No More Learning

slice him down, and fling
him into the river. ”
"Confess," said Marian: "what brought you here, and how did
you trace our steps? "
"I will confess nothing," said the knight.
"Then confess, you rascal," said the baron, holding his sword
to the throat of the captive squire.
"Take away the sword," said the squire: "it is too near my
mouth, and my voice will not come out for fear; take away the
sword, and I will confess all. " The baron dropped his sword,
and the squire proceeded:-"Sir Ralph met you as you quitted
Lady Falkland's castle; and by representing to her who you were,
borrowed from her such a number of her retainers as he deemed
must insure your capture, seeing that your familiar the friar was
not at your elbow. We set forth without delay, and traced you
first by means of a peasant who saw you turn into this valley,
and afterwards by the light from the casement of this solitary
dwelling. Our design was to have laid an ambush for you in
the morning, but the storm and your observation of my unlucky
face through the casement made us change our purpose; and
what followed you can tell better than I can, being indeed mas-
ters of the subject. "
"You are a merry knave," said the baron, "and here is a cup
of wine for you. "
"Gramercy," said the squire, "and better late than never; but
I lacked a cup of this before. Had I been pot-valiant, I had
held you play. "
"Sir knight," said Marian, "this is the third time you have
sought the life of my lord and of me,- for mine is interwoven.
with his. And do you think me so spiritless as to believe that I
XIX-704


## p. 11250 (#470) ##########################################

11250
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
can be yours by compulsion? Tempt me not again; for the
next time shall be the last, and the fish of the nearest river shall
commute the flesh of a recreant knight into the fast-day dinner
of an uncarnivorous friar. I spare you now, not in pity but in
scorn. Yet shall you swear to a convention never more to pur-
sue or molest my lord or me, and on this condition you shall
live. "
The knight had no alternative but to comply, and swore, on
the honor of knighthood, to keep the convention inviolate. How
well he kept his oath we shall have no opportunity of narrating:
Di lui la nostra istoria piu non parla.
CROSSING THE FORD
Carry me over the water, thou fine fellowe. -OLD BALLAD.
THE pilgrims, without experiencing further molestation, arrived
at the retreat of Sir Guy of Gamwell. They found the old
knight a cup too low: partly from being cut off from the scenes
of his old hospitality and the shouts of his Nottinghamshire vas-
sals, who were wont to make the rafters of his ancient hall
re-echo to their revelry; but principally from being parted from
his son, who had long been the better half of his flask and
pasty. The arrival of our visitors cheered him up; and finding
that the baron was to remain with him, he testified his delight
and the cordiality of his welcome by pegging him in the ribs till
he made him roar.
Robin and Marian took an affectionate leave of the baron and
the old knight; and before they quitted the vicinity of Barns-
dale, deeming it prudent to return in a different disguise, they
laid aside their pilgrim's attire, and assumed the habits and ap-
purtenances of wandering minstrels.
They traveled in this character safely and pleasantly, till one
evening at a late hour they arrived by the side of a river, where
Robin, looking out for a mode of passage, perceived a ferry-boat
in a nook on the opposite bank, near which a chimney, sending
up a wreath of smoke through the thick-set willows, was the
only symptom of human habitation: and Robin, naturally con-
ceiving the said chimney and wreath of smoke to be the out-
ward signs of the inward ferryman, shouted "Over! " with much
strength and clearness; but no voice replied, and no ferryman
appeared. Robin raised his voice and shouted with redoubled


## p. 11251 (#471) ##########################################

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
11251
energy, "Over, Over, O-o-o-over! " A faint echo alone responded
"Over! " and again died away into deep silence; but after a
brief interval a voice from among the willows, in a strange kind.
of mingled intonation that was half a shout and half a song, an-
swered:
"Over, over, over, jolly, jolly rover,
Would you then come over? over, over, over?
Jolly, jolly rover, here's one lives in clover:
Who finds the clover? The jolly, jolly rover.
He finds the clover, let him then come over,
The jolly, jolly rover, over, over, over. "
"I much doubt," said Marian, "if this ferryman do not mean.
by clover something more than the toll of his ferry-boat. "
"I doubt not," answered Robin, "he is a levier of toll and
tithe, which I shall put him upon proof of his right to receive,
by making trial of his might to enforce. "
The ferryman emerged from the willows and stepped into
his boat. "As I live," exclaimed Robin, "the ferryman is a
friar. "
"With a sword," said Marian, "stuck in his rope girdle. "
The friar pushed his boat off manfully, and was presently
half over the river.
"It is friar Tuck," said Marian.
"He will scarcely know us," said Robin; "and if he do not, I
will break a staff with him for sport. "
The friar came singing across the water; the boat touched
the land; Robin and Marian stepped on board; the friar pushed
off again.
"Silken doublets, silken doublets," said the friar; "slenderly
lined, I trow: your wandering minstrel is always poor toll; your
sweet angels of voices pass current for a bed and
supper at
the house of every lord that likes to hear the fame of his valor
without the trouble of fighting for it. What need you of purse
or pouch? You may sing before thieves. Pedlars, pedlars:
wandering from door to door with the small-ware of lies and
cajolery; exploits for carpet-knights, honesty for courtiers, truth
for monks, and chastity for nuns,- a good salable stock that
costs the vender nothing, defies wear and tear, and when it has
served a hundred customers is as plentiful and as remarkable as
ever. But, sirrahs, I'll none of your balderdash. You pass not
hence without clink of brass, or I'll knock your musical noddles


## p. 11252 (#472) ##########################################

11252
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
together till they ring like a pair of cymbals. That will be a
new tune for your minstrelships. "
This friendly speech of the friar ended as they stepped on the
opposite bank. Robin had noticed as they passed that the sum-
low.
mer stream was
"Why, thou brawling mongrel," said Robin,-"that whether
thou be thief, friar, or ferryman, or an ill-mixed compound of
all three, passes conjecture, though I judge thee to be simple
thief,- what barkest thou at thus? Villain, there is clink of
brass for thee. Dost thou see this coin? Dost thou hear this
music? Look and listen; for touch thou shalt not,—my minstrel-
ship defies thee. Thou shalt carry me on thy back over the
water, and receive nothing but a cracked sconce for thy trouble. "
"A bargain," said the friar; "for the water is low, the labor
is light, and the reward is alluring. " And he stooped down for
Robin, who mounted his back, and the friar waded with him over
the river.
"Now, fine fellow," said the friar, "thou shalt carry me back
over the water, and thou shalt have a cracked sconce for thy
trouble. "
Robin took the friar on his back, and waded with him into
the middle of the river, when by a dexterous jerk he suddenly
flung him off and plunged him horizontally over head and ears
in the water. Robin waded to the shore, and the friar, half
swimming and half scrambling, followed.
"Fine fellow, fine fellow," said the friar, "now will I pay
thee thy cracked sconce. "
"Not so," said Robin,-"I have not earned it; but thou hast
earned it, and shalt have it. "
It was not, even in those good old times, a sight of every
day to see a troubadour and a friar playing at single-stick by the
side of a river, each aiming with fell intent at the other's cocks-
comb. The parties were both so skilled in attack and defense,
that their mutual efforts for a long time expended themselves in
quick and loud rappings on each other's oaken staves. At length
Robin by a dexterous feint contrived to score one on the friar's
crown; but in the careless moment of triumph a splendid sweep
of the friar's staff struck Robin's out of his hand into the middle
of the river, and repaid his crack on the head with a degree of
vigor that might have passed the bounds of a jest if Marian had
not retarded its descent by catching the friar's arm.


## p. 11253 (#473) ##########################################

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
11253
"How now, recreant friar," said Marian: "what have you to
say why you should not suffer instant execution, being de-
tected in open rebellion against your liege lord? Therefore kneel
down, traitor, and submit your neck to the sword of the offended
law. "
"Benefit of clergy," said the friar; "I plead my clergy. And
is it you indeed, ye scapegraces? Ye are well disguised: I knew
ye not, by my flask. Robin, jolly Robin, he buys a jest dearly
that pays for it with a bloody cockscomb. But here is a balm
for all bruises, outward and inward. " (The friar produced a flask
of canary. ) "Wash thy wound twice and thy throat thrice with
this solar concoction, and thou shalt marvel where was thy hurt.
But what moved ye to this frolic? Knew ye not that ye could
not appear in a mask more fashioned to move my bile than in
that of these gilders and lackerers of the smooth surface of
worthlessness, that bring the gold of true valor into disrepute by
stamping the baser metal with the fairer impression? I marveled
to find any such given to fighting (for they have an old instinct
of self-preservation); but I rejoiced thereat, that I might discuss
to them poetical justice: and therefore have I cracked thy sconce;
for which, let this be thy medicine. "
"But wherefore," said Marian, "do we find you here, when
we left you joint lord warden of Sherwood? "
"I do but retire to my devotions," replied the friar.
"This
is my hermitage, in which I first took refuge when I escaped
from my beloved brethren of Rubygill; and to which I still
retreat at times from the vanities of the world, which else might
cling to me too closely since I have been promoted to be peer
spiritual of your forest court. For indeed, I do find in myself
certain indications and admonitions that my day has past its
noon; and none more cogent than this: that daily of bad wine I
grow more intolerant, and of good wine have a keener and more
fastidious relish. There is no surer symptom of receding years.
The ferryman is my faithful varlet. I send him on some pious
errand, that I may meditate in ghostly privacy, when my pres-
ence in the forest can best be spared; and when can it be better
spared than now, seeing that the neighborhood of Prince John,
and his incessant perquisitions for Marian, have made the for-
est too hot to hold more of us than are needful to keep up
a quorum, and preserve unbroken the continuity of our forest
dominion? For in truth, without your greenwood majesties, we


## p. 11254 (#474) ##########################################

11254
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
have hardly the wit to live in a body, and at the same time to
keep our necks out of jeopardy, while that arch-rebel and traitor
John infests the precincts of our territory. "
The friar now conducted them to his peaceful cell, where he
spread his frugal board with fish, venison, wild-fowl, fruit, and
canary. Under the compound operation of this materia medica
Robin's wounds healed apace, and the friar, who hated min-
strelsy, began as usual chirping in his cups. Robin and Marian
chimed in with his tuneful humor till the midnight moon peeped
in upon their revelry.
It was now the very witching-time of night, when they heard
a voice shouting, "Over! " They paused to listen, and the voice
repeated "Over! " in accents clear and loud, but which at the
same time either were in themselves, or seemed to be from the
place and the hour, singularly plaintive and dreary. The friar
fidgeted about in his seat; fell into a deep musing; shook him-
self, and looked about him,-first at Marian, then at Robin,
then at Marian again,- filled and tossed off a cup of canary, and
relapsed into his reverie.
"Will you not bring your passenger over? " said Robin. The
friar shook his head and looked mysterious.
<<
"That passenger," said the friar, will never come over.
Every full moon, at midnight, that voice calls, 'Over! ' I and
my varlet have more than once obeyed the summons, and we
have sometimes had a glimpse of a white figure under the oppo-
site trees: but when the boat has touched the bank, nothing has
been to be seen; and the voice has been heard no more till the
midnight of the next full moon. ”
"It is very strange," said Robin.
"Wondrous strange," said the friar, looking solemn.
The voice again called "Over! " in a long and plaintive mu-
sical cry.
"I must go to it," said the friar, "or it will give us no peace.
I would all my customers were of this world. I begin to think
that I am Charon, and that this river is Styx. "
"I will go with you, friar," said Robin.
By my flask," said the friar, "but you shall not. "
"Then I will," said Marian.
"Still less," said the friar, hurrying out of the cell. Robin
and Marian followed; but the friar outstepped them, and pushed
off his boat.


## p. 11255 (#475) ##########################################

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
11255
A white figure was visible under the shade of the opposite
trees. The boat approached the shore, and the figure glided
The friar returned.
away.
They re-entered the cottage, and sat some time conversing on
the phenomenon they had seen. The friar sipped his wine, and
after a time said:
"There is a tradition of a damsel who was drowned here
some years ago.
The tradition is->
But the friar could not narrate a plain tale: he therefore
cleared his throat, and sang with due solemnity, in a ghostly
voice: -
-
"A damsel came in midnight rain,
And called across the ferry:
The weary wight she called in vain,
Whose senses sleep did bury.
At evening from her father's door
She turned to meet her lover;
At midnight, on the lonely shore,
She shouted, 'Over, over! '
"She had not met him by the tree
Of their accustomed meeting,
And sad and sick at heart was she,
Her heart all wildly beating.
In chill suspense the hours went by,
The wild storm burst above her:
She turned her to the river nigh,
And shouted, 'Over, over! '
"A dim, discolored, doubtful light
The moon's dark veil permitted,
And thick before her troubled sight
Fantastic shadows flitted.
Her lover's form appeared to glide,
And beckon o'er the water:
Alas! his blood that morn had dyed
Her brother's sword with slaughter.
«<
Upon a little rock she stood,
To make her invocation:
She marked not that the rain-swoll'n flood
Was islanding her station.
The tempest mocked her feeble cry;
No saint his aid would give her:


## p. 11256 (#476) ##########################################

11256
THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
The flood swelled high and yet more high,
And swept her down the river.
"Yet oft beneath the pale moonlight,
When hollow winds are blowing,
The shadow of that maiden bright
Glides by the dark stream's flowing.
And when the storms of midnight rave,
While clouds the broad moon cover,
The wild gusts waft across the wave
The cry of Over, over! >»
While the friar was singing, Marian was meditating; and
when he had ended she said, "Honest friar, you have misplaced
your tradition, which belongs to the æstuary of a nobler river,
where the damsel was swept away by the rising of the tide, for
which your land-flood is an indifferent substitute. But the true
tradition of this stream I think I myself possess, and I will nar-
rate it in your own way: —
"It was a friar of orders free,
A friar of Rubygill;
At the greenwood tree a vow made he,
But he kept it very ill;
A vow made he of chastity,
But he kept it very ill.
He kept it, perchance, in the conscious shade
Of the bounds of the forest wherein it was made:
But he roamed where he listed, as free as the wind,
And he left his good vow in the forest behind;
For its woods out of sight were his vow out of mind,
With the friar of Rubygill.
"In lonely hut himself he shut,
The friar of Rubygill;
Where the ghostly elf absolved himself
To follow his own good will:
And he had no lack of canary sack
To keep his conscience still.
And a damsel well knew, when at lonely midnight
It gleamed on the waters, his signal-lamp light:
'Over! over! ' she warbled with nightingale throat,
And the friar sprang forth at the magical note,
And she crossed the dark stream in his trim ferry-boat,
With the friar of Rubygill. »


## p. 11257 (#477) ##########################################

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK
11257
"Look you now," said Robin, "if the friar does not blush.
Many strange sights have I seen in my day, but never till this
moment did I see a blushing friar. "
"I think," said the friar, "you never saw one that blushed
not, or you saw good canary thrown away. But you are welcome
to laugh if it so please you.
None shall laugh in my company,
though it be at my expense, but I will have my share of the
merriment. The world is a stage, and life is a farce, and he
that laughs most has most profit of the performance. The worst
thing is good enough to be laughed at, though it be good for
nothing else; and the best thing, though it be good for some-
thing else, is good for nothing better. "
And he struck up a song in praise of laughing and quaffing,
without further adverting to Marian's insinuated accusation; be-
ing perhaps of opinion that it was a subject on which the least
said would be the soonest mended.
So passed the night. In the morning a forester came to the
friar with the intelligence that Prince John had been compelled,
by the urgency of his affairs in other quarters, to disembarrass
Nottingham Castle of his royal presence. Our wanderers re-
turned joyfully to their forest dominion, being thus relieved from
the vicinity of any more formidable belligerent than their old
bruised and beaten enemy, the Sheriff of Nottingham.


## p. 11258 (#478) ##########################################

11258
―――
EORGE PEELE's life is shrouded in mystery; but enough is
known of him to say that he was a man of education, who,
like so many of his fellow Elizabethan playwrights, lived fast
and died young.
He formed one of the group of pre-Shakespearean
dramatists, who stand for the transitional period between the older
moralities those crude attempts at stage allegory-and the crafts-
manship of the master-poet. Neither the birthday nor the death-day
of Peele is known. He is believed to have been born in Devonshire
in or about 1553; and he was dead by 1598. His father was a Lon-
don merchant, who had the distinction of writing a work on book-
keeping said to have introduced the Italian system to England. The
son was an Oxford man, and took his degree of Bachelor of Arts in
1577, and his degree of Master of Arts two years later. Before he
left the University he was recognized as a poet, and was marked for
his tendencies to social gayety; a trait that became still more pro-
nounced when he went up to London, where he was ejected from his
father's house, and joined the roystering set of blades known as the
University wits, who wrote plays and poems and burned life's candle
at both ends. He was reputed a sad wag, as the untrustworthy vol-
ume The Jests of George Peele' testifies. He foregathered with
Nash, Marlowe, and Greene, and by tradition haunted the tavern and
the green-room,- a dissolute scribbler in whom was a spark of gen-
ius, and who, however irregular his habits, dying in mid-manhood left
literary work which declares him, after all, an industrious author. He
made five dramas, and besides published a number of volumes of
poems and pageants. The first drama, 'The Arraignment of Paris,'
probably presented in 1581, is a pastoral treatment, mostly in heroic
couplets, of the myth of the awarding of the golden apple, with a
naïve patriotic application,-making Venus, who wins the prize of
beauty, yield it in turn to Queen Elizabeth. The Famous Chronicle
of Edward I. ' (1593) shows the writer struggling towards the true
historical tragedy. It has some effective scenes but little poetry, and
as a whole is confused and ill-welded. The Battle of Alcazar'
(1592) is a vigorous play, but lacks construction. The Old Wives'
Tales' (1595) is a rollicking farce, stuffed with nonsense, and one of
those inchoate dramatic performances very characteristic of the earlier
-
GEORGE PEELE
(1553 ? -1598? )


## p. 11259 (#479) ##########################################

GEORGE PEELE
11259
Its
English playwrights, but far removed from a serious art purpose.
main significance lies in its having supplied Milton with Comus. ' It
is in his last play, 'David and Bethsabe,' printed in 1599, that Peele
reached his high-water mark of imaginative poetry. It deals with the
Bible story in a spirit of sensuous romanticism, and contains lovely
passages of blank verse of the amatory and descriptive sort, handling
that measure with a skill such as only Marlowe of the forerunners
of Shakespeare has surpassed. The piece lacks dramatic force, being
idyllic in motive and manner. A pastoral drama, 'The Hunting of
Cupid,' known to have been written by Peele, has been lost. This
author's miscellaneous writings include three pageants or court spec-
tacles, and half a dozen volumes of poems,—the most elaborate of
which is 'The Honor of the Garter,' a blank-verse gratulatory address
to several noblemen, and containing in its dedication a fine tribute to
his dead friend Marlowe. Some of Peele's lyrics, found in his plays
or in his various volumes of verse, are among the most beautiful in
the whole range of Elizabethan song; and no representation of his
work can omit them. They became popular at once, and were printed
in various song collections of the time. A man of considerable cult-
ure, he shows both classic and Italian influence in his writing; but
his occasional rich, smooth, fanciful utterance was his by birthright,
and merits forgiveness for his dramatic shortcomings. As a play-
maker he did not do so much in preparing the way for Shakespeare
as other contemporaries like Lyly or Greene. But he surpassed them
in his occasional lyric touch and tone.
OLD AGE
Is golden locks time hath to silver turned;
HTS
Oh time too swift, oh swiftness never ceasing:
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain,-youth waneth by increasing,
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers' songs be turned to holy psalms;
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song:-


## p. 11260 (#480) ##########################################

11260
GEORGE PEELE
"Blessed be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well,
Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong.
Goddess, allow this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now that was your knight. "
DAVID AND BETHSABE
From Dyce's Edition of Peele's Works, Vol. II.
He draws a curtain and discovers Bethsabe with her maid bathing over a
spring; she sings, and David sits above viewing her.
Bethsabe-
-----
THE SONG
OT sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air,
H
Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white hair:
Shine, sun; burn, fire; breathe, air, and ease me;
Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me and please me;
Shadow, my sweet nurse, keep me from burning,-
Make not my glad cause, cause of mourning.
Let not my beauty's fire
Inflame unstayed desire,
Nor pierce any bright eye
That wandereth lightly.
Come, gentle Zephyr, trickt with those perfumes
That erst in Eden sweetened Adam's love,
And stroke my bosom with thy silken fan:
This shade, sun-proof, is yet no proof for thee;
Thy body, smoother than this waveless spring,
And purer than the substance of the same,
Can creep through that his lances cannot pierce.
Thou and thy sister, soft and sacred air,
Goddess of life, and governess of health,
Keep every fountain fresh and arbor sweet;
No brazen gate her passage can repulse,
Nor bushy thicket bar thy subtle breath:
Then deck thee with thy loose delightsome robes,
And on thy wings bring delicate perfumes,
To play the wanton with us through the leaves.
David What tunes, what words, what looks, what wonders pierce
My soul, incensèd with a sudden fire?
What tree, what shade, what spring, what paradise,
Enjoys the beauty of so fair a dame?


## p. 11261 (#481) ##########################################

GEORGE PEELE
11261
Fair Eva, placed in perfect happiness,
Lending her praise-notes to the liberal heavens,
Strook with the accents of archangels' tunes,
Wrought not more pleasure to her husband's thoughts
Than this fair woman's words and notes to mine.
May that sweet plain that bears her pleasant weight
Be still enameled with discolored flowers;
That precious fount bear sand of purest gold;
And for the pebble, let the silver streams
That pierce earth's bowels to maintain the source,
Play upon rubies, sapphires, chrysolites;
The brims let be embraced with golden curls
Of moss, that sleeps with sound the waters make,
For joy to feed the fount with their recourse;
Let all the grass that beautifies her bower
Bear manna every morn instead of dew;
Or let the dew be sweeter far than that
That hangs, like chains of pearl, on Hermon's hill,
Or balm which trickled from old Aaron's beard.
Now comes my lover tripping like the roe,
And brings my longings tangled in her hair.
To joy her love I'll build a kingly bower,
Seated in hearing of a hundred streams,
That, for their homage to her sovereign joys,
Shall, as the serpents fold into their nests
In oblique turnings, wind the nimble waves
About the circles of her curious walks;
And with their murmur summon easeful sleep,
To lay his golden sceptre on her brows.
Open the doors, and entertain my love;
Open, I say, and as you open, sing,
Welcome fair Bethsabe, King David's darling.
FROM A FAREWELL TO SIR JOHN NORRIS AND SIR FRANCIS
DRAKE'
AVE done with care, my hearts! aboard amain,
H
With stretching sails to plow the swelling waves;
Bid England's shore and Albion's chalky cliffs
Farewell; bid stately Troynovant adieu,
Where pleasant Thames from Isis's silver head
Begins her quiet glide, and runs along


## p. 11262 (#482) ##########################################

11262
GEORGE PEELE
To that brave bridge, the bar that thwarts her course,
Near neighbor to the ancient stony tower,
The glorious hold that Julius Cæsar built.
Change love for arms, girt to your blades, my boys!
Your rests and muskets take, take helm and targe,
And let god Mars his consort make you mirth,—
The roaring cannon, and the brazen trump,
The angry-sounding drum, the whistling fife,
The shrieks of men, the princely courser's neigh.
Now vail your bonnets to your friends at home;
Bid all the lovely British dames adieu,
That under many a standard well advanced
Have hid the sweet alarms and braves of love;
Bid theatres and proud tragedians,
Bid Mahomet, Scipio, and mighty Tamburlaine,
King Charlemagne, Tom Stukely, and the rest,
Adieu. To arms, to arms, to glorious arms!
With noble Norris and victorious Drake,
Under the sanguine cross, brave England's badge,
To propagate religious piety
And hew a passage with your conquering swords
By land and sea, wherever Phoebus's eye,
Th' eternal lamp of heaven, lends us light;
By golden Tagus, or the western Ind,
Or through the spacious bay of Portugal,
The wealthy ocean-main, the Tyrrhene sea,
From great Alcides's pillars branching forth,
Even to the gulf that leads to lofty Rome;
There to deface the pride of Antichrist,
And pull his paper walls and popery down,-
A famous enterprise for England's strength,
To steel your swords on Avarice's triple crown,
And cleanse Augeas's stall in Italy.
To arms, my fellow-soldiers! Sea and land
Lie open to the voyage you intend:
And sea or land, bold Britons, far or near,
Whatever course your matchless virtue shapes,
Whether to Europe's bounds or Asian plains,
To Afric's shore, or rich America,
Down to the shades of deep Avernus's crags,
Sail on; pursue your honors to your graves.
Heaven is a sacred covering for your heads,
And every climate virtue's tabernacle.
To arms, to arms, to honorable arms!


## p. 11263 (#483) ##########################################

11263
•
SILVIO PELLICO
(1789-1854)
BY J. F. BINGHAM
N THE little curious old capital of Savoy, some thirty miles
southwest of Turin, stands an elegant but unobtrusive mon-
ument which is a centre of pilgrimage from all quarters of
the literary world. Around this monument, in the year of our Lord
1889, were gathered the most distinguished representatives of liter-
ature, learning, and patriotism from all parts of Italy and of Europe,
to celebrate with eloquence and song the
hundredth anniversary of the birth there of
Saluzzo's most illustrious son, a name now
as familiar as that of Dante throughout the
civilized world,-Silvio Pellico.

Here he and a twin sister of extraordi-
nary beauty (who exercised an important
influence over his whole life) were born
on the 21st of June, 1789. The mother was
a Tournier (a name famous in the manu-
facture of silk) of Chambéry, the ancient
capital of Savoy; then as now, after sev-
eral alternations, a province of France, and
always an important intellectual centre,
as well as a leader in silk manufactures.
Mademoiselle Tournier had relations also in the silk trade in Lyons.
So prized or so important was the name regarded, that she retained
it after marriage, and is always spoken of as La Signora Pellico
Tournier.
SILVIO PELLICO
The fact that his family was not noble, like that of Alfieri and
Manzoni and so many others in the front rank of Italian literature,
with whom Pellico is of necessity brought into literary comparison,
but was of the prosperous mercantile class; and further, that his
mother, a woman as it appears of a strong character, was of the warm
blood of the bourgeoisie of southern France, -is a matter of interest
and importance in many ways to the critical historian of literature,
but one on which it is beyond the scope of this work to dwell. It
is only necessary here to point out that it naturally set him nearer
to the heart of the common people; led him into those associations,


## p. 11264 (#484) ##########################################

11264
SILVIO PELLICO
and brought him to breathe in that atmosphere of heated patriotism,
so called, which cost him many years of dreadful suffering, and cost
the world, perhaps, the loss of some peculiar and precious things
which would otherwise have flowed from his gentle, sympathetic
pen.
The father and mother of Pellico, however, were cultivated and
religious people. The father was also a poet of some fame, and
formerly held an important civil office in the government. During
the political overturnings of the stormy times which ushered in this
century in Europe, he lost his civil function, and engaged in the
manufacture of silk.
The children, of whom there were six,-three boys and three girls,
alternating with one another in the order of their birth,- were edu-
cated at home with the aid of tutors; which home was changed
first to Turin, and finally to Milan, where the father had been restored
to a place in the civil government. This education of the children
under the devoted care of these excellent people, in an atmosphere
of religion, learning, and the purest domestic love, told with beauti-
ful effect on both the mind and heart of Silvio, and left a distinct
impress on his whole life and work.
His adored twin sister he always speaks of as beautiful and lovely
beyond description; and to her he was inseparably attached. In
their eighteenth year this sister was married to a silk merchant of
Lyons. Silvio went with her on the bridal journey to her home, and
remained in her house four studious years. It was the time of the
swiftly ascending glory of the First Empire in France. Napoleon I.
was already the wonder and terror of Europe. Italy was feeling,
with mingled and conflicting emotions, his irresistible hand.
The passionate yet ingenuous, patriotic youth felt his heart burn
and his blood boil at the changes and crimes that were transpiring
in Italy, especially in his own Savoy and Lombardy; and in 1811 he
returned to Milan, with the purpose of doing what he could for his
country. He lived there in great intimacy with Ugo Foscolo and
Vincenzo Monti, and many of the leading liberal poets and littérateurs
of the day.
When in 1815 Napoleon had disappeared, and the Congress of
Vienna had remapped Western Europe, and the iron hand of Aus-
tria clenched his fatherland with a tenfold crueler grip, his patriot-
ism overstepped the limits of prudence. He not only set himself to
writing articles offensive to the government, but actually connected
himself with the Carbonari (or Coalmen, on account of holding their
meetings in a coal cellar), a treasonable secret society of the lower
orders. He was arrested, and languished two years in the prison
of the Piombi in Venice. He was at length tried for constructive
1


## p. 11265 (#485) ##########################################

SILVIO PELLICO
11265
treason, and condemned to die. By the clemency of the Emperor the
sentence was commuted to hard labor for fifteen years in the sub-
terranean dungeons of the Spielberg.
How could he be so imprudent? Yes, how could he? Perhaps
the incredible brutality of that Austrian tyranny is forgotten. Let
me quote from the Martyrs of Italy,' by Bocci and Zaccaria, certainly
authentic history, only one of hundreds of similar or worse examples,
some of which cannot be quoted:-
"In Milan a Florentine girl of eighteen, and her companion, a girl of
twenty, from Cremona, were condemned to fifteen stripes each, for having
reproached a renegade Italian woman, who had made an obtrusive display
from one of her windows of the colors black and yellow,- the colors of the
Austrian flag! And when the wretched girls were led out stripped for punish-
ment into the public square, and the edifying sentence was being executed in
the sight of thousands, all the élite of Austrian society from their carriages
and palace windows looked on and laughed at the fright and frantic cries and
agony and shame of the poor girls! »
And remember that Pellico had sisters whom he loved more than
life.
The Francesca da Rimini' had been produced. It had caught
the ear of the people. Fame seemed to be coming. But he was still
in the dew of youth. His name was new in the world of letters.
Suddenly, in this first blossoming of youthful promise, he was with-
drawn from view, as entirely as if he were in his grave. He was
virtually in the chambers of the dead-even in hell itself.
Had his story ended here, the world would have heard no more
of Silvio Pellico. But he lived to come forth from his long entomb-
ment, to mingle again in the activities of this living world, and
to recount the tremendous and refined tortures undergone by the
wretched human beings who moved and breathed and suffered in
these infernal abodes, still this side the river of death. No sooner
was that story uttered upon the free air of heaven, than it was evi-
dent to all the world that the star of Pellico had not set. It had
emerged from the black cloud which ten years before had seemed to
quench it, now like a comet blazing in the face of the universe.
The book 'Le Mie Prigioni (My Imprisonment) was first published
in Turin in 1832. It was written in a style of unpretending sim-
plicity, with an almost superhuman gentleness and sincerity (consider-
ing the subjects of which it treats), and with an angelic pathos all
his own, without one blast of malediction, one growling thunder of
the coming storm; but in the event it made the Austrian powers
turn pale, and shook that old iron throne. It was quickly translated
into every language of modern Europe, carried the civilized world off
its feet with admiration and astonishment, and made all Christendom
XIX-705


## p. 11266 (#486) ##########################################

11266
SILVIO PELLICO
blush with sympathy and anger; and as was remarked by an eminent
statesman of the time, "it struck a heavier blow upon. the tyranny of
Austria, and for Italian liberty, than would have been the loss of an
army in battle. "
With a constitution broken by suffering, he lingered on in a cer-
tain literary activity till 1854; but left no other results comparable to
the productions of his youth.
F. Bingham
FROM LE MIE PRIGIONI
HIS PURPOSE IN WRITING THE Book
IT
N WRITING these memories, my motive has been that of con-
tributing to the comfort of the unhappy, by making known.
the evils I have borne and the consolations I have found
attainable under the greatest misfortunes; that of bearing wit-
ness that in the midst of my long sufferings I have not found
human nature so degraded, so unworthy of indulgence, so defi-
cient in excellent characters, as it is commonly represented; that
of inviting noble hearts to love much, to hate no human being,
to feel irreconcilable hatred only towards mean deceit, pusilla-
nimity, perfidy, and all moral degradation; that of repeating a
truth well known, but often forgotten,- that both religion and
philosophy require an energetic will and calm judgment; and
that without the union of these qualities there can be neither
justice, nor dignity, nor strength of principle.
ARREST AND FIRST DAY IN PRISON
ON FRIDAY the 13th of October, 1820, I was arrested at Milan,
and carried to the prison of Santa Margherita. It was three
o'clock in the afternoon. I was immediately subjected to a long
examination, which was continued through several days. But of
this I shall say nothing. Like a lover ill-treated of his mistress,
and manfully resolved to keep himself aloof from her, I shall
leave politics where they are, and speak of other things.
At nine in the evening of that miserable Friday, the no-
tary consigned me to the jailer, who conducted me to the room


## p. 11267 (#487) ##########################################

SILVIO PELLICO
11267
destined for me. He civilly requested me to give up to him (to
be restored in due time) my watch, my money, and everything
else that I had in my pockets, and respectfully wished me a
good-night.
"Stop, dear sir," said I to him, "I have not dined to-day: let
something be brought me. "
"Immediately; the eating-house is near, and you will find the
wine good, sir. "
"I do not drink wine. "
At this answer Signor Angiolino looked alarmed, and hoped
I was jesting. Jailers who sell wine have a horror of an abste-
mious prisoner.
"Indeed I do not drink it. "
"I am sorry for you: you will suffer doubly from solitude. "
He went out, and in less than half an hour I had my
dinner. I ate a few mouthfuls, swallowed a glass of water, and
was left alone.
·
My room was on the lower floor, and looked out upon the
court. There were cells on each side, above, and opposite. I
leaned on the window, and listened for some time to the passing
and repassing of the jailers, and to the wild singing of some of
the prisoners.
I reflected:
"A century ago this was a monastery; the holy and penitent
virgins who dwelt here never imagined that at this day their
cells would resound no more with the sighs of women and with
pious hymns, but with blasphemies and indecent songs, and
would contain men of all kinds,- the greater part destined to
hard labor, or to the gallows.
"Yesterday I was one of the happiest of men: to-day I no
longer possess any of the joys which gladdened my life; liberty,
intercourse with my friends, hope itself is gone. I shall go hence
only to be thrown into some horrible den, or to be consigned to
the executioner. Well, the day after my death, it will be the
same as if I had expired in a palace and had been borne to the
tomb with the greatest honors. "
――――――――――
But my thoughts turned to my father, my mother, my two
brothers, my two sisters, and another family which I loved as
if it were my own; and my philosophical reasoning was of no
avail,—I was overcome, and wept like a child.


## p. 11268 (#488) ##########################################

11268
SILVIO PELLICO
THE ROMANCE WITH MADDALENA
FROM the gallery that was under my window there was a
passage through an arch to another court, where were the prisons
and hospitals for females. A single wall, and that very thin,
divided me from one of the rooms of the women. Often these
poor creatures almost stunned me with their songs, sometimes
with their quarrels.
Late in the evening, when all was still, I heard them talk.
Some of those female voices were sweet, and those why
should I not say it? were dear to me. One sweeter than the
others was heard less often, and never uttered vulgar thoughts.
She sung little, and for the most part only these two pathetic
lines:-
"Chi rende alla meschina
La sua felicità ? "
- -
Sometimes she sang the Litanies; and her companions accom-
panied her, but I could always distinguish the voice of Maddalena
amidst all the power of louder and rougher voices. Her compan-
ions called her Maddalena, and related their troubles to her, and
she pitied them and sighed and said, "Take courage, my dear:
the Lord never forsakes any one. "
What could prevent me from imagining her beautiful, and
more unfortunate than culpable; born for virtue, and capable of
returning to it if she had swerved from it? Who could blame
me if I were affected by the sound of her voice? if I listened
to her with respectful interest, if I prayed for her with peculiar
fervor? Who will restore to the wretched (female) her happi-
ness?
Innocence is to be honored; but how much is repentance to
be honored also! Did the best of men, the God-man, disdain
to cast his compassionate looks upon sinful women, to regard
their confusion, and to associate them with the souls whom he
most honored? Why then should we so much despise a woman
who has fallen into ignominy? I was a hundred times tempted
to raise my voice and make a declaration of fraternal love to
Maddalena. Once I began the first syllable of her name:
"Mad-! " My heart beat as if I were a boy of fifteen in love.
I could go no further. I began again: "Mad-! Mad-! " but
it was useless. I felt myself ridiculous, and exclaimed angrily,


## p. 11269 (#489) ##########################################

SILVIO PELLICO
11269
"Matto! * and not Mad! " Thus ended my romance with this
poor woman.
Mayst thou, O unknown sinner, not have been condemned
to a heavy punishment! Or, to whatever punishment thou hast
been condemned, mayst thou profit by it, to recover thy worth
and live and die dear to the Lord! Mayst thou be compassion-
ated and respected by all who know thee, as thou hast been by
me, who know thee not! Mayst thou inspire in every one who
sees thee patience, gentleness, the desire of virtue and trust in
God, as thou hast in him who loves thee without having seen
thee! My fancy may err when it paints thee beautiful in body,
but I cannot doubt the beauty of thy soul. Thy companions
spoke with coarseness, thou with modesty and courtesy; they
blasphemed and thou didst bless God; they quarreled and thou
wert the composer of their strife. If any one has taken thee by
the hand to withdraw thee from the career of dishonor; if he
has conferred benefits on thee with delicacy; if he has dried thy
tears, may all blessings be showered upon him, upon his children
and his children's children!
Two VISITS FROM HIS FATHER
THE notary who had examined me came one morning and
announced to me with an air of mystery a visit which would
give me pleasure; and when he thought he had sufficiently pre-
pared me for it, he said, "In short, it is your father: follow me,
if you please. "
I followed him below into the public offices, agitated with
pleasure and tenderness, forcing myself to appear with a serene
aspect, which might tranquillize my poor father. When he heard
of my arrest, he hoped it was upon some unfounded suspicion,
and that I should soon be released. But finding that my deten-
tion continued, he had come to solicit my liberation of the Aus-
trian government. Sad illusion of paternal love! He could not
believe that I had been so rash as to expose myself to the rigor
of the laws; and the studied cheerfulness with which I spoke to
him persuaded him that I had no misfortune to apprehend.
In the circumstances in which Italy then was, I felt certain
that Austria would give some extraordinary examples of rigor,
* Insane.


## p. 11270 (#490) ##########################################

SILVIO PELLICO
11270
and that I should be condemned to death, or to many years
of imprisonment. To hide this belief from a father! to flatter
him with the hope of my speedy liberation! to restrain my fears
when I embraced him, when I spoke to him of my mother, of
my brothers and my sisters, whom I thought never to behold
again upon earth! to beg him with an unfaltering voice to come
and see me again, if he were able! Nothing ever cost me so
much effort.
He went away greatly comforted, and I returned to my cell
with a tortured heart. I broke out into sobs, yet could not shed
a tear. A burning fever attacked me, accompanied by a violent
headache. I swallowed not even a spoonful of soup the whole
day. "Would this were a mortal illness," I said: "that would
shorten my sufferings. "
Two days afterward my father returned. I had slept well
during the night, and was free from fever.
I resumed my easy
and cheerful deportment, and no one suspected what my heart
had suffered and was yet to suffer. "I trust," said my father,
"that in a few days you will be sent to Turin. We have already
prepared your room, and shall expect you with great anxiety.
My official duties oblige me to return. Endeavor, I pray you, to
join me soon. ”
My heart was torn by his tender and melancholy expressions
of affection. It seemed to me that filial piety required dissimu-
lation, yet I dissembled with a kind of remorse. Would it not
have been more worthy of my father and of myself if I had said
to him: Probably we shall see each other no more in this world!
Let us part like men, without murmuring, without tears; and let
me hear a father's blessing pronounced on my head! "
This language would have been a thousand times more agree-
able to me than disguise. But I looked upon the eyes of that
venerable old man, his features and his gray hairs, and he did
not appear to me to have the strength to hear me speak thus.
And what if, through my unwillingness to deceive him, I had
seen him abandon himself to despair, perhaps fall into a swoon,
perhaps (horrible idea! ) be struck with death in my arms!
could neither tell him the truth nor suffer him to perceive it.
We parted without tears. I returned to my cell tortured as
before, or more fiercely still.


## p. 11271 (#491) ##########################################

SILVIO PELLICO
11271
HIS SUFFERINGS FROM HEAT AND GNATS IN THE PIOMBI
THE winter had been mild; and after some windy weather in
March, the hot season came on. The heat of the air in the den
that I inhabited is indescribable. It faced directly south under
a leaden roof, and with the window opening on the roof of St.
Mark's, also of lead, the reflection from which was tremendous.
I was suffocated. In addition to this suffering, there was such
a multitude of gnats that however I labored to destroy them, I
was covered with them; the bed, the table, the chair, the floor,
the walls, the ceiling,- everything was covered with them; and
the surrounding air contained an infinite number, always going
and coming through the window, and making an infernal buzz-
ing. The stings of these creatures are painful; and being
pierced by them from morning till night, and from night till
morning, with the everlasting vexation of striving to diminish
their number, I suffered frightfully both in body and mind: and
when I was unable to obtain a change of my prison, the thought
of suicide entered my mind, and at times I feared I should be-
come mad.
THE ROMANCE WITH ZANZE
I HAD begged that la Siora Zanze would make my coffee.
This was the daughter of the jailer, who, if she could do it with-
out the knowledge of her mother, made it very strong. More
than once it happened that the coffee was not made by the com-
passionate Zanze, and it was wretched stuff. One day when I
reproved her harshly, as if she had deceived me, the poor girl
wept and said to me:-
"Signore, I have never deceived anybody; and yet every one
calls me a deceiver. "
"Every one? Oh! then I am not the only one who is angry
about this wretched coffee? "
"I do not mean that, signore. Ah, if you only knew! - if I
could pour out my wretched heart into yours! "
"But do not weep so! I ask your pardon. I believe it is
not your fault that I had such bad coffee. "
"I do not weep for that, signore. "
"The cause is something different, then? "
"Yes, truly. "


## p.