went to bed.' ioo As for the residue and the remnant, by the Rood of Lucca, 4 I will worship Truth with it all my lifetime, And be his pilgrim at the plow for poor men's sake. My plowstaff shall be my pikestaff and push at the roots And help my coulter to cut and cleanse the furrows." 105 Now Perkin and the pilgrims have put themselves to plowing. Many there helped him to plow his half-acre. Ditchers and diggers dug up the ridges; Perkin was pleased by this and praised them warmly. There were other workmen who worked very hard: no Each man in his manner made himself a laborer, And some to please Perkin pulled up the weeds. At high prime 5 Piers let the plow stand To oversee them himself; whoever worked best Should be hired afterward, when harvest-time came. ii5 Then some sat down and sang over ale And helped plow the half-acre with "Ho! trolly-lolly!"6 75

9. Let them be blotted out of the book of the living (Psalms 69.28). 1. Because the money they make is not legitimate income or increase derived from the earth; therefore, they do not owe the tithes, or 10 percent taxes, due the church. 2. Psalms 69.28. 3. "In the name of God, amen," customary beginning of a will. 4. An ornate crucifix at Lucca in Italy was a popular object of pilgrimage. "Residue and remnant": land had to be left to one's natural heirs, although

up to one-third of personal property (the "residue and remnant") could be left to the church for Masses for the testator or other purposes; the other two-thirds had to go to the family, one to the widow and the other to the children. Piers's arrangements seem to leave the wife considerably more latitude. 5. 9 A.M., or after a substantial part of the day's work has been done, because laborers start so early. 6. Presumably the refrain of a popular song (note similarly musical loafers in the Prologue, lines 224-25).

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"Now by the peril of my soul!" said Piers in pure wrath, "Unless you get up again and begin working now, No grain that grows here will gladden you at need, And though once off the dole you die let the Devil care!" Then fakers were afraid and feigned to be blind; Some set their legs askew as such loafers can And made their moan to Piers, how they might not work: "We have no limbs to labor with, Lord, we thank you; But we pray for you, Piers, and for your plow as well, That God of his grace make your grain multiply, And reward you for whatever alms you will give us here, For we can't strain and sweat, such sickness afflicts us." "If what you say is so," said Piers, "I'll soon find out. I know you're ne'er-do-wells, and Truth knows what's right, And I'm his sworn servant and so should warn him Which ones they are in this world that do his workmen harm. You waste what men win with toil and trouble. But Truth shall teach you how his team should be driven, Or you'll eat barley bread and use the brook for drink; Unless you're blind or broken-legged, or bolted 0 with iron— braced Those shall eat as well as I do, so God help me, Till God of his goodness gives them strength to arise. But you could work as Truth wants you to and earn wages and bread By keeping cows in the field, the corn from the cattle, Making ditches or dikes or dinging on sheaves, Or helping make mortar, or spreading muck afield. You live in lies and lechery and in sloth too, And it's only for suffrance that vengeance has not fallen on you. But anchorites and hermits that eat only at noon And nothing more before the morrow, they shall have my alms, And buy copes at my cost—those that have cloisters and churches. But Robert Runabout shall have no rag from me, Nor 'Apostles' unless they can preach and have the bishop's permission. They shall have bread and boiled greens and a bit extra besides, For it's an unreasonable religious life that has no regular meals." Then Waster waxed angry and wanted to fight; To Piers the Plowman he proffered his glove. A Breton, a braggart, he bullied Piers too, And told him to go piss with his plow, peevish wretch. "Whether you're willing or unwilling, we will have our will With your flour and your flesh, fetch it when we please, And make merry with it, no matter what you do." Then Piers the Plowman complained to the knight To keep him safe, as their covenant was, from cursed rogues, "And from these wolfish wasters that lay waste the world, For they waste and win nothing, and there will never be Plenty among the people while my plow stands idle." Because he was born a courteous man the knight spoke kindly to Waster And warned him he would have to behave himself better: "Or you'll pay the penalty at law, I promise, by my order!" "It's not my way to work," said Waster, "I won't begin now!"

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And made light of the law and lighter of the knight, And said Piers wasn't worth a pea or his plow either, And menaced him and his men if they met again. "Now by the peril of my soul!" said Piers, "I'll punish you all." And he whooped after Hunger who heard him at once. "Avenge me on these vagabonds," said he, "that vex the whole world." Then Hunger in haste took hold of Waster by the belly And gripped him so about the guts that his eyes gushed water. He buffeted the Breton about the cheeks That he looked like a lantern all his life after. He beat them both so that he almost broke their guts. Had not Piers with a pease loaf 7 prayed him to leave off They'd have been dead and buried deep, have no doubt about it. "Let them live," he said, "and let them feed with hogs, Or else on beans and bran baked together." Fakers for fear fled into barns And flogged sheaves with flails from morning till evening, So that Hunger wouldn't be eager to cast his eye on them. For a potful of peas that Piers had cooked A heap of hermits laid hands on spades And cut off their copes and made short coats of them And went like workmen to weed and to mow, And dug dirt and dung to drive off Hunger. Blind and bedridden got better by the thousand; Those who sat to beg silver were soon healed, For what had been baked for Bayard 8 was boon to many hungry, And many a beggar for beans obediently labored, And every poor man was well pleased to have peas for his wages, And what Piers prayed them to do they did as sprightly as sparrowhawks. And Piers was proud of this and put them to work, And gave them meals and money as they might deserve. Then Piers had pity and prayed Hunger to take his way Off to his own home and hold there forever. "I'm well avenged on vagabonds by virtue of you. But I pray you, before you part," said Piers to Hunger, "With beggars and street-beadsmen 9 what's best to be done? For well I know that once you're away, they will work badly; Misfortune makes them so meek now, And it's for lack of food that these folk obey me. And they're my blood brothers, for God bought 0 us all. redeemed Truth taught me once to love them every one And help them with everything after their needs. Now I'd like to learn, if you know, what line I should take And how I might overmaster them and make them work." "Hear now," said Hunger, "and hold it for wisdom: Big bold beggars that can earn their bread, With hounds' bread and horses' bread hold up their hearts, And keep their bellies from swelling by stuffing them with beans—

7. The cheapest and coarsest grade of bread, the food of those who cannot get better. 8. Generic name for a horse; a bread made of beans and bran, the coarsest category of bread, was

used to feed horses and hounds, but was eaten by people when need was great. 9. Paid prayer sayers.

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And if they begin to grumble, tell them to get to work, And they'll have sweeter suppers once they've deserved them. And if you find any fellow-man that fortune has harmed Through fire or through false men, befriend him if you can. 220 Comfort such at your own cost, for the love of Christ in Heaven; Love them and relieve them—so the law of Kind0 directs. Nature Bear ye one another's burdens. 1 And all manner of men that you may find That are needy or naked and have nothing to spend, With meals or with money make them the better. 225 Love them and don't malign them; let God take vengeance. Though they behave ill, leave it all up to God Vengeance is mine and I will repay. 2 And if you want to gratify God, do as the Gospel teaches, And get yourself loved by lowly men: so you'll unloose his grace." Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness.* "I would not grieve God," said Piers, "for all the goods on earth! 230 Might I do as you say without sin?" said Piers then. "Yes, I give you my oath," said Hunger, "or else the Bible lies: Go to Genesis the giant, engenderer of us all:4 In sudore 5 and slaving you shall bring forth your food And labor for your livelihood, and so our Lord commanded. 235 And Sapience says the same—I saw it in the Bible. Piger propter frigus 6 would plow no field; He shall be a beggar and none abate his hunger. Matthew with man's face 7 mouths these words: 'Entrusted with a talent, servus nequam8 didn't try to use it, 240 And earned his master's ill-will for evermore after, And he took away his talent who was too lazy to work, And gave it to him in haste that had ten already; And after he said so that his servants heard it, He that has shall have, and help when he needs it, 245 And he that nothing has shall nothing have and no man help him, And what he trusts he's entitled to I shall take away.' Kind Wit wants each one to work, Either in teaching or tallying or toiling with his hands, Contemplative life or active life; Christ wants it too. 250 The Psalter says in the Psalm of Beati omnes, 9 The fellow that feeds himself with his faithful labor, He is blessed by the Book in body and in soul." The labors of thy hands, etc. 1 "Yet I pray you," said Piers, " pour charite, 0 if you know for charity Any modicum of medicine, teach me it, dear sir. 1. Galatians 6.2. 2. Romans 12.19. 3. Luke 16.9. 4. This puzzling epithet has been explained on the grounds that Genesis is the longest book (except for Psalms) in the Bible and that it recounts the creation of humankind. 5. In the sweat [of thy face shalt thou eat bread] (Genesis 3.19). 6. The sluggard [will not plow] by reason of the cold (Proverbs 20.4). "Sapience": the biblical "Wisdom Books" attributed to Solomon.

7. Each of the four Evangelists had his traditional pictorial image, derived partly from the faces of the four creatures in Ezekiel's vision (Ezekiel 1.5—12) and partly from those of the four beasts of the Apocalypse (Revelation 4.7): Matthew was represented as a winged man; Mark, a lion; Luke, a winged ox; and John, an eagle. 8. The wicked servant (Luke 19.22; see 17—27). "Talent": a unit of money. 9. Blessed [are] all [who] (Psalms 128.1). I. Psalms 128.2.

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For some of my servants and myself as well For a whole week do no work, we've such aches in our stomachs." "I'm certain," said Hunger, "what sickness ails you. You've munched down too much: that's what makes you groan, But I assure you," said Hunger, "if you'd preserve your health, 260 You must not drink any day before you've dined on something. Never eat, I urge you, ere Hunger comes upon you And sends you some of his sauce to add savor to the food; And keep some till suppertime, and don't sit too long; Arise up ere Appetite has eaten his fill. 265 Let not Sir Surfeit sit at your table; Love him not for he's a lecher whose delight is his tongue, And for all sorts of seasoned stuff his stomach yearns. And if you adopt this diet, I dare bet my arms That Physic for his food will sell his furred hood 270 And his Calabrian 2 cloak with its clasps of gold, And be content, by my troth, to retire from medicine And learn to labor on the land lest livelihood fail him. There are fewer physicians than frauds—reform them, Lord!— Their drinks make men die before destiny ordains." 275 "By Saint Parnel,"3 said Piers, "these are profitable words. This is a lovely lesson; the Lord reward you for it! Take your way when you will—may things be well with you always!" "My oath to God!" said Hunger, "I will not go away Till I've dined this day and drunk as well." 280 "I've no penny," said Piers, "to purchase pullets, And I can't get goose or pork; but I've got two green cheeses, A few curds and cream and a cake of oatmeal, A loaf of beans and bran baked for my children. And yet I say, by my soul, I have no salt bacon 285 Nor any hen's egg, by Christ, to make ham and eggs, But scallions aren't scarce, nor parsley, and I've scores of cabbages, And also a cow and a calf, and a cart-mare To draw dung to the field while the dry weather lasts. By this livelihood I must live till Lammass 4 time 290 When I hope to have harvest in my garden. Then I can manage a meal that will make you happy." All the poor people fetched peasepods; 5 Beans and baked apples they brought in their skirts, Chives and chervils and ripe cherries aplenty, 295 And offered Piers this present to please Hunger with. Hunger ate this in haste and asked for more. Then poor folk for fear fed Hunger fast, Proffering leeks and peas, thinking to appease him. And now harvest drew near and new grain came to market.6 300 Then poor people were pleased and plied Hunger with the best; With good ale as Glutton taught they got him to sleep. 2. Of gray fur (a special imported squirrel fur). 3. Who St. Pernelle was is obscure; other manuscripts and editions read "By Saint Paul." 4. The harvest festival, August I (the name derived from Old English hlaf, "loaf"), when a loaf made from the first wheat of the season was offered at Mass.

5. Peas in the pod. These, like most foods in the next lines, are early crops. 6. Presumably as the new harvest approaches, merchants who have been holding grain for the highest prices release it for sale, because prices are about to tumble.

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Then Waster wouldn't work but wandered about, And no beggar would eat bread that had beans in it, But the best bread or the next best, or baked from pure wheat, 305 Nor drink any half-penny ale7 in any circumstances, But of the best and the brownest that barmaids sell. Laborers that have no land to live on but their hands Deign not to dine today on last night's cabbage. No penny-ale can please them, nor any piece of bacon, 310 But it must be fresh flesh or else fried fish, And that chaud or plus chaud8 so it won't chill their bellies. Unless he's hired at high wages he will otherwise complain; That he was born to be a workman he'll blame the time. Against Cato's counsel he commences to murmur: 315 Remember to bear your burden of poverty patiently. 9 He grows angry at God and grumbles against Reason, And then curses the king and all the council after Because they legislate laws that punish laboring men. 1 But while Hunger was their master there would none of them complain 320 Or strive against the statute, 2 so sternly he looked. But I warn you workmen, earn wages while you may, For Hunger is hurrying hitherward fast. With waters he'll awaken Waster's chastisement; Before five years are fulfilled such famine shall arise. 325 Through flood and foul weather fruits shall fail, And so Saturn 3 says and has sent to warn you: When you see the moon amiss and two monks' heads, And a maid have the mastery, and multiply by eight,4 Then shall Death withdraw and Dearth be justice, 330 And Daw the diker5 die for hunger, Unless God of his goodness grants us a truce.

Passus 7 [PIERS TEARS TRUTH'S PARDON]

Truth heard tell of this and sent word to Piers To take his team and till the earth, And procured him a pardon a poena et a culpa, 6 For him and for his heirs for evermore after; 7. Weak ale diluted with water; in line 309, laborers are too fussy and will no longer accept even penny ale. 8. "Hot" or "very hot." 9. From Cato's Distichs, a collection of pithy phrases used to teach Latin to beginning students. 1. Like so many governments, late-14th-century England responded to inflation and the bargaining power of the relatively scarce laborers with wage and price freezes, which had their usual lack of effect. One way landowners, desperate to obtain enough laborers, tried to get around the wage laws was by offering food as well as cash. 2. I.e., anti-inflationary legislation. 3. Planet thought to influence the weather, generally perceived as hostile. 4. This cryptic prophecy has never been satisfactorily explained; the basic point is that it is Apocalyptic.

5. A laborer who digs dikes and ditches. 6. This pardon has remained one of the most controversial elements of the poem. "From punishment and from guilt" is a formula indicating an absolute pardon. Strictly speaking, remissions obtained by pilgrimages (and pardons dispensed by pardoners in return for donations) could remit only the pmtishment for sin; note that even Truth's pardon does both only for some people. Christ alone, through the Atonement, had the power to absolve repentant sinners from the guilt and delegated it to St. Peter and to the Church through the apostolic succession to be dispensed in the sacrament of confession and in penance. (This pardon also covers, according to another legal formula in the next line, Piers's heirs, which ordinary pardons could not.) The belief, however, that indulgences (especially those obtained from the Pope himself) absolved guilt as well as punishment was widespread.

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And bade him hold at home and plow his land, And any one who helped him plow or sow, Or any kind of craft that could help Piers, Pardon with Piers Plowman Truth has granted. *

"Piers," said a priest then, "your pardon must I read, For I'll explain each paragraph to you and put it in English." And Piers unfolds the pardon at the priest's prayer, no And I behind them both beheld all the bull.7 In two lines it lay, and not a letter more, And was worded this way in witness of truth: They that have done good shall go into life everlasting; And they that have done evil into everlasting fire. 8 ii5 "Peter!" said the priest then, "I can find no pardon here— Only 'Do well, and have well,' and God will have your soul, And 'Do evil, and have evil,' and hope nothing else But that after your death-day the Devil will have your soul." And Piers for pure wrath pulled it in two 120 And said, "Though I walk in the midst of the shadow of death I will fear no evil; for thou art with me. 9 I shall cease my sowing and not work so hard, Nor be henceforth so busy about my livelihood. My plow shall be of penance and of prayers hereafter, 125 And I'll weep when I should work, though wheat bread fails me. The prophet1 ate his portion in penance and sorrow As the Psalter says, and so did many others. Who loves God loyally, his livelihood comes easy. My tears have heen my bread day and night. 2 And unless Luke lies, he finds another lesson for us 130 In birds that are not busy about their belly-joy: 'Ne soliciti sitis,'3 he says in the Gospel, And shows us examples by which to school ourselves. The fowls in the firmament, who feeds them in winter? When the frost freezes they forage for food, 135 They have no granary to go to, but God feeds them all." "What!" said the priest to Perkin, "Peter, it would seem You are lettered a little. Who lessoned you in books?" "Abstinence the abbess taught me my a b c, And Conscience came after and counseled me better." 140 "If you were a priest, Piers," said he, "you might preach when you pleased As a doctor of divinity, with Dixit insipiens, 4 as your text." "Unlearned lout!" said Piers, "you know little of the Bible; Solomon's sayings are seldom your reading." Cast out the scorners and contentions with them, lest they increase The priest and Perkin opposed each other, 7. A document issued by the pope and sealed with his bulla, or seal. 8. From the Athanasian Creed, based on Matthew 25.31-46. 9. Psalms 23.4. I. David, whose Psalm is quoted below:

2. Psalms 42.3. 3. "Take no thought [for your life]": Matthew, 6: 25; also Luke 12.22. 4. "The fool hath said [in his heart, There is no God]": Psalms 14.1. 5. Proverbs 22.10.

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A n d t h r o u g h their words I a w o k e a n d looked everywhere a b o u t , A n d s a w the s u n sit d u e s o u t h at that time. M e a t l e s s a n d m o n e y l e s s o n M a l v e r n Hills, M u s i n g on my d r e a m , I walked a mile-way.

From The C-Text [THE D R E A M E R M E E T S C O N S C I E N C E AND

REASON]6

T h u s I awoke, as G o d ' s my witness, w h e n I lived in Cornhill, 7 Kit a n d I in a c o t t a g e , c l o t h e d like a loller, 8 A n d little beloved, believe you m e , A m o n g lollers o f L o n d o n a n d illiterate hermits. F o r I wrote rhymes of t h o s e m e n as R e a s o n taught m e . F o r as I c a m e by C o n s c i e n c e I m e t with R e a s o n , In a hot harvest time w h e n I h a d my health, A n d limbs to labor with, a n d loved g o o d living, A n d to do no d e e d b u t to drink a n d sleep. My body s o u n d , my m i n d s a n e , a certain o n e a c c o s t e d m e ; Roaming in remembrance, thus Reason upbraided me: " C a n you serve," he said, "or s i n g in a c h u r c h ? Or c o c k hay with my hay-makers, or h e a p it on the cart, M o w it or s t a c k what's m o w n or m a k e b i n d i n g for s h e a v e s ? Or have a horn a n d be a h e d g e - g u a r d a n d lie o u t d o o r s at night, A n d k e e p my c o r n in my field f r o m cattle a n d thieves? Or c u t cloth or shoe-leather, or keep s h e e p a n d cattle, M e n d h e d g e s , or harrow, or herd pigs or g e e s e , Or any other kind of c r a f t that the c o m m o n s n e e d s , So that you might be of benefit to your bread-providers?" " C e r t a i n l y ! " I said, " a n d so G o d help m e , I am too w e a k to work with sickle or with scythe, A n d too long, 9 believe m e , for any low stooping, Or laboring as a laborer to last any while." " T h e n have you lands to live by," said R e a s o n , "or relations with money T o provide you with f o o d ? F o r you s e e m a n idle m a n , A s p e n d t h r i f t who thrives on s p e n d i n g , a n d throws time away. Or else you get what f o o d m e n give you g o i n g door to door, Or b e g like a f r a u d on Fridays 1 a n d f e a s t d a y s in c h u r c h e s . A n d that's a Ioller's life that e a r n s little p r a i s e W h e r e R i g h t f u l n e s s rewards m e n as they really deserve.

He shall reward every man according to his worlzs. 2

6. In the C-text, the last of the three versions of Piers Plowman, Langland prefixed to the "Confession of the Seven Deadly Sins" (Passus 5 of the Btext) an apology by the Dreamer, "Long Will," who is at once long (or tall) and long on willing (or, arguably, willful). Although there is no conclusive historical evidence for doing so, readers of Piers Plowman have generally regarded this passage as a source of information about the real author, about whom we otherwise know so little. 7. An area of London associated with vagabonds, seedy clerics, and people at loose ends. 8. idler, vagabond. The term was eventually applied to the proto-Protestant followers of John

Wycliffe. "Kit": refers to "Kit my wife and Calote [i.e., Colette] my daughter" (B-text, 18.426). The Dreamer seems to be someone with clerical training who has received consecration into minor clerical orders (such as that of deacon) but who is not a priest. Lesser clerics could marry, although marriage blocked their further advancement in the church. 9. I.e., tall, perhaps a pun on "willfulness." The Dreamer is called "Long Will" in B-text, 15.152. 1. Fast days, because Christ was crucified on a Friday. 2. Matthew 16.27; cf. Psalm 62.12.

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Or are you perhaps lame in your legs or other limbs of your body, Or maimed through some misadventure, so that you might be excused?" "When I was young, many years ago, My father and my friends provided me with schooling, Till I understood surely what Holy Scripture meant, And what is best for the body as the Book tells, And most certain for the soul, if so I may continue. And, in faith, I never found, since my friends died, Life that I liked save in these long clothes. 3 And if I must live by labor and earn my livelihood, The labor I should live by is the one I learned best. [AbideJ in the same calling wherein you were called. 4 And so I live in London and upland 5 as well. The tools that I toil with to sustain myself Are Paternoster and my primer, Placebo and Dirige, 6 And sometimes my Psalter and my seven Psalms. These I say for the souls of such as help me. And those who provide my food vouchsafe, I think, To welcome me when I come, once a month or so, Now with him, now with her, and in this way I beg Without bag or bottle but my belly alone. And also, moreover, it seems to me, sir Reason, No clerk should be constrained to do lower-class work. For by the law of Leviticus 7 that our Lord ordained Clerks with tonsured crowns should, by common understanding, Neither strain nor sweat nor swear at inquests, Nor fight in a vanguard and defeat an enemy: Do not render evil for evil. 8 For they are heirs of Heaven, all that have the tonsure, And in choir and in churches they are Christ's ministers. The Lord is the portion of my inheritance. And elsewhere, Mercy does not constrain. 9 It is becoming for clerks to perform Christ's service, And untonsured boys be burdened with bodily labor. For none should acquire clerk's tonsure unless he claims descent From franklins1 and free men and folk properly wedded. Bondmen and bastards and beggars' children— These belong to labor; and lords' kin should serve God and good men as their degree requires, Some to sing Masses or sit and write, Read and receive what Reason ought to spend.

3. T h e long dress of a cleric, not limited to actual priests. 4. 1 Corinthians 7.20, with variations. 5. North of London, in rural country. 6. "I will please [the Lord]" and "Make straight [my way]" (Psalm 116.9 and 5.8, respectively). Placebo and Dirige are the first words of hymns based on two of the seven "penitential" Psalms that were part of the regular order of personal prayer. "Paternoster": the Lord's Prayer ("Our father"). The "primer" was the basic collection of private prayers for laypeople. 7. Leviticus 21 sets restrictions on members of the

priesthood. 8. 1 Thessalonians 5.15, with variations. 9. I.e., "mercy is not restricted," source unknown. The quotation above is from Psalm 16.5. I. Freemen. By this date, the term did not just mean nonserfs but designated landowners who were becoming members of the gentry class yet were not knights. The distinction Langland seems to make in this line between franklins and freemen may reflect the rising status of certain families of "freedmen," the original meaning of the word franklins.

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B u t since b o n d m e n ' s boys have been m a d e bishops, A n d b a s t a r d s ' boys have b e e n a r c h d e a c o n s , And s h o e m a k e r s a n d their sons have through silver b e c o m e knights, A n d lords' s o n s their laborers w h o s e lands are mortgaged to t h e m — And thus for the right of this realm they ride against our enemies To the c o m f o r t of the c o m m o n s a n d to the king's h o n o r — And m o n k s a n d n u n s on w h o m m e n d i c a n t s m u s t d e p e n d Have had their kin n a m e d knights a n d b o u g h t knight's-fees, 2 And p o p e s a n d patrons have s h u n n e d poor gentle blood And taken the s o n s of S i m o n M a g u s 3 to keep the sanctuary, Life-holiness a n d love have gone a long way hence, And will be so till this is all worn out or otherwise c h a n g e d . T h e r e f o r e proffer me no reproach, R e a s o n , I pray you, F o r in my c o n s c i e n c e I conceive what Christ wants me to do. Prayers of a perfect m a n a n d appropriate p e n a n c e Are the labor that our L o r d loves m o s t of all.

"Non de solo," I said, "forsooth vivit homo, Nec in pane et in pahulo; 4 the Paternoster witnesses

Fiat voluntas Dei5—that provides us with everything." S a i d C o n s c i e n c e , "By Christ, I can't s e e that this lies; 0 B u t it s e e m s no serious p e r f e c t n e s s to be a city-beggar, U n l e s s you're licensed to collect for prior or monastery." " T h a t is s o , " I said, " a n d so I admit T h a t at times I've lost time a n d at times m i s s p e n t it; And yet I hope, like him who has often bargained And always lost and lost, a n d at the last it h a p p e n e d He b o u g h t s u c h a bargain he was the better ever, T h a t all his loss looked paltry in the long run, S u c h a winning was his through what grace decreed.

is pertinent

Tlte kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hidden in a field. Tlte woman who found the piece of silver, etc. 6

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So I hope to have of him that is almighty A gobbet of his grace, a n d begin a time T h a t all times of my time shall turn into profit." "And I c o u n s e l you," said R e a s o n , "quickly to begin T h e life that is l a u d a b l e and reliable for the soul." "Yes, and c o n t i n u e , " said C o n s c i e n c e , and I c a m e to the church. 7

2. The estate a knight held from his overlord in return for military service was called his "fee." 3. Priests who obtained office through bribery or "simony," a term derived from Simon Magus, a magician who offered the apostles money for their power to perform miracles through the Holy Spirit (see Acts 8). 4. "Not solely [by bread] doth man live, neither by bread nor by food"; the verse continues, "but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God": Matthew 4.4, with variations; cf. Deuteronomy 8.3.

5. "God's will be done." The Lord's Prayer reads, "Thy will be done" (Matthew 6.10). 6. Matthew 13.44, Luke 1 5 . 9 - 1 0 . Both passages come from parables that compare finding the kingdom of heaven to risking everything you have to get the one thing that matters most. 7. The four lines that follow this passage connect it to the beginning of the second dream (B-text, 5): "And to the church I set off, to honor God; before the Cross, on my knees, I beat my breast, sighing for my sins, sajdng my Paternoster, weeping and wailing until I fell asleep."

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The literary and visual representation of the godhead is necessarily, in any religion, a powerful index of religious culture. In some religions, indeed, visual representation of God is such a sensitive issue that it is forbidden altogether. Christian culture has experienced moments of severe hostility to visual representation (for example, in the Reformation period of the sixteenth century), but has, in general, permitted images of God (and especially of God-become-man, Christ). In the later Middle Ages in Europe the bodily representation of Christ became a central preoccupation for writers, readers, and visual artists. In the late eleventh century St. Anselm of Canterbury (1033—1099) developed a new conception of the Atonement ("at-one-ment"), the act whereby humans are reconciled with God after the separation caused by Original Sin. An earlier theory had posited that the Atonement was the solution to a dispute between God and the Devil concerning property rights over Mankind. In his tract Wfiy Did Christ Become Man? Anselm argued instead that the real center of the Atonement was Mankind's moral responsibility to pay God back. Humanity needed to repay God for the sin committed, but was unable to do so. Faced with this impasse, God could either simply abolish the debt, or else become human, in order to repay Himself, as it were. God chose this latter route, allowing Christ to suffer and die as a human in order to clear the debt. Earlier representations of the Crucifixion had tended to place the accent on Christ as impassive King, standing erect on the Cross, come to claim His property of mankind. In the Dream of the Rood (see pp. 27—29), for example, Christ's suffering is for the most part absorbed by the Cross itself, while Christ is represented as a conquering, royal hero. Later medieval representations of Christ, by contrast, accentuate the suffering, sagging, lacerated body of a very human God. In this newly conceived theology, Christ's suffering humanity takes center stage. The artistic significance of this massively influential development was itself massive. Certainly the older tradition survived in vital form: compare, for example, the triumphalist lyric "What is He, this Lordling, that Cometh from the Fight?" with the quiet suffering of "Ye that Pasen by the Weye." Langland's Christ, too, comes to claim his property as a conquering hero. It was, nonetheless, the tradition of Christ suffering in His humanity that dominated literary and visual art from the thirteenth century until the Reformation initiated in 1517. These theological developments had forceful artistic and stylistic consequences. Because the theology was best expressed through visual or verbal images, it fed readily into both painting and a highly pictorial literature. In both painting and literature, a humble style, focusing on the particularities of bodily pain and grief, became the bearer of high theological significance. The painting of Giotto (1266?—1337), for example, broke with a prior tradition of painting that represented an elegant Christ against a splendid gold background; Giotto's inelegant and crucified Christ suffers under the pull of his own weight. Spiritual experience was, in the first instance, something seen more than something thought. It was also a spirituality rooted in the dramatic present: as one saw Christ, one saw Him in the here and now. Thus works in this almost cinematic mode foreshorten historical and geographical distance: such texts encourage readers, that is, to imagine that they are physically and emotionally present at the crucial scenes of Christ's life. In some examples of the tradition, viewers are encouraged to imagine those around Christ (especially Romans and Jews) as wholly responsible for the infliction of pain; in others, viewers are made to realize that they are themselves responsible for the continued suffering of Christ. As deployed by the Church, this movement discouraged abstract thought. It did nevertheless have the effect of widening access to spiritual experience, and, in ways unforeseen by official sponsors of such piety, could be the springboard for very sophisticated theology. As the Church attempted to deepen the spiritual literacy of its mem-

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bers from the late twelfth century, emphasis on Christ's humanity in art and literature opened powerful spiritual experience to a much wider audience of readers and viewers. To engage in this spirituality, a public did not need to be versed in detailed matters of doctrine. Instead, a reader or viewer had to develop the capacity for sympathetic response to physical suffering. Such spirituality gained official impetus though the foundation of the Franciscan order of friars (1223), who promoted earthly poverty in imitation of, and emotional response to, Christ's sufferings. The centrality of Christ's living presence in the liturgy was, furthermore, reaffirmed and extended with the establishment, throughout Christendom, of the Feast of Corpus Christi (the Feast of the Body of Christ), first proclaimed by the pope in 1264 and again in 1311. This feast celebrated the Eucharistic host, or wafer, as Christ's body. It grew steadily in popularity and came to involve outdoor processions depicting the biblical foreshadowings of the Eucharist, as a prelude to display of the Eucharist itself. In some medieval English cities this was the day also chosen for the performance of cycle plays, sometimes known as the plays of Corpus Christi. Female readers in particular, who had been excluded from the Latin-based, textual traditions of theology, discovered fertile ground in this tradition of so-called "affective," or emotional, piety. Through such emotive imagining, one gained an apparently unmediated, and potentially authoritative, relation with Christ. Women working in this tradition did not necessarily remain, however, within its visual, imaginative terms: Julian of Norwich is, for example, capable of developing very subtle and abstract thought, holding the incarnate image in view all the while. This powerfully emotional piety also provoked wider social applications of the Christian narrative. Whereas "The Parable of the Christ Knight" in the Ancrene Riwle (see pp. 161—62) presents a suffering Christ as an aristocratic lover for a very select spiritual elite of women, the Christ of Margery Kempe is very much the "homely" husband of a bourgeois woman (see in particular Book I, Chapter 36). On a much larger scale, the mystery plays mark the moment in which urban institutions represent Christ for themselves. In this drama, both Old and New Testament narrative is inflected by the trials of domestic and urban experience (on the origins, civic sponsorship, and production of these plays, see the introduction to "Mystery Plays," p. 406).

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For full information about William Langland, see the headnote on pages 331—33. The following passage ( Passus 18 of Piers Plowman) both completes the selections from Langland and serves as the first text of "Christ's Humanity." Passus 18 describes the central event of Christianity, the Crucifixion, followed by an account of Christ's descent into hell, traditionally called the "Harrowing of Hell." The Dreamer has come a long way in his personal search for truth, and this vision is the most immediate and fulfilling answer to the questions he addressed to Holy Church, although not a final answer, for in Langland's poem the search has no end in this life. Piers, who had assumed aspects of Adam, Moses, and the Good Samaritan (while never ceasing to be the ideal plowman), is now partially identified with Christ. The terms of this identification are rooted in material necessity of food: Christ has come to fetch the "fruit" of Piers Plowman (lines 31 and 34). The "food" that Christ seeks has now become the souls of the patriarchs and prophets, and of all mankind, which must be redeemed from the devil's power. And just as the earthly Piers becomes Christ-like, so too does Christ, in His bodily manifestation, become intensely human. He jousts in the arms (i.e., no arms at all, but the unprotected flesh) of Piers Plowman

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(line 24); He comes to earth precisely in order to know what being human is like (lines 229—32); and He does so precisely because of his co-natural, sympathetic kinship with suffering humanity (lines 408—10). For all that, Langland does not focus here for long on the grievous suffering of Christ. On the contrary, he addresses the terms of the Atonement through intellectual debate, first through the Four Daughters of God (personifications taken from Psalm 85.10), and then through Christ's direct encounter with Lucifer. Against powerful legal and written evidence to the contrary, first Mercy and Peace and then Christ Himself reveal a divine curiosity and sympathy with imprisoned humanity. This mercy is anterior to, and more powerful than, the law of strict Truthe or justice, by which mankind appears to have been irredeemably damned. So far from being a wounded, suffering Christ, Langland's Christ is at once spiritually triumphant and a delighted trickster, by whose divine guile the devil has been fooled.

The Vision of Piers Plowman Passus 18 [THE CRUCIFIXION AND HARROWING OF H E L L ]

W o o l - c h a f e d 1 a n d w e t - s h o e d I w e n t forth a f t e r Like a c a r e l e s s c r e a t u r e u n c o n s c i o u s of woe, A n d t r u d g e d forth like a t r a m p , all the t i m e of my life, Till I grew weary of the world a n d w i s h e d to sleep again, A n d lay d o w n till L e n t , a n d slept a l o n g time, R e s t e d there, s n o r i n g roundly, till Ramis-Palmarum. 2 I d r e a m e d chiefly of children a n d c h e e r s of "Gloria, lausl" A n d h o w old folk to an o r g a n s a n g "Hosannal" A n d o f C h r i s t ' s p a s s i o n a n d p a i n for the p e o p l e h e h a d r e a c h e d for. O n e r e s e m b l i n g the S a m a r i t a n 3 a n d s o m e w h a t Piers the P l o w m a n B a r e f o o t o n a n a s s ' s b a c k b o o t l e s s c a m e riding W i t h o u t s p u r s or s p e a r : sprightly w a s his look, As is the n a t u r e of a knight that draws n e a r to be d u b b e d , T o get h i m s e l f gilt s p u r s a n d e n g r a v e d j o u s t i n g s h o e s . T h e n w a s F a i t h w a t c h i n g f r o m a w i n d o w a n d cried, "A, fili Davidl" As d o e s a herald of a r m s w h e n a r m e d m e n c o m e to j o u s t . O l d J e w s o f J e r u s a l e m joyfully s a n g ,

"Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord."

A n d I a s k e d F a i t h to reveal w h a t all this a f f a i r m e a n t , A n d w h o w a s t o j o u s t i n J e r u s a l e m . " J e s u s , " h e said, " A n d f e t c h w h a t the F i e n d c l a i m s , t h e fruit of Piers t h e P l o w m a n . " "Is Piers in this p l a c e ? " s a i d I; a n d he p i e r c e d me with his look: " T h i s J e s u s for his g e n t l e n e s s will j o u s t in Piers's a r m s ,

In his helmet and in his hauberk, humana natura, 4

So that C h r i s t be not d i s c l o s e d here as consummatus Deus. 5

1. Scratchy wool was worn next to the body as an act of penance. 2. Palm Sunday (literally, "branches of palms"): the background of this part of the poem is the biblical account of Christ's entry into Jerusalem on this day, when the crowds greeted him crying, "Hosanna (line 8) to the son of David (line 15): Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord (line 17a); Hosanna in the highest" (see Matthew 21.9). "Gloria, laus" (line 7) are the first words of an anthem, "Glory, praise, and honor," that was

sung by children in medieval religious processions on Palm Sunday. 3. In the previous vision, the Dreamer has encountered Abraham, or Faith (mentioned in lines 15, 18, 28, and 92); Moses, or Hope; and the Good Samaritan, or Charity, who was riding toward a "jousting in Jerusalem" and who now appears as an aspect of Christ. 4. Human nature, which Christ assumed in order to redeem humanity. "Hauberk": coat of mail. 5. The perfect (three-personed) God.

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In the plate armor of Piers the Plowman this jouster will ride, For no dint will do him injury as in deitate Patris. 6 "Who shall joust with Jesus," said I, "Jews or Scribes?" 7 "No," said Faith, "but the Fiend and False-Doom°-To-Die. sentence Death says he will undo and drag down low All that live or look upon land or water. Life says that he lies, and lays his life in pledge That for all that Death can do, within three days he'll walk And fetch from the Fiend the fruit of Piers the Plowman, And place it where he pleases, and put Lucifer in bonds, And beat and bring down burning death forever. O death, I will he thy death. " 8 Then Pilate came with many people, sedens pro trihunali, 9 To see how doughtily Death should do, and judge the rights of both. The Jews and the justice were joined against Jesus, And all the court cried upon him, "Crucifigel" 1 loud. Then a plaintiff appeared before Pilate and said, "This Jesus made jokes about Jerusalem's temple, To have it down in one day and in three days after Put it up again all new—here he stands who said it— And yet build it every bit as big in all dimensions, As long and as broad both, above and below." "Cruciftge!" said a sergeant, "he knows sorcerer's tricks." "Tolle! tolle!" 2 said another, and took sharp thorns And began to make a garland out of green thorn, And set it sorely on his head and spoke in hatred, "Ave, Rabbi," said that wretch, and shot reeds 3 at him; They nailed him with three nails naked on a Cross, And with a pole put a potion up to his lips And bade him drink to delay his death and lengthen his days, And said, "If you're subtle, let's see you help yourself. If you are Christ and a king's son, come down from the Cross! Then we'll believe that Life loves you and will not let you die." "Consummatum est," 4 said Christ and started to swoon, Piteously and pale like a prisoner dying. The Lord of Life and of Light then laid his eyelids together. The day withdrew for dread and darkness covered the sun; The wall wavered and split and the whole world quaked. Dead men for that din came out of deep graves And spoke of why that storm lasted so long: "For a bitter battle," the dead body said; "Life and Death in this darkness, one destroys the other. No one will surely know which shall have the victory Before Sunday about sunrise"; and sank with that to earth. Some said that he was God's son that died so fairly: Truly this was the Son of God. 5 And some said he was a sorcerer: "We should see first

6. In the godhead of the Father: as God, Christ could not suffer but as man, he could. 7. People who made a very strict, literal interpretation of the Old Law and hence rejected Christ's teaching of the New. 8. Cf. Hosea 13.14. 9. Sitting as a judge (cf. Matthew 27.19). 1. Crucify him! (John 19.15).

2. Away with him, away with him! (John 19.15). 3. Arrows, probably small ones intended to hurt rather than to kill. "Ave, Rabbi": "Hail, master" (Matthew 26.49): these are actually Judas's words when he kissed Christ in order to identify him to the arresting officers. 4. It is finished (John 19.30). 5. Matthew 27.54.

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Whether he's dead or not dead before we dare take him down." Two thieves were there that suffered death that time Upon crosses beside Christ; such was the common law. A constable came forth and cracked both their legs And the arms afterward of each of those thieves. But no bastard was so bold as to touch God's body there; Because he was a knight and a king's son, Nature decreed that time That no knave should have the hardiness to lay hand on him. But a knight with a sharp spear was sent forth there Named Longeus 6 as the legend tells, who had long since lost his sight; Before Pilate and the other people in that place he waited on his horse. For all that he might demur, he was made that time To joust with Jesus, that blind Jew Longeus. For all who watched there were unwilling, whether mounted or afoot, To touch him or tamper with him or take him down from the Cross, Except this blind bachelor that bore him through the heart. The blood sprang down the spear and unsparred 7 his eyes. The knight knelt down on his knees and begged Jesus for mercy. "It was against my will, Lord, to wound you so sorely." He sighed and said, "Sorely I repent it. For what I here have done, I ask only your grace. Have mercy on me, rightful Jesu!" and thus lamenting wept. Then Faith began fiercely to scorn the false Jews, 8 Called them cowards, accursed forever. "For this foul villainy, may vengeance fall on you! To make the blind beat the dead, it was a bully's thought. Cursed cowards, no kind of knighthood was it To beat a dead body with any bright weapon. Yet he's won the victory in the fight for all his vast wound, For your champion jouster, the chief knight of you all, Weeping admits himself worsted and at the will of Jesus. For when this darkness is done, Death will be vanquished, And you louts have lost, for Life shall have the victory; And your unfettered freedom has fallen into servitude; And you churls and your children shall achieve no prosperity, Nor have lordship over land or have land to till, But be all barren and live by usury, Which is a life that every law of our Lord curses. Now your good days are done as Daniel prophesied; When Christ came their kingdom's crown should be lost: When the Holy of Holies comes your anointing shall cease." 9 What for fear of this adventure and of the false Jews I withdrew in that darkness to Descendit-ad-Inferna, 1

6. Longeus (usually Longinus) appears in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, which provided Langland with the material for much of his account of Christ's despoiling of hell. 7. Opened; in the original there is a play on words with "spear." "Bachelor": knight. 8. The references in this passage (lines 92—110) and in lines 258—60 appear to reflect a blind antiSemitism all too prevalent in late-medieval art and literature, brought out especially in portrayals of the Passion. Elsewhere Langland exhibits a more

enlightened attitude—for instance, in a passage in which he holds up Jewish charity as an example to Christians. In the present passage he may intend a distinction between those who betrayed and condemned J e s u s and the "old Jews of Jerusalem" who welcomed him in the Palm Sunday procession (lines 7 - 1 7 ) . 9. Daniel 9.24. 1. He descended into hell (from the Apostles' Creed).

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And there I saw surely Secundum Scripturas 2 Where out of the west a wench, 3 as I thought, Came walking on the way—she looked toward hell. Mercy was that maid's name, a meek thing withal, A most gracious girl, and goodly of speech. Her sister as it seemed came softly walking Out of the east, opposite, and she looked westward, A comely creature and cleanly: Truth was her name. Because of the virtue that followed her, she was afraid of nothing. When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, Each of them asked the other about this great wonder, And of the din and of the darkness, and how the day lowered, And what a gleam and a glint glowed before hell. "I marvel at this matter, by my faith," said Truth, "And am coming to discover what this queer affair means." "Do not marvel," said Mercy, "it means only mirth. A maiden named Mary, and mother without touching By any kind of creature, conceived through speech And grace of the Holy Ghost; grew great with child; With no blemish to her woman's body brought him into this world. And that my tale is true, I take God to witness, Since this baby was born it has been thirty winters, Who died and suffered death this day about midday. And that is the cause of this eclipse that is closing off the sun, In meaning that man shall be removed from darkness While this gleam and this glow go to blind Lucifer. For patriarchs and prophets have preached of this often That man shall save man through a maiden's help, And what a tree took away a tree shall restore, 4 And what Death brought down a death shall raise up." "What you're telling," said Truth, "is just a tale of nonsense. For Adam and Eve and Abraham and the rest, Patriarchs and prophets imprisoned in pain, Never believe that yonder light will lift them up, Or have them out of hell—hold your tongue, Mercy! Your talk is mere trifling. I, Truth, know the truth, For whatever is once in hell, it comes out never. Job the perfect patriarch disproves what you say: Since in hell there is no redemption. " 5 Then Mercy most mildly uttered these words: "From observation," she said, "I suppose they shall be saved, Because venom destroys venom, and in that I find evidence That Adam and Eve shall have relief. For of all venoms the foulest is the scorpion's: No medicine may amend the place where it stings Till it's dead and placed upon it—the poison is destroyed, The first effect of the venom, through the virtue it possesses. So shall this death destroy—I dare bet my life—

2. According to the Scriptures. 3. The word is Langland's and had much the same connotations in his time as it has in ours. 4. The first tree bore the fruit that Adam and Eve

ate, thereby damning humankind; the second tree is the cross on which Christ was crucified, thereby redeeming humankind. 5. Cf. Job 7.9.

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All that Death did first through the Devil's tempting. And just as the beguiler with guile beguiled man first, So shall grace that began everything make a good end And beguile the beguiler—and that's a good trick: A trick by which to trick trickery. " 6 "Now let's be silent," said Truth. "It seems to me I see Out of the nip7 of the north, not far from here, Righteousness come running—let's wait right here, For she knows far more than we—she was here before us both." "That is so," said Mercy, "and I see here to the south Where Peace clothed in patience8 comes sportively this way. Love has desired her long: I believe surely That Love has sent her some letter, what this light means That hangs over hell thus: she will tell us what it means." When Peace clothed in patience approached near them both, Righteousness did her reverence for her rich clothing And prayed Peace to tell her to what place she was going, And whom she was going to greet in her gay garments. "My wish is to take my way," said she, "and welcome them all Whom many a day I might not see for murk of sin. Adam and Eve and the many others in hell, Moses and many more will merrily sing, And I shall dance to their song: sister, do the same. Because Jesus jousted well, joy begins to dawn. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. 9 Love who is my lover sent letters to tell me That my sister Mercy and I shall save mankind, And that God has forgiven and granted me, Peace, and Mercy To make bail for mankind for evermore after. Look, here's the patent," said Peace: "In pace in idipsum: And that this deed shall endure, dormiam et requiescam. "What? You're raving," said Righteousness. "You must be really drunk. Do you believe that yonder light might unlock hell And save man's soul? Sister, don't suppose it. At the beginning God gave the judgment himself That Adam and Eve and all that followed them Should die downright and dwell in torment after If they touched a tree and ate the tree's fruit. Adam afterwards against his forbidding Fed on that fruit and forsook as it were The love of our Lord and his lore too, And followed what the Fiend taught and his flesh's will Against Reason. I, Righteousness, record this with Truth, That their pain should be perpetual and no prayer should help them, Therefore let them chew as they chose, and let us not chide, sisters,

6. From a medieval Latin hymn. 7. T h e word is Langland's and the sense obscure; it probably meant "coldness" to him, although an Old English word similar to nip meant "gloom." 8. What Langland envisioned clothes of patience to look like, aside from their "richness" (line 173), it is impossible to say; to him any abstraction could

become a concrete allegory without visual identification. 9. Psalm 30.5. 1. The "patent" or "deed" is a document conferring authority: this one consists of phrases from Psalm 4.8: "In peace in the selfsame"; "I will sleep and find rest."

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For it's misery without amendment, the morsel they ate." "And I shall prove," said Peace, "that their pain must end, And in time trouble must turn into well-being; For had they known no woe, they'd not have known well-being; For no one knows what well-being is who was never in woe, Nor what is hot hunger who has never lacked food. If there were no night, no man, I believe, Could be really well aware of what day means. Never should a really rich man who lives in rest and ease Know what woe is if it weren't for natural death. So God, who began everything, of his good will Became man by a maid for mankind's salvation And allowed himself to be sold to see the sorrow of dying. And that cures all care and is the first cause of rest, For until we meet modicumI may well avow it, small No man knows, I suppose, what 'enough' means. Therefore God of his goodness gave the first man Adam A place of supreme ease and of perfect joy, And then he suffered him to sin so that he might know sorrow, And thus know what well-being is—to be aware of it naturally. And afterward God offered himself, and took Adam's nature, To see what he had suffered in three separate places, Both in Heaven and on earth, and now he heads for hell, To learn what all woe is like who has learned of all joy. So it shall fare with these folk: their folly and their sin Shall show them what sickness is—and succor from all pain. No one knows what war is where peace prevails, Nor what is true well-being till 'Woe, alas!' teaches him." Then was there a wight with two broad eyes: Book was that beaupere's 2 name, a bold man of speech. "By God's body," said this Book, "I will bear witness That when this baby was born there blazed a star So that all the wise men in the world agreed with one opinion That such a baby was born in Bethlehem city Who should save man's soul and destroy sin. And all the elements," said the Book, "hereof bore witness. The sky first revealed that he was God who formed all things: The hosts in Heaven took stella comata 3 And tended her like a torch to reverence his birth. The light followed the Lord into the low earth. The water witnessed that he was God for he walked on it; Peter the Apostle perceived his walking And as he went on the water knew him well and said, 'Bid me come unto thee on the water. ' 4 And lo, how the sun locked her light in herself When she saw him suffer that made sun and sea. The earth for heavy heart because he would suffer Quaked like a quick 0 thing and the rock cracked all to pieces.

2. Fine fellow. The book's two broad eyes suggest the Old and New Testaments. "Wight": creature, person.

3. Hairy star, i.e., comet, 4. Matthew 14.28.

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250

255

260

265

270

275

280

285

LANGLAND:

PIERS

PLOWMAN

363

Lo, hell might not hold, but opened when God suffered, And let out Simeon's sons 5 to see him hang on Cross. And now shall Lucifer believe it, loath though he is, For Jesus like a giant with an engine 6 comes yonder To break and beat down all that may be against him, And to have out of hell every one he pleases. And I, Book, will be burnt unless Jesus rises to life In all the mights of a man and brings his mother joy, And comforts all his kin, and takes their cares away, And all the joy of the Jews disjoins and disperses; And unless they reverence his Rood and his resurrection And believe on a new law be lost body and soul." "Let's be silent," said Truth, "I hear and see both A spirit speaks to hell and bids the portals be opened." Lift up your gates. 7 A voice loud in that light cried to Lucifer, "Princes of this place, unpin and unlock, For he comes here with crown who is King of Glory." Then Satan 8 sighed and said to hell, "Without our leave such a light fetched Lazarus away:9 Care and calamity have come upon us all. If this King comes in he will carry off mankind And lead it to where Lazarus is, and with small labor bind me. Patriarchs and prophets have long prated of this, That such a lord and a light should lead them all hence." "Listen," said Lucifer, "for this lord is one I know; Both this lord and this light, it's long ago I knew him. No death may do this lord harm, nor any devil's trickery, And his way is where he wishes—but let him beware of the perils. If he bereaves me of my right he robs me by force. For by right and by reason the race that is here Body and soul belongs to me, both good and evil. For he himself said it who is Sire of Heaven, If Adam ate the apple, all should die And dwell with us devils: the Lord laid down that threat. And since he who is Truth himself said these words, And since I've possessed them seven thousand winters, I don't believe law will allow him the least of them." "That is so," said Satan, "but I'm sore afraid Because you took them by trickery and trespassed in his garden, And in the semblance of a serpent sat upon the apple tree

5. Simeon, who was present at the presentation of the infant J e s u s in the temple, had been told by the Holy Ghost that "he should not see death" before he had seen "the Lord's Christ" (Luke 2.26). The Apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus echoes the incident in reporting that Simeon's sons were raised from death at the time of Jesus's crucifixion. 6. A device, probably thought of as a gigantic slingshot, although, of course, Christ needs nothing to break down his enemies but his own authority. 7. The first words of Psalm 24.9, which reads in the Latin version, "Lift up your gates, O princes, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King

of Glory shall come in." 8. Langland, following a tradition also reflected in Milton's Paradise Lost, pictures hell as populated by a number of devils: Satan; Lucifer (line 273 ff.), who began the war in heaven and tempted Eve; Goblin (line 293); Belial (line 321); and Ashtoreth (line 404). Lucifer the rebel angel naturally became identified with Satan, a word that in the Old Testament had originally meant an evil adversary; many of the other devils are displaced gods of pagan religions. 9. For Christ's raising of Lazarus from the dead, cf. John 11.

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290

295

BOO

305

310

315

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And egged them to eat, Eve by herself, And told her a tale with treasonous words; And so you had them out, and hither at the last." "It's an ill-gotten gain where guile is at the root, For God will not be beguiled," said Goblin, "nor tricked. We have no true title to them, for it was by treason they were damned." "Certainly I fear," said the Fiend,1 "lest Truth fetch them out. These thirty winters, as I think, he's gone here and there and preached. I've assailed him with sin, and sometimes asked Whether he was God or God's son: he gave me short answer. And thus he's traveled about like a true man these two and thirty winters. And when I saw it was so, while she slept I went To warn Pilate's wife what sort of man was Jesus, 2 For some hated him and have put him to death. I would have lengthened his life, for I believed if he died That his soul would suffer no sin in his sight. For the body, while it walked on its bones, was busy always To save men from sin if they themselves wished. And now I see where a soul comes descending hitherward With glory and with great light; God it is, I'm sure. My advice is we all flee," said the Fiend, "fast away from here. For we had better not be at all than abide in his sight. For your lies, Lucifer, we've lost all our prey. Through you we fell first from Heaven so high: Because we believed your lies we all leapt out. And now for your latest lie we have lost Adam, And all our lordship, I believe, on land and in hell." Now shall the prince of this world he cast out. 3 Again the light bade them unlock, and Lucifer answered, "Who is that? 4 What lord are you?" said Lucifer. The light at once replied, "The King of Glory. The Lord of might and of main and all manner of powers: The Lord of Powers. Dukes of this dim place, at once undo these gates That Christ may come in, the Heaven-King's son." And with that breath hell broke along with Belial's bars; For° any warrior or watchman the gates wide opened. in spite Patriarchs and prophets, populus in tenebris, 5 Sang Saint John's song, Ecce agnus Dei. 6

1. Here and in line 309 "the Fiend" is presumably Lucifer's most articulate critic, Satan, whom Christ names as his tempter in Matthew 4.10. 2. In Matthew 27.19 Pilate's wife warns Pilate to "have nothing to do with that just man [Jesus]," for she has been troubled by a dream about him. Langland has the Fiend admit to having caused the dream so that Pilate's wife should persuade her husband not to harm J e s u s and thus keep him safe on earth and not come to visit hell and despoil it.

3. John 12.31. "Prince of this world" is a title for the devil. 4. This and the next two phrases translated from the Latin are from Psalm 24.8, following immediately on the words quoted in line 262a. 5. "People in darkness," the phrase is from Matthew 4.16, citing Isaiah 9.2, "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light." 6. Behold the Lamb of God (John L.36).

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WILLIAM LANGLAND: PIERS PLOWMAN

Lucifer could not look, the light so blinded him. And those that the Lord loved his light caught away, And he said to Satan, "Lo, here's my soul in payment For all sinful souls, to save those that are worthy. Mine they are and of me—I may the better claim them. 330 Although Reason records, and right of myself, That if they ate the apple all should die, I did not hold out to them hell here forever. For the deed that they did, your deceit caused it; You got them with guile against all reason. 335 For in my palace Paradise, in the person of an adder, You stole by stealth something I loved. Thus like a lizard with a lady's face 7 Falsely you filched from me; the Old Law confirms That guilers be beguiled, and that is good logic: A tooth for a tooth and an eye for an eye. 8 340 Ergo 9 soul shall requite soul and sin revert to sin, And all that man has done amiss, I, man, will amend. Member for member was amends in the Old Law, And life for life also, and by that law I claim Adam and all his issue at my will hereafter. 345 And what Death destroyed in them, my death shall restore And both quicken0 and requite what was quenched through sin. And that grace destroy guile is what good faith requires. So don't believe it, Lucifer, against the law I fetch them, But by right and by reason here ransom my liegemen. I have not come to destroy the law hut to fulfill it. 1 350 You fetched mine in my place unmindful of all reason Falsely and feloniously; good faith taught me To recover them by reason and rely on nothing else. So what you got with guile through grace is won back. You, Lucifer, in likeness of a loathsome adder 355 Got by guile those whom God loved; And I, in likeness of a mortal man, who am master of Heaven, Have graciously requited your guile: let guile go against guile! And as Adam and all died through a tree Adam and all through a tree return to life, 360 And guile is beguiled and grief has come to his guile: And he is fallen into the ditch which he made. 2 And now your guile begins to turn against you, And my grace to grow ever greater and wider. The bitterness that you have brewed, imbibe it yourself Who are doctor3 of death, the drink you made. 365 For I who am Lord of Life, love is my drink And for that drink today I died upon earth.

365

325

7. In medieval art the devil tempting Eve was sometimes represented as a snake (see the "serpent" of line 288) and sometimes as a lizard with a female human face and standing upright. 8. See Matthew 5.38 citing Exodus 21.24. 9. Therefore. The Latin conjunction was used in formal debate to introduce the conclusion derived

revitalize

from a number of propositions. 1. See Matthew 5.17. 2. Psalm 7.15. 3. The ironical use of the word carries the sense both of "physician" and of "one learned in a discipline."

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I struggled so I'm thirsty still for man's soul's sake. No drink may moisten me or slake my thirst Till vintage time befall in the Vale of Jehoshaphat, 4 370 When I shall drink really ripe wine, Resurrectio mortuorum.* And then I shall come as a king crowned with angels And have out of hell all men's souls. Fiends and fiendkins shall stand before me And be at my bidding, where best it pleases me. 375 But to be merciful to man then, my nature requires it. For we are brothers of one blood, but not in baptism all. And all that are both in blood and in baptism my whole brothers Shall not be damned to the death that endures without end. Against thee only have I sinned, etc. 6 It is not the custom on earth to hang a felon 380 Oftener than once, even though he were a traitor. And if the king of the kingdom comes at that time When a felon should suffer death or other such punishment, Law would he give him life if he looks upon him.7 And I who am King of Kings shall come in such a time 385 Where doom to death damns all wicked, And if law wills I look on them, it lies in my grace Whether they die or do not die because they did evil. And if it be any bit paid for, the boldness of their sins, I may grant mercy through my righteousness and all my true words; 390 And though Holy Writ wills that I wreak vengeance on those that wrought evil, No evil unpunished, etc. 8 They shall be cleansed and made clear and cured of their sins, In my prison purgatory till Parcel 0 says 'Stop!' Spare! And my mercy shall be shown to many of my half-brothers, For blood-kin may see blood-kin both hungry and cold, 395 But blood-kin may not see blood-kin bleed without his pity: I heard unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter. 9 But my righteousness and right shall rule all hell And mercy rule all mankind before me in Heaven. For I'd be an unkind king unless I gave my kin help, And particularly at such a time when help was truly needed. Enter not into judgment with thy servant. 1 400 Thus by law," said our Lord, "I will lead from here Those I looked on with love who believed in my coming; And for your lie, Lucifer, that you lied to Eve, 4. On the evidence of Joel 3.2, 12, the site of the Last Judgment was thought to be the Vale of Jehoshaphat. 5. The resurrection of the dead (from the Nicene Creed). 6. Psalm 51.4. The psalm is understood to assign the sole power of judging the sinner to God, because it is only against God that the sinner has acted. 7. I.e., "Law dictates that the king pardon the felon if the king sees him." 8. [He is a just judge who leaves] no evil unpunished [and no good unrewarded]. Not from the Bible but from Pope Innocent Ill's tract Of Con-

tempt for the World (1195). 9. In 2 Corinthians 12.4, St. Paul tells how in a vision he was snatched up to heaven where he heard things that may not be repeated among men. Langland is apparently invoking a similar mystic experience when he puts into Christ's mouth a promise to spare many of his half-brothers, the unbaptized. The orthodox theology of the time taught that all the unbaptized were irredeemably damned, a proposition Langland refused to accept: in his vision he has heard words to the contrary that might not be repeated among men, because they would be held heretical. 1. Psalm 143.2.

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LYRICS

367

You shall buy it back in bitterness"—and bound him with chains. Ashtoreth and all the gang hid themselves in corners; 405 They dared not look at our Lord, the least of them all, But let him lead away what he liked and leave what he wished. Many hundreds of angels harped and sang, Flesh sins, flesh redeems, flesh reigns as God of God. 2 Then Peace piped a note of poetry: As a rule the sun is brighter after the biggest clouds; After hostilities love is brighter. "After sharp showers," said Peace, "the sun shines brightest; 410 No weather is warmer than after watery clouds; Nor any love lovelier, or more loving friends, Than after war and woe when Love and peace are masters. There was never war in this world nor wickedness so sharp That Love, if he liked, might not make a laughing matter. 4i5 And peace through patience puts an end to all perils." "Truce!" said Truth, "you tell the truth, by Jesus! Let's kiss in covenant, and each of us clasp other." "And let no people," said Peace, "perceive that we argued; For nothing is impossible to him that is almighty." 420 "You speak the truth," said Righteousness, and reverently kissed her, Peace, and Peace her, per saecula saeculorum: 3 Mercy and Truth have met together; Righteousness and Peace have kissed each other. 4 Truth sounded a trumpet then and sang Te Deum Laudamus And then Love strummed a lute with a loud note: Behold how good and how pleasant, etc. 6 Till the day dawned these damsels caroled. 425 When bells rang for the Resurrection, and right then I awoke And called Kit my wife and Calote my daughter: "Arise and go reverence God's resurrection, And creep to the Cross on knees, and kiss it as a jewel, For God's blessed body it bore for our good, 4BO And it frightens the Fiend, for such is its power That no grisly ghost may glide in its shadow." 2. From a medieval Latin hymn. The source of the two Latin verses immediately below is Alain of Lille, a late 12th-century poet and philosopher. 3. For ever and ever (the liturgical formula).

MIDDLE

4. Psalm 85.10. 5. We praise thee, O Lord. 6. Psalm 133.1. The verse continues, "it is for brothers to dwell together in unity."

E N G L I S H INCARNATION AND CRUCIFIXION LYRICS

Many religious lyrics were written down and preserved. These were mostly written by anonymous clerics, but in rare instances we know at least the name of an author. Seventeen poems by the Franciscan William Herebert are collected in a single manuscript. In his dramatic lyric printed here, the main speaker is the Christ-knight, returning from the Crucifixion, which is treated as a battle the way it is in Dream of the Rood a n d i n Passus

o f Piers Plowman.

C h r i s t in h i s b l o o d s t a i n e d g a r m e n t s is

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compared in a famous image from Isaiah 63.2 to one who treads grapes in a winepress, a passage that is also the source of Julia Ward Howe's "grapes of wrath" in "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." The religious lyrics are for the most part devotional poems that depend on the Latin Bible and liturgy of the church. The passage from Isaiah adapted by Herebert was part of a lesson in a mass performed during Holy Week. But the diction of that poem, though there are a few French loan words, is predominantly of English origin. Many of the poems, like Herebert's, contain an element of drama: "Ye that Pasen by the Weye" is spoken by Christ from the Cross to all wayfarers; similar verses are spoken by the crucified Christ to the crowd (as well as to the audience) in the mystery plays of the Crucifixion. Among the most beautiful and tender lyrics are those about the Virgin Mary, who is the greatest of all queens and ladies. They celebrate Mary's joys, sorrows, and the mystery of her virgin motherhood. "Sunset on Calvary," a tableau of Mary at the foot of the Cross, contains an implicit play upon English "sun," which is setting, and the "son," who is dying but, like the sun, will rise again. Like love songs the Marian lyrics often celebrate the mysteries of the natural world and thus defy any simple division of medieval lyric into "secular" or "religious" poetry. "I Sing of a Maiden" visualizes the conception of Jesus in terms of the falling dew, and he steals silently to her bower like a lover. "Adam Lay Bound" cheerfully treats the original sin as though it were a child's theft of an apple, which had the happy result of making Mary the Q u e e n of Heaven. "The Corpus Christi Carol" has the form of a lullaby but penetrates by stages to the heart of a mystery similar to the Holy Grail, the chalice that contained Christ's blood, which continues to flow, as it does in this carol, for humanity's salvation.

What is he, this Iordling, that cometh from the fight1 " W h a t is he, this Iordling, 2 that c o m e t h f r o m the fight W i t h b l o o d - r e d e w e d e so grislich ydight, 3 S o faire ycointised, 0 so s e m e l i c h in sight, 4 So stiflich he g a n g e t h , 5 so doughty 0 a k n i g h t ? " 5

appareled

valiant

" I c h ° it a m , ich it a m , that ne s p e k e b u t right, 6 C h a m p i o u n to h e l e n ° m a n k i n d e in fight."

I save

" W h y t h e n is thy s h r o u d rede, with b l o o d al ymeind, As t r o d d a r e s in wringe with m u s t al b e s p r e i n d ? " 7

" T h e wring ich have ytrodded al myself one 0 A n d oP al m a n k i n d e w a s n o n e other wone. 0 Ich h e m 8 have ytrodded in w r a t h e a n d in g r a m e , ° A n d al my w e d e is b e s p r e i n d with h e r e blood y s a m e , 9 A n d al my r o b e y f o u l e d 0 to h e r e grete s h a m e . T h e d a y of th'ilke w r e c h e 1 liveth in my thought;

1. The poem, by William Herebert (d. 1333), paraphrases Isaiah 63.1—7, in which the "Iordling" (lord's son) is a messianic figure returning from battle against\the Edomites. 2. Who is this\Iord's son? 3. With blood-red garment, so terribly arrayed. 4. So fair to behold. 5. So boldly he goes. 6. Who speaks only what is right.

alone for /hope anger soiled

7. Why then is thy garment red, all stained with blood, like treaders in the winepress all spattered with must (the juice of the grapes). 8. Them, i.e., humankind symbolized by the grapes in the press. Cf. line 20. 9. And my garment is all spattered with their blood together. 1. That same vengeance (perhaps Judgment Day).

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INCARNATION AND C R U C I F I X I O N L Y R I C S

The yeer of medes yelding ne foryet ich nought. 2 Ich looked al aboute some helping mon; 3 Ich soughte al the route, 4 but help nas ther non. It was mine owne strengthe that this bote 0 wrought, Mine owne doughtinesse that help ther me brought." 5 Ich have ytrodded the folk in wrathe and in grame, Adreint al with shennesse, ydrawe down with shame." 6 "On Godes milsfulnesse 0 ich wil bethenche me, 7 And herien 0 him in alle thing that he yeldeth 0 me."

369

remedy

mercy praise /gives

Ye That Pasen by the Weye

Ye that pasen by the weye, Abidet a little stounde. 0 Beholdet, all my felawes, Yif° any me lik is founde. To the tre with nailes thre Wol 0 fast I hange bounde; With a spere all thoru my side To mine herte is made a wounde.

while if very

Sunset on Calvary Now gooth sunne under wode: 1 Me reweth, 2 Marye, thy faire rode.° Now gooth sunne under tree: Me reweth, Marye, thy sone and thee.

face

I Sing of a Maiden I sing of a maiden That is makelees: 1 King of alle kinges To° her sone she chees.° 5

He cam also 0 stille

T h e r ° his m o d e r 0 w a s

As dewe in Aprille That falleth on the gras. io

as/chose

as where / mother

He cam also stille To his modres bowr

I do not forget the year of paying wages. I looked all around for some man to help (me). I searched the whole crowd. My own valor brought help to me there. All drowned with ignominy, pulled down with

7. I will bethink myself. 1. Both the woods and the wooden Cross. 2. I pity. 1. Spotless, matchless, and mateless—a triple pun.

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As d e w e in Aprille T h a t falleth o n the flowr.

H e c a m also stille T h e r his m o d e r lay As d e w e in Aprille T h a t falleth o n the spray. Moder and maiden W a s nevere n o o n b u t she: W e l m a y swich 0 a lady G o d e s m o d e r be.

such

Adam Lay Bound

A d a m lay y b o u n d e n , b o u n d e n in a b o n d , F o u r t h o u s a n d winter t h o u g h t e he not too long; A n d al w a s for an a p p l e , an a p p l e that he took, As clerkes finden writen, writen in hire book. N e h a d d e 1 the a p p l e t a k e n b e e n , the a p p l e taken b e e n , N e h a d d e nevere O u r e L a d y y b e e n hevene Q u e e n . B l e s s e d b e the t i m e that a p p l e taken w a s : T h e r f o r e we m o w n 0 s i n g e n Deo Gratias. 2

may

The Corpus Christi Carol Lully, lullay, Iully, lullay, T h e f a u c o n 0 h a t h b o r n e my m a k e 0 away.

falcon / mate

H e b a r e h i m u p , h e b a r e him d o w n , H e b a r e h i m into a n o r c h a r d brown. 5

In that o r c h a r d ther w a s an hall T h a t w a s h a n g e d with p u r p l e a n d pall.°

black velvet

A n d in that hall ther w a s a b e d : It w a s h a n g e d with gold so red.

A n d in that b e d ther Iith° a knight, H i s w o u n d e s b l e e d i n g by day a n d night.

lies

By that b e d d e s side ther k n e e l e t h a may, 0 A n d s h e w e e p e t h b o t h night a n d day.

maid

A n d by that b e d d e s side ther s t a n d e t h a s t o o n 0

stoite

Corpus Christi1 writen thereon.

1. Had not. 2. Thanks be to God.

1. Body of Christ.

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371

JULIAN OF NORWICH 1342—ca. 1416 The "Showings," or "Revelations" as they are also called, were sixteen mystical visions received by the woman known as Julian of Norwich. The name may be one that she adopted when she became an anchoress in a cell attached to the church of St. Julian that still stands in that city in East Anglia, then one of the most important English cities. An anchorite (m.) or anchoress (f.) is a religious recluse confined to an enclosure, which he or she has vowed never to leave. At the time of such an enclosing the burial service was performed, signifying that the enclosed person was dead to the world and that the enclosure corresponded to a grave. The point of this confinement was, of course, to pursue more actively the contemplative or spiritual life. Julian may well have belonged to a religious order at the time that her visions led her to choose the life of an anchoress. We know little about her except what she tells us in her writings. She is, however, very precise about the date of her visions. They occurred, she tells us, at the age of thirty and a half on May 13, 1373. Four extant wills bequeath sums for Julian's maintenance in her anchorage. The most important document witnessing her life is The Book of Margery Kempe. Kempe asked Julian whether there might be any deception in Kempe's own visions, "for the anchoress," she says, "was expert in such things." Kempe's description of Julian's conversation accords well with the doctrines and personality that emerge from Julian's own book. A Book of Showings survives in a short and a long version. The longer text, from which the following excerpts are taken, was the product of fifteen and more years of meditation on the meaning of the visions in which much had been obscure to Julian. Apparently the mystical experiences were never repeated, but through constant study and contemplation the showings acquired a greater clarity, richness, and profundity as they continued to be turned over in a mind both gifted with spiritual insight and learned in theology. Her editors document her extensive use of the Bible and her familiarity with medieval religious writings in both English and Latin. Julian's sixteen revelations are each treated in uneven numbers of Chapters; these groupings of chapters form an extended meditation on a given vision. Each vision is treated with an unpredictable combination of visual description of what Julian saw, the words she was offered, and the meanings she "saw." Her visions are, in her words, "ghostly" (that is, spiritual), "bodily," and subtle combinations of the two. They embrace powerful visual phenomena such as blood drops running from the crown of thorns and revelations that take place in pure mind. All are, nevertheless, "seen"; the spiritualized meanings do not render bodily sights redundant. Of the selections here, Chapters 3 and 86 are from the opening and closing sequences of the work; Chapters 4, 5, and 7 are from the First Vision; Chapter 27 from the Thirteenth Vision; and Chapters 58, 59, 60, and 61 from the great Fourteenth Vision. Julian's First Vision is rooted in, but moves beyond, the tradition of affective piety described in the headnote to this section. The vision is provoked by Julian's own bodily approximation to the bodily pains of Christ, as she thinks she is dying. The crucifix offered for her comfort provokes a kinetic, fresh response, as it seems to move into life, bleeding and persuading Julian that the vision is God's unmediated gift to her. Julian moves well beyond this initial sight, however; she sees a sequence of created things: the Virgin Mary as the best creature that God made, and, lower down the scale, the entire world in her palm, "the quantity of an hazelnut." Such a vision might lead away from created things altogether, into a realm of pure essence; significantly, it does not, precisely because Julian never leaves the sight of the wounded, bodily Christ, whose very physical suffering is somehow simultaneous with these almost immaterial visions. Julian strains the tradition of affective piety to its limits, but ends by transforming rather than rejecting it.

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The serene optimism Julian's visions express for the material, created world and for fallen creatures extends into the most daring and surprising realms of speculation. "Sin is behovely": these are (Julian's) Christ's own words. They are expressed in the Thirteenth Vision for the first time (Chapter 27), but only in the extended, daring meditation of the Fourteenth Vision (not included in the Shorter Version) are they given their deepest sense. At the heart of Julian's profoundly optimistic theology is a transformative understanding of Christ's Humanity. She develops, without ever mentioning it explicitly, the idea of the felix culpa, the notion that, given its happy consequence in Christ's redemption of mankind, Adam's sin, or culpa, was somehow "happy" (felix). Christ is so much a part of us, by Julian's account, that He is "the ground of our kind [natural/kind] making" (Chapter 59). He is our Mother, who strains and suffers as He gives birth to our salvation. Julian's concept of Jesus as mother has antecedents in both Old and New Testaments, in medieval theology, and in the writings of medieval mystics (both men and women), but nowhere else in Middle English writing is the concept so subtly and resonantly explored. Julian was clearly aware of the dangers of expressing such high mysteries as a woman writer. She participates, it is true, in a late medieval tradition of visionary writing, often by women, such as the Dialogue of Catherine of Siena (translated into Middle English as the Orchard ofSyon) and the Revelations of St. Bridget of Sweden (also translated into Middle English). Julian, however, does not refer to these figures; instead, she negotiates the difficulties and dangers of writing as a woman with enormous tact and shrewdness, both disclaiming and creating exceptional authority. Part of her strategy is to write with calm lucidity; part is to claim that the vision is not particular to her alone. Precisely by virtue of a common humanity, the visions are common property: "We are all one, and I am sure I saw it for the profit of many other."

From A Book of Showings to the Anchoress Julian of Norwich1 Chapter

[JULIAN'S BODILY SICKNESS AND THE WOUNDS OF CHRIST]

A n d w h e n I was thirty year old a n d a half, G o d s e n t me a bodily s i c k n e s s in the w h i c h I lay three days a n d three nights; a n d on the f o u r t h night I took all my rites of holy c h u r c h , a n d went 2 not to have liven till day. A n d after this I lay two days a n d two nights; a n d on the third night I w e e n e d 3 o f t e n t i m e s to have p a s s e d , 4 a n d so w e e n e d they that were with m e . A n d yet in this I felt a great l o a t h s o m e n e s s 5 to die, b u t f o r nothing that was on earth that me liketh to live for, ne 6 for no p a i n that I w a s afraid of, for I trusted in G o d of his mercy. B u t it w a s f o r I w o u l d have lived to have loved G o d better a n d longer time, that I might by the g r a c e of that living have the m o r e knowing a n d loving of G o d in the bliss of heaven. F o r me t h o u g h t 7 all that time that I h a d lived here so little a n d so short in regard of 8 that e n d l e s s bliss, I thought: G o o d L o r d , m a y my living no longer be to thy worship? 9 A n d I u n d e r s t o o d by my

1. T h e text is based on that given by Edmund Colledge, O.S.A., and J a m e s Walsh, S. J., for the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, Toronto (1978), but it has been freely edited and modern spelling has been used where possible. 2. Thought. 3. Supposed.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Died. Reluctance. Nor. I thought, [it] thought me. In comparison with. Glory.

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r e a s o n a n d by the feeling of my p a i n s that I s h o u l d die; a n d I a s s e n t e d fully with all the will of my heart to be at G o d ' s will. T h u s I e n d u r e d till day, a n d by then w a s my body d e a d f r o m the m i d d e s d o w n w a r d , as to my feeling. 1 T h e n w a s I h o l p e n 2 to be set upright, u n d e r s e t 3 with help, for to have the m o r e freedom of my heart to be at G o d ' s will, a n d thinking on G o d while my life lasted. My c u r a t e w a s sent for to be at my ending, a n d b e f o r e he c a m e I h a d set up my eyen 4 a n d might not s p e a k . He set the c r o s s b e f o r e my f a c e a n d said: "I have b r o u g h t the i m a g e of thy savior; look t h e r e u p o n a n d c o m f o r t t h e e therewith." Me thought I was well, for my eyen w a s set upright into heaven, where I trusted to c o m e by the mercy of G o d ; b u t nevertheless I a s s e n t e d to set my eyen in the f a c e of the crucifix, if I might, a n d so I did, for me t h o u g h t I might longer dure to look even forth than right up. 5 A f t e r this my sight b e g a n to fail. It waxed as dark a b o u t me in the c h a m b e r as if it h a d b e e n night, save in the i m a g e of the cross, wherein held a c o m m o n light; a n d I wist 6 not how. All that w a s b e s i d e the c r o s s was ugly a n d f e a r f u l to me as 7 it h a d b e e n m u c h o c c u p i e d with fiends. A f t e r this the over 8 part of my body b e g a n to die so farforth that u n n e t h 9 I h a d any feeling. M y m o s t p a i n was s h o r t n e s s o f b r e a t h a n d failing o f life. T h e n went 1 I verily to have p a s s e d . A n d in this s u d d e n l y all my p a i n was taken f r o m m e , a n d I w a s as whole, a n d n a m e l y in the over part of my body, as ever I was b e f o r e . I marvelled of this s u d d e n c h a n g e , for me thought that it w a s a privy working of G o d , a n d not of kind; 2 a n d yet by feeling of this e a s e I trusted never m o r e to have lived, ne the feeling of this e a s e w a s no full e a s e to m e , for me t h o u g h t I h a d liever 3 have b e e n delivered of this world, for my heart was willfully set thereto. T h e n c a m e s u d d e n l y to my m i n d that I s h o u l d desire the s e c o n d w o u n d of o u r Lord's gift a n d of his grace, that my body might be fulfilled with m i n d a n d feeling of his b l e s s e d p a s s i o n , as I h a d b e f o r e prayed, 4 for I would that his p a i n s were my p a i n s , with c o m p a s s i o n a n d afterward longing to G o d . T h u s t h o u g h t me that I m i g h t with his g r a c e have the w o u n d s that I h a d b e f o r e desired; b u t in this I desired never no bodily sight ne no m a n n e r showing of G o d , but c o m p a s s i o n as me t h o u g h t that a kind soul might have with our L o r d J e s u , that for love w o u l d b e c o m e a deadly 5 m a n . With him I desired to suffer, living in my deadly body, as G o d would give me g r a c e .

Chapter 4 [CHRIST'S PASSION AND INCARNATION]

A n d in this s u d d e n l y I s a w the red b l o o d r u n n i n g d o w n f r o m u n d e r the garland, hot a n d freshly, plenteously a n d lively, right as it w a s in the time that the g a r l a n d of thorns was p r e s s e d on his b l e s s e d h e a d . Right so, both G o d a n d m a n , the s a m e that s u f f e r e d for m e , I c o n c e i v e d truly a n d mightily that it was h i m s e l f that s h e w e d it me without any m e a n . 6 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

As it felt to me. Helped. Supported. Eyes. Endure to look straight ahead than straight up. Knew. As if. Upper. To the extent that scarcely.

1. Thought. 2. Nature. 3. Rather. 4. Julian had prayed for three gifts: direct experience of Christ's passion, mortal sickness, and the wounds of true contrition, loving compassion, and a willed desire for God. 5. Mortal. 6. Intermediary.

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A n d in the s a m e showing s u d d e n l y the Trinity fulfilled my heart m o s t of joy, a n d so I u n d e r s t o o d it shall be in heaven without end to all that shall c o m e there. F o r the Trinity is G o d , G o d is the Trinity. T h e Trinity is our maker, the Trinity is o u r keeper, the Trinity is our everlasting lover, the Trinity is e n d l e s s joy a n d our bliss, by o u r L o r d J e s u Christ, a n d in our Lord J e s u Christ. A n d this w a s s h o w e d in the first sight a n d in all, for where J e s u appeareth, the b l e s s e d Trinity is u n d e r s t a n d , as to my sight. 7 A n d I said, "Benedicite dominus. " s T h i s I said for reverence in my m e a n i n g , 9 with a mighty voice, and full greatly w a s I a s t o n e d 1 for w o n d e r a n d marvel that I h a d , that he that is so reverend a n d so d r e a d f u l 2 will be so homely 3 with a sinful creature living in this w r e t c h e d flesh. T h u s I took it for that time that our L o r d J e s u of his c o u r t e o u s love would s h o w me c o m f o r t b e f o r e the time of my temptation; for me t h o u g h t it might well be that I s h o u l d by the s u f f e r a n c e of G o d a n d with his keeping be t e m p t e d of 4 fiends b e f o r e I s h o u l d die. With this sight of his blessed p a s s i o n , with the g o d h e a d that I s a w in my u n d e r s t a n d i n g , I knew well that it was strength e n o u g h to m e , yea, a n d to all c r e a t u r e s living that should be saved, against all the fiends of hell, a n d a g a i n s t all ghostly 5 e n e m i e s . In this he b r o u g h t our L a d y S a i n t M a r y to my u n d e r s t a n d i n g ; I saw her ghostly in bodily likeness, a s i m p l e m a i d e n a n d a meek, y o u n g of age, a little waxen above a child, 6 in the stature as s h e was when she conceived. Also G o d s h o w e d me in part the w i s d o m a n d the truth of her soul, wherein I u n d e r s t o o d the reverend beholding, that s h e b e h e l d her G o d , that is her maker, marvelling with great r e v e r e n c e that he w o u l d be b o r n of her that w a s a s i m p l e creature of his m a k i n g . A n d this w i s d o m a n d truth, knowing the g r e a t n e s s of her m a k e r a n d the Iittlehead 7 of herself that is m a d e , m a d e her to say full meekly to Gabriel: " L o me here, G o d ' s h a n d m a i d e n . " 8 In this sight I did u n d e r s t a n d verily that s h e is m o r e than all that G o d m a d e b e n e a t h her in worthiness a n d in f u l l h e a d ; 9 for above her is nothing that is m a d e b u t the b l e s s e d m a n h o o d of Christ, as to my sight.

Chapter 5 [ALL C R E A T I O N AS A H A Z E L N U T ]

In this s a m e time that I saw this sight of the h e a d bleeding, our good L o r d s h o w e d a ghostly sight of his h o m e l y loving. I saw that he is to us all thing that is g o o d a n d c o m f o r t a b l e to our help. He is our clothing that for love w r a p p e t h us a n d windeth us, halseth us 1 a n d all b e c l o s e s us, h a n g e t h a b o u t us for tender love that 2 he may never leave us. A n d so in this sight I saw that he is all thing that is good, as to my u n d e r s t a n d i n g . A n d in this he s h o w e d a little thing, the quantity of an hazelnut, lying in the p a l m of my h a n d , as me s e e m e d , a n d it was as r o u n d as a ball. I looked thereon with the eye of my u n d e r s t a n d i n g , a n d thought: W h a t may this be? 7. Is understood, as I see it. 8. Blessed be the Lord. 9. Intention. 1. Astonished. 2. Awe-inspiring. 3. Familiar, intimate (the quality of being home"). 4. By.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2.

Spiritual. Grown a little older than a child. Littleness. See Luke 1.38. Perfection. Envelops us and embraces us. So that.

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And it was answered generally thus: It is all that is made. I marvelled how it might last, for me thought it might suddenly have fallen to nought for3 littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasteth and ever shall, for God Ioveth it; and so hath all thing being by the love of God. In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second that God Ioveth it, the third that God keepeth4 it. But what beheld I therein? Verily, the maker, the keeper, the lover. For till I am substantially united to him5 I may never have full rest ne very6 bliss; that is to say that I be so fastened to him that there be right nought that is made between my God and me. This little thing that is made, me thought it might have fallen to nought for littleness. Of this needeth us to have knowledge, that us liketh nought all thing that is made, for to love and have God that is unmade. 7 For this is the cause why we be not all in ease of heart and of soul, for we seek here rest in this thing that is so little, where no rest is in, and we know not our God, that is almighty, all wise and all good, for he is very rest. God will be known, and him liketh that we rest us in him; for all that is beneath him suffiseth not to us. And this is the cause why that no soul is in rest till it is noughted of all things that is made. 8 When she is wilfully9 noughted for love, to have him that is all, then is she able to receive ghostly rest. And also our good Lord showed that it is full great pleasance to him that a sely1 soul come to him naked, plainly and homely. For this is the kind2 yearning of the soul by the touching of the Holy Ghost, as by the understanding that I have in this showing: God of thy goodness gave me thyself, for thou art enough to me, and I may ask nothing that is less that may be full worship to thee. And if I ask any thing that is less, ever me wanteth;3 but only in thee I have all. And these words of the goodness of God be full lovesome to the soul and full near touching the will of our Lord, for his goodness fulfilleth all his creatures and all his blessed works and overpasseth 4 without end. For he is the endlesshead and he made us only to himself and restored us by his precious passion, and ever keepeth us in his blessed love; and all this is of his goodness. &

Chapter [CHRIST AS

HOMELY AND COURTEOUS]

And in all that time that he showed this that I have now said in ghostly sight, I saw the bodily sight lasting of the plenteous bleeding of the head. The great drops of blood fell down fro under the garland like pellets, seeming as it had come out of the veins. And in the coming out they were brown red, for the blood was full thick; and in the spreading abroad they were bright red. And when it came at the brows, there they vanished; and not withstanding the 3. Because of. 4. Looks after. 5. Joined to him in "substance," which Julian regards as the eternal essence of being. 6. True. 7. I.e., we need to know that we should not be attracted to earthly things, which are made, to love and possess God, who is not made, who exists eter-

nally. 8. Emptied of (its attachment to) all created things. 9. Of its free will. 1. Innocent. 2. Natural. 3. I am forever lacking. 4. Surpasses.

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bleeding continued till many things were seen and understanded. Nevertheless the fairhead and Iivelihead continued in the same beauty and liveliness. The plenteoushead is like to the drops of water that fall of the evesing 5 of an house after a great shower of rain, that fall so thick that no man may number them with no bodily wit.6 And for the roundness they were like to the scale of herring in the spreading of the forehead. These three things came to my mind in the time: pellets for the roundhead 7 in the coming out of the blood, the scale of the herring for the roundhead in the spreading, the drops of the evesing of a house for the plenteoushead unnumerable. This showing was quick 8 and lively and hideous and dreadful and sweet and lovely; and of all"the sight that I saw this was most comfort to me, that our good Lord, that is so reverend and dreadful, is so homely and so courteous, and this most fulfilled me with liking and sickerness 9 in soule. And to the understanding of this he showed this open example. It is the most worship 1 that a solemn king or a great lord may do to a poor servant if he will be homely with him; and namely if he show it himself of a full true meaning 2 and with a glad cheer both in private and openly. Then thinketh this poor creature thus: "Lo, what might this noble lord do more worship and joy to me than to show to me that am so little this marvelous homeliness? Verily, it is more joy and liking to me than if he gave me great gifts and were himself strange in manner." This bodily example was showed so high that this man's heart might be ravished and almost forget himself for joy of this great homeliness. Thus it fareth by our Lord Jesu and by us, for verily it is the most joy that may be, as to my sight, that he that is highest and mightiest, noblest and worthiest, is lowest and meekest, homeliest and courteousest. And truly and verily this marvelous joy shall be show us all when we shall see him. And this will our good Lord that we believe and trust, joy and like, comfort us and make solace as we may with his grace and with his help, into3 the time that we see it verily. For the most fullhead of joy that we shall have, as to my sight, is this marvelous courtesy and homeliness of our fader, that is our maker, in our Lord Jesu Christ, that is our brother and oure saviour. But this marvelous homeliness may no man know in this life, but if he have it by special showing of our Lord, or of great plenty of grace inwardly given of the Holy Ghost. But faith and belief with charity deserve the meed, 4 and so it is had by grace. For in faith with hope and charity our life is grounded. The showing is made to whom that God will, plainly teacheth the same opened and declared, with many privy points belonging to our faith and belief which be worshipful to be known. And when the showing which is given for a time is passed and hid, then faith keepeth it by grace of the Holy Ghost into our life's end. And thus by the showing it is none other than the faith, ne less ne more, as it may be seen by our Lord's meaning in the same matter, by then 5 it come to the last end.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. I.

Eaves. Intelligence. Roundness. Vivid. Security. Honor.

2. Intent. 3. Until. 4. Reward. "Charity": love. See 1 Corinthians 13.13. 5. By the time that.

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Chapter 27 [SIN IS FITTING]

And after this our Lord brought to my mind the longing that I had to him before; and I saw nothing ietted6 me but sin, and so I beheld generally in us all, and me thought that if sin had not been, we should all have been clean7 and like to our Lord as he made us. And thus in my folly before this time often I wondered why, by the great foreseeing wisdom of God, the beginning of sin was not letted.8 For then thought me that all should have been well. This stering9 was much to be forsaken; and nevertheless mourning and sorrow I made therefore without reason and discretion. But Jesu that in this vision informed me of all that me needed answered by this word and said: "Sin is behovely,' but all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."2 In this naked word "Sin," our Lord brought to my mind generally all that is not good, and the shameful despite 3 and the uttermost tribulation that he bore for us in this life, and his dying and all his pains, and passion 4 of all his creatures ghostly and bodily. For we be all in part troubled, and we shall be troubled, following our master Jesu, till we be fully purged of our deadly5 flesh which be not very good. And with the beholding of this, with all the pains that ever were or ever shall be, I understood the passion of Christ for the most pain and overpassing.6 And with all, this was showed in a touch, readily passed over into comfort. For our good Lord would not that the soul were afeared of this ugly sight. But I saw not sin, for I believe it had no manner of substance, ne no part of being,7 ne it might not be known but by the pain that is caused thereof. And this pain is something, as to my sight, for a time, for it purgeth and maketh us to know ourself and ask mercy; for the passion of our Lord is comfort to us against all this, and so is his blessed will. And for the tender love that our good Lord hath to all that shall be saved, he comforteth readily and sweetly, meaning thus: It is true that sin is cause of all this pain, but all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. These words were showed full tenderly, showing no manner of blame to me ne to none that shall be safe. 8 Then were it great unkindness of me to blame or wonder on God of my sin, sithen9 he blameth not me for sin. And in these same words I saw an high marvelous privity1 hid in God, which privity he shall openly make and shall be known to us in heaven. In which knowing we shall verily see the cause why he suffered sin to come, in which sight we shall endlessly have joy.

6. Hindered. 7. Pure. 8. Prevented. 9. Fretting. 1. Fitting. 2. T. S. Eliot quotes this statement, versions of which appear several times in the Showings, in the last movement of his Four Quartets. 3. Spite.

4. 5. 6. 7. p. 8. 9. I.

Suffering. Mortal. Exceeding (pain). On "substance" and "being," see chapter 5, 375, n. 5. Saved. Since. Secret.

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Chapters 58, 59, 60, 61 [JESUS AS MOTHER]

God the blessedful Trinity, which is everlasting being, right as he is endless fro without beginning,2 right so it was in his purpose endless to make mankind,3 which fair kind4 first was dight to5 for his own son, the second person; and when he would,6 by full accord of all the Trinity he made us all at once. 7 And in our making he knit us and oned8 us to himself, by which oneing we be kept as clean 9 and as noble as we were made. By the virtue of that ilke1 precious oneing we love our maker and like2 him, praise and thank him, and endlessly enjoy3 in him. And this is the working which is wrought continually in each soul that shall be saved, which is the godly will before said. And thus in our making God almighty is our kindly4 father, and god all wisdom is our kindly mother, with the love and the goodness of the Holy Ghost, which is all one God, one Lord. And in the knitting and in the oneing he is our very true spouse and we his loved wife5 and his fair maiden, with which wife he was never displeased. For he sayeth: "I love thee and thou lovest me, and our love shall never part in two." I beheld the working of all the blessed Trinity, in which beholding I saw and understood these three properties: The property of the fatherhood, and the property of the motherhood, and the property of the lordship in one God. In our father almighty we have our keeping6 and our bliss as anemptis 7 our kindly substance which is to us by our making fro without beginning.8 And in the second person in wit9 and wisdom we have our keeping as anemptis our sensuality1 our restoring and our saving, for he is our mother, brother and savior And in our good lord the Holy Ghost we have our rewarding and our yielding2 for our living and our travail,3 and endlessly overpassing4 all that we desire in his marvelous courtesy of his high plenteous grace. For all our life is in three: in the first we have our being, and in the second we have our increasing, and in the third we have our fulfilling. The first is kind,5 the second is mercy, the third is grace. For the first 6 1 saw and understood that the high might of the Trinity is our father, and the deep wisdom of the Trinity is our mother, and the great love of the Trinity is our lord; and all these have we in kind and in our substantial making. And furthermore I saw that the second person, which is our mother, substantially the same dearworthy person, 7 is now become our mother sensual, 8 for we be double of God's making, that is to say substantial and sensual. Our substance is the higher part, which we have in our father God almighty; 2. I.e., eternal. 3. I.e., his purpose to make humankind is also eternal. 4. Nature. 5. Prepared for. 6. Wanted to. 7. All of us at one and the same time. 8. United. Julian sustains the idea of oneness in the verb oned and the noun oneing. 9. Pure. 1. Same. 2. Please. 3. Rejoice. 4. Both "kind" and "natural." 5. The relationship between God and humanity is also conceived as a mystical marriage in which Christ is the bridegroom and the human soul his

spouse. 6. Protection. 7. With regard to. 8. I.e., our natural created being, which is eternal. On substance see chapter 5, p. 375, n. 5. 9. Intelligence. 1. With regard to the nature of our sensual being (as opposed to substance). 2. Payment. 3. Life and labor. 4. Surpassing. 5. Nature. 6. For the first time. 7. The same beloved person with regard to our eternal being. 8. Mother of our physical being.

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a n d the s e c o n d p e r s o n of the Trinity is our m o t h e r in kind in our substantial making, in w h o m we be g r o u n d e d a n d rooted, a n d he is our m o t h e r of mercy in our s e n s u a l taking. 9 «

From Chapter 59 $

A n d t h u s is J e s u our very 1 m o t h e r in kind of o u r first making, a n d he is our very m o t h e r in g r a c e by taking of our kind m a d e . All the fair working a n d all the sweet kindly offices of dearworthy m o t h e r h o o d is impropered to 2 the seco n d person, for in him we have this goodly will, whole and s a f e without end, both in kind a n d in g r a c e , of his own proper g o o d n e s s . I u n d e r s t o o d three m a n n e r of beholdings of m o t h e r h o o d in G o d . T h e first is g r o u n d of o u r kind making, the s e c o n d is taking of our kind, a n d there beginneth the m o t h e r h o o d of grace, the third is m o t h e r h o o d in working. 3 A n d therein is a f o r t h s p r e a d i n g 4 by the s a m e g r a c e of length a n d breadth, of high a n d of d e e p n e s s without end. A n d all is o n e love.

Chapter 60 B u t now me behooveth to say a little m o r e of this forthspreading, as I understood, in the m e a n i n g of our Lord: how that we be brought a g a i n by the mothe r h o o d of mercy a n d g r a c e into our kindly stead, where that we were in, 5 m a d e by the m o t h e r h o o d of kind love, which kind love never leaveth us. O u r kind m o t h e r , o u r g r a c i o u s m o t h e r (for he would 6 all wholly b e c o m e our m o t h e r in all thing) he took the g r o u n d of his work full low 7 a n d full mildly in the m a i d e n ' s w o m b . A n d that s h o w e d he first, w h e r e he brought that m e e k m a i d e n b e f o r e the eye of my u n d e r s t a n d i n g , in the simple stature as s h e was when s h e c o n c e i v e d ; 8 that is to say our high god, the sovereign w i s d o m of all, in this low p l a c e he arrayed him a n d dight him 9 all ready in our p o o r flesh, himself to do the service, he a n d the office of m o t h e r h o o d in all thing. T h e mother's service is nearest, readiest, a n d surest: nearest for it is m o s t of kind, readiest for it is m o s t of love, a n d sikerest 1 for it is m o s t of truth. T h i s office ne might nor could never n o n e d o o n to the full b u t he alone. We wit 2 that all o u r m o t h e r s b e a r us to p a i n a n d to dying. Ah, what is that? B u t our very M o t h e r J e s u , he alone beareth us to joy a n d to e n d l e s s living, b l e s s e d moot 3 he be. T h u s he s u s t a i n e t h us within h i m in love a n d travail, into the full time that he would s u f f e r the s h a r p e s t thorns a n d grievous p a i n s that ever were or ever shall be, a n d died at the last. A n d when he h a d d o n e , a n d so b o r n e us to bliss, yet might not all this m a k e a s e e t h 4 to his m a r v e l o u s love. A n d that s h o w e d he in t h e s e high o v e r p a s s i n g words of love: "If I might s u f f e r m o r e I would s u f f e r m o r e . " 5 He might no m o r e die, but he would not stint 6 working. 9. Taking on of sensuality. 1. True. 2. Appropriated to. 3. At work. 4. (Infinite) spreading out, expansion. 5. The natural condition, i.e., the state of grace, that we were in originally. 6. Because he wanted to. 7. I.e., he laid the groundwork for his mission in a very humble place.

8. The appearance of the Virgin in Julian's first vision. See chapter 4, p. 373. 9. Arrayed and dressed himself. 1. Surest. 2. Know. 3. May. 4. Bring satisfaction. 5. These and other quotations refer back to Julian's earlier revelations. 6. Stop.

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Wherefore him behooveth to find7 us, for the dearworthy love of motherhood hath made him debtor to us. 8 The mother may give her child sucken her milk, but our precious mother Jesu, he may feed us with himself, and doth full courteously and full tenderly with the blessed sacrament, that is precious food of very life; and with all the sweet sacraments he sustaineth us full mercifully and graciously, and so meant he in these blessed words, where he said: "I it am that holy church preacheth thee and teacheth thee." That is to say: All the health and the life of sacraments, all the virtue and the grace of my word, all the goodness that is ordained in holy church to thee, I it am. The mother may lay her child tenderly to her breast, but our tender mother Jesu, he may homely lead us into his blessed breast by his sweet open side,9 and show us therein in party of1 the godhead and the joys of heaven with ghostly sureness of endless bliss. And that showed he in the tenth revelation, giving the same understanding in this sweet word where he sayeth: "Lo, how I love thee." * * * This fair lovely word "Mother," it is so sweet and so kind in itself that it may not verily be said of none ne to none but of him and to him2 that is very mother of life and of all. To the property of motherhood longeth3 kind love, wisdom, and knowing, and it is God. For though it be so that our bodily forthbringing be but little, low, and simple in regard4 of our ghostly forthbringing, yet it is he that doth it in the creatures by whom that it is done. The kind loving mother that woot and knoweth the need of her child, she keepeth it full tenderly as the kind and condition of motherhood will. And ever as it waxeth5 in age and in stature, she changeth her works but not her love. And when it is waxed of more age, she suffereth it that it be chastised in breaking down of vices to make the child receive virtues and grace. This working with all that be fair and good, our Lord doth it in hem by whom it is done. Thus he is our mother in kind by the working of grace in the lower party for love of the higher. And he will6 that we know it, for he will have all our love fastened to him; and in this I saw that all debt that we owe by God's bidding to fatherhood and motherhood is fulfilled in true loving of God, which blessed love Christ worketh in us. And this was showed in all, and namely in the words where he sayeth: "I it am that thou Iovest."

Chapter 61 And in our ghostly forthbringing he useth more tenderness in keeping without any comparison, by as much as our soul is of more price in his sight. He kindleth our understanding, he prepareth our ways, he easeth our conscience, he comforteth our soul, he lighteth our heart and giveth us in party knowing and loving in his blessedful godhead, with gracious mind in his sweet manhood and his blessed passion, with courteous marveling in his high overpassing goodness, and maketh us to love all that he Ioveth for his love, and to be well apaid 7 with him and with all his works. And when we fall, hastily he raiseth us by his lovely becleping 8 and his gracious touching. And when we be 7. Nourish, feed. 8. As any mother is obligated to look after her child. 9. The wound inflicted by a soldier in John 19.34. 1. A part of. 2. Other manuscripts read "her," with reference to the Virgin.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Belongs. In comparison with. Grows. Wants. Pleased. Calling (to us).

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strengthened by his sweet working, then we wilfully9 choose him by his grace to be his servants and his lovers, lastingly without end. And yet after this he suffereth some of us to fail more hard and more grievously than ever we did before, as us thinketh. And then ween 1 we (that be not all wise) that all were nought that we have begun. But it is not so, for it needeth us to fall, and it needeth us to see it; for if we fell not, we should not know how feeble and how wretched we be of ourself, nor also we should not so fulsomely 2 know the marvelous love of our maker. For we shall verily see in heaven without end that we have grievously sinned in this life; and notwithstanding this we shall verily see that we were never hurt in his love, nor we were never the less of price in his sight. And by the assay of this falling we shall have an high and a marvelous knowing of love in God without an end. For hard and marvelous is that love which may not nor will not be broken for 3 trespass. And this was one understanding of profit; and other4 is the lowness and meekness that we shall get by the sight of our falling, for thereby we shall highly be raised in heaven, to which rising we might never have come without that meekness. And therefore it needed us to see it; and if we see it not, though we fell it should not profit us. And commonly first we fall and sithen 5 we see it; and both is of the mercy of God. The mother may suffer the child to fall sometime and be diseased 6 in diverse manner of peril come to her child for love. And though our earthly mother may suffer her child to perish, our heavenly mother Jesu may never suffer us that be his children to perish, for he is all mighty, all wisdom, and all love, and so is none but he, blessed mote he be. But oft times when our falling and our wretchedness is showed to us, we be so sore adread and so greatly ashamed of ourself that unnethes 7 we wit where that we may hold us. But then will not our courteous mother that we flee away, for him were nothing loather; 8 for then he will that we use 9 the condition of a child. For when it is diseased and afeared, it runneth hastily to the mother; and if it may do no more, it crieth on the mother for help with all the might. So will he that we do as the meek child, saying thus: "My kind mother, my gracious mother, my dearworthy mother, have mercy on me. I have made myself foul and unlike to thee, and I may not nor can amend it but with thine help and grace." And if we feel us not then eased, as soon be we sure that he useth 1 the condition of a wise mother. For if he see that it be for profit to us to mourn and to weep, he suffereth with ruth 2 and pity, into the best time, 3 for love. And he will then that we use the property of a child that ever more kindly trusteth to the love of the mother in weal and in woe. And he will that we take us mightily to the faith of holy church and find there our dearworthy mother in solace and true understanding with all the blessed common. 4 For one singular person may oftentimes be broken, as it seemeth to the self, but the whole body of holy church was never broken, nor never shall be without end. And therefore a sure thing it is, a good and a gracious, to willen meekly and mightily 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Gladly. Suppose. Fully. Because of. Another. Then. Unhappy.

7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Scarcely. Nothing would be more hateful to him. He wants us to experience. Right away we are sure he is practicing. Compassion. Until the right time. Community.

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b e e n f a s t e n e d a n d o n e d to our m o t h e r holy c h u r c h , that is C h r i s t J e s u . F o r the flood of his m e r c y that is his dearworthy blood a n d p r e c i o u s water is p l e n t e o u s to m a k e us fair a n d c l e a n . T h e b l e s s e d w o u n d s of our savior be open a n d enjoy 5 to heal us. T h e sweet g r a c i o u s h a n d s of our m o t h e r be ready and diligent a b o u t u s ; for he in all this working u s e t h the very office of a kind n u r s e that hath not else to do but to e n t e n d 6 the salvation of her child. It is his o f f i c e to save us, it is his worship to do it, and it is his will we know it; for he will we love him sweetly a n d trust in him meekly a n d mightily. A n d this s h o w e d he in t h e s e g r a c i o u s words: "I keep thee full surely."

Chapter 86 [CHRIST'S

MEANING]

T h i s b o o k is b e g u n by G o d ' s gift a n d his grace, b u t it is not yet p e r f o r m e d , 7 as to my sight. F o r charity, pray we all together with God's working, thanking, trusting, enjoying, for thus will our g o o d L o r d be prayed, but the u n d e r s t a n d ing that I took in all his own m e a n i n g , a n d in the sweet words where he sayeth full merrily: "I am g r o u n d of thy b e s e e c h i n g . " F o r truly I saw a n d u n d e r s t o o d in our Lord's m e a n i n g that he s h o w e d it for he will have it known m o r e than it is. In which knowing he will give us g r a c e to love him a n d cleave to him, for he b e h e l d his heavenly t r e a s u r e with so great love on earth that he will give us m o r e light, a n d s o l a c e in heavenly joy, in drawing of o u r hearts fro sorrow a n d d a r k n e s s which we are in. A n d fro the time that it was showed, I desired o f t e n t i m e s to wit 8 in what was our Lord's m e a n i n g . A n d fifteen year after a n d more, I was answered in ghostly u n d e r s t a n d i n g , saying thus: " W h a t , wouldst thou wit thy Lord's m e a n ing in this thing? Wit it well, love w a s his m e a n i n g . W h o showeth it thee? Love. W h a t s h o w e d he thee? Love. W h e r e f o r e showeth he it thee? For love. H o l d t h e e therein, thou shalt wit m o r e in the s a m e . B u t thou shalt never wit therein other withouten e n d . " T h u s was I learned, 9 that love is our Lord's m e a n i n g . A n d I s a w full surely in this a n d in all, that ere G o d m a d e us he loved us, which love was never slaked 1 ne never shall. A n d in this love he hath d o n e all his works, a n d in this love he h a t h m a d e all things profitable to us, a n d in this love our life is everlasting. In o u r m a k i n g we h a d beginning, b u t the love wherein he m a d e us was in him fro without beginning. In which love we have our beginning, a n d all this shall we s e e in G o d withouten end.

Deo gracias. Explicit liber revelacionum Julyane anacorite Norwyche, cuius anime propicietur deus. 2 ca. 1390

5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Rejoice. Be busy about. Completed. Know. Taught.

1. Abated. 2. Thanks be to God. Here ends the book of revelations of Julian, anchorite of Norwich, on whose soul may god have mercy.

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MARGERY KEMPE ca. 1 3 7 3 - 1 4 3 8 Tlte Book of Margery Kempe is the spiritual autobiography of a medieval lay-

woman, telling of her struggles to carry out instructions for a holy life that she claimed to have received in personal visions from Christ and the Virgin Mary. The assertion of such a mission by a married woman, the mother of fourteen children, was in itself sufficient grounds for controversy; in addition, Kempe's outspoken defense of her visions as well as her highly emotional style of religious expression embroiled her with fellow citizens and pilgrims and with the Church, although she also won both lay and clerical supporters. Ordered by the archbishop of York to swear not to teach in his diocese, she courageously stood up for her freedom to speak her conscience. Margery Kempe was the daughter of John Burnham, five-time mayor of King's Lynn, a thriving commercial town in Norfolk. At about the age of twenty she married John Kempe, a well-to-do fellow townsman. After the traumatic delivery of her first child—the rate of maternal mortality in childbirth was high—she sought to confess to a priest whose harsh, censorious response precipitated a mental breakdown, from which she eventually recovered through the first of her visions. Her subsequent conversion and strict religious observances generated a good deal of domestic strife, but she continued to share her husband's bed until, around the age of forty, she negotiated a vow of celibacy with him, which was confirmed before the bishop and left her free to undertake a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There she experienced visions of Christ's passion and of the sufferings of the Virgin. These visions recurred during the rest of her life, and her noisy weeping at such times made her the object of much scorn and hostility. Her orthodoxy was several times examined, but her unquestioning acceptance of the Church's doctrines and authority, and perhaps also her status as a former mayor's daughter, shielded her against charges of heresy. Kempe was unable to read or write, but acquired her command of Scripture and theology from sermons and other oral sources. Late in her life, she dictated her story in two parts to two different scribes; the latter of these was a priest who revised the whole text. Nevertheless, it seems likely that the work retains much of the characteristic form and expression of its author. Kempe's text offers a perspective on the tradition of "affective piety" unlike any other: here that visionary tradition comes to life in the context of vividly realized, often painful psychological and bodily experience. Kempe's own marriage, and her often troubled worldly relations, inform and are informed by her "homely" and sometimes erotic spiritual relations. Her imitation of Christ moves her to travel vast distances to be present at the scenes of Christ's suffering, just as she sees Christ present in male babies or good-looking young men. She sees the living divine presence in the Eucharistic host. "Sir," she says to a skeptic, "His death is as fresh to me as He had died this same day." This form of intensely sympathetic vision has, however, its negative obverse. As in Chaucer's Prioress's Tale, where tender feeling for the Blessed Virgin is complemented by hatred for the "cursed Jewes," Christian pathos produces an anti-Semitic reflex (Book 1.79).

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From The Book of Margery Kempe1 Book 1.1 [THE BIRTH OF H E R FIRST C H I L D AND H E R FIRST VISION]

When this creature 2 was twenty year of age or somedeal more, she was married to a worshipful burgess and was with child within short time, as kind3 would. And after that she had conceived, she was labored with great accesses 4 till the child was born, and then, what for labor she had in childing and for sickness going before, she despaired of her life, weening5 she might not live. And then she sent for her ghostly father, 6 for she had a thing in conscience which she had never showed before that time in all her life. For she was ever letted7 by her enemy, the Devil, evermore saying to her while she was in good heal8 her needed no confession but [to] do penance by herself alone, and all should be forgiven, for God is merciful enow. And therefore this creature oftentimes did great penance in fasting bread and water and other deeds of alms with devout prayers, save she would not show it in confession. And when she was any time sick or diseased, the Devil said in her mind that she should be damned for she was not shriven of that default. 9 Wherefore after that her child was born she, not trusting her life, sent for her ghostly father, as said before, in full will to be shriven of all her lifetime as near as she could. And, when she came to the point for to say that thing which she had so long concealed, her confessor was a little too hasty and gan sharply to undernim1 her ere that she had fully said her intent, and so she would no more say for nought he might do. And anon for dread she had of damnation on that one side and his sharp reproving on that other side, this creature went out of her mind and was wonderly vexed and labored with spirits half year eight weeks and odd days. And in this time she saw, as her thought, devils open their mouths all inflamed with burning lows2 of fire as they should have swallowed her in, sometime ramping 3 at her, sometime threating her, sometime pulling her and hauling her both night and day during the foresaid time. And also the devils cried upon her with great threatings and bade her she should forsake her Christendom, her faith, and deny her God, his Mother, and all the saints in Heaven, her good works and all good virtues, her father, her mother, and all her friends. And so she did. She slandered her husband, her friends, and her own self; she spoke many a reprevous word and many a shrewd4 word; she knew no virtue nor goodness; she desired all wickedness; like as the spirits tempted her to say and do so she said and did. She would have fordone 5 herself many a time at their steering6 and have been damned with them in Hell, and into witness thereof she bit her own hand so violently that it was seen all her life after. And also she rived7 her skin on her body again her heart with her nails spiteously,8 for she had none other instruments, and worse she would have done save she 1. The text is based on the unique manuscript, first discovered in 1934, edited by Lynn Staley. Spelling and inflexional forms have in many cases been modernized. 2. Throughout the book Kempe refers to herself in the third person as "this creature," a standard way of saying "this person, a being created by God." 3. Nature. 4. Fits of pain. 5. Supposing. 6. Spiritual father, i.e., a priest.

7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Prevented. Health. Sin. Rebuke. "Gan": began. Blazes. Raising their arms. Wicked. "Reprevous": reproachful. Destroyed. Direction. Tore. Cruelly.

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was bound and kept with strength both day and night that she might not have her will. And when she had long been labored in this and many other temptations that men weened she should never have scaped 9 or lived, then on a time as she lay alone and her keepers were from her, our merciful Lord Christ Jesu, ever to be trusted (worshiped be his name) never forsaking his servant in time of need, appeared to his creature, which had forsaken him, in likeness of a man, most seemly, most beauteous, and most amiable that ever might be seen with man's eye, clad in a mantle of purple silk, sitting upon her bed's side, looking upon her with so blessed a cheer1 that she was strengthened in all her spirits, said to her these words: "Daughter, why hast thou forsaken me, and I forsook never thee?" And anon as he had said these words she saw verily how the air opened as bright as any levin,2 and he sty3 up into the air, not right hastily and quickly, but fair and easily that she might well behold him in the air till it was closed again. And anon the creature was stabled 4 in her wits and in her reason as well as ever she was before, and prayed her husband as so soon as he came to her that she might have the keys of the buttery5 to take her meat and drink as she had done before.

Book 1.11 [MARGERY AND HER HUSBAND REACH A S E T T L E M E N T ]

It befell upon a Friday on Midsummer Even in right hot weather, as this creature was coming from Yorkward6 bearing a bottle with beer in her hand and her husband a cake in his bosom, he asked his wife this question: "Margery, if there came a man with a sword and would smite off my head unless that I should commune kindly7 with you as I have done before, say me truth of your conscience—for ye say ye will not lie—whether would ye suffer my head to be smit off or else suffer me to meddle with you again as I did sometime?" "Alas, sir," she said, "why move8 ye this matter and have we been chaste this eight weeks?" "For I will wit9 the truth of your heart." And then she said with great sorrow, "Forsooth, I had liefer1 see you be slain than we should turn again to our uncleanness." And he said again, 2 "Ye are no good wife." And then she asked her husband what was the cause that he had not meddled with her eight weeks before, sithen3 she lay with him every night in his bed. And he said he was so made afeared when he would have touched her that he durst no more do. "Now, good sir, amend you and ask God mercy, for I told you near three year sithen that ye should be slain suddenly, and now is this the third year, and yet I hope I shall have my desire. Good sir, I pray you grant me that I shall ask, and I shall pray for you that ye shall be saved through the mercy of our Lord Jesu Christ, and ye shall have more meed 4 in Heaven than if ye wore a hair or a habergeon. 5 I pray you, suffer me to make a vow of chastity in what bishop's hand that God will." "Nay," he said, "that will I not grant you, for now I may use you without deadly sin and then might I not so." 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Escaped. Expression. Flash of lightning. Ascended. Made stable. Pantry. The direction of York. In the way of nature.

8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Bring up. Learn. Rather. In reply. Since. Reward. Hair shirt or mail shirt.

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Then she said again, "If it be the will of the Holy Ghost to fulfill that I have said, I pray God ye might consent thereto; and if it be not the will of the Holy Ghost, I pray God ye never consent thereto." Then went they forth to Bridlingtonward 6 in right hot weather, the foresaid creature having great sorrow and great dread for her chastity. And as they came by a cross, her husband set him down under the cross, cieping 7 his wife unto him and saying these words unto her, "Margery, grant me my desire, and I shall grant you your desire. My first desire is that we shall lie still together in one bed as we have done before; the second that ye shall pay my debts ere ye go to Jerusalem; and the third that ye shall eat and drink with me on the Friday as ye were wont to do." 8 "Nay, sir," she said, "to break the Friday I will never grant you while I live." "Well," he said, "then shall I meddle with you again." She prayed him that he would give her leave to make her prayers, and he granted it goodly. Then she knelt down beside a cross in the field and prayed in this manner with great abundance of tears, "Lord God, thou knowest all thing; thou knowest what sorrow I have had to be chaste in my body to thee all this three year, and now might I have my will and I dare not for love of thee. For if I would break that manner of fasting which thou commandest me to keep on the Friday without meat 9 or drink, I should now have my desire. But, blessed Lord, thou knowest I will not contrary thy will, and mickle 1 now is my sorrow unless that I find comfort in thee. Now, blessed Jesu, make thy will known to me unworthy that I may follow thereafter and fulfil it with all my might." And then our Lord Jesu Christ with great sweetness spoke to this creature, commanding her to go again to her husband and pray him to grant her that she desired, "And he shall have that he desireth. For, my dearworthy daughter, this was the cause that I bade thee fast for thou shouldest the sooner obtain and get thy desire, and now it is granted thee. I will no longer thou fast, therefore I bid thee in the name of Jesu eat and drink as thy husband doth." Then this creature thanked our Lord Jesu Christ of his grace and his goodness, sithen 2 rose up and went to her husband, saying unto him, "Sir, if it like3 you, ye shall grant me my desire and ye shall have your desire. Granteth me that ye shall not come in my bed, and I grant you to quit your debts ere I go to Jerusalem. And maketh my body free to God so that ye never make no challenging in me 4 to ask no debt of matrimony after this day while ye live, and I shall eat and drink on the Friday at your bidding." Then said her husband again to her, "As free may your body be to God as it hath been to me." This creature thanked God greatly, enjoying that she had her desire, praying her husband that they should say three Pater Noster 5 in the worship of the Trinity for the great grace that he had granted them. And so they did, kneeling under a cross, and sithen they ate and drank together in great gladness of spirit. This was on a Friday on Midsummer Even.

6. In the direction of Bridlington. 7. Calling. 8. Christ had told her that keeping a strict Friday fast would allow her to have her wish to end further sexual relations with her husband. 9. Food. 1. Much.

2. Afterward. 3. Please. 4. Make my body free to [be possessed by] God so that you never call me to account. Kempe uses legal terminology. 5. "Our Father," i.e, the Lord's Prayer.

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Book 1.20 [MARGERY SEES THE HOST6 FLUTTER AT MASS]

On a day as this creature was hearing her mass, a young man and a good priest holding up the sacrament 7 in his hands over his head, the sacrament shook and flickered to and fro as a dove flickers with her wings. And, when he held up the chalice with the precious sacrament, the chalice moved to and fro as it should have fallen out of his hands. When the sacre 8 was done, this creature had great marvel of the stirring and moving of the blessed sacrament, desiring to see more sacres and looking if it would so again. Then said our Lord Jesu Christ to the creature, "Thou 9 shalt no more see it in this manner, therefore thank God that1 thou hast seen. My daughter, Bridget,2 saw me never in this way." Then said this creature in her thought, "Lord, what betokeneth this?" "It betokeneth vengeance." "A, good Lord, what vengeance?" Then said our Lord again3 to her, "There shall be an erdene, 4 tell it whom thou wilt in the name of Jesu. For I tell thee forsooth right as I spoke to Saint Bridget right so I speak to thee, daughter, and I tell thee truly it is true every word that is written in Bridget's book, and by thee it shall be known for very truth. And thou shalt fare well, daughter, in spite of all thy enemies; the more envy5 they have to thee for my grace, the better shall I love thee. I were not rightful God but6 I proved thee, for I know thee better than thou dost thyself, what that ever men say of thee. Thou sayst I have great patience in the sin of the people, and thou sayst soth, but, if thou saw the sin of the people as I do, thou shouldst have much more marvel in my patience and much more sorrow in the sin of the people than thou hast." Then the creature said, "Alas, dearworthy Lord, what shall I do for the people?" Our Lord answered, "It is enough to thee to do as thou dost." Then she prayed, "Merciful Lord Christ Jesu, in thee is all mercy and grace and goodness. Have mercy, pity and compassion of them. Show thy mercy and thy goodness upon them, help them, send them very contrition, and let them never die in their sin." Our merciful Lord said, "I may no more, daughter, of my rightfulness do for them than I do. I send them preaching and teaching, pestilence and battles, hunger and famine, loss of their goods with great sickness, and many other tribulations, and they will not believe my words ne7 they will not know my visitation. And therefore I shall say to them that I made my servants to pray for you,8 and ye despised their works and their living."

6. I.e., the Eucharistic wafer, consumed in the sacrament of Communion. 7. A metonymy for the Eucharistic wafer, strictly one of the seven sacraments. 8. Consecration of the Eucharist, the moment at which the bread becomes the body of Christ. 9. Middle English has two forms of singular address, one formal ("ye") and one informal ("thou"). Christ and Margery address each other informally, while Margery and her husband do so formally.

1. Of what. 2. Saint Bridget of Sweden (ca. 1 3 0 3 - 1 3 7 3 ) , to whose Revelations Margery refers in Book 1.17 and 1.58. 3. In reply. 4. Earthquake. 5. Malice. 6. Unless. 7. Nor. 8. The plural form ("for you," the people).

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Book 1.28 [PILGRIMAGE TO JERUSALEM]

* * * And so they went forth into the Holy Land till they might see Jerusalem. And when this creature saw Jerusalem, riding on an ass, she thanked God with all her heart, praying him for his mercy that like as he had brought her to see this earthly city Jerusalem, he would grant her grace to see the blissful city Jerusalem above, the city of Heaven. Our Lord Jesu Christ, answering to her thought, granted her to have her desire. Then for joy that she had and the sweetness that she felt in the dalliance 1 of our Lord, she was in point to have fallen off her ass, for she might not bear the sweetness and grace that God wrought in her soul. Then twain2 pilgrims of Dutchmen went to her and kept her from falling, of which the one was a priest. And he put spices in her mouth to comfort her, weening3 she had been sick. And so they helped her forth to Jerusalem. And when she came there, she said, "Sirs, I pray you be not displeased though I weep sore in this holy place where our Lord Jesu Christ was quick4 and dead." Then went they to the Temple 5 in Jerusalem, and they were let in the one day at evensong time and they abide there till the next day at evensong time. Then the friars lifted up a cross and led the pilgrims about from one place to another where our Lord had suffered his pains and his passions, every man and woman bearing a wax candle in their hand. And the friars always as they went about told them what our Lord suffered in every place. 6 And the foresaid creature wept and sobbed so plentivously7 as though she had seen our Lord with her bodily eye suffering his Passion at that time. Before her in her soul she saw him verily by contemplation, and that caused her to have compassion. And when they came up onto the Mount of Calvary she fell down that she might not stand nor kneel but wallowed and wrested8 with her body, spreading her arms abroad, and cried with a loud voice as though her heart should have burst asunder, for in the city of her soul she saw verily and freshly how our Lord was crucified. Before her face she heard and saw in her ghostly sight the mourning of our Lady, of St. John and of Mary Magdalene, 9 and of many other that loved our Lord. And she had so great compassion and so great pain to see our Lord's pain that she might not keep herself from crying and roaring though she should have been dead therefore. And this was the first cry that ever she cried in any contemplation. And this manner of crying endured many years after this time for aught that any man might do, and therefore suffered she much despite and much reproof. The crying was so loud and so wonderful that it made the people astoned 1 unless that they had heard it before or else that they knew the cause of the crying. And she had them so oftentimes that they made her right2 weak in her bodily mights, and namely if she heard of our Lord's Passion. And sometime when she saw the Crucifix, or if she saw a man had a wound or a beast, whether3 it were, or if a man beat a child before her or smote a horse or another beast 9

9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

The company of pilgrims. Conversation. Two. Thinking. Living. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I.e., in Jerusalem. Plentifully.

8. Twisted and turned. 9. Mary, St. John, and Mary Magdalene are traditionally portrayed at the foot of the Cross in medieval art. See John 19.25. 1. Astonished. 2. Especially. 3. Whichever.

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with a whip, if she might see it or hear it, her thought she saw our Lord be beaten or wounded like as she saw in the man or in the beast, as well in the field as in the town, and by herself alone as well as among the people. First when she had her cryings at Jerusalem, she had them oftentimes, and in Rome also. And when she came home into England, first at her coming home it came but seldom as it were once in a month, sithen 4 once in the week, afterward quotidianly,5 and once she had fourteen on one day, and another day she had seven, and so as God would visit her, sometime in the church, sometime in the street, sometime in the chamber, sometime in the field when God would send them, for she knew never time nor hour when they should come. And they came never without passing 6 great sweetness of devotion and high contemplation. And as soon as she perceived that she should cry, she would keep it in as much as she might that the people should not have heard it for noying7 of them. For some said it was a wicked spirit vexed her; some said it was a sickness; some said she had drunken too much wine; some banned 8 her; some wished she had been in the haven;9 some would she had been in the sea in a bottomless boat; and so each man as him thought. Other ghostly1 men loved her and favored her the more. Some great clerks2 said our Lady cried never so, nor no saint in Heaven, but they knew full little what she felt, nor they would not believe but that she might have abstained her from crying if she had wished.

Book 1.35-36 [MARGERY'S MARRIAGE TO AND INTIMACY WITH CHRIST]

35. As this creature was in the Apostles' Church at Rome on Saint Lateran's Day,3 the Father of Heaven said to her, "Daughter, I am well pleased with thee inasmuch as thou believest in all the sacraments of Holy Church and in all faith that longeth4 thereto, and especially for that thou believest in manhood of my Son and for the great compassion that thou hast of His bitter Passion." Also the Father said to this creature, "Daughter, I will have thee wedded to my Godhead, for I shall show thee my privities and my counsels, 5 for thou shall wonen6 with me without end." Then the creature kept silence in her soul and answered not thereto, for she was sore afraid of the Godhead and she could no skill7 of the dalliance of the Godhead, for all her love and all her affection was set in the manhood of Christ, and thereof could she good skill and she would for no thing have parted therefrom. She was so much affected to8 the manhood of Christ that when she saw women in Rome bear children in their arms, if she might witen9 that they were any menchildren, she should then cry, roar, and weep as though she had seen Christ in His childhood. And, if she might have had her will, oftentimes she would have taken the children out of the mothers' arms and have kissed them in the stead of Christ. And, if she saw a seemly1 man, she 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2.

After. Daily. Surpassing. Annoying. Cursed. Harbor. Spiritual. Clerics.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1.

Saint John Lateran's Day, November ' Pertains. Private deliberations. Dwell. "Could no skill": was ignorant of. Drawn to. Know. Handsome.

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had great pain to look on Him less than 2 she might have seen Him that was both God and Man. And therefore she cried many times and often when she met a seemly man and wept and sobbed full sore in the manhood of Christ as she went in the streets at Rome, that they that saw her wondered full much on her, for they knew not the cause. And therefore it was no wonder if she were still3 and answered not the Father of Heaven when He told her that she should be wedded to His Godhead. Then said the Second Person, Christ Jesu, whose manhood she loved so much, to her, "What sayst thou, Margery, daughter, to my Father of these words that He speaketh to thee? Art thou well pleased that it be so?" And then she would not answer the Second Person but wept wonder sore, desiring to have still Himself and in no wise to be departed from Him. Then the Second Person in Trinity answered to His Father for her and said, "Father, have her excused, for she is yet but young and not fully learned 4 how she should answer." And then the Father took her by the hand in her soul before the Son and the Holy Ghost and the Mother of Jesu, and all the twelve apostles and Saint Katherine and Saint Margaret, and many other saints and holy virgins with great multitude of angels, saying to her soul, "I take thee, Margery, for my wedded wife, for fairer, for fouler, for richer, for poorer, so that 5 thou be buxom 6 and bonyr7 to do what I bid thee do. For, daughter, there was never child so buxom to the mother as I shall be to thee both in well and in woe, to help thee and comfort thee. And thereto I make thee surety." And then the Mother of God and all the saints that were present in her soul prayed that they might have much joy together. And then the creature with high devotion, with great plenty of tears, thanked God of this ghostly8 comfort holding9 herself in her own feeling right unworthy to any such grace as she felt, for she felt many great comforts, both ghostly comforts and bodily comforts. Sometimes she felt sweet smells with her nose; it were sweeter, her thought, 1 than ever was any sweet earthly thing that she smelled before, nor she might never tell how sweet it were, for her thought she might have lived thereby if they would have lasted. Sometimes she heard with her bodily ears such sounds and melodies that she might not well hear what a man said to her in that time less 2 he spoke the louder. These sounds and melodies had she heard nyhand3 every day the term of twenty-five year when this book was written, and especially when she was in devout prayer, also many times while she was at Rome and in England both. She saw with her bodily eyes many white things flying all about her on every side as thick in a manner as motes 4 in the sun; it were right subtle and comfortable, and the brighter that the sun shined, the better she might see them. She saw them diverse times and in many diverse places, both in church and in her chamber, at her meat 5 and in her prayers, in field and in town, both going and sitting. And many times she was afraid what they might be, for she saw them as well on nights in darkness as on daylight. Then, when she was afraid of them, our Lord said unto her, "By this token, daughter, believe it is God that speaketh in thee, for whereso God is Heaven is, and where that God 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Unless. Silent. Instructed. As long as. Obedient. Submissive. Spiritual.

9. I. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Considering herself. It seemed to her. Unless. Almost. Specks of dust. Food.

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is there be m a n y a n g e l s , a n d G o d is in t h e e a n d thou art in H i m . A n d therefore be not afraid, d a u g h t e r , for t h e s e b e t o k e n that t h o u hast many angels a b o u t thee to keep thee both day a n d night that no devil shall have power over t h e e nor n o n e evil m a n to dere 6 t h e e . " T h e n f r o m that time forward s h e u s e d to say

when she saw them come, "Benedictus qui venit in nomine domini." 7 Also our

Lord gave her a n o t h e r token, the which e n d u r e d a b o u t sixteen year a n d it i n c r e a s e d ever m o r e a n d m o r e , a n d that was a f l a m e of fire wonder hot a n d d e l e c t a b l e a n d right c o m f o r t a b l e , not wasting but ever increasing, of lowe, 8 for t h o u g h the weather were never so cold, s h e felt the heat burning in her b r e a s t a n d at her heart, as verily as a m a n s h o u l d feel the material fire if he p u t his h a n d or his finger therein. W h e n s h e felt first the fire of love burning in her breast, s h e was afraid thereof, a n d then our L o r d a n s w e r e d to her m i n d a n d said, " D a u g h t e r , be not afraid, for this heat is the heat of the Holy G h o s t , the which shall b u r n away all thy sins, for the fire of love q u e n c h e t h 9 all sins. A n d thou shalt u n d e r s t a n d by this token the Holy G h o s t is in thee, a n d thou wost 1 well wherethatever the Holy G h o s t is there is the Father, a n d where the F a t h e r is there is the S o n , a n d so thou hast fully in thy soul all the Holy Trinity. T h e r e f o r e thou h a s t great c a u s e to love me right well, a n d yet thou shalt have greater c a u s e than ever thou h a d d e s t to love m e , for thou shalt hear that 2 thou never heardest, a n d thou shalt s e e that thou never saw, a n d thou shalt feel that thou never feltest. For, d a u g h t e r , t h o u art as sekyr 3 of the love of G o d as G o d is G o d . Thy soul is m o r e sekyr of the love of G o d than of thine own body, for thy soul shall part 4 f r o m thy body but G o d shall never part f r o m thy soul, for they be 5 onyd 6 together without end. T h e r e f o r e , d a u g h t e r , thou hast as great c a u s e to be merry as any lady in this world, a n d , if thou knew, daughter, how m u c h thou p l e a s e s t me w h e n t h o u s u f f r e s t me wilfully to s p e a k in thee, thou s h u l d e s t never do otherwise, for in this is an holy life a n d the time is right well spent. For, d a u g h t e r , this life p l e a s e t h me m o r e than wearing of h a b e r g e o n 7 or of the hair 8 or f a s t i n g of b r e a d a n d water, for if thou seydest every day a t h o u s a n d Pater N o s t e r , 9 thou s h o u l d s t not p l e a s e me so well as thou dost w h e n thou art in silence a n d s u f f e r e s t me to s p e a k in thy soul. 36. " F a s t i n g , daughter, i s g o o d for y o u n g b e g i n n e r s a n d discrete 1 p e n a n c e , namely 2 that their ghostly f a t h e r giveth them or enjoineth 3 them for to do. A n d for to bid m a n y b e a d s 4 it is g o o d to them that c a n no better do, a n d yet it is not perfect. B u t it is a g o o d way to perfection ward. For I tell thee, d a u g h t e r , they that a r e great f a s t e r s a n d great doers of p e n a n c e they woId s that it should be held 6 the b e s t life; also they that give themselves to say m a n y devotions they wold have that the b e s t life, a n d they that give m u c h a l m s they wold that that were held the b e s t life. A n d I have o f t e n t i m e s , daughter, told thee that thinking, weeping, a n d high c o n t e m p l a t i o n is the best life in earth. A n d thou

6. Harm. 7. "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord" (Matthew 21.9). A blessing used in the Mass as part of the consecration. 8. Flame. 9. Extinguishes. 1. Know. 2. That which. 3. Certain. 4. Separate. 5. Are.

6. United. 7. Sleeveless coat or jacket of chain mail. 8. Hair-shirt, worn by penitents. 9. "Our Father," i.e. the Lord's Prayer. 1. Circumspect. 2. Especially. 3. Imposes upon. 4. Prayers (the original sense of the word "bedes," applied by association to beads in a rosary). 5. Desire. 6. Considered.

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shalt have more merit in heaven for one year of thinking in thy mind than for an hundred year of praying with thy mouth, and yet thou wilt not believe me, for thou wilt bid many beads whether I will or not. "And yet, daughter, I will not be displeased with thee whether7 thou think, say, or speak, for I am always pleased with thee. And, if I were in earth as bodily as I was ere I died on the cross, I should not be ashamed of thee as many other men be, for I should take thee by the hand among the people and make thee great cheer that they should well know that I loved thee right well. For it is convenient8 the wife to be homely9 with her husband. Be he never so great a lord and she so poor a woman when he weddeth her, yet they must lie together and rest together in joy and peace. Right so must it be between thee and me, for I take no heed what thou hast been but what thou woldest1 be. And oftentimes have I told thee that I have clean forgiven thee all thy sins. Therefore must I needs be homely with thee and lie in thy bed with thee. "Daughter, thou desirest greatly to see me, and thou mayst boldly, when thou art in thy bed, take me to thee as for thy wedded husband, as thy dearworthy darling, and as for thy sweet Son, for I will be loved as a son should be loved with the mother and will that thou love me, daughter, as a good wife ought to love her husband. And therefore thou mayst boldly take me in the arms of thy soul and kiss my mouth, my head, and my feet as sweetly as thou wilt. And, as oftentimes as thou thinkest on me ere thou woldest do any good deed to me, thou shalt have the same meed 2 in heaven as if thou didst it to mine own precious body which is in heaven, for I ask no more of thee but thine heart for to love, that Ioveth thee,3 for my love is ever ready to thee." Then gave she thanking and praising to our Lord Jesu Christ for the high grace and mercy that He showed unto her unworthy wretch. This creature had diverse tokens in her bodily hearing. One was a manner of sound as it had been a pair of bellows blowing in her ear. She, being abashed 4 thereof, was warned in her soul no fear to have for it was the sound of the Holy Ghost. And then our Lord turned that sound into the voice of a dove, and sithen5 He turned it into the voice of a little bird which is called a redbreast that sang full merrily oftentimes in her right ear. And then should she evermore have great grace after that she heard such a token. And she had been used to such tokens about twenty-five year at the writing of this book. Then said our Lord Jesu Christ to His creature, "By these tokens mayst thou well witen6 that I love thee, for thou art to me a very mother and to all the world, for that great charity that is in thee, and yet I am cause of that charity myself, and thou shalt have a great mede therefore in heaven."

Book 1.60 [MARGERY'S REACTION TO A PIETA 7 ]

The good priest, of whom it is written before, the which was her Iystere,8 fell in great sickness, and she was stirred in her soul for to keep him in God's stead. 7. Whatever. 8. Fitting. 9. Familiar. 1. Wish to. 2. Reward. 3. Referring back to Christ (i.e., "I, who love you, ask . . ."). 4. Confounded.

5. Afterward. 6. Know. 7. An image, painted or sculpted, of the dead Christ laid across the Virgin's lap. 8. Reader. Book 1.58 relates how a priest newly arrived in Lynn read to Margery, across seven or eight years, from the Bible and from visionary texts.

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And, when she failed 9 such as was needful for him, she went about to good men and good women and got such thing as was necessary unto him. He was so sick that men trusted no thing to his life, and his sickness was long continuing. Then on a time, as she was in the church hearing her mass and prayed for the same priest, our Lord said to her that he should live and fare right well. Then was she stirred to go to Norwich to Saint Stephen's Church where is buried the good vicar,1 which died but little before that time, for whom God showed high mercy to His people, and thank Him for recuring 2 of this priest. She took leave of her confessor, going forth to Norwich. When she came in the church yard of Saint Stephen, she cried, she roared, she wept, she fell down to the ground, so fervently the fire of love burnt in her heart. Sithen she rose up again and went forth weeping into the church to the high altar, and there she fell down with boistous 3 sobbings, weepings, and loud cries beside the grave of the good vicar, all ravished with ghostly4 comfort in the goodness of our Lord that wrought so great grace for His servant which had been her confessor and many times heard her confession of all her living,5 and ministered to her the precious sacrament of the altar diverse times. And in so much was her devotion the more increased that she saw our Lord work so special grace for such a creature as she had been conversant with6 in his lifetime. She had so holy thoughts and so holy mendys 7 that she might not measure 8 her weeping nor her crying. And therefore the people had greatly marvel of her, supposing that she had wept for some fleshly or earthly affection, and said unto her, "What aileth thee woman? Why farest thus with thyself? We knew him as well as thou." Then were priests in the same place which knew her manner of working, and they charitefully led her to a tavern and dede 9 her drink and made her full high and goodly cheer. Also there was a lady desired to have the said creature to mete. 1 And therefore, as honesty wold,2 she went to the church there the lady heard her service, where this creature saw a fair image of our Lady cleped 3 a Pieta. And through the beholding of that Pieta her mind was all wholly occupied in the Passion of our Lord Jesu Christ and in the compassion of our Lady, Saint Mary, by which she was compelled to cry full loud and weep full sore, as though she should have died. Then came to her the lady's priest saying, "Damsel, Jesu is dead long sithen." 4 When her crying was ceased, she said to the priest, "Sir, His death is as fresh to me as He had died this same day, and so me thinketh it ought to be to you and to all Christian people. We ought ever to have mind of His kindness and ever think of the doleful death that He died for us." Then the good lady, hearing her communication, said, "Sir, it is a good example to me, and to other men also, the grace that God worketh in her soul." And so the good lady was her advocate and answered for her. Sithen she had her home with her to mete and showed her full glad and goodly cheer as long as she would abide there. And soon after she cam home again to Lynn, and the foresaid priest, for whom she went most specially to Norwich, which had read her about seven year,5

9. Lacked. I. Richard of Caister (d. 1429), who had a reputation for sanctity. 2. T h e recovery. 3. Powerful, loud. 4. Spiritual. 5. Of (sins committed in) her entire life. 6. Familiar with.

7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Visions. Control. Made. To invite the said creature to dine. Good manners required. Called. Since. Read to her.

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recovered and went about where him liked,6 thanked be Almighty God for His goodness. Book

1.76

[MARGERY N U R S E S HER HUSBAND IN HIS OLD AGE]

It happed on a time that the husband of the said creature, a man in great age passing three score year, 7 as he would have come down of his chamber barefoot and barelegged, he sledered 8 or else failed of his footing and fell down to the ground fro the greses, 9 and his head under him grievously broken and bruised, in so much that he had in his head five tents 1 many days while his head was in healing. And, as God would, it was known to some of his neighbors how he was fallen down of the greses, peradventure 2 through the din and the lushing 3 of his falling. And so they came to him and found him lying with his head under him, half alive, all rowed4 with blood, never like to have spoken with priest ne with clerk but through high grace and miracle.'5 Then the said creature, his wife, was sent for, and so she came to him. Then was he taken up and his head was sewed, and he was sick a long time after that 6 men weened 7 that he should be dead. And then the people said, if he died, his wife was worthy to be hanged for his death, forasmuch as she might have kept him and did not. They dwelled not together, ne they lay not together, for, as is written before, the both with one assent and with free will of their either 8 had made a vow to live chaste. And therefore to enchewen 9 all perils they dwelled and sojourned in diverse places where no suspicion should be had of their incontinence, for first they dwelled together after that they had made their vow, and then the people slandered them and said they used their lust and their liking as they did before their vow-making. And when they went out on pilgrimage or to see and speak with other ghostly creatures, many evil folk whose tongues were their own hurt, failing the dread and love of our Lord Jesu Christ, 1 deemed and said that they went rather to woods, groves, orvaleys to use 2 the lust of their bodies that the people should not aspie it ne wit it. They, having knowledge of how prone the people was to deem evil of them, desiring to avoid all occasion, in as much as they might goodly, by their good will and their both consenting, they parted asunder as touching to their board and their chambers, and weened to board in diverse places. And this was the cause that she was not with him and also that she should not be letted3 fro her contemplation. And therefore when he had fallen and grievously was hurt, as is said before, the people said if he died, it was worthy that she should 4 answer for his death. Then she prayed to our Lord that her husband might live a year and she to be delivered out [of] slander if it were His pleasance. 5 Our Lord said to her mind, "Daughter, thou shalt have thy boon, for he shall live, and I have 6. It pleased him. 7. Sixty years. 8. Slipped. 9. Steps. 1. Swabs for probing wounds. 2. Perchance. 3. Rushing. 4. Streaked. 5. I.e., unlikely to have confessed to a priest and received last rites except by grace.

6. So that. 7. Thought. 8. Each of them. 9. Avoid. 1. I.e., their gossip hurt themselves, [because] lacking in fear and love of Christ. 2. Practice. 3. Prevented. 4. She deserved to. 5. If he pleased.

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wrought a great miracle for thee that he was not dead. And I bid thee take him home and keep him for my love." She said, "Nay, good Lord, for I shall then not tend to thee as I do now." "Yes, daughter," said our Lord, "thou shalt have as much meed 6 for to keep him and help him in his need at home as if thou were in church to make thy prayers. And thou hast said many times that thou wouldst fain keep me. I pray thee now keep him for the love of me, for he hath sometime fulfilled thy will and my will both, and he hath made thy body free to me that thou shouldst serve me and live chaste and clean, and therefore I will that thou be free to help him at his need in my name." "A, Lord," said she, "for thy mercy grant me grace to obey Thy will and fulfill Thy will and let never my ghostly enemies have no power to let me fro fulfilling of Thy will." Then she took home her husband to her and kept him years after as long as he lived and had full much labor with him, for in his last days he turned childish again and lacked reason, that7 he could not do his own easement to go to a sege 8 or else he would not, but as a child voided his natural digestion in his linen clothes there he sat by the fire or at the table, whether it were,9 he would spare no place. And therefore was her labor much the more in washing and wringing and her costage in firing 1 and letted her full much fro her contemplation that many times she should have irked2 her labor save she bethought her how she in her young age had full many delectable thoughts, fleshly lusts, and inordinate loves to his person. 3 And therefore she was glad to be punished with the same person and took it much the more easily and served him and helped him, as her thought, as she would have done Christ himself. Book

1.79

[MARGERY'S VISION OF THE PASSION S E Q U E N C E 4 ]

Then she beheld in the sight of her soul our blissful Lord Christ Jesu coming to His passionward, and, ere He went, He kneeled down and took His mother's blessing. Then she saw His mother falling down in swooning before her Son, saying unto him, "Alas, my dear Son, how shall I suffer this sorrow and have no joy in all this world but thee alone." "A, dear Son, if thou wilt algates 5 die, let me die before thee and let me never suffer this day of sorrow, for I may never bear this sorrow that I shall have for thy death. I wolde, Son, that I might suffer death for thee so that thou shouldst not die, if man's soul might be so saved. Now, dear Son, if thou have no ruth 6 of thyself, have ruth of thy mother, for thou wost7 full well there can no man in all this world comfort me but thou alone." Then our Lord took up His mother in His arms and kissed her full sweetly and said to her, "A, blessed mother, be of a good cheer and of a good comfort, for I have told you full often that I must needs suffer death and elles 8 should no man be saved ne 9 never come in bliss. And mother, it is my Father's will 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3.

Reward. So that. Stool. Wherever it might be. Expense in firewood. Have resented. Body.

4. Margery experiences this vision while she participates in a Palm Sunday Mass. 5. In any case. 6. Pity. 7. Know. 8. Otherwise. 9. Nor.

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CHRIST'S HUMANITY

that it be so, and therefore I pray you let it be your will also, for my death shall turn me to great worship 1 and you and all mankind to great joy and profit which that 2 trust in my Passion and work thereafter. And therefore, blessed mother, ye must abide here after me, for in you shall rest all the faith of Holy Church, and by your faith Holy Church shall increase in her faith. And therefore I pray you, dearworthy mother, ceaseth of your sorrowing, for I shall not leave you comfortless. I shall leave here with you John, my cousin, to comfort you in stead of me; I shall send my holy angels to comfort you in earth; and I shall comfort you in your soul mine own self, for, mother, ye wote3 well I have behyte4 you the bliss of heaven and that ye are sekir thereof. A dearworthy mother, what would ye better than there I am king ye for to be queen, and all angels and saints shall be buxom 5 to your will. And what grace ye ask me I shall not deny your desire. I shall give you power over the devils that they shall be afraid of you and ye not of them. And also, my blessed mother, I have said to you before time that I shall come for you mine own self when ye shall pass out of this world with ail mine angels and all mine saints that are in heaven and bring you before my Father with all manner of music, melody, and joy. And there shall I set you in great peace and rest without end. And there shall ye be crowned as for Queen of Heaven, as for lady of all the world, and as for Empress of Hell. And therefore, my dearworthy mother, I pray you blesseth me and let me go do my Father's will, for therefore I came into this world and took flesh and blood of you." When the said creature beheld this glorious sight in her soul and saw how He blessed His mother and His mother him, and then His blessed mother might not speak one word more to Him but fell down to the ground, and so they parted asunder, His mother lying still as she had been dead, then the said creature thought she took our Lord Jesu Christ by the clothes and fell down at His feet, praying Him to bless her, and therewith she cried full loud and wept right sore, saying in her mind, "A, Lord, where shall I become? 6 I had well lever7 that thou woldest slay me than let me abide in the world without thee, for without thee I may not abide here, Lord." Then answered our Lord to her, "Be still, daughter, and rest you with my mother here and comfort thee in her, for she that is mine own mother must suffer this sorrow. But I shall come again, daughter, to my mother and comfort her and thee both and turn all your sorrow into joy." And then her thought 8 our Lord went forth His way, and she went to our Lady and said, "A, blessed Lady, riseth up and let us follow your blessed son as long as we may see Him that I may look enough upon Him ere He die. A, dear Lady, how may your heart last and see your blissful son see all this woe? Lady, I may not dure 9 it, and yit am I not His mother." Then our Lady answered and said, "Daughter, thou hearest well it will none otherwise be, and therefore I must needs suffer it for my son's love." And then her thought that they followed forth after our Lord and saw how He made His prayers to His Father in the Mount of Olives1 and heard the goodly answer that came from His Father and the goodly answer that He gave 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Bring great honor to me. Those who. Know. Promised. Obedient. What shall become of me?

7. Rather. 8. It seemed. 9. Endure. 1. For Christ's betrayal on the Mount of Olives, see Luke 2 2 . 3 9 - 5 4 and John 1 8 . 3 - 1 2 .

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THE

BOOK OF MARGERY KEMPE

397

His Father again. 2 Then she saw how our Lord went to His disciples and bad them wake; His enemies were near. And then came a great multitude of people with much light and many armed men with staves, swords, and poleaxes to seek our Lord Jesu Christ. Our merciful Lord as a meek Iamb saying unto them, "Whom seek ye?," they answered with a sharp spirit, "Jesu of Nazareth." Our Lord again, 3 "Ego sum" 4 And then she saw the Jews fall down on the ground, they might not stand for dread, but anon they rose again and sought as they had done before. And our Lord asked, "Whom seek ye?" And they said again, "Jesu of Nazareth." Our Lord answered, "I it am." And then anon she saw Judas come and kiss our Lord, and the Jews laid hands upon Him full violently. Then had our Lady and she much sorrow and great pain to see the Iamb of innocence so contemptibly be held and drawn with5 His own people that He was specially sent unto. And aswithe6 the said creature beheld with her ghostly7 eye the Jews putting a cloth before our Lord's eyes, beating Him and buffeting Him in the head and bobbing8 Him before His sweet mouth, crying full cruelly unto him, "Tell us now who smote thee." They spared not to spit in His face in the most shameful wise that they could. And then our Lady and she her unworthy handmaiden for the time wept and sighed full sore for the Jews fared 9 so foully and so venemously with their blissful Lord. And they would not spare to Iugge1 his blissful ears and draw2 the hair of his beard. And anon after she saw them draw off His clothes and make Him all naked and sithen drew Him forth afore them as it had been the most3 malefactor in all the world. And He went forth meekly afore them, all mother-naked as He was born, to a pillar of stone and spake no word again 4 them but let them do and say what they wolde.5 And there they bound Him to the pillar as straitly as they could and beat Him on His fair white body with baleys,6 th whips, and with scourges. And then her thought our Lady wept wonder sore. And therefore the said creature must needs weep and cry when she saw such ghostly sights in her soul as freshly and as verily as if it had been done in deed in her bodily sight, and her thought that our Lady and she were always together to see our Lord's pains. Such ghostly sights had she every Palm Sunday and every Good Friday, and in many other ways both many years together. And therefore cried she and wept full sore and suffered full much despite and reproof in many a country. And then our Lord said to her soul, "Daughter, these sorrows and many more suffered I for thy love, and diverse pains, more than any man can tell in earth. Therefore, daughter, thou hast great cause to love me right well, for I have bought thy love full dear." 1436-38

2. B. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

In reply. In reply. "I am He"; John 1 8 . 4 - 8 . By. Just as quickly. Spiritual. Striking.

9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Acted. Tug. Pull. Greatest. In response to. Wished. Rods.

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398

T H E Y O R K PLAY O F T H E C R U C I F I X I O N ca. 1425 The climax of the mystery cycles (on the cycles see the introduction to "Mystery Plays") is reached with a sequence of plays about the passion, or suffering, of Christ. Everything in each cycle leads up to the Crucifixion, the turning point in human history, when the original sin of Adam and Eve is paid for by Christ's suffering and death. No cycle has a more dramatic series of passion plays than that performed at York, the longest of the four extant English cycles. Records of the York mystery plays begin to appear in the last quarter of the fourteenth century when York was, next to London, England's most populous and prosperous city. Richard II came to see the cycle in 1397. Sometime after 1415 the plays of the passion sequence were extensively revised by a gifted playwright referred to by scholars as the York Realist. The Crucifixion, although not written in that author's distinctive alliterative style, has sometimes been attributed to him, and is, in any case, a powerful example of late medieval dramatic art. It is also an especially powerful example of the representation of Christ in his suffering humanity that was characteristic of late medieval spirituality. The York plays leading up to the Crucifixion are especially cruel: a silent Jesus is vilified, scourged, crowned with thorns, and battered and mocked in a sadistic game of blind man's bluff. Much of the York Crucifixion revolves around the mechanical difficulties the soldiers encounter in nailing Jesus to the Cross. The play focuses on the soldiers; they are villains, to be sure, but ordinary men engaged in what they see as ordinary work. They are not monsters. The gory details, part of the play's "realism," create a shudder, but the play has larger designs on its audience. While the soldiers are hard at work, the audience see only them, complaining of bad workmanship in those who bored the nail holes too far apart, necessitating the stretching of Christ's arms. Only when Christ is raised does the audience recognize the full extent to which both soldiers and audience have been immune from the pain inflicted by the soldiers' work. When the Cross is finally raised, the actor-Christ speaks to "All men that walk by way or street" (cf. the lyric "Ye that Pasen by the Weye," derived from Lamentations 1.12). He thereby addresses the spectators in the streets of York as though they were representing the crowd around the Cross on Calvary, directly involving and implicating them in the drama and its theme of salvation. The soldiers may concentrate on their "work" of nailing Christ to the Cross, but the audience is prompted to reflect on the relation between daily labor and the "works" of mercy incumbent upon each Christian. The meaning of Christ's words is, however, lost on the soldiers, who truly "know not what they do" and proceed to quarrel about possession of Christ's cloak.

The York Play of the Crucifixion C A S T OF CHARACTERS JESUS

FOUR SOLDIERS [Calvary]

IST SOLDIER.

Sir knights, take heed hither in hie,° This deed on dergh we may not draw.1

1. We may not delay the time of this deed.

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haste

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T H E YORK PLAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION

2ND SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER.

4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2 N D SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Ye woot° yourself as well as I How lords and leaders of our law Has given doom that this dote° shall die. Sir, all their counsel well we know. Sen° we are comen to Calvary, Let ilk° man help now as him awe.°

399

know fool since each / ought

W e a r e all r e a d y , lo,

This forward 0 to fulfill. Let hear how we shall do, And go we tite theretill.2 It may not help here for to hone,° If we shall any worship 0 win. He must be dead needlings 0 by noon. Then is good time that we begin. Let ding° him down, then is he done: He shall not dere° us with his din. He shall be set and learned soon 3 With care° to him and all his kin. The foulest dead 0 of all Shall he die for his deeds. That means cross 0 him we shall. Behold, so right he reads. 0

agreement

delay honor of necessity strike annoy soirow death crucify speaks

Then to this work us must take heed, So that our working be not wrang.° None other note to neven is need, 4 But let us haste him for to hang. And I have gone for gear good speed, 5 Both hammers and nails large and Iang.0 Then may we boldly do this deed. Come on, let kill this traitor strong. 0 Fair might ye fall in fere 6 That has wrought on this wise. U S needs not for to Iear° Such faitours 0 to chastise. Sen ilk a thing is right arrayed, The wiselier0 now work may we. The cross on ground is goodly graid, 0 And bored 7 even as it ought to be. Look that the lad on length be laid, And made be fest° unto this tree.8 For all his fare he shall be flayed: 0 That on assay 9 soon shall ye see. Come forth, thou cursed knave,

And let's get to it quickly. He'll be put in his place and taught quickly. There is no need to mention any other business. Quickly. May you all have good luck together.

wrong

long

learn

more skillfully prepared

fastened beaten

7. I.e., bored with holes for the nails, which were probably wooden. 8. I.e., the cross. "Fare": behavior. 9. I.e., in actual experience.

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400

CHRIST'S HUMANITY

4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

Thy comfort soon shall keel. 0 Thine hire here shall thou have. Walk on, now work we week 0 Almighty God, my Father free, 0 Let these matters be made in mind: Thou bade that I should buxom 0 be, For Adam 0 plight for to be pined. 0 Here to dead 0 I oblige me 1 Fro° that sin for to save mankind, And sovereignly beseek I thee, 2 That they for me may favor find. And from the Fiend them fend, 0 So that their souls be safe, In wealth 0 withouten end. I keep 0 nought else to crave.

JESUS

IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

grow cold, well noble

obedient Adam's / tortured death from

We, 3 hark, sir knights, for Mahound's blood. Of Adam-kind° is all his thought! The warlock waxes worse than wood. 4 This doleful dead 0 ne dreadeth he nought. Thou should have mind, with main and mood, 5 Of wicked works that thou hast wrought. I hope 0 that he had been as good 0 Have ceased of saws that he up sought. 6 Those saws 0 shall rue° him sore For all his sauntering 7 soon. I'll speed them that him spare 8 Till he to dead 0 be done. Have done belive,0 boy, and make thee boun° And bend thy back unto this tree. [JESUS

lies

defend welfare care

mankind death

think / well off sayings

death at once / ready

down.]

Behold, himself has laid him down, In length and breadth as he should be. This traitor here tainted 0 of treasoun, Go fast and fetch him then, ye three. And sen he claimeth kingdom with crown, Even as a king here hang shall he. N O W certes I shall not fine 0 Ere his right hand be fest.° The left hand then is mine: Let see who bears him 9 best. His limbs on length then shall I lead/

1. Render myself liable. 2. And above all I beseech thee. 3. "We": an exclamation of surprise or displeasure. "Mahound's": Muhammad's; the sacred figures of other religions were considered devils by Christians in the Middle Ages; the soldier is swearing by the Devil. 4. This devil grows worse than crazy.

convicted

stop fastened

stretch

5. You should think, with all your strength and wits. 6. I.e., to have ceased of the sayings that he thought up. 7. Behaving like a saint. 8. Bad luck to them that spare him. 9. Handles himself.

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T H E YORK PLAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION

IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 90

3RD SOLDIER. 95

4 T H SOLDIER.

1ST S O L D I E R . 2ND SOLDIER. 100 IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER.

105

IST SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER.

4TH SOLDIER. 110

2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

115

3RD SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER.

120

4TH SOLDIER. 125

2ND SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

And even unto the bore° them bring. Unto his head I shall take heed, And with my hand help him to hing.° Now sen we four shall do this deed, And meddle 0 with this unthrifty 0 thing, Let no man spare for special speed, 1 Till that we have made ending. This forward 0 may not fail, Now are we right arrayed. 0 This boy here in our bail 0 Shall bide° full bitter braid. 0

401

hole hang

deal / unrewarding

agreement set up control abide / treatment

Sir knights, say, how work we now? Yes, certes, I hope 0 I hold this hand. think And to the bore I have it brought, Full buxomly0 withouten band. 0 effortlessly / cord Strike on then hard, for him thee bought. 2 Yes, here is a stub 0 will safely stand: nail Through bones and sinews it shall be sought. 0 driven This work is well, I will warrand. 0 warrant Say, sir, how do we thore? 0 there This bargain may not blin.3 It fails 0 a foot and more, falls short The sinews are so gone in.° shrunken I hope that mark 0 amiss be bored. Then must he bide 0 in bitter bale. 0 In faith, it was over-scantly scored. 4 That makes it foully 0 for to fail. Why carp° ye so? Fast 0 on a cord And tug him to, by top and tail. 5 Yea, thou commands lightly0 as a lord: Come help to haul, with ill hail.6 Now certes 0 that shall I do Full snelly0 as a snail. And I shall tach 0 him to Full nimbly with a nail. This work will hold, that dare I heet,° For now are fest° fast both his hend. 0 Go we all four then to his feet: So shall our space 0 be speedly 0 spend. Let see, what bourd his bale might beet. 7 Thereto my back now will I bend. Ow! this work is all unmeet: 0 This boring must be all amend.

1. Let nobody slacken because of his own welfare. 2. Drive the nail in hard, for him who redeemed thee: a splendidly anachronistic oath. 3. This arrangement may not fail: the arrangement is of the four soldiers at the four ends of the cross.

hole wait / woe badly complain / fasten readily certainly quickly attach

promise fastened / hands time / well

wrongly done

4. It was overcarelessly bored. 5. And stretch him to it, head and toe. 6. With bad luck to you. 7. Let's see, what trick could increase his suffering.

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402

CHRIST'S HUMANITY

IST SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER. 135

1ST S O L D I E R . 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

140

2ND SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

145

IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER. 1ST S O L D I E R .

160 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. 165

IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER.

Ah, peace, man, for Mahound, 0 Let no man woot° that wonder, A rope shall rug° him down, If all his sinews go asunder. That cord full kindly can I knit,° The comfort of this carl° to keel.° Fest on then fast that all be fit. It is no force 0 how fell 0 he feel. Lug on, ye both, a little yit,° I shall not cease, as I have seel. 8 And I shall fond° him for to hit. Ow, hail!° Ho, now I hold 0 it week0 Have done, drive in that nail So that no fault be found. This working would not fail If four bulls here were bound. These cords have evil0 increased his pains Ere° he were till0 the borings brought. Yea, asunder are both sinews and veins On ilk a side, so have we sought. 0 Now all his gauds 0 nothing him gains: His sauntering shall with bale be bought. 9 I will go say to our sovereigns Of all these works how we have wrought. Nay, sirs, another thing Falls first to you and me: 1 They bade we should him hing° On height that men might see. We woot well so their words were, But sir, that deed will do us dere.° It may nought mend 0 for to moot 0 more: This harlot 0 must be hanged here. The mortise 2 is made fit 0 therefore. Fast on your fingers then, in fere. 3 I ween° it will never come there. We four raise it not right to°-year. Say, man, why carps thou so? Thy lifting was but light.0 He means there must be mo 0 To heave him up on height.

Mohammed know jerk

knot knave / cool matter / badly yet try pull think

/ well

badly before / to afflicted tricks

hang

harm improve

/ argue rascal ready think this easy more

Now certes I hope it shall not need To call to us more company.

8. As I may have good luck. 9. His acting like a saint (?) shall be paid for with pain. 1. You and I must do first.

2. A hole in the ground shaped to receive the cross. 3. Fasten your fingers on it, all together.

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T H E YORK PLAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION

IST SOLDIER.

4TH SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. 185

2ND SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

Methink we four should do this deed, And bear him to yon hill on high. It must be done withouten dread: 0 No more, but look ye be ready, And this part shall I lift and lead. 0 On length he shall no longer lie. Therefore now make you boun:° Let bear him to yon hill. Then will I bear here down, And tent his toes untill.4 We two shall see till either side, For else this work will wry° all wrang.° We are ready. Good sirs, abide, And let me first his feet up fang.° Why tent ye so to tales this tide? 5 Lift up! [All

4TH SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 190 2ND SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER. 195

4TH SOLDIER.

200 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER.

205

4TH SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER.

lift

the

cross

Let see!

doubt carry ready

turn

out / wrong

take

protect if injury

received ruined

This cross and I in two must twin 0 — Else breaks my back in sunder soon. Lay down again and leave 0 your din. This deed for us will never be done. lay

403

together.]

Ow! Lift along! From all this harm he should him hide0 And° he were God. The Devil him hang! For great harm 0 I have hent:° My shoulder is in sunder. And certes I am near shent,° So long have I born under. 6

[Tltey

IST SOLDIER.

separate

down. ]

Assay, 0 sirs, let see if any gin° May help him up, withouten hone. 0 For here should wight0 men worship win, And not with gauds 0 all day to gone. More wighter0 men than we Full few I hope 0 ye find. This bargain 0 will not be,° For certes me wants wind. So will0 of work never we wore. 0 I hope this carl some cautels cast. 7 My burden sat° me wonder sore: Unto the hill I might not last.

4. Then I'll carry the part down here and attend to his toes. 5. Why are you so intent on talking at a time like

try / trick delay strong stronger think arrangement

work

at a loss / were

this? 6. So long have I borne it up. 7. I think this knave cast some spells.

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vexed

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404

CHRIST'S HUMANITY

1ST S O L D I E R . 3RD SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER.

4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

Lift up and soon he shall be thore. 0 Therefore fest° on your fingers fast. Ow, lift! We, lo! A little more! Hold then! How now? The worst is past. He weighs a wicked weight. So may we all four say, Ere he was heaved on height And raised on this array.0

there fasten

way

He made us stand as any stones, So boistous 0 was he for to bear. Now raise him nimbly for the nones, 8 And set him by this mortise here; And let him fall in all at once, For certes that pain shall have no peer.c Heave up! Let down, so all his bones Are asunder now on sides sere. 9

bulky

[The cross is raised. ] 225

IST SOLDIER.

3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER.

4TH SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 245

IST SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER.

That falling was more fell 0 Than all the harms he had. Now may a man well tell° The least Iith0 of this lad.

cruel count joint

Methinketh this cross will not abide Nor stand still in this mortise yit.° At the first was it made overwide: That makes it wave, thou may well wit.c It shall be set on ilk a side, So that it shall no further flit. 0 Good wedges shall we take this tide, 0 And fast 0 the foot, then is all fit. Here are wedges arrayed 0 For that, both great and small. Where are our hammers laid That we should work withal? We have them here even at our hand. Give me this wedge, I shall it in drive. Here is another yit ordand. 0 Do take 0 it me hither belive.0 Lay on then fast. Yes. I warrand. 0 I thring them sam, so mote I thrive.1

8. For the purpose. 9. Are pulled apart on every side.

yet learn move time fasten

ready give / quickly guarantee

I. I press them together, so may I thrive.

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T H E YORK PLAY OF THE CRUCIFIXION

1ST SOLDIER. 4-TH S O L D I E R .

265

IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER.

270 IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 275

4TH SOLDIER.

IST SOLDIER.

2ND SOLDIER. 285

2ND SOLDIER. 4TH SOLDIER. 1ST SOLDIER.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

405

Now will this cross ful stably stand: All if he rave they will not rive. 2 Say, sir, how likes thou now The work that we have wrought? We pray you, say us how Ye feel, or faint ye aught? 3 All men that walk by way or street, Take tent—ye shall no travail tine 4 — Behold mine head, mine hands, my feet, And fully feel now ere ye fine 0 If any mourning may be meet Or mischieP measured unto mine. My Father, that all bales may bete, 5 Forgive these men that do me pine.° What they work woot° they nought: Therefore my Father I crave Let never their sins be sought, 0 But see their souls to save.

JESUS

injury torment know searched

We, hark! he jangles like a jay. Methink he patters like a pie.° He has been doand° all this day, And made great mening 0 of mercy. Is this the same that gun° us say That he was God's son almighty? 6 Therefore he feels full fell affray, 7 And doomed this day was for to die. Vath! qui destruis templumJ8 His saws° were so, certain. And, sirs, he said to some He might raise it again. To muster 0 that he had no might, For all the cautels 0 that he could cast; All if he were in word so wight, 9 For all his force now is he fast. All Pilate deemed is done and dight:° Therefore I read 0 that we go rest. This race must be rehearsed right 1 Through the world both east and west. Yea, let him hang here still And make mows on the moon. 2 Then may we wend° at will. Nay, good sirs, not so soon.

Even if he struggles, they will not budge. Or do you feel somewhat faint? Take heed, you shall not lose your labor. My father, who may remedy all evils. That he was the son of almighty God. For that he suffers a full cruel assault.

doing so talk did

sayings

exhibit charms

accomplished advise

go away

8. In Faith thou who destroys the temple (cf. Mark 14.58, J o h n 2.19). 9. Even though he was so clever in words. 1. This course of action must be repeated correctly. 2. And make faces at the moon.

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\ 406

MYSTERY PLAYS

2ND SOLDIER. 3RD SOLDIER. 295

4TH SOLDIER. IST SOLDIER. 2ND SOLDIER.

For certes us needs another note: 3 This kirtle would I of you crave. Nay, nay, sir, we will look0 by lot Which of us four falls 0 it to have. I read 0 we draw cut 0 for this coat. Lo, see now soon, all sides to save. 4 The short cut 0 shall win, that well ye woot, Whether it fall to knight or knave. Fellows, ye thar not flite, 5 For this mantle is mine. Go we then hence tite,° This travail here we tine. 6

3. For surely we have another piece of business to settle. 4. See now straightway, to protect all parties.

see chances advise / lots straw

quickly

5. Fellows, you don't need to quarrel, 6. We're wasting our time here.

M Y S T E R Y PLAYS The increasing prosperity and importance of the towns was shown by performances of the mystery plays—a sequence or "cycle" of plays based on the Bible and produced by the city guilds, the organizations representing the various trades and crafts. The cycles of several towns are lost. Those of York and Chester have been preserved, the latter in a post-Reformation form. The Towneley plays, sometimes connected with Wakefield (Yorkshire), and those that constitute the so-called N-town plays from East Anglia treat comparable material, as do fragmentary survivals from elsewhere. Medieval mystery plays had an immensely confident reach in both space and time. In York, for example, the theatrical space and time of this urban, amateur drama was that of the entire city, lasting from sunrise throughout the entire long summer holiday. The time represented ran from the Fall of the Angels and the Creation of the World right through to the end of time, in the Last Judgment. Between these extremities of the beginning and end of time, each cycle presents key episodes of Old Testament narrative, such as the Fall and the Flood, before presenting a concentrated sequence of freely interpreted New Testament plays focused on the life and Passion of Christ. The church had its own drama in Latin, dating back to the tenth century, which developed through the dramatization and elaboration of the liturgy—the regular service—for certain holidays, the Easter morning service in particular. The vernacular drama was once thought to have evolved from the liturgical, passing by stages from the church into the streets of the town. However, even though the vernacular plays at times echo their Latin counterparts and although their authors may have been clerics, the mysteries represent an old and largely independent tradition of vernacular religious drama. As early as the twelfth century a Play of Adam in Anglo-Norman French was performed in England, a dramatization of the Fall with highly sophisticated dialogue, characterization, and stagecraft. During the late fourteenth and the fifteenth centuries, the great English mystery cycles were formed in provincial, yet increasingly powerful and independent cities. They were the production of the city itself, with particular responsibility for staging and performance devolving onto the city guilds. A guild was also known as a "mystery," from Latin ministerium, whence the phrase "mystery plays." A guild combined the functions of modern trade union, club, religious society, and political action group.

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THE

S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

407

The performance and staging required significant investments of time and money from amateur performers, the status of whose mystery might be at stake in the quality of their performance. Often the subject of the play corresponded to the function of the guild (thus the Pinners, or nail-makers, performed the York Crucifixion, for example). Most of our knowledge of the plays, apart from the texts themselves, comes through municipal and guild records, which tell us a great deal about the evolution, staging and all aspects of the production of the cycles. In some of the cities each guild had a wagon that served as a stage. The wagon proceeded from one strategic point in the city to another, and the play would be performed a number of times on the same day. In other towns, plays were probably acted out in sequence on a platform erected at a single location such as the main city square. The cycles were performed every year at the time of one of two great early summer festivals—Whitsuntide, the week following the seventh Sunday after Easter, or Corpus Christi, a week later (falling somewhere between May 21 and June 24). They served as both religious instruction and entertainment for wide audiences, including unlearned folk like the carpenter in The Miller's Tale (lines 405—74), who recalls from them the trouble Noah had getting his wife aboard the ark, but also educated laypeople and clerics, who besides enjoying the sometimes boisterous comedy would find the plays acting out traditional interpretations of Scripture such as the ark as a type, or prefiguration, of the church. Thus the cycles were public spectacles watched by every layer of society, and they paved the way for the professional theater in the age of Elizabeth I. The rainbow in Noah's Flood (lines 356—71; for the text of Noah's Flood, go to Norton Literature Online) and the Angel's Gloria in the Shepherds' Play, with their messages of mercy and hope, unite actors and audience in a common faith. Yet the first shepherd's opening speech, complaining of taxation and the insolent exploitation of farmers by "gentlery-men," shows how the plays also served as vehicles of social criticism and reveal many of the rifts and tensions in the late-medieval social fabric. The particular intersection of religious and civic institutions that made the cycles possible was put under strain from the beginning of the Reformation in England from the 1530s. Given the strength of civic institutions, the cycles survived into the reign of Elizabeth, but partly because they were identified with the Catholic Church, were suppressed by local ecclesiastical pressures in each city in the late 1560s and 1570s. The last performance of the York Cycle in 1569 is very nearly coincident with the opening of the first professional theater in Whitechapel (London) in 1567. On the morality play—the other major form of theater that flourished in England in the fifteenth century and continued on into the sixteenth—see the headnote to Everyman (p. 4 6 3 ) .

The Wakefield Second Shepherds' Play

in putting on the stage biblical shepherds and soldiers, medieval playwrights inevitably and often quite deliberately gave them the appearance and characters of contemporary men and women. No play better illustrates this aspect of the drama than the Second Shepherds' Play, included in the Towneley collection of mystery plays and imaginatively based on scriptural material typical of the cycles. As the play opens, the shepherds complain about the cold, the taxes, and the high-handed treatment they get from the gentry— evils closer to shepherds on the Yorkshire moors than to those keeping their flocks near Bethlehem. The sophisticated dramatic intelligence at work in this and several other of the Wakefield plays belonged undoubtedly to one individual, who probably revised older, more traditional plays some time during the last quarter of the fifteenth century. His identity is not known, but because of his achievement scholars refer to him as the Wakefield Master. He was probably a highly educated cleric stationed in the vicinity of Wakefield. The Wakefield Master had a genius for combining comedy,

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MYSTERY PLAYS

including broad farce, with religion in ways that make them enhance one another. In the Second Shepherds' Play, by linking the comic subplot of Mak and Gill with the solemn story of Christ's nativity, the Wakefield Master has produced a dramatic parable of what the Nativity means in Christian history and in Christian hearts. No one will fail to observe the parallelism between the stolen sheep, ludicrously disguised as Mak's latest heir, lying in the cradle, and the real Lamb of God, born in the stable among beasts. A complex of relationships based on this relationship suggests itself. But perhaps the most important point is that the charity twice shown by the shepherds—in the first instance to the supposed son of Mak and in the second instance to Mak and Gill when they decide to let them off with only the mildest of punishments—is rewarded when they are invited to visit the Christ Child, the embodiment of charity. The bleak beginning of the play, with its series of individual complaints, is ultimately balanced by the optimistic ending, which sees the shepherds once again singing together in harmony. The Second Shepherds' Play is exceptional among the mystery plays in its development of plot and character. There is no parallel to its elaboration of the comic subplot and no character quite like Mak, who has doubtless been imported into religious drama from popular farce. Mak is perhaps the best humorous character outside of Chaucer's works in this period. A braggart of the worst kind, he has something of Falstaff's charm; and he resembles Falstaff also in his grotesque attempts to maintain the last shreds of his dignity when he is caught in a lie. Most readers will be glad that the shepherds do not carry out their threat to have the death penalty invoked for his crime. Following the 1994 edition of the Early English Text Society, the stanza, traditionally printed as nine lines (with an opening quatrain of four long lines, the first halves of which rhyme with one another) is rendered here as "thirteeners," rhyming ah ah a b a b c d d d c .

The Second Shepherds' Play1 CAST OF

CHARACTERS

COLL

GILL

GIB

ANGEL

DAW

MARY

MAK

[Afield.] [Enter

COLL]

Lord, what 0 these weathers are cold, And I am ill happed; 0 I am nearhand dold, 0 So long have I napped; My legs they fold, 0 My fingers are chapped. It is not as I wold,°

how

COLL

1. T h e text is based on the (1994) edition by A. C. Cawley and Martin Stevens, but has been freely edited. Spelling has been normalized except where rhyme makes changes impossible. Because the original text has no indications of scenes and only

badly

covered numb give

would

way (wish)

four stage directions, written in Latin, appropriate scenes of action and additional stage directions have been added; the four original stage directions are identified in the notes.

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THE

For I am all lapped 0 In sorrow: In storms and tempest, Now in the east, now in the west, Woe is him that has never rest Midday nor morrow. But we sely° husbands 2 That walks on the moor, In faith we are nearhands 0 Out of the door.° No wonder, as it stands If we be poor, For the tilth of our lands Lies fallow as the floor, 3

S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

wrapped

hapless nearly homeless

As ye ken.°

know

We are so hammed, Fortaxed, and rammed, We are made hand-tamed With these gentlery-men. 4 Thus they reave 0 us our rest— Our Lady them wary!° These men that are Iord-fest,° They cause the plow tarry.5 That, men say, is for the best— We find it contrary. Thus are husbands oppressed In point to miscarry. On live.6 Thus hold they us under, Thus they bring us in blunder, 0 It were a great wonder And° ever should we thrive. There shall come a swain 0 As proud as a po:° He must borrow my wain,° My plow also; Then I am full fain 0 To grant ere he go. Thus live we in pain, Anger, and woe, By night and by day. He must have if he Iang° it, 2. Farmers. The shepherds are also tenant farmers. 3. The arable part of our land lies fallow (as flat) as the floor. Landowners were converting farmland to pasture for sheep. 4. We are so hamstrung, overtaxed, and beaten down [that] we are made to obey these gentry folk.

409

rob curse attached to lords

trouble if fellow peacock wagon glad

wants Coll is here complaining about the peasants' hard lot, at the mercy of retainers of the wealthy landowners. 5. Hold up the plow, i.e., interfere with the farm work. 6. In life. "In point to miscarry": to the point of ruin.

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MYSTERY PLAYS

If I should forgang it.7 I were better be hanged Than once say him nay.8 For may he get a paint-sleeve 9 Or brooch nowadays, Woe is him that him grieve Or once again-says.° Dare no man him reprieve, 0 What mastery he maes. 1 And yet may no man lieve° One word that he says, No letter. He can make purveyance 2 With boast and bragance, 0 And all is through maintenance 3 Of men that are greater.

gainsays reprove believe

It does me good, as I walk Thus by mine one,° Of this world for to talk In manner of moan. To my sheep I will stalk, And hearken anon, There abide on a balk, 4 Or sit on a stone, Full soon; For I trow,° pardie, 0 True men if they be, We get more company Ere it be noon. 5

self

think / by God

[Enter GIB, who at first does not see COLL.

GIB Benste and Dominus, 6 What may this bemean? 0 Why fares this world thus? Such have we not seen. Lord, these weathers are spiteous 0 And the winds full keen, And the frosts so hideous They water mine een,° No lie. Now in dry, now in wet, Now in snow, now in sleet, 7. 8. 9. by 1. 2. 3.

Even if I have to do without it. In the manuscript, this stanza follows the next. An embroidered sleeve, part of the liver}' worn the landlord's officers as a badge of authority. No matter what force he uses. Requisition (of private property). Practice of retaining servants under a noble-

cruel

eyes

man's protection with the power to lord it over his tenants. 4. A raised strip of grassland dividing parts of a field. 5. I.e., if the other shepherds keep their promise to meet Coll. 6. Bless us and Lord.

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T H E S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

When When my my shoon° shoon° freeze freeze to to my my feet feet It is not all easy.

411

shoes

But as far as I ken,°

see

Or yet as I g o , °

We sely° wedmen 0 Dree° mickle 0 woe; We have sorrow then and then 0 — It falls oft so. Sely Copple, our hen, 7 Both to and fro She cackles; But begin she to croak, To groan or to cluck, Woe is him is our cock, For he is in the shackles. These men that are wed Have not all their will: When they are full hard stead 0 They sigh full Still; 0 God wot° they are led Full hard and full ill; In bower nor in bed They say nought theretill. 0 This tide 0 My part have I fun;° I know my lesson: W o e is him that is bun,°

For he must abide.

But now late in our lives— A marvel to me, That I think my heart rives0 Such wonders to see; What that destiny drives It should so be 8 — Some men will have two wives, And some men three In store. 9 Some are woe° that has any,

walk

hapless / married, men suffer/much constantly

beset constantly

knows against that time found, learned bound (in wedlock)

splits

miserable

B u t so far can 0 I,

know

Woe is him that has many, For he feels sore. But young men a-wooing, For God that you bought, 0 Be well ware of wedding 7. Silly Copple, our hen, i.e., Gib's wife, who henpeclcs him.

redeemed

8. What destiny causes must occur, 9. I.e., by remarrying after being widowed.

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MYSTERY PLAYS

And think in your thought: "Had I wist"° is a thing That serves of nought. Mickle 0 still0 mourning Has wedding home brought, And griefs, With many a sharp shower, 0 For thou may catch in an hour That 0 shall sow0 thee full sour° As long as thou lives.

known much / continual

fight that which / vex / bitterly

For as ever read I pistle, 1 I have one to my fere 2 As sharp as a thistle, As rough as a brere;° She is browed like a bristle, With a sour-loten cheer; 3 Had she once wet her whistle She could sing full clear Her Pater Noster. 4 She is great as a whale; She has a gallon of gall: By him that died for us all, I would I had run to° I lost her.

briar

till

God look over the raw! s [to GIB] Full deafly ye stand! GIB Yea, the devil in thy maw° So tariand! 6 Saw thou awhere 0 of Daw? COLL Yea, on a Iea-Iand° Heard I him blaw.0 He comes here at hand, Not far. Stand still. GIB Why?

COLL

guts anywhere pasture land blow (his horn)

For he comes, hope 0 I. GIB He will make us both a lie But iP we be ware.

think

COLL

unless

[Enter DAW,7 who does not see the others.

170

DAW Christ's cross me speed And Saint Nicholas! 8 1. Epistle, i.e., part of the church service. 2. As my mate. 3. She has brows like pig's bristles and a sourlooking face. 4. "Our Father," or The Lord's Prayer. 5. I.e., God watch over the audience! Coll has

been trying to get Gib's attention as the latter harangues the audience. 6. For being so late. 7. Daw (Davy) is a boy working for the older shepherds. 8. May Christ's cross and St. Nicholas help me.

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THE SECOND

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

Thereof had I need: It is worse than it was. Whoso could take heed And let the world pass, It is ever in dread 0 And brickie 0 as glass, And slithes. 0 This world foor° never so, With marvels mo° and mo, Now in weal, now in woe, And all thing writhes. 0

413

doubt brittle slips away behaved more changes

Was never sin° Noah's flood Such floods seen, Winds and rains so rude And storms so keen: Some stammered, some stood In doubt, 9 as I ween.° Now God turn all to good! I say as I mean. For ponder: 0 These floods so they drown Both in fields and in town, And bears all down, And that is a wonder.

since

suppose

consider (this)

We that walk on the nights O u r c a t t l e to k e e p , 0

keep watch over

We see sudden 0 sights When other men sleep. Yet methink my heart lights: 0 I see shrews peep. 1

startling feels lighter

[He sees the others, hut does not hail them]

Ye are two tall wights. 0 I will give my sheep A turn. But full ill have I meant: 2 As I walk I may lightly0 repent, My toes if I spurn. 0 210

creatures

this

bent°

Ah, sir, God you save, And master mine! A drink fain° would I have, And somewhat to dine. 9. Probably refers to people's consternation at the time of Noah's Flood. I. I see rascals peeping. Daw is relieved to recognize the other shepherds aren't monstrous appari-

field quickly stub

gladly

tions. 2. But that's a very poor idea (to give the sheep a turn).

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MYSTERY PLAYS

Christ's curse, my knave, Thou art a Iither0 hine!° GIB What, the boy list rave! Abide unto sine. 3 We have made it.° III thrift on thy pate! 4 Though the shrew0 came late Yet is he in state To dine—if he had it.

COLL

DAW Such servants as I, That 0 sweats and swinks, 0 Eats our bread full dry, And that me forthinks. 0 We are oft wet and weary When master-men winks, 0 Yet comes full lately0 Both dinners and drinks. But nately0 Both our dame and our sire,5 When we have run in the mire, They can nip at our hire,6 And pay us full lately. But here my troth, master, For the fare 0 that ye make 0 I shall do thereafter: Work as I take. 7 I shall do a little, sir, And among 0 ever lake, 0 For yet lay my supper Never on my stomach 8 In fields. Whereto should I threap? 0 With my staff can I leap, 0 And men say, "Light cheap Litherly foryields." 9 Thou were an ill lad To ride a-wooing With a man that had But little of spending. 1 GIB Peace, boy, I bade— No more jangling, Or I shall make thee full rad,° By the heaven's King!

lazy / servant had dinner rascal

who/toil angers sleep tardily profitably

food / provide

betweentimes / play

haggle run away

COLL

3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

The boy must be crazy! Wait till later. Bad luck on thy head! I.e., mistress and master. They can deduct from our wages. I.e., work (as little) as I am paid.

quickly (stop)

8. I.e., a full stomach has never weighed me down. 9. A cheap bargain repays badly (a proverb). 1. You would be a bad servant to take wooing for a man with little money to spend.

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THE

SECOND

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

With thy gauds 0 — Where are our sheep, boy?—we scorn. 2 DAW Sir, this same day at mom I left them in the corn 0 When they rang Lauds. 3

415

tricks wheat

They have pasture good, They cannot go wrong. COLL That is right. By the rood, 0 These nights are long! Yet I would, ere we yode,° One 0 gave us a song. GIB So I thought as I stood,

cross

went someone

To m i r t h 0 US a m o n g . 0

cheer / meanwhile

DAW I grant. COLL Let me sing the tenory.0 GIB And I the treble so hee.°

tenor

high

DAW T h e n t h e m e a n 0 falls to m e . Let see how you chant.

middle part

[Tltey sing.]

[Enter MAK with a cloak over his clothes.] 4

MAK Now, Lord, for thy names seven, That made both moon and starns 0 Well mo than I can neven,° Thy will, Lord, of me tharns. 5

stars name

I am all u n e v e n 0 —

at odds

That moves oft my hams. 6 Now would God I were in heaven, For there weep no barns. 0 So still. 0 COLL Who is that pipes so poor?

children continually

MAK [aside] Would God ye wist 0 how I foor!° [aloud] Lo, a man that walks on the moor And has not all his will.

290

knew/fared

GIB Mak, where has thou gane? 0 Tell us tiding. DAW. Is he come? Then ilkane Take heed to his thing.7 [Snatches

the

cloak from

gone

him.]

MAK What! Ich 8 be a yeoman, I tell you, of the king, 2. We scorn (your tricks). 3. The first church service of the day (morn) but performed while it is still dark. 4. Stage direction in the original manuscript. 5. Thy will, Lord, falls short in regard to me. 6. That often disturbs my brains. 7. Each one look to his possessions (lest Mak steal

them). The stage direction below is in the manuscript. 8. I (a southern dialect form in contrast with the northern dialect spoken by the Yorkshire shepherds). Mak pretends to be an important person from the south.

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MYSTERY PLAYS

The self and the same, Sond° from a great lording And sich.° Fie on you! Goth° hence Out of my presence: I must have reverence. Why, who be ich? COLL

messenger suchlike go

Why make ye it so quaint? 9

Mak, ye do wrang.°

GIB But, Mak, list ye saint? I trow that ye Iang.1 DAW I trow the shrew can paint 2 — The devil might him hang! MAK Ich shall make complaint And make you all to thwang 0 At a word, And tell even 0 how ye doth. COLL But Mak, is that sooth? Now take out that Southern tooth, 1 And set in a turd! 4

315

320

325

wrong

be flogged exactly

GIB Mak, the devil in your ee!° A stroke would I lean 0 you! DAW Mak, know ye not me? By God, I could teen° you. MAK God look0 you all three: Methought I had seen you. Ye are a fair company. COLL Can ye now mean you? 5 GIB Shrew, peep! 6 Thus late as thou goes, What will men suppose? And thou has an ill nose 7 Of stealing sheep. MAK

eye give vex guard

And I am true as steel,

All m e n wate.°

330

335

But a sickness I feel That holds me full hate:° My belly fares not weel, It is out of estate. DAW Seldom lies the de'el° Dead by the gate. 8 MAK Therefore 9 Full sore am I and ill 9. Why are you putting on such airs? 1. Do you want to play the saint? I guess you long (to do so). 2. I think the rascal knows how to put on false colors. 3. I.e., now stop pretending to speak like a southerner.

know

hot, feverish devil

4. I.e., shut up! 5. C a n you now remember (who you are)? 6. Rascal, watch out. 7. Noise, i.e., reputation. 8. Road, i.e., the devil is always on the move. 9. Mak ignores Daw and continues his speech from line 331.

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THE

S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

417

If I stand stone-still, I eat not a needill1 This month and more. How fares thy wife? By my hood, How fares sho?° MAK Lies waltering, 0 by the rood, By the fire, lo! And a house full of brood. 0 She drinks well, too: 111 speed other good That she will do! 2 But sho Eats as fast as she can; And ilk° year that comes to man She brings forth a lakan°— And some years two.

COLL

she sprawling children

every baby

But were I now more gracious 0 And richer by far, I were eaten out of house

prosperous

A n d of h a r b a r . 0

home

Yet is she a foul douce, 0 If ye come nar: 3 There is none that trows0 Nor knows a war 0 Than ken° I. Now will ye see what I proffer: To give all in my coffer Tomorn at next0 to offer Her head-masspenny. 4

sweetheart

GIB I wot° so forwaked 5 Is none in this shire. I would sleep iP I taked Less to my hire.6 DAW I am cold and naked And would have a fire. COLL I am weary forraked 0 And run in the mire. Wake thou. 7 GIB Nay, I will lie down by, For I must sleep, truly. DAW As good a man's son was I As any of you.

know

imagines worse know tomorrow

even if

from walking

[Lies down.] [Lies down beside him.]

[Lies down and motions to MAK to lie between them.] 1. As sure as I'm standing here as still as a stone, I haven't eaten a needle (i.e., a tiny bit). 2. I.e., that (drinking) is the only good she does. 3. I.e., near the truth. 4. The penny paid to sing a mass for her soul; i.e.,

I wish she were dead. 5. Exhausted from lack of sleep. 6. I should take a cut in wages. 7. Keep watch.

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MYSTERY PLAYS

But Mak, come hither, between Shall thou lie down. MAK Then might I let you bedeen Of that ye would rown,8 No d r e a d . 0 F r o m my t o p to my toe, Manus tuas commendo Pontio Pilato. 9

doubt

[Lies down and prays.]

Christ's cross me speed! 0

help

[He gets up as the others sleep and speaks.] 1

Now were time for a man That lacks what he wold° To stalk privily than 0 Unto a fold, 0 And nimbly to work than, And be not too bold, For he might abuy 0 the bargan 0 At the ending.

would, wants then sheepfold pay for / bargain

N o w w e r e t i m e f o r to reel: 0

move fast

But he needs good counseel 0 That fain would fare weel° And has but little spending. 0 [He draws a magic a spell.]

counsel well money

circle around the shepherds and recites

But about you a circill,0 As round as a moon, To° I have done that 0 I will, Till that it be noon, That ye lie stone-still To° that I have done; And I shall say there till0 Of good words a foon:° "On hight, Over your heads my hand I lift. Out go your eyes! Fordo your sight!" 2 But yet I must make better shift And it be right.3

circle until / what until thereto few

Lord, what 0 they sleep hard— That may ye all hear. Was I never a shephard, But now will I lear.° If the flock be scar'd, 8. Then I might be in the way if you wanted to whisper together. 9. "Thy hands I commend to Pontius Pilate." A parody of Luke 23.46, "Into thy hands I commend

how learn

my spirit." 1. One of the original stage directions. 2. May your sight be rendered powerless, 3. If it is to turn out all right.

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THE

SECOND

Yet shall I nip near. 4 How! Draws hitherward!5 Now mends our cheer From sorrow. A fat sheep, I dare say! A good fleece, dare I Iay!c Eft-quit° when I may, But this will I borrow.

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

[He

419

catches one.

bet repay

[Moves with the sheep to his cottage and calls from outside. ]

How, Gill, art thou in? Get us some light. GILL [ i n s i d e ] Who makes such a din This time of the night? I am set for to spin; I hope not I might Rise a penny to win 6 — I shrew0 them on height! So fares A housewife that has been To be raised thus between: Here may no note be seen For such small chares. 7 MAK Good wife, open the hek!° Sees thou not what I bring? GILL I may thole thee draw the sneck. 8 Ah, come in, my sweeting. 0 MAK Yea, thou thar not reck Of my long standing. 9

door

sweetheart

[She opens the door.]

By the naked neck Art thou like for to hing. 0 MAK Do way!0 I am worthy0 my meat, For in a strait 0 I can get More than they that swink0 and sweat All the long day.

GILL

let it be worthy of pinch work

Thus it fell to my lot, Gill, I had such grace. 0 GILL It were a foul blot 4. Even if the flock is alarmed, yet shall I grip (a sheep) close. 5. Stop! come this way. 6. I don't think I can earn a penny by getting up (from my work). 7. So it goes with anyone who has been a house-

luck

wife—to be interrupted like this: no work gets done here because of such petty chores. 8. I'll let you draw the latch. 9. Sure, you needn't care about keeping me standing a long time.

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MYSTERY PLAYS

To be hanged for the ease. 0 MAK I have 'scaped, 0 Jelot,° Of as hard a glase.° GILL But "So long goes the pot To the water," men says, "At last Comes it home broken." MAK Well know I the token, 0 But let it never be spoken! But come and help fast. I would he were flain, 0 I list0 well eat: This twelvemonth was I not so fain Of one sheep-meat. GILL Come they ere he be slain, And hear the sheep bleat— MAK Then might I be ta'en°— That were a cold sweat!

escaped / Gill blow

saying

skinned wish

taken

Go spar 0

T h e gate-door.°

Yes, Mak, For and 0 they come at thy back— MAK Then might I buy, for all the pack, The devil of the war.1

fasten street door

GIL

A good bourd° have I spied, Sin° thou can 0 none. Here shall we him hide To° they be gone, In my cradle. Abide! Let me alone, And I shall lie beside In childbed and groan. MAK Thou red,° And I shall say thou was light0 Of a knave-child0 this night. GILL N O W well is me day bright That ever I was bred. 2

trick

GILL

This is a good guise 0 And a far-cast:°

since/know until

get ready delivered boy child

method clever trick

Yet a woman's advice Helps at the last. I wot° never who spies: Again 0 go thou fast. MAK But° I come ere they rise, Else blows a cold blast. I. Then I might have to pay the devil the worse on account of the whole pack of them.

know back unless

2. Now lucky for me the bright day I was bom.

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THE SECOND

I will go sleep. Yet sleeps all this meny,° And I shall go stalk privily, As it had never been I That carried their sheep. [The COLL

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

[Returns to the shepherds.]

421

company

[Lies down among them.]

shepherds are waking. ]

Resurrex a mortruus! 3

Have hold my hand!

Judas

carnas

dominusl 4

I may not well stand. My foot sleeps, by Jesus, And I waiter0 fastand. 0 I thought we had laid us Full near England. GIB Ah, yea? Lord, what 0 I have slept weel!° As fresh as an eel, As light I me feel As leaf on a tree. DAW

B e n s t e 0 be h e r e i n !

stagger!(from)fasting

how / well

(God's) blessing

So my body quakes, My heart is out of skin,

What-SO° it m a k e s . 0

Who makes all this din? So my brows blakes, 5 To the door will I win.6 Hark, fellows, wakes! We were four: See ye aywhere of Mak now? COLL We were up ere thou. GIB Man, I give God avow Yet yede he naw're.7 DAW Methought he was lapped 0 In a wolfskin. COLL SO are many happed 0 Now, namely 0 within. DAW When we had long napped, Methought with a gin° A fat sheep he trapped, But he made no din. GIB Be still! Thy dream makes thee wood. 0 It is but phantom, by the rood. 0 3. A garbled form of "resurrexit a mortuis" (he arose from the dead) from the Creed. 4. Judas, (in?)carnate lord. 5. My brow turns pale (with fear).

whatever / causes

covered clad

especially snare

crazy cross 6. I'll head for the door. Still half-asleep, Daw thinks he's inside. 7. He's gone nowhere yet.

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\ 422

540

COLL

MYSTERY PLAYS

N O W God turn all to good, If it be his will.

[They wake up MAK who pretends to have been asleep.]

545

GIB Rise, Mak, for shame! Thou lies right lang.° MAK Now Christ's holy name Be us amang!° What is this? For Saint Jame, I may not well gang. 0 I trow° I be the same. Ah, my neck has Iain wrang.°

long among walk think wrong

[One of them twists his neck. ]

550

555

560

565

570

575

Enough! Mickle 0 thank! Sin° yestereven Now, by Saint Stephen, I was flayed with a sweven— My heart out of slough. 8

I thought Gill began to croak And travail0 full sad,° Well-near at the first cock, 9 Of a young lad, For to mend° our flock— Then be I never glad: I have tow on my rock1 More than ever I had. Ah, my head! A house full of young tharms! 0 The devil knock out their harns! 0 Woe is him has many barns, 0 And thereto little bread.

much / since

labor / hard

increase

bellies brains children

I must go home, by your leave, To Gill, as I thought. 0 I pray you look0 my sleeve, That I steal nought. I am loath you to grieve Or from you take aught. DAW GO forth! Ill might thou chieve! 0 Now would I we sought This morn, That we had all our store. 2 COLL But I will go before. Let us meet. 8. I was terrified by a dream—my heart [jumped] out of [my] skin. 9. First cockcrow, i.e., midnight. 1. Flax on my distaff (i.e., trouble, mouths to

intended examine

prosper

feed). 2. Now I want us to make sure . . . we have all our stock.

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THE SECOND

GIB

DAW

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

Whore?0

423

where

At the crooked thorn. [MAK'S

house,

M A K at

the

door.]

MAK

Undo this door! Who is here? MAK How long shall I stand? GILL Who makes such a here? 0 Now walk in the weniand! 3 MAK Ah, Gill, what cheer? It is I, Mak, your husband. GILL Then may we see here The devil in a band, 4 Sir Guile! Lo, he comes with a Iote° As° he were holden in° the throat:

GILL

clamor

sound as if/ by

I m a y n o t sit at my n o t e 0

work

A hand-Iong° while. MAK

short

Will ye hear what fare 0 she makes

fuss

To g e t h e r a g l o s e ? 0

And does nought but lakes 0 And claws 0 her toes? GILL Why, who wanders? Who wakes? Who comes? Who goes? Who brews? Who bakes? What makes me thus hose? 5

excuse

plays scratches

And than0

then

It is ruth 0 to behold, Now in hot, now in cold, Full woeful is the household That wants 0 a woman. But what end has thou made With the herds, 0 Mak? MAK The last word that they said When I turned my back, They would look that they had Their sheep all the pack. I hope they will not be well paid 6 Wlien they their sheep lack. Pardie! 0 But how-so the game goes, To me they will suppose, 7 And make a foul nose, 0 3. Waning of the moon (an unlucky time), i.e., "Go with bad luck!" 4. In a noose (?) Gill perhaps continues to remind Mak that sheep stealing is a hanging offense.

pity lacks shepherds

by God noise 5. Hoarse (from shouting at her husband and children). 6. I expect they won't be well pleased. 7. They will suspect me.

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\ 424

MYSTERY PLAYS

And cry out upon me. But thou must do as thou hight. 0 GILL I accord me theretill. 8 I shall swaddle him right In my cradill.

promised

[She wraps up the sheep and puts it in the cradle. ]

If it were a greater sleight, Yet could I help till.9 I will lie down straight. 0 Come hap° me. MAK I will. GILL Behind Come Coll and his marrow;1 They will nip° us full narrow.0 MAK But I may cry "Out, harrow," 2 The sheep if they find.

[Covers her. ]

immediately cover

pinch / closely

Hearken ay when they call— They will come anon. Come and make ready all, And sing by thine one.° Sing "lullay" 0 thou shall, For I must groan And cry out by the wall On Mary and John

GILL

self lullaby

For sore.0

pain

Sing "lullay" on fast When thou hears at the last, 3 And but I play a false cast, 4 Trust me no more. [The

shepherds

meet

again.]

DAW Ah, Coll, good morn. Why sleeps thou not? COLL Alas, that ever I was born! We have a foul blot: A fat wether 0 have we lorn. 0 DAW Marry, God's forbot! 0 GIB Who should do us that scorn? That were a foul spot! 0 COLL Some shrew. 0 I have sought with my dogs All Horbury5 shrogs, 0 8. I agree to that. 9. Even if it were a greater trick, I could still help with it. 1. Coll and his mate are coming on your tracks.

raw

/ lost God forbid disgrace rascal

thickets 2. 3. 4. 5.

A cry of distress. When at last you hear (them coming), Unless I play a false trick. A village near Wakefield.

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THE

S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

425

And of fifteen hogs Found I but one ewe.* DAW NOW trow° me, if ye will, By Saint Thomas of Kent, Either Mak or Gill Was at that assent. 7 COLL Peace, man, be still! I saw when he went. Thou slanders him ill— Thou ought to repent Good speed. 0 GIB Now as ever might I thee, c If I should even here dee,° I would say it were he That did that same deed.

believe

speedily thrive die

DAW Go we thither, I read, 0 And run on our feet. Shall I never eat bread The sooth to I weet. 8 COLL Nor drink in my head, With him till I meet. 9 GIB I will rest in no stead 0 Till that I him greet, My brother. One I will hight:1 Till I see him in sight Shall I never sleep one night There I do another. 2

advise

place

[Tlte shepherds approach MAK'S house, MAK and GILL within, she in hed, groaning, he singing a lullaby.]

DAW Will ye hear how they hack? 3 Our sire list 0 croon. COLL Heard I never none crack 0 So clear out of tune. Call on him. GIB Mak! Undo your door soon! 0 MAK Who is that spake, As 0 it were noon,

wants to sing loudly

at once

as if

On l o f t ? 0

loudly

Who is that, I say? 6. And with fifteen Iambs I found only a ewe (i.e., the wether [ram] was missing). 7. Was a party to it. 8. Until I know the truth. 9. Nor take a drink till I meet with him.

1. One thing will I promise. 2. I'll never sleep in the same place two nights in a row. 3. Trill; a musical term used sarcastically, as also "crack" below.

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426

MYSTERY PLAYS

DAW

Good fellows, were it day.4 MAK As far as ye may, [opening] Good, 0 speaks soft

good men

Over a sick woman's head That is at malease. 5 I had liefer 0 be dead Ere she had any disease. 0 GILL Go to another stead! 0 I may not well wheeze: 0 Each foot that ye tread Goes through my nese.° So, hee! 6 COLL Tell us, Mak, if you may, How fare ye, I say? MAK But are ye in this town today? 7 Now how fare ye?

715

720

rather distress place

breathe nose

Ye have run in the mire And are wet yit. I shall make you a fire If you will sit. A nurse would I hire. Think ye on yit?8 Well quit is my hire— My dream this is it— A season. 9 I have barns, 0 if ye knew,

children

Wel mo° than enew:°

more / enough

But we must drink as we brew, And that is but reason.

I would ye dined ere ye yode.° Methink that ye sweat. GIB Nay, neither mends our mood, Drink nor meat. 1 MAK Why sir, ails you aught but good? 2 DAW Yea, our sheep that we get 0 Are stolen as they yode:° Our loss is great. MAK Sirs, drinks! Had I been thore, 0 Some should have bought 0 it full sore. COLL Marry, some men trows 0 that ye wore, 0 And that us forthinks. 0 4. Good friends, if it were daylight (i.e., not friends, since it's still night). 5. Who feels badly. 6. So loudly, i.e., your tramping goes right through my head. 7. I.e., what brings you to this neighborhood today?

went

tend wandered there paid for think /were

displeases

8. Do you still remember (my dream)? 9. Ironic: my season's wages are well paid—my dream (that Gill was giving birth) has come true. 1. Neither food nor drink will improve our mood. 2. Does anything other than good trouble you? I.e., what's wrong?

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THE

S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

GIB Mak, some men trows, That it should be ye. DAW Either ye or your spouse, So say we. MAK NOW if you have suspouse 0 To Gill 01* to me, Come and ripe° the house And then may ye see Who had her 3 —

ransack

fetched, stole

Either cow or stot 4 — And Gill my wife rose not Here sin she laid her.°

Out, thieves, from my barn!° Nigh him not thore! 8 MAK Wist ye how she had farn, 9 Your hearts would be sore. You do wrong, I you warn, That thus comes before 0 To a woman that has farn°— But I say no more. GILL Ah, my middill!0 I pray to God so mild, If ever I you beguiled, That I eat this child That lies in this cradill. MAK Peace, woman, for God's pain, And cry not so! Thou spills 0 thy brain And makes me full woe. GIB I trow our sheep be slain. What find ye two?

427

suspicion

If I a n y s h e e p f o t , °

As I am true and Ieal,° To God here I pray That this be the first meal That I shall eat this day. COLL Mak, as I have sele, 5 Advise thee, I say: He learned timely to steal That could not say nay.6 GILL I swelt!° Out, thieves, from my wones!° Ye come to rob us for the nones. 7 MAK Hear ye not how she groans? Your hearts should melt.

lay down honest

[They begin to search.] die

dwelling

child

GILL

3. 4. 5. 6.

I.e., the sheep. Either female or male. As I hope to have salvation. He learned early to steal who could not say no

in the presence been in labor middle

harm

(proverbial). 7. You come for the purpose of robbing us. 8. Don't come close to him there. 9. If you knew how she had fared (in labor).

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428

MYSTERY PLAYS

DAW All work we in vain; As well may we go. But hatters! 1 I can find no flesh, Hard nor nesh, 0 Salt nor fresh, But two tome 0 platters.

soft em-pty

Quick cattle but this, 2 Tame nor wild, None, as I have bliss, As loud as he smiled. 3 GILL No, so God me bliss, 0 And give me joy of my child! COLL We have marked 0 amiss— I hold 0 us beguiled. GIB Sir, don!° [to MAK] Sir—Our Lady him save!— Is your child a knave? 4 MAK Any lord might him have, This child, to° his son.

[Approaches

the

cradle.] bless aimed consider totally

When he wakens he kips, 0 That joy is to see. DAW In good time to his hips, And in sely.5 But who were his gossips, 0 So soon ready? MAK SO fair fall their lips 6 — COLL Hark, now, a Iee,° MAK So God them thank, Perkin, and Gibbon Waller, I say, And gentle John Home, in good fay 0 — He made all the garray0 With the great shank. 7 GIB Mak, friends will we be, For we are all one. 0 MAK We? Now I hold for me, For mends get I none. 8 Farewell all three, All glad 9 were ye gone. DAW Fair words may there be, But love is there none This year. 1. 2. 3. 4. of 5.

An expression of consternation. Livestock other than this (the baby). Smelled as strongly as he (the missing ram). Boy (although M a k takes the alternate meaning "rascal"). Good luck and happiness to him.

snatches, grabs

lie

faith quarrel

in accord

[They go out the door.}

6. May good luck befall them. 7. An allusion to a dispute among the shepherds in the author's First Shepherds' Play. 8. I'll look out for myself, for I'll get no compensation. 9. I.e., I would be glad.

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T H E S E C O N D S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

Gave ye the child anything? GIB I trow not one farthing. DAW Fast again will I fling. 0 Abide ye me there.

429

COLL

Mak, take it no grief If I come to thy bam.° MAK Nay, thou does me great reprief, c And foul has thou farn.° DAW The child it will not grief, That little day-starn.° Mak, with your leaf, 0 Let me give your barn But sixpence. MAK Nay, do way! He sleeps. DAW Methinks he peeps. 0 MAK When he wakens he weeps. I pray you go hence. [The

dash

[He runs hack.]

child shame hehaved day star permission

opens his eyes

other shepherds reenter. ]

DAW Give me leave him to kiss, And lift up the clout. 0 [lifts the cover]

What the devil is this? He has a long snout! COLL He is marked amiss. We wot ill about. 1 GIB Ill-spun weft, ywis, Ay comes foul out. 2 Aye, so! He is like to our sheep. DAW How, Gib, may I peep? COLL I trow kind will creep Where it may not go. 3 GIB This was a quaint gaud And a far-cast. 4 It was high fraud. DAW Yea, sirs, was't. 0 Let bren° this bawd And bind her fast. A false scaud 0 Hang at the last: 5 So shall thou. Will you see how they swaddle 1. He is deformed. We know something fishy is going on around here. 2. An ill-spun web, indeed, always comes out badly (proverbial), i.e., ill work always comes to a bad end.

it was burn scold

3. Nature will creep where it can't walk (proverbial), i.e., nature will reveal itself by hook or crook. 4. This was a cunning trick and a clever ruse. 5. Will hang in the end.

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\ 430

MYSTERY PLAYS

His four feet in the middle? Saw I never in the cradle A horned lad ere now. MAK Peace bid I! What, Let be your fare! 0 I am he that him gat.° And yond woman him bare. COLL What devil shall he hat? 6 Lo, God, Mak's heir! GIB Let be all that! Now God give him care°— I sawgh! 0 GILL A pretty child is he As sits on a woman's knee, A dillydown,0 pardie, 0 To gar° a man laugh. DAW I know him by the earmark— That is a good token. MAK I tell you, sirs, hark, His nose was broken. Sithen 0 told me a clerk That he was forspoken. 0 COLL This is a false wark.° I would fain be wroken.0

fuss begot

sorrow saw darling / by God make

later bewitched work

avenged

Get wapen.°

weapon

He was taken with an elf 7 I saw it myself— When the clock struck twelf

GILL

W a s he forshapen.0

GIB Ye two are well feft Sam in a stead. 8 DAW Sin° they maintain their theft, Let do° them to dead. 0 MAK If I trespass eft, 0 Gird° off my head. With you will I be left. 9 COLL Sirs, do my read: 0 For this trespass We will neither ban 0 ne flite,° Fight nor chite, 0 But have done as tite,° And cast him in canvas.

transformed

since put/death again chop advice

curse / quairel chide quickly

[They toss MAK in a blanket.]

6. What the devil shall he be named? 7. He was stolen by a fairy, i.e., the baby is a changeling.

8. You two are well endowed in the same place, i.e., you are two of a kind, 9. I put myself at your mercy.

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THE SECOND

[The

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

fields]

Lord, what 0 I am sore, In point for to brist!° In faith, I may no more— Therefore will I rist.° GIB As a sheep of seven score 1 He weighed in my fist: For to sleep aywhore0 Methink that I list.0 DAW NOW I pray you Lie down on this green. COLL On the thieves yet I mean. 0 DAW Whereto should ye teen? 0 Do as I say you.

how burst

COLL

[An

ANGEL

rest

anywhere want

think be angry

[They lie down. ]

sings Gloria in Excelsis and then speaks.

Rise, herdmen hend,° For now is he born That shall take fro the fiend 0 That Adam had lorn;3 That warlock 0 to shend, 0 This night is he born. God is made your friend Now at this morn, He behestys. 0 At Bedlem 0 go see: There lies that free, 0 In a crib full poorly, Betwixt two bestys. 0

gracious

ANGEL

[The

431

devil devil / destroy

promises Bethlehem noble one beasts

ANGEL withdraws.

This was a quaint 0 Steven0 That ever yet I hard. 0 It is a marvel to neven0 Thus to be scar'd. 0 GIB Of God's Son of heaven He spake upward. 0 All the wood on a Ieven Methought that he gard Appear. 4 DAW He spake of a barn 0 In Bedlem, I you warn. 0 COLL That betokens yond starn. Let us seek him there. COLL

1. I.e., 140 pounds. 2. This is an original stage direction; "Glory [to God] in the highest" (see Luke 2.14). 3. That [which] Adam had brought to ruin.

marvelous / voice heard tell of scared on high

child tell

4. I thought he made the whole woods appear in a flash of light. 5. That's what yonder star means.

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\ 432

MYSTERY PLAYS

GIB Say, what was his song? Heard ye not how he cracked it? 6 Three breves 0 to a long? DAW Yea, marry, he hacked it. Was no crochet 0 wrong, Nor nothing that lacked it. 7 COLL For to sing us among, Right as he knacked it,

short notes note

I can.°

GIB Let see how ye croon! Can ye bark at the moon? DAW Hold your tongues! Have done! COLL Hark after, than! GIB To Bedlem he bade That we should gang: 0 I am full fard 0 That we tarry too lang.° DAW Be merry and not sad; Of mirth is our sang: Everlasting glad 0 To meed° may we fang. 0 COLL Without nose 0 Hie we thither forthy 0 To that child and that lady;

know how

[Smgs.J

go afraid long

joy reward/get noise

therefore

I P w e b e w e t a n d weary,

though

We have it not to lose. 8

GIB We find by the prophecy— Let be your din!— Of David and Isay, And mo than I min, 9 That prophesied by clergy 0 That in a virgin Should he light 0 and lie,

learning alight

To s l o k e n 0 o u r s i n

And slake 0 it, Our kind, 0 from woe, For Isay said so: Ecce

quench

relieve humankind

virgo

Concipiet 1 a child that is naked.

DAW Full glad may we be And 0 we abide that day That lovely to see, That all mights may. 2 6. Trilled it; a technical musical term, close in meaning to hacked and knocked: to break (notes), to sing in a lively or ornate manner (cf. lines 685 and 687). 7. That it lacked. 8. We must not neglect it.

9. Of David and Isaiah and more than I remember. 1. Behold, a virgin shall conceive (Isaiah 7.14). 2. I.e., when we see that lovely one who is allpowerful .

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THE

SECOND

S H E P H E R D S ' PLAY

Lord, well were me For once and for ay Might I kneel on my knee, Some word for to say To that child. But the angel said In a crib was he laid, He was poorly arrayed, Both meaner 0 and mild. COLL

433

very humbly

Patriarchs that has been,

And prophets beforn,0

before (our time)

That desired to have seen This child that is born, They are gone full clean— That have they lorn. 3 We shall see him, I ween,° Ere it be morn, To token. 4 When I see him and feel, Then wot° I full weel° It is true as steel That 0 prophets have spoken:

think

know / well what

To so poor as we are That he would appear, First find and declare 5 By his messenger. GIB Go we now, let us fare, The place is us near. DAW I am ready and yare; 0 Go we in f e r e °

To that bright. 0 Lord, if thy wills be— We are lewd0 all three— Thou grant us some kins glee 6 To comfort thy wight.0 [They go

eager •

together

glorious one ignorant child

Bethlehem and enter the stable.]

Hail, comely and clean! 0 Hail, young child! Hail Maker, as I mean, 0 OP a maiden so mild! Thou has waried, 0 I ween,° The warlock 0 so wild. The false guiler of teen, 7 Now goes he beguiled.

pure

COLL

L o , he m e r r i e s ! 0 3. That (sight) have they lost. 4. As a sign. 5. Find (us) first (of all), and make known (his

believe horn of cursed / think devil

is merry birth). 6. S o m e kind of cheer. 7. The false grievous deceiver, i.e., the devil.

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\ 434

MYSTERY PLAYS

Lo, he laughs, my sweeting! A well fair meeting! I have holden my heting: 0 Have a bob° of cherries. GIB Hail, sovereign Saviour, For thou has us sought! Hail freely food 0 and flour, 0 That all thing has wrought! Hail, full of favour, That made all of nought! Hail! I kneel and I cower. 0 A bird have I brought To my barn. 0 Hail, little tiny mop!° Of our creed thou art crop. 0 I would drink on thy cup, Little day-starn.° DAW Hail, darling dear, Full of Godhead! I pray thee be near When that I have need. Hail, sweet is thy cheer 0 — My heart would bleed To see thee sit here In so poor weed, 0 With no pennies. Hail, put forth thy dall!° I bring thee but a ball: Have and play thee withal, And go to the tennis. MARY The Father of heaven, God omnipotent, That set all on seven, 8 His Son has he sent. My name could he neven, And light ere he went.9 I conceived him full even Through might as he meant. 1 And now is he born. He° keep you from woe! I shall pray him so. Tell forth as ye go, And min on° this morn. 1075

promise bunch

noble child / flower

crouch child baby head day star

face

clothing hand

(may) he

remember

Farewell, lady, So fair to behold, With thy child on thy knee.

COLL

8. Who created everything in seven (days). 9. My name did he name, and alighted (in me) before he went (see Luke 1.28).

1. I conceived him, indeed, through his power, just as he intended.

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MIDDLE

1080

IO85

ENGLISH LYRICS

GIB But he lies full cold. Lord, well is me. Now we go, thou behold. DAW Forsooth, already It seems to be told Full oft. COLL What grace we have fun!° GIB C o m e forth, now are we won!'[O DAW To sing are we bun:° Let take on loft. 2

435

received redeemed bound

[They sing. ] 2. Let's raise our voices.

MIDDLE

ENGLISH

LYRICS

It was only late in the fourteenth century that English began to develop the kinds of aristocratic, formal, learned, and literary types of lyric that had long been cultivated on the Continent by the Troubador poets in the south of France, the Minnesanger in Germany (German Minne corresponds to French fine amour—that is, refined or aristocratic love), or the Italian poets whose works Dante characterized as the dolce stil nuovo (the sweet new style). Chaucer, under the influence of French poets, wrote lovers' complaints, homiletic poetry, and verse letters in the form of ballades, roundels, and other highly stylized lyric types (see pp. 316—18). In the fifteenth century, John Lydgate, Thomas Hoccleve, and others following Chaucer wrote lyrics of this sort, which were praised for embellishing the English language, and these along with Chaucer's were collected in manuscript anthologies that were produced commercially for well-to-do buyers. Chaucer, his courtly predecessors, and their followers were of course familiar with and influenced by an ancient tradition of popular song from which only a small fraction survives. With one exception, the Middle English lyrics included in this section are the work of anonymous poets and are difficult to date with any precision. Some of these survive in a single manuscript, especially in anthologies of religious poetry and prose. The topics and language in these poems are highly conventional, yet the lyrics often seem remarkably fresh and spontaneous. Many are marked by strong accentual rhythms with a good deal of alliteration. Their pleasure does not come from originality or lived experience but from variations of expected themes and images. Some were undoubtedly set to music, and in a few cases the music has survived. Perhaps the earliest of those printed here, "The Cuckoo Song," is a canon or round in which the voices follow one another and join together echoing the joyous cry, "Cuckou." (For a performance of this song, go to Norton Literature Online.) The rooster and hen in The Nun's Priest's Tale sing "My Lief Is Faren in Londe" in "sweet accord." "I Am of Ireland" was undoubtedly accompanied by dancing as well as music. A frequent topic that lyric shares with narrative is the itemization of the beloved's beauties. The Alisoun of the lyric and Alisoun of The Miller's Tale are both dark-eyed, a quality that suggests a sexuality supressed in the conventional gray- or blue-eyed heroines of courtly romance. The lover in the lyric protests, as Nicholas does in The Miller's Tale, that he will die if he cannot obtain her love. The joyous return of spring (the reverdie, spring song, or, literally, "regreening") is the subject of many lyrics. In love lyrics the mating of birds and animals in wild nature often contrasts with the melancholy of unrequited or forsaken lovers. These lovers are usually male. We know that some women wrote troubador and court poetry, but

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436

MIDDLE ENGLISH LYRICS

we do not know whether women composed popular lyrics; women certainly sang popular songs, just as they are portrayed doing in narrative poetry.

The Cuckoo Song

Sumer is yeomen in, Loude sing cuckou! Groweth seed and bloweth meed, 1 And springth the wode 0 now. Sing cuckou! Ewe bleteth after Iamb, Loweth after calve cow, Bulloc sterteth, 0 bucke verteth, 0 Merye sing cuckou! Cuckou, cuckou, Wel singest thou cuckou: Ne swik° thou never now!

wood

leaps/farts

cease

Alison Bitweene 0 Merch and Avertl, When spray biginneth to springe, The litel fowl hath hire wil° On hire Ieod1 to singe. Ich° Iibbe0 in love-Ionginge For semlokest 0 of alle thinge. Heo° may me blisse bringe: Ich am in hire baundoun. 0 An hendy hap ich habbe yhent, 2 Ichoot 0 from hevene it is me sent: From alle 3 wommen my love is lent, 0 And light 0 on Alisoun.

in the seasons of pleasure 11 live seemliest, fairest she power I know removed alights

On hew° hire heer° is fair ynough, Hire browe browne, hire ye° blake; With Iossum cheere heo on me lough; 4 With middel smal and wel ymake. But° heo me wolle to hire take For to been hire owen make, 0 Longe to liven ichulle 0 forsake, And feye° fallen adown. An hendy hap, etc. Nightes when I wende° and wake, Forthy 0 mine wonges 0 waxeth wan: 1. T h e meadow blossoms. 1. In her language. 2. A gracious chance I have received.

hue / hair eye unless mate I will dead turn therefore /cheeks

3. I.e., all other. 4. With lovely face she on me smiled.

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I AM OF I R E L A N D

Levedy, 0 al for thine sake Longinge is ylent me on. 5 In world nis noon so witer 0 man That al hire bountee 0 telle can; Hire swire0 is whittere 0 than the swan, And fairest may 0 in town. An hendy, etc. I c h am f o r w o w i n g 0 al f o r w a k e , 0

Wery so° water in wore. 6 Lest any reve me 7 my make Ich habbe y-yerned yore. 8 Bettere is tholien 0 while 0 sore Than mournen evermore. Geinest under gore, 9 Herkne to my roun: 0 An hendy, etc.

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lady clever excellence neck /whiter maid

wooing /worn out from waking

as endure I for a time song

My Lief Is Faren in Londe

My lief is faren in londe 1 — Alias, why is she so? And I am so sore bonde 0 I may nat come her to. She hath myn herte in holde Wherever she ride or go°— With ,trewe love a thousand folde.

bound

walk

Western Wind Westron wind, when will thou blow? The small rain down can rain. Christ, that my love were in my arms, And I in my bed again.

I Am of Ireland

Longing has come upon me. Perhaps "millpond." Deprive me.

Ich am of Irlonde, And of the holy londe Of Irlonde. Goode sire, praye ich thee, For oP sainte charitee, Com and dance with me In Irlonde. 8. I have been worrying long since. 9. Fairest beneath clothing. I. My beloved has gone away.

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sake of

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SIR T H O M A S MALORY ca. 1 4 0 5 - 1 4 7 1 Morte Darthur (Death of Arthur) is the title that William Caxton, the first English printer, gave to Malory's volume, which Caxton described more accurately in his Preface as "the noble histories of * * * King Arthur and of certain of his knights." The volume begins with the mythical story of Arthur's birth. King Uther Pendragon falls in love with the wife of one of his barons. Merlin's magic transforms Uther into the likeness of her husband, and Arthur is bom of this union. The volume ends with the destruction of the Round Table and the deaths of Arthur, Queen Guinevere, and Sir Lancelot, who is Arthur's best knight and the queen's lover. The bulk of the work is taken up with the separate adventures of the knights of the Round Table. On the evolution of the Arthurian legend, see the headnote to "Legendary Histories of Britain," p. 117. During the thirteenth century the stories about Arthur and his knights had been turned into a series of enormously long prose romances in French, and it was these, as Caxton informed his readers, "Sir Thomas Malory did take out of certain books of French and reduced into English." For Caxton's Preface and excerpts from a modern translation of the French Prose Vulgate Cycle (Malory's "French books"), see "King Arthur" at Norton Literature Online. Little was known about the author until the early twentieth century when scholars began to unearth the criminal record of a Sir Thomas Malory of Newbold Revell in Warwickshire. In 1451 he was arrested for the first time to prevent his doing injury— presumably further injury—to a priory in Lincolnshire, and shortly thereafter he was accused of a number of criminal acts. These included escaping from prison after his first arrest, twice breaking into and plundering the Abbey of Coombe, extorting money from various persons, and committing rape. Malory pleaded innocent of all charges. The Wars of the Roses—in which Malory, like the formidable earl of Warwick (the "kingmaker"), whom he seems to have followed, switched sides from Lancaster to York and back again—may account for some of his troubles with the law. After a failed Lancastrian revolt, the Yorkist king, Edward IV, specifically excluded Malory from four amnesties he granted to the Lancastrians. The identification of this Sir Thomas Malory (there is another candidate with the same name) as the author of the Morte was strengthened by the discovery in 1934 of a manuscript that differed from Caxton's text, the only version previously known. The manuscript contained eight separate romances. Caxton, in order to give the impression of a continuous narrative, had welded these together into twenty-one books, subdivided into short chapters with summary chapter headings. Caxton suppressed all but the last of the personal remarks the author had appended to individual tales in the manuscript. At the very end of the book Malory asks "all gentlemen and gentlewomen that readeth this book * * * pray for me while I am alive that God send me good deliverance." The discovery of the manuscript revealed that at the close of the first tale he had written: "this was drawyn by a knight presoner Sir Thomas Malleore, that God sende him good recover." There is strong circumstantial evidence, therefore, that the book from which the Arthurian legends were passed on to future generations to be adapted in literature, art, and film was written in prison by a man whose violent career might seem at odds with the chivalric ideals he professes. Such a contradiction—if it really is one—should not be surprising. Nostalgia for an ideal past that never truly existed is typical of much historical romance. Like the slave-owning plantation society of Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind, whose southern gentlemen cultivate chivalrous manners and respect for gentlewomen, Malory's Arthurian world is a fiction. In our terms, it cannot even be labeled "historical," although the distinction between romance and history is not one that Malory would have made. Only rarely does he voice skepticism about the historicity of his tale; one such example is his questioning of the myth of Arthur's return. Much of the

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tragic power of his romance lies in his sense of the irretrievability of past glory in comparison with the sordidness of his own age. The success of Malory's retelling owes much to his development of a terse and direct prose style, especially the naturalistic dialogue that keeps his narrative close to earth. And both he and many of his characters are masters of understatement who express themselves, in moments of great emotional tension, with a bare minimum of words. In spite of its professed dedication to service of women, Malory's chivalry is primarily devoted to the fellowship and competitions of aristocratic men. Fighting consists mainly of single combats in tournaments, chance encounters, and battles, which Malory never tires of describing in professional detail. Commoners rarely come into view; when they do, the effect can be chilling—as when pillagers by moonlight plunder the corpses of the knights left on the field of Arthur's last battle. Above all, Malory cherishes an aristocratic male code of honor for which his favorite word is "worship." Men win or lose "worship" through their actions in war and love. The most "worshipful" of Arthur's knights is Sir Lancelot, the "head of all Christian knights," as he is called in a moving eulogy by his brother, Sir Ector. But Lancelot is compromised by his fatal liaison with Arthur's queen and torn between the incompatible loyalties that bind him as an honorable knight, on the one hand, to his lord Arthur and, on the other, to his lady Guinevere. Malory loves his character Lancelot even to the point of indulging in the fleeting speculation, after Lancelot has been admitted to the queen's chamber, that their activities might have been innocent, "for love that time was not as love is nowadays." But when the jealousy and malice of two wicked knights forces the affair into the open, nothing can avert the breaking up of the fellowship of the Round Table and the death of Arthur himself, which Malory relates with somber magnificence as the passing of a great era.

From Morte Darthur1 [ T H E C O N S P I R A C Y AGAINST L A N C E L O T AND G U I N E V E R E ]

In May, when every lusty 2 heart flourisheth a n d b u r g e o n e t h , for as the s e a s o n is lusty to b e h o l d a n d c o m f o r t a b l e , 3 so m a n a n d w o m a n rejoiceth a n d gladdeth of s u m m e r c o m i n g with his f r e s h flowers, for winter with his rough winds a n d blasts c a u s e t h lusty m e n a n d w o m e n to cower a n d to sit f a s t by the f i r e — s o this s e a s o n it befell in the m o n t h of M a y a great anger a n d u n h a p that stinted not 4 till the flower of chivalry of all the world w a s destroyed a n d slain. A n d all was long u p o n two u n h a p p y 5 knights which were n a m e d Sir Agravain a n d Sir M o r d r e d that were brethren u n t o Sir G a w a i n . 6 F o r this Sir Agravain a n d Sir M o r d r e d h a d ever a privy 7 hate unto the Q u e e n , D a m e Guinevere, a n d to Sir L a n c e l o t , a n d daily a n d nightly they ever w a t c h e d u p o n Sir L a n c e l o t . So it m i s f o r t u n e d Sir G a w a i n a n d all his brethren were in King Arthur's c h a m b e r , a n d then Sir Agravain said t h u s openly, a n d not in no c o u n s e l , 8 that many knights might hear: "I marvel that we all be not a s h a m e d both to s e e I. The selections here are from the section that Caxton called book 20, chaps. I-^t, 8—10, and book 21, chaps. 3—7, 10—12, with omissions. In the Winchester manuscript this section is titled "The Most Piteous Tale of the Morte Arthur Saunz Guerdon" (i.e., the death of Arthur without reward or compensation). The text is based on Winchester, with some readings introduced from the Caxton edition; spelling has been modernized and modern punctuation added.

2. Merry. 3. Pleasant. 4. Misfortune that ceased not. 5. On account of two ill-fated. 6. Gawain and Agravain are sons of King Lot of Orkney and his wife, Arthur's half-sister Morgause. Mordred is the illegitimate son of Arthur and Morgause. 7. Secret. 8. Secret manner.

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and to know how Sir Lancelot Iieth daily and nightly by the Queen. And all we know well that it is so, and it is shamefully suffered of us all9 that we should suffer so noble a king as King Arthur is to be shamed." Then spoke Sir Gawain and said, "Brother, Sir Agravain, I pra}' you and charge you, move no such matters no more afore 1 me, for wit you well, I will not be of your counsel." 2 "So God me help," said Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, 3 "we will not be known of your deeds." 4 "Then will I!" said Sir Mordred. "I lieve5 you well," said Sir Gawain, "for ever unto all unhappiness, sir, ye will grant. 6 And I would that ye left all this and make you not so busy, for I know," said Sir Gawain, "what will fall of it." 7 "Fall whatsoever fall may," said Sir Agravain, "I will disclose it to the King." "Not by my counsel," said Sir Gawain, "for and 8 there arise war and wrack betwixt9 Sir Lancelot and us, wit you well, brother, there will many kings and great lords hold with Sir Lancelot. Also, brother, Sir Agravain," said Sir Gawain, "ye must remember how often times Sir Lancelot hath rescued the King and the Oueen. And the best of us all had been full cold at the heartroot1 had not Sir Lancelot been better than we, and that has he proved himself full oft. And as for my part," said Sir Gawain, "I will never be against Sir Lancelot for 2 one day's deed, when he rescued me from King Carados of the Dolorous Tower and slew him and saved my life. Also, brother, Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, in like wise Sir Lancelot rescued you both and three score and two3 from Sir Tarquin. And therefore, brother, methinks such noble deeds and kindness should be remembered." "Do as ye list," 4 said Sir Agravain, "for I will layne5 it no longer." So with these words came in Sir Arthur. "Now, brother," said Sir Gawain, "stint your noise." 6 "That will I not," said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred. "Well, will ye so?" said Sir Gawain. "Then God speed you, for I will not hear of your tales, neither be of your counsel." "No more will I," said Sir Gaheris. "Neither I," said Sir Gareth, "for I shall never say evil by7 that man that made me knight." And therewithal they three departed making great dole. 8 "Alas!" said Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth, "now is this realm wholly destroyed and mischieved, 9 and the noble fellowship of the Round Table shall be disparbeled." 1 So they departed, and then King Arthur asked them what noise they made. "My lord," said Sir Agravain, "I shall tell you, for I may keep 2 it no longer. Here is I and my brother Sir Mordred broke3 unto my brother Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris, and to Sir Gareth—for this is all, to make it short—how that we know 9. Put up with by all of us. 1. Before. "Move": propose. 2. On your side. "Wit you well": know well, i.e., give you to understand. 3. Sons of King Lot and Gawain's brothers. 4. A party to your doings. 5. Believe. 6. You will consent to all mischief. 7. C o m e of it. 8. If. 9. Strife between. 1. Would have been dead.

2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3.

On account of. I.e., sixty-two. You please, Conceal. Stop making scandal. About. Lamentation. Put to shame. Dispersed. Conceal. Revealed.

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all that Sir Lancelot holdeth your queen, and hath done long; and we be your sister 4 sons, we may suffer it no longer. And all we woot5 that ye should be above Sir Lancelot, and ye are the king that made him knight, and therefore we will prove it that he is a traitor to your person." "If it be so," said the King, "wit6 you well, he is none other. But I would be loath to begin such a thing but 7 I might have proofs of it, for Sir Lancelot is an hardy knight, and all ye know that he is the best knight among us all. And but if he be taken with the deed, 8 he will fight with him that bringeth up the noise, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore, and 9 it be sooth as ye say, I would that he were taken with the deed." For, as the French book saith, the King was full loath that such a noise should be upon Sir Lancelot and his queen. For the King had a deeming 1 of it, but he would not hear of it, for Sir Lancelot had done so much for him and for the Queen so many times that, wit you well, the King loved him passingly 2 well. "My lord," said Sir Agravain, "ye shall ride tomorn 3 on hunting, and doubt ye not, Sir Lancelot will not go with you. And so when it draweth toward night, ye may send the Queen word that ye will lie out all that night, and so may ye send for your cooks. And then, upon pain of death, that night we shall take him with the Queen, and we shall bring him unto you, quick 4 or dead." "I will well,"5 said the King. "Then I counsel you to take with you sure fellowship." "Sir," said Sir Agravain, "my brother, Sir Mordred, and I will take with us twelve knights of the Round Table." "Beware," said King Arthur, "for I warn you, ye shall find him wight."6 "Let us deal!" 7 said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred. So on the morn King Arthur rode on hunting and sent word to the Queen that he would be out all that night. Then Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred got to them 8 twelve knights and hid themself in a chamber in the castle of Carlisle. And these were their names: Sir Colgrevance, Sir Mador de la Porte, Sir Guingalen, Sir Meliot de Logres, Sir Petipace of Winchelsea, Sir Galeron of Galway, Sir Melion de la Mountain, Sir Ascamore, Sir Gromore Somyr Jour, Sir Curselayne, Sir Florence, and Sir Lovell. So these twelve knights were with Sir Mordred and Sir Agravain, and all they were of Scotland, or else of Sir Gawain's kin, or well-willers9 to his brother. So when the night came, Sir Lancelot told Sir Bors 1 how he would go that night and speak with the Queen. "Sir," said Sir Bors, "ye shall not go this night by my counsel." "Why?" said Sir Lancelot. "Sir," said Sir Bors, "I dread me 2 ever of Sir Agravain that waiteth upon 3 you daily to do you shame and us all. And never gave my heart against no going that ever ye went4 to the queen so much as now, for I mistrust 5 that the 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Sister's. Know. Know. Unless. Unless he is caught in the act. If. Suspicion. Exceedingly. Tomorrow. Alive. Readily agree.

6. Strong. 7. Leave it to us. 8. Gathered to themselves. 9. Partisans. 1. Nephew and confidant of Sir Lancelot. 2. I am afraid. 3. Lies in wait. 4. Never misgave my heart against any visit you made. 5. Suspect.

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King is out this night from the Queen because peradventure he hath Iain6 some watch for you and the Queen. Therefore, I dread me sore of some treason." "Have ye no dread," said Sir Lancelot, "for I shall go and come again and make no tarrying." "Sir," said Sir Bors, "that me repents, 7 for I dread me sore that your going this night shall wrath8 us all." "Fair nephew," said Sir Lancelot, "I marvel me much why ye say thus, sithen 9 the Queen hath sent for me. And wit you well, I will not be so much a coward, but she shall understand I will1 see her good grace." "God speed you well," said Sir Bors, "and send you sound and safe again!" So Sir Lancelot departed and took his sword under his arm, and so he walked in his mantel, 2 that noble knight, and put himself in great jeopardy. And so he passed on till he came to the Queen's chamber, and so lightly he was had 3 into the chamber. And then, as the French book saith, the Queen and Sir Lancelot were together. And whether they were abed or at other manner of disports, me list4 not thereof make no mention, for love that time 5 was not as love is nowadays. But thus as they were together there came Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred with twelve knights with them of the Round Table, and they said with great crying and scaring 6 voice: "Thou traitor, Sir Lancelot, now are thou taken!" And thus they cried with a loud voice that all the court might hear it. And these fourteen knights all were armed at all points, as 7 they should fight in a battle. "Alas!" said Queen Guinevere, "now are we mischieved 8 both!" "Madam," said Sir Lancelot, "is there here any armor within your chamber that I might cover my body withal? And if there be any, give it me, and I shall soon stint 9 their malice, by the grace of God!" "Now, truly," said the Queen, "I have none armor neither helm, shield, sword, neither spear, wherefore I dread me sore our long love is come to a mischievous end. For I hear by their noise there be many noble knights, and well I woot they be surely1 armed, and against them ye may make no resistance. Wherefore ye are likely to be slain, and then shall I be burned! For and 2 ye might escape them," said the Queen, "I would not doubt but that ye would rescue me in what danger that ever I stood in." "Alas!" said Sir Lancelot, "in all my life thus was I never bestead 3 that I should be thus shamefully slain for lack of mine armor." But ever in one 4 Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred cried: "Traitor knight, come out of the Queen's chamber! For wit thou well thou art beset so that thou shalt not escape." "Ah, Jesu mercy!" said Sir Lancelot, "this shameful cry and noise I may not suffer, for better were death at once than thus to endure this pain." Then he 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Perhaps he has set. I regret. C a u s e injury to. Since. Wish to. Cloak. Lancelot goes without armor. Quickly he was received. I care. "Disports": pastimes. At that time.

6. 7. 8. 9. I. 2. 3. 4.

Terrifying. Completely, as if. C o m e to grief. Stop. Securely. If. Beset. In unison.

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took the Queen in his arms and kissed her and said, "Most noblest Christian queen, I beseech you, as ye have been ever my special good lady, and I at all times your poor knight and true unto 5 my power, and as I never failed you in right nor in wrong sithen the first day King Arthur made me knight, that ye will pray for my soul if that I be slain. For well I am assured that Sir Bors, my nephew, and all the remnant of my kin, with Sir Lavain and Sir Urry,6 that they will not fail you to rescue you from the fire. And therefore, mine own lady, recomfort yourself, 7 whatsoever come of me, that ye go with Sir Bors, my nephew, and Sir Urry and they all will do you all the pleasure that they may, and ye shall live like a queen upon my lands." "Nay, Sir Lancelot, nay!" said the Oueen. "Wit thou well that I will not live long after thy days. But and 8 ye be slain I will take my death as meekly as ever did martyr take his death for Jesu Christ's sake." "Well, Madam," said Sir Lancelot, "sith it is so that the day is come that our love must depart, 9 wit you well I shall sell my life as dear as I may. And a thousandfold," said Sir Lancelot, "I am more heavier1 for you than for myself! And now I had liefer 2 than to be lord of all Christendom that I had sure armor upon me, that men might speak of my deeds ere ever I were slain." "Truly," said the Queen, "and 3 it might please God, I would that they would take me and slay me and suffer 4 you to escape." "That shall never be," said Sir Lancelot. "God defend me from such a shame! But, Jesu Christ, be Thou my shield and mine armor!" And therewith Sir Lancelot wrapped his mantel about his arm well and surely; and by then they had gotten a great form 5 out of the hall, and therewith they all rushed at the door. "Now, fair lords," said Sir Lancelot, "leave6 your noise and your rushing, and I shall set open this door, and then may ye do with me what it liketh you." 7 "Come off, 8 then," said they all, "and do it, for it availeth thee not to strive against us all. And therefore let us into this chamber, and we shall save thy life until thou come to King Arthur." Then Sir Lancelot unbarred the door, and with his left hand he held it open a little, that but one man might come in at once. And so there came striding a good knight, a much 9 man and a large, and his name was called Sir Colgrevance of Gore. And he with a sword struck at Sir Lancelot mightily. And he put aside 1 the stroke and gave him such a buffet 2 upon the helmet that he fell groveling dead within the chamber door. Then Sir Lancelot with great might drew the knight within3 the chamber door. And then Sir Lancelot, with help of the Queen and her ladies, he was lightly4 armed in Colgrevance's armor. And ever stood Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, crying, "Traitor knight! Come forth out of the Queen's chamber!" "Sirs, leave5 your noise," said Sir Lancelot, "for wit you well, Sir Agravain, ye shall not prison me this night. And therefore, and 6 ye do by my counsel, go 5. To the utmost of. 6. The brother of Elaine, the Fair Maid of Astolat, and a knight miraculously healed of his wound by Sir Lancelot. "Remnant": rest. 7. Take heart again. 8. If. 9. C o m e to an end. I. More grieved. 2. Rather. 3. If. 4. Allow.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Bench. Stop. Pleases you. Go ahead. Big. Fended off. Blow. Inside. Quickly. Stop. If.

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ye all from this chamber door and make you no such crying and such manner of slander as ye do. For I promise you by my knighthood, and ye will depart and make no more noise, I shall as tomorn appear afore you all and before the King, and then let it be seen which of you all, other else ye all,7 that will deprove 8 me of treason. And there shall I answer you, as a knight should, that hither I came to the Queen for no manner of mal engine, 9 and that will I prove and make it good upon you with my hands." "Fie upon thee, traitor," said Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred, "for we will have thee malgre thine head 1 and slay thee, and we list. For we let thee wit we have the choice of 2 King Arthur to save thee other slay thee." "Ah, sirs," said Sir Lancelot, "is there none other grace with you? Then keep3 yourself!" And then Sir Lancelot set all open the chamber door and mightily and knightly he strode in among them. And anon 4 at the first stroke he slew Sir Agravain, and after twelve of his fellows. Within a little while he had laid them down cold to the earth, for there was none of the twelve knights might stand Sir Lancelot one buffet. 5 And also he wounded Sir Mordred, and therewithal he fled with all his might. And then Sir Lancelot returned again unto the Oueen and said, "Madam, now wit you well, all our true love is brought to an end, for now will King Arthur ever be my foe. And therefore, Madam, and it like you6 that I may have you with me, I shall save you from all manner adventurous 7 dangers." "Sir, that is not best," said the Queen, "me seemeth, for8 now ye have done so much harm, it will be best that ye hold you still with this. And if ye see that as tomorn they will put me unto death, then may ye rescue me as ye think best." "I will well," 9 said Sir Lancelot, "for have ye no doubt, while I am a man living I shall rescue you." And then he kissed her, and either of them gave other a ring, and so there he left the Queen and went until1 his lodging. [WAR B R E A K S O U T B E T W E E N A R T H U R A N D L A N C E L O T ] 2

Then said King Arthur unto Sir Gawain, "Dear nephew, I pray you make ready in your best armor with your brethren, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, to bring my Queen to the fire, there to have her judgment and receive the death." "Nay, my most noble king," said Sir Gawain, "that will I never do, for wit you well I will never be in that place where so noble a queen as is my lady Dame Guinevere shall take such a shameful end. For wit you well," said Sir Gawain, "my heart will not serve me for to see her die, and it shall never be said that ever I was of your counsel for her death." "Then," said the King unto Sir Gawain, "suffer 3 your brethren Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth to be there." "My lord," said Sir Gawain, "wit you well they will be loath to be there 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Or else all of you. Accuse. Evil design. In spite of you. From. Defend. Right away. Withstand Sir Lancelot one blow. If it please you. Perilous. Because.

9. Agree. 1. To. 2. Lancelot and Sir Bors mobilize their friends for the rescue of Guinevere. In the morning Mordred reports the events of the night to Arthur who, against Gawain's strong opposition, condemns the queen to be burned, for "the law was such in those days that whatsoever they were, of what estate or degree, if they were found guilty of treason there should be none other remedy but death." 3. Allow.

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present because of many adventures 4 that is like to fall, but they are young and full unable to say you nay." Then spake Sir Gaheris and the good knight Sir Gareth unto King Arthur: "Sir, ye may well command us to be there, but wit you well it shall be sore against our will. But and 5 we be there by your strait commandment, ye shall plainly6 hold us there excused—we will be there in peaceable wise and bear none harness of war upon us." "In the name of God," said the King, "then make you ready, for she shall have soon 7 her judgment." "Alas," said Sir Gawain, "that ever I should endure 8 to see this woeful day." So Sir Gawain turned him and wept heartily, and so he went into his chamber. And then the Queen was led forth without 9 Carlisle, and anon she was dispoiled into1 her smock. And then her ghostly father 2 was brought to her to be shriven of her misdeeds. 3 Then was there weeping and wailing and wringing of hands of many lords and ladies, but there were but few in comparison that would bear any armor for to strengthen 4 the death of the Queen. Then was there one that Sir Lancelot had sent unto that place, which went to espy what time the Queen should go unto her death. And anon as 5 he saw the Queen dispoiled into her smock and shriven, then he gave Sir Lancelot warning. Then was there but spurring and plucking up 6 of horses, and right so they came unto the fire. And who7 that stood against them, there were they slain—there might none withstand Sir Lancelot. So all that bore arms and withstood them, there were they slain, full many a noble knight. * * * And so in this rushing and hurling, as Sir Lancelot thrang 8 here and there, it misfortuned him 9 to slay Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, the noble knight, for they were unarmed and unwares. 1 As the French book saith, Sir Lancelot smote Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth upon the brain-pans, wherethrough 2 that they were slain in the field, howbeit3 Sir Lancelot saw them not. And so were they found dead among the thickest of the press. Then when Sir Lancelot had thus done, and slain and put to flight all that would withstand him, then he rode straight unto Queen Guinevere and made a kirtle4 and a gown to be cast upon her, and then he made her to be set behind him and prayed her to be of good cheer. Now wit you well the Queen was glad that she was escaped from death, and then she thanked God and Sir Lancelot. And so he rode his way with the Queen, as the French book saith, unto Joyous Garde, 5 and there he kept her as a noble knight should. And many great lords and many good knights were sent him, and many full noble knights drew unto him. When they heard that King Arthur and Sir Lancelot were at debate, 6 many knights were glad, and many were sorry of their debate. Now turn we again unto King Arthur, that when it was told him how and in what manner the Queen was taken away from the fire, and when he heard 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Chance occurrences. If. Openly. "Straight": strict. Right away. Live. Outside. Undressed down to. Spiritual father, i.e., her priest. For her to be confessed of her sins. Secure. As soon as.

6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Urging forward. Whoever. Pressed. "Hurling": turmoil. He had the misfortune. Unaware. Through which. Although. Petticoat. Lancelot's castle in England. Strife.

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of the death of his noble knights, and in especial Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, then he swooned for very pure 7 sorrow. And when he awoke of his swoon, then he said: "Alas, that ever I bore crown upon my head! For now have I lost the fairest fellowship of noble knights that ever held Christian king8 together. Alas, my good knights be slain and gone away from me. Now within these two days I have lost nigh forty knights and also the noble fellowship of Sir Lancelot and his blood, 9 for now I may nevermore hold them together with my worship.1 Alas, that ever this war began! "Now, fair fellows," said the King, "I charge you that no man tell Sir Gawain of the death of his two brethren, for I am sure," said the King, "when he heareth tell that Sir Gareth is dead, he will go nigh out of his mind. Mercy Jesu," said the King, "why slew he Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth? For I dare say, as for Sir Gareth, he loved Sir Lancelot above all men earthly."2 "That is truth," said some knights, "but they were slain in the hurling, 3 as Sir Lancelot thrang in the thickest of the press. And as they were unarmed, he smote them and wist4 not whom that he smote, and so unhappily 5 they were slain." "Well," said Arthur, "the death of them will cause the greatest mortal war that ever was, for I am sure that when Sir Gawain knoweth hereof that Sir Gareth is slain, I shall never have rest of him6 till I have destroyed Sir Lancelot's kin and himself both, other else he to destroy me. And therefore," said the King, "wit you well, my heart was never so heavy as it is now. And much more I am sorrier for my good knights' loss 7 than for the loss of my fair queen; for queens I might have enough, but such a fellowship of good knights shall never be together in no company. And now I dare say," said King Arthur, "there was never Christian king that ever held such a fellowship together. And alas, that ever Sir Lancelot and I should be at debate. Ah, Agravain, Agravain!" said the King, "Jesu forgive it thy soul, for thine evil will that thou and thy brother Sir Mordred haddest unto Sir Lancelot hath caused all this sorrow." And ever among these complaints the King wept and swooned. Then came there one to Sir Gawain and told him how the Queen was led away with8 Sir Lancelot, and nigh a four-and-twenty knights slain. "Ah, Jesu, save me my two brethren!" said Sir Gawain. "For full well wist I," said Sir Gawain, "that Sir Lancelot would rescue her, other else he would die in that field. And to say the truth he were not of worship but if he had 9 rescued the Queen, insomuch as she should have been burned for his sake. And as in that," said Sir Gawain, "he hath done but knightly, and as I would have done myself and I had stood in like case. But where are my brethren?" said Sir Gawain. "I marvel that I hear not of them." Then said that man, "Truly, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth be slain." "Jesu defend!" 1 said Sir Gawain. "For all this world I would not that they were slain, and in especial my good brother Sir Gareth." "Sir," said the man, "he is slain, and that is great pity." "Who slew him?" said Sir Gawain. "Sir Lancelot," said the man, "slew them both." 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Sheer. That Christian king ever held. Kin. Glory. Earthly men. Turmoil. Knew.

5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1.

Unluckily. He will never give me any peace. The loss of my good knights. By. Of honor if he had not. Forbid.

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"That may I not believe," said Sir Gawain, "that ever he slew my good brother Sir Gareth, for I dare say my brother loved him better than me and all his brethren and the King both. Also I dare say, an 2 Sir Lancelot had desired my brother Sir Gareth with him, he would have been with him against the King and us all. And therefore I may never believe that Sir Lancelot slew my brethren." "Verily, sir," said the man, "it is noised 3 that he slew him." "Alas," said Sir Gawain, "now is my joy gone." And then he fell down and swooned, and long he lay there as he had been dead. And when he arose out of his swoon, he cried out sorrowfully and said, "Alas!" And forthwith he ran unto the King, crying and weeping, and said, "Ah, mine uncle King Arthur! My good brother Sir Gareth is slain, and so is my brother Sir Gaheris, which were two noble knights." Then the King wept and he both, and so they fell on swooning. And when they were revived, then spake Sir Gawain and said, "Sir, I will go and see my brother Sir Gareth." "Sir, ye may not see him," said the King, "for I caused him to be interred and Sir Gaheris both, for I well understood that ye would make overmuch sorrow, and the sight of Sir Gareth should have caused your double sorrow." "Alas, my lord," said Sir Gawain, "how slew he my brother Sir Gareth? Mine own good lord, I pray you tell me." "Truly," said the King, "I shall tell you as it hath been told me—Sir Lancelot slew him and Sir Gaheris both." "Alas," said Sir Gawain, "they bore none arms against him, neither of them both." "I woot not how it was," said the King, "but as it is said, Sir Lancelot slew them in the thickest of the press and knew them not. And therefore let us shape a remedy for to revenge their deaths." "My king, my lord, and mine uncle," said Sir Gawain, "wit you well, now I shall make you a promise which I shall hold by my knighthood, that from this day forward I shall never fail 4 Sir Lancelot until that one of us have slain the other. And therefore I require you, my lord and king, dress 5 you unto the wars, for wit you well, I will be revenged upon Sir Lancelot; and therefore, as ye will have my service and my love, now haste you thereto and assay 6 your friends. For I promise unto God," said Sir Gawain, "for the death of my brother Sir Gareth I shall seek Sir Lancelot throughout seven kings' realms, but I shall slay him, other else he shall slay me." "Sir, ye shall not need to seek him so far," said the King, "for as I hear say, Sir Lancelot will abide me and us all within the castle of Joyous Garde. And much people draweth unto him, as I hear say." "That may I right well believe," said Sir Gawain, "but my lord," he said, "assay your friends and I will assay mine." "It shall be done," said the King, "and as I suppose I shall be big7 enough to drive him out of the biggest tower of his castle." So then the King sent letters and writs throughout all England, both the length and the breadth, for to summon all his knights. And so unto King Arthur drew many knights, dukes, and earls, that he had a great host, and when they 2. If. 3. Reported. 4. Give up the pursuit of.

5. Prepare. 6. Appeal to. 7. Strong.

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were assembled the King informed them how Sir Lancelot had bereft him his Queen. Then the King and all his host made them ready to lay siege about Sir Lancelot where he lay within Joyous Garde. [THE DEATH OF ARTHUR]8

So upon Trinity Sunday at night King Arthur dreamed a wonderful dream, and in his dream him seemed that he saw upon a chafflet 9 a chair, and the chair was fast to a wheel, and thereupon sat King Arthur in the richest cloth of gold that might be made. And the King thought there was under him, far from him, an hideous deep black water, and therein was all manner of serpents, and worms, and wild beasts, foul and horrible. And suddenly the King thought that the wheel turned upside down, and he fell among the serpents, and every beast took him by a limb. And then the King cried as he lay in his bed, "Help, help!" And then knights, squires, and yeomen awaked the King, and then he was so amazed that he wist1 not where he was. And then so he awaked 2 until it was nigh day, and then he fell on slumbering again, not sleeping nor thoroughly waking. So the King seemed 3 verily that there came Sir Gawain unto him with a number of fair ladies with him. So when King Arthur saw him, he said, "Welcome, my sister's son. I weened ye had been dead. And now I see thee on-live, much am I beholden unto Almighty Jesu. Ah, fair nephew and my sister's son, what been these ladies that hither be come with you1?" "Sir," said Sir Gawain, "all these be ladies for whom I have foughten for when I was man living. And all these are tho4 that I did battle for in righteous quarrels, and God hath given them that grace, at their great prayer, because I did battle for them for their right, that they should bring me hither unto you. Thus much hath given me leave God, for to warn you of your death. For and ye fight as tomorn 5 with Sir Mordred, as ye both have assigned, 6 doubt ye not ye must be slain, and the most party of your people on both parties. And for the great grace and goodness that Almighty Jesu hath unto you, and for pity of you and many mo other good men there7 shall be slain, God hath sent me to you of his special grace to give you warning that in no wise ye do battle as tomorn, but that ye take a treatise for a month-day.8 And proffer you largely,9 so that tomorn ye put in a delay. For within a month shall come Sir Lancelot with all his noble knights and rescue you worshipfully and slay Sir Mordred and all that ever will hold with him." Then Sir Gawain and all the ladies vanished. And anon the King called upon his knights, squires, and yeomen, and charged them wightly1 to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. And when they were come the King told them of his avision, 2 that Sir Gawain had told him and warned him that, and 8. The pope arranges a truce, Guinevere is returned to Arthur, and Lancelot and his kin leave England to become rulers of France. At Gawain's instigation Arthur invades France to resume the war against Lancelot. Word comes to the king that Mordred has seized the kingdom, and Arthur leads his forces back to England. Mordred attacks them upon their landing, and Gawain is mortally wounded and dies, although not before he has repented for having insisted that Arthur fight Lancelot and has written Lancelot to come to the aid of his former lord. 9. Scaffold. "Him seemed": it seemed to him.

1. Knew. 2. Lay awake. 3. It seemed to the king. 4. Those. 5. If you fight tomorrow. 6. Decided. 7. I.e., who there. "Mo": more. 8. For a month from today. "Treatise": treaty, truce. 9. Make generous offers. 1. Quickly. 2. Dream.

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he fought on the morn, he should be slain. Then the King commanded Sir Lucan the Butler 3 and his brother Sir Bedivere the Bold, with two bishops with them, and charged them in any wise to take a treatise for a month-day with Sir Mordred. "And spare not: proffer him lands and goods as much as ye think reasonable." So then they departed and came to Sir Mordred where he had a grim host of an hundred thousand, and there they entreated 4 Sir Mordred long time. And at the last Sir Mordred was agreed for to have Cornwall and Kent by King Arthur's days, 5 and after that, all England, after the days of King Arthur. Then were they condescended 6 that King Arthur and Sir Mordred should meet betwixt both their hosts, and everich7 of them should bring fourteen persons. And so they came with this word unto Arthur. Then said he, "I am glad that this is done," and so he went into the field. And when King Arthur should depart, he warned all his host that, and they see any sword drawn, "Look ye come on fiercely and slay that traitor Sir Mordred, for I in no wise trust him." In like wise Sir Mordred warned his host that "And ye see any manner of sword drawn, look that ye come on fiercely, and so slay all that ever before you standeth, for in no wise I will not trust for this treatise." And in the same wise said Sir Mordred unto his host, "For I know well my father will be avenged upon me." And so they met as their pointment 8 was and were agreed and accorded thoroughly. And wine was fetched and they drank together. Right so came an adder out of a little heath-bush, and it stung a knight in the foot. And so when the knight felt him so stung, he looked down and saw the adder. And anon he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought 9 none other harm. And when the host on both parties saw that sword drawn, then they blew beams, 1 trumpets, and horns, and shouted grimly. And so both hosts dressed them 2 together. And King Arthur took his horse and said, "Alas, this unhappy day!" and so rode to his party, and Sir Mordred in like wise. And never since was there never seen a more dolefuller battle in no Christian land, for there was but rushing and riding, foining 3 and striking; and many a grim word was there spoken of either to other, and many a deadly stroke. But ever King Arthur rode throughout the battle 4 of Sir Mordred many times and did full nobly, as a noble king should do, and at all times he fainted never. And Sir Mordred did his devoir5 that day and put himself in great peril. And thus they fought all the long day, and never stinted 6 till the noble knights were laid to the cold earth. And ever they fought still till it was near night, and by then was there an hundred thousand laid dead upon the down. Then was King Arthur wood-wroth7 out of measure when he saw his people so slain from him. And so he looked about him and could see no mo 8 of all his host, and good knights left no mo on-live, but two knights: the tone 9 was Sir Lucan the Butler and [the other] his brother Sir Bedivere. And yet they were full sore wounded. 3. "Butler" here is probably only a title of high rank, although it was originally used to designate the officer who had charge of wine for the king's table. 4. Dealt with. 5. During King Arthur's lifetime. 6. Agreed. 7. Each. 8. Arrangement. 9. Meant.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

A kind of trumpet. Prepared to come. Lunging. Battalion. Knightly duty. Stopped. Mad with rage. Others. That one, i.e., the first.

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"Jesu, mercy," said the King, "where are all my noble knights become? 1 Alas that ever I should see this doleful day! For now," said King Arthur, "I am come to mine end. But would to God," said he, "that I wist2 now where were that traitor Sir Mordred that has caused all this mischief." Then King Arthur looked about and was ware where stood Sir Mordred leaning upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. "Now give me my spear," said King Arthur unto Sir Lucan, "for yonder I have espied the traitor that all this woe hath wrought." "Sir, let him be," said Sir Lucan, "for he is unhappy. 3 And if ye pass this unhappy day ye shall be right well revenged upon him. And, good lord, remember ye of your night's dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawain told you tonight, and yet God of his great goodness hath preserved you hitherto. And for God's sake, my lord, leave off by this, 4 for, blessed be God, ye have won the field: for yet we been here three on-live, and with Sir Mordred is not one on-live. And therefore if ye leave off now, this wicked day of destiny is past." "Now, tide 5 me death, tide me life," said the King, "now I see him yonder alone, he shall never escape mine hands. For at a better avail6 shall I never have him." "God speed you well!" said Sir Bedivere. Then the King got his spear in both his hands and ran toward Sir Mordred, crying and saying, "Traitor, now is thy deathday come!" And when Sir Mordred saw King Arthur he ran until him with his sword drawn in his hand, and there King Arthur smote Sir Mordred under the shield, with a foin 7 of his spear, throughout the body more than a fathom. 8 And when Sir Mordred felt that he had his death's wound, he thrust himself with the might that he had up to the burr9 of King Arthur's spear, and right so he smote his father King Arthur with his sword holden in both his hands, upon the side of the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the tay1 of the brain. And therewith Sir Mordred dashed down stark dead to the earth. And noble King Arthur fell in a swough 2 to the earth, and there he swooned oftentimes, and Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere ofttimes heaved him up. And so, weakly betwixt them, they led him to a little chapel not far from the seaside, and when the King was there, him thought him reasonably eased. Then heard they people cry in the field. "Now go thou, Sir Lucan," said the King, "and do me to wit3 what betokens that noise in the field." So Sir Lucan departed, for he was grievously wounded in many places. And so as he yede4 he saw and harkened by the moonlight how that pillers5 and robbers were come into the field to pill and to rob many a full noble knight of brooches and bees 6 and of many a good ring and many a rich jewel. And who that were not dead all out there they slew them for their harness 7 and their riches. When Sir Lucan understood this work, he came to the King as soon as he might and told him all what he had heard and seen. "Therefore by my read," 8 said Sir Lucan, "it is best that we bring you to some town." I. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

What has become of all my noble knights? Knew. I.e., unlucky for you. I.e., with this much accomplished. Betide. Advantage. Thrust. I.e., six feet. Hand guard.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Edge. Swoon. Let me know. Walked. Plunderers. Bracelets. Armor. "All out": entirely. Advice.

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"I would it were so," said the King, "but I may not stand, my head works9 so. Ah, Sir Lancelot," said King Arthur, "this day have I sore missed thee. And alas that ever I was against thee, for now have I my death, whereof Sir Gawain me warned in my dream." Then Sir Lucan took up the King the t'one party1 and Sir Bedivere the other party; and in the lifting up the King swooned and in the lifting Sir Lucan fell in a swoon that part of his guts fell out of his body, and therewith the noble knight's heart burst. And when the King awoke he beheld Sir Lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth and part of his guts lay at his feet. "Alas," said the King, "this is to me a full heavy2 sight to see this noble duke so die for my sake, for he would have holpen 3 me that had more need of help than I. Alas that he would not complain him for 4 his heart was so set to help me. Now Jesu have mercy upon his soul." Then Sir Bedivere wept for the death of his brother. "Now leave this mourning and weeping, gentle knight," said the King, "for ail this will not avail me. For wit thou well, and 5 I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me evermore. But my time passeth on fast," said the King. "Therefore," said King Arthur unto Sir Bedivere, "take thou here Excalibur 6 my good sword and go with it to yonder water's side; and when thou comest there I charge thee throw my sword in that water and come again and tell me what thou sawest there." "My lord," said Sir Bedivere, "your commandment shall be done, and [I shall] lightly7 bring you word again." So Sir Bedivere departed. And by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft 8 was all precious stones. And then he said to himself, "If I throw this rich sword in the water, thereof shall never come good, but harm and loss." And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree. And so, as soon as he might, he came again unto the King and said he had been at the water and had thrown the sword into the water. "What saw thou there?" said the King. "Sir," he said, "I saw nothing but waves and winds." "That is untruly said of thee," said the King. "And therefore go thou lightly again and do my commandment; as thou art to me lief 9 and dear, spare not, but throw it in." Then Sir Bedivere returned again and took the sword in his hand. And yet him thought 1 sin and shame to throw away that noble sword. And so eft 2 he hid the sword and returned again and told the King that he had been at the water and done his commandment. "What sawest thou there?" said the King. "Sir," he said, "I saw nothing but waters wap and waves wan." 3 "Ah, traitor unto me and untrue," said King Arthur, "now hast thou betrayed me twice. Who would have weened that thou that has been to me so lief and dear, and thou art named a noble knight, and would betray me for the riches 9. Aches. 1. On one side. 2. Sorrowful. 3. Helped. 4. Because. 5. If. 6. The sword that Arthur had received as a young man from the Lady of the Lake; it is presumably she who catches it when Bedivere finally throws it

into the water. 7. Quickly. 8. Handle. "Pommel": rounded knob on the hilt. 9. Beloved. 1. It seemed to him. 2. Again. 3. The phrase seems to mean "waters wash the shore and waves grow dark."

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of this sword. But now go again lightly, for thy long tarrying putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for I have taken cold. And but if thou do now as I bid thee, if ever I may see thee I shall slay thee mine 4 own hands, for thou wouldest for my rich sword see me dead." Then Sir Bedivere departed and went to the sword and lightly took it up, and so he went to the water's side; and there he bound the girdle5 about the hilts, and threw the sword as far into the water as he might. And there came an arm and an hand above the water and took it and clutched it, and shook it thrice and brandished; and then vanished away the hand with the sword into the water. So Sir Bedivere came again to the King and told him what he saw. "Alas," said the King, "help me hence, for I dread me I have tarried overlong." Then Sir Bedivere took the King upon his back and so went with him to that water's side. And when they were at the water's side, even fast 6 by the bank hoved 7 a little barge with many fair ladies in it; and among them all was a queen; and all they had black hoods, and all they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur. "Now put me into that barge," said the King; and so he did softly. And there received him three ladies with great mourning, and so they set them 8 down. And in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head, and then the queen said, "Ah, my dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from me? Alas, this wound on your head hath caught overmuch cold." And anon they rowed fromward the land, and Sir Bedivere beheld all tho ladies go froward him. Then Sir Bedivere cried and said, "Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now ye go from me and leave me here alone among mine enemies?" "Comfort thyself," said the King, "and do as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust for to trust in. For I must into the vale of Avilion9 to heal me of my grievous wound. And if thou hear nevermore of me, pray for my soul." But ever the queen and ladies wept and shrieked that it was pity to hear. And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge he wept and wailed and so took the forest, and went1 all that night. And in the morning he was ware betwixt two holts hoar 2 of a chapel and an hermitage. 3 *

Thus of Arthur I find no more written in books that been authorized, 4 neither more of the very certainty of his death heard I never read, 5 but thus was he led away in a ship wherein were three queens: that one was King Arthur's sister, Queen Morgan la Fee, the t'other6 was the Queen of North Wales, and the third was the Oueen of the Waste Lands. * * * Now more of the death of King Arthur could I never find but that these ladies brought him to his burials, 7 and such one was buried there that the

4. I.e., with mine. 5. Sword belt. 6. Close. 7. Waited. 8. I.e., they sat. 9. A legendary island, sometimes identified with the earthly paradise. 1. Walked. "Took": took to. 2. Ancient copses. 3. In the passage here omitted, Sir Bedivere meets the former bishop of Canterbury, now a hermit,

who describes how on the previous night a company of ladies had brought to the chapel a dead body, asking that it be buried. Sir Bedivere exclaims that the dead man must have been King Arthur and vows to spend the rest of his life there in the chapel as a hermit. 4. That have authority. 5. Tell. 6. The second. 7. Grave.

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hermit bore witness that sometime was Bishop of Canterbury. 8 But yet the hermit knew not in certain that he was verily the body of King Arthur, for this tale Sir Bedivere, a Knight of the Table Round, made it to be written. Yet some men say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not dead, but had by the will of our Lord Jesu into another place. And men say that he shall come again and he shall win the Holy Cross. Yet I will not say that it shall be so, but rather I will say, Here in this world he changed his life. And many men say that there is written upon his tomb this verse: Hie iacet Arthurus, rex quondam,

rexque futurus. 9

[ T H E D E A T H S O F L A N C E L O T AND G U I N E V E R E ] 1

And thus upon a night there came a vision to Sir Lancelot and charged him, in remission 2 of his sins, to haste him unto Amesbury: "And by then 3 thou come there, thou shalt find Queen Guinevere dead. And therefore take thy fellows with thee, and purvey them of an horse-bier, 4 and fetch thou the corse 5 of her, and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur. So this avision6 came to Lancelot thrice in one night. Then Sir Lancelot rose up ere day and told the hermit. "It were well done," said the hermit, "that ye made you ready and that ye disobey not the avision." Then Sir Lancelot took his eight fellows with him, and on foot they yede7 from Glastonbury to Amesbury, the which is little more than thirty mile, and thither they came within two days, for they were weak and feeble to go. And when Sir Lancelot was come to Amesbury within the nunnery, Queen Guinevere died but half an hour afore. And the ladies told Sir Lancelot that Queen Guinevere told them all ere she passed that Sir Lancelot had been priest near a twelve-month:8 "and hither he cometh as fast as he may to fetch my corse, and beside my lord King Arthur he shall bury me." Wherefore the Queen said in hearing of them all, "I beseech Almighty God that I may never have power to see Sir Lancelot with my worldly eyes." "And thus," said all the ladies, "was ever her prayer these two days till she was dead." Then Sir Lancelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the dirige9 and on the morn he sang mass. And there was ordained 1 an horse-bier, and so with an hundred torches ever burning about the corse of the Queen, and ever Sir Lancelot with his eight fellows went about 2 the horse-bier, singing and reading many an holy orison, 3 and frankincense upon the corse incensed. 4 Thus Sir Lancelot and his eight fellows went on foot from Amesbury unto Glastonbury, and when they were come to the chapel and the hermitage, there she had a dirige with great devotion. 5 And on the morn the hermit that some8. Of whom the hermit, who was formerly bishop of Canterbury, bore witness. 9. "Here lies Arthur, who was once king and king will be again." 1. Guinevere enters a convent at Amesbury where Lancelot, returned with his companions to England, visits her, but she commands him never to see her again. Emulating her example, Lancelot joins the bishop of Canterbury and Bedivere in their hermitage where he takes holy orders and is joined in turn by seven of his fellow knights. 2. For the remission.

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

By the time. Provide them with a horse-drawn hearse. Body. Dream. Went. Nearly twelve months. Funeral service. Prepared. Around. Reciting many a prayer. Burned frankincense over the body. Solemnity.

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SIR THOMAS MALORY

time 6 was Bishop of Canterbury sang the mass of requiem with great devotion, and Sir Lancelot was the first that offered, and then als 7 his eight fellows. And then she was wrapped in cered cloth of Rennes, from the top8 to the toe, in thirtyfold, and after she was put in a web 9 of lead, and then in a coffin of marble. And when she was put in the earth Sir Lancelot swooned and lay long still, while1 the hermit came and awaked him, and said, "Ye be to blame, for ye displease God with such manner of sorrow-making." "Truly," said Sir Lancelot, "I trust I do not displease God, for He knoweth mine intent—for my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never have end. For when I remember of her beaulte and of her noblesse 2 that was both with her king and with her,3 so when I saw his corse and her corse so lie together, truly mine heart would not serve to sustain my careful 4 body. Also when I remember me how by my defaute and mine orgule 5 and my pride that they were both laid full low, that were peerless that ever was living of Christian people, wit you well," said Sir Lancelot, "this remembered, of their kindness and mine unkindness, sank so to mine heart that I might not sustain myself." So the French book maketh mention. Then Sir Lancelot never after ate but little meat, 6 nor drank, till he was dead, for then he sickened more and more and dried and dwined 7 away. For the Bishop nor none of his fellows might not make him to eat, and little he drank, that he was waxen by a kibbet 8 shorter than he was, that the people could not know him. For evermore, day and night, he prayed, but sometime he slumbered a broken sleep. Ever he was lying groveling on the tomb of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, and there was no comfort that the Bishop nor Sir Bors, nor none of his fellows could make him—it availed not. So within six weeks after, Sir Lancelot fell sick and lay in his bed. And then he sent for the Bishop that there was hermit, and all his true fellows. Then Sir Lancelot said with dreary steven, 9 "Sir Bishop, I pray you give to me all my rights that longeth 1 to a Christian man." "It shall not need you," 2 said the hermit and all his fellows. "It is but heaviness of your blood. Ye shall be well mended by the grace of God tomom." "My fair lords," said Sir Lancelot, "wit you well my careful body will into the earth; I have warning more than now I will say. Therefore give me my rights." So when he was houseled and annealed 3 and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the Bishop that his fellows might bear his body to Joyous Garde. (Some men say it was Alnwick, and some men say it was Bamborough.) "Howbeit," said Sir Lancelot, "me repenteth 4 sore, but I made mine avow sometime that in Joyous Garde I would be buried. And because of breaking 5 of mine avow, I pray you all, lead me thither." Then there was weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows. So at a season of the night they all went to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber. And so after midnight, against 6 day, the Bishop that was hermit, as 6. Once. 7. Also. "Offered": made his donation. 8. Head. "Cloth of Rennes": A shroud made of fine linen smeared with wax, produced at Rennes. 9. Afterward she was put in a sheet. 1. Until. 2. Her beauty and nobility. 3. That she and her king both had. 4. Sorrowful. 5. My fault and my haughtiness.

6. 7. 8. 9. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Food. Wasted. Grown by a cubit. Sad voice. Pertains. "Flights": last sacrament. You shall not need it. Given communion and extreme unction. I am sorry. In order not to break. Toward.

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MORTE

DARTHUR

45 1

he lay in his bed asleep, he fell upon a great laughter. And therewith all the fellowship awoke and came to the Bishop and asked him what he ailed. 7 "Ah, Jesu mercy," said the Bishop, "why did ye awake me? I was never in all my life so merry and so well at ease." "Wherefore?" said Sir Bors. "Truly," said the Bishop, "here was Sir Lancelot with me, with mo 8 angels than ever I saw men in one day. And I saw the angels heave9 up Sir Lancelot unto heaven, and the gates of heaven opened against him." "It is but dretching of swevens," 1 said Sir Bors, "for I doubt not Sir Lancelot aileth nothing but good." 2 "It may well be," said the Bishop. "Go ye to his bed and then shall ye prove the sooth." So when Sir Bors and his fellows came to his bed, they found him stark dead. And he lay as he had smiled, and the sweetest savor3 about him that ever they felt. Then was there weeping and wringing of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made men. And on the morn the Bishop did his mass of Requiem, and after the Bishop and all the nine knights put Sir Lancelot in the same horse-bier that Queen Guinevere was laid in tofore that she was buried. And so the Bishop and they all together went with the body of Sir Lancelot daily, till they came to Joyous Garde. And ever they had an hundred torches burning about him. And so within fifteen days they came to Joyous Garde. And there they laid his corse in the body of the choir, 4 and sang and read many psalters 5 and prayers over him and about him. And ever his visage was laid open and naked, that all folks might behold him; for such was the custom in tho 6 days that all men of worship should so lie with open visage till that they were buried. And right thus as they were at their service, there came Sir Ector de Maris that had seven year sought all England, Scotland, and Wales, seeking his brother, Sir Lancelot. And when Sir Ector heard such noise and light in the choir of Joyous Garde, he alight and put his horse from him and came into the choir. And there he saw men sing and weep, and all they knew Sir Ector, but he knew not them. Then went Sir Bors unto Sir Ector and told, him how there lay his brother, Sir Lancelot, dead. And then Sir Ector threw his shield, sword, and helm from him, and when he beheld Sir Lancelot's visage, he fell down in a swoon. And when he waked, it were hard any tongue to tell the doleful complaints that he made for his brother. "Ah, Lancelot!" he said, "thou were head of all Christian knights. And now I dare say," said Sir Ector, "thou Sir Lancelot, there thou liest, that thou were never matched of earthly knight's hand. And thou were the courteoust 7 knight that ever bore shield. And thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse, and thou were the truest lover, of a sinful man, 8 that ever loved woman, and thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword. And thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights, and thou was the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies, and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest." 9 Then there was weeping and dolor out of measure. 7. Ailed him. 8. More. 9. Lift. 1. Illusion of dreams. 2. Has nothing wrong with him. 3. Odor. A sweet scent is a conventional sign in saints' lives of a sanctified death.

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

The center of the chancel, the place of honor. Psalms. Those. Most courteous. Of an)' man born in original sin. Support for the butt of the lance.

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456

ROBERT HENRYSON

T h u s they kept Sir Lancelot's corse aloft fifteen days, and then they buried it with great devotion. And then at leisure they went all with the Bishop of Canterbury to his hermitage, and there they were together more than a month. T h e n Sir Constantine that was Sir Cador's son of Cornwall was chosen king of England, and he was a full noble knight, and worshipfully he ruled this realm. And then this King C o n s t a n t i n e sent for the Bishop of Canterbury, for he heard say where he was. And so he was restored unto his bishopric and left that hermitage, and Sir Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end. T h e n Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Gahalantine, Sir Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamour, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiars le Valiant, Sir Clarrus of C l e r m o u n t , all these knights drew them to their countries. Howbeit 1 King C o n s t a n t i n e would have had them with him, but they would not abide in this realm. And there they all lived in their countries as holy men. And s o m e English books m a k e mention that they went never out of England after the death of Sir L a n c e l o t — b u t that was but favor of makers. 2 For the French book maketh m e n t i o n — a n d is authorized—that Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamour, and Sir Bleoberis went into the Holy Land, thereas J e s u Christ was quick 3 and dead, and anon as they had stablished their lands; 4 for the book saith so Sir Lancelot c o m m a n d e d them for to do ere ever he p a s s e d out of this world. T h e r e these four knights did many battles upon the miscreaunts, 5 or Turks, and there they died upon a G o o d Friday for God's sake. Here is the end of the whole book of King Arthur and of his noble knights of the R o u n d Table, that when they were whole together there was ever an hundred and forty. And here is the end of The Death of Arthur. 6 I pray you all gentlemen and gentlewomen that readeth this book of Arthur a n d his knights from the beginning to the ending, pray for me while I am alive that G o d send me good deliverance. And when I am dead, I pray you all pray for my soul. For this book was ended the ninth year of the reign of King Edward the Fourth, by Sir T h o m a s Malory, knight, as J e s u help him for His great might, as he is the servant of J e s u both day and night. 1485

1469-70 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

However. The authors' bias. Living. "Thereas": where. As soon as they had put their lands in order. Infidels.

6. By the "whole book" Malory refers to the entire work; the Death of Arthur, which Caxton made the title of the entire work, refers to the last part of Malory's book.

ROBERT HENRYSON ca. 142 5—ca. 1500 Robert Henryson is perhaps the greatest of a set of exceptionally accomplished latefifteenth- and early-sixteenth-century Scots poets. He was an acute reader and critic of Chaucer; his intense poem The Testament of Cresseid, which is a sequel to Troilus and Criseyde, imagines the fate of Criseyde/Cresseid as she becomes a prostitute in the Greek camp, stricken with both venereal disease and, finally, remorse. This text was routinely printed, in sixteenth-century editions of Chaucer's works, at the end of

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T H E C O C K AND T H E

Fox

457

Troilus as its sixth book. Tlte Cock and the Fox, one of fourteen fables that constitute another subtle, penetrating work by Henryson, his Moral Fables, is a wonderfully original retelling of Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale. Henryson clearly enjoyed and shared Chaucer's humor, and the animals in his fables speak a grittily colloquial idiom; he also learned and adapted from Chaucer the art of sudden changes of stylistic register. Although Henryson's moral vision is darker and more hard-edged than Chaucer's, he too puts pressure on the simplistic moralizing characteristic of the fable tradition. Very little is known for certain about Henryson's life. Because he is spoken of as "master," he probably held a master's degree, and evidence points to his having been headmaster of a grammar school founded by monks of the town Dunfermline. As a schoolmaster, Henryson would have regularly used collections of fables to teach boys their Latin. Such a Latin collection by Walter the Englishman served as Henryson's main source for The Fables. One of the chief attractions of Henryson's poetry is the language, which is no more difficult than Chaucer's. The text here is based on the Oxford edition by Denton Fox (1981), but spellings have occasionally been altered for easier comprehension. The notes call attention to some of the main differences between Chaucer's East Midland and Henryson's Scots dialect. The seven-line stanza of Tlie Fables and The Testament qfCresseid, known as rhyme royal, is the one Chaucer used in his Troilus and Criseyde and most of the religious stories in The Canterbury Tales. It has been said to derive its name from the fact that a royal poet, King James I of Scotland, wrote The Kingis Quair (The King's Book) in that stanza.

The Cock and the Fox T h o g h brutal 1 b e e s t e s be irrational, T h a t is to say, wantand 2 discretioun, Yit ilk a n e ° in their 3 kindes natural H a s m a n y divers inclinatioun: 0 T h e bair° b u s t e o u s , 0 the wolf, the wylde lyoun, T h e fox fenyeit, 0 craftie a n d c a u t e l o u s , 0 T h e dog to bark on night and keep the hous. S a 4 different they are in properteis 0 Unknawin 0 unto m a n a n d infinite, In kind havand sa f e P diversiteis, My c u n n i n g 0 it excedis 5 for to dyte. 0 Forthy 0 as now, I p u r p o s e for to wryte A n e c a s e I f a n d whilk fell this other yeer 6 Betwix 0 a n e fox and gentiP C h a u n t e c l e e r . A n e widow dwelt intill a n e drop they dayis 7 Whilk wan hir food off 8 spinning on hir rok,° And na mair° had, forsooth, as the fabill sayis, 1. Brute, adj., in the sense of relating to animals, as in "brute beasts." 2. Wanting, (i.e., lacking). In the Scottish dialect the normal ending of the present participle is -and instead of -ing. 3. Note that Scottish dialect uses their and them where Chaucer's East Midland still has hire and hem. 4. So. Note that in Scottish dialect long a is pro-

each one natural

disposition

bear / rough, rude deceitful / cunning

unknown having so many skill / write therefore between / noble

distaff no more

nounced for long o. 5. Note that the third person singular of verbs ends in -s or -is instead of -th as in Chaucer. 6. A case I found which happened a year or two ago. "Ane": a. The same word as one, which functions as the indefinite article. 7. In a village [in] those days. 8. Who made her living (literally: won her food) by.

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458

ROBERT HENRYSON

Except of hennes scho° had ane lyttel flok, And them to keep scho had ane jolie cok, Right corageous, that to this widow ay° Divided night 9 and crew before the day.

she zlways

Ane lyttel fra° this foresaid widow's hous, Ane thornie schaw° there was of greet defence, Wherein ane foxe, craftie and cautelous, 0 M a d e his repair and daylie residence, Whilk° to this widow did greet violence In pyking off pultrie 0 baith° day and night, And na way be revengit on him scho might. This wylie tod,° when that the lark couth sing, 1 Full sair° and hungrie unto the toun him drest,° Where Chauntecleer, in to the gray dawing, 0 Werie for° night, was flowen fra his nest. Lowrence 2 this saw and in his mind he kest° T h e jeperdies, the wayes, and the wyle, 3 By what menis° he might this cok begyle.

from thicket cunning which poultry / both

fox sorely,

painfully proceeded dawn weary of

cast,

considered

Dissimuland in to countenance and cheer, 4 On knees fell and simuland thus he said, " G u d e morne, my maister, gentil Chantecleer!" With that the cok start bakwart in ane braid. 0 "Schir,"° by my saul,° ye need not be effraid, Nor yit for me to start nor flee abak; I come bot here service to you to mak.

with a start

"Wald I not serve to you, it wer bot blame, 5 As I have done to your progenitouris. Your father oft fulfillit has my wame,° And sent me meit° fra midding 0 to the muris, 0 And at his end I did my besie curis° To held his heed and gif him drinkis warme, Syne° at the last, the sweit° swelt 0 in my arme!"

food / refuse pile / moors

"Knew ye my father?" quad the cok, and leuch.° "Yea, my fair son, forsooth I held his heed When that he deit° under ane birkin beuch,° Syne said the Dirigie 6 when that he was deed. Betwix us twa how suld there be ane feid? 7 Wham suld ye traist 0 bot me, your servitour That to your father did so greet honour? 9. I.e., kept the hours at night by crowing. Cf. The Miller's Tale, line 567, and The Nun's Priest's Tale, lines 3 3 - 3 8 . 1. When the lark could sing, i.e., at dawn. 2. Generic name for a fox, perhaps invented here by Henryson. 3. The stratagems, the devices, and the trickery. 4. Dissimulating in facial expression and manner. 5. It would be just a shame if I were not to serve

sir / soul

belly busy cares then /sweet

(man) / died laughed

died / birch

whom should you

bough

trust

you. "Serve" has both the feudal sense of service and a second sense. 6. Dirigie ( > m o d e r n "dirge"): the first word of the anthem beginning the funeral service, which designates the prayer itself or the whole Office for the Dead: "Dirige Dominus Deus meus"—Lead me O Lord my God (Psalm 5.9). 7. Between the two of us how should there be a feud? "Suld": should. The future of "shall" is "sail."

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T H E C O C K AND T H E

When I beheld your fedderis 0 fair and gent, Your beck, your breast, your hekill, 0 and your kame°— Schir, by my saul, and the blissit sacrament, 8 My heart warmis, me think I am at hame. You for to serve, I wald creep on my wame° In froist and snaw, in wedder wan and weit° And lay my lyart° lokkes under your feit." This fenyeit fox, fals and dissimulate, M a d e to this cok ane cavillatioun: 0 "Ye are, me think, changed and degenerate Fra your father and his conditioun, Of craftie crawing he might beer the croun, 9 For he weld on his tais° stand and craw. This is no Ie;° I stude beside and saw."

FOX

Syne to the wood but tarie° with him hyit,° Of countermaund havand but lytil dout. 4 With that Pertok, Sprutok, and Coppok cryit, The widow heard, and with ane cry come out. S e a n d the case scho sighit and gaif 5 ane schout, "How, murther, reylok!" 6 with ane hiddeous beir,° "Alias, now lost is gentil Chauntecleer!" As scho were wod° with mony yell and cry, Ryvand hir hair, upon hir breist can beit, 7 Syne pale of hew,° half in ane extasy, 0 Fell doun for care in swoning 0 and in sweit.° With that the selie° hennes left their meit,° And whyle this wyfe was Iyand thus in swoon, Fell of that case in disputacioun. 8. The Eucharist. 9. He might bear the crown of skilfull crowing. 1. So may I prosper. 2. Both shut his eyes, and crow, and turn himself around thrice. 3. Unwarily shutting his eyes.

459

feathers hackle / comb

belly dark and wet gray

a critical remark

toes lie

With that the cok, upon his tais° hie, Kest up his beek and sang with all his might. Q u o d schir Lowrence, "Well said, sa mot I the. 1 Ye are your fatheris son and heir upright, 0 0 Bot of his cunning yit ye want ane slight." "What?" quad the cok. "He wald, and have na dout, Baith wink, and craw, and turne him thryis about." 2 The cok, inflate with wind and fals vanegloir, 0 That mony puttes unto confusioun, Traisting to win ane greet worship therefoir, Unwarlie winkand 3 walkit up and doun, And syne° to chant and craw he made him boun°— And suddandlie, by° he had crawin ane note The fox was war, and hent° him be the throte.

toes

rightful trick

vainglory

then / ready by the time that seized without delay / hurried

noise

mad hue I frenzy fainting / sweating poor/food

4. Having but little fear of prevention. 5. Gave. Note the hard g where the Chaucerian form would be yaf. "Seand": seeing. 6. Ho [Stop], murder, robbery. 7. Tearing her hair did beat upon her breast.

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460

ROBERT HENRYSON

"Alias," quod Pertok, makand sair murning, 8 With teeris greet attour hir cheekis fell, 9 "Yon was our drowrie 0 and our day's darling, Our nightingal, and als° our orlege 0 bell, Our walkrife watch, 0 us for to warne and tell When that Aurora with hir curcheis 0 gray Put up hir heid° betwix the night and day. "Wha sail 0 our Iemman 0 be? Who sail us leid?° When we are sad wha sail unto us sing? With his sweet bill he wald breke us the breid; 0 In all this warld was there ane kynder thing? In paramouris 0 he wald do us plesing, At his power, as nature list him geif. 1 Now efter him, alias, how sail we Ieif?" 0 Q u o d Sprutok than, "Ceis,° sister of your sorrow, Ye be too mad, for him sic murning mais. 2 We sail fare well, I find Sanct J o h n to borrow; 3 The proverb sayis, 'Als gude Iufe cummis as gais.' 4 I will put on my haly-dayis clais° And mak me fresch agane this jolie May, Syne chant this sang, 'Was never widow sa gay!' " H e was angry and held us ay in aw,° And wounded with the speir° of jelowsy. Of chalmerglew, 5 Pertok, full well ye knaw, Wasted he was, of nature cauld and dry. 6 Sen° he is gone, therefore, sister, say I, Be blythe in baill, 7 for that is best remeid. 0 Let quik° to quik, and deid 0 ga to the deid." Than Pertok spak, that feinyeit 0 faith before, In lust but 0 Iufe that set all hir delyte, "Sister, ye wait 0 of sic° as him ane score Wald not suffice to slake our appetyte. I hecht° you by my hand, sen ye are quyte,° Within ane ouIk,° for schame and I durst speik, To get ane berne suld better claw oure breik." 8 Than Coppok like ane curate 0 spak full crous: 0 "Yon was ane verray vengeance from the hevin. He was sa Ious° and sa lecherous, Ceis coud he noght with kittokis ma than sevin, 9 8. Making sore mourning. 9. While great tears fell down over her cheeks. 1. To the extent of the potency nature was pleased to give him. 2. You are too silly—you make such mourning for him. 3. I take St. J o h n to be my guarantor; an expression used at parting. 4. As good love comes as goes. 5. Chamber-joy, i.e., performance in the bedroom.

beloved also / clock wakeful

sentinel

headcovers,

scarves head

who shall / lover / lead bread ting love live

Iwliday

clothes

always

in fear spear

remedy living / dead pretended without know / such promise

/ free week

priest / smugly loose,

dissolute

6. A preponderance of black bile, the humor that is cold and dry like earth, enfeebled his potency. 7. Be merry in misery. 8. If I dare speak, shame not withstanding, to get a man who should better claw our tail. 9. He could not stop [even] with more than seven wenches. "Kittock" is a Scots diminutive for Katherine (as -ok is a diminutive in the names of the hens), used here as a generic term for "girl."

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T H E C O C K AND T H E

140

145

150

155

i6o

165

170

175

But righteous God, haldand the balance evin, 1 Smytis right sair,° thoght he be patient, Adulteraris 0 that list them not repent. "Prydeful he was, and joyit of his sin, And comptit 0 not for Goddis favor nor feid.° Bot traisted ay to rax and sa to rin, 2 Whil at the last his sinnis can° him leid° To schameful end and to yon suddand deid.° Therefore it is the verray hand of God That causit him be werryit 0 with the tod." 0 When this was said, this widow fra hir swoun Start up on fute, and on hir kennettis 0 cryde, "How,° Birkye, Berrie, Bell, Bawsie, Broun, Rype Schaw, Rin Weil, Curtes, Nuttieclyde! Togidder all but grunching furth ye glyde! 3 Reskew my nobil cok ere he be slane, 0 Or ellis to me see ye come never agane!° With that, but baid, they braidet over the bent, 4 As fire off flint they over the feildis flaw, 0 Full wichtlie 0 they through wood and wateris went, And ceissit not, schir Lowrence while they saw. 5 But when he saw the raches 0 come on raw,° Unto the cok in mind 0 he said, "God sen 0 That I and thou were fairlie in my den." Then spak the cok, with sum gude spirit inspyrit, "Do my counsall 6 and I sail warrand 0 thee. Hungrie thou art, and for greet travel 0 tyrit,0 Right faint of force 0 and may not ferther flee: Swyth 0 turn agane and say that I and ye Freindes are made and fellowis for ane yeir. 0 Than will they stint, 0 I stand for it, and not steir." 7 This tod, thogh he were fals and frivolous, 0 And had fraudis, his querrel 0 to defend, Desavit 0 was by menis° right marvelous, For falset 0 failis ay at the latter end. He start about, and cryit as he was kend°— With that the cok he braid 0 unto a bewch.° Now juge ye all whereat schir Lowrence lewch. 8 Begylit 0 thus, the tod under the tree On knees fell, and said, "Gude Chauntecleer, C o m e doun agane, and I but meit or fee 9

1. Holding the scales (of judgment) level. 2. And trusted always to have rule and so to reign. 3. Glide forth all together without grumbling. 4. Without delay they rushed over the ground. 5. And did not stop as long as they saw sir Lowrence.

Fox

461

sore adulterers

cared / enmity did / lead sudden death seized by the throat / fox

small hunting dogs what

slain

flew swiftly dogs / in a line thought / grant

guarantee labor / tired strength quickly year stop untrustworthy cause deceived / means falsehood instructed moved quickly / bough

deceived

6. Take my advice. 7. I guarantee it and [will] not move. 8. Laughed, i.e., he had no reason whatsoever to laugh. 9. Without board or wages.

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462

ROBERT HENRYSON

Sail be your m a n a n d servant for ane yeir." " N a , murther, theif, a n d revar, stand on reir. My bludy hekilP and my nek sa bla° H a s partit love for ever betwene us twa. "I was unwise that winkit 0 at thy will, W h e r e t h r o u g h almaist I loissit 0 h a d my heid."° "I was mair fule," 2 q u o d he, " c o u d noght be still, Bot spake to put my pray into pleid." 3 " F a r e on, fals theef, G o d keep me fra thy feid." 0 With that the c o k over the feildis tuke his flight, And in at the widow's lewer 4 couth he light.

Moralitas

bloody hackle / blue

shut my eyes lost / head

enmity,

N o w worthie folk, s u p p o s e this be ane fabill, And overheillit with typis figural, 5 Yit may ye find a n e s e n t e n c e 0 right agreabill 0 U n d e r their fenyeit termis textual. 6 To our p u r p o s e this cok well may we call Nyce° p r o u d men, woid° and vaneglorious Of kin and blude, whilk is p r e s u m p t u o u s . 7

moral

Fy, p u f f e d up pride, thou is full poysonabill! 0 W h a favoris thee, on force m a n have ane fall, 8 Thy strength is noght, thy stule° standis unstabill. T a k witnes of the feyndes infernall, Whilk 0 houndit d o u n was fra that hevinlie 0 hall 9 To hellis hole and to that hiddeous hous, B e c a u s e in pride they were p r e s u m p t o u s . This fenyeit foxe may well be figurate 0 To flatteraris with plesand wordis white, With fals m e n i n g and mynd maist toxicate, 0 To loif and le that settis their hail delyte. 1 All worthie folk at sic suld haif d e s p i t e 2 — F o r where is there mair perrelous pestilence 1 ?— N o r give to learis 0 haistelie credence. T h e wickit mind and adullatioun, 0 Of sucker sweet haifand similitude, 3 Bitter as gall a n d full of fell poysoun To taste it is, wha cleirlie understude, 4 Forthy 0 as now schortlie to conclude,

feud

although meaning

/ suitable

foolish / mad

poisonous stool who / heavenly

serve as a figure for most

poisonous

liars

excessive praise

therefore 1. No, murderer, thief, and robber, back off (literally, "stand in the rear"). 2. The greater fool. (Said by the fox). 3. To make my prey a subject of a plea (i.e., a legal argument). 4. Louver, i.e., a hole in a roof for letting out smoke. 5. And covered over with figural symbols, i.e., a hidden allegory. 6. Beneath the feigned words of the text, i.e., referring to the interpretation of scripture allegorically, not by the "letter" but by the "spirit."

7. Of family and bloodline, which (pride) is arrogant. 8. Whoever favors thee necessarily must have a fall. 9. The fallen angels who were cast from heaven into hell because they rebelled against God. 1. Who set their whole delight in lauding and lying. 2. Should have contempt for such people. 3. Having resemblance to sweet sugar. 4. Whoever clearly understands it.

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EVERYMAN

Thir° twa sinnis, flatterie and vanegloir. Are v e n o m o u s : g u d e folk, flee t h e m thairfoir!

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these

EVERYMAN after 1485 Everyman is a late example of a kind of medieval drama known as the morality play. Morality plays apparently evolved side by side with the mystery plays, although they were composed individually and not in cycles. They too have a primarily religious purpose, but their method of attaining it is different. Both mysteries and moralities addressed questions of the ultimate fate of the soul. The mysteries dramatized significant events in biblical and sacred history from the creation of the world to Judgment Day in order to bring out the meaning of God's scheme of salvation. The moralities, however, instead of rehearsing scriptural stories, dramatized allegories of spiritual struggle. Typically, a person named Human or Mankind or Youth is faced with a choice between a pious life in the company of such associates as Mercy, Discretion, and Good Deeds and a dissolute life among riotous companions like Lust or Mischief. Everyman is about the day of judgment that every individual human being must face eventually. The play represents allegorically the forces—both outside the protagonist and within—that can help to save Everyman and those that cannot or that obstruct his salvation. Everyman lacks the broad (even slapstick) humor of many morality plays that portray as clowns the vices that try to lure the Everyman figure away from salvation. The play does contain a certain grim humor in showing the haste with which the hero's fair-weather friends abandon him when they discover what his problem is. The play inculcates its austere lesson by the simplicity and directness of its language and of its approach. A sense of urgency builds—one by one Everyman's supposed resources fail him as time is running out. Ultimately Knowledge teaches him the lesson that every Christian must learn in order to be saved. The play was written near the end of the fifteenth century. It is probably a translation of a Flemish play, although it is possible that the Flemish play is the translation and the English Everyman the original.

Everyman CAST OF

CHARACTERS

MESSENGER

KNOWLEDGE

GOD

CONFESSION

DEATH

BEAUTY

EVERYMAN

STRENGTH

FELLOWSHIP

DISCRETION

KINDRED

FIVE-WITS

COUSIN

ANGEL

GOODS

DOCTOR

GOOD D E E D S 1. The text is based on the earliest printing of the play (no manuscript is known) by John Skot about 1530, as reproduced by W. W. Greg (1904). The spelling has been modernized except where mod-

ernization would spoil the rhyme, and modern punctuation has been added. The stage directions have been amplified,

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EVERYMAN

H E R E B E G I N N E T H A T R E A T I S E HOW T H E H I G H FATHER OF HEAVEN S E N D E T H DEATH TO S U M M O N EVERY C R E A T U R E TO C O M E AND GIVE A C C O U N T OF T H E I R LIVES IN T H I S W O R L D , AND IS IN MANNER OF A MORAL PLAY

[Enter

MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER I pray you all give your audience, And hear this matter with reverence, By figure 0 a moral play. The

Summoning

of Everyman

called

inform

is,

T h a t of our lives and ending shows H o w transitory we be all day.° T h e matter is wonder precious, But the intent of it is more gracious A n d sweet to bear away. T h e story saith: M a n , in the beginning L o o k well, and take good heed to the ending, Be you never so gay. You think sin in the beginning full sweet, W h i c h in the end c a u s e t h the soul to weep, W h e n the body lieth in clay. Here shall you see how fellowship and jollity, Both strength, pleasure, and beauty, Will f a d e from thee as flower in May. For ye shall hear how our Heaven-King Calleth Everyman to a general reckoning. Give a u d i e n c e and hear what he doth say.

always

[ E x i t M E S S E N G E R . — E n t e r GOD.]

GOD I perceive, here in my majesty, H o w that all creatures be to me unkind, 0 Living without dread in worldly prosperity. Of ghostly 0 sight the people be so blind, Drowned in sin, they know me not for their God. In worldly riches is all their mind: They fear not of my righteousness the sharp rod; My law that I showed when I for them died They forget clean, and shedding of my blood red. I hanged between two, 2 it cannot be denied: To get them life I suffered to be dead. I healed their feet, with thorns hurt was my head. I could do no more than I did, truly— And now I see the people do clean forsake me. They u s e the seven deadly sins damnable, As pride, coveitise, 0 wrath, and lechery 3 N o w in the world be m a d e c o m m e n d a b l e . And thus they leave of angels the heavenly company. 2. I.e., the two thieves between whom Christ was crucified.

thoughtless

3. The other three deadly sins are envy, gluttony, and sloth.

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EVERYMAN

Every m a n Iiveth so after his own pleasure, And yet of their life they be nothing sure. I see the more that I them forbear, T h e worse they be from year to year: All that Iiveth appaireth 0 fast. Therefore I will, in all the haste, Have a reckoning of every man's person. For, a n d ° I leave the people thus alone In their life and wicked tempests, Verily they will b e c o m e m u c h worse than beasts; For now one would by envy another up eat. Charity do they all clean forgeet. I hoped well that every m a n In my glory should m a k e his mansion, And thereto I had them all elect. 0 But now I see, like traitors deject, 0 They thank me not for the pleasure that I to° them meant, Nor yet for their being that I them have lent. I proffered the people great multitude of mercy, And few there be that asketh it heartily. 0 They be so c u m b e r e d 0 with worldly riches T h a t needs on them I m u s t do j u s t i c e — On every m a n living without fear. W h e r e art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger 1 ? [Enter

465

chosen abased for

sincerely encumbered

DEATH.]

DEATH Almighty G o d , I am here at your will, Your c o m m a n d m e n t to fulfill. GOD Go thou to Everyman, And show him, in my name, A pilgrimage he m u s t on him take, Which he in no wise may escape; And that he bring with him a sure reckoning Without delay or any tarrying. DEATH Lord, I will in the world go run over all, 0 And cruelly out-search both great and small.

everywhere

[Exit GOD.]

Everyman will I beset that Iiveth beastly O u t of God's laws, and dreadeth not folly. He that Ioveth riches I will strike with my dart, His sight to blind, and f r o m heaven to depart 0 Except that Almsdeeds be his good f r i e n d — In hell for to dwell, world without end. Lo, yonder I see Everyman walking: Full little he thinketh on my coming; His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure, And great pain it shall c a u s e him to endure Before the Lord, Heaven-King.

separate

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EVERYMAN

[Enter

EVERYMAN.]

E v e r y m a n , s t a n d still! W h i t h e r art t h o u going T h u s gaily? H a s t t h o u thy M a k e r forgeet? 0 EVERYMAN W h y a s k e s t t h o u ? Why wouldest thou weet?° DEATH Yea, sir, I will s h o w you: In great h a s t e I am sent to thee F r o m G o d out o f his majesty. EVERYMAN W h a t ! sent to m e ? DEATH

forgotten know

Yea, certainly.

T h o u g h t h o u have forgot him here, He thinketh on t h e e in the heavenly sphere, As, ere we depart, t h o u shalt know. EVERYMAN W h a t desireth G o d of m e ? DEATH T h a t shall I s h o w thee: A reckoning he will n e e d s have W i t h o u t any longer respite. EVERYMAN To give a reckoning longer leisure I crave. T h i s blind 0 matter troubleth my wit. unexpected DEATH On t h e e t h o u m u s t take a long j o u r n a y : T h e r e f o r e thy b o o k of c o u n t 0 with thee thou bring, accounts F o r turn again t h o u c a n n o t by no way. A n d look t h o u be s u r e of thy reckoning, F o r b e f o r e G o d t h o u shalt a n s w e r a n d s h e w T h y m a n y b a d d e e d s a n d g o o d but a f e w — H o w t h o u hast s p e n t thy life a n d in what wise, B e f o r e the C h i e f L o r d o f P a r a d i s e . H a v e a d o that we were in that way, 4 For weet thou well t h o u shalt m a k e n o n e attornay. 5 EVERYMAN Full u n r e a d y I am s u c h reckoning to give. I know t h e e not. W h a t m e s s e n g e r art t h o u ? DEATH I am D e a t h that no m a n dreadeth, 6 F o r every m a n I 'rest, 0 a n d no m a n spareth; arrest For it is G o d ' s c o m m a n d m e n t T h a t all to me s h o u l d be obedient. EVERYMAN O D e a t h , thou c o m e s t w h e n I h a d t h e e least in mind. In thy power it Iieth me to save: Yet of my g o o d 0 will I give thee, if thou will be kind, goods Yea, a t h o u s a n d p o u n d shalt t h o u h a v e — A n d defer this matter till a n o t h e r day. DEATH

Everyman, it m a y not be, by no way.

I set n o u g h t by 7 gold, silver, nor riches, N o r by p o p e , e m p e r o r , king, duke, nor p r i n c e s , For, a n d 0 I w o u l d receive gifts great, All the world I might get. B u t my c u s t o m is c l e a n contrary: I give t h e e no respite. C o m e h e n c e a n d not tarry! 4. I.e., let's get started at once. 5. I.e., none to appear in your stead.

6. That fears nobody. 7. I care nothing for.

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EVERYMAN

EVERYMAN Alas, shall I have no longer respite? I may say D e a t h giveth no warning. To think on t h e e it m a k e t h my heart sick, For all u n r e a d y is my b o o k of reckoning. B u t twelve year a n d I might have a biding, 8 My c o u n t i n g - b o o k I would m a k e so clear T h a t my reckoning I s h o u l d not n e e d to fear. W h e r e f o r e , D e a t h , I pray thee, for G o d ' s mercy, S p a r e me till I be provided of remedy. DEATH T h e e availeth not to cry, weep, a n d pray; B u t h a s t e thee lightly 0 that thou were g o n e that j o u m a y A n d prove 0 thy friends, if t h o u c a n . For weet° thou well the tide 0 abideth no m a n , A n d in the world e a c h living c r e a t u r e F o r A d a m ' s sin m u s t die of nature. 9 EVERYMAN D e a t h , if I s h o u l d this pilgrimage take A n d my reckoning surely m a k e , S h o w m e , for saint 0 charity, S h o u l d I not c o m e again shortly? DEATH N o , Everyman. A n d thou be o n c e there, T h o u m a y s t never m o r e c o m e here, T r u s t me verily. EVERYMAN O g r a c i o u s G o d in the high seat celestial, H a v e mercy o n m e i n this m o s t n e e d ! Shall I have c o m p a n y f r o m this vale terrestrial O f m i n e a c q u a i n t a n c e that way m e t o lead? DEATH

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quickly test know / time

holy

Yea, if any be so hardy

T h a t w o u l d go with thee a n d bear thee c o m p a n y . H i e ° t h e e that thou were g o n e to G o d ' s m a g n i f i c e n c e , T h y r e c k o n i n g to give b e f o r e his p r e s e n c e . W h a t , w e e n e s t 0 thou thy life is given thee, A n d thy worldly g o o d s also? EVERYMAN I h a d w e e n e d so, verily. DEATH Nay, nay, it was but lent thee. F o r as s o o n as thou art go, A n o t h e r a while shall have it a n d then go therefro, E v e n a s t h o u hast d o n e . Everyman, t h o u art m a d ! T h o u hast thy wits 0 five, A n d here on earth will not a m e n d thy live! 1 For s u d d e n l y I do c o m e . EVERYMAN O w r e t c h e d caitiff! W h i t h e r shall I flee T h a t I might ' s c a p e this e n d l e s s sorrow? Now, gentle D e a t h , s p a r e me till tomorrow, T h a t I m a y a m e n d me With g o o d a d v i s e m e n t . 0 DEATH Nay, thereto I will not c o n s e n t , N o r no m a n will I respite, B u t to the heart s u d d e n l y I shall smite, 8. If I might have a delay for just twelve years. 9. Naturally.

hasten sup-pose

senses

preparation

I. In thy life.

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468

i8o

EVERYMAN

Without any advisement. Arid now out of thy sight I will me hie: S e e thou m a k e thee ready shortly, For thou mayst say this is the day T h a t no m a n living may 'scape away. [Exit

DEATH.]

EVERYMAN Alas, I may well weep with sighs deep: N o w have I no manner of c o m p a n y To help me in my journey and me to keep. 0 And also my writing 0 is full unready— H o w shall I do now for to excuse me? I would to G o d I had never be geet!° To my soul a full great profit it had be. For now I fear pains h u g e and great. T h e time passeth: Lord, help, that all wrought! For though I mourn, it availeth nought. T h e day p a s s e t h a n d is almost ago:° I wot° not well what for to do. To whom were I best my complaint to make? W h a t and I to Fellowship thereof spake, And showed him of this sudden c h a n c e ? For in him is all mine affiance, 0 We have in the world so many a day Be good friends in sport and play. I see him yonder, certainly. I trust that he will bear me company. Therefore to him will I s p e a k to e a s e my sorrow. [Enter

205

210

215

220

ledger been begotten

gone by know

trust

FELLOWSHIP.]

Well met, good Fellowship, and good morrow! FELLOWSHIP Everyman, good morrow, by this day! Sir, why lookest thou so piteously? If anything be amiss, I pray thee me say, T h a t I may help to remedy. EVERYMAN Yea, good Fellowship, yea: I am in great jeopardy. FELLOWSHIP My true friend, show to me your mind. I will not forsake thee to my life's end In the way of good company. EVERYMAN That was well spoken, and lovingly! FELLOWSHIP Sir, I m u s t needs know your heaviness. 0 I have pity to see you in any distress. If any have you wronged, ye shall revenged be, T h o u g h I on the ground be slain for thee, T h o u g h that I know before that I should die. EVERYMAN

FELLOWSHIP

Verily, F e l l o w s h i p , g r a m e r c y . 0

sorrow

many thanks

T u s h ! by thy thanks I set not a stree. 0

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straw

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EVERYMAN

S h o w m e your grief a n d s a y n o more. EVERYMAN If I my heart s h o u l d to you break, 0 A n d t h e n you to turn your m i n d fro m e , A n d w o u l d not m e c o m f o r t w h e n y e h e a r m e speak, T h e n s h o u l d I ten times sorrier be. FELLOWSHIP Sir, I say as I will do, indeed. EVERYMAN T h e n be you a g o o d friend at need. I have f o u n d you true h e r e b e f o r e . FELLOWSHIP A n d so ye shall evermore. For, in faith, a n d 0 t h o u go to hell, I will not forsake thee by the way. EVERYMAN Ye s p e a k like a g o o d friend. I believe you well. I shall deserve 0 it, a n d 0 I may. FELLOWSHIP I s p e a k of no .deserving, by this day! F o r he that will say a n d nothing do Is not worthy with g o o d c o m p a n y to go. T h e r e f o r e s h o w me the grief of your mind, As to your friend m o s t loving a n d kind. EVERYMAN I shall show you how it is: C o m m a n d e d I am to go a journay, A l o n g way, hard a n d d a n g e r o u s , A n d give a strait 0 c o u n t , 0 without delay, B e f o r e the high j u d g e Adonai. 0 W h e r e f o r e I pray you b e a r me c o m p a n y , As ye have p r o m i s e d , in this j o u r n a y . FELLOWSHIP T h i s is m a t t e r indeed! P r o m i s e is d u t y — B u t , a n d I s h o u l d take s u c h a voyage on m e , I know it well, it s h o u l d be to my pain. Also it m a k e t h me a f e a r d , certain. B u t let u s take c o u n s e l here, a s well a s w e c a n — F o r your words would f e a r 0 a strong m a n . EVERYMAN Why, ye said if I, h a d n e e d , Ye would me never f o r s a k e , q u i c k ne d e a d , T h o u g h it were to hell, truly. FELLOWSHIP SO I said, certainly, B u t s u c h p l e a s u r e s 0 be set aside, the sooth to say. A n d also, if we took s u c h a j o u r n a y , W h e n s h o u l d w e again c o m e ? EVERYMAN Nay, never again, till the day of d o o m . FELLOWSHIP In faith, then will n o t I c o m e there! W h o h a t h you t h e s e tidings brought 1 ? EVERYMAN Indeed, D e a t h was with me here. FELLOWSHIP NOW by G o d that all hath b o u g h t , 0 If D e a t h were the m e s s e n g e r , For no m a n that is living today I will not go that loath 0 j o u r n a y — N o t for the f a t h e r that b e g a t m e ! EVERYMAN Ye p r o m i s e d otherwise, pardie. 0 FELLOWSHIP I wot well I said so, truly. A n d yet, if t h o u wilt eat a n d drink a n d m a k e g o o d cheer,

469

disclose

repay / if

strict / accounting God

frighten

jokes

redeemed

loathsome

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by God

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275

280

285

290

295

BOO

EVERYMAN

Or haunt to women the lusty company, 2 I would not forsake you while the day is clear, Trust me verily! EVERYMAN Yea, thereto ye would be ready— To go to mirth, solace, 0 and play: pleasure Your mind to folly will sooner apply0 attend Than to bear me company in my long journay. FELLOWSHIP N O W in good faith, I will not that way. But, and thou will murder or any man kill, In that I will help thee with a good will. EVERYMAN O that is simple 0 advice, indeed! foolish Gentle fellow, help me in my necessity: We have loved long, and now I need— And now, gentle Fellowship, remember me! FELLOWSHIP Whether ye have loved me or no, By Saint John, I will not with thee go! EVERYMAN Yet I pray thee take the labor and do so much for me, To bring me forward, 0 for saint charity, escort me And comfort me till I come without the town. FELLOWSHIP Nay, and 0 thou would give me a new gown, if I will not a foot with thee go. But, and thou had tarried, I would not have left thee so. And as now, God speed thee in thy journay! For from thee I will depart as fast as I may. EVERYMAN Whither away, Fellowship? Will thou forsake me? FELLOWSHIP Yea, by my fay!° To God I betake 0 thee. faith / commend EVERYMAN Farewell, good Fellowship! For thee my heart is sore. Adieu forever—I shall see thee no more. FELLOWSHIP In faith, Everyman, farewell now at the ending: For you I will remember that parting is mourning. [Exit

FELLOWSHIP.]

Alack, shall we thus depart 0 indeed— Ah, Lady, help!—without any more comfort? Lo, Fellowship forsaketh me in my most need! For help in this world whither shall I resort? Fellowship herebefore with me would merry make, And now little sorrow for me doth he take. It is said, "In prosperity men friends may find Which in adversity be full unkind." Now whither for succor shall I flee, Sith 0 that Fellowship hath forsaken me? To my kinsmen I will, truly, Praying them to help me in my necessity. I believe that they will do so, For kind will creep where it may not go. 3

EVERYMAN

305

310

315

2. Or frequent the lusty company of women. 3. For kinship will creep where it cannot walk (i.e., kinsmen will suffer hardship for one another).

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part

since

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EVERYMAN

I will go ' s a y 0 — f o r yonder I s e e t h e m — W h e r e 0 be ye now my friends a n d k i n s m e n . [Enter

KINDRED

and

471

assay whether

COUSIN.]

KINDRED H e r e be we now at your c o m m a n d m e n t : C o u s i n , I pray you s h o w us your intent In any wise, a n d not spare. COUSIN Yea, Everyman, a n d to us declare If ye be d i s p o s e d to go anywhither. For, weet° you well, we will live a n d die togither. KINDRED In wealth a n d w o e we will with you hold, F o r over his kin a m a n m a y be bold. 4 EVERYMAN G r a m e r c y , 0 my friends a n d k i n s m e n kind. N o w shall I s h o w you the grief of my mind. I was c o m m a n d e d by a m e s s e n g e r T h a t is a high king's chief officer: He b a d e me go a pilgrimage, to my p a i n — A n d I know well I shall never c o m e again. Also I m u s t give a reckoning strait, 0 For I have a great e n e m y that h a t h me in wait, 5 W h i c h intendeth me to hinder. KINDRED W h a t a c c o u n t is that which ye m u s t render? T h a t would I know. EVERYMAN Of all my works I m u s t s h o w H o w I have lived a n d my days spent; Also of ill d e e d s that I have u s e d In my time sith life was me lent, A n d of all virtues that I have r e f u s e d . T h e r e f o r e I pray you go thither with me To help me m a k e m i n e a c c o u n t , for saint charity. COUSIN W h a t , to go thither? Is that the matter? Nay, Everyman, I h a d liefer fast 6 b r e a d a n d water All this five year a n d more! EVERYMAN Alas, that ever I was bore! 0 For now shall I never be merry If that you f o r s a k e me. KINDRED Ah, sir, what? Ye be a merry m a n : T a k e g o o d heart t o you a n d m a k e n o m o a n . B u t o n e thing I warn you, by S a i n t Anne, As for m e , ye shall go alone. EVERYMAN My C o u s i n , will you not with me g o ? COUSIN NO, by O u r Lady! I have the c r a m p in my toe: T r u s t not to m e . F o r , so G o d me s p e e d , I will deceive you in your m o s t n e e d . KINDRED It availeth you not us to 'tice.° Ye shall have my m a i d with all my heart: S h e Ioveth to go to f e a s t s , there to be nice, 0 4. I.e., for a man may make demands of his kinsmen.

know

much thanks

5. I.e., Satan lies in ambush for me. 6. I.e., rather fast on.

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strict

bom

entice wanton

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365

EVERYMAN

A n d to d a n c e , a n d a b r o a d to start. 7 I will give her leave to help you in that journey, If that you a n d s h e m a y agree. EVERYMAN N o w s h o w me the very e f f e c t 0 of your mind: Will you go with me or a b i d e b e h i n d ? KINDRED Abide b e h i n d ? Yea, that will I a n d I may! T h e r e f o r e farewell till a n o t h e r day. [Exit

370

375

385

390

395

400

KINDRED.]

EVERYMAN H o w s h o u l d I be merry or glad? F o r fair p r o m i s e s m e n to me m a k e , B u t w h e n I have m o s t n e e d they me forsake. I a m deceived. T h a t m a k e t h m e sad. COUSIN C o u s i n Everyman, farewell now, F o r verily I will not go with you; Also of m i n e own an u n r e a d y reckoning I have to a c c o u n t — t h e r e f o r e I m a k e tarrying. N o w G o d keep thee, for now I go. [Exit

380

bent

COUSIN.]

EVERYMAN Ah, J e s u s , is all c o m e hereto? 0 to this L o , fair words m a k e t h fools fain:° glad T h e y p r o m i s e a n d nothing will do, certain. M y k i n s m e n p r o m i s e d m e faithfully F o r to a b i d e with me steadfastly, A n d n o w f a s t away do they flee. Even s o Fellowship p r o m i s e d m e . W h a t friend were b e s t me of to provide? I lose my time here longer to abide. Yet in my m i n d a thing there is: All my life I have loved riches; If that my G o o d 0 now help me might, Goods He would m a k e my heart full light. I will s p e a k to him in this distress. W h e r e art thou, m y G o o d s a n d riches? GOODS [within] W h o calleth m e ? E v e r y m a n ? W h a t , hast t h o u h a s t e ? I lie here in corners, t r u s s e d a n d piled so high, A n d in c h e s t s I am locked so f a s t — Also s a c k e d in b a g s — t h o u m a y s t s e e with thine eye I c a n n o t stir, in p a c k s low w h e r e I lie. W h a t w o u l d ye have? Lightly 0 me say. quickly EVERYMAN C o m e hither, G o o d , in all the h a s t e t h o u may, For of c o u n s e l I m u s t desire thee. [Enter

GOODS.]

GOODS Sir, a n d 0 ye in the world have sorrow or adversity, T h a t c a n I help you to r e m e d y shortly. 7. To go gadding about.

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EVERYMAN

EVERYMAN It is another disease 0 that grieveth me: In this world it is not, I tell thee so. I am sent for another way to go, To give a strait count general Before the highest Jupiter 0 of all. And all my life I have had joy and pleasure in thee: Therefore I pray thee go with me, For, peradventure, thou mayst before God Almighty My reckoning help to clean and purify. For it is said ever among 0 That money maketh all right that is wrong. GOODS Nay, Everyman, I sing another song: I follow no man in such voyages. For, and° I went with thee, Thou shouldest fare much the worse for me; For because on me thou did set thy mind, Thy reckoning I have made blotted and blind, 0 That thine account thou cannot make truly— And that hast thou for the love of me. EVERYMAN That would grieve me full sore When I should come to that fearful answer. Up, let us go thither together. GOODS Nay, not so, I am too brittle, I may not endure. I will follow no man one foot, be ye sure. EVERYMAN Alas, I have thee loved and had great pleasure All my life-days on good and treasure. GOODS That is to thy damnation, without leasing, 0 For my love is contrary to the love everlasting. But if thou had me loved moderately during, 0 As to the poor to give part of me, Then shouldest thou not in this dolor be, Nor in this great sorrow and care. EVERYMAN Lo, now was I deceived ere I was ware, And all I may wite° misspending of time. GOODS What, weenest 0 thou that I am thine? EVERYMAN

GOODS

473

distress

God

now and then

illegible

lie in the meanwhile

blame on suppose

I h a d w e e n e d so.

Nay, Everyman, I say no.

As for a while I was lent thee; A season thou hast had me in prosperity. My condition 0 is man's soul to kill; If I save one, a thousand I do spill. 0 Weenest thou that I will follow thee? Nay, from this world, not verily. EVERYMAN I had weened otherwise. GOODS Therefore to thy soul Good is a thief; For when thou art dead, this is my guise 0 — Another to deceive in the same wise As I have done thee, and all to his soul's repreef. 0 EVERYMAN O false Good, cursed thou be, Thou traitor to God, that hast deceived me And caught me in thy snare! GOODS Marry, thou brought thyself in care, 0

disposition ruin

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custom shame

sorrow

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474

455

460

EVERYMAN

Whereof I am glad: I must needs laugh, I cannot be sad. EVERYMAN Ah, Good, thou hast had long my heartly 0 love; I gave thee that which should be the Lord's above. But wilt thou not go with me, indeed? I pray thee truth to say. GOODS

sincere

No, so G o d me speed!

Therefore farewell and have good day. [Exit

465

470

475

480

485

EVERYMAN Oh, to whom shall I make my moan For to go with me in that heavy 0 journay? First Fellowship said he would with me gone: 0 His words were very pleasant and gay, But afterward he left me alone. Then spake I to my kinsmen, all in despair, And also they gave me words fair— They lacked no fair speaking, But all forsake me in the ending. Then went I to my Goods that I loved best, In hope to have comfort; but there had I least, For my Goods sharply did me tell That he bringeth many into hell. Then of myself I was ashamed, And so I am worthy to be blamed: Thus may I well myself hate. Of whom shall I now counsel take? I think that I shall never speed Till that I go to my Good Deed. But alas, she is so weak That she can neither go° nor speak. Yet will I venture 0 on her now. My Good Deeds, where be you? GOOD DEEDS

490

495

GOODS.]

[speaking from the ground]

sorrowful go

walk gamble

H e r e I l i e , c o l d in

the ground: Thy sins hath me sore bound That I cannot stear. 0 EVERYMAN O Good Deeds, I stand in fear: I must you pray of counsel, For help now should come right well. GOOD DEEDS Everyman, I have understanding That ye be summoned, account to make, Before Messiah of Jer'salem King. And you do by me, 8 that journey with you will I take. EVERYMAN Therefore I come to you my moan to make: I pray you that ye will go with me. GOOD DEEDS I would full fain, but I cannot stand, verily. EVERYMAN Why, is there anything on you fall? 0 8. I.e., if you do what I say.

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stir

fallen

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EVERYMAN 500

510

515

520

475

Yea, sir, I may thank you of all: If ye had perfectly cheered me, Your book of count full ready had be.

GOOD D E E D S

[GOOD

505

DEEDS

shows

him

the

account

book.]

Look, the books of your works and deeds eke,° As how they lie under the feet, To your soul's heaviness. 0 EVERYMAN Our Lord Jesus help me! For one letter here I cannot see. GOOD DEEDS There is a blind 0 reckoning in time of distress! EVERYMAN Good Deeds, I pray you help me in this need, Or else I am forever damned indeed. Therefore help me to make reckoning Before the Redeemer of all thing That King is and was and ever shall. GOOD D E E D S Everyman, I am sorry oP your fall And fain would help you and° I were able. EVERYMAN Good Deeds, your counsel I pray you give me. GOOD D E E D S That shall I do verily, Though that on my feet I may not go; I have a sister that shall with you also, Called Knowledge, which shall with you abide To help you to make that dreadful reckoning. [Enter

also distress

illegible

for if

KNOWLEDGE.]

Everyman, I will go with thee and be thy guide, In thy most need to go by thy side. EVERYMAN In good condition I am now in everything, And am whole content with this good thing, Thanked be God my Creator. GOOD DEEDS And when she hath brought you there Where thou shalt heal thee of thy smart, 0 Then go you with your reckoning and your Good Deeds together For to make you joyful at heart Before the blessed Trinity. EVERYMAN My Good Deeds, gramercy! I am well content, certainly, With your words sweet. KNOWLEDGE NOW go we together lovingly To Confession, that cleansing river. EVERYMAN For joy I weep—I would we were there! But I pray you give me cognition, Where dwelleth that holy man Confession? KNOWLEDGE In the House of Salvation: We shall us comfort, by God's grace.

KNOWLEDGE

525

530

535

540

pain

knowledge

[KNOWLEDGE leads EVERYMAN to C O N F E S S I O N . ]

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476

EVERYMAN

Lo, this is C o n f e s s i o n : kneel down a n d a s k mercy, F o r he is in g o o d c o n c e i t 0 with G o d Almighty. EVERYMAN [kneeling] O glorious f o u n t a i n that all u n c l e a n n e s s doth clarify, 0 W a s h f r o m m e the spots o f vice u n c l e a n , T h a t o n m e n o sin m a y b e s e e n . I c o m e with K n o w l e d g e for my r e d e m p t i o n , R e d e m p t 0 with heart a n d full contrition, F o r I am c o m m a n d e d a pilgrimage to take A n d great a c c o u n t s b e f o r e G o d t o m a k e . N o w I pray you, Shrift, 0 m o t h e r of Salvation, H e l p m y G o o d D e e d s for m y p i t e o u s exclamation. CONFESSION I know your sorrow well, E v e r y m a n : B e c a u s e with K n o w l e d g e ye c o m e to m e , I will you c o m f o r t as well as I c a n , A n d a p r e c i o u s jewel I will give thee, C a l l e d P e n a n c e , voider 0 of adversity. T h e r e w i t h shall your body c h a s t i s e d b e — W i t h a b s t i n e n c e a n d p e r s e v e r a n c e in G o d ' s service. H e r e shall you receive that s c o u r g e of m e , WTiich is p e n a n c e strong 0 that ye m u s t e n d u r e , To r e m e m b e r thy S a v i o u r was s c o u r g e d for thee With sharp s c o u r g e s , a n d s u f f e r e d it patiently. S o m u s t thou ere thou ' s c a p e that p a i n f u l pilgrimage. Knowledge, keep 0 him in this voyage, A n d by that time G o o d D e e d s will be with thee. B u t in any wise be s e c u r e 0 of m e r c y — For your time draweth f a s t — a n d ye will saved be. A s k G o d m e r c y a n d he will grant, truly. W h e n with the s c o u r g e o f p e n a n c e m a n d o t h h i m 0 bind, T h e oil of forgiveness then shall he find. EVERYMAN T h a n k e d be G o d for his g r a c i o u s work, F o r now I will my p e n a n c e begin. T h i s hath rejoiced a n d lighted my heart, T h o u g h the knots b e p a i n f u l a n d hard within. 9 KNOWLEDGE Everyman, look your p e n a n c e that ye fulfill, W h a t p a i n that ever it to you be; A n d K n o w l e d g e shall give you c o u n s e l at will H o w your a c c o u n t ye shall m a k e clearly. EVERYMAN O eternal G o d , O heavenly figure, O way of r i g h t e o u s n e s s , O goodly vision, WTiich d e s c e n d e d down in a virgin p u r e B e c a u s e h e would every m a n r e d e e m , W h i c h A d a m forfeited by his d i s o b e d i e n c e ; O b l e s s e d G o d h e a d , elect a n d high Divine, 0 Forgive my grievous o f f e n s e ! H e r e I cry thee mercy in this p r e s e n c e : O ghostly T r e a s u r e , O R a n s o m e r a n d R e d e e m e r , Of all the world H o p e a n d C o n d u i t e r , 0

esteem purify

redeemed

confession

9. I.e., to my senses. "Knots": i.e., the knots on the scourge (whip) of penance.

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expeller

harsh

himself

divinity

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EVERYMAN

Mirror of joy, F o u n d a t o r 0 of mercy, W h i c h e n l u m i n e t h 0 heaven a n d earth thereby, H e a r my c l a m o r o u s c o m p l a i n t , t h o u g h it late be; Receive my prayers, of thy benignity. T h o u g h I be a sinner m o s t a b o m i n a b l e , Yet let my n a m e be written in M o s e s ' table. 1 0 Mary, pray to the M a k e r of all thing Me for to help at my ending, A n d save me f r o m the power of my enemy, F o r D e a t h assaileth m e strongly. A n d Lady, that I m a y by m e a n of thy prayer Of your Son's glory to be p a r t n e r — By the m e a n s of his p a s s i o n I it crave. 1 b e s e e c h you help my soul to save. Knowledge, give me the s c o u r g e of p e n a n c e : My flesh therewith shall give a c q u i t t a n c e . 0 I will now begin, if G o d give me grace. KNOWLEDGE Everyman, G o d give you time a n d s p a c e ! 0 T h u s I b e q u e a t h you in the h a n d s of our S a v i o u r : N o w m a y you m a k e your reckoning sure. EVERYMAN In the n a m e of the Holy Trinity My body sore p u n i s h e d shall be: T a k e this, body, for the sin of the flesh! Also 0 thou delightest to go gay a n d fresh, A n d in the way of d a m n a t i o n t h o u did me bring, T h e r e f o r e s u f f e r now strokes of p u n i s h i n g ! N o w of p e n a n c e I will w a d e the water clear, T o save m e f r o m purgatory, that sharp f i r e . GOOD D E E D S

477

Founder lights up

satisfaction for sins opportunity

I thank God, n o w can I walk a n d go,

A n d am delivered of my s i c k n e s s a n d woe. T h e r e f o r e with E v e r y m a n I will go, a n d not spare: His g o o d works I will help him to declare. KNOWLEDGE NOW, Everyman, be merry a n d glad: Your G o o d D e e d s c o m e t h now, y e m a y not b e sad. N o w i s your G o o d D e e d s whole a n d s o u n d , G o i n g 0 upright u p o n the g r o u n d . EVERYMAN My heart is light, a n d shall be evermore. N o w will I s m i t e faster than I did before. GOOD DEEDS Everyman, pilgrim, my special friend, B l e s s e d b e t h o u without end! For t h e e is p r e p a r a t e 0 the eternal glory. Y e have m e m a d e whole a n d s o u n d T h e r e f o r e I will bide by t h e e in every s t o u n d . 0 EVERYMAN W e l c o m e , my G o o d D e e d s ! N o w I h e a r thy voice, I w e e p for very s w e e t n e s s of love. KNOWLEDGE Be no m o r e sad, b u t ever rejoice: G o d seeth thy living in his throne above. Put on this g a r m e n t to thy behove, 0

walking

prepared trial

advantage

l. "Moses' table" is here the tablet on which are recorded those who have been baptized and have done penance.

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478

EVERYMAN

W h i c h is wet with your t e a r s — Or e l s e b e f o r e G o d you m a y it m i s s W h e n ye to your journey's e n d c o m e shall. EVERYMAN G e n t l e Knowledge, what do ye it call? KNOWLEDGE It is a g a r m e n t of sorrow; F r o m p a i n it will you borrow: 0 Contrition it is T h a t getteth forgiveness; It p l e a s e t h G o d p a s s i n g 0 well. GOOD DEEDS E v e r y m a n , will you wear it for your heal? c EVERYMAN N o w b l e s s e d be J e s u , Mary's son, For now have I on true contrition. A n d let us go now without tarrying. G o o d D e e d s , have w e clear our reckoning? GOOD DEEDS Yea, indeed, I have it here. EVERYMAN T h e n I trust we n e e d not fear. N o w friends, let us not part in twain. KNOWLEDGE Nay, Everyman, that will we not, certain. GOOD DEEDS Yet m u s t thou lead with thee T h r e e p e r s o n s of great might. EVERYMAN W h o s h o u l d they be? GOOD DEEDS Discretion a n d S t r e n g t h they hight,° A n d thy B e a u t y may not abide b e h i n d . KNOWLEDGE Also ye m u s t call to m i n d Your Five-Wits° as for your c o u n s e l o r s . GOOD DEEDS YOU m u s t have t h e m ready at all hours. EVERYMAN H o w shall I get t h e m hither? KNOWLEDGE YOU m u s t call t h e m all togither, A n d they will be here incontinent. 0 EVERYMAN My friends, c o m e hither a n d be present, Discretion, S t r e n g t h , my Five-Wits, a n d Beauty!

redeem

surpassingly welfare

are called

senses

at once

[They enter. ]

670

67s

680

685

BEAUTY H e r e at your will we be all ready. W h a t will ye that we s h o u l d do? GOOD DEEDS T h a t ye would with E v e r y m a n go A n d help him in his pilgrimage. Advise you: 0 will ye with him or not in that voyage? STRENGTH We will bring him all thither, To his help a n d c o m f o r t , ye may believe m e . DISCRETION So will we go with him all togither. EVERYMAN Almighty G o d , loved 0 might thou be! I give t h e e l a u d that I have hither brought S t r e n g t h , Discretion, Beauty, a n d F i v e - W i t s — l a c k I noughtA n d my G o o d D e e d s , with K n o w l e d g e clear, All be in my c o m p a n y at my will here: I desire no m o r e to my b u s i n e s s . STRENGTH A n d I, Strength, will by you s t a n d in distress, T h o u g h thou would in battle fight on the g r o u n d . FIVE-WITS A n d t h o u g h it were through the world round,

take thought

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praised

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EVERYMAN

We will not depart for sweet ne sour. BEAUTY No m o r e will I, until death's hour, W h a t s o e v e r thereof befall. DISCRETION Everyman, advise you first of all: Go with a g o o d a d v i s e m e n t 0 a n d deliberation. We all give you virtuous 0 monition 0 T h a t all shall be well. EVERYMAN iMy friends, hearken what I will tell; I pray G o d reward you in his heaven-sphere; N o w hearken all that be here, For I will m a k e my t e s t a m e n t , H e r e before you all present: In a l m s half my g o o d 0 I will give with my h a n d s twain, In the way of charity with g o o d intent; And the other half, still 0 shall remain, I 'queath 0 to be returned there it ought to be. T h i s I do in d e s p i t e of the fiend of hell, To go quit out of his perel, 2 Ever after a n d this day. KNOWLEDGE Everyman, hearken what I say: Go to Priesthood, I you advise, A n d receive of him, in any wise, 0 T h e holy s a c r a m e n t and o i n t m e n t 0 togither; T h e n shortly see ye turn again hither: We will all abide you here. FIVE-WITS Yea, Everyman, hie you that ye ready were. T h e r e is no e m p e r o r , king, duke, ne baron, T h a t o f G o d hath c o m m i s s i o n As hath the least priest in the world being: For of the b l e s s e d s a c r a m e n t s p u r e a n d bening 0 He beareth the keys, a n d thereof hath the c u r e 0 For m a n ' s r e d e m p t i o n — i t is ever s u r e — W h i c h G o d for our souls' m e d i c i n e G a v e us out of his heart with great pine,° H e r e in this transitory life for thee a n d me. T h e b l e s s e d s a c r a m e n t s seven there be: B a p t i s m , confirmation, with p r i e s t h o o d 0 g o o d , A n d the s a c r a m e n t o f G o d ' s p r e c i o u s flesh a n d blood, M a r r i a g e , the holy extreme unction, a n d p e n a n c e : T h e s e seven be g o o d to have in r e m e m b r a n c e , G r a c i o u s s a c r a m e n t s of high divinity. EVERYMAN F a i n ° would I receive that holy body, A n d meekly to my ghostly 0 father I will go. FIVE-WITS Everyman, that is the best that ye c a n do: G o d will you to salvation bring. F o r priesthood exceedeth all other thing: To us Holy S c r i p t u r e they do t e a c h , A n d converteth m a n f r o m sin, heaven to reach; G o d hath to them m o r e power given

479

preparation confident / prediction

goods which still bequeath

at all costs extreme unction

benign care

torment

ordination

gladly spiritual

2. In order to go free of danger from him.

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480

735

740

745

EVERYMAN

T h a n to any angel that is in heaven. W i t h f i v e words 3 h e m a y c o n s e c r a t e G o d ' s body in flesh a n d b l o o d to m a k e , A n d h a n d l e t h his M a k e r b e t w e e n his h a n d s . T h e priest bindeth a n d u n b i n d e t h all b a n d s , 4 B o t h in earth a n d in heaven. T h o u ministers 0 all the s a c r a m e n t s seven: T h o u g h we kiss thy feet, thou were worthy; T h o u art s u r g e o n that c u r e t h sin deadly; N o remedy w e f i n d u n d e r G o d B u t all only priesthood. 5 Everyman, G o d gave priests that dignity A n d setteth t h e m in his s t e a d a m o n g us to be. T h u s be they above a n g e l s in degree. [Exit

750

755

760

765

770

administer

EVERYMAN.]

KNOWLEDGE If priests be good, it is so, surely. B u t w h e n J e s u h a n g e d on the c r o s s with great smart, 0 T h e r e he gave out of his b l e s s e d heart T h e s a m e s a c r a m e n t i n great torment, He sold t h e m not to us, that L o r d o m n i p o t e n t : T h e r e f o r e S a i n t Peter the A p o s t l e d o t h say T h a t J e s u ' s c u r s e h a t h all they W h i c h G o d their S a v i o u r do buy or sell, 6 Or they for any m o n e y do take or tell. 7 S i n f u l priests giveth the sinners e x a m p l e bad: T h e i r children sitteth by other men's fires, I have heard; And some haunteth women's company With u n c l e a n life, as lusts of lechery. T h e s e b e with sin m a d e blind. FIVE-WITS I trust to G o d no s u c h m a y we find. T h e r e f o r e let us p r i e s t h o o d honor, A n d follow their doctrine for our souls' s u c c o r . W e b e their s h e e p a n d they s h e p h e r d s b e By w h o m we all be kept in surety. P e a c e , for yonder I s e e E v e r y m a n c o m e , W h i c h h a t h m a d e true satisfaction. GOOD DEEDS

[Re-enter

pain

M e t h i n k it is he i n d e e d . EVERYMAN.]

EVERYMAN N o w J e s u be your alder speed! 8 I have received the s a c r a m e n t for my redemption, 3. The five words ("For this is my body") spoken by the priest when he offers the wafer at communion. 4. A reference to the power of the keys, inherited by the priesthood from St. Peter, who received it from Christ (Matthew 16.19) with the promise that whatever St. Peter bound or loosed on earth would be bound or loosed in heaven.

5. Except from priesthood alone. 6. To give or receive money for the sacraments is simony, named after Simon, who wished to buy the gift of the Holy Ghost and was cursed by St. Peter. 7. Or who, for any sacrament, take or count out money. 8. T h e prosperer of you all.

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EVERYMAN

775

780

785

790

795

goo

And then m i n e extreme unction. B l e s s e d be all they that c o u n s e l e d me to take it! And now, friends, let us go without longer respite. I thank G o d that ye have tarried so long. N o w set e a c h of you on this rood 0 your h o n d And shortly follow m e : I go b e f o r e there 0 I would be. G o d be our guide! STRENGTH Everyman, we will not f r o m you go Till ye have d o n e this voyage long. DISCRETION I, Discretion, will bide by you also. KNOWLEDGE And t h o u g h this pilgrimage be never so strong, 0 I will never part you fro. STRENGTH Everyman, I will be as sure by thee As ever I did by J u d a s M a c c a b e e . 9 EVERYMAN Alas, I am so faint I m a y not s t a n d — M y limbs u n d e r m e doth fold! Friends, let us not turn again to this land, N o t for all the world's gold. F o r into this cave m u s t I creep A n d turn to earth, a n d there to sleep. BEAUTY W h a t , into this grave, alas? EVERYMAN Yea, there shall ye c o n s u m e , 0 m o r e a n d lass. 1 BEAUTY And what, s h o u l d I s m o t h e r here? EVERYMAN Yea, by my faith, a n d nevermore a p p e a r . In this world live no m o r e we shall, B u t in heaven b e f o r e the highest L o r d of all. BEAUTY I c r o s s out all this! Adieu, by S a i n t J o h n — I take my t a p e in my lap a n d am gone. 2 EVERYMAN W h a t , Beauty, whither will ye? BEAUTY P e a c e , I am d e a f — I look not b e h i n d m e , N o t a n d thou w o u l d e s t give me all the gold in thy chest. [Exit

805

8io

8I5

481

cross wlxere

harsh

decay

BEAUTY.]

EVERYMAN Alas, whereto m a y I trust? B e a u t y goeth f a s t away fro m e — S h e p r o m i s e d with me to live a n d die! STRENGTH E v e r y m a n , I will thee also f o r s a k e a n d deny. T h y g a m e liketh 0 me not at all. EVERYMAN W h y then, ye will f o r s a k e me all? S w e e t Strength, tarry a little s p a c e . STRENGTH Nay, sir, by the rood of grace, I will hie me f r o m thee fast, T h o u g h thou w e e p till thy heart tobrast. 0 EVERYMAN Ye would ever bide by m e , ye said. STRENGTH Yea, I have you far e n o u g h conveyed! 0 Ye be old e n o u g h , I u n d e r s t a n d , 9. Judas Maccabaeus was an enormously powerful warrior in the defense of Israel against the Syrians in late Old Testament times.

pleases

break escorted

I. More and less (i.e., all of you), 2. I tuck my skirts in my belt and am off.

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482

820

EVERYMAN

Your pilgrimage to take on hand: I repent me that I hither c a m e . EVERYMAN S t r e n g t h , you to d i s p l e a s e I am to b l a m e , 3 Yet p r o m i s e is debt, this ye well wot.° STRENGTH In faith, I care not: T h o u art b u t a fool to c o m p l a i n ; You s p e n d your s p e e c h a n d w a s t e your brain. G o , thrust t h e e into the g r o u n d . [Exit

82S

830

835

840

845

855

supposed

DISCRETION.]

EVERYMAN O all thing faileth save G o d a l o n e — Beauty, Strength, a n d Discretion. For when D e a t h bloweth his blast T h e y all run fro me full fast. FIVE-WITS Everyman, my leave now of thee I take. I will follow the other, for here I thee forsake. EVERYMAN Alas, then may I wail a n d weep, For I took you for my best friend. FIVE-WITS I will no longer thee keep. 0 N o w farewell, a n d there an end! [Exit

850

STRENGTH.]

EVERYMAN I had w e e n e d ° surer I should you have found. He that trusteth in his Strength S h e him deceiveth at the length. Both Strength a n d B e a u t y forsaketh m e — Yet they p r o m i s e d me fair a n d lovingly. DISCRETION Everyman, I will after Strength be gone: As for me, I will leave you alone. EVERYMAN Why Discretion, will ye f o r s a k e m e ? DISCRETION Yea, in faith, I will go f r o m thee. For w h e n S t r e n g t h goeth before, I follow after evermore. EVERYMAN Yet I pray thee, for the love of the Trinity, L o o k in my grave o n c e piteously. DISCRETION Nay, so nigh will I not c o m e . Farewell everyone! [Exit

know

watch over

FIVE-WITS.]

EVERYMAN O J e s u , help, all hath f o r s a k e n me! GOOD DEEDS Nay, Everyman, I will bide with thee: I will not f o r s a k e t h e e indeed; T h o u shalt find me a g o o d friend at need. EVERYMAN G r a m e r c y , G o o d D e e d s ! N o w m a y I true friends see. T h e y have f o r s a k e n me every o n e — 3. I'm to blame for displeasing you.

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EVERYMAN

860

865

870

87S

880

885

I loved t h e m better than my G o o d D e e d s alone. Knowledge, will ye f o r s a k e me also? KNOWLEDGE Yea, Everyman, when ye to D e a t h shall go, But not yet, for no m a n n e r of danger. EVERYMAN G r a m e r c y , Knowledge, with all my heart! KNOWLEDGE Nay, yet will I not f r o m h e n c e depart Till I s e e where ye shall b e c o m e . 4 EVERYMAN Methink, alas, that I m u s t be g o n e To m a k e my reckoning a n d my debts pay, F o r I see my time is nigh spent away. T a k e example, all ye that this do hear or see, H o w they that I best loved do f o r s a k e m e , Except my G o o d D e e d s that bideth truly. GOOD DEEDS All earthly things is but vanity. Beauty, S t r e n g t h , a n d Discretion do m a n f o r s a k e , Foolish friends a n d k i n s m e n that fair s p a k e — All fleeth save G o o d D e e d s , a n d that am I. EVERYMAN H a v e mercy on me, G o d m o s t mighty, And stand by me, thou m o t h e r a n d maid, holy Mary! GOOD DEEDS F e a r not: I will s p e a k for thee. EVERYMAN H e r e I cry G o d mercy! GOOD DEEDS Short our end, a n d 'minish our pain. 5 Let us go, and never c o m e again. EVERYMAN Into thy h a n d s , Lord, my soul I c o m m e n d : Receive it, Lord, that it be not lost. As thou me b o u g h t e s t , 0 so me d e f e n d , And save me f r o m the fiend's boast, T h a t I may a p p e a r with that b l e s s e d host T h a t shall be saved at the day of d o o m . In manus tuas, of mights m o s t , Forever commendo spiritum meum. 6 [EVERYMAN

890

895

and

GOOD

DEEDS

descend

into

the

483

redeemed

grave.]

KNOWLEDGE NOW hath he s u f f e r e d that we all shall endure, T h e G o o d D e e d s shall m a k e all sure. N o w hath he m a d e ending, M e t h i n k e t h that I hear angels sing And m a k e great joy a n d melody W h e r e Everyman's soul received shall be. ANGEL [within] C o m e , excellent elect 0 s p o u s e to J e s u ! 7 Here above thou shalt go B e c a u s e of thy singular virtue. N o w the soul is taken the body fro, T h y reckoning is crystal clear: N o w shalt thou into the heavenly s p h e r e — 4. Till I see what shall become of you. 5. I.e., make our dying quick and diminish our pain. 6. Into thy hands, O greatest of powers, I com-

chosen

mend my spirit forever. 7. The soul is often referred to as the bride of Jesus.

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484

900

EVERYMAN

Unto the which all ye shall come That Iiveth well before the day of doom. [Enter

DOCTOR.8]

This memorial0 men may have in mind: Ye hearers, take it of worth,0 old and young, And forsake Pride, for he deceiveth you in the end. And remember Beauty, Five-Wits, Strength, and Discretion, They all at the last do Everyman forsake, Save his Good Deeds there doth he take— But beware, for and they be small, Before God he hath no help at all— None excuse may be there for Everyman. Alas, how shall he do than?0 For after death amends may no man make, For then mercy and pity doth him forsake. If his reckoning be not clear when he doth come,

DOCTOR

905

910

915

920

God

will

say,

"lie,

maledicti,

ignem

reminder -prize it

eternum!" 9

And he that hath his account whole and sound, High in heaven he shall be crowned, Unto which place God bring us all thither, That we may live body and soul togither. Thereto help, the Trinity! Amen, say ye, for saint charity.

8. The Doctor is the learned theologian who explains the meaning of the play.

9. Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire,

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then

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T k e Sixteentk Century

1485-1603

1485: 1509: 1517: 1534: 1557: 1558: 1576: 1588: 1603:

Accession of Henry VII inaugurates Tudor dynasty Accession of Henry VIII Martin Luther's Wittenberg Theses; beginning of the Reformation Henry VIII declares himself head of the English church Publication of Tottel's Songs arid Sonnets, containing poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt; Henry Howard, earl of Surrey; and others Accession of Elizabeth I Building of The Theater, the first permanent structure in England for the presentation of plays Defeat of the Spanish Armada Death of Elizabeth I and accession of James I, the first of the Stuart kings

T h e Ancient R o m a n poet Virgil characterized Britain as a wild, r e m o t e p l a c e set a p a r t from all the world, a n d it m u s t still have s e e m e d so in the early sixteenth c e n t u r y to the c o s m o p o l i t a n inhabitants of cities like Venice, M a d r i d , a n d Paris. T o b e sure, s o m e v e n t u r e s o m e travelers c r o s s e d the C h a n nel a n d visited L o n d o n , Oxford, or C a m b r i d g e , bringing h o m e reports of bustling markets, impressive universities, a n d a m b i t i o u s nobles vying for position at an increasingly p o w e r f u l royal court. B u t t h e s e visitors were but a trickle c o m p a r e d with the flood of wealthy y o u n g E n g l i s h m e n (and, to a lesser extent, E n g l i s h w o m e n ) w h o e m b a r k e d at the first opportunity for the C o n t i n e n t . E n g l i s h travelers were virtually obliged to learn s o m e French, Italian, or S p a n ish, for they would e n c o u n t e r very f e w p e o p l e who knew their l a n g u a g e . On returning h o m e , they would frequently wear foreign f a s h i o n s — m u c h to the d i s g u s t of m o r a l i s t s — a n d would p e p p e r their s p e e c h with foreign p h r a s e s . At t h e b e g i n n i n g of the sixteenth century, the E n g l i s h l a n g u a g e h a d a l m o s t no prestige a b r o a d , a n d there were t h o s e at h o m e who d o u b t e d that it c o u l d serve as a suitable m e d i u m for serious, elevated, or elegant d i s c o u r s e . It is no a c c i d e n t that o n e of the first works in this selection of sixteenth-century literature, T h o m a s More's Utopia, w a s not written in English: M o r e , who b e g a n his great b o o k in 1 5 1 5 w h e n he w a s on a diplomatic m i s s i o n in the Netherlands, was writing for an international intellectual c o m m u n i t y , a n d as s u c h his l a n g u a g e of c h o i c e w a s Latin. His work quickly b e c a m e f a m o u s throughout E u r o p e , b u t it was not translated into E n g l i s h until the 1 5 5 0 s . Evidently, neither M o r e himself nor the L o n d o n printers a n d booksellers thought it imperative to p u b l i s h a vernacular Utopia. Yet by the century's end there were signs of a great i n c r e a s e in what we might call linguistic self-confidence, signs that at least s o m e c o n t e m p o r a r y observers were aware that s o m e t h i n g extra485

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486

THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

ordinary h a d h a p p e n e d to their l a n g u a g e . T h o u g h in 1 6 0 0 E n g l a n d still r e m a i n e d s o m e w h a t peripheral to the C o n t i n e n t , English had been f a s h i o n e d into an i m m e n s e l y powerful expressive m e d i u m , o n e w h o s e c a d e n c e s in the works of Marlowe, S h a k e s p e a r e , or the translators of the Bible c o n t i n u e after m o r e than four centuries to thrill readers. H o w did it c o m e a b o u t that by the century's end so many remarkable p o e m s , plays, a n d p r o s e works were written in English? T h e answer lies in part in the s p e c t a c u l a r creativity of a s u c c e s s i o n of brilliant writers, the best of whom are r e p r e s e n t e d in these p a g e s . Still, a vital literary culture is the product of a complex p r o c e s s , involving t h o u s a n d s of m o r e m o d e s t , half-hidden creative acts sparked by a wide range of motives, s o m e of which we will briefly explore. THE

COURT AND

THE

CITY

T h e d e v e l o p m e n t of the English l a n g u a g e in the sixteenth century is linked at least indirectly to the consolidation a n d strengthening of the English state. P r e o c c u p i e d by violent c l a s h e s b e t w e e n the thuggish feudal retainers of rival b a r o n s , E n g l a n d through m o s t of the fifteenth century h a d rather limited time a n d inclination to cultivate rhetorical skills. T h e social and e c o n o m i c health of the nation h a d b e e n severely d a m a g e d by the so-called W a r s of the R o s e s , a vicious, d e c a d e s - l o n g struggle for royal power between the noble h o u s e s of York a n d L a n c a s t e r . T h e struggle was resolved by the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of the T u d o r dynasty that ruled E n g l a n d f r o m 1 4 8 5 to 1 6 0 3 . T h e family n a m e derives f r o m O w e n T u d o r , an a m b i t i o u s W e l s h m a n who himself had no claim to the throne but who married C a t h e r i n e of Valois, widow of the L a n c a s t r i a n king Henry V. T h e i r g r a n d s o n , the earl of R i c h m o n d , who also inherited L a n c a s trian blood on his mother's side, b e c a m e the first T u d o r m o n a r c h : he won the crown bv leading the army that d e f e a t e d a n d killed the reigning Yorkist king, R i c h a r d III, at the battle of Rosworth Field. T h e victorious R i c h m o n d , crowned King H e n r y VII in 1 4 8 5 , promptly consolidated his rather shaky claim to the throne by marrying Elizabeth of the h o u s e of York, h e n c e effectively uniting the two rival factions. E n g l a n d ' s b a r o n s , impoverished a n d divided by the dynastic wars, c o u l d not effectively o p p o s e the new power of the C r o w n , a n d the leaders of the C h u r c h also generally s u p p o r t e d the royal power. T h e wily Henry VII was therefore able to c o u n t e r the multiple a n d c o m p e t i n g power structures characteristic of f e u d a l society a n d to i m p o s e a m u c h stronger central authority a n d order on the nation. Initiated by the first T u d o r sovereign, this consolidation progressed t h r o u g h o u t the sixteenth century; by the reign of the last T u d o r — H e n r y ' s g r a n d d a u g h t e r , Elizabeth I — t h o u g h the ruler still n e e d e d the c o n s e n t of Parliament on crucial matters (including the all-important o n e of levying taxes), the royal court h a d c o n c e n t r a t e d in itself m u c h of the nation's power. T h e c o u r t was a center of culture as well as power: court entertainments s u c h a s theater a n d m a s q u e ( a s u m p t u o u s , elaborately c o s t u m e d p e r f o r m a n c e of d a n c e , song, a n d poetry); court f a s h i o n s in dress a n d s p e e c h ; court tastes in painting, m u s i c , a n d poetry—all s h a p e d the taste a n d the imagination of the country as a whole. C u l t u r e a n d power were not, in any c a s e , easily separable in T u d o r E n g l a n d . In a society with no f r e e d o m of s p e e c h as we understand it a n d with relatively limited m e a n s of m a s s c o m m u n i c a t i o n , important public i s s u e s were o f t e n aired indirectly, through what we might now regard as entertainment, while lyrics that to us s e e m slight a n d n o n c h a l a n t c o u l d

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INTRODUCTION

/ 49 1

serve as carefully c r a f t e d m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of rhetorical agility by aspiring courtiers. W h e r e a s late medieval n o b l e m e n h a d g u a r d e d their power by keeping their distance f r o m L o n d o n a n d the king, ruling over semi-independent fiefdoms, in the T u d o r era the route to power lay in proximity to the royal body. ( O n e of the coveted positions in the court of Henry VIII was G r o o m of the Stool, "close s t o o l " being the T u d o r term for toilet.) T h e monarch's chief ministers a n d favorites were the primary c h a n n e l s through which p a t r o n a g e w a s disp e n s e d to courtiers who c o m p e t e d for offices in the court, the government b u r e a u c r a c i e s , the royal h o u s e h o l d , the army, the c h u r c h , a n d the universities, or who sought titles, grants of land, leases, or similar favors. But if proximity held out the p r o m i s e of wealth a n d power, it also harbored danger. Festive evenings with the likes of the ruthless Henry VIII were not o c c a s i o n s for relaxation. T h e court f o s t e r e d p a r a n o i a , a n d an attendant o b s e s s i o n with secrecy, spying, duplicity, a n d betrayal. T u d o r courtiers were torn between the need to protect themselves a n d the equally p r e s s i n g need to display themselves. For lessons in the art of intrigue, m a n y no d o u b t turned to Machiavelli's notorious II Principe (The Prince), with its cool g u i d a n c e on how power may be gained a n d kept. For advice on the cultivation a n d display of the self, they could resort to the still m o r e influential II Cortegiano ( T h e Courtier) by C o u n t B a l d a s s a r e Castiglione. It was particularly important, C a s t i g l i o n e wrote, to conceal the effort that lay behind elegant a c c o m p l i s h m e n t s , so that they would s e e m natural. In this anxious a t m o s p h e r e , courtiers b e c a m e highly practiced at crafting a n d deciphering g r a c e f u l words with d o u b l e or triple m e a n i n g s . Sixteenth-century p o e t s h a d m u c h to learn f r o m courtiers, the Elizabethan critic G e o r g e P u t t e n h a m observed; indeed m a n y of the best poets in the period, Sir T h o m a s Wyatt, Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Walter Ralegh, and others, were courtiers. If court culture f o s t e r e d p e r f o r m a n c e s for a small coterie a u d i e n c e , other f o r c e s in T u d o r E n g l a n d pulled toward a m o r e public s p h e r e . Markets e x p a n d e d significantly, international trade flourished, and cities throughout the realm experienced a rapid surge in size a n d importance. L o n d o n ' s population in particular soared, f r o m 6 0 , 0 0 0 in 1 5 2 0 , to 1 2 0 , 0 0 0 in 1 5 5 0 , to 3 7 5 , 0 0 0 a century later, m a k i n g it the largest a n d fastest-growing city not only in E n g l a n d but in all of E u r o p e . Every year in the first half of the seventeenth century a b o u t 1 0 , 0 0 0 people migrated to L o n d o n from other parts of E n g l a n d — w a g e s in L o n d o n tended to be a r o u n d 50 percent higher than in the rest of the c o u n t r y — a n d it is e s t i m a t e d that o n e in eight English people lived in L o n d o n at s o m e point in their lives. Elderly L o n d o n e r s in the 1 5 9 0 s c o u l d barely recognize the city of their childhood; L o n d o n ' s b o o m was one factor a m o n g m a n y contributing to the s e n s e of a culture moving at increasing velocity away f r o m its historical roots. A b o u t a d e c a d e b e f o r e Henry VII won his throne, the art of printing f r o m movable metal type, a G e r m a n invention, had b e e n introduced into E n g l a n d by William C a x t o n (ca. 1422—1491), who h a d learned and practiced it in the L o w C o u n t r i e s . T h o u g h reliable statistics are i m p o s s i b l e to c o m e by, literacy s e e m s to have i n c r e a s e d during the fifteenth century a n d still m o r e during the sixteenth, when Protestantism e n c o u r a g e d a direct e n c o u n t e r with the Bible. Printing m a d e books c h e a p e r a n d m o r e plentiful, providing more opportunity to read a n d m o r e incentive to learn. T h e greater availability of books may also have reinforced the trend toward silent reading, a trend that gradually trans-

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488

THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

f o r m e d what h a d b e e n a c o m m u n a l experience into a more intimate e n c o u n t e r with a text. Yet it would be a m i s t a k e to i m a g i n e these c h a n g e s as s u d d e n a n d dramatic. M a n u s c r i p t s retained c o n s i d e r a b l e prestige a m o n g the elite; throughout the sixteenth a n d well into the seventeenth centuries court poets in particular were wary of the " s t i g m a of print" that might m a r k their verse as less exclusive. A l t h o u g h C a x t o n , who w a s an a u t h o r a n d translator as well as a printer, introd u c e d printed books, he a t t e m p t e d to cater to courtly tastes by translating works w h o s e tone was m o r e medieval than m o d e r n . T h e f a s c i n a t i o n with the old chivalric c o d e of behavior is reflected as well in the j o u s t s a n d tournaments that c o n t i n u e d at court for a century, long after g u n p o w d e r h a d rendered them obsolete. As o f t e n in an a g e of s p e c t a c u l a r novelty, many p e o p l e looked b a c k to an idealized p a s t . I n d e e d the great innovations of the T u d o r era—intellectual, governmental, a n d r e l i g i o u s — w e r e all p r e s e n t e d at the time as a t t e m p t s to restore lost links with ancient traditions. R E N A I S S A N C E

H U M A N I S M

D u r i n g the fifteenth century a f e w E n g l i s h clerics a n d government officials h a d j o u r n e y e d to Italy a n d h a d s e e n s o m e t h i n g of the extraordinary cultural a n d intellectual m o v e m e n t flourishing in the city-states there. T h a t m o v e m e n t , generally known as the R e n a i s s a n c e , involved a rebirth of letters a n d arts s t i m u l a t e d by the recovery of texts a n d artifacts f r o m classical antiquity, the d e v e l o p m e n t of t e c h n i q u e s s u c h as linear perspective, a n d the creation of p o w e r f u l new aesthetic practices b a s e d on classical models. It also u n l e a s h e d new ideas a n d new social, political, a n d e c o n o m i c forces that gradually disp l a c e d the spiritual a n d c o m m u n a l values of the M i d d l e Ages. To R e n a i s s a n c e intellectuals a n d artists, the a c h i e v e m e n t s of the p a g a n philosophers of a n c i e n t G r e e c e a n d R o m e c a m e t o s e e m m o r e compelling than the subtle distinctions drawn by medieval C h r i s t i a n theologians. In the brilliant, intensely competitive, a n d vital world of L e o n a r d o da Vinci a n d Michelangelo, the s u b m i s s i o n of the h u m a n spirit to penitential discipline gave way to u n l e a s h e d curiosity, individual self-assertion, a n d a powerful conviction that m a n w a s the m e a s u r e of all things. Yet the s u p e r b h u m a n figure p l a c e d at the center of the R e n a i s s a n c e world-view w a s also s e e n as remarkably malleable. " W e have m a d e thee neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal," G o d tells A d a m , in the Florentine Pico della Mirandola's Oration on the Dignity of Man ( 1 4 8 6 ) , "so that with f r e e d o m of choice a n d with honor, as t h o u g h the m a k e r a n d molder of thyself, thou mayest fashion thyself in whatever s h a p e thou shalt p r e f e r . " "As t h o u g h the m a k e r and molder of thyself": this vision of self-fashioning m a y be g l i m p s e d in the poetry of Petrarch, the s c u l p t u r e of Donatello, a n d the statecraft of Lorenzo de' M e d i c i . B u t in E n g l a n d it w a s not until Henry VII's reign brought s o m e m e a s u r e of political stability that the R e n a i s s a n c e c o u l d take root, a n d it was not until the accession of H e n r y VIII that it b e g a n to flower. T h i s flowering, when it o c c u r r e d , c a m e not, as in Italy, in the visual arts a n d architecture. It c a m e rather in the spiritual a n d intellectual orientation known as h u m a n i s m . M o r e ' s Utopia ( 1 5 1 6 ) , with its d r e a m of h u m a n existence entirely t r a n s f o r m e d by a radical c h a n g e in institutional a r r a n g e m e n t s , is an extreme i n s t a n c e of a general h u m a n i s t interest in education: in E n g l a n d a n d elsewhere, h u m a n i s m was b o u n d up with struggles over the p u r p o s e s of edu-

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INTRODUCTION

/ 49 1

cation a n d c u r r i c u l u m reform. T h e great D u t c h h u m a n i s t E r a s m u s , who spent s o m e time in E n g l a n d a n d developed a c l o s e friendship with M o r e , w a s a leader in the a s s a u l t on what he a n d others regarded as a hopelessly narrow a n d o u t m o d e d intellectual c u l t u r e b a s e d on s c h o l a s t i c hair-splitting a n d a d o g m a t i c a d h e r e n c e to the philosophy of Aristotle. E n g l i s h h u m a n i s t s , including J o h n C o l e t (who, as d e a n of St. Paul's C a t h e d r a l , recast its g r a m m a r school on h u m a n i s t principles), Roger A s c h a m (tutor to Princess Elizabeth), a n d Sir T h o m a s Elyot, wrote treatises on e d u c a t i o n to p r o m o t e the kind of learning they r e g a r d e d as the m o s t suitable preparation for public service. T h a t educ a t i o n — p r e d o m i n a n t l y m a l e a n d c o n d u c t e d by tutors in wealthy families or in g r a m m a r s c h o o l s — w a s still ordered a c c o r d i n g to the subjects of the medieval trivium (grammar, logic, a n d rhetoric) a n d quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, a n d m u s i c ) , but its f o c u s shifted f r o m training for the C h u r c h to the general acquisition of "literature," in the s e n s e both of literacy a n d of cultural knowledge. F o r s o m e of the m o r e intellectually ambitious h u m a n i s t s , that knowledge extended to ancient G r e e k , w h o s e e n t h u s i a s t i c adherents b e g a n to c h a l l e n g e the e n t r e n c h e d prestige of Latin. Still, at the core of the c u r r i c u l u m r e m a i n e d the study of Latin, the mastery of which w a s in e f f e c t a p r o l o n g e d m a l e puberty rite involving pain as well as pleasure. T h o u g h s o m e e d u c a t o r s c o u n s e l e d mildness, p u n i s h m e n t was a n established part of the p e d a g o g y of the age, a n d even gifted s t u d e n t s c o u l d scarcely have e s c a p e d recurrent flogging. T h e p u r p o s e was to train the sons of the nobility a n d gentry to s p e a k a n d write g o o d Latin, the l a n g u a g e of diplomacy, of the p r o f e s s i o n s , a n d of all higher learning. Their sisters were always e d u c a t e d at h o m e or in other noble h o u s e s . T h e y chiefly learned modern l a n g u a g e s , religion, m u s i c , a n d needlework, but they very s e l d o m received the firm g r o u n d i n g in a n c i e n t l a n g u a g e s a n d classical literature so central to R e n a i s s a n c e culture. Elizabethan s c h o o l m a s t e r s s o u g h t to impart facility a n d rhetorical e l e g a n c e , b u t the books their s t u d e n t s laboriously p o r e d over were not c o n s i d e r e d m e r e exhibitions of literary style: f r o m the Sententiae Pueriles ( M a x i m s for C h i l d r e n ) for beginners on Up through the dramatists T e r e n c e , P l a u t u s , a n d S e n e c a , the poets Virgil a n d H o r a c e , a n d the orator C i c e r o , the classics were also s t u d i e d for the moral, political, a n d philosophical truths they c o n t a i n e d . T h o u g h originating in p a g a n times, those truths could, in the opinion of m a n y h u m a n i s t s , be reconciled to the moral vision of Christianity. T h e result, perplexing for s o m e m o d e r n readers, is that p a g a n gods a n d godd e s s e s flourish on the p a g e s of even s u c h a devoutly C h r i s t i a n p o e m as E d m u n d S p e n s e r ' s Faerie Queene. H u m a n i s t s c o m m i t t e d to classical learning were f a c e d with the q u e s t i o n of whether to write their own works in Latin or in English. To m a n y learned m e n , i n f l u e n c e d both by the h u m a n i s t exaltation of the classical l a n g u a g e s a n d by the characteristic R e n a i s s a n c e desire for eternal f a m e , the national l a n g u a g e s s e e m e d relatively u n s t a b l e a n d e p h e m e r a l . Intellectuals h a d long s h a r e d a panE u r o p e a n world of scientific inquiry, so that works by s u c h E n g l i s h scientists as William Gilbert, William Harvey, a n d Francis B a c o n easily j o i n e d those by N i c o l a u s C o p e r n i c u s , J o h a n n e s Kepler, a n d A n d r e a s Vesalius o n the c o m m o n linguistic g r o u n d of Latin. B u t t h r o u g h o u t E u r o p e nationalism a n d the expansion of the reading public were steadily strengthening the power a n d allure of the vernacular. T h e f a m o u s s c h o o l m a s t e r Richard M u l c a s t e r (ca. 1530— 1 6 1 1 ) , S p e n s e r ' s teacher, c a p t u r e d this e m e r g e n t s e n s e of national identity in singing the praises of his native tongue:

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Is it not i n d e e d a marvelous b o n d a g e , to b e c o m e servants to one t o n g u e for learning's sake the m o s t of our time, with loss of m o s t time, whereas we m a y have the very s a m e treasure in our own tongue, with the gain of m o r e time? our own bearing the joyful title of our liberty a n d f r e e d o m , the L a t i n t o n g u e r e m e m b e r i n g us of our thralldom a n d b o n d a g e ? I love R o m e , b u t L o n d o n better; I favor Italy, but E n g l a n d more; I honor the Latin, but I worship the English. T h e s e two i m p u l s e s — h u m a n i s t reverence for the classics a n d English pride in the vernacular l a n g u a g e — g a v e rise to m a n y distinguished translations t h r o u g h o u t the century: H o m e r ' s Iliad a n d Odyssey by G e o r g e C h a p m a n , Plutarch's Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans by Sir T h o m a s North, a n d Ovid's Metamorphoses by Arthur Golding. Translators also s o u g h t to m a k e available in E n g l i s h the m o s t notable literary works in the m o d e r n l a n g u a g e s : Castiglione's II Cortegiano by Sir T h o m a s Hoby, Ariosto's Orlando furioso (Orlando m a d ) by Sir J o h n Harington, a n d M o n t a i g n e ' s Essais by J o h n Florio. T h e L o n d o n b o o k trade of the sixteenth century was a thoroughly international affair. THE

REFORMATION

T h e r e h a d long b e e n serious ideological a n d institutional tensions in the religious life of E n g l a n d , b u t officially at least E n g l a n d in the early sixteenth century h a d a single religion, C a t h o l i c i s m , w h o s e acknowledged h e a d w a s the p o p e in R o m e . F o r its f a i t h f u l a d h e r e n t s the R o m a n Catholic C h u r c h was the central institution in their lives, a universal infallible guide to h u m a n existence f r o m cradle to grave a n d on into the life to c o m e . T h e y were instructed by its teachings, corrected by its discipline, s u s t a i n e d by its s a c r a m e n t s , a n d comforted by its p r o m i s e s . At M a s s , its m o s t s a c r e d ritual, the congregation could witness a miracle, as the priest held aloft the H o s t a n d uttered the words that t r a n s f o r m e d the bread a n d wine into the body a n d blood of G o d incarnate. A vast system of c o n f e s s i o n , p a r d o n s , p e n a n c e , absolution, indulgences, s a c r e d relics, a n d c e r e m o n i e s gave the u n m a r r i e d m a l e clerical hierarchy great power, at o n c e spiritual a n d material, over their largely illiterate flock. T h e Rible, the liturgy, a n d m o s t of the theological d i s c u s s i o n s were in Latin, which few lay p e o p l e c o u l d u n d e r s t a n d ; however, religious doctrine and spirituality were m e d i a t e d to t h e m by the priests, by b e a u t i f u l c h u r c h art a n d music, and by the liturgical c e r e m o n i e s of daily life—festivals, holy days, baptisms, marriages, exorcisms, a n d f u n e r a l s . Several of the key doctrines a n d practices of the Catholic C h u r c h had b e e n c h a l l e n g e d in fourteenth-century E n g l a n d by the teachings of J o h n Wycliffe a n d his followers, known as the Lollards. Rut the heretical challenge h a d b e e n ruthlessly s u p p r e s s e d , a n d the e m b e r s of dissent lay largely d o r m a n t until they were ignited o n c e again in G e r m a n y by Martin Luther, an Augustinian m o n k a n d p r o f e s s o r of theology at the University of Wittenberg. W h a t b e g a n in N o v e m b e r 1 5 1 7 as an a c a d e m i c disputation grew with a m a z i n g s p e e d into a bitter, far-reaching, a n d bloody revolt that forever ruptured the unity of Western C h r i s t e n d o m . W h e n L u t h e r rose up a g a i n s t the ancient c h u r c h , he did so in the n a m e of private c o n s c i e n c e enlightened by a p e r s o n a l reading of the Scriptures. A person of f o r m i d a b l e intellectual energy, e l o q u e n c e , a n d rhetorical violence,

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INTRODUCTION

49 1

L u t h e r c h a r g e d that the p o p e a n d his hierarchy were the servants of S a t a n a n d that the C h u r c h h a d d e g e n e r a t e d into a corrupt, worldly conspiracy d e s i g n e d to bilk the c r e d u l o u s a n d subvert s e c u l a r authority. Salvation d e p e n d e d u p o n destroying this conspiracy a n d enabling all of the p e o p l e to regain direct a c c e s s to the word of G o d by m e a n s of vernacular translations of the Bible. T h e c o m m o n watchwords of the Reformation, as the m o v e m e n t Luther s p a r k e d c a m e to be known, were sola scriptura a n d sola fide: only the S c r i p t u r e s (not the C h u r c h or tradition or the clerical hierarchy) have authority in m a t t e r s of religion a n d s h o u l d d e t e r m i n e what an individual m u s t believe a n d p r a c t i c e ; only the faith of the individual (not g o o d works or the s c r u p u l o u s o b s e r v a n c e of religious rituals) c a n e f f e c t a Christian's salvation. T h e s e tenets, heretical in the eyes of the C a t h o l i c C h u r c h , s p r e a d a n d gathered force, especially in northern E u r o p e , where major leaders like the Swiss pastor Ulrich Zwingli in Zurich a n d the F r e n c h theologian J o h n Calvin in G e n e v a , elaborating various a n d s o m e t i m e s conflicting doctrinal principles, organized the p o p u l a c e to overturn the existing c h u r c h and established new institutional s t r u c t u r e s . In E n g l a n d , however, the R e f o r m a t i o n b e g a n less with p o p u l a r d i s c o n t e n t a n d theological disputation than with dynastic politics a n d royal greed. H e n r y VIII, who h a d received f r o m P o p e L e o X the title D e f e n d e r of the Faith for writing a diatribe against Luther, craved a legitimate son to s u c c e e d to the throne, a n d his q u e e n , C a t h e r i n e of Aragon, failed to give him one. ( C a t h e r i n e had b o r n e six children, but only a daughter, Mary, survived infancy.) After lengthy negotiations, the p o p e , under p r e s s u r e f r o m C a t h e rine's powerful S p a n i s h family, r e f u s e d to grant the king the divorce he s o u g h t in order to marry A n n e Boleyn. A series of m o m e n t o u s events followed, as E n g l a n d lurched away f r o m the C h u r c h of R o m e . In 1 5 3 1 H e n r y forced the entire clergy of E n g l a n d to beg p a r d o n for having u s u r p e d royal authority in the administration of c a n o n law (the law that gove r n e d s u c h matters as divorce). T w o years later Henry's marriage to C a t h e r i n e was officially d e c l a r e d null a n d void a n d A n n e Boleyn was crowned q u e e n . T h e king w a s promptly e x c o m m u n i c a t e d by the pope, C l e m e n t VII. In the following year, a parliamentary Act of S u c c e s s i o n required an oath from all adult m a l e subjects c o n f i r m i n g the new dynastic settlement. T h o m a s M o r e a n d J o h n Fisher, the bishop of R o c h e s t e r , were a m o n g the small n u m b e r who r e f u s e d . T h e Act of S u p r e m a c y , p a s s e d later in the year, formally declared the king to be " S u p r e m e H e a d of the C h u r c h in E n g l a n d " a n d again required an oath to this e f f e c t . In 1 5 3 5 a n d 1 5 3 6 further acts m a d e it t r e a s o n o u s to r e f u s e the oath of royal s u p r e m a c y or, as M o r e h a d tried to do, to remain silent. T h e first victims were three C a r t h u s i a n m o n k s who rejected the o a t h — " H o w could the king, a l a y m a n , " said o n e of t h e m , " b e H e a d of the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d ? " — and in M a y 1 5 3 5 were duly hanged, drawn, a n d quartered. A few weeks later Fisher and M o r e were convicted a n d b e h e a d e d . Between 1 5 3 6 a n d 1 5 3 9 , under the direction of Henry's powerful secretary of state, T h o m a s Cromwell, E n g l a n d ' s m o n a s t e r i e s were s u p p r e s s e d a n d their vast wealth seized by the Crown. Royal d e f i a n c e of the authority of R o m e was a key element in the Reformation but did not by itself constitute the e s t a b l i s h m e n t of Protestantism in E n g l a n d . On the contrary, in the s a m e year that Fisher a n d M o r e were martyred for their a d h e r e n c e to R o m a n C a t h o l i c i s m , twenty-five Protestants, m e m b e r s of a sect known as Anabaptists, were b u r n e d for heresy on a single day. T h r o u g h m o s t of his reign, Henry r e m a i n e d an equal-opportunity perse-

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cutor, pitiless to C a t h o l i c s loyal to R o m e a n d hostile to m a n y of those who e s p o u s e d R e f o r m a t i o n ideas, t h o u g h t h e s e ideas, aided greatly by the printing press, gradually e s t a b l i s h e d themselves on E n g l i s h soil. U p o n Henry's d e a t h in 1 5 4 7 , his son, E d w a r d (by his t h i r d wife, J a n e Seymour), c a m e to the throne. B o t h the ten-year-old E d w a r d a n d his s u c c e s s i v e Protectors, the d u k e s of S o m e r s e t a n d N o r t h u m b e r l a n d , were s t a u n c h Prote s t a n t s , a n d r e f o r m e r s h a s t e n e d t o t r a n s f o r m the E n g l i s h c h u t c h accordingly. D u r i n g Edward's brief reign, T h o m a s C r a n m e r , the a r c h b i s h o p of Canterbury, f o r m u l a t e d the forty-two articles of religion which b e c a m e the core of Anglican orthodoxy a n d wrote the first Book of Common Prayer, which was officially a d o p t e d in 1 5 4 9 as the b a s i s of E n g l i s h worship services. T h e sickly E d w a r d died in 1 5 5 3 , only six years after his a c c e s s i o n to the throne, a n d w a s s u c c e e d e d by his half-sister M a r y (Henry VIII's d a u g h t e r by his first wife, C a t h e r i n e ) , who immediately took steps to return her k i n g d o m to R o m a n C a t h o l i c i s m . T h o u g h she w a s u n a b l e to get Parliament to agree to return c h u r c h lands seized u n d e r H e n r y VIII, s h e restored the C a t h o l i c M a s s , o n c e again a f f i r m e d the authority of the pope, a n d put down a rebellion that s o u g h t to d e p o s e her. S e c o n d e d by her ardently C a t h o l i c h u s b a n d , Philip II, king of S p a i n , s h e initiated a series of religious p e r s e c u t i o n s that earned her ( f r o m her e n e m i e s ) the n a m e Bloody Mary. H u n d r e d s of Protestants took r e f u g e a b r o a d in cities like Calvin's G e n e v a ; almost three h u n d r e d lessf o r t u n a t e Protestants were c o n d e m n e d as heretics a n d b u r n e d at the stake. Yet for t h o u s a n d s of others, Mary's reign c a m e as a liberation; the rapid restoration of old C a t h o l i c o r n a m e n t s to parish c h u r c h e s all over E n g l a n d indic a t e s that they h a d not in f a c t b e e n c o n f i s c a t e d or destroyed as ordered, but simply hidden away, in h o p e s of better times. M a r y died childless in 1 5 5 8 , a n d her younger half-sister, Elizabeth, b e c a m e q u e e n . Elizabeth's s u c c e s s i o n h a d b e e n by no m e a n s a s s u r e d . F o r if Protestants r e g a r d e d H e n r y VIII's marriage to C a t h e r i n e as invalid a n d h e n c e d e e m e d M a r y illegitimate, so C a t h o l i c s regarded his marriage to A n n e Boleyn as invalid a n d h e n c e d e e m e d her d a u g h t e r illegitimate. Henry VIII himself s e e m e d to s u p p o r t both views, since only three years after divorcing C a t h e r i n e , he b e h e a d e d A n n e on c h a r g e s of treason a n d adultery a n d urged Parliament to invalidate the marriage. Moreover, though during her sister's reign Elizabeth outwardly c o m p l i e d with the official C a t h o l i c religious o b s e r v a n c e , M a r y a n d her advisers s u s p e c t e d her of Protestant leanings, a n d the young princess's life was in grave danger. P o i s e d a n d c i r c u m s p e c t , Elizabeth warily evaded the traps that were set for her. W h e n s h e a s c e n d e d the throne, her actions were scrutinized for s o m e indication of the country's f u t u r e course. During her c o r o n a t i o n p r o c e s s i o n , when a girl in an allegorical p a g e a n t p r e s e n t e d her with a Bible in E n g l i s h t r a n s l a t i o n — b a n n e d u n d e r Mary's r e i g n — E l i z a b e t h kissed the book, held it up reverently, a n d laid it to her breast. By this simple yet p r o f o u n d (and carefully c h o r e o g r a p h e d ) gesture, Elizabeth signalled England's return to the R e f o r m a t i o n . M a n y E n g l i s h m e n a n d w o m e n , of all c l a s s e s , r e m a i n e d loyal to the old C a t h o l i c faith, b u t E n g l i s h authorities u n d e r Elizabeth m o v e d steadily, if cautiously, toward e n s u r i n g at least an outward conformity to the official Prote s t a n t settlement. R e c u s a n t s , those who r e f u s e d to attend regular S u n d a y services in their parish c h u r c h e s , were heavily fined. Anyone who wished to receive a university degree, to be ordained as a priest in the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , or to be n a m e d as an officer of the state h a d to swear an oath to the

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I N T R O D U C T I O N / 49 1

royal s u p r e m a c y . C o m m i s s i o n e r s were sent throughout the land to confirm that religious services were following the officially approved liturgy a n d to investigate any reported backsliding into C a t h o l i c practice or, alternatively, any a t t e m p t s to i n t r o d u c e r e f o r m s m o r e radical than the q u e e n a n d her bishops h a d c h o s e n to e m b r a c e . F o r the Protestant exiles who s t r e a m e d b a c k were eager not only to u n d o the d a m a g e M a r y h a d d o n e but also to carry the Refo r m a t i o n m u c h f u r t h e r t h a n it h a d g o n e . A minority, who would c o m e to be known as Puritans, s o u g h t to d i s m a n t l e the c h u r c h hierarchy, to p u r g e the c a l e n d a r of folk c u s t o m s d e e m e d p a g a n a n d the c h u r c h service of ritual practices d e e m e d superstitious, to dress the clergy in simple garb, and, at the e x t r e m e edge, to s m a s h " i d o l a t r o u s " s t a t u e s , crucifixes, a n d altarpieces. T h r o u g h o u t her long reign, however, Elizabeth r e m a i n e d cautiously conservative a n d d e t e r m i n e d to hold religious zealotry in check. In the s p a c e of a single lifetime, E n g l a n d h a d g o n e officially f r o m R o m a n C a t h o l i c i s m , to C a t h o l i c i s m u n d e r the s u p r e m e h e a d s h i p of the E n g l i s h king, to a g u a r d e d P r o t e s t a n t i s m , to a m o r e radical Protestantism, to a renewed a n d aggressive R o m a n C a t h o l i c i s m , a n d finally to P r o t e s t a n t i s m again. E a c h of t h e s e shifts w a s a c c o m p a n i e d by danger, p e r s e c u t i o n , a n d death. It was e n o u g h to m a k e p e o p l e wary. Or skeptical. Or extremely agile. A

F E M A L E

M O N A R C H

MALE

W O R L D

In the last year of Mary's reign, the S c o t t i s h Calvinist minister J o h n Knox t h u n d e r e d a g a i n s t what he called "the m o n s t r o u s regiment of w o m e n . " After the Protestant Elizabeth c a m e to the throne the following year, Knox a n d his religious b r e t h r e n were less inclined to d e n o u n c e all f e m a l e rulers, but in E n g l a n d , as e l s e w h e r e in E u r o p e , there r e m a i n e d a w i d e s p r e a d conviction that womeri were u n s u i t e d to wield power over m e n . M a n y m e n s e e m to have r e g a r d e d the c a p a c i t y for rational t h o u g h t as exclusively m a l e ; w o m e n , they a s s u m e d , were led only by their p a s s i o n s . While g e n t l e m e n m a s t e r e d the arts of rhetoric a n d warfare, g e n t l e w o m e n were e x p e c t e d to display the virtues of silence a n d g o o d h o u s e k e e p i n g . A m o n g upper-class m a l e s , the will to domin a t e others w a s a c c e p t a b l e a n d i n d e e d a d m i r e d ; the s a m e will in w o m e n was c o n d e m n e d as a g r o t e s q u e a n d d a n g e r o u s aberration. Apologists for the q u e e n c o u n t e r e d t h e s e prejudices by a p p e a l i n g to historical p r e c e d e n t a n d legal theory. History o f f e r e d inspiring examples of j u s t f e m a l e rulers, notably D e b o r a h , the biblical p r o p h e t e s s who h a d j u d g e d Israel. In the legal sphere, C r o w n lawyers a d v a n c e d the theory of "the king's two b o d i e s . " As E n g l a n d ' s crowned h e a d , Elizabeth's p e r s o n was mystically divided b e t w e e n her mortal "body n a t u r a l " a n d the immortal "body politic." While the q u e e n ' s natural body was inevitably s u b j e c t to the failings of h u m a n flesh, the body politic w a s timeless a n d perfect. In political terms, therefore, Elizabeth's sex w a s a m a t t e r of no c o n s e q u e n c e , a thing indifferent. Elizabeth, who h a d received a fine h u m a n i s t e d u c a t i o n a n d an extended, d a n g e r o u s l e s s o n in the art of survival, m a d e it immediately clear that she i n t e n d e d to rule in m o r e than n a m e only. S h e a s s e m b l e d a g r o u p of trustworthy advisers, f o r e m o s t a m o n g t h e m William Cecil (later c r e a t e d Lord Burghley), b u t s h e insisted on m a k i n g m a n y of the crucial decisions herself. Like m a n y R e n a i s s a n c e m o n a r c h s , Elizabeth w a s drawn to the idea of royal absolutism, the theory that ultimate power w a s quite properly c o n c e n t r a t e d in her p e r s o n a n d i n d e e d that G o d h a d a p p o i n t e d her to be His deputy in the king-

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d o m . O p p o s i t i o n to her rule, in this view, was not only a political act but also a kind of impiety, a b l a s p h e m o u s grudging against the will of G o d . S u p p o r t e r s of a b s o l u t i s m c o n t e n d e d that G o d c o m m a n d s o b e d i e n c e even to manifestly wicked rulers w h o m He has sent to p u n i s h the s i n f u l n e s s of h u m a n k i n d . S u c h a r g u m e n t s were routinely m a d e in s p e e c h e s a n d political tracts a n d from the pulpits of c h u r c h e s , where they were incorporated into the Book of Homilies that clergymen were required to read out to their congregations. In reality, Elizabeth's power was not absolute. T h e government had a network of spies, informers, a n d agents provocateurs, but it lacked a standing army, a national police force, an efficient system of c o m m u n i c a t i o n , and an extensive b u r e a u c r a c y . Above all, the q u e e n h a d limited financial resources a n d n e e d e d to turn periodically to an i n d e p e n d e n t a n d often recalcitrant Parliament, which by long tradition h a d the sole right to levy taxes a n d to grant s u b s i d i e s . M e m b e r s of the H o u s e of C o m m o n s were elected f r o m their boro u g h s , not a p p o i n t e d by the m o n a r c h , a n d t h o u g h the q u e e n had c o n s i d e r a b l e i n f l u e n c e over their decisions, she c o u l d by no m e a n s dictate policy. U n d e r t h e s e constraints, Elizabeth ruled through a combination of adroit political m a n e u v e r i n g a n d i m p e r i o u s c o m m a n d , all the while e n h a n c i n g her authority in the eyes of both c o u r t a n d country by m e a n s of an extraordinary cult of love. " W e all loved her," Elizabeth's g o d s o n Sir J o h n Harington wrote, with j u s t a t o u c h of irony, a few years after the q u e e n ' s death, "for she said she loved u s . " A m b a s s a d o r s , courtiers, a n d p a r l i a m e n t a r i a n s all s u b m i t t e d to Elizabeth's cult of love, in which the q u e e n ' s g e n d e r was t r a n s f o r m e d f r o m a potential liability into a significant asset. T h o s e who a p p r o a c h e d her generally did so on their k n e e s a n d were expected to a d d r e s s her with the m o s t extravagant c o m p l i m e n t s ; s h e in turn spoke, when it suited her to do so, in a c o m p a r a b l e l a n g u a g e of love. T h e court moved in an a t m o s p h e r e of r o m a n c e , with music, d a n c i n g , plays, a n d the elaborate, fancy-dress entertainments called m a s q u e s . T h e q u e e n a d o r n e d herself in dazzling clothes a n d rich jewels. W h e n she went on o n e of her s u m m e r " p r o g r e s s e s , " ceremonial journeys through her land, s h e looked like an exotic, s a c r e d i m a g e in a religious cult of love, a n d her noble hosts virtually b a n k r u p t e d themselves to lavish u p o n her the costliest pleasures. E n g l a n d ' s leading artists, s u c h as the poet E d m u n d S p e n s e r and the painter N i c h o l a s Hilliard, enlisted themselves in the celebration of Elizabeth's mystery, likening her to the g o d d e s s e s of mythology a n d the heroines of the Bible: D i a n a , Astraea, Cynthia, D e b o r a h . T h e cultural s o u r c e s of the so-called "cult of Elizabeth" were both s e c u l a r (her courtiers c o u l d pine for her as the cruelly c h a s t e mistress c e l e b r a t e d in P e t r a r c h a n love poetry) a n d sacred (the veneration that u n d e r C a t h o l i c i s m h a d b e e n d u e to the Virgin M a r y could now be directed toward E n g l a n d ' s semi-divine q u e e n ) . T h e r e was a sober, even grim a s p e c t to t h e s e poetical fantasies: Elizabeth was brilliant at playing o f f o n e d a n g e r o u s f a c t i o n against another, now turning her g r a c i o u s smiles on o n e favorite, now honoring his hated rival, now suddenly looking elsewhere a n d raising an o b s c u r e upstart to royal favor. And w h e n s h e was disobeyed or w h e n s h e felt that her prerogatives h a d b e e n challenged, she was c a p a b l e of an a n g e r that, as H a r i n g t o n p u t it, "left no doubtings w h o s e d a u g h t e r she w a s . " T h u s w h e n Sir Walter Ralegh, one of the q u e e n ' s glittering favorites, married without her knowledge or consent, he f o u n d himself promptly i m p r i s o n e d in the T o w e r of L o n d o n . Or when the Protestant polemicist J o h n S t u b b e s ventured to p u b l i s h a p a m p h l e t stridently

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d e n o u n c i n g the q u e e n ' s p r o p o s e d marriage to the F r e n c h C a t h o l i c duke of Anjou, S t u b h e s a n d his p u b l i s h e r were arrested a n d h a d their right h a n d s c h o p p e d off. (After receiving the blow, the now p r u d e n t S t u b b e s lifted his hat with his r e m a i n i n g h a n d a n d cried, " G o d save the Q u e e n ! " ) THE

K I N G D O M

D A N G E R

B e s e t by C a t h o l i c a n d P r o t e s t a n t extremists, Elizabeth contrived to forge a m o d e r a t e c o m p r o m i s e that e n a b l e d her realm to avert the m a s s a c r e s a n d civil wars that p o i s o n e d F r a n c e a n d other countries on the C o n t i n e n t . B u t m e n a c e was never far off, a n d there were continual fears of conspiracy, rebellion, and a s s a s s i n a t i o n . S u s p i c i o n swirled a r o u n d Mary, Q u e e n o f S c o t s , who h a d b e e n driven f r o m her own k i n g d o m in 1 5 6 8 a n d h a d taken r e f u g e in E n g l a n d . T h e p r e s e n c e , u n d e r a kind of h o u s e arrest, of a C a t h o l i c q u e e n with a plausible claim to the E n g l i s h throne w a s the s o u r c e of widespread anxiety a n d helped g e n e r a t e recurrent r u m o r s of plots. S o m e of these were real e n o u g h , others imaginary, still others f a b r i c a t e d by the secret a g e n t s of the government's intelligence service u n d e r the direction of Sir F r a n c i s W a l s i n g h a m . F e a r s of C a t h olic c o n s p i r a c i e s intensified greatly after S p a n i s h imperial armies invaded the N e t h e r l a n d s in order to s t a m p out Protestant rebels ( 1 5 6 7 ) , after the St. Bartholomew's Day M a s s a c r e of Protestants ( H u g u e n o t s ) in F r a n c e ( 1 5 7 2 ) , a n d after the a s s a s s i n a t i o n of E u r o p e ' s other major Protestant leader, William of Orange (1584). T h e q u e e n ' s life s e e m e d to be in even greater d a n g e r after P o p e Gregory XIII's p r o c l a m a t i o n in 1 5 8 0 that the a s s a s s i n a t i o n of the great heretic Elizabeth (who h a d b e e n e x c o m m u n i c a t e d a d e c a d e before) would not constitute a mortal sin. T h e i m m e d i a t e e f f e c t of the p r o c l a m a t i o n was to m a k e life m o r e difficult for E n g l i s h C a t h o l i c s , m o s t of w h o m were loyal to the q u e e n b u t who fell u n d e r grave suspicion. S u s p i c i o n was heightened by the clandestine p r e s e n c e of E n g l i s h J e s u i t s , trained at s e m i n a r i e s a b r o a d a n d s m u g g l e d b a c k into E n g l a n d to serve the R o m a n C a t h o l i c c a u s e . W h e n , after several b o t c h e d c o n s p i r a c i e s h a d b e e n disclosed, Elizabeth's s p y m a s t e r W a l s i n g h a m u n e a r t h e d a n o t h e r a s s a s s i n a t i o n plot in the c o r r e s p o n d e n c e b e t w e e n the O u e e n of S c o t s a n d the C a t h o l i c Anthony B a b i n g t o n , the wretched Mary's f a t e was sealed. After a public display of vacillation a n d p e r h a p s with g e n u i n e regret, Elizabeth s i g n e d the death warrant, a n d her c o u s i n was b e h e a d e d . T h e long-anticipated military confrontation with C a t h o l i c S p a i n was now unavoidable. Elizabeth learned that Philip II, her f o r m e r brother-in-law a n d one-time suitor, was preparing to s e n d an e n o r m o u s fleet against her island realm. T h e A r m a d a was to sail first to the N e t h e r l a n d s , where a S p a n i s h army would be waiting to e m b a r k a n d invade E n g l a n d . Barring its way was England's small fleet of well-armed a n d highly m a n e u v e r a b l e fighting vessels, b a c k e d up by ships f r o m the m e r c h a n t navy. T h e Invincible A r m a d a r e a c h e d English waters in J u l y 1 5 8 8 , only to be routed in o n e of the m o s t f a m o u s a n d decisive naval battles in E u r o p e a n history. T h e n , in what m a n y viewed as an Act of G o d on behalf of Protestant E n g l a n d , the S p a n i s h fleet was dispersed a n d all but destroyed by violent storms. As E n g l a n d b r a c e d itself to withstand the invasion that never c a m e , Elizabeth a p p e a r e d in p e r s o n to review a d e t a c h m e n t of soldiers a s s e m b l e d at Tilbury, on the T h a m e s estuary. D r e s s e d in a white gown and a silver breastplate, she d e c l a r e d that t h o u g h s o m e a m o n g her councilors had urged her not to

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a p p e a r b e f o r e a large crowd of a r m e d m e n , s h e would never fail to trust the loyalty of her f a i t h f u l a n d loving subjects. N o r did she fear the S p a n i s h armies. "I know I have the body b u t of a w e a k a n d f e e b l e w o m a n , " Elizabeth declared, " b u t I have the heart a n d s t o m a c h [i.e., valor] of a king, a n d of a king of E n g l a n d too." In this c e l e b r a t e d s p e e c h , Elizabeth displayed many of her m o s t m e m o r a b l e qualities: her self-consciously theatrical c o m m a n d of grand public o c c a s i o n , her s u b t l e blending of m a g n i l o q u e n t rhetoric a n d the l a n g u a g e of love, her strategic appropriation of traditionally m a s c u l i n e qualities, a n d her great personal c o u r a g e . " W e p r i n c e s , " s h e o n c e remarked, "are set on stages in the sight a n d view of all the world." T H E

E N G L I S H

AND

O T H E R N E S S

In 1 4 8 5 , m o s t E n g l i s h p e o p l e would have devoted little thought to their national identity. If a s k e d to d e s c r i b e their s e n s e of belonging, they would probably have s p o k e n first of the international c o m m u n i t y of C h r i s t e n d o m , a n d secondly of their local region, s u c h as Kent or C u m b e r l a n d . T h e extraordinary events of the T u d o r era, f r o m the e n c o u n t e r with the N e w World to the b r e a k with R o m e , m a d e m a n y p e o p l e newly aware a n d p r o u d of their E n g l i s h n e s s . At the s a m e time, they b e g a n to perceive those who lay outside the national c o m m u n i t y in new (and o f t e n negative) ways. Like m o s t national c o m m u n i t i e s , the E n g l i s h defined themselves largely in terms of what or who they were not. In the wake of the R e f o r m a t i o n , the m o s t p r o m i n e n t " o t h e r s " were t h o s e who h a d until recently b e e n m o r e or less the s a m e , that is, the C a t h o l i c s of western C h r i s t e n d o m . B u t other g r o u p s were also instrumental in the project of E n g l i s h self-definition. E l i z a b e t h a n L o n d o n h a d a large p o p u l a t i o n of resident aliens, mainly artis a n s a n d m e r c h a n t s a n d their families, from Portugal, Italy, S p a i n , G e r m a n y , a n d , a b o v e all, F r a n c e a n d the N e t h e r l a n d s . M a n y of these p e o p l e were Prote s t a n t r e f u g e e s , a n d they were a c c o r d e d s o m e legal a n d e c o n o m i c protection by the government. B u t they were not always w e l c o m e to the local p o p u l a c e . T h r o u g h o u t the sixteenth century L o n d o n w a s the site of repeated d e m o n strations and, on o c c a s i o n , bloody riots against the c o m m u n i t i e s of foreign artisans, w h o w e r e a c c u s e d o f taking j o b s away f r o m E n g l i s h m e n . T h e r e was w i d e s p r e a d hostility as well toward the Welsh, the S c o t s , a n d above all the Irish, w h o m the E n g l i s h h a d for centuries b e e n struggling u n s u c c e s s f u l l y to s u b d u e . T h e kings of E n g l a n d c l a i m e d to be rulers of Ireland, but in reality they effectively controlled only a small area known as the Pale, extending north f r o m Dublin. T h e great majority of the population r e m a i n e d stubbornly C a t h olic and, despite endlessly reiterated E n g l i s h repression, burning of villages, d e s t r u c t i o n of crops, seizure of land, a n d m a s s a c r e s , incorrigibly i n d e p e n d e n t . Medieval E n g l a n d ' s J e w i s h population, the recurrent object of p e r s e c u t i o n , extortion, a n d m a s s a c r e , h a d b e e n officially expelled by King E d w a r d I in 1290, b u t E l i z a b e t h a n E n g l a n d harbored a tiny n u m b e r of J e w s or J e w i s h converts to Christianity. T h e y were the objects of s u s p i c i o n a n d hostility. Elizabethans a p p e a r to have b e e n f a s c i n a t e d by J e w s a n d J u d a i s m b u t quite uncertain whether the terms referred to a people, a foreign nation, a set of strange practices, a living faith, a d e f u n c t religion, a villainous conspiracy, or a m e s s i a n i c inheritance. Protestant R e f o r m e r s b r o o d e d deeply on the H e b r a i c origins of Christianity; g o v e r n m e n t officials ordered the arrest of those " s u s p e c t e d to be J e w s " ; villagers p a i d p e n n i e s to itinerant fortunetellers who c l a i m e d to be

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d e s c e n d e d f r o m A b r a h a m o r m a s t e r s o f kabbalistic mysteries; a n d L o n d o n playgoers enjoyed the s p e c t a c l e of the downfall of the wicked B a r a b a s in Christopher Marlowe's The Jew of Malta a n d the f o r c e d conversion of Shylock in S h a k e s p e a r e ' s The Merchant of Venice. J e w s were not officially permitted to resettle in E n g l a n d until the middle of the seventeenth century, a n d even then their legal s t a t u s w a s a m b i g u o u s . Sixteenth-century E n g l a n d also h a d a small African population w h o s e skin color w a s the subject of p s e u d o s c i e n t i f i c s p e c u l a t i o n a n d theological debate. S o m e Elizabethans believed that A f r i c a n s ' b l a c k n e s s resulted from the climate of t h e regions where they lived, where, as o n e traveler put it, they were "so s c o r c h e d a n d vexed with the heat of the s u n , that in m a n y p l a c e s they c u r s e it w h e n it riseth." O t h e r s held that b l a c k n e s s was a c u r s e inherited f r o m their f o r e f a t h e r C u s h , the s o n of H a m (who had, a c c o r d i n g to G e n e s i s , wickedly e x p o s e d the n a k e d n e s s of his d r u n k e n father, N o a h ) . G e o r g e Best, a p r o p o n e n t of this theory of inherited skin color, reported that "I myself have s e e n an E t h i o p i a n as black as coal b r o u g h t into E n g l a n d , who taking a fair E n g l i s h w o m a n to wife, begat a s o n in all r e s p e c t s as b l a c k as the father was, although E n g l a n d were his native country, a n d an E n g l i s h w o m a n his mother: whereby it s e e m e t h this b l a c k n e s s p r o c e e d e t h rather of s o m e natural infection of that man." As the word " i n f e c t i o n " s u g g e s t s , Elizabethans frequently regarded blackn e s s as a physical defect, t h o u g h the black p e o p l e who lived in E n g l a n d a n d S c o t l a n d throughout the sixteenth century were also treated as exotic curiosities. At his marriage to A n n e of D e n m a r k , J a m e s VI of S c o t l a n d (the son of Mary, Q u e e n of S c o t s ; as J a m e s I of E n g l a n d , he s u c c e e d e d Elizabeth in 1 6 0 3 ) entertained his bride a n d her family by c o m m a n d i n g four n a k e d black youths to d a n c e b e f o r e him in the snow. (The youths died of exposure shortly afterward.) In 1 5 9 4 , in the festivities celebrating the b a p t i s m of J a m e s ' s son, a " B l a c k - M o o r " e n t e r e d pulling an elaborately d e c o r a t e d chariot that was, in the original plan, s u p p o s e d to be pulled by a lion. In E n g l a n d there was a black t r u m p e t e r in the c o u r t s of H e n r y VII a n d H e n r y VIII, while Elizabeth h a d at least two b l a c k servants, o n e an entertainer, the other a page. Africans b e c a m e increasingly p o p u l a r as servants in aristocratic a n d gentle h o u s e h o l d s in the last d e c a d e s of the sixteenth century. S o m e of these A f r i c a n s were a l m o s t certainly slaves, though the legal status of slavery in E n g l a n d w a s a m b i g u o u s . In Cartwright's C a s e ( 1 5 6 9 ) , the court ruled "that E n g l a n d w a s too P u r e an Air for Slaves to breathe in," b u t there is e v i d e n c e that black slaves were o w n e d in Elizabethan a n d J a c o b e a n E n g l a n d . Moreover, by the mid-sixteenth century the English had b e c o m e involved in the profitable trade that carried African slaves to the N e w World. In 1 5 6 2 J o h n Hawkins e m b a r k e d on his first slaving voyage, transporting s o m e three h u n d r e d Africans from the G u i n e a c o a s t to Hispaniola, where they were sold for ten t h o u s a n d p o u n d s . Elizabeth is reported to have said that this venture was "detestable, a n d would call down the V e n g e a n c e of H e a v e n u p o n the U n d e r t a k e r s . " Nevertheless, s h e invested in Hawkins's s u b s e q u e n t voyages a n d l o a n e d him ships. Elizabeth also invested in other enterprises that c o m b i n e d aggressive nationalism a n d the p u r s u i t of profit. In 1 4 9 3 the p o p e h a d divided the N e w World b e t w e e n the S p a n i s h a n d the P o r t u g u e s e by drawing a line from pole to pole ( h e n c e Brazil s p e a k s P o r t u g u e s e today a n d the rest of Latin A m e r i c a speaks S p a n i s h ) : the E n g l i s h were not in the picture. B u t by the end of E d w a r d VI's

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reign the C o m p a n y o f M e r c h a n t Adventurers was f o u n d e d , a n d E n g l i s h m e n b e g a n to explore Asia a n d N o r t h A m e r i c a . S o m e of these adventurers turned to piracy, preying on S p a n i s h ships that were returning laden with wealth extracted f r o m their N e w World p o s s e s s i o n s . ( T h e p o p e had ruled that the Indians were h u m a n b e i n g s — a n d h e n c e c o u l d be converted to Christianity— b u t the ruling did nothing to prevent their e n s l a v e m e n t a n d brutal exploitation.) E n g l i s h acts of piracy s o o n b e c a m e a private u n d e c l a r e d war, with the q u e e n a n d her courtiers covertly investing in the raids but accepting no responsibility for them. T h e greatest of m a n y a s t o u n d i n g exploits was the voya g e of F r a n c i s D r a k e (1577—80): he sailed through the Strait of Magellan, pillaged S p a n i s h towns on the Pacific, r e a c h e d as far north as S a n Francisco, c r o s s e d to the Philippines, a n d returned a r o u n d the C a p e of G o o d H o p e ; he c a m e b a c k with a million p o u n d s in treasure, a n d his investors e a r n e d a dividend of 5 , 0 0 0 percent. O u e e n Elizabeth knighted him on the d e c k of his ship, The Golden Hind. WRITERS,

PRINTERS,

AND

PATRONS

T h e a s s o c i a t i o n b e t w e e n literature a n d print, so natural to us, was less immediate in the sixteenth century. Poetry in particular frequently circulated in m a n u s c r i p t , c o p i e d by reader after reader into personal a n t h o l o g i e s — c o m m o n p l a c e b o o k s — o r r e p r o d u c e d by professional scribes for a fee. T h e texts that have c o m e down to us in printed f o r m often bear an u n c e r t a i n relation to authorial m a n u s c r i p t s , a n d were frequently p u b l i s h e d only p o s t h u m o u s l y . T h e career of p r o f e s s i o n a l writer in sixteenth-century E n g l a n d was a l m o s t impossible: there w a s no s u c h thing as author's copyright, no royalties paid to an a u t h o r a c c o r d i n g to the sales of his book, a n d virtually no notion that a n y o n e c o u l d m a k e a d e c e n t living through the creation of works of literature. Writers sold their m a n u s c r i p t s to the printer or bookseller outright, for what now s e e m like ridiculously low prices. T h e churchyard of St Paul's C a t h e d r a l in L o n d o n was lined with booksellers' s h o p s : dissolved chantries were taken over by b o o k s h o p s in the 1 5 4 0 s , c h u r c h officials leased out their residences near the church's north door to m e m b e r s of the Stationers' C o m p a n y (the guild w h o s e m e m b e r s h a d the exclusive right to own printing p r e s s e s ) , a n d eventually bookstores even filled the bays between the Cathedral's buttresses, two stories high a n d more. Paul's was the m a i n center of b u s i n e s s in the capital, with the c h u r c h itself serving as a m e e t i n g place, a n d its c o l u m n s as notice-boards; p u b l i s h e r s would post there, a n d elsewhere in the city, the title p a g e s of new books as advertisements. T h o s e title p a g e s listed the wholesaler for the work, but c u s t o m e r s c o u l d have b o u g h t p o p u l a r books at m o s t of the s h o p s in St Paul's Yard. T h e p u b l i s h i n g b u s i n e s s was not entirely contained in that b u s y s p a c e , though: s o m e Stationers were only printers, merely working as contractors for publishers, a n d their printshops were located all over the city, o f t e n in the owner's residence. F r e e d o m of the press did not exist. B e f o r e Elizabeth's reign, state control of printed books was poorly organized, although licensing efforts had b e e n underway since 1 5 3 8 . In 1 5 5 7 , however, the Stationers' C o m p a n y received its charter, a n d b e c a m e r e s p o n s i b l e for the licensing of books. Two years later, the government c o m m a n d e d the Stationers only to license books that h a d b e e n approved by either six Privy C o u n c i l o r s or the Archbishop of C a n t e r b u r y and the B i s h o p of L o n d o n . D e s p i t e t h e s e seemingly strict regulations, " s c a n d a l o u s ,

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m a l i c i o u s , s c h i s m a t i c a l , a n d heretical" works were never effectively supp r e s s e d . T h o u g h there were o c c a s i o n a l show trials a n d horrendous punishm e n t s — t h e printer William C a r t e r w a s h a n g e d for treason in 1 5 8 4 b e c a u s e he h a d p u b l i s h e d a C a t h o l i c p a m p h l e t ; the Protestant separatists J o h n Penry, Henry Barrow, a n d J o h n G r e e n w o o d were executed in 1593 under a statute that m a d e it a capital o f f e n s e to "devise a n d write, print or set forth, any m a n n e r of b o o k . . . letter, or writing containing false, seditious, a n d slanderous m a t t e r to the d e f a m a t i o n of the Q u e e n ' s M a j e s t y " — a c t i v e c e n s o r s h i p was not as f r e q u e n t or thorough as we might expect. T h e c e n s o r s largely f o c u s e d their attention on works of history, which o f t e n h a d political implications for the present, a n d on religious treatises. In this, they s h a r e d the public's taste. Plays a n d s e c u l a r poetry occasionally sold well ( S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Henry IV, Part 1 was printed 7 times in 25 years), b u t they c o u l d not c o m p e t e with p u b l i s h i n g blockbusters s u c h as The Plain Man's Pathway (16 editions in 25 years), let alone The Psalms in English Meter, p u b l i s h e d 124 times b e t w e e n 1 5 8 3 a n d 1 6 0 8 . Publishers were largely interested in profit margins, a n d the p r e d o m i n a n c e of devotional texts a m o n g the surviving books f r o m the period attests to their greater marketability. T h e f o r m a t in which works of literature were usually p u b l i s h e d is also telling. We normally find plays a n d poetry in q u a r t o s (or octavos), small volumes which h a d f o u r (or eight) p a g e s printed on e a c h side of a s h e e t which was then f o l d e d twice (or three times) a n d stitched together with other s u c h folded s h e e t s to f o r m the book. T h e more i m p o s i n g folio f o r m a t (in which the p a p e r was f o l d e d only o n c e , at two p a g e s per side of a sheet) t e n d e d to be reserved not j u s t for longer works b u t for t h o s e regarded as meriting especially r e s p e c t f u l treatment. In 1 5 7 7 , R a p h a e l H o l i n s h e d ' s massive history The Chronicles of England, Scotlande, and Irelande a p p e a r e d in a woodcut-illustrated folio; only ten years later, a s e c o n d edition w a s p u b l i s h e d , again in the large format. In contrast, E d m u n d S p e n s e r ' s h u g e p o e m The Faerie Queene w a s printed as a quarto both in 1 5 9 0 a n d in 1 5 9 6 . A d e c a d e after his death, though, as the poet's reputation grew, his epic a p p e a r e d a g a i n ( 1 6 0 9 ) , this time as a folio. Elizabethan writers of exalted social standing, like the earl of Surrey or Sir Philip Sidney, thought of themselves as courtiers, s t a t e s m e n , a n d landowners; poetry was for t h e m an indispensable social grace a n d a deeply pleasurable, exalted f o r m of play. Writers of lower rank, s u c h as S a m u e l Daniel a n d M i c h a e l Drayton, s o u g h t careers as civil servants, secretaries, tutors, a n d clerics; they might take up m o r e or less p e r m a n e n t r e s i d e n c e in a noble household, or, m o r e casually, o f f e r their literary work to actual or prospective patrons, in the h o p e of protection, career a d v a n c e m e n t , or financial reward. Ambitious authors e a g e r to rise f r o m threadbare obscurity often looked to the court for livelihood, notice, a n d e n c o u r a g e m e n t , but their great expectations generally proved chimerical. "A t h o u s a n d h o p e s , b u t all nothing," wailed J o h n Lyly, alluding to his long wait for the office of M a s t e r of the Revels, "a h u n d r e d p r o m i s e s but yet nothing." Financial rewards for writing p r o s e or poetry c a m e mostly in the f o r m of gifts from wealthy p a t r o n s , who s o u g h t to e n h a n c e their status a n d gratify their vanity through the a c h i e v e m e n t s a n d lavish praises of their clients. S o m e Elizabethan patrons, though, were well-educated h u m a n i s t s motivated by aesthetic interests, and with them, p a t r o n a g e extended beyond financial support to the creation of lively literary a n d intellectual circles. P o e m s by Daniel, B e n

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J o n s o n , Aemilia Lanyer, a n d others b e a r witness to the sustaining intelligence a n d sophistication, as well as the generosity, of their b e n e f a c t o r s . B u t the e x p e r i e n c e of Robert G r e e n e is p e r h a p s equally revealing: the f a c t that he h a d sixteen different p a t r o n s for seventeen books s u g g e s t s that he did not find m u c h favor or s u p p o r t f r o m any o n e of them. Indeed, a practice grew up of printing o f f several d e d i c a t i o n s to be inserted into particular copies of a book, so that an i m p e c u n i o u s a u t h o r c o u l d deceive e a c h of several patrons into thinking that he or s h e w a s the uniquely f o r t u n a t e p e r s o n to be honored by the volume. In addition to the c o u r t a n d the great families as d i s p e n s e r s of patronage, the city of L o n d o n a n d the two universities also h a d a s u b s t a n t i a l i m p a c t on the period's literature. L o n d o n w a s the center of the b o o k trade, the nursery of a fledgling middle-class reading public, and, m o s t important, the h o m e of the p u b l i c theaters. B e f o r e Elizabeth's time, the universities were mainly devoted to e d u c a t i n g the clergy, a n d that r e m a i n e d an important part of their f u n c t i o n . B u t in the s e c o n d half of the century, the sons of the gentry a n d the aristocracy w e r e going in i n c r e a s i n g n u m b e r s to the universities a n d the Inns of C o u r t (law schools), not in order to take religious orders or to practice law b u t to p r e p a r e for public service or the m a n a g e m e n t of their estates. Other, less a f f l u e n t s t u d e n t s , s u c h a s M a r l o w e a n d S p e n s e r , a t t e n d e d Oxford a n d C a m b r i d g e on scholarship. A g r o u p of g r a d u a t e s , including T h o m a s N a s h e , R o b e r t G r e e n e , a n d G e o r g e Peele, enlivened the literary s c e n e in L o n d o n in the 1 5 9 0 s , b u t the p r e c a r i o u s lives of t h e s e so-called "university wits" testify to the difficulties they e n c o u n t e r e d in their quixotic a t t e m p t to survive by their writing skill. T h e diary of Philip H e n s l o w e , a leading theatrical m a n a g e r , has entry a f t e r entry showing university g r a d u a t e s in prison or in debt or at best eking out a m i s e r a b l e existence p a t c h i n g plays. W o m e n h a d no a c c e s s to g r a m m a r schools, the universities, or the Inns of C o u r t and, w h e n not altogether illiterate, received for the m o s t part only a r u d i m e n t a r y e d u c a t i o n . While P r o t e s t a n t i s m , with its e m p h a s i s on reading Scripture, certainly helped to improve f e m a l e literacy in the sixteenth century, girls were rarely e n c o u r a g e d to p u r s u e their studies. Indeed, while girls were increasingly t a u g h t to read, they were not necessarily taught to write, for the latter skill in w o m e n was c o n s i d e r e d to be at the very least u s e l e s s , at the worst d a n g e r o u s . W h e n the p r o m i n e n t h u m a n i s t Sir T h o m a s S m i t h t h o u g h t o f how he s h o u l d d e s c r i b e his country's social order, he d e c l a r e d that "we do reject w o m e n , as those w h o m nature hath m a d e to keep h o m e a n d to nourish their family a n d children, a n d not to m e d d l e with matters abroad, nor to bear office in a city or c o m m o n w e a l t h . " T h e n , with a kind of nervous g l a n c e over his shoulder, he m a d e an exception of those f e w in w h o m "the blood is respected, not the a g e nor the sex": for example, the q u e e n . Every piece of writing by a w o m a n f r o m this period is a triumph over nearly impossible o d d s . T U D O R

STYLE:

O R N A M E N T ,

PLAINNESS,

AND

W O N D E R

R e n a i s s a n c e literature is the p r o d u c t of a rhetorical culture, a c u l t u r e steeped in the arts of p e r s u a s i o n a n d trained to p r o c e s s complex verbal signals. (The c o n t e m p o r a r y equivalent w o u l d be the e a s e with which we deal with complex visual signals, effortlessly p r o c e s s i n g s u c h devices as fade-out, m o n t a g e , crosscutting, a n d morphing.) In 1 5 1 2 , E r a s m u s p u b l i s h e d a work called De copia

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that t a u g h t its readers how to cultivate " c o p i o u s n e s s , " verbal richness, in disc o u r s e . T h e work obligingly provides, as a s a m p l e , a list of 144 different ways of saying " T h a n k you for your letter." In R e n a i s s a n c e E n g l a n d , certain syntactic f o r m s or patterns of words known as "figures" (also called " s c h e m e s " ) were s h a p e d a n d repeated in order to confer beauty or heighten expressive power. F i g u r e s were usually known by their G r e e k a n d L a t i n n a m e s , t h o u g h in an Elizabethan rhetorical m a n u a l , The Arte of English Poesie, G e o r g e P u t t e n h a m m a d e a valiant if short-lived a t t e m p t to give t h e m E n g l i s h equivalents, s u c h as "Hyperbole, or the O v e r r e a c h e r " a n d "Ironia, or the Dry M o c k . " T h o s e w h o received a g r a m m a r - s c h o o l e d u c a t i o n t h r o u g h o u t E u r o p e at a l m o s t any point b e t w e e n the R o m a n E m p i r e a n d the eighteenth century probably knew by heart the n a m e s of up to o n e h u n d r e d s u c h figures, j u s t as they knew by heart their multiplication tables. A c c o r d i n g to o n e scholar's c o u n t , William S h a k e s p e a r e knew a n d m a d e u s e of a b o u t two hundred. As certain grotesquely inflated R e n a i s s a n c e texts attest, lessons f r o m De copia a n d similar rhetorical guides c o u l d e n c o u r a g e prolixity a n d verbal selfdisplay. E l i z a b e t h a n s h a d a taste for elaborate o r n a m e n t in l a n g u a g e as in clothing, jewelry, a n d furniture, and, if we are to a p p r e c i a t e their accomplishm e n t s , it helps to set a s i d e the m o d e r n p r e f e r e n c e , particularly in prose, for u n a d o r n e d simplicity a n d directness. W h e n , in o n e of the age's m o s t fashionable works of p r o s e fiction, J o h n Lyly wishes to explain that the vices of his young hero, E u p h u e s , are tarnishing his virtues, he offers a small flood of s y n o n y m o u s i m a g e s : " T h e f r e s h e s t colors s o o n e s t f a d e , the teenest [i.e., keenest] razor s o o n e s t turneth his edge, the finest cloth is s o o n e s t e a t e n with m o t h s . " Lyly's multiplication of b a l a n c e d rhetorical figures s p a r k e d a small literary craze known as " E u p h u i s m , " which w a s s o o n ridiculed by S h a k e s p e a r e a n d others for its f o f m u l a i c e x c e s s e s . Yet the multiplication of figures was a s o u r c e of deep-rooted p l e a s u r e in rhetorical culture, and m o s t of the greatest R e n a i s s a n c e writers u s e d it to extraordinary e f f e c t . C o n s i d e r , for example, the s u c c e s s i o n of i m a g e s in S h a k e s p e a r e ' s s o n n e t 7 3 : T h a t time o f year t h o u m a y s t i n m e b e h o l d W h e n yellow leaves, or n o n e , or few, do h a n g U p o n t h o s e b o u g h s w h i c h s h a k e a g a i n s t the cold, B a r e r u i n e d choirs, w h e r e late the sweet birds s a n g . In me t h o u s e e s t the twilight of s u c h day As a f t e r s u n s e t f a d e t h in the west; W h i c h by a n d by b l a c k night doth take away, D e a t h ' s s e c o n d self that s e a l s up all in rest. In me thou s e e s t the glowing of s u c h fire T h a t on the a s h e s of his youth doth lie, As the d e a t h b e d w h e r e o n it tnust expire, C o n s u m e d with that which it w a s n o u r i s h e d by. T h i s t h o u perceiv'st, w h i c h m a k e s thy love m o r e strong, To love that well, w h i c h thou m u s t leave ere long. W h a t s e e m s merely repetitious in Lyly here b e c o m e s a subtle, poignant amplification of the p e r c e p t i o n of decay, through the s u c c e s s i o n of i m a g e s f r o m winter (or late fall) to twilight to the last glow of a dying fire. E a c h of these images is in turn sensitively explored, so that, for example, the s e a s o n is figured by bare b o u g h s that shiver, as if they were h u m a n , a n d then these anthropo-

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morphized tree b r a n c h e s in turn are figured as the ruined choirs of a church w h e r e services were o n c e s u n g . No sooner is the i m a g e of singers in a c h u r c h choir evoked than t h e s e singers are i n s t a n t a n e o u s l y t r a n s m u t e d b a c k into the songbirds who, in an earlier s e a s o n , h a d sat u p o n the boughs, while these sweet birds in turn c o n j u r e up the poet's own v a n i s h e d youth. And this nostalgic gaze extends, at least glancingly, to the c h a n c e l s of the Catholic abbeys r e d u c e d to ruins by Protestant i c o n o c l a s m a n d the dissolution of the m o n a s teries. All of this within the first f o u r lines: here a n d elsewhere S h a k e s p e a r e , a l o n g with other p o e t s of his time, contrives to freight the small c o m p a s s a n d tight f o r m a l constraints of the s o n n e t — f o u r t e e n lines of i a m b i c p e n t a m e t e r in three principal rhyming p a t t e r n s — w i t h remarkable e m o t i o n a l intensity, psychological n u a n c e , a n d imagistic complexity. T h e e f f e c t is what Christop h e r M a r l o w e called "infinite riches in a little r o o m . " E l i z a b e t h a n s were certainly c a p a b l e of admiring plainness of s p e e c h — i n King Lear S h a k e s p e a r e c o n t r a s t s the severe directness of the virtuous C o r d e l i a to the "glib a n d oily art" of her wicked s i s t e r s — a n d s u c h poets as G e o r g e G a s c o i g n e , T h o m a s N a s h e , and, in the early seventeenth century, B e n J o n s o n wrote restrained, aphoristic, moralizing lyrics in a plain style w h o s e power d e p e n d s precisely on the avoidance of richly figurative verbal pyrotechnics. T h i s power is readily a p p a r e n t in the wintry s p a r e n e s s of N a s h e ' s "A Litany in T i m e of P l a g u e , " with its grim refrain: Wit with his w a n t o n n e s s T a s t e t h death's bitterness; Hell's executioner H a t h no ears for to h e a r W h a t vain art c a n reply. I am sick, I m u s t die. Lord, have m e r c y on us! H e r e the linguistic p l a y f u l n e s s beloved by Elizabethan culture is s c o r n e d as an i n e f f e c t u a l "vain art" to which the executioner, death, is utterly indifferent. B u t here a n d in other plain-style poetry, the s o m b e r , lapidary e f f e c t d e p e n d s on a tacit recognition of the allure of the s u p p l e n e s s , grace, a n d sweet h a r m o n y that the d o m i n a n t literary artists of the period so a s s i d u o u s l y cultivated. Poetry, writes P u t t e n h a m , is " m o r e delicate to the ear than p r o s e is, b e c a u s e it is m o r e current a n d slipper u p o n the tongue [i.e., flowing a n d easily pron o u n c e d ] , a n d withal t u n a b l e a n d melodious, as a kind of M u s i c , a n d therefore m a y be termed a m u s i c a l s p e e c h or u t t e r a n c e . " T h e sixteenth century was an a g e of s u p e r b vocal m u s i c . T h e renowned c o m p o s e r s William Byrd, T h o m a s Morley, J o h n Dowland, a n d others scarcely less distinguished wrote a rich p r o f u s i o n of madrigals (part s o n g s for two to eight voices, u n a c c o m p a n i e d ) a n d airs (songs for solo voice, generally a c c o m p a n i e d by the lute). T h e s e works, along with hymns, p o p u l a r ballads, rounds, c a t c h e s , a n d other f o r m s of song, enjoyed i m m e n s e popularity, not only in the royal court, where musical skill w a s regarded as an important a c c o m p l i s h m e n t , a n d in aristocratic h o u s e h o l d s , where p r o f e s s i o n a l m u s i c i a n s were employed as entertainers, but also in less exalted social circles. In his Plain and Easy Introduction to Practical Music ( 1 5 9 7 ) , Morley tells a story of social humiliation at a f a i l u r e to p e r f o r m that s u g g e s t s that a well-educated Elizabethan was expected to be able to sightsing. Even if this is an exaggeration in the interest of book sales, there is evidence of impressively w i d e s p r e a d m u s i c a l literacy, a literacy reflected in a

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splendid array of m u s i c for the lute, viol, recorder, harp, a n d virginal, as well as vocal m u s i c . M a n y sixteenth-century p o e m s were written to be set to m u s i c , but even those that were not often aspire in their metrical a n d syllabic virtuosity to the complex p l e a s u r e s of madrigals or to the sweet fluency of airs. In poetry a n d music, as in gardens, architecture, a n d d a n c e , Elizabethans h a d a taste for elaborate, intricate, but perfectly regular designs. T h e y admired form, valued the artist's m a n i f e s t control of the m e d i u m , a n d took p l e a s u r e in the highly p a t t e r n e d s u r f a c e s of things. M o d e r n r e s p o n s e s to art often evidence a suspicion of s u r f a c e s , i m p a t i e n c e with order, the desire to rip away the m a s k in order to discover a hidden core of experiential truth: these r e s p o n s e s are far less evident in R e n a i s s a n c e aesthetics than is a delight in pattern. Indeed many writers of the time e x p r e s s e d the faith that the universe itself h a d in its basic construction the beauty, concord, a n d h a r m o n i o u s order of a p o e m or a piece of m u s i c . " T h e world is m a d e by S y m m e t r y a n d proportion," wrote T h o m a s C a m p i o n , who was both a poet a n d a c o m p o s e r , " a n d is in that respect compared to M u s i c , a n d M u s i c to Poetry." T h e design of an exquisite work of art is deeply linked in this view to the design of the c o s m o s . S u c h an e m p h a s i s on c o n s p i c u o u s pattern might s e e m to e n c o u r a g e an art as stiff as the s t a r c h e d r u f f s that ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n wore a r o u n d their necks, b u t the period's f a s c i n a t i o n with order was conjoined with a p r o f o u n d interest in persuasively conveying the m o v e m e n t s of the mind a n d heart. Syntax in the sixteenth century was looser, m o r e flexible than our own a n d punctuation less systematic. If the e f f e c t is s o m e t i m e s c o n f u s i n g , it also enabled writers to follow the twists a n d turns of thought or perception. C o n s i d e r , for example, Roger A s c h a m ' s a c c o u n t , in his book on archery, of a day in which he saw the wind blowing the new-fallen snow: T h a t m o r n i n g the s u n s h o n e bright and clear, the wind w a s whistling aloft, a n d sharp a c c o r d i n g to the time of the year. T h e snow in the highway lay loose a n d trodden with horse feet: so as the wind blew, it took the loose snow with it, a n d m a d e it so slide u p o n the snow in the field which was hard and c r u s t e d by r e a s o n of the frost overnight, that thereby I might see very well, the whole nature of the wind as it blew that day. And I had a great delight a n d p l e a s u r e to m a r k it, which maketh me now far better to r e m e m b e r it. S o m e t i m e the wind would be not past two yards broad, a n d so it would carry the snow as far as I c o u l d see. Another time the s n o w would blow over half the field at once. S o m e t i m e the snow would t u m b l e softly, by a n d by it would fly w o n d e r f u l fast. And this I perceived also, that the wind goeth by s t r e a m s a n d not whole together. . . . And that which w a s the m o s t marvel of all, at one time two drifts of snow flew, the one of the W e s t into the E a s t , the other out of the North into the East: And I s a w two winds by reason of the snow the o n e cross over the other, as it h a d b e e n two highways. . . . T h e more uncertain a n d deceivable the wind is, the m o r e heed m u s t a wise Archer give to know the guiles of it. W h a t is delightful here is not only the author's m o m e n t of s h a r p e n e d perception but his c o n f i d e n c e that this m o m e n t — a glimpse of baffling complexity and u n c e r t a i n t y — c a n be c a p t u r e d in the restless s u c c e s s i o n of s e n t e n c e s and then neatly s u m m e d up in the pithy c o n c l u s i o n . (This effect parallels that of the couplet that s u m s up the complexities of a S h a k e s p e a r e a n sonnet.) A similar c o n f i d e n c e e m a n a t e s f r o m Sir Walter Ralegh's deeply melancholy, deeply

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ironic a p o s t r o p h e to D e a t h at the c l o s e of The History of the World, written w h e n he was a prisoner in the T o w e r : O eloquent, j u s t , a n d mighty D e a t h ! W h o m n o n e could advise, thou hast p e r s u a d e d ; what n o n e h a t h dared, thou h a s t done; a n d w h o m all the world h a t h flattered, thou only h a s t c a s t out of the world a n d d e s p i s e d ; thou h a s t d r a w n together ail the far-stretched greatness, ail the pride, cruelty, a n d ambition of m a n , a n d covered it all over with these two narrow words: Hie jacet! [Here lies] D e a t h is t r i u m p h a n t here, but so is Ralegh's eloquent, j u s t , a n d mighty language. T h e s e n s e of wonder that a n i m a t e s both of t h e s e exuberant p r o s e p a s s a g e s — as if the world were being s e e n clearly a n d distinctly for the first t i m e — c h a r acterizes m u c h of t h e period's poetry as well. T h e m o o d n e e d not always be s o l e m n . O n e c a n s e n s e laughter, for example, rippling j u s t below the s u r f a c e of Marlowe's a d m i r i n g description of the b e a u t i f u l m a i d e n Hero's boots: B u s k i n s of shells all silvered u s e d she, A n d b r a n c h e d with b l u s h i n g coral to the knee, W h e r e s p a r r o w s p e r c h e d , of hollow pearl a n d gold, S u c h as the world w o u l d w o n d e r to behold; T h o s e with s w e e t water o f t her h a n d m a i d f i l l s , W h i c h , as s h e went, w o u l d chirrup through the bills. S e a s h e l l s w e r e beloved by R e n a i s s a n c e collectors b e c a u s e their intricate designs, functionally inexplicable, s e e m e d the works of an ingenious, infinitely playful c r a f t s m a n . Typically, the shells did not simply stand by themselves in c a b i n e t s b u t were gilded or silvered a n d then turned into other objects: c u p s , m i n i a t u r e ships, or, in Marlowe's fantasy, boots further d e c o r a t e d with coral a n d m e c h a n i c a l sparrows m a d e o f c o n s p i c u o u s l y precious materials a n d designed, as he p u t s it deliciously, to " c h i r r u p . " T h e poet knows perfectly well that the boots would be i m p l a u s i b l e footwear in the real world, b u t he invites us into an imaginary world of p a s s i o n , a world in which the heroine's c o s t u m e i n c l u d e s a skirt " w h e r e o n w a s m a n y a stain, / M a d e with the blood of wretched lovers slain" a n d a veil of "artificial flowers a n d leaves, / W h o s e w o r k m a n s h i p both m a n a n d b e a s t deceives." T h e veil reflects an admiration for an art of s u c c e s s f u l i m i t a t i o n — a f t e r all, b e e s are said to look in vain for honey amidst the artificial f l o w e r s — b u t it is c u n n i n g illusion rather than realism that excites Marlowe's wonder. R e n a i s s a n c e poetry is interested not in representational a c c u r a c y b u t in the m a g i c a l power of exquisite w o r k m a n s h i p to draw its readers into f a b r i c a t e d worlds. In his Defense of Poesy, the m o s t important work of literary criticism in sixteenth-century E n g l a n d , S i d n e y claims that this magical power is also a moral power. All other arts, he argues, are s u b j e c t e d to fallen, i m p e r f e c t nature, b u t the p o e t a l o n e is f r e e to r a n g e "within the zodiac of his own wit" a n d c r e a t e a s e c o n d nature, superior to the o n e we are c o n d e m n e d to inhabit: " H e r world is brazen, the poets only deliver a g o l d e n . " T h e poet's golden world in this a c c o u n t is not an e s c a p i s t fantasy; it is a m o d e l to be e m u l a t e d in actual life, an ideal to be brought into reality as completely as possible. It is difficult to say, of c o u r s e , how seriously this project of realization w a s t a k e n — t h o u g h the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of Sidney's own d e a t h s u g g e s t that he may have b e e n a t t e m p t i n g to e n a c t on the battlefield an ideal i m a g e of Protestant chivalry. A

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didactic role for poetry is, in any c a s e , urged not by Sidney a l o n e but by m o s t Elizabethan p o e t s . H u m a n s i n f u l n e s s has c o r r u p t e d life, robbing it of the sweet w h o l e s o m e n e s s that it h a d o n c e p o s s e s s e d in E d e n , but poetry c a n m a r k the way b a c k to a more virtuous a n d fulfilled existence. And not only mark the way: poetry, S i d n e y a n d others argue, has a u n i q u e persuasive f o r c e that shatters inertia a n d impels readers toward the good they g l i m p s e in its ravishing lines. T h i s force, attributed to the energy a n d vividness of figurative language, m a d e poetry a fitting i n s t r u m e n t not only for s u c h high-minded enterprises as moral exhortation, prayer, a n d praise, a n d for s u c h uplifting narratives as the l e g e n d s of religious a n d national heroes, but also for s u c h verbal actions as cursing, lamenting, flattering, a n d seducing. T h e a l m o s t inexhaustible range of motives was given s o m e order by literary conventions that f u n c t i o n e d as shared cultural c o d e s , e n a b l i n g p o e t s to elicit particular r e s p o n s e s f r o m readers a n d to relate their words to other times, other l a n g u a g e s , a n d other cultures. A m o n g the m o s t p r o m i n e n t of the clusters of conventions in the period were t h o s e that d e f i n e d the major literary m o d e s (or "kinds," as Sidney terms them): pastoral, heroic, lyric, satiric, elegiac, tragic, a n d c o m i c . T h e y helped to s h a p e s u b j e c t matter, attitude, tone, a n d values, a n d in s o m e c a s e s — s o n n e t , verse epistle, epigram, f u n e r a l elegy, a n d m a s q u e , to n a m e a f e w — t h e y also governed f o r m a l structure, meter, style, length, a n d o c c a s i o n . We c a n g l i m p s e a few of the ways in which these literary c o d e s worked by looking briefly at the two that are, for m o d e r n readers, the least familiar: pastoral a n d heroic. T h e conventions of the pastoral m o d e p r e s e n t a world inhabited by shepherds a n d s h e p h e r d e s s e s who are c o n c e r n e d not j u s t to tend their flocks but to fall in love a n d to e n g a g e in friendly singing c o n t e s t s . T h e m o d e celebrated leisure, humility, a n d c o n t e n t m e n t , exalting the s i m p l e country life over the city a n d its b u s i n e s s , the military c a m p a n d its violence, the court a n d its b u r d e n s of rule. P a s t o r a l motifs c o u l d be deployed in different genres. Pastoral s o n g s c o m m o n l y e x p r e s s e d the joys of the shepherd's life or his d i s a p p o i n t m e n t in love. Pastoral d i a l o g u e s between s h e p h e r d s might c o n c e a l serious, satiric c o m m e n t on a b u s e s in the great world u n d e r the g u i s e of homely, local concerns. T h e r e were pastoral f u n e r a l elegies, pastoral d r a m a s , pastoral r o m a n c e s (prose fiction), a n d even pastoral e p i s o d e s within epics. T h e m o s t f a m o u s pastoral p o e m of the period is Marlowe's " T h e P a s s i o n a t e S h e p h e r d to His L o v e , " an erotic invitation w h o s e p r o m i s e of gold buckles, coral clasps, a n d a m b e r s t u d s serves to remind us that, however m u c h it sings of nai've innoc e n c e , the m o d e is ineradicably s o p h i s t i c a t e d a n d u r b a n . With its rustic characters, simple c o n c e r n s , a n d m o d e s t s c o p e , the pastoral m o d e w a s regarded as situated at the opposite extreme f r o m heroic, with its values of honor, martial courage, loyalty, leadership, and e n d u r a n c e a n d its glorification of a nation or people. T h e chief genre here was the epic, typically a long, exalted p o e m in the high style, b a s e d on a heroic story f r o m the nation's distant p a s t a n d imitating H o m e r a n d Virgil in structure a n d motifs. Renaiss a n c e p o e t s t h r o u g h o u t E u r o p e u n d e r t o o k to honor their nations a n d their vernacular l a n g u a g e s by writing this m o s t prestigious kind of poetry. In sixteenth-century E n g l a n d the major s u c c e s s in heroic poetry is S p e n s e r ' s Faerie Queene. Yet the s u c c e s s of The Faerie Queene owes m u c h to the fact that the p o e m is a generic hybrid, in which the conventions of classical epic mingle with t h o s e of r o m a n c e , medieval allegory, pastoral, satire, mythological narrative, c o m e d y , philosophical meditation, a n d many others in a strange,

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w o n d e r f u l blend. T h e s p e c t a c u l a r mixing of genres in S p e n s e r ' s p o e m is only an extreme i n s t a n c e of a general Elizabethan indifference to the generic purity a d m i r e d by writers, principally on the C o n t i n e n t , who adhered to Aristotle's Poetics. W h e r e s u c h n e o c l a s s i c i s t s a t t e m p t e d to observe rigid stylistic b o u n d aries, E n g l i s h poets t e n d e d to a p p r o a c h the different genres in the spirit of Sidney's inclusivism: "if severed they be good, the conjunction cannot be hurtful." THE

ELIZABETHAN

THEATER

If Sidney w e l c o m e d the experimental intertwining of genres in both poetry and p r o s e — a n d his own Arcadia, a prose r o m a n c e incorporating both pastoral and heroic e l e m e n t s , c o n f i r m s that he d i d — t h e r e was one place where he f o u n d it a b s u r d : the theater. He c o n d e m n e d the conjunction of high a n d low characters in " m o n g r e l " tragicomedies that mingled "kings and c l o w n s . " Moreover, in the spirit of n e o c l a s s i c a l advocacy of the " d r a m a t i c unities," Sidney disliked the e a s e with which the action on the bare stage ("where you shall have Asia of the o n e side, a n d Afric of the other") violated the laws of time and s p a c e . " N o w you shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers," he writes in Tlte Defense of Poesy, " a n d then we m u s t believe the stage to be a garden. By a n d by we hear news of shipwreck in the s a m e place: a n d then we are to b l a m e if we a c c e p t it not for a rock." T h e irony is that this mocking a c c o u n t , written probably in 1 5 7 9 , anticipates by a few years the s t u p e n d o u s a c h i e v e m e n t s of M a r l o w e a n d S h a k e s p e a r e , w h o s e plays joyously break every rule that Sidney thought it essential to observe. A p e r m a n e n t , f r e e s t a n d i n g public theater in E n g l a n d dates only f r o m Shakespeare's own lifetime. A L o n d o n playhouse, the Red Lion, is first m e n t i o n e d in 1 5 6 7 , a n d J a m e s B u r b a g e ' s playhouse, T h e T h e a t e r , was built in 1576. But it is quite misleading to identify English d r a m a exclusively with the new, specially c o n s t r u c t e d playhouses, for in fact there was a rich and vital theatrical tradition in E n g l a n d stretching b a c k for centuries. T o w n s p e o p l e in late medieval E n g l a n d m o u n t e d elaborate cycles of plays ( s o m e t i m e s called "mystery plays") depicting the great biblical stories, f r o m the creation of the world to Christ's P a s s i o n a n d its m i r a c u l o u s a f t e r m a t h . M a n y of these plays have been lost, but those that survive, as the selection in this anthology d e m o n s t r a t e s , include m a g n i f i c e n t a n d c o m p l e x works of art. At o n c e civic a n d religious festivals, the cycles c o n t i n u e d to be p e r f o r m e d into the reign of Elizabeth, but their close links to p o p u l a r C a t h o l i c piety led Protestant authorities in the sixteenth century to s u p p r e s s them. Early English theater was not restricted to these a n n u a l festivals. Performers a c t e d in town halls a n d the halls of guilds a n d aristocratic m a n s i o n s , on scaffolds erected in town s q u a r e s a n d m a r k e t p l a c e s , on p a g e a n t w a g o n s in the streets, and in innyards. By the fifteenth century, a n d probably earlier, there were organized c o m p a n i e s of players traveling u n d e r noble patronage. S u c h c o m p a n i e s e a r n e d a precarious living providing a m u s e m e n t , while e n h a n c i n g the prestige of the patron w h o s e livery they wore and w h o s e protection they enjoyed. (Otherwise, by statutes enjoining productive labor, actors without another, ordinary trade c o u l d have b e e n classified as v a g a b o n d s and whipped or branded.) This practice explains why the professional acting c o m p a n i e s of S h a k e s p e a r e ' s time, including S h a k e s p e a r e ' s own, a t t a c h e d themselves to a n o b l e m a n a n d were technically his servants (the Lord C h a m b e r l a i n ' s M e n ,

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the Lord Admiral's M e n , etc.), even though virtually all their time was devoted to entertaining the public, f r o m w h o m m o s t of their i n c o m e derived. B e f o r e the c o n s t r u c t i o n of the public theaters, the playing c o m p a n i e s often p e r f o r m e d short plays called " i n t e r l u d e s " that were, in effect, staged dialogues on religious, moral, a n d political t h e m e s . Henry Medwall's Fulgens and Lucrece (ca. 1490—1 5 0 1 ) , for example, pits a wealthy but dissolute n o b l e m a n a g a i n s t a virtuous public servant of h u m b l e origins, while J o h n Heywood's The Play of the Weather (ca. 1525—33) stages a d e b a t e a m o n g social rivals, including a g e n t l e m a n , a m e r c h a n t , a forest ranger, a n d two millers. T h e structure of s u c h plays reflects the training in a r g u m e n t a t i o n that s t u d e n t s received in T u d o r schools and, in particular, the s u s t a i n e d practice in examining both sides of a difficult q u e s t i o n . S o m e of S h a k e s p e a r e ' s amazing ability to look at critical issues f r o m multiple perspectives may be traced b a c k to this practice a n d the d r a m a t i c interludes it helped to inspire. Another m a j o r f o r m of theater that flourished in E n g l a n d in the fifteenth century a n d c o n t i n u e d on into the sixteenth w a s the morality play, a dramatization of the spiritual struggle of the Christian soul. As Everyman (included in " T h e M i d d l e Ages") d e m o n s t r a t e s , these d r a m a s derived their power f r o m the p o i g n a n c y a n d terror of an individual's e n c o u n t e r with death. O f t e n this s o m b e r power was s u p p l e m e n t e d by the extraordinary comic vitality of the evil character, or Vice. If s u c h plays s o u n d m o r e than a bit like s e r m o n s , it is b e c a u s e they were. T h e C h u r c h was a profoundly different institution f r o m the theater, but its professionals s h a r e d s o m e of the s a m e rhetorical skills. It would be grossly misleading to regard c h u r c h g o i n g a n d playgoing as c o m p a r a b l e entertainments, b u t clerical attacks on the theater s o m e t i m e s m a k e it s o u n d as if ministers t h o u g h t themselves to be in direct c o m p e t i t i o n with professional players. T h e players, for their part, were generally too discreet to present themselves in a similar light, yet they a l m o s t certainly u n d e r s t o o d their craft as relating to s e r m o n s with an u n e a s y blend of e m u l a t i o n a n d rivalry. W h e n , in 1 6 1 0 , the theater m a n a g e r Philip R o s s e t e r was reported to have declared that plays were as good as s e r m o n s , he was s u m m o n e d b e f o r e the bishop of L o n d o n to recant; but Rosseter had said no m o r e than what m a n y players m u s t have privately thought. By the later sixteenth century, m a n y c h u r c h m e n , particularly those with Puritan leanings, were steadfastly o p p o s e d to the theater, but s o m e early Prote s t a n t R e f o r m e r s , s u c h as J o h n Bale, tried their h a n d at writing plays. T h o m a s N o r t o n , who with a fellow lawyer, T h o m a s Sackville, wrote the first English tragedy in blank verse, Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex ( 1 5 6 1 ) , was also a translator of the great R e f o r m e r J o h n Calvin. T h e r e is no evidence that N o r t o n felt a tension b e t w e e n his religious convictions a n d his theatrical interests, nor was his play a private exercise. T h e five-act tragedy in blank verse, a grim vision of Britain d e s c e n d i n g into civil war, was p e r f o r m e d at the Inner T e m p l e (one of L o n d o n ' s law schools) and s u b s e q u e n t l y a c t e d b e f o r e the q u e e n . Gorhoduc w a s closely m o d e l e d on the works of the R o m a n playwright Seneca, and S e n e c a n i n f l u e n c e — i n c l u d i n g violent plots, r e s o u n d i n g rhetorical s p e e c h e s , a n d g h o s t s thirsting for b l o o d — r e m a i n e d pervasive in the Elizabethan period, giving rise to a s u b g e n r e of revenge tragedy, in which a wronged protagonist plots a n d executes revenge, destroying himself (or herself) in the p r o c e s s . An early, highly influential e x a m p l e is T h o m a s Kyd's Spanish Tragedy ( 1 5 9 2 ) , and, despite its u n p r e c e d e n t e d psychological complexity, Shake-

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speare's Hamlet clearly participates in this kind. A related but distinct kind is the villain tragedy, in which the protagonist is blatantly evil: in his Poetics, Aristotle h a d advised a g a i n s t a t t e m p t i n g to u s e a wicked person as the hero of a tragedy, but S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Richard III a n d Macbeth amply justify the general E n g l i s h i n d i f f e r e n c e to classical rules. S o m e Elizabethan tragedies, s u c h as the fine Arden of Feversham (whose author is unknown), are c o n c e r n e d not with the fall of great m e n but with d o m e s t i c violence; others, s u c h as Christopher Marlowe's Tamburlaine, are c o n c e r n e d with "overreachers," largerthan-life heroes who c h a l l e n g e the limits of h u m a n possibility. Certain tragedies in the period, s u c h as Richard III, intersect with another Elizabethan genre, the history play, in which dramatists staged the great events, m o s t often c o n s p i r a c i e s , rebellions, a n d wars, of the nation. N o t all of the events comm e m o r a t e d in history plays were tragic, but they tend to circle b a c k again a n d again to the act that epitomized what for this period was the ultimate challenge to authority: the killing of a king. W h e n the E n g l i s h cut off the h e a d of their king in 1 6 4 9 , they were p e r f o r m i n g a d e e d which they had b e e n rehearsing, literally, for m o s t of a century. E n g l i s h schoolboys would read a n d occasionally p e r f o r m c o m e d i e s by the great R o m a n playwrights P l a u t u s a n d T e r e n c e . Shortly b e f o r e mid-century a s c h o o l m a s t e r , N i c h o l a s Udall, u s e d these as a model for a comedy in English, Ralph Roister Doister. At a b o u t the s a m e time, a n o t h e r comedy, Gammar Gurton's Needle, which put vivid, native E n g l i s h material into classical form, was a m u s i n g the s t u d e n t s at C a m b r i d g e . F r o m the classical m o d e l s English playwrights derived s o m e e l e m e n t s of s t r u c t u r e a n d content: plots b a s e d on intrigue, division into acts a n d s c e n e s , a n d type c h a r a c t e r s s u c h as the rascally servant a n d the miles gloriosus (cowardly braggart soldier). T h e latter type a p p e a r s in Ralph Roister Doister a n d is a r e m o t e a n c e s t o r of S h a k e s p e a r e ' s Sir J o h n F a l s t a f f in the two parts of Henry IV a n d The Merry Wives of Windsor. Early plays s u c h as Gorboduc a n d Ralph Roister Doister are rarely p e r f o r m e d or read today, a n d with g o o d r e a s o n . In terms of both dramatic structure and style, they are comparatively c r u d e . T a k e , for example, this c l u m s y expression of p a s s i o n a t e love by the title c h a r a c t e r in Cambyses, King of Persia, a p o p u l a r play written a r o u n d 1 5 6 0 by a C a m b r i d g e graduate, T h o m a s Preston: F o r C u p i d he, that eyeless boy, my heart h a t h so e n f l a m e d W i t h beauty, you me to c o n t e n t the like c a n n o t be n a m e d ; F o r s i n c e I e n t e r e d in this p l a c e a n d on you fixed m i n e eyes, M o s t b u r n i n g fits a b o u t my heart in a m p l e wise did rise. T h e h e a t o f t h e m s u c h f o r c e d o t h yield, m y c o r p s e they s c o r c h , alas! A n d b u r n s the s a m e with w a s t i n g heat a s T i t a n doth the g r a s s . And sith this h e a t is kindled so a n d f r e s h in heart of m e , T h e r e is no way b u t of the s a m e the q u e n c h e r you m u c h be. A r o u n d 1 5 9 0 , an extraordinary c h a n g e o v e r c a m e the English d r a m a , transf o r m i n g it a l m o s t overnight into a vehicle for unparalleled poetic a n d d r a m a t i c expression. M a n y f a c t o r s contributed to this transformation, b u t probably the chief was the eruption onto the s c e n e of C h r i s t o p h e r Marlowe. C o m p a r e Preston's couplets, written in a metre called " f o u r t e e n e r s , " with the lines in Marlowe's Doctor Faustus (ca. 1592—93) with which F a u s t u s greets the conjured figure of H e l e n of Troy:

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W a s this the f a c e that l a u n c h e d a t h o u s a n d ships, A n d b u r n t the topless towers of Ilium? S w e e t H e l e n , m a k e me i m m o r t a l with a kiss: H e r lips s u c k s forth my soul, s e e w h e r e it flies! C o m e H e l e n , c o m e , give m e m y s o u l again. H e r e will I dwell, for h e a v e n be in t h e s e lips, A n d all is dross that is not H e l e n a ! ( S c e n e 12, lines 81—87) M a r l o w e h a s c r e a t e d a n d m a s t e r e d a theatrical l a n g u a g e — a s u p e r b unrhymed i a m b i c p e n t a m e t e r , or blank v e r s e — f a r m o r e expressive than anything that a n y o n e a c c u s t o m e d to the likes of Preston c o u l d have imagined. Play-acting, whether of tragedies, c o m e d i e s , or any of the other Elizabethan genres, took its p l a c e a l o n g s i d e other f o r m s of public expression a n d entert a i n m e n t as well. P e r h a p s the m o s t important, f r o m the perspective of the theater, were m u s i c a n d d a n c e , s i n c e t h e s e were directly a n d repeatedly incorp o r a t e d into plays. Moreover, virtually all plays in the period, including Shakespeare's, apparently e n d e d with a d a n c e . B r u s h i n g o f f the theatrical gore and c h a n g i n g their expressions f r o m w o e to pleasure, the actors in plays like Doctor Faustus a n d King Lear would p r e s u m a b l y have received the audience's a p p l a u s e a n d then bid for a s e c o n d r o u n d by p e r f o r m i n g a stately p a v a n e or a lively jig. Plays, m u s i c , a n d d a n c i n g were by no m e a n s the only shows in town. T h e r e were j o u s t s , t o u r n a m e n t s , royal entries, religious p r o c e s s i o n s , p a g e a n t s in honor of newly installed civic officials or a m b a s s a d o r s arriving f r o m a b r o a d ; wedding m a s q u e s , court m a s q u e s , a n d c o s t u m e d entertainments known a s D i s g u i s i n g s or M u m m i n g s ; j u g g l i n g acts, fortunetellers, exhibitions of swordsm a n s h i p , m o u n t e b a n k s , folk healers, storytellers, m a g i c shows; bearbaiting, bullbaiting, cockfighting, a n d other blood sports; folk festivals s u c h as Maying, the F e a s t of Fools, Carnival, a n d WTiitsun Ales. F o r several years, Elizabethan L o n d o n e r s were delighted by a trained a n i m a l — B a n k s ' s H o r s e — t h a t could, it was thought, do arithmetic a n d a n s w e r q u e s t i o n s . And there was always the grim but c o m p e l l i n g s p e c t a c l e of public s h a m i n g , mutilation, a n d execution. M o s t E n g l i s h towns h a d stocks a n d whipping posts. D r u n k s , f r a u d u l e n t m e r c h a n t s , adulterers, a n d quarrelers c o u l d be p l a c e d in carts or m o u n t e d backward on a s s e s a n d p a r a d e d through the streets for crowds to jeer a n d throw r e f u s e at. W o m e n a c c u s e d of being scolds c o u l d be publicly muzzled by an iron device called a b r a n k or tied to a " c u c k i n g stool" a n d d u n k e d in the river. C o n v i c t e d criminals c o u l d have their ears c u t off, their noses slit, their f o r e h e a d s b r a n d e d . Public b e h e a d i n g s a n d hangings were c o m m o n . In the worst c a s e s , felons were s e n t e n c e d to be " h a n g e d by the neck, a n d being alive cut down, a n d your privy m e m b e r s to be cut off, a n d your bowels to be taken out of your belly a n d there burned, you being alive." In the d i s m e m b e r m e n t with which Marlowe's Doctor Faustus e n d s , the a u d i e n c e was witnessing the theatrical equivalent of the execution of criminals a n d traitors that they c o u l d have also w a t c h e d in the flesh, as it were, nearby. Doctor Faustus w a s p e r f o r m e d by the L o r d Admiral's M e n at the R o s e T h e ater, o n e of f o u r m a j o r public p l a y h o u s e s that by the m i d - 1 5 9 0 s were feverishly c o m p e t i n g for crowds of s p e c t a t o r s . T h e s e playhouses (including S h a k e speare's f a m o u s G l o b e T h e a t e r , which o p e n e d i n 1 5 9 9 ) e a c h a c c o m m o d a t e d s o m e two t h o u s a n d spectators a n d generally followed the s a m e design: they were oval in s h a p e , with an u n r o o f e d yard in the center where stood the

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THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

groundlings (apprentices, servants, a n d others of the lower classes) and three rising tiers a r o u n d the yard for m e n a n d w o m e n able to pay a higher price for p l a c e s to sit a n d a roof over their h e a d s . A large platform stage jutted out into the yard, s u r r o u n d e d on three sides by spectators (see the conjectural drawing of an Elizabethan p l a y h o u s e in the a p p e n d i c e s to this volume). T h e s e financially risky ventures relied on a d m i s s i o n c h a r g e s — i t was an innovation of this period to have m o n e y a d v a n c e d in the expectation of p l e a s u r e rather than o f f e r e d to servants afterwards as a r e w a r d — a n d c o u n t e d on habitual playgoing f u e l e d by a steady supply of new plays. T h e public playhouses were all located outside the limits of the city of L o n d o n and, accordingly, beyond the jurisdiction of the city authorities, who were generally hostile to d r a m a t i c spectacles. Eventually, indoor theaters, artificially lighted a n d patronized by a more select a u d i e n c e , were also built inside the city, s e c u r e d under conditions that would allow them s o m e protection from those who wished to shut them down. W h y s h o u l d what we now regard as o n e of the undisputed glories of the age have a r o u s e d so m u c h hostility? O n e answer, curiously e n o u g h , is traffic: plays drew large a u d i e n c e s , a n d nearby residents objected to the crowds, the noise, a n d the c r u s h of carriages. Other, m o r e serious c o n c e r n s were public health a n d crime. It was thought that m a n y d i s e a s e s , including the dreaded b u b o n i c p l a g u e , were s p r e a d by noxious odors, a n d the p a c k e d playhouses were obvious breeding g r o u n d s for infection. (Patrons often tried to protect themselves by sniffing nosegays or s t u f f i n g cloves in their nostrils.) T h e large crowds drew pickpockets, c u t p u r s e s , a n d other s c o u n d r e l s . O n o n e m e m o r a b l e afternoon a pickpocket was c a u g h t in the act a n d tied for the duration of the play to one of the p o s t s that held up the c a n o p y above the stage. T h e theater was, moreover, a well-known h a u n t of prostitutes, and, it was alleged, a p l a c e where innocent m a i d s were s e d u c e d a n d r e s p e c t a b l e m a t r o n s corrupted. It was darkly r u m o r e d that " c h a m b e r s a n d secret p l a c e s " adjoined the theater galleries, and, in any c a s e , taverns, disreputable inns, a n d brothels were close at hand. T h e r e were other c h a r g e s as well. Plays were p e r f o r m e d in the a f t e r n o o n a n d therefore drew people, especially the young, away from their work. T h e y were schools of idleness, luring apprentices f r o m their trades, law s t u d e n t s f r o m their studies, housewives f r o m their kitchens, a n d potentially p i o u s souls f r o m the sober meditations to which they might otherwise devote themselves. M o r a l i s t s warned that the theaters were nests of sedition, a n d religious polemicists, especially Puritans, obsessively f o c u s i n g on the u s e of boy actors to play the f e m a l e parts, c h a r g e d that theatrical transvestism excited illicit sexual desires, both heterosexual a n d h o m o s e x u a l . B u t the playing c o m p a n i e s had powerful allies, including Q u e e n Elizabeth herself, a n d c o n t i n u i n g p o p u l a r support. O n e theater historian has e s t i m a t e d that b e t w e e n the late 1 5 6 0 s a n d 1 6 4 2 , w h e n the p l a y h o u s e s were shut down by the E n g l i s h Civil War, well over fifty million visits were paid to the L o n d o n theater, an a s t o n i s h i n g figure for a city that had, by our s t a n d a r d s , a very m o d e s t population. Plays were p e r f o r m e d without the s c e n e breaks a n d intermissions to which we are a c c u s t o m e d ; there was no scenery and few props, but c o s t u m e s were usually costly a n d elaborate. T h e players f o r m e d what would now be called repertory c o m p a n i e s — t h a t is, they filled the roles of e a c h play f r o m m e m b e r s of their own group, not employing outsiders. They perf o r m e d a n u m b e r of different plays on c o n s e c u t i v e days, a n d the principal actors were shareholders in the profits of the c o m p a n y . Boys were apprenticed to actors j u s t as they were apprenticed to m a s t e r c r a f t s m e n in the guilds; they

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INTRODUCTION

/ 49 1

took the w o m e n ' s parts in plays until their voices c h a n g e d . T h e plays might be bought for the c o m p a n y f r o m f r e e l a n c e writers, or, as in S h a k e s p e a r e ' s c o m p a n y , the g r o u p might include an actor-playwright who c o u l d supply it with s o m e (though by no m e a n s all) of its plays. T h e script remained the property of the c o m p a n y , but a p o p u l a r play was eagerly sought by the printers, and the c o m p a n i e s , which generally tried to keep their plays f r o m a p p e a r i n g in print, s o m e t i m e s h a d trouble g u a r d i n g their rights. T h e editors of the earliest collected edition of S h a k e s p e a r e , the First Folio ( 1 6 2 3 ) , c o m p l a i n about the prior publication of "divers stolen a n d surreptitious c o p i e s " of his plays, " m a i m e d and d e f o r m e d by the f r a u d s a n d stealths of injurious i m p o s t e r s . " SURPRISED

BY TIME

All of the ways we cut up time into units are inevitably distortions. T h e dividing line between centuries was not, as far as we c a n tell, a highly significant one for people in the R e n a i s s a n c e , a n d m a n y of the m o s t important literary careers cross into the seventeenth century without a self-conscious m o m e n t of reflection. B u t virtually everyone m u s t have b e e n aware, by the end of the 1 5 9 0 s , that the long reign of England's Q u e e n Elizabeth was nearing its end, a n d this i m p e n d i n g c l o s u r e o c c a s i o n e d c o n s i d e r a b l e anxiety. Childless, the last of her line, Elizabeth h a d steadfastly r e f u s e d to n a m e a s u c c e s s o r . S h e c o n t i n u e d to m a k e brilliant s p e e c h e s , to receive the extravagant c o m p l i m e n t s of her flatterers, and to exercise her authority—in 1 6 0 1 , she had her favorite, the headstrong earl of Essex, executed for a t t e m p t i n g to raise an insurrection. B u t , as her seventieth birthday a p p r o a c h e d , she was clearly, as Ralegh p u t it, "a lady surprised by time." S h e s u f f e r e d f r o m b o u t s of ill health a n d melancholy; her g o d s o n , Sir J o h n Harington, w a s dismayed to see her p a c i n g through the r o o m s of her palace, striking at the tapestries with a sword. H e r m o r e astute advis e r s — a m o n g them L o r d Burghley's son, Sir Robert Cecil, who h a d s u c c e e d e d his father as her principal c o u n s e l l o r — s e c r e t l y entered into c o r r e s p o n d e n c e with the likeliest c l a i m a n t to the throne, J a m e s VI of S c o t l a n d . T h o u g h the English q u e e n had e x e c u t e d his C a t h o l i c mother, Mary, Q u e e n of S c o t s , the Protestant J a m e s had c o n t i n u e d to e x c h a n g e polite letters with Elizabeth. It was at least plausible, as officially claimed, that in her dying breath, on M a r c h 24, 1 6 0 3 , Elizabeth designated J a m e s as her s u c c e s s o r . A jittery nation that had f e a r e d a p o s s i b l e civil war at her d e a t h lit bonfires to w e l c o m e its new king. B u t in j u s t a very few years, the E n g l i s h b e g a n to express nostalgia for the rule of " G o o d Q u e e n B e s s " a n d to look b a c k on her reign as a magnificent high point in the history and culture of their nation.

Additional i n f o r m a t i o n about the Sixteenth C e n t u r y , including primary texts a n d i m a g e s , is available on N o r t o n Literature Online (wwnorton.com/nlo). O n l i n e topics are • * * •

T h e M a g i c i a n , the Heretic, a n d the Playwright R e n a i s s a n c e Exploration, Travel, a n d the World O u t s i d e E u r o p e Dissent, D o u b t , a n d Spiritual Violence in the R e f o r m a t i o n Island N a t i o n s

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THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

_____—.—______

TEXTS araif?^ ;r-ruu ;i\

In the time of the kings, w h o c a m e in as c o n q u e r o r s a n d ruled by the power of the sword, not only the c o m m o n land but the e n c l o s u r e s 3 also were captivated u n d e r the will of t h o s e kings, till now of late that our later kings granted m o r e f r e e d o m to the gentry than they had presently after the C o n q u e s t : 4 yet u n d e r b o n d a g e still. For what are prisons, whips, a n d gallows in the times of p e a c e but the laws and power of the sword, forcing a n d compelling o b e d i e n c e , a n d so enslaving as if the sword raged in the open field? E n g l a n d was in s u c h a slavery u n d e r the kingly power that both gentry a n d c o m m o n a l t y 5 g r o a n e d u n d e r b o n d a g e ; a n d to e a s e themselves, they endeavored to call a parliament, that by their c o u n s e l s a n d d e c r e e s they might find s o m e f r e e d o m . B u t C h a r l e s the then king perceiving that the f r e e d o m they strove for would derogate f r o m his prerogative tyranny, 6 thereupon he goes into the north to raise a war a g a i n s t the Parliament; a n d took William the C o n q u e r o r ' s sword into his h a n d again, thereby to keep u n d e r the f o r m e r c o n q u e r e d English, a n d to u p h o l d his kingly power of self-will a n d prerogative, which was the power got by f o r m e r c o n q u e s t s ; that is, to rule over the lives a n d e s t a t e s of all m e n at his will, a n d so to m a k e us p u r e slaves and vassals. Well, this Parliament, that did c o n s i s t of the chief lords, lords of m a n o r s , a n d gentry, a n d they s e e i n g that the king, by raising an army, did thereby declare his intent to enslave all sorts to him by the sword; a n d being in distress a n d in a low ebb, they call u p o n the c o m m o n p e o p l e to bring in their plate, m o n i e s , taxes, free-quarter, excise, 7 a n d to adventure their lives with them, a n d they would endeavor to recover E n g l a n d from that N o r m a n yoke a n d m a k e us a free people. A n d the c o m m o n p e o p l e a s s e n t hereunto, a n d call this the Parliament's c a u s e , and own it a n d adventure p e r s o n a n d p u r s e to preserve it; and by the joint a s s i s t a n c e of Parliament a n d people the king was b e a t e n in the field, his head taken off, a n d his kingly power voted down. A n d we the c o m m o n s thereby virtually have recovered ourselves from the N o r m a n conq u e s t ; we want nothing but p o s s e s s i o n of the spoil, 8 which is a free u s e of the land for our livelihood. And from h e n c e we the c o m m o n people, or younger brothers, 9 plead our property in the c o m m o n land as truly our own by virtue of this victory over the king, as our elder brothers c a n plead property in their e n c l o s u r e s ; a n d that for three r e a s o n s in England's law. First, by a lawful p u r c h a s e or contract between the Parliament a n d us; for they were our landlords a n d lords of m a n o r s , that held the f r e e d o m of the c o m m o n s from u s ' while the king was in his power; for they held title there-

2. Thoroughly. 3. Privately held land. 4. The conquest of England by the Norman William the Conqueror in 1066. Winstanley argued that the oppression of the poor and the landless was a c o n s e q u e n c e of nearly six centuries of occupation of England by a foreign power. 5. C o m m o n people. 6. Absolute rule. 7. A tax on domestically manufactured goods, first

imposed by Parliament in 1643 to finance the war against the king. "Plate": silver plate. "Freequarter": free room and board for soldiers, or its monetary equivalent imposed as a tax. 8. Reward of victory. 9. Estates commonly passed to the eldest brother, leaving the younger brothers landless. 1. Kept the right to use the common lands from us, the c o m m o n people.

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WINSTANLEY:

TO THE

P A R L I A M E N T AND ARMY

1755

unto from him, 2 he being the h e a d a n d they b r a n c h e s of the kingly power that enslaved the p e o p l e by that ancient c o n q u e r o r ' s sword, that was the ruling power. For they said, " C o m e a n d help us a g a i n s t the king that enslaves us, that we may be delivered f r o m his tyranny, a n d we will m a k e you a free p e o p l e . " N o w they c a n n o t m a k e us free unless they deliver us from the b o n d a g e 3 which they t h e m s e l v e s held us under; a n d that is, they held the f r e e d o m of the earth f r o m us: for we in part with them have delivered ourselves f r o m the king. N o w we claim f r e e d o m from that b o n d a g e you have a n d yet do hold us under, by the bargain and contract between Parliament a n d u s , who, I say, did c o n s i s t of lords of m a n o r s a n d landlords, whereof M r . Drake, 4 who hath arrested me for digging u p o n the c o m m o n , was o n e at that time. T h e r e f o r e by the law of bargain a n d sale we c l a i m of t h e m our f r e e d o m , to live comfortably with them in this land of o u r nativity; a n d this we c a n n o t do so long as we lie under poverty, a n d m u s t not be s u f f e r e d to plant the c o m m o n s a n d wasteland for our livelihood. For take away the land from any people, a n d those p e o p l e are in a way of continual dearth a n d misery; a n d better not to have had a body, than not to have f o o d a n d r a i m e n t for it. B u t , I say, they have sold us our f r e e d o m in the c o m m o n , a n d have b e e n largely paid for it; for by m e a n s of our bloods a n d m o n e y they sit in p e a c e : for if the king had prevailed, they had lost all, a n d b e e n in slavery to the m e a n e s t cavalier, if the king would. 5 T h e r e f o r e we the c o m m o n s say, give us our bargain: if you deny us our bargain, you deny G o d , Christ, a n d scriptures; a n d all your p r o f e s s i o n 6 then is a n d hath b e e n hypocrisy. Secondly, the c o m m o n s a n d crown land is our property by e q u a l c o n q u e s t over the kingly power: for the Parliament did never stir up the p e o p l e by promises a n d c o v e n a n t to assist t h e m to cast out the king a n d to establish them in the king's p l a c e a n d prerogative power. N o , but all their declarations were for the safety a n d p e a c e of the whole nation. T h e r e f o r e the c o m m o n p e o p l e being part of the nation, a n d especially they that bore the greatest heat of the day in c a s t i n g out the oppressor; a n d the nation c a n n o t be in p e a c e so long as the p o o r o p p r e s s e d are in wants a n d the land is entangled a n d held f r o m t h e m by b o n d a g e . B u t the victory being obtained over the king, the spoil, which is properly the land, ought in equity to be divided now b e t w e e n the two parties, that is Parliament a n d c o m m o n people. T h e P a r l i a m e n t , c o n s i s t i n g of lords of m a n o r s a n d gentry, ought to have their e n c l o s u r e lands free to them without molestation. . . . And the c o m m o n people, c o n s i s t i n g of soldiers a n d s u c h as paid taxes and free-quarter, ought to have the f r e e d o m of all w a s t e a n d c o m m o n land a n d crown land equally a m o n g them. T h e soldiery o u g h t not in equity to have all, nor the other p e o p l e that paid t h e m to have all; but the spoil o u g h t to be divided between them that stayed at h o m e a n d them that went to war; for the victory is for the whole nation. And as the Parliament d e c l a r e d they did all for the nation, a n d not for themselves only; so we p l e a d with the army, they did not light for themselves, but for the f r e e d o m of the nation: a n d I say, we have b o u g h t our f r e e d o m of 2. Under the feudal system, the great lords held their lands on grant from the king, in return for their allegiance. 3. Technically bondage refers to the services and goods legally required by feudal landowners of their tenants. 4. Sir Francis Drake, a member of Parliament who

owned St. George's Hill, on which Winstanley and his followers had established a c o m m u n e . At first sympathetic to the Diggers, Drake eventually took legal action to have them evicted. 5. To the lowest soldier of the king, if the king so commanded. 6. Statement of principles.

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CRISIS

AUTHORITY

them likewise by taxes a n d free-quarter. T h e r e f o r e we claim an e q u a l f r e e d o m with t h e m in this c o n q u e s t over the king. Thirdly, we claim an e q u a l portion in the victory over the king by virtue of the two acts of P a r l i a m e n t : the one to m a k e E n g l a n d a free c o m m o n w e a l t h , the other to take away kingly power. N o w the kingly power, you have heard, is a power that rules by the sword in c o v e t o u s n e s s a n d self, giving the earth to s o m e a n d denying it to others: a n d this kingly power was not in the hand of the king a l o n e , but lords, a n d lords of m a n o r s , a n d corrupt j u d g e s and lawyers especially held it up likewise. For he was the h e a d a n d they, with the tithing priests, 7 are the b r a n c h e s of that tyrannical kingly power; a n d all the several limbs a n d m e m b e r s m u s t be cast out before kingly power c a n be pulled up root a n d b r a n c h . M i s t a k e me not, I do not say, c a s t out the p e r s o n s of m e n . N o , I do not desire their fingers to a c h e ; 8 but I say, c a s t out their power whereby they hold the p e o p l e in b o n d a g e , as the king held t h e m in b o n d a g e . And I say, it is our own f r e e d o m we claim, both by bargain a n d by equality in the c o n q u e s t ; as well as by the law of righteous creation which gives the earth to all equally. And the power of lords of m a n o r s lies in this: they deny the c o m m o n p e o p l e the u s e a n d f r e e benefit of the earth, u n l e s s they give t h e m leave a n d pay them for it, either in rent, in fines, in h o m a g e s or heriots. 9 Surely the earth was never m a d e by G o d that the younger brother should not live in the earth unless he would work for a n d pay his elder brother rent for the earth. N o , this slavery c a m e in by c o n q u e s t , a n d it is part of the kingly power; a n d E n g l a n d c a n n o t be a free c o m m o n w e a l t h till this b o n d a g e be taken away. You have taken away the king; you have taken away the H o u s e of Lords. N o w step two steps further, a n d take away the power of lords of m a n o r s and of tithing priests, a n d the intolerable o p p r e s s i o n s of j u d g e s by w h o m laws are corrupted; a n d your work will be honorable. Fourthly, if this f r e e d o m be denied the c o m m o n people, to enjoy the c o m m o n land; then Parliament, army, a n d j u d g e s will deny equity a n d reason, w h e r e u p o n the laws of a well-governed c o m m o n w e a l t h ought to be built. And if this equity be denied, then there c a n be no law but club law 1 a m o n g the people: a n d if the sword m u s t reign, then every party will be striving to bear the sword; a n d then farewell p e a c e ; nay, farewell religion a n d gospel, unless it be m a d e u s e of to entrap o n e another, as we plainly see s o m e priests a n d others m a k e it a cloak for their knavery. If I adventure my life a n d fruit of my labor e q u a l with you, a n d obtain what we strive for; it is both equity a n d r e a s o n that I should equally divide the spoil with you, a n d not you to have all a n d I none. A n d if you deny us this, you take away our property from us, our m o n i e s a n d blood, a n d give us n o t h i n g for it. T h e r e f o r e , I say, the c o m m o n land is my own land, e q u a l with my fellowc o m m o n e r s , a n d our true property, by the law of creation. It is everyone's, but not o n e single one's. . . . T r u e religion a n d undefiled is this, to m a k e restitution of the earth, which hath b e e n taken a n d held f r o m the c o m m o n p e o p l e by the power of c o n q u e s t s formerly, a n d so set the o p p r e s s e d free. Do not all strive to enjoy the land? T h e gentry strive for land, the clergy strive for land, the 7. Priests of the C h u r c h of England were legally entitled to a tenth, or "tithe," of every parishioner's goods; those people who wished to separate from the established church fiercely resented the involuntary nature of the tithe.

8. Wish the least physical harm to them. 9. Fees or goods paid by tenants to landlords in addition to rent. 1. That is, might makes right.

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c o m m o n people strive for land; and buying and selling is an art whereby people endeavor to cheat one another of the land. N o w if any can prove from the law of righteousness that the land was m a d e peculiar to him and his successively, 2 shutting others out, he shall enjoy it freely for my part. But I affirm it was m a d e for all; and true religion is to let everyone enjoy it. Therefore, you rulers of England, make restitution of the lands which the kingly power holds from us: set the oppressed free, and c o m e in and honor Christ, who is the restoring power, and you shall find rest. 1650 2. By inheritance.

WRITING THE S E L F The seventeenth century saw an explosion of interest in the differences among persons, in the intimate texture of day-to-day experience, in the sometimes surprising twists and turns of individual lives, in the relationship between character and destiny. Of course, such concerns were not entirely new: Chaucer's Canterbury Tales had dwelt lovingly upon the quirky diversity of its pilgrims. Some seventeenth-century writers looked back as well to classical or foreign precedents: the Lives of the lateclassical biographer Plutarch, with its marvelously revelatory anecdotes and shrewd assessments of human moral complexity, the essays of the French Michel de Montaigne, who described his own opinions and experiences in frank detail. Both Plutarch and Montaigne profoundly influenced William Shakespeare, whose unparalleled gift for delineating character has led one recent critic to credit him with having "invented the human." Among writers later in the century, Thomas Browne, in Religio Medici (p. 1582), follows perhaps most obviously in Montaigne's footsteps. Other writers, particularly religious ones, owed much to the medieval tradition of hagiography, or the narrating of the lives of saints and martyrs as models for the faithful to admire and imitate. Isaak Walton, in biographies of John Donne, George Herbert, and other worthies that draw upon his personal experience with them as well as upon his research, was one practitioner in a Protestant hagiographic tradition (p. 1309). Other Protestants directed their gaze inward, convinced of the importance of spiritual selfscrutiny ummediated by ritual or clergyman. Many Puritans kept spiritual accountings in writing—part diaries, part prayers—that effectively substituted for the Catholic practice of oral confession to a priest. During the civil war and its aftermath, interest in "writing the self" only intensified. For the autobiographically inclined, the physical and ideological turmoil of midcentury could intensify a sense of the individual's isolation and uniqueness, forcing (or permitting) him to experience a range of events for which his upbringing could not have prepared him. Those who reflected upon the history of the period, as Lucy Hutchinson and Edward Hyde did, were often enthralled by the clash of strong personalities as well as the struggle between political principles, social trends, or cultural movements. Both Hutchinson and Hyde, from their different ends of the political spectrum, saw Cromwell and Charles I as locked in a fateful rivalry, each leader a complex mixture of personal strengths and failings. The prominence of women writers in this section is no accident. Even though women were excluded from formal political participation, the war contributed to the development of their political interests and consciousness, and sometimes allowed them to play important informal or improvised roles in momentous events. The

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resourceful, adventurous Anne Halkett obviously relished her daring contribution to the rescue of the Duke of York. Some women writers explicitly eschewed a feminist agenda: Lucy Hutchinson's trenchant historical analysis coexists with thoroughly traditional beliefs about the proper submission of wife to husband and about the danger of women with political ambition, notably Charles I's queen. She excuses her own writing, to others and perhaps also to herself, by casting her work as a tribute to her beloved husband. In other cases, a challenge to political authority is inextricable from an assault on male privilege. Dorothy Waugh, a Quaker, refused like others of her faith to defer to political or religious authorities and insisted on the spiritual equality between women and men. Waugh suffered as much on account of her sex as on account of her religion, for she describes how the mayor of Carlisle is outraged not only by her unauthorized preaching but by the fact that the preacher is female. She is punished by being forced to wear a "scold's bridle," a traditional humiliation meted out to outspoken, argumentative women who refused to obey their husbands.

LUCY

HUTCHINSON

Lucy Hutchinson, nee Apsley (1620—1681), whose life centered in the North Country city of Nottingham, was a staunch republican, memoirist, poet, translator of Lucretius, and biographer and historian of the revolutionary period. In a fragmentary autobiography, she relates that she could read English perfectly by the age of four, and that "having a great memory, 1 was carried to sermons, and while I was very young could remember and repeat them . . . exactly." Her parents allowed her to receive at home as good an education as her brothers got at school (for an account of that education and its strains, go to Norton Literature Online). She reports that her future husband learned of her existence by noticing some of her Latin books. She was married at eighteen to John Hutchinson, a man of unyielding conviction and courage: he fought in the Puritan armies, served as governor of Nottingham Castle, sat in the Long Parliament, voted for the execution of Charles I, supported the republican commonwealth (1649—53), and withdrew support from Cromwell when he overrode and dismissed parliaments. Hutchinson was arrested after the Restoration and died in prison in 1664. After his death his devoted wife of twenty-six years wrote her Memoirs of the Life of Colonel John Hutchinson, purportedly to preserve his memory for her children. But within that memoir and eyewitness account of the remarkable period they had lived through, she enfolded a broad history of and commentary upon the Puritan movement and the revolution (for her account of the cultural crisis over sports, masques, and recreation, go to Norton Literature Online). Almost certainly she hoped for a broader audience of nonconformists and republicans who might someday revive the "Good Old Cause," though because of its politics this work was not published until 1806. Also unpublished in her lifetime were several recently uncovered elegiac and satiric poems, as well as most of a long but unfinished epic poem, Order and Disorder, which treats biblical history from the Creation to the story of Jacob in twenty cantos, the first five of which were published in 1679. Much of the poem is indebted to Paradise Lost.

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HUTCHINSON:

MEMOIRS OF JOHN

HUTCHINSON

1759

From Memoirs of the Life of Colonel John Hutchinson [ C H A R L E S I AND H E N R I E T T A MARIA]

The face of the court was much changed in the change of the king; for King Charles was temperate, chaste, and serious, so that the fools and bawds, mimics and catamites' of the former court grew out of fashion; and the nobility and courtiers, who did not quite abandon their debaucheries, yet so reverenced the king as to retire into corners to practice them. Men of learning and ingenuity in all arts were in esteem, and received encouragement from the king, who was a most excellent judge and great lover of paintings, carvings, gravings, 2 and many other ingenuities, less offensive than the bawdry and profane abusive* wit which was the only exercise of the other court. But, as in the primitive times, 4 it is observed that the best emperors were some of them stirred up by Satan to be the bitterest persecutors of the church, so this king was a worse encroacher upon the civil and spiritual liberties of his people by far than his father. He married a papist,' a French lady of a haughty spirit, and a great wit and beauty, to whom he became a most uxorious husband. By this means the court was replenished with papists, and many who hoped to advance themselves by the change, turned to that religion. All the papists in the kingdom were favored, and, by the king's example, matched into the best families. The puritans were more than ever discountenanced 6 and persecuted, insomuch that many of them chose to abandon their native country and leave their dearest relations, to retire into any foreign soil or plantation 7 where they might amidst all outward inconveniences enjoy the free exercise of God's worship. Such as could not flee were tormented in the bishops' court, 8 fined, whipped, pilloried, imprisoned, and suffered to enjoy no rest, so that death was better than life to them; and notwithstanding their patient sufferance of all these things, yet was not the king satisfied till the whole land was reduced to perfect slavery. The example of the French king 9 was propounded to him, and he thought himself no monarch so long as his will was confined to the bounds of any law; but knowing that the people of England were not pliable to an arbitrary rule, he plotted to subdue them to his yoke by a foreign force; 1 and till he could effect it made no conscience of granting anything to the people, which he resolved should not oblige him longer than it served his turn; for he was a prince that had nothing of faith or truth, justice or generosity in him. He was the most obstinate person in his self-will that ever was, and so bent upon being an absolute, uncontrollable sovereign that he was resolved either to be such a king or none. His firm adherence to prelacy 2 was not for conscience of one religion more than another, for it was his principle that an honest man might be saved in any profession; but he had a mistaken principle that kingly government in the state could not stand without episcopal govern1. Clowns and homosexuals. 2. Engravings. 3. Satiric. 4. Early Christian period. 5. Roman Catholic. 6. Thwarted, out of favor. 7. Colony, such as the Massachusetts Bay Colony, founded in 1630. "Inconvenienccs" (following): misfortunes. 8. Courts administered by the Church of England

tried and punished those who refused to attend church services, frequented alternative religious gatherings, or disputed church doctrines or policies. 9. The French king reigned without a parliament. 1. Puritans suspected that Charles planned to invite Catholic forces to invade his realm in order to consolidate his own power. 2. Rule of the church by bishops.

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ment in the church; and therefore, as the bishops flattered him with preaching up his prerogative, 3 and inveighing against the puritans as factious and disloyal, so he protected them in their p o m p and pride and insolent practices against all the godly and sober people of the land. *=

But above all these the king had another instigator of his own violent purpose, more powerful than all the rest; and that was the queen, who, grown out of her childhood, began to turn her mind from those vain extravagancies she lived in at first to that which did less b e c o m e her, and was more fatal to the kingdom; which is never in any place happy where the hands which were m a d e only for distaffs affect 4 the m a n a g e m e n t of scepters. If any one object the fresh example of Q u e e n Elizabeth, let them remember that the felicity of her reign was the effect of her submission to her masculine and wise counselors; but wherever male princes are so effeminate as to suffer women of foreign birth and different religions to intermeddle with the affairs of state, it is always found to produce sad desolations; and it hath been observed that a French queen never brought any happiness to England. S o m e kind of fatality 5 too the English imagined to be in her n a m e of Marie, which, it is said, the king rather c h o s e to have her called by than her other, Henrietta, b e c a u s e the land should find a blessing in that n a m e which had been more unfortunate; 6 but it was not in his power, though a great prince, to control destiny. This lady being by her priests affected with the meritoriousness of advancing her own religion, whose principle it is to subvert all other, applied that way her great wit and parts, 7 and the power her haughty spirit kept over her h u s b a n d , who was enslaved in his affection only to her, though she had no more passion for him than what served to promote her design. T h o s e brought her into a very good correspondence with the archbishop 8 and his prelatical crew, both joining in the cruel design of rooting the godly out of the land. . . . But how m u c h soever their designs were f r a m e d in the dark, G o d revealed them to his servants, and most miraculously ordered providences for their preservation.

1806 3. Kingly powers. 4. Aspire to. " D i s t a f f " : spinning staff, emblem of female household management. 5. Fatefulness. 6. "Bloody Mary" Tudor, queen of England from 1553 to 1558, reintroduced Roman Catholicism to England and burned many Protestants for heresy; the Scottish Mary, Q u e e n of Scots, also Catholic,

EDWARD

HYDE,

was executed in 1 5 8 7 for plotting to assassinate Elizabeth I. 7. Abilities. 8. William L a u d , archbishop of Canterbury, favored a highly ritualized form of worship that Puritans considered tantamount to R o m a n Catholicism. He was executed bv the Parliamentarians in 1645.

EARL

C L A R E N D O N

Edward Hyde (1609—1674) was educated at Oxford and during the 1630s practiced law. From about 1641 onward, he was among the chief supporters and advisers of Charles I; he went into exile with the boy who was to become Charles II and was privy to the various plots and plans of the royalists to restore him to power. After the Restoration he became lord chancellor and prime minister to Charles II, and he was instrumental in enacting the so-called Clarendon Code, a series of harsh laws against

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all nonconformists to the reestablished Church of England. He was impeached in 1667, owing partly to England's ill success in the Dutch War, and spent the last seven years of his life in France. Clarendon wrote part of his great History of the Rebellion amid the events it describes. For the Muse of History such a short view can be a mixed blessing. But Clarendon's learning—legal, classical, and historical—and the formality of his method save him from many of the failings of partisanship. He wrote with dignity and for posterity. His History, which first appeared in print thirty years after his death, was remarkable not only for the largeness of its canvas but also for the force and coherence of the conservative social philosophy informing it. As a historian and rhetorician Clarendon invites comparison with his classical models, Thucydides and Tacitus. As an evaluator of character he invites comparison with Plutarch, whose, judiciousness he shares.

From The History of the Rebellion [THE CHARACTER OF OLIVER CROMWELL.]'

About the middle of August he was seized on by a c o m m o n tertian ague, 2 from which he believed a little e a s e and divertissement at H a m p t o n Court 3 would have freed him; but the fits grew stronger and his spirits m u c h abated, so that he returned again to Whitehall, 4 when his physicians began to think him in danger, though the preachers who prayed always about him and told G o d Almighty what great things he had done for H i m , and how m u c h more need He had still of his service, declared as from G o d that he should recover, and he himself did not think he should die, till even the time that his spirits failed him, and then declared to them that he did appoint his son to s u c c e e d him, his eldest son Richard. And so expired upon the third day of S e p t e m b e r (a day he thought always very propitious to him, and on which he had triu m p h e d for several victories), 5 1658, a day very m e m o r a b l e for the greatest storm of wind that had been ever known for s o m e hours before and after his death, which overthrew trees, houses, and m a d e great wrecks at sea, and was so universal that there were terrible effects of it both in France and Flanders, where all people trembled at it, besides the wrecks all along the coast, many boats having been cast away in the very rivers; and within few days after, that c i r c u m s t a n c e of his death that a c c o m p a n i e d that storm was known. He was one of those m e n quos vituperare ne inimici quidem possunt, nisi lit simul laudent,6 for he could never have done half that mischief without great parts of courage and industry and j u d g m e n t , and he m u s t have had a wonderful understanding in the natures and humors of men, and as great a dexterity in the applying them, who from a private and obscure birth (though of a good family), without interest of estate, alliance, or friendships, could raise himself to such a height, and c o m p o u n d and knead such opposite and contradictory 1. After the manner of ancient historians, Clarendon describes the last days, sickness, and death of Cromwell, then summarizes his character. The Protector, who had been depressed for some time by the death of a favorite daughter, first grew ill in the summer of 1658. 2. An acute fever, with paroxysms recurring every third day. 3. Hampton Court, built by Cardinal Wolsey and ceded by him to Henry VIII, is a splendid old pal-

ace up the Thames from London. "Divertissement": diversion. 4. Whitehall, in London, was the traditional residence of the head of state. 5. Dunbar and Worcester were important battles that Cromwell had won on September 3. 6. "Whom not even his enemies could curse without praising him." The source of the phrase is unknown.

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tempers, humors, and interests into a c o n s i s t e n c e that contributed to his designs and to their own destruction, whilst himself grew insensibly powerful enough to cut off those by whom he had climbed, in the instant that they projected to demolish their own building. 7 What Velleius Paterculus said of C i n n a may very justly be said of him, Ausum emu quae nemo auderet bonus, petfecisse quae a nidlo nisi fortissimo perfici possunt. R Without doubt no man with more wickedness ever attempted anything, or brought to pass what he desired more wickedly, more in the f a c e and contempt of religion and moral honesty; yet wickedness as great as his could never have accomplished those trophies without the assistance of a great spirit, an admirable circumspection and sagacity, and a most m a g n a n i m o u s resolution. When he appeared first in the Parliament he s e e m e d to have a person in no degree gracious, no ornament of discourse, none of those talents which u s e to reconcile the affections of the standers-by; yet as he grew into place and authority, his parts 9 s e e m e d to be renewed, as if he h a d concealed faculties till he had occasion to use them, and when he was to act the part of a great m a n , he did it without any indecency 1 through the want of custom. After he was confirmed and invested Protector by the H u m b l e Petition and Advice, 2 he consulted with very few upon any action of importance, nor communicated any enterprise he resolved upon with more than those who were to have principal parts in the execution of it, nor to them sooner than was absolutely necessary. What he once resolved, in which he was not rash, he would not be dissuaded from, nor endure any contradiction of his power and authority, but extorted obedience from them who were not willing to yield it. When he had laid s o m e very extraordinary tax upon the city, one Cony, an eminent fanatic, 3 and one who had heretofore served him very notably, positively refused to pay his part and loudly dissuaded others from submitting to it, as an imposition notoriously against the law and the property of the subject, which all honest men were bound to defend. Cromwell sent for him and cajoled him with the memory of the old kindness and friendship that had been between them, and that of all m e n he did not expect this opposition from him in a matter that was so necessary for the good of the commonwealth. But it was always his fortune to meet with the most rude and obstinate behavior from those who had formerly been absolutely governed by him, and they commonly put him in mind of s o m e expressions and sayings of his own in c a s e s of the like nature. So this man remembered 4 him how great an enemy he had expressed himself to such grievances, and declared that all who submitted to them and paid illegal taxes were more to blame, and greater enemies to their country, than they who imposed them; and that the tyranny of princes could never be grievous but by the t a m e n e s s and stupidity of the people. When Cromwell saw that he could not convert him, he told him that he had a will as stubborn as his, and he would try which of them two should be master, and thereupon with s o m e terms of reproach and contempt he com7. Clarendon's judgment can be compared with that of Marvel! in "An Horatian Ode" (p. 0000). "Insensibly": imperceptibly. 8. "He dared undertake what no good man would have tried and triumphed where only the strongest of men could have succeeded." Velleius Paterculus (died 30 c.E.) wrote a concise Histoiy of Rome; the quotation is from 2.24. 9. Personal qualities. 1. Indecorum.

2. In December 1653, Cromwell was invested as Protector under a written constitution called the Instrument of Government. In 1657 another constitution, the Humble Petition and Advice, invested him with quasi-monarchical powers and restored the House of Lords. 3. In Clarendon's vocabulary, a radical Puritan. "The city": the City of London. 4. Reminded.

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mitted the man to p r i s o n — w h o s e courage was nothing abated by it, but as soon as the term c a m e , he brought his habeas cor-pus5 in the King's Bench, which they then called the Upper Bench. Maynard, who was of counsel with the prisoner, d e m a n d e d his liberty with great confidence, both upon the illegality of the commitment and the illegality of the imposition, 6 as being laid without any lawful authority. T h e j u d g e s could not maintain or defend either, but e n o u g h declared what their sentence would be, and therefore the Protector's attorney required a further day to answer what had been urged. Before that day, Maynard was committed to the Tower for p r e s u m i n g to question or make doubt of his authority, and the j u d g e s were sent for and severely reprehended for suffering that license; and when they with all humility mentioned the law, and M a g n a Carta, Cromwell told them their M a g n a Carta should not control his actions, which he knew were for the safety of the commonwealth. He asked them who made them j u d g e s ; whether they had any authority to sit there but what he gave them, and that if his authority were at an end, they knew well e n o u g h what would b e c o m e of themselves. And therefore advised them to be more tender of that which could only preserve them, and so dismissed them with caution that they should not suffer the lawyers to prate what it would not b e c o m e them to hear. T h u s he s u b d u e d a spirit that had been often troublesome to the most sovereign power, and m a d e Westminster Hall 7 as obedient and subservient to his c o m m a n d s as any of the rest of his quarters. In all other matters which did not concern the life of his jurisdiction, he s e e m e d to have great reverence for the law, and rarely interposed between party and party; and as he proceeded with this kind of indignation and haughtiness with those who were refractory and dared to contend with his greatness, so towards those who complied with his good pleasure and courted his protection he used a wonderful civility, generosity, and bounty. To reduce three nations which perfectly hated him to an entire obedience to all his dictates, to awe and govern those nations by an army that was indevoted to him and wished his ruin, was an instance of a very prodigious address; 8 but his greatness at home was but a shadow of the glory he had abroad. It was hard to discover which feared him most, France, S p a i n , or the Low Countries, where his friendship was current at the value he put upon it; and as they did all sacrifice their honor and their interest to his pleasure, so there is nothing he could have d e m a n d e d that either of them would have denied him. >*

He was not a man of blood, and totally declined Machiavel's method, which prescribes upon any alteration of a government, as a thing absolutely necessary, to cut off all the heads of those, and extirpate their families, who are friends to the old; 9 a n d it was confidently reported in the Council of Officers, it was more than once proposed that there might be a general m a s s a c r e of all the royal party as the only expedient to secure the government, but Cromwell would never consent to it, it may be out of too m u c h contempt of his enemies. In a word, as he had all the wickednesses against which damnation is 5. Writ to release a prisoner. 6. I.e., the original tax. 7. The center of the law courts and legal profession. Clarendon never tells us what happened to poor George Cony; the lawyer and judges made their submission and got off, but the fate of the

plaintiff remains obscure. 8. Skill. "Indevoted": Clarendon's word, carefully coined to express the far from unanimous feelings of the army. 9. See The Prince, chapters 3 and 7.

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d e n o u n c e d and for which hellfire is prepared, so he had s o m e virtues which have c a u s e d the memory of s o m e m e n in all ages to be celebrated, and he will be looked upon by posterity as a brave, b a d m a n . 1702-4

LADY A N N E

HALKETT

Lady Anne Halkett, nee Anne Murray (1622—1699), was born into a family of the royal household; her father was a tutor to Prince Charles, later Charles I. Her allegiance to the royalist cause was an attachment by comparison with which her several love affairs were mere incidents. Halkett was a tough and active partisan who, more directly than most women of her day, engaged in the intrigues of the civil wars. With one of her particular admirers, Colonel Bamfield, she assisted the young Duke of York (future King James II of England) in making his escape from parliamentary custody. Her account of this adventure appeared in her memoirs, published many years later. We pick up the story in April 1648 with the question of Colonel Bamfield's intentions.

From The Memoirs [SPRINGING THE

DUKE]

This gentleman c a m e to see me s o m e t i m e s in the c o m p a n y of ladies who had been my mother's neighbors in St. Martin's L a n e , and sometimes alone, but whenever he c a m e his discourse was serious, h a n d s o m e , and tending to impress the advantages of piety, loyalty, and virtue; and these subjects were so agreeable to my own inclination that I could not but give them a good reception, especially from one that s e e m e d to be so m u c h an owner of them himself. After I had been used to freedom of discourse with him, I told him I approved m u c h of his advice to others, but I thought his own practice contradicted m u c h of his profession, for one of his a c q u a i n t a n c e had told me he had not seen his wife in a twelvemonth, and it was impossible in my opinion for a good m a n to be an ill h u s b a n d ; and therefore he must defend himself from one before I could believe the other of him. He said it was not necessary to give everyone that might c o n d e m n him the reason of his being so long from her, yet to satisfy me he would tell me the truth, which was that, he being engaged in the king's service, 1 he was obliged to be at L o n d o n where it was not convenient for her to be with him, his stay in any place being uncertain; besides, she lived amongst her friends who, though they were kind to her, yet were not so to him, for most of that country had declared for the Parliament and were enemies to all that had or did serve the king, and therefore his wife, he was sure, would not c o n d e m n him for what he did by her own consent. This seeming reasonable, I did insist no more upon that subject. At this time he had frequent letters from the king, who employed him in 1. The service of Charles I, then a close prisoner of the parliamentary army under Cromwell. In less than a year he would be executed.

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HALKETT: THE

MEMOIRS

1765

several affairs, but that of the greatest concern which he was employed in was to contrive the Duke of York's e s c a p e out of St. J a m e s 2 (where His Highness and the Duke of Gloucester and the Princess Elizabeth lived under the care of the Earl of Northumberland and his lady). T h e difficulties of it was represented by Colonel Bamfield; but His Majesty still pressed it, and I remember this expression was in one of the letters: "I believe it will be difficult, and if he miscarry in the attempt, it will be the greatest affliction that can arrive to me; but I look upon J a m e s ' s e s c a p e as Charles's preservation, 3 and nothing can content me more; therefore be careful what you do." T h i s letter, amongst others, he showed me, and where the king approved of his choice of me to entrust with it, for to get the duke's clothes m a d e and to dress him in his disguise. So now all Colonel Bamfield's b u s i n e s s and care was how to m a n a g e this business of so important concern, which could not be performed without several persons' concurrence in it, for he being generally known as one whose stay at L o n d o n was in order to serve the king, few of those who were entrusted by the Parliament in public concerns durst own converse or hardly civility to him, lest they should have been s u s p e c t by their party, which m a d e it difficult for him to get a c c e s s to the duke. But, to be short, having c o m m u n i c a t e d the design to a gentleman attending His Highness who was full of honor a n d fidelity, by his m e a n s he had private a c c e s s to the duke, to whom he presented the king's letter and order to His Highness for consenting to act what Colonel Bamfield should contrive for his e s c a p e , which was so cheerfully entertained and so readily obeyed, that being once designed there was nothing more to do than to prepare all things for the execution. I had desired him to take a ribbon with him and bring me the bigness of the duke's waist and his length, to have clothes m a d e fit for him. In the meantime, Colonel Bamfield was to provide money for all necessary expense, which was furnished by an honest citizen. When I gave the m e a s u r e to my tailor to inquire how m u c h mohair would serve to make a petticoat and waistcoat to a young gentlewoman of that bigness and stature, he considered it a long time, and said he had m a d e many gowns and suits, but he had never made any to s u c h a person in his life. I thought he was in the right; but his meaning was he had never seen any w o m a n of so low a stature have so big a waist. However, he m a d e it as exactly fit as if he had taken the m e a s u r e himself. It was a mixed mohair of a light hair color and black, and the under-petticoat was scarlet. All things being now ready, upon the 20th of April 1648 in the evening was the time resolved for the duke's e s c a p e . And in order to that, it was designed for a week before every night as soon as the duke had s u p p e d he and those servants that attended His Highness (till the Earl of Northumberland and the rest of the house had supped) went to a play called hide and seek,- 1 and sometimes he would hide himself so well that in half an hour's time they could not find him. His Highness had so used them to this that when he went really away they thought he was but at the usual sport. A little before the duke went 2. St. J a m e s ' s Palace, the royal residence. T h e two named below were other children of Charles I. 3. Charles 1 must have feared the capture or assassination of the heir apparent. Prince Charles, then in France with his mother. Q u e e n Henrietta Maria. If the younger son. J a m e s , were alive and

at liberty, there would be no point in such an attempt to cut off the succession. 4. As a boy of fourteen, J a m e s could play such a g a m e without arousing suspicion and could be disguised without too m u c h difficulty in women's clothes.

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762

C R I S I S OF A U T H O R I T Y

to supper that night, he called for the gardener, who only had a treble key besides that which the duke had, and bid him give him that key till his own was mended, which he did. And after His Highness had supped, he immediately called to go to the play, and went down the privy stairs into the garden, and opened the gate that goes into the park, treble locking all the doors behind him. And at the garden gate Colonel Bamfield waited for His Highness, and putting on a cloak and periwig, hurried him away to the park gate, where a coach waited that carried them to the waterside, and, taking the boat that was appointed for that service, they rowed to the stairs next the bridge, where I and Miriam 5 waited in a private house hard by that Colonel Bamfield had prepared for dressing His Highness, where all things were in a readiness. But I had many fears, for Colonel Bamfield had desired me, if they came not there precisely by ten o'clock, to shift for myself, for then I might conclude they were discovered, and so my stay there could do no good but prejudice myself. Yet this did not make me leave the house though ten o'clock did strike, and he that was entrusted often went to the landing place and saw no boat coming was much discouraged, and asked me what I would do. I told him I came there with a resolution to serve His Highness, and I was fully determined not to leave that place till I was out of hopes of doing what I came there for, and would take my hazard. He left me to go again to the waterside, and while I was fortifying myself against what might arrive to me, I heard a great noise of many as I thought coming upstairs, which I expected to be soldiers to take me, but it was a pleasing disappointment, for the first that came in was the duke, who with much joy I took in my arms and gave G o d thanks for his safe arrival. His Highness called "Quickly, quickly, dress me!"; and, putting off his clothes, I dressed him in the women's habit that was prepared, which fitted His Highness very well, and was very pretty in it. After he had eaten something I made ready while I was idle, lest His Highness should be hungry, and having sent for a Wood Street cake (which I knew he loved) to take in the barge, with as much haste as could be His Highness went cross the bridge to the stairs where the barge lay, Colonel Bamfield leading him; and immediately the boatmen plied the oar so well that they were soon out of sight, having both wind and tide with them. But I afterwards heard the wind changed, and was so contrary that Colonel Bamfield told me he was terribly afraid they should have been blown back again. And the duke said, "Do anything with me rather than let me go back again," which put Colonel Bamfield to seek help where it was only to be had, and, after he had most fervently supplicated assistance from God, presently the wind blew fair, and they came safely to their intended landing place. But I heard there was some difficulty before they got to the ship at Gravesend, which had like to have discovered them had not Colonel Washington's lady 6 assisted them. After the duke's barge was out of sight of the bridge, I and Miriam went where I appointed the coach to stay for me, and made drive as fast as the coachman could to my brother's house, where I stayed. I met none in the way that gave me any apprehension that the design was discovered, nor was it noised abroad till the next day, for (as I related before) the duke having used to play at hide and seek, and to conceal himself a long time, when they missed 5. Anne Murray's personal maidservant. 6. Most likely, the wife of Colonel Henry Wash-

ington, a royalist soldier (and distant relative of George Washington).

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DOROTHYWAUGH

1767

him at the s a m e play, thought he would have discovered himself as formerly when they had given over seeking him. B u t a m u c h longer time being p a s s e d than usually was spent in that divertissement, s o m e began to apprehend that His Highness was gone in earnest past their finding, which m a d e the Earl of Northumberland (to whose care he was committed), after strict search m a d e in the house of St. J a m e s and all thereabouts to no purpose, to send and acquaint the Speaker of the H o u s e of C o m m o n s that the duke was gone, but how or by what m e a n s he knew not, but desired that there might be orders sent to the C i n q u e Ports 7 for stopping all ships going out till the passengers were examined and search m a d e in all suspected places where His Highness might be concealed. T h o u g h this was gone about with all the vigilancy imaginable, yet it pleased G o d to disappoint them of their intention by so infatuating those several persons who were employed for writing orders that none of them were able to write one right, but ten or twelve of them were cast by before one was according to their mind. This a c c o u n t I had from Mr. N. who was mace-bearer to the Speaker all that time and a witness of it. This disorder of the clerks contributed m u c h to the duke's safety, for he was at s e a before any of the orders c a m e to the ports, and so was free from what was designed if they had taken His Highness. T h o u g h several were s u s p e c t e d for being accessory to the escape, yet they could not charge any with it but the person who went away, and he being out of their reach, they took no notice as either to examine or imprison others. 8 1778 7. A group of channel ports, originally five in number ( cinque is French for "five"); most English shipping to or from the Continent passed through them. 8. Despite this romantic beginning to their friend-

DOROTHY

ship. Colonel Bamfield and Murray never did get together, because Bamfield's estranged wife was still living. In 1656, Murray married Sir J a m e s Halkett.

W A U G H

Around 1647, a group of disciples began forming around the charismatic itinerant preacher George Fox. Like many religious radicals of the period, Fox taught the importance of relying upon the Inner Light—one's own conscience as guided by the Holy Spirit—in preference to human law or holy writ. Fox believed that the days of prophecy and revelation had not ended in biblical times but were ongoing, so that the teachings of Scripture were open to revision. Moreover, sacred illumination was available to all sincere believers regardless of sex, education, or social rank. Fox's followers were derisively called "Quakers" because, in the grip of a visitation by the Holy Spirit, they would suffer paroxysms similar to epileptic convulsions. Because Quakers believed all human beings to be spiritually equal, they refused to perform the acts of deference that permeated social life in seventeenth-century England—bowing before and doffing the hat to superiors or addressing them with the honorific "you" rather than the familiar "thou." They felt called upon to testify to their beliefs wherever, and whenever, the Inner Light prompted, answering back to ministers in the pulpit, inveighing against what they considered social injustices,

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1 762 /

CRISIS

AUTHORITY

and sermonizing without a license in public places. Often, their outspokenness enraged secular and ecclesiastical authorities. Dorothy Waugh (ca. 1636—?) worked as a maidservant in Preston Patrick, in northwest England, a hotbed of Quaker activity. She probably became one of Fox's followers in the early 1650s, when she was still a teenager. Like Fox and a number of other missionary spirits, sometimes called "the Valiant Sixty," she traveled through England on foot, spreading the Quaker message to all who would listen. In 1656, aged about twenty, she was one of the Friends who arrived in Boston, Massachusetts, aboard the Speedwell: the party was imprisoned for ten days by the staunch Puritan governor John Endicott, and then forced to return to England. Undaunted, Waugh embarked for the colonies again, with another small group of missionary Quakers, the following year, this time landing in New Amsterdam (modern New York). They were no more welcome here than they had been in Boston. After a brief imprisonment they were shipped in shackles to the colony of Rhode Island, where complete religious toleration was the rule. In the late 1650s, probably between voyages to the New World, Waugh married William Lotherington of Yorkshire, but nothing is known about her later life or the circumstances of her death. Other Quakers traveled even further than Waugh on missionary expeditions; one woman made it as far as the Ottoman Empire and gave a sermon before the Grand Turk; when she failed to convert him, she walked back home to England. Waugh's account of her treatment in Carlisle was published in The Lamb's Defence Against Lies, a collection in which various Quakers testified to their maltreatment by secular and religious authorities. Although the Friends were pacifists who refused to retaliate physically or verbally against their persecutors, they were fully aware of the propaganda value of unmerited suffering—indeed, their enemies believed that they deliberately courted abuse as a publicity stunt. More probably, their bad reception only reinforced their conviction that they constituted a tiny remnant of holiness, bravely resisting the overwhelming powers of worldliness and evil. The Quakers' published accounts of their victimization, typically reported in understated, factual, but gruesome detail, owed much to the sixteenth-century writer John Foxe's influential tales of Protestant martyrdom under the Catholic queen "Bloody Mary" Tudor. In the years between 1650 and 1700, numerous male and female Friends published memoirs of their arduous lives, producing some of the first printed autobiographical writing in English by women and by people of humble status.

A Relation Concerning Dorothy Waugh's Cruel Usage by the Mayor of Carlisle Upon a seventh day about the time called M i c h a e l m a s in the year of the world's a c c o u n t 1655 1 I was moved of the Lord to go into the market of Carlisle, to speak against all deceit and ungodly practices, and the mayor's officer c a m e and violently haled me off the cross 2 and put me in prison, not having anything to lay to my charge. And presently the mayor c a m e up where I was, and asked me from whence I c a m e ; and I said, " O u t of Egypt, 3 where thou lodgest." But after these words, he was so violent and full of passion he scarce asked me any more questions, but called to one of his followers to bring the I. Q u a k e r s saw themselves as separated from "the world" and its conventional means of marking dates, particularly objecting to terms left over from medieval Catholicism, like " M i c h a e l m a s , " or the M a s s of the Archangel Michael, celebrated on September 29. "Seventh day": Sabbath.

2. A large stone cross marked the main intersection of most English towns; public speakers could mount the steps in order to be heard better. 3. In the Bible, the place where God's chosen people were enslaved and where most of the population worshipped false gods.

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THOMAS TRAHERNE

1769

bridle 4 as he called it to put upon me, and was to be on three hours. And that which they called so was like a steel cap and my hat being violently plucked off which was pinned to my head whereby they tore my clothes to put on their bridle as they called it, which was a stone weight of iron by the relation of their own generation, 5 and three bars of iron to c o m e over my face, and a piece of it was put in my mouth, which was so unreasonable big a thing for that place as cannot be well related, which was locked to my head. And so I stood their time with my hands b o u n d behind me, with the stone weight of iron upon my head and the bit in my mouth to keep me from speaking. And the mayor said he would make me an example to all that should ever c o m e in that name. 6 And the people to see me so violently a b u s e d were broken into tears, but he cried out on them and said, "For foolish pity, one may spoil a whole city." And the man that kept the prison door d e m a n d e d two p e n c e of everyone that c a m e to see me while their bridle remained upon me. Afterwards it was taken off and they kept me in prison for a little season, and after a while the mayor c a m e again and c a u s e d it to be put on again, and sent me out of the city with it on, and gave me very vile and unsavory words, which were not fit to proceed out of any man's mouth, and charged the officer to whip me out of the town, from constable to constable to send me till I c a m e to my own home, whenas 7 they had not anything to lay to my charge. 1656 4. An instrument of torture and humiliation, typically used to punish women who " s c o l d e d " their husbands or neighbors in public.

T H O M A S

5. By their own report. 6. As professed Friends, or Q u a k e r s . 7. Inasmuch as.

T R A H E R N E

1637-1674 Thomas Traherne's most remarkable works—his stanzaic poems, free verse Thanksgivings, and the brilliant prose meditative sequence Centuries of Meditations—were lost for over two centuries. With them was lost a unique religious and aesthetic sensibility that conceives of heavenly felicity as a state that can be enjoyed in this world by recovering the perspective of lost childhood innocence. In 1673 Traherne published a polemic against Roman Catholics (Roman Forgeries), and some works of moral philosophy, meditation, and devotion received posthumous publication over the next several years. But his poems and the Centuries were discovered in manuscript only in 1896—97, and at first his poems were attributed to Henry Vaughan. Little is known of Traherne's life. The son of a Herefordshire shoemaker, he received a degree from Brasenose College, Oxford; took orders and became rector of Credenhill in Herefordshire in 1661; became chaplain about 1660 to Sir Orlando Bridgeman, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal; and spent his last years in and near London. The Centuries consists of four books of one hundred items each and a fifth unfinished. They contain prose meditations (which are often ecstatic prose poems) and some interpolated poems; the work was addressed to Traherne's good friend Mrs. Susanna Hopton, to help her attain "felicity." The poems render moments of spiritual experience: the speaker's enjoyment of a wondrous heavenly felicity in childhood, his painful loss of it in maturity, and his successful efforts to recover that heavenly perspective.

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1770

THOMAS TRAHERNE

From Centuries of Meditations From

The Third Century 3

T h e Corn 1 was Orient and Immortal Wheat, which never should be reaped, nor was ever sown. I thought it had stood from everlasting to everlasting. T h e Dust and Stones of the Street were as Precious as G O L D . T h e G a t e s were at first the E n d of the World, T h e G r e e n T r e e s when I saw them first through one of the G a t e s Transported and Ravished me; their S w e e t n e s s and unusual Beauty m a d e my Heart to leap, and almost mad with Extasy, they were such strange and W o n d e r f u l Things. T h e M e n ! O what Venerable and Reverend Creatures did the Aged seem! Immortal C h e r u b i m s ! And young M e n Glittering and Sparkling Angels and M a i d s strange Seraphic Pieces of Life and Beauty! Boys and Girls T u m b l i n g in the Street, and Playing, were moving Jewels. 1 knew not that they were Born or should Die. But all things abided Eternally as they were in their Proper Places. Eternity was Manifest in the Light of the Day, and something infinite Behind every thing appeared: which talked with my Expectation and moved my Desire. T h e City s e e m e d to stand in Eden, or to be Built in Heaven. T h e Streets were mine, the T e m p l e was mine, the People were mine, their Clothes and Gold and Silver was mine, as m u c h as their Sparkling Eyes Fair Skins and ruddy f a c e s . T h e Skies were mine, and so were the S u n and M o o n and Stars, and all the World was mine, and I the only Spectator and Enjoyer of it. I knew no Churlish Proprieties, 2 nor B o u n d s nor Divisions: but all Proprieties and Divisions were mine: all T r e a s u r e s and the Possessors of them. So that with m u c h a d o I was corrupted; and m a d e to learn the Dirty Devices of this World. Which now I unlearn, and b e c o m e as it were a little Child again, that I may enter into the Kingdom of G O D . 1908

Wonder

H o w like an angel c a m e I down! H o w bright are all things here! When first a m o n g his works I did appear, O how their glory me did crown! T h e world resembled his eternity, In which my soul did walk, And everything that I did s e e Did with me talk. T h e skies in their magnificence, T h e lively, lovely air; O how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair! T h e stars did entertain my sense, 1 And all the works of G o d so bright and pure,

1. We have retained Traherne's capitals throughout, as they s e e m to register his ecstatic apprehension of c o m m o n things transformed.

2. Private property rights, 1. Sight,

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WONDER

1771

So rich and great did seem, As if they ever must endure, In my esteem. A native health and innocence Within my bones did grow, And while my G o d did all his glories show, I felt a vigor in my sense That was all Spirit. I within did flow With seas of life like wine; I nothing in the world did know But 'twas divine. Harsh ragged objects were concealed, Oppression's tears and cries, Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes, Were hid; and only things revealed Which heavenly spirits and the angels prize. The state of innocence And bliss, not trades and poverties, Did fill my sense. The streets were paved with golden stones, The boys and girls were mine, O how did all their lovely faces shine! The sons of men were holy ones. Joy, beauty, welfare did appear to me And everything which here I found While like an angel I did see, Adorned the ground. Rich diamond and pearl and gold In ever}' place was seen; Rare splendors, yellow, blue, red, white, and green, Mine eyes did everywhere behold. Great wonders clothed with glory did appear, Amazement was my bliss. That and my wealth was everywhere: No j o y to t h i s ! 0

compared

Cursed and devised proprieties, 2 With envy, avarice, And fraud, those fiends that spoil even paradise, Fled from the splendor of mine eyes. And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds: I dreamed not aught of those, But wandered over all men's grounds, And found repose. Proprieties themselves were mine, And hedges ornaments; Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents

2. Private property rights.

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this

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1772

THOMAS TRAHERNE

Did not divide my joys, but shine. Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteemed My joys by others worn; For me they all to wear them seemed When I was born. 1903

On Leaping over the Moon

I saw new worlds beneath the water lie, New people, and another sky And sun, which seen by day Might things more clear display. Just such another 1 Of late my brother 2 Did in his travel see, and saw by night, A much more strange and wondrous sight; Nor could the world exhibit such another So great a sight, but in a brother.

Adventure strange! no such in story we New or old, true or feigned see. On earth he seemed to move, Yet heaven went above; 3 15 Up in the skies His body flies, In open, visible, yet magic sort: As he along the way did sport, Like Icarus 4 over the flood he soars 20 Without the help of wings or oars. As he went tripping o'er the king's highway, A little pearly river lay O'er which, without a wing Or oar, he dared to swim, 25 Swim through the air On body fair; He would not use nor trust Icarian wings 5 Lest they should prove deceitful things; For had he fallen, it had been wondrous high, 30 Not from, but from above, the sky.

He might have dropped through that thin element Into a fathomless descent Unto the nether sky That did beneath him lie And there might tell

l. Another world. 2. Traherne's brother Philip. 3. I.e., yet went above the heavens.

4. Icarus soared on waxen wings. 5. Icarus's wings melted in the sun, and he fell into the sea.

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MARGARET CAVENDISH

1773

What wonders dwell On earth above. Yet bold he briskly runs, And soon the danger overcomes, Who, as he leapt, with joy related soon How happy he o'erleaped the moon.

What wondrous things upon the earth are done Beneath and yet above the sun! Deeds all appear again In higher spheres; remain 45 In clouds as yet: But there they get Another light, and in another way Themselves to us above display. The skies themselves this earthly globe surround; so We're even here within them found. On heavenly ground within the skies we walk, And in this middle center talk: Did we but wisely move On earth in heaven above, 55 We then should be Exalted high Above the sky: from whence whoever falls, Through a long dismal precipice, 0 Sinks to the deep abyss where Satan crawls, 60 Where horrid death and despair lies.

headlong fall

As much as others thought themselves to lie Beneath the moon, so much more high Himself he thought to fly Above the starry sky, As that he spied Below the tide. Thus did he yield me in the shady night A wondrous and instructive light, Which taught me that under our feet there is, As o'er our heads, a place of bliss. 1910

MARGARET

CAVENDISH

1623-1673 Margaret (Lucas) Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, wrote and published numerous works during the Interregnum and Restoration era, in a great variety of genres: poetry (Poems and Fancies, 1653); essays ( Philosophical Fancies, 1653; The World's Olio, 1655), short fiction ( Nature's Pictures, 1656), autobiography (A True Relation of My Birth, Breeding, and Life, 1656), Utopian romance ( The Blazing World, 1666), sci-

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1774

MARGARET CAVENDISH

entific essays chiefly critical of the new science, letters, a biography of her husband (The Life of • . . William Cavendish, 1667), and some eighteen plays, of which one, The Forced Marriage, was produced in 1670. Most were published in lavish editions at the Newcastles' own expense. At the time they elicited more derision than praise: for a woman, especially an aristocratic woman, to publish works dealing so intimately with her desires, opinions, personal circumstances, and aspirations to fame and authorship seemed to many disgraceful. Samuel Pepys concluded, after reading her life of her husband the duke, that she was "a mad, conceited, ridiculous woman, and he an ass to suffer [her] to write what she writes to him and of him." Her fantastic dress and sometimes idiosyncratic behavior abetted that characterization: she took pride in "singularity" and even paid a visit to the all-male Royal Society. But the philosopher Thomas Hobbes thought well of her, and her rediscoverers in recent decades have praised her works and her self-construction as a female author. Cavendish's autobiography analyzes her responses to the circumstances of her life. Born into a wealthy royalist family that encouraged her disposition to read and write, she became maid of honor to Queen Henrietta Maria, whom she followed into exile in Paris. There she married, in 1645, the widowed William Cavendish, thirty years her senior, who was one of Charles I's generals and later Duke of Newcastle. Exiled for fifteen years on the Continent, where (his estates having been sequestered) they ran up exorbitant debts, they were restored to status and fortune after the Restoration. The duke, who was himself a poet, playwright, and philosopher, supported and promoted Margaret's literary endeavors, for which she was profoundly grateful. In polemical prefaces to her several works, she develops a fragmentary poetics, trenchantly defends her right to publish and to participate in contemporary intellectual exchange, defends women's rational powers, and decries their educational disadvantages and exclusion from the public domain.

FROM

POEMS

AND

FANCIES

The Poetess's Hasty Resolution

R e a d i n g my verses, I liked them so well, Self-love did make my j u d g m e n t to rebel. Thinking them so good, I thought more to write; C o n s i d e r i n g not how others would them like. I writ so fast, I thought, if I lived long, A pyramid of fame 1 to build thereon. R e a s o n observing which way I was bent, Did stay my hand, and asked me what I m e a n t ; Will you, said she, thus waste your time in vain, On that which in the world small praise shall gain? For s h a m e , leave off, said she, the printer spare, He'll lose by your ill poetry, I fear. Besides the world hath already s u c h a weight Of u s e l e s s books, as it is overfraught. 2 T h e n pity take, do the world a good turn, And all you write cast in the fire, and burn.

1. A poetic monument. 2. Like a ship with too heavy a cargo, in danger of sinking.

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THE

HUNTING OF THE

HARE

1775

Angry I was, and Reason struck away, When I did hear, what she to me did say. Then all in haste I to the press it sent, Fearing persuasion might my book prevent. But now 'tis done, with grief repent do I, H a n g down my head with shame, blush, sigh, and cry. Take pity, and my drooping spirits raise, Wipe off my tears with handkerchiefs of praise. 1653

The Hunting of the Hare Betwixt two ridges of plowed land lay Wat, 1 Pressing his body close to earth lay squat. His nose upon his two forefeet close lies, Glazing obliquely with his great gray eyes, s His head he always sets against the wind, If turn his tail, his hairs blow up behind: Which he too cold will grow, but he is wise, And keeps his coat still 0 down, so warm he lies. constantly Then resting all the day, till, sun doth set, 10 Then riseth up, his relief for to get. Walking about until the sun doth rise, Then back returns, down in his form 0 he lies. nest At last, poor Wat was found, as he there lay, By huntsmen, with their dogs which came that way. 15 Seeing, gets up, and fast begins to run, Hoping some ways the cruel dogs to shun. But they by nature have so quick a scent, That by their nose they trace what way he went. And with their deep, wide mouths set forth a cry, 20 Which answered was by echoes in the sky. Then Wat was struck with terror, and with fear, Thinks every shadow still the dogs they were. And running out some distance from the noise, To hide himself, his thoughts he new employs. 25 Under a clod of earth in sand pit wide, Poor Wat sat close, hoping himself to hide. There long he had not sat, but straight 0 his ears immediately The winding 0 horns and crying dogs he hears: blowing Staring with fear, up leaps, then doth he run, 30 And with such speed, the ground scarce treads upon. Into a great thick wood he straightway gets. Where underneath a broken bough he sits. At every leaf that with the wind did shake, Did bring such terror, made his heart to ache. 35 That place he left, to champaign 0 plains he went, open Winding about, for to deceive their scent. 1. Conventional n a m e for a hare.

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1776

MARGARET CAVENDISH

And while they snuffling were, to find his track, Poor Wat, being weary, his swift pace did slack. On his two hinder legs for ease did sit, His forefeet rubbed his face from dust, and sweat. Licking his feet, he wiped his ears so clean, That none could tell that Wat had hunted been. But casting round about his fair great eyes, The hounds in full career he near him spies: To Wat it was so terrible a sight, Fear gave him wings, and made his body light. Though weary was before, by running long, Yet now his breath he never felt more strong. Like those that dying are, think health returns, When 'tis but a faint blast, which life out burns. For spirits seek to guard the heart about, Striving with death, but death doth quench them out. Thus they so fast came on, with such loud cries, That he no hopes hath left, nor help espies. With that the winds did pity poor Wat's case, And with their breath the scent blew from the place. Then every nose is busily employed, And every nostril is set open wide, And every head doth seek a several 0 way, To find what grass, or track, the scent on lay. Thus quick industry 0 that is not slack, Is like to witchery,0 brings lost things back. For though the wind had tied the scent up close, A busy dog thrust in his snuffling nose And drew it out, with it did foremost run, Then horns blew loud, for th'rest to follow on. The great slow hounds, their throats did set a bass, The fleet swift hounds, as tenors next in place, The little beagles they a treble sing, And through the air their voices round did ring. Which made a consort, as they ran along; If they but words could speak, might sing a song. The horns kept time, the hunters shout for joy, And valiant seem, poor Wat for to destroy: Spurring their horses to a full career, Swim rivers deep, leap ditches without fear; Endanger life and limbs so fast will ride, Only to see how patiently Wat died. At last, 2 the dogs so near his heels did get, That they their sharp teeth in his breech did set; Then tumbling down, did fall with weeping eyes, Gives up his ghost, and thus poor Wat he dies. Men whooping loud, such acclamations make, As if the Devil they did prisoner take. When they do but a shiftless 0 creature kill; To hunt, there needs no valiant soldier's skill. But man doth think that exercise and toil,

2. From the 1664 edition; 1653 has "For why."

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different clever work

witchcraft

helpless

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A TRUE

IOO

105

RELATION OF

MY BIRTH,

B R E E D I N G , AND

LIFE

1777

To keep their health, is best, which makes most spoil. Thinking that food and nourishment so good, And appetite, that feeds on flesh and blood. When they do lions, wolves, bears, tigers see, To kill poor sheep, straight say, they cruel be, But for themselves all creatures think too few For luxury, wish G o d would make them new. As if that God made creatures for man's meat, To give them life and sense, for man to eat; Or else for sport, or recreation's sake, Destroy those lives that God saw good to make: Making their stomachs, graves, which full they fill With murdered bodies that in sport they kill. Yet man doth think himself so gentle, mild, When he of creatures is most cruel wild. And is so proud, thinks only he shall live, That G o d a godlike nature did him give. And that all creatures for his sake alone Was made for him, to tyrannize upon. 1653,

1664

From A True Relation of My Birth, Breeding, and Life 1 As for my breeding, it was according to my birth and the nature of my sex, for my birth was not lost in my breeding; for as my sisters had been bred, so was I in plenty, or rather with superfluity. . . . 'Tis true my mother might have increased her daughters' portions by a thrifty sparing, yet she chose to bestow it on our breeding, honest pleasures, and harmless delight, out of an opinion that if she bred us with needy necessity it might chance to create in us sharking 2 qualities, mean thoughts, and base actions, which she knew my father as well as herself did abhor. Likewise we were bred tenderly, for my mother naturally did strive to please and delight her children, not to cross or torment them, terrifying them with threats or lashing them with slavish whips. But instead of threats, reason was used to persuade us, and instead of lashes, the deformities of vices was discovered, 3 and the graces and virtues were presented unto us. *

After the Q u e e n went from Oxford, and so out of England, I was parted from them. 4 For when the Q u e e n was in Oxford I had a great desire to be one of her maids of honor. . . . And though I might have learned more wit, and advanced my understanding by living in a court, yet being dull, fearful, and 1. Cavendish's autobiography is a concise account, factual and at times self-reflective, of her early life. It comprises the final section of Nature's Pictures (1656), a collection of her fiction written during the Newcastles' exile in Antwerp during the Cromwell regime. "Breeding": upbringing. 2. Greedy. 3. Shown.

4. Her mother and family; her father had died when she was two years old. In 1643 Charles I moved his family and court to Oxford, where Margaret became maid of honor to Q u e e n Henrietta Maria; in 1644 the queen fled with some supporters, Margaret among them, to her native Paris, to urge support for the royalist cause.

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1778

MARGARET CAVENDISH

b a s h f u l , I neither h e e d e d what w a s said or practiced, but j u s t what b e l o n g e d to my loyal duty a n d my own h o n e s t reputation. A n d indeed I w a s so afraid to dishonor my friends a n d family by my indiscreet actions that I rather c h o s e to be a c c o u n t e d a fool than to be thought r u d e or w a n t o n . In truth my bashf u l n e s s a n d fears m a d e me repent my going f r o m h o m e to s e e the world abroad. . . . So I c o n t i n u e d a l m o s t two years, until s u c h time as I w a s married from thence. F o r my L o r d the M a r q u i s of N e w c a s t l e did approve of t h o s e b a s h f u l fears which m a n y c o n d e m n e d , a n d would c h o o s e s u c h a wife as he might bring to his own h u m o r s , 5 a n d not s u c h an o n e as w a s w e d d e d to self-conceit, or o n e that h a d b e e n t e m p e r e d to the h u m o r s of another, for which he w o o e d me for his wife. A n d though I did dread marriage, a n d s h u n n e d m e n ' s c o m panies as m u c h as I could, yet I c o u l d not nor h a d not the power to r e f u s e him, by r e a s o n my a f f e c t i o n s were fixed on him, a n d he w a s the only p e r s o n I ever w a s in love with. Neither w a s I a s h a m e d to own it, but gloried therein, for it w a s not a m o r o u s love. I never w a s infected therewith—it is a d i s e a s e , or a p a s s i o n , or both, I know by relation, not by experience. N e i t h e r could title, wealth, power, or p e r s o n entice me to love. B u t my love was h o n e s t a n d honorable, being p l a c e d u p o n merit; which a f f e c t i o n j o y e d at the f a m e of his worth, p l e a s e d with delight in his wit, p r o u d of the r e s p e c t s he u s e d to m e , a n d triumphing in the a f f e c t i o n s he p r o f e s s e d for m e . . . . A n d though my lord hath lost his estate, a n d b a n i s h e d out of his country for his loyalty to his king a n d country, yet neither despised poverty nor p i n c h i n g necessity c o u l d m a k e him break the b o n d s of friendship, or w e a k e n his loyal duty to his king or country. *

W h e n I am writing any sad f e i g n e d stories or serious h u m o r s or melancholy p a s s i o n s , I am f o r c e d m a n y times to express t h e m with the t o n g u e before I c a n write t h e m with the pen, by reason t h o s e t h o u g h t s that are sad, serious, a n d melancholy are apt to contract a n d to draw b a c k too m u c h , which oppression doth as it were overpower or s m o t h e r the c o n c e p t i o n in the brain. B u t w h e n s o m e of t h o s e t h o u g h t s are sent out in words, they give the rest m o r e liberty to place themselves in a m o r e methodical order, m a r c h i n g m o r e regularly with my p e n on the g r o u n d of white p a p e r . B u t my letters s e e m rather as a ragged rout, than a well-armed body, for the brain being quicker in creating than the h a n d in writing, or the m e m o r y in retaining, m a n y f a n c i e s are lost by reason they o f t t i m e s outrun the pen. W h e r e I, to keep s p e e d in the race, write so fast as I stay not so long as to write my letters plain, i n s o m u c h as s o m e have taken my handwriting for s o m e strange character. 6 . . . My only trouble is lest my brain s h o u l d grow barren, or that the root of my f a n c i e s should b e c o m e insipid, withering into a dull stupidity, for want of m a t u r i n g subjects to write on. $

S i n c e I have writ in general thus far of my life, I think it fit, I s h o u l d s p e a k s o m e t h i n g of my h u m o r , particular practice, a n d disposition. As for my h u m o r , I was f r o m my childhood given to c o n t e m p l a t i o n , being m o r e taken or 5. Disposition. William Cavendish (1593—1676), a general in the king's army, fled to the Continent in 1644. Margaret was his second wife, whom he

married in 1645 in Paris, 6. Alphabet,

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A TRUE

RELATION OF

MY BIRTH,

B R E E D I N G , AND

LIFE

1779

delighted with t h o u g h t s than in conversation with a society, in so m u c h as I would walk two or three hours, a n d never rest, in a m u s i n g , considering, contemplating m a n n e r , r e a s o n i n g with myself of everything my s e n s e s did present. . . . Likewise I h a d a natural stupidity towards the learning of any other lang u a g e than my native tongue, for I c o u l d sooner a n d with m o r e facility understand the s e n s e than r e m e m b e r the words, a n d for want of s u c h m e m o r y m a k e s me so u n l e a r n e d in foreign l a n g u a g e s as I a m : as for my practice, 7 I was never very active, by reason I was given so m u c h to c o n t e m p l a t i o n . . . . As for my study of books it w a s little, yet I c h o s e rather to read, than to employ my time in any other work, or practice, a n d w h e n I read what I u n d e r s t o o d not, I would a s k my brother, the lord L u c a s , he b e i n g learned, the s e n s e of m e a n i n g thereof; but my serious study could not be m u c h , by r e a s o n I took great delight in attiring, fine dressing, and f a s h i o n s , especially s u c h f a s h i o n s as I did invent myself, not taking that p l e a s u r e in s u c h f a s h i o n s as was invented by others: also I did dislike any should follow my f a s h i o n s , for I always took delight in a singularity, even in the a c c o u t r e m e n t s of habits, but whatsoever I was a d d i c t e d to, either in f a s h i o n of clothes, c o n t e m p l a t i o n s of thoughts, a c t i o n s of life, they were lawful, honorable, a n d m o d e s t , of which I c a n a v o u c h to the world with a great c o n f i d e n c e , b e c a u s e it is a p u r e truth.

I am a great e m u l a t o r ; for t h o u g h I wish n o n e worse than they are, yet it is lawful for me to wish myself the best, and to do my h o n e s t endeavor thereunto; for I think it no crime to wish myself the exactest 8 of N a t u r e ' s works, my thread of life the longest, my chain of destiny the strongest, my mind the p e a c e a b l e s t , my life the p l e a s a n t e s t , my d e a t h the easiest, a n d the greatest saint in heaven. Also to do my endeavor, so far as h o n o r and honesty doth allow of, to be the highest on fortune's wheel, a n d to hold the wheel f r o m turning if I c a n ; a n d if it be c o m m e n d a b l e to wish another's good, it were a sin not to wish my own; for as envy is a vice, so e m u l a t i o n is a virtue, but e m u l a t i o n is in the way to ambition, or i n d e e d it is a noble ambition. B u t I fear my ambition inclines to vainglory, for I am very a m b i t i o u s ; yet 'tis neither for beauty, wit, titles, wealth, or power, but as they are s t e p s to raise me to f a m e ' s tower, which is to live by r e m e m b r a n c e on after-ages. . . . B u t I h o p e my readers will not think me vain for writing my life, since there have b e e n m a n y that have d o n e the like, as C a e s a r , Ovid, 9 a n d many m o r e , both m e n a n d w o m e n , a n d I know no r e a s o n I may not do it as well as they: b u t I verily believe s o m e c e n s u r i n g readers will scornfully say, W h y hath this lady writ her own life? since n o n e c a r e s to know w h o s e d a u g h t e r she was, or w h o s e wife s h e is, or how she w a s bred, or what fortunes she had, or how she lived, or what h u m o r or disposition she w a s of? I answer that it is true, that 'tis to no p u r p o s e to the readers, but it is to the a u t h o r e s s , b e c a u s e I write it for my own sake, not theirs; neither did I intend this piece for to delight, but to divulge; not to p l e a s e the f a n c y but to tell the truth, lest after-ages s h o u l d mistake, in not knowing I w a s d a u g h t e r to o n e M a s t e r L u c a s 1 of St. J o h n s , near C o l c h e s t e r , in Essex, s e c o n d wife to the L o r d 7. Refers, probably, to practicing a musical instrument, music being an accomplishment cultivated by highborn young ladies. 8. Most perfect. 9. Julius Caesar wrote an account of his military campaigns ( Commentaries ); the Roman poet Ovid wrote poems ostensibly about his own life and

loves. 1. Thomas Lucas (ca. 1573—1625), a gentleman of large fortune and estates. Margaret describes him as "not a peer of the realm, yet there were few peers who had much greater estates, or lived more noble therewith."

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1780

MARGARET CAVENDISH

M a r q u i s o f N e w c a s t l e ; for m y lord h a v i n g h a d two wives, I m i g h t easily h a v e b e e n m i s t a k e n , e s p e c i a l l y if I s h o u l d die a n d my lord m a r r y a g a i n . 1656

The Blazing World

Part romance, part Utopia, and part science fiction, The Blazing World is also an idealized version of Cavendish's own ideas and fantasies in that it portrays the effortless rise of a woman to absolute power. It begins in the vein of romance: a young woman is abducted and miraculously saved as a tempest carries the abductors' boat to the North Pole and on to another universe, the Blazing World, whose emperor promptly marries her and turns over the entire government of the realm to her. It takes on a Utopian character, as the new empress learns from the fantastically diverse inhabitants about their numerous scientific experiments and about the royalist politics and religious uniformity of the place. S h e then brings Margaret Cavendish to be her scribe and returns with Margaret (in the state of disembodied spirits and Platonic friends) to visit and learn about Margaret's world and Margaret's husband, the duke; she also puts down a rebellion at home and subjects other nations to her beneficent rule. Cavendish's preface makes a bold claim for authorial self-sufficiency, equating her creation of and rule over her textual world with the conquering and ruling of empires by C a e s a r and Alexander. S h e emphasizes the satisfactions of authorship, but in doing so she also underscores the social and political restrictions on women that have confined her sphere of action to an imagined world.

The Description of a New World, Called The Blazing World1 To

the

Reader

* * ' T h i s is t h e r e a s o n , w h y I a d d e d this p i e c e of f a n c y to my p h i l o s o p h i c a l o b s e r v a t i o n s , a n d j o i n e d t h e m a s two w o r l d s a t the e n d s o f their p o l e s ; b o t h for m y o w n s a k e , t o divert m y s t u d i o u s t h o u g h t s , w h i c h I e m p l o y e d i n t h e c o n t e m p l a t i o n t h e r e o f , a n d t o d e l i g h t the r e a d e r with variety, w h i c h i s a l w a y s p l e a s i n g . B u t lest m y f a n c y s h o u l d stray t o o m u c h , I c h o s e s u c h a f i c t i o n a s w o u l d be a g r e e a b l e to t h e s u b j e c t t r e a t e d of in t h e f o r m e r p a r t s ; it is a d e s c r i p tion of a n e w world, n o t s u c h as L u c i a n ' s or the F r e n c h - m a n ' s world in the m o o n ; 2 b u t a world of my o w n c r e a t i n g , w h i c h I call the B l a z i n g W o r l d : the f i r s t p a r t w h e r e o f i s r o m a n c i c a l , t h e s e c o n d p h i l o s o p h i c a l , a n d the third i s m e r e l y f a n c y , or ( a s I m a y call it) f a n t a s t i c a l , w h i c h if it a d d a n y s a t i s f a c t i o n to y o u , I shall a c c o u n t m y s e l f a h a p p y c r e a t o r e s s ; if n o t , I m u s t be c o n t e n t to live a m e l a n c h o l y life in my o w n w o r l d ; I c a n n o t call it a p o o r world, if poverty b e only w a n t o f g o l d , silver, a n d j e w e l s ; f o r t h e r e i s m o r e g o l d i n i t t h a n all t h e c h e m i s t s ever did, a n d (as I verily believe) will ever be a b l e to m a k e . As f o r the r o c k s o f d i a m o n d s , I w i s h w i t h all m y s o u l they m i g h t b e s h a r e d a m o n g s t 1 . The Blazing World was published in 1666 and 1668, together with Newcastle's Observations upon Experimental Philosophy, a critique of the new science emphasizing the limitations of experiment founded on human perception and such instruments as the microscope and the telescope.

2. Cyrano de Bergerac (1619—1655), author of Histoire comique lies etats et empires de la tune (1656). The Greek satirist Lucian of Samosata (125—200? C.E.) wrote dialogues about an imaginary voyage, translated in 1634.

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THE

BLAZING WORLD

1781

my noble female friends, and upon that condition, I would willingly quit my part; and of the gold I should only desire so much as might suffice to repair my noble lord and husband's losses: 3 for I am not covetous, but as ambitious as ever any of my sex was, is, or can be; which makes, that though I cannot be Henry the Fifth, or Charles the Second, yet I endeavor to be Margaret the First; and although I have neither power, time nor occasion to conquer the world as Alexander and Caesar did; yet rather than not to be mistress of one, since-fortune and the fates would give me none, I have made a world of my own: for which nobody, I hope, will blame me, since it is in everyone's power to do the like. * * * No sooner was the lady brought before the emperor, but he conceived her to be some goddess, and offered to worship her; which she refused, telling him, (for by that time she had pretty well learned their language) that although she came out of another world, yet was she but a mortal; at which the emperor rejoicing, made her his wife, and gave her an absolute power to rule and govern all that world as she pleased. But her subjects, who could hardly be persuaded to believe her mortal, tendered her all the veneration and worship due to a deity. . . . Their priests and governors were princes of the imperial blood, and made eunuchs for that purpose; and as for the ordinary sort of men in that part of the world where the emperor resided, they were of several complexions; not white, black, tawny, olive or ash-colored; but some appeared of an azure, some of a deep purple, some of a grass-green, some of a scarlet, some of an orange color, etc. Which colors and complexions, whether they were made by the bare reflection of light, without the assistance of small particles, or by the help of well-ranged and ordered atoms; or by a continual agitation of little globules; or by some pressing and reacting motion, I am not able to determine. The rest of the inhabitants of that world, were men of several different sorts, shapes, figures, dispositions, and humors, as I have already made mention heretofore; some were bear-men, some worm-men, some fish- or mear-men, 4 otherwise called sirens; some bird-men, some fly-men, some ant-men, some geese-men, some spider-men, some lice-men, some fox-men, some ape-men, some jackdaw-men, some magpie-men, some parrot-men, some satyrs, some giants, and many more, which I cannot all remember; and of these several sorts of men, each followed such a profession as was most proper for the nature of their species, which the empress encouraged them in, especially those that had applied themselves to the study of several arts and sciences; for they were as ingenious and witty in the invention of profitable and useful arts, as we are in our world, nay, more; and to that end she erected schools, and founded several societies. The bear-men were to be her experimental philosophers, the bird-men her astronomers, the fly-, worm-, and fish-men her natural philosophers, the ape-men her chemists, the satyrs her Galenic physicians, the foxmen her politicians, the spider- and lice-men her mathematicians, the jackdaw-, magpie-, and parrot-men her orators and logicians, the giants her architects, etc. But before all things, she having got a sovereign power from 3. Cavendish's husband, William, was formally banished from England and his estates confiscated in 1649; they were all restored after the Restoration. During his banishment Margaret estimated

that he suffered financial losses of around £940,000. 4. M e r m e n , the male counterparts of mermaids.

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1782

MARGARET CAVENDISH

the emperor over all the world, desired to be informed both of the manner of their religion and government, and to that end she called the priests and statesmen, to give her an account of either. Of the statesmen she inquired, first, why they had so few laws? To which they answered, that many laws made many divisions, which most commonly did breed factions, and at last break out into open wars. Next, she asked, why they preferred the monarchical form of government before any other? They answered, that as it was natural for one body to have "but one head, so it was also natural for a politic body to have but one governor; and that a commonwealth, which had many governors, was like a monster with many heads: besides, said they, a monarchy is a divine form of government, and agrees most with our religion; for as there is but one God, whom we all unanimously worship and adore with one faith, so we are resolved to have but one emperor, to whom we all submit with one obedience. Then the empress seeing that the several sorts of her subjects had each their churches apart, asked the priests whether they were of several religions? They answered Her Majesty, that there was no more but one religion in all that world, nor no diversity of opinions in that same religion; for though there were several sorts of men, yet had they all but one opinion concerning the worship and adoration of God. The empress asked them, whether they were Jews, Turks, or Christians? We do not know, said they, what religions those are; but we do all unanimously acknowledge, worship, and adore the only, omnipotent, and eternal God, with all reverence, submission, and duty. Again, the empress inquired, whether they had several forms of worship? They answered, no: for our devotion and worship consists only in prayers, which we frame according to our several necessities, in petitions, humiliations, thanksgiving, etc. Truly, replied the empress, I thought you had been either Jews, or Turks, because I never perceived any women in your congregations; but what is the reason, you bar them from your religious assemblies? It is not fit, said they, that men and women should be promiscuously together in time of religious worship; for their company hinders devotion, and makes many, instead of praying to God, direct their devotion to their mistresses. But, asked the empress, have they no congregation of their own, to perform the duties of divine worship, as well as men? No, answered they: but they stay at home, and say their prayers by themselves in their closets. 5 Then the empress desired to know the reason why the priests and governors of their world were made eunuchs? They answered, to keep them from marriage: for women and children most commonly make disturbance both in church and state. But, said she, women and children have no employment in church or state. 'Tis true, answered they; but although they are not admitted to public employments, yet are they so prevalent 6 with their husbands and parents, that many times by their importunate persuasions, they cause as much, nay, more mischief secretly, than if they had the management of public affairs. *

[THE EMPRESS BRINGS THE DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE TO THE BLAZING

WORLD]

After some time, when the spirits had refreshed themselves in their own vehicles, they sent one of their nimblest spirits, to ask the empress, whether 5. Private chambers.

6. I.e., they prevail so much.

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THE

BLAZING WORLD

1783

she would have a scribe.* 4 * Then the spirit asked her, whether she would have the soul of a living or a dead man? Why, said the empress, can the soul quit a living body, and wander or travel abroad? Yes, answered he, for according to Plato's doctrine, there is a conversation of souls, and the souls of lovers live in the bodies of their beloved. Then I will have, answered she, the soul of some ancient famous writer, either of Aristotle, Pythagoras, Plato, Epicurus, 7 or the like. The spirit said, that those famous men were very learned, subtle, and ingenious writers, but they were so wedded to their own opinions, that they would never have the patience to be scribes. Then, said she, I'll have the soul of one of the most famous modern writers, as either of Galileo, Gassendus, Descartes, Helmont, Hobbes, H. More, 8 etc. The spirit answered, that they were fine ingenious writers, but yet so self-conceited, that they would scorn to be scribes to a woman. But, said he, there's a lady, the Duchess of Newcastle, which although she is not one of the most learned, eloquent, witty, and ingenious, yet is she a plain and rational writer, for the principle of her writings, is sense and reason, and she will without question, be ready to do you all the service she can. This lady then, said the empress, will I choose for my scribe, neither will the emperor have reason to be jealous, she being one of my own sex. In truth, said the spirit, husbands have reason to be jealous of platonic lovers, for they are very dangerous, as being not only very intimate and close, but subtle and insinuating. You say well, replied the empress; wherefore I pray send me the Duchess of Newcastle's soul; which the spirit did; and after she came to wait on the empress, at her first arrival the empress embraced and saluted her with a spiritual kiss.

[THE D U C H E S S WANTS A WORLD TO R U L E ]

Well, said the duchess, setting aside this dispute, my ambition is, that I would fain be as you are, that is, an empress of a world, and I shall never be at quiet until I be one. I love you so well, replied the empress, that I wish with all my soul, you had the fruition of your ambitious desire, and I shall not fail to give you my best advice how to accomplish it; the best informers are the immaterial spirits, and they'll soon tell you, whether it be possible to obtain your wish. But, said the duchess, I have little acquaintance with them, for I never knew any before the time you sent for me. They know you, replied the empress; for they told me of you, and were the means and instrument of your coming hither: wherefore I'll confer with them, and inquire whether there be not another world, whereof you may be empress as well as I am of this. No sooner had the empress said this, but some immaterial spirits came to visit her, of whom she inquired, whether there were but three worlds in all, to wit, the Blazing World where she was in, the world which she came from, and the world where the duchess lived? The spirits answered, that there were more numerous worlds than the stars which appeared in these three mentioned worlds. Then the empress asked, whether it was not possible, that her dearest 7. Classical philosophers and founders, respectively, of schools of philosophy: the Peripatetics, the Pythagoreans, the Academics, the Epicureans. 8. Galileo Galilei ( 1 5 6 4 - 1 6 4 2 ) , Italian astronomer and defender of the Copernican system; Pierre Gassendi (1592—1655), proponent of a mechanistic theory of matter; Rene Descartes (1596—1650),

French mathematician and philosopher who had a major influence on the new science; Jan Baptista van Helmont ( 1 5 7 9 - 1 6 4 4 ) , Flemish chemist; Thomas Hobbes, English mechanistic philosopher and political scientist, author of Leviathan; Henry More ( 1 6 1 4 - 1 6 8 7 ) , one of the antimaterialist Cambridge Platonists.

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1784

MARGARET CAVENDISH

friend the Duchess of Newcastle, might be empress of one of them. 9 Although there be numerous, nay, infinite worlds, answered the spirits, yet none is without government. But is none of these worlds so weak, said she, that it may be surprised or conquered? The spirits answered, that Lucian's world of lights, had been for some time in a snuff, 1 but of late years one Helmont had got it, who since he was emperor of it, had so strengthened the immortal parts thereof with mortal outworks, as it was for the present impregnable. Said the empress, if there be such an infinite number of worlds, I am sure, not only my friend, the duchess, but any other might obtain one. Yes, answered the spirits, if those worlds were uninhabited; but they are as populous as this, your majesty governs. Why, said the empress, it is not impossible to conquer a world. No, answered the spirits, but, for the most part, conquerors seldom enjoy their conquest, for they being more feared than loved, most commonly come to an untimely end. If you will but direct me, said the duchess to the spirits, which world is easiest to be conquered, her Majesty will assist me with means, and I will trust to fate and fortune; for I had rather die in the adventure of noble achievements, than live in obscure and sluggish security; since by the one, I may live in a glorious fame, and by the other I am buried in oblivion. The spirits answered, that the lives of fame were like other lives; for some lasted long, and some died soon. T i s true, said the duchess; but yet the shortest-lived fame lasts longer than the longest life of man. But, replied the spirits, if occasion does not serve you, you must content yourself to live without such achievements that may gain you a fame: but we wonder, proceeded the spirits, that you desire to be empress of a terrestrial world, whenas you can create yourself a celestial world if you please. What, said the empress, can any mortal be a creator? Yes, answered the spirits; for every human creature can create an immaterial world fully inhabited by immaterial creatures, and populous of immaterial subjects, such as we are, and all this within the compass of the head or skull; nay, not only so, but he may create a world of what fashion and government he will, and give the creatures thereof such motions, figures, forms, colors, perceptions, etc. as he pleases, and make whirlpools, lights, pressures, and reactions, etc. as he thinks best; nay, he may make a world full of veins, muscles, and nerves, and all these to move by one jolt or stroke: also he may alter that world as often as he pleases, or change it from a natural world, to an artificial; he may make a world of ideas, a world of atoms, a world of lights, or whatsoever his fancy leads him to. And since it is in your power to create such a world, what need you to venture life, reputation and tranquility, to conquer a gross material world? . . . You have converted me, said the duchess to the spirits, from my ambitious desire; wherefore I'll take your advice, reject and despise all the worlds without me, and create a world of my own. *

The Epilogue to the Reader By this poetical description, you may perceive, that my ambition is not only to be empress, but authoress of a whole world; and that the worlds I have made, both the Blazing and the other Philosophical World, mentioned in the first part of this description, are framed and composed of the most pure, that 9. Speculation about multiple inhabited worlds was an occasional topic in texts on the new astronomy. Milton's Raphael introduces the idea to

Adam (Paradise Lost 8.140—58). 1. On the point of extinction,

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JOHN MILTON

1785

is, the rational parts of matter, which are the parts of my mind; which creation was more easily and suddenly effected, than the conquests of the two famous monarchs of the world, Alexander and Caesar: 2 neither have I made such disturbances, and caused so many dissolutions of particulars, otherwise named deaths, as they did; for I have destroyed but some few men in a little boat, which died through the extremity of cold, and that by the hand of justice, which was necessitated to punish their crime of stealing away a young and beauteous lady. 3 And in the formation of those worlds, I take more delight and glory, than ever Alexander or Caesar did in conquering this terrestrial world; and though I have made my Blazing World, a peaceable world, allowing it but one religion, one language, and one government; yet could I make another world, as full of factions, divisions, and wars, as this is of peace and tranquility; and the rational figures of my mind might express as much courage to fight, as Hector and Achilles had; and be as wise as Nestor, as eloquent as Ulysses, and as beautiful as Helen. 4 But I esteeming peace before war, wit before policy, 5 honesty before beauty; instead of the figures of Alexander, Caesar, Hector, Achilles, Nestor, Ulysses, Helen, etc. chose rather the figure of honest Margaret Newcastle, which now I would not change for all this terrestrial world; and if any should like the world I have made, and be willing to be my subjects, they may imagine themselves such, and they are such, I mean, in their minds, fancies, or imaginations; but if they cannot endure to be subjects, they may create worlds of their own, and govern themselves as they please: but yet let them have a care, not to prove unjust usurpers, and to rob me of mine; for concerning the Philosophical World, I am empress of it myself; and as for the Blazing World, it having an empress already, who rules it with great wisdom and conduct, which empress is my dear platonic friend; I shall never prove so unjust, treacherous, and unworthy to her, as to disturb her government, much less to depose her from her imperial throne, for the sake of any other; but rather choose to create another world for another friend. 1666,1668 2. Alexander the Great and Julius C a e s a r were both f a m e d as conquerors of much of the world known to them. 3. A reference to the romancelike incident with which The Blazing World begins, the abduction of a young woman by a party of adventurers whose boat is blown in a tempest to the North Pole, where they perish (except for the woman, who enters into

JOHN

the Blazing World). 4. Hector the Trojan a n d Achilles the Greek are the principal heroes of Homer's Iliad; Nestor, wise adviser to the Greeks; Ulysses, hero of Homer's Odyssey, Helen, the one whose beauty c a u s e d the Trojan War, as it prompted the Trojan Paris to steal her away from her Greek husband, M e n e l a u s . 5. Intelligence before cunning.

MILTON

1608-1674 As a young man, J o h n Milton proclaimed himself the future author of a great English epic. He promised a p o e m devoted to the glory of the nation, centering on the deeds of King Arthur or s o m e other ancient hero. W h e n Milton finally published his epic thirty years later, readers found instead a p o e m about the Fall of S a t a n and humankind, set in Heaven, Hell, and the G a r d e n of Eden, in which traditional heroism is denigrated and England not once mentioned. W h a t lay between the youthful promise and the eventual fulfillment was a career marked by private tragedy and public controversy.

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1 1786

JOHN MILTON

In his p o e m s and prose tracts Milton often explores or alludes to crises in his own life: worries about fleeting time, the choice of a vocation and early death, painful disappointment in marriage, and the catastrophe of blindness, manifesting in this the heightened seventeenth-century concern with the self. At the s a m e time, no other major English poet has been so deeply involved in the great questions and political crises of his times. His works inscribe and help construct s o m e basic Western institutions, concepts, and attitudes that were taking on m o d e m form in his lifetime: companionate marriage, the new science and the new astronomy, freedom of the press, religious liberty and toleration, republicanism, and more. It is scarcely possible to treat Milton's career separately from the history of England in his lifetime, not only b e c a u s e he was an active participant in affairs of ch,urch and state, but also b e c a u s e when he signed himself, as he often did, "John Milton, E n g l i s h m a n , " he was presenting himself as England's prophetic bard, the s p o k e s m a n for the nation as a whole even w hen he found himself in a minority of one. As well, no English poet before Milton fashioned himself quite so self-consciously as an author. T h e young Milton deliberately set out to follow the steps of the ideal poetic career—beginning with pastoral (the mode prominent in several of his early English p o e m s ) and ending with epic. His models for this progression were Virgil and Spenser: he called the latter "a better teacher than S c o t u s or A q u i n a s . " In this approach to his vocation he stood at the opposite end of the spectrum from such Cavalier contemporaries as J o h n Suckling and Richard Lovelace, who turned to verse with an air of studied carelessness. Milton resembles S p e n s e r especially in his constant use of myth and archetype and also in his readiness to juxtapose biblical and classical stories. He is everywhere concerned with the conventions of genre, yet he infused every genre he used with new energy, transforming it for later practitioners. T h e Western literary and intellectual heritage impinged on his writing as immediately and directly as the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of his own life, but he continually reconceived the ideas, literary forms, and values of this heritage to make them relevant to himself and to his age. Milton's family was bourgeois, cultured, and staunchly Protestant. His father was a scrivener—a combination of solicitor, investment adviser, and moneylender—as well as an a m a t e u r composer with s o m e reputation in musical circles. Milton had a younger brother, Christopher, who practiced law, and an elder sister, Anne. At age seventeen he wrote a funeral elegy for the death of Anne's infant daughter and later educated her two sons, Edward and J o h n (Edward wrote his biography). Milton had private tutors at h o m e and also attended one of the finest schools in the land, St. Paul's. At school he began a long and close friendship with Charles Diodati, with whom he exchanged Latin poems and letters over several years, and for whose death in 1638 he W T O t e a moving Latin elegy. Milton was deeply grateful to his father for his excellent early education, especially in languages (Latin, Greek, Hebrew and its dialects, Italian, and French: later he learned S p a n i s h and Dutch). In 1625 Milton entered Christ's College, Cambridge. He was briefly suspended during his f r e s h m a n year over s o m e dispute with his tutor, but he graduated in 1629 and was made Master of Arts three years later. As his surviving student orations indicate, he was profoundly disappointed in his university education, reviling the scholastic logic and Latin rhetorical exercises that still formed its core as "futile and barren controversies and wordy d i s p u t e s " that "stupify and b e n u m b the mind." He went to university with the serious intention of taking orders in the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d — t h e obvious vocation for a young m a n of his scholarly and religious b e n t — but b e c a m e increasingly disenchanted with the lack of reformation in the church under Archbishop William Laud, and in the hindsight of 1642 he proclaimed himself "church-outed by the prelates." No doubt his c h a n g e of direction was also linked to the fastidious contempt he expressed for the ignorant and clownish clergymen-inthe-making who were his fellow students at Cambridge: "They thought themselves gallant men, and I thought them fools." T h o s e students retaliated by dubbing Milton "the Lady of Christ's College." Above all, Milton c a m e to believe more and more strongly that he was destined to

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JOHN

MILTON

1787

serve his language, his country, and his G o d as a poet. He began by writing occasional poetry in Latin, the usual language for collegiate poets and for poets who sought a E u r o p e a n audience. Milton wrote s o m e of the century's best Latin poems, but as early as 1628 he a n n o u n c e d to a university audience his determination to glorify E n g l a n d and the English language in poetry. In his first major English p o e m (at age twentyone), the hymn "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," Milton already portraved himself as a prophetic bard. This poem is very different from Richard Crashaw's Nativity hymn, with its Spenserian echoes, its allusion to R o m a n Catholic and L a u d i a n "idolatry" in the long p a s s a g e on the expulsion of the pagan gods, and its stunning moves from the Creation to Doomsday, from the manger at Bethlehem to the c o s m o s , and f r o m the shepherd's chatter to the m u s i c of the spheres. Two or three years later, probably, Milton wrote the c o m p a n i o n p o e m s "L'Allegro" and "II P e n s e r o s o , " achieving a stylistic tour de force by creating from the s a m e meter (octosyllabic couplets) entirely different s o u n d qualities, rhythmic effects, and moods. T h e s e p o e m s celebrate, respectively, Mirth and Melancholy, defining them by their ancestry, lifestyles, associates, l a n d s c a p e s , activities, music, and literature. In 1634, at the invitation of his musician friend Henry Lawes, he wrote the m a s q u e called Comns, in which the villain is portrayed as a refined, seductive, and dissolute Cavalier, and which challenges the absolutist politics of court m a s q u e s like Ben J o n s o n ' s Masque of Blackness or T h o m a s Carew's Coelum Britannicum by locating true virtue and good pleasure in the households of the country aristocracy rather than at court. After university, as part of his preparation for a poetic career, Milton undertook a six-year program of self-directed reading in ancient and modern theology, philosophy, history, science, politics, and literature. He was profoundly grateful to his father for sparing him the grubby business of making money and also for financing these years of private study, followed by a fifteen-month "grand tour" of France, Italy, and Switzerland. In 1638 Milton contributed the pastoral elegy " L y c i d a s " to a C a m b r i d g e volume lamenting the untimely death of a college contemporary. This greatest of English funeral elegies explores Milton's deep anxieties about poetry as a vocation, confronts the terrors of mortality in language of astonishing resonance and power, and incorporates a furious apocalyptic diatribe on the corrupt C h u r c h of E n g l a n d clergy. Nonetheless, while he was in Italy he exchanged verses and learned compliments with various Catholic intellectuals and men of letters, s o m e of whom b e c a m e his friends. Milton could always maintain friendships and family relationships across ideological divides. In 1645 his English and Latin p o e m s were published together in a

two-part

volume.

Poems

of Mr. fohn

Milton.

U p o n his return to England, Milton opened a school and was soon involved in Presbyterian efforts to depose the bishops and reform church liturgy, writing five "antiprelatical tracts" denouncing and satirizing bishops. T h e s e were the first in a series of political interventions Milton produced over the next twenty years, characterized by remarkable courage and independence of thought. He wrote successively on church government, divorce, education, freedom of the press, regicide, and republicanism. From the outbreak of the Civil War in 1642 until his death, Milton allied himself with the Puritan c a u s e , but his religious opinions developed throughout his life, from relative orthodoxy in his youth to ever more heretical positions in his later years. And while his family belonged to the class that benefited m o s t directly from Europe's first bourgeois revolution, his brother, Christopher, fought on the royalist side. T h e Milton brothers, like most of their contemporaries, did not see these wars as a confrontation of class interests, but as a conflict between radically differing theories of government and, above all, religion. S o m e of Milton's treatises were prompted by personal concerns or crises. He interrupted

his

polemical

tract,

The

Reason

of Church

Government

Urged

Against

Prelaty

(1642), to devote several pages to a discussion of his poetic vocation and the great works he hoped to produce in the future. His tracts about divorce, which can hardly have seemed the most pressing of issues in the strife-torn years 1643—45, were motivated by his personal experience of a disastrous marriage. Aged thirty-three, inexpe-

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1 788

JOHN MILTON

rienced with women, and idealistic about marriage as in e s s e n c e a union of minds and spirits, he married a young w o m a n of seventeen, Mary Powell, who returned to her royalist family just a few months after the marriage. In response, Milton wrote several tracts vigorously advocating divorce on the grounds of incompatibility and with the right to remarry—a position almost unheard of at the time and one that required a boldly antiliteral reading of the G o s p e l s . T h e fact that these tracts could not be licensed and were roundly d e n o u n c e d in Parliament, from pulpits, and in print prompted him to write Areopagitica ( 1 6 4 4 ) , an impassioned d e f e n s e of a free press and the free c o m m e r c e in ideas against a Parliament determined to restore effective censorship. He saw these personal i s s u e s — r e f o r m e d poetry, domestic liberty achieved through needful divorce, and a free p r e s s — a s vital to the creation of a reformed English culture. In 1649, just after C h a r l e s I was executed, Milton published The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates (go to p a g e 1748 and to Norton Literature Online for extracts from the Tenure), which defends the revolution and the regicide and was of considerable importance in developing a "contract theory" of government based on the inalienable sovereignty of the p e o p l e — a version of contract very different from that of T h o m a s Hobbes. Milton was appointed Latin Secretary to the C o m m o n w e a l t h government (1649—53) and to Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate (1654—58), which meant that he wrote the official letters—mostly in Latin—to foreign governments and heads of state. He also wrote polemical defenses of the new government: Eikonoklastes ( 1 6 4 9 ) , to counter the powerful emotional effect of Eikon Basilike, supposedly written by the king j u s t before his death (an excerpt is included on Norton Literature Online), and two Latin Defenses upholding the regicide and the new republic to E u r o p e a n audiences. During these years Milton suffered a series of agonizing tragedies. Mary Powell returned to him in 1645 but died in childbirth in 1652, leaving four children; the only son, J o h n , died a few months later. That s a m e year Milton b e c a m e totally blind; he thought his boyhood habit of reading until midnight had weakened his eyesight and that writing his first Defense to answer the f a m o u s French scholar C l a u d i u s S a l m a s i u s had destroyed it. Milton married again in 1656, apparently happily, but his new wife, Katherine Woodcock, was dead two years later, along with their infant daughter. Katherine is probably the subject of his sonnet " M e t h o u g h t I Saw My L a t e E s p o u s e d Saint," a moving dream vision poignant with the sense of loss—both of sight and of love. Milton had little time for poetry in these years, but his few sonnets revolutionized the genre, overlaying the Petrarchan metrical structure with an urgent rhetorical voice and using the small sonnet form, hitherto confined mainly to matters of love, for new and grand subjects: praises of Cromwell and other statesmen mixed with admonition and political advice; a prophetic denunciation calling down God's vengeance for Protestants m a s s a c r e d in Piedmont; and an emotion-filled a c c o u n t of his continuing struggle to c o m e to terms with his blindness as part of God's providence. Cromwell's death in 1658 led to mounting chaos and a growing belief that a restored Stuart monarchy was inevitable. Milton held out against that tide. His several tracts of 1 6 5 9 - 6 0 developed radical arguments for broad toleration, church disestablishment, and republican government. And just as he was a m o n g the first to attack the power of the bishops, so he was virtually the last defender of the " G o o d Old C a u s e " of the Revolution; the second edition of his Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth appeared in late April 1660, scarcely two weeks before the Restoration, when the monarchy was restored. For several months after that event, Milton was in hiding, his life in danger. Friends, especially the poet Andrew Marvell, m a n a g e d to secure his pardon and later his release from a brief imprisonment. He lived out his last years in reduced circumstances, plagued by ever more serious attacks of gout but grateful for the domestic comforts provided by his third wife, Elizabeth Minshull, whom he married in 1663 and who survived him. In such conditions, dismayed by the defeat of his political and religious cause, totally blind and often ill, threatened by the horrific plague of 1665 and the great fire

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ON THE

MORNING OF

C H R I S T ' S NATIVITY

1789

of 1666, and entirely dependent on amanuenses and friends to transcribe his dictation, he completed his great epic poem. Paradise Lost (1667/74) radically reconceives the epic genre and epic heroism, choosing as protagonists a domestic couple rather than martial heroes and degrading the military glory celebrated in epic tradition in favor of "the better fortitude / Of patience and heroic martyrdom." It offers a sweeping imaginative vision of Hell, Chaos, and Heaven; prelapsarian life in Eden; the power of the devil's political rhetoric; the psychology of Satan, Adam, and Eve; and the high drama of the Fall and its aftermath. In his final years, Milton published works on grammar and logic chiefly written during his days as a schoolmaster, a history of Britain (1670) from the earliest times to the Norman Conquest, and a treatise urging toleration for Puritan dissenters (1673). He also continued work on his Christian Doctrine, a Latin treatise that reveals how far he had moved from the orthodoxies of his day. The work denies the Trinity (making the Son and the Holy Spirit much inferior to God the Father), insists upon free will against Calvinist predestination, and privileges the inspiration of the Spirit even above the Scriptures and the Ten Commandments. S u c h radical and heterodox positions could not be made public in his lifetime, certainly not in the repressive conditions of the Restoration, and Milton's Christian Doctrine was subsequently lost to view for over 150 years. In 1671 Milton published two poems that resonated with the harsh repression and the moral and political challenges all Puritan dissenters faced after the Restoration. Paradise Regained, a brief epic in four books, treats Jesus' Temptation in the Wilderness as an intellectual struggle through which the hero comes to understand both himself and his mission and through which he defeats Satan by renouncing the whole panoply of false or faulty versions of the good life and of God's kingdom. Samson Agonistes, a classical tragedy, is the more harrowing for the resemblances between its tragic hero and its author. The deeply flawed, pain-wracked, blind, and defeated Samson struggles, in dialogues with his visitors, to gain self-knowledge, discovering at last a desperate way to triumph over his captors and offer his people a chance to regain their freedom. (The tragedy in its entirety is available on Norton Literature Online.) In these last poems Milton sought to educate his readers in moral and political wisdom and virtue. Only through such inner transformation, Milton now firmly believed, would men and women come to value—and so perhaps reclaim—the intellectual, religious, and political freedom he so vigorously promoted in his prose and poetry.

FROM

POEMS

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity1 1 This is the m o n t h , a n d this the happy morn Wherein the son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded m a i d and virgin mother born, Our great redemption f r o m above did bring;

1. This ode was written on Christmas ] 629, a few weeks after Milton's twenty-first birthday. He placed it first in the 1645 edition of his poems, claiming in it his vocation as inspired poet. The poem often looks back to Spenser: the first four stanzas are an adaptation of the Spenserian stanza;

there are several Spenserian archaisms (}- prefixes) and some Spenser-like onamatopoeia (lines 1 56, 172). Comparison with Crashaw's Nativity poem (p. 1645) will highlight some important differences between Roman Catholic and Puritan aesthetics in this period.

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1 1790

JOHN MILTON

For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit 2 should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. 2

That glorious form, that light unsufferable, 0 unable to be endured And that far-beaming blaze of majesty Wherewith he wont 0 at Heaven's high council-table was accustomed To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 3 He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 3

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven by the sun's team untrod 4 20 Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host 0 keep watch in squadrons bright?

angels

See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wizards 5 haste with odors sweet: O run, prevent 0 them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel choir, From out His secret altar touched with hallowed fire. 6

anticipate

The Hymn 1 It was the winter wild While the Heaven-born child All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him Had doffed her gaudy trim 7 With her great Master so to sympathize; 35 It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

2. The sentence of death consequent on the Fall. "Holy sages": for example, the prophet Isaiah (chaps. 9 and 40) and Job (chap. 19) were thought to have foretold Christ as Messiah. 3. The Trinity: Father, Son (incarnate in Christ), and Holy Ghost. 4. In classical myth, the sun (Phoebus Apollo)

drove across heaven in a chariot drawn by horses. 5. The Magi who followed the star of Bethlehem to find and adore the infant Christ. 6. Isaiah's lips were touched by a burning coal from the altar, purifying him and confirming him as a prophet (Isaiah 6.7). 7. Put off her garments of leaves and flowers.

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ON THE

M O R N I N G OF C H R I S T ' S NATIVITY

1791

Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front 0 with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, T h e saintly veil of maiden white to throw, 8 C o n f o u n d e d that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

brow

3 45

But he her fears to cease Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, 9 His ready harbinger, 0 With turtle 1 wing the amorous clouds dividing, And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

forerunner

4 No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around; 2 55 The idle spear and shield were high up-hung; The hooked chariot 3 stood Unstained with hostile blood, The trumpet spake not to the armed throng, And kings sat still with awful 0 eye, filled 60 As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.

with awe

But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The v\inds, with wonder whist, 0 Smoothly the waters kissed, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm 4 sit brooding on the charmed wave.

hushed

The stars with deep amaze Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,

8. Nature fell also with the Fall, so she is a harlot (line 36), not a pure maiden, despite her white garment of snow. 9. The Ptolemaic spheres, revolving around the earth. 1. Like a turtledove, which, like the myrtle (next line), is an emblem of Venus (Love), as the olive crown is of peace.

2. Around the time of Christ's birth, the "Peace of Augustus" held, during which no major wars disturbed the Roman Empire; that peace was sometimes attributed to Christ. 3. War chariots were built with scythelike hooks on the axles, to wound and kill. 4. Kingfishers (halcyons) were thought to calm the seas during the time they nested on its waves.

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1 1792

JOHN MILTON

Bending one way their precious influence, And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer 5 that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, 0 and bid them go.

spoke out

And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame As° his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun 6 appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree 0 could bear.

as if chariot axle

The shepherds on the lawn just before

Or ere the p o i n t o f 3 d a w n

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they than 0 That the mighty Pan 7 Was kindly 8 come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves or else their sheep Was all that did their silly 0 thoughts so busy keep.

then

simple, humble

IOO

When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger struck, Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took; The air, such pleasure loath to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 0

cadence

105

Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, 9 the airy region thrilling, 0 Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.

5. Not Satan but the morning star, Venus. 6. The familiar Son/sun pun. 7. Pan, patron of shepherds, is a merry, goatfooted god, but he was often conceived in more exalted terms and identified with Christ, because his name in Greek means "all."

piercing, delighting

8. By nature; also, benevolently. 9. Cynthia is the moon. Nature rules below the moon (the region of the four elements and subject to decay). The unchanging, perfect region above the moon is normally the only place one could hear either angels' hymnody or the music of the spheres.

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ON THE

M O R N I N G OF C H R I S T ' S NATIVITY

1793

11 no

115

At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed; 0 The helmed cherubim And sworded seraphim 1 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn choir With unexpressive 0 notes to Heaven's newborn heir.

adorned with rays

inexpressible

120

Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, 2 While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges 0 hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep.

the

two poles

125

130

Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony 3 Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony. 14

135

140

For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; 4 And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mold, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 15

Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, 1. Seraphim and cherubim are the highest of the traditional nine orders of angels; they are often portrayed in martial attire. 2. Job 38.4—7: "Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? . . . / When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" 3. In Pythagorean theory, each of the nine moving

spheres sounds a distinctive note (the tenth, the primum mobile, does not move). It was supposed that, after the Fall, this harmonious music of the spheres could not be heard on earth. Earth would be the "bass" of the cosmic organ, sounding under that planetary harmony. 4. The first age, of human innocence, classical mythology's equivalent to the Garden of Eden.

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1 1794

JOHN MILTON

T h ' e n a m e l e d a r r a s 0 of t h e r a i n b o w w e a r i n g ,

145

brightly colored fabric

And Mercy set between, 5 Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued 6 clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. 16

i5o

155

But wisest Fate says no, This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy 7 That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first to those ychained" in sleep The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep, 17

160

With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smoldering clouds outbrake; The aged earth, aghast With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake, When at the world's last session, The dreadful J u d g e in middle air shall spread His throne. 9 18

165

170

And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day Th' old dragon under ground,' In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway, And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges 0 the scaly horror of his folded tail.

lashes

19 The oracles are dumb; 2 No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 5. This allegorical scene, suggesting a masque descent, alludes to Psalm 85.10, part of the liturgy for Christmas: "Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." Peace, in the poem, has already descended (lines 45—52). The lines also evoke the flight of Astraea, the classical goddess of justice, at the end of the Golden Age, and her return with its restoration, celebrated by Virgil in his fourth eclogue, applied by him to the birth of Pollio but by Christians to Christ. 6. Cloth woven with silver and gold.

7. The Latin word, infans, means, literally, "nonspeaking." 8. One of Spenser's archaic y- prefixes. 9. Moses received the Ten Commandments amid thunder and lightning atop Mount Sinai (Exodus 19); the Last Judgment will take place amid similar uproar. "Session": court proceeding. 1. The devil (Revelation 20.2). 2. An ancient tradition held that pagan oracles ceased with the coming of Christ; another identified the pagan gods with the fallen angels.

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ON THE

180

M O R N I N G OF C H R I S T ' S NATIVITY

1795

Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 3 No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 20

185

The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edged with the poplar pale, The parting genius 4 is with sighing sent; With flower-in-woven tresses torn The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 21

190

195

In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth, The lars and lemures 5 moan with midnight plaint; In urns and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens 6 at their sendee quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. 22

200

Peor and Baalim' Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine, 8 And mooned Ashtaroth, 9 Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Libyc Hammon' shrinks 0 his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 2

draws

205

And sullen Moloch, 3 fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring

3. Apollo's main shrine was at Delphi, on the slopes of Mount Parnassus. 4. A local deity guarding a particular place. 5. Spirits of the dead. "Lars": household gods. 6. Roman priests. 7. Other manifestations of Baal, a Canaanite sun god. 8. Dagon, the Philistine god whose image at Ashdod was twice thrown down when the Ark of the Covenant was placed beside it (1 Samuel 5.2—4). 9. Ashtaroth, also known as Astarte, was a Phoenician fertility goddess identified with the moon.

1. Hammon, also Ammon, an Egyptian and Libyan god, depicted as a ram. 2. Thammuz, lover of Ashtaroth, was killed by a boar and lamented by the Phoenician women; he was taken into the Greek pantheon as Adonis. 3. Moloch was a Phoenician fire god, a brazen idol with a human body and a calf's head; the statue ("his burning idol," line 207) was heated flaming hot and children were thrown into its embrace, with cymbals drowning out their cries (2 Kings 22.10).

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1 1796

210

JOHN MILTON

They call the grisly Icing In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 4 Isis and Orus and the dog Anubis haste. 24

215

220

Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshowered° grass with lowings loud, Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud. In vain with timbrelled anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. 5

rainless

225

He feels from Judah's land The dreaded Infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne;° Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine; Our Babe, to show his godhead true, C a n in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. 6

eyes

26 So when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient 0 wave, eastern, bright The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail; Each fettered ghost slips to his several 0 grave; separate And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 7

230

235

27 But see! the Virgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending. Heaven's youngest-teemed 0 star Hath fixed her polished car, 0 Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed 0 angels sit in order serviceable.

240

latest bom gleaming chariot bright-armored 1645

1629 4. Egyptian gods had some features of animals: Isis (next line) was represented with cow's horns, Orus, or Horus, with a hawk's head; Osiris (lines 213—15) sometimes had the shape of a bull. 5. Osiris's image was carried from temple to temple in a wooden chest, and his priests accompanied it with tambourines ("timbrels").

6. Typhon was a hundred-headed monster who was a serpent below the waist, a figure for the devil. The infant Christ controlling him calls up (as a foreshadowing) the story of the infant Hercules strangling two giant serpents in his cradle. 7. Fairy rings. "Night-steeds": horses drawing Night's chariot.

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L'ALLEGRO

1797

On Shakespeare 1 What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones The labor of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing 2 pyramid? Dear son of memory, 3 great heir of fame, What 0 need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong 0 monument. For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavoring art Thy easy numbers 0 flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued 0 book Those Delphic 4 lines with deep impression took, Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too m u c h conceiving; 5 And so sepulchered in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

why enduring

invaluable

1632

1630

L'Allegro1

Hence loathed Melancholy, 2 Of Cerberus 3 and blackest midnight born, In Stygian 4 cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth 0 cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings; There under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian 5 desert ever dwell. But c o m e thou goddess fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 6

1. This tribute, Milton's first published poem, appeared in the Second Folio of Shakespeare's plays (1632). 2. A Spenserian archaism. 3. As "son of memory" Shakespeare is a brother of the Muses, who are the daughters of Mnemosyne (Memory). 4. Apollo, god of poetry, had his oracle at Delphi. 5. Shakespeare's mesmerized readers are themselves his ("marble") monument. 1. The companion poems "L'Allegro" and "II Penseroso" are both written in tetrameter couplets, except for the first ten lines, but Milton's virtuosity produces entirely different tempos and sound qualities in the two poems. The Italian titles name, respectively, the cheerful, mirthful man and the melancholy, contemplative man. The poems are carefully balanced and their different values celebrated, though "11 Penseroso's" greater length and final coda may intimate that life's superiority. Mirth, the presiding deity of "L'Allegro," is

desolate

described in terms that evoke Botticelli's presentation of the Grace Euphrosyne (youthful mirth) and her sisters in his Primavera. 2. The black melancholy recognized and here exorcized by Mirth's man is a disease leading to madness. "II Penseroso" celebrates "white" melancholy as the temperament of the scholarly, contemplative man, represented in Durer's famous engraving Melancholy. Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy treats the entire range of possibilities. 3. The three-headed hellhound of classical mythology. 4. Near the river Styx, in the underworld. 5. Homer's Cimmereans ( Odyssey 11.13—19) live on the outer edge of the world, in perpetual darkness. 6. The three Graces—Euphrosyne (four syllables) figuring Youthful Mirth; Aglaia, Brilliance; and Thalia, Bloom—were commonly taken to be offspring of Venus (Love and Beauty) and Bacchus (god of wine). Milton proceeds, however, to devise

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1 1798

JOHN MILTON

And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown° roses washed in dew, Filled her with thee a daughter fair, , So buxom,° blithe, and debonair. Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity, Q u i p s 0 and Cranks," and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks,° and wreathed Smiles, S u c h as hang on Hebe's 7 cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. C o m e , and trip it° as ye go On the light fantastic toe, And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; And if I give thee honor due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved 0 pleasures free; To hear the lark begin his flight, And, singing, startle the dull night, From his watchtower in the sides, Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to c o m e in spite oP sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweetbriar or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine. While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar° hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Sometime walking not unseen By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate, Where the great sun begins his state, 8

another, more innocent parentage for Euphrosyne (ascribing it to "some sager," lines I 7 - 2 4 ) : Zephyr, the West Wind, and Aurora, goddess of the Dawn.

newly

opened lively

witty

sayings

/ jokes

beckoninas

dance

irreproachable

in defiance of

7. Goddess of youth and cupbearer to the gods, 8. Stately procession, as by a monarch,

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L'ALLEGRO

IOO

105

Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight;° While the plowman near at hand Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight 0 mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows 0 gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The laboring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied,° Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure 9 of neighboring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met Are at their savory dinner set Of herbs and other country messes, Which the neat-handed 0 Phyllis dresses; And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis 1 to bind the sheaves; Or if the earlier season lead To the tanned 0 haycock in the mead. Sometimes with secure 0 delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round And the jocund rebecks 2 sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the checkered shade; And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday, Till the livelong daylight fail; Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How fairy Mab the junkets 3 eat; She was pinched and pulled, she said, And he, by friar's lantern led, Tells how the drudging goblin 4 sweat To earn his cream bowl duly set,

9. Literally, the bright poiestar. or North Star, by which mariners steer; here, a splendid object, much gazed at. 1. Milton uses traditional names from classical pastoral—Corydon, Thyrsis, Phyllis, Thestylis— for his rustic English shepherds. 2. A small three-stringed fiddle. "Jocund": merry,

1799

dressed

immediately -plowed

land

multicolored

dexterous

sun-dried careless

sprightly. 3. Sweetmeats, especially with cream. Q u e e n M a b is the fairy queen, consort of Oberon. " S h e " and " h e " in the next two lines are country folk telling of their experiences with fairies. 4. Robin Goodfellow, alias Puck, Pook, or Hobgoblin. "Friar's lantern": will-o'-the-wisp.

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1 1800

JOHN MILTON

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day laborers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 5 And stretched out all the chimney's 0 length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full 0 out of doors he flings Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. Towered cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs 6 hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, 7 and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen 8 oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp and feast and revelry, With m a s q u e and antique 0 pageantry; S u c h sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child, Warble his native woodnotes wild.'' And ever against eating cares; 1 Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 2 Married to immortal verse S u c h as the meeting soul may pierce In notes with many a winding bout° Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free 5. Puck, here identified with the folktale goblin, Lob-lie-bv-the-fire. Robin traditionally did all manner of drudging work for people, to be rewarded with a bowl of cream. 6. Pageants. "Weeds of peace": courtly raiment. 7. The ladies' eyes are stars and so have astrological influence over the men. 8. Roman god of marriage. An orange-yellow ("saffron") robe and a torch are his attributes. 9. It was conventional to contrast Jonson as a "learned" poet and Shakespeare as a "natural" one,

fireplace's satiated

ancient,

also

antic

but L'Allegro's views and choices of literature also suits with his nature. "Sock": the comedian's lowheeled slipper, contrasted with the tragedian's buskin, a high-heeled boot, 1. "Eating cares" (Horace, Odes 2.11.18) is one of many classical echoes in the poem. 2. Plato considered "Lydian airs" to be enervating, soft, and sensual; he preferred the solemn Doric mode. S o m e others thought Lydian airs relaxing and delightful.

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IL P E N S E R O S O

150

1801

His half-regained Eurydice, 3 T h e s e delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 4

ca. 1631

1645

II Penseroso 1

Hence vain deluding joys, 2 The brood of Folly without father bred, How little you bestead, 0 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys 0 Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond° with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams, T h e fickle pensioners of Morpheus' 3 train. But hail thou Goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit° the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue; 4 Black, but such as in esteem, Prince Memnon's sister 5 might beseem, Or that starred Ethiope queen 6 that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea nymphs, and their powers offended. Yet thou art higher far descended; T h e e bright-haired Vesta long of yore To solitary Saturn bore; 7 His daughter she (in Saturn's reign S u c h mixture was not held a stain). Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades

3. Orpheus's music so moved Pluto that he agreed to release Orpheus's dead wife Eurydice (four syllables, accent on the second) from the underworld (Elysium), but he violated the condition set—that he not look back at her—and so lost her again. Milton often uses Orpheus as a figure for the poet. 4. The final lines echo Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" (p. 1274): "If these delights thy mind may move, / Then live with me and be my love." 1. II Penseroso whose n a m e is Italian for "the thoughtful one," celebrates a melancholy that does not produce madness but the scholarly temperament, ruled by Saturn. S e e note 2 on p. 1797 to "L' Ailegro." 2. In "II Penseroso," Mirth is not the innocent joys of "L'Allegro," but "vain deluding joys." 3. Morpheus is the god of sleep. "Pensioners": followers.

avail trifles foolish

suit

4. The melancholy humor, caused by black bile, was thought to make the face dark or saturnine— from the ancient god Saturn, allegorized in Neoplatonic philosophy as "the collective angelic mind." 5. Memnon, in Odyssey 11, was a handsome Ethiopian prince; his sister Himera's beauty was mentioned by later commentators. Cf. Song of Solomon 1.5, "I am black but comely." 6. Cassiopeia was turned into a constellation ("starred") for bragging that she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. 7. Vesta, daughter of Saturn, was goddess of the household and a virgin, as were her priestesses. Milton invented the story of her sexual congress with Saturn on Mount Ida, resulting in Melancholy's birth. Saturn ruled the gods and the world during the Golden Age, which ended when he was murdered by his son Jove.

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1 1802

JOHN MILTON

Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, 0 Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole 8 of cypress lawn Over thy decent 0 shoulders drawn. comely, Come, but keep thy wonted 0 state, 0 With even step and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: There held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, 9 till With a sad° leaden downward cast 0 grave, Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye° round about Jove's altar sing. And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The cherub Contemplation; 1 And the mute Silence hist 0 along, 'Less Philomel 2 will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight, 0 Smoothing the rugged brow of night, While Cynthia 3 checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er th' accustomed oak; Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee chantress oft the woods among I woo to hear thy evensong; 4 And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way; And oft as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft on a plat 0 of rising ground,

8. A delicate black cloth. 9. Still as a statue. 1. The special function of cherubim is contemplation of God; Milton alludes also (line 53) to their identification with the wheels of the mystical chariot/throne of God described by Ezekiel (Ezekiel 10). 2. The nightingale (the bird into which Philomela was transformed after her rape by her brother-in-

color

modestly usual

dignified

covered / dignity

I glance

continually

summon mood

plot,

open field

law Tereus) traditionally sings a mournful song. " 'Less": unless. 3. Goddess of the moon, also associated with Hecate, goddess of the underworld, who drives a pair of sleepless dragons. 4. The evening liturgy traditionally sung by cloistered monks and nuns ("chantress" evokes such a singer); "L'Allegro's" cock, by contrast, calls hearers to the morning liturgy, "matins" (line 114).

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IL P E N S E R O S O

1803

I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen" roar; deep, mournful Or if the air will not permit, S o m e still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room so Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's' drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm; 85 Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 6 With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato 7 to unfold 90 What words or what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons 8 that are found In fire, air, flood, or underground, 95 Whose power hath a true consent 0 agreement With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptered pall 9 come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, IOO Or the tale of Troy divine,' Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined 2 stage. But, O sad virgin, that thy power Might raise M u s a e u s 3 from his bower, 105 Or bid the soul of Orpheus 4 sing S u c h notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek. Or call up him 5 that left half told 110 The story of C a m b u s c a n bold, Of Camball and of Algarsife, And who had C a n a c e e to wife, That owned the virtuous 0 ring and glass, having magical powers And of the wondrous horse of brass, 115 On which the Tartar king did ride; 75

5. Night watchman who rang a bell to mark the hours. 6. The Great Bear constellation never sets in northern skies. 7. Various esoteric books (actually written in the 3rd and 4th centuries) were attributed to an ancient Egyptian, Hermes Trismegistus ("thrice great"). Neoplatonists made him the father of all knowledge; later he became a patron of magicians and alchemists. To "unsphere" Plato is to bring him magically back to earth from whatever sphere he now inhabits—in practical terms, by reading his books. 8. Demons (daemons), halfway between gods and

men, preside over the four elements. 9. Royal robe, worn by tragic actors. 1. Tragedies about Thebes include Sophocles' Oedipus cycle, those about the line of Pelops, Aeschylus's Oresteia, and those about Troy, Euripedes' Trojan Women. 2. The buskin (high boot) of tragedy, contrasted with the "sock" of comedy ("L'Allegro," line 132). 3. Mythical poet-priest of the pre-Homeric age, supposedly a son or pupil of Orpheus. 4. For the story of Orpheus, see "L'Allegro," line 145, and note 5 (on line 150). 5. Chaucer, whose Squire's Tale is unfinished.

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1 1804

JOHN MILTON

And if aught 0 else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys and of trophies hung, Of forests and enchantments drear, 120 Where more is meant than meets the ear. 6 Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not tricked and frounced as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, 7 125 But kerchiefed in a comely cloud, While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still, 0 When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, 130 With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan 8 loves 135 Of pine or monumental oak, Where the rude ax with heaved stroke Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There in close covert 0 by some brook, 140 Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring 145 With such consort 0 as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed 150 Softly on my eyelids laid. And as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or th' unseen genius 0 of the wood. 155 But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, 0 And love the high embowed roof, With antic pillars massy proof, 9 And storied windows richly dight, 1 160 Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced choir below, In service high and anthems clear, 6. A capsule definition of allegory. 7. The now soberly dressed Aurora, goddess of the dawn, once fell in love with Cephalus ("the Attic boy") and hunted with him. "Tricked and frounced": adorned and with frizzled hair.

anything

gentle

hidden

musical

guardian

place

harmony

deity enclosure

8. Roman god of woodlands. 9. Massive and strong. "Antic": covered with quaint or grotesque carvings, also antique. 1. Dressed. "Storied windows": stained-glass windows depicting biblical stories.

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LYCIDAS

165

170

175

1805

As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, W h e r e I m a y sit a n d rightly spell0

study

Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 2 And I with thee will choose to live.

ca. 1631

1645

Lycidas

Milton wrote this pastoral elegy for a volume of Latin, Greek, and English poems, Justa Eduourdo King Naufrago ( 1 6 3 8 ) , c o m m e m o r a t i n g the death by shipwreck of his college classmate Edward King, three years younger than himself. King was not a close friend, but Milton's deepest emotions, anxieties, and fears are engaged here b e c a u s e , as poet and minister, King could serve Milton as a kind of alter ego. Still engaged in preparing himself, at the age of twenty-nine, for his projected poetic career, Milton was forced to recognize the uncertainty of all h u m a n endeavors. King's death posed the problem of mortality in its m o s t agonizing form: the death of the young, the unfulfilled, the good s e e m s to deny all meaning to life, to demonstrate the u s e l e s s n e s s of exceptional talent, lofty ambition, and noble ideals of service to God. While the p o e m expresses Milton's anxieties, it also serves as an a n n o u n c e m e n t of his grand ambitions. Like E d m u n d S p e n s e r , Milton saw mastery of the pastoral mode as the first step in a great poetic career. In " L y c i d a s " that mastery is complete. In the tradition that Milton received from classical and R e n a i s s a n c e predecessors, including Theocritus, Virgil, Petrarch, and S p e n s e r , the pastoral landscape was invested with profound significances that had little indeed to do with the hard life of agricultural labor. In lines 25—36, Milton evokes the conventional pastoral topic of carefree shepherds who engage in singing contests, watch contentedly over their grazing sheep, fall in love, and write poetry, offering an image of h u m a n life in harmony with nature and the seasonal processes of fruition and mellowing before the winter of death. That classical image of the shepherd as poet is mingled with the Christian understanding of the shepherd as pastor (Christ is the G o o d Shepherd), and sometimes as the prophet called to his mission from the fields, like David or Isaiah. Milton calls on all these associations, along with other motifs specific to pastoral funeral elegy: the recollection of past friendship, a questioning of destiny for cutting short this life, a procession of mourners (often mythological figures), a n d a "flower p a s s a g e " in which nature pays tribute to the dead shepherd. "Lycidas" uses but continually tests and challenges the a s s u m p t i o n s and conventions of pastoral elegy, making for profound tensions and clashes of tone. T h e pastoral "oaten flute" is interrupted by divine p r o n o u n c e m e n t s and bitter invective; nature seems rife with examples of meaningless waste and early death; the "blind Fury" often cuts off the poet's "thin-spun life" before he can win f a m e ; good pastors die young

2. Compare "L'Allegro," lines 151—52 (p. 1801), and the final lines of Marlowe's "Passionate Shepherd" (p. 1274).

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1 1806

JOHN MILTON

while corrupt "Blind mouths" remain; and Nature cannot even pay her tribute of flowers to Lycidas's funeral bier since he welters in the deep, his bones hurled to the "bottom of the monstrous world." In response to these fierce challenges come pronouncements by Apollo and St. Peter, and images of protection and resurrection in nature and myth, culminating in a new vision of pastoral: in heaven Lycidas enjoys a perfected pastoral existence, and in the coda the consoled shepherd arises and carries his song to "pastures new." Milton's questioning leads to a final reassertion of confidence in his calling as national poet. Moreover, in the headnote added in the 1645 volume of his Poems, he lays claim to prophetic authority, for the Church of England clergy he denounced as corrupt in 1638 had mostly been expelled from their livings by Puritan reformers in 1645.

Lycidas 1

In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637. And by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height.

Yet o n c e m o r e , O y e l a u r e l s , a n d o n c e m o r e Ye m y r t l e s b r o w n , w i t h ivy n e v e r s e r e , 2 I c o m e to p l u c k your berries h a r s h a n d c r u d e , " A n d w i t h f o r c e d fingers r u d e , ° S h a t t e r y o u r leaves b e f o r e t h e m e l l o w i n g y e a r . Bitter constraint, a n d sad o c c a s i o n dear,0 C o m p e l s me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, d e a d ere his prime,3 Y o u n g L y c i d a s , a n d h a t h n o t left h i s p e e r . W h o would not sing for Lycidas? He knew H i m s e l f t o s i n g , a n d b u i l d t h e lofty r h y m e . 4 He m u s t not float u p o n his watery bier U n w e p t , a n d w e l t e r 0 to t h e p a r c h i n g w i n d , W i t h o u t t h e m e e d 0 of s o m e m e l o d i o u s t e a r . 0 B e g i n t h e n , s i s t e r s of t h e s a c r e d well 5 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, B e g i n , a n d s o m e w h a t l o u d l y s w e e p t h e string. H e n c e with d e n i a l vain, a n d c o y e x c u s e ; So may s o m e gentle m u s e 6 W i t h l u c k y w o r d s f a v o r my d e s t i n e d u r n , And as he p a s s e s turn, A n d bid f a i r p e a c e b e t o m y s a b l e s h r o u d . F o r w e w e r e n u r s e d u p o n t h e s e l f s a m e hill, F e d t h e s a m e f l o c k , b y f o u n t a i n , s h a d e , a n d rill. Together both, ere the high lawns0 appeared U n d e r the opening eyelids of the morn,

1. A dirge sung by a single voice, though this one incorporates several other voices. Milton added this headnote in the edition of 1645; it identifies Milton as a prophet in the passage denouncing the clergy in this 1638 poem (lines 112—31) and invites the reader to remember Milton's 1641—42 polemics against the English bishops and church government (now dismantled). 2. "Laurels," associated with Apollo and poetry; "myrtle," associated with Venus and love; "ivy,"

unripe unskilled heartfelt, also dire

he tossed about reward / elegy

upland pastures

associated with Bacchus and frenzy (also learning). All three are evergreens ("never sere") linked to poetic inspiration. 3. King was twenty-five. 4. King had written several poems of compliment in the patronage mode, chiefly on members of the royal family. 5. The nine (sister) Muses called (probably) from the fountain Aganippe, near Mount Helicon. 6. Here, some kindly poet.

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LYCIDAS

1807

W e drove afield, a n d b o t h together h e a r d W h a t t i m e the grayfly winds her sultry horn, 7 B a t t e n i n g 0 our flocks with the f r e s h dews of night, feeding fat O f t till the star that rose at e v e n i n g bright 8 T o w a r d h e a v e n ' s d e s c e n t h a d s l o p e d his w e s t e r i n g wheel. M e a n w h i l e the rural ditties were not m u t e , T e m p e r e d to th' oaten flute, 9 R o u g h satyrs d a n c e d , a n d f a u n s with cloven heel F r o m the glad s o u n d would not be a b s e n t long, A n d old D a m o e t a s 1 loved to hear o u r s o n g . B u t O the heavy c h a n g e , n o w t h o u art g o n e , N o w t h o u art gone, a n d never m u s t return! T h e e , s h e p h e r d , t h e e the w o o d s a n d d e s e r t caves, With wild thyme a n d the g a d d i n g 0 vine o'ergrown, wandering A n d all their e c h o e s m o u r n . T h e willows a n d the hazel c o p s e s 0 green thickets of trees Shall now no more be seen, F a n n i n g their j o y o u s leaves to thy s o f t lays. As killing as the c a n k e r " to the rose, cankerworm Or taint-worm 2 to the w e a n l i n g h e r d s that graze, Or f r o s t to flowers that their gay w a r d r o b e w e a r W h e n first the white-thorn blows; 3 S u c h , L y c i d a s , thy loss to s h e p h e r d ' s ear. W h e r e were ye, n y m p h s , 4 w h e n the r e m o r s e l e s s d e e p C l o s e d o'er the h e a d of your loved L y c i d a s ? F o r neither were ye playing on the s t e e p W h e r e your old b a r d s , the f a m o u s D r u i d s , 5 lie, N o r o n the s h a g g y top o f M o n a high, N o r yet w h e r e D e v a s p r e a d s her wizard s t r e a m : 6 Ay m e ! I fondly d r e a m — H a d y e b e e n t h e r e — f o r w h a t c o u l d that have d o n e ? W h a t c o u l d the M u s e 7 herself that O r p h e u s b o r e , T h e M u s e herself, for her e n c h a n t i n g 8 s o n W h o m universal N a t u r e did l a m e n t , W h e n b y the rout that m a d e the h i d e o u s roar His gory visage d o w n the s t r e a m w a s sent, D o w n the swift H e b r u s to the L e s b i a n s h o r e ? 9 Alas! W h a t b o o t s 0 it with i n c e s s a n t c a r e profits To t e n d the homely slighted s h e p h e r d ' s trade, A n d strictly m e d i t a t e the t h a n k l e s s m u s e ? 1

7. I.e., heard the grayfly when she buzzes. 8. Hesperus, the evening star. 9. Panpipes, played traditionally by shepherds in pastoral. 1. A type name from pastoral poetry, possibly referring to some particular tutor at Cambridge. "Satyrs": goat-legged woodland creatures, Pan's boisterous attendants. 2. Internal parasite fatal to newly weaned lambs. 3. Hawthorn blooms. 4. Nature deities. 5. Priestly poet-kings of Celtic Britain, who worshipped the forces of nature. They are buried on the mountain ("steep") Kerig-y-Druidion in Wales. 6. Mona is the island of Anglesey. Deva, the river Dee in Cheshire, was magic ("wizard") because its

shifting stream foretold prosperity or dearth for the land. All these places are in the West Country, near where King drowned. 7. Calliope, M u s e of epic poetry, was the mother of Orpheus. 8. Implies both song and magic; the root word survives in "incantation." 9. Orpheus's song was drowned out by the screams of a mob ("rout") of Thracian women, the Bacchantes, who then were able to tear him to pieces and throw his gory head into the river Hebrus, which carried it—still singing—to the island of Lesbos, bringing that island the gift of poetry. I. I.e., study to write poetry (a Virgilian phrase).

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1 1808

JOHN MILTON

W e r e it not better d o n e as others u s e , To sport with Amaryllis in the s h a d e , Or with the tangles of N e a e r a ' s hair? 2 F a m e is the s p u r that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of n o b l e m i n d ) To s c o r n delights, a n d live laborious days; B u t the fair g u e r d o n 0 w h e n we h o p e to find, A n d think to burst out into s u d d e n blaze, C o m e s the blind Fury 3 with th' a b h o r r e d s h e a r s , A n d slits the thin-spun life. " B u t not the p r a i s e , " P h o e b u s replied, a n d t o u c h e d m y t r e m b l i n g e a r s ; 4 " F a m e is no plant that grows on mortal soil, N o r in the glistering foil 5 S e t o f f to th' world, nor in b r o a d r u m o r lies, B u t lives a n d s p r e a d s aloft by t h o s e p u r e eyes, A n d p e r f e c t witness of all-judging J o v e ; A s h e p r o n o u n c e s lastly o n e a c h d e e d , O f s o m u c h f a m e i n h e a v e n expect thy m e e d . " 0 O f o u n t a i n A r e t h u s e , a n d t h o u h o n o r e d flood, S m o o t h - s l i d i n g M i n c i u s , c r o w n e d with vocal r e e d s , T h a t strain I h e a r d w a s of a higher m o o d . 6 B u t now m y o a t c p r o c e e d s , And listens to the herald of the s e a 7 That c a m e in Neptune's plea. H e a s k e d the waves, a n d a s k e d the f e l o n 0 winds, " W h a t hard m i s h a p h a t h d o o m e d this gentle s w a i n ? " And q u e s t i o n e d every g u s t of r u g g e d 0 wings T h a t blows f r o m o f f e a c h b e a k e d p r o m o n t o r y ; T h e y k n e w not of his story, A n d s a g e H i p p o t a d e s 8 their a n s w e r brings, T h a t not a b l a s t w a s f r o m his d u n g e o n strayed; T h e air w a s c a l m , a n d on the level brine, S l e e k P a n o p e 9 with all her sisters played. It w a s that f a t a l a n d p e r f i d i o u s bark, Built in th' eclipse, 1 a n d rigged with c u r s e s dark, T h a t s u n k s o low that s a c r e d h e a d o f thine. N e x t C a m u s , 2 reverend sire, went f o o t i n g slow, His m a n t l e hairy, a n d his b o n n e t s e d g e , 0 I n w r o u g h t with figures dim, a n d on the e d g e Like to that s a n g u i n e flower inscribed with woe. 3 "Ah! w h o h a t h r e f t , " q u o t h he, " m y d e a r e s t p l e d g e ? " 2. "Amaryllis" and "Neaera" (Nee-eye-ra), conventional names for pretty shepherdesses wooed in song by pastoral shepherds. 3. Atropos, one of the three Fates, whose scissors cuts the thread of human life after her sisters spin and measure it. Milton makes her a savage, and blind, Fury. 4. Phoebus Apollo, god of poetic inspiration. In Eclogue 6.3—4 he plucked Virgil's ears, warning him against impatient ambition. 5. Flashy, glittering metal foil, set under a gem to enhance its brilliance. 6. Arethusa was a fountain in Sicily associated with Greek pastoral poetry (Theocritus), Mincius

reivard

reward

pastoral

flute

savage shepherd stormy

formed of reeds

a river in Lombardy associated with Latin pastoral (Virgil); Milton invokes them as a return to the pastoral after the "higher mood" of Apollo's speech. 7. Triton, who comes gathering evidence about the accident for Neptune's court. 8. Aeolus, god of winds. 9. The chief Nereid, or sea nymph. 1. Eclipses were taken as evil omens. 2. God of the river C a m , representing Cambridge University. 3. Like the AI A1 cry of grief supposedly found on the hyacinth, a "sanguine flower" sprung from the blood of the youth Hyacinthus, beloved of Apollo and accidentally killed by him.

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LYCIDAS

1809

Last came and last did go The pilot of the Galilean lake; 4 110 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 0 forever He shook his mitered locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spared for° thee, young swain, in place of Enow° of such as for their bellies' sake enough (plural) ii5 Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! 5 Of other care they little reckoning make, Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 6 And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths! 7 that scarce themselves know how to hold 120 A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; 8 And when they list, 0 their lean 0 and flashy songs choose / meager Grate on their scrannel 0 pipes of wretched straw. harsh, thin 125 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swol'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw, 0 inhale Rot inwardly,9 and foul contagion spread, Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 1 Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 130 But that two-handed engine at the door 2 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." Return, Alpheus, 3 the dread voice is past, That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 135 Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 4 Ye valleys low where the mild whispers use, 0 frequent Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star 5 sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enameled eyes, 6 HO That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 4. St. Peter, originally a fisherman on the sea of Galilee, was Christ's chief apostle; his keys open and shut the gates of heaven. He wears a bishop's miter (line 112): Milton in his "antiprelatical tracts" allows for a special role for apostles but denies any distinction in office between bishops and ministers in the later church. 5. Cf. John 10.1: "He that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber." 6. Festive suppers for the sheepshearers (hence, the material rewards of their ministry). "Worthy bidden guest" (next line): cf. Matthew 22.8, the parable of the marriage feast, "they which were bidden were not worthy." 7. Collapsing blindness with greed, this audacious metaphor accuses churchmen of shirking oversight (episcopus, bishop, means "supervision") and of glutting themselves, although pastors ought to feed their flocks. "Sheep-hook" (next line): the bishop's staff is in the form of a shepherd's crook. 8. Provided for. "What recks it them?": what do they care? 9. Sheep rot is used as an allegory of church cor-

ruption by both Petrarch and Dante. 1. I.e., Roman Catholicism, whose agents operated in secret ("privy"). Conversions in the court of the Roman Catholic queen Henrietta Maria were notorious. 2. A celebrated crux, variously explained as the two houses of Parliament, St. Peter's keys, the twoedged sword of the Book of Revelation, a sword wielded by two hands, and by other guesses; what is clear is the denunciation of impending, apocalyptic vengeance. In Matthew 24.33 the Last Judgment is said to be "even at the doors." 3. A river in Arcadia, fabled to pass unmixed through the sea before mixing its waters with the "fountain Arethuse" in Sicily, again reviving the pastoral mode after the fierce denunciation of Peter (see lines 8 5 - 8 7 ) . 4. A catalogue of flowers was a common pastoral topic. "Bells": bell-shaped flowers. 5. The Dog Star, Sirius, associated with the heats of late summer. 6. Flowers curiously patterned and adorned with many colors.

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1 1810

JOHN MILTON

Bring the rathe 0 p r i m r o s e that f o r s a k e n dies, early T h e t u f t e d crow-toe, a n d p a l e j e s s a m i n e , 7 T h e white pink, a n d the p a n s y f r e a k e d 0 with j e t , flecked. T h e glowing violet, T h e m u s k rose, a n d the well-attired w o o d b i n e , W i t h c o w s l i p s wan° that h a n g the p e n s i v e h e a d , pale A n d every flower that s a d e m b r o i d e r y w e a r s : Bid a m a r a n t h u s 8 all his b e a u t y s h e d , A n d daffadillies fill their c u p s with tears, To strew the laureate h e a r s e 0 where Lycid lies. laurel-decked bier F o r so to i n t e r p o s e a little e a s e , L e t our frail t h o u g h t s dally with f a l s e s u r m i s e . 9 Ay m e ! whilst thee the s h o r e s a n d s o u n d i n g s e a s W a s h far away, where'er thy b o n e s are hurled, W h e t h e r beyond the stormy H e b r i d e s , 1 W h e r e t h o u p e r h a p s u n d e r the w h e l m i n g 0 tide roaring, overwhelming Visit'st the b o t t o m of the m o n s t r o u s world; Or w h e t h e r thou, to our m o i s t vows denied, S l e e p ' s t by the fable of Bellerus old, 2 W h e r e the great vision of the g u a r d e d m o u n t L o o k s toward N a m a n c o s a n d B a y o n a ' s hold; 3 L o o k h o m e w a r d angel now, a n d melt with ruth:° pity And, O ye dolphins, 4 waft the h a p l e s s youth. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, F o r Lycidas your sorrow is not d e a d , S u n k t h o u g h h e b e b e n e a t h the wat'ry floor; So sinks the daystar 0 in the o c e a n b e d , the sun And yet a n o n repairs his d r o o p i n g h e a d , And tricks 0 his b e a m s , a n d with n e w - s p a n g l e d ore adorns, trims F l a m e s in the f o r e h e a d of the m o r n i n g sky: S o Lycidas s u n k low, b u t m o u n t e d high, T h r o u g h the dear might of him that walked the waves, 5 W h e r e , other groves a n d other s t r e a m s along, 6 W i t h n e c t a r p u r e his oozy° locks he laves, moist A n d h e a r s the unexpressive nuptial song, 7 In the blest k i n g d o m s m e e k of joy a n d love. T h e r e entertain him all the saints above, In s o l e m n troops a n d sweet societies T h a t sing, a n d singing in their glory m o v e , 7. White jasmine. "Tufted crow-toe": hyacinth or buttercup, growing in clusters. "Woodhine" (line 146): honeysuckle. 8. In Greek, "unfading," a legendary flower of immortality, one that never fades. 9. False, because Lycidas's body is not here to receive floral and poetic tributes. 1. Islands off the coast of Scotland, the northern terminus of the Irish Sea. 2. A fabulous giant invented by Milton as the origin of the Latin name for Land's End in Cornwall, Bellerium. "Monstrous world" (line 158): filled with monsters, also, immense. 3. "The guarded mount" is St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, where the archangel was said to have appeared to fishermen in 495, and from which he

is envisioned as looking over the Atlantic toward a region and fortress ("Bayona's hold") in northern Spain, thereby guarding Protestant England against the continuing Roman Catholic threat. 4. Dolphins brought the Greek poet Arion safely ashore, for love of his verse, and also performed other sea rescues. 5. Christ, who rescued Peter when he tried and failed to walk on the Sea of Galilee (Matthew 14.25-31). 6. See Revelation 22.1—2, on the "pure river of water of life," and the "tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits." 7. Inexpressible hymn of joy sung at "the marriage supper of the L a m b " (Revelation 19).

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THE

185

190

REASON OF CHURCH

GOVERNMENT

1811

A n d wipe the tears forever f r o m his eyes. N o w , L y c i d a s , the s h e p h e r d s w e e p n o m o r e ; H e n c e f o r t h thou art the G e n i u s 8 of the s h o r e , In thy large r e c o m p e n s e , a n d shalt be g o o d To all that wander in that p e r i l o u s flood. T h u s s a n g the u n c o u t h swain 9 t o th' o a k s a n d rills, W h i l e the still m o r n went o u t with s a n d a l s gray; H e t o u c h e d the t e n d e r s t o p s o f v a r i o u s quills, 1 W i t h e a g e r thought warbling his D o r i c 2 lay: A n d n o w the s u n h a d s t r e t c h e d o u t all the hills, A n d now w a s d r o p p e d into the w e s t e r n bay; At last he rose, a n d twitched his m a n t l e b l u e : 3 T o m o r r o w t o f r e s h w o o d s , a n d p a s t u r e s new.

November 1637

1638

From The Reason of Church Government Urged Against Prelaty 1 [PLANS AND PROJECTS]

* * * C o n c e r n i n g therefore this wayward s u b j e c t a g a i n s t prelaty, 2 the touching whereof is so d i s t a s t e f u l a n d d i s q u i e t o u s 3 to a n u m b e r of m e n , as by what hath b e e n said I m a y deserve of charitable readers to be credited that neither envy nor gall h a t h entered me u p o n this controversy, but the e n f o r c e m e n t of c o n s c i e n c e only a n d a preventive f e a r lest the omitting of this duty s h o u l d be against me w h e n I would store up to myself the good provision of p e a c e f u l hours; so lest it s h o u l d be still i m p u t e d to m e , as I have f o u n d it hath b e e n , that s o m e self-pleasing h u m o r of vainglory h a t h incited me to c o n t e s t with m e n of high e s t i m a t i o n , now while green years are upon my h e a d ; 4 f r o m this n e e d l e s s s u r m i s a l I shall h o p e to d i s s u a d e the intelligent a n d e q u a l auditor, if I c a n but say s u c c e s s f u l l y that which in this exigent 5 behooves m e ; although I would be h e a r d only, if it might be, by the elegant a n d learned reader, to w h o m principally for a while I shall b e g leave I m a y a d d r e s s myself. To him it will be no n e w thing though I tell him that if I h u n t e d after praise by the ostentation of wit a n d learning, I s h o u l d not write t h u s o u t of m i n e own s e a s o n 8. Local guardian spirit. 9. Another voice now seems to take over from the previously heard voice of the "uncouth swain" (unknown, unskilled shepherd). 1. The oaten stalks of panpipes. 2. Rustic, the dialect of Theocritus and other famous Greek pastoral poets. 3. The color of hope. "Twitched": pulled up around his shoulders. 1. This was the fourth of five tracts Milton published attacking the bishops, liturgy, and church government of the Church of England, in support of Presbyterian reform, though these tracts also show signs of the more radical positions he will soon adopt. This 1642 treatise is the first one to carry his name, so the autobiographical passage is in part to introduce himself to the reader and explain why, though a layman and a young man,

he feels himself called, and well prepared, to write on theology and ecclesiastical order. Beyond that rhetorical purpose, this is also the fullest account Milton ever set forth of his poetics: his sense of the poet's calling, of the nature and multiple uses of poetry, and of the several genres he already has employed or hopes to attempt. It also registers his inner conflict between duty (to serve God and his church with his learning) and desire (to write poetry). 2. Government by prelates (bishops). "Wayward": untoward, unpromising. 3. Distressing. 4. Milton's opponents, Bishops Joseph Hall, J a m e s Ussher, and Lancelot Andrewes, were famous, and he was still almost unknown, at age thirty-four. 5. Urgent occasion. "Equal": impartial.

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1 1812

JOHN MILTON

w h e n I have neither yet c o m p l e t e d to my m i n d the full circle of my private studies, 6 although I c o m p l a i n not of any insufficiency to the matter in h a n d ; or, were I ready to my wishes, it were a folly to c o m m i t anything elaborately c o m p o s e d to the c a r e l e s s a n d interrupted listening of these t u m u l t u o u s times. Next, if I were wise only to m i n e own e n d s , I would certainly take s u c h a subject as of itself might c a t c h a p p l a u s e , w h e r e a s this hath all the disadvantages on the contrary, a n d s u c h a s u b j e c t as the p u b l i s h i n g whereof might be delayed at p l e a s u r e , a n d time e n o u g h to pencil it over with all the curious t o u c h e s of art, even to the p e r f e c t i o n of a f a u l t l e s s picture; w h e n a s in this a r g u m e n t the not deferring is of great m o m e n t to the good speeding, 7 that if solidity have leisure to do her office, art c a n n o t have m u c h . Lastly, I should not c h o o s e this m a n n e r of writing, wherein knowing myself inferior to myself, led by the genial power of n a t u r e 8 to a n o t h e r task, I have the use, as I m a y a c c o u n t it, but of my left h a n d . A n d t h o u g h I shall be foolish in saying m o r e to this p u r p o s e , yet, since it will be s u c h a folly as wisest m e n going a b o u t to c o m m i t have only c o n f e s s e d a n d so c o m m i t t e d , I may trust with m o r e r e a s o n , b e c a u s e with m o r e folly, to have c o u r t e o u s p a r d o n . For although a poet, soaring in the high region of his f a n c i e s with his garland a n d singing robes a b o u t him, might without apology s p e a k m o r e of himself than I m e a n to do, yet for me sitting here below in the cool e l e m e n t of prose, a mortal thing a m o n g m a n y readers of no empyreal conceit, 9 to venture a n d divulge u n u s u a l things of myself, I shall petition to the gentler sort, it m a y not be envy 1 to m e . I m u s t say, therefore, that after I h a d f r o m my first years by the c e a s e l e s s diligence a n d care of my father (whom G o d r e c o m p e n s e ) b e e n exercised to the t o n g u e s a n d s o m e s c i e n c e s , as my a g e would s u f f e r , 2 by sundry m a s t e r s a n d teachers both at h o m e a n d at the s c h o o l s , it was f o u n d that whether aught was i m p o s e d me by t h e m that h a d the overlooking, or betaken to of mine own c h o i c e in E n g l i s h or other tongue, p r o s i n g or versing (but chiefly this latter), the style, by certain vital signs it had, was likely to live. B u t m u c h latelier in the private a c a d e m i e s of Italy, 3 whither I w a s favored to resort—perceiving that s o m e trifles w h i c h I h a d in memory, c o m p o s e d at u n d e r twenty or t h e r e a b o u t (for the m a n n e r is that everyone m u s t give s o m e proof of his wit 4 and reading there) m e t with a c c e p t a n c e above what was looked for, a n d other things which I h a d shifted in scarcity of books a n d c o n v e n i e n c e s to p a t c h up a m o n g s t them, were received with written e n c o m i u m s , 5 which the Italian is not forward to b e s t o w on m e n of this side the A l p s — I b e g a n thus far to a s s e n t both to t h e m a n d divers of my friends here at h o m e , a n d not less to an inward p r o m p t i n g which now grew daily u p o n m e , that by labor a n d intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life) j o i n e d with the strong propensity of nature, I might p e r h a p s leave s o m e t h i n g so written to aftertimes, as they should not willingly let it die. T h e s e thoughts at o n c e p o s s e s s e d me, a n d t h e s e 6. After taking his B.A. and M.A. degrees from Cambridge, Milton spent nearly six more years in private study at home; he was still continuing that program of reading. 7. Prompt publication is essential in polemic, so substance rather than art must be the priority. "Office": duty. 8. Intellectual gifts or natural disposition. 9. Without sublime and elevated conceits. 1. C a u s e for odium or disrespect. 2. Admit. "Tongues": foreign languages. In Ad

Patrem Milton says that as a boy he learned Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and Hebrew. 3. W h e n on the grand tour of the Continent (1638—39) Milton enjoyed attending academies in R o m e and especially Florence, which were centers for literary, scientific, and social exchange. 4. Ingenuity, creative powers; Milton read some of his Latin poems to the academies. 5. Praises. Milton published five of these encomiums, four in Latin, one in Italian, as prefatory material to the Latin part of his 1645 Poenis.

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1813

other: that if I were certain to write as m e n buy l e a s e s , for three lives a n d downward, 6 there o u g h t no regard be s o o n e r h a d than to G o d ' s glory by the honor a n d instruction of my country. F o r which c a u s e , a n d not only for that I knew it would be h a r d to arrive at the s e c o n d rank a m o n g the L a t i n s , I applied myself to that resolution which Ariosto followed a g a i n s t the p e r s u a s i o n s of B e m b o , 7 to fix all the industry a n d art I c o u l d unite to the a d o r n i n g of my native t o n g u e ; not to m a k e verbal curiosities the e n d — t h a t were a toilsome v a n i t y — b u t to be an interpreter a n d relater of the b e s t a n d s a g e s t things a m o n g m i n e own citizens t h r o u g h o u t this island in the m o t h e r dialect. T h a t w h a t the g r e a t e s t a n d choicest wits of A t h e n s , R o m e , or m o d e r n Italy, a n d t h o s e H e b r e w s of old did for their country, I, in my proportion, with this over a n d above of being a Christian, 8 might do for m i n e ; not caring to be o n c e n a m e d abroad, though p e r h a p s I could attain to that, b u t content with these British islands as my world; w h o s e f o r t u n e h a t h hitherto b e e n that if the A t h e n i a n s , as s o m e say, m a d e their small d e e d s great a n d r e n o w n e d by their e l o q u e n t writers, E n g l a n d hath had her noble a c h i e v e m e n t s m a d e small by the unskillful handling of m o n k s and m e c h a n i c s . T i m e serves not now, a n d p e r h a p s I might s e e m too p r o f u s e to give any certain a c c o u n t of what the m i n d at h o m e in the s p a c i o u s circuits of her m u s i n g hath liberty to p r o p o s e to herself, t h o u g h of highest h o p e a n d h a r d e s t attempting: w h e t h e r that epic f o r m whereof the two p o e m s of H o m e r a n d those other two of Virgil a n d T a s s o are a d i f f u s e , a n d the b o o k of J o b a brief, m o d e l ; 9 or whether the rules of Aristotle herein are strictly to be kept, or n a t u r e to be followed, 1 which in t h e m that know art a n d u s e j u d g m e n t is no transgression but an enriching of art; a n d lastly, what king or knight b e f o r e the c o n q u e s t 2 might be c h o s e n in w h o m to lay the pattern of a C h r i s t i a n hero. A n d as T a s s o gave to a prince of Italy his c h o i c e w h e t h e r he would c o m m a n d him to write of Godfrey's expedition a g a i n s t the infidels, or Belisarius a g a i n s t the G o t h s , or C h a r l e m a g n e a g a i n s t the L o m b a r d s ; 3 if to the instinct of n a t u r e a n d the e m b o l d e n i n g of art a u g h t m a y be trusted, a n d that there be nothing adverse in our climate 4 or the f a t e of this a g e , it haply would be no r a s h n e s s f r o m an e q u a l diligence a n d inclination to p r e s e n t the like offer in our own ancient stories; or whether t h o s e d r a m a t i c constitutions 5 wherein S o p h o c l e s a n d Euripides reign shall be f o u n d m o r e doctrinal a n d exemplary to a nation. T h e S c r i p t u r e also affords us a divine p a s t o r a l d r a m a in the S o n g of S o l o m o n , consisting of two p e r s o n s a n d a d o u b l e c h o r u s , as Origen rightly j u d g e s . And the A p o c a l y p s e of St. J o h n is the majestic i m a g e of a high a n d stately tragedy, shutting up a n d intermingling her s o l e m n s c e n e s a n d acts with a sevenfold 6. Leases were often drawn for a tenancy to run through the longest-lived of three named persons. 7. Rejecting Cardinal B e m b o ' s advice. Ariosto said he would rather be first a m o n g the Italian poets than second among those WTiting Latin. 8. T h e advantage would be in having "true" subjects to write about. 9. T h e great models for the " d i f f u s e " or long, epic were Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, Virgil's Aeneid, and Torquato Tasso's Gerusalemme liberata; there was also a long tradition of reading the Book of J o b as a "brief" epic, a moral conflict between J o b and Satan. Milton's brief epic, Paradise Regained (1671), makes some use of that model. For all the genres he discusses, Milton cites both classical a n d biblical models.

1. O n e contemporary debate concerned whether the Aristotelian rule of beginning in medias res was to be followed, or Ariosto's "natural" method of beginning at the beginning of the story. 2. At first Milton considered as potential epic subjects King Arthur, who fought against invading Saxons, and King Alfred, who warred with invading D a n e s ; he excluded those after the N o r m a n Conquest. 3. T a s s o offered this choice to his patron, Alfonso II d'Este, D u k e of Ferrara. 4. Milton often speculated that the cold climate of England might not be conducive to poetry, as the warmer climate of Italy and G r e e c e had been. 5. Plays.

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1 1814

JOHN MILTON

c h o r u s of hallelujahs and harping s y m p h o n i e s ; a n d this my opinion the grave authority of P a r a e u s , c o m m e n t i n g that book, is sufficient to confirm. 6 Or if o c c a s i o n shall lead to imitate t h o s e m a g n i f i c o d e s and hymns wherein Pind a r u s a n d C a l l i m a c h u s 7 are in m o s t things worthy, s o m e others in their f r a m e j u d i c i o u s , in their matter m o s t an end 8 faulty. B u t t h o s e f r e q u e n t s o n g s throughout the law a n d p r o p h e t s beyond all these, not in their divine a r g u m e n t alone, but in the very critical art of c o m p o s i t i o n , may be easily m a d e a p p e a r over all the kinds of lyric poesy to be i n c o m p a r a b l e . 9 T h e s e abilities, wheresoever they be f o u n d , are the inspired gift of G o d rarely bestowed, but yet to s o m e (though m o s t a b u s e ) in every nation; a n d are of power beside the office of a pulpit to inbreed a n d cherish in a great p e o p l e the s e e d s of virtue a n d public civility, to allay the perturbations of the mind and set the a f f e c t i o n s in right tune, to c e l e b r a t e in glorious a n d lofty hymns the throne a n d e q u i p a g e of G o d ' s a l m i g h t i n e s s , a n d what he works a n d what he s u f f e r s to be wrought with high p r o v i d e n c e in his c h u r c h , to sing the victorious a g o n i e s of martyrs a n d saints, the d e e d s a n d triumphs of j u s t a n d pious nations doing valiantly through faith against the e n e m i e s of Christ, to deplore the general relapses of k i n g d o m s a n d states f r o m j u s t i c e a n d G o d ' s true worship. Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy a n d sublime, in virtue a m i a b l e or grave, whatsoever hath p a s s i o n or admiration in all the c h a n g e s of that which is called f o r t u n e from without or the wily subtleties and refluxes of m a n ' s t h o u g h t s from within, all these things with a solid and treatable s m o o t h n e s s to paint out and describe. 1 T e a c h i n g over the whole book of sanctity a n d virtue through all the i n s t a n c e s of example, with s u c h delight to those especially of soft a n d delicious t e m p e r , 2 who will not so m u c h as look u p o n truth herself u n l e s s they s e e her elegantly dressed, that whereas the p a t h s of honesty a n d g o o d life a p p e a r now r u g g e d a n d difficult, though they be i n d e e d easy a n d p l e a s a n t , they would then a p p e a r to all m e n both easy and p l e a s a n t , t h o u g h they were r u g g e d a n d difficult indeed. And what a benefit this would be to our youth a n d gentry m a y be soon g u e s s e d by what we know of the corruption a n d b a n e which they s u c k in daily from the writings a n d interludes of libidinous a n d ignorant p o e t a s t e r s , 3 who, having s c a r c e ever h e a r d of that which is the m a i n c o n s i s t e n c e of a true p o e m , the c h o i c e of s u c h p e r s o n s as they ought to introduce, a n d what is moral a n d d e c e n t to e a c h one, do for the m o s t part lap u p 4 vicious principles in sweet pills to be swallowed down, and m a k e the taste of virtuous d o c u m e n t s harsh a n d sour. B u t b e c a u s e the spirit of m a n c a n n o t d e m e a n 5 itself lively in this body without s o m e recreating intermission of labor a n d serious things, it were happy for the c o m m o n w e a l t h if our m a g i s t r a t e s , as in t h o s e f a m o u s governments of old, would take into their care, not only the deciding of our c o n t e n t i o u s law c a s e s a n d brawls, but the m a n a g i n g of our public sports a n d festival p a s t i m e s , that 6. Sophocles and Euripides are supreme examples of Greek tragedy; the Scripture models for drama are the S o n g of S o l o m o n as a "divine pastoral drama" (Milton cites Origen, an Alexandrine Father of the 3rd century), and the Book of Revelation as a "high and stately tragedy" (he cites David Paraeus, a G e r m a n theologian of the 16th and 17th centuries). 7. Pindar, a 5th century B.c.E. Greek poet, wrote numerous odes especially on winners of the Olympic games; Callimachus, a 3rd century B.c.E. Alexandrine Greek, wrote elegant elegiac verse on the origin of various myths and rituals.

8. Almost entirely. 9. He thinks especially of the Psalms, often compared to classical lyric. 1. S e e the wide range of kinds and subjects and f u n c t i o n s suggested for the serious national poet. 2. T e m p e r a m e n t . Milton here paraphrases Horace's formula echoed by Sidney and J o n s o n , that poetry both teaches and delights, and that it encourages virtuous endeavor. 3. S o m e of the pseudo-poets of the Cavalier court who wrote on lascivious topics. 4. Roll up. 5. Comport.

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1815

they might be, not s u c h as were authorized a while since, 6 the provocations of d r u n k e n n e s s a n d lust, but s u c h as m a y i n u r e a n d h a r d e n our bodies by martial exercises to all warlike skill a n d p e r f o r m a n c e , a n d m a y civilize, adorn, a n d m a k e discreet our m i n d s by the learned a n d a f f a b l e m e e t i n g of f r e q u e n t a c a d e m i e s , a n d the p r o c u r e m e n t of wise a n d artful recitations s w e e t e n e d with e l o q u e n t a n d g r a c e f u l e n t i c e m e n t s to the love a n d practice of j u s t i c e , temp e r a n c e , a n d fortitude, instructing a n d bettering the nation at all opportunities, that the call of w i s d o m a n d virtue may be heard everywhere, as S o l o m o n saith: " S h e crieth without, s h e uttereth her voice in the streets, in the top of high p l a c e s , in the chief c o n c o u r s e , a n d in the o p e n i n g s of the gates." 7 W h e t h e r this may not be, not only in pulpits, but after a n o t h e r p e r s u a s i v e m e t h o d , 8 at set a n d s o l e m n panegyries, in theaters, p o r c h e s , 9 or what other p l a c e or way may win m o s t u p o n the p e o p l e to receive at o n c e both recreation a n d instruction, let t h e m in authority consult. T h e thing which I h a d to say, a n d t h o s e intentions which have lived within me ever since I c o u l d conceive myself anything worth to my country, I return to crave e x c u s e that urgent r e a s o n hath p l u c k e d from me by an abortive a n d foredated discovery. 1 A n d the a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of t h e m lies not b u t in a power above m a n ' s to p r o m i s e ; b u t that n o n e hath by m o r e studious ways endeavored, a n d with m o r e unwearied spirit that n o n e shall, that I dare a l m o s t aver of myself as far as life a n d free leisure will extend; a n d that the land h a d o n c e e n f r a n c h i s e d herself from this impertinent 2 yoke of prelaty, u n d e r w h o s e inquisitorious a n d tyrannical duncery no free a n d splendid wit c a n flourish. N e i t h e r do I think it s h a m e to covenant with any knowing reader that for s o m e few years yet I m a y go on trust with him toward the p a y m e n t of what I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised f r o m the heat of youth or the vapors of wine, like that which flows at w a s t e f r o m the p e n of s o m e vulgar amorist or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite, nor to be obtained by the invocation of D a m e M e m o r y a n d her siren d a u g h t e r s , 3 but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who c a n enrich with all u t t e r a n c e a n d knowledge, a n d sends out his s e r a p h i m with the hallowed fire of his altar to t o u c h a n d purify the lips of w h o m he p l e a s e s . 4 To this m u s t be a d d e d industrious a n d select reading, steady observation, insight into all seemly a n d g e n e r o u s arts a n d affairs; till which in s o m e m e a s u r e be c o m p a s s e d , at m i n e own peril a n d cost I r e f u s e not to sustain this e x p e c t a t i o n . * * * B u t were it the m e a n e s t underservice, if G o d by his secretary c o n s c i e n c e enjoin it, it were s a d for me if I s h o u l d draw b a c k ; for me especially, now w h e n all m e n offer their aid to help e a s e a n d lighten the difficult labors of the c h u r c h , to w h o s e service by the intentions of my p a r e n t s a n d friends I w a s destined of a child, a n d in mine own resolutions: till c o m i n g to s o m e maturity of years a n d perceiving what tyranny h a d invaded the c h u r c h , that he w h o would take orders m u s t s u b s c r i b e 6. Charles I's republication ( 1 6 3 3 ) of J a m e s I's Booh of Sports, encouraging sports, dancing, and rural festivals on S u n d a y s — a n a t h e m a to Puritans. 7. The phrases are from Proverbs 1.20—21 and 8.2—3. Milton would not ban recreation or festival pastimes but reform them: his models are the lofty encomiastic p o e m s and recitations Plato would admit into his Republic, the literary and social exchanges of the Italian academies, and martial exercises (to prepare the citizenry for war, now imminent). 8. I.e., poetry. 9. Porticos. "Panegyries": solemn public meetings.

1. I.e., I have been forced to write for my country's sake and to reveal my poetic plans before I was ready to do either. 2. Unsuitable, absurd. 3. T r u e poetry comes, not from youth, wine, a full plate, or even Memory (and her daughters the M u s e s ) : tradition alone does not m a k e a poet. 4. T h e coal from the altar that purifies the prophet's Hps (Isaiah 6 . 6 - 7 ) : the p a s s a g e makes poetry first a n d foremost the product of inspiration, but Milton also insists on his need to attain well-nigh universal knowledge a n d experience.

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JOHN MILTON

slave a n d take an oath withal,5 which, unless he took with a c o n s c i e n c e that w o u l d r e t c h , h e m u s t e i t h e r s t r a i g h t p e r j u r e o r split h i s f a i t h ; I t h o u g h t i t b e t t e r to prefer a blameless silence before the sacred office of speaking, bought a n d b e g u n with servitude a n d forswearing. Howsoever, thus c h u r c h - o u t e d by the prelates, h e n c e m a y a p p e a r the right I have to m e d d l e in t h e s e matters, as before the necessity a n d constraint appeared. 1642

Areopagitica

This passionate, trenchant defense of intellectual liberty has had a powerful influence on the evolving liberal conception of f r e e d o m of speech, press, and thought. Milton's specific target is the Press Ordinance of J u n e 14, 1643, Parliament's attempt to crack down on the flood of pamphlets (including Milton's own controversial treatises on divorce) that poured forth both from legal and from underground p r e s s e s as the Civil War raged. Like T u d o r and Stuart censorship laws, Parliament's ordinance d e m a n d e d that works be registered with the stationers and licensed by the censors before publication, and that both author and publisher be identified, on pain of fines and imprisonment for both. Milton vigorously protests the prepublication licensing of books, arguing that such m e a s u r e s have only been used by, and are only fit for, degenerate cultures. In the regenerate English nation, now "rousing herself like a strong man after sleep," m e n and women m u s t be allowed to develop in virtue by participating in the clash and conflict of ideas. T r u t h will always overcome falsehood in reasoned debate. T h u s , in opposition to the Presbyterians then in power, Milton defends widespread religious toleration, though with restrictions on Roman Catholicism, which, like most of his Protestant contemporaries, he viewed as a political threat and a tyranny binding individual c o n s c i e n c e to the pope. T h e title associates the tract with the speech of the Greek orator Isocrates to the Areopagus, the Council of the W i s e in Athens. Learned readers would have recognized the irony of this. While Isocrates instructed the council to reform Athens by careful supervision of the private lives of citizens, Milton argues that only liberty and removal of censorship can advance reformation. This association explains the oratorical tone of the tract, which was, in fact, subtitled "A S p e e c h . " In this most literary of his tracts, Milton's style is elevated, eloquent, dense with poetic figures, and ranges in tone from satire and ridicule to urgent pleading and florid praise. His arguments and principles are often c o u c h e d in striking images and phrases. O n e example is his passionate testimony to the potency and inestimable value of books: "As good almost kill a man as kill a good book . . ." Most memorable is his ringing credo that echoes down the centuries to protest every new tyranny: "Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties."

Frovt Areopagitica I deny not, but that it is of greatest c o n c e r n m e n t in the c h u r c h a n d c o m m o n w e a l t h , t o h a v e a v i g i l a n t eye h o w b o o k s d e m e a n 1 t h e m s e l v e s a s well a s men; and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpest justice on them as malefactors:2 For books are not absolutely d e a d things, but do contain a 5. Milton was not willing to subscribe the oath affirming that the Book of C o m m o n Prayer and the present government of the church by bishops were according to the word of God; still less was he willing to subscribe the notorious "etcetera" oath required in 1640, that the minister would never seek to alter the government of the church "by

archbishops, bishops, deacons, and archdeacons, etc." 1. Behave. 2. Milton allows that books may be called to account after publication, if they are proved to contain libels or other manifest crimes (he leaves this quite vague).

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AREOPAGITICA

1817

potency of life in t h e m to be as active as that soul w a s w h o s e progeny they are; nay they do preserve as in a vial the p u r e s t efficacy a n d extraction of that living intellect that b r e d them. I know they are as lively, a n d as vigorously productive, as t h o s e f a b u l o u s dragon's teeth; a n d being sown up a n d down, m a y c h a n c e to spring up a r m e d m e n . 3 A n d yet on the other h a n d unless wariness be u s e d , as good almost kill a m a n as kill a g o o d book; who kills a m a n kills a r e a s o n a b l e creature, G o d ' s i m a g e ; but he w h o destroys a g o o d book, kills r e a s o n itself, kills the i m a g e of G o d , as it were in the eye. M a n y a m a n lives a b u r d e n to the earth; but a good b o o k is the p r e c i o u s lifeblood of a m a s t e r spirit, e m b a l m e d a n d t r e a s u r e d up on p u r p o s e to a life beyond life. 'Tis true, no age can restore a life, whereof p e r h a p s there is no great loss; a n d revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the worse. We s h o u l d be wary therefore what p e r s e c u t i o n we raise against the living labors of p u b l i c m e n , how we spill that s e a s o n e d life of m a n preserved a n d stored up in b o o k s ; s i n c e we see a kind of m a s s a c r e , whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an e l e m e n t a l life, but strikes at that ethereal a n d fifth e s s e n c e , 4 the b r e a t h of r e a s o n itself, slays an immortality rather than a life. B u t lest I s h o u l d be c o n d e m n e d of introd u c i n g licence, while I o p p o s e licensing, I r e f u s e not the p a i n s to be so m u c h historical, as will serve to show what hath b e e n d o n e by a n c i e n t a n d f a m o u s c o m m o n w e a l t h s , a g a i n s t this disorder, till the very time that this project of licensing crept out of the Inquisition, 5 w a s c a t c h e d up by our prelates, a n d hath c a u g h t s o m e of our p r e s b y t e r s . 6 * * * * * * G o o d a n d evil we know in the field of this world grow up together a l m o s t inseparably; a n d the knowledge of good is so involved a n d interwoven with the knowledge of evil, a n d in so m a n y c u n n i n g r e s e m b l a n c e s hardly to be discerned, that t h o s e c o n f u s e d s e e d s which were i m p o s e d on P s y c h e as an i n c e s s a n t labor to cull out and sort a s u n d e r were not m o r e intermixed. 7 It w a s from out the rind of o n e apple tasted, that the knowledge of g o o d a n d evil, as two twins cleaving together, l e a p e d forth into the world. A n d p e r h a p s this is that d o o m which A d a m fell into of knowing g o o d a n d evil, that is to say of knowing good by evil. As therefore the state of m a n now is, w h a t w i s d o m c a n there be to c h o o s e , what c o n t i n e n c e to forbear, without the knowledge of evil? He that can appreh e n d a n d c o n s i d e r vice with all her baits a n d s e e m i n g p l e a s u r e s , a n d yet abstain, a n d yet distinguish, a n d yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring 8 Christian. I c a n n o t p r a i s e a fugitive a n d cloistered virtue, unexercised a n d u n b r e a t h e d , 9 that never sallies out a n d s e e s her adversary, b u t slinks o u t of the r a c e where that i m m o r t a l g a r l a n d is to be run for, not without dust a n d heat. Assuredly we bring not i n n o c e n c e into the world, we bring 3. After C a d m u s killed a dragon on his way to founding Thebes, on a g o d s advice he sowed the dragon's teeth, which sprang up as an army, the belligerent forefathers of Sparta. 4. Quintessence, a pure, mystical substance above the four elements (fire, air, water, earth). 5. The Roman Catholic institution for suppressing heresy, especially strong in Spain. 6. The Presbyterians, powerful in the Parliament, were striving to establish theirs as the national church and suppress others. Miiton, who began by supporting them in The Reason of Church Government and his other antiprelatical tracts (1641—42), now rejects them, in large part because they seek to supplant one repressive church with another.

7. Angry at her son Cupid's love for Psyche, Venus set the girl many trials, among them to sort out a vast mound of mixed seeds, but the ants took pity on her and did the work. 8. The printed text reads "wayfaring," calling up the image of the Christian pilgrim; several presentation copies correct it (by hand) to "warfaring," calling up the image of the Christian warrior. Both suit the passage. 9. Not forced by exertion to breathe hard. "Immortal garland" (next line): the prize for the winner of a race, as figure for the "crown of life" promised to those who endure temptation (James 1.12).

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1 1818

JOHN MILTON

impurity m u c h rather; that which purifies us is trial, a n d trial is by what is contrary. T h a t virtue therefore which is but a youngling in the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of evil, a n d knows not the u t m o s t that vice p r o m i s e s to her followers, a n d rejects it, is but a blank virtue, not a p u r e ; her whiteness is but an excremental 1 whiteness; which w a s the r e a s o n why our s a g e a n d serious poet S p e n s e r (whom I dare be known to think a better t e a c h e r than S c o t u s or A q u i n a s ) , describing true t e m p e r a n c e u n d e r the p e r s o n of G u y o n , brings him in with his P a l m e r through the C a v e of M a m m o n a n d the B o w e r of Earthly Bliss, 2 that he might see a n d know, a n d yet abstain. S i n c e therefore the knowledge a n d survey of vice is in this world so necessary to the c o n s t i t u t i n g of h u m a n virtue, a n d the s c a n n i n g of error to the confirmation of truth, how can we m o r e safely, and with less danger, s c o u t into the regions of sin a n d falsity than by reading all m a n n e r of tractates a n d hearing all m a n n e r of reason: 1 A n d this is the benefit which m a y be h a d of books p r o m i s c u o u s l y read. B u t of the h a r m that may result h e n c e , three kinds are usually reckoned. First is f e a r e d the infection that m a y s p r e a d ; but then all h u m a n learning a n d controversy in religious points m u s t remove out of the world, yea, the Bible itself; for that o f t t i m e s relates b l a s p h e m y not nicely, 3 it describes the carnal s e n s e of wicked men not unelegantly, it brings in holiest m e n passionately m u r m u r i n g against providence through all the a r g u m e n t s of E p i c u r u s ; 4 in other great d i s p u t e s it answers dubiously a n d darkly to the c o m m o n reader. 5 «

To s e q u e s t e r out of the world into Atlantic a n d U t o p i a n politics, 6 which never c a n be drawn into use, will not m e n d our condition, but to ordain wisely as in this world of evil, in the midst whereof G o d hath p l a c e d us unavoidably. . . . Impunity and r e m i s s n e s s , for certain, are the b a n e of a c o m m o n w e a l t h ; but here the great art lies, to discern in w h a t the law is to bid restraint and p u n i s h m e n t , a n d in what things p e r s u a s i o n only is to work. If every action which is good or evil in m a n at ripe years were to be u n d e r pittance 7 a n d prescription a n d c o m p u l s i o n , what were virtue but a n a m e , what p r a i s e c o u l d be then d u e to well-doing, what gramercy 8 to be sober, j u s t , or c o n t i n e n t ? M a n y there be that c o m p l a i n of divine providence for s u f f e r i n g A d a m to transgress; foolish tongues! W h e n G o d gave him r e a s o n , he gave him f r e e d o m to c h o o s e , for r e a s o n is but c h o o s i n g ; he had b e e n else a m e r e artificial A d a m , s u c h an A d a m as he is in the m o t i o n s . 9 We ourselves e s t e e m not of that obedience, or love, or gift, which is of force: G o d therefore left him free, set before him a provoking object, ever a l m o s t in his eyes; herein c o n s i s t e d his merit, herein the right of his reward, the praise of his a b s t i n e n c e . 1 W h e r e f o r e did he create p a s s i o n s within us, p l e a s u r e s r o u n d a b o u t us, but that these rightly 1. Exterior only. 2. John D u n s S c o t u s and T h o m a s Aquinas, major Scholastic theologians. Guyon (following), the hero of Book 2 of the Faerie Queene, p a s s e s through the C a v e of M a m m o n (symbolic of all worldly goods and honors) without his Palmerguide, but that figure does accompany him through the Bower of Bliss. 3. Daintily. 4. Greek philosopher ( 3 4 2 - 2 7 0 B.C.E.) who taught that happiness is the greatest good, and that virtue should be practiced b e c a u s e it brings happiness; s o m e of his followers equated happiness with sensual enjoyment. Milton may be thinking

of the biblical book of Ecclesiastes. 5. Milton goes on to argue that a fool can find material for folly in the best books, and a wise person material for wisdom in the worst. Also, one cannot remove evil by censoring books without also censoring ballads, fiddlers, clothing, conversation, and all social life. 6. Milton alludes to M o r e s Utopia and Bacon's Neil' Atlantis. 7. Rationing. 8. Reward, thanks. 9. Puppet shows. I. C o m p a r e Milton's representation of Adam and Eve in Eden in Paradise Lost.

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AREOPAGITICA

1819

tempered are the very ingredients of virtue? T h e y are not skillful considerers of h u m a n things, w h o i m a g i n e to remove sin by removing the m a t t e r of sin; for, b e s i d e s that it is a h u g e h e a p increasing u n d e r the very act of diminishing, t h o u g h s o m e part of it may for a time be withdrawn f r o m s o m e p e r s o n s , it c a n n o t f r o m all, in s u c h a universal thing as books are; a n d w h e n this is done, yet the sin r e m a i n s entire. T h o u g h ye take f r o m a covetous m a n all his treasure, he has yet o n e jewel left: ye c a n n o t bereave him of his c o v e t o u s n e s s . B a n i s h all objects of lust, shut up all youth into the severest discipline that c a n be exercised in any hermitage, ye c a n n o t m a k e t h e m c h a s t e that c a m e not thither so; s u c h great care a n d w i s d o m is required to the right m a n a g i n g of this point. S u p p o s e we could expel sin by this m e a n s ; look how m u c h we thus expel of sin, so m u c h we expel of virtue: for the matter of t h e m both is the s a m e ; remove that, and ye remove t h e m both alike. T h i s justifies the high providence of G o d , who, though he c o m m a n d s us t e m p e r a n c e , j u s t i c e , c o n t i n e n c e , yet p o u r s out before us, even to a p r o f u s e n e s s , all desirable things, a n d gives us m i n d s that c a n wander beyond all limit a n d satiety. W h y s h o u l d we then a f f e c t a rigor contrary to the m a n n e r of G o d a n d of nature, by abridging or s c a n t i n g t h o s e m e a n s , which b o o k s freely p e r m i t t e d are, both to the trial of virtue a n d the exercise of truth? It w o u l d be better d o n e to learn that the law m u s t n e e d s be frivolous which g o e s to restrain things uncertainly a n d yet equally working to good a n d to evil. A n d were I the c h o o s e r , a d r a m of well-doing s h o u l d be preferred b e f o r e m a n y times as m u c h the forcible h i n d r a n c e of evil-doing. F o r G o d sure e s t e e m s the growth a n d c o m p l e t i n g of o n e virtuous p e r s o n m o r e than the restraint of ten vicious. $

W h a t a d v a n t a g e is it to be a m a n over it is to be a boy at school, if we have only s c a p e d the ferula to c o m e u n d e r the f e s c u e of an imprimatur; 2 if serious a n d elaborate writings, as if they were no m o r e than the t h e m e of a g r a m m a r lad u n d e r his p e d a g o g u e , m u s t not be uttered without the cursory eyes of a temporizing a n d extemporizing licenser? 1 He who is not trusted with his own actions, his drift not b e i n g known to be evil, a n d s t a n d i n g to the hazard of law a n d penalty, has no great a r g u m e n t to think h i m s e l f reputed, in the c o m m o n wealth wherein he w a s born, for other than a fool or a foreigner. W h e n a m a n writes to the world, he s u m m o n s up all his r e a s o n a n d deliberation to assist him; he s e a r c h e s , m e d i t a t e s , is industrious, a n d likely c o n s u l t s and c o n f e r s with his j u d i c i o u s friends, after all which d o n e he takes himself to be i n f o r m e d in what he writes, as well as any that writ b e f o r e him. If in this the m o s t c o n s u m m a t e act of his fidelity a n d r i p e n e s s , no years, no industry, no former proof of his abilities c a n bring him to that state of maturity as not to be still m i s t r u s t e d a n d s u s p e c t e d (unless he carry all his c o n s i d e r a t e dilig e n c e , all his midnight watchings, a n d e x p e n s e of Palladian 4 oil, to the hasty view of an u n l e i s u r e d licenser, p e r h a p s m u c h his younger, p e r h a p s far his inferior in j u d g m e n t , p e r h a p s o n e w h o never knew the labor of book-writing), a n d if he be not r e p u l s e d , or slighted, m u s t a p p e a r in print like a puny 5 with his guardian, a n d his censor's h a n d on the b a c k of his title to be his bail a n d

2. "Ferula": a schoolmaster's rod: " f e s c u e " : a pointer, "imprimatur": "it may be printed" (Latin), appears on the title page of books approved by the Roman Catholic censors. Milton's keen sense of the affront to scholars and scholarship, and to himself, is evident in this p a s s a g e .

3. He temporizes in following the times, and acts by whim (extemporizes). 4. Pertaining to Pallas Athena, goddess of wisdom. 5. A minor, hence, young, u n s e a s o n e d .

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1 1820

JOHN MILTON

surety that he is no idiot, or s e d u c e r ; it c a n n o t be but a dishonor and derogation to the author, to the book, to the privilege a n d dignity of learning. * * * A n d how c a n a m a n teach with authority, which is the life of teaching, how c a n he be a doctor 6 in his b o o k as he ought to be, or else had better be silent, w h e n a s all he t e a c h e s , all he delivers, is but under the tuition, u n d e r the correction of his patriarchal 7 licenser to blot or alter what precisely a c c o r d s not with the hide-bound h u m o r which he calls his j u d g m e n t ? W h e n every a c u t e reader u p o n the first sight of a p e d a n t i c license, will be ready with these like words to ding the book a quoit's 8 d i s t a n c e from him: "1 hate a pupil teacher, I e n d u r e not an instructor that c o m e s to me u n d e r the wardship of an overseeing fist. I know nothing of the licenser, but that I have his own h a n d here for his a r r o g a n c e ; who shall warrant me his j u d g m e n t ? " " T h e state, sir," replies the stationer, 9 but has a quick return: " T h e state shall be my governors, but not my critics; they m a y be m i s t a k e n in the c h o i c e of a licenser, as easily as this licenser may be m i s t a k e n in an a u t h o r . " * trial

obstruction confidently

there are those devotion

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

150

155

160

165

170

175

i8o

185

From all: my sect 8 thou seest, now learn too late How few sometimes may know, when thousand err.' "Whom the grand Foe with scornful eye askance Thus answered. 'Ill for thee, but in wished hour Of my revenge, first sought for thou return'st From flight, seditious angel, to receive Thy merited reward, the first assay Of this right hand provoked, since first that tongue Inspired with contradiction durst oppose A third part of the gods, in synod met Their deities to assert, who while they feel Vigor divine within them, can allow Omnipotence to none. But well thou com'st Before thy fellows, ambitious to win From me some plume, that thy success 9 may show Destruction to the rest: this pause between (Unanswered lest thou boast) 1 to let thee know; At first I thought that liberty and Heav'n To heav'nly souls had been all one;° but now I see that most through sloth had rather serve, Minist'ring Spirits, trained up in feast and song; Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy 2 of Heav'n, Servility0 with freedom to contend, As both their deeds compared this day shall prove.' "To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern replied: Apostate, still thou err'st, nor end wilt find Of erring, from the path of truth remote: Unjustly thou deprav'st 0 it with the name Of servitude to serve whom God ordains, Or nature; God and nature bid the same, When he who rules is worthiest, and excels Them whom he governs. This is servitude, To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebelled Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled; 3 Yet lewdly0 dar'st our minist'ring upbraid. Reign thou in Hell thy kingdom, let me serve In Heav'n God ever blest, and his divine Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed; Yet chains in Hell, not realms expect: meanwhile From me returned, as erst° thou saidst, from flight, This greeting on thy impious crest receive.'

8. The term carries political resonance, since the national English church, Anglican or (during the revolution) Presbyterian, sought to suppress and persecute the sects who separated from it (Baptists, Quakers, Socinians, and others), often denouncing them as heretics. Satan claims that a "synod" (line 156, term for a Presbyterian assembly) has proclaimed the truth of the rebel angels' case; Abdiel insists that truth may rather reside (as here) with a single "dissenter" or a sect of a few.

1931

one and the same

bondage, obsequiousness

vilify

ignorantly, basely

formerly

9. The outcome of your action. "Plume": token of victory. 1. I.e., lest thou boast that I did not answer your argument. 2. Satan's contemptuous pun links together the loyal angels' service ("Minist'ring," line 167) with their song, likened to the street songs of minstrels. 3. Abdiel cites the "natural law" principle that rule rightly belongs to the best or worthiest, and that tyrants are enslaved to their own passions.

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1 1932

190

195

200

205

210

215

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235

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MILTON

"So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield Such ruin intercept: ten paces huge He back recoiled; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstayed; as if on earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong, had pushed a mountain from his seat Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized The rebel Thrones, 4 but greater rage to see Thus foiled their mightiest: ours joy filled, and shout, Presage of victory and fierce desire Of battle: whereat Michael bid sound Th' Archangel trumpet; through the vast of Heav'n It sounded, and the faithful armies rung Hosanna to the Highest: nor stood at gaze The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined The horrid shock: now storming fury rose, And clamor such as heard in Heav'n till now Was never, arms on armor clashing brayed 5 Horrible discord, and the madding 0 wheels Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise Of conflict; overhead the dismal 0 hiss Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, And flying vaulted either host with fire. So under fiery cope° together rushed Both battles main, 6 with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage; all Heav'n Resounded, and had earth been then, all earth Had to her center shook. What wonder? when Millions of fierce encount'ring angels fought On either side, the least of whom could wield These elements, 7 and arm him with the force Of all their regions: how much more of power Army against army numberless to raise Dreadful combustion 0 warring, and disturb, Though not destroy, their happy native seat; Had not th' Eternal King Omnipotent From his stronghold of Heav'n high overruled And limited their might; though numbered such As each divided legion might have seemed A numerous host, in strength each armed hand A legion; led in fight, yet leader seemed Each warrior single as in chief, 8 expert When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway0 Of battle, open when, and when to close 4. Here as elsewhere Milton uses the name of one angelic order to stand for all. But the choice of "Thrones" here carries political resonance, linking monarchs with rebels against God's kingdom. 5. Made a harsh, jarring sound. 6. The principal body of an army, as opposed to

whirling

madly dreadfid

sky

tumult

force

the van, rear, and wing. 7. The four elements—fire, air, water, earth—that constitute the several "regions"' (next line) of planet earth. 8. I.e., the angelic legions had leaders, yet each single warrior seemed like such a leader.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

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245

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265

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The ridges 0 of grim war; no thought of flight, None of retreat, no unbecoming deed That argued fear; each on himself relied, As° only in his arm the moment 9 lay Of victory; deeds of eternal fame Were done, but infinite: for wide was spread That war and various; sometimes on firm ground A standing fight, then soaring on main° wing Tormented" all the air; all air seemed then Conflicting fire: long time in even scale The battle hung; till Satan, who that day Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms No equal, ranging through the dire attack Of fighting Seraphim confused, at length Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled Squadrons at once; with huge two-handed sway Brandished aloft the horrid edge came down Wide-wasting; such destruction to withstand He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield 1 A vast circumference: at his approach The great Archangel from his warlike toil Surceased, and glad as hoping here to end Intestine war° in Heav'n, the Arch-Foe subdued Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown And visage all inflamed first thus began: " Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnamed in Heav'n, now plenteous, as thou seest These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thyself And thy adherents: how hast thou disturbed Heav'n's blessed peace, and into nature brought Misery, uncreated till the crime Of thy rebellion! how hast thou instilled Thy malice into thousands, once upright And faithful, now proved false! But think not here To trouble holy rest; Heav'n casts thee out From all her confines. Heav'n the seat of bliss Brooks 0 not the works of violence and war. Hence then, and evil go with thee along Thy offspring, to the place of evil, Hell, Thou and thy wicked crew; there mingle 0 broils, Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, Or some more sudden vengeance winged from God Precipitate thee with augmented pain.' "So spake the Prince of Angels; to whom thus The Adversary: 'Nor think thou with wind Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise 9. Weight that will tip the scales. I. Satan's shield is a rocldike ("rocky") circle,

1933

ranks as if

strong,

powerful agitated

civil war

endures concoct

made of impenetrable "adamant" (probably diamond), ten layers thick.

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1 1934

JOHN MILTON

Unvanquished, easier to transact with me That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats To chase me hence? 2 Err not that so shall end The strife which thou call'st evil, but we style 290 The strife of glory: which we mean to win, Or turn this Heav'n itself into the Hell Thou fablest, here however to dwell free, If not to reign: meanwhile thy utmost force, And join him named Almighty to thy aid, 295 I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh.' "They ended parle,° and both addressed 0 for fight parley / prepared Unspeakable; for who, though with the tongue Of angels, can relate, or to what things Liken on earth conspicuous, that may lift 300 Human imagination to such height Of godlike power: for likest gods they seemed, Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms Fit to decide the empire of great Heav'n. Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air 305 Made horrid circles; two broad suns their shields Blazed opposite, while Expectation stood 3 In horror; from each hand with speed retired Where erst° was thickest fight, th' angelic throng, ever And left large field, unsafe within the wind 310 Of such commotion, such as to set forth Great things by small, if nature's concord broke, Among the constellations war were sprung, Two planets rushing from aspect malign Of fiercest opposition in midsky, 315 Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound. 4 Together both with next to almighty arm, Uplifted imminent one stroke they aimed That might determine, 0 and not need repeat, 0 end / repetition As not of power, 5 at once; nor odds 0 appeared inequality 320 In might or swift prevention; 0 but the sword anticipation Of Michael from the armory of God Was giv'n him tempered so, that neither keen Nor solid might resist that edge: it met The sword of Satan with steep force to smite 325 Descending, and in half cut sheer, nor stayed, But with swift wheel reverse, deep ent'ring shared 0 cut off All his right side; then Satan first knew pain, And writhed him to and fro convolved; 0 so sore contorted The griding0 sword with discontinuous 0 wound keenly cutting I gaping 330 Passed through him, but th' ethereal substance closed Not long divisible, and from the gash A stream of nectarous humor issuing flowed 2. I.e., Have you made even the least of my followers flee, or seen them fall and fail to rise, that you would hope "imperiously" to deal ("transact") otherwise with me, driving me off by mere threats? "Err not" (following): don't falsely suppose. 3. Personifying the angels' apprehension. 4. An epic simile comparing the clash of these

armies ("great things") with war among the planets, in which two planets clashing together from diametrically opposed positions ("aspect malign"), would cast the planetary system and its music ("jarring spheres") into confusion ("confound"). 5. I.e., because they would not have power to repeat the blow.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK Sanguine," such as celestial Spirits m a y bleed,

1935

blood-red

A n d all his a r m o r s t a i n e d e r e w h i l e s o b r i g h t . 335

F o r t h w i t h on all s i d e s to his a i d w a s r u n By angels m a n y and strong, w h o interposed D e f e n s e , while others bore h i m on their shields B a c k to his chariot, where it stood retired F r o m o f f t h e files of war; there they h i m laid

340

G n a s h i n g for anguish a n d despite and s h a m e To find h i m s e l f not m a t c h l e s s , a n d his pride H u m b l e d by such rebuke, so far beneath His confidence to equal G o d in power. Yet s o o n h e h e a l e d ; for Spirits that live t h r o u g h o u t

345

Vital in every part, not as frail m a n In entrails, h e a r t or h e a d , liver or r e i n s , "

kidneys

C a n n o t but by annihilating die; N o r in their liquid texture mortal w o u n d R e c e i v e , n o m o r e t h a n c a n the fluid air: 350

All h e a r t t h e y live, all h e a d , all eye, all e a r , All i n t e l l e c t , all s e n s e , a n d a s t h e y p l e a s e , T h e y limb t h e m s e l v e s , 6 a n d color, s h a p e , or size A s s u m e , as likes" t h e m best, c o n d e n s e or rare.

pleases

" M e a n w h i l e in other parts like d e e d s deserved 355

Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought, A n d with fierce ensigns pierced the deep array Of M o l o c h furious king,7 w h o him defied, A n d at his chariot w h e e l s to d r a g h i m b o u n d Threatened, nor from the Holy O n e of Heav'n

360

Refrained his tongue b l a s p h e m o u s ; but a n o n D o w n clov'n to the waist, with shattered a r m s A n d uncouth" pain fled bellowing. On each wing

unfamiliar

Uriel and Raphael his vaunting foe, T h o u g h huge, and in a rock of diamond armed, 365

Vanquished Adramelech, and Asmadai,8 T w o potent T h r o n e s , that to be less than gods Disdained, but m e a n e r t h o u g h t s learned in their flight, M a n g l e d with ghastly w o u n d s through plate and mail. N o r stood u n m i n d f u l Abdiel to annoy"

370

injure

T h e atheist" crew, but with redoubled blow

impious

Ariel a n d Arioch, a n d t h e v i o l e n c e Of Ramiel9 scorched and blasted overthrew. I might relate of thousands, a n d their n a m e s Eternize here on earth; but those elect 375

Angels c o n t e n t e d with their f a m e in Heav'n S e e k not the praise of men: the other sort In might though wondrous and in acts of war, N o r of renown less eager, yet by d o o m Canceled from Heav'n and sacred memory,

380

N a m e l e s s in d a r k oblivion let t h e m dwell. 6. I.e., provide themselves with limbs. "Condense or rare" (line 353): dense or airy. 7. With his companies ("ensigns") he pierced Moloch's troops in their dense formation ("deep array").

8. Asmodeus, a Persian god (cf. 4.167—71). "Adramelech": "king of fire," a god worshipped at Samaria with human sacrifice. 9. "Ariel": "lion of God." "Arioch": "lionlike." "Ramiel": "thunder of God."

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1 1936

JOHN MILTON

For strength from truth divided and from just, Illaudable, 0 naught merits but dispraise And ignominy, yet to glory aspires Vainglorious, and through infamy seeks fame: Therefore eternal silence be their doom. "And now their mightiest quelled, the battle swerved, 1 With many an inroad gored; deformed rout Entered, and foul disorder; all the ground With shivered armor strown, and on a heap Chariot and charioteer lay overturned And fiery foaming steeds; what 0 stood, recoiled O'erwearied, through the faint Satanic host Defensive scarce, 2 or with pale fear surprised, 0 Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain Fled ignominious, to such evil brought By sin of disobedience, till that hour Not liable to fear or flight or pain. Far otherwise th' inviolable saints In cubic phalanx 0 firm advanced entire, Invulnerable, impenetrably armed: Such high advantages their innocence Gave them above their foes, not to have sinned, Not to have disobeyed; in fight they stood Unwearied, unobnoxious 0 to be pained By wound, though from their place by violence moved. "Now night her course began, and over Heav'n Inducing darkness, grateful truce imposed, And silence on the odious din of war: Under her cloudy covert both retired, Victor and vanquished: on the foughten field Michael and his angels prevalent 0 Encamping, placed in guard their watches round, Cherubic waving fires: on th' other part Satan with his rebellious disappeared, Far in the dark dislodged, 0 and void of rest, His potentates to council called by night; And in the midst thus undismayed began: " 'O now in danger tried, now known in arms Not to be overpowered, companions dear, Found worthy not of liberty alone, Too mean pretense, 0 but what we more affect, 3 Honor, dominion, glory, and renown, Who have sustained one day in doubtful 0 fight, (And if one day, why not eternal days?) What Heaven's Lord had powerfullest to send Against us from about his throne, and judged Sufficient to subdue us to his will, But proves not so: then fallible, it seems, Of future 0 we may deem him, though till now Omniscient thought. True is, less firmly armed, 1. I.e., the army gave way. 2. Scarcely defending themselves.

unworthy of praise

those who seized unexpectedly

formation

not liable

victorious

shifted

3. Aspire to.

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quarters

low aim indecisive

in the future

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Some disadvantage we endured and pain, Till now not known, but known as soon contemned, 4 Since now we find this our empyreal form Incapable of mortal injury Imperishable, and though pierced with wound, Soon closing, and by native vigor healed. Of evil then so small as easy think The remedy; perhaps more valid 0 arms, Weapons more violent, when next we meet, May serve to better us, and worse 0 our foes, Or equal what between us made the odds, In nature none: if other hidden cause Left them superior, while we can preserve Unhurt our minds, and understanding sound, Due search and consultation will disclose.' " H e sat; and in th' assembly next upstood Nisroch, 5 of Principalities the prime; As one he stood escaped from cruel fight, Sore toiled, his riven arms to havoc hewn,° And cloudy in aspect thus answering spake: 'Deliverer from new lords, leader to free Enjoyment of our right as gods; yet hard For gods, and too unequal work we find Against unequal arms to fight in pain, Against unpained, impassive; 6 from which evil Ruin must needs ensue; for what avails Valor or strength, though matchless, quelled with pain Which all subdues, and makes remiss 0 the hands Of mightiest. S e n s e of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, But live content, which is the calmest life: But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience. He who therefore can invent With what more forcible we may offend 0 Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm Ourselves with like defense, to m e ° deserves No less than for deliverance what we owe.' 7 "Whereto with look composed Satan replied. 'Not uninvented that, which thou aright Believ'st so main 0 to our success, I bring; Which of us who beholds the bright surface Of this ethereous mold 0 whereon we stand, This continent of spacious Heav'n, adorned With plant, fruit, flow'r ambrosial, gems and gold, Whose eye so superfically surveys These things, as not to mind 0 from whence they grow Deep underground, materials dark and crude, Of spiritous and fiery spume, 0 till touched 4. No sooner known than despised. 5. An Assyrian god; the Hebrew name was said to mean flight or luxurious temptation.

1937

•powerful injure

cut to pieces

slack, weak

attack in my opinion

essential ethereal

matter

consider frothy

matter

6. Not liable to suffering. 7. I.e., we would owre such a one our deliverance.

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1 1938

JOHN MILTON

With Heav'n's ray, and tempered they shoot forth So beauteous, op'ning to the ambient 0 light. These in their dark nativity the deep Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal 0 flame, Which into hollow engines 0 long and round Thick-rammed, at th' other bore 8 with touch of fire Dilated and infuriate 0 shall send forth From far with thund'ring noise among our foes Such implements of mischief as shall dash To pieces, and o'erwhelm whatever stands Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed The Thunderer of his only 0 dreaded bolt. Nor long shall be our labor, yet ere dawn, Effect shall end our wish. Meanwhile revive; Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joined Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.' He ended, and his words their drooping cheer 0 Enlightened, and their languished hope revived. Th' invention all admired, 0 and each, how he To be th' inventor missed, so easy it seemed Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought Impossible: yet haply 0 of thy race In future days, if malice should abound, S o m e o n e intent on mischief, or inspired With dev'lish machination might devise Like instrument to plague the sons of men For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent. Forthwith from council to the work they flew, N o n e arguing stood, innumerable hands Were ready, in a moment up they turned Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath Th' originals 0 of nature in their crude Conception; sulphurous and nitrous foam 9 They found, they mingled, and with subtle art, Concocted 0 and adjusted 0 they reduced To blackest grain, and into store conveyed: Part hidden veins digged up (nor hath this earth Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone, Whereof to found 0 their engines and their balls Of missive 0 ruin; part incentive 0 reed Provide, pernicious 0 with one touch to fire. So all ere day-spring, 0 under conscious 1 night Secret they finished, and in order set, With silent circumspection unespied. Now when fair morn orient in Heav'n appeared Up rose the victor angels, and to arms The matin 0 trumpet sung: in arms they stood Of golden panoply, refulgent 0 host, Soon banded; others from the dawning hills

8. The touchhole into which fine powder was poured to serve as fuse for the charge. "Thick": compactly.

enveloping from

underground cannon raging

unique

spirits marveled at

possibly

original

elements

heated / dried

cast missile / kindling quick,

destructive dawn

morning shining

9. Saltpeter ("nitrous foam") and sulphur are the ingredients of gunpowder, 1. Aware, as an accessory to a crime.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

530

535

540

545

550

555

560

565

570

575

Looked round, and scouts each coast light-armed scour, Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight, In motion or in alt:° him soon they met Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow But firm battalion; back with speediest sail Zophiel, 2 of Cherubim the swiftest wing, C a m e flying, and in mid-air aloud thus cried: " 'Arm, warriors, arm for fight, the foe at hand, W h o m fled we thought, will save us long pursuit This day, fear not his flight; so thick a cloud He comes, and settled in his face I see Sad° resolution and secure: 0 let each His adamantine" coat gird well, and each Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield, Borne ev'n 0 or high, for this day will pour down, If I conjecture 0 aught, no drizzling shower, But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire.' So warned he them aware themselves, and soon In order, quit of all impediment; 0 Instant without disturb 0 they took alarm, And onward move embattled; 0 when behold Not distant far the heavy pace the foe Approaching gross 0 and huge; in hollow cube Training 0 his devilish enginry, impaled 0 On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, To hide the fraud. At interview 0 both stood A while, but suddenly at head appeared Satan: and thus was heard commanding loud: " 'Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold; That all may see who hate us, how we seek Peace and composure, 0 and with open breast Stand ready to receive them, if they like Our overture, 3 and turn not back perverse; But that I doubt, however witness Heaven, Heav'n witness thou anon, while we discharge Freely our part: ye who appointed stand Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch What we propound, and loud that all may hear.' " S o scoffing in ambiguous words, he scarce Had ended; when to right and left the front Divided, and to either flank retired. Which to our eyes discovered new and strange, A triple-mounted 0 row of pillars laid On wheels (for like to pillars most they seemed Or hollowed bodies made of oak or fir With branches lopped, in wood or mountain felled) Brass, iron, stony mold, 0 had not their mouths With hideous orifice gaped on us wide, 2. Hebrew, "spy of God." 3. A pun on "offer to negotiate" and "opening" (aperture), the hole or muzzle of the cannon. The passage is full of puns: e.g., "perverse" (line 562,

1939

halt

soher / confident of hardest metal straight out interpret signs

hindrance disorder in hattle order compact haiding/fenced

at mutual view

agreement

in three rows

matter

peevish, turned the wrong way), "discharge" (line 564), "charge," "touch," "propound," "loud" (lines 566—67), "hollow" (line 578).

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1 1940

JOHN MILTON

Portending hollow truce; at each behind A Seraph stood, and in his hand a reed Stood waving tipped with fire; while we suspense, 0 Collected stood within our thoughts amused, 0 Not long, for sudden all at once their reeds Put forth, and to a narrow vent applied With nicest 0 touch. Immediate in a flame, But soon obscured with smoke, all Heav'n appeared, From those deep-throated engines belched, 4 whose roar Emboweled 0 with outrageous noise the air, And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul Their devilish glut, chained 5 thunderbolts and hail Of iron globes, which on the victor host Leveled, with such impetuous fury smote, That whom they hit, none on their feet might stand, Though standing else as rocks, but down they fell By thousands, Angel on Archangel rolled, The sooner for their arms; unarmed they might Have easily as Spirits evaded swift By quick contraction or remove; but now Foul dissipation 0 followed and forced rout; Nor served it to relax their serried files. 6 What should they do? If on they rushed, repulse Repeated, and indecent 0 overthrow Doubled, would render them yet more despised, And to their foes a laughter; for in view Stood ranked of Seraphim another row In posture to displode 0 their second dire 0 Of thunder: back defeated to return They worse abhorred. Satan beheld their plight, And to his mates thus in derision called: " 'O friends, why come not on these victors proud? Erewhile they fierce were coming, and when we, To entertain them fair with open front 0 And breast, 0 (what could we more?) propounded 7 terms Of composition, straight they changed their minds, Flew off, and into strange vagaries 0 fell, As they would dance, yet for a dance they seemed Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps For joy of offering peace: but I suppose If our proposals once again were heard We should compel them to a quick result.' "To whom thus Belial in like gamesome mood: 'Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight, Of hard contents, and full of force urged home, Such as we might perceive amused them 8 all, And stumbled many: who receives them right, 4. See the sustained debased imagery relating to bodily functions, e.g., "belched," "emboweled," "entrails." 5. Chainshot, which was linked cannonballs. 6. I.e., nor did it do any good ("served it") to loosen up ("relax") their rows pressed close together ("serried files").

m suspense puzzled

most exact

disemboweled

dispersal

shameful

explode / volley

candid face heart eccentric

motions

7. More puns, on "propounded," "terms of composition," "flew off." 8. A pun on "held their attention" and "bewildered them." Belial also puns on (among other terms) "stumbled" ("nonplussed" and "tripped up") and "understand" ("comprehend" and "prop up").

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Had need from head to foot well understand; Not understood, this gift they have besides, They show us when our foes walk not upright." " S o they a m o n g themselves in pleasant 0 vein Stood scoffing, heightened in their thoughts beyond All doubt of victory, Eternal Might To match with their inventions they presumed So easy, and of his thunder made a scorn, And all his host derided, while they 0 stood A while in trouble; but they stood not long, Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose. Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power, Which God hath in his mighty angels placed) Their arms away they threw, and to the hills (For earth hath this variety from Heav'n Of pleasure situate in hill and dale) Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they flew, From their foundations loos'ning to and fro They plucked the seated hills with all their load, 9 Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops Uplifting bore them in their hands: amaze, 0 Be sure, and terror seized the rebel host, When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the mountains upward turned, Till on those cursed engines' triple-row They saw them whelmed, and all their confidence Under the weight of mountains buried deep, Themselves invaded 0 next, and on their heads Main 0 promontories flung, which in the air C a m e shadowing, and oppressed 0 whole legions armed. Their armor helped their harm, crushed in and bruised Into their substance pent, 0 which wrought them pain Implacable, and many a dolorous groan, Long struggling undernearth, ere they could wind Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light, Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. The rest in imitation to like arms Betook them, and the neighboring hills uptore; So hills amid the air encountered hills Hurled to and fro with jaculation 0 dire, That underground they fought in dismal shade; Infernal noise; war seemed a civil 0 game To° this uproar; horrid confusion heaped Upon confusion rose: and now all Heav'n Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread, Had not th' Almighty Father where he sits Shrined in his sanctuary of Heav'n secure, Consulting 0 on the sum of things, foreseen This tumult, and permitted all, advised: 0

1941

jesting

the good angels

astonishment,

panic

attacked great, solid pressed down closely confined

hurling humane,

refined

compared to

considering deliberately

9. The hurling of hills as missiles is taken from the war between the Olympian gods and the Giants, in Hesiod's Theogony.

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1 1942

JOHN

MILTON

675

That his great purpose he might so fulfill, To honor his anointed Son avenged Upon his enemies, and to declare All power on him transferred: whence to his Son Th' assessor 1 of his throne he thus began: 680 " 'Effulgence 0 of my glory, Son beloved, Son in whose face invisible is beheld Visibly, 2 what by Deity I am, And in whose hand what by decree I do, Second Omnipotence, 3 two days are passed, 685 Two days, as we compute the days of Heav'n, Since Michael and his powers went forth to tame T h e s e disobedient; sore hath been their fight, As likeliest was, when two such foes met armed; For to themselves I left them, and thou know'st, 690 Equal in their creation they were formed, Save what sin hath impaired, which yet hath wrought Insensibly, 0 for I suspend their doom; Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last Endless, and no solution will be found: 695 War wearied hath performed what war can do, And to disordered rage let loose the reins, With mountains as with weapons armed, which makes Wild work in Heav'n, and dangerous to the main. 0 Two days are therefore passed, the third is thine; 700 For thee I have ordained it, and thus far Have suffered, 0 that the glory may be thine Of ending this great war, since none but thou C a n end it. Into thee such virtue and grace Immense I have transfused, that all may know 705 In Heav'n and Hell thy power above compare, And this perverse commotion governed thus, To manifest thee worthiest to be heir Of all things, to be heir and to be King By sacred unction, 0 thy deserved right. 710 Go then thou mightiest in thy Father's might, Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels That shake Heav'n's basis, bring forth all my war, 0 My bow and thunder, my almighty arms Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh; 7i5 Pursue these sons of darkness, drive them out From all Heav'n's bounds into the utter 0 deep: There let them learn, as likes them, to despise God and Messiah his anointed 4 King.' " H e said, and on his Son with rays direct 720 Shone full, he all his Father full expressed Ineffably 0 into his face received, And thus the Filial Godhead answering spake: 1. One who sits beside, an associate. 2. Cf. Colossians 1.15: "Who is the image of the invisible God." 3. Two omnipotences are a logical impossibility; the phrase underscores Milton's view that the Son receives all power from the Father. Cf. John 5.19,

radiance

imperceptively

whole continent

permitted

anointing

instruments of war

outer

inexpressibly

"The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do," which Milton cites in Christian Doctrine 1.5 to argue that the Son derives all power from the Father. 4. The literal meaning of "messiah."

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

1943

" 'O Father, O S u p r e m e of heav'nly Thrones, First, highest, holiest, best, thou always seek'st 725 To glorify thy Son, I always thee, As is most just; this I my glory account, My exaltation, and my whole delight, That thou in me well pleased, declar'st thy will Fulfilled, which to fulfill is all my bliss. 730 Scepter and power, thy giving, I assume, And gladlier shall resign, when in the end Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee Forever, and in me all whom thou lov'st: But whom thou hat'st, I hate, and can put on 735 Thy terrors, as I put thy mildness on, Image of thee in all things; and shall soon, Armed with thy might, rid Heav'n of these rebelled, To their prepared ill mansion driven down To chains of darkness, and th' undying worm, 740 That from thy j u s t obedience could revolt, Whom to obey is happiness entire. Then shall thy saints unmixed, and from th' impure Far separate, circling thy holy mount Unfeigned hallelujahs to thee sing, 745 Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief.' So said, he o'er his scepter bowing, rose From the right hand of Glory where he sat, And the third sacred morn began to shine Dawning through Heav'n: forth rushed with whirlwind sound 750 The chariot of Paternal Deity, Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn, Itself instinct with 0 spirit, but convoyed animated by By four Cherubic shapes, four faces each 5 Had wondrous, as with stars their bodies all 755 And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels Of beryl, and careering fires between; 6 Over their heads a crystal firmament, Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure Amber, and colors of the show'ry arch.° rainbow 760 He in celestial panoply all armed Of radiant urim, 7 work divinely wrought, Ascended, at his right hand Victory Sat eagle-winged, beside him hung his bow And quiver with three-bolted thunder stored, 8 765 And from about him fierce effusion" rolled co-pious emission Of smoke and bickering 0 flame, and sparkles dire; flickering Attended with ten thousand thousand saints, He onward came, far off his coming shone, And twenty thousand 9 (I their number heard) 5. The Son's living chariot, with its four-faced Cherubim—the faces being man, lion, ox, and eagle—is taken from Ezekiel 1 (especially 1.10) and 10. 6. Cf. Ezekiel 10.12: "And their whole body, and their backs, and their hands, and their wings, and the wheels, were full of eyes round about, even the wheels that they four had."

7. Gems worn by Aaron in his "breastplate of judgment" (Exodus 28.30). 8. Jove's bird was the eagle; his weapon was the thunderbolt. 9. Cf. Psalm 68.17: "The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels: the Lord is among them."

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1 1944

JOHN MILTON

Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen: He on the wings of Cherub rode sublime 0 On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throned, Illustrious 0 far and wide, but by his own First seen: them unexpected joy surprised, When the great ensign of Messiah blazed Aloft by angels borne, his sign in Heav'n: Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced 0 His army, circumfused 0 on either wing, Under their Head embodied all in one. Before him Power Divine his way prepared; At his command the uprooted hills retired Each to his place, they heard his voice and went Obsequious, 0 Heav'n his wonted face renewed, And with fresh flow'rets hill and valley smiled. This saw his hapless foes but stood obdured, 0 And to rebellious fight rallied their powers Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. In heav'nly Spirits could such perverseness dwell? But to convince the proud what signs avail, Or wonders move th' obdurate to relent? They hardened more by what might most reclaim, Grieving 0 to see his glory, at the sight Took envy, and aspiring to his height, Stood re-embattled 1 fierce, by force or fraud Weening 0 to prosper, and at length prevail Against God and Messiah, or to fall In universal ruin last, and now To final battle drew; disdaining flight, Or faint retreat; when the great Son of God To all his host on either hand thus spake: " 'Stand still in bright array ye saints, here stand Ye angels armed, this day from battle rest; 2 Faithful hath been your warfare, and of G o d Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause, And as ye have received, so have ye done Invincibly; but of this cursed crew The punishment to other hand belongs, Vengeance is his, 3 or whose he sole appoints; Number to this day's work is not ordained Nor multitude, stand only and behold God's indignation on these godless poured By me, not you but me they have despised, Yet envied; against me is all their rage, Because the Father, t' whom in Heav'n supreme Kingdom and power and glory appertains, Hath honored me according to his will. Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned; That they may have their wish, to try with me In battle which the stronger proves, they all, 1. Drawn up again in battle formation. 2. Echoes Moses' words when God destroyed the Egyptians in the Red Sea (Exodus 14.13): "Fearye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord,

lifted up shining

led back spread around

dutiful hardened

aggrieved

thinking

which he will shew to you to day." 3. Cf. Romans 12.19: "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

820

825

830

835

840

845

850

855

860

865

870

Or I alone against them, since by strength They measure all, of other excellence Not emulous," nor care who them excels; Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe.'" " S o spake the Son, and into terror changed His count'nance too severe to be beheld And full of wrath bent on his enemies. At once the Four 4 spread out their starry wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. He on his impious foes right onward drove, Gloomy as night; under his burning wheels The steadfast empyrean shook throughout, All but the throne itself of God. Full soon Among them he arrived; in his right hand Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in their souls infixed Plagues; they astonished 0 all resistance lost, All courage; down their idle weapons dropped; O'er shields and helms, and helmed heads he rode Of Thrones and mighty Seraphim prostrate, That wished the mountains now might be again Thrown on them as a shelter from his ire. Nor less on either side tempestuous fell His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four, Distinct" with eyes, and from the living wheels, Distinct alike with multitude of eyes; One spirit in them ruled, and every eye Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious 0 fire Among th' accursed, that withered all their strength, And of their wonted" vigor left them drained, Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fall'n. Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked His thunder in mid-volley, for he meant Not to destroy, but root them out of Heav'n: The overthrown he raised, and as a herd Of goats or timorous flock together thronged Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued With terrors and with furies to the bounds And crystal wall of Heav'n, which op'ning wide, Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed Into the wasteful 0 deep; the monstrous sight Strook them with horror backward, but far worse Urged them behind; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heav'n, eternal wrath Rurnt after them to the bottomless pit. "Hell heard th' unsufferable noise, Hell saw Heav'n ruining 0 from Heav'n, and would have fled Affrighted; but strict fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. Nine days they fell; confounded C h a o s roared,

1945

desirous of rivaling grant

struck with fear

adorned

deadly accustomed

desolate

falling headlong

4. The four "Cherubic shapes" of line 753.

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1 1946

875

88o

885

890

895

900

905

910

JOHN

MILTON

And felt tenfold confusion in their fall Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout° Encumbered 0 him with ruin: Hell at last Yawning received them whole, and on them closed, Hell their fit habitation fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. Disburdened Heav'n rejoiced, and soon repaired Her mural 0 breach, returning whence it rolled. Sole "victor from th' expulsion of his foes Messiah his triumphal chariot turned: To meet him all his saints, who silent stood Eyewitnesses of his almighty acts, With jubilee 0 advanced; and as they went, Shaded with branching palm, each order bright S u n g triumph, and him sung victorious King, Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion giv'n, Worthiest to reign: he celebrated rode Triumphant through mid-Heav'n, into the courts And temple of his mighty Father throned On high: who into glory him received, Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. "Thus measuring things in Heav'n by things on earth At thy request, and that thou may'st beware By what is past, to thee I have revealed What might have else to human race been hid; The discord which befell, and war in Heav'n Among th' angelic powers, 0 and the deep fall Of those too high aspiring, who rebelled With Satan, he who envies now thy state, Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him Bereaved of happiness thou may'st partake His punishment, eternal misery; Which would be all his solace and revenge, As a despite 0 done against the Most High, Thee once to gain companion of his woe. But listen not to his temptations, warn Thy weaker; 5 let it profit thee to have heard By terrible example the reward Of disobedience; firm they might have stood, Yet fell; remember, and fear to transgress."

defeated army burdened

in the wall

joyful shouts

armies

malicious act

Book 7 Descend from Heav'n Urania, 1 by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above th' Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing. 2 5. Eve, who is, however, present for this story. 1. Urania, the Greek Muse of astronomy, had been made into the Muse ol Christian poetry bv du Bartas and other religious poets. Milton, however, constructs another derivation for her (line

5ff.). Miiton begins Book 7 with a third proem (lines 1-39). 2. Pegasus, the flying horse of inspired poetry, suggests (in connection with Bellerophon, line 18) Milton's sense of perilous audacity in writing thispoem.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

The meaning, not the name I call: for thou Nor of the muses nine, nor on the top Of old Olympus dwell'st, but heav'nly born Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed, Thou with eternal Wisdom 3 didst converse, 0 Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of th' Almighty Father, pleased With thy celestial song. Up led by thee Into the Heav'n of Heav'ns I have presumed, An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, Thy temp'ring; 0 with like safety guided down Return me to my native element: Lest from this flying steed unreined (as once Bellerophon, 4 though from a lower clime) 0 Dismounted, on th' Aleian field I fall Erroneous 0 there to wander and forlorn. Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound Within the visible diurnal sphere; 5 Standing on earth, not rapt 0 above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fall'n on evil days, On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues; In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, 6 And solitude; yet not alone, while thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when morn Purples the east: still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few. But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revelers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamor drowned Both harp and voice; 7 nor could the Muse defend Her son. 8 So fail not thou, who thee implores: For thou art heav'nly, she an empty dream.

1947

associate

made suitable by thee

region straying

transported,

enraptured

Say goddess, what ensued when Raphael, The affable Archangel, had forewarned Adam by dire example to beware Apostasy, by what befell in Heaven To those apostates, lest the like befall 3. In Proverbs 8.24—31 Wisdom tells of her activities before the Creation: "Then I was by him [God], as one brought up with him: and 1 was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him." Milton describes "eternal Wisdom" as a daughter of God (personification of his wisdom) and devises a myth in which the Muse of divine poetry ("celestial song," line 12) is Wisdom's "sister"—also, thereby, originating from God. 4. Bellerophon incurred the gods' anger when he tried to fly to heaven upon Pegasus; Zeus sent an insect to sting the horse, and Bellerophon fell down to the "Aleian field" (plain of error), where he wandered alone and blind until his death. 5. The universe, which appears to rotate daily. 6. After the Restoration of Charles II (May 1660) and until the passage of the Act of Oblivion

(August 1660), Milton was in danger of death and dismemberment (like Orpheus, lines 34—35); several of his republican colleagues were hanged, disembowelled, and quartered for their part in the revolution and regicide. 7. The music of the "Thracian bard" Orpheus, type of the poet, charmed even "woods and rocks," but his song was drowned out by the Bacchantes, a "wild rout" of screaming women who murdered and dismembered him and threw his body parts into the Hebrus River, which rises in the "Rhodope" mountains. Milton fears that a similar "barbarous dissonance" unleashed by the Restoration will drown out his voice and threaten his life. 8. Orpheus's mother is Calliope, Muse of epic poetry.

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1 1948

JOHN MILTON

In Paradise to Adam or his race, Charged not to touch the interdicted tree, If they transgress, and slight that sole command, So easily obeyed amid the choice Of all tastes else 0 to please their appetite, Though wand'ring. He with his consorted 0 Eve The story heard attentive, and was filled With admiration, 0 and deep muse to hear Of things so high and strange, things to their thought So unimaginable as hate in Heav'n, And war so near the peace of God in bliss With such confusion: but the evil soon Driv'n back redounded 0 as a flood on those flowed From whom it sprung, impossible to mix With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealed 0 The doubts that in his heart arose: and now Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know What nearer might concern him, how this world Of Heav'n and earth conspicuous 0 first began, When, and whereof created, for what cause, What within Eden or without was done Before his memory, as one whose drouth 0 Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current 0 stream, Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites, Proceeded thus to ask his heav'nly guest: "Great things, and full of wonder in our ears, Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed Divine interpreter, by favor sent Down from the empyrean to forewarn Us timely of what might else 0 have been our loss, Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach: For which to the Infinitely Good we owe Immortal thanks, and his admonishment Receive with solemn purpose to observe Immutably his sov'reign will, the end 0 Of what we are. But since thou hast vouchsafed Gently for our instruction to impart Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned Our knowing, as to Highest Wisdom seemed, Deign to descend now lower, and relate What may no less perhaps avail us known, How first began this Heav'n which we behold Distant so high, with moving fires adorned Innumerable, and this which yields or fills All space, the ambient 0 air wide interfused Embracing round this florid 0 earth, what cause Moved the Creator in his holy rest Through all eternity so late to build In Chaos, 9 and the work begun, how soon 9. Adam's question about God's actions before the Creation was often cited as an example of presumptuous and dangerous speculation, especially

besides wedded amazement

back abandoned

visible thirst flowing

otherwise

purpose

yielding

flmvery

when, as here, it implies mutability in God. But in Milton's Eden, error that is not deliberate is not sinful.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Absolved," if unforbid thou may'st What we, not to explore the secrets ask Of his eternal empire, but the more To magnify 0 his works, the more we know. And the great light of day yet wants to run Much of his race though steep, suspense" in Heav'n Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears, And longer will delay to hear thee tell His generation, 0 and the rising birth Of nature from the unapparent 1 deep: Or if the star of evening and the moon Haste to thy audience, night with her will bring Silence, and sleep list'ning to thee will watch, 0 Or we can bid his absence, till thy song End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine." Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought: And thus the godlike angel answered mild: "This also thy request with caution asked Obtain: though to recount almighty works What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice, Or heart of man suffice to comprehend? Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve

unfold

1. Invisible, because dark and without form. 2. I.e., Lucifer (Satan) was once brighter among the angels than the star bearing his name is among

1949

finished

glorify attentive,

suspended

creation

stay awake

To glorify the M a k e r , and infer 0

Thee also happier, shall not be withheld Thy hearing, such commission from above I have received, to answer thy desire Of knowledge within bounds; beyond abstain To ask, nor let thine own inventions 0 hope Things not revealed, which th' invisible King, Only omniscient, hath suppressed in night, To none communicable in earth or Heaven: Enough is left besides to search and know. But knowledge is as food, and needs no less Her temperance over appetite, to know In measure what the mind may well contain, Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. "Know then, that after Lucifer from Heav'n (So call him, brighter once amidst the host Of angels, than that star the stars among) 2 Fell with his flaming legions through the deep Into his place, and the great Son returned Victorious with his saints, th' Omnipotent Eternal Father from his throne beheld Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake: " 'At least our envious foe hath failed, who thought All like himself rebellious, by whose aid This inaccessible high strength, the seat Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed, 3

make, render

speculations

the stars. 3. I.e., once he had dispossessed us.

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1 1950

JOHN MILTON

He trusted to have seized, and into fraud 0 Drew many, whom their place knows here no more; 145 Yet far the greater part have kept, I see, Their station, Heav'n yet populous retains Number sufficient to possess her realms Though wide, and this high temple to frequent With ministeries due and solemn rites: 150 But lest his heart exalt him in the harm Already done, to have dispeopled Heav'n, My damage fondly 0 deemed, I can repair That detriment, if such it be to lose Self-lost, and in a moment will create 155 Another world, out of one man a race Of men innumerable, there to dwell, Not here, till by degrees of merit raised They open to themselves at length the way Up hither, under long obedience tried, 160 And earth be changed to Heav'n and Heav'n to earth, One kingdom, joy and union without end. Meanwhile inhabit lax,° ye Powers of Heav'n; And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee This I perform, speak thou, and be it done: 4 165 My overshadowing Spirit and might with thee I send along, ride forth, and bid the deep Within appointed bounds be heav'n and earth, Boundless the deep, because I am who fill Infinitude, nor vacuous the space, no Though I uncircumscribed myself retire, And put not forth my goodness, which is free To act or not, 5 necessity and chance Approach not me, and what I will is fate.' "So spake th' Almighty and to what he spake 175 His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect. Immediate are the acts of God, more swift Than time or motion, but to human ears Cannot without process of speech be told, So told as earthly notion" can receive. 6 180 Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heav'n When such was heard declared the Almighty's will; 'Glory' they sung to the Most High, 'good will To future men, and in their dwellings peace: Glory to him whose just avenging ire 185 Had driven out th' ungodly from his sight And th' habitations of the just; to him Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained Good out of evil to create, instead Of Spirits malign a better race to bring 4. God identifies himself as Creator, the Son as his agent to speak his creating Word. 5. Milton's God creates out of Chaos, not out of nothing; the matter of Chaos emanated from God, and Chaos is therefore "infinite" because God fills it even while he withholds his "goodness" (creating power) from it. Neither necessity nor chance affect

deception, error

foolishly

spread out

human

understanding

in any way God's freely willed creative act. 6. Raphael explains the principle of accommodation, whereby God's acts are said to be translated into terms humans can understand: here, a six-day creation. This principle allows for an escape from biblical literalism.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse His good to worlds and ages infinite.' So sang the hierarchies: meanwhile the Son On his great expedition now appeared, Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned Of majesty divine, sapience 0 and love Immense, and all his Father in him shone. About his chariot numberless were poured Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones, And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged, From the armory of God, where stand of old Myriads between two brazen mountains lodged Against 0 a solemn day, harnessed at hand, Celestial equipage; and now c a m e forth Spontaneous, for within them spirit lived, Attendant on their Lord: Heav'n opened wide Her ever-during° gates, harmonious sound On golden hinges moving, to let forth The King of Glory 7 in his powerful Word And Spirit coming to create new worlds. On heav'nly ground they stood, and from the shore They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss Outrageous 0 as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, Up from the bottom turned by furious winds And surging waves, as mountains to assault Heav'n's height, and with the center mix the pole. " 'Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace,' Said then th' Omnific 0 Word, 'your discord end': "Nor stayed, but on the wings of Cherubim Uplifted, in paternal glory rode Far into C h a o s , and the world unborn; For Chaos heard his voice: him all his train Followed in bright procession to behold Creation, and the wonders of his might. Then stayed the fervid 0 wheels, and in his hand He took the golden compasses, prepared In God's eternal store, to circumscribe This universe, and all created things: One foot he centered, and the other turned Round through the vast profundity obscure, And said, 'Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, This be thy j u s t 0 circumference O world.' Thus God the heav'n 0 created, thus the earth, Matter unformed and void: darkness profound Covered th' abyss: but on the wat'ry calm His brooding wings the Spirit of G o d outspread, And vital virtue 0 infused, and vital warmth Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purged The black tartareous cold infernal dregs 8 7. Cf. Psalm 24.9: "Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory7 shall come in." 8. Crusty, gritty stuff left over from the elements

1951

wisdom

in preparation for

lasting

enormous, violent

all-creating

burning

exact the sky

power

infused with life that make up the universe; it is associated with Hell ("infernal,' "tartarous") and presumably used in its composition.

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1 1952

JOHN MILTON

Adverse to life: then founded, then conglobed Like things to like, the rest to several place Disparted, and between spun out the air, And earth self-balanced on her center hung. " 'Let there be light,' said God, 9 and forthwith light Ethereal, first of things, quintessence 1 pure Sprung from the deep, and from her native east To journey through the airy gloom began, Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle Sojourned the while. God saw the light was good; And light from darkness by the hemisphere Divided: light the day, and darkness night He named. T h u s was the first day ev'n and morn: 2 Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsung By the celestial choirs, when orient light Exhaling 0 first from darkness they beheld; rising as vapor Birthday of heav'n 0 and earth; with joy and shout the sky The hollow universal orb they filled, And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised God and his works, Creator him they sung, Both when first evening was, and when first morn. "Again, G o d said, 'Let there be firmament Amid the waters, and let it divide The waters from the waters': and God made The firmament, expanse of liquid, 0 pure, clear, bright Transparent, elemental air diffused In circuit to the uttermost convex 0 vault Of this great round: 0 partition firm and sure, universe The waters underneath from those above Dividing: for as earth, so he the world Built on circumfluous 0 waters calm, in wide flowing around Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule Of C h a o s far removed, lest fierce extremes Contiguous might distemper the whole f r a m e : ' And heav'n 0 he named the firmament: so ev'n the sky And morning chorus sung the second day. "The earth was formed, but in the womb as yet Of waters, embryon 4 immature involved 0 enfolded Appeared not: over all the face of earth Main 0 ocean flowed, not idle, but with warm of great expanse Prolific humor 0 soft'ning all her globe, generative moisture Fermented the great mother to conceive, Satiate with genial 0 moisture, when G o d said, generative 'Be gathered now ye waters under heav'n Into one place, and let dry land appear.' Immediately the mountains huge appear 9. God's creating words, here and later, are quoted from Genesis 1—2, but Milton freely elaborates the creatures' responses to those words. 1. Ether was thought to be a fifth element or "quintessence," the substance of the celestial bodies above the moon. 2. One twenty-four-hour period measured in the

Hebrew manner from sundown to sundown. 3. Disturb the order and mixture of the elements and the created "frame" of the universe. 4. The earth is at first the "embryo" enveloped in a "womb of waters" and is then herself the "great mother" (line 281), made ready ("fermented") to conceive and bear every other being.

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PARADISE LOST,

Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave Into the clouds, their tops ascend the sky: So high as heaved the tumid 0 hills, SO low Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, Capacious bed of waters: thither they Hasted with glad precipitance, 0 uprolled As drops on dust conglobing from the dry; Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct 0 For haste; such flight the great command impressed On the swift floods: as armies at the call Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard) Troop to their standard, so the wat'ry throng, Wave rolling after wave, where way they found, If steep, with torrent rapture, 0 if through plain, Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill, But they, or° underground, or circuit wide With serpent error 0 wand'ring, found their way, And on the washy ooze deep channels wore; Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry, All but within those banks, where rivers now Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. 0 The dry land, earth, and the great receptacle Of congregated waters he called seas: And saw that it was good, and said, 'Let th' earth Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, And fruit tree yielding fruit after her kind; Whose seed is in herself upon the earth.' He scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned, Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad Her universal face with pleasant green, Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flow'red Op'ning their various colors, and made gay Her bosom smelling sweet: and these scarce blown, 0 Forth flourished thick the clust'ring vine, forth crept The swelling gourd, up stood the corny 0 reed Embattled in her field: add the humble 0 shrub, And bush with frizzled hair implicit: 0 last Rose as in dance the stately trees, and spread Their branches hung with copious fruit; or gemmed 0 Their blossoms: with high woods the hills were crowned, With tufts the valleys and each fountain side, With borders long the rivers. That earth now Seemed like to Heav'n, a seat where gods might dwell, Or wander with delight, and love to haunt Her sacred shades: though G o d had yet not rained Upon the earth, and man to till the ground None was, but from the earth a dewy mist Went up and watered all the ground, and each Plant of the field, which ere it was in the earth God made, and every herb, before it grew On the green stem; God saw that it was good: So ev'n and morn recorded the third day.

BOOK

1953

swollen

headlongfall surge forward

force whether winding course

following

blossomed hard as horn low-growing tangled put forth buds

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1 1954

JOHN MILTON

"Again th' Almighty spake: 'Let there be lights High in th' expanse of heaven" to divide The day from night; and let them be for signs, For seasons, and for days, and circling years, And let them be for lights as I ordain Their office" in the firmament of heav'n To give light on the earth'; and it was so. And God made two great lights, great for their use To man, the greater to have rule by day, The less by night a l t e r n " and made the stars, And set them in the firmament of heav'n To illuminate the earth, and rule the day In their vicissitude," and rule the night, And light from darkness to divide. God saw, Surveying his great work, that it was good; For of celestial bodies first the sun A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first, Though of ethereal mold:" then formed the moon Globose, and every magnitude of stars, And sowed with stars the heav'n thick as a field: Of light by far the greater part he took, Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, 5 and placed In the sun's orb, made porous to receive And drink the liquid light, firm to retain Her gathered beams, great palace now of light. Hither as to their fountain other stars Repairing," in their golden urns draw light, And hence the morning planet gilds her horns; 6 By tincture" or reflection they augment Their small peculiar," though from human sight So far remote, with dimunition seen. First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, Regent of day, and all th' horizon round Invested with bright rays, jocund" to run His longitude" through heav'n's high road: the gray Dawn, and the Pleiades 7 before him danced Shedding sweet influence: less bright the moon, But opposite in leveled west was set His mirror, with full face borrowing her light From him, for other light she needed none In that aspect," and still that distance keeps Till night, then in the east her turn she shines, Revolved on heav'n's great axle, and her reign With thousand lesser lights dividual" holds, With thousand thousand stars, that then appeared Spangling the hemisphere: then first adorned With their bright luminaries that set and rose, Glad" evening and glad morn crowned the fourth day. And God said, 'Let the waters generate 5. The "cloudy tabernacle" of line 248. 6. Venus, which Galileo's telescope found to be crescent-shaped in her first quarter.

the sky

function

in turns

regular alternation

fashioned from ether

resorting absorption own small light

merry distance

when full

divided

bright, gay

7. A cluster of seven stars in the constellation Taurus. Thev appear at dawn ahead of the sun. See Job 38.31.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Reptile 0 with spawn abundant, living soul: And let fowl fly above the earth, with wings Displayed 0 on the op'n firmament of heav'n.' And God created the great whales, and each Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously The waters generated by their kinds, And every bird of wing after his kind; And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying, 'Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas And lakes and running streams the waters fill; And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth.' Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay With fry 0 innumerable swarm, and shoals Of fish that with their fins and shining scales Glide under the green wave, in sculls that oft Bank the mid-sea: 8 part single or with mate Graze the seaweed their pasture, and through groves Of coral stray, or sporting with quick glance Show to the sun their waved 0 coats dropped 0 with gold, Or in their pearly shells at ease, attend 0 Moist nutriment, or under rocks their food In jointed armor watch: on smooth the seal, And bended 9 dolphins play: part huge of bulk Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait Tempest 0 the ocean: there leviathan 1 Hugest of living creatures, on the deep Stretched like a promontory sleeps or swims, And seems a moving land, and at his gills Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out a sea. Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens and shores Their brood as numerous hatch, from th' egg that soon Bursting with kindly 0 rupture forth disclosed Their callow 0 young, but feathered soon and fledge They summed their pens, 2 and soaring th' air sublime With clang 0 despised the ground, under a cloud In prospect; 3 there the eagle and the stork On cliffs and cedar tops their eyries build: Part loosely 0 wing the region, 0 part more wise In common, ranged in figure wedge their way, 4 Intelligent" of seasons, and set forth Their aery caravan high over seas Flying, and over lands with mutual wing Easing their flight; 5 so steers the prudent crane Her annual voyage, borne on winds; the air Floats," as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes: From branch to branch the smaller birds with song Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings 8. The fishes' darting motions resemble boats oared now on one side, now on the other ("sculls"), as thev turn they seem to form banks within the sea. 9. Curved in leaping. "Smooth": a stretch of calm water.

1955

creeping animals spread out

young fish

striped /flecked watch for

stir up

natural without feathers harsh cry

separately /sky understanding

undulates

1. The great whale (see 1.200-208). 2. Brought their feathers to full growth. 3. The ground seems covered by a cloud of birds. 4. Fly in a wedge formation. 5. Birds were thought to support each other with their wings when they flew in formation.

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1 1956

JOHN MILTON

Till ev'n, nor then the solemn nightingale Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays: 0 Others on silver lakes and rivers bathed Their downy breast; the swan, with arched neck Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows Her state with oary feet: 6 yet oft they quit The dank,° and rising on stiff pennons, tow'r 0 The mid-aerial sky: others on ground Walked firm; the crested cock whose clarion sounds The silent hours, and th' other" whose gay train Adorns him, colored with the florid hue Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus With fish replenished, 0 and the air with fowl, Evening and morn solemnized the fifth day. "The sixth, and of creation last arose With evening harps and matin, 0 when G o d said, 'Let th' earth bring forth soul living in her kind, Cattle and creeping things, and beast of the earth, E a c h in their kind.' The earth obeyed, and straight Op'ning her fertile womb teemed 0 at a birth Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms, Limbed and full grown: out of the ground up rose As from his lair the wild beast where he wons° In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den; Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked: The cattle in the fields and meadows green: Those rare and solitary, these 7 in flocks Pasturing at once, 0 and in broad herds upsprung. The grassy clods 0 now calved, now half appeared The tawny lion, pawing to get free His hinder parts, then springs as broke from bonds, And rampant shakes his brinded 0 mane; the ounce, 0 The libbard, 0 and the tiger, as the mole Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw In hillocks; the swift stag from underground Bore up his branching head: scarce from his mold Behemoth 8 biggest born of earth upheaved His vastness: fleeced the flocks and bleating rose, As plants: ambiguous between sea and land The river-horse 9 and scaly crocodile. At once came forth whatever creeps the ground, Insect or worm; 1 those waved their limber fans For wings, and smallest lineaments exact In all the liveries decked of summer's pride With spots of gold and purple, azure and green: These as a line their long dimension drew, Streaking the ground with sinuous trace; not all 6. The swan's outstretched ("mantling") wings form a mantle, and it seems like a monarch on a royal barge rowed by its own "oary" feet. 7. "These" are the domestic cattle who come forth in "flocks" and "herds" in pastures; "those" are the wild beasts who come forth "in pairs" (line 459),

songs

pool / soar into

the peacock

fully

supplied

morning

brought

forth

dwells

immediately mounds of earth

streaked / lynx leopard

and spread out ("rare") at wide intervals. 8. A huge biblical beast (Job 40.15), often identified with the elephant. 9. Translates the Greek name "hippopotamus." 1. Any creeping creature, including serpents.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Minims 0 of nature; some of serpent kind Wondrous in length and corpulence involved 0 Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept The parsimonious emmet, 0 provident Of future, in small room large heart 0 enclosed, Pattern of j u s t equality perhaps Hereafter, joined in her popular tribes Of commonalty: 2 swarming next appeared The female bee that feeds her husband drone Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells With honey stored: the rest are numberless, And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st them names, 3 Needless to thee repeated; nor unknown The serpent subtlest beast of all the field, Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes And hairy mane 4 terrific, 0 though to thee Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. Now heav'n in all her glory shone, and rolled Her motions, as the great First Mover's hand First wheeled their course; earth in her rich attire C o n s u m m a t e 0 lovely smiled; air, water, earth, By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walked Frequent; 0 and of the sixth day yet remained; There wanted yet the master work, the end 0 Of all yet done; a creature who not prone And brute as other creatures, but endued With sanctity of reason, might erect His stature, 5 and upright with front 0 serene Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence Magnanimous to correspond 6 with Heav'n, But grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart and voice and eyes Directed in devotion, to adore And worship God supreme, who made him chief Of all his works: therefore th' Omnipotent Eternal Father (for where is not he Present) thus to his Son audibly spake: " 'Let us make now man in our image, m a n In our similitude, and let them rule Over the fish and fowl of sea and air, Beast of the field, and over all the earth, And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.' This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee O m a n Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed The breath of life; in his own image he Created thee, in the image of G o d 2. The ant will become the symbol of a frugal and self-governing republic ("pattern of just equality") with the "popular" (populous, plebian) tribes of common people ("commonalty") joined in rule (lines 486—89); Milton made it such a symbol in his prose tract The Ready and Easy Way. Bees here (lines 489—93) suggest delightful ease but are not yet (as in 1.768—75) a symbol of monarchy and

1957

smallest animals coiled thrifty ant great wisdom

terrifying

complete, perfect in thrcmgs purpose

brow, face

associated with Hell. 3. See 8.342-54, and Genesis 2.19-20. 4. Sea serpents were so described in Aeneid 2.203-7. 5. Both "stand erect" and "elevate his condition": his erect stance was understood to signify that he was created for Heaven. 6. Both "be in harmony" and "communicate."

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1 1958

530

535

540

545

550

555

560

565

570

575

JOHN MILTON

Express, 0 and thou becam'st a living soul. Male he created thee, but thy consort Female for race; then blessed mankind, and said, 'Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth, S u b d u e it, and throughout dominion hold Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air, And every living thing that moves on the earth.' Wherever thus created, for no place Is yet distinct by name, thence, 0 as thou know'st He brought thee into this delicious 0 grove, This garden, planted with the trees of God, Delectable both to behold and taste; And freely all their pleasant fruit for food Gave thee, all sorts are here that all th' earth yields, Variety without end; but of the tree Which tasted works knowledge of good and evil, Thou may'st not; in the day thou eat'st, thou di'st; Death is the penalty imposed, beware, And govern well thy appetite, lest Sin Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death. Here finished he, and all that he had made Viewed, and behold all was entirely good; So ev'n and morn accomplished the sixth day: Yet not till the Creator from his work Desisting, though unwearied, up returned Up to the Heav'n of Heav'ns his high abode, Thence to behold his new-created world Th' addition of his empire, how it showed In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, Answering his great Idea. 7 Up he rode Followed with acclamation and the sound Symphonious of ten thousand harps that tuned 0 Angelic harmonies: the earth, the air Resounded (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st), The heav'ns and all the constellations rung, The planets in their stations list'ning stood, While the bright pomp° ascended jubilant. " 'Open, ye everlasting gates,' they sung, 'Open, ye Heav'ns, your living doors; let in The great Creator from his work returned Magnificent, 8 his six days' work, a world; Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deign To visit oft the dwellings of just men Delighted, and with frequent intercourse Thither will send his winged messengers On errands of supernal 0 grace.' So sung The glorious train ascending: he through Heav'n, That opened wide her blazing 0 portals, led To God's eternal house direct the way, 7. Eternal archetype or pattern, as in Plato: concept in the mind of God. 8. Cf. Psalm 24.7: "Lift up your heads, O ye gates;

exact, manifest

from there delightful

performed

triumphal procession

heavenly radiant

and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in."

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

1959

A broad and a m p l e road, w h o s e dust is gold And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear, S e e n in the galaxy, that Milky W a y 580

W h i c h n i g h t l y as a circling z o n e 0 t h o u s e e s t

belt

Powdered with stars. A n d n o w on earth the seventh Evening arose in Eden, for the sun W a s set, a n d twilight f r o m the east c a m e on, Forerunning night; when at the holy m o u n t 585

Of H e a v ' n ' s h i g h - s e a t e d top, th' i m p e r i a l t h r o n e O f G o d h e a d , fixed forever f i r m a n d sure, T h e Filial P o w e r arrived, a n d sat h i m d o w n W i t h his great Father, for he9 also went Invisible, yet stayed ( s u c h privilege

590

Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordained,0

ordered, enacted

A u t h o r a n d e n d o f all t h i n g s , a n d f r o m w o r k N o w resting, blessed a n d hallowed the sev'nth day, A s r e s t i n g o n t h a t d a y f r o m all h i s w o r k , But not in silence holy kept; the harp 595

H a d work and rested not, the s o l e m n pipe, A n d d u l c i m e r , all o r g a n s 0 o f s w e e t s t o p ,

wind

instruments

All s o u n d s o n fret1 b y s t r i n g o r g o l d e n w i r e T e m p e r e d 0 soft tunings, intermixed with voice

brought into

Choral0 or unison: of incense clouds 6oo

harmony in parts

F u m i n g from golden censers hid the mount. " C r e a t i o n a n d t h e six days' a c t s they s u n g : 'Great are thy works, J e h o v a h , infinite Thy power; what thought can measure thee or tongue Relate thee; greater n o w in thy return

605

T h a n from the giant2 angels; thee that day Thy thunders magnified; but to create Is greater than created to destroy. W h o can impair thee, Mighty King, or b o u n d Thy empire? Easily the proud attempt

6io

Of Spirits a p o s t a t e a n d their c o u n s e l s vain T h o u hast repelled, while impiously they thought T h e e to diminish, and from thee withdraw T h e n u m b e r o f thy w o r s h i p p e r s . W h o seeks To lessen thee, against his p u r p o s e serves

615

T o m a n i f e s t t h e m o r e thy m i g h t : h i s evil T h o u usest, a n d f r o m thence creat'st m o r e good. W i t n e s s this n e w - m a d e world, a n o t h e r heav'n F r o m H e a v e n gate not far, f o u n d e d in view On the clear hyaline,3 the glassy sea;

620

Of a m p l i t u d e a l m o s t i m m e n s e , 0 with stars

immeasurable

N u m e r o u s , and every star perhaps a world Of destined habitation; but thou know'st Their seasons: a m o n g these the seat of men, Earth with her nether ocean c i r c u m f u s e d , 0 9. The Father. 1. Bar on the fingerboard of a stringed instrument. "Dulcimer": the Hebrew bagpipe (Daniel 3.5). 2. The allusion implies that the myth of the Giants' revolt against Jove is a classical type or ver-

surrounded,

bathed

sion of the angels' rebellion. 3. From the Greek word for glass (Revelation 4.6), the waters above the firmament as contrasted with the "nether ocean" (line 624), the earth's seas.

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1 1960

625

630

635

640

JOHN

MILTON

Their pleasant dwellingplace. Thrice happy men, And sons of men, whom G o d hath thus advanced, Created in his image, there to dwell And worship him, and in reward to rule Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air, And multiply a race of worshippers Holy and just: thrice happy if they know Their happiness, and persevere upright.' " S o sung they, and the empyrean rung, With hallelujahs: 4 thus was Sabbath kept. And thy request think now fulfilled, that asked How first this world and face of things began, And what before thy memory was done From the beginning, that posterity Informed by thee might know; if else thou seek'st Aught, not surpassing human measure, say."

Book 8 The angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming 0 left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear; Then as new-waked thus gratefully replied: 1 5 "What thanks sufficient, or what recompense Equal have I to render thee, divine Historian, who thus largely hast allayed The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed This friendly condescension to relate io Things else by me unsearchable, now heard With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, With glory attributed to the high Creator; something yet of doubt remains, Which only thy solution 0 can resolve. 15 When I behold this goodly frame, 0 this world Of heav'n and earth consisting, and compute Their magnitudes, this earth a spot, a grain, An atom, with the firmament compared And all her numbered 0 stars, that seem to roll 20 Spaces incomprehensible (for such Their distance argues and their swift return Diurnal) 0 merely to officiate 0 light Round this opacous 0 earth, this punctual 0 spot, One day and night; in all their vast survey 25 Useless besides; reasoning I oft admire, 0 How Nature wise and frugal could commit Such disproportions, with superfluous hand So many nobler bodies to create, Greater so manifold, 0 to this one use, 4. Hebrew, "praise the Lord." 1. When Milton divided Book 7 of the ten-book version of 1667 into the present Books 7 and 8, he

spell-binding

explanation the universe

numerous

daily / supply dark / pointlike wonder

so much greater

replaced a line reading "To whom thus Adam gratefully replied" with these introductory lines,

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

For aught appears, 0 and on their orbs impose S u c h restless revolution day by day Repeated, while the sedentary 0 earth, That better might with far less compass 0 move, Served by more noble than herself, attains Her end without least motion, and receives, As tribute such a sumless 0 journey brought Of incorporeal 0 speed, her warmth and light; Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails." So spake our sire, and by his count'nance seemed Ent'ring on studious thoughts abstruse, which Eve Perceiving where she sat retired in sight, With lowliness majestic from her seat, And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flow'rs, To visit 0 how they prospered, bud and bloom, Her nursery; 2 they at her coming sprung And touched by her fair tendance gladlier grew. Yet went she not as not with such discourse Delighted, or not capable her ear Of what was high: such pleasure she reserved, Adam relating, she sole auditress; Her husband the relater she preferred Before the angel, and of him to ask C h o s e rather; 3 he, she knew, would intermix Grateful 0 digressions, and solve high dispute With conjugal caresses, from his lip Not words alone pleased her. O when meet now S u c h pairs, in love and mutual honor joined? With goddess-like demeanor forth she went; Not unattended, for on her as queen A pomp 0 of winning Graces 4 waited still, And from about her shot darts of desire Into all eyes to wish her still in sight. And Raphael now to Adam's doubt proposed Benevolent and facile 0 thus replied. "To ask or search I blame thee not, for heav'n Is as the book of God before thee set, Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years: This to attain, whether heav'n move or earth, Imports not, if thou reckon right; the rest 5 From man or angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets to be scanned 0 by them who ought Rather admire; 0 or if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric 0 of the heav'ns 2. Her garden, where she "nurses" her flowers and plants. 3. The emphasis on choice suggests that Eve is not bound in Eden by the Pauline directive (1 Corinthians 14.34—35) that women refrain from speaking in church and instead learn at home from their

1961

as it seems

motionless circular

course

incalculable like that of spirits

see

gratifying

procession

easy, affable

judged

critically marvel design

husbands, but she voluntarily and for her own pleasure observes this hierarchical decorum. 4. The Graces attended on Venus. 5. Presumably, God's ways with other worlds and other creatures inhabiting them (if any).

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1 1962

JOHN MILTON

Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide° Hereafter, when they come to model heav'n And calculate the stars, how they will wield The mighty frame, how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances, 6 how gird the sphere With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and epicycle, 7 orb in orb: Already by thy reasoning this I guess, Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest That bodies bright and greater should not serve The less not bright, nor heav'n such journeys run, Earth sitting still, when she alone receives The benefit: consider first, that great Or bright infers 0 not excellence: the earth Though, in comparison of heav'n, so small, Nor glistering, may of solid good contain More plenty than the sun that barren shines, Whose virtue on itself works no effect, But in the fruitful earth; there first received His beams, unactive 0 else, their vigor find. Yet not to earth are those bright luminaries Officious, 0 but to thee earth's habitant. And for the heav'n's wide circuit, let it speak The Maker's high magnificence, who built So spacious, and his line stretched out so far; That man may know he dwells not in his own; An edifice too large for him to fill, Lodged in a small partition, and the rest Ordained for uses to his Lord best known. The swiftness of those circles 0 attribute, Though numberless, 0 to his omnipotence, That to corporeal substances could add Speed almost spiritual; 0 me thou think'st not slow, Who since the morning hour set out from Heav'n Where G o d resides, and ere midday arrived In Eden, distance inexpressible By numbers that have name. But this I urge, Admitting motion in the heav'ns, to show Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem To thee who hast thy dwelling here on earth. 8 God to remove his ways from human sense, Placed heav'n from earth so far, that earthly sight, 6. To find ways of explaining discrepancies between their hypotheses and observed facts. 7. In the Ptolemaic system, observed irregularities in the motion of heavenly bodies were first explained by hypothesizing eccentric orbits, then by adding epicycles, which were smaller orbits whose centers ride on the circumference of the main eccentric circles and carry the planets. The Copernican system also had some recourse to epicycles.

wide of the mark

implies

ineffective attentive, dutiful

orbits innumerable that of angels

8. Raphael declines to "reveal" astronomical truth to Adam, leaving that matter open to human scientific speculation. He suggests here that Adam's Ptolemaic assumptions result from his earthbound perspective, and he implies that angels see the universe in different terms. In the following lines (122—58) he sets forth advanced scientific notions Adam had not imagined: not only Copernican astronomy but multiple universes and other inhabited planets.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

125

130

135

140

145

150

155

160

165

If it presume, might err in things too high, And no advantage gain. What if the sun Be center to the world, and other stars By his attractive virtue 0 and their own Incited, dance about him various rounds?" Their wand'ring course now high, now low, then hid, Progressive, retrograde, 0 or standing still, In six thou seest, 9 and what if sev'nth to these The planet earth, so steadfast though she seem, Insensibly three different motions move? 1 Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, Moved contrary with thwart obliquities, 2 Or save the sun his labor, and that swift Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb 3 supposed, Invisible else above all stars, the wheel Of day and night; which needs not thy belief, If earth industrious of herself fetch day Traveling east, and with her part averse From the sun's beam meet night, her other part Still luminous by his ray. What if that light Sent from her through the wide transpicuous 0 air, To the terrestrial moon be as a star Enlight'ning her by day, as she by night This earth? Reciprocal, if land be there, Fields and inhabitants: her spots thou seest As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat Allotted there; and other suns perhaps With their attendant moons thou wilt descry Communicating male 0 and female 0 light, Which two great sexes animate 0 the world, Stored in each orb perhaps with some that live. For such vast room in nature unpossessed By living soul, desert and desolate, Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute Each orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so far Down to this habitable, 0 which returns Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. 0 But whether thus these things, or whether not, Whether the sun predominant in heav'n Rise on the earth, or earth rise on the sun, He from the east his flaming road begin, Or she from west her silent course advance With inoffensive" pace that spinning sleeps On her soft axle, while she paces ev'n, And bears thee soft with the smooth air along, Solicit" not thy thoughts with matters hid, 9. Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the moon. In the Ptolemaic system the "seventh" is the sun; in the Copernican, earth. 1. Copernicus described the three motions as daily, annual, and "motion in declination" whereby the earth's axis swerved so as always to point in the same direction.

1963

magnetism

circles baclzivard

trans-parent

original / reflected endow with life

inhabited

place

open to dispute

unobstructed,

harmless

disturb

2. Oblique paths that cross each other. 3. Wheel, that is, the primum mobile, which (if we accept the Ptolemaic system and "save the sun his labor") revolves around the universe every twenty-four hours, carrying the planets and their spheres with it.

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1 1964

170

175

i8o

185

190

195

200

205

210

215

220

JOHN MILTON

Leave them to God above, him serve and fear; Of other creatures, as him pleases best, Wherever placed, let him dispose: joy thou In what he gives to thee, this Paradise And thy fair Eve; heav'n is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there Live, in what state, condition, or degree, Contented that thus far hath been revealed Not of earth only but of highest Heav'n." To whom thus Adam cleared of doubt, replied: "How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure Intelligence 0 of Heav'n, angel serene, And freed from intricacies, taught to live The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts To interrupt the sweet of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares, And not molest us, unless we ourselves Seek them with wand'ring thoughts, and notions vain. But apt the mind or fancy is to rove Unchecked, and of her roving is no end; Till warned, or by experience taught, she learn, That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and subtle, but to know That which before us lies in daily life, Is the prime wisdom; what is more, is fume," Or e m p t i n e s s , or f o n d impertinence, 0

And renders us in things that most concern Unpracticed, unprepared, and still to seek. 0 Therefore from this high pitch let us descend A lower flight, and speak of things at hand Useful, whence haply0 mention may arise Of something not unseasonable to ask By sufferance, 0 and thy wonted 0 favor deigned. Thee I have heard relating what was done Ere my remembrance: now hear me relate My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard; And day is yet not spent; till then thou seest How subtly to detain thee I devise, Inviting thee to hear while I relate, Fond, 0 were it not in hope of thy reply: For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heav'n, And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear Than fruits of palm tree pleasantest to thirst And hunger both, from labor, at the hour Of sweet repast; they satiate, and soon fill, Though pleasant, but thy words with grace divine Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety." To whom thus Raphael answered heav'nly meek: "Nor are thy lips ungraceful, sire of men, Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee Abundantly his gifts hath also poured

spirit

vapor foolish irrelevance always searching

perhaps permission / usual

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foolish

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Inward and outward both, his image fair: Speaking or mute all comeliness and grace Attends thee, and each word, each motion forms. Nor less think we in Heav'n of thee on earth T h a n of our fellow-servant, and inquire Gladly into the ways of God with man: For God we see hath honored thee, and set On m a n his equal love: say therefore on; For I that day was absent, as befell, Bound on a voyage uncouth 0 and obscure, Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell; Squared in full legion (such c o m m a n d we had) To see that none thence issued forth a spy, Or enemy, while G o d was in his work, Lest he incensed at such eruption bold, Destruction with creation might have mixed. Not that they durst without his leave attempt, But us he sends upon his high behests For state, 0 as sov'reign King, and to inure 0 Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut The dismal gates, and barricadoed strong; But long ere our approaching heard within Noise, other than the sound of dance or song, Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage. Glad we returned up to the coasts of light Ere Sabbath evening: so we had in charge. But thy relation now; for I attend, Pleased with thy words no less than thou with mine." So spake the godlike Power, and thus our sire: "For man to tell how human life began Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? 4 Desire with thee still longer to converse Induced me. As new-waked from soundest sleep Soft on the flow'ry herb I found me laid In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun Soon dried, and on the reeking 0 moisture fed. Straight toward heav'n my wond'ring eyes I turned, And gazed a while the ample sky, till raised By quick instinctive motion up I sprung As thitherward endeavoring, and upright Stood on my feet; about me round I saw Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, And liquid lapse 0 of murmuring streams; by these, Creatures that lived, and moved, and walked, or flew, Birds on the branches warbling; all things smiled, With fragrance and with joy my heart o'erflowed. Myself I then perused, and limb by limb Surveyed, and sometimes went, 0 and sometimes ran With supple joints, as lively vigor led: But who I was, or where, or from what cause,

1965

strange

ceremony / strengthen

steaming

flow

walked

4. Compare Satan's inability to remember his origins (5.856—63), from which he infers self-creation, whereas Adam infers a Maker (line 278). '

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1 1966

JOHN MILTON

Knew not; to speak I tried, and forthwith spake, My tongue obeyed and readily could name Whate'er I saw. 5 'Thou sun,' said I, 'fair light, And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay, 275 Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here? Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power preeminent; 280 Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, From whom I have that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier than I know.' While thus I called, and strayed I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld 285 This happy light, when answer none returned, On a green shady bank profuse of flow'rs Pensive I sat me down; there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seized My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought 290 I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: When suddenly stood at my head a dream, Whose inward apparition gently moved My fancy to believe I yet had being, 295 And lived: one came, methought, of shape divine, And said, 'Thy mansion 0 wants 0 thee, Adam, rise, First man, of men innumerable ordained First father, called by thee I come thy guide To the garden of bliss, thy seat 0 prepared.' 300 So saying, by the hand he took me raised, And over fields and waters, as in air Smooth sliding without step, last led me up A woody mountain whose high top was plain, A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees 305 Planted, with walks, and bowers, that what I saw Of earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each tree Load'n with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and found 310 Before mine eyes all real, as the dream Had lively0 shadowed: here had new begun My wand'ring, had not he who was my guide Up hither, from among the trees appeared, Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe 315 In adoration at his feet I fell Submiss: 0 he reared me, and 'Whom thou sought'st I am,' Said mildly, 'Author of all this thou seest Above, or round about thee or beneath. This Paradise I give thee, count it thine 320 To till and keep, 0 and of the fruit to eat: Of every tree that in the garden grows

habitation / lacks

residence

vividly

submissive

care for

5. Adam's ability to name the creatures was said to signify his intuitive understanding of their natures.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth: But of the tree whose operation 0 brings Knowledge of good and ill, which I have set T h e pledge of thy obedience and thy faith, Amid the garden by the Tree of Life, Remember what I warn thee, shun to taste, And shun the bitter consequence: for know, The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole c o m m a n d Transgressed, inevitably thou shalt die; From that day mortal, and this happy state Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world Of woe and sorrow.' 6 Sternly he pronounced The rigid interdiction, 0 which resounds Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect 0 Returned and gracious purpose 0 thus renewed: 'Not only these fair bounds, but all the earth To thee and to thy race I give; as lords Possess it, and all things that therein live, Or live in sea, or air, beast, fish, and fowl. In sign whereof each bird and beast behold After their kinds; I bring them to receive From thee their names, and pay thee fealty With low subjection; understand the s a m e Of fish within their wat'ry residence, Not hither summoned, since they cannot change Their element to draw the thinner air.' As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold Approaching two and two, these 0 cow'ring low With blandishment, 0 each bird stooped on his wing. I named them, as they passed, and understood Their nature, with such knowledge G o d endued My sudden apprehension: 7 but in these I found not what methought I wanted still; And to the heav'nly Vision thus presumed: " 'O by what name, for thou above all these, Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, Surpassest far my naming, 8 how may I Adore thee, Author of this universe, And all this good to man, for whose well-being So amply, and with hands so liberal Thou hast provided all things: but with me I see not who partakes. In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone, Or all enjoying, what contentment find?' Thus I presumptuous; and the Vision bright, As with a smile more brightened, thus replied: " 'What call'st thou solitude? Is not the earth 6. Compare God's commands to Adam (Genesis 1.28-30, 2.16-17) with Milton's elaboration here. 7. Adam had already begun naming the sun and features of the earth (lines 272—74), but here he names (and thereby shows he understands) all liv-

1967

action

prohibition untroubled

expression speech

the beasts flattering

gesture

ing creatures. 8. Adam reasons, as the Scholastics did, from the creatures to the fact of a Creator, but he cannot name (and so indicates that he cannot understand) God, except as God reveals himself.

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1 1968

370

375

380

385

390

395

400

405

410

415

JOHN MILTON

With various living creatures, and the air

Replenished, 0 and all these at thy c o m m a n d

To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not Their language and their ways? They also know, 0 And reason not contemptibly; with these Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.' So spake the Universal Lord, and seemed So ordering. I with leave of speech implored, And humble deprecation thus replied: " 'Let not my words offend thee, Heav'nly Power, My Maker, be propitious while I speak. Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, And these inferior far beneath me set? Among unequals what society Can sort, 0 what harmony or true delight? Which must be mutual, in proportion due Giv'n and received; but in disparity The one intense, the other still remiss Cannot well suit with either, 9 but soon prove Tedious alike. Of fellowship I speak Such as I seek, fit to participate 0 All rational delight, wherein the brute Cannot be human consort; they rejoice Each with their kind, lion with lioness; So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined; Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl So well converse, nor with the ox the ape; Worse then can man with beast, and least of all.' "Whereto th' Almighty answered, not displeased: 'A nice 0 and subtle happiness I see Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice Of thy associates, Adam, and wilt taste No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary. What think'st thou then of me, and this my state? Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed Of happiness, or not? who am alone From all eternity, for none I know Second to me or like, equal much less. How have I then with whom to hold converse Save with the creatures which I made, and those To me inferior, infinite descents Beneath what other creatures are to thee?' "He ceased, I lowly answered: 'To attain The height and depth of thy eternal ways All human thoughts come short, Supreme of things; Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee Is no deficience found; not so is man, But in degree, the cause of his desire By conversation with his like to help, Or solace his defects. 1 No need that thou 9. As with poorly matched musical instruments, Adam's string is too taut ("intense") and the animals' is too slack ("remiss") to be in harmony ("suit").

fully stocked have

understanding

agree

partake of

fastidious

1. God is absolutely perfect, man only relatively so ("in degree"), and thereby needs companionship with a fit mate to assuage ("solace") the "defects" arising from solitude.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

Shouldst propagate, already infinite; And through all numbers absolute, though One; But man by number is to manifest His single imperfection, and beget Like of his like, his image multiplied, In unity defective, 2 which requires Collateral 0 love, and dearest amity. Thou in thy secrecy 0 although alone, Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st not Social communication, yet so pleased, C a n s t raise thy creature to what height thou wilt Of union or communion, deified; I by conversing cannot these erect From prone, nor in their ways complacence 0 find.' Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used Permissive, 0 and acceptance found, which gained This answer from the gracious Voice Divine: " 'Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased, And find thee knowing not of beasts alone, Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself, Expressing well the spirit within thee free, My image, not imparted to the brute, Whose fellowship therefore unmeet 0 for thee Good reason was thou freely shouldst dislike, And be so minded still. I, ere thou spak'st, Knew it not good for man to be alone, And no such company as then thou saw'st Intended thee, for trial only brought, To see how thou couldst j u d g e of fit and meet: What next I bring shall please thee, be assured, Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self, Thy wish, exactly to thy heart's desire.' 3 " H e ended, or I heard no more, for now My earthly by his heav'nly overpowered, Which it had long stood under, 0 strained to the height In that celestial colloquy sublime, As with an object that excels 0 the sense, Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, called By nature as in aid, and closed mine eyes. Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell Of fancy 0 my internal sight, by which Abstract 0 as in a trance methought I saw, Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape Still glorious before whom awake I stood; Who stooping opened my left side, and took From thence a rib, with cordial 0 spirits warm, And lifeblood streaming fresh; wide was the wound, But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed: The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands; 2. God, "though One," (line 421), contains all numbers, but man has to remedy the "imperfection" of being single (line 423) by procreating and thereby multiplying his single and thereby "defec-

1969

mutual seclusion

satisfaction -permitted

unsuitable

been exposed to exceeds

imagination withdrawn

from the heart

tive" image (line 425). 3. Compare the account in Genesis 2.18 with Milton's elaboration,

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1 1970

470

475

480

485

490

495

500

505

510

515

JOHN MILTON

Under his forming hands a creature grew,4 Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair That what seemed fair in all the world seemed now Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained And in her looks, which from that time infused Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before, And into all things from her air° inspired The spirit of love and amorous delight. She disappeared, and left me dark, I waked To find her, or forever to deplore Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure: When out of hope, behold her, not far off, Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned With what all earth or heaven could bestow To make her amiable: 0 on she came, Led by her heav'nly Maker, though unseen, 5 And guided by his voice, nor uninformed Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites: Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love. I overjoyed could not forbear aloud: " 'This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfilled Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, Giver of all things fair, but fairest this Of all thy gifts, n o r e n v i e s t . 0 I n o w s e e

mien, look

lovely

given

reluctantly

Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my self Before me; woman is her name, of man Extracted; for this cause he shall forgo Father and mother, and to his wife adhere; And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.' 6 "She heard me thus, and though divinely brought, Yet innocence and virgin modesty, Her virtue and the conscience 0 of her worth consciousness That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, Not obvious, 0 not obtrusive, 0 but retired, bold /forward The more desirable, or to say all, Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought, Wrought in her so that, seeing me, she turned; I followed her, she what was honor knew, And with obsequious 0 majesty approved compliant My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bow'r I led her blushing like the morn: all heav'n, And happy constellations on that hour Shed their selectest influence; the earth Gave sign of gratulation, 0 and each hill; rejoicing, congratulation Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs 7 Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub, Disporting, 0 till the amorous bird of night 0 frolicking / nightingale 4. Go to Norton Literature Online, to see the Creation of Eve by the Italian painter Paolo Veronese (1528-1588). 5. Compare Eve's version of these events (4.440—

91). 6. Compare the account in Genesis 2.23—24. 7. Both breezes and melodies. "Gales": winds.

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PARADISE LOST,

Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star° On his hill top, to light the bridal lamp. Thus I have told thee all my state, and brought My story to the sum of earthly bliss Which I enjoy, and must confess to find In all things else delight indeed, but such As used or not, works in the mind no change, Nor vehement desire, these delicacies I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flow'rs, Walks, and the melody of birds; but here Far otherwise, transported 0 I behold, Transported touch; here passion first I felt, Commotion 0 strange, in all enjoyments else Superior and unmoved, here only weak Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance. Or 0 nature failed in me, and left some part Not proof enough such object to sustain, 0 Or from my side subducting, 0 took perhaps More than enough; at least on her bestowed Too much of ornament, in outward show Elaborate, of inward less exact. For well I understand in the prime end Of nature her th' inferior, in the mind And inward faculties, which most excel, In outward also her resembling less His image who made both, and less expressing The character of that dominion giv'n O'er other creatures; yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute 0 she seems And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say, Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her Loses discount'nanced, 0 and like folly shows; Authority and reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally; 0 and to consummate all, Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic placed." To whom the angel with contracted brow: "Accuse not nature, she hath done her part; Do thou but thine, and be not diffident 0 Of wisdom, she deserts thee not, if thou Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh, By attributing overmuch to things Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st. For what admir'st thou, what transports thee so, An outside? Fair no doubt, and worthy well Thy cherishing, thy honoring, and thy love, Not thy subjection: weigh with her thyself; Then value: ofttimes nothing profits more

BOOK 1 1 /

1971

Venus

enraptured mental agitation either withstand subtracting

perfect, independent

disconcerted, abashed

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incidentally

mistrustful

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1 1972

575

580

585

590

595

600

605

6io

615

JOHN MILTON

Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right Well managed; of that skill the more thou know'st, The more she will acknowledge thee her head, 8 And to realities yield all her shows: Made so adorn for thy delight the more, So awful, 0 that with honor thou may'st love Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise. But if the sense of touch whereby mankind Is propagated seem such dear delight Beyond all other, think the same vouchsafed To cattle and each beast; which would not be To them made common and divulged, 0 if aught Therein enjoyed were worthy to subdue The soul of man, or passion in him move. What higher in her society thou find'st Attractive, human, rational, love still; In loving thou dost well, in passion not, Wherein true love consists not; love refines The thoughts, and heart enlarges, hath his seat In reason, and is judicious, is the scale 9 By which to heav'nly love thou may'st ascend, Not sunk in carnal pleasure, for which cause Among the beasts no mate for thee was found." To whom thus half abashed Adam replied. "Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught In procreation common to all kinds (Though higher of the genial 1 bed by far, And with mysterious reverence I deem) So much delights me, as those graceful acts, Those thousand decencies 0 that daily flow From all her words and actions, mixed with love And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned Union of mind, or in us both one soul; Harmony to behold in wedded pair More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear. Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled, 0 Who meet with various objects, from the sense Variously representing; 2 yet still free Approve the best, and follow what I approve. To love thou blam'st me not, for love thou say'st Leads up to Heav'n, is both the way and guide; Bear with me then, if lawful what I ask; Love not the heav'nly Spirits, and how their love Express they, by looks only, or do they mix Irradiance, virtual or immediate 0 touch?" 8. See I Corinthians 11.3: "the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God." 9. The ladder of love, a Neoplatonic concept for the movement from sensual love to higher forms, and ultimately to love of God (see Castiglione's Courtier, p. 646).

awe-inspiring

imparted generally

fitting

acts

overcome

actual

1. Both "nuptial" and "generative." Adam takes respectful issue with the apparent denigration of human sex in Raphael's account of the Neoplatonic ladder, which prompts his question about angelic sex (lines 61 5—17). 2. I.e., various objects, variously represented to me by my senses.

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PARADISE LOST,

620

625

630

635

640

645

650

To whom the angel with a smile that glowed Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue, 3 Answered. "Let it suffice thee that thou know'st Us happy, and without love no happiness. Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st (And pure thou wert created) we enjoy In eminence, 0 and obstacle find none Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars: Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace, Total they mix, union of pure with pure Desiring; nor restrained conveyance need As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. But I can now no more; the parting sun Beyond the earth's green cape and verdant isles Hesperian sets, 4 my signal to depart. Be strong, live happy, and love, but first of all Him whom to love is to obey, and keep His great command; take heed lest passion sway Thy judgment to do aught, which else free will Would not admit; 0 thine and of all thy sons The weal or woe in thee is placed; beware. I in thy persevering shall rejoice, And all the blest: stand fast; to stand or fall Free in thine own arbitrament 0 it lies. Perfect within, no outward aid require; 0 And all temptation to transgress repel." So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus Followed with benediction. "Since to part, Go heavenly guest, ethereal messenger, Sent from whose sov'reign goodness I adore. Gentle to me and affable hath been Thy condescension, and shall be honored ever With grateful memory: thou to mankind Be good and friendly still, 0 and oft return." So parted they, the angel up to Heav'n From the thick shade, and Adam to his bow'r.

BOOK 1 1 /

1973

higher degree

permit

determination depend on

always

Book 9

No more of talk where God or angel guest With man, as with his friend, familiar used To sit indulgent, and with him partake Rural repast, permitting him the while Venial 0 discourse unblamed: I now must change Those notes to tragic; foul distrust, and breach Disloyal on the part of man, revolt, 3. This is not likely to be an embarrassed blush: red is the color traditionally associated with Seraphim, who burn with ardor. Raphael's smile also glows with friendship for Adam and appreciation

permissible

of his perceptive inference about angelic love. 4. C a p e Verde, near Dakar, and the islands off that coast are the westernmost ("Hesperian") points of Africa.

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1 1974

JOHN MILTON

And disobedience: on the part of Heav'n Now alienated, distance and distaste, 0 Anger and just rebuke, and judgment giv'n, That brought into this world a world of woe, Sin and her shadow Death, and misery Death's harbinger: 0 sad task, yet argument Not less but more heroic than the wrath Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused, Or Neptune's ire or Juno's, that so long Perplexed the Greek and Cytherea's son; 1 If answerable 0 style I can Of my celestial patroness, who deigns Her nightly visitation unimplored, 2 And dictates to me slumb'ring, or inspires Easy my unpremeditated verse: Since first this subject for heroic song Pleased me long choosing, and beginning late; Not sedulous 0 by nature to indite Wars, hitherto the only argument 0 Heroic deemed, chief mastery to dissect With long and tedious havoc fabled knights In battles feigned; the better fortitude Of patience and heroic martyrdom Unsung; or to describe races and games, Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields, Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds; Bases 3 and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights At joust and tournament; then marshaled feast Served up in hall with sewers, 0 and seneschals; 0 The skill of artifice 0 or office mean, Not that which justly gives heroic name To person or to poem. Me of these Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument Remains, 4 sufficient of itself to raise That name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years damp my intended wing Depressed, and much they may, if all be mine, Not hers who brings it nightly to my ear. The sun was sunk, and after him the star

1. In this fourth proem (lines 1—4*7), after signaling his change from pastoral to tragic mode (lines 1—6), Milton emphasizes tragic elements in several classical epics: Achilles pursuing Hector three times around the wall of Troy before killing him (Iliad 22); Turnus fighting Aeneas over the loss of his betrothed Lavinia, and then killed by Aeneas: Odysseus ("the Greek") and Aeneas ("Cytherea's son," i.e., Venus's son) tormented ("perplexed") by Neptune (Poseidon) and Juno, respectively. 2. Milton does not here invoke the Muse but testifies to her customary nightly visits. Milton's nephew reports that he often awoke in the morning with lines of poetry fully formed in his head, ready

aversion

forerunner / subject

obtain

fitting

eager subject

waiters /stewards mechanic art

to dictate them to a scribe. 3. Cloth coverings for horses; "tilting furniture": equipment for jousting; "impresses quaint": cunningly designed heraldic devices on shields; "caparisons": ornamental trappings or armor for horses. After rejecting the classical epic subjects, Milton here rejects the familiar topics of romance. 4. For a heroic poem. He proceeds to recap worries he has voiced before: that the times might not be receptive to such poems ("age too late"), that the "cold Climate" of England or his own advanced age might "damp" (benumb, dampen) his "intended wing / Depressed" (poetic flights held down, kept from soaring).

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1 /

Of Hesperus, 5 whose office is to bring Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter 'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end Night's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round: When Satan who late° fled 6 before the threats Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improved 0 In meditated fraud and malice, bent On man's destruction, maugre what might hap Of heavier on himself, 7 fearless returned. By night he fled, and at midnight returned From compassing the earth, cautious of day, Since Uriel regent of the sun descried His entrance, and forewarned the Cherubim That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driv'n, The space of seven continued nights he rode With darkness, thrice the equinoctial line 0 He circled, four times crossed the car of Night From pole to pole, traversing each colure; 8 On the eighth returned, and on the coast averse 0 From entrance on Cherubic watch, by stealth Found unsuspected way. There was a place, Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change, Where Tigris at the foot of Paradise Into a gulf shot underground, till part Rose up a fountain by the Tree of Life; In with the river sunk, and with it rose Satan involved0 in rising mist, then sought Where to lie hid. Sea he had searched and land From Eden over Pontus, 9 and the pool Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob; Downward as far Antarctic; and in length West from Orontes to the ocean barred At Darien, thence to the land where flows Ganges and Indus: thus the orb he roamed With narrow0 search; and with inspection deep Considered every creature, which of all Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found The serpent subtlest beast of all the field. 1 Him after long debate, irresolute 0 Of° thoughts revolved, his final sentence 0 chose Fit vessel, fittest imp 0 of fraud, in whom To enter, and his dark suggestions hide From sharpest sight: for in the wily snake, Whatever sleights 0 none would suspicious mark, 5. Venus, the evening star. 6. At the end of Book 4. 7. I.e., despite ("maugre") what might result in heavier punishments for himself. 8. The eolures are two great circles that intersect at right angles at the poles. By circling the globe from east to west at the equator and then over the north and south poles, Satan can remain in darkness, keeping the earth between himself and the sun. "Car of Night" (line 65): the earth's shadow,

1975

recently increased

equator

turned away

enveloped

strict

undecided among / decision offshoot

artifices

imagined as the chariot of the goddess Night. 9. The Black Sea. Satan's journey (lines 77—82) takes him from there to the Sea of Azov in Russia ("Maeotis"), beyond the river "Ob" in Siberia, which flows into the Arctic Ocean, then south to Antarctica; thence west from "Orontes" (a river in Syria) across the Atlantic to "Darien" (the Isthmus of Panama), then across the Pacific and Asia to India where the "Ganges" and "Indus" rivers [low. 1. The serpent is so described in Genesis 3.1.

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1 1976

JOHN MILTON

As from his wit and native subtlety Proceeding, which in other beasts observed 95 Doubt" might beget of diabolic pow'r Active within beyond the sense of brute. Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief His bursting passion into plaints thus poured: "O earth, how like to Heav'n, if not preferred 100 More justly, seat worthier of gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old! For what God after better worse would build? Terrestrial heav'n, danced round by other heav'ns That shine, yet bear their bright officious" lamps, 105 Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, 2 In thee concent'ring all their precious beams Of sacred influence: as God in Heav'n Is center, yet extends to all, so thou Centring receiv'st from all those orbs; in thee, 110 Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth Of creatures animate with gradual life Of growth, sense, reason, 3 all summed up in man. With what delight could I have walked thee round, us If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange Of hill and valley, rivers, woods and plains, Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned, Rocks, dens, and caves; but I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I see 120 Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me, as from the hateful siege" Of contraries; all good to me becomes Bane," and in Heav'n much worse would be my state. But neither here seek I, no nor in Heav'n 125 To dwell, unless by mastering Heav'n's Supreme; Nor hope to be myself less miserable By what I seek, but others to make such As I, though thereby worse to me redound: For only in destroying I find ease 130 To my relentless thoughts; and him 4 destroyed, Or won to what may work his utter loss, For whom all this was made, all this will soon Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe: In woe then; that destruction wide may range: 135 To me shall be the glory sole among The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred What he Almighty styled," six nights and days Continued making, and who knows how long Before had been contriving, though perhaps 140 Not longer than since I in one night freed From servitude inglorious well-nigh half 2. Like Adam (8.15ff.) and Eve ( 4 . 6 5 7 - 5 8 ) but not Raphael ( 8 . 1 1 4 - 7 8 ) , Satan assumes a Ptolemaic universe centered on the earth and humankind.

suspicion

dutiful

conflict poison

called

3. Graduated in steps ("gradual," line 112) from vegetable to animal to rational forms (souls); cf. 5.469-90. 4. Adam. "This" (line 132): the universe.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1 /

Th' angelic name, and thinner left the throng Of his adorers. He to be avenged, And to repair his numbers thus impaired, Whether such virtue 0 spent of old now failed More angels to create, if they at least Are his created, or to spite us more, Determined to advance into our room A creature formed of earth, and him endow, Exalted from so base original, 0 With Heav'nly spoils, our spoils: what he decreed He effected; man he made, and for him built Magnificent this world, and earth his seat, Him lord pronounced, and, O indignity! Subjected to his service angel wings, And flaming ministers to watch and tend Their earthy charge: of these the vigilance I dread, and to elude, thus wrapped in mist Of midnight vapor glide obscure, and pry In every bush and brake, where hap° may The serpent sleeping, in whose mazy folds To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. O foul descent! that 1 who erst contended With gods to sit the highest, am now constrained Into a beast, and mixed with bestial slime, This essence to incarnate and imbrute, 5 That to the height of deity aspired; But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to? Who aspires must down as low As high he soared, obnoxious 0 first or last To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long back on itself recoils; Let it; I reck 0 not, so it light well aimed, Since higher I fall short, on him who next Provokes my envy, this new favorite Of Heav'n, this man of clay, son of despite, Whom us the more to spite his Maker raised From dust: spite then with spite is best repaid." So saying, through each thicket dank or dry, Like a black mist low creeping, he held on His midnight search, where soonest he might find The serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled, Flis head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles: Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den, Nor nocent 0 yet, but on the grassy herb Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouth The Devil entered, and his brutal 0 sense, In heart or head, possessing soon inspired With act intelligential: but his sleep Disturbed not, waiting close 0 th' approach of morn.

1977

power

origin

find

luck

exposed

care

harmful, guilty animal

hidden

5. Satan "imbruting" himself in a snake parodies, grotesquely, the Son's incarnation in human form, as Christ.

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1 1978

JOHN MILTON

Now whenas sacred light began to dawn In Eden on the humid flow'rs, that breathed Their morning incense, when all things that breathe, From th' earth's great altar send up silent praise To the Creator, and his nostrils fill With grateful 0 smell, forth c a m e the human pair And joined their vocal worship to the choir Of creatures wanting 0 voice; that done, partake The season, prime 0 for sweetest scents and airs: Then commune how that day they best may ply Their growing work; for much their work outgrew The hands' dispatch of two gard'ning so wide. And Eve first to her husband thus began: "Adam, well may we labor still 0 to dress This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flow'r, Our pleasant task enjoined, but till more hands Aid us, the work under our labor grows, Luxurious 0 by restraint; what we by day Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, One night or two with wanton 0 growth derides, Tending to wild. Thou therefore now advise Or hear what to my mind first thoughts present, Let us divide our labors, thou where choice Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind The woodbine round this arbor, or direct The clasping ivy where to climb, while I In yonder spring 0 of roses intermixed With myrtle, find what to redress 0 till noon: For while so near each other thus all day Our task we choose, what wonder if so near Looks intervene and smiles, or object new Casual discourse draw on, which intermits 0 Our day's work brought to little, though begun Early, and th' hour of supper comes unearned." To whom mild answer Adam thus returned: "Sole Eve, associate sole, 6 to me beyond Compare above all living creatures dear, Well hast thou motioned, 0 well thy thoughts employed How we might best fulfill the work which here God hath assigned us, nor of me shalt pass Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote. 7 Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed Labor, as to debar us when we need Refreshment, whether food, or talk between, Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse Of looks and smiles, for smiles from reason flow, To brute denied, and are of love the food, Love not the lowest end of human life. 6. Adam puns on "sole" as "unrivaled" and "only" (cf. 4.411).

pleasing lacking best

continually

luxuriant unrestrained

growth set upright

interrupts

proposed

7. Adam's compliments resemble the praises of a good wife in Proverbs 31.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1 /

245

250

255

260

265

270

275

2so

285

For not to irksome toil, but to delight He made us, and delight to reason joined. These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide As we need walk, till younger hands ere long Assist us: but if m u c h converse perhaps Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield. For solitude sometimes is best society, And short retirement urges sweet return. But other doubt possesses me, lest harm Befall thee severed from me; for thou know'st • What hath been warned us, what malicious foe Envying our happiness, and of his own Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame By sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find His wish and best advantage, us asunder, Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each To other speedy aid might lend at need; Whether his first design be to withdraw Our fealty 0 from God, or to disturb Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss Enjoyed by us excites his envy more; Or° this, or worse, leave not the faithful side That gave thee being, still shades thee and protects. The wife, where danger or dishonor lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures." To whom the virgin 8 majesty of Eve, As one who loves, and some unkindness meets, With sweet austere composure thus replied. "Offspring of Heav'n and earth, and all earth's lord, That such an enemy we have, who seeks Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn, And from the parting angel overheard As in a shady nook I stood behind, J u s t then returned at shut of evening flow'rs. 9 But that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt To God or thee, because we have a foe May tempt it, I expected not to hear. His violence thou fear'st not, being such, As we, not capable of death or pain, C a n either not receive, or can repel. His fraud is then thy fear, which plain infers Thy equal fear that my firm faith and love C a n by his fraud be shaken or seduced; Thoughts, which how found they harbor in thy breast, Adam, misthought oP her to thee so dear?" 8. The term here means unspotted or peerless; Milton has insisted at the end of Books 4 and 8 that Adam and Eve have sex. 9. Somewhat confusing, since Eve heard the full story of the war in Heaven and Raphael's earlier

1979

allegiance

whether

misapplied to

warnings; Raphael's parting words (8.630 43) overheard by Eve do not specifically mention Satan but warn Adam to resist his passion for Eve. He does, however, reiterate the charge to obey the "great command" and repel temptation.

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1 1980

JOHN MILTON

To whom with healing words Adam replied. "Daughter of G o d and man, immortal Eve, For such thou art, from sin and blame entire: 0 Not diffident 0 of thee do I dissuade Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid Th' attempt itself, intended by our foe. For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses 0 The tempted with dishonor foul, supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation: thou thyself with scorn And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong, Though ineffectual found; misdeem not then, If such affront I labor to avert From thee alone, which on us both at once The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare, Or daring, first on me th' assault shall light. Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn; 0 Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce Angels, nor think superfluous others' aid. I from the influence of thy looks receive Access 0 in every virtue, in thy sight More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on, S h a m e to be overcome or overreached 0 Would utmost vigor raise, and raised unite. Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel When I am present, and thy trial choose With me, best witness of thy virtue tried." So spake domestic Adam in his care And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought Less 0 attributed to her faith sincere, T h u s her reply with accent sweet renewed. "If this be our condition, thus to dwell In narrow circuit straitened 0 by a foe, Subtle or violent, we not endued Single with like defense, wherever met, How are we happy, still 0 in fear of harm? But harm precedes not sin: only our foe Tempting affronts us with his foul esteem Of our integrity: his foul esteem Sticks no dishonor on our front, 0 but turns Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared By us? who rather double honor gain From his surmise proved false, find p e a c e within, Favor from Heav'n, our witness from th' event. 0 And what is faith, love, virtue unassayed Alone, without exterior help sustained? 1 Let us not then suspect our happy state Left so imperfect by the Maker wise, As not secure to single 0 or combined. Frail is our happiness, if this be so, 1.

Compare and contrast Areopagitica, p. 1816.

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untouched distrustful

bespatters

despise

increase

outwitted

too little

confined

always

forehead

outcome

one alone

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PARADISE LOST,

345

350

355

360

365

370

375

380

385

And Eden were no Eden thus exposed." To whom thus Adam fervently replied. "O woman, best are all things as the will Of God ordained them, his creating hand Nothing imperfect or deficient left Of all that he created, much less man, Or aught that might his happy state secure, Secure from outward force; within himself The danger lies, yet lies within his power: Against his will he can receive no harm. But G o d left free the will, for what obeys Reason, is free, and reason he made right, 2 But bid her well beware, and still erect, 0 Lest by some fair appearing good surprised S h e dictate false, and misinform the will To do what G o d expressly hath forbid. Not then mistrust, but tender love enjoins, That I should mind° thee oft, and mind thou me. Firm we subsist, 0 yet possible to swerve, Since reason not impossibly may meet S o m e specious 0 object by the foe suborned, And fall into deception unaware, Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned. Seek not temptation then, which to avoid Were better, and most likely if from me Thou sever not: trial will come unsought. Wouldst thou approve 0 thy constancy, approve First thy obedience; th' other who can know, Not seeing thee attempted, who attest? But if thou think, trial unsought may find Us both securer 0 than thus warned thou seem'st, Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more; Go in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue, s u m m o n all, For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine." So spake the patriarch of mankind, but Eve Persisted, yet submiss, though last, replied: "With thy permission then, and thus forewarned Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words Touched only, that our trial, when least sought, May find us both perhaps far less prepared, The willinger I go, nor much expect A foe so proud will first the weaker seek; So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse." Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand Soft she withdrew, and like a wood nymph light 3 Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train, Betook her to the groves, but Delia's self In gait surpassed and goddess-like deport, 0 2. Right reason, a classical concept accommodated to Christian thought, is the God-given power to apprehend truth and moral law. 3. Light-footed, with overtones of "fickle" or "friv-

BOOK 1 1 /

1981

ever-alert

remind, pay heed to stand, exist deceptively attractive

prove

overconfident

bearing

olous." "Oread" (next line): a mountain nymph. "Dryad": a wood nymph. "Delia": Diana, born on the isle of Delos, hunted with a "train" of nymphs.

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1 1982

390

395

400

405

410

415

420

425

430

435

JOHN MILTON

Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, But with such gardening tools as art yet rude, Guiltless of fire4 had formed, or angels brought. To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, Likest she seemed Pomona when she fled Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime, Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. 5 Her long with ardent look his eye pursued Delighted, but desiring more her stay. Oft he to her his charge of quick return Repeated, she to him as oft engaged To be returned by noon amid the bow'r, And all things in best order to invite Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose. O much deceived, much failing, 0 hapless 0 Eve, Of thy presumed return! event 0 perverse! Thou never from that hour in Paradise Found'st either sweet repast, or sound repose; Such ambush hid among sweet flow'rs and shades Waited with hellish rancor imminent To intercept thy way, or send thee back Despoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss. For now, and since first break of dawn the Fiend, Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come, And on his quest, where likeliest he might find The only two of mankind, but in them The whole included race, his purposed prey. In bow'r and field he sought, where any tuft Of grove or garden plot more pleasant lay, Their tendance or plantation for delight, 6 Ry fountain or by shady rivulet He sought them both, but wished his hap° might Eve separate; he wished, but not with hope Of what so seldom chanced, when to his wish, Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies, Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, Half spied, so thick the roses bushing round About her glowed, oft stooping to support Each flow'r of slender stalk, whose head though gay Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold, Hung drooping unsustained, them she upstays Gently with myrtle band, mindless 0 the while, Herself, though fairest unsupported flow'r From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. 7 Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm, 4. Having no experience of lire, not needed in Paradise. Milton may be alluding to the guilt of Prometheus, who stole fire from heaven. 5. These goddesses, like Eve, are associated with agriculture (lines 393—96)—Pales, with flocks and pastures; Pomona, with fruit trees; Ceres, with harvests—and the latter two foreshadow Eve's situation. Pomona was chased by the wood god

erring / unlucky outcome

find

luck

heedless

"Vertumnus" in many guises before surrendering to him; Ceres was impregnated by Jove with Proserpina—later carried off to Hades by Pluto. 6. I.e., which they had cultivated or planted for their pleasure. 7. The conceit of the flower-gatherer who is herself gathered evokes the story of Proserpina, to whom it was applied in 4.269—71.

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PARADISE LOST,

Then voluble 0 and bold, now hid, now seen Among thick-woven arborets 0 and flow'rs Embordered on each bank, the hand 0 of Eve: Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned Or° of revived Adonis, or renowned Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son, Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse. 8 Much he the place admired, the person more. As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy 0 the air, Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe Among the pleasant villages and farms Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight, The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, 9 Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound; If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass, What pleasing seemed, for 0 her now pleases more, She most, and in her look sums all delight. Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold This flow'ry plat, 0 the sweet recess 0 of Eve T h u s early, thus alone; her heav'nly form Angelic, but more soft, and feminine, Her graceful innocence, her every air° Of gesture or least action overawed His malice, and with rapine sweet 1 bereaved His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought: That space the Evil One abstracted 0 stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good, 0 of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge; But the hot hell that always in him burns, Though in mid-Heav'n, soon ended his delight, And tortures him now more, the more he sees Of pleasure not for him ordained: then soon Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts Of mischief gratulating, 0 thus excites:

BOOK 1 1 /

undulating small trees handiwork either

make noisome, befoul

because of

plot / retreat

withdrawn good because stupefied

"Thoughts, whither have ye led me, with what sweet Compulsion thus transported to forget What hither brought us, hate, not love, nor hope Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy, Save what is in destroying, other joy To me is lost. Then let me not let pass Occasion which now smiles, behold alone The woman, opportune 0 to all attempts, Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh, 8. The gardens of Adonis were beauty spots named for the lovely youth loved by Venus, killed by a boar, and subsequently revived; Odysseus ("Laertes* son") was entertained by Alcinous in his beautiful gardens; Solomon ("the sapient king") entertained his "fair Egyptian spouse," the Q u e e n

1983

greeting

open

of Sheba, in a real garden (not "mystic," or "feigned," as the others were). 9. Cattle. "Tedded": spread out to dry, like hay. 1. From Latin rapere, to seize, the root of both "rape" and "rapture," underscoring the paradox of the ravisher (temporarily) ravished.

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1 1984

JOHN MILTON

Whose higher intellectual more I shun, And strength, of courage haughty," and of limb Heroic built, though of terrestrial" mold, Foe not informidable, exempt from wound, 1 not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heav'n. She fair, divinely fair, fit love for gods, Not terrible," though terror be in love And beauty, not" approached by stronger hate, Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned, The way which to her ruin now I tend." So spake the Enemy of mankind, enclosed In serpent, inmate bad, and toward Eve Addressed his way, not with indented" wave, Prone on the ground, as since, but on his rear, Circular base of rising folds, that tow'red Fold above fold a surging maze, his head Crested aloft, and carbuncle" his eyes; With burnished neck of verdant" gold, erect Amidst his circling spires," that on the grass Floated redundant:" pleasing was his shape, And lovely, never since of serpent kind Lovelier, not those that in IUyria changed Hermione and C a d m u s , or the god In Epidaurus; 2 nor to which transformed Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline was seen, He with Olympias, this with her who bore Scipio, the height of Rome. 3 With tract" oblique At first, as one who sought access, but feared To interrupt, sidelong he works his way. As when a ship by skillful steersman wrought Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail; So varied he, and of his tortuous train" Curled many a wanton" wreath in sight of Eve, To lure her eye; she busied heard the sound Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as used To such disport before her through the field, From every beast, more duteous at her call, Than at Circean call the herd disguised. 4 He bolder now, uncalled before her stood; But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed His turret crest, and sleek enameled" neck, Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod. His gentle dumb expression turned at length The eye of Eve to mark his play; he glad Of her attention gained, with serpent tongue 2. The legendary founder of Thebes, Cadmus, and his wife Harmonia (Milton's "Hermione") were changed to serpents when they went to Illyria in old age; Aesculapius, god of healing, sometimes came forth as a serpent from his temple in Epidaurus. 3. Jupiter Ammon ("Ammonian Jove") made love

exalted earthly

terrifying unless

zigzag

deep red green coils in swelling waves

twisting length luxuriant, sportive

multicolored

to Olympias in the form of a snake and sired Alexander the Great; the Jupiter worshipped in Rome ("Capitoline"), also in serpent form, sired Scipio Africanus, the savior and great leader ("height") of Rome. 4. Circe, in the Odyssey, transformed men to beasts and was attended by an obedient herd.

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PARADISE LOST,

BOOK 1 1 /

Organic, or impulse of vocal air, 5 His fraudulent temptation thus began. "Wonder not, sov'reign mistress, if perhaps Thou canst, who art sole wonder, much less arm Thy looks, the heav'n of mildness, with disdain, Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze Insatiate, I thus single, nor have feared Thy awful 0 brow, more awful thus retired. Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore With ravishment beheld, there best beheld Where universally admired; but here In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, Beholders rude, and shallow to discern Half what in thee is fair, one m a n except, Who sees thee? (and what is one?) who shouldst be seen A goddess among gods, adored and served By angels numberless, thy daily train." 6 So glozed 0 the Tempter, and his proem 0 tuned; flattered Into the heart of Eve his words made way, Though at the voice much marveling; at length Not unamazed she thus in answer spake. "What may this mean? Language of man pronounced By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed? The first at least of these I thought denied To beasts, whom G o d on their creation day Created mute to all articulate sound; The latter I demur, 0 for in their looks M u c h reason, and in their actions oft appears. Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field I knew, but not with human voice endued; 0 Redouble then this miracle, and say, How cam'st thou speakable 0 of mute, and how To me so friendly grown above the rest Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight? Say, for such wonder claims attention due." To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied: "Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve, Easy to me it is to tell thee all What thou command'st, and right thou shouldst be obeyed: I was at first as other beasts that graze The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, As was my food, nor aught but food discerned Or sex, and apprehended nothing high: Till on a day roving the field, I chanced A goodly tree far distant to behold Loaden with fruit of fairest colors mixed, Ruddy and gold: I nearer drew to gaze; When from the boughs a savory odor blown, 5. Satan either used the actual tongue of the serpent or impressed the air with his own voice.

1985

awe-inspiring

/ prelude

hesitate about

endowed able to speak

6. Satan's entire speech is couched in the extravagant praises of the Petrarchan love convention.

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1 1986

580

585

590

595

6oo

605

6io

615

620

625

JOHN

MILTON

Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense T h a n smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at ev'n, 7 Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play. To satisfy the sharp desire I had Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved Not to defer; 0 hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen. About the mossy trunk I wound me soon, For high from ground the branches would require Thy utmost reach or Adam's: round the tree All other beasts that saw, with like desire Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill I spared 0 not, for such pleasure till that hour At feed or fountain never had I found. Sated at length, ere long I might perceive Strange alteration in me, to degree Of reason in my inward powers, and speech Wanted 0 not long, though to this shape retained. 8 Thenceforth to speculations high or deep I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind Considered all things visible in Heav'n, Or earth, or middle, 0 all things fair and good; But all that fair and good in thy divine Semblance, and in thy beauty's heav'nly ray United I beheld; no fair 0 to thine Equivalent or second, which compelled Me thus, though importune 0 perhaps, to come And gaze, and worship thee of right declared Sov'reign of creatures, universal dame." 9 So talked the spirited' sly snake; and Eve Yet more amazed unwary thus replied: "Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt The virtue 0 of that fruit, in thee first proved: But say, where grows the tree, from hence how far? For many are the trees of G o d that grow In Paradise, and various, yet unknown To us, in such abundance lies our choice, As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched, Still hanging incorruptible, till men Grow up to their provision, 2 and more hands Help to disburden nature of her birth." To whom the wily adder, blithe and glad: 7. According to Pliny, serpents ate fennel to aid in shedding their skins and to sharpen their eyesight; folklore had it that they drank the milk of sheep and goats. 8. There is no precedent in Genesis or the interpretative tradition for Satan's powerfully persuasive argument by analogy based on the snake's supposed experience of attaining to reason and

delay

refrained

lacked

regions between

beauty inopportunely

power

speech by eating the forbidden fruit. 9. Satan continues his Petrarchan language of courtship. 1. Both inspired by and possessed by an evil spirit, Satan. 2. I.e., until the numbers of the human race are such as to consume the food God has provided.

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PARADISE LOST,

630

635

640

645

650

655

660

665

670

BOOK 1 1 /

"Empress, the way is ready, and not long, Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat, Fast by° a fountain, one small thicket past Of blowing myrrh and balm; 3 if thou accept My conduct, 0 I can bring thee thither soon." "Lead then," said Eve. He leading swiftly rolled In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy Brightens his crest, as when a wand'ring fire, 0 Compact 0 of unctuous 0 vapor, which the night Condenses, and the cold environs round, Kindled through agitation to a flame, Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends, Flovering and blazing with delusive light, Misleads th' amazed 0 night-wanderer from his way To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool, There swallowed up and lost, from succor far. So glistered the dire snake, and into fraud Led Eve our credulous mother, to the tree Of prohibition, root of all our woe; Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake: "Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither, Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, The credit of whose virtue 0 rest with thee, Wondrous indeed, if cause of such effects. But of this tree we may not taste nor touch; God so commanded, and left that command Sole daughter of his voice; 4 the rest, we live Law to ourselves, our reason is our law." To whom the Tempter guilefully replied: "Indeed? hath God then said that of the fruit Of all these garden trees ye shall not eat, Yet lords declared of all in earth or air?" To whom thus Eve yet sinless: "Of the fruit Of each tree in the garden we may eat, But of the fruit of this fair tree amidst The garden, God hath said, 'Ye shall not eat Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.' " 5 She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold The Tempter, but with show of zeal and love To man, and indignation at his wrong, New part puts on, and as to passion moved, Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely, and in act Raised, 6 as of some great matter to begin. As when of old some orator renowned In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence Flourished, since mute, to some great cause addressed, 3. Blooming trees that exude the aromatic gums myrrh and balm (balsam). 4. God's only direct commandment (in Hebrew, Bath Kul, "daughter of a voice" from heaven). Otherwise (see following), they follow the moral law of nature, known to them perfectly by their unfallen reason, "our reason is our law."

1987

close by guidance

will-o'-the-wisp composed / oily

bewildered

power

5. Eve's formulation indicates her "sufficient" understanding of the prohibition and the conditions of life in Eden. See 3 . 9 8 - 1 0 1 . 6. Drawrn up to full dignity. Satan as the snake takes on the role of a Greek or Roman orator defending liberty (lines 670—72), a Demosthenes or a Cicero.

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1 1988

675

680

685

690

695

700

705

710

715

JOHN MILTON

Stood in himself collected, while each part, Motion, each act won audience ere the tongue, Sometimes in height began, as no delay Of preface brooking 7 through his zeal of right. So standing, moving, or to high upgrown The Tempter all impassioned thus began: "O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant, Mother of science, 0 now I feel thy power Within me clear, not only to discern Things in their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deemed however wise. Queen of this universe, do not believe Those rigid threats of death; ye shall not die: How should ye? By the fruit? It gives you life To knowledge. 8 By the Threat'ner? Look on me, Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live, And life more perfect have attained than fate Meant me, by vent'ring higher than my lot. Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast Is open? Or will God incense his ire For such a petty trespass, and not praise Rather your dauntless virtue, 0 whom the pain Of death denounced, 0 whatever thing death be, Deterred not from achieving what might lead To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; Of good, how just? 9 Of evil, if what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; Not just, not God; not feared then, 1 nor obeyed: Your fear itself of death removes the fear. Why then was this forbid? Why but to awe, Why but to keep ye low and ignorant, His worshippers; he knows that in the day Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as gods, 2 Knowing both good and evil as they know. That ye should be as gods, since I as man, Internal man, is but proportion meet, I of brute human, ye of human gods. 3 So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off Human, to put on gods, death to be wished, Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring. And what are gods that man may not become As they, participating 0 godlike food? The gods are first, and that advantage use 7. Bursting into the middle of his speech without a preface, and "upgrown" to the impassioned high style ("high") at once (lines 6 7 5 - 7 8 ) . 8. I.e., life as well as knowledge, and a better life enhanced by knowledge, which Satan in the snake presents as a magical property of the tree. 9. I.e., how can it be just to forbid the knowledge of good?

before speaking

knowledge

courage threatened

partaking of

1. Satan's sophism invites atheism: if God forbids knowledge of good and evil he is not just, therefore not God, therefore his threat of death need not be feared. 2. Hereafter, Satan speaks of "gods," not God. 3. Satan invites the aspiration to divinity, based on analogy to the supposed experience of the snake.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1 /

On our belief, that all from them proceeds; I question it, for this fair earth I see, Warmed by the sun, producing every kind, Them nothing: if they all° things, who enclosed Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, That whoso eats thereof, forthwith attains 725 Wisdom without their leave? And wherein lies Th' offense, that man should thus attain to know? What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree Impart against his will if all be his? Or is it envy, and can envy dwell 730 In heav'nly breasts? These, these and many more Causes import 0 your need of this fair fruit. Goddess humane, 4 reach then, and freely taste." He ended, and his words replete with guile Into her heart too easy entrance won: 735 Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold Might tempt alone, and in her ears the sound Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned 0 With reason, to her seeming, and with truth; Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and waked 740 An eager appetite, raised by the smell So savory of that fruit, which with desire, Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, Solicited her longing eye; yet first Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused: 745 "Great are thy virtues, 0 doubtless, best of fruits, Though kept from man, and worthy to be admired, Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay 0 Gave elocution to the mute, and taught The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise: 750 Thy praise he also who forbids thy use, Conceals not from us, naming thee the Tree Of Knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; Forbids us then to taste, but his forbidding Commends thee more, while it infers 0 the good 755 By thee communicated, and our want: 0 For good unknown, sure is not had, or had And yet unknown, is as not had at all. In plain 0 then, what forbids he but to know, Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise? 760 Such prohibitions bind not. But if death Bind us with after-bands, 0 what profits then Our inward freedom? In the day we eat Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die. How dies the serpent? He hath eat'n and lives, 765 And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, Irrational till then. For us alone Was death invented? Or to us denied This intellectual food, for beasts reserved? For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first

1989

720

produce all

prove

impregnated

powers try

implies lack in plain words

4. Both "human" and "gracious" or "kindly."

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later bonds

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1 1990

JOHN MILTON

Hath tasted, envies 0 not, but brings with joy The good befall'n him, author unsuspect, 5 Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. What fear I then, rather what know to fear Under this ignorance of good and evil, Of God or death, of law or penalty? Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, Of virtue 0 to make wise: what hinders then To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?" So saying, her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat. 6 Earth felt the wound, and nature from her seat Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe, That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk The guilty serpent, and well might, for Eve Intent now wholly on her taste, naught else Regarded, such delight till then, as seemed, In fruit she never tasted, whether true Or fancied so, through expectation high Of knowledge, nor was godhead from her thought. Greedily she engorged without restraint. And knew not eating death: 7 satiate at length, And heightened as with wine, jocund 0 and boon, 0 Thus to herself she pleasingly began: "O sov'reign, virtuous, precious of all trees In Paradise, of operation blest To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed, 8 And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end Created; but henceforth my early care, Not without song, each morning, and due praise Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease Of thy full branches offered free to all; Till dieted by thee I grow mature In knowledge, as the gods who all things know; Though others envy what they cannot give; For had the gift been theirs, 9 it had not here Thus grown. Experience, next to thee I owe, Best guide; not following thee, I had remained In ignorance, thou open'st wisdom's way, And giv'st access, though secret 0 she retire. And I perhaps am secret; 0 Heav'n is high, High and remote to see from thence distinct Each thing on earth; and other care perhaps May have diverted from continual watch Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies About him. But to Adam in what sort 0 Shall I appear? Shall I to him make known 5. An authority or informant beyond suspicion. 6. Ate: an accepted past tense, pronounced et. 7. I.e., she is eating death and doesn't know it, or experience it yet, but also, punning, death is eating her too.

begrudges

power

merry/jolly

hidden unseen

guise

8. Slandered. "Sapience": both knowledge and tasting (Latin sapere). 9. Like Satan, Eve now conflates gods and God, ascribing envy but also lack of power to "them."

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PARADISE LOST,

As yet my change, and give him to partake Full happiness with me, or rather not, But keep the odds 0 of knowledge in my power Without copartner? so to add what wants 0 In female sex, the more to draw his love, And render me more equal, and perhaps, A thing not undesirable, sometime Superior; for inferior who is free? 1 This may be well: but what if God have seen, And death ensue? Then I shall be no more, And Adam wedded to another Eve, Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct; A death to think. Confirmed then I resolve, Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe: So dear 1 love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life." So saying, from the tree her step she turned, But first low reverence done, as to the power That dwelt within, 2 whose presence had infused Into the plant sciential 0 sap, derived From nectar, drink of gods. Adam the while Waiting desirous her return, had wove Of choicest flow'rs a garland to adorn Her tresses, and her rural labors crown, As reapers oft are wont 0 their harvest queen. Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new Solace in her return, so long delayed; Yet oft his heart, divine of 3 something ill, Misgave him; he the falt'ring measure 0 felt; And forth to meet her went, the way she took That morn when first they parted; by the Tree Of Knowledge he must pass; there he her met, Scarce from the tree returning; in her hand A bough of fairest fruit that downy smiled, New gathered, and ambrosial 0 smell diffused. To him she hasted, in her face excuse Came prologue, 3 and apology to prompt, Which with bland 0 words at will she thus addressed. "Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay? Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived Thy presence, agony of love till now Not felt, nor shall be twice, for never more Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear: This tree is not as we are told, a tree Of danger tasted, 0 nor to evil unknown Op'ning the way, but of divine effect To open eyes, and make them gods who taste; 1. Cf. Satan, 1 . 2 4 8 - 6 3 , 5 . 7 9 0 - 9 7 . 2. Eve ends with idolatry, w orship of the tree. 3. I.e., excuse c a m e like the prologue in a play.

BOOK 1 1 /

1991

advantage lacks

knowledge-producing

accustomed

foreboding heartbeat

fragrant

mild,

coaxing

tasted

and apology (justification, self-defense) served as prompter.

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1 1992

JOHN MILTON

And hath been tasted such: the serpent wise, Or° not restrained as we, or not obeying, Hath eaten of the fruit, and is become, Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth Endued with human voice and human sense, Reasoning to admiration, 0 and with me Persuasively 0 hath so prevailed, that I Have also tasted, and have also found Th' effects to correspond, opener mine eyes, Dim erst, 0 dilated spirits, ampler heart, And growing up to godhead; which for thee Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise. For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss, Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon. Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot May join us, equal joy, as equal love; Lest thou not tasting, different degree 0 Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce Deity for thee, when fate will not permit." 4 Thus Eve with count'nance blithe her story told; But in her cheek distemper 5 flushing glowed. On th' other side, Adam, soon as he heard The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed, 0 Astonied 0 stood and blank, while horror chill Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed; From his slack hand the garland wreathed for Eve Down dropped, and all the faded roses shed: Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length First to himself he inward silence broke: "O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? 0 Rather how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate The sacred 0 fruit forbidd'n! Some cursed fraud Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown, And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee Certain my resolution is to die; How can I live without thee, how forgo Thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined, To live again in these wild woods forlorn? Should God create another Eve, and I Another rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart; no no, I feel The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art,6 and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe." 4. Compare Eve in soliloquy, lines 817—33. 5. I.e., disorder arising from disturbance of the

either

wonderfully well by -persuasion before

rank

stunned petrified

doomed consecrated

balance of humors in the body, intoxication. 6. Adam echoes Genesis 2.23—24.

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PARADISE LOST,

920

925

930

935

940

945

950

955

960

965

BOOK 1 1 /

So having said, as one from sad dismay Recomforted, and after thoughts disturbed Submitting to what seemed remediless, Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned: "Bold deed thou hast presumed, advent'rous Eve, And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared Had it been only coveting to eye That sacred fruit, sacred 0 to abstinence, Much more to taste it under ban to touch. But past who can recall, or done undo? Not God omnipotent, nor fate; yet so Perhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact 0 Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, Profaned first by the serpent, by him first Made common and unhallowed ere our taste; Nor yet on him found deadly, he yet lives, Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live as man Higher degree of life, inducement strong To us, as likely tasting to attain Proportional ascent, which cannot be But to be gods, or angels demigods. Nor can I think that God, Creator wise, Though threat'ning, will in earnest so destroy Us his prime creatures, dignified so high, Set over all his works, which in our fall, For us created, needs with us must fail, Dependent made; so God shall uncreate, Be frustrate, do, undo, and labor lose, Not well conceived of God, who though his power Creation could repeat, yet would be loath Us to abolish, lest the Adversary 0 Triumph and say; 'Fickle their state whom God Most favors, who can please him long? Me first He ruined, now mankind; whom will he next?' Matter of scorn, not to be given the Foe. However I with thee have fixed my lot, Certain 0 to undergo like doom; if death Consort 0 with thee, death is to me as life; So forcible within my heart I feel The bond of nature draw me to my own, My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself." So Adam, and thus Eve to him replied: "O glorious trial of exceeding 7 love, Illustrious evidence, example high! Engaging me to emulate, but short Of thy perfection, how shall I attain, Adam, from whose dear side I boast me sprung, And gladly of our union hear thee speak, One heart, one soul in both; whereof good proof 7. The word, which Eve intends as praise, carries the implication of "excessive."

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1993

set apart

deed

Satan

resolved associate

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1 1994

JOHN MILTON

This day affords, declaring thee resolved, Rather than death or aught 0 than death more dread Shall separate us, linked in love so dear, To undergo with me one guilt, one crime, If any be, of tasting this fair fruit, Whose virtue, 0 for of good still good proceeds, Direct, or by occasion 0 hath presented This happy trial of thy love, which else So eminently never had been known. Were it0 I thought death menaced would ensue 0 This my attempt, I would sustain alone The worst, and not persuade thee, rather die Deserted, than oblige 0 thee with a fact 0 Pernicious to thy peace, chiefly assured Remarkably so late of thy so true, So faithful love unequaled; 8 but I feel Far otherwise th' event, 0 not death, but life Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys, Taste so divine, that what of sweet before Hath touched my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh. On my experience, Adam, freely taste, And fear of death deliver to the winds." So saying, she embraced him, and for joy Tenderly wept, much won that he his love Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. In recompense (for such compliance bad Such recompense best merits) from the bough She gave him of that fair enticing fruit With liberal hand: he scrupled not to eat Against his better knowledge, not deceived, 9 But fondly 0 overcome with female charm. Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs, and nature gave a second groan; Sky loured, and muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin Original; 1 while Adam took no thought, Eating his fill, nor Eve to iterate 0 Her former trespass feared, the more to soothe Him with her loved society, that now As with new wine intoxicated both They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel Divinity within them breeding wings Wherewith to scorn the earth: but that false fruit Far other operation first displayed, Carnal desire inflaming, he on Eve Began to cast lascivious eyes, she him As wantonly repaid; in lust they burn: 8. I.e., since I have so recently been assured of your unparalleled love. 9. Cf. 1 Timothy 2.14: "And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression."

anything other

power indirectly if/ residtfrom hind/deed

result

foolishly

repeat

1. The theological doctrine that all Adam's descendants are stained by Adam's sin and are thereby subject to physical death and (unless saved by grace) to damnation.

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PARADISE LOST,

Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move: "Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, And elegant, of sapience 2 no small part, Since to each meaning savor we apply, And palate call judicious; I the praise Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purveyed. 0 Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained From this delightful fruit, nor known till now True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be In things to us forbidden, it might be wished, For this one tree had been forbidden ten. But come, so well refreshed, now let us play, As meet 0 is, after such delicious fare; For never did thy beauty since the day I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned With all perfections, so inflame my sense With ardor to enjoy thee, fairer now Than ever, bounty of this virtuous tree." So said he, and forbore not glance or toy° Of amorous intent, well understood Of° Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire. Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank, Thick overhead with verdant roof embow'red He led her nothing loath; flow'rs were the couch, Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, And hyacinth, earth's freshest softest lap. There they their fill of love and love's disport Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play. Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit, That with exhilarating vapor bland 0 About their spirits had played, and inmost powers Made err, was now exhaled, and grosser sleep Bred of unkindly fumes, 0 with conscious dreams Encumbered, 0 now had left them, up they rose As from unrest, and each the other viewing, Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds How darkened; innocence, that as a veil Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone, Just confidence, and native righteousness, And honor from about them, naked left To guilty shame: he° covered, but his robe Uncovered more. So rose the Danite strong Herculean Samson from the harlot-lap Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked Shorn of his strength, 3 they destitute and bare Of all their virtue: silent, and in face Confounded long they sat, as strucken mute, 2. Adam commends Eve for her fine ("exact") and discriminating ("elegant") taste, as a part of "sapience," which means both "taste" and "wisdom." 3. Samson, of the tribe of Dan, told the "harlot"

BOOK 1 1 /

1995

provided

appropriate

caress by

pleasing unnatural vapors oppressed

shame

Philistine Delilah that the secret of his strength (like that of Hercules) lay in his hair; she sheared it off while he slept, and when he awoke he was easily captured and blinded by his enemies.

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1 1996

JOHN MILTON

1065

Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed, At length gave utterance to these words constrained: 0 "O Eve, in evil4 hour thou didst give ear To that false worm, of whomsoever taught To counterfeit man's voice, true in our fall, 1070 False in our promised rising; since our eyes Opened we find indeed, and find we know Both good and evil, good lost and evil got, 5 Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know, Which leaves us naked thus, of honor void, 1075 Of innocence, of faith, of purity, Our wonted 0 ornaments now soiled and stained, And in our faces evident the signs Of foul concupiscence; 6 whence evil store; Even shame, the last of evils; of the first 1080 Be sure then. How shall I behold the face Henceforth of God or angel, erst with joy And rapture so oft beheld? Those heav'nly shapes Will dazzle now this earthly, with their blaze Insufferably bright. O might I here loss In solitude live savage, in some glade Obscured, where highest woods impenetrable To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage 0 broad, And brown as evening: cover me ye pines, Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs 1090 Hide me, where I may never see them more. But let us now, as in bad plight, devise What best may for the present serve to hide The parts of each from other, that seem most To shame obnoxious, 0 and unseemliest seen, 1095 Some tree whose broad smooth leaves together sewed, And girded on our loins, may cover round Those middle parts, that this newcomer, shame, There sit not, and reproach us as unclean." So counseled he, and both together went IIOO Into the thickest wood, there soon they chose The fig tree, 7 not that kind for fruit renowned, But such as at this day to Indians known In Malabar or Deccan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground 1105 The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillared shade High overarched, and echoing walks between; There oft the Indian herdsman shunning heat Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 1110 At loopholes cut through thickest shade: those leaves 4. Adam's bitter pun—Eve, evil—repudiates the actual etymology of Eve, "life," which Adam will later reaffirm ( 1 1 . 1 5 9 - 6 1 ) . 5. Milton, like most commentators, derives the tree's name from the event (4.222, 1 1 . 8 4 - 8 9 ) . 6. The theological term for the unruly human passions and desires seen as one effect of the Fall, a sign of abundance ("store") of evils. If "shame" (see

forced

accustomed

shadow, foliage

exposed

following lines) is the "last" evil, the "first" is probably the guiltiness that produces it, according to Milton's Christian Doctrine (1.12). 7. The banyan, or Indian fig, has small leaves, but the account Milton draws on from Gerard's Herbal (1597) contains the details of lines 1 1 0 4 - 1 1 ; Malabar and Deccan (line 1103) are in southern India.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1 /

They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe, 0 And with what skill they had, together sewed, To gird their waist, vain covering if to hide Their guilt and dreaded shame. O how unlike 1115 To that first naked glory. Such of late Columbus found th' American so girt With feathered cincture, 0 naked else and wild, Among the trees on isles and woody shores. Thus fenced, and as they thought, their shame in part 1120 Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, They sat them down to weep, nor only tears Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate, Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and shook sore ii25 Their inward state of mind, calm region once And full of peace, now tossed and turbulent: For understanding ruled not, and the will Heard not her lore, both in subjection now To sensual appetite, who from beneath 1130 Usurping over sov'reign reason claimed Superior sway: from thus distempered breast, 8 Adam, estranged 0 in look and altered style, Speech intermitted 0 thus to Eve renewed: "Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed 1135 With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wand'ring this unhappy morn, I know not whence possessed thee; we had then Remained still happy, not as now, despoiled Of all our good, shamed, naked, miserable. 1140 Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve 0 The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail." To whom soon moved with touch of blame thus Eve: "What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe, i 145 Imput'st thou that to my default, or will Of wand'ring, as thou call'st it, which who knows But might as ill have happened thou being by, Or to thyself perhaps: hadst thou been there, Or here th' attempt, thou couldst not have discerned 1150 Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake; No ground of enmity between us known, Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm. Was I to have never parted from thy side? As good have grown there still a lifeless rib. 1155 Being as I am, why didst not thou the head Command me absolutely not to go, Going into such danger as thou saidst? Too facile 0 then thou didst not much gainsay, 0 Nay didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss. ii60 Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent,

1997

shields

belt

unlike himself interrupted

prove

easy, mild / oppose

8. The immediate psychological effects of the Fall are evident in the subjection of reason to the lower faculties of sensual appetite.

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1 1998

ii65

1170

ii75

ii8o

ii85

JOHN MILTON

Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me." To whom then first incensed Adam replied. "Is this the love, is this the recompense Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, expressed 0 Immutable when thou wert lost, not I, Who might have lived and joyed immortal bliss, Yet willingly chose rather death with thee: And am I now upbraided, as the cause Of thy transgressing? not enough severe, It seems, in thy restraint: what could I more? I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold The danger, and the lurking enemy That lay in wait; beyond this had been force, And force upon free will hath here no place. But confidence then bore thee on, secure 0 Either to meet no danger, or to find Matter of glorious trial; and perhaps I also erred in overmuch admiring What seemed in thee so perfect, that I thought No evil durst attempt thee, but I rue That error now, which is become my crime, And thou th' accuser. Thus it shall befall Him who to worth in women overtrusting Lets her will rule; restraint she will not brook, 0 And left to herself, if evil thence ensue, She first his weak indulgence will accuse." Thus they in mutual accusation spent The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning, And of their vain contest appeared no end.

demonstrated

self-assured

Book 10

Meanwhile the heinous and despiteful act Of Satan done in Paradise, and how He in the serpent had perverted Eve, Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit, Was known in Heav'n; for what can scape the eye Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart Omniscient, who in all things wise and just, Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind Of man, with strength entire, and free will armed, Complete 0 to have discovered and repulsed Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend. For still they knew, and ought to have still0 remembered The high injunction not to taste that fruit, Whoever tempted; which they not obeying, Incurred, what could they less, the penalty, And manifold in sin, deserved to fall. Up into Heav'n from Paradise in haste Th' angelic guards ascended, mute and sad For man, for of his state by this 0 they knew,

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fully equipped always

this time

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PARADISE LOST,

BOOK 1

Much wond'ring how the subtle Fiend had stol'n Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome news From earth arrived at Heaven gate, displeased All were who heard, dim sadness did not spare That time celestial visages, yet mixed With pity, violated not their bliss. About the new-arrived, in multitudes Th' ethereal people ran, to hear and know How all befell: they towards the throne supreme Accountable made haste to make appear With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance, And easily approved; 1 when the Most High Eternal Father from his secret cloud, Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice: "Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned From unsuccessful charge, be not dismayed, Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth, Which your sincerest care could not prevent, Foretold so lately what would come to pass, When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell. I told ye then he should prevail and speed 0 On his bad errand, man should be seduced And flattered out of all, believing lies Against his Maker; no decree of mine Concurring to necessitate his fall, Or touch with lightest moment 2 of impulse His free will, to her own inclining left In even scale. But fall'n he is, and now What rests, 0 but that the mortal sentence pass On his transgression, death denounced 0 that day, Which he presumes already vain and void, Because not yet inflicted, as he feared, By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find Forbearance no acquittance ere day end. 3 Justice shall not return as bounty scorned. But whom send I to judge them? Whom but thee Vicegerent Son, to thee I have transferred All judgment, whether in Heav'n, or earth, or Hell. 4 Easy it may be seen that I intend Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee Man's friend, his mediator, his designed Both ransom and redeemer voluntary, And destined man himself to judge man fall'n." So spake the Father, and unfolding bright Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son Blazed forth unclouded deity; he full Resplendent all his Father manifest Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild: 1. The angels, "accountable" for guarding Eden, rush to God's throne to explain that they had exercised "utmost vigilance"; their plea is readily accepted ("easily approved"). 2. The smallest weight that would tip the scales.

1999

succeed

remains decreed

3. A proverb: "Abstinence from enforcing a debt is not release from it." Next line: My justice must not be scorned as my generosity has been. 4. Cf. John 5.22: "For the Father judgeth no man, but hath committed all judgment unto the Son."

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1 2000

JOHN MILTON

"Father Eternal, thine is to decree, Mine both in Heav'n and earth to do thy will Supreme, that thou in me thy Son beloved May'st ever rest well pleased. I go to judge On earth these thy transgressors; but thou know'st, Whoever judged, the worst on me must light, When time shall be, for so I undertook Before thee; and not repenting, this obtain Of right, that I may mitigate their doom On me derived, 0 yet I shall temper so Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most 0 Them fully satisfied, and thee appease. Attendance none shall need, nor train, 0 where none Are to behold the judgment, but the judged, Those two; the third best absent is condemned, Convict 0 by flight, and rebel to all law: Conviction to the serpent none belongs." Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose Of high collateral 0 glory: him Thrones and Powers, Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant Accompanied to Heaven gate, from whence Eden and all the coast 0 in prospect lay. Down he descended straight; the speed of gods Time counts not, 5 though with swiftest minutes winged. Now was the sun in western cadence 0 low From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour To fan the earth now waked, and usher in The evening cool, when he from wrath more cool Came the mild Judge and Intercessor both To sentence man: the voice of God they heard Now walking in the garden, by soft winds Brought to their ears, while day declined; they heard, And from his presence hid themselves among The thickest trees, both man and wife, till God Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud. "Where art thou Adam, wont 0 with joy to meet My coming seen far off? I miss thee here, Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude, Where obvious duty erewhile appeared unsought: Or come I less conspicuous, or what change Absents thee, or what chance detains? Come forth." He came, and with him Eve, more loath, though first To offend, discount'nanced both, and discomposed; Love was not in their looks, either to God Or to each other, but apparent 0 guilt, And shame, and perturbation, and despair, Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile. Whence Adam falt'ring long, thus answered brief: "I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom

diverted best show attendants proved guilty placed side by side region falling

used before

easily seen

5. The Son's descent is immediate; Raphael had taken much of the morning to travel from Heaven to earth (8.110-14).

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

The gracious Judge without revile" replied: "My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared, 120 But still" rejoiced, how is it now become So dreadful to thee? That thou art naked, who Hath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the tree Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?" To whom thus Adam sore beset replied. 125 "O Heav'n! in evil strait this day I stand Before my Judge, either to undergo Myself the total crime, or to accuse My other self, the partner of my life; Whose failing, while her faith to me remains, 130 I should conceal, and not expose to blame By my complaint; but strict necessity Subdues me, and calamitous constraint, Lest on my head both sin and punishment, However insupportable, be all 135 Devolved;" though should I hold my peace, yet thou Wouldst easily detect what I conceal. This woman whom thou mad'st to be my help, And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, So fit, so acceptable, so divine, 140 That from her hand I could suspect no ill, And what she did, whatever in itself, Her doing seemed to justify the deed; She gave me of the tree, and I did eat." 6 To whom the Sov'reign Presence thus replied. 145 "Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey Before his voice, or was she made thy guide, Superior, or but equal, that to her Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, 150 And for thee, 7 whose perfection far excelled Hers in all real dignity: adorned She was indeed, and lovely to attract Thy love, not thy subjection, and her gifts Were such as under government well seemed, 155 Unseemly to bear rule, which was thy part And person, 8 hadst thou known thyself aright." So having said, he thus to Eve in few" "Say woman, what is this which thou hast done?" To whom sad Eve with shame nigh overwhelmed, 160 Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied: "The serpent me beguiled and I did eat." Which when the Lord God heard, without delay To judgment he proceeded on th' accused 165 Serpent though brute, unable to transfer 6. Compare Adam's speech in Genesis 3.12, and the elements Milton adds of complaint, veiled accusation of God, and self-exculpation; also compare Eve's answer in Genesis 3.13 and in lines 1 5 9 - 6 2 below.

2001

abuse always

fallen on

few words

7. Cf. 1 Corinthians 11.8—9: "For the man is not of the woman; but the woman of the man. / Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man." 8. Role and character (persona), as in a drama.

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1 2002

JOHN

MILTON

The guilt on him who made him instrument Of mischief, and polluted from the end 0 Of his creation; justly then accursed, As vitiated in nature: 9 more to know 170 Concerned not man (since he no further knew) Nor altered his offense; yet God at last To Satan first in sin his doom applied, Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best: And on the serpent thus his curse let fall. 175 "Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed Above all cattle, each beast of the field; Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go, And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life. Between thee and the woman I will put i8o Enmity, and between thine and her Seed; Her Seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel." 1 So spake this oracle, then verified When Jesus son of Mary second Eve, Saw Satan fall like lightning down from Heav'n, 2 185 Prince of the air; then rising from his grave Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed In open show, and with ascension bright Captivity led captive through the air, The realm itself of Satan long usurped, 190 Whom he shall tread at last under our feet; Ev'n he who now foretold his fatal bruise, And to the woman thus his sentence turned. "Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply By thy conception; children thou shalt bring 195 In sorrow forth, and to thy husband's will Thine shall submit, he over thee shall rule." On Adam last thus judgment he pronounced. "Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife, And eaten of the tree concerning which 200 I charged thee, saying: Thou shalt not eat thereof, Cursed is the ground for thy sake, thou in sorrow Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life; Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth Unbid, and thou shalt eat th' herb of the field, 205 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, Till thou return unto the ground, for thou Out of the ground wast taken: know thy birth, For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return." So judged he man, both judge and savior sent, 210 And th' instant stroke of death denounced 0 that day Removed far off; then pitying how they stood 9. The serpent was "unable to transfer" (line 165) his own guilt in being "polluted" from his proper end and nature onto Satan, who made him "instrument," so he was "justly . . . accursed," but the terms of that judgment have a "mysterious" (line 173) or hidden meaning that applies to Satan. 1. This is the so-called protoevangelion or judgment of the Serpent (Satan) that contains at the

purpose

announced

same time the promise of the Redeemer ("her Seed"); Adam and Eve are led to understand it by degrees. 2. Cf. Christ's comment to his disciples (Luke 10.18: "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven"), and also Colossians 2.1 5 and Ephesians 4.8, to the following lines, 1 8 5 - 8 8 .

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

Before him naked to the air, that now Must suffer change, disdained not to begin Thenceforth the form of servant to assume, As when he washed his servants' feet, 3 so now As father of his family he clad Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or° slain, Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid; And thought not much" to clothe his enemies: Nor he their outward only with the skins Of beasts, but inward nakedness, m u c h more Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness, Arraying covered from his Father's sight. To him with swift ascent he up returned, Into his blissful bosom reassumed In glory as of old, to him appeased All, though all-knowing, what had passed with man Recounted, mixing intercession sweet. Meanwhile ere thus was sinned and judged on earth, Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, In counterview within the gates, that now Stood open wide, belching outrageous" flame Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through, Sin opening, who thus now to Death began: "O son, why sit we here each other viewing Idly, while Satan our great author 0 thrives In other worlds, and happier seat provides For us his offspring dear? It cannot be, But that success attends him; if mishap, Ere this he had returned, with fury driv'n By his avengers, since no place like 0 this C a n fit his punishment, or their revenge. Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, Wings growing, and dominion giv'n me large Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on, Or sympathy, or some connatural force Powerful at greatest distance to unite With secret amity things of like kind By secretest conveyance. 4 Thou my shade Inseparable must with me along: For Death from Sin no power can separate. But lest the difficulty of passing back Stay his return perhaps over this gulf Impassable, impervious, 0 let us try Advent'rous work, yet to thy power and mine Not unagreeable, to found 0 a path Over this main from Hell to that new world Where Satan now prevails, a monument Of merit high to all th' infernal host, Easing their passage hence, for intercourse, 0 3. Cf. Philippians 2.7: "[Christ] took upon him the form of a servant"; John 13.5: "he poureth water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet."

2003

either too much

unrestrained

father

as well as

impenetrable establish

passing back and forth

4. Sin feels an attraction ("sympathy") drawing two things together, or an innate ("connatural") force, linking her to Satan.

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1 2004

JOHN MILTON

Or transmigration, 0 as their lot shall lead. Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn By this new-felt attraction and instinct." Whom thus the meager 0 shadow answered soon: " G o whither fate and inclination strong Leads thee, I shall not lag behind, nor err The way, thou leading, such a scent I draw Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste The savor of death from all things there that live: Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid." So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell Of mortal change on earth. As when a flock Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote, Against 0 the day of battle, to a field, Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured With scent of living carcasses designed 0 For death, the following day, in bloody fight. So scented the grim feature, 0 and upturned His nostril wide into the murky air, Sagacious 0 of his quarry from so far. Then both from out Hell gates into the waste Wide anarchy of C h a o s damp and dark Flew diverse, 0 and with power (their power was great) Hovering upon the water, what they met Solid or slimy, as in raging sea Tossed up and down, together crowded drive From each side shoaling 0 towards the mouth of Hell. As when two polar winds blowing adverse Upon the Cronian Sea, 5 together drive Mountains of ice, that stop th' imagined way Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil Death with his m a c e petrific, 6 cold and dry, As with a trident smote, and fixed as firm As Delos floating once; the rest his look Bound with Gorgonian rigor not to move, 7 And with asphaltic slime; 0 broad as the gate, Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach They fastened, and the mole 0 immense wrought on Over the foaming deep high-arched, a bridge Of length prodigious joining to the wall 0 Immovable of this now fenceless world Forfeit to Death; from hence a passage broad, Smooth, easy, inoffensive 0 down to Hell. So, if great things to small may be compared, Xerxes, 8 the liberty of Greece to yoke, 5. The Arctic Ocean; the "imagined way" (lines 2 9 1 - 9 3 ) is the Northeast Passage to North China ("Cathay") from Pechora ("Petsora"), a river in Siberia, which Henry Hudson could only imagine (in 1608) because it was blocked with ice. 6. Turning things to stone. 7. Anything the Gorgon Medusa looked upon

emigration

emaciated

anticipating marked out form, shape keenly smelling, wise

in different directions

assembling

pitch pier outer shell

free from obstacle

turned to stone. Death's materials are the "cold and dry" elements; his mace is associated with Neptune's "trident," which was said to have "fixed" the floating Greek island of Delos. 8. The Persian king Xeraes ordered the sea whipped when it destroyed the bridge of ships he built over the Hellespont (linking Europe and Asia)

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

From S u s a his Memnonian palace high C a m e to the sea, and over Hellespont Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined, And scourged with many a stroke th' indignant waves. Now had they brought the work by wondrous art Pontifical, 9 a ridge of pendent rock Over the vexed 0 abyss, following the track Of Satan, to the selfsame place where he First lighted from his wing, and landed safe From out of Chaos to the outside bare Of this round world: with pins of adamant And chains they made all fast, too fast they made And durable; and now in little space The confines 0 met of empyrean Heav'n And of this world, and on the left hand Hell With long reach interposed; three sev'ral ways In sight, to each of these three places led. 1 And now their way to earth they had descried, 0 To Paradise first tending, when behold Satan in likeness of an angel bright Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion 2 steering His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose: Disguised he came, but those his children dear Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise. He, after Eve seduced, unminded 0 slunk Into the wood fast by, and changing shape To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act By Eve, though all unweeting, 0 seconded Upon her husband, saw their shame that sought Vain covertures; 0 but when he saw descend The Son of God to judge them, terrified Fie fled, not hoping to escape, but shun The present, fearing guilty what his wrath Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned By night, and list'ning where the hapless pair Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint, Thence gathered his own doom, which understood Not instant, but of future time. 3 With joy And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned, And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot Of this new wondrous pontifice, 0 unhoped Met who to meet him came, his offspring dear. Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight Of that stupendous bridge his joy increased. Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broken: so as to invade Greece. " S u s a " (next line): Xerxes' winter residence, founded by the mythical prince Memnon. 9. Bridge-building, with a pun on "papal" (the pope had the title "pontifex maximus"). 1. The golden staircase or chain linking the universe to Heaven, the new bridge linking it to Hell, and the passage through the spheres down to

2005

stormy

boundaries

perceived

unnoticed

garments

earth. 2. Satan steered between Sagittarius ("the Centaur") and Scorpio, thereby passing through Anguis, the constellation of the Serpent. 3. This evidently refers to the plaints and discourse of Adam and Eve (lines 7 2 0 - 1 1 0 4 below), which therefore precede Satan's return to Hell (lines 3 4 5 - 6 0 9 ) .

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1 2006

JOHN MILTON

"O parent, these are thy magnific deeds, Thy trophies, 4 which thou view'st as not thine own, Thou art their author and prime architect: For I no sooner in my heart divined, My heart, which by a secret harmony Still moves with thine, joined in connection sweet, That thou on earth hadst prospered, which thy looks Now also evidence, but straight 0 I felt Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt That I must after thee with this thy son; S u c h fatal consequence 5 unites us three: Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds, Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure Detain from following thy illustrious track. Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined Within Hell gates till now, thou us empow'red To fortify thus far, and overlay With this portentous 0 bridge the dark abyss. Thine now is all this world, thy virtue 0 hath won What thy hands builded not, thy wisdom gained With odds 0 what war hath lost, and fully avenged Our foil in Heav'n; here thou shalt monarch reign, There didst not; there let him still victor sway, As battle hath adjudged, from this new world Retiring, by his own doom alienated, And henceforth monarchy with thee divide Of all things parted by th' empyreal bounds, Flis quadrature, from thy orbicular world, 6 Or try0 thee now more dangerous to his throne." Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answered glad: "Fair daughter, and thou son and grandchild both, High proof ye now have giv'n to be the race Of Satan (for I glory in the name, Antagonist 7 of Heav'n's Almighty King) Amply have merited of me, of all Th' infernal empire, that so near Heav'n's door Triumphal with triumphal act 8 have met, Mine with this glorious work, and made one realm Hell and this world, one realm, one continent Of easy thoroughfare. Therefore while I Descend through darkness, on your road with ease To my associate powers, them to acquaint With these successes, and with them rejoice, You two this way, among those numerous orbs All yours, right down to Paradise descend; 4. Objects or persons captured in battle were displayed in the Triumphs accorded Roman generals and emperors who had won a great military victory; the term casts Satan's conquests in Eden in such terms. 5. Connection of cause and effect. 6. Revelation 21.16 describes the City of God as "foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth"; Satan's new conquest, earth, is an orb.

at once

marvelous, ominous power, courage advantage

discover by experience

Sin may imply its superiority (being a sphere). 7. The name "Satan" means "adversary" or "antagonist." 8. The repeated word emphasizes that Satan is enacting a Triumph, passing over a triumphal bridge rather than through triumphal arches; the scene would likely evoke the "Roman" Triumph and triumphal arches celebrating the Restoration of Charles II.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

There dwell and reign in bliss, thence on the earth Dominion exercise and in the air, Chiefly on man, sole lord of all declared, Him first make sure your thrall,° and lastly kill. My substitutes I send ye, and create Plenipotent 0 on earth, of matchless might Issuing from me: on your joint vigor now My hold of this new kingdom all depends, Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit. If your joint power prevail, th' affairs of Hell No detriment need fear, go and be strong." So saying he dismissed them, they with speed Their course through thickest constellations held Spreading their bane;° the blasted 0 stars looked wan, And planets, planet-strook, 9 real eclipse Then suffered. Th' other way Satan went down The causey 0 to Hell gate; on either side Disparted C h a o s over-built exclaimed, And with rebounding surge the bars assailed, That scorned his indignation. 1 Through the gate, Wide open and unguarded, Satan passed, And all about found desolate; for those 2 Appointed to sit there, had left their charge, Flown to the upper world; the rest were all Far to the inland retired, about the walls Of Pandemonium, city and proud seat Of Lucifer, so by allusion 0 called, Of that bright star to Satan paragoned. 3 There kept their watch the legions, while the grand 4 In council sat, solicitous 0 what chance Might intercept their emperor sent, so he Departing gave command, and they observed. As when the Tartar from his Russian foe By Astracan over the snowy plains Retires, or Bactrian Sophi from the horns Of Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond The realm of Aladule, in his retreat To Tauris or Casbeen: 5 so these the late Heav'n-banished host, left desert utmost Hell Many a dark league, reduced 0 in careful watch Round their metropolis, and now expecting Each hour their great adventurer from the search Of foreign worlds: he through the midst unmarked, 0 In show plebeian angel militant 9. Suffering not merely a temporary eclipse but a real loss of light, as from the malign influence of an adverse planet. 1. Chaos is the instinctive enemy of all order, so hostile to the bridge built over it. 2. Sin and Death. 3. Satan before his fall was Lucifer, the Lightbringer, and the morning star is named Lucifer because it is compared ("paragoned") to him. 4. The "grand infernal peers" who govern (cf. 2.507).

2007

slave with full power

poison / ruined

causeway

metaphor

drawn together

unnoticed

5. The simile, begun in line 431, compares the fallen angels, withdrawn from other regions of Hell to guard their metropolis, to Tartars retiring before attacking Russians and Persians retreating before the attacking Turks. "Astracan": a region west of the Caspian Sea inhabited by Russia and defended against Turks and Tartars; "Aladule": the region of Armenia, from which the last Persian ruler, called Anadule, a "Bactrian Sophi" (Persian shah), was forced to retreat from the Turks, to Tabriz ("Tauris") and Kazvin ("Casbeen").

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1 2008

JOHN MILTON

Of lowest order, passed; and from the door Of that Plutonian 6 hall, invisible 445 Ascended his high throne, which under state" Of richest texture spread, at th' upper end Was placed in regal luster. Down a while He sat, and round about him saw unseen: At last as from a cloud his fulgent head 450 And shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, clad With what permissive 0 glory since his fall Was left him, or false glitter: all amazed At that so sudden blaze the Stygian 7 throng Bent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld, 455 Their mighty chief returned: loud was th' acclaim: Forth rushed in haste the great consulting peers, Raised from their dark divan, 8 and with like joy Congratulant approached him, who with hand Silence, and with these words attention won: 460 "Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, For in possession such, not only of right, I call ye9 and declare ye now, returned Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth Triumphant out of this infernal pit 465 Abominable, accurst, the house of woe, And dungeon of our tyrant: now possess, As lords, a spacious world, to our native Heaven Little inferior, by my adventure hard With peril great achieved. Long were to tell 470 What I have done, what suffered, with what pain Voyaged th' unreal, 0 vast, unbounded deep Of horrible confusion, over which By Sin and Death a broad way now is paved To expedite your glorious march; but I 475 Toiled out my uncouth 0 passage, forced to ride Th' untractable abyss, plunged in the womb Of unoriginal 1 Night and Chaos wild, That jealous of their secrets fiercely opposed My journey strange, with clamorous uproar 480 Protesting Fate 2 supreme; thence how I found The new-created world, which fame in Heav'n Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful Of absolute perfection, therein man Placed in a paradise, by our exile 485 Made happy: him by fraud I have seduced From his Creator, and the more to increase Your wonder, with an apple. He thereat Offended, worth your laughter, hath giv'n up Both his beloved man and all his world, 490 To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, Without our hazard, labor, or alarm, To range in, and to dwell, and over man 6. Pertaining to Pluto, ruler of the classical underworld. 7. Of the river Styx in Hades, the river of hate. 8. The Turkish Council of State.

canopy

permitted

unformed

strange

9. I.e., you now have these titles not only by right but by possession (from the conquest on earth). 1. Having no origin, uncreated. 2. Protesting both to and against Fate.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

To rule, as over all he should have ruled. True is, me also he hath judged, or rather Me not, but the brute serpent in whose shape Man I deceived; that which to me belongs, Is enmity, which he will put between Me and mankind; I am to bruise his heel; His seed, when is not set, shall bruise my head: A world who would not purchase with a bruise, Or much more grievous pain? Ye have th' account Of my performance: what remains, ye gods, But up and enter now into full bliss." 3 So having said, a while he stood, expecting Their universal shout and high applause To fill his ear, when contrary he hears On all sides, from innumerable tongues A dismal universal hiss, the sound Of public scorn; he wondered, but not long Had leisure, wond'ring at himself now more; His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare, His arms clung to his ribs, his legs entwining Each other, till supplanted 0 down he fell A monstrous serpent on his belly prone, Reluctant, 0 but in vain, a greater power Now ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned, According to his doom: he would have spoke, But hiss for hiss returned with forked tongue To forked tongue, for now were all transformed Alike, to serpents 4 all as accessories To his bold riot:° dreadful was the din Of hissing through the hall, thick swarming now With complicated 0 monsters, head and tail, Scorpion and asp, and amphisbaena dire, Cerastes horned, hydrus, and ellops drear, And dipsas 5 (not so thick swarmed once the soil Bedropped with blood of Gorgon, or the isle Ophiusa) 6 but still greatest he the midst, Now dragon grown, larger than whom the sun Engendered in the Pythian vale on slime, Huge Python, 7 and his power no less he seemed Above the rest still to retain; they all Him followed issuing forth to th' open field, Where all yet left of that revolted rout Heav'n-fall'n, in station stood or just array, 8 Sublime 0 with expectation when to see 3. Ironically, the final word of Satan's proud, triumphal speech rhymes with and so prepares for the "hiss" (line 508) that will soon greet him, as his would-be triumph is turned by God to abject humiliation. 4. The scene recalls Dante's vivid description of the thieves metamorphosed to snakes in Inferno 24-25. 5. The "scorpion" has a venomous sting at the tip of the tail; "asp" is a small Egyptian viper; "amphisbaena" supposedly had a head at each end; "Cerastes" is an asp with horny projections over each eye;

2009

tripped up struggling

revolt tangled

raised up

"hydrus" and "ellops" were mythical water snakes; "dipsas" was a mythical snake whose bite caused raging thirst. 6. Drops of blood from the Gorgon Medusa's severed head turned into snakes; "Ophiusa" in Greek means "isle of snakes." 7. A gigantic serpent engendered from the slime left by Deucalion's flood; Apollo slew him and appropriated the "Pythian" vale and shrine at Delphi. 8. I.e., at their posts or on parade.

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1 2010

540

545

550

555

560

565

570

575

580

JOHN MILTON

In triumph issuing forth their glorious chief; They saw, but other sight instead, a crowd Of ugly serpents; horror on them fell, And horrid sympathy; for what they saw, They felt themselves now changing; down their arms, Down fell both spear and shield, down they as fast, And the dire hiss renewed, and the dire form Catched by contagion, like in punishment, As in their crime. Thus was th' applause they meant, Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There stood A grove hard by, sprung up with this their change, His will who reigns above, to aggravate Their penance," laden with fair fruit, like that Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve Used by the Tempter: on that prospect strange Their earnest eyes they fixed, imagining For one forbidden tree a multitude Now ris'n, to work them further woe or shame; Yet parched with scalding thirst and hunger fierce, Though to delude them sent, could not abstain, But on they rolled in heaps, and up the trees Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks That curled Megaera: 9 greedily they plucked The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed; 1 This more delusive, not the touch, but taste Deceived; they fondly" thinking to allay Their appetite with gust," instead of fruit Chewed bitter ashes, which th' offended taste With spattering noise rejected: oft they assayed," Hunger and thirst constraining, drugged as oft, With hatefulest disrelish writhed their jaws With soot and cinders filled; so oft they fell Into the same illusion, not as man Whom they triumphed once lapsed. 2 Thus were they plagued And worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss, Till their lost shape, permitted, they resumed, 3 Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo This annual humbling certain numbered days, To dash their pride, and joy for man seduced. Flowever some tradition they dispersed Among the heathen of their purchase" got, And fabled how the serpent, whom they called Ophion with Eurynome, the wideEncroaching Eve perhaps, had first the rule Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driv'n And Ops, ere yet Dictaean Jove was born. 4 9. One of three Furies with snaky hair. 1. Sodom apples reputedly grew on the spot where the accursed city once stood, now the Dead Sea ("that bituminous lake"); the apples look good but dissolve into ashes when eaten. 2. Unlike man who fell once, they try to eat the dissolving apples over and over again.

punishment

foolishly relish attempted

plunder

3. God permitted them to regain their "lost shape" as fallen angels; but they are undergoing a slower, natural metamorphosis into grosser substance by their continuing commitment to and choice of evil. 4. The Titan Ophion (whose name means "snake") and his wife Eurynome ("the widereacher") ruled Olympus until driven away by "Sat-

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

585

590

595

600

605

6io

6i5

620

625

630

Meanwhile in Paradise the hellish pair Too soon arrived, Sin there in power before, Once actual, now in body, and to dwell Habitual habitant; 5 behind her Death Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet On his pale horse: 6 to whom Sin thus began: "Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death, What think'st thou of our empire now, though earned With travail 0 difficult, not better far Than still at Hell's dark threshold to have sat watch, Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half-starved?" Whom thus the Sin-born monster answered soon: "To me, who with eternal famine pine, Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven, There best, where most with ravin 0 I may meet; Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems To stuff this maw, this vast unhidebound corpse." 7 To whom th' incestuous mother thus replied: "Thou therefore on these herbs, and fruits, and flow'rs Feed first, on each beast next, and fish, and fowl, No homely morsels, and whatever thing Thy scythe of Time mows down, devour unspared, Till I in man residing through the race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions all infect, And season him thy last and sweetest prey." This said, they both betook them several ways, Both to destroy, or unimmortal make All kinds, and for destruction to mature Sooner or later; which th' Almighty seeing, From his transcendent seat the saints among, To those bright orders uttered thus his voice: " S e e with what heat these dogs of Hell advance To waste and havoc 0 yonder world, which I So fair and good created, and had still Kept in that state, had not the folly of man Let in these wasteful furies, who impute Folly to me, so doth the Prince of Hell And his adherents, that with so much ease I suffer them to enter and possess A place so heav'nly, and conniving seem To gratify my scornful enemies, That laugh, as if transported with some fit Of passion, I to them had quitted all,° At random yielded up to their misrule; And know not that I called and drew them thither My hellhounds, to lick up the draff 3 and filth Which man's polluting sin with taint hath shed On what was pure, till crammed and gorged, nigh burst urn" and his wife Ops, who were in turn overthrown by Jove, who lived on the mountain Dicte. Milton suggests that these may represent versions of the story transmitted by the fallen angels to the pagans (lines 578—79). 5. Sin was present in Eden in the actual sins committed by Adam and Eve; now she will dwell there

2011

labor

prey

plunder

handed everything over

dregs

in her own body and in all other bodies. 6. Cf. Revelation 6.8: "behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." 7. Its hide does not cling close to its bones: Death's hunger is such that it can never fill its skin.

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1 2012

JOHN MILTON

With sucked and glutted offal, at one sling Of thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son, Both Sin, and Death, and yawning grave at last Through Chaos hurled, obstruct the mouth of Hell Forever, and seal up his ravenous jaws. Then Heav'n and earth renewed shall be made pure To sanctity that shall receive no stain: Till then the curse pronounced on both precedes."" He ended, and the heav'nly audience loud Sung hallelujah, as the sound of seas, Through multitude that sung: "Just are thy ways, Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works; Who can extenuate 0 thee? Next, to the Son, Destined restorer of mankind, by whom New heav'n and earth shall to the ages rise, Or down from Heav'n descend." Such was their song, While the Creator calling forth by name His mighty angels gave them several charge, As sorted 0 best with present things. The sun Had first his precept so to move, so shine, As might affect the earth with cold and heat Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call Decrepit winter, from the south to bring Solstitial summer's heat. To the blank 0 moon Her office they prescribed, to th' other five Their planetary motions and aspects 8 In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite, Of noxious efficacy, and when to join In synod 0 unbenign, and taught the fixed 0 Their influence malignant when to show'r, Which of them rising with the sun, or falling, Should prove tempestuous: 0 to the winds they set Their corners, when with bluster to confound Sea, air, and shore, the thunder when to roll With terror through the dark aerial hall. Some say9 he bid his angels turn askance The poles of earth twice ten degrees and more From the sun's axle; they with labor pushed Oblique the centric globe: 0 some say the sun Was bid turn reins from th' equinoctial road 0 Like distant breadth to Taurus' with the sev'n Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins Up to the Tropic Crab; thence down amain 0 By Leo and the Virgin and the Scales, As deep as Capricorn, to bring in change Of seasons to each clime; else 0 had the spring Perpetual smiled on earth with vernant 0 flow'rs, 8. Astrological positions. The next line names positions of 60, 90, 120, and 180 degrees, respectively. 9. The poem offers both a Ptolemaic and a Copernican explanation of the shifts made in the cosmic order so as to change the prelapsarian eternal spring. The Copernican explanation (offered first)

takes

precedence

disparage

suited

conjunction

white,

pale

I fixed

stars

productive

of storms

the the

at full

earth equator

speed

otherwise spring

proposes that the earth's axis is now tilted (lines 668—71); the Ptolemaic explanation is that the plane of the sun's orbit is tilted (lines 671—78). 1. Lines 673—78 trace the sun's apparent (Ptolemaic) journey from Aries through Taurus and the rest of the zodiac over the course of the year.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

680

685

690

695

700

705

710

715

720

Equal in days and nights, except to those Beyond the polar circles; to them day Had unbenighted 0 shone, while the low sun To recompense his distance, in their sight Had rounded still 0 th' horizon, and not known Or° east or west, which had forbid the snow From cold Estotiland, and south as far Beneath Magellan. 2 At that tasted fruit The sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turned His course intended; 3 else how had the world Inhabited, though sinless, more than now, Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat? These changes in the heav'ns, though slow, produced Like change on sea and land, sideral blast, 4 Vapor, and mist, and exhalation hot, Corrupt and pestilent: now from the north Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shore Bursting their brazen dungeon, armed with ice And snow and hail and stormy gust and flaw, 0 Boreas and Caecias and Argestes loud And Thrascias rend the woods and seas upturn; With adverse blast upturns them from the south Notus and Afer black with thund'rous clouds From Serraliona, 5 thwart of these as fierce Forth rush the Levant and the ponent 0 winds Eurus and Zephyr with their lateral noise, Sirocco and Libecchio. 6 Thus began Outrage from lifeless things; but Discord first Daughter of Sin, among th' irrational, Death introduced through fierce antipathy: 7 Beast now with beast gan war, and fowl with fowl, And fish with fish; to graze the herb° all leaving, Devour'd each other; nor stood much in awe Of man, but fled him, or with count'nance grim Glared on him passing: these were from without The growing miseries, which Adam saw Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within, And in a troubled sea of passion tossed, Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint: "O miserable of happy! 8 Is this the end Of this new glorious world, and me so late 2. The region of the Straits of Magellan, at the tip of South America. "Estotiland" (line 686): northern Labrador. 3. As a revenge, Atreus killed one of the sons of his brother Thyestes and served him in a banquet to that brother; the sun changed course to avoid the sight. 4. Malevolent stellar influences. "Norumbega" (line 696): northern New England and maritime Canada; "Samoed" Shore: northeastern Siberia. 5. Winds ( 7 0 1 - 6 ) from the south ("Notus," "Afer") come from Sierra Leone ("Serraliona") on the west coast of Africa; "Boreas," "Caecias," "Argestes," and "Thrascias" are all winds that blowfrom

2013

without any night always either

squall

opposing

grass

the north, northeast, and northwest, bursting from the cave ("brazen dungeon") in which Aeolus imprisoned the winds (lines 695—700). 6. Crossing the north and south winds ("thwart," line 703) are the "Levant" (from the east) and " E u r u s " (east southeast), from the west "Zephyr," the west wind; "Sirocco" and "Libecchio" come from the southeast and southwest, respectively. 7. Discord (personified as daughter of Sin) introduced Death among the animals ("th' irrational") by stirring up "antipathy" among them. 8. Adam's complaint begins with the classical formula for a tragic fall, or peripeteia, the change from happiness to misery.

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1 2014

725

730

735

740

745

750

755

760

765

JOHN

MILTON

T h e glory o f t h a t glory, w h o n o w b e c o m e Accurst of blessed, hide me from the face Of God, whom to behold was then my height Of h a p p i n e s s : yet well, if h e r e w o u l d e n d T h e m i s e r y , I d e s e r v e d it, a n d w o u l d b e a r M y o w n d e s e r v i n g s ; b u t this will n o t s e r v e ; All t h a t I e a t or drink, or shall b e g e t , Is propagated9 curse. O voice o n c e heard Delightfully, 'Increase and multiply,' N o w death to hear! For what can I increase Or multiply, but c u r s e s on my h e a d ? W h o o f all a g e s t o s u c c e e d , b u t f e e l i n g T h e evil o n h i m b r o u g h t b y m e , will c u r s e My h e a d : '111 f a r e o u r a n c e s t o r i m p u r e , F o r this w e m a y t h a n k A d a m ' ; b u t h i s t h a n k s Shall be the execration; so besides M i n e o w n t h a t b i d e u p o n m e , all f r o m m e Shall with a fierce reflux on me r e d o u n d , On me as on their n a t u r a l c e n t e r light H e a v y , t h o u g h in t h e i r p l a c e . 1 O f l e e t i n g j o y s Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes! Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay T o m o l d m e m a n , did I solicit t h e e F r o m d a r k n e s s to p r o m o t e m e , or h e r e p l a c e I n this d e l i c i o u s g a r d e n ? A s m y will C o n c u r r e d n o t t o m y b e i n g , i t w e r e b u t right And equal0 to reduce me to my dust, Desirous to resign, and render back All I r e c e i v e d , u n a b l e to p e r f o r m Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold T h e good I s o u g h t not. To the loss of that, S u f f i c i e n t p e n a l t y , why h a s t t h o u a d d e d T h e sense of endless woes? Inexplicable T h y j u s t i c e s e e m s ; yet to s a y t r u t h , t o o l a t e I thus contest; then should have been refused T h o s e t e r m s w h a t e v e r , w h e n they w e r e p r o p o s e d : T h o u 2 d i d s t a c c e p t t h e m ; wilt t h o u e n j o y t h e g o o d , T h e n cavil 0 t h e c o n d i t i o n s ? A n d t h o u g h G o d M a d e t h e e w i t h o u t thy l e a v e , w h a t if thy s o n Prove disobedient, a n d reproved, retort, ' W h e r e f o r e d i d s t t h o u b e g e t m e ? I s o u g h t it not': W o u l d s t t h o u a d m i t f o r his c o n t e m p t o f t h e e T h a t p r o u d e x c u s e ? Y e t h i m n o t thy e l e c t i o n , 0 But natural necessity begot. G o d m a d e t h e e o f c h o i c e his o w n , a n d o f his o w n T o serve h i m , thy r e w a r d w a s o f his g r a c e , T h y p u n i s h m e n t t h e n j u s t l y i s a t h i s will. Be it s o , f o r I s u b m i t , h i s d o o m is fair, 9. Handed down from one generation to the next. 1. I.e., Adam's "own" curse will remain ("bide") with him, and the curse ("execration") of "all" who descend from him will "redound" on him as to their "natural center"; objects so placed ("in their

just

object frivolously to

choice

place") were thought to be weightless ("light"), but these curses will be "heavy." 2. Adam turns from addressing God to address himself.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

That dust I am, and shall to dust return: O welcome hour whenever! Why delays His hand to execute what his decree Fixed on this day? Why do I overlive, Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened out To deathless pain? How gladly would I meet Mortality my sentence, and be earth Insensible, how glad would lay me down As in my mother's lap! There I should rest And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more Would thunder in my ears, no fear of worse To me and to my offspring would torment me With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt Pursues me still, lest all 1° cannot die, Lest that pure breath of life, the spirit of man Which God inspired, cannot together perish With this corporeal clod; then in the grave, Or in some other dismal place, who knows But I shall die a living death? O thought Horrid, if true! Yet why? It was but breath Of life that sinned; what dies but what had life And sin? The body properly hath neither. All of me then shall die: 3 let this appease The doubt, since human reach no further knows. For though the Lord of all be infinite, Is his wrath also? Be it, man is not so, But mortal doomed. How can he exercise Wrath without end on man whom death must end? Can he make deathless death? That were to make Strange contradiction, which to G o d himself Impossible is held, as argument Of weakness, not of power. Will he draw out, For anger's sake, finite to infinite In punished man, to satisfy his rigor Satisfied never; that were to extend His sentence beyond dust and nature's law, By which all causes else according still To the reception of their matter act, Not to th' extent of their own sphere. 4 But say That death be not one stroke, as I supposed, Bereaving" sense, but endless misery From this day onward, which I feel begun Both in me, and without 0 me, and so last To perpetuity; ay me, that fear C o m e s thund'ring back with dreadful revolution 0 On my defenseless head; both Death and I Am found eternal, and incorporate 0 both, Nor I on my part single, in me all 3. After debating the matter, Adam concludes that the soul dies with the body; Milton in his Christian Doctrine worked out this "mortalist" doctrine, with its corollary, that both soul and body rise at the Last Judgment.

2015

all of me

taking away outside of return made one body

4. Adam convinces himself that "finite" matter (line 802) cannot suffer "infinite" punishment by an axiom of traditional philosophy, that by "nature's law" (line 805) the actions of agents are limited by the nature of the object they act upon.

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1 2016

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JOHN MILTON

Posterity stands cursed: fair patrimony That I must leave ye, sons; O were I able To waste it all myself, and leave ye none! So disinherited how would ye bless Me now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind For one man's fault thus guiltless be condemned, If guiltless? But from me what can proceed, But all corrupt, both mind and will depraved, Not to do° only, but to will the same With me? How can they then acquitted stand In sight of God? Him after all disputes Forced I absolve: all my evasions vain And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still But to my own conviction: first and last On me, me only, as the source and spring Of all corruption, all the blame lights due; So might the wrath. 5 Fond 0 wish! Couldst thou support That burden heavier than the earth to bear, Than all the world much heavier, though divided With that bad woman? Thus what thou desir'st, And what thou fear'st, alike destroys all hope Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable Beyond all past example and future, To Satan only like both crime and doom. 0 conscience, into what abyss of fears And horrors hast thou driv'n me; out of which 1 find no way, from deep to deeper plunged!" T h u s Adam to himself lamented loud Through the still night, not now, as ere man fell, Wholesome and cool, and mild, but with black air Accompanied, with damps" and dreadful gloom, Which to his evil conscience represented All things with double terror: on the ground Outstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oft Cursed his creation, Death as oft accused Of tardy execution, since denounced" The day of his offense: "Why comes not Death," Said he, "with one thrice-acceptable stroke To end me? Shall Truth fail to keep her word, Justice divine not hasten to be just? But Death comes not at call, Justice divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries. O woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bow'rs, With other echo late I taught your shades To answer, and resound far other song." 6 Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld, Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh, Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed; 0 But her with stern regard he thus repelled: "Out of my sight, thou serpent, 7 that name best 5. Cf. the Son's offer to accept all humankind's guilt ( 3 . 2 3 6 - 4 1 ) , and Eve's similar offer ( 1 0 . 9 3 3 36). 6. Cf. their morning hymn (5.1 5 3 - 2 0 8 ) .

act

foolish

noxious vapors

pronounced

attempted

7. Adam's bitter, misogynistic outcry begins with reference to the patristic notion that the name Eve, aspirated, means "serpent."

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

870

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Befits thee with him leagued, thyself as false And hateful; nothing wants," but that thy shape, Like his, and color serpentine may show Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee Henceforth; lest that too heav'nly form, pretended 8 To hellish falsehood, snare them. But" for thee I had persisted happy, had not thy pride And wand'ring vanity, when least was safe, Rejected my forewarning, and disdained Not to be trusted, longing to be seen Though by the Devil himself, him overweening" To overreach, but with the serpent meeting Fooled and beguiled, by him thou, I by thee, To trust thee from my side, imagined wise, Constant, mature, proof against all assaults, And understood not all was but a show Rather than solid virtue, all but a rib Crooked by nature, bent, as now appears, More to the part sinister" from me drawn, Well if thrown out, as supernumerary To my just number found. 9 O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, 1 create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, 2 and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind? This mischief had not then befall'n, And more that shall befall, innumerable Disturbances on earth through female snares, And strait conjunction 3 with this sex: for either He never shall find out fit mate, but such As some misfortune brings him, or mistake, Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain Through her perverseness, but shall see her gained By a far worse, or if she love, withheld By parents, or his happiest choice too late Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound To a fell" adversary, his hate or shame: Which infinite calamity shall cause To human life, and household peace confound." He added not, and from her turned, but Eve Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, And tresses all disordered, at his feet Fell humble, and embracing them, besought His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint: "Forsake me not thus, Adam, witness Heav'n What love sincere, and reverence in my heart 8. Held in front, as a cover or mask. 9. It was supposed that Adam had thirteen ribs on the left side, so he could spare one for the creation of Eve and still retain the proper ("just") number, twelve. 1. The Miltonic bard indicated that angels can

2017

is lacking

except

overconfident

the left side

hitter

assume at will "either sex . . . or both" (1.424). 2. Aristotle had claimed that the female is a defective male. 3. Close, hard-pressing, binding union: Adam then projects the problems of future marriages.

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1 2018

JOHN MILTON

I bear thee, and unweeting 0 have offended, Unhappily deceived; thy suppliant I beg, and clasp thy knees; 4 bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, 920 Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, My only strength and stay: forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist? While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace, both joining, 925 As joined in injuries, one enmity Against a foe by doom express" assigned us, That cruel serpent: on me exercise not Thy hatred for this misery befall'n, On me already lost, me than thyself 930 More miserable; both have sinned, but thou Against God only, I against God and thee, And to the place of judgment will return, There with my cries importune Heaven, that all The sentence from thy head removed may light 935 On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe, Me me only just object of his ire." 5 She ended weeping, and her lowly plight," Immovable till peace obtained from fault Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought 940 Commiseration; soon his heart relented Towards her, his life so late and sole delight, Now at his feet submissive in distress, Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking, His counsel whom she had displeased, his aid; 945 As one disarmed, his anger all he lost, And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon: "Unwary, and too desirous, as before, So now of what thou know'st not, who desir'st The punishment all on thyself; alas! 950 Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain His full wrath whose thou feel'st as yet least part, And my displeasure bear'st so ill.6 If prayers Could alter high decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, 955 That on my head all might be visited, Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiv'n, To me committed and by me exposed. But rise, let us no more contend, nor blame Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive 960 In offices of love, how we may light'n Each other's burden in our share of woe; Since this day's death denounced, if aught I see, Will prove no sudden, but a slow-paced evil, A long day's dying to augment our pain, 4. Eve assumes the posture of the classical suppliant, clasping the knees of the one she begs from. 5. Eve also echoes the Son's offer (3.236 41}. Cf. Adam's cry ( 1 0 , 8 3 2 - 3 4 ) .

unintentionally

explicit judgment

posture

6. I.e., you could hardly bear God's "full wrath" since you are so distraught when you feel only the smallest part of it, and you can "ill" bear my displeasure.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived." 0 To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied: "Adam, by sad experiment I know How little weight my words with thee can find, Found so erroneous, thence by just event 0 970 Found so unfortunate; nevertheless, Restored by thee, vile as I am, to place Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart Living or dying, from thee I will not hide 975 What thoughts in my unquiet breast are ris'n, Tending to some relief of our extremes, Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, As in our evils, and of easier choice. If care of our descent perplex us most, 7 980 Which must be born to certain woe, devoured By Death at last, and miserable it is To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring Into this cursed world a woeful race, 985 That after wretched life must be at last Food for so foul a monster, in thy power It lies, yet ere conception to prevent The race unblest, to being yet unbegot. Childess thou art, childless remain; so Death 990 Shall be deceived 0 his glut, and with us two Be forced to satisfy his rav'nous maw. But if thou judge it hard and difficult, Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet, 995 And with desire to languish without hope, Before the present object 8 languishing With like desire, which would be misery And torment less than none of what we dread, Then both ourselves and seed at once to free IOOO From what we fear for both, let us make short, 0 Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his office on ourselves; Why stand we longer shivering under fears, That show no end but death, and have the power, 1005 Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy." She ended here, or vehement despair Broke off the rest; so much of death her thoughts Had entertained, as dyed her cheeks with pale. IOIO But Adam with such counsel nothing swayed, To better hopes his more attentive mind Laboring had raised, and thus to Eve replied. "Eve thy contempt of life and pleasure seems To argue in thee something more sublime

965

7. I.e., if concern for our descendants most torment ("perplex") us.

2019

passed on

consequence

cheated of

lose no

time

8. I.e., Eve herself, who then projects her own frustrated desire if they were to forgo sex.

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1 2020

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JOHN

MILTON

And excellent than what thy mind contemns; 0 But self-destruction therefore sought, refutes That excellence thought in thee, and implies, Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret For loss of life and pleasure overloved. Or if thou covet death, as utmost end Of misery, so thinking to evade The penalty pronounced, doubt not but God Hath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than so To be forestalled; much more I fear lest death So snatched will not exempt us from the pain We are by doom to pay: rather such acts Of contumacy 0 will provoke the Highest To make death in us live. Then let us seek S o m e safer resolution, which methinks I have in view, calling to mind with heed Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise The serpent's head; piteous amends, unless Be meant, whom I conjecture, our grand foe Satan, who in the serpent hath contrived Against us this deceit: to crush his head Would be revenge indeed; which will be lost By death brought on ourselves, or childless days Resolved, as thou proposest; so our foe Shall scape his punishment ordained, and we Instead shall double ours upon our heads. No more be mentioned then of violence Against ourselves, and willful barrenness, That cuts us off from hope, and savors only Rancor and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance 0 against God and his j u s t yoke Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild And gracious temper he both heard and judged Without wrath or reviling; we expected Immediate dissolution, which we thought Was meant by death that day, when lo, to thee Pains only in childbearing were foretold, And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy, Fruit of thy womb: 9 on me the curse aslope Glanced on the ground, 1 with labor I must earn My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse; My labor will sustain me; and lest cold Or heat should injure us, his timely care Hath unbesought provided, and his hands Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged; How much more, if we pray him, will his ear Be open, and his heart to pity incline, And teach us further by what means to shun Th' inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow, Which now the sky with various face begins 9. Adam's prophetic echo of Elizabeth's address to Mary, mother of J e s u s (Luke 1.41-42), "blessed is the fruit of thy womb," lays the ground for their fuller understanding of the promise about the

despises

contempt

resistance

"seed" of the woman. I. I.e., the curse, like a spear that almost missed its target, glanced aside and hit the ground,

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

To show us in this mountain, while the winds Blow moist and keen, shattering 0 the graceful locks Of these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek Some better shroud, 0 some better warmth to cherish Our limbs benumbed, ere this diurnal star 0 1070 Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams Reflected, may with matter sere 0 foment, Or by collision of two bodies grind The air attrite to fire, 2 as late the clouds Justling or pushed with winds rude in their shock 1075 Tine 0 the slant lightning, whose thwart0 flame driv'n down Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine, And sends a comfortable heat from far, Which might supply 0 the sun: such fire to use, And what may else be remedy or cure 1080 To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him, so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life, sustained By him with many comforts, till we end 1085 In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, than to the place Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears 1090 Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, 0 sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek. Undoubtedly he will relent and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, 1095 When angry most he seemed and most severe, What else but favor, grace, and mercy shone?" So spake our father penitent, nor Eve Felt less remorse: they forthwith to the place Repairing where he judged them prostrate fell IIOO Before him reverent, and both confessed Humbly their faults, and pardon begged, with tears Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek. 3

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1065

scattering shelter the sim dry

ignite / slanting take the place of

filling

Book 11 Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood 1 Praying, for from the mercy-seat above Prevenient grace 2 descending had removed 2. Adam projects the invention of fire: they might, by striking two bodies together, rub ("attrite") the air into fire by friction; or else (lines 1070—71) focus reflected sunbeams (through some equivalent of glass) on dry ("sere") matter. 3. The final six lines repeat, almost word for word, lines 1 0 8 6 - 9 2 , as the poet describes Adam's proposed gesture of repentance carried out in every

detail. 1. "Stood" may mean "remained," or that, after prostrating themselves (10.1099) they prayed standing upright; their demeanor ("port") was "Not of mean suitors" (11.8—9), and they had stood to pray before (4.720). 2. Grace given before the human will can turn from sin, enabling it to do so.

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1 2022

JOHN MILTON

The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh Regenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathed Unutterable, which the spirit of prayer Inspired, and winged for Heav'n with speedier flight Than loudest oratory: yet their port Not of mean suitors, nor important less Seemed their petition, than when th' ancient pair In fables old, less ancient yet than these, Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine Of Themis stood devout. 3 To Heav'n their prayers Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds Blown vagabond or frustrate: 4 in they passed Dimensionless through heav'nly doors; then clad With incense, where the golden altar fumed, By their great Intercessor, c a m e in sight Before the Father's throne: them the glad° Son Presenting, thus to intercede began: " S e e Father, what firstfruits on earth are sprung From thy implanted grace in man, these sighs And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed With incense, I thy priest before thee bring, Fruits of more pleasing savor from thy seed Sown with contrition in his heart, than those Which his own hand manuring 0 all the trees Of Paradise could have produced, ere fall'n From innocence. Now therefore bend thine ear To supplication, hear his sighs though mute; Unskillful with what words to pray, let me Interpret for him, me his advocate And propitiation, all his works on me Good or not good ingraft, 5 my merit those Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. Accept me, and in me from these receive The smell of p e a c e toward mankind, let him live Before thee reconciled, at least his days Numbered, though sad, till death, his doom (which I To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse) To better life shall yield him, where with me All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss, Made one with me as I with thee am one." To whom the Father, without cloud, serene: "All thy request for man, accepted Son, Obtain, all thy request was my decree: But longer in that Paradise to dwell, The law I gave to nature him forbids: Those pure immortal elements that know 3. In Greek myth, when Deucalion and his wife Pyrrha (like Noah's family) alone survived a universal flood, they sought direction from Themis, goddess of justice; she told them to throw stones behind them, which became men and women. 4. I.e., their prayers were not scattered ("blown vagabond") by spiteful ("envious") winds, or pre-

pleased

cultivating

vented ("frustrate") from reaching their goal. "Dimensionless": without physical extension. 5. The theological term for Christ's standing in the place of humankind, taking onto himself all their deeds, perfecting the good by his merit, and, by his death, "paying" (see next line) the debt due God's justice for their evil deeds.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, Eject him tainted now, and purge him off As a distemper, gross to air as gross, And mortal food, 6 as may dispose him best For dissolution 0 wrought by sin, that first Distempered all things, and of incorrupt Corrupted. I at first with two fair gifts Created him endowed, with happiness And immortality: that fondly 0 lost, This other served but to eternize woe; Till I provided death; so death becomes His final remedy, and after life Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined By faith and faithful works, to second life, Waked in the renovation 7 of the just, Resigns him up with Heav'n and earth renewed. But let us call to synod 0 all the blest Through Heav'n's wide bounds; from them I will not hide My judgments, how with mankind I proceed, As how with peccant 0 angels late they saw; And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed." He ended, and the Son gave signal high To the bright minister that watched, he blew His trumpet, heard in Oreb 8 since perhaps When God descended, and perhaps once more To sound at general doom. Th' angelic blast Filled all the regions: from their blissful bow'rs Of amarantine 0 shade, fountain or spring, By the waters of life, where'er they sat In fellowships of joy, the sons of light Hasted, resorting to the summons high, And took their seats; till from his throne supreme Th' Almighty thus pronounced his sov'reign will: "O sons, like one of us man is b e c o m e To know both good and evil, since his taste Of that defended 0 fruit; but let him boast His knowledge of good lost, and evil got, Happier, had it sufficed him to have known Good by itself, and evil not at all. He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite, My motions 0 in him; longer than they move, His heart I know, how variable and vain Self-left. 9 Lest therefore his now bolder hand Reach also of the Tree of Life, and eat, And live forever, dream at least to live Forever, 1 to remove him I decree, 6. The pure elements of the Garden of Eden will themselves "purge" Adam and Eve as an impurity or disorder ("distemper"), ejecting them to a place where the air and food are more gross, like themselves. 7. The resurrection and renewal of body and soul on the Last Day. 8. Where God delivered the Ten Commandments

2023

death

foolishly

assembly

sinning

unfading

forbidden

promptings

to the sound of a trumpet (Exodus 19.19); it will sound again at the Last judgment ("general doom," line 76). 9. Left to itself, without my continual promptings ("motions," line 91), I knowr his heart to be "variable and vain." 1. Milton adds the phrase "dream at least to live forever" to suggest that parts of God's speech

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1 2024

JOHN MILTON

And send him from the garden forth to till The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil. "Michael, this my behest have thou in charge, Take to thee from among the Cherubim Thy choice of flaming warriors, lest the Fiend Or° in behalf of man, or to invade Vacant possession some new trouble raise: Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God Without remorse 0 drive out the sinful pair, From hallowed ground th' unholy, and denounce To them and to their progeny from thence Perpetual banishment. Yet lest they faint 0 At the sad sentence rigorously urged, For I behold them softened and with tears Bewailing their excess, 0 all terror hide. If patiently thy bidding they obey, Dismiss them not disconsolate; reveal To Adam what shall come in future days, As I shall thee enlighten, 2 intermix My cov'nant in the woman's seed renewed; So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace: And on the east side of the garden place, Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs, Cherubic watch, and of a sword the flame Wide-waving, all approach far off to fright, And guard all p a s s a g e to the Tree of Life: 3 Lest Paradise a receptacle prove To spirits foul, and all my trees their prey, With whose stol'n fruit man once more to delude." He ceased; and th' archangelic power prepared For swift descent, with him the cohort bright Of watchful Cherubim; four faces each 4 Had, like a double Janus, all their shape Spangled with eyes more numerous than those Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse, Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile To resalute the world with sacred light Leucothea 5 waked, and with fresh dews embalmed The earth, when Adam and first matron Eve Had ended now their orisons, and found Strength added from above, new hope to spring Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet linked; (especially lines 84—85 and 93—95, closely quoted from Genesis 3.22) are ironic. 2. God, it seems, has to "enlighten" Michael with knowledge of humankind's future at the same time Michael presents that future to Adam (cf. 12.128); Michael is told to "intermix" in his account God's "cov'nant in the woman's seed" (lines 115—16), the "mysterious" promise of the redeemer hinted when the Son pronounced judgment on the serpent (10.179-81). 3. Cf. Genesis 3.24: "he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword

either

pity

lose courage

violation of law

which turned everv wav, to keep the wav of the tree of life." 4. Ezekiel 1.6 Janus (line 129), the Roman god of doorways, had two faces; in one version he had four, corresponding to the four seasons and the four quarters of the earth. Argus (line 131), a giant with one hundred eyes, was set by Juno to watch Jove's mistress Io, but Hermes (Mercury) put all of his eyes to sleep with his music ("pipe") and his sleep-producing caduceus ("opiate rod"). 5. Roman goddess of the dawn.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed: "Eve, easily may faith admit, that all The good which we enjoy, from Heav'n descends; But that from us aught should ascend to Heav'n So prevalent" as to concern the mind 145 Of God high-blest, or to incline his will, Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer, Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne Ev'n to the seat of God. For since I sought By prayer th' offended Deity to appease, 150 Kneeled and before him humbled all my heart,' Methought I saw him placable and mild, Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew That I was heard with favor; peace returned Home to my breast, and to my memory 155 His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe; Which then not minded in dismay, yet now Assures me that the bitterness of death Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee, Eve rightly called, mother of all mankind, 160 Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live, and all things live for man." 6 To whom thus Eve with sad demeanor meek: "Ill-worthy I such title should belong To me transgressor, who for thee ordained 165 A help, became thy snare; to me reproach Rather belongs, distrust and all dispraise: But infinite in pardon was my Judge, That I who first brought death on all, am graced The source of life; next favorable thou, 170 Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st, Far other name deserving. But the field To labor calls us now with sweat imposed, Though after sleepless night; for see the morn, All unconcerned with our unrest, begins 175 Her rosy progress smiling; let us forth, I never from thy side henceforth to stray, Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoined Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? 180 Here let us live, though in fall'n state, content." So spake, so wished much-humbled Eve, but fate Subscribed not; nature first gave signs," impressed On bird, beast, air, air suddenly eclipsed" After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight 185 The bird of Jove, stooped from his airy tow'r,7 Two birds of gayest plume before him drove: Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, 8 First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,"

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6. The name Eve is cognate with the Hebrew word meaning "life." In Genesis 3.20 Adam names his wife Eve only after the Fall; Milton's Adam has named her before (4.481) and now affirms that

influential

omens darkened

pair

that name is right. 7. The eagle swooped ("stooped") from his soaring flight ("tow'r"). 8. The lion.

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1 2026

JOHN MILTON

Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind; Direct to th' eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observed, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmoved to Eve thus spake: "O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heaven by these mute signs in nature shows 195 Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn Us haply too secure" of our discharge From penalty, because from death released Some days; how long, and what till then our life, Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust, 200 And thither must return and be no more. Why else this double object in our sight Of flight pursued in th* air and o'er the ground One way the selfsame hour? Why in the east Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning light 205 More orient" in yon western cloud that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, And slow descends, with something heav'nly fraught." 0 He erred not, for by this 0 the heav'nly bands Down from a sky of jasper lighted 0 now 210 In Paradise, and on a hill made alt,° A glorious apparition, had not doubt And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye. Not that more glorious, when the angels met Jacob in Mahanaim, 9 where he saw 215 The field pavilioned with his guardians bright; Nor that which on the flaming mount appeared In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire, Against the Syrian king, who to surprise One man, assassin-like had levied war, 220 War unproclaimed.' The princely hierarch 2 In their bright stand, there left his powers to seize Possession of the garden; he alone, To find where Adam sheltered, took his way, Not unperceived of Adam, who to Eve, 225 While the great visitant approached, thus spake: "Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps Of us will soon determine, 0 or impose New laws to be observed; for I descry From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill 230 One of the heav'nly host, and by his gait None of the meanest, some great potentate Or of the Thrones above, such majesty Invests him coming; yet not terrible, That I should fear, nor sociably mild, 235 As Raphael, that I should much confide, But solemn and sublime, whom not to offend, 190

9. Jacob gave that name, meaning "armies" or "camps" ("field pavilioned," line 215), to a place where he saw an army of angels (Genesis 32.2). 1. He had levied war against "Dothan" (line 217) in order to capture Elisha the prophet ("One man,"

overconfident

bright laden by this time alighted, shone halt

make an end

line 219), but the Lord saved him by sending "horses and chariots of fire" (2 Kings 6.8ff.). 2. Michael, who left his angelic forces ("powers") in their formation ("stand") to take possession of the garden (lines 221—22).

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

With reverence I must meet, and thou retire." He ended; and th' Archangel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flowed Livelier than Meliboean, or the grain Of Sarra, 3 worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris 4 had dipped the woof; His starry helm unbuclded showed him prime In manhood where youth ended; by his side As in a glistering zodiac 0 hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bowed low, he kingly from his state 0 Inclined not, but his coming thus declared: "Adam, Heav'n's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy prayers are heard, and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated 0 of his seizure 0 many days Giv'n thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st cover: well may then thy Lord appeased Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim; But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not; to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil." He added not, for Adam at the news Heart-strook with chilling gripe 0 of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discovered 0 soon the place of her retire: "O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death! Must I thus leave thee Paradise? thus leave Thee native soil, 5 these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Q u i e t though sad, the respite 0 of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flow'rs, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last At ev'n which I bred up with tender hand From the first op'ning bud, and gave ye names, 6 Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, 0 and water from th' ambrosial 0 fount? Thee lastly nuptial bower, by me adorned With what to sight or smell was sweet; from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world, to° this obscure And wild, how shall we breathe in other air 3. Both Meliboea and Tyre ("Sarra") in Thessaly were famous for purple dye. 4. Goddess of the rainbow. 5. Unlike Adam, Eve was created in the Paradise of Eden.

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belt

stately bearing

cheated / possession

spasm

revealed

delay

species /fragrant

compared to

6. Departing from Genesis 2.19—20, in which Adam alone gives names, Milton has Eve name the flowers, an action that signifies (like Adam's naming of the beasts, 8.352—54) intuitive knowledge of their nature.

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Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?" Whom thus the angel interrupted mild: "Lament not Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart, Thus overfond, on that which is not thine; Thy going is not lonely, with thee goes Thy husband, him to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil." Adam by this from the cold sudden damp 0 Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned, To Michael thus his humble words addressed: "Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named Of them the highest, for such of shape may seem Prince above princes, gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us; what besides Of sorrow and dejection and despair Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring, Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left Familiar to our eyes, all places else Inhospitable appear and desolate, Nor knowing us nor known: and if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can," I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries: But prayer against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, deprived His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent, With worship, place by place where he vouchsafed Presence Divine, and to my sons relate: 'On this mount he appeared, under this tree Stood visible, among these pines his voice I heard, here with him at this fountain talked:' So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of luster from the brook, in memory, Or monument to ages, and thereon Offer sweet-smelling gums and fruits and flow'rs: In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or footstep trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recalled To life prolonged and promised race, 7 I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adore." To whom thus Michael with regard benign: "Adam, thou know'st Heav'n his, and all the earth,

dejection

knows, can do

7. His descendants, from whom will spring the "promised Seed." See 10.180—81 and note 1, and 12.623.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, Fomented 0 by his virtual 0 power and warmed: All th' earth he gave thee to possess and rule, 340 No despicable gift; surmise not then His presence to these narrow bounds confined Of Paradise or Eden: this had been Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread All generations, and had hither come 345 From all the ends of th' earth, to celebrate And reverence thee their great progenitor. But this preeminence thou hast lost, brought down To dwell on even ground now with thy sons: Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain 350 God is as here, and will be found alike Present, and of his presence many a sign Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face Express, and of his steps the track divine. 355 Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirmed, Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent To show thee what shall come in future days To thee and to thy offspring, 8 good with bad Expect to hear, supernal 0 grace contending 360 With sinfulness of men; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear And pious sorrow, equally inured 0 By moderation either state to bare, Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead 365 Safest thy life, and best prepared endure Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes) 9 Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak'st, As once thou slept'st while she to life was formed." 370 To whom thus Adam gratefully replied: "Ascend, I follow thee, safe guide, the path Thou lead'st me, and to the hand of Heav'n submit, However chast'ning, to the evil turn My obvious 0 breast, arming to overcome 375 By suffering, and earn rest from labor won, If so I may attain." So both ascend In the visions of God: it was a hill Of Paradise the highest, from whose top The hemisphere of earth in clearest ken° 380 Stretched out to amplest reach of prospect lay. Not higher that hill nor wider looking round, Whereon for different cause the Tempter set Our second Adam in the wilderness, To show him all earth's kingdoms and their glory.1 8. Prophetic visions are a common feature in epic, e.g., Aeneas's vision of his descendants culminating in the Roman Empire (Virgil, Aetieid 6.754— 854).

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nurtured /potent

heavenly tempered

exposed

view

9. Put a soporific liquid ("drench") in her eyes. 1. When Satan tempted Christ (the subject of Milton's "brief epic" Paradise Regained), he took him up to "an exceeding high mountain" and

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1 2030

JOHN MILTON

His eye might there command wherever stood City of old or modern fame, the seat Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can, And Samarkand by Oxus, Temir's throne, To Paquin of Sinaean kings, and thence To Agra and Lahore of Great Mogul Down to the golden Chersonese, 2 or where The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since In Hispahan, or where the Russian czar In Moscow, or the sultan in Bizance, Turkestan-born; 3 nor could his eye not ken° Th' empire of N e g u s to his utmost port Ercoco and the less maritime kings Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind, And Sofala thought Ophir, to the realm Of Congo, and Angola farthest south; 4 Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus, Marocco and Algiers, and Tremisen; 5 On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway The world: in spirit perhaps he also saw Rich Mexico the seat of Motezume, And Cuzsco in Peru, the richer seat Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoiled Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons Call El Dorado: 6 but to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue 7 The visual nerve, for he had m u c h to see; And from the well of life three drops instilled. So deep the power of these ingredients pierced, showed him "all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them" (Matthew 4.8). The passage that follows details the places "he" (Christ and / or Adam) might see (lines 3 8 6 - 4 1 1 ) . 2. His first views are of "destined" (yet to come) great kingdoms in Asia: "Cambalu," capital of "Cathay," the region of North China ruled by such khans as Genghis and Kublai; "Samarkand," ruled by Tamburlaine ("Temir"), near the "Oxus" river near modern Uzbekistan; Beijing ("Paquin," Peking), ruled by Chinese ("Sinaean") kings; "Agra" and "Lahore," capitals in northern India ruled by the "Great Mogul"; "golden Chersonese," an area sometimes identified with the Malay Peninsula. 3. Next, Persian and Turkish kingdoms. From Persia (Iran): Ecbatana ("Ecbatan"), a summer residence of Persian kings, and the 16th-century Persian capital Isfahan ("Hispahan"); and Byzantium ("Bizance," Constantinople, Istanbul), capital of the Ottomon Empire after falling to the Turks in 1453. 4. From Africa: Abyssinia (empire of King "Negus"); Arkiko ("Ercoco") in Ethiopia, a Red Sea port; Mombasa ("Mombaza") and Malindi ("Melind") in Kenya; Kilwa ("Quiloa") in Tanzania; "Sofala," sometimes identified with the biblical

"Ophir" from which Solomon took gold for his Temple (1 Kings 9.28); and "Congo" and "Angola" on the west coast. 5. In North Africa: the kingdoms of "Almansor" (the name shared by various Muslim rulers, here referring probably to Abu-Amir al Ma-Ma'afiri, caliph of Cordova) reached from the "Niger" River in northern Morocco to the "Atlas" Mountains in Algeria, taking in Morocco (and its capital, "Fez"), Tunis ("Sus"), and part of Algeria called Tiemecen ("Tremisen"). 6. Because they lay on the other side of the spherical earth, Christ and/or Adam could only see places in the New World "in spirit" (line 406): Mexico, the seat of Montezuma ("Motezume"), the last Aztec emperor; "Cuzsco in Peru," seat of Atahualpa ("Atabalipa"), the last Incan emperor (murdered by Pizarro); and "Guiana" (a region including Surinam, Guyana, and parts of Venezuela and Brazil). Unlike Mexico and Peru it was "yet unspoiled" by the Spaniards (sons of the evil monster "Geryon," in Spenser an allegory of the great power and oppression of Spain), though they identified its chief city, Manoa, with the fabled city of gold, "El Dorado." 7. Both herbs were thought to sharpen eyesight.

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PARADISE LOST,

Ev'n to the inmost seat of mental sight, That Adam now enforced to close his eyes, 420 Sunk down and all his spirits became entranced: But him the gentle angel by the hand Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled: "Adam, now ope thine eyes, and first behold Th' effects which thy original crime hath wrought 425 In some to spring from thee, who never touched Th' excepted 0 tree, nor with the snake conspired, Nor sinned thy sin, yet from that sin derive Corruption to bring forth more violent deeds." His eyes he opened, and beheld a field, 430 Part arable and tilth,0 whereon were sheaves New-reaped, the other part sheep-walks and folds; I' th' midst an altar as the landmark 0 stood Rustic, of grassy sord;° thither anon A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought 435 Firstfruits, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, Unculled, 0 as came to hand; a shepherd next More meek came with the firstlings of his flock Choicest and best; then sacrificing, laid The inwards and their fat, with incense strewed, 440 On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed. His off'ring soon propitious fire from Heav'n Consumed with nimble glance, and grateful steam; The other's not, for his was not sincere; 8 Whereat he inly raged, and as they talked, 445 Smote him into the midriff with a stone That beat out life; he fell, and deadly pale Groaned out his soul with gushing blood effused. Much at that sight was Adam in his heart Dismayed, and thus in haste to th' angel cried: 450 "O teacher, some great mischief hath befall'n To that meek man, who well had sacrificed; Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?" T' whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied: "These two are brethren, Adam, and to come 455 Out of thy loins; 9 th' unjust the just hath slain, For envy that his brother's offering found From Heav'n acceptance; but the bloody fact 0 Will be avenged, and th' other's faith approved Lose no reward, though here thou see him die, 460 Rolling in dust and gore." To which our sire: "Alas, both for the deed and for the cause! But have I now seen death? Is this the way I must return to native dust? O sight Of terror, foul and ugly to behold, 465 Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!" To whom thus Michael: "Death thou hast seen 8. Milton's version of the Cain and Abel story (Genesis 4.1 — 16) provides a clear reason for God's rejection of Cain's sacrifice.

BOOK

2031

forbidden

cultivated boundary marker turf picked at random

crime

9. Adam has to be told that these are his own sons, not simply descendants,

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1 2032

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MILTON

In his first shape on man; but many shapes Of Death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal; yet to sense More terrible at th' entrance than within. Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die, By fire, flood, famine; by intemperance more In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall bring Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew Before thee shall appear; that thou may'st know What misery th' inabstinence of Eve Shall bring on men." Immediately a place' Before his eyes appeared, sad,° noisome, dark, A lazar-house it seemed, wherein were laid Numbers of all diseased, all maladies Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Of heartsick agony, all feverous kinds, Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs, Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs, Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy And moonstruck madness," pining atrophy, Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence, 2 Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. Dire was the tossing, deep the groans, Despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked With vows, as their chief good, and final hope. Sight so deform what heart of rock could long Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept, Though not of woman born; compassion quelled His best of man,° and gave him up to tears A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess, And scarce recovering words his plaint renewed: "O miserable mankind, to what fall Degraded, to what wretched state reserved! Better end here unborn. Why is life giv'n To be thus wrested from us? Rather why Obtruded on us thus? who if we knew What we receive, would either not accept Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down, Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus Th' image of God in man created once So goodly and erect, though faulty since, To such unsightly sufferings be debased Under inhuman pains? Why should not man, Retaining still divine similitude In part, from such deformities be free, And for his Maker's image sake exempt?" "Their Maker's image," answered Michael, "then Forsook them, when themselves they vilified0 1. This is the only nonbiblical sight shown to Adam, a "lazar-house" (line 4 7 9 ) — a hospital for leprosy and infectious diseases, especially syphilis.

lamentable

lunacy

manliness, courage

debased

2. T h e plague. " M a r a s m u s " : a wasting disease of the body,

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PARADISE LOST,

520

525

530

535

540

545

550

555

560

To serve ungoverned appetite, and took 0 His image whom they served, a brutish vice, Inductive 0 mainly to° the sin of Eve. Therefore so abject is their punishment, Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own, Or if his likeness, by themselves defaced While they pervert pure nature's healthful rules To loathsome sickness, worthily," since they God's image did not reverence in themselves." "I yield it just," said Adam, "and submit. But is there yet no other way, besides These painful passages, how we may come To death, and mix with our connatural dust?" "There is," said Michael, "if thou well observe The rule of not too much, by temperance taught In what thou eat'st and drink'st, seeking from thence Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, Till many years over thy head return: So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's 3 lap, or be with ease Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: This is old age; but then thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change To withered weak and gray; thy senses then Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgo, To what thou hast, and for the air of youth Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign A melancholy d a m p 0 of cold and dry

To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm° of life." To whom our ancestor: "Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong Life much, bent rather how I may be quit Fairest and easiest of this cumbrous charge, Which I must keep till my appointed day Of rend'ring up, and patiently attend 0 My dissolution." Michael replied: "Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'st Live well, how long or short permit to Heav'n: And now prepare thee for another sight." He looked and saw a spacious plain, 4 whereon Were tents of various hue; by some were herds Of cattle grazing: others, whence the sound Of instruments that made melodious chime Was heard, of harp and organ; and who moved Their stops and chords was seen: his volant touch Instinct through all proportions low and high Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. 5 In other part stood one 6 who at the forge 3. " M o t h e r " earth. 4. Adam's third vision is based on G e n e s i s 4.19— 22; "tents" (next line) identifies these as the descendants of Cain, described as " s u c h as dwell in tents." 5. Genesis 4.21 describes Cain's d e s c e n d a n t J u b a l as "father of all such as handle the harp and

BOOK

1 1

2033

took away produced

/from

deservedly

depression of spirits

preservative essence

await

organ." "Volant": nimble; "instinct": instinctive; "proportions": ratios of pitches; "fugue": musical form in which one statement of the theme s e e m s to c h a s e another. 6. Tubal-cain, "instructor of every artificer in brass and iron" (Genesis 4.22).

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MILTON

Laboring, two massy clods of iron and brass Had melted (whether found where casual 0 fire Had wasted woods on mountain or in vale, Down to the veins of earth, thence gliding hot To some cave's mouth, or whether washed by stream From underground) the liquid ore he drained Into fit molds prepared; from which he formed First his own tools; then, what might else be wrought Fusile 0 or grav'n in metal. After these, But on the hither side a different sort 7 From the high neighboring hills, which was their seat, Down to the plain descended: by their guise Just men they seemed, and all their study bent To worship God aright, and know his works Not hid, 8 nor those things last which might preserve Freedom and peace to men: they on the plain Long had not walked, when from the tents behold A bevy of fair women, richly gay In gems and wanton dress; to the harp they sung Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on: The men though grave, eyed them, and let their eyes Rove without rein, till in the amorous net Fast caught, they liked, and each his liking chose; And now of love they treat till th' evening star 9 Love's harbinger appeared; then all in heat They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke Hymen, 1 then first to marriage rites invoked; With feast and music all the tents resound. Such happy interview and fair event 0 Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flow'rs, And charming symphonies attached 0 the heart Of Adam, soon 0 inclined to admit delight, The bent of nature; which he thus expressed: "True opener of mine eyes, prime angel blest, Much better seems this vision, and more hope Of peaceful days portends, than those two past; Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse, Here nature seems fulfilled in all her ends." To whom thus Michael: "Judge not what is best By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet, 0 Created, as thou art, to nobler end Holy and pure, conformity divine. Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant, were the tents Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race Who slew his brother; studious they appear Of arts that polish life, inventors rare, Unmindful of their Maker, though his spirit Taught them, but they his gifts acknowledged none. Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget; 7. T h e descendants of Seth, Adam's third son (Genesis 5.3); "hither side": away from the "east" (Genesis 4 . 1 6 ) , where Cain's sons lived. 8. They studied God's visible works, not the "mat-

accidental

cast

outcome seized easily

appropriate

ters hid" that Raphael had warned Adam against. 9. Venus. 1. G o d of marriage.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seemed Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, Yet empty of all good wherein consists Woman's domestic honor and chief praise; Bred only and completed 0 to the taste Of lustful appetence, 0 to sing, to dance, To dress, and troll 0 the tongue, and roll the eye. To these that sober race of men, whose lives Religious titled them the sons of God, 2 Shall yield up all their virtue, all their f a m e Ignobly, to the trains 0 and to the smiles Of these fair atheists, and now swim in joy, (Erelong to swim at large) and laugh; for which The world erelong a world of tears must weep." To whom thus Adam of short joy bereft: "O pity and shame, that they who to live well Entered so fair, should turn aside to tread Paths indirect, or in the mid-way faint! But still I see the tenor of man's woe Holds on the same, from woman to begin." "From man's effeminate slackness it begins," Said th' angel, "who should better hold his place By wisdom, and superior gifts received. But now prepare thee for another scene." He looked and saw wide territory spread Before him, towns, and rural works between, Cities of men with lofty gates and tow'rs, Concourse 0 in arms, fierce faces threat'ning war, Giants 3 of mighty bone, and bold emprise; 0 Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, Single or in array of battle ranged 0 Both horse and foot, nor idly must'ring stood; One way a band select from forage drives A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine From a fat meadow ground; or fleecy flock, Ewes and their bleating lambs over the plain, Their booty; scarce with life the shepherds fly, But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray; With cruel tournament the squadrons join; Where cattle pastured late, now scattered lies With carcasses and arms th' ensanguined 0 field Deserted: others to a city strong Lay siege, encamped; by battery, scale, and mine, 4 Assaulting; others from the wall defend With dart and jav'lin, stones and sulphurous fire; On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds. In other part the sceptered heralds call 2. Like many exegetes, Milton identifies the "sons of G o d " as the descendants of Seth, and the "daughters of m e n " whom they wed (Genesis 6.2) as the descendants of Cain. 3. Adam's fourth vision, based on Genesis 6.4, is of the "Giant" offspring of the previous marriages

1 1

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iviles,

snares

encounters chivalric

adventure

drawn up in

ranliS

blood-stained

(identified at lines 6 8 3 - 8 4 ) ; Milton makes them exemplify false heroism and false glory sought through military might a n d conquest (lines 689— 99). 4. I.e., by battering, scaling, and tunneling under the walls.

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To council in the city gates: anon Gray-headed men and grave, with warriors mixed, Assemble, and harangues are heard, but soon In factious opposition, till at last Of middle age one 5 rising, eminent In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong, Of justice, of religion, truth and peace, And judgment from above: him old and young Exploded, 0 and had seized with violent hands, Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence Unseen amid the throng: so violence Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law Through all the plain, and refuge none was found. Adam was all in tears, and to his guide Lamenting turned full sad; "O what are these, Death's ministers, not men, who thus deal death Inhumanly to men, and multiply Ten-thousandfold the sin of him who slew His brother; for of whom such massacre Make they but of their brethren, men of men? But who was that just man, whom had not Heav'n Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?" To whom thus Michael: "These are the product Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st: Where good with bad were matched, who of themselves Abhor to join; and by imprudence mixed, Produce prodigious births of body or mind. Such were these giants, men of high renown; For in those days might only shall be admired, And valor and heroic virtue called; To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory, and for glory done Of triumph, to be styled great conquerors, Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods, Destroyers rightlier called and plagues of men. Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth, And what most merits fame in silence hid. But he the sev'nth from thee, 6 whom thou beheld'st The only righteous in a world perverse, And therefore hated, therefore so beset With foes for daring single to be just, And utter odious truth, that God would come To judge them with his saints: him the Most High Rapt in a balmy cloud with winged steeds Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God High in salvation and the climes of bliss, 5. Enoch, who '"walked with God: and he was not; for God took him" (Genesis 5.24); Milton elaborates on the story. 6. Here Enoch is more precisely identified by generation, but neither he nor the other biblical per-

mocked

sonages in these pageants are n a m e d . Apparently, Michael and Adam together see the pageants, and Michael (by God's illumination) can interpret them rightly, but neither of the two knows the n a m e s these persons will later bear.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 1

Exempt from death; to show thee what reward Awaits the good, the rest what punishment; Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold." He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed; The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar, All now was turned to jollity and game, -15 To luxury0 and riot,0 feast and dance, Marrying or prostituting, as befell, Rape or adultery, where passing fair 0 Allured them; thence from cups to civil broils. At length a reverend sire 7 among them came, 720 And of their doings great dislike declared, And testified against their ways; he oft Frequented their assemblies, whereso met, Triumphs or festivals, and to them preached Conversion and repentance, as to souls 725 In prison under judgments imminent: But all in vain: which when he saw, he ceased Contending, and removed his tents far off; Then from the mountain hewing timber tall, Began to build a vessel of huge bulk, 730 Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and height, Smeared round with pitch, and in the side a door Contrived, and of provisions laid in large For man and beast: when lo a wonder strange! Of every beast, and bird, and insect small 735 Came sevens and pairs, and entered in, as taught Their order: last the sire and his three sons With their four wives; and God made fast the door. Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black wings Wide hovering, all the clouds together drove 740 From under heav'n; the hills to their supply 0 Vapor, and exhalation dusk 0 and moist, Sent up amain; 0 and now the thickened sky Like a dark ceiling stood; down rushed the rain Impetuous, and continued till the earth 745 No more was seen; the floating vessel swum Uplifted; and secure with beaked prow Rode tilting o'er the waves, all dwellings else Flood overwhelmed, and them with all their pomp Deep underwater rolled; sea covered sea, 750 Sea without shore; 8 and in their palaces Where luxury late reigned, sea monsters whelped And stabled; of mankind, so numerous late, All left, in one small bottom 0 swum embarked. How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold 755 The end of all thy offspring, end so sad, Depopulation; thee another flood, Of tears and sorrow a flood thee also drowned,

2037

710

7. Noah. Milton's account is based on Genesis 6-9. 8. The "sea without shore" and some other fea-

lust

/ debauchery

surpassing beauty

assistance dark with

mist

main force

boat

tures of this description are taken from Ovid's account of Deucalion's Flood (Metamorphoses 1 . 2 9 2 - 3 0 0 , Sandys, translation).

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1 2038

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JOHN

MILTON

And sunk thee as thy sons; till gently reared By th' angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last, Though comfortless, as when a father mourns His children, all in view destroyed at once; And scarce to th' angel utter'dst thus thy plaint: "O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Lived ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear; those now, that were dispensed The burd'n of many ages, on me light At once, by my foreknowledge 9 gaining birth Abortive, to torment me ere their being, With thought that they must be. Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall Him or his children, evil he may be sure, Which neither his foreknowing can prevent, And he the future evil shall no less In apprehension than in substance feel Grievous to bear: but that care now is past, M a n is not whom to warn: 1 those few escaped Famine and anguish will at last consume Wand'ring that wat'ry desert: I had hope When violence was ceased, and war on earth, All would have then gone well, peace would have crowned With length of happy days the race of man; But I was far deceived; for now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. How comes it thus? Unfold, celestial guide, And whether here the race of man will end." To whom thus Michael: "Those whom last thou saw'st In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they First seen in acts of prowess eminent And great exploits, but of true virtue void; Who having spilt much blood, and done much waste Subduing nations, and achieved thereby F a m e in the world, high titles, and rich prey, Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth, Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and pride Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. The conquered also, and enslaved by war Shall with their freedom lost all virtue lose And fear of God, from whom their piety feigned In sharp contest of battle found no aid Against invaders; therefore cooled in zeal Thenceforth shall practice how to live secure, Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords Shall leave them to enjoy, for th' earth shall bear More than enough, that temperance may be tried: So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved, Justice and temperance, truth and faith forgot; 2 9. T h e term suggests that Adam is experiencing something akin to God's foreknowledge, which the poem insists is not predestination. Adam knows what is to happen but can neither cause it nor pre-

vent it. 1. I.e., there is no man to warn, all will die. 2. This p a s s a g e (lines 797—807) may also allude to the backsliding Puritans who betrayed the C o m -

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PARADISE LOST,

One man except, the only son of light In a dark age, against example good, 8io Against allurement, custom, and a world Offended; 0 fearless of reproach and scorn, Or violence, he of their wicked ways Shall them admonish, and before them set The paths of righteousness, how m u c h more safe, sis And full of peace, denouncing 0 wrath to come On their impenitence; and shall return Of them derided, but of God observed The one just man alive; by his command Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheld'st, 820 To save himself and household from amidst A world devote 0 to universal wrack. No sooner he with them of man and beast Select for life shall in the ark be lodged, And sheltered round, but all the cataracts 0 825 Of heav'n set open on the earth shall pour Rain day and night, all fountains of the deep Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp Beyond all bounds, till inundation rise Above the highest hills: then shall this mount 830 Of Paradise by might of waves be moved Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood, 3 With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift Down the great river to the op'ning gulf, 4 And there take root an island salt and bare, 835 The haunt of seals and ores, 0 and sea m e w s " clang. To teach thee that G o d attributes to place No sanctity, if none be thither brought By men who there frequent, or therein dwell. And now what further shall ensue, behold." 840 He looked, and saw the ark hull 0 on the flood, Which now abated, for the clouds were fled, Driv'n by a keen north wind, that blowing dry Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed; And the clear sun on his wide wat'ry glass 845 Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, As after thirst, which made their flowing shrink From standing lake to tripping 0 ebb, that stole With soft foot towards the deep, who now had stopped His sluices, as the heav'n his windows shut. 850 The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed. 5 And now the tops of hills as rocks appear; With clamor thence the rapid currents drive Towards the retreating sea their furious tide. 855 Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, And after him, the surer messenger, A dove sent forth once and again to spy monwealth in 1660 and have now taken on the vices of the restored royalists. 3. Classical river gods were often depicted as

BOOK

1 1

2 0 3 9

hostile

proclaiming

doomed

floodgates

sea monsters / seagulls

drift

running

horned. 4. I.e., down the Euphrates to the Persian Gulf. 5. M o u n t Ararat (Genesis 8.4).

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1 2040

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JOHN MILTON

Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light; The second time returning, in his bill An olive leaf he brings, pacific sign: Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark The ancient sire descends with all his train; Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout, Grateful to Heav'n, over his head beholds A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow Conspicuous with three listed colors gay, 6 Betok'ning peace from God, and cov'nant new. Whereat the heart of Adam erst so sad Greatly rejoiced, and thus his joy broke forth: "O thou who future things canst represent As present, heav'nly instructor, I revive At this last sight, assured that man shall live With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked sons destroyed, than I rejoice For one man found so perfect and so just, That G o d vouchsafes to raise another world From him, and all his anger to forget. 7 But say, what mean those colored streaks in heav'n, Distended 0 as the brow of G o d appeased, Or serve they as a flow'ry verge to bind The fluid skirts of that same wat'ry cloud, Lest it again dissolve and show'r the earth?" To whom th' Archangel: "Dextrously thou aim'st; So willingly doth G o d remit his ire, Though late repenting him of man depraved, Grieved at his heart, when looking down he saw The whole earth filled with violence, and all flesh Corrupting each their way; yet those removed, Such grace shall one just man find in his sight, That he relents, not to blot out mankind, And makes a cov'nant 8 never to destroy The earth again by flood, nor let the sea Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world With man therein or beast; but when he brings Over the earth a cloud, will therein set His triple-colored bow, whereon to look And call to mind his cov'nant: day and night, Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new, Both heav'n and earth, wherein the j u s t shall dwell." 9

6. The primary colors, red, yellow, and blue. 7. The language invites recognition of N o a h as a type (foreshadowing) of Christ, the one "perfect" and "just" who will c a u s e G o d to forget his anger. 8. T h e language of covenant makes this p r o m i s e — that God will not again destroy the earth by f l o o d —

spread out

a type of the "covenant of grace" through which God will save humankind. 9. T h e restoration of the orderly processes of nature after the Flood is identified as a type (foreshadowing) of the final renewal of all things after the final conflagration at the Last Judgment.

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PARADISE

LOST,

BOOK

2041

Book 12 As one who in his journey bates 0 at noon, Though bent on speed, so here the Archangel paused Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored, If Adam aught perhaps might interpose; Then with transition sweet new speech resumes: 1 "Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end; And man as from a second stock proceed. M u c h thou hast yet to see, but I perceive Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine Must needs impair and weary human sense: Henceforth what is to come I will relate, 2 Thou therefore give due audience, and attend. This second source of men, while yet but few, And while the dread of judgment past remains Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity, With some regard to what is just and right Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace, Laboring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop, Corn, wine, and oil; and from the herd or flock, Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid, With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast, Shall spend their days in joy unblamed, and dwell Long time in p e a c e by families and tribes Under paternal rule; till one 3 shall rise Of proud ambitious heart, who not content With fair equality, fraternal state, Will arrogate dominion undeserved Over his brethren, and quite dispossess Concord and law of nature from the earth; Hunting (and men not beasts shall be his game) With war and hostile snare such as refuse Subjection to his empire tyrannous:

stops for refreshment

A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled 0 Before the Lord, as in despite of Heav'n, Or from Heav'n claiming second sov'reignty; 4 And from rebellion shall derive his name, Though of rebellion others he accuse. He with a crew, whom like ambition joins With him or under him to tyrannize, Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge° 1. The first five lines were added when Book 10 of the 1667 edition was divided to make Books 11 and 12 of the 1674 edition. 2. Adam no longer sees visions or pageants, as before, but simply listens to Michael's narration. 3. Nimrod (Genesis 10.8—10) is described as the first king, in terms that equate kingship itself with tyranny (lines 2 5 - 2 9 ) . 4. Milton offers two explanations of the biblical phrase "Before the Lord": either he openly defied

called

whirlpool

God ("despite") or he claimed divine right ("second sov'reignty") like the Stuart kings. Drawing on the (false) etymology linking the n a m e Nimrod with the Hebrew word meaning "to rebel," Milton implies that the paradox developed in the next two lines (that he a c c u s e s others of rebellion but is himself a rebel against G o d ) extends to other kings, especially Charles I, who a c c u s e d his opponents in the civil war of rebellion.

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1 2042

JOHN MILTON

Boils out from underground, the mouth of Hell; Of brick, and of that stuff they cast 0 to build A city and tow'r, 5 whose top may reach to Heav'n; And get themselves a name, lest far dispersed In foreign lands their memory be lost, Regardless whether good or evil fame. But God who oft descends to visit men Unseen, and through their habitations walks To mark their doings, them beholding soon, C o m e s down to see their city, ere the tower Obstruct Heav'n tow'rs, and in derision sets Upon their tongues a various 0 spirit to raze Q u i t e out their native language, and instead To sow a jangling noise of words unknown: Forthwith a hideous gabble 6 rises loud Among the builders; each to other calls Not understood, till hoarse, and all in rage, As mocked they storm; great laughter was in Heav'n And looking down, to see the hubbub strange And hear the din; thus was the building left Ridiculous, and the work Confusion 7 named." Whereto thus Adam fatherly displeased: "O execrable son so to aspire Above his brethren, to himself assuming Authority usurped, from God not giv'n: He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl Dominion absolute; that right we hold By his donation; but man over men He made not lord; such title to himself Reserving, human left from human free. 8 But this usurper his encroachment proud Stays not on man; to G o d his tower intends Siege and defiance: wretched man! What food Will he convey up thither to sustain Himself and his rash army, where thin air Above the clouds will pine° his entrails gross, And famish him of breath, if not of bread?" To whom thus Michael: "Justly thou abhorr'st That son, who on the quiet state of men Such trouble brought, affecting 0 to subdue Rational liberty; yet know withal, Since thy original lapse, true liberty Is lost, which always with right reason dwells Twinned, and from her hath no dividual 0 being: 9 Reason in man obscured, or not obeyed, Immediately inordinate desires 5. Babylon is the city, Babel the tower. 6. Genesis 11.1—9 recounts the building of the Tower of Babel reaching to Heaven; God punished this presumption by confounding the builders' original language into multiple languages. 7. " C o n f u s i o n " was taken to be the meaning of "Babel." 8. Adam states the assumption Milton often invokes to support republicanism.

set about

divisive

waste away

aspiring

separate

9. As Milton (following classical theorists) often did, and as Abdiel did earlier ( 6 . 1 7 8 - 8 1 ) , Michael links political to psychological servitude, and political liberty to inner freedom, i.e., the exercise of "right reason" and the control of passion. Loss of liberty is often (though not always) God's j u s t punishment for national decline (lines 81—100). T h e long p a s s a g e alludes to the " b a s e n e s s " of the English in restoring monarchy in 1660.

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PARADISE LOST,

IOO

105

110

120

125

And upstart passions catch the government From reason, and to servitude reduce Man till then free. Therefore since he permits Within himself unworthy powers to reign Over free reason, God in judgment just Subjects him from without to violent lords; Who oft as undeservedly enthrall His outward freedom: tyranny must be, Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse. Yet sometimes nations will decline so low From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong, But justice, and some fatal curse annexed Deprives them of their outward liberty, Their inward lost: witness th' irreverent son 1 Of him who built the ark, who for the shame Done to his father, heard this heavy curse, 'Servant of servants,' on his vicious race. 2 Thus will this latter, as the former world, Still tend from bad to worse, till God at last Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw His presence from among them, and avert His holy eyes; resolving from thenceforth To leave them to their own polluted ways; And one peculiar 0 nation to select From all the rest, of whom to be invoked, A nation from one faithful man 3 to spring: Flim on this side Euphrates yet residing, Bred up in idol-worship; O that men (Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown, While yet the patriarch 4 lived, who scaped the Flood, As to forsake the living God, and fall To worship their own work in wood and stone For gods! Yet him God the Most High vouchsafes To call by vision from his father's house, His kindred and false gods, into a land Which he will show him, and from him will raise A mighty nation, and upon him show'r His benediction so, that in his seed All nations shall be blest; he straight 0 obeys, Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes: I see him, but thou canst not, 5 with what faith He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil Ur 6 of Chaldaea, passing now the ford To Haran, after him a cumbrous train Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude; 0 1. H a m , son of Noah, who looked on the nakedness of his father and brought down the curse that his descendants would be "servant of servants" to their brethren (Genesis 9.22—25). 2. Tribe. " R a c e " did not then bear its modern sense, so Milton is probably thinking of the C a n a a n i t e s (descendants of Ham's son C a n a a n ) , rather than black Africans; blacks were, however, classed among Ham's descendants, and this biblical text was often used to justify slavery.

BOOK

2 0 4 3

special

immediately

servants and slaves

3. Abraham, whose n a m e means "father of many nations"; the p a s s a g e is based on Genesis 11.27 to 25.10. 4. N o a h , who lived for 3 5 0 years after the Flood. 5. Michael evidently continues to see the stories he recounts as visionary scenes or pageants; Adam m u s t accept the story of Abraham "by faith," analogous to the faith Abraham himself displays. 6. Ur was on one b a n k of the Euphrates, Haran (line 131) on the other, to the northwest.

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1 2 0 4 4

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145

150

155

160

165

170

JOHN MILTON

Not wand'ring poor, but trusting all his wealth With God, who called him, in a land unknown. Canaan he now attains, I see his tents Pitched about Sechem, and the neighboring plain Of Moreh; there by promise he receives Gift to his progeny of all that land; From Hamath northward to the desert south (Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed) From Hermon east to the great western sea, 7 Mount Hermon, yonder sea, each place behold In prospect, as I point them; on the shore Mount Carmel; here the double-founted stream Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills. 8 This ponder, that all nations of the earth Shall in his seed be blessed; by that Seed Is meant thy great Deliverer, 9 who shall bruise The Serpent's head; whereof to thee anon Plainlier shall be revealed. This patriarch blest, Whom 'faithful Abraham' 1 due time shall call, A son, and of his son a grandchild leaves, Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown; The grandchild with twelve sons increased, departs From Canaan, to a land hereafter called Egypt, divided by the river Nile; See where it flows, 2 disgorging at seven mouths Into the sea: to sojourn in that land He comes invited by a younger son 3 In time of dearth, 0 a son whose worthy deeds Raise him to be the second in that realm Of Pharaoh: there he dies, and leaves his race Growing into a nation, and now grown Suspected to° a sequent 0 king, who seeks To stop their overgrowth, as inmate 0 guests Too numerous; whence of guests he makes them slaves Inhospitably, and kills their infant males: Till by two brethren (those two brethren call Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim His people from enthrallment, they return With glory and spoil back to their promised land. 4 But first the lawless tyrant, who denies 0 7. T h e Promised Land was bounded on the north by Hamath, a city on the Orontes River in west Syria; on the south by the wilderness "desert" of Zin; on the east by Mount Hermon; and on the west by the Mediterranean, the "great western sea." 8. "Mount Carmel": a mountain range near Haifa, on the Mediterranean coast of Israel; "Jordan": the river thought incorrectly to have two sources ("double-founted"), the Jor and the D a n ; "Senir": a peak of Mount Hermon. 9. Michael interprets the promise to Abraham (Genesis 17.5, "a father of many nations have I made thee") tvpologically, as to be fulfilled in Christ, the "Woman's S e e d . " S e e 1 0 . 1 8 0 - 8 1 and

famine

by / successive foreign

refuses

note 1, and 1 2 . 3 2 2 - 2 8 , 1 2 . 6 0 0 - 6 0 1 , 12.623. 1. Echoes Galatians 3.9: " S o then they which be of faith are blessed with faithful A b r a h a m . " His son (line 153) is Isaac, and his grandson, J a c o b . 2. Adam can see geographical features from his mountaintop. though not the scenes Michael sees and describes. 3. J o s e p h , the next youngest of Jacob's twelve sons, invited the Israelites to Egypt to e s c a p e famine, but they were subsequently m a d e slaves (Genesis 2 1 - 5 0 ) . 4. T h e story of M o s e s and Aaron leading the Israelites from captivity to the Promised Land is told in Exodus and Deuteronomy.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

175

180

2045

To know their God, or message to regard, Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire; 5 To blood unshed the rivers must be turned, Frogs, lice, and flies must all his palace fill With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land; His cattle m u s t of rot and murrain 0 die,

Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss, 6 And all his people; thunder mixed with hail, Hail mixed with fire must rend th' Egyptian sky And wheel on th' earth, devouring where it rolls; What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain, 185 A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green: Darkness must overshadow all his bounds, Palpable darkness, and blot out three days; Last with one midnight stroke all the firstborn 190 Of Egypt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds 0 The river-dragon7 tamed at length submits To let his sojourners depart, and oft Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice More hardened after thaw, till in his rage 195 Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass As on dry land between two crystal walls, Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand Divided, till his rescued gain their shore: 8 200 Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend, Though present in his angel, who shall go Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire, By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire, To guide them in their journey, 9 and remove 205 Behind them, while th' obdurate king pursues: All night he will pursue, but his approach Darkness defends 0 between till morning watch; Then through the fiery pillar and the cloud God looking forth will trouble all his host 210 And craze 0 their chariot wheels: when by command Moses once more his potent rod extends Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys; On their embattled ranks the waves return, And overwhelm their war:0 the race elect 215 Safe towards Canaan from the shore advance Through the wild desert, not the readiest way, Lest ent'ring on the Canaanite alarmed 0 War terrify them inexpert, and fear Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather 5. The ten plagues, recounted in lines 176—90. 6. "Botches": boils; "blains": blisters; "emboss": cover as with studs. 7. The Egyptian pharaoh is termed "the great dragon that lieth in the midst of his rivers" (Ezekiel 29.3). 8. The Red Sea was parted by the rod of Moses; the Israelites passed through, but Pharaoh's pur-

cattle plague

plagues

prevents

shatter

armies

prepared

fight

suing forces drowned as the water rushed back (Exodus 1 3 . 1 7 - 2 2 and 14.5-31). 9. Milton repeats here a view developed in his Christian Doctrine, that God was "present in his angel," not in his own person, in the cloud and pillar of fire that led the Israelites on their journey (Exodus 1 3 . 2 1 - 2 2 ) .

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JOHN MILTON

Inglorious life with servitude; for life To noble and ignoble is more sweet Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on. 1 This also shall they gain by their delay In the wide wilderness, there they shall found Their government, and their great senate 2 choose Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained: G o d from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top Shall tremble, he descending, will himself In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet's sound Ordain them laws; part such as appertain To civil justice, part religious rites Of sacrifice, 3 informing them, by types And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve Mankind's deliverance. 4 But the voice of G o d To mortal ear is dreadful; they beseech That Moses might report to them his will, And terror cease; he grants what they besought Instructed that to God is no access Without mediator, whose high office now Moses in figure 5 bears, to introduce One greater, of whose day he shall foretell, And all the prophets in their age the times Of great Messiah shall sing. T h u s laws and rites Established, such delight hath G o d in men Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes Among them to set up his tabernacle, The Holy One with mortal men to dwell: By his prescript a sanctuary is framed Of cedar, overlaid with gold, therein An ark, and in the ark his testimony, The records of his cov'nant, over these A mercy-seat of gold between the wings Of two bright Cherubim, before him burn Seven lamps as in a zodiac 0 representing

like the planets

The heav'nly fires; over the tent a cloud Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night, Save when they journey, and at length they come, Conducted by his angel to the land Promised to Abraham and his seed: the rest Were long to tell, how many battles fought, How many kings destroyed, and kingdoms won, Or how the sun shall in mid-heav'n stand still A day entire, and night's due course adjourn, Man's voice commanding, 'Sun in Gibeon stand, 1. I.e., unless prompted by "rashness," those "untrained in arms" will choose servitude rather than battle. 2. The "Seventy Elders" of the Sanhedrin, whom Milton cites as a model for republican government in his Ready and Easy Way. 3. God delivered ceremonial, civil, and moral/religious laws (the Ten Commandments) to Moses on

Mount Sinai, with thunder and lightning (lines 2 2 7 - 3 2 ; Exodus 19-31). 4. The principle of typology, whereby persons and events in the Old Testament are seen to prefigure Christ or matters pertaining to his life or the Christian church. 5. Moses is a type of Christ in his role as mediator between the people and God.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK

270

275

280

285

290

295

300

305

And thou moon in the vale of Aialon, Till Israel overcome'; 6 so call the third From Abraham, son of Isaac, and from him His whole descent, 7 who thus shall Canaan win." Here Adam interposed: "O sent from Heav'n, Enlight'ner of my darkness, gracious things Thou hast revealed, those chiefly which concern Just Abraham and his seed: now first I find Mine eyes true op'ning, and my heart much eased, Erewhile perplexed with thoughts what would become Of me and all mankind; but now I see His day, in whom all nations shall be blest, 8 Favor unmerited by me, who sought Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means. This yet I apprehend not, why to those Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth So many and so various laws are giv'n; So many laws argue so many sins Among them; how can God with such reside?" To whom thus Michael: "Doubt not but that sin Will reign among them, as of thee begot; And therefore was law given them to evince 0 Their natural pravity,0 by stirring up Sin against law to fight; that when they see Law can discover sin, but not remove, Save by those shadowy expiations weak, The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude Some blood more precious must be paid for man, Just for unjust, that in such righteousness To them by faith imputed, they may find Justification towards God, and peace Of conscience, 9 which the law by ceremonies Cannot appease, nor man the moral part Perform, and not performing cannot live.1 So law appears imperfect, and but giv'n With purpose to resign 0 them in full time Up to a better cov'nant, disciplined From shadowy types to truth, from flesh to spirit, From imposition of strict laws, to free Acceptance of large grace, from servile fear To filial, works of law to works of faith. 2 And therefore shall not Moses, though of God Highly beloved, being but the minister 6. T h e story of J o s h u a , at whose bidding the sun stood still in Gibeon, and the moon in Ajalon (both a few miles north of J e r u s a l e m ) , until Israel won its battle against the Amorites (Joshua 10.12—23). 7. Isaac's son J a c o b was named Israel, and his descendants after him (Genesis 33.28). 8. Adam supposes that the promise m a d e to him is fulfilled in the covenant with Abraham; he has yet to understand that in this Abraham is a type of Christ. 9. T h e ceremonial sacrifices of "bulls and goats" under the L a w are types, "shadowy expiations,"

2047

make evident original sin

yield

pointing to Christ's efficacious sacrifice that alone can win "Justification" for humankind, by Christ's merits being "imputed" (attributed vicariously) to them through faith (lines 2 9 0 - 9 6 ) . 1. T h e theological doctrine that the L a w is intended to lead h u m a n s to the "better cov'nant" (line 3 0 2 ) of grace, by demonstrating that fallen men cannot fulfill the c o m m a n d m e n t s of the Law or a p p e a s e God through ceremonial sacrifices (lines 2 9 7 - 3 0 2 ) . 2. A more complete explanation of the principle of typology.

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1 2048

310

315

320

325

330

335

340

345

350

JOHN MILTON

Of law, his people into Canaan lead; But Joshua whom the Gentiles Jesus call, 3 His name and office bearing, who shall quell The adversary Serpent, and bring back Through the world's wilderness long-wandered man Safe to eternal paradise of rest. Meanwhile they in their earthly Canaan placed Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins National interrupt their public peace, Provoking God to raise them enemies: From whom as oft he saves them penitent 0 By judges first, then under kings; of whom The second, both for piety renowned And puissant 0 deeds, a promise shall receive Irrevocable, that his regal throne Forever shall endure; 4 the like shall sing All prophecy, that of the royal stock Of David (so I name this king) shall rise A son, the Woman's Seed to thee foretold, 5 Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust All nations, and to kings foretold, of kings The last, for of his reign shall be no end. But first a long succession must ensue, And his next son for wealth and wisdom famed, The clouded ark of God till then in tents Wand'ring, shall in a glorious temple enshrine. 6 Such follow him, as shall be registered Part good, part bad, of bad the longer scroll, Whose foul idolatries and other faults Heaped 0 to the popular sum, will so incense God, as to leave them, and expose their land, Their city, his temple, and his holy ark With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey To that proud city, whose high walls thou saw'st Left in confusion, Babylon thence called. There in captivity he lets them dwell The space of seventy years, 7 then brings them back, Rememb'ring mercy, and his cov'nant sworn To David, stablished as the days of Heav'n. Returned from Babylon by leave of kings 8 Their lords, whom God disposed, 0 the house of God They first re-edify, and for a while In mean estate live moderate, till grown In wealth and multitude, factious they grow; But first among the priests dissension springs, 3. " J e s u s " is the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew " J o s h u a , " who, rather than M o s e s , led the children of Israel into the Promised Land of C a n a a n , being in this a type of Christ. 4. T h e history summarized in lines 315—30 is recounted in J u d g e s , S a m u e l , and Kings. 5. T h e Messiah was prophesied to come of David's line, and J e s u s was referred to as the " S o n of David."

when penitent

mighty

added

made well-disposed

6. Solomon, son of David, built a "glorious temple" to h o u s e the Ark of the Covenant. 7. T h e seventy-year Babylonian Captivity of the J e w s and destruction of the T e m p l e (6th century E.C.E.).

8. T h e Persian kings Cyrus the Great, Darius, and Artaxerxes allowed the J e w s to return from Babylon and rebuild the Temple.

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PARADISE

LOST,

Men who attend the altar, and should most Endeavor peace: their strife pollution brings Upon the Temple itself: at last they seize The scepter, and regard not David's sons, 0 Then lose it to a stranger, 9 that the true Anointed King Messiah might be born 360 Barred of his right; yet at his birth a star Unseen before in heav'n proclaims him come, And guides the eastern sages, 0 who inquire His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold; His place of birth a solemn 0 angel tells 365 To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night; They gladly thither haste, and by a choir Of squadroned angels hear his carol sung. A virgin is his mother, but his sire The Power of the Most High; he shall ascend 370 The throne hereditary, and bound his reign With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heav'ns." He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy Surcharged, 0 as had like grief been dewed in tears, Without the vent of words, which these he breathed: 375 "O prophet of glad tidings, finisher Of utmost hope! now clear I understand What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain, Why our great expectation should be called The Seed of Woman: Virgin Mother, hail, 380 High in the love of Heav'n, yet from my loins Thou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son Of God Most High; so God with man unites. Needs must the Serpent now his capital 0 bruise Expect with mortal pain: say where and when 385 Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the victor's heel." To whom thus Michael: "Dream not of their fight, As of a duel, or the local wounds Of head or heel: not therefore joins the Son Manhood to Godhead, with more strength to foil 390 Thy enemy; nor so is overcome Satan, whose fall from Heav'n, a deadlier bruise, Disabled not to give thee thy death's wound: Which he who comes thy Savior, shall recure, 0 Not by destroying Satan, but his works 395 In thee and in thy seed: nor can this be, But by fulfilling that which thou didst want, 0 Obedience to the law of God, imposed On penalty of death, and suffering death, The penalty to thy transgression due, 400 And due to theirs which out of thine will grow: So only can high justice rest apaid. 0

BOOK

2 0 4 9

355

9. Antiochus, father of H e r o d the G r e a t (who ruled at the time of Christ's birth), was m a d e governor of J e r u s a l e m in 61 b . c . e . by the R o m a n s , a n d procurator of J u d a e a in 47 b . c . e . Prior to this (lines 353—57), strife a m o n g the priests allowed the

descendants

the

Magi

awe-inspiring

overwhelmed

on the head, fatal

heal

lack

satisfied

S e l e u c i d king A n t i o c h u s IV to s a c k J e r u s a l e m a n d pollute the T e m p l e ; then o n e of the M a c c a b e e s seized the throne, disregarding the c l a i m s of David's dynasty.

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1 2 0 5 0

405

4io

4i5

420

425

430

435

440

445

JOHN

MILTON

The law of God exact he shall fulfill Both by obedience and by love, though love Alone fulfill the law; thy punishment He shall endure by coming in the flesh To a reproachful life and cursed death, Proclaiming life to all who shall believe In his redemption, and that his obedience Imputed becomes theirs by faith, his merits To save them, not their own, though legal works. 1 For this he shall live hated, be blasphemed, Seized on by force, judged, and to death condemned A shameful and accursed, nailed to the cross By his own nation, slain for bringing life; But to the cross he nails thy enemies, The law that is against thee, and the sins Of all mankind, with him there crucified, Never to hurt them more who rightly trust In this his satisfaction; so he dies, But soon revives, Death over him no power Shall long usurp; ere the third dawning light Return, the stars of morn shall see him rise Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light, Thy ransom paid, which man from Death redeems, His death for man, as many as offered life Neglect not, 2 and the benefit embrace By faith not void of works: this Godlike act Annuls thy doom, the death thou shouldst have died, In sin forever lost from life; this act Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength Defeating Sin and Death, his two main arms, And fix far deeper in his head their stings Than temporal death shall bruise the victor's heel, Or theirs whom he redeems, a death like sleep, A gentle wafting to immortal life. Nor after resurrection shall he stay Longer on earth than certain times to appear To his disciples, men who in his life Still followed him; to them shall leave in charge To teach all nations what of him they learned And his salvation, them who shall believe Baptizing in the profluent 0 stream, Of washing them from guilt of sin to life Pure, and in mind prepared, if so befall, For death, like that which the Redeemer died. All nations they shall teach; for from that day Not only to the sons of Abraham's loins Salvation shall be preached, but to the sons Of Abraham's faith wherever through the world; I. Michael restates the theological doctrine that humans can only be saved by Christ's merits attrihuted to them vicariously ("imputed"), not by their own good works performed according to God's law

the

sign

flowing

("legal"). 2. i.e., for as many as accept ("neglect not") his offer of life,

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1

450

2051

So in h i s s e e d all n a t i o n s s h a l l be b l e s t . 3 T h e n to the Heav'n of Heav'ns he shall a s c e n d W i t h victory, t r i u m p h i n g t h r o u g h the air O v e r his foes a n d thine; there shall surprise T h e S e r p e n t , p r i n c e o f air, a n d d r a g i n c h a i n s

455

T h r o u g h all h i s r e a l m , a n d t h e r e c o n f o u n d e d l e a v e ; T h e n enter into glory, a n d r e s u m e His seat at G o d ' s right h a n d , exalted high A b o v e all n a m e s i n H e a v ' n ; a n d t h e n c e s h a l l c o m e , W h e n this world's dissolution shall be ripe

460

W i t h glory and p o w e r to j u d g e both quick0 a n d dead,

living

T o j u d g e th' u n f a i t h f u l d e a d , b u t t o r e w a r d His faithful, a n d receive t h e m into bliss, W h e t h e r in Heav'n or earth, for then the earth S h a l l all b e p a r a d i s e , f a r h a p p i e r p l a c e 465

T h a n this of E d e n , a n d far h a p p i e r days." S o s p a k e th' A r c h a n g e l M i c h a e l , t h e n p a u s e d , As at the world's great period;0 a n d our sire

comummation

Replete with joy and wonder thus replied: " O g o o d n e s s infinite, g o o d n e s s 470

immense!

T h a t all this g o o d of evil shall p r o d u c e , A n d evil t u r n t o g o o d ; m o r e w o n d e r f u l T h a n that which by creation first brought forth Light out of darkness!

Full of doubt I

stand,

W h e t h e r I should repent me n o w of sin 475

By me done and occasioned, or rejoice M u c h more,

that m u c h more good

thereof shall spring,

T o G o d m o r e glory, m o r e g o o d will t o m e n F r o m G o d , and over wrath grace shall a b o u n d . 4 B u t say, if our Deliverer up to Heav'n 480

M u s t r e a s c e n d , w h a t will b e t i d e the f e w H i s f a i t h f u l , left a m o n g th' u n f a i t h f u l h e r d , T h e enemies of truth; w h o then shall guide His people, who defend? Will they not deal W o r s e with his followers than with h i m they dealt?"

485

" B e sure they will," said th' angel; " b u t f r o m H e a v ' n He to his o w n a C o m f o r t e r will s e n d , 5 T h e p r o m i s e of the Father, w h o shall dwell His Spirit within them, and the law of faith W o r k i n g t h r o u g h love, u p o n their hearts shall write,

490

To g u i d e t h e m in all truth, a n d a l s o a r m W i t h spiritual armor, able to resist Satan's assaults, a n d q u e n c h his fiery darts,6

3. Michae! spells out the application to Christ of the promise offered typologically to Abraham's seed. 4. These lines do not formulate the medieval idea of the felix culpa—that the Fall was fortunate in bringing humans greater happiness than they would otherwise have enjoyed—only that the Fall has provided God an occasion to bring still greater good out of evil. The poem makes clear that Adam and Eve would have grown in perfection and

advanced to Heaven had they not sinned. 5. The Holy Spirit, who for Milton is much subordinate to both Father and Son. 6. Cf. Ephesians 6 . 1 1 - 1 6 : "Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. . . . Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked." The subsequent history (lines 493—507) is that of the early Christian church in apostolic times.

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1 2052

JOHN MILTON

What 0 man can do against them, not afraid, Though to the death, against such cruelties With inward consolations recompensed, And oft supported so as shall amaze Their proudest persecutors: for the Spirit Poured first on his apostles, whom he sends To evangelize the nations, then on all Baptized, shall them with wondrous gifts endue 0 To speak all tongues, and do all miracles, As did their Lord before them. T h u s they win Great numbers of each nation to receive With joy the tidings brought from Heav'n: at length Their ministry performed, and race well run, Their doctrine and their story written left, 7 They die; but in their room, as they forewarn, Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves, Who all the sacred mysteries of Heav'n To their own vile advantages shall turn Of lucre 0 and ambition, and the truth With superstitions and traditions taint, 8 Left only in those written records pure, Though not but by the Spirit understood. Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names, 0 Places 0 and titles, and with these to join Secular power, though feigning still to act By spiritual, to themselves appropriating The Spirit of God, promised alike and giv'n To all believers; and from that pretense, Spiritual laws by carnal 0 power shall force fleshly, On every conscience; 9 laws which none shall find Left them enrolled, or what the Spirit within Shall on the heart engrave. 1 What will they then But force the Spirit of Grace itself, and bind His consort Liberty; what, but unbuild His living temples, 2 built by faith to stand, Their own faith not another's: for on earth Who against faith and conscience can be heard Infallible? 3 Yet many will presume: Whence heavy persecution shall arise On all who in the worship persevere Of Spirit and Truth; the rest, far greater part, Will deem in outward rites and specious forms 7. I.e., in the G o s p e l s and Epistles. 8. T h e history summarized in lines 508—40 is of the corruption of the Christian church by superstitions, traditions, and persecutions of conscience in patristic times under the popes and the Christian emperors, but also extending to the Last Day. The terms point especially to what Milton saw as the revival of "popish" superstitions in the English church of the Restoration and to the fierce persecution of dissenters. 9. T h e s e lines affirm the Protestant principle of every Christian's right to interpret Scripture according to the "inner light" of the Spirit, and denounce (as Milton consistently did in his tracts)

as much as

endow

wealth

honors offices

worldly

the use of civil ("carnal") power to enforce orthodoxy. 1. I.e., there is nothing in Scripture or in the Spirit's inner teaching that sanctions persecution for conscience. 2. Cf. 1 Corinthians 3.16: "Know ye not that ye are the temple of G o d ? " "His consort Liberty": Milton typically insists that Christ's gospel and the Spirit of G o d teach liberty, religious and civil, alluding as here to 2 Corinthians 3.17: "where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." 3. An attack on papal claims to infallibility, asserted though not yet proclaimed as doctrine.

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PARADISE LOST, BOOK 1 535

2053

Religion satisfied; T r u t h shall retire Bestuck with sland'rous darts, and works of faith Rarely be found: so shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad m e n benign, U n d e r h e r o w n w e i g h t g r o a n i n g , till t h e d a y

540

A p p e a r of r e s p i r a t i o n 0 to t h e j u s t ,

respite

And vengeance to the wicked, at return Of h i m so lately p r o m i s e d to thy aid, The "Woman's

Seed,4 obscurely then foretold,

N o w amplier known 545

thy Savior a n d thy L o r d ,

Last in the clouds from Heav'n to be revealed In glory of the Father, to dissolve S a t a n with his perverted world, then raise F r o m the conflagrant mass,0 purged and refined,

the

burning

world

N e w heav'ns, n e w earth, ages of endless date 550

F o u n d e d in righteousness a n d p e a c e of love, To bring forth fruits joy and eternal bliss." He ended; and

thus A d a m last replied:

" H o w soon hath thy prediction, seer blest, M e a s u r e d this transient world, the race of time, 555

Till t i m e s t a n d fixed: b e y o n d is all a b y s s , Eternity, w h o s e e n d no eye c a n reach. Greatly instructed I shall h e n c e depart, G r e a t l y i n p e a c e o f t h o u g h t , a n d h a v e m y fill Of k n o w l e d g e , w h a t 0 this v e s s e l c a n c o n t a i n ;

560

a s much a s

B e y o n d w h i c h w a s my folly to aspire. H e n c e f o r t h I learn, that to obey is best, A n d love with fear the only G o d , to walk As in his presence, ever to observe His providence, and on him sole depend,

565

M e r c i f u l o v e r all his w o r k s , w i t h g o o d Still o v e r c o m i n g evil, a n d b y s m a l l Accomplishing great things, by things d e e m e d w e a k Subverting worldly strong, a n d worldly wise By simply meek; that suffering for truth's sake

570

Is fortitude to h i g h e s t victory, A n d to the faithful d e a t h the g a t e of life; T a u g h t this by his e x a m p l e w h o m I n o w Acknowledge

my R e d e e m e r ever blest."

T o w h o m t h u s a l s o th' a n g e l last replied: 575

"This having learnt, thou hast attained the s u m O f w i s d o m ; h o p e n o h i g h e r , t h o u g h all t h e stars T h o u k n e w ' s t b y n a m e , ' a n d all th' e t h e r e a l p o w e r s , All s e c r e t s o f t h e d e e p , all n a t u r e ' s w o r k s , O r w o r k s o f G o d i n heav'n, air, earth, o r s e a ,

580

A n d all t h e r i c h e s of this w o r l d e n j o y ' d s t , A n d all t h e r u l e , o n e e m p i r e ; o n l y a d d D e e d s to thy k n o w l e d g e a n s w e r a b l e , 0 a d d faith, 4. Michael's story ends with the full explication of the promised "Woman's Seed" as Christ, and with the renewal of all things after the Last Judgment (lines 5 4 5 - 5 1 ) . 5. Michael glances back at Raphael's warning in

corresponding

Book 8 that Adam should concern himself first with matters pertaining to his own life and world, rather than speculating overmuch about the cosmos.

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1 2054

JOHN MILTON

A d d virtue, patience, t e m p e r a n c e , a d d love, By n a m e to c o m e called charity, the soul 585

O f all t h e rest: t h e n wilt t h o u n o t b e l o a t h To leave this

Paradise, but shalt possess

A paradise within thee, happier far. Let us d e s c e n d n o w therefore f r o m this top Of s p e c u l a t i o n ; 0 f o r t h e h o u r p r e c i s e 590

hill

o f speculation

Exacts0 our parting hence; and see the guards, B y m e e n c a m p e d o n y o n d e r hill, T h e i r m o t i o n , 0 at w h o s e f r o n t a

requires

expect

flaming

sword,

await

their

orders

In signal of remove, waves fiercely round; W e m a y n o longer stay: go, w a k e n Eve; 595

Her also I with gentle dreams have calmed P o r t e n d i n g g o o d , a n d all h e r spirits c o m p o s e d To m e e k submission: thou at season fit Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard, Chiefly what m a y concern her faith to know,

6oo

T h e great deliverance by her seed to c o m e ( F o r b y t h e W o m a n ' s S e e d ) o n all m a n k i n d . T h a t y e m a y live, w h i c h will b e m a n y d a y s , Both in one faith u n a n i m o u s though sad, W i t h c a u s e for evils past, yet m u c h m o r e c h e e r e d

605

With meditation on the happy end." H e e n d e d , a n d t h e y b o t h d e s c e n d t h e hill; Descended, A d a m to the bow'r where Eve Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked; A n d thus with words not sad she him received:

6io

" W h e n c e thou return'st, a n d whither went'st, I know; For G o d is also in sleep, and d r e a m s advise,6 W h i c h he hath sent propitious, s o m e great good Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress W e a r i e d I fell a s l e e p : b u t n o w l e a d o n ;

615

In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me A r t all t h i n g s u n d e r h e a v ' n , all p l a c e s t h o u , 7 W h o for my willful crime art b a n i s h e d h e n c e .

620

T h i s f u r t h e r c o n s o l a t i o n yet s e c u r e I c a r r y h e n c e ; t h o u g h all by me is lost, S u c h favor I

unworthy am vouchsafed,

B y m e the p r o m i s e d S e e d shall all r e s t o r e . " So 625

spake our mother Eve,

and Adam heard

Well pleased, but answered not; for n o w too nigh T h ' A r c h a n g e l s t o o d , a n d f r o m t h e o t h e r hill T o their f i x e d s t a t i o n , all i n b r i g h t a r r a y The Cherubim descended; on the ground G l i d i n g m e t e o r o u s , 0 as e v e n i n g m i s t

630

like a meteor

Ris'n f r o m a river o'er the m a r i s h 0 glides, 6. The lines suggest that Eve's dream has provided her a parallel (if lesser) prophecy to Adam's visions and instruction. Cf. Numbers 12.6: "If there be a prophet among you, I the Lord will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto

marsh him in a dream." 7. Eve's lines—the final speech in the p o e m — recall her prelapsarian love song to Adam ( 4 . 6 4 I f f . ) and Ruth's promise to accompany her mother-in-law, Naomi (Ruth 1.16).

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PARADISE LOST,

635

640

645

And gathers ground fast at the laborer's heel Homeward returning. High in front advanced, The brandished sword of God before them blazed Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat, And vapor 0 as the Libyan air adust, 0 Began to parch that temperate clime; whereat In either hand the hast'ning angel caught Our ling'ring parents, and to th' eastern gate Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast To the subjected 0 plain; then disappeared. They looking back, all th' eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 0 Waved over by that flaming brand, 0 the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand with wand'ring steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.

BOOK

2 0 5 5

smoke / -parched

low-lying estate sword

1674

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T k e Restoration an d tke Eighteenth Century

1660-1785

1660: 1688—89: 1700: 1707: 1714: 1744^-5: 1784:

Charles II restored to the English throne The Glorious Revolution: deposition of James II and accession of William of Orange Death of John Dryden Act of Union unites Scotland and England, creating the nation of "Great Britain" Rule by House of Hanover begins with accession of George I Deaths of Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift Death of Samuel Johnson

T h e Restoration and the eighteenth century brought vast changes to the island of Great Rritain, which b e c a m e a single nation after 1707, when the Act of Union joined Scotland to E n g l a n d and Wales. After the prolonged civil and religious strife of the seventeenth century, Britain attained political stability and unprecedented commercial vigor. T h e countryside kept its seemingly timeless agricultural rhythms, even as the nation's great families consolidated their control over the land and those who worked it. C h a n g e c a m e most dramatically to cities, which absorbed m u c h of a national population that nearly doubled in the period, to ten million. Britons c a m e together in civil society— the public but nongovernmental institutions and practices that b e c a m e newly powerful in the period. T h e theaters (reopened at the Restoration), coffeehouses, concert halls, pleasure gardens, lending libraries, picture exhibitions, and shopping districts gave life in L o n d o n and elsewhere a feeling of bustle and friction. Reflecting and stimulating this activity, an expanding assortment of printed works vied to interest literate women and men, whose numbers grew to include most of the middle classes and many a m o n g the poor. Civil society also linked people to an increasingly global economy, as they shopped for diverse goods from around the world. T h e rich and even the moderately well off could profit or go broke from investments in joint-stock companies, which controlled m u c h of Britain's international trade, including its lucrative traffic in slaves. At home, new systems of canals and turnpikes stimulated domestic trade, industry, and travel, bringing distant parts of the country closer together. T h e cohesion of the nation also depended on ideas of social o r d e r — s o m e old and clear, m a n y subtle and new. An ethos of politeness c a m e to prevail, a standard of social behavior to which more and more could aspire yet that served to distinguish the privileged sharply from the rude and vulgar. This and other ideas, of order and hierarchy, of liberty and rights, of sentiment 2 0 5 7

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2 0 5 8

THE

R E S T O R A T I O N AND T H E

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

and sympathy, helped determine the ways in which an expanding diversity of people could seek to participate in Britain's thriving cultural life. RELIGION

AND

POLITICS

T h e Restoration of 1 6 6 0 — t h e return of Charles Stuart and, with him, the monarchy to E n g l a n d — b r o u g h t hope to a divided nation, exhausted by years of civil war and political turmoil. Almost all of Charles's subjects welcomed him home. After the abdication of Richard Cromwell in 1659 the country had s e e m e d at the brink of chaos, and Britons were eager to believe that their king would bring order and law and a spirit of mildness back into the national life. But no political settlement could be stable until the religious issues had been resolved. T h e restoration of the monarchy m e a n t that the established church would also be restored, and though C h a r l e s was willing to pardon or ignore many former enemies (such as Milton), the bishops and Anglican clergy were less tolerant of dissent. When Parliament reimposed the Book of C o m m o n Prayer in 1662 and then in 1 6 6 4 barred N o n c o n f o r m i s t s from religious meetings outside the established church, t h o u s a n d s of clergymen resigned their livings, and the jails were filled with preachers like J o h n Bunyan who refused to be silenced. In 1673 the Test Act required all holders of civil and military offices to take the sacrament in an Anglican church and to deny belief in transubstantiation. T h u s Protestant Dissenters and R o m a n Catholics were largely excluded from public life; for instance, Alexander Pope, a Catholic, could not attend a university, own land, or vote. T h e scorn of Anglicans for Nonconformist zeal or " e n t h u s i a s m " (a belief in private revelation) bursts out in S a m u e l Butler's popular Hudibras ( 1 6 6 3 ) , a caricature of Presbyterians and Independents. And English Catholics were widely regarded as potential traitors and (wrongly) thought to have set the Great Fire that destroyed m u c h of London in 1666. Yet the triumph of the established church did not resolve the constitutional issues that had divided Charles I and Parliament. Charles II had promised to govern through Parliament but slyly tried to consolidate royal power. Steering away from crises, he hid his Catholic sympathies and avoided a test of strength with Parliament—except on one occasion. In 1678 the report of the Popish Plot, in which Catholics would rise and murder their Protestant foes, terrified London; and though the charge turned out to be a fraud, the H o u s e of C o m m o n s exploited the fear by trying to force C h a r l e s to exclude his Catholic brother, J a m e s , duke of York, from s u c c e s s i o n to the throne. T h e turmoil of this period is captured brilliantly by Dryden's Absalom and Achitopliel ( 1 6 8 1 ) . Finally, Charles defeated the Exclusion Bill by dissolving Parliament. But the crisis resulted in a basic division of the country between two new political parties: the Tories, who supported the king, and the Whigs, the king's opponents. Neither party could live with J a m e s II. After he c a m e to the throne in 1685, he claimed the right to make his own laws, s u s p e n d e d the T e s t Act, and began to fill the army and government with fellow Catholics. T h e birth of J a m e s ' s son in 1688 brought matters to a head, confronting the nation with the prospect of a Catholic dynasty. Secret negotiations paved the way for the Dutchman William of Orange, a champion of Protestantism and the h u s b a n d of J a m e s ' s Protestant daughter Mary. William landed with a small army in southwestern England and marched toward L o n d o n . As he advanced the king's allies

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melted away, and J a m e s fled to a permanent exile in France. But the h o u s e of Stuart would be heard from again. For more than half a century s o m e loyal J a c o b i t e s (from the Latin Jacobus, " J a m e s " ) , especially in Scotland, supported J a m e s , his son ("the Old Pretender"), and his grandson ("the Young Pretender" or "Bonnie Prince Charlie") as the legitimate rulers of Britain. Moreover, a good many writers, from Aphra B e h n and Dryden (and arguably Pope and J o h n s o n ) to Robert Burns, privately sympathized with Jacobitism. But after the failure of one last rising in 1745, the c a u s e would dwindle gradually into a wistful sentiment. In retrospect, the coming of William and Mary in 1 6 8 8 — the Glorious, or Bloodless, Revolution—came to be seen as the beginning of a stabilized, unified Great Britain. A lasting settlement followed. In 1689 a Bill of Rights revoked J a m e s ' s actions; it limited the powers of the Crown, reaffirmed the supremacy of Parliament, and guaranteed s o m e individual rights. T h e s a m e year the Toleration Act relaxed the strain of religious conflict by granting a limited freedom of worship to Dissenters (although not to Catholics or J e w s ) so long as they swore allegiance to the Crown. This proved to be a workable compromise; and with the p a s s a g e of the Act of Settlement in 1701, putting Sophia, electress of Hanover, and her descendants in line for the throne (as the granddaughter of J a m e s I, she was the closest Protestant relative of Princess Anne, J a m e s II's younger daughter, whose sole surviving child died in that year), the difficult problems that had so long divided England s e e m e d resolved. T h e principles established in 1689 endured unaltered in essentials until the Reform Bill of 1832. During Anne's reign (1702—14), new political tensions embittered the nation. In the War of the S p a n i s h S u c c e s s i o n (1702—13), England and its allies defeated F r a n c e and S p a i n ; as these commercial rivals were weakened and war profits flowed in, the Whig lords and London merchants supporting the war grew rich. T h e spoils included new colonies and the asiento, a contract to supply slaves to the Spanish Empire. T h e hero of the war, Captain-General J o h n Churchill, duke of Marlborough, won the f a m o u s victory of Blenheim; was showered with honors and wealth; and, with his d u c h e s s , dominated the queen until 1710. But the Whigs and Marlborough p u s h e d their luck too hard. When the Whigs tried to reward the Dissenters for their loyalty by removing the Test, Anne fought back to defend the established church. S h e dismissed her Whig ministers and the Marlboroughs and called in Robert Harley and the brilliant young Henry St. J o h n to form a Tory ministry. T h e s e ministers employed prominent writers like D e f o e and Swift and c o m m i s s i o n e d Matthew Prior to negotiate the Peace of Utrecht ( 1 7 1 3 ) . Rut to Swift's despair—he later burlesqued events at court in Gulliver's Travels—a bitter rivalry broke out between Harley (now earl of Oxford) and St. J o h n (now Viscount Bolingbroke). T h o u g h Bolingbroke s u c c e e d e d in ousting Oxford, the death of Anne in 1714 reversed his fortunes. T h e Whigs returned to power, and G e o r g e I (Sophia's son) b e c a m e the first Hanoverian king (he would reign until 1727). Harley was imprisoned in the Tower of London until 1717; and Bolingbroke, charged with being a Jacobite traitor, fled to France. Government was now securely in the hands of the Whigs. T h e political principles of the Whig and Tory Parties, which bring so m u c h fire to eighteenth-century public debate, evolved to address changing circumstances through the period. N o w we tend to think of Tories as conservative and Whigs as liberal. ( M e m b e r s of today's Conservative Party in the United

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Kingdom are s o m e t i m e s called Tories.) During the Exclusion Crisis of the 1680s the Whigs asserted the liberties of the English subject against the royal prerogatives of C h a r l e s II, whom Tories such as Dryden supported. After both parties survived the 1688 Glorious Revolution, the Tories guarded the pree m i n e n c e of the established church (sometimes styling themselves the C h u r c h Party), while Whigs tended to support toleration of Dissenters. Economically, too, Tories defined themselves as traditionalists, affirming landownership as the proper basis of wealth, power, and privilege (though most thought trade honorable), whereas the Whigs c a m e to be seen as supporting a new "moneyed interest" (as Swift called it): managers of the B a n k of England (founded 1694), contrivers of the system of public credit, and investors in the stock market. But conservatism and liberalism did not exist as coherent ideologies in the period, and the vicissitudes of party dispute offer many surprises. When Bolingbroke returned to England in 1 7 2 4 after being pardoned, he led a Tory opposition that decried the "ministerial tyranny" of the Whig government. This opposition patriotically hailed liberty in a m a n n e r recalling the Whig rhetoric of earlier d e c a d e s , appealed to both landed gentry and urban merchants, and arguably anticipated the antigovernment radicalism of the end of the eighteenth century. Conversely, the Whigs sought to secure a centralized fiscal and military state machine and a web of financial interdependence controlled by the wealthiest aristocrats. T h e great architect of this Whig policy was Robert Walpole, who c a m e to power as a result of the " S o u t h S e a b u b b l e " ( 1 7 2 0 ) , a stock market crash. His ability to restore confidence and keep the country running smoothly, as well as to juggle money, would mark his long ascendancy. C o m i n g to be known as Britain's first " p r i m e " minister, he consolidated his power during the reign of G e o r g e II (1727—60). More involved in British affairs than his essentially G e r m a n father, G e o r g e II c a m e to appreciate the efficient administration of the patronage system under Walpole, who installed dependents in government offices and controlled the H o u s e of C o m m o n s by financially rewarding its members. M a n y great writers found these methods offensive and e m b r a c e d Bolingbroke's new Tory rhetoric extolling the Englishman's fierce independence from the corrupting power of centralized government and concentrations of wealth. Gay's Beggar's Opera ( 1 7 2 8 ) and Fielding's Jonathan Wild ( 1 7 4 3 ) draw parallels between great criminals and great politicians, and Pope's Dunciad uses Walpole as an e m b l e m of the venal commercialization of the whole social fabric. This distaste, however, did not prevent Pope himself from marketing his p o e m s as cleverly as he wrote them. Walpole fell in 1742 b e c a u s e he was unwilling to go to war against the French and S p a n i s h , a war he thought would cost too m u c h but that many perceived would e n h a n c e Britain's wealth still further. T h e next major English statesman, William Pitt the Elder, appealed to a spirit of national patriotism and called for the expansion of British power and c o m m e r c e overseas. T h e defeat of the F r e n c h in the Seven Years' War (1756—63), especially in North America, was largely his doing. T h e long reign of G e o r g e III (1760—1820) was dominated by two great concerns: the e m e r g e n c e of Britain as a colonial power and the cry for a new social order b a s e d on liberty and radical reform. In 1763 the P e a c e of Paris consolidated British rule over C a n a d a and India, and not even the later loss of the American colonies could stem the rise of the empire. Great Britain was no longer an isolated island but a nation with interests and responsibilities around the world.

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At home, however, there was discontent. T h e wealth brought to England by industrialism and foreign trade had not spread to the great m a s s of the poor. For m u c h of the century, few had questioned the idea that those at the top of the social hierarchy rightfully held power. Rich families' alliances and rivalries, national and local, dominated politics; while male property owners could vote in Parliamentary elections, they and others of the middle classes and the poor had mostly followed the powerful people who could best help them thrive or at least survive. But toward the end of the century it s e e m e d to many that the bonds of c u s t o m that once held people together had finally broken, and now money alone was respected. Protestants turned against Catholics; in 1780 the G o r d o n Riots put L o n d o n temporarily under m o b rule. T h e king was popular with his subjects and tried to take government into his own hands, rising above partisanship, but his efforts often backfired—as when the American colonists took him for a tyrant. From 1788 to the end of his life, moreover, an inherited disease (porphyria) periodically unhinged his mind, as in a m e m o r a b l e scene described by F r a n c e s Rurney. Meanwhile, reformers such as J o h n Wilkes and Richard Price called for a new political democracy. Fear of their radicalism would contribute to the British reaction against the F r e n c h Revolution. In the last d e c a d e s of the century British authors would be torn between two opposing attitudes: loyalty to the old traditions of subordination, mutual obligations, and local self-sufficiency, and yearning for a new dispensation founded on principles of liberty, the rule of reason, and h u m a n rights. THE

CONTEXT OF

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M u c h of the most powerful writing after 1660 exposed divisions in the nation's thinking that derived from the tumult of earlier d e c a d e s . As the possibility of a Christian C o m m o n w e a l t h receded, the great republican J o h n Milton published Paradise Lost (final version, 1674), and J o h n Bunyan's immensely popular masterwork Pilgrim's Progress ( 1 6 7 9 ) expressed the conscience of a Nonconformist. Conversely, an aristocratic culture, led by Charles II himself, aggressively celebrated pleasure a n d the right of the elite to behave extravagantly: members of the court scandalized respectable London citizens and considered their wives and daughters fair game. T h e court's hero, the earl of Rochester, b e c a m e a celebrity for enacting the creed of a libertine and rake. T h e delights of the court also took more refined forms. French and Italian musicians, as well as painters from the Low Countries, migrated to England; and p l a y h o u s e s — c l o s e d by the Puritans since 1 6 4 2 — s p r a n g b a c k to life. In 1660 Charles authorized two new c o m p a n i e s of actors, the King's Players and the Duke's; their repertory included witty, bawdy comedies written and acted by women as well as men. But as stark as the contrasts were during the Restoration between libertine and religious intellectuals, royalists and republicans, High C h u r c h m e n and N o n c o n f o r m i s t s , the court and the rest of the country, a spirit of c o m p r o m i s e was brewing. Perhaps the m o s t widely shared intellectual impulse of the age was a distrust of dogmatism. Nearly everybody blamed it for the civil strife through which the nation had recently passed. Opinions varied widely about which dogmatism was most d a n g e r o u s — P u r i t a n enthusiasm, papal infallibility, the divine right of kings, medieval scholastic or modern Cartesian philosophy—but these were d e n o u n c e d in remarkably similar terms. As far apart intellectually and temperamentally as Rochester and Milton were, both portray overconfidence

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in h u m a n reasoning as the s u p r e m e disaster. It is the theme of Butler's Hudibras and m u c h of the work of Dryden. M a n y philosophers, scientists, and divines began to e m b r a c e a mitigated skepticism, which argued that h u m a n beings could readily achieve a sufficient degree of necessary knowledge (sometimes called "moral certainty") but also contended that the pursuit of absolute certainty was vain, m a d , and socially calamitous. If, as the c o m m e n t a t o r Martin Clifford put it in A Treatise of Humane Reason ( 1 6 7 5 ) , "in this vast latitude of probabilities," a person thinks "there is none can lead one to salvation, but the path wherein he treads himself, we may see the evident and necessary c o n s e q u e n c e of eternal troubles and c o n f u s i o n s . " S u c h writers insist that a distrust of h u m a n capacities is fully compatible with religious faith: for them the inability of reason and sensory evidence to settle important questions reveals our need to accept Christian mysteries as our intellectual foundation. Dryden's p o e m Religio Laid ( 1 6 8 2 ) explains: " S o pale grows reason in religion's sight; / So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light." Far from inhibiting fresh thinking, however, the distrust of old d o g m a s inspired new theories, projects, and explorations. In Leviathan ( 1 6 5 1 ) , T h o m a s H o b b e s jettisoned the notion of a divine basis for kingly authority, proposing instead a naturalistic argument for royal absolutism begun from the claim that mere "matter in motion" c o m p o s e s the universe: if not checked by an absolute sovereign, mankind's "perpetual and restless desire of power after power" could lead to civic collapse. Other materialist philosophies derived from ancient E p i c u r e a n thought, which was Christianized by the F r e n c h philosopher Pierre G a s s e n d i (1592—1655). T h e E p i c u r e a n doctrine that the universe consists only of minuscule a t o m s and void unnerved s o m e thinkers—Swift roundly mocks it in A Tale of a Tub—but it also energized efforts to examine the world with deliberate, a c u t e attention. This new scientific impulse advanced Francis B a c o n ' s program of methodical experimentation and inductive reasoning f o r m u l a t e d earlier in the century. Charles II gave official approval to the scientific revolution by chartering the Royal Society of L o n d o n for the Improving of Natural Knowledge in 1662. But observations of nature advanced both formally and informally in an eclectic range of areas: the specialized, professional "scientist" we know today did not yet exist. And new features of the world were disclosed to everyone who had the c h a n c e to look. Two wonderful inventions, the microscope and telescope, had begun to reveal that nature is more extravagant—teeming with tiny creatures and b o u n d l e s s galaxies—than anyone had ever imagined. O n e book that stayed popular for more than a century, Fontenelle's Conversations on the Plurality of Worlds ( 1 6 8 6 ; translated from French by B e h n and later by Burney), suggested that an infinite n u m b e r of alternate worlds and living creatures might exist, not only in outer s p a c e but under our feet, invisibly small. Travels to unfamiliar regions of the globe also enlarged understandings of what nature could do: Behn's classifying and collecting of S o u t h American flora and f a u n a in Oroonoko show how the appetite for wondrous facts kept p a c e with the economic motives of world exploration and colonization. Encounters with hitherto little known societies in the Far East, Africa, and the Americas enlarged E u r o p e a n s ' understanding of h u m a n norms as well. In Gidliver's Travels, Swift shows the comical, painful ways in which the discovery of new cultures forces one average Briton to reexamine his own. ( S e e the topics "The Plurality of W o r l d s " and "Travel, Trade, and the Expansion of E m p i r e " on Norton Literature Online.)

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Scientific discovery and exploration also a f f e c t e d religious attitudes. Alongside "natural history" (the collection and description of facts of nature) and "natural philosophy" (the study of the c a u s e s of what h a p p e n s in nature), thinkers of the period placed "natural religion" (the study of nature as a book written by G o d ) . Newly discovered natural laws, such as Newton's laws of optics and celestial mechanics, s e e m e d evidence of a universal order in creation, which implied God's hand in the design of the universe, as a watch implies a watchmaker. Expanded knowledge of peoples around the world who had never heard of Christianity led theologians to formulate supposedly universal religious tenets available to all rational beings. S o m e intellectuals e m b r a c e d Deism, the doctrine that religion need not depend on mystery or biblical truths and could rely on reason alone, which recognized the goodness and wisdom of natural law and its creator. Natural religion could not, however, discern an active G o d who p u n i s h e d vice and rewarded virtue in this life; evidently the First C a u s e had withdrawn from the universe He set in motion. Many orthodox Christians shuddered at the vision of a vast, impersonal machine of nature. Instead they rested their faith on the revelation of Scripture, the s c h e m e of salvation in which Christ died to redeem our sins. Other Christians, s u c h as Pope in An Essay on Man and T h o m s o n in The Seasons, espoused arguments for natural religion that they felt did not conflict with or diminish orthodox belief. S o m e people began to argue that the achievements of modern inquiry had eclipsed those of the ancients (and the fathers of the church), who had not known about the solar system, the N e w World, microscopic organisms, or the circulation of the blood. T h e school curriculum began with years of Latin and Greek, inculcating a long-established humanistic tradition that many authors, including Swift and Pope, still cherished. A battle of the books erupted in the late seventeenth century between c h a m p i o n s of ancient and of modern learning. Swift c r u s a d e d fiercely in this battle: Gulliver's Travels d e n o u n c e s the pointlessness and arrogance he saw in experiments of the Royal Society, while "A M o d e s t Proposal" depicts a peculiar new cruelty and indifference to moral purpose m a d e possible by statistics and e c o n o m i c s (two fields pioneered by Royal Society m e m b e r Sir William Petty). But as sharp as s u c h disagreements were, accommodation was also possible. Even as works such as Newton's Principia ( 1 6 8 7 ) and Opticks ( 1 7 0 4 ) revolutionized previously held views of the world, Newton himself maintained a seemly diffidence, comparing himself to "a boy playing on the sea-shore" "whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before m e . " He and other modest modern inquirers such as Locke won the admiration of Pope and many ardent defenders of the past. T h e widespread devotion to the direct observation of experience established empiricism as the dominant intellectual attitude of the age, which would b e c o m e Britain's great legacy to world philosophy. Locke and his heirs G e o r g e Berkeley and David H u m e p u r s u e the experiential approach in widely divergent directions. B u t even when they reach conclusions shocking to c o m m o n sense, they tend to reassert the security of our prior knowledge. Berkeley insists we know the world only through our senses and thus cannot prove that any material thing exists, but he u s e s that argument to demonstrate the necessity of faith, b e c a u s e reality a m o u n t s to no more than a perception in the mind of God. H u m e ' s f a m o u s argument about c a u s a t i o n — t h a t " c a u s e s and effects are discoverable, not by reason but by experience"—grounds our sense of the world not on rational reflection but on s p o n t a n e o u s , unreflective beliefs and

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feelings. Perhaps Locke best expresses the temper of his times in the Essay Concerning Human Understanding ( 1 6 9 0 ) : If by this inquiry into the nature of the understanding, I can discover the powers thereof; how far they reach; to what things they are in any degree proportionate; and where they fail us, I s u p p o s e it m a y b e of use, to prevail with the busy mind of man to be more cautious in meddling with things exceeding its comprehension; to stop when it is at the utmost extent of its tether; and to sit down in a quiet ignorance of those things which, upon examination, are f o u n d to be beyond the reach of our capacities. . . . Our business here is not to know all things, but those which concern our conduct. S u c h a position is Swift's, when he inveighs against metaphysics, abstract logical deductions, and theoretical science. It is similar to Pope's warning against h u m a n presumption in An Essay on Man. It prompts J o h n s o n to talk of "the b u s i n e s s of living" and to restrain the flights of unbridled imagination. And it helps a c c o u n t for the Anglican clergy's dislike of emotion and "enthus i a s m " in religion and for their emphasis on good works, rather than faith, as the way to salvation. Locke's empiricism pervaded eighteenth-century British thought on politics, education, and morals as well as philosophy; J o h n s o n ' s great Dictionary ( 1 7 5 5 ) uses more than fifteen hundred illustrations from his writings. Yet perhaps the most m o m e n t o u s new idea at the turn of the eighteenth century was set against Lockean thinking. T h e groundbreaking intellectual Mary Astell, in A Serious Proposal to the Ladies ( 1 6 9 4 ) and Some Reflections upon Marriage ( 1 7 0 0 , 1706), initiated a powerful strain of modern feminism, arguing for the establishment of women's educational institutions and decrying the tyranny that h u s b a n d s legally exercised over their wives. S h e nonetheless mocked the calls for political rights and liberty by Locke and other Whig theorists, rights that pointedly did not extend to women. Instead, she and other early feminists, including S a r a h Fyge Egerton and Mary, Lady Chudleigh, e m b r a c e d the Tory principle of obedience to royal and c h u r c h authority. W o m e n ' s advocates had to fight "tyrant C u s t o m " (in Egerton's words), rooted in ancient traditions of domestic power and enshrined in the Bible and mythic h u m a n prehistory. This struggle s e e m e d distinct from public political denunciations of the tyranny of some relatively recent Charles or J a m e s . Astell feared that the doctrines of male revolutionaries could p r o d u c e civil chaos and so jeopardize the best that women could hope for in her day: the f r e e d o m to b e c o m e fully educated, practice their religion, and marry (or not) according to their own enlightened j u d g m e n t . Other thinkers, male and female, began to advocate improving women's education as part of a wider c o m m i t m e n t to enhancing and extending sociability. Richard Steele's periodical The Tatler satirized Astell as " M a d o n e l l a " b e c a u s e she s e e m e d to r e c o m m e n d w o m e n to a nun-like, "recluse life." In The Spectator (1711—12; 1714), conversely, Steele and J o s e p h Addison encouraged women to learn to participate in an increasingly sociable, intellectually sophisticated, urbane world, where all sorts of people could mingle, as in the streets and parks of a thriving city like L o n d o n . S u c h periodicals sought to teach as large a readership as possible to think and behave politely. On a more aristocratic plane, the Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, and Times ( 1 7 1 1 ) by the third earl of Shaftesbury similarly asserted the naturally social

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meaning of h u m a n character and meditated on the affections, the witty intercourse, and the standards of politeness that bind people together. S u c h ideas led to the popularity around mid-century of a new word, sentimental, which locates the b a s e s of social conduct in instinctual feeling rather than divinely sanctioned moral codes. Religion itself, according to L a u r e n c e Sterne, might be a "Great S e n s o r i u m , " a sort of central nervous system that connects the feelings of all living creatures in one great benevolent soul. And people began to feel, exquisite pleasure in the exercise of charity. T h e cult of sensibility fostered a philanthropy that led to social reforms seldom envisioned in earlier t i m e s — t o the improvement of jails, the relief of imprisoned debtors, the establishment of foundling hospitals and of h o m e s for penitent prostitutes, and ultimately the abolition of the slave trade. And it also loosed a ready flow of sympathetic r e s p o n s e s to the joys and sorrows of fellow h u m a n beings. Another passion that transformed British culture in the period was curiosity: scientific discoveries increasingly f o u n d practical applications in industry, the arts, and even entertainment. By the late 1 7 4 0 s , as knowledge of electricity advanced, public experiments offered fashionable British crowds the opportunity to electrocute themselves. Amateurs everywhere a m u s e d themselves with air p u m p s and chemical explosions. Birmingham b e c a m e f a m o u s as a center where s c i e n c e and m a n u f a c t u r i n g were combining to change the world: in the early 1 7 6 0 s Matthew Boulton ( 1 7 2 8 - 1 8 0 9 ) established the most impressive factory of the age just outside town, producing vast quantities of pins, buckles, and buttons; in s u b s e q u e n t decades, his applications and manufacture of the new steam engine invented by S c o t s m a n J a m e s Watt (1736— 1819) helped build an industry to drive all others. Practical chemistry also led to industrial improvements: domestic porcelain production b e c a m e established in the 1 7 5 0 s ; and from the 1 7 6 0 s J o s i a h Wedgwood (1730—95) developed glazing, manufacturing, and marketing techniques that enabled British ceramics to c o m p e t e with C h i n a for fashionable taste. (In 1765 he n a m e d his creamware " Q u e e n ' s ware" to remind c u s t o m e r s of its place on Q u e e n Charlotte's table.) Wedgwood and others answered an ever-increasing d e m a n d in Britain for beautiful objects. Artist William Hogarth satirized this appetite of the upper and middle classes for the accumulation of finery: a chaotic collection of china figurines crowds the mantel in Plate 2 of Marriage A-la-Mode (1743—45). Yet the images that m a d e Hogarth f a m o u s would soon decorate English ceramic teapots and plates and be turned into porcelain figurines themselves. N e w forms of religious devotion sprang up amid Britain's spectacular material s u c c e s s . T h e evangelical revival known as M e t h o d i s m began in the 1 7 3 0 s , led by three Oxford graduates: J o h n Wesley (1703—1791), his brother Charles ( 1 7 0 7 - 1 7 8 8 ) , and G e o r g e Whitefield ( 1 7 1 4 - 1 7 7 0 ) . T h e Methodists took their gospel to the c o m m o n people, warning that all were sinners and d a m n e d , unless they accepted "amazing grace," salvation through faith. O f t e n denied the privilege of preaching in village c h u r c h e s , evangelicals preached to thousands in barns or the open fields. T h e emotionalism of s u c h revival meetings repelled the somnolent Anglican C h u r c h and the upper classes, who feared that the fury and zeal of the Puritan sects were returning. Methodism was sometimes related to m a d n e s s ; convinced that he was d a m n e d forever, the poet William Cowper broke down and b e c a m e a recluse. But the religious awakening persisted and affected many clergymen and laymen within the Establishment, who reanimated the church and promoted unworldliness and

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piety. Nor did the insistence of Methodists on faith over works as the way to salvation prevent them or their Anglican allies from fighting for social reforms. T h e c a m p a i g n to abolish slavery and the slave trade was driven largely by a passion to save souls. Sentimentalism, evangelicalism, and the pursuits of wealth and luxury in different ways all placed a new importance on individuals—the gratification of their tastes and ambitions or their yearning for personal encounters with each other or a personal G o d . Diary keeping, elaborate letter writing, and the novel also testified to the growing importance of the private, individual life. Few histories of kings or nations could rival Richardson's novel Clarissa in length, popularity, or documentary detail: it was subtitled "the History of a Young Lady." T h e older hierarchical system had tended to subordinate individuals to their social rank or station. In the eighteenth century that fixed system began to break down, and people's sense of themselves began to change. By the e n d of the century many issues of politics and the law revolve around rights, not traditions. T h e modern individual had been invented; no product of the age is more enduring. CONDITIONS

LITERARY PRODUCTION

Publishing boomed as never before in eighteenth-century Britain, as the number of titles appearing annually and the periodicals published in London and the provincial towns dramatically increased. This expansion in part resulted from a loosening of legal restraints on printing. Through m u c h of the previous three centuries, the government had licensed the texts d e e m e d suitable for publication and refused to license those it wanted suppressed (a practice called "prior restraint"). After the Restoration, the new Printing Act ( 1 6 6 2 ) tightened licensing controls, though unlike his Stuart predecessors Charles II now shared this power with Parliament. But in 1695, during the reign of William III, the last in a series of printing acts was not renewed. D e b a t e in Parliament on the matter was more practical than idealistic: it was argued that licensing fettered the printing trades and was ineffective at preventing obnoxious publications anyway, which could be better constrained after publication by enforcing laws against seditious libel, obscenity, and treason. As the two-party system consolidated, both Whigs and Tories s e e m e d to realize that prepublication censorship could bite them when their own side happened to be out of power. Various governments attempted to revive licensing during political crises throughout the eighteenth century, but it was gone for good. This did not end the legal liabilities, and the prosecutions, of authors. Daniel Defoe, for instance, was convicted of seditious libel and f a c e d the pillory and jail for his satirical pamphlet "The Shortest Way with the D i s s e n t e r s " ( 1 7 0 2 ) , which imitated High-Church zeal so extravagantly that it provoked both the Tories and the Dissenters he had set about to defend. And licensing of the stage returned: irritated especially by Henry Fielding's anti-government play The Historical Register for the Year 173 6, Robert Walpole p u s h e d the S t a g e Licensing Act through Parliament in 1 7 3 7 , which authorized the Lord C h a m berlain to license all plays and reduced the n u m b e r of London theaters to two (Drury L a n e and Covent Garden), closing Fielding's N e w Theatre in the Haymarket and driving him to a new career as a novelist. But despite s u c h constraints, H u m e could begin his essay " O f the Liberty of the P r e s s " ( 1 7 4 1 ) by citing "the extreme liberty we enjoy in this country of c o m m u n i c a t i n g whatever

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we please to the p u b l i c " as an internationally recognized c o m m o n p l a c e . This freedom allowed eighteenth-century Britain to build an exemplary version of what historians have called "the public sphere": a cultural arena, free of direct government control, consisting of not j u s t published c o m m e n t on matters of national interest but also the public v e n u e s — c o f f e e h o u s e s , clubs, taverns— where readers circulated, discussed, and conceived responses to it. T h e first regular daily L o n d o n newspaper, the Daily Courant, appeared in 1 7 0 2 ; in 1731, the first magazine, the Gentleman's Magazine. T h e latter was followed both by imitations and by s u c c e s s f u l literary journals like the Monthly Review ( 1 7 4 9 ) and the Critical Review ( 1 7 5 6 ) . E a c h a u d i e n c e attracted s o m e periodical tailored to it, as with the Female Tatler ( 1 7 0 9 ) and Eliza Haywood's Female Spectator (1744—46). After 1695, the legal status of printed matter b e c a m e a m b i g u o u s , and in 1710 Parliament enacted the S t a t u t e of A n n e — " A n Act for the Encouragement of Learning by Vesting the C o p i e s of Printed Books in the Authors or Purchasers of S u c h C o p i e s " — t h e first copyright law in British history not tied to government approval of works' contents. Typically, these copyrights were held by booksellers, who operated m u c h as publishers do today (in the eighteenth century, publisher referred to one who distributed books). A bookseller paid an author for a work's copyright and, after registering the work with the Stationers' C o m p a n y for a fee, had exclusive right for fourteen years to publish it; if alive when this term expired, he owned it another fourteen years. Payments to authors for copyright varied. P o p e got £ 1 5 for the 1714 version of The Rape of the Lock, while S a m u e l Johnson's Rasselas earned him £ 1 0 0 . T h e Statute of A n n e spurred the book trade by enhancing booksellers' control over works and h e n c e their c h a n c e to profit by them. B u t the government soon introduced a new constraint. In 1712, the first S t a m p Act put a tax on all newspapers, advertisements, paper, a n d pamphlets (effectively any work under a hundred p a g e s or so): all printed matter had to carry the s t a m p indicating the taxes had been paid. Happily for Anne and her ministry, the act both raised government revenue and drove a n u m b e r of the more irresponsible, ephemeral newspapers out of business, though the Spectator simply doubled its price and thrived. S t a m p Acts were in effect throughout the century, and duties tended to increase when the government n e e d e d to raise money and rein in the press, as during the Seven Years' W a r in 1 7 5 7 . But s u c h constraints were not heavy enough to hold back the publishing market, which began to sustain the first true professional class of authors in British literary history. T h e lower echelon of the profession was called " G r u b Street," which was, as Johnson's Dictionary explains, "originally the n a m e of a street in Moorfields in London, m u c h inhabited by writers of small histories, dictionaries, and temporary p o e m s . " T h e market increasingly motivated the literary elite too, and J o h n s o n himself c a m e to remark that "no m a n but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." As a young writer, he sold articles to the Gentleman's Magazine, and many other m e n and w o m e n struggled to survive doing piecework for periodicals. T h e e n h a n c e d opportunity to sell their works on the open market m e a n t that fewer authors needed to look to aristocratic patrons for support. B u t a new practice, publication by subscription, blended elements of patronage and literary capitalism and created the century's most spectacular authorial fortunes. Wealthy readers could subscribe to a work in progress, usually by agreeing to pay the author half in advance and half upon receipt of the book. Subscribers were rewarded with an edition

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more s u m p t u o u s than the c o m m o n run and the a p p e a r a n c e of their n a m e s in a list in the book's front pages. Major works by f a m o u s authors, such as Dryden's translation of Virgil ( 1 6 9 7 ) and the 1718 edition of Prior's p o e m s , generated the m o s t subscription sales; the grandest s u c c e s s was Pope's translation of Homer's Iliad (1715—20), which gained him about £ 5 0 0 0 ; his Odyssey (1725—26) raised nearly that m u c h . But smaller projects d e e m e d to need special e n c o u r a g e m e n t also sold by subscription, including nearly all books of poetry by women, such as Mary Leapor's p o e m s ( 1 7 5 1 ) . Not all entered the literary market with equal advantages; and social class played a role, though hardly a simple one, in preparing authors for success. T h e better educated were better p l a c e d to be taken seriously: many eminent male writers, including Dryden, Locke, Addison, Swift, H u m e , J o h n s o n , B u r k e — t h e list could go on and o n — h a d at least s o m e university education, either at Oxford or C a m b r i d g e or at Scottish or Irish universities, where attendance by m e m b e r s of the laboring classes was virtually nil. Also, universities were officially closed to non-Anglicans. S o m e important writers attended the Dissenting a c a d e m i e s that sprang up to fulfill Nonconformists' educational aspirations: D e f o e went to an excellent one at Newington Green. A few celebrated authors such as Rochester and Henry Fielding had aristocratic backgrounds, but many c a m e from the "middle c l a s s , " though those in this category show how heterogeneous it was. Pope, a Catholic, obtained his education privately, and his father was a linen wholesaler, but he eventually b e c a m e intimate with earls and viscounts, whereas Richardson, who had a family background in trade and (as he said) "only c o m m o n school-learning," was a s u c c e s s f u l printer before he b e c a m e a novelist. Roth were middle class in a sense and m a d e their own fortunes in eighteenth-century print culture, yet they inhabited vastly different social worlds. Despite the general exclusion of the poor from education and other m e a n s of social advancement, s o m e self-educated writers of the laboring classes fought their way into print. A few b e c a m e celebrities, aided by the increasing popularity of the idea, famously expressed by Gray in his "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," that there m u s t be unknown geniuses a m o n g the poor. S t e p h e n Duck, an agricultural worker from Wiltshire, published his popular Poems on Several Subjects in 1730, which included " T h e Thresher's L a b o r " (he b e c a m e known as the Thresher Poet). Q u e e n Caroline herself retained him to be keeper of her library in Richmond. Several authors of the " c o m m o n sort" followed in Duck's wake, including Mary Collier,whose p o e m "The W o m a n ' s Labor: An Epistle to Mr. D u c k " ( 1 7 3 9 ) defended country women against charges of idleness. Apart from such visible s u c c e s s e s , eighteenthcentury print culture afforded work for many from lower socioeconomic levels, if not as authors, then as hawkers of newspapers on city streets and singers of political ballads (who were often illiterate and female), bookbinders, papermakers, and printing-press workers. T h e vigor of the literary market d e m a n d e d the labor of all classes. As all women were barred from universities and f a c e d innumerable other disadvantages and varieties of repression, the story of virtually every woman author in the period is one of self-education, courage, and extraordinary initiative. Yet w o m e n did publish widely for the first time in the period, and the examples that can be a s s e m b l e d are as diverse as they are impressive. During the Restoration and early eighteenth century, a few aristocratic women poets were hailed as marvelous exceptions and given fanciful n a m e s : the p o e m s of Katherine Philips (1631—1664), "the matchless Orinda," were published post-

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humously in 1667; and others, including Anne Finch, Anne Killigrew, and later, Lady Mary Wortley M o n t a g u , printed p o e m s or circulated them in manuscript a m o n g fashionable circles. A more broadly public sort of f e m a l e authorship was m o r e ambivalently received. T h o u g h Aphra B e h n built a successful career in the theater and in print, her sexually frank works were sometimes d e n o u n c e d as unbecoming a woman. M a n y women writers of popular literature after her in the early eighteenth century a s s u m e d " s c a n d a l o u s " public roles. Delarivier Manley published transparent fictionalizations of the doings of the Whig nobility, including The New Atalantis ( 1 7 0 9 ) , while Eliza Haywood produced stories about seduction and sex (though her late works, including The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless, 1751, courted a rising taste for morality). M a l e defenders of high culture f o u n d it easy to d e n o u n c e these women and their works as affronts simultaneously to sexual decency and good literary taste: Pope's Dunciad ( 1 7 2 8 ) awards Haywood as the prize in a pissing contest between scurrilous male booksellers. M a n y women writers after mid-century were determined to be more moral than their predecessors. Around 1750, intellectual women established clubs of their own under the leadership of Elizabeth Vesey a n d Elizabeth M o n t a g u , cousin to Lady Mary. Proclaiming a high religious and intellectual standard, these w o m e n c a m e to be called "bluestockings" (after the inelegant worsted hose of an early member). Eminent men joined the bluestockings for literary conversation, including S a m u e l J o h n s o n , S a m u e l Richardson, H o r a c e Walpole (novelist, celebrated letter writer, and son of the prime minister), and David Garrick, preeminent actor of his day. T h e literary accomplishments of bluestockings ranged widely: in 1758 Elizabeth Carter published her translation of the G r e e k philosopher Epictetus, while H a n n a h More won f a m e as a poet, abolitionist, and educational theorist. S o m e of the most considerable literary achievements of women after mid-century c a m e in the novel, a form increasingly directed at women readers, often exploring the moral difficulties of young women approaching marriage. T h e satirical novel The Female Quixote ( 1 7 5 2 ) by Charlotte Lennox describes one such heroine deluded by the extravagant r o m a n c e s she reads, while F r a n c e s Rurney's Evelina ( 1 7 7 8 ) unfolds the sexual and other dangers besetting its naive but good-hearted heroine. Readers' abilities and inclinations to c o n s u m e literature helped determine the volume and variety of published works. While historians disagree about how exactly the literacy rate c h a n g e d in Britain through the early modern period, there is widespread c o n s e n s u s that by 1 8 0 0 between 60 and 70 percent of adult men could read, in contrast to 25 percent in 1600. S i n c e historians use the ability to sign one's n a m e as an indicator of literacy, the evidence is even sketchier for women, who were less often parties to legal contracts: perhaps a third of w o m e n could read by the mid-eighteenth century. Reading was c o m m o n e r a m o n g the relatively well off than a m o n g the very poor, and a m o n g the latter, more prevalent in urban centers than the countryside. M o s t decisively, cultural commentators throughout the century portrayed literacy as a good in itself: everyone in a Protestant country s u c h as Rritain, most thought, would benefit from direct a c c e s s to the Bible and devotional works, and increasingly employers found literacy a m o n g servants and other laborers useful, especially those working in cities. Moral c o m m e n t a t o r s did their best to steer inexperienced readers away from the frivolous and idle realm of popular imaginative literature, though literacy could not but give its new p o s s e s s o r s freedom to explore their own tastes and inclinations.

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C o s t placed another limit on readership: few of the laboring classes would have disposable i n c o m e to buy a c h e a p edition of Milton (around two shillings at mid-century) or even a copy of the Gentleman's Magazine (six pence), let alone the spare time or sense of entitlement to peruse such things. Nonetheless, reading material was widely shared (Addison optimistically calculated "twenty readers to every p a p e r " of the Spectator), and occasionally servants were given a c c e s s to the libraries of their employers or the rich family of the neighborhood. In the 1 7 4 0 s , circulating libraries began to emerge in cities and towns throughout Britain. T h o u g h the yearly fee they usually charged put them beyond the reach of the poor, these libraries gave the middle classes a c c e s s to a wider array of books than they could afford to a s s e m b l e on their own. Records of s u c h libraries indicate that travels, histories, letters, and novels were most popular, though patrons borrowed many specialized, technical works as well. O n e fascinating index of c h a n g e in the character of the reading public was the very look of words on the page. In the past, printers had rather capriciously capitalized many n o u n s — w o r d s as c o m m o n as Wood or Happiness—and frequently italicized various words for emphasis. Rut around the middle of the eighteenth century, new conventions arose: initial capitals were reserved for proper names, and the u s e of italics was reduced. S u c h c h a n g e s indicate that the reading public was b e c o m i n g sophisticated enough not to require such overt pointing to the meanings of what they read. T h e modern, eighteenth-century reader had c o m e to expect that all English writing, no matter how old or new, on any topic, in any genre, would be printed in the s a m e consistent, uncluttered style. No innovation of the eighteenth-century culture of reading more immediately demonstrates its linkage to our own. LITERARY

PRINCIPLES

T h e literature appearing between 1660 and 1 7 8 5 divides conveniently into three lesser periods of about forty years each. T h e first, extending to the death of Dryden in 1700, is characterized by an effort to bring a new refinement to English literature according to s o u n d critical principles of what is fitting and right; the second, ending with the deaths of Pope in 1744 and Swift in 1745, extends that effort to a wider circle of readers, with special satirical attention to what is unfitting and wrong; the third, concluding with the death of J o h n s o n in 1784 and the publication of Cowper's The Task in 1785, confronts the old principles with revolutionary ideas that would c o m e to the fore in the Romantic movement of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. A s u d d e n c h a n g e of taste s e e m e d to occur around 1660. T h e change had been long prepared, however, by a trend in E u r o p e a n culture, especially in seventeenth-century France: the desire for an elegant simplicity. Reacting against the difficulty and occasional extravagance of late R e n a i s s a n c e literature, writers and critics called for a new restraint, clarity, regularity, and good sense. Donne's "metaphysics" and Milton's bold storming of heaven, for instance, s e e m e d overdone to s o m e Restoration readers. H e n c e Dryden and Andrew Marvell both were tempted to revise Paradise Lost, smoothing away its sublime but arduous idiosyncrasies. As daring and imaginative as Dryden's verse is, he tempers even its highly dramatic m o m e n t s with an ease and sense of control definitive of the taste of his times. This movement produced in F r a n c e an impressive body of classical literature that distinguished the age of Louis XIV. In England it produced a literature often termed " A u g u s t a n , " after the writers who flourished during the

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reign of A u g u s t u s C a e s a r , the first R o m a n emperor. Rome's A u g u s t a n Age reestablished stability after the civil war that followed the assassination of J u l i u s C a e s a r . Its chief poets, Virgil, Horace, and Ovid, a d d r e s s e d their polished works to a sophisticated aristocracy a m o n g whom they looked for patrons. Dryden's generation took advantage of the analogy between post—civil war E n g l a n d and Augustan R o m e . Later generations would be suspicious of that analogy; after 1700 most writers stressed that A u g u s t u s had b e e n a tyrant who thought himself greater than the law. But in 1 6 6 0 there was hope that Charles would be a better A u g u s t u s , bringing E n g l a n d the civilized virtues of an A u g u s t a n age without its vices. Charles and his followers brought back from exile an admiration of F r e n c h literature as well as French fashions, and the theoretical "correctness" of s u c h writers as Pierre Corneille, R e n e Rapin, a n d Nicolas Roileau c a m e into vogue. England also had a native tradition of classicism, derived from Ben J o n s o n and his followers, whose couplets embodied a refinement Dryden eagerly inherited and helped codify. T h e effort to formulate rules of good writing appealed to m a n y critics of the age. Even S h a k e s p e a r e had sometimes been careless; and although writers could not expect to surpass his genius, they might h o p e to avoid his faults. B u t "neoclassical" English literature aimed to be not only classical but new. Rochester and Dryden drew on literary traditions of variety, humor, and freewheeling fancy represented by C h a u c e r , Spenser, Shakespeare, J o n s o n , and Milton to i n f u s e fresh life into G r e e k or Latin or F r e n c h classical models. Above all, the new simplicity of style aimed to give pleasure to readers—to express p a s s i o n s that everyone could recognize in language that everyone could understand. According to Dryden, Donne's amorous verse misguidedly "perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love." Dryden's p o e m s would not m a k e that mistake; like s u b s e q u e n t English critics, he values poetry according to its power to move an audience. T h u s Timotheus, in Dryden's "Alexander's F e a s t , " is not only a m u s i c i a n but an archetypal poet who can make Alexander tearful or loving or angry at will. Readers, in turn, were s u p p o s e d to cooperate with authors through the exercise of their own imaginations, creating pictures in the mind. W h e n T i m o t h e u s describes vengeful ghosts holding torches, Alexander hallucinates in response and seizes a torch "with zeal to destroy." M u c h eighteenth-century poetry d e m a n d s to be visualized. A p h r a s e from Horace's Art of Poetry, ut pictura poesis (as in painting, so in poetry), was interpreted to m e a n that poetry ought to be a visual as well as verbal art. Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard," for instance, begins by picturing two rival f e m a l e personifications: "heavenly-pensive contemplation" and "evermusing melancholy" (in the older typographical style, the nouns would be capitalized). Readers were expected to see these figures: Contemplation, in the habit of a nun, whose eyes roll upward toward heaven; and the black goddess Melancholy, in wings and drapery, who broods upon the darkness. T h e s e two competing visions fight for Eloisa's soul throughout the p o e m , which we see entirely through her perspective. Eighteenth-century readers knew how to translate words into pictures, and modern readers can share their pleasure by learning to see poetic images in the mind's eye. What poets most tried to see and represent was Nature—a word of m a n y meanings. T h e Augustans f o c u s e d especially on one: N a t u r e as the universal and permanent elements in h u m a n experience. External nature, the landscape, attracted attention throughout the eighteenth century as a source of

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pleasure and an object of inquiry. But as Finch m u s e s on the landscape, in "A Nocturnal Reverie," it is her own soul she discovers. Pope's injunction to the critic, "First follow N a t u r e , " has primarily human nature in view. N a t u r e consists of the enduring, general truths that have been, are, and will be true for everyone in all times, everywhere. H e n c e the b u s i n e s s of the poet, according to Johnson's Rasselas, is "to examine, not the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large a p p e a r a n c e s . . . to exhibit in his portraits of nature such prominent and striking features as recall the original to every mind." Yet if h u m a n nature was held to be uniform, h u m a n beings were known to be infinitely varied. Pope praises Shakespeare's characters as " N a t u r e herself," but continues that "every single character in S h a k e s p e a r e is as m u c h an individual as those in life itself; it is . . . impossible to find any two alike." T h e general need not exclude the particular. In The Vanity of Human Wishes, J o h n s o n describes the sorrows of an old woman: " N o w kindred Merit fills the sable Bier, / Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear." H e r e "kindred Merit" refers particularly to a worthy relative who has died, and "lacerated Friendship" refers to a friend who has been wasted by violence or disease. Yet Merit and Friendship are also personifications, and the lines imply that the w o m a n may be mourning the p a s s i n g of goodness like her own or a broken friendship; values and sympathies can die as well as people. This play on words is not a p u n . Rather, it indicates a state of mind in which life a s s u m e s the form of a perpetual allegory and s o m e abiding truth shines through each circ u m s t a n c e as it p a s s e s . T h e particular is already the general, in good eighteenth-century verse. To study N a t u r e was also to study the ancients. N a t u r e and Homer, according to Pope, were the same; and both Pope and his readers applied Horace's satires on R o m e to their own world, b e c a u s e H o r a c e had expressed the perennial forms of life. Moreover, modern writers could learn from the ancients how to practice their craft. If a poem is an object to be made, the poet (a word derived from the G r e e k for "maker") m u s t make the object to proper specifications. T h u s poets were taught to plan their works in one of the classical "kinds" or genres—epic, tragedy, comedy, pastoral, satire, or o d e — t o choose a language appropriate to that genre, and to select the right style and tone and rhetorical figures. T h e rules of art, as Pope had said, "are N a t u r e methodized." At the s a m e time, however, writers needed wit: quickness of mind, inventiveness, a knack for conceiving images and metaphors and for perceiving resemblances between things apparently unlike. S h a k e s p e a r e had surpassed the ancients themselves in wit, and no one could deny that Pope was witty. H e n c e a major project of the age was to c o m b i n e good method with wit, or j u d g m e n t with fancy. N a t u r e intended them to be one, and the role of j u d g m e n t was not to suppress passion, energy, and originality but to make them more effective through discipline: " T h e winged courser, like a generous horse, / S h o w s most true mettle when you check his c o u r s e . " T h e test of a poet's true mettle is language. W h e n Wordsworth, in the preface to Lyrical Ballads ( 1 8 0 0 ) , declared that he wrote "in a selection of the language really u s e d by m e n , " he went on to attack eighteenth-century poets for their use of an artificial and stock "poetic diction." M a n y poets did employ a special language. It is characterized by personification, representing a thing or abstraction in h u m a n form, as when an "Ace of Hearts steps forth" or "Melancholy frowns"; by periphrasis (a roundabout way of avoiding homely words: "finny tribes" for fish, or "household feathery p e o p l e " for chickens)-, by

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stock phrases s u c h as "shining sword," "verdant m e a d , " "bounding m a i n , " and "checkered s h a d e " ; by words u s e d in their original Latin sense, such as "genial," "gelid," and "horrid"; and by English sentences forced into Latin syntax ("Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth / A youth to Fortune and to F a m e unknown," where youth is the subject of the verb rests). This language originated in the attempt of R e n a i s s a n c e poets to rival the elegant diction of Virgil and other R o m a n writers, and iMilton depended on it to help him obtain "answerable style" for the lofty theme of Paradise Lost. W h e n u s e d mechanically it could b e c o m e a mannerism. But T h o m a s Gray contrives subtle, expressive effects from artificial diction and syn tax, as in the ironic inflation of " O d e on the Death of a Favorite C a t " or a f a m o u s stanza from "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard": T h e boast of heraldry, the p o m p of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour. T h e paths of glory lead but to the grave. It is easy to misread the first sentence. W h a t is the subject of awaits? T h e answer m u s t be hour (the only available singular noun), which lurks at the end of the sentence, ready to spring a trap not only on the reader but on all those aristocratic, powerful, beautiful, wealthy people who forget that their hour will c o m e . Moreover, the intricacy of that sentence sets off the simplicity of the next, which says the s a m e thing with deadly directness. T h e artful mix in the "Elegy" of a special poetic l a n g u a g e — a language that nobody s p e a k s — with sentiments that everybody feels helps a c c o u n t for the poem's enduring popularity. Versification also tests a poet's skill. T h e heroic couplet was brought to such perfection by Pope, J o h n s o n thought, that "to attempt any further improvement of versification will be d a n g e r o u s . " Pope's couplets, in rhymed iambic pentameter, typically present a complete statement, closed by a punctuation mark. Within the binary system of these two lines, a world of distinctions can be compressed. T h e second line of the couplet might closely parallel the first in structure and meaning, for instance, or the two lines might antithetically play against each other. Similarly, b e c a u s e a slight p a u s e called a " c a e s u r a " often divides the typical pentameter line ("Know then thyself, p r e s u m e not G o d to scan"), one part of the line can be m a d e parallel with or antithetical to the other or even to one part of the following line. An often quoted and parodied p a s s a g e of Sir J o h n D e n h a m ' s "Cooper's Hill" ( 1 6 4 2 ) illustrates these effects. T h e p o e m addresses the T h a m e s and builds up a witty comparison between the flow of a river and the flow of verse (italics are added to highlight the terms compared): Parallelism: Double balance: Double balance:

O could I flow like thee, | and make thy stream My great exam-pie, ] as it is my theme! T h o u g h deep, yet clear, | though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, | without o'erfkrwing, full.

O n c e Dryden and P o p e had b o u n d s u c h p a s s a g e s more tightly together with alliteration and a s s o n a n c e , the typical metrical-rhetorical wit of the new age had been perfected. For most of the eighteenth century its only metrical rival

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was blank verse: iambic pentameter that does not rhyme and is not closed in couplets. Milton's blank verse in Paradise Lost provided one model, and the dramatic blank verse of S h a k e s p e a r e and Dryden provided another. This more expansive form appealed to poets who cared less for wit than for stories and thoughts with plenty of room to develop. Blank verse was favored as the best medium for descriptive and meditative poems, from T h o m s o n ' s Seasons (1726—30) to Cowper's The Task ( 1 7 8 5 ) , and the tradition continued in Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey" and Prelude. Yet not all poets c h o s e to c o m p e t e with Pope's wit or Milton's heroic striving. Ordinary people also wrote and read verse, and many of them neither knew nor regarded the classics. Only a minority of men, and very few women, had the c h a n c e to study Latin and Greek, but that did not keep a good many from playing with verse as a pastime or writing about their own lives. H e n c e the eighteenth century is the first age to reflect the modern tension between "high" and "low" art. While the heroic couplet was being perfected, doggerel also thrived, and Milton's blank verse was sometimes reduced to describing a drunk or an oyster. B u r l e s q u e and broad h u m o r characterize the c o m m o n run of eighteenth-century verse. As the a u d i e n c e for poetry b e c a m e more diversified, so did the subject matter. No readership was too small to address; Isaac Watts, and later Anna Laetitia Barbauld and William Blake, wrote songs for children. T h e rise of unconventional forms and topics of verse subverted an older poetic ideal: the Olympian art that only a handful of the elect could possibly master. T h e eighteenth century brought poetry down to earth. In the future, art that claimed to be high would have to find ways to distinguish itself from the low. BESTORATION

LITERATURE,

1660-1700

Dryden brought England a modern literature between 1 6 6 0 and 1700. He combined a cosmopolitan outlook on the latest E u r o p e a n trends with s o m e of the richness and variety he admired in C h a u c e r and S h a k e s p e a r e . In most of the important contemporary f o r m s — o c c a s i o n a l verse, comedy, tragedy, heroic play, ode, satire, translation, and critical e s s a y — b o t h his example and his precepts influenced others. As a critic, he spread the word that English literature, particularly his own, could vie with the best of the past. As a translator, he made s u c h classics as Ovid and Virgil available to a wide public; for the first time, a large n u m b e r of women and m e n without a formal education could feel included in the literary world. Restoration prose clearly indicated the desire to reach a new audience. T h e styles of Donne's sermons, Milton's pamphlets, or Browne's treatises now s e e m e d too elaborate and rhetorical for simple c o m m u n i c a t i o n . By contrast, Pepys and Behn head straight to the point, informally and unself-consciously. T h e Royal Society asked its m e m b e r s to employ a plain, utilitarian prose style that spelled out scientific truths; rhetorical flourishes and striking metaphors might be acceptable in poetry, which engaged the emotions, but they had no place in rational discourse. In polite literature, exemplified by Cowley, Dryden, and Sir William T e m p l e , the ideal of good prose c a m e to be a style with the ease and poise of well-bred urbane conversation. This is a social prose for a sociable age. Later, it b e c a m e the mainstay of essayists like Addison and Steele, of eighteenth-century novelists, and of the host of brilliant eighteenthcentury letter writers, including M o n t a g u , Horace Walpole, Gray, Cowper, and Burney, who still give readers the s e n s e of being their intimate friends. Yet despite its broad appeal to the public, Restoration literature kept its ties

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INTRODUCTION

2075

to an aristocratic heroic ideal. T h e "fierce wars and faithful loves" of epic p o e m s were expected to offer patterns of virtue for noble emulation. T h e s e ideals lived on in popular F r e n c h prose r o m a n c e s and in Behn's Oroonoko. But the ideal was most fully expressed in heroic plays like those written by Dryden, which p u s h to extremes the conflict between love and honor in the hearts of impossibly valiant heroes and impossibly high-minded and attractive heroines. Dryden's best serious drama, however, was his blank verse tragedy All for Love (produced 1677), b a s e d on the story of Antony and Cleopatra. Instead of Shakespeare's worldwide p a n o r a m a , his rapid shifts of scene and complex characters, this version follows the unities of time, place, and action, compressing the plot to the tragic last hours of the lovers. Two other tragic playwrights were celebrated in the Restoration and for a long time to come: Nathaniel L e e (ca. 1649—1692), known for violent plots and wild ranting, and the passionately sensitive T h o m a s Otway (1652—1685). Rut comedy was the real distinction of Restoration drama. T h e best plays of Sir G e o r g e E t h e r e g e ( The Man of Mode, 1676), William Wycherley ( The Country Wife, 1675), Aphra B e h n ( The Rover, 1677), William Congreve ( Love for Love, 1 6 9 5 ; The Way of the World, 1700), and later G e o r g e F a r q u h a r (The Beaux' Stratagem, 1 7 0 7 ) c a n still hold the stage today. T h e s e "comedies of m a n n e r s " pick social behavior apart, exposing the nasty struggles for power a m o n g the upper classes, who use wit and manners as weapons. H u m a n nature in these plays often c o n f o r m s to the worst fears of H o b b e s ; sensual, falsehearted, selfish characters prey on e a c h other. T h e male hero lives for pleasure and for the money and women that he can conquer. T h e object of his g a m e of sexual intrigue is a beautiful, witty, pleasure-loving, and emancipated lady, every bit his equal in the strategies of love. W h a t makes the favored couple stand out is the true wit and well-bred grace with which they step through the minefield of the plot. But during the 1690s "Societies for the Reformation of M a n n e r s " began to attack the blasphemy and obscenity they detected in s u c h plays, and they sometimes brought offenders to trial. When Dryden died in 1700, a more respectable society was c o m i n g into being. EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY

LITERATURE,

1700-1745

Early in the eighteenth century a new and brilliant group of writers emerged: Swift, with A Tale of a Tub (1704—10); Addison, with The Campaign ( 1 7 0 5 ) , a poetic celebration of the battle of Blenheim; Prior, with Poems on Several Occasions ( 1 7 0 7 ) ; Steele, with the Tatler ( 1 7 0 9 ) ; and the youthful Pope, in the s a m e year, with his Pastorals. T h e s e writers consolidate and popularize the social graces of the previous age. Determined to preserve good sense and civilized values, they turn their wit against fanaticism and innovation. H e n c e this is a great age of satire. Deeply conservative but also playful, their finest works often cast a strange light on modern times by viewing them through the screen of classical myths and classical forms. T h u s Pope exposes the frivolity of fashionable London, in The Rape of the Lock, through the incongruity of verse that casts the idle rich as epic heroes. Similarly, Swift uses epic similes to mock the moderns in Tine Battle of the Books, and J o h n Gay's Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London ( 1 7 1 6 ) u s e s m o c k georgics to order his tour of the city. S u c h incongruities are not entirely negative. They also provide a fresh perspective on things that had once s e e m e d too low for poetry to notice—for instance, in The Rape of the Lock, a girl putting on her m a k e u p . In this way a parallel with classical literature can show not only how far the

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2 0 7 6

THE

RESTORATION AND THE

EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

modern world has fallen but also how fascinating and magical it is when seen with "quick, poetic eyes." T h e Augustans' effort to popularize and enforce high literary and social values was set against the new m a s s and multiplicity of writings that responded more spontaneously to the expanding commercial possibilities of print. T h e array of popular prose genres—news, thinly disguised political allegories, biographies of notorious criminals, travelogues, gossip, romantic tales—often blended facts and patently fictional elements, cemented by a rich lode of exaggeration, misrepresentations, and outright lies. Out of this matrix the modern novel would c o m e to be born. T h e great master of such works was Daniel Defoe, producing first-person a c c o u n t s s u c h as Robinson Crusoe ( 1 7 1 9 ) the f a m o u s castaway, or Moll Flanders ( 1 7 2 2 ) , mistress of lowlife crime. C l a i m s that such works present (as the "editor" of Crusoe says) "a j u s t history of fact," believed or not, sharpened the public's avidity for them. D e f o e shows his readers a world plausibly like the one they know, where ordinary people negotiate familiar, entangled problems of financial, emotional, and spiritual existence. J a n e Barker, Mary Davys, and many others brought women's work and daily lives as well as love affairs to fiction. S u c h stories were not only a m u s i n g but also served as models of conduct; they influenced the stories that real people told about themselves. T h e theater also began to c h a n g e its themes and effects to appeal to a wider audience. T h e clergyman Jeremy Collier had vehemently taken Dryden, Wycherley, and Congreve to task in A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage ( 1 6 9 8 ) , which spoke for the moral outrage of the pious middle classes. T h e wits retreated. T h e comedy of m a n n e r s was replaced by a new kind, later called "sentimental" not only b e c a u s e goodness triumphs over vice but also b e c a u s e it deals in high moral sentiments rather than witty dialogue and b e c a u s e the e m b a r r a s s m e n t s of its heroines and heroes move the audience not to laughter but to tears. Virtue r e f u s e s to bow to aristocratic codes. In one crucial scene of Steele's influential play The Conscious Lovers ( 1 7 2 2 ) the hero would rather accept dishonor than fight a duel with a friend. Piety and middle-class values typify tragedies such as George Lillo's London Merchant ( 1 7 3 1 ) . O n e luxury invented in eighteenth-century E u r o p e was the delicious pleasure of weeping, and c o m e d i e s as well as tragedies brought that pleasure to playgoers through many d e c a d e s . S o m e plays resisted the tide. Gay's cynical Beggar's Opera ( 1 7 2 8 ) was a tremendous s u c c e s s , and later in the century the c o m e d i e s of Goldsmith and Sheridan proved that sentiment is not necessarily an enemy to wit and laughter. (For the complete text of one of Sheridan's best plays, The School for Scandal, go to Norton Literature Online.) Yet larger and larger a u d i e n c e s responded more to spectacles and special effects than to sophisticated writing. Although the stage prospered during the eighteenth century, and the star system p r o d u c e d idolized actors and actresses (such as David Garrick and S a r a h Siddons), the authors of drama tended to f a d e to the background. Despite the sociable impulses of m u c h the period's writing, readers also craved less crowded, more meditative works. S i n c e the seventeenth century, no p o e m s had been more popular than those about the pleasures of retirement, which invited the reader to dream about a s a f e retreat in the country or to meditate, like Finch, on scenery and the soul. But after 1726, when T h o m s o n published Winter, the first of his cycle on the s e a s o n s , the poetry of natural description c a m e into its own. A taste for gentle, picturesque beauty found expression not only in verse but in the elaborate, cultivated art of landscape

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INTRODUCTION

2077

gardening, and finally in the cherished English art of landscape painting in watercolor or oils (often illustrating T h o m s o n ' s Seasons). M a n y readers also learned to enjoy a thrilling pleasure or fear in the p r e s e n c e of the sublime in nature: rushing waters, wild prospects, and mountains shrouded in mist. Whether enthusiasts went to the landscape in search of G o d or merely of heightened sensations, they c a m e back feeling that they had b e e n touched by something beyond the life they knew, by something that could hardly be expressed. Tourists as well as poets roamed the countryside, frequently quoting verse as they gazed at s o m e evocative scene. A partiality for the sublime p a s s e d from T h o m s o n to Collins to inspire the poetry of the Romantic age to come. T H E E M E R G E N C E OF NEW LITERARY THEMES AND MODES, 1740-85 When Matthew Arnold called the eighteenth century an "age of p r o s e , " he meant to belittle its poetry, but he also stated a significant fact: great prose does dominate the age. Until the 1 7 4 0 s , poetry tended to set the standards of literature. But the growth of new kinds of prose took the initiative away from verse. Novelists b e c a m e better known than poets. Intellectual prose also flourished, with the achievements of J o h n s o n in the essay and literary criticism, of Boswell in biography, of H u m e in philosophy, of Burke in politics, of Edward Gibbon in history, of Sir J o s h u a Reynolds in aesthetics, of Gilbert White in natural history, and of Adam Smith in economics. E a c h of these authors is a master stylist, whose effort to express himself clearly and fully d e m a n d s an art as carefully wrought as poetry. Other writers of prose were more informal. T h e memoirs of such women as Laetitia Pilkington, Charlotte Charke, Hester Thrale Piozzi, and F r a n c e s Burney bring e a c h reader into their private lives and also remind us that the new print culture created celebrities, who wrote not only about themselves but about other celebrities they knew. T h e interest of readers in S a m u e l J o h n s o n helped sell his own books as well as a host of books that quoted his sayings. But the prose of the age also had to do justice to difficult and complicated ideas. An unprecedented effort to formulate the first principles of philosophy, history, psychology, and art required a new style of persuasion. J o h n s o n helped codify that language, not only with his writings but with the first great English Dictionary ( 1 7 5 5 ) . This work established him as a national m a n of letters; eventually the period would be known as "the Age of J o h n s o n . " But his d o m i n a n c e was based on an ideal of service to others. T h e Dictionary illustrates its definitions with more than 1 1 4 , 0 0 0 quotations from the best English writers, thus building a bridge from past to present usage; and Johnson's essays, p o e m s , and criticism also reflect his desire to preserve the lessons of the past. Yet he looks to the f u t u r e as well, trying both to reach and to mold a nation of readers. If J o h n s o n speaks for his age, one reason is his faith in c o m m o n sense and the c o m m o n reader. "By the c o m m o n s e n s e of readers uncorrupted with literary prejudices," he wrote in the last of his Lives of the Poets ( 1 7 8 1 ) , " m u s t be finally decided all claim to poetical honors." A similar respect for the good j u d g m e n t of ordinary people, and for standards of taste and behavior that anyone can share, marks many writers of the age. Both Burke, the great conservative s t a t e s m a n and author, and T h o m a s Paine, his radical adversary, proclaim themselves apostles of c o m m o n sense. No prose form better united availability to the c o m m o n reader and serious-

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2078

THE

R E S T O R A T I O N AND THE

EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

ness of artistic p u r p o s e than the novel in the hands of two of its early masters, S a m u e l Richardson and Henry Fielding. Like many writers of fiction earlier in the century, Richardson initially did not set out to entertain the public with an avowedly invented tale: he conceived Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded ( 1 7 4 0 ) while compiling a little book of model letters. T h e letters grew into a story about a captivating young servant who resists her master's base designs on her virtue until he gives up and marries her. T h e combination of a high moral tone with sexual titillation and a minute analysis of the heroine's emotions and state of mind proved irresistible to readers, in Britain and in E u r o p e at large. Richardson topped Pamela's s u c c e s s with Clarissa (1747—48), another epistolary novel, which explored the conflict between the libertine Lovelace, an attractive and diabolical aristocrat, and the angelic Clarissa, a middle-class paragon who struggles to stay pure. T h e sympathy that readers felt for Clarissa was magnified by a host of sentimental novels, including F r a n c e s Sheridan's Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bididph ( 1 7 6 1 ) , R o u s s e a u ' s Julie, or The New Heloise ( 1 7 6 1 ) , and Henry Mackenzie's The Man of Feeling ( 1 7 7 1 ) . Henry Fielding m a d e his entrance into the novel by turning Pamela farcically upside-down, as the hero of Joseph Andrews ( 1 7 4 2 ) , Pamela's brother, defends his chastity from the lewd advances of Lady Booby. Fielding's true model, however, is Cervantes's great Don Quixote (1605—15), from which he took an ironic, antiromantic style; a plot of wandering around the countryside; and an idealistic central character (Parson A d a m s ) who keeps mistaking appearances for reality. T h e ambition of writing what Fielding called "a comic epic-poem in prose" went still further in The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling ( 1 7 4 9 ) . Crowded with incidents and c o m m e n t s on the state of England, the novel contrasts a good-natured, generous, wayward hero (who needs to learn prudence) with cold-hearted people who use moral codes and the law for their own selfish interests. This e m p h a s i s on instinctive virtue and vice, instead of Richardson's devotion to good principles, put off respectable readers like Johnson and Burney. But Coleridge thought that Tom Jones (along with Oedipus Rex and J o n s o n ' s Alchemist) was one of "the three most perfect plots ever planned." An age of great prose can burden its poets. To Gray, Collins, Mark Akenside, and the brothers J o s e p h and T h o m a s Warton, it s e e m e d that the spirit of poetry might be dying, driven out by the spirit of prose, by uninspiring truth, by the end of superstitions that had once peopled the land with poetic fairies and demons. In an age barren of magic, they ask, where has poetry gone? T h a t question haunts many poems, s u f f u s i n g them with melancholy. Poets who m u s e in silence are never far from thoughts of death, and a morbid fascination with suicide and the grave preoccupies many at midcentury. S u c h an attitude has little in c o m m o n with that of poets like Dryden and Pope, social beings who live in a crowded world and seldom confess their private feelings in public. Pope's Essay on Man had taken a sunny view of providence; Edward Young's The Complaint: or Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality (1742—46), an immensely long poem in blank verse, is darkened by Christian fear of the life to come. Often the melancholy poet withdraws into himself and yearns to be living in s o m e other time and place. In his " O d e to F a n c y " ( 1 7 4 6 ) , J o s e p h Warton associated "fancy" with visions in the wilderness and s p o n t a n e o u s passions; the true poet was no longer defined as a c r a f t s m a n or maker but as a seer or nature's priest. "The public has seen all that art can do," William S h e n s t o n e

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INTRODUCTION

2079

wrote in 1761, welcoming J a m e s M a c p h e r s o n ' s Ossian, "and they want the more striking efforts of wild, original, enthusiastic genius." M a c p h e r s o n filled the bill. His primitive, sentimental epics, supposedly translated from an ancient Gaelic warrior-bard, won the hearts of readers around the world; N a p o l e o n and T h o m a s J e f f e r s o n , for instance, both thought that O s s i a n was greater than Homer. Poets b e g a n to cultivate archaic language and antique forms. Inspired by T h o m a s Percy's edition of Reliques of Ancient English Poetry ( 1 7 6 5 ) , T h o m a s Chatterton p a s s e d off his own ballads as medieval; he died at seventeen, soon after his forgeries were exposed, but the Romantics later idolized his precocious genius. T h e most remarkable c o n s e q u e n c e of the medieval revival, however, was the invention of the Gothic novel. H o r a c e Walpole set The Castle of Otranto ( 1 7 6 5 ) , a dreamlike tale of terror, in a s i m u l a c r u m of Strawberry Hill, his own tiny, pseudo-medieval castle, which helped revive a taste for Gothic architecture. Walpole created a m o d e of fiction that retains its popularity to the present day. In a typical Gothic romance, amid the glooms a n d secret p a s s a g e s of s o m e remote castle, the laws of nightmare replace the laws of probability. Forbidden themes—incest, murder, necrophilia, atheism, and the torments of sexual desire—are allowed free play. M o s t s u c h r o m a n c e s , like William Beckford's Vathek ( 1 7 8 6 ) and Matthew Lewis's The Monk ( 1 7 9 6 ) , revel in sensationalism and the grotesque. T h e Gothic vogue suggested that classical canons of taste— simplicity and harmonious b a l a n c e — m i g h t count for less than the pleasures of fancy—intricate puzzles and a willful excess. But Gothicism also resulted in works, like Ann Radcliffe's, that temper r o m a n c e with reality as well as in serious novels of social purpose, like William Godwin's Caleb Williams ( 1 7 9 4 ) and Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria, or The Wrongs of Woman ( 1 7 9 8 ) ; and Mary Shelley, the daughter of Wollstonecraft and Godwin, eventually c o m p o s e d a romantic nightmare, Frankenstein ( 1 8 1 8 ) , that continues to haunt our dreams. T h e century a b o u n d e d in other remarkable experiments in fiction, anticipating many of the forms that novelists still use today. T o b i a s Smollett's picaresque Roderick Random ( 1 7 4 8 ) and Humphry' Clinker ( 1 7 7 1 ) delight in coarse practical jokes, the freaks and strong odors of life. But the most novel novelist of the age was L a u r e n c e Sterne, a h u m o r o u s , sentimental clergyman who loves to play tricks on his readers. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy (1760—67) abandons clock time for psychological time, whimsically follows c h a n c e associations, interrupts its own stories, violates the conventions of print by putting chapters 18 and 19 after chapter 2 5 , sneaks in double entendres, and s e e m s ready to go on forever. And yet these g a m e s get us inside the characters' minds, as if the world were as capricious as our thoughts. Sterne's self-conscious art implies that people's private obsessions shape their lives—or help create reality itself. As u n i q u e as Sterne's fictional world is, his interest in private life matched the concerns of the novel toward the end of the century: depictions of characters' intimate feelings dominated the tradition of domestic fiction that included Burney, Radcliffe, and, later, Maria Edgeworth, culminating in the masterworks of J a n e Austen. A more " m a s c u l i n e " orientation emerged at the beginning of the next century, as Walter Scott's works, with their broad historical scope and outdoor scenes of m e n at work and war, appealed to a large readership. Yet the copious, acute, often ironic attention to details of private life by Richardson, Sterne, and Austen continued to influence the novel profoundly through its s u b s e q u e n t history.

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2 0 8 0

THE

RESTORATION AND THE

CONTINUITY AND

EIGHTEENTH

CENTURY

REVOLUTION

T h e history of eighteenth-century literature was first c o m p o s e d by the Romantics, who wrote it to serve their own interests. Prizing originality, they naturally preferred to stress how different they were from writers of the previous age. Later historians have tended to follow their lead, competing to prove that everything c h a n g e d in 1776, or 1789, or 1798. This revolutionary view of history accounts for what h a p p e n e d to the word revolution. T h e older meaning referred to a movement around a point, a recurrence or cycle, as in the revolutions of the planets; the newer meaning signified a violent break with the past, an overthrow of the existing order, as in the Big B a n g or the French Revolution. Romantic rhetoric m a d e heavy use of such dramatic upheavals. Yet every history devoted to truth m u s t take a c c o u n t of both sorts of revolution, of continuities as well as changes. T h e ideals that many Romantics m a d e their own—the p a s s i o n for liberty and equality, the founding of justice on individual rights, the distrust of institutions, the love of nature, the reverence for imagination, and even the e m b r a c e of c h a n g e — g r e w from seeds that had been planted long before. N o r did Augustan literature abruptly vanish on that day in 1798 when Wordsworth and Coleridge anonymously published a small and u n s u c c e s s f u l volume of p o e m s called Lyrical Ballads. Even when they rebel against the work of Pope and J o h n s o n and Gray, Romantic writers incorporate m u c h of their language and values. What Restoration and eighteenth-century literature p a s s e d on to the future, in fact, was chiefly a set of unresolved problems. T h e age of Enlightenment was also, in England, an age that insisted on holding fast to older beliefs and c u s t o m s ; the age of population explosion was also an age of individualism; the age that developed the slave trade was also the age that gave rise to the abolitionist movement; the age that codified rigid standards of conduct for women was also an age when many women took the c h a n c e to read and write and think for themselves; the age of reason was also the age when sensibility flourished; the last classical age was also the first modern age. T h e s e contradictions are far from abstract; writers were forced to c h o o s e their own directions. When young J a m e s Boswell looked for a mentor whose biography he might write, he considered not only S a m u e l J o h n s o n but also David H u m e , whose skeptical views of morality, truth, and religion were everything J o h n s o n abhorred. T h e two writers s e e m to inhabit different worlds, yet Boswell traveled freely between them. T h a t was exciting and also instructive. "Without Contraries is no progression," according to one citizen of J o h n s o n ' s London, William Blake, who also thought that "Opposition is true Friendship." G o o d conversation was a lively eighteenth-century art, and sharp disagreements did not keep people from talking. T h e conversations the period started have not ended yet.

Additional information about the Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, including primary texts and images, is available at Norton Literature Online (wwnorton.com/nlo). Online topics are • • • •

A Day in Eighteenth-Century L o n d o n Slavery and the Slave T r a d e in Britain T h e Plurality of Worlds Travel, Trade, and the Expansion of E m p i r e

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THE RESTORATION AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY CONTEXTS

TEXTS 1660

1660

Samuel Pepys begins his diary

Charles II restored to the throne.

Reopening of the theaters 1662

1662

Samuel Butler, Hudibras, part 1

Act of Uniformity requires all clergy

to obey the Church of England. Chartering of the Royal Society 1664—66

1667

John Milton, Paradise Lost

1668

John Dryden, Essay of Dramatic

Great Plague of London

1666

Fire destroys the City of London

1668

Dryden becomes poet laureate

1673

Test Act requires all officeholders to

Poesy swear allegiance to Anglicanism 1678

1678

John Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress,

The "Popish Plot" inflames anti-

Catholic feeling

part 1 1681

Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel

1681

Charles II dissolves Parliament

1685

Death of Charles II. J a m e s II, his

Catholic brother, takes the throne 1687

Sir Isaac Newton, Principia

Mathematica 1688

1688—89

Aphra Behn, Oroonoko

The Glorious Revolution. James

II exiled and succeeded by his Protestant daughter, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange 1690

John Locke, An Essay Concerning

Human 1700

Understanding William Congreve, The Way of the

World. Mary Astell, Some Reflections upon Marriage 1701

War of the Spanish Succession

begins 1702

Death of William III. Succession of

Anne (Protestant daughter of J a m e s II) 1704

Jonathan Swift, A Tale of a Tub.

Newton, Opticks

1711

1707

Act of Union with Scotland

1710

Tories take power

1713

Treaty of Utrecht ends War of the

Alexander Pope, An Essay on

Criticism. Joseph Addison and Sir Richard Steele, Spectator ( 1 7 1 1 - 1 2 , 1714) Spanish Succession 1714

Death of Q u e e n Anne. George I

(great-grandson of James I) becomes the first Hanoverian king. Tory government replaced by Whigs 2081

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C O N T E X T S

T E X T S

1716

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu writes

her letters from Turkey ( 1 7 1 6 - 1 8 ) 1717

Pope, The Rape of the Lock (final

version 1719

Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe

1726

Swift, Gulliver's Travels

1728

John Gay, The Beggar's Opera

1733

Pope, An Essay on Man

1740

Samuel Richardson, Pamela

1742

Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews

1743

Pope, The Dunciad (final version).

1720

South Sea Bubble collapses

1721

Robert Walpole comes to power

1727

George I dies. George II succeeds

1737

Licensing Act censors the stage

1742

Walpole resigns

1746

Charles Edward Stuart's defeat at

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode 1746

William Collins's Odes

Culloden ends the last Jacobite rebellion 1747

Richardson, Clarissa

1749

Fielding, Tom Jones

1751

T h o m a s Gray, "Elegy Written in a

1751

1755

Samuel Johnson, Dictionary 1

1759

Johnson, Rasselas. Voltaire, Candide

1760

Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy

Robert Clive seizes Arcot, the

prelude to English control of India

Country Churchyard"

1756

Beginning of Seven Years' War

1759

J a m e s Wolfe's capture of Q u e b e c

ensures British control of Canada 1760

George III succeeds to the throne

1768

Captain J a m e s Cook voyages to

(1760--67) 1765

Johnson's edition of Shakespeare Australia and New Zealand

1770

Oliver Goldsmith, "The Deserted

Village 1775

American Revolution ( 1 7 7 5 - 8 3 ) .

J a m e s Watt produces steam engines 1776

Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations

1778

Frances Burney, Evelina

1779

Johnson, Lives of the Poets (1779—

81)

1783

George Crabbe, The Village

1785

William Cowper, The Task

1780

Gordon Riots in London

1783

William Pitt becomes prime minister

2082

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2083

JOHN

DRYDEN

1631-1700 Although John Dryden's parents seem to have sided with Parliament against the king, there is no evidence that the poet grew up in a strict Puritan family. His father, a country gentleman of moderate fortune, gave his son a gentleman's education at Westminster School, under the renowned Dr. Richard Busby, who used the rod as a pedagogical aid in imparting a sound knowledge of the learned languages and literatures to his charges (among others John Locke and Matthew Prior). From Westminster, Dryden went to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he took his A.B. in 1654. His first important poem, "Heroic Stanzas" (1659), was written to commemorate the death of Cromwell. The next year, however, in "Astraea Redux," Dryden joined his countrymen in celebrating the return of Charles II to his throne. During the rest of his life Dryden was to remain entirely loyal to Charles and to his successor, James II. Dryden is the commanding literary figure of the last four decades of the seventeenth century. Every important aspect of the life of his times—political, religious, philosophical, artistic—finds expression somewhere in his writings. Dryden is the least personal of poets. He is not at all the solitary, subjective poet listening to the murmur of his own voice and preoccupied with his own feelings but rather a citizen of the world commenting publicly on matters of public concern. From the beginning to the end of his literary career, Dryden's nondramatic poems are most typically occasional poems, which commemorate particular events of a public character—a coronation, a military victory, a death, or a political crisis. Such poems are social and often ceremonial, written not for the self but for the nation. Dryden's principal achievements in this form are the two poems on the king's return and his coronation; Annus Mirabilis (1667), which celebrates the English naval victory over the Dutch and the fortitude of the people of London and the king during the Great Fire, both events of that "wonderful year," 1666; the political poems; the lines on the death of Oldham (1684); and odes such as "Alexander's Feast." Between 1664 and 1681, however, Dryden was mainly a playwright. The newly chartered theaters needed a modern repertory, and he set out to supply the need. Dryden wrote his plays, as he frankly confessed, to please his audiences, which were not heterogeneous like Shakespeare's but were largely drawn from the court and from people of fashion. In the style of the time, he produced rhymed heroic plays, in which incredibly noble heroes and heroines face incredibly difficult choices between love and honor; comedies, in which male and female rakes engage in intrigue and bright repartee; and later, libretti for the newly introduced dramatic form, the opera. His one great tragedy. All for Love (1677), in blank verse, adapts Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra to the unities of time, place, and action. As his Essay of Dramatic Poesy (1668) shows, Dryden had studied the works of the great playwrights of Greece and Rome, of the English Renaissance, and of contemporary France, seeking sound theoretical principles on which to construct the new drama that the age demanded. Indeed, his fine critical intelligence always supported his creative powers, and because he took literature seriously and enjoyed discussing it, he became, almost casually, what Samuel Johnson called him: "the father of English criticism." His abilities as both poet and dramatist brought him to the attention of the king, who in 1668 made him poet laureate. Two years later the post of historiographer royal was added to the laureateship at a combined stipend of £200, enough money to live comfortably on. Between 1678 and 1681, when he was nearing fifty, Dryden discovered his great gift for writing formal verse satire. A quarrel with the playwright Thomas Shadwell prompted the mock-heroic episode "Mac Flecknoe," probably written in 1678 or 1679 but not published until 1682. Out of the stresses occasioned by the Popish Plot (1678) and its political aftermath came his major political satires, Absalom and Ach-

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2084

JOHN

DRYDEN

itophel (1681), and "The Medal" (1682), his final attack on the villain of Absalom and Achito-phel, the earl of Shaftesbury. Twenty years' experience as poet and playwright had prepared him technically for the triumph of Absalom and Achitophel. He had mastered the heroic couplet, having fashioned it into an instrument suitable in his hands for every sort of discourse from the thrust and parry of quick logical argument, to lyric feeling, rapid narrative, or forensic declamation. Thanks to this long discipline, he was able in one stride to rival the masters of verse satire: Horace, Juvenal, Persius, in ancient Rome, and Boileau, his French contemporary. The consideration of religious and political questions that the events of 1678-81 forced on Dryden brought a new seriousness to his mind and works. In 1682 he published Religio Laid, a poem in which he examined the grounds of his religious faith and defended the middle way of the Anglican Church against the rationalism of Deism on the one hand and the authoritarianism of Rome on the other. But he had moved closer to Rome than he perhaps realized when he wrote the poem. Charles II died in 1685 and was succeeded by his Catholic brother, James II. Within a year Dryden and his two sons converted to Catholicism. Though his enemies accused him of opportunism, he proved his sincerity by his steadfast loyalty to the Roman Church after James abdicated and the Protestant William and Mary came in; as a result he was to lose his offices and their much-needed stipends. From his new position as a Roman Catholic, Dryden wrote in 1687 The Hind and the Panther, in which a milkwhite Hind (the Roman Church) and a spotted Panther (the Anglican Church) eloquently debate t heology. The Hind has the better of the argument, but Dryden already knew that James's policies were failing, and with them the Catholic cause in England. Dryden was now nearing sixty, with a family to support on a much-diminished income. To earn a living, he resumed writing plays and turned to translations. In 1693 appeared his versions of Juvenal and Persius, with a long dedicatory epistle on satire; and in 1697, his greatest achievement in this mode, the works of Virgil. At the very end, two months before his death, came the Fables Ancient and Modern, prefaced by one of the finest of his critical essays and made up of translations from Ovid, Boccaccio, and Chaucer. (For additional works by Dryden, go to Norton Literature Online.) Dryden's foremost achievement was to bring the pleasures of literature to the everincreasing reading public of Britain. As a critic and translator, he made many classics available to men and women who lacked a classical education. His canons of taste and theoretical principles would set the standard for the next generation. As a writer of prose, he helped establish a popular new style, shaped to the cadences of good conversation. Johnson praised its apparent artlessness: "every word seems to drop by chance, though it falls into its proper place. Nothing is cold or languid; the whole is airy, animated, and vigorous . . . though all is easy, nothing is feeble; though all seems careless, there is nothing harsh." Although Dryden's plays went out of fashion, his poems did not. His satire inspired the most brilliant verse satirist of the next century, Alexander Pope, and the energy and variety of his metrics launched the long-standing vogue of heroic couplets. Augustan style is at its best in his poems: lively, dignified, precise, and always musical—a flexible instrument of public speech. "By him we were taught sapere et fari, to think naturally and express forcibly," Johnson concluded. "What was said of Rome, adorned by Augustus, may be applied by an easy metaphor to English poetry embellished by Dryden, lateritiam invenit, marmoream reliquit, he found it brick, and he left it marble."

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ANNUS

MIRABILIS

2085

From Annus Mirabilis 1 *

[LONDON

845

850

855

860

1175

REBORN]

Yet London, empress of the northern clime, By an high fate thou greatly didst expire; O r e a t as the world's, which at the death of time M u s t fall, and rise a nobler frame by fire. 2 As when some dire usurper Heaven provides, To scourge his country with a lawless sway: 3 His birth, perhaps, some petty village hides, And sets his cradle out of fortune's way: Till fully ripe his swelling fate breaks out, And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on: His Prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt, 0 And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known:

fear

S u c h was the rise of this prodigious fire, Which in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread. *

ii70

•

Me-thinks already, from this chymic 0 flame, I see a city of more precious mold: Rich as the town which gives the Indies name, 0 With silver paved, and all divine with gold.

alchemic, transmuting Mexico

Already, laboring with a mighty fate, S h e shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renewed her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of time allow. More great than human, now, and more August, 4 New deified she from her fires does rise:

1. 1666 was a "year of wonders" (annus mirabilis)-. war, plague, and the Great Fire of London. According to the enemies of Charles II, God was visiting His wrath on the English people to signify that the reign of an unholy king would soon come to an end. Dryden's long "historical poem" Annus Mirabilis, written the same year, interprets the wonders differently: as trials sent by God to punish rebellious spirits and to bind the king and his people together. "Never had prince or people more mutual reason to love each other," Dryden wrote, "if suffering for each other can endear affection." Charles had endured rejection and exile, England had been torn by civil wars. Dryden views these sufferings as a covenant, a pledge of better times to come. Out of Charles's troubles, he predicts in heroic stanzas modeled on Virgil, the king shall

arise like a new Augustus, the ruler of a great empire, and out of fire, London shall arise like the phoenix, ready to take its place as trade center for the world, in the glory of a new Augustan age. 2. Dryden's footnote cites Ovid, Metamorphoses I, which foretells that the world will be purged by fire. The fire of London, which utterly consumed the central city, burned for four days, September 2—6. By September 10, Christopher Wren had already submitted a plan, much of it later adopted, for rebuilding the city on a grander scale. For a dramatic contemporary depiction of the event, see The Great Fire of London, 1666, in the color insert in this volume. 3. Probably a reference to Oliver Cromwell. 4. Augusta, the old name of London [Dryden's note].

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2086

JOHN

DRYDEN

Her widening streets on 1180

n e w foundations trust,

A n d , o p e n i n g , into larger parts s h e flies. B e f o r e , s h e like s o m e s h e p h e r d e s s did s h o w , W h o sat to b a t h e h e r by a river's side: N o t answering to her f a m e , but rude a n d low, N o r taught the b e a u t e o u s arts of m o d e r n pride.

us? -

N o w , like a M a i d e n Q u e e n , s h e will b e h o l d , F r o m her high turrets, hourly suitors c o m e : T h e East with incense, and the W e s t with gold, Will s t a n d , like s u p p l i a n t s , to receive her d o o m . 0

judgment, decree

T h e silver T h a m e s , her o w n d o m e s t i c flood, H90

S h a l l b e a r her vessels like a s w e e p i n g train; A n d o f t e n w i n d (as of his m i s t r e s s p r o u d ) With longing eyes to meet her face again. T h e wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, T h e glory of their towns no m o r e shall boast;

1195

A n d S e i n e , that w o u l d with B e l g i a n rivers join,5 Shall find her luster stained, a n d traffic lost. T h e venturous m e r c h a n t , w h o designed0 m o r e far,

intended t o g o

And touches on our hospitable shore, C h a r m e d with the splendor of this northern star, 1200

Shall here unlade him, and depart no more. O u r powerful navy shall no longer meet, T h e wealth of France or Holland to invade; T h e b e a u t y of this T o w n , without a fleet, F r o m all t h e w o r l d shall v i n d i c a t e 0 h e r t r a d e .

1205

defend,

protect

sailed

around

A n d while this f a m e d e m p o r i u m we p r e p a r e , The

British o c e a n shall s u c h triumphs boast,

That those who

now disdain our trade to share,

Shall rob like pirates on o u r wealthy coast. Already we 1210

have conquered half the war,

A n d the less d a n g e r o u s part is left behind: O u r trouble now is but to m a k e them dare, And not so great to vanquish as to find. T h u s to the eastern wealth through storms we go, But now, the C a p e once doubled,0 fear no more;

1215

A c o n s t a n t t r a d e - w i n d will s e c u r e l y b l o w , A n d gently lay us on

the spicy shore.

1666

1667

5. France and Holland (which then included Belgium) had made an alliance for trade, as well as war, against England. The river Tagus flows into the Atlantic at Lisbon.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

2087

Song from Marriage a la Mode

Why should a foolish marriage vow, Which long ago was made, Oblige us to each other now, When passion is decayed? We loved, and we loved, as long as we could, Till our love was loved out in us both; But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled: 'Twas pleasure first made it an oath. 2 If I have pleasures for a friend, And farther love in store, What wrong has he whose joys did end, And who could give no more? 'Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me, Or that I should bar him of another: For all we can gain is to give ourselves pain, When neither can hinder the other.

ca. 1672

Absalom and Achitophel

1673

In 1678 a dangerous crisis, both religious and

political, threatened to undo the Restoration settlement and to precipitate England once again into civil war. The Popish Plot and its aftermath not only whipped up extreme anti-Catholic passions, but led between 1679 and 1681 to a bitter political struggle between Charles II (whose adherents came to be called Tories) and the earl of Shaftesbury (whose followers were termed Whigs). The issues were nothing less than the prerogatives of the crown and the possible exclusion of the king's Catholic brother, James, duke of York, from his position as heir-presumptive to the throne. Charles's cool courage and brilliant, if unscrupulous, political genius saved the throne for his brother and gave at least temporary peace to his people. Charles was a Catholic at heart—he received the last rites of that church on his deathbed—and was eager to do what he could do discreetly for the relief of his Catholic subjects, who suffered severe civil and religious disabilities imposed by their numerically superior Protestant compatriots. James openly professed the Catholic religion, an awkward fact politically, for he was next in line of succession because Charles had no legitimate children. The household of the duke, as well as that of Charles's neglected queen, Catherine of Braganza, inevitably became the center of Catholic life and intrigue at court and consequently of Protestant prejudice and suspicion. No one understood, however, that the situation was explosive until 1678, when Titus Oates (a renegade Catholic convert of infamous character) offered sworn testimony of the existence of a Jesuit plot to assassinate the king, burn London, massacre Protestants, and reestablish the Roman Church. The country might have kept its head and come to realize (what no historian has doubted) that Oates and his confederates were perjured rascals, as Charles himself quickly perceived. But panic was created by the discovery of the body of a prominent

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2088

JOHN

DRYDEN

London justice of the peace, Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, who a few days before had received for safekeeping a copy of Oates's testimony. The murder, immediately ascribed to the Catholics, has never been solved. Fear and indignation reached a hysterical pitch when the seizure of the papers of the duke of York's secretary revealed that he had been in correspondence with the confessor of Louis XIV regarding the reestablishment of the Roman Church in England. Before the terror subsided many innocent men were executed on the increasingly bold and always false evidence of Oates and his accomplices. The earl of Shaftesbury, the duke of Buckingham, and others quickly took advantage of the situation. With the support of the Commons and the City of London, they moved to exclude the duke of York from the succession. Between 1679 and 1681 Charles and Shaftesbury were engaged in a mighty struggle. The Whigs found a candidate of their own in the king's favorite illegitimate son, the handsome and engaging duke of Monmouth, whom they advanced as a proper successor to his father. They urged Charles to legitimize him, and when he refused, they whispered that there was proof that the king had secretly married Monmouth's mother. The young man allowed himself to be used against his father. He was sent on a triumphant progress through western England, where he was enthusiastically received. Twice an Exclusion Bill nearly passed both houses. But by early 1681 Charles had secured his own position by secretly accepting from Louis XIV a three-year subsidy that made him independent of Parliament, which had tried to force his hand by refusing to vote him funds. He summoned Parliament to meet at Oxford in the spring of 1681, and a few moments after the Commons had passed the Exclusion Bill, in a bold stroke he abruptly dissolved Parliament, which never met again during his reign. Already, as Charles was aware, a reaction had set in against the violence of the Whigs. In midsummer, when he felt it safe to move against his enemies, Shaftesbury was sent to the Tower of London, charged with high treason. In November, the grand jury, packed with Whigs, threw out the indictment, and the earl was free, but his power was broken, and he lived only two more years. Shortly before the grand jury acted, Dryden published anonymously the first part of Absalom and Achitophel, apparently hoping to influence their verdict. The issues in question were grave; the chief actors, the most important men in the realm. Dryden, therefore, could not use burlesque and caricature as had Butler, or the mock heroic as he himself had done in "Mac Flecknoe." Only a heroic style and manner were appropriate to his weighty material, and the poem is most original in its blending of the heroic and the satiric. Dryden's task called for all his tact and literary skill; he had to mention, but to gloss over, the king's faults: his indolence and love of pleasure; his neglect of his wife, and his devotion to his mistresses—conduct that had left him with many children, but no heir except his Catholic brother. He had to deal gently with Monmouth, whom Charles still loved. And he had to present, or appear to present, the king's case objectively. The remarkable parallels between the rebellion of Absalom against his father King David (2 Samuel 13—18) had already been remarked in sermons, satires, and pamphlets. Dryden took the hint and gave contemporary events a due distance and additional dignity by approaching them indirectly through their biblical analogues. The poem is famous for its brilliant portraits of the king's enemies and friends, but equally admirable are the temptation scene (which, like other passages, is indebted to Paradise Lost) and the remarkably astute analysis of the Popish Plot itself. A second part of Absalom and Achitophel appeared in 1682. Most of it is the work of Nahum Tate, but lines 310—509, which include the devastating portraits of Doeg and Og (two Whig poets, Elkanah Settle and Thomas Shadwell), are certainly by Dryden.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

2089

Absalom and Achitophel: A Poem

In pious times, ere priestcraft 1 did begin, Before polygamy was made a sin; When man on many multiplied his kind, Ere one to one was cursedly confined; When nature prompted and no law denied Promiscuous use of concubine and bride; Then Israel's monarch after Heaven's own heart, 2 His vigorous warmth did variously impart To wives and slaves; and, wide as his command, Scattered his Maker's image through the land. Michal, 3 of royal blood, the crown did wear, A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care: Not so the rest; for several mothers bore To godlike David several sons before. But since like slaves his bed they did ascend, No true succession could their seed attend. Of all this numerous progeny was none So beautiful, so brave, as Absalom: 4 Whether, inspired by s o m e diviner lust, His father got him with a greater gust,° Or that his conscious destiny made way, By manly beauty, to imperial sway. Early in foreign fields he won renown, With kings and states allied to Israel's crown: 5 In peace the thoughts of war he could remove, And seemed as he were only born for love. Whate'er he did, was done with so much ease, In him alone 'twas natural to please; His motions all accompanied with grace; And paradise was opened in his face. With secret joy indulgent David viewed His youthful image in his son renewed: To all his wishes nothing he denied; And made the charming Annabel 6 his bride. What faults he had (for who from faults is free?) His father could not, or he would not see. Some warm excesses which the law forbore, Were construed youth that purged by boiling o'er: And Amnon's murther, 7 by a specious name, Was called a just revenge for injured fame. Thus praised and loved the noble youth remained, While David, undisturbed, in Sion° reigned.

1. "Religious frauds; management of wicked priests to gain power" (Johnson's Dictionary). 2. David ("a man after [God's] own heart," according to 1 Samuel 13.14) represents Charles II. 3. One of David's wives, who represents the childless queen, Catherine of Braganza. 4. James Scott, duke of Monmouth ( 1 6 4 9 - 1 6 8 5 ) . 5. Monmouth had won repute as a soldier fighting for France against Holland and for Holland against

relish, -pleasure

London

France. 6. Anne Scott, duchess of Buccleuch (pronounced Bue-cloo), a beauty and a great heiress. 7. Absalom killed his half-brother Amnon, who had raped Absalom's sister Tamar (2 Samuel 13.28—29). The parallel with Monmouth is vague. He is known to have committed acts of violence in his youth, but certainly not fratricide.

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2 0 9 0

JOHN

DRYDEN

But life can never be sincerely 0 blest; Heaven punishes the bad, and proves 0 the best. The Jews, 0 a headstrong, moody, murmuring race, As ever tried the extent and stretch of grace; God's pampered people, whom, debauched with ease, No king could govern, nor no God could please (Gods they had tried of every shape and size That god-smiths could produce, or priests devise); 8 These Adam-wits, too fortunately free, Began to dream they wanted liberty; 9 And when no rule, no precedent was found, Of men by laws less circumscribed and bound, They led their wild desires to woods and caves, And thought that all but savages were slaves. They who, when Saul was dead, without a blow, M a d e foolish Ishbosheth 1 the crown forgo; Who banished David did from Hebron 2 bring, And with a general shout proclaimed him king: T h o s e very Jews, who, at their very best, Their humor 0 more than loyalty expressed, Now wondered why so long they had obeyed An idol monarch, which their hands had made; Thought they might ruin him they could create, Or melt him to that golden calf, 3 a state. 0 But these were random bolts; 0 no formed design Nor interest made the factious crowd to join: The sober part of Israel, free from stain, Well knew the value of a peaceful reign; And, looking backward with a wise affright, Saw seams of wounds, dishonest 0 to the sight: In contemplation of whose ugly scars They cursed the memory of civil wars. The moderate sort of men, thus qualified, 0 Inclined the balance to the better side; And David's mildness managed it so well, The bad found no occasion to rebel. But when to sin our biased 4 nature leans, The careful Devil is still at hand with means; And providently pimps for ill desires: The Good Old C a u s e 5 revived, a plot requires. Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings. The inhabitants of old Jerusalem Were Jebusites; 6 the town so called from them; 8. Dryden recalls the political and religious controversies that, since the Reformation, had divided England and finally c a u s e d civil wars. 9. Adam rebelled b e c a u s e he felt that he lacked ("wanted") liberty, b e c a u s e he was forbidden to eat the fruit of one tree. 1. Saul's son. He stands for Richard Cromwell, who succeeded his father as lord protector. " S a u l " : Oliver Cromwell. 2. Where David reigned over J u d a h after the death of Saul and before he b e c a m e king of Israel (2

wholly tests English

caprice

epuhlic shots

disgraceful

assuaged

S a m u e l 1—5). Charles had been crowned in Scotland in 1651. 3. T h e image worshiped by the children of Israel during the period that M o s e s spent on Mount Sinai, receiving the law from God. 4. Inclined (cf. " M a c Flecknoe," line 189 and n. 5. p. 2 1 1 6 ) . 5. T h e C o m m o n w e a l t h . Dryden stigmatizes the Whigs by associating them with subversion. 6. R o m a n Catholics. T h e original n a m e of Jerusalem (here, London) was J e b u s .

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

IOO

105

115

120

125

130

2091

And theirs the native right. But when the chosen people 0 grew more strong, Protestants The rightful cause at length became the wrong; And every loss the men of Jebus bore, They still were thought God's enemies the more. Thus worn and weakened, well or ill content, Submit they must to David's government: Impoverished and deprived of all command, Their taxes doubled as they lost their land; And, what was harder yet to flesh and blood, Their gods disgraced, and burnt like common wood. 7 This set the heathen priesthood 0 in a flame; Roman Catholic clergy For priests of all religions are the same: Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, In his defense his servants are as bold, As if he had been born of beaten gold. The Jewish rabbins, 0 though their enemies, Anglican clergy In this conclude them honest men and wise: For 'twas their duty, all the learned think, To espouse his cause, by whom they eat and drink. From hence began that Plot, the nation's curse, Bad in itself, but represented worse; Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried; With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied; Not weighed or winnowed by the multitude; But swallowed in the mass, unchewed and crude. Some truth there was, but dashed 0 and brewed with lies, adulterated To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. Succeeding times did equal folly call, Believing nothing, or believing all. The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced, Where gods were recommended by their taste. 8 Such savory deities must needs be good, As served at once for worship and for food. By force they could not introduce these gods, For ten to one in former days was odds; So fraud was used (the sacrificer's trade): Fools are more hard to conquer than persuade. Their busy teachers mingled with the Jews, And raked for converts even the court and s t e w s b r o t h e l s Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly took, Because the fleece accompanies the flock. 9 Some thought they God's anointed 0 meant to slay the king By guns, invented since full many a day: Our author swears it not; but who can know How far the Devil and Jebusites may go? This Plot, which failed for want of common sense,

7. S u c h oppressive laws against Roman Catholics date from the time of Elizabeth I. 8. Here Dryden sneers at the doctrine of transubstantiation. "Egyptian": French, therefore Catholic.

9. Dryden charges that the Anglican clergy ("Hebrew priests") resented proselytizing by Catholics chiefly b e c a u s e they stood to lose their tithes ("fleece").

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2092

JOHN

DRYDEN

135

Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence: For, as when raging fevers boil the blood, The standing lake soon floats into a flood, And every hostile humor, 1 which before Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o'er; 140 So several factions from this first ferment Work up to foam, and threat the government. Some by their friends, more by themselves thought wise, Opposed the power to which they could not rise. Some had in courts been great, and thrown from thence, 145 Like fiends were hardened in impenitence; Some, by their monarch's fatal mercy, grown From pardoned rebels kinsmen to the throne, Were raised in power and public office high; Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men could tie. 150 Of these the false Achitophel 2 was first; A name to all succeeding ages cursed: For close designs, and crooked counsels fit; Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit;0 unruly imagination Restless, unfixed in principles and place; 155 In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace: A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 1 Fretted the pygmy body to decay, f And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.3 J A daring pilot in extremity; i6o Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. Great wits° are sure to madness near allied, 4 men of genius And thin partitions do their bounds divide; 165 Else why should he, with wealth and honor blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? Punish a body which he could not please; Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? And all to leave what with his toil he won, 170 To that unfeathered two-legged thing, 5 a son; Got, while his soul did huddled 0 notions try; confused, hurried And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. In friendship false, implacable in hate, Resolved to ruin or to rule the state. 175 To compass this the triple bond 6 he broke, 1 The pillars of the public safety shook, And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke; J 1. Bodily fluid. S u c h fluids were thought to determine health and temperament. 2. Anthony Ashley Cooper, firstearlofShaftesbury (1621—1683). He had served in the parliamentary army and been a member of Cromwell's council of state. He later helped bring back Charles and, in 1670, was m a d e a m e m b e r of the notorious Cabal Ministry, which formed an alliance with Louis XIV in which England betrayed her ally, Holland, and joined France in war against that country. In 1672 he b e c a m e lord chancellor, but with the dissolution of the cabal in 1673, he was removed from

office. Lines 146—49 apply perfectly to him. 3. T h e soul is thought of as the animating principle, the force that puts the body in motion. Shaftesbury's body seemed too small to h o u s e his fiery, energetic soul. 4. That genius and m a d n e s s are akin is a very old idea. 5. Cf. Plato's definition of a human: "a featherless biped." 6. T h e triple alliance of England, Sweden, and Holland against France, 1668. Shaftesbury helped bring about the war against Holland in 1672.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

180

i85

190

195

200

205

210

215

220

Then seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. So easy still it proves in factious times, With public zeal to cancel private crimes. How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, Where none can sin against the people's will! Where crowds can wink, and no offense be known, Since in another's guilt they find their own! Yet fame deserved, no enemy can grudge; The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin 7 With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean; Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; Swift of dispatch, and easy of access. Oh, had he been content to serve the crown, With virtues only proper to the gown" Or had the rankness of the soil been freed From cockle," that oppressed the noble seed; David for him his tuneful harp had strung, And Heaven had wanted one immortal song. 8 But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land. Achitophel, grown weary to possess A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, Disdained the golden fruit to gather free, And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. Now, manifest oP crimes contrived long since, He stood at bold defiance with his prince; Held up the buckler of the people's cause Against the crown, and skulked behind the laws. The wished occasion of the Plot he takes; Some circumstances finds, but more he makes. By buzzing emissaries fills the ears Of listening crowds with jealousies" and fears Of arbitrary counsels brought to light, And proves the king himself a Jebusite. Weak arguments! which yet he knew full well Were strong with people easy to rebel. For, governed by the moon, the giddy Jews Tread the same track when she the prime renews; And once in twenty years, their scribes record, 9 By natural instinct they change their lord. Achitophel still wants a chief, and none Was found so fit as warlike Absalom: Not that he wished his greatness to create

7. T h e chief of the seventy eiders who c o m p o s e d the Jewish supreme court. T h e allusion is to Shaftesbury's serving as lord chancellor from 1672 to 1673. Dryden's praise of Shaftesbury's integrity in this office, by suggesting a balanced j u d g m e n t , makes his condemnation of the statesman more effective than it might otherwise have been. 8. I.e., David would have had occasion to write one fewer song of praise to heaven. T h e reference

2093

judge's robe

weeds

detected in

suspicions

may be to 2 S a m u e l 22 or to Psalm 4. 9. T h e moon "renews her prime" when its several p h a s e s recur on the s a m e day of the solar calendar (i.e., complete a cycle) as happens approximately every twenty years. T h e crisis between Charles I and Parliament began to grow acute about 1640; Charles II returned in 1660; it is now 1 6 8 0 and a full cycle has been completed.

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2094

JOHN

DRYDEN

(For politicians neither love nor hate), But, for he knew his title not allowed, 225 Would keep him still depending on the crowd, That 0 kingly power, thus ebbing out, might be Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 1 Him he attempts with studied arts to please, And sheds his venom in such words as these: 230 "Auspicious prince, at whose nativity Some royal planet 2 ruled the southern sky; Thy longing country's darling and desire; Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire: Their second Moses, whose extended wand 235 Divides the seas, and shows the promised land; 3 Whose dawning day in every distant age Has exercised the sacred prophet's rage: The people's prayer, the glad diviners' theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream! 4 240 Thee, savior, thee, the nation's vows' confess, And, never satisfied with seeing, bless: Swift unbespoken 0 pomps thy steps proclaim, And stammering babes are taught to lisp thy name. How long wilt thou the general joy detain, 245 Starve and defraud the people of thy reign? Content ingloriously to pass thy days Like one of Virtue's fools that feeds on praise; Till thy fresh glories, which now shine so bright, Grow stale and tarnish with our daily sight. 250 Believe me, royal youth, thy fruit must be Or gathered ripe, or rot upon the tree. Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late, Some lucky revolution of their fate; Whose motions if we watch and guide with skill 255 (For human good depends on human will), Our Fortune rolls as from a smooth descent, And from the first impression takes the bent; But, if unseized, she glides away like wind, And leaves repenting Folly far behind. 260 Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize, And spreads her locks before her as she flies. 6 Had thus old David, from whose loins you spring, Not dared, when Fortune called him, to be Icing, At Gath 7 an exile he might still remain, 265 And heaven's anointing 8 oil had been in vain. Let his successful youth your hopes engage; 1. I.e., mob rub. To Dryden, democracy meant popular government. 2. A planet whose influence destines him to kingship. 3. After their exodus from Egypt under the leadership of iMoses, whose "extended wand" separated the waters of the Red Sea so that they crossed over on dry land, the Israel ill's were led in their fortyyear wandering in the wilderness by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night (Exodus 13-14).

so that

spontaneous

4. Cf. Joel 2.28. 5. Solemn promises of fidelity. 6. Achitophel gives to Fortune the traditional attributes of the allegorical personification of Opportunity: bald except for a forelock, she can be seized only as she approaches. 7. Rrussels, where Charles spent his last years in exile. David took refuge from Saul in Gath (1 Samuel 27.4). 8. After God rejected Saul, he sent Samuel to anoint the boy David, as a token that he should

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

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305

310

2095

But shun the example of declining age; Behold him setting in his western skies, The shadows lengthening as the vapors rise. He is not now, as when on Jordan's sand 9 | The joyful people thronged to see him land, > Covering the beach, and blackening all the strand; J But, like the Prince of Angels, from his height Comes tumbling downward with diminished light;1 Betrayed by one poor plot to public scorn (Our only blessing since his cursed return), Those heaps of people which one sheaf did bind, Blown off and scattered by a puff of wind. What strength can he to your designs oppose, Naked of friends, and round beset with foes? If Pharaoh's 2 doubtful succor he should use, A foreign aid would more incense the Jews: Proud Egypt would dissembled friendship bring; Foment the war, but not support the king: Nor would the royal party e'er unite With Pharaoh's arms to assist the Jebusite; Or if they should, their interest soon would break, And with such odious aid make David weak. All sorts of men by my successful arts, Abhorring kings, estrange their altered hearts From David's rule: and 'tis the general cry, 'Religion, commonwealth, and liberty.'3 If you, as champion of the public good, Add to their arms a chief of royal blood, What may not Israel hope, and what applause Might such a general gain by such a cause? Not barren praise alone, that gaudy flower Fair only to the sight, but solid power; And nobler is a limited command, Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title,4 long and dark, Drawn from the moldy rolls of Noah's ark." What cannot praise effect in mighty minds, When flattery soothes, and when ambition blinds! Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed: In God 'tis glory; and when men aspire, 'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire. The ambitious youth, too covetous of fame, Too full of angels' metal 5 in his frame, Unwarily was led from virtue's ways, Made drunk with honor, and debauched with praise.

finally come to the throne (1 Samuel 16.1—13). 9. The seashore at Dover, where Charles landed (May 25, 1660). 1. Cf. the fall of Satan in Paradise Lost 1 . 5 0 - 1 2 4 , which dims the brightness of the archangel. The choice of the undignified word tumbling is deliberate. 2. Pharaoh is Louis XIV of France.

3. Cf. line 82 and n. 5. 4. A title to the crown based on succession. 5. An alternative spelling of mettle (i.e., spirit). But a pun on metal is intended, as is obvious from the pun angel (a purely intellectual being and a coin). Ambition caused the revolt of the angels in heaven.

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2096

315

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325

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345

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355

360

JOHN

DRYDEN

Half loath, and half consenting to the ill (For loyal blood within him struggled still), He thus replied: "And what pretense have I To take up arms for public liberty? My father governs with unquestioned right; The faith's defender, and mankind's delight, Good, gracious, just, observant of the laws: And heaven by wonders has espoused his cause. Whom has he wronged in all his peaceful reign? Who sues for justice to his throne in vain? What millions has he pardoned of his foes, Whom just revenge did to his wrath expose? Mild, easy, humble, studious of our good, Inclined to mercy, and averse from blood; If mildness ill with stubborn Israel suit, His crime is God's beloved attribute. What could he gain, his people to betray, Or change his right for arbitrary sway? Let haughty Pharaoh curse with such a reign His fruitful Nile, and yoke a servile train. If David's rule Jerusalem displease, The Dog Star 6 heats their brains to this disease. Why then should I, encouraging the bad, Turn rebel and run popularly mad? Were he a tyrant, who, by lawless might Oppressed the Jews, and raised the Jebusite, Well might I mourn; but nature's holy bands Would curb my spirits and restrain my hands: The people might assert 0 their liberty, But what was right in them were crime in me. His favor leaves me nothing to require, Prevents my wishes, and outruns desire. What more can I expect while David lives? All but his kingly diadem he gives: And that"—But there he paused; then sighing, said— "Is justly destined for a worthier head. For when my father from his toils shall rest And late augment the number of the blest, His lawful issue shall the throne ascend, Or the collateral line,7 where that shall end. His brother, though oppressed with vulgar spite, 8 Yet dauntless, and secure of native right, Of every royal virtue stands possessed; Still dear to all the bravest and the best. His courage foes, his friends his truth proclaim; His loyalty the king, the world his fame. His mercy even the offending crowd will find, For sure he comes of a forgiving kind. 9 Why should I then repine at heaven's decree,

6. Sirius, which in m i d s u m m e r rises and sets with the sun and is thus associated with the maddening heat of the "dog days." 7. In the event of Charles's dying without legitimate issue, the throne would constitutionally p a s s

claim

to his brother, J a m e s , or his descendants, the "collateral line." 8. Anger of the c o m m o n people. 9. Race, in the sense of family.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

365

370

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405

Which gives me no pretense to royalty? Yet O that fate, propitiously inclined, Had raised my birth, or had debased my mind; To my large soul not all her treasure lent, And then betrayed it to a mean descent! I find, I find my mounting spirits bold, And David's part disdains my mother's mold. Why am I scanted by a niggard birth? 1 My soul disclaims the kindred of her earth; And, made for empire, whispers me within, 'Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.' " Him staggering so when hell's dire agent found, While fainting Virtue scarce maintained her ground, He pours fresh forces in, and thus replies: "The eternal god, supremely good and wise, Imparts not these prodigious gifts in vain: What wonders are reserved to bless your reign! Against your will, your arguments have shown, Such virtue's only given to guide a throne. Not that your father's mildness I contemn, But manly force becomes the diadem. 'Tis true he grants the people all they crave; And more, perhaps, than subjects ought to have: For lavish grants suppose a monarch tame, And more his goodness than his wit° proclaim. But when should people strive their bonds to break, If not when kings are negligent or weak? Let him give on till he can give no more, The thrifty Sanhedrin 2 shall keep him poor; And every shekel which he can receive, Shall cost a limb of his prerogative. 3 To ply him with new plots shall be my care; Or plunge him deep in some expensive war; Which when his treasure can no more supply, He must, with the remains of kingship, buy. His faithful friends our jealousies and fears Call Jebusites, and Pharaoh's pensioners; Whom when our fury from his aid has torn, He shall be naked left to public scorn. The next successor, whom I fear and hate, My arts have made obnoxious to the state; Turned all his virtues to his overthrow, And gained our elders 4 to pronounce a foe. His right, for sums of necessary gold, Shall first be pawned, and afterward be sold; Till time shall ever-wanting David draw, To pass your doubtful title into law: If not, the people have a right supreme

1. I.e., why does my mean birth impose such limits on me? 2. The highest judicial counsel of the Jews, here, Parliament. 3. T h e Whigs hoped to limit the special privileges of the Crown {the royal "prerogative") by refusing

2097

intelligence

to vote money to Charles. He circumvented them by living on French subsidies and refusing to summon Parliament. 4. T h e chief magistrates and rulers of the Jews. Shaftesbury had won over ("gained") country gentlemen and nobles to his hostile view of J a m e s .

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2098

410

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435

440

445

450

455

JOHN

DRYDEN

To make their kings; for kings are made for them. All empire is no more than power in trust, Which, when resumed, 0 can be no longer just. Succession, for the general good designed, In its own wrong a nation cannot bind; If altering that the people can relieve, Better one suffer than a nation grieve. The Jews well know their power: ere Saul they chose, 5 God was their king, and God they durst depose. Urge now your piety,6 your filial name, A father's right and fear of future fame; The public good, that universal call, To which even heaven submitted, answers all. Nor let his love enchant your generous mind; T i s Nature's trick to propagate her kind. Our fond begetters, who would never die, Love but themselves in their posterity. Or let his kindness by the effects be tried, Or let him lay his vain pretense aside. God said he loved your father; could he bring A better proof than to anoint him king? It surely showed he loved the shepherd well, Who gave so fair a flock as Israel. Would David have you thought his darling son? What means he then, to alienate 7 the crown? The name of godly he may blush to bear: 'Tis after God's own heart 8 to cheat his heir. He to his brother gives supreme command; To you a legacy of barren land, 9 Perhaps the old harp, on which he thrums his lays, Or some dull Hebrew ballad in your praise. Then the next heir, a prince severe and wise, Already looks on you with jealous eyes; Sees through the thin disguises of your arts, And marks your progress in the people's hearts. Though now his mighty soul its grief contains, He meditates revenge who least complains; And, like a lion, slumbering in the way, Or sleep dissembling, while he waits his prey, His fearless foes within his distance draws, Constrains his roaring, and contracts his paws; Till at the last, his time for fury found, He shoots with sudden vengeance from the ground; The prostrate vulgar0 passes o'er and spares, But with a lordly rage his hunters tears. Your case no tame expedients will afford: Besolve on death, or conquest by the sword,

5. Before Saul, the first king of Israel, c a m e to the throne, the Jews were governed by judges. Similarly Oliver Cromwell as lord protector took over the reins of government, after he had dissolved the R u m p Parliament in 1653. 6. Dutifulness to a parent.

taken back

common people

7. In law, to convey the title to property to another person. 8. An irony (cf. line 7 and n. 2). 9. J a m e s was given the title of generalissimo in 1678. In 1679 M o n m o u t h was banished and withdrew to Holland.

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ABSALOM

460

465

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48o

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505

AND

ACHITOPHEL

Which for no less a stake than life you draw; And self-defense is nature's eldest law. Leave the warm people no considering time; For then rebellion may be thought a crime. Prevail yourself of what occasion gives, But try your title while your father lives; And that your arms may have a fair pretense," Proclaim you take them in the king's defense; Whose sacred life each minute would expose To plots, from seeming friends, and secret foes. And who can sound the depth of David's, soul? Perhaps his fear his kindness may control. He fears his brother, though he loves his son, For plighted vows too late to be undone. If so, by force he wishes to be gained, Like women's lechery, to seem constrained. 0 Doubt not; but when he most affects the frown, Commit a pleasing rape upon the crown. Secure his person to secure your cause: They who possess the prince, possess the laws." He said, and this advice above the rest With Absalom's mild nature suited best: Unblamed of life (ambition set aside), Not stained with cruelty, nor puffed with pride, How happy had he been, if destiny Had higher placed his birth, or not so high! His kingly virtues might have claimed a throne, And blest all other countries but his own. But charming greatness since so few refuse, 'Tis juster to lament him than accuse. Strong were his hopes a rival to remove, With blandishments to gain the public love; To head the faction while their zeal was hot, And popularly prosecute the Plot. To further this, Achitophel unites The malcontents of all the Israelites; Whose differing parties he could wisely join, For several ends, to serve the same design: The best (and of the princes some were such), Who thought the power of monarchy too much; (Mistaken men, and patriots in their hearts; Not wicked, but seduced by impious arts. By these the springs of property were bent, And wound so high, they cracked the government. The next for interest sought to embroil the state, To sell their duty at a dearer rate; And make their Jewish markets of the throne, Pretending public good, to serve their own. Others thought kings an useless heavy load, Who cost too much, and did too little good. These were for laying honest David by, On principles of pure good husbandry. 0 With them joined all the haranguers of the throng,

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2099

pretext

forced

economy

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2100

5io

515

520

525

530

535

540

545

JOHN

DRYDEN

That thought to get preferment by the tongue. Who follow next, a double danger bring, Not only hating David, but the king: The Solymaean rout, 1 well-versed of old In godly faction, and in treason bold; Cowering and quaking at a conqueror's sword, But lofty to a lawful prince restored; Saw with disdain an ethnic 2 plot begun, And scorned by Jebusites to be outdone. Hot Levites 3 headed these; who, pulled before From the ark, which in the Judges' days they bore, Resumed their cant, and with a zealous cry Pursued their old beloved theocracy: Where Sanhedrin and priest enslaved the nation, And justified their spoils by inspiration: For who so fit for reign as Aaron's race, 4 If once dominion they could found in grace? These led the pack; though not of surest scent, Yet deepest-mouthed 5 against the government. A numerous host of dreaming saints 6 succeed, Of the true old enthusiastic breed: 'Gainst form and order they their power employ, Nothing to build, and all things to destroy. But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much. These out of mere instinct, they knew not why, Adored their fathers' God and property; And, by the same blind benefit of fate, The Devil and the Jebusite did hate: Born to be saved, even in their own despite, Because they could not help believing right. Such were the tools; but a whole Hydra more Remains, of sprouting heads too long to score. 0 Some of their chiefs were princes of the land: In the first rank of these did Zimri7 stand; A man so various, that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome:

1. I.e., London rabble. Solyma was a name for Jerusalem. 2. Gentile; here, Roman Catholic. 3. I.e., Presbyterian clergymen. The tribe of Levi, assigned to duties in the tabernacle, carried the Ark of the Covenant during the forty-year sojourn in the wilderness (Numbers 4). Under the Commonwealth ("in the Judges' days") Presbyterianism became the state religion, and its clergy, therefore, "bore the ark." The Act of Uniformity (1662) forced the Presbyterian clergy out of their livings: in short, before the Popish Plot, they had been "pulled from the ark." They are represented here as joining the Whigs in the hope of restoring the commonwealth, "their old beloved theocracy." 4. Priests had to be descendants of Aaron (Exodus 28.1, Numbers 18.7). 5. Loudest. The phrase is applied to hunting dogs. "Pack" and "scent" sustain the image. 6. Term used by certain Dissenters for those

count

elected to salvation. The extreme fanaticism of the "saints" and their claims to inspiration are characterized as a form of religious madness ("enthusiastic," line 530). 7. George Villiers, second duke of Buckingham ( 1 6 2 8 - 1 6 8 7 ) , wealthy, brilliant, dissolute, and unstable. He had been an influential member of the cabal, but after 1673 had joined Shaftesbury in opposition to the court party. This is the least political of the satirical portraits in the poem. Buckingham had been the chief author of The Rehearsal (1671), the play that satirized heroic tragedy and ridiculed Dryden in the character of Mr. Bayes. Politics gave Dryden an opportunity to retaliate. He comments on this portrait in his "A Discourse Concerning the Original and Progress of Satire." Dryden had two biblical Zimris in mind: the Zimri destroyed for his lustfulness and blasphemy (Numbers 25) and the conspirator and regicide of 1 Kings 1 6 . 8 - 2 0 and 2 Kings 9.31.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

550

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2101

Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; Was everything by starts, and nothing long; But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chymist,° fiddler, statesman, and buffoon: chemist Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. Blest madman, who could every hour employ, With something new to wish, or to enjoy! Railing 0 and praising were his usual themes; reviling, abusing And both (to show his judgment) in extremes: So over-violent, or over-civil, That every man, with him, was God or Devil. In squandering wealth was his peculiar art: Nothing went unrewarded but desert. Beggared by fools, whom still0 he found 0 too late, constantly /found out He had his jest, and they had his estate. He laughed himself from court; then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief; For, spite of him, the weight of business fell On Absalom and wise Achitophel: Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft, He left not faction, but of that was left. Titles and names 'twere tedious to rehearse Of lords, below the dignity of verse. Wits, warriors, Commonwealth's men, were the best; Kind husbands, and mere nobles, all the rest. And therefore, in the name of dullness, be The well-hung Balaam and cold Caleb, free; And canting Nadab let oblivion damn, Who made new porridge for the paschal Iamb. 8 Let friendship's holy band some names assure; Some their own worth, and some let scorn secure. Nor shall the rascal rabble here have place, Whom kings no titles gave, and God no grace: Not bull-faced Jonas, 9 who could statutes draw To mean rebellion, and make treason law. But he, though bad, is followed by a worse, The wretch who heaven's anointed dared to curse: Shimei, 1 whose youth did early promise bring Of zeal to God and hatred to his king, Did wisely from expensive sins refrain, And never broke the Sabbath, but for gain; Nor ever was he known an oath to vent,

8. The lamb slain during Passover; here, Christ. The identities of Balaam, Caleb, and Nadab have not been certainly established, although various Whig nobles have been suggested. For Balaam see Numbers 2 2 - 2 4 ; for Caleb, Numbers 1 3 - 1 4 ; and for Nadab, Leviticus 10.1-2. "Well-hung": fluent of speech or sexually potent or both. "Cold": contrasts with the second meaning of xvell-hung. "Canting": points to a Nonconformist, as does "new porridge," for Dissenters referred to the Book of Common Prayer contemptuously as "porridge," a hodgepodge, unsubstantial stuff.

9. Sir William Jones, attorney general, had been largely responsible for the passage of the first Exclusion Bill by the House of Commons. He prosecuted the accused in the Popish Plot. 1. Shimei cursed and stoned David when he fled into the wilderness during Absalom's revolt (2 Samuel 16.5—14). His name is used here for one of the two sheriffs of London: Slingsby Bethel, a Whig, former republican, and virulent enemy of Charles. He packed juries with Whigs and so secured the acquittal of enemies of the court, among them Shaftesbury himself.

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2102

JOHN

DRYDEN

590

Or curse, unless against the government. Thus heaping wealth, by the most ready way Among the Jews, which was to cheat and pray, The city, to reward his pious hate Against his master, chose him magistrate. 595 His hand a vare° of justice did uphold; His neck was loaded w i t h a chain of gold. During his office, treason was no crime; The sons of Belial 2 had a glorious time; For Shimei, though not prodigal of pelf, 600 Yet loved his wicked neighbor as himself. W h e n two or three were gathered to declaim 1 Against the monarch of Jerusalem, >• Shimei was always in the midst of them; J And if they cursed the king when he was by, 605 W o u l d rather curse than break good company. If any durst his factious friends accuse, He packed a jury of dissenting Jews; Whose fellow-feeling in the godly cause W o u l d free the suffering saint from human laws. 6io For laws are only made to punish those W h o serve the king, and to protect his foes. If any leisure time he had from power (Because 'tis sin to misemploy an hour), His business was, by writing, to persuade 615 That kings were useless, and a clog to trade; And, that his noble style he might refine, No Rechabite 3 more shunned the fumes of wine. Chaste were his cellars, and his shrieval board 4 The grossness of a city feast abhorred: 620 His cooks, with long disuse, their trade forgot; Cool was his kitchen, though his brains were hot, Such frugal virtue malice may accuse, But sure 'twas necessary to the Jews: For towns once burnt 5 such magistrates require 625 As dare not tempt God's providence by fire. W i t h spiritual food he fed his servants well, But free from flesh that made the Jews rebel; And Moses' laws he held in more account, For forty days of fasting in the mount. 6 630 To speak the rest, who better are forgot, W o u l d tire a well-breathed witness of the Plot. Yet, Corah, 7 thou shalt from oblivion pass: Erect thyself, thou monumental brass, High as the serpent of thy metal made,8

2. Sons of wickedness (cf. Milton, Paradise Lost 1.490—505). Dryden probably intended a pun on Balliol, the Oxford college in which leading Whigs stayed during the brief and fateful meeting of Parliament at Oxford in 1681. 3. An austere Jewish sect that drank no wine (Jeremiah 3 5 . 2 - 1 9 ) . 4. Sheriff's dinner table. 5. London burned in 1666. 6. Mount Sinai, where, during a fast of forty days.

staff

Moses received the law (Exodus 34.28). 7. Or Korah, a rebellious Levite, swallowed up by the earth because of his crimes (Numbers 16). Corah is Titus Oates, the self-appointed, perjured, and "well-breathed" (long-winded) witness of the plot. 8. Moses erected a brazen serpent to heal the Jews bitten by fiery serpents (Numbers 21.4—9). Brass also means impudence or shamelessness.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

635

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While nations stand secure beneath thy shade. What though his birth were base, yet comets rise From earthy vapors, ere they shine in skies. Prodigious actions may as well be done By weaver's issue, 9 as by prince's son. This arch-attestor for the public good By that one deed ennobles all his blood. Who ever asked the witnesses' high race Whose oath with martyrdom did Stephen 1 grace? Ours was a Levite, and as times went then, His tribe were God Almighty's gentlemen. Sunk were his eyes, his voice was harsh and loud, Sure signs he neither choleric 0 was nor proud: His long chin proved his wit; his saintlike grace A church vermilion, and a Moses' face. 2 His memory, miraculously great, Could plots, exceeding man's belief, repeat; Which therefore cannot be accounted lies, For human wit could never such devise. S o m e future truths are mingled in his book; But where the witness failed, the prophet spoke: S o m e things like visionary flights appear; The spirit caught him up, the Lord knows where, And gave him his rabbinical degree, Unknown to foreign university. 3 His judgment yet his memory did excel; Which pieced his wondrous evidence so well, And suited to the temper of the times, Then groaning under Jebusitic crimes. Let Israel's foes suspect his heavenly call, And rashly judge his writ apocryphal; 4 Our laws for such affronts have forfeits made: He takes his life, who takes away his trade. Were I myself in witness Corah's place, The wretch who did me such a dire disgrace Should whet my memory, though once forgot, To make him an appendix of my plot. His zeal to heaven made him his prince despise, And load his person with indignities; But zeal peculiar privilege affords, Indulging latitude to deeds and words; And Corah might for Agag's 5 murder call, In terms as coarse as Samuel used to Saul. What others in his evidence did join

9. Oates's father, a clergyman, belonged to an obscure family of ribbon weavers. 1. T h e first Christian martyr, accused by false witnesses (Acts 6—7). 2. Moses* face shone when he came down from Mount Sinai with the tables of the law (Exodus 34.29—30). Oates's f a c e suggests high living, not spiritual illumination. 3. Oates falsely claimed to be a doctor of divinity in the University of S a l a m a n c a .

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4. Not inspired and hence excluded from Holy Writ. 5. Agag is probably one of the five Catholic peers executed for the Popish Plot in 1680, most likely Lord Stafford, against whom Oates fabricated testimony. He is almost certainly not, as is usually suggested, Sir E d m u n d Berry Godfrey (see headnote, pp. 2087—88). "Agag's murder" and Samuel's coarse terms to Saul are in 1 Samuel I 5.

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JOHN

DRYDEN

(The best that could be had for love or coin), In Corah's own predicament will fall; For witness is a common name to all. Surrounded thus with friends of every sort, Deluded Absalom forsakes the court: Impatient of high hopes, urged with renown, And fired with near possession of a crown. The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprise, And on his goodly person feed their eyes: His joy concealed, he sets himself to show, On each side bowing popularly 6 low; His looks, his gestures, and his words he frames, And with familiar ease repeats their names. Thus formed by nature, furnished out with arts, He glides unfelt into their secret hearts. Then, with a kind compassionating look, And sighs, bespeaking pity ere he spoke, Few words he said; but easy those and fit, More slow than Hybla-drops, 7 and far more sweet. "I mourn, my countrymen, your lost estate; Though far unable to prevent your fate: Behold a banished man, for your dear cause Exposed a prey to arbitrary laws! Yet oh! that I alone could be undone, Cut off from empire, and no more a son! Now all your liberties a spoil are made; ] Egypt" a n d T y r u s ° intercept your trade, t

France / Holland

And Jebusites your sacred rites invade. J My father, whom with reverence yet I name, Charmed into ease, is careless of his fame; And, bribed with petty sums of foreign gold, Is grown in Bathsheba's 8 embraces old; Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys; And all his power against himself employs. He gives, and let him give, my right away; But why should he his own, and yours betray? He only, he can make the nation bleed, And he alone from my revenge is freed. Take then my tears (with that he wiped his eyes), 'Tis all the aid my present power supplies: No court-informer can these arms accuse; These arms may sons against their fathers use: And 'tis my wish, the next successor's reign May make no other Israelite complain." Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail; But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own. The crowd (that still believe their kings oppress)

6. " S o as to please the crowd" (Johnson's Dictionary). 7. The famous honey of Hybla in Sicily. 8. Bathsheba is the woman with whom David

committed adultery (2 Samuel 11). Here, Charles II's French mistress, Louise de Keroualle, duchess of Portsmouth.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

770

With lifted hands their young Messiah bless: Who now begins his progress to ordain With chariots, horsemen, and a numerous train; From east to west his glories he displays, 9 And, like the sun, the promised land surveys. F a m e runs before him as the morning star, And shouts of joy salute him from afar: Each house receives him as a guardian god, And consecrates the place of his abode: But hospitable treats did most commend Wise Issachar, 1 his wealthy western friend. This moving court, that caught the people's eyes, And seemed but pomp, did other ends disguise: Achitophel had formed it, with intent To sound the depths, and fathom, where it went, The people's hearts; distinguish friends from foes, And try their strength, before they came to blows. Yet all was colored with a smooth pretense Of specious love, and duty to their prince. Religion, and redress of grievances, Two names that always cheat and always please, Are often urged; and good King David's life Endangered by a brother and a wife. 2 Thus, in a pageant show, a plot is made, And peace itself is war in masquerade. O foolish Israel! never warned by ill, Still the same bait, and circumvented still! Did ever men forsake their present ease, In midst of health imagine a disease; Take pains contingent mischiefs to foresee, Make heirs for monarchs, and for G o d decree? What shall we think! C a n people give away Both for themselves and sons, their native sway? Then they are left defenseless to the sword Of each unbounded, arbitrary lord: And laws are vain, by which we right enjoy, If kings unquestioned can those laws destroy. Yet if the crowd be judge of fit and just, And kings are only officers in trust, Then this resuming covenant was declared When kings were made, or is forever barred. If those who gave the scepter could not tie By their own deed their own posterity,

775

How then could Adam bind his future race? How could his forfeit on mankind take place? Or how could heavenly justice damn us all, Who ne'er consented to our father's fall? Then kings are slaves to those whom they command,

730

735

740

745

750

755

760

765

9. In 1680 Monmouth made a progress through the west of England, seeking popular support for his cause. 1. Thomas Thynne of Longleat. He entertained Monmouth on his journey in the west. Wise is, of

2105

course, ironic. 2. Titus Oates had sworn that both James, duke of York, and the queen were involved in a similar plot to poison Charles II.

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2106

JOHN

DRYDEN

A n d tenants to their people's pleasure stand. Add,

that the power for property allowed

Is mischievously seated in the crowd; For w h o c a n be s e c u r e of private right, 780

If sovereign sway m a y be dissolved by might? N o r is the people's j u d g m e n t always true: T h e m o s t m a y err as grossly as the few; A n d faultless kings r u n d o w n , b y c o m m o n cry, F o r vice, oppression, a n d for tyranny.

785

W h a t s t a n d a r d is t h e r e in a fickle rout, W h i c h , flowing to the m a r k , 0 r u n s faster out? Nor only crowds, but

highwater

mark

Sanhedrins may be

Infected with this public lunacy,3 And share the madness of rebellious times, 790

To murder monarchs for imagined crimes.4 If they m a y give and take whene'er they please, Not kings alone

(the G o d h e a d ' s images),

B u t g o v e r n m e n t itself a t l e n g t h m u s t fall T o n a t u r e ' s s t a t e , w h e r e all h a v e right t o all. 795

Yet, grant our lords the people kings c a n m a k e , W h a t prudent m e n a settled throne would shake? For whatsoe'er their sufferings were before, That change they covet m a k e s them suffer more. All other errors b u t disturb a state,

8oo

B u t innovation is the blow of fate. If a n c i e n t fabrics n o d , a n d threat to fall, To p a t c h the flaws, a n d buttress up the wall, T h u s f a r 'tis d u t y ; b u t h e r e f i x t h e m a r k ; F o r all b e y o n d i t i s t o t o u c h o u r ark.5

805

To change foundations, cast the frame anew, Is work for rebels, w h o base ends pursue, At once divine a n d h u m a n laws control, And m e n d the parts by ruin of the whole. T h e t a m p e r i n g world is subject to this curse,

8io

To physic their disease into a worse. N o w w h a t relief can

righteous

David bring?

H o w f a t a l 'tis t o b e t o o g o o d a k i n g ! Friends he has few, so high the m a d n e s s grows: W h o dare be such, m u s t be the people's foes: 815

Yet s o m e there were, even in the worst of days; S o m e let m e n a m e , a n d n a m i n g i s t o p r a i s e . In this short file Barzillai6 first appears; Barzillai, c r o w n e d with h o n o r a n d with years: Long since,

820

the rising rebels he withstood

In regions waste, beyond the Jordan's flood: Unfortunately brave to buoy the State; B u t sinking u n d e r n e a t h his master's fate:

3. The fickle crowd flows and ebbs like the tide, which is pulled back and forth by the moon (hence "lunacy." after the Latin luna, or "moon"). 4. An allusion to the execution of Charles 1. 5. U/zah was struck dead because he sacrilegiously touched the Ark of the Covenant (2 Samuel 6.6-7). 6. James Butler, duke of Ormond ( 1 6 1 0 - 1 6 8 8 ) .

He was famous for his loyalty to the Stuart cause. He fought for Charles I in Ireland, and when that cause was hopeless, he joined Charles II in his exile abroad. He spent a large fortune on behalf of the king and continued to serve him loyally after the Restoration. Six of his ten children were dead (see line 830). Cf. 2 Samuel 1 9 . 3 1 - 3 9 .

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

825

830

835

840

845

850

855

860

865

870

In exile with his godlike prince he mourned; For him he suffered, and with him returned. The court he practiced, not the courtier's art: Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart: Which well the noblest objects knew to choose, The fighting warrior, and recording M u s e . His bed could once a fruitful issue boast; Now more than half a father's n a m e is lost. His eldest hope, 7 with every grace adorned, By me (so Heaven will have it) always mourned, And always honored, snatched in manhood's prime By unequal fates, and Providence's crime: Yet not before the goal of honor won, All parts fulfilled of subject and of son; r Swift was the race, but short the time to run. J O narrow circle, but of power divine, Scanted in space, but perfect in thy line! By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known, Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own: Thy force, infused, the fainting Tyrians 0 propped; And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stopped. Oh ancient honor! Oh unconquered hand, Whom foes unpunished never could withstand! But Israel was unworthy of thy name: Short is the date of all immoderate fame. It looks as Heaven our ruin had designed, And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind. Now, free from earth, thy disencumbered soul Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole: From thence thy kindred legions mayst thou bring, To aid the guardian angel of thy king. Here stop my M u s e , here cease thy painful flight; No pinions can pursue immortal height: Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more, And tell thy soul she should have fled before: Or fled she with his life, and left this verse To hang on her departed patron's hearse? Now take thy steepy flight from heaven, and see If thou canst find on earth another he: Another he would be too hard to find; See then whom thou canst see not far behind. Zadoc the priest, whom, shunning power and place, His lowly mind advanced to David's grace: With him the Sagan 8 of Jerusalem, Of hospitable soul, and noble stem; Him of the western dome, whose weighty sense Flows in fit words and heavenly eloquence. The prophets' sons, 9 by such example led, To learning and to loyalty were bred: For colleges on bounteous kinds depend,

7. Ormond's son, T h o m a s , earl of Ossory (1634— 1680), a f a m o u s soldier and, like his father, devoted to Charles II. 8. Henry C o m p t o n , bishop of London. "Zadoc":

2107

the Dutch

William Sancroft, archbishop of Canterbury. 9. T h e boys of Westminster School, which Dryden had attended. "Him of the western dome": John Dolben, dean of Westminster.

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2 1 0 8

875

880

885

890

895

900

905

910

915

920 1. 2. 3. 4.

JOHN

DRYDEN

And never rebel was to arts a friend. To these succeed the pillars of the laws, Who best could plead, and best can judge a cause. Next them a train of loyal peers ascend; Sharp-judging Adriel, 1 the Muses' friend, Himself a Muse—in Sanhedrin's debate True to his prince, but not a slave of state; Whom David's love with honors did adorn, "That from his disobedient son were torn. Jotham 2 of piercing wit, and pregnant thought. Indued by nature, and by learning taught To move assemblies, who but only tried The worse a while, then chose the better side; Nor chose alone, but turned the balance too; So much the weight of one brave man can do. Hushai, 3 the friend of David in distress, In public storms, of manly steadfastness: By foreign treaties he informed his youth, And joined experience to his native truth. His frugal care supplied the wanting throne, Frugal for that, but bounteous of his own: 'Tis easy conduct when exchequers flow, But hard the task to manage well the low; For sovereign power is too depressed or high, When kings are forced to sell, or crowds to buy. Indulge one labor more, my weary Muse, For Amiel: 4 who can Amiel's praise refuse? Of ancient race by birth, but nobler yet In his own worth, and without title great: The Sanhedrin long time as chief he ruled, Their reason guided, and their passion cooled: So dexterous was he in the crown's defense, So formed to speak a loyal nation's sense, That, as their band was Israel's tribes in small, So fit was he to represent them all. Now rasher charioteers the seat ascend, Whose loose careers his steady skill commend": They like the unequal ruler of the day, Misguide the seasons, and mistake the way; While he withdrawn at their mad labor smiles, And safe enjoys the sabbath of his toils. These were the chief, a small but faithful band "1 Of worthies, in the breach who dared to stand, And tempt the united fury of the land. J With grief they viewed such powerful engines bent, To batter down the lawful government: A numerous faction, with pretended frights, In Sanhedrins to plume" the regal rights; The true successor from the court removed: 5

John Sheffield, earl of Mulgrave. George Savile, marquis of Halifax. L a u r e n c e Hyde, earl of Rochester. Edward Seymour, speaker of the H o u s e of

set off to advantage

pluck, plunder

Commons. 5. T h e duke of York had been banished from England.

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A B S A L O M AND A C H I T O P H E L

925

930

935

940

945

950

955

960

965

970

The Plot, by hireling witnesses, improved. These ills they saw, and, as their duty bound, They showed the king the danger of the wound: That no concessions from the throne would please, But lenitives 0 fomented the disease; That Absalom, ambitious of the crown, Was made the lure to draw the people down; That false Achitophel's pernicious hate Had turned the Plot to ruin Church and State: The council violent, the rabble worse; That Shimei taught Jerusalem to curse. With all these loads of injuries oppressed, And long revolving, in his careful breast, The event of things, at last, his patience tired, Thus from his royal throne, by Heaven inspired, The godlike David spoke: with awful fear His train their Maker in their master hear. "Thus long have I, by native mercy swayed, My wrongs dissembled, my revenge delayed: So willing to forgive the offending age, So much the father did the king assuage. But now so far my clemency they slight, The offenders question my forgiving right. That one was made for many, they contend; But 'tis to rule; for that's a monarch's end. They call my tenderness of blood, my fear; Though manly tempers can the longest bear. Yet, since they will divert my native course, 'Tis time to show I am not good by force. Those heaped affronts that haughty subjects bring, Are burdens for a camel, not a king: Kings are the public pillars of the State, Born to sustain and prop the nation's weight: If my young Samson will pretend a call To shake the column, let him share the fall: 6 But, oh, that yet he would repent and live! How easy 'tis for parents to forgive! With how few tears a pardon might be won From nature, pleading for a darling son! Poor pitied youth, by my paternal care Raised up to all the height his frame could bear: Had God ordained his fate for empire born, He would have given his soul another turn: Gulled 0 with a patriot's name, whose modern sense Is one that would by law supplant his prince: The people's brave, 0 the politician's tool; Never was patriot yet, but was a fool. Whence comes it that religion and the laws Should more be Absalom's than David's cause? His old instructor, 7 ere he lost his place, Was never thought indued with so much grace.

6. J u d g e s 16.

pain

7. T h e earl of Shaftesbury.

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2 1 0 9

relievers

deceived

bully

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1 2187 /

975

980

985

990

995

IOOO

1005

IOIO

1015

1020

JOHN

MILTON

G o o d heavens, how faction can a patriot paint! My rebel ever proves my people's saint: W o u l d they i m p o s e an heir u p o n the throne? Let S a n h e d r i n s be taught to give their own. A king's at least a part of government, And mine as requisite as their c o n s e n t ; Without my leave a f u t u r e king to c h o o s e , Infers a right the present to depose: T r u e , they petition me to approve their choice; B u t E s a u ' s h a n d s suit ill with J a c o b ' s voice. 8 My pious subjects for my safety pray, W h i c h to s e c u r e , they take my power away. F r o m plots and treasons Heaven preserve my years, B u t save me m o s t from my petitioners. U n s a t i a t e as the barren womb or grave; G o d cannot grant so m u c h as they can crave. W h a t then is left but with a j e a l o u s eye To g u a r d the small r e m a i n s of royalty? T h e law shall still direct my p e a c e f u l sway, And the s a m e law teach rebels to obey: Votes shall no more established power control— S u c h votes as make a part exceed the whole: No groundless clamors shall my friends remove, Nor crowds have power to p u n i s h ere they prove: For gods and godlike kings, their care express, Still to d e f e n d their servants in distress. O that my power to saving were confined: Why a m I forced, like Heaven, against my mind, F To m a k e examples of another kind? J M u s t I at length the sword of j u s t i c e draw? O curst effects of necessary law! H o w ill my fear they by my mercy s c a n 0 ! B e w a r e the fury of a patient m a n . L a w they require, let L a w then show her f a c e ; They could not be content to look on G r a c e , H e r hinder parts, but with a daring eye To tempt the terror of her front and die. 9 By their own arts,'tis righteously decreed, T h o s e dire artificers of death shall bleed. Against themselves their witnesses will swear, Till viper-like their mother Plot they tear: And s u c k for nutriment that bloody gore, W h i c h was their principle of life before. Their Belial with their Belzebub 1 will fight; T h u s on my foes, my foes shall do me right: Nor doubt the event; for f a c t i o u s crowds engage, In their first onset, all their brutal rage. T h e n let 'em take an unresisted course, Retire and traverse, 0 and delude their force:

8. G e n e s i s 2 7 . 2 2 . 9. M o s e s w a s not allowed to s e e the c o u n t e n a n c e of Jehovah (Exodus 3 3 . 2 0 - 2 3 ) .

judge

thwart

1. A god of the Philistines. " B e l i a l " : the i n c a r n a tion of all evil,

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MAC FLECKNOE

1025

1030

/ 2 113

But when they stand all breathless, urge the fight, And rise upon 'em with redoubled might: For lawful power is still superior found, When long driven back, at length it stands the ground." He said. The Almighty, nodding, gave consent; And peals of thunder shook the firmament. Henceforth a series of new time began, The mighty years in long procession ran: "Once more the godlike David was restored, And willing nations knew their lawful lord. 1681

Mac Flecknoe The target of this superb satire, which is cast in the form of a mock-heroic episode, is Thomas Shadwell (1640-1692), the playwright, with whom Dryden had been on good terms for a number of years, certainly as late as March 1678. Shadwell considered himself the successor of Ben Jonson and the champion of the type of comedy that Jonson had written, the "comedy of humors," in which each character is presented under the domination of a single psychological trait or eccentricity, his humor. His plays are not without merit, but they are often clumsy and prolix and certainly much inferior to Jonson's. For many years he had conducted a public argument with Dryden on the merits of Jonson's comedies, which he thought Dryden undervalued. Exactly what moved Dryden to attack him is a matter of conjecture: he may simply have grown progressively bored and irritated by Shadwell and his tedious argument. The poem seems to have been written in late 1678 or 1679 and to have circulated only in manuscript until it was printed in 1682 in a pirated edition by an obscure publisher. By that time, the two playwrights were alienated by politics as well as by literary quarrels. Shadwell was a violent Whig and the reputed author of a sharp attack on Dryden as the Tory author of Absalom and Achitophel and "The Medal." It was probably for this reason that the printer added the subtitle referring to Shadwell's Whiggism in the phrase "true-blue-Protestant poet." Political passions were running high, and sales would be helped if the poem seemed to refer to the events of the day. Whereas Butler had debased and degraded his victims by using burlesque, caricature, and the grotesque, Dryden exposed Shadwell to ridicule by using the devices of mock epic, which treats the low, mean, or absurd in the grand language, lofty style, and solemn tone of epic poetry. The obvious disparity between subject and style makes the satiric point. In 1678, a prolific, untalented writer, Richard Flecknoe, died. Dryden conceived the idea of presenting Shadwell (the self-proclaimed heir of Ben Jonson, the laureate) as the son and successor of Flecknoe (an irony also because Flecknoe was a Catholic priest)—hence Mac (i.e., son of) Flecknoe—from whom he inherits the throne of dullness. Flecknoe in the triple role of king, priest, and poet hails his successor, pronounces a panegyric on his perfect fitness for the throne, anoints and crowns him, foretells his glorious reign, and as he sinks (leaden dullness cannot soar), leaves his mantle to fall symbolically on Shadwell's shoulders. The poem abounds in literary allusions—to Soman legend and history and to the Aeneid, to Cowley's fragmentary epic The Dai'ideis, to Paradise Lost, and to Shadwell's own plays. Biblical allusions add an unexpected dimension of incongruous dignity to the low scene. The coronation takes place in the City, to the plaudits of the citizens, who are fit to admire only what is dull. In 217 lines, Dryden created an image of Shadwell that has fixed his reputation to this day.

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2 1 1 2

JOHN

DRYDEN

Mac Flecknoe Or a

Satire u-pon the True-Blue-Protestant Poet,

T. S.

All h u m a n things are subject to decay, And when fate s u m m o n s , m o n a r c h s m u s t obey. This Flecknoe f o u n d , who, like A u g u s t u s , 1 young W a s called to empire, and had governed long; In prose and verse, was owned, without dispute, T h r o u g h all the realms of N o n s e n s e , absolute. This aged prince, now flourishing in p e a c e , And blest with issue of a large increase, Worn out with b u s i n e s s , did at length debate To settle the s u c c e s s i o n of the state; And, pondering which of all his sons was fit To reign, a n d wage immortal war with wit, Cried: " 'Tis resolved; for nature pleads that he S h o u l d only rule, who most resembles me. 2 alone my perfect i m a g e bears, Sh M a t u r e in dullness from his tender years: Sh alone, of all my sons, is he W h o stands confirmed in full stupidity. T h e rest to s o m e faint m e a n i n g m a k e pretense, B u t Sh never deviates into sense. S o m e b e a m s of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through, and m a k e a lucid interval; B u t Sh 's genuine night admits no ray, His rising fogs prevail upon the day. B e s i d e s , his goodly fabric 3 fills the eye, And s e e m s designed for thoughtless majesty: T h o u g h t l e s s as m o n a r c h oaks that s h a d e the plain, And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign. Heywood and Shirley were b u t types of thee, 4 T h o u last great prophet of tautology.' Even I, a d u n c e of more renown than they, W a s sent before but to prepare thy way; And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, 0 c a m e coarse woolen cloth To teach the nations in thy greater n a m e . 6 My warbling lute, the lute I whilom" strung, formerly W h e n to King J o h n of Portugal 7 I sung, W a s but the prelude to that glorious day, W h e n thou on silver T h a m e s didst cut thy way, With well-timed oars before the royal barge,

1. In 31 B.C.E. Octavian b e c a m e the first Roman emperor at the age of thirty-two. He a s s u m e d the title Augustus in 27 B.C.E. 2. T h o m a s Shadwell. T h e initial and second letter of the n a m e followed by a dash give the appearance, but only the appearance, of protecting Dryden's victim by concealing his name. A c o m m o n device in the satire of the period. 3. His body. Shadwell was a corpulent man. 4. T h o m a s Heywood (ca. 1570—1641) and J a m e s Shirley (1596—1666), playwrights popular before the closing of the theaters in 1642 but now out of fashion. They are introduced here as ''types" (i.e..

prefigurings) of Shadwell, in the sense that Solomon was regarded as an Old Testament prefiguring of Christ, the "last [final] great prophet." 5. Unnecessary repetition of meaning in different words. 6. T h e parallel between Flecknoe, as forerunner of Shadwell, and J o h n the Baptist, as forerunner of J e s u s , is m a d e plain in lines 32—34 by the u s e of details and even words taken from Matthew 3 . 3 - 4 and John 1.23. 7. Flecknoe boasted of the patronage of the Portuguese king.

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MAC FLECKNOE

Swelled with the pride of thy celestial charge; And big with hymn, c o m m a n d e r of a host, T h e like was ne'er in E p s o m blankets tossed. 8 Methinks I see the new Arion 9 sail, T h e lute still trembling underneath thy nail. At thy well-sharpened t h u m b from shore to shore T h e treble s q u e a k s for fear, the b a s s e s roar; E c h o e s from Pissing Alley Sh call, And Sh they r e s o u n d from Aston Hall. About thy boat the little fishes throng, As at the morning toast 0 that floats along. S o m e t i m e s , as prince of thy h a r m o n i o u s b a n d , T h o u wield'st thy p a p e r s in thy threshing hand, St. Andre's 1 feet ne'er kept m o r e equal time, Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme; T h o u g h they in n u m b e r as in s e n s e excel: So j u s t , so like tautology, they fell, T h a t , pale with envy, Singleton 2 forswore i T h e lute and sword, which he in triumph bore, > And vowed he ne'er would act Villerius 3 m o r e . " J H e r e s t o p p e d the good old sire, a n d wept for joy In silent raptures of the h o p e f u l boy. All arguments, but m o s t his plays, p e r s u a d e , T h a t for anointed dullness 4 he was m a d e . C l o s e to the walls which fair A u g u s t a 0 bind (The fair A u g u s t a m u c h to fears inclined), 5 An ancient fabric, 0 raised to inform the sight, T h e r e stood of yore, a n d Barbican it hight: 0 A watchtower once; but now, so fate ordains, Of all the pile an empty n a m e remains. F r o m its old ruins brothel h o u s e s rise, S c e n e s of lewd loves, and of polluted joys, Where their vast courts the mother-strumpets keep, And, undisturbed by watch, in silence sleep. N e a r these a Nursery 6 erects its head, Where q u e e n s are formed, a n d f u t u r e heroes bred; Where unfledged actors learn to laugh and cry, 1 Where infant p u n k s 0 their tender voices try, f And little Maximins 7 the gods defy. J G r e a t Fletcher never treads in buskins here, N o r greater J o n s o n dares in socks 8 appear; But gentle Simkin 9 j u s t reception finds Amidst this m o n u m e n t of vanished minds: 8. A reference to Shadwell's comedy Epsom Wells and to the farcical scene in his Virtuoso, in which Sir Samuel Hearty is tossed in a blanket. 9. A legendary Greek poet. Returning home by sea, he was robbed and thrown overboard by the sailors, but was saved by a dolphin that had been charmed by his music. 1. A French dancer who designed the choreography of Shadwell's opera Psyche (1675). Dryden's sneer at the mechanical metrics of the songs in Psyche is justified. 2. John Singleton (d. 1686), a musician at the Theatre Royal. 3. A character in Sir William Davenant's Siege of

2 113

London building was called

prostitutes

Rhodes (1656), the first English opera. 4. The anticipated phrase is "anointed majesty." English kings are anointed with oil at their coronations. 5. This line alludes to the fears excited by the Popish Plot (cf. Absalom and Achitophel, p. 2087). 6. The name of a training school for young actors. 7. Maximin is the cruel emperor in Dryden's Tyrannic Love (1669), notorious for his bombast. 8. "Buskins" and "socks" were the symbols of tragedy and comedy, respectively. John Fletcher (1579—1625), the playwright and collaborator with Francis Beaumont (ca. 1584—1616). 9. A popular character in low farces.

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2114

IOO

105

110

115

120

JOHN DRYDEN

Pure clinches 0 the suburbian M u s e affords, And Panton 1 waging harmless war with words. H e r e Flecknoe, as a place to f a m e well known, Ambitiously design'd his Sh 's throne; For ancient Dekker 2 prophesied long since, 1 T h a t in this pile would reign a mighty prince, f Born for a s c o u r g e of wit, and flail of s e n s e ; J To w h o m true dullness should s o m e Psyches owe, But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow; Humorists and Hypocrites 3 it should p r o d u c e , Whole Raymond families, and tribes of B r u c e . N o w E m p r e s s F a m e had published the renown Of Sh 's coronation through the town. R o u s e d by report of F a m e , the nations meet, F r o m near Bunhill, a n d distant Watling Street. 4 No Persian carpets spread the imperial way, But scattered limbs of m a n g l e d poets lay; F r o m dusty shops neglected authors c o m e , Martyrs of pies, and relics of the b u m . 5 M u c h Heywood, Shirley, Ogilby 6 there lay, But loads of Sh almost choked the way. Bilked stationers for yeomen stood prepared, And H e r r i n g m a n was captain of the guard. 7 T h e hoary prince in majesty appeared, High on a throne of his own labors reared. At his right hand our young Ascanius sate, Rome's other hope, and pillar of the state. His brows thick fogs, instead of glories, grace, And l a m b e n t dullness played around his face. 8 As H a n n i b a l did to the altars c o m e , Sworn by his sire a mortal foe to R o m e , 9 So Sh swore, nor should his vow be vain, T h a t he till death true dullness would maintain; And, in his father's right, and realm's d e f e n s e , Ne'er to have p e a c e with wit, nor truce with sense. T h e king himself the sacred unction 1 m a d e , As king by office, and as priest by trade. In his sinister 0 hand, instead of ball, He placed a mighty m u g of potent ale; Love's Kingdom to his right he did convey,

1. Said to have been a celebrated punster. 2. Thomas Dekker (ca. 1 5 7 2 - 1 6 3 2 ) , the playwright, whom Jonson had satirized in Tlie Poetaster. 3. Three of Shadwell's plays; The Hypocrite, a failure, was not published. "Raymond" and "Bruce" (line 93) are characters in The Humorists and The Virtuoso, respectively. 4. Because Bunhill is about a quarter mile and Watling Street little more than a half mile from the site of the Nursery, where the coronation is held, Shadwell's fame is narrowly circumscribed. Moreover, his subjects live in the heart of the City, regarded by men of wit and fashion as the abode of bad taste and middle-class vulgarity. 5. Unsold books were used to line pie plates and as toilet paper.

puns

left

6. John Ogilby, a translator of Homer and Virgil, ridiculed by both Dryden and Pope as a bad poet. 7. "Bilked stationers"; cheated publishers, acting as "yeomen" of the guard, led by Henry Herringman, who until 1679 was the publisher of both Shadwell and Dryden. 8. Ascanius, or lulus, was the son of Aeneas. Virgil referred to him as "spes altera Romae" ("Rome's other hope," Aeneid 12.168). As Troy fell, he was marked as favored by the gods when a flickering ("lambent") flame played round his head (Aeneid 2.680-84). 9. Hannibal, who almost conquered Rome in 216 B.C.E., during the second Punic War, took this oath at the age of nine (Livy 21.1). 1. The sacramental oil, used in the coronation.

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MAC FLECKNOE

/ 2 113

At o n c e his scepter, and his rule of sway; W h o s e righteous lore the prince had practiced young, 125 And from whose loins recorded Psyche sprung. His temples, last, with p o p p i e s were o'erspread, T h a t nodding s e e m e d to c o n s e c r a t e his head. 2 J u s t at that point of time, if f a m e not lie, On his left hand twelve reverend owls did fly. 3 130 So Romulus,'tis sung, by Tiber's brook, Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. T h e admiring throng loud a c c l a m a t i o n s make, And o m e n s of his f u t u r e empire take. T h e sire then shook the honors 4 of his head, 135 And from his brows d a m p s of oblivion shed Full on the filial dullness: long he stood, 1 Repelling from his breast the raging god; f At length burst out in this prophetic mood: J " H e a v e n s bless my son, from Ireland let him reign MO To far B a r b a d o e s on the western main; 5 Of his dominion may no end be known, And greater than his father's be his throne; B e y o n d Love's Kingdom let him stretch his p e n ! " He p a u s e d , and all the people cried, " A m e n . " 145 T h e n thus continued he: " M y son, advance Still in new i m p u d e n c e , new ignorance. S u c c e s s let others teach, learn thou from me P a n g s without birth, and fruitless industry. Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; 150 Yet not o n e thought a c c u s e thy toil of wit. Let gentle George 6 in triumph tread the stage, M a k e Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage; L e t Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, c h a r m the pit, And in their folly show the writer's wit. 155 Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy d e f e n s e , And justify their author's want of sense. Let 'em be all by thy own model m a d e Of dullness, and desire no foreign aid; T h a t they to future ages may be known, i6o Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. Nay, let thy men of wit too be the s a m e , All full of thee, a n d differing but in n a m e . But let no alien S — d l — y 7 interpose, To lard with wit 8 thy hungry Epsom prose. 165 And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst cull, T r u s t nature, do not labor to be dull; 2. During the coronation a British monarch holds two symbols of the throne: a globe ("ball") representing the world in the left hand and a scepter in the right. Shadwell's symbols of monarchy are a mug of ale; Flecknoe's drear)' play Love's Kingdom; and a crown of poppies, which suggest heaviness, dullness, and drowsiness. The poppies also refer obliquely to Shadwell's addiction to opium. 3. Birds of night. Appropriate substitutes for the twelve vultures whose flight confirmed to Romulus the destined site of Rome, of which he was founder and king.

4. Ornaments, hence locks. 5. Shadwell's empire is vast but empty. 6. Sir George Etherege (ca. 1635—1691). a writer of brilliant comedies. In the next couplet Dryden names characters from his plays. 7. Sir Charles Sedley ( 1 6 3 8 - 1 7 0 1 ) , wit, rake, poet, and playwright. Dryden hints that he contributed more than the prologue to Shadwell's Epsom Wells. 8. This phrase recalls a sentence in Burton 's Anatomy of Melancholy: "They lard their lean books with the fat of others' works."

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2116 /

JOHN

DRYDEN

B u t write thy best, a n d top; and, in e a c h line, Sir Formal's 9 oratory will be thine: Sir Formal, though u n s o u g h t , attends thy quill, And does thy northern dedications 1 fill. N o r let f a l s e friends s e d u c e thy mind to f a m e , By arrogating J o n s o n ' s hostile n a m e . Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise, And uncle Ogilby thy envy raise. T h o u art my blood, where J o n s o n has no part: W h a t share have we in nature, or in art? Where did his wit on learning fix a brand, And rail at arts he did not u n d e r s t a n d ? W h e r e m a d e he love in Prince Nicander's vein, 2 Or swept the dust in Psyche's h u m b l e strain? W h e r e sold he bargains, 'whip-stitch, 3 kiss my arse,' P r o m i s e d a play a n d dwindled to a farce? 4 W h e n did his M u s e from Fletcher s c e n e s purloin, As thou whole Eth'rege dost t r a n s f u s e to thine? But so t r a n s f u s e d , as oil on water's flow, His always floats above, thine sinks below. This is thy province, this thy wondrous way, N e w h u m o r s to invent for each new play: This is that b o a s t e d bias 5 of thy mind, By which one way, to dullness,'tis inclined; W h i c h m a k e s thy writings lean on one side still, And, in all c h a n g e s , that way b e n d s thy will. N o r let thy mountain-belly m a k e pretense Of likeness; thine's a tympany 6 of sense. A tun° of m a n in thy large bulk is writ, But sure thou'rt but a kilderkin 0 of wit. Like mine, thy gentle n u m b e r s feebly creep; Thy tragic M u s e gives smiles, thy c o m i c sleep. With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write, Thy inoffensive satires never bite. In thy felonious heart though venom lies, It does but touch thy Irish pen, 7 a n d dies. Thy genius calls thee not to p u r c h a s e f a m e In keen iambics, 0 but mild a n a g r a m . Leave writing plays, and c h o o s e for thy c o m m a n d S o m e p e a c e f u l province in acrostic land. T h e r e thou may'st wings display a n d altars raise, 8 And torture one poor word ten t h o u s a n d ways. 9. Sir Forma] Trifle, the ridiculous and vapid orator in The Virtuoso. 1. Shadwell frequently dedicated his works to the duke of Newcastle and members of his family. 2. In Ps)'che. 3. A nonsense word frequently used by Sir Samuel Hearty in The Virtuoso. "Sell bargains": to answer an innocent question with a coarse or indecent phrase, as in this line. 4. Low comedy that depends largely on situation rather than wit, consistently condemned by Dryden and other serious playwrights. 5. In bowling, the spin given to the bowl that causes it to swerve. Dryden closely parodies a passage in Shadwell's epilogue to The Humorists.

large cask small cask

sharp satire

6. A swelling in some part of the body caused by wind. 7. Dryden accuses Flecknoe and his "son" of being Irish. Ireland suggested only poverty, superstition, and barbarity to 17th-century Londoners. 8. "Wings" and "altars" refer to poems in the shape of these objects as in George Herbert's "Easter Wings" (p. 1609) and "The Altar" (p. 1607). "Anagram": the transposition of letters in a word so as to make a new one. "Acrostic": a poem in which the first letter of each line, read downward, makes up the name of the person or thing that is the subject of the poem. Dryden is citing instances of triviality and overingenuity in literature.

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To THE

210

215

MEMORY OF

MR.

OLDHAM

2117

Or, if thou wouldst thy different talent suit, Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute." He said: but his last words were scarcely heard 1 For Bruce and Longville had a trap prepared, And down they sent the yet declaiming bard. 9 J Sinking he left his drugget robe behind, Borne upwards by a subterranean wind. The mantle fell to the young prophet's part, 1 With double portion of his father's art.

ca. 1 6 7 9

1682

To the Memory of Mr. Oldham 1 Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own: For sure our souls were near allied, and thine C a s t in the s a m e poetic mold with mine. 5 One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools 2 we both abhorred alike. To the same goal did both our studies drive; The last set out the soonest did arrive. T h u s Nisus fell upon the slippery place, 10 While his young friend 3 performed and won the race. O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers 0 of thy native tongue. metrics, verse 15 But satire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line. 4 A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too m u c h force betrayed. Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, 20 $till showed a quickness; 5 and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme, (bnce more, hail and farewell; 5 farewell, thou young, ut ah too short, Marcellus 7 of our tongue; hy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound; 8 25 But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

1684 9. In The Virtuoso, Bruce and Longville play this trick on Sir Formal Trifle while he makes a speech. 1. When the prophet Elijah was carried to heaven in a chariot of fire borne on a whirlwind, his mantle fell on his successor, the younger prophet Elisha (2 Kings 2.8—14). Flecknoe, prophet of dullness, naturally cannot ascend, but must sink. 1. John Oldham ( 1 6 5 3 - 1 6 8 3 ) , the young poet whose Satires upon the Jesuits (1681), which Dryden admired, were written in 1679, before Dryden's major satires appeared (see line 8). This elegy was published in Oldham's Remains in Verse and Prose (1684). 2. Objects of satire. 3. Nisus. on the point of winning a footrace, slipped in a pool of blood. His "young friend" was

Euryalus (Virgil's Aeneid 5.315—39). 4. Dryden repeats the Renaissance idea that the satirist should avoid smoothness and affect rough meters ("harsh cadence"). 5. Sharpness of flavor. 6. Dryden echoes the famous words that conclude Catullus's elegy to his brother: "Atque in perpetnum, frater, ave atque vale" (And forever, brother, hail and farewell!). 7. The nephew of Augustus, adopted by him as his successor. After winning military f a m e as a youth, he died at the age of twenty. Virgil celebrated him in the Aeneid 6.854—86. The last line of Dryden's poem is a reminiscence of Aeneid 6.866. 8. The poet's wreath (cf. Milton's Lycidas, lines 1— 2, p. 1806).

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2 1 1 8

JOHN

DRYDEN

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day 1

i From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high: "Arise, ye more than dead." • Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 2 In order to their stations leap, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason 3 closing full in man. 2 What passion cannot Music raise and quell! 4 When Jubal struck the corded shell,' His listening brethren stood around, And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell! 3 The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger, And mortal alarms. The double double double beat

1. St. Cecilia, a Roman lady, was an early Christian martyr. S h e has long been regarded as the patroness of music and the supposed inventor of the organ. Celebrations of her festival day (November 22) in England were usually devoted to music and the praise of music, and from about 1683 to 1703 the Musical Society in London annually commemorated it with a religious service and a public concert. This concert always included an ode written and set to music for the occasion, of which the two by Dryden ("A S o n g for St. Cecilia's Day," 1687, and "Alexander's Feast," 1697) are the most distinguished. G. B. Draghi, an Italian brought to England by Charles II, set this ode to music; hut Handel's fine score, composed in ! 7 3 9 , has completely obscured the original setting. This is an irregular ode in the manner of Cowley. In stanzas 3—6, Dryden boldly attempted to suggest in the sounds of his words the characteristic tones of the instruments mentioned. 2. "Nature": created nature, ordered by the Divine Wisdom out of chaos, which Dryden. adopting the

physics of the Greek philosopher Epicurus, describes as c o m p o s e d of the warring and discordant ("jarring") atoms of the four elements: earth, fire, water, and air ("cold," "hot," "moist," and "dry"). 3. T h e entire c o m p a s s of tones in the scale. Dryden is thinking of the Chain of Being, the ordered creation from inanimate nature up to h u m a n s , God's latest and final work. T h e just gradations of notes in a scale are analogous to the equally just gradations in the ascending scale of created beings. Both are the result of harmony. 4. T h e power of music to describe, evoke, or subdue emotion ("passion") is a frequent theme in 17th-century literature. In stanzas 2—6, the poet considers music as awakening religious awe, warlike courage, sorrow for unrequited love, jealousy a n d fury, and the impulse to worship God. 5. According to Genesis 4 . 2 1 , J u b a l was the inventor of the lyre and the pipe. Dryden imagines Jubal's lyre to have been m a d e of a tortoiseshell ("corded shell").

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A S O N G FOR S T . 30

Of the

CECILIA'S

DAY

2119

thundering drum

Cries: "Hark! the foes come; C h a r g e , charge,'tis too late to retreat."

4 T h e soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers 35

T h e woes of hopeless lovers, W h o s e dirge is whispered by the warbling lute.

5 Sharp

violins6 p r o c l a i m

Their jealous pangs,

and desperation,

Fur}', frantic indignation, 40

D e p t h of pains, and height of passion, F o r the fair, d i s d a i n f u l d a m e .

6 B u t O ! w h a t art c a n teach, W h a t h u m a n voice can reach, T h e sacred organ's praise? 45

N o t e s inspiring holy love, Notes

that wing their heavenly ways

To m e n d the choirs above.

7 Orpheus'

could lead the savage race;

A n d trees u n r o o t e d left their place, 50

S e q u a c i o u s o f 3 the lyre;

following

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: W h e n to her organ vocal breath w a s given, An angel heard, and straight appeared,8 Mistaking earth for heaven. GRAND

CHORUS

As from the -power of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise 9 To all the hlest above; So, when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant 1 shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, 1 The dead shall live, the living die, f And Music shall untune the sky. 2 J 1687

6. A reference to the bright tone of the modern violin, introduced into England at the Restoration. The tone of the old-fashioned viol is much duller. 7. Legendary poet, son of one of the Muses, who played so wonderfully on the lyre that wild beasts ("the savage race") grew tame and followed him, as did even rocks and trees. 8. According to the legend, it was Cecilia's piety, not her music, that brought an angel to visit her. 9. As it was harmony that ordered the universe, so

it was angelic song ("sacred lays") that put the celestial bodies ("spheres") in motion. The harmonious chord that results from the traditional "music of the spheres" is a hymn of "praise" sung by created nature to its "Creator." 1. The universe, the stage on which the drama of human salvation has been acted out. 2. The "last trump" of 1 Corinthians 1 5.52, which will announce the Resurrection and the Last Judgment.

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2120

JOHN DRYDEN

Epigram on Milton 1

T h r e e poets, 2 in three distant ages born, G r e e c e , Italy, and England did adorn. T h e first in loftiness of thought s u r p a s s e d , T h e next in majesty, in both the last: T h e force of N a t u r e could no farther go; To m a k e a third, she joined the former two. 1688

Alexander's Feast 1 Or the Power of Music; An Ode in Honor of St.

Cecilia's Day

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's 2 warlike son: Aloft in awful state T h e godlike hero sate On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were p l a c e d around; Their brows with roses and with myrtles 3 b o u n d : ( S o should desert in a r m s be crowned). T h e lovely Thai's, by his side, S a t e like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! N o n e but the brave, N o n e but the brave, N o n e but the brave deserves the fair. CHORUS

Happy, happy, None hut the None hut the None hut the

happ)' pair! hrave, hrave, hrave deserves the fair.

1. Engraved beneath the portrait of Milton in Jacob Tonson's edition of Paradise Lost (1688). 2. I.e., Homer, Virgil, and Milton. 1. After his defeat of the Persian emperor Darius III and the fall of the Persian capital Persepolis (331 B.C.E.), Alexander the Great, held a feast for his officers. Thai's, his Athenian mistress, persuaded him to set fire to the palace in revenge for the burning of Athens by the Persians under Xerxes in 4 8 0 B.C.E. According to Plutarch, Alexanderwas moved by love and wine, not by music, but Dryden,

perhaps altering an old tradition that Alexander's musician Timotheus once by his flute-playing caused the hero to start up and arm himself, attributes the burning of Persepolis to the power of music. The original music was by Jeremiah Clarke, but Handel's score of 1736 is better known. 2. King Philip II of Macedonia, father of Alexander the Great. 3. Emblems of love. The Greeks and Romans wore wreaths of flowers at banquets.

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ALEXANDER'S FEAST

2121

T i m o t h e u s , placed on high A m i d the tuneful choir, With flying fingers t o u c h e d the lyre: T h e trembling notes a s c e n d the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. T h e s o n g began from Jove, W h o left his blissful seats above ( S u c h is the power of mighty love). A dragon's fiery form belied the god: 4 S u b l i m e on radiant spires 5 he rode, W h e n he to fair Olympia pressed; And while he sought her snowy breast: T h e n , round her slender waist he curled, And s t a m p e d an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. T h e listening crowd admire 0 the lofty sound: wonder at "A present deity," they shout around; "A present deity," the vaulted roofs rebound. With ravished ears T h e m o n a r c h hears, A s s u m e s the god, A f f e c t s to nod, And s e e m s to shake the spheres. 6 CHORUS

With ravished ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. 3 T h e praise of B a c c h u s 0 then the sweet m u s i c i a n sung, Of B a c c h u s ever fair and ever young: T h e jolly god in triumph c o m e s ; S o u n d the trumpets; beat the d r u m s ; F l u s h e d with a purple grace He shows his honest f a c e : N o w give the hautboys 0 breath; he c o m e s , he c o m e s ! B a c c h u s , ever fair and young Drinking joys did first ordain; B a c c h u s ' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is a soldier's p l e a s u r e ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. 4. An oracle had declared that Alexander was the son of Zeus ("Jove") by Philip's wife Olympias (not, as Dryden calls her in line 30, "Olympia"), thus conferring on him that semidivinity often claimed by heroes. Zeus habitually conducted his amours with mortals in the guise of an animal, in this case a dragon.

god of wine

oboes

5. High on shining coils ("radiant spires"). "Spires" for the coils of a serpent is derived from the Latin word spira, which Virgil uses in this sense, Aeneid 2.217 (cf. Paradise Lost 9.502). 6. According to Virgil {Aeneid 10.115) the nod of Jove causes earthquakes.

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2122

JOHN DRYDEN

CHORUS

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain.

4 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And, while he 0 heaven and earth defied, Alexander Changed his° hand, and checked his° pride. Timotheus's /Alexander's He chose a mournful Muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood; Deserted at his utmost need By those his former bounty fed; On the bare earth exposed he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. 7 With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving0 in his altered soul pondering The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow. CHORUS

ioo

Revolving in his altered soul The various turns of chance helcnv; And, now and then, a sigh he stole, And tears hegan to flow.

5 The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree; 'Twas but 8 a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian 9 measures, Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. "War," he sung, "is toil and trouble; Honor, but an empty bubble. Never ending, still beginning,

7. After his final defeat by Alexander, Darius was assassinated by his own followers. 8. I.e., it was necessary only.

9. In Greek music the Lydian mode expressed the plaintive and the sad.

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ALEXANDER'S FEAST

Fighting still, and still destroying: If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying. Lovely Thai's sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee." The many 0 rend the skies with loud applause; So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, Sighed and looked, and sighed again: At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

105

115

2123

crowd, retinue

CHORUS

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, Sighed and looked, and sighed again: At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

135

145

6 Now strike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid 0 sound Has raised up his head: As waked from the dead, And amazed, he stares around, "Revenge, revenge!" Timotheus cries, "See the Furies' arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And unburied remain 2 Inglorious on the plain: Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes, And glittering temples of their hostile gods!" The princes applaud, with a furious joy;

I. The Erinyes of the Greeks, avengers of crimes against the natural and the social orders. They are described as women with snakes in their hair and

rough

wrapped around their waists and arms. 2. According to Greek beliefs, the shades of the dead could not rest until their bodies were buried.

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2124

150

JOHN DRYDEN

And the king seized a flambeau 0 with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 3

torch

CHORUS

And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way, To light him to his pre}', And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

160

165

7 T h u s long ago, Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, While organs yet were m u t e ; T i m o t h e u s , to his breathing flute, And s o u n d i n g lyre, C o u l d swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last, divine Cecilia c a m e , Inventress of the vocal f r a m e ; 0 T h e sweet enthusiast, 4 from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow b o u n d s , And added length to solemn s o u n d s , With nature's m o t h e r wit, and arts unknown before. Let old T i m o t h e u s yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: He raised a mortal to the skies; S h e drew an angel down.

organ

GRAND CHORUS

175

180

At last, divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down. 1697

3. Helen's elopement to Troy with Paris brought on the Trojan War and the ultimate destruction of the city by the Greeks. 4. Usually at this time a disparaging word, frequently, though not always, applied to a religious

zealot or fanatic. Here it is used approvingly and in its literal sense, "possessed by a god," an allusion to Cecilia's angelic companion referred to in line 170 (but see "Song for St. Cecilia's Day," line 53 and n. 8, p. 2119).

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ESSAY OF

DRAMATIC

POESY

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CRITICISM

Dryden's impulse to write criticism came from his practical urge to explain and justify his own writings; his attraction to clear, ordered theoretical principles; and his growing sense of himself as a leader of English literary taste and judgment. The Elizabethans, largely impelled by the example of Italian humanists, had produced an interesting but unsystematic body of critical writings. Dryden could look back to such pioneer works as George Puttenham's Art of English Poesy (1589), Sir Philip Sidney's Defense of Poesy (1595), Samuel Daniel's Defense of Rhyme (ca. 1603), and Ben Jonson's Timber, or Discoveries (1641). These and later writings Dryden knew, as he knew the ancients and the important contemporary French critics, notably Pierre Corneille, Rene Rapin, and Nicolas Boileau. Taken as a whole, his critical prefaces and dedications, which appeared between 1664 and 1700, are the work of a man of independent mind who has made his own synthesis of critical canons from wide reading, a great deal of thinking, and the constant practice of the art of writing. As a critic he is no one's disciple, and he has the saving grace of being always willing to change his mind. All but a very few of Dryden's critical works (most notably An Essay of Dramatic Poesy) grew out of the works to which they served as prefaces: comedies, heroic plays, tragedies, translations, and poems of various sorts. Each work posed problems that Dryden was eager to discuss with his readers, and the topics that he treated proved to be important in the development of the new literature of which he was the principal apologist. He dealt with the processes of literary creation, the poet's relation to tradition, the forms of modern drama, the craft of poetry, and above all the genius of earlier poets: Shakespeare, Jonson, Chaucer, Juvenal, Horace, Homer, and Virgil. For nearly forty years this voice was heard in the land; and when it was finally silenced, a set of critical standards had come into existence and a new age had been given its direction.

From An Essay of Dramatic Poesy 1 [TWO S O R T S OF BAD POETRY] * * *

h a v e a m o r t a l a p p r e h e n s i o n of t w o p o e t s , 2 w h o m this victory, w i t h

the help of both her wings, will never be able to e s c a p e . " " 'Tis easy to g u e s s w h o m you intend," said Lisideius; "and without naming them, I ask you if one

1. With the reopening of the theaters in 1660, older plays were revived, but despite their power and charm, they seemed old-fashioned. Although new playwrights, ambitious to create a modern English drama, soon appeared, they were uncertain of their direction. What, if anything, useful could they learn from the dramatic practice of the ancients? Should they ignore the English dramatists of the late 16th and early 17th centuries? Should they make their example the vigorous contemporary drama of France? Dryden addresses himself to these and other problems in this essay, his first extended piece of criticism. Its purpose, he tells us, was "chiefly to vindicate the honor of our English writers from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them." Its method is skeptical: Dryden presents several points of view, but imposes none. The form is a dialogue among friends, like the Tusculan Disputations or the Brutus of Cicero. Crites praises the drama of

the ancients; Eugenius protests against their authority and argues for the idea of progress in the arts; Lisideius urges the excellence of French plays; and Neander, speaking in the climactic position, defends the native tradition and the greatness of Shakespeare, Fletcher, and Jonson. The dialogue takes place on J u n e 3, 1665, in a boat on the Thames. The four friends are rowed downstream to listen to the cannonading of the English and Dutch fleets, engaged in battle off the Suffolk coast. As the gunfire recedes they are assured of victory and order their boatman to return to London, and naturally enough they fall to discussing the number of bad poems that the victory will evoke. 2. Crites here is probably referring to Robert Wilde and possibly to Richard Flecknoe, whom Dryden later ridiculed in " M a c Flecknoe." Their actual identity is unimportant, for they merely represent two extremes in poetry, both deplorable: the

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of them does not perpetually pay us with clenches 3 upon words, and a certain clownish kind of raillery? 4 if now and then he does not offer at a catachresis or Clevelandism, wresting and torturing a word into another meaning: in fine, if he be not one of those whom the French would call un mauvais buffon;5 one who is so m u c h a well-wilier to the satire, that he spares no man; and though he cannot strike a blow to hurt any, yet ought to be punished for the malice of the action, as our witches are justly hanged, b e c a u s e they think themselves so, and suffer deservedly for believing they did mischief, b e c a u s e they meant it." "You have described him," said Crites, "so exactly that I am afraid to c o m e after you with my other extremity of poetry. He is one of those who, having had s o m e advantage of education and converse, knows better than the other what a poet should be, but p u t s it into practice more unluckily than any man; his style and matter are everywhere alike: he is the most calm, p e a c e a b l e writer you ever read: he never disquiets your passions with the least concernment, but still leaves you in as even a temper as he found you; he is a very Leveller 6 in poetry: he creeps along with ten little words in every line, and helps out his numbers with for to, and unto, and all the pretty expletives 7 he can find, till he drags them to the end of another line; while the sense is left tired halfway behind it: he doubly starves all his verses, first for want of thought, and then of expression; his poetry neither has wit in it, nor s e e m s to have it; like him in Martial:

Pauper videri Cinna vidt, et est pauper. 8 " H e affects plainness, to cover his want of imagination: when he writes the serious way, the highest flight of his fancy is s o m e miserable antithesis, or seeming contradiction; and in the comic he is still reaching at s o m e thin conceit, the ghost of a jest, and that too flies before him, never to be caught; these swallows which we s e e before us on the T h a m e s are the just resemblance of his wit: you may observe how near the water they stoop, how many proffers they m a k e to dip, and yet how seldom they touch it; and when they do, it is but the surface: they skim over it but to catch a gnat, and then mount into the air and leave it." [THE WIT OF T H E A N C I E N T S : T H E U N I V E R S A L ] 9

* 4 "A thing well said will be wit in all languages; and though it may lose something in the translation, yet to him who reads it in the original, 'tis still the same: he has an idea of its excellency, though it cannot p a s s from his mind into any other expression or words than those in which he finds it. W h e n Phaedria, in the Eunuchhad a c o m m a n d from his mistress to be absent two days, and, encouraging himself to go through with it, said, 'Tan-dem ego non 4

fantastic and extravagant manner of decadent metaphysical wit and its opposite, the flat and the dull. The new poetry was to seek a mean between these extremes (cf. Pope, An Essay on Criticism 2.239^2 and 2 8 9 - 3 0 0 , pp. 2 5 0 2 and 2503). 3. Puns. 4. Boorish banter. 5. A malicious jester (French). "Catachresis": the use of a word in a sense remote from its normal meaning. A legitimate figure of speech used by all poets, it had been abused by John Cleveland (1613—1658), who was at first admired for his ingenuity, but whose reputation declined rapidly after the Restoration. A Clevelandism: "The mari-

gold, whose courtier's face / Echoes the sun." 6. The Levellers were radical egalitarians and republicans, a powerful political force in the Puritan army about 1648. They were suppressed by Cromwell. "Passions": emotions. "Still": always. 7. Words used merely to fill out a line of verse (cf. Pope, An Essay on Criticism 2346—17, p. 2504). 8. Cinna wishes to seem poor, and he is poor (Latin; Epigrams 8.19). 9. Eugenius is in the midst of remarks about the limitations of the ancients. I. A comedy bv the Roman poet Terence (ca. 1 8 5 - 1 5 9 B.C.E.).

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AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY

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ilia caream, si sit opus, vel totum triduum?' 2—Parmeno, to mock the softness of his master, lifting up his hands and eyes, cries out, as it were in admiration, 'Hui! universum triduum!' 3 the elegancy of which universum, though it cannot be rendered in our language, yet leaves an impression on our souls: but this happens seldom in him; in Plautus 4 oftener, who is infinitely too bold in his metaphors and coining words, out of which many times his wit is nothing; which questionless was one reason why H o r a c e falls upon him so severely in those verses: Sed proavi nostri Plautinos et numeros et Laudavere sales, nimium patientex utrumque, Ne dicam stolide For H o r a c e himself was cautious to obtrude a new word on his readers, and makes custom and c o m m o n use the best m e a s u r e of receiving it into our writings:

Multa renascentur quae nunc cecidere, cadentque Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus, Quem penes arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi. 6 "The not observing this rule is that which the world has blamed in our satirist, Cleveland: to express a thing hard and unnaturally is his new way of elocution. 'Tis true no poet but may sometimes use a catachresis: Virgil does it—

Mistaque

ridenti

colocasia fundet

acantho— 7

in his eclogue of Pollio; and in his seventh Aeneid:

mirantur et undae, Miratur netnus insuetum fidgentia longe Scuta virum fluvio pictasque innare carinas. * And Ovid once so modestly that he asks leave to do it:

quem, si verbo audacia detur, Haud metuam summi dixisse Palatia caeli. 9 calling the court of Jupiter by the n a m e of A u g u s t u s his palace; though in another place he is more bold, where he says, 'et longas visent Capitolia pompas.'' But to do this always, and never be able to write a line without it, though it may be admired by s o m e few pedants, will not p a s s upon those who know

2. Shall I not then do without her, if need be, for three whole days? (Latin). 3. The wit of Parmeno's exclamation. "Oh, three entire days," depends on universum, which suggests that a lover may regard three days as an eternity. "Admiration": wonder. 4. Titus M a c c u s Plautus, (ca. 2 5 4 - 1 8 4 B.C.E.), Roman comic poet. 5. But our ancestors too tolerantly (I do not say foolishly) praised both the verse and the wit of Plautus (Latin; Art of Poetry, lines 2 7 0 - 7 2 ) . Dryden misquotes slightly. 6. Many words that have perished will be born again, and those shall perish that are now esteemed, if usage wills it, in whose power are the judgment, the law, and the pattern of speech

(Latin; Art of Poetry, lines 7 0 - 7 2 ) . 7. [The earth] shall give forth the Egyptian bean, mingled with the smiling acanthus (Latin; Eclogues 4.20). "Smiling acanthus" is a catachresis. 8. Actually Aeneid 8.91—93. Dryden's paraphrase makes the point clearly: "The woods and waters wonder at the gleam / Of shields and painted ships that stem the stream" (Latin; Aeneid 8.125—26). "Wonder" is a catachresis. 9. [This is the place] which, if boldness of expression be permitted. I shall not hesitate to call the Palace of high heaven (Latin; Metamorphoses 1.175-76). 1. And the Capitol shall see the long processions (Latin; Metamorphoses 1.561).

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that wit is best conveyed to us in the m o s t easy language; and is most to be admired when a great thought c o m e s dressed in words so commonly received that it is understood by the meanest apprehensions, as the best meat is the most easily digested: but we cannot read a verse of Cleveland's without making a face at it, as if every word were a pill to swallow: he gives us many times a hard nut to break our teeth, without a kernel for our pains. So that there is this difference betwixt his satires and Doctor Donne's; that the one gives us deep, thoughts in c o m m o n language, though rough c a d e n c e ; the other gives us c o m m o n thoughts in abstruse words: 'tis true in s o m e places his wit is independent of his words, as in that of the Rebel Scot: H a d C a i n been Scot, G o d would have changed his doom; Not forced him wander, but confined him home. 2 "St sic omnia dixisset! 3 This is wit in all languages: it is like mercury, never to be lost or killed: and so that other— For beauty, like white powder, makes no noise, And yet the silent hypocrite destroys. 4 You see that the last line is highly metaphorical, but it is so soft and gentle that it does not shock us as we read it." [SHAKESPEARE AND

REN JONSON COMPARED]5

"To begin, then, with Shakespeare. He was the man who of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the images of N a t u r e were still present to him, and he drew them, not laboriously, but luckily; when he describes anything, you more than see it, you feel it too. T h o s e who a c c u s e him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of books to read Nature; he looked inwards, and f o u n d her there. I cannot say he is everywhere alike; were he so, I should do him injury to c o m p a r e him with the greatest of mankind. He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great when s o m e great occasion is presented to him; no m a n can say he ever had a fit subject for his wit and did not then raise himself as high above the rest of poets,

Quantum

lenta solent inter viburna

cupressi 6

T h e consideration of this m a d e Mr. Hales 7 of Eton say that there was no subject of which any poet ever writ, but he would produce it m u c h better treated of in Shakespeare; and however others are now generally preferred before him, yet the age wherein he lived, which had contemporaries with him Fletcher and J o n s o n , never equaled them to him in their esteem: and in the last king's court, when Ben's reputation was at highest, Sir J o h n Suckling, 8 and with him the greater part of the courtiers, set our S h a k e s p e a r e far above him. . . . "As for J o n s o n , to whose character I am now arrived, if we look upon him 2. Lines 63—64. 3. Had he said everything thus! (Latin; Juvenal's Satires 1 0 . 1 2 3 - 2 4 ) . 4. From Rupertismus, lines 39—40. Mercuryis said to be "killed" if its fluidity is destroyed. 5. Neander's contrast of Shakespeare and Jonson introduces an extended commentary on the latter's play Epicoene; or the Silent Woman.

6. As do cypresses among the bending shrubs (Latin; Virgil's Eclogues 1.25). 7. The learned John Hales (I 5 8 4 - 1 6 5 6 ) , provost of Eton. He is reputed to have said this to Jonson himself. 8. Courtier, poet, playwright, much admired in Dryden's time for his wit and the easy naturalness of his style. "King's court"; that of Charles I.

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T H E A U T H O R ' S APOLOGY FOR H E R O I C

POETRY

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while he was himself (for his last plays were b u t his dotages), I think him the most learned and judicious writer which any theater ever had. He was a most severe j u d g e of himself, as well as others. O n e cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. In his works you find little to retrench 9 or alter. Wit, and language, and h u m o r also in s o m e m e a s u r e , we had before him; but something of art 1 was wanting to the d r a m a till he came. He m a n a g e d his strength to m o r e advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom find him malting love in any of his s c e n e s or endeavoring to move the passions; his genius was too sullen and saturnine 2 to do it gracefully, especially when he knew he c a m e after those who had performed both to s u c h an height. H u m o r was his proper sphere: and in that he delighted most to represent m e c h a n i c people. 3 He was deeply conversant in the ancients, both G r e e k and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them: there is s c a r c e a poet or historian a m o n g the Roman authors of those times whom he has not translated in Sejanus and Catiline.4 But he has done his robberies so openly, that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him. With the spoils of these writers he so represents old R o m e to us, in its rites, ceremonies, and c u s t o m s , that if one of their poets had written either of his tragedies, we h a d seen less of it than in him. If there was any fault in his language, 'twas that he weaved it too closely and laboriously, in his serious plays: 5 perhaps, too, he did a little too m u c h Romanize our tongue, leaving the words which he translated almost as m u c h Latin as he f o u n d them: wherein, though he learnedly followed the idiom of their language, he did not enough comply with the idiom of ours. If I would compare him with S h a k e s p e a r e , I m u s t acknowledge him the more correct poet, but Shakespeare the greater wit. 6 S h a k e s p e a r e was the H o m e r , or father of our dramatic poets; J o n s o n was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare. To conclude of him; as he has given us the m o s t correct plays, so in the precepts which he has laid down in his Discoveries, we have as m a n y and profitable rules for perfecting the stage, as any wherewith the French can furnish u s . " 1668

From The Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry and Heroic License 1 ["BOLDNESS" OF FIGURES AND TROPES DEFENDED: THE APPEAL TO "NATURE"]

* 4 * They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, m u s t first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men. 9. Delete. 1. Craftsmanship. 2. Heavy. 3. I.e., artisans. In Jonson's comedies the characters are seen under the domination of some psychological trait, ruling passion, or affectation—i.e., some "humor"—that makes them unique and ridiculous. 4. Jonson's two Roman plays, dated 1605 and

1611, respectively. 5. This is the reading of the first edition. Curiously enough, in the second edition Dryden altered the phrase to "in his comedies especially." 6. Genius. 1. This essay was prefixed to Dryden's State of Innocence, the libretto for an opera (never produced), based on Paradise Lost. Dryden had been ridiculed for the extravagant and bold imagery and

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Are all the flights of heroic poetry to be concluded bombast, unnatural, and mere m a d n e s s , b e c a u s e they are not affected with their excellencies? It is j u s t as reasonable as to conclude there is no day, b e c a u s e a blind m a n cannot distinguish of light and colors. O u g h t they not rather, in modesty, to doubt of their own j u d g m e n t s , when they think this or that expression in Homer, Virgil, T a s s o , or Milton's Paradise to be too far strained, than positively to conclude that 'tis all fustian and mere n o n s e n s e ? 'Tis true there are limits to be set betwixt the boldness and rashness of a poet; but he must understand those limits who pretends to j u d g e as well as he who undertakes to write: and he who has no liking to the whole ought, in reason, to be excluded from censuring of the parts. He m u s t be a lawyer before he m o u n t s the tribunal; and the judicature of one court, too, does not qualify a man to preside in another. He may be an excellent pleader in the Chancery, who is not fit to rule the C o m m o n Pleas. 2 But I will p r e s u m e for once to tell them that the boldest strokes of poetry, when they are m a n a g e d artfully, are those which most delight the reader. Virgil and H o r a c e , the severest writers of the severest age, have m a d e frequent u s e of the hardest metaphors and of the strongest hyperboles; and in this c a s e the best authority is the best argument, for generally to have pleased, and through all ages, must bear the force of universal tradition. And if you would appeal from thence to right reason, you will gain no more by it in effect than, first, to set up your reason against those authors, and, secondly, against all those who have admired them. You must prove why that ought not to have pleased which has pleased the most learned and the most judicious; and, to be thought knowing, you m u s t first put the fool upon all mankind. If you can enter more deeply than they have done into the c a u s e s and resorts 3 of that which moves pleasure in a reader, the field is open, you may be heard: but those springs of h u m a n nature are not so easily discovered by every superficial judge: it requires philosophy, as well as poetry, to sound the depth of all the passions, what they are in themselves, and how they are to be provoked; and in this science the best poets have excelled. * * * From h e n c e have sprung the tropes and figures, 4 for which they wanted a n a m e who first practiced them and s u c c e e d e d in them. T h u s I grant you that the knowledge of N a t u r e was the original rule, and that all poets ought to study her, as well as Aristotle and Horace, her interpreters.' But then this also undeniably follows, that those things which delight all ages m u s t have been an imitation of Nature—which is all I contend. Therefore is rhetoric m a d e an art; therefore the n a m e s of so many tropes and figures were invented, b e c a u s e it was observed they had such and s u c h effect upon the audience. Therefore catachreses and hyperboles 6 have found their place amongst them; not that they were to be avoided, but to be used judiciously and placed in poetry as heightenings and shadows are in painting, to make the figure bolder, and c a u s e it to stand off to sight. 4 * * rhetorical figures that are typical of the style of his rhymed heroic plays. This preface is a defense not only of his own predilection for what Samuel Johnson described as "wild and daring sallies of sentiment, in the irregular and eccentric violence of wit" but also of the theory that heroic and idealized materials should be treated in lofty and boldly metaphorical style; hence his definition of wit as propriety. 2. Court in which civil actions could be brought by one subject against another. "Chancery": a high court presided over by the lord chancellor. 3. Mechanical springs that set something in

motion. 4. I.e., such figures of speech as metaphors and similes. "Tropes": the uses of words in a figurative sense. 5. In the words of the French critic Rene Rapin, the rules (largely derived from Aristotle's Poetics and Horace's Art of Poetry) were made to "reduce Nature to method" (cf. Pope, An Essay on Criticism 1 . 8 8 - 8 9 , p. 2499). 6. Deliberate overstatement or exaggeration. "Catachresis": the use of a word in a sense remote from its normal meaning.

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T H E O R I G I N A L AND P R O G R E S S OF S A T I R E

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[WIT AS " P R O P R I E T Y " ]

* * * [Wit] is a propriety of thoughts and words; or, in other terms, thought and words elegantly adapted to the subject. If our critics will join issue on this definition, that we may convenire in aliquo tertio; 7 if they will take it as a granted principle, it will be easy to p u t an end to this dispute. No m a n will disagree from another's j u d g m e n t concerning the dignity of style in heroic poetry; but all reasonable men will conclude it necessary that sublime subjects ought to be adorned with the sublimest, and, consequently, often with the most figurative expressions. * * * 1677

From A Discourse Concerning the Original and Progress of Satire 1 [THE ART OF S A T I R E ]

* * * H o w easy is it to call rogue and villain, and that wittily! B u t how hard to make a m a n appear a fool, a blockhead, or a knave without using any of those opprobrious terms! To spare the grossness of the n a m e s , and to do the thing yet more severely, is to draw a full face, and to make the nose and cheeks stand out, and yet not to employ any depth of shadowing. 2 This is the mystery of that noble trade, which yet no master can teach to his apprentice; he may give the rules, but the scholar is never the nearer in his practice. Neither is it true that this fineness of raillery 3 is offensive. A witty m a n is tickled while he is hurt in this manner, and a fool feels it not. T h e occasion of an offense may possibly be given, but he cannot take it. If it be granted that in effect this way does m o r e mischief; that a m a n is secretly wounded, and though he be not sensible himself, yet the malicious world will find it out for him; yet there is still a vast difference betwixt the slovenly butchering of a m a n , and the fineness of a stroke that separates the head from the body, and leaves it standing in its place. A m a n may be capable, as J a c k Ketch's 4 wife said of his servant, of a plain piece of work, a bare hanging; but to make a malefactor die sweetly was only belonging to her husband. I wish I could apply it to myself, if the reader would be kind enough to think it belongs to me. T h e character of Zimri in my Absalom5 is, in my opinion, worth the whole p o e m : it is not bloody, but it is ridiculous enough; and he, for whom it was intended, was too witty to resent it as an injury. If I had railed, 6 I might have suffered for it justly; but I m a n a g e d my own work more happily, perhaps more dexterously. I avoided the mention 7. To find some means of agreement, in a third term, between the two opposites [Latin], 1. This passage is an excerpt from the long and rambling preface that served as the dedication of a translation of the satires of the Roman satirists Juvenal and Persius to Charles Sackville, sixth earl of Dorset. The translations were made by Dryden and other writers, among them William Congreve. Dryden traces the origin and development of verse satire in Rome and in a very fine passage contrasts Horace and Juvenal as satiric poets. It is plain that he prefers the "tragic" satire of Juvenal to the urbane and laughing satire of Horace. But in the passage printed here, he praises his own satiric character of Zimri (the duke of Buckingham) in

Absalom and Achitophel for the very reason that it is modeled on Horatian "raillery," not Juvenalian invective. 2. Early English miniaturists prided themselves on the art of giving roundness to the full face without painting in shadows. 3. Satirical mirth, good-natured satire. 4. A notorious public executioner of Dryden's time (d. 1686). His name later became a generic term for all members of his profession. 5. Absalom and Achitophel, lines 544—68 (pp. 2 1 0 0 - 0 1 ) . 6. Reviled, abused. Observe that the verb differed in meaning from its noun, defined above.

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of great crimes, and applied myself to the representing of blindsides, and little extravagancies; to which, the wittier a m a n is, he is generally the more obnoxious. 7 It s u c c e e d e d as I wished; the jest went round, and he was laughed at in his turn who began the frolic. * * * 1693

From The Preface to Fables Ancient and Modern 1 [IN P R A I S E O F C H A U C E R ]

In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, I hold him in the s a m e degree of veneration as the Grecians held H o m e r , or the R o m a n s Virgil. He is a perpetual fountain of good sense; learned in all sciences; 2 and, therefore, speaks properly on all subjects. As he knew what to say, so he knows also when to leave off; a continence which is practiced by few writers, and scarcely by any of the ancients, excepting Virgil and Horace. * * * C h a u c e r followed N a t u r e everywhere, but was never so bold to go beyond her; and there is a great difference of being poeta and nimis poeta, 3 if we may believe C a t u l l u s , as m u c h as betwixt a modest behavior and affectation. T h e verse of C h a u c e r , I confess, is not harmonious to us; but 'tis like the eloquence of one w h o m Tacitus c o m m e n d s , it was auribus istius temporis accommodata: 4 they who lived with him, and s o m e time after him, thought it musical; and it continues so, even in our j u d g m e n t , if c o m p a r e d with the n u m b e r s of Lydgate and Gower, 5 his contemporaries; there is the rude sweetness of a S c o t c h tune in it, which is natural and pleasing, though not perfect. 'Tis true I cannot go so far as he who published the last edition of him; 6 for he would m a k e us believe the fault is in our ears, and that there were really ten syllables in a verse where we find but nine; but this opinion is not worth confuting; 'tis so gross and obvious an error that c o m m o n sense (which is a rule in everything but matters of faith and revelation) m u s t convince the reader that equality of numbers in every verse which we call heroic 7 was either not known, or not always practiced in C h a u c e r ' s age. It were an easy matter to produce s o m e thousands of his verses which are lame for want of half a foot, and sometimes a whole one, and which no pronunciation c a n m a k e otherwise. We can only say that he lived in the infancy of our poetry, and that nothing is brought to perfection at the first. * * * 7. Liable. 1. Dryden's final work, published in the year of his death, was a collection of translations from Homer, Ovid, Boccaccio, and Chaucer, and one or two other pieces. The Preface is Dryden's ripest and finest critical essay. He is not concerned here with critical theory or with a formalistic approach to literature but is simply a man, grown old in the reading and writing of poetry, who is eager to talk informally with his readers about some of his favorite authors. His praise of Chaucer (unusually sympathetic and perceptive for 1700) is animated by that love of great literature that is manifest in everything that Dryden wrote. 2. Branches of learning. 3. A poet ("poeta") and too much of a poet ("nimis poeta"). The phrase is not from Catullus but from

Martial (Epigrams 3.44). 4. Suitable to the ears of that time (Latin). Tacitus (ca. 5 5 - c a . 117 C.E.), Roman historian and writer on oratory. 5. John Gower (d. 1408), poet and friend of Chaucer. "Numbers": versification. John Lydgate (ca. 1370—ca. 1449) wrote poetry that shows the influence of Chaucer. 6. Thomas Speght's Chaucer, which Dryden used, was first published in 1598; the second edition, published in 1602, was reprinted in 1687. 7. The pentameter line. In Dryden's time few readers knew how to pronounce Middle English, especially the syllabic e. Moreover, Chaucer's works were known only in corrupt printed texts. As a consequence Chaucer's verse seemed rough and irregular.

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He must have b e e n a man of a m o s t wonderful comprehensive nature, because, as it has been truly observed of him, he has taken into the c o m p a s s of his Canterbury 1 Tales the various manners and humors (as we now call them) of the whole English nation in his age. Not a single character has e s c a p e d him. All his pilgrims are severally distinguished from each other; and not only in their inclinations but in their very physiognomies and persons. Baptista Porta 8 could not have described their natures better than by the marks which the poet gives them. T h e matter and manner of their tales, and of their telling, are so suited to their different educations, humors, and callings that each of them would be improper in any other mouth. Even the grave and serious characters are distinguished by their several sorts of gravity: their discourses are s u c h as belong to their age, their calling, and their breeding; s u c h as are becoming of them, and of them only. S o m e of his persons are vicious, and s o m e virtuous; s o m e are unlearned, or (as C h a u c e r calls them) lewd, and s o m e are learned. Even the ribaldry of the low characters is different: the Reeve, the Miller, and the C o o k are several 9 men, and distinguished from each other as m u c h as the mincing Lady Prioress and the broad-speaking, gap-toothed Wife of Bath. B u t e n o u g h of this; there is such a variety of g a m e springing up before me that I am distracted in my choice, and know not which to follow. 'Tis sufficient to say, according to the proverb, that here is God's plenty. * * * 1700 8. Giambattista della Porta (ca. 1 5 3 5 - 1 6 1 5 ) , author of a Latin treatise on physiognomy.

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1633-1703 Samuel Pepys (pronounced "Peeps") was the son of a London tailor. With the help of a scholarship he took a degree at Cambridge; with the help of a cousin he found a place in the Navy Office. Eventually, through hard work and an eye for detail, he rose to secretary of the Admiralty. His defense of the Navy Office and himself before Parliament in 1668 won him a reputation as a good administrator, and his career continued to prosper until it was broken, first by false accusations of treason in 1679 and finally by the fall of James II in 1688. But Pepys was more than a bureaucrat. A Londoner to his core, he was interested in all the activities of the city: the theater, music, the social whirl, business, religion, literary life, and the scientific experiments of the Royal Society (which he served as president from 1684 to 1686). He also found plenty of chances to indulge his two obsessions: chasing after women and making money. Pepys kept his diary from 1660 to 1669 (when his eyesight began to fail). Writing in shorthand and sometimes in code, he was utterly frank in recording the events of his day, both public and private, the major affairs of state or his quarrels with his wife. Altogether he wrote about 1.3 million words. When the diary was first deciphered and published in the nineteenth century, it made him newly famous. As a document of social history it is unsurpassed for its rich detail, honesty, and immediacy. But more than that, it gives us a sense of somebody else's world: what it was like to live in the Bestoration, and what it was like to see through the eyes of Pepys.

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From The Diary [THE GREAT FIRE]

September 2,

1666

Lords day. S o m e of our maids sitting up late last night to get things ready against our feast today, J a n e called us up, about 3 in the morning, to tell us of a great fire they saw in the City. 1 So I rose, and slipped on my nightgown and went to her window, and thought it to be on the back side of M a r k L a n e 2 at the furthest; but being unused to such fires as followed, I thought it far enough off, a n d so went to bed again and to sleep. About 7 rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window and saw the fire not so m u c h as it was, and further off. So to my closet 3 to set things to rights after yesterday's cleaning. By and by J a n e c o m e s and tells me that she hears that above 3 0 0 h o u s e s have been burned down tonight by the fire we saw, and that it was now burning down all Fish Street by L o n d o n Bridge. So I m a d e myself ready presently,•• and walked to the Tower and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson's little son going up with m e ; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge—which, a m o n g other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah 5 on the Bridge. So down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this morning in the King's baker's h o u s e in Pudding L a n e , and that it hath burned down St. M a g n u s ' C h u r c h and most part of Fish Street already. So I down to the waterside and there got a boat and through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Poor Michell's house, as far as the Old Swan, 6 already burned that way and the fire running further, that in a very little time it got as far as the Steelyard while I was there. Everybody endeavoring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river or bringing them into lighters 7 that lay off. Poor people staying in their h o u s e s as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats or clambering from one pair of stair by the waterside to another. And a m o n g other things, the poor pigeons I perceive were loath to leave their h o u s e s , but hovered about the windows and balconies till they were s o m e of them burned, their wings, and fell down. Having stayed, and in an hour's time seen the fire rage every way, and nobody to my sight endeavoring to q u e n c h it, but to remove their goods and leave all to the fire; and having seen it get as far as the Steelyard, and the wind mighty high and driving it into the city, and everything, after so long a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones of churches, and a m o n g other 8 lives, and whereof my things, the poor steeple by which pretty Mrs. old school-fellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top and there burned till it fell d o w n — I to Whitehall 9 with a gentleman with me who desired to go off from the Tower to see the fire in my b o a t — t o Whitehall, and there 1. The fire of London, which was to destroy fourfifths of the central city, had begun an hour earlier. For another description see Dryden's Annus Mirabilis (p. 2085). 2. Near Pepys's own house in Seething Lane. 3. A small private room or study. 4. Immediately. 5. William Michell and his wife, Betty, one of

Pepys's old flames, lived near London Bridge. Sarah had been a maid of the Pepyses'. 6. A tavern in Thames Street, near the source of the fire. 7. Barges. 8. Mrs. Horsely, a beauty admired and pursued by Pepys. 9. Palace in central London.

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up to the King's closet in the chapel, where people came about me and I did give them an account dismayed them all; and word was carried in to the King, so I was called for and did tell the King and Duke of York what I saw, and that unless his Majesty did command houses to be pulled down, nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor from him and command him to spare no houses but to pull down before the fire every way. The Duke of York bid me tell him that if he would have any more soldiers, he shall; and so did my Lord Arlington afterward, as a great secret. Here meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me, to Paul's; 1 and there walked along Watling Street as well as I could, every creature coming away loaden with goods to save—and here and there sick people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on backs. At last met my Lord Mayor in Canning Street, like a man spent, with a hankercher 2 about his neck. To the King's message, he cried like a fainting woman, "Lord, what can I do? I am spent. People will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses. But the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it." That he needed no more soldiers; and that for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and walked home—seeing people all almost distracted and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames Street—and warehouses of oil and wines and brandy and other things. Here I saw Mr. Isaak Houblon, that handsome man—prettily dressed and dirty at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brothers' things whose houses were on fire; and as he says, have been removed twice already, and he doubts 3 (as it soon proved) that they must be in a little time removed from his house also—which was a sad consideration. And to see the churches all filling with goods, by people who themselves should have been quietly there at this time. By this time it was about 12 o'clock, and so home and there find my guests, which was Mr. Wood and his wife, Barbary Shelden, and also Mr. M o o n e — she mighty fine, and her husband, for aught I see, a likely4 man. But Mr. Moone's design and mine, which was to look over my closet and please him with the sight thereof, which he hath long desired, was wholly disappointed, for we were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry as at this time we could be. While at dinner, Mrs. Batelier came to enquire after Mr. Woolfe and Stanes (who it seems are related to them), whose houses in Fish Street are all burned, and they in a sad condition. She would not stay in the fright. As soon as dined, I and Moone away and walked through the City, the streets full of nothing but people and horses and carts loaden with goods, ready to run over one another, and removing goods from one burned house to another—they now removing out of Canning Street (which received goods in the morning) into Lumbard Street and further; and among others, I now saw my little goldsmith Stokes receiving some friend's goods, whose house itself was burned the day after. We parted at Paul's, he home and I to Paul's Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me; and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the street, and carried them below and above bridge, 1. St. Paul's Cathedral, later ravaged by the fire. 2. Handkerchief.

3. Fears. 4. Promising.

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to and again, to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and above, and no likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and Duke of York in their barge, and with them to Queenhithe and there called Sir Rd. Browne 5 to them. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, and so below bridge at the waterside; but little was or could be done, the fire coming upon them so fast. Good hopes there was of stopping it at the Three Cranes above, and at Buttolph's Wharf below bridge, if care be used; but the wind carries it into the City, so as we know not by the waterside what it doth there. River full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and good goods swimming in the water; and only, I observed that hardly one lighter or boat in three that had the goods of a house in, but there was a pair of virginals 6 in it. Having seen as much as I could now, I away to Whitehall by appointment, and there walked to St. James's Park, and there met my wife and Creed and Wood and his wife and walked to my boat, and there upon the water again, and to the fire up and down, it still increasing and the wind great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and all over the Thames, with one's face in the wind you were almost burned with a shower of firedrops—this is very true—so as houses were burned by these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay five or six houses, one from another. When we could endure no more upon the water, we to a little alehouse on the Bankside over against the Three Cranes, and there stayed till it was dark almost and saw the fire grow; and as it grew darker, appeared more and more, and in corners and upon steeples and between churches and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid malicious bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary fire. Barbary 7 and her husband away before us. We stayed till, it being darkish, we saw the fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the hill, for an arch of above a mile long. It made me weep to see it. The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once, and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruin. So home with a sad heart, and there find everybody discoursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater came with some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned upon Fish Street hill. I invited him to lie at my house, and did receive his goods: but was deceived in his lying there, 8 the noise coming every moment of the growth of the fire, so as we were forced to begin to pack up our own goods and prepare for their removal. And did by moonshine (it being brave, 9 dry, and moonshine and warm weather) carry much of my goods into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money and iron chests into my cellar—as thinking that the safest place. And got my bags of gold into my office ready to carry away, and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallies 1 into a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten had carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, taking down of goods.

5. Sir Richard Browne was a former lord mayor. "Queenhithe": harbor in Thames Street. 6. Table-size harpsichord, popular at the time. 7. The actress Elizabeth Knepp, another of Pepys's mistresses. He calls her "Barbary" because

she had enchanted him by singing Barbary Allen. 8. I.e., mistaken in asking him to stay. 9. Fine. 1. Receipts notched on sticks.

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I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer's 2 quilt, being mighty weary and sore in my feet with going till I was hardly able to stand. About 2 in the morning my wife calls me up and tells of new cries of "Fire!"—it being c o m e to Barking C h u r c h , which is the bottom of our lane. I up; and finding it so, resolved presently to take her away; and did, and took my gold (which was about £ 2 3 5 0 ) , W. Hewer, and J a n e down by Poundy's boat to Woolwich. 3 B u t Lord, what a sad sight it was by moonlight to see the whole City almost on fire—that you might see it plain at Woolwich, as if you were by it. There when I c a m e , I find the gates shut, but no guard kept at all; which troubled me, b e c a u s e of discourses now begun that there is plot in it and that the F r e n c h had done it. 4 I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden's, 5 where I locked up my gold and charged my wife and W. Hewer never to leave the room without one of them in it night nor day. So back again, by the way seeing my goods well in the lighters at Deptford and watched well by people. H o m e , and whereas I expected to have seen our h o u s e on fire, it being now about 7 o'clock, it was not. But to the fire, and there find greater hopes than I expected; for my confidence of finding our office on fire was such, that I durst not ask anybody how it was with us, till I c a m e and saw it not burned. But going to the fire, I find, by the blowing up of houses and the great help given by the workmen out of the King's yards, sent up by Sir W. Penn, there is a good stop given to it, as well at M a r k L a n e end as ours—it having only burned the dial 6 of Barking C h u r c h , and part of the porch, and was there quenched. I up to the top of Barking steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw. Everywhere great fires. Oil cellars and brimstone and other things burning. I b e c a m e afeared to stay there long; and therefore down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread as far as I could see it, and to Sir W. Penn's and there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing since S u n d a y but the remains of Sunday's dinner. Here I met with Mr. Young and Whistler; and having removed all my things, and received good hopes that the fire at our end is stopped, they and I walked into the town and find F a n c h u r c h Street, G r a c i o u s Street, and L u m b a r d Street all in dust. T h e Exchange a sad sight, nothing standing there of all the statues or pillars but Sir Tho. Gresham's picture in the corner. 7 Walked into Moorefields (our feet ready to burn, walking through the town a m o n g the hot coals) and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their goods there, and everybody keeping his goods together by themselves (and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weather for them to keep abroad 8 night and day); drank there, a n d paid twopence for a plain penny loaf. T h e n c e homeward, having p a s s e d through C h e a p s i d e and Newgate Market, all b u r n e d — a n d seen Anthony Joyce's h o u s e in fire. And took up (which I keep by me) a piece of glass of Mercer's C h a p e l in the street, where m u c h more was, so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire, like parchment. I also did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in the chimney joining to the wall of the Exchange, with the hair all burned off the body and yet alive. So h o m e 2. William Hewer, Pepys's chief clerk. Pepys had packed or sent away all his own goods. 3. S u b u r b on the east side of London. 4. There were rumors that the French had set the fire and were invading the city. "Gates": at the dockyard. 5. William Shelden, a Woolwich official at whose

home Mrs. Pepys had stayed the year before, during the plague. 6. Clock. "Yards": i.e., dockyards. 7. Sir T h o m a s G r e s h a m had founded the Royal Exchange, a center for shopping and trading, in 1 568. It was rebuilt in 1669. 8. Out of doors.

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at night, and find there good hopes of saving our o f f i c e — b u t great endeavors of watching all night and having men ready; and so we lodged them in the office and had drink and bread and c h e e s e for them. And I lay down and slept a good night about midnight—though when I rose, I hear that there had been a great alarm of F r e n c h and D u t c h being risen—which proved nothing. But it is a strange thing to see how long this time did look since Sunday, having been always full of variety of actions, and little sleep, that it looked like a week or more. And I had forgot almost the day of the week. 9 [THE D E B W I L L E T AFFAIR]

October 25,

1668

Lords day. Up, and discoursing with my wife about our house and many new things we are doing of; and so to church I, and there find J a c k Fen c o m e , and his wife, a pretty black 1 woman; I never saw her before, nor took notice of her now. So home and to dinner; and after dinner, all the afternoon got my wife and boy 2 to read to me. And at night W. Batelier c o m e s and sups with us; and after supper, to have my head c o m b e d by Deb, 3 which occasioned the greatest sorrow to me that ever I knew in this world; for my wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl con my hand sub su coats; and indeed, I was with my main in her cunny. 4 I was at a wonderful loss upon it, and the girl also; and I endeavored to put it off, but my wife was struck m u t e and grew angry, and as her voice c a m e to her, grew quite out of order; and I do say little, but to bed; and my wife said little also, but could not sleep all night; but about 2 in the morning waked me and cried, and fell to tell me as a great secret that she was a R o m a n Catholic and had received the Holy S a c r a m e n t ; ' which troubled me but I took no notice of it, but she went on from one thing to another, till at last it appeared plainly her trouble was at what she saw; but yet I did not know how m u c h she saw and therefore said nothing to her. But after her much crying and reproaching me with inconstancy and preferring a s o n y girl before her, I did give her no provocations but did promise all fair usage to her, and love, and foreswore any hurt that I did with her—till at last she s e e m e d to be at ease again; and so toward morning, a little sleep; [Oct. 26] and so I, with s o m e little repose and rest, rose, and up and by water to Whitehall, but with my mind mightily troubled for the poor girl, whom I fear I have u n d o n e by this, my wife telling me that she would turn her out of door. However, I was obliged to attend the D u k e of York, thinking to have had a meeting of Tanger 6 today, but had not; but he did take me and Mr. Wren into his closet, and there did press me to prepare what I had to say upon the answers of my fellow-officers to his great letter; which I promised to do against 7 his coming to town again the next week; and so to other discourse, finding plainly that he is in trouble and apprehensions of the reformers, and would be found to do what he can towards reforming himself. And so thence to my Lord Sandwich; where after long stay, he being in talk with others privately, I to him; and there he taking physic and keeping his c h a m b e r , 1 had an hour's 9. A day later the fire was under control. Pepys's own house was spared. 1. Dark-haired. 2. Servant. Pepys had no children. 3. Deborah Willett. Mrs. Pepys's maid. 4. With his hand under her skirts and in her vulva. 5. When unhappy with her husband, Elizabeth Pepys sometimes threatened to convert to the

Church of Rome. She never did. 6. Committee supervising the British naval base at Tangier, later evacuated under Pepys's supervision. 7. Before. Pepys had drafted a letter for the duke of York (later James II), high admiral of the navy, defending him from charges of mismanagement.

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talk with him about the ill posture of things at this time, while the King gives countenance to Sir Ch. Sidly and Lord Buckhurst, 8 telling him their late story of running up and down the streets a little while since all night, and their being beaten and clapped up all night by the constable, who is since chid and imprisoned for his pains. He tells me that he thinks his matters do stand well with the King—and hopes to have dispatch to his mind; 9 but I doubt it, and do see that he doth fear it too. He told me my Lady Carteret's trouble about my writing of that letter of the Duke of York's lately to the office; which I did not own, but declared to be of no injury to G. Carteret, 1 and that I would write a letter to him to satisfy him therein. But this I am in pain how to do without doing myself wrong, and the end I had, of preparing a justification to myself hereafter, when the faults of the Navy come to be found out. However, I will do it in the best manner I can. Thence by coach home and to dinner, finding my wife mightily discontented and the girl sad, and no words from my wife to her. So after dinner, they out 2 with me about two or three things; and so home again, I all the evening busy and my wife full of trouble in her looks; and anon to bed—where about midnight, she wakes me and there falls foul on me again, affirming that she saw me hug and kiss the girl; the latter I denied, and truly; the other I confessed and no more. And upon her pressing me, did offer to give her under my hand that I would never see Mrs. Pierce more, nor Knepp, but did promise her particular demonstrations of my true love to her, owning some indiscretion in what I did, but that there was no harm in it. She at last on these promises was quiet, and very kind we were, and so to sleep; [Oct. 27] and in the morning up, but with my mind troubled for the poor girl, with whom I could not get opportunity to speak; but to the office, my mind mighty full of sorrow for her, where all the morning, and to dinner with my people and to the office all the afternoon; and so at night home and there busy to get some things ready against tomorrow's meeting of Tanger; and that being done and my clerks gone, my wife did towards bedtime begin to be in a mighty rage from some new matter that she had got in her head, and did most part of the night in bed rant at me in most high terms, of threats of publishing 3 my shame; and when I offered to rise, would have rose too, and caused a candle to be lit, to burn by her all night in the chimney while she ranted; while I, that knew myself to have given some grounds for it, did make it my business to appease her all I could possibly, and by good words and fair promises did make her very quiet; and so rested all night and rose with perfect good peace, being heartily afflicted for this folly of mine that did occasion it; but was forced to be silent about the girl, which I have no mind to part with, but much less that the poor girl should be undone by my folly. [Oct. 28] So up, with mighty kindness from my wife and a thorough peace; and being up, did by a note advise the girl what I had done and owned, which note I was in pain for till she told me that she had burned it. This evening, Mr. Spong came and sat late with me, and first told me of the instrument called Parrallogram, 4 which I must have one of, showing me his practice thereon by a map of England. 8. Sir Charles Sedley and Lord Buckhurst were riotous rakes and well-known writers; thev are often identified with Lisideius and Eugenius in Dryden's Essay of Dramatic Poesy. 9. A message to his liking. 1. Sir George Carteret, former treasurer of the

n a w (which Pepys had plans to reform), was later censured for having kept poor accounts. 2. Went out. 3. Making public. 4. The pantograph, a mechanism for copying maps or plans.

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Up, and had a mighty mind to have seen or given a note to D e b or to have given her a little money; to which purpose I wrapped up 4 0 s in a paper, thinking to give her; but my wife rose presently, and would not let me be out of her sight; and went down before me into the kitchen, and c a m e up and told me that she was in the kitchen, and therefore would have me go round the other way; which she repeating, and I vexed at it, answered her a little angrily; upon which she instantly flew out into a rage, calling me dog and rogue, and that I had a rotten heart; all which, knowing that I deserved it, I bore with; and word being brought presently up that she was gone away by c o a c h with her things, my wife was friends; and so all quiet, and I to the office with my heart sad, and find that I cannot forget the girl, and vexed I know not where to look for h e r — a n d more troubled to see how my wife is by this m e a n s likely for ever to have her hand over me, that I shall for ever be a slave to her; that is to say, only in matters of pleasure, but in other things she will make her b u s i n e s s , I know, to please me and to keep me right to her—which I will labor to be indeed, for she deserves it of m e , though it will be I fear a little time before I shall be able to wear D e b out of my mind. At the office all the morning, and merry at noon at dinner; and after dinner to the office, where all the afternoon and doing m u c h business late; my mind being free of all troubles, I thank G o d , but 5 only for my thoughts of this girl, which hang after her. And so at night home to supper, and there did sleep with great content with my wife. I m u s t here remember that I have lain with my moher 6 as a h u s b a n d more times since this falling-out then in I believe twelve months b e f o r e — a n d with more pleasure to her then I think in all the time of our marriage before.

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Lay long in bed, talking with my wife, she being unwilling to have me go abroad, being and declaring herself j e a l o u s of my going out, for fear of my going to D e b ; which I do deny—for which G o d forgive me, for I was no sooner out about noon but I did go by c o a c h directly to S o m e r s e t H o u s e and there inquired a m o n g the porters there for Dr. Allbun; 7 and the first I spoke with told me he knew him, and that he was newly gone into Lincoln's Inn fields, but whither he could not tell me, but that one of his fellows, not then in the way, did carry a chest of drawers thither with him, and that when he c o m e s he would ask him. This put me in s o m e hopes; and I to Whitehall and thence to Mr. Povy's, but he at dinner; and therefore 1 away and walked up and down the Strand between the two turnstiles, 8 hoping to see her out of a window; and then employed a porter, one O s b e s t o n , to find out this doctor's lodgings thereabouts; who by appointment c o m e s to me to Hercules' Pillars, where I dined alone, but tells me that he cannot find out any s u c h but will inquire further. T h e n c e back to Whitehall to the treasury a while, and thence to the Strand; and towards night did meet with the porter that carried the chest of drawers with this doctor, but he would not tell me where he lived, being his good master he told me; but if I would have a m e s s a g e to him, he would deliver it. At last, I told him my business was not with him, but a little gentlewoman, 5. Except. 6. Woman or wife ( mujer in Spanish). 7. Pepys's wife had told him that Deb was staying

with a man named Allbon. 8. To keep traffic, except for pedestrians, out of the street.

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one Mrs. Willet, that is with him; and sent him to see how she did, from her friend in L o n d o n , a n d no other token. He goes while I walk in S o m e r s e t H o u s e walk there in the court; at last he c o m e s back and tells me she is well, and that I may see her if I will—but no more. So I could not be c o m m a n d e d by my reason, but I m u s t go this very night; and so by coach, it being now dark, I to her, close by my tailor's; and there she c a m e into the c o a c h to me, and yo did besar her and tocar her thing, but ella was against it and labored with m u c h earnestness, s u c h as I believed to be real; and yet at last yo did make her tener mi c o s a in her m a n o , while mi m a n o was sobra her pectus, and so did hazer 9 with grand delight. I did nevertheless give her the best counsel I could, to have a care of her honor and to fear G o d and suffer no m a n para haver to do con h e r — a s yo have done—which she promised. Yo did give her 2 0 s and directions p a r a laisser sealed in paper at any time the n a m e of the place of her being, at Herringman's my bookseller in the C h a n g e 1 — b y which I might go para her. And so bid her good-night, with m u c h content to my mind and resolution to look after her no more till I heard from her. And so home, and there told my wife a fair tale, G o d knows, how I spent the whole day; with which the poor wretch was satisfied, or at least s e e m e d so; and so to supper and to bed, she having been mighty busy all day in getting of her house in order against tomorrow, to hang up our new hangings and furnishing our best chamber.

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Up, and at the office all the morning, with my heart full of joy to think in what a safe condition all my matters now stand between my wife and D e b and m e ; and at noon, running upstairs to see the upholsters, who are at work upon hanging my best room and setting up my new bed, I find my wife sitting sad in the dining-room; which inquiring into the reason of, she begun to call me all the false, rotten-hearted rogues in the world, letting me understand that I was with D e b yesterday; which, thinking impossible for her ever to understand, I did a while deny; but at last did, for the ease of my mind and hers, and for ever to discharge my heart of this wicked business, I did confess all; and abovestairs in our bed-chamber there, I did endure the sorrow of her threats and vows and curses all the afternoon. And which was worst, she swore by all that was good that she would slit the nose of this girl, and be gone herself this very night from me; and did there d e m a n d 3 or 400/ of me to buy my p e a c e , that she might be gone without making any noise, or else protested that she would make all the world know of it. So, with m o s t perfect confusion of f a c e and heart, and sorrow and s h a m e , in the greatest agony in the world, I did p a s s this afternoon, fearing that it will never have an end; but at last I did call for W. Hewer, who I was forced to m a k e privy now to all; and the poor fellow did cry like a child and obtained what I could not, that she would be pacified, upon condition that I would give it under my hand never to see or speak with D e b while I live, as I did before of Pierce and Knepp; and which I did also, G o d knows, promise for D e b too, but I have the confidence to deny it, to the perjuring of myself. So before it was late, there was, beyond my hopes as well as desert, a tolerable peace; and so to supper, and pretty kind words, and to 9. Carry on. "Besar": kiss. "Tocar": touch. "Ella": she. "Tener mi cosa in her mano": take my thing in her hand. "Mi mano was sobra her pectus": my

hand was on her breast. 1. I.e., the Royal Exchange, a center for shopping, business, and trade. "Para laisser": to leave.

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bed, and there yo did hazer con ella to her content; and so with s o m e rest spent the night in bed, being most absolutely resolved, if ever I can master this bout, never to give her occasion while I live of more trouble of this or any other kind, there being no curse in the world so great as this of the difference between myself and her; and therefore I do by the grace of G o d promise never to offend her more, and did this night begin to pray to G o d upon my knees alone in my c h a m b e r ; which G o d knows I cannot yet do heartily, but I hope G o d will give me the grace more and more every day to fear Him, and to be true to my poor wife. This night the upholsters did finish the hanging of my best chamber, but my sorrow and trouble is so great about this business, that put me out of all joy in looking upon it or minding how it was. 2 2. Despite his promises, Pepys continued to hanker for Deb, and they had a few brief encounters. Mrs. Pepys a c c u s e d him of talking to D e b in his

JOHN

dreams and she once threatened him with red-hot tongs. But so far as is known the affair was never consummated.

BUNYAN

1628-1688 John Bunyan is one of the most remarkable figures in seventeenth-century literature. The son of a poor Bedfordshire tinker (a maker and mender of metal pots), he received only meager schooling and then learned his father's craft. Nothing in the circumstances of his early life could have suggested that he would become a writer known the world over. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners (1666), his spiritual autobiography, records his transformation from a self-doubting sinner into an eloquent and fearless Baptist preacher (for a selection from Grace Abounding, go to Norton Literature Online). Preachers, both male and female, often even less educated than Bunyan, were common phenomena among the sects during the Commonwealth. They wished no ordination but the "call," and they could dispense with learning because they abounded in inspiration, inner light, and the gifts conferred by the Holy Spirit. In November 1660, the Anglican Church began to persecute and silence the dissenting sects. Jails filled with unlicensed Nonconformist preachers, and Bunyan was one of the prisoners. Befusing to keep silent, he chose imprisonment and so for twelve years remained in Bedford jail, preaching to his fellow prisoners and writing religious books. Upon his release, he was called to the pastorate of a Nonconformist group in Bedford. It was during a second imprisonment, in 1675, when the Test Act was once again rigorously enforced against Nonconformists, that he wrote his greatest work, The Pilgrim's Progress from This World to That Which Is to Come (1678), revised and augmented in the third edition (1679). Bunyan was a prolific writer: part 2 of The Pilgrim's Progress, dealing with the journey of Christian's wife and children, appeared in 1684; The Life and Death of Mr. Badman, in 1680; The Holy War, in 1682. And these major works form only a small part of all his writings.

The Pilgrim's Progress is the most popular allegory in English. Its basic metaphor— life is a journey—is simple and familiar; the objects that the pilgrim Christian meets are homely and commonplace: a quagmire, the highway, the bypaths and shortcuts through pleasant meadows, the inn, the steep hill, the town fair on market day, and the river that must be forded. As in the equally homely parables of Jesus, however, these simple things are charged with spiritual significance. Moreover, this is a tale of adventure. If the road that Christian travels is the King's Highway, it is also a perilous path along which we encounter giants, wild beasts, hobgoblins, and the terrible Apol-

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lyon, "the angel of the bottomless pit," whom Christian m u s t fight. Bunyan keeps the tale firmly based on h u m a n experience, and his style, modeled on the prose of the English Bible, together with his concrete language and carefully observed details, enables even the simplest reader to share the experiences of the characters. What could be better than the following sentence? " S o m e cry out against sin even as the mother cries out against her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, and then falls to hugging and kissing it." The Pilgrim's Progress is no longer a household book, but it survives in the phrases it gave to our language: "the slough of d e s p o n d , " "the h o u s e beautiful," " M r . Worldly-Wiseman," and "Vanity Fair." And it lives again for anyone who reads beyond the first page.

From The Pilgrim's Progress From This World to That Which Is to Come: Delivered under the Similitude of a Dream [ C H R I S T I A N S E T S O U T FOR T H E C E L E S T I A L CITY]

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and, as 1 slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back (Isaiah lxiv.6; L u k e xiv.33; P s a l m s xxxviii.4; Habakkuk ii.2; Acts xvi.31). I looked and saw him open the book and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and trembled; and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, "What shall I do?" (Acts ii.37). In this plight, therefore, he went home and refrained himself as long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress; but he could not be silent long, b e c a u s e that his trouble increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them. O my dear wife, said he, a n d you the children of my bowels, I your dear friend am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am for certain informed that this our city will be burned with fire from heaven, in which fearful overthrow both myself, with thee, my wife, and you, my sweet babes, shall miserably c o m e to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) s o m e way of e s c a p e can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was true, but b e c a u s e they thought that s o m e frenzy distemper 1 had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got him to bed; but the night was as troublesome to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So when the morning was come, they would know how he did. He told them, Worse and worse; he also set to talking to them again, but they began to be hardened. They also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages 2 to him: sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect 1. A malady causing madness. The use of frenzy as an adjective was not uncommon in the 17th

century, 2. Behavior.

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him. Wherefore he began to retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to condole his own misery; he would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying; and thus for some days he spent his time. Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that he was (as he was wont) reading in this book, and greatly distressed in his mind; and as he read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, "What shall I do to be saved?" I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if he would run; yet he stood still, because (as I perceived) he could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist 3 coming to him, who asked, Wherefore dost thou cry? (Job xxxiii.23). He answered, Sir, I perceive by the book in my hand that I am condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment (Hebrews ix.27), and I find that I am not willing to do the first (Job xvi.21), nor able to do the second (Ezekiel xxii. 14). . . . Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this life is attended with so many evils? The man answered, Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the grave, and I shall fall into Tophet 4 (Isaiah xxx.33). And, sir, if I be not fit to go to prison, I am not fit to go to judgment, and from thence to execution; and the thoughts of these things make me cry.' Then said Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why standest thou still? He answered, Because I know not whither to go. Then he gave him a parchment roll, and there was written within, "Fly from the wrath to come" (Matthew iii.7). The man therefore read it, and looking upon Evangelist very carefully, 6 said, Whither must I fly? Then said Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide field, Do you see yonder wicketgate? 7 (Matthew vii. 13, 14.) The man said, No. Then said the other, Do you see yonder shining light? (Psalms cxix.105; II Peter i.19.) He said, I think I do. Then said Evangelist, Keep that light in your eye, and go up directly thereto; so shalt thou see the gate; at which when thou knockest it shall be told thee what thou shalt do. So I saw in my dream that the man began to run. Now, he had not run far from his own door, but his wife and children perceiving it, began to cry after him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, Life! life! eternal life! (Luke xiv.26.) So he looked not behind him, but fled towards the middle of the plain (Genesis xix. 17). The neighbors also came out to see him run (Jeremiah xx. 10); and as he ran some mocked, others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and, among those that did so, there were two that resolved to fetch him back by force. The name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other Pliable. Now by this time the man was got a good distance from them; but, however, they were resolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little time they overtook him. Then said the man, Neighbors, wherefore are ye come? They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said. That can by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the City of Destruction (the place also where I was born) I see it to be so; and, dying there, sooner or later, you will sink lower than the grave, into a place that burns with fire and brimstone; be content, good neighbors, and go along with me. 3. A preacher of the Gospel; literally, a bearer of good news. 4. The place near J e r u s a l e m where bodies and filth were burned; hence, by association, a name

for 5. 6. 7.

hell, Cry out. Sorrowfully. A small gate in or beside a larger gate.

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OBST. What! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and our comforts behind us? CHR. Yes, said Christian (for that was his name), because that ALL which you shall forsake is not worthy to be compared with a little of that which I am seeking to enjoy (II Corinthians v. 17); and, if you will go along with me, and hold it, you shall fare as I myself; for there, where I go, is enough and to spare (Luke xv. 17). C o m e away, and prove my words. OBST. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the world to find them? CHR. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away (I Peter i.4), and it is laid up in heaven, and safe there (Hebrews xi.16), to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on them that diligently seek it. Read it so, if you will, in my book. OBST. Tush! said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go back with us or no? CHR. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to the plow (Luke ix.62). OBST. Come, then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, and go home without him; there is a company of these crazed-headed coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy 8 by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason (Proverbs xxvi.16). PLI. Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good Christian says is true, the things he looks after are better than ours; my heart inclines to go with my neighbor. OBST. What! more fools still? Be ruled by me, go back; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go back, go back, and be wise. CHR. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbor, Pliable; there are such things to be had which I spoke of, and many more glories besides. If you believe not me, read here in this book; and for the truth of what is expressed therein, behold, all is confirmed by the blood of Him that made it (Hebrews ix. 17—22; xiii.20). PLI. Well, neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to come to a point, 9 I intend to go along with this good man, and to cast in my lot with him: but, my good companion, do you know the way to this desired place? CHR. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, to speed me to a little gate that is before us, where we shall receive instructions about the way. PLI. Come, then, good neighbor, let us be going. Then they went both together. 4 * 4 [THE S L O U G H OF D E S P O N D ]

Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk they drew near to a very miry slough, 1 that was in the midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being grievously bedaubed with dirt; and Christian, because of the burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire. PLI. Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbor Christian, where are you now? CHR. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. PLI. At that Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to his fellow, Is 8. Delusion. "Coxcombs": fools. 9. Decision.

1. Swamp (pronounced to rhyme with now).

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this the happiness you have told me all this while of? If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may we expect 'twixt this and our journey's end? Mav I get out again with my life, you shall possess the brave 2 country alone for me. And, with that, he gave a desperate struggle or two, and got out of the mire on that side of the slough which was next 3 to his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw him no more. Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond alone: but still he endeavored to struggle to that side of the slough that was further from his own house, and next to the wicket-gate; the which he did, but could not get out, because of the burden that was upon his back: but I beheld in my dream, that a man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him what he did there? CHR. Sir, said Christian, I was bid go this way by a man called Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might escape the wrath to come; and as I was going thither I fell in here. HELP. But why did not you look for the steps? CHR. Fear followed me so hard that I fled the next way, and fell in. HELP. Then said he, Give me thy hand; so he gave him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his way. Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the City of Destruction to yonder gate, is it that this plat 4 is not mended, that poor travelers might go thither with more security? And he said unto me, This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended; it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore it was called the Slough of Despond; for still, as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears, and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in his place. And this is the reason of the badness of this ground. 4 * * [VANITY F A I R ] 5

Then 1 saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name of that town is Vanity; and at the town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair; it is kept all the year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair because the town where it is kept is lighter than vanity; and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, "All that cometh is vanity" (Ecclesiastes i.2, 14; ii. 11, 17; xi.8; Isaiah xl. 17). This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient standing; I will show you the original of it. Almost five thousand years agone, there were pilgrims walking to the Celestial City, as these two honest persons are; and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and 2. Fine. 3. Nearest. 4. A plot of ground. 5. In this, perhaps the hest-known episode in the book, Bunyan characteristically turns one of the most familiar institutions in contemporary England—annual fairs—into an allegory of universal spiritual significance. Christian and his companion Faithful pass through the town of Vanity at the season of Lhe local fair. Vanity means "emptiness" or "worthlessness," and hence the fair

is an allegory of woridliness and the corruption of the religious life through the attractions of the world. From earliest times numerous fairs were held for stated periods throughout Britain; to them the most important merchants from all over Furope brought their wares. The serious business of buying and selling was accompanied by all sorts of diversions—eating, drinking, and other fleshly pleasures, as w ell as spectacles of strange animals, acrobats, and other wonders.

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Legion, 6 with their companions, perceiving by the path that the pilgrims made, that their way to the city lay through this town of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a fair; a fair wherein should be sold all sorts of vanity, and that it should last all the year long. Therefore at this fair are all such merchandise sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, honors, preferments, 7 titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures, and delights of all sorts, as whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls,-precious stones, and what not. And, moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues, and that of every kind. Here are to be seen, too, and that for nothing, thefts, murders, adulteries, false swearers, and that of a blood-red color. And as in other fairs of less moment, there are the several rows and streets, under their proper names, where such and such wares are vended; so here likewise you have the proper places, rows, streets (viz., countries and kingdoms), where the wares of this fair are soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row, where several sorts of vanities are to be sold. But, as in other fairs, some one commodity is as the chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her merchandise 8 is greatly promoted in this fair; only our English nation, with some others, have taken a dislike thereat. Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just through this town where this lusty 9 fair is kept; and he that will go to the City, and yet not go through this town, must needs "go out of the world" (I Corinthians v. 10). The Prince of princes himself, when here, went through this town to his own country, and that upon a fair-day too, 1 yea, and as I think, it was Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him to buy of his vanities; yea, would have made him lord of the fair, would he but have done him reverence as he went through the town. (Matthew iv.8; Luke iv.5—7.) Yea, because he was such a person of honor, Beelzebub had him from street to street, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a little time, that he might, if possible, allure the Blessed One to cheapen- and buy some of his vanities; but he had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon these vanities. This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a very great fair. Now these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through this fair. Well, so they did; but, behold, even as they entered into the fair, all the people in the fair were moved, and the town itself as it were in a hubbub about them; and that for several reasons: for First, The pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment as was diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that fair. The people, therefore, of the fair, made a great gazing upon them: some said they were fools, some they were bedlams, and some they are outlandish' men. (I Corinthians ii.7, 8.) Secondly, And as they wondered at their apparel, so they did likewise at their speech; for few could understand what they said; they naturally spoke 6. T h e "unclean spirit" sent by J e s u s into the Gadarene swine (Mark 5.9). Beelzebub, prince of the devils (Matthew 12.24). Apollyon, the destroyer, "the Angel of the bottomless pit" (Revelation 9.1 1). 7. Appointments and promotions to political or ecclesiastical positions. 8. T h e practices and the temporal power of the

R o m a n Catholic C h u r c h . 9. C h e e r f u l , lustful. 1. T h e temptation of J e s u s in the wilderness (Matthew 4 . 1 - 1 1 ) . 2. Ask the price of. 3. Foreign. " B e d l a m s " : lunatics from Bethlehem Hospital, the insane asylum in London.

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the language of Canaan, but they that kept the fair were the men of this world; so that, from one end of the fair to the other, they seemed barbarians 4 each to the other. Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the merchandisers was that these pilgrims set very light by all their wares; they cared not so much as to look upon them; and if they called upon them to buy, they would put their fingers in their ears, and cry, "Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity," and look upwards, signifying that their trade and traffic was in heaven. (Psalms cxix.37; Philippians iii.19, 20.) One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of the men, to say unto them, What will ye buy? But they, looking gravely upon him, said, "We buy the truth" (Proverbs xxiii.23). At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men the more; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. At last things came to an hubbub and great stir in the fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word presently brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to take these men into examination, about whom the fair was almost overturned. So the men were brought to examination; and they that sat upon them' asked them whence they came, whither they went, and what they did there, in such an unusual garb? The men told them that they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that they were going to their own country, which was the Heavenly Jerusalem (Hebrews xi. 13—16); and that they had given no occasion to the men of the town, nor yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to let 6 them in their journey, except it was for that, when one asked them what they would buy, they said they would buy the truth. But they that were appointed to examine them did not believe them to be any other than bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things into a confusion in the fair. Therefore they took them and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put them into the cage, that they might be made a spectacle to all the men of the fair. [ T H E RIVER O F DEATH A N D T H E C E L E S T I A L CITY]

So I saw that when they 7 awoke, they addressed themselves to go up to the City; but, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon the City (for the City was pure gold, Revelation xxi.18) was so extremely glorious, that they could not, as yet, with open face behold it, but through an instrument made for that purpose. (II Corinthians iii. 18.) So I saw that as I went on, there met them two men, in raiment that shone like gold; also their faces shone as the light. These men asked the pilgrims whence they came; and they told them. They also asked them where they had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures they had met in the way; and they told them. Then said the men that met them, You have but two difficulties more to meet with, and then you are in the City. Christian then and his companion asked the men to go along with them; so 4. The Greeks and Romans so designated all those who spoke a foreign tongue. "Canaan": the Promised Land, ultimately conquered by the Children of Israel (Joshua 4) and settled by them; hence the pilgrims speak the language of the Bible and of the true religion. Dissenters were notorious for their habitual use of biblical language.

5. Interrogated and tried them. 6. Hinder. 7. Christian and his companion. Hopeful. Ignorance, who appears tragically in the final paragraph, had tried to accompany the two pilgrims but had dropped behind because of his hobbling gait.

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they told them they would. But, said they, you must obtain it by your own faith. So I saw in my dream that they went on together till they came in sight of the gate. Now I further saw that betwixt them and the gate was a river, but there was no bridge to go over; the river was very deep. At the sight, therefore, of this river, the pilgrims were much stunned; 8 but the men that went with them said, You must go through, or you cannot come at the gate. The-pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other way to the gate; to which they answered, Yes; but there hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, 9 been permitted to tread that path, since the foundation of the world, nor shall, until the last trumpet shall sound. (I Corinthians xv.51, 52.) The pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to despond in his mind, and looked this way and that, but no way could be found by them by which they might escape the river. Then they asked the men if the waters were all of a depth. They said no; yet they could not help them in that case; for, said they, you shall find it deeper or shallower, as you believe in the King of the place. They then addressed themselves to the water; and entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep waters; the billows go over my head, all his waves go over me! Selah. 1 Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah, my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me about; I shall not see the land that flows with milk and honey. And with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. Also here he in great measure lost his senses, so that he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the way of his pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake still tended to discover 2 that he had horror of mind, and heart-fears that he should die in that river, and never obtain entrance in at the gate. Here also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since and before he began to be a pilgrim. 'Twas also observed that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil spirits; for ever and anon he would intimate so much by words. Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his brother's head above water; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, and then, ere a while, he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful also would endeavor to comfort him, saying, Brother, I see the gate and men standing by to receive us; but Christian would answer, 'Tis you, 'tis you they wait for; you have been Hopeful ever since I knew you. And so have you, said he to Christian. Ah, brother, said he, surely if I was right he would now arise to help me; but for my sins he hath brought me into the snare, and hath left me. Then said Hopeful, My brother, you have quite forgot the text, where it is said of the wicked, "There are no bands in their death, but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men, neither are they plagued like other men" (Psalms lxxiii.4, 5). These troubles and distresses that you go through in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you, but are sent to try you, whether you will call to mind that which heretofore you have received of his goodness, and live upon him in your distresses. Then I saw in my dream that Christian was as in a muse 3 a while, to whom 8. Amazed. 9. Both were "translated" alive to heaven (Genesis 5.24, Hebrews 11.5, 2 Kings 2 . 1 1 - 1 2 ) . 1. A word of uncertain meaning that occurs fre-

quently at the end of a verse in the Psalms. Bunyan may have s u p p o s e d it to signify the end. 2. Reveal. 3. A deep meditation.

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also Hopeful added this word. Be of good cheer. J e s u s Christ maketh thee whole. And with that Christian brake out with a loud voice, Oh, I see him again! and he tells me, "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee" (Isaiah xliii.2). Then they both took courage, and the Enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were gone over. Christian therefore presently found ground to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the river was but shallow. Thus they got over. Now, upon the bank of the river on the other side, they saw the two Shining Men again, who there waited for them. Wherefore, being come out of the river, they saluted 4 them saying. We are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate. * * * Now when they were come up to the gate, there was written over it in letters of gold, "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the city" (Revelation xxii.14). Then I saw in my dream, that the Shining Men bid them call at the gate; the which, when they did, some from above looked over the gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, etc., to whom it was said, These pilgrims are come from the City of Destruction, for the love that they bear to the King of this place; and then the pilgrims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which they had received in the beginning; those, therefore, were carried in to the King, who, when he had read them, said, Where are the men? To whom it was answered, They are standing without the gate. The King then commanded to open the gate, "That the righteous nation," said he, "which keepeth the truth, may enter in" (Isaiah xxvi.2). Now I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the gate; and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had raiment put on that shone like gold. There was also that met them with harps and crowns, and gave them to them: the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in token of honor. Then I heard in my dream that all the bells in the city rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, " E N T E R YE I N T O T H E J O Y O F O U R L O R D " (Matthew x x v . 2 1 ) . I also heard the men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, " B L E S S I N G AND H O N O R , GLORY AND POWER, B E T O H I M THAT SITTETH UPON T H E

(Revelation v. 1 3 ) . Now just as the gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after them, and, behold, the City shone like the sun; the streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked many men, with crowns on their heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps to sing praises withal. There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another without intermission, saying, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord" (Revelation iv.8). And after that they shut up the gates, which when I had seen I wished myself among them. Now while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the riverside; but he soon got over, and that without half that difficulty which the other two men met with. For it happened that there was then in that place one Vain-hope, a ferryman, that with his boat helped him over; so he, as the other, I saw, did ascend the hill to come up to the gate, only he came alone; neither did any man meet him with the least encouragement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked

THRONE, AND TO T H E L A M B FOREVER AND E V E R "

4. Greeted.

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up to the writing that was above, and then began to knock, supposing that entrance should have been quickly administered to him; but he was asked by the men that looked over the top of the gate, Whence came you? and what would you have? He answered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the King, and he has taught in our streets. Then they asked him for his certificate, that they might go in and show it to the King; so he fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. Then said they, Have you none? But the man answered never a word. So they told the King, but he would not come down to see him, but commanded the two Shining Ones that conducted Christian and Hopeful to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind him hand and foot, and have him away. Then they took him up, and carried him through the air, to the door that I saw in the side of the hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there was a way to hell, even from the gates of heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold it was a dream. 1678

JOHN LOCKE 1632-1704 John Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690) is "a history-book," according to Laurence Sterne, "of what passes in a man's own mind." Like Montaigne's essays, it aims to explore the human mind in general by closely watching one particular mind. When Locke analyzed his ideas, the ways they were acquired and put together, he found they were clear when they were based on direct experience and adequate when they were clear. Usually, it appeared, problems occurred when basic ideas were blurred or confused or did not refer to anything determinate. Thus a critical analysis of the ideas in an individual mind could lead straight to a rule about adequate ideas in general and the sort of subject where adequate ideas were possible. On the basis of such a limitation, individuals might reach rational agreement with one another and so set up an area of natural law, within which a common rule of understanding was available. Locke's new "way of ideas" strikes a humble, antidogmatic note, but readers quickly perceived its far-reaching implications. By basing knowledge on the ideas immediately "before the mind," Locke comports with and helps codify the movement of his times away from the authority of traditions of medieval, scholastic philosophy. His approach also alarmed some divines who argued that the foundation of human life—the mysteries of faith—could never be reduced to clear, distinct ideas. Locke indirectly accepts the Christian scriptures in the Essay in the midst of his famous critique of "enthusiasm," the belief in private revelation, but his main impulse is to restrain rather than to encourage religious speculations. (His fullest theological work, The Reasonableness of Christianity, 1695, argues that scriptural revelation is necessary for rightthinking people but not incompatible with ordinary reasonable beliefs gathered from personal experience and history.) The Essay also contains an unsettling discussion of personal identity (in the chapter "Of Identity and Diversity" added to the second edition in 1694). Locke argues that a person's sense of selfhood derives not from the "identity of soul" but rather from "consciousness of present and past actions": I am myself now because I remember my past, not because a unique substance ("me") underlies everything I experience. This account drew critical responses from numerous distinguished thinkers throughout the eighteenth century, notably Bishop Joseph Butler (1692-1752).

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Locke spent his life in thought. His background and connections were all with the Puritan movement, but he was disillusioned early with the enthusiastic moods and persecutions to which he found the Puritans prone. Having a small but steady private income, he became a student, chiefly at Oxford, learning enough medicine to act as a physician, holding an occasional appointive office, but never allowing any of these activities to limit his controlling passion: the urge to think. After 1667, he was personal physician and tutor in the household of a violent, crafty politician, the first earl of Shaftesbury (Dryden's "Achitophel"). But Locke himself was always a grave, dispassionate man. On one occasion, Shaftesbury's political enemies at Oxford had Locke watched for several years on end, during which he was not heard to say one word either critical of the government or favorable to it. When times are turbulent, so much discretion is suspicious in itself, and Locke found it convenient to go abroad for several years during the 1680s. He lived quietly in Holland and pursued his thoughts. The Glorious Bevolution of 1688—89 and the accession of William III brought him back to England and made possible the publication of the Essay, on which he had been working for many years. Its publication foreshadowed the coming age, not only in the positive ideas that the book advanced but in the quiet way it set aside as insoluble a range of problems about absolute authority and absolute assurance that had torn society apart earlier in the seventeenth century.

From An Essay Concerning Human Understanding From The Epistle to the Reader Reader, I here put into thy hands what has been the diversion of some of my idle and heavy hours; if it has the good luck to prove so of any of thine, and thou hast but half so much pleasure in reading as I had in writing it, thou wilt as little think thy money, as I do my pains, ill-bestowed. Mistake not this for a commendation of my work; nor conclude, because I was pleased with the doing of it, that therefore I am fondly taken with it now it is done. He that hawks at larks and sparrows, has no less sport, though a much less considerable quarry, than he that flies at nobler game: and he is little acquainted with the subject of this treatise, the Understanding, who does not know, that as it is the most elevated faculty of the soul, so it is employed with a greater and more constant delight than any of the other. Its searches after truth are a sort of hawking and hunting, wherein the very pursuit makes a great part of the pleasure. Every step the mind takes in its progress towards knowledge makes some discovery, which is not only new, but the best, too, for the time at least. For the understanding, like the eye, judging of objects only by its own sight, cannot but be pleased with what it discovers, having less regret for what has escaped it, because it is unknown. Thus he who has raised himself above the alms-basket, and, not content to live lazily on scraps of begged opinions, sets his own thoughts on work to find and follow truth, will (whatever he lights on) not miss the hunter's satisfaction; every moment of his pursuit will reward his pains with some delight, and he will have reason to think his time not illspent, even when he cannot much boast of any great acquisition. This, reader, is the entertainment of those who let loose their own thoughts, and follow them in writing; which thou oughtest not to envy them, since they afford thee an opportunity of the like diversion, if thou wilt make use of thy own thoughts in reading. It is to them, if they are thy own, that I refer myself; but if they are taken upon trust from others, it is no great matter what they

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are, they not following truth, but some meaner consideration; and it is not worthwhile to be concerned what he says or thinks, who says or thinks only as he is directed by another. If thou judgest for thyself, I know thou wilt judge candidly; and then I shall not be harmed or offended, whatever be thy censure. For, though it be certain that there is nothing in this treatise of the truth whereof I am not fully persuaded, yet I consider myself as liable to mistakes as I can think thee; and know that this book must stand or fall with thee, not by any opinion I have of it, but thy own. If thou findest little in it new or instructive to thee, thou art not to blame me for it. It was not meant for those that had already mastered this subject, and made a thorough acquaintance with their own understandings, but for my own information, and the satisfaction of a few friends, who acknowledged themselves not to have sufficiently considered it. Were it fit to trouble thee with the history of this Essay, I should tell thee, that five or six friends, meeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts, that we took a wrong course; and that, before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what objects our understandings were or were not fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the company, who all readily assented; and thereupon it was agreed, that this should be our first inquiry. Some hasty and undigested thoughts, on a subject I had never before considered, which I set down against 1 our next meeting, gave the first entrance into this discourse, which, having been thus begun by chance, was continued by entreaty; written by incoherent parcels; and, after long intervals of neglect, resumed again, as my humor or occasions permitted; and at last, in a retirement, where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought into that order thou now seest it. This discontinued way of writing may have occasioned, besides others, two contrary faults; viz., that too little and too much may be said in it. If thou findest anything wanting, I shall be glad that what I have writ gives thee any desire that I should have gone farther: if it seems too much to thee, thou must blame the subject; for when I first put pen to paper, I thought all I should have to say on this matter would have been contained in one sheet of paper; but the farther I went, the larger prospect I had: new discoveries led me still on, and so it grew insensibly to the bulk it now appears in. I will not deny but possibly it might be reduced to a narrower compass than it is; and that some parts of it might be contracted; the way it has been writ in, by catches, 2 and many long intervals of interruption, being apt to cause some repetitions. But, to confess the truth, I am now too lazy or too busy to make it shorter. 4 * 4 I pretend not to publish this Essay for the information of men of large thoughts and quick apprehensions; to such masters of knowledge, I profess myself a scholar, and therefore warn them beforehand not to expect anything here but what, being spun out of my own coarse thoughts, is fitted to men of my own size, to whom, perhaps, it will not be unacceptable that I have taken some pains to make plain and familiar to their thoughts some truths, which established prejudice or the abstractness of the ideas themselves might render difficult. 4 4 4 4 4 4 The commonwealth of learning is not at this time without master1. Before.

2. Fragments.

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builders, whose mighty designs in advancing the sciences will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of posterity: but everyone must not hope to be a Boyle or a Sydenham; and in an age that produces such masters as the great Huygenius, and the incomparable Mr. Newton, 3 with some other of that strain, it is ambition enough to be employed as an under-laborer in clearing the ground a little, and removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to knowledge; which certainly had been very much more advanced in the world, if the endeavors of ingenious and industrious men had not been much cumbered with the learned but frivolous use of uncouth, affected, or unintelligible terms introduced into the sciences, and there made an art of to that degree that philosophy, which is nothing but the true knowledge of things, was thought unfit or uncapable to be brought into well-bred company and polite conversation. 4 Vague and insignificant forms of speech, and abuse of language, have so long passed for mysteries of science; and hard or misapplied words, with little or no meaning, have, by prescription, such a right to be mistaken for deep learning and height of speculation; that it will not be easy to persuade either those who speak or those who hear them, that they are but the covers of ignorance, and hindrance of true knowledge. * * * The booksellers, preparing for the fourth edition of my Essay, gave me notice of it, that I might, if I had leisure, make any additions or alterations I should think fit. Whereupon I thought it convenient to advertise the reader, that besides several corrections I had made here and there, there was one alteration which it was necessary to mention, because it ran through the whole book, and is of consequence to be rightly understood. What I thereupon said, was this:— "Clear and distinct ideas" are terms which, though familiar and frequent in men's mouths, I have reason to think everyone who uses does not perfectly understand. And possibly it is but here and there one who gives himself the trouble to consider them so far as to know what he himself or others precisely mean by them. I have therefore, in most places, chose to put "determinate" or "determined," 5 instead of "clear" and "distinct," as more likely to direct men's thoughts to my meaning in this matter. By those denominations, I mean some object in the mind, and consequently determined, i.e., such as it is there seen and perceived to be. This, I think, may fitly be called a "determinate" or "determined" idea, when such as it is at any time objectively in the mind, and so determined there, it is annexed, and without variation determined, to a name or articulate sound which is to be steadily the sign of that very same object of the mind, or determinate idea. To explain this a little more particularly: By "determinate," when applied to a simple idea, I mean that simple appearance which the mind has in its view, or perceives in itself, when that idea is said to be in it. By "determined," when applied to a complex idea, I mean such an one as consists of a determinate number of certain simple or less complex ideas, joined in such a proportion and situation as the mind has before its view, and sees in itself, when that 3. Sir Isaac Newton. Robert Boyle, the great Anglo-Irish chemist and physicist. Thomas Sydenham, a physician and authority on the treatment of fevers. Christiaan Huygens, Dutch mathematician and astronomer. 4. Locke was tutor to Anthony Ashley Cooper, third earl of Shaftesbury, whose philosophical writ-

ings make of genteel social conversation and civilized good humor something like guides to ultimate truth. See Shaftesbury's "Sensus Communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humor," p. 2 8 3 8 . 5. Definite, limited, fixed in value.

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idea is present in it, or should be present in it, when a man gives a name to it. I say "should be"; because it is not everyone, nor perhaps anyone, who is so careful of his language as to use no word till he views in his mind the precise determined idea which he resolves to make it the sign of. The want of this is the cause of no small obscurity and confusion in men's thoughts and discourses. I know there are not words enough in any language to answer all the variety of ideas that enter into men's discourses and reasonings. But this hinders not but that when anyone uses any term, he may have in his mind a determined idea which he makes it the sign of, and to which he should keep it steadily annexed during that present discourse. Where he does not or cannot do this, he in vain pretends to clear or distinct ideas: it is plain his are not so; and therefore there can be expected nothing but obscurity and confusion, where such terms are made use of which have not such a precise determination. Upon this ground I have thought "determined ideas" a way of speaking less liable to mistake than "clear and distinct"; and where men have got such determined ideas of all that they reason, inquire, or argue about, they will find a great part of their doubts and disputes at an end; the greatest part of the questions and controversies that perplex mankind depending on the doubtful and uncertain use of words, or (which is the same) indetermined ideas, which they are made to stand for. I have made choice of these terms to signify, 1. Some immediate object of the mind, which it perceives and has before it, distinct from the sound it uses as a sign of it. 2. That this idea, thus determined, i.e., which the mind has in itself, and knows and sees there, be determined without any change to that name, and that name determined to that precise idea. If men had such determined ideas in their inquiries and discourses, they would both discern how far their own inquiries and discourses went, and avoid the greatest part of the disputes and wranglings they have with others. $

1690,1700

SIR ISAAC N E W T O N 1642-1727 Isaac Newton was the posthumous son of a Lincolnshire farmer. As a boy, he invented machines; as an undergraduate, he made major discoveries in optics and mathematics; and in 1667—at twenty-five—he was elected a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. Two years later his teacher, Isaac Barrow, resigned the Lucasian Chair of Mathematics in his favor. By then, in secret, Newton had already begun to rethink the universe. His mind worked incessantly, at the highest level of insight, both theoretical and experimental. He designed the first reflecting telescope and explained why the sky looks blue; contemporaneously with Leibniz, he invented calculus; he revolutionized the study of mechanics and physics with three basic laws of motion; and as everyone knows, he discovered the universal law of gravity. Although Newton's Principia

(Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy,

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modern understanding of the cosmos, his Opticks (1704) had a still greater impact on his contemporaries, not only for its discoveries about light and color but also for its formulation of a proper scientific method. Newton reported most of his scientific findings in Latin, the language of international scholarship; but when he chose, he could express himself in crisp and vigorous English. His early experiments on light and color were described in a letter to Henry Oldenburg, secretary of the Royal Society, and quickly published in the society's journal. By analyzing the spectrum, Newton had discovered something amazing, the "oddest if not the most considerable detection, which hath hitherto been made in the operations of nature": light is not homogeneous, as everyone thought, but a compound of heterogeneous rays, and white is not the absence of color but a composite of all sorts of colors. Newton assumes that a clear account of his experiments and reasoning will compel assent; when, at the end of his summary, he drops a very heavy word, he clinches the point like a carpenter nailing a box shut. But other scientists resisted the theory. In years to come, Newton would be more wary; eventually he would leave the university to become master of the mint in London and to devote himself to religious studies. Yet all the while his fame would continue to grow. "There could be only one Newton," Napoleon was told a century later: "there was only one world to discover."

From A Letter of Mr. Isaac Newton, Professor of the Mathematics in the University of Cambridge, Containing His New Theory about Light and Colors Sent by the Author to the Publisher from Cambridge, Febr. 6, 1672, in order to Be Communicated to the Ro)>al Society Sir, To perform my late promise to you, I shall without further ceremony acquaint you that in the beginning of the year 1666 (at which time I applied myself to the grinding of optic glasses of other figures than spherical) I procured me a triangular glass prism to try therewith the celebrated phenomena of colors. And in order thereto having darkened my chamber and made a small hole in my window-shuts to let in a convenient quantity of the sun's light, I placed my prism at his entrance that it might be thereby refracted 1 to the opposite wall. It was at first a very pleasing divertissement to view the vivid and intense colors produced thereby; but after a while, applying myself to consider them more circumspectly, I became surprised to see them in an oblong form, which according to the received laws of refraction I expected should have been circular. They were terminated at the sides with straight lines, but at the ends the decay of light was so gradual that it was difficult to determine justly what was their figure; yet they seemed semicircular. Comparing the length of this colored spectrum with its breadth, I found it about five times greater, a disproportion so extravagant that it excited me to a more than ordinary curiosity of examining from whence it might proceed. I could scarce think that the various thickness of the glass or the termination with shadow or darkness could have any influence on light to produce such an effect; yet I thought it not amiss first to examine those circumstances, and 1. I.e., that the light's direction might be diverted from a straight path.

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so tried what would happen by transmitting light through parts of the glass of divers thicknesses, or through holes in the window of divers bignesses, or by setting the prism without, so that the light might pass through it and be refracted before it was terminated by the hole. But I found none of those circumstances material. The fashion of the colors was in all these cases the same. Then I suspected whether by any unevenness in the glass or other contingent irregularity these colors might be thus dilated. And to try this, I took another prism like the former and so placed it that the light, passing through them both, might be refracted contrary ways, and so by the latter returned into that course from which the former had diverted it. For by this means I thought the regular effects of the first prism would be destroyed by the second prism, but the irregular ones more augmented by the multiplicity of refractions. The event was that the light, which by the first prism was diffused into an oblong form, was by the second reduced into an orbicular one with as much regularity as when it did not at all pass through them. So that, whatever was the cause of that length, 'twas not any contingent irregularity. 2 #

The gradual removal of these suspicions at length led me to the exferimentum crucis,3 which was this: I took two boards, and placed one of them close behind the prism at the window, so that the light might pass through a small hole made in it for the purpose and fall on the other board, which I placed at about 12 foot distance, having first made a small hole in it also, for some of that incident 4 light to pass through. Then I placed another prism behind this second board so that the light, trajected through both the boards, might pass through that also, and be again refracted before it arrived at the wall. This done, I took the first prism in my hand, and turned it to and fro slowly about its axis, so much as to make the several parts of the image, cast on the second board, successively pass through the hole in it, that I might observe to what places on the wall the second prism would refract them. And I saw by the variation of those places that the light, tending to that end of the image towards which the refraction of the first prism was made, did in the second prism suffer a refraction considerably greater than the light tending to the other end. And so the true cause of the length of that image was detected to be no other than that light consists of rays differently refrangible, which, without any respect to a difference in their incidence, were, according to their degrees of refrangibility, transmitted towards divers parts of the wall. 5 $

I shall now proceed to acquaint you with another more notable difformity 6 in its rays, wherein the origin of colors is infolded. A naturalist 7 would scarce expect to see the science of those become mathematical, and yet I dare affirm 2. Newton goes on to describe several experiments and calculations by which he disposed of alternative theories—that rays coming from different parts of the sun caused the diffusion of light into an oblong, or that the rays of light traveled in curved paths after leaving the prism. 3. Crucial experiment (Latin); turning point. 4. From the Latin incidere, to fall into or onto. Newton uses it of light striking an obstacle. 5. This insight enables Newton to design a greatly

improved telescope, which uses reflections to correct the distortions c a u s e d by the scattering of refracted rays. He adds in passing that his experiments were interrupted for two years by the plague: but at last he returns to s o m e further and even more important characteristics of light. "Refrangible": susceptible to being refracted. 6. Diversity of forms. 7. A student of physics or "natural philosophy."

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SIR

ISAAC

NEWTON

that there is as much certainty in it as in any other part of optics. For what I shall tell concerning them is not an hypothesis but most rigid consequence, not conjectured by barely inferring 'tis thus because not otherwise or because it satisfied all phenomena (the philosophers' universal topic) but evinced by the mediation of experiments concluding directly and without any suspicion of doubt. The doctrine you will find comprehended and illustrated in the following propositions. 1. As the rays of light differ in degrees of refrangibility, so they also differ in their disposition to exhibit this or that particular color. Colors are not qualifications of light, derived from refractions or reflections of natural bodies (as 'tis generally believed), but original and connate properties which in divers rays are divers. S o m e rays are disposed to exhibit a red color and no other; some a yellow and no other, some a green and no other, and so of the rest. Nor are there only rays proper and particular to the more eminent colors, but even to all their intermediate gradations. 2. To the same degree of refrangibility ever belongs the same color, and to the same color ever belongs the same degree of refrangibility. The least refrangible rays are all disposed to exhibit a red color, and contrarily those rays which are disposed to exhibit a red color are all the least refrangible. So the most refrangible rays are all disposed to exhibit a deep violet color, and contrarily those which are apt to exhibit such a violet color are all the most refrangible. And so to all the intermediate colors in a continued series belong intermediate degrees of refrangibility. And this analogy 'twixt colors and refrangibility is very precise and strict; the rays always either exactly agreeing in both or proportionally disagreeing in both. 3. The species of color and degree of refrangibility proper to any particular sort of rays is not mutable by refraction, nor by reflection from natural bodies, nor by any other cause that I could yet observe. When any one sort of rays hath been well parted from those of other kinds, it hath afterwards obstinately retained its color, notwithstanding my utmost endeavors to change it. I have refracted it with prisms and reflected it with bodies which in daylight were of other colors; I have intercepted it with the colored film of air interceding two compressed plates of glass; transmitted it through colored mediums and through mediums irradiated with other sorts of rays, and diversely terminated it; and yet could never produce any new color out of it. It would by contracting or dilating become more brisk or faint and by the loss of many rays in some cases very obscure and dark; but I could never see it changed in specie. s 4. Yet seeming transmutations of colors may be made, where there is any mixture of divers sorts of rays. For in such mixtures, the component colors appear not, but by their mutual allaying each other constitute a middling color. And therefore, if by refraction or any other of the aforesaid causes the difform rays latent in such a mixture be separated, there shall emerge colors different from the color of the composition. Which colors are not new generated, but only made apparent by being parted; for if they be again entirely mixed and blended together, they will again compose that color which they did before separation. And for the same reason, transmutations made by the convening of divers colors are not real; for when the difform rays are again severed, they will exhibit the very same colors which they did before they entered the com8. In kind.

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A L E T T E R OF M R .

ISAAC

NEWTON

2 1 5 9

position—as you see blue and yellow powders when finely mixed appear to the naked eye green, and yet the colors of the component corpuscles are not thereby transmuted, but only blended. For, when viewed with a good microscope, they still appear blue and yellow interspersedly. 5. There are therefore two sorts of colors: the one original and simple, the other compounded of these. The original or primary colors are red, yellow, green, blue, and a violet-purple, together with orange, indigo, and an indefinite variety of intermediate graduations. 6. The same colors in specie with these primary ones may be also produced by composition. For a mixture of yellow and blue makes green; of red and yellow makes orange; of orange and yellowish green makes yellow. And in general, if any two colors be mixed which, in the series of those generated by the prism, are not too far distant one from another, they by their mutual alloy compound that color which in the said series appeareth in the mid-way between them. But those which are situated at too great a distance, do not so. Orange and indigo produce not the intermediate green, nor scarlet and green the intermediate yellow. 7. But the most surprising and wonderful composition was that of whiteness. There is no one sort of rays which alone can exhibit this. 'Tis ever compounded, and to its composition are requisite all the aforesaid primary colors, mixed in a due proportion. 1 have often with admiration beheld that all the colors of the prism, being made to converge, and thereby to be again mixed as they were in the light before it was incident upon the prism, reproduced light entirely and perfectly white, and not at all sensibly differing from a direct light of the sun, unless when the glasses I used were not sufficiently clear; for then they would a little incline it to their color. 8. Hence therefore it comes to pass that whiteness is the usual color of light, for light is a confused aggregate of rays endued with all sorts of colors, as they are promiscuously darted from the various parts of luminous bodies. And of such a confused aggregate, as I said, is generated whiteness, if there be a due proportion of the ingredients; but if any one predominate, the light must incline to that color, as it happens in the blue flame of brimstone, the yellow flame of a candle, and the various colors of the fixed stars. 9. These things considered, the manner how colors are produced by the prism is evident. For of the rays constituting the incident light, since those which differ in color proportionally differ in refrangibility, they by their unequal refractions must be severed and dispersed into an oblong form in an orderly succession from the least refracted scarlet to the most refracted violet. And for the same reason it is that objects, when looked upon through a prism, appear colored. For the difform rays, by their unequal refractions, are made to diverge towards several parts of the retina, and there express the images of things colored, as in the former case they did the sun's image upon a wall. And by this inequality of refractions they become not only colored, but also very confused and indistinct. 10. Why the colors of the rainbow appear in falling drops of rain is also from hence evident. For those drops which refract the rays disposed to appear purple in greatest quantity to the spectator's eye, refract the rays of other sorts so much less as to make them pass beside it; 9 and such are the drops on the inside of the primary bow and on the outside of the secondary or exterior one. 9. I.e., disappear alongside it.

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NEWTON

So those drops which refract in greatest plenty the rays apt to appear red toward the spectator's eye, refract those of other sorts so much more as to make them pass beside it; and such are the drops on the exterior part of the primary and interior part of the secondary bow. *

13. I might add more instances of this nature, but I shall conclude with this general one, that the colors of all natural bodies have no other origin than this, that they are variously qualified to reflect one sort of light in greater plenty than another. And this I have experimented in a dark room by illuminating those bodies with uncompounded light of divers colors. For by that means any body may be made to appear of any color. They have there no appropriate color, but ever appear of the color of the light cast upon them, but yet with this difference, that they are most brisk and vivid in the light of their own daylight color. Minium appeareth there of any color indifferently with which 'tis illustrated, but yet most luminous in red, and so Bise' appeareth indifferently of any color with which 'tis illustrated, but yet most luminous in blue. And therefore minium reflecteth rays of any color, but most copiously those endued with red; and consequently when illustrated with daylight, that is, with all sorts of rays promiscuously blended, those qualified with red shall abound most in the reflected light, and by their prevalence cause it to appear of that color. And for the same reason bise, reflecting blue most copiously, shall appear blue by the excess of those rays in its reflected light; and the like of other bodies. And that this is the entire and adequate cause of their colors is manifest, because they have no power to change or alter the colors of any sort of rays incident apart, but put on all colors indifferently with which they are enlightened. These things being so, it can no longer be disputed whether there be colors in the dark, nor whether they be the qualities of the objects we see, no, nor perhaps whether light be a body. For since colors are the qualities of light, having its rays for their entire and immediate subject, 2 how can we think those rays qualities also, unless one quality may be the subject of and sustain another—which in effect is to call it substance. We should not know bodies for substances were it not for their sensible qualities, and the principal of those being now found due to something else, we have as good reason to believe that to be a substance also. 3 Besides, who ever thought any quality to be a heterogeneous aggregate, such as light is discovered to be? But to determine more absolutely what light is, after what manner refracted, and by what modes or actions it produceth in our minds the phantasms of colors, is not so easy. And I shall not mingle conjectures with certainties. *

* 1672

1. Azurite blue. " M i n i u m " : red lead. "Illustrated": illuminated. 2. T h a t of which a thing consists. 3. I.e., the only way we know bodies are substances is that our s e n s e s perceive their qualities.

T h e chief of these qualities, color, is now known to be a quality of light, not body; our conclusion c a n perfectly well be that light is a form of substance, as well as body, and that we know it to be so through its quality, color.

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2161

SAMUEL

BUTLER

1612-1680 Samuel Butler passed his middle years during the fury of the civil wars and under the Commonwealth, sardonically observing the behavior and lovingly memorizing the faults of the Puritan rulers. He despised them and found relief for his feelings by satirizing them, though, naturally enough, he could not publish while they were in power. He served as clerk to several Puritan justices of the peace in the west of England, one of whom, according to tradition, was the original of Sir Hudibras (the s is pronounced). Hudibras, part 1, was published ldte in 1662 (the edition bears the date 1663) and pleased the triumphant Boyalists. King Charles II admired and often quoted the poem and rewarded its author with a gift of £300; it was, after all, a relief to laugh at what he had earlier hated and feared. The first part, attacking Presbyterians and Independents, proved more vigorous and effective than parts 2 and 3, which followed in 1664 and 1678, respectively. After his initial success, Butler was neglected by the people he had pleased. He died in poverty, and not until 1721 was a monument to his memory erected in Westminster Abbey. Hudibras is a travesty, or burlesque: it takes a serious subject and debases it by using a low style or distorts it by grotesque exaggeration. Butler carried this mode even into his verse, for he reduced the iambic tetrameter line (used subtly and seriously by such seventeenth-century poets as John Donne, John Milton, and Andrew Marvell) to something approaching doggerel, and his boldly comic rhymes add to the effect of broad comedy that he sought to create. Burlesque was a popular form of satire during the seventeenth century, especially after the French poet Paul Scarron published his Virgile Travesti (1648), which retells the Aeneid in slang. Butler's use of burlesque expresses his contempt for the Puritans and their commonwealth; the history of England from 1642 to 1660 is made to appear mere sound and fury. Butler took his hero's name from Spenser's Faerie Queene 2.2, where Sir Huddibras appears briefly as a rash adventurer and lover. The questing knight of chivalric romance is degraded into the meddling, hypocritical busybody Hudibras, who goes out, like an officer in Cromwell's army, "a-coloneling" against the popular sport of bear baiting. The knight and his squire, Balph, suggest Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, but the temper of Butler's mind is as remote from Cervantes's warm humanity as it is from Spenser's ardent idealism. Butler had no illusions; he was skeptical in philosophy and conservative in politics, distrusting theoretical reasoning and the new science, disdainful of claims of inspiration and illumination, contemptuous of Catholicism and dubious of bishops, Anglican no less than Boman. It is difficult to think of anything that he approved unless it was peace, common sense, and the wisdom that emerges from the experience of humankind through the ages.

From Hudibras F r o m Part 1, Canto 1 THE

ARGUMENT

Sir Hudibras, his passing worth, The manner how he sallied forth, His arms and equipage are shown, His horse's virtues and his own: The adventure of the Bear and Fiddle Is sung, hut breaks off in the middle.

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2162

SAMUEL

BUTLER

When civil fury 1 first grew high, And men fell out, they knew not why; When hard words, jealousies, and fears Set folks together by the ears And made them fight, like mad or drunk, For D a m e Religion as for punk,° W h o s e honesty they all durst swear for, Though not a man of them knew wherefore; W h e n gospel-trumpeter, surrounded With long-eared rout, 2 to battle sounded, And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 3 W a s beat with fist instead of a stick; Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, And out he rode a-coloneling. 4 A wight" he was whose very sight would Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood; That never bent his stubborn knee To anything but chivalry, Nor put up blow but that which laid Right worshipful on shoulder blade; 5 Chief of domestic knights and errant, Either for chartel or for warrant; Great on the bench, great in the saddle, 6 That could as well bind o'er as swaddle. 7 Mighty he was at both of these, And styled of war as well as peace. (So some rats of amphibious nature Are either for the land or water.) But here our authors make a doubt Whether he were more wise or stout. S o m e hold the one and some the other; But howsoe'er they make a pother, The difference was so small his brain Outweighed his rage but half a grain; Which made some take him for a tool That knaves do work with, called a fool, And offer to lay wagers that, As Montaigne, playing with his cat, Complains she thought him but an ass, 8 M u c h more she would Sir Hudibras (For that's the n a m e our valiant knight

1. T h e civil wars between Royalists and Parliamentarians ( 1 6 4 2 - 4 9 ) . 2. A mob of Puritans or Roundheads, so called b e c a u s e they wore their hair short instead of in flowing curls and thus exposed their ears, which to many satirists suggested the long ears of the ass. "Gospel-trumpeter": a Presbyterian minister vehemently preaching rebellion. 3. T h e Presbyterian clergy were said to have preached the country into the civil wars. Hence, in pounding their pulpits with their fists, they are said to beat their ecclesiastical drums. 4. Here pronounced co-lo-nel-ing. 5. When a m a n is knighted he kneels and is tapped on the shoulder by his overlord's sword.

prostitute

creature

6. "Chartel": a written challenge to combat, s u c h as a knight-errant sends. But Hudibras, as j u s t i c e of the p e a c e ("domestic knight"), could also issue a "warrant" (a writ authorizing an arrest, a seizure, or a search). H e n c e he is satirically called "great on the [justice's] b e n c h " as well as in the saddle. " E r r a n t " was spelled and pronounced arrant. 7. Both j u s t i c e of the p e a c e and soldier, he is equally able to "bind over" a malefactor to be tried at the next sessions or, in his role of colonel, to beat ("swaddle") him. B. In his "Apology for Raymond S e b o n d , " Michel de Montaigne (1533—1592), French skeptic and essayist, wondered whether he played with his cat or his cat played with him.

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HUDIBRAS

To all his challenges did write). But they're mistaken very much, 'Tis plain enough he was no such. We grant, although he had m u c h wit, He was very shy of using it; As being loath to wear it out, And therefore bore it not about, Unless on holidays, or so, As men their best apparel do. Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek As naturally as pigs squeak; That Latin was no more difficile T h a n to a blackbird 'tis to whistle. Being rich in both, he never scanted His bounty unto such as wanted, But much of either would afford To many that had not one word. For Hebrew roots, although they're found To flourish most in barren ground, 9 He had such plenty as sufficed To make some think him circumcised; And truly so perhaps he was, 'Tis many a pious Christian's case. He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skilled in analytic. He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and southwest side; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute. He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl, A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks committee-men and trustees. 1 He'd run in debt by disputation, And pay with ratiocination. All this by syllogism true, In mood and figure, 2 he would do. For rhetoric, he could not ope His mouth but out there flew a trope 0 figure

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of speech

And when he happened to break off In the middle of his speech, or cough, 3 He had hard words ready to show why, And tell what rules he did it by. Else, when with greatest art he spoke, You'd think he talked like other folk;

9. Hebrew, the language of Adam, was thought of as the primitive language, the one that people in a state of nature would naturally speak. 1. Committees were set up in the counties by Parliament and given authority to imprison Royalists and to sequestrate their estates. "Rooks": a kind of

blackbird; here, cheats (slang). 2. T h e "figure" of a syllogism is "the proper disposition of the middle term with the parts of the question." " M o o d " : the f o r m of an argument. 3. S o m e pulpit orators regarded h e m m i n g and coughing as ornaments of speech.

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2164

SAMUEL

BUTLER

For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools. His ordinary rate of speech In loftiness of sound was rich, A Babylonish dialect, 4 Which learned pedants much affect. 95 It was a parti-colored dress Of patched and piebald languages; 'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, Like fustian heretofore on satin. 3 It had an odd promiscuous tone, IOO As if he had talked three parts in one; Which made some think, when he did gabble, They had heard three laborers of Babel, Or Cerberus himself pronounce A leash of languages at once. 6 105 This he as volubly would vent As if his stock would ne'er be spent; And truly, to support that charge, He had supplies as vast and large. For he could coin or counterfeit no New words with little or no wit; 7 Words so debased and hard no stone Was hard enough to touch them on. 8 And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em, The ignorant for current took 'em; 115 That had the orator, who once Did fill his mouth with pebble-stones When he harangued, 9 but known his phrase, He would have used no other ways. In mathematics he was greater 120 Than Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater: 1 For he, by geometric scale, Could take the size of pots of ale; Resolve by sines and tangents straight, If bread or butter wanted weight; 125 And wisely tell what hour o' the day The clock does strike, by algebra. Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher, And had read every text and gloss over; Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, BO He understood by implicit faith; Whatever skeptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore; 90

4. Pedants affected the use of foreign words. "Babylonish" alludes to the confusion of languages with which G o d afflicts the builders of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 1 1 . 4 - 9 ) . 5. Clothes made of coarse cloth ("fustian") were slashed to display the richer satin lining. " F u s t i a n " also m e a n s p o m p o u s , banal speech. 6. T h e sporting term "leash" denotes a group of three dogs, hawks, deer, etc., hence, three in general. Cerberus was the three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to H a d e s .

7. T h e Presbyterians and other sects invented a special religious vocabulary, m u c h ridiculed by Anglicans: out-goings, workings-out, gospelwalking-times, etc. 8. T o u c h s t o n e s were used to test gold and silver for purity. 9. D e m o s t h e n e s cured a stutter by speaking with pebbles in his mouth. 1. B u t l e r s c o n t e m p t u o u s n a m e for the popular astrologer William Lilly ( 1 6 0 2 - 1 6 8 1 ) . Brahe (1 546—1601), a Danish astronomer.

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HUDIBRAS

135

140

145

150

155

160

165

170

Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go. All which he understood by rote And, as occasion served, would quote, No matter whether right or wrong; They might be either said or sung. His notions fitted things so well That which was which he could not tell, But oftentimes mistook the one For the other, as great clerks" have done. 2 He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures by abstracts; Where entity and quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, 3 fly; Where truth in person does appear, Like words congealed in northern air. 4 He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly. In school-divinity 0 as able

As he that hight Irrefragable; Profound in all the nominal And real ways beyond them all; 5 And with as delicate a hand Could twist as tough a rope of sand; And weave fine cobwebs, fit for skull That's empty when the moon is full; 6 Such as take lodgings in a head That's to be let unfurnished He could raise scruples dark and nice, 7 And after solve 'em in a trice; As if divinity had catched The itch on purpose to be scratched, Or, like a mountebank, 8 did wound And stab herself with doubts profound, Only to show with how small pain The sores of faith are cured again; Although by woeful proof we find They always leave a scar behind. He knew the seat of paradise, 9 Could tell in what degree it lies; And, as he was disposed, could prove it

2. Elsewhere Butler wrote, "Notions are but pictures of things in the imagination of m a n , and if they agree with their originals in nature, they are true, and if not, false." 3. In the hairsplitting logic of medieval Scholastic philosophy, a distinction was drawn between the "entity," or being, and the "quiddity," or essence, of bodies. Butler calls entity and quiddity "ghosts" b e c a u s e they were held to be independent realities and so to survive the bodies in which they lodge. 4. T h e notion, as old as the Greek wit Lucian, that in arctic regions words freeze as they are uttered and b e c o m e audible only when they thaw. 5. T h e s e lines refer to the debate, continuous throughout the Middle Ages, about whether the

2165

scholars

scholastic theology

objects of our concepts exist in nature or are mere intellectual abstractions. T h e "nominalists" denied their objective reality, the "realists" affirmed it. Alexander of H a l e s (d. 1245) was called "Irrefragable," i.e., unanswerable, b e c a u s e his system s e e m e d incontrovertible. 6. T h e frenzies of the insane were s u p p o s e d to wax and wane with the moon (hence "lunatic"). 7. O b s c u r e ("dark") and subtle ("nice") intellectual perplexities ("scruples"). 8. A seller of quack medicines. 9. T h e problem of the precise location of the Garden of E d e n and the similar problems listed in the ensuing dozen lines had all been the subject of controversy a m o n g theologians.

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2166

SAMUEL

BUTLER

Below the moon, or else above it; What Adam dreamt of when his bride Came from her closet in his side; Whether the devil tempted her By a High Dutch interpreter; If either of them had a navel; 180 Who first made music malleable; 1 Whether the serpent at the fall Had cloven feet or none at all: All this without a gloss or comment He could unriddle in a moment, 185 In proper terms, such as men smatter When they throw out and miss the matter. For his religion, it was fit To match his learning and his wit: 'Twas Presbyterian true blue, 2 190 For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints 3 whom all men grant To be the true church militant, Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; 195 Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery, And prove their doctrine orthodox By apostolic blows and knocks; Call fire, and sword, and desolation 200 A godly, thorough reformation, Which always must be carried on And still be doing, never done; As if religion were intended For nothing else but to be mended. 205 A sect whose chief devotion lies In odd, perverse antipathies; 4 In falling out with that or this, And finding somewhat still amiss; More peevish, cross, and splenetic 210 Than dog distract or monkey sick; That with more care keep holiday The wrong, than others the right way; Compound for° sins they are inclined to By damning those they have no mind to; 215 Still so perverse and opposite As if they worshiped God for spite. The selfsame thing they will abhor One way and long another for.

175

1. C a p a b l e of being fashioned into form. Pythagoras is said to have organized sounds into the musical scale. 2. Supporters of Scotland's (Presbyterian) National Covenant adopted blue as their color, in contrast to the Royalist red. Blue is the color of constancy; hence, "true blue," staunch, unwavering. 3. A pun: arrant, m e a n i n g "unmitigated," and

excuse

errant, m e a n i n g "wandering," were both pron o u n c e d arrant. T h e Puritans frequently called themselves "saints." 4. T h e hostility of the sects to everything Anglican or R o m a n Catholic laid them open to the charge of opposing innocent practices out of mere perverse antipathy. S o m e extreme Presbyterians fasted at Christmas, instead of following the old c u s t o m of feasting and rejoicing (cf. Iines211—12).

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JOHN WILMOT,

220

225

SECOND

EARL OF

ROCHESTER

2 1 6 7

Free-will they one way disavow, 5 Another, nothing else allow: All piety consists therein In them, in other men all sin. Rather than fail, they will defy That which they love most tenderly; Quarrel with minced pies and disparage Their best and dearest friend, plum-porridge; Fat pig and goose itself oppose, And blaspheme custard through the nose. 6 1663

5. By the doctrine of predestination. 6. A reference to the nasal whine of the pious sectarians.

JOHN WILMOT,

S E C O N D EARL OF 1647-1680

ROCHESTER

John Wilmot, second earl of Rochester, was the precocious son of one of Charles II's most loyal followers in exile. He won the king's favor at the Restoration and, in 1664, after education at Oxford and on the Continent, took a place at court, at the age of seventeen. There he soon distinguished himself as "the man who has the most wit and the least honor in England." For one escapade, the abduction of Elizabeth Malet, an heiress, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London. But he regained his position by courageous service in the naval war against the Dutch, and in 1667 he married Malet. The rest of his career was no less stormy. His satiric wit, directed not only at ordinary mortals but at Dryden and Charles II himself, embroiled him in constant quarrels and exiles; his practical jokes, his affairs, and his dissipation were legendary. He circulated his works, always intellectually daring and often obscene, to a limited court readership in manuscripts executed by professional scribes—a common way of handling writing deemed too ideologically or morally scandalous for print. An early printed collection of his poems did appear in 1680, though the title page read "Antwerp," probably to hide its London origin. The air of scandal and disguise surrounding his writing only intensified his notoriety as the exemplar of the dissolute, libertine ways of court culture. He told his biographer, Gilbert Burnet, that "for five years together he was continually drunk." Just before his death, however, he was converted to Christian repentance, and for posterity, Rochester became a favorite moral topic: the libertine who had seen the error of his ways.

Wit, in the Restoration, meant not only a clever turn of phrase but mental capacity and intellectual power. Rochester was famous for both kinds of wit. His fierce intelligence, impatient of sham and convention, helped design a way of life based on style, cleverness, and self-interest—a way of life observable in Bestoration plays (Dorimant, in Etherege's The Man of Mode, strongly resembles Bochester). Stylistically, Bochester infuses forms such as the heroic couplet with a volatility that contrasts with the pointed and balanced manner of its other masters. From the very first line of "A Satire against Reason and Mankind"—"Were I (who to my cost already am"—he plunges the reader into a couplet mode energized by speculation, self-interruption, and enjambment; and he frequently employs extravagant effects (such as the alliterations "love's lesser lightning" and "balmy brinks of bliss" in "The Imperfect Enjoyment") to flaunt his delight in dramatizing situations, sensations, and himself. "The Disabled

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JOHN W I L M O T , S E C O N D EARL OF R O C H E S T E R/2168

Debauchee," composed in "heroic stanzas" like those of Dryden's Annus Mirabilis, subverts the very notion of heroism by turning conventions upside down. Philosophically, Rochester is daring and destabilizing. In "A Satire," he rejects high-flown, theoretical reason and consigns its "misguided follower" to an abyss of doubt. The poem's speaker himself happily embraces the "right reason" of instinct, celebrating the life of a "natural man." The poem thus accords with Hobbes's doctrine that all laws, even our notions of good and evil, are artificial social checks on natural human desires. Yet it remains unclear, in Rochester's world of intellectual risk and conflict, whether he thinks humanity's paradoxical predicament can ever finally be escaped. Often called a skeptic himself, he seems to hint that the doubt raised by reason's collapse may surge to engulf him too.

The Disabled Debauchee As some brave admiral, in former war Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still, Two rival fleets appearing from afar, Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill; 5

From whence, with thoughts full of concern, he views The wise and daring conduct of the fight, And each bold action to his mind renews His present glory and his past delight; From his fierce eyes flashes of fire he throws, As from black clouds when lightning breaks away; Transported, thinks himself amidst his foes, And absent, yet enjoys the bloody day; So, when my days of impotence approach, And I'm by pox° and wine's unlucky chance Forced from the pleasing billows of debauch On the dull shore of lazy temperance, My pains at least some respite shall afford While I behold the battles you maintain When fleets of glasses sail about the board, 0 From whose broadsides 1 volleys of wit shall rain. Nor shall the sight of honorable scars, Which my too forward valor did procure, Frighten new-listed 0 soldiers from the wars: Past joys have more than paid what I endure.

syphilis

Should any youth (worth being drunk) prove nice, 0 And from his fair inviter meanly shrink, Twill please the ghost of my departed vice If, at my counsel, he repent and drink.

table

newly enlisted coy, fastidious

1. T h e sides of the table; artillery on a ship; sheets on which satirical verses were printed.

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THE

. 35

IMPERFECT ENJOYMENT

2169

Or should some cold-complexioned sot forbid, With his dull morals, our bold night-alarms, I'll fire his blood by telling what I did When I was strong and able to bear arms. I'll tell of whores attacked, their lords at home; Bawds' quarters beaten up, and fortress won; Windows demolished, watches 0 overcome; And handsome ills by my contrivance done.

watchmen

Nor shall our love-fits, Chloris, be forgot, When each the well-looked linkboy 2 strove t' enjoy, And the best kiss was the deciding lot Whether the boy used you, or I the boy. With tales like these I will such thoughts inspire As to important mischief shall incline: I'll make him long some ancient church to fire, And fear no lewdness he's called to by wine.

Thus, statesmanlike, I'll saucily impose, And safe from action, valiantly advise; Sheltered in impotence, urge you to blows, And being good for nothing else, be wise.

1680

The Imperfect Enjoyment 1 Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms, I filled with love, and she all over charms; Both equally inspired with eager fire, Melting through kindness, flaming in desire. 5 With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace, S h e clips 0 me to her breast, and sucks me to her face. Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightning, played Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed Swift orders that I should prepare to throw 10 The all-dissolving thunderbolt below. My fluttering soul, sprung 2 with the pointed kiss, Hangs hovering o'er her balmy brinks of bliss. But whilst her busy hand would guide that part Which should convey my soul up to her heart, 15 In liquid raptures I dissolve all o'er, Melt into sperm, and spend at every pore. A touch from any part of her had d o n e ' t : Her hand, her foot, her very look's a cunt. 2. Good-looking boy employed to light the way with a link or torch. 1. T h e genre of p o e m s about the downfall of male "pride"—not only a swelled head but an erection—

hugs

derives from Ovid's Amores 3.7. F o r a woman's treatment of this situation, see Aphra Behn's "The D i s a p p o i n t m e n t " (p. 2 1 8 0 ) . 2. Startled from cover, like a game bird.

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J O H N W I L M O T , S E C O N D E A R L O F R O C H E S T E R/2 1 7 0

Smiling, she chides in a kind murmuring noise, And from her body wipes the clammy joys, When, with a thousand kisses wandering o'er My panting bosom, "Is there then no more?" She cries. "All this to love and rapture's due; Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?" But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive, To show my wished obedience vainly strive: I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive. 0 Eager desires confound my first intent, Succeeding shame does more success prevent, And rage at last confirms me impotent. Ev'n her fair hand, which might bid heat return To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn, Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more Than fire to ashes could past flames restore. Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry, A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie. This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried, With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed; Which nature still directed with such art That it through every cunt reached every heart— Stiffly resolved, 'twould carelessly invade Woman or man, nor aught 0 its fury stayed: 1* Where'er it pierced, a cunt it found or m a d e — J Now languid lies in this unhappy hour, Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower. Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame, False to my passion, fatal to my fame, Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove So true to lewdness, so untrue to love? What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore Didst thou e'er fail in all thy life before? When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way, With what officious haste dost thou obey! Like a rude, roaring hector 0 in the streets Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets, But if his King or country claim his aid, The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head; Ev'n so thy brutal valor is displayed, Breaks every stew,' does each small whore invade, But when great Love the onset does command, Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar'st not stand. Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most, Through all the town a common fucking post, On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt As hogs on gates do rub themselves and grunt, Mayst thou to ravenous chancres be a prey, Or in consuming weepings waste away; May strangury and stone 4 thy days attend;

3. Breaks into every brothel. 4. "Strangury" and "stone" c a u s e slow and painful

screw

anything

bully

urination. " C h a n c r e s " and "weepings" are signs of venereal disease.

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UPON

NOTHING

2171

May'st thou ne'er piss, who didst refuse to spend When all my joys did on false thee depend. And may ten thousand abler pricks agree To do the wronged Corinna right for thee. 1680

Upon Nothing Nothing, thou elder brother even to shade, Thou hadst a being ere the world was made And (well fixed) art alone of ending not afraid. 5

Ere time and place were, time and place were not, When primitive Nothing Something straight begot, Then all proceeded from the great united What. Something, the general attribute of all, Severed from thee, its sole original, Into thy boundless self must undistinguished fall.

Yet Something did thy mighty power command And from thy fruitful emptiness's hand Snatched men, beasts, birds, fire, water, air, and land. Matter, the wick'dst offspring of thy race, By form assisted, flew from thy embrace, And rebel light obscured thy reverend dusky face. With form and matter, time and place did join, Body thy foe, with these did leagues combine 1 To spoil thy peaceful realm and ruin all thy line.

But turncoat time assists the foe in vain And bribed by thee destroys their short-lived reign And to thy hungry womb drives back thy slaves again. Though mysteries are barred from laic eyes 2 And the divine alone with warrant pries Into thy bosom where thy truth in private lies,

Yet this of thee the wise may truly say: Thou from the virtuous, nothing tak'st away, 3 And to be part of thee, the wicked wisely pray. Great negative, how vainly would the wise Enquire, define, distinguish, teach, devise, Didst thou not stand to point 0 their blind philosophies.

1. Form, matter, time, and place combined in leagues against Nothing. 2. I.e., the eyes of the laity, who are uninitiated in

expose

Nothing's mysteries. 3. You, Nothing, do not take anything away from the virtuous.

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J O H N W I L M O T , S E C O N D E A R L OF R O C H E S T E R/2172

Is or Is Not, the two great ends of fate, And true or false, the subject of debate That perfect or destroy the vast designs of state, 35

When they have racked the politician's breast, Within thy bosom most securely rest And when reduced to thee are least unsafe and best. But Nothing, why does Something still permit That sacred monarchs should at council sit With persons highly thought, at best, for nothing fit;

Whilst weighty Something modestly abstains From princes' coffers 4 and from statesmen's brains And Nothing there like stately Something reigns? Nothing, who dwellst with fools in grave disguise, For whom they reverend shapes and forms devise, Lawn-sleeves and furs and gowns, 5 when they like thee look wise; French truth, Dutch prowess, British policy, Hibernian 0 learning, Scotch civility, Spaniards' dispatch, Danes' wit 6 are mainly seen in thee;

Irish

The great man's gratitude to his best friend, Kings' promises, whores' vows, towards thee they bend, Flow swiftly into thee and in thee ever end. 1679

A Satire against Reason and Mankind

"He had a strange vivacity of thought, and vigor of expression," said Bishop Gilbert Burnet of his friend and contemporary, Rochester: "his wit had a subtility and sublimity both, that were scarce imitable." Rochester displays these characteristics nowhere more vividly than in his most famous poem, "A Satire against Reason and Mankind." Many of the thoughts in the poem were familiar by Rochester's time. The idea that animals are better equipped to lead successful lives than human beings, for instance, had been a commonplace among moralists for centuries: Michel de Montaigne (1533—1592) makes much of it in his best-known, most comprehensively skeptical essay, "An Apology for Baymond Sebond." Other elements of the skeptical tradition, particularly a comic appreciation of the weakness of reason, receive ample play in the "Satire." The poem in general loosely follows Satire VIII by the highly influential French neoclassical poet and critic, Nicolas Boileau (1636—1711). But everywhere Bochester's energetic intellectual distinctiveness bursts through. Perhaps most unnervingly, he both claims to restrict his thinking to immediate, instinctual reason and gestures toward the "limits of the boundless universe" and "mysterious truths, which no man can conceive." Framed as it is by paradoxes and mysteries, his commonsensical instinct has seemed 4. Charles l i s coffers were notably empty, and he was forced to declare bankruptcy in 1672. 5. "Furs and gowns" were worn by j u d g e s . " L a w n " : a fine linen or cotton fabric, worn by bishops.

6. All proverbial deficiencies of the various nationalities mentioned, many of them exposed during the Anglo-Dutch war ( 1 6 7 2 - 7 4 ) .

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SATIRE AGAINST R E A S O N AND

MANKIND

2173

less stable to many readers than Rochester himself would have us believe. Still, these and other extravagant conflicts surely suit Rochester's fundamental aim: to throw as dramatic a light as he can on himself and his thinking.

A Satire against Reason and Mankind

Were I (who to my cost already am One of those strange prodigious creatures, man) A spirit free to choose, for my own share, ] What case of flesh and blood 1 pleased to wear, > I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear; J Or anything but that vain animal Who is so proud of being rational. The senses are too gross, and he'll contrive A sixth 1 to contradict the other five: And before certain instinct will prefer Reason, which fifty times for one does err. Reason, an ignis fatuus 2 of the mind, Which leaving light of nature, sense, behind, Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes, Through Error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes: 0 Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain Mountains of whimsies heaped in his own brain; Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down Into doubt's boundless sea, where like 0 to drown, Books bear him up awhile, and make him try To swim with bladders 3 of philosophy; In hopes still to o'ertake th'escaping light, 1 The vapor dances in his dazzled sight, f Till spent, it leaves him to eternal night. J Then old age and experience, hand in hand, Lead him to death, and make him understand, After a search so painful and so long, That all his life he has been in the wrong. Huddled in dirt the reasoning engine 0 lies, Who was so proud, so witty and so wise. Pride drew him in (as cheats their bubbles 0 catch) And made him venture to be made a wretch. His wisdom did his happiness destroy, Aiming to know that world he should enjoy; And wit was his vain frivolous pretence Of pleasing others at his own expense: For wits are treated just like c o m m o n whores, First they're enjoyed and then kicked out of doors. The pleasure past, a threatening doubt remains, That frights th'enjoyer with succeeding pains: 4 Women and men of wit are dangerous tools,

1. Here, reason. 2. Foolish fire (Latin). S o m e t i m e s called the willo'-the-wisp, a light appearing in marshy lands that proverbially misleads travelers.

thickets

likely

brain du-pes

3. Inflated animal bladders used for buoyancy in the water. 4. T h e doubt that wits leave behind resembles venereal disease left by " c o m m o n whores."

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JOHN W I L M O T , S E C O N D EARL OF R O C H E S T E R/2174

And ever fatal to admiring fools. Pleasure allures, and when the fops escape, 'Tis not that they're beloved, but fortunate; f And therefore what they fear, at heart they hate. 5 J But now methinks some formal band and beard 6 Takes me to task. Come on, Sir, I'm prepared: "Then by your favor any thing that's writ Against this gibing, 0 jingling knack called wit, Likes 0 me abundantly, but you take care Upon this point not to be too severe. Perhaps my Muse were fitter for this part, "I For I profess I can be very smart fOn wit, which I abhor with all my heart. J I long to lash it in some sharp essay, But your grand indiscretion bids me stay, f And turns my tide of ink another way. J What rage ferments in your degenerate mind, To make you rail at reason and mankind? Blest glorious man! to whom alone kind heaven An everlasting soul has freely given; Whom his creator took such care to make, That from himself he did the image take, And this fair frame 0 in shining reason dressed, To dignify his nature above beast. Reason, by whose aspiring influence We take a flight beyond material sense; Dive into mysteries, then soaring pierce The flaming limits of the universe; Search heaven and hell, find out what's acted there, And give the world true grounds of hope and fear." 7 Hold, mighty man, I cry, all this we know, From the pathetic pen of Ingelo, From Patrick's Pilgrim, Sibbs' 8 soliloquies; And 'tis this very reason I despise. This supernatural gift, that makes a mite Think he's the image of the infinite, Comparing his short life, void of all rest, To the eternal and the ever blest; This busy puzzling stirrer-up of doubt, That frames deep mysteries, then finds them out; Filling with frantic crowds of thinking fools Those reverend Bedlams, 0 colleges and schools; Borne on whose wings each heavy sot can pierce The limits of the boundless universe; So charming ointments make an old witch fly, And bear a crippled carcass through the sky. T i s this exalted power whose business lies

5. Though allured by Hits, fops also fear and hate them. 6. Clergyman, wearing a clerical collar. 7. Teach the world about salvation a n d damnation. 8. Richard Sibbes, Puritan preacher who pub-

jeering pleases

physical body

madhouses

lished volumes of sermons, though none called "soliloquies." Nathaniel Ingelo (d. 1683), author of the long religious allegory Bentivolio and Urania ( 1 6 6 0 ) . Simon Patrick ( 1 6 2 6 - 1 7 0 7 ) , author of the devotional work The Parable of the Pilgrim ( 1 6 6 5 ) .

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SATIRE AGAINST R E A S O N AND

MANKIND

In nonsense and impossibilities. This made a whimsical philosopher Before the spacious world his tub prefer. 9 And we have modern cloistered coxcombs, who Retire to think, 'cause they have naught to do: But thoughts are given for action's government, 95 Where action ceases, thought's impertinent. Our sphere of action is life's happiness, And he who thinks beyond, thinks like an ass. Thus, whilst against false reasoning I inveigh, I own" right reason, which I would obey: ioo That reason which distinguishes by sense, And gives us rules of good and ill from thence; That bounds desires with a reforming will, To keep them more in vigor, not to kill. Your reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy, 105 Renewing appetites yours would destroy. My reason is my friend, yours is a cheat, Hunger calls out, my reason bids me eat; Perversely, yours your appetites does mock: They ask for food, that answers, "what's a clock?" no This plain distinction, Sir, your doubt secures, 0 'Tis not true reason I despise, but yours. Thus I think reason righted, but for man, I'll ne'er recant, defend him if you can. For all his pride and his philosophy, 115 'Tis evident beasts are, in their degree, f As wise at least, and better far than he. J Those creatures are the wisest who attain By surest means, the ends at which they aim. If therefore Jowler' finds and kills his hares 120 Better than Meres 2 supplies committee chairs, Though one's a statesman, th'other but a hound, Jowler in justice would be wiser found. You see how far man's wisdom here extends; Look next if human nature makes amends; 125 Whose principles most generous are and just, And to whose morals you would sooner trust. Be judge yourself, I'll bring it to the test, Which is the basest creature, man or beast. Birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey, 130 But savage man alone does man betray; Pressed by necessity they kill for food, Man undoes man to do himself no good. With teeth and claws by nature armed, they hunt Nature's allowance to supply their want. 135 But man with smiles, embraces, friendship, praise, Inhumanly his fellow's life betrays;

2175

With voluntary 0 pains works his distress, 9. Diogenes the Cynic (5th century B.C.E.), who lived in a tub to exemplify the virtues of asceticism. 1. A c o m m o n n a m e for hunting dogs.

avow

resolves

deliberate

2. Sir T h o m a s Meres (1635—171 5), a busy parliamentarian of the day.

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JOHN W I L M O T , S E C O N D E A R L OF R O C H E S T E R/2176

Not through necessity, but wantonness. For hunger or for love they fight and tear, Whilst wretched man is still0 in arms for fear; For fear he arms, and is of arms afraid, By fear to fear successively betrayed. Base fear! The source whence his best passion came, His boasted honor, and his dear bought fame; That lust of power to which he's such a slave, And for the which alone he dares be brave, To which his various projects are designed, Which makes him generous, affable, and kind; For which he takes such pains to be thought wise And screws his actions in a forced disguise; Leading a tedious life in misery Under laborious mean hypocrisy. Look to the bottom of his vast design, Wherein man's wisdom, power, and glory join; The good he acts, the ill he does endure, 'Tis all from fear to make himself secure. Merely for safety after fame we thirst, For all men would be cowards if they durst. And honesty's against all common sense; Men must be knaves, 'tis in their own defense. Mankind's dishonest, if you think it fair Amongst known cheats to play upon the square, 0 You'll be undone— Nor can weak truth your reputation save; The knaves will all agree to call you knave. Wronged shall he live, insulted o'er, oppressed, Who dares be less a villain than the rest. Thus Sir, you see what human nature craves: Most men are cowards, all men should be knaves. The difference lies, as far as I can see, Not in the thing itself, but the degree, And all the subject matter of debate Is only who's a knave of the first rate.

always

honestly

Addition 3 ITS

180

All this with indignation have I hurled At the pretending 0 part of the proud world, Who swollen with selfish vanity, devise False freedoms, holy cheats, and formal lies, > Over their fellow slaves to tyrannize. J But if in court so just a man there be (In court a just man yet unknown to me), Who does his needful flattery direct, Not to oppress and ruin, but protect (Since flattery, which way so ever laid, Is still a tax on that unhappy trade); 4

3. T h e second part was also circulated as a separate poem.

affected

4. Even good men must pay the tax of flatten' if they "trade" at the royal court at Whitehall.

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SATIRE AGAINST R E A S O N AND

MANKIND

If so upright a statesman you can find, Whose passions bend to his unbiased mind; Who does his arts and policies apply To raise his country, not his family, Nor while his pride owned avarice withstands, Receives close bribes from friends' corrupted hands 5 — Is there a churchman who on God relies, Whose life his faith and doctrine justifies? Not one blown up with vain prelatic 6 pride, Who for reproof of sins does man deride; Whose envious heart makes preaching a pretense, 1 With his obstreperous saucy eloquence, > To chide at kings, and rail at men of sense; J Who from his pulpit vents more peevish lies, More bitter railings, scandals, calumnies, Than at a gossiping are thrown about When the good wives get drunk and then fall out; None of that sensual tribe, whose talents lie In avarice, pride, sloth and gluttony, Who hunt good livings, 7 but abhor good lives, Whose lust exalted to that height arrives, They act adultery with their own wives;8 And ere a score of years completed be, 1 Can from the lofty pulpit proudly see f Half a large parish their own progeny. J Nor doating° bishop who would be adored For domineering at the council board, 9 A greater fop in business at fourscore, Fonder of serious toys," affected more Than the gay glittering fool at twenty proves, With all his noise, his tawdry clothes and loves; But a meek humble man of honest sense, Who, preaching peace, does practice continence; Whose pious life's a proof he does believe Mysterious truths, which no man can conceive; If upon earth there dwell such God-like men, I'll here recant my paradox 1 to them; Adore those shrines of virtue, homage pay, And with the rabble world, their laws obey. If such there be, yet grant me this at least, Man differs more from man, than man from beast.

2 1 7 7

senile trifles

1679

5. Nor while he proudly rejects open greed, still arranges that his friends collect secret bribes for him. 6. Of prelates, high church officials. 7. Ecclesiastical appointments. 8. Married women of their parishes. Rochester

also suggests that these clergymen act out their adulterous lusts with their own spouses. 9. In the Privy Council, a meeting of advisers to the monarch. 1. T h a t beasts are superior to h u m a n s .

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2178

APHRA B E H N 1640?—1689 "A woman wit has often graced the stage," Dryden wrote in 1681. Soon after actresses first appeared in English public theaters, there was an even more striking debut by a woman writer who boldly signed her plays and talked back to her critics. In a dozen years, Aphra Behn turned out at least that many plays, discovering fresh dramatic possibilities in casts that included women with warm bodies and clever heads. She also drew attention as a warm and witty poet of love. When writing for the stage became less profitable, she turned to the emerging field of prose fiction, composing a pioneering epistolary novel, Love Letters between a Nobleman and His Sister, and

diverse short tales—not to mention a raft of translations from the French, pindarics to her beloved Stuart rulers, compilations, prologues, complimentary verses, all the piecework and puffery that were the stock in trade of the Restoration town wit. She worked in haste and with flair for nearly two decades and more than held her own as a professional writer. In the end, no author of her time—except Dryden himself— proved more versatile, more alive to new currents of thought, or more inventive in recasting fashionable forms. Much of Behn's life remains a mystery. Although her books have been accompanied—and often all but buried—by volumes of rumor, hard facts are elusive. She was almost certainly from East Kent; she may well have been named Johnson. But she herself seems to have left no record of her date and place of birth, her family name and upbringing, or the identity of the shadowy Mr. Behn whom she reportedly married. Her many references to nuns and convents, as well as praise for prominent Catholic lords (Oroonoko is dedicated to one), have prompted speculation that she may have been raised as a Catholic and educated in a convent abroad. Without doubt, she drew on a range of worldly experience that would be closed to women in the more genteel ages to come. The circumstantial detail of Oroonoko supports her claim that she was in the new sugar colony of Surinam early in 1664. Perhaps she exaggerated her social position to enhance her tale, but many particulars—from dialect words and the location of plantations to methods of selling and torturing slaves—can be authenticated. During the trade war that broke out in 1665—which left her "vast and charming world" a Dutch prize—Behn traveled to the Low Countries on a spying mission for King Charles II. The king could be lax about payment, however, and Behn had to petition desperately to escape debtor's prison. In 1 670 she brought out her first plays, "forced to write for bread," she confessed, "and not ashamed to own it." In London, Behn flourished in the cosmopolitan world of the playhouse and the court. Dryden and other wits encouraged her; she mixed with actresses and managers and playwrights and exchanged verses with a lively literary set that she called her "cabal." Surviving letters record a passionate, troubled attachment to a lawyer named John Hoyle, a bisexual with libertine views. She kept up with the most advanced thinking and joined public debates with pointed satire against the Whigs. But the festivity of the Bestoration world was fading out in bitter party acrimony. In 1682 Behn was placed under arrest for "abusive reflections" on the king's illegitimate son, the Whig duke of Monmouth (Dryden's Absalom). Her Boyalist opinions and the immodesty of her public role made her a target; gleeful lampoons declared that she was aging and ill and once again poor. She responded by bringing out her works at a still faster rate, composing Oroonoko, her dedication claims, "in a few hours . . . for I never rested my pen a moment for thought." In some last works she recorded her hope that her writings would live: "I value fame as much as if I had been born a hero." When she died she was buried in Westminster Abbey. "All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the grave of Aphra Behn," Virginia Woolf wrote, "for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds." Behn herself spoke her mind. She scorned hypocrisy and calculation in her society

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APHRA

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and commented freely on religion, science, and philosophy. Moreover, she spoke as a woman. Denied the classical education of most male authors, she dismissed "musty rules" and lessons and relished the immediate human appeal of popular forms. Her first play, The Forced Marriage, exposes the bondage of matches arranged for money and status, and many later works invoke the powerful natural force of love, whose energy breaks through conventions. In a range of genres, from simple pastoral songs to complex plots of intrigue, she candidly explores the sexual feelings of women, their schooling in disguise, their need to "love upon the honest square" (for this her work was later denounced as coarse and impure). Oroonoko represents another departure for Behn and prose fiction. It achieves something new both in its narrative form and in extending some of her favorite themes to an original subject: the destiny of a black male hero on a world historical stage. Oroonoko cannot be classified as fact or fiction, realism or romance. In the still unshaped field of prose narrative—where a "history" could mean any story, true or false—Behn combined the attractions of three older forms. First, she presents the work as a memoir, a personal account of what she has heard and seen. According to a friend, Behn had told this tale over and over; perhaps that explains the conversational ease with which she turns back and forth, interpreting faraway scenes for her readers at home. Second, Oroonoko is a travel narrative in three parts. It turns west to a new world often extolled as a paradise, then east to Africa and the amorous intrigues of a corrupt old-world court (popular reading fare), then finally west again with its hero across the infamous "Middle Passage"—over which millions of slaves would be transported during the next century—to the conflicts of a raw colonial world. Exotic scenes fascinate Behn, but she wants even more to talk to people and learn about their ways of life. As in imaginary voyages, from Sir Thomas More's Utopia to Gulliver's Travels and Rasselas, encounters with foreign cultures sharply challenge Europeans to reexamine themselves. Behn's primitive Indians and noble Africans live by a code of virtue, by principles of fidelity and honor, that "civilized" Christians often ignore or betray. Oroonoko embodies this code. Above all, the book is his biography. Courageous, high-minded, and great hearted, he rivals the heroes of classical epics and Plutarch's Lives and is equally worthy of fame. Nor does he lack gentler virtues. Like the heroes of seventeenth-century heroic dramas and romances, he shines in the company of women and proves his nobility by his passionate and constant love for Imoinda, his ideal counterpart. Yet finally a contradiction dooms Oroonoko: he is at once prince and chattel, a "royal slave." Behn handles her forms dynamically, drawing out their inner discords and tensions. In the biography, Oroonoko's deepest values are turned against him. His trust in friendship and scrupulous truth to his word expose him to the treachery of Europeans who calculate human worth on a yardstick of profit. A hero cannot survive in such a world. His self-respect demands action, even when he can find no clear path through the tangle of assurances and lies. Moreover, the colony too seems tangled in contradictions. Behn's travel narrative reveals a broken paradise where, in the absence of secure authority, the settlers descend into a series of unstable alliances, improvised power relations, and escalating suspicions. Here every term—friend and foe, tenderness and brutality, savagery and civilization—can suddenly turn into its opposite. And the author also seems caught between worlds. The cultivated Englishwoman who narrates and acts in this memoir thinks highly of her hero's code of honor and shares his contempt for the riffraff who plague him. Yet her own role is ambiguous: she lacks the power to save Oroonoko and might even be viewed as implicated in his downfall. Only as a writer can she take control, preserving the hero in her work. The story of Oroonoko did not end with Behn. Compassion for the royal slave and outrage at his fate were enlisted in the long battle against the slave trade. Beprinted, translated, serialized, dramatized, and much imitated, Oroonoko helped teach a mass audience to feel for all victims of the brutal commerce in human beings. A hundred years later, the popular writer Hannah More testified to the widening influence of

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the story: "No individual griefs my bosom melt, / For millions feel what Oroonoko felt." Women especially identified with the experience of personal injustice and everyday indignity—the pain of being treated as something less than fully human. Perhaps it is appropriate that the writer who made the suffering of the royal slave famous had known the pride and lowliness of being "a female pen."

The Disappointment 1 One day the amorous Lysander, By an impatient passion swayed, Surprised fair Cloris, that loved maid, Who could defend herself no longer. 5 All things did with his love conspire; The gilded planet of the day,° In his gay chariot drawn by fire, Was now descending to the sea, And left no light to guide the world 10 But what from Cloris' brighter eyes was hurled.

In a lone thicket made for love, Silent as yielding maid's consent, She with a charming languishment, Permits his force, yet gently strove; Her hands his bosom softly meet, But not to put him back designed, Rather to draw 'em on inclined: Whilst he lay trembling at her feet, Resistance 'tis in vain to show: She wants 0 the power to say— Ah! what d'ye do?

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Her bright eyes sweet and yet severe, Where love and shame confusedly strive, Fresh vigor to Lysander give; And breathing faintly in his ear, She cried— Cease, cease—your vain desire, Or I'll call out—what would you do? My dearer honor even to you I cannot, must not give—Retire, Or take this life, whose chiefest part I gave you with the conquest of my heart. But he as much unused to fear, As he was capable of love, The blessed minutes to improve Kisses her mouth, her neck, her hair; Each touch her new desire alarms; His burning, trembling hand he pressed

1. This variation on the "imperfect enjoyment" genre compares with Rochester's (p. 2 1 6 9 ) ; it first appeared in a collection of his poems. But Behn gives the theme of impotence her own twist. Freely translating a French poem, Cantenac's "The Lost

C h a n c e Recovered," she cuts the conclusion, in which the French lover regained his potency, and she highlights the woman's feelings as well as the man's.

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Upon her swelling snowy breast, While she lay panting in his arms. All her unguarded beauties lie The spoils and trophies of the enemy.

And now without respect or fear He seeks the object of his vows (His love no modesty allows) By swift degrees advancing—where 45 His daring hand that altar seized, Where gods of love do sacrifice: That awful throne, that paradise Where rage is calmed, and anger pleased; That fountain where delight still flows, 50 And gives the universal world repose. Her balmy lips encountering his, Their bodies, as their souls, are joined; Where both in transports unconfined Extend themselves upon the moss. 55 Cloris half dead and breathless lay; Her soft eyes cast a humid light Such as divides the day and night; Or falling stars, whose fires decay: And now no signs of life she shows, 60 But what in short-breathed sighs returns and goes. He saw how at her length she lay; He saw her rising bosom bare; Her loose thin robes, through which appear A shape designed for love and play; 65 Abandoned by her pride and shame She does her softest joys dispense, Offering her virgin innocence A victim to love's sacred flame; While the o'er-ravished shepherd lies 70 Unable to perform the sacrifice.

Ready to taste a thousand joys, The too transported hapless swain Found the vast pleasure turned to pain; Pleasure which too much love destroys: The willing garments by he laid, 2 And heaven all opened to his view. Mad to possess, himself he threw On the defenseless lovely maid. But oh what envying god conspires To snatch his power, yet leave him the desire! Nature's support (without whose aid She can no human being give) Itself now wants the art3 to live;

2. He took off her compliant clothes.

3. Lacks the capacity.

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Faintness its slackened nerves invade: In vain th'enraged youth essayed To call its fleeting vigor back; No motion 'twill from motion take; Excess of love his love betrayed: In vain he toils, in vain commands: The insensible 4 fell weeping in his hand.

In this so amorous cruel strife, Where love and fate were too severe, The poor Lysander in despair Renounced his reason with his life: 95 Now all the brisk and active fire That should the nobler part inflame Served to increase his rage and shame, And left no spark for new desire: Not all her naked charms could move IOO Or calm that rage that had debauched his love.

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Cloris returning from the trance Which love and soft desire had bred, Her timorous hand she gently laid (Or guided by design or chance) Upon that fabulous Priapus, 5 That potent god, as poets feign: But never did young shepherdess, Gathering the fern upon the plain, More nimbly draw her fingers back, Finding beneath the verdant leaves a snake, Than Cloris her fair hand withdrew, Finding that god of her desires Disarmed of all his awful fires, And cold as flowers bathed in the morning dew. Who can the nymph's confusion guess? The blood forsook the hinder place, And strewed with blushes all her face, Which both disdain and shame expressed: And from Lysander's arms she fled, Leaving him fainting on the gloomy bed. Like lightning through the grove she hies, Or Daphne from the Delphic god; 6 No print upon the grassy road She leaves, to instruct pursuing eyes. The wind that wantoned in her hair And with her ruffled garments played, Discovered in the flying maid All that the gods e'er made, if fair.

4. Devoid of feeling and too small to be noticed. 5. Phallus. T h e ancient god Priapus is always pictured with an outstanding erection.

6. Apollo, from whom the Greek nymph D a p h n e fled until she turned into a laurel tree,

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So Venus, when her love 7 was slain, With fear and haste flew o'er the fatal plain. The nymph's resentments none but I C a n well imagine or condole: But none can guess Lysander's soul, But those who swayed his destiny. His silent griefs swell up to storms, And not one god his fury spares; He cursed his birth, his fate, his stars; But more the shepherdess's charms, Whose soft bewitching influence Had damned him to the hell of impotence. 8 1680

Oroonoko, or The Royal Slave 1 I do not pretend, in giving you the history of this royal slave, to entertain my reader with the adventures of a feigned hero, whose life and fortunes fancy may manage at the poet's pleasure; nor in relating the truth, design to adorn it with any accidents but such as arrived in earnest to him. And it shall come simply into the world, recommended by its own proper merits and natural intrigues, there being enough of reality to support it, and to render it diverting, without the addition of invention. I was myself an eyewitness to a great part of what you will find here set down, and what I could not be witness of, I received from the mouth of the chief actor in this history, the hero himself, who gave us the whole transactions of his youth; and though I shall omit for brevity's sake a thousand little accidents of his life, which, however pleasant to us, where history was scarce and adventures very rare, yet might prove tedious and heavy to my reader, in a world where he finds diversions for every minute, new and strange. But we who were perfectly charmed with the character of this great man were curious to gather every circumstance of his life. The scene of the last part of his adventures lies in a colony in America called Surinam, 2 in the West Indies. But before I give you the story of this gallant slave, 'tis fit I tell you the manner of bringing them to these new colonies, for those they make use of there are not natives of the place; for those we live with in perfect amity, without daring to command 'em, but on the contrary caress 'em with all the brotherly and friendly affection in the world, trading with 'em for their fish, venison, buffaloes, skins, and little rarities; as marmosets, a sort of monkey as big as a rat or weasel but of a marvelous and delicate shape, and has face and hands like a human creature, and consheries, 3 a little beast in the form and 7. Adonis, who was killed by a boar. 8. Blaming the woman for an imperfect enjoyment is typical of the genre. 1. T h e text, prepared by J o a n n a Lipking, is based on the 1688 edition, the sole edition published during Behn's lifetime. T h e critical edition of G. C. Duchovnay (diss., Indiana, 1971), which collates

the four 17th-century editions, has been consulted. 2. A British sugar colony on the S o u t h American coast east of Venezuela; later Dutch G u i a n a , now the Republic of S u r i n a m e . 3. A name appearing in local descriptions, but the animal is not clearly identified; probably the lion-

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fashion of a lion, as big as a kitten, but so exactly made in all parts like that noble beast, that it is it in miniature. Then for little parakeetoes, great parrots, macaws, and a thousand other birds and beasts of wonderful and surprising forms, shapes, and colors. For skins of prodigious snakes, of which there are some threescore yards in length, as is the skin of one that may be seen at his Majesty's antiquaries'; where are also some rare flies 4 of amazing forms and colors, presented to 'em by myself, some as big as my fist, some less, and all of various excellencies, such as art cannot imitate. Then we trade for feathers, which they order into all shapes, make themselves little short habits of 'em, and glorious wreaths for their heads, necks, arms and legs, whose tinctures are unconceivable. I had a set of these presented to me, and I gave 'em to the King's theater, and it was the dress of the Indian Queen, 5 infinitely admired by persons of quality, and were unimitable. Besides these, a thousand little knacks and rarities in nature, and some of art, as their baskets, weapons, aprons, et cetera. We dealt with 'em with beads of all colors, knives, axes, pins and needles, which they used only as tools to drill holes with in their ears, noses, and lips, where they hang a great many little things, as long beads, bits of tin, brass, or silver beat thin, and any shining trinket. The beads they weave into aprons about a quarter of an ell long, and of the same breadth, 6 working them very prettily in flowers of several colors of beads; which apron they wear just before 'em, as Adam and Eve did the fig leaves, the men wearing a long stripe of linen which they deal with us for. They thread these beads also on long cotton threads and make girdles to tie their aprons to, which come twenty times or more about the waist, and then cross, like a shoulder belt, both ways, and round their necks, arms, and legs. This adornment, with their long black hair, and the face painted in little specks or flowers here and there, makes 'em a wonderful figure to behold. Some of the beauties which indeed are finely shaped, as almost all are, and who have pretty features, are very charming and novel; for they have all that is called beauty, except the color, which is a reddish yellow; or after a new oiling, which they often use to themselves, they are of the color of a new brick, but smooth, soft, and sleek. They are extreme7 modest and bashful, very shy and nice of being touched. And though they are all thus naked, if one lives forever among 'em there is not to be seen an indecent action or glance; and being continually used to see one another so unadorned, so like our first parents before the Fall, it seems as if they had no wishes; there being nothing to heighten curiosity, but all you can see you see at once, and every moment see, and where there is no novelty there can be no curiosity. Not but I have seen a handsome young Indian dying for love of a very beautiful young Indian maid; but all his courtship was to fold his arms, pursue her with his eyes, and sighs were all his language; while she, as if no such lover were present, or rather, as if she desired none such, carefully guarded her eyes from beholding him, and never approached him but she looked down with all the blushing modesty I have seen in the most severe and cautious of our world. And these people represented to me an absolute idea of the first state of innocence, before man knew how to sin. And 'tis most evident and plain that simple Nature is the headed marmoset or perhaps the cujara (Portuguese), a rodent known as the rice rat. " B u f f a l o e s " : wild oxen of various species. 4. Butterflies. "Antiquaries": probably the natural history m u s e u m of the Royal Society. 5. The title character in the 1664 heroic play by

Sir Robert Howard and J o h n Dryden, which was noted for its lavish production. There are contemporary records of "speckled p l u m e s " and feather headdresses. 6. About a foot square. 7. Extremely.

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most harmless, inoffensive, and virtuous mistress. 'Tis she alone, if she were permitted, that better instructs the world than all the inventions of man. Religion would here but destroy that tranquillity they possess by ignorance, and laws would but teach 'em to know offense, of which now they have no notion. They once made mourning and fasting for the death of the English governor, who had given his hand to come on such a day to 'em and neither came nor sent, believing when once a man's word was passed, nothing but death could or should prevent his keeping it. And when they saw he was not dead, they asked him what name they had for a man who promised a thing he did not do. The governor told them, such a man was a liar, which was a word of infamy to a gentleman. Then one of 'em replied, "Governor, you are a liar, and guilty of that infamy." They have a native justice which knows no fraud, and they understand no vice or cunning, but when they are taught by the white men. They have plurality of wives, which, when they grow old, they serve those that succeed 'em, who are young, but with a servitude easy and respected; and unless they take slaves in war, they have no other attendants. Those on that continent where I was had no king, but the oldest war captain was obeyed with great resignation. A war captain is a man who has led them on to battle with conduct 8 and success, of whom I shall have occasion to speak more hereafter, and of some other of their customs and manners, as they fall in my way. With these people, as I said, we live in perfect tranquillity and good understanding, as it behooves us to do, they knowing all the places where to seek the best food of the country and the means of getting it, and for very small and unvaluable trifles, supply us with what 'tis impossible for us to get; for they do not only in the wood and over the savannas, in hunting, supply the parts of hounds, by swiftly scouring through those almost impassable places, and by the mere activity of their feet run down the nimblest deer and other eatable beasts; but in the water one would think they were gods of the rivers, or fellow citizens of the deep, so rare an art they have in swimming, diving, and almost living in water, by which they command the less swift inhabitants of the floods. And then for shooting, what they cannot take, or reach with their hands, they do with arrows, and have so admirable an aim that they will split almost a hair; and at any distance that an arrow can reach, they will shoot down oranges and other fruit, and only touch the stalk with the dart's point, that they may not hurt the fruit. So that they being, on all occasions, very useful to us, we find it absolutely necessary to caress 'em as friends, and not to treat 'em as slaves; nor dare we do other, their numbers so far surpassing ours in that continent. Those then whom we make use of to work in our plantations of sugar are Negroes, black slaves altogether, which are transported thither in this manner. Those who want slaves make a bargain with a master or captain of a ship and contract to pay him so much apiece, a matter of twenty pound a head for as many as he agrees for, and to pay for 'em when they shall be delivered on such a plantation. So that when there arrives a ship laden with slaves, they who have so contracted go aboard and receive their number by lot; and perhaps in one lot that may be for ten, there may happen to be three or four men, the rest women and children. Or be there more or less of either sex, you are obliged to be contented with your lot. Coramantien, 9 a country of blacks so called, was one of those places in 8. Capacity to lead.

9. Not a country but a British-held fort and slave

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which they found the most advantageous trading for these slaves, and thither most of our great traders in that merchandise trafficked; for that nation is very warlike and brave, and having a continual campaign, being always in hostility with one neighboring prince or other, they had the fortune to take a great many captives; for all they took in battle were sold as slaves, at least those common men who could not ransom themselves. Of these slaves so taken, the general only has all the profit; and of these generals, our captains and masters of ships buy all their freights. The King of Coramantien was himself a man of a hundred and odd years old, and had no son, though he had many beautiful black wives; for most certainly there are beauties that can charm of that color. In his younger years he had had many gallant men to his sons, thirteen of which died in battle, conquering when they fell; and he had only left him for his successor one grandchild, son to one of these dead victors, who, as soon as he could bear a bow in his hand and a quiver at his back, was sent into the field, to be trained up by one of the oldest generals to war; where, from his natural inclination to arms and the occasions given him, with the good conduct of the old general, he became, at the age of seventeen, one of the most expert captains and bravest soldiers that ever saw the field of Mars. So that he was adored as the wonder of all that world, and the darling of the soldiers. Besides, he was adorned with a native beauty so transcending all those of his gloomy race that he struck an awe and reverence even in those that knew not his quality; as he did in me, who beheld him with surprise and wonder, when afterwards he arrived in our world. He had scarce arrived at his seventeenth year, when fighting by his side, the general was killed with an arrow in his eye, which the Prince Oroonoko (for so was this gallant Moor' called) very narrowly avoided; nor had he, if the general, who saw the arrow shot, and perceiving it aimed at the Prince, had not bowed his head between, on purpose to receive it in his own body rather than it should touch that of the Prince, and so saved him. 'Twas then, afflicted as Oroonoko was, that he was proclaimed general in the old man's place; and then it was, at the finishing of that war, which had continued for two years, that the Prince came to court, where he had hardly been a month together from the time of his fifth year to that of seventeen; and 'twas amazing to imagine where it was he learned so much humanity; or to give his accomplishments a juster name, where 'twas he got that real greatness of soul, those refined notions of true honor, that absolute generosity, and that softness that was capable of the highest passions of love and gallantry, whose objects were almost continually fighting men, or those mangled or dead; who heard no sounds but those of war and groans. Some part of it we may attribute to the care of a Frenchman of wit and learning, who, finding it turn to very good account to be a sort of royal tutor to this young black, and perceiving him very ready, apt, and quick of apprehension, took a great pleasure to teach him morals, language, and science, and was for it extremely beloved and valued by him. Another reason was, he loved, when he came from war, to see all the English gentlemen that traded thither, and did not only learn their language but that of the Spaniards also, with whom he traded afterwards for slaves. market on the Gold C o a s t of Africa, in modern-day G h a n a . As the slave trade expanded, the slaves and workers shipped out from the region (who c a m e to be called Cormantines) impressed many E u r o p e a n

observers by their beauty and bearing, their fierceness in war, and their extreme dignity under captivity or torture. 1. Loosely u s e d for any dark-skinned person.

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I have often seen and conversed with this great man, and been a witness to many of his mighty actions, and do assure my reader the most illustrious courts could not have produced a braver man, both for greatness of courage and mind, a judgment more solid, a wit more quick, and a conversation more sweet and diverting. He knew almost as much as if he had read much. He had heard of and admired the Romans; he had heard of the late civil wars in England, and the deplorable death of our great monarch, 2 and would discourse of it with all the sense and abhorrence of the injustice imaginable. He had an extreme good and graceful mien, and all the civility of a well-bred great man. He had nothing of barbarity in his nature, but in all points addressed himself as if his education had been in some European court. This great and just character of Oroonoko gave me an extreme curiosity to see him, especially when I knew he spoke French and English, and that I could talk with him. But though I had heard so much of him, I was as greatly surprised when I saw him as if I had heard nothing of him, so beyond all report I found him. He came into the room and addressed himself to me, and some other women, with the best grace in the world. He was pretty tall, but of a shape the most exact that can be fancied. The most famous statuary3 could not form the figure of a man more admirably turned from head to foot. His face was not of that brown, rusty black which most of that nation are, but a perfect ebony or polished jet. His eyes were the most awful that could be seen, and very piercing, the white of 'em being like snow, as were his teeth. His nose was rising and Roman, instead of African and flat; his mouth the finest shaped that could be seen, far from those great turned lips which are so natural to the rest of the Negroes. The whole proportion and air of his face was so noble and exactly formed that, bating 4 his color, there could be nothing in nature more beautiful, agreeable, and handsome. There was no one grace wanting that bears the standard of true beauty. His hair came down to his shoulders by the aids of art; which was by pulling it out with a quill and keeping it combed, of which he took particular care. Nor did the perfections of his mind come short of those of his person, for his discourse was admirable upon almost any subject; and whoever had heard him speak would have been convinced of their errors, that all fine wit is confined to the white men, especially to those of Christendom, and would have confessed that Oroonoko was as capable even of reigning well, and of governing as wisely, had as great a soul, as politic 5 maxims, and was as sensible of power, as any prince civilized in the most refined schools of humanity and learning, or the most illustrious courts. This prince, such as I have described him, whose soul and body were so admirably adorned, was (while yet he was in the court of his grandfather), as I said, as capable of love as 'twas possible for a brave and gallant man to be; and in saying that, I have named the highest degree of love, for sure, great souls are most capable of that passion. I have already said, the old general was killed by the shot of an arrow, by the side of this prince, in battle, and that Oroonoko was made general. This 2. Charles I, beheaded in 1649 during the civil wars between Royalists and Parliamentarians. In 1688 this remark and others would have signaled Behn's ardent support of J a m e s II, the last of the Stuart kings, who would be forced into exile within the year. 3. Sculptor. 4. Except for. T h e singling out of Africans with

E u r o p e a n looks or moral values is by no means u n i q u e to Behn; for example, Edward Long's 1 7 7 4 History of Jamaica reports of the Cormantines that "their features are very different from the rest of the African Negroes, being smaller, and more of the E u r o p e a n turn." 5. Shrewd, sagacious.

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old dead hero had one only daughter left of his race, a beauty that, to describe her truly, one need say only she was female to the noble male, the beautiful black Venus to our young Mars, as charming in her person as he, and of delicate virtues. I have seen an hundred white men sighing after her, and making a thousand vows at her feet, all vain and unsuccessful. And she was, indeed, too great for any but a prince of her own nation to adore. Oroonoko coming from the wars (which were now ended), after he had made his court to his grandfather, he thought in honor he ought to make a visit to Imoinda, the daughter of his foster-father, the dead general; and to make some excuses to her, because his preservation was the occasion of her father's death; and to present her with those slaves that had been taken in this last battle, as the trophies of her father's victories. When he came, attended by all the young soldiers of any merit, he was infinitely surprised at the beauty of this fair queen of night, whose face and person was so exceeding all he had ever beheld; that lovely modesty with which she received him; that softness in her look, and sighs, upon the melancholy occasion of this honor that was done by so great a man as Oroonoko, and a prince of whom she had heard such admirable things: the awfulness 6 wherewith she received him, and the sweetness of her words and behavior while he stayed, gained a perfect conquest over his fierce heart, and made him feel the victor could be subdued. So that having made his first compliments, and presented her a hundred and fifty slaves in fetters, he told her with his eyes that he was not insensible of her charms; while Imoinda, who wished for nothing more than so glorious a conquest, was pleased to believe she understood that silent language of newborn love, and from that moment put on all her additions to beauty. The Prince returned to court with quite another humor than before; and though he did not speak much of the fair Imoinda, he had the pleasure to hear all his followers speak of nothing but the charms of that maid, insomuch that, even in the presence of the old king, they were extolling her and heightening, if possible, the beauties they had found in her. So that nothing else was talked of, no other sound was heard in every corner where there were whisperers, but "Imoinda! Imoinda!" 'Twill be imagined Oroonoko stayed not long before he made his second visit, nor, considering his quality, not much longer before he told her he adored her. I have often heard him say that he admired by what strange inspiration he came to talk things so soft and so passionate, who never knew love, nor was used to the conversation 7 of women; but (to use his own words) he said, most happily some new and till then unknown power instructed his heart and tongue in the language of love, and at the same time, in favor of him, inspired Imoinda with a sense of his passion. She was touched with what he said, and returned it all in such answers as went to his very heart, with a pleasure unknown before. Nor did he use those obligations 8 ill that love had done him, but turned all his happy moments to the best advantage; and as he knew no vice, his flame aimed at nothing but honor, if such a distinction may be made in love; and especially in that country, where men take to themselves as many as they can maintain, and where the only crime and sin with woman is to turn her off, to abandon her to want, shame, and misery. Such ill morals are only practiced in Christian countries, where they prefer the bare name of religion, and, without virtue or morality, think that's sufficient. But Oroonoko was none 6. Reverence. 7. Company. "Admired": marveled.

8. Benefits.

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of those professors, but as he had right notions of honor, so he made her such propositions as were not only and barely such; but contrary to the custom of his country, he made her vows she should be the only woman he would possess while he lived; that no age or wrinkles should incline him to change, for her soul would be always fine and always young, and he should have an eternal idea in his mind of the charms she now bore, and should look into his heart for that idea when he could find it no longer in her face. After a thousand assurances of his lasting flame, and her eternal empire over him, she condescended to receive him for her husband, or rather, received him as the greatest honor the gods could do her. There is a certain ceremony in these cases to be observed, which I forgot to ask him how performed; but 'twas concluded on both sides that, in obedience to him, the grandfather was to be first made acquainted with the design, for they pay a most absolute resignation to the monarch, especially when he is a parent also. On the other side, the old king, who had many wives and many concubines, wanted not court flatterers to insinuate in his heart a thousand tender thoughts for this young beauty, and who represented her to his fancy as the most charming he had ever possessed in all the long race of his numerous years. At this character his old heart, like an extinguished brand, most apt to take fire, felt new sparks of love and began to kindle; and now grown to his second childhood, longed with impatience to behold this gay thing, with whom, alas! he could but innocently play. But how he should be confirmed she was this wonder, before he used his power to call her to court (where maidens never came, unless for the King's private use), he was next to consider; and while he was so doing, he had intelligence brought him that Imoinda was most certainly mistress to the Prince Oroonoko. This gave him some chagrin; however, it gave him also an opportunity, one day when the Prince was a-hunting, to wait on a man of quality, as his slave and attendant, who should go and make a present to Imoinda as from the Prince; he should then, unknown, see this fair maid, and have an opportunity to hear what message she would return the Prince for his present, and from thence gather the state of her heart and degree of her inclination. This was put in execution, and the old monarch saw, and burned. He found her all he had heard, and would not delay his happiness, but found he should have some obstacle to overcome her heart; for she expressed her sense of the present the Prince had sent her in terms so sweet, so soft and pretty, with an air of love and joy that could not be dissembled, insomuch that 'twas past doubt whether she loved Oroonoko entirely. This gave the old king some affliction, but he salved it with this, that the obedience the people pay their king was not at all inferior to what they paid their gods; and what love would not oblige Imoinda to do, duty would compel her to. He was therefore no sooner got to his apartment but he sent the royal veil to Imoinda, that is, the ceremony of invitation: he sends the lady he has a mind to honor with his bed a veil, with which she is covered, and secured for the King's use; and 'tis death to disobey, besides held a most impious disobedience. 'Tis not to be imagined the surprise and grief that seized this lovely maid at this news and sight. However, as delays in these cases are dangerous and pleading worse than treason, trembling, and almost fainting, she was obliged to suffer herself to be covered and led away. They brought her thus to court; and the King, who had caused a very rich

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bath to be prepared, was led into it, where he sat under a canopy, in state, to receive this longed-for virgin; whom he having commanded should be brought to him, they (after disrobing her) led her to the bath, and making fast the doors, left her to descend. The King, without more courtship, bade her throw off her mantle and come to his arms. But Imoinda, all in tears, threw herself on the marble, on the brink of the bath, and besought him to hear her. She told him, as she was a maid, how proud of the divine glory she should have been, of having it in her power to oblige her king; but as by the laws he could not, and from his royal goodness would not, take from any man his wedded wife, so she believed she should be the occasion of making him commit a great sin, if she did not reveal her state and condition, and tell him she was another's, and could not be so happy to be his. The King, enraged at this delay, hastily demanded the name of the bold man that had married a woman of her degree without his consent. Imoinda, seeing his eyes fierce and his hands tremble (whether with age or anger, I know not, but she fancied the last), almost repented she had said so much, for now she feared the storm would fall on the Prince. She therefore said a thousand things to appease the raging of his flame, and to prepare him to hear who it was with calmness; but before she spoke, he imagined who she meant, but would not seem to do so, but commanded her to lay aside her mantle and suffer herself to receive his caresses; or by his gods, he swore that happy man whom she was going to name should die, though it were even Oroonoko himself. "Therefore," said he, "deny this marriage, and swear thyself a maid." "That," replied Imoinda, "by all our powers I do, for I am not yet known to my husband." " 'Tis enough," said the King; " 'tis enough to satisfy both my conscience and my heart." And rising from his seat, he went and led her into the bath, it being in vain for her to resist. In this time the Prince, who was returned from hunting, went to visit his Imoinda, but found her gone; and not only so, but heard she had received the royal veil. This raised him to a storm, and in his madness they had much ado to save him from laying violent hands on himself. Force first prevailed, and then reason. They urged all to him that might oppose his rage, but nothing weighed so greatly with him as the King's old age, uncapable of injuring him with Imoinda. He would give way to that hope, because it pleased him most, and flattered best his heart. Yet this served not altogether to make him cease his different passions, which sometimes raged within him, and sometimes softened into showers. 'Twas not enough to appease him, to tell him his grandfather was old and could not that way injure him, while he retained that awful duty which the young men are used there to pay to their grave relations. He could not be convinced he had no cause to sigh and mourn for the loss of a mistress he could not with all his strength and courage retrieve. And he would often cry, "O my friends! Were she in walled cities or confined from me in fortifications of the greatest strength, did enchantments or monsters detain her from me, I would venture through any hazard to free her. But here, in the arms of a feeble old man, my youth, my violent love, my trade in arms, and all my vast desire of glory avail me nothing. Imoinda is as irrecoverably lost to me as if she were snatched by the cold arms of Death. Oh! she is never to be retrieved. If I would wait tedious years, till fate should bow the old king to his grave, even that would not leave me Imoinda free; but still that custom that makes it so vile a crime for a son to marry his father's wives or mistresses would hinder my happiness, unless I would either ignobly set an ill precedent

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to my successors, or abandon my country and fly with her to some unknown world, who never heard our story." But it was objected to him that his case was not the same; for Imoinda being his lawful wife, by solemn contract, 'twas he was the injured man and might if he so pleased take Imoinda back, the breach of the law being on his grandfather's side; and that if he could circumvent him and redeem her from the Otan, which is the palace of the King's women, a sort of seraglio, it was both just and lawful for him so to do. This reasoning had some force upon him, and he should have been entirely comforted, but for the thought that she was possessed by his grandfather. However, he loved so well that he was resolved' to believe what most favored his hope, and to endeavor to learn from Imoinda's own mouth what only she could satisfy him in, whether she was robbed of that blessing which was only due to his faith and love. But as it was very hard to get a sight of the women (for no men ever entered into the Otan but when the King went to entertain himself with some one of his wives or mistresses, and 'twas death at any other time for any other to go in), so he knew not how to contrive to get a sight of her. While Oroonoko felt all the agonies of love, and suffered under a torment the most painful in the world, the old king was not exempted from his share of affliction. He was troubled for having been forced by an irresistible passion to rob his son 9 of a treasure he knew could not but be extremely dear to him, since she was the most beautiful that ever had been seen, and had besides all the sweetness and innocence of youth and modesty, with a charm of wit surpassing all. He found that, however she was forced to expose her lovely person to his withered arms, she could only sigh and weep there, and think of Oroonoko; and oftentimes could not forbear speaking of him, though her life were, by custom, forfeited by owning her passion. But she spoke not of a lover only, but of a prince dear to him to whom she spoke, and of the praises of a man who, till now, filled the old man's soul with joy at every recital of his bravery, or even his name. And 'twas this dotage on our young hero that gave Imoinda a thousand privileges to speak of him without offending, and this condescension in the old king that made her take the satisfaction of speaking of him so very often. Besides, he many times inquired how the Prince bore himself; and those of whom he asked, being entirely slaves to the merits and virtues of the Prince, still answered what they thought conduced best to his service; which was to make the old king fancy that the Prince had no more interest in Imoinda, and had resigned her willingly to the pleasure of the King; that he diverted himself with his mathematicians, his fortifications, his officers, and his hunting. This pleased the old lover, who failed not to report these things again to Imoinda, that she might, by the example of her young lover, withdraw her heart, and rest better contented in his arms. But however she was forced to receive this unwelcome news, in all appearance with unconcern and content, her heart was bursting within, and she was only happy when she could get alone, to vent her griefs and moans with sighs and tears. What reports of the Prince's conduct were made to the King, he thought good to justify as far as possibly he could by his actions, and when he appeared in the presence of the King, he showed a face not at all betraying his heart. 9. I.e., grandson.

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So that in a little time, the old man being entirely convinced that he was no longer a lover of Imoinda, he carried him with him in his train to the Otan, often to banquet with his mistress. But as soon as he entered, one day, into the apartment of Imoinda with the King, at the first glance from her eyes, notwithstanding all his determined resolution, he was ready to sink in the place where he stood, and had certainly done so but for the support of Aboan, a young man who was next to him; which, with his change of countenance, had betrayed him, had the King chanced to look that way. And I have observed, 'tis a very great error, in those who laugh when one says a Negro can change color, for I have seen 'em as frequently blush, and look pale, and that as visibly as ever I saw in the most beautiful white. And 'tis certain that both these changes were evident, this day, in both these lovers. And Imoinda, who saw with some joy the change in the Prince's face, and found it in her own, strove to divert the King from beholding either by a forced caress, with which she met him, which was a new wound in the heart of the poor dying Prince. But as soon as the King was busied in looking on some fine thing of Imoinda's making, she had time to tell the Prince with her angry but love-darting eyes that she resented his coldness, and bemoaned her own miserable captivity. Nor were his eyes silent, but answered hers again, as much as eyes could do, instructed by the most tender and most passionate heart that ever loved. And they spoke so well and so effectually, as Imoinda no longer doubted but she was the only delight and the darling of that soul she found pleading in 'em its right of love, which none was more willing to resign than she. And 'twas this powerful language alone that in an instant conveyed all the thoughts of their souls to each other, that1 they both found there wanted but opportunity to make them both entirely happy. But when he saw another door opened by Onahal, a former old wife of the King's who now had charge of Imoinda, and saw the prospect of a bed of state made ready with sweets and flowers for the dalliance of the King, who immediately led the trembling victim from his sight into that prepared repose, what rage, what wild frenzies seized his heart! which forcing to keep within bounds, and to suffer without noise, it became the more insupportable, and rent his soul with ten thousand pains. He was forced to retire to vent his groans, where he fell down on a carpet and lay struggling a long time, and only breathing now and then, "—O Imoinda!" When Onahal had finished her necessary affair within, shutting the door, she came forth to wait till the King called; and hearing someone sighing in the other room, she passed on, and found the Prince in that deplorable condition, which she thought needed her aid. She gave him cordials, but all in vain, till finding the nature of his disease by his sighs and naming Imoinda. She told him, he had not so much cause as he imagined to afflict himself, for if he knew the King so well as she did, he would not lose a moment in jealousy, and that she was confident that Imoinda bore, at this minute, part in his affliction. Aboan was of the same opinion, and both together persuaded him to reassume his courage; and all sitting down on the carpet, the Prince said so many obliging things to Onahal that he half persuaded her to be of his party. And she promised him she would thus far comply with his just desires, that she would let Imoinda know how faithful he was, what he suffered, and what he said. This discourse lasted till the King called, which gave Oroonoko a certain 1. So that.

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satisfaction, and with the hope Onahal had made him conceive, he assumed a look as gay as 'twas possible a man in his circumstances could do; and presently after, he was called in with the rest who waited without. The King commanded music to be brought, and several of his young wives and mistresses came all together by his command to dance before him; where Imoinda performed her part with an air and grace so passing all the rest as her beauty was above 'em, and received the present ordained as a prize. The Prince was every moment more charmed with the new beauties and graces he beheld in this fair one. And while he gazed, and she danced, Onahal was retired to a window with Aboan. This Onahal, as I said, was one of the cast mistresses of the old king; and 'twas these (now past their beauty) that were made guardians or governants 2 to the new and the young ones, and whose business it was to teach them all those wanton arts of love with which they prevailed and charmed heretofore in their turn; and who now treated the triumphing happy ones with all the severity, as to liberty and freedom, that was possible, in revenge of those honors they rob them of; envying them those satisfactions, those gallantries and presents, that were once made to themselves, while youth and beauty lasted, and which they now saw pass regardless by, and paid only to the bloomings. And certainly nothing is more afflicting to a decayed beauty than to behold in itself declining charms that were once adored, and to find those caresses paid to new beauties to which once she laid a claim; to hear 'em whisper as she passes by, "That once was a delicate woman." These abandoned ladies therefore endeavor to revenge all the despites' and decays of time on these flourishing happy ones. And 'twas this severity that gave Oroonoko a thousand fears he should never prevail with Onahal to see Imoinda. But, as I said, she was now retired to a window with Aboan. This young man was not only one of the best quality,4 but a man extremely well made and beautiful; and coming often to attend the King to the Otan, he had subdued the heart of the antiquated Onahal, which had not forgot how pleasant it was to be in love. And though she had some decays in her face, she had none in her sense and wit; she was there agreeable still, even to Aboan's youth, so that he took pleasure in entertaining her with discourses of love. He knew also that to make his court to these she-favorites was the way to be great, these being the persons that do all affairs and business at court. He had also observed that she had given him glances more tender and inviting than she had done to others of his quality. And now, when he saw that her favor could so absolutely oblige the Prince, he failed not to sigh in her ear and to look with eyes all soft upon her, and give her hope that she had made some impressions on his heart. He found her pleased at this, and making a thousand advances to him; but the ceremony ending and the King departing broke up the company for that day, and his conversation. Aboan failed not that night to tell the Prince of his success, and how advantageous the service of Onahal might be to his amour with Imoinda. The Prince was overjoyed with this good news and besought him, if it were possible, to caress her so as to engage her entirely, which he could not fail to do, if he complied with her desires. "For then," said the Prince, "her life lying at your mercy, she must grant you the request you make in my behalf." Aboan under2. Female teachers or chaperones. " C a s t " : i.e., cast-off.

3. Insults, 4. Rank.

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stood him, and assured him he would make love so effectually that he would defy the most expert mistress of the art to find out whether he dissembled it or had it really. And 'twas with impatience they waited the next opportunity of going to the Otan. The wars came on, the time of taking the field approached, and 'twas impossible for the Prince to delay his going at the head of his army to encounter the enemy. So that every day seemed a tedious year till he saw his Imoinda, for he bejieved he could not live if he were forced away without being so happy. Twas with impatience, therefore, that he expected the next visit the King would make, and according to his wish, it was not long. The parley of the eyes of these two lovers had not passed so secretly but an old jealous lover could spy it; or rather, he wanted not flatterers who told him they observed it. So that the Prince was hastened to the camp, and this was the last visit he found he should make to the Otan; he therefore urged Aboan to make the best of this last effort, and to explain himself so to Onahal that she, deferring her enjoyment of her young lover no longer, might make way for the Prince to speak to Imoinda. The whole affair being agreed on between the Prince and Aboan, they attended the King, as the custom was, to the Otan, where, while the whole company was taken up in beholding the dancing and antic postures the women-royal made to divert the King, Onahal singled out Aboan, whom she found most pliable to her wish. When she had him where she believed she could not be heard, she sighed to him, and softly cried, "Ah, Aboan! When will you be sensible of my passion? I confess it with my mouth, because I would not give my eyes the lie; and you have but too much already perceived they have confessed my flame. Nor would I have you believe that because I am the abandoned mistress of a king, I esteem myself altogether divested of charms. No, Aboan; I have still a rest 5 of beauty enough engaging, and have learned to please too well not to be desirable. I can have lovers still, but will have none but Aboan." "Madam," replied the half-feigning youth, "you have already, by my eyes, found you can still conquer, and I believe 'tis in pity of me you condescend to this kind confession. But, Madam, words are used to be so small a part of our country courtship, that 'tis rare one can get so happy an opportunity as to tell one's heart, and those few minutes we have are forced to be snatched for more certain proofs of love than speaking and sighing; and such I languish for." He spoke this with such a tone that she hoped it true, and could not forbear believing it; and being wholly transported with joy, for having subdued the finest of all the King's subjects to her desires, she took from her ears two large pearls and commanded him to wear 'em in his. He would have refused 'em, crying, "Madam, these are not the proofs of your love that I expect; 'tis opportunity, 'tis a lone hour only, that can make me happy." But forcing the pearls into his hand, she whispered softly to him, "Oh! Do not fear a woman's invention, when love sets her a-thinking." And pressing his hand, she cried, "This night you shall be happy. Come to the gate of the orange groves behind the Otan, and I will be ready, about midnight, to receive you." Twas thus agreed, and she left him, that no notice might be taken of their speaking together. The ladies were still dancing, and the King, laid on a carpet, with a great deal of pleasure was beholding them, especially Imoinda, who that day 5. Remnant.

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appeared more lovely than ever, being enlivened with the good tidings Onahal had brought her of the constant passion the Prince had for her. The Prince was laid on another carpet at the other end of the room, with his eyes fixed on the object of his soul; and as she turned or moved, so did they, and she alone gave his eyes and soul their motions. Nor did Imoinda employ her eyes to any other use than in beholding with infinite pleasure the joy she produced in those of the Prince. But while she was more regarding him than the steps she took, she chanced to fall, and so near him as that, leaping with extreme force from the carpet, he caught her in his arms as she fell; and 'twas visible to the whole presence 6 the joy wherewith he received her. He clasped her close to his bosom, and quite forgot that reverence that was due to the mistress of a king, and that punishment that is the reward of a boldness of this nature; and had not the presence of mind of Imoinda (fonder of his safety than her own) befriended him, in making her spring from his arms and fall into her dance again, he had at that instant met his death; for the old king, jealous to the last degree, rose up in rage, broke all the diversion, and led Imoinda to her apartment, and sent out word to the Prince to go immediately to the camp, and that if he were found another night in court he should suffer the death ordained for disobedient offenders. You may imagine how welcome this news was to Oroonoko, whose unseasonable transport and caress of Imoinda was blamed by all men that loved him; and now he perceived his fault, yet cried that for such another moment, he would be content to die. All the Otan was in disorder about this accident; and Onahal was particularly concerned, because on the Prince's stay depended her happiness, for she could no longer expect that of Aboan. So that ere they departed, they contrived it so that the Prince and he should come both that night to the grove of the Otan, which was all of oranges and citrons, and that there they should wait her orders. They parted thus, with grief enough, till night, leaving the King in possession of the lovely maid. But nothing could appease the jealousy of the old lover. He would not be imposed on, but would have it that Imoinda made a false step on purpose to fall into Oroonoko's bosom, and that all things looked like a design on both sides; and 'twas in vain she protested her innocence. He was old and obstinate, and left her more than half assured that his fear was true. The King going to his apartment sent to know where the Prince was, and if he intended to obey his command. The messenger returned and told him, he found the Prince pensive and altogether unpreparing for the campaign, that he lay negligently on the ground, and answered very little. This confirmed the jealousy of the King, and he commanded that they should very narrowly and privately watch his motions, and that he should not stir from his apartment but one spy or other should be employed to watch him. So that the hour approaching wherein he was to go to the citron grove, and taking only Aboan along with him, he leaves his apartment, and was watched to the very gate of the Otan, where he was seen to enter, and where they left him, to carry back the tidings to the King. Oroonoko and Aboan were no sooner entered but Onahal led the Prince to the apartment of Imoinda, who, not knowing anything of her happiness, was laid in bed. But Onahal only left him in her chamber, to make the best of his 6. Company.

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opportunity, and took her dear Aboan to her own, where he showed the heighth of complaisance for his prince, when, to give him an opportunity, he suffered himself to be caressed in bed by Onahal. The Prince softly wakened Imoinda, who was not a little surprised with joy to find him there; and yet she trembled with a thousand fears. I believe he omitted saying nothing to this young maid that might persuade her to suffer him to seize his own, and take the rights of love; and I believe she was not long resisting those arms where she so longed to be; and having opportunity, night and silence, youth, love and desire, he soon prevailed, and ravished in a moment what his old grandfather had been endeavoring for so many months. Tis not to be imagined the satisfaction of these two young lovers; nor the vows she made him that she remained a spotless maid till that night, and that what she did with his grandfather had robbed him of no part of her virgin honor, the gods in mercy and justice having reserved that for her plighted lord, to whom of right it belonged. And 'tis impossible to express the transports he suffered, while he listened to a discourse so charming from her loved lips, and clasped that body in his arms for whom he had so long languished; and nothing now afflicted him but his sudden departure from her; for he told her the necessity and his commands, but should depart satisfied in this, that since the old king had hitherto not been able to deprive him of those enjoyments which only belonged to him, he believed for the future he would be less able to injure him; so that abating the scandal of the veil, which was no otherwise so than that she was wife to another, he believed her safe, even in the arms of the King, and innocent; yet would he have ventured at the conquest of the world, and have given it all, to have had her avoided that honor of receiving the royal veil. 'Twas thus, between a thousand caresses, that both bemoaned the hard fate of youth and beauty, so liable to that cruel promotion. 'Twas a glory that could well have been spared here, though desired and aimed at by all the young females of that kingdom. But while they were thus fondly employed, forgetting how time ran on, and that the dawn must conduct him far away from his only happiness, they heard a great noise in the Otan, and unusual voices of men; at which the Prince, starting from the arms of the frighted Imoinda, ran to a little battle-ax he used to wear by his side, and having not so much leisure as to put on his habit, he opposed himself against some who were already opening the door; which they did with so much violence that Oroonoko was not able to defend it, but was forced to cry out with a commanding voice, "Whoever ye are that have the boldness to attempt to approach this apartment thus rudely, know that I, the Prince Oroonoko, will revenge it with the certain death of him that first enters. Therefore stand back, and know, this place is sacred to love and me this night; tomorrow 'tis the King's." This he spoke with a voice so resolved and assured that they soon retired from the door, but cried, " Tis by the King's command we are come; and being satisfied by thy voice, O Prince, as much as if we had entered, we can report to the King the truth of all his fears, and leave thee to provide for thy own safety, as thou art advised by thy friends." At these words they departed, and left the Prince to take a short and sad leave of his Imoinda, who, trusting in the strength of her charms, believed she should appease the fury of a jealous king by saying she was surprised, and that it was by force of arms he got into her apartment. All her concern now was for his life, and therefore she hastened him to the camp, and with much ado

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prevailed on him to go. Nor was it she alone that prevailed; Aboan and Onahal both pleaded, and both assured him of a lie that should be well enough contrived to secure Imoinda. So that at last, with a heart sad as death, dying eyes, and sighing soul, Oroonoko departed and took his way to the camp. It was not long after the King in person came to the Otan, where, beholding Imoinda with rage in his eyes, he upbraided her wickedness and perfidy, and threatening her royal lover, she fell on her face at his feet, bedewing the floor with her tears and imploring his pardon for a fault which she had not with her will committed, as Onahal, who was also prostrate with her, could testify; that unknown to her, he had broke into her apartment, and ravished her. She spoke this much against her conscience, but to save her own life 'twas absolutely necessary she should feign this falsity. She knew it could not injure the Prince, he being fled to an army that would stand by him against any injuries that should assault him. However, this last thought of Imoinda's being ravished changed the measures of his revenge; and whereas before he designed to be himself her executioner, he now resolved she should not die. But as it is the greatest crime in nature amongst 'em to touch a woman after having been possessed by a son, a father, or a brother, so now he looked on Imoinda as a polluted thing, wholly unfit for his embrace; nor would he resign her to his grandson, because she had received the royal veil. He therefore removes her from the Otan, with Onahal; whom he put into safe hands, with order they should be both sold off as slaves to another country, either Christian or heathen; 'twas no matter where. This cruel sentence, worse than death, they implored might be reversed; but their prayers were vain, and it was put in execution accordingly, and that with so much secrecy that none, either without or within the Otan, knew anything of their absence or their destiny. The old king, nevertheless, executed this with a great deal of reluctancy; but he believed he had made a very great conquest over himself, when he had once resolved, and had performed what he resolved. He believed now that his love had been unjust, and that he could not expect the gods, or Captain of the Clouds (as they call the unknown power), should suffer a better consequence from so ill a cause. He now begins to hold Oroonoko excused, and to say he had reason for what he did. And now everybody could assure the King how passionately Imoinda was beloved by the Prince; even those confessed it now, who said the contrary before his flame was abated. So that the King being old, and not able to defend himself in war, and having no sons of all his race remaining alive but only this, to maintain him on his throne; and looking on this as a man disobliged, first by the rape of his mistress, or rather wife; and now by depriving of him wholly of her, he feared, might make him desperate and do some cruel thing, either to himself or his old grandfather, the offender: he began to repent him extremely of the contempt he had, in his rage, put on Imoinda. Besides, he considered he ought in honor to have killed her for this offense, if it had been one. He ought to have had so much value and consideration for a maid of her quality as to have nobly put her to death, and not to have sold her like a common slave, the greatest revenge and the most disgraceful of any; and to which they a thousand times prefer death, and implore it, as Imoinda did, but could not obtain that honor. Seeing therefore it was certain that Oroonoko would highly resent this affront, he thought good to make some excuse for his rashness to him; and to that end he sent a messenger to the camp, with orders to treat with him about the matter, to gain his pardon, and

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to endeavor to mitigate his grief; but that by no means he should tell him she was sold, but secretly put to death, for he knew he should never obtain his pardon for the other. When the messenger came, he found the Prince upon the point of engaging with the enemy; but as soon as he heard of the arrival of the messenger, he commanded him to his tent, where he embraced him and received him with joy; which was soon abated by the downcast looks of the messenger, who was instantly demanded the cause by Oroonoko, who, impatient of delay, asked a thousand questions in a breath, and all concerning Imoinda. But there needed little return, for he could almost answer himself of all he demanded, from his sighs and eyes. At last, the messenger casting himself at the Prince's feet, and kissing them with all the submission of a man that had something to implore which he dreaded to utter, he besought him to hear with calmness what he had to deliver to him, and to call up all his noble and heroic courage to encounter with his words, and defend himself against the ungrateful 7 things he must relate. Oroonoko replied, with a deep sigh and a languishing voice, "I am armed against their worst efforts—; for I know they will tell me, Imoinda is no more—and after that, you may spare the rest." Then, commanding him to rise, he laid himself on a carpet, under a rich pavilion, and remained a good while silent, and was hardly heard to sigh. When he was come a little to himself, the messenger asked him leave to deliver that part of his embassy which the Prince had not yet divined. And the Prince cried, "I permit thee—." Then he told him the affliction the old king was in, for the rashness he had committed in his cruelty to Imoinda; and how he deigned to ask pardon for his offense, and to implore the Prince would not suffer that loss to touch his heart too sensibly, which now all the gods could not restore him, but might recompense him in glory, which he begged he would pursue; and that Death, that common revenger of all injuries, would soon even the account between him and a feeble old man. Oroonoko bade him return his duty to his lord and master, and to assure him, there was no account of revenge to be adjusted between them; if there were, 'twas he was the aggressor, and that Death would be just and, maugre 8 his age, would see him righted; and he was contented to leave his share of glory to youths more fortunate and worthy of that favor from the gods. That henceforth he would never lift a weapon or draw a bow, but abandon the small remains of his life to sighs and tears, and the continual thoughts of what his lord and grandfather had thought good to send out of the world, with all that youth, that innocence, and beauty. After having spoken this, whatever his greatest officers and men of the best rank could do, they could not raise him from the carpet, or persuade him to action and resolutions of life; but commanding all to retire, he shut himself into his pavilion all that day, while the enemy was ready to engage; and wondering at the delay, the whole body of the chief of the army then addressed themselves to him, and to whom they had much ado to get admittance. They fell on their faces at the foot of his carpet, where they lay and besought him with earnest prayers and tears to lead 'em forth to battle, and not let the enemy take advantages of them; and implored him to have regard to his glory, and to the world, that depended on his courage and conduct. But he made no other 7. Offensive. 8. In spite of. Oroonoko is saying that he will die before the king does.

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reply to all their supplications but this, that he had now no more business for glory; and for the world, it was a trifle not worth his care. "Go," continued he, sighing, "and divide it amongst you; and reap with joy what you so vainly prize, and leave me to my more welcome destiny." They then demanded what they should do, and whom he would constitute in his room, that the confusion of ambitious youth and power might not ruin their order and make them a prey to the enemy. He replied, he would not give himself the trouble—; but wished 'em to choose the bravest man amongst 'em, let his quality or birth be what it would. "For, O my friends!" said he, "it is not titles make men brave or good, or birth that bestows courage and generosity, or makes the owner happy. Believe this, when you behold Oroonoko, the most wretched and abandoned by fortune of all the creation of the gods." So turning himself about, he would make no more reply to all they could urge or implore. The army, beholding their officers return unsuccessful, with sad faces and ominous looks that presaged no good luck, suffered a thousand fears to take possession of their hearts, and the enemy to come even upon 'em, before they would provide for their safety by any defense; and though they were assured by some, who had a mind to animate 'em, that they should be immediately headed by the Prince, and that in the meantime Aboan had orders to command as general, yet they were so dismayed for want of that great example of bravery that they could make but a very feeble resistance; and at last downright fled before the enemy, who pursued 'em to the very tents, killing 'em. Nor could all Aboan's courage, which that day gained him immortal glory, shame 'em into a manly defense of themselves. The guards that were left behind about the Prince's tent, seeing the soldiers flee before the enemy and scatter themselves all over the plain, in great disorder, made such outcries as roused the Prince from his amorous slumber, in which he had remained buried for two days without permitting any sustenance to approach him. But in spite of all his resolutions, he had not the constancy of grief to that degree, as to make him insensible of the danger of his army; and in that instant he leaped from his couch and cried, "—Come, if we must die, let us meet Death the noblest way; and 'twill be more like Oroonoko to encounter him at an army's head, opposing the torrent of a conquering foe, than lazily on a couch to wait his lingering pleasure, and die every moment by a thousand wrecking9 thoughts; or be tamely taken by an enemy, and led a whining, lovesick slave to adorn the triumphs of Jamoan, that young victor, who already is entered beyond the limits I had prescribed him." While he was speaking, he suffered his people to dress him for the field, and sallying out of his pavilion, with more life and vigor in his countenance than ever he showed, he appeared like some divine power descended to save his country from destruction; and his people had purposely put on him all things that might make him shine with most splendor, to strike a reverend awe into the beholders. He flew into the thickest of those that were pursuing his men, and being animated with despair, he fought as if he came on purpose to die, and did such things as will not be believed that human strength could perform, and such as soon inspired all the rest with new courage and new order. And now it was that they began to fight indeed, and so as if they would not be outdone even by their adored hero; who, turning the tide of the victory, changing absolutely the fate of the day, gained an entire conquest; and Oroon9. Racking.

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oko having the good fortune to single out Jamoan, he took him prisoner with his own hand, having wounded him almost to death. This Jamoan afterwards became very dear to him, being a man very gallant and of excellent graces and fine parts; so that he never put him amongst the rank of captives, as they used to do, without distinction, for the common sale or market; but kept him in his own court, where he retained nothing of the prisoner but the name, and returned no more into his own country, so great an affection he took for Oroonoko; and by a thousand tales and adventures of love and gallantry flattered 1 his disease of melancholy and languishment, which I have often heard him say had certainly killed him, but for the conversation of this prince and Aboan, and the French governor he had from his childhood, of whom I have spoken before, and who was a man of admirable wit, great ingenuity and learning, all which he had infused into his young pupil. This Frenchman was banished out of his own country for some heretical notions he held, and though he was a man of very little religion, he had admirable morals and a brave soul. After the total defeat of Jamoan's army, which all fled, or were left dead upon the place, they spent some time in the camp, Oroonoko choosing rather to remain a while there in his tents than enter into a palace or live in a court where he had so lately suffered so great a loss. The officers, therefore, who saw and knew his cause of discontent, invented all sorts of diversions and sports to entertain their prince; so that what with those amusements abroad and others at home, that is, within their tents, with the persuasions, arguments, and care of his friends and servants that he more peculiarly prized, he wore off in time a great part of that chagrin and torture of despair which the first efforts of Imoinda's death had given him. Insomuch as having received a thousand kind embassies from the King, and invitations to return to court, he obeyed, though with no little reluctancy; and when he did so, there was a visible change in him, and for a long time he was much more melancholy than before. But time lessens all extremes, and reduces 'em to mediums and unconcern; but no motives or beauties, though all endeavored it, could engage him in any sort of amour, though he had all the invitations to it, both from his own youth and others' ambitions and designs. Oroonoko was no sooner returned from this last conquest, and received at court with all the joy and magnificence that could be expressed to a young victor, who was not only returned triumphant but beloved like a deity, when there arrived in the port an English ship. This person 2 had often before been in these countries and was very well known to Oroonoko, with whom he had trafficked for slaves, and had used to do the same with his predecessors. This commander was a man of a finer sort of address and conversation, better bred and more engaging than most of that sort of men are, so that he seemed rather never to have been bred out of a court than almost all his life at sea. This captain therefore was always better received at court than most of the traders to those countries were; and especially by Oroonoko, who was more civilized, according to the European mode, than any other had been, and took more delight in the white nations, and above all men of parts and wit. To this captain he sold abundance of his slaves, and for the favor and esteem he had for him, made him many presents, and obliged him to stay at 1. Soothed.

2. T h e ship's captain.

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court as long as possibly he could. Which the captain seemed to take as a very great honor done him, entertaining the Prince every day with globes and maps, and mathematical discourses and instruments; eating, drinking, hunting, and living with him with so much familiarity that it was not to be doubted but he had gained very greatly upon the heart of this gallant young man. And the captain, in return of all these mighty favors, besought the Prince to honor his vessel with his presence, some day or other, to dinner, before he should set sail; which he condescended to accept, and appointed his day. The captain, on his part, failed not to have all things in a readiness, in the most magnificent order he could possibly. And the day being come, the captain in his boat, richly adorned with carpets and velvet cushions, rowed to the shore to receive the Prince, with another longboat where was placed all his music and trumpets, with which Oroonoko was extremely delighted; who met him on the shore attended by his French governor, Jamoan, Aboan, and about a hundred of the noblest of the youths of the court. And after they had first carried the Prince on board, the boats fetched the rest off; where they found a very splendid treat, with all sorts of fine wines, and were as well entertained as 'twas possible in such a place to be. The Prince, having drunk hard of punch and several sorts of wine, as did all the rest (for great care was taken they should want nothing of that part of the entertainment), was very merry, and in great admiration of the ship, for he had never been in one before; so that he was curious of beholding every place where he decently might descend. The rest, no less curious, who were not quite overcome with drinking, rambled at their pleasure fore and aft, as their fancies guided 'em. So that the captain, who had well laid his design before, gave the word, and seized on all his guests; they clapping great irons suddenly on the Prince, when he was leaped down in the hold to view that part of the vessel, and locking him fast down, secured him. The same treachery was used to all the rest; and all in one instant, in several places of the ship, were lashed fast in irons, and betrayed to slavery. That great design over, they set all hands to work to hoise 3 sail; and with as treacherous and fair a wind, they made from the shore with this innocent and glorious prize, who thought of nothing less than such an entertainment. Some have commended this act as brave in the captain; but I will spare my sense of it, and leave it to my reader to judge as he pleases. It may be easily guessed in what manner the Prince resented this indignity, who may be best resembled to a lion taken in a toil; so he raged, so he struggled for liberty, but all in vain; and they had so wisely managed his fetters that he could not use a hand in his defense, to quit himself of a life that would by no means endure slavery, nor could he move from the place where he was tied to any solid part of the ship, against which he might have beat his head, and have finished his disgrace that way. So that being deprived of all other means, he resolved to perish for want of food. And pleased at last with that thought, and toiled and tired by rage and indignation, he laid himself down, and sullenly resolved upon dying, and refused all things that were brought him. This did not a little vex the captain, and the more so because he found almost all of 'em of the same humor; so that the loss of so many brave slaves, so tall and goodly to behold, would have been very considerable. He therefore ordered one to go from him (for he would not be seen himself) to Oroonoko, 3. Hoist.

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and to assure him he was afflicted for having rashly done so unhospitable a deed, and which could not be now remedied, since they were far from shore; but since he resented it in so high a nature, he assured him he would revoke his resolution, and set both him and his friends ashore on the next land they should touch at; and of this the messenger gave him his oath, provided he would resolve to live. And Oroonoko, whose honor was such as he never had violated a word in his life himself, much less a solemn asseveration, believed in an instant what this man said, but replied, he expected for a confirmation of this to have his shameful fetters dismissed. This demand was carried to the captain, who returned him answer that the offense had been so great which he had put upon the Prince that he durst not trust him with liberty while he remained in the ship, for fear lest by a valor natural to him, and a revenge that would animate that valor, he might commit some outrage fatal to himself and the King his master, to whom his vessel did belong. To this Oroonoko replied, he would engage his honor to behave himself in all friendly order and manner, and obey the command of the captain, as he was lord of the King's vessel and general of those men under his command. This was delivered to the still doubting captain, who could not resolve to trust a heathen, he said, upon his parole, 4 a man that had no sense or notion of the God that he worshipped. Oroonoko then replied, he was very sorry to hear that the captain pretended to the knowledge and worship of any gods who had taught him no better principles than not to credit as he would be credited; but they told him the difference of their faith occasioned that distrust. For the captain had protested to him upon the word of a Christian, and sworn in the name of a great god, which if he should violate, he would expect eternal torment in the world to come. "Is that all the obligation he has to be just to his oath?" replied Oroonoko. "Let him know I swear by my honor; which to violate, would not only render me contemptible and despised by all brave and honest men, and so give myself perpetual pain, but it would be eternally offending and diseasing all mankind, harming, betraying, circumventing and outraging all men; but punishments hereafter are suffered by one's self, and the world takes no cognizances whether this god have revenged 'em or not, 'tis done so secretly and deferred so long. While the man of no honor suffers every moment the scorn and contempt of the honester world, and dies every day ignominiously in his fame, which is more valuable than life. I speak not this to move belief, but to show you how you mistake, when you imagine that he who will violate his honor will keep his word with his gods." So turning from him with a disdainful smile, he refused to answer him, when he urged him to know what answer he should carry back to his captain; so that he departed without saying any more. The captain pondering and consulting what to do, it was concluded that nothing but Oroonoko's liberty would encourage any of the rest to eat, except the Frenchman, whom the captain could not pretend to keep prisoner, but only told him he was secured because he might act something in favor of the Prince, but that he should be freed as soon as they came to land. So that they concluded it wholly necessary to free the Prince from his irons, that he might show himself to the rest; that they might have an eye upon him, and that they could not fear a single man. This being resolved, to make the obligation the greater, the captain himself 4. Word of honor.

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went to Oroonoko; where after many compliments, and assurances of what he had already promised, he receiving from the Prince his parole and his hand for his good behavior, dismissed his irons and brought him to his own cabin; where after having treated and reposed him a while, for he had neither eat 5 nor slept in four days before, he besought him to visit those obstinate people in chains, who refused all manner of sustenance, and entreated him to oblige 'em to eat, and assure 'em of their liberty the first opportunity. Oroonoko, who was too generous not to give credit to his words, showed himself to his people, who were transported with excess of joy at the sight of their darling prince, falling at his feet and kissing and embracing 'em, believing, as some divine oracle, all he assured 'em. Rut he besought 'em to bear their chains with that bravery that became those whom he had seen act so nobly in arms; and that they could not give him greater proofs of their love and friendship, since 'twas all the security the captain (his friend) could have, against the revenge, he said, they might possibly justly take for the injuries sustained by him. And they all with one accord assured him, they could not suffer enough, when it was for his repose and safety. After this they no longer refused to eat, but took what was brought em, and were pleased with their captivity, since by it they hoped to redeem the Prince, who, all the rest of the voyage, was treated with all the respect due to his birth, though nothing could divert his melancholy; and he would often sigh for Imoinda, and think this a punishment due to his misfortune, in having left that noble maid behind him that fatal night, in the Otan, when he fled to the camp. Possessed with a thousand thoughts of past joys with this fair young person, and a thousand griefs for her eternal loss, he endured a tedious voyage, and at last arrived at the mouth of the river of Surinam, a colony belonging to the King of England, and where they were to deliver some part of their slaves. There the merchants and gentlemen of the country going on board to demand those lots of slaves they had already agreed on, and, amongst those, the overseers of those plantations where I then chanced to be, the captain, who had given the word, ordered his men to bring up those noble slaves in fetters whom I have spoken of; and having put 'em some in one and some in other lots, with women and children (which they call pickaninnies), they sold em off as slaves to several merchants and gentlemen; not putting any two in one lot, because they would separate 'em far from each other, not daring to trust em together, lest rage and courage should put 'em upon contriving some great action, to the ruin of the colony. Oroonoko was first seized on, and sold to our overseer, who had the first lot, with seventeen more of all sorts and sizes, but not one of quality with him. When he saw this, he found what they meant, for, as I said, he understood English pretty well; and being wholly unarmed and defenseless, so as it was in vain to make any resistance, he only beheld the captain with a look all fierce and disdainful, upbraiding him with eyes that forced blushes on his guilty cheeks; he only cried, in passing over the side of the ship, "Farewell, sir. 'Tis worth my suffering, to gain so true a knowledge both of you and of your gods by whom you swear." And desiring those that held him to forbear their pains, and telling 'em he would make no resistance, he cried, "Come, my fellow slaves; let us descend, and see if we can meet with more honor and honesty 5. T h e past form of eat.

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in the next world we shall touch upon." So he nimbly leaped into the boat, and showing no more concern, suffered himself to be rowed up the river with his seventeen companions. The gentleman that bought him was a young Cornish gentleman whose name was Trefry, a man of great wit and fine learning, and was carried into those parts by the Lord , Governor, 6 to manage all his affairs. He reflecting on the last words of Oroonoko to the captain, and beholding the richness of his vest, 7 no sooner came into the boat but he fixed his eyes on him; and finding something so extraordinary in his face, his shape and mien, a greatness of look and haughtiness in his air, and finding he spoke English, had a great mind to be inquiring into his quality and fortune; which, though Oroonoko endeavored to hide, by only confessing he was above the rank of common slaves, Trefry soon found he was yet something greater than he confessed, and from that moment began to conceive so vast an esteem for him that he ever after loved him as his dearest brother, and showed him all the civilities due to so great a man. Trefry was a very good mathematician and a linguist, could speak French and Spanish; and in the three days they remained in the boat (for so long were they going from the ship to the plantation) he entertained Oroonoko so agreeably with his art and discourse, that he was no less pleased with Trefry than he was with the Prince; and he thought himself at least fortunate in this, that since he was a slave, as long as he would suffer himself to remain so, he had a man of so excellent wit and parts for a master. So that before they had finished their voyage up the river, he made no scruple of declaring to Trefry all his fortunes, and most part of what I have here related, and put himself wholly into the hands of his new friend, whom he found resenting all the injuries were done him, and was charmed with all the greatness of his actions; which were recited with that modesty and delicate sense as wholly vanquished him, and subdued him to his interest. And he promised him on his word and honor, he would find the means to reconduct him to his own country again, assuring him, he had a perfect abhorrence of so dishonorable an action, and that he would sooner have died than have been the author of such a perfidy. He found the Prince was very much concerned to know what became of his friends, and how they took their slavery; and Trefry promised to take care about the inquiring after their condition, and that he should have an account of 'em. Though, as Oroonoko afterwards said, he had little reason to credit the words of a backearary, 8 yet he knew not why, but he saw a kind of sincerity and awful truth in the face of Trefry; he saw an honesty in his eyes, and he found him wise and witty enough to understand honor; for it was one of his maxims, a man of wit could not be a knave or villain. In their passage up the river they put in at several houses for refreshment, and ever when they landed, numbers of people would flock to behold this man; not but their eyes were daily entertained with the sight of slaves, but the fame of Oroonoko was gone before him, and all people were in admiration of his beauty. Besides, he had a rich habit on, in which he was taken, so different from the rest, and which the captain could not strip him of, because he was forced to surprise his person in the minute he sold him. When he found his 6. Lord Willoughby of Parham, coproprietor of Surinam by royal grant. J o h n Treffry was his plantation overseer. 7. An outer garment or robe.

8. White person or master; a variant of backra, from an Ibo word transported with the slaves to Surinam and the Caribbean.

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habit made him liable, as he thought, to be gazed at the more, he begged Trefry to give him something more befitting a slave, which he did, and took off his robes. Nevertheless, he shone through all; and his osenbrigs (a sort of brown holland 9 suit he had on) could not conceal the graces of his looks and mien, and he had no less admirers than when he had his dazzling habit on. The royal youth appeared in spite of the slave, and people could not help treating him after a different manner, without designing it. As soon as they approached him, they venerated and esteemed him; his eyes insensibly commanded respect, and his behavior insinuated it into every soul. So that there was nothing talked of but this young and gallant slave, even by those who yet knew not that he was a prince. I ought to tell you that the Christians never buy any slaves but they give 'em some name of their own, their native ones being likely very barbarous and hard to pronounce; so that Mr. Trefry gave Oroonoko that of Caesar, which name will live in that country as long as that (scarce more) glorious one of the great Roman; for 'tis most evident, he wanted 1 no part of the personal courage of that Caesar, and acted things as memorable, had they been done in some part of the world replenished with people and historians that might have given him his due. But his misfortune was to fall in an obscure world, that afforded only a female pen to celebrate his fame; though I doubt not but it had lived from others' endeavors, if the Dutch, who immediately after his time took that country,2 had not killed, banished, and dispersed all those that were capable of giving the world this great man's life, much better than I have done. And Mr. Trefry, who designed it, died before he began it, and bemoaned himself for not having undertook it in time. For the future, therefore, I must call Oroonoko Caesar, since by that name only he was known in our western world, and by that name he was received on shore at Parham House, where he was destined a slave. But if the King himself (God bless him) had come ashore, there could not have been greater expectations by all the whole plantation, and those neighboring ones, than was on ours at that time; and he was received more like a governor than a slave. Notwithstanding, as the custom was, they assigned him his portion of land, his house, and his business, up in the plantation. But as it was more for form than any design to put him to his task, he endured no more of the slave but the name, and remained some days in the house, receiving all visits that were made him, without stirring towards that part of the plantation where the Negroes were. At last he would needs go view his land, his house, and the business assigned him. But he no sooner came to the houses of the slaves, which are like a little town by itself, the Negroes all having left work, but they all came forth to behold him, and found he was that prince who had, at several times, sold most of'em to these parts; and from a veneration they pay to great men, especially if they know 'em, and from the surprise and awe they had at the sight of him, they all cast themselves at his feet, crying out in their language, "Live, O King! Long live, O King!" and kissing his feet, paid him even divine homage. Several English gentlemen were with him; and what Mr. Trefry had told 'em was here confirmed, of which he himself before had no other witness than 9. Coarse cotton or linen, sometimes called osnaburg, after a G e r m a n cloth-manufacturing town. 1. Lacked.

2. In 1667 the Dutch attacked and conquered Surinam, and England ceded it by treaty in exchange for New York.

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Caesar himself. But he was infinitely glad to find his grandeur confirmed by the adoration of all the slaves. Caesar, troubled with their over-joy and over-ceremony, besought 'em to rise and to receive him as their fellow slave, assuring them he was no better. At which they set up with one accord a most terrible and hideous mourning and condoling, which he and the English had much ado to appease; but at last they prevailed with 'em, and they prepared all their barbarous music, and everyone killed and dressed something of his own stock (for every family has their land apart, on which, at their leisure times, they breed all eatable things), and clubbing it together,' made a most magnificent supper, inviting their Grandee Captain, their prince, to honor it with his presence; which he did, and several English with him; where they all waited on him, some playing, others dancing before him all the time, according to the manners of their several nations, and with unwearied industry endeavoring to please and delight him. While they sat at meat Mr. Trefry told Caesar that most of these young slaves were undone in love with a fine she-slave, whom they had had about six months on their land. The Prince, who never heard the name of love without a sigh, nor any mention of it without the curiosity of examining further into that tale, which of all discourses was most agreeable to him, asked how they came to be so unhappy as to be all undone for one fair slave. Trefry, who was naturally amorous and loved to talk of love as well as anybody, proceeded to tell him, they had the most charming black that ever was beheld on their plantation, about fifteen or sixteen years old, as he guessed; that for his part, he had done nothing but sigh for her ever since she came, and that all the white beauties he had seen never charmed him so absolutely as this fine creature had done; and that no man, of any nation, ever beheld her that did not fall in love with her; and that she had all the slaves perpetually at her feet, and the whole country resounded with the fame of Clemene, "for so," said he, "we have christened her. But she denies us all with such a noble disdain, that 'tis a miracle to see that she, who can give such eternal desires, should herself be all ice and all unconcern. She is adorned with the most graceful modesty that ever beautified youth; the softest sigher—that, if she were capable of love, one would swear she languished for some absent happy man; and so retired, as if she feared a rape even from the god of day, 4 or that the breezes would steal kisses from her delicate mouth. Her task of work some sighing lover every day makes it his petition to perform for her, which she accepts blushing and with reluctancy, for fear he will ask her a look for a recompense, which he dares not presume to hope, so great an awe she strikes into the hearts of her admirers." "I do not wonder," replied the Prince, "that Clemene should refuse slaves, being as you say so beautiful, but wonder how she escapes those who can entertain her as you can do; or why, being your slave, you do not oblige her to yield." "I confess," said Trefry, "when I have, against her will, entertained her with love so long as to be transported with my passion, even above decency, I have been ready to make use of those advantages of strength and force nature has given me. But oh! she disarms me with that modesty and weeping, so tender and so moving that I retire, and thank my stars she overcame me." The company laughed at his civility to a slave, and Caesar only applauded the nobleness of his passion and nature, since that slave might be 3. Contributing jointly.

The sun.

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noble or, what was better, have true notions of honor and virtue in her. Thus passed they this night, after having received from the slaves all imaginable respect and obedience. The next day Trefry asked Caesar to walk, when the heat was allayed, and designedly carried him by the cottage of the fair slave, and told him she whom he spoke of last night lived there retired. "But," says he, "I would not wish you to approach, for I am sure you will be in love as soon as you behold her." Caesar assured him he was proof against all the charms of that sex, and that if he imagined his heart could be so perfidious to love again, after Imoinda, he believed he should tear it from his bosom. They had no sooner spoke, but a little shock dog' that Clemene had presented her, which she took great delight in, ran out; and she, not knowing anybody was there, ran to get it in again, and bolted out on those who were just speaking of her. When seeing them, she would have run in again, but Trefry caught her by the hand and cried, "Clemene, however you fly a lover, you ought to pay some respect to this stranger" (pointing to Caesar). But she, as if she had resolved never to raise her eyes to the face of a man again, bent 'em the more to the earth when he spoke, and gave the Prince the leisure to look the more at her. There needed no long gazing or consideration to examine who this fair creature was; he soon saw Imoinda all over her; in a minute he saw her face, her shape, her air, her modesty, and all that called forth his soul with joy at his eyes, and left his body destitute of almost life; it stood without motion, and for a minute knew not that it had a being; and I believe he had never come to himself, so oppressed he was with over-joy, if he had not met with this allay, that he perceived Imoinda fall dead in the hands of Trefry. This awakened him, and he ran to her aid and caught her in his arms, where by degrees she came to herself; and 'tis needless to tell with what transports, what ecstasies of joy, they both a while beheld each other, without speaking; then snatched each other to their arms; then gaze again, as if they still doubted whether they possessed the blessing they grasped; but when they recovered their speech, 'tis not to be imagined what tender things they expressed to each other, wondering what strange fate had brought 'em again together. They soon informed each other of their fortunes, and equally bewailed their fate; but at the same time they mutually protested that even fetters and slavery were soft and easy, and would be supported with joy and pleasure, while they could be so happy to possess each other and to be able to make good their vows. Caesar swore he disdained the empire of the world while he could behold his Imoinda; and she despised grandeur and pomp, those vanities of her sex, when she could gaze on Oroonoko. He adored the very cottage where she resided, and said that little inch of the world would give him more happiness than all the universe could do; and she vowed it was a palace, while adorned with the presence of Oroonoko. Trefry was infinitely pleased with this novel,6 and found this Clemene was the fair mistress of whom Caesar had before spoke; and was not a little satisfied that heaven was so kind to the Prince as to sweeten his misfortunes by so lucky an accident; and leaving the lovers to themselves, was impatient to come down to Parham House (which was on the same plantation) to give me an account of what had happened. I was as impatient to make these lovers a visit, 5. A long-haired dog or poodle, especially associated with women of fashion.

6. I.e.. novel event or piece of news,

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having already made a friendship with Caesar, and from his own mouth learned what I have related; which was confirmed by his Frenchman, who was set on shore to seek his fortunes, and of whom they could not make a slave, because a Christian, and he came daily to Parham Hill to see and pay his respects to his pupil prince. So that concerning and interesting myself in all that related to Caesar, whom I had assured of liberty as soon as the Governor arrived, I hasted presently to the place where the lovers were, and was infinitely glad to find this beautiful young slave (who had already gained all our esteems, for her modesty and her extraordinary prettiness) to be the same I had heard Caesar speak so much of. One may imagine then we paid her a treble respect; and though, from her being carved in fine flowers and birds all over her body, we took her to be of quality before, yet when we knew Clemene was Imoinda, we could not enough admire her. I had forgot to tell you that those who are nobly born of that country are so delicately cut and rased 7 all over the forepart of the trunk of their bodies, that it looks as if it were japanned, the works being raised like high point round the edges of the flowers. Some are only carved with a little flower or bird at the sides of the temples, as was Caesar; and those who are so carved over the body resemble our ancient Picts, 8 that are figured in the chronicles, but these carvings are more delicate. From that happy day Caesar took Clemene for his wife, to the general joy of all people; and there was as much magnificence as the country would afford at the celebration of this wedding: and in a very short time after she conceived with child, which made Caesar even adore her, knowing he was the last of his great race. This new accident made him more impatient of liberty, and he was every day treating with Trefry for his and Clemene's liberty, and offered either gold or a vast quantity of slaves, which should be paid before they let him go, provided he could have any security that he should go when his ransom was paid. They fed him from day to day with promises, and delayed him till the Lord Governor should come; so that he began to suspect them of falsehood, and that they would delay him till the time of his wife's delivery and make a slave of that too, for all the breed is theirs to whom the parents belong. This thought made him very uneasy, and his sullenness gave them some jealousies 9 of him; so that I was obliged, by some persons who feared a mutiny (which is very fatal sometimes in those colonies, that abound so with slaves that they exceed the whites in vast numbers), to discourse with Caesar, and to give him all the satisfaction I possibly could; they knew he and Clemene were scarce an hour in a day from my lodgings, that they eat with me, and that I obliged 'em in all things I was capable of. I entertained him with the lives of the Romans, and great men, which charmed him to my company, and her with teaching her all the pretty works1 that I was mistress of, and telling her stories of nuns, and endeavoring to bring her to the knowledge of the true God. But of all discourses Caesar liked that the worst, and would never be reconciled to our notions of the Trinity, of which he ever made a jest; it was a riddle, he said, would turn his brain to conceive, and one could not make him understand what faith was. However, these conversations failed not altogether so well to divert him that he liked the company of us women much above the men, for 7. Incised. T h e carving is likened to figured lacquerwork in the J a p a n e s e style and to elaborate "high point" lace. 8. A North British people appearing in histories of

England and Scotland. 9. Suspicions. 1. Decorative needlework or other handiwork.

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he could not drink, and he is but an ill companion in that country that cannot. So that obliging him to love us very well, we had all the liberty of speech with him, especially myself, whom he called his Great Mistress; and indeed my word would go a great way with him. For these reasons, I had opportunity to take notice to him that he was not well pleased of late as he used to be, was more retired and thoughtful; and told him I took it ill he should suspect we would break our words with him, and not permit both him and Clemene to return to his own kingdom, which was not so long a way but when he was once on his voyage he would quickly arrive there. He made me some answers that showed a doubt in him, which made me ask him what advantage it would be to doubt. It would but give us a fear of him, and possibly compel us to treat him so as I should be very loath to behold; that is, it might occasion his confinement. Perhaps this was not so luckily spoke of me, for I perceived he resented that word, which I strove to soften again in vain. However, he assured me that whatsoever resolutions he should take, he would act nothing upon the white people; and as for myself and those upon that plantation where he was, he would sooner forfeit his eternal liberty, and life itself, than lift his hand against his greatest enemy on that place. He besought me to suffer no fears upon his account, for he could do nothing that honor should not dictate; but he accused himself for having suffered slavery so long; yet he charged that weakness on Love alone, who was capable of making him neglect even glory itself, and for which now he reproaches himself every moment of the day. Much more to this effect he spoke, with an air impatient enough to make me know he would not be long in bondage; and though he suffered only the name of a slave, and had nothing of the toil and labor of one, yet that was sufficient to render him uneasy; and he had been too long idle, who used to be always in action and in arms. He had a spirit all rough and fierce, and that could not be tamed to lazy rest; and though all endeavors were used to exercise himself in such actions and sports as this world afforded, as running, wrestling, pitching the bar, hunting and fishing, chasing and killing tigers of a monstrous size, which this continent affords in abundance, and wonderful snakes, such as Alexander is reported to have encountered at the river of Amazons, 2 and which Caesar took great delight to overcome, yet these were not actions great enough for his large soul, which was still panting after more renowned action. Before I parted that day with him, I got, with much ado, a promise from him to rest yet a little longer with patience, and wait the coming of the Lord Governor, who was every day expected on our shore; he assured me he would, and this promise he desired me to know was given perfectly in complaisance to me, in whom he had an entire confidence. After this, I neither thought it convenient to trust him much out of our view, nor did the country, who feared him; but with one accord it was advised to treat him fairly, and oblige him to remain within such a compass, and that he should be permitted as seldom as could be to go up to the plantations of the Negroes or, if he did, to be accompanied by some that should be rather in appearance attendants than spies. This care was for some time taken, and Caesar looked upon it as a mark of extraordinary respect, and was glad his discontent had obliged 'em to be more observant to him. He received new 2. Alexander the Great is supposed to have encountered both snakes and Amazons in a campaign against India. "Pitching the bar": g a m e in

which players compete in throwing a heavy bar or rod. "Tigers": wild cats, including the South American j a g u a r and cougar.

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assurance from the overseer, which was confirmed to him by the opinion of all the gentlemen of the country, who made their court to him. During this time that we had his company more frequently than hitherto we had had, it may not be unpleasant to relate to you the diversions we entertained him with, or rather he us. My stay was to be short in that country, because my father died at sea, and never arrived to possess the honor was designed him (which was lieutenant general of six and thirty islands, besides the continent 3 of Surinam) nor the advantages he hoped to reap by them; so that though we were obliged to continue on our voyage, we did not intend to stay upon the place. Though, in a word, I must say thus much of it, that certainly had his late Majesty, of sacred memory, but seen and known what a vast and charming world he had been master of in that continent, he would never have parted so easily with it to the Dutch. Tis a continent whose vast extent was never yet known, and may contain more noble earth than all the universe besides, for, they say, it reaches from east to west, one way as far as China and another to Peru. It affords all things both for beauty and use; 'tis there eternal spring, always the very months of April, May, and June; the shades are perpetual, the trees bearing at once all degrees of leaves and fruit, from blooming buds to ripe autumn: groves of oranges, lemons, citrons, figs, nutmegs, and noble aromatics, continually bearing their fragrancies. The trees appearing all like nosegays adorned with flowers of different kinds; some are all white, some purple, some scarlet, some blue, some yellow; bearing, at the same time, ripe fruit and blooming young, or producing every day new. The very wood of all these trees has an intrinsic value above common timber, for they are, when cut, of different colors, glorious to behold, and bear a price considerable, to inlay withal. Besides this they yield rich balm and gums, so that we make our candles of such an aromatic substance as does not only give a sufficient light, but, as thev burn, they cast their perfumes all about. Cedar is the common firing, and all the houses are built with it. The very meat we eat, when set on the table, if it be native, I mean of the country, perfumes the whole room; especially a little beast called an armadilly, a thing which I can liken to nothing so well as a rhinoceros; 'tis all in white armor, so jointed that it moves as well in it as if it had nothing on; this beast is about the bigness of a pig of six weeks old. But it were endless to give an account of all the diverse wonderful and strange things that country affords, and which we took a very great delight to go in search of, though those adventures are oftentimes fatal and at least dangerous. But while we had Caesar in our company on these designs we feared no harm, nor suffered any. As soon as I came into the country, the best house in it was presented me, called St. John's Hill. It stood on a vast rock of white marble, at the foot of which the river ran a vast depth down, and not to be descended on that side; the little waves still dashing and washing the foot of this rock made the softest murmurs and purlings in the world; and the opposite bank was adorned with such vast quantities of different flowers eternally blowing,4 and every day and hour new, fenced behind em with lofty trees of a thousand rare forms and colors, that the prospect was the most ravishing that fancy can create. On the 3. " L a n d not disjoined by the sea from other lands" (Johnson's Dictionary).

4. Blooming,

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edge of this white rock, towards the river, was a walk or grove of orange and lemon trees, about half the length of the Mall 5 here, whose flowery and fruitbearing branches met at the top and hindered the sun, whose rays are very fierce there, from entering a beam into the grove; and the cool air that came from the river made it not only fit to entertain people in, at all the hottest hours of the day, but refreshed the sweet blossoms and made it always sweet and charming; and sure the whole globe of the world cannot show so delightful a place as this grove was. Not all the gardens of boasted Italy can produce a shade to outvie this, which nature had joined with art to render so exceeding fine; and 'tis a marvel to see how such vast trees, as big as English oaks, could take footing on so solid a rock and in so little earth as covered that rock; but all things by nature there are rare, delightful, and wonderful. But to our sports. Sometimes we would go surprising, 6 and in search of young tigers in their dens, watching when the old ones went forth to forage for prey; and oftentimes we have been in great danger and have fled apace for our lives when surprised by the dams. But once, above all other times, we went on this design, and Caesar was with us, who had no sooner stolen a young tiger from her nest but, going off, we encountered the dam, bearing a buttock of a cow which he" had torn off with his mighty paw, and going with it towards his den. We had only four women, Caesar, and an English gentleman, brother to Harry Martin, the great Oliverian;8 we found there was no escaping this enraged and ravenous beast. However, we women fled as fast as we could from it; but our heels had not saved our lives if Caesar had not laid down his cub, when he found the tiger quit her prey to make the more speed towards him, and taking Mr. Martin's sword, desired him to stand aside, or follow the ladies. He obeyed him, and Caesar met this monstrous beast of might, size, and vast limbs, who came with open jaws upon him; and fixing his awful stern eyes full upon those of the beast, and putting himself into a very steady and good aiming posture of defense, ran his sword quite through his breast down to his very heart, home to the hilt of the sword. The dying beast stretched forth her paw, and going to grasp his thigh, surprised with death in that very moment, did him no other harm than fixing her long nails in his flesh very deep, feebly wounded him, but could not grasp the flesh to tear off any. When he had done this, he halloed to us to return, which, after some assurance of his victory, we did, and found him lugging out the sword from the bosom of the tiger, who was laid in her blood on the ground; he took up the cub, and with an unconcern that had nothing of the joy or gladness of a victory, he came and laid the whelp at my feet. We all extremely wondered at his daring, and at the bigness of the beast, which was about the heighth of a heifer but of mighty, great, and strong limbs. Another time, being in the woods, he killed a tiger which had long infested that part, and borne away abundance of sheep and oxen, and other things that were for the support of those to whom they belonged; abundance of people assailed this beast, some affirming they had shot her with several bullets quite through the body at several times, and some swearing they shot her through 5. Fashionable walk in St. J a m e s ' s Park in London. 6. A military term for making sudden raids. 7. T h e jarring mixture of pronouns in the two accounts of the tigers (wild cats) may suggest a

reluctance to use a feminine pronoun in m o m e n t s of extreme violence. T h e first account was left uncorrected in all four 17th-century editions. 8. Supporter of Oliver Cromwell.

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the very heart, and they believed she was a devil rather than a mortal thing. Caesar had often said he had a mind to encounter this monster, and spoke with several gentlemen who had attempted her, one crying, "I shot her with so many poisoned arrows," another with his gun in this part of her, and another in that; so that he, remarking all these places where she was shot, fancied still he should overcome her by giving her another sort of a wound than any had yet done; and one day said (at the table), "What trophies and garlands, ladies, will you make me, if I bring you home the heart of this ravenous beast that eats up all your lambs and pigs?" We all promised he should be rewarded at all our hands. So taking a bow, which he choosed out of a great many, he went up in the wood, with two gentlemen, where he imagined this devourer to be; they had not passed very far in it but they heard her voice, growling and grumbling, as if she were pleased with something she was doing. When they came in view, they found her muzzling in the belly of a new ravished sheep, which she had torn open; and seeing herself approached, she took fast hold of her prey with her forepaws and set a very fierce raging look on Caesar, without offering to approach him, for fear at the same time of losing what she had in possession. So that Caesar remained a good while, only taking aim, and getting an opportunity to shoot her where he designed; 'twas some time before he could accomplish it, and to wound her and not kill her would but have enraged her more, and endangered him. He had a quiver of arrows at his side, so that if one failed he could be supplied; at last, retiring a little, he gave her opportunity to eat, for he found she was ravenous, and fell to as soon as she saw him retire, being more eager of her prey than of doing new mischiefs. When he going softly to one side of her, and hiding his person behind certain herbage that grew high and thick, he took so good aim that, as he intended, he shot her just into the eye, and the arrow was sent with so good a will and so sure a hand that it stuck in her brain, and made her caper and become mad for a moment or two; but being seconded by another arrow, he fell dead upon the prey. Caesar cut him open with a knife, to see where those wounds were that had been reported to him, and why he did not die of 'em. But I shall now relate a thing that possibly will find no credit among men, because 'tis a notion commonly received with us, that nothing can receive a wound in the heart and live; but when the heart of this courageous animal was taken out, there were seven bullets of lead in it, and the wounds seamed up with great scars, and she lived with the bullets a great while, for it was long since they were shot. This heart the conqueror brought up to us, and 'twas a very great curiosity, which all the country came to see, and which gave Caesar occasion of many fine discourses, of accidents in war and strange escapes. At other times he would go a-fishing; and discoursing on that diversion, he found we had in that country a very strange fish, called a numb eel9 (an eel of which I have eaten), that while it is alive, it has a quality so cold, that those who are angling, though with a line of never so great a length with a rod at the end of it, it shall, in the same minute the bait is touched by this eel, seize him or her that holds the rod with benumbedness, that shall deprive 'em of sense for a while; and some have fallen into the water, and others dropped as dead on the banks of the rivers where they stood, as soon as this fish touches the bait. Caesar used to laugh at this, and believed it impossible a man could

9. Electric eel.

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lose his force at the touch of a fish, and could not understand that philosophy, 1 that a cold quality should be of that nature. However, he had a great curiosity to try whether it would have the same effect on him it had on others, and often tried, but in vain. At last the sought for fish came to the bait, as he stood angling on the bank; and instead of throwing away the rod or giving it a sudden twitch out of the water, whereby he might have caught both the eel and have dismissed the rod, before it could have too much power over him, for experiment sake he grasped it but the harder, and fainting fell into the river; and being still possessed of the rod, the tide carried him, senseless as he was, a great way, till an Indian boat took him up, and perceived when they touched him a numbness seize them, and by that knew the rod was in his hand; which with a paddle (that is, a short oar) they struck away, and snatched it into the boat, eel and all. If Caesar were almost dead with the effect of this fish, he was more so with that of the water, where he had remained the space of going a league, and they found they had much ado to bring him back to life. But at last they did, and brought him home, where he was in a few hours well recovered and refreshed, and not a little ashamed to find he should be overcome by an eel, and that all the people who heard his defiance would laugh at him. But we cheered him up; and he being convinced, we had the eel at supper, which was a quarter of an ell about and most delicate meat, and was of the more value, since it cost so dear as almost the life of so gallant a man. About this time we were in many mortal fears about some disputes the English had with the Indians, so that we could scarce trust ourselves, without great numbers, to go to any Indian towns or place where they abode, for fear they should fall upon us, as they did immediately after my coming away; and that it was in the possession of the Dutch, who used 'em not so civilly as the English, so that they cut in pieces all they could take, getting into houses and hanging up the mother and all her children about her, and cut a footman I left behind me all in joints, and nailed him to trees. This feud began while I was there, so that I lost half the satisfaction I proposed, in not seeing and visiting the Indian towns. But one day, bemoaning of our misfortunes upon this account, Caesar told us we need not fear, for if we had a mind to go, he would undertake to be our guard. Some would, but most would not venture; about eighteen of us resolved and took barge, and after eight days arrived near an Indian town. But approaching it, the hearts of some of our company failed, and they would not venture on shore; so we polled who would and who would not. For my part, I said if Caesar would, I would go; he resolved; so did my brother and my woman, a maid of good courage. Now none of us speaking the language of the people, and imagining we should have a half diversion in gazing only and not knowing what they said, we took a fisherman that lived at the mouth of the river, who had been a long inhabitant there, and obliged him to go with us. But because he was known to the Indians, as trading among 'em, and being by long living there become a perfect Indian in color, we, who resolved to surprise 'em by making 'em see something they never had seen (that is, white people), resolved only myself, my brother and woman should go; so Caesar, the fisherman, and the rest, hiding behind some thick reeds and flowers that grew on the banks, let us pass on towards the town, which was on the bank of the river all along. A little distant from the houses, or huts, we saw some dancing, others busied in fetching and carrying 1.

"Hypothesis or system upon which natural effects are explained" (Johnson's Dictionary).

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of water from the river. They had no sooner spied us but they set up a loud cry, that frighted us at first; we thought it had been for those that should kill us, but it seems it was of wonder and amazement. They were all naked, and we were dressed so as is most commode for the hot countries, very glittering and rich, so that we appeared extremely fine; my own hair was cut short, and I had a taffety cap with black feathers on my head; my brother was in a stuffsuit, with silver loops and buttons and abundance of green ribbon. This was all infinitely surprising to them, and because we saw them stand still till we approached 'em, we took heart and advanced, came up to 'em, and offered 'em our hands; which they took, and looked on us round about, calling still for more company; who came swarming out, all wondering and crying out "Tepeeme," taking their hair up in their hands and spreading it wide to those they called out to, as if they would say (as indeed it signified) "Numberless wonders," or not to be recounted, no more than to number the hair of their heads. By degrees they grew more bold, and from gazing upon us round, they touched us, laying their hands upon all the features of our faces, feeling our breasts and arms, taking up one petticoat, then wondering to see another; admiring our shoes and stockings, but more our garters, which we gave em, and they tied about their legs, being laced with silver lace at the ends, for they much esteem any shining things. In fine, we suffered 'em to survey us as they pleased, and we thought they would never have done admiring us. When Caesar and the rest saw we were received with such wonder, they came up to us; and finding the Indian trader whom they knew (for 'tis by these fishermen, called Indian traders, we hold a commerce with em, for they love not to go far from home, and we never go to them), when they saw him therefore they set up a new joy, and cried, in their language, "Oh! here's our tiguamy, and we shall now know whether those things can speak." So advancing to him, some of 'em gave him their hands and cried, " Amora tiguamy," which is as much as, "How do you?" or "Welcome, friend," and all with one din began to gabble to him, and asked if we had sense and wit; if we could talk of affairs of life and war, as they could do; if we could hunt, swim, and do a thousand things they use. He answered em, we could. Then they invited us into their houses, and dressed venison and buffalo for us; and going out, gathered a leaf of a tree called a sarumho leaf, of six yards long, and spread it on the ground for a tablecloth; and cutting another in pieces instead of plates, setting us on little bow Indian stools, which they cut out of one entire piece of wood and paint in a sort of japan work. They serve everyone their mess 3 on these pieces of leaves, and it was very good, but too high seasoned with pepper. When we had eat, my brother and I took out our flutes and played to 'em, which gave 'em new wonder; and I soon perceived, by an admiration that is natural to these people, and by the extreme ignorance and simplicity of 'em, it were not difficult to establish any unknown or extravagant religion among them, and to impose any notions or fictions upon 'em. For seeing a kinsman of mine set some paper afire with a burning glass, a trick they had never before seen, they were like to have adored him for a god, and begged he would give them the characters or figures of his name, that they might oppose it against winds and storms; which he did, and they held it up in those seasons, and fancied it had a charm to conquer them, and kept it like a holy relic. They are very superstitious, and called him the great Peeie, that is, prophet. They showed us their 2. Woven fabric, worsted. " C o m m o d e " : suitable.

3. Meal.

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Indian Peeie, a youth of about sixteen years old, as handsome as nature could make a man. They consecrate a beautiful youth from his infancy, and all arts are used to complete him in the finest manner, both in beauty and shape. He is bred to all the little arts and cunning they are capable of, to all the legerdemain tricks and sleight of hand, whereby he imposes upon the rabble, and is both a doctor in physic 4 and divinity; and by these tricks makes the sick believe he sometimes eases their pains, by drawing from the afflicted part little serpents, or odd flies, or worms, or any strange thing; and though they have besides undoubted good remedies for almost all their diseases, they cure the patient more by fancy than by medicines, and make themselves feared, loved, and reverenced. This young Peeie had a very young wife, who seeing my brother kiss her, came running and kissed me; after this they kissed one another, and made it a very great jest, it being so novel; and new admiration and laughing went round the multitude, that they never will forget that ceremony, never before used or known. Caesar had a mind to see and talk with their war captains, and we were conducted to one of their houses, where we beheld several of the great captains, who had been at council. But so frightful a vision it was to see 'em no fancy can create; no such dreams can represent so dreadful a spectacle. For my part I took 'em for hobgoblins or fiends rather than men; but however their shapes appeared, their souls were very humane and noble; but some wanted their noses, some their lips, some both noses and lips, some their ears, and others cut through each cheek with long slashes, through which their teeth appeared; they had other several formidable wounds and scars, or rather dismemberings. They had comitias or little aprons before 'em, and girdles of cotton, with their knives naked, stuck in it; a bow at their backs and a quiver of arrows on their thighs; and most had feathers on their heads of diverse colors. They cried "Amora tiguamy" to us at our entrance, and were pleased we said as much to 'em; they seated us, and gave us drink of the best sort, and wondered, as much as the others had done before, to see us. Caesar was marveling as much at their faces, wondering how they should all be so wounded in war; he was impatient to know how they all came by those frightful marks of rage or malice, rather than wounds got in noble battle. They told us, by our interpreter, that when any war was waging, two men chosen out by some old captain whose fighting was past, and who could only teach the theory of war, these two men were to stand in competition for the generalship, or great war captain; and being brought before the old judges, now past labor, they are asked what they dare do to show they are worthy to lead an army. When he who is first asked, making no reply, cuts off his nose, and throws it contemptibly 5 on the ground; and the other does something to himself that he thinks surpasses him, and perhaps deprives himself of lips and an eye; so they slash on till one gives out, and many have died in this debate. And 'tis by a passive valor they show and prove their activity, a sort of courage too brutal to be applauded by our black hero; nevertheless he expressed his esteem of 'em. In this voyage Caesar begot so good an understanding between the Indians and the English that there were no more fears or heart-burnings during our stay, but we had a perfect, open, and free trade with 'em. Many things remarkable and worthy reciting we met with in this short voyage, because Caesar made it his business to search out and provide for our entertainment, espe4. Medicine.

5. With contempt.

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cially to please his dearly adored Imoinda, who was a sharer in all our adventures; we being resolved to make her chains as easy as we could, and to compliment the Prince in that manner that most obliged him. As we were coming up again, we met with some Indians of strange aspects; that is, of a larger size and other sort of features than those of our country. Our Indian slaves that rowed us asked 'em some questions, but they could not understand us; but showed us a long cotton string with several knots on it, and told us, they had been coming from the mountains so many moons as there were knots. They were habited in skins of a strange beast, and brought along with 'em bags of gold dust, which, as well as they could give us to understand, came streaming in little small channels down the high mountains when the rains fell; and offered to be the convoy to any body or persons that would go to the mountains. We carried these men up to Parham, where they were kept till the Lord Governor came. And because all the country was mad to be going on this golden adventure, the Governor by his letters commanded (for they sent some of the gold to him) that a guard should be set at the mouth of the river of Amazons 6 (a river so called, almost as broad as the river of Thames) and prohibited all people from going up that river, it conducting to those mountains of gold. But we going off for England before the project was further prosecuted, and the Governor being drowned in a hurricane, either the design died, or the Dutch have the advantage of it. And 'tis to be bemoaned what his Majesty lost by losing that part of America. Though this digression is a little from my story, however since it contains some proofs of the curiosity and daring of this great man, I was content to omit nothing of his character. It was thus for some time we diverted him; but now Imoinda began to show she was with child, and did nothing but sigh and weep for the captivity of her lord, herself, and the infant yet unborn, and believed if it were so hard to gain the liberty of two, 'twould be more difficult to get that for three. Her griefs were so many darts in the great heart of Caesar; and taking his opportunity one Sunday when all the whites were overtaken in drink, as there were abundance of several trades and slaves for four years 7 that inhabited among the Negro houses, and Sunday was their day of debauch (otherwise they were a sort of spies upon Caesar), he went pretending out of goodness to 'em to feast amongst 'em; and sent all his music, and ordered a great treat for the whole gang, about three hundred Negroes; and about a hundred and fifty were able to bear arms, such as they had, which were sufficient to do execution 8 with spirits accordingly. For the English had none but rusty swords that no strength could draw from a scabbard, except the people of particular quality, who took care to oil 'em and keep em in good order. The guns also, unless here and there one, or those newly carried from England, would do no good or harm; for 'tis the nature of that country to rust and eat up iron, or any metals but gold and silver. And they are very unexpert at the bow, which the Negroes and Indians are perfect masters of. Caesar, having singled out these men from the women and children, made an harangue to em of the miseries and ignominies of slavery, counting up all their toils and sufferings, under such loads, burdens, and drudgeries as were 6. T h e mouth of the Amazon, in Brazil, is far distant from Surinam. 7. Whites who. for crimes or debt, were inden-

tured for a fixed period. "Trades": tradesman. 8. H a r m , slaughter.

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fitter for beasts than men, senseless brutes than human souls. He told 'em, it was not for days, months, or years, but for eternity; there was no end to be of their misfortunes. They suffered not like men, who might find a glory and fortitude in oppression, but like dogs that loved the whip and bell, 9 and fawned the more they were beaten. That they had lost the divine quality of men and were become insensible asses, fit only to bear; nay, worse: an ass, or dog, or horse, having done his duty, could lie down in retreat and rise to work again, and while he did his duty endured no stripes; but men, villainous, senseless men such as they, toiled on all the tedious week till Black Friday;1 and then, whether they worked or not, whether they were faulty or meriting, they promiscuously, the innocent with the guilty, suffered the infamous whip, the sordid stripes, from their fellow slaves, till their blood trickled from all parts of their body, blood whose every drop ought to be revenged with a life of some of those tyrants that impose it. "And why," said he, "my dear friends and fellow sufferers, should we be slaves to an unknown people? Have they vanquished us nobly in fight? Have they won us in honorable battle? And are we by the chance of war become their slaves? This would not anger a noble heart, this would not animate a soldier's soul; no, but we are bought and sold like apes or monkeys, to be the sport of women, fools, and cowards, and the support of rogues, runagades, 2 that have abandoned their own countries for rapine, murders, thefts, and villainies. Do you not hear every day how they upbraid each other with infamy of life, below the wildest savages; and shall we render obedience to such a degenerate race, who have no one human virtue left to distinguish 'em from the vilest creatures? Will you, I say, suffer the lash from such hands?" They all replied, with one accord, "No, no, no; Caesar has spoke like a great captain, like a great king." After this he would have proceeded, but was interrupted by a tall Negro of some more quality than the rest; his name was Tuscan; who bowing at the feet of Caesar, cried, "My lord, we have listened with joy and attention to what you have said, and, were we only men, would follow so great a leader through the world. But oh! consider, we are husbands and parents too, and have things more dear to us than life, our wives and children, unfit for travel in these unpassable woods, mountains, and bogs; we have not only difficult lands to overcome, but rivers to wade, and monsters to encounter, ravenous beasts of prey—." To this, Caesar replied that honor was the first principle in nature that was to be obeyed; but as no man would pretend to that, without all the acts of virtue, compassion, charity, love, justice, and reason, he found it not inconsistent with that to take an equal care of their wives and children as they would of themselves; and that he did not design, when he led them to freedom and glorious liberty, that they should leave that better part of themselves to perish by the hand of the tyrant's whip. But if there were a woman among them so degenerate from love and virtue to choose slavery before the pursuit of her husband, and with the hazard of her life to share with him in his fortunes, that such a one ought to be abandoned, and left as a prey to the common enemy. To which they all agreed—and bowed. After this, he spoke of the impassable woods and rivers, and convinced 'em, the more danger, the more glory. Fie 9. Proverbial for something that distracts from comfort or pleasure, from the protective charm on chariots of triumphing generals in ancient Rome. 1. Here a day of customary beating; more widely,

a Friday bringing s o m e notable disaster, from students' slang for examination day. 2. R e n e g a d e s or fugitives.

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told them that he had heard of one Hannibal, a great captain, had cut his way through mountains of solid rocks; 3 and should a few shrubs oppose them, which they could fire before 'em? No, 'twas a trifling excuse to men resolved to die or overcome. As for bogs, they are with a little labor filled and hardened; and the rivers could be no obstacle, since they swam by nature, at least by custom, from their first hour of their birth. That when the children were weary they must carry them by turns, and the woods and their own industry would afford them food. To this they all assented with joy. Tuscan then demanded what he would do. He said, they would travel towards the sea, plant a new colony, and defend it by their valor; and when they could find a ship, either driven by stress of weather or guided by Providence that way, they would seize it and make it a prize, till it had transported them to their own countries; at least, they should be made free in his kingdom, and be esteemed as his fellow sufferers, and men that had the courage and the bravery to attempt, at least, for liberty; and if they died in the attempt it would be more brave than to live in perpetual slavery. They bowed and kissed his feet at this resolution, and with one accord vowed to follow him to death. And that night was appointed to begin their march; they made it known to their wives, and directed them to tie their hamaca 4 about their shoulder and under their arm like a scarf, and to lead their children that could go, and carry those that could not. The wives, who pay an entire obedience to their husbands, obeyed, and stayed for 'em where they were appointed. The men stayed but to furnish themselves with what defensive arms they could get; and all met at the rendezvous, where Caesar made a new encouraging speech to 'em, and led 'em out. But as they could not march far that night, on Monday early, when the overseers went to call 'em all together to go to work, they were extremely surprised to find not one upon the place, but all fled with what baggage they had. You may imagine this news was not only suddenly spread all over the plantation, but soon reached the neighboring ones; and we had by noon about six hundred men they call the militia of the county, that came to assist us in the pursuit of the fugitives. But never did one see so comical an army march forth to war. The men of any fashion would not concern themselves, though it were almost the common cause; for such revoltings are very ill examples, and have very fatal consequences oftentimes in many colonies. But they had a respect for Caesar, and all hands were against the Parhamites, as they called those of Parham plantation, because they did not, in the first place, love the Lord Governor, and secondly they would have it that Caesar was ill used, and baffled with;5 and 'tis not impossible but some of the best in the country was of his counsel in this flight, and depriving us of all the slaves; so that they of the better sort would not meddle in the matter. The deputy governor,6 of whom I have had no great occasion to speak, and who was the most fawning fairtongued fellow in the world and one that pretended the most friendship to Caesar, was now the only violent man against him; and though he had nothing, and so need fear nothing, yet talked and looked bigger than any man. He was a fellow whose character is not fit to be mentioned with the worst of the slaves. This fellow would lead his army forth to meet Caesar, or rather to pursue him; 3. T h e Carthaginian general and his troops literally hacked their way down the Alps into Italy to attack Rome. 4. H a m m o c k .

5. C h e a t e d . 6. William Byam. T h e r e are recorded complaints against him for high-handedness and from him about insubordination by settlers and slaves.

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most of their arms were of those sort of cruel whips they call cat with nine tails; some had rusty useless guns for show, others old basket hilts7 whose blades had never seen the light in this age, and others had long staffs and clubs. Mr. Trefry went along, rather to be a mediator than a conqueror in such a battle; for he foresaw and knew, if by fighting they put the Negroes into despair, they were a sort of sullen fellows that would drown or kill themselves before they would yield; and he advised that fair means was best. But Byam was one that abounded in his own wit and would take his own measures. It was not hard to find these fugitives; for as they fled they were forced to fire and cut the woods before 'em, so that night or day they pursued 'em by the light they made and by the path they had cleared. But as soon as Caesar found he was pursued, he put himself in a posture of defense, placing all the women and children in the rear, and himself with Tuscan by his side, or next to him, all promising to die or conquer. Encouraged thus, they never stood to parley, but fell on pell-mell upon the English, and killed some and wounded a good many, they having recourse to their whips as the best of their weapons. And as they observed no order, they perplexed the enemy so sorely with lashing 'em in the eyes; and the women and children seeing their husbands so treated, being of fearful cowardly dispositions, and hearing the English cry out, "Yield and live, yield and be pardoned," they all run in amongst their husbands and fathers, and hung about 'em, crying out, "Yield, yield; and leave Caesar to their revenge"; that by degrees the slaves abandoned Caesar, and left him only Tuscan and his heroic Imoinda; who, grown big as she was, did nevertheless press near her lord, having a bow and a quiver full of poisoned arrows, which she managed with such dexterity that she wounded several, and shot the governor8 into the shoulder; of which wound he had like to have died, but that an Indian woman, his mistress, sucked the wound and cleansed it from the venom. But however, he stirred not from the place till he had parleyed with Caesar, who he found was resolved to die fighting, and would not be taken; no more would Tuscan, or Imoinda. But he, more thirsting after revenge of another sort than that of depriving him of life, now made use of all his art of talking and dissembling, and besought Caesar to yield himself upon terms which he himself should propose, and should be sacredly assented to and kept by him. He told him, it was not that he any longer feared him, or could believe the force of two men, and a young heroine, could overcome all them, with all the slaves now on their side also; but it was the vast esteem he had for his person, the desire he had to serve so gallant a man, and to hinder himself from the reproach hereafter of having been the occasion of the death of a prince whose valor and magnanimity deserved the empire of the world. He protested to him, he looked upon this action as gallant and brave, however tending to the prejudice of his lord and master, who would by it have lost so considerable a number of slaves; that this flight of his should be looked on as a heat of youth, and rashness of a too forward courage, and an unconsidered impatience of liberty, and no more; and that he labored in vain to accomplish that which they would effectually perform as soon as any ship arrived that would touch on his coast. "So that if you will be pleased," continued he, "to surrender yourself, all imaginable respect shall be paid you; and yourself, your wife, and child, if it be here born, shall depart free out of our land."

7. Swords with protective hilt guards.

8. I.e., Byam, the deputy governor.

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But Caesar would hear of no composition; 9 though Byam urged, if he pursued and went on in his design, he would inevitably perish, either by great snakes, wild beasts, or hunger; and he ought to have regard to his wife, whose condition required ease, and not the fatigues of tedious travel, where she could not be secured from being devoured. But Caesar told him, there was no faith in the white men or the gods they adored, who instructed 'em in principles so false that honest men could not live amongst 'em; though no people professed so much, none performed so little; that he knew what he had to do when he dealt with men of honor, but with them a man ought to be eternally on his guard, and never to eat and drink with Christians without his weapon of defense in his hand; and for his own security, never to credit one word they spoke. As for the rashness and inconsiderateness of his action, he would confess the governor is in the right; and that he was ashamed of what he had done, in endeavoring to make those free who were by nature slaves, poor wretched rogues, fit to be used as Christians' tools; dogs, treacherous and cowardly, fit for such masters; and they wanted only but to be whipped into the knowledge of the Christian gods to be the vilest of all creeping things, to learn to worship such deities as had not power to make em just, brave, or honest. In fine, after a thousand things of this nature, not fit here to be recited, he told Byam he had rather die than live upon the same earth with such dogs. But Trefry and Byam pleaded and protested together so much that Trefry, believing the governor to mean what he said, and speaking very cordially himself, generously put himself into Caesar's hands, and took him aside and persuaded him, even with tears, to live, by surrendering himself, and to name his conditions. Caesar was overcome by his wit and reasons, and in consideration of Imoinda; and demanding what he desired, and that it should be ratified by their hands in writing, because he had perceived that was the common way of contract between man and man, amongst the whites. All this was performed, and Tuscan's pardon was put in, and they surrender to the governor, who walked peaceably down into the plantation with 'em, after giving order to bury their dead. Caesar was very much toiled with the bustle of the day, for he had fought like a fury; and what mischief was done he and Tuscan performed alone, and gave their enemies a fatal proof that they durst do anything and feared no mortal force. But they were no sooner arrived at the place where all the slaves receive their punishments of whipping, but they laid hands on Caesar and Tuscan, faint with heat and toil; and surprising them, bound them to two several stakes, and whipped them in a most deplorable and inhuman manner, rending the very flesh from their bones; especially Caesar, who was not perceived to make any moan or to alter his face, only to roll his eyes on the faithless governor, and those he believed guilty, with fierceness and indignation; and to complete his rage, he saw every one of those slaves, who but a few days before adored him as something more than mortal, now had a whip to give him some lashes, while he strove not to break his fetters; though if he had, it were impossible. But he pronounced a woe and revenge from his eyes, that darted fire that 'twas at once both awful and terrible to behold. When they thought they were sufficiently revenged on him, they untied him, almost fainting with loss of blood from a thousand wounds all over his body, from which they had rent his clothes, and led him bleeding and naked as he was, and loaded him all over with irons; and then rubbed his wounds, to 9. Settlement.

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complete their cruelty, with Indian pepper, which had like to have made him raving mad; and in this condition made him so fast to the ground that he could not stir, if his pains and wounds would have given him leave. They spared Imoinda, and did not let her see this barbarity committed towards her lord, but carried her down to Parham and shut her up; which was not in kindness to her, but for fear she should die with the sight, or miscarry, and then they should lose a young slave and perhaps the mother. You must know, that when the news was brought on Monday morning that Caesar had betaken himself to the woods and carried with him all the Negroes, we were possessed with extreme fear, which no persuasions could dissipate, that he would secure himself till night, and then that he would come down and cut all our throats. This apprehension made all the females of us fly down the river, to be secured; and while we were away they acted this cruelty. For I suppose I had authority and interest enough there, had I suspected any such thing, to have prevented it; but we had not gone many leagues but the news overtook us that Caesar was taken and whipped like a common slave. We met on the river with Colonel Martin, a man of great gallantry, wit, and goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy 1 by his own name, in memory of so brave a man. He was wise and eloquent and, from the fineness of his parts, bore a great sway over the hearts of all the colony. He was a friend to Caesar, and resented this false dealing with him very much. We carried him back to Parham, thinking to have made an accommodation; when we came, the first news we heard was that the governor was dead of a wound Imoinda had given him; but it was not so well. But it seems he would have the pleasure of beholding the revenge he took on Caesar, and before the cruel ceremony was finished, he dropped down; and then they perceived the wound he had on his shoulder was by a venomed arrow, which, as I said, his Indian mistress healed by sucking the wound. We were no sooner arrived but we went up to the plantation to see Caesar, whom we found in a very miserable and unexpressible condition; and I have a thousand times admired how he lived, in so much tormenting pain. We said all things to him that trouble, pity, and good nature could suggest, protesting our innocency of the fact and our abhorrence of such cruelties; making a thousand professions of services to him and begging as many pardons for the offenders, till we said so much that he believed we had no hand in his ill treatment; but told us he could never pardon Byam; as for Trefry, he confessed he saw his grief and sorrow for his suffering, which he could not hinder, but was like to have been beaten down by the very slaves for speaking in his defense. But for Byam, who was their leader, their head—and should, by his justice and honor, have been an example to 'em—for him, he wished to live, to take a dire revenge of him, and said, "It had been well for him if he had sacrificed me, instead of giving me the contemptible 2 whip." He refused to talk much, but begging us to give him our hands, he took 'em, and protested never to lift up his to do us any harm. He had a great respect for Colonel Martin, and always took his counsel like that of a parent, and assured him he would obey him in anything but his revenge on Byam. "Therefore," said he, "for his own safety, let him speedily dispatch me; for if I could dispatch myself I would not, till that justice were done to my injured person, 3 and the contempt 1. The Younger Brother, or The Amorous Jilt, not produced until 1696 despite this piece of promotion.

2. Showing contempt, 3. Body or character,

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of a soldier. No, I would not kill myself, even after a whipping, but will be content to live with that infamy, and be pointed at by every grinning slave, till I have completed my revenge; and then you shall see that Oroonoko scorns to live with the indignity that was put on Caesar." All we could do could get no more words from him; and we took care to have him put immediately into a healing bath to rid him of his pepper, and ordered a chirurgeon 4 to anoint him with healing balm, which he suffered; and in some time he began to be able to walk and eat. We failed not to visit him every day, and to that end had him brought to an apartment at Parham. The governor was no sooner recovered, and had heard of the menaces of Caesar, but he called his council; who (not to disgrace them, or burlesque the government there) consisted of such notorious villains as Newgate 5 never transported; and possibly originally were such who understood neither the laws of God or man, and had no sort of principles to make 'em worthy the name of men; but at the very council table would contradict and fight with one another, and swear so bloodily that 'twas terrible to hear and see 'em. (Some of 'em were afterwards hanged when the Dutch took possession of the place, others sent off in chains.) But calling these special rulers of the nation together, and requiring their counsel in this weighty affair, they all concluded that (Damn em) it might be their own cases; and that Caesar ought to be made an example to all the Negroes, to fright 'em from daring to threaten their betters, their lords and masters; and at this rate no man was safe from his own slaves; and concluded, nemine contradicente, 6 that Caesar should be hanged. Trefry then thought it time to use his authority, and told Byam his command did not extend to his lord's plantation, and that Parham was as much exempt from the law as Whitehall; 7 and that they ought no more to touch the servants of the Lord (who there represented the King's person) than they could those about the King himself; and that Parham was a sanctuary; and though his lord were absent in person, his power was still in being there, which he had entrusted with him as far as the dominions of his particular plantations reached, and all that belonged to it; the rest of the country, as Byam was lieutenant to his lord, he might exercise his tyranny upon. Trefry had others as powerful, or more, that interested themselves in Caesar's life, and absolutely said he should be defended. So turning the governor and his wise council out of doors (for they sat at Parham House), they set a guard upon our landing place, and would admit none but those we called friends to us and Caesar. The governor having remained wounded at Parham till his recovery was completed, Caesar did not know but he was still there; and indeed, for the most part his time was spent there, for he was one that loved to live at other people's expense; and if he were a day absent, he was ten present there, and used to play and walk and hunt and fish with Caesar. So that Caesar did not at all doubt, if he once recovered strength, but he should find an opportunity of being revenged on him. Though after such a revenge, he could not hope to live, for if he escaped the fury of the English mobile, 8 who perhaps would have been glad of the occasion to have killed him, he was resolved not to survive his whipping; yet he had, some tender hours, a repenting softness, which he called his fits of coward, wherein he struggled with Love for the victory of his heart, which took part with his charming Imoinda there; but for the most part 4. Surgeon. 5. T h e major L o n d o n prison, from which criminals were transported to the colonies. 6. No o n e disagreeing (Latin).

7. T h e king's palace in L o n d o n . Treffry stands as Lord Willoughby's deputy on his private land, Byam in the colony at large. 8. C o m m o n people or mob.

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his time was passed in melancholy thought and black designs. He considered, if he should do this deed and die, either in the attempt or after it, he left his lovely Imoinda a prey, or at best a slave, to the enraged multitude; his great heart could not endure that thought. "Perhaps," said he, "she may be first ravished by every brute, exposed first to their nasty lusts and then a shameful death." No; he could not live a moment under that apprehension, too insupportable to be borne. These were his thoughts and his silent arguments with his heart, as he told us afterwards; so that now resolving not only to kill Byam but all those he thought had enraged him, pleasing his great heart with the fancied slaughter he should make over the whole face of the plantation, he first resolved on a deed, that (however horrid it at first appeared to us all), when we had heard his reasons, we thought it brave and just. Being able to walk and, as he believed, fit for the execution of his great design, he begged Trefry to trust him into the air, believing a walk would do him good, which was granted him; and taking Imoinda with him, as he used to do in his more happy and calmer days, he led her up into a wood, where, after (with a thousand sighs, and long gazing silently on her face, while tears gushed, in spite of him, from his eyes) he told her his design first of killing her, and then his enemies, and next himself, and the impossibility of escaping, and therefore he told her the necessity of dying, he found the heroic wife faster pleading for death than he was to propose it, when she found his fixed resolution, and on her knees besought him not to leave her a prey to his enemies. He (grieved to death) yet pleased at her noble resolution, took her up, and embracing her with all the passion and languishment of a dying lover, drew his knife to kill this treasure of his soul, this pleasure of his eyes; while tears trickled down his cheeks, hers were smiling with joy she should die by so noble a hand, and be sent in her own country (for that's their notion of the next world) by him she so tenderly loved and so truly adored in this; for wives have a respect for their husbands equal to what any other people pay a deity, and when a man finds any occasion to quit his wife, if he love her, she dies by his hand; if not, he sells her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus, you may believe the deed was soon resolved on; and 'tis not to be doubted but the parting, the eternal leave-taking of two such lovers, so greatly born, so sensible, 9 so beautiful, so young, and so fond, must be very moving, as the relation of it was to me afterwards. All that love could say in such cases being ended, and all the intermitting irresolutions being adjusted, the lovely, young, and adored victim lays herself down before the sacrificer; while he, with a hand resolved and a heart brealdng within, gave the fatal stroke; first cutting her throat, and then severing her yet smiling face from that delicate body, pregnant as it was with fruits of tenderest love. As soon as he had done, he laid the body decently on leaves and flowers, of which he made a bed, and concealed it under the same coverlid of nature; only her face he left yet bare to look on. But when he found she was dead and past all retrieve, never more to bless him with her eyes and soft language, his grief swelled up to rage; he tore, he raved, he roared, like some monster of the wood, calling on the loved name of Imoinda. A thousand times he turned the fatal knife that did the deed toward his own heart, with a resolution to go immediately after her; but dire revenge, which now was a thousand times more fierce in his soul than before, prevents him; and he would cry out, "No; since I have sacrificed Imoinda to my revenge, shall I lose that glory which I have 9. Sensitive.

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purchased so dear as at the price of the fairest, dearest, softest creature that ever nature made? No, no!" Then, at her name, grief would get the ascendant of rage, and he would lie down by her side and water her face with showers of tears, which never were wont to fall from those eyes. And however bent he was on his intended slaughter, he had not power to stir from the sight of this dear object, now more beloved and more adored than ever. He remained in this deploring condition for two days, and never rose from the ground where he had made his sad sacrifice. At last, rousing from her side, and accusing himself with living too long now Imoinda was dead, and that the deaths of those barbarous enemies were deferred too long, he resolved now to finish the great work; but offering to rise, he found his strength so decayed that he reeled to and fro, like boughs assailed by contrary winds; so that he was forced to lie down again, and try to summon all his courage to his aid. He found his brains turned round, and his eyes were dizzy, and objects appeared not the same to him they were wont to do; his breath was short, and all his limbs surprised with a faintness he had never felt before. He had not eat in two days, which was one occasion of this feebleness, but excess of grief was the greatest; yet still he hoped he should recover vigor to act his design, and lay expecting it yet six days longer, still mourning over the dead idol of his heart, and striving every day to rise, but could not. In all this time you may believe we were in no little affliction for Caesar and his wife; some were of opinion he was escaped never to return; others thought some accident had happened to him. But however, we failed not to send out an hundred people several ways to search for him; a party of about forty went that way he took, among whom was Tuscan, who was perfectly reconciled to Byam. They had not gone very far into the wood but they smelt an unusual smell, as of a dead body; for stinks must be very noisome that can be distinguished among such a quantity of natural sweets as every inch of that land produces. So that they concluded they should find him dead, or somebody that was so. They passed on towards it, as loathsome as it was, and made such a rustling among the leaves that lie thick on the ground, by continual falling, that Caesar heard he was approached; and though he had during the space of these eight days endeavored to rise, but found he wanted strength, yet looking up and seeing his pursuers, he rose and reeled to a neighboring tree, against which he fixed his back; and being within a dozen yards of those that advanced and saw him, he called out to them and bid them approach no nearer, if they would be safe. So that they stood still, and hardly believing their eyes, that would persuade them that it was Caesar that spoke to 'em, so much was he altered, they asked him what he had done with his wife, for they smelt a stink that almost struck them dead. He, pointing to the dead body, sighing, cried, "Behold her there." They put off the flowers that covered her with their sticks, and found she was killed, and cried out, "Oh, monster! that hast murdered thy wife." Then asking him why he did so cruel a deed, he replied, he had no leisure to answer impertinent questions. "You may go back," continued he, "and tell the faithless governor he may thank fortune that I am breathing my last, and that my arm is too feeble to obey my heart in what it had designed him." But his tongue faltering, and trembling, he could scarce end what he was saying. The English, taking advantage by his weakness, cried, "Let us take him alive by all means." He heard 'em; and as if he had revived from a fainting, or a dream, he cried out, "No, gentlemen, you are deceived; you will find no more Caesars to be whipped, no more find a faith in me. Feeble as you think me, I have strength yet left to secure me from a second indignity." They swore

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all anew, and he only shook his head and beheld them with scorn. Then they cried out, "Who will venture on this single man? Will nobody?" They stood all silent while Caesar replied, "Fatal will be the attempt to the first adventurer, let him assure himself," and at that word, held up his knife in a menacing posture. "Look ye, ye faithless crew," said he, " 'tis not life I seek, nor am I afraid of dying," and at that word cut a piece of flesh from his own throat, and threw it at 'em; "yet still I would live if I could, till I had perfected my revenge. But oh! it cannot be; I feel life gliding from my eyes and heart, and if I make not haste, I shall yet fall a victim to the shameful whip." At that, he ripped up his own belly, and took his bowels and pulled 'em out, with what strength he could; while some, on their knees imploring, besought him to hold his hand. But when they saw him tottering, they cried out, "Will none venture on him?" A bold English cried, "Yes, if he were the devil" (taking courage when he saw him almost dead); and swearing a horrid oath for his farewell to the world, he rushed on him; Caesar, with his armed hand, met him so fairly as stuck him to the heart, and he fell dead at his feet. Tuscan, seeing that, cried out, "I love thee, O Caesar, and therefore will not let thee die, if possible." And running to him, took him in his arms; but at the same time warding a blow that Caesar made at his bosom, he received it quite through his arm; and Caesar having not the strength to pluck the knife forth, though he attempted it, Tuscan neither pulled it out himself nor suffered it to be pulled out, but came down with it sticking in his arm; and the reason he gave for it was, because the air should not get into the wound. They put their hands across, and carried Caesar between six of 'em, fainted as he was, and they thought dead, or just dying; and they brought him to Parham, and laid him on a couch, and had the chirurgeon immediately to him, who dressed his wounds and sewed up his belly, and used means to bring him to life, which they effected. We ran all to see him, and if before we thought him so beautiful a sight, he was now so altered that his face was like a death's head blacked over, nothing but teeth and eyeholes. For some days we suffered nobody to speak to him, but caused cordials to be poured down his throat, which sustained his life; and in six or seven days he recovered his senses. For you must know that wounds are almost to a miracle cured in the Indies, unless wounds in the legs, which rarely ever cure. When he was well enough to speak, we talked to him, and asked him some questions about his wife, and the reasons why he killed her; and he then told us what I have related of that resolution, and of his parting; and he besought us we would let him die, and was extremely afflicted to think it was possible he might live; he assured us if we did not dispatch him, he would prove very fatal to a great many. We said all we could to make him live, and gave him new assurances; but he begged we would not think so poorly of him, or of his love to Imoinda, to imagine we could flatter him to life again; but the chirurgeon assured him he could not live, and therefore he need not fear. We were all (but Caesar) afflicted at this news; and the sight was gashly;1 his discourse was sad, and the earthly smell about him so strong that I was persuaded to leave the place for some time (being myself but sickly, and very apt to fall into fits of dangerous illness upon any extraordinary melancholy). The servants and Trefry and the chirurgeons promised all to take what possible care they could of the life of Caesar, and I, taking boat, went with other company to Colonel Martin's, about three days' journey down the river; but I was no sooner gone, but the governor taking Trefry about some pretended earnest business a day's 1. Ghastly.

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journey up the river, having communicated his design to one Banister, a wild Irishman and one of the council, a fellow of absolute barbarity, and fit to execute any villainy, but was rich: he came up to Parham, and forcibly took Caesar, and had him carried to the same post where he was whipped; and causing him to be tied to it, and a great fire made before him, he told him he should die like a dog, as he was. Caesar replied, this was the first piece of bravery that ever Banister did, and he never spoke sense till he pronounced that word; and if he would keep it, he would declare, in the other world, that he was the only man of all the whites that ever he heard speak truth. And turning to the men that bound him, he said, "My friends, am I to die, or to be whipped?" And they cried, "Whipped! No, you shall not escape so well." And then he replied, smiling, "A blessing on thee," and assured them they need not tie him, for he would stand fixed like a rock, and endure death so as should encourage them to die. "But if you whip me," said he, "be sure you tie me fast." He had learned to take tobacco; and when he was assured he should die, he desired they would give him a pipe in his mouth, ready lighted, which they did; and the executioner came, and first cut off his members, 2 and threw them into the fire; after that, with an ill-favored knife, they cut his ears, and his nose, and burned them; he still smoked on, as if nothing had touched him. Then they hacked off one of his arms, and still he bore up, and held his pipe; but at the cutting off the other arm, his head sunk, and his pipe dropped, and he gave up the ghost, without a groan or a reproach. My mother and sister were by him all the while, but not suffered to save him, so rude and wild were the rabble, and so inhuman were the justices, who stood by to see the execution, who after paid dearly enough for their insolence. They cut Caesar in quarters, and sent them to several of the chief plantations. One quarter was sent to Colonel Martin, who refused it, and swore he had rather see the quarters of Banister and the governor himself than those of Caesar on his plantations, and that he could govern his Negroes without terrifying and grieving them with frightful spectacles of a mangled king. Thus died this great man, worthy of a better fate, and a more sublime wit than mine to write his praise; yet, I hope, the reputation of my pen is considerable enough to make his glorious name to survive to all ages, with that of the brave, the beautiful, and the constant Imoinda. 1688 2. Genitals.

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

1670-1729 Both of William Congreve's parents came from well-to-do and prominent county families. His father, a younger son, obtained a commission as lieutenant in the army and moved to Ireland in 1674. There the future playwright was educated at Kilkenny School and Trinity College, Dublin; at both places he was a younger contemporary of Swift. In 1691 he took rooms in the Middle Temple and began to study law, but

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soon found he preferred the wit of the coffeehouses and the theater. Within a year he had so distinguished himself at Will's Coffeehouse that he had become intimate with the great Dryden himself, and his brief career as a dramatist began shortly thereafter. The success of The Old Bachelor (produced in 1693) immediately established him as the most promising young dramatist in London. It had the then phenomenally long run of fourteen days, and Dryden declared it the best first play he had ever read. The Double Dealer (produced in 1693) was a near failure, though it evoked one of Dryden's most graceful and gracious poems, in which he praised Congreve as the superior of Jonson and Fletcher and the equal of Shakespeare. Love for Love (produced in 1695) was an unqualified success and remains Congreve's most frequently revived play. (For the complete text of Love for Love, go to Norton Literature Online.) In 1697 he brought out a well-received tragedy, The Mourning Bride. Congreve's most elegant comedy of manners, The Way of the World, received a brilliant production in 1700, but it did not have a long run. During the rest of his life he wrote no more plays. Instead he held a minor government post, which, although a Whig, he was allowed to keep during the Tory ministry of Oxford and Bolingbroke; after the accession of George I he was given a more lucrative government sinecure. Despite the political animosities of the first two decades of the century, he managed to remain on friendly terms with Swift and Pope, and Pope dedicated to him his translation of the Iliad. Congreve's final years were perplexed by poor health but were made bearable by the love of Henrietta, second duchess of Marlborough, whose last child, a daughter, was in all probability the playwright's.

The Way of the World is one of the wittiest plays ever written, a play to read slowly and savor. Like an expert jeweler, Congreve polished the Restoration comedy of manners to its ultimate sparkle and gloss. The dialogue is epigrammatic and brilliant, the plot is an intricate puzzle, and the characters shine with surprisingly complex facets. Yet the play is not all dazzling surface; it also has depths. Most Restoration comedies begin with the struggle for power, sex, and money and end with a marriage. In an age that viewed property, not romance, as the basis of marriage, the hero shows his prowess by catching an heiress. The Way of the World reflects that standard plot; it is a battle more over a legacy than over a woman, a battle in which sexual attraction is used as a weapon. Yet Congreve, writing after such conventions had been thoroughly explored, reveals the weakness of those who treat love as a war or a game: "each deceiver to his cost may find/That marriage frauds too oft are paid in kind." If "the way of the world" is cynical self-interest, it is also the worldly prudence that sees through the ruses of power and turns them to better ends. In this world generosity and affection win the day and true love conquers—with the help of some clever plotting. At the center of the action are four fully realized characters—Mirabell and Millamant, the hero and heroine, and Fainall and Mrs. Marwood, the two villains—whose stratagems and relations move the play. Around them are characters who serve in one way or another as foils: Witwoud, the would-be wit, with whom we contrast the true wit of Mirabell and Millamant; Petulant, a "humor" character, who affects bluff candor and cynical realism, but succeeds only in being offensive; and Sir Wilfull Witwoud, the booby squire from the country, who serves with Petulant to throw into relief the high good breeding and fineness of nature of the hero and heroine. Finally there is one of Congreve's finest creations, Lady Wishfort ("wish for it"), who though aging and ugly still longs for love, gallantry, and courtship and who is led by her appetites into the trap that Mirabell lays for her. Because of the complexity of the plot, a summary of the situation at the rise of the curtain may prove helpful. Mirabell (a reformed rake) is sincerely in love with and wishes to marry Millamant, who, though a coquette and a highly sophisticated wit, is a virtuous woman. Mirabell some time before has married off his former mistress, the daughter of Lady Wishfort, to his friend Fainall. Fainall has grown tired of his

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wife and has been squandering her money on his mistress, Mrs. Marwood. In order to gain access to Millamant, Mirabell has pretended to pay court to the elderly and amorous Lady Wishfort, who is the guardian of Millamant and as such controls half her fortune. But his game has been spoiled by Mrs. Marwood, who nourishes a secret love for Mirabell and, to separate him from Millamant, has made Lady Wishfort aware of Mirabell's duplicity. Lady Wishfort now loathes Mirabell for making a fool of her— an awkward situation, because if Millamant should marry without her guardian's consent she would lose half her fortune, and Mirabell cannot afford to marry any but a rich wife. It is at this point that the action begins. Mirabell perfects a plot to get such power over Lady Wishfort as to force her to agree to the marriage, while Millamant continues to doubt whether she wishes to marry at all.

The Way of the World DRAMATIS

PERSONAE1

Men in love with M R S . M A R W O O D M I R A B E L L , in love with M R S . M I L L A M A N T FAINALL,

WITWOUD

PETULANT

J- „

y J followers of M R S .

SIR W I L F U L L WITWOUD,

MILLAMANT

half brother to

WITWOUD,

and nephew to

LADY W I S H F O R T WAITWELL,

servant to

MIRABELL

Women enemy to M I R A B E L L , for having falsely pretended love to her M I L L A M A N T , a fine lady, niece to LADY W I S H F O R T , and loves M I R A B E L L M A R W O O D , friend to MR. F A I N A L L , and likes M I R A B E L L F A I N A L L , daughter to LADY W I S H F O R T , and wife to FAINALL, formerly friend

LADY W I S H F O R T , MRS. MRS. MRS.

MIRABELL

woman to LADY W I S H F O R T woman to M R S . M I L L A M A N T BETTY, waitress at the chocolate house P E G , under-servant to LADY W I S H F O R T FOIBLE,

MINCING,

DANCERS,

FOOTMEN,

and A T T E N D A N T S

SCENE—London.

Prologue SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON2

Of those few fools, who with ill stars are cursed, Sure scribbling fools, called poets, fare the worst: 1. The names of the principal characters reveal their dominant traits: e.g., Fainall would fain have all, with perhaps also the suggestion that he is the complete hypocrite, who feigns; Witwoud is the would-be ivit; Wishfort suggests wish for it-, Millamant is the lady with a thousand lovers (French mille amants); Marwood would willingly mar (injure) the lovers; Mincing has an air of affected

gentility (i.e., she minces), which clashes with her vulgar English. "Mrs." is "Mistress," a title then used by young unmarried ladies as well as by the married Mrs. Fainall. 2. Thomas Betterton (ca. 1 6 3 5 - 1 7 1 0 ) , the greatest actor of the period, played Fainall in the original production of this play.

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For they're a sort of fools which Fortune makes, And after she has made 'em fools, forsakes. With nature's oafs 'tis quite a different case, For Fortune favors all her idiot race. In her own nest the cuckoo eggs we find, O'er which she broods to hatch the changeling kind. 3 No portion for her own she has to spare, So much she dotes on her adopted care. Poets are bubbles, 0 by the town drawn in, dupes Suffered at first some trifling stakes to win: But what unequal hazards do they run! Each time they write they venture all they've won: The squire that's buttered still, 0 is sure to be undone. constantly flattered This author, heretofore, has found your favor, But pleads no merit from his past behavior; To build on that might prove a vain presumption, Should grants to poets made, admit resumption: 4 And in Parnassus' he must lose his seat, If that be found a forfeited estate. 6 He owns, 0 with toil he wrought the following scenes, admits But if they're naught ne'er spare him for his pains: Damn him the more; have no commiseration For dullness on mature deliberation. He swears he'll not resent one hissed-off scene Nor, like those peevish wits, his play maintain, 0 defend Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign. Some plot we think he has, and some new thought; Some humor too, no farce; but that's a fault. Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect, For so reformed a town, 7 who dares correct? To please, this time, has been his sole pretense, He'll not instruct, lest it should give offense. Should he by chance a knave or fool expose, That hurts none here; sure here are none of those. In short, our play shall (with your leave to show it) Give you one instance of a passive poet Who to your judgments yields all resignation; So save or damn after your own discretion.

Act 1—A chocolate house. and F A I N A L L rising from cards, B E T T Y waiting. You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall. Have we done? What you please. I'll play on to entertain you. NO, I'll give you your revenge another time, when you are not so MIRABELL

MIRABELL FAINALL MIRABELL FAINALL

3. Simpletons; children supposed to have been secretly exchanged in infancy for others. The cuckoo lays its eggs in the nests of other birds. 4. The Crown could both grant and take back ("resume") estates. 5. Greek mountain sacred to the Muses. 6. Seat rhymed with estate; in the next couplet, scenes and pains rhymed. A few lines later scene is

similarly pronounced to rhyme with maintain, and fault (the / being silent) is rhymed with thought. 7. A sarcasm, directed against the general movement to reform manners and morals and, more particularly, against Jeremy Collier's attack on actors and playwrights in his Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the English Stage (1698).

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indifferent; you are thinking of something else now, and play too negligently. The coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure of the winner. I'd no more play with a man that slighted his ill fortune than I'd make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of her reputation. MIRABELL You have a taste extremely delicate, and are for refining on your pleasures. FAINALL Prithee, why so reserved? Something has put you out of humor. MIRABELL Not at all. I happen to be grave today, and you are gay; that's all. FAINALL Confess, Millamant and you quarreled last night after I left you; my fair cousin has some humors that would tempt the patience of a stoic. What, some coxcomb came in, and was well received by her, while you were by? MIRABELL Witwoud and Petulant; and what was worse, her aunt, your wife's mother, my evil genius; or to sum up all in her own name, my old Lady Wishfort c a m e in. FAINALL O, there it is then—she has a lasting passion for you, and with reason. What, then my wife was there? MIRABELL Yes, and Mrs. Marwood and three or four more, whom I never saw before. Seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, whispered one another; then complained aloud of the vapors, 8 and after fell into a profound silence. FAINALL They had a mind to be rid of you. MIRABELL For which good reason I resolved not to stir. At last the good old lady broke through her painful taciturnity, with an invective against long visits. I would not have understood her, but Millamant joining in the argument, I rose and with a constrained smile told her I thought nothing was so easy as to know when a visit began to be troublesome. She reddened and I withdrew, without expecting 9 her reply. FAINALL Y O U were to blame to resent what she spoke only in compliance with her aunt. MIRABELL She is more mistress of herself than to be under the necessity of such a resignation. FAINALL What? though half her fortune depends upon her marrying with my lady's approbation? MIRABELL I was then in such a humor that I should have been better pleased if she had been less discreet. FAINALL N O W I remember, I wonder not they were weary of you: last night was one of their cabal 1 nights; they have 'em three times a week, and meet by turns, at one another's apartments, where they come together like the coroner's inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week. You and I are excluded; and it was once proposed that all the male sex should be excepted; but somebody moved that to avoid scandal there might be one man of the community; upon which Witwoud and Petulant were enrolled members. MIRABELL And who may have been the foundress of this sect? My Lady Wishfort, I warrant, who publishes her detestation of mankind, and full of the vigor of fifty-five, declares for a friend and ratafia; 2 and let posterity shift for itself, she'll breed no more. FAINALL The discovery of your sham addresses to her, to conceal your love 8. Melancholy. 9. Awaiting. 1. Secret organization designed for intrigue.

2. A liqueur flavored with fruit kernels (pronounced rat-a-fe-a).

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to her niece, has provoked this separation. H a d you dissembled better, things might have continued in the state of nature. 3 MIRABELL I did as much as man could, with any reasonable conscience: I proceeded to the very last act of flattery with her, and was guilty of a song in her commendation. Nay, I got a friend to put her into a lampoon and compliment her with the imputation of an affair with a young fellow, which I carried so far that I told her the malicious town took notice that she was grown fat of a sudden; and when she lay in of a dropsy, persuaded her she was reported to be in labor. The devil's in't, if an old woman is to be flattered further, unless a man should endeavor downright personally to debauch her; and that my virtue forbade me. But for the discovery of this amour, I am indebted to your friend, or your wife's friend, Mrs. Marwood. FAINALL What should provoke her to be your enemy, unless she has made you advances, which you have slighted? Women do not easily forgive omissions of that nature. MIRABELL She was always civil to me, till of late. I confess I am not one of those coxcombs who are apt to interpret a woman's good manners to her prejudice, and think that she who does not refuse em everything, can refuse 'em nothing. FAINALL Y O U are a gallant man, Mirabell; and though you may have cruelty enough not to satisfy a lady's longing, you have too much generosity not to be tender of her honor. Yet you speak with an indifference which seems to be affected, and confesses you are conscious of a negligence. MIRABELL Y O U pursue the argument with a distrust that seems to be unaffected, and confesses you are conscious of a concern for which the lady is more indebted to you than is your wife. FAINALL Fie, fie, friend, if you grow censorious I must leave you.—I'll look upon the gamesters in the next room. MIRABELL Who are they? FAINALL Petulant and Witwoud. [To BETTY.] Bring me some chocolate. [Exit FAINALL.]

Betty, what says your clock? Turned of the last canonical hour, 4 sir. [Exit B E T T Y . ] MIRABELL H O W pertinently the j a d e answers me! Ha? almost one a clock! [Looking on his watch.]—O, y'are c o m e — [Enter a F O O T M A N . ] MIRABELL Well, is the grand affair over? You have been something tedious. 5 FOOTMAN Sir, there's such coupling at Pancras 6 that they stand behind one another, as 'twere in a country dance. Ours was the last couple to lead up; and no hopes appearing of dispatch, besides, the parson growing hoarse, we were afraid his lungs would have failed before it came to our turn; so we drove around to Duke's Place, and there they were riveted in a trice. MIRABELL So, so, you are sure they are married? FOOTMAN Married and bedded, sir. I am witness. MIRABELL Have you the certificate? FOOTMAN Here it is, sir. MIRABELL BETTY

3. Lady Wishfort's natural inclination for you would have continued. 4. The hours in which marriage can legally be performed in the Anglican Church, then eight to twelve noon.

5. Taken a long time. 6. The Church of St. Pancras, like that of St. J a m e s in Duke's Place (referred to later in the same speech), was notorious for a thriving trade in unlicensed marriages.

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liveries? FOOTMAN

WILLIAM CONGREVE

Has the tailor brought Waitwell's clothes home, and the new Y e s , sir.

That's well. Do you go home again, d'ye hear, and adjourn the consummation till farther order. Bid Waitwell shake his ears, and Dame Partlet rustle up her feathers, and meet me at one a clock by Rosamond's Pond, that I may see her before she returns to her lady: and as you tender your ears, 7 be secret. [Exit F O O T M A N . ] [Re-enter F A I N A L L , B E T I Y . ] FAINALL Joy of your success, Mirabell; you look pleased. MIRABELL Aye, I have been engaged in a matter of some sort of mirth, which is not yet ripe for discovery. I am glad this is not a cabal night. I wonder, Fainall, that you who are married, and of consequence should be discreet, will suffer your wife to be of such a party. FAINALL Faith, I am not jealous. Besides, most who are engaged are women and relations; and for the men, they are of a kind too contemptible to give scandal. MIRABELL I am of another opinion. The greater the coxcomb, always the more the scandal: for a woman who is not a fool can have but one reason for associating with a man who is one. FAINALL Are you jealous as often as you see Witwoud entertained by Millamant? MIRABELL Of her understanding I am, if not of her person. FAINALL Y O U do her wrong; for to give her her due, she has wit. MIRABELL She has beauty enough to make any man think so; and complaisance enough not to contradict him who shall tell her so. FAINALL For a passionate lover, methinks you are a man somewhat too discerning in the failings of your mistress. MIRABELL And for a discerning man, somewhat too passionate a lover; for I like her with all her faults, nay, like her for her faults. Her follies are so natural, or so artful, that they become her, and those affectations which in another woman would be odious, serve but to make her more agreeable. I'll tell thee, Fainall, she once used me with that insolence that in revenge I took her to pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large that I was not without hopes, one day or other, to hate her heartily: to which end I so used myself to think of 'em that at length, contrary to my design and expectation, they gave me every hour less and less disturbance, till in a few days it became habitual to me to remember 'em without being displeased. They are now grown as familiar to me as my own frailties, and in all probability in a little time longer I shall like 'em as well. FAINALL Marry her, marry her; be half as well acquainted with her charms as you are with her defects, and my life on't, you are your own man again. MIRABELL

MIRABELL

Say you so?

Aye, aye, I have experience; I have a wife, and so forth. [Enter a M E S S E N G E R . ] MESSENGER I S one Squire Witwoud here? BETTY Yes. What's your business?

FAINALL

7. If you don't want your ears cropped. Rosamond's Pond is in St. James's Park. " D a m e Partlet": Pertelote, the hen-wife of the cock Chauntecleer in Chaucer's The Nun's Priest's Tale.

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I have a letter for him, from his brother Sir Wilfull, which I am charged to deliver into his own hands. BETTY He's in the next room, friend—that way. [Exit M E S S E N G E R . ] MIRABELL What, is the chief of that noble family in town, Sir Wilfull Witwoud? FAINALL He is expected today. Do you know him? MIRABELL I have seen him. H e promises to be an extraordinary person; I think you have the honor to be related to him. FAINALL Yes; he is half brother to this Witwoud by a former wife, who was sister to my Lady Wishfort, my wife's mother. If you marry Millamant, you must call cousins too. MIRABELL I had rather be his relation than his acquaintance. FAINALL He comes to town in order to equip himself for travel. MIRABELL For travel! Why the man that I mean is above forty. 8 FAINALL N O matter for that; 'tis for the honor of England that all Europe should know that we have blockheads of all ages. MIRABELL I wonder there is not an Act of Parliament to save the credit of the nation, and prohibit the exportation of fools. FAINALL By no means, 'tis better as 'tis; 'tis better to trade with a little loss than to be quite eaten up with being overstocked. MIRABELL Pray, are the follies of this knight-errant, and those of the squire his brother, anything related? FAINALL Not at all. Witwoud grows by the knight, like a medlar grafted on a crab. 9 One will melt in your mouth, and t'other set your teeth on edge; one is all pulp, and the other all core. MIRABELL So one will be rotten before he be ripe, and the other will be rotten without ever being ripe at all. FAINALL Sir Wilfull is an odd mixture of bashfulness and obstinacy. But when he's drunk, he's as loving as the monster in the Tempest; 1 and much after the same manner. To give t'other his due, he has something of good nature, and does not always want wit. MIRABELL Not always; but as often as his memory fails him, and his commonplace of comparisons. 2 He is a fool with a good memory, and some few scraps of other folks' wit. He is one whose conversation can never be approved, yet it is now and then to be endured. He has indeed one good quality, he is not exceptious, 3 for he so passionately affects the reputation of understanding raillery that he will construe an affront into a jest; and call downright rudeness and ill language, satire and fire. FAINALL If you have a mind to finish his picture, you have an opportunity to do it at full length. Behold the original. [Enter W I T W O U D . ] WITWOUD Afford me your compassion, my dears; pity me, Fainall, Mirabell, pity me. MESSENGER

8. The grand tour of the Continent was rapidly becoming a part of the education of gentlemen, but it was usually made in company with a tutor after a young man had graduated from a university, not after a man had passed the age of forty. 9. Crabapple. "Medlar": a fruit eaten when it is overripe. 1. Trinculo, in the adaptation of Shakespeare's Tempest by Sir William Davenant and Dryden

(1667), having made Caliban drunk, says, "The poor monster is loving in his drink" (2.2). 2. One recognized sign of wit was the ability' to quickly discover resemblances between objects apparently unlike. Witwoud specializes in this kind of wit, but Mirabell suggests that they are all obvious and collected from others, like observations copied in a notebook, or "commonplace" book. 3. Quarrelsome.

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2234

WILLIAM CONGREVE

I do from my soul. Why, what's the matter? WITWOUD No letters for me, Betty? BETTY Did not a messenger bring you one but now, sir? WITWOUD Aye, but no other? MIRABELL FAINALL

BETTY

N o , sir.

That's hard, that's very hard. A messenger, a mule, a beast of burden, he has brought me a letter from the fool my brother, as heavy as a panegyric in a funeral sermon, or a copy of commendatory verses from one poet to another. And what's worse, 'tis as sure a forerunner of the author as an epistle dedicatory. MIRABELL A fool, and your brother, Witwoud! WITWOUD Aye, aye, my half brother. My half brother he is, no nearer upon honor. MIRABELL Then 'tis possible he may be but half a fool. WITWOUD Good, good, Mirabell, le drole! 4 Good, good. Hang him, don't let's talk of him. Fainall, how does your lady? Gad. I say anything in the world to get this fellow out of my head. I beg pardon that I should ask a man of pleasure and the town a question at once so foreign and domestic. But I talk like an old maid at a marriage, I don't know what I say: but she's the best woman in the world. FAINALL 'Tis well you don't know what you say, or else your commendation would go near to make me either vain or jealous. WITWOUD N O man in town lives well with a wife but Fainall. Your judgment, Mirabell? MIRABELL Y O U had better step and ask his wife, if you would be credibly informed. WITWOUD Mirabell.

WITWOUD

MIRABELL

Aye.

My dear, I ask ten thousand pardons—gad, I have forgot what I was going to say to you. MIRABELL I thank you heartily, heartily. WITWOUD N O , but prithee excuse me—my memory is such a memory. MIRABELL Have a care of such apologies, Witwoud—for I never knew a fool but he affected to complain, either of the spleen 5 or his memory. FAINALL What have you done with Petulant? WITWOUD He's reckoning his money—my money it was.—I have no luck today. FAINALL You may allow him to win of you at play—for you are sure to be too hard for him at repartee. Since you monopolize the wit that is between you, the fortune must be his of course. MIRABELL I don't find that Petulant confesses the superiority of wit to be your talent, Witwoud. WITWOUD Come, come, you are malicious now, and would breed debates.— Petulant's my friend, and a very honest fellow, and a very pretty fellow, and has a smattering—faith and troth a pretty deal of an odd sort of a small wit: nay, I'll do him justice. I'm his friend, I won't wrong him.—And if he had any judgment in the world—he would not be altogether contemptible. Come, come, don't detract from the merits of my friend.

WITWOUD

4. The witty fellow (French).

5. Depression.

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2235

You don't take your friend to be over-nicely bred. No, no, hang him, the rogue has no manners at all, that I must own—no more breeding than a bum-bailey, 6 that I grant you.—'Tis pity; the fellow has fire and life. MIRABELL What, courage? WITWOUD Hum, faith I don't know as to that—I can't say as to that.—Yes, faith, in a controversy he'll contradict anybody. MIRABELL Though 'twere a man whom he feared, or a woman whom he loved. WITWOUD Well, well, he does not always think before he speaks—we have all our failings; you are too hard upon him, you are, faith. Let me excuse him—I can defend most of his faults, except one or two. One he has, that's the truth on't, if he were my brother, I could not acquit him.—That indeed I could wish were otherwise. MIRABELL Aye marry, what's that, Witwoud? WITWOUD O, pardon me—expose the infirmities of my friend?—No, my dear, excuse me there. FAINALL What, I warrant he's unsincere, or 'tis some such trifle. WITWOUD N O , no, what if he be? 'Tis no matter for that, his wit will excuse that. A wit should no more be sincere than a woman constant; one argues a decay of parts 7 as t'other of beauty. MIRABELL Maybe you think him too positive? WITWOUD N O , no, his being positive is an incentive to argument, and keeps up conversation. FAINALL Too illiterate. WITWOUD That! that's his happiness.—His want of learning gives him the more opportunities to show his natural parts. MIRABELL He wants words. WITWOUD Aye; but I like him for that now; for his want of words gives me the pleasure very often to explain his meaning. FAINALL He's impudent. WITWOUD N O , that's not it. MIRABELL Vain. FAINALL

WITWOUD

NO.

What, he speaks unseasonable truths sometimes, because he has not wit enough to invent an evasion. WITWOUD Truths! Ha, ha, ha! No, no, since you will have it—I mean, he never speaks truth at all—that's all. He will lie like a chambermaid, or a woman of quality's porter. Now that is a fault. [Enter C O A C H M A N . ] COACHMAN Is Master Petulant here, mistress? MIRABELL

BEITS'

Yes.

Three gentlewomen in a coach would speak with him. O brave Petulant, three! BETIY I'll tell him. COACHMAN Y O U must bring two dishes of chocolate and a glass of cinnamon water. [Exeunt BETTY, C O A C H M A N . ] WITWOUD That should be for two fasting strumpets, and a bawd troubled with wind. Now you may know what the three are. COACHMAN FAINALL

6. Bumbailiff, the lowest kind of arresting officer.

7. Talents.

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2236

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

Y O U are free with your friend's acquaintance. Aye, aye, friendship without freedom is as dull as love without enjoyment, or wine without toasting; but to tell you a secret, these are trulls 8 whom he allows coach-hire, and something more by the week, to call on him once a day at public places.

MIRABELL WITWOUD

MIRABELL

How!

You shall see he won't go to 'em because there's no more company here to take notice of him.—Why this is nothing to what he used to do, before he found out this way. I have known him call for himself.— FAINALL Call for himself? What dost thou mean? WITWOUD Mean? Why he would slip you out of this chocolate house, just when you had been talking to him.—As soon as your back was turned— whip he was gone—then trip to his lodging, clap on a hood and scarf, and a mask, slap into a hackney coach, and drive hither to the door again in a trice; where he would send in for himself, that I mean, call for himself, wait for himself, nay and what's more, not finding himself, sometimes leave a letter for himself. MIRABELL I confess this is something extraordinary.—I believe he waits for himself now, he is so long a-coming. O, I ask his pardon. [Enter P E T U L A N T , B E T T Y . ] BETTY Sir, the coach stays. PETULANT Well, well; I come.—'Sbud, 9 a man had as good be a professed midwife, as a professed whoremaster, at this rate; to be knocked up and raised at all hours, and in all places. Pox on 'em, I won't come.—D'ye hear, tell 'em I won't come.—Let 'em snivel and cry their hearts out. FAINALL Y O U are very cruel, Petulant. PETULANT All's one, let it p a s s — I have a humor to be cruel. MIRABELL I hope they are not persons of condition 1 that you use at this rate. PETULANT Condition, condition's a dried fig, if I am not in humor.—By this hand, if they were your—a—a—your what-dee-call-'ems themselves, they must wait or rub off, 2 if I want appetite. MIRABELL What-de-call-ems! What are they, Witwoud? WITWOUD Empresses, my dear.—By your what-dee-call-'ems he means sultana queens. PETULANT Aye, Roxolanas. 3 MIRABELL Cry you mercy, FAINALL Witwoud says they are— PETULANT What does he say th' are? WITWOUD I? Fine ladies I say. PETULANT Pass on, Witwoud.—Harkee, by this light his relations—two coheiresses his cousins, and an old aunt, who loves caterwauling better than a conventicle. 4 WITWOUD Ha, ha, ha; I had a mind to see how the rogue would come off.— Ha, ha, ha; gad, I can't be angry with him, if he had said they were my mother and my sisters.

WITWOUD

8. 9. 1. 2. 3.

Prostitutes. God's body. High social standing. Go away. "Empresses," "sultana queens," and "Roxo-

lanas" were terms for prostitutes. Roxoiana is the wife of the Sultan in Davenant's Siege of Rhodes (1656). 4. Nonconformist religious meeting.

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MIRABELL

2237

NO!

N O ; the rogue's wit and readiness of invention charm me, dear

WITWOUD

Petulant. They are gone, sir, in great anger. PETULANT Enough, let 'em trundle. 5 Anger helps complexion, saves paint. 6 FAINALL This continence is all dissembled; this is in order to have something to brag of the next time he makes court to Millamant, and swear he had abandoned the whole sex for her sake. MIRABELL Have you not left off your impudent pretensions there yet? I shall cut your throat, sometime or other, Petulant, about that business. PETULANT Aye, aye, let that pass.—There are other throats to be cut.— MIRABELL Meaning mine, sir? PETULANT Not I—I mean nobody—I know nothing. But there are uncles and nephews in the world—and they may be rivals—What then? All's one for that— MIRABELL H O W ! Harkee, Petulant, come hither—explain, or I shall call your interpreter. PETULANT Explain? I know nothing.—Why, you have an uncle, have you not, lately come to town, and lodges by my Lady Wishfort's? MIRABELL True. PETULANT Why, that's enough.—You and he are not friends; and if he should marry and have a child, you may be disinherited, ha? MIRABELL Where hast thou stumbled upon all this truth? PETULANT All's one for that; why, then, say I know something. MIRABELL Come, thou art an honest fellow, Petulant, and shalt make love to my mistress, thou sha't, faith. What hast thou heard of my uncle? PETULANT I, nothing, I. If throats are to be cut, let swords clash; snug's the word, I shrug and am silent. MIRABELL O raillery, raillery. C o m e , I know thou art in the women's secrets.—What, you're a cabalist. I know you stayed at Millamant's last night, after I went. Was there any mention made of my uncle or me? Tell me; if thou hadst but good nature equal to thy wit, Petulant, Tony Witwoud, who is now thy competitor in fame, would show as dim by thee as a dead whiting's eye by a pearl of Orient. He would no more be seen by thee than Mercury is by the sun: come, I'm sure thou wo't tell me. PETULANT If I do, will you grant me common sense then, for the future? MIRARELL Faith, I'll do what I can for thee, and I'll pray that Heaven may grant it thee in the meantime. PETULANT Well, harkee. [ M I R A B E L L and P E T U L A N T talk privately.] FAINALL Petulant and you both will find Mirabell as warm a rival as a lover. WITWOUD Pshaw, pshaw, that she laughs at Petulant is plain. And for my part—but that it is almost a fashion to admire her, I should—harkee—to tell you a secret, but let it go no further—between friends, I shall never break my heart for her. BETTY

FAINALL

HOW!

WITWOUD

She's handsome; but she's a sort of an uncertain woman. I thought you had died for her.

FAINALL

5. Move along.

6. Makeup.

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2238

WITWOUD FAINALL

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

Umh—NO— S h e h a s wit.

'Tis what she will hardly allow anybody else.—Now, demme, 7 I should hate that, if she were as h a n d s o m e as Cleopatra. Mirabell is not so sure of her as he thinks for. FAINALL Why do you think so? WITWOUD W e stayed pretty late there last night, and heard something of an uncle to Mirabell, who is lately c o m e to town—and is between him and the best part of his estate. Mirabell and he are at some distance, as my Lady Wishfort has been told; and you know she hates Mirabell, worse than a Q u a k e r hates a parrot, 8 or than a fishmonger hates a hard frost. Whether this uncle has seen Mrs. Millamant or not, I cannot say; but there were items of such a treaty being in embryo; and if it should c o m e to life, poor Mirabell would be in some sort unfortunately fobbed 9 i' faith. FAINALL 'Tis impossible Millamant should harken to it. WITWOUD Faith, my dear, I can't tell; she's a woman and a kind of a humorist. 1 [ M I R A B E L L , P E T U L A N T privately.] MIRABELL And this is the sum of what you could collect last night. PETULANT T h e quintessence. Maybe Witwoud knows more, he stayed longer.—Besides they never mind him; they say anything before him. MIRABELL I thought you had been the greatest favorite. PETULANT Aye, tete a tete; 1 but not in public, b e c a u s e I make remarks.

WITWOUD

MIRABELL

YOU d o ?

Aye, aye, pox, Fm malicious, man. Now he's soft, you know, they are not in awe of h i m . — T h e fellow's well bred, he's what you call a—whatd'ye-call-'em. A fine gentleman, but he's silly withal. MIRABELL I thank you, I know as much as my curiosity requires. Fainall, are you for the Mall? 3 FAINALL Aye, Fll take a turn before dinner. WITWOUD Aye, we'll all walk in the park, the ladies talked of being there. MIRABELL I thought you were obliged to watch for your brother Sir Wilfull's arrival. WITWOUD N O , no, he's c o m e to his aunt's, my Lady Wishfort. Pox on him, I shall be troubled with him too. What shall I do with the fool? PETULANT Beg him for his estate, that 1 may beg you afterwards, and so have but one trouble with you both. WITWOUD O rare Petulant; thou art as quick as fire in a frosty morning; thou shalt to the Mall with us; and we'll be very severe. PETULANT Enough, I'm in a humor to be severe. MIRABELL Are you? Pray then walk by yourselves.—Let not us be accessory to your putting the ladies out of countenance with your senseless ribaldry, which you roar out aloud as often as they pass by you; and when you have made a handsome woman blush, then you think you have been severe. PETULANT What, what? Then let 'em either show their innocence by not understanding what they hear, or else show their discretion by not hearing what they would not be thought to understand. PETULANT

7. Damn me. 8. In his Apology for the True Christian Divinity (1678), the Q u a k e r Robert Barclay says that professing belief in Christ without spiritual revelation is like "the prattling of a parrot."

9. Tricked. 1. A capricious person. 2. Face to face (French); i.e., in private. 3. A walk in St. James's Park, one of the fashionable public places of London.

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2239

But hast not thou then sense enough to know that thou ought'st to be most ashamed thyself, when thou hast put another out of countenance? PETULANT Not I, by this hand.—I always take blushing either for a sign of guilt, or ill breeding. MIRABELL I confess you ought to think so. You are in the right, that you may plead the error of your judgment in defense of your practice. MIRABELL

Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit That impudence and malice pass for wit.

Act 2—St. James's Park. [Enter M R S . F A I N A L L and M R S . M A R W O O D . ] Aye, aye, dear Marwood, if we will be happy, we must find the means in ourselves, and among ourselves. Men are ever in extremes; either doting or averse. While they are lovers, if they have fire and sense, their jealousies are insupportable: and when they cease to love (we ought to think at least) they loathe. They look upon us with horror and distaste; they meet us like the ghosts of what we were, and as from such, fly from us. M R S . MARWOOD True, 'tis an unhappy circumstance of life that love should ever die before us; and that the man so often should outlive the lover. But say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved. To pass over youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old. For my part, my youth may wear and waste, but it shall never rust in my possession. MRS. FAINALL Then it seems you dissemble an aversion to mankind only in compliance to my mother's humor. MRS. MARWOOD Certainly. To be free, 4 I have no taste of those insipid dry discourses with which our sex of force must entertain themselves apart from men. We may affect endearments to each other, profess eternal friendships, and seem to dote like lovers; but 'tis not in our natures long to persevere. Love will resume his empire in our breasts, and every heart, or soon or late, receive and readmit him as its lawful tyrant. MRS. FAINALL Bless me, how have I been deceived! Why, you profess 5 a libertine. MRS. MARWOOD Y O U see my friendship by my freedom. Come, be as sincere, acknowledge that your sentiments agree with mine. MRS. FAINALL Never. M R S . MARWOOD Y O U hate mankind? M R S . FAINALL Heartily, inveterately. M R S . MARWOOD Your husband? MRS. FAINALL Most transcendently; aye, though I say it, meritoriously. M R S . MARWOOD Give me your hand upon it. M R S . FAINALL There. M R S . MARWOOD I join with you. What I have said has been to try you. MRS. FAINALL I S it possible? Dost thou hate those vipers men? M R S . MARWOOD I have done hating 'em, and am now come to despise 'em; the next thing I have to do is eternally to forget 'em. MRS. FAINALL

4. To speak freely.

5. Talk like.

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2240

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

There spoke the spirit of an Amazon, a Penthesilea. 6 M R S . MARWOOD And yet I am thinking sometimes to carry my aversion further. MRS. FAINALL

MRS. FAINALL

HOW?

Faith, by marrying. If I could but find one that loved me very well, and would be thoroughly sensible of ill usage, I think I should do myself the violence of undergoing the ceremony. MRS. FAINALL You would not make him a cuckold? M R S . MARWOOD No; but I'd make him believe I did, and that's as bad. MRS. FAINALL Why had not you as good do it? MRS. MARWOOD O, if he should ever discover it, he would then know the worst, and be out of his pain; but I would have him ever to continue upon the rack of fear and jealousy. MRS. FAINALL Ingenious mischief! Would thou wert married to Mirabell. MRS. MARWOOD Would I were. MRS. FAINALL You change color. M R S . MARWOOD B e c a u s e I hate him. MRS. FAINALL S O do I; but I can hear him named. But what reason have you to hate him in particular? MRS. MARWOOD I never loved him; he is and always was insufferably proud. M R S . FAINALL By the reason you give for your aversion, one would think it dissembled; for you have laid a fault to his charge of which his enemies must acquit him. M R S . MARWOOD O then it seems you are one of his favorable enemies. Methinks you look a little pale, and now you flush again. MRS. FAINALL Do I? I think I am a little sick o' the sudden. MRS. MARWOOD What ails you? MRS. FAINALL My husband. Don't you see him? He turned short upon me unawares, and has almost overcome me. [Enter F A I N A L L and M I R A B E L L . ] M R S . MARWOOD Ha, ha, ha; he comes opportunely for you. MRS. FAINALL For you, for he has brought Mirabell with him. FAINALL My dear. MRS. FAINALL My soul. FAINALL Y O U don't look well today, child. MRS. FAINALL D'ye think so? MIRABELL He is the only man that does, madam. MRS. FAINALL The only man that would tell me so at least; and the only man from whom I could hear it without mortification. FAINALL O my dear, I am satisfied of your tenderness; I know you cannot resent anything from me, especially what is an effect of my concern. MRS. FAINALL Mr. Mirabell, my mother interrupted you in a pleasant relation last night. I would fain hear it out. MIRABELL The persons concerned in that affair have yet a tolerable reputation.—I am afraid Mr. Fainall will be censorious. MRS. FAINALL He has a humor more prevailing than his curiosity, and will willingly dispense with the hearing of one scandalous story to avoid giving an occasion to make another by being seen to walk with his wife. This way, Mr. Mirabell, and I dare promise you will oblige us both.

M R S . MARWOOD

6. Q u e e n of the Amazons (a legendary nation of women warriors).

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2241

[Exeunt M I R A B E L L and M R S . F A I N A L L . ] Excellent creature! Well, sure if I should live to be rid of my wife, I should be a miserable man.

FAINALL

M R S . MARWOOD

Aye!

For having only that one hope, the accomplishment of it of consequence must put an end to all my hopes; and what a wretch is he who must survive his hopes! Nothing remains when that day comes but to sit down and weep like Alexander, when he wanted other worlds to conquer. MRS. MARWOOD Will you not follow 'em? FAINALL Faith, I think not. M R S . MARWOOD Pray let us; I have a reason. FAINALL Y O U are not jealous? M R S . MARWOOD Of whom? FAINALL Of Mirabell. MRS. MARWOOD If I am, is it inconsistent with my love to you that I am tender of your honor? FAINALL Y O U would intimate then, as if there were a fellow-feeling between my wife and him. MRS. MARWOOD I think she does not hate him to that degree she would be thought. FAINALL But he, I fear, is too insensible. 7 MRS. MARWOOD It may be you are deceived. FAINALL It may be so. I do now begin to apprehend it. MRS. MARWOOD What? FAINALL That I have been deceived, Madam, and you are false. MRS. MARWOOD That I am false! What mean you? FAINALL T O let you know I see through all your little arts.—Come, you both love him; and both have equally dissembled your aversion. Your mutual jealousies of one another have made you clash till you have both struck fire. I have seen the warm confession reddening on your cheeks, and sparkling from your eyes. M R S . MARWOOD Y O U do me wrong. FAINALL I do not.—'Twas for my ease to oversee 8 and willfully neglect the gross advances made him by my wife; that by permitting her to be engaged I might continue unsuspected in my pleasures; and take you oftener to my arms in full security. But could you think, because the nodding husband would not wake, that e'er the watchful lover slept? MRS. MARWOOD And wherewithal can you reproach me? FAINALL With infidelity, with loving another, with love of Mirabell. M R S . MARWOOD 'Tis false. I challenge you to show an instance that can confirm your groundless accusation. I hate him. FAINALL And wherefore do you hate him? He is insensible, and your resentment follows his neglect. An instance! The injuries you have done him are a proof: your interposing in his love. What cause had you to make discoveries of his pretended passion? To undeceive the credulous aunt, and be the officious obstacle of his match with Millamant? M R S . MARWOOD My obligations to my lady 9 urged me. I had professed a FAINALL

/. Indifferent. 8. Overlook.

9. Lady Wishfort.

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2242

WILLIAM CONGREVE

friendship to her, and could not see her easy nature so abused by that dissembler. FAINALL What, was it conscience then? Professed a friendship! O the pious friendships of the female sex! MRS. MARWOOD More tender, more sincere, and more enduring than all the vain and empty vows of men, whether professing love to us, or mutual faith to one another. FAINALL Ha, ha, ha; you are my wife's friend too. M R S . MARWOOD S h a m e and ingratitude! Do you reproach me? You, you upbraid me! Have I been false to her, through strict fidelity to you, and sacrificed my friendship to keep my love inviolate? And have you the baseness to charge me with the guilt, unmindful of the merit! To you it should be meritorious that I have been vicious: and do you reflect that guilt upon me, which should lie buried in your bosom? FAINALL You misinterpret my reproof. I meant but to remind you of the slight account you once could make of strictest ties, when set in competition with your love to me. M R S . MARWOOD 'Tis false, you urged it with deliberate malice.—'Twas spoke in scorn, and I never will forgive it. FAINALL Your guilt, not your resentment, begets your rage. If yet you loved, you could forgive a jealousy, but you are stung to find you are discovered. M R S . MARWOOD It shall be all discovered. You too shall be discovered; be sure you shall. I can but be exposed.—If I do it myself, I shall prevent 1 your baseness. FAINALL Why, what will you do? M R S . MARWOOD Disclose it to your wife; own what has passed between us. FAINALL Frenzy! MRS. MARWOOD By all my wrongs I'll do't—I'll publish to the world the injuries you have done me, both in my fame and fortune: with both I trusted you, you bankrupt in honor, as indigent of wealth. FAINALL Your f a m e 2 1 have preserved. Your fortune has been bestowed as the prodigality of your love would have it, in pleasures which we both have shared. Yet, had not you been false, I had e'er this repaid it.—'Tis true— had you permitted Mirabell with Millamant to have stolen their marriage, my lady had been incensed beyond all means of reconcilement: Millamant had forfeited the moiety' of her fortune, which then would have descended to my wife—and wherefore did I marry, but to make lawful prize of a rich widow's wealth, and squander it on love and you? MRS. MARWOOD Deceit and frivolous pretense. FAINALL Death, am I not married? What's pretense? Am I not imprisoned, fettered? Have I not a wife? Nay, a wife that was a widow, a young widow, a handsome widow; and would be again a widow, but that I have a heart of proof, 4 and something of a constitution to bustle through the ways of wedlock and this world. Will you yet be reconciled to truth and me? M R S . MARWOOD Impossible. Truth and you are inconsistent—I hate you, and shall forever. FAINALL For loving you? MRS. MARWOOD I loathe the name of love after such usage; and next to the guilt with which you would asperse me, I scorn you most. Farewell. 1. Anticipate. 2. Good name.

3. Half. 4. I.e., a proved or tempered heart.

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2243

Nay, we must not part thus.

M R S . MARWOOD

Let me go.

Come, I'm sorry. MRS. MARWOOD I care not.—Let me go.—Break my hands, do—I'd leave 'em to get loose. FAINALL I would not hurt you for the world. Have I no other hold to keep you here? MRS. MARWOOD Well, I have deserved it all. FAINALL Y O U know I love you. MRS. MARWOOD Poor dissembling!—O that—Well, it is not yet— FAINALL What? What is it not? What is it not yet? It is not yet too late— MRS. MARWOOD No, it is not yet too late—I have that comfort. FAINALL It is, to love another. MRS. MARWOOD But not to loathe, detest, abhor mankind, myself, and the whole treacherous world. FAINALL Nay, this is extravagance.—Come, I ask your pardon.—No tears.—I was to blame. I could not love you and be easy in my doubts.—Pray forbear.—I believe you; I'm convinced I've done you wrong; and any way, every way will make amends.—I'll hate my wife yet more, damn her, I'll part with her, rob her of all she's worth, and we'll retire somewhere, anywhere, to another world. I'll marry thee.—Be pacified.—'Sdeath, they come, hide your face, your tears.—You have a mask,' wear it a moment.This way, this way, be persuaded. [Exeunt F A I N A L L and M R S . M A R W O O D . ] [Enter M I R A B E L L and M R S . F A I N A L L . ] MRS. FAINALL They are here yet. MIRABELL They are turning into the other walk. MRS. FAINALL While I only hated my husband, I could bear to see him, but since I have despised him, he's too offensive. MIRABELL O, you should hate with prudence. MRS. FAINALL Yes, for I have loved with indiscretion. MIRABELL Y O U should have just so much disgust for your husband as may be sufficient to make you relish your lover. MRS. FAINALL You have been the cause that I have loved without bounds, and would you set limits to that aversion, of which you have been the occasion? Why did you make me marry this man? MIRABELL Why do we daily commit disagreeable and dangerous actions? To save that idol, reputation. If the familiarities of our loves had produced that consequence, of which you were apprehensive, where could you have fixed a father's name with credit, but on a husband? I knew Fainall to be a man lavish of his morals, an interested and professing friend, a false and a designing lover; yet one whose wit and outward fair behavior have gained a reputation with the town, enough to make that woman stand excused who has suffered herself to be won by his addresses. A better man ought not to have been sacrificed to the occasion; a worse had not answered to the purpose. When you are weary of him, you know your remedy. MRS. FAINALL I ought to stand in some degree of credit with you, Mirabell. MIRABELL In justice to you, I have made you privy to my whole design, and put it in your power to ruin or advance my fortune. M R S . FAINALL Whom have you instructed to represent your pretended uncle? FAINALL

5. Often worn in public places by fashionable women of the time to preserve their complexions; they were also useful to disguise a woman and so to protect her reputation when she was carrying on an illicit affair.

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2244

MIRABELL

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

Waitwell, my servant.

He is an humble servant to Foible, 6 my mother's woman, and may win her to your interest. MIRABELL Care is taken for that.—She is won and worn by this time. They were married this morning. MRS. FAINALL Who? MIRABELL Waitwell and Foible. I would not tempt my servant to betray me by trusting him too far. If your mother, in hopes to ruin me, should consent to marry my pretended uncle, he might, like Mosca in The Fox, stand upon terms; 7 so I made him sure beforehand. MRS. FAINALL So, if my poor mother is caught in a contract, you will discover the imposture betimes; and release her by producing a certificate of her gallant's former marriage. MIRABELL Yes, upon condition that she consent to my marriage with her niece, and surrender the moiety of her fortune in her possession. MRS. FAINALL She talked last night of endeavoring at a match between Millamant and your uncle. MIRABELL That was by Foible's direction, and my instruction, that she might seem to carry it more privately. MRS. FAINALL Well, I have an opinion of your success, for I believe my lady will do anything to get an husband; and when she has this, which you have provided for her, I suppose she will submit to anything to get rid of him. MIRABELL Yes, I think the good lady would marry anything that resembled a man, though 'twere no more than what a butler could pinch out of a napldn. MRS. FAINALL Female frailty! We must all come to it, if we live to be old, and feel the craving of a false appetite when the true is decayed. MIRABELL An old woman's appetite is depraved like that of a girl—'tis the greensickness 8 of a second childhood; and like the faint offer of a latter spring, serves but to usher in the fall and withers in an affected bloom. MRS. FAINALL Here's your mistress. [Enter M R S . M I L L A M A N T , W I T W O U D , and M I N C I N G . ] MIRABELL Here she comes, i'faith, full sail, with her fan spread and streamers out, and a shoal of fools for tenders.—Ha, no, I cry her mercy. MRS. FAINALL I see but one poor empty sculler, and he tows her woman after him. MIRABELL You seem to be unattended, madam.—You used to have the heau monde throng after you; and a flock of gay fine perukes 9 hovering round you. WITWOUD Like moths about a candle—I had like to have lost my comparison for want of breath. MILLAMANT O, I have denied myself airs today. I have walked as fast through the crowd— WITWOUD As a favorite just disgraced; and with as few followers. MILLAMANT Dear Mr. Witwoud, truce with your similitudes: For I am as sick of 'em— WITWOUD As a physician of a good air—I cannot help it, madam, though 'tis against myself. MRS. FAINALL

6. I.e., he is Foible's lover. 7. To insist on conditions; here, to blackmail. "Mosca": the scheming parasite in Ben Jonson's Volpone, who in the end tries to blackmail Volpone.

8. T h e anemia that sometimes affects girls at puberty. 9. Periwigs, worn by fashionable men (cf. Pope's Rape of the Lock 1.101). "Beau monde": fashionable world (French).

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Yet again! Mincing, stand between me and his wit. Do, Mrs. Mincing, like a screen before a great fire. I confess I do blaze today, I am too bright. MRS. FAINALL But dear Millamant, why were you so long? MILLAMANT Long! Lord, have 1 not made violent haste? I have asked every living thing I met for you; I have inquired after you, as after a new fashion. WITWOUD M a d a m , truce with your similitudes.—No, you met her husband, and did not ask him for her. MIRABELL By your leave, Witwoud, that were like inquiring after an old fashion, to ask a husband for his wife. WITWOUD Hum, a hit, a hit, a palpable hit, 1 I confess it. MRS. FAINALL You were dressed before I came abroad. MILLAMANT Aye, that's true.—O, but then I had—Mincing, what had I? Why was I so long? MINCING O mem, your la'ship stayed to peruse a packet of letters. MILLAMANT O, aye, letters—I had letters—I am persecuted with letters—I hate letters.—Nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why.—They serve one to pin up one's hair. WITWOUD Is that the way? Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies. MILLAMANT Only with those in verse, Mr. Witwoud. I never pin up my hair with prose. I think I tried once, Mincing. MINCING O mem, I shall never forget it. MILLAMANT Aye, poor Mincing tiffed 2 and tiffed all the morning. MINCING Till I had the cramp in my fingers, I'll vow, inem. And all to no purpose. But when your la'ship pins it up with poetry, it sits so pleasant the next day as anything, and is so pure and so crips. 3 WITWOUD Indeed, so crips? MINCING You're such a critic, Mr. Witwoud. MILLAMANT Mirabell, did not you take exceptions last night? O, aye, and went away.—Now I think on't I'm angry.—No, now I think on't I'm pleased—for I believe I gave you some pain. MIRABELL Does that please you? MILLAMANT Infinitely; I love to give pain. MIRABELL You would affect a cruelty which is not in your nature; your true vanity is in the power of pleasing. MILLAMANT O, I ask your pardon for that—one's cruelty is one's power, and when one parts with one's cruelty, one parts with one's power; and when one has parted with that, I fancy one's old and ugly. MIRABELL Aye, aye, suffer your cruelty to ruin the object of your power, to destroy your lover.—And then how vain, how lost a thing you'll be! Nay, 'tis true: you are no longer handsome when you've lost your lover; your beauty dies upon the instant: for beauty is the lover's gift; 'tis he bestows your charms—your glass is all a cheat. The ugly and the old, whom the looking glass mortifies, yet after commendation can be flattered by it, and discover beauties in it: for that reflects our praises, rather than your face. MILLAMANT O, the vanity of these men! Fainall, d'ye hear him? If they did not commend us, we were not handsome! Now you must know they could not commend one, if one was not handsome. Beauty the lover's gift?—Lord, MILLAMANT

WITWOUD

1. An allusion to the dueling scene in Hamlet 5.2. 2. Dressed the hair.

3. A dialectal form of "crisp," curly.

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WILLIAM CONGREVE

what is a lover, that it can give? Why, one makes lovers as fast as one pleases, and they live as long as one pleases, and they die as soon as one pleases: and then if one pleases one makes more. WITWOUD Very pretty. Why, you make no more of making of lovers, madam, than of making so many card-matches. 4 MILLAMANT One no more owes one's beauty to a lover than one's wit to an echo.—They can but reflect what we look and say; vain empty things if we are silent or unseen, and want a being. MIRABELL Yet, to those two vain empty things, you owe two of the greatest pleasures of your life. MILLAMANT

H o w SO?

your lover you owe the pleasure of hearing yourselves praised; and to an echo the pleasure of hearing yourselves talk. WITWOUD But I know a lady that loves talking so incessantly she won't give an echo fair play; she has that everlasting rotation of tongue, that an echo must wait till she dies before it can catch her last words. MILLAMANT O, fiction; Fainall, let us leave these men. M I R A B E L L [Aside to M R S . F A I N A L L . ] Draw off Witwoud. MRS. FAINALL Immediately; I have a word or two for Mr. Witwoud. [Exeunt W I T W O U D and M R S . F A I N A L L . ] MIRABELL I would beg a little private audience too.—You had the tyranny to deny me last night, though you knew I came to impart a secret to you that concerned my love. MILLAMANT You saw I was engaged. MIRABELL Unkind. You had the leisure to entertain a herd of fools, things who visit you from their excessive idleness, bestowing on your easiness that time, which is the encumbrance of their lives. How can you find delight in such society? It is impossible they should admire you, they are not capable: or if they were, it should be to you as a mortification; for sure to please a fool is some degree of folly. MILLAMANT I please myself—besides, sometimes to converse with fools is for my health. MIRABELL Your health! Is there a worse disease than the conversation of fools? MILLAMANT Yes, the vapors; fools are physic for it, next to asafetida. 5 MIRABELL Y O U are not in a course 6 of fools? MILLAMANT Mirabell, if you persist in this offensive freedom, you'll displease me. I think I must resolve after all not to have you.—We shan't agree. MIRABELL Not in our physic, it may be. MILLAMANT And yet our distemper in all likelihood will be the same, for we shall be sick of one another. I shan't endure to be reprimanded nor instructed; 'tis so dull to act always by advice, and so tedious to be told of one's faults.—I can't bear it. Well, I won't have you, Mirabell—I'm resolved—I think—you may go—ha, ha, ha. What would you give that you could help loving me? MIRABELL I would give something that you did not know I could not help it. MILLAMANT Come, don't look grave then. Well, what do you say to me? MIRABELL

4. Matches made by dipping pieces of card in melted sulfur. 5. An evil-smelling resin used for medicinal pur-

poses. 6. Plan of medical treatment.

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I say that a man may as soon make a friend by his wit, or a fortune by his honesty, as win a woman with plain-dealing and sincerity. MILLAMANT Sententious Mirabell! prithee don't look with that violent and inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child in an old tapestry hanging. 7 MIRABELL Y O U are merry, madam, but I would persuade you for a moment to be serious. MILLAMANT What, with that face? No, if you keep your countenance, 'tis impossible I should hold mine. Well, after all, there is something very moving in a lovesick face. Ha, ha, ha.—Well I won't laugh, don't be peevish— heigho! Now I'll be melancholy, as melancholy as a watchlight. 8 Well, Mirabell, if ever you will win me, woo me now. Nay, if you are so tedious, fare you well; I see they are walking away. MIRABELL Can you not find in the variety of your disposition one moment— MILLAMANT To hear you tell me Foible's married and your plot like to speed.—No. MIRABELL But how you came to know it— MILLAMANT Without the help of the devil, you can't imagine; unless she should tell me herself. Which of the two it may have been, I will leave you to consider; and when you have done thinking of that, think of me. [Exeunt M I L L A M A N T and M I N C I N G . ] MIRABELL I have something more.—Gone!—Think of you! To think of a whirlwind, though 'twere in a whirlwind, were a case of more steady contemplation, a very tranquility of mind and mansion. A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man that is lodged in a woman. There is no point of the compass to which they cannot turn, and by which they are not turned; and by one as well as another, for motion, not method, is their occupation. To know this, and yet continue to be in love, is to be made wise from the dictates of reason, and yet persevere to play the fool by the force of instinct. O, here come my pair of turtles 9 — what, billing so sweetly! Is not Valentine's Day over with you yet? [Enter W A I T W E L L and F O I B L E . ] MIRABELL Sirrah' Waitwell, why sure you think you were married for your own recreation and not for my conveniency. WAITWELL Your pardon, sir. With submission, we have indeed been solacing in lawful delights, but still with an eye to business, sir. I have instructed her as well as I could. If she can take your directions as readily as my instructions, sir, your affairs are in a prosperous way. MIRABELL Give you joy, Mrs. Foible. FOIBLE O-las, sir, I'm so ashamed—I'm afraid my lady has been in a thousand inquietudes for me. But I protest, sir, I made as much haste as I could. WAITWELL That she did indeed, sir. It was my fault that she did not make more. MIRABELL That I believe. FOIBLE But I told my lady as you instructed me, sir. That I had a prospect of seeing Sir Rowland your uncle, and that I would put her ladyship's picture in my pocket to show him; which I'll be sure to say has made him so enam-

MIRABELL

7. The Judgment of Solomon (1 Kings 3.16—27) was a favorite subject in painting and tapestrv. 8. Nightlight. 9. I.e., Turtledoves, remarkable for their affection-

ate billing and cooing. Birds were popularly supposed to choose their mates on St. Valentine's Day. 1. Form of address to an inferior.

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2248

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

ored of her beauty that he burns with impatience to lie at her ladyship's feet and worship the original. MIRABELL Excellent, Foible! Matrimony has made you eloquent in love. WAITWELL I think she has profited, sir. I think so. FOIBLE You have seen Madam Millamant, sir? MIRABELL

Yes.

I told her, sir, because I did not know that you might find an opportunity; she had so much company last night. MIRABELL Your diligence will merit more—in the meantime— [Gives money.] FOIBLE O dear sir, your humble servant. WAITWELL Spouse. MIRABELL Stand off, sir, not a penny. Go on and prosper, Foible. The lease shall be made good and the farm stocked if we succeed. 2 FOIBLE I don't question your generosity, sir. And you need not doubt of success. If you have no more commands, sir, I'll be gone; I'm sure my lady is at her toilet, 3 and can't dress till I come. O dear, I'm sure that [Looking out.] was Mrs. Marwood that went by in a mask; if she has seen me with you I'm sure she'll tell my lady. I'll make haste home and prevent her. Your servant, sir. B'w'y, 4 Waitwell. [Exit F O I B L E . ] WAITWELL Sir Rowland, if you please. The jade's so pert upon her preferment she forgets herself. MIRABELL Come, sir, will you endeavor to forget yourself—and transform into Sir Rowland. WAITWELL Why, sir, it will be impossible I should remember myself—married, knighted, and attended' all in one day! 'Tis enough to make any man forget himself. The difficulty will be how to recover my acquaintance and familiarity with my former self; and fall from my transformation to a reformation into Waitwell. Nay, I shan't be quite the same Waitwell neither— for now I remember me, I'm married and can't be my own man again. FOIBLE

Aye, there's my grief; that's the sad change of life; To lose my title, and yet keep my wife.

Act 3 — A room in

LADY W I S H F O R T S

house.

LADY W I S H F O R I at her toilet, P E G waiting. Merciful, no news of Foible yet? PEG No, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T I have no more patience. If I have not fretted myself till I am pale again, there's no veracity in me. Fetch me the red—the red, do you hear, sweetheart? An errant ash color, as I'm a person. Look you how this wench stirs! Why dost thou not fetch me a little red? Didst thou not hear me, mopus? 6 PEG The red ratafia does your ladyship mean, or the cherry brandy? LADY W I S H F O R T Ratafia, fool. No, fool. Not the ratafia, fool. Grant me patience! I mean the Spanish paper, 7 idiot—complexion, darling. Paint, LADY W I S H F O R T

2. Mirabell has promised to lease a farm for the couple for helping him. 3. Vanity, makeup table. 4. A shortened form of "God be with you" (our word good-bre). "Prevent her": arrive before she

does. 5. By servants. 6. Dull, stupid person. 7. Rouge,

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2249

paint, paint, dost thou understand that, changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins before thee? Why dost thou not stir, puppet? Thou wooden thing upon wires. PEG Lord, madam, your ladyship is so impatient.—I cannot come at the paint, madam. Mrs. Foible has locked it up and carried the key with her. LADY W I S H F O R T A pox take you both!—Fetch me the cherry brandy then. [Exit PEG.] I'm as pale and as faint, I look like Mrs. Qualmsick, the curate's wife, that's always breeding. Wench, come, come, wench, what art thou doing? Sipping? Tasting? Save thee, dost thou not know the bottle? [Re-enter PEG with a bottle and china cup.] PEG Madam, I was looking for a cup. LADY W I S H F O R T A cup, save thee, and what a cup hast thou brought! Dost thou take me for a fairy, to drink out of an acorn? Why didst thou not bring thy thimble? Hast thou ne'er a brass thimble clinking in thy pocket with a bit of nutmeg? I warrant thee. Come, fill, fill.—So—again. See who that is.—[A knock is heard.]—Set down the bottle first. Here, here, under the table.—What, wouldst thou go with the bottle in thy hand like a tapster? 8 As I'm a person, this wench has lived in an inn upon the road before she came to me, like Maritornes the Asturian 9 in Don Quixote. No Foible yet? PEG NO, madam, Mrs. Marwood. LADY W I S H F O R T O Marwood, let her come in. Come in, good Marwood. [Enter M R S . M A R W O O D . ] MRS. MARWOOD I'm surprised to find your ladyship in deshabille' at this time of day. LADY W I S H F O R T Foible's a lost thing; has been abroad since morning, and never heard of since. M R S . MARWOOD I saw her but now, as I came masked through the park, in conference with Mirabell. LADY W I S H F O R T With Mirabell! you call my blood into my face, with mentioning that traitor. She durst not have the confidence. I sent her to negotiate an affair, in which if I'm detected I'm undone. If that wheedling villain has wrought upon Foible to detect me, I'm ruined. O my dear friend, I'm a wretch of wretches if I'm detected. M R S . MARWOOD O madam, you cannot suspect Mrs. Foible's integrity. LADY W I S H F O R T O, he carries poison in his tongue that would corrupt integrity itself. If she has given him an opportunity, she has as good as put her integrity into his hands. Ah dear Marwood, what's integrity to an opportunity? Hark! I hear her—dear friend, retire into my closet, 2 that I may examine her with more freedom. You'll pardon me, dear friend, I can make bold with you. There are books over the chimney—Quarles and Prynne, and the Short View of the Stage, 3 with Bunyan's works to entertain you. [Exit MRS. M A R W O O D ; to P E G . ] G O , you thing, and send her in. [Exit P E G . ] [Enter F O I B L E . ] LADY W I S H F O R T O Foible, where hast thou been? What hast thou been doing? 8. Bartender. 9. The servant at the inn where Don Quixote and Sancho Panza are taken care of. 1. In her negligee (French). 2. Private room. 3. By Collier; see n. 7, p. 2229. Francis Quarles (1592—1644), a religious poet, by 1700 regarded with contempt, but formerly greatly admired, espe-

cially among the Puritans. William Prynne (1600— 1669), Puritan pamphleteer, author of Histriomastix (1632), a violent attack on the stage. Congreve, who had been the object of much of Collier's vituperation, slyly identifies his enemy with Puritans and Nonconformists, whom Collier, an ardent high churchman, despised.

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iMadam, I have seen the party. But what hast thou done? FOIBLE Nay, 'tis your ladyship has done, and are to do; I have only promised. But a man so enamored—so transported! Well, if worshiping of pictures be a sin—poor Sir Rowland, I say. LADY W I S H F O R T The miniature has been counted like 4 —but hast thou not betrayed me, Foible? Hast thou not detected me to that faithless Mirabell?— What hadst thou to do with him in the park? Answer me, has he got nothing out of thee? F O I B L E [Aside.] So, the devil has been beforehand with me. What shall I say?—Alas, madam, could I help it if I met that confident thing? Was I in fault? If you had heard how he used me, and all upon your ladyship's account, I'm sure you would not suspect my fidelity. Nay, if that had been the worst I could have borne; but he had a fling at your ladyship too; and then I could not hold; but i' faith I gave him his own. LADY W I S H F O R T Me? What did the filthy fellow say? FOIBLE O madam; 'tis a shame to say what he said—with his taunts and his fleers, tossing up his nose. H u m h (says he) what, you are a-hatching some plot (says he) you are so early abroad, or catering (says he), ferreting for some disbanded 5 officer, I warrant—half pay is but thin subsistence (says he).—Well, what pension does your lady propose? Let me see (says he) what, she must come down pretty deep now, she's superannuated (says he) and— LADY W I S H F O R T Ods my life, I'll have him—I'll have him murdered. I'll have him poisoned. Where does he eat? I'll marry a drawer 6 to have him poisoned in his wine. I'll send for Robin from Locket's 7 —immediately. FOIBLE Poison him? Poisoning's too good for him. Starve him, madam, starve him; marry Sir Rowland, and get him disinherited. O, you would bless yourself, to hear what he said. LADY W I S H F O R T A villain!—superannuated! FOIBLE Humh (says he) I hear you are laying designs against me too (says he) and Mrs. Millamant is to marry my uncle; (he does not suspect a word of your ladyship) but (says he) I'll fit you for that, I warrant you (says he) I'll hamper you for that (says he) you and your old frippery 8 too (says he). I'll handle you— LADY W I S H F O R T Audacious villain! handle me, would he durst—frippery? old frippery! Was there ever such a foul-mouthed fellow? I'll be married tomorrow, I'll be contracted tonight. FOIBLE The sooner the better, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T Will Sir Rowland be here, say'st thou? When, Foible? FOIBLE Incontinently, madam. No new sheriff's wife expects the return of her husband after knighthood, with that impatience in which Sir Rowland burns for the dear hour of kissing your ladyship's hand after dinner. LADY W I S H F O R T Frippery! Superannuated frippery! I'll frippery the villain, I'll reduce him to frippery and rags. A tatterdemalion—I hope to see him hung with tatters, like a Long Lane penthouse, 9 or a gibbet-thief. A slanderFOIBLE

LADY W I S H F O R T

4. Considered a good likeness. 5. When a regiment was "disbanded," its officers went on half pay, often for life. "Fleers": jeers. "Catering": procuring (i.e., pimping for Ladv Wishfort). 6. One who draws wine from casks and serves it.

7. A fashionable tavern near Charing Cross. 8. Old, cast-off clothes; an insulting metaphor to apply to Lady Wishfort. 9. A shed, supported by the wall toward which it is inclined. "Tatterdemalion": ragamuffin. Long Lane was a street where old clothes were sold.

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mouthed railer—I warrant the spendthrift prodigal's in debt as much as the million lottery, or the whole court upon a birthday. I'll spoil his credit with his tailor. Yes, he shall have my niece with her fortune, he shall. FOIBLE He! I hope to see him lodge in Ludgate first, and angle into Blackfriars for brass farthings with an old mitten. 1 LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, dear Foible; thank thee for that, dear Foible. H e has put me out of all patience. I shall never recompose my features to receive Sir Rowland with any economy of face. This wretch has fretted me that I am absolutely decayed. Look, Foible. FOIBLE Your ladyship has frowned a little too rashly, indeed, madam. There are some cracks discernible in the white varnish. LADY W I S H F O R T Let me see the glass.—Cracks, say'st thou? Why I am arrantly flayed—I look like an old peeled wall. Thou must repair me, Foible, before Sir Rowland comes, or I shall never keep up to my picture. FOIBLE I warrant you, madam; a little art once made your picture like you and now a little of the same art must make you like your picture. Your picture must sit for you, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T But art thou sure Sir Rowland will not fail to come? Or will a' not fail 2 when he does come? Will he be importunate, Foible, and push? For if he should not be importunate—I shall never break decorums.—I shall die with confusion, if I am forced to advance.—Oh, no, I can never advance.—I shall swoon if he should expect advances. No, I hope Sir Rowland is better bred than to put a lady to the necessity of breaking her forms. I won't be too coy neither—I won't give him despair—but a little disdain is not amiss; a little scorn is alluring. FOIBLE A little scorn becomes your ladyship. LADY W I S H F O R T Yes, but tenderness becomes me best.—A sort of dyingness— You see that picture has a sort of a — H a , Foible? A swimmingness in the eyes—Yes, I'll look so—my niece affects it; but she wants features. 3 Is Sir Rowland handsome? Let my toilet be removed—I'll dress above. I'll receive Sir Rowland here. Is he handsome? Don't answer me. I won't know: I'll be surprised. I'll be taken by surprise. FOIBLE By storm, madam. Sir Rowland's a brisk man. LADY W I S H F O R T I S he! O, then he'll importune, if he's a brisk man, I shall save decorums if Sir Rowland importunes. I have a mortal terror at the apprehension of offending against decorums. O, I'm glad he's a brisk man. Let my things be removed, good Foible. [Exit LADY W I S H F O R T . ] [Enter M R S . F A I N A L L . ] 4 MRS. FAINALL O Foible, I have been in a fright, lest I should come too late. That devil iMarwood saw you in the park with Mirabell, and I'm afraid will discover it to my lady. FOIBLE Discover what, madam? MRS. FAINALL Nay, nay, put not on that strange face. I am privy to the whole design and know Waitwell, to whom thou wert this morning married, is to personate 5 Mirabell's uncle, and as such, winning my lady, to involve her in those difficulties from which Mirabell only must release her, by his mak1. Prisoners begged by letting down a mitten on a string; passers-by dropped coins into it. Ludgate was a debtor's prison, adjoining the district of Blackfriars in London. 2. I.e., will he not fail?

3. Lacks the looks for it. 4. The subsequent conversation is sometimes staged to show Mrs. Marwood overhearing it. 5. I.e., impersonate.

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ing his conditions to have my cousin and her fortune left to her own disposal. O dear madam, I beg your pardon. It was not my confidence in your ladyship that was deficient, but I thought the former good correspondence between your ladyship and Mr. Mirabell might have hindered his communicating this secret. MRS. FAINALL Dear Foible, forget that. FOIBLE O dear madam, Mr. Mirabell is such a sweet winning gentleman— but your ladyship is the pattern of generosity. Sweet lady, to be so good! Mr. Mirabell cannot choose but to be grateful. I find your ladyship has his heart still. Now, madam, I can safely tell your ladyship our success. Mrs. Marwood had told my lady; but I warrant I managed myself. I turned it all for the better. I told my lady that Mr. Mirabell railed at her. I laid horrid things to his charge, I'll vow; and my lady is so incensed that she'll be contracted to Sir Rowland tonight, she says—I warrant I worked her up, that he may have her for asking for, as they say of a Welsh maidenhead. M R S . FAINALL O rare Foible! FOIBLE Madam, I beg your ladyship to acquaint Mr. Mirabell of his success. I would be seen as little as possible to speak to him—besides, I believe M a d a m Marwood watches me. S h e has a month's mind; 6 but I know Mr. Mirabell can't abide her. [Calls.] John, remove my lady's toilet. Madam, your servant. My lady is so impatient, I fear she'll come for me if I stay. MRS. FAINALL I'll go with you up the back stairs, lest I should meet her. [Exeunt M R S . F A I N A L L , F O I B L E . ] [Enter M R S . M A R W O O D . ] MRS. MARWOOD Indeed, Mrs. Engine, 7 is it thus with you? Are you become a go-between of this importance? Yes, I shall watch you. Why, this wench is the passe-partout, a very master key to everybody's strongbox. My friend Fainall, 8 have you carried it so swimmingly? I thought there was something in it; but it seems it's over with you. Your loathing is not from a want of appetite, then, but from a surfeit. Else you could never be so cool to fall from a principal to be an assistant; to procure for him! A pattern of generosity, that I confess. Well, Mr. Fainall, you have met with your match. O, man, man! Woman, woman! The devil's an ass: If I were a painter, I would draw him like an idiot, a driveler with a bib and bells. Man should have his head and horns, and woman the rest of him. Poor simple fiend! Madam Marwood has a month's mind, but he can't abide her.—'Twere better for him you had not been his confessor in that affair without you could have kept his counsel closer. I shall not prove another pattern of generosity.— He has not obliged me to that with those excesses of himself; and now I'll have none of him. Here comes the good lady, panting ripe, with a heart full of hope and a head full of care, like any chemist upon the day of projection. 9 [Enter LADY W I S H F O R T . ] LADY W I S H F O R T O dear Marwood, what shall I say for this rude forgetfulness—but my dear friend is all goodness. M R S . MARWOOD N O apologies, dear madam. I have been very well entertained. LADY W I S H F O R T A S I'm a person I am in a very chaos to think I should so forget myself—but I have such an olio 1 of affairs really I know not what to FOIBLE

6. Ail inclination (toward Mirabell). 7. A person who serves as an instrument or tool of others in an intrigue. 8. Mrs. Fainall.

9. An alchemical term denoting the final step in the transmutation of baser metals into gold. I. Hodgepodge.

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do— [Calls.] Foible—I expect my nephew Sir Wilfull every moment too.— Why, Foible!—He means to travel for improvement. MRS. MARWOOD Methinks Sir Wilfull should rather think of marrying than traveling at his years. I hear he is turned of forty. LADY W I S H F O R T O, he's in less danger of being spoiled by his travels.—I am against my nephew's marrying too young. It will be time enough when he comes back and has acquired discretion to choose for himself. MRS. MARWOOD Methinks Mrs. Millamant and he would make a very fit match. He may travel afterwards. 'Tis a thing very usual with young gentlemen. LADY W I S H F O R T I promise you I have thought on't—and since 'tis your judgment, I'll think on't again. I assure you I will; I value your judgment extremely. On my word I'll propose it. [Enter F O I B L E . ] LADY W I S H F O R T C o m e , come Foible—I had forgot my nephew will be here before dinner.—I must make haste. FOIBLE Mr. Witwoud and Mr. Petulant are come to dine with your ladyship. LADY W I S H F O R T O dear, I can't appear till I am dressed. Dear Marwood, shall I be free with you again and beg you to entertain 'em? I'll make all imaginable haste. Dear friend, excuse me. [Exeunt LADY W I S H F O R T and F O I B L E . ] [Enter M R S . M I L L A M A N T and M I N C I N G . ] MILLAMANT Sure never anything was so unbred as that odious man.—Marwood, your servant. M R S . MARWOOD You have a color. What's the matter? MILLAMANT That horrid fellow Petulant has provoked me into a flame—I have broke my fan.—Mincing, lend me yours; is not all the powder out of my hair? MRS. MARWOOD NO. What has he done? MILLAMANT Nay, he has done nothing; he has only talked.—Nay, he has said nothing neither; but he has contradicted everything that has been said. For my part, I thought Witwoud and he would have quarreled. MINCING I vow, mem, I thought once they would have fit. 2 MILLAMANT Well, 'tis a lamentable thing, I swear, that one has not the liberty of choosing one's acquaintance as one does one's clothes. M R S . MARWOOD If we had that liberty, we should be as weary of one set of acquaintance, though never so good, as we are of one suit, though never so fine. A fool and a doily stuff 3 would now and then find days of grace, and be worn for variety. MILLAMANT I could consent to wear 'em, if they would wear alike; but fools never wear out—they are such drap-de-Berry 4 things! Without one could give 'em to one's chambermaid after a day or two. M R S . MARWOOD 'Twere better so indeed. Or what think you of the play house? 5 A fine gay glossy fool should be given there, like a new masking habit after the masquerade is over, and we have done with the disguise. For a fool's visit is always a disguise, and never admitted by a woman of wit, but to blind her affair with a lover of sense. If you would but appear barefaced 2. Fought. Millamant turns Mincing's word to refer to clothing in her next remark. 3. A woolen cloth. 4. Coarse woolen cloth, made in the Berry district

of France. 5. Fine gentlemen and ladies sometimes donated their old clothes to the playhouses.

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now and own Mirabell, you might as easily put off Petulant and Witwoud as your hood and scarf. And indeed 'tis time, for the town has found it: the secret is grown too big for the pretense: 'tis like Mrs. Primly's great belly; she may lace it down before, but it burnishes 6 on her hips. Indeed, Millamant, you can no more conceal it than my Lady Strammel can her face, that goodly face, which in defiance of her Rhenish-wine tea will not be comprehended in a mask. 7 MILLAMANT I'll take my death, Marwood, you are more censorious than a decayed beauty, or a discarded toast. 8 Mincing, tell the men they may come up. My aunt is not dressing here; their folly is less provoking than your malice. [Exit MINCING.] "The town has found it." What has it found? That Mirabell loves me is no more a secret than it is a secret that you discovered it to my aunt, or than the reason why you discovered it is a secret. MRS. MARWOOD You are nettled. MILLAMANT You're mistaken. Ridiculous! MRS. MARWOOD Indeed, my dear, you'll tear another fan if you don't mitigate those violent airs. MILLAMANT O silly! Ha, ha, ha. I could laugh immoderately. Poor Mirabell! His constancy to me has quite destroyed his complaisance for all the world beside. I swear, I never enjoined it him, to be so coy.—If I had the vanity to think he would obey me, I would command him to show more gallantry.— 'Tis hardly well bred to be so particular on one hand and so insensible on the other. But I despair to prevail, and so let him follow his own way. Ha, ha, ha. Pardon me, dear creature, I must laugh, ha, ha, ha; though I grant you 'tis a little barbarous, ha, ha, ha. MRS. MARWOOD What pity 'tis, so much fine raillery, and delivered with so significant gesture, should be so unhappily directed to miscarry. MILLAMANT Ha? Dear creature, I ask your pardon—I swear I did not mind you. M R S . MARWOOD Mr. Mirabell and you both may think it a thing impossible, when I shall tell him by telling you— MILLAMANT O dear, what? For it is the same thing, if I hear it—Ha, ha, ha. MRS. MARWOOD That I detest him, hate him, madam. MILLAMANT O madam, why so do I—and yet the creature loves me, ha, ha, ha. How can one forbear laughing to think of it?—I am a sibyl 9 if I am not amazed to think what he can see in me. I'll take my death, I think you are handsomer—and within a year or two as young. If you could but stay for me, I should overtake you.—But that cannot be.—Well, that thought makes me melancholy.—Now I'll be sad. M R S . MARWOOD Your merry note may be changed sooner than you think. MILLAMANT D'ye say so? Then I'm resolved I'll have a song to keep up my spirits. [Ewter M I N C I N G . ] MINCING The gentlemen stay but to comb, 1 madam, and will wait on you. 2 that is in the next room to sing the song I MILLAMANT Desire Mrs. 6. Spreads out. 7. Lady Strammel (the name means "a lean, illfavored person") tries to lose weight by drinking Rhenish wine, but still her face is too large to be contained ("comprehended") in a mask. 8. A lady to whom toasts are no longer drunk.

9. A prophetess. 1. I.e., to comb their periwigs. 2. The name of the singer was to be inserted. The music was by John Eccles (d. 1735), a popular composer for the theater.

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would have learnt yesterday. You shall hear it, madam—not that there's any great matter in it—But 'tis agreeable to my humor. [SONG. SET BY MR. JOHN E C C L E S ]

1 Love's but the frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined; A sickly flame, which if not fed expires; And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires. 2 'Tis not to wound a wanton boy Or amorous youth, that gives the joy; But 'tis the glory to have pierced a swain, For whom inferior beauties sighed in vain. 3

Then I alone the conquest prize, When I insult a rival's eyes: If there's delight in love, 'tis when I see That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.

[Enter

PETULANT, WITWOUD.]

your animosity composed, gentlemen? Raillery, raillery, madam, we have no animosity. We hit off a little wit now and then, but no animosity. The falling out of wits is like the falling out of lovers—we agree in the main, like treble and bass. Ha, Petulant! PETULANT Aye, in the main. But when I have a humor to contradict— WITWOUD. Aye, when he has a humor to contradict, then I contradict too. What, I know my cue. Then we contradict one another like two battledores; 3 for contradictions beget one another like Jews. PETULANT If he says black's black—if I have a humor to say 'tis blue—let that pass.—All's one for that. If I have a humor to prove it, it must be granted. WITWOUD Not positively must—but it may—it may. PETULANT Yes, it positively must, upon proof positive. WITWOUD Aye, upon proof positive it must; but upon proof presumptive it only may. That's a logical distinction now, madam. MRS. MARWOOD I perceive your debates are of importance and very learnedly handled. PETULANT Importance is one thing, and learning's another; but a debate's a debate, that I assert. WITWOUD Petulant's an enemy to learning; he relies altogether on his parts. 4 PETULANT No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me. M R S . MARWOOD That's a sign indeed it's no enemy to you. PETULANT No, no, it's no enemy to anybody but them that have it. MILLAMANT Well, an illiterate man's my aversion. I wonder at the impudence of any illiterate man, to offer to make love. WITWOUD That I confess I wonder at too. MILLAMANT Ah! to marry an ignorant! that can hardly read or write. MILLAMANT

WITWOUD

3. Rackets used to strike the shuttlecock, or bird, in the old game from which badminton is

descended, 4. Native abilities.

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Why should a man be any further from being married though he can't read than he is from being hanged. The ordinary's' paid for setting the Psalm, and the parish priest for reading the ceremony. And for the rest which is to follow in both cases, a man may do it without book.—So all's one for that. MILLAMANT D'ye hear the creature? Lord, here's company, I'll be gone. [Exeunt M I L L A M A N T and M I N C I N G . ] WITWOUD In the name of Bartlemew and his Fair, what have we here? 6 M R S . MARWOOD 'Tis your brother, I fancy. Don't you know him? WITWOUD Not I.—Yes, I think it is he—I've almost forgot him; I have not seen him since the Revolution. 7 [Enter S I R W I L F U L W I T W O U D in riding clothes, and a F O O T M A N to LADY PETULANT

WISHFORT.]

Sir, my lady's dressing. Here's company; if you please to walk in, in the meantime. SIR W I L F U L L Dressing! What, it's but morning here, I warrant, with you in London; we should count it towards afternoon in our parts, down in Shropshire. Why, then belike my aunt han't dined yet—ha, friend? FOOTMAN Your aunt, Sir? SIR W I L F U L L My aunt, sir, yes, my aunt, sir, and your lady, sir; your lady is my aunt, sir.—Why, what do'st thou not know me, friend? Why, then send somebody hither that does. How long hast thou lived with thy lady, fellow, ha? FOOTMAN A week, sir; longer than anybody in the house, except my lady's woman. SIR WILFULL Why, then belike thou dost not know thy lady, if thou see'st her, ha, friend? FOOTMAN Why truly, sir, I cannot safely swear to her face in a morning, before she is dressed. 'Tis like I may give a shrewd guess at her by this time. SIR W I L F U L L Well, prithee try what thou canst do; if thou canst not guess, inquire her out, do'st hear, fellow? And tell her her nephew, Sir Wilfull Witwoud, is in the house. FOOTMAN I shall, sir. SIR WILFULL Hold ye, hear me, friend; a word with you in your ear. Prithee who are these gallants? FOOTMAN Really, sir, I can't tell; there come so many here, 'tis hard to know 'em all. [Exit F O O T M A N . ] SIR W I L F U L L Oons, 8 this fellow knows less than a starling; I don't think a'knows his own name. MRS. MARWOOD Mr. Witwoud, your brother is not behind hand in forgetfulness—I fancy he has forgot you too. WITWOUD I hope so.—The devil take him that remembers first, I say. SIR W I L F U L L Save you, gentlemen and lady. M R S . MARWOOD For shame, Mr. Witwoud; why don't you speak to him?— And you, sir. WITWOUD Petulant, speak. FOOTMAN

PETULANT

A n d y o u , sir.

5. The clergyman appointed to prepare condemned prisoners for death. 6. A feature of St. Bartholomew's Fair, held during August in Smithfield, London, was the exhibi-

tion of monsters and freaks of nature. 7. The Glorious Revolution of 1688, which forced the abdication of J a m e s II. 8. An uncouth oath: God's wounds.

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[Salutes 9

MARWOOD.] N o offense, I hope. sure, sir. WITWOUD This is a vile dog, I see that already. N o offense! Ha, ha, ha, to him; to him, Petulant, smoke him. 1 P E T U L A N T [Surveying him round.] It seems as if you had come a journey, sir. Hem, hem. SIR W I L F U L L Very likely, sir, that it may seem so. PETULANT N O offense, I hope, sir. WITWOUD Smoke the boots, the boots, Petulant, the boots. Ha, ha, ha. SIR W I L F U L L Maybe not, sir; thereafter as 'tis meant, sir. PETULANT Sir, I presume upon the information of your boots. SIR WILFULL Why, 'tis like you may, sir: If you are not satisfied with the information of my boots, sir, if you will step to the stable, you may inquire further of my horse, sir. PETULANT Your horse, sir! Your horse is an ass, sir! SIR W I L F U L L Do you speak by way of offense, sir? M R S . MARWOOD The gentleman's merry, that's all, sir.— [Aside.] 'Slife, 2 we shall have a quarrel betwixt an horse and an ass, before they find one another out. [Aloud.] You must not take anything amiss from your friends, sir. You are among your friends, here, though it may be you don't know it.—If I am not mistaken, you are Sir Wilfull Witwoud. SIR W I L F U L L Right, lady; I am Sir Wilfull Witwoud, so I write myself; no offense to anybody, I hope; and nephew to the Lady Wishfort of this mansion. MRS. MARWOOD Don't you know this gentleman, sir? SIR W I L F U L L Hum! What, sure, 'tis not—yea by'r Lady, but 'tis—'sheart, I know not whether 'tis or no.—Yea but 'tis, by the Wrekin. 3 Brother Antony! What, Tony, i'faith! What, do'st thou not know me? By'r Lady, nor I thee, thou art so becravated and so beperriwigged—'sheart, why do'st not speak? Art thou o'eijoyed? WITWOUD Odso, brother, is it you? Your servant, brother. SIR WILFULL Your servant! Why, yours, sir. Your servant again—'sheart, and your friend and servant to that—and a — [ P u f f . ]—and a flapdragon for your service, sir: and a hare's foot, and a hare's scut 4 for your service, sir; an you be so cold and so courtly! WITWOUD N O offense, I hope, brother. SIR W I L F U L L 'Sheart, sir, but there is, and much offense. A pox, is this your Inns o'Court' breeding, not to know your friends and your relations, your elders and your betters? WITWOUD Why, Brother Wilfull of Salop, you may be as short as a Shrewsbury cake, 6 if you please. But I tell you 'tis not modish to know relations in town. You think you're in the country, where great lubberly brothers slabber and kiss one another when they meet, like a call of sergeants. 7 —'Tis not the fashion here; 'tis not indeed, dear brother. SIR W I L F U L L

MRS. MARWOOD

9. Kisses. 1. Make fun of him. 2. God's life. 3. A solitary mountain peak in Shropshire, near the Welsh border. " 'Sheart": God's heart. 4. Rabbit's tail. "Flapdragon": something worthless. 5. The buildings—Gray's Inn, Lincoln's Inn, the Inner Temple, the Middle Temple—housing the

four legal societies that have the sole right to admit persons to the practice of law. 6. Shortcake, in the modern meaning of the term. Witwoud puns, using "short" also in the sense of "abrupt." "Salop": ancient name of Shropshire. 7. Witwoud refers to the mutual greetings and felicitations of a group of barristers ("sergeants") newly admitted to the bar. "Lubberly": loutish.

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The fashion's a fool; and you're a fop, dear brother. 'Sheart, I've suspected this—by'r Lady, I conjectured you were a fop, since you began to change the style of your letters and write in a scrap of paper gilt round the edges, no bigger than a subpoena. I might expect this when you left off "Honored Brother" and "hoping you are in good health," and so forth—to begin with a "Rat me, knight, I'm so sick of a last night's debauch"—'od's heart, and then tell a familiar tale of a cock and bull, and a whore and a bottle, and so conclude—You could write news before you were out of your time, when you lived with honest Pumple-Nose, the attorney of Furnival's Inn 8 —You could entreat to be remembered then to your friends round the Wrekin. We could have gazettes then, and Dawks's Letter, and the Weekly Bill, 9 till of late days. PETULANT 'Slife, Witwoud, were you ever an attorney's clerk? Of the family of the Furnivals. Ha, ha, ha! WITWOUD Aye, aye, but that was but for a while. Not long, not long; pshaw, I was not in my own power then. An orphan, and this fellow was my guardian; aye, aye, I was glad to consent to that man to come to London. He had the disposal of me then. If I had not agreed to that, I might have been bound 'prentice to a felt-maker in Shrewsbury; this fellow would have bound me to a maker of felts. SIR W I L F U L L 'Sheart, and better than to be bound to a maker of fops; where, I suppose, you have served your time; and now you may set up for yourself. MRS. MARWOOD Y O U intend to travel, sir, as I'm informed. SIR W I L F U L L Belike I may, madam. I may chance to sail upon the salt seas, if my mind hold. PETULANT And the wind serve. SIR W I L F U L L Serve or not serve, I shan't ask license of you, sir; nor the weather-cock 1 your companion. I direct my discourse to the lady, sir. 'Tis like my aunt may have told you, madam—Yes, I have settled my concerns, I may say now, and am minded to see foreign parts. If an' how that the peace 2 holds, whereby, that is, taxes abate. MRS. MARWOOD I thought you had designed for France at all adventures. 3 SIR WILFULL I can't tell that; 'tis like I may and 'tis like I may not. I am somewhat dainty in making a resolution, because when I make it I keep it, I don't stand shill I, shall I, 4 then; if I say't, I'll do't. But I have thoughts to tarry a small matter in town, to learn somewhat of your lingo first, before I cross the seas. I'd gladly have a spice of your French as they say, whereby to hold discourse in foreign countries. M R S . MARWOOD Here's an academy in town for that use. SIR W I L F U L L There is? 'Tis like there may. M R S . MARWOOD N O doubt you will return very much improved. WITWOUD Yes, refined like a Dutch skipper from a whale-fishing. [Ewter LADY W I S H F O R T and F A I N A L L . ] SIR W I L F U L L

8. One of the inns of Chancery, attached to Lincoln's Inn. Attorneys were looked dowTi on socially; hence Petulant's ill-natured mirth in his next speech. "Before you were out of your time"; before you had served out your apprenticeship. 9. The official list of the deaths occurring in London. "Gazettes": newspapers. "Dawks's [Neu/s] Letter": a popular source of news in the country. 1. Weathervane.

2. The peace established by the Treaty of Ryswick in 1697, which concluded the war against France waged under the leadership of William III by England, the Empire, Spain, and Holland. It endured until the spring of 1702, when the War of the Spanish Succession began. 3. No matter what happens. 4. Shilly-shally. "Dainty": scrupulous, cautious.

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Nephew, you are welcome. Aunt, your servant. FAINALL Sir Wilfull, your most faithful servant. SIR WILFULL Cousin Fainall, give me your hand. LADY W I S H F O R T Cousin Witwoud, your servant; Mr. Petulant, your servant.— Nephew, you are welcome again. Will you drink anything after your journey, nephew, before you eat? Dinner's almost ready. SIR W I L F U L L I'm very well, I thank you, aunt. However, I thank you for your courteous offer. 'Sheart, I was afraid you would have been in the fashion too, and have remembered to have forgot your relations. Here's your cousin Tony, belike, I mayn't call him brother for fear of offense. LADY W I S H F O R T O, he's a rallier, nephew—my cousin's a wit; and your great wits always rally their best friends to choose. 5 When you have been abroad, nephew, you'll understand raillery better. [ F A I N A L L and M R S . M A R W O O D talk apart.] SIR W I L F U L L Why then let him hold his tongue in the meantime, and rail when that day comes. [Enter M I N C I N G . ] MINCING Mem, I come to acquaint your la'ship that dinner is impatient. SIR W I L F U L L Impatient? Why then belike it won't stay till I pull off my boots. Sweetheart, can you help me to a pair of slippers?—My man's with his horses, I warrant. LADY W I S H F O R T Fie, fie, nephew, you would not pull off your boots here. Go down into the hall.—Dinner shall stay for you. My nephew's a little unbred; you'll pardon him, madam.—Gentlemen, will you walk? Marwood? M R S . MARWOOD I'll follow you, madam—before Sir Wilfull is ready. [Exeunt all but M R S . M A R W O O D , F A I N A L L . ] FAINALL Why then Foible's a bawd, an errant, rank, match-making bawd. And I it seems am a husband, a rank husband; and my wife a very errant, rank wife—all in the way of the world. 'Sdeath, to be a cuckold by anticipation, a cuckold in embryo? Sure I was born with budding antlers like a young satyr, or a citizen's child. 6 'Sdeath, to be outwitted, to be outjilted— outmatrimonied. If I had kept my speed like a stag, 'twere somewhat, but to crawl after, with my horns like a snail, and be outstripped by my wife— 'tis scurvy wedlock. MRS. MARWOOD Then shake it off. You have often wished for an opportunity to part, and now you have it. But first prevent their plot.—The half of Millamant's fortune is too considerable to be parted with to a foe, to Mirabell. FAINALL Damn him, that had been mine—had you not made that fond 7 discovery.—That had been forfeited, had they been married. My wife had added luster to my horns. By that increase of fortune, I could have worn 'em tipped with gold, though my forehead had been furnished like a DeputyLieutenant's hall. 8 M R S . MARWOOD They may prove a cap of maintenance 9 to you still, if you can LADY W I S H F O R T

SIR W I L F U L L

5. By choice. 6. "Satyr": a sylvan deity, usually represented with a goat's legs and horns. A cuckold is said to wear horns. Because the wives of "citizens" (merchants living in the old city of London, not the fashionable suburbs) were regarded by the rakes as their natural and easy prey, a "citizen's child" was born to be cuckolded.

7. Foolish. Fainall blames her for revealing to Lady Wishfort that Mirabell was not interested in her. 8. I.e., the great hall in the house of the deputy lieutenant of a shire. Fainall imagines it ornamented with numerous antlers taken from deer slain in the hunt. 9. In heraldry, a cap with two points like horns.

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2260

WILLIAM CONGREVE

away with your wife. And she's no worse than when you had her—I dare swear she had given up her game, before she was married. FAINALL Hum! That may b e — S h e might throw up her cards; but I'll be hanged if she did not put Pam 1 in her pocket. MRS. MARWOOD You married her to keep you, and if you can contrive to have her keep you better than you expected, why should you not keep her longer than you intended? FAINALL The means, the means. MRS. MARWOOD Discover to my lady your wife's conduct; threaten to part with her.—My lady loves her and will come to any composition to save her reputation. Take the opportunity of breaking it, just upon the discovery of this imposture. My lady will be enraged beyond bounds and sacrifice niece and fortune and all at that conjuncture. And let me alone to keep her warm; if she should flag in her part, I will not fail to prompt her. FAINALL Faith, this has an appearance. 2 M R S . MARWOOD I'm sorry I hinted to my lady to endeavor a match between Millamant and Sir Wilfull. That may be an obstacle. FAINALL O, for that matter leave me to manage him; I'll disable him for that; he will drink like a Dane; after dinner, I'll set his hand in. MRS. MARWOOD Well, how do you stand affected towards your lady? FAINALL Why, faith, I'm thinking of it. Let me see—I am married already; so that's over. My wife has played the jade with 3 me—well, that's over too. I never loved her, or if I had, why that would have been over too by this time. Jealous of her I cannot be, for I am certain; so there's an end of jealousy. Weary of her I am and shall be—no, there's no end of that; no, no, that were too much to hope. Thus far concerning my repose. Now for my reputation. As to my own, I married not for it; so that's out of the question. And as to my part in my wife's—why, she had parted with hers before; so bringing none to me, she can take none from me; 'tis against all rule of play that I should lose to one who has not wherewithal to stake. MRS. MARWOOD Besides you forget, marriage is honorable. FAINALL Hum! Faith, and that's well thought on; marriage is honorable, as you say; and if so, wherefore should cuckoldom be a discredit, being derived from so honorable a root? M R S . MARWOOD Nay, I know not; if the root be honorable, why not the branches? 4 FAINALL So, so, why this point's clear. 5 Well, how do we proceed? MRS. MARWOOD I will contrive a letter which shall be delivered to my lady at the time when that rascal who is to act Sir Rowland is with her. It shall come as from an unknown hand—for the less I appear to know of the truth, the better I can play the incendiary. Besides, I would not have Foible provoked if I could help it, because you know she knows some passages—nay, I expect all will come out. But let the mine be sprung first, and then I care not if I am discovered. FAINALL If the worst come to the worst, I'll turn my wife to grass 6 —I have already a deed of settlement of the best part of her estate, which I wheedled out of her; and that you shall partake at least. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Jack of clubs, high card in the game of loo. It's a promising scheme. Cheated on. I.e., of the cuckold's horns.

5. Cleared up. 6. Turn out to pasture. A "grass widow" is divorced or separated from her husband.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , ACT

2261

I hope you are convinced that I hate Mirabell now: you'll be no more jealous? FAINALL Jealous, no—by this kiss.—Let husbands be jealous, but let the lover still believe. Or if he doubt, let it be only to endear his pleasure and prepare the joy that follows, when he proves his mistress true. But let husbands' doubts convert to endless jealousy; or if they have belief, let it corrupt to superstition and blind credulity. I am single, and will herd no more with 'em. True, I wear the badge, but I'll disown the order. And since I take my leave of 'em, I care not if I leave 'em a common motto to their common crest. MRS. MARWOOD

All husbands must, or pain, or shame, endure; The wise too jealous are, fools too secure.

[Exeunt

FAINALL

and Act

LADY W I S H F O R T

order?

MRS. MARWOOD.]

4—Scene

continues.

[Enter LADY W I S H F O R T and F O I B L E . ] Sir Rowland coming, say'st thou, Foible? and are things in

Yes, madam. I have put wax lights in the sconces, and placed the footmen in a row in the hall, in their best liveries, with the coachman and postilion to fill up the equipage. LADY W I S H F O R T Have you pulvilled 7 the coachman and postilion, that they may not stink of the stable, when Sir Rowland comes by? FOIBLE Yes, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T And are the dancers and the music ready, that he may be entertained in all points with correspondence to his passion? FOIBLE All is ready, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T And—well—and how do I look, Foible? FOIBLE Most killing well, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T Well, and how shall I receive him? In what figure shall I give his heart the first impression? There is a great deal in the first impression. Shall I sit?—No, I won't sit—I'll walk.—Aye, I'll walk from the door upon his entrance; and then turn full upon him.—No, that will be too sudden. I'll lie—aye, I'll lie down—I'll receive him in my little dressing-room, there's a couch.—Yes, yes, I'll give the first impression on a couch.—I won't lie neither, but loll and lean upon one elbow; with one foot a little dangling off, jogging in a thoughtful way—yes—and then as soon as he appears, start, aye, start and be surprised, and rise to meet him in a pretty disorder—yes. O, nothing is more alluring than a levee 8 from a couch in some confusion. It shows the foot to advantage and furnishes with blushes and recomposing airs beyond comparison. Hark! There's a coach. FOIBLE 'Tis he, madam. LADY W I S H F O R T O dear, has my nephew made his addresses to Millamant? I ordered him. FOIBLE Sir Wilfull is set in to drinking, madam, in the parlor. LADY W I S H F O R T 'Ods my life, I'll send him to her. Call her down, Foible; bring her hither. I'll send him as I go.—When they are together, then come to FOIBLE

7. Sprinkled with perfumed powder.

8. A rising.

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2262

WILLIAM CONGREVE

me, Foible, that I may not be too long alone with Sir Rowland. [Exit

LADY

WISHFORT.]

[Enter M R S . M I L L A M A N T and. M R S . F A I N A L L . ] M a d a m , I stayed here to tell your ladyship that Mr. Mirabell has waited this half hour for an opportunity to talk with you. Though my lady's orders were to leave you and Sir Wilfull together. Shall I tell Mr. Mirabell that you are at leisure? MILLAMANT NO—What would the dear man have? I am thoughtful and would a m u s e myself.—Bid him c o m e another time.

FOIBLE

There never yet was woman made, Nor shall, but to be cursed. 9

[Repeating and walking about.] That's hard! MRS. FAINALL

You are very fond of Sir J o h n Suckling today, Millamant, and

the poets. H e ? Aye, and filthy verses—so I am. Sir Wilfull is coming, m a d a m . Shall I send Mr. Mirabell away? MILLAMANT Aye, if you please, Foible, send him away—or send him hither, just as you will, dear Foible. I think I'll see him—Shall I? Aye, let the wretch come. MILLAMANT FOIBLE

Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train. 1

[Repeating. ] Dear Fainall, entertain Sir Wilfull.—Thou hast philosophy to undergo a fool, thou art married and hast patience.—I would confer with my own thoughts. MRS. FAINALL I am obliged to you that you would make m e your proxy in this affair, but I have business of my own. [Enter S I R W I L F U L L . ] MRS. FAINALL O Sir Wilfull; you are c o m e at the critical instant. There's your mistress up to the ears in love and contemplation. Pursue your point, now or never. SIR W I L F U L L Yes; my aunt will have it so.—I would gladly have been encouraged with a bottle or two, b e c a u s e I'm somewhat wary at first, before I am acquainted; [This while M I L L A M A N T walks about repeating to herself.]—but I hope, after a time, I shall break my mind 2 —that is upon further acquaint a n c e . — S o for the present, cousin, I'll take my leave.—If so be you'll be so kind to make my excuse, I'll return to my c o m p a n y . — MRS. FAINALL O fie, Sir Wilfull! What, you m u s t not be daunted. SIR WILFULL Daunted, no, that's not it; it is not so much for that—for if so be that I set on't, I'll do't. But only for the present, 'tis sufficient till further acquaintance, that's all.—Your servant. MRS. FAINALL Nay, I'll swear you shall never lose so favorable an opportunity if I can help it. I'll leave you together and lock the door. [Exit M R S . F A I N F A L L . ] SIR W I L F U L L Nay, nay, cousin—I have forgot my gloves.—What d'ye do? 9. The opening lines of a poem by Sir John Suckling. Impelled by her love to accept Mirabell, but reluctant to give herself, Millamant broods over poems that speak of the brief happiness of lovers and the falseness of men. 1. The first line of Edmund Waller's "The Story of

Phoebus and Daphne Applied." In the flight of the virgin nymph from the embraces of the amorous god, Millamant finds an emblem of her relations with Mirabell. 2. Speak more openly.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , ACT

2263

'Sheart, a'has locked the door indeed, I think.—Nay, cousin Fainall, open the door.—Pshaw, what a vixen trick is this? Nay, now a'has seen me too.— Cousin, I made bold to pass through, as it were.—I think this door's enchanted.— M I L L A M A N T [Repeating.] I prithee spare me, gentle boy, Press me no more for that slight toy. 3 Anan? 4 Cousin, your servant. MILLAMANT. —"That foolish trifle of a heart"—Sir Wilfull! SIR W I L F U L L Yes—your servant. N o offense I hope, cousin. M I L L A M A N T [Repeating.] SIR W I L F U L L

I swear it will not do its part, Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy power and art. Natural, easy Suckling! Anan? Suckling? N o such suckling neither, cousin, nor stripling: I thank heaven I'm no minor. MILLAMANT Ah rustic, ruder than Gothic. 5 SIR W I L F U L L Well, well, I shall understand your lingo one of these days, cousin. In the meanwhile I must answer in plain English. MILLAMANT Have you any business with me, Sir Wilfull? SIR W I L F U L L Not at present, cousin.—Yes, I made bold to see, to come and know if that how you were disposed to fetch a walk this evening, if so be that I might not be troublesome, I would have sought a walk with you. MILLAMANT A walk? What then? SIR WILFULL Nay nothing—only for the walk's sake, that's all— MILLAMANT I nauseate walking; 'tis a country diversion. I loathe the country and everything that relates to it. SIR W I L F U L L Indeed! Hah! Look ye, look ye, you do? Nay, 'tis like you may.— Here are choice of pastimes here in town, as plays and the like; that must be confessed indeed.— MILLAMANT Ah, l'etourdi. b I hate the town too. SIR W I L F U L L Dear heart, that's m u c h — H a h ! that you should hate 'em both! Hah! 'tis like you may; there are some can't relish the town, and others can't away with the country—'tis like you may be one of those, cousin. MILLAMANT Ha, ha, ha. Yes, 'tis like I may. You have nothing further to say to me? SIR W I L F U L L Not at present, cousin. 'Tis like when I have an opportunity to be more private, I may break my mind in some measure.—I conjecture you partly guess—however, that's as time shall try; but spare to speak and spare to speed, as they say. MILLAMANT If it is of no great importance, Sir Wilfull, you will oblige me to leave me. I have just now a little business. SIR W I L F U L L Enough, enough, cousin. Yes, yes, all a case—when you're disposed, when you're disposed. Now's as well as another time; and another time as well as now. All's one for that.—Yes, yes, if your concerns call you, SIR W I L F U L L

3. The first lines of a song by Suckling, which she continues in her next lines. 4. How's that? 5. To the new age with its classical taste, medieval

art, especially architecture, seemed crude ("rude"). 6. Oh, the silly fellow (French); also the title of a comedy by Moliere.

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2264

WILLIAM CONGREVE

there's no haste; it will keep cold as they say.—Cousin, your servant. I think this door's locked. MILLAMANT You may go this way, sir. SIR W I L F U L L Your servant—then with your leave I'll return to my company. [Exit S I R W I L F U L L ] MILLAMANT

Aye, aye. H a , ha, ha.

Like Phoebus sung the no less amorous Boy. 7

[Enter

MIRABELL.]

MIRABELL

Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy. Do you lock yourself up from me, to make my search more curious? 8 Or is this pretty artifice contrived to signify that here the chase must end, and my pursuit be crowned, for you can fly no further? MILLAMANT Vanity! No—I'll fly and be followed to the last moment. Though I am upon the very verge of matrimony, I expect you should solicit me as much as if I were wavering at the grate of a monastery, 9 with one foot over the threshold. I'll be solicited to the very last, nay and afterwards. MIRABELL What, after the last? MILLAMANT O, I should think I was poor and had nothing to bestow, if I were reduced to an inglorious ease; and freed from the agreeable fatigues of solicitation. MIRABELL But do not you know that when favors are conferred upon instant and tedious solicitation, that they diminish in their value and that both the giver loses the grace, and the receiver lessens his pleasure? MILLAMANT It may be in things of common application, but never sure in love. O, I hate a lover that can dare to think he draws a moment's air, independent on the bounty of his mistress. There is not so impudent a thing in nature as the saucy look of an assured man, confident of success. The pedantic arrogance of a very husband has not so pragmatical 1 an air. Ah! I'll never marry, unless I am first made sure of my will and pleasure. MIRABELL Would you have 'em both before marriage? Or will you be contented with the first now, and stay for the other till after grace? MILLAMANT Ah, don't be impertinent.—My dear liberty, shall I leave thee? My faithful solitude, my darling contemplation, must I bid you then adieu? Ay-h adieu—My morning thoughts, agreeable wakings, indolent slumbers, all ye douceurs, ye sommeils du matin, 2 adieu.—I can't do't, 'tis more than impossible.—Positively, Mirabell, I'll lie abed in a morning as long as I please. MIRABELL Then I'll get up in a morning as early as I please. MILLAMANT Ah, idle creature, get up when you will.—and d'ye hear? I won't be called names after I'm married; positively I won't be called names. MIRABELL Names! MILLAMANT Aye, as wife, spouse, my dear, joy, jewel, love, sweetheart, and the rest of that nauseous cant, in which men and their wives are so fulsomely familiar—I shall never bear that.—Good Mirabell, don't let us be familiar or fond, nor kiss before folks, like my Lady Fadler 3 and Sir Francis; nor go 7. This, and the line that Mirabell caps it with, are also from Waller's "The Story of Phoebus and Daphne Applied." 8. Intricate, laborious.

9. 1. 2. 3.

The grated door of a convent. Self-assured, conceited. Soft (pleasures) and morning naps (French). I.e., Fondler.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , ACT

2265

to Hyde Park together the first Sunday in a new chariot, to provoke eyes and whispers; and then never be seen there together again, as if we were proud of one another the first week, and ashamed of one another ever after. Let us never visit together, nor go to a play together, but let us be very strange 4 and well bred; let us be as strange as if we had been married a great while; and as well bred as if we were not married at all. MIRABELL Have you any more conditions to offer? Hitherto your demands are pretty reasonable. MILLAMANT Trifles—as liberty to pay and receive visits to and from whom I please; to write and receive letters, without interrogatories or wry faces on your part; to wear what 1 please; and choose conversation with regard only to my own taste; to have no obligation upon me to converse with wits that I don't like, because they are your acquaintance; or to be intimate with fools, because they may be your relations. C o m e to dinner when 1 please, dine in my dressing room when I'm out of humor, without giving a reason. To have my closet inviolate; to be sole empress of my tea table, which you must never presume to approach without first asking leave. And lastly, wherever I am, you shall always knock at the door before you come in. These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into a wife. MIRABELL Your bill of fare is something advanced in this latter account. Well, have I liberty to offer conditions—that when you are dwindled into a wife, I may not be beyond measure enlarged into a husband? MILLAMANT You have free leave, propose your utmost, speak and spare not. MIRABELL I thank you. Imprimis5 then, I covenant that your acquaintance be general; that you admit no sworn confidante or intimate of your own sex; no she-friend to screen her affairs under your countenance and tempt you to make trial of a mutual secrecy. No decoy duck to wheedle you a fop— scrambling to the play in a mask—then bring you home in a pretended fright, when you think you shall be found out—and rail at me for missing the play, and disappointing the frolic which you had to pick me up and prove my constancy. MILLAMANT Detestable imprimis! I go to the play in a mask! MIRABELL Item, I article, 6 that you continue to like your own face as long as I shall; and while it passes current with me, that you endeavor not to new coin it. To which end, together with all vizards for the day, I prohibit all masks for the night, made of oiled-skins and I know not what—hog's bones, hare's gall, pig water, and the marrow of a roasted cat. 7 In short, I forbid all commerce with the gentlewoman in what-d'ye-call-it court. Item, I shut my doors against all bawds with baskets, and pennyworths of muslin, china, fans, atlases, 8 etc. Hem, when you shall be breeding— MILLAMANT Ah! N a m e it not. MIRABELL Which may be presumed, with a blessing on our endeavors— MILLAMANT Odious endeavors! MIRABELL I denounce against all strait lacing, squeezing for a shape, till you mold my boy's head like a sugar loaf; and instead of a man-child, make me father to a crooked billet. 9 Lastly, to the dominion of the tea table I sub-

4. 5. 6. in

Reserved. In the first place (Latin), as in legal documents. I stipulate. "Item": used to introduce each item a list.

7. as 8. 9.

Cosmetics were made of materials as repulsive those that Mirabell names. "Vizards": masks. Rich silk fabrics. I.e., a crooked piece of firewood.

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2266

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

mit.—But with proviso that you exceed not in your province; but restrain yourself to native and simple tea-table drinks, as tea, chocolate, and coffee. As likewise to genuine and authorized tea-table talk—such as mending of fashions, spoiling reputations, railing at absent friends, and so forth—but that on no account you encroach upon the men's prerogative, and presume to drink healths, or toast fellows; for prevention of which, I banish all foreign forces, all auxiliaries to the tea table, as orange brandy, all aniseed, cinnamon, citron and Barbados waters, together with ratafia and the most noble spirit of clary. 1 —But for cowslip-wine, poppy water, and all dormitives, 2 those I allow. These provisos admitted, in other things I may prove a tractable and complying husband. MILLAMANT O, horrid provisos! filthy strong waters! I toast fellows, odious men! I hate your odious provisos. MIRABELL Then we're agreed. Shall I ldss your hand upon the contract? And here comes one to be a witness to the sealing of the deed. [Enter M R S . F A I N A L L . ] MILLAMANT Fainall, what shall I do? Shall I have him? I think I must have him. MRS. FAINALL Aye, aye, take him, take him. What should you do? MILLAMANT Well then—I'll take my death I'm in a horrid fright—Fainall, I shall never say it—well—I think—I'll endure you. MRS. FAINALL Fy, fy, have him, have him, and tell him so in plain terms: for I am sure you have a mind to him. MILLAMANT Are you? I think I have—and the horrid man looks as if he thought so too.—Well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have you.—I won't be kissed, nor I won't be thanked.—Here kiss my hand though.—So, hold your tongue now, don't say a word. MRS. FAINALL Mirabell, there's a necessity for your obedience—you have neither time to talk nor stay. My mother is coming; and in my conscience if she should see you, would fall into fits, and maybe not recover, time enough to return to Sir Rowland; who, as Foible tells me, is in a fair way to succeed. Therefore spare your ecstasies for another occasion, and slip down the back stairs, where Foible waits to consult you. MILLAMANT Aye, go, go. In the meantime I suppose you have said something to please me. MIRABELL I am all obedience. [Exit M I R A B E L L . ] MRS. FAINALL Yonder Sir Wilfull's drunk, and so noisy that my mother has been forced to leave Sir Rowland to appease him; but he answers her only with singing and drinking.—What they may have done by this time I know not, but Petulant and he were upon quarreling as I came by. MILLAMANT Well, if Mirabell should not make a good husband, I am a lost thing; for I find I love him violently. MRS. FAINALL So it seems, for you mind not what's said to you.—If you doubt him, you had best take up with Sir Wilfull. MILLAMANT How can you name that superannuated lubber? foh! [Enter W I T W O U D from drinking.] MRS. FAINALL So, i s the fray made up, that you have left 'em? 1. A sweet liqueur made of wine, honey, and spices. "Aniseed, cinnamon, citron and Barbados

waters": alcoholic drinks, 2. Sedatives.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , A C T

2267

Left 'em? I could stay no longer—I have laughed like ten christenings—I am tipsy with laughing.—If I had stayed any longer, I should have burst—I must have been let out and pieced in the sides like an unsized camlet. 3 —Yes, yes, the fray is composed; my lady came in like a nolle prosequi- 1 and stopped the proceedings. MILLAMANT What was the dispute? WITWOUD That's the jest; there was no dispute. They could neither of 'em speak for rage; and so fell a-sputtering at one another like two roasting apples. [Enter P E T U L A N T drunk.] WITWOUD Now, Petulant? All's over, all's well? Gad, my head begins to whim it about.—Why dost thou not speak? Thou art both as drunk and as mute as a fish. PETULANT Look you, Mrs. Millamant—if you can love me, dear nymph—say it—and that's the conclusion—pass on, or pass off—that's all. WITWOUD Thou hast uttered volumes, folios, in less than decimo sexto, my dear Lacedemonian. 5 Sirrah Petulant, thou art an epitomizer of words. PETULANT Witwoud—You are an annihilator of sense. WITWOUD Thou art a retailer of phrases, and dost deal in remnants of remnants, like a maker of pincushions. Thou art in truth (metaphorically speaking) a speaker of shorthand. PETULANT Thou art (without a figure) just one-half of an ass, and Baldwin yonder, thy half brother, is the rest.—A Gemini 6 of asses split, would make just four of you. WITWOUD Thou dost bite, my dear mustard-seed; kiss me for that. PETULANT Stand off—I'll kiss no more males.—I have kissed your twin yonder in a humor of reconciliation, till h e — [ H i c c u p . ] — r i s e s upon my stomach like a radish. MILLAMANT Eh! filthy creature.—What was the quarrel? PETULANT There was no quarrel—there might have been a quarrel. WITWOUD If there had been words enow between 'em to have expressed provocation, they had gone together by the ears like a pair of castanets. PETULANT You were the quarrel. WITWOUD

MILLAMANT

Me!

If I have a humor to quarrel, I can make less matters conclude premises. 7 —If you are not handsome, what then, if I have a humor to prove it?—If I shall have my reward, say so; if not, fight for your face the next time yourself.—I'll go sleep. WITWOUD Do, wrap thyself up like a woodlouse, and dream revenge—and hear me, if thou canst learn to write by tomorrow morning, pen me a challenge.—I'll carry it for thee. PETULANT Carry your mistress's monkey a spider—go flea dogs, and read romances—I'll go to bed to my maid. 8 PETULANT

3. A fabric made by mixing wool and silk; "unsized" because not stiffened with some glutinous substance. 4. A Latin phrase indicating the withdrawal of a lawsuit. 5. Spartans; people of few words. "Folios": books of the largest size. "Decimo sexto": a book of the smallest size. 6. T h e two Roman deities, the twins Castor and Pollux, for whom one of the signs of the zodiac is

named. "Baldwin": the name of the ass in the beast epic, Reynard the Fox (ca. 1175—1250). 7. I can argue successfully about matters even less significant than you. 8. Monkeys were supposed to eat spiders. Petulant scornfully contrasts what he imagines to be Witwoud's technique with his lady with his own more vigorous and direct program for the rest of the evening.

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2268

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

He's horridly drunk—how came you all in this pickle? A plot, a plot, to get rid of the knight—your husband's advice; but he sneaked off. [Enter S I R W I L F U L L drunk, and LADY W I S H F O R T . ] LADY W I S H F O R T Out upon't, out upon't! At years of discretion, and comport yourself at this rantipole 9 rate! SIR W I L F U L L N O offense, aunt. LADY W I S H F O R T Offense? As I'm a person, I'm ashamed of you.—Fogh! how you stink of wine! D'ye think my niece will ever endure such a borachio! 1 you're an absolute borachio. SIR W I L F U L L Borachio! LADY W I S H F O R T At a time when you should commence an amour, and put your best foot foremost— SIR W I L F U L L 'Sheart, an you grutch 2 me your liquor, make a bill.—Give me more drink, and take my purse. MRS. FAINALL

WITWOUD

[Srags.]

Prithee fill me the glass 'Till it laugh in my face, With ale that is potent and mellow; He that whines for a lass Is an ignorant ass, For a bumper 3 has not its fellow.

But if you would have me marry my cousin—say the word and I'll do't— Wilfull will do't, that's the word—Wilfull will do't, that's my crest—my motto I have forgot. 4 LADY W I S H F O R T My nephew's a little overtaken, cousin—but 'tis with drinking your health—O' my word you are obliged to him— SIR W I L F U L L In vino Veritas,5 aunt.—If I drunk your health today, cousin—I am a borachio. But if you have a mind to be married, say the word, and send for the piper; Wilful! will do't. If not, dust 6 it away, and let's have t'other round.—Tony, ods heart, where's Tony?—Tony's an honest fellow, but he spits after a bumper, and that's a fault— [Sings.]

We'll drink and we'll never ha' done, boys, Put the glass then around with the sun, boys, Let Apollo's example invite us; For he's drunk every night, And that makes him so bright, That he's able next morning to light us.

The sun's a good pimple, 7 an honest soaker, he has a cellar at your Antipodes. If I travel, aunt, I touch at your Antipodes.—Your Antipodes are a good rascally sort of topsy-turvy fellows.—If I had a bumper, I'd stand upon my head and drink a health to 'em.—A match or no match, cousin, with the hard name?—aunt, Wilfull will do't. If she has her maidenhead, let her look to t; if she has not, let her keep her own counsel in the meantime, and cry out at the nine months' end. 9. Rakish. 1. Drunkard (Spanish). 2. Grudge. 3. A wineglass filled to the brim. The word comes from the custom of touching (bumping) glasses when drinking toasts.

4. A coat of arms had a crest—a helmet surmounting the shield—and a motto. In his drunkenness, Sir Wilfull confuses the two. 5. In wine [there is] truth (Latin). 6. Throw. 7. Fellow.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 6 9

Your pardon, madam, I can stay no longer—Sir Wilfull grows very powerful. Egh! how he smells! I shall be overcome if I stay. C o m e , cousin. [Exeunt M R S . M I L L A M A N T and M R S . F A I N A L L . ] LADY W I S H F O R T Smells! he would poison a tallow-chandler 8 and his family. Beastly creature, I know not what to do with him. Travel, quoth a'; aye, travel, travel, get thee gone, get thee but far enough, to the Saracens, or the Tartars, or the Turks—for thou art not fit to live in a Christian commonwealth, thou beastly pagan. SIR W I L F U L L Turks, no; no Turks, aunt. Your Turks are infidels, and believe not in the grape. Your Mahometan, your Mussulman is a dry stinkard.—No offense, aunt. My map says that your Turk is not so honest a man as your Christian.—I cannot find by the map that your Mufti 9 is orthodox—whereby it is a plain case, that orthodox is a hard word, aunt, a n d — [ H i c c u p . ] — G r e e k for claret. MILLAMANT

[Siwgs.]

To drink is a Christian diversion. Unknown to the Turk or the Persian: Let Mahometan fools Live by heathenish rules, And be damned over tea cups and coffee. But let British lads sing, Crown a health to the king, And a fig for your sultan and sophy. 1

Ah, Tony!

[Enter F O I B L E , and whispers to LADY W I S H F O R T . ] Sir Rowland impatient? Good lack! what shall I do with this beastly tumbrel? 2 —Go lie down and sleep, you sot—or as I'm a person, I'll have you bastinadoed 3 with broomsticks. Call up the wenches with broomsticks. [Exit F O I B L E . ] SIR W I L F U L L Ahay? Wenches, where are the wenches? LADY W I S H F O R T Dear cousin Witwoud, get him away, and you will bind me to you inviolably. I have an affair of moment that invades me with some precipitation—you will oblige me to all futurity. WITWOUD Come, knight.—Pox on him, I don't know what to say to him.— Will you go to a cockmatch? SIR W I L F U L L With a wench, Tony? Is she a shakebag, 4 sirrah? Let me bite your cheek for that. WITWOUD Horrible! He has a breath like a bagpipe.—Aye, aye, come, will you march, my Salopian?' SIR WILFULL Lead on, little Tony—I'll follow thee, my Anthony, my Tantony. Sirrah, thou shalt be my Tantony, and I'll be thy pig. 6 LADY W I S H F O R T

—And a fig for your sultan and sophy. This will never do. It will never make a match—at least before he has been abroad. [Exeunt S I R W I L F U L L , singing, and W I T W O U D . ]

LADY W I S H F O R T

8. Candle maker. 9. The Grand Mufti, head of the state religion of Turkey. Muslims do not drink alcohol. 1. The shah of Persia. 2. Dung cart. 3. Punished by beating the soles of the feet.

4. Gamecock. 5. Inhabitant of Shropshire. 6. St. Anthony (hence "Tantony"), the patron of swineherds, was represented accompanied by a Pig-

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2270

WILLIAM

[Enter

CONGREVE

disguised as S I R R O W L A N D . ] Dear Sir Rowland, I am confounded with confusion at the retrospection of my own rudeness—I have more pardons to ask than the Pope distributes in the Year of Jubilee. But I hope where there is likely to be so near an alliance—we may unbend the severity of decorum—and dispense with a little ceremony. WAITWELL My impatience, madam, is the effect of my transport—and till I have the possession of your adorable person, I am tantalized on the rack; and do but hang, madam, on the tenter 7 of expectation. LADY W I S H F O R T You have excess of gallantry, Sir Rowland; and press things to a conclusion, with a most prevailing vehemence.—But a day or two for decency of marriage.— WAITWELL For decency of funeral, madam. The delay will break my heart— or if that should fail, I shall be poisoned. My nephew will get an inkling of my designs, and poison m e — a n d I would willingly starve him before I die—I would gladly go out of the world with that satisfaction.—That would be some comfort to me, if I could but live so long as to be revenged on that unnatural viper. LADY W I S H F O R T Is he so unnatural, say you? Truly I would contribute much both to the saving of your life and the accomplishment of your revenge— Not that I respect 8 myself; though he has been a perfidious wretch to me. WAITWELL Perfidious to you! LADY W I S H F O R T O Sir Rowland, the hours that he has died away at my feet, the tears that he has shed, the oaths that he has sworn, the palpitations that he has felt, the trances and the tremblings, the ardors and the ecstasies, the kneelings, and the risings, the heart-heavings and the hand-gripings, the pangs and the pathetic regards of his protesting eyes! Oh, no memory can register. WAITWELL What, my rival! Is the rebel my rival? a'dies. LADY W I S H F O R T No, don't kill him at once, Sir Rowland, starve him gradually inch by inch. WAITWELL I'll do't. In three weeks he shall be barefoot; in a month out at knees with begging an alms—he shall starve upward and upward, till he has nothing living but his head, and then go out in a stink like a candle's end upon a saveall. 9 LADY W I S H F O R T Well, Sir Rowland, you have the way.—You are no novice in the labyrinth of love—you have the clue—but as I am a person, Sir Rowland, you must not attribute my yielding to any sinister appetite, or indigestion of widowhood; nor impute my complacency to any lethargy of continence.—I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials.— WAITWELL Far be it from m e — LADY W I S H F O R T If you do, I protest I must recede—or think that I have made a prostitution of decorums, but in the vehemence of compassion, and to save the life of a person of so much importance— WAITWELL I esteem it so— LADY W I S H F O R T Or else you wrong my condescension— WAITWELL I do no, I do not— WAITWELL,

LADY W I S H F O R T

7. A frame for stretching cloth on hooks so that it may dry without losing its original shape (cf. the phrase "to be on tenterhooks").

8. Consider. 9. A small pan inserted into a candlestick to catch the drippings of the candle.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 7 1

Indeed you do. I do not, fair shrine of virtue. LADY W I S H F O R T If you think the least scruple of carnality was an ingredient— WAITWELL Dear madam, no. You are all camphire 1 and frankincense, all chastity and odor. LADY W I S H F O R T Or that— [Enter F O I B L E . ] FOIBLE Madam, the dancers are ready, and there's one with a letter, who must deliver it into your own hands. LADY W I S H F O R T Sir Rowland, will you give me leave? Think favorably, judge candidly, and conclude you have found a person who would suffer racks in honor's cause, dear Sir Rowland, and will wait on you incessantly. 2 [Exit LADY W I S H F O R T . ] WAITWELL Fie, fie!—What a slavery have I undergone; spouse, hast thou any cordial? I want spirits. FOIBLE What a washy rogue art thou, to pant thus for a quarter of an hour's lying and swearing to a fine lady? WAITWELL O, she is the antidote to desire. Spouse, thou wilt fare the worse for't—I shall have no appetite for iteration of nuptials—this eight and forty hours—by this hand I'd rather be a chairman in the dog days 3 —than act Sir Rowland till this time tomorrow. [Re-enter LADY W I S H F O R T , with a letter.] LADY W I S H F O R T Call in the dancers.—Sir Rowland, we'll sit, if you please, and see the entertainment. [Dance.] Now with your permission, Sir Rowland, I will peruse my letter.—I would open it in your presence, because I would not make you uneasy. If it should make you uneasy, I would burn it—speak if it does—but you may see, the superscription is like a woman's hand. FOIBLE [TO him.] By heaven! Mrs. Marwood's, I know it—my heart a c h e s — get it from her.— WAITWELL A woman's hand? No, madam, that's no woman's hand, I see that already. That's somebody whose throat must be cut. LADY W I S H F O R T Nay, Sir Rowland, since you give me a proof of your passion by your jealousy, I promise you I'll make a return, by a frank communication—you shall see it—we'll open it together—look you here.—[Reads.]— Madam, though unknown to you (Look you there, 'tis from nobody that I know.)— I have that honor for your character, that I think myself obliged to let you know you are abused. He who pretends to be Sir Rowland is a cheat and a rascal—O Heavens! what's this? FOIBLE Unfortunate, all's ruined. WAITWELL How, how, let me see, let me see—[Reads.]—A rascal and disguised, and suborned for that imposture—O villainy! O villainy!— by the contrivance of— LADY W I S H F O R T I shall faint, I shall die, oh! FOIBLE [ T O him.] Say, 'tis your nephew's hand.—Quickly, his plot, swear, swear it.— LADY W I S H F O R T

WAITWELL

1. to 2. 3.

Camphor was considered an effective antidote sexual desire. Immediately. I.e., one who carries a sedan chair during the

hottest part of the summer. July and August are called the "dog days" because during these months the Dog Star, Sirius, rises and sets with the sun.

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2272

WILLIAM CONGREVE

Here's a villain! M a d a m , don't you perceive it, don't you see it? T O O well, too well. I have seen too much. WAITWELL I told you at first I knew the h a n d — A woman's hand? T h e rascal writes a sort of a large hand, your Roman h a n d — I saw there was a throat to be cut presently. If he were my son, as he is my nephew, I'd pistol h i m — FOIBLE O treachery! But are you sure, Sir Rowland, it is his writing? WAITWELL Sure? Am I here? D o I live? Do I love this pearl of India? I have twenty letters in my pocket from him in the s a m e character. WAITWELL

LADY W I S H F O R T

HOW!

O, what luck it is, Sir Rowland, that you were present at this juncture! This was the business that brought Mr. Mirabell disguised to M a d a m Millamant this afternoon. I thought something was contriving, when he stole by me and would have hid his face. LADY W I S H F O R T H O W , how!—I heard the villain was in the house indeed; and now I remember, my niece went away abruptly, when Sir Wilfull was to have m a d e his addresses. FOIBLE Then, then, madam, Mr. Mirabell waited for her in her chamber; but I would not tell your ladyship to discompose you when you were to receive Sir Rowland. WAITWELL Enough, his date is short. 4 FOIBLE N o , good Sir Rowland, don't incur the law. WAITWELL Law! I care not for law. I can but die, and 'tis in a good c a u s e — my lady shall be satisfied of my truth and innocence, though it cost me my life. LADY W I S H F O R T No, dear Sir Rowland, don't fight. If you should be killed I must never show my f a c e — o r be h a n g e d — O , consider my reputation, Sir Rowland—no, you shan't fight—I'll go and examine my niece; I'll make her confess. I conjure you, Sir Rowland, by all your love not to fight. WAITWELL I am charmed, madam, I obey. But s o m e proof you must let me give you—I'll go for a black box, which contains the writings of my whole estate, and deliver that into your hands. LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, dear Sir Rowland, that will be s o m e comfort. Bring the black box. WAITWELL And may I presume to bring a contract to be signed this night? May I hope so far? LADY W I S H F O R T Bring what you will; but c o m e alive, pray c o m e alive. O, this is a happy discovery. WAITWELL Dead or alive I'll c o m e — a n d married we will be in spite of treachery; aye, and get an heir that shall defeat the last remaining glimpse of hope in my abandoned nephew. C o m e , my buxom widow: FOIBLE

E'er long you shall substantial proof receive That I'm an arrant 5 knight Or arrant knave.

FOIBLE

Act

5—Scene

continnes.

[Enter LADY W I S H F O R T and F O I B L E . ] Out of my house, out of my house, thou viper, thou serpent, that I have fostered; thou bosom traitress, that I raised from nothing.—

LADY W I S H F O R T

4. He won't live long. 5. The two words errant ("wandering," as in "knight-errant") and arrant ("thorough-going,"

"notorious") were originally the same and were still pronounced alike. Tliis makes possible Foible's pun.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 7 3

Begone, begone, begone, go, go—that I took from washing of old gauze and weaving of dead hair, 6 with a bleak blue nose over a chafing dish of starved embers, and dining behind a traverse rag, 7 in a shop no bigger than a bird cage—go, go, starve again, do, do. FOIBLE Dear madam, I'll beg pardon on my knees. LADY W I S H F O R T Away, out, out, go set up for yourself again.—Do, drive a trade, do, with your three-pennyworth of small ware, flaunting upon a packthread, under a brandy-seller's bulk or against a dead wall 8 by a balladmonger. Go, hang out an old frisoneer-gorget, with a yard of yellow colberteen 9 again; do; an old gnawed mask, two rows of pins and a child's fiddle; a glass necklace with the beads broken, and a quilted nightcap with one ear. Go, go, drive a trade—these were your commodities, you treacherous trull, this was the merchandise you dealt in when I took you into my house, placed you next myself, and made you governante 1 of my whole family. You have forgot this, have you, now you have feathered your nest? FOIBLE No, no, dear madam. Do but hear me, have but a moment's patience—I'll confess all. Mr. Mirabell seduced me; I am not the first that he has wheedled with his dissembling tongue. Your ladyship's own wisdom has been deluded by him, then how should I, a poor ignorant, defend myself? 0 madam, if you knew but what he promised me, and how he assured me your ladyship should come to no damage—or else the wealth of the Indies should not have bribed me to conspire against so good, so sweet, so kind a lady as you have been to me. LADY W I S H F O R T No damage? What, to betray me, to marry me to a cast 2 servingman; to make me a receptacle, an hospital for a decayed pimp? No damage? O, thou frontless 3 impudence, more than a big-bellied actress. FOIBLE Pray do but hear me, madam. He could not marry your ladyship, m a d a m . — N o , indeed, his marriage was to have been void in law; for he was married to me first, to secure your ladyship. He could not have bedded your ladyship; for if he had consummated with your ladyship, he must have run the risk of the law, and been put upon his clergy. 4 —Yes, indeed, I inquired of the law in that case before I would meddle or make. 5 LADY W I S H F O R T What, then I have been your property, have I? I have been convenient to you, it seems.—While you were catering for Mirabell, I have been broker for you? What, have you made a passive bawd of me?—This exceeds all precedent; I am brought to fine uses, to become a botcher of second-hand marriages between Abigails and Andrews! 6 I'll couple you. Yes, I'll baste you together, you and your philander. 7 I'll Duke's-Place 8 you, as I'm a person. Your turtle is in custody already: you shall coo in the same cage, if there be constable or warrant in the parish. [Exit LADY W I S H F O R T . ] FOIBLE O, that ever I was born, O, that I was ever married.—A bride, aye, 1 shall be a Bridewell-bride. 9 Oh! 6. Foible had been a wigmaker. 7. A worn cloth, used to curtain off part of a room. 8. A continuous, unbroken wall. "Bulk": stall. 9. A French imitation of Italian lace. "Frisoneergorget": a woolen garment that covers the neckand breast. 1. Housekeeper. 2. Cast off, discharged. 3. Shameless. 4. I.e., pleaded "benefit of clergy," originally the privilege of the clergy to be tried for felony before ecclesiastical, not secular, courts; by Congreve's time it had become the privilege to plead exemp-

tion from a penal sentence granted a person who could read and was a first offender. 5. A dialectal phrase; the two words mean approximately the same thing. 6. Generic names for maidservants and servingmen. "Botcher": a mender of old clothes. Lady Wishfort means something like "a patcher-up of marriages." 7. Lover. "Baste": sew together loosely. 8. Notorious for its thriving trade in unlicensed marriages. 9. House of correction for women, in London.

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2274

WILLIAM CONGREVE

[Enter

MRS.

FAINALL.]

Poor Foible, what's the matter? FOIBLE O madam, my lady's gone for a constable. I shall be had to a justice, and put to Bridewell to beat hemp; poor Waitwell's gone to prison already. MRS. FAINALL Have a good heart, Foible. Mirabell's gone to give security for him. This is all Marwood's and my husband's doing. FOIBLE Yes, yes, I know it, madam; she was in my lady's closet, and overheard all that you said to me before dinner. S h e sent the letter to my lady; and that missing effect, 1 Mr. Fainall laid this plot to arrest Waitwell, when he pretended to go for the papers; and in the meantime Mrs. Marwood declared all to my lady. MRS. FAINALL Was there no mention made of me in the letter?—My mother does not suspect my being in the confederacy? I fancy Marwood has not told her, though she has told my husband. FOIBLE Yes, madam; but my lady did not see that part. We stifled the letter before she read so far. Has that mischievous devil told Mr. Fainall of your ladyship then? MRS. FAINALL Aye, all's out, my affair with Mirabell, everything discovered. This is the last day of our living together, that's my comfort. FOIBLE Indeed, madam, and so 'tis a comfort if you knew all.—He has been even with your ladyship; which I could have told you long enough since, but I love to keep peace and quietness by my good will. 1 had rather bring friends together than set 'em at distance. But Mrs. Marwood and he are nearer related than ever their parents thought for! MBS. FAINALL Say'st thou so, Foible? Canst thou prove this? FOIBLE I can take my oath of it, madam. So can Mrs. Mincing; we have had many a fair word from M a d a m Marwood, to conceal something that passed in our chamber one evening when you were at Hyde Park—and we were thought to have gone a-walking; but we went up unawares—though we were sworn to secrecy too; Madam Marwood took a book and swore us upon it, but it was but a book of p o e m s . — S o long as it was not a Bible-oath, we may break it with a safe conscience. MRS. FAINALL This discovery is the most opportune thing I could wish. Now, Mincing? [Enter M I N C I N G . ] MINCING My lady would speak with Mrs. Foible, mem. Mr. Mirabell is with her; he has set your spouse at liberty, Mrs. Foible, and would have you hide yourself in my lady's closet, till my old lady's anger is abated. O, my old lady is in a perilous passion, at something Mr. Fainall has said; he swears, and my old lady cries. There's a fearful hurricane, I vow. He says, mem, how that he'll have my lady's fortune made over to him, or he'll be divorced. MRS. FAINALL Does your lady or Mirabell know that? MINCING Yes, mem, they have sent me to see if Sir Wilfull be sober, and to bring him to them. My lady is resolved to have him, I think, rather than lose such a vast sum as six thousand pound. O, come, Mrs. Foible, I hear my old lady. MRS. FAINALL Foible, you must tell Mincing that she must prepare to vouch when I call her. FOIBLE Yes, yes, madam.

MRS. FAINALL

1. Not working.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 7 5

O yes, mem, I'll vouch anything for your ladyship's sendee, be what it will. [Exit M I N C I N G , F O I B L E . ] [Enter LADY W I S H F O R T and M R S . M A R W O O D . ] LADY W I S H F O R T O my dear friend, how can I enumerate the benefit that I have received from your goodness? To you I owe the timely discovery of the false vows of Mirabell; to you I owe the detection of the imposter Sir Rowland. And now you are become an intercessor with my son-in-law, to save the honor of my house, and compound for the frailties of my daughter. Well, friend, you are enough to reconcile me to the bad world, or else I would retire to deserts and solitudes, and feed harmless sheep by groves and purling streams. Dear Marwood, let us leave the world and retire by ourselves and be shepherdesses. M R S . MARWOOD Let us first dispatch the affair in hand, madam. We shall have leisure to think of retirement afterwards. Here is one who is concerned in the treaty. LADY W I S H F O R T O daughter, daughter, is it possible thou should'st be my child, bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh, and as I may say, another me, and yet transgress the most minute particle of severe virtue? Is it possible you should lean aside to iniquity, who have been cast in the direct mold of virtue? I have not only been a mold but a pattern for you, and a model for you, after you were brought into the world. M R S . FAINALL I don't understand your ladyship. LADY W I S H F O R T Not understand? Why, have you not been naught? 2 Have you not been sophisticated? 3 Not understand? Here I am ruined to compound 4 for your caprices and your cuckoldoms. I must pawn my plate and myjewels, and ruin my niece, and all little enough— M R S . FAINALL I am wronged and abused, and so are you. T i s a false accusation, as false as hell, as false as your friend there, aye, or your friend's friend, my false husband. M R S . MARWOOD My friend, Mrs. Fainall? Your husband my friend, what do you mean? MRS. FAINALL I know what I mean, madam, and so do you; and so shall the world at a time convenient. M R S . MARWOOD I am sorry to see you so passionate, madam. More temper 5 would look more like innocence. But I have done. I am sorry my zeal to serve your ladyship and family should admit of misconstruction, or make me liable to affront. You will pardon me, madam, if I meddle no more with an affair in which I am not personally concerned. LADY W I S H F O R T O dear friend, I am so ashamed that you should meet with such returns.—You ought to ask pardon on your knees, ungrateful creature; she deserves more from you than all your life can accomplish—O, don't leave me destitute in this perplexity—no, stick to me, my good genius. M R S . FAINALL I tell you, madam, you're abused—Stick to you? aye, like a leech, to suck your best blood—She'll drop off when she's full. Madam, you shan't pawn a bodkin, nor part with a brass counter, 6 in composition for me. I defy 'em all. Let 'em prove their aspersions; I know my own innocence, and dare stand a trial. [Exit M R S . F A I N A L L . ]

MINCING

2. Wicked. 3. Corrupted. 4. I.e., come to terms by making a monetary settlement.

5. Moderation. 6. An imitation coin, used in games of chance. "Bodkin": ornamental hairpin. "In composition for me": to settle my debts.

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2276

WILLIAM

CONGREVE

Why, if she should be innocent, if she should be wronged after all, ha? I don't know what to think—and I promise you, her education has been unexceptionable—I may say it; for I chiefly made it my own care to initiate her very infancy in the rudiments of virtue, and to impress upon her tender years a young odium and aversion to the very sight of men.— Aye, friend, she would have shrieked if she had but seen a man, till she was in her teens. As I'm a person, 'tis true—she was never suffered to play with a male child, though but in coats. Nay, her very babies 7 were of the feminine gender—O, she never looked a man in the face but her own father, or the chaplain, and him we made a shift to put upon her for a woman, by the help of his long garments, and his sleek face; till she was going in her fifteen. MRS. MARWOOD 'Twas much she should be deceived so long. LADY W I S H F O R T I warrant you, or she would never have borne to have been catechized by him; and have heard his long lectures against singing and dancing, and such debaucheries; and going to filthy plays; and profane music-meetings, where the lewd trebles squeek nothing but bawdry, and the basses roar blasphemy. O, she would have swooned at the sight or name of an obscene play-book—and can I think after all this, that my daughter can be naught? What, a whore? And thought it excommunication to set her foot within the door of a playhouse? O dear friend, I can't believe it, no, no; as she says, let him prove it, let him prove it. M R S . MARWOOD Prove it, madam? What, and have your name prostituted in a public court; yours and your daughter's reputation worried at the bar by a pack of bawling lawyers? To be ushered in with an O Yes of scandal; and have your case opened by an old fumbler lecher in a quoif 8 like a man midwife, to bring your daughter's infamy to light; to be a theme for legal punsters, and quibblers by the statute; and become a jest, against a rule of court, where there is no precedent for a jest in any record, not even in Doomsday Book; 9 to discompose the gravity of the bench, and provoke naughty interrogatories in more naughty law-Latin; while the good judge, tickled with the proceeding, simpers under a gray beard, and fidges off and on his cushion as if he had swallowed cantharides, or sate upon cowhage. 1 LADY W I S H F O R T O, 'tis very hard! MRS. MARWOOD And then to have my young revelers of the Temple take notes, like prentices at a conventicle; and after talk it over again in commons, 2 or before drawers in an eating house. LADY W I S H F O R T Worse and worse. MRS. MARWOOD Nay, this is nothing; if it would end here 'twere well. But it must after this be consigned by the shorthand writers to the public press; and from thence be transferred to the hands, nay into the throats and lungs of hawkers, with voices more licentious than the loud flounderman's or the woman that cries gray peas; 3 and this you must hear till you are stunned; nay, you must hear nothing else for some days.

LADY W I S H F O R T

7. Dolls. "In coats": in the dress common to young children of both genders. 8. The cap of a sergeant-at-law. "O Yes": T h e formula for opening court, a variant of Old French Oyez, "Hear ye." 9. Or Domesday Book, the survey of England made in 1085—86 by William the Conqueror. 1. A plant that causes intolerable itching. "Fid-

ges": fidgets. "Cantharides": Spanish fly, an irritant. 2. In the dining hall. "Revelers": here, law students. T h e Temple is one of the Inns of Court. "Conventicle": clandestine meeting of Protestant Dissenters. 3. Street vendors known for their stridency.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 7 7

O, 'tis insupportable. No, no, dear friend, make it up, make it up; aye, aye, I'll compound. I'll give up all, myself and my all, my niece and her all—anything, everything for composition. M R S . MARWOOD Nay, madam, I advise nothing; I only lay before you, as a friend, the inconveniencies which perhaps you have overseen. 4 Here comes Mr. Fainall. If he will be satisfied to huddle up all in silence, I shall be glad. You must think I would rather congratulate than condole with you. [Enter F A I N A L L . ] LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, aye, I do not doubt it, dear Marwood. No, no, I do not doubt it. FAINALL Well, madam; I have suffered myself to be overcome by the importunity of this lady, your friend, and am content you shall enjoy your own proper estate during life; on condition you oblige yourself never to marry, under such penalty as I think convenient. LADY W I S H F O R T Never to marry? FAINALL No more Sir Rowlands—the next imposture may not be so timely detected. M R S . MARWOOD That condition, I dare answer, my lady will consent to, without difficulty; she has already but too much experienced the perfidiousness of men. Besides, madam, when we retire to our pastoral solitude we shall bid adieu to all other thoughts. LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, that's true; but in case of necessity; as of health, or some such emergency— FAINALL O, if you are prescribed marriage, you shall be considered; I will only reserve to myself the power to choose for you. If your physic be wholesome, it matters not who is your apothecary. Next, my wife shall settle on me the remainder of her fortune, not made over already; and for her maintenance depend entirely on my discretion. LADY W I S H F O R T This is most inhumanly savage; exceeding the barbarity of a Muscovite husband. FAINALL I learned it from His Czarish Majesty's retinue, 5 in a winter evening's conference over brandy and pepper, amongst other secrets of matrimony and policy, as they are at present practiced in the northern hemisphere. But this must be agreed unto, and that positively. Lastly, I will be endowed, in right of my wife, with that six thousand pound, which is the moiety of Mrs. Millamant's fortune in your possession; and which she has forfeited (as will appear by the last will and testament of your deceased husband, Sir Jonathan Wishfort) by her disobedience in contracting herself against your consent or knowledge; and by refusing the offered match with Sir Wilfull Witwoud, which you, like a careful aunt, had provided for her. LADY W I S H F O R T My nephew was non compos,6 and could not make his addresses. FAINALL I come to make demands—I'll hear no objections. LADY W I S H F O R T Y O U will grant me time to consider? FAINALL Yes, while the instrument 7 is drawing, to which you must set your hand till more sufficient deeds can be perfected: which I will take care shall LADY W I S H F O R T

4. Overlooked. 5. Peter the Great of Russia visited London in 1698.

6. I.e., non compos mentis (of unsound mind, Latin). 7. Legal contract.

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2278

WILLIAM CONGREVE

be done with all possible speed. In the meanwhile I will go for the said instrument, and till my return you may balance this matter in your own discretion. [Exit F A I N A L L . ] LADY W I S H F O R T This insolence is beyond all precedent, all parallel; must I be subject to this merciless villain? MRS. MARWOOD 'Tis severe indeed, madam, that you should smart for your daughter's wantonness. LADY W I S H F O R T 'Twas against my consent that she married this barbarian, but she would have him, though her year was not out. 8 —Ah! her first husband, my son Languish, would not have carried it thus. Well, that was my choice, this is hers; she is matched now with a witness 9 —I shall be mad, dear friend. Is there no comfort for me? Must 1 live to be confiscated at this rebel-rate?—Here comes two more of my Egyptian plagues, 1 too. [Enter M R S . M I L L A M A N T and S I R W I L F U L L . ] SIR W I L F U L L Aunt, your servant. LADY W I S H F O R T Out, caterpillar, call not me aunt; I know thee not. SIR W I L F U L L I confess I have been a little in disguise, 2 as they say—'Sheart! and I'm sorry for't. What would you have? I hope I committed no offense, aunt—and if I did, I am willing to make satisfaction; and what can a man say fairer? If I have broke anything, I'll pay for't, an' it cost a pound. And so let that content for what's past, and make no more words. For what's to come, to pleasure you I'm willing to marry my cousin. So, pray, let's all be friends. She and I are agreed upon the matter before a witness. LADY W I S H F O R T How's this, dear niece? Have I any comfort? Can this be true? MILLAMANT I am content to be a sacrifice to your repose, madam; and to convince you that I had no hand in the plot, as you were misinformed, I have laid my commands on Mirabell to come in person, and be a witness that I give my hand to this flower of knighthood; and for the contract that passed between Mirabell and me, I have obliged him to make a resignation of it in your ladyship's presence.—He is without, and waits your leave for admittance. LADY W I S H F O R T Well, I'll swear I am something revived at this testimony of your obedience; but I cannot admit that traitor—I fear I cannot fortify myself to support his appearance. He is as terrible to me as a Gorgon;' if I see him, I fear I shall turn to stone, petrify incessantly. MILLAMANT If you disoblige him, he may resent your refusal, and insist upon the contract still. Then 'tis the last time he will be offensive to you. LADY W I S H F O R T Are you sure it will be the last time?—If I were sure of that— Shall I never see him again? MILLAMANT Sir Wilfull, you and he are to travel together, are you not? SIR WILFULL 'Sheart, the gentleman's a civil gentleman, aunt, let him come in; why, we are sworn brothers and fellow travelers. We are to be Pylades and Orestes, 4 he and I. He is to be my interpreter in foreign parts. He has been overseas once already; and with proviso that I marry my cousin, will 8. The conventional period of mourning for a widow was one year. 9. With a vengeance. 1. T h e plagues visited by God on Pharaoh until he agreed to release the Israelites from bondage (Exodus 7 - 1 2 ) . 2. Drunk.

3. In Greek mythology, a hideous monster with snakes in her hair. Her glance turned people to stone. 4. Pylades was the constant friend who journeyed with Orestes, the son and avenger of the murdered king Agamemnon.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 7 9

cross 'em once again, only to bear my company.—'Sheart, I'll call him in— an I set on't once, he shall come in; and see who'll hinder him. [Exit SIR WILFULL.] MRS. MARWOOD

bottom of it.

This is precious fooling, if it would pass; but I'll know the

O dear Marwood, you are not going? Not far, madam; I'll return immediately. [Exit M R S . M A R W O O D . ] [Re-enter S I R W I L F U L L and M I R A B E L L . ] S I R W I L F U L L [Aside.] Look up, man, I'll stand by you. 'Sbud an she do frown, she can't kill you—besides—harkee, she dare not frown desperately, because her face is none of her own. 'Sheart, an she should her forehead would wrinkle like the coat of a cream cheese; but mum for that, fellow traveler. MIRABELL If a deep sense of the many injuries I have offered to so good a lady, with a sincere remorse, and a hearty contrition, can but obtain the least glance of compassion, I am too happy—Ah madam, there was a time— but let it be forgotten—I confess I have deservedly forfeited the high place I once held of sighing at your feet. Nay kill me not by turning from me in disdain—I come not to plead for favor—nay not for pardon. I am a suppliant only for pity—I am going where I never shall behold you more— S I R W I L F U L L [Aside.] How, fellow traveler!—You shall go by yourself then. MIRABELL Let me be pitied first, and afterwards forgotten—I ask no more. SIR W I L F U L L By'r Lady a very reasonable request, and will cost you nothing, aunt.—Come, come, forgive and forget, aunt. Why you must, an you are a Christian. MIRABELL Consider, madam, in reality you could not receive much prejudice; it was an innocent device, though I confess it had a face of guiltiness.—It was at most an artifice which love contrived—and errors which love produces have ever been accounted venial. At least think it is punishment enough that I have lost what in my heart I hold most dear, that to your cruel indignation, I have offered up this beauty, and with her my peace and quiet; nay, all my hopes of future comfort. SIR W I L F U L L An he does not move me, would I may never be o' the quorum 5 — An it were not as good a deed as to drink, to give her to him again—I would I might never take shipping.—Aunt, if you don't forgive quickly I shall melt, I can tell you that. My contract went no farther than a little mouth glue, 6 and that's hardly dry.—One doleful sigh more from my fellow traveler and 'tis dissolved. LADY W I S H F O R T Well, nephew, upon your account—Ah, he has a false insinuating tongue.—Well, sir, I will stifle my just resentment at my nephew's request. I will endeavor what I can to forget—but on proviso that you resign the contract with my niece immediately. MIRABELL It is in writing and with papers of concern, but I have sent my servant for it and will deliver it to you, with all acknowledgements for your transcendent goodness. LADY W I S H F O R T [Aside.] O, he has witchcraft in his eyes and tongue; when I LADY W I S H F O R T MARWOOD

5. Justices of the peace, who were required to be present at the sessions of a court. 6. Literally, glue to be used by moistening with the

tongue; but here, "glue made of mere words" and therefore not binding.

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2280

WILLIAM CONGREVE

did not see him I could have bribed a villain to his assassination; but his appearance rakes the embers which have so long lain smothered in my breast.— [Enter F A I N A L L and M R S . M A R W O O D . ] FAINALL Your date of deliberation, madam, is expired. Here is the instrument; are you prepared to sign? LADY W I S H F O R T If I were prepared, I am not empowered. My niece exerts a lawful claim, having matched herself by my direction to Sir Wilfull. FAINALL That sham is too gross to pass on me—though 'tis imposed on you, madam. MILLAMANT Sir, I have given my consent. MIRABELL And, sir, I have resigned my pretensions. SIR W I L F U L L And, sir, I assert my right; and will maintain it in defiance of you, sir, and of your instrument. 'Sheart, an you talk of an instrument, sir, I have an old fox by my thigh shall hack your instrument of ram vellum 7 to shreds, sir. It shall not be sufficient for a mittimus8 or a tailor's measure; therefore withdraw your instrument, sir, or by'r Lady I shall draw mine. LADY W I S H F O R T Hold, nephew, hold. MILLAMANT Good Sir Wilfull, respite your valor. FAINALL Indeed? Are you provided of your guard, with your single beefeater'' there? But I'm prepared for you; and insist upon my first proposal. You shall submit your own estate to my management and absolutely make over my wife's to my sole use, as pursuant to the purport and tenor of this other covenant. I suppose, madam, your consent is not requisite in this case; nor, Mr. Mirabell, your resignation; nor, Sir Wilfull, your right—You may draw your fox if you please, sir, and make a bear garden 1 flourish somewhere else: for here it will not avail. This, my Lady Wishfort, must be subscribed, or your darling daughter's turned adrift, like a leaky hulk to sink or swim, as she and the current of this lewd town can agree. LADY W I S H F O R T I S there no means, no remedy, to stop my ruin? Ungrateful wretch! Dost thou not owe thy being, thy subsistence to my daughter's fortune? FAINALL I'll answer you when I have the rest of it in my possession. MIRABELL But that you would not accept of a remedy from my hands—I own I have not deserved you should owe any obligation to me; or else perhaps I could advise— LADY W I S H F O R T O, what? what? to save me and my child from ruin, from want, I'll forgive all that's past; nay, I'll consent to anything to come, to be delivered from this tyranny. MIRABELL Aye, madam, but that is too late; my reward is intercepted. You have disposed of her who only could have made me a compensation for all my services; but be it as it may, I am resolved I'll serve you. You shall not be wronged in this savage manner. LADY W I S H F O R T H O W ! Dear Mr. Mirabell, can you be so generous at last! But it is not possible. Harkee, I'll break my nephew's match, you shall have my niece yet, and all her fortune, if you can but save me from this imminent danger. 7. The legal instrument to be signed is written on vellum. "Fox": a kind of sword. 8. A warrant, committing a felon to jail.

9. Yeoman of the guard. 1. The place for bear baiting, frequented by a vulgar and unruly crowd. "Draw": track by scent.

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D , EPILOGUE / 2 2 8 1

Will you? I take you at your word. I ask no more. I must have leave for two criminals to appear. LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, aye, anybody, anybody. MIRABELL Foible is one, and a penitent. [Enter M R S . F A I N A L L , F O I B L E , and M I N C I N G . ] MRS. MARWOOD O, my shame! These corrupt things are brought hither to expose me. [ M I R A B E L L and LADY W I S H F O R T go to M R S . F A I N A L L and F O I B L E . ] FAINALL If it must all come out, why let 'em know it, 'tis but the way of the world. That shall not urge me to relinquish or abate one tittle of my terms; no, I will insist the more. FOIBLE Yes, indeed, madam, I'll take my Bible-oath of it. MINCING And so will I, mem. LADY W I S H F O R T O Marwood, Marwood, art thou false? My friend deceive me? Hast thou been a wicked accomplice with that profligate man? M R S . MARWOOD Have you so much ingratitude and injustice, to give credit against your friend to the aspersions of two such mercenary trulls? MINCING Mercenary, mem? I scorn your words. 'Tis true we found you and Mr. Fainall in the blue garret; by the same token, you swore us to secrecy upon Messalina's 2 poems. Mercenary? No, if we would have been mercenary, we should have held our tongues; you would have bribed us sufficiently. FAINALL G O , you are an insignificant thing. Well, what are you the better for this! Is this Mr. Mirabell's expedient? I'll be put off no longer. You, thing that was a wife, shall smart for this. I will not leave thee wherewithal to hide thy shame: your body shall be naked as your reputation. M R S . FAINALL I despise you and defy your malice.-—You have aspersed me wrongfully.—I have proved your falsehood.—Go, you and your treacherous—I will not name it, but starve together—perish. FAINALL Not while you are worth a groat, indeed, my dear. Madam, I'll be fooled no longer. LADY W I S H F O R T Ah, Mr. Mirabell, this is small comfort, the detection of this affair. MIRABELL O, in good time—Your leave for the other offender and penitent to appear, madam. [Enter W A I T W E L L with a hox of writings.] LADY W I S H F O R T O Sir Rowland—Well, rascal. WAITWELL What your ladyship pleases—I have brought the black box at last, madam. MIRABELL Give it me. Madam, you remember your promise. LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, dear sir. MIRABELL Where are the gentlemen? WAITWELL At hand, sir, rubbing their eyes, just risen from sleep. FAINALL 'Sdeath, what's this to me? I'll not wait your private concerns. [Enter P E T U L A N T and W I T W O U D . ] PETULANT How now? What's the matter? Whose hand's out? 3 WITWOUD Heyday! What, are you all got together, like players at the end of the last act? MIRABELL

2. Mincing means Miscellany, a collection of poems by various writers, such as Dryden's popular Miscellanies. Messalina was the viciously de-

bauched wife of the Roman emperor Claudius. 3. I.e., Whose game's over?

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2282

WILLIAM CONGREVE

Y O U may remember, gentlemen, I once requested your hands as witnesses to a certain parchment. WITWOUD Aye, I do, my hand I remember—Petulant set his mark. MIRABELL Y O U wrong him, his name is fairly written, as shall appear. You do not remember, gentlemen, anything of what that parchment contained— [Undoing the box.] MIRABELL

WITWOUD

No.

Not I. I writ, I read nothing. MIRABELL Very well, now you shall know. Madam, your promise. LADY W I S H F O R T Aye, aye, sir, upon my honor. MIRABELL Mr. Fainall, it is now time that you should know that your lady, while she was at her own disposal, and before you had by your insinuations wheedled her out of a pretended settlement of the greatest part of her fortune— FAINALL Sir! Pretended! MIRABELL Yes, sir. I say that this lady while a widow, having, it seems, received some cautions respecting your inconstancy and tyranny of temper, which from her own partial opinion and fondness of you she could never have suspected—she did, I say, by the wholesome advice of friends and of sages learned in the laws of this land, deliver this same as her act and deed to me in trust, and to the uses within mentioned. You may read if you p l e a s e — [ H o l d i n g out the parchment.]—though perhaps what is written on the back may serve your occasions. FAINALL Very likely, sir. What's here? Damnation!— [Reads.] A deed of conveyance of the whole estate real of Arabella Languish, widow, in trust to Edward Mirabell. Confusion! MIRABELL Even so, sir, 'tis the way of the world, sir; of the widows of the world. I suppose this deed may bear an elder date than what you have obtained from your lady. FAINALL Perfidious fiend! Then thus I'll be revenged. [Offers to run at M R S . F A I N A L L . ] SIR W I L F U L L Hold, sir, now you may make your bear garden flourish somewhere else, sir. FAINALL Mirabell, you shall hear of this, sir, be sure you shall. Let me pass, oaf. [Exit F A I N A L L . ] MRS. FAINALL M a d a m , you seem to stifle your resentment: you had better give it vent. M R S . MARWOOD Yes, it shall have vent—and to your confusion, or I'll perish in the attempt. [Exit M R S . M A R W O O D . ] LADY W I S H F O R T O daughter, daughter, 'tis plain thou hast inherited thy mother's prudence. MRS. FAINALL Thank Mr. Mirabell, a cautious friend, to whose advice all is owing. LADY W I S H F O R T Well, Mr. Mirabell, you have kept your promise and I must perform mine. First I pardon for your sake Sir Rowland there and Foible.— The next thing is to break the matter to my nephew—and how to do that— MIRABELL For that, madam, give yourself no trouble—let me have your consent.—Sir Wilfull is my friend; he has had compassion upon lovers, and generously engaged a volunteer in this action, for our service; and now designs to prosecute his travels. SIR W I L F U L L 'Sheart, aunt, I have no mind to marry. My cousin's a fine lady, PETULANT

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T H E WAY OF THE W O R L D ,

EPILOGUE

2283

and the gentleman loves her, and she loves him, and they deserve one another. My resolution is to see foreign parts—I have set on't—and when I'm set on't, I must do't. And if these two gentlemen would travel too, I think they may be spared. PETULANT For my part, I say little—I think things are best off or on. WITWOUD Igad, I understand nothing of the matter—I'm in a maze yet; like a dog in a dancing school. LADY V W S H F O R T Well, sir, take her, and with her all the joy I can give you. MILLAMANT Why does not the man take me? Would you have me give myself to you over again? MIRABELL Aye, and over and over again—[Kisses her hand..]—I would have you as often as possibly I can. Well, Heaven grant I love you not too well, that's all my fear. SIR W I L F U L L 'Sheart, you'll have time enough to toy after you're married; or if you will toy now, let us have a dance in the meantime; that we who are not lovers may have some other employment, besides looking on. MIRABELL With all my heart, dear Sir Wilfull. What shall we do for music? FOIBLE O, sir, some that were provided for Sir Rowland's entertainment are yet within call. [A D A N C E . ] A S I am a person I can hold out no longer.—I have wasted my spirits so today already, that I am ready to sink under the fatigue; and I cannot but have some fears upon me yet, that my son Fainall will pursue some desperate course. MIRABELL Madam, disquiet not yourself on that account; to my knowledge his circumstances are such, he must of force comply. For my part, I will contribute all that in me lies to a reunion: in the meantime, madam— [To MRS. FAINALL.]—let me before these witnesses restore to you this deed of trust; it may be a means, well managed, to make you live easily together. LADY W I S H F O R T

From hence let those be warned, who mean to wed; Lest mutual falsehood stain the bridal bed: For each deceiver to his cost may find, That marriage frauds too oft are paid in kind.

[Exeunt omnes.] Epilogue SPOKEN BY MRS. BRACEGIRDLE4

After our Epilogue this crowd dismisses, I'm thinking how this play'll be pulled to pieces. But pray consider, e'er you doom its fall, How hard a thing 'twould be to please you all. There are some critics so with spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased; And sure he must have more than mortal skill, Who pleases anyone against his will.

4. Anne Bracegirdle (ca. 1663—1748), the most brilliant actress of her generation. She created the role of Millamant. Congreve loved her, and it was rumored that they were secretly married.

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2 2 8 4

MARY

ASTELL

Then, all bad poets we are sure are foes, And how their number's swelled the town well knows: In shoals, I've marked 'em judging in the pit; Though they're on no pretence for judgment fit, f But that they have been damned for want of wit. J Since when, they by their own offenses taught Set up for spies on plays, and finding fault. Others there are whose malice we'd prevent; 1 S u c h , who watch plays, with scurrilous intent f To mark out who by characters are meant. J And though no perfect likeness they can trace, Yet each pretends to know the copied face. These, with false glosses feed their own ill-nature, And turn to libel, what was meant a satire. 5 May such malicious fops this fortune find, To think themselves alone the fools designed: If any are so arrogantly vain, To think they singly can support a scene, f And furnish fool enough to entertain. J For well the learn'd and the judicious know, 1 That satire scorns to stoop so meanly low, As any one abstracted 0 fop to show. J separated For, as when painters form a matchless face, They from each fair one catch some different grace, And shining features in one portrait blend, To which no single beauty must pretend: So poets oft do in one piece expose Whole belles assemblies of coquettes and beaux. 1700

P r o n o u n c e na-ter a n d sa-ter.

MARY A S T E L L 1666-1731 Daughter of a Newcastle merchant, Mary Astell was encouraged and educated by her uncle, a clergyman. She never forgot what he taught her: a confidence in her own reason and a religious faith entirely compatible with reason. In her twenties she moved to Chelsea, on the outskirts of London, where she spent the rest of her life. There she championed the causes of women and the Church of England, and her vigorous way of arguing (not only in print but in person) won her many admirers, both male and female. Her political and religious polemics also put her at odds with many important writers, including John Locke and Daniel Defoe (for her response to Lockean arguments for political liberty, see p. 2834). One of her best-known works, A Serious Proposal to the Ladies (1694), was, like the rest of her writings, published anonymously ("by a Lover of her Sex"). It advocates the founding of a monastic school or retreat for women, where a rigorous, wide-ranging education could be combined with moral and religious discipline. Though the idea was never carried out, it had a

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SOME

REFLECTIONS

UPON

MARRIAGE

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broad influence on later plans for educating women as well as on literature. At the end of Johnson's Rasselas, both Pekuah's dream of leading a religious order and Nekayah's desire to found a college of learned women owe something to Astell. To question the customs and laws of marriage is to question society itself, its distribution of money and power and love. During the eighteenth century many of the terms of marriage were renegotiated. The older view of the wife as a chattel, bound by contract to a husband whom others had chosen for her and whom she was sworn to obey, was hotly debated and challenged. The witty arguments of Congreve's The Way of the World (1700) reflect this growing debate between the sexes. Another work published in the same year, Some Reflections upon Marriage, takes a more independent position. Marriage, according to Astell, is all too often a trap. She insists that a woman should be guided by reason, not only in choosing a mate but in choosing whether or not to marry at all (Astell herself never married). So long as the institution of marriage perpetuates inequality rather than a true partnership of minds, women had better beware of flattery and look to themselves or to God, not to men, for the hope of a better life. The debate on marriage continued throughout the century in works such as Defoe's Roxana, Hogarth's Marriage A-la-Mode, the novels of Samuel Richardson, Rasselas, and eventually the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin. It still continues today. In her sharp, lively style and the pertinent questions she raised, Astell has come to be seen as ahead of her time.

From Some Reflections upon Marriage 1 If marriage be such a blessed state, how comes it, may you say, that there are so few happy marriages? Now in answer to this, it is not to be wondered that so few succeed; we should rather be surprised to find so many do, considering how imprudently men engage, the motives they act by, and the very strange conduct they observe throughout. For pray, what do men propose to themselves in marriage? What qualifications do they look after in a spouse? What will she bring? is the first enquiry: How many acres? Or how much ready coin? Not that this is altogether an unnecessary question, for marriage without a competency, 2 that is, not only a bare subsistence, but even a handsome and plentiful provision, according to the quality 3 and circumstances of the parties, is no very comfortable condition. They who marry for love, as they call it, find time enough to repent their rash folly, and are not long in being convinced, that whatever fine speeches might be made in the heat of passion, there could be no real kindness between those who can agree to make each other miserable. But as an estate is to be considered, so it should not be the main, much less the only consideration; for happiness does not depend on wealth. *

But suppose a man does not marry for money, though for one that does not, perhaps there are thousands that do; suppose he marries for love, an heroic action, which makes a mighty noise in the world, partly because of its rarity, and partly in regard of its extravagancy, and what does his marrying for love amount to? There's no great odds between his marrying for the love of money, or for the love of beauty; the man does not act according to reason in either 1. T h e text is from the first edition. 2. Sufficient income.

3. Social position.

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case, but is governed by irregular appetites. But he loves her wit perhaps, and this, you'll say, is more spiritual, more refined: not at all, if you examine it to the bottom. For what is that which nowadays passes under the name of wit? A bitter and ill-natured raillery, a pert repartee, or a confident talking at all; and in such a multitude of words, it's odds if something or other does not pass that is surprising, though every thing that surprises does not please; some things are wondered at for their ugliness, as well as others for their beauty. True wit, durst one venture to describe it, is quite another thing; it consists in such a sprightliness of imagination, such a reach and turn of thought, so properly expressed, as strikes and pleases a judicious taste. 4 s

Thus, whether it be wit or beauty that a man's in love with, there's no great hopes of a lasting happiness; beauty, with all the helps of art, is of no very lasting date; the more it is helped, the sooner it decays; and he, who only or chiefly chose for beauty, will in a little time find the same reason for another choice. Nor is that sort of wit which he prefers, of a more sure tenure; or allowing it to last, it will not always please. For that which has not a real excellency and value in itself entertains no longer than that giddy humor which recommended it to us holds; and when we can like on no just, or on very little ground,'tis certain a dislike will arise, as lightly and as unaccountably. And it is not improbable that such a husband may in a little time, by ill usage, provoke such a wife to exercise her wit, that is, her spleen 5 on him, and then it is not hard to guess how very agreeable it will be to him. $

But do the women never choose amiss? Are the men only in fault? That is not pretended; for he who will be just must be forced to acknowledge that neither sex is always in the right. A woman, indeed, can't properly be said to choose; all that is allowed her, is to refuse or accept what is offered. And when we have made such reasonable allowances as are due to the sex, perhaps they may not appear so much in fault as one would at first imagine, and a generous spirit will find more occasion to pity than to reprove. But sure I transgress— it must not be supposed that the ladies can do amiss! He is but an ill-bred fellow who pretends that they need amendment! They are, no doubt on't, always in the right, and most of all when they take pity on distressed lovers; whatever they say carries an authority that no reason can resist, and all that they do must needs be exemplary! This is the modish language, nor is there a man of honor amongst the whole tribe that would not venture his life, nay and his salvation too, in their defense, if any but himself attempts to injure them. But I must ask pardon if I can't come up to these heights, nor flatter them with the having no faults, which is only a malicious way of continuing and increasing their mistakes. $

But, alas! what poor woman is ever taught that she should have a higher design than to get her a husband? Heaven will fall in of course; and if she make but an obedient and dutiful wife, she cannot miss of it. A husband indeed

4. Cf. Pope's An Essay on Criticism 2 . 2 9 7 - 3 0 4 (p. 2 5 0 3 ) .

5. Bad temper,

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is thought by both sexes so very valuable, that scarce a man who can keep himself clean and make a bow, but thinks he is good enough to pretend 6 to any woman; no matter for the difference of birth or fortune, a husband is such a wonder-working name as to make an equality, or something more, whenever it is pronounced. &

To wind up this matter: if a woman were duly principled and taught to know the world, especially the true sentiments that men have of her, and the traps they lay for her under so many gilded compliments, and such a seemingly great respect, that disgrace would be prevented which is brought upon too many families; women would marry more discreetly, and demean 7 themselves better in a married state than some people say they do. $

But some sage persons may perhaps object, that were women allowed to improve themselves, and not, amongst other discouragements, driven back by the wise jests and scoffs that are put upon a woman of sense or learning, a philosophical lady, as she is called by way of ridicule, they would be too wise, and too good for the men. I grant it, for vicious and foolish men. Nor is it to be wondered that he is afraid he should not be able to govern them were their understandings improved, who is resolved not to take too much pains with his own. But these,'tis to be hoped, are no very considerable number, the foolish at least; and therefore this is so far from being an argument against their improvement, that it is a strong one for it, if we do but suppose the men to be as capable of improvement as the women; but much more if, according to tradition, we believe they have greater capacities. This, if anything, would stir them up to be what they ought, not permit them to waste their time and abuse their faculties in the service of their irregular appetites and unreasonable desires, and so let poor contemptible women, who have been their slaves, excel them in all that is truly excellent. This would make them blush at employing an immortal mind no better than in making provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof, since women, by a wiser conduct, have brought themselves to such a reach of thought, to such exactness of judgment, such clearness and strength of reasoning, such purity and elevation of mind, such command of their passions, such regularity of will and affection, and, in a word, to such a pitch of perfection as the human soul is capable of attaining even in this life by the grace of God; such true wisdom, such real greatness, as though it does not qualify them to make a noise in this world, to found or overturn empires, yet it qualifies them for what is infinitely better, a Kingdom that cannot be moved, an incorruptible crown of glory. *

Again, it may be said, if a wife's case be as it is here represented, it is not good for a woman to marry, and so there's an end of human race. But this is no fair consequence, for all that can justly be inferred from hence is that a woman has no mighty obligations to the man who makes love to her; she has no reason to be fond of being a wife, or to reckon it a piece of preferment when she is taken to be a man's upper-servant; 8 it is no advantage to her in 6. Aspire or lay claim. 7. Behave.

8. High-ranking servant. "Preferment": advancement in rank.

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this world; if rightly managed it may prove one as to the next. For she who marries purely to do good, to educate souls for heaven, who can be so truly mortified as to lay aside her own will and desires, to pay such an entire submission for life, to one whom she cannot be sure will always deserve it, does certainly perform a more heroic action than all the famous masculine heroes can boast of; she suffers a continual martyrdom to bring glory to God, and benefit to mankind; which consideration indeed may carry her through all difficulties, I know not what else can, and engage her to love him who proves perhaps so m u c h worse than a brute, as to make this condition yet more grievous than it needed to be. She has need of a strong reason, of a truly Christian and well-tempered spirit, of all the assistance the best education can give her, and ought to have some good assurance of her own firmness and virtue, who ventures on such a trial; and for this reason 'tis less to be wondered at that women marry off in haste, for perhaps if they took time to consider and reflect upon it, they seldom would. 1700

DANIEL ca.

DEFOE

1660-1731

By birth, education, and occupations Daniel Defoe was a stranger to the sphere of refined tastes and classical learning that dominated polite literature during his lifetime. Middle class in his birth, Presbyterian in his religion, he belonged among the hardy Nonconformist tradesfolk who, after the Restoration, slowly increased their wealth and toward the end of the seventeenth century began to achieve political importance. He began adult life as a small merchant and for a while prospered, but he was not overscrupulous in his dealings, and in 1692 he found himself bankrupt, with debts amounting to £17,000. This was the first of his many financial crises, crises that drove him to make his way, like his own heroes and heroines, by whatever means presented themselves. And however double his dealings, he seems always to have found the way to reconcile them with his genuine Nonconformist piety. His restless mind was fertile in "projects," both for himself and for the country, and his itch for politics made the role of passive observer impossible for him. An ardent Whig, he first gained notoriety by political verses and pamphlets, and for one of them, "The Shortest Way with the Dissenters" (1702), in which he ironically defended Anglican oppression, he stood in the pillory three times and was sentenced to jail. He was released through the influence of Robert Harley (later earl of Oxford), who recognized in Defoe, as he was to do in Swift, a useful ally. For the next eleven years Defoe served his benefactor secretly as a political spy and confidential agent, traveling throughout England and Scotland, reporting and perhaps influencing opinion. As founder and editor of the Review, he endeavored to gain support for Harley's policies, even when, in 1710, Harley became head of a Tory ministry. It is characteristic of Defoe that, after the fall of the Tories in 1 714, he went over to the triumphant Whigs and served them as loyally as he had their enemy. When he was nearly sixty, Defoe's energy and inventiveness enabled him to break new ground, indeed to begin a new career. Robinson Crusoe, which appeared in 1719, is the first of a series of tales of adventure for which Defoe is now admired, but which brought him little esteem from the polite world, however much they gratified the less cultivated readers in the City or the servants' hall. (For two additional selections by

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Defoe, go to Norton Literature Online.) In Robinson Crusoe and other tales that followed, Defoe was able to use all his greatest gifts: the ability to re-create a milieu vividly, through the cumulative effect of carefully observed, often petty details; a special skill in writing easygoing prose, the language of actual speech, which seems to reveal the consciousness of the first-person narrator; a wide knowledge of the society in which he lived, both the trading classes and the rogues who preyed on them; and an absorption in the spectacle of lonely human beings, whether Crusoe on his-island or Moll Flanders in England and Virginia, somehow bending a stubborn and indifferent environment to their own ends of survival or profits. There is something of himself in all his protagonists: enormous vitality, humanity, and a scheming and sometimes sneaky ingenuity. In these fictitious autobiographies of adventurers or rogues— Captain Singleton (1720), Moll Flanders (1722), Colonel Jack (1722), and Roxana (1724)—Defoe spoke for and to the members of his own class. Like them, he was engrossed by property and success, and his way of writing made all he touched seem true.

From Roxana 1 [THE CONS OF MARRIAGE]

One morning, in the middle of our unlawful freedoms—that is to say, when we were in bed together—he sighed, and told me he desired my leave to ask me one question, and that I would give him an answer to it with the same ingenuous freedom and honesty that I had used to 2 treat him with. I told him I would. Why, then, his question was, why I would not marry him, seeing I allowed him all the freedom of a husband. "Or," says he, "my dear, since you have been so kind as to take me to your bed, why will you not make me your own, and take me for good and all, that we may enjoy ourselves without any reproach to one another?" I told him, that as I confessed it was the only thing I could not comply with him in, so it was the only thing in all my actions that I could not give him a reason for; that it was true I had let him come to bed to me, which was supposed to be the greatest favor a woman could grant; but it was evident, and he might see it, that as I was sensible of the obligation I was under to him for saving me from the worst circumstance it was possible for me to be brought to, I could deny him nothing; and if I had had any greater favor to yield him, I should have done it, that of matrimony only excepted, and he could not but see that I loved him to an extraordinary degree, in every part of my behavior to him; but that as to marrying, which was giving up my liberty, it was what once he knew I had done, and he had seen how it had hurried me up and down in the world, and what it had exposed me to; 3 that I had an aversion to it, and desired he would not insist upon it. He might easily see I had no aversion to him; and that, if I was with child by him, he should see a testimony I. Roxana, or The Fortunate Mistress, is the story, told by herself, of a beautiful and ambitious courtesan. A bad marriage and early poverty drive her to a career of prostitution, at which she succeeds brilliantly until eventually her past catches up with her. The story is set in the Restoration, and even the title reflects the decadence associated with the period: admirers give "Roxana" her name after she has displayed herself provocatively in Turkish costume at a ball ( Roxalana , a sultana in Sir William Davenant's The Siege of Rhodes, 1656, had come

to mean "whore"). In this excerpt the narrator, who has been saved from ruin and allowed herself to be seduced by an honest Dutch merchant, expresses her liberated views of marriage. 2. Been accustomed to. 3. The Dutch merchant thinks that Roxana is the widow of a jeweler, whose death had left her alone and friendless; actually she was the jeweler's mistress and has since been the lover of a French prince.

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of my kindness to the father, for that I would settle all I had in the world upon the child. He was mute a good while. At last says he, "Come, my dear, you are the first woman in the world that ever lay with a man and then refused to marry him, and therefore there must be some other reason for your refusal; and 1 have therefore one other request, and that is, if 1 guess at the true reason, and remove the objection, will you then yield to me?" I told him, if he removed the objection I must needs comply, for I should certainly do everything that I had no objection against. "Why then, my dear, it must be that either you are already engaged or married to some other man, or you are not willing to dispose of your money to me, and expect to advance yourself higher with your fortune. Now, if it be the first of these, my mouth will be stopped, and I have no more to say; but if it be the last, I am prepared effectually to remove the objection, and answer all you can say on that subject." I took him up short at the first of these, telling him he must have base thoughts of me indeed, to think that I could yield to him in such a manner as I had done, and continue it with so much freedom as he found I did, if I had a husband, or were engaged to any other man; and that he might depend upon it that was not my case, nor any part of my case. "Why then," said he, "as to the other, I have an offer to make to you that shall take off all the objections, viz., that I will not touch one pistole 4 of your estate more than shall be with your own voluntary consent, neither now or at any other time, but you shall settle it as you please for your life, and upon who you please after your death." That I should see he was able to maintain me without it; and that it was not for that that he followed me from Paris. I was indeed surprised at that part of his offer, and he might easily perceive it; it was not only what I did not expect, but it was what I knew not what answer to make to. He had, indeed, removed my principal objection, nay, all my objections, and it was not possible for me to give any answer; for, if upon so generous an offer I should agree with him, I then did as good as confess that it was upon the account of my money that 1 refused him; and that though I could give up my virtue, and expose myself, yet I would not give up my money, which, though it was true, yet was really too gross for me to acknowledge, and I could not pretend to marry him upon that principle neither. Then as to having him, and make over all my estate out of his hands, so as not to give him the management of what I had, I thought it would be not only a little Gothic 5 and inhumane, but would be always a foundation of unkindness between us, and render us suspected one to another; so that, upon the whole, I was obliged to give a new turn to it, and talk upon a kind of an elevated strain, which really was not in my thoughts, at first, at all; for I own, as above, the divesting myself of my estate and putting my money out of my hand was the sum of the matter that made me refuse to marry; but, I say, I gave it a new turn upon this occasion, as follows. I told him I had, perhaps, different notions of matrimony from what the received custom had given us of it; that I thought a woman was a free agent as well as a man, and was born free, and could she manage herself suitably, might enjoy that liberty to as much purpose as the men do; that the laws of matrimony were indeed otherwise, and mankind at this time acted quite upon 4. A Spanish coin.

5. Barbaric.

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other principles, and those such that a woman gave herself entirely away from herself, in marriage, and capitulated only to be, at best, but an upper servant, and from the time she took the man she was no better or worse than the servant among the Israelites, who had his ears bored—that is, nailed to the doorpost— who by that act gave himself up to be a servant during life. 6 That the very nature of the marriage contract was, in short, nothing but giving up liberty, estate, authority, and everything to the man, and the woman was indeed a mere woman ever after—that is to say, a slave. He replied, that though in some respects it was as I had said, yet I ought to consider that, as an equivalent to this, the man had all the care of things devolved upon him; that the weight of business lay upon his shoulders, and as he had the trust, so he had the toil of life upon him; his was the labor, his the anxiety of living; that the woman had nothing to do but to eat the fat and drink the sweet; to sit still and look around her, be waited on and made much of, be served and loved and made easy, especially if the husband acted as became him; and that, in general, the labor of the man was appointed to make the woman live quiet and unconcerned in the world; that they had the name of subjection without the thing; and if in inferior families they had the drudgery of the house and care of the provisions upon them, yet they had indeed much the easier part; for in general, the women had only the care of managing—that is, spending what their husbands get—and that a woman had the name of subjection, indeed, but that they very generally commanded not the men only, but all they had; managed all for themselves; and where the man did his duty, the woman's life was all ease and tranquility, and that she had nothing to do but to be easy, and to make all that were about her both easy and merry. I returned, that while a woman was single, she was a masculine in her politic capacity; 7 that she had then the full command of what she had, and the full direction of what she did; that she was a man in her separated capacity, to all intents and purposes that a man could be so to himself; that she was controlled by none, because accountable to none, and was in subjection to none. So I sung these two lines of Mr 's: s Oh! 'tis pleasant to be free, The sweetest Miss is Liberty. I added, that whoever the woman was that had an estate, and would give it up to be the slave of a great man, that woman was a fool, and must be fit for nothing but a beggar; that it was my opinion a woman was as fit to govern and enjoy her own estate without a man as a man was without a woman; and that, if she had a mind to gratify herself as to sexes, she might entertain a man as a man does a mistress; that while she was thus single she was her own, and if she gave away that power she merited to be as miserable as it was possible that any creature could be. All he could say could not answer the force of this, as to argument; only this, that the other way was the ordinary method that the world was guided by; that he had reason to expect I should be content with that which all the world was contented with; that he was of the opinion that a sincere affection 6. Cf. Exodus 21.5—6. "Upper": high-ranking. 7. A male in her function of making prudent decisions. 8. Charles Cotton (1630—1687), from his p o e m

" T h e Joys of Marriage" ( 1 6 8 9 ) . Ironically, Cotton's p o e m d e n o u n c e s women as incompatible with men's happiness.

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between a man and his wife answered all the objections that I had made about the being a slave, a servant, and the like; and where there was a mutual love, there could be no bondage, but that there was but one interest, one aim, one design, and all conspired to make both very happy. "Aye," said I, "that is the thing I complain of. The pretense of affection takes from a woman everything that can be called herself; she is to have no interest, no aim, no view, but all is the interest, aim, and view of the husband; she is to be the passive creature you spoke of," said I. " S h e is to lead a life of perfect indolence, and living by faith (not in God, but) in her husband, she sinks or swims, as he is either fool or wise man, unhappy or prosperous; and in the middle of what she thinks is her happiness and prosperity, she is engulfed in misery and beggary, which she had not the least notice, knowledge, or suspicion of. How often have I seen a woman living in all the splendor that a plentiful fortune ought to allow her, with her coaches and equipages, her family and rich furniture, her attendants and friends, her visitors and good company, all about her today; tomorrow surprised with a disaster, turned out of all by a commission of bankrupt, stripped to the clothes on her back; her jointure, suppose she had it, is sacrificed to the creditors so long as her husband lived, and she turned into the street, and left to live on the charity of her friends, if she has any, or follow the monarch, her husband, into the Mint, 9 and live there on the wreck of his fortunes, till he is forced to run away from her even there; and then she sees her children starve, herself miserable, breaks her heart, and cries herself to death! This," says I, "is the state of many a lady that has had ten thousand pound to her portion." He did not know how feelingly I spoke this, and what extremities I had gone through of this kind; how near I was to the very last article above, viz., crying myself to death; and how I really starved for almost two years together. 1 But he shook his head, and said, where had I lived? and what dreadful families had I lived among, that had frighted me into such terrible apprehensions of things? that these things indeed might happen where men run into hazardous things in trade, and without prudence or due consideration, launched their fortunes in a degree beyond their strength, grasping at adventures beyond their stocks, and the like; but that, as he was stated 2 in the world, if I would embark with him, he had a fortune equal with mine; that together we should have no occasion of engaging in business any more; but that in any part of the world where I had a mind to live, whether England, France, Holland, or where I would, we might settle, and live as happily as the world could make any one live; that if I desired the management of our estate, when put together, if I would not trust him with mine, he would trust me with his; that we would be upon one bottom, 3 and I should steer. "Ay," says I, "you'll allow me to steer—that is, hold the helm—but you'll con 4 the ship, as they call it; that is, as at sea, a boy serves to stand at the helm, but he that gives him the orders is pilot." He laughed at my simile. " N o , " says he; "you shall be pilot then; you shall con the ship." "Ay," says I, "as long as you please, but you can take the helm out of my hand when you please, and bid me go spin. 5 It is not you," says I, "that I suspect, but the laws of matrimony puts the power into your hands, 9. Debtors took refuge in the area near the Mint, where they could not be arrested. "A commission": a writ. "Jointure": property settled on a wife. 1. Roxana's first husband, a profligate brewer, had run off, leaving her destitute.

2. 3. 4. 5.

Established, a person of standing. One ship (literally, lowest part of a hull). Direct the steering of. I.e., spin y a m (women's work).

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bids you do it, commands you to command, and binds me, forsooth, to obey. You, that are now upon even terms with me, and I with you," says I, "are the next hour set up upon the throne, and the humble wife placed at your footstool; all the rest, all that you call oneness of interest, mutual affection, and the like, is courtesy and kindness then, and a woman is indeed infinitely obliged where she meets with it; but can't help herself where it fails." Well, he did not give it over yet, but came to the serious part, and there he thought he should be too many for me. He first hinted, that marriage was decreed by Heaven; that it was the fixed state of life, which God had appointed for man's felicity, and for establishing a legal posterity; that there could be no legal claim of estates by inheritance but by children born in wedlock; that all the rest was sunk under scandal and illegitimacy; and very well he talked upon that subject indeed. But it would not do; I took him short there. "Look you, sir," said I, "you have an advantage of me there indeed, in my particular case; but it would not be generous to make use of it. I readily grant that it were better for me to have married you than to admit you to the liberty I have given you; but as I could not reconcile my judgment to marriage, for the reasons above, and had kindness enough for you, and obligation too much on me to resist you, I suffered your rudeness and gave up my virtue. But I have two things before me to heal up that breach of honor without that desperate one of marriage, and those are, repentance for what is past, and putting an end to it for time to come." He seemed to be concerned to think that I should take him in that manner. He assured me that I misunderstood him; that he had more manners as well as more kindness for me, and more justice, than to reproach me with what he had been the aggressor in, and had surprised me into; that what he spoke referred to my words above, that the woman, if she thought fit, might entertain a man, as a man did a mistress; and that I seemed to mention that way of living as justifiable, and setting it as a lawful thing, and in the place of matrimony. Well, we strained some compliments upon those points, not worth repeating; and I added, I supposed when he got to bed to me he thought himself sure of me; and indeed, in the ordinary course of things, after he had lain with me he ought to think so; but that, upon the same foot of argument which I had discoursed with him upon, it was just the contrary; and when a woman had been weak enough to yield up the last point before wedlock, it would be adding one weakness to another to take the man afterwards, to pin down the shame of it upon herself all the days of her life, and bind herself to live all her time with the only man that could upbraid her with it; that in yielding at first, she must be a fool, but to take the man is to be sure to be called fool; that to resist a man is to act with courage and vigor, and to cast off the reproach, which, in the course of things, drops out of knowledge and dies. The man goes one way and the woman another, as fate and the circumstances of living direct; and if they keep one another's counsel, the folly is heard no more of. "But to take the man," says I, "is the most preposterous thing in nature, and (saving your presence) is to befoul one's self, and live always in the smell of it. No, no," added I; "after a man has lain with me as a mistress, he ought never to lie with me as a wife; that's not only preserving the crime in memory, but it is recording it in the family. If the woman marries the man afterwards, she bears the reproach of it to the last hour; if her husband is not a man of a hundred thousand, he some time or other upbraids her with it. If he has children, they fail not one way or other to hear of it. If the children are virtuous, they do their mother the justice to hate her for it; if they are wicked, they give her the

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ANNE

FINCH,

COUNTESS

OF WINCHILSEA

mortification of doing the like, and giving her for the example. On the other hand, if the man and the woman part, there is an end of the crime and an end of the clamor. Time wears out the memory of it; or a woman may remove 6 but a few streets, and she soon outlives it, and hears no more of it." He was confounded at this discourse, and told me he could not say but I was right in the main. That as to that part relating to managing estates, it was arguing a la cavalier;' it was in some sense right, if the woman were able to carry it on so, but that in general the sex were not capable of it; their heads were not turned for it, and they had better choose a person capable and honest, that knew how to do them justice as women, as well as to love them; and that then the trouble was all taken off of their hands. I told him it was a dear way of purchasing their ease; for very often when the trouble was taken off of their hands, so was their money too; and that 1 thought it was far safer for the sex not to be afraid of the trouble, but to be really afraid of their money; that if nobody was trusted, nobody would be deceived; and the staff in their own hands was the best security in the world. He replied, that I had started a new thing in the world; that however I might support it by subtle reasoning, yet it was a way of arguing that was contrary to the general practice, and that he confessed he was much disappointed in it; that had he known I would have made such a use of it, he would never have attempted what he did, which he had no wicked design in, resolving to make me reparation, and that he was very sorry he had been so unhappy; 8 that he was very sure he should never upbraid me with it hereafter, and had so good an opinion of me as to believe I did not suspect him; but seeing I was positive in refusing him, notwithstanding what had passed, he had nothing to do but secure me from reproach by going back again to Paris, that so, according to my own way of arguing, it might die out of memory, and I might never meet with it again to my disadvantage. *=

Thus blinded by my own vanity, I threw away the only opportunity I then had to have effectually settled my fortunes, and secured them for this world; and I am a memorial to all that shall read my story, a standing monument of the madness and distraction which pride and infatuations from hell run us into; how ill our passions guide us; and how dangerously we act, when we follow the dictates of an ambitious mind. 1724 6. Move away. 7. Cavalierly, rashly (French).

ANNE

FINCH,

8. Troublesome.

COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 1661-1720

Born into an ancient country family, Anne Kingsmill became a maid of honor at the court of Charles II. There she met Colonel Heneage Finch; in 1684 they married. During the short reign of James II they prospered at court, but at the king's fall in

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THE

INTRODUCTION

2295

1688 they were forced to retire, eventually settling on a beautiful family estate at Eastwell, in Kent, near the south coast of England. Here Colonel Finch became, in 1712, earl of Winchilsea, and here Anne Finch wrote most of her poems, influenced, she said, by "the solitude and security of the country," and by "objects naturally inspiring soft and poetical imaginations." Her Miscellany Poems on Several Occasions, Written by a Lady were published in 1713. One poem, "The Spleen," a description of the mysterious melancholic illness from which she and many other fashionable people suffered, achieved some fame; Pope seems to refer to it when he invokes the goddess Spleen in The Rape of the Lock. But Finch's larger reputation began only a century later, when Wordsworth praised her for keeping her eye on external nature and for a style "often admirable, chaste, tender, and vigorous." Three things conspired to keep Finch's poems in the shade: she was an aristocrat, her nature was retiring, and she was a woman. Any one of these might have made her shrink from exposing herself to the jeers that still, at the turn of the century, greeted any effort by a "scribbling lady." Many of her best poems, for instance "The Petition for an Absolute Betreat," celebrate the joys of solitude. Nevertheless, remarkably, she chose to publish. (For more poems by Finch, go to Norton Literature Online.) The reason for Finch's push to publish may be found in her contempt for the notion that women are fit for nothing but trivial pursuits. In "The Introduction" (to her poems) she insists that women are "education's, more than nature's fools," and she often comments on the damaging exclusion of half the human race from public life. But Finch is her own best example of what a woman can be: keen-eyed and self-sufficient and a poet.

The Introduction 1 Did I my lines intend for public view, How many censures would their faults pursue! S o m e would, because such words they do affect, Cry they're insipid, empty, uncorrect. 5 And many have attained, dull and untaught, T h e n a m e of wit, only by finding fault. 2 True judges might condemn their want of wit; And all might say, they're by a woman writ. Alas! a woman that attempts the pen, 10 S u c h an intruder on the rights of men, S u c h a presumptuous creature is esteemed, T h e fault can by no virtue be redeemed. They tell us we mistake our sex and way; G o o d breeding, fashion, dancing, dressing, play is Are the accomplishments we should desire; To write, or read, or think, or to enquire, Would cloud our beauty, and exhaust our time, And interrupt the conquests of our prime; Whilst the dull manage of a servile house 20 Is held by some our utmost art and use. Sure 'twas not ever thus, nor are we told Fables, 3 of women that excelled of old; 1, This p r e f a c e to Finch's work was never published during her lifetime, for reasons explained in the p o e m itself.

2. Pronounced fawt. 3. Idle stories or lies,

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2296

- 30

ANNE FINCH, COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA

TO whom, by the diffusive hand of heaven, Some share of wit and poetry was given. On that glad day on which the Ark4 returned, The holy pledge for which the land had mourned, The joyf ul tribes attend it on the way, The Levites do the sacred charge convey, f Whilst various instruments before it play; J Here holy virgins in the concert join, 5 The louder notes to soften and refine, f And with alternate verse 6 complete the hymn divine. J Lo! the young poet,° after God's own heart, David By Him inspired and taught the Muses' art, Returned from conquest a bright chorus meets, That sing his slain ten thousand in the streets. 7 In such loud numbers 8 they his acts declare, Proclaim the wonders of his early war, That Saul upon the vast applause does frown, And feels its mighty thunder shake the crown. What can the threatened judgment now prolong? 9 Half of the kingdom is already gone; The fairest half, whose influence guides the rest, Have David's empire o'er their hearts confessed. A woman here leads fainting Israel on, She fights, she wins, she triumphs with a song, 1 Devout, majestic, for the subject fit, And far above her arms, exalts her wit, Then to the peaceful, shady palm withdraws, And rules the rescued nation with her laws. How are we fallen! fallen by mistaken rules, And education's, more than nature's fools; Debarred from all improvements of the mind, And to be dull, expected and designed: 0 intended And if some one would soar above the rest, With warmer fancy and ambition pressed, So strong the opposing faction still appears, The hopes to thrive can ne'er outweigh the fears. Be cautioned, then, my Muse, and still retired; Nor be despised, aiming to be admired; Conscious of wants, still with contracted wing, To some few friends and to thy sorrows sing. For groves of laurel thou wert never meant; Be dark enough thy shades, and be thou there content. 1903

1689?

4. T h e Ark of the Covenant, restored to Jerusalem by David (1 Chronicles 15). 5. Pronounced jine. 6. A series of couplets. The choir of virgins, not mentioned in Chronicles, is imagined by Finch as chanting every other line, responsively, as in some of the Psalms. 7. 1 Samuel 1 8 . 6 - 7 .

8. Measures of music and verse. 9. What can now stave off the threatened judgment? Saul's doom ("judgment") had been prophesied: God would replace him with a better king. 1. T h e prophet and judge Deborah sang to praise the Lord for the victory she herself had brought about (Judges 4—5).

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A NOCTURNAL

REVERIE

2 2 9 7

A Nocturnal Reverie

In such a night, 1 when every louder wind Is to its distant cavern safe confined; And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings, And lonely Philomel, 0 still waking, sings; nightingale Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight, She, hollowing clear, directs the wanderer right: In such a night, when passing clouds give place, Or thinly veil the heavens' mysterious face; When in some river, overhung with green, The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen; When freshened grass now bears itself upright, And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite, Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose, And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows; Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes, Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes: 0 thickets When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine, Show trivial beauties watch their hour to shine; Whilst Salisbury 2 stands the test of every light, In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright: When odors, which declined repelling day, Through temperate air uninterrupted stray; When darkened groves their softest shadows wear, And falling waters we distinctly hear; When through the gloom more venerable shows S o m e ancient fabric," awful in repose^ edifice While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal, And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale: When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads, C o m e s slowly grazing through the adjoining meads, Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear, Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear: When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food, And unmolested kine rechew the cud; When curlews cry beneath the village walls, And to her straggling brood the partridge calls; Their shortlived jubilee the creatures keep, Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep; When a sedate content the spirit feels, And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals; But silent musings urge the mind to seek Something, too high for syllables to speak; Till the free soul to a composedness charmed, Finding the elements of rage disarmed, O'er all below a solemn quiet grown, Joys in the inferior world,' and thinks it like her own:

1. This phrase, repeated twice below, echoes the same repeated phrase in the night piece that opens act 5 of The Merchant of Venice. 2. Probably Lady Salisbury, the daughter of a friend. The sense is that this lady differs from oth-

ers more trivial, who like glowworms look fine only one hour a day. 3. T h e world of nature (compared to the world of the soul).

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2298

MATTHEW

PRIOR

In such a night let me abroad remain, Till morning breaks, and all's c o n f u s e d again; O u r cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed, Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued. 1713

MATTHEW

PRIOR

1664-1721 Matthew Prior was a public man. He became a diplomat when appointed secretary to the embassy at The Hague through the patronage of Dryden's friend the earl of Dorset. His public career culminated in his negotiating for Oxford's Tory ministry the Treaty of Utrecht (1713), which ended the War of the Spanish Succession. But after the fall of the Tories in 1714, Prior was recalled from Paris, placed under house arrest for more than a year, and frequently interrogated in the hope that his evidence could be used to bring Oxford to trial as a traitor. Upon his release he found himself out of place and broken in fortune. Bui the extraordinary success of such friends as Swift and Pope in supporting the publication by subscription of his Poems on Several Occasions (1718) secured him a profit of four thousand guineas, a very large sum at that time, which enabled him to end his life in comfort. Prior's poetry was the by-product of a busy life—"the fruits of [his] vacant hours," as he once wrote. As a lyric poet he stands at the end of the long tradition of vers de societe, humorous light verse such as was written by the "mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease" (as Pope later described them) at the courts of Charles and James. But Prior was no careless writer: his grace and colloquial simplicity of language are the effects of studied art. His finest pieces are his lyrics, not his official odes and panegyrics. Of his two philosophical poems it is not the serious Solomon that attracts readers today but rather the skeptical and witty Alma (written during his arrest in 1715) in deft octosyllabic couplets and homely conversational language that suggest Swift at his best. William Cowper admired Prior's ability to "make verse speak the language of prose, without being prosaic—to marshal the words of it in such an order as they might naturally take in falling from the lips of an extemporary speaker, yet without meanness, harmoniously, elegantly, and without seeming to displace a syllable for the sake of the rhyme." (For more poems by Prior, go to Norton Literature Online.) No poems were more popular in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries than those that praised the virtues of a modest, retired life, sequestered from the ambitions of city and court. According to Johnson, "Perhaps no composition in our language has been oftener perused than Pomfret's Choice" (1700), which chooses the Golden Mean: a small estate, old books and wines, a few friends, a prudent female companion, a peaceful death. Yet Prior, who knew well enough the disappointments of public life, also knew that simple country living did not guarantee virtue. "An Epitaph" satirizes not the quiet but the unexamined life. For an epigraph, Prior took a chorus from Seneca's Thyestes—"All 1 seek is to lie still"—to which we might add Tolstoy's judgment of Ivan Ilych, whose "life was most ordinary and most simple and therefore most terrible."

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EPITAPH

2 2 9 9

An Epitaph

Interred beneath this marble stone Lie sauntering J a c k and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run; If human things went ill or well; If changing empires rose or fell; The morning passed, the evening came, And found this couple still the same. They walked and ate, good folks: what then? Why then they walked and ate again. They soundly slept the night away; They did just nothing all the day; And having buried children four, Would not take pains to try for more. Nor sister either had, nor brother: They seemed just tallied for each other. Their moral 0 and economy 1 Most perfectly they made agree: E a c h virtue kept its proper bound, Nor trespassed on the other's ground. Nor fame, nor censure they regarded: They neither punished, nor rewarded. He cared not what the footmen did; Her maids she neither praised, nor chid: So every servant took his course; And bad at first, they all grew worse. Slothful disorder filled his stable, And sluttish plenty decked her table. Their beer was strong; their wine was port; Their meal was large; their grace was short. They gave the poor the remnant-meat J u s t when it grew not fit to eat. They paid the church and parish rate, 0 And took, but read not the receipt; For which they claimed their Sunday's due Of slumbering in an upper pew. No man's defects sought they to know, So never made themselves a foe. No man's good deeds did they commend, So never raised themselves a friend. Nor cherished they relations poor: That might decrease their present store; Nor barn nor house did they repair: That might oblige their future heir. They neither added, nor confounded; 0 They neither wanted, nor abounded. E a c h Christmas they accompts 0 did clear; And wound their bottom 2 round the year. Nor tear nor smile did they employ

1. Household m a n a g e m e n t . 2. Wound up their skein of thread; i.e., they set the year nicely to rights.

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morality

tax

wasted accounts

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2 3 0 0

MATTHEW

PRIOR

At news of public grief or joy. When bells were rung and bonfires made, If asked, they ne'er denied their aid; Their j u g was to the ringers carried, Whoever either died, or married. Their billet" at the fire was found, Whoever was deposed, or crowned. Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise; They would not learn, nor could advise; Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, They led—a kind o f — a s it were; Nor wished, nor cared, nor laughed, nor cried; And so they lived; and so they died.

firewood

1718

A Better Answer To Cloe Jealous Dear Cloe, how blubbered is that pretty face! Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled! Prithee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says) Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world. 1 5

How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping? T h o s e looks were designed to inspire love and joy; More ord'nary eyes may serve people for weeping. To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, Your judgment at once and my passion you wrong: You take that for fact which will scarce be found wit: Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a song? What I speak, my fair Cloe, and what I write, shows The difference there is betwixt nature and art; I court others in verse, but I love thee in prose; And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart. The god of us verse-men (you know, child) the Sun, How after his journeys he sets up his rest; If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run, At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast. 2 So when I am wearied with wandering all day, To thee, my delight, in the evening I come; No matter what beauties I saw in my way— They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

1. Cf. 2 HennlV 5 . 3 . 1 0 1 - 0 2 . 2. Apollo, god of poetry and of the sun, is said to recline at night on the breast of Thetis, one of the

Nereids or sea spirits, b e c a u s e the sun s e e m s to sink into the western ocean.

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JONATHAN

SWIFT

2301

Then finish, dear Cloe, this pastoral war; And let us like Horace and Lydia agree: 3 For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me. 1718

3. In Horace's Odes 3.9, the poet, who has been dallying with a girl n a m e d Cloe, makes up with Lydia, his former love.

JONATHAN

SWIFT

1667-1745 Jonathan Swift—a posthumous child—was born of English parents in Dublin. Through the generosity of an uncle he was educated at Kilkenny School and Trinity College, Dublin, but before he could fix on a career, the troubles that followed upon James II's abdication and subsequent invasion of Ireland drove Swift along with other Anglo-Irish to England. Between 1689 and 1699 he was more or less continuously a member of the household of his kinsman Sir William Temple, an urbane, civilized man, a retired diplomat, and a friend of King William. During these years Swift read widely, rather reluctantly decided on the church as a career and so took orders, and discovered his astonishing gifts as a satirist. About 1696—97 he wrote his powerful satires on corruptions in religion and learning, A Tale of a Tub and The Battle of the Books, which were published in 1704 and reached their final form only in the fifth edition of 1710. These were the years in which he slowly came to maturity. When, at the age of thirty-two, he returned to Ireland as chaplain to the lord justice, the earl of Berkeley, he had a clear sense of his genius. For the rest of his life, Swift devoted his talents to politics and religion—not clearly separated at the time—and most of his works in prose were written to further a specific cause. As a clergyman, a spirited controversialist, and a devoted supporter of the Anglican Church, he was hostile to all who seemed to threaten it: Deists, freethinkers, Roman Catholics, Nonconformists, or merely Whig politicians. In 1710 he abandoned the Whigs, because he opposed their indifference to the welfare of the Anglican Church in Ireland and their desire to repeal the Test Act, which required all holders of offices of state to take the Sacrament according to the Anglican rites, thus excluding Boman Catholics and Dissenters. (For Swift's "Argument against the Abolishing of Christianity in England," go to Norton Literature Online.) Welcomed by the Tories, he became the most brilliant political journalist of the day, serving the government of Oxford and Bolingbroke as editor of the party organ, the Examiner, and as author of its most powerful articles as well as writing longer pamphlets in support of important policies, such as that favoring the Peace of Utrecht (1713). He was greatly valued by the two ministers, who admitted him to social intimacy, although never to their counsels. The reward of his services was not the English bishopric that he had a right to expect, but the deanship of St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, which came to him in 1713, a year before the death of Queen Anne and the fall of the Tories put an end to all his hopes of preferment in England. In Ireland, where he lived unwillingly, he became not only an efficient ecclesiastical administrator but also, in 1724, the leader of Irish resistance to English oppression. Under the pseudonym "M. B. Drapier," he published the famous series of public letters that aroused the country to refuse to accept £100,000 in new copper coins (minted in England by William Wood, who had obtained his patent through court

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2302

JONATHAN

SWIFT

corruption), which, it was feared, would further debase the coinage of the already poverty-stricken kingdom. Although his authorship of the letters was known to all Dublin, no one could be found to earn the £300 offered by the government for information as to the identity of the drapier. Swift is still venerated in Ireland as a national hero. He earned the right to refer to himself in the epitaph that he wrote for his tomb as a vigorous defender of liberty. His last years were less happy. Swift had suffered most of his adult life from what we now recognize as Meniere's disease, which affects the inner ear, causing dizziness, nausea, "and deafness. After 1739, when he was seventy-two years old, his infirmities cut him off from his duties as dean, and from then on his social life dwindled. In 1742 guardians were appointed to administer his affairs, and his last three years were spent in gloom and lethargy. But this dark ending should not put his earlier life, so full of energy and humor, into a shadow. The writer of the satires was a man in full control of great intellectual powers. He also had a gift for friendship. Swift was admired and loved by many of the distinguished men of his time. His friendships with Joseph Addison, Alexander Pope, John Arbuthnot, John Gay, Matthew Prior, Lord Oxford, and Lord Bolingbroke, not to mention those in his less brilliant but amiable Irish circle, bear witness to his moral integrity and social charm. Nor was he, despite some of his WTitings, indifferent to women. Esther Johnson (Swift's "Stella") was the daughter of Temple's steward, and when Swift first knew her, she was little more than a child. He educated her, formed her character, and came to love her as he was to love no other person. After Temple's death she moved to Dublin, where she and Swift met constantly, but never alone. While working with the Tories in London, he wrote letters to her, later published as The Journal to Stella (1766), and they exchanged poems as well. Whether they were secretly married or never married— and in either case why—has been often debated. A marriage of any sort seems most unlikely; and however perplexing their relationship was to others, it seems to have satisfied them. Not even the violent passion that Swift awakened, no doubt unwittingly, in the much younger woman Hester Vanhomrigh (pronounced Van-um-mery)—with her pleadings and reproaches and early death—could unsettle his devotion to Stella. An enigmatic account of his relations with "Vanessa," as he called Vanhomrigh, is given in his poem "Cadenus and Vanessa." For all his involvement in public affairs, Swift seems to stand apart from his contemporaries—a striking figure among the statesmen of the time, a writer who towered above others by reason of his imagination, mordant wit, and emotional intensity. He has been called a misanthrope, a hater of humanity, and Gulliver's Travels has been considered an expression of savage misanthropy. It is true that Swift proclaimed himself a misanthrope in a letter to Pope, declaring that, though he loved individuals, he hated "that animal called man'' in general and offering a new definition of the species not as animal rationale ("a rational a n i m a l " ) b u t as merely animal rationis capax ("an

animal capable of reason"). This, he declared, is the "great foundation" on which his "misanthropy" was erected. Swift was stating not his hatred of his fellow creatures but his antagonism to the current optimistic view that human nature is essentially good. To the "philanthropic" flattery that sentimentalism and Deistic rationalism were paying to human nature, Swift opposed a more ancient view: that human nature is deeply and permanently flawed and that we can do nothing with or for the human race until we recognize its moral and intellectual limitations. In his epitaph he spoke of the "fierce indignation" that had torn his heart, an indignation that found superb expression in his greatest satires. It was provoked by the constant spectacle of creatures capable of reason, and therefore of reasonable conduct, steadfastly refusing to live up to their capabilities. Swift is a master of prose. He defined a good style as "proper words in proper places," a more complex and difficult saying than at first appears. Clear, simple, concrete diction; uncomplicated syntax; and economy and conciseness of language mark

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D E S C R I P T I O N OF A C I T Y

SHOWER

2303

all his writings. His is a style that shuns ornaments and singularity of all kinds, a style that grows more tense and controlled the more fierce the indignation that it is called on to express. The virtues of his prose are those of his poetry, which shocks us with its hard look at the facts of life and the body. It is unpoetic poetry, devoid of, indeed as often as not mocking at, inspiration, romantic love, cosmetic beauty, easily assumed literary attitudes, and conventional poetic language. Like the prose, it is predominantly satiric in purpose, but not without its moments of comedy and Iightheartedness, though most often written less to divert than to agitate the reader.

A Description of a Cify Shower Careful observers may foretell the hour (By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower: While rain depends, 1 the pensive cat gives o'er Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more. 5 Returning home at night, you'll find the sink° Strike your offended sense with double stink. If you be wise, then go not far to dine; You'll spend in coach hire more than save in wine. A coming shower your shooting corns presage, to Old aches throb, your hollow tooth will rage. Sauntering in coffeehouse is Dulman seen; He damns the climate and complains of spleen. 2 Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings, A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, is That swilled more liquor than it could contain, And, like a drunkard, gives it up again. Brisk S u s a n whips her linen from the rope, While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope: S u c h is that sprinkling which s o m e careless quean° 20 Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean: You fly, invoke the gods; then turning, stop To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop. Not yet the dust had shunned the unequal strife, But, aided by the wind, fought still for life, 25 And wafted with its foe by violent gust, 'Twas doubtful which was rain and which was dust. Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid, When dust and rain at once his coat invade? Sole coat, where dust cemented by the rain 30 Erects the nap,' and leaves a mingled stain. Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this devoted town. To shops in crowds the daggled" females fly, Pretend to cheapen 0 goods, but nothing buy. 35 The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach, 4 Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach. 1. Impends, is imminent. An example of elevated diction used frequently throughout the poem. 2. T h e English tendency to melancholy ("the spleen") was often attributed to the rainy climate. " D u l m a n " : a type n a m e (from "dull man"), like

sewer

wench, slut

mud-spattered bargain for

Congreve's "Petulant" or "Witwoud." 3. Stiffens the coat's surface. 4. Pouring out water. " T h e Templar": a young m a n engaged in studying law.

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2 3 0 4

JONATHAN

SWIFT

The tucked-up sempstress walks with hasty strides, While streams run down her oiled umbrella's sides. Here various kinds, by various fortunes led, C o m m e n c e acquaintance underneath a shed. Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs Forget their feuds, 5 and join to save their wigs. Boxed in a chair 0 the beau impatient sits, sedan chair While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds; 6 he trembles from within. So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed, Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed (Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do, Instead of paying chairmen, run them through), 7 Laocoon struck the outside with his spear, And each imprisoned hero quaked for fear. 8 Now from all parts the swelling kennels 9 flow, And bear their trophies with them as they go: Filth of all hues and odors seem to tell What street they sailed from, by their sight and smell. They, as each torrent drives with rapid force, From Smithfield or St. Pulchre's shape their course, And in huge confluence joined at Snow Hill ridge, Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn Bridge.' Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and blood, Drowned puppies, stinking sprats, 0 all drenched in mud, > small herrings Dead cats, and turnip tops, come tumbling down the flood. 2 J 1710

Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift Occasioned, by Reading a Maxim in Rochefoucauld 1 Dans l adversite de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons toujours quelque chose, qui ne nous deplait pas. 1

As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew From nature, I believe 'em true: They argue no corrupted mind In him; the fault is in mankind. 5. T h e Whig ministry had just fallen and the Tories, led by Harley and St. J o h n , were forming the government with which Swift was to be closely associated until the death of the queen in 1714. 6. T h e roof of the sedan chair was made of leather. 7. I.e., with their swords. 8. Aeneid 2 . 4 0 - 5 3 . 9. T h e open gutters in the middle of the street. I. An accurate description of the drainage system of this part of L o n d o n — t h e eastern edge of Holborn and West Smithfield, which lie outside the old walls west and east of Newgate. T h e great cattle and sheep markets were in Smithfield. T h e church of St. Sepulchre ("St. Pulchre's") stood opposite Newgate Prison. Holborn Conduit was at the foot of Snow Hill. It drained into Fleet Ditch.

an evil-smelling open sew er, at Holborn Bridge. 2. In Faulkner's edition of Swift's Works (Dublin, 1735) a note almost certainly suggested by Swift points to the concluding triplet, with its resonant final alexandrine, as a burlesque of a mannerism of Dryden and other Restoration poets and claims that Swift's ridicule banished the triplet from contemporary poetry. 1. Francois de la Rochefoucauld (1613—1680), wTiter of witty, cynical maxims. Writing to Pope (November 2 6 , 1725), Swift, opposing the optimistic philosophy that Pope and Bolinghroke were at that time developing, professed to have founded his whole character on these maxims. 2. In the misfortune of our best friends we always find something that does not displease us (French).

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VERSES

ON THE

DEATH

DR.

SWIFT

2 3 0 5

should

agitate

This m a x i m m o r e t h a n all the rest Is

thought

"In

all

too base

distresses

W h i l e 10

Nature,

for

h u m a n breast:

of our friends

We first consult

our private

ends,

kindly bent to

ease

us,

Points out some circumstance to please us." If this p e r h a p s y o u r p a t i e n c e m o v e , " Let

reason

all

and

experience prove.

behold

O u r equal

with

envious

raised above

eyes

o u r size.

W h o w o u l d not at a c r o w d e d s h o w Stand I

high

himself,

keep

others

low?

love my friend as well as you,

But w h y

should

Then

let

have

obstruct

the

my view?

higher post;

I ask b u t for an i n c h at most. If in One, H a d A

battle you

w h o m some

you

champion

should find

love

heroic

o f all

action

killed,

mankind,

done,

trophy won;

Rather than thus be overtopped, W o u l d you

not wish

Dear honest

his

N e d is

laurels

cropped?

in the gout,

Lies

racked with pain,

H o w

patiently you

and you without:

hear

h i m

groan!

H o w glad the case is not your own! W h a t poet w o u l d not grieve His

brethren write as well as

But

rather than

they

should

H e ' d w i s h his rivals all in 35

see

he? excel,

hell.

H e r e n d w h e n E m u l a t i o n misses, She

turns

The

strongest friendship yields

to envy,

Unless the odds Vain

•to

stings, a n d hisses:

pride,

on o u r side.

humankind!

fantastic

race!

T h y various follies w h o can trace? Self-love,

ambition,

Their empire Give 'Tis 45

others all on

our

envy,

pride,

hearts

riches, power, me

divide. and

station;

usurpation;

I h a v e no title to aspire, Yet, In

w h e n you

Pope

sink,

seem the

higher.

cannot read a line,

But w i t h a sigh W h e n

can

I wish one

it m i n e :

couplet fix

M o r e sense t h a n I c a n do in six, It

gives

cry, I

In 55

such

"Pox take

grieve my o w n

a jealous fit, h i m and

his wit!"

outdone

by G a y

humorous

biting way.

Arbuthnot' is no more my friend,

3. A p h y s i c i a n a n d w i t , f r i e n d of S w i f t a n d Pope (see Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. p. 2 5 4 8 ) . G a y

is t h e a u t h o r of The Beggar's Opera a n d an i n t i m a t e f r i e n d of S w i f t a n d Pope. H i s Trivia, or the Art

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2 3 0 6

JONATHAN

IOO

SWIFT

Who dares to irony pretend, Which I was born to introduce, Refined it first, and showed its use. St. John, as well as Pulteney, 4 knows That I had some repute for prose; And, till they drove me out of date, Could maul a minister of state. If they have mortified my pride, And made me throw my pen aside; If with such talents Heaven hath blessed 'em, Have I not reason to detest em? To all my foes, dear Fortune, send Thy gifts, but never to my friend: I tamely can endure the first, But this with envy makes me burst. T h u s much may serve by way of proem; Proceed we therefore to our poem. T h e time is not remote, when I M u s t by the course of nature die; When, I foresee, my special friends Will try to find their private ends: Though it is hardly understood Which way my death can do them good; Yet thus, methinks, I hear 'em speak: " S e e how the Dean begins to break! Poor gentleman! he droops apace! You plainly find it in his face. That old vertigo 5 in his head Will never leave him till he's dead. Besides, his memory decays; He recollects not what he says; He cannot call his friends to mind; Forgets the place where last he dined; Plies you with stories o'er and o'er; He told them fifty times before. How does he fancy we can sit To hear his out-of-fashion'd wit? But he takes up with younger folks, Who for his wine will bear his jokes. Faith, he must make his stories shorter, Or change his comrades once a quarter; In half the time, he talks them round; There must another set be found. "For poetry, he's past his prime; He takes an hour to find a rhyme; His fire is out, his wit decayed,

of Walking the Streets of London ( 1 7 1 6 ) owes something to Swift's "City Shower." 4. Henry St. J o h n . Lord Bolingbroke (see headnote to An Essay on Man, p. 2 5 4 0 ) , though debarred from the H o u s e of Lords and from public office, had b e c o m e the center of a group of Tories and discontented young Whigs (of w hom William

Pulteney was one) who united in opposing Sir Robert Walpole, the chief minister. They published a political periodical, the Craftsman, thus rivaling Swift in his role of political pamphleteer and enemy of Sir Robert. 5. J o b n s o n in his Dictionary authorizes Swift's pronounciation: ver-ti-go.

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V E R S E S ON THE DEATH OF D R . SWIFT

105

115

120

125

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145

150

His fancy sunk, his Muse a jade. 6 I'd have him throw away his pen— But there's no talking to some men." And then their tenderness appears By adding largely to my years: "He's older than he would be reckoned, And well remembers Charles the Second. He hardly drinks a pint of wine; And that, I doubt, is no good sign. His stomach, too, begins to fail; Last year we thought him strong and hale; But now he's quite another thing; I wish he may hold out till spring." Then hug themselves, and reason thus: "It is not yet so bad with us." In such a case they talk in tropes, 0 figures And by their fears express their hopes. Some great misfortune to portend No enemy can match a friend. With all the kindness they profess, The merit of a lucky guess (When daily how-d'ye's come of course, And servants answer, "Worse and worse!") Would please 'em better, than to tell That God be praised! the Dean is well. Then he who prophesied the best, Approves his foresight to the rest: "You know I always feared the worst, And often told you so at first." He'd rather choose that I should die, Than his prediction prove a lie. Not one foretells I shall recover, But all agree to give me over. Yet, should some neighbor feel a pain Just in the parts where I complain, How many a message would he send? What hearty prayers that I should mend? Inquire what regimen I kept; What gave me ease, and how I slept, And more lament, when I was dead, Than all the snivelers round my bed. My good companions, never fear; For though you may mistake a year, Though your prognostics run too fast, They must be verified at last. Behold the fatal day arrive! "How is the Dean?"—"He's just alive." Now the departing prayer is read. "He hardly breathes"—"The Dean is dead." Before the passing bell begun,

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of speech

6. A worn-out horse, in contrast to P e g a s u s , the winged horse of Greek mythology, emblem of poetic inspiration.

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JONATHAN

155

160

165

175

180

185

190

195

SWIFT

The news through half the town has run. "Oh! may we all for death prepare! What has he left? and who's his heir?" "I know no more than what the news is; 'Tis all bequeathed to public uses." "To public use! a perfect whim! What had the public done for him? Mere envy, avarice, and pride: He gave it all—but first he died. And had the Dean in all the nation No worthy friend, no poor relation? So ready to do strangers good, Forgetting his own flesh and blood?" Now Grub Street 7 wits are all employed; With elegies the town is cloyed; S o m e paragraph in every paper To curse the Dean, or bless the Drapier. 8 The doctors, tender of their fame, Wisely on me lay all the blame. "We must confess his case was nice; 9 But he would never take advice. Had he been ruled, for aught appears, He might have lived these twenty years: For, when we opened him, we found, That all his vital parts were sound." From Dublin soon to London spread, 'Tis told at court, "The Dean is dead." Kind Lady Suffolk, in the spleen, 1 Runs laughing up to tell the Q u e e n . The Q u e e n , so gracious, mild and good, Cries, "Is he gone? 'tis time he should. He's dead, you say; why, let him rot: I'm glad the medals were forgot. 2 I promised him, 1 own; but when? I only was the Princess then; But now, as consort of the King, You know,'tis quite a different thing." Now Chartres, at Sir Robert's levee, 3 Tells with a sneer the tidings heavy: "Why, is he dead without his shoes?" Cries Bob, "I'm sorry for the news: Oh, were the wretch but living still, And in his place my good friend Will! 4 Or had a miter on his head,

7. Originally a street in London largely inhabited by hack writers: later, a generic term applied to all such writers. 8. It was in the character of M. B., a Dublin drapier, that Swift aroused the Irish people to resistance against the importation of Wood's halfpence (see headnote to Swift, p. 2 3 0 1 ) . 9. Delicate; hence demanding careful diagnosis and treatment. 1. In low spirits. T h e phrase is ironic, as "laugh-

ing" makes clear. Lady Suffolk was G e o r g e II's mistress, with whom Swift b e c a m e friendly during his visit to Pope in 1726. 2. Q u e e n Caroline had promised Swift s o m e medals when she was princess of W a l e s during the s a m e year. 3. Morning reception. Colonel Francis Chartres was a d e b a u c h e e , often satirized by Pope. Sir Robert Walpole is meant here. 4. William Pulteney (see n. 4, p. 2 3 0 6 ) .

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V E R S E S ON THE DEATH OF D R . SWIFT

200

205

210

215

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/ 231 1

Provided Bolingbroke were dead!" Now Curll 5 his shop from rubbish drains: Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains. And then, to make them pass the glibber, Revised by Tibbalds, Moore, and Cibber. 6 He'll treat me as he does my betters, Publish my will, my life, my letters; Revive the libels born to die, Which Pope must bear, as well as I. Here shift the scene, to represent How those I love, my death lament. Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay A week, and Arbuthnot a day. St. John himself will scarce forbear To bite his pen, and drop a tear. The rest will give a shrug, and cry, "I'm sorry—but we all must die." Indifference clad in wisdom's guise All fortitude of mind supplies: For how can stony bowels melt In those who never pity felt? When we are lashed, they kiss the rod, Resigning to the will of God. T h e fools, my juniors by a year, Are tortured with suspense and fear; Who wisely thought my age a screen, When death approached, to stand between: The screen removed, their hearts are trembling; They mourn for me without dissembling. My female friends, whose tender hearts Have better learned to act their parts, Receive the news in doleful dumps: "The Dean is dead (and what is trumps?) Then, Lord have mercy on his soul! (Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.) 7 Six deans, they say, must bear the pall. (I wish I knew what king to call.) M a d a m , your husband will attend The funeral of so good a friend?" "No, madam,'tis a shocking sight; And he's engaged tomorrow night: My Lady Club would take it ill, If he should fail her at quadrille. He loved the D e a n — ( I lead a heart) But dearest friends, they say, must part. His time was come; he ran his race;

5. E d m u n d Curll, shrewd and disreputable bookseller. published pirated works, s c a n d a l o u s biographies, and works falsely ascribed to notable writers of the time. 6. Colley Cibber ( 1 6 7 1 - 1 7 5 7 ) , comic actor, playwright, and supremely untalented poet laureate. He s u c c e e d e d Theobald as king of the D u n c e s in Pope's The Dunciad of 1743. Lewis Theobald

(1688—1744), S h a k e s p e a r e scholar a n d editor, already enthroned as king of the D u n c e s in The Dunciad of 1728. Like Pope, Swift spells the n a m e phonetically. J a m e s Moore-Smyth, poetaster and playwright, an enemy of Pope. 7. T h e equivalent in the card g a m e quadrille of bidding a grand slam in bridge.

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2 3 1 0

JONATHAN

245

250

255

260

265

270

275

280

SWIFT

We hope he's in a better place." Why do we grieve that friends should die? No loss more easy to supply. One year is past; a different scene; No further mention of the Dean, Who now, alas! no more is missed, T h a n if he never did exist. Where's now this favorite of Apollo? 8 Departed—and his works must follow, M u s t undergo the common fate; His kind of wit is out of date. S o m e country squire to Lintot 9 goes, Inquires for Swift in verse and prose. Says Lintot, "I have heard the name; He died a year ago."—"The same." He searches all his shop in vain. "Sir, you may find them in Duck Lane:' I sent them, with a load of books, Last Monday to the pastry-cook's. 2 To fancy they could live a year! I find you're but a stranger here. The Dean was famous in his time, And had a kind of knack at rhyme. His way of writing now is past: The town has got a better taste. I keep no antiquated stuff; But spick and span I have enough. Pray do but give me leave to show 'em: Here's Colley Cibber's birthday poem. 3 This ode you never yet have seen By Stephen Duck 4 upon the Q u e e n . Then here's a letter finely penned. Against the Craftsman 5 and his friend; It clearly shows that all reflection On ministers is disaffection. Next, here's Sir Robert's vindication, 6 And Mr. Henley's last oration. 7 The hawkers have not got 'em yet: Your honor please to buy a set? "Here's Woolston's 8 tracts, the twelfth edition; 'Tis read by every politician: The country members, when in town, To all their boroughs send them down;

8. Poet who is inspired bv the god of poetrv (Apollo). 9. Bernard Lintot, a bookseller and the publisher of Pope's Homer and s o m e of his early p o e m s . 1. London street where secondhand books and publishers's remainders were sold. 2. To be used as waste paper for lining baking dishes and wrapping parcels. 3. T h e laureate C i b b e r was obliged to celebrate each of the king's birthdays with a poem. 4. "The thresher poet." an agricultural laborer whose verse brought him to the notice and patron-

age of Q u e e n Caroline. 5. S e e n. 4, p. 2 3 0 6 . 6. Walpole hires a string of party scribblers who do nothing else but write in his d e f e n s e [Swift's note], 7. "Orator" J o h n Henley, an Independent preacher who dazzled unlearned audiences with his oratory and who wrote treatises on elocution. 8. T h o m a s Woolston (1670—1733), a C a m b r i d g e scholar (hence wearing a "gown" in line 2 9 1 ) whose Discourses on the Miracles of Our Saviour had recently earned him notoriety.

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V E R S E S ON THE

285

290

295

3oo

305

310

315

320

325

330

DEATH OF D R .

SWIFT

You never met a thing so smart; The courtiers have them all by heart; Those maids of honor (who can read) Are taught to use them for their creed. The reverend author's good intention Has been rewarded with a pension. He does an honor to his gown, By bravely running priestcraft down; He shows, as sure as God's in Gloucester, 9 That J e s u s was a grand impostor; That all his miracles were cheats, Performed as jugglers do their feats: The Church had never such a writer; A shame he hath not got a miter!" S u p p o s e me dead; and then suppose A club assembled at the Rose; 1 Where, from discourse of this and that, I grow the subject of their chat: And while they toss my name about, With favor some, and some without, One, quite indifferent in the cause, My character impartial draws: "The Dean, if we believe report, Was never ill received at court. As for his works in verse and prose, I own myself no judge of those; Nor can I tell what critics thought 'em: But this I know, all people bought 'em, As with a moral view designed To cure the vices of mankind. "His vein, ironically grave, Exposed the fool and lashed the knave; To steal a hint was never known, But what he writ was all his own. " H e never thought an honor done him, Because a duke was proud to own him; Would rather slip aside and choose To talk with wits in dirty shoes; Despised the fools with stars and garters, 2 So often seen caressing Chartres. He never courted men in station, Nor persons held in admiration; Of no man's greatness was afraid, Because he sought for no man's aid. Though trusted long in great affairs, He gave himself no haughty airs; Without regarding private ends, Spent all his credit for his friends; And only chose the wise and good; No flatterers, no allies in blood;

9. Proverbially, Gloucestershire was full of monks. 1. A fashionable tavern in Covent Garden.

E m b l e m s of knighthood.

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2312

JONATHAN SWIFT

335

340

345

350

355

360

365

370

375

But succored virtue in distress, And seldom failed of good success; As numbers in their hearts must own, Who, but for him, had been unknown. "With princes kept a due decorum, But never stood in awe before 'em. He followed David's lesson just; In princes never put thy trust: 3 And would you make him truly sour, Provoke him with a slave in power. The Irish senate if you named, With what impatience he declaimed! Fair Liberty was all his cry, For her he stood prepared to die; For her he boldly stood alone; For her he oft exposed his own. Two kingdoms, just as faction led, Had set a price upon his head. But not a traitor could be found, To sell him for six hundred pound. 4 " H a d he but spared his tongue and pen, He might have rose like other men; But power was never in his thought, And wealth he valued not a groat: Ingratitude he often found, And pitied those who meant the wound; But kept the tenor of his mind, To merit well of human kind: Nor made a sacrifice of those Who still were true, to please his foes. He labored many a fruitless hour, To reconcile his friends in power; Saw mischief by a faction brewing, While they pursued each other's ruin. But, finding vain was all his care, He left the court in mere despair.' "And, oh! how short are human schemes! Here ended all our golden dreams. What St. John's skill in state affairs, What Ormonde's 6 valor, Oxford's cares, To save their sinking country lent, Was all destroyed by one event. 7 Too soon that precious life was ended, On which alone our weal depended.

3. Psalm 146.3. 4. In 1714 the government offered £ 3 0 0 for the discovery of the author of Swift's "Public Spirit of the Whigs," and in 1 7 2 4 the Irish government offered a similar a m o u n t for the discovery of the author of the fourth of Swift's Drapier's Letters. 5. The antagonism between the two chief ministers (his dear friends), Robert Harley, earl of Oxford, and Bolingbroke, paralyzed the Tory ministry in the crucial last months of Q u e e n Anne's life and drove Swift to retirement in Ireland.

whence he returned in 1714 to make a final effort to heal the breach and save the government, which failed. 6. J a m e s Butler, duke of Ormonde, who succeeded to the c o m m a n d of the English armies on the Continent when, in 1 7 1 1 , the duke of Marlborough was stripped of his offices by Anne. He went into exile in 1 7 1 4 and was active in Jacobite intrigue. 7. T h e death of Q u e e n Anne.

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V E R S E S ON THE DEATH OF D R . SWIFT

When up a dangerous faction starts, 8 With wrath and vengeance in their hearts; By solemn League and Covenant bound, To ruin, slaughter, and confound; To turn religion to a fable, And make the government a Babel; 385 Pervert the laws, disgrace the gown, Corrupt the senate, rob the crown; To sacrifice old England's glory, And make her infamous in story: When such a tempest shook the land, 390 How could unguarded Virtue stand? With horror, grief, despair, the Dean Beheld the dire destructive scene: His friends in exile, or the Tower, 9 Himself within the frown of power, 395 Pursued by base envenomed pens, Far to the land of slaves and fens;° A servile race in folly nursed, Who truckle most, when treated worst. "By innocence and resolution, 400 He bore continual persecution; While numbers to preferment rose, Whose merits were to be his foes; When even his own familiar friends, Intent upon their private ends, 405 Like renegadoes now he feels, Against him lifting up their heels. "The Dean did, by his pen, defeat An infamous destructive cheat; 1 Taught fools their interest how to know, 4io And gave them arms to ward the blow. Envy has owned it was his doing, To save that hapless land from ruin; While they who at the steerage 2 stood, And reaped the profit, sought his blood. 415 "To save them from their evil fate, In him was held a crime of state. A wicked monster on the bench, 3 Whose fury blood could never quench; As vile and profligate a villain, 420 As modern Scroggs, or old Tresilian; 4 Who long all justice had discarded,

/ 231 1

38o

8. Swift feared the policies of the " d a n g e r o u s faction" (the Whig party) b e c a u s e its toleration of Dissenters threatened the C h u r c h of England. 9. Bolingbroke was in exile. Oxford was sent to the Tower of London by the Whigs. X. T h e scheme to introduce Wood's copper halfpence into Ireland in 1723—24. 2. Literally the steering of a ship. H e r e the direction and m a n a g e m e n t of public affairs in Ireland. 3. William Whitshed, lord chief j u s t i c e of the King's Bench of Ireland. In 1720, when the jury refused to find Swift's anonymous pamphlet "Pro-

Ireland

posal for the Universal U s e of Irish M a n u f a c t u r e " wicked and seditious, Whitshed sent them back nine times, hoping to force them to another verdict. In 1724 he presided over the trial of Harding, the printer of Swift's fourth "Drapier's Letter," but again was unable, despite bullying, to force a verdict of guilty. 4. In 1381, Sir Robert Tresilian punished with great severity m e n who had participated in the Peasants' Revolt; he was impeached and in 1387 was hanged. Sir William Scroggs, lord c h i e f j u s t i c e of England at the time of the Popish Plot, 1678

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JONATHAN

SWIFT

Nor feared he God, nor man regarded; Vowed on the Dean his rage to vent, And make him of his zeal repent: 425 But Heaven his innocence defends, The grateful people stand his friends; Not strains of law, nor judge's frown, Nor topics 0 brought to please the crown, Nor witness hired, nor jury picked, 430 Prevail to bring him in convict. "In exile, with a steady heart, He spent his life's declining part; Where folly, pride, and faction sway, Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay. 435 "His friendships there, to few confined, Were always of the middling kind; No fools of rank, a mongrel breed, Who fain would pass for lords indeed: Where titles give no right or power, 440 And peerage is a withered flower; He would have held it a disgrace, If such a wretch had known his face. On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, He vented oft his wrath in vain; 445 Biennial squires 5 to market brought: Who sell their souls and votes for naught; The nation stripped, go joyful back, To rob the church, their tenants rack, Go snacks 0 with rogues and rapparees; 0 450 And keep the peace to pick up fees; In every job to have a share, A jail or barrack to repair; And turn the tax for public roads Commodious to their own abodes. 455 "Perhaps I may allow the Dean Had too much satire in his vein; And seemed determined not to starve it, Because no age could more deserve it. Yet malice never was his aim; 460 He lashed the vice, but spared the name; No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant; His satire points at no defect, But what all mortals may correct; 465 For he abhorred that senseless tribe Who call it humor when they gibe: He spared a hump, or crooked nose, Whose owners set not up for beaux. True genuine dullness moved his pity, 470 Unless it offered to be witty. Those who their ignorance confessed, (see Drydcn's Absalom and Achitophel, p. 2 0 8 7 ) , was impeached for his misdemeanors in office

arguments

shares / highwaymen

in 1680. 5. M e m b e r s of the Irish Parliament.

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A T A L E OF A T U B

475

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2315

He ne'er offended with a jest; But laughed to hear an idiot quote A verse from Horace learned by rote. " H e knew an hundred pleasant stories, With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: W a s cheerful to his dying day; And friends would let him have his way. " H e gave the little wealth he had To build a house for fools and mad; 6 And showed by one satiric touch, No nation wanted it so much. That kingdom he hath left his debtor, I wish it soon may have a better."

1731

1739

From A Tale of a Tub A Digression Concerning the Original, the Use, and Improvement of Madness in a Commonwealth 1 Nor shall it any ways detract from the just reputation of this famous sect, 2 that its rise and institution are owing to such an author as I have described Jack to be, a person whose intellectuals were overturned, and his brain shaken out of its natural position; which we commonly suppose to be a distemper, and call by the name of madness or frenzy. For, if we take a survey of the greatest actions that have been performed in the world, under the influence of single men, which are the establishment of new empires by conquest, the advance and progress of new schemes in philosophy, and the contriving, as well as the propagating, of new religions, we shall find the authors of them all to have been persons whose natural reason had admitted great revolutions from their diet, their education, the prevalency of some certain temper, together with the particular influence of air and climate. Besides, there is something individual in human minds, that easily kindles at the accidental approach and collision of certain circumstances, which, though of paltry and mean appearance, do often flame out into the greatest emergencies of life. For great turns are not always given by strong hands, but by lucky adaption, and at proper seasons; and it is of no import where the fire was kindled, if the vapor has once got up into the brain. For the upper region of man is furnished like the middle region of the air; the materials are formed from causes of the widest difference, yet produce at last the same substance and effect. Mists arise from the earth, 6. Swift left f u n d s to endow a hospital for the insane. 1. A Tale of a Tub, Swift's first major work, recounts the adventures of three brothers: Peter ( R o m a n Catholicism), Martin (Luther, here regarded as inspiring the C h u r c h of England), and J a c k (Calvin, the spirit of Protestant dissent). But the most memorable character of the book is its narrator, who interrupts the story with numerous digressions (including even "A Digression in Praise of Digressions") and whose pride in learning and lack of c o m m o n sense represent the zealous modern insanity that Swift takes as his target for satire.

"A Digression Concerning M a d n e s s , " this narrator's masterpiece, is based on Swift's ironical doctrine of "the mechanical operation of the spirit": the notion that all spiritual and mental states derive from physical c a u s e s — i n this case, the ascent of "vapors" to the brain. Beneath his whimsy, however, the author raises a fearful question: what right has any h u m a n being to trust that he or she is saner 2. T h e Aeolists, who "maintain the original c a u s e of all things to be wind," are equated by Swift with religious dissenters who believe themselves to be inspired by the Holy Spirit.

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2 3 1 6

JONATHAN

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steams from dunghills, exhalations from the sea, and smoke from fire; yet all clouds are the same in composition as well as consequences, and the fumes issuing from a jakes 3 will furnish as comely and useful a vapor as incense from an altar. Thus far, I suppose, will easily be granted me; and then it will follow, that as the face of nature never produces rain but when it is overcast and disturbed, so human understanding, seated in the brain, must be troubled and overspread by vapors, ascending from the lower faculties to water the invention and render it fruitful. Now, although these vapors (as it hath been already said) are of as various original as those of the skies, yet the crop they produce differs both in kind and degree, merely according to the soil. I will produce two instances to prove and explain what 1 am now advancing. A certain great prince 4 raised a mighty army, filled his coffers with infinite treasures, provided an invincible fleet, and all this without giving the least part of his design to his greatest ministers or his nearest favorites. Immediately the whole world was alarmed; the neighboring crowns in trembling expectation towards what point the storm would burst; the small politicians everywhere forming profound conjectures. Some believed he had laid a scheme for universal monarchy; others, after much insight, determined the matter to be a project for pulling down the Pope, and setting up the reformed religion, which had once been his own. Some again, of a deeper sagacity, sent him into Asia to subdue the Turk, and recover Palestine. In the midst of all these projects and preparations, a certain state-surgeon, 5 gathering the nature of the disease by these symptoms, attempted the cure, at one blow performed the operation, broke the bag, and out flew the vapor; nor did anything want to render it a complete remedy, only that the prince unfortunately happened to die in the performance. Now, is the reader exceeding curious to learn whence this vapor took its rise, which had so long set the nations at a gaze? What secret wheel, what hidden spring, could put into motion so wonderful an engine? It was afterwards discovered that the movement of this whole machine had been directed by an absent female, whose eyes had raised a protuberancy, and before emission, she was removed into an enemy's country. What should an unhappy prince do in such ticklish circumstances as these? He tried in vain the poet's never-failing receipt of corpora quaeque; 6 for,

Idque petit corpus mens unde est saucia amore: Unde feritur, eo tendit, gestitque coire.—LUCRETIUS7 Having to no purpose used all peaceable endeavors, the collected part of the semen, raised and inflamed, became adust, 8 converted to choler, turned head upon the spinal duct, and ascended to the brain. The very same principle that influences a bully to break the windows of a whore who has jilted him, naturally stirs up a great prince to raise mighty armies, and dream of nothing but sieges, battles, and victories.

Teterrima belli 9 Causa 3. Latrine. 4. "This was Harry the Great of F r a n c e " [Swift's note], Henry IV (I 5 5 3 - 1 6 1 0 ) , infatuated with the princesse de C o n d e , whose husband had removed her to the Spanish Netherlands, prepared an expedition to bring her back. 5. Ravillac, who stabbed Henry the Great in his coach [Swift's note]. 6. Any available bodies (Latin). "Receipt": recipe.

7. T h e body strives for that which sickens the mind with love. . . . Stretches out toward that which smites it, and yearns to couple (Latin; De Rerum Natura 4 . 1 0 4 8 f f . ) . 8. Burned up. 9. " T h e most abominable c a u s e of war" (Latin) in olden days, according to Horace, Satires 1.3.107— 08, was a whore.

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The other instance is what I have read somewhere in a very ancient author, of a mighty king, 1 who, for the space of above thirty years, amused himself to take and lose towns, beat armies, and be beaten, drive princes out of their dominions; fright children from their bread and butter; burn, lay waste, plunder, dragoon, massacre subject and stranger, friend and foe, male and female. 'Tis recorded, that the philosophers of each country were in grave dispute upon causes natural, moral, and political, to find out where they should assign an original solution of this phenomenon. At last the vapor or spirit, which animated the hero's brain, being in perpetual circulation, seized upon that region of the human body, so renowned for furnishing the zibeta occidentalis, 2 and gathering there into a tumor, left the rest of the world for that time in peace. Of such mighty consequence it is where those exhalations fix, and of so little from whence they proceed. The same spirits which, in their superior progress, would conquer a kingdom, descending upon the anus, conclude in a fistula. 3 Let us next examine the great introducers of new schemes in philosophy, and search till we can find from what faculty of the soul the disposition arises in mortal man, of taking it into his head to advance new systems with such an eager zeal, in things agreed on all hands impossible to be known; from what seeds this disposition springs, and to what quality of human nature these grand innovators have been indebted for their number of disciples. Because it is plain, that several of the chief among them, both ancient and modern, were usually mistaken by their adversaries, and indeed by all except their own followers, to have been persons crazed, or out of their wits; having generally proceeded, in the common course of their words and actions, by a method very different from the vulgar dictates of unrefined reason; agreeing for the most part in their several models, with their present undoubted successors in the academy of modern Bedlam 4 (whose merits and principles I shall farther examine in due place). Of this kind were Epicurus, Diogenes, Apollonius, Lucretius, Paracelsus, Descartesand others, who, if they were now in the world, tied fast, and separate from their followers, would, in this our undistinguishing age, incur manifest danger of phlebotomy, 6 and whips, and chains, and dark chambers, and straw. For what man, in the natural state or course of thinking, did ever conceive it in his power to reduce the notions of all mankind exactly to the same length, and breadth, and height of his own? Yet this is the first humble and civil design of all innovators in the empire of reason. Epicurus modestly hoped, that one time or other a certain fortuitous concourse of all men's opinions, after perpetual justlings, the sharp with the smooth, the light and the heavy, the round and the square, would by certain clinamina7 unite in the notions of atoms and void, as these did in the originals of all things. Cartesius reckoned to see, before he died, the sentiments of all philosophers, like so many lesser stars in his romantic system, wrapped and drawn within his own vortex. 8 Now, I would gladly be informed, how it is possible to account for such imaginations as these in particular men without 1. T h i s is meant of the present French king [Louis XIV] [Swift's note], 2. Paracelsus, who was so f a m o u s for chemistry, tried an experiment upon h u m a n excrement, to make a p e r f u m e of it, which when he had brought to perfection, he called zibeta occidentalis, or western-civet, the b a c k parts of man . . . being the west [Swift's note]. 3. Ulcer shaped like a pipe. 4. Bethlehem hospital, London's lunatic asylum. 5. E a c h of these f a m o u s speculative thinkers was

known as a materialist, hence s u s p e c t e d by Swift of encouraging atheism. 6. Medical bloodletting. 7. Swerves. T h e Greek philosopher Epicurus held that the universe was formed by atoms swerving together. Swift implies that a similar miracle would be required for people to join in agreement with Epicurus. 8. T h e physics of Ren£ Descartes ( 1 5 9 6 - 1 6 5 0 ) is based on a theory of vortices. Swift considered the theory pure romance.

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recourse to my phenomenon of vapors, ascending from the lower faculties to overshadow the brain, and there distilling into conceptions for which the narrowness of our mother-tongue has not yet assigned any other name beside that of madness or frenzy. Let us therefore now conjecture how it comes to pass, that none of these great prescribers do ever fail providing themselves and their notions with a number of implicit disciples. And, I think, the reason is easy to be assigned: for there is a peculiar string in the harmony of human understanding, which in several individuals is exactly of the same tuning. This, if you can dexterously screw up to its right key, and then strike gently upon it, whenever you have the good fortune to light among those of the same pitch, they will, by a secret necessary sympathy, strike exactly at the same time. And in this one circumstance lies all the skill or luck of the matter; for if you chance to jar the string among those who are either above or below your own height, instead of subscribing to your doctrine, they will tie you fast, call you mad, and feed you with bread and water. It is therefore a point of the nicest conduct to distinguish and adapt this noble talent, with respect to the differences of persons and of times. Cicero understood this very well, when writing to a friend in England, with a caution, among other matters, to beware of being cheated by our hackneycoachmen (who, it seems, in those days were as arrant rascals as they are now), has these remarkable words: Est quod gaudeas te in ista loca venisse, ubi aliquid sapere viderere. 9 For, to speak a bold truth, it is a fatal miscarriage so ill to order affairs, as to pass for a fool in one company, when in another you might be treated as a philosopher. Which I desire some certain gentlemen of my acquaintance to lay up in their hearts, as a very seasonable innuendo. This, indeed, was the fatal mistake of that worthy gentleman, my most ingenious friend, Mr. W—tt—n, 1 a person, in appearance, ordained for great designs, as well as performances; whether you will consider his notions or his looks. Surely no man ever advanced into the public with fitter qualifications of body and mind, for the propagation of a new religion. Oh, had those happy talents, misapplied to vain philosophy, been turned into their proper channels of dreams and visions, where distortion of mind and countenance are of such sovereign use, the base detracting world would not then have dared to report that something is amiss, that his brain has undergone an unlucky shake; which even his brother modernists themselves, like ungrates, do whisper so loud, that it reaches up to the very garret I am now writing in. Lastly, whosoever pleases to look into the fountains of enthusiasm, 2 from whence, in all ages, have eternally proceeded such fattening streams, will find the springhead to have been as troubled and muddy as the current. Of such great emolument is a tincture of this vapor, which the world calls madness, that without its help, the world would not only be deprived of those two great blessings, conquests and systems, but even all mankind would unhappily be reduced to the same belief in things invisible. Now, the former postulatum being held, that it is of no import from what originals this vapor proceeds, but either in what angles it strikes and spreads over the understanding, or upon what species of brain it ascends; it will be a very delicate point to cut the 9. It is ground for rejoicing that you have c o m e to such places, where anyone can seem wise (Latin; Cicero's Familiar Epistles 7.10). 1. William Wotton (who had championed modern authors against Swift's patron, Sir William Temple, a spokesman for the ancients) is ridiculed in Swift's

The Battle of the Books, published in the s a m e volu m e as A Tale of a Tub ( 1 7 0 4 ) . 2. For m u c h of the 18th century the word enthusiasm (literally, " p o s s e s s e d by a god") signified a deluded belief in personal revelation.

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feather, and divide the several reasons to a nice and curious reader, how this numerical difference in the brain can produce effects of so vast a difference from the same vapor, as to be the sole point of individuation between Alexander the Great, J a c k of Leyden 3 and Monsieur Descartes. The present argument is the most abstracted that ever I engaged in; it strains my faculties to their highest stretch; and I desire the reader to attend with utmost perpensity; 4 for I now proceed to unravel this knotty point. There i s i n mankind a certain 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hie multa . . . . . . desiderantur. . . . . . . • • • • • And this I take to be a clear solution of the matter. Having therefore so narrowly passed through this intricate difficulty, the reader will, I am sure, agree with me in the conclusion, that if the moderns mean by madness, only a disturbance or transposition of the brain, by force of certain vapors issuing up from the lower faculties, then has this madness been the parent of all those mighty revolutions that have happened in empire, in philosophy, and in religion. For the brain, in its natural position and state of serenity, disposeth its owner to pass his life in the common forms, without any thought of subduing multitudes to his own power, his reasons, or his visions; and the more he shapes his understanding by the pattern of human learning, the less he is inclined to form parties after his particular notions, because that instructs him in his private infirmities, as well as in the stubborn ignorance of the people. But when a man's fancy gets astride on his reason, when imagination is at cuffs 6 with the senses, and common understanding, as well as common sense, is kicked out of doors, the first proselyte he makes is himself; and when that is once compassed, the difficulty is not so great in bringing over others; a strong delusion always operating from without as vigorously as from within. For cant 7 and vision are to the ear and the eye, the same that tickling is to the touch. Those entertainments and pleasures we most value in life, are such as dupe and play the wag with the senses. For, if we take an examination of what is generally understood by happiness, as it has respect either to the understanding or the senses, we shall find all its properties and adjuncts will herd under this short definition, that it is a perpetual possession of being well deceived. And first, with relation to the mind or understanding,'tis manifest what mighty advantages fiction has over truth; and the reason is just at our elbow, because imagination can build nobler scenes, and produce more wonderful revolutions, than fortune or nature will be at expense to furnish. Nor is mankind so much to blame in his choice thus determining him, if we consider that the debate merely lies between things past and things conceived; and so the question is only this: whether things that have place in the imagination, may not as properly be said to exist, as 3. J o h n of Levden, a tailor and prophet, briefly established a revolutionary Anabaptist community, the " N e w J e r u s a l e m , " in the city of Miinster early in the 16th century. 4. Consideration. 5. " H e r e is another defect in the manuscript, but I think the author did wisely, and that the matter which thus strained his faculties, was not worth a solution; and it were well if all metaphysical cob-

web problems were no otherwise answered" [Swift's note]. The Latin phrase ( M u c h is missing here) indicates a g a p in the text Swift pretends to be "editing." 6. In conflict. 7. " S u d d e n exclamations, whining, unusual tones, and in fine all praying and preaching like the unlearned of the Presbyterians" {Spectator 147).

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those that are seated in the memory; which may be justly held in the affirmative, and very much to the advantage of the former, since this is acknowledged to be the womb of things, and the other allowed to be no more than the grave. Again, if we take this definition of happiness, and examine it with reference to the senses, it will be acknowledged wonderfully adapt. How fading and insipid do all objects accost us, that are not conveyed in the vehicle of delusion! How shrunk is everything, as it appears in the glass of nature! So that if it were not for the assistance of artificial mediums, false lights, refracted angles, varnish, and tinsel, there would be a mighty level in the felicity and enjoyments of mortal men. If this were seriously considered by the world, as I have a certain reason to suspect it hardly will, men would no longer reckon among their high points of wisdom, the art of exposing weak sides, and publishing infirmities; an employment, in my opinion, neither better nor worse than that of unmasking, which, I think, has never been allowed 8 fair usage, either in the world, or the playhouse. In the proportion that credulity is a more peaceful possession of the mind than curosity, so far preferable is that wisdom, which converses about the surface, to that pretended philosophy which enters into the depth of things, and then comes gravely back with informations and discoveries, that in the inside they are good for nothing. The two senses, to which all objects first address themselves, are the sight and the touch; these never examine farther than the color, the shape, the size, and whatever other qualities dwell, or are drawn by art upon the outward of bodies; and then comes reason officiously with tools for cutting, and opening, and mangling, and piercing, offering to demonstrate, that they are not of the same consistence quite through. Now I take all this to be the last degree of perverting nature; one of whose eternal laws it is, to put her best furniture forward. And therefore, in order to save the charges of all such expensive anatomy for the time to come, I do here think fit to inform the reader, that in such conclusions as these, reason is certainly in the right, and that in most corporeal beings, which have fallen under my cognizance, the outside has been infinitely preferable to the in; whereof I have been farther convinced from some late experiments. Last week I saw a woman flayed, and you will hardly believe how much it altered her person for the worse. Yesterday I ordered the carcass of a beau to be stripped in my presence; when we were all amazed to find so many unsuspected faults under one suit of clothes. Then I laid open his brain, his heart, and his spleen; but I plainly perceived at every operation, that the farther we proceeded, we found the defects increase upon us in number and bulk; from all which, I justly formed this conclusion to myself: that whatever philosopher or projector 9 can find out an art to solder and patch up the flaws and imperfections of nature, will deserve much better of mankind, and teach us a more useful science, than that so much in present esteem, of widening and exposing them (like him who held anatomy to be the ultimate end of physic). 1 And he, whose fortunes and dispositions have placed him in a convenient station to enjoy the fruits of this noble art; he that can with Epicurus content his ideas with the films and images that fly off upon his senses from the superficies 2 of things; such a man, truly wise, creams off nature, leaving the sour and the dregs for philosophy 8. Admitted to be. 9. S o m e o n e given to speculative experiments. 1. Medical practice.

2. S u r f a c e s . E p i c u r u s considered the senses, directly affected by objects, more trustworthy than reason.

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and reason to lap up. This is the sublime and refined point of felicity, called the possession of being well deceived; the serene peaceful state of being a fool among knaves. But to return to madness. It is certain, that according to the system I have above deduced, every species thereof proceeds from a redundancy of vapors; therefore, as some kinds of frenzy give double strength to the sinews, so there are of other species, which add vigor, and life, and spirit to the brain. Now, it usually happens, that these active spirits, getting possession of the brain, resemble those that haunt other waste and empty dwellings, which for want of business, either vanish, and carry away a piece of the house, or else stay at home and fling it all out of the windows. By which are mystically displayed the two principal branches of madness, and which some philosophers, not considering so well as I, have mistaken to be different in their causes, overhastily assigning the first to deficiency, and the other to redundance. I think it therefore manifest, from what I have here advanced, that the main point of skill and address is to furnish employment for this redundancy of vapor, and prudently to adjust the season of it; by which means it may certainly become of cardinal and catholic emolument, in a commonwealth. Thus one man, choosing a proper juncture, leaps into a gulf, from thence proceeds a hero, and is called the saver of his country; another achieves the same enterprise, but unluckily timing it, has left the brand of madness fixed as a reproach upon his memory; upon so nice a distinction, are we taught to repeat the name of Curtius with reverence and love, that of Empedocles 3 with hatred and contempt. Thus also it is usually conceived, that the elder Brutus only personated the fool and madman for the good of the public; but this was nothing else than a redundancy of the same vapor long misapplied, called by the Latins, ingenium -par negotiis; 4 or (to translate it as nearly as I can) a sort of frenzy, never in its right element, till you take it up in business of the state. Upon all which, and many other reasons of equal weight, though not equally curious, I do here gladly embrace an opportunity I have long sought for, of recommending it as a very noble undertaking to Sir Edward Seymour, Sir Christopher Musgrave, Sir John Bowls, John How, Esq., 5 and other patriots concerned, that they would move for leave to bring in a bill for appointing commissioners to inspect into Bedlam, and the parts adjacent; who shall be empowered to send for persons, papers, and records, to examine into the merits and qualifications of every student and professor, to observe with utmost exactness their several dispositions and behavior, by which means, duly distinguishing and adapting their talents, they might produce admirable instruments for the several offices in a state, . . . , 6 civil, and military, proceeding in such methods as I shall here humbly propose. And I hope the gentle reader will give some allowance to my great solicitudes in this important affair, upon account of the high esteem I have borne that honorable society, whereof I had some time the happiness to be an unworthy member. Is any student tearing his straw in piece-meal, swearing and blaspheming, biting his grate, foaming at the mouth, and emptying his piss-pot in the spectators' faces? Let the right worshipful the commissioners of inspection give 3. C o m m i t t e d suicide by leaping into the crater of Mount Etna. T h e R o m a n hero M a r c u s Curtius appeased the gods by hurling himself into an ominous crack in the earth of the Forum. 4. A talent for business (Latin). L u c i u s J u n i u s

Brutus, like Hamlet, pretended m a d n e s s to deceive his murderous uncle, Tarquin the Proud. 5. M e m b e r s of Parliament. 6. Swift omits the third office, ecclesiastical. "Instruments": u s e f u l persons.

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him a regiment of dragoons, and send him into Flanders among the rest. Is another eternally talking, sputtering, gaping, bawling in a sound without period or article? What wonderful talents are here mislaid! Let him be furnished immediately with a green bag and papers, and threepence in his pocket, 7 and away with him to Westminster Hall. You will find a third gravely taking the dimensions of his kennel, a person of foresight and insight, though kept quite in the dark; forwhy, like Moses, ecce cornuta erat ejus fades. 8 He walks duly in one pace, entreats your penny with due gravity and ceremony, talks much of hard times, and taxes, and the whore of Babylon, bars up the wooden window of his cell constantly at eight o'clock, dreams of fire, and shoplifters, and court-customers, and privileged places. Now, what a figure would all these acquirements amount to, if the owner were sent into the city9 among his brethren! Behold a fourth, in much and deep conversation with himself, biting his thumbs at proper junctures, his countenance checkered with business and design, sometimes walking very fast, with his eyes nailed to a paper that he holds in his hands; a great saver of time, somewhat thick of hearing, very short of sight, but more of memory; a man ever in haste, a great hatcher and breeder of business, and excellent at the famous art of whispering nothing; a huge idolator of monosyllables and procrastination, so ready to give his word to everybody, that he never keeps it; one that has forgot the common meaning of words, but an admirable retainer of the sound; extremely subject to the looseness, 1 for his occasions are perpetually calling him away. If you approach his grate in his familiar intervals, "Sir," says he, "give me a penny, and I'll sing you a song; but give me the penny first." (Hence comes the common saying, and commoner practice, of parting with money for a song.) What a complete system of court skill is here described in every branch of it, and all utterly lost with wrong application! Accost the hole of another kennel, first stopping your nose, you will behold a surly, gloomy, nasty, slovenly mortal, raking in his own dung, and dabbling in his urine. The best part of his diet is the reversion of his own ordure, which expiring into steams, whirls perpetually about, and at last re-infunds. 2 His complexion is of a dirty yellow, with a thin scattered beard, exactly agreeable to that of his diet upon its first declination, like other insects, who having their birth and education in an excrement, from thence borrow their color and their smell. The student of this apartment is very sparing of his words, but somewhat over-liberal of his breath; he holds his hand out ready to receive your penny, and immediately upon receipt withdraws to his former occupations. Now, is it not amazing to think, the society of Warwick-lane 3 should have no more concern for the recovery of so useful a member, who, if one may judge from these appearances, would become the greatest ornament to that illustrious body? Another student struts up fiercely to your teeth, puffing with his lips, half squeezing out his eyes, and very graciously holds you out his hand to kiss. The keeper desires you not to be afraid of this professor, for he will do you no hurt; to him alone is allowed the liberty of the antechamber, and the orator of the place gives you to understand, that this solemn person is a tailor run mad with pride. This considerable student 7. "A lawyer's coach-hire" [Swift's note] from the Inns of Court to Westminster. Most lawyers carried green bags. 8. " C o r n u t u s is either horned or shining, and by this term, M o s e s is described in the vulgar Latin of the Bible" [Swift's note]. Swift puns on the Latin phrase (behold his f a c e was shining) by suggesting

s o m e o n e kept in the dark through being "horned," i.e., a cuckold. "Forwhy": b e c a u s e . 9. T h e commercial center of L o n d o n . 1. Diarrhea. 2. Pours in again. 3. Royal College of Physicians.

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is adorned with m a n y other qualities, upon which at present I shall not farther enlarge. Hark in your ear4 1 am strangely mistaken, if all his address, his motions, and his airs, would not then be very natural, and in their proper element. I shall not d e s c e n d so minutely, as to insist u p o n the vast n u m b e r of beaux, fiddlers, poets, and politicians, that the world might recover by s u c h a reformation; b u t what is more material, besides the clear gain redounding to the commonwealth, by so large an acquisition of persons to employ, whose talents and acquirements, if I may be so bold as to affirm it, are now buried, or at least misapplied; it would be a mighty advantage accruing to the public from this inquiry, that all these would very m u c h excel, and arrive at great perfection in their several kinds; which, I think, is manifest from what I have already shown, and shall enforce by this one plain instance: that even I myself, the author of these m o m e n t o u s truths, am a person, whose imaginations are hardm o u t h e d , ' and exceedingly disposed to run away with his reason, which I have observed from long experience to be a very light rider, and easily shook off; upon which account, my friends will never trust me alone, without a solemn promise to vent my speculations in this, or the like manner, for the universal benefit of h u m a n kind; which perhaps the gentle, courteous, and candid reader, brimful of that modern charity and tenderness usually annexed to his office, will be very hardly p e r s u a d e d to believe. 1704

Gulliver's Travels Gulliver's Travels is Swift's most enduring satire. Although full of allusions to recent and current events, it still rings true today, for its objects are human failings and the defective political, economic, and social institutions that they call into being. Swift adopts an ancient satirical device: the imaginary voyage. Lemuel Gulliver, the narrator, is a ship's surgeon, a moderately well educated man, kindly, resourceful, cheerful, inquiring, patriotic, truthful, andratherunimaginative— in short, a reasonably decent example of humanity, with whom a reader can readily identify. He undertakes four voyages, all of which end disastrously among "several remote nations of the world." In the first, Gulliver is shipwrecked in the empire of Lilliput, where he finds himself a giant among a diminutive people, charmed by their miniature city and amused by their toylike prettiness. But in the end they prove to be treacherous, malicious, ambitious, vengeful, and cruel. As we read we grow disenchanted with the inhabitants of this fanciful kingdom, and then gradually we begin to recognize our likeness to them, especially in the disproportion between our natural pettiness and our boundless and destructive passions. In the second voyage, Gulliver is abandoned by his shipmates in Brobdingnag, a land of giants, creatures ten times as large as Europeans. Though he fears that such monsters must be brutes, the reverse proves to be the case. Brobdingnag is something of a Utopia, governed by a humane and enlightened prince who is the embodiment of moral and political wisdom. In the long interview in which Gulliver pridefully enlarges on the glories of England and its political institutions, the king reduces him to resentful silence by asking questions that reveal the difference between what England is and what it ought to be. In Brobdingnag, Gulliver finds himself a Lilliputian, his pride humbled by his helpless state 4. I cannot conjecture what the author m e a n s here, or how this c h a s m could be filled, though it is capable of more than one interpretation [Swift's

note]. 5. (Of a horse) apt to reject control by the bit.

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and his human vanity diminished by the realization that his body must have seemed as disgusting to the Lilliputians as do the bodies of the Brobdingnagians to him. In the third voyage, to Laputa, Swift is chiefly concerned with attacking extremes of theoretical and speculative reasoning, whether in science, politics, or economics. Much of this voyage is an allegory of political life under the administration of the Whig minister, Sir Bobert Walpole. The final voyage sets Gulliver between a race of horses, Houyhnhnms (prounced Hwin-ims), who live entirely by reason except for a few well-controlled and muted social affections, and their slaves, the Yahoos, whose bodies are obscene caricatures of the human body and who have no glimmer of reason but are mere creatures of appetite and passion. When Gulliver's Travels first appeared, everyone read it—children for the story and politicians for the satire of current affairs—and ever since it has retained a hold on readers of every kind. Almost unique in world literature, it is simple enough for children, complex enough to carry adults beyond their depth. Swift's art works on many levels. First of all, there is the sheer playfulness of the narrative. Through Gulliver's eyes, we gaze on marvel after marvel: a tiny girl who threads an invisible needle with invisible silk or a white mare who threads a needle between pastern and hoof. The travels, like a fairy story, transport us to imaginary worlds that function with a perfect, fantastic logic different from our own; Swift exercises our sense of vision. But beyond that, he exercises our perceptions of meaning. In Gulliver's Travels, things are seldom what they seem; irony, probing or corrosive, underlies almost every word. In the last chapter, Gulliver insists that the example of the Houyhnhnms has made him incapable of telling a lie—but the oath he swears is quoted from Sinon, whose lies to the Trojans persuaded them to accept the Trojan horse. Swift trains us to read alertly, to look beneath the surface. Yet on its deepest level, the book does not offer final meanings, but a question: What is a human being? Voyaging through imaginary worlds, we try to find ourselves. Are we prideful insects or lords of creation? brutes or reasonable beings? In the last voyage, Swift pushes such questions, and Gulliver himself, almost beyond endurance; hating his own humanity, Gulliver forgets who he is. For the reader, however, the outcome cannot be so clear. Swift does not set out to satisfy our minds but to vex and unsettle them. And he leaves us at the moment when the mixed face of humanity—the pettiness of the Lilliputians, the savagery of the Yahoos, the innocence of Gulliver himself—begins to look strangely familiar, like our own faces in a mirror. Swift's full title for this work was Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of several Ships. In the first edition (1726), either the bookseller or Swift's friends Charles Ford, Pope, and others, who were concerned in getting the book anonymously into print, altered and omitted so much of the original manuscript (because of its dangerous political implications) that Swift was seriously annoyed. When, in 1735, the Dublin bookseller George Faulkner brought out an edition of Swift's works, the dean seems to have taken pains, surreptitiously, to see that a more authentic version of the work was published. This text is the basis of modern editions.

From Gulliver's Travels A Letter from Captain Gulliver to His Cousin Sympson' I hope you will be ready to own publicly, whenever you shall be called to it, that by your great and frequent urgency you prevailed on me to publish a very loose and uncorrect account of my travels; with direction to hire some young 1. In this letter, first published in 1 7 3 5 , Swift complains, a m o n g other matters, of the alterations in his original text m a d e by the publisher, Benja-

min Motte, in the interest of what he considered political discretion.

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gentlemen of either University to put them in order, and correct the style, as my Cousin Dampier 2 did by my advice, in his book called A Voyage round the World. But I do not remember I gave you power to consent that anything should be omitted, and much less that anything should be inserted: therefore, as to the latter, I do here renounce everything of that kind; particularly a paragraph about her Majesty the late Q u e e n Anne, of most pious and glorious memory; although I did reverence and esteem her more than any of human species. But you, or your interpolator, ought to have considered that as it was not my inclination, so was it not decent to praise any animal of our composition before my master Houyhnhnm; and besides, the fact was altogether false; for to my knowledge, being in England during some part of her Majesty's reign, she did govern by a chief Minister; nay, even by two successively; the first whereof was the Lord of Godolphin, and the second the Lord of Oxford; so that you have made me say the thing that was not. Likewise, in the account of the Academy of Projectors, and several passages of my discourse to my master Houyhnhnm, you have either omitted some material circumstances, or minced or changed them in such a manner, that I do hardly know mine own work. When I formerly hinted to you something of this in a letter, you were pleased to answer that you were afraid of giving offense; that people in power were very watchful over the press; and apt not only to interpret, but to punish everything which looked like an innuendo (as I think you called it). But pray, how could that which I spoke so many years ago, and at above five thousand leagues distance, in another reign, be applied to any of the Yahoos, who now are said to govern the herd; especially, at a time when I little thought on or feared the unhappiness of living under them. Have not I the most reason to complain, when I see these very Yahoos carried by Houyhnhnms in a vehicle, as if these were brutes, and those the rational creatures? And, indeed, to avoid so monstrous and detestable a sight was one principal motive of my retirement hither. 3 Thus much I thought proper to tell you in relation to yourself, and to the trust I reposed in you. I do in the next place complain of my own great want of judgment, in being prevailed upon by the intreaties and false reasonings of you and some others, very much against mine own opinion, to suffer my travels to be published. Pray bring to your mind how often I desired you to consider, when you insisted on the motive of public good, that the Yahoos were a species of animals utterly incapable of amendment by precepts or examples; and so it hath proved; for instead of seeing a full stop put to all abuses and corruptions, at least in this little island, as I had reason to expect, behold, after above six months warning, I cannot learn that my book hath produced one single effect according to mine intentions; I desired you would let me know by a letter, when party and faction were extinguished; judges learned and upright; pleaders honest and modest, with some tincture of common sense; and Smithfield blazing with pyramids of law books; the young nobility's education entirely changed; the physicians banished; the female Yahoos abounding in virtue, honor, truth, and good sense; courts and levees of great ministers thoroughly weeded and swept; wit, merit, and learning rewarded; all disgracers of the press in prose and verse, condemned to eat nothing but their own cotton, 4 and quench their thirst with 2. William Dampier ( 1 6 5 2 - 1 7 1 5 ) , the explorer, whose account of his circumnavigation of the globe Swift had read. 3. To Nottinghamshire.

4. Presumably their paper. "Pleaders": lawyers. Smithfield was a part of London containing many bookshops. "Levees": morning receptions.

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their own ink. These, and a thousand other reformations, I firmly counted upon by your encouragement; as indeed they were plainly deducible from the precepts delivered in my book. And, it must be owned that seven months were a sufficient time to correct every vice and folly to which Yahoos are subject; if their natures had been capable of the least disposition to virtue or wisdom; yet so far have you been from answering mine expectation in any of your letters, that on the contrary, you are loading our carrier every week with libels, and keys, and reflections, and memoirs, and second parts; wherein I see myself accused of reflecting upon great statesfolk; of degrading human nature (for so they have still the confidence to style it) and of abusing the female sex. I find likewise, that the writers of those bundles are not agreed among themselves; for some of them will not allow me to be author of mine own travels; and others make me author of books to which I am wholly a stranger. 1 find likewise that your printer hath been so careless as to confound the times, and mistake the dates of my several voyages and returns; neither assigning the true year, or the true month, or day of the month; and I hear the original manuscript is all destroyed, since the publication of my book. Neither have I any copy left; however, I have sent you some corrections, which you may insert, if ever there should be a second edition; and yet I cannot stand to them, but shall leave that matter to my judicious and candid readers, to adjust it as they please. I hear some of our sea Yahoos find fault with my sea language, as not proper in many parts, nor now in use. I cannot help it. In my first voyages, while I was young, I was instructed by the oldest mariners, and learned to speak as they did. But I have since found that the sea Yahoos are apt, like the land ones, to become new fangled in their words; which the latter change every year; insomuch, as I remember upon each return to mine own country, their old dialect was so altered, that I could hardly understand the new. And I observe, when any Yahoo comes from London out of curiosity to visit me at mine own house, we neither of us are able to deliver our conceptions in a manner intelligible to the other. 5 If the censure of Yahoos could any way affect me, I should have great reason to complain that some of them are so bold as to think my book of travels a mere fiction out of mine own brain; and have gone so far as to drop hints that the Houyhnhnms, and Yahoos have no more existence than the inhabitants of Utopia. Indeed I must confess that as to the people of Lilliput, Brobdingrag (for so the word should have been spelled, and not erroneously Brobdingnag) and Laputa, I have never yet heard of any Yahoo so presumptuous as to dispute their being, or the facts I have related concerning them; because the truth immediately strikes every reader with conviction. And, is there less probability in my account of the Houyhnhnms or Yahoos, when it is manifest as to the latter, there are so many thousands even in this city, who only differ from their brother brutes in Houyhnhnmland, because they use a sort of a jabber, and do not go naked. I wrote for their amendment, and not their approbation. The united praise of the whole race would be of less consequence to me, than the neighing of those two degenerate Houyhnhnms I keep in my stable; because, from these, degenerate as they are, I still improve in some virtues, without any mixture of vice. 5. Swift was the inveterate enemy of slang.

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Do these miserable animals presume to think that I am so far degenerated as to defend my veracity; Yahoo as I am, it is well known through all Houyhnhnmland, that by the instructions and example of my illustrious master, 1 was able in the compass of two years (although I confess with the utmost difficulty) to remove that infernal habit of lying, shuffling, deceiving, and equivocating, so deeply rooted in the very souls of all my species; especially the Europeans. I have other complaints to make upon this vexatious occasion; but I forbear troubling myself or you any further. I must freely confess that since my last return, some corruptions of my Yahoo nature have revived in me by conversing with a few of your species, and particularly those of mine own family, by an unavoidable necessity; else I should never have attempted so absurd a project as that of reforming the Yahoo race in this kingdom; but I have now done with all such visionary schemes for ever. 1727?

1735

The Publisher to the Reader The author of these travels, Mr. Lemuel Gulliver, is my ancient and intimate friend; there is likewise some relation between us by the mother's side. About three years ago Mr. Gulliver, growing weary of the concourse of curious people coming to him at his house in Redriff, 6 made a small purchase of land, with a convenient house, near Newark, in Nottinghamshire, his native country; where he now lives retired, yet in good esteem among his neighbors. Although Mr. Gulliver were born in Nottinghamshire, where his father dwelt, yet I have heard him say his family came from Oxfordshire; to confirm which, I have observed in the churchyard at Banbury, in that county, several tombs and monuments of the Gullivers. Before he quitted Redriff, he left the custody of the following papers in my hands, with the liberty to dispose of them as I should think fit. I have carefully perused them three times; the style is very plain and simple; and the only fault I find is that the author, after the manner of travelers, is a little too circumstantial. There is an air of truth apparent through the whole; and indeed the author was so distinguished for his veracity, that it became a sort of proverb among his neighbors at Redriff, when anyone affirmed a thing, to say, it was as true as if Mr. Gulliver had spoke it. By the advice of several worthy persons, to whom, with the author's permission, I communicated these papers, I now venture to send them into the world; hoping they may be, at least for some time, a better entertainment to our young noblemen, than the common scribbles of politics and party. This volume would have been at least twice as large, if I had not made bold to strike out innumerable passages relating to the winds and tides, as well as to the variations and bearings in the several voyages; together with the minute descriptions of the management of the ship in storms, in the style of sailors; likewise the account of the longitudes and latitudes, wherein I have reason to apprehend that Mr. Gulliver may be a little dissatisfied; but I was resolved to fit the work as much as possible to the general capacity of readers. However, if my own ignorance in sea affairs shall have led me to commit some mistakes, 6. Rotherhithe, a district in southern London, below Tower Bridge, then frequented by sailors.

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I alone am answerable for them; and if any traveler hath a curiosity to see the whole work at large, as it came from the hand of the author, I will be ready to gratify him. As for any further particulars relating to the author, the reader will receive satisfaction from the first pages of the book. RICHARD SYMPSON

Part 1. A Voyage to Lilliput C H A P T E R 1. The author gives some account of himself and family; his first inducements to travel. He is shipwrecked, and swims for his life; gets safe on shore in the country of Lilliput; is made a prisoner, and carried up the country.

My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the third of five sons. He sent me to Emanuel College in Cambridge, at fourteen years old, where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my studies: but the charge of maintaining me (although I had a very scanty allowance) being too great for a narrow fortune, I was bound apprentice to Mr. J a m e s Bates, an eminent surgeon in London, with whom I continued four years; and my father now and then sending me small sums of money, I laid them out in learning navigation, and other parts of the mathematics, useful to those who intend to travel, as I always believed it would be some time or other my fortune to do. When I left Mr. Bates, I went down to my father; where, by the assistance of him and my uncle John, and some other relations, I got forty pounds, and a promise of thirty pounds a year to maintain me at Leyden: 7 there I studied physic two years and seven months, knowing it would be useful in long voyages. Soon after my return from Leyden, I was recommended by my good master Mr. Bates, to be surgeon to the Swallow, Captain Abraham Pannell commander; with whom I continued three years and a half, making a voyage or two into the Levant 8 and some other parts. When I came back, 1 resolved to settle in London, to which Mr. Bates, my master, encouraged me; and by him I was recommended to several patients. I took part of a small house in the Old Jury; and being advised to alter my condition, I married Mrs. 9 Mary Burton, second daughter to Mr. Edmond Burton, hosier, in Newgate Street, with whom I received four hundred pounds for a portion. But, my good master Bates dying in two years after, and I having few friends, my business began to fail; for my conscience would not suffer me to imitate the bad practice of too many among my brethren. Having therefore consulted with my wife, and some of my acquaintance, I determined to go again to sea. I was surgeon successively in two ships, and made several voyages, for six years, to the East and West Indies; by which I got some addition to my fortune. My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, ancient and modern, being always provided with a good number of books; and when I was ashore, in observing the manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning their language; wherein I had a great facility by the strength of my memory. The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate, I grew weary of the 7. The University of Leyden, in Holland, was a center for the study of medicine ("physic"). 8. The eastern Mediterranean.

9. The title (pronounced mistress) designated any woman, married or unmarried. "Old Jury": a street (once "Old Jewry") in the City of London.

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sea, and intended to stay at home with my wife and family. I removed from the Old Jury to Fetter Lane, and from thence to Wapping, hoping to get business among the sailors; but it would not turn to account. After three years' expectation that things would mend, I accepted an advantageous offer from Captain William Prichard, master of the Antelope, who was making a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail from Bristol, May 4th, 1699, and our voyage at first was very prosperous. It would not be proper, for some reasons, to trouble the reader with the particulars of our adventures in those seas: let it suffice to inform him, that in our passage from thence to the East Indies we were driven by a violent storm to the northwest of Van Diemen's Land. 1 By an observation, we found ourselves in the latitude of 30 degrees 2 minutes south. Twelve of our crew were dead by immoderate labor, and ill food, the rest were in a very weak condition. On the fifth of November, which was the beginning of summer in those parts, the weather being very hazy, the seamen spied a rock, within half a cable's length 2 of the ship; but the wind was so strong, that we were driven directly upon it, and immediately split. Six of the crew, of whom I was one, having let down the boat into the sea, made a shift to get clear of the ship, and the rock. We rowed by my computation about three leagues, till we were able to work no longer, being already spent with labor while we were in the ship. We therefore trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves; and in about half an hour the boat was overset by a sudden flurry from the north. What became of my companions in the boat, as well as of those who escaped on the rock, or were left in the vessel, I cannot tell; but conclude they were all lost. For my own part, I swam as fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide. I often let my legs drop, and could feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone, and able to struggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by this time the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that I walked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured was about eight o'clock in the evening. I then advanced forward near half a mile, but could not discover any sign of houses or inhabitants; at least I was in so weak a condition, that I did not observe them. I was extremely tired, and with that, and the heat of the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as I left the ship, 1 found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounder than ever I remember to have done in my life, and as I reckoned, above nine hours; for when I awaked, it was just daylight. I attempted to rise, but was not able to stir: for as I happened to lie on my back, I found my arms and legs were strongly fastened on each side to the ground; and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the same manner. I likewise felt several slender ligatures across my body, from my armpits to my thighs. I could only look upwards; the sun began to grow hot, and the light offended my eyes. I heard a confused noise about me, but in the posture I lay, could see nothing except the sky. In a little time I felt something alive moving on my left leg, which advancing gently forward over my breast, came almost up to my chin; when bending my eyes downwards as much as I could, I perceived it to be a human creature not six inches high,' with a bow and arrow in his hands, and a quiver at his back. In

1. T a s m a n i a . 2. A cable is about six hundred feet (one hundred fathoms).

3. Liliiput is scaled, fairly consistently, at onetwelfth of Gulliver's world.

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the meantime, I felt at least forty more of the same kind (as I conjectured) following the first. I was in the utmost astonishment, and roared so loud, that they all ran back in a fright; and some of them, as I was afterwards told, were hurt with the falls they got by leaping from my sides upon the ground. However, they soon returned; and one of them, who ventured so far as to get a full sight of my face, lifting up his hands and eyes by way of admiration, 4 cried out in a shrill, but distinct voice, Hekinah Degul: the others repeated the same words several times, but I then knew not what they meant. I lay all this while, as the reader may believe, in great uneasiness; at length, struggling to get loose, I had the fortune to break the strings, and wrench out the pegs that fastened my left arm to the ground; for, by lifting it up to my face, I discovered the methods they had taken to bind me; and, at the same time, with a violent pull, which gave me excessive pain, I a little loosened the strings that tied down my hair on the left side; so that I was just able to turn my head about two inches. But the creatures ran off a second time, before I could seize them; whereupon there was a great shout in a very shrill accent; and after it ceased, I heard one of them cry aloud, Tolgo phonac; when in an instant I felt above an hundred arrows discharged on my left hand, which pricked me like so many needles; and besides they shot another flight into the air, as we do bombs in Europe, whereof many, I suppose, fell on my body (though I felt them not) and some on my face, which I immediately covered with my left hand. When this shower of arrows was over, I fell a groaning with grief and pain; and then striving again to get loose, they discharged another volley larger than the first, and some of them attempted with spears to stick me in the sides; but, by good luck, I had on me a buff jerkin, 5 which they could not pierce. I thought it the most prudent method to lie still; and my design was to continue so till night, when, my left hand being already loose, I could easily free myself: and as for the inhabitants, I had reason to believe I might be a match for the greatest armies they could bring against me, if they were all of the same size with him that I saw. But fortune disposed otherwise of me. When the people observed I was quiet, they discharged no more arrows: but by the noise increasing, I knew their numbers were greater; and about four yards from me, over-against my right ear, I heard a knocking for above an hour, like people at work; when turning my head that way, as well as the pegs and strings would permit me, I saw a stage erected about a foot and a half from the ground, capable of holding four of the inhabitants, with two or three ladders to mount it: from whence one of them, who seemed to be a person of quality, made me a long speech, whereof I understood not one syllable. But I should have mentioned, that before the principal person began his oration, he cried out three times, Langro Dehid sarr. (these words and the former were afterwards repeated and explained to me). Whereupon immediately about fifty of the inhabitants came, and cut the strings that fastened the left side of my head, which gave me the liberty of turning it to the right, and of observing the person and gesture of him who was to speak. He appeared to be of a middle age, and taller than any of the other three who attended him; whereof one was a page who held up his train, and seemed to be somewhat longer than my middle finger; the other two stood one on each side to support him. He acted every part of an orator, and I could observe many periods 6 of threatenings, and others of promises, pity and ldndness. I 4. Wonderment. 5. Leather jacket.

6. In rhetoric, complete, well-constructed sentences.

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answered in a few words, but in the most submissive manner, lifting up my left hand and both my eyes to the sun, as calling him for a witness; and being almost famished with hunger, having not eaten a morsel for some hours before I left the ship, I found the demands of nature so strong upon me, that I could not forbear showing my impatience (perhaps against the strict rules of decency) by putting my finger frequently on my mouth, to signify that I wanted food. The Hurgo (for so they call a great lord, as I afterwards learned) understood me very well. He descended from the stage, and commanded that several ladders should be applied to my sides, on which above an hundred of the inhabitants mounted, and walked towards my mouth, laden with baskets full of meat, which had been provided and sent thither by the King's orders upon the first intelligence he received of me. I observed there was the flesh of several animals, but could not distinguish them by the taste. There were shoulders, legs, and loins shaped like those of mutton, and very well dressed, but smaller than the wings of a lark. I eat them by two or three at a mouthful, and took three loaves at a time, about the bigness of musket bullets. They supplied me as fast as they could, showing a thousand marks of wonder and astonishment at my bulk and appetite. I then made another sign that I wanted drink. They found by my eating that a small quantity would not suffice me; and being a most ingenious people, they slung up with great dexterity one of their largest hogsheads; then rolled it towards my hand, and beat out the top; I drank it off at a draught, which I might well do, for it hardly held half a pint, and tasted like a small wine of Burgundy, but much more delicious. They brought me a second hogshead, which I drank in the same manner, and made signs for more, but they had none to give me. When I had performed these wonders, they shouted for joy, and danced upon my breast, repeating several times as they did at first, Hekinah Degul. They made me a sign that I should throw down the two hogsheads, but first warned the people below to stand out of the way, crying aloud, Borach Mivola, and when they saw the vessels in the air, there was an universal shout of Hekinah Degul. I confess I was often tempted, while they were passing backwards and forwards on my body, to seize forty or fifty of the first that came in my reach, and dash them against the ground. But the remembrance of what 1 had felt, which probably might not be the worst they could do; and the promise of honor I made them, for so I interpreted my submissive behavior, soon drove out those imaginations. Besides, I now considered myself as bound by the laws of hospitality to a people who had treated me with so much expense and magnificence. However, in my thoughts I could not sufficiently wonder at the intrepidity of these diminutive mortals, who durst venture to mount and walk on my body, while one of my hands was at liberty, without trembling at the very sight of so prodigious a creature as I must appear to them. After some time, when they observed that I made no more demands for meat, there appeared before me a person of high rank from his Imperial Majesty. His Excellency, having mounted on the small of my right leg, advanced forwards up to my face, with about a dozen of his retinue. And producing his credentials under the Signet Royal, which he applied 7 close to my eyes, spoke about ten minutes, without any signs of anger, but with a kind of determinate resolution; often pointing forwards, which, as I afterwards found, was towards the capital city, about half a mile distant, whither it was agreed by his Majesty in council that I must be conveyed. I answered in a few 7. Brought.

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words, but to no purpose, and made a sign with my hand that was loose, putting it to the other (but over his Excellency's head, for fear of hurting him or his train) and then to my own head and body, to signify that I desired my liberty. It appeared that he understood me well enough; for he shook his head by way of disapprobation, and held his hand in a posture to show that I must be carried as a prisoner. However, he made other signs to let me understand that I should have meat and drink enough, and very good treatment. Whereupon I once more thought of attempting to break my bonds; but again, when I felt the smart of their arrows upon my face and hands, which were all in blisters, and many of the darts still sticking in them; and observing likewise that the number of my enemies increased; I gave tokens to let them know that they might do with me what they pleased. Upon this the Hurgo and his train withdrew, with much civility and cheerful countenances. Soon after I heard a general shout, with frequent repetitions of the words, Peplom Selan, and I felt great numbers of the people on my left side relaxing the cords to such a degree, that I was able to turn upon my right, and to ease myself with making water; which I very plentifully did, to the great astonishment of the people, who conjecturing by my motions what I was going to do, immediately opened to the right and left on that side, to avoid the torrent which fell with such noise and violence from me. But before this, they had daubed my face and both my hands with a sort of ointment very pleasant to the smell, which in a few minutes removed all the smart of their arrows. These circumstances, added to the refreshment I had received by their victuals and drink, which were very nourishing, disposed me to sleep. I slept about eight hours, as I was afterwards assured; and it was no wonder; for the physicians, by the Emperor's order, had mingled a sleeping potion in the hogsheads of wine. It seems that upon the first moment I was discovered sleeping on the ground after my landing, the Emperor had early notice of it by an express; and determined in council that I should be tied in the manner I have related (which was done in the night while I slept), that plenty of meat and drink should be sent me, and a machine prepared to carry me to the capital city. This resolution perhaps may appear very bold and dangerous, and I am confident would not be imitated by any prince in Europe on the like occasion; however, in my opinion it was extremely prudent as well as generous. For supposing these people had endeavored to kill me with their spears and arrows while I was asleep; I should certainly have awaked with the first sense of smart, which might so far have roused my rage and strength, as to enable me to break the strings wherewith I was tied; after which, as they were not able to make resistance, so they could expect no mercy. These people are most excellent mathematicians, and arrived to a great perfection in mechanics by the countenance and encouragement of the Emperor, who is a renowned patron of learning. This prince hath several machines fixed on wheels, for the carriage of trees and other great weights. He often builds his largest men of war, whereof some are nine foot long, in the woods where the timber grows, and has them carried on these engines 8 three or four hundred yards to the sea. Five hundred carpenters and engineers were immediately set at work to prepare the greatest engine they had. It was a frame of wood raised three inches from the ground, about seven foot long and four wide, moving upon twenty-two wheels. The shout I heard was upon 8. Contrivances.

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the arrival of this engine, which it seems set out in four hours after my landing. It was brought parallel to me as I lay. But the principal difficulty was to raise and place me in this vehicle. Eighty poles, each of one foot high, were erected for this purpose, and very strong cords of the bigness of packthread were fastened by hooks to many bandages, which the workmen had girt round my neck, my hands, my body, and my legs. Nine hundred of the strongest men were employed to draw up these cords by many pulleys fastened on the poles; and thus, in less than three hours, I was raised and slung into the engine, and there tied fast. All this I was told, for while the whole operation was performing, I lay in a profound sleep, by the force of that soporiferous 9 medicine infused into my liquor. Fifteen hundred of the Emperor's largest horses, each about four inches and a half high, were employed to draw me towards the metropolis, which, as I said, was half a mile distant. About four hours after we began our journey, I awaked by a very ridiculous accident; for, the carriage being stopped a while to adjust something that was out of order, two or three of the young natives had the curiosity to see how I looked when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, and advancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer in the guards, put the sharp end of his half-pike a good way up into my left nostril, which tickled my nose like a straw, and made me sneeze violently: whereupon they stole off unperceived, and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of my awaking so suddenly. We made a long march the remaining part of the day, and rested at night with five hundred guards on each side of me half with torches, and half with bows and arrows, ready to shoot me if I should offer to stir. The next morning at sunrise we continued our march, and arrived within two hundred yards of the city gates about noon. The Emperor and all his court came out to meet us, but his great officers would by no means suffer his Majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body. At the place where the carriage stopped, there stood an ancient temple, esteemed to be the largest in the whole kingdom, which having been polluted some years before by an unnatural murder,' was, according to the zeal of those people, looked on as profane, and therefore had been applied to common use, and all the ornaments and furniture carried away. In this edifice it was determined I should lodge. The great gate fronting to the north was about four foot high, and almost two foot wide, through which I could easily creep. On each side of the gate was a small window not above six inches from the ground: into that on the left side, the King's smiths conveyed fourscore and eleven chains, like those that hang to a lady's watch in Europe, and almost as large, which were locked to my left leg with six and thirty padlocks. Over against this temple, on the other side of the great highway, at twenty foot distance, there was a turret at least five foot high. Here the Emperor ascended with many principal lords of his court, to have an opportunity of viewing me, as I was told, for I could not see them. It was reckoned that above an hundred thousand inhabitants came out of the town upon the same errand; and in spite of my guards, I believe there could not be fewer than ten thousand, at several times, who mounted upon my body by the help of ladders. But a proclamation was soon issued to forbid it upon pain of death. When the workmen found it was impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the strings that bound me; 9. Inducing unnatural sleep. 1. Presumably a reference to the execution of Charles I, who was sentenced in Westminster Hall.

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whereupon I rose up with as melancholy a disposition as ever I had in my life. But the noise and astonishment of the people at seeing me rise and walk are not to be expressed. The chains that held my left leg were about two yards long, and gave me not only the liberty of walking backwards and forwards in a semicircle; but, being fixed within four inches of the gate, allowed me to creep in, and lie at my full length in the temple. C H A P T E R 2 . The Emperor of Lilliput, attended by several of the nobility, comes to see the author in his confinement. The Emperor's person and habit described. Learned men appointed to teach the author their language. He gains favor b) ! his mild disposition. His poclzets are searched, and his sword and pistols taken from him.

When I found myself on my feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining prospect. The country round appeared like a continued garden, and the inclosed fields, which were generally forty foot square, resembled so many beds of flowers. These fields were intermingled with woods of half a stang, 2 and the tallest trees, as I could judge, appeared to be seven foot high. I viewed the town on my left hand, which looked like the painted scene of a city in a theater. I had been for some hours extremely pressed by the necessities of nature; which was no wonder, it being almost two days since I had last disburthened myself. I was under great difficulties between urgency and shame. The best expedient I could think on, was to creep into my house, which I accordingly did; and shutting the gate after me, I went as far as the length of my chain would suffer; and discharged my body of that uneasy load. But this was the only time I was ever guilty of so uncleanly an action; for which I cannot but hope the candid reader will give some allowance, after he hath maturely and impartially considered my case, and the distress I was in. From this time my constant practice was, as soon as I rose, to perform that business in open air, at the full extent of my chain, and due care was taken every morning before company came, that the offensive matter should be carried off in wheelbarrows by two servants appointed for that purpose. I would not have dwelt so long upon a circumstance, that perhaps at first sight may appear not very momentous, if I had not thought it necessary to justify my character in point of cleanliness to the world; which I am told some of my maligners have been pleased, upon this and other occasions, to call in question. When this adventure was at an end, I came back out of my house, having occasion for fresh air. The Emperor was already descended from the tower, and advancing on horseback towards me, which had like to have cost him dear; for the beast, although very well trained, yet wholly unused to such a sight, which appeared as if a mountain moved before him, reared up on his hinder feet: but that prince, who is an excellent horseman, kept his seat, until his attendants ran in, and held the bridle, while his Majesty had time to dismount. When he alighted, he surveyed me round with great admiration, but kept beyond the length of my chains. He ordered his cooks and butlers, who were already prepared, to give me victuals and drink, which they pushed forward in a sort of vehicles upon wheels until I could reach them. I took these vehicles, and soon emptied them all; twenty of them were filled with meat, and ten with liquor; each of the former afforded me two or three good mouth2. A quarter of an acre.

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fuls, and I emptied the liquor of ten vessels, which was contained in earthen vials, into one vehicle, drinking it off at a draught; and so I did with the rest. The Empress, and young princes of the blood, of both sexes, attended by many ladies, sat at some distance in their chairs; but upon the accident that happened to the Emperor's horse, they alighted, and came near his person; which I am now going to describe. He is taller, by almost the breadth of my nail, than any of his court, which alone is enough to strike an awe into the beholders. His features are strong and masculine, with an Austrian lip, and arched nose, his complexion olive, his countenance 3 erect, his body and limbs well proportioned, all his motions graceful, and his deportment majestic. He was then past his prime, being twenty-eight years and three quarters old, of which he had reigned about seven, in great felicity, and generally victorious. For the better convenience of beholding him, I lay on my side, so that my face was parallel to his, and he stood but three yards off: however, I have had him since many times in my hand, and therefore cannot be deceived in the description. His dress was very plain and simple, the fashion of it between the Asiatic and the European; but he had on his head a light helmet of gold, adorned with jewels, and a plume on the crest. He held his sword drawn in his hand, to defend himself, if I should happen to break loose; it was almost three inches long, the hilt and scabbard were gold enriched with diamonds. His voice was shrill, but very clear and articulate, and I could distinctly hear it when I stood up. The ladies and courtiers were all most magnificently clad, so that the spot they stood upon seemed to resemble a petticoat spread on the ground, embroidered with figures of gold and silver. His Imperial Majesty spoke often to me, and I returned answers, but neither of us could understand a syllable. There were several of his priests and lawyers present (as I conjectured by their habits) who were commanded to address themselves to me, and I spoke to them in as many languages as I had the least smattering of, which were High and Low Dutch, Latin, French, Spanish, Italian, and Lingua Franca; 4 but all to no purpose. After about two hours the court retired, and I was left with a strong guard, to prevent the impertinence, and probably the malice of the rabble, who were very impatient to crowd about me as near as they durst; and some of them had the impudence to shoot their arrows at me as I sat on the ground by the door of my house, whereof one very narrowly missed my left eye. Bui the colonel ordered six of the ringleaders to be seized, and thought no punishment so proper as to deliver them bound into my hands, which some of his soldiers accordingly did, pushing them forwards with the butt-ends of their pikes into my reach; I took them all in my right hand, put five of them into my coat-pocket; and as to the sixth, I made a countenance as if I would eat him alive. The poor man squalled terribly, and the colonel and his officer were in much pain, especially when they saw me take out my penknife: but I soon put them out of fear; for, looking mildly, and immediately cutting the strings he was bound with, I set him gently on the ground, and away he ran. I treated the rest in the same manner, taking them one by one out of my pocket, and I observed both the soldiers and people were highly obliged at this mark of my clemency, which was represented very much to my advantage at court. Towards night I got with some difficulty into my house, where I lay on the ground, and continued to do so about a fortnight; during which time the 3. Bearing, appearance. Swift may be satirically idealizing George I, whom most of the British thought gross.

4. A jargon, based on Italian, used by traders in the Mediterranean. "High and Low Dutch": G e r m a n and Dutch, respectively.

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Emperor gave orders to have a bed prepared for me. Six hundred beds of the common measure were brought in carriages, and worked up in my house; an hundred and fifty of their beds sewn together made up the breadth and length, and these were four double, which however kept me but very indifferently from the hardness of the floor, that was of smooth stone. By the same computation they provided me with sheets, blankets, and coverlets, tolerable enough for one who had been so long enured to hardships as I. As the news of my arrival spread through the kingdom, it brought prodigious numbers of rich, idle, and curious people to see me; so that the villages were almost emptied, and great neglect of tillage and household affairs must have ensued, if his Imperial Majesty had not provided by several proclamations and orders of state against this inconveniency. He directed that those who had already beheld me should return home, and not presume to come within fifty yards of my house without license from court; whereby the secretaries of state got considerable fees. In the mean time, the Emperor held frequent councils to debate what course should be taken with me; and I was afterwards assured by a particular friend, a person of great quality, who was as much in the secret as any, that the court was under many difficulties concerning me. They apprehended 5 my breaking loose, that my diet would be very expensive, and might cause a famine. Sometimes they determined to starve me, or at least to shoot me in the face and hands with poisoned arrows, which would soon dispatch me: but again they considered, that the stench of so large a carcass might produce a plague in the metropolis, and probably spread through the whole kingdom. In the midst of these consultations, several officers of the army went to the door of the great council chamber; and two of them being admitted, gave an account of my behavior to the six criminals above-mentioned; which made so favorable an impression in the breast of his Majesty, and the whole board, in my behalf, that an imperial commission was issued out, obliging all the villages nine hundred yards round the city to deliver in every morning six beeves, forty sheep, and other victuals for my sustenance; together with a proportionable quantity of bread and wine, and other liquors: for the due payment of which his Majesty gave assignments 6 upon his treasury. For this prince lives chiefly upon his own demesnes; seldom except upon great occasions raising any subsidies upon his subjects, who are bound to attend him in his wars at their own expense. An establishment was also made of six hundred persons to be my domestics, who had board-wages allowed for their maintenance, and tents built for them very conveniently on each side of my door. It was likewise ordered, that three hundred tailors should make me a suit of clothes after the fashion of the country: that six of his Majesty's greatest scholars should be employed to instruct me in their language: and, lastly, that the Emperor's horses, and those of the nobility, and troops of guards, should be exercised in my sight, to accustom themselves to me. All these orders were duly put in execution; and in about three weeks I made a great progress in learning their language; during which time the Emperor frequently honored me with his visits, and was pleased to assist my masters in teaching me. We began already to converse together in some sort; and the first words I learned, were to express my desire that he would please to give me my liberty; which I every day repeated on my knees. 7 5. Anticipated with fear. 6. Formal mandates of revenue.

7. Gulliver's plea for liberty and the threat of starvation or rebellion he represents to his captors sug-

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His answer, as I could apprehend, was, that this must be a work of time, not to be thought on without the advice of his council; and that first I must Lumos kelmin pesso desmar Ion emposo; that is, swear a peace with him and his kingdom. However, that I should be used with all kindness; and he advised me to acquire by my patience and discreet behavior, the good opinion of himself and his subjects. He desired I would not take it ill, if he gave orders to certain proper officers to search me; for probably I might carry about me several weapons, which must needs be dangerous things, if they answered the bulk of so prodigious a person. 8 I said, his Majesty should be satisfied, for I was ready to strip myself, and turn up my pockets before him. This I delivered part in words, and part in signs. He replied, that by the laws of the kingdom, I must be searched by two of his officers; that he knew this could not be done without my consent and assistance; that he had so good an opinion of my generosity and justice, as to trust their persons in my hands; that whatever they took from me should be returned when I left the country, or paid for at the rate which I would set upon them. I took up the two officers in my hands, put them first into my coat-pockets, and then into every other pocket about me, except my two fobs, and another secret pocket which I had no mind should be searched, wherein I had some little necessaries of no consequence to any but myself. In one of my fobs there was a silver watch, and in the other a small quantity of gold in a purse. These gentlemen, having pen, ink, and paper about them, made an exact inventory of everything they saw; and when they had done, desired I would set them down, that they might deliver it to the Emperor. This inventory I afterwards translated into English, and is word for word as follows. Imprimis, 9 In the right coat-pocket of the Great Man-Mountain (for so I interpret the words Qninbns Flestrin) after the strictest search, we found only one great piece of coarse cloth, large enough to be a foot-cloth for your Majesty's chief room of state. In the left pocket, we saw a huge silver chest, with a cover of the same metal, which we the searchers were not able to lift. We desired it should be opened; and one of us, stepping into it, found himself up to the mid leg in a sort of dust, some part whereof flying up to our faces, set us both a sneezing for several times together. In his right waistcoat-pocket, we found a prodigious bundle of white thin substances, folded one over another, about the bigness of three men, tied with a strong cable, and marked with black figures; which we humbly conceive to be wxitings; every letter almost half as large as the palm of our hands. In the left there was a sort of engine, from the back of which were extended twenty long poles, resembling the palisados 1 before your Majesty's court; wherewith we conjecture the Man-Mountain combs his head; for we did not always trouble him with questions, because we found it a great difficulty to make him understand us. In the large pocket on the right side of his middle cover (so I translate the word ranfu-lo, by which they meant my breeches) we saw a hollow pillar of iron, about the length of a man, fastened to a strong piece of timber, larger than the pillar; and upon one side of the pillar were huge pieces of iron sticking out, cut into strange figures; which we know not what to make of. In the left pocket, gest the situation of Ireland with respect to England. 8. When the Whigs c a m e into power in 1715, the leading Tories, who included Swift's friends Oxford and Bolingbroke (Robert Harley and Henry

St. by 9. 1.

J o h n ) as well as Swift himself, were investigated a committee of secrecy. In the first place (Latin). F e n c e s of stakes.

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another engine of the same kind. In the smaller pocket on the right side, were several round flat pieces of white and red metal, of different bulk; some of the white, which seemed to be silver, were so large and heavy, that my comrade and I could hardly lift them. In the left pocket were two black pillars irregularly shaped: we could not, without difficulty, reach the top of them as we stood at the bottom of his pocket. One of them was covered, and seemed all of a piece; but at the upper end of the other, there appeared a white round substance, about twice the bigness of our heads. Within each of these was inclosed a prodigious plate of steel; which, by our orders, we obliged him to show us, because we apprehended they might be dangerous engines. He took them out of their cases, and told us, that in his own country his practice was to shave his beard with one of these, and to cut his meat with the other. There were two pockets which we could not enter: these he called his fobs; they were two large slits cut into the top of his middle cover, but squeezed close by the pressure of his belly. Out of the right fob hung a great silver chain, with a wonderful kind of engine at the bottom. We directed him to draw out whatever was at the end of the chain, which appeared to be a globe, half silver, and half of some transparent metal: for on the transparent side we saw certain strange figures circularly drawn, and thought we could touch them, until we found our fingers stopped with that lucid substance. He put this engine to our ears, which made an incessant noise like that of a watermill. And we conjecture it is either some unknown animal, or the god that he worships: but we are more inclined to the latter opinion, because he assured us (if we understood him right, for he expressed himself very imperfectly), that he seldom did any thing without consulting it. He called it his oracle, and said it pointed out the time for every action of his life. From the left fob he took out a net almost large enough for a fisherman, but contrived to open and shut like a purse, and served him for the same use: we found therein several massy pieces of yellow metal, which if they be of real gold, must be of immense value. Having thus, in obedience to your Majesty's commands, diligently searched all his pockets, we observed a girdle 2 about his waist made of the hide of some prodigious animal; from which, on the left side, hung a sword of the length of five men; and on the right, a bag or pouch divided into cells; each cell capable of holding three of your Majesty's subjects. In one of these cells were several globes or balls of a most ponderous metal, about the bigness of our heads, and required a strong hand to lift them: the other cell contained a heap of certain black grains, but of no great bulk or weight, for we could hold above fifty of them in the palms of our hands. This is an exact inventory of what we found about the body of the ManMountain; who used us with great civility, and due respect to your Majesty's commission. Signed and sealed on the fourth day of the eighty-ninth moon of your Majesty's auspicious reign. CLEFREN FRELOCK, MARSI FRELOCK.

When this inventory was read over to the Emperor, he directed me to deliver up the several particulars. He first called for my scimitar, which I took out, scabbard and all. In the meantime he ordered three thousand of his choicest 2. Belt.

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troops (who then attended him) to surround me at a distance, with their bows and arrows just ready to discharge: but I did not observe it; for my eyes were wholly fixed upon his Majesty. He then desired me to draw my scimitar, which, although it had got some rust by the sea water, was in most parts exceeding bright. I did so, and immediately all the troops gave a shout between terror and surprise; for the sun shone clear, and the reflection dazzled their eyes, as I waved the scimitar to and fro in my hand. His Majesty, who is a most magnanimous 3 prince, was less daunted than I could expect; he ordered me to return it into the scabbard, and cast it on the ground as gently as 1 could, about six foot from the end of my chain. The next thing he demanded was one of the hollow iron pillars, by which he meant my pocket-pistols. I drew it out, and at his desire, as well as I could, expressed to him the use of it, and charging it only with powder, which by the closeness of my pouch happened to escape wetting in the sea (an inconvenience that all prudent mariners take special care to provide against), I first cautioned the Emperor not to be afraid; and then 1 let it off in the air. The astonishment here was much greater than at the sight of my scimitar. Hundreds fell down as if they had been struck dead; and even the Emperor, although he stood his ground, could not recover himself in some time. I delivered up both my pistols in the same manner as I had done my scimitar, and then my pouch of powder and bullets; begging him that the former might be kept from fire; for it would kindle with the smallest spark, and blow up his imperial palace into the air. I likewise delivered up my watch, which the Emperor was very curious to see; and commanded two of his tallest yeomen of the guards to bear it on a pole upon their shoulders, as draymen in England do a barrel of ale. He was amazed at the continual noise it made, and the motion of the minute-hand, which he could easily discern; for their sight is much more acute than ours: he asked the opinions of his learned men about him, which were various and remote, as the reader may well imagine without my repeating; although indeed I could not very perfectly understand them. I then gave up my silver and copper money, my purse with nine large pieces of gold, and some smaller ones; my knife and razor, my comb and silver snuffbox, my handkerchief and journal book. My scimitar, pistols, and pouch, were conveyed in carriages to his Majesty's stores; but the rest of my goods were returned me. I had, as I before observed, one private pocket which escaped their search, wherein there was a pair of spectacles (which I sometimes use for the weakness of my eyes), a pocket perspective, 4 and several other little conveniences; which, being of no consequence to the Emperor, I did not think myself bound in honor to discover, and I apprehended they might be lost or spoiled if I ventured them out of my possession. C H A P T E R 3 . The author diverts the Emperor and his nobility of both sexes in a very uncommon manner. The diversions of the court of Lilliput described. The author hath his liberty granted him upon certain conditions.

My gentleness and good behavior had gained so far on the Emperor and his court, and indeed upon the army and people in general, that I began to conceive hopes of getting my liberty in a short time. I took all possible methods 3. Courageous, great-spirited. Magnanimity, the relation (direct or inverse) between the size of the body and the soul, is a central concern of the first

two parts of the Travels. 4. Telescope,

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to cultivate this favorable disposition. The natives came by degrees to be less apprehensive of any danger from me. I would sometimes lie down, and let five or six of them dance on my hand. And at last the boys and girls would ventureto come and play at hide-and-seek in my hair. I had now made a good progress in understanding and speaking their language. The Emperor had a mind one day to entertain me with several of the country shows; wherein they exceed all nations I have known, both for dexterity and magnificence. I was diverted with none so much as that of the rope-dancers, performed upon a slender white thread, extended about two foot, and twelve inches from the ground. Upon which I shall desire liberty, with the reader's patience, to enlarge a little. This diversion is only practiced by those persons who are candidates for great employments, and high favor, at court. They are trained in this art from their youth, and are not always of noble birth, or liberal education. When a great office is vacant either by death or disgrace (which often happens) five or six of those candidates petition the Emperor to entertain his Majesty and the court with a dance on the rope; and whoever j u m p s the highest without falling, succeeds in the office. Very often the chief ministers themselves are commanded to show their skill, and to convince the Emperor that they have not lost their faculty. Flimnap, 5 the Treasurer, is allowed to cut a caper on the strait rope, at least an inch higher than any other lord in the whole empire. I have seen him do the summerset several times together upon a trencher 6 fixed on the rope, which is no thicker than a common packthread in England. My friend Reldresal, Principal Secretary for Private Affairs, is, in my opinion, if I am not partial, the second after the Treasurer; the rest of the great officers are much upon a par. These diversions are often attended with fatal accidents, whereof great numbers are on record. I myself have seen two or three candidates break a limb. But the danger is much greater when the ministers themselves are commanded to show their dexterity; for, by contending to excel themselves and their fellows, they strain so far, that there is hardly one of them who hath not received a fall; and some of them two or three. I was assured, that a year or two before my arrival, Flimnap would have infallibly broke his neck, if one of the King's cushions, 7 that accidentally lay on the ground, had not weakened the force of his fall. There is likewise another diversion, which is only shown before the Emperor and Empress, and first minister, upon particular occasions. The Emperor lays on a table three fine silken threads of six inches long. One is blue, the other red, and the third green. 8 These threads are proposed as prizes for those persons whom the Emperor hath a mind to distinguish by a peculiar mark of his favor. The ceremony is performed in his Majesty's great chamber of state; where the candidates are to undergo a trial of dexterity very different from the former, and such as I have not observed the least resemblance of in any other country of the old or the new world. The Emperor holds a stick in his hands, both ends parallel to the horizon, while the candidates, advancing one by one, sometimes leap over the stick, sometimes creep under it backwards and forwards several times, according as the stick is advanced or depressed. Sometimes the Emperor holds one end of the stick, and his first minister the other; 5. Sir Robert Walpole, the Whig head of the government, was notorious in Swift's circle for his political acrobatics. 6. Plate. " S u m m e r s e t " : somersault.

7. A mistress of G e o r g e I was s u p p o s e d to have helped restore Walpole to office in 1721. 8. T h e Orders of the Garter, the Bath, and the Thistle, conferred for s e m c e s to the king.

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sometimes the minister has it entirely to himself. Whoever performs his part with most agility, and holds out the longest in leaping and creeping, is rewarded with the blue-colored silk; the red is given to the next, and the green to the third, which they all wear girt twice round about the middle; and you see few great persons about this court who are not adorned with one of these girdles. The horses of the army, and those of the royal stables, having been daily led before me, were no longer shy, but would come up to my very feet, without starting. The riders would leap them over my hand as I held it on the ground; and one of the Emperor's huntsmen, upon a large courser, took 9 my foot, shoe and all; which was indeed a prodigious leap. I had the good fortune to divert the Emperor one day after a very extraordinary manner. I desired he would order several sticks of two foot high, and the thickness of an ordinary cane, to be brought me; whereupon his Majesty commanded the master of his woods to give directions accordingly; and the next morning six woodmen arrived with as many carriages, drawn by eight horses to each. I took nine of these sticks, and fixing them firmly in the ground in a quadrangular figure, two foot and a half square, I took four other sticks, and tied them parallel at each corner, about two foot from the ground; then I fastened my handkerchief to the nine sticks that stood erect, and extended it on all sides till it was as tight as the top of a drum; and the four parallel sticks, rising about five inches higher than the handkerchief, served as ledges on each side. When I had finished my work, I desired the Emperor to let a troop of his best horse, twenty-four in number, come and exercise upon this plain. His Majesty approved of the proposal, and I took them up one by one in my hands, ready mounted and armed, with the proper officers to exercise them. As soon as they got into order, they divided into two parties, performed mock skirmishes, discharged blunt arrows, drew their swords, fled and pursued, attacked and retired; and in short discovered the best military discipline I ever beheld. The parallel sticks secured them and their horses from falling over the stage; and the Emperor was so much delighted, that he ordered this entertainment to be repeated several days; and once was pleased to be lifted up, and give the word of command; and, with great difficulty, persuaded even the Empress herself to let me hold her in her close chair 1 within two yards of the stage, from whence she was able to take a full view of the whole performance. It was my good fortune that no ill accident happened in these entertainments, only once a fiery horse that belonged to one of the captains pawing with his hoof struck a hole in my handkerchief, and his foot slipping, he overthrew his rider and himself; but I immediately relieved them both; for covering the hole with one hand, I set down the troop with the other, in the same manner as I took them up. The horse that fell was strained in the left shoulder, but the rider got no hurt, and I repaired my handkerchief as well as 1 could; however, I would not trust to the strength of it any more in such dangerous enterprises. About two or three days before I was set at liberty, as I was entertaining the court with these kinds of feats, there arrived an express to inform his Majesty that some of his subjects, riding near the place where I was first taken up, had seen a great black substance lying on the ground, very oddly shaped, extending its edges round as wide as his Majesty's bedchamber, and rising up in the middle as high as a man; that it was no living creature, as they at first apprehended, for it lay on the grass without motion, and some of them had walked 9. J u m p e d over.

1. An enclosed or sedan chair.

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round it several times; that by mounting upon each other's shoulders, they had got to the top, which was flat and even; and stamping upon it they found it was hollow within; that they humbly conceived it might be something belonging to the Man-Mountain, and if his Majesty pleased, they would undertake to bring it with only five horses. 1 presently 2 knew what they meant; and was glad at heart to receive this intelligence. It seems upon my first reaching the shore after our shipwreck, I was in such confusion, that before I came to the place where I went to sleep, my hat, which I had fastened with a string to my head while I was rowing, and had stuck on all the time I was swimming, fell off after I came to land; the string, as I conjecture, breaking by some accident which I never observed, but thought my hat had been lost at sea. I intreated his Imperial Majesty to give orders it might be brought to me as soon as possible, describing to him the use and the nature of it: and the next day the wagoners arrived with it, but not in a veiy good condition; they had bored two holes in the brim, within an inch and half of the edge, and fastened two hooks in the holes; these hooks were tied by a long cord to the harness, and thus my hat was dragged along for above half an English mile: but the ground in that country being extremely smooth and level, it received less damage than I expected. Two days after this adventure, the Emperor, having ordered that part of his army which quarters in and about his metropolis to be in a readiness, took a fancy of diverting himself in a very singular manner. He desired I would stand like a colossus, with my legs as far asunder as I conveniently could. He then commanded his general (who was an old experienced leader, and a great patron of mine) to draw up the troops in close order, and march them under me; the foot 3 by twenty-four in a breast, and the horse by sixteen, with drums beating, colors flying, and pikes advanced. This body consisted of three thousand foot, and a thousand horse. His Majesty gave orders, upon pain of death, that every soldier in his march should observe the strictest decency with regard to my person; which, however, could not prevent some of the younger officers from turning up their eyes as they passed under me. And, to confess the truth, my breeches were at that time in so ill a condition, that they afforded some opportunities for laughter and admiration. I had sent so many memorials and petitions for my liberty, that his Majesty at length mentioned the matter first in the cabinet, and then in a full council; where it was opposed by none, except Skyresh Bolgolam, 4 who was pleased, without any provocation, to be my mortal enemy. But it was carried against him by the whole board, and confirmed by the Emperor. That minister was Galbet, or Admiral of the Realm; very much in his master's confidence, and a person well versed in affairs, but of a morose and sour complexion. 5 However, he was at length persuaded to comply; but prevailed that the articles and conditions upon which I should be set free, and to which I must swear, should be drawn up by himself. These articles were brought to me by Skyresh Bolgolam in person, attended by two under-secretaries, and several persons of distinction. After they were read, I was demanded to swear to the performance of them; first in the manner of my own country, and afterwards in the method prescribed by their laws; which was to hold my right foot in my left hand, to place the middle finger of my right hand on the crown of my head, and my 2. Immediately. 3. Foot soldiers or infantry.

4. T h e earl of Nottingham, an enemy of Swift. 5. Disposition.

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thumb on the tip of my right ear. But because the reader may perhaps be curious to have some idea of the style and manner of expression peculiar to that people, as well as to know the articles upon which I recovered my liberty, I have made a translation of the whole instrument, 6 word for word, as near as I was able; which I here offer to the public. G O L B A S T O M O M A R E N E V L A M E G U R D I L O S H E F I N M U L L Y U L L Y G U E , most mighty Emperor of Lilliput, delight and terror of the universe, whose dominions extend five thousand blustrugs (about twelve miles in circumference) to the extremities of the globe; Monarch of all Monarchs; taller than the sons of men; whose feet press down to the center, and whose head strikes against the sun; at whose nod the princes of the earth shake their knees; pleasant as the spring, comfortable as the summer, fruitful as autumn, dreadful as winter. His most sublime Majesty proposeth to the Man-Mountain, lately arrived at our celestial dominions, the following articles, which by a solemn oath he shall be obliged to perform. First, The Man-Mountain shall not depart from our dominions, without our license under our great seal. Secondly, He shall not presume to come into our metropolis, without our express order; at which time the inhabitants shall have two hours warning, to keep within their doors. Thirdly, The said Man-Mountain shall confine his walks to our principal high roads; and not offer to walk or lie down in a meadow, or field of corn. Fourthly, As he walks the said roads, he shall take the utmost care not to trample upon the bodies of any of our loving subjects, their horses, or carriages, nor take any of our said subjects into his hands, without their own consent. Fifthly, If an express require extraordinary dispatch, the Man-Mountain shall be obliged to carry in his pocket the messenger and horse, a six days' journey once in every moon, and return the said messenger back (if so required) safe to our Imperial Presence. Sixthly, He shall be our ally against our enemies in the island of Blefuscu, and do his utmost to destroy their fleet, which is now preparing to invade us. Seventhly, That the said Man-Mountain shall, at his times of leisure, be aiding and assisting to our workmen, in helping to raise certain great stones, towards covering the wall of the principal park, and other our royal buildings. Eighthly, That the said Man-Mountain shall, in two moons' time, deliver in an exact survey of the circumference of our dominions by a computation of his own paces round the coast. Lastly, That upon his solemn oath to observe all the above articles, the said Man-Mountain shall have a daily allowance of meat and drink sufficient for the support of 1,728 of our subjects; with free access to our Royal Person, and other marks of our favor. Given at our palace at Belfaborac the twelfth day of the ninety-first moon of our reign.

I swore and subscribed to these articles with great cheerfulness and content, although some of them were not so honorable as I could have wished; which 6. A formal legal document.

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proceeded wholly from the malice of Skyresh Bolgolam the High Admiral: whereupon my chains were immediately unlocked, and I was at full liberty: the Emperor himself in person did me the honor to be by at the whole ceremony. I made my acknowledgements by prostrating myself at his Majesty's feet: but he commanded me to rise; and after many gracious expressions, which, to avoid the censure of vanity, I shall not repeat, he added, that he hoped I should prove a useful servant, and well deserve all the favors he had already conferred upon me, or might do for the future. The reader may please to observe, that in the last article for the recovery of my liberty, the Emperor stipulates to allow me a quantity of meat and drink, sufficient for the support of 1,728 Lilliputians. Some time after, asking a friend at court how they came to fix on that determinate number, he told me, that his Majesty's mathematicians, having taken the height of my body by the help of a quadrant, and finding it to exceed theirs in the proportion of twelve to one, they concluded from the similarity of their bodies, that mine must contain at least 1,728 of theirs, and consequently would require as much food as was necessary to support that number of Lilliputians. By which, the reader may conceive an idea of the ingenuity of that people, as well as the prudent and exact economy of so great a prince. C H A P T E R 4 . Mildendo, the metropolis of Lilliput, described, together with the Emperor's palace. A conversation between the author and a principal secretary, concerning the affairs of that empire; the author 's offers to serve the Emperor in his wars.

The first request I made after I had obtained my liberty, was, that I might have license to see Mildendo, the metropolis; which the Emperor easily granted me, but with a special charge to do no hurt, either to the inhabitants, or their houses. The people had notice by proclamation of my design to visit the town. The wall which encompassed it is two foot and an half high, and at least eleven inches broad, so that a coach and horses may be driven very safely round it; and it is flanked with strong towers at ten foot distance. I stepped over the great western gate, and passed very gently, and sideling 7 through the two principal streets, only in my short waistcoat, for fear of damaging the roofs and eaves of the houses with the skirts of my coat. I walked with the utmost circumspection, to avoid treading on any stragglers, who might remain in the streets, although the orders were very strict, that all people should keep in their houses, at their own peril. The garret windows and tops of houses were so crowded with spectators, that I thought in all my travels I had not seen a more populous place. The city is an exact square, each side of the wall being five hundred foot long. The two great streets, which run cross and divide it into four quarters, are five foot wide. The lanes and alleys, which I could not enter, but only viewed them as I passed, are from twelve to eighteen inches. The town is capable of holding five hundred thousand souls. The houses are from three to five stories. The shops and markets well provided. The Emperor's palace is in the center of the city, where the two great streets meet. It is enclosed by a wall of two foot high, and twenty foot distant from the buildings. I had his Majesty's permission to step over this wall; and the space being so wide between that and the palace, I could easily view it on every side. The outward court is a square of forty foot, and includes two other 7. Sideways.

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courts: in the inmost are the royal apartments, which I was very desirous to see, but found it extremely difficult; for the great gates, from one square into another, were but eighteen inches high, and seven inches wide. Now the buildings of the outer court were at least five foot high; and it was impossible for me to stride over them, without infinite damage to the pile, although the walls were strongly built of hewn stone, and four inches thick. At the same time the Emperor had a great desire that I should see the magnificence of his palace; but this I was not able to do till three days after, which I spent in cutting down with my knife some of the largest trees in the royal park, about an hundred yards distance from the city. Of these trees I made two stools, each about three foot high, and strong enough to bear my weight. The people having received notice a second time, I went again through the city to the palace, with my two stools in my hands. When I came to the side of the outer court, I stood upon one stool, and took the other in my hand: this I lifted over the roof, and gently set it down on the space between the first and second court, which was eight foot wide. I then stepped over the buildings very conveniently from one stool to the other, and drew up the first after me with a hooked stick. By this contrivance I got into the inmost court; and lying down upon my side, I applied my face to the windows of the middle stories, which were left open on purpose, and discovered the most splendid apartments that can be imagined. There I saw the Empress, and the young princes in their several lodgings, with their chief attendants about them. Her Imperial Majesty was pleased to smile very graciously upon me and gave me out of the window her hand to kiss. But I shall not anticipate the reader with farther descriptions of this kind, because I reserve them for a greater work, which is now almost ready for the press; containing a general description of this empire, from its first erection, through a long series of princes, with a particular account of their wars and politics, laws, learning, and religion; their plants and animals, their peculiar manners and customs, with other matters very curious and useful; my chief design at present being only to relate such events and transactions as happened to the public, or to myself, during a residence of about nine months in that empire. One morning, about a fortnight after I had obtained my liberty, Reldresal, Principal Secretary (as they style him) of Private Affairs, came to my house, attended only by one servant. He ordered his coach to wait at a distance, and desired I would give him an hour's audience; which I readily consented to, on account of his quality, and personal merits, as well as of the many good offices he had done me during my solicitations at court. I offered to lie down, that he might the more conveniently reach my ear; but he chose rather to let me hold him in my hand during our conversation. He began with compliments on my liberty, said he might pretend to some merit in it; but, however, added, that if it had not been for the present situation of things at court, perhaps I might not have obtained it so soon. For, said he, as flourishing a condition as we appear to be in to foreigners, we labor under two mighty evils; a violent faction at home, and the danger of an invasion by a most potent enemy from abroad. As to the first, you are to understand, that for above seventy moons past, there have been two struggling parties in the empire, under the names of Trameclzsan, and Slamecksan,8 from the high and low heels on their shoes, by which they distinguish themselves. 8. Tory (High C h u r c h ) and W h i g (Low Church), respectively.

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It is alleged indeed, that the high heels are most agreeable to our ancient constitution: but however this be, his Majesty hath determined to make use of only low heels in the administration of the government and all offices in the gift of the crown; as you cannot but observe; and particularly, that his Majesty's imperial heels are lower at least by a drurr than any of his court; (.drurr is a measure about the fourteenth part of an inch). The animosities between these two parties run so high, that they will neither eat nor drink, nor talk with each other. We compute the Tramecksan, or High-Heels, to exceed us in number; but the power is wholly on our side. We apprehend his Imperial Highness, the heir to the crown, to have some tendency towards the High-Heels; at least we can plainly discover one of his heels higher than the other, which gives him a hobble in his gait. 9 Now, in the midst of these intestine disquiets, we are threatened with an invasion from the island of Blefuscu, 1 which is the other great empire of the universe, almost as large and powerful as this of his Majesty. For as to what we have heard you affirm, that there are other kingdoms and states in the world, inhabited by human creatures as large as yourself, our philosophers are in much doubt; and would rather conjecture that you dropped from the moon, or one of the stars; because it is certain, that an hundred mortals of your bulk would, in a short time, destroy all the fruits and cattle of his Majesty's dominions. Besides, our histories of six thousand moons make no mention of any other regions, than the two great empires of Lilliput and Blefuscu. Which two mighty powers have, as I was going to tell you, been engaged in a most obstinate war for six and thirty moons past. It began upon the following occasion. It is allowed on all hands, that the primitive way of breaking eggs before we eat them, was upon the larger end: but his present Majesty's grandfather, while he was a boy, going to eat an egg, and breaking it according to the ancient practice, happened to cut one of his fingers. Whereupon the Emperor his father published an edict, commanding all his subjects, upon great penalties, to break the smaller end of their eggs. The people so highly resented this law, that our histories tell us there have been six rebellions raised on that account; wherein one emperor lost his life, and another his crown. 2 These civil commotions were constantly fomented by the monarchs of Blefuscu; and when they were quelled, the exiles always fled for refuge to that empire. It is computed, that eleven thousand persons have, at several times, suffered death, rather than submit to break their eggs at the smaller end. Many hundred large volumes have been published upon this controversy: but the books of the Big-Endians have been long forbidden, and the whole party rendered incapable by law of holding employments. 3 During the course of these troubles, the emperors of Blefuscu did frequently expostulate by their ambassadors, accusing us of making a schism in religion, by offending against a fundamental doctrine of our great prophet Lustrog, in the fifty-fourth chapter of the Brundecral (which is their Alcoran 4 ). This, however, is thought to be a mere strain upon the text: for the words are these; That all true believers shall break their eggs at the convenient end: and which is the convenient end, seems, in my humble opinion, to be left to every man's con9. T h e prince of Wales (later George II) had friends in both parties. 1. France. 2. Swift's satirical allegory of the strife between Catholics (Big-Endians) and Protestants (LittleEndians) touches on Henry VIII (who "broke" with

the Pope), Charles I (who lost his life), and J a m e s II (who lost his crown). 3. T h e T e s t Act ( 1 6 7 3 ) prevented Catholics and Nonconformists from holding office unless they accepted the Anglican Sacrament. 4. Koran.

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science, or at least in the power of the chief magistrate 5 to determine. Now the Big-Endian exiles have found so much credit in the Emperor of Blefuscu's court, and so much private assistance and encouragement from their party here at home, that a bloody war hath been carried on between the two empires for six and thirty moons with various success; 6 during which time we have lost forty capital ships, and a much greater number of smaller vessels, together with thirty thousand of our best seamen and soldiers; and the damage received by the .enemy is reckoned to be somewhat greater than ours. However, they have now equipped a numerous fleet, and are just preparing to make a descent upon us; and his Imperial Majesty, placing great confidence in your valor and strength, hath commanded me to lay this account of his affairs before you. I desired the Secretary to present my humble duty to the Emperor, and to let him know, that I thought it would not become me, who was a foreigner, to interfere with parties; but I was ready, with the hazard of my life, to defend his person and state against all invaders. 5 . The author by an extraordinary stratagem prevents an invasion. A high title of honor is conferred upon him. Ambassadors arrive from the Emperor of Blefuscu, and sue for peace. The Empress's apartment on fire by an accident; the author instrumental in saving the rest of the palace. CHAPTER

The empire of Blefuscu is an island situated to the north north-east side of Lilliput, from whence it is parted only by a channel of eight hundred yards wide. I had not yet seen it, and upon this notice of an intended invasion, I avoided appearing on that side of the coast, for fear of being discovered by some of the enemy's ships, who had received no intelligence of me; all intercourse between the two empires having been strictly forbidden during the war, upon pain of death; and an embargo laid by our Emperor upon all vessels whatsoever. I communicated to his Majesty a project I had formed of seizing the enemy's whole fleet; which, as our scouts assured us, lay at anchor in the harbor ready to sail with the first fair wind. I consulted the most experienced seamen upon the depth of the channel, which they had often plumbed; who told me, that in the middle at high water it was seventy glumgluffs deep, which is about six foot of European measure; and the rest of it fifty glumgluffs at most. I walked to the northeast coast over against Blefuscu; where, lying down behind a hillock, I took out my small pocket perspective glass, and viewed the enemy's fleet at anchor, consisting of about fifty men of war, and a great number of transports: I then came back to my house, and gave order (for which I had a warrant) for a great quantity of the strongest cable and bars of iron. The cable was about as thick as packthread and the bars of the length and size of a knitting-needle. I trebled the cable to make it stronger, and for the same reason I twisted three of the iron bars together, bending the extremities into a hook. Having thus fixed fifty hooks to as many cables, I went back to the northeast coast, and putting off my coat, shoes, and stockings, walked into the sea in my leathern jerkin, about half an hour before high water. I waded with what haste I could, and swam in the middle about thirty yards until I felt the ground; I arrived at the fleet in less than half an hour. The enemy was so frighted when 5. Ruler, sovereign. Swift himself accepted the right of the king to determine religious observances.

6. Reminiscent of the War of the Spanish Succession (1701—13).

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they saw me, that they leaped out of their ships, and swam to shore, where there could not be fewer than thirty thousand souls. I then took my tackling, and fastening a hook to the hole at the prow of each, I tied all the cords together at the end. While I was thus employed, the enemy discharged several thousand arrows, many of which stuck in my hands and face; and besides the excessive smart, gave me much disturbance in my work. My greatest apprehension was for my eyes, which I should have infallibly lost, if I had not suddenly thought of an expedient. I kept, among other little necessaries, a pair of spectacles in a private pocket, which, as I observed before, had escaped the Emperor's searchers. These I took out, and fastened as strongly as I could upon my nose; and thus armed went on boldly with my work in spite of the enemy's arrows; many of which struck against the glasses of my spectacles, but without any other effect, further than a little to discompose them. I had now fastened all the hooks, and taking the knot in my hand, began to pull; but not a ship would stir, for they were all too fast by their anchors, so that the boldest part of my enterprise remained. I therefore let go the cord, and leaving the hooks fixed to the ships, I resolutely cut with my knife the cables that fastened the anchors, receiving about two hundred shots in my face and hands; then I took up the knotted end of the cables to which my hooks were tied; and with great ease drew fifty of the enemy's largest men-of-war after me. The Blefuscudians, who had not the least imagination of what I intended, were at first confounded with astonishment. They had seen me cut the cables, and thought my design was only to let the ships run adrift, or fall foul on each other: but when they perceived the whole fleet moving in order, and saw me pulling at the end, they set up such a scream of grief and despair, that it is almost impossible to describe or conceive. When I had got out of danger, I stopped a while to pick out the arrows that stuck in my hands and face, and rubbed on some of the same ointment that was given me at my first arrival, as I have formerly mentioned. I then took off my spectacles, and waiting about an hour until the tide was a little fallen, I waded through the middle with my cargo, and arrived safe at the royal port of Lilliput. The Emperor and his whole court stood on the shore, expecting the issue of this great adventure. They saw the ships move forward in a large half-moon, but could not discern me, who was up to my breast in water. When I advanced to the middle of the channel, they were yet more in pain, because I was under water to my neck. The Emperor concluded me to be drowned, and that the enemy's fleet was approaching in a hostile manner: but he was soon eased of his fears, for the channel growing shallower every step I made, I came in a short time within hearing; and holding up the end of the cable by which the fleet was fastened, I cried in a loud voice, Long live the most puissant Emperor of Lilliput! This great prince received me at my landing with all possible encomiums, and created me a Nardac upon the spot, which is the highest title of honor among them. His Majesty desired I would take some other opportunity of bringing all the rest of his enemy's ships into his ports. And so unmeasurable is the ambition of princes, that he seemed to think of nothing less than reducing the whole empire of Blefuscu into a province, and governing it by a viceroy; of destroying the Big-Endian exiles, and compelling that people to break the smaller end of their eggs, by which he would remain sole monarch of the whole world. But I endeavored to divert him from this design, by many arguments drawn from the topics of policy as well as justice: and I plainly protested, that I would

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never be an instrument of bringing a free and brave people into slavery. And when the matter was debated in council, the wisest part of the ministry were of my opinion. This open bold declaration of mine was so opposite to the schemes and politics of his Imperial Majesty, that he could never forgive me; he mentioned it in a very artful manner at council, where I was told that some of the wisest appeared, at least by their silence, to be of my opinion; but others, who were my secret enemies, could not forbear some expressions, which by a side-wind 7 reflected on me. And from this time began an intrigue between his Majesty and a junta of ministers maliciously bent against me, which broke out in less than two months, and had like to have ended in my utter destruction. Of so little weight are the greatest services to princes, when put into the balance with a refusal to gratify their passions. 8 About three weeks after this exploit, there arrived a solemn embassy from Blefuscu, with humble offers of a peace; which was soon concluded upon conditions very advantageous to our Emperor; wherewith I shall not trouble the reader. There were six ambassadors, with a train of about five hundred persons; and their entry was very magnificent, suitable to the grandeur of their master, and the importance of their business. When their treaty was finished, wherein I did them several good offices by the credit I now had, or at least appeared to have at court, their Excellencies, who were privately told how much I had been their friend, made me a visit in form. They began with many compliments upon my valor and generosity; invited me to that kingdom in the Emperor their master's name; and desired me to show them some proofs of my prodigious strength, of which they had heard so many wonders; wherein I readily obliged them, but shall not interrupt the reader with the particulars. When I had for some time entertained their Excellencies to their infinite satisfaction and surprise, 1 desired they would do me the honor to present my most humble respects to the Emperor their master, the renown of whose virtues had so justly filled the whole world with admiration, and whose royal person I resolved to attend before I returned to my own country. Accordingly, the next time I had the honor to see our Emperor, I desired his general license to wait on the Blefuscudian monarch, which he was pleased to grant me, as I could plainly perceive, in a very cold manner; but could not guess the reason, till I had a whisper from a certain person, that Flimnap and Bolgolam had represented my intercourse with those ambassadors as a mark of disaffection, from which I am sure my heart was wholly free. And this was the first time I began to conceive some imperfect idea of courts and ministers. It is to be observed, that these ambassadors spoke to me by an interpreter; the languages of both empires differing as much from each other as any two in Europe, and each nation priding itself upon the antiquity, beauty, and energy of their own tongues, with an avowed contempt for that of their neighbor; yet our Emperor, standing upon the advantage he had got by the seizure of their fleet, obliged them to deliver their credentials, and make their speech, in the Lilliputian tongue. And it must be confessed, that from the great intercourse of trade and commerce between both realms, from the continual reception of exiles, which is mutual among them, and from the custom in each 7. Indirectly. 8. After a series of British naval victories, the Treaty of Utrecht ( 1 7 1 3 ) had ended the war with

France, but the Tory ministers who engineered the p e a c e were subsequently a c c u s e d of having sold out to the enemy.

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empire to send their young nobility and richer gentry to the other, in order to polish themselves, by seeing the world, and understanding men and manners, there are few persons of distinction, or merchants, or seamen, who dwell in the maritime parts, but what can hold conversation in both tongues; as I found some weeks after, when I went to pay my respects to the Emperor of Blefuscu, which in the midst of great misfortunes, through the malice of my enemies, proved a very happy adventure to me, as I shall relate in its proper place. The reader may remember, that when I signed those articles upon which I recovered my liberty, there were some which I disliked upon account of their being too servile, neither could any thing but an extreme necessity have forced me to submit. But being now a Nardac, of the highest rank in that empire, such offices 9 were looked upon as below my dignity, and the Emperor (to do him justice) never once mentioned them to me. However, it was not long before I had an opportunity of doing his Majesty, at least as I then thought, a most signal service. I was alarmed at midnight with the cries of many hundred people at my door; by which being suddenly awaked, I was in some kind of terror. I heard the word burglum repeated incessantly; several of the Emperor's court, making their way through the crowd, intreated me to come immediately to the palace, where her Imperial Majesty's apartment was on fire, by the carelessness of a maid of honor, who fell asleep while she was reading a romance. I got up in an instant; and orders being given to clear the way before me, and it being likewise a moonshine night, I made a shift to get to the palace without trampling on any of the people. I found they had already applied ladders to the walls of the apartment, and were well provided with buckets, but the water was at some distance. These buckets were about the size of a large thimble, and the poor people supplied me with them as fast as they could; but the flame was so violent, that they did little good. I might easily have stifled it with my coat, which I unfortunately left behind me for haste, and came away only in my leathern jerkin. The case seemed wholly desperate and deplorable; and this magnificent palace would have infallibly been burnt down to the ground, if, by a presence of mind, unusual to me, I had not suddenly thought of an expedient. I had the evening before drank plentifully of a most delicious wine, called glimigrim (the Blefuscudians call it flunec, but ours is esteemed the better sort), which is very diuretic. By the luckiest chance in the world, I had not discharged myself of any part of it. The heat I had contracted by coming very near the flames, and by my laboring to quench them, made the wine begin to operate by urine; which I voided in such a quantity, and applied so well to the proper places, that in three minutes the fire was wholly extinguished; and the rest of that noble pile, which had cost so many ages in erecting, preserved from destruction. It was now daylight, and I returned to my house, without waiting to congratulate with the Emperor; because, although I had done a very eminent piece of service, yet I could not tell how his Majesty might resent the manner by which I had performed it: for, by the fundamental laws of the realm, it is capital 1 in any person, of what quality soever, to make water within the precincts of the palace. But I was a little comforted by a message from his Majesty, that he would give orders to the Grand Justiciary for passing my pardon in form; which, however, I could not obtain. And I was privately assured, that

9. Duties.

1. Punishable by death.

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the Empress, conceiving the greatest abhorrence of what I had done, 2 removed to the most distant side of the court, firmly resolved that those buildings should never be repaired for her use; and, in the presence of her chief confidents, could not forbear vowing revenge. C H A P T E R 6 . Of the inhabitants of Lilliput; their learning, laws, and customs, the manner of educating their children. The author's way of living in that country. His vindication of a great lady.

Although I intend to leave the description of this empire to a particular treatise, yet in the mean time I am content to gratify the curious reader with some general ideas. As the common size of the natives is somewhat under six inches, so there is an exact proportion in all other animals, as well as plants and trees: for instance, the tallest horses and oxen are between four and five inches in height, the sheep an inch and a half, more or less; their geese about the bigness of a sparrow; and so the several gradations downwards, till you come to the smallest, which, to my sight, were almost invisible; but nature hath adapted the eyes of the Lilliputians to all objects proper for their view: they see with great exactness, but at no great distance. And to show the sharpness of their sight towards objects that are near, I have been much pleased with observing a cook pulling 3 a lark, which was not so large as a common fly; and a young girl threading an invisible needle with invisible silk. Their tallest trees are about seven foot high; I mean some of those in the great royal park, the tops whereof I could but just reach with my fist clinched. The other vegetables 4 are in the same proportion; but this I leave to the reader's imagination. I shall say but little at present of their learning, which for many ages hath flourished in all its branches among them: but their manner of writing is very peculiar; being neither from the left to the right, like the Europeans; nor from the right to the left, like the Arabians; nor from up to down, like the Chinese; nor from down to up, like the Cascagians; 5 but aslant from one corner of the paper to the other, like ladies in England. They bury their dead with their heads directly downwards; because they hold an opinion that in eleven thousand moons they are all to rise again; in which period, the earth (which they conceive to be flat) will turn upside down, and by this means they shall, at their resurrection, be found ready standing on their feet. The learned among them confess the absurdity of this doctrine; but the practice still continues, in compliance to the vulgar. 6 There are some laws and customs in this empire very peculiar; and if they were not so directly contrary to those of my own dear country, I should be tempted to say a little in their justification. It is only to be wished, that they were as well executed. The first I shall mention relateth to informers. All crimes against the state are punished here with the utmost severity; but if the person accused make his innocence plainly to appear upon his trial, the accuser is immediately put to an ignominious death; and out of his goods or lands, the innocent person is quadruply recompensed for the loss of his time, for the danger he underwent, for the hardship of his imprisonment, and for all the charges he hath been at in making his defense. Or, if that fund be 2. Q u e e n Anne, whom Swift called "a royal prude," strongly objected to the coarseness of A Tale of a Tub. 3. Plucking.

4. Plants, 5. Swift's invention. 6. T h e (beliefs of the) common people.

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deficient, it is largely 7 supplied by the crown. The Emperor doth also confer on him some public mark of his favor; and proclamation is made of his innocence through the whole city. They look upon fraud as a greater crime than theft, and therefore seldom fail to punish it with death; for they allege, that care and vigilance, with a very common understanding, may preserve a man's goods from thieves; but honesty hath no fence against superior cunning: and since it is necessary that there should be a perpetual intercourse of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where fraud is permitted or connived at, or hath no law to punish it, the honest dealer is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage. I remember when I was once interceding with the King for a criminal who had wronged his master of a great sum of money, which he had received by order, and ran away with; and happening to tell his Majesty, by way of extenuation, that it was only a breach of trust, the Emperor thought it monstrous in me to offer, as a defense, the greatest aggravation of the crime: and truly, I had little to say in return, farther than the common answer, that different nations had different customs; for, I confess, I was heartily ashamed. Although we usually call reward and punishment the two hinges upon which all government turns, yet I could never observe this maxim to be put in practice by any nation, except that of Lilliput. Whoever can there bring sufficient proof that he hath strictly observed the laws of his country for seventy-three moons, hath a claim to certain privileges, according to his quality 8 and condition of life, with a proportionable sum of money out of a fund appropriated for that use: he likewise acquires the title of Snilpall, or Legal, which is added to his name, but doth not descend to his posterity. And these people thought it a prodigious defect of policy among us, when 1 told them that our laws were enforced only by penalties, without any mention of reward. It is upon this account that the image of Justice, in their courts of judicature, is formed with six eyes, two before, as many behind, and on each side one, to signify circumspection; with a bag of gold open in her right hand, and a sword sheathed in her left, to show she is more disposed to reward than to punish. In choosing persons for all employments, they have more regard to good morals than to great abilities; for, since government is necessary to mankind, they believe that the common size of human understandings is fitted to some station or other; and that Providence never intended to make the management of public affairs a mystery, to be comprehended only by a few persons of sublime genius, of which there seldom are three born in an age: but they suppose truth, justice, temperance, and the like, to be in every man's power; the practice of which virtues, assisted by experience and a good intention, would qualify any man for the service of his country, except where a course of study is required. But they thought the want of moral virtues was so far from being supplied by superior endowments of the mind, that employments could never be put into such dangerous hands as those of persons so qualified; and at least, that the mistakes committed by ignorance in a virtuous disposition would never be of such fatal consequence to the public weal, as the practices of a man whose inclinations led him to be corrupt, and had great abilities to manage, to multiply, and defend his corruptions. In like manner, the disbelief of a divine Providence renders a man uncapable of holding any public station; for since kings avow themselves to be the dep7. Fully.

8. Social position.

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uties of Providence, the Lilliputians think nothing can be more absurd than for a prince to employ such men as disown the authority under which he acteth. In relating these and the following laws, I would only be understood to mean the original institutions, and not the most scandalous corruptions into which these people are fallen by the degenerate nature of man. For as to that infamous practice of acquiring great employments by dancing on the ropes, or badges of favor and distinction by leaping over sticks, and creeping under them, the reader is to observe, that they were first introduced by the grandfather of the Emperor now reigning; and grew to the present height by the gradual increase of party and faction. Ingratitude is among them a capital crime, as we read it to have been in some other countries; for they reason thus, that whoever makes ill returns to his benefactor, must needs be a common enemy to the rest of mankind, from whom he hath received no obligation; and therefore such a man is not fit to live. Their notions relating to the duties of parents and children differ extremely from ours. For, since the conjunction of male and female is founded upon the great law of nature, in order to propagate and continue the species, the Lilliputians will needs have it, that men and women are joined together like other animals, by the motives of concupiscence; and that their tenderness towards their young proceedeth from the like natural principle: for which reason they will never allow, that a child is under any obligation to his father for begetting him, or to his mother for bringing him into the world; which, considering the miseries of human life, was neither a benefit in itself, nor intended so by his parents, whose thoughts in their love-encounters were otherwise employed. Upon these, and the like reasonings, their opinion is, that parents are the last of all others to be trusted with the education of their own children: and therefore they have in every town public nurseries, where all parents, except cottagers 9 and laborers, are obliged to send their infants of both sexes to be reared and educated when they come to the age of twenty moons; at which time they are supposed to have some rudiments of docility. These schools are of several kinds, suited to different qualities, and to both sexes. They have certain professors 1 well skilled in preparing children for such a condition of life as befits the rank of their parents, and their own capacities as well as inclinations. I shall first say something of the male nurseries, and then of the female. The nurseries for males of noble or eminent birth are provided with grave and learned professors, and their several deputies. The clothes and food of the children are plain and simple. They are bred up in the principles of honor, justice, courage, modesty, clemency, religion, and love of their country; they are always employed in some business, except in the times of eating and sleeping, which are very short, and two hours for diversions, consisting of bodily exercises. They are dressed by men until four years of age, and then are obliged to dress themselves, although their quality be ever so great; and the women attendants, who are aged proportionably to ours at fifty, perform only the most menial offices. They are never suffered to converse with servants, but go together in small or greater numbers to take their diversions, and always in the presence of a professor, or one of his deputies; whereby they avoid those 9. Agricultural workers, peasants.

1. Professional teachers.

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early bad impressions of folly and vice to which our children are subject. Their parents are suffered to see them only twice a year; the visit is not to last above an hour; they are allowed to kiss the child at meeting and parting; but a professor, who always standeth by on those occasions, will not suffer them to whisper, or use any fondling expressions, or bring any presents of toys, sweetmeats, and the like. The pension from each family for the education and entertainment 2 of a child, upon failure of due payment, is levied by the Emperor's officers. The nurseries for children of ordinary gentlemen, merchants, traders, and handicrafts, are managed proportionably after the same manner; only those designed for trades are put out apprentices at seven years old; whereas those of persons of quality continue in their exercises until fifteen, which answers to one and twenty with us: but the confinement is gradually lessened for the last three years. In the female nurseries, the young girls of quality are educated much like the males, only they are dressed by orderly servants of their own sex, but always in the presence of a professor or deputy, until they come to dress themselves, which is at five years old. And if it be found that these nurses ever presume to entertain the girls with frightful or foolish stories, or the common follies practiced by chambermaids among us, they are publicly whipped thrice about the city, imprisoned for a year, and banished for life to the most desolate parts of the country. Thus the young ladies there are as much ashamed of being cowards and fools as the men; and despise all personal ornaments beyond decency and cleanliness: neither did I perceive any difference in their education, made by their difference of sex, only that the exercises of the females were not altogether so robust; and that some rules were given them relating to domestic life, and a smaller compass of learning was enjoined them: for their maxim is, that among people of quality, a wife should be always a reasonable and agreeable companion, because she cannot always be young. When the girls are twelve years old, which among them is the marriageable age, their parents or guardians take them home, with great expressions of gratitude to the professors, and seldom without tears of the young lady and her companions. In the nurseries of females of the meaner sort, the children are instructed in all kinds of works proper for their sex, and their several degrees: 3 those intended for apprentices are dismissed at seven years old, the rest are kept to eleven. The meaner families who have children at these nurseries are obliged, besides their annual pension, which is as low as possible, to return to the steward of the nursery a small monthly share of their gettings, to be a portion for the child; and therefore all parents are limited in their expenses by the law. For the Lilliputians think nothing can be more unjust, than that people, in subservience to their own appetites, should bring children into the world, and leave the burthen of supporting them on the public. As to persons of quality, they give security to appropriate a certain sum for each child, suitable to their condition; and these funds are always managed with good husbandry, and the most exact justice. The cottagers and laborers keep their children at home, their business being only to till and cultivate the earth; and therefore their education is of little consequence to the public; but the old and diseased among them are supported by hospitals: for begging is a trade unknown in this empire. 2. S u s t e n a n c e .

3. Various social ranks.

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And here it may perhaps divert the curious reader, to give some account of my domestic, 4 and my manner of living in this country, during a residence of nine months and thirteen days. Having a head mechanically turned, and being likewise forced by necessity, I had made for myself a table and chair convenient enough, out of the largest trees in the royal park. Two hundred sempstresses were employed to make me shirts, and linen for my bed and table, all of the strongest and coarsest kind they could get; which, however, they were forced to quilt together in several folds; for the thickest was some degrees finer than lawn. Their linen is usually three inches wide, and three foot make a piece. The sempstresses took my measure as I lay on the ground, one standing at my neck, and another at my mid-leg, with a strong cord extended, that each held by the end, while the third measured the length of the cord with a rule of an inch long. Then they measured my right thumb, and desired no more; for by a mathematical computation, that twice round the thumb is one round the wrist, and so on to the neck and the waist; and by the help of my old shirt, which I displayed on the ground before them for a pattern, they fitted me exactly. Three hundred tailors were employed in the same manner to make me clothes; but they had another contrivance for taking my measure. I kneeled down, and they raised a ladder from the ground to my neck; upon this ladder one of them mounted, and let fall a plumb-line from my collar to the floor, which j u s t answered the length of my coat; but my waist and arms I measured myself. When my clothes were finished, which was done in my house (for the largest of theirs would not have been able to hold them), they looked like the patchwork made by the ladies in England, only that mine were all of a color. I had three hundred cooks to dress my victuals, in little convenient huts built about my house, where they and their families lived, and prepared me two dishes apiece. I took up twenty waiters in my hand, and placed them on the table; an hundred more attended below on the ground, some with dishes of meat, and some with barrels of wine, and other liquors, slung on their shoulders; all which the waiters above drew up as I wanted, in a very ingenious manner, by certain cords, as we draw the bucket up a well in Europe. A dish of their meat was a good mouthful, and a barrel of their liquor a reasonable draught. Their mutton yields to ours, but their beef is excellent. I have had a sirloin so large, that I have been forced to make three bites of it; but this is rare. My servants were astonished to see me eat it bones and all, as in our country we do the leg of a lark. Their geese and turkeys I usually eat at a mouthful, and I must confess they far exceed ours. Of their smaller fowl I could take up twenty or thirty at the end of my knife. One day his Imperial Majesty, being informed of my way of living, desired that himself and his royal consort, with the young princes of the blood of both sexes, might have the happiness (as he was pleased to call it) of dining with me. They came accordingly, and I placed them upon chairs of state on my table, just over against me, with their guards about them. Flimnap the Lord High Treasurer attended there likewise, with his white staff; and I observed he often looked on me with a sour countenance, which I would not seem to regard, but eat more than usual, in honor to my dear country, as well as to fill the court with admiration. I have some private reasons to believe, that this visit from his Majesty gave Flimnap an opportunity of doing me ill offices to his master. That minister had always been my secret enemy, although he outwardly caressed me more than was usual to the moroseness of his nature. He 4. Household.

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represented to the Emperor the low condition of his treasury; that he was forced to take up money at great discount; that exchequer bills 5 would not circulate under nine per cent below par; that I had cost his Majesty above a million and a half of sprugs (their greatest gold coin, about the bigness of a spangle); and upon the whole, that it would be advisable in the Emperor to take the first fair occasion of dismissing me. I am here obliged to vindicate the reputation of an excellent lady, who was an innocent sufferer upon my account. The Treasurer took a fancy to be jealous of his wife, from the malice of some evil tongues, who informed him that her Grace had taken a violent affection for my person; and the court-scandal ran for some time that she once came privately to my lodging. This I solemnly declare to be a most infamous falsehood, without any grounds, farther than that her Grace was pleased to treat me with all innocent marks of freedom and friendship. I own she came often to my house, but always publicly, nor ever without three more in the coach, who were usually her sister and young daughter, and some particular acquaintance; but this was common to many other ladies of the court. And 1 still appeal to my servants round, whether they at any time saw a coach at my door without knowing what persons were in it. On those occasions, when a servant had given me notice, my custom was to go immediately to the door; and, after paying my respects, to take up the coach and two horses very carefully in my hands (for if there were six horses, the postillion always unharnessed four) and place them on a table, where I had fixed a moveable rim quite round, of five inches high, to prevent accidents. And I have often had four coaches and horses at once on my table full of company, while I sat in my chair leaning my face towards them; and when I was engaged with one set, the coachmen would gently drive the others round my table. I have passed many an afternoon very agreeably in these conversations. But I defy the Treasurer, or his two informers (I will name them, and let them make their best of it) Clustril and Drunlo, to prove that any person ever came to me incognito, except the Secretary Reldresal, who was sent by express command of his Imperial Majesty, as I have before related. I should not have dwelt so long upon this particular, if it had not been a point wherein the reputation of a great lady is so nearly concerned, to say nothing of my own; although I had the honor to be a Nardac, which the Treasurer himself is not; for all the world knows he is only a Clumglum, a title inferior by one degree, as that of a marquis is to a duke in England; yet I allow he preceded me in right of his post. These false informations, which I afterwards came to the knowledge of, by an accident not proper to mention, made the Treasurer show his lady for some time an ill countenance, and me a worse; for although he was at last undeceived and reconciled to her, yet I lost all credit with him; and found my interest decline very fast with the Emperor himself, who was indeed too much governed by that favorite. C H A P T E R 7 . The author, being informed of a design to accuse him of high treason, makes his escape to Blefuscu. His reception there.

Before I proceed to give an account of my leaving this kingdom, it may be proper to inform the reader of a private intrigue which had been for two months forming against me. 5. Government bills of credit. Walpole was noted as a canny financier.

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I had been hitherto all my life a stranger to courts, for which I was unqualified by the meanness of my condition. I had indeed heard and read enough of the dispositions of great princes and ministers; but never expected to have found such terrible effects of them in so remote a country, governed, as I thought, by very different maxims from those in Europe. When I was just preparing to pay my attendance on the Emperor of Blefuscu, a considerable person at court (to whom I had been very serviceable at a time when he lay under the highest displeasure of his Imperial Majesty) came to my house very privately at night in a close chair, and without sending his name, desired admittance. The chairmen were dismissed; I put the chair, with his Lordship in it, into my coat-pocket; and giving orders to a trusty servant to say I was indisposed and gone to sleep, I fastened the door of my house, placed the chair on the table, according to my usual custom, and sat down by it. After the common salutations were over, observing his Lordship's countenance full of concern, and enquiring into the reason, he desired I would hear him with patience, in a matter that highly concerned my honor and my life. His speech was to the following effect, for I took notes of it as soon as he left me. You are to know, said he, that several committees of council have been lately called in the most private manner on your account: and it is but two days since his Majesty came to a full resolution. You are very sensible that Skyresh Bolgolam ( Galbet , or High Admiral) hath been your mortal enemy almost ever since your arrival. His original reasons I know not; but his hatred is much increased since your great success against Blefuscu, by which his glory, as Admiral, is obscured. This lord, in conjunction with Flimnap the High Treasurer, whose enmity against you is notorious on account of his lady, Limtoc the General, Lalcon the Chamberlain, and Balmuff the Grand Justiciary, have prepared articles of impeachment against you, for treason, and other capital crimes. 6 This preface made me so impatient, being conscious of my own merits and innocence, that I was going to interrupt; when he entreated me to be silent, and thus proceeded. Out of gratitude for the favors you have done me, I procured information of the whole proceedings, and a copy of the articles, wherein I venture my head for your service.

Articles of Impeachment against Q u i n b u s Flestrin (the M a n - M o u n t a i n ) . ARTICLE

Whereas, by a statute made in the reign of his Imperial Majesty Calin Deffar Plune, it is enacted, that whoever shall make water within the precincts of the royal palace shall be liable to the pains and penalties of high treason: notwithstanding, the said Q u i n b u s Flestrin, in open breach of the said law, under color of extinguishing the fire kindled in the apartment of his Majesty's most dear imperial consort, did maliciously, traitorously, and devilishly, by discharge of his urine, put out the said fire kindled in the said apartment, lying and being within the precincts of the said 6. After the Whigs had investigated Oxford and Bolingbroke, both were impeached for high treason, on charges of being sympathetic to the Jacobites and the French.

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royal palace; against the statute in that case provided, etc., against the duty, etc. ARTICLE

That the said Q u i n b u s Flestrin, having brought the imperial fleet of Blefuscu into the royal port, and being afterwards commanded by his Imperial Majesty to seize all the other ships of the said empire of Blefuscu, and reduce that empire to a province, to be governed by a viceroy from hence; and to destroy and put to death not only all the Big-Endian exiles, but likewise all the people of that empire who would not immediately forsake the Big-Endian heresy: he, the said Flestrin, like a false traitor against his most auspicious, serene, Imperial Majesty, did petition to be excused from the said service, upon pretense of unwillingness to force the consciences, or destroy the liberties and lives of an innocent people. ARTICLE

That, whereas certain ambassadors arrived from the court of Blefuscu to sue for peace in his Majesty's court: he the said Flestrin did, like a false traitor, aid, abet, comfort, and divert the said ambassadors; although he knew them to be servants to a prince who was lately an open enemy to his Imperial Majesty, and in open war against his said Majesty. ARTICLE

That the said Q u i n b u s Flestrin, contrary to the duty of a faithful subject, is now preparing to make a voyage to the court and empire of Blefuscu, for which he hath received only verbal license from his Imperial Majesty; and under color of the said license, doth falsely and traitorously intend to take the said voyage, and thereby to aid, comfort, and abet the Emperor of Blefuscu, so late an enemy, and in open war with his Imperial Majesty aforesaid. There are some other articles, but these are the most important, of which I have read you an abstract. In the several debates upon this impeachment, it must be confessed that his Majesty gave many marks of his great lenity; often urging the services you had done him, and endeavoring to extenuate your crimes. The Treasurer and Admiral insisted that you should be put to the most painful and ignominious death, by setting fire on your house at night; and the General was to attend with twenty thousand men armed with poisoned arrows, to shoot you on the face and hands. Some of your servants were to have private orders to strew a poisonous juice on your shirts and sheets, which would soon make you tear your own flesh, and die in the utmost torture. The General came into the same opinion; so that for a long time there was a majority against you. But his Majesty resolving, if possible, to spare your life, at last brought off 7 the Chamberlain. Upon this incident, Reldresal, Principal Secretary for Private Affairs, who always approved 8 himself your true friend, was commanded by the Emperor to deliver his opinion, which he accordingly did; and therein justified the good 7. Won over.

8. Proved.

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thoughts you have of him. He allowed your crimes to be great; but that still there was room for mercy, the most commendable virtue in a prince, and for which his Majesty was so justly celebrated. He said, the friendship between you and him was so well known to the world, that perhaps the most honorable board might think him partial: however, in obedience to the command he had received, he would freely offer his sentiments. That if his Majesty, in consideration of your services, and pursuant to his own merciful disposition, would please- to spare your life, and only give order to put out both your eyes, he humbly conceived, that by this expedient justice might in some measure be satisfied, and all the world would applaud the lenity of the Emperor, as well as the fair and generous proceedings of those who have the honor to be his counselors. That the loss of your eyes would be no impediment to your bodily strength, by which you might still be useful to his Majesty. That blindness is an addition to courage, by concealing dangers from us; that the fear you had for your eyes was the greatest difficulty in bringing over the enemy's fleet; and it would be sufficient for you to see by the eyes of the ministers, since the greatest princes do no more. This proposal was received with the utmost disapprobation by the whole board. Bolgolam, the Admiral, could not preserve his temper; but rising up in fury, said, he wondered how the Secretary durst presume to give his opinion for preserving the life of a traitor: that the services you had performed were, by all true reasons of state, the great aggravation of your crimes; that you, who were able to extinguish the fire by discharge of urine in her Majesty's apartment (which he mentioned with horror), might, at another time, raise an inundation by the same means, to drown the whole palace; and the same strength which enabled you to bring over the enemy's fleet might serve, upon the first discontent, to carry it back: that he had good reasons to think you were a BigEndian in your heart; and as treason begins in the heart before it appears in overt acts, so he accused you as a traitor on that account, and therefore insisted you should be put to death. The Treasurer was of the same opinion; he showed to what straits his Majesty's revenue was reduced by the charge of maintaining you, which would soon grow insupportable: that the Secretary's expedient of putting out your eyes was so far from being a remedy against this evil, that it would probably increase it; as it is manifest from the common practice of blinding some kind of fowl, after which they fed the faster, and grew sooner fat: that his sacred Majesty, and the council, who are your judges, were in their own consciences fully convinced of your guilt; which was a sufficient argument to condemn you to death, without the formal proofs required by the strict letter of the law. But his Imperial Majesty, fully determined against capital punishment, was graciously pleased to say, that since the council thought the loss of your eyes too easy a censure, some other may be inflicted hereafter. And your friend the Secretary humbly desiring to be heard again, in answer to what the Treasurer had objected concerning the great charge his Majesty was at in maintaining you, said, that his Excellency, who had the sole disposal of the Emperor's revenue, might easily provide against this evil, by gradually lessening your establishment; by which, for want of sufficient food, you would grow weak and faint, and lose your appetite, and consequently decay and consume in a few months; neither would the stench of your carcass be then so dangerous, when it should become more than half diminished; and immediately upon your death, five or six thousand of his Majesty's subjects might, in two or three

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days, cut your flesh from your bones, take it away by cart-loads, and bury it in distant parts to prevent infection; leaving the skeleton as a monument of admiration to posterity. Thus by the great friendship of the Secretary, the whole affair was compromised. It was strictly enjoined, that the project of starving you by degrees should be kept a secret; but the sentence of putting out your eyes was entered on the books; none dissenting except Bolgolam the Admiral, who being a creature of the Empress, was perpetually instigated by her Majesty to insist upon your death; she having borne perpetual malice against you, on account of that infamous and illegal method you took to extinguish the fire in her apartment. In three days your friend the Secretary will be directed to come to your house, and read before you the articles of impeachment; and then to signify the great lenity and favor of his Majesty and council; whereby you are only condemned to the loss of your eyes, which his Majesty doth not question you will gratefully and humbly submit to; and twenty of his Majesty's surgeons will attend, in order to see the operation well performed, by discharging very sharppointed arrows into the balls of your eyes, as you lie on the ground. I leave to your prudence what measures you will take; and to avoid suspicion, I must immediately return in as private a manner as I came. His Lordship did so, and I remained alone, under many doubts and perplexities of mind. It was a custom introduced by this prince and his ministry (very different, as I have been assured, from the practices of former times), that after the court had decreed any cruel execution, either to gratify the monarch's resentment, or the malice of a favorite, the Emperor always made a speech to his whole council, expressing his great lenity and tenderness, as qualities known and confessed by all the world. This speech was immediately published through the kingdom; nor did any thing terrify the people so much as those encomiums on his Majesty's mercy; because it was observed, that the more these praises were enlarged and insisted on, the more inhuman was the punishment, and the sufferer more innocent. Yet as to myself, I must confess, having never been designed for a courtier, either by my birth or education, I was so ill a judge of things, that I could not discover the lenity and favor of this sentence, but conceived it (perhaps erroneously) rather to be rigorous than gentle. I sometimes thought of standing my trial; for although I could not deny the facts alleged in the several articles, yet I hoped they would admit of some extenuations. But having in my life perused many state trials, which I ever observed to terminate as the judges thought fit to direct, I durst not rely on so dangerous a decision, in so critical a juncture, and against such powerful enemies. Once I was strongly bent upon resistance: for while I had liberty, the whole strength of that empire could hardly subdue me, and I might easily with stones pelt the metropolis to pieces; but I soon rejected that project with horror, by remembering the oath I had made to the Emperor, the favors I received from him, and the high title of Nardac he conferred upon me. Neither had I so soon learned the gratitude of courtiers, to persuade myself that his Majesty's present severities acquitted me of all past obligations. At last I fixed upon a resolution, for which it is probable I may incur some censure, and not unjustly; for I confess I owe the preserving my eyes, and consequently my liberty, to my own great rashness and want of experience: because if I had then known the nature of princes and ministers, which I have since observed in many other courts, and their methods of treating criminals

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less obnoxious than myself, I should with great alacrity and readiness have submitted to so easy a punishment. But hurried on by the precipitancy of youth, and having his Imperial Majesty's license to pay my attendance upon the Emperor of Blefuscu, I took this opportunity, before the three days were elapsed, to send a letter to my friend the Secretary, signifying my resolution of setting out that morning for Blefuscu, 9 pursuant to the leave I had got; and without waiting for an answer, I went to that side of the island where our fleet lay. I seized a large man of war, tied a cable to the prow, and lifting up the anchors, I stripped myself, put my clothes (together with my coverlet, which I carried under my arm) into the vessel; and drawing it after me, between wading and swimming, arrived at the royal port of Blefuscu, where the people had long expected me. They lent me two guides to direct me to the capital city, which is of the same name; I held them in my hands until I came within two hundred yards of the gate; and desired them to signify my arrival to one of the secretaries, and let him know, I there waited his Majesty's commands. I had an answer in about an hour, that his Majesty, attended by the royal family, and great officers of the court, was coming out to receive me. I advanced a hundred yards; the Emperor, and his train, alighted from their horses, the Empress and ladies from their coaches; and I did not perceive they were in any fright or concern. I lay on the ground to kiss his Majesty's and the Empress's hand. I told his Majesty that I was come according to my promise, and with the license of the Emperor my master, to have the honor of seeing so mighty a monarch, and to offer him any service in my power, consistent with my duty to my own prince; not mentioning a word of my disgrace, because I had hitherto no regular information of it, and might suppose myself wholly ignorant of any such design; neither could I reasonably conceive that the Emperor would discover the secret while I was out of his power: wherein, however, it soon appeared I was deceived. I shall not trouble the reader with the particular account of my reception at this court, which was suitable to the generosity of so great a prince; nor of the difficulties I was in for want of a house and bed, being forced to lie on the ground, wrapped up in my coverlet. C H A P T E R 8 . The author, by a lucky accident, finds means to leave Blefuscu; and, after some difficidties, returns safe to his native country.

Three days after my arrival, walking out of curiosity to the northeast coast of the island, I observed, about half a league off, in the sea, somewhat that looked like a boat overturned. I pulled off my shoes and stockings, and wading two or three hundred yards, I found the object to approach nearer by force of the tide; and then plainly saw it to be a real boat, which I supposed might, by some tempest, have been driven from a ship. Whereupon I returned immediately towards the city, and desired his Imperial Majesty to lend me twenty of the tallest vessels he had left after the loss of his fleet, and three thousand seamen under the command of his Vice Admiral. This fleet sailed round, while I went back the shortest way to the coast where I first discovered the boat; I found the tide had driven it still nearer; the seamen were all provided with cordage, which I had beforehand twisted to a sufficient strength. When the ships came up, I stripped myself, and waded till I came within an hundred 9. Before his trial for treason could be held. Bolingbroke had escaped to France.

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yards of the boat; after which I was forced to swim till I got up to it. The seamen threw me the end of the cord, which I fastened to a hole in the forepart of the boat, and the other end to a man of war: but I found all my labor to little purpose; for being out of my depth, I was not able to work. In this necessity, I was forced to swim behind, and push the boat forwards as often as I could, with one of my hands; and the tide favoring me, I advanced so far, that I could just hold up my chin and feel the ground. I rested two or three minutes, and then gave the boat another shove, and so on till the sea was no higher than my armpits. And now the most laborious part being over, I took out my other cables which were stowed in one of the ships, and fastening them first to the boat, and then to nine of the vessels which attended me, the wind being favorable, the seamen towed, and I shoved till we arrived within forty yards of the shore; and waiting till the tide was out, I got dry to the boat, and by the assistance of two thousand men, with ropes and engines, I made a shift to turn it on its bottom, and found it was but little damaged. I shall not trouble the reader with the difficulties I was under by the help of certain paddles, which cost me ten days making, to get my boat to the royal port of Blefuscu; where a might)' concourse of people appeared upon my arrival, full of wonder at the sight of so prodigious a vessel. I told the Emperor that my good fortune had thrown this boat in my way, to carry me to some place from whence I might return into my native country; and begged his Majesty's orders for getting materials to fit it up, together with license to depart; which, after some kind expostulations, he was pleased to grant. I did very much wonder, in all this time, not to have heard of any express relating to me from our Emperor to the court of Blefuscu. But I was afterwards given privately to understand, that his Imperial Majesty, never imagining I had the least notice of his designs, believed I was only gone to Blefuscu in performance of my promise, according to the license he had given me, which was well known at our court; and would return in a few days when that ceremony was ended. But he was at last in pain at my long absence; and, after consulting with the Treasurer, and the rest of that cabal, a person of quality was dispatched with the copy of the articles against me. This envoy had instructions to represent to the monarch of Blefuscu the great lenity of his master, who was content to punish me no further than with the loss of my eyes; that I had fled from justice, and if I did not return in two hours, I should be deprived of my title of Nardac, and declared a traitor. The envoy further added, that in order to maintain the peace and amity between both empires, his master expected, that his brother of Blefuscu would give orders to have me sent back to Lilliput, bound hand and foot, to be punished as a traitor. The Emperor of Blefuscu, having taken three days to consult, returned an answer consisting of many civilities and excuses. He said, that as for sending me bound, his brother knew it was impossible; that although I had deprived him of his fleet, yet he owed great obligations to me for many good offices I had done him in making the peace. That however, both their Majesties would soon be made easy; for I had found a prodigious vessel on the shore, able to carry me on the sea, which he had given order to fit up with my own assistance and direction; and he hoped in a few weeks both empires would be freed from so insupportable an incumbrance. With this answer the envoy returned to Lilliput, and the monarch of Blefuscu related to me all that had passed, offering me at the same time (but under the strictest confidence) his gracious protection, if I would continue in

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his service; wherein although I believed him sincere, yet I resolved never more to put any confidence in princes or ministers, where I could possibly avoid it; and therefore, with all due acknowledgements for his favorable intentions, I humbly begged to be excused. I told him, that since fortune, whether good or evil, had thrown a vessel in my way, I was resolved to venture myself in the ocean, rather than be an occasion of difference between two such mighty monarchs. Neither did I find the Emperor at all displeased; and I discovered by a certain accident, that he was very glad of my resolution, and so were most of his ministers. These considerations moved me to hasten my departure somewhat sooner than I intended; to which the court, impatient to have me gone, very readily contributed. Five hundred workmen were employed to make two sails to my boat, according to my directions, by quilting thirteen fold of their strongest linen together. I was at the pains of making ropes and cables, by twisting ten, twenty or thirty of the thickest and strongest of theirs. A great stone that I happened to find, after a long search by the seashore, served me for an anchor. I had the tallow of three hundred cows for greasing my boat, and other uses. I was at incredible pains in cutting down some of the largest timber trees for oars and masts, wherein I was, however, much assisted by his Majesty's shipcarpenters, who helped me in smoothing them, after I had done the rough work. In about a month, when all was prepared, I sent to receive his Majesty's commands, and to take my leave. The Emperor and royal family came out of the palace; I lay down on my face to kiss his hand, which he very graciously gave me: so did the Empress, and young princes of the blood. His Majesty presented me with fifty purses of two hundred s-prugs apiece, together with his picture at full length, which I put immediately into one of my gloves, to keep it from being hurt. The ceremonies at my departure were too many to trouble the reader with at this time. I stored the boat with the carcasses of an hundred oxen, and three hundred sheep, with bread and drink proportionable, and as much meat ready dressed as four hundred cooks could provide. I took with me six cows and two bulls alive, with as many ewes and rams, intending to carry them into my own country, and propagate the breed. And to feed them on board, I had a good bundle of hay, and a bag of corn. 1 I would gladly have taken a dozen of the natives; but this was a thing the Emperor would by no means permit; and besides a diligent search into my pockets, his Majesty engaged my honor not to c a n y away any of his subjects, although with their own consent and desire. Having thus prepared all things as well as I was able, I set sail on the twentyfourth day of September, 1701, at six in the morning; and when I had gone about four leagues to the northward, the wind being at southeast, at six in the evening, I descried a small island about half a league to the northwest. I advanced forward, and cast anchor on the lee-side of the island, which seemed to be uninhabited. I then took some refreshment, and went to my rest. I slept well, and as I conjecture at least six hours; for I found the day broke in two hours after I awaked. It was a clear night; I eat my breakfast before the sun was up; and heaving anchor, the wind being favorable, I steered the same course that I had done the day before, wherein I was directed by my pocket compass. My intention was to reach, if possible, one of those islands which I 1. Generic term for anv cereal or grain crop (here, wheat).

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had reason to believe lay to the northeast of Van Diemen's Land. I discovered nothing all that day; but upon the next, about three in the afternoon, when I had by my computation made twenty-four leagues from Blefuscu, I descried a sail steering to the southeast; my course was due east. I hailed her, but could get no answer; yet I found I gained upon her, for the wind slackened. I made all the sail I could, and in half an hour she spied me, then hung out her ancient, 2 and discharged a gun. It is not easy to express the joy I was in upon the unexpected hope of once more seeing my beloved country, and the dear pledges 3 I had left in it. The ship slackened her sails, and I came up with her between five and six in the evening, September 26; but my heart leapt within me to see her English colors. I put my cows and sheep into my coat-pockets and got on board with all my little cargo of provisions. The vessel was an English merchantman, returning from Japan by the North and South Seas; 4 the captain, Mr. John Biddel of Deptford, a very civil man, and an excellent sailor. We were now in the latitude of 30 degrees south; there were about fifty men in the ship; and here I met an old comrade of mine, one Peter Williams, who gave me a good character to the captain. This gentleman treated me with kindness, and desired I would let him know what place I came from last, and whither I was bound; which I did in few words; but he thought I was raving, and that the dangers I underwent had disturbed my head; whereupon I took my black cattle and sheep out of my pocket, which, after great astonishment, clearly convinced him of my veracity. I then showed him the gold given me by the Emperor of Blefuscu, together with his Majesty's picture at full length, and some other rarities of that country. I gave him two purses of two hundred sprugs each, and promised, when we arrived in England, to make him a present of a cow and a sheep big with young. I shall not trouble the reader with a particular account of this voyage; which was very prosperous for the most part. We arrived in the Downs 5 on the 13th of April, 1702. I had only one misfortune, that the rats on board carried away one of my sheep; I found her bones in a hole, picked clean from the flesh. The rest of my cattle I got safe on shore, and set them a grazing in a bowlinggreen at Greenwich, where the fineness of the grass made them feed very heartily, though I had always feared the contrary; neither could I possibly have preserved them in so long a voyage, if the captain had not allowed me some of his best biscuit, which rubbed to powder, and mingled with water, was their constant food. The short time I continued in England, I made a considerable profit by showing my cattle to many persons of quality, and others: and before I began my second voyage, I sold them for six hundred pounds. Since my last return, I find the breed is considerably increased, especially the sheep; which I hope will prove much to the advantage of the woolen manufacture, by the fineness of the fleeces. I stayed but two months with my wife and family; for my insatiable desire of seeing foreign countries would suffer me to continue no longer. I left fifteen hundred pounds with my wife, and fixed her in a good house at Redriff. My remaining stock I carried with me, part in money, and part in goods, in hopes to improve my fortunes. My eldest uncle, John, had left me an estate in land, near Epping, of about thirty pounds a year; and I had a long lease of the Rlack 2.

Flag. 3. Hostages (i.e., his family). 4. North and South Pacific.

5. A rendezvous for ships off the southeast coast of England.

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Bull in Fetter Lane, which yielded me as much more: so that I was not in any danger of leaving my family upon the parish. 6 My son Johnny, named so after his uncle, was at the grammar school, and a towardly 7 child. My daughter Betty (who is now well married, and has children) was then at her needlework. I took leave of my wife, and boy and girl, with tears on both sides; and went on board the Adventure, a merchant-ship of three hundred tons, bound for Surat, Captain John Nicholas of Liverpool, Commander. But my account of this voyage must be referred to the second part of my Travels.

Part 2. A Voyage to Brobdingnag C H A P T E R 1 . A great storm described. The longboat sent to fetch water; the Author goes with it to discover the country. He is left on shore, is seized by one of the natives, and carried to a farmer's house. His reception there, with several accidents that happened there. A description of the inhabitants.

Having been condemned by nature and fortune to an active and restless life, in ten months after my return I again left my native country, and took shipping in the Downs on the 20th day of June, 1702, in the Adventure, Captain John Nicholas, a Cornish man, Commander, bound for Surat. 8 We had a very prosperous gale till we arrived at the C a p e of Good Hope, where we landed for fresh water, but discovering a leak we unshipped our goods and wintered there; for the Captain falling sick of an ague, we could not leave the Cape till the end of March. We then set sail, and had a good voyage till we passed the Straits of Madagascar; but having got northward of that island, and to about five degrees south latitude, the winds, which in those seas are observed to blow a constant equal gale between the north and west from the beginning of December to the beginning of May, on the 19th of April began to blow with much greater violence and more westerly than usual, continuing so far twenty days together, during which time we were driven a little to the east of the Molucca Islands and about three degrees northward of the Line, as our Captain found by an observation he took the 2nd of May, at which time the wind ceased, and it was a perfect calm, whereat I was not a little rejoiced. But he, being a man well experienced in the navigation of those seas, bid us all prepare against a storm, which accordingly happened the day following: for a southern wind, called the southern monsoon, began to set in. Finding it was likely to overblow, 9 we took in our spritsail, and stood by to hand the foresail; but making foul weather, we looked the guns were all fast, and handed the mizzen. The ship lay very broad off, so we thought it better spooning before the sea, than trying or hulling. We reefed the foresail and set him, we hauled aft the foresheet; the helm was hard aweather. The ship wore bravely. We belayed the fore-dowTihaul; but the sail was split, and we hauled down the yard and got the sail into the ship, and unbound all the things clear 6. On welfare (living on charity given by the parish). 7. Promising. 8. In India. The geography of the voyage (described next) is simple: T h e Adventure, after sailing up the east coast of Africa to about five degrees south of the equator (the "Line"), is blown past India into the Malay Archipelago, north of the islands of Buru and Ceram. The storm then drives

the ship northward and eastward, away from the coast of Siberia ("Great Tartary") into the northeast Pacific, at that time unexplored. Brobdingnag lies somewhere in the vicinity of Alaska. 9. This paragraph is taken almost literally from Samuel Sturmy's Mariner's Magazine (1669). Swift is ridiculing the use of technical terms by writers of popular voyages.

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of it. It was a very fierce storm; the sea broke strange and dangerous. We hauled off upon the lanyard of the whipstaff, and helped the man at helm. We would not get down our topmast, but let all stand, because she scudded before the sea very well, and we knew that the topmast being aloft, the ship was the wholesomer, and made better way through the sea, seeing we had searoom. When the storm was over, we set foresail and mainsail, and brought the ship to. Then we set the mizzen, main topsail and the fore topsail. Our course was east-northeast, the wind was at southwest. We got the starboard tacks aboard, we cast off our weather braces and lifts; we set in the lee braces, and hauled forward by the weather bowlings, and hauled them tight, and belayed them, and hauled over the mizzen tack to windward, and kept her full and by as near as she would lie. During this storm, which was followed by a strong wind west-southwest, we were carried by my computation about five hundred leagues to the east, so that the oldest sailor on board could not tell in what part of the world we were. Our provisions held out well, our ship was staunch, and our crew all in good health; but we lay in the utmost distress for water. We thought it best to hold on the same course rather than turn more northerly, which might have brought us to the northwest parts of Great Tartary, and into the frozen sea. On the 16th day of June, I 703, a boy on the topmast discovered land. On the 17th we came in full view of a great island or continent (for we knew not whether) on the south side whereof was a small neck of land jutting out into the sea, and a creek 1 too shallow to hold a ship of above one hundred tons. We cast anchor within a league of this creek, and our Captain sent a dozen of his men well armed in the longboat, with vessels for water if any could be found. I desired his leave to go with them that I might see the country and make what discoveries I could. When we came to land we saw no river or spring, nor any sign of inhabitants. Our men therefore wandered on the shore to find out some fresh water near the sea, and I walked alone about a mile on the other side, where I observed the country all barren and rocky. I now began to be weary, and seeing nothing to entertain my curiosity, I returned gently down towards the creek; and the sea being full in my view, I saw our men already got into the boat, and rowing for life to the ship. I was going to hollow after them, although it had been to little purpose, when I observed a huge creature walking after them in the sea as fast as he could; he waded not much deeper than his knees and took prodigious strides, but our men had the start of him half a league, and the sea thereabouts being full of sharp-pointed rocks, the monster was not able to overtake the boat. This I was afterwards told, for I durst not stay to see the issue of that adventure, but ran as fast as I could the way I first went, and then climbed up a steep hill, which gave me some prospect of the country. I found it fully cultivated; but that which first surprised me was the length of the grass, which, in those grounds that seemed to be kept for hay, was about twenty foot high. 2 I fell into a highroad, for so I took it to be, although it served to the inhabitants only as a footpath through a field of barley. Here I walked on for some time, but could see little on either side, it being now near harvest, and the corn 3 rising at least forty foot. I was an hour walking to the end of this field, 1. A small bay or cove, affording anchorage. 2. Swift's intention, not always carried out accurately, is that everything in Brobdingnag should be,

in relation to our familiar world, on a scale of ten to one. 3. Here, barley.

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which was fenced in with a hedge of at least one hundred and twenty foot high, and the trees so lofty that I could make no computation of their altitude. There was a stile to pass from this field into the next: it had four steps, and a stone to cross over when you came to the utmost. It was impossible for me to climb this stile, because every step was six foot high, and the upper stone above twenty. I was endeavoring to find some gap in the hedge when I discovered one of the inhabitants in the next field advancing towards the stile, of the same size with him whom I saw in the sea pursuing our boat. He appeared as tall as an ordinary spire-steeple, and took about ten yards at every stride, as near as I could guess. I was struck with the utmost fear and astonishment, and ran to hide myself in the corn, from whence I saw him at the top of the stile, looking back into the next field on the right hand; and heard him call in a voice many degrees louder than a speaking trumpet; but the noise was so high in the air that at first I certainly thought it was thunder. Whereupon seven monsters like himself came towards him with reaping hooks in their hands, each hook about the largeness of six scythes. These people were not so well clad as the first, whose servants or laborers they seemed to be. For, upon some words he spoke, they went to reap the corn in the field where I lay. I kept from them at as great a distance as I could, but was forced to move with extreme difficulty, for the stalks of the corn were sometimes not above a foot distant, so that I could hardly squeeze my body betwixt them. However, I made a shift to go forward till I came to a part of the field where the corn had been laid by the rain and wind; here it was impossible for me to advance a step, for the stalks were so interwoven that I could not creep through, and the beards of the fallen ears so strong and pointed that they pierced through my clothes into my flesh. At the same time I heard the reapers not above an hundred yards behind me. Being quite dispirited with toil, and wholly overcome by grief and despair, I lay down between two ridges and heartily wished I might there end my days. I bemoaned my desolate widow and fatherless children; I lamented my own folly and willfulness in attempting a second voyage against the advice of all my friends and relations. In this terrible agitation of mind, I could not forbear thinking of Lilliput, whose inhabitants looked upon me as the greatest prodigy that ever appeared in the world; where I was able to draw an imperial fleet in my hand, and perform those other actions which will be recorded forever in the chronicles of that empire, while posterity shall hardly believe them, although attested by millions. I reflected what a mortification it must prove to me to appear as inconsiderable in this nation as one single Lilliputian would be among us. But this I conceived was to be the least of my misfortunes; for as human creatures are observed to be more savage and cruel in proportion to their bulk, what could I expect but to be a morsel in the mouth of the first among these enormous barbarians who should happen to seize me? Undoubtedly philosophers are in the right when they tell us that nothing is great or little otherwise than by comparison. It might have pleased fortune to let the Lilliputians find some nation where the people were as diminutive with respect to them as they were to me. And who knows but that even this prodigious race of mortals might be equally overmatched in some distant part of the world, whereof we have yet no discovery? Scared and confounded as I was, I could not forbear going on with these reflections; when one of the reapers approaching within ten yards of the ridge where I lay, made me apprehend that with the next step I should be squashed to death under his foot, or cut in two with his reaping hook. And therefore

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when he was again about to move, I screamed as loud as fear could make me. Whereupon the huge creature trod short, and looking round about under him for some time, at last espied me as I lay on the ground. He considered a while with the caution of one who endeavors to lay hold on a small dangerous animal in such a manner that it shall not be able either to scratch or to bite him, as I myself have sometimes done with a weasel in England. At length he ventured to take me up behind by the middle between his forefinger and thumb, and brought me within three yards of his eyes, that he might behold my shape more perfectly. I guessed his meaning, and my good fortune gave me so much presence of mind that I resolved not to struggle in the least as he held me in the air about sixty foot from the ground, although he grievously pinched my sides, for fear I should slip through his fingers. All I ventured was to raise mine eyes towards the sun, and place my hands together in a supplicating posture, and to speak some words in an humble melancholy tone, suitable to the condition I then was in. For I apprehended every moment that he would dash me against the ground, as we usually do any little hateful animal which we have a mind to destroy. But my good star would have it that he appeared pleased with my voice and gestures, and began to look upon me as a curiosity, much wondering to hear me pronounce articulate words, although he could not understand them. In the meantime I was not able to forbear groaning and shedding tears and turning my head towards my sides, letting him know, as well as I could, how cruelly I was hurt by the pressure of his thumb and finger. He seemed to apprehend my meaning; for, lifting up the lappet 4 of his coat, he put me gently into it, and immediately ran along with me to his master, who was a substantial farmer, and the same person I had first seen in the field. The farmer having (as I supposed by their talk) received such an account of me as his servant could give him, took a piece of a small straw about the size of a walking staff, and therewith lifted up the lappets of my coat, which it seems he thought to be some kind of covering that nature had given me. He blew my hairs aside to take a better view of my face. He called his hinds 5 about him, and asked them (as I afterwards learned) whether they had ever seen in the fields any little creature that resembled me. He then placed me softly on the ground upon all four; but I got immediately up, and walked slowly backwards and forwards, to let those people see I had no intent to run away. They all sat down in a circle about me, the better to observe my motions. I pulled off my hat, and made a low bow towards the farmer; I fell on my knees, and lifted up my hands and eyes, and spoke several words as loud as I could; I took a purse of gold out of my pocket, and humbly presented it to him. He received it on the palm of his hand, then applied it close to his eye to see what it was, and afterwards turned it several times with the point of a pin (which he took out of his sleeve), but could make nothing of it. Whereupon I made a sign that he should place his hand on the ground; I then took the purse, and opening it, poured all the gold into his palm. There were six Spanish pieces of four pistoles each, beside twenty or thirty smaller coins. I saw him wet the tip of his little finger upon his tongue, and take up one of my largest pieces, and then another; but he seemed to be wholly ignorant what they were. He made me a sign to put them again into my purse, and the purse again into my pocket, which after offering to him several times, I thought it best to do. The farmer by this time was convinced I must be a rational creature. He 4. Flap or fold.

5. Farm servants.

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spoke often to me, but the sound of his voice pierced my ears like that of a water mill, yet his words were articulate enough. I answered as loud as I could in several languages, and he often laid his ear within two yards of me, but all in vain, for we were wholly unintelligible to each other. He then sent his servants to their work, and taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he doubled and spread it on his hand, which he placed flat on the ground with the palm upwards, making me a sign to step into it, as I could easily do, for it was not above a foot in thickness. I thought it my part to obey, and for fear of falling, laid myself at full length upon the handkerchief, with the remainder of which he lapped me up to the head for further security, and in this manner carried me home to his house. There he called his wife, and showed me to her; but she screamed and ran back as women in England do at the sight of a toad or a spider. However, when she had a while seen my behavior, and how well I observed the signs her husband made, she was soon reconciled, and by degrees grew extremely tender of me. It was about twelve at noon, and a servant brought in dinner. It was only one substantial dish of meat (lit for the plain condition of an husbandman) in a dish of about four-and-twenty foot diameter. The company were the farmer and his wife, three children, and an old grandmother. When they were sat down, the farmer placed me at some distance from him on the table, which was thirty foot high from the floor. I was in a terrible fright, and kept as far as I could from the edge, for fear of falling. The wife minced a bit of meat, then crumbled some bread on a trencher, and placed it before me. I made her a low bow, took out my knife and fork, and fell to eat; which gave them exceeding delight. The mistress sent her maid for a small dram cup, which held about two gallons, and filled it with drink; I took up the vessel with much difficulty in both hands, and in a most respectful manner drank to her ladyship's health, expressing the words as loud as I could in English; which made the company laugh so heartily that I was almost deafened with the noise. This liquor tasted like a small cider, 6 and was not unpleasant. Then the master made me a sign to come to his trencher side; but as I walked on the table, being in great surprise all the time, as the indulgent reader will easily conceive and excuse, I happened to stumble against a crust, and fell flat on my face, but received no hurt. I got up immediately, and observing the good people to be in much concern, I took my hat (which I held under my arm out of good manners) and waving it over my head, made three huzzas to show I had got no mischief by my fall. But advancing forwards toward my master (as I shall henceforth call him), his youngest son who sat next him, an arch boy of about ten years old, took me up by the legs, and held me so high in the air that I trembled every limb; but his father snatched me from him, and at the same time gave him such a box on the left ear as would have felled an European troop of horse to the earth, ordering him to be taken from the table. But being afraid the boy might owe me a spite, and well remembering how mischievous all children among us naturally are to sparrows, rabbits, young kittens, and puppy dogs, I fell on my knees, and pointing to the boy, made my master to understand, as well as I could, that I desired his son might be pardoned. The father complied, and the lad took his seat again; whereupon I went to him and kissed his hand, which my master took, and made him stroke me gently with it. In the midst of dinner, my mistress's favorite cat leaped into her lap. I heard 6. I.e., weak cider.

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a noise behind me like that of a dozen stocking weavers at work; and turning my head, I found it proceeded from the purring of this animal, who seemed to be three times larger than an ox, as I computed by the view of her head and one of her paws, while her mistress was feeding and stroldng her. The fierceness of this creature's countenance altogether discomposed me, although I stood at the farther end of the table, about fifty foot off, and although my mistress held her fast for fear she might give a spring and seize me in her talons. But it happened there was no danger, for the cat took not the least notice of me when my master placed me within three yards of her. And as I have been always told, and found true by experience in my travels, that flying or discovering 7 fear before a fierce animal is a certain way to make it pursue or attack you, so I resolved in this dangerous juncture to show no manner of concern. I walked with intrepidity five or six times before the very head of the cat, and came within half a yard of her; whereupon she drew herself back, as if she were more afraid of me. I had less apprehension concerning the dogs, whereof three or four came into the room, as it is usual in farmers' houses; one of which was a mastiff, equal in bulk to four elephants, and a greyhound, somewhat taller than the mastiff, but not so large. When dinner was almost done, the nurse came in with a child of a year old in her arms, who immediately spied me, and began a squall that you might have heard from London Bridge to Chelsea, after the usual oratory of infants, to get me for a plaything. The mother out of pure indulgence took me up, and put me towards the child, who presently seized me by the middle, and got my head in his mouth, where I roared so loud that the urchin was frighted and let me drop; and I should infallibly have broke my neck if the mother had not held her apron under me. The nurse to quiet her babe made use of a rattle, which was a kind of hollow vessel filled with great stones, and fastened by a cable to the child's waist: but all in vain, so that she was forced to apply the last remedy by giving it suck. I must confess no object ever disgusted me so much as the sight of her monstrous breast, which I cannot tell what to compare with so as to give the curious reader an idea of its bulk, shape, and color. It stood prominent six foot, and could not be less than sixteen in circumference. The nipple was about half the bigness of my head, and the hue both of that and the dug so varified with spots, pimples, and freckles that nothing could appear more nauseous: for I had a near sight of her, she sitting down the more conveniently to give suck, and I standing on the table. This made me reflect upon the fair skins of our English ladies, who appear so beautiful to us, only because they are of our own size, and their defects not to be seen but through a magnifying glass, where we find by experiment that the smoothest and whitest skins look rough and coarse and ill colored. I remember when I was at Lilliput, the complexion of those diminutive people appeared to me the fairest in the world; and talking upon this subject with a person of learning there, who was an intimate friend of mine, he said that my face appeared much fairer and smoother when he looked on me from the ground than it did upon a nearer view when I took him up in my hand and brought him close, which he confessed was at first a very shocking sight. He said he could discover great holes in my skin; that the stumps of my beard were ten times stronger than the bristles of a boar, and my complexion made up of several colors altogether disagreeable: although I must beg leave to say 7. Revealing.

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for myself that I am as fair as most of my sex and country and very little sunburnt by all my travels. On the other side, discoursing of the ladies in that Emperor's court, he used to tell me one had freckles, another too wide a mouth, a third too large a nose; nothing of which I was able to distinguish. I confess this reflection was obvious enough; which however I could not forbear, lest the reader might think those vast creatures were actually deformed: for I must do them justice to say they are a comely race of people; and particularly the features of my master's countenance, although he were but a farmer, when I beheld him from the height of sixty foot, appeared very well proportioned. When dinner was done, my master went out to his laborers; and as I could discover by his voice and gesture, gave his wife a strict charge to take care of me. I was very much tired and disposed to sleep, which my mistress perceiving, she put me on her own bed, and covered me with a clean white handkerchief, but larger and coarser than the mainsail of a man-of-war. I slept about two hours, and dreamed I was at home with my wife and children, which aggravated my sorrows when I awaked and found myself alone in a vast room, between two and three hundred foot wide, and above two hundred high, lying in a bed twenty yards wide. My mistress was gone about her household affairs, and had locked me in. The bed was eight yards from the floor. Some natural necessities required me to get down; I durst not presume to call, and if I had, it would have been in vain with such a voice as mine at so great a distance from the room where I lay to the kitchen where the family kept. While I was under these circumstances, two rats crept up the curtains, and ran smelling backwards and forwards on the bed. One of them came up almost to my face; whereupon I rose in a fright, and drew out my hanger 8 to defend myself. These horrible animals had the boldness to attack me on both sides, and one of them held his forefeet at my collar; but I had the good fortune to rip up his belly before he could do me any mischief. He fell down at my feet; and the other seeing the fate of his comrade, made his escape, but not without one good wound on the back, which I gave him as he fled, and made the blood run trickling from him. After this exploit I walked gently to and fro on the bed, to recover my breath and loss of spirits. These creatures were of the size of a large mastiff, but infinitely more nimble and fierce; so that if I had taken off my belt before I went to sleep, I must have infallibly been torn to pieces and devoured. I measured the tail of the dead rat, and found it to be two yards long, wanting an inch; but it went against my stomach to drag the carcass off the bed, where it lay still bleeding; I observed it had yet some life, but with a strong slash cross the neck, I thoroughly dispatched it. Soon after, my mistress came into the room, who seeing me all bloody, ran and took me up in her hand. I pointed to the dead rat, smiling and making other signs to show I was not hurt, whereat she was extremely rejoiced, calling the maid to take up the dead rat with a pair of tongs, and throw it out of the window. Then she set me on a table, where I showed her my hanger all bloody, and wiping it on the lappet of my coat, returned it to the scabbard. I was pressed to do more than one thing, which another could not do for me, and therefore endeavored to make my mistress understand that I desired to be set down on the floor; which after she had done, my bashfulness would not suffer me to express myself farther than by pointing to the door, and bowing several 8. A short, broad sword.

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times. The good woman with much difficulty at last perceived what I would be at, and taking me up again in her hand, walked into the garden, where she set me down. 1 went on one side about two hundred yards; and beckoning to her not to look or to follow me, I hid myself between two leaves of sorrel, and there discharged the necessities of nature. I hope the gentle reader will excuse me for dwelling on these and the like particulars, which however insignificant they may appear to groveling vulgar minds, yet will certainly help a philosopher 9 to enlarge his thoughts and imagination, and apply them to the benefit of public as well as private life, which was my sole design in presenting this and other accounts of my travels to the world; wherein I have been chiefly studious of truth, without affecting any ornaments of learning or of style. But the whole scene of this voyage made so strong an impression on my mind, and is so deeply fixed in my memory, that in committing it to paper I did not omit one material circumstance; however, upon a strict review, I blotted out several passages of less moment which were in my first copy, for fear of being censured as tedious and trifling, whereof travelers are often, perhaps not without justice, accused. C H A P T E R 2 . A description of the farmer's daughter. The Author carried to a market town, and then to the metropolis. The particulars of his journey.

My mistress had a daughter of nine years old, a child of towardly parts for her age, very dexterous at her needle, and skillful in dressing her baby. 1 Her mother and she contrived to fit up the baby's cradle for me against night: the cradle was put into a small drawer of a cabinet, and the drawer placed upon a hanging shelf for fear of the rats. This was my bed all the time I stayed with those people, although made more convenient by degrees as I began to learn their language, and make my wants known. This young girl was so handy, that after I had once or twice pulled off my clothes before her, she was able to dress and undress me, although I never gave her that trouble when she would let me do either myself. She made me seven shirts, and some other linen of as fine cloth as could be got, which indeed was coarser than sackcloth, and these she constantly washed for me with her own hands. She was likewise my schoolmistress to teach me the language: when I pointed to anything, she told me the name of it in her own tongue, so that in a few days I was able to call for whatever I had a mind to. She was very good-natured, and not above forty foot high, being little for her age. She gave me the name of Grildrig, which the family took up, and afterwards the whole kingdom. The word imports what the Latins call nanunculus, the Italian homunceletino, and the English mannikin. 2 To her I chiefly owe my preservation in that country: we never parted while I was there; I called her my Glumdalclitch, or little nurse: and I should be guilty of great ingratitude if I omitted this honorable mention of her care and affection towards me, which I heartily wish it lay in my power to requite as she deserves, instead of being the innocent but unhappy instrument of her disgrace, as I have too much reason to fear. It now began to be known and talked of in the neighborhood that my master had found a strange animal in the field, about the bigness of a splacknuck, 9. Scientist, in contrast to the "vulgar" (commonplace, uncultivated). 1. Doll. "Towardly parts": promising abilities.

2. Little man. dwarf. The Latin and Italian words are Swift's own coinages, as, of course, are the various words from the Brobdingnagian language.

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but exactly shaped in every part like a human creature, which it likewise imitated in all its actions: seemed to speak in a little language of its own, had already learned several words of theirs, went erect upon two legs, was tame and gentle, would come when it was called, do whatever it was bid, had the finest limbs in the world, and a complexion fairer than a nobleman's daughter of three years old. Another farmer who lived hard by, and was a particular friend of my master, came on a visit on purpose to inquire into the truth of this story. I was immediately produced, and placed upon a table, where I walked as I was commanded, drew my hanger, put it up again, made my reverence to my master's guest, asked him in his own language how he did, and told him he was welcome, just as my little nurse had instructed me. This man, who was old and dimsighted, put on his spectacles to behold me better, at which I could not forbear laughing very heartily, for his eyes appeared like the full moon shining into a chamber at two windows. Our people, who discovered the cause of my mirth, bore me company in laughing, at which the old fellow was fool enough to be angry and out of countenance. He had the character of a great miser, and to my misfortune he well deserved it by the cursed advice he gave my master to show me as a sight upon a market day in the next town, which was half an hour's riding, about two and twenty miles from our house. I guessed there was some mischief contriving when I observed my master and his friend whispering long together, sometimes pointing at me; and my fears made me fancy that I overheard and understood some of their words. But the next morning Glumdalclitch, my little nurse, told me the whole matter, which she had cunningly picked out from her mother. The poor girl laid me on her bosom, and fell a weeping with shame and grief. She apprehended some mischief would happen to me from rude vulgar folks, who might squeeze me to death, or break one of my limbs by taking me in their hands. She had also observed how modest I was in my nature, how nicely I regarded my honor, and what an indignity I should conceive it to be exposed for money as a public spectacle to the meanest of the people. She said her papa and m a m m a had promised that Grildrig should be hers; but now she found they meant to serve her as they did last year, when they pretended to give her a lamb, and yet, as soon as it was fat, sold it to a butcher. For my own part, I may truly affirm that I was less concerned than my nurse. I had a strong hope, which never left me, that I should one day recover my liberty; and as to the ignominy of being carried about for a monster, I considered myself to be a perfect stranger in the country, and that such a misfortune could never be charged upon me as a reproach, if ever I should return to England; since the King of Great Britain himself, in my condition, must have undergone the same distress. My master, pursuant to the advice of his friend, carried me in a box the next market day to the neighboring town, and took along with him his little daughter, my nurse, upon a pillion 3 behind him. The box was close on every side, with a little door for me to go in and out, and a few gimlet holes to let in air. The girl had been so careful to put the quilt of her baby's bed into it, for me to lie down on. However, I was terribly shaken and discomposed in this journey, although it were but of half an hour. For the horse went about forty foot at every step, and trotted so high that the agitation was equal to the rising and falling of a ship in a great storm, but much more frequent. Our journey was

3. A pad attached to the hinder part of a saddle, on which a second person, usually a woman, could ride.

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somewhat further than from London to St. Albans. 4 My master alighted at an inn which he used to frequent; and after consulting a while with the innkeeper, and making some necessary preparations, he hired the Grultrud, or crier, to give notice through the town of a strange creature to be seen at the Sign of the Green Eagle, not so big as a splackmtck (an animal in that country very finely shaped, about six foot long), and in every part of the body resembling an human creature; could speak several words and perform an hundred diverting tricks. I was placed upon a table in the largest room of the inn, which might be near three hundred foot square. My little nurse stood on a low stool close to the table, to take care of me, and direct what I should do. My master, to avoid a crowd, would suffer only thirty people at a time to see me. I walked about on the table as the girl commanded; she asked me questions as far as she knew my understanding of the language reached, and I answered them as loud as I could. I turned about several times to the company, paid my humble respects, said they were welcome, and used some other speeches I had been taught. I took up a thimble filled with liquor, which Glumdalclitch had given me for a cup, and drank their health. I drew out my hanger, and flourished with it after the manner of fencers in England. My nurse gave me part of a straw, which I exercised as pike, having learned the art in my youth. I was that day shown to twelve sets of company, and as often forced to go over again with the same fopperies, till I was half dead with weariness and vexation. For those who had seen me made such wonderful reports that the people were ready to break down the doors to come in. My master for his own interest would not suffer anyone to touch me except my nurse; and, to prevent danger, benches were set round the table at such a distance as put me out of everybody's reach. However, an unlucky schoolboy aimed a hazelnut directly at my head, which very narrowly missed me; otherwise, it came with so much violence that it would have infallibly knocked out my brains, for it was almost as large as a small pumpion: 5 but I had the satisfaction to see the young rogue well beaten, and turned out of the room. My master gave public notice that he would show me again the next market day, and in the meantime he prepared a more convenient vehicle for me, which he had reason enough to do; for I was so tired with my first journey, and with entertaining company for eight hours together, that I could hardly stand upon my legs or speak a word. It was at least three days before I recovered my strength; and that I might have no rest at home, all the neighboring gentlemen from an hundred miles round, hearing of my fame, came to see me at my master's own house. There could not be fewer than thirty persons with their wives and children (for the country is very populous); and my master demanded the rate of a full room whenever he showed me at home, although it were only to a single family. So that for some time I had but little ease every day of the week (except Wednesday, which is their Sabbath) although I were not carried to the town. My master finding how profitable I was like to be, resolved to carry me to the most considerable cities of the kingdom. Having therefore provided himself with all things necessary for a long journey, and settled his affairs at home, he took leave of his wife; and upon the 17th of August, 1703, about two months after my arrival, we set out for the metropolis, situated near the middle 4. About twenty miles.

5. Pumpkin.

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of that empire, and about three thousand miles distance from our house. My master made his daughter Glumdalclitch ride behind him. She carried me on her lap in a box tied about her waist. The girl had lined it on all sides with the softest cloth she could get, well quilted underneath, furnished it with her baby's bed, provided me with linen and other necessaries, and made everything as convenient as she could. We had no other company but a boy of the house, who rode after us with the luggage. My-master's design was to show me in all the towns by the way, and to step out of the road for fifty or an hundred miles to any village or person of quality's house where he might expect custom. We made easy journeys of not above seven or eight score miles a day: for Glumdalclitch, on purpose to spare me, complained she was tired with the trotting of the horse. She often took me out of my box at my own desire, to give me air and show me the country, but always held me fast by leading strings. 6 We passed over five or six rivers many degrees broader and deeper than the Nile or the Ganges; and there was hardly a rivulet so small as the Thames at London Bridge. We were ten weeks in our journey, and I was shown in eighteen large towns, besides many large villages and private families. On the 26th day of October, we arrived at the metropolis, called in their language Lorbrulgrud, or Pride of the Universe. My master took a lodging in the principal street of the city, not far from the royal palace, and put out bills in the usual form, containing an exact description of my person and parts. He hired a large room between three and four hundred foot wide. He provided a table sixty foot in diameter, upon which I was to act my part, and palisadoed it round three foot from the edge, and as many high, to prevent my falling over. I was shown ten times a day to the wonder and satisfaction of all people. I could now speak the language tolerably well, and perfectly understood every word that was spoken to me. Besides, I had learned their alphabet, and could make a shift to explain a sentence here and there; for Glumdalclitch had been my instructor while we were at home, and at leisure hours during our journey. She carried a little book in her pocket, not much larger than a Sanson's Atlas; 7 it was a common treatise for the use of young girls, giving a short account of their religion: out of this she taught me my letters, and interpreted the words. C H A P T E R 3 . 1 he Author sent for to Court. The Queen buys him of his master, the farmer, and presents him to the King. He disputes with his Majesty's great scholars. An apartment at Court provided for the Author. He is in high favor with the Oueen. He stands up for the honor of his own country. His quarrels with the Queen's dwarf.

The frequent labors I underwent every day made in a few weeks a very considerable change in my health: the more my master got by me, the more unsatiable he grew. I had quite lost my stomach, and was almost reduced to a skeleton. The farmer observed it, and concluding I soon must die, resolved to make as good a hand of me as he could. While he was thus reasoning and resolving with himself, a Slardral, or Gentleman Usher, came from Court, commanding my master to carry me immediately thither for the diversion of the Q u e e n and her ladies. Some of the latter had already been to see me and reported strange things of my beauty, behavior, and good sense. Her Majesty 6. Used to guide children learning to walk.

7. I.e., over two feeL long and about two feet wide.

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and those who attended her were beyond measure delighted with my demeanor. I fell on my knees and begged the honor of kissing her Imperial foot; but this gracious princess held out her little finger towards me (after I was set on a table), which I embraced in both my arms, and put the tip of it, with the utmost respect, to my lip. She made me some general questions about my country and my travels, which I answered as distinctly and in as few words as I could. She asked whether I would be content to live at Court. I bowed down to the board of the table, and humbly answered that I was my master's slave, but if I were at my own disposal, I should be proud to devote my life to her Majesty's service. She then asked my master whether he were willing to sell me at a good price. He, who apprehended I could not live a month, was ready enough to part with me, and demanded a thousand pieces of gold, which were ordered him on the spot, each piece being about the bigness of eight hundred moidores; 8 but, allowing for the proportion of all things between that country and Europe, and the high price of gold among them, was hardly so great a sum as a thousand guineas would be in England. I then said to the Q u e e n , since I was now her Majesty's most humble creature and vassal, I must beg the favor that Glumdalclitch, who had always tended me with so much care and kindness, and understood to do it so well, might be admitted into her service, and continue to be my nurse and instructor. Her Majesty agreed to my petition, and easily got the farmer's consent, who was glad enough to have his daughter preferred at Court; and the poor girl herself was not able to hide her joy. My late master withdrew, bidding me farewell, and saying he had left me in a good service; to which I replied not a word, only making him a slight bow. The Q u e e n observed my coldness, and when the farmer was gone out of the apartment, asked me the reason. I made bold to tell her Majesty that I owed no other obligation to my late master than his not dashing out the brains of a poor harmless creature found by chance in his field; which obligation was amply recompensed by the gain he had made in showing me through half the kingdom, and the price he had now sold me for. That the life I had since led was laborious enough to kill an animal of ten times my strength. That my health was much impaired by the continual drudgery of entertaining the rabble every hour of the day; and that if my master had not thought my life in danger, her Majesty perhaps would not have got so cheap a bargain. But as I was out of all fear of being ill treated under the protection of so great and good an Empress, the Ornament of Nature, the Darling of the World, the Delight of her Subjects, the Phoenix of the Creation; so I hoped my late master's apprehensions would appear to be groundless, for I already found my spirits to revive by the influence of her most august presence. This was the sum of my speech, delivered with great improprieties and hesitation; the latter part was altogether framed in the style peculiar to that people, whereof I learned some phrases from Glumdalclitch, while she was carrying me to Court. The Q u e e n , giving great allowance for my defectiveness in speaking, was however surprised at so much wit and good sense in so diminutive an animal. She took me in her own hand, and carried me to the King, who was then retired to his cabinet. 9 His Majesty, a prince of much gravity, and austere countenance, not well observing my shape at first view, asked the Q u e e n after 8. Portuguese coins.

9. Private apartment.

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a cold manner how long it was since she grew fond of a s-placknuck; for such it seems he took me to be, as I lay upon my breast in her Majesty's right hand. But this princess, who hath an infinite deal of wit and humor, set me gently on my feet upon the scrutore, 1 and commanded me to give his Majesty an account of myself, which I did in a very few words; and Glumdalclitch, who attended at the cabinet door, and could not endure I should be out of her sight, being admitted, confirmed all that had passed from my arrival at her father's house. The King, although he be as learned a person as any in his dominions, had been educated in the study of philosophy and particularly mathematics; yet when he observed my shape exactly, and saw me walk erect, before I began to speak, conceived I might be a piece of clockwork (which is in that country arrived to a very great perfection) contrived by some ingenious artist. But when he heard my voice, and found what I delivered to be regular and rational, he could not conceal his astonishment. He was by no means satisfied with the relation I gave him of the manner I came into his kingdom, but thought it a story concerted between Glumdalclitch and her father, who had taught me a set of words to make me sell at a higher price. Upon this imagination he put several other questions to me, and still received rational answers, no otherwise defective than by a foreign accent, and an imperfect knowledge in the language, with some rustic phrases which I had learned at the farmer's house, and did not suit the polite style of a court. His Majesty sent for three great scholars who were then in their weekly waiting (according to the custom in that country). These gentlemen, after they had a while examined my shape with much nicety, were of different opinions concerning me. They all agreed that I could not be produced according to the regular laws of nature, because I was not framed with a capacity of preserving my life, either by swiftness, or climbing of trees, or digging holes in the earth. They observed by my teeth, which they viewed with great exactness, that I was a carnivorous animal; yet most quadrupeds being an overmatch for me, and field mice, with some others, too nimble, they could not imagine how I should be able to support myself, unless I fed upon snails and other insects; which they offered, by many learned arguments, to evince that I could not possibly do. One of them seemed to think that I might be an embryo, or abortive birth. But this opinion was rejected by the other two, who observed my limbs to be perfect and finished, and that I had lived several years, as it was manifested from my beard, the stumps whereof they plainly discovered through a magnifying glass. They would not allow me to be a dwarf, because my littleness was beyond all degrees of comparison; for the Q u e e n ' s favorite dwarf, the smallest ever known in that kingdom, was nearly thirty foot high. After much debate, they concluded unanimously that I was only relplum scalcath, which is interpreted literally, lusus naturae; a determination exactly agreeable to the modern philosophy of Europe, whose professors, disdaining the old evasion of occult causes, whereby the followers of Aristotle endeavor in vain to disguise their ignorance, have invented this wonderful solution of all difficulties, to the unspeakable advancement of human knowledge. 2 After this decisive conclusion, I entreated to be heard a word or two. I 1. Writing desk. 2. Swift had contempt for both the medieval Schoolmen, who d i s c u s s e d "occult c a u s e s , " the unknown c a u s e s of observable effects, a n d modern

scientists, who, he believed, often concealed their ignorance by using equally meaningless terms. "Lusus naturae": one of nature's sports, or roughly, freaks.

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applied myself to the King, and assured his Majesty that I came from a country which abounded with several millions of both sexes, and of my own stature, where the animals, trees, and houses were all in proportion, and where by consequence I might be as able to defend myself, and to find sustenance, as any of his Majesty's subjects could do here; which I took for a full answer to those gentlemen's arguments. To this they only replied with a smile of contempt, saying that the farmer had instructed me very well in my lesson. The King, who had a much better understanding, dismissing his learned men, sent for the farmer, who by good fortune was not yet gone out of town; having therefore first examined him privately, and then confronted him with me and the young girl, his Majesty began to think that what we told him might possibly be true. He desired the Q u e e n to order that a particular care should be taken of me, and was of opinion that Glumdalclitch should still continue in her office of tending me, because he observed we had a great affection for each other. A convenient apartment was provided for her at Court; she had a sort of governess appointed to take care of her education, a maid to dress her, and two other servants for menial offices; but the care of me was wholly appropriated to herself. The Q u e e n commanded her own cabinetmaker to contrive a box that might serve me for a bedchamber, after the model that Glumdalclitch and 1 should agree upon. This man was a most ingenious artist, and according to my directions, in three weeks finished for me a wooden chamber of sixteen foot square and twelve high, with sash windows, a door, and two closets, like a London bedchamber. The board that made the ceiling was to be lifted up and down by two hinges, to put in a bed ready furnished by her Majesty's upholsterer, which Glumdalclitch took out every day to air, made it with her own hands, and letting it down at night, locked up the roof over me. A nice 3 workman, who was famous for little curiosities, undertook to make me two chairs, with backs and frames, of a substance not unlike ivory, and two tables, with a cabinet to put my things in. The room was quilted on all sides, as well as the floor and the ceiling, to prevent any accident from the carelessness of those who carried me, and to break the force of a jolt when I went in a coach. I desired a lock for my door to prevent rats and mice from coming in: the smith, after several attempts, made the smallest that ever was seen among them, for I have known a larger at the gate of a gentleman's house in England. I made a shift 4 to keep the key in a pocket of my own, fearing Glumdalclitch might lose it. The Q u e e n likewise ordered the thinnest silks that could be gotten, to make me clothes, not much thicker than an English blanket, very cumbersome till I was accustomed to them. They were after the fashion of the kingdom, partly resembling the Persian, and partly the Chinese, and are a very grave, decent habit. The Q u e e n became so fond of my company that she could not dine without me. I had a table placed upon the same at which her Majesty ate, just at her left elbow, and a chair to sit on. Glumdalclitch stood upon a stool on the floor, near my table, to assist and take care of me. I had an entire set of silver dishes and plates, and other necessaries, which, in proportion to those of the Q u e e n , were not much bigger than what I have seen of the same kind in a London toyshop, 3 for the furniture of a baby-house: these my little nurse kept in her pocket in a silver box and gave me at meals as I wanted them, always cleaning 3. Exact. 4. Contrived.

5. A shop for selling knickknacks.

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them herself. No person dined with the Q u e e n but the two Princesses Royal, the elder sixteen years old, and the younger at that time thirteen and a month. Her Majesty used to put a bit of meat upon one of my dishes, out of which I carved for myself; and her diversion was to see me eat in miniature. For the Q u e e n (who had indeed but a weak stomach) took up at one mouthful as much as a dozen English farmers could eat at a meal, which to me was for some time a very nauseous sight. She would craunch the wing of a lark, bones and all, between her teeth, although it were nine times as large as that of a full-grown turkey; and put a bit of bread into her mouth as big as two twelvepenny loaves. She drank out of a golden cup, above a hogshead at a draught. Her knives were twice as long as a scythe set straight upon the handle. The spoons, forks, and other instruments were all in the same proportion. I remember when Glumdalclitch carried me out of curiosity to see some of the tables at Court, where ten or a dozen of these enormous knives and forks were lifted up together, I thought I had never till then beheld so terrible a sight. It is the custom that every Wednesday (which, as I have before observed, was their Sabbath) the King and Q u e e n , with the royal issue of both sexes, dine together in the apartment of his Majesty, to whom I was now become a favorite; and at these times my little chair and table were placed at his left hand, before one of the salt-cellars. This prince took a pleasure in conversing with me, inquiring into the manners, religion, laws, government, and learning of Europe; wherein I gave him the best account I was able. His apprehension was so clear, and his judgment so exact, that he made very wise reflections and observations upon all I said. But I confess that after I had been a little too copious in talking of my own beloved country, of our trade and wars by sea and land, of our schisms in religion and parties in the state, the prejudices of his education prevailed so far that he could not forbear taking me up in his right hand, and stroking me gently with the other, after an hearty fit of laughing, asked me whether I were a Whig or a Tory. Then turning to his first minister, who waited behind him with a white staff, near as tall as the mainmast of the Royal Sovereign, 6 he observed how contemptible a thing was human grandeur, which could be mimicked by such diminutive insects as I: "and yet," said he, "I dare engage, these creatures have their titles and distinctions of honor; they contrive little nests and burrows, that they call houses and cities; they make a figure in dress and equipage; they love, they fight, they dispute, they cheat, they betray." And thus he continued on, while my color came and went several times with indignation to hear our noble country, the mistress of arts and arms, the scourge of France, the arbitress of Europe, the seat of virtue, piety, honor, and truth, the pride and envy of the world, so contemptuously treated. But as I was not in a condition to resent injuries, so, upon mature thoughts, I began to doubt whether I were injured or no. For, after having been accustomed several months to the sight and converse of this people, and observed every object upon which I cast my eyes to be of proportionable magnitude, the horror I had first conceived from their bulk and aspect was so far worn off that if I had then beheld a company of English lords and ladies in their finery and birthday clothes, 7 acting their several parts in the most courtly manner of 6. One of the largest ships in the Royal Navy. At the English court the lord treasurer bore a "white s t a f f " as the symbol of his office.

7. Courtiers dressed with special splendor on the monarch's birthday,

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strutting and bowing and prating, to say the truth, I should have been strongly tempted to laugh as much at them as this King and his grandees did at me. Neither indeed could I forbear smiling at myself when the Q u e e n used to place me upon her hand towards a looking glass, by which both our persons appeared before me in full view together; and there could be nothing more ridiculous than the comparison; so that I really began to imagine myself dwindled many degrees below my usual size. Nothing angered and mortified me so much as the Queen's dwarf, who being of the lowest stature that was ever in that country (for I verily think he was not full thirty foot high) became so insolent at seeing a creature so much beneath him that he would always affect to swagger and look big as he passed by me in the Q u e e n ' s antechamber, while I was standing on some table talking with the lords or ladies of the court; and he seldom failed of a smart word or two upon my littleness, against which I could only revenge myself by calling him brother, challenging him to wrestle, and such repartees as are usual in the mouths of Court pages. One day at dinner this malicious little cub was so nettled with something I had said to him that, raising himself upon the frame of Her Majesty's chair, he took me up by the middle, as I was sitting down, not thinking any harm, and let me drop into a large silver bowl of cream, and then ran away as fast as he could. I fell over head and ears, and if I had not been a good swimmer, it might have gone very hard with me; for Glumdalclitch in that instant happened to be at the other end of the room, and the Q u e e n was in such a fright that she wanted presence of mind to assist me. But my little nurse ran to my relief, and took me out, after I had swallowed above a quart of cream. I was put to bed; however, I received no other damage than the loss of a suit of clothes, which was utterly spoiled. The dwarf was soundly whipped, and as further punishment, forced to drink up the bowl of cream into which he had thrown me; neither was he ever restored to favor: for soon after the Q u e e n bestowed him to a lady of high quality, so that I saw him no more, to my very great satisfaction; for I could not tell to what extremity such a malicious urchin might have carried his resentment. He had before served me a scurvy trick, which set the Q u e e n a laughing, although at the same time she were heartily vexed, and would have immediately cashiered him, if I had not been so generous as to intercede. Her Majesty had taken a marrow bone upon her plate, and after knocking out the marrow, placed the bone again in the dish, erect as it stood before; the dwarf watching his opportunity, while Glumdalclitch was gone to the sideboard, mounted upon the stool she stood on to take care of me at meals, took me up in both hands, and squeezing my legs together, wedged them into the marrow bone above my waist, where I stuck for some time, and made a very ridiculous figure. I believe it was near a minute before anyone knew what was become of me, for I thought it below me to cry out. But, as princes seldom get their meat hot, my legs were not scalded, only my stockings and breeches in a sad condition. The dwarf at my entreaty had no other punishment than a sound whipping. I was frequently rallied by the Q u e e n upon account of my fearfulness, and she used to ask me whether the people of my country were as great cowards as myself. The occasion was this. The kingdom is much pestered with flies in summer, and these odious insects, each of them as big as a Dunstable lark, hardly gave me any rest while I sat at dinner, with their continual humming and buzzing about my ears. They would sometimes alight upon my victuals, and leave their loathsome excrement or spawn behind, which to me was very

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visible, although not to the natives of that country, whose large optics were not so acute as mine in viewing smaller objects. Sometimes they would fix upon my nose or forehead, where they stung me to the quick, smelling very offensively; and I could easily trace that viscous matter, which our naturalists tell us enables those creatures to walk with their feet upwards upon a ceiling. I had much ado to defend myself against these detestable animals, and could not forbear starting when they came on my face. It was the common practice of the dwarf to catch a number of these insects in his hand, as schoolboys do among us, and let them out suddenly under my nose, on purpose to frighten me, and divert the Q u e e n . My remedy was to cut them in pieces with my knife as they flew in the air, wherein my dexterity was much admired. I remember one morning when Glumdalclitch had set me in my box upon a window, as she usually did in fair days to give me air (for I durst not venture to let the box be hung on a nail out of the window, as we do with cages in England), after I had lifted up one of my sashes, and sat down at my table to eat a piece of sweet cake for my breakfast, above twenty wasps, allured by the smell, came flying into the room, humming louder than the drones of as many bagpipes. S o m e of them seized my cake, and carried it piecemeal away; others flew about my head and face, confounding me with the noise, and putting me in the utmost terror of their stings. However, I had the courage to rise and draw my hanger, and attack them in the air. I dispatched four of them, but the rest got away, and I presently shut my window. These insects were as large as partridges; I took out their stings, found them an inch and a half long, and as sharp as needles. I carefully preserved them all, and having since shown them with some other curiosities in several parts of Europe, upon my return to England I gave three of them to Gresham College, 8 and kept the fourth for myself.

The country described. A proposal for correcting modern maps. The King's palace, and some account of the metropolis. The Author's way of traveling. The chief temple described. CHAPTER 4.

I now intend to give the reader a short description of this country, as far as I had traveled in it, which was not above two thousand miles round Lorbrulgrud the metropolis. For the Q u e e n , whom I always attended, never went further when she accompanied the King in his progresses, and there stayed till his Majesty returned from viewing his frontiers. The whole extent of this prince's dominions reacheth about six thousand miles in length, and from three to five in breadth. From whence I cannot but conclude that our geographers of Europe are in a great error by supposing nothing but sea between J a p a n and California: for it was ever my opinion that there must be a balance of earth to counterpoise the great continent of Tartary; and therefore they ought to correct their maps and charts by joining this vast tract of land to the northwest parts of America, wherein I shall be ready to lend them my assistance. The kingdom is a peninsula, terminated to the northeast by a ridge of mountains thirty miles high, which are altogether impassable by reason of the volcanoes upon the tops. Neither do the most learned know what sort of mortals inhabit beyond those mountains, or whether they be inhabited at all. On the three other sides it is bounded by the ocean. There is not one seaport in the 8. The Royal Society, in its earliest years, met in Gresham College.

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whole kingdom; and those parts of the coasts into which the rivers issue are so full of pointed rocks, and the sea generally so rough, that there is no venturing with the smallest of their boats; so that these people are wholly excluded from any commerce with the rest of the world. But the large rivers are full of vessels, and abound with excellent fish, for they seldom get any from the sea, because the sea fish are of the same size with those in Europe, and consequently not worth catching; whereby it is manifest that nature, in the production of plants and animals of so extraordinary a bulk, is wholly confined to this continent, of which I leave the reasons to be determined by philosophers. However, now and then they take a whale that happens to be dashed against the rocks, which the common people feed on heartily. These whales I have known so large that a man could hardly carry one upon his shoulders; and sometimes for curiosity they are brought in hampers to Lorbrulgrud: I saw one of them in a dish at the King's table, which passed for a rarity, but I did not observe he was fond of it; for I think indeed the bigness disgusted him, although I have seen one somewhat larger in Greenland. The country is well inhabited, for it contains fifty-one cities, near an hundred walled towns, and a great number of villages. To satisfy my curious reader, it may be sufficient to describe Lorbrulgrud. This city stands upon almost two equal parts on each side the river that passes through. It contains above eight thousand houses, and about six hundred thousand inhabitants. It is in length three glonglungs (which make about fifty-four English miles) and two and a half in breadth, as I measured it myself in the royal map made by the King's order, which was laid on the ground on purpose for me, and extended an hundred feet; I paced the diameter and circumference several times barefoot, and computing by the scale, measured it pretty exactly. The King's palace is no regular edifice, but an heap of buildings about seven miles round: the chief rooms are generally two hundred and forty foot high, and broad and long in proportion. A coach was allowed to Glumdalclitch and me, wherein her governess frequently took her out to see the town, or go among the shops; and I was always of the party, carried in my box, although the girl at my own desire would often take me out, and hold me in her hand, that I might more conveniently view the houses and the people as we passed along the streets. I reckoned our coach to be about a square of Westminster Hall, 9 but not altogether so high; however, I cannot be very exact. One day the governess ordered our coachman to stop at several shops, where the beggars, watching their opportunity, crowded to the sides of the coach, and gave me the most horrible spectacles that ever an English eye beheld. There was a woman with a cancer in her breast, swelled to a monstrous size, full of holes, in two or three of which I could have easily crept, and covered my whole body. There was a fellow with a wen in his neck, larger than five woolpacks, and another with a couple of wooden legs, each about twenty foot high. But the most hateful sight of all was the lice crawling on their clothes. I could see distinctly the limbs of these vermin with my naked eye, much better than those of an European louse through a microscope, and their snouts with which they rooted like swine. They were the first I had ever beheld; and I should have been curious enough to dissect one of them if I had proper instruments (which 9. T h e ancient hall, now incorporated into the H o u s e s of Parliament, where the law courts then sat. Swift presumably m e a n s the s q u a r e of its breadth (just under sixty-eight feet).

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I unluckily left behind me in the ship), although indeed the sight was so nauseous that it perfectly turned my stomach. Besides the large box in which I was usually carried, the Q u e e n ordered a smaller one to be made for me, of about twelve foot square and ten high, for the convenience of traveling, because the other was somewhat too large for Glumdalclitch's lap, and cumbersome in the coach; it was made by the same artist, whom I directed in the whole contrivance. This traveling closet was an exact square with a window in the middle of three of the squares, and each window was latticed with iron wire on the outside, to prevent accidents in long journeys. On the fourth side, which had no windows, two strong staples were fixed, through which the person that carried me, when I had a mind to be on horseback, put in a leathern belt, and buckled it about his waist. This was always the office of some grave trusty servant in whom I could confide, whether I attended the King and Q u e e n in their progresses, or were disposed to see the gardens, or pay a visit to some great lady or minister of state in the court, when Glumdalclitch happened to be out of order: for I soon began to be known and esteemed among the greatest officers, I suppose more upon account of their Majesties' favor than any merit of my own. In journeys, when I was weary of the coach, a servant on horseback would buckle my box, and place it on a cushion before him; and there I had a full prospect of the country on three sides from my three windows. I had in this closet a field bed 1 and a hammock hung from the ceiling, two chairs and a table, neatly screwed to the floor to prevent being tossed about by the agitation of the horse or the coach. And having been long used to sea voyages, those motions, although sometimes very violent, did not much discompose me. When 1 had a mind to see the town, it was always in my traveling closet, which Glumdalclitch held in her lap in a kind of open sedan, after the fashion of the country, borne by four men, and attended by two others in the Queen's livery. The people, who had often heard of me, were very curious to crowd about the sedan; and the girl was complaisant enough to make the bearers stop, and to take me in her hand that I might be more conveniently seen. I was very desirous to see the chief temple, and particularly the tower belonging to it, which is reckoned the highest in the kingdom. Accordingly one day my nurse carried me thither, but I may truly say I came back disappointed; for the height is not above three thousand foot, reckoning from the ground to the highest pinnacle top; which, allowing for the difference between the size of those people and us in Europe, is no great matter for admiration, nor at all equal in proportion (if I rightly remember) to Salisbury steeple. 2 But, not to detract from a nation to which during my life I shall acknowledge myself extremely obliged, it must be allowed that whatever this famous tower wants in height is amply made up in beauty and strength. For the walls are near an hundred foot thick, built of hewn stone, whereof each is about forty foot square, and adorned on all sides with statues of gods and emperors cut in marble larger than the life, placed in their several niches. I measured a little finger which had fallen down from one of these statues, and lay unperceived among some rubbish, and found it exactly four foot and an inch in length. Glumdalclitch wrapped it up in a handkerchief, and carried it home in her 1. Folding bed, cot. 2. One of the most beautiful Gothic steeples in

England is that of Salisbury Cathedral, 4 0 4 feet high.

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pocket to keep among other trinkets, of which the girl was very fond, as children at her age usually are. The King's kitchen is indeed a noble building, vaulted at top, and about six hundred foot high. The great oven is not so wide by ten paces as the cupola at St. Paul's: 3 for I measured the latter on purpose after my return. But if I should describe the kitchen grate, the prodigious pots and kettles, the joints of meat turning on the spits, with many other particulars, perhaps I should be hardly believed; at least a severe critic would be apt to think I enlarged a little, as travelers are often suspected to do. To avoid which censure, I fear I have run too much into the other extreme, and that if this treatise should happen to be translated into the language of Brobdingnag (which is the general name of that kingdom) and transmitted thither, the King and his people would have reason to complain that I had done them an injury by a false and diminutive representation. His Majesty seldom keeps above six hundred horses in his stables: they are generally from fifty-four to sixty foot high. But when he goes abroad on solemn days, he is attended for state by a militia guard of five hundred horse, which indeed I thought was the most splendid sight that could be ever beheld, till I saw part of his army in battalia, 4 whereof I shall find another occasion to speak. C H A P T E R 5 . Several adventures that happened to the Author. The execution of a criminal. The Author shows his skill in navigation.

I should have lived happy enough in that country if my littleness had not exposed me to several ridiculous and troublesome accidents, some of which I shall venture to relate. Glumdalclitch often carried me into the gardens of the court in my smaller box, and would sometimes take me out of it and hold me in her hand, or set me down to walk. I remember, before the dwarf left the Q u e e n , he followed us one day into those gardens; and my nurse having set me down, he and I being close together near some dwarf apple trees, I must needs show my wit by a silly allusion between him and the trees, which happens to hold in their language as it doth in ours. Whereupon, the malicious rogue watching his opportunity, when I was walking under one of them, shook it directly over my head, by which a dozen apples, each of them near as large as a Bristol barrel, came tumbling about my ears; one of them hit me on the back as I chanced to stoop, and knocked me down flat on my face, but 1 received no other hurt; and the dwarf was pardoned at my desire, because 1 had given the provocation. Another day Glumdalclitch left me on a smooth grassplot to divert myself while she walked at some distance with her governess. In the meantime there suddenly fell such a violent shower of hail that I was immediately by the force of it struck to the ground: and when I was down, the hailstones gave me such cruel bangs all over the body as if I had been pelted with tennis balls; 5 however I made a shift to creep on all four, and shelter myself by lying on my face on the lee side of a border of lemon thyme, but so bruised from head to foot that I could not go abroad in ten days. Neither is this at all to be wondered at, because nature in that country observing the same proportion through all her 3. The cupola of St. Paul's Cathedral in London is 108 feet in diameter. 4. Battle array.

5. Eighteenth-century tennis balls, unlike the modern, were very hard.

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operations, a hailstone is near eighteen hundred times as large as one in Europe; which I can assert upon experience, having been so curious to weigh and measure them. But a more dangerous accident happened to me in the same garden when my little nurse, believing she had put me in a secure place, which I often entreated her to do that I might enjoy my own thoughts, and having left my box at home to avoid the trouble of carrying it, went to another part of the garden with her governess and some ladies of her acquaintance. While she was absent and out of hearing, a small white spaniel belonging to one of the chief gardeners, having got by accident into the garden, happened to range near the place where I lay. The dog following the scent, came directly up, and taking me in his mouth, ran straight to his master, wagging his tail, and set me gently on the ground. By good fortune he had been so well taught that I was carried between his teeth without the least hurt, or even tearing my clothes. But the poor gardener, who knew me well, and had a great kindness for me, was in a terrible fright. He gently took me up in both his hands, and asked me how I did; but I was so amazed and out of breath that I could not speak a word. In a few minutes I came to myself, and he carried me safe to my little nurse, who by this time had returned to the place where she left me, and was in cruel agonies when I did not appear nor answer when she called; she severely reprimanded the gardener on account of his dog. But the thing was hushed up and never known at court; for the girl was afraid of the Q u e e n ' s anger; and truly, as to myself, I thought it would not be for my reputation that such a story should go about. This accident absolutely determined Glumdalclitch never to trust me abroad for the future out of her sight. I had been long afraid of this resolution, and therefore concealed from her some little unlucky adventures that happened in those times when I was left by myself. Once a kite hovering over the garden made a stoop 6 at me, and if I had not resolutely drawn my hanger, and run under a thick espalier, he would have certainly carried me away in his talons. Another time walking to the top of a fresh molehill, I fell to my neck in the hole through which that animal had cast up the earth, and coined some lie, not worth remembering, to excuse myself for spoiling my clothes. I likewise broke my right shin against the shell of a snail, which I happened to stumble over, as I was walking alone, and thinking on poor England. I cannot tell whether I were more pleased or mortified to observe in those solitary walks that the smaller birds did not appear to be at all afraid of me; but would hop about within a yard distance, looking for worms and other food with as much indifference and security as if no creature at all were near them. I remember a thrush had the confidence to snatch out of my hand with his bill a piece of cake that Glumdalclitch had just given me for my breakfast. When I attempted to catch any of these birds, they would boldly turn against me, endeavoring to pick my fingers, which I durst not venture within their reach; and then they would hop back unconcerned to hunt for worms or snails, as they did before. But one day I took a thick cudgel, and threw it with all my strength so luckily at a linnet that I knocked him down, and seizing him by the neck with both my hands, ran with him in triumph to my nurse. However, the bird, who had only been stunned, recovering himself, gave me so many boxes with his wings on both sides of my head and body, though I held him 6. Swoop. "Kite": a bird of prey.

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at arm's length, and was out of the reach of his claws, that I was twenty times thinking to let him go. But I was soon relieved by one of our servants, who wrung off the bird's neck, and I had him next day for dinner, by the Queen's command. This linnet, as near as I can remember, seemed to be somewhat larger than an English swan. The Maids of Honor often invited Glumdalclitch to their apartments, and desired she would bring me along with her, on purpose to have the pleasure of seeing and touching me. They would often strip me naked from top to toe and lay me at full length in their bosoms; wherewith I was much disgusted, because, to say the truth, a very offensive smell came from their skins, which I do not mention or intend to the disadvantage of those excellent ladies, for whom I have all manner of respect; but I conceive that my sense was more acute in proportion to my littleness, and that those illustrious persons were no more disagreeable to their lovers, or to each other, than people of the same quality are with us in England. And, after all, I found their natural smell was much more supportable than when they used perfumes, under which I immediately swooned away. I cannot forget that an intimate friend of mine in Lilliput took the freedom in a warm day, when I had used a good deal of exercise, to complain of a strong smell about me, although I am as little faulty that way as most of my sex: but I suppose his faculty of smelling was as nice with regard to me as mine was to that of this people. Upon this point, I cannot forbear doing justice to the Q u e e n , my mistress, and Glumdalclitch, my nurse, whose persons were as sweet as those of any lady in England. That which gave me most uneasiness among these Maids of Honor, when my nurse carried me to visit them, was to see them use me without any manner of ceremony, like a creature who had no sort of consequence. For they would strip themselves to the skin and put on their smocks in my presence, while I was placed on their toilet 7 directly before their naked bodies; which, I am sure, to me was very far from being a tempting sight, or from giving me any other emotions than those of horror and disgust. Their skins appeared so coarse and uneven, so variously colored, when I saw them near, with a mole here and there as broad as a trencher, and hairs hanging from it thicker than packthreads, to say nothing further concerning the rest of their persons. Neither did they at all scruple, while I was by, to discharge what they had drunk, to the quantity of at least two hogsheads, in a vessel that held above three tuns. The handsomest among these Maids of Honor, a pleasant frolicsome girl of sixteen, would sometimes set me astride upon one of her nipples, with many other tricks, wherein the reader will excuse me for not being over particular. But I was so much displeased that I entreated Glumdalclitch to contrive some excuse for not seeing that young lady any more. One day a young gentleman, who was nephew to my nurse's governess, came and pressed them both to see an execution. It was of a man who had murdered one of that gentleman's intimate acquaintance. Glumdalclitch was prevailed on to be of the company, very much against her inclination, for she was naturally tender-hearted: and as for myself, although I abhorred such kind of spectacles, yet my curiosity tempted me to see something that I thought must be extraordinary. The malefactor was fixed in a chair upon a scaffold erected for the purpose, and his head cut off at a blow with a sword of about forty foot long. The veins and arteries spouted up such a prodigious quantity of blood, 7. Toilet table.

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and so high in the air, that the great jet d'eau at Versailles was not equal for the time it lasted; and the head, when it fell on the scaffold floor, gave such a bounce, 8 as made me start, although I were at least half an English mile distant. The Q u e e n , who often used to hear me talk of my sea voyages, and took all occasions to divert me when I was melancholy, asked me whether I understood how to handle a sail or an oar, and whether a little exercise of rowing might not be convenient for my health. I answered that I understood both very well. For although my proper employment had been to be surgeon or doctor to the ship, yet often, upon a pinch, I was forced to work like a common mariner. But I could not see how this could be done in their country, where the smallest wherry was equal to a first-rate man-of-war among us, and such a boat as I could manage would never live in any of their rivers. Her Majesty said, if I would contrive a boat, her own joiner should make it, and she would provide a place for me to sail in. The fellow was an ingenious workman and, by my instructions, in ten days finished a pleasure boat with all its tackling, able conveniently to hold eight Europeans. When it was finished, the Q u e e n was so delighted that she ran with it in her lap to the King, who ordered it to be put in a cistern full of water, with me in it, by way of trial; where I could not manage my two sculls, or little oars, for want of room. But the Q u e e n had before contrived another project. She ordered the joiner to make a wooden trough of three hundred foot long, fifty broad, and eight deep; which being well pitched to prevent leaking, was placed on the floor along the wall in an outer room of the palace. It had a cock near the bottom to let out the water when it began to grow stale, and two servants could easily fill it in half an hour. Here I often used to row for my own diversion, as well as that of the Q u e e n and her ladies, who thought themselves well entertained with my skill and agility. Sometimes I would put up my sail, and then my business was only to steer, while the ladies gave me a gale with their fans; and when they were weary, some of the pages would blow my sail forward with their breath, while I showed my art by steering starboard or larboard as I pleased. When I had done, Glumdalclitch always carried my boat into her closet, and hung it on a nail to dry. In this exercise I once met an accident which had like to have cost me my life. For one of the pages having put my boat into the trough, the governess who attended Glumdalclitch very officiously lifted me up to place me in the boat; but I happened to slip through her fingers, and should have infallibly fallen down forty foot upon the floor, if by the luckiest chance in the world I had not been stopped by a corking-pin that stuck in the good gentlewoman's stomacher; 9 the head of the pin passed between my shirt and the waistband of my breeches, and thus I was held by the middle in the air until Glumdalclitch ran to my relief. Another time, one of the servants, whose office it was to fill my trough every third day with fresh water, was so careless to let a huge frog (not perceiving it) slip out of his pail. The frog lay concealed till I was put into my boat, but then seeing a resting place, climbed up, and made it lean so much on one side that I was forced to balance it with all my weight on the other, to prevent 8. A sudden noise. "Jet d'eau at Versailles": this fountain rose over forty feet in the air. 9. An ornamental covering for the front and upper

part of the body. "Officiously": kindly, dutifully. "Corking-pin": a pin of the largest size.

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overturning. When the frog was got in, it hopped at once half the length of the boat, and then over my head, backwards and forwards, daubing my face and clothes with its odious slime. The largeness of its features made it appear the most deformed animal that can be conceived. However, I desired Glumdalclitch to let me deal with it alone. I banged it a good while with one of my sculls, and at last forced it to leap out of the boat. But the greatest danger I ever underwent in that kingdom was from a monkey,-who belonged to one of the clerks of the kitchen. Glumdalclitch had locked me up in her closet, while she went somewhere upon business or a visit. The weather being very warm, the closet window was left open, as well as the windows in the door of my bigger box, in which I usually lived, because of its largeness and conveniency. As I sat quietly meditating at my table, I heard something bounce in at the closet window, and skip about from one side to the other, whereat, although I was much alarmed, yet I ventured to look out, but stirred not from my seat; and then I saw this frolicsome animal, frisking and leaping up and down, till at last he came to my box, which he seemed to view with great pleasure and curiosity, peeping in at the door and every window. I retreated to the farther corner of my room, or box, but the monkey looking in at every side, put me into such a fright that I wanted presence of mind to conceal myself under the bed, as I might easily have done. After some time spent in peeping, grinning, and chattering, he at last espied me, and reaching one of his paws in at the door, as a cat does when she plays with a mouse, although I often shifted place to avoid him, he at length seized the lappet of my coat (which, being made of that country cloth, was very thick and strong) and dragged me out. He took me up in his right forefoot, and held me as a nurse does a child she is going to suckle, just as I have seen the same sort of creature do with a kitten in Europe: and when I offered to struggle, he squeezed me so hard that I thought it more prudent to submit. I have good reason to believe that he took me for a young one of his own species, by his often stroking my face very gently with his other paw. In these diversions he was interrupted by a noise at the closet door, as if somebody were opening it, whereupon he suddenly leaped up to the window at which he had come in, and thence upon the leads and gutters, walking upon three legs, and holding me in the fourth, till he clambered up to a roof that was next to ours. I heard Glumdalclitch give a shriek at the moment he was carrying me out. The poor girl was almost distracted: that quarter of the palace was all in an uproar; the servants ran for ladders; the monkey was seen by hundreds in the court, sitting upon the ridge of a building, holding me like a baby in one of his forepaws and feeding me with the other, by cramming into my mouth some victuals he had squeezed out of the bag on one side of his chaps, and patting me when I would not eat; whereat many of the rabble below could not forebear laughing; neither do I think they justly ought to be blamed, for without question the sight was ridiculous enough to everybody but myself. Some of the people threw up stones, hoping to drive the monkey down; but this was strictly forbidden, or else very probably my brains had been dashed out. The ladders were now applied, and mounted by several men; which the monkey observing, and finding himself almost encompassed, not being able to make speed enough with his three legs, let me drop on a ridge tile, and made his escape. Here I sat for some time three hundred yards from the ground, expecting every moment to be blown down by the wind, or to fall by my own giddiness, and come tumbling over and over from the ridge to the

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eaves. But an honest lad, one of my nurse's footmen, climbed up, and putting me into his breeches pocket, brought me down safe. I was almost choked with the filthy stuff the monkey had crammed down my throat; but my dear little nurse picked it out of my mouth with a small needle, and then I fell a vomiting, which gave me great relief. Yet I was so weak and bruised in the sides with the squeezes given me by this odious animal that I was forced to keep my bed a fortnight. The King, Q u e e n , and all the Court sent every day to inquire after my health, and her Majesty made me several visits during my sickness. The monkey was killed, and an order made that no such animal should be kept about the palace. When I attended the King after my recovery, to return him thanks for his favors, he was pleased to rally me a good deal upon this adventure. He asked me what my thoughts and speculations were while I lay in the monkey's paw, how I liked the victuals he gave me, his manner of feeding, and whether the fresh air on the roof had sharpened my stomach. He desired to know what I would have done upon such an occasion in my own country. I told his Majesty that in Europe we had no monkeys, except such as were brought for curiosities from other places, and so small that I could deal with a dozen of them together, if they presumed to attack me. And as for that monstrous animal with whom I was so lately engaged (it was indeed as large as an elephant), if my fears had suffered me to think so far as to make use of my hanger (looking fiercely and clapping my hand upon the hilt as I spoke) when he poked his paw into my chamber, perhaps I should have given him such a wound as would have made him glad to withdraw it with more haste than he put it in. This I delivered in a firm tone, like a person who was jealous lest his courage should be called in question. However, my speech produced nothing else besides a loud laughter, which all the respect due to his Majesty from those about him could not make them contain. This made me reflect how vain an attempt it is for a man to endeavor doing himself honor among those who are out of all degree of equality or comparison with him. And yet I have seen the moral of my own behavior very frequent in England since my return, where a little contemptible varlet, without the least title to birth, person, wit, or common sense, shall presume to look with importance, and put himself upon a foot with the greatest persons of the kingdom. I was every day furnishing the court with some ridiculous story; and Glumdalclitch, although she loved me to excess, yet was arch enough to inform the Q u e e n whenever I committed any folly that she thought would be diverting to her Majesty. The girl, who had been out of order, 1 was carried by her governess to take the air about an hour's distance, or thirty miles from town. They alighted out of the coach near a small footpath in a field, and Glumdalclitch setting down my traveling box, I went out of it to walk. There was a cow dung in the patch, and I must needs try my activity by attempting to leap over it. I took a run, but unfortunately jumped short, and found myself just in the middle up to my knees. I waded through with some difficulty, and one of the footmen wiped me as clean as he could with his handkerchief; for I was filthily bemired, and my nurse confined me to my box till we returned home, where the Q u e e n was soon informed of what had passed and the footmen spread it about the Court, so that all the mirth, for some days, was at my expense.

I. Not feeling well.

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C H A P T E R 6 . Several contrivances of the Author to please the King and Queen. He shows his skill in music. The King inquires into the state of Europe, which the Author relates to him. The King's observations thereon.

I used to attend the King's levee once or twice a week, and had often seen him under the barber's hand, which indeed was at first very terrible to behold. For the razor was almost twice as long as an ordinary scythe. His Majesty, according to the custom of the country, was only shaved twice a week. I once prevailed on the barber to give me some of the suds or lather, out of which 1 picked forty or fifty of the strongest stumps of hair. I then took a piece of fine wood, and cut it like the back of a comb, making several holes in it at equal distance with as small a needle as I could get from Glumdalclitch. I fixed in the stumps so artificially, 2 scraping and sloping them with my knife towards the points, that I made a very tolerable comb; which was a seasonable supply, my own being so much broken in the teeth that it was almost useless; neither did I know any artist in that country so nice and exact as would undertake to make me another. And this puts me in mind of an amusement wherein I spent many of my leisure hours. I desired the Queen's woman to save for me the combings of her Majesty's hair, whereof in time I got a good quantity; and consulting with my friend the cabinetmaker, who had received general orders to do little jobs for me, I directed him to make two chair frames, no larger than those I had in my box, and then to bore little holes with a fine awl round those parts where I designed the backs and seats; through these holes I wove the strongest hairs I could pick out, just after the manner of cane chairs in England. When they were finished, I made a present of them to her Majesty, who kept them in her cabinet, and used to show them for curiosities, as indeed they were the wonder of every one that beheld them. The Q u e e n would have made me sit upon one of these chairs, but I absolutely refused to obey her, protesting I would rather die a thousand deaths than place a dishonorable part of my body on those precious hairs that once adorned her Majesty's head. Of these hairs (as I had always a mechanical genius) I likewise made a neat little purse above five foot long, with her Majesty's name deciphered in gold letters, which I gave to Glumdalclitch by the Queen's consent. To say the truth, it was more for show than use, being not of strength to bear the weight of the larger coins; and therefore she kept nothing in it but some little toys 3 that girls are fond of. The King, who delighted in music, had frequent consorts 4 at court, to which I was sometimes carried, and set in my box on a table to hear them; but the noise was so great that I could hardly distinguish the tunes. I am confident that all the drums and trumpets of a royal army, beating and sounding together just at your ears, could not equal it. My practice was to have my box removed from the places where the performers sat, as far as I could, then to shut the doors and windows of it, and draw the window curtains, after which I found their music not disagreeable. I had learned in my youth to play a little upon the spinet. Glumdalclitch kept one in her chamber, and a master attended twice a week to teach her: I call it a spinet, because it somewhat resembled that instrument, and was played upon in the same manner. A fancy came into my head that I would 2. Skillfully. 3. Trifles.

4. Concerts.

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entertain the King and Q u e e n with an English tune upon this instrument. But this appeared extremely difficult: for the spinet was near sixty foot long, each key being almost a foot wide; so that, with my arms extended, I could not reach to above five keys, and to press them down required a good smart stroke with my fist, which would be too great a labor and to no purpose. The method I contrived was this: I prepared two round sticks about the bigness of common cudgels; they were thicker at one end than the other, and I covered the thicker ends with a piece of a mouse's skin, that by rapping on them I might neither damage the tops of the keys, nor interrupt the sound. Before the spinet a bench was placed, about four foot below the keys, and 1 was put upon the bench. 1 ran sideling upon it that way and this, as fast as I could, banging the proper keys with my two sticks; and made a shift to play a jig, to the great satisfaction of both their Majesties: but it was the most violent exercise I ever underwent, and yet I could not strike above sixteen keys, nor, consequently, play the bass and treble together, as other artists do; which was a great disadvantage to my performance. The King, who, as I before observed, was a prince of excellent understanding, would frequently order that I should be brought in my box and set upon the table in his closet. He would then command me to bring one of my chairs out of the box, and sit down within three yards distance upon the top of the cabinet, which brought me almost to a level with his face. In this manner I had several conversations with him. I one day took the freedom to tell his Majesty that the contempt he discovered towards Europe, and the rest of the world, did not seem answerable to those excellent qualities of mind that he was master of. That reason did not extend itself with the bulk of the body: on the contrary, we observed in our country that the tallest persons were usually least provided with it. That among other animals, bees and ants had the reputation of more industry, art, and sagacity than many of the larger kinds; and that, as inconsiderable as he took me to be, I hoped I might live to do his Majesty some signal service. The King heard me with attention, and began to conceive a much better opinion of me than he had before. He desired I would give him as exact an account of the government of England as I possibly could; because, as fond as princes commonly are of their own customs (for so he conjectured of other monarchs, by my former discourses), he should be glad to hear of anything that might deserve imitation. Imagine with thyself, courteous reader, how often I then wished for the tongue of Demosthenes or Cicero, 5 that might have enabled me to celebrate the praise of my own dear native country in a style equal to its merits and felicity. I began my discourse by informing his Majesty that our dominions consisted of two islands, which composed three mighty kingdoms under one sovereign, beside our plantations in America. I dwelt long upon the fertility of our soil, and the temperature of our climate. I then spoke at large upon the constitution of an English Parliament, partly made up of an illustrious body called the House of Peers, 6 persons of the noblest blood, and of the most ancient and ample patrimonies. I described that extraordinary care always taken of their education in arts and arms, to qualify them for being counselors born to the king and kingdom; to have a share in the legislature, to be members of the highest Court of Judicature, from whence there could be no appeal; and to be 5. Great orators of Athens and Rome, respectively. 6. T h e H o u s e of Lords. "Temperature": temperateness.

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champions always ready for the defense of their prince and country, by their valor, conduct, and fidelity. That these were the ornament and bulwark of the kingdom, worthy followers of their most renowned ancestors, whose honor had been the reward of their virtue, from which their posterity were never once known to degenerate. To these were joined several holy persons, as part of that assembly, under the title of Bishops, whose peculiar business it is to take care of religion, and of those who instruct the people therein. These were searched and sought out through the whole nation, by the prince and his wisest counselors, among such of the priesthood as were most deservedly distinguished by the sanctity of their lives and the depth of their erudition, who were indeed the spiritual fathers of the clergy and the people. That the other part of the Parliament consisted of an assembly called the House of C o m m o n s , who were all principal gentlemen, freely picked and culled out by the people themselves, for their great abilities and love of their country, to represent the wisdom of the whole nation. And these two bodies make up the most august assembly in Europe, to whom, in conjunction with the prince, the whole legislature is committed. I then descended to the Courts of Justice, over which the Judges, those venerable sages and interpreters of the law, presided, for determining the disputed rights and properties of men, as well as for the punishment of vice, and protection of innocence. I mentioned the prudent management of our treasury, the valor and achievements of our forces by sea and land. I computed the number of our people, by reckoning how many millions there might be of each religious sect, or political party among us. I did not omit even our sports and pastimes, or any other particular which I thought might redound to the honor of my country. And I finished all with a brief historical account of affairs and events in England for about an hundred years past. This conversation was not ended under five audiences, each of several hours, and the King heard the whole with great attention, frequently taking notes of what I spoke, as well as memorandums of several questions he intended to ask me. When I had put an end to these long discourses, his Majesty in a sixth audience consulting his notes, proposed many doubts, queries, and objections, upon every article. He asked what methods were used to cultivate the minds and bodies of our young nobility, and in what kind of business they commonly spent the first and teachable part of their lives. What course was taken to supply that assembly when any noble family became extinct. What qualifications were necessary in those who were to be created new lords. Whether the humor 7 of the prince, a sum of money to a Court lady or a prime minister, or a design of strengthening a party opposite to the public interest, ever happened to be motives in those advancements. What share of knowledge these lords had in the laws of their country, and how they came by it, so as to enable them to decide the properties of their fellow subjects in the last resort. Whether they were always so free from avarice, partialities, or want that a bribe or some other sinister view could have no place among them. Whether those holy lords I spoke of were constantly promoted to that rank upon account of their knowledge in religious matters, and the sanctity of their lives; had never been compliers with the times while they were common priests, or slavish prostitute chaplains to some nobleman, whose opinions they continued servilely to follow after they were admitted into that assembly. 7. Whim.

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He then desired to know what arts were practiced in electing those whom I called Commoners. Whether a stranger with a strong purse might not influence the vulgar voters to choose him before their own landlord or the most considerable gentleman in the neighborhood. How it came to pass that people were so violently bent upon getting into this assembly, which I allowed to be a great trouble and expense, often to the ruin of their families, without any salary or pension: because this appeared such an exalted strain of virtue and public spirit that his Majesty seemed to doubt it might possibly not be always sincere; and he desired to know whether such zealous gentlemen could have any views of refunding themselves for the charges and trouble they were at, by sacrificing the public good to the designs of' a weak and vicious prince in conjunction with a corrupted ministry. He multiplied his questions, and sifted me thoroughly upon every part of this head, proposing numberless inquiries and objections, which I think it not prudent or convenient to repeat. Upon what I said in relation to our Courts of Justice, his Majesty desired to be satisfied in several points: and this I was the better able to do, having been formerly almost ruined by a long suit in chancery, which was decreed for me with costs. He asked what time was usually spent in determining between right and wrong, and what degree of expense. Whether advocates and orators had liberty to plead in causes manifestly known to be unjust, vexatious, or oppressive. Whether party in religion or politics were observed to be of any weight in the scale of justice. Whether those pleading orators were persons educated in the general knowledge of equity, or only in provincial, national, and other local customs. Whether they or their judges had any part in penning those laws which they assumed the liberty of interpreting and glossing upon at their pleasure. Whether they had ever at different times pleaded for and against the same cause, and cited precedents to prove contrary opinions. Whether they were a rich or a poor corporation. Whether they received any pecuniary reward for pleading or delivering their opinions. And particularly whether they were ever admitted as members in the lower senate. He fell next upon the management of our treasury, and said he thought my memory had failed me, because I computed our taxes at about five or six millions a year, and when I came to mention the issues, 8 he found they sometimes amounted to more than double, for the notes he had taken were very particular in this point; because he hoped, as he told me, that the knowledge of our conduct might be useful to him, and he could not be deceived in his calculations. But if what I told him were true, he was still at a loss how a kingdom could run out of its estate like a private person. He asked me, who were our creditors? and where we should find money to pay them? He wondered to hear me talk of such chargeable and extensive wars; that certainly we must be a quarrelsome people, or live among very bad neighbors, and that our generals must needs be richer than our kings. 9 He asked what business we had out of our own islands, unless upon the score of trade or treaty or to defend the coasts with our fleet. Above all, he was amazed to hear me talk of a mercenary standing army' in the midst of peace, and among a free people. He said if we were governed by our own consent in the persons of our representatives, he could not imagine of whom we were afraid, or against whom we 8. Expenditures. 9. An allusion to the enormous fortune gained by the duke of Marlborough, formerly captain-general of the army, whom Swift detested. 1. Since the declaration of the Bill of Rights

( 1 6 8 9 ) , a standing army without authorization by Parliament had been illegal. Swift and the Tories in general were vigilant in their opposition to such an army.

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were to fight; and would hear my opinion whether a private man's house might not better be defended by himself, his children, and family, than by half a dozen rascals picked up at a venture 2 in the streets for small wages, who might get an hundred times more by cutting their throats. He laughed at my odd kind of arithmetic (as he was pleased to call it) in reckoning the numbers of our people by a computation drawn from the several sects among us in religion and politics. He said he knew no reason why those who entertain opinions prejudicial to the public should be obliged to change, or should not be obliged to conceal them. And as it was tyranny in any government to require the first, so it was weakness not to enforce the second: for a man may be allowed to keep poisons in his closet, but not to vend them about for cordials. 3 He observed that among the diversions of our nobility and gentry I had mentioned gaming. He desired to know at what age this entertainment was usually taken up, and when it was laid down; how much of their time it employed; whether it ever went so high as to affect their fortunes; whether mean, vicious people, by their dexterity in that art, might not arrive at great riches, and sometimes keep our very nobles in dependence, as well as habituate them to vile companions, wholly take them from the improvement of their minds, and force them, by the losses they received, to learn and practice that infamous dexterity upon others. He was perfectly astonished with the historical account I gave him of our affairs during the last century, protesting it was only an heap of conspiracies, rebellions, murders, massacres, revolutions, banishments, the very worst effects that avarice, faction, hypocrisy, perfidiousness, cruelty, rage, madness, hatred, envy, lust, malice, or ambition could produce. His Majesty in another audience was at the pains to recapitulate the sum of all I had spoken; compared the questions he made with the answers I had given; then taking me into his hands, and stroking me gently, delivered himself in these words, which I shall never forget, nor the manner he spoke them in. "My little friend Grildrig, you have made a most admirable panegyric upon your country. You have clearly proved that ignorance, idleness, and vice are the proper ingredients for qualifying a legislator. That laws are best explained, interpreted, and applied by those whose interests and abilities lie in perverting, confounding, and eluding them. I observe among you some lines of an institution which in its original might have been tolerable; but these half erased, and the rest wholly blurred and blotted by corruptions. It doth not appear from all you have said how any one virtue is required towards the procurement of any one station among you; much less that men are ennobled on account of their virtue, that priests are advanced for their piety or learning, soldiers for their conduct or valor, judges for their integrity, senators for the love of their country, or counselors for their wisdom. As for yourself," continued the King, "who have spent the greatest part of your life in traveling, I am well disposed to hope you may hitherto have escaped many vices of your country. But by what I have gathered from your own relation, and the answers I have with much pains wringed and extorted from you, I cannot but conclude the bulk of your natives to be the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the earth."

2. By chance. 3. Medicines to stimulate the heart, or, equally commonly, liqueurs.

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C H A P T E R 7 . The Author's love of his country. He makes a proposal of much advantage to the King; which is rejected. The King's great ignorance in politics. The learning of that country very imperfect and confined. Their laws, and military affairs, and parties in the State.

Nothing but an extreme love of truth could have hindered me from concealing this part of my story. It was in vain to discover my resentments, which were .always turned into ridicule: and I was forced to rest with patience while my noble and most beloved country was so injuriously treated. I am heartily sorry as any of my readers can possibly be that such an occasion was given, but this prince happened to be so curious and inquisitive upon every particular that it could not consist either with gratitude or good manners to refuse giving him what satisfaction I was able. Yet thus much I may be allowed to say in my own vindication: that I artfully eluded many of his questions, and gave to every point a more favorable turn by many degrees than the strictness of truth would allow. For I have always borne that laudable partiality to my own country, which Dionysius Halicarnassensis 4 with so much justice recommends to an historian. I would hide the frailties and deformities of my political mother, and place her virtues and beauties in the most advantageous light. This was my sincere endeavor in those many discourses I had with that mighty monarch, although it unfortunately failed of success. But great allowances should be given to a King who lives wholly secluded from the rest of the world, and must therefore be altogether unacquainted with the manners and customs that most prevail in other nations: the want of which knowledge will ever produce many prejudices, and a certain narrowness of thinking, from which we and the politer countries of Europe are wholly exempted. And it would be hard indeed if so remote a prince's notions of virtue and vice were to be offered as a standard for all mankind. To confirm what I have now said, and further to show the miserable effects of a confined education, I shall here insert a passage which will hardly obtain belief. In hopes to ingratiate myself farther into his Majesty's favor, I told him of an invention discovered between three and four hundred years ago, to make a certain powder, into an heap of which the smallest spark of fire falling would kindle the whole in a moment, although it were as big as a mountain, and make it all fly up in the air together, with a noise and agitation greater than thunder. That a proper quantity of this powder rammed into an hollow tube of brass or iron, according to its bigness, would drive a ball of iron or lead with such violence and speed as nothing was able to sustain its force. That the largest balls thus discharged would not only destroy whole ranks of an army at once, but batter the strongest walls to the ground; sink down ships with a thousand men in each, to the bottom of the sea; and, when linked together by a chain, would cut through masts and rigging; divide hundreds of bodies in the middle, and lay all waste before them. That we often put this powder into large hollow balls of iron, and discharged them by an engine into some city we were besieging; which would rip up the pavements, tear the houses to pieces, burst and throw splinters on every side, dashing out the brains of all who came near. That I knew the ingredients very well, which were cheap and common; I understood the manner of compounding them, and could direct his workmen how to make those tubes of a size proportionable to 4. A Greek rhetorician and historian, who flourished ca. 25 B.c.E. His history of R o m e was written to reconcile the Greeks to their Roman masters.

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all other things in his Majesty's kingdom, and the largest need not be above two hundred foot long; twenty or thirty of which tubes, charged with the proper quantity of powder and balls, would batter down the walls of the strongest town in his dominions in a few hours; or destroy the whole metropolis, if ever it should pretend to dispute his absolute commands. This I humbly offered to his Majesty as a small tribute of acknowledgement in return of so many marks that I had received of his royal favor and protection. The King was struck with horror at the description 1 had given of those terrible engines and the proposal I had made. He was amazed how so impotent and groveling an insect as I (these were his expressions) could entertain such inhuman ideas, and in so familiar a manner as to appear wholly unmoved at all the scenes of blood and desolation which I had painted as the common effects of those destructive machines; whereof he said some evil genius, enemy to mankind, must have been the first contriver. As for himself, he protested that although few things delighted him so much as new discoveries in art or in nature, yet he would rather lose half his kingdom than be privy to such a secret, which he commanded me, as I valued my life, never to mention any more. A strange effect of narrow principles and short views! that a prince possessed of every quality which procures veneration, love, and esteem; of strong parts, great wisdom, and profound learning; endued with admirable talents for government, and almost adored by his subjects; should from a nice, unnecessary scruple, whereof in Europe we can have no conception, let slip an opportunity put into his hands that would have made him absolute master of the lives, the liberties, and the fortunes of his people. Neither do I say this with the least intention to detract from the many virtues of that excellent King, whose character 1 am sensible will on this account be very much lessened in the opinion of an English reader: but I take this defect among them to have risen from their ignorance; they not having hitherto reduced politics into a science, as the more acute wits of Europe have done. For I remember very well, in a discourse one day with the King, when I happened to say there were several thousand books among us written upon the art of government, it gave him (directly contrary to my intention) a very mean opinion of our understandings. He professed both to abominate and despise all mystery, refinement, and intrigue, either in a prince or a minister. He could not tell what I meant by secrets of state, where an enemy or some rival nation were not in the case. He confined the knowledge of governing within very narrow hounds: to common sense and reason, to justice and lenity, to the speedy determination of civil and criminal causes, with some other obvious topics which are not worth considering. And he gave it for his opinion that whoever could make two ears of corn or two blades of grass to grow upon a spot of ground where only one grew before would deserve better of mankind and do more essential service to his country than the whole race of politicians 5 put together. The learning of this people is very defective, consisting only in morality, history, poetry, and mathematics; wherein they must be allowed to excel. But the last of these is wholly applied to what may be useful in life, to the improvement of agriculture and all mechanical arts; so that among us it would be little esteemed. And as to ideas, entities, abstractions, and transcendentals, 6 I could never drive the least conception into their heads. 5. Swift m e a n s something like our modern political scientists or theorists.

6. In Swift's time, transcendental was practically synonymous with metaphysical.

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No law of that country must exceed in words the number of letters in their alphabet, which consists only in two and twenty. But indeed few of them extend even to that length. They are expressed in the most plain and simple terms, wherein those people are not mercurial enough to discover above one interpretation. And to write a comment upon any law is a capital crime. As to the decision of civil causes, or proceedings against criminals, their precedents are so few that they have little reason to boast of any extraordinary skill in either. They have had the art of printing as well as the Chinese, time out of mind. But their libraries are not very large; for that of the King's, which is reckoned the biggest, doth not amount to above a thousand volumes, placed in a gallery of twelve hundred foot long, from whence I had liberty to borrow what books I pleased. The Queen's joiner had contrived in one of the Glumdalclitch's rooms a kind of wooden machine five and twenty foot high, formed like a standing ladder; the steps were each fifty foot long. It was indeed a movable pair of stairs, the lowest end placed at ten foot distance from the wall of the chamber. The book I had a mind to read was put up leaning against the wall. I first mounted to the upper step of the ladder, and turning my face towards the book began at the top of the page, and so walking to the right and left about eight or ten paces according to the length of the lines, till I had gotten a little below the level of mine eyes, and then descending gradually till I came to the bottom: after which I mounted again, and began the other page in the same manner, and so turned over the leaf, which I could easily do with both my hands, for it was as thick and stiff as a pasteboard, and in the largest folios not above eighteen or twenty foot long. Their style is clear, masculine, and smooth, but not florid; for they avoid nothing more than multiplying unnecessary words or using various expressions. I have perused many of their books, especially those in history and morality. Among the rest, I was much diverted with a little old treatise, which always lay in Glumdalclitch's bedchamber, and belonged to her governess, a grave elderly gentlewoman, who dealt in writings of morality and devotion. The book treats of the weakness of human kind, and is in little esteem, except among the women and the vulgar. However, I was curious to see what an author of that country could say upon such a subject. This writer went through all the usual topics of European moralists: showing how diminutive, contemptible, and helpless an animal was man in his own nature; how unable to defend himself from the inclemencies of the air, or the fury of wild beasts; how much he was excelled by one creature in strength, by another in speed, by a third in foresight, by a fourth in industry. He added that nature was degenerated in these latter declining ages of the world, and could now produce only small abortive births in comparison of those in ancient times. He said it was very reasonable to think, not only that the species of men were originally much larger, but also that there must have been giants in former ages; which, as it is asserted by history and tradition, so it hath been confirmed by huge bones and skulls casually dug up in several parts of the kingdom, far exceeding the common dwindled race of man in our days. He argued that the very laws of nature absolutely required we should have been made in the beginning of a size more large and robust, not so liable to destruction from every little accident of a tile falling from a house, or a stone cast from the hand of a boy, or of being drowned in a little brook. From this way of reasoning, the author drew several moral applications useful in the conduct of life, but needless here

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to repeat. For my own part, I could not avoid reflecting how universally this talent was spread, of drawing lectures in morality, or indeed rather matter of discontent and repining, from the quarrels we raise with nature. And I believe, upon a strict inquiry, those quarrels might be shown as ill grounded among us as they are among that people. As to their military affairs, they boast that the King's army consists of an hundred and seventy-six thousand foot and thirty-two thousand horse: if that may be called an army which is made up of tradesmen in the several cities, and farmers in the country, whose commanders are only the nobility and gentry, without pay or reward. They are indeed perfect enough in their exercises, and under very good discipline, wherein I saw ho great merit; for how should it be otherwise, where every farmer is under the command of his own landlord, and every citizen under that of the principal men in his own city, chosen after the manner of Venice by ballot? I have often seen the militia of Lorbrulgrud drawn out to exercise in a great field near the city, of twenty miles square. They were in all not above twentyfive thousand foot, and six thousand horse; but it was impossible for me to compute their number, considering the space of ground they took up. A cavalier mounted on a large steed might be about an hundred foot high. I have seen this whole body of horse, upon a word of command, draw their swords at once, and brandish them in the air. Imagination can figure nothing so grand, so surprising, and so astonishing. It looked as if ten thousand flashes of lightning were darting at the same time from every quarter of the sky. I was curious to know how this prince, to whose dominions there is no access from any other country, came to think of armies, or to teach his people the practice of military discipline. But I was soon informed, both by conversation and reading their histories. For in the course of many ages they have been troubled with the same disease to which the whole race of mankind is subject: the nobility often contending for power, the people for liberty, and the King for absolute dominion. All which, however happily tempered by the laws of the kingdom, have been sometimes violated by each of the three parties, and have more than once occasioned civil wars, the last whereof was happily put an end to by this prince's grandfather in a general composition; 7 and the militia, then settled with common consent, hath been ever since kept in the strictest duty. C H A P T E R 8 . The King and Queen make a progress to the frontiers. The Author attends them. The manner in which he leaves the country very particidarly related. He returns to England.

I had always a strong impulse that I should some time recover my liberty, though it were impossible to conjecture by what means, or to form any project with the least hope of succeeding. The ship in which I sailed was the first ever known to be driven within sight of that coast; and the King had given strict orders that if at any time another appeared, it should be taken ashore, and with all its crew and passengers brought in a tumbrel 8 to Lorbrulgrud. He was strongly bent to get me a woman of my own size, by whom I might propagate 7. A political settlement based on general agreement of all parties.

8. A farm wagon.

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the breed: but I think I should rather have died than undergone the disgrace of leaving a posterity to be kept in cages like tame canary birds, and perhaps in time sold about the kingdom to persons of quality for curiosities. I was indeed treated with much kindness: I was the favorite of a great King and Q u e e n , and the delight of the whole Court, but it was upon such a foot as ill became the dignity of human kind. I could never forget those domestic pledges I had left behind me. I wanted to be among people with whom I could converse upon even terms, and walk about the streets and fields without fear of being trod to death like a frog or a young puppy. But my deliverance came sooner than I expected, and in a manner not very common; the whole story and circumstances of which I shall faithfully relate. I had now been two years in this country; and about the beginning of the third, Glumdalclitch and I attended the King and Q u e e n in progress to the south coast of the ldngdom. 1 was carried as usual in my traveling box, which, as I have already described, was a very convenient closet of twelve foot wide. I had ordered a hammock to be fixed by silken ropes from the four corners at the top, to break the jolts when a servant carried me before him on horseback, as I sometimes desired; and would often sleep in my hammock while we were upon the road. On the roof of my closet, set not directly over the middle of the hammock, I ordered the joiner to cut out a hole of a foot square to give me air in hot weather as I slept, which hole I shut at pleasure with a board that drew backwards and forwards through a groove. When we came to our journey's end, the King thought proper to pass a few days at a palace he hath near Flanflasnic, a city within eighteen English miles of the seaside. Glumdalclitch and I were much fatigued; I had gotten a small cold, but the poor girl was so ill as to be confined to her chamber. I longed to see the ocean, which must be the only scene of my escape, if ever it should happen. I pretended to be worse than I really was, and desired leave to take the fresh air of the sea with a page whom I was very fond of, and who had sometimes been trusted with me. I shall never forget with what unwillingness Glumdalclitch consented, nor the strict charge she gave the page to be careful of me, bursting at the same time into a flood of tears, as if she had some foreboding of what was to happen. The boy took me out in my box about half an hour's walk from the palace, towards the rocks on the seashore. I ordered him to set me down, and lifting up one of my sashes, cast many a wistful melancholy look towards the sea. I found myself not very well, and told the page that I had a mind to take a nap in my hammock, which I hoped would do me good. I got in, and the boy shut the window close down, to keep out the cold. I soon fell asleep: and all I can conjecture is that while I slept, the page, thinking no danger could happen, went among the rocks to look for birds' eggs; having before observed him from my window searching about, and picking up one or two in the clefts. Be that as it will, I found myself suddenly awaked with a violent pull upon the ring which was fastened at the top of my box for the conveniency of carriage. I felt my box raised very high in the air, and then borne forward with prodigious speed. The first jolt had like to have shaken me out of my hammock, but afterwards the motion was easy enough. 1 called out several times as loud as I could raise my voice, but all to no purpose. I looked towards my windows, and could see nothing but the clouds and sky. I heard a noise just over my head like the clapping of wings, and then began to perceive the woeful condition I was in; that some eagle had got the

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ring of my box in his beak, with an intent to let it fall on a rock, like a tortoise in a shell, and then pick out my body and devour it. For the sagacity and smell of this bird enable him to discover his quarry at a great distance, although better concealed than I could be within a two-inch board. In a little time I observed the noise and flutter of wings to increase very fast, and my box was tossed up and down like a signpost in a windy day. I heard several bangs or buffets, as I thought, given to the eagle (for such I am certain it must have been that held the ring of my box in his beak), and then all on a sudden felt myself falling perpendicularly down for above a minute, but with such incredible swiftness that I almost lost my breath. My fall was topped by a terrible squash, that sounded louder to mine ears than the cataract of Niagara; after which I was quite in the dark for another minute, and then my box began to rise so high that I could see light from the tops of my windows. I now perceived that I was fallen into the sea. My box, by the weight of my body, the goods that were in, and the broad plates of iron fixed for strength at the four corners of the top and bottom, floated above five foot deep in water. I did then and do now suppose that the eagle which flew away with my box was pursued by two or three others, and forced to let me drop while he was defending himself against the rest, who hoped to share in the prey. The plates of iron fastened at the bottom of the box (for those were the strongest) preserved the balance while it fell, and hindered it from being broken on the surface of the water. Every joint of it was well grooved, and the door did not move on hinges, but up and down like a sash; which kept my closet so tight that very little water came in. I got with much difficulty out of my hammock, having first ventured to draw back the slip-board on the roof already mentioned, contrived on purpose to let in air, for want of which I found myself almost stifled. How often did I then wish myself with my dear Glumdalclitch, from whom one single hour had so far divided me! And I may say with truth that in the midst of my own misfortune, I could not forbear lamenting my poor nurse, the grief she would suffer for my loss, the displeasure of the Q u e e n , and the ruin of her fortune. Perhaps many travelers have not been under greater difficulties and distress than I was at this juncture, expecting every moment to see my box dashed in pieces, or at least overset by the first violent blast or a rising wave. A breach in one single pane of glass would have been immediate death, nor could anything have preserved the windows but the strong lattice wires placed on the outside against accidents in traveling. I saw the water ooze in at several crannies, although the leaks were not considerable, and I endeavored to stop them as well as I could. I was not able to lift up the roof of my closet, which otherwise I certainly should have done, and sat on the top of it, where I might at least preserve myself from being shut up, as I may call it, in the hold. Or, if I escaped these dangers for a day or two, what could I expect but a miserable death of cold and hunger! I was four hours under these circumstances, expecting and indeed wishing every moment to be my last. I have already told the reader that there were two strong staples fixed upon that side of my box which had no window and into which the servant, who used to carry me on horseback, would put a leathern belt, and buckle it about his waist. Being in this disconsolate state, I heard, or at least thought I heard, some kind of grating noise on that side of my box where the staples were fixed; and soon after I began to fancy that the box was pulled or towed along in the sea; for I now and then felt a sort of tugging, which made the waves rise near the tops of my windows, leaving me almost in the dark. This gave me some

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faint hopes of relief, although I was not able to imagine how it could be brought about. I ventured to unscrew one of my chairs, which were always fastened to the floor; and having made a hard shift to screw it down again directly under the slipping-board that I had lately opened, I mounted on the chair, and putting my mouth as near as I could to the hole, I called for help in a loud voice, and in all the languages I understood. I then fastened my handkerchief to a stick I usually carried, and thrusting it up the hole, waved it several times in the air, that if any boat or ship were near, the seamen might conjecture some unhappy mortal to be shut up in the box. I found no effect from all I could do, but plainly perceived my closet to be moved along; and in the space of an hour or better, that side of the box where the staples were, and had no window, struck against something that was hard. I apprehended it to be a rock, and found myself tossed more than ever. I plainly heard a noise upon the cover of my closet, like that of a cable, and the grating of it as it passed through the ring. I then found myself hoisted up by degrees at least three foot higher than I was before. Whereupon I again thrust up my stick and handkerchief, calling for help till I was almost hoarse. In return to which, I heard a great shout repeated three times, giving me such transports of joy as are not to be conceived but by those who feel them. I now heard a trampling over my head, and somebody calling through the hole with a loud voice in the English tongue: "If there be anybody below, let them speak." I answered, I was an Englishman, drawn by ill fortune into the greatest calamity that ever any creature underwent, and begged, by all that was moving, to be delivered out of the dungeon I was in. The voice replied, I was safe, for my box was fastened to their ship; and the carpenter should immediately come and saw an hole in the cover, large enough to pull me out. I answered, that was needless and would take up too much time, for there was no more to be done but let one of the crew put his finger into the ring, and take the box out of the sea into the ship, and so into the captain's cabin. Some of them, upon hearing me talk so wildly, thought I was mad; others laughed; for indeed it never came into my head that I was now got among people of my own stature and strength. The carpenter came, and in a few minutes sawed a passage about four foot square; then let down a small ladder, upon which I mounted, and from thence was taken into the ship in a very weak condition. The sailors were all in amazement, and asked me a thousand questions, which I had no inclination to answer. I was equally confounded at the sight of so many pygmies, for such I took them to be, after having so long accustomed my eyes to the monstrous objects I had left. But the Captain, Mr. Thomas Wilcocks, an honest, worthy Shropshire man, observing I was ready to faint, took me into his cabin, gave me a cordial to comfort me, and made me turn in upon his own bed, advising me to take a little rest, of which I had great need. Before I went to sleep I gave him to understand that I had some valuable furniture in my box, too good to be lost, a fine hammock, an handsome field bed, two chairs, a table, and a cabinet; that my closet was hung on all sides, or rather quilted with silk and cotton; that if he would let one of the crew bring my closet into his cabin, 1 would open it before him and show him my goods. The Captain, hearing me utter these absurdities, concluded I was raving; however (I suppose to pacify me), he promised to give order as I desired, and going upon deck, sent some of his men down into my closet, from whence (as I afterwards found) they drew up all my goods and stripped off the quilting; but the chairs, cabinet, and bedstead, being screwed to the floor, were much

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damaged by the ignorance of the seamen, who tore them up by force. Then they knocked off some of the boards for the use of the ship; and when they had got all they had a mind for, let the hulk drop into the sea, which, by reason of many breaches made in the bottom and sides, sunk to rights. 9 And indeed I was glad not to have been a spectator of the havoc they made, because I am confident it would have sensibly touched me, by bringing former passages into my mind, which I had rather forget. I slept some hours, but perpetually disturbed with dreams of the place I had left, and the dangers I had escaped. However, upon waking, I found myself much recovered. It was now about eight o'clock at night, and the Captain ordered supper immediately, thinking I had already fasted too long. He entertained me with great kindness, observing me not to look wildly, or talk inconsistently; and when we were left alone, desired I would give him a relation of my travels, and by what accident I came to be set adrift in that monstrous wooden chest. He said that about twelve o'clock at noon, as he was looking through his glass, he spied it at a distance, and thought it was a sail, which he had a mind to make, 1 being not much out of his course, in hopes of buying some biscuit, his own beginning to fall short. That, upon coming nearer, and finding his error, he sent out his longboat to discover what I was; that his men came back in a fright, swearing they had seen a swimming house. That he laughed at their folly, and went himself in the boat, ordering his men to take a strong cable along with them. That the weather being calm, he rowed round me several times, observed my windows, and the wire lattices that defended them. That he discovered two staples upon one side, which was all of boards, without any passage for light. He then commanded his men to row up to that side, and fastening a cable to one of the staples, ordered his men to tow my chest (as he called it) towards the ship. When it was there, he gave directions to fasten another cable to the ring fixed in the cover, and to raise up my chest with pulleys, which all the sailors were not able to do above two or three foot. He said they saw my stick and handkerchief thrust out of the hole, and concluded that some unhapp}' man must be shut up in the cavity. I asked whether he or the crew had seen any prodigious birds in the air about the time he first discovered me. To which he answered that, discoursing this matter with the sailors while I was asleep, one of them said he had observed three eagles flying towards the north, but remarked nothing of their being larger than the usual size (which I suppose must be imputed to the great height they were at), and he could not guess the reason of my question. I then asked the Captain how far he reckoned we might be from land; he said, by the best computation he could make, we were at least an hundred leagues. I assured him that he must be mistaken by almost half; for I had not left the country from whence I came above two hours before I dropped into the sea. Whereupon he began again to think that my brain was disturbed, of which he gave me a hint, and advised me to go to bed in a cabin he had provided. I assured him I was well refreshed with his good entertainment and company, and as much in my senses as ever I was in my life. He then grew serious and desired to ask me freely whether I were not troubled in mind by the consciousness of some enormous crime, for which I was punished at the command of some prince, by exposing me in that chest, as great criminals in other countries have been forced to sea in a leaky vessel without provisions; for although he should be sorry to have taken so ill2 9. At once, altogether. 1. Overtake.

2. Evil.

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a man into his ship, yet he would engage his word to set me safe on shore in the first port where we arrived. He added that his suspicions were much increased by some very absurd speeches I had delivered at first to the sailors, and afterwards to himself, in relation to my closet or chest, as well as by my odd looks and behavior while I was at supper. I begged his patience to hear me tell my story, which 1 faithfully did from the last time I left England to the moment he first discovered me. And as truth always forceth its way into rational minds, so this honest, worthy gentleman, who had some tincture of learning, and very good sense, was immediately convinced of my candor and veracity. But further to confirm all I had said, I entreated him to give order that my cabinet should be brought, of which I kept the key in my pocket (for he had already informed me how the seamen disposed of my closet). I opened it in his presence and showed him the small collection of rarities I made in the country from whence I had been so strangely delivered. There was the comb I had contrived out of the stumps of the King's beard, and another of the same materials, but fixed into a paring of her Majesty's thumbnail, which served for the back. There was a collection of needles and pins from a foot to half a yard long; four wasp-stings, like joiners' tacks; some combings of the Q u e e n ' s hair; a gold ring which one day she made me a present of in a most obliging manner, taking it from her little finger, and throwing it over my head like a collar. I desired the Captain would please to accept this ring in return for his civilities, which he absolutely refused. 1 showed him a corn that I had cut off with my own hand from a Maid of Honor's toe; it was about the bigness of a Kentish pippin, and grown so hard that, when I returned to England, I got it hollowed into a cup and set in silver. Lastly, I desired him to see the breeches I had then on, which were made of a mouse's skin. I could force nothing on him but a footman's tooth, which I observed him to examine with great curiosity, and found he had a fancy for it. He received it with abundance of thanks, more than such a trifle could deserve. It was drawn by an unskillful surgeon in a mistake from one of Glumdalclitch's men, who was afflicted with the toothache; but it was as sound as any in his head. I got it cleaned, and put it into my cabinet. It was about a foot long, and four inches in diameter. The Captain was very well satisfied with this plain relation I had given him, and said he hoped when we returned to England I would oblige the world by putting it in paper and making it public. My answer was that I thought we were already overstocked with books of travels; that nothing could now pass which was not extraordinary; wherein I doubted some authors less consulted truth than their own vanity or interest, or the diversion of ignorant readers. That my story could contain little besides common events, without those ornamental descriptions of strange plants, trees, birds, and other animals, or the barbarous customs and idolatry of savage people, with which most writers abound. However, I thanked him for his good opinion, and promised to take the matter into my thoughts. He said he wondered at one thing very much, which was to hear me speak so loud, asking me whether the King or Q u e e n of that country were thick of hearing. I told him it was what I had been used to for above two years past, and that I admired 3 as much at the voices of him and his men, who seemed to me only to whisper, and yet I could hear them well enough. But, when I spoke in that country, it was like a man talking in the street to another looking 3. Wondered.

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out from the top of a steeple, unless when I was placed on a table, or held in any person's hand. I told him I had likewise observed another thing: that when I first got into the ship, and the sailors stood all about me, I thought they were the most little contemptible creatures I had ever beheld. For indeed while I was in that prince's country, I could never endure to look in a glass after my eyes had been accustomed to such prodigious objects, because the comparison gave me so despicable a conceit 4 of myself. The Captain said that while we were at supper he observed me to look at everything with a sort of wonder, and that I often seemed hardly able to contain my laughter; which he knew not well how to take, but imputed it to some disorder in my brain. I answered, it was very true; and I wondered how I could forbear, when I saw his dishes of the size of a silver threepence, a leg of pork hardly a mouthful, a cup not so big as a nutshell; and so I went on, describing the rest of his household stuff and provisions after the same manner. For, although the Q u e e n had ordered a little equipage of all things necessary for me while I was in her sendee, yet my ideas were wholly taken up with what I saw on every side of me, and I winked at my own littleness, as people do at their own faults. The Captain understood my raillery very well, and merrily replied with the old English proverb, that he doubted 5 my eyes were bigger than my belly, for he did not observe my stomach so good, although I had fasted all day; and continuing in his mirth, protested he would have gladly given an hundred pounds to have seen my closet in the eagle's bill, and afterwards in its fall from so great an height into the sea; which would certainly have been a most astonishing object, worthy to have the description of it transmitted to future ages: and the comparison of Phaeton 6 was so obvious, that he could not forbear applying it, although I did not much admire the conceit. The Captain having been at Tonquin, 7 was in his return to England driven northeastward to the latitude of 44 degrees, and of longitude 143. But meeting a trade wind two days after I came on board him, we sailed southward a long time, and coasting New Holland 8 kept our course west-southwest, and then south-southwest till we doubled the C a p e of Good Hope. Our voyage was very prosperous, but I shall not trouble the reader with a journal of it. The Captain called in at one or two ports, and sent in his longboat for provisions and fresh water; but I never went out of the ship till we came into the Downs, which was on the third day of June, 1706, about nine months after my escape. I offered to leave my goods in security for payment of my freight; but the Captain protested he would not receive one farthing. We took kind leave of each other, and I made him promise he would come to see me at my house in Redriff. I hired a horse and guide for five shillings, which I borrowed of the Captain. As I was on the road, observing the littleness of the houses, the trees, the cattle, and the people, I began to think myself in Lilliput. I was afraid of trampling on every traveler I met, and often called aloud to have them stand out of the way, so that I had like to have gotten one or two broken heads for my impertinence. When I came to my own house, for which I was forced to inquire, one of the servants opening the door, I bent down to go in (like a goose under a gate) 4. Notion. 5. Feared. 6. Son of Helios, the sun god, whose u n s u c c e s s f u l attempt to drive his father's chariot led to his death, when he lost control and was hurled by Zeus

from the sky, falling into the river Eridanus, where he drowned. 7. Tonkin, now in Vietnam. 8. Australia.

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for fear of striking my head. My wife ran out to embrace me, but I stooped lower than her knees, thinking she could otherwise never be able to reach my mouth. My daughter kneeled to ask my blessing, but I could not see her till she arose, having been so long used to stand with my head and eyes erect to above sixty foot; and then I went to take her up with one hand by the waist. I looked down upon the servants and one or two friends who were in the house, as if they had been pygmies and I a giant. I told my wife she had been too thrifty; for I found she had starved herself and her daughter to nothing. In short, I behaved myself so unaccountably that they were all of the Captain's opinion when he first saw me, and concluded I had lost my wits. This I mention as an instance of the great power of habit and prejudice. In a little time I and my family and friends came to a right understanding; but my wife protested I should never go to sea any more, although my evil destiny so ordered that she had not power to hinder me; as the reader may know hereafter. In the meantime I here conclude the second part of my unfortunate voyages. F r o m Part 3. A Voyage to Laputa, Balnibarbi, Gliihbdubdrib, Luggnagg, and Japan $

[THE FLYING ISLAND OF LAPUTA]9

The humors and dispositions of the Laputans described. An account of their learning. Of the King and his court. The author's reception there. The inhabitants subject to fears and disquietudes. An account of the women. CHAPTER 2.

At my alighting I was surrounded by a crowd of people, but those who stood nearest seemed to be of better quality. They beheld me with all the marks and circumstances of wonder; neither indeed was I much in their debt, having never till then seen a race of mortals so singular in their shapes, habits, and countenances. Their heads were all reclined to the right, or the left; one of their eyes turned inward, and the other directly up to the zenith. Their outward garments were adorned with the figures of suns, moons, and stars, interwoven with those of fiddles, flutes, harps, trumpets, guitars, harpsichords, and many more instruments of music, unknown to us in Europe. 1 I observed here and there many in the habits of servants, with a blown bladder fastened like a flail to the end of a short stick, which they carried in their hands. In each bladder was a small quantity of dried pease or little pebbles (as I was afterwards informed). With these bladders they now and then flapped the mouths and ears of those who stood near them, of which practice I could not then conceive the meaning. It seems, the minds of these people are so taken up with intense speculations, that they neither can speak, or attend to the discourses of others, without being roused by some external taction 2 upon the organs of speech and hearing; for which reason those persons who are able to afford it always keep 9. In the first chapter of part 3 Gulliver starts on his third voyage, but is captured by pirates and set adrift. Just as he is about to despair, a vast flying island appears in the sky, and the inhabitants draw him up with pulleys. 1. The Laputans represent contemporary specu-

lation, deplored by Swift, about abstract theories of science, mathematics, and music. Both the Royal Society and Sir Isaac Newton took an interest in the mathematical basis of music. 2. Touch.

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a flapper (the original is climenole) in their family, as one of their domestics; nor ever walk abroad or make visits without him. And the business of this officer is, when two or more persons are in company, gently to strike with his bladder the mouth of him who is to speak, and the right ear of him or them to whom the speaker addresseth himself. This flapper is likewise employed diligently to attend his master in his walks, and upon occasion to give him a soft flap on his eyes, because he is always so wrapped up in cogitation, that he is in manifest danger of falling down every precipice, and bouncing his head against every post; and in the streets, of jostling others, or being jostled himself into the kennel. 3 It was necessary to give the reader this information, without which he would be at the same loss with me, to understand the proceedings of these people, as they conducted me up the stairs to the top of the island, and from thence to the royal palace. While we were ascending, they forgot several times what they were about, and left me to myself, till their memories were again roused by their flappers; for they appeared altogether unmoved by the sight of my foreign habit and countenance, and by the shouts of the vulgar, whose thoughts and minds were more disengaged. At last we entered the palace, and proceeded into the chamber of presence; where I saw the King seated on his throne, attended on each side by persons of prime quality. Before the throne was a large table filled with globes and spheres, and mathematical instruments of all kinds. His Majesty took not the least notice of us, although our entrance was not without sufficient noise, by the concourse of all persons belonging to the court. But he was then deep in a problem, and we attended at least an hour before he could solve it. There stood by him on each side a young page, with flaps in their hands, and when they saw he was at leisure, one of them gently struck his mouth, and the other his right ear; at which he started like one awaked on the sudden, and looking towards me, and the company I was in, recollected the occasion of our coming, whereof he had been informed before. He spoke some words, whereupon immediately a young man with a flap came up to my side, and flapped me gently on the right ear; but I made signs as well as I could, that I had no occasion for such an instrument; which as I afterwards found gave his Majesty and the whole court a very mean opinion of my understanding. The King, as far as I could conjecture, asked me several questions, and I addressed myself to him in all the languages I had. When it was found that I could neither understand nor be understood, I was conducted by his order to an apartment in his palace (this prince being distinguished above all his predecessors for his hospitality to strangers), 4 where two servants were appointed to attend me. My dinner was brought, and four persons of quality, whom I remembered to have seen very near the King's person, did me the honor to dine with me. We had two courses, of three dishes each. In the first course there was a shoulder of mutton, cut into an equilateral triangle; a piece of beef into a rhomboid; and a pudding into a cycloid. The second course was two ducks, trussed up into the form of fiddles; sausages and pudding resembling flutes and hautboys, 5 and a breast of veal in the shape of a harp. The servants cut our bread into cones, cylinders, parallelograms, and several other mathematical figures. 3. Gutter. 4. G e o r g e I, a patron of music and science, had filled his court with Hanoverians when he c a m e to

England in 1714. 5. Oboes,

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While we were at dinner, I made bold to ask the names of several things in their language, and those noble persons, by the assistance of their flappers, delighted to give me answers, hoping to raise my admiration of their great abilities, if I could be brought to converse with them. I was soon able to call for bread and drink, or whatever else I wanted. After dinner my company withdrew, and a person was sent to me by the King's order, attended by a flapper. He brought with him pen, ink, and paper, and three or four books; giving me to understand by signs, that he was sent to teach me the language. We sat together four hours, in which time I wrote down a great number of words in columns, with the translations over against them. I likewise made a shift to learn several short sentences. For my tutor would order one of my servants to fetch something, to turn about, to make a bow, to sit, or stand, or walk, and the like. Then I took down the sentence in writing. He showed me also in one of his books the figures of the sun, moon, and stars, the zodiac, the tropics and polar circles, together with the denominations of many figures of planes and solids. He gave me the names and descriptions of all the musical instruments, and the general terms of art in playing on each of them. After he had left me, I placed all my words with their interpretations in alphabetical order. And thus in a few days, by the help of a very faithful memory, I got some insight into their language. The word, which I interpret the Flying or Floating Island, is in the original Laputa; whereof I could never learn the true etymology. Lap in the old obsolete language signifieth high, and untuh a governor; from which they say by corruption was derived Laputa, from Lapuntuh. But I do not approve of this derivation, which seems to be a little strained. I ventured to offer to the learned among them a conjecture of my own, that Laputa was quasi Lap outed; Lap signifying properly the dancing of the sunbeams in the sea, and outed a wing, which however I shall not obtrude, but submit to the judicious reader. 6 Those to whom the King had entrusted me, observing how ill I was clad, ordered a tailor to come next morning, and take my measure for a suit of clothes. This operator did his office after a different manner from those of his trade in Europe. He first took my altitude by a quadrant, and then, with rule and compasses, described the dimensions and outlines of my whole body; all which he entered upon paper, and in six days brought my clothes very ill made, and quite out of shape, by happening to mistake a figure in the calculation. But my comfort was, that I observed such accidents very frequent, and little regarded. During my confinement for want of clothes, and by an indisposition that held me some days longer, I much enlarged my dictionary; and when I went next to court, was able to understand many things the King spoke, and to return him some kind of answers. His Majesty had given orders that the island should move northeast and by east, to the vertical point over Lagado, the metropolis of the whole kingdom, below upon the firm earth. It was about ninety leagues distant, and our voyage lasted four days and a half. I was not in the least sensible of the progressive motion made in the air by the island. On the second morning, about eleven o'clock, the King himself in person, attended by his nobility, courtiers, and officers, having prepared all their musical instruments, played on them for three hours without intermission, so that I was quite stunned with the noise; neither could I possibly guess the meaning, 6. Gulliver overlooks a likelier etymology: S p a n i s h la puta, "the whore."

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till my tutor informed me. He said, that the people of their island had their ears adapted to hear the music of the spheres, which always played at certain periods; and the court was now prepared to bear their part in whatever instrument they most excelled. In our journey towards Lagado, the capital city, his Majesty ordered that the island should stop over certain towns and villages, from whence he might receive the petitions of his subjects. And to this purpose, several packthreads were let down with small weights at the bottom. On these packthreads the people strung their petitions, which mounted up directly like the scraps of paper fastened by schoolboys at the end of the string that holds their kite. 7 Sometimes we received wine and victuals from below, which were drawn up by pulleys. The knowledge I had in mathematics gave me great assistance in acquiring their phraseology, which depended much upon that science and music; and in the latter I was not unskilled. Their ideas are perpetually conversant in lines and figures. If they would, for example, praise the beauty of a woman, or any other animal, they describe it by rhombs, circles, parallelograms, ellipses, and other geometrical terms; or else by words of art drawn from music, needless here to repeat. I observed in the King's kitchen all sorts of mathematical and musical instruments, after the figures of which they cut up the joints that were served to his Majesty's table. Their houses are very ill built, the walls bevil, without one right angle in any apartment; and this defect ariseth from the contempt they bear for practical geometry; which they despise as vulgar and mechanic, those instructions they give being too refined for the intellectuals of their workmen; which occasions perpetual mistakes. And although they are dextrous enough upon a piece of paper, in the management of the rule, the pencil, and the divider, yet in the common actions and behavior of life I have not seen a more clumsy, awkward, and unhandy people, nor so slow and perplexed in their conceptions upon all other subjects, except those of mathematics and music. They are very bad reasoners, and vehemently given to opposition, unless when they happen to be of the right opinion, which is seldom their case. Imagination, fancy, and invention, they are wholly strangers to, nor have any words in their language by which those ideas can be expressed; the whole compass of their thoughts and mind being shut up within the two forementioned sciences. Most of them, and especially those who deal in the astronomical part, have great faith in judicial astrology, although they are ashamed to own it publicly. But what I chiefly admired, 8 and thought altogether unaccountable, was the strong disposition I observed in them towards news and politics; perpetually enquiring into public affairs, giving their judgments in matters of state; and passionately disputing every inch of a party opinion. I have indeed observed the same disposition among most of the mathematicians I have known in Europe; although I could never discover the least analogy between the two sciences; unless those people suppose, that because the smallest circle hath as many degrees as the largest, therefore the regulation and management of the world require no more abilities than the handling and turning of a globe. But I rather take this quality to spring from a very common infirmity of human 7. Petitioners, that is, might as well go fly a kite. Throughout this section Swift satirizes the "distance" of G e o r g e I (who spent m u c h of his time in

Hanover) from his British subjects. 8. Wondered at.

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nature, inclining us to be more curious and conceited in matters where we have least concern, and for which we are least adapted either by study or nature. These people are under continual disquietudes, never enjoying a minute's peace of mind; and their disturbances proceed from causes which very little affect the rest of mortals. Their apprehensions arise from several changes they dread in the celestial bodies. For instance; that the earth, by the continual approaches of the sun towards it, must in course of time be absorbed or swallowed up. That the face of the sun will by degrees be encrusted with its own effluvia, 9 and give no more light to the world. That the earth very narrowly escaped a brush from the tail of the last comet, which would have infallibly reduced it to ashes; and that the next, which they have calculated for one and thirty years hence, will probably destroy us. 1 For, if in its perihelion it should approach within a certain degree of the sun (as by their calculations they have reason to dread), it will conceive a degree of heat ten thousand times more intense than that of red-hot glowing iron; and in its absence from the sun, carry a blazing tail ten hundred thousand and fourteen miles long; through which if the earth should pass at the distance of one hundred thousand miles from the nucleus, or main body of the comet, it must in its passage be set on fire, and reduced to ashes. That the sun daily spending its rays without any nutriment to supply them, will at last be wholly consumed and annihilated; which must be attended with the destruction of this earth, and of all the planets that receive their light from it. They are so perpetually alarmed with the apprehensions of these and the like impending dangers, that they can neither sleep quietly in their beds, nor have any relish for the common pleasures or amusements of life. When they meet an acquaintance in the morning, the first question is about the sun's health, how he looked at his setting and rising, and what hopes they have to avoid the stroke of the approaching comet. This conversation they are apt to run into with the same temper that boys discover in delighting to hear terrible stories of sprites and hobgoblins, which they greedily listen to, and dare not go to bed for fear. The women of the island have abundance of vivacity; they contemn their husbands, and are exceedingly fond of strangers, whereof there is always a considerable number from the continent below, attending at court, either upon affairs of the several towns and corporations, or their own particular occasions; but are much despised, because they want 2 the same endowments. Among these the ladies choose their gallants: but the vexation is, that they act with too much ease and security; for the husband is always so rapt in speculation, that the mistress and lover may proceed to the greatest familiarities before his face, if he be but provided with paper and implements, and without his flapper at his side. The wives and daughters lament their confinement to the island, although I think it the most delicious spot of ground in the world; and although they live here in the greatest plenty and magnificence, and are allowed to do whatever they please, they long to see the world, and take the diversions of the metropolis, which they are not allowed to do without a particular license from 9. S u n s p o t s . 1. Halley's comet, s o m e astronomers had feared, might strike the earth on its next a p p e a r a n c e ( 1 7 5 8 ) . All the disasters that disquiet the L a p u t a n s

had occurred to English scientists as possible implications of Newtonian theory. 2. Lack. "Corporations": municipal authorities.

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the King; and this is not easy to be obtained, because the people of quality have found by frequent experience, how hard it is to persuade their women to return from below. I was told that a great court lady, who had several children, is married to the prime minister, the richest subject in the kingdom, a very graceful person, extremely fond of her, and lives in the finest palace of the island, went down to Lagado, on the pretense of health, there hid herself for several months, till the King sent a warrant to search for her, and she was found in an obscure eating-house all in rags, having pawned her clothes to maintain an old deformed footman, who beat her every day, and in whose company she was taken much against her will. And although her husband received her with all possible kindness, and without the least reproach, she soon after contrived to steal down again with all her jewels, to the same gallant, and hath not been heard of since. This may perhaps pass with the reader rather for an European or English story, than for one of a country so remote. But he may please to consider, that the caprices of womankind are not limited by any climate or nation; and that they are much more uniform than can be easily imagined. In about a month's time I had made a tolerable proficiency in their language, and was able to answer most of the King's questions, when I had the honor to attend him. His Majesty discovered not the least curiosity to enquire into the laws, government, history, religion, or manners of the countries where I had been; but confined his questions to the state of mathematics, and received the account I gave him with great contempt and indifference, though often roused by his flapper on each side. 3 * * * [THE ACADEMY OF LAGADO]4

FROM

CHAPTER

The first professor I saw was in a very large room, with forty pupils about him. After salutation, observing me to look earnestly upon a frame, which took up the greatest part of both the length and breadth of the room, he said, perhaps I might wonder to see him employed in a project for improving speculative knowledge by practical and mechanical operations. But the world would soon be sensible 5 of its usefulness, and he flattered himself that a more noble, exalted thought never sprang in any other man's head. Everyone knew how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences; whereas by his contrivance the most ignorant person at a reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labor, may wTite books in philosophy, poetry, politics, law, mathematics, and theology, without the least assistance from genius or study. He then led me to the frame, about the sides whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty foot square, placed in the middle of the room. The superficies 6 was composed of several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some 3. In the omitted chapters, Gulliver visits countries that show the consequences of modern learning. After an account of the Flying Island, whose power of motion (derived from a giant magnet or lodestone) allows it to dominate the regions belowr, he descends to Balnibarbi, a once fertile land nowruined by the fanciful projects of impractical scientists. In the Grand Academy of Lagado he meets many professors who are contriving such perverse "improvements" as making clothes from cobwebs

or breeding naked sheep. Then he visits the part of the academy devoted to speculative learning. 4. T h e Grand Academy of Lagado satirizes the Royal Society of London, an organization founded in 1662 to encourage the pursuit of scientific knowledge. S o m e of the projects described by Swift resemble the experiments or speculations of British scientists at the time. 5. Aware. 6. Surface.

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GULLIVER'S TRAVELS,

PART

CHAPTER

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larger than others. They were all linked together by slender wires. These bits of wood were covered on every square with papers pasted on them; and on these papers were written all the words of their language in their several moods, tenses, and declensions, but without any order. The professor then desired me to observe, for he was going to set his engine at work. The pupils at his command took each of them hold of an iron handle, whereof there were forty fixed round the edges of the frame; and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposition 7 of the words was entirely changed. He then commanded six and thirty of the lads to read the several lines softly as they appeared upon the frame; and where they found three or four words together that might make part of a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining boys who were scribes. This work was repeated three or four times, and at every turn the engine was so contrived that the words shifted into new places, as the square bits of wood moved upside down. Six hours a day the young students were employed in this labor; and the professor showed me several volumes in large folio already collected, of broken sentences, which he intended to piece together, and out of those rich materials to give the world a complete body of all arts and sciences; which however might be still improved, and much expedited, if the public would raise a fund for making and employing five hundred such frames in Lagado, and oblige the managers to contribute in common their several 8 collections. He assured me, that this invention had employed all his thoughts from his 7. Arrangement.

8. Separate.

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youth, that he had emptied the whole vocabulary into his frame, and made the strictest computation of the general proportion there is in books between the numbers of particles, nouns, and verbs, and other parts of speech. I made my humblest acknowledgments to this illustrious person for his great communicativeness, and promised if ever I had the good fortune to return to my native country, that I would do him justice, as the sole inventor of this wonderful machine; the form and contrivance of which I desired leave to delineate upon paper as in the figure here annexed. I told him, although it were the custom of our learned in Europe to steal inventions from each other, who had thereby at least this advantage, that it became a controversy which was the right owner, yet I would take such caution, that he should have the honor entire without a rival. We next went to the school of languages, where three professors sat in consultation upon improving that of their own country. 9 The first project was to shorten discourse by cutting polysyllables into one, and leaving out verbs and participles, because in reality all things imaginable are but nouns. The other was a scheme for entirely abolishing all words whatsoever; and this was urged as a great advantage in point of health as well as brevity. For it is plain, that every word we speak is in some degree a diminution of our lungs by corrosion, and consequently contributes to the shortening of our lives. An expedient was therefore offered, that since words are only names for things, it would be more convenient for all men to carry about them such things as were necessary to express the particular business they are to discourse on. And this invention would certainly have taken place, to the great ease as well as health of the subject, if the women in conjunction with the vulgar and illiterate had not threatened to raise a rebellion, unless they might be allowed the liberty to speak with their tongues, after the manner of their forefathers. Such constant irreconcilable enemies to science 1 are the common people. However, many of the most learned and wise adhere to the new scheme of expressing themselves by things, which hath only this inconvenience attending it, that if a man's business be very great, and of various kinds, he must be obliged in proportion to carry a greater bundle of things upon his back, unless he can afford one or two strong servants to attend him. I have often beheld two of those sages almost sinking under the weight of their packs, like pedlars among us, who when they met in the streets would lay down their loads, open their sacks, and hold conversation for an hour together, then put up their implements, help each other to resume their burdens, and take their leave. But for short conversations a man may carry implements in his pockets and under his arms, enough to supply him, and in his house he cannot be at a loss; therefore the room where company meet who practice this art is full of all things ready at hand, requisite to furnish matter for this kind of artificial converse. 2 Another great advantage proposed by this invention was that it would serve as an universal language to be understood in all civilized nations, whose goods and utensils are generally of the same kind, or nearly resembling, so that their uses might easily be comprehended. And thus, ambassadors would be qualified 9. Many contemporary scientists had proposed a philosophical language that would eliminate the treacherous disparity between words and things and thus allow accurate scientific discourse.

1. Knowledge. 2. T h e Royal Society had sponsored a collection intended to contain one specimen of every thing in the world.

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GULLIVER'S TRAVELS,

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CHAPTER

24 13

to treat with foreign princes or ministers of state to whose tongues they were utter strangers. I was at the mathematical school, where the master taught his pupils after a method scarce imaginable to us in Europe. The proposition and demonstration were fairly written on a thin wafer, with ink composed of a cephalic tincture. 3 This the student was to swallow upon a fasting stomach, and for three days following eat nothing but bread and water. As the wafer digested, the tincture mounted to his brain, bearing the proposition along with it. But the success hath not hitherto been answerable, partly by some error in the quantum or composition, and partly by the perverseness of lads, to whom this bolus 4 is so nauseous that they generally steal aside, and discharge it upwards before it can operate; neither have they been yet persuaded to use so long an abstinence as the prescription requires. 5 »*

[THE

STRULDBRUGGS]

C H A P T E R 1 0 . The Luggnaggians commended. A -particular description of the striddhruggs, with many conversations between the author and some eminent persons upon that subject.

The Luggnaggians are a polite 6 and generous people, and although they are not without some share of that pride which is peculiar to all eastern countries, yet they show themselves courteous to strangers, especially such who are countenanced by the court. I had many acquaintance among persons of the best fashion, and being always attended by my interpreter, the conversation we had was not disagreeable. One day in much good company, 1 was asked by a person of quality, whether I had seen any of their struldbruggs or immortals. I said I had not; and desired he would explain to me what he meant by such an appellation, applied to a mortal creature. He told me, that sometimes, although very rarely, a child happened to be born in a family with a red circular spot in the forehead, directly over the left eyebrow, which was an infallible mark that it should never die. The spot, as he described it, was about the compass of a silver threepence, but in the course of time grew larger, and changed its color; for at twelve years old it became green, so continued till five and twenty, then turned to a deep blue; at five and forty it grew coal black, and as large as an English shilling; but never admitted any farther alteration. He said these births were so rare, that he did not believe there could be above eleven hundred struldbruggs of both sexes in the whole kingdom, of which he computed about fifty in the metropolis, and among the rest a young girl born about three years ago. That these productions were not peculiar to any family, but a mere effect of chance; and the children of the striddbruggs themselves were equally mortal with the rest of the people. I freely own myself to have been struck with inexpressible delight upon hearing this account: and the person who gave it me happening to understand the Balnibarbian language, which I spoke very well, I could not forbear break3. A solution or dye directed toward the head. 4. A large pill. "Quantum": amount. 5. In the omitted chapters Gulliver hears projects for improving politics and offers some of his own. He sails to Glubbdubdrib, the Island of Sorcerers,

where he talks with the spirits of the dead; he learns that history is a pack of lies and that humanity has degenerated since ancient times. He is then received by the king of Luggnagg. 6. Refined, cultivated.

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ing out into expressions perhaps a little too extravagant. I cried out as in a rapture: Happy nation, where every child hath at least a chance for being immortal! Happy people who enjoy so many living examples of ancient virtue, and have masters ready to instruct them in the wisdom of all former ages! But happiest beyond all comparison are those excellent struldbruggs, who being born exempt from that universal calamity of human nature, have their minds free and disengaged, without the weight and depression of spirits caused by the -continual apprehension of death. I discovered my admiration that I had not observed any of these illustrious persons at court; the black spot on the forehead being so remarkable a distinction, that I could not have easily overlooked it; and it was impossible that his Majesty, a most judicious prince, should not provide himself with a good number of such wise and able counselors. Yet perhaps the virtue of those reverend sages was too strict for the corrupt and libertine manners of a court. And we often find by experience that young men are too opinionative 7 and volatile to be guided by the sober dictates of their seniors. However, since the King was pleased to allow me access to his royal person, I was resolved upon the very first occasion to deliver my opinion to him on this matter freely, and at large by the help of my interpreter; and whether he would please to take my advice or no, yet in one thing I was determined, that his Majesty having frequently offered me an establishment in this country, I would with great thankfulness accept the favor, and pass my life here in the conversation of those superior beings the struldbruggs, if they would please to admit me. The gentleman to whom I addressed my discourse, because (as I have already observed) he spoke the language of Balnibarbi, said to me with a sort of a smile, which usually ariseth from pity to the ignorant, that he was glad of any occasion to keep me among them, and desired my permission to explain to the company what I had spoke. He did so; and they talked together for some time in their own language, whereof I understood not a syllable, neither could I observe by their countenances what impression my discourse had made on them. After a short silence the same person told me, that his friends and mine (so he thought fit to express himself) were very much pleased with the judicious remarks I had made on the great happiness and advantages of immortal life; and they were desirous to know in a particular manner, what scheme of living I should have formed to myself, if it had fallen to my lot to have been born a struldbrugg. I answered, it was easy to be eloquent on so copious and delightful a subject, especially to me who have been often apt to amuse myself with visions of what I should do if I were a long, a general, or a great lord; and upon this very case I had frequently run over the whole system how I should employ myself, and pass the time if I were sure to live forever. That, if it had been my good fortune to come into the world a struldbrugg, as soon as I could discover my own happiness by understanding the difference between life and death, I would first resolve by all arts and methods whatsoever to procure myself riches: in the pursuit of which, by thrift and management, I might reasonably expect in about two hundred years to be the wealthiest man in the kingdom. In the second place, I would from my earliest youth apply myself to the study of arts and sciences, by which I should arrive in time to excel all others in learning. Lastly, I would carefully record every action and 7. Speculative, impractical.

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event of consequence that happened in the public, impartially draw the characters of the several successions of princes, and great ministers of state; with my own observations on every point. I would exactly set down the several changes in customs, languages, fashions of dress, diet and diversions. By all which acquirements, I should be a living treasury of knowledge and wisdom, and certainly become the oracle of the nation. I would never marry after threescore, but live in an hospitable manner, yet still on the saving side. I would entertain myself in forming and directing the minds of hopeful young men, by convincing them from my own remembrance, experience and observation, fortified by numerous examples, of the usefulness of virtue in public and private life. But my choice and constant companions should be a set of my own immortal brotherhood, among whom I would elect a dozen from the most ancient down to my own contemporaries. Where any of these wanted fortunes, I would provide them with convenient lodges round my own estate, and have some of them always at my table, only mingling a few of the most valuable among you mortals, whom length of time would harden me to lose with little or no reluctance, and treat your posterity after the same manner; just as a man diverts himself with the annual succession of pinks and tulips in his garden, without regretting the loss of those which withered the preceding year. These struldbruggs and 1 would mutually communicate our observations and memorials 8 through the course of time; remark the several gradations by which corruption steals into the world, and oppose it in every step, by giving perpetual warning and instruction to mankind; which, added to the strong influence of our own example, would probably prevent that continual degeneracy of human nature, so justly complained of in all ages. Add to all this, the pleasure of seeing the various revolutions of states and empires; the changes in the lower and upper world; 9 ancient cities in ruins; and obscure villages become the seats of kings. Famous rivers lessening into shallow brooks; the ocean leaving one coast dry, and overwhelming another; the discovery of many countries yet unknown. Barbarity overrunning the politest nations, and the most barbarous becoming civilized. I should then see the discovery of the longitude, the perpetual motion, the universal medicine, 1 and many other great inventions brought to the utmost perfection. What wonderful discoveries should we make in astronomy, by outliving and confirming our own predictions, by observing the progress and returns of comets, with the changes of motion in the sun, moon and stars. I enlarged upon many other topics, which the natural desire of endless life and sublunary happiness could easily furnish me with. When I had ended, and the sum of my discourse had been interpreted as before to the rest of the company, there was a good deal of talk among them in the language of the country, not without some laughter at my expense. At last the same gentleman who had been my interpreter said, he was desired by the rest to set me right in a few mistakes, which I had fallen into through the common imbecility 2 of human nature, and upon that allowance was less answerable for them. That this breed of striddbruggs was peculiar to their country, for there were no such people either in Balnibarbi or Japan, where he had the honor to be ambassador 8. Memories. 9. Earth and heaven; figuratively, c o m m o n people and the ruling class. "Revolutions": cycles. 1. T h e elixir vitae, an alchemical formula to pre-

serve life forever, was considered by Swift an impossible dream, like a method for calculating longitude at sea, or a perpetual motion machine. 2. W e a k n e s s .

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from his Majesty, and found the natives in both those kingdoms very hard to believe that the fact was possible; and it appeared from my astonishment when he first mentioned the matter to me, that I received it as a thing wholly new, and scarcely to be credited. That in the two kingdoms above mentioned, where during his residence he had conversed very much, he observed long life to be the universal desire and wish of mankind. That whoever had one foot in the grave was sure to hold back the other as strongly as he could. That the oldest had still hopes of living one day longer, and looked on death as the greatest evil, from which nature always prompted him to retreat; only in this island of Luggnagg the appetite for living was not so eager, from the continual example of the struldbruggs before their eyes. That the system of living contrived by me was unreasonable and unjust, because it supposed a perpetuity of youth, health, and vigor, which no man could be so foolish to hope, however extravagant he might be in his wishes. That the question therefore was not whether a man would choose to be always in the prime of youth, attended with prosperity and health; but how he would pass a perpetual life under all the usual disadvantages which old age brings along with it. For although few men will avow their desires of being immortal upon such hard conditions, yet in the two kingdoms before mentioned of Balnibarbi and Japan, he observed that every man desired to put off death for some time longer, let it approach ever so late; and he rarely heard of any man who died willingly, except he were incited by the extremity of grief or torture. And he appealed to me whether in those countries I had traveled, as well as my own, I had not observed the same general disposition. After this preface he gave me a particular account of the struldbruggs among them. He said they commonly acted like mortals, till about thirty years old, after which by degrees they grew melancholy and dejected, increasing in both till they came to fourscore. This he learned from their own confession; for otherwise there not being above two or three of that species born in an age, they were too few to form a general observation by. When they came to fourscore years, which is reckoned the extremity of living in this country, they had not only all the follies and infirmities of other old men, but many more which arose from the dreadful prospect of never dying. They were not only opinionative, peevish, covetous, morose, vain, talkative; but uncapable of friendship, and dead to all natural affection, which never descended below their grandchildren. Envy and impotent desires are their prevailing passions. But those objects against which their envy seems principally directed, are the vices of the younger sort, and the deaths of the old. By reflecting on the former, they find themselves cut off from all possibility of pleasure; and whenever they see a funeral, they lament and repine that others are gone to an harbor of rest, to which they themselves never can hope to arrive. They have no remembrance of anything but what they learned and observed in their youth and middle age, and even that is very imperfect. And for the truth or particulars of any fact, it is safer to depend on common traditions than upon their best recollections. The least miserable among them appear to be those who turn to dotage, and entirely lose their memories; these meet with more pity and assistance, because they want many bad qualities which abound in others. If a striddbrugg happen to marry one of his own kind, the marriage is dissolved of course by the courtesy of the kingdom, as soon as the younger of the two comes to be fourscore. For the law thinks it a reasonable indulgence, that

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those who are condemned without any fault of their own to a perpetual continuance in the world, should not have their misery doubled by the load of a wife. As soon as they have completed the term of eighty years, they are looked on as dead in law; their heirs immediately succeed to their estates, only a small pittance is reserved for their support; and the poor ones are maintained at the public charge. After that period they are held incapable of any employment of trust or profit; they cannot purchase land, or take leases, neither are they allowed to be witnesses in any cause, either civil or criminal, not even for the decision of meers 3 and bounds. At ninety they lose their teeth and hair; they have at that age no distinction of taste, but eat and drink whatever they can get, without relish or appetite. The diseases they were subject to still continue without increasing or diminishing. In talking they forget the common appellation of things, and the names of persons, even of those who are their nearest friends and relations. For the same reason they never can amuse themselves with reading, because their memory will not serve to carry them from the beginning of a sentence to the end, and by this defect they are deprived of the only entertainment whereof they might otherwise be capable. The language of this country being always upon the flux, the struldbruggs of one age do not understand those of another; neither are they able after two hundred years to hold any conversation (farther than by a few general words) with their neighbors the mortals; and thus they lie under the disadvantage of living like foreigners in their own country. This was the account given me of the striddbruggs, as near as I can remember. I afterwards saw five or six of different ages, the youngest not above two hundred years old, who were brought to me at several times by some of my friends; but although they were told that I was a great traveler, and had seen all the world, they had not the least curiosity to ask me a question; only desired I would give them slumskudask, or a token of remembrance; which is a modest way of begging, to avoid the law that strictly forbids it, because they are provided for by the public, although indeed with a very scanty allowance. They are despised and hated by all sorts of people; when one of them is born, it is reckoned ominous, and their birth is recorded very particularly; so that you may know their age by consulting the registry, which however hath not been kept above a thousand years past, or at least hath been destroyed by time or public disturbances. But the usual way of computing how old they are, is by asking them what kings or great persons they can remember, and then consulting history; for infallibly the last prince in their mind did not begin his reign after they were fourscore years old. They were the most mortifying sight I ever beheld; and the women more horrible than the men. Besides the usual deformities in extreme old age, they acquired an additional ghastliness in proportion to their number of years, which is not to be described; and among half a dozen I soon distinguished which was the oldest, although there were not above a century or two between them. The reader will easily believe, that from what I had heard and seen, my keen appetite for perpetuity of life was much abated. I grew heartily ashamed of the 3. Boundaries.

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pleasing visions I had formed; and thought no tyrant could invent a death into which I would not run with pleasure from such a life. The King heard of all that had passed between me and my friends upon this occasion, and rallied 4 me very pleasantly; wishing I would send a couple of struldbruggs to my own country, to arm our people against the fear of death; but this it seems is forbidden by the fundamental laws of the kingdom; or else I should have been well content with the trouble and expense of transporting them. I could not but agree, that the laws of this kingdom relating to the striddbruggs, were founded upon the strongest reasons, and such as any other country would be under the necessity of enacting in the like circumstances. Otherwise, as avarice is the necessary consequent of old age, those immortals would in time become proprietors of the whole nation, and engross 5 the civil power; which, for want of abilities to manage, must end in the ruin of the public. 6 *

Part 4. A Voyage to the Country of the Houyhnhnms 7 The Author sets out as Captain of a ship. His men conspire against him, confine him a long time to his cabin, set him on shore in an unknown land. He travels up into the country. The Yahoos, a strange sort of animal, described. The Author meets two Houyhnhnms. C H A P T E R 1.

I continued at home with my wife and children about five months in a very happy condition, if I could have learned the lesson of knowing when I was well. I left my poor wife big with child, and accepted an advantageous offer made me to be Captain of the Adventure, a stout merchantman of 3 5 0 tons; for I understood navigation well, and being grown weary of a surgeon's employment at sea, which however I could exercise upon occasion, I took a skillful young man of that calling, one Robert Purefoy, into my ship. We set sail from Portsmouth upon the 7th day of September, 1710; on the 14th we met with Captain Pocock of Bristol, at Tenariff, who was going to the Bay of Campeachy 8 to cut logwood. On the 16th he was parted from us by a storm; I heard since my return that his ship foundered and none escaped, but one cabin boy. He was an honest man and a good sailor, but a little too positive in his own opinions, which was the cause of his destruction, as it hath been of several others. For if he had followed my advice, he might at this time have been safe at home with his family as well as myself. I had several men died in my ship of calentures, 9 so that I was forced to get recruits out of Barbadoes and the Leeward Islands, where I touched by the direction of the merchants who employed me; which I had soon too much cause to repent, for I found afterwards that most of them had been buccaneers. I had fifty hands on board; and my orders were that I should trade with the Indians in the South Sea, and make what discoveries I could. These rogues 4. Ridiculed. 5. Absorb, monopolize. 6. In the omitted chapter, Gulliver sails to Japan, where a Dutch ship provides him passage back to Europe. 7. Pronounced hwin-ims. The word suggests the neigh characteristic of a horse.

8. Campeche, in the Gulf of Mexico. Teneriffe is one of the Canary Islands. 9. "A distemper peculiar to sailors, in hot climates; wherein they imagine the sea to be green fields, and will throw themselves into it, if not restrained'" (Johnson's Dictionary).

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whom I had picked up debauched my other men, and they all formed a conspiracy to seize the ship and secure me; which they did one morning, rushing into my cabin, and binding me hand and foot, threatening to throw me overboard, if I offered to stir. I told them I was their prisoner, and would submit. This they made me swear to do, and then unbound me, only fastening one of my legs with a chain near my bed, and placed a sentry at my door with his piece charged, who was commanded to shoot me dead if I attempted my liberty. They sent me down victuals and drink, and took the government of the ship to themselves. Their design was to turn pirates and plunder the Spaniards, which they could not do, till they got more men. But first they resolved to sell the goods in the ship, and then go to Madagascar for recruits, several among them having died since my confinement. They sailed many weeks, and traded with the Indians; but I knew not what course they took, being kept close prisoner in my cabin, and expecting nothing less than to be murdered, as they often threatened me. Upon the 9th day of May, 1711, one J a m e s Welch came down to my cabin; and said he had orders from the Captain to set me ashore. I expostulated with him, but in vain; neither would he so much as tell me who their new Captain was. They forced me into the longboat, letting me put on my best suit of clothes, which were as good as new, and a small bundle of linen, but no arms except my hanger; and they were so civil as not to search my pockets, into which I conveyed what money I had, with some other little necessaries. They rowed about a league, and then set me down on a strand. I desired them to tell me what country it was; they all swore, they knew no more than myself, but said that the Captain (as they called him) was resolved, after they had sold the lading, to get rid of me in the first place where they discovered land. They pushed off immediately, advising me to make haste, for fear of being overtaken by the tide, and bade me farewell. In this desolate condition I advanced forward, and soon got upon firm ground, where I sat down on a bank to rest myself, and consider what I had best to do. When I was a little refreshed, I went up into the country, resolving to deliver myself to the first savages I should meet, and purchase my life from them by some bracelets, glass rings, and other toys, which sailors usually provide themselves with in those voyages, and whereof I had some about me. The land was divided by long rows of trees, not regularly planted, but naturally growing; there was great plenty of grass, and several fields of oats. I walked very circumspectly for fear of being surprised, or suddenly shot with an arrow from behind, or on either side. I fell into a beaten road, where I saw many tracks of human feet, and some of cows, but most of horses. At last I beheld several animals in a field, and one or two of the same kind sitting in trees. Their shape was very singular, and deformed, which a little discomposed me, so that I lay down behind a thicket to observe them better. Some of them coming forward near the place where I lay, gave me an opportunity of distinctly marking their form. Their heads and breasts were covered with a thick hair, some frizzled and others lank; they had beards like goats, and a long ridge of hair down their backs, and the fore parts of their legs and feet; but the rest of their bodies were bare, so that I might see their skins, which were of a brown buff color. They had no tails, nor any hair at all on their buttocks, except about the anus; which, I presume Nature had placed there to defend them as they sat on the ground; for this posture they used, as well as lying down, and often stood on their hind feet. They climbed high trees, as nimbly as a squirrel, for

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they had strong extended claws before and behind, terminating in sharp points, and hooked. They would often spring, and bound, and leap with prodigious agility. The females were not so large as the males; they had long lank hair on their heads, and only a sort of down on the rest of their bodies, except about the anus, and pudenda. Their dugs hung between their forefeet, and often reached almost to the ground as they walked. The hair of both sexes was of several colors, brown, red, black, and yellow. Upon the whole, I never beheld in all my travels so disagreeable an animal, or one against which I naturally conceived so strong an antipathy. So that thinking I had seen enough, full of contempt and aversion, I got up and pursued the beaten road, hoping it might direct me to the cabin of some Indian. I had not gone far when I met one of these creatures full in my way, and coming up directly to me. The ugly monster, when he saw me, distorted several ways every feature of his visage, and stared as at an object he had never seen before; then approaching nearer, lifted up his forepaw, whether out of curiosity or mischief, I could not tell; but I drew my hanger, and gave him a good blow with the flat side of it; for I durst not strike him with the edge, fearing the inhabitants might be provoked against me, if they should come to know that I had killed or maimed any of their cattle. When the beast felt the smart, he drew back, and roared so loud, that a herd of at least forty came flocking about me from the near field, howling and making odious faces; but I ran to the body of a tree, and leaning my back against it, kept them off, by waving my hanger. Several of this cursed brood getting hold of the branches behind, leaped up into the tree, from whence they began to discharge their excrements on my head; however, I escaped pretty well, by sticking close to the stem of the tree, but was almost stifled with the filth, which fell about me on every side. In the midst of this distress, I observed them all to run away on a sudden as fast as they could; at which I ventured to leave the tree, and pursue the road, wondering what it was that could put them into this fright. But looking on my left hand, I saw a horse walking softly in the field; which my persecutors having sooner discovered, was the cause of their flight. The horse started a little when he came near me, but soon recovering himself, looked full in my face with manifest tokens of wonder; he viewed my hands and feet, walking round me several times. I would have pursued my journey, but he placed himself directly in the way, yet looking with a very mild aspect, never offering the least violence. We stood gazing at each other for some time; at last I took the boldness, to reach my hand towards his neck, with a design to stroke it; using the common style and whistle of jockies when they are going to handle a strange horse. But this animal, seeming to receive my civilities with disdain, shook his head, and bent his brows, softly raising up his left forefoot to remove my hand. Then he neighed three or four times, but in so different a cadence, that I almost began to think he was speaking to himself in some language of his own. While he and I were thus employed, another horse came up; who applying himself to the first in a very formal manner, they gently struck each other's right hoof before, neighing several times by turns, and varying the sound, which seemed to be almost articulate. They went some paces off, as if it were to confer together, walking side by side, backward and forward, like persons deliberating upon some affair of weight; but often turning their eyes towards me, as it were to watch that I might not escape. I was amazed to see such actions and behavior in brute beasts; and concluded with myself that if the

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inhabitants of this country were endued with a proportionable degree of reason, they must needs be the wisest people upon earth. This thought gave me so much comfort, that I resolved to go forward until I could discover some house or village, or meet with any of the natives, leaving the two horses to discourse together as they pleased. But the first, who was a dapple grey, observing me to steal off, neighed after me in so expressive a tone that I fancied myself to understand what he meant; whereupon I turned back, and came near him, to expect his farther commands; but concealing my fear as much as I could; for I began to be in some pain, how this adventure might terminate; and the reader will easily believe I did not much like my present situation. The two horses came up close to me, looking with great earnestness upon my face and hands. The grey steed rubbed my hat all round with his right fore hoof, and discomposed it so much that I was forced to adjust it better, by taking it off, and settling it again; whereat both he and his companion (who was a brown bay) appeared to be much surprised; the latter felt the lappet of my coat, and finding it to hang loose about me, they both looked with new signs of wonder. He stroked my right hand, seeming to admire the softness, and color; but he squeezed it so hard between his hoof and his pastern, that I was forced to roar; after which they both touched me with all possible tenderness. They were under great perplexity about my shoes and stocldngs, which they felt very often, neighing to each other, and using various gestures, not unlike those of a philosopher, when he would attempt to solve some new and difficult phenomenon. Upon the whole, the behavior of these animals was so orderly and rational, so acute and judicious, that I at last concluded, they must needs be magicians, who had thus metamorphosed themselves upon some design; and seeing a stranger in the way, were resolved to divert themselves with him; or perhaps were really amazed at the sight of a man so very different in habit, feature, and complexion from those who might probably live in so remote a climate. Upon the strength of this reasoning, I ventured to address them in the following manner: "Gentlemen, if you be conjurers, as I have good cause to believe, you can understand any language; therefore I make bold to let your worships know that I am a poor distressed Englishman, driven by his misfortunes upon your coast; and I entreat one of you, to let me ride upon his back, as if he were a real horse, to some house or village, where I can be relieved. In return of which favor, I will make you a present of this knife and bracelet" (taking them out of my pocket). The two creatures stood silent while I spoke, seeming to listen with great attention; and when I had ended, they neighed frequently towards each other, as if they were engaged in serious conversation. I plainly observed, that their language expressed the passions very well, and the words might with little pains be resolved into an alphabet more easily than the Chinese. I could frequently distinguish the word Yahoo,1 which was repeated by each of them several times; and although it were impossible for me to conjecture what it meant, yet while the two horses were busy in conversation, I endeavored to practice this word upon my tongue; and as soon as they were silent, I boldly pronounced "Yahoo" in a loud voice, imitating, at the same time, as near as I could, the neighing of a horse; at which they were both visibly sur1. Perhaps compounded from two expressions of disgust, yah and ugh (or hoo), c o m m o n in the 18th century.

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prised, and the grey repeated the same word twice, as if he meant to teach me the right accent, wherein I spoke after him as well as I could, and found myself perceivably to improve every time, although very far from any degree of perfection. Then the bay tried me with a second word, much harder to be pronounced; but reducing it to the English orthography, may be spelt thus, Houyhnhnm. 1 did not succeed in this so well as the former, but after two or three farther trials, I had better fortune; and they both appeared amazed at my capacity. After some farther discourse, which I then conjectured might relate to me, the two friends took their leaves, with the same compliment of striking each other's hoof; and the grey made me signs that I should walk before him; wherein I thought it prudent to comply, till I could find a better director. When I offered to slacken my pace, he would cry, "Hhuun, Hhuun"; I guessed his meaning, and gave him to understand, as well as I could that I was weary, and not able to walk faster; upon which, he would stand a while to let me rest. C H A P T E R 2 . The Author conducted by a Houyhnhnm to his house. The house described. The Author's reception. The food of the Houyhnhnms. The Author in distress for want of meat is at last relieved. His manner of feeding in that country.

Having traveled about three miles, we came to a long kind of building, made of timber, stuck in the ground, and wattled across; the roof was low, and covered with straw. I now began to be a little comforted, and took out some toys, which travelers usually carry for presents to the savage Indians of America and other parts, in hopes the people of the house would be thereby encouraged to receive me kindly. The horse made me a sign to go in first; it was a large room with a smooth clay floor, and a rack and manger extending the whole length on one side. There were three nags, and two mares, not eating, but some of them sitting down upon their hams, which I very much wondered at; but wondered more to see the rest employed in domestic business. The last seemed but ordinary cattle; however this confirmed my first opinion, that a people who could so far civilize brute animals must needs excel in wisdom all the nations of the world. The grey came in just after, and thereby prevented any ill treatment, which the others might have given me. He neighed to them several times in a style of authority, and received answers. Beyond this room there were three others, reaching the length of the house, to which you passed through three doors, opposite to each other, in the manner of a vista; we went through the second room towards the third; here the grey walked in first, beckoning me to attend. 2 I waited in the second room, and got ready my presents, for the master and mistress of the house; they were two knives, three bracelets of false pearl, a small looking glass and a bead necklace. The horse neighed three or four times, and I waited to hear some answers in a human voice, but I heard no other returns than in the same dialect, only one or two a little shriller than his. I began to think that this house must belong to some person of great note among them, because there appeared so much ceremony before I could gain admittance. But, that a man of quality should be served all by horses, was beyond my comprehension. I feared my brain was disturbed by my sufferings and misfortunes; I roused myself, and looked about me in the room where I was left alone; this was 2. To wait. "Vista": a long, open corridor.

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furnished as the first, only after a more elegant manner. I rubbed my eyes often, but the same objects still occurred. I pinched my arms and sides, to awaken myself, hoping 1 might be in a dream. I then absolutely concluded that all these appearances could be nothing else but necromancy and magic. But I had no time to pursue these reflections; for the grey horse came to the door, and made me a sign to follow him into the third room; where I saw a very comely mare, together with a colt and foal, sitting on their haunches, upon mats of straw, not unartfully made, and perfectly neat and clean. The mare soon after my entrance, rose from her mat, and coming up close, after having nicely observed my hands and face, gave me a most contemptuous look; then turning to the horse, I heard the word Yahoo often repeated betwixt them; the meaning of which word I could not then comprehend, although it were the first I had learned to pronounce; but I was soon better informed, to my everlasting mortification: for the horse beckoning to me with his head, and repeating the word, "Hhuun, Hhuun," as he did upon the road, which I understood was to attend him, led me out into a kind of court, where was another building at some distance from the house. Here we entered, and I saw three of those detestable creatures, which I first met after my landing, feeding upon roots, and the flesh of some animals, which I afterwards found to be that of asses and dogs, and now and then a cow dead by accident or disease. They were all tied by the neck with strong withes, 3 fastened to a beam; they held their food between the claws of their forefeet, and tore it with their teeth. The master horse ordered a sorrel nag, one of his servants, to untie the largest of these animals, and take him into a yard. The beast and I were brought close together; and our countenances diligently compared, both by master and servant, who thereupon repeated several times the word "Yahoo." My horror and astonishment are not to be described, when I observed, in this abominable animal, a perfect human figure; the face of it indeed was flat and broad, the nose depressed, the lips large, and the mouth wide; but these differences are common to all savage nations, where the lineaments of the countenance are distorted by the natives suffering their infants to lie groveling on the earth, or by carrying them on their backs, nuzzling with their face against the mother's shoulders. The forefeet of the Yahoo differed from my hands in nothing else but the length of the nails, the coarseness and brownness of the palms, and the hairiness on the backs. There was the same resemblance between our feet, with the same differences, which I knew very well, although the horses did not, because of my shoes and stockings; the same in every part of our bodies, except as to hairiness and color, which I have already described. The great difficulty that seemed to stick with the two horses was to see the rest of my body so very different from that of a Yahoo, for which I was obliged to my clothes, whereof they had no conception; the sorrel nag offered me a root, which he held (after their manner, as we shall describe in its proper place) between his hoof and pastern; I took it in my hand, and having smelled it, returned it to him again as civilly as I could. He brought out of the Yahoo's kennel a piece of ass's flesh, but it smelled so offensively that I turned from it with loathing; he then threw it to the Yahoo, by whom it was greedily devoured. He afterwards showed me a wisp of hay, and a fetlock full of oats; but I shook my head, to signify that neither of these were food for me. And indeed, I now apprehended that I must absolutely starve, if I did not get to 3. Slender, flexible branches.

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some of my own species; for as to those filthy Yahoos, although there were few greater lovers of mankind, at that time, than myself, yet I confess I never saw any sensitive being so detestable on all accounts; and the more I came near them, the more hateful they grew, while I stayed in that country. This the master horse observed by my behavior, and therefore sent the Yahoo back to his kennel. He then put his forehoof to his mouth, at which I was much surprised, although he did it with ease, and with a motion that appeared perfectly-natural; and made other signs to know what I would eat; but I could not return him such an answer as he was able to apprehend; and if he had understood me, I did not see how it was possible to contrive any way for finding myself nourishment. While we were thus engaged, I observed a cow passing by; whereupon I pointed to her, and expressed a desire to let me go and milk her. This had its effect; for he led me back into the house, and ordered a mareservant to open a room, where a good store of milk lay in earthen and wooden vessels, after a very orderly and cleanly manner. She gave me a large bowl full, of which I drank very heartily, and found myself well refreshed. About noon I saw coming towards the house a kind of vehicle, drawn like a sledge by four Yahoos. There was in it an old steed, who seemed to be of quality; he alighted with his hind feet forward, having by accident got a hurt in his left forefoot. He came to dine with our horse, who received him with great civility. They dined in the best room, and had oats boiled in milk for the second course, which the old horse eat warm, but the rest cold. Their mangers were placed circular in the middle of the room, and divided into several partitions, round which they sat on their haunches upon bosses 4 of straw. In the middle was a large rack with angles answering to every partition of the manger. So that each horse and mare eat their own hay, and their own mash of oats and milk, with much decency and regularity. The behavior of the young colt and foal appeared very modest; and that of the master and mistress extremely cheerful and complaisant to their guest. The grey ordered me to stand by him; and much discourse passed between him and his friend concerning me, as I found by the stranger's often looking on me, and the frequent repetition of the word Yahoo. I happened to wear my gloves; which the master grey observing, seemed perplexed; discovering signs of wonder what I had done to my forefeet; he put his hoof three or four times to them, as if he would signify, that I should reduce them to their former shape, which I presently did, pulling off both my gloves, and putting them into my pocket. This occasioned farther talk, and I saw the company was pleased with my behavior, whereof I soon found the good effects. I was ordered to speak the few words I understood; and while they were at dinner, the master taught me the names for oats, milk, fire, water, and some others which I could readily pronounce after him, having from my youth a great facility in learning languages. When dinner was done, the master horse took me aside, and by signs and words made me understand the concern he was in that I had nothing to eat. Oats in their tongue are called hlunnh. This word I pronounced two or three times; for although I had refused them at first, yet upon second thoughts, I considered that I could contrive to make a kind of bread, which might be sufficient with milk to keep me alive, till I could make my escape to some other country, and to creatures of my own species. The horse immediately ordered 4. Seats of bundled grasses.

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a white mare-servant of his family to bring me a good quantity of oats in a sort of wooden tray. These I heated before the lire as well as I could, and rubbed them till the husks came off, which I made a shift to winnow from the grain; I ground and beat them between two stones, then took water, and made them into a paste or cake, which I toasted at the fire, and eat warm with milk. It was at first a very insipid diet, although common enough in many parts of Europe, but grew tolerable by time; and having been often reduced to hard fare in my life, this was not the first experiment I had made how easily nature is satisfied. And I cannot but observe that I never had one hour's sickness, while I staid in this island. It is true, I sometimes made a shift to catch a rabbit, or bird, by springes 5 made of Yahoos' hairs; and I often gathered wholesome herbs, which I boiled, or eat as salads with my bread; and now and then, for a rarity, I made a little butter, and drank the whey. I was at first at a great loss for salt; but custom soon reconciled the want of it; and I am confident that the frequent use of salt among us is an effect of luxury, and was first introduced only as a provocative to drink; except where it is necessary for preserving of flesh in long voyages, or in places remote from great markets. For we observe no animal to be fond of it but man; 6 and as to myself, when I left this country, it was a great while before I could endure the taste of it in anything that I eat. This is enough to say upon the subject of my diet, wherewith other travelers fill their books, as if the readers were personally concerned whether we fare well or ill. However, it was necessary to mention this matter, lest the world should think it impossible that I could find sustenance for three years in such a country, and among such inhabitants. When it grew towards evening, the master horse ordered a place for me to lodge in; it was but six yards from the house, and separated from the stable of the Yahoos. Here I got some straw, and covering myself with my own clothes, slept very sound. But I was in a short time better accommodated, as the reader shall know hereafter, when I come to treat more particularly about my way of living. C H A P T E R 3 . The Author studious to learn the language, the Houyhnhnm his master assists in teaching him. The language described. Several Houyhnhnms of quality come out of curiosity to see the Author. He gives his master a short account of his voyage.

My principal endeavor was to learn the language, which my master (for so I shall henceforth call him) and his children, and every servant of his house were desirous to teach me. For they looked upon it as a prodigy, that a brute animal should discover such marks of a rational creature. I pointed to everything, and enquired the name of it, which I wrote down in my journal book when I was alone, and corrected my bad accent, by desiring those of the family to pronounce it often. In this employment, a sorrel nag, one of the under servants, was very ready to assist me. In speaking, they pronounce through the nose and throat, and their language approaches nearest to the High Dutch or German, of any I know in Europe; but is much more graceful and significant. The Emperor Charles V 5. Snares. 6. Gulliver is, of course, in error; many animals require salt.

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made almost the same observation, when he said, that if he were to speak to his horse, it should be in High Dutch. 7 The curiosity and impatience of my master were so great, that he spent many hours of his leisure to instruct me. He was convinced (as he afterwards told me) that I must be a Yahoo, but my teachableness, civility, and cleanliness astonished him; which were qualities altogether so opposite to those animals. He was most perplexed about my clothes, reasoning sometimes with himself whether they were a part of my body; for I never pulled them off till the family were asleep, and got them on before they waked in the morning. My master was eager to learn from whence I came; how I acquired those appearances of reason, which I discovered in all my actions; and to know my story from my own mouth, which he hoped he should soon do by the great proficiency I made in learning and pronouncing their words and sentences. To help my memory, I formed all I learned into the English alphabet, and writ the words down with the translations. This last, after some time, I ventured to do in my master's presence. It cost me much trouble to explain to him what I was doing; for the inhabitants have not the least idea of books or literature. In about ten weeks time I was able to understand most of his questions; and in three months could give him some tolerable answers. He was extremely curious to know from what part of the country I came, and how I was taught to imitate a rational creature; because the Yahoos (whom he saw I exactly resembled in my head, hands, and face, that were only visible) with some appearance of cunning, and the strongest disposition to mischief, were observed to be the most unteachable of all brutes. I answered that I came over the sea, from a far place, with many others of my own kind, in a great hollow vessel made of the bodies of trees; that my companions forced me to land on this coast, and then left me to shift for myself. It was with some difficulty, and by the help of many signs, that I brought him to understand me. He replied that I must needs be mistaken, or that I said the thing which was not. (For they have no word in their language to express lying or falsehood.) He knew it was impossible that there could be a country beyond the sea, or that a parcel of brutes could move a wooden vessel whither they pleased upon water. He was sure no Houyhnhnm alive could make such a vessel, or would trust Yahoos to manage it. The word Houyhnhnm, in their tongue, signifies a Horse; and in its etymology, the Perfection of Nature. I told my master that I was at a loss for expression, but would improve as fast as I could; and hoped in a short time I should be able to tell him wonders. He was pleased to direct his own mare, his colt, and foal, and the servants of the family to take all opportunities of instructing me; and every day for two or three hours, he was at the same pains himself. Several horses and mares of quality in the neighborhood came often to our house, upon the report spread of a wonderful Yahoo, that could speak like a Houyhnhnm, and seemed in his words and actions to discover some glimmerings of reason. These delighted to converse with me; they put many questions, and received such answers as I was able to return. By all which advantages, I made so great a progress, that in five months from my arrival, I understood whatever was spoke, and could express myself tolerably well. The Houyhnhnms who came to visit my master, out of a design of seeing and talking with me, could hardly believe me to be a right Yahoo, because my 7. T h e emperor is supposed to have said that he would speak to his G o d in Spanish, to his mistress in Italian, and to his horse in G e r m a n .

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body had a different covering from others of my kind. They were astonished to observe me without the usual hair or skin, except on my head, face, and hands; but I discovered that secret to my master, upon an accident, which happened about a fortnight before. 1 have already told the reader, that every night when the family were gone to bed, it was my custom to strip and cover myself with my clothes; it happened one morning early, that my master sent for me, by the sorrel nag, who was his valet; when he came, I was fast asleep, my clothes fallen off on one side, and my shirt above my waist. I awaked at the noise he made, and observed him to deliver his message in some disorder; after which he went to my master, and in a great fright gave him a very confused account of what he had seen. This I presently discovered; for going as soon as I was dressed, to pay my attendance upon his honor, he asked me the meaning of what his servant had reported; that I was not the same thing when I slept as I appeared to be at other times; that his valet assured him, some part of me was white, some yellow, at least not so white, and some brown. I had hitherto concealed the secret of my dress, in order to distinguish myself as much as possible, from that cursed race of Yahoos; but now I found it in vain to do so any longer. Besides, I considered that my clothes and shoes would soon wear out, which already were in a declining condition, and must be supplied by some contrivance from the hides of Yahoos, or other brutes; whereby the whole secret would be known. I therefore told my master, that in the country from whence I came, those of my kind always covered their bodies with the hairs of certain animals prepared by art, as well for decency, as to avoid inclemencies of air both hot and cold; of which, as to my own person I would give him immediate conviction, if he pleased to command me; only desiring his excuse, if I did not expose those parts that Nature taught us to conceal. He said, my discourse was all very strange, but especially the last part; for he could not understand why Nature should teach us to conceal what Nature had given. That neither himself nor family were ashamed of any parts of their bodies; but however I might do as I pleased. Whereupon, I first unbuttoned my coat, and pulled it off. I did the same with my waistcoat; I drew off my shoes, stockings, and breeches. I let my shirt down to my waist, and drew up the bottom, fastening it like a girdle about my middle to hide my nakedness. My master observed the whole performance with great signs of curiosity and admiration. He took up all my clothes in his pastern, one piece after another, and examined them diligently; he then stroked my body very gently, and looked round me several times; after which he said, it was plain I must be a perfect Yahoo; but that I differed very much from the rest of my species, in the whiteness and smoothness of my skin, my want of hair in several parts of my body, the shape and shortness of my claws behind and before, and my affectation of walking continually on my two hinder feet. He desired to see no more; and gave me leave to put on my clothes again, for I was shuddering with cold. I expressed my uneasiness at his giving me so often the appellation of Yahoo, an odious animal, for which I had so utter an hatred and contempt. I begged he would forbear applying that word to me, and take the same order in his family, and among his friends whom he suffered to see me. I requested likewise, that the secret of my having a false covering to my body might be known to none but himself, at least as long as my present clothing should last; for as to what the sorrel nag his valet had observed, his honor might command him to conceal it. All this my master very graciously consented to; and thus the secret was

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kept till my clothes began to wear out, which 1 was forced to supply by several contrivances, that shall hereafter be mentioned. In the meantime, he desired I would go on with my utmost diligence to learn their language, because he was more astonished at my capacity for speech and reason, than at the figure of my body, whether it were covered or no; adding that he waited with some impatience to hear the wonders which I promised to tell him. From thenceforward he doubled the pains he had been at to instruct me; he brought me into all company, and made them treat me with civility, because, as he told them privately, this would put me into good humor, and make me more diverting. Every day when I waited on him, beside the trouble he was at in teaching, he would ask me several questions concerning myself, which I answered as well as I could; and by those means he had already received some general ideas, although very imperfect. It would be tedious to relate the several steps, by which I advanced to a more regular conversation, but the first account I gave of myself in any order and length was to this purpose: That, I came from a very far country, as I already had attempted to tell him, with about fifty more of my own species; that we traveled upon the seas, in a great hollow vessel made of wood, and larger than his honor's house. I described the ship to him in the best terms I could; and explained by the help of my handkerchief displayed, how it was driven forward by the wind. That, upon a quarrel among us, I was set on shore on this coast, where I walked forward without knowing whither, till he delivered me from the persecution of those execrable Yahoos. He asked me who made the ship, and how it was possible that the Houyhnhnms of my country would leave it to the management of brutes? My answer was that I durst proceed no farther in my relation, unless he would give me his word and honor that he would not be offended; and then I would tell him the wonders I had so often promised. He agreed; and I went on by assuring him, that the ship was made by creatures like myself, who in all the countries I had traveled, as well as in my own, were the only governing, rational animals; and that upon my arrival hither, I was as much astonished to see the Houyhnhnms act like rational beings, as he or his friends could be in finding some marks of reason in a creature he was pleased to call a Yahoo; to which I owned my resemblance in every part, but could not account for their degenerate and brutal nature. I said farther, that if good fortune ever restored me to my native country, to relate my travels hither, as I resolved to do, everybody would believe that I said the thing xvhich ivas not, that I invented the story out of my own head; and with all possible respect to himself, his family, and friends, and under his promise of not being offended, our countrymen would hardly think it probable, that a Houyhnhnm should be the presiding creature of a nation, and a Yahoo the brute. C H A P T E R 4 . The Houyhnhnms' notion of truth and falsehood. The Author's discourse disapproved hy his master. The Author gives a more particidar account of himself, and the accidents of his voyage.

My master heard me with great appearances of uneasiness in his countenance; because doubting or not believing are so little known in this country, that the inhabitants cannot tell how to behave themselves under such circumstances. And I remember in frequent discourses with my master concerning the nature of manhood, in other parts of the world, having occasion to talk of

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lying and false representation, it was with much difficulty that he comprehended what I meant; although he had otherwise a most acute judgment. For he argued thus: that the use of speech was to make us understand one another, and to receive information of facts; now if anyone said the thing which was not, these ends were defeated; because I cannot properly be said to understand him; and I am so far from receiving information, that he leaves me worse than in ignorance; for I am led to believe a thing black when it is white, and short when it is long. And these were all the notions he had concerning the faculty of lying, so perfectly well understood, and so universally practiced among human creatures. To return from this digression; when I asserted that the Yahoos were the only governing animals in my country, which my master said was altogether past his conception, he desired to know, whether we had Houyhnhnms among us, and what was their employment. I told him we had great numbers; that in summer they grazed in the fields, and in winter were kept in houses, with hay and oats, where Yahoo servants were employed to rub their sldns smooth, comb their manes, pick their feet, serve them with food, and make their beds. "I understand you well," said my master; "it is now very plain from all you have spoken, that whatever share of reason the Yahoos pretend to, the Houyhnhnms are your masters; I heartily wish our Yahoos would be so tractable." I begged his honor would please to excuse me from proceeding any farther, because I was very certain that the account he expected from me would be highly displeasing. But he insisted in commanding me to let him know the best and the worst; I told him he should be obeyed. I owned that the Houyhnhnms among us, whom we called Horses, were the most generous 8 and comely animal we had; that they excelled in strength and swiftness; and when they belonged to persons of quality, employed in traveling, racing, and drawing chariots, they were treated with much kindness and care, till they fell into diseases, or became foundered in the feet; but then they were sold, and used to all kind of drudgery till they died; after which their skins were stripped and sold for what they were worth, and their bodies left to be devoured by dogs and birds of prey. But the common race of horses had not so good fortune, being kept by farmers and carriers, and other mean people, who put them to greater labor, and feed them worse. I described as well as I could, our way of riding; the shape and use of a bridle, a saddle, a spur, and a whip; of harness and wheels. I added, that we fastened plates of a certain hard substance called iron at the bottom of their feet, to preserve their hoofs from being broken by the stony ways on which we often traveled. My master, after some expressions of great indignation, wondered how we dared to venture upon a Houyhnhnm's back; for he was sure, that the weakest servant in his house would be able to shake off the strongest Yahoo; or by lying down, and rolling upon his back, squeeze the brute to death. I answered that our horses were trained up from three or four years old to the several uses we intended them for; that if any of them proved intolerably vicious, they were employed for carriages; that they were severely beaten while they were young for any mischievous tricks; that the males, designed for the common use of riding or draught, were generally castrated about two years after their birth, to take down their spirits, and make them more tame and gentle; that they were indeed sensible of rewards and punishments; but his honor would please 8. Noble.

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to consider that they had not the least tincture of reason any more than the Yahoos in this country. It put me to the pains of many circumlocutions to give my master a right idea of what I spoke; for their language doth not abound in variety of words, because their wants and passions are fewer than among us. But it is impossible to express his noble resentment at our savage treatment of the Houyhnhnm race; particularly after I had explained the manner and use of castrating horses among us, to hinder them from propagating their kind, and to render them more servile. He said, if it were possible there could be any country where Yahoos alone were endued with reason, they certainly must be the governing animal, because reason will in time always prevail against brutal strength. But, considering the frame of our bodies, and especially of mine, he thought no creature of equal bulk was so ill-contrived for employing that reason in the common offices of life; whereupon he desired to know whether those among whom I lived resembled me or the Yahoos of his country. I assured him that I was as well shaped as most of my age; but the younger and the females were much more soft and tender, and the skins of the latter generally as white as milk. He said 1 differed indeed from other Yahoos, being much more cleanly, and not altogether so deformed; but in point of real advantage, he thought I differed for the worse. That my nails were of no use either to my fore or hinder feet; as to my forefeet, he could not properly call them by that name, for he never observed me to walk upon them; that they were too soft to bear the ground; that I generally went with them uncovered, neither was the covering I sometimes wore on them of the same shape, or so strong as that on my feet behind. That I could not walk with any security; for if either of my hinder feet slipped, I must inevitably fall. He then began to find fault with other parts of my body; the flatness of my face, the prominence of my nose, my eyes placed directly in front, so that I could not look on either side without turning my head; that I was not able to feed myself without lifting one of my forefeet to my mouth; and therefore nature had placed those joints to answer that necessity. He knew not what could be the use of those several clefts and divisions in my feet behind; that these were too soft to bear the hardness and sharpness of stones without a covering made from the skin of some other brute; that my whole body wanted a fence against heat and cold, which I was forced to put on and off every day with tediousness and trouble. And lastly, that he observed every animal in his country naturally to abhor the Yahoos, whom the weaker avoided, and the stronger drove from them. So that supposing us to have the gift of reason, he could not see how it were possible to cure that natural antipathy which every creature discovered against us; nor consequently, how we could tame and render them serviceable. However, he would (as he said) debate the matter no farther, because he was more desirous to know my own story, the country where I was born, and the several actions and events of my life before I came hither. I assured him how extremely desirous I was that he should be satisfied in every point; but I doubted much whether it would be possible for me to explain myself on several subjects whereof his honor could have no conception, because I saw nothing in his country to which I could resemble them. That however, I would do my best, and strive to express myself by similitudes, humbly desiring his assistance when I wanted proper words; which he was pleased to promise me. I said, my birth was of honest parents, in an island called England, which

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was remote from this country, as many days journey as the strongest of his honor's servants could travel in the annual course of the sun. That I was bred a surgeon, whose trade it is to cure wounds and hurts in the body, got by accident or violence. That my country was governed by a female man, whom we called a queen. That I left it to get riches, whereby I might maintain myself and family when I should return. That in my last voyage, I was Commander of the ship and had about fifty Yahoos under me, many of which died at sea, and I-was forced to supply them by others picked out from several nations. That our ship was twice in danger of being sunk; the first time by a great storm, and the second, by striking against a rock. Here my master interposed, by asking me, how I could persuade strangers out of different countries to venture with me, after the losses I had sustained, and the hazards I had run. I said, they were fellows of desperate fortunes, forced to fly from the places of their birth, on account of their poverty or their crimes. S o m e were undone by lawsuits; others spent all they had in drinldng, whoring, and gaming; others fled for treason; many for murder, theft, poisoning, robbery, perjury, forgery, coining false money; for committing rapes or sodomy; for flying from their colors, or deserting to the enemy; and most of them had broken prison. None of these durst return to their native countries for fear of being hanged, or of starving in a jail; and therefore were under a necessity of seeking a livelihood in other places. During this discourse, my master was pleased often to interrupt me. I had made use of many circumlocutions in describing to him the nature of the several crimes, for which most of our crew had been forced to fly their country. This labor took up several days conversation before he was able to comprehend me. He was wholly at a loss to know what could be the use or necessity of practicing those vices. To clear up which I endeavored to give him some ideas of the desire of power and riches; of the terrible effects of lust, intemperance, malice, and envy. All this I was forced to define and describe by putting of cases, and making suppositions. After which, like one whose imagination was struck with something never seen or heard of before, he would lift up his eyes with amazement and indignation. Power, government, war, law, punishment, and a thousand other things had no terms, wherein that language could express them; which made the difficulty almost insuperable to give my master any conception of what I meant; but being of an excellent understanding, much improved by contemplation and converse, he at last arrived at a competent knowledge of what human nature in our parts of the world is capable to perform; and desired I would give him some particular account of that land, which we call Europe, especially, of my own country.

The Author, at his master's commands, informs him of the state of England. The causes of war among the princes of Europe. The Author begins to explain the English Constitution. CHAPTER 5.

The reader may please to observe that the following extract of many conversations I had with my master contains a summary of the most material points, which were discoursed at several times for above two years; his honor often desiring fuller satisfaction as I farther improved in the Houyhnhnm tongue. I laid before him, as well as I could, the whole state of Europe; I discoursed of trade and manufactures, of arts and sciences; and the answers I gave to all the questions he made, as they arose upon several subjects, were

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a fund of conversation not to be exhausted. But I shall here only set down the substance of what passed between us concerning my own country, reducing it into order as well as I can, without any regard to time or other circumstances, while I strictly adhere to truth. My only concern is that I shall hardly be able to do justice to my master's arguments and expressions; which must needs suffer by my want of capacity, as well as by a translation into our barbarous English. In.obedience therefore to his honor's commands, I related to him the Revolution under the Prince of Orange; the long war with France entered into by the said Prince, and renewed by his successor the present queen; wherein the greatest powers of Christendom were engaged, and which still continued. I computed at his request, that about a million of Yahoos might have been killed in the whole progress of it; and perhaps a hundred or more cities taken, and five times as many ships burned or sunk. 9 He asked me what were the usual causes or motives that made one country to go to war with another. I answered, they were innumerable; but I should only mention a few of the chief. Sometimes the ambition of princes, who never think they have land or people enough to govern; sometimes the corruption of ministers, who engage their master in a war in order to stifle or divert the clamor of the subjects against their evil administration. Difference in opinions hath cost many millions of lives; for instance, whether flesh be bread, or bread be flesh; whether the juice of a certain berry be blood or wine; whether whistling be a vice or a virtue; whether it be better to kiss a post, or throw it into the fire; what is the best color for a coat, whether black, white, red, or grey; and whether it should be long or short, narrow or wide, dirty or clean; 1 with many more. Neither are any wars so furious and bloody, or of so long continuance, as those occasioned by difference in opinion, especially if it be in things indifferent. 2 Sometimes the quarrel between two princes is to decide which of them shall dispossess a third of his dominions, where neither of them pretend to any right. Sometimes one prince quarreleth with another, for fear the other should quarrel with him. Sometimes a war is entered upon, because the enemy is too strong, and sometimes because he is too weak. Sometimes our neighbors want the things which we have, or have the things which we want; and we both fight, till they take ours or give us theirs. It is a very justifiable cause of war to invade a country after the people have been wasted by famine, destroyed by pestilence, or embroiled by factions amongst themselves. It is justifiable to enter into a war against our nearest ally, when one of his towns lies convenient for us, or a territory of land, that would render our dominions round and compact. If a prince send forces into a nation, where the people are poor and ignorant, he may lawfully put half of them to death, and make slaves of the rest, in order to civilize and reduce them from their barbarous way of living. It is a very kingly, honorable, and frequent practice, when one prince desires the assistance of another to secure him against an invasion, that the assistant, when he hath driven out the invader, should seize on the dominions himself, and kill, imprison, or banish the prince he came to relieve. Alliance by blood 9. Gulliver relates recent English history: the Glorious Revolution (1688—89) and the W a r of Spanish Succession (1701—13). He greatly exaggerates the casualties in the war. 1. Gulliver refers to the religious controversies of

the Reformation and Counter-Reformation: the doctrine of transubstantiation, the use of music in church services, the veneration of the crucifix, and the wearing of priestly vestments. 2. Of little c o n s e q u e n c e .

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or marriage is a sufficient cause of war between princes; and the nearer the kindred is, the greater is their disposition to quarrel. Poor nations are hungry, and rich nations are proud; and pride and hunger will ever be at variance. For these reasons, the trade of a soldier is held the most honorable of all others: because a soldier is a Yahoo hired to kill in cold blood as many of his own species, who have never offended him, as possibly he can. There is likewise a kind of beggarly princes in Europe, not able to make war by themselves, who hire out their troops to richer nations for so much a day to each man; of which they keep three fourths to themselves, and it is the best part of their maintenance; such are those in many northern parts of Europe. 3 "What you have told me," said my master, "upon the subject of war, doth indeed discover most admirably the effects of that reason you pretend to. However, it is happy that the shame is greater than the danger; and that Nature hath left you utterly uncapable of doing much mischief; for your mouths lying flat with your faces, you can hardly bite each other to any purpose, unless by consent. Then, as to the claws upon your feet before and behind, they are so short and tender, that one of our Yahoos would drive a dozen of yours before him. And therefore in recounting the numbers of those who have been killed in battle, I cannot but think that you have said the thing which is not." I could not forbear shaking my head and smiling a little at his ignorance. And, being no stranger to the art of war, I gave him a description of cannons, culverins, muskets, carabines, pistols, bullets, powder, swords, bayonets, battles, sieges, retreats, attacks, undermines, countermines, bombardments, sea fights; ships sunk with a thousand men; twenty thousand killed on each side; dying groans, limbs flying in the air; smoke, noise, confusion, trampling to death under horses' feet; flight, pursuit, victory; fields strewed with carcasses left for food to dogs, and wolves, and birds of prey; plundering, stripping, ravishing, burning, and destroying. And, to set forth the valor of my own dear countrymen, I assured him that I had seen them blow up a hundred enemies at once in a siege, and as many in a ship; and beheld the dead bodies drop down in pieces from the clouds, to the great diversion of all the spectators. 1 was going on to more particulars, when my master commanded me silence. He said, whoever understood the nature of Yahoos might easily believe it possible for so vile an animal, to be capable of every action I had named, if their strength and cunning equaled their malice. But, as my discourse had increased his abhorrence of the whole species, so he found it gave him a disturbance in his mind, to which he was wholly a stranger before. He thought his ears being used to such abominable words, might by degrees admit them with less detestation. That, although he hated the Yahoos of this country, yet he no more blamed them for their odious qualities, than he did a gnnayh (a bird of prey) for its cruelty, or a sharp stone for cutting his hoof. But, when a creature pretending to reason could be capable of such enormities, he dreaded lest the corruption of that faculty might be worse than brutality itself. He seemed therefore confident, that instead of reason, we were only possessed of some quality fitted to increase our natural vices; as the reflection from a troubled stream returns the image of an ill-shapen body, not only larger, but more distorted. He added that he had heard too much upon the subject of war, both in this and some former discourses. There was another point which a little perplexed 3. A satiric giance at George I, who, as elector of Hanover, had dealt in this trade.

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him at present. I had said that some of our crew left their country on account of being ruined by law: that I had already explained the meaning of the word; but he was at a loss how it should come to pass, that the law which was intended for every man's preservation, should be any man's ruin. Therefore he desired to be farther satisfied what I meant by law, and the dispensers thereof, according to the present practice in my own country; because he thought Nature and Reason were sufficient guides for a reasonable animal, as we pretended to be, in showing us what we ought to do, and what to avoid. I assured his honor that law was a science wherein I had not much conversed, further than by employing advocates, in vain, upon some injustices that had been done me. However, I would give him all the satisfaction I was able. I said there was a society of men among us, bred up from their youth in the art of proving by words multiplied for the purpose, that white is black, and black is white, according as they are paid. To this society all the rest of the people are slaves. "For example. If my neighbor hath a mind to my cow, he hires a lawyer to prove that he ought to have my cow from me. I must then hire another to defend my right; it being against all rules of law that any man should be allowed to speak for himself. Now in this case, I who am the true owner lie under two great disadvantages. First, my lawyer being practiced almost from his cradle in defending falsehood is quite out of his element when he would be an advocate for justice, which as an office unnatural, he always attempts with great awkwardness, if not with ill-will. The second disadvantage is that my lawyer must proceed with great caution, or else he will be reprimanded by the judges, and abhorred by his brethren, as one who would lessen the practice of the law. And therefore I have but two methods to preserve my cow. The first is to gain over my adversary's lawyer with a double fee; who will then betray his client, by insinuating that he hath justice on his side. The second way is for my lawyer to make my cause appear as unjust as he can; by allowing the cow to belong to my adversary; and this if it be skillfully done, will certainly bespeak the favor of the bench. "Now, your honor is to know that these judges are persons appointed to decide all controversies of property, as well as for the trial of criminals; and picked out from the most dextrous lawyers who are grown old or lazy; and having been biased all their lives against truth and equity, lie under such a fatal necessity of favoring fraud, perjury, and oppression, that I have known some of them to have refused a large bribe from the side where justice lay, rather than injure the faculty, 4 by doing anything unbecoming their nature or their office. "It is a maxim among these lawyers, that whatever hath been done before may legally be done again; and therefore they take special care to record all the decisions formerly made against common justice and the general reason of mankind. These, under the name of precedents, they produce as authorities to justify the most iniquitous opinions; and the judges never fail of directing accordingly. "In pleading, they studiously avoid entering into the merits of the cause; but are loud, violent, and tedious in dwelling upon all circumstances which are not to the purpose. For instance, in the case already mentioned, they never desire to know what claim or title my adversary hath to my cow; but whether 4. Profession.

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the said cow were red or black; her horns long or short; whether the field I graze her in be round or square; whether she were milked at home or abroad; what diseases she is subject to, and the like. After which they consult precedents, adjourn the cause, from time to time, and in ten, twenty, or thirty years come to an issue. "It is likewise to be observed, that this society hath a peculiar cant and jargon of their own, that no other mortal can understand, and wherein all their laws are written, which they take special care to multiply; whereby they have wholly confounded the very essence of truth and falsehood, of right and wrong; so that it will take thirty years to decide whether the field, left me by my ancestors for six generations, belong to me, or to a stranger three hundred miles off. "In the trial of persons accused for crimes against the state, the method is much more short and commendable: the judge first sends to sound the disposition of those in power; after which he can easily hang or save the criminal, strictly preserving all the forms of law." Here my master interposing said it was a pity that creatures endowed with such prodigious abilities of mind as these lawyers, by the description I gave of them, must certainly be, were not rather encouraged to be instructors of others in wisdom and knowledge. In answer to which, I assured his honor that in all points out of their own trade, they were usually the most ignorant and stupid generation among us, the most despicable in common conversation, avowed enemies to all knowledge and learning; and equally disposed to pervert the general reason of mankind, in every other subject of discourse as in that of their own profession. 6 . A continuation of the state of England, under Queen Anne. The character of a first minister in the courts of Europe. CHAPTER

My master was yet wholly at a loss to understand what motives could incite this race of lawyers to perplex, disquiet, and weary themselves by engaging in a confederacy of injustice, merely for the sake of injuring their fellow animals; neither could he comprehend what I meant in saying they did it for hire. Whereupon I was at much pains to describe to him the use of money, the materials it was made of, and the value of the metals; that when a Yahoo had got a great store of this precious substance, he was able to purchase whatever he had a mind to; the finest clothing, the noblest houses, great tracts of land, the most costly meats and drinks; and have his choice of the most beautiful females. Therefore since money alone was able to perform all these feats, our Yahoos thought they could never have enough of it to spend or to save, as they found themselves inclined from their natural bent either to profusion or avarice. That the rich man enjoyed the fruit of the poor man's labor, and the latter were a thousand to one in proportion to the former. That the bulk of our people was forced to live miserably, by laboring every day for small wages to make a few live plentifully. I enlarged myself much on these and many other particulars to the same purpose, but his honor was still to seek, 5 for he went upon a supposition that all animals had a title to their share in the productions of the earth; and especially those who presided over the rest. Therefore he desired I would let him know what these costly meats were, and how any of us happened to want 6 them. Whereupon I enumerated as many sorts as came into my head, with the various methods of dressing them, which could not be done 5. Still did not understand.

6. Lack.

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without sending vessels by sea to every part of the world, as well for liquors to drink, as for sauces, and innumerable other conveniencies. I assured him, that this whole globe of earth must be at least three times gone round, before one of our better female Yahoos could get her breakfast, or a cup to put it in. He said, "That must needs be a miserable country which cannot furnish food for its own inhabitants." But what he chiefly wondered at, was how such vast tracts of ground as I described, should be wholly without fresh water, and the people put to the necessity of sending over the sea for drink. I replied that England (the dear place of my nativity) was computed to produce three times the quantity of food, more than its inhabitants are able to consume, as well as liquors extracted from grain, or pressed out of the fruit of certain trees, which made excellent drink; and the same proportion in every other convenience of life. But, in order to feed the luxury and intemperance of the males, and the vanity of the females, we sent away the greatest part of our necessary things to other countries, from whence in return we brought the materials of diseases, folly, and vice, to spend among ourselves. Hence it follows of necessity, that vast numbers of our people are compelled to seek their livelihood by begging, robbing, stealing, cheating, pimping, forswearing, flattering, suborning, forging, gaming, lying, fawning, hectoring, voting, scribbling, star gazing, poisoning, whoring, canting, libeling, freethinking, and the like occupations; every one of which terms, I was at much pains to make him understand. That, wine was not imported among us from foreign countries, to supply the want of water or other drinks, but because it was a sort of liquid which made us merry, by putting us out of our senses; diverted all melancholy thoughts, begat wild extravagant imaginations in the brain, raised our hopes, and banished our fears; suspended every office of reason for a time, and deprived us of the use of our limbs, until we fell into a profound sleep; although it must be confessed, that we always awaked sick and dispirited; and that the use of this liquor filled us with diseases, which made our lives uncomfortable and short. But beside all this, the bulk of our people supported themselves by furnishing the necessities or conveniencies of life to the rich, and to each other. For instance, when I am at home and dressed as I ought to be, I carry on my body the workmanship of an hundred tradesmen; the building and furniture of my house employ as many more; and five times the number to adorn my wife. I was going on to tell him of another sort of people, who get their livelihood by attending the sick; having upon some occasions informed his honor that many of my crew had died of diseases. But here it was with the utmost difficulty that I brought him to apprehend what I meant. He could easily conceive that a Houyhnhnm grew weak and heavy a few days before his death; or by some accident might hurt a limb. But that nature, who worketh all things to perfection, should suffer any pains to breed in our bodies, he thought impossible; and desired to know the reason of so unaccountable an evil. I told him, we fed on a thousand things which operated contrary to each other; that we eat when we were not hungry, and drank without the provocation of thirst; that we sat whole nights drinking strong liquors without eating a bit, which disposed us to sloth, inflamed our bodies, and precipitated or prevented digestion. That, prostitute female Yahoos acquired a certain malady, which bred rottenness in the bones of those who fell into their embraces; that this and many other diseases were propagated from father to son; so that great numbers come into the world with complicated maladies upon them; that it would be

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endless to give him a catalogue of all diseases incident to human bodies; for they could not be fewer than five or six hundred, spread over every limb, and joint; in short, every part, external and intestine, having diseases appropriated to each. To remedy which, there was a sort of people bred up among us, in the profession or pretense of curing the sick. And because I had some skill in the faculty, I would in gratitude to his honor let him know the whole mystery and method by which they proceed. Their fundamental is that all diseases arise from repletion; from whence they conclude, that a great evacuation of the body is necessary, either through the natural passage, or upwards at the mouth. Their next business is, from herbs, minerals, gums, oils, shells, salts, juices, seaweed, excrements, barks of trees, serpents, toads, frogs, spiders, dead men's flesh and bones, birds, beasts and fishes, to form a composition for smell and taste the most abominable, nauseous, and detestable, that they can possibly contrive, which the stomach immediately rejects with loathing, and this they call a vomit. Or else from the same storehouse, with some other poisonous additions, they command us to take in at the orifice above or below (just as the physician then happens to be disposed) a medicine equally annoying and disgustful to the bowels; which relaxing the belly, drives down all before it; and this they call a purge, or a clyster. For nature (as the physicians allege) having intended the superior anterior orifice only for the intromission of solids and liquids, and the inferior posterior for ejection, these artists ingeniously considering that in all diseases nature is forced out of her seat; therefore to replace her in it, the body must be treated in a manner directly contrary, by interchanging the use of each orifice; forcing solids and liquids in at the anus, and making evacuations at the mouth. But, besides real diseases, we are subject to many that are only imaginary, for which the physicians have invented imaginary cures; these have their several names, and so have the drugs that are proper for them; and with these our female Yahoos are always infested. One great excellency in this tribe is their skill at prognostics, wherein they seldom fail; their predictions in real diseases, when they rise to any degree of malignity, generally portending death, which is always in their power, when recovery is not, and therefore, upon any unexpected signs of amendment, after they have pronounced their sentence, rather than be accused as false prophets, they know how to approve 7 their sagacity to the world by a seasonable dose. They are likewise of special use to husbands and wives, who are grown weary of their mates; to eldest sons, to great ministers of state, and often to princes. I had formerly upon occasion discoursed with my master upon the nature of government in general, and particularly of our own excellent constitution, deservedly the wonder and envy of the whole world. But having here accidently mentioned a minister of state, he commanded me some time after to inform him what species of Yahoo I particularly meant by that appellation. I told him that a first or chief minister of state, whom I intended to describe, was a creature wholly exempt from joy and grief, love and hatred, pity and anger; at least makes use of no other passions but a violent desire of wealth, power, and titles; that he applies his words to all uses, except to the indication of his mind; that he never tells a truth, but with an intent that you should take it for a lie; nor a lie, but with a design that you should take it for a truth; that 7. Prove.

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those he speaks worst of behind their backs are in the surest way to preferment; and whenever he begins to praise you to others or to yourself, you are from that day forlorn. The worst mark you can receive is a promise, especially when it is confirmed with an oath; after which every wise man retires, and gives over all hopes. There are three methods by which a man may rise to be chief minister: the first is by knowing how with prudence to dispose of a wife, a daughter, or a sister; the second, by betraying or undermining his predecessor; and the third is by a furious zeal in public assemblies against the corruptions of the court. But a wise prince would rather choose to employ those who practice the last of these methods; because such zealots prove always the most obsequious and subservient to the will and passions of their master. That, these ministers having all employments at their disposal, preserve themselves in power by bribing the majority of a senate or great council; and at last by an expedient called an Act of Indemnity 8 (whereof I described the nature to him) they secure themselves from after reckonings, and retire from the public, laden with the spoils of the nation. The palace of a chief minister is a seminary to breed up others in his own trade; the pages, lackies, and porter, by imitating their master, become ministers of state in their several districts, and learn to excel in the three principal ingredients, of insolence, lying, and bribery. Accordingly, they have a subaltern court paid to them by persons of the best rank; and sometimes by the force of dexterity and impudence, arrive through several gradations to be successors to their lord. He is usually governed by a decayed wench, or favorite footman, who are the tunnels through which all graces are conveyed, and may properly be called, in the last resort, the governors of the kingdom. One day, my master, having heard me mention the nobility of my country, was pleased to make me a compliment which I could not pretend to deserve: that, he was sure, I must have been born of some noble family, because I far exceeded in shape, color, and cleanliness, all the Yahoos of his nation, although I seemed to fail in strength, and agility, which must be imputed to my different way of living from those other brutes; and besides, I was not only endowed with the faculty of speech, but likewise with some rudiments of reason, to a degree, that with all his acquaintance I passed for a prodigy. He made me observe, that among the Houyhnhnms, the white, the sorrel, and the iron grey were not so exactly shaped as the bay, the dapple grey, and the black; nor born with equal talents of mind, or a capacity to improve them; and therefore continued always in the condition of servants, without ever aspiring to match out of their own race, which in that country would be reckoned monstrous and unnatural. I made his honor my most humble acknowledgments for the good opinion he was pleased to conceive of me; but assured him at the same time, that my birth was of the lower sort, having been born of plain, honest parents, who were just able to give me a tolerable education; that, nobility among us was altogether a different thing from the idea he had of it; that, our young noblemen are bred from their childhood in idleness and luxury; that, as soon as years will permit, they consume their vigor, and contract odious diseases 8. An act passed at each session of Parliament to protect ministers of state who in good faith might have acted illegally.

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among lewd females; and when their fortunes are almost ruined, they marry some woman of mean birth, disagreeable person, and unsound constitution, merely for the sake of money, whom they hate and despise. That, the productions of such marriages are generally scrofulous, rickety or deformed children; by which means the family seldom continues above three generations, unless the wife take care to provide a healthy father among her neighbors, or domestics, in order to improve and continue the breed. That a weak diseased body, a meager countenance, and sallow complexion are the true marks of noble blood; and a healthy robust appearance is so disgraceful in a man of quality, that the world concludes his real father to have been a groom or a coachman. The imperfections of his mind run parallel with those of his body; being a composition of spleen, dullness, ignorance, caprice, sensuality, and pride. Without the consent of this illustrious body, no law can be enacted, repealed, or altered, and these nobles have likewise the decision of all our possessions without appeal.

The Author's great love of his native country 1. His master's observations upon the constitution and administration of England, as described by the Author, with parallel cases and comparisons. His master's observations upon human nature. CHAPTER 7.

The reader may be disposed to wonder how I could prevail on myself to give so free a representation of my own species, among a race of mortals who were already too apt to conceive the vilest opinion of humankind, from that entire congruity betwixt me and their Yahoos. But I must freely confess that the many virtues of those excellent quadrupeds placed in opposite view to human corruptions had so far opened my eyes, and enlarged my understanding, that I began to view the actions and passions of man in a very different light; and to think the honor of my own kind not worth managing; 9 which, besides, it was impossible for me to do before a person of so acute a judgment as my master, who daily convinced me of a thousand faults in myself, whereof I had not the least perception before, and which with us would never be numbered even among human infirmities. I had likewise learned from his example an utter detestation of all falsehood or disguise; and truth appeared so amiable to me, that I determined upon sacrificing everything to it. Let me deal so candidly with the reader as to confess that there was yet a much stronger motive for the freedom I took in my representation of things. I had not been a year in this country, before I contracted such a love and veneration for the inhabitants, that I entered on a firm resolution never to return to humankind, but to pass the rest of my life among these admirable Houyhnhnms in the contemplation and practice of every virtue; where I could have no example or incitement to vice. But it was decreed by fortune, my perpetual enemy, that so great a felicity should not fall to my share. However, it is now some comfort to reflect that in what I said of my countrymen, I extenuated their faults as much as I durst before so strict an examiner; and upon every article, gave as favorable a turn as the matter would bear. For, indeed, who is there alive that will not be swayed by his bias and partiality to the place of his birth? I have related the substance of several conversations I had with my master, 9. Taking care of.

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during the greatest part of the time I had the honor to be in his service; but have indeed for brevity sake omitted much more than is here set down. When I had answered all his questions, and his curiosity seemed to be fully satisfied; he sent for me one morning early, and commanding me to sit down at some distance (an honor which he had never before conferred upon me), he said he had been very seriously considering my whole story, as far as it related both to myself and my country; that, he looked upon us as a sort of animals to whose share, by what accident he could not conjecture, some small pittance of reason had fallen, whereof we made no other use than by its assistance to aggravate our natural corruptions, and to acquire new ones which nature had not given us. That we disarmed ourselves of the few abilities she had bestowed; had been very successful in multiplying our original wants, and seemed to spend our whole lives in vain endeavors to supply them by our own inventions. That, as to myself, it was manifest I had neither the strength or agility of a common Yahoo; that I walked infirmly on my hinder feet; had found out a contrivance to make my claws of no use or defense, and to remove the hair from my chin, which was intended as a shelter from the sun and the weather. Lastly, that I could neither run with speed, nor climb trees like my brethren (as he called them) the Yahoos in this country. That our institutions of government and law were plainly owing to our gross defects in reason, and by consequence, in virtue; because reason alone is sufficient to govern a rational creature; which was therefore a character we had no pretense to challenge, even from the account I had given of my own people; although he manifestly perceived, that in order to favor them, I had concealed many particulars, and often said the thing which was not. He was the more confirmed in this opinion, because he observed that 1 agreed in every feature of my body with other Yahoos, except where it was to my real disadvantage in point of strength, speed, and activity, the shortness of my claws, and some other particulars where Nature had no part; so, from the representation I had given him of our lives, our manners, and our actions, he found as near a resemblance in the disposition of our minds. He said the Yahoos were known to hate one another more than they did any different species of animals; and the reason usually assigned was the odiousness of their own shapes, which all could see in the rest, but not in themselves. He had therefore begun to think it not unwise in us to cover our bodies, and by that invention, conceal many of our deformities from each other, which would else be hardly supportable. But he now found he had been mistaken; and that the dissensions of those brutes in his country were owing to the same cause with ours, as I had described them. For, if (said he) you throw among five Yahoos as much food as would be sufficient for fifty, they will instead of eating peaceably, fall together by the ears, each single one impatient to have all to itself; and therefore a servant was usually employed to stand by while they were feeding abroad, and those kept at home were tied at a distance from each other. That, if a cow died of age or accident, before a Houyhnhnm could secure it for his own Yahoos, those in the neighborhood would come in herds to seize it, and then would ensue such a battle as I had described, with terrible wounds made by their claws on both sides, although they seldom were able to kill one another, for want of such convenient instruments of death as we had invented. At other times the like battles have been fought between the Yahoos of several neighborhoods without any visible cause; those of one district watching all opportunities to surprise the next before they are prepared. But if they find

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their project hath miscarried, they return home, and for want of enemies, engage in what I call a civil war among themselves. That, in some fields of his country, there are certain shining stones of several colors, whereof the Yahoos are violently fond; and when part of these stones are fixed in the earth, as it sometimes happeneth, they will dig with their claws for whole days to get them out, and carry them away, and hide them by heaps in their kennels; but still looking round with great caution, for fear their comrades should find out their treasure. My master said he could never discover the reason of this unnatural appetite, or how these stones could be of any use to a Yahoo; but now he believed it might proceed from the same principle of avarice, which I had ascribed to mankind. That he had once, by way of experiment, privately removed a heap of these stones from the place where one of his Yahoos had buried it, whereupon, the sordid animal missing his treasure, by his loud lamenting brought the whole herd to the place, there miserably howled, then fell to biting and tearing the rest; began to pine away, would neither eat nor sleep, nor work, till he ordered a servant privately to convey the stones into the same hole, and hide them as before; which when his Yahoo had found, he presently recovered his spirits and good humor; but took care to remove them to a better hiding place; and hath ever since been a very serviceable brute. My master farther assured me, which I also observed myself, that in the fields where these shining stones abound, the fiercest and most frequent battles are fought, occasioned by perpetual inroads of the neighboring Yahoos. He said it was common when two Yahoos discovered such a stone in a field, and were contending which of them should be the proprietor, a third would take the advantage, and carry it away from them both; which my master would needs contend to have some resemblance with our suits at law; wherein I thought it for our credit not to undeceive him; since the decision he mentioned was much more equitable than many decrees among us; because the plaintiff and defendant there lost nothing beside the stone they contended for; whereas our courts of equity would never have dismissed the cause while either of them had anything left. My master continuing his discourse said there was nothing that rendered the Yahoos more odious, than their undistinguished appetite to devour everything that came in their way, whether herbs, roots, berries, corrupted flesh of animals, or all mingled together; and it was peculiar in their temper, that they were fonder of what they could get by rapine or stealth at a greater distance, than much better food provided for them at home. If their prey held out, they would eat till they were ready to burst, after which nature had pointed out to them a certain root that gave them a general evacuation. There was also another kind of root very juicy, but something rare and difficult to be found, which the Yahoos sought for with much eagerness, and would suck it with great delight; it produced the same effects that wine hath upon us. It would make them sometimes hug, and sometimes tear one another; they would howl and grin, and chatter, and reel, and tumble, and then fall asleep in the mud. I did indeed observe that the Yahoos were the only animals in this country subject to any diseases; which however, were much fewer than horses have among us, and contracted not by any ill treatment they meet with, but by the nastiness and greediness of that sordid brute. Neither has their language any more than a general appellation for those maladies; which is borrowed from

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the name of the beast, and called Hnea Yahoo, or the Yahoo's Evil; and the cure prescribed is a mixture of their own dung and urine, forcibly put down the Yahoo's throat. This I have since often known to have been taken with success, and do here freely recommend it to my countrymen, for the public good, as an admirable specific 1 against all diseases produced by repletion. As to learning, government, arts, manufactures, and the like, my master confessed he could find little or no resemblance between the Yahoos of that country and those in ours. For he only meant to observe what parity there was in our natures. He had heard indeed some curious Houyhnhnms observe that in most herds there was a sort of ruling Yahoo (as among us there is generally some leading or principal stag in a park) who was always more deformed in body, and mischievous in disposition, than any of the rest. That this leader had usually a favorite as like himself as he could get, whose employment was to lick his master's feet and posteriors, and drive the female Yahoos to his kennel; for which he was now and then rewarded with a piece of ass's flesh. This favorite is hated by the whole herd; and therefore to protect himself, keeps always near the person of his leader. He usually continues in office till a worse can be found; but the very moment he is discarded, his successor, at the head of all the Yahoos in that district, young and old, male and female, come in a body, and discharge their excrements upon him from head to foot. But how far this might be applicable to our courts and favorites, and ministers of state, my master said I could best determine. I durst make no return to this malicious insinuation, which debased human understanding below the sagacity of a common hound, who hath judgment enough to distinguish and follow the cry of the ablest dog in the pack, without being ever mistaken. My master told me there were some qualities remarkable in the Yahoos, which he had not observed me to mention, or at least very slightly, in the accounts I had given him of humankind. He said, those animals, like other brutes, had their females in common; but in this they differed, that the sheYahoo would admit the male while she was pregnant; and that the hes would quarrel and fight with the females as fiercely as with each other. Both which practices were such degrees of infamous brutality, that no other sensitive creature ever arrived at. Another thing he wondered at in the Yahoos was their strange disposition to nastiness and dirt; whereas there appears to be a natural love of cleanliness in all other animals. As to the two former accusations, 1 was glad to let them pass without any reply, because I had not a word to offer upon them in defense of my species, which otherwise I certainly had done from my own inclinations. But I could have easily vindicated humankind from the imputation of singularity upon the last article, if there had been any swine in that country (as unluckily for me there were not) which although it may be a sweeter quadruped than a Yahoo, cannot I humbly conceive in justice pretend to more cleanliness; and so his honor himself must have owned, if he had seen their filthy way of feeding, and their custom of wallowing and sleeping in the mud. My master likewise mentioned another quality, which his servants had discovered in several Yahoos, and to him was wholly unaccountable. He said, a fancy would sometimes take a Yahoo, to retire into a corner, to lie down and howl, and groan, and spurn away all that came near him, although he were 1. Remedy.

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young and fat, and wanted neither food nor water; nor did the servants imagine what could possibly ail him. And the only remedy they found was to set him to hard work, after which he would infallibly come to himself. To this I was silent out of partiality to my own kind; yet here I could plainly discover the true seeds of spleen, 2 which only seizeth on the lazy, the luxurious, and the rich; who, if they were forced to undergo the same regimen, I would undertake for the cure. His Honor had farther observed, that a female Yahoo would often stand behind a bank or a bush, to gaze on the young males passing by, and then appear, and hide, using many antic gestures and grimaces; at which time it was observed, that she had a most offensive smell; and when any of the males advanced, would slowly retire, looking back, and with a counterfeit show of fear, run off into some convenient place where she knew the male would follow her. At other times, if a female stranger came among them, three or four of her own sex would get about her, and stare and chatter, and grin, and smell her all over; and then turn off with gestures that seemed to express contempt and disdain. Perhaps my master might refine a little in these speculations, which he had drawn from what he observed himself, or had been told by others; however, I could not reflect without some amazement, and much sorrow, that the rudiments of lewdness, coquetry, censure, and scandal, should have place by instinct in womankind. I expected every moment that my master would accuse the Yahoos of those unnatural appetites in both sexes, so common among us. But Nature it seems hath not been so expert a schoolmistress; and these politer pleasures are entirely the productions of art and reason, on our side of the globe. C H A P T E R 8 . The Author relateth several particulars of the Yahoos. The great virtues of the Houyhnhnms. The education and exercises of their youth. Their general assembly.

As I ought to have understood human nature much better than I supposed it possible for my master to do, so it was easy to apply the character he gave of the Yahoos to myself and my countrymen; and I believed I could yet make farther discoveries from my own observation. I therefore often begged his honor to let me go among the herds of Yahoos in the neighborhood; to which he always very graciously consented, being perfectly convinced that the hatred I bore those brutes would never suffer me to be corrupted by them; and his honor ordered one of his servants, a strong sorrel nag, very honest and goodnatured, to be my guard; without whose protection I durst not undertake such adventures. For I have already told the reader how much I was pestered by those odious animals upon my first arrival. I afterwards failed very narrowly three or four times of falling into their clutches, when I happened to stray at any distance without my hanger. And I have reason to believe, they had some imagination that I was of their own species, which I often assisted myself, by stripping up my sleeves, and shewing my naked arms and breast in their sight, when my protector was with me; at which times they would approach as near as they durst, and imitate my actions after the manner of monkeys, but ever 2. Depression.

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with great signs of hatred; as a tame jackdaw with cap and stockings is always persecuted by the wild ones, when he happens to be got among them. They are prodigiously nimble from their infancy; however, I once caught a young male of three years old, and endeavored by all marks of tenderness to make it quiet; but the little imp fell a squalling, scratching, and biting with such violence, that I was forced to let it go; and it was high time, for a whole troop of old ones came about us at the noise; but finding the cub was safe (for away, it ran) and my sorrel nag being by, they durst not venture near us. I observed the young animal's flesh to smell very rank, and the stink was somewhat between a weasel and a fox, but much more disagreeable. I forgot another circumstance (and perhaps I might have the reader's pardon, if it were wholly omitted) that while I held the odious vermin in my hands, it voided its filthy excrements of a yellow liquid substance, all over my clothes; but by good fortune there was a small brook hard by, where I washed myself as clean as I could; although I durst not come into my master's presence until I were sufficiently aired. By what I could discover, the Yahoos appear to be the most unteachable of all animals, their capacities never reaching higher than to draw or carry burdens. Yet I am of opinion, this defect ariseth chiefly from a perverse, restive disposition. For they are cunning, malicious, treacherous and revengeful. They are strong and hardy, but of a cowardly spirit, and by consequence insolent, abject, and cruel. It is observed that the red-haired of both sexes are more libidinous and mischievous than the rest, whom yet they much exceed in strength and activity. The Houyhnhnms keep the Yahoos for present use in huts not far from the house; but the rest are sent abroad to certain fields, where they dig up roots, eat several kinds of herbs, and search about for carrion, or sometimes catch weasels and luhimuhs (a sort of wild rat) which they greedily devour. Nature hath taught them to dig deep holes with their nails on the side of a rising ground, wherein they lie by themselves; only the kennels of the females are larger, sufficient to hold two or three cubs. They swim from their infancy like frogs, and are able to continue long under water, where they often take fish, which the females carry home to their young. And upon this occasion, I hope the reader will pardon my relating an odd adventure. Being one day abroad with my protector the sorrel nag, and the weather exceeding hot, I entreated him to let me bathe in a river that was near. He consented, and I immediately stripped myself stark naked, and went down softly into the stream. It happened that a young female Yahoo standing behind a bank, saw the whole proceeding; and inflamed by desire, as the nag and I conjectured, came running with all speed, and leaped into the water within five yards of the place where I bathed. I was never in my life so terribly frighted; the nag was grazing at some distance, not suspecting any harm. She embraced me after a most fulsome manner; I roared as loud as I could, and the nag came galloping towards me, whereupon she quitted her grasp, with the utmost reluctancy, and leaped upon the opposite bank, where she stood gazing and howling all the time I was putting on my clothes. This was matter of diversion to my master and his family, as well as of mortification to myself. For now I could no longer deny that I was a real Yahoo, in every limb and feature, since the females had a natural propensity to me as one of their own species; neither was the hair of this brute of a red color (which might have been some excuse for an appetite a little irregular) but

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black as a sloe, and her countenance did not make an appearance altogether so hideous as the rest of the kind; for I think, she could not be above eleven years old. Having already lived three years in this country, the reader I suppose will expect that I should, like other travelers, give him some account of the manners and customs of its inhabitants, which it was indeed my principal study to learn. As these noble Houyhnhnms are endowed by Nature with a general disposition to all virtues, and have no conceptions or ideas of what is evil in a rational creature; so their grand maxim is to cultivate reason, and to be wholly governed by it. Neither is reason among them a point problematical as with us, where men can argue with plausibility on both sides of a question; but strikes you with immediate conviction; as it must needs do where it is not mingled, obscured, or discolored by passion and interest. I remember it was with extreme difficulty that I could bring my master to understand the meaning of the word "opinion," or how a point could be disputable; because reason taught us to affirm or deny only where we are certain; and beyond our knowledge we cannot do either. So that controversies, wranglings, disputes, and positiveness in false or dubious propositions are evils unknown among the Houyhnhnms. In the like manner when I used to explain to him our several systems of natural philosophy, 3 he would laugh that a creature pretending to reason should value itself upon the knowledge of other people's conjectures, and in things, where that knowledge, if it were certain, could be of no use. Wherein he agreed entirely with the sentiments of Socrates, as Plato delivers them, which I mention as the highest honor I can do that prince of philosophers. I have often since reflected what destruction such a doctrine would make in the libraries of Europe; and how many paths to fame would be then shut up in the learned world. Friendship and benevolence are the two principal virtues among the Houyhnhnms; and these not confined to particular objects, but universal to the whole race. For a stranger from the remotest part is equally treated with the nearest neighbor, and wherever he goes, looks upon himself as at home. They preserve decency and civility in the highest degrees, but are altogether ignorant of ceremony. They have no fondness for their colts or foals; but the care they take in educating them proceedeth entirely from the dictates of reason. And I observed my master to show the same affection to his neighbor's issue that he had for his own. They will have it that Nature teaches them to love the whole species, and it is reason only that maketh a distinction of persons, where there is a superior degree of virtue. When the matron Houyhnhnms have produced one of each sex, they no longer accompany with their consorts, except they lose one of their issue by some casualty, which very seldom happens; but in such a case they meet again; or when the like accident befalls a person whose wife is past bearing, some other couple bestows on him one of their own colts, and then go together a second time, until the mother be pregnant. This caution is necessary to prevent the country from being overburdened with numbers. But the race of inferior Houyhnhnms bred up to be servants is not so strictly limited upon this article; these are allowed to produce three of each sex, to be domestics in the noble families. In their marriages they are exactly careful to choose such colors as will not 3. Science.

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make any disagreeable mixture in the breed. Strength is chiefly valued in the male, and comeliness in the female; not upon the account of love, but to preserve the race from degenerating; for, where a female happens to excel in strength, a consort is chosen with regard to comeliness. Courtship, love, presents, jointures, settlements, have no place in their thoughts, or terms whereby to express them in their language. The young couple meet and are joined, merely because it is the determination of their parents and friends; it is what they see done every day; and they look upon it as one of the necessary actions in a reasonable being. But the violation of marriage, or any other unchastity, was never heard of; and the married pair pass their lives with the same friendship and mutual benevolence that they bear to all others of the same species who come in their way, without jealousy, fondness, quarreling, or discontent. In educating the youth of both sexes, their method is admirable, and highly deserveth our imitation. These are not suffered to taste a grain of oats, except upon certain days, till eighteen years old; nor milk, but very rarely; and in summer they graze two hours in the morning, and as many in the evening, which their parents likewise observe; but the servants are not allowed above half that time; and a great part of the grass is brought home, which they eat at the most convenient hours when they can be best spared from work. Temperance, industry, exercise, and cleanliness are the lessons equally enjoined to the young ones of both sexes; and my master thought it monstrous in us to give the females a different kind of education from the males, except in some articles of domestic management; whereby, as he truly observed, one half of our natives were good for nothing but bringing children into the world; and to trust the care of their children to such useless animals, he said was yet a greater instance of brutality. But the Houyhnhnms train up their youth to strength, speed, and hardiness, by exercising them in running races up and down steep hills, or over hard stony grounds; and when they are all in a sweat, they are ordered to leap over head and ears into a pond or a river. Four times a year the youth of certain districts meet to show their proficiency in running, and leaping, and other feats of strength or agility; where the victor is rewarded with a song made in his or her praise. On this festival the servants drive a herd of Yahoos into the field, laden with hay, and oats, and milk for a repast to the Houyhnhnms; after which these brutes are immediately driven back again, for fear of being noisome to the assembly. Every fourth year, at the vernal equinox, there is a representative council of the whole nation, which meets in a plain about twenty miles from our house, and continueth about five or six days. Here they inquire into the state and condition of the several districts; whether they abound or be deficient in hay or oats, or cows or Yahoos? And wherever there is any want (which is but seldom) it is immediately supplied by unanimous consent and contribution. Here likewise the regulation of children is settled: as for instance, if a Houyhnhnm hath two males, he changeth one of them with another who hath two females, and when a child hath been lost by any casualty, where the mother is past breeding, it is determined what family in the district shall breed another to supply the loss.

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C H A P T E R 9 . A grand debate at the general assembly of the Houyhnhnms, and how it was determined. The learning of the Houyhnhnms. Their buildings. Their manner of burials. The defectiveness of their language.

One of these grand assemblies was held in my time, about three months before my departure, whither my master went as the representative of our district. In this council was resumed their old debate, and indeed, the only debate that ever happened in their country; whereof my master after his return gave me a very particular account. The question to be debated was whether the Yahoos should be exterminated from the face of the earth. One of the members for the affirmative offered several arguments of great strength and weight, alleging that, as the Yahoos were the most filthy, noisome, and deformed animal which nature ever produced, so they were the most restive and indocible, 4 mischievous, and malicious; they would privately suck the teats of the Houyhnhnms' cows; kill and devour their cats, trample down their oats and grass, if they were not continually watched; and commit a thousand other extravagancies. He took notice of a general tradition, that Yahoos had not been always in their country, but that many ages ago, two of these brutes appeared together upon a mountain; whether produced by the heat of the sun upon corrupted mud and slime, or from the ooze and froth of the sea, was never known. That these Yahoos engendered, and their brood in a short time grew so numerous as to overrun and infest the whole nation. That the Houyhnhnms to get rid of this evil, made a general hunting, and at last enclosed the whole herd; and destroying the older, every Houyhnhnm kept two young ones in a kennel, and brought them to such a degree of tameness as an animal so savage by nature can be capable of acquiring, using them for draught and carriage. That there seemed to be much truth in this tradition, and that those creatures could not be ylnhniamshy (or aborigines of the land) because of the violent hatred the Houyhnhnms as well as all other animals bore them; which although their evil disposition sufficiently deserved, could never have arrived at so high a degree, if they had been aborigines, or else they would have long since been rooted out. That the inhabitants taking a fancy to use the service of the Yahoos, had very imprudently neglected to cultivate the breed of asses, which were a comely animal, easily kept, more tame and orderly, without any offensive smell, strong enough for labor, although they yield to the other in agility of body; and if their braying be no agreeable sound, it is far preferable to the horrible howlings of the Yahoos. Several others declared their sentiments to the same purpose, when my master proposed an expedient to the assembly, whereof he had indeed borrowed the hint from me. He approved of the tradition, mentioned by the honorable member, who spoke before; and affirmed, that the two Yahoos said to be first seen among them, had been driven thither over the sea; that coming to land, and being forsaken by their companions, they retired to the mountains, and degenerating by degrees, became in process of time much more savage than those of their own species in the country from whence these two originals came. The reason of his assertion was that he had now in his possession a certain wonderful Yahoo (meaning myself) which most of them had heard of, and many of them had seen. He then related to them how he first found me; that my body was all covered with an artificial composure of the skins and 4. Unteachable.

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hairs of other animals; that I spoke in a language of my own, and had thoroughly learned theirs; that I had related to him the accidents which brought me thither; that when he saw me without my covering, I was an exact Yahoo in every part, only of a whiter color, less hairy and with shorter claws. He added how I had endeavored to persuade him that in my own and other countries the Yahoos acted as the governing, rational animal, and held the Houyhnhnms in servitude; that he observed in me all the qualities of a Yahoo, only a little more civilized by some tincture of reason, which however was in a degree as far inferior to the Houyhnhnm race as the Yahoos of their country were to me; that among other things, I mentioned a custom we had of castrating Houyhnhnms when they were young, in order to render them tame; that the operation was easy and safe; that it was no shame to learn wisdom from brutes, as industry is taught by the ant, and building by the swallow (for so I translate the world lyhannh, although it be a much larger fowl). That this invention might be practiced upon the younger Yahoos here, which, besides rendering them tractable and fitter for use, would in an age put an end to the whole species without destroying life. That in the meantime the Houyhnhnms should be exhorted to cultivate the breed of asses, which, as they are in all respects more valuable brutes, so they have this advantage, to be fit for service at five years old, which the other are not till twelve. This was all my master thought fit to tell me at that time, of what passed in the grand council. But he was pleased to conceal one particular, which related personally to myself, whereof I soon felt the unhappy effect, as the reader will know in its proper place, and from whence I date all the succeeding misfortunes of my life. The Houyhnhnms have no letters, and consequently, their knowledge is all traditional. But there happening few events of any moment among a people so well united, naturally disposed to every virtue, wholly governed by reason, and cut off from all commerce with other nations, the historical part is easily preserved without burdening their memories. I have already observed that they are subject to no diseases, and therefore can have no need of physicians. However, they have excellent medicines composed of herbs, to cure accidental bruises and cuts in the pastern or frog 5 of the foot by sharp stones, as well as other maims and hurts in the several parts of the body. They calculate the year by the revolution of the sun and the moon, but use no subdivisions into weeks. They are well enough acquainted with the motions of those two luminaries, and understand the nature of eclipses; and this is the utmost progress of their astronomy. In poetry they must be allowed to excel all other mortals; wherein the justness of their similes, and the minuteness, as well as exactness of their descriptions, are indeed inimitable. Their verses abound very much in both of these, and usually contain either some exalted notions of friendship and benevolence, or the praises of those who were victors in races and other bodily exercises. Their buildings, although very rude and simple, are not inconvenient, but well contrived to defend them from all injuries of cold and heat. They have a kind of tree, which at forty years old loosens in the root, and falls with the first storm; it grows very straight, and being pointed like stakes with a sharp stone (for the Houyhnhnms know not the use of iron), they stick them erect in the ground about ten inches asunder, and then weave in oat straw, or sometimes wattles, betwixt them. The roof is made after the same manner, and so are the doors. 5. Sole.

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The Houyhnhnms use the hollow part between the pastern and the hoof of their forefeet as we do our hands, and this with greater dexterity than I could at first imagine. I have seen a white mare of our family thread a needle (which I lent her on purpose) with that joint. They milk their cows, reap their oats, and do all the work which requires hands in the same manner. They have a kind of hard flints, which by grinding against other stones they form into instruments that serve instead of wedges, axes, and hammers. With tools made of these flints, they likewise cut their hay, and reap their oats, which there groweth naturally in several fields. The Yahoos draw home the sheaves in carriages, and the servants tread them in certain covered huts, to get out the grain, which is kept in stores. They make a rude kind of earthen and wooden vessels, and bake the former in the sun. If they can avoid casualties, they die only of old age, and are buried in the obscurest places that can be found, their friends and relations expressing neither joy nor grief at their departure; nor does the dying person discover the least regret that he is leaving the world, any more than if he were upon returning home from a visit to one of his neighbors; I remember my master having once made an appointment with a friend and his family to come to his house upon some affair of importance; on the day fixed, the mistress and her two children came very late; she made two excuses, first for her husband, who, as she said, happened that very morning to Ihmnvnh. The word is strongly expressive in their language, but not easily rendered into English; it signifies, to retire to his first Mother. Her excuse for not coming sooner was that her husband dying late in the morning, she was a good while consulting her servants about a convenient place where his body should be laid; and I observed she behaved herself at our house, as cheerfully as the rest. She died about three months after. They live generally to seventy or seventy-five years, very seldom to fourscore; some weeks before their death they feel a gradual decay, but without pain. During this time they are much visited by their friends, because they cannot go abroad with their usual ease and satisfaction. However, about ten days before their death, which they seldom fail in computing, they return the visits that have been made by those who are nearest in the neighborhood, being carried in a convenient sledge drawn by Yahoos; which vehicle they use, not only upon this occasion, but when they grow old, upon long journeys, or when they are lamed by any accident. And therefore when the dying Houyhnhnms return those visits, they take a solemn leave of their friends, as if they were going to some remote part of the country, where they designed to pass the rest of their lives. I know not whether it may be worth observing, that the Houyhnhnms have no word in their language to express anything that is evil, except what they borrow from the deformities or ill qualities of the Yahoos. Thus they denote the folly of a servant, an omission of a child, a stone that cuts their feet, a continuance of foul or unseasonable weather, and the like, by adding to each the epithet of Yahoo. For instance, hlinm Yahoo, whnaholm Yahoo, ynlhmndxvihlma Yahoo, and an ill-contrived house, ynholmhnmrohlnw Yahoo. I could with great pleasure enlarge farther upon the manners and virtues of this excellent people; but intending in a short time to publish a volume by itself expressly upon that subject, I refer the reader thither. And in the meantime, proceed to relate my own sad catastrophe.

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The Author's economy, and happ) j life among the Houyhnhnms. His great improvement in virtue, by conversing with them. Their conversations. The Author hath notice given him by his master that he must depart from the country. He falls into a swoon for grief, hut submits. He contrives and finishes a canoe, by the help of a fellow servant, and puts to sea at a venture. CHAPTER

10.

I had settled my little economy to my own heart's content. My master had ordered a room to be made for me after their manner, about six yards from the house; the sides and floors of which I plastered with clay, and covered with rush mats of my own contriving; I had beaten hemp, which there grows wild, and made of it a sort of ticking; this I filled with the feathers of several birds I had taken with springes made of Yahoos' hairs, and were excellent food. I had worked two chairs with my knife, the sorrel nag helping me in the grosser and more laborious part. When my clothes were worn to rags, I made myself others with the skins of rabbits, and of a certain beautiful animal about the same size, called nnuhnoh, the skin of which is covered with a fine down. Of these I likewise made very tolerable stockings. I soled my shoes with wood which I cut from a tree, and fitted to the upper leather, and when this was worn out, I supplied it with the skins of Yahoos, dried in the sun. I often got honey out of hollow trees, which I mingled with water, or eat it with my bread. No man could more verify the truth of these two maxims, that Nature is very easily satisfied; and, that Necessity is the mother of invention. I enjoyed perfect health of body, and tranquility of mind; I did not feel the treachery or inconstancy of a friend, nor the inquiries of a secret or open enemy. I had no occasion of bribing, flattering, or pimping to procure the favor of any great man, or of his minion. I wanted no fence against fraud or oppression; here was neither physician to destroy my body, nor lawyer to ruin my fortune; no informer to watch my words and actions, or forge accusations against me for hire; here were no gibers, censurers, backbiters, pickpockets, highwaymen, housebreakers, attorneys, bawds, buffoons, gamesters, politicians, wits, splenetics, tedious talkers, controvertists, ravishers, murderers, robbers, virtuosos; 6 no leaders or followers of party and faction; no encouragers to vice, by seducement or examples; no dungeons, axes, gibbets, whipping posts, or pillories; no cheating shopkeepers or mechanics; no pride, vanity or affectation; no fops, bullies, drunkards, strolling whores, or poxes; no ranting, lewd, expensive wives; no stupid, proud pedants; no importunate, overbearing, quarrelsome, noisy, roaring, empty, conceited, swearing companions; no scoundrels raised from the dust upon the merit of their vices; or nobility thrown into it on account of their virtues; no lords, fiddlers, judges, or dancing masters. I had the favor of being admitted to several Houyhnhnms, who came to visit or dine with my master; where his honor graciously suffered me to wait in the room, and listen to their discourse. Both he and his company would often descend to ask me questions, and receive my answers. I had also sometimes the honor of attending my master in his visits to others. I never presumed to speak, except in answer to a question; and then I did it with inward regret, because it was a loss of so much time for improving myself; but I was infinitely delighted with the station of an humble auditor in such conversations, where nothing passed but what was useful, expressed in the fewest and most significant words; where (as I have already said) the greatest decency was observed, without the least degree of ceremony; where no person spoke without being pleased 6. Those who pursue special interests in the arts or sciences.

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himself, and pleasing his companions; where there was no interruption, tediousness, heat, or difference of sentiments. They have a notion, that when people are met together, a short silence doth much improve conversation; this I found to be true; for during those little intermissions of talk, new ideas would arise in their minds, which very much enlivened the discourse. Their subjects are generally on friendship and benevolence; on order and economy; sometimes upon the visible operations of nature, or ancient traditions; upon the bounds and limits of virtue; upon the unerring rules of reason; or upon some determinations, to be taken at the next great assembly; and often upon the various excellencies of poetry. I may add, without vanity, that my presence often gave them sufficient matter for discourse, because it afforded my master an occasion of letting his friends into the history of me and my country, upon which they were all pleased to descant in a manner not very advantageous to human kind; and for that reason I shall not repeat what they said; only I may be allowed to observe that his honor, to my great admiration, appeared to understand the nature of Yahoos much better than myself. He went through all our vices and follies, and discovered many which I had never mentioned to him; by only supposing what qualities a Yahoo of their country, with a small proportion of reason, might be capable of exerting; and concluded, with too much probability, how vile as well as miserable such a creature must be. I freely confess, that all the little knowledge I have of any value was acquired by the lectures I received from my master, and from hearing the discourses of him and his friends; to which I should be prouder to listen, than to dictate to the greatest and wisest assembly in Europe. I admired the strength, comeliness, and speed of the inhabitants; and such a constellation of virtues in such amiable persons produced in me the highest veneration. At first, indeed, I did not feel that natural awe which the Yahoos and all other animals bear towards them; but it grew upon me by degrees, much sooner than I imagined, and was mingled with a respectful love and gratitude, that they would condescend to distinguish me from the rest of my species. When I thought of my family, my friends, my countrymen, or human race in general, I considered them as they really were, Yahoos in shape and disposition, perhaps a little more civilized, and qualified with the gift of speech; but making no other use of reason than to improve and multiply those vices, whereof their brethren in this country had only the share that nature allotted them. When I happened to behold the reflection of my own form in a lake or fountain, I turned away my face in horror and detestation of myself, and could better endure the sight of a common Yahoo than of my own person. By conversing with the Houyhnhnms, and looking upon them with delight, I fell to imitate their gait and gesture, which is now grown into a habit; and my friends often tell me in a blunt way, that I trot like a horse; which, however, I take for a great compliment. Neither shall I disown, that in speaking I am apt to fall into the voice and manner of the Houyhnhnms, and hear myself ridiculed on that account without the least mortification. In the midst of this happiness, when I looked upon myself to be fully settled for life, my master sent for me one morning a little earlier than his usual hour. I observed by his countenance that he was in some perplexity, and at a loss how to begin what he had to speak. After a short silence, he told me, he did not know how I would take what he was going to say; that, in the last general assembly, when the affair of the Yahoos was entered upon, the representatives had taken offense at his keeping a Yahoo (meaning myself) in his family more like a Houyhnhnm than a brute animal. That he was known frequently to

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converse with me, as if he could receive some advantage of pleasure in my company; that such a practice was not agreeable to reason or nature, or a thing ever heard of before among them. The assembly did therefore exhort him, either to employ me like the rest of my species, or command me to swim back to the place from whence I came. That the first of these expedients was utterly rejected by all the Houyhnhnms who had ever seen me at his house or their own; for, they alleged, that because I had some rudiments of reason, added to the natural pravity 7 of those animals, it was to be feared, I might be able to seduce them into the woody and mountainous parts of the country, and bring them in troops by night to destroy the Houyhnhnms' cattle, as being naturally of the ravenous kind, and averse from labor. My master added that he was daily pressed by the Houyhnhnms of the neighborhood to have the assembly's exhortation executed, which he could not put off much longer. He doubted 8 it would be impossible for me to swim to another country; and therefore wished I would contrive some sort of vehicle resembling those I had described to him, that might carry me on the sea; in which work I should have the assistance of his own servants, as well as those of his neighbors. He concluded that for his own part he could have been content to keep me in his service as long as 1 lived; because he found I had cured myself of some bad habits and dispositions, by endeavoring, as far as my inferior nature was capable, to imitate the Houyhnhnms. I should here observe to the reader, that a decree of the general assembly in this country is expressed by the word hnhloayn, which signifies an exhortation, as near as I can render it; for they have no conception how a rational creature can be compelled, but only advised, or exhorted; because no person can disobey reason without giving up his claim to be a rational creature. I was struck with the utmost grief and despair at my master's discourse; and being unable to support the agonies I was under, I fell into a swoon at his feet; when I c a m e to myself, he told me that he concluded I had been dead (for these people are subject to no such imbecilities of nature). I answered, in a faint voice, that death would have been too great an happiness; that although I could not blame the assembly's exhortation, or the urgency of his friends; yet in my weak and corrupt judgment, I thought it might consist with reason to have been less rigorous. That I could not swim a league, and probably the nearest land to theirs might be distant above an hundred; that many materials, necessary for making a small vessel to carry me off, were wholly wanting in this country, which, however, I would attempt in obedience and gratitude to his honor, although I concluded the thing to be impossible, and therefore looked on myself as already devoted to destruction. That the certain prospect of an unnatural death was the least of my evils; for, supposing I should escape with life by some strange adventure, how could I think with temper 9 of passing my days among Yahoos, and relapsing into my old corruptions, for want of examples to lead and keep me within the paths of virtue. That I knew too well upon what solid reasons all the determinations of the wise Houyhnhnms were founded, not to be shaken by arguments of mine, a miserable Yahoo; and therefore after presenting him with my humble thanks for the offer of his servants' assistance in making a vessel, and desiring a reasonable time for so difficult a work, I told him I would endeavor to preserve a wretched being; 7. Corruption. 8. Feared.

9. Equanimity. "Devoted": doomed.

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and, if ever I returned to England, was not without hopes of being useful to my own species by celebrating the praises of the renowned Houyhnhnms, and proposing their virtues to the imitation of mankind. My master in a few words made me a very gracious reply, allowed me the space of two months to finish my boat, and ordered the sorrel nag, my fellow servant (for so at this distance I may presume to call him), to follow my instructions, because I told my master that his help would be sufficient, and I knew he had a tenderness for me. In his company my first business was to go to that part of the coast where my rebellious crew had ordered me to be set on shore. I got upon a height, and looking on every side into the sea, fancied I saw a small island towards the northeast; I took out my pocket glass, and could then clearly distinguish it about five leagues off, as I computed; but it appeared to the sorrel nag to be only a blue cloud; for, as he had no conception of any country besides his own, so he could not be as expert in distinguishing remote objects at sea, as we who so much converse in that element. After I had discovered this island, I considered no farther; but resolved, it should, if possible, be the first place of my banishment, leaving the consequence to fortune. I returned home, and consulting with the sorrel nag, we went into a copse at some distance, where I with my knife, and he with a sharp flint fastened very artificially, 1 after their manner, to a wooden handle, cut down several oak wattles about the thickness of a walking staff, and some larger pieces. But I shall not trouble the reader with a particular description of my own mechanics; let it suffice to say, that in six weeks time, with the help of the sorrel nag, who performed the parts that required most labor, I finished a sort of Indian canoe; but much larger, covering it with the skins of Yahoos, well stitched together, with hempen threads of my own making. My sail was likewise composed of the skins of the same animal; but I made use of the youngest I could get, the older being too tough and thick; and 1 likewise provided myself with four paddles. I laid in a stock of boiled flesh, of rabbits and fowls; and took with me two vessels, one filled with milk, and the other with water. I tried my canoe in a large pond near my master's house, and then corrected in it what was amiss, stopping all the chinks with Yahoo's tallow, till I found it staunch, and able to bear me and my freight. And when it was as complete as I could possibly make it, I had it drawn on a carriage very gently by Yahoos, to the seaside, under the conduct of the sorrel nag and another servant. When all was ready, and the day came for my departure, I took leave of my master and lady, and the whole family, my eyes flowing with tears and my heart quite sunk with grief. 2 But his honor, out of curiosity, and perhaps (if I may speak it without vanity) partly out of kindness, was determined to see me in my canoe; and got several of his neighboring friends to accompany him. I was forced to wait above an hour for the tide, and then observing the wind very fortunately bearing towards the island to which I intended to steer my course, I took a second leave of my master; but as I was going to prostrate myself to kiss his hoof, he did me the honor to raise it gently to my mouth. I am not ignorant how much I have been censured for mentioning this last particular. Detractors are pleased to think it improbable that so illustrious a 1. Artfully. 2. For depiction of this s c e n e by Sawrey Gilpin, see the color insert in this volume.

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person should descend to give so great a mark of distinction to a creature so inferior as I. Neither have I forgot how apt some travelers are to boast of extraordinary favors they have received. But, if these censurers were better acquainted with the noble and courteous disposition of the Houyhnhnms, they would soon change their opinion. I paid my respects to the rest of the Houyhnhnms in his honor's company; then getting into my canoe, I pushed off from shore.

The Author 's dangerous voyage. He arrives at New Holland, hoping to settle there. Is wounded with an arrow by one of the natives. Is seized and carried by force into a Portuguese ship. The great civilities of the Captain. The Author arrives at England. CHAPTER 11.

I began this desperate voyage on February 15, 1714/5, 3 at 9 o'clock in the morning. The wind was very favorable; however, I made use at first only of my paddles; but considering I should soon be weary, and that the wind might probably chop about, I ventured to set up my little sail, and thus, with the help of the tide, I went at the rate of a league and a half an hour, as near as I could guess. My master and his friends continued on the shore, till I was almost out of sight; and I often heard the sorrel nag (who always loved me) crying out, "Ilnuy ilia nyha maiah Yahoo" ("Take care of thyself, gentle Yahoo"). My design was, if possible, to discover some small island uninhabited, yet sufficient by my labor to furnish me with necessaries of life, which I would have thought a greater happiness than to be first minister in the politest court of Europe, so horrible was the idea I conceived of returning to live in the society and under the government of Yahoos. For in such a solitude as I desired, I could at least enjoy my own thoughts, and reflect with delight on the virtues of those inimitable Houyhnhnms, without any opportunity of degenerating into the vices and corruptions of my own species. The reader may remember what I related when my crew conspired against me, and confined me to my cabin, how I continued there several weeks, without knowing what course we took; and when I was put ashore in the longboat, how the sailors told me with oaths, whether true or false, that they knew not in what part of the world we were. However, I did then believe us to be about 10 degrees southward of the Cape of Good Hope, or about 4 5 degrees southern latitude, as I gathered from some general words I overheard among them, being I supposed to the southeast in their intended voyage to Madagascar. And although this were but little better than conjecture, yet I resolved to steer my course eastward, hoping to reach the southwest coast of New Holland, and perhaps some such island as I desired, lying westward of it. The wind was full west, and by six in the evening I computed I had gone eastward at least eighteen leagues; when I spied a very small island about half a league off, which I soon reached. It was nothing but a rock with one creek, naturally arched by the force of tempests. Here I put in my canoe, and climbing a part of the rock, I could plainly discover land to the east, extending from south to north. I lay all night in my canoe; and repeating my voyage early in the morning, I arrived in seven hours to the southeast point of New Holland. This confirmed me in the opinion I have long entertained, that the maps and charts 3. I.e., 171 5, by modern dating. The year began on March 25.

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place this country at least three degrees more to the east than it really is; which thought I communicated many years ago to my worthy friend Mr. Herman Moll, 4 and gave him my reasons for it, although he hath rather chosen to follow other authors. I saw no inhabitants in the place where I landed; and being unarmed, I was afraid of venturing far into the country. I found some shellfish on the shore, and eat them raw, not daring to kindle a fire, for fear of being discovered by the natives. I continued three days feeding on oysters and limpets, to save my own provisions; and I fortunately found a brook of excellent water, which gave me great relief. On the fourth day, venturing out early a little too far, I saw twenty or thirty natives upon a height, not above five hundred yards from me. They were stark naked, men, women, and children round a fire, as I could discover by the smoke. One of them spied me, and gave notice to the rest; five of them advanced towards me, leaving the women and children at the fire. I made what haste I could to the shore, and getting into my canoe, shoved off; the savages observing me retreat, ran after me; and before I could get far enough into the sea, discharged an arrow, which wounded me deeply on the inside of my left knee. (I shall carry the mark to my grave.) I apprehended the arrow might be poisoned; and paddling out of the reach of their darts (being a calm day) I made a shift to suck the wound, and dress it as well as I could. I was at a loss what to do, for I durst not return to the same landing place, but stood to the north, and was forced to paddle; for the wind, although very gentle, was against me, blowing northwest. As I was looking about for a secure landing place, I saw a sail to the north northeast, which appearing every minute more visible, I was in some doubt whether I should wait for them or no; but at last my detestation of the Yahoo race prevailed; and turning my canoe, I sailed and paddled together to the south, and got into the same creek from whence I set out in the morning, choosing rather to trust myself among these barbarians than live with European Yahoos. I drew up my canoe as close as I could to the shore, and hid myself behind a stone by the little brook, which, as I have already said, was excellent water. The ship came within half a league of this creek, and sent out her longboat with vessels to take in fresh water (for the place it seems was very well known), but I did not observe it until the boat was almost on shore; and it was too late to seek another hiding place. The seamen at their landing observed my canoe, and rummaging it all over, easily conjectured that the owner could not be far off. Four of them well armed searched every cranny and lurking hole, till at last they found me flat on my face behind the stone. They gazed a while in admiration at my strange uncouth dress; my coat made of skins, my woodensoled shoes, and my furred stockings; from whence, however, they concluded I was not a native of the place, who all go naked. One of the seamen in Portuguese bid me rise, and asked who I was. I understood that language very well, and getting upon my feet, said I was a poor Yahoo, banished from the Houyhnhnms, and desired they would please to let me depart. They admired to hear me answer them in their own tongue, and saw by my complexion I must be an European; but were at a loss to know what I meant by Yahoos and Houyhnhnms, and at the same time fell a laughing at my strange tone in speaking, which resembled the neighing of a horse. I trembled all the while 4. A f a m o u s contemporary m a p maker.

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betwixt fear and hatred; I again desired leave to depart, and was gently moving to my canoe; but they laid hold on me, desiring to know what country I was of? whence I came? with many other questions. I told them I was born in England, from whence I came about five years ago, and then their country and ours was at peace. I therefore hoped they would not treat me as an enemy, since I meant them no harm, but was a poor Yahoo, seeking some desolate place where to pass the remainder of his unfortunate life. When they began to talk, I thought I never heard or saw any thing so unnatural; for it appeared to me as monstrous as if a dog or a cow should speak in England, or a Yahoo in Houyhnhnmland. The honest Portuguese were equally amazed at my strange dress, and the odd manner of delivering my words, which however they understood very well. They spoke to me with great humanity, and said they were sure their Captain would carry me gratis to Lisbon, from whence I might return to my own country; that two of the seamen would go back to the ship, to inform the Captain of what they had seen, and receive his orders; in the meantime, unless I would give my solemn oath not to fly, they would secure me by force. I thought it best to comply with their proposal. They were very curious to know my story, but I gave them very little satisfaction; and they all conjectured, that my misfortunes had impaired my reason. In two hours the boat, which went laden with vessels of water, returned with the Captain's commands to fetch me on board. I fell on my knees to preserve my liberty; but all was in vain, and the men having tied me with cords, heaved me into the boat, from whence I was taken into the ship, and from thence into the Captain's cabin. His name was Pedro de Mendez; he was a very courteous and generous person; he entreated me to give some account of myself, and desired to know what I would eat or drink; said I should be used as well as himself, and spoke so many obliging things, that I wondered to find such civilities from a Yahoo. However, I remained silent and sullen; I was ready to faint at the very smell of him and his men. At last I desired something to eat out of my own canoe; but he ordered me a chicken and some excellent wine, and then directed that I should be put to bed in a very clean cabin. I would not undress myself, but lay on the bedclothes; and in half an hour stole out, when I thought the crew was at dinner; and getting to the side of the ship, was going to leap into the sea, and swim for my life, rather than continue among Yahoos. But one of the seamen prevented me, and having informed the Captain, I was chained to my cabin. After dinner Don Pedro came to me, and desired to know my reason for so desperate an attempt; assured me he only meant to do me all the service he was able; and spoke so very movingly, that at last I descended to treat him like an animal which had some little portion of reason. I gave him a very short relation of my voyage; of the conspiracy against me by my own men; of the country where they set me on shore, and of my five years residence there. All which he looked upon as if it were a dream or a vision; whereat I took great offense; for I had quite forgot the faculty of lying, so peculiar to Yahoos in all countries where they preside, and consequently the disposition of suspecting truth in others of their own species. I asked him whether it were the custom of his country to say the thing that was not? I assured him I had almost forgot what he meant by falsehood; and if I had lived a thousand years in Houyhnhnmland, I should never have heard a lie from the meanest servant. That I was altogether indifferent whether he believed me or no; but however,

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in return for his favors, I would give so much allowance to the corruption of his nature, as to answer any objection he would please to make; and he might easily discover the truth. The Captain, a wise man, after many endeavors to catch me tripping in some part of my story, at last began to have a better opinion of my veracity. But he added that since I professed so inviolable an attachment to truth, I must give him my word of honor to bear him company in this voyage without attempting anything against my life; or else he would continue me a prisoner till we arrived at Lisbon. I gave him the promise he required; but at the same time protested that I would suffer the greatest hardships rather than return to live among Yahoos. Our voyage passed without any considerable accident. In gratitude to the Captain I sometimes sat with him at his earnest request, and strove to conceal my antipathy against humankind, although it often broke out; which he suffered to pass without observation. But the greatest part of the day, I confined myself to my cabin, to avoid seeing any of the crew. The Captain had often entreated me to strip myself of my savage dress, and offered to lend me the best suit of clothes he had. This I would not be prevailed on to accept, abhorring to cover myself with anything that had been on the back of a Yahoo. I only desired he would lend me two clean shirts, which having been washed since he wore them, I believed would not so much defile me. These I changed every second day, and washed them myself. We arrived at Lisbon, Nov. 5, 1715. At our landing, the Captain forced me to cover myself with his cloak, to prevent the rabble from crowding about me. I was conveyed to his own house; and at my earnest request, he led me up to the highest room backwards. 5 1 conjured him to conceal from all persons what I had told him of the Houyhnhnms; because the least hint of such a story would not only draw numbers of people to see me, but probably put me in danger of being imprisoned, or burned by the Inquisition. The Captain persuaded me to accept a suit of clothes newly made; but I would not suffer the tailor to take my measure; however, Don Pedro being almost of my size, they fitted me well enough. He accoutered me with other necessaries, all new, which I aired for twenty-four hours before I would use them. The Captain had no wife, nor above three servants, none of which were suffered to attend at meals; and his whole deportment was so obliging, added to very good human understanding, that I really began to tolerate his company. He gained so far upon me, that I ventured to look out of the back window. By degrees I was brought into another room, from whence I peeped into the street, but drew my head back in a fright. In a week's time he seduced me down to the door. I found my terror gradually lessened, but my hatred and contempt seemed to increase. I was at last bold enough to walk the street in his company, but kept my nose well stopped with rue, or sometimes with tobacco. In ten days, Don Pedro, to whom I had given some account of my domestic affairs, put it upon me as a point of honor and conscience that I ought to return to my native country, and live at home with my wife and children. He told me there was an English ship in the port just ready to sail, and he would furnish me with all things necessary. It would be tedious to repeat his arguments, and my contradictions. He said it was altogether impossible to find 5. At the rear.

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such a solitary island as I had desired to live in; but I might command in my own house, and pass my time in a manner as recluse as I pleased. I complied at last, finding I could not do better. 1 left Lisbon the 24th day of November, in an English merchantman, but who was the Master I never inquired. Don Pedro accompanied me to the ship, and lent me twenty pounds. He took land leave of me, and embraced me at parting; which I bore as well as I could. During this last voyage I had no commerce with the Master, or any of his men; but pretending I was sick kept close in my cabin. On the fifth of December, 1715, we cast anchor in the Downs about nine in the morning, and at three in the afternoon I got safe to my house at Redriff. My wife and family received me with great surprise and joy, because they concluded me certainly dead; but I must freely confess, the sight of them filled me only with hatred, disgust, and contempt; and the more, by reflecting on the near alliance I had to them. For although since my unfortunate exile from the Houyhnhnm country, I had compelled myself to tolerate the sight of Yahoos, and to converse with Don Pedro de Mendez; yet my memory and imaginations were perpetually filled with the virtues and ideas of those exalted Houyhnhnms. And when I began to consider that by copulating with one of the Yahoo species, I had become a parent of more, it struck me with the utmost shame, confusion, and horror. As soon as I entered the house, my wife took me in her arms, and kissed me; at which, having not been used to the touch of that odious animal for so many years, I fell in a swoon for almost an hour. At the time I am writing, it is five years since my last return to England. During the first year I could not endure my wife or children in my presence, the very smell of them was intolerable; much less could I suffer them to eat in the same room. To this hour they dare not presume to touch my bread, or drink out of the same cup; neither was I ever able to let one of them take me by the hand. The first money I laid out was to buy two young stone-horses, 6 which I keep in a good stable, and next to them the groom is my greatest favorite; for I feel my spirits revived by the smell he contracts in the stable. My horses understand me tolerably well; I converse with them at least four hours every day. They are strangers to bridle or saddle; they live in great amity with me, and friendship to each other. 1 2 . The Author's veracity. His design in publishing this work. His censure of those travelers who swerve from the truth. The Author clears himself from any sinister ends in writing. His native country commended. The right of the crown to those countries described by the Author is justified. The difficulty of conquering them. The Author takes his last leave of the reader; proposeth his manner of living for the future; gives good advice, and concludeth. CHAPTER

Thus gentle reader, I have given thee a faithful history of my travels for sixteen years, and above seven months; wherein I have not been so studious of ornament as of truth. I could perhaps like others have astonished thee with strange improbable tales; but I rather chose to relate plain matter of fact in the simplest manner and style; because my principal design was to inform, and not to amuse thee. It is easy for us who travel into remote countries, which are seldom visited by Englishmen or other Europeans, to form descriptions of wonderful animals 6. Stallions.

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both at sea and land. Whereas a traveler's chief aim should be to make men wiser and better, and to improve their minds by the bad as well as good example of what they deliver concerning foreign places. I could heartily wish a law were enacted, that every traveler, before he were permitted to publish his voyages, should be obliged to make oath before the Lord High Chancellor that all he intended to print was absolutely true to the best of his knowledge; for then the world would no longer be deceived as it usually is, while some writers, to make their works pass the better upon the public, impose the grossest falsities on the unwary reader. I have perused several books of travels with great delight in my younger days; but, having since gone over most parts of the globe, and been able to contradict many fabulous accounts from my own observation, it hath given me a great disgust against this part of reading, and some indignation to see the credulity of mankind so impudently abused. Therefore, since my acquaintance were pleased to think my poor endeavors might not be unacceptable to my country, I imposed on myself as a maxim, never to be swerved from, that I would strictly adhere to truth; neither indeed can I be ever under the least temptation to vary from it, while I retain in my mind the lectures and example of my noble master, and the other illustrious Houyhnhnms, of whom I had so long the honor to be an humble hearer.

Nec si miserum Fortuna Sinonem Fitvcit, vanum etiam, mendacemque im-proba finget. 7 I know very well how little reputation is to be got by writings which require neither genius nor learning, nor indeed any other talent, except a good memory, or an exact journal. I know likewise, that writers of travels, like dictionarymakers, are sunk into oblivion by the weight and bulk of those who come last, and therefore lie uppermost. And it is highly probable that such travelers who shall hereafter visit the countries described in this work of mine, may be detecting my errors (if there be any) and adding many new discoveries of their own, jostle me out of vogue, and stand in my place, making the world forget that ever I was an author. This indeed would be too great a mortification if I wrote for fame; but, as my sole intention was the P U B L I C G O O D , I cannot be altogether disappointed. For, who can read the virtues I have mentioned in the glorious Houyhnhnms, without being ashamed of his own vices, when he considers himself as the reasoning, governing animal of his country? I shall say nothing of those remote nations where Yahoos preside; amongst which the least corrupted are the Brobdingnagians, whose wise maxims in morality and government it would be our happiness to observe. But I forbear descanting further, and rather leave the judicious reader to his own remarks and applications. I am not a little pleased that this work of mine can possibly meet with no censurers; for what objections can be made against a writer who relates only plain facts that happened in such distant countries, where we have not the least interest with respect either to trade or negotiations? I have carefully avoided every fault with which common writers of travels are often too justly charged. Besides, I meddle not the least with any party, but write without passion, prejudice, or ill-will against any man or number of men whatsoever. 7. Nor if Fortune had molded Sinon for miser)', will she also in spite mold him as false and lying (Latin; Virgil's Aeneid 2 . 7 9 - 8 0 ) .

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I write for the noblest end, to inform and instruct mankind, over whom I may, without breach of modesty, pretend to some superiority, from the advantages I received by conversing so long among the most accomplished Houyhnhnms. I write without any view towards profit or praise. I never suffer a word to pass that may look like a reflection, 8 or possibly give the least offense even to those who are most ready to take it. So that, I hope, I may with justice pronounce myself an Author perfectly blameless; against whom the tribes of answerers, considerers, observers, reflectors, detecters, remarkers will never be able to find matter for exercising their talents. I confess it was whispered to me that I was bound in duty as a subject of England, to have given in a memorial 9 to a secretary of state, at my first coming over; because, whatever lands are discovered by a subject, belong to the Crown. But I doubt whether our conquests in the countries I treat of would be as easy as those of Ferdinando Cortez over the naked Americans. The Lilliputians, I think, are hardly worth the charge of a fleet and army to reduce them; and I question whether it might be prudent or safe to attempt the Brobdingnagians; or, whether an English army would be much at their ease with the Flying Island over their heads. The Houyhnhnms, indeed, appear not to be so well prepared for war, a science to which they are perfect strangers, and especially against missive weapons. However, supposing myself to be a minister of state, I could never give my advice for invading them. Their prudence, unanimity, unacquaintedness with fear, and their love of their country would amply supply all defects in the military art. Imagine twenty thousand of them breaking into the midst of an European army, confounding the ranks, overturning the carriages, battering the warriors' faces into mummy, by terrible yerks from their hinder hoofs: for they would well deserve the character given to Augustus, Recalcitrat undique tutus.1 But instead of proposals for conquering that magnanimous nation, I rather wish they were in a capacity or disposition to send a sufficient number of their inhabitants for civilizing Europe; by teaching us the first principles of Honor, Justice, Truth, Temperance, Public Spirit, Fortitude, Chastity, Friendship, Benevolence, and Fidelity. The names of all which virtues are still retained among us in most languages, and are to be met with in modern as well as ancient authors, which I am able to assert from my own small reading. But I had another reason which made me less forward to enlarge his majesty's dominions by my discoveries: to say the truth, I had conceived a few scruples with relation to the distributive justice of princes upon those occasions. For instance, a crew of pirates are driven by a storm they know not whither; at length a boy discovers land from the topmast; they go on shore to rob and plunder; they see an harmless people, are entertained with kindness, they give the country a new name, they take formal possession of it for the king, they set up a rotten plank or a stone for a memorial, they murder two or three dozen of the natives, bring away a couple more by force for a sample, return home, and get their pardon. Here commences a new dominion acquired with a title by Divine Right. Ships are sent with the first opportunity; the natives driven out or destroyed, their princes tortured to discover their gold; a free license given to all acts of inhumanity and lust; the earth reeking with 8. C e n s u r e , criticism. 9. Statement of facts for government use. I. He kicks backward, at every point on his guard

(Latin; Horace's Satires 2 . 1 . 2 0 ) . " M u m m y " : pulp. "Yerks": kicks.

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the blood of its inhabitants: and this execrable crew of butchers employed in so pious an expedition is a modern colony sent to convert and civilize an idolatrous and barbarous people. But this description, I confess, doth by no means affect the British nation, who may be an example to the whole world for their wisdom, care, and justice in planting colonies; their liberal endowments for the advancement of religion and learning; their choice of devout and able pastors to propagate Christianity; their caution in stocking their provinces with people of sober lives and conversations from this the Mother Kingdom; their strict regard to the distribution of justice, in supplying the civil administration through all their colonies with officers of the greatest abilities, utter strangers to corruption: and to crown all, by sending the most vigilant and virtuous governors, who have no other views than the happiness of the people over whom they preside, and the honor of the king their master. But, as those countries which I have described do not appear to have any desire of being conquered, and enslaved, murdered, or driven out by colonies, nor abound either in gold, silver, sugar, or tobacco, I did humbly conceive they were by no means proper objects of our zeal, our valor, or our interest. However, if those whom it may concern, think fit to be of another opinion, I am ready to depose, when I shall be lawfully called, that no European did ever visit these countries before me. I mean, if the inhabitants ought to be believed. But, as to the formality of taldng possession in my sovereign's name, it never came once into my thoughts; and if it had, yet as my affairs then stood, I should perhaps in point of prudence and self-preservation have put it off to a better opportunity. Having thus answered the only objection that can be raised against me as a traveler, I here take a final leave of my courteous readers, and return to enjoy my own speculations in my little garden at Redriff; to apply those excellent lessons of virtue which I learned among the Houyhnhnms; to instruct the Yahoos of my own family as far as I shall find them docible animals; to behold my figure often in a glass, and thus if possible habituate myself by time to tolerate the sight of a human creature; to lament the brutality of Houyhnhnms in my own country, but always treat their persons with respect, for the sake of my noble master, his family, his friends, and the whole Houyhnhnm race, whom these of ours have the honor to resemble in all their lineaments, however their intellectuals came to degenerate. I began last week to permit my wife to sit at dinner with me, at the farthest end of a long table; and to answer (but with the utmost brevity) the few questions I ask her. Yet the smell of a Yahoo continuing very offensive, I always keep my nose well stopped with rue, lavender, or tobacco leaves. And although it be hard for a man late in life to remove old habits, I am not altogether out of hopes in some time to suffer a neighbor Yahoo in my company, without the apprehensions I am yet under of his teeth or his claws. My reconcilement to the Yahoo kind in general might not be so difficult, if they would be content with those vices and follies only which nature hath entitled them to. I am not in the least provoked at the sight of a lawyer, a pickpocket, a colonel, a fool, a lord, a gamester, a politician, a whoremonger, a physician, an evidence, 2 a suborner, an attorney, a traitor, or the like: this is all according to the due course of things. But when I behold a lump of defor2. Witness.

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mity, and diseases both in body and mind, smitten with pride, it immediately breaks all the measures of my patience; neither shall I be ever able to comprehend how such an animal and such a vice could tally together. The wise and virtuous Houyhnhnms, who abound in all excellencies that can adorn a rational creature, have no name for this vice in their language, which hath no terms to express anything that is evil, except those whereby they describe the detestable qualities of their Yahoos, among which they were not able to distinguish this of pride, for want of thoroughly understanding human nature, as it showeth itself in other countries, where that animal presides. But I, who had more experience, could plainly observe some rudiments of it among the wild Yahoos. But the Houyhnhnms, who live under the government of reason, are no more proud of the good qualities they possess, than I should be for not wanting a leg or an arm, which no man in his wits would boast of, although he must be miserable without them. I dwell the longer upon this subject from the desire I have to make the society of an English Yahoo by any means not insupportable; and therefore I here entreat those who have any tincture of this absurd vice, that they will not presume to appear in my sight. 1726,1735

A Modest Proposal 1 FOR PREVENTING THE CHILDREN OF POOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND FROM BEING A BURDEN TO THEIR PARENTS OR COUNTRY, AND FOR MAKING THEM BENEFICIAL TO THE PURLIC

It is a melancholy object to those who walk through this great town 2 or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads, and cabin doors, crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags and importuning every passenger for an alms. These mothers, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in strolling to beg sustenance for their helpless infants, who, as they grow up, either turn thieves for want of work, or leave their dear native country to fight for the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes. 3 I think it is agreed by all parties that this prodigious number of children in 1. "A Modest Proposal" is an example of Swift's favorite satiric devices used with superb effect. Irony (from the deceptive adjective modest in the title to the very last sentence) pervades the piece. A rigorous logic deduces ghastly arguments from a premise so quietly assumed that readers assent before they are aware of what that assent implies. Parody, at which Swift is adept, allows him to glance sardonically at the by then familiar figure of the benevolent humanitarian (forerunner of the modern sociologist, social worker, and economic planner) concerned to correct a social evil by means of a theoretically conceived plan. T h e proposer, as naive as he is apparently logical and kindly, ignores and therefore emphasizes for the reader the enormity of his plan. The whole is an elaboration of a rather trite metaphor: "The English are devouring the Irish." But there is noth-

ing trite about the pamphlet, which expresses in Swift's most controlled style his revulsion at the contemporary state of Ireland and his indignation at the rapacious English absentee landlords, who were bleeding the country white with the silent approbation of Parliament, ministers, and the crown. 2. Dublin. 3. J a m e s Francis Edward Stuart ( 1 6 8 8 - 1 7 6 6 ) , the son of J a m e s II, was claimant ("Pretender") to the throne of England from which the Glorious Revolution had barred his succession. Catholic Ireland was loyal to him, and Irishmen joined him in his exile on the Continent. B e c a u s e of the poverty in Ireland, many Irishmen emigrated to the West Indies and other British colonies in America; they paid their passage by binding themselves to work for a stated period for one of the planters.

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the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable state of the kingdom a very great additional grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair, cheap, and easy method of making these children sound, useful members of the commonwealth would deserve so well of the public as to have his statue set up for a preserver of the nation. But my intention is very far from being confined to provide only for the children of professed beggars; it is of a much greater extent, and shall take in the whole number of infants at a certain age who are born of parents in effect as little able to support them as those who demand our charity in the streets. As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of other projectors,"1 I have always found them grossly mistaken in their computation. It is true, a child just dropped from its dam may be supported by her milk for a solar year, with little other nourishment; at most not above the value of two shillings, which the mother may certainly get, or the value in scraps, by her lawful occupation of begging; and it is exactly at one year old that I propose to provide for them in such a manner as instead of being a charge upon their parents or the parish, or wanting food and raiment for the rest of their lives, they shall on the contrary contribute to the feeding, and partly to the clothing, of many thousands. There is likewise another great advantage in my scheme, that it will prevent those voluntary abortions, and that horrid practice of women murdering their bastard children, alas, too frequent among us, sacrificing the poor innocent babes, I doubt, more to avoid the expense than the shame, which would move tears and pity in the most savage and inhuman breast. The number of souls in this kingdom' being usually reckoned one million and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two hundred thousand couple whose wives are breeders; from which number I subtract thirty thousand couples who are able to maintain their own children, although I apprehend there cannot be so many under the present distresses of the kingdom; but this being granted, there will remain an hundred and seventy thousand breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand for those women who miscarry, or whose children die by accident or disease within the year. There only remain an hundred and twenty thousand children of poor parents annually born. The question therefore is, how this number shall be reared and provided for, which, as I have already said, under the present situation of affairs, is utterly impossible by all the methods hitherto proposed. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land. They can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing till they arrive at six years old, except where they are of towardly parts; 6 although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier, during which time they can however be looked upon only as probationers, as I have been informed by a principal gentleman in the county of Cavan, who protested to me that he never knew above one or two instances under the ages of six, even in a part of the kingdom so renowned for the quickest proficiency in that art. I am assured by our merchants that a boy or a girl before twelve years old is no salable commodity; and even when they come to this age they will not 4. Devisers of s c h e m e s . 5. Ireland.

6. Promising abilities.

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yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half a crown at most on the Exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or the kingdom, the charge of nutriment and rags having been at least four times that value. I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout." I do therefore humbly offer it to public consideration that of the hundred and twenty thousand children, already computed, twenty thousand may be reserved for breed, whereof only one fourth part to be males, which is more than we allow to sheep, black cattle, or swine; and my reason is that these children are seldom the fruits of marriage, a circumstance not much regarded by our savages, therefore one male will be sufficient to serve four females. That the remaining hundred thousand may at a year old be offered in sale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom, always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter. I have reckoned upon a medium that a child just born will weigh twelve pounds, and in a solar year if tolerably nursed increaseth to twenty-eight pounds. I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children. Infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year, but more plentiful in March, and a little before and after. For we are told by a grave author, an eminent French physician, 8 that fish being a prolific diet, there are more children born in Roman Catholic countries about nine months after Lent than at any other season; therefore, reckoning a year after Lent, the markets will be more glutted than usual, because the number of popish infants is at least three to one in this kingdom; and therefore it will have one other collateral advantage, by lessening the number of Papists among us. I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child (in which list I reckon all cottagers, laborers, and four fifths of the farmers) to be about two shillings per annum, rags included; and I believe no gentleman would repine to give ten shillings for the carcass of a good fat child, which, as I have said, will make four dishes of excellent nutritive meat, when he hath only some particular friend or his own family to dine with him. Thus the squire will learn to be a good landlord, and grow popular among the tenants; the mother will have eight shillings net profit, and be fit for the work till she produces another child. Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require) may flay the carcass; the skin of which artificially 9 dressed will make admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen. 7. A highly s e a s o n e d meat stew. 8. Francois Rabelais (ca. 1494—1553), a h u m o r i s t

and satirist, by no m e a n s grave. 9. S k i l l f u l l y . '

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A IMODEST PROPOSAL

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As to our city of Dublin, shambles' may be appointed for this purpose in the most convenient parts of it, and butchers we may be assured will not be wanting; although I rather recommend buying the children alive, and dressing them hot from the knife as we do roasting pigs. A very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose virtues I highly esteem, was lately pleased in discoursing on this matter to offer a refinement upon my scheme. He said that many gentlemen of this kingdom, having of late destroyed their deer, he conceived that the want of venison might be well supplied by the bodies of young lads and maidens, not exceeding fourteen years of age nor under twelve, so great a number of both sexes in every county being now ready to starve for want of work and service; and these to be disposed of by their parents, if alive, or otherwise by their nearest relations. But with due deference to so excellent a friend and so deserving a patriot, I cannot be altogether in his sentiments; for as to the males, my American acquaintance assured me from frequent experience that their flesh was generally tough and lean, like that of our schoolboys, by continual exercise, and their taste disagreeable; and to fatten them would not answer the charge. Then as to the females, it would, I think with humble submission, be a loss to the public, because they soon would become breeders themselves; and besides, it is not improbable that some scrupulous people might be apt to censure such a practice (although indeed very unjustly) as a little bordering upon cruelty; which I confess, hath always been with me the strongest objection against any project, how well soever intended. But in order to justify my friend, he confessed that this expedient was put into his head by the famous Psalmanazar, 2 a native of the island Formosa, who came from thence to London above twenty years ago, and in conversation told my friend that in his country when any young person happened to be put to death, the executioner sold the carcass to persons of quality as a prime dainty; and that in his time the body of a plump girl of fifteen, who was crucified for an attempt to poison the emperor, was sold to his Imperial Majesty's prime minister of state, and other great mandarins of the court, in joints from the gibbet, at four hundred crowns. Neither indeed can I deny that if the same use were made of several plump young girls in this town, who without one single groat to their fortunes cannot stir abroad without a chair, and appear at the playhouse and assemblies in foreign fineries which they never will pay for, the kingdom would not be the worse. Some persons of a desponding spirit are in great concern about that vast number of poor people who are aged, diseased, or maimed, and I have been desired to employ my thoughts what course may be taken to ease the nation of so grievous an encumbrance. But I am not in the least pain upon that matter, because it is very well known that they are every day dying and rotting by cold and famine, and filth and vermin, as fast as can be reasonably expected. And as to the younger laborers, they are now in almost as hopeful a condition. They cannot get work, and consequently pine away for want of nourishment to a degree that if at any time they are accidentally hired to common labor, they have not strength to perform it; and thus the country and themselves are happily delivered from the evils to come. 1. Slaughterhouses. 2. George Psalmanazar (ca. 1679—1763), a famous impostor. A F r e n c h m a n , he imposed himself on English bishops, noblemen, and scientists

as a Formosan. He wrote an entirely fictitious account of F o r m o s a , in which he described h u m a n sacrifices and cannibalism.

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I have too long digressed, and therefore shall return to my subject. I think the advantages by the proposal which I have made are obvious and many, as well as of the highest importance. For first, as I have already observed, it would greatly lessen the number of Papists, with whom we are yearly overrun, being the principal breeders of the nation as well as our most dangerous enemies; and who stay at home on purpose to deliver the kingdom to the Pretender, hoping to take their advantage by the absence of so many good Protestants, who have chosen rather to leave their country than stay at home and pay tithes against their conscience to an Episcopal curate. 3 Secondly, the poorer tenants will have something valuable of their own, which by law may be made liable to distress, 4 and help to pay their landlord's rent, their corn and cattle being already seized and money a thing unknown. Thirdly, whereas the maintenance of an hundred thousand children, from two years old and upwards, cannot be computed at less than ten shillings a piece per annum, the nation's stock will be thereby increased fifty thousand pounds per annum, besides the profit of a new dish introduced to the tables of all gentlemen of fortune in the kingdom who have any refinement in taste. And the money will circulate among ourselves, the goods being entirely of our own growth and manufacture. Fourthly, the constant breeders, besides the gain of eight shillings sterling per annum by the sale of their children, will be rid of the charge of maintaining them after the first year. Fifthly, this food would likewise bring great custom to taverns, where the vintners will certainly be so prudent as to procure the best receipts 5 for dressing it to perfection, and consequently have their houses frequented by all the fine gentlemen, who justly value themselves upon their knowledge in good eating; and a skillful cook, who understands how to oblige his guests, will contrive to make it as expensive as they please. Sixthly, this would be a great inducement to marriage, which all wise nations have either encouraged by rewards or enforced by laws and penalties. It would increase the care and tenderness of mothers toward their children, when they were sure of a settlement for life to the poor babes, provided in some sort by the public, to their annual profit instead of expense. We should see an honest emulation among the married women, which of them could bring the fattest child to the market. Men would become as fond of their wives during the time of their pregnancy as they are now of their mares in foal, their cows in calf, or sows when they are ready to farrow; nor offer to beat or luck them (as is too frequent a practice) for fear of a miscarriage. Many other advantages might be enumerated. For instance, the addition of some thousand carcasses in our exportation of barreled beef, the propagation of swine's flesh, and improvement in the art of making good bacon, so much wanted among us by the great destruction of pigs, too frequent at our tables, which are no way comparable in taste or magnificence to a well-grown, fat, yearling child, which roasted whole will make a considerable figure at a lord mayor's feast or any other public entertainment. But this and many others I omit, being studious of brevity. 3. Ireland had many Protestant sectarians who did not support the " E p i s c o p a l " (Anglican) C h u r c h of Ireland. 4. Distraint, i.e., the seizing, through legal action,

of property for the payment of debts and other obligations. " C o r n " : grain. 5. Recipes.

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Supposing that one thousand families in this city would be constant customers for infants' flesh, besides others who might have it at merry meetings, particularly weddings and christenings, I compute that Dublin would take off annually about twenty thousand carcasses, and the rest of the kingdom (where probably they will be sold somewhat cheaper) the remaining eighty thousand. I can think of no one objection that will probably be raised against this proposal, unless it should be urged that the number of people will be thereby much lessened in the kingdom. This I freely own, and it was indeed one principal design in offering it to the world. I desire the reader will observe, that I calculate my remedy for this one individual kingdom of Ireland and for no other that ever was, is, or I think ever can be upon earth. Therefore let no man talk to me of other expedients: of taxing our absentees at five shillings a pound: of using neither clothes nor household furniture except what is of our own growth and manufacture: of utterly rejecting the materials and instruments that promote foreign luxury: of curing the expensiveness of pride, vanity, idleness, and gaming in our women: of introducing a vein of parsimony, prudence, and temperance: of learning to love our country, in the want of which we differ even from Laplanders and the inhabitants of Topinamboo: 6 of quitting our animosities and factions, nor acting any longer like the Jews, who were murdering one another at the very moment their city was taken: 7 of being a little cautious not to sell our country and conscience for nothing: of teaching landlords to have at least one degree of mercy toward their tenants: lastly, of putting a spirit of honesty, industry, and skill into our shopkeepers; who, if a resolution could now be taken to buy only our native goods, would immediately unite to cheat and exact upon us in the price, the measure, and the goodness, nor could ever yet be brought to make one fair proposal of just dealing, though often and earnestly invited to it. s Therefore I repeat, let no man talk to me of these and the like expedients, till he hath at least some glimpse of hope that there will ever be some hearty and sincere attempt to put them in practice. But as to myself, having been wearied out for many years with offering vain, idle, visionary thoughts, and at length utterly despairing of success, I fortunately fell upon this proposal, which, as it is wholly new, so it hath something solid and real, of no expense and little trouble, full in our own power, and whereby we can incur no danger in disobliging England. For this kind of commodity will not bear exportation, the flesh being of too tender a consistence to admit a long continuance in salt, although perhaps I could name a country which would be glad to eat up our whole nation without it. 9 After all, I am not so violently bent upon my own opinion as to reject any offer proposed by wise men, which shall be found equally innocent, cheap, easy, and effectual. But before something of that kind shall be advanced in contradiction to my scheme, and offering a better, I desire the author or authors will be pleased maturely to consider two points. First, as things now stand, how they will be able to find food and raiment for an hundred thousand useless mouths and backs. And secondly, there being a round million of crea6. I.e., even Laplanders love their frozen, infertile country and the savage tribes of Brazil love their jungle more than the Anglo-Irish love Ireland. 7. During the siege of J e r u s a l e m by the R o m a n Titus (later emperor), who captured and destroyed the city in 70 C.E., bloody fights broke out between

fanatical factions a m o n g the defenders. 8. Swift himself had made all these proposals in various pamphlets. In editions printed during his lifetime the various proposals were italicized to indicate Swift's support for them. 9. England.

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2468

J O S E P H ADDISON AND

SIR

RICHARD

STEELE

tures in human figure throughout this kingdom, whose sole subsistence put into a common stock would leave them in debt two millions of pounds sterling, adding those who are beggars by profession to the bulk of farmers, cottagers, and laborers, with their wives and children who are beggars in effect; I desire those politicians who dislike my overture, and may perhaps be so bold to attempt an answer, that they will first ask the parents of these mortals whether they would not at this day think it a great happiness to have been sold for food at a year old in the manner I prescribe, and thereby have avoided such a perpetual sense of misfortunes as they have since gone through by the oppression of landlords, the impossibility of paying rent without money or trade, the want of common sustenance, with neither house nor clothes to cover them from the inclemencies of the weather, and the most inevitable prospect of entailing the like or greater miseries upon their breed forever. I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of my country, by advancing our trade, providing for infants, relieving the poor, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I have no children by which I can propose to get a single penny; the youngest being nine years old, and my wife past childbearing. 1729

J O S E P H A D D I S O N and 1672-1719

SIR

RICHARD STEELE 1672-1729

The friendship of Joseph Addison and Richard Steele began when they were schoolboys together in London. Their careers ran parallel courses and brought them for a while into fruitful collaboration. Addison, although charming when among friends, was by nature reserved, calculating, and prudent. Steele was impulsive and rakish when young (but ardently devoted to his beautiful wife), often imprudent, and frequently in want of money. Addison never stumbled in his progress to financial security, a late marriage to a widowed countess, and a successful political career; walking less surely, Steele experienced many vicissitudes and faced serious financial problems during his last years. Both men attended Oxford, where Addison took his degree, won a fellowship, and gained a reputation for Latin verse; the less scholarly Steele left the university before earning a degree to take a commission in the army. For a while he cut a dashing figure in London, even, to his horror, seriously wounding a man in a duel. Both men enjoyed the patronage of the great Whig magnates; and except during the last four years of Queen Anne's reign, when the Tories were in the ascendancy, they were generously treated. Steele edited and wrote the London Gazette, an official newspaper that normally appeared twice a week, listing government appointments and reporting domestic and foreign news—much like a modern paper. He served in Parliament, was knighted by George I, and later became manager of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Addison held more important positions: he was secretary to the lord lieutenant of Ireland and later an undersecretary of state; finally, toward the end of his life, he became secretary of state. Both men wrote plays: Addison's Cato, a frigid and very "correct" tragedy, had great success in 1713, and Steele's later plays at Drury Lane (especially The Conscious Lovers, 1722) were instrumental in establishing the popularity of sentimental comedy throughout the eighteenth century.

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2 4 6 9/J O S E P H A D D I S O N AND S I R R I C H A R D S T E E L E

Steele's debts and Addison's loss of office in 1710 drove them to journalistic enterprises, through which they developed one of the most characteristic types of eighteenth-century literature, the periodical essay. Steele's experience as gazetteer had involved him in journalism and, in need of money, in 1709 he launched the Tatler under the pseudonym Isaac Bickerstaff. He sought to attract the largest possible audience: the title was a bid for female readers, and the mixture of news with personal reflections soon became popular in coffeehouses and at breakfast tables. The paper appeared three times a week from April 1709 to January 1711. Steele wTote by far the greater number of Tatlers, but Addison contributed helpfully, as did other friends. When the Spectator began its run two months after the last Tatler, the new periodical drew on and expanded the readership Steele had reached and influenced. The Spectator appeared daily except Sunday from March 1711 to December 1712 (and was briefly resumed by Addison in 1714). It was the joint undertaking of the two friends, although it was dominated by Addison. Both the Spectator and the Tatler had many imitators in their own day and throughout the rest of the century. There w a s a Female Tatler a n d a Female Spectator, as well as S a m u e l J o h n s o n ' s Rambler

and Idler and Oliver Goldsmith's brief Bee.

The periodical writing of Addison and Steele is remarkable for its comprehensive attention to diverse aspects of English life—good manners, daily happenings in London, going to church, shopping, investing in the stock market, the fascinations of trade and commerce, proper gender roles and relations, the personality types found in society, the town's offerings of high and low entertainment, tastes in literature and luxury goods, philosophical speculations—and the seamless way all were shown to be elements of a single vast, agreeable world. In this unifying spirit, both Steele and Addison set the divisive political battles of the day, so vigorously fought in other periodicals and newspapers, at a distance: they portray the ardor for political dispute more as a personal quirk than as a provocation to true civil unrest. Less formal and didactic than the essays of Francis Bacon, less personal than those of Charles Lamb and William Hazlitt in the next century, these essays promote morality among their readers by praising and enacting sociability and set standards of good taste and polite behavior with a light but firm and unwavering grace. They thereby sought to establish a new social-literary ethos transcending the narrowness of Puritan morality and the exorbitance of the fashionable court culture of the last century. In the Spectator, Steele and especially Addison set out to breakdown the distinction between educating their readers and entertaining them with winning characters, vivid scenes, and even playfully visionary allegories. In the second number, Steele introduces us to the members of Mr. Spectator's Club: a man about town, a student of law and literature, a churchman, a soldier, a Tory country squire, and—interestingly enough—a London merchant. The development of these characters shows how the very manner in which the Spectator makes distinctions tends to smooth away conflict. As a Whig, Steele sympathized with the new moneyed class in London and evidently intended to pit the merchant Sir Andrew Freeport, the representative of the new order, against the Tory Sir Boger de Coverley, representative of the one passing away. Addison, however, preferred to present Sir Boger in episodes set in town and in country as an endearing, eccentric character, often absurd but always amiable and innocent. He is a prominent ancestor of a long line of similar characters in fiction in the following two centuries. Addison's scholarly interests broadened the material to include not only social criticism but the popularization of current philosophical and scientific notions. He wrote important critical papers distinguishing true and false wit; an extended series of Saturday essays evaluating Paradise Lost; and an influential series on "the pleasures of the imagination," which treated the visual effect of beautiful, "great," and uncommon objects in nature and art. Altogether, the Spectator fulfilled his ambition (outlined in "The Aims of the Spectator") to be considered an agreeable modern Socrates. (For further selections from Addison and Steele's periodical writings, go to Norton Literature Online.) The best description of Addison's prose is Samuel Johnson's in his Life of Addison:

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J O S E P H A D D I S O N AND

SIR

RICHARD

STEELE

"His prose is the model of the middle style; on grave subjects not formal, on light occasions not groveling; pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent elaboration; always equable, and always easy, without glowing words or pointed sentences." And he concludes: "Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison"—a course of study that a good many aspiring writers during the century seem to have undertaken.

T H E PERIODICAL ESSAY: M A N N E R S , SOCIETY, G E N D E R STEELE:

[The Spectator's Club]

The Spectator, No. 2, Friday, March 2, 1711 Ast alii sex Et plures uno conclamant ore. 1 — J U V E N A L , Satire 7.167-68

The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger de Coverley. His great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is called after him. All who know the shire are very well acquainted with the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and are contradictions to the manners of the world only as he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being unconfined to modes and forms 2 makes him but the readier and more capable to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse, beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson 3 in a public coffeehouse for calling him "youngster." But being ill used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. T i s said Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty, insomuch that it is reported he has frequently offended in point of chastity with beggars and gypsies; but this is looked upon by his friends rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in his behavior that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and 1. Six more at least join their consenting voice (Latin). 2. Social conventions. 3. Notorious cardsharp of the period. J o h n Wil-

mot, second Earl of Rochester (1647—1680), British poet. Etherege (ca. 1 6 3 4 - 1 6 9 1 ) , playwright, rake, and close companion of the king a n d Rochester.

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STEELE:

[THE

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the young men are glad of his company; when he comes into a house he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way upstairs to a visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the quorum, that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities; and, three months ago, gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the G a m e Act. 4 The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple; a man of great probity, wit, and understanding; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direction of an old humorsome 5 father, than in pursuit of his own inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are much better understood by him than Littleton or Coke. 6 The father sends up, every post, questions relating to marriage articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; all which questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations of Demosthenes and Tully, 7 but not one case in the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable; as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of books is a little too just 8 for the age he lives in; he has read all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients makes him a very delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world. He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses through Russell Court, and takes a turn at Will's till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Rose. 9 It is for the good of the audience when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him. The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of great eminence in the city of London, a person of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. He will often argue that if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from another. I have heard him prove that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in 4. In 1671 the act gave the gentry (Sir Roger's class) broad legal powers to prevent poaching and hence granted them a virtual monopoly on hunting. "Justice of the q u o r u m " : a country j u s t i c e of the peace, presiding over quarterly sessions of the court. 5. Temperamental. "Inner T e m p l e " : o n e of the Inns of Court, where lawyers resided or had their offices and where students studied law . 6. In other words, he is more familiar with the laws of literature than those of England. T h e Poetics of Aristotle and the Greek treatise On the Sublime (reputedly by L o n g i n u s ) were in high favor

a m o n g the critics of the time. Sir T h o m a s Littleton, 1 5th-century jurist, was author of a renowned treatise on Tenures. Sir Edward C o k e (1 552—1634) was the j u d g e and writer whose Reports and Institutes of the Laws of England (known as Coke upon Littleton) have exerted a great influence on the interpretation of English law. 7. M a r c u s Tullius Cicero. 8. Exact. 9. A tavern near Drury Lane. "Will's": the coffeehouse in Covent G a r d e n associated with literature and criticism since Dryden had begun to frequent it in the 1660s.

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STEELE

several frugal maxims, among which the greatest favorite is, "A penny saved is a penny got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in another man. He has made his fortunes himself, and says that England may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he himself is richer than other men; though at the same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an owner. Next to Sir Andrew in the clubroom sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in several engagements and at several sieges; but having a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit who is not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament that in a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose I never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even, regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must press through crowds who endeavor at the same end with himself—the favor of a commander. He will, however, in his way of talk, excuse generals for not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it, "for," says he, "that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break through to come at me as I have to come at him"; therefore he will conclude that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the importunity of other pretenders by a proper assurance in his own vindication. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting' what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in attacking when it is your duty. With this candor does the gentleman speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs through all his conversation. The military part of his life has furnished him with many adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the company; for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious from an habit of obeying men highly above him. But that our society may not appear a set of humorists 2 unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his years, should be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but very little impression either by wrinkles on his forehead or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, of a good height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He has all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits 3 as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the French king's wenches our wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such 1. Claiming.

3. Clothes.

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a sort of petticoat, and whose vanity to show her foot m a d e that part of the dress so short in s u c h a year. In a word, all his conversation and knowledge has been in the f e m a l e world. As other m e n of his age will take notice to you what such a minister said upon s u c h and s u c h an occasion, he will tell you when the D u k e of M o n m o u t h 4 d a n c e d at court s u c h a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the Park. In all these important relations, he has ever about the s a m e time received a kind glance or a blow of a f a n from s o m e celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. If you speak of a young c o m m o n e r that said a lively thing in the House, he starts up: " H e has good blood in his veins; T o m Mirabell begot him, the rogue cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's mother used me more like a dog than any w o m a n I ever m a d e advances to." This way of talking of his very m u c h enlivens the conversation a m o n g us of a more sedate turn; and I find there is not one of the company but myself, who rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of m a n who is usually called a well-bred, fine gentleman. To conclude his character, where w o m e n are not concerned he is an honest, worthy m a n . I cannot tell whether I am to a c c o u n t him whom I am next to speak of as one of our company, for he visits us but seldom; but when he does, it adds to every m a n else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic m a n , of general learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business as preferments in his function would oblige him to; he is therefore a m o n g divines what a chambercounselor 5 is a m o n g lawyers. T h e probity of his mind and the integrity of his life create him followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years that he observes, when he is a m o n g us, an earnestness to have him fall on s o m e divine topic, which he always treats with m u c h authority, as one who has no interest in this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes and conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. T h e s e are my ordinary companions.

ADDISON:

[The Aims of the Spectator]

The Spectator, No.

10, Monday, March 12,

1711

Non aliter quam qui adverso vixflumine lembum Remigiis subigit, si bracchia forte remisit, Atque ilium in praeceps prono rapit alveus amni. ] — V I R G I L , Georgics 1 . 2 0 1 — 3

It is with m u c h satisfaction that I hear this great city inquiring day by day after these my papers, and receiving my morning lectures with a b e c o m i n g seriousness and attention. My publisher tells me that there are already three thousand of them distributed every day. So that if I allow twenty readers to every paper, which I look upon as a modest computation, I may reckon about 4. T h e illegitimate son of Charles II, the ill-fated Absalom of Dryden's Absalom and Acbitophel. 5. A lawyer who gives opinions in private, not in court.

1. Like him whose oars can hardly force his boat against the current, if by c h a n c e he relaxes his arms, the boat sweeps him headlong down the stream (Latin).

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STEELE

three-score thousand disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope will take care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd of their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have raised to myself so great an audience, I shall spare no pains to make their instruction agreeable, and their diversion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavor to enliven morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality, that my readers may, if possible, both ways find their account in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermitting starts of thought, I have resolved to refresh their memories from day to day, till I have recovered them out of that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is fallen. The mind that lies fallow but a single day sprouts up in follies that are only to be killed by a constant and assiduous culture. It was said of Socrates that he brought philosophy down from heaven, to inhabit among men; and I shall be ambitious to have it said of me that I have brought philosophy out of closets 2 and libraries, schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea tables and in coffeehouses. I would therefore in a very particular manner recommend these my speculations to all well-regulated families that set apart an hour in every morning for tea and bread and butter; and would earnestly advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea equipage. Sir Francis Bacon observes that a well-written book, compared with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses's serpent, that immediately swallowed up and devoured those of the Egyptians. 3 I shall not be so vain as to think that where The Spectator appears the other public prints will vanish; but shall leave it to my reader's consideration whether is it not much better to be let into the knowledge of one's self, than to hear what passes in Muscovy or Poland; and to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than such as naturally conduce to inflame hatreds, and make enmities irreconcilable? In the next place, I would recommend this paper to the daily perusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but consider as my good brothers and allies, I mean the fraternity of spectators who live in the world without having anything to do in it; and either by the affluence of their fortunes or laziness of their dispositions have no other business with the rest of mankind but to look upon them. Under this class of men are comprehended all contemplative tradesmen, titular physicians, fellows of the Royal Society, Templars 4 that are not given to be contentious, and statesmen that are out of business; in short, everyone that considers the world as a theater, and desires to form a right judgment of those who are the actors on it. There is another set of men that I must likewise lay a claim to, whom I have lately called the blanks of society, as being altogether unfurnished with ideas, till the business and conversation of the day has supplied them. I have often considered these poor souls with an eye of great commiseration, when I have heard them asking the first man they have met with, whether there was any news stirring? and by that means gathering together materials for thinking. These needy persons do not know what to talk of till about twelve o'clock in 2. Private rooms, studies. 3. In The Advancement of Learning 2, "To the King." But it was the rod of Aaron, not of M o s e s , that turned into a devouring serpent (Exodus

7.10—12). 4. Lawyers or students of the law who live or have their offices ("chambers") in the Middle or Inner T e m p l e , one of the Inns of Court.

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the morning; for by that time they are pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the wind sits, and whether the Dutch mail 5 be come in. As they lie at the mercy of the first man they meet, and are grave or impertinent all the day long, according to the notions which they have inbibed in the morning, I would earnestly entreat them not to stir out of their chambers till they have read this paper, and do promise them that I will daily instil into them such sound and wholesome sentiments as shall have a good effect on their conversation for the ensuing twelve hours. But there are none to whom this paper will be more useful than to the female world. I have often thought there has not been sufficient pains taken in finding out proper employments and diversions for the fair ones. Their amusements seem contrived for them, rather as they are women, than as they are reasonable creatures; and are more adapted to the sex than to the species. The toilet 6 is their great scene of business, and the right adjusting of their hair the principal employment of their lives. The sorting of a suit of ribbons is reckoned a very good morning's work; and if they make an excursion to a mercer's or a toyshop, 7 so great a fatigue makes them unfit for anything else all the day after. Their more serious occupations are sewing and embroidery, and their greatest drudgery the preparation of jellies and sweetmeats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary women; though I know there are multitudes of those of a more elevated life and conversation, that move in an exalted sphere of knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties of the mind to the ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind of awe and respect, as well as love, into their male beholders. I hope to increase the number of these by publishing this daily paper, which I shall always endeavor to make an innocent if not improving entertainment, and by that means at least divert the minds of my female readers from greater trifles. At the same time, as I would fain give some finishing touches to those which are already the most beautiful pieces in human nature, I shall endeavor to point all those imperfections that are the blemishes, as well as those virtues which are the embellishments, of the sex. In the meanwhile I hope these my gentle readers, who have so much time on their hands, will not grudge throwing away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, since they may do it without any hindrance to business. I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in great pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the spirit of a paper which I oblige myself to furnish every day: but to make them easy in this particular, I will promise them faithfully to give it over as soon as I grow dull. This I know will be matter of great raillery to the small wits; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time to give over, with many other little pleasantries of the like nature, which men of a little smart genius cannot forbear throwing out against their best friends, when they have such a handle given them of being witty. But let them remember that I do hereby enter my caveat against this piece of raillery.

5. Bringing the latest war news. 6. Dressing table. 7. A shop where baubles and trifles are sold. "Suit

of ribbons": A set of ribbons to be worn together. "Mercer": a seller of such notions as tape, ribbon, and fringe.

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J O S E P H A D D I S O N AND

STEELE:

The Spectator, No.

SIR

RICHARD

STEELE

[Inkle and Yarico] 11, Tuesday, March 13,

1711

Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columhas. 1 —JUVENAL, Satire 2.63

Arietta is visited by all persons of both sexes who have any pretence to wit and gallantry. S h e is in that time of life which is neither affected with the follies of youth or infirmities of age; and her conversation is so mixed with gaiety and p r u d e n c e that she is agreeable both to the young and the old. Her behavior is very frank without being in the least blamable; as she is out of the tract 2 of any amorous or ambitious pursuits of her own, her visitants entertain her with accounts of themselves very freely, whether they concern their p a s s i o n s or their interests. I m a d e her a visit this afternoon, having been formerly introduced to the honor of her a c q u a i n t a n c e by my friend Will H o n e y c o m b , who has prevailed upon her to admit me sometimes into her assembly as a civil, inoffensive man. I found her a c c o m p a n i e d with one person only, a c o m m o n p l a c e talker who upon my entrance arose and after a very slight civility sat down again; then turning to Arietta p u r s u e d his discourse, which I found was upon the old topic of constancy in love. He went on with great facility in repeating what he talks every day of his life; and with the ornaments of insignificant laughs and gestures enforced his arguments by quotations out of plays and songs which allude to the perjuries of the fair and the general levity 3 of women. M e t h o u g h t he strove to shine more than ordinarily in his talkative way that he might insult my silence, and distinguish himself before a w o m a n of Arietta's taste and understanding. S h e had often an inclination to interrupt him but could find no opportunity, till the larum ceased of itself; which it did not till he had repeated and murdered the celebrated story of the E p h e s i a n Matron. 4 Arietta s e e m e d to regard this piece of raillery as an outrage done to her sex, as indeed I have always observed that women, whether out of a nicer regard to their honor or what other reason I cannot tell, are more sensibly touched with those general aspersions which are cast upon their sex than men are by what is said of theirs. When she had a little recovered her self from the serious anger she was in, she replied in the following manner. Sir, when I consider how perfectly new all you have said on this subject is, and that the story you have given us is not quite two thousand years old, I cannot but think it a piece of presumption to dispute with you. But your quotations put in me in mind of the fable of the Lion and the M a n . 5 T h e man walking with that noble animal showed him, in the ostentation of h u m a n superiority, a sign of a m a n killing a lion. U p o n which the lion said very justly, "We lions are none of us painters, else we could show a hundred m e n killed by lions, for one lion killed by a m a n . " You m e n are writers and can represent us women as u n b e c o m i n g as you please in your works, while we are unable to return the injury. You have twice or thrice observed in your discourse that 1. C e n s u r e acquits the raven, but p u r s u e s the dove (Latin). 2. C o u r s e , way of acting. 3. Frivolity. 4. A story from Petronius's Satyricon, satirizing a supposedly grieving widow who allows a soldier to

s e d u c e her and to steal her husband's body. C f . Haywood's Fantomina, p. 2 5 6 6 . " L a r u m " : clamor. 5. Attributed to Aesop, the n a m e under which a body of beast fables from Greek antiquity and later are collected. Cf. C h a u c e r , The Wife of Bath's Prologue, line 6 9 8 .

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[ I N K L E AND YARICO]

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hypocrisy is the very foundation of our education; and that an ability to dissemble our affections is a professed part of our breeding. These and such other reflections are sprinkled up and down the writings of all ages by authors who leave behind them memorials of their resentment against the scorn of particular women in invectives against the whole sex. S u c h a writer, I doubt not, was the celebrated Petronius, who invented the pleasant aggravations of the frailty of the Ephesian Lady; but when we consider this question between the sexes s which has been either a point of dispute or raillery ever since there were men and women, let us take facts from plain people, and from such as have not either ambition or capacity to embellish their narrations with any beauties of imagination. I was the other day amusing myself with Ligon's account of Barbados; and in answer to your well-wrought tale, I will give you (as it dwells upon my memory) out of that honest traveler, in his fifty fifth page, the history of Inkle and Yarico. 6 Mr. Thomas Inkle of London, aged twenty years, embarked in the Downs 7 on the good ship called the Achilles, bound for the West Indies, on the 16th of J u n e 1647, in order to improve his fortune by trade and merchandise. Our adventurer was the third son of an eminent citizen, 8 who had taken particular care to instill into his mind an early love of gain by making him a perfect master of numbers, and consequently giving him a quick view of loss and advantage, and preventing the natural impulses of his passions by prepossession towards his interests. With a mind thus turned, young Inkle had a person 9 every way agreeable, a ruddy vigor in his countenance, strength in his limbs, with ringlets of fair hair loosely flowing on his shoulders. It happened in the course of the voyage that the Achilles, in some distress, put into a creek on the main' of America in search of provisions. T h e youth, who is the hero of my story, among others went ashore on this occasion. From their first landing they were observed by a party of Indians who hid themselves in the woods for that purpose. The English unadvisedly marched a great distance from the shore into the country, and were intercepted by the natives, who slew the greatest number of them. Our adventurer escaped among others by flying into a forest. Upon his coming into a remote and pathless part of the wood, he threw himself, tired and breathless, on a little hillock, when an Indian maid rushed from a thicket behind him. After the first surprise, they appeared mutually agreeable to each other. If the European was highly charmed with the limbs, features, and wild graces of the naked American, the American was no less taken with the dress, complexion, and shape of an European, covered from head to foot. The Indian grew immediately enamored of him, and consequently solicitous for his preservation. She therefore conveyed him to a cave, where she gave him a delicious repast of fruits, and led him to a stream to slake his thirst. In the midst of these good offices, she would sometimes play with his hair and delight in the opposition of its color to that of her fingers; then open his bosom, then laugh at him for covering it. She was, it seems, a person of distinction, for she every day came to him in a different dress of the most beautiful shells, bugles and bredes. 2 She likewise brought him a great many spoils which her other Iov6. In A Trite and Exact History of the Island of Barbados ( 1 6 5 7 ) , Richard Ligon tells the first version of this story, which was retold throughout the eighteenth century. Steele invents the n a m e s of the lovers and many incidental details. 7. An anchorage off the southeast coast of England.

8. Inhabitant of a city (especially London), often identified as "a m a n of trade, not a gentleman" (Johnson's Dictionary). 9. Physical appearance. 1. Mainland. 2. T u b e - s h a p e d glass beads and braided or interwoven ornaments.

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ers had presented to her; so that his cave was richly adorned with all the spotted skins of beasts and most parti-colored feathers of fowls which that world afforded. To make his confinement more tolerable, she would carry him in the dusk of the evening or by the favor of moonlight to unfrequented groves and solitudes, and show him where to lie down in safety and sleep amidst the falls of waters and melody of nightingales. Her part was to watch and hold him awake in her arms for fear of her countrymen, and wake him on occasions to consult his safety. In this manner did the lovers p a s s away their time, till they had learned a language of their own in which the voyager c o m m u n i c a t e d to his mistress how happy he should be to have her in his country, where she should be clothed in such silks as his waistcoat was m a d e of and be carried in houses drawn by horses, without being exposed to wind or weather. All this he promised her the enjoyment of, without s u c h fears and alarms as they were there tormented with. In this tender correspondence these lovers lived for several months, when Yarico, instructed by her lover, discovered a vessel on the coast, to which she m a d e signals, and in the night, with the utmost joy and satisfaction, a c c o m p a n i e d him to a ships' crew of his countrymen b o u n d for Barbados. When a vessel from the main arrives in that island, it s e e m s the planters c o m e down to the shore, where there is an immediate market of the Indians and other slaves, as with us of horses and oxen. To be short, Mr. T h o m a s Inkle, now coming into English territories, began seriously to reflect upon his loss of time and to weigh with himself how many days' interest of his money he had lost during his stay with Yarico. This thought m a d e the young m a n very pensive and careful what a c c o u n t he should be able to give his friends 3 of his voyage. U p o n which considerations, the prudent and frugal young m a n sold Yarico to a Barbadian merchant; notwithstanding that the poor girl, to incline him to c o m m i s e r a t e her condition, told him that she was with child by him. But he only m a d e u s e of that information to rise in his d e m a n d s upon the purchaser. I was so touched with this story (which I think should be always a counterpart to the Ephesian Matron) that I left the room with tears in my eyes; which a woman of Arietta's good sense did, I am sure, take for greater applause than any compliments I could make her.

ADDISON:

[The Royal Exchange]

The Spectator, No. 69, Saturday, May 19,

1711

Hie segetes, illic veniunt felicius uvae: Arborei foetus alibi, atque injussa virescunt Gramina. Nonne vides, croceos ut Tmolus odores, India mittit ebur, molles sua thura Saboei? At Chalybes nudi ferrum, virosaque Pontus Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epirus equarum? Continuo has leges aeternaque foedera certis Imposuit Natura locis . . . — V I R G I L , Georgics 1 . 54-61' 3. Family members and other connections. 1. Here grain, there grapes grow more successfully, and elsewhere young trees and grasses sprout up spontaneously. Don't you see how T m o l u s sends us fragrant saffron, India sends ivory, the soft

S a b a e a n s send frankincense; but the naked Chalybes offer us iron, Pontus the pungent beaver-oil, and Epirus their award-winning horses? F r o m the beginning, nature imposed these laws, and m a d e eternal covenants with particular places (Latin).

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[ T H E ROYAL E X C H A N G E ]

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There is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent as the Royal Exchange. 2 It gives me a secret satisfaction, and in some measure gratifies my vanity as I am an Englishman, to see so rich an assembly of countrymen and foreigners consulting together upon the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis a kind of emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon High Change 3 to be a great council in which all considerable nations have their representatives. Factors 4 in the trading world are what ambassadors are in the politic world; they negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain a good correspondence between those wealthy societies of men that are divided from one another by seas and oceans or live on the different extremities of a continent. I have often been pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an inhabitant of J a p a n and an alderman of London, or to see a subject of the Great Mogul entering into a league with one of the Czar of Muscovy. 5 I am infinitely delighted in mixing with these several ministers of commerce as they are distinguished by their different walks 6 and different languages. Sometimes I am justled among a body of Armenians; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews; and sometimes make one in a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, Swede, or Frenchman at different times; or rather fancy myself like the old philosopher, 7 who upon being asked what countryman he was, replied that he was a citizen of the world. Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of people, I am known to nobody there but my friend Sir Andrew, who often smiles upon me as he sees me bustling in the crowd, but at the same time connives 8 at my presence without taking any further notice of me. There is indeed a merchant of Egypt who just knows me by sight, having formerly remitted me some money to Grand Cairo; but as I am not versed in the modern Coptic, 9 our conferences go no further than a bow and a grimace. This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety of solid and substantial entertainments. As I am a great lover of mankind, my heart naturally overflows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and happy multitude, insomuch that at many public solemnities I cannot forbear expressing my joy with tears that have stolen down my cheeks. For this reason I am wonderfully delighted to see such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes and at the same time promoting the public stock; or in other words, raising estates for their own families by bringing into their country whatever is wanting, and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. Nature seems to have taken a particular care to disseminate her blessings among the different regions of the world with an eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among mankind, that the natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of dependence upon one another and be united together by their common interest. Almost every degree 1 produces something peculiar to it. The food often grows in one country and the sauce in another. The fruits 2. A financial institution in the City of London near the Bank of England; a center where busin e s s m e n gathered and around two hundred shops and private companies were assembled. O p e n e d in 1570, its first buildings were burned in the Great Fire of 1666: Addison d i s c u s s e s the Exchange as it was rebuilt in 1669. 3. T h e time of day when trading is most active. 4. Agents who buy and sell for other people. 5. Russia. "The Great iVIogul": European n a m e for

the emperor of Delhi, whose dominions extended throughout most of Hindustan. 6. Ways of life. 7. Diogenes the Cynic (4th century B.C.E.). 8. Winks. 9. L a n g u a g e of the Copts, a sect of Egyptian Christians. 1. Here, a degree of latitude, hence a particular position on the earth's surface.

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of Portugal are corrected by the products of Barbados; the infusion of a China plant sweetened with the pith of an Indian cane. The Philippick Islands 2 give a flavor to our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality is often the product of an hundred climates. The muff and the fan come together from the different ends of the earth. The scarf is sent from the torrid zone and the tippet 3 from beneath the pole. The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru and the diamond necklace out of the bowels of Indostan. 4 If we consider our own country in its natural prospect without any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, what a barren uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share! Natural historians tell us that no fruit grows originally among us besides hips and haws, acorns and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like nature; that our climate of itself and without the assistances of art can make no further advances towards a plum than to a sloe and carries an apple to no greater a perfection than a crab; 5 that our melons, our peaches, our figs, our apricots, and cherries are strangers among us, imported in different ages and naturalized in our English gardens; and that they would all degenerate and fall away into the trash of our own country, if they were wholly neglected by the planter and left to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic 6 more enriched our vegetable world than it has improved the whole face of nature among us. Our ships are laden with the harvest of every climate; our tables are stored with spices, and oils, and wines; our rooms are filled with pyramids of China and adorned with the workmanship of J a p a n ; our morning's draught comes to us from the remotest corners of the earth. We repair our bodies by the drugs of America and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. My friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our gardens; the SpiceIslands our hot-beds; the Persians our silk-weavers, and the Chinese our potters. Nature indeed furnishes us with the bare necessaries of life, but traffic gives us great variety of what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with every thing that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this our happiness that whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the north and south, we are free from those extremities of weather which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green fields of Britain at the same time that our palates are feasted with fruits that rise between the tropics. For these reasons there are no more useful members in a commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute the gifts of nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own country into gold and exchanges his wool for rubies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British manufacture and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. When I have been upon the 'Change, I have often fancied one of our old kings standing in person where he is represented in effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy concourse of people with which that place is every day filled. In this case, how would he be surprised to hear all the languages of Europe spoken in this little spot of his former dominions, and to see so many private men, who in his time would have been the vassals of some powerful baron, negotiating like princes for greater sums of money than were formerly to be 2. T h e Philippines. 3. A cape or other hanging part of a woman's dress. 4. India.

5. C r a b a p p l e . " H i p s and haws": rosehips and the berries of the hawthorn tree. "Pig-nuts": or groundnuts, the tuber of Bunium ftexuosum. 6. Trade.

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met with in the Royal Treasury! Trade, without enlarging the British territories, has given us a kind of additional empire. It has multiplied the n u m b e r of the rich, m a d e our landed estates infinitely more valuable than they were formerly, and added to them an accession of other estates as valuable as the lands themselves.

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IDEAS

[Wit: True, False, Mixed]

The S-pectator, No. 62, Friday, March 11, 1711 Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons. 1 — H O R A C E , ARS Poetica 309

Mr. Locke has an admirable reflection upon the difference of wit and judgment, whereby he endeavors to show the reason why they are not always the talents of the s a m e person. His words are as follow: "And hence, perhaps, may be given s o m e reason of that c o m m o n observation, that m e n who have a great deal of wit and prompt memories, have not always the clearest j u d g m e n t , or deepest reason. For wit lying most in the a s s e m b l a g e of ideas, and putting those together with quickness a n d variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy; j u d g m e n t , on the contrary, lies quite on the other side, in separating carefully one from another, ideas wherein can be f o u n d the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude, and by affinity to take one thing for another. This is a way of proceeding quite contrary to metaphor and allusion; wherein, for the most part, lies that entertainment and pleasantry of wit which strikes so lively on the fancy, and is therefore so acceptable to all people." 2 This is, I think, the best and m o s t philosophical a c c o u n t that I have ever met with of wit, which generally, though not always, consists in s u c h a resemblance and congruity of ideas as this author mentions. I shall only add to it, by way of explanation, that every r e s e m b l a n c e of ideas is not that which we call wit, unless it be such an one that gives delight and surprise to the reader. T h e s e two properties seem essential to wit, more particularly the last of them. In order therefore that the resemblance in the ideas be wit, it is necessary that the ideas should not lie too near one another in the nature of things; for where the likeness is obvious, it gives no surprise. To c o m p a r e one man's singing to that of another, or to represent the whiteness of any object by that of milk and snow, or the variety of its colors by those of the rainbow, cannot be called wit, unless, besides this obvious resemblance, there be s o m e further congruity discovered in the two ideas that is capable of giving the reader s o m e surprise. T h u s when a poet tells us, the b o s o m of his mistress is as white as snow, there is no wit in the comparison; but when he adds, with a sigh, that it is as cold too, it then grows into wit. Every reader's memory may supply him with innu1. Discernment is the source and fount of writing well (Latin).

2. J o h n Locke's An Essay Understanding 2.11.2.

Concerning Human

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merable instances of the same nature. For this reason, the similitudes in heroic poets, who endeavor rather to fill the mind with great conceptions, than to divert it with such as are new and surprising, have seldom anything in them that can be called wit. Mr. Locke's account of wit, with this short explanation, comprehends most of the species of wit, as metaphors, similitudes, allegories, enigmas, mottoes, parables, fables, dreams, visions, dramatic writings, burlesque, and all the methods of allusion: 3 as there are many other pieces of wit (how remote soever they may appear at first sight from the foregoing description) which upon examination will be found to agree with it. As true wit generally consists in this resemblance and congruity of ideas, false wit chiefly consists in the resemblance and congruity sometimes of single letters, as in anagrams, chronograms, lipograms, and acrostics; sometimes of syllables, as in echoes and doggerel rhymes; sometimes of words, as in puns and quibbles; and sometimes of whole sentences or poems, cast into the figures of eggs, axes, or altars: 4 nay, some carry the notion of wit so far, as to ascribe it even to external mimicry; and to look upon a man as an ingenious person, that can resemble the tone, posture, or face of another. As true wit consists in the resemblance of ideas, and false wit in the resemblance of words, according to the foregoing instances; there is another kind of wit which consists partly in the resemblance of ideas, and partly in the resemblance of words; which for distinction's sake I shall call mixed wit. This kind of wit is that which abounds in Cowley, more than in any author that ever wrote. Mr. Waller has likewise a great deal of it. Mr. Dryden is very sparing in it. Milton had a genius much above it. Spenser is in the same class with Milton. The Italians, even in their epic poetry, are full of it. Monsieur Boileau, 5 who formed himself upon the ancient poets, has everywhere rejected it with scorn. If we look after mixed wit among the Greek writers, we shall find it nowhere but in the epigrammatists. There are indeed some strokes of it in the little poem ascribed to Musaeus, 6 which by that, as well as many other marks, betrays itself to be a modern composition. If we look into the Latin writers, we find none of this mixed wit in Virgil, Lucretius, or Catullus; very little in Horace, but a great deal of it in Ovid, and scarce anything else in Martial. Out of the innumerable branches of mixed wit, I shall choose one instance which may be met with in all the writers of this class. The passion of love in its nature has been thought to resemble fire; for which reason the words fire and flame are made use of to signify love. The witty poets therefore have taken an advantage from the doubtful meaning of the word fire, to make an infinite number of witticisms. Cowley, observing the cold regard of his mistress's eyes, 7 and at the same time their power of producing love in him, considers them as burning-glasses made of ice; and finding himself able to live in the greatest extremities of love, concludes the torrid zone to be habitable. When his mistress has read his letter written in juice of lemon by holding it to the fire, he desires her to read it over a second time by love's flames. When she weeps, he wishes it were inward heat that distilled those drops from the limbec. 8 When 3. Word play; more broadly, any covert or symbolic use of language. 4. E.g., George Herbert's " T h e Altar" (p. 1 6 0 7 ) and "Easter Wings" (p. 1609). "Chronogram": phrase in which certain letters express a date; e.g., " L o r D haVe M e r C I e Vpon Vs"; the capital letters (in R o m a n numerals) add up to 1666, the annus mirabilis of fire, plague, and war. " L i p o g r a m s " : compositions omitting all words that contain a certain letter or letters.

5. Nicolas Boileau (1636—1711), French neoclassicist who WTOte a verse Art of Poetry ( 1 6 7 4 ) , which was translated by Dryden. 6. A p o e m called Hero and Leander, attributed to the ancient Greek poet M u s a e u s , was first published in 1635. 7. In The Mistress, or Several Copies of Love-Verses (1647). 8. Or alembic, an a p p a r a t u s used in distilling.

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she is absent he is beyond eighty, that is, thirty degrees nearer the pole than when she is with him. His ambitious love is a fire that naturally mounts upwards; his happy love is the beams of heaven, and his unhappy love flames of hell. When it does not let him sleep, it is a flame that sends up no smoke; when it is opposed by counsel and advice, it is a fire that rages the more by the wind's blowing upon it. Upon the dying of a tree in which he had cut his loves, he observes that his written flames had burned up and withered the tree. When he resolves to give over his passion, he tells us that one burnt like him for ever dreads the fire. His heart is an Aetna, that instead of Vulcan's shop 9 encloses Cupid's forge in it. His endeavoring to drown his love in wine is throwing oil upon the fire. He would insinuate to his mistress that the fire of love, like that of the sun (which produces so many living creatures), should not only warm but beget. Love in another place cooks pleasure at his fire. Sometimes the poet's heart is frozen in every breast, and sometimes scorched in every eye. Sometimes he is drowned in tears, and burnt in love, like a ship set on fire in the middle of the sea. The reader may observe in every one of these instances that the poet mixes the qualities of fire with those of love; and in the same sentence speaking of it both as a passion, and as real fire, surprises the reader with those seeming resemblances or contradictions that make up all the wit in this kind of writing. Mixed wit therefore is a composition of pun and true wit, and is more or less perfect as the resemblance lies in the ideas or in the words. Its foundations are laid partly in falsehood and partly in truth: reason puts in her claim for one half of it, and extravagance for the other. The only province therefore for this kind of wit is epigram, or those little occasional poems that in their own nature are nothing else but a tissue of epigrams. I cannot conclude this head of mixed wit without owning that the admirable poet out of whom I have taken the examples of it had as much true wit as any author that ever writ; and indeed all other talents of an extraordinary genius. It may be expected, since I am upon this subject, that I should take notice of Mr. Dryden's definition of wit; which, with all the deference that is due to the judgment of so great a man, is not so properly a definition of wit, as of good writing in general. Wit, as he defines it, is "a propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject." 1 If this be a true definition of wit, I am apt to think that Euclid 2 was the greatest wit that ever set pen to paper: it is certain there never was a greater propriety of words and thoughts adapted to the subject than what that author has made use of in his elements. I shall only appeal to my reader, if this definition agrees with any notion he has of wit: if it be a true one, I am sure Mr. Dryden was not only a better poet, but a greater wit than Mr. Cowley; and Virgil a much more facetious man than either Ovid or Martial. Bouhours, 3 whom I look upon to be the most penetrating of all the French critics, has taken pains to show that it is impossible for any thought to be beautiful which is not just, and has not its foundation in the nature of things; that the basis of all wit is truth; and that no thought can be valuable, of which good sense is not the groundwork. Boileau has endeavored to inculcate the same notion in several parts of his writings, both in prose and verse. This is that natural way of writing, that beautiful simplicity, which we so much admire 9. Mount E t n a was s u p p o s e d to be the workshop of Vulcan, the R o m a n god of fire and metalworking. 1. Adapted from Dryden's "Apology for Heroic

Poetry." 2. Hellenic mathematician (ca. 3 0 0 B.C.E.). 3. Dominique B o u h o u r s (1628—1702), who wrote Art of Criticism.

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in the compositions of the ancients; and which nobody deviates from, but those who want strength of genius to make a thought shine in its own natural beauties. Poets who want this strength of genius to give that majestic simplicity to nature, which we so much admire in the works of the ancients, are forced to hunt after foreign ornaments, and not to let any piece of wit of what kind soever escape them. I look upon these writers as Goths in poetry, who, like those in architecture, not being able to come up to the beautiful simplicity of the old Greeks and Romans, have endeavored to supply its place with all the extravagances of an irregular fancy. Mr. Dryden makes a very handsome observation on Ovid's writing a letter from Dido to Aeneas, in the following words: 4 "Ovid" (says he, speaking of Virgil's fiction of Dido and Aeneas) "takes it up after him, even in the same age, and makes an ancient heroine of Virgil's newcreated Dido; dictates a letter for her just before her death to the ungrateful fugitive; and, very unluckily for himself, is for measuring a sword with a man so much superior in force to him, on the same subject. I think I may be judge of this, because I have translated both. The famous author of the Art of Love 5 has nothing of his own; he borrows all from a greater master in his own profession, and, which is worse, improves nothing which he finds: nature fails him, and being forced to his old shift, he has recourse to witticism. This passes indeed with his soft admirers, and gives him the preference to Virgil in their esteem." Were not I supported by so great an authority as that of Mr. Dryden, I should not venture to observe that the taste of most of our English poets, as well as readers, is extremely Gothic. He quotes Monsieur Segrais for a threefold distinction of the readers of poetry: in the first of which he comprehends the rabble of readers, whom he does not treat as such with regard to their quality, 6 but to their numbers and the coarseness of their taste. His words are as follow: "Segrais has distinguished the readers of poetry, according to their capacity of judging, into three classes. [He might have said the same of writers too, if he had pleased.] In the lowest form he places those whom he calls les petits esprits, 7 such things as are our upper-gallery audience in a play-house; who like nothing but the husk and rind of wit, prefer a quibble, a conceit, an epigram, before solid sense and elegant expression: these are mob-readers. If Virgil and Martial stood for parliament-men, we know already who would carry it. 8 But though they make the greatest appearance in the field, and cry the loudest, the best o n ' t is they are but a sort of French Huguenots, or Dutch boors, 9 brought over in herds, but not naturalized; who have not lands of two pounds per annum in Parnassus, and therefore are not privileged to poll. 1 Their authors are of the same level, lit to represent them on a mountebank's stage, or to be masters of the ceremonies in a bear-garden: 2 yet these are they who have the most admirers. But it often happens, to their mortification, that as their readers improve their stock of sense (as they may by reading better books, and by conversation with men of judgment), they soon forsake them." 4. From Dryden's dedication to his translation of the Aeneid ( 1 6 9 7 ) . 5. Ovid. 6. Social standing. J e a n Regnauld de Segrais ( 1 6 2 4 - 1 7 0 1 ) , who had translated Virgil into French, is quoted extensively by Dryden. 7. T h e small minded (French). 8. I.e., the witty Martial would easily defeat the weighty Virgil in an election.

9. Peasants. H u g u e n o t s and the Dutch were the largest class of immigrants in England. " O n ' t " : that one can say. 1. Vote. Only freeholders worth £2 a year could go to the polls, and these readers of little taste hold no land in P a r n a s s u s (where the M u s e s live). 2. Place for bearbaiting and other violent exhibitions.

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2 4 8 5

I must not dismiss this subject without observing, that as Mr. Locke in the passage above-mentioned has discovered the most fruitful source of wit, so there is another of a quite contrary nature to it, which does likewise branch itself out into several kinds. For not only the resemblance but the opposition of ideas does very often produce wit; as I could show in several little points, turns, and antitheses, that I may possibly enlarge upon in some future speculation. 3

ADDISON:

[Paradise Lost: General Critical Remarks]

The Spectator, No. 267, Saturday, January 5, 1712 Cedite Romani scriptores, cedite Graii.' — P R O P E R T I U S , Elegies 2.34.65

There is nothing in nature so irksome as general discourses, especially when they turn chiefly upon words. For this reason I shall waive the discussion of that point which was started some years since, Whether Milton's Paradise Lost may be called an heroic poem? Those who will not give it that title may call it (if they please) a divine poem. It will be sufficient to its perfection, if it has in it all the beauties of the highest kind of poetry; and as for those who allege it is not an heroic poem, they advance no more to the diminution of it, than if they should say Adam is not Aeneas, nor Eve Helen. I shall therefore examine it by the rules of epic poetry, 2 and see whether it falls short of the Iliad or Aeneid, in the beauties which are essential to that kind of writing. The first thing to be considered in an epic poem is the fable, 3 which is perfect or imperfect, according as the action which it relates is more or less so. This action should have three qualifications in it. First, it should be but one action. Secondly, it should be an entire action; and thirdly, it should be a great action. To consider the action of the Iliad, Aeneid, and Paradise Lost, in these three several lights. Homer to preserve the unity of his action hastens into the midst of things, as Horace has observed: 4 had he gone up to Leda's egg, or begun much later, even at the rape of Helen, or the investing of Troy, it is manifest that the story of the poem would have been a series of several actions. He therefore opens his poem with the discord of his princes, and with great art interweaves in the several succeeding parts of it, an account of everything material which relates to them and had passed before that fatal dissension. After the same manner Aeneas makes his first appearance in the Tyrrhene seas, and within sight of Italy, because the action proposed to be celebrated was that of his settling himself in Latium. 5 But because it was 3. -For such an "enlargement," see S a m u e l Johnson's remarks on wit in the life of Cowley (p. 2 7 6 6 ) . 1. Yield place, ye R o m a n and ye Grecian writers, yield (Latin). 2. T h e rules for the conduct of an epic p o e m — derived out of the p o e m s of H o m e r and Virgil, the Poetics of Aristotle, and the Art of Poetry of Hora c e — h a d been given their most systematic and complete statement in Pere Rene Le Bossu's Traite du poeme epique ( 1 6 7 5 ) , which was immediately absorbed into English critical thought. Addison writes of Paradise Lost with Le Bossu well in sight, but he is no slavish disciple.

3. T h e plot of a d r a m a or p o e m . 4. Art of Poetry, 1 4 7 - 4 9 . Helen, whose abduction from her husband M e n e l a u s by the Trojan prince Paris brought on the Trojan War, was the daughter of Leda, who was visited by Zeus in the guise of a swan. 5. T h e kingdom of the Latini, where Aeneas was hospitably received when he landed at the mouth of the Tiber. Fie married Lavinia, the daughter of King Latinus, and later ruled the kingdom. "Tyrrhene s e a s " : that part of the Mediterranean west of Italy, bounded by the islands of Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica.

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necessary for the reader to know what had happened to him in the taking of Troy, and in the preceding parts of his voyage, Virgil makes his hero relate it by way of episode 6 in the second and third books of the Aeneid. The contents of both which books come before those of the first book in the thread of the story, though for preserving of this unity of action, they follow them in the disposition of the poem. Milton, in imitation of these two great poets, opens his Paradise Lost with an infernal council plotting the fall of man, which is the action he proposed to celebrate; and as for those great actions which preceded in point of time, the battle of the angels, and the creation of the world (which would have entirely destroyed the unity of his principal action, had he related them in the same order that they happened), he cast them into the fifth, sixth, and seventh books, by way of episode to this noble poem. Aristotle himself allows that Homer has nothing to boast of as to the unity of his fable, though at the same time that great critic and philosopher endeavors to palliate this imperfection in the Greek poet, by imputing it in some measure to the very nature of an epic poem. Some have been of opinion that the Aeneid labors also in this particular, and has episodes which may be looked upon as excrescences rather than as parts of the action. On the contrary, the poem which we have now under our consideration hath no other episodes than such as naturally arise from the subject, and yet is filled with such a multitude of astonishing incidents that it gives us at the same time a pleasure of the greatest variety, and of the greatest simplicity. I must observe also that as Virgil, in the poem which was designed to celebrate the original of the Roman Empire, has described the birth of its great rival, the Carthaginian commonwealth, Milton with the like art in his poem on the Fall of Man, has related the fall of those angels who are his professed enemies. Besides the many other beauties in such an episode, its running parallel with the great action of the poem hinders it from breaking the unity so much as another episode would have done that had not so great an affinity with the principal subject. In short, this is the same kind of beauty which the critics admire in the Spanish Friar, or The Double Discovery, 7 where the two different plots look like counterparts and copies of one another. The second qualification required in the action of an epic poem is that it should be an entire action. An action is entire when it is complete in all its parts; or as Aristotle describes it, when it consists of a beginning, a middle, and an end. Nothing should go before it, be intermixed with it, or follow after it, that is not related to it. As on the contrary, no single step should be omitted in that just and regular process which it must be supposed to take from its original to its consummation. Thus, we see the anger of Achilles in its birth, its continuance, and effects; and Aeneas's settlement in Italy, carried on through all the oppositions in his way to it both by sea and land. The action in Milton excels (I think) both the former in this particular: we see it contrived in hell, executed upon earth, and punished by heaven. The parts of it are told in the most distinct manner, and grow out of one another in the most natural method. The third qualification of an epic poem is its greatness. The anger of Achilles was of such consequence that it embroiled the kings of Greece, destroyed the heroes of Troy, and engaged all the gods in factions. Aeneas's settlement in Italy produced the Caesars, and gave birth to the Roman Empire. Milton's 6. An incidental narration or digression in an epic that arises naturally from the subject but is sepa-

rable from the main action, 7. A comedy by Dryden.

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subject was still greater than either of the former; it does not determine the fate of single persons or nations, but of a whole species. The united powers of hell are joined together for the destruction of mankind, which they effected in part, and would have completed, had not Omnipotence itself interposed. The principal actors are man in his greatest perfection, and woman in her highest beauty. Their enemies are the fallen angels: the Messiah their friend, and the Almighty their protector. In short, everything that is great in the whole circle of being, whether within the verge of nature, or out of it, has a proper part assigned it in this noble poem. In poetry, as in architecture, not only the whole, but the principal members, and every part of them, should be great. I will not presume to say, that the book of games in the Aeneid, or that in the Iliad, are not of this nature, nor to reprehend Virgil's simile of the top, 8 and many other of the same nature in the Iliad, as liable to any censure in this particular; but I think we may say, without derogating from those wonderful performances, that there is an unquestionable magnificence in every part of Paradise Lost, and indeed a much greater than could have been formed upon any pagan system. But Aristotle, by the greatness of the action, does not only mean that it should be great in its nature, but also in its duration, or in other words, that it should have a due length in it, as well as what we properly call greatness. The just measure of the kind of magnitude he explains by the following similitude. An animal no bigger than a mite cannot appear perfect to the eye, because the sight takes it in at once, and has only a confused idea of the whole, and not a distinct idea of all its parts: if on the contrary you should suppose an animal of ten thousand furlongs in length, the eye would be so filled with a single part of it, that it would not give the mind an idea of the whole. What these animals are to the eye, a very short or a very long action would be to the memory. The first would be, as it were, lost and swallowed up by it, and the other difficult to be contained in it. Homer and Virgil have shown their principal art in this particular; the action of the Iliad, and that of the Aeneid, were in themselves exceeding short, but are so beautifully extended and diversified by the invention of episodes, and the machinery 9 of gods, with the like poetical ornaments, that they make up an agreeable story sufficient to employ the memory without overcharging it. Milton's action is enriched with such a variety of circumstances that I have taken as much pleasure in reading the contents of his books as in the best invented story I ever met with. It is possible that the traditions on which the Iliad and Aeneid were built had more circumstances in them than the history of the Fall of Man, as it is related in Scripture. Besides it was easier for Homer and Virgil to dash the truth with fiction, as they were in no danger of offending the religion of their country by it. But as for Milton, he had not only a very few circumstances upon which to raise his poem, but was also obliged to proceed with the greatest caution in everything that he added out of his own invention. And, indeed, notwithstanding all the restraints he was under, he has filled his story with so many surprising incidents, which bear so close an analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ, that it is capable of pleasing the most delicate reader, without giving offense to the most scrupulous. The modern critics have collected from several hints in the Iliad and Aeneid 8. In book VII of the Aeneid, Virgil c o m p a r e s Amata, enraged at the engagement of her daughter to Aeneas, to a top whipped by young boys. 9. T h e technical term (from dens ex machina) in

critical theory for the supernatural beings who oversee and intervene in the affairs of the characters in epic p o e m s .

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2488

J O S E P H ADDISON AND

SIR

RICHARD

STEELE

the space of time which is taken up by the action of each of these p o e m s ; but as a great part of Milton's story was transacted in regions that lie out of the reach of the sun and the sphere of day, it is impossible to gratify the reader with s u c h a calculation, which indeed would be more curious than instructive; none of the critics, either ancient or modern, having laid down rules to circumscribe the action of an epic p o e m with any determined number of years, days, or hours.

This Piece of Criticism on Milton's Paradise Lost shall he carried on in the following Saturdays' papers. 1

ADDISON:

[The Pleasures of the Imagination]

The Spectator, No. 411, Saturday, June 21,

1712

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nidlius ante Trita solo;juvat integros accedere fonts [fonteis]; Atque haurire: . . . — L U C R E T I U S , De Rerum Natura, 1.926-8'

O u r sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments. T h e sense of feeling can indeed give us a notion of extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, except colors; but at the s a m e time it is very m u c h straitened and confined in its operations, to the number, bulk, and distance of its particular objects. O u r sight seems designed to supply all these defects, and may be considered as a more delicate and diffusive kind of touch, that spreads itself over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the largest figures, and brings into our reach s o m e of the most remote parts of the universe. It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with its ideas; so that by the pleasures of the imagination or fancy (which I shall u s e promiscuously 2 ) I here m e a n s u c h as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in our view or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings, statues, descriptions, or any the like occasion. We cannot indeed have a single image in the fancy that did not m a k e its first entrance through the sight; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and c o m p o u n d i n g those images which we have once received into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination; for by this faculty a man in a dungeon is capable of entertaining himself with s c e n e s and landscapes more beautiful than any that can be f o u n d in the whole c o m p a s s of nature. There are few words in the English language which are employed in a more loose and uncircumscribed s e n s e than those of the fancy and the imagination. I therefore thought it necessary to fix and determine the notion of these two words, as I intend to m a k e u s e of them in the thread of my following speculations, that the reader may conceive rightly what is the subject which I proceed upon. I m u s t therefore desire him to remember that by the pleasures of the imagination I m e a n only s u c h pleasures as arise originally from sight, and 1. T h e series on Paradise Lost contains eighteen essays. 1. I wander paths of the Pierides [muses] not trav-

eled before and joy to be the first to drink at untasted springs (Latin). 2. Without discriminating between them.

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ADDISON:

[THE

PLEASURES OF THE

IMAGINATION]

2489

that I divide these pleasures into two kinds: my design being first of all to discourse of those primary pleasures of the imagination which entirely proceed from such objects as are before our eyes; and in the next place to speak of those secondary pleasures of the imagination which flow from the ideas of visible objects when the objects are not actually before the eye, but are called up into our memories, or formed into agreeable visions of things that are either absent or fictitious. The pleasures of the imagination taken in their full extent are not so gross as those of sense nor so refined as those of the understanding. The last are indeed more preferable, because they are founded on some new knowledge or improvement in the mind of man; yet it must be confessed that those of the imagination are as great and as transporting as the other. A beautiful prospect delights the soul as much as a demonstration; and a description in Homer has charmed more readers than a chapter in Aristotle. Besides, the pleasures of the imagination have this advantage above those of the understanding, that they are more obvious and more easy to be acquired. It is but opening the eye, and the scene enters. The colors paint themselves on the fancy with very little attention of thought or application of mind in the beholder. We are struck, we know not how, with the symmetry of any thing we see, and immediately assent to the beauty of an object without enquiring into the particular causes and occasions of it. A man of a polite imagination is let into a great many pleasures that the vulgar 3 are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a picture and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets with a secret refreshment in a description, and often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows than another does in the possession. It gives him indeed a kind of property in everything he sees, and makes the most rude, uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasure; so that he looks upon the world, as it were, in another light, and discovers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind. There are indeed but very few who know how to be idle and innocent, or have a relish of any pleasures that are not criminal; every diversion they take is at the expense of some one virtue or another, and their very first step out of business is into vice or folly. A man should endeavor, therefore, to make the sphere of his innocent pleasures as wide as possible, that he may retire into them with safety, and find in them such a satisfaction as a wise man would not blush to take. Of this nature are those of the imagination, which do not require such a bent of thought as is necessary to our more serious employments, nor at the same time suffer the mind to sink into that negligence and remissness which are apt to accompany our more sensual delights, but, like a gentle exercise to the faculties, awaken them from sloth and idleness without putting them upon any labor or difficulty. We might here add that the pleasures of the fancy are more conducive to health than those of the understanding, which are worked out by dint of thinking and attended with too violent a labor of the brain. Delightful scenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the body as well as the mind, and not only serve to clear and brighten the imagination but are able to disperse grief and melancholy, and to set the animal spirits 4 in 3. T h e ordinary sort of person. "Polite": cultivated, refined.

4. Principle of animating bodily energy,

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2 4 9 0

JOSEPH

ADDISON

AND

SIR

RICHARD

STEELE

pleasing and agreeable motions. For this reason Sir Francis B a c o n in his E s s a y upon Health 5 has not thought it improper to prescribe to his reader a poem or a prospect, where he particularly dissuades him from knotty and subtle disquisitions, and advises him to p u r s u e studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contemplations of nature. I have in this paper, by way of introduction, settled the notion of those pleasures of the imagination which are the subject of my present undertaking, and endeavored by several considerations to r e c o m m e n d to my reader the pursuit of those pleasures. 1 shall in my next paper examine the several sources from whence these pleasures are derived. 6

ADDISON:

[On the Scale of Being]

The Spectator, No.

519, October 25,

1712

Inde hominum pecudtimque genus, vitaeque volantum, Et quae marmoreofert monstra sub aequore pontus.' — V I R G I L , Aeneid 6.728-29

T h o u g h there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplating the material world, by which I m e a n that system of bodies into which nature has so curiously wrought the m a s s of dead matter, with the several relations which those bodies bear to one another, there is still, methinks, something more wonderful and surprising in contemplations on the world of life, by which I mean all those animals with which every part of the universe is furnished. T h e material world is only the shell of the universe: the world of life are its inhabitants. If we consider those parts of the material world which lie the nearest to us and are, therefore, subject to our observations and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the infinity of animals with which it is stocked. Every part of matter is peopled. Every green leaf swarms with inhabitants. There is scarce a single humor in the body of a m a n , or of any other animal, in which our glasses 2 do not discover myriads of living creatures. T h e s u r f a c e of animals is also covered with other animals which are, in the s a m e manner, the basis of other animals that live upon it; nay, we find in the most solid bodies, as in marble itself, innumerable cells and cavities that are crowded with s u c h imperceptible inhabitants as are too little for the naked eye to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures. We find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, plentifully stocked with birds and beasts, and every part of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniences for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it. T h e author of The Plurality of Worlds3 draws a very good argument upon this consideration for the peopling of every planet, as indeed it s e e m s very probable from the analogy of reason that, if no part of matter which we are acquainted with lies waste and useless, those great bodies, which are at such 5. Bacon's Essay 30, " O f Regiment of Health," appeared in his Essays ( 1 5 9 7 ) . 6. Addison wrote eleven papers on various aspects of the pleasures of the imagination ( Spectator nos. 4 1 1 - 2 1 ) , of which this is first. I. T h e n c e the race of men and beasts, the life of flying creatures, and the monsters that ocean bears beneath her smooth surface (Latin).

2. Microscopes. " H u m o r " : fluid. 3. Bernard de Fontenelle (] 657—1757). This popular book, a series of dialogues between a scientist and a c o u n t e s s concerning the possibility of other inhabited planets and the new astrophysics in general, was published in 1686 in France and was translated in 1 6 8 8 by both J o h n Glanviil and Aphra Behn.

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ADDISON:

[ON THE

SCALE OF BEING]

2491

a distance from us, should not be desert and unpeopled, but rather that they should be furnished with beings adapted to their respective situations. Existence is a blessing to those beings only which are endowed with perception and is, in a manner, thrown away upon dead matter any further than as it is subservient to beings which are conscious of their existence. Accordingly, we find from the bodies which lie under our observation that matter is only made as the basis and support of animals and that there is no more of the one than what is necessary for the existence of the other. Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature that it seems to delight in the conferring of existence upon every degree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation which I have often pursued with great pleasure to myself, I shall enlarge farther upon it, by considering that part of the scale of beings which comes within our knowledge. There are some living creatures which are raised but just above dead matter. To mention only that species of shellfish, which are formed in the fashion of a cone, that grow to the surface of several rocks and immediately die upon their being severed from the place where they grow. There are many other creatures but one remove from these, which have no other sense besides that of feeling and taste. Others have still an additional one of hearing; others of smell, and others of sight. It is wonderful to observe by what a gradual progress the world of life advances through a prodigious variety of species before a creature is formed that is complete in all its senses; and, even among these, there is such a different degree of perfection in the sense which one animal enjoys, beyond what appears in another, that, though the sense in different animals be distinguished by the same common denomination, it seems almost of a different nature. If after this we look into the several inward perfections of cunning and sagacity, or what we generally call instinct, we find them rising after the same manner, imperceptibly, one above another, and receiving additional improvements, according to the species in which they are implanted. This progress in nature is so very gradual that the most perfect of an inferior species comes very near to the most imperfect of that which is immediately above it. The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the Supreme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, is plainly seen, as I have before hinted, from his having made so very little matter, at least what falls within our knowledge, that does not swarm with life. Nor is his goodness less seen in the diversity than in the multitude of living creatures. Had he only made one species of animals, none of the rest would have enjoyed the happiness of existence; he has, therefore, specified in his creation every degree of life, every capacity of being. The whole chasm in nature, from a plant to a man, is filled up with diverse kinds of creatures, rising one over another by such a gentle and easy ascent that the little transitions and deviations from one species to another are almost insensible. This intermediate space is so well husbanded and managed that there is scarce a degree of perception which does not appear in some one part of the world of life. Is the goodness or wisdom of the Divine Being more manifested in this his proceeding? There is a consequence, besides those I have already mentioned, which seems very naturally deducible from the foregoing considerations. If the scale of being rises by such a regular progress so high as man, we may by a parity of reason 4 suppose that it still proceeds gradually through those beings which are of a superior nature to him, since there is an infinitely greater space and room 4. A reasonable analog)' or equivalence.

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2492

J O S E P H ADDISON AND

SIR RICHARD

STEELE

for different degrees of perfection between the Supreme Reing and man than between man and the most despicable insect. This consequence of so great a variety of beings which are superior to us, from that variety which is inferior to us, is made by Mr. Locke 5 in a passage which I shall here set down after having premised that, notwithstanding there is such infinite room between man and his Maker for the creative power to exert itself in, it is impossible that it should ever be filled up, since there will be still an infinite gap or distance between the highest created being and the Power which produced him: That there should be more species of intelligent creatures above us than there are of sensible and material below, is probable to me from hence: That in all the visible corporeal world we see no chasms or no gaps. All quite down from us, the descent is by easy steps and a continued series of things that, in each remove, differ very little from the other. There are fishes that have wings and are not strangers to the airy region; and there are some birds that are inhabitants of the water, whose blood is cold as fishes and their flesh so like in taste that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish days. 6 There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts that they are in the middle between both: amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together; seals live at land and at sea, and porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog, not to mention what is confidently reported of mermaids or seamen. There are some brutes that seem to have as much knowledge and reason as some that are called men; and the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so nearly joined that, if you will take the lowest of one and the highest of the other, there will scarce be perceived any great difference between them; and so on, till we come to the lowest and the most inorganical parts of matter, we shall find everywhere that the several species are linked together and differ but in almost insensible degrees. And when we consider the infinite power and wisdom of the Maker, we have reason to think that it is suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe and the great design and infinite goodness of the Architect, that the species of creatures should also, by gentle degrees, ascend upward from us toward his infinite perfection, as we see they gradually descend from us downward; which, if it be probable, we have reason to be persuaded that there are far more species of creatures above us than there are beneath, we being in degrees of perfection much more remote from the infinite being of God than we are from the lowest state of being and that which approaches nearest to nothing. And yet of all those distinct species we have no clear distinct ideas. In this system of being, there is no creature so wonderful in its nature, and which so much deserves our particular attention, as man, who fills up the middle space between the animal and intellectual nature, the visible and invisible world, and is that link in the chain of beings which has been often termed the nexus utriusque mundi. 7 So that he who, in one respect, is associated with angels and archangels, may look upon a Being of infinite perfection as his father, and the highest order of spirits as his brethren, may, in another respect, say to corruption, "Thou art my father," and to the worm, "Thou art my mother and my sister." 8 5. J o h n Locke, in his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 3 . 6 . 1 2 . 6. Days of religious observance when fish instead

of meat is eaten. 7. T h e binding together of both worlds (Latin). 8 . J o b 17.14.

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2493

A L E X A N D E R

P O P E

1688-1744 Alexander Pope is the only important writer of his generation who was solely a man of letters. Because he could not, as a Roman Catholic, attend a university, vote, or hold public office, he was excluded from the sort of patronage that was bestowed by statesmen on many writers during the reign of Anne. This disadvantage he turned into a positive good, for the translation of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, which he undertook for profit as well as for fame, gave him ample means to live the life of an independent suburban gentleman. After 1718 he lived hospitably in his villa by the Thames at Twickenham (then pronounced Twit'nam), entertaining his friends and converting his five acres of land into a diminutive landscape garden. Almost exactly a century earlier, William Shakespeare had earned enough to retire to a country estate at Stratford—but he had been an actor-manager as well as a playwright; Pope was the first English writer to build a lucrative, lifelong career by publishing his works. Ill health plagued Pope almost from birth. Crippled early by tuberculosis of the bone, he never grew taller than four and a half feet. In later life he suffered from violent headaches and required constant attention from servants. But Pope did not allow his infirmities to hold him back; he was always a master at making the best of what he had. Around 1700 his father, a well-to-do, retired London merchant, moved to a small property at Binfield in Windsor Forest. There, in rural surroundings, young Pope completed his education by reading whatever he pleased, "like a boy gathering flowers in the woods and fields just as they fall in his way"; and there, encouraged by his father, he began to write verse. He was already an accomplished poet in his teens; no English poet has ever been more precocious. Pope's first striking success as a poet was An Essay on Criticism (1711), which brought him Joseph Addison's approval and an intemperate personal attack from the critic John Dennis, who was angered by a casual reference to himself in the poem. The Rape of the Lock, both in its original shorter version of 1712 and in its more elaborate version of 1714, proved the author a master not only of metrics and of language but also of witty, urbane satire. In An Essay on Criticism, Pope had excelled all his predecessors in writing a didactic poem after the example of Horace; in the Rape, he had written the most brilliant mock epic in the language. But there was another vein in Pope's youthful poetry, a tender concern with natural beauty and love. The Pastorals (1709), his first publication, and Windsor Forest (1713; much of it was written earlier) abound in visual imagery and descriptive passages of ideally ordered nature; they remind us that Pope was an amateur painter. The "Elegy to the iMemory of an Unfortunate Lady" and Eloisa to Ahelard, published in the collected poems of 1717, dwell on the pangs of unhappy lovers (Pope himself never married). And even the long task of translating Homer, the "dull duty" of editing Shakespeare, and, in middle age, his dedication to ethical and satirical poetry did not make less fine his keen sense of beauty in nature and art. (For additional poems by Pope, go to Norton Literature Online.) Pope's early poetry brought him to the attention of literary men, with whom he began to associate in the masculine world of coffeehouse and tavern, where he liked to play the rake. Between 1706 and 1711 he came to know, among many others, William Congreve; William Walsh, the critic and poet; and Bichard Steele and Joseph Addison. As it happened, all were Whigs. Pope could readily ignore politics in the excitement of taking his place among the leading wits of the town. But after the fall of the Whigs in 1710 and the formation of the Tory government under Bobert Harley (later the Earl of Oxford) and Henry St. John (later Viscount Bolingbroke) party loyalties bred bitterness among the wits as among the politicians. By 1712, Pope had made the acquaintance of another group of writers, all Tories, who were soon his intimate friends: Jonathan Swift, by then the close associate of Harley and St. John

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2494

ALEXANDER POPE

and the principal propagandist for their policies; Dr. John Arbuthnot, physician to the queen, a learned scientist, a wit, and a man of humanity and integrity; John Gay, the poet, who in 1728 was to create The Beggar's Opera, the greatest theatrical success of the century; and the poet Thomas Parnell. Through them he became the friend and admirer of Oxford and later the intimate of Bolingbroke. In 1714 this group, at the instigation of Pope, formed a club for satirizing all sorts of false learning. The friends proposed to write jointly the biography of a learned fool whom they named Martinus Scriblerus (Martin the Scribbler), whose life and opinions would be a running commentary on educated nonsense. Some amusing episodes were later rewritten and published as the Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus (1741). The real importance of the club, however, is that it fostered a satiric temper that would be expressed in such mature works of the friends as Gulliver's Travels, The Beggar's Opera, and The Dunciad.

"The life of a wit is a warfare on earth," said Pope, generalizing from his own experience. His very success as a poet (and his astonishing precocity brought him success very early) made enemies who were to plague him in pamphlets, verse satires, and squibs in the journals throughout his entire literary career. He was attacked for his writings, his religion, and his physical deformity. Although he smarted under the jibes of his detractors, he was a fighter who struck back, always giving better than he got. Pope's literary warfare began in 1713, when he announced his intention of translating the Iliad and sought subscribers to a deluxe edition of the work. Subscribers came in droves, but the Whig writers who surrounded Addison at Button's Coffee House did all they could to discredit the venture. The eventual success of the first published installment of his Iliad in 1715 did not obliterate Pope's resentment against Addison and his "little senate"; and he took his revenge in the damaging portrait of Addison (under the name of Atticus), which was later included in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot (1735), lines 193—214. The not unjustified attacks on Pope's edition of Shakespeare (1725) by the learned Shakespeare scholar Lewis Theobald (Pope always spelled and pronounced the name "Tibbald" in his satires) led to Theobald's appearance as king of the dunces in The Dunciad (1728). In this impressive poem Pope stigmatized his literary enemies as agents of all that he disliked and feared in the tendencies of his time—the vulgarization of taste and the arts consequent on the rapid growth of the reading public and the development of journalism, magazines, and other popular and cheap publications, which spread scandal, sensationalism, and political partisanship—in short the new commercial spirit of the nation that was corrupting not only the arts but, as Pope saw it, the national life itself. In the 1730s Pope moved on to philosophical, ethical, and political subjects in An

Essay on Man, the Epistles to Several Persons, and the Imitations of Horace. T h e reigns

of George I and George II appeared to him, as to Swift and other Tories, a period of rapid moral, political, and cultural deterioration. The agents of decay fed on the rise of moneyed (as opposed to landed) wealth, which accounted for the political corruption encouraged by Sir Bobert Walpole and the court party and the corruption of all aspects of the national life by a vulgar class of nouveaux riches. Pope assumed the role of the champion of traditional values: of right reason, humanistic learning, sound art, good taste, and public virtue. It was fortunate that many of his enemies happened to illustrate various degrees of unreason, pedantry, bad art, vulgar taste, and at best, indifferent morals. The satirist traditionally deals in generally prevalent evils and generally observable human types, not with particular individuals. So too with Pope; the bulk of his satire can be read and enjoyed without much biographical information. Usually he used fictional or type names, although he most often had an individual in mind—Sappho, Atossa, Atticus, Sporus—and when he named individuals (as he consistently did in The Dunciad), his purpose was to raise his victims to emblems of folly and vice. To judge and censure the age, Pope also created the I of the satires (not identical with Alexander Pope of Twickenham). This semifictional figure is the detached observer,

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ALEXANDER

POPE

2 4 9 5

somewhat removed from the City, town, and court, the centers of corruption; he is the friend of the virtuous, whose friendship for him testifies to his integrity; he is fond of peace, country life, the arts, morality, and truth; and he detests their opposites that flourish in the great world. In such an age, Pope implies, it is impossible for such a man—honest, truthful, blunt—not to write satire. Pope was a master of style. From first to last, his verse is notable for its rhythmic variety, despite the apparently rigid metrical unit—the heroic couplet—in which he wrote; for the precision of meaning and the harmony (or expressive disharmony) of his language; and for the union of maximum conciseness with maximum complexity. Variety and harmony can be observed in even so short a passage as lines 71—76 of the pastoral "Summer" (1709), lines so lyrical that, in Semele, Handel set them to music. In the passage quoted below (as also in the quotation at the bottom of the page), only those rhetorical stresses that distort the normal iambic flow of the verse have been marked; internal pauses within the line are indicated by single and double bars, alliteration and assonance by italics. Oh deign to visit our/orsaken seats, The mossy/otmtains || and the green retreats! Where'er you walk |[ cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit || shall croifd into a shade: Where'er you tread || the bliishing /lou'ers shall rise, And all things/lonrish where you tiirn your eyes. Pope has attained metrical variety by the free substitution of trochees and spondees for the normal iambs; he has achieved rhythmic variety by arranging phrases and clauses (units of syntax and logic) of different lengths within single lines and couplets, so that the passage moves with the sinuous fluency of thought and feeling; and he not only has chosen musical combinations of words but has also subtly modulated the harmony of the passage by unobtrusive patterns of alliteration and assonance. Contrast with this pastoral passage lines 16—25 of the "Epilogue to the Satires, Dialogue 2" (1738), in which Pope is not making music but imitating actual conversation so realistically that the metrical pattern and the integrity of the couplet and individual line seem to be destroyed (although in fact they remain in place). In a dialogue with a friend who warns him that his satire is too personal, indeed mere libel, the poet-satirist replies: Ye statesmen, | priests of one religion all! Ye tradesmen vile || in army, court, or hall! Ye reverend atheists. || F. Scandal! | name them, | Who? p. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. Who starved a sister, || who foreswore a debt, I never named; || the town's inquiring yet. The poisoning dame—| F. You mean—| P. I don't—| F. You do. p. See, now I keep the secret, || and not you! The bribing statesman—| F. Hold, || too high you go. p.

The

bribed

elector—1|

There

you

stoop too low.

In such a passage the language and rhythms of poetry merge with the language and rhythms of impassioned living speech.

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AN ESSAY ON C R I T I C I S M ,

PART

2 4 9 7

Nature, ancients, rules, and genius. Wit in the poem is a word of many meanings—a clever remark or the person w ho makes it, a conceit, liveliness of mind, inventiveness, fancy, genius, a genius, and poetry itself, among others. Nature is an equally ambiguous word, meaning not "things out there" or "the outdoors" but most important that which is representative, universal, permanent in human experience as opposed to the idiosyncratic, the individual, the temporary. In line 21, Nature comes close to meaning "intuitive knowledge." In line 52, it means that half-personified power manifested in the cosmic order, which in its modes of working is a model for art. The reverence felt by most Augustans for the great writers of ancient Greece and Rome raised the question how far the authority of these ancients extended. Were their works to be received as models to be conscientiously imitated? Were the rules received from them or deducible from their works to be accepted as prescriptive laws or merely convenient guides? Was individual genius to be bound by what has been conventionally held to be Nature, by the authority of the ancients, and by the legalistic pedantry of rules? Or could it go its own way? In part 1 of the Essay, Pope constructs a harmonious system in which he effects a compromise among all these conflicting forces—a compromise that is typical of his times. Part 2 analyzes the causes of faulty criticism. Part 3 characterizes the good critic and praises the great critics of the past.

An Essay on Criticism Part 1

'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But of the two less dangerous is the offense To tire our patience than mislead our sense. S o m e few in that, but numbers err in this, Ten censure 0 wrong for one who writes amiss; A fool might once himself alone expose, Now one in verse makes many more in prose. 'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, yet each believes his own. In poets as true genius is but rare, True taste as seldom is the critic's share; Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, These born to judge, as well as those to write. Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well. Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment too? Yet if we look more closely, we shall find Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind: Nature affords at least a glimmering light; The lines, though touched but faintly, are drawn right. But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced, 1 Is by ill coloring but the more disgraced, f So hy false learning is good sense defaced: J S o m e are bewildered in the maze of schools, And some made coxcombs 1 Nature meant but fools.

I. Superficial pretenders to learning.

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2498

ALEXANDER

POPE

In search of wit these lose their common sense, And then turn critics in their own defense: Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write, Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite. All fools have still an itching to deride, And fain would be upon the laughing side. If Maevius 2 scribble in Apollo's spite, There are who judge still worse than he can write. S o m e have at first for wits, then poets passed, Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last. S o m e neither can for wits nor critics p a s s , As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass. T h o s e half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle, As half-formed insects on the banks of Nile; 1 Unfinished things, one knows not what to call, Their generation's so equivocal: To telP them would a hundred tongues require, reckon, count Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. But you who seek to give and merit fame, And justly bear a critic's noble name, Be sure yourself and your own reach to know, How far your genius, taste, and learning go; Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, And mark that point where sense and dullness meet. Nature to all things fixed the limits fit, And wisely curbed proud man's pretending 0 wit. aspiring As on the land while here the ocean gains, In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains; T h u s in the soul while memory prevails, The solid power of understanding fails; Where beams of warm imagination play, The memory's soft figures melt away. One science 0 only will one genius fit, branch of learning So vast is art, so narrow human wit. Not only bounded to peculiar arts, But oft in those confined to single parts. Like kings we lose the conquests gained before, By vain ambition still to make them more; Each might his several province well command, Would all but stoop to what they understand. First follow Nature, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same; Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, One clear, unchanged, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty must to all impart. At once the source, and end, and test of art. Art from that fund each just supply provides, Works without show, and without pomp presides. In some fair body thus the informing soul

2. A silly poet alluded to contemptuously by Virgil in Eclogue 3 and by Horace in Epode 10. 3. T h e ancients believed that many forms of life

were spontaneously generated in the fertile mud of the Nile.

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ESSAY ON

CRITICISM,

PART

2 4 9 9

With spirits feeds, with vigor fills the whole, Each motion guides, and every nerve sustains; Itself unseen, but in the effects remains, S o m e , to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse, Want as m u c h more to turn it to its use; For wit and judgment often are at strife, T h o u g h meant each other's aid, like man and wife. 'Tis more to guide than spur the Muse's steed, Restrain his fury than provoke his speed; The winged courser, 4 like a generous 0 horse, spirited, highly bred Shows most true mettle when you check his course. Those rules of old discovered, not devised, Are Nature still, but Nature methodized; Nature, like liberty, is but restrained By the same laws which first herself ordained. Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indites, When to repress and when indulge our flights: High on Parnassus' top her sons she showed, And pointed out those arduous paths they trod; Held from afar, aloft, the immortal prize, And urged the rest by equal steps to rise. Just precepts thus from great examples given, She drew from them what they derived from Heaven. The generous critic fanned the poet's fire, And taught the world with reason to admire. Then criticism the Muse's handmaid proved, To dress her charms, and make her more beloved: But following wits from that intention strayed, Who could not win the mistress, wooed the maid; Against the poets their own arms they turned, Sure to hate most the men from whom they learned. So modern 'pothecaries, taught the art By doctors's bills 0 to play the doctor's part, prescriptions Bold in the practice of mistaken rules, Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. S o m e on the leaves of ancient authors prey, Nor time nor moths e'er spoiled so much as they. S o m e dryly plain, without invention's aid, Write dull receipts' how poems may be made. These leave the sense their learning to display, And those explain the meaning quite away. You then whose judgment the right course would steer, Know well each ancient's proper character; His fable, 6 subject, scope 0 in every page; aim, purpose Religion, country, genius of his age: Without all these at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticize. Be Homer's works your study and delight, Read them by day, and meditate by night;

4 . P e g a s u s , a s s o c i a t e d with the M u s e s arid p o e t i c inspiration. 5. F o r m u l a s for p r e p a r i n g a d i s h ; r e c i p e s . P o p e h i m s e l f wTote a n a m u s i n g b u r l e s q u e , " R e c e i p t t o

M a k e an E p i c P o e m , " first p u b l i s h e d in the Guardian 78 ( 1 7 1 3 ) . 6. Plot or story of a play or p o e m .

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2 5 0 0

ALEXANDER

POPE

Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, And trace the Muses upward to their spring. Still with itself compared, his text peruse; And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. When first young Maro 7 in his boundless mind A work to outlast immortal Rome designed, Perhaps he seemed above the critic's law, And but from Nature's fountains scorned to draw; But when to examine every part he came, Nature and Homer were, he found, the same. Convinced, amazed, he checks the bold design, 1 And rules as strict his labored work confine f As if the Stagirite 8 o'erlooked each line. J Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem; To copy Nature is to copy them. Some beauties yet no precepts can declare, For there's a happiness as well as care. 9 Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, f And which a master hand alone can reach. J If, where the rules not far enough extend (Since rules were made but to promote their end) Some lucky license answers to the full The intent proposed, that license is a rule. Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, May boldly deviate from the common track. Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, Which, without passing through the judgment, gains The heart, and all its end at once attains. In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes, 1 Which out of Nature's common order rise, f The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. J But though the ancients thus their rules invade 0 (As kings dispense with laws themselves have made) Moderns, beware! or if you must offend Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end; Let it be seldom, and compelled by need; And have at least their precedent to plead. The critic else proceeds without remorse, Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts Those freer beauties, even in them, seem faults. 1 Some figures monstrous and misshaped appear, 7. Virgil, who was born in a village adjacent to M a n t u a in Italy, hence " M a n t u a n M u s e . " His epic, the Aeneid, was modeled on Homer's Iliad and Odyssey and was considered to be a refinement of the Greek poems. T h u s it could be thought of as a commentary ("comment") on Homer's p o e m s . 8. Aristotle, a native of Stagira, from whose Poetics later critics formulated strict rules for writing trag-

violate

edy a n d the epic. 9. I.e., no rules ("precepts") can explain ("declare") s o m e beautiful effects in a work of art that can be the result only of inspiration or good luck ("happiness"), not of painstaking labor ("care"). 1. Pronounced/nu'ts.

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CRITICISM,

PART

2501

Considered singly, or beheld too near, Which, but proportioned to their light or place, Due distance reconciles to form and grace. A prudent chief not always must display His powers in equal ranks and fair array, But with the occasion and the place comply, Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly. Those oft are stratagems which errors seem, Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. Still green with bays each ancient altar stands Above the reach of sacrilegious hands, Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage, Destructive war, and all-involving age. See, from each clime the learn'd their incense bring! Here in all tongues consenting 0 paeans ring! agreeing, concurring In praise so just let every voice be joined, 2 And fill the general chorus of mankind. Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days, Immortal heirs of universal praise! Whose honors with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, And worlds applaud that must not yet be found! Oh, may some spark of your celestial fire, The last, the meanest of your sons inspire (That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights, Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes) To teach vain wits a science little known, To admire superior sense, and doubt their own!

Part 2

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215

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. Whatever Nature has in worth denied, She gives in large recruits 0 of needful pride; For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swelled with wind: Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defense, And fills up all the mighty void of sense. If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. Trust not yourself: but your defects to know, Make use of every friend—and every foe. A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. 3 There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.

2. P r o n o u n c e d j i n e d . 3. The spring in Pieria on M o u n t Olympus, sacred to the M u s e s .

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2502

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ALEXANDER

POPE

Fired at first sight with what the M u s e imparts, In fearless youth we tempt 0 the heights of arts, While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; But more advanced, behold with strange surprise New distant scenes of endless science rise! So pleased at first the towering Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky, The eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; But, those attained, we tremble to survey The growing labors of the lengthened way, The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise! A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where Nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The generous pleasure to be charmed with wit. But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow, Correctly cold, and regularly low, That, shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep, We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep. In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts Is not the exactness of peculiar" parts; 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. T h u s when we view some well-proportioned dome 4 (The world's just wonder, and even thine, O Rome!), No single parts unequally surprise, All comes united to the admiring eyes: No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear; The whole at once is bold and regular. Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, To avoid great errors must the less commit, Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays, For not to know some trifles is a praise. Most critics, fond of some subservient art, Still make the whole depend upon a part: They talk of principles, but notions prize, And all to one loved folly sacrifice. Once on a time La Mancha's knight, 5 they say,

4. T h e d o m e of St. Peter's, designed by Michelangelo. 5. Don Quixote. T h e story c o m e s not from Cer-

attempt

particular

vantes's novel, but from a spurious sequel to it by Don Alonzo Fernandez de Avellaneda.

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ESSAY ON CRITICISM,

PART

2503

A certain bard encountering on the way, Discoursed in terms as just, with looks as sage, As e'er could Dennis/' of the Grecian stage; Concluding all were desperate sots and fools Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. Our author, happy in a judge so nice, Produced his play, and begged the knight's advice; M a d e him observe the subject and the plot, The manners, passions, unities; what not? All which exact to rule were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out. "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight. "Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite." "Not so, by Heaven!" he answers in a rage, "Knights, squires, and steeds must enter on the stage." " S o vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain." "Then build a new, or act it in a plain." Thus critics of less judgment than caprice, Curious, 0 not knowing, not exact, but nice, 0 laborious /fuss}' Form short ideas, and offend in arts (As most in manners), by a love to parts. S o m e to conceit 7 alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at every line; Pleased with a work where nothing's just or fit, One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover every part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit; For works may have more wit than does them good, As bodies perish through excess of blood. Others for language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress. Their praise is still—the style is excellent; The sense they humbly take upon content. 0 mere acquiescence Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, Its gaudy colors spreads on every place; 8 The face of Nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay.

6. J o h n Dennis ( 1 6 5 7 - 1 7 3 4 ) . although one of the leading critics of the time, was frequently ridiculed by the wits for his irascibility a n d pomposity. Pope apparently did not know Dennis personally, but his jibe at him in part 3 of this poem made him a bitter enemy. 7. Pointed wit, ingenuity and extravagance, or

affectation in the use of figures, especially similes a n d metaphors. 8. A very up-to-date scientific reference. Newton's Optics, which dealt with the prism and the spectrum, had been published in 1704, although his theories had been known earlier.

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2 5 0 4

ALEXANDER

POPE

But true expression, like the unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon; It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent as more suitable. A vile conceit in pompous words expressed Is like a clown 0 in regal purple dressed: countr}' bumpkin For different styles with different subjects sort, As several garbs with country, town, and court. S o m e by old words to f a m e have made pretense, Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense. S u c h labored nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze the unlearn'd, and make the learned smile; Unlucky as Fungoso 9 in the play, These sparks with awkward vanity display iWhat the line gentleman wore yesterday; J And but so mimic ancient wits at best, As apes our grandsires in their doublets dressed. In words as fashions the same rule will hold, Alike fantastic if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. versification But most by numbers 0 judge a poet's song, And smooth or rough with them is right or wrong. In the bright M u s e though thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire, Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, Not mend their minds; as some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire, 1 While expletives 2 their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line: While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, With sure returns of still expected rhymes; Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze," In the next line, it "whispers through the trees"; If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep," The reader's threatened (not in vain) with "sleep"; Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine 3 ends the song That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know What's roundly smooth or languishingly slow; And praise the easy vigor of a line Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join. 4 9. A character in B e n J o n s o n ' s comedy Every' Man out of His Humor (1 599). 1. In lines 345—57 Pope cleverly contrives to make his own metrics or diction illustrate the faults that he is exposing. 2. Words used merely to achieve the necessary number of feet in a line of verse. 3. A line of verse containing six iambic feet; it is

illustrated in the next line. 4. Dryden, whom Pope echoes here, considered Sir J o h n D e n h a m (161 5 - 1 6 6 9 ) and E d m u n d Waller (1606—1687) to have been the principal shapers of the closed pentameter couplet. He had distinguished the "strength" of the one and the "sweetn e s s " of the other.

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AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM,

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PART

2505

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labors, and the words move slow; Not so when swift Camilla 5 scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. Hear how Timotheus' 6 varied lays surprise, And bid alternate passions fall and rise! While at each change the son of Libyan Jove° Alexander the Great Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: Persians and Greeks like turns of nature 7 found And the world's victor stood subdued by sound! The power of music all our hearts allow, And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now. Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such Who still are pleased too little or too much. At every trifle scorn to take offense: That always shows great pride, or little sense. Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best, Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest. Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move; For fools admire," but men of sense approve: wonder As things seem large which we through mists descry, Dullness is ever apt to magnify. Some foreign writers, some our own despise; The ancients only, or the moderns prize. Thus w it, like faith, by each man is applied To one small sect, and all are damned beside. Meanly they seek the blessing to confine, And force that sun but on a part to shine, Which not alone the southern wit sublimes, 0 raises up, purifies But ripens spirits in cold northern climes; Which from the first has shone on ages past, Enlights the present, and shall warm the last; Though each may feel increases and decays, And see now clearer and now darker days. Regard not then if wit be old or new, But blame the false and value still the true. Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, But catch the spreading notion of the town; They reason and conclude by precedent, And own" stale nonsense which they ne'er invent. lay claim to

5. Fleet-footed virgin warrior {Aeneid 7, 11). 6. T h e musician in Dryden's "Alexander's F e a s t . " Pope retells the story of that p o e m in the following

lines. 7. Alternations of feelings. 8. J u d g e favorably only after due deliberation.

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2506

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ALEXANDER

POPE

S o m e judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men. Of all this servile herd the worst is he That in proud dullness joins with quality, 9 A constant critic at the great man's board, To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord. What woeful stuff this madrigal would be In some starved hackney sonneteer 0 or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! Before his sacred n a m e flies every fault, And each exalted stanza teems with thought! The vulgar thus through imitation err; As oft the learn'd by being singular; So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng By chance go right, they purposely go wrong. So schismatics' the plain believers quit, And are but damned for having too much wit. S o m e praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. A M u s e by these is like a mistress used, This hour she's idolized, the next abused; While their weak heads like towns unfortified, 'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side. Ask them the cause; they're wiser still, they say; And still tomorrow's wiser than today. We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. Once school divines 2 this zealous isle o'erspread; Who knew most sentences 3 was deepest read. Faith, Gospel, all seemed made to be disputed, And none had sense enough to be confuted. Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck Lane. 4 If faith itself has different dresses worn, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn? Oft, leaving what is natural and fit, The current folly proves the ready wit; And authors think their reputation safe, Which lives as long as fools are pleased to laugh. Some valuing those of their own side or mind, Still make themselves the measure of mankind: Fondly 0 we think we honor merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men. Parties in wit attend on those of state, And public faction doubles private hate. Pride, Malice, Folly against Dryden rose,

9. People of high rank. 1. T h o s e who have divided the church on points of theology. Pope stressed the first syllable, the pronunciation approved by J o h n s o n in his Dictionan'. 2. T h e medieval theologians, such as the followers

hireling poet

foolishly

of D u n s S c o t u s and St. T h o m a s Aquinas, mentioned below. 3. Allusion to Peter Lombard's Book of Sentences, a book e s t e e m e d by Scholastic philosophers. 4. Street where publishers' remainders and secondhand books were sold.

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ESSAY ON

CRITICISM,

PART

2 5 0 7

In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaux; But sense survived, when merry jests were past; For rising merit will buoy up at last. Might he return and bless once more our eyes, New Blackmores and new Milbourns 5 must arise. Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head, Zoilus 6 again would start up from the dead. Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true; For envied wit, like Sol eclipsed, makes known The opposing body's grossness, not its own. When first that sun too powerful beams displays, It draws up vapors which obscure its rays; But even those clouds at last adorn its way, Reflect new glories, and augment the day. Be thou the first true merit to befriend; His praise is lost who stays till all commend. Short is the date, alas! of modern rhymes, And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. 0 for a brief time No longer now that golden age appears, When patriarch wits survived a thousand years: Now length of fame (our second life) is lost, And bare threescore is all even that can boast; Our sons their fathers' failing language see, And such as C h a u c e r is, shall Dryden be. 7 So when the faithful pencil has designed S o m e bright idea of the master's mind, Where a new world leaps out at his command, And ready Nature waits upon his hand; When the ripe colors soften and unite, And sweetly melt into j u s t shade and light; When mellowing years their full perfection give, And each bold figure j u s t begins to live, The treacherous colors the fair art betray, And all the bright creation fades away! Unhappy 0 wit, like most mistaken things, ill-fated Atones not for that envy which it brings. In youth alone its empty praise we boast, But soon the short-lived vanity is lost; Like some fair flower the early spring supplies, That gaily blooms, but even in blooming dies. What is this wit, which must our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy; Then most our trouble still when most admired, And still the more we give, the more required; Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, Sure some to vex, but never all to please;

5. L u k e Milbourn had a t t a c k e d Dryden's translation of Virgil. Sir R i c h a r d B l a c k m o r e , physician and poet, h a d a t t a c k e d Dryden for the immorality of his plays. 6. A G r e e k critic of the 4th century b.C.e. w h o wrote a b o o k of c a r p i n g criticism of H o m e r .

7. T h e radical c h a n g e s that took p l a c e in the English l a n g u a g e b e t w e e n the d e a t h of C h a u c e r in 1 4 0 0 a n d the d e a t h of D r y d e n in 1 7 0 0 s u g g e s t e d that in a n o t h e r three h u n d r e d years Dryden would be unintelligible.

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2508

ALEXANDER

POPE

'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun, By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone! If wit so much from ignorance undergo, Ah, let not learning too commence its foe! 510 Of old those met rewards who could excel, And such were praised who but endeavored well; Though triumphs were to generals only due, Crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too. 8 Now they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown 515 Employ their pains to spurn 0 some others down; kick And while self-love each jealous writer rules, Contending wits become the sport of fools; But still the worst with most regret commend, For each ill author is as bad a friend. 520 To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urged through sacred 0 lust of praise! 9 accursed Ah, ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, Nor in the critic let the man be lost! Good nature and good sense must ever join; 525 To err is human, to forgive divine. But if in noble minds some dregs remain Not yet purged off, of spleen 0 and sour disdain, rancor Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious 0 times. scandalously wicked 530 No pardon vile obscenity should find, Though wit and art conspire to move your mind; But dullness with obscenity must prove As shameful sure as impotence in love. In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease 535 Sprung the rank weed, and thrived with large increase: When love was all an easy monarch's 1 care, Seldom at council, never in a war; Jilts 2 ruled the state, and statesmen farces writ; Nay, wits had pensions, and young lords had wit; 540 The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, And not a mask 3 went unimproved away; The modest fan was lifted up no more, And virgins smiled at what they blushed before. The following license of a foreign reign 545 Did all the dregs of bold Socinus 4 drain; Then unbelieving priests reformed the nation, And taught more pleasant methods of salvation; Where Heaven's free subjects might their rights dispute, Lest God himself should seem too absolute; 550 Pulpits their sacred satire learned to spare, And Vice admired 0 to find a flatterer there! wondered Encouraged thus, wit's Titans braved the skies, 8. To celebrate R o m a n victories, valiant soldiers were decorated with a variety of crowns. 9. T h e phrase imitates Virgil's auri sacra famis, "accursed hunger for gold" ( Aeneid 3 . 5 7 ) . 1. Charles II. T h e concluding lines of part 2 discuss the corruption of wit and poetry under this monarch.

2. Mistresses of the king. 3. A woman wearing a mask. 4. T h e n a m e of two Italian theologians of the 16th century who denied the divinity of J e s u s . Pope charges that freethinkers attained the upper hand during the "foreign reign" of William III, a Dutchman.

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555

ESSAY ON CRITICISM,

PART

And the press groaned with licensed blasphemies. These monsters, critics! with your darts engage, Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage! Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice,° Will needs mistake an author into vice; All seems infected that the infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.

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Learn then what morals critics ought to show, For 'tis but half a judge's task, to know. 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join; In all you speak, let truth and candor 0 shine: kindness, impartiality That not alone what to your sense is due All may allow; but seek your friendship too. Be silent always when you doubt your sense; And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence: Some positive, persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so; But you, with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critic 0 on the last. critique 'Tis not enough, your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot. Without good breeding, truth is disapproved; That only makes superior sense beloved. Be niggards of advice on no pretense; For the worst avarice is that of sense. With mean complacence 5 ne'er betray your trust, Nor be so civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise. 'Twere well might critics still this freedom take; But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And stares, tremendous! with a threatening eye, Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry. 6 Fear most to tax an honorable fool, Whose right it is, uncensured to be dull; Such, without wit, are poets when they please, As without learning they can take degrees. 7 Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satyrs, 0 satires And flattery to fulsome dedicators, Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more, Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er. 'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,

5. S o f t n e s s of manners; desire of pleasing. 6. "This picture was taken to himself by J o h n Dennis, a furious old critic by profession, who, upon no other provocation, wrote against this Essay and its author, in a manner perfectly lunatic" [Pope's note, 1744]. Pope did intend to ridicule Dennis,

whose A-ppins and Virginia had failed on the stage in 1 7 0 9 and who was known for his stare and his u s e of the word tremendous (see line 2 7 0 ) . 7. Honorary degrees were granted to unqualified m e n of rank.

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And charitably let the dull be vain: Your silence there is better than your spite, For who can rail so long as they can write? Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep, And lashed so long, like tops, are lashed asleep. 8 False steps but help them to renew the race, As, after stumbling, jades 0 will mend their pace. worn-out horses What crowds of these, impenitently bold, In sounds and jingling syllables grown old, Still run on poets, in a raging vein, Even to the dregs and squeezings of the brain, Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense, And rhyme with all the rage of impotence. Such shameless bards we have, and yet 'tis true, There are as mad, abandoned critics too. The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber 0 in his head, rubbish With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always listening to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails, From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales. 9 With him, most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary. 1 Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend, Nay showed his faults—but when would poets mend? No place so sacred from such fops is barred, Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's churchyard: 2 Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead: For fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks, It still looks home, and short excursions makes; But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks, And never shocked, and never turned aside, Bursts out, resistless, with a thundering tide. But where's the man, who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know? Unbiased, or° by favor, or by spite: either Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right; Though learned, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and humanly severe: Who to a friend his faults can freely show, And gladly praise the merit of a foe? Blessed with a taste exact, yet unconfined; A knowledge both of books and humankind; Gen'rous converse; 3 a soul exempt from pride; And love to praise, with reason on his side? Such once were critics; such the happy few, 8. T o p s "sleep" when they spin so rapidly that they seem not to move. 9. T h o m a s D'Urfey's Tales (1704) were notorious potboilers. Dryden's Fables ( 1 7 0 0 ) , a set of translations, were a m o n g his most admired works. 1. S a m u e l Garth ( 1 6 6 1 - 1 7 1 9 ) , who had been a c c u s e d of plagiarizing his mock-epic poem The

Dis-pensary' ( 1 6 9 9 ) , was admired and defended by Pope. 2. Booksellers' district near St. Paul's Cathedral, whose aisles were used as a place to meet and do business. 3. Well-bred conversation.

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AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM,

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Athens and Rome in better ages knew. The mighty Stagirite° first left the shore, Aristotle Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore; He steered securely, and discovered far, Led by the light of the Maeonian star. 4 Poets, a race long unconfined, and free, Still fond and proud of savage liberty, Received his laws; and stood convinced 'twas fit, Who conquered nature, should preside o'er wit. Horace still charms with graceful negligence, And without method talks us into sense; Will, like a friend, familiarly convey The truest notions in the easiest 0 way. least formal He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit, Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ, Yet judged with coolness, though he sung with fire; His precepts teach but what his works inspire. Our critics take a contrary extreme, They judge with fury, but they write with fle'me. 0 phlegmatically Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By wits, than critics 5 in as wrong quotations. See Dionysius 6 Homer's thoughts refine, And call new beauties forth from every line! Fancy and art in gay Petronius 7 please, The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease. In grave Quintilian's 8 copious work, we find The justest rules, and clearest method joined: Thus useful arms in magazines 0 we place, storehouses, arsenals All ranged in order, and disposed with grace, But less to please the eye, than arm the hand, Still fit for use, and ready at command. Thee, bold Longinus! 9 all the nine 0 inspire, Muses And bless their critic with a poet's fire. An ardent judge, who, zealous in his trust, With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just; Whose own example strengthens all his laws, And is himself that great sublime he draws. Thus long succeeding critics justly reigned, License repressed, and useful laws ordained. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew; And arts still followed where her eagles 1 flew; From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom, And the same age saw learning fall, and Rome. With tyranny, then superstition joined, As that the body, this enslaved the mind; Much was believed, but little understood,

4. Homer, who was s u p p o s e d to have been born in M a e o n i a . 5. I.e., than by critics. Phrases from Horace's Art of Poetry were quoted incessantly by critics. 6. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (I st century B.c.E.) WTOte an important treatise on the artistic arrangement of words. 7. Author of the Satyricon (1st century C.E.).

8. Author of the histitutio Oratoria (ca. 95 C.E.), a f a m o u s treatise on rhetoric. H e r e as elsewhere, Pope's terms of praise are drawn from the author he is praising. 9. S u p p o s e d author of the influential treatise On the Sublime (1st century C . E . ) , greatly in vogue at the time of Pope. 1. E m b l e m s on the standards of the R o m a n army.

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And to be dull was construed to be good; A second deluge learning thus o'errun, And the monks finished what the Goths begun. 2 At length Erasmus, that great, injured name (The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!), 3 Stemmed the wild torrent of a barb'rous age, And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her withered bays! 4 Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head. Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive; Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live; With sweeter notes each rising temple rung; A Raphael painted, and a Vida 5 sung. Immortal Vida: on whose honored brow The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow: Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame! 6 But soon by impious arms from Latium 7 chased, Their ancient bounds the banished Muses passed; Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance, But critic-learning flourished most in France: The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys; And Boileau still in right of Horace sways. 8 But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despised, And kept unconquered—and uncivilized; Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold, We still defied the Romans, as of old. Yet some there were, among the sounder few Of those who less presumed, and better knew, Who durst assert the juster ancient cause, And here restored wit's fundamental laws. Such was the Muse, whose rules and practice tell, "Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well." 9 Such was Roscommon,' not more learned than good, With manners gen'rous as his noble blood; To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, And every author's merit, but his own. Such late was Walsh—the Muse's 2 judge and friend, Who justly knew to blame or to commend;

2. Pope thought that the Scholastic theologians of the Middle Ages were "holy Vandals" who had "sacked" learning as the Goths and Vandals had sacked Rome. 3. E r a s m u s (1466—1536), the great h u m a n i s t scholar, was the "glory of the priesthood" b e c a u s e of his goodness and learning and its " s h a m e " b e c a u s e he was persecuted. 4. T h e wreath of poetry. L e o X, pope from 1513 to 1521, was notable for his encouragement of artists. 5. " M . Hieronymus Vida, an excellent Latin poet, who writ an Art of Poetry in verse. He flourished in the time of L e o the T e n t h " [Pope's note]. Raphael ( 1 4 8 3 - 1 5 2 0 ) painted many of his greatest works under the patronage of Leo X.

6. Vida c a m e from C r e m o n a , near M a n t u a , the birthplace of Virgil, his favorite poet. 7. Italv. G e r m a n and S p a n i s h troops sacked R o m e in 1 5 2 7 . 8. Boileau's L'Art Poetique ( 1 6 7 4 ) regularized and modernized the lessons of Horace's Art of Poetry. 9. Q u o t e d from an Essay on Poetry by J o h n Sheffield, D u k e of Buckingham ( 1 6 4 8 - 1 7 2 1 ) , who had befriended the young Pope. 1. Wentworth Dillon, Earl of R o s c o m m o n , wrote the important Essay on Translated Verse ( 1 6 8 4 ) . 2. Here, Pope himself. William Walsh ( 1 6 6 3 1708), whom Dryden once called "the best critic of our nation," had advised Pope to work at becoming the first great "correct" poet in English.

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THE

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RAPE OF THE

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To failings mild, but zealous for desert; The clearest head, and the sincerest heart. This humble praise, lamented shade! receive, This praise at least a grateful M u s e may give: The M u s e , whose early voice you taught to sing, Prescribed her heights, and pruned her tender wing, (Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise, But in low numbers 0 short excursions tries: humble verses Content, if hence the unlearned their wants may view, The learned reflect on what before they knew: Careless of° censure, nor too fond of fame; unconcerned at Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame; Averse alike to flatter, or offend; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

1709

The Rape of the Lock

1711

The Rape of the Lock is based on an actual episode that provoked a quarrel between two prominent Catholic families. Pope's friend John Caryll, to whom the poem is addressed (line 3), suggested that Pope write it, in the hope that a little laughter might serve to soothe ruffled tempers. Lord Petre had cut off a lock of hair from the head of the lovely Arabella Fermor (often spelled "Farmer" and doubtless so pronounced), much to the indignation of the lady and her relatives. In its original version of two cantos and 334 lines, published in 1712, The Rape of the Lock was a great success. In 1713 a new version was undertaken against the advice of Addison, who considered the poem perfect as it was first written. Pope greatly expanded the earlier version, adding the delightful "machinery" (i.e., the supernatural agents in epic action) of the Sylphs, Belinda's toilet, the card game, and the visit to the Cave of Spleen in canto 4. In 1717, with the addition of Clarissa's speech on good humor, the poem assumed its final form. With delicate fancy and playful wit, Pope elaborated the trivial episode that occasioned the poem into the semblance of an epic in miniature, the most nearly perfect heroicomical poem in English. The verse abounds in parodies and echoes of the Iliad, the Aeneid, and Paradise Lost, thus constantly forcing the reader to compare small things with great. The familiar devices of epic are observed, but the incidents or characters are beautifully proportioned to the scale of mock epic. The Rape tells of war, but it is the drawing-room war between the sexes; it has its heroes and heroines, but they are beaux and belles; it has its supernatural characters ("machinery"), but they are Sylphs (borrowed, as Pope tells us in his dedicatory letter, from Rosicrucian lore)—creatures of the air, the souls of dead coquettes, with tasks appropriate to their nature—or the Gnome Umbriel, once a prude on earth; it has its epic game, played on the "velvet plain" of the card table, its feasting heroes, who sip coffee and gossip, and its battle, fought with the cliches of compliment and conceits, with frowns and angry glances, with snuff and bodkin; it has the traditional epic journey to the underworld—here the Cave of Spleen, emblematic of the ill nature of female hypochondriacs. And Pope creates a world in which these actions take place, a world that is dense with beautiful objects: brocades, ivory and tortoiseshell, cosmetics and diamonds, lacquered furniture, silver teapot, delicate chinaware. It is a world that is constantly in motion and that sparkles and glitters with light, whether the light of the sun or of Belinda's eyes or that light into which the "fluid" bodies of the Sylphs seem to dissolve as they flutter in shrouds and around the mast of Belinda's ship. Pope laughs at this world, its ritualized triviality, its irrational, upper-class women and feminized men—and remembers that a grimmer, darker world surrounds it (3.19—

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24 and 5.145—48); but he also makes us aware of its beauty and charm. The epigraph may be translated, "I was unwilling, Belinda, to ravish your locks; but I rejoice to have conceded this to your prayers" (Martial's Epigrams 12.84.1—2). Pope substituted his heroine for Martial's Polytimus. The epigraph is intended to suggest that the poem was published at Miss Fermor's request.

The Rape of the Lock An

Heroi-Comical

Poem

Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos; sed juvat hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. — M A R T I A L

TO MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR MADAM,

It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humor enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offered to a bookseller, you had the good nature for my sake to consent to the publication of one more correct; this I was forced to, before I had executed half my design, for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it. The machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons are made to act in a poem; for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies: let an action be never so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These machines I determined to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrucian 1 doctrine of spirits. I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but 'tis so much the concern of a poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms. The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book called Le Comte de Gabalis, 2 which both in its title and size is so like a novel, that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. According to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits, which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes or Demons of earth delight in mischief; but the Sylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best-conditioned creatures imaginable. For they say, any mortals may enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts, an inviolate preservation of chastity. As to the following cantos, all the passages of them are as fabulous as the vision at the beginning, or the transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence). The human persons are as I. A system of arcane philosophy introduced into England from Germany in the 17th century.

2. By the Abbe de Montfaucon de Villars, published in 1670.

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T H E RAPE OF THE L O C K , CANTO

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fictitious as the airy ones; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty. If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person, or in your mind, yet I could never hope it should pass through the world half so uncensured as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, MADAM,

Your most obedient, humble servant, A.

POPE

Canto 1 What dire offense from amorous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things, I sing—This verse to Carvll, Muse! is due: This, even Belinda may vouchsafe to view: 5 Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, If she inspire, and he approve my lays. Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle? Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 10 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? In tasks so bold can little men engage, And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage? Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray, And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day. 15 Now lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake, And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake: Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground, And the pressed watch 3 returned a silver sound. Belinda still her downy pillow pressed, 20 Her guardian Sylph prolonged the balmy rest. T w a s he had summoned to her silent bed The morning dream that hovered o'er her head. A youth more glittering than a birthnight beau 4 (That even in slumber caused her cheek to glow) 25 S e e m e d to her ear his winning lips to lay, And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say: "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought, 30 Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught, Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen, The silver token, and the circled green, 5 Or virgins visited by angel powers, With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly flowers, 35 Hear and believe! thy own importance know, 3. A watch that chimes the hour and the quarter hour when the stem is pressed down. 'Knocked the ground": summons to a maid. 4. Courtiers wore especially fine clothes on the sovereign's birthday. 5. Rings of bright green grass, which are common

in England even in winter, were held to be caused by the round dances of fairies. According to popular belief, fairies skim off the cream from jugs of milk left standing overnight and leave a coin ("silver token") in payment.

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Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. S o m e secret truths, from learned pride concealed, To maids alone and children are revealed: What though no credit doubting wits may give? The fair and innocent shall still believe. Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly, The light militia of the lower sky: These, though unseen, are ever on the wing, H a n g o'er the box, and hover round the Ring. 6 Think what an equipage thou hast in air, And view with scorn two pages and a chair." sedan chair As now your own, our beings were of old, And once enclosed in woman's beauteous mold; Thence, by a soft transition, we repair From earthly vehicles to these of air. Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled, That all her vanities at once are dead: Succeeding vanities she still regards, And though she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards. Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, And love of ombre, 7 after death survive. For when the Fair in all their pride expire, To their first elements 8 their souls retire: The sprites of fiery termagants in flame Mount up, and take a Salamander's 9 name. Soft yielding minds to water glide away, And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental tea. 1 The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome, In search of mischief still on earth to roam. The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, And sport and flutter in the fields of air. "Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embraced: For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. 2 What guards the purity of melting maids, In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades, S a f e from the treacherous friend, the daring spark, The glance by day, the whisper in the dark, When kind occasion prompts their warm desires, When music softens, and when dancing fires? T i s but their Sylph, the wise Celestials 0 know, heavenly beings Though Honor is the word with men below. " S o m e nymphs 3 there are, too conscious of their face,

6. The "box" in the theater and the fashionable circular drive ("Ring") in Hyde Park. 7. T h e popular card game (see n. 1, p. 2 5 2 1 ) . 8. T h e four elements out of which all things were believed to have been made were fire, water, earth, and air. One or another of these elements was supposed to be predominant in both the physical and the psychological makeup of each h u m a n being. In this context they are spoken of as " h u m o r s . " 9. A lizardlike animal, in antiquity believed to live

in fire. Each element was inhabited by a spirit, as the following lines explain. "Termagants": shrewish or overbearing women. 1. Pronounced toy. 2. C f . Paradise Lost 1.427—31; this is one of many allusions to that poem in the Rape. 3. Here and after, a fanciful n a m e for a young woman, to be distinguished from the " N y m p h s " (water spirits) in line 62.

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T H E RAPE OF THE L O C K ,

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For life predestined to the G n o m e s ' embrace. These swell their prospects and exalt their pride, When offers are disdained, and love denied: Then gay ideas 0 crowd the vacant brain, showy images While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train, And garters, stars, and coronets 4 appear, And in soft sounds, 'your Grace' 0 salutes their ear. a duchess T i s these that early taint the female soul, Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll, Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know, And little hearts to flutter at a beau. "Oft, when the world imagine women stray, The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way, Through all the giddy circle they pursue, And old impertinence 0 expel by new. trifle What tender maid but must a victim fall To one man's treat, but for another's ball? When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand, If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand? With varying vanities, from every part, They shift the moving toyshop 5 of their heart; Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. This erring mortals levity may call; Oh, blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all. "Of these am I, who thy protection claim, A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air, In the clear mirror of thy ruling star I saw, alas! some dread event impend, Ere to the main this morning sun descend, But Heaven reveals not what, or how, or where: Warned by the Sylph, O pious maid, beware! This to disclose is all thy guardian can: Beware of all, but most beware of M a n ! " He said; when Shock, 6 who thought she slept too long, Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his tongue. 'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true, Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read, But all the vision vanished from thy head. And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, Each silver vase in mystic order laid. First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores, With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. A heavenly image in the glass appears; To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears. The inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride. Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here

E m b l e m s of nobility. A shop stocked with baubles and trifles.

6. A long-haired poodle, Belinda's lapdog.

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The various offerings of the world appear; From each she nicely culls with curious toil, And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white. Here files of pins extend their shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, 7 billet-doux. Now awful 0 Beauty puts on all its arms; The fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. The busy Sylphs surround their darling care, These set the head, and those divide the hair, Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown; And Betty's 8 praised for labors not her own.

awe-inspiring

Canto 2

Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames. Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths around her shone, But every eye was fixed on her alone. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, Q u i c k as her eyes, and as unfixed as those: Favors to none, to all she smiles extends; Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all. This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, Nourished two locks which graceful hung behind In equal curls, and well conspired to deck With shining ringlets her smooth ivory neck. Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. With hairy springes 9 we the birds betray, Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,

7. It has been suggested that Pope intended here not "Bibles," but "bibelots" (trinkets), but this interpretation has not gained wide acceptance.

8. Belinda's maid, the "inferior priestess" mentioned in line 127. 9. S n a r e s (pronounced sprin-jez).

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THE

RAPE OF THE

LOCK,

CANTO

And beauty draws us with a single hair. The adventurous Baron the bright locks admired, He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired. Resolved to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For when success a lover's toil attends, Few ask if fraud or force attained his ends. For this, ere Phoebus 0 rose, he had implored Propitious Heaven, and every power adored, But chiefly Love—to Love an altar built, Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, And all the trophies of his former loves. With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire. Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize: The powers gave ear, and granted half his prayer, The rest the winds dispersed in empty air. But now secure the painted vessel glides, The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides, While melting music steals upon the sky, And softened sounds along the waters die. Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. All but the Sylph—with careful thoughts oppressed, The impending woe sat heavy on his breast. He summons straight his denizens of air; The lucid squadrons round the sails repair: Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath. Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold. Transparent forms too fine for mortal sight, Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light, Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew, Dipped in the richest tincture of the skies, Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes, While every beam new transient colors flings, Colors that change whene'er they wave their wings. Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, Superior by the head was Ariel placed; His purple 1 pinions opening to the sun, He raised his azure wand, and thus begun: "Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear! Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Daemons, hear! Ye know the spheres and various tasks assigned By laws eternal to the aerial kind.

1. In 18th-century poetic diction the word might mean bloodred, purple, or simply (as is likely here) brightly colored. T h e word derives from Virgil's

2 5 1 9

the sun

Eclogue 9 . 4 0 , purpureuvi. An example of the Latinate nature of s o m e poetic diction of the period.

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2 5 2 0

IOO

105

115

120

125

ALEXANDER

POPE

Some in the fields of purest ether play, And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. Some guide the course of wandering orbs on high, Or roll the planets through the boundless sky. Some less refined, beneath the moon's pale light Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, Or suck the mists in grosser air below, Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 0 rainbow Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, Or o'er the glebe 0 distill the kindly rain. cultivated field Others on earth o'er human race preside, Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide: Of these the chief the care of nations own, And guard with arms divine the British Throne. "Our humbler province is to tend the Fair, Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care: To save the powder from too rude a gale, Nor let the imprisoned essences 0 exhale; perfumes To draw fresh colors from the vernal flowers; To steal from rainbows e'er they drop in showers A brighter wash; 0 to curl their waving hairs, cosmetic lotion Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs, Nay oft, in dreams invention we bestow, To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. "This day black omens threat the brightest fair, That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care; Some dire disaster, or by force or slight, But what, or where, the Fates have wrapped in night: Whether the nymph shall break Diana's 2 law, Or some frail china jar receive a flaw, Or stain her honor, or her new brocade, Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade, Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball; Or whether Heaven has doomed that Shock must fall. Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair: The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care; The drops 3 to thee, Brillante, we consign; And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine; Do thou, Crispissa, 4 tend her favorite Lock; Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. "To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note, We trust the important charge, the petticoat; Oft have we known that sevenfold fence to fail, Though stiff with hoops, and armed with ribs of whale. 5 Form a strong line about the silver bound, And guard the wide circumference around. "Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins,

2. Diana was the goddess of chastity. 3. Diamond earrings. Observe the appropriateness of the n a m e s of the Sylphs to their assigned functions.

4. F r o m Latin crispere, "to curl." 5. Corsets and the hoops of hoopskirts were m a d e of whalebone.

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THE

130

135

RAPE OF THE

LOCK,

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2521

Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins, Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's 6 eye; G u m s and pomatums shall his flight restrain, While clogged he beats his silken wings in vain, Or alum styptics with contracting power Shrink his thin essence like a riveled 7 flower: Or, as Ixion 8 fixed, the wretch shall feel The giddy motion of the whirling mill, In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, And tremble at the sea that froths below!" He spoke; the spirits from the sails descend; Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; Some thread the mazy ringlets of her hair; Some hang upon the pendants of her ear: With beating hearts the dire event they wait, Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate.

Canto 3

Close by those meads, forever crowned with flowers, Where Thames with pride surveys his rising towers, There stands a structure of majestic frame, Which from the neighboring Hampton 9 takes its name. Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home; Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea. Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; In various talk the instructive hours they passed, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British Q u e e n , And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At ever)' word a reputation dies. Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray; The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, And wretches hang that jurymen may dine; The merchant from the Exchange returns in peace, And the long labors of the toilet cease. Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, Burns to encounter two adventurous knights, At ombre 1 singly to decide their doom,

6. A blunt needle with a large eye used for drawing ribbon through eyelets in the edging of women's garments. 7. To "rivel" is to "contract into wrinkles and corrugations" (Johnson's Dictionary). 8. In the Greek myth, he was punished in the underworld by being bound on an everturning

wheel. 9. Hampton Court, the royal palace, about fifteen miles up the T h a m e s from L o n d o n . 1. T h e game of ombre that Belinda plays against the baron a n d another young man is too complicated for complete explication here. Pope has carefully arranged the cards so that Belinda wins. T h e

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2522

ALEXANDER

POPE

And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, Each band the number of the sacred nine. Soon as she spreads her hand, the aerial guard Descend, and sit on each important card: First Ariel perched upon a Matadore, Then each according to the rank they bore; For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. Behold, four Kings in majesty revered, With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a flower, The expressive emblem of their softer power; Four Knaves in garbs succinct, 0 a trusty band, Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand; And parti-colored troops, a shining train, Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. The skillful nymph reviews her force with care; "Let Spades be trumps!" she said, and trumps they were. Now move to war her sable Matadores, In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. Spadillio first, unconquerable lord! Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board. As many more Manillio forced to yield, And marched a victor from the verdant field. Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard Gained but one trump and one plebeian card. With his broad saber next, a chief in years, The hoary Majesty of Spades appears, Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed, The rest his many-colored robe concealed. The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage, Proves the just victim of his royal rage. Even mighty Pam, 2 that kings and queens o'erthrew And mowed down armies in the fights of loo, Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, Falls undistinguished by the victor Spade. Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; Now to the Baron fate inclines the field. His warlike amazon her host invades, The imperial consort of the crown of Spades. The Club's black tyrant first her victim died, Spite of his haughty mien and barbarous pride. What boots 0 the regal circle on his head, His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread?

baron's hand is strong enough to be a threat, but the third player's is of little a c c o u n t . T h e hand is played exactly according to the rules of ombre, and Pope's description of the cards is equally accurate. Each player holds nine cards (line 30). T h e "Matadores" (line 33), when s p a d e s are trump, are " S p a dillio" (line 49), the ace of spades; "Manillio" (line 51), the two of spades; and " B a s t o " (line 53), the

girded up

avails

a c e of clubs. Belinda holds all three of these. (For a more complete description of ombre, see The Rape of the Lock and Other Poems, ed. Geoffrey Tillotson, in the Twickenham Edition of Pope's p o e m s , vol. 2, Appendix C . ) 2. T h e knave of clubs, the highest trump in the g a m e of loo.

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THE

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110

120 3. an 4. 5.

RAPE

OF THE

LOCK,

CANTO

2523

That long behind he trails his pompous robe, And of all monarchs only grasps the globe? 3 The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace; The embroidered King who shows but half his face, And his refulgent Queen, with powers combined, Of broken troops an easy conquest find. Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, With throngs promiscuous strew the level green. Thus when dispersed a routed army runs, Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons, With like confusion different nations fly, Of various habit, and of various dye, The pierced battalions disunited fall In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all. The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, And wins (oh, shameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts. At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look; She sees, and trembles at the approaching ill, Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille. 4 And now (as oft in some distempered state) On one nice trick depends the general fate. An Ace of Hearts steps forth: the King unseen Lurked in her hand, and mourned his captive Queen. He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace. The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky, The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. O thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate, Too soon dejected, and too soon elate: Sudden these honors shall be snatched away, And cursed forever this victorious day. For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crowned, The berries crackle, and the mill turns round;' On shining altars of Japan 6 they raise The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze: From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, While China's earth receives the smoking tide. At once they gratify their scent and taste, And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. Straight hover round the fair her airy band; Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned, Some o'er her lap their careful plumes displayed, Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. Coffee (which makes the politician wise, And see through all things with his half-shut eyes) Sent up in vapors to the Baron's brain New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.

In the English deck, only the king of clubs holds imperial orb. T h e term applied to losing a hand at cards. I.e., coffee is roasted and ground.

6. I.e., small, lacquered tables. "Altars" suggests the ritualistic character of c o f f e e drinking in Belinda's world.

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2524

ALEXANDER

POPE

Ah, cease, rash youth! desist ere 'tis too late, Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla's 7 fate! Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair! 125 But when to mischief mortals bend their will, How soon they find fit instruments of ill! Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace A two-edged weapon from her shining case: So ladies in romance assist their knight, 130 Present the spear, and arm him for the fight. He takes the gift with reverence, and extends The little engine on his fingers' ends; This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head. 135 Swift to the Lock a thousand sprites repair, A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair, And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear, Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe drew near. Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought HO The close recesses of the virgin's thought; As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, He watched the ideas rising in her mind, Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art, An earthly lover lurking at her heart. 145 Amazed, confused, he found his power expired, Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. The Peer now spreads the glittering forfex 0 wide, To enclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide. Even then, before the fatal engine closed, 150 A wretched Sylph too fondly interposed; Fate urged the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain (But airy substance soon unites again): The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever and forever! 155 Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last; Or when rich china vessels fallen from high, 160 In glittering dust and painted fragments lie! "Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine," The victor cried, "the glorious prize is mine! While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, Or in a coach and six the British fair, 165 As long as Atalantis8 shall be read, Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed, While visits shall be paid on solemn days, 7. Scylla, daughter of N i s u s , was turned into a sea bird b e c a u s e , for the sake of her love for Minos of Crete, who was besieging her father's city of Megara, she cut from her father's head the purple lock on which his safety depended. S h e is not the

scissors

Scylla of "Scylla and Charybdis." 8. Delarivier Manley's New Atalantis ( 1 7 0 9 ) was notorious for its thinly concealed allusions to contemporary scandals.

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T H E RAPE OF THE LOCK,

170

175

CANTO

2525

When numerous wax-lights in bright order blaze, While nymphs take treats, 0 or assignations give, free refreshments So long my honor, name, and praise shall live! "What time would spare, from steel receives its date, And monuments, like men, submit to fate! Steel could the labor of the Gods destroy, And strike to dust the imperial towers of Troy; Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, And hew triumphal arches to the ground. What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel, The conquering force of unresisted steel?"

Canto 4

But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppressed, And secret passions labored in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seized alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, Not Cynthia when her manteau's 0 pinned awry, E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair. For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, Umbriel, 9 a dusky, melancholy sprite As ever sullied the fair face of light, Down to the central earth, his proper scene, Repaired to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen. 0 Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome, And in a vapor reached the dismal dome. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air, And screened in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs forever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim 0 at her head. Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place But differing far in figure and in face. Here stood Ill-Nature like an ancient maid, Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed; With store of prayers for mornings, nights, and noons, Her hand is filled; her bosom with lampoons. There Affectation, with a sickly mien, Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, Practiced to lisp, and hang the head aside, Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, Wrapped in a gown, for sickness and for show.

9. T h e n a m e suggests s h a d e and darkness.

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wrap

Ill Humor

headache

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2526

45'

ALEXANDER POPE

The fair ones 0 feel such maladies as these, When each new nightdress gives a new disease. A constant vapor1 o'er the palace flies, Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise; Dreadful as hermit's dreams in haunted shades, Or bright as visions of expiring maids. Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, Pale specters, gaping tombs, and purple fires; Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, And crystal domes, and angels in machines. 2 Unnumbered throngs on every side are seen Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. Here living teapots stand, one arm held out, One bent; the handle this, and that the spout: A pipkin 0 there, like Homer's tripod, 3 walks; Here sighs a jar, and there a goose pie talks; Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works, And maids, turned bottles, call aloud for corks. Safe passed the Gnome through this fantastic band, A branch of healing spleenwort 4 in his hand. Then thus addressed the Power: "Hail, wayward Queen! Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen: Parent of vapors and of female wit, Who give the hysteric or poetic fit, On various tempers act by various ways, Make some take physic, 0 others scribble plays; Who cause the proud their visits to delay, And send the godly in a pet to pray. A nymph there is that all your power disdains, And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. But oh! if e'er thy Gnome could spoil a grace, Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face, Like citron-waters 5 matrons' cheeks inflame, Or change complexions at a losing game; If e'er with airy horns 6 I planted heads, Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude, Or discomposed the headdress of a prude, Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease, Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease, Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin: 0 That single act gives half the world the spleen." The Goddess with a discontented air Seems to reject him though she grants his prayer.

1. Emblematic of "the vapors," a fashionable hypochondria, melancholy, or peevishness. 2. Mechanical devices used in the theaters for spectacular effects. T h e catalog of hallucinations draws on the sensational stage effects popular with contemporary audiences. 3. In the Iliad ( 1 8 . 3 7 3 - 7 7 ) , Vulcan furnishes the gods with self-propelling "tripods" (three-legged stools).

women

coils

earthen pot

medicine

ill humor

4. An herb, efficacious against diseases of the spleen. Pope alludes to the golden bough that Aeneas and the C u m a e a n sibyl carry with them for protection into the underworld in Aeneid 6. 5. Brandy flavored with orange or lemon peel. 6. T h e symbol of the cuckold, the m a n whose wife has b e e n unfaithful to him; here "airy," b e c a u s e they exist only in the j e a l o u s suspicions of the husband, the victim of the mischievous Umbriel.

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THE

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ii5

120

125

RAPE OF THE

LOCK,

CANTO

2 5 2 7

A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds, Like that where once Ulysses held the winds; 7 There she collects the force of female lungs, Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues. A vial next she fills with fainting fears, Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. Sunk in Thalestris' 8 arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, And all the Furies issued at the vent. Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. "O wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cried (While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched maid!" replied), "Was it for this you took such constant care The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? For this your locks in paper durance bound, For this with torturing irons wreathed around? For this with fillets strained your tender head, And bravely bore the double loads of lead? 9 Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair, While the fops envy, and the ladies stare! Honor forbid! at whose unrivaled shrine Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign. Methinks already I your tears survey, Already hear the horrid things they say, Already see you a degraded toast, And all your honor in a whisper lost! How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend? 'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend! And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, And heightened by the diamond's circling rays, On that rapacious hand forever blaze? Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow, And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;1 Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!" She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her beau demand the precious hairs (Sir Plume of amber snuffbox justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded 0 cane). marbled, veined With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the snuffbox opened, then the case,

7. Aeolus (later conceived of as god of the winds) gave Ulysses a b a g containing all the winds adverse to his voyage home. When his ship was in sight of Ithaca, his companions opened the bag and the storms that ensued drove Ulysses far away (Odyssey 10.19ff.). 8. T h e n a m e is borrowed from a queen of the

Amazons, hence a fierce and warlike woman. 9. T h e frame on which the elaborate coiffures of the day were arranged. 1. A person born within s o u n d of the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow in C h e a p s i d e is said to be a cockney. No fashionable wit would have so vulgar an address.

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528

ALEXANDER

POPE

And thus broke out—"My Lord, why, what the devil! Z—ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil! Plague on't! 'tis past a jest-—nay prithee, pox! 130 Give her the hair"—he spoke, and rapped his box. "It grieves me much," replied the Peer again, "Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I swear (Which never more shall join its parted hair; 135 Which never more its honors shall renew, Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew), That while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall forever wear." He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread 140 The long-contended honors 2 of her head. But Umbriel, hateful Gnome, forbears not so; He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half languishing, half drowned in tears; 145 On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she said: "Forever cursed be this detested day, Which snatched my best, my favorite curl away! Happy! ah, ten times happy had I been, 150 If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen! Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed. Oh, had I rather unadmired remained In some lone isle, or distant northern land; 155 Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste bohea! 3 There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye, Like roses that in deserts bloom and die. What moved my mind with youthful lords to roam? 160 Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at home! 'Twas this the morning omens seemed to tell; Thrice from my trembling hand the patch box4 fell; The tottering china shook without a wind, Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind! 165 A Sylph too warned me of the threats of fate, In mystic visions, now believed too late! See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine spares. These in two sable ringlets taught to break, no Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck. The sister lock now sits uncouth, alone, And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands, And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. 175 Oh, hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!" Ornaments, hence locks; a Latinism. A costly sort of tea.

4. To hold the ornamental patches of court plaster worn on the f a c e by both sexes.

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THE

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2529

Canto 5

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears. But Fate and Jove had stopped the Baron's ears. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails? Not half so fixed the Trojan 5 could remain, While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan; Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began: "Say, why are beauties praised and honored most, The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast? Why decked with all that land and sea afford, Why angels called, and angel-like adored? Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved beaux, Why bows the side box from its inmost rows? How vain are all these glories, all our pains, Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains; That men may say when we the front box grace, 'Behold the first in virtue as in face!' Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charmed the smallpox, or chased old age away, Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint, Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. But since, alas! frail beauty must decay, Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to gray; Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, And she who scorns a man must die a maid; What then remains but well our power to use, And keep good humor still whate'er we lose? And trust me, dear, good humor can prevail When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul." 6 So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued; Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude. "To arms, to arms!" the fierce virago cries, And swift as lightning to the combat flies. All side in parties, and begin the attack; Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise, And bass and treble voices strike the skies. No common weapons in their hands are found, Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage, And heavenly breasts with human passions rage;

5. Aeneas, who forsook Dido at the bidding of the gods, despite her reproaches and the supplications of her sister Anna. Virgil compares him to a steadfast oak that withstands a storm ( Aeneid 4.437— 43).

6. T h e s p e e c h is a close parody of Pope's own translation of the s p e e c h of Sarpedon to G l a u c u s , first published in 1 7 0 9 and slightly revised in his version of the Iliad ( 1 2 . 3 7 1 - 9 6 ) .

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2 5 3 0

ALEXANDER

POPE

'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms: Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around, Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound: Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's 7 height Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view the fight: Propped on the bodkin spears, the sprites survey The growing combat, or assist the fray. While through the press enraged Thalestris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A beau and witling perished in the throng, One died in metaphor, and one in song. "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, "Those eyes are made so killing"—was his last. Thus on Maeander's flowery margin lies The expiring swan, 8 and as he sings he dies. When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown; She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, But, at her smile, the beau revived again. Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; The doubtful beam long nods from side to side; At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside. See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, With more than usual lightning in her eyes; Nor feared the chief the unequal fight to try, Who sought no more than on his foe to die. But this bold lord with manly strength endued, She with one finger and a thumb subdued: Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; The Gnomes direct, to every atom just, The pungent grains of titillating dust. Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. "Now meet thy fate," incensed Belinda cried, And drew a deadly bodkin 9 from her side. (The same, his ancient personage to deck, Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, In three seal rings; which after, melted down, Formed a vast buckle for his widow's gown: Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs,

7. A sconce is a candlestick fastened on the wall. 8. T h e Maeander, a river in Asia Minor, was f a m o u s in mythology for its swans.

9. Here, an ornamental hairpin shaped like a ger.

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Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) "Boast not my fall," he cried, "insulting foe! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind: All that I dread is leaving you behind! Rather than so, ah, let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames—but burn alive." "Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all around "Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain. 1 But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed, And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with pain, In every place is sought, but sought in vain: With such a prize no mortal must be blessed, So Heaven decrees! with Heaven who can contest? Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasured there. There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vases, And beaux' in snuffboxes and tweezer cases. There broken vows and deathbed alms are found, And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick man's prayers, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. But trust the Muse—she saw it upward rise, Though marked by none but quick, poetic eyes (So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew, 2 To Proculus alone confessed in view); A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 3 The heavens bespangling with disheveled light. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleased pursue its progress through the skies. This the beau monde shall from the Mall 4 survey, And hail with music its propitious ray. This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's Lake. 5 This Partridge 6 soon shall view in cloudless skies, When next he looks through Galileo's eyes; 0 And hence the egregious wizard shall foredoom The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

1. Othello 3.4. 2. Romulus, the "founder" and first king of Rome, was snatched to heaven in a storm cloud while reviewing his army in the C a m p u s Martius (Livy 1.16).

3. Berenice, the wife of Ptolemy III, dedicated a lock of her hair to the gods to ensure her husband's safe return from war. It was turned into a constellation.

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4. A walk laid out by Charles II in St. J a m e s ' s Park (London), a resort for strollers of all sorts. 5. In St. J a m e s ' s Park; associated with unhappy lovers. 6. J o h n Partridge, an astrologer whose annually published predictions (among them that Louis XIV and the Catholic C h u r c h would fall) had been amusinglv satirized by Swift and other wits in 1708.

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Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravished hair, Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! Not all the tresses that fair head can boast Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. For, after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die: When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

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E l o i s a to A b e l a r d Like Ovid's Sappho to Phaon, which Pope had translated in his teens, Eloisa to Abelard is a heroic epistle: strictly defined, a versified love letter, involving historical persons, which dramatizes the feelings of a woman who has been forsaken. Pope took his subject from one of the most famous affairs of history. Peter Abelard (1079—1142), a brilliant Scholastic theologian, seduced a young girl, his pupil Heloise; eventually she bore him a child, and they were secretly married. Enraged at the betrayal of trust, and what he regarded as the casting off of Heloise, her uncle Fulbert revenged himself by having Abelard castrated. The lovers separated; each of them entered a monastery and went on to a distinguished career in the church. Yet their greatest fame derives from the letters they are supposed to have exchanged late in their lives (some scholars have cast doubt on the authenticity of Heloise's letters). It is this correspondence, made newly popular by French and English translations of the original Latin, that inspired Pope's poem. The heroic epistle challenges authors in two ways: they must exert historical imagination, projecting themselves into another time and place; and they must enter the mind and passions of a woman, acting her part, and showing everything from her point of view. Historically, Pope draws on his knowledge of Roman Catholic ritual to envelop Eloisa in a rich medieval atmosphere. The dark Gothic convent, situated in an imaginary landscape of grottos, mountains, and pine forests, embodies the eighteenth-century sense of the romantic: fantastic, legendary, and extravagant. Here Eloisa is cloistered, not only physically but mentally, by religious mysticism that surrounds her with a melancholy as palpable as the image of her lover. The greatest triumph of the poem, however, is psychological. In Eloisa, for the only time in his career, Pope tells a story wholly in another's voice. Confused and tormented, the heroine tosses between two kinds of love: an erotic passion for the earthly lover whose memory she cannot quell and the divine, chaste love that must content a nun. Abelard and God, within her fantasy, compete for her soul. Pope brings these internal struggles to the surface by externalizing them in bold dramatic rhetoric, formal and intense as an aria in an opera (the poem was long a favorite for reading aloud). Eloisa views herself theatrically, if only because, in the letter, she is trying to make Abelard visualize the pathos of her situation. There is literally no way out for her, and at the end of the poem, she can break the static circle of desire and loneliness only by picturing herself in the peace of death. Yet the high reputation of the work, well into the Bomantic era, owes less to its theatrics than to its convincing image of a mind in pain. "If you search for passion," Lord Byron wrote more than a century later, "where is it to be found stronger than in the Epistle from Eloisa to Abelard?" For a depiction of an incident in this famous love story, see Angelika Kauffmann's painting The Parting of Abelard from Heloise (ca. 1778), in the color insert in this volume.

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Argument

Abelard and Eloisa flourished in the twelfth century; they were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty, but for nothing more famous than for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a several 1 convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. It was many years after this separation, that a letter of Abelard's to a friend which contained the history of his misfortune, fell into the hands of Eloisa. This awakening all her tenderness, occasioned those celebrated letters (out of which the following is partly extracted) 2 which give so lively a picture of the struggles of grace and nature, virtue and passion.

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's 3 veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love!—From Abelard it 4 came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed, Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with God's, his loved idea" lies. 0 write it not, my hand—the n a m e appears Already written—wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns shagged with horrid 0 thorn! Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! 5 Tho' cold like you, unmoved, and silent grown, 1 have not yet forgot myself to stone. All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part, Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain. Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, That well-known name awakens all my woes. Oh n a m e for ever sad! for ever dear! Still breathed in sighs, still ushered with a tear. I tremble too, where'er my own I find,

1. Separate. 2. Pope's source was a highly romanticized English version of the letters by J o h n H u g h e s , published in 1713. 3. Nun's. Here, as elsewhere, Eloisa substitutes a

mental image

bristling

pagan form for a Christian; nor is she in fact a virgin (vestal). 4. T h e letter to which Eloisa is replying. 5. In d a m p places, stone "weeps" through condensation.

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S o m e dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern religion quenched the unwilling flame, 40 There died the best of passions, love and fame. Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. Nor foes nor fortune take this power away. And is my Abelard less kind than they? 45 Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in prayer; No happier task these faded eyes pursue, To read and weep is all they now can do. Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; 50 Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief. Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, S o m e banished lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, 55 The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. 6 Thou knowest how guiltless first I met thy flame, 60 When love approached me under friendship's name; My fancy formed thee of angelic kind, S o m e emanation of the all-beauteous Mind. 7 Those smiling eyes, attempering 0 every ray, moderating, assuaging S h o n e sweetly lambent with celestial day: 65 Guiltless I gazed; heaven listened while you sung; And truths divine c a m e mended from that tongue. 8 From lips like those what precept failed to move? T o o soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love. Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, TO Nor wished an angel whom I loved a man. Dim and remote the joys of saints I see, Nor envy them, that heaven I lose for thee. How oft, when pressed to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made! 75 Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. Let wealth, let honor, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion all those views remove, 0 depart so F a m e , wealth, and honor! what are you to love? The jealous god, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires, 35

6. From the Indus River, in South Asia, to the North Pole. 7. God, conceived (as is proper to a student of phi-

losophy) in Platonic terms. 8. He was her preceptor in philosophy and divinity [Pope's note].

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And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who seek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all: Nor Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; 0 try No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! Oh happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law: All then is full, possessing, and possessed, No craving void left aching in the breast: Even thought meets thought ere from the lips it part, And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be) And once the lot of Abelard and me. Alas how changed! what sudden horrors rise! A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, Her poniard, 0 had opposed the dire command. dagger Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; The crime was common, 0 common be the pain. 0 shared /punishment I can no more; by shame, by rage suppressed, Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest. Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? As with cold lips I kissed the sacred veil, The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale: Heaven scarce believed the conquest it surveyed, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fixed, but you; Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow. Still on that breast enamored let me lie, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be pressed; Give all thou canst—and let me dream the rest. Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize, With other beauties charm my partial 9 eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer. From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You raised these hallowed walls; 1 the desert smiled,

9. Fond; seeing only a part. 1. " H e founded the monastery" [Pope's note]. Abelard erected the "Paraclete," a modest oratory near

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And paradise was opened in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate, 2 or emblaze the floors; No silver saints, by dying misers given, Here bribed the rage of ill-requited heaven: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's 3 praise. In these lone walls (their day's eternal bound) These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crowned, Where awful arches make a noon-day night, And the dim windows shed a solemn light, Thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray, And gleams of glory brightened all the day. But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. See how the force of others' prayers I try, (O pious fraud of amorous charity!) But why should I on others' prayers depend? Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend! Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move, And all those tender names in one, thy love! The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclined Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, The wandering streams that shine between the hills, The grots that echo to the tinkling rills, The dying gales that pant upon the trees, The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; No more these scenes my meditation aid, Or lull to rest the visionary 4 maid. But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding isles, 5 and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades every flower, and darkens every green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods. 6 Yet here for ever, ever must I stay; Sad proof how well a lover can obey! Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, even then, shall my cold dust remain, Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, And wait, till 'tis no sin to mix with thine. Ah wretch! believed the spouse of God in vain, Confessed within the slave of love and man. Assist me, heaven! but whence arose that prayer? Sprung it from piety, or from despair? Troyes, in 1122: seven years later, when the nunnery of which Heloise was prioress was evicted from its property, he ceded the lands of the Paraclete to her. 2. Adorn with splendor. 3. God's or Abelard's. 4. Given to visions.

5. S o u n d s reverberate over water as in the aisles of a church. 6. T h e image of the G o d d e s s Melancholy sitting over the convent, and, as it were, expanding her dreadful wings over its whole circuit, and diffusing her gloom all around it, is truly sublime, and strongly conceived [Joseph Warton's note].

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ELOISA TO ABELARD

Even here, where frozen chastity retires, Love finds an altar for forbidden fires. I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; I mourn the lover, not lament the fault; 185 I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turned to heaven, I weep my past offense, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 190 'Tis sure the hardest science 0 to forget! How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, 7 And love the offender, yet detest the offense? How the dear object from the crime remove, Or how distinguish penitence from love? i95 Unequal task! a passion to resign, For hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, 200 Conceal, disdain—do all things but forget. But let heaven seize it, all at once 'tis fired, Not touched, but rapt; not wakened, but inspired! 8 Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, my self—and you. 205 Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sun-shine of the spotless mind! 210 Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned; Labor and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" 9 Desires composed, affections ever even; Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven. 215 Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams. For her the unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, 220 For her white virgins hymenaeals 1 sing, To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day. Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures, of unholy joy: 225 When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, Fancy restores what vengeance snatched away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. O curst, dear horrors of all-conscious night! 2 7. Both perception and sensation. 8. I.e., when touched, at once rapt; when wakened, at once inspired. From Description of a Religious House ( 1 6 4 8 ) , by Richard Crashaw.

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How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! Provoking daemons all restraint remove, And stir within me every source of love. I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. I wake—no more I hear, no more I view, The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. I call aloud; it hears not what I say; I stretch my empty arms; it glides away: To dream once more I close my willing eyes; Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise! Alas, no more!—methinks we wandering go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe; Where round some moldering tower pale ivy creeps, And low-browed rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount! you beckon from the skies; Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, And wake to all the griefs I left behind. For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense 0 from pleasure and from pain; Thy life a long dead calm of fixed repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven, And mild as opening gleams of promised heaven. Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands checked; religion disapproves; Even thou art cold—yet Eloisa loves. Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm the unfruitful urn. 3 What scenes appear where'er I turn my view? The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue, Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes! I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, Thy image steals between my God and me, Thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear, With every bead I drop too soft a tear. When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: In seas of flame-1 my plunging soul is drowned, While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is opening on my soul: 3. Perpetual fires were placed in Roman tombs.

4. Love or hell.

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Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to heaven; dispute 0 my heart; Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes Blot out each bright idea of the skies. Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears, Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers, Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode, Assist the fiends and tear me from my God! No, fly me, fly me! far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! Ah come not, write not, think not once of me, Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, 0 thy memory resign, Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) Long loved, adored ideas! all adieu! O grace serene! oh virtue heavenly fair! Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care! Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky! And faith, our early immortality! Enter, each mild, each amicable guest; Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest! See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, Propped on some tomb, a neighbor of the dead! In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, And more than echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watched the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound. "Come, sister, come! (it said, or seemed to say) Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and prayed, Love's victim then, tho' now a sainted maid: But all is calm in this eternal sleep; Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, Even superstition loses every fear: For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." I come, I come! prepare your roseate bowers, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers. Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, Where flames refined in breasts seraphic glow. Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eyeballs roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah no—in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, The hallowed taper trembling in thy hand, Present the Cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. Ah then, thy once-loved Eloisa see! It will be then no crime to gaze on me. See from my cheek the transient roses fly! See the last sparkle languish in my eye! Till every motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;

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And even my Abelard be loved no more. O death all-eloquent! you only prove What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love. Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drowned, Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round, From opening skies may streaming glories shine, And saints embrace thee with a love like mine. May one kind grave unite each hapless name, 5 And graft my love immortal on thy fame! Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er, When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; If ever chance two wandering lovers brings To Paraclete's white walls, and silver springs, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, And drink the falling tears each other sheds, Then sadly say, with mutual pity moved, "Oh may we never love as these have loved!" From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise, And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, 6 Amid that scene if some relenting eye Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heaven, One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven. And sure if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine, Condemned whole years in absence to deplore, 7 And image 0 charms he must behold no more, imagine, depict Such if there be, who loves so long, so well, Let him our sad, our tender story tell; The well-sung woes will sooth my pensive ghost; He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most. 1717

An E s s a y Oil M a n Pope's philosophical poem An Essay on Man represents the beginnings of an ambitious but never completed plan for what he called his "ethic work," intended to be a large survey of human nature, society, and morals. He dedicated the Essay to Henry St. John (pronounced Stn-jun), Viscount Bolingbroke (1678—1751), the brilliant, erratic secretary of state in the Tory ministry of 1710—14. After the accession of George I, Bolingbroke fled to France, but he was allowed to return in 1723, settling near Pope at Dawley Farm. The two formed a close friendship and talked through the ideas expressed in the Essay and in Bolingbroke's own philosophical writings (some of which are addressed to Pope). But Pope's poem has many sources in the thought of his times and the philosophical tradition at large, and he 5. Abelard and Eloisa were interred in the s a m e grave, or in m o n u m e n t s adjoining, in the monastery of the Paraclete [Pope's note]. 6. T h e celebration of the Eucharist (mass). 7. L a m e n t . Pope, imagining himself imagined by Eloisa, hints that he too is separated from a loved

one; perhaps Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who was in Turkey. Pope and Montagu later quarreled, and she appears as S a p p h o in Epistle 2, To a Lady, in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, and in other places in his work.

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says himself in the poem's little preface that his intention is to formulate a widely acceptable system of obvious, familiar truths. Pope's "optimism"—his insistence that everything must be "RIGHT" in a universe created and superintended by God—skips over the tragic elements of experience that much great literary, philosophical, and religious expression confronts. But the strains and contradictions of the poem are themselves deeply revealing about the thinking of Pope and his age, as he both presents and withholds a comprehensive view of the universe and reasons out reason's drastic limitations. Pope's purpose is to "vindicate the ways of God to man," a phrase that consciously echoes Paradise Lost 1.26. Like John Milton, Pope faces the problem of the existence of evil in a world presumed to be the creation of a good god. Paradise Lost is biblical in content, Christian in doctrine; An Essay on Man avoids all specifically Christian doctrines, not because Pope disbelieved them but because "man," the subject of the poem, includes millions who never heard of Christianity and Pope is concerned with the universal. Milton tells a Judeo-Christian story. Pope writes in abstract terms. The Essay is divided into four epistles. In the first Pope asserts the essential order and goodness of the universe and the Tightness of our place in it. The other epistles deal with how we may emulate in our nature and in society the cosmic harmony revealed in the first epistle. The second seeks to show how we may attain a psychological harmony that can become the basis of a virtuous life through the cooperation of self-love and the passions (both necessary to our complete humanity) with reason, the controller and director. The third is concerned with the individual in society, which, it teaches, was created through the cooperation of self-love (the egoistic drives that motivate us) and social love (our dependence on others, our inborn benevolence). The fourth is concerned with happiness, which lies within the reach of all for it is dependent on virtue, which becomes possible when—though only when—self-love is transmuted into love of others and love of God. Such, in brief summary, are Pope's main ideas, expressed in many phrases so memorable that they have detached themselves from the poem and become part of daily speech.

From An Essay on Man TO HENRY ST. J O H N ,

LORD BOLINGBROKE

Epistle 1. Of the Nature and State of Man, with Respect to the Universe Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) 5 Expatiate free" o'er all this scene of man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot, Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit. Together let us beat this ample field, 1 10 Try what the open, what the covert yield; The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar; Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise;

range freely

1. Pope and Bolingbroke will try to drive truth into the open, like hunters beating the b u s h e s for game.

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ALEXANDER POPE

Laugh where we must, be candid 0 where we can; But vindicate the ways of God to man.

favorably disposed

1. Say first, of God above, or man below, What can we reason, but from what we know? Of man, what see we but his station here, From which to reason, or to which refer? Through worlds unnumbered though the G o d be known, 'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. He, who through vast immensity can pierce, S e e worlds on worlds compose one universe, Observe how system into system runs, What other planets circle other suns, What varied being peoples every star, May tell why Heaven has made us as we are. But of this frame 0 the bearings, and the ties, T h e strong connections, nice dependencies, Gradations just, has thy pervading soul Looked through? or can a part contain the whole? Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee? 2

the universe

2. Presumptuous man! the reason wouldst thou find, Why formed so weak, so little, and so blind? First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess, Why formed no weaker, blinder, and no less! Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are made 40 Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade? Or ask of yonder argent fields above, Why Jove's satellites 3 are less than Jove? Of systems possible, if 'tis confessed That Wisdom Infinite must form the best, 45 Where all must full or not coherent be, And all that rises, rise in due degree; Then, in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain, There must be, somewhere, such a rank as man: And all the question (wrangle e'er so long) 50 Is only this, if God has placed him wrong? Respecting man, whatever wrong we call, May, must be right, as relative to all. In human works, though labored on with pain, A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain; 55 In God's, one single can its end produce; Yet serves to second too some other use. So man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown, Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal; 60 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole. When the proud steed shall know why man restrains His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; 2. For the chain of being, see Addison's The Spectator 5 1 9 (p. 2 4 9 0 ) and lines 2 0 7 - 5 8 .

3. In his Dictionary, J o h n s o n notes and c o n d e m n s Pope's giving this word four syllables, as in Latin.

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MAN

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When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god: 4 65 Then shall man's pride and dullness comprehend His actions', passions', being's use and end; Why doing, suffering, checked, impelled; and why This hour a slave, the next a deity. T h e n say not man's imperfect, Heaven in fault; 70 ' Say rather, man's as perfect as he ought; His knowledge measured to his state and place, His time a moment, and a point his space. If to be perfect in a certain sphere, 3 What matter, soon or late, or here or there? 75 The blest today is as completely so, As who began a thousand years ago.

ioo

105

3. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot° dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. O blindness to the future! kindly given, That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven: Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems" into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore! What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: M a n never is, but always to be blest: The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. Lo! the poor Indian, whose untutored mind S e e s G o d in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way; Yet simple Nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven; S o m e safer world in depth of woods embraced, S o m e happier island in the watery waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold! To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal" sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

4. T h e Egyptians worshiped a bull called Apis.

5. I.e., in one's "state a n d place."

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feast

solar systems

impartial

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2 5 4 4

ALEXANDER

POPE

4. Go, wiser thou! and, in thy scale of sense, Weigh thy opinion against Providence; 115 Call imperfection what thou fancy'st such, Say, here he gives too little, there too much; Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, 6 Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust; If man alone engross not Heaven's high care, no- Alone made perfect here, immortal there: Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, 7 Rejudge his justice, be the God of God! In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. 125 Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel: And who but wishes to invert the laws 130 Of order, sins against the Eternal Cause.

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5. Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? Pride answers, " 'Tis for mine: For me kind Nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower; Annual for me, the grape, the rose renew The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew; For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies." But errs not Nature from this gracious end, From burning suns when livid deaths descend, When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep? "No," 'tis replied, "the first Almighty Cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws; The exceptions few; some change since all began, And what created perfect?"—Why then man? If the great end be human happiness, Then Nature deviates; and can man do less? As much that end a constant course requires Of showers and sunshine, as of man's desires; As much eternal springs and cloudless skies, As men forever temperate, calm, and wise. If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design, Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline? 8 Who knows but he whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms,

6. " S e n s e of t a s t i n g " ( J o h n s o n ' s Dictionary ). 7. S y m b o l s of j u d g m e n t a n d p u n i s h m e n t . 8 . T h e Italian R e n a i s s a n c e family the B o r g i a s w a s notorious for its ruthless lust for power, cruelty, r a p a c i o u s n e s s , treachery, and murder (especially b y p o i s o n i n g ) . C e s a r e Borgia ( 1 4 7 6 - 1 5 0 7 ) , son o f

P o p e Alexander VI, is here referred to. L u c i u s S e r gius Catiline (ca. 108—62 B.C.E.), an a m b i t i o u s , greedy, and c r u e l c o n s p i r a t o r a g a i n s t the R o m a n state, w a s d e n o u n c e d in C i c e r o ' s f a m o u s orations b e f o r e the s e n a t e a n d in the F o r u m .

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AN ESSAY ON

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MAN

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Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind, Or turns young Ammon° loose to scourge mankind? Alexander the Great From pride, from pride, our very reasoning springs; Account for moral, as for natural things: Why charge we Heaven in those, in these acquit? In both, to reason right is to submit. Better for us, perhaps, it might appear, Were there all harmony, all virtue here; That never air or ocean felt the wind; That never passion discomposed the mind: But ALL subsists by elemental strife; And passions are the elements of life. The general O R D E R , since the whole began, Is kept in Nature, and is kept in man. 6. What would this man? Now upward will he soar, And little less than angel, would be more; Now looking downwards, just as grieved appears To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. Made for his use all creatures if he call, Say what their use, had he the powers of all? Nature to these, without profusion, kind, The proper organs, proper powers assigned; Each seeming want compensated of course," as a matter of course Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force; All in exact proportion to the state; Nothing to add, and nothing to abate. E a c h beast, each insect, happy in its own; Is Heaven unkind to man, and man alone? Shall he alone, whom rational we call, Be pleased with nothing, if not blessed with all? The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find) Is not to act or think beyond mankind; No powers of body or of soul to share, But what his nature and his state can bear. Why has not man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, man is not a fly. Say what the use, were finer optics given, To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven? Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, To smart and agonize at every pore? Or quick effluvia 9 darting through the brain, Die of a rose in aromatic pain? If nature thundered in his opening ears, And stunned him with the music of the spheres, How would he wish that Heaven had left him still The whispering zephyr, and the purling rill? Who finds not Providence all good and wise, Alike in what it gives, and what denies?

9. According to the philosophy of Epicurus (adopted by Robert Boyle, the chemist, and other 17th-century scientists), the senses are stirred to perception by being bombarded through the pores

by steady streams of "effluvia," incredibly thin and tiny—but material—images of the objects that surround us.

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POPE

7. Far as creation's ample range extends, The scale of sensual, 0 mental powers ascends: Mark how it mounts, to man's imperial race, From the green myriads in the peopled grass: What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam: 1 Of smell, the headlong lioness between, And hound sagacious 0 on the tainted green: Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, To that which warbles through the vernal wood: The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: In the nice 0 bee, what sense so subtly true From poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew: How instinct varies in the groveling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine! 'Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier, 2 Forever separate, yet forever near! Remembrance and reflection how allied; What thin partitions sense from thought divide: And middle natures, how they long to join, Yet never pass the insuperable line! Without this just gradation, could they be Subjected, these to those, or all to thee? The powers of all subdued by thee alone, Is not thy reason all these powers in one?

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sensory

quick of scent

exact, accurate

8. See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth. Above, how high progressive life may go! Around, how wide! how deep extend below! Vast Chain of Being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach! from Infinite to thee, From thee to nothing.—On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours: Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed: From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. And, if each system in gradation roll Alike essential to the amazing whole, The least confusion but in one, not all That system only, but the whole must fall. Let earth unbalanced from her orbit fly, Planets and suns run lawless through the sky, Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurled, Being on being wrecked, and world on world, Heaven's whole foundations to their center nod,

1. O n e of several early theories of vision held that the eye casts a b e a m of light that makes objects

visible. 2. Pronounced ba-reer.

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And Nature tremble to the throne of God: All this dread O R D E R break—for whom? for thee? Vile worm!—oh, madness, pride, impiety! 260

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9. What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head? What if the head, the eye, or ear repined To serve mere engines to the ruling Mind? 3 J u s t as absurd, for any part to claim To be another, in this general frame. J u s t as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains, The great directing M I N D of A L L ordains. All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and G o d the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent, Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns; To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. 10. C e a s e then, nor O R D E R imperfection name: Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. Submit—In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: S a f e in the hand of one disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All Nature is but art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good: And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear: Whatever is, is R I G H T . F r o m Epistle 2. Of the Nature and State of Man with Respect to Himself, as an Individual

1. Know then thyself, presume not G o d to scan; 0 The proper study of mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the skeptic side, With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,

3. Cf. 1 Corinthians 1 2 . 1 4 - 2 6 .

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judge

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POPE

He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest, In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer, Born but to die, and reasoning but to err; Alike in ignorance, his reason such, Whether he thinks too little, or too much: Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused, or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled: The glory, jest, and riddle of the world! *

1733

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Dr.JohnArbuthnot(1667-1735),towhomPope

addressed his best-known verse epistle, was distinguished both as a physician and as a man of wit. He had been one of the liveliest members of the Martinus Scriblerus Club, helping his friends create the character and shape the career of the learned pedant whose memoirs the club had undertaken to write. Pope had long been meditating such a poem, which was to be both an attack on his detractors and a defense of his own character and career. In his usual way, he had jotted down hints, lines, couplets, and fragments over a period of two decades, but the poem might never have been completed had it not been for two events: Arbuthnot, from his deathbed, wrote to urge Pope to continue his abhorrence of vice and to express it in his writings and, during 1733, Pope was the victim of two bitter attacks by "persons of rank and fortune," as the Advertisement has it. The "Verses Addressed to the Imitator of Horace" was the work of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, helped by her friend Lord Hervey (pronounced Harvey), a close friend and confidant of Queen Caroline. "An Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court" was the work of Lord Hervey alone. Montagu had provocation enough, especially in Pope's recent reference to her in "The First Satire of the Second Book of Horace," lines 83—84; but Hervey had little to complain of beyond occasional covert references to him as "Lord Fanny." At any rate, the two scurrilous attacks goaded Pope into action, and he completed the poem by the end of the summer of 1734. The Epistle is the most brilliant and daring execution of the techniques that Pope used in many of the autobiographical poems of the 1730s. He presents himself in a theatrical array of postures: the comically exaggerating complainer, the admired man of genius, the true friend, the unpretentiously honest man, the satirist-hero of his country, the "manly" defender of virtue, the tender son mothering his own mother. Part of what cements this mixture is the verve with which he modulates from role to role, implying that none of them exhaustively defines him. Pope tries to force the reader to take sides, for him and what he claims to represent, or against him. Thus reading becomes an ethical exercise; readers must make up their own minds about his moral superiority, his exquisitely crafted portraits of his enemies, his social selfpositioning, or his self-righteous politics. Pope solicits our judgment of his character and his professed ideals, and no other poet in English does so with so much artistic energy, resourcefulness, and success. It is not clear that Pope intended the poem to be thought of as a dialogue, as it has

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/ 255 1

usually been printed since Warburton's edition of 1751. The original edition, while suggesting interruptions in the flow of the monologue, kept entirely to the form of a letter. The introduction of the friend, who speaks from time to time, converts the original letter into a dramatic dialogue.

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot Advertisement TO THE

FIRST PUBLICATION OF THIS

Epistle

This paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years since, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and fortune (the authors of Verses to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court) to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which, being public, the public is judge) but my person, morals, and family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand 1 to this epistle. If it have anything pleasing, it will be that by which 1 am most desirous to please, the truth and the sentiment; and if anything offensive, it will be only to those I am least sorry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous. Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance but what is true; but I have, for the most part, spared their names, and they may escape being laughed at, if they please. I would have some of them know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid friend to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage, and honor, on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a nameless character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness. P. p. Shut, shut the door, good John! 2 (fatigued, I said), Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog Star 3 rages! nay 'tis past a doubt All Bedlam, 4 or Parnassus, is let out: 5 Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot' they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, 10 They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. No place is sacred, not the church is free; 1. Finish. 2. J o h n Serle, Pope's gardener. 3. Sirius, associated with the period of greatest heat (and hence of madness) b e c a u s e it sets with the sun in late s u m m e r . August, in ancient Rome, was the season for reciting poetry.

4. Bethlehem Hospital for the insane, in London. 5. T h e subterranean p a s s a g e under the road that separated his h o u s e at Twickenham from his garden b e c a m e , in Pope's hands, a romantic grotto ornamented with shells and mirrors.

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2 5 5 0

ALEXANDER

POPE

Even Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me: Then from the Mint 6 walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me just at dinner time, Is there a parson, much bemused in beer, A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk foredoomed his father's soul to cross, Who pens a stanza when he should engross? 7 .Is there who, locked from ink and paper, 8 scrawls With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls? All fly to Twit'nam, 9 and in humble strain Apply to me to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, 1 whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damned works the cause: Poor Cornus 2 sees his frantic wife elope, And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. Friend to my life (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted 0 many an idle song) What drop or nostrum 0 can this plague remove? Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, 0 If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. To laugh were want of goodness and of grace, And to be grave exceeds all power of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish and an aching head, And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." 3 "Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury Lane, 4 Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term 5 ends, Obliged by hunger and request of friends: "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it, I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My friendship, and a prologue, 6 and ten pound. Pitholeon 7 sends to me: "You know his Grace, I want a patron; ask him for a place." Pitholeon libeled me—"but here's a letter Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better.

6. A place in Southwark where debtors were free from arrest (they could not be arrested anywhere on Sundays). 7. Write out legal d o c u m e n t s . 8. Is there s o m e m a d m a n who, locked up without ink or paper . . . ? 9. I.e., Twickenham, Pope's villa on the bank of the T h a m e s , a few miles above Hampton Court. 1. Arthur Moore, whose son, J a m e s M o o r e Smythe, dabbled in literature. Moore Smythe had earned Pope's enmity by using in one of his plays s o m e unpublished lines from Pope's "Epistle 2. To a Lady" in spite of Pope's objections. 2. Latin for "horn," the tra

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References