No More Learning

TO ZMESKALL
M
FEBRUARY 2d, 1812.
ost wonderful of men!
We beg that your servant will engage a person to fit up
my apartment; as he is acquainted with the lodgings, he
can fix the proper price at once. Do this soon, you Carnival
scamp! ! ! ! ! ! !
The inclosed note is at least a week old.
TO HIS BROTHER JOHANN
TH
BADEN, May 6th, 1825.
HE bell and bell-pulls, etc. , etc. , are on no account whatever
to be left in my former lodging. No proposal was ever
made to these people to take any of my things. Indis-
position prevented my sending for it, and the locksmith had
not come during my stay to take down the bell; otherwise it
might have been at once removed and sent to me in town, as
they have no right whatever to retain it.
Be this as it may,
I am quite determined not to leave the bell there, for I require
one here, and therefore intend to use the one in question for
my purpose, as a similar one would cost me twice as much as
in Vienna, bell-pulls being the most expensive things locksmiths
have. If necessary, apply at once to the police. The window
in my room is precisely in the same state as when I took pos-
session, but I am willing to pay for it, and also for the one in
the kitchen, 2 florins 12 kreuzers, for the two. The key I will
not pay for, as I found none; on the contrary, the door was
II-III


## p. 1762 (#560) ###########################################

1762
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
fastened or nailed up when I came, and remained in the same
condition till I left; there never was a key, so of course neither
I myself, nor those who preceded me, could make use of one.
Perhaps it is intended to make a collection, in which case I am
willing to put my hand in my pocket.
LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.
TO STEPHAN V. BREUNING
M*portrait I now send.
My dear and much loved Stephan :
AY our temporary estrangement be for ever effaced by the
portrait I now send. I know that I have rent your heart.
The emotion which you cannot fail now to see in mine has
sufficiently punished me for it. There was no malice towards
you in my heart, for then I should be no longer worthy of your
friendship. It was passion both on your part and on mine; but
mistrust was rife within me, for people had come between us,
unworthy both of you and of me.
My portrait was long ago intended for you; you knew that it
was destined for some one—and to whom could I give it with
such warmth of heart, as to you, my faithful, good, and noble
Stephan ?
Forgive me for having grieved you, but I did not myself
suffer less when I no longer saw you near me. I then first
keenly felt how dear you were, and ever will be to my heart.
Surely you will once more fly to my arms as you formerly did.


## p. 1763 (#561) ###########################################

1763
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
(1740-1795)
BY OLGA FLINCH
ARL MICHAEL BELLMAN was born in Stockholm on the 4th of
February, 1740. His father, son of a professor at Upsala
University, held a government office; of his mother he
wrote that she was “fair as day, unspeakably good, dressed prettily,
was kind to everybody, of a refined nature, and had an excellent
voice. ” From her he undoubtedly inherited the warm, genial heart
which beats in every one of his songs. His father's house was the
rendezvous of many of the noted men of the day, among them the
poet Dalin, who was then at the zenith of his popularity. The boy's
unusual gifts were early recognized, and everything was done to give
him the best instruction, especially after an attack of fever, during
which he not only spoke in rhyme, but sang his first improvised
songs in a clear, true voice. The tutor who was then chosen taught
him, besides the art of making verse,” English, French, German,
and Italian; and he progressed far enough in these studies to trans-
late several German hymns and religious and philosophic essays, no
doubt influenced in this choice of subjects by the religious atmosphere
of his home. Moreover, he taught himself to play the zither, and
very soon began to pick out his own melodies as an accompaniment
to his songs.
The instrument he used had been brought home from
Italy by his grandfather, became his closest companion throughout
life, and is now kept at the Royal Academy of Arts at Stockholm.
At eighteen he entered the University of Upsala, and while
there wrote a satirical poem, "The Moon,' which he submitted to the
criticism of Dalin, who however made but a single correction. It
was written in the manner of Dalin, and he continued to be influ-
enced by the latter until his twenty-fifth year. At this time, and
within the same year, his father and mother died, and seeking
among his friends the social stimulus which his nature craved, he
became a frequent guest at the inns in the company of Hallman and
Krexel, who were making their mark by their poetic and dramatic
writings. It was then that his peculiar talent came to its own; he
threw away all foreign influence and began to sing his songs, born
of the impression of the moment and full of the charm of spon-
taneity. Some of them he jotted down quickly, most of them he


## p. 1764 (#562) ###########################################

1764
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
was soon
sang to the sound of his zither, ofteri fashioning them to suit well-
known melodies, and again creating the melody with the words, for
the greater part set in a form of verse not previously used. And so
inseparably linked are words and melody, that it has not occurred to
any one to set any other music to Bellman's songs than what he
originally chose. He took all his characters out of the life he saw
around him; and with the appreciation of the man to whom the
present is everything, he seized the charm of the fleeting moment
and expressed it with such simplicity and truth, and deep feeling
withal, that it stands forth immortally fresh and young. A number
of these songs have probably been lost; he had no thirst for fame,
and took no pains to circulate them, but they found their way to the
public in written copies and cheap prints, and his name
known throughout the country.
This way of living and singing like the birds of the air was, how-
ever, not very conducive to the satisfaction of material wants. He
had made two attempts to go into business, but the more he was
seen at the inns, the less he was seen at his business.
Fortunately for him, Gustavus III. , who was himself a poet, be-
came at this time king of Sweden.
He was
an adherent of the
French school of poetry, and Bellman's muse could hardly be said
to belong to this: but with considerable talent as a dramatic writer,
Gustavus appreciated the dramatic quality in Bellman's songs; and
when Bellman sent him a rhymed petition, still kept, in which he
wrote that “if his Majesty would not most graciously give him an
office, he would most obediently be obliged to starve to death before
Christmas,” the king made him secretary of the lottery, with the title
of court secretary, and a yearly income of three thousand dollars.
Bellman promptly gave half of this to an assistant, who did the
work, and continued his troubadour life on the other half with a
superb disdain of future needs. His affairs so well in order, he
could afford to get married; and chose for his wife Lovisa Grönlund,
a girl of a bright intellect and strong character, of which she ulti-
mately had great need, the responsibilities of their married life being
left altogether to her.
Bellman was now at his best; about this time he wrote most of
Fredman's Songs) and Actions concerning the Chapter of Bac-
chus order,) both rich in lyric gems; he was the favorite compan-
ion of the King, to whom his devotion was boundless, and he was
happy in his chosen friends whose company inspired him. Never-
theless he was now, as ever, in need of money. Atterbom tells that
“One day the King met him on the street, so poorly dressed that
he instinctively exclaimed, My dear Bellman, how poorly you are
clad! The poet answered with a bow, I can nevertheless most


## p. 1765 (#563) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1765
obediently assure your Majesty that I am wearing my entire ward-
robe. ) » His ready wit never left him. “How goes the world with
you ? ” asked the King once when they met; "you don't look to me
as if you could turn a single rhyme to-day. ” The poet bowed and
replied on the spur of the moment:
“No scrip my purse doth hold;
My lyre's unstrung, alas !
But yet upon my glass
Stands Gustaf's name in gold. ”
Another time the King sent his men for him, with the order to
bring him in whatever condition they found him. “He was found
not entirely free from drink, and not very presentable, but was never-
theless carried off, zither and all, to Haga Castle, where he drank
some champagne, sang some songs, drank a little more, and finally
fell asleep. The King left him so to go to his supper; and when he
returned and found his guest still sleeping, he remarked, I wonder
what Bellman would say if I awoke him now and asked him to give
a song. ' The poet sat up, blinked with his eyes, and said,
“Then Bellman would say, — listen;' whereupon he sang to the tune
of Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre':-
me
<<<Oh, so heavily, heavily trailing,
The clouds over Haga are sailing,
And the stars their bright glances are veiling,
While woods in the gloom disappear.
Go, King, thy rest is dear,
Go, King, thy respite taking,
Rest softly, rest softly, then waking,
When dawn through the darkness is breaking,
Thy people with mild rule thou cheer!
Then he fell into his former position again, and was carried home
asleep with a little gift in his hand. ”
The task of collecting, preserving, and publishing his works feil
entirely upon his friends; if it had depended on him, they would
probably never have been collected, much less published.
During the last fifteen years of his life, from 1780 to 1795, his
health grew very poor.
In 1791 he was invited to be present at
the distribution of degrees at Upsala, and at the dinner he returned
a toast with a song born of the moment; but his voice had grown so
weak from lung trouble that only those nearest to him could hear
him. To add to his sufferings, he had to meet the great sorrow of
his King's death at the hand of a murderer, and his poem on the
Death and Memory of the King' was not of a nature to make
friends for him at the new court. Thus it happened that, poor and


## p. 1766 (#564) ###########################################

1766
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
broken in health, he was put into the debtor's prison in the very
castle where he had been so happy a guest.
Hallman and Krexel
and others of his best friends, as devoted to him as ever, were
unable to obtain his release; but he was at last bailed out by some
one, who as recompense asked him to sing one of his jolly songs,
and in his poor broken voice he sang Drink out thy glass, see,
Death awaits thee. ) Atterbom remarks about the man in question,
"And maybe he did not find that song so jolly after all. ”
While in prison he sent in a petition to the King, somewhat
different from his first petition to Gustavus III. ,- in which he asked
permission to live in the castle until his death. The following is one
of the verses:-
«Spring commands; the birds are singing,
Bees are swarming, fishes play;
Now and then the zephyrs stray,
Breath of life the poet bringing.
Lift my load of sorrow clinging,
Spare me one small nook, I pray. )
Of his death Atterbom writes as follows:-
“He had been the favorite of the nation and the King, content with the
mere necessities of life, free from every care, not even desiring the immor-
tality of fame; moderate in everything except in enthusiasm, he had enjoyed
to the full what he wanted, — friendship, wine, and music. Now he lived to
see the shadows fall over his life and genius. Feeling that his last hour was
not far off, he sent word to his nearest friends that a meeting with them as
in old times would be dear to him. He came to meet them almost a shadow,
but with his old friendly smile; even in the toasts he took part, however
moderately, and then he announced that he would let them (hear Bellman
once more. The spirit of song took possession of him, more powerfully than
ever, and all the rays of his dying imagination were centred in an impro-
vised good-by song. Throughout an entire night, under continual inspiration,
he sang his happy life, his mild King's glory, his gratitude to Providence, who
let him be born among a noble people in this beautiful Northern country, -
finally he gave his grateful good-by to every one present, in a separate stro-
phe and melody expressing the peculiar individuality of the one addressed
and his relation to the poet. His friends begged him with tears to stop, and
spare his already much weakened lungs; but he replied, Let us die, as we
have lived, in music! )- emptied his last glass of champagne, and began at
dawn the last verse of his song. "
After this he sang no more. A few days later he went to bed,
lingered for ten weeks, and died on the uth of February, 1795, aged
fifty-four years.
He was buried in Clara cemetery.
Bellman's critics have given themselves much trouble about his
personal character. Some have thought him little better than a


## p. 1767 (#565) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1767
coarse drunkard; others again have made him out a cynic who
sneered at the life he depicted; again others have laid the weight
on the note found in “Drink out thy glass,' and have seen only the
underlying sad pathos of his songs. His contemporaries agree that
he was a
man of great consideration for form, and assert that if
there are coarse passages in his songs it is because they only could
express what he depicted. All coarseness was foreign to his nature;
he was reserved and somewhat shy, and only in the company of his
chosen few did he open his heart.
His critics have, moreover, assiduously sought the moral of his
works. If any was intended, it may have been that of fighting senti-
mentality and all false feeling; but it seems more in accordance
with his entire life that he sang out of the fullness of his heart, as
a bird sings, simply because it must sing.
Olga
Glinch
TO ULLA
U"
LLA, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish market? So ?
"Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? " "Ah yes!
«And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness ?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!


## p. 1768 (#566) ###########################################

1768
CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
Skål and good-noon, fair one in window leaning,
Hark how the city bells their peals prolong!
See how the dust the verdant turf is screening,
Where the calashes and the wagons throng!
Hand from the window – he's drowsy, the speaker,
In my saddle I nod, cousin mine -
Primo a crust, and secundo a beaker,
Hochländer wine!
Isn't it heavenly — the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly! ”
" See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes!
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? — Confess! )
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
Look, Ulla dear! To the stable they're taking
Whinnying prancing, my good steed, I see.
Still in his stall-door he lifts his head, making
Efforts to look up to thee: just to thee!
Nature itself into flames will be bursting:
Keep those bright eyes in control!
Klang! at your casement my heart, too, is thirsting.
Klang! Your Skål!
Isn't it heavenly - the fish-market ? So ?
“Heavenly, oh heavenly ! »
«See the stately trees there, standing row on row,-
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there? ” “Ah yes! )
“And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly — those bright fields ? - Confess! ».
Heavenly!
Heavenly!


## p. 1769 (#567) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1769
CRADLE-SONG FOR MY SON CARL
L
ITTLE Carl, sleep soft and sweet:
Thou'lt soon enough be waking;
Soon enough ill days thou'lt meet,
Their bitterness partaking.
Earth's an isle with grief o'ercast;
Breathe our best, death comes at last,
We but dust forsaking.
Once, where flowed a peaceful brook
Through a rye-field's stubble,
Stood a little boy to look
At himself; his double.
Sweet the picture was to see;
All at once it ceased to be;
Vanished like a bubble!
And thus it is with life, my pet,
And thus the years go fying;
Live we wisely, gaily, yet
There's no escape from dying.
Little Carl on this must muse
When the blossoms bright he views
On spring's bosom lying.
Slumber, little friend so wee;
Joy thy joy is bringing.
Clipped from paper thou shalt see
A sleigh, and horses springing;
Then a house of cards so tall
We will build and see it fall,
And little songs be singing.
AMARYLLIS
U”
(P, AMARYLLIS! Darling, awaken!
Through the still bracken
Soft airs swell;
Iris, all dightly,
Vestured so brightly,
Coloreth lightly
Wood and dell.


## p. 1770 (#568) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1770
Amaryllis, thy sweet name pronouncing,
Thee in Neptune's cool embrace announcing,
Slumber's god the while his sway renouncing,
O'er your eyes sighs, and speech yields his spell.
Now comes the fishing! The net we fasten;
This minute hasten!
Follow me!
Don your skirt and jacket
And veil, or you'll lack it;
Pike and trout wait a racket;
Sails flap free.
Waken, Amaryllis, darling, waken!
Let me not by thy smile be forsaken:
Then by dolphins and fair sirens overtaken,
In our gay boat we'll sport in company.
Come now, your rods, lines, and nets with you taking!
The day is breaking;
Hasten thee nigh!
Sweet little treasure,
Think ill in no measure;
For thee 'twere no pleasure
Me to deny.
Let us to the little shallows wander,
Or beside the inlet over yonder,
Where the pledge-knot made our fond love fonder,
O'er which Thyrsis erst was moved to sigh.
Step in the boat, then — both of us singing,
Love his wand swinging
Over our fate.
Æol is moving,
But though wild proving,
In your arms loving
Comfort doth wait.
Blest, on angry waves of ocean riding,
By thee clasped, vain 'twere this dear thought hiding:
Death shall find me in thy pathway biding.
Sirens, sing ye, and my voice imitate!


## p. 1771 (#569) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1771
ART AND POLITICS
"G
Oop servant Mollberg, what's happened to thee,
Whoin without coat and hatless I see?
Bloody thy mouth -- and thou’rt lacking a tooth!
Where have you been, brother ? — tell me the truth. ”
«At Rostock, good sir,
Did the trouble occur.
Over me and my harp
An argument sharp
Arose, touching my playing - pling plingeli plang;
And a bow-legged cobbler coming along
Struck me in the mouth — pling plingeli plang.
«I sat there and played -no carouse could one see —
The Polish Queen's Polka - G-major the key:
The best kind of people were gathered around,
And each drank his schoppen down to the ground. '
I don't know just how
Began freshly the row,
But some one from my head
Knocked my hat, and thus said:
(What is Poland to thee? ! — Pling plingeli plang —
(Play us no polka! Another one sang:
Now silent be! !
— Pling plingeli plang.
« Hear, my Mæcenas, what still came to pass.
As I sat there in quiet, enjoying my glass,
On Poland's condition the silence I broke:
Know ye, good people, aloud thus I spoke,
(That all monarchs I
On this earth do defy
My harp to prevent
From giving song vent
Throughout all this land - pling plingeli plang!
Did only a single string to it hang,
I'd play a polka — pling plingeli plang! )
« There sat in the corner a sergeant old,
Two notaries and a dragoon bold,
Who cried Down with him! The cobbler is right!
Poland earns the meeds of her evil might! !
From behind the stove came
An old squint-eyed dame,


## p. 1772 (#570) ###########################################

CARL MICHAEL BELLMAN
1772
And flung at the harp
Glass broken and sharp;
But the cobbler — pling plingeli plang –
Made a terrible hole in my neck — that long!
There hast thou the story — pling plingeli plang.
“O righteous world! Now I ask of thee
If I suffered not wrongly ? ” «Why, certainly! ”
“Was I not innocent ? » « Bless
you, most sure ! »
“ The harp rent asunder, my nose torn and sore,
Twas hard treatment, I trow!
Now no better I know
Than to go through the land
With my harp in my hand,
Play for Bacchus and Venus — kling klang -
With masters best that e'er played or sang;
Attend me, Apollo! - pling plingeli plang. ”
DRINK OUT THY GLASS
DRI
RINK out thy glass! See, on thy threshold, nightly,
Staying his sword, stands Death, awaiting thee.
Be not alarmed; the grave-door, opened slightly,
Closes again; a full year it may be
Ere thou art dragged, poor sufferer, to the grave.
Pick the octave!
Tune up the strings! Sing of life with glee!
Golden's the hue thy dull, wan cheeks are showing;
Shrunken's thy chest, and flat each shoulder-blade.
Give me thy hand! Each dark vein, larger growing,
Is, to my touch, as if in water laid.
Damp are these hands; stiff are these veins becoming.
Pick now, and strumming,
Empty thy bottle! Sing! drink unafraid.
Skål, then, my boy! Old Bacchus sends last greeting
Freya's farewell receive thou, o'er thy bowl.
Fast in her praise thy thin blood flows, repeating
Its old-time force, as it was wont to roll.
Sing, read, forget; nay, think and weep while thinking.
Art thou for drinking
Another bottle? Thou art dead? No Skål!


## p. 1773 (#571) ###########################################

1773
JEREMY BENTHAM
(1748-1832)
B
ENTHAM, whose name rightly stands sponsor for the utilitarian
theory of morals in legislation, though not its originator,
was a mighty and unique figure in many ways. His child-
hood reminds us of that of his disciple John Stuart Mill in its pre-
cocity; but fortunately for him, life had more juice in it for young
Bentham than it had for Mill. In his maturity and old age he was
widely recognized as a commanding authority, notwithstanding some
startling absurdities.
He was born in London, February 15th,
1747–8; the child of an attorney of ample
means, who was proud of the youth, and
did not hesitate to show him off. In his
fourth year he began the study of Latin,
and a year later was known in his father's
circle as “the philosopher. ” At six or seven
he began the study of French.
He was
then sent to Westminster school, where he
must have had a rather uncomfortable time;
for he was small in body, sensitive and deli-
cate, and not fond of boyish sports. He
had a much happier life at the houses of JEREMY BENTHAM
his grandmothers at Barking and at Brown-
ing Hill, where much of his childhood was spent. His reminiscences
of these days, as related to his biographer, are full of charm. He
was a great reader and a great student; and going to Oxford early,
was only sixteen when he took his degree.
It must be confessed that he did not bear away with him a high
appreciation of the benefits which he owed to his alma mater.
“Mendacity and insincerity — in these I found the effects, the sure
and only sure effects, of an English university education. ” He wrote
a Latin ode on the death of George II. , which was much praised. In
later years he himself said of it, “It was a mediocre performance on
a trumpery subject, written by a miserable child. ”
On taking his degree he entered at Lincoln's Inn, but he never
made a success in the practice of the law. He hated litigation, and
his mind became immediately absorbed in the study and development
of the principles of legislation and jurisprudence, and this became



## p. 1774 (#572) ###########################################

1774
JEREMY BENTHAM
the business of his life. He had an intense antipathy to Blackstone,
under whom he had sat at Oxford; and in 1776 he published anony-
mously a severe criticism of his work, under the title (Fragments on
Government, or a Commentary on the Commentaries, which was at
first attributed to Lord Mansfield, Lord Camden, and others. His
identification as the author of the Fragments) brought him into
relations with Lord Shelburne, who invited him to Bowood, where he
made a long and happy visit, of which bright and gossipy letters tell
the story
Here he worked on his "Introduction to the Principles of
Morals and Legislation, in which he developed his utilitarian theory,
and here he fell in love with a young lady who failed to respond to
his wishes. Writing in 1827, he says:
“I am alive, more than two months advanced in my eightieth year, more
lively than when you presented me in ceremony with a Aower in Green
Lane. Since that day not a single one has passed, not to speak of nights,
in which you have not engrossed more of my thoughts than I could have
wished. . . Embrace —; though it is for me, as it is by you, she will
not be severe, nor refuse her lips to me as she did her hand, at a time per-
haps not yet forgotten by her, any more than by me. ”
Bentham wrote voluminously on morals, on rewards and punish-
ments, on the poor laws, on education, on law reform, on the codifi-
cation of laws, on special legislative measures, on a vast variety of
subjects. His style, at first simple and direct, became turgid,
involved, and obscure. He was in the habit of beginning the same
work independently many times, and usually drove several horses
abreast. He was
very severe in his strictures upon persons in
authority, and upon current notions; and was constantly being
warned that if he should publish such or such a work he would
surely be prosecuted. Numerous books were therefore not published
until many years after they were written. His literary style became
so prolix and unintelligible that his disciples - Dumont, Mill, and
others - came to his rescue, and disentangled and prepared for the
press his innumerable pamphlets, full of suggestiveness and teeming
with projects of reform more or less completely realized since. His
publications include more than seventy titles, and he left a vast
accumulation of manuscript, much of which has never been read.
He had a wide circle of acquaintances, by whom he was held in
high honor, and his correspondence with the leading men of his
time was constant and important. In his later years he was
pugnacious writer, but he was on intimate and jovial terms with his
friends. In 1814 he removed to Ford Abbey, near Chard, and there
wrote (Chrestomathea,' a collection of papers on the principles of
education, in which he laid stress upon the value of instruction in
a


## p. 1775 (#573) ###########################################

JEREMY BENTHAM
1775
science, as against the excessive predominance of Greek and Latin.
In 1823, in conjunction with James Mill and others, he established
the Westminster Review, but he did not himself contribute largely
to it. He continued, however, to the end of his life to write on his
favorite topics.
Robert Dale Owen, in his autobiography, gives the following
description of a visit to Bentham during the philosopher's later
years:
“I preserve a most agreeable recollection of that grand old face, beaming
with benignity and intelligence, and occasionally with a touch of humor
which I did not expect.
I do not remember to have met any one of
his age [seventy-eight] who seemed to have more complete possession of his
faculties, bodily and mental; and this surprised me the more because I knew
that in his childhood he had been a feeble-limbed, frail boy. . . I found
him, having overpassed by nearly a decade the allotted threescore years and
ten, with step as active and eye as bright and conversation as vivacious as
one expects in a hale man of fifty.
«I shall never forget my surprise when we were ushered by the venerable
philosopher into his dining-room. An apartment of good size, it was occupied
by a platform about two feet high, and which filled the whole room, except a
passageway some three or four feet wide, which had been left so that one
could pass all round it. Upon this platform stood the dinner-table and chairs,
with room enough for the servants to wait upon us. Around the head of the
table was a huge screen, to protect the old man, I suppose, against the
draught from the doors.
“When another half-hour had passed, he touched the bell again. This
time his order to the servant startled me:-
« John, my night-cap! '
“I rose to go, and one or two others did the same; Neal sat still. Ah! )
said Bentham, as he drew a black silk night-cap over his spare gray hair,
(you think that's a hint to go. Not a bit of it. Sit down! I'll tell you when
I am tired. I'm going to vibrate a little; that assists digestion, too.
“And with that he descended into the trench-like passage, of which I have
spoken, and commenced walking briskly back and forth, his head nearly on a
level with ours, as we sat. Of course we all turned toward him. For full
half an hour, as he walked, did he continue to pour forth such a witty and
eloquent invective against kings, priests, and their retainers, as I have seldom
listened to. Then he returned to the head of the table and kept up the con-
versation, without flagging, till midnight ere he dismissed us.
“His parting words to me were characteristic: — (God bless you,- if there
be such a being; and at all events, my young friend, take care of yourself. ) )
old age.
His weak childhood had been followed by a healthy and robust
But he wore out at last, and died June 6, 1832, character-
istically leaving his body to be dissected for the benefit of science.
The greater part of his published writings were collected by Sir John
Browning, his executor, and issued in nine large volumes in 1843.


## p. 1776 (#574) ###########################################

1776
JEREMY BENTHAM
OF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY
From (An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation)
N*
ATURE has placed mankind under the governance of two
sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone
to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine
what we shall do. On the one hand the standard of right and
wrong, on the other the chain of causes and effects, are fastened
to their throne. They govern us in all we do, in all we say, in
all we think; every effort we can make to throw off our subjec-
tion will serve but to demonstrate and confirm it. In words a
man may pretend to abjure their empire; but in reality he will
remain subject to it all the while. The principle of utility recog-
nizes this subjection, and assumes it for the foundation of that
system, the object of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by
the hands of reason and of law. Systems which attempt to ques-
tion it deal in sounds instead of sense, in caprice instead of
reason, in darkness instead of light.
But enough of metaphor and declamation: it is not by such
means that moral science is to be improved.
The principle of utility is the foundation of the present work;
it will be proper, therefore, at the outset to give an explicit and
determinate account of what is meant by it. By the principle
of utility is meant that principle which approves or disapproves
of every action whatsoever, according to the tendency which it
appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the
party whose interest is in question; or, what is the same thing
in other words, to promote or to oppose that happiness. I say of
every action whatsoever; and therefore not only of every action
of a private individual, but of every measure of government.
By utility is meant that property in any object whereby it
tends to produce benefit, advantage, pleasure, good, or happiness
(all this in the present case comes to the same thing), or (what
comes again to the same thing) to prevent the happening of
mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness to the party whose interest
is considered: if that party be the community in general, then
the happiness of the community; if a particular individual, then
the happiness of that individual.
The interest of the community is one of the most general
expressions that can occur in the phraseology of morals: no won-
der that the meaning of it is often lost. When it has a meaning,


## p. 1777 (#575) ###########################################

JEREMY BENTHAM
1777
it is this: The community is a fictitious body, composed of the
individual persons who are considered as constituting, as it were,
its members. The interest of the community, then, is what? The
sum of the interests of the several members who compose it.
It is vain to talk of the interest of the community, without
understanding what is the interest of the individual. A thing is
said to promote the interest, or to be for the interest, of an indi-
vidual, when it tends to add to the sum total of his pleasures:
or, what comes to the same thing, to diminish the sum total of
his pains.
An action, then, may be said to be conformable to the prin-
ciple of utility, or for shortness' sake to utility (meaning with
respect to the community at large), when the tendency it has to
augment the happiness of the community is greater than any it
has to diminish it.
A measure of government (which is but a particular kind of
action, performed by a particular person or persons) may be said
to be conformable to or dictated by the principle of utility, when
in like manner the tendency which it has to augment the hap-
piness of the community is greater than any which it has to
diminish it.
When an action, or in particular a measure of government, is
supposed by a man to be conformable to the principle of utility,
it may be convenient for the purposes of discourse to imagine
a kind of law or dictate called a law or dictate of utility, and to
speak of the action in question as being conformable to such
law or dictate.
A man may be said to be a partisan of the principle of utility,
when the approbation or disapprobation he annexes to any action,
or to any measure, is determined by and proportioned to the
tendency which he conceives it to have to augment or to dimin-
ish the happiness of the community; or in other words, to its
conformity or unconformity to the laws or dictates of utility.
Of an action that is conformable to the principle of utility,
one may always say either that it is one that ought to be done,
or at least that it is not one that ought not to be done. One
may say also that it is right it should be done, at least that it
is not wrong it should be done; that it is a right action, at least
that it is not a wrong action. When thus interpreted, the words
ought, and right and wrong, and others of that stamp, have a
meaning; when otherwise, they have none.
111-112


## p. 1778 (#576) ###########################################

1778
JEREMY BENTHAM
REMINISCENCES OF CHILDHOOD
D
URING my visits to Barking, I used to be my grandmother's
bedfellow. The dinner hour being as early as two o'clock,
she had a regular supper, which was served up in her own
sleeping-room; and immediately after finishing it, she went to
bed. Of her supper I was not permitted to partake, nor was the
privation a matter of much regret. I had what I preferred - a
portion of gooseberry pie; hers was a scrag of mutton, boiled
with parsley and butter. I do not remember any variety.
.
My amusements consisted in building houses with old cards,
and sometimes playing at Beat the knave out of doors with
my grandmother. My time of going to bed was perhaps an
hour before hers; but by way of preparation, I never failed to
receive her blessing. Previous to the ceremony, I underwent a
catechetical examination, of which one of the questions was, “Who
were the children that were saved in the fiery furnace ? ” Answer,
«Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. ” But as the examination
frequently got no farther, the word Abednego got associated in
my mind with very agreeable ideas, and it ran through my ears
like “Shadrach, Meshach, and To-bed-we-go,” in a sort of pleasant
confusion, which is not yet removed. As I grew in years, I
became a fit receptacle for some of my grandmother's communi-
cations, among which the state of her family and the days of her
youth were most prominent.
There hung on the wall, perpetually in view, a sampler, the
produce of the industry and ingenuity of her mother or her
grandmother, of which the subject-matter was the most important
of all theologico-human incidents, the fall of man in Paradise.
There was Adam — there was Eve — and there was the serpent.
In these there was much to interest and amuse me. One thing
alone puzzled me; it was the forbidden fruit. The size was
enormous. It was larger than that species of the genus Oran-
geum which goes by the name of the forbidden fruit » in some
of our West India settlements. Its size was not less than that
of the outer shell of a cocoanut. All the rest of the objects
as usual in plano; this was in alto, indeed in altissimo
rilievo. What to make of it, at a time when my mind was
unable to distinguish fictions from realities, I knew not. The
recollection is strong in me of the mystery it seemed to be. My
grandmother promised me the sampler after her death as a
were


## p. 1779 (#577) ###########################################

JEREMY BENTHAM
1779
legacy, and the promise was no small gratification; but the prom-
ise, with many other promises of jewels and gold coins, was pro-
ductive of nothing but disappointment. Her death took place
when I was at Oxford. My father went down; and without con-
sulting me, or giving the slightest intimation of his intention, let
the house, and sold to the tenant almost everything that was in
it. It was doing as he was wont to do, notwithstanding his
undoubted affection for me. In the same way he sold the estate
he had given to me as a provision on the occasion of his second
marriage. In the mass went some music-books which I had bor-
rowed of Mrs. Browne. Not long after, she desired them to be
returned. I stood before her like a defenseless culprit, conscious
of my inability to make restitution; and at the same time, such
was my state of mental weakness that I knew not what to say
for apology or defense.
My grandmother's mother was a matron, I was told, of high
respectability and corresponding piety; well-informed and strong-
minded. She was distinguished, however; for while other matrons
of her age and quality had seen many a ghost, she had seen
but one.
She was in this particular on a level with the learned
lecturer, afterwards judge, the commentator Blackstone. But she
was heretical, and her belief bordered on Unitarianism. And by
the way, this subject of ghosts has been among the torments of
Even now, when sixty or seventy years have passed
over my head since my boyhood received the impression which
my grandmother gave it, though my judgment is wholly free, my
imagination is not wholly so. My infirmity was not unknown to
the servants. It was a permanent source of amusement to ply
me with horrible phantoms in all imaginable shapes. Under the
pagan dispensation, every object a man could set his eyes on
had been the seat of some pleasant adventure. At Barking, in
the almost solitude of which so large a portion of my life was
passed, every spot that could be made by any means to answer
the purpose was the abode of some spectre or group of spectres.
So dexterous was the invention of those who worked upon my
apprehensions, that they managed to transform a real into a fic.
titious being. His name was Palethorp; and Palethorp, in my
vocabulary, was synonymous with hobgoblin. The origin of
these horrors was this:
My father's house was a short half-mile distant from the prin-
cipal part of the town, from that part where was situated the
my life.


## p. 1780 (#578) ###########################################

1780
JEREMY BENTHAM
mansion of the lord of the manor, Sir Crisp Gascoigne. One
morning the coachman and the footman took a conjunct walk to
a public-house kept by a man of the name Palethorp; they took
me with them: it was before I was breeched. They called for a
pot of beer; took each of them a sip, and handed the pot to me.
On their requisition, I took another; and when about to depart,
the amount was called for. The two servants paid their quota,
and I was called on for mine. Nemo dat quod non habet — this
maxim, to my no small vexation, I was compelled to exemplify.
Mr. Palethorp, the landlord, had a visage harsh and ill-favored,
and he insisted on my discharging my debt. At this very early
age, without having put in for my share of the gifts of fortune,
I found myself in the state of an insolvent debtor. The demand
harassed me so mercilessly that I could hold out no longer: the
door being open, I took to my heels; and as the way was too
plain to be missed, I ran home as fast as they could carry me.
The scene of the terrors of Mr. Palethorp's name and visitation,
in pursuit of me, was the country-house at Barking; but neither
was the town-house free from them; for in those terrors, the
servants possessed an instrument by which it was in their power
at any time to get rid of my presence. Level with the kitchen-
level with the landing-place in which the staircase took its com-
mencement — were the usual offices. When my company became
troublesome, a sure and continually repeated means of exoner-
ating themselves from it was for the footman to repair to the
adjoining subterraneous apartments, invest his shoulders with
some strong covering, and concealing his countenance, stalk in
with a hollow, menacing, and inarticulate tone. Lest that should
not be sufficient, the servants had, stuck by the fireplace, the
portraiture of a hobgoblin, to which they had given the name of
Palethorp. For some years I was in the condition of poor Dr.
Priestley, on whose bodily frame another name, too awful to be
mentioned, used to produce a sensation more than mental.


## p. 1781 (#579) ###########################################

JEREMY BENTHAM
1781
see-
W* common right, for the ladies.
LETTER FROM BOWOOD TO GEORGE WILSON (1781)
SUNDAY, 12 o'clock.
HERE
The first place, by
common right, to the ladies. The ideas I brought with
me respecting the female part of this family are turned
quite topsy-turvy, and unfortunately they are not yet cleared up.
I had expected to find in Lady Shelburne a Lady Louisa Fitz-
patrick, sister of an Earl of Ossory, whom I remember at school;
instead of her, I find a lady who has for her sister a Miss Caro-
line V—i is not this the maid of honor, the sister to Lady
G— ?