No More Learning



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AGATHIAS
(536-581)
EGATHIAS tells us, in his Proæmium,' that he was born at
Myrina, Asia Minor, that his father's name was Memnonius,
and his own profession the law of the Romans and practice
in courts of justice. He was born about A. D. 536, and was educated
at Alexandria. In Constantinople he studied and practiced his pro-
fession, and won his surname of “Scholasticus,” a title then given to a
lawyer. He died, it is believed, at the age of forty-four or forty-five.
He was a Christian, as he testifies in his epigrams. In the sketch
of his life prefixed to his works, Niebuhr collates the friendships he
himself mentions, with his fellow-poet Paulus Silentiarius, with Theo-
dorus the decemvir, and Macedonius the ex-consul. To these men
he dedicated some of his writings.
Of his works, he says in his Proæmium that he wrote in his
youth the Daphniaca,' a volume of short poems in hexameters, set
off with love-tales. His Anthology,' or 'Cyclus,' was a collection of
poems of early writers, and also compositions of his friend Paulus
Silentiarius and others of his time. A number of his epigrams, pre-
served because they were written before or after his publication of
the Cyclus,' have come down to us and are contained in the "An-
thologia Græca. ' His principal work is his Historia,' which is an
account of the conquest of Italy by Narses, of the first war between
the Greeks and Franks, of the great earthquakes and plagues, of the
war between the Greeks and Persians, and the deeds of Belisarius in
his contest with the Huns, — of all that was happening in the world
Agathias knew between 553 and 558 A. D. , while he was a young
man. He tells, for instance, of the rebuilding of the great Church of
St. Sophia by Justinian, and he adds:- “If any one who happens to
live in some place remote from the city wishes to get a clear notion
of every part, as though he were there, let him read what Paulus
(Silentiarius) has composed in hexameter verse. ”
The history of Agathias is valuable as a chronicle. It shows that
the writer had little knowledge of geography, and was not enough of
a philosopher to look behind events and trace the causes from which
they proceeded. He is merely a simple and honest writer, and his
history is a business-like entry of facts. He dwells upon himself and
his wishes with a minuteness that might seem self-conscious, but is
really naif; and goes so far in his outspokenness as to say that if
for the sake of a livelihood he took up another profession, his taste
would have led him to devote himself to the Muses and Graces.


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GRACE AGUILAR
He wrote in the Ionic dialect of his time. The best edition of his
(Historia” is that of Niebuhr (1828). Those of his epigrams pre-
served in the Greek anthology have not infrequently been turned
into English; the happiest translation of all is that of Dryden, in his
(Life of Plutarch. '
ON PLUTARCH
C
HERONEAN Plutarch, to thy deathless praise
Does martial Rome this grateful statue raise;
Because both Greece and she thy fame have shar'd
(Their heroes written, and their lives compar'd);
But thou thyself could'st never write thy own:
Their lives have parallels, but thine has none.
GRACE AGUILAR
(1816-1847)
FI
IFTY years ago a Jewish writer of English fiction was a new
and interesting figure in English literature. Disraeli, indeed,
had flashed into the literary world with “Coningsby,' that
eloquent vindication of the Jewish race. His grandiose (Tancred'
had revealed to an astonished public the strange life of the Desert,
of the mysterious vastness whence swept forth the tribes who became
the Moors of Spain and the Jews of Palestine. Disraeli, however,
stood in no category, and established no precedent. But when Miss
Aguilar's stories began to appear, they were
eagerly welcomed by a public with whom
she had already won reputation and favor
as the defender and interpreter of her faith.
The youngest child of a rich and refined
household, Grace Aguilar was born in 1816
at Hackney, near London, of that historic
strain of Spanish-Jewish blood which for
generations had produced not only beauty
and artistic sensibility, but intellect. Her
ancestors were refugees from persecution,
and in her burned that ardor of faith which
GRACE AGUILAR
persecution kindles. Fragile and sensitive,
she was educated at home, by her cultivated
father and mother, under whose solicitous training she developed an
alarming precocity. At the age of twelve she had written a heroic

a


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225
drama on her favorite hero, Gustavus Vasa. At fourteen she had
published a volume of poems. At twenty-four she accomplished her
chief work on the Jewish religion, The Spirit of Judaism,' a book
republished in America with preface and notes by a well-known
rabbi, Dr. Isaac Leeser of Philadelphia. Although the orthodox priest
found much in the book to criticize, he was forced to commend its
ability. It insists on the importance of the spiritual and moral
aspects of the faith delivered to Abraham, and deprecates a super-
stitious reverence for the mere letter of the law. It presents Judaism
as a religion of love, and the Old Testament as the inspiration of the
teachings of Jesus. Written more than half a century ago, the book
is widely read to-day by students of the Jewish religion.
Four years later Miss Aguilar published “The Jewish Faith: Its
Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance, and Immortal Hope,' and 'The
Women of Israel,' a series of essays on Biblical history, which was
followed by Essays and Miscellanies. ' So great was the influence of
her writings that the Jewesses of London gave her a public testi-
monial, and addressed her as “the first woman who had stood forth
as the public advocate of the faith of Israel. ” While on her way to
visit a brother then residing at Schwalbach, Germany, she was taken
ill at Frankfurt, and died there, at the early age of thirty-one.
The earliest and the best known of Miss Aguilar's novels is
Home Influence, which rapidly passed through thirty editions, and
is still a favorite book with young girls. There is little incident in
the story, which is the history of the development of character in a
household of six or seven young persons of very different endow-
ments and tendencies. It was the fashion of the day to be didactic,
and Mrs. Hamilton, from whom the home influence » radiates, seems
to the modern reader somewhat inclined to preach, in season and out
of season. But the story is interesting, and the characters are dis-
tinctly individualized, while at least one episode is dramatically
treated.
( The Mother's Recompense is a sequel to Home Influence,'
wherein the further fortunes of the Hamilton family are so set forth
that the wordly-minded reader is driven to the inference that the
brilliant marriages of her children are a sensible part of Mrs. Hamil-
ton's recompense. The story is vividly and agreeably told.
Of a different order is 'The Days of Bruce,' a historic romance of
the late thirteenth century, which is less historic than romantic, and
in whose mirror the rugged chieftain would hardly recognize his
angularities.
'The Vale of Cedars) is a historic tale of the persecution of the
Jews in Spain under the Inquisition. It is told with intense feeling,
with much imagination, and with a strong love of local color. It is
1--15


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GRACE AGUILAR
said that family traditions are woven into the story. This book, as
well as Home Influence,' had a wide popularity in a German version.
In reading Grace Aguilar it is not easy to believe her the contem-
porary of Currer Bell and George Eliot. Both her manner and her
method are earlier. Her lengthy and artificial periods, the rounded
and decorative sentences that she puts into the mouths of her charac-
ters under the extremest pressure of emotion or suffering, the italics,
the sentimentalities, are of another age than the sinewy English and
hard sense of 'Jane Eyre' or 'Adam Bede. ' Doubtless her peculiar,
sheltered training, her delicate health, and a luxuriant imagination
that had seldom been measured against the realities of life, account
for the old-fashioned air of her work. But however antiquated their
form may become, the substance of all her tales is sweet and sound,
their charm for young girls is abiding, their atmosphere is pure, and
the spirit that inspires them is touched only to fine issues.
The citation from "The Days of Bruce' illustrates her narrative
style; that from Woman's Friendship’ her habit of disquisition; and
the passage from Home Influence) her rendering of conversation.
THE GREATNESS OF FRIENDSHIP
I"
From "Woman's Friendship
is the fashion to deride woman's influence over woman, to
laugh at female friendship, to look with scorn on all those
who profess it; but perhaps the world at large little knows
the effect of this influence,-how often the unformed character of
a young, timid, and gentle girl may be influenced for good or evil
by the power of an intimate female friend. There is always to
me a doubt of the warmth, the strength, and purity of her feel-
ings, when a young girl merges into womanhood, passing over
the threshold of actual life, seeking only the admiration of the
other sex; watching, pining, for a husband, or lovers, perhaps,
and looking down on all female friendship as romance and folly.
No young spirit was ever yet satisfied with the love of nature.
Friendship, or love, gratifies self-love; for it tacitly acknowl-
edges that we must possess some good qualities to attract beyond
the mere love of nature. Coleridge justly observes, that it is
well ordered that the amiable and estimable should have a fainter
perception of their own qualities than their friends have, other-
wise they would love themselves. ” Now, friendship, or love, per-
mits their doing this unconsciously: mutual affection is a 'tacit


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227
-
avowal and appreciation of mutual good. qualities,- perhaps
friendship yet more than love, for the latter is far more an aspi-
ration, a passion, than the former, and influences the permanent
character much less. Under the magic of love a girl is generally
in a feverish state of excitement, often in a wrong position,
deeming herself the goddess, her lover the adorer; whereas it
is her will that must bend to his, herself be abnegated for him.
Friendship neither permits the former nor demands the latter. It
influences silently, often unconsciously; perhaps its power is never
known till years afterwards. A girl who stands alone, without
acting or feeling friendship, is generally a cold unamiable being,
so wrapt in self as to have no room for any person else, except
perhaps a lover, whom she only seeks and values as offering
his devotion to that same idol, self. Female friendship may be
abused, may be but a name for gossip, letter-writing, romance,
nay worse, for absolute evil: but that Shakespeare, the mighty
wizard of human hearts, thought highly and beautifully of female
friendship, we have his exquisite portraits of Rosalind and Celia,
Helen and the Countess, undeniably to prove; and if he, who
could portray every human passion, every subtle feeling of
humanity, from the whelming tempest of love to the fiendish
influences of envy and jealousy and hate; from the incompre-
hensible mystery of Hamlet's wondrous spirit, to the simplicity
of the gentle Miranda, the dove-like innocence of Ophelia, who
could be crushed by her weight of love, but not reveal it; - if
Shakespeare scorned not to picture the sweet influences of female
friendship, shall women pass by it as a theme too tame, too idle
for their pens?
THE ORDER OF KNIGHTHOOD
From "The Days of Bruce)
A
RIGHT noble and glorious scene did the great hall of the pal-
ace present the morning which followed this eventful night.
The king, surrounded by his highest prelates and nobles,
iningling indiscriminately with the high-born dames and maidens
of his court, all splendidly attired, occupied the upper part of the
hall, the rest of which was crowded by both his military fol-
lowers and many of the good citizens of Scone, who flocked in
great numbers to behold the august ceremony of the day. Two
immense oaken doors at the south side of the hall were flung


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GRACE AGUILAR
open, and through them was discerned the large space forming
the palace yard, prepared as a tilting-ground, where the new-
made knights were to prove their skill. The storm had given
place to a soft, breezy morning, the cool freshness of which
appeared peculiarly grateful from the oppressiveness of the night;
light downy clouds sailed over the blue expanse of heaven, tem-
pering without clouding the brilliant rays of the sun. Every
face was clothed with smiles, and the loud shouts which hailed
the youthful candidates for knighthood, as they severally entered,
told well the feeling with which the patriots of Scotland were
regarded.
Some twenty youths received the envied honor at the hand
of their sovereign this day; but our limits forbid a minute
scrutiny of the bearing of any, however well deserving, save of
the two whose vigils have already detained us so long. A yet
longer and louder shout proclaimed the appearance of the
youngest scion of the house of Bruce and his companion. The
daring patriotism of Isabella of Buchan had enshrined her in
every heart, and so disposed all men towards her children that
the name of their traitorous father was forgotten.
Led by their godfathers, Nigel by his brother-in-law Sir
Christopher Seaton, and Alan by the Earl of Lennox, their
swords, which had been blessed by the abbot at the altar, slung
round their necks, they advanced up the hall. There was a
glow on the cheek of the young Alan, in which pride and
modesty were mingled; his step at first was unsteady and his
lip was seen to quiver from very bashfulness, as he first glanced
round the hall and felt that every eye was turned toward him;
but when that glance met his mother's fixed on him, and breath-
ing that might of love that filled her heart, all boyish tremors
fled, the calm, staid resolve of manhood took the place of the
varying glow upon his cheek, the quivering lip became com-
pressed and firm, and his step faltered not again.
The cheek of Nigel Bruce was pale, but there was firmness
in the glance of his bright eye, and a smile unclouded in its
joyance on his lip. The frivolous lightness of the courtier, the
mad bravado of knight-errantry, which was not uncommon to
the times, indeed, were not there. It was the quiet courage of
the resolved warrior, the calm of a spirit at peace with itself,
shedding its own high feeling and poetic glory over all around
him.


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229
On reaching the foot of King Robert's throne, both youths
knelt and laid their sheathed swords at his feet. Their armor-
bearers then approached, and the ceremony of clothing the can-
didates in steel commenced; the golden spur was fastened on the
left foot of each by his respective godfather, while Athol, Hay,
and other nobles advanced to do honor to the youths, by aiding
in the ceremony.
Nor was it warriors alone.
"Is this permitted, lady ? ” demanded the king, smiling, as
the Countess of Buchan approached the martial group, and,
aided by Lennox, fastened the polished cuirass on the form of
her son. «Is it permitted for a matron to arm a youthful
knight? Is there no maiden to do such inspiring office ? "
“Yes, when the knight is one like this, my liege,” she
answered, in the same tone. « Let a matron arm him, good my
liege,” she added, sadly: “let a mother's hand enwrap his boyish
limbs in steel, a mother's blessing mark him thine and Scot-
land's, that those who watch his bearing in the battle-field may
know who sent him there, may thrill his heart with memories
of her who stands alone of her ancestral line, that though he
bears the name of Comyn, the blood of Fife flows reddest in his
veins! »
“Arm him and welcome, noble lady,” answered the king, and
a buzz of approbation ran through the hall; "and may thy noble
spirit and dauntless loyalty inspire him: we shall not need a
trusty follower while such as he are around us. Yet, in very
deed, my youthful knight must have a lady fair for whom he
tilts to-day. Come hither, Isoline, thou lookest verily inclined
to envy thy sweet friend her office, and nothing loth to have a
loyal knight thyself. Come, come, my pretty one, no blushing
now. Lennox, guide those tiny hands aright. ”
Laughing and blushing, Isoline, the daughter of Lady Camp-
bell, a sister of the Bruce, a graceful child of some thirteen
summers, advanced nothing loth, to obey her royal uncle's sum-
mons; and an arch smile of real enjoyment irresistibly stole over
the countenance of Alan, dispersing the emotion his mother's
words produced.
Nay, tremble not, sweet one,” the king continued, in a
, lower and yet kinder tone, as he turned from the one youth to
the other, and observed that Agnes, overpowered by emotion,
had scarcely power to perform her part, despite the whispered
words of encouraging affection Nigel murmured in her ear. One


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by one the cuirass and shoulder-pieces, the greaves and gaunt-
lets, the gorget and brassards, the joints of which were so beau-
tifully burnished that they shone as mirrors, and so flexible that
every limb had its free use, enveloped those manly forms. Their
swords once again girt to their sides, and once more kneeling,
the king descended from his throne, alternately dubbing them
knight in the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George.
THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE
From Home Influence)
MK
RS. HAMILTON was seated at one of the tables on the dais
nearest the oriel window, the light from which fell on her,
giving her figure— though she was seated naturally enough
in one of the large maroon-velvet oaken chairs an unusual
effect of dignity and command, and impressing the terrified
beholder with such a sensation of awe that had her life depended
on it, she could not for that one minute have gone forward; and
even when desired to do so by the words “I desired your pres-
ence, Ellen, because I wished to speak to you: come here with-
out any more delay," — how she walked the whole length of that
interminable room, and stood facing her aunt, she never knew.
Mrs. Hamilton for a full minute did not speak, but she fixed
that searching look, to which we have once before alluded, upon
Ellen's face; and then said, in a tone which, though very low
and calm, expressed as much as that earnest look:
Ellen! is it necessary for me to tell you why you are here -
necessary to produce the proof that my words are right, and that
you have been influenced by the fearful effects of some uncon-
fessed and most heinous sin ? Little did I dream its nature. ”
For a moment Ellen stood as turned to stone, as white and
rigid — the next she had sunk down with a wild, bitter cry, at
Mrs. Hamilton's feet, and buried her face in her hands.
“Is it true — can it be true— that you, offspring of my own
sister; dear to me, cherished by me as my own child
been the guilty one to appropriate, and conceal the appropriation
of money, which has been a source of distress by its loss, and
the suspicion thence proceeding, for the last seven weeks ? — that
you could listen to your uncle's words, absolving his whole
household as incapable of a deed which was actual theft, and
yet, by neither word nor sign, betray remorse or guilt ? — could
ac
-you have


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231
behold the innocent suffering, the fearful misery of suspicion,
loss of character, without the power of clearing himself, and
stand calmly, heedlessly by --- only proving by your hardened
and rebellious temper that all was not right within — Ellen, can
this be true ? ”
« Yes! ” was the reply, but with such a fearful effort that her
slight frame shook as with an ague: “thank God that it is known!
I dared not bring down the punishment on myself; but I can bear
it. ”
« This is mere mockery, Ellen: how dare I believe even this
poor evidence of repentance, with the recollection of your past
conduct ? What were the notes you found ? "
Ellen named them.
“Where are they? - This is but one, and the smallest. ”
Ellen's answer was scarcely audible.
« Used them — and for what ? »
There was no answer; neither then nor when Mrs. Hamilton
sternly reiterated the question. She then demanded :-
"How long have they been in your possession ? "
“Five or six weeks; » but the reply was so tremulous it car-
ried no conviction with it.
«Since Robert told his story to your uncle, or before ? ”
« Before. ”
« Then your last answer was a falsehood, Ellen: it is full seven
weeks since my husband addressed the household on the subject.
You could not have so miscounted time, with such a deed to date
by. Where did you find them ? ”
Ellen described the spot.
« And what business had you there? You know that neither
you nor your cousins are ever allowed to go that way to Mrs.
Langford's cottage, and more especially alone. If you wanted to
see her, why did you not go the usual way? And when was
this ? - you must remember the exact day. Your memory is not
in general so treacherous. ”
Again Ellen was silent.
« Have you forgotten it? ”
She crouched lower at her aunt's feet, but the answer was
audible — "No. "
« Then answer me, Ellen, this moment, and distinctly: for
what purpose were you seeking Mrs. Langford's cottage by that
forbidden path, and when ? ”


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“I wanted money, and I went to ask her to take my trinkets
- my watch, if it must be — and dispose of them as I had read of
others doing, as miserable as I was; and the wind blew the notes
to my very hand, and I used them. I was mad then; I have
been mad since, I believe: but I would have returned the whole
amount to Robert if I could have but parted with my trinkets
in time. ”
To describe the tone of utter despair, the recklessness as to
the effect her words would produce, is impossible. Every word
increased Mrs. Hamilton's bewilderment and misery. To suppose
that Ellen did not feel was folly. It was the very depth of
wretchedness which was crushing her to earth, but every answered
and unanswered question but deepened the mystery, and rendered
her judge's task more difficult.
“And when was this, Ellen ? I will have no more evasion —
tell me the exact day. ”
But she asked in vain. Ellen remained moveless and silent as
the dead.
After several minutes Mrs. Hamilton removed her hands from
her face, and compelling her to lift up her head, gazed search-
ingly on her death-like countenance for some moments in utter
silence, and then said, in a tone that Ellen never in her life
forgot:-
“You cannot imagine, Ellen, that this half confession will
either satisfy me, or in the smallest degree redeem your sin.
One, and one only path is open to you; for all that you have
said and left unsaid but deepens your apparent guilt, and so
blackens your conduct, that I can scarcely believe I am address-
ing the child I so loved and could still so love, if but one real
sign be given of remorse and penitence—one hope of returning
truth. But that sign, that hope, can only be a full confession.
Terrible as is the guilt of appropriating so large a sum, granted
it came by the merest chance into your hand; dark as is the addi-
tional sin of concealment when an innocent person was suffer-
ing - something still darker, more terrible, must be concealed
behind it, or you would not, could not, continue thus obdurately
silent. I can believe that under some heavy pressure of misery,
some strong excitement, the sum might have been used without
thought, and that fear might have prevented the confession of
anything so dreadful; but what was this heavy necessity for
money, this strong excitement? What fearful and mysterious


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233
difficulties have you been led into to call for either ? Tell me
the truth, Ellen, the whole truth; let me have some hope of sav.
ing you and myself the misery of publicly declaring you the
guilty one, and so proving Robert's innocence. Tell me what
difficulty, what misery so maddened you, as to demand the dis-
posal of your trinkets. If there be the least excuse, the smallest
possibility of your obtaining in time forgiveness, I will grant it.
I will not believe you so utterly fallen. I will do all I can to
remove error, and yet to prevent suffering; but to win this, I
must have a full confession - every question that I put to you
must be clearly and satisfactorily answered, and so bring back the
only comfort to yourself, and hope to me. Will you do this,
Ellen ? »
"Oh that I could ! ” was the reply in such bitter anguish, Mrs.
Hamilton actually shuddered. “But I cannot — must not — dare
not. Aunt Emmeline, hate me; condemn me to the severest,
sharpest suffering; I wish for it, pine for it: you cannot loathe
me more than I do myself, but do not- do not speak to me in
these kind tones - I cannot bear them. It was because I knew
what a wretch I am, that I have so shunned you. I was not
worthy to be with you; oh, sentence me at once! I dare not
answer as you wish. ”
“Dare not! ” repeated Mrs. Hamilton, more and more bewil-
dered; and to conceal the emotion Ellen's wild words and ago-
nized manner had produced, adopting a greater sternness.
“You dare commit a sin, from which the lowest of my house-
hold would shrink in horror, and yet tell me you dare not make
the only atonement, give me the only proof of real penitence I
demand. This is a weak and wicked subterfuge, Ellen, and will
not pass with me.
There can be no reason for this fearful obdu-
racy, not even the consciousness of greater guilt, for I promise
forgiveness, if it be possible, on the sole condition of a full confess-
ion. Once more, will you speak? Your hardihood will be utterly
useless, for you cannot hope to conquer me; and if you permit
me to leave you with your conduct still clothed in this impene-
trable mystery, you will compel me to adopt measures to subdue
that defying spirit, which will expose you and myself to intense
suffering, but which must force submission at last. ”
“ You cannot inflict more than I have endured the last seven
weeks,” murmured Ellen, almost inarticulately. "I have borne
that; I can bear the rest. "


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« Then you will not answer? You are resolved not to tell me
the day on which you found that money, the use to which it was
applied, the reason of your choosing that forbidden path, permit-
ting me to believe you guilty of heavier sins than may be the
case in reality. Listen to me, Ellen; it is more than time this
interview should cease; but I will give you one chance more. It
is now half-past seven,”- she took the watch from her neck, and
laid it on the table -"I will remain here one-half hour longer:
by that time this sinful temper may have passed away, and you
will consent to give me the confession I demand. I cannot
believe you so altered in two months as to choose obduracy and
misery, when pardon, and in time confidence and love, are
offered in their stead. Get up from that crouching posture; it
can be but mock humility, and so only aggravates your sin. ”
Ellen rose slowly and painfully, and seating herself at the
table some distance from her aunt, leaned her arms upon it, and
buried her face within n. Never before and never after did
half an hour appear so interminable to either Mrs. Hamilton or
Ellen. It was well for the firmness of the former, perhaps, that
she could not read the heart of that young girl, even if the cause
of its anguish had been still concealed. Again and again did the
wild longing, turning her actually faint and sick with its agony,
come over her to reveal the whole, to ask but rest and mercy
for herself, pardon and security for Edward: but then, clear as if
held before her in letters of fire, she read every word of her
brother's desperate letter, particularly Breathe it to my uncle or
aunt for if she knows it he will — and you will never see me
Her mother, pallid as death, seemed to stand before
her, freezing confession on her heart and lips, looking at her
threateningly, as she had so often seen her, as if the very
thought were guilt. The rapidly advancing twilight, the large
and lonely room, all added to that fearful illusion; and if Ellen
did succeed in praying it was with desperate fervor for strength
not to betray her brother. If ever there were a martyr spirit,
it was enshrined in that young, frail form.
"Aunt Emmeline, Aunt Emmeline, speak to me but one
word — only one
word of kindness before you go.
I do not
ask for mercy — there can be none for such a wretch as I am;
I will bear without one complaint, one murmur, all you may
inflict—you cannot be too severe. Nothing can be such agony as
the utter loss of your affection; I thought, the last two months,
>>
more.


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
235
(C
that I feared you so much that it was all fear, no love: but now,
now that you know my sin, it has all, all come back to make me
still more wretched. ” And before Mrs. Hamilton could prevent,
or was in the least aware of her intention, Ellen had obtained
possession of one of her hands, and was covering it with kisses,
while her whole frame shook with those convulsed, but completely
tearless sobs.
“Will you confess, Ellen, if I stay? Will you give me the
proof that it is such agony to lose my affection, that you do love
me as you profess, and that it is only one sin which has so
changed you? One word, and, tardy as it is, I will listen, and it
I can, forgive. ”
Ellen made no answer, and Mrs. Hamilton's newly raised hopes
vanished; she waited full two or three minutes, then gently dis-
engaged her hand and dress from Ellen's still convulsive grasp;
the door closed, with a sullen, seemingly unwilling sound, and
Ellen was alone. She remained in the same posture, the same
spot, till a vague, cold terror so took possession of her, that the
room seemed filled with ghostly shapes, and all the articles of fur-
niture suddenly transformed to things of life; and springing up,
with the wild, Aleet step of fear, she paused not till she found
herself in her own room, where, Ainging herself on her bed, she
buried her face on her pillow, to shut out every object-oh, how
she longed to shut out thought!
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
(1805-1882)
N THE year 1881, at a commemorative dinner given to her
native novelist by the city of Manchester, it was announced
that the public library contained two hundred and fifty
volumes of his works, which passed through seven thousand six
hundred and sixty hands annually, so that his stories were read at
the rate of twenty volumes a day throughout the year.
ceptional prophet, who was thus not without honor in his own country,
was the son of a prosperous attorney, and was himself destined to
the bar. But he detested the law and he loved letters, and before he
was twenty he had helped to edit a paper, had written essays, a story,
and a play,-- none of which, fortunately for him, survive,--and had
This ex-


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236
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
gone to London, ostensibly to read in a lawyer's office, and really to
spin his web of fiction whenever opportunity offered. Chance con-
nected the fortunes of young Ainsworth with periodical literature,
where most of his early work appeared. His first important tale was
(Rookwood,' published in 1834. This describes the fortunes of a
family of Yorkshire gentry in the last century; but its real interest
lies in an episode which includes certain experiences of the noto-
rious highwayman, Dick Turpin, and his furious ride to outrun the
hue and cry.
Sporting England was enraptured with the dash and
breathlessness of this adventure, and the novelist's fame was estab-
lished.
His second romance, “Crichton,' appeared in 1836. The hero
of this tale is the brilliant Scottish gentleman whose handsome
person, extraordinary scholarship, great
accomplishments, courage, eloquence, sub-
tlety, and achievement gained him the
sobriquet of “The Admirable. ” The chief
scenes are laid in Paris at the time of
Catherine de' Medici's rule and Henry
III. 's reign, when the air was full of in-
trigue and conspiracy, and when religious
quarrels were not more bitter and danger-
ous than political wrangles. The inscru-
table king, the devout Queen Louise of
Lorraine, the scheming queen-mother, and
Marguerite of Valois, half saint, half prof-
W. Harrison Ainsworth ligate, a pearl of beauty and grace; Henry
of Navarre, ready to buy his Paris with
sword or mass; well-known great nobles, priests, astrologers, learned
doctors, foreign potentates, ambassadors, pilgrims, and poisoners, –
pass before the reader's eye. The pictures of student life, at a time
when all the world swarmed to the great schools of Paris, serve to
explain the hero and the period.
When, in 1839, Dickens resigned the editorship of Bentley's Mis-
cellany, Ainsworth succeeded him. «The new whip,” wrote the old
one afterward, “having mounted the box, drove straight to Newgate.
He there took in Jack Sheppard, and Cruikshank the artist; and
aided by that very vulgar but very wonderful draughtsman, he made
an effective story of the burglar's and housebreaker's life. ” Every-
body read the story, and most persons cried out against so ignoble a
hero, so mean a history, and so misdirected a literary energy. The
author himself seems not to have been proud of the success which
sold thousands of copies of an unworthy book, and placed a dramatic
version of its vulgar adventures on the stage of eight theatres at



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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
237
once. He turned his back on this profitable field to produce, in rapid
succession, (Guy Fawkes,' a tale of the famous Gunpowder Plot;
(The Tower of London,' a story of the Princess Elizabeth, the reign
of Queen Mary, and the melancholy episode of Lady Jane Grey's
brief glory; Old Saint Paul,' a story of the time of Charles II. ,
which contains the history of the Plague and of the Great Fire;
(The Miser's Daughter'; Windsor Castle,' whose chief characters
are Katharine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Cardinal Wolsey, and Henry
the Eighth; 'St. James,' a tale of the court of Queen Anne; “The
Lancashire Witches); The Star-Chamber,' a historical story of the
time of Charles I. ; (The Constable of the Tower; "The Lord Mayor
of London’; (Cardinal Pole,' which deals with the court and times of
Philip and Mary; John Law,' a story of the great Mississippi Bub-
ble; ‘Tower Hill, whose heroine is the luckless Catharine Howard;
(The Spanish Match,' a story of the romantic pilgrimage of Prince
Charles and “Steenie” Buckingham to Spain for the fruitless wooing
of the Spanish Princess; and at least ten other romances, many of
them in three volumes, all appearing between 1840 and 1873. Two
of these were published simultaneously, in serial form; and no year
passed without its book, to the end of the novelist's long life.
Whatever the twentieth century may say to Ainsworth's historic
romances, many of them have found high favor in the past. Con-
cerning “Crichton,' so good a critic as “Father Prout) wrote:-
«Indeed, I scarcely know any of the so-called historical novels of this
frivolous generation which has altogether so graphically reproduced
the spirit and character of the time as this daring and dashing por-
traiture of the young Scot and his contemporaries. ” The author of
"Waverley' praised more than one of the romances, saying that they
were written in his own vein. Even Maginn, the satirical, thought
that the novelist was doing excellent service to history in making
Englishmen understand how full of comedy and tragedy were the old
streets and the old buildings of London. And if Ainsworth the
writer received some buffetings, Ainsworth the man seems to have
been universally loved and approved. All the literary men of his
time were his cordial friends. Scott wrote for him “The Bonnets
of Bonnie Dundee,' and objected to being paid. Dickens was eager
to serve him. Talfourd, Barham, Hood, Howitt, James, Jerrold,
delighted in his society. At dinner-parties and in country-houses he
was a favorite guest. Thus, easy in circumstances, surrounded by
affection, happy in the labor of his choice, passed the long life of
the upright and kindly English gentleman who spent fifty industrious
years in recording the annals of tragedy, wretchedness, and crime.


## p. 238 (#268) ############################################

238
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
THE STUDENTS OF PARIS
From Crichton)
Tow
TOWARD the close of Wednesday, the 4th of February, 1579, a
vast assemblage of scholars was collected before the Gothic
gateway of the ancient College of Navarre. So numerous
was this concourse, that it not merely blocked up the area in
front of the renowned seminary in question,' but extended far
down the Rue de la Montagne Sainte-Généviève, in which it is
situated. Never had such a disorderly rout been brought together
since the days of the uproar in 1557, when the predecessors of
these turbulent students took up arms, marched in a body to the
Pré-aux-Clercs, set fire to three houses in the vicinity, and slew
a sergeant of the guard, who vainly endeavored to restrain their
fury. Their last election of a rector, Messire Adrien d'Amboise,
- pater eruditionum, as he is described in his epitaph, when the
same body congregated within the cloisters of the Mathurins, and
thence proceeded, in tumultuous array, to the church of Saint
Louis, in the isle of the same name, — had been nothing to it.
Every scholastic hive sent forth its drones. Sorbonne, and Mon-
taigu, Cluny, Harcourt, the Four Nations, and a host of minor
establishments -- in all, amounting to forty-two — each added its
swarms; and a pretty buzzing they created! The fair of Saint-
Germain had only commenced the day before; but though its
festivities were to continue until Palm Sunday, and though it was
the constant resort of the scholars, who committed, during their
days of carnival, ten thousand excesses, it was now absolutely
deserted.
The Pomme-de-Pin, the Castel, the Magdaleine, and the Mule,
those “capital caverns,” celebrated in Pantagruel's conference with
the Limosin student, which has conferred upon them an immor-
tality like that of our own hostel, the Mermaid, were wholly
neglected; the dice-box was laid aside for the nonce; and the
well-used cards were thrust into the doublets of these thirsty
tipplers of the schools.
But not alone did the crowd consist of the brawler, the
gambler, the bully, and the debauchee, though these, it must be
confessed, predominated. It was a grand medley of all sects and
classes. The modest demeanor of the retiring, pale-browed stu-
dent was contrasted with the ferocious aspect and reckless bearing


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
239
were
of his immediate neighbor, whose appearance was little better
than that of a bravo. The grave theologian and embryo ecclesi-
astic were placed in juxtaposition with the scoffing and licentious
acolyte; while the lawyer in posse, and the law-breaker in esse,
were numbered among a group whose pursuits were those of vio-
lence and fraud.
Various as the characters that composed it, not less
diversified were the costumes of this heterogeneous assemblage.
Subject to no particular regulations as to dress, or rather openly
infracting them, if any such were attempted to be enforced -
each scholar, to whatever college he belonged, attired himself in
such garments as best suited his taste or his finances. Taking it
altogether, the mob was neither remarkable for the fashion, nor
the cleanliness of the apparel of its members.
From Rabelais we learn that the passion of play was so
strongly implanted in the students of his day, that they would
frequently stake the points of their doublets at tric-trac or trou-
madame; and but little improvement had taken place in their
morals or manners some half-century afterward. The buckle at
their girdle
the mantle on their shoulders — the shirt to their
back — often stood the hazard of the die; and hence it not unfre-
quently happened, that a rusty pour point and ragged chaussés
were all the covering which the luckless dicers could enumerate,
owing, no doubt, “to the extreme rarity and penury of money in
their pouches. ”
Round or square caps, hoods and cloaks of black, gray, or
other sombre hue, were, however, the prevalent garb of the mem-
bers of the university; but here and there might be seen some
gayer specimen of the tribe, whose broad-brimmed, high-crowned
felt hat and flaunting feather; whose puffed-out sleeves and exag-
gerated ruff — with starched plaits of such amplitude that they
had been not inappropriately named plats de Saint Jean-Baptiste,
from the resemblance which the wearer's head bore to that of the
saint, when deposited in the charger of the daughter of Herodias
were intended to ape the leading mode of the elegant court of
their sovereign, Henri Trois.
To such an extent had these insolent youngsters carried their
license of imitation that certain of their members, fresh from the
fair of Saint-Germain, and not wholly unacquainted with the
hippocras of the sutlers crowding its mart, wore around their
throats enormous collars of paper, cut in rivalry of the legitimate


## p. 240 (#270) ############################################

240
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
(
plaits of muslin, and bore in their hands long hollow sticks from
which they discharged peas and other missiles, in imitation of the
sarbacanes or pea-shooters then in vogue with the monarch and
his favorites.
Thus fantastically tricked out, on that same day -- nay, only
a few hours before, and at the fair above mentioned — had these
facetious wights, with more merriment than discretion, ventured
to exhibit themselves before the cortége of Henri, and to exclaim
loud enough to reach the ears of royalty, "à la fraise on connoit
le veau ! ” a piece of pleasantry for which they subsequently paid
dear.
Notwithstanding its shabby appearance in detail, the general
effect of this scholastic rabble was striking and picturesque. The
thick mustaches and pointed beards with which the lips and
chins of most of them were decorated, gave to their physiogno-
mies a manly and determined air, fully borne out by their unre-
strained carriage and deportment.
To a man,
almost all were
armed with a tough vine-wood bludgeon, called in their language
an estoc volant, tipped and shod with steel - a weapon fully
understood by them, and rendered, by their dexterity in the use
of it, formidable to their adversaries. Not a few carried at
their girdles the short rapier, so celebrated in their duels and
brawls, or concealed within their bosom a poniard or a two-
a
edged knife.
The scholars of Paris have ever been a turbulent and ungov-
ernable race; and at the period of which this history treats, and
indeed long before, were little better than a licensed horde of
robbers, consisting of a pack of idle and wayward youths drafted
from all parts of Europe, as well as from the remoter provinces
of their own nation. There was little in common between the
mass of students and their brethren, excepting the fellowship
resulting from the universal license in which all indulged. Hence
their thousand combats among themselves— combats almost inva-
riably attended with fatal consequences — and which the heads of
the university found it impossible to check.
Their own scanty resources, eked out by what little they could
derive from beggary or robbery, formed their chief subsistence;
for many of them were positive mendicants, and were so denom- **
inated: and being possessed of a sanctuary within their own
quarters, to which they could at convenience retire, they sub-
mitted to the constraint of no laws except those enforced within


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
241
the jurisdiction of the university, and hesitated at no means of
enriching themselves at the expense of their neighbors. Hence
the frequent warfare waged between them and the brethren of
Saint-Germain des Prés, whose monastic domains adjoined their
territories, and whose meadows were the constant battleground of
their skirmishes; according to Dulaure — "presque toujours un
théâtre de tumulte, de galanterie, de combats, de duels, de débauches
et de sédition. ” Hence their sanguinary conflicts with the good
citizens of Paris, to whom they were wholly obnoxious, and who
occasionally repaid their aggressions with interest. In 1407 two
of their number, convicted of assassination and robbery, were con-
demned to the gibbet, and the sentence was carried into execution;
but so great was the uproar occasioned in the university by this
violation of its immunities that the Provost of Paris, Guillaume de
Tignonville, was compelled to take down their bodies from Mont-
faucon and see them honorably and ceremoniously interred. This
recognition of their rights only served to make matters worse, and
for a series of years the nuisance continued unabated.
It is not our purpose to record all the excesses of the uni-
versity, nor the means taken for their suppression. Vainly were
the civil authorities arrayed against them. Vainly were bulls
thundered from the Vatican. No amendment was effected. The
weed might be cut down, but was never entirely extirpated.
Their feuds were transmitted from generation to generation, and
their old bone of contention with the abbot of Saint-Germain (the
Pré-aux-Clercs) was, after an uninterrupted strife for thirty years,
submitted to the arbitration of the Pope, who very equitably
refused to pronounce judgment in favor of either party.
Such were the scholars of Paris in the sixteenth century -
such the character of the clamorous crew who besieged the por-
tals of the College of Navarre.
The object that summoned together this unruly multitude
was, it appears, a desire on the part of the scholars to be pres-
ent at a public controversy or learned disputation, then occur-
ring within the great hall of the college before which they were
congregated; and the disappointment caused by their finding the
gates closed, and all entrance denied to them, occasioned their
present disposition to riot.
It was in vain they were assured by the halberdiers stationed
at the gates, and who, with crossed pikes, strove to resist the
onward pressure of the mob, that the hall and court were already
1-16


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
242
>
crammed to overflowing, that there was not room even for the
sole of a foot of a doctor of the faculties, and that their orders
were positive and imperative that none beneath the degree of a
bachelor or licentiate should be admitted, and that a troop of mar-
tinets and new-comers could have no possible claim to admission.
In vain they were told this was no ordinary disputation, no
common controversy, where all were alike entitled to license of
ingress; that the disputant was no undistinguished scholar, whose
renown did not extend beyond his own trifling sphere, and
whose opinions, therefore, few would care to hear and still
fewer to oppugn, but a foreigner of high rank, in high favor and
fashion, and not more remarkable for his extraordinary intel-
lectual endowments than for his brilliant personal accomplish-
ments.
In vain the trembling officials sought to clinch their arguments
by stating, that not alone did the conclave consist of the chief
members of the university, the senior doctors of theology, med-
icine, and law, the professors of the humanities, rhetoric, and phi-
losophy, and all the various other dignitaries; hut that the debate
was honored by the presence of Monsieur Christophe de Thou,
first president of Parliament; by that of the learned Jacques
Augustin, of the same name; by one of the secretaries of state
and Governor of Paris, M. René de Villequier; by the ambassa-
dors of Elizabeth, Queen of England, and of Philip the Second,
King of Spain, and several of their suite; by Abbé de Brantôme;
by M. Miron, the court physician; by Cosmo Ruggieri, the
Queen Mother's astrologer; by the renowned poets and masque
writers, Maîtres Ronsard, Baïf, and Philippe Desportes; by the
well-known advocate of Parliament, Messire Étienne Pasquier:
but also (and here came the gravamen of the objection to their
admission) by the two especial favorites of his Majesty and lead-
ers of affairs, the seigneurs of Joyeuse and D'Epernon.
It was in vain the students were informed that for the pres-
ervation of strict decorum, they had been commanded by the rector
to make fast the gates. No excuses would avail them. The
scholars were cogent reasoners, and show of staves
brought their opponents to a nonplus. In this line of argument
they were perfectly aware of their ability to prove a major.
“To the wall with them — to the wall! ” cried a hundred infu-
riated voices. “Down with the halberdiers - down with the gates
down with the disputants — down with the rector himself!
a
soon


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
243
Deny our privileges! To the wall with old Adrien d'Amboise -
exclude the disciples of the university from their own halls! -
curry favor with the court minions! — hold a public controversy
in private! - down with him! We will issue a mandamus for a
new election on the spot! ”
Whereupon a deep groan resounded throughout the crowd.
It was succeeded by a volley of fresh execrations against the
rector, and an angry demonstration of bludgeons, accompanied by
a brisk shower of peas from the sarbacanes.
The officials turned pale, and calculated the chance of a broken
neck in reversion, with that of a broken crown in immediate
possession. The former being at least contingent, appeared the
milder alternative, and they might have been inclined to adopt
it had not a further obstacle stood in their way. The gate was
barred withinside, and the vergers and bedels who had the cus-
tody of the door, though alarmed at the tumult without, positively
refused to unfasten it.
Again the threats of the scholars were renewed, and further
intimations of violence were exhibited. Again the peas rattled
upon the hands and faces of the halberdiers, till their ears tingled
with pain. "Prate to us of the king's favorites, cried one of the
foremost of the scholars, a youth decorated with a paper collar:
"they may rule within the precincts of the Louvre, but not
within the walls of the university. Maugre-bleu! We hold them
cheap enough. We heed not the idle bark of these full-fed court
lapdogs. What to us is the bearer of a cup and ball? By the
four Evangelists, we will have none of them here! Let the Gas-
con cadet, D'Epernon, reflect on the fate of Quélus and Maugiron,
and let our gay Joyeuse beware of the dog's death of Saint-
Mégrin. Place for better men — place for the schools - away with
frills and sarbacanes. ”
«What to us is a president of Parliament, or a governor of the
city ? " shouted another of the same gentry.
« We care nothing
for their ministration. We recognize them not, save in their own
courts. All their authority fell to the ground at the gate of the
Rue Saint Jacques, when they entered our dominions. We care
for no parties. We are trimmers, and steer a middle course. We
hold the Guisards as cheap as the Huguenots, and the brethren
of the League weigh as little with us as the followers of Calvin.
Our only sovereign is Gregory the Thirteenth, Pontiff of Rome.
Away with the Guise and the Béarnaise ! »


## p. 244 (#274) ############################################

244
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
« Away with Henri of Navarre, if you please," cried a scholar
of Harcourt; "or Henri of Valois, if you list: but by all the
saints, not with Henri of Lorraine; he is the fast friend of the
true faith. No! — No! — live the Guise — live the Holy Union ! »
"Away with Elizabeth of England,” cried a scholar of Cluny:
«what doth her representative here? Seeks he a spouse for her
among our schools ? She will have no great bargain, I own, if
she bestows her royal hand upon our Duc d'Anjou. '
"If you value your buff jerkin, I counsel you to say nothing
slighting of the Queen of England in my hearing,” returned a
bluff, broad-shouldered fellow, raising his bludgeon after a men-
acing fashion. He was an Englishman belonging to the Four
Nations, and had a huge bull-dog at his heels.
« Away with Philip of Spain and his ambassador,” cried a
Bernardin.
« By the eyes of my mistress! ” cried a Spaniard belonging to
the College of Narbonne, with huge mustaches curled half-way
up his bronzed and insolent visage, and a slouched hat pulled
over his brow. “This may not pass muster. The representative
of the King of Spain must be respected even by the Academics
of Lutetia. Which of you shall gainsay me? - ha! ”
“What business has he here with his suite, on occasions like
to the present ? ) returned the Bernardin. « Tête-Dieu! this dispu-
tation is one that little concerns the interest of your politic king;
and methinks Don Philip, or his representative, has regard for
little else than whatsoever advances his own interest. Your
ambassador hath, I doubt not, some latent motive for his present
attendance in our schools. ”
“Perchance,” returned the Spaniard. “We will discuss that
point anon. ”
“And what doth the pander of the Sybarite within the dusty
halls of learning ? ” ejaculated a scholar of Lemoine. “What
doth the jealous-pated slayer of his wife and unborn child within
the reach of free-spoken voices, and mayhap of well-directed
blades ? Methinks it were more prudent to tarry within the
bowers of his harem, than to hazard his perfumed person among
(
((
us. »
“Well said,” rejoined the scholar of Cluny — down with
«
René de Villequier, though he be Governor of Paris. ”
“What title hath the Abbé de Brantôme to a seat among
us? ” said the scion of Harcourt: “faith, he hath a reputation for


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
245
wit, and scholarship, and gallantry. But what is that to us?
His place might now be filled by worthier men. ”
« And what, in the devil's name, brings Cosmo Ruggieri
hither? ” asked the Bernardin. «What doth the wrinkled old
dealer in the black art hope to learn from us? We are not
given to alchemy, and the occult sciences; we practice no hidden
mysteries; we brew no philtres; we compound no slow poisons;
we vend no waxen images. What doth he here, I say! 'Tis a
scandal in the rector to permit his presence. And what if he
came under the safeguard, and by the authority of his mistress,
Catherine de' Medicis! Shall we regard her passport?